NationStates Jolt Archive

Revan and Malak were, to everyone, the heroes of the Mandalorian wars, the saviours of the republic and it's people. But the council was static, arrogant beyond belief and in Revan's eyes at least a fading, impotent part of the order. And so, with the information from the star maps collected and the knowledge of the wars fresh in his mind Revan and Malak fled the known galaxy along with a third to half the entire Republic fleet, and a good portion of their soldiers. Where they went the council never found out, and indeed collapsed before it could ever try. Revan was in fact trying to save the galaxy as a whole from a threat they had percieved in the Wars, discovering that the whole crusade was nothing more than a farce, a backdrop for a much greater problem, a threat not only to the Republic, but to all life in the galaxy.

It was because of what they found in and beyond the outer rim that they became dark, even less bound to the council's will than before. Malak fell to the darkside completely, growing to hate the council, to lust for power, and wanting to overthrow his master as would any other common Sith or fallen jedi. The Star Forge, a weapon and factory of immense power, built by an ancient race and feeding off the dark side itself pushed forward and fueled the construction of their fleet, it built their droids and it created everything for them from fighters up to capital ships. But still, there was the human component missing and before they could 'restructure' any Republic or other worlds they would have to drive beyond the first group of loyal soldiers and minions.

Revan then used the ancient, accumulated knowledge of the Forge to scour beyond the outer rim for worlds with a population ripe for the picking and what the new Sith found surprised even them. Sith existed outside of this galaxy and far away from it, but they were not the ancient, true Sith, they were something else, force users calling themselves Sith and even someone who had merely embraced the code of this sect of force adepts as a means to an end could not stand this. But realizing that they may in fact be exactly what Revan was searching for in the way of possible force adepts and soldiers, recruits for their cause, Revan and Malak delved deep into the Forge's great history, and learned much about these false Sith and the system, galaxy they lived in. Malak wanted to crush them, to bring them under his control as he always did even before his fall, but Revan quickly silenced his desires. The great lord Revan realized that the people of this system were not all force users, that there were several powerful in their own right alliances, and that the population density on many of the worlds in that system was so high above the average in Revan's galaxy so as to be a problem in itself, much like that of Coruscant. Getting there would be relatively simple, the true test would be proving themselves neutral, or at least as inoffensive as a fleet of Sith warships could ever be.

Revan set about ensuring the Sith and fallen jedi's..compliance by coercing them both through speeches and through the force, breaking their natural urge to destroy to a more tolerable and controllable soldieresque state of mind. As much as they could be molded into minions, they were still at heart anger filled rebels, the best Revan could do was turn them into a crude approximation of a standing army. The actual soldiers, the increasingly faceless mass of former republic infantry and ship crew served only to enforce Revan's will on the force adepts, to bring to heel even the most troublesome reject. And thus with their minions under control, their fleet built, crewed as heavily as permitted and the Forge protected by a variety of defense systems, preparations moved into the final stage for the journey.

Revan waited by an observation window, knowing that Malak would voice his concerns, even strike at Revan before they left. And so Malak approached the dark lord, bowing before his master obiediently, waiting for his moment.
"..You may rise." And so Malak did, and mentioned in that metallic, degraded voice he possessed "Master..We must move now, crush the Republic while we have this grand fleet under our command. I will not allow-" Revan cut him off with a wave of his hand, silencing the student.
"...No, Malak. Our army is not yet complete, the apprentices not yet trained. You may see this factory as something more, but it is just a tool, a means to an end to strengthen the Republic. The council is occupied by decrepit fools, and will be dealt with, you can be sure of that, but you will obey me and follow my every command till then, even if it involves being diplomatic with those you wish to destroy. That is all."
"..Yess..Master. As you wish." Malak turned from Revan, heading back down the walkway, furious that he had been denied, and like all Sith, waiting for the moment in which he could strike down his master.

They would depart that 'day', Revan satisfied that all was under control, that the minions and even Malak would not disobey, and that their already thousands strong fleet was sufficiently crewed with fleshy beings that they would not have to worry about ship crew for months yet. Revan had chosen a target planet in Sol, Saturn the database called it. The Forge had said it and it's moons were home to a major alliance, Revan assuming that they could be convinced to help the fleet. If the dark lord was wrong, however, they would move on to the next planet in their search without pause, and if they could find nothing there, onto the next and so on and so forth till every planet in the system had been searched thoroughly, for Revan would not be denied. And thus, using the Forges vast and powerful technology, they catapulted themselves across mindboggling distances to this system, appearing in a great flash some distance from the planet, far enough away that they were out of firing range, and presumably from being fired at in return, but close enough that it was obvious their current path would lead them to the planet, or near enough. It took them some time to get there, of course, even with the Forge's assist, but that is irrelevant to them actually appearing, which would be picked up almost immediately by anyone with any sort of competent sensor equipment. As said before, Revan would be diplomatic, and their minions chained to the dark lords will. There would be no attacks, no insults, this was a search and possibly a recruitment mission, not a military campaign...

Not too far from Saturn, two dozen civilian ships ranging in size from a small interstellar express courier to a multi-klick superlifter are peacefully cruising, along with a quartet of escorting WarShips. They notice the new arrivals all but instantly.

Fleet C-Space
Convoy INUVIK-1071
Rimward Approach Corridor

<6CA Diefenbaker> Scan contacts! Multiple new contacts on perimeter.
<Superlifter Fuck Iraqstan> I see them too.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> All ships, set Condition Yellow. Deploying drones to defensive configuration. Prime weapons to warm standby, do not target.
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Looks like a bunch of SD ripoffs to me. Seen a lot of those out rimwards lately.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Flash alert sent to TDF / TYCS / Home Fleet.
<6DD Whitewater> Profiles and silhouettes do not match known threatforce units.
<6CA Aberdeen> Definitely not Antaran from the power signatures.
<6CA Diefenbaker> Vector has them heading Saturn-wards.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> TDF confirms unknowns sighted with VDA.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Sending Challenge.

All Ships Broadcast (Contact T+0:0:1.002)
“Attention, unknown warships. This is the Cetagandan Space Service Medium Science Unit Kiss This Then. Be advised you are approaching restricted space. Request you identify yourselves.”

C-Space
<Capt. Thatcher (INUVIK CO)> “All ships, flag. We're not seeing any signs that they have weapons powered. Still, I want all ships to have drives ready for full burn. They so much as twitch, run for the TDF perimeter.”
<6CA Aberdeen> Can't imagine what these bozos think they're doing, popping in this close.
<IMM-10893 Heavy Time> You know these how these types provincial types can be. Give them a couple warships and a planet or two and they think they're masters of the universe.
<Superlifter Fuck Iraqstan> And this was shaping up to be such a peaceful trip.
<6DD Whitewater> Ten to one says there's some sort of self-proclaim galactic overlord involved.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Ten to one whats?
<6CA Aberdeen> Gods, these people are so slow. That challenge went out a second ago. I bet they haven't even noticed us yet.
<6DD Whitewater> Probably have a meatbags-only C&C structure. Poor things, so slow, so limited.
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Hey!
<6DD Whitewater> Present company excluded, of course.

A Specter Class (http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/Starship.jpg) Dreadnought was cruising near Saturn, on it's way towards Earth. It's engines cut out, with the transmission from the Cetagandan Space Service. Within a two seconds, the ship's AI sent an automated response, pausing to scan the area as it was not clear who the transmission was intended for, plus the course the ship was on would skirt the Cetagandan claims. Why? Because Crimm captains were egotistical bastards and the shipboard AI had learned long ago that aruging was futile.

CSS Fist of God. Crimmond Imperial Navy. Ship designation SDN-12. Course will not infringe on Cetagandan claims from cartographic update made four(4) Terran days ago.

The ship was traveling on inertia, so as to stick around a few minutes longer. It was allways useful to see what would happen to the Fist, should it ever cross the boundry it was slipping around.

Saturnspace, in terms of traffic control, has been described as dangerously simple. Imagine a one-lane road, a solid yellow line painted on the left, a solid white line painted on the right, speed limit posted every few hundred meters in signs to big to be missed. This road intersects with other roads going in all sorts of directions willy-nilly, but if one drives at exactly the speed limit, which happens to be coasting or best-economy speed for that particular stretch or hill, one will have nothing to worry about. Sure, others may zip by in front and behind at intersections but they'll never collide, provide that the speed limit is kept. This is the work of the Space Traffic Control network.

Back in the old days when warfleets were commonly kept in Saturnspace, the analogy would continue with a description on how the shoulders of the road were guarded by main battle tanks parked serenely every so often, with the occasional charred hulk of someone who was in a hurry and tried to pass by going on the shoulder or speed or go offroad, especially the latter. This was a fanciful embellishment; only a few proper nutters got vaporized for breaking STC's dictum and as time progressed space got so dense that in high-traffic spacelanes laws were as self-enforcing as the laws of universal gravitation they were essentially based on. People learned not to speed and not to be in a rush for the same reason people learned that jumping off a cliff is generally a very poor idea. Also, the fleets eventually moved out but their munitions didn't; as missiles got upgraded and replaced they were eventually discarded in parking orbits and tied into the overall Very Dangerous Array, which first augmented and then supplanted 'static' defense posts. The analogy now goes that instead of tanks the shoulders are walled off by blatant orange and black signs warning of mines, with quite a few mines actually labeled by deaths-head flags. Now it's a matter of public record that only about twenty percent of the VDA is actually labeled, so for every flagged mine one sees there's four more essentially hidden.

Once again, the rules are self-enforcing in a way that would give Dr. Strangelove chills of excitement, akin to contemplations of ratios of ten females to every male. Surprisingly enough, fatalities in case of failure to comply are still exceptionally low given Saturnspace's preference for unipod designs and outstanding instadeploy ejection chairs; still, the fines and flight restrictions slapped on the most egregious flouting of the rules have lead to more than one suicide as a result. Saturnspace is a great place to work and live, and wonderful to commute if one has a book and just trusts the almighty STC to control her delta-V; it's Singapore on steroids for the latter-day street racers, though.

Saturn STC Central even has a plaque on its walls, solid polished brass twenty meters tall with letters the average person could curl up and snooze in. It takes up one entire wall, and was installed as part of a joking gift from a rich eccentric who moonlighted as a political commentator and satirist. That joke has now become STC Central's official motto:

IF YOU WANT TO HORSEPLAY, THERE'S A FEW INFINITY
BILLION CUBIC KILOMETERS TO DO IT IN... OUTSIDE.

NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE.

With the approach of what appeared to be a decently sized warfleet, STC Central simply sent a series of message to TYCSHQ to confirm that, yes, they see it too. Alert levels raise a few notches and the absolutely insane level of militarization that is Fortress Saturn causes electromagnetic signatures to increase proportionally. Once they start increasing exponentially, people are going to die and bookies across the system figure that the odds are it won't be people under the care of Saturn STC.

Still, it's not a military matter yet and so Space Traffic Control fills the breach, once again. The first available mind, which just happens to be organic in this case, opens a channel and transmits in a conebeam towards the approaching fleet. It sounds like some seventeen year-old stockboy who is absolutely thrilled about his job--consisting mostly of transmitting alerts to people too stupid to read signs--and his voice simply drips with thrill. One can hear the acne and the lack of punctuation.

"Unidentified formation this is Saturn Space Traffic Control your current vector has you entering restricted space please divert to exoRing orbit currently hacked to this transmission thank you."

Hrm. These locals know what they're doing. Proper protocol, acceptable, though..a science ship? No matter. We came here to find something, to recruit and most of all to be diplomatic.
Revan sighs, and taking note of his personal assassin droid approaching, almost buzzing with anticipation. Rusty red, and carrying a projectile carbine 'he' is always the first to ask these questions.
"Request: Master, may I be the first to greet these meatbags? I would so dearly love to educate them on how to show the proper respect for Master."
The robed, masked figure sighs again, annoyed.
"No, Fourty-Seven. You may observe, track them in your own way, but you will not act, not unless I order it, and that order is highly unlikely to ever come." The droid sighs in his turn, something he picked up from his creator.
"Appeasement: Yes Master, of course master. You are very harsh to such a finely crafted droid as myself. But do not worry! I will obey!"
He stands by his master, intent on noting and observing every little part of what is to follow. Revan sends the order to respond to the communication, in their exacting words, followed by the rigid order for the fleet to hold back, to stop, as much as anyone can ever stop in space, weapons powered down.

A quick sharp reply to SSTC from a communications droid, model T3-M3.
"Fleet diverting....Specified orbit deemed unneccessary...Awaiting further communication...",
and a dictated, human comms officer reply to the Cetagandans.
"..Kiss This Then, this is the Leviathan, flagship of .." There is an obvious moment of reluctance, and then continuing. "...lord Revan's fleet, here on a.." Another moment of reluctance, shorter this time. "..diplomatic mission. He has ordered me to convey that we are not here to cause any trouble whatsoever, that our intentions are as benign as possible, and asks if it is at all possible that we may send a diplomat or someone suitably informed to converse with representatives of the power governing this planetary system. As stated, we do not wish to cause alarm and any responses will be fowarded to the intelligence, flesh or otherwise, that you request it to be."
The officer ends the transmission and performs his job to the letter, doing all he can to carry out the wishes of his lord.

And as Revan sits cross legged in their quarters, meditating on the future of this expedition, Malak paces the floor of the ships Command deck, angered by more than his masters personal droid's constant references to him as a 'meatbag', fuming silently and fervently wishing that his time to overthrow his Master would get that much closer. The fleet keeps no slaves by Revan's order, and so he is forced to amuse himself with training remotes.

Tightbeam CSS-MSU Kiss This Then --> Leviathan
“Acknowledged. Will relay your message upwards to appropriate authorities.”

C-Space
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Huh.
<6DD Whitewater> Now that's odd.
<6CA Diefenbaker> Someone's being extra obsequious today.
<Superlifter Fuck Iraqstan> Anyone have any clue who they are?
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Nope.
<IMM-29884 Rimrunner> Not I, said the container ship.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Stand down to Condition Green.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Also, if you'd be so kind as to turn your optics towards observing our new pals, Fleet Intelligence says they'd be very much obliged.
<6DD Whitewater> My, what large reaction engines you have, Grandma.
<6CA Diefenbaker> The better to roast you with, my dear.
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Is that a command tower? Tell me that isn't a command tower.
<6CA Aberdeen> It's a command tower. You can tell by the guy pacing back and forth.
<IMM-09819 Hibert's Pride> Don't you people have anything better to do?
<Superlifter Fuck Iraqstan> Shove off, old man.
>>CSS-LSU Little Rascal +staff has attached to INUVIK FleetSpace.
<LSU Little Rascal (Fleet Diplo Attache)> What's all this, then?
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Some guy from the out-and-gone wants to speak with 'representatives of the power governing of this planetary system.'
<LSU Little Rascal> What, like the Triumvirate Council?
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> No idea.
<6CA Diefenbaker> Maybe we can shove them off to Valhalla?
<LSU Little Rascal> No, too far from here. They'd probably take that the wrong way.
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Machiavelli?
<6CA Aberdeen> What, and have their legs broken?
<MSU Kiss This Then> Hold on, I'll just ask them what they're wanting first.
<LSU Little Rascal> Have your captain do it. More formal-like that way.
<MSU Kiss This Then> Hey, bag of mostly water! Got a job for you.
<Capt. Thatcher (INUVIK CO)> I'll take that under advisement, silicon boy.

Tightbeam CSS-MSU Kiss This Then --> Leviathan
This time, a different voice comes over the radio. “Leviathan, this is Captain Edward Thatcher, commander of this convoy. Is there any particular matter that your lord wishes to discuss? Knowing that would help a great deal in directing you to the appropriate authority. You see, there isn't exactly a single governing entity here. The Triumvirate of Yut, which controls Saturnspace, is actually a quasi-federal alliance of sovereign states. You might need to deal with one or more of them, or you might need to deal with the alliance as a whole. I can try to answer any general questions you might have, if you'd like.”

The Fist of God comes to a full stop, more or less, as this 'Revan' asked to speak to leaders of the solar system, not just the Saturn mini-system. After a few minutes of tightbeam, a tight beam binary burst is sent to the Leviathan.

The content is a standard message for first contacts. Who runs Crimmond, the basic overview of the Intercontinental Empire, the commander of the sending ship, a Captain Molotov.

The dreadnought slowly comes about, as a ship it's size wasn't going to handle like a frigate and the AI sends a request to the Cetagandan system for permission to approach and take part in contact with this new group and, with the Cetagandan's themselves. Also included is a visual recording from Molotov. "We will adhere to all the international codes of courtesy. No weapons, shields or fighters. I hope you will remember that no Crimm has ever broken those codes in any talks."

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/Vlad.JPG
Captain Molotov

Revan ceases their short meditation, having come to the conclusion that future interactions with the locals will have to be on their terms, by their rules, and without any heavy handness and brute force one would normally associate with the Sith. As difficult as this is to enforce, it is neccessary if they want to stay in the system for long. Being on the 'good side' of the powers that be in this system is required, or at least a neutrality space in which they could work. Revan decides to answer the Cetagandans personally, mainly to avoid the mistakes Malak could make or the deliberate sabotage of relations Fourty Seven would commit, but there is still the intent to pay proper respect to the established members of the system's community.
The information from Captain Molotov is useful merely for one thing-determining basic things about the civilizations in this system, and adjusting general responses to fit. Revan's voice 'carries' across in a respectful tone, but there is the hint that they are not just here solely to pay their respects, no matter what even Revan thinks.

"Captain Thatcher, we have travelled a vast distance here for a variety of things and we intend on observing the proper rules and regulations when informed of them, but the most I can convey in this type of communication is that we're here to find something, to do something important, and that we need people, thinking beings to help, that this is going to take a while, perhaps months, even years.
If you have any need to speak to me again, than I am available for this purpose, but the specifics, the meat and heart of this matter cannot be settled like this, and I ask of you or your 'superiors' that something be arranged in which we can lay out our true intentions and capabilities."

Revan waited for an answer, pondering whether or not to reveal their face in any interactions with this 'Triumvirate' or the states therein, for giving them respect required a certain amount of honesty about their person that minions do not need. Some of the original veterans among Revan's army would know their face, but the robes, the mask were a way of inspiring obedience among their followers and respect among their enemies, and Revan knew these people would not need or want that facade.

Tightbeam CSS-MSU Kiss This Then --> Leviathan
“Thank you, Lord Revan. I shall contact you again shortly.”
----
C-Space
<Capt. Thatcher (INUVIK CO)> That was certainly vague.
<LSU Little Rascal> Yes. Still, from the looks of things, the guy's some sort of head of state or the like. Probably shouldn't foist him off on a random underling.
<LSU Little Rascal> Hold on, I'm going to bump you upwards.

----
Several Light-Seconds Away

“Let me see if I have this right: some random ruler from the back of beyond shows up with a squadron of warships, spooks you and annoys STC, and now wants to speak to the people in charge of Saturn about finding something or someone that he won't tell to you, a lowly ship's captain.”

“Well...yes, my lord. That does seem accurate.”

“And apparently Foreign Affairs thinks I should deal with this?”

”Ah, I suppose so, my lord. I've actually been on hold while they bounced me around.”

“Sometimes I hate Lord Alton. Right. I'll see about getting some sort of meeting set up. Just inform this Revan that we'll see him soon, captain, and that he should park himself somewhere. Only more diplomatically.”

”By your command, my lord.”

“Gods, I thought I had minions for this sort of thing.”

----
Tightbeam CSS-MSU Kiss This Then --> Leviathan

After a few minutes, Thatcher sends a new message. “Lord Revan, I have spoken with my sovereign, Emperor Gregor V, and he says that he will take your request for a meeting to the rest of the Triumvirate Council. It will most likely take a few days to arrange, as you might imagine. In the mean time, we ask that you remain in your current holding orbit if possible. If you require immediate supplies or shore leave for your crews, the nearest free port would be Machiavelli Station. If you have any other needs, please do not hesitate to ask on a tightbeam directed to the coordinates hacked to this signal. Thatcher out.”

----
{Secure Triumvirate Communications}
x Gregor V (IUoCetaganda)
o Triumvirate Council

As some of you may know, a fleet of warships just parked itself outside of the Saturn defense perimeter. It apparently belongs to a Lord Revan, leader of some previously unknown nation. Apparently he'd like to speak to us, the Triumvirate, regarding some rather vague mission of apparently great importance. Given that he came all this way himself, it'd probably be diplomatic if some reps or a few heads of state met with him. Maybe in that council chamber we never use at $DATE_&_TIME?

Gregor V
{Message Ends}

After several minutes of silence towards the request, Molotov grows impatient. The ship emits a large burst of radiation at the Cetagendan ships. Nothing harmful in the least, but it would garner some attention to the lone warship.

The AI repeats the request in five Terran trade languages, stating in a second communication sent with it that Molotov is as unstable as the weapon sharing the name, if he feels he has been insulted and that the AI, while bound to carry out any orders the 'meat sack' makes, it does not wish to cease existing and asks that some sort of answer be given. Perferably a polite one, given the aforementioned instability.

As all this is going on, Malak continues to pace the Command deck, garnering nervous looks from those at their stations, and only Admiral Saul Karath has the will to actually convey the required message from Revan.
He approaches Malak, though staying out of reach, fearful of bringing bad news.
"..My lord, Revan has commanded me to ..tell you that if you do indeed wish to challenge him, to usurp the mantle of dark lord than your time is now. Revan will not tolerate your interference with this mission. The apprentices training room. Now." He backs away a few steps in anticipation of having angered his lord.
Malak gives the Admiral nothing more than a look of contempt.
"Admiral...your predecessor once made the mistake of questioning my orders...Surely you are not so foolish as to do the same?..My and Revan's differences are none...of your..concern." A look of anger in his eyes, one hand reaching out towards the Admiral.
"My..my lord, I assure you I was only carrying out your masters commands!"
"Then Revan should have given the order to me...personally..."
He curls his hand into a fist, and Saul's eyes widen. "You are worthless to me, Admiral."
Saul's response never comes. His eyes roll into the back of his head, a feeble gasp coming from his lips as the life is almost choked from his body. He collapses to the deck, and Malak releases him.
"You are lucky I am feeling generous today, insolent fool."
The admiral stays on the floor, unconscious, the Command deck crewmen not saying a word, they too fearing Malak's wrath. Turning away from Karath, Malak calmly begins walking to the training room regardless, caring little to nothing about Revan trying to control the time and place of his betrayal.
Revan awaits their student, having planned this even before they actually arrived in this system. They fire off another message to the Captain as arranged, and send the order for the fleet to remain as per the request.
"Captain Thatcher, that is...acceptable. We will wait, and the owners of this 'Machiavelli Station' can work out specifics with the men under my command.
I do not believe I will require anything beyond that till your Emperor can arrange this meeting. Thank you for your cooperation."

<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Gods, is that thing still pinging us?
<6CA Diefenbaker> You'd think it'd get the idea by now.
<6DD Whitewater> Gee, I'm glad I'm not the flagship. That poor sucker's going to have to talk to them.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> Oh, shut up.
<LSU Little Rascal> KTT, please cut your approach and enter a holding position relative to the newcomers. We want someone on the scene to supervise for the moment. It's already cleared with Fleet Command and STC.
<MSU Kiss This Then (Flag)> So much for shore leave.
<IMM-34671 Triumvirate Movers> Did someone just fall over dead on that ship?
<6CA Diefenbaker (INUVIK Acting Flag)> Righto, everyone. Less gawking, more getting into your assigned traffic patterns.

Tightbeam CSS-MSU Kiss This Then --> Fist of God

“Sorry about the delay, but we've been talking with the new arrivals. They say that they want to speak with some of the Triumvirate leadership about some issue that they won't share with lowly minions like me. Obviously, you're free to navigate where you want in open space and speak to whoever you'd like, but if you choose to do so, we'd appreciate it if you make it clear that you're non-affliated. We're not sure how up-to-date they are on Solar politics.”

"About damned time..." Molotov muttered and looked at the audio only pickups in the cieling, speaking louder. "Fine by me... We allready set a general information packet. Crimmond doesn't want to be affiliated with Yut anymore than you do with us. We're interested in them, not you." Cuts off the transmission and looks at his first officer.

"The new arrivals may be piloting some Star Destroyer look-alikes, but it's still more interesting than charting clouds of space dust. Send a tight beam message to them. Something that the Yuts will know is being sent, but be unable to hear unless they're in line with this... Leviathan."

Leviathan, I am Captain Molotov of the Crimmond Imperial Navy... The Yut tend to drag their feet with all kinds of political middle-men. We are prepared to host Lord Revan aboard our ship, or come aboard yours, to see if our goals are complimentary or not.

{Secure Triumvirate Communications}
x Gregor V (IUoCetaganda)
o Triumvirate Council

As some of you may know, a fleet of warships just parked itself outside of the Saturn defense perimeter. It apparently belongs to a Lord Revan, leader of some previously unknown nation. Apparently he'd like to speak to us, the Triumvirate, regarding some rather vague mission of apparently great importance. Given that he came all this way himself, it'd probably be diplomatic if some reps or a few heads of state met with him. Maybe in that council chamber we never use at $DATE_&_TIME?

Gregor V
{Message Ends}
$DATE_&_TIME is acceptable to me. Something does bother me. Whatever happened to calling ahead for reservations? If we were to drop everything every time someone appeared out of the One Fanged God's left armpit and demanded "take me to your leader..."

--Speaker-Rrit

[appended message]

We should put up a 'no loitering' sign, I think. Damned bums are going to lower property values.

--Lance Hawke

* - * - *

A few minutes later Saturn STC gets the new gameplan whilst the TYCS dispatches a Loki to act as a courier. Small enough to not be too threatening, big enough to survive, and fast enough to flee. Meanwhile, TYCSHQ lets whichever mook happens to be sitting at Leviathan's comm station that a dropship is inbound to pick up Reaven's diplomatic party and to not mind the 'local color;' some village reached their holding capacity of idiots and so had to start exporting. Simultaneously, VDA operators amuse themselves with practicing iron-reticle aiming on all the new targets in the area; a non-negligible percentage actually not lining up with anything under Reaven's flag.

The actual duel was short and sweet, Malak was made to kneel and earned a new scar for his troubles. Revan was far more technically skilled with a saber than Malak, despite the size difference from Malak's six foot six. And just as Malak retreated from the room, defeated and even then plotting his next attempt, Revan recieved the message. They knew that inevitably there would be some less than welcoming gestures from the locals, but to actually gain their trust and/or acceptance they would have to go out on a limb and make some concessions that just wouldn't happen with anyone else.

Crossing the vast distances between their galaxies was difficult enough and as such they couldn't actually contact them beforehand, but still Revan knew there would be anxieties and planned to overcome them. Revan would go as the diplomatic party personally, though Fourty Seven insisted on coming with, to provide 'security against these disrespectful meatbags', in his own words.

And as they were 'picked up' by the dropship, there was a marked lack of formality other than the silver armoured soldiers saluting, even if it was a pointless gesture. As to the Crimm, they would be allowed aboard ship, though by the order of Saul Karath rather than Malak or Revan, Karath hoping to have a proper distraction from Malak's directed anger. Formality in this case was a neccessity, Saul wanting to make them feel like actual diplomats.

The Scarab-Class shuttle(named as such because of it's insectile landing struts and forward laser cannons, rounded main compartment and outboard engines on the tupper section gave the impression of the Arabian bug) exited the bay and powered towards the Leviathan.

"Sir, there's another shuttle on course for the same ship. It's a Yut." The pilot reported, keeping his opinions of the Yut out of his voice.

Molotov looked at the small group in the shuttle. Two armed marine guards, a Delta class human male(bald with cranial implants allowing communications with Crimm computers, as well as other compatible ones) and his second officer. "That may make things a bit interesting. They probably want to pick up Revan and haul... is Revan a man or a woman? No one has said? Fah... no matter. They want to haul Revan off to a base they control."

As the shuttle was arriving, the other one had lifted off and was heading away. "God dammit. Well, I suppose we either chase them down or wait. I don't much want to chase them into Yut territory. Land us."

The ramp came down and Molotov, along with both Marines stepped out, eyeing the silver armored troops. "I hope that's just dress armor, for their sakes. Calling all that attention to themselves seems suicidal." The two nodded and waved the rest of the party out, one standing by the ramp as a guard, while the other stayed with the group. "Now... I wonder what happens next."

Two lines of the silver armoured soldiers stand on either side of the shuttle's front, then two shorter lines of dust red armoured troops, then a staggered line of grey robed individuals. The armour gives no indication of the person's gender or age, and the robes obscure the faces of their owners. Calmly walking to greet the newcomers is Admiral Saul Karath, dressed in a blackish grey uniform with the appropriate insignia. He salutes the Captain, and the guard press their rifles to their shoulders.

"..I welcome you, Captain, though my lord has seen fit to consort with others. You are welcome on this ship for now, but my first question has to be...why are you here? We have our mission, but what is yours?"
He gestures towards the end of the line of soldiers.
"..We have much to talk about, to arrange, and most of all...to trade."
There is a sound of feet stomping metal, and the soldiers tilt their rifles foward.

The two marines hold their rifles across their chests and scan the lines of soldiers. They didn't wear masks, but their faces were blank.

Molotov looked at the Delta and the laser cannons on the ship roatated around and targeted the soldiers. "That's all well and good... but grand displays of power don't phase me and they make my marines a bit twitchy." He eyed the Admiral, then the robed figures and looked at the Delta again.

The cyborg nodded and spoke in a language that the Admiral would not understand, a mix of Russian, German, Polish and Yiddish with unique words thrown in for flavor. Then Molotov chuckled. "My Dataminer has informed me that your ship, the robed figures, the lines of soldiers in shiny armor and the fact your leader is titled 'Lord' is consitant with a group we have had sparse contact with over a long period of time..."

He waved his hand and the laser cannons returned to normal as he stepped forward, past the Admiral and up to one of the robed figures, appraising the person, looking more amused than nervous. "I've never met a real live Sith before."

The hundred-meter twenty kiloton DropShip, generally equivalent to a light combatant in several other fleets, easily slips up to Leviathan, nestles in, and follows whatever procedures are necessary to dock. In any case, a boarding tube with a universal collar on the end of it expedites the process greatly. A few Infantrymen in standard powered armor wait to respectfully greet whoever's coming aboard and their inevitable honor guard, whilst a junior officer in a flight suit and with flight helmet tucked under her arm directs the party to their stateroom for the trip. Once everyone is settled, the M.I. get posted to guard the room (and more M.I. further out receive orders to guard the M.I. guarding the room), the Loki disengages from docking and flies back through the decidedly dangerous volumes of Saturn's inner satellite systems.

Windows (flatscreens hooked up to external cameras) in the Sith's cabin show the approach of the blue-white orb of Titan, surrounded as it always is with various smaller megastructures. Reentry is hardly an issue when one has enough thrust and fuel, and finally the DropShip settles down on a hardened landing pad at Port Aurora, the city established where the Scolopendran, Karmabaijani, and Suunto borders meet on the continent of Xanadu in the higher reaches of the central mountain range. The buildings are a mix of 'Pendran Streamline Moderne near-bunkers and Karmabaijani milespire design philosophy; while not particularly beautiful, they aren't exactly ugly either and do look decidedly solid for the most part... which makes sense, for a spaceport.

Shuffle everyone into an armored motorcade with a diplomatic officer apologizing for the conditions but it was assembled on very short notice, and transit over to the Triumvirate building. Because of the scale of everything at street level, it's hard to get a good look at it, but what one can see looks nice, with futuristic clean lines that suggest Googie influence without going abstractly far with it. The inside, into which the delegates get hustled rather quickly, continues the same design philosophy. Lots of natural light, even if it requires light pumps, and lots of geometric conic-section curves.

Finally, they get met by someone they might consider important. If nothing else, he's big and bright orange with black stripes. "Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra," the tiger-linebacker-thing introduces itself with a polite bow, an extended hand, and a voice like crushed rock, "welcome to Titan and the capital of sorts of the Triumvirate of Yut. We are assembling the delegates via telepresence. If there is anything we can do for you... please do not hesitate to ask."

The admiral calmly maintains the look of respect on his face, though he is rapidly beginning to dislike these newcomers. They will serve his purpose, though, and he accepts them for the time being. He smiles, and stares at Molotov.
"You will find that I am considered merciful amongst the Sith. It's best if we proceed to the bridge and converse there, free from the distractions you seem to be engaged in. And there, at least, you will come to grips with how we operate." He continues to calmly wait for the Captain, and the robed figure makes no move to even acknowledge Molotov's presence. Just as ordered.

When they're on the dropship, Revan makes both theirs and Fourty-Seven's weapons obvious and in plain sight to the guards. Revan otherwise stays silent, as does Fourty-Seven, though not out of being ordered to do so, rather out of assessing his surroundings in his usual methodical manner.
When they actually meet the 'Supreme Emperor', Fourty-Seven stands in a motionless salute beside Revan, looking over the imposing figure of the Emperor silently. Revan returns the bow with one of their own, then reaching out to accept the extended hand. The actual act of proper respect is done as Revan reaches to their face and removes their mask, exposing a vaguely young human face. Though it is greyed, cracked and appears to have suffered great wear and tear, it is obvious the person it belongs to is still well under middle age. The hood Revan is wearing then falls backwards, revealing the rest of their face and long, ponytailed hair.

"I assure you, I do not wish to impose myself on you or the alliance you belong to. I and my fleet are here to look for things that my information says exist in this system. If that is incorrect or not worth pursuing, then we will move along without causing any trouble and without further incident."
Revan then parts the side of their robes to push their two sabers into the 'clearly visible so as to not be any threat' position.
"..And if you wish for us to proceed unarmed, then it shall be so."

Molotov eyed the Admiral and turned away from the Sith he was near, stepping over again. He looked at his dataminer again. Another few seconds of that odd language. "We believe you are operating differently than normal Sith, from our experience... or maybe you're the normal ones and we got the oddballs dealing with us in the past." He ignored the veiled threat, still seeming amused, rather than threatened. "Lead on."

Speaker flicks his ears, explaining the gesture with the smile his face's structure can't help but make thin. Most buildings in Port Aurora are armored; the Trium building and the TYCS headquarters "brick" are essentially starships with the engines ripped out to increase the mass allowance for armor and defenses which could only be called absolutely paranoid. That OPO agents and their opposite numbers in other Triumvirate member services, complete with automated, sentient, and motive security systems, are crawling around right about now need not be said. "No, that is not necessary. We are willing to accept your show of good faith."

That if the faith isn't good, the TYCS will have a quick turkeyshoot of the fleet outside and Reaven would be lucky not to be vaporized into ions within three seconds need not be said. It isn't said. Instead, Speaker simply directs Reaven and his party to the Councilroom. More simple lines, dominated by a ring-like table with a ring of lights suspended above it from the domelike ceiling. The dome is made up of the graceful vault-like arches that meet the floor, simple hyperbolas repeated to be visually interesting even with a conservation of line and form while natural light filters in from windows recessed in the sides of the arches, allowing for lighting without aiding snipers. At one end the table slopes up to a sort of broad podium with three seats behind it; the words "Service," "Honor," and "Duty" in steel letters are arranged on a triangle on the front face of the podium. Behind that, the wall is dominated by a large Triumvirate roundel, which is repeated in a formica large-panel mosaic on the floor.

Several comfortable but clearly temporary chairs have been placed in the middle, and Speaker makes his way around the outer circumference whilst he indicates the middle chairs with one orange-and-white furred hand. Sitting down in the middle of the slightly raised chairs, Speaker-Rrit looks around as more delegates blink in via telepresence at their seats or come in and take your seats. "Sorry for the inconvenience, friends, but this was rather unexpected." He looks to be addressing both Reaven and his fellow councilmembers. "So, Lord Reaven--what can we do for you?"

(OOC: All Trium members, feel free to jump in from this point onward as you'd like.)

Saul gestures towards the elevator leading to the Command Deck at the end of the dock and the line of soldiers and robed figures falls back.
"Follow me then, and you will be most assured of our superiority in relation to the faction you know. That, I can promise." He starts walking to the elevator anyway, requiring the Captain to catch up.

And in the meantime, with Fourty Seven standing at their side, Revan hands the mask to him for safekeeping. He is as motionless as ever, assessing the new arrivals with glowing red eyes, an affect he had chosen for himself. Revan grins, though no teeth are bared and one, just one of the lines creasing their face disappears.
"Though I am honoured that you have chosen to meet with me yourselves, instead of through a follower, I have some pressing questions that I feel need to be answered. Question number one, two and three are..does my kind exist in this system in any great number? Are they obvious, or do they try to hide themselves?, and lastly do they hold any amount of power here, or do they lack it completely? And if the answer to all of this is no, then we will move on when we are able, for I personally do not wish to cause the sort of conflict the other Sith seem to always want to jump into."

He expects the Sith to conform to basic Sith idealology, for if they don't, they are not Sith, but mere fallen jedi too weak and cowardly to make their place in the world. This may not be true in this system, but Revan always had the odd false hope.

Gregor stifles a sigh, and writes a note on his slate: Shoot Lord Alton, crime: being prat. Also, apologize to colleagues. Send cake, maybe? He politely says aloud, "Lord Revan, I think that you'll find that in this system, you can find people claiming to be most anything. I can't think of any significant 'Sith' powers that impact our bit of reality, but as I said, there's a lot out there. I doubt anyone here but SHODAN could give you a list of all similar entities currently and previously extant of the top of their heads."

He leans forward a bit, continuing in a rather dry tone, "But you could find any of that out from Jaynez or a hundred other sources. I hope that wasn't all you needed." He quite sincerly hopes that, because if not this was going to be more than a little embarassing. Maybe he could find some other topic to discuss with the other leaders if this flopped, like whatever antics were occuring in Iraqstan at the moment.

Revan smirks. "If I seem unfamiliar with your rules and regulations, and if these questions are more than a little obvious or tiresome to you, then you must excuse me. I'm not from around here. But that was just the beginning. We also have to arrange passage for the fleet past any of your holdings here, what happens with trade beyond using a single station and.." Revan looks at the beings in front of them. "..How I'm personally going to get to know your civilizations. Through travel, perhaps." Revan frowns. "And what happens if something goes wrong between our organizations."

Such incidents shall hopefully be dealt with on my side before they ever become a problem, but the ones under my command being who they are, something is bound to happen eventually.

"If you feel this is not worthy of your attention, then kindly direct me to someone or something that can help me. I don't mean any offense, but perhaps this SHODAN is the best being for me to talk to if we are to avoid causing any undue...annoyance." Revan stiffens, noting to themself that dealing with this is much like following the orders of the council, only less...arrogant.

The grey-skinned local avatar sitting half-primly in her chair smiles lopsidedly, coppery lips twisting up in one corner as her eyebrows of fiber optics pulsing green take on a slightly bemused cast. "I don't think that will be necessary, Lord Reaven; I'm neither our sole administrator nor our dedicated database." She shoots a glance over in Gregor's direction, not so much a gesture of hostility as a promise of payback some time in the future. "Nevertheless, it was mentioned and so I'll have a node send you the GLONET's return of a nation search with the 'Sith' search term."

The smile turns a bit more natural and diplomatic, if neutral; long, aquiline, grey surgeon's fingers fold together. "As for passage past our holdings in Saturn's gravitational sphere of influencee, hopefully you have the delta-v to simply fly around. Due to history we are rather cautious when it comes to allowing warfleets safe passage. If you'd like to send envoys--including yourself--to our nations to learn more about us, I'm sure none of us would refuse.

"As for the possibility of 'something going wrong...'" The smirk returns. "That is what politics are for, among other things, and--if the magnitude of the error is sufficient enough--the extension of selfsame politics by other means. Diplomatic faux pas happen all the time and we're quite forgiving of them, most of the time."

Molotov follows, his small party in tow. "They were nothing but decitful, untrustworthy, ego-maniacal, overly violent bastards with way too much power. The last time we dealt with them, our represenative came back minus his head. Some Sith Lord made it explode because he was called 'too theatrical'. Like that disproved it." The captain chuckles. "Doesn't make me feel confident I'm going to come out of this in one piece, but orders are orders. You understand that, I'm sure."

The dataminer spoke in the odd language again, before Molotov looked sharply at him. "You have a deathwish, Miner? You ask one of these Sith for a lightsaber to examine and you'll get it through the chest. Even Jedi don't give away their sabers. You know that."

The Admiral smirks as they use the elevator. He knows all of this, and that these Sith are only different in that they have a leader who understands both the Sith and Jedi cults. Saul brushes a bit of dust off his shoulder, and remarks
"As you no doubt know, a lightsaber is a personal item for both Jedi and Sith, but..we are far more..practical than the fools in the order. I'm sure we could come to an arrangment somewhere." He stares at the Captain, one eyebrow raised. He's not the first to ask for a lightsaber, and won't be the last.

And in the meantime, Revan smirks and one line creasing their cheek disappears.
"Most of the time indeed, but I'm quite sure we're all capable of dealing with such incidents. My 'people' just tend to be a little..volatile in diplomatic situations. Though I hope to avoid that. And on the note of conducting a visit to your nations, I have all the time in the world. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. And finally your simple search would be appreciated, as the bulk of our resources lie a great distance from here."

"We will respond reasonably to whatever volatility may or may not come up. You have my word on that, Lord Revan." Speaker is rather firm on that point. "I will also have my International Relations Section send you what we have on 'Sith' nations and their relations. You are welcome to visit us at any time." Again, statements as to said nations utter uselessness and the fact that the visit would be closely monitored affairs need not be said. While this particular one was being rather reasonable, it could be a trick or a ruse or all sorts of things that make the kzintosh feel rather SIS or Dominion for suspecting.

And he doesn't like feeling like a Dominioner. As many similarities as there are, there are mutual anathemas.

A short pause. "Is there anything else we can help you with?"

Revan smiled, if only for a second, then frowned as a certain person made her presence known back on the /Leviathan/.
"Of course, but..I have business back on the ship. I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Sometimes I think this religion of mine needs more than a little adjustment. But you've been very generous here, and for that I thank you, it's not often my kind gets a welcoming that is so..forgiving. As to the future, I can only hope that continues." Revan waits for a response, then retreats, Fourty Seven waiting a second before following him in turn, his only comment being to himself, that this SHODAN is less threatening than he hoped it would be and that their colouring was far inferior to his.

And back on the ship, an old woman, an old teacher of Revan appears and forces Malak to his knees with only a word. The rest of the crew save for Revan himself don't know she's there, for that was always her specialty and intention. She is far more dramatic than he is, setting up a confrontation between them, and a bait for him to take.

Molotov shakes his head. "No, Admiral... our Dataminers are instatiable for knowledge. Give him a saber to take back home to the techs and he'll want a fighter engine next." The 'miner stays silent, looking around, but not daring to annoy anyone further.

Most of the ride, regardless of length, is spent in silence. The Captain does look at Karath as the ride comes to an end. "Who am I to be speaking with, exactly? I assume Revan left in that other ship."

Molotov shakes his head. "No, Admiral... our Dataminers are instatiable for knowledge. Give him a saber to take back home to the techs and he'll want a fighter engine next." The 'miner stays silent, looking around, but not daring to annoy anyone further.

Most of the ride, regardless of length, is spent in silence. The Captain does look at Karath as the ride comes to an end. "Who am I to be speaking with, exactly? I assume Revan left in that other ship."

Saul smirks once more. "You shall understand that we are less insane than the Sith you seem to be familiar with. But in essence, we are still Sith, still destined to rule over those too weak to defend themselves. My lord Revan just sees fit to rule over us competently, rather than theatrically. He has adapted our technology and our rituals to fit his needs, and we can do nothing but follow him. I personally followed him willingly, though I can't say the same for some of those under my command." And as they walk down a hall and corridor to the bridge, he grins oddly. "I am in fact the Admiral of the fleet and the captain of this ship. Revan and Malak have just..appropriated it for the time being."

No hinderance is made to Reaven's leaving.

All the same... "That was it? Hrrr." Speaker rubs his brow with one massive hand. "And leaving just before the grilling. Most inopportune." Annoyance mingles with headache as he tries to appropriately mask the existence of either.

With the utmost cordiality the Loki ferries Reaven and his party back to his ship. Elsewhere weapons remain pointed, but that should come as no surprise.

Saul smirks once more. "You shall understand that we are less insane than the Sith you seem to be familiar with. But in essence, we are still Sith, still destined to rule over those too weak to defend themselves. My lord Revan just sees fit to rule over us competently, rather than theatrically. He has adapted our technology and our rituals to fit his needs, and we can do nothing but follow him. I personally followed him willingly, though I can't say the same for some of those under my command." And as they walk down a hall and corridor to the bridge, he grins oddly. "I am in fact the Admiral of the fleet and the captain of this ship. Revan and Malak have just..appropriated it for the time being."
Molotov looked at his Second Officer, who had not said a word the whole tim, then at the Admiral. "That's a very informative statement... only there's a problem with that response. It didn't answer my question. Who am I to be speaking with?" Speaks the question slower, as if speaking to someone of slow mental falculties.

Once Revan is safely past the doors, Gregor's face beings to slowly turn bright red. In a tone equally confused and annoyed says, "I...this...what the hell? I mean, honestly. He showed up with a fleet, specifically said that this couldn't be dealt with by the captain of the contact ship and that he wanted to meet with the people in charge. I expected something, well, important."

After a moment of fidgeting in his seat, he asks in a slightly embarassed manner, "So...I don't suppose anyone has some else that they'd like to discuss?"

Revan is more than a little annoyed at having to leave so soon, and as soon as he sets foot on the /Leviathan/ again he sends "My apologies to have left so abruptly..as I said, the people under my command are a little volatile and often need to be dealt with. In this case, it's one of my old teachers, but it shall not trouble any of you." back to the meeting room. He heads off to meet this person, but not before telling Fourty Seven that "I wouldn't be surprised if that construct was superior, HK.", earning an annoyed "Statement: Impossible! You crafted this droid yourself, how could I be anything less than perfect?" in return.

An annoyed look crosses Saul's face.
"If you have not guessed by now, *me*. It was a personal wish of mine that you were not shot on sight, Captain. Do not forget that while you are on this ship." Silence from him as they approach the bridge, lines of grey uniformed crew men at their stations and a single panel at the end, then "You may still ask anything you want of me and my ship, information and otherwise." before a forced smile returns to his face.

Revan observes little to nothing of this exchange before walking back into his quarters and sighing at the sight before him. An old hooded and robed women stands before him, sightless eyes staring into nothing. Malak lies broken on the floor, lightsaber scorchmarks criss-crossing the walls. The woman remarks "There must always be one who holds the knowledge of betrayal, student, and you know that well." Revan smirks.
"And yet, you were always the first..."

Not an appreciable waste of runtime, but still...

Shodey looks down at her spot at the table, selects a medium-weight sheet of paper covered in notes and doodles, and folds it into a dart-shaped glider with a blunt nose. With a simple flick of her arm she sends it hurtling (gently) through the air towards the Cetagandan. "That's for everyone who wants to do that but can't via telepresence."

Leaning back in her chair, grey arms fold while slitted-pupil yellow eyes glance down in mock thought. "As for other things of import, we could demand a report on the sales on Mars, or what to do with that WorldDisc that's still floating around..."

An annoyed look crosses Saul's face.
"If you have not guessed by now, *me*. It was a personal wish of mine that you were not shot on sight, Captain. Do not forget that while you are on this ship." Silence from him as they approach the bridge, lines of grey uniformed crew men at their stations and a single panel at the end, then "You may still ask anything you want of me and my ship, information and otherwise." before a forced smile returns to his face.

Molotov stays silent for a few seconds and then speaks loudly, so the whole bridge could hear. "Do you have any idea where you are, you pompus ass? This is Sol. The most heavily armed and heavily populated place in the known universe. Your owner, Lord Revan, went to talk to one of the more powerful alliances... and left his gaurd dog in charge of the ship..."

Steps very close to Karath. "Admiral, your incompetence starting a war won't gain your Sith Master any allies. The Triumverate holds no warm place in their hearts for the Empire of Crimmond, but the deaths of a diplomatic party, no matter the reasons, will most certainly cause concern that you are no different than the megalomaniacal Sith that this system has seen hundreds of times before. If you value your neck, as well as your Master's reputation, I suggest you not threaten me again."

Kreia tugs the hood back down over her withered eyes as she stands over Malak, without pity or remorse. She seems to glance in Revan's direction, offering him a sardonic bow, little more than a slight inclination of her head.

"Lord Revan. Your timing is perfect, and you have questions." She kills her saber and turns towards him when Revan nods.

"Of course I do. Why are you here, crone?"

Her mouth crooks into a twisted little smile. "Perhaps you should be asking yourself that, Lord Revan. I wonder what you hope to accomplish here. Are you seeking allies for your war? Are you preparing to fight the battle you think you are? For the moment, I seek to aid you in ways this clumsy brute could not."

"And how are you planning on doing that?" Revan growls, not sparing a glimpse for Malak.

"If you will pardon me, my Lord Revan, I will begin immediately. Your fine captain is inept with diplomatic dealings, and he already works at making enemies here." She pushes past him, leaving the two men to make her way towards Saul.

Molotov continues his rant at Karath, getting nose to nose with the man. "I can see why Revan would take over your ship, Admiral." packs in all the condesension he can into the word. "In my opinion, you aren't fit to command a cargo transport. Now, let me speak to someone that has power and brains, as opposed to you, who have niether."

He steps back and looks at Kreia as she appears, "Someone like her." A simple deduction. An old woman, obviously not in the military, striding onto the bridge of an Interdictor Ship uncontested is most likely an important old woman.

Kreia crosses her arms across her chest and favors Saul and Molotov with a critical frown. "Fools an imbeciles. The Lord Revan did not bring you here to bicker like small children." She advances on Saul to jab him in the chest with a clawlike finger. "You especially should know better, when to keep your mouth closed. "

She rounds on Molotov, scowling, "Not that you're excused of your infantile antics either. Your own exclusion from the talks with the 'more powerful' alliances is no badge of honor. Be silent, the both of you, if all you can do is prove yourselves to be idiots."

Molotov takes his brow beating with good humor. "I'd ask if you would act differently has this fool kept threatening your life, but I'm not here to argue incessently." He looked at his second officer, who just shrugged.

"Now, perhaps to a newcomer, Crimm represenatives not meeting Revan alongside the Yut is a stigma. There a many powerful alliances that we are on very good terms with... but that has no bearing right at this moment. I came here to talk to someone of importance to find if an alliance, of any variety, is feasible and to find out just what kind of Sith you really are. We've had more than enough of their cults trying to take over the whole damned system to be a bit wary."