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[Macisikan]

Sengrin Anchorage, orbit around S 45 68-03 VII, S 45 68-03 System

If you were to sum up S 45 68-03, it would be “pretty, but dull.” The inner system was divided between Venusian hellholes and Martian deserts, an asteroid belt, and a bunch of bloated gasbags. The Colonial Council was eyeing off that first bunch (and the belt), but for Fleet, it was the last set that they cared about; Sengrin Anchorage circled the largest of the gas giants, overseeing the lifters that were slowly siphoning off the mass.

Yes it was on the “frontier” – the outer edge of the periphery, but there was nothing going on here. There wouldn’t be until Colonial showed up for real. And as the poor unfortunate stuck with monitoring this vast expanse of glorified fuel deposits and mineral reserves, Sublieutenant Jee was bored out of his mind. And he was OK with that; given his job, boring was good. His day had been good. Until it wasn’t.

The computer beeped. It was the sort of beep it only used when it meant “I’ve found something and I don’t like it” – to be sure it wouldn’t be ignored, it disappeared the text the Sublieutenant had been studying in preparation for his promotions board and brought up what it had found. Later, Jee would curse himself for tempting the Gods; studying the procedures for an unidentified alien entry, and what should happen?

“Sir,” he said aloud, fingers flying through the air to manipulate the display. “We have an unidentified contact. Initial scan says UAC. No Imperial transponder. Unfamiliar configuration. I’m calling UAC intrusion,” with a gesture, he sent the data, priority 1, to the Anchorage Commander, who took only a moment to absorb and agree with the assessment.

“Thank you Jee. My compliments to Subadmiral Kir, and please alert her that we have a UAC in her patrol zone,” the Anchorage Commander’s tone was lazy. There were only two times Jee had seen him come alive – the first was when coffee was on offer, and the second was when he was sparring down in the rec room.

“I know,” Kir’s voice came over the communicator, tight and eager. That one lived for combat. “Whoever they are, they came in almost on top of us. Eight hundred klicks down the x and they’d have directly impacted the Wallace.” There was a wince in the room. That would’ve been very ugly. “Just the one though. We’re commencing detention procedures.”

Aboard her own vessel, the Subadmiral gestured to one of her officers, who began broadcasting at the stranger.

“Attention unidentified alien craft; this is HSMV Durance. You have entered restricted territory. Stand down and prepare for escort to Sengrin Anchorage. Failure to comply will be considered a hostile act. Acknowledge,” the officer said in lightly-accented English. His tone was cold, bordering on hostile. While he was speaking, Kir nodded to another; the synth placed a hand on its console, interfacing directly to the ship’s computer.

They all knew the drill; UACs got one warning. Two if the commanding officer was feeling generous. The Durance and its six escorts had already armed and powered their weapons, and were targeting the interloper, ready to destroy it if it did something stupid.

Please, do something stupid, Kir thought to herself.

[New Dornalia]

Somewhere outside Dornalian Space

The Daisy Duke and its crew had not quite expected this turn of events.

The crew of prospectors for the Collins Resource Exploration Company had taken a small ship out of Luxembourgia County--a demilitarized NX class vessel modified with scanning equipment, some probes onboard and room to haul cargo and a crew--and had expected to go prospecting with it. The job was meant to be simple. Rumors had come down the grapevine of a potential bonanza at a gas giant somewhere in deep space. The management knew that every prospector and headhunter for the Big Five would want a piece of that action. Dornie military and civilian industries had need of the resources within a gas giant, and one which would hopefully no one would miss--all the maps seemed to place it somewhere out of the way, and outside known powers' clutches. So, the management figured--why not take a chance and get to the Mother Lode first?

As it turned out, the eagerness of the Collins Company's attempts to secure the Mother Lode for itself had cause no shortage of grief. It was as if in throwing stones for skipping, the thrower had hit a hornets' nest. Now, all kinds of hostile ships had come out of the woodwork. They could run, but well, they were surrounded. And being a civilian ship, there was little to no defenses available.

Now, everyone on the bridge looked to the Captain of the Daisy Duke, a somewhat aging man with a Stetson who had clearly seen some years of hard living and whose voice rang with a twang which seemed to come straight from a Western. The stares were intense, and his reply stare was downright deadly. Getting up from his chair and walking over to the woman working the helm, the Stetson man said with a concerned, annoyed tone, “Janet….what in the ever lovin’ hell did you get us into!?”

The woman working the console, a somewhat mousy woman with cat’s ears on her head and a tail, said with a slightly panicky tone, “I got us to our destination, Cap. No one told me there’d be an entire army to greet us!”

Sighing, Cap sighed and took of his hat, holding it and playing with it in a kind of anger/nervousness management mechanism as he gritted his teeth. Then, Cap sighed and went, “Well, check the doggone coordinates again, Janet, because I’m not in the mood for games.” Wandering over to the tactical station, where he was greeted by an individual who looked more like an intelligent octopus than a sapient, “Cap” said, “Gonna need a status report ASAP, Jimbo. How many of ‘em are out there?”

Jimbo sighed now, and his tentacles appeared to mime the same sort of movements humans did when they were puzzled and scratching their heads. Jimbo then said, his voice somewhat rough hewn if reminiscient of the Boston Brahmins of old, “I wish I had better news, Captain. Seven ships, all armed, all aiming at us.”

“Can’t we just warp away and skeddadle out of here?” Cap said, trying to find some way out of the jam he had gotten the crew into.

“I’m afraid not. The way they’re pointing their guns at us, they’d kill us before we could have a chance to move.” Jimbo shook his head, and added, “Augie--look, I know you’re used to being able to get out of situations easily, but I think maybe we should….” His tentacle moved about as if to focus his thoughts, “...maybe actually talk to these people?”

The old cowboy stopped, sighed, and looked at the crew. The crew had ridden with him for years, and they had gotten into plenty of tight spots. But given the way things were, he wasn’t looking likely to escape anytime soon.

After an awkward pause, Augie sighed and said, “Gimme the mike, Jim. I’m gonna talk to them.”

He then picked up a small device, and a channel was opened to the surrounding ships.

“This is the M/V Daisy Duke, with the Collins Resource Extraction Company, out of the Colonial Republic of Earth. The name’s Captain August McClung. We’re prospectors, and we didn’t mean to do no trespassin’. We’re sorry for any trouble.”

[Macisikan]

Subadmiral Kir pressed down firmly on her impulse to atomise the intruder; the external security services operative back on the anchorage had already told her he wanted to interview the interlopers. One did not make an enemy of those people unless one was good and tired of life. Instead, she settled for glaring at her comms officer.

“M/V Daisy Duke,” he said, his voice icing over further. “This is your final warning. You have entered restricted territory; you will stand down and be escorted to Sengrin Anchorage. If you comply, you will not be harmed. If you fail to comply you will be destroyed. Acknowledge.”

While he delivered his threat to the Daisy Duke, Kir was talking to her sensor officer. “How long until we get company?” she asked.

“Commodore Durek’s group just jumped,” he replied. “They’ll be here in two minutes,” he hesitated slightly.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“They’re unarmed and civilian, ma’am. Isn’t this a bit…”

“No,” the Subadmiral replied, straightening. “There is no such thing as overkill; there is only open fire, and I’m reloading. We have no idea what these people want, what they are capable of, or where they are from.”

“Weapons; lock on the enemy ship’s reactor,” she ordered. “If we have to fire, I want them dead in one shot.”

[New Dornalia]

Captain McClung was a in a bit of a bind at this point. Part of him wanted to warp out of here and get out of dodge. The signals he was reading on Jim's computer certainly spoke to the option of simply fleeing using a fold jump, and there wasn't anything the locals could do to stop it. Then again, James had spoken regarding their prospects for escape. And then again, maybe McClung didn't want to be known as the man who was made to surrender to anyone.

Thinking quickly, McClung punched a few keys and spoke into the mic. "EngineerIng! Engineering! MS. SNOWY!"

***

Down below, a woman with wolves' ears and tail, with goggles over her forehead and coveralls over a well-toned, athletic frame sighed and picked up her own communications device with a simple, "Yes?" She had been called "Snowy" beforehand, and judging by her reaction she was not a fan of the nickname. Her name after all was Sniegowski--Magda Sniegowski. It was a perfectly good surname, and she didn't need people mangling it due to brevity's sake. Still, it hardly mattered because there were more pressing matters, evidently. With an annoyed tone and a Polish accent softened by years of working the spacelanes, Snowy said simply:

"Captain, what is it?"

"Ms. Snowy, how quickly can we get the FTL back online? We're surrounded by hostile ships who don't want us here, and I think we need a quick exit."

Rolling her eyes, the young woman said, "Hold on." Walking over to the FTL drive, she checked a few diagnostics and said, "It's going to take time to spool up again. We just jumped, and I need this thing damn good and ready--unless you want to jump into a star."

"Well, can you make it ready a bit faster!?" was the exasperated reply of Captain McClung. "We're surrounded by an entire navy that's fixin' to turn us into scrap metal, so we can't wait!"

Rolling her eyes again, Snowy said simply, not exactly too willing to make a decision that could end badly, "I could do that if this were a mil-spec drive. However, someone--and I'm not going to name names--cheaped out and got the budget simple fold drive for our ship. This, cheap, shitty FTL fold drive which was built using inferior parts--"

"Alright, alright," Captain McClung said, not pleased with Snowy's reply. "Look, I know you don't like ol'Betsy, but doggone it, she was the best we could get on short notice!"

Jimbo coughed and said, wondering why so much time was being spent on arguing with the Chief Engineer, "Captain? The looming danger of extinction?"

McClung paused, as Snowy launched into a very, very long string of Polish curses. Contemplating the situation, he then asked Snowy, "You sure it won't work?"

"I am sure!" Snowy replied, her tone quite tired of having to deal with this situation. "And I know we are under threat, but threats cannot make the spooling process any quicker--especially with these z-grade parts."

McClung then said, sighing, "Thanks, Ms. Snowy. Keep me posted, do what you can."

He then paused awkwardly for several minutes, cursing the day he decided to quickly acquire a used FTL drive from a police auction to replace a unit which had blown a gasket on short notice. McClung was under threat, and the locals seemed serious. Eventually, he then said to the crew over the comms, "Boys? GIrls? THis is the captain speaking. We're surrounded on all sides by hostile ships, and I'm gonna have to make the hardest decision of my career. I don't expect you folks to like it, but well, if it means not getting blown to smithereens because our FTL drive didn't work to get us out in time....so be it. I'm sorry."

Hailing the Subadmiral, McClung said, "This is McClung, speaking. We're standin' down. Have an escort come down and lead the way. Over."

[Macisikan]

The Subadmiral was disappointed. Before she could order a response, the comms station chimed; he wanted to talk to the alien captain. She felt a flash of pity; no-one wanted to be left in a room alone with one of them, and this McClung character was going to get a one-on-one interview. It would’ve been more merciful just to let her kill the lot of them.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Captain,” the voice coming over the Daisey Duke’s communicator had thawed; now it was merely sub-arctic. “We are sending you navigation information and the prescribed trajectory. Again, if you attempt to flee, we will destroy you. If you deviate, we will destroy you. If you experience navigational problems alert us immediately and we will render assistance.”

It was rather redundant, the navigation data. Sengrin Anchorage was hard to miss – it was easily the largest artificial construct in the system (a cursory scan would reveal that the first moon of VII had been used to make it. The whole moon.) and it was happily broadcasting its location.
Closer in, gliding placidly above the clouds, were the lifting stations; long trails of hydrogen and other gases extended up to them. The magnetic draws gave off a spectacular light show as they interacted with the planet’s own magnetic field.

The Dornies were, sadly, in no place to appreciate the scenery. No; the grey bulk of the Anchorage was what concerned them. Large, but utilitarian. Functional. Not unlike the warships; these people clearly preferred function over form when it came to their military. That cold voice had ordered that the captain and senior officers present themselves at the portside docking port; again, as long as they cooperated, no-one would be hurt.

When the airlock opened to reveal the locals, it revealed… not much at all. Humanoid, or apparently so. Concealed behind opaque masks that had a distinct skeletal expressions; all in black and red, they looked rather like a fascist army of the dead. A damned fascist army of the dead, right down to the red eyeglow. Someone had sat down and thought long and hard about what would make people feel like they were going to be tossed into the vacuum if they should blink at the wrong moment. But all that was secondary next to the weapons pointed at the Dornies. They didn’t relax even slightly.

“Captain McClung will kindly come with us,” a mechanical voice stated; heaven only knew which one of them had spoken. “The rest of you will remain here. The Captain will be interviewed and returned when the interview is complete; depending on the outcome, more of you may be interviewed or your ship inspected. Thank you for your cooperation.”

The Dornie was escorted down a featureless metal corridor to a featureless metal room; the only ornamentation was a furled flag standing in one corner; the banner of the Realm. The only furnishings were a metal table in the middle (bolted to the floor), a chair on either side, a camera in the corner, and a glass of water on the table. Two doors, opposite each other; and two of the guards on either side of each door. The captain’s hands had remained unbound; whoever these people were, they were confident he wouldn’t be a threat. Judging by the armour, and the sheer number there seemed to be here, they were right. One of them pointed soundlessly at the chair; the meaning was clear. Sit.

After a moment, the door opposite slid soundlessly open to admit another masked figure; this one wasn’t wearing the bulky armour of the others, but rather a more slimline version, and the eye pieces glowed blue rather than red. It was apparently male, judging by the chestpiece. Assuming it was a human. It took the seat opposite the captain.

“You have unlawfully entered our territory,” it said. The same flat, mechanical, voice. “Why?”

[New Dornalia]

The mood was somber, as was the setting. The Dornalians knew they were in for some deep, deep trouble, and right now Captain McClung wondered if it would not have been better to attempt the jump and be blown out of the sky. Now, the unknown locals were holding the senior staff captive in a central meeting room. And, they had asked McClung, stetson and all, to present himself for inquiry. The others--Jimbo, Snowy and all--wondered what would become of McClung. He wasn't necessarily the most refined individual after all.

Now, the Captain, perhaps striking an unusually colorful figure against the cold, drab featureless corridor and the interrogation room, sat on demand. Were it not for the gravity of the occasion, one would think this was a strange artistic performance, with a man who looked more prospector from a schizo-tech Western setting--complete with a ten-gallon hat, a denim jacket and jeans along with a button up shirt and a badge identifying himself as "August McClung"-- being confronted by frightening, anonymous figures in armor and masks. McClung was of course, as any good Dornie protagonist would be, unafraid. But he was a bit annoyed.

When the figure asked him for a reason why he came, McClung began to speak as calmly and as firmly as possible, with resolute eye contact with his interrogator and said:

"Well, shoot. Me and mine were just prospectin' for gas reserves in space--be they gas giants or gas clouds!"

With emphasis and a tone which dripped with veracity, McClung kept eye contact as he continued with, "We weren't intending on trespassin' on your land--no sir! We were just pursuing a lead for a mother lode full of gas--a find which would put me and mine in good stead with the Collins Resource Extraction Company! And until you folks brought out every ship in the quadrant to greet us and threatened to blow my ship to kingdom come, we didn't even know y'all existed."

Pausing, McClung then said, continuing his answer, partly resolute and partly pleading, "I mean, I don't know what else to tell you. We were prospectin' and we didn't know you fellas had claimed this space. Swear up'n'down on my mother's grave and her mother's grave, that's the truth, sure as the sun rises."

***

Luxembourgia County

The mood at the Collins Resource Extraction Company's Beta Quadrant-East Division HQ was also somber. Ships on contract with CREC typically reported in every so often--but the Daisy Duke was now late and worry was setting in. After all, August McClung was an eccentric, a throwback to the past and a boisterous man with a reputation for raising hell in port. McClung was also a diligent harvester and a man who was good about communications. Evidently, this was not the case this time, and now people were wondering what was up.

The instinct was to call the authorities to report a missing ship, along with their insurance company. The former for help in finding the ship, and the latter for paying out the inevitable death claims and property losses which would occur if someone found the Daisy Duke but wished they hadn't. And sure enough the right calls were made. But would anyone respond?

[Macisikan]

The figure stared back at the Dornie for a long minute, then sighed. “One moment,” it said, standing up and leaving. It was back less than a minute later; resuming its seat, it stared at him for another moment, perfectly still. Then it reached up to the underside of the mask and depressed a button; after a second, there was a hiss, and the mask detached. With quick, economical movements, the full headpiece was stripped away to reveal a young human male. Auburn hair cut short, white skin, deep green eyes, square jaw. In any other circumstances, with any other expression, he would have been handsome. That cold glare did not sit well on those features.

“You’re telling the truth, or what you believe to be the truth,” his voice was neutral; carefully controlled. “You didn’t know this system was off-limits, and you made an honest mistake. On behalf of His Serene Majesty’s Imperial Federal Government, I apologise to you and your crew for the inconvenience we have caused you,” he surveyed the other. “We will escort you to the edge of the planetary gravity well, where I must ask you to leave. Immediately. Please. In accordance with law, you will be compensated for your time,” he stood.

Crossing the room, he opened the door behind the Dornie. “After you, Captain.”

Any force-user would have sensed… nothing. Nothing but a tight sense of control. From him anyway. The guards were blazing torches of unrelenting hostility – hostility that was barely tethered by an iron discipline.

The youth led the captain back to the Daisy Duke, not putting his faceplate back on. He stopped the Captain before he could return.

“You are here illegally; but everyone is allowed one mistake,” he said. “You and your crew will leave unharmed, secure in your persons and possessions. You came here gas prospecting; so we shall, as compensation for the inconvenience, fill your tanks with fusion fuel. Tell your countrymen to stay away from this system and those that lie beyond it, or we will make them wish that they could die.”

With that last comment, he stood aside and gestured for the captain to leave.

[New Dornalia]

With that, McClung nodded, and said, "Thank you." He seemed to back away from the man with more than a little unease, before quietly gesturing for his crew to enter the Daisy Duke and get out of there with all deliberate speed.

When the crew warped back to Luxembourgia County, McClung would be greeted by no less than an ICBA Cutter--one of many in the region due to increased pirate activity out of the Dead Man's Gate--and flagged for questioning. As it turned out, the Collins Company's worried calls for help had indeed reached the authorities, and the presence of the Daisy Duke called off the sirens and the missing persons alerts. What it did not call off however, were the line of questions directed at Captain McClung. Out of a mixture of worry and anger at having used up precious taxpayer dollars and time, the ICBA Visit, Board, Search and Seizure Team arrived onboard clad in M1 Helmets, Powered Combat Vests and Powered Exoskeletons with blasters in hand, interviewing the captain about just what happened. And as sure as the sun rose over any habitable world of the Republic.....McClung truthfully told his story of captivity, and his brush with death.

Before long, the news filtered to the relevant people....and someone decided to send someone else to investigate.

Several Weeks Later

It was rare to see a Heinlein-class ship in this part of the galaxy. Sleek, black, angry looking like daggers and armed with enough firepower to host an Explosion Day block party for an entire quadrant, the Heinleins usually went deep into places like the Andromeda Galaxy or Skyriver Galaxy or even other parts of the Milky Way, using their armaments, multi-vector mode and other such things to perform both recon and hold their own if the cavalry wasn't coming any time soon. In contrast, Naval Corps of Engineers tended to use Constitution-Farrell refits or other vessels to do their exploration and a fair bit of snooping if ERIS decided to ask them to handle a sensitive task.

However, JRCCC and the President felt that a showing of the flag was required here. And, as it happened, the nearest flag-bearer was the CRS James Blish.

The Blish had stopped off for shore leave in New Kazakhstan. The Blish had just returned from a stellar survey in the far reaches of Beta--typical work for people getting new crews up to code--when it received orders to divert to Luxembourgia County before proceeding to what the wags had dubbed "McClung's Folly." Or more precisely, Sector Bravo-Charlie-Six-Four, in the Corps' impenetrable bureaucratese.

Captain Elgin Park--a member of the illustrious Park Family--had no objections to this. As a young military man, he felt compelled to obey the assignment not only because it was his job, but also because he had joined Naval Corps of Engineers to get some adventure. So far, moving people into somewhat dangerous areas whilst exploring for science things didn't seem all that adventurous. But investigating a sector of space with a faction which really liked its privacy and had little qualm about murdering interlopers? Hot damn! This was what he signed up for.

So, as it happened, the Blish had time to scope the system where McClung had gone. Their more sophisticated--well, everything inclusive of sensor suites that could detect the pimple on a dust mite's nose--were scanning around, hanging around the edge of the system and trying to stay out of the way of local sensor nets.

Of course, space had its own reminders of risk. And the ship's Gracie AI unit, squinting at the screen and wearing what looked like a red long-sleeved shirt with an unusual triangle shaped badge on her chest with a black miniskirt (such was the wonder of holographic technology), looked at the sensor readings with an intensive squint and a frown. Captain Park, sitting in the captain's chair and wearing a much more practical working uniform with appropriate officer's badges (and a patch on the upper arm which had the Naval Corps of Engineers' logo involving a model of the atom, a hammer, and a spear inside of a shield in the middle of a Dornalian Eagle, over a Blue Sky White Sun motif), looked at Gracie and asked, raising his eyebrow and not distracted by the 1960s throwback clothing Gracie had on, asked curious, "What's up?"

"Sensors are detecting a debris field ahead....a rather extensive one by the looks of it."

Park leaned forward, stroking his chin as he asked, "Well, what sort of debris? Asteroid? Spatial anomaly? Sensor sweeps didn't pick up many asteroids here so far."

Gracie squinted some more, and then whimsically whipped out a box that beeped and whistled as she waved it in the air, fiddling with the controls. An audible, "Hmmmm" could be heard, as Gracie carried on for a few more moments. She then turned around, with Park able to see her eyes turn to the size of dinner plates.

"Those aren't asteroids."

Park wondered what had Gracie spooked, and looked at the sensor logs for himself. He then looked up and went, "That's a ship."

"What used to be a ship. Looks to have been shot down a while ago too, according to the scans. I'd have to say at least as far back as the height of the Displacement."

Park leaned back and wondered out loud, "The Displacement. The fucking Great Displacement? Well. Whoever owns this system doesn't really like outsiders." Pausing, he then said, "Maintain current course, I don't want us getting too close. Given what we've just detected however, I get the feeling trouble's coming to us soon enough."

[Macisikan]

Two days after the incident…

SC.R 148 C/Aug VII 4 : Resolution to Refer

In the name of His Serene Majesty the Sovereign, and of His Serene Highness the Crown Prince-Regent,
The Security Council of the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan:

Notes the incident in S 45 68-13 System was handled in accordance with the protocols laid down by this body and its subordinate Councils under the authority of S 43 C/Aug VII 2 as amended;

Commends the local commanders for resolving the situation without any loss of life, and approves their decisions in in that incident;

Notes that it is likely that the sending nation of UAC-33871405 will dispatch a vessel representing its government to investigate the matter;

Desires that such an eventuality be handled diplomatically in the first instance;

1. Refers the matter to the External Affairs Council for their action.

Adopted unanimously in the Conurbation of Saragova in the Year of the Red King 3281

---

...and now; at Sengrin Anchorage

The Anchorage was a military base. With the full military sensor suite, and the paranoia of an installation that had recently seen an incursion. Thus...

“Well?” the Force Commander sounded positively sleepy as he peered at the fuzzy image coming in from the system’s edge. Next to him was an elegant woman clad in sensible black; the ERC had posted her here a week earlier. The Commander approved; she stayed out of the way of his work. And had a surprisingly large repertoire of dirty jokes.

“It’s got a similar configuration to the UAC we expelled,” came the response from Sengrin’s AI. “98% chance it’s from the same country; only this is government. Naval. Would you like a threat assessment?”

“Not unless it becomes overtly threatening, instead of skulking around d the edge,” he said. “Have they found the debris field?”

“It would be very hard for them not to find it, given its trajectory and orbit,” the Envoy murmured.

“Envoy Kilardre is correct, sir. Any ship with decent sensors would be able to pick it up; especially as some parts are still irradiated,” the AI confirmed.

The Force Commander nodded. Colonial was going to scoop the stuff up eventually, but not for a while yet. And Fleet already had taken what it wanted. In the meantime…

“Well, we’re due for a group rotation. Sengrin, broadwave the usual signal; make sure our little guest out there picks up on it,” he glanced at the Envoy, who nodded. “Let’s see if they react...”

TRANSMISSION LOG:
HSM Fleet Anchorage of Sengrin to Patrol Groups: Report Current Status and Prepare for Rotation.

HSMV Durance, Patrol Group Oen to Sengrin: Status normal, patrol complete

HSMV Virkarl, Patrol Group Da to Sengrin: Status normal, patrol complete

HSMV Lui Shi-Tang, Patrol Group Tri to Sengrin: Status normal, patrol complete

HSMV Kendra, Patrol Group Cethir to Sengrin: Status normal, patrol complete

HSM Fleet Anchorage of Sengrin to Patrol Groups: Rotation commences in five minutes.

[New Dornalia]

CRS James Blish

Gracie-Blish, as the boffins at Sengrin predicted, would pick up the signal being broadcasted. The AI perked up and could be seen pulling out a Bluetooth headset from out of nowhere, putting it on and squinting as she listened in with a focused glare into space. Tapping her chin, Gracie seemed lost in thought as Park wondered what was going on with his AI companion.

"Something up, Grace?"

Gracie paused, putting up a single index finger and holding for a few moments. A long, pregnant pause began, where she paced around a bit under Park's puzzled gaze. Gracie could be heard to mutter under her breath, as if considering her options out loud, "No, that can't be right....no....that's not likely.....let's see what tactical and comms have to say....." After a bit, Captain Park coughed again, somewhat impatiently and with a look on his face that made it clear he needed some sort of answer. Gracie turned and regained her composure, putting away the Bluetooth headset with her left hand into hammerspace and made a gesture with her right. The gesture with her right projected a transcript of the transmission and played back the audio, with Gracie commenting simply, "We've got this transmission, broadcasting rather loudly and clearly."

Park put his hand onto his chin, and it was his turn to adopt a contemplative gaze as he heard the transmission. He then asked Gracie, "Tactical pick up anything?"

"Besides the debris cloud, nothing much else yet." Gracie then folded her arms and went, "I'm not liking this though. Whoever's broadcasting this wants us to know we're being watched. Maybe even in someone's crosshairs."

Park nodded, and then flicked a switch on his chair.

"All hands, this is the Captain. Yellow Alert, all personnel to stations, prepare for potential action."

With that, a klaxon sounded, and around the ship people began getting into a sort of somewhat paranoid mood. Who or what was out there?

One thing was for sure--Park would find out. He then got up and said, walking over to the Helm, "Helm, keep us on current course but bring us closer a little bit, I want sensor pings for any hostiles." Turning to Tactical, Park then ordered, "Maintain full readiness, keep your finger on the shields and weapons controls. Anyone of those gentlemen comes at us, I want us to be ready." Turning to another individual working a console to the side, Park then said, "Comms, if any of them approaches, I want you to attempt to hail them, and identify ourselves as the CRS James Blish, Colonial Republican Naval Corps of Engineers. Tell them we're investigating a recent incident involving Dornalian citizens, and that we mean them no harm."

WIth that, the Blish would continue its scans and explorations of the area, moving a bit further within the system as it continued to survey the worlds around it--keeping an eye out for the management.

[Macisikan]

Sengrin Anchorage

“Well…?” the Commander asked eventually.

“A slight change in course bringing them deeper into the system, sir, but no other outward response,” Sengrin’s projected avatar was a marked contrast to the Gracie; a very severe-looking woman with her hair pulled back, clad in an ISS uniform buttoned up to the throat.

Envoy Kiladre suppressed a sigh. “Being circumspect didn’t work,” she observed; there was movement next to her. The cold young man who had expelled McClung was standing at her shoulder, eating an apple; there was no trace of the agent McClung had met now. The two exchanged a glance and he shrugged.

“They’re too far away,” he said. “I can’t even tell if anyone’s on it from this distance. Could be fully automated for all I know from here. Not likely though. Sensors say it’s not massing enough to be fully solid.”

The Commander thought for a moment; “Sengrin, what’s our next inbound traffic?” he asked.

“An assessment craft from Colonial is due to arrive to look at the inner system again in just over three hours,” the AI promptly replied, relaying the information to the Commander. The three exchanged a glance; Colonial captains were notoriously jumpy, but also notoriously oblivious.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the agent said between bites. “As long as they don’t look up. But we should keep our guest out of the inner system; knowing how the universe works we’d have a hyper-collision.”

“Well,” the commander said, wincing at the thought. “Let’s see if we can get them to come forward; Sera Kiladre, you’re up. Sengrin; manual transmission protocol please.”

“Manual transmission protocol ready,” Sengrin replied. “Break a leg, Sera.”

Kildare smiled slightly, then pulled forward a microphone; it was an anachronism, but it had been found to help focus people’s minds if they were talking into something other than the empty air. Sengrin’s avatar drifted into her field of vision, counting down from three with her fingers in a time-honoured tradition. The psion stopped chewing.

“Attention unidentified alien craft,” Kildare said when the synth reached zero and pointed at her, “you have entered restricted territory. Kindly state your identity and intentions,” she stepped back to wait; long minutes for the message to crawl to the interloper, minutes for them to consider and respond, and then minutes for the reply to crawl back.

Light was just so slow.

[New Dornalia]

"...and here we go."

Captain Park had expected this sort of thing. He looked to be surprisingly at ease, stroking his chin and showing no sign of even the tiniest drop of flopsweat as the tension seemed to be growing. If anything, Gracie seemed to be slightly more excitable, wondering, "Well? What do we tell them?"

Park's reply was a simple, "Hand me the gertrude, Grace," using the somewhat peculiar, archaic word for the communicators onboard a Dornalian vessel. No one could tell where it came from, although the linguists claimed it was from the pre-Apocalypse era. He then added, "Open a channel to whoever just pinged us. I'll field this."

Kildare would thus receive the reply:

"All relevant authorities, this is the Colonial Republican Ship James Blish, Captain Elgin Park of the Colonial Republican Navy speaking. Be advised, we are here on a mission with peaceful intentions, namely to investigate an incident involving a ship known as the M/V Daisy Duke. Our intentions are peaceful, I say again. Let's keep it that way."

[Macisikan]

Back on the station, a five-thaler note changed hands.

“Told you it would be the government of the same mob,” the agent was smirking at one of the comms techs.

“Arrogant, aren’t they?” the Commander murmured. Those last five words were a threat; every instinct he had was screaming for him to forcibly eject them and summon reinforcements from the core. But this wasn’t his call; and the Envoy, he knew, had very different inclinations.

“Captain Park, I am Siobhan Kildare, an Envoy of His Serene Majesty’s Imperial Federal Government,” she transmitted. “As I stated initially, you have entered restricted territory; I must therefore ask, if you are not on a diplomatic mission to open relations with the Realm, that you withdraw at your earliest convenience,” she paused for a moment. “As a gesture of non-hostile intent, we will provide you with data relevant to the lawful detention of the M/V Daisy Duke.”

At a gesture, Sengrin transmitted a data package; audio recordings of the whole conversation, right down to the agent’s provision of compensation to McClung and his chilling threat at the end. Two documents were also appended; the first began “Be it enacted by the Sovereign’s Most Serene Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate and the Imperial Federal Legislative Assemblies of the Realm in this present Parliament Assembled, and by authority of the same, as follows:-- An Act for the proper regulation of the entry of foreign nationals…” – the full text of S 43 C/Aug VII 2, better known as the Whitelist Act. It had a number of appendixes, one of which listed several nations who were, by virtue of diplomatic representation, exempt from the provisions of the Act. Another explicitly prohibited anyone who wasn’t a citizen of a nation listed in the other appendix from entering the Realm. Yet another was a regulation that declared the detention, interrogation, and deportation of foreign nationals in breach of the act to be lawful and required.

The second document was the Security Council directive.
___________________________________

[New Dornalia]

The package of data was certainly well received by the Blish. Gracie began analyzing reams upon reams of data, the documents appearing in front of her in the form of a manila folder that she opened to reveal a number of documents which she could be seen speed reading as she hummed. The documents were a grabbag of not only relevant things such as the tapes from the interrogation, but items which did not seem relevant at first glance. Namely, legal texts. Park himself perused the documents briefly as they came in, and didn't give them much thought initially. Luckily, Gracie had the presence of mind to analyze them, and declare, "Hmm. I think they're trying to tell us something."

"What do you mean?" Park asked.

"Well, if I had to guess--and I'm not an attorney--that given the documents they sent us, I think we'd have a very good incentive to indicate we're a diplomatic mission."

To that, Park nodded as Gracie provided the documents for him to read. So far, everything stacked up in favor of simply saying they were on a diplomatic mission. Besides, as far as he knew, Naval Corps of Engineers's ship leaders tended to be empowered to act diplomatically on behalf of the Republic. It had been so in the old days of Naval exploration, and Naval Corps of Engineers continued the tradition in the finest way possible--especially where his ship was involved. Still, the government had technically sent them on a mission to investigate a crime, not open relations...and yet to not engage in diplomacy would be to likely compromise the ability for the Dorns to investigate the incident fully and also contradict the Security Council resolution.

Reading quickly, Park decided to pick up the comms and radio back, perhaps out of survival or some other reason:

"Envoy Kildare, this is Captain Park. I thank you for your data transfer regarding the Daisy Duke and other matters regarding our investigation of the Duke matter. Upon review, I believe I should advise that I do have the necessary credentials to engage in diplomatic discussion per the Security Council Directive you had sent to us, and am available to begin discussions to open relations between the Republic and the Realm at your earliest convenience. Please advise on how to proceed."

[Macisikan]

The Commander blinked at that.

“I had Sengrin include the full Whitelist Act,” Kildare said, with a tight smile. “As you well know, Commander, the law requires we expel these interlopers, unless they are on a diplomatic mission; my mandate from the ERC allows me to formally open negotiations. And that will mean we get them into a room.”

At that last sentence, the Agent looked up sharply. “Envoy-” he was cut off.

“Agent Duchandra, you will be present, of course,” she said. He relaxed marginally.

“We all know that they aren’t on a diplomatic mission; they were sent to find out what happened here,” she continued. “But Sir Adri would like us to not start a war, and unlike the last round of interlopers, this is a state. Not a horde seeking to take our homes from us.”

She nodded to Sengrin’s avatar.

“Captain Park,” she transmitted. “The standard practice is to agree upon some neutral territory where we can meet to properly negotiate, seeing if we can normalise relations and explore a formal agreement to avoid any aggressive encounters. But I’m afraid this system does not lend itself to that,” there was an understatement; the only solid surfaces would either flash-fry everyone or freeze them solid. “So therefore, I would like to invite you, and an honour guard of twelve persons along with as many aides and assistants as you need, aboard His Serene Majesty’s Fleet Anchorage of Sengrin, that we may discuss these matters in person.”

The Commander had raised an eyebrow. Six was customary; twelve was a significant concession.

Along with the transmission was a simple burst of data; Sengrin was guessing that there was another AI out there and had a very simple request: an image and specifications for your nation’s symbol – the flag, for example, if you have one – would be appreciated. The proper forms must be observed.

---

Codex: The Whitelist Act

The law passed in the forty-third year of the reign of Constantinus VII replaced and repealed earlier laws governing the entry of foreigners to the Realm; previously there was a blacklist, a list of nations whose citizens were forbidden entry. S 43 C/Aug VII 2 reversed that; only the nations on the list would be allowed entry. There were several stages of activation; at its most benign, the Act prohibits non-embassy nations’ citizens from landing on the core worlds, except in cases of emergency, diplomatic missions, or express invitation. Increasing levels of restriction can be activated by the relevant Minister, or executive authority. At its most extreme, it absolutely prohibits the entry of all foreign nationals into the Realm and its domains, with only two exceptions; an invitation from the government, and an invitation from the Crown.

The Minister of International Relations activated the first provisions – locking foreign nationals out of the Realm’s holdings on Midgard, just three months after the Act came into effect. Over the following years, the level of restriction was ratcheted up, with the Senate occasionally amending the Act to make it even more pervasive. Today the power to determine what level of restriction applies lies with the Security Council; diplomatic missions, and persons who have entered with the express permission of the Imperial Federal Government or of the Crown, are the only exemptions – and those diplomatic missions are banned from the core entirely (absent an invitation from the Crown, that is).

Getting onto the list of permitted nations is at once easy and difficult; easy, because all that’s needed is to exchange Ambassadors and establish embassies (the Realm is a bit old-fashioned in that regard). Difficult, because you have to get them to agree. Even then, movement remains restricted, dependent entirely on visas being granted in advance of entry.

Around a decade after its enactment, the constitutionality of the Act was challenged by a refugee advocate group, which alleged that the Act conflicted with the provisions of the Third Instrument of Governance; the government’s lawyers argued that provisions under the Refugee Act and the Legion Act met the obligations of the government to the relevant Charter provisions by providing paths to citizenship for refugees. The Courts agreed with the government, the Sovereign refused to hear the appeal, and the Act remains in effect today.

Appendixes of the Whitelist Act (as amended):
1. The usual list of amendments and dates they came into effect
2. The list of the nations that have embassy representation
3. Directive of the Minister for International Relations activating the provisions banning foreign nationals from nations lacking embassy representation entering the Realm (superseded; only preserved for the sake of historical and legal record)
4. Ruling from the Court of Lords upholding the Act
5. Mandate from the Senate enabling the Security Council to use “commensurate force” to uphold the Act.
6. Directive from the Security Council activating the provisions banning foreigners from nations lacking an embassy from entering the Realm. Part 2 mandates the detention, interrogation, and deportation of foreign nationals in breach of the Act; Part 3 of explicitly provides for lethal force.

[New Dornalia]

With the reply transmission, it didn't take long for Park to send a quick reply consisting simply of, "Acknowledged. We will come as soon as possible."

He then got up from the captain's chair, and turned to Gracie. With a straightforward, no nonsense tone, Park ordered:

"Grace, get together twelve men from the Marine contingent for an honor guard, in full dress blues. Also, let the command staff know to assemble in Hangar Bay A, also in full dress blues. Have the flight crew get one of the Pelicans prepped. And if there's any offensive artwork--tell them it's gotta go. I need to make a good impression here."

Gracie nodded, and added, "Did you need me to come along?"

"Nope," Park replied with a matter of fact tone. "I need you to mind the house. Someone has to keep things going."

Gracie seemed to welcome this news with a grin, with her holographic form's somewhat skimpy uniform growing with additional bits of uniform piping and flourishes and a knee length skirt, along with rank pips and what appeared to be a crisp, formal salute. A hearty "Will do, cap!" filled with enthusiasm about taking on a tough job could be heard, although Park wondered what the fuss was about. Gracie-Blish had taken command before whenever the Captain and the command staff had to be out on business.

And with that, the preparations began. Amongst the preparations was an action on Gracie-Blish's part. It took a bit of fumbling, but Gracie-Blish produced not the old War Banner, but the modern Dornalian flag. Park and the others were still getting used to the Modern Dornalian Flag, with its subdued blues and focus on the Blue Sky White Sun With a Red Eagle. But it was a muted, aesthetic banner which would do quite nicely.

As for the Dornalian delegation itself? The delegation which would arrive on Sengrin was quite nice.

The Pelican landing craft which would enter Sengrin Anchorage would actually not be that exciting, being a simple camouflage paint scheme with various markings indicating it belonged to the Dornalian Navy, including a low-visibility Blue Sky White Sun Red Eagle on the nose.

The contents were a bit more exciting. Out of the back came twelve Marines in full dress uniforms with M1 Helmets assembling in two neat rows, with laspistols only standing at attention. Coming out of the Pelican soon after would be Captain Park himself, wearing his dress uniform--as was his Command Staff--and walking in a disciplined order. When they encountered the right people, Park saluted them and said simply, "Captain Elgin Park, Colonial Republican Navy Naval Corps of Engineers." Putting his arm down, he then asked, "I understand you wished to discuss business?"

[Macisikan]

When the Macisikani come to negotiate, always three there are; a diplomat who leads the discussion, an expert like a lawyer, or a military attaché, who advises, and… the other one.

Park and his people emerged to find a double-row of the Anchorage’s crew in full dress uniform standing on either side of a rolled-out carpet – a dark blue one with silver trim as befits a military envoy. Imperial Space Service in dress reds on his left, the Mobile Surface Service in dress greens on the right. Strictly speaking, the colour was the only difference; and it was confined to the trim of otherwise black uniforms. As Park’s party stepped forward, they saluted, hands to brim of their hats; a stance they held until he reached the end, where Kildare, the Commander, and Agent Duchandra were all waiting.

“Honours to your House, Captain Elgin Park,” Kildare said. “I bid you greetings in the name of His Most Serene Majesty, Constaninus Uí deMakra, Seventh of that Name; by the Grace of God and Will of the People Cenobirach of the Realm of Macisikan, and of His other dominions and domains, Sovereign. I am Siobhan Kildare, envoy from the External Relations Council. This is Force Commander Samtery Aviskali, commanding officer of His Serene Majesty’s Anchorage of Sengrin, and this is Nefero Duchandra, Agent of the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand,” when she indicated the commander, he returned the salute; when she indicated the Agent, he merely nodded, those bright eyes moving from face to face.

“If you will please follow me, we have prepared a room where we may discuss business, just through here,” the room in question was right behind her – literally. One door was all that separated them. The three Macisikani led Park’s group into the room, where they were invited to sit on one side of a conference table. There was a significant imbalance at this point, with Park and his command staff on one side, and the three representatives of the Realm on the other.

There were little touches in the room; the flag of the Colonial Republic of Earth hung on a flagpole behind the Dornalians, with the flag of the Realm behind the Macisikani. Both of the flags were displayed, rather than furled.

“Is everyone seated comfortably?” Kildare asked. “Yes? Good, then we’ll begin,” she focused on Park. “Let me be frank; we want you gone. This system, and every system in the Realm, is off-limits. We don’t want visitors. We don’t want guests. We don’t want traders. And we certainly do not want another inundation by so-called ‘migrants’. However, you represent a state; states can be negotiated with, and the Security Council wants this matter resolved bloodlessly. I therefore apologise for the rather forceful manner with which the captain and crew of the Daisy Duke were treated, though we did provide them with compensation for their time and trouble. I also am empowered to offer a formal pact of non-aggression between the Colonial Republic of Earth, and the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan, to secure peace between us, and to ensure the mutual respect of both our nations’ borders and claims.”

[New Dornalia]

“Is everyone seated comfortably?” Kildare asked. “Yes? Good, then we’ll begin,” she focused on Park. “Let me be frank; we want you gone. This system, and every system in the Realm, is off-limits. We don’t want visitors. We don’t want guests. We don’t want traders. And we certainly do not want another inundation by so-called ‘migrants’. However, you represent a state; states can be negotiated with, and the Security Council wants this matter resolved bloodlessly. I therefore apologise for the rather forceful manner with which the captain and crew of the Daisy Duke were treated, though we did provide them with compensation for their time and trouble. I also am empowered to offer a formal pact of non-aggression between the Colonial Republic of Earth, and the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan, to secure peace between us, and to ensure the mutual respect of both our nations’ borders and claims.”

Park nodded, acknowledging the very real compensation as well as the fact that in no uncertain terms that they wanted outsiders to steer clear of their sovereign space. Park knew he would need to tread carefully given the significance of the occasion. The Captain made eye contact with the Realm's three representatives, respectfully keeping his attention equally between the three of them as he began to speak on behalf of the Dornalian people. Lest he be seen as presumptuous and utterly out of his depth, Park declared, "I see. Well, luckily, per the laws of the CRE, my status in the Naval Corps of Engineers does provide me with the authority to make reasonable deals on behalf of the people of the Colonial Republic. Which should work out nicely for the proposal you just made."

Park continued with a simple, "Well, I thank you for the apology regarding the Daisy Duke. I think I can also say that we are grateful that compensation was rendered for their troubles."

Park then paused and mulled over the terms of the proposed non-aggression pact, adding simply as he pulled out a tablet and a stylus and began to write down notes as he continued to both maintain eye contact with Kildare and company, adding, "So, as I understand, Envoy Kildare, you propose to have a Non-Aggression Pact between the CRE and the Realm, which I understand to include mutually refraining from attacks on each others' nations, as well as to maintain respect for the territorial sovereignty of all participants in this agreement."

Park then added in a somewhat formal, yet pleasant tone, "Now, let me be clear. It is the policy of the Republic to respect the territorial sovereignty of other states. As such, I think we can all agree that a non-aggression pact would be a good idea which basically respects the integrity of our states. Good fences make good neighbors, as they say in parts of the Republic. That being said, I think it would be a good idea to include another provision to that basic agreement confirming the ability to perform limited diplomatic and travel activities consistent with the Whitelist Act documentation you provided."

[Macisikan]

While Aviskali was impassive, Duchanda watched Park with bright eyes, drinking in every detail as though his life depended on memorising everything the Dornalian said. Kildare’s body language was the most open; not hostile, not quite that of someone who is performing an unpleasant task. Merely… guarded. She slightly relaxed when he informed them of the Republic’s policies.

“The usual terms of a non-aggression pact also stipulate that the parties must not enter into alliances aimed against the other party,” she said. “We do, of course, understand you may have pre-existing commitments, so there is provision for that, and the only constraint on them is that whoever is in the alliance must do their best to settle the matter peacefully before hostilities break out. In other words; if we are in an alliance we must do our best to secure peace between you and them, and vice-versa.

“Now, as regards your proposal, absolutely not,” she held up a hand to forestall the objection. “No embassy, no entry. That is the rule. For such an alteration to be made to the pact, that’s a material change away from the authorised model, so the result would have to go to the Senate, which will not agree. But, authorising the exchange of ambassadors is another question entirely; that is in the hands of the ERC. If we enter into a diplomatic agreement, and establish embassies, visas can be issued to your citizens permitting entry. Your diplomats would also be able to assist any of your citizens who found themselves in… shall we say, difficulties with the Garda. It would also assist smoothing over any, ah, difficulties our governments might have,” she leaned back slightly.

“The usual provisions around the diplomatic immunity of the Ambassador, extraterritoriality of the chancery, and so on, do apply, of course. Though there are strict limits on weapons; your Ambassador would be under our protection, our guarantee of their safety. And we expect the same of you.”

None of the Macisikani were taking notes; not physical ones anyway.

[New Dornalia]

Park nodded at Kildare's statement, which really only confirmed that the management really hated the idea of foreign types running around unsupervised. The non-aggression pact seemed fairly straightforward, but it seemed there was a bit of a misunderstanding regarding Park's words.

Something had them spooked, for sure. He could be seen writing and taking notes, as he had been doing the last time around. A few seconds' pause, and then Park said, nodding and looking about the room--and certainly indicating he had actually read the documents given--"Well, an exchange of Ambassadors was what I had in mind, actually. As I recall, the Whitelist Act discusses diplomatic representation. At any rate...."

Park continued with a simple, "...I agree with the idea would be that the Realm and the CRE enter into an agreement just as you specified. We enter into an agreement, and establish embassies in our respective nations. That seems sensible. As you said, it would provide a useful point of contact for any difficulties, particularly between our two governments. As for your last statement, be assured that my government would work to not only provide reciprocal privileges like diplomatic immunity, so on, we would also work to protect your Ambassador and diplomatic personnel."

[Macisikan]

Kildare smiled slightly. Yes, the Act mentioned diplomatic representation, but only to the extent that it said people from nations with that weren’t automatically illegal. What Park hadn’t seen was two other items of legislation; the first was the External Representation Act, the one that governed the establishment of embassies, and explicitly forbade folding an embassy agreement into any other treaty. The second was Rights of Agency (Foreign Citizens) Act, which explicitly said you didn’t have any if you hadn’t arrived legally. It was all part of an interlocking web of legislation that effectively said that if your nation didn’t have an ambassador, you were an outlaw the instant you entered territory claimed by the Realm. To say the management really hated the idea of foreign types running around unsupervised was to put it very mildly.

“Excellent,” she said aloud. “We have basic instruments that come pre-authorised; all that is required is for your government to signal that they are acceptable,” she tilted her head towards the ceiling, and said, in a slightly louder voice, “Sengrin, could you please transmit the model non-aggression pact and the standard embassy agreement to our guests? And have a hardcopy brought to Captain Park.”

“Of course, Envoy. Transmission… complete,” Sengrin’s voice came from the ceiling; the envoy thanked the station AI, and then continued talking to Park.

“I presume your government will want to look the documents over,” Kildare said. “I know you are empowered to negotiate on their behalf, but politicians like to have a read for themselves of what they’re about to be committed to,” while she was talking a door behind her opened to admit a junior officer, who brought her the documents in question. She took them from him, thanked him, and then handed them over the table to Park; bright and glossy, with the image of the Realm’s flag on the cover.

“Here you are Captain; freshly made. And they’re still warm,” she said.

[New Dornalia]

Kildare smiled slightly. Yes, the Act mentioned diplomatic representation, but only to the extent that it said people from nations with that weren’t automatically illegal. What Park hadn’t seen was two other items of legislation; the first was the External Representation Act, the one that governed the establishment of embassies, and explicitly forbade folding an embassy agreement into any other treaty. The second was Rights of Agency (Foreign Citizens) Act, which explicitly said you didn’t have any if you hadn’t arrived legally. It was all part of an interlocking web of legislation that effectively said that if your nation didn’t have an ambassador, you were an outlaw the instant you entered territory claimed by the Realm. To say the management really hated the idea of foreign types running around unsupervised was to put it very mildly.

“Excellent,” she said aloud. “We have basic instruments that come pre-authorised; all that is required is for your government to signal that they are acceptable,” she tilted her head towards the ceiling, and said, in a slightly louder voice, “Sengrin, could you please transmit the model non-aggression pact and the standard embassy agreement to our guests? And have a hardcopy brought to Captain Park.”

“Of course, Envoy. Transmission… complete,” Sengrin’s voice came from the ceiling; the envoy thanked the station AI, and then continued talking to Park.

“I presume your government will want to look the documents over,” Kildare said. “I know you are empowered to negotiate on their behalf, but politicians like to have a read for themselves of what they’re about to be committed to,” while she was talking a door behind her opened to admit a junior officer, who brought her the documents in question. She took them from him, thanked him, and then handed them over the table to Park; bright and glossy, with the image of the Realm’s flag on the cover.

“Here you are Captain; freshly made. And they’re still warm,” she said.

Park nodded, and took the forms in hand. The Realm's representatives certainly had things down to a science, and there really wasn't much left to do really. All the work was for the Dornalians to do--the forms came preapproved on the Realm's end and it was obvious the Realm was making it highly suggested the Dornie Government be consulted first.

Park could only say, at this point, "Right. I will send these documents to my superiors, and we will see about their response."

***'

Sometime later, Park and company would return with two things.

One was a pile of documents. The documents would include the forms Envoy Kildare had submitted to Captain Park, only now they would be signed by President Haggar and Secretary of State Norton Simons, with notary public stamps for that extra degree of authenticity. Attached would be an excerpt from the proceedings of the Senate, which amongst all the legalese would essentially indicate assent to the agreement, and yes it had its own notary public stamps and an affidavit attesting to its authenticity. If Kildare was worried about the Dorns reading it and not comprehending what they were getting into, those concerns would be put to rest.

If the Realm was prepared--then the Dornalians were arguably just as prepared, and surprisingly quick. Even Captain Park was surprised. He was used to scenes of Congressmen engaging in fistfights and really slow debate.

Two was the good news, as explained by Captain Park. With a polite nod and an upbeat tone, Park could be heard explaining, "I've come to inform you that after consultation in the Senate and with the State Department and even the President, I am pleased to note we have agreed to your terms. State Dept. is picking out an Ambassador at the moment, and will send all appropriate information as needed."

[Macisikan]

In the interval when Park wasn’t in the room, Kildare and her fellows also withdrew – the topic of discussion, of course, the visitors.

“Well?” the question came from both Aviskali and Kildare simultaneously.

“He was willing to fight, I think,” Duchanda said. “He’s capable of it up here,” he tapped the side of his head. “But he was happy not to I believe. Pleased with the outcome.”

Aviskali nodded. “That’s what I thought – glad you confirmed it though.”

“I owe more to the weekly poker games than to the Talent,” Duchanda replied. “It’d be rude to try that at this stage.”

“At least this was quick; minimal posturing,” Kildare said, chuckling.

The three continued to talk in a similar vein until a junior officer alerted them their guests were returning.

Back in the room, Kildare scanned the various documents before handing them to Duchanda, who read them with closer attention while she listened to Park.

“That is good news,” she said. “The Vice-Minister will shortly contact Secretary Norton to provide the name of His Serene Majesty’s Ambassador, and any related details, such as their arrival. The standard practice for receiving ambassadors is that we give them three days to a week to settle in, and then they are summoned to present their credentials to the Crown.

“Well, gentlemen,” she said looking around, “I believe that concludes our business here. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Captain Park,” she actually smiled. “One last thing, Captain; please convey this to your government.” She handed him an actual letter. “The Ambassador will have her letter of credence with her,” she added.

Official Communiqué Classification: Unclassified From: Office of the Vice-Minister, Vice-Ministry for External Affairs To: Norton Simons, Secretary of State of the Colonial Republic of Earth Subject: Appointment of an Ambassador To Secretary Simons, honours to your house; I am writing to you with regards to the appointment of His Serene Majesty’s Ambassador to the Colonial Republic. Upon the recommendation of the External Relations Council, the Prince-Regent has, in the name of the Serene Majesty, appointed Lady, the Viscountess, Adria Desila to be the Ambassador of the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan to the Colonial Republic of Earth. Her Excellency shall be dispatched shortly and is expected to arrive in Colonial territory within twenty-one days. Kind Regards, A. Trivkaal ___________________________ Sir Ardri Trivkaal His Serene Majesty's Vice-Minister Vice-Ministry for External Affairs Imperial Federal Government Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan

[New Dornalia]

Park nodded, and with a simple, but friendly, "I'll get this letter to where it needs to go, Envoy Kildare, and we'll get that information to you as soon as possible. Pleasure doing business with you," he left with the other Dorns.

The talks had been finished as soon as they began it seemed. Progress had been made this day. Where once there was a bumbling cowboy from central casting getting into more trouble than he expected, was now the seeds of some sort of diplomatic intercourse which was considerably healthier and more cordial.

At the very least, the Realm and the Dorns would be having a lot fewer awkward incidents.

Of course, the main issue was that someone in Santa Monica--that happening LA suburb where the State Department called home--just needed to get off of their ass and actually provide a diplomat to send to the Realm. After all, custom dictated it was just the right thing to do.

***

Several days later on, the Vice-Minister would receive a message from the Dornalian State Department.

To: His Serene Majesty's Vice-Minister Sir Ardri Trivkaal, Vice-Ministry for External Affairs
From: Secretary of State Norton Simons, Dept. of State, Colonial Republic of Earth
CC: President Michael Haggar, Colonial Republic of Earth
Security Level: CONFIDENTIAL//STATEDEP//ORCON (Read: Secret IC)
Re: Ambassador
Attachments: Dossier for Ambassador Hendricks, dossier re: staff members, including the five Valkyrie Division personnel.

Dear Vice-Minister:

Please be advised that our office, in consultation with the President and the Senate, has selected an Ambassador to be sent to the Realm on behalf of the Colonial Republic of Earth. This Ambassador is one Robert Hendricks.

He will be traveling with a staff of clerks and personnel; information on them is included. Five members of the staff are security personnel from the Valkyrie Division, the State Department’s main protective service for VIPs and Dornalian Government personnel. Be advised that they are compliant with all requirements and restrictions mandated in the paperwork from your government, as Capt. Park has provided to our attention. They will arrive on two standard VC-49 King Peregrine shuttlecraft.

Further details are included within the attachments with this message.

Please advise as to where the Ambassador may be sent, so that we can plan appropriately. He should arrive within a Dornalian week or two, which is 14 standard Earth days.

Thank you for your prompt attention.

[Macisikan]

The response came back; the Dornalian Ambassador was asked to simply come to Sengrin Anchorage, at which point “arrangements for the further passage into the Realm will be made”.

Those arrangements turned out to be a pair of wormholes and a military escort; one wormhole from the Anchorage at Sengrin to the Dami system, and then one from Dami to Tichel itself. The wormholes the Realm used were like that; artificially generated, one end had to be in proximity to the generator – there was no generator in Tichel, but there was in Dami.

The first wormhole spun up, twisting open into a flower of reds and oranges and golds against the inky blackness; the transition itself was bare seconds in duration. The other mouth, where they exited, was predominantly blues and violets. An indication of the energy gradient. The ISS patrol boats had englobed the Dornies – a safety precaution, they were informed, so that if anything went wrong assistance could be rendered as quickly as possible.

Hendricks and his staff got to spend a full twelve hours in Dami while the wormhole to TIchel was spun up; the star itself was heavily occluded by a Dyson swarm. Habitats, solar collectors, other mysterious devices; and there, in close orbit, skimming through the corona, statites yanking up material from the star itself and flinging it out to further the construction of the swarm. The system’s planets were suffering a similar fate, slowly being torn apart – long streamers of material arced away from a gas giant, spiralling inwards towards the swarm.

It was all very pretty.

When the twelve hours was up, another twisting flower opened, and the ambassadorial party was ushered through into the capital system of the Realm.

Several habitats could be detected in orbit – these ones carrying nearly a billion souls apiece, bar one, which only held a few thousand. It was to this last one that the consular party was directed.

The diplomatic habitat resembled a long fat silver cigar floating in space; the docking points were at either end, and it was here the Dornalians were welcomed aboard by the Vice-Minister for External Affairs and the Ambassador-General. They were both very apologetic about the delays, and surprisingly friendly. The latter, it turned out, was the head of the Imperial Federal Government department responsible for looking after foreign missions to the Realm. They, and a party with them, were here to welcome the new arrivals and show them to their chancery. Although, as Baronet Celestine Alarl informed Hendricks, the actual Embassy was under construction, and would be completed in six weeks. “Until then, one of the pre-constructed ones has been freshened up for your use as temporary accommodation; we have located your permanent mission in Precinct D2, between the Dyellian and Vaadian missions,” she added.

As she said that, the party had passed into a set of gates and steel corridors – all of them emblazoned with large signs in GalStan which warned that they were entering a “GRAVITATIONAL TRANSITION AREA” and that “HEAD PROTECTION MUST BE WORN” – the Macisikani had dutifully donned helmets and provided the same to the Dornalians.

“We are passing between the area where gravity is supplied by the grave plates to the area where it supplied by the cylinders,” Alarl explained helpfully. “It can shift suddenly sometimes, and that can send you careening if you’re unlucky,” indeed, all around them were handholds, and a ladder was running down the ceiling.

As they progressed further, the floor sloped, and shifted, and was thoroughly disorienting; while Sir Ardri was looking slightly pale by the end and muttering about how he needed to do this more often, Alarl looked fine.

The transition area gave way to plush carpets, wooden inlay, and soft warm lighting. Ahead, one could hear birdsong from the other side of a pair of doors, which opened as they approached; what seemed to be sunlight streamed down on them as they emerged into the interior proper; it stretched away into the distance, and curved up and over them. The interior of the cylinder was one vast habitat – you could faintly see, on the far side, the tops of trees, and hills, and even lakes. A scattered cylindrical layer of clouds wrapped around a central line – a giant orb, simulating the real sun, was slowly climbing towards the far end. A soft breeze brought a hint of rain. And yes, there they were; a black-and-white family of birds was staring at the newcomers with interest.

Before them, electric cars had pulled up. “They will take you to your temporary chancery,” Alarl informed Hendricks. “The Palace has informed us that the presentation of your credentials has been scheduled for four days from now; the time here is in synchronisation with Saragova. Please, if you need anything, do not hesitate to inform my staff. Oh, and the magpies get aggressive in spring, so avoid anywhere that is signposted as a swooping area.”

Idly she wondered how the Viscountess was faring; the Dornies had been informed that a wormhole would drop her off at the location the Dornies had designated, and they would await escort from there.