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by Free Asian Ports » Thu Nov 14, 2019 7:58 pm
by Arktic » Thu Nov 14, 2019 8:15 pm
Free Asian Ports wrote:The Small Matter of Finances
Hudson Station, Yuriani System
A small dinner plate sized drone hovered annoyingly over the head of a Vexian scientist in a labcoat striding down a wide hallway. "Doctor Griffith, your appointment has arrived on docking pad 6" buzzed a mechanical voice emitting from the drone. "Inform the port authority supervisor of my imminent arrival" Griffith said, dismissing the little machine with a casual wave. Doctor Griffith was the assistant director of Gene Lab 163, the scientific and industrial organization responsible for reproduction and gene study on Hudson Station, and walking alongside her was the lab's security liaison to the station security force, Sergeant Anhur. The new arrivals to Hudson Station were an apparently human group who had inquired to the foreign ministry for some sort of exchange, a request that was assigned to Gene Lab 163. Security of Vexian state secrets, sciences, and personnel taking priority, Sergeant Anhur would play a vital role in the negotiations with the human hopefuls.
It wasn't long before the two Vexians arrived at the spaceport portion of Hudson Station, an O'Neill cylinder orbiting Yuriani Gamma, which was the only portion of the station relying on artificial gravity fields. A moving sidewalk was rushing the pair to their destination, already en route to the arrival pad before they were belatedly informed by the secretary drone. The newcomers would've been strange to any typical human culture, but since Vexians considered all "lesser" humans to be strange anyways the appearance of these people in particular was not especially notable to them. As the connecting doors to the terminal area slid open, the only notes the Vexians made was the short stature of their guests, the average Vexian standing a fair amount taller than the average human.
Doctor Griffith welcomed the visitors with all the typical warmth a Vexian is known for, that is none at all.
"Welcome to Hudson station, I am Doctor Griffith and my associate is Sergeant Anhur. We will be your chaperones during your visit to our facility. If you could kindly keep any non-pertinent questions to yourself and avoid entering any areas or operating any machinery or devices that you are not authorized to access for the duration of this meeting, everybody will leave happy. Now, if you would, please state your name and the intent of your visit. This is for the record."
by Parcia » Fri Nov 15, 2019 6:47 pm
Arktic wrote:Parcia wrote:The Resolution.
Leaning back she fell in to a seated position and rubbed her face. "Probably the best option would be to tell your fleet to stand down, the amount of targeting laser's lighting up my ships are singeing their paint." Reaching to her her belt, she pulled out her canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. Reaching up behind her head she undid the scrunchy holding her navy issue bun together and let her dark chestnut hair fall to a little past her shoulders.
She held the canteen over her head and let a good portion of the water fall on to her face and neck, washing away a good portion of the sweat that had formed were her jump suit hadn't covered. "Next would be likely be an agreement to not shoot at each other. Lord Admiral Strenov, the commander coming to reinforce me, is on standing orders that if he does not receive a stand down order as soon as he leaves FTL, he'll light up anything not throwing up a Colonial Navy IFF Tag."
She paused for a moment and turned to the Admiral. "Which, given the fact I am not a diplomat, I can send such order to my crew in orbit permitted you agree not to shoot any of us...which would be great." "After that we might have to meet along side the Colonial Diplomatic and Science Corps teams that will want to meet with you all."
Uncertainly, the Admiral touched the communicator on his wrist, and when he saw the rest of the Gatoxites were looking at him expectantly, he raised it to his mouth and spoke.
"The humans are... not to be attacked. They are peaceful.Negotiations are ongoing."
There was a silence, then the communicator came on again. "...are you sure about this, sir?"
"No," Admiral Hobbes admitted, striking a more confident tone, "but we don't have any choice but to go with this gamble. In any case, these particular humans are nothing at all like our former slavers, so rest easy up there."
The response came back after a moment. "Uh... understood, sir... Should we relay this news back to A-Prime?"
"Please do."
High above, the targeting lasers stopped blinding, and the radar stopped drowning the Colonials' passive defense systems. Meanwhile, back surface side, Admiral Hobbes stared at Captain Keys awkwardly.
"I... never expected to genuinely meet a human in peace, since the revolution. I wish I had words for this..."
by Free Asian Ports » Fri Nov 15, 2019 7:36 pm
Arktic wrote:The one in the center, the weaker-looking one who had struggled to descend the treacherous ramp, began to shuffle forward. But before he could speak, another one of them approached, stepping between the Vexian and the weaker pseudo-human. He began loudly, and with quite a bit of flourish and fanfare:
"This is His Majesty, the Pride Male Em-"
He was silenced quickly, however, by the one in the center clearing his throat loudly and conspicuously, shooting him an annoyed glare as he did so and putting a hand on the offending one's shoulder to gently shove him aside.
"Syd, please. Not here."
Syd swallowed and stepped aside. "O-Of course, your majesty. My deepest apologies."
His anger quickly dissipated and he smiled genuinely at Syd. The hand on his shoulder became one of comfort, not one of authority. "It's okay, you meant well. This is a confusing and difficult moment for all of us. But let me take it from here, yeah?"
Syd quickly bowed, backing away, and the "Majesty" faced the Vexian doctor and spoke directly.
"My name, is Leo," he said, his semi-feline golden eyes meeting her's deliberately, voice firm despite his obvious condition of physical sickness. "And I seek the means to cure my people of their biological infertility and, if possible, to expand our lifespans in the same stroke. I have been told that Vexians are skilled in the art of genetic engineering: I wish to employ this skill to save our future."
by The United Remnants of America » Sat Nov 16, 2019 10:25 pm
by Nornsmark » Sun Nov 17, 2019 3:53 pm
by The United Remnants of America » Sun Nov 17, 2019 8:47 pm
by Nornsmark » Sun Nov 17, 2019 10:23 pm
The United Remnants of America wrote:Sant-Yngrid Central Station, Empyrean Harbor, The Anchor, Guild Space
The G-suit was just thick enough to hide the finer details of the human body, leaving the two of them as genderless humanoids until they both stepped forward to meet at the front of the fighter to stand in front of the human and the hreinn. The pilots reached up and turned their helmets to the right, releasing the seals that held them in place and pulling them up and over their heads. Both pilots had deeply tanned skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Barry was clean shaven, and his hair was cut short except for a thin strip running down the center of his scalp. Sara's dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun that sat at the back of her head in the nape of her neck, a common style for long-haired pilots since it kept their hair out of the way while wearing a helmet. While Barry hung back, Sara flashed a small smile and stepped forward towards the human and nodded, reaching out to grab the man's wrist and give it a squeeze in greeting.
"Ya sas, Guild. Eimaste Seranoi," Sara spoke in the common Seran tongue. If the man was raised with humans, he probably recognized a greeting when he saw one, even if he might not know the language.
Barry glanced at the hreinn and spoke calmly, "Nine hells, it's a Cervid, Sara. That's a Cervid xeno. It's wearing a hat, Sara."
"Shush, Barry," Sara looked between the human and the hreinn, "I'm sure it's just as nice as this gentleman here. If it hasn't killed him, I don't think it'll kill us."
"Yeah, okay, I guess." Barry stepped forward and reached to grip the man's wrist as well. In Seran space, it was customary to remove gloves to have skin contact during a greeting, it was considered polite. But in these circumstances, what with meeting new people in a new area of space, it was understandable to overlook some pleasantries in the name of what was easy.
Sara looked at the man who had greeted them and gestured at the sign with a polite smile, "So you must be here for us?"
by Arktic » Sun Nov 17, 2019 11:47 pm
Nornsmark wrote:All courses lead to the Harbor,
- Guild Proverb
It has been a century, precisely, since the last great race. Most inhabitants will only live to see it once. Some never see it at all, only hearing the tales passed from their elders about the great pilots and navigators, the reckless courses, the close calls. The Guild has hosted the largest, most extravagant, most dangerous races in the galaxy for just above a millennium now. Precisely once a century, every century. Not even the Maelstrom disrupted the Prix. And it has been a century. The Monarch of the Guild, Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest, has seen two races in her long life, but she will see a third before the cosmos beckon her to her grave. The timetable of the Prix is absolute, the racers have had a century to prepare. To tune, modify, and train. The Guild's race has claimed the lives of some of the greatest pilots and navigators in its storied history, but to some, the prize is worth it.
To the winning pair, a Boon for each, granted by the Monarch. It could be anything. Wealth? Power? A star system? All are available. If the Guild can grant it, it shall be done. To their nation of origin, coordinates to an unsullied, unclaimed and previously undiscovered garden world. So it has been written in the Tome of Contracts, signed and sealed in blood by each Monarch in turn. To the runners-up, wealth unimaginable. There is not a soul in the galaxy who has not heard the name of the greatest race in time. There is not a soul who does not know of the Ivory Prix.
The notice was sent, to every Guild ship, to every Guildhouse. It was sent by quantum-entanglement, by courier vessel, by laser comms, but it was sent. From there, the Invitations were printed, then delivered by hand. Every species, every nation, every world. In but a day, the galaxy would receive the Invitation. It would be an old thing, anachronistic in appearance. Written in ink older than some nations, on fine paper inlaid with rose gold and patterned to constellations. The Invitation read:
"To the peoples of the Galaxy, I, Monarch Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest of the House of Belhest, of the Guild of Trade, proudly invite you to participate in the centennial 12th Ivory Prix at the Empyrean Harbor. Come compete for prizes beyond compare. However, make no mistake my many friends, there will be dangers. To claim your prizes, you must face down the many heads of death. Not all will survive. Survive, and take victory, however, you will claim not only your Boon, but claim a garden for your people. Victory awaits, my many friends. Will you claim it?
May luck be your guide."
The slips traded hands, from one red-and-gold clad Guildsman to the many varied leaders across the galaxy. Governors, Kings and Queens, Presidents and Matriarchs. All would be invited. Some have prepared for a century, eager for their next chance. Some are new, young and foolhardy. Some will die, and some, well, some would become champions. The clock reached midnight, and Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest smiled. For in a scant few days, the greatest festivity ever hosted would once again commence.
by The United Remnants of America » Mon Nov 18, 2019 7:10 pm
Nornsmark wrote:"O Guest of mine, what you desire lies between the stars and the moons, where none but dragons and the dead dare to tread,"
- Excerpt from the Impiriasaega, translated from Old Hreinn
"Ya sas, Seranoi. You must be Miss Knowels and Mister Tores. I'm Parker Yvessen, of Trade House Ennerel and the Guild," He said, shaking the offered hand of Sara, "I'll be your Guide during your stay on the Harbor, and I'm in charge of all Guildpersons assigned to you, if you've any questions ask me or any of my fellow Guides," He says, moving to shake Barry's hand. Parker Yvessen, being born and raised on the Harbor, was slightly shorter than human average, and wore his soot-colored hair in a tight, short braid in Guild fashion. His face was somewhat younger-looking than his actual age, and his eyes were eager, blue and cheerful looking. Though, they also had the glint of a seasoned salesman.
"This man," he said, "Is Ulro Louhr raf Lillirauffe, your official crew chief for the duration of the Prix. He and his lads are some of the best in the business, I assure you. Any questions or modifications, come to him, he'll sort it out," The tired looking Hreinn gave a tired grunt and a half-hearted nod that spoke less of discourtesy and more of a desperate need for energy drinks, offering his hand to the Serans.
"Now, as I'm sure you know, the Ivory Prix, while it offers fabulous rewards, also does require your signature on several documents," Parker explained as he produced a small folder filled with documents, "Standard stuff, really. This top one allows the Guild to use your likenesses in promotional materials, mainly holovids, the second is a waiver assuring the Guild you will not hold us legally responsible for any injury, up to and including death, that occurs to you during the course of the Ivory Prix. The third, and final document ensures that you will provide the coordinates of the Prize World to your nation of origin in the event of your victory. Sign them and then we'll go for a lovely brunch before getting you settled in at the Verdant Tower. Welcome to Marrault." He finished, handing them an ornate rosewood pen, inlaid with gold and a long, almost arcane series of numerals designated a serial number. The ink was so black it was almost a purple, and those who had physically examined the Invitations would note that it was the same shade as the ink that was used to write those.
"And do return the pen to me, it's quite important."
by Raktio » Sat Nov 23, 2019 9:29 pm
by Parcia » Tue Nov 26, 2019 8:26 pm
by Arktic » Fri Nov 29, 2019 9:12 pm
Parcia wrote:Ejaen Epsilon
To be Granted access in to Faeson space often took a high level friend, an ONI spook bird, or enough trade materials to convince the Unity that they should trade with you. CNS Punic and her escort force flew through FTL at rapid speed, just barely scratching the upper limit on her CODEN-VI drive and so fast in fact that her escorting frigates had to be loaded in to her internal bay since they would be unable to match their mother ship's speed.
At a pre-planned and ordained set of coordinates, a quartet of FTL ruptures would open and out would come the 4 larger escorts, a pair of Athens Cruisers and a pair of Direwolf Destroyers. A much larger and more...vibrant rupture would open and out of the hole in space would the behemoth of the Colonial 3rd fleet, taking time to close the rupture behind her and to release her 6 frigates from their bays.
For the time being, they awaited their Reception.
by Arktic » Fri Nov 29, 2019 9:41 pm
Free Asian Ports wrote:Griffith raised an eyebrow at the request the strange semi-human had made. In truth, neither the physical alterations nor the apparent degenerative illness were particularly surprising to the scientist, to her all non-Vexian humans were mutants to some degree. The details of the request seemed... typically short-sighted for what seemed like a newcomer to civilization. Motivated by romantic notions of organic population growth, likely. Nonetheless, manners dictated that the usual contempt Vexians had for other humans be kept veiled.
"Indeed, we have the capabilities to cater to your request. I assure you, you will find no greater gene engineers than in Vexia. Making the alterations you request are merely a matter of studying the genetic information in question and applying the requisite questions. It is, however, not an instantaneous process. Nor inexpensive for an outsider..." spoke the doctor, turning to Sgt. Anhur.
The security officer stood with her hands behind her back, displaying the same flat expression that Griffith had. As on cue, she addressed the Gatoxites "you will be permitted brief access to the laboratory in order to facilitate the discovery of our scope of work and to negotiate the contract. For security reasons I must again remind you that all other areas are off-limits to yourselves under all circumstances."
Turning to the exit, she gestured in the direction of the doors. "Our tram is waiting" she said, offering to continue the tour.
by Parcia » Sat Nov 30, 2019 2:12 am
Arktic wrote:Parcia wrote:Ejaen Epsilon
To be Granted access in to Faeson space often took a high level friend, an ONI spook bird, or enough trade materials to convince the Unity that they should trade with you. CNS Punic and her escort force flew through FTL at rapid speed, just barely scratching the upper limit on her CODEN-VI drive and so fast in fact that her escorting frigates had to be loaded in to her internal bay since they would be unable to match their mother ship's speed.
At a pre-planned and ordained set of coordinates, a quartet of FTL ruptures would open and out would come the 4 larger escorts, a pair of Athens Cruisers and a pair of Direwolf Destroyers. A much larger and more...vibrant rupture would open and out of the hole in space would the behemoth of the Colonial 3rd fleet, taking time to close the rupture behind her and to release her 6 frigates from their bays.
For the time being, they awaited their Reception.
The Reception
The Colonial battlegroup was met by an equally solid Faeson armada. Twenty-four light carriers enveloped seven battleships surrounded by a cloud of fighter-sized droned and flanked by a dozen formations of destroyers and gunships drifted between the newly arriving humans and the glittering planet of Ejaen Epsilon. A Matriarch was on the planet behind them, and the force reflected that. Should the humans decide to attack, the fleet would ensure a victory, or at least ensure that the Matriarch is not captured alive.
After the last of the Union ships arrived, the Faeson drones began to maneuver, and every ship in the fleet shone. Multicolored lights and laser guns (fired at a harmless 2% power), projected from every drone and every ship, waved in the void as the drones maneuvered independently but interconnectedly and simultaneously in a multifaceted, kaleidoscopic dance. Artistic elegance, technological sophistication, and military strength were all showcased in this display at once. This part dance, part light show, and part military parade lacked a proper name in the Faeson tongue but had been dubbed as a “fleet dance” by human observers. It was a rare event, only done as an introduction for First Contact and for other such momentous events, like this one.
After a few minutes, the drones returned to a combat position, and the large Faeson battleship that the fleet was centered around moved forward ever so slightly, slowly but deliberately approaching the humans. A broadcast was beamed towards them on an open channel.
“Welcome to Ejaen Epsilon. This Admiral Triobyu, of the Exostellar Unity Armada, speaking from the bridge of the battleship Cliff of Justice. We are requesting permission to dock, to facilitate the diplomatic meeting between President Jonathan T. Acerman and the Unity Consortia Matriarch Qeullui-danathan. I repeat, requesting permission to dock and to receive visitors.”
by Arktic » Tue Dec 03, 2019 5:40 pm
Parcia wrote:The flotilla of ships gave Matriarchs welcoming party by what had become the Colonial Union's sign of peace: Venting its excess power banks in to space. The message was heard by the Bridge officers of the Punic who in return, send a message back. "Roger that, President Achermen is awaiting the rendezvous, over." The Punic class behemoth slowly maneuvered in to position opposite it's Xenos counter part, its angular, rectangular size contrasting with the Faeson rounded, nearly organic design.
With the two ships together the docking rings would be extended and locked together. Meanwhile, Colonial Frigates and fighters would form their standard box formation patrol to insure the security of the meeting.
by Parcia » Tue Dec 03, 2019 8:28 pm
by Raktio » Wed Dec 04, 2019 1:01 am
by Rykil » Thu Dec 05, 2019 4:55 pm
by Raktio » Sun Dec 08, 2019 1:13 am
by Rykil » Sun Dec 08, 2019 1:06 pm
by Raktio » Tue Dec 10, 2019 5:12 am
by Rykil » Wed Dec 11, 2019 5:05 pm
by Gamer Iran » Thu Dec 12, 2019 2:32 pm
by Arktic » Thu Dec 12, 2019 4:31 pm
Parcia wrote:The Meeting.
The Faeson had certainly dressed up for the occasion. Opposite them would be a full company of Colonial Marines and Sailors in their tailored white dress uniforms, their rifles freshly polished and gleaming. A Platoon of Headhunters, the Colonials own Super Soldiers in their Olive Drab green camo paint in similar parade formation.
John would meet them with a warm smile and a fresh suit, having taken time to properly refresh him self. Fallowing close behind was Petra, her self well rested and changed in to appropriate professional business suit, complete with a pair of red heels and skirt.
His reception and introduction was warm and inviting, with open posture and hands to get the subliminal message across he was a diplomat. "Greetings Admiral Triobyu, Indeed I am happy to be here. This is Petra Khan, my personal aid and assistant. I must say our journey here has been quite pleasant. Envoy Mananix made a most enjoyable partner in our conversations in regards to our two peoples."
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