NationStates Jolt Archive

The light of Ergau seemed dim to human eyes, although Alderson Kenjiro knew that that was because more of it's energy was in higher wavelengths than visible light; a human could burn in a quarter hour, if he was foolish enough to venture out-of-doors insufficiently protected.

Not so the Jrai before him, half a ton of furred muscle and bone; Kenjiro's Imperial masters had evolved under this light, in this heavy gravity. Alakh-ghena Venrid gia Karchin, Lord-Director of the External Relations Directorate, beckoned him forward with a hand more claws than paw.

"Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro. How do you do?"

Karchin's Japanese was grammatically perfect, although the indeliable breathy whistle of Jrai speech, and the extra timbre of trained Alakh vocals, marred it's beauty. The Jrai, Alderson had heard it remarked, sang a good orchestra, but they had difficulty with human speech. It was more facility than human mouths could have in Jrai.

"Alakh-ghena Venrid gia Karchin. Very well, sir," he replied. "Thank you."

The Lord-Director gave the repeating whistle-click that approximated good humour.

"It is well to hear, honoured servitor. I trust your han on Ieyasu prospers?"

"It does, sir. Thank you."

"And your furlough from the Imperial Auhtain Navy was twelve years ago, is that correct?"

"It is, sir."

Karchin must be having the information fed directly to the cybereyes hidden behind his mirrored guards. Alderson wondered what sort of game the Lord-Director was playing, and whether it might be dangerous. But Karchin was Alakh, one of the genetically engineered aristocrats of the Empire, and Alderson Kenjiro was only a human Daimyo - he had no opportunity but to go along, and hope for the best.

"You have served as Naval representative on Fort Liberty and New Stalingrad."

"I have, sir."

"Those are very different cultures, if I understand human society as well as I ought? What challenges did you encounter, as representative of the Navy to these worlds?"

"They are, sir, although they have their similarities also. Both regard the Empire and the Imperial Navy with disrespect improper for their station in interstellar politics; although they have their own hierarchies in theory they do not admit to it in ideology."

"That is a similarity?"

"And a challenge, sir. Although they know their inferiority they revile Imperial superiority - this contempt is an aspect of certain human cultures, sir -"

"It is why we assign human representatives to human worlds, and Jrai representatives to Jrai worlds, and why only Ieyasu has given itself into Imperial authority as is proper. Yours are a sensible people, Daimyo Alderson."

"Thank you, sir."

Karchin shifted his massive bulk and changed the subject.

"Are you aware, Daimyo Alderson, that the beacon sent by the Imperial Navigation Corps to Sol will soon reach it's destination?"

"In - in passing, sir. Sol is a long way from Verity."

"Oh? Will it not be a great day for your species? You will be able to look upon Earth once more."

"Ieyasu is our home, sir. It proved impossible to mantain proper virtue on Earth -"

"Well. What do you suppose of the chances of a single man mantaining proper virtue on Earth? Or several?"

"I should like to think that any scion of the Shogunate would carry out his duties as is proper, sir."

"That is a very good thing to hear, Daimyo[i] Alderson, for once we have established a beacon in Sol, we shall require a representative of the Empire to take up residence there."

[i]Is he suggesting ...?

"Sir?"

"Be glad, Daimyo Alderson, for you have been selected as Imperial Ambassador to Earth; when the time comes to represent Imperial interests on your homeworld. I am sure that you shall aquit yourself well."

"Thank you, sir." My han! My family! This is most unwished-for - can you not find some more suited lord for this exile? "It shall be as you wish, Alakh-ghena."

~~~

The beacon had been travelling for twenty-four years, building up to high fractions of the speed of light and braking as it approached it's destination. In passing through the Oort cloud and the Kuiper belt it had become pitted with micrometeoroid impacts; but still it approached, slowing now to a fifth of lightspeed. Ahead of it, the light of Sol grew brighter.

No, I don't think the Jrai bother much about race - I mean, heck, they're basically giant squirrels who got halfway to being bears before they decided that bipedalism and opposable thumbs was a better idea. Most of them can't tell the difference between a Jap and anyone else, any more than we can tell the difference between an alpha male and a beta by his smell.

Which is a good point, actually - in the Empire it's far more important that you fit nicely into your little niche - a place for everyone and everyone in their place - than what colour your skin is. Yes, operationally the rank of a Jrai is higher than a human, and a Jap Daimyo outranks a Liberty boy like me, but you put a random crewer from Ieyasu next to a random crewer from Fort Liberty, and most of them won't be able to tell the difference at all.

The flip side is that they expect absolute and total obedience from everyone below them; they really don't understand equality, and they think democracy is bizzare. You expect that in any navy, really, and the Imperial Auhtain Navy's no different - you get your comission, you serve your decade, and then you're a citizen of the Empire. Congratulations, citizen, you can now live on any planet except Engailen.

Of course I expected that when I went to the Naval recruiting office in Liberty City - what I didn't expect was that that ... regimentality, is that a word? That that is just as strong in civilian life; there's no real freedom anywhere in the Empire. So I came back here.

But yeah, there are people who don't come back, and there are plenty of Japs living outside of Verity. They're basically a little minority culture of their own, celebrating all the things that make humans different from Jrai - I don't know, serial polygamy and Christmas and so on - of course, they call it Kirismasu there, because of all the Japs.

The Japs are a society of their own, the only people who think enough like Jrai to get along with them. Something like eighty percent of the humans in the Empire are in Verity, and ninety-seven percent of those are Japs - and they're really quite racist, even if the Jrai aren't. Walking into the Naval recruitment office downtown you can almost feel it - who's this gaijin thinks he can join our Navy? - sort of thing. I almost walked back out. I'm glad I didn't.

Excerpt from an interview with Richard Morgan, Imperial Auhtain Navy Captain (Retired), for the Liberty City Monthly

~~~

Far distant, the beacon's sensors tracked Sol and Earth. Sol was redder and duller than Ergau, and Earth smaller and colder than great Auhtai; the simple calculator of it's mind computed the input of it's sensors, checking against the information of where it was supposed to be ...

Equidistant from both Sol and Earth at the preceding Lagrange point, the backwards pull of it's gravity-projectors stopped, leaving it neatly stationary relative to the other two bodies. The calculator-mind computed; location achieved, after twenty-four years.

Power was pulled from the vacuum by the Vahstinrei mechanism, feeding into the hyperspace transmitter at it's heart. The signal was unique, and nearly instantaneous; in a few seconds it reached all the way to Imregant High Station above Auhtai.

~~~

If Alderson Kenjiro had been noticed on majority-Jrai Auhtai, a Jrai Alakh was equally noticeable on majority-human Ieyasu. Alderson's servants ushered the big alien into his office and sat him down on the couch provided for his species.

Kenjiro was pleased with the foresight of his ancestors in having this wing of the Shiro rebuilt for Jrai weight; this male was over the half-ton average for his species, very large even by Jrai standards. Although not, by his smell, an alpha male; a noble scion, then, and not yet a Lord. Either undergoing or having completed the Naval service required of the nobility, to judge by the mirrored guards over his eyes.

And Alakh-rohr or Alakh-ghira, by the size and sweep of his thickly furred tail and hackles; of middling caste, a provincial heir and not a Court Lord.

"Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro," the alien said, bowing. "It is most pleasing to meet with you."

His Japanese was moderate, not so good as Venrid gia Karchin's but adequate.

"The pleasure is mutual," Alderson replied. "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir ...?"

"Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal, of the Ifring Domain on Meitrehn."

As he'd thought; a second-tier clan on one of the colony worlds, minor enough to be used by a higher power and major enough to not cause offence in doing so. Alderson wondered why he was here.

"Meitrehn is not so different a world from Ieyasu," he said. "You must feel at home here."

Arnkehal shrugged - a Jrai's shoulders were wonderfully expressive. "Verity is a much cooler star, and of course your gravity is lighter. And it is summer, in Ifring. But yes, it is not so hot as Auhtai."

Kenjiro shrugged in return, as if to say but what of that?, rendered laconic by his visitor.

"So what brings you to New Tajima, Alakh-rohr?"

"Ah. I have been sent by the Lord-Director, Alakh-ghena Venrid gia Karchin, to summon you again to Auhtai; the hyperspace beacon to Sol has reached it's destination in working order, and you will soon be required to assume your duties as Imperial Ambassador. The Lord-Director is anxious to waste no time - the Emperor himself follows the developments in our mission."

That put Kenjiro's guts into knots of anxiety; Imperial attention could be fatal.

"I see," he replied, and added carefully; "In the knowledge of the Lord-Director's wishes, and being anxious to best serve the Imperial Majesty, is there sufficient time in which to marshall my household?"

He had made contingencies ahead of time, of course - the beacon's arrival could be precisely calculated - but Imperial interest was making Karchin move faster than he ordainarily would.

"They must follow behind, for the sake of their eyes," Arnkehal replied, "As must my own family; I am appointed Intercessor for you in your position."

An Intercessor's duties were usually little more than a link in the chain of rank, ensuring that an inferior of too low a rank was not directly commanded by one of too high a rank; but Arnkehal would also be responsible for shielding Kenjiro from court intrigues and Imperial displeasure. That they'd sent the heir of a second-tier colonial noble was not a good thought.

"So I expected," he said, in reference to Arnkehal's answer. High-gee acceleration, and the non-compressible fluids used to cushion against it, were not forgiving on eyes. The Navy, among others, solved the problem by replacing it's crews' eyes with cybernetics; but unaugmented civilians must travel at a more sedate pace. "May I offer you the hospitality of my household tonight, Alakh-rohr?"

"I regret that that shall not be possible," Arnkehal replied. "That we may arrive with sufficient alacrity at Imregant High Station, we must leave this evening."

The three long, low hoots of the alert horn, followed by the disharmonic orchestral warble of a Jrai voice announcing that flooding of the ship would begin now, brought a wave of nostalgia to Kenjiro's mind. During his Naval service he'd served on ships not too dissimilar - if less cramped - than the H/VIII class Patrol Cruiser, and every tour of duty had begun, really begun, not when the ship left station, but when the alert horn sounded flood warning, and the immanent assumption of cruising speed.

Ifring mar Arnkehal squeezed his bulk through the narrow hatch a few seconds later, the crest of fur along his spine fluffed up in discomfort. The VIII fit humans or female Jrai well enough, but an above-average Alakh male like Arnkehal had difficulty. Presumably his status would have kept him out of postings such as this in his naval duty.

"The H/IX is not so small," he explained when Kenjiro asked. "Flood stations, Ambassador Alderson!"

Kenjiro indicated the cabin around him, what passed for the XO's on a normal tour - meaning that it was a little less small than the average crewer's four-tier rack of coffins. They'd put an extra bunk in for Arnkehal. Space was at a premium on any Imperial Auhtain Navy ship, but the H/VIII was worse than the usual - the workhorse of the Fringe Fleet, it had to be a jack-of-all-trades, and sacrificed crew space for a comprehensive weapons loadout.

Flooding, when it began, was unmistakeable to any former Navy spacer. First the alert horn hooted again, and then the walls began to gurgle as the non-compressive fluid was pumped out of the holding tanks and into the ship. It pooled rapidly around the ankles, and rose with disconcerting speed. Your ears popped as the air compressed, and popped again as the extraction sucked it out.

Then the moment of panic, when the fluid entered your lungs and the hindbrain screamed you were drowning; Kenjiro lay back on the bunk and tried to get it over with. The stuff, whatever it was made of, was perfectly breathable. He saw Arnkehal inhaling it in great lungfuls, speeding the process in his own way.

The Jrai convulsed and sneezed, bubbles bursting from his nostrils - "That's the part I don't like," he confided (sounding as odd as everyone did, speaking through fluid), and set about squeezing trapped air from his fur.

Shortly afterwards the scrubberfish appeared, darting blue-green shapes jetting their way through the fluid. The Jrai engineered them to filter out carbon dioxide, and treated them much like the ships' cats or miners' canaries of a prior age. Arnkehal caught one in the cage of his claws; it stared at them with compound eyes, inhaling fluid to expel and thus propel itself. He let it go with a short poem, half playground rhyme and half folk saying; old superstition, from long before Ieyasu had been settled.

The hum of the Vahstinrei mechanism deep in the ship's bowels reverbrated as it hadn't through atmosphere; the ship was approaching cruising acceleration at thirty-five Auhtai gravities (forty Earthly, or forty-one Ieyasu). Though there was no saying how long it would take to cross the distance between Ergau and Sol - hyperspace was not in point-to-point congruence with normal space except very locally, and both destination and location in normal space were constantly moving - but the general idea was that one should get there faster.

Hyperspace transition wasn't something you noticed in any sort of deep, visceral way; one moment relative distance was contracted and the exterior was empty black, and the next normal space lay all about them, with the stars a glittering backdrop to reality.

They'd spent a lengthy two days in transit, everyone aboard dealing with the enforced idleness in their own way. The crew was a strong one and hung together well, but Kenjiro and Arnkehal (along with the rest of Kenjiro's hastily appointed diplomatic staff) were outsiders, an ungainly addition to the ship's buisness. They'd spent the time going through information on Sol - half of it rumour, most of the rest centuries-old, and a goodly portion of it unprocessed sensor recordings from the beacon now in position at the L4 point.

"I would expect errors in the sensors," Arnkehal said, "Save for the fact that we can detect none such. There are too many different ship types on these files!"

"It is Sol," Kenjiro replied. He floated near the ceiling, suspended buoyant in the fluid, to provide more room for the big Jrai. "Any civilisation still here is old - they'd be likely to resist any sort of standardisation."

"Auhtai is older, and you do not see the Jrai indulging in such needless idiosyncracy. But then, these are humans."

"They were humans when my ancestors left Sol, at least. I do not know what they may have become by now."

"Their languages will have changed, sirs." Katsukawa Yuki was their translator, and despite her name a native of Ergau rather than Verity. It was her first time outside the Jrai home system, and the skin around the mirrored guards of her optics was still red and stretched from the installation. "I hope they've kept some kind of linguistic history."

An expressive shrug from Arnkehal. "I am sure the problem, if it exists, will not be insurmountable. Consider; languages descend like children, each one diverging more from the ancestral tongue. Yes?"

"No -" Katsukawa visibly forebore lengthy explanation, or changed her mind. "Yes, Alakh-rohr. That comparison is often used."

"So. The Japanese spoken on Ieyasu and the Japanese spoken in Japan today will be cousins, both descended from one ancestor - and an ancestor can recognise his offspring. Likewise with Liberanglo and English. And the ship's AI can assist in adjusting for changes, if it is needful."

"I understand, sir. Thank you."

Yuki's eyes were as inscrutable as Kenjiro's own behind their mirrored guards, but Alderson could tell that Arnkehal had just gone up in her estimation, one scholar assigning rank to another. In his own, too; Jrai were not stupid, and endlessly competitive between peers, but not many Alakh would choose scholarship as a field to compete in. Poetry or landscaping or martial arts were the traditional hobbies of Jrai nobility - which probably gave Arnkehal an edge. No wonder he became so much more verbose speaking to Yuki - no Jrai would willingly compete in scholarship with him!

Kenjiro left them discussing the parable of the fox and the badger (The fox knew many small things, and the badger one large thing. He judged Arnkehal the fox, and Yuki the badger, by the breadth of their scholarship). He switched the feed to his cybereyes from overlay to full; the ship had arrived in Sol, and he wanted to know more.

A cornucopia of data was avaliable from the ship's sensors, which could be organised fairly well by the Angel sub-AI running on the implants in his spine, or the Archangel AI coordinating the ship's programs, but that was an impersonal way to gather data. He soon found what he was looking for; a sensors officer on bridge shift.

My apologies for this interruption of your mandated duties, Kenjiro sent through the ship's systems. The message would arrive as text on the officer's implant, much as information did on Kenjiro's own. Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Imperial Ambassador.

Andahn-lhai Inauhrt sahl Melchegan, Lieutenant, sir Ambassador. May I be of assistance?

I would receive basic sensoria, if you permit, Kenjiro replied. A delicate question; while the basic sensory input of a mind revealed little about their thoughts, abuse of technology was always possible. He did not wish to be mistaken for some voyeuristic pervert.

It is permitted, the Lieutenant sent back, a few seconds later, But do not distract me, sir. The Angel program on her implants collated data and sent it through the ship's systems to his own. A few seconds of sensory confusion as two different inputs sorted themselves out -

A female Jrai weighed a quarter-ton, with musculature a human could only dream of, and senses far more alert than a human's; the Jrai nose was a far more sensitive organ. Kenjiro could smell the bridge in sharp detail, redolent with the scent of male Jrai (beta males to the human captain, who smelt of cologne and soap). He considered putting a stop to the olfactory data, but forced it out of conscious prominence and focused on what the Lieutenant was seeing.

The feed was entirely one-way - to send sensoria back would be forward between humans, utterly improper between species. He flicked his eyes back to normal view for a second - a disorienting view of Arnkehal and Katsukawa, still deep in debate over some esoteric point - and then back to the bridge.

It was as cramped as any other room aboard the ship, and crowded with crew in their individual nooks. Scrubberfish jetted past Melchegan's peripheral vision. Captain Morgan resided in the massive, thronelike shape of his command couch. Occasionally he spoke, but most of his work must be through his implants and the ship's systems; he'd have a second-hierarchy program, an Authority or Power, running on his implants.

The Lieutenant's head turned back to her screens and feeds, which were what Alderson had wanted to see. The H/VIII was surrounded by thin dust, collected over billions of years here at the Lagrange point; the hyperspace beacon was a thousand kilometers or so away, within the point-defence perimeter. Outside that, the moving points that were foreign spacecraft were tagged with distance, mass, speed, with other information avaliable upon calling-up.

Melchegan flipped to straight optics, and Kenjiro's breath caught. He'd thought himself long over being spacestruck - but the field of stars still took his breath away as it had the first time he'd reached orbit. There were the moving specks of light that were spacecraft, and off to the left the bright white light of Sol, just as it must now be shining upon Earth.

Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Ambassador? Richard Morgan, Captain.

The message superimposed itself on his - Melchegan's - vision through his optics, and Kenjiro switched back to normal view with a hurried note of thanks to the Lieutenant. Arnkehal spared him a glance and turned back to Yuki, the two scholars still deep in something that flew high over Kenjiro's head.

A pleasure, Captain, he sent back. How can I assist you?

We are now in Sol, Ambassador. How do you suggest we proceed from here?

An excellent question, Captain. It was not expected that the locals would prove so incurious about our arrival - but to judge by the numbers of ships present in Sol, they must all regard novelty with ennui.

Could they have failed to detect our presence?

Possible, but I would judge it unlikely, unless their technology has degraded by several orders of magnitude. Evidence would suggest it has not. I should suggest we head to Earth - perhaps a closer approach will incite greater interest.

I can agree with that, Ambassador. We'll enter Earth orbit before the day is out.

~~~

Feel free to enter the thread - I don't bite!

It wasn't exactly a matter of not detecting, especially given that the Jrai probe and later ship-of-the-line had managed to pop inside of Space Station Valhalla's proverbial backyard. While new things wandering around the stable Earth-Sol Lagrange points weren't anything new to the Earth Theatre headquarters aboard Valhalla--it was just natural for things to gravitate towards the stable Trojan orbits--but it takes a while to see whether such things are friendly and should be met with open arms, hostile and should be met with closed fists, or neutral and left to their own ends. With the arrival of the vessel which could only be considered a warship and its subsequent making way for Earth, Earth Theatre HQ decides that it may be appropriate to send around a squadron to make sure everything is on the level.

The Seventeenth Medium Cruiser Component--consisting of Medium Cruiser Harpy, Missile Frigate Scylla, Advanced Destroyers Cherufe and Zshar-ptitsa--gets the call to investigate contact peacefully Sierra Echo-Seven-Sixty-Two at the commanding officer's discretion. And with the prologue out of the way...

TYWS-MCR Harpy
On Intercept Course with Contact S-E762

Aboard the spear-like ship, which probably is about as sleek as the old brick-fu design philosophy of the Combined Services gets, Flag Captain Musi--a very Norse man, wrinkles just beginning to appear in his face as his yellow-blonde hair turns white at the roots, the same happening along his trim med within-regulations beard--folds his arms and carefully watches the relative motions of the icons on the strategic indicator board as he leans back in his chair at the apex of the officer's semicircle. Safely buried behind layers of armor and equipment, the bridge officers quietly go along their duties, piping up just enough to keep Musi informed.

"On course for rendezvous," Medium Cruiser Harpy reports from her avatar, appropriately shaped like a more multicolored and decidedly less Lawful Good version of the usual Christian image of an angel, "proceeding at best-time acceleration. Time to acceleration-position matching five minutes."

Musi nods, ignoring the fact that Harpy's hands fail to take any action on the controls in front of her out of experience. It's not like a starship needs to shift her own gear lever, after all. The emphasis on 'rendezvous,' at least, is quietly amusing; the unusual technical term used by ETHQ was 'diplomatic intercept' which is a fancy way of saying 'begin cordial parley within engagement range.' Yes, something was certainly up in the nearby antispinward theatre if Headquarters was going to obscure operational stances for what really should be a simple course-matching rendezvous.

"Internal density arrangement on screen seven, sir," the sensors officer says afterwards, collating the work of the sensor technicians in the gallery on a detailed chart of the Jrai warship displayed from a screen to the left of the strategic indicator. "Passive gravimetrics suggest it's hollow, but not gas-filled. We're talking liquid-breathers here."

"What kind of liquid?" Musi glances at the specific density in the scan summary. "It's not water."

"No, sir, it's not. Density suggests a lighter hydrocarbon of some sort, maybe something like neoperflubron. We can't get anything more detailed than that without active probing scans."

"Never mind, then. That wouldn't be diplomatic." Musi frowns. "Are we picking up any sort of carrier signal off of them?"

"No, sir."

"Right. FleetCom, keep the component in transit formation." An unnecessary order, really, as the ships of the component are already in a decently loose formation with Harpy to the fore and Cherufe and Zshar-ptitsa on the wings, all in a loose sphere three thousand kilometers in radius around Scylla. "Comm, prepare to broadcast on wideband. At your discretion."

The communications officer nods with an "Acting, sir" before audibly flipping a switch on his console. That's the cue for a transmission, audio only, that avoids as much battlespeak jargon as possible to prevent confusion:

* - * - *

Unidentified Vessel,

This is Flag Captain Ekbert Musi, commanding officer of the Triumvirate of Yut Medium Cruiser Harpy. We were simply patrolling the local area and are curious about you and your intentions, as you're apparently newcomers to the area. Please identify yourselves and the reason for your visit, and we will do our best to see if there's any way we can help.

Flag Captain Ekbert Musi,
Commanding Officer, 17MCC
TYWS-MCR Harpy

Richard Morgan sucked in a breath through his teeth. Well I'll be damned! They're not all sleeping after all.

Here, at last, was something he and his crew could respond to.

Inauhrt sahl Melchegan?

Correctly taking that as her cue, the sensors officer presented him with her findings. Morgan might be able to get the same data from the ship's systems, but Melchegan's job was analysis.

Captain, sir. We've got four warships incoming from somewhere in Earth orbit at an acceleration of four point three gees, Auhtai standard. I'd say that's the best they can do - gravitometry indicates they're filled with air, not non-compressives. At present speeds they'll match velocities within a few minutes. As best I can tell from passive sensors, they're not priming to fire yet. Do we go to active scanning, sir?

"Captain, sir!" A voice in realspace; Comms, in the niche next to Sensors. "The lead vessel is hailing us!"

Hold that for now, Lieutenant.

"Patch it to my systems, Lieutenant."

As Morgan listened a small smile began to tug at his lips - the foreign ship had hailed not in some incomprehensible neologism, not in Court or Fleet or Common Japanese, but in English - a strangely archaic dialect, to be sure, hardly Liberanglo, but comprehensible enough. And not, seemingly, hostile.

Daimyo Alderson, Ambassador? We've been hailed by local ships. Please receive audio copy, share it with your people, and formulate an appropriate response.

So soon, Captain? That was rather sooner than we had anticipated. Receiving, and my thanks.

~~~

"I must admit that my Liberanglo is not so good as it once was," Kenjiro admitted. "What can you tell us, miss Katsukawa?"

"Sir, I'm sure your Liberanglo is perfect," the translator replied. "This is English, the ancestral tongue - the grammar and much of the verb structure is different. A rather archaic choice, but who's to judge why?

"The vessel's commander introduces himself, requests our identity, and offers assistance - all very politely. Commendably so, in fact - rather suprising from a warship commander."

"An unknown should always be treated with respect," Arnkehal commented. "He does not know our status, and we have little inkling of his, save that this "Triumvirate" must of course be inferior to the Empire. Courtesy costs a superior nothing and is wisdom in an inferior."

Kenjiro nodded, forgoing a discussion of the place of courtesy in social dynamics, and pondered how best to reply.

"Miss Katsukawa, please translate for me the following ..."

~~~

TYWS-MCR Harpy,

This is Katsukawa Yuki, Translator, speaking by behest of Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Imperial Ambassador to Sol, aboard the Imperial Auhtain Navy Patrol Cruiser H/VIII-0221.

We are on a peaceful mission to establish diplomatic ties between the nations of the Sol system and the Auhtain Empire, under the auspices of the External Relations Directorate and the blessing of Ersen-ra Suhnilohan giaja Venauhr, the Imperial Majesty.

As such, we are honoured to make the acquaintance of the Triumvirate of Yut, and would be pleased to be able to exchange representatives at some time in the future.

Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro,
Imperial Ambassador to Sol
IAN-PCR H/VIII-0221

Musi leans over with unnecessary conspiritoriality, seeing how the transmit switch is currently safely in the 'off' position. "Remind me again, am I supposed to address the translator or the person speaking behind the translator?"

"Person behind the translator, sir," the comm officer replies after a pause, working off of some long-buried memory from the back of his mind that originates from a tiresome class in protocol. "I recognize the Japanese titles, though, at least for the warlord."

The Flag Captain nods curtly. "Good. See what you can find on Japanese culture and appropriate forms of address; we may have some sort of neofeudalists or neomedievalists here."

"One thing bugs me, sir." The comm officer lightly taps his console in no particular place as he thinks further. "I've no idea where that emperor's name comes from, though."

Ekbert raises an eyebrow and glances over to the ship's avatar, who looks simultaneously ready to seduce someone, lunge into the sky and flap around a bit, serve dutifully in the name of king and country, and take a nap. "Harpy?"

"Not recognizing it in any datasearches, sir. Completely new to the Combined Services, at least." She glances idly and yet intently at the screen showing the sensor picture. "The silhouette isn't in Jaynez Starnavy International, either. Or... the QACF open listings, or the GEC contact logs. My estimation is it's a first contact."

"Not recognizing the nation name was good enough for me, Harpy. Bring us into a polite escort distance, call it a light-second or so. Comms, get some techs on the horn with HQ and put us on a constant link, they'll want to be advised." Musi smiles smugly to himself, folding his hands in front of him. "Also prepare for another audio-only but with a carrier wave for the visual frequency.

"Japanese, eh?" He chuckles. "Well, let us be polite."

"Polite title for an ambassador is 'Excellency,' sir." The comm officer flips through a few more pages of e-book. "For a daimyo... uh... Western tradition says 'Your Majesty,' and proper Japanese is... er..." Flipflipflip. "There's a lot, sir."

"I hate being this polite," the captain mutters with a hint of Norse accent slipping into his English. "Pick one that I can pronounce and is as respectful as possible."

"That'd be denka, sir." The comm officer nods, and says it again with a practiced polyglot's accent. Den-ka.

"Right, thank you, Lieutenant. Open a channel at your first convenience."

Click.

* - * - *

Honored Denka,

It is our honor to speak with an envoy from a far-away territory and it is our custom that we properly host such a one. We are none too far away from our home port at Space Station Valhalla, where Diplomatic Officers of the Triumvirate and its member nations would gladly exchange courtesies and representatives with you. My detachment here will escort you there, if you so choose.

While the Earth Theatre is as Balkanized as it's always been, other than for several low-scale regional conflicts Headquarters advises that it's safe for visiting. I am certain that those trained more fully in the art of diplomacy than I will be most glad to help in the introductions.

Currently attached to this transmission is a carrier signal for a standard analog video stream. If you are capable, we would be much obliged to see those whom we are speaking with as is common custom here. We will not be offended if you decline.

Thank you, Translator Katsukawa, for aiding in the communications. My communications officer tells me his Japanese is rusty but I don't believe it to hear his accent.

Flag Captain Ekbert Musi
Commanding Officer, 17MCC
TYWS-MCR Harpy

* - * - *

"You sound like a blueshirt yourself, sir."

Musi shrugs. "So I write poetry for fun. I had to throw in that last, though." One must always say thanks to the little guy, after all.

Daimyo Alderson? We have received a second transmission from the Harpy. Comms assures me that we can manage two-way video transmission if you wish it; I'll copy you the message now.

Thankyou, Captain, Kenjiro replied, I and my team shall prepare a response as soon as possible.

"Very polite," Katsukawa commented, "And they have the protocols correct."

"Courtesy given is courtesy returned," said Arnkehal. "We should respond in video as the Triumvirate Captain suggests."

"Very well." Kenjiro nodded agreement. "Miss Katsukawa, could you oblige?"

"Certainly, sir."

~~~

Video shows the cramped XO's cabin Kenjiro shares with his Intercessor; plain metal painted a chalky red, with here and there a touch of baroque ornamentation; arabesque flourishes and swoops are printed on the walls.

Alderson Kenjiro is impeccably presented in a civilian-cut version of the Naval uniform; a cluster of tabs at his collar denote his rank as a former Imperial Auhtain Navy officer. Although his hair is greying his face remains unlined, courtesy of genetic chance rather than cosmetic surgery. A few faint creases escape the mirrored guards occupying his eye sockets.

Next to him stands Ifring mar Arnkehal, two feet taller and more than six times heavier, wearing the rust-red of true Naval dress; it matches well the russet of his fur, visible on clawed hands, wedge-shaped head, and the spreading brush of tail.

Katsukawa Yuki is invisible, behind the camera as it were; the video is being recorded by her optics.

Ambassador and Intercessor bow politely, and Kenjiro begins to speak; Yuki clears her throat and delivers a running translation. Filtered through the jawbone to the audio implants in her ears, her voice sounds strange, the voiced sounds prominent.

"Flag Captain Musi, the honour is ours to speak with such a courteous representative of a foreign power as yourself.

"I am Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Imperial Ambassador to Sol. I have the pleasure to be able to present also Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal, a scion of the Ifring Domain on the colony of Meitrehn, currently in service to the Imperial Majesty as Imperial Intercessor."

Arnkehal bows again; his lineage is not so great as all that - the Ifring are Domain lords and not Court lords - but no Jrai will willingly go without his honorifics, the signal of his status.

"We accept your most kind offer of escort to the Station Valhalla, and hope for mutually productive meetings with diplomatic officers of the Triumvirate.

"Thank you."

"Receiving analog signal now, sir. High-definition television."

Musi nods, removing his chin from on top of his folded hands before shifting in his seat to look more presentable. The slight martinet leanings he had in his cadet days still haven't left him after twenty years in the service. "On screen."

"On screen one," the communication's officer confirms before tapping a line from a backlit touchscreen then pressing the button corresponding to the screen behind the transparent strategic indicator display, which fades out a little more so it looks superimposed on the scene transmitted by the Authai ship. "Transmit video in response?"

"At your discretion."

"Acting." Another switch audibly thrown and a simple camera set in the fore of the room goes active as denoted by the red LED that flashes then stays steadily on underneath its lens. The command room of Harpy is perhaps just as utilitarian as the Authai ship is quietly artful; all is burnished metal and the kind of chained plastic-link traction carpet that one would find in the foyers of government buildings. If one could deduce a particular color scheme from it, it would have to be a collection of things in the blues; the traction carpet and the cushions of the chairs are a dark blue with light blue highlights, and the burnished metal naturally reflects this. Captain Musi, as described previously, sits in the middle of the screen in the usual green-and-black Class A uniform of the Combined Services; he is flanked to his left and right by his bridge officers, arranged in an arc around the unseen indicator display and thus the camera, which uses a mildly fisheyed lens to catch them all. In front of each officer sits a panel that folds out from their seat, allowing them executive-level control of the functions of their departments.

Eight of the nine seats are filled with officers that meet varied descriptions; four are baseline humans, one is a massive three-meter green reptilian with vaguely iguana-like features, one is just a touch taller and more slender than the humans, with dark hair and pointed ears, one is built a touch heavier than the humans with greenish-tinted skin and large lower canines protruding slightly from over her lower lip. The last, perhaps the most alien of the set, is a mostly purplish female with multicolor wings folded behind her seat, greenish-yellow eyes, and perhaps hints of gold-tinted feathers underneath the cuffs of her service coat. If she weren't wearing the same simple militaristic uniform as the others, she'd probably be the most likely of the group to get on the cover of a collection of fantasy pinup art. None of them are obviously augmented in any way, and the ninth seat is empty, its console folded up at its side.

Beyond the arc of officers is a bevy of technicians sitting at their stations at the walls in two levels, one level with the floor and the other on a gallery supported by thick structural beams. Unlike the officers, they wear green-shaded digital camouflage patterned fatigues, ranks on the edges of their shoulderboards and on their sleeves instead of on the semi-high collars of the Class As. Right now, their primary function is to not make the Captain look bad.

"Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal," Musi says with a slight bow in his chair, the latter and more unfamiliar title inevitably having more than a slight mix of his Norse-Egyptian-English accent to it, "my officers and I are honored by your acceptance of our offer of escort." He looks up with his glittering ice-blue eyes, and notes the Gibsonian polished silver lenses where his opposite numbers' eyes should be and how they disappear neatly under the skin without a notable seam. Protective lenses at least, full on cybereyes at most. "If you will allow us, my Fleet Command Officer, Lieutenant Commander Charug"--the female whose skintone blends well with the color of her uniform bows slightly in her chair--"will send you our standard formation-flying signals. Space Station Valhalla is not far, so at current accelerations we should arrive within the hour. We can make better speed if it is so desired."

"I did not think humans displayed that great a range of bodily diversity," Arnkehal commented, once Katsukawa Yuki had finished her translation.

"They do not, on Ieyasu," Alderson replied. "The capability exists, to be sure, but the Founders wished to return to a state of virtue. Human genetic engineering was definitely unvirtuous. New Stalingrad has a similar stance, although their ideology is different; but it exists on Fort Liberty, and to some extent in the Ergau enclaves." He nodded to Yuki, born and raised on Imregant High Station. "Which is a roundabout way of saying that no, humans don't naturally display that much diversity - but this is Sol, and the Solar peoples have had centuries to tinker with their genomes. Even the big lizard may be of hominid origin."

"I can discern no hierarchy in it," the Alakh-rohr said. The Alakh were the product of thousands of years of endogamy, eugenics, and genetic engineering; that there should be an order to such things was in their blood.

"Sirs ..." Yuki ventured an opinion. "Captain Musi indicates that his squadron can increase his speed if necessary - I had thought that it was impossible to go so fast, without non-compressive fluids?"

"It should be so," Arnkehal replied. "By rights they should be pushed into their seats, by four point three gees acceleration in atmosphere - and yet there they sit, perfectly comfortable. Perhaps they have some tricks of their own - but I do not think it polite to force their hands in such a manner yet."

Courtesy, among Jrai; a way of saying See, I do not seek your secrets. They hoarded advantage over others almost as much as status. If Arnkehal was worried by it, he showed no sign; to the Auhtain, the Imperial Majesty's authority was absolute, and any independence displayed by renegades or aliens a permitted willfulness. Whether it was belief or polite fiction Kenjiro had never been able to ascertain.

Captain Morgan? The Triumvirate captain has offered to escort us to their station using their own formation protocols. Does this meet with your approval?

An uncomfortable situation, with Alderson oscillating between cargo and commander - the authorities of the ERD and the IAN overlapped.

Thankyou, Ambassador, it does. I've no desire to confuse our hosts.

Very well, and my thanks, Captain - I and my people shall have a response ready to transmit momentarily.[/size]

~~~

The same view, Kenjiro and Arnkehal as seen through Yuki's optics; the Ambassador resumes communication with his customary bow.

"Flag Captain Musi, your offer is gratefully accepted, although time does not press upon us and our current speeds are acceptable. The H/VIII-0221 will be honoured to fly in formation with your vessels. My salutations to the honourable Lieutenant Commander Charug, Fleet Command Officer; we are prepared to receive your flight signals at your readiness."

OOC: Written late at night or early in the morning, so possibly ungood.

"H'hm. That was relatively painless." Musi cracks a wry smile as the audiovisual feed from the camera is muted. "FleetCom, direct the squadron into escort formation. Harpy, you know what to do. Sensors, get on the local tacnet and see if we can't collate our passive scans from different angles..."

The Noldor looks back at her captain with just the slightest artistic hint of a raised statuesque eyebrow even as she begins to make good on the captain's order.

"We're escorting a warship to Valhalla, Lieutenant," Musi replies with a touch of irritance in his voice, "and I'm damn well going to know more about it if I can. Get on it."

The sensors officer nods and goes back to pure professionalism with a quick "Acting, sir;" relaying and interpreting the captain's orders to her staff in the back of the technicians' gallery. The other officers, not even noticing the exchange are already at work... even Harpy as she casually glances at her naturally artificial nails when no one else is looking.

On the outside, the ships move with pretenatural smoothness into escort positions thousands of kilometers away from H/VIII-0221; Harpy takes the lead, forward and high relative to the Auhtai ship; Cherufe moves to left flank, port and low; Zshar-ptitsa proceeds to cover the right flank, starboard and high; and finally Scylla settles in the closest (at about a thousand kilometers) with the alien vessel on its top-bottom plane of symmetry--in other words, essentially alongside.

"Comm, send a message ahead to Vahalla that we are in transit and escorting an unknown; update them with an ETA at current profile. Coordinate with Harpy."

"Acting, sir."

Flag Captain Musi leans back and frowns slightly. Now that all the militaristic business is done, it's a matter of waiting for something to happen. Escorting very polite, and so far very Japanese friendlies... if a few of his upper-class Karmabaijani businessmen friends are any indicator, politeness, or at least their formal concept of politeness, is key. Now, which is more polite? Continuing on and waiting for them to make the first move if they're interested, or trying to engage them in conversation? And if the latter, what kind of conversation? "Comm, please lend me your protocol guide."

"Acting, sir." The communications officer passes over the thin plastic binder containing his reference e-sheets to the woman sitting at the weapons console, who passes it to the Sakkran executive officer, who takes it up daintily in his claws and hands it over to his captain.

"Thank you, all." Ekbert opens up the folder and first navigates the menus then flips through the e-sheets, looking not at all different from archival colorplate paper. "Hm." He leans over to his executive officer and speaks very quietly. "What's your read, Gaarw?"

The reptilian mimics a human shrug. It's a sight to see. "I'm not sure, sir," he replies in a voice so quiet and deep so as to be almost subsonic, "I never studied human subcultures. Very hierarchical, though; and I get the feeling the fuzzy's in charge."

"You too, eh?" Musi smirks, then sees what he's looking for. "'Silence is a natural and expected form of non-verbal communication. Do not feel a need to chatter.'" He grins from behind closed lips. "Excellent." Then more loudly, "Please pass this back, XO. Thank you, Comm." Another smirk as the Sakkran gently plucks the binder from his hand. If silence is natural, then silent we shall be.

No single human being could properly log the flight paths of every ship in the inner solar system. Two hundred, however, could handle the job - though just barely. Those two hundred sensor technicians plugged away endlessly at their screens and instruments, dutifully logging contacts and praying for their shifts to end. Or, failing that, for their space station to explode so that they could be consumed in withering flames and fall thereafter into an infinitely deep abyss of quiet oblivion. Sky One, the grey, business like orbital defense platform in which the forlorn techs worked, did not oblige. Instead, it continued to squat amidst the sprawling construction taking place around it as Conquest Incorporated strode mightily to make itself into a manufacturing power. Hundreds of tugs bustled about, working on everything from duplicates of Sky One to the gargantuan Port Harris.

The practical application of this last was that those two hundred traffic control personnel - and two AIs - were slightly more harried than usual, trying heroically to keep the number of catastrophic collisions to a bare minimum. The arrival of the Patrol Cruiser in Sol barely registered. When it threatened to collide with something that both belonged to CI and was uninsured, then maybe someone would give it more than a cursory glance.

A technician duly logged the contact. "Unknown vessel, contact, Lagrange point."

His supervising lieutenant did not look up from his own work. He did, however, grunt. "Eh. Unknown?"

"Yes, sir."

"So the hell what? Grab some sorta IFF if you can and log it." And proceed to ignore.

"Yeah." A pause. "Um... sir? Some Triumverate ships are approaching, perhaps to query. It's near enough to Valhalla that they'd stick their noses around to check up."

The lieutenant jostled his subordinate out of the way instantly. He furrowed his brow in thought, peering intently at the display. Clearly not a rendezvous, or the ship would have jumped closer in towards the Intergalactic Justice League's annoying little station. So... are we looking at the start of a new and beautiful friendship that might possibly benefit people we just do not like? "The hell with that."

"Excuse me, sir?" The junior rating received no reply - his superior had dashed away to find his own boss.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Lieutenant Commander and a Captain later, the information had reached someone who was empowered to do something about it.

Port Admiral Thames glowered at a hardcopy printout of the pertinent facts and silently damned the naval policy teleconference that had kept him isolated for the crucial minutes it took for the Triumverate to rustle up the newcomers and invite them home for dinner. Stepping out of a ubiquitous transit shaft, he trudged moodily into the center of the truly cavernous command deck of Sky One.

"SigInt's picked up nothing so far?" he asked.

Lieutenant Commander Rohiry cleared her throat and looked down just a little, causing her black hair to partially obscure her dark Indian features. "We can tell they have been communicating, but we have been unable to intercept any of those communications.

Thames grumbled. "I suppose that that is most definitely that."

"Yes, sir. It's a shame we missed them, sir."

"It's a shame I was in a damned meeting you mean. Yes, well.... No - wait. Bounce this off of them with a whisker laser. Transmission is as follows."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unidentified Vessel,
Welcome to Sol! This is Port Admiral Allan Thames, commanding officer of the Conquest Incorporated Orbital Defense Platform Sky One. As a general policy, CI plays an active role in providing first-time visitors with all the Sol-oriented goods and services any nation or corporate entity might ever need to establish a foothold in this bastion of humanity. Please, if anything could be done to assist you, contact us. We look forward to doing business with you.

Port Admiral Allan Thames
Commanding Officer, CICSS Sky One
Conquest Incorporated

PS. A word of warning about your immediate hosts - dealings with organizations that seek to curtail the sovereign rights of all nations, regardless of philosophical outlook, can be hazardous. Please, once you have seen for yourself the morally self-righteous unpleasantness of the Triumverate first hand, visit my command, and your arrival in Sol will truly begin.

The beacon tower speared the surface of Tycho just south of the central prominence. In the distance the odd darting form of a vessel could be seen leaving the eastern rim wall. Four glittering kilometres of eerily energy wreathed metal and oddly twisted exotic synthetics rammed like a giant sundial spike into the centre of the regolith, seemingly emerging from nowhere. The radiation around it made unshielded entry to the heart of the crater a usually one way trip. Below it some of the largest reactors ever constructed by its builders sat humming power eternally outward as the huge beacon filled spaces that were never meant to be illuminated by so much as a photon with a single brilliant spark. Its old somewhat now dated SI noted the emergence and filed it with the several dozen high priority unknown emergence traces.

Closer it all a million glittering mechanical eyes and other less recognisable things eternally watched, as through their glassy gaze the controlled chaos of daily Earth wide traffic unfolded. Several dozen major assets were repositioned to take better view of the new comers, the tethers of there long base line high resolution passive detection systems swinging around to gain the best possible signals like a thousand pendulums moving in perfect time.

The assigned mind had no name at the time. It preferred it that way. The only thing naming it at present was the ID number in the generic energy state storage and processing node it held its “official” primary self in. Its real processing core was a twisted knot of high density exotic matter in a containment field somewhere deep within the core of MegaCity Three. Created to be capable of paranoia almost beyond reason, in certain aspects it could be almost deemed almost schizophrenic. The CI would identify its citizen registration number and little else as it was classed “officially” as low level industrial overwatch unit with limited creativity. It however lowly its official position was in reality held the rather nebulous post of head of the CI’s representation to INT-SEC. It was one of only a dozen intelligence’s within ZMI that could generate a termination level order without Gestalt approval. In its mind data and projections for a number of operations that an unenhanced human mind could never hope to comprehend save in abstract danced but one in particular was being closely watched. Slowly but surely a picture was being made.

It was a 32 metre wide series of aerials, bulbous exotic radiation detector domes, spike covered fin of mass detectors, some quite odd funnel like gravity lens projectors for a truly large passive telescope all attached to a 14 and half ton analysis package and two chunky and somewhat out of date accelerated matter decay reactors, there relavistic accelerators showing signs of age, that saw it first. All of these objects had been until a few microseconds ago quietly humming away to themselves watching the endless streams of vessels and the wallowing cargo barges on ballistic trajectories. Concordat free floating unmanned platform EET- NV2432 was a navigation buoy. Its job was rather boring and in its 23 years of operation it had on just two occasions been the closest to minor incidents onboard passing shipping. None of these had justified any kind of response from either rescue services or the ZMSF. Its primary task as the nearest asset was now however watching the new comer and waiting for the nearest holo bill board platform to get in position. All of this action in the name of advertising.

"Captain, sir?" Comms again. Richard Morgan turned slightly in his command couch, indicated his attention with a nod.

"We have the Triumvirate formation signals, sir."

"Very good. Helm! Direct us accordingly and make course to Space Station Valhalla."

"Sir."

H/VIII-0221 shifted to match the Triumvirate Medium Cruiser Component, and continued on it's way.

"Sir!"

That was Defence, the station Richard Morgan least liked hearing from - reports from Defence meant Trouble nine times out of ten.

"Report!"

"We're being painted with a laser, sir. Intermittent, could be targeting for something else -"

"Looks like a communication." Comms; a much more welcome interpretation.

"Get a message out of it, Comms."

"Sir."

A few minutes later the voice of Port Admiral Allan Thames was playing in Morgan's implants - English again, comprehensible to his Fort Liberty-bred ears. And a corporation! Those were rare, out in the Empire and the Fringe - outside of Fort Liberty commerce was the province of Jrai Mandate Lords or independent merchantmen.

Daimyo Alderson? We've a transmission from a second source - a station commander of some orbiting facility, decidedly not aligned to this Triumvirate. I'll patch it through ASAP.

Thankyou, Captain. Receiving.

~~~

"An odd sort of message," Arnkehal commented, once Yuki had finished translating the thing into fine Court Japanese. "I rather prefer Flag Captain Musi's."

"It is a sales pitch," Alderson Kenjiro said. "You hear a lot of them on Fort Liberty, where the society is based upon the ability of anyone, anywhere, to buy or sell anything they care to. "Consumerism", they call it - it is almost a religion there."

On Ieyasu the mercantile classes sat at the bottom of the hierarchy, disdained as mere movers of goods producing nothing; just as it had been in the hallowed days of the Tokugawa. On Auhtai commerce was the domain of the Mandate Lords, granted their monopolies by Imperial fiat. Neither system had much room for the abstract maneuverings of mercantilism, but accomodations could be made for foreign concepts all the same.

"And this merchant-theocrat warns us of the Triumvirate? Intriguing. The possibility exists, I suppose, that they are not all they seem."

"Caution is as useful a watchword as courtesy," Kenjiro replied, "And ideally both should be observed."

~~~

Port Admiral Thames, Commanding Officer CICSS Sky One,

This is Katsukawa Yuki, Translator, speaking by behest of Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Imperial Ambassador to Sol, aboard the Imperial Auhtain Navy Patrol Cruiser H/VIII-0221.

Our mission in Sol is to establish relations with the peoples of the Solar system, and eventually to construct a sovereign embassy on Earth itself; so we shall certainly contact your offices at some point in the future. At present, alas, prior engagements occupy our time; but we thank you all the same for your greeting and your words of warning, and look forward to doing buisness with you in the future.

Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro,
Imperial Ambassador to Sol
IAN-PCR H/VIII-0221

Meanwhile, the Triumvirate ships simply continue escorting in polite silence, passively listening to the radiation both actual and figurative that the ship they escort cannot help but emanate or reflect. The slight increase in signature due to the communications with the good Port Admiral is inevitably recorded but with no meaning assigned to it due to an insufficient amount of data; it could be a slight additional boost of power to a navigation or fine propulsion system or even a bulk intraship communication, a data dump from one computer core to another. The shipminds in the local component tacnet pass the time in casually hypothesizing over it, looking over the Patrol Cruiser much like students would casually observe and evaluate the new kid in class by look and demeanor.

A couple dozen minutes pass, in the olden days not enough to even complete a single orbit close-in but now quite enough in the speed up-slow down way modern excessive power and reactionless drives have to cross about an astronomical unit to Valhalla's more esoteric orbit near the edge of Earth's sphere of influence. The space station glows on the infrared and is even visible to the naked eye long before it ought due to a coincidence of the positioning of its reflector shell; there are inevitably bigger in Earth or Earth-Solar orbital space but that isn't the point. Ever since it was built, then rebuilt, Space Station Valhalla was a mercantile and diplomatic point; it is less than a city in space and more a simple port in space, about the volume of a healthy city's downtown district. Filled with offices of banks, consulates, and trade representatives from alliance interests in Earth Theatre and beyond with home offices more safely ensconced in assorted gravity wells in the solar system and elsewhere, Valhalla is a diplomatic port of call that makes business easier for some and customary for all.

Sharing a mutual barycenter around which they all halo are Valhalla and its attendant subsidiary structures--additional docks, shipyards, smaller habitats, and platforms--and beyond that orbits whatever components of the Earth Theatre Fleet of the Combined Services have pulled up Valhalla defense duty during Maintenance, Repair, and Overhaul periods. If the TYCS can keep a modest three-quarters of its ships on patrol at any given time, then there are between sixty and seventy warships of the Theatre Fleet here at different readiness levels, ranging from the five hundred meter Puma II advanced destroyers like Zshar-ptitsa and Scylla in Musi's formation all the way up to the two kilometer bastard children of ironclad rams and porcupines that are the Supreme Emperor battleships. The local Guard Fleet is currently on maneuvers with the Dominion Spacy a bit closer to the surface and can be safely neglected from any Auhtai tactical assessment of the situation.

Aboard Valhalla's control bridge, Space Station Commander Kerreck looks over the holographic overlay of the thick window of armorglass and notes the position of the Seventeeth Em-Cee-Arr Component and its companion. Without even bothering to glance at the officer responsible for controlling Valhalla's local orbital space, he watches the overlay update with a path to a safe clear orbit a few thousand kilometers out from the central barycenter. "Very good. Comms, please thank the Ticks for their effort and ask them to get their guests on the horn and patch them through to me."

"Aye aye, sir," comes the response, Karmabaijani and more traditional than the TYCS' penchant for battlespeak even in casual situations. A few switches get thrown, a few dials turned, a button or two pushed... and across the station even a lever gets thrown, albeit for a completely unrelated reason. Ekbert's face appears on one of several screens on Kerreck's desk, which the station commander has just managed to sit back down in and set his databoard on.

"Harpy, Valhalla. Delivery for you, Commander."

"Thanks, Flag Captain." Kerreck grins, lacking the 'Pendran tendency to avoid such a gesture. "Can you put our new guests on?"

"Certainly. They're very Japanese, though. Politeness first."

"Of course, politeness. I'll just have to reach into the ol' racial memory and pull that out."

"Really, Commander. Pretend you're talking to a corp boss--not only Japanese, but nobles."

"Right. Thank you, Captain. Good hunting and all that." Kerreck flips off the screen before Musi can manage a reply, and then waits for the signal, flipping through the papers on his databoard as a tactile approximation of his scrolling through his notes in his cybereye display, making sure he has all this down.

* - * - *

"It has been an honor to escort you this far, Denka. We will now transfer you to Commander Kerreck of Space Station Valhalla for parking orbit information. I hope you find our hospitality acceptable.

"Flag Captain Musi of Harpy, out."

*click and flicker*

"Honorable Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, I am Station Commander Kerreck of Valhalla and I welcome you to our sphere of orbital influence. Hacked to this transmission are directions into a parking orbital slot, from there we can work out your approach to station. Would you prefer to dock your vessel with our station, or transfer by shuttle?"

Richard Morgan reclines in his command couch, with Valhalla station hanging before him on his screens and on his optics. It's by no means the largest station he's ever seen - Imregant High Station is far greater, and even Fort Liberty has facilities to rival this one - but it does have a fairly sizeable defence fleet in orbit nearby.

Morgan does not hold, as the Auhtain do, that the Imperial Auhtain Navy is unsurpassable. Viewing the fleet elements here and juggling guesstimates in his mind he estimates that a Navy expeditionary force could reduce the Triumvirate here in Earth orbit, but not without losses. Best to be polite instead, especially when one is commanding a mere H/VIII.

He can make out perhaps every second word of the Triumvirate's English, and could puzzle out the gist of the message given a little time - but why spend the effort? He is fortunate in this instance that H/VIII-0221 is carrying an Imperial Ambassador and his translator.

Daimyo Alderson, Ambassador? Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal, Intercessor? Katsukawa Yuki, Translator? Richard Morgan, Captain, speaking.

Text scrolls across his optics as the trio receive his message and Morgan receives their replies. His esteemed cargo is willing and able to assist; it sure beats sitting in the XO's quarters all day.

Sirs, we've received another transmission from the Triumvirate. As before, I'd be most appreciative if you'd be so kind as to receive audio-visual copy and formulate a response in the appropriate language. We have their orbital slot path, and we'll be wanting to mantain that and ferry you over in the skiff - Navy protocol says never to come within PD range of a nonaligned facility.

We shall do that, Captain, and of a certainty we don't wish to endanger your command - the skiff it shall be.

~~~

"Flag Captain Musi, please accept our thanks for your escort here - we shall be sure to speak favourably of you to your superiors, and to the Lord-Director on Ergau."

And if that isn't a mixed blessing, Katsukawa thinks, Very little is. Ekbert Musi no more deserves the spotlight of Imperial attention than I do.

"Station Commander Kerreck, salutations on behalf of the Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro and Captain Richard Morgan of H/VIII-0221. Thankyou for your directions - our vessel shall be performing the appropriate course corrections momentarily - and for your welcome.

"It would be preferable to transfer to Valhalla station via ship's boat, as Naval procedure states that a minimum distance must be mantained between vessels under power.

Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro,
Imperial Ambassador to Sol
IAN-PCR H/VIII-0221

"Thank you. It's been a pleasure, denka. Harpy out." Musi bows forward shortly, then leans back as the communications officer flips the transmit switch back into the inactive position. "Valhalla will want someone Fleet to liase, and they'll probably want me... but we've a patrol to get back to."

Gwaaru nods, shifting his reptilian bulk slightly in his chair. "I could go in your stead, sir."

"I was thinking that myself, Gwaaru,"--the flag captain pronounces it guh-wahh-roo, which is as close as he's going to get without a larnyx upgrade, but the Sakkran assures him he says it just fine--"but I'm wondering if our rank-conscious new friends would be offended."

"They seem reasonable enough so far. 'Sides, I'll be secondary to the D.O. there and they seem war-conscious enough to know we can't pull a CO from a warship. If they can have their regulations, we can have ours."

"Hmm." Ekbert thinks for a moment, one hand going to the tip of his beard. "Alright. We are in displacer range, yes?" The question is rhetorical, but Gwaaru nods all the same before his commanding officer continues. "Comm, request a station-to-station from Valhalla. Gwaaru, you and Harpy beam over and coordinate with whatever Kerreck's got planned."

That no one is really 'beaming over' per se is irrelevant. Some memes never die.

"I hardly think I'll fit, sir," Harpy replies with the kind of low, sultry voice eternally popular in lounge music, violet lips twitched up in a smile. It had originally thought to try and play off the Harpy meme a bit more with an appopriately shrewish screech to her voice, but Skippy--Missile Frigate Saskatchewan--had rightfully pointed out that the more seductive tones would be far more fun.

"You know what I mean, Medium Cruiser," Musi replies with a sharp grumble that wouldn't seem good-natured if one didn't know him, "anyway, I want your local avatar with Gwaaru so you can collate. I know our intel's on the stratnet already but it's always good having a patternmonger around."

"Yes, sir." The winged avatar folds her somewhat redundant console up and to the side before standing, followed by the massive Sakkran. "I've just put the forward displacer room on standby."

"Excellent. Once you're off, set a course to get us out of Valhalla's exclusion zone and back on patrol, best possible speed."

"Acknowledged, sir."

* - * - *

"That will be fine, sir. Ess-tee-cee will coordinate with your shuttle pilot; we have both pressurized landing bays and external docking ports so we'll offer whatever's most convenient." Then aside to a technician: "Got that sent down the line? Good man." Back to the screen. "I look forward to greeting you as you disembark and hope you enjoy your stay aboard Space Station Valhalla.

"Valhalla out." A click and an eye caught by the flick of a hand timed perfectly with the augmented reality rig popping up another notification, seems like some Ticks are beaming over from Harpy to represent the Fleet whilst the DiploCorps takes care of the niceties and he plays host. He loves it when people read his mind...

The skiff's pilot brought the little craft to a rest in the assigned docking bay with the lightest of hands on the thrusters, and Alderson Kenjiro, his translator, and his Intercessor stepped onto the foreign soil of Valhalla spaceport.

They have gravity, Kenjiro realised, Although it's not centrifugal, as Imregant's is. And they can accelerate their ships fairly hard without non-compressive fluid ... I'd say they've some more advanced sort of gravity-projector - although not in their hearing. If the Auhtain will not admit weakness, far be it from me to do so. Not with the Imperial Majesty looking over our shoulders!

As his technically-higher status demanded, Arnkehal was first to salute their welcoming comittee, with a short bow. An equal's salute, rather than a subordinate's - on foreign territory, even the Jrai would adopt some measure of humility.

Kenjiro and Katsukawa, as humans and (theoretical, in Kenjiro's case) subordinates, bowed politely a few moments after him. Kenjiro recognised the winged humanoid and the big lizard (larger even than Arnkehal's Alakh-rohr two-meter physique) from the bridge of Harpy, and took the opportunity for a (imperceptibly discreet) closer look.

"Sirs, madam," he began (with Katsukawa beginning a running translation a few seconds later), "I regret I cannot give you all your names as yet, and some of you may not yet have our own - so thus it is my great honour to introduce Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal, a scion of the Ifring Domain on Meitrehn and Imperial Intercessor to myself;

"Myself being Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro, Imperial Ambassador to Sol;

"And Katsukawa Yuki, Translator.

"You have my thanks for your hospitality."

The adress was in the formal style of the Jrai court, as polite in that style as it came.

~~~

I'm making some assumptions here regarding your people, of course - I hope that's OK.

Valhalla's hangar bay is decidedly utilitarian and very busy. Despite that, the skiff is directed to a relatively quiet portion off to the side next to several diplomatic-use gates that allow for less obtrusive (but nearly as privacy-reducing) security and faster (i.e. nonextant) customs. A small party meets the Auhtai delegation just outside this gate.

Diplomatic Officer Soga Raicho, a slim woman of Japanese descent (Valhalla has enough D.O.s aboard to be picky) who clearly takes great pains in presenting a pleasant but natural appearance bows in reply, light glinting off of silver insignia and the silver-and-black braid bordering the sky blue plastron of her uniform, followed by Harpy and Gwaaru as one. Both of the latter wear commander's beheaded gold stars on both sides of the stiff semi-high military collars of their uniforms.

"We are most pleased to meet His Majesty Alakh-rohr Ifring mar Arnkehal and His Excellency Daimyo Alderson Kenjiro and most grateful for the assistance of honorable Katsukawa Yuki in translation." The forms of address are somewhat cut from whole cloth, but Majesty does outrank Excellency and so far Excellency at least has precedent. Rachio's mildly Japanese-accented English, along with the ease with which the human names roll off her tongue, suggests that she can probably speak Japanese... but just because she can doesn't mean the other two can too. Harpy does, for a fact, but then Gwaaru would need an interpreter and this seems to be working well enough. As for the alien name, she simply mimics what she hears syllable for syllable as closely as a few years of professional practice allows. "I am Diplomatic Officer Soga Raicho of the Triumvirate of Yut Diplomatic Corps,

"She is Commander Harpy of the Combined Services," and the purple-skinned female nods respectfully. From a closer viewpoint the same kind of gold feathers that peek out from the cuffs of her uniform also start at around the middle of her neck, just above the top of the collar; the toes of her immaculately polished boots are a bit wider than Soga's and her heels refuse to touch the ground; finally, despite a decidedly buxom appearance and no end of very subtle sexual undertones in nearly everything she does she manages to still appear professional, possibly in how her nearly-black blue hair with gold highlights is put up in a conservative style.

"And he is Commander Gwaaru, Executive Officer of Harpy, of the Combined Servies." It's the Sakkran's turn to half-nod half-bow; his green scales playing iridescent tricks with the light. Having no lips and a decidedly non-humanoid face gives no intuitive human indicator as to how he may be feeling; as he nods, though, it's apparent his neck crest is fully down and when he moves there's an ever-so-faint smell of cloves in the air. He stands the furthest back from the rest of the group so the fact that he towers over everyone else is less of a concern.

"It is our pleasure to offer our hospitality to esteemed guests." Having depleted opportunities for protective mimicry, the diplomatic officer subtly changes tone to something more home-court. "I am authorized by the Triumvirate to handle any negotiations at the current time and it is my pleasure to make sure you are as comfortable as we can arrange. If you have any questions, either I or the Commanders would be more than happy to answer them. But first, it would be rude of us to force discourse in the hangar bay. We have a conference room already prepared; if there are no objections..."