NationStates Jolt Archive

The Kanell System is the newest addition to Xanthal's territorial claims, acquired only five years ago after an accident caused its previous inhabitants to vacate Shinra, its only hospitable planet. Kanell is also the most remote in terms of both normal and planespace distance: even the fastest Xanthalian starship at maximum acceleration needs more than fifteen hours to make the trip to or from Trasnia, the nearest Xanthalian system. Kanell is a tired-looking K8V brown dwarf star, a fraction the size of Sol and about an eighth as bright. Despite its unimpressive stature, Kanell supports five planets, including Arferdal and Shinra, the innermost two, and three gas giants that orbit further out. It also has two asteroid belts, one in close proximity to the star itself and another between the orbits of the two outer planets. The beginnings of what seems to have been intended to be a large shipbuilding facility is also in solar orbit, almost exactly between the paths of Arferdal and Shinra. It is of a design very much unlike anything else in the system, tempting the conclusion that it is foreign. Whoever began it apparently changed his mind, because it sits unattended and unoperational, a network of structures and umbilicals at various stages of construction.

Kanell remains an out-of-the-way vicinage despite aggressive development efforts, efforts that have slowed considerably since the war. Shinra, the system's second planet, was completely reconstructed by the Free-Trading Starships of The Extraterrestrials at Xanthalian request, its orbit altered and native life tailored to new specifications so that it could serve as an agricultural world. Arferdal, the system's harsh innermost planet, was planned as a military warehouse and training facility, and the beginnings of a massive spacedock and station complex remains in orbit, although what was once bustling construction has been reduced to a few hundred workers, and the project is progressing at a snail's pace. A fair number of ships still come and go, mostly transports bringing goods to Shinra's two hundred million residents and taking their produce back to Xanthal's other systems; and the system's star forces garrison, that portion of it not on loan to Mirfak while it rebuilds its own defenses, patrols lazily about; mingling with the sparsely-dotted lines of commercial and private vessels zipping briskly along Kanell's spacelanes.

In the darkness of space, time stood still. There was no trace of time here, no spectrum of its evidence in the events of the stars. Rather, time was a small fraction of what was happening. It was serene, it was tranquil, it was peace. Life and Death a constant struggle here, both vying for time in the eyes of mortals. Most who dared trek this dangerious realm were those advanced enough to accept the consequences of exploration. Thankfully, one such party had made the leap of faith to do so.

Over Arferdal, space itself warped and twisted. A cluster of stars proved to be the backround for this event, exposing the phenomenon to any witnesses that was accesible to see it. The strange warp in space continued, twirling and changing to a blue-greenish spectrum of light. Suddenly, the light brightened, and flashed as bright as a super-nova. Five starships was in the flashes place. Clusters of what looked like lightning danced soundlessly on and around the ships.

If anyone had any universal Galactic Records, the largest ship would resemble that of a Venator-Class Star Destroyer. The symbol on it's upper curve was different, resembling a circle with seven stars. Other than that, the color of the ship remained the same. The four other ships would probably be more unknown to anyone, being purely Battlecruiser class of the Anagonian Naval Fleet.

Strange starfighters and transport ships erupted from the Venator and Battlecruisers that protected her. The planet below was of every interest to the people onboard the Venator

Commander Jason Biggs was onboard one of the transport ships as it decended to the orbiting station. It looked a relic, shown up on scanners just a system away. His company had been assigned the duty of exploring whatever it was, typical Marine duty when the Anagonian Star Forces were in peaceful exploration.

Jason adjusted his helment. He wore Mandalorian Light Battle armor, the basic Marine Armored Outfit. He adjusted his wrist PAD, typing a few commands to make sure it was working properly. His armored uniform had a red color to it, symbolizing his Command status. He looked over to the Marine next to him. His uniform had a green streak, he was the Lieutenant. Lieutenant Xander Miles to be exact.

He gazed at the rest of the transport bay, sixty of them in here. Varied in colors and designations. Blue streaks ment scientists, yellow ment General, and it went on from there. Jason was Commander of Delta Company. He knew there were three other Companies in route to the Orbiting station, just in case. Nothing had been met on these missions to test the Anagonian Marines. Jason wasn't worried, but even so found himself loading his M25 HVAR. He preferred Projectile-based weapons, even as dangerous as they were. On his jet-pack was a M-9 Mandolarian Assault Blaster Rifle, laser based, just in case projectile weapons became too dangerous to use.

Every Marine had this as standard. Pistols were included, but not laser-based unless specified.

The Transport lurched heavily, then tilted as it hit something. They had docked with the orbiting station. Preliminary scans concluded no life, but he wasn't so sure. The scanners hadn't been working since a month back, damn technicians hadn't fixed it properly. Microwave Pulses were tricky to adjust and properly tune.

He raised his hand as his helments voice amplifier kicked in, sending both audio and transmission to his marines of Delta Company.

"Alright Marines, were here to explore, not kill. I'm damn sure theres someone here, despite what that bastard Admiral thinks. Keep your shots to yourselves, just don't shoot your damn foot."

Everyone responded with a loud "Yes sir!".

Satisfied, Jason Briggs stood up, his armor clanking against the metal guards of the transport. The bay doors opened, and he lead the first fine men with him. Signaling his Lieutenant to take Half the company in another direction, he observed the long stretch of incomplete hall that fell before him. Someone didn't finish their toy, he thought.

He made a few more hand motions, keeping hold of his M25 HVAR and aiming around corners.By the time he came to the tenth corridor, the thrity Marines that were split for him had already been arranged in squads and went their respective ways. He had seven men with him now, one Scientist, one Medic, Five Combat, and himself.

This wasn't an invasion, but it was starting to seem like it.

The undelicate docking operation sends vibrations throughout the structure. If anyone is around, they're bound to know something is up. However, the marines do not encounter any people, though several of the groups find evidence that, if the station really is abandoned, it was left in a hurry: electronic display pads with schematics and instructions are to be found in places; as are calculators, drills, wrenches, welding torches, and other tools. The Commander's group even finds a spacesuit crumpled up on the ground next to an airlock.

This place has a lot of doors; some obviously airlocks, heavy and sealed with windows looking out into space or the the planet, depending on which side of the hall they're on. The facility seems to curve in on itself to form a sort of giant cage in space. As each group has split off, they've proceeded into one of the cage "bars," while the Commander and his entourage have stuck to the main path, running the span of the station. Between each set of bars is a wide sliding double-doorway that seems intended to keep the sections sealed of from one another when needed, but they offer no resistance to the marines, opening whenever they approach.

This fortune does not last as their progress is halted after the fourth hallway splits off to run down the side of the cage, in a section that has become progressively incomplete in appearance as they've proceeded. The doorway appears the same as all the others they have encountered, of solid but not armored build, stainless steel with no windows, but this one does not open when they reach it. There is a control panel on the wall beside the door that ostensibly operates it, but it does not seem to have power. The door is also cold to the touch. The Commander is left with the choice of trying to force his way through or turn back.

Commander Jason Brigg held up his hand in a fist, lowering it slowly as his squad came to a halt. He pointed at his Scientist, who multi-tasked as an engineer, and called him forward. Master Sergeant J'Lan Uther was his name, a very reliable and intelligent man who kept to himself most of the time. He went to the Academy mostly for the educational benefits. He graduated with both Scientific and Egineering degrees, thus his position.

Not Every Marine Scientist was a Master Sergeant. It had to be earned. Uther earned it well.

"Yes Commander," J'Lan said through the communication system. He already knew what was wanted. "Give me a second."

Without a word from Jason, J'Lan took out his Military PAD unit and turned it on. He tried to scan the metal door, but failed. Doing another method, he took from his jet-unit pack a circular device. Placing it on the bulkhead, with a few extra button pushes, a loud PING shot throuigh the room. Looking at his PAD again, an audible, grunting sigh could be heard. He grabbed a short rod from his jet-unit pack then. Pressing a button on it he ignited a long flame. Taking the circular Microwave Pinger off the bulkhead and back into his pack-unit, he began on the bulk-head with a Fusion Torch.

"So, use an explosive?" Combat Corporal Orlando Zeus had spoken up from his position. He was the explosive expert, loved explosives, breathed explosives. He was insane for them. "I mean, just a...tiny tiny firecracker of a nuke?"

Jason chuckled, he bet many others did too. J'Lan, however, wasn't as receptive of the joke.

"Unfortunatly, no. I'd think the EM Repulsar would do best. We've seen signs of recent inhabitance, and I'd bet my left ball that were going to see someone on the other side." He grumbled as he finished the door. "I swear, stupid sensors. They arn't working lately."

Putting back his torch, J'Lan Uther reached for the other side of his jet-unit pack and took a large, rectangular object from it. A line was stretched from his pact to the objects. Jason knew instantly it was the EM repulsar. J'Lan placed it in an already cut space for the device, and turned it on. A loud humming sound was heard, growing louder and louder until a POP shattered the noise. The line from pack to repulsar broke, and immedietly magnetism took effect.

As fast as it could push, the device repulsed the two bulkheads to the wall. Scientist, Commander, and squad readied themselves for what waited on the other side.

Before the door is even open enough to see what's on the other side it's obvious that it's not a continuation of the hall. A hissing sound marks a slight decompression, and grows louder within a fraction of a second as the moisture in the air begins to condense around the opening. A loud bang and screech of metal is clearly audible as the pneumatic mechanism that operates the door explodes, overstressed by the extra compression caused by the EM repulsar. Shrapnel from the destroyed cylinders screams out from the open wall face, flying towards the marines, but never reaches them. The resistance of the operating mechanism gone, the door flies open to reveal the starscape and void outside. The pieces of loose metal are sucked out by the colossal force of decompression, as is all the air in the section.

It happens so fast that there's little time for any normal human to react; in just over a second, everything not secured to the structure has been violently expelled into space. An alarm sounds, but its howling is lost to the void. The temporary lights closest to the door are torn from their housings; those running along the sides of the corridor near the last door they passed through begin blinking yellow. Both the doors leading back to pressurized sections of the station are instantly sealed, cutting off both the Commander's squad and the last one that split off from them from each other and the rest of the teams.

The alarm inaudible to the Commander's unit screams through the rest of the station, alerting everyone else to a problem. What that problem is, however, only their own men can tell them. Few computer displays are working, and those that are display a language that, despite being composed primarily of familiar English characters, is unintelligible.

Of course, J'Lan Uther did not earn his Master Sergeant rank on this day. As excusiable as having no operating sensor mechanisms, nothing was as forgiveable as unleashing the vacuum of space on a squad of Brethren. As soon as the hissing sound was heard, every marine acted on instinct and managed to kneal and activate their EM boots. Jason and his squad weren't successful in activating them in time, however.

The violent suction of air being drawn in an airless space overwhelmed the Anagonian Marines. Their bodies flying into space helplessly for the first few seconds, only their sealed body suits keeping them alive through the sudden armageddon. Jason felt his body become overhwelmed with the immediete force on his body. He shut his eyes, instinct really. His body twirlinbg helplessly as he only heard his heart-beat, and breaths.

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

Somewhere on Novar, Nova Kretani Solar System - 45 years ago

"Do you think we'll be as strong as Dad?"

Jason Brigg's opened his eyes. It was a dark night, he was laying out in his fathers fields looking up at the beautiful night sky. The country was beautiful, too beautiful. He had always been entranced by the stars, by the possibility of exploring those tiny sparkling dots of heaven.

"Jason?" Jason brother, Duran, looked over, hands behind his head as he too laid out and gazed at the heavens.

"I think we might," he responded almost in a whisper. "I think we can be."

"Yea," Duran responded in an equal whisper. "Some day we'll save the universe like him."

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

Back to Present

"Commander Briggs! Commander Briggs, are you alright?!"

His communications unit in his helment shouted at him. He groaned, opening his eyes. The view-screen in his helment was hazy, he blinked. What had happened? He held his head, or tried too. Helment blocking he rubbed it instead. The hazy image of his helments screen disappeared. He had his suits readings avaliable, seeing all green he concentrated on the Blue-streaked Marine who gazed over him.

J'Lan Uther reached down a hand and firmly grasped Jasons, helping him up. "Sorry Commander. I didn't know."

Json felt sorry for J'Lan. He stood easily, and noted all his Marines were accounted for. They were back in the hallway, airless as it was. He grunted in dispair, what bad luck that had been. Too bad Marines liked going forward.

"It's alright, Master Sergeant. Just be lucky I need you." He chuckled, as did the rest of his squad.

J'Lan rubed the back of his helment, then holstered his weapon. "Thank you, sir."

"Were blocked off from the station, any computer readings make no sense." Combat Sergeant Brian Hughes responded. "Tried hacking, no use. Nothing."

"Very well, ideas?" Jason was quite irritated by the loss of any possibility of exploration now. He heard the alarms before decompression, saw the lights now. Rediciulus, he should have known!

"I've contacted a ship to dock here," Combat Corporal Orlando Zeus pined in. "A bomber is on its way to poick us up."

Jason nodded, "Good. Now, we just wait."

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

Jason patted Orlando's shoulder armor, smile hidden underneath his helment. He was glad Zeus had taken the initaive, and very happy the bomber sent had a working Microwave Pulse Array. The Bomber captain had informed Jason Briggs that the Ventor's sensors were working finally, and a ping of the system revealed life everywhere. Somewhere along the way, they had made a horrible mistake. Json wasn't suprised, the Admiral was a dumbass anyway. Anagonian Marines weren't cannon-fodder to the wise leaders who used them as explorers. The admiral failed in this venture.

By now the Bomber had docked, gained the squad, and left for another docking port a few clicks to the stations side. Whomever designed the cube-looking station made it simple. The bomber jerked as the port was mated, and his squad made certian any weapons were given to the bombers crew-chief. With the new information that actual civilization existed here, and the new intelliogence that the Anagonian fleet was already contacting the people here and informing them of the situation.

But thats besides the point, they were accessing a port where there were possible contacts. Hand guns were kept holstered, but everything else was given up. No need to continue an invasion. Jason signaled for his squad to follow, armored combat suits still donned. This was now a first contact mission. Commander Jason Briggs made sure to tell J'Lan that.

As the docking doors opened, he stood erect, waiting for what was on the other side.

As a large detachment of Xanthalian warships move to intercept the invading fleet from several minutes out, the marines re-deploying on the far side of the station are met by the sight of their own comrades standing around a small group of four construction workers. The soldiers step aside to let their Commander through. All of the workers are unarmed; one is a human man, the other three have the appearance of large, bipedal insects with amber-colored exoskeletons. The human looks confused and frightened. The static features of the bug people betray no emotion.

One of the aliens marches up to Briggs and begins an assault of clicks, groans, and screeches, the language of a species that is obviously incapable of producing the sounds made by human vocal cords. A couple seconds into this ear-grating nonsense, a synthesized voice coming from a device clipped to its belt begins translating the monologue into English. "You! Are you the one responsible for this? Show your authorization documents!"

Commander Jason Briggs had expected as much. While the insectoid fired its barrage of clicks and hisses, Jason stood erect. They had made an invasion, and he was at least suprised that no one shot them. He made a quick glance at the human, noting the fear.

When the insectoid finished, and his voice translator kicked in, Jason was quite suprised. Was he serious?! Was this all he had to say? He glared at one of his squad-mates, Orlando only shrugged back in response. Sighing, he looked at the insectoid. His helment hid his words, but his voice amplified through his helment.

"We were exploring, our sensors were offline. We thought this station a relic, and explored. To our suprise, we found life after our sensors came online. I apologize on behalf of Anagonia."

"We do not want your apologies! Leave us in peace!"

"Industry, please..." the human man utters weakly. "Don't provoke them."


The first Xanthalian audio hail reaches the Anagonian fleet around this same time, originating from an Ąmsi-type vessel. "I am Star Forces Admiral Neq'lev of the Socialist Republic of Xanthal. You have initiated a hostile incursion into Xanthalian territory and violated state property. Stand down all offensive and defensive systems and active scanners. Recall your boarding parties from our station and release any prisoners you have taken immediately."

OOC: an index of Xanthalian spacecraft can be found here (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Xanthalian_spacecraft).

Jason Briggs nodded, and turned to his Marines. He made a twirling hand motion in the air above him. It was time to leave, these people didn't want them here, and he didn't want to bring on any more harm then they already had done. It was rediculus how things had been handled. When he got back on the Venator he would show the Admiral a thing or two about diplomacy.

"Pack it up Marines, time to go home. Lieutenant Xander, come forward!"

Immedietly the crowd of Marines parted once more, before moving off with their respective squad leaders to depature points. Xander, his Mandalorian Light Battle Armor having a green streak signafying command status, holstered his weapon and saluted. James returned the salute, gazing at the insectoids and the human quickly.

"This mission was full of shit to start with. Once we get back, I want that Admiral hung. Because of him, I'm probably going to see men die."

Xander nodded, "I understand sir." He held a hand to the side of his helment, then grunted. "As if things weren't any worse. The planetary fleet that we *somehow* missed is telling us to stand down."

It was Jason's turn to grunt, "Let's get back there A-SAP. I want to kick the Admirals ass as soon as possible."

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

Venator-Class Star Destroyer Reliance - Bridge - twenty minutes later

"Admiral, your answer?"

Admiral Estaban Jones had about just enough of everyone asking that question. He had budged enough with the pathetic forces out there, intruding on his plan to take the station as his own. The sensors were wrong, they always were! He knew no one was here, he knew it to be true! The Marines had pulled out, and he had personally requested the Company Commander to make himself known. Oh, he would bitch him out good.

The door to the bridge opened and Estaban looked back. He grinned as he saw the Commander enter with full Marine armor on. What a rediculus things the Anagonian Marines were, only worth fodder in his eyes. Yes, they would be taught a lesson! He wanted that station, and nothing could stop him!

"Commander....whatever your name is. Why the hell did-"

Jason Briggs was red with fury bye the time he neared the Admiral. His arm retracted into a punch, and he floored Estaban with one hit. The Admiral went down, uncouncious. He said some profane language at the bastard before him, then kicked his side, again and again. He had talked to one of the bridge crew before he came up here, he knew what the Admiral was planning.

The Idiot was insane, and he wasn't about to allow an insane man keep charge over sane people.

"Get this fatherless scum out of my sight," Jason roard to the Guards on the bridge. "By Authority of Military Doctrine, I take command of this starship."

Everyone on the bridge went back to normal. Admiral Estaban uncouncious body was taken off the bridge without remark. It was widely understood that if Command was forseen as incompetent, the next best person in line at that juncture was to be called up. Jason just so happened to be that person.

Lieutenant Xander Miles walked up beside the Commander, his helment on his jet-pack unit. Xanders face had a soft edge to it, a slim nose and green eyes. Silver hair was shaved to military grade, and his ears seemed to have a point to them. He had a silver gotiqe.

"Shall we stand down Commander?" Xander smiled, he rather enjoyed watching the Admiral getting floored.

"Yes, we shall. Inform Star Forces Admiral Neq'lev of a command change and a univsersal desire to cooperate. Tell him everything that transpired. Tell him we must meet."

Aboard KLZ-2679, Bomowąs Sĭstreəl Nəkləv reads the belated reply from the Anagonian fleet with what can only be described as incredulity. The aged Klingon has spent the last three years as commander of Shinra's planetary defense forces, decades in the military; and he's never seen anything like the explanation now set before him. "Teresa wąmki kəl regąrd?"

The vessel's human Captain, Teresa Dorum, raises an eyebrow from her vantage point over her superior's shoulder. "əsti eąso. ut ląnyue təląl əsti gunąnąl."

Sistriel bellows with laughter. "gunąnąl, Mănowąs? eą, devąl deveni. por," he adds, expression turning serious, "nosən əsti eąbąl. Ąlmdiskun!"

"rąi," replies a Xanthalian officer from the deck below.

The Admiral doesn't bother rising to see him from his balcony vantage, eyes now locked on the slowly rotating holographic display floating in the open space before him; a tactical grid showing him his own ships, the Anagonian vessels, and all other facilities and craft in the area, all conveniently represented as colored and shaped icons. He has numbers on his side, but such superficial statistics don't mean much. The Labule's technology is unimpressive at best, sometimes bordering on useless when the enemy has the right capabilities and strategies. As a weapons officer, it was drilled into him early that the only thing making up for its deficiencies was weaponry; powerful weaponry deployed in overwhelming fashion. He's never forgotten, and has a reputation for being prepared to back up his words with violent action. That shows as well as ever today, for even as he demands that these strangers render themselves defenseless, his own ships are operating on yogodozvos kąs, shields at maximum and weapons ready to fire. Though in some circles refraining from destroying invaders outright would be considered charitable, among Xanthalian commanders yogodozvos mąt would be generally accepted as an adequate reaction to a first contact situation such as this one.

Fortunately for everyone involved, men and women inclined to rash action are not accepted as suitable commanding officers in the Xanthalian military. Peace and the pursuit of it are priorities. So, however skeptical he may be of this... he refers to the communique; Commander Briggs, he's obligated to hear him out. However, Neq'lev determines from the start that, whatever the Anagonian's explanation, he won't be geting off easily. Someone will answer for what has happened here today, and they'll answer to him. He smiles toothily. Any day that he could do something other than watch transports glide in neat little rows is a red-letter day; but this could get better yet. "nĭnəsi rəs; văş ratelăl wąl:"


The following audio reply comes through to the Reliance. He's well-spoken for a Klingon, though of course the Anagonians have no way of knowing his species. "Your reply tells an interesting story, Commander. I must tell you I find it... difficult to believe. However, since I have no other information, I am willing to entertain it as fact. I will meet with you. I would have demanded it had you not made the offer yourself. Is your vessel equipped with personnel teleportation capabilities?"

OOC:

Forgive me, last night was...questionable.

IC:

Jason Briggs sat down in a nearby station chair and held his head. What had he gotten himself into? What happened with the Admiral was a rash decision at best, but it had to be done. No regrets there. He had been in first contact situations before. Why was this one so difficult? He gazed over to Lieutenant Xander Miles, ordering specific stations to newly required duties.

"At least I have good help," he muttered under his breath.

"Fleet Commander, we have an incoming transmission from the Xanthal Fleet." There was a short silence, then the Communications Chief continued. "Fleet Commander, Admiral Neq'lev has replied."

"Very well, send it to Command Station four please," Jason replied as he swiveled in the chair, looking directly at the station keyboard and screen. A small beep came from the station, and the message popped up. It wasn't much of a suprise to him to read the reply. Being a combat-hardened marine had taught him not to trust much of what anyone said. He surmised then that the Admiral at the other end of this communication must have some military experience as well.

Afterall, everything that was sent to the Xanthal fleet was a jumble of facts and happenings over a short period of time. Jason was suprised they even gave them a chance to meet, considering what had occured. He finally let a sigh of relief flow from him. His gamble had paid off.

Jason just hoped that when they met he wouldn't be beaten to a pulp. He wouldn't blame this Admiral Neq'Lev if that's what he wanted to do.

Nodding, he looked at the last sentence in the reply. It was a question. Reading it over a few times he tried to think of any teleporter being used that he knew of. Not coming up with anything, he pulled up the ships database. He typed in his query, the only findings of other ships having this technology that definitly weren't Anagonian. Pulling back up the reply, began to respond to it. This time, he would personally do so instead of letting the Comms Chief do it.

Attention Admiral Teq'lev
::Response:: -to- ::Meeting::

Xanthalian Admiral Teq'lev,

I apologize for not responding personally the first time the information was sent. I am a Marine, Commander perhaps, but I am not a diplomat. I regretfully made the decision to send a message along with the history of the past few hours. It was all I knew to do concerning Ship-to-ship contact.

On Previous First-Contact encounters, I have always had a face-to-face observation of the other species, race, or peoples. With as many Captain's, Fleet Commanders, and Admirals I have served under it was always in my experience a very productive encounter. Unfortunatly, this time around, it has not been. The man I served under was nothing more than an insane meglomaniac who wanted nothing more than material possesions. I am glad to inform you on a personal basis that this attempt was, and shall be, his last.

It is not of Anagonian tradition to have such Commanding Officers in control of Exploration Fleets. Admiral Estaban Jones and his actions are not the direct result of those that took them out. I, as being under his command, must inform you I was following orders. It wasn't until later in the situation that I found some Xanthalian workers on the station, and discovered that the sensors were working properly, that I decided to take action to halt any more harmful outcomes to this already disturbing First-Encounter.

I say disturbing because in all accord, it is not the way we do things.

Concerning the transporter, I must regretfully inform you that while we understand the technology, we do not use it. Our fleet records show little interest in teleportation techology, and therefore we rely on vehicle transportation most of all. You will note that our shields have been lowered, and you may properly scan our vehicles to discover this for yourself.

In response to the way this First-Encounter was commenced, I have personally ordered the fleet to stand down weapons and shields and be prepared for any boarding parties that you may find necessary. I only ask that you understand that we, as Anagonians, do not take our previous Admirals ways to heart. I can happily say his command staff has been taken into custody for even allowing a measure of what he did.

Seeing as I am now Fleet Commander, I will take responsibility for my fleets actions previous. I understand that this is considered an Invasion, and I will answer for any charges pressed.

I await your response,
Fleet Commander Jason Briggs
Anagonian Star Destroyer Reliance

Message End

Jason Briggs pressed the send button on the screen, and sat back. He rubbed his head. Jason realized he still had his helment on. He shrugged, he would take it off later.

Neq'lev is pleased with the Commander's reply. Though the cultural assimilation of the Republic has left him with little attachment to the values of his people, he is still Klingon, and the idea of honor appeals to him greatly. Jason Briggs strikes him as an honorable man. Of course, this is all assuming that the story he's been told is true. A touch of good humor builds on his demanding tone as his reply is relayed to the Reliance.

"These are matters to be addressed in person. I expect you will have no problems joining me for lunch aboard this ship in one Earth hour?" It's a rhetorical question, and Briggs knows it. "Prepare your vessel to recieve a Xanthalian shuttle; it will transport you here."

He mutes the outgoing audio and stands, simultaneously disappointed and pleased that there has been no need to reduce the opposing fleet to a cloud of twisted metal, gas, and human remains. The day is still young. "Mănowąs, wąmki wąl sĭl ąrkąl mąnd rəgi. Wą hələn tu ifą təpąrki." He makes room for Teresa to take his seat, which she does with an uncomfortable feeling. "kolsăk sĭląl bugi," he says simply, then makes for the lift. No more is needed; she understands. The Captain begins making arrangements, even before hearing the Anagonian reply.

Somewhere on Novar, Nova Kretani Solar System - 32 years ago

Duran looked back at the stars. It was like thirteen years earlier, Jason knew. Both he and his brother loved the stars still. They were twenty-one now, having just completed three years in the Academy. They had trained, hard. Together after the first year, they decided to go their seperate ways. Duran would go to the Republic Starfleet Academy, he would go to the Republic Marine Academy. This would be the last chance they would have together for a long, long time.

"One day, we'll fight by each others side." Jason spoke softly, once more gazing at the stars, looking between constellations he knew about. "One day, Duran. You'll see."

"That's just like you Jason," Duran whispered in response, looking at him as Jason looked back, "always thinking of the future and never of now."

"Na, I just know when to think ahead and when not to!" He chuckled, "I'm a hard-headed Novarian."

"You sure ar-"

Duran was cut off, and Jason looked directly over at him. His eyes went wide with horror, and he yelled in terror. He stood, going over to his brother. He looked as if he was stabbed in the chest with some kind of sword. But Jason hadn't heard a thing. How, then? How?!

"Duran! Duran!!!" Jason screamed, trying in vain to revive him. "Duurraaann!!!"

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

Marine Commander Personal Quarters - Present

Jason's daze ended, taking in a deep breath. Water flowed over his head, warm water. He looked around, realizing he stood in the shower. He sighed and rubbed between his eyes as he closed them. So long ago.

Opening his eyes, he pushed the shower slide to the side. He tried to look into the small bathrooms mirror, but it was too foggy. He didn't want to see his face anyway. Grabbing the towl and placing it about his waist, he went about taking care of his hygiene. Afterward, he went to his bed quarters and started about putting his Mandalorian Light Battle Armor back on. It was the only formal outfit any Republic Marine had, and he was no expection.

Finishing putting his chest armor on, he grabbed his helment. Looking at it he went back into a daze. He shook his head no. It was too long ago to bother him now. He took a deep breath, then slowly placed the helment on his head. He exhaled, strapping the helm on. Display and armor checked, and he grabbed his hand-gun, holstering.

Reliance Main Fighter Dock - Forward Launch Bay

Heavily armored tritanium doors stood at the close along the top crest of the Venator's forward spear frame. Inside the fighter bay was empty expect for a few bombers and scattered dropships, the the main contigent of the Reliance's fighters had been moved to the secondary bays. A lone figure stood there, lit by the lights of the bay. The Mandalorian suit design visible, streaked with red. No weapons visible, only barely the hand-gun holstered to his belts side.

Fleet Commander Jason Briggs stood at attention, waiting for the shuttle to arrive. He lazily gazed up at the closed docking bay doors, waiting for them to open. They never did. But he knew they would, freely, to welcome the Xanthalian party.

About thirty minutes after the last message from the Admiral was recieved, the Reliance recieves its Xanthalian visitor; a Kąleka-type shuttle. The craft makes 180-degree rotation and a smooth vertical landing in the Anagonian shuttlebay near the outer doors, as far from the other ships as possible. As the loud roar of its engines and electronics dull to a barely-audible hum, the rear door opens and a short ramp extends down to the deck towards the Fleet Commander to reveal a uniformed (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v88/Zorak950/NS/Uniforms/Uniform.jpg) xanthalian (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Xanthalian_species) standing in the open hatchway.

He looks like a relatively young fellow, though considering he is of a strange species looks can be deceiving. With ashen black skin and matching hair, his yellowish eyes are quite eerie in appearance. The man obviously takes his duty seriously; with hands folded behind him, back rigid and straight he has the air of a rookie trying very hard not to slip up. His accent, reminiscent of a native German speaker, is obvious, but he seems to speak English well enough considering his first words to the Commander. "Permission to come aboard, Sir." He addresses Briggs like the Marine is his commanding officer.

OOC:

You were correct, it is an internal dock.

IC:

Jason Briggs did not move when he saw the huge tritanium bulk-doors slide open to deep space. He did not move when he saw the shuttle craft decend. He did not move when he saw it land. He kept hisself at attention, eyes moving only. Jason was a statue to the untrained eye. He could have been mistaken for an android by the way he moved next.

Once Jason saw the shuttle door open and slide extend to the internal docking bay floor. Once he observed the Xanthalian and his words he rose his arm up for a salute. His wrist went rigid and straight, verticle to his lower arm as his fingers touched just above the visor on his helment. He kept the pose, making sure that they saw it. He lowered it in a slow, mechanical fashion to come back to his side, still at attention.

"Permission Granted," came the response, Jasons voice slightly distorted by his helment amplifier. "Welcome to the Reliance."

The Xanthalian officer steps down the ramp and goes to meet the man. He rattles off his next line as if he'd forgotten to say it while he was still in his ship. "I am Heimdal Toson Genda." He stops about two meters from the man, standing at attention: heels together, left arm at his side, right fist raised to his chest, thumb inward. "Are you Fleet Commander Jason Briggs?"

Jason nodded, coming at ease, hands behind his back and clasped just above his waist and just below his pack. "I am Fleet Commander Jason Briggs. I am honored to meet you, Heimdal Toson Genda."

Jason noted the vale of a novice around this one. He was keen to pick up such things. But he made no voice or obvious gesture or tone that he knew.

"I will escort you to Xanthalian Labule Starship 2679." He hesitates for a moment before proceeding. "I have been ordered to instruct you to remove all weapons and armor from your person." The Heimdal eyes Briggs dubiously. He's dressed more like a marine heading for battle than a commander going to dinner.

Jason seemed to move uncomfortably at this instruction. He didn't want to remove his armor, for both protection and because of instinct. He didn't have anything else *formal* with him either, so he'd be in some other style of clothing not fitting for this event. He lowered his head, as if thinking, then looked back at Heimdal Toson.

"I apologize, I cannot. I have nothing more formal than my outfit. It is...it is what a Marine has in such occasions." He seemed to hesitate, "If I must, I will take my helment off...and leave my weapons."

You could actually hear him gulp. "I am not here for war, but...I...as a Marine I am more comfortable in what I know, and I know best the formal outfit for a Marine. His Armor."

Toson doesn't seem terribly comfortable with arguing, but he swallows his personal desire to accomodate the Commander and sticks with his instructions. He stays at attention, whether out of respect or because it imbues him with some much-needed spare confidence. "I really do apologize Sir, but my orders are quite explicit. I can wait here while you change..." he trails off, not really sure what more he can offer.

Jason, seeing no alternative, nodded. But he was of a stubborn bunch, and refused to move from his position. His hands went around to his Jet-pack and he unlatched it, falling to the floor with a CLANK. From there, he proceeded to unlatch every piece of armor that had any device that could harm, record, or any other method. THUD, CLANK, CLACK, CLUNK. By the time Jason was finished, a dark suit cover, chest plate, shoulder pads, waist, leg, shoulder, and helment armor was all that was left. Behind the helment, he grinned.

"I believe I have responded to the request properly," he said. Then adding in a sarcastic tone, "Surely I can keep my clothes on."

"I..." Toson falters, dropping his right hand to his side. He begins backing up, almost tripping over a cable lying on the floor. Recovering quickly, he clears his throat, which is threatening to send his voice into a terrified falsetto. "I will have to confer with my superiors. Please wait here, Sir." He turns around and makes his way nervously back into the shuttle. Xanthalians are known for being cool under pressure, but he doesn't feel very in control at the moment. He feels like jumping out an airlock. Instead, he goes to the cockpit to contact the Omsai.

Jason smiled, he had succeeded. It would take more than a novice represenitive to get him to shed his Marine Armor. It *was* his formal outfit. He would *not* take his formal armor off. It was *against* regulations, no matter if any intergalactic race demanded it. He had respect for them, he knew the situation, but by God he would NOT take away what made him a Marine. He was a Warrior, he wasn't used to whine-bag diplomat clothing.

Jason quickly looked down at his armor, knowing all too well that he could very well need the wrist PAD. He grunted. The consequences could be dire. No, he decided. Perhaps this would be his downfall, but he had obliged already and would not go back on his word.

"I wonder if they have a word as well."

The xanthalian returns a few minutes later with a damp collar from splashing his face with cold water in the lavatory. He makes his way down to Briggs, looking positively depressed. "Manowas has agreed to allow you aboard as you are, but..." he looks up at Jason with a 'please don't kill me' expression, seeming about ready to cry. "I will have to search you." He bows deeply. "I really do apologize for this, Sir."

Jason held his laughter as best as he could, watching the poor Xanthalian's expression. He knew that expression, he seen it a thousand times. He suddenly burst out in laughter, keeping his strong stance, then patting Toson on the shoulder.

"I am a Marine, not a savage." His voice seemed calm through his helments amplifier. "I promise I have no intention of harming you."

He stood back to at-ease, making sure to make his distance after patting. "Do your orders, I have nothing to hide."

The Heimdal feels around in his boots, up his legs, and around his crotch. He moves up his hips and sides, in the pits and up and down his arms, feels around in front and back of his torso, and finally fingers the inside edge of his helmet. Having completed this, Genda pulls a small device about the size of a wallet from his breast pocket and runs it over Briggs in the same fashion, observing a number readout on the display. When he reaches the helmet he apparently notices something, because he stops. In the interim the officer seems to have regained some confidence, because he manages to ask in a level tone, "What is the function of your helmet?"

Jason still stood at-ease, having had so many pat-downs it made no difference to him. He saw the device stop at his helment. He sighed a groan, making sure it wasn't heared. Regaining his voice, he spoke as if telling an instructor.

"My helment is my lifeline. It tells me my bio signs and physical status. When attached to the jet-pack, it functions as both bio read-out and battle read-out." He went silent for a moment, letting the explanation sink in. "Seeing as the pack is now off my person, it runs on minimal power and conducts constant bio checks on my self."

Toson pauses for a few seconds, hoping Jason won't make him ask what they both know is coming. Hopes dashed, he says with a resigned tone, "I regret to say, Sir, you must either disconnect the power source or remove the helmet." The Heimdal hasn't had a worse day in recent memory. He's a communications officer; and what he wouldn't give to be monitoring radio frequencies right now.

Jason looked at Toson with a dead gaze, then nodded. His gaze unseen, he reached behind his helment and made a few clicking noises. A humming sound came, then faded. He spoke then.

"My helments power source is off. I will now draw ozygen from the nearby air. Please refrain from deep space."

Toson chuckles nervously, running the scan of the helmet once more just to be sure before putting the device away. "I assure you, any exposure to such extreme conditions would be just as deadly to me as it would be to you. Likely more so." He glances back towards the shuttle, then to the Commander. "Well then, if you are prepared we should proceed to the ship." He puts on an artificial smile that completely fails to disguise his lingering self-doubt. "This way please, Sir." He leads the way back to the Calicke.

The inside of the shuttle is utilitarian and uninviting, which is probably to be expected from a military transport. The passenger section is removed from the cockpit by a sturdy sliding metal door. At the front right of the cabin is a small lavatory, reminiscent of the commercial budget airliners of old. On the left is a tiny galley; or perhaps a more accurate word would be 'pantry.' The rest of the space, all the way back to the rear hatch, is seats, metal chairs covered with little more than a thin cloth upholstery; five tightly-packed rows of three along each wall, enough for thirty passengers total. There aren't even any windows. Definitely low class. "Take a seat anywhere, Sir," Toson breaks into Jason's silent observation as he retracts the loading ramp and closes the hatch behind them. "I am afraid you will be equally uncomfortable no matter which you choose."

What other power source in his helment wasn't detectable by any means. Tiny circulation fans and small CO-2 filters were active now. It drew minimal, if no, power from the helments backup battery. It would have been mostly overlooked by any scanners, so Jason Briggs was glad that this last obsticle was totally ignored. He felt a sigh of relief. Looking towards Toson and his visibly artificial smile amused Jason, and he nodded back. He could tell the man doubted some part of his-self currently.

But Jason did not use this to his advantage. Rather, he went into the shuttle when invited and looked about the interior. Basic military grade, and Jason was very used to basic. Only recently had any Marine been given creature comforts. It was no suprise that when any Marine encountered this level of discomforted, he felt quite relieved. Jason was no expection, going to sit down immedietly and laughing.

"I'm not really sure, Toson." He clasped his hands and sat back, somehow getting comfortable, replying to Toson's remark. "I believe I can get comfortable in something that reminds me of my past, my good past."

Jason then rethought what he said, shrugged, then looked elsewhere. No windows, no nothing. This must be either a recruitment or prisoner shuttle. He didn't mind. He was used to them both. So, sighing auidiably he leaned back and grunted. It seemed like he was trying to sleep.

Toson goes forward and speaks briefly with someone in the cockpit, then returns to the passenger section as the engines start with a loud rumble that sends vibrations through the small craft. The Heimdal sits in the aisle seat of the row opposite Jason, putting on his seatbelt and tightening it. "You may want to fasten your restraint Sir," he advises. "This vessel does not have a gravity generator."

Jason shrugged, tightening the belt, and got comfortable again. There wasn't much else to say or do.

Their flight takes about ten minutes, and another five to maneuver the craft into position and dock. Finally, the sound of the ship dies to a quiet whisper and the Xanthalian officer releases his seatbelt, pushing off the floor and drifting up to a ceiling hatch, which he opens with a twist of a lever. Reaching up and grabbing a short ladder built into the deck above, he climbs aboard KLZ-2679. Once there, he gets on his stomach and peers down at Jason. "Up here, Sir."

Jason nodded, undid his belt, and drifted upward towards Toros. He had no recognition of gravity, though he knew how to fly in space. Slowly, he pushed against the seat towars Toros, then stopped himself easily. He nodded.

"Lead the way."

The starship is a fair sight nicer than the shuttle. The most immediately noticable difference is the artificial gravity, which seems to be set at or a bit above one gee. The walls are painted a soft grey-blue color, and the room lit from above. Running along the corners where walls meet ceiling is an almost-continuous strip of what appears to be red LED lighting, clearly visible but not enough to be useful for primary illumination of the ship. This room is small, no larger than twenty meters square with perhaps two meters of headroom. Aside from the lighting, the floor hatch, and a heavy set of doors that will presumably be letting them out into the rest of the ship once opened, the space is also quite featureless.

Heimdal Toson Genda seems much more comfortable now that he's back on his home turf. The two wait together for a couple minutes, then they are joined by the shuttle pilot, who Briggs is seeing for the first time. The pilot appears to be of the same species as the bug people his marines encountered on the station, but this one is dark green in color and sports a larger head, more menacing mandibles, and hands that look more like they're designed for ripping people apart than delicate mechanical work. It chitters something incomprehensible to Toson, and the translation device on its belt spouts some equally incomprehensible, but much more human-sounding monologue. His comrade responds in kind, and closes the hatch behind them, sealing the group of three in the confined space.

Toson then walks over to the door and punches a few buttons beside it. An opening appears below the panel, dispensing 3 small hypodermic needles, one as each is taken out. The xanthalian then pushes a couple more buttons. The dispenser retracts and a moment later another extends, this one offering small sample containers. Toson leaves it for the moment. Toson hands a needle to the pilot, then offers one to Jason. "Please fill this with blood, Sir. We must all be scanned for infectious agents before we enter the ship." The casing is only big enough to hold about ten milliliters; nothing too worrisome. The man-bug bends its wrist down to expose soft flesh under its exoskeleton and clumsily draws out a yellowish liquid with its oversized 'hands.' Toson uses the vein in his wrist to draw a more human-looking red blood.

OOC:

Sorry it took so long, was doing work and stuff.

IC:

Jason Briggs found the Xanthalian ship quite lacking in the detail he had seen on most other ships. He found himself relieved at the sights. He felt comfortable with his new surroundings. Anagonian ships of old were much like this, mundane and featureless. Just right for the job the ships classification placed her in. Nowadays ship classification wasn't the only thing being placed on starships.

He grunted, he could do without some of the new ship additions. But, hey, who was he to complain for a very comfortable bed?

Jason turned around to hear the comment slash order from Toson. He was quite taken back. He had heard of bacterial disinfection procedures, but none that involved this. He was suspicious now, very much so. Looking at the hypodermic needle and the tube that would hold his blood, he grunted audiably.

"I will only do this as a sign of friendship." He ment it too. Otherwise, if not for his attempts at establishing peace, he would start asking heavy-setted questions.

Taking off part of his arm cloth, human skin was revealed for the first time. It was somewhat tan, as if he had been in too much sun. His skin seemed a bit harder to the trained eye, as if scaled in some way. He quickly placed the needle to a vain, drew blood without flinching, and put back his cloth armor to its proper place.

Handing the needle to Toson, he nodded. "I have done as asked."

Toson raises an eyebrow, but doesn't inquire further. This sort of thing is familiar to him; sometimes he doesn't take into account that many other people are accustomed to more advanced scanning methods. Unfortunately, Xanthal lacks the fancy technologies that allow some ships to analyze every molecule in the body with an arcane beam of some sort. As crude as they may seem to such people, these are the best methods Xanthal has available for general use and Toson is glad he doesn't have to press the issue.

Each needle's contents are emptied into a sample container. The containers are fed into a recepticle and the needles disposed of in another, then the wall closes up and leaves the group to stand about while their blood samples are gone over with high-resolution microscopes and the various microbes, viruses, and bits of genetic code screened for potential hazards. Such procedures are always necessary when someone coming aboard has been in an area that has not been confirmed sterile. Even stricter quarantine procedures are in place for crews returning home, but fortunately that doesn't concern those gathered here today.

After almost ten minutes of awkward silence, the door is opened from the outside, and there with a human and an elf bearing what are obviously some type of laser guns, stands Captain Dorum, her uniform fitting tightly over her heavyset form. She is not young; in fact, she's considerably older than her superior officer. The woman's age is partially disguised by the benefits of modern medicine, but it's apparent that she's in the latter half of her life. Nevertheless, she doesn't seem to have any physical disability, because she walks up to Commander Briggs with a quick, steady stride and greets him in a firm voice as the pilot and Toson walk past them. "Hello. I is Tereesa Doram. I leader of ship this. You come." Her accent is thicker than Toson's, and her grasp of the language obviously inferior. She turns and walks away, looking back to see that the Marine follows. The guards fall in behind him.

Fleet Commander Jason Briggs looked Tereesa Doram over, getting a good grasp of what she looked like and what she could possibly do. He made sure he guessed about a thousand and so ways he could die right now if he did something wrong. When Tereesa came over and spoke in a heavy set accent to him, he was damn sure he probably would. Her grasp of the language, Jason noted quietly, was that of someone trying to learn it. He sighed in his helment, thankful no one could hear it.

The two guards were the first two beings he looked over first. He knew what would happen if they got involved in any communication mistake he made. His eyes bore into theirs through his helment, almost as if he was defiant to their weapons. He blinked, grunted, and looked back to Doram.

"I am Fleet Commander Jason Briggs, it is an honor to meet you Ma'am."

He saw her begin to walk off, then followed as any guest would. By now he didn't care if the term "guest" fit his situation. All that mattered was that so far he was still alive.

The Omsai class is not big, but it takes a while walking to get from the docking area to the Admiral's quarters. The ship is nothing much to look at; aside from the occasional computer display or access terminal and peek inside a room as a crewmember enters or exits, it's just hallway after hallway, door after numbered door. The elevator ride isn't much more exciting. One thing Jason does notice is that the red lighting along the corner of ceiling and walls seems to run through the entire ship, perhaps indicating alert status.

Finally, after five minutes without a word from the stern-looking captain, they arrive at a door marked '3-11 : Bomowąs pląsăl'. The Captain marches inside, followed by Briggs. The guards stay in the doorway. "Fleet Commander Briggs! You're late," calls out the large klingon in a booming voice. He stands and walks around the small table, which the marine can't help but notice has no food on it, to stand before the Anagonian officer, who looks quite strange in his mostly-disassembled armor. "Interesting formal wear. Did you misunderstand when I said we would be having lunch?" It's hard to tell whether he's challenging Jason or just joking with him.

Jason Briggs took notice of the constant appearence everything had. He liked it, for it was predictable. Nothing out of order, everything seemingly organized. He could swear it was high above military regulation for his nation. He smiled all the way to the Admirals quarters, smiling wide. He could tell that the Admiral enjoyed strict standards. He could tell he would enjoy the encounter.

Minutes passed, and finally he stood in the quarters marked "3-11". Entering and observing the strange looking figure, he took in what the Admiral looked like up close. He could swear his entire body structure was ment for one thing: War. Truly his species would be a match for any Komodren. He already held the klingon in high regards. What he heard in reponse to his formal ware made him grin so wide he could swear he met a brother.

"I rather feel comfortable with my Armor on," he responded. "Oh, I know no Warrior needs it, but I'm a Republic Marine. I can't help but accept it as a second skin."

Jason made a motion for his stripped outfit, "A vertian Toson disgraced what suit I had left, I apologize." Tapping his helment, "If you want this off, I will honor your request."

By the sound of his voice, he was much displeased with the way he looked. However he held himself high, and when he spoke of his helment, there was a hint of displeasure considering taking it off. But he would, of course.

After a long and awkward silence, he finally spoke. "I really didn't have anything else formal to wear anyway."

"Hm," the klingon grunts. "As intereted as I am to see you eat like that, I prefer seeing the face of a fellow warrior. HoD!" The elderly captain snaps to attention. He doesn't know much of his parents' language, but that doesn't stop him from calling her by the Klingon word for 'captain' when he wants her to jump. Never fails, either. "voyi!"

"ka ląngĭməs?"

"uke olĭn ni ąsti."

"yĭli, Bomowąs." She turns to address the guards. "olĭn!" With a salute, right fist to chest, they turn and walk out the door followed by Teresa.

When the door closes, the admiral seems to relax a little. "I am Admiral Sistriel Neq'lev. I'm also hungry, so we will address that first. Sit." He pulls out the closest chair for Briggs, then goes around to the other side of the circular table, but doesn't sit down.

This break in the conversation gives Jason his first real opportunity to look around the room. The floor is carpeted with the same industrial-strength stuff that lines the halls. No bed or lavatory is in sight, which leads him to the assumption they're through the door over on the side wall. This part of the room, aside from the metal table and chairs, actually seems to have a bit of a personal touch. The lighting is dimmer here, and the windows running along the far wall are equipped with simple shades, though they're open at the moment. There is a desk and chair made of some sort of metal or plastic shoved into one corner, complete with a computer workstation and datapads, and not far from that, on the wall, is hung a curious crescent-shaped blade. Everything seems built strong and, where possible, secured to the ship itself. Other than those things the room is decidedly bare, whether by protocol or to suit Sistriel's personal taste.

"Having the limited storage that it does, the menu aboard this ship is limited. Describe your preferred meal." It sounds more like an order than a request. The Admiral's demeanor is the polar opposite of the officer that picked Jason up. This man radiates confidence, and when he has a request he doesn't beat around the bush. Or bother with questions when an order will do.

Jason nodded, and reached up for his helment. Slowly he went about the process of taking it off. He felt quite comfortable now that no one else was in the room, for some reason he hadn't want to show his face before. Perhaps it was his reoccuring dreams, he didn't know. Finally taking his helment off, and placing it between his arms, he looked at Admiral Sistriel Neq'lev.

Jason complexion was quite human, expect for the hard ridge lines that defined his face. His eyes were hazel, often changing during mid-stare to another color that perhaps fitted his mood. Hair was shaven and cut properly to military standards, and his skin seemed more harsh than that of a normal humans. It was almost as if he had scales.

He blinked, then gave a very standard smile. There was no emotion behind it. He stood by his chair, waiting for the Admiral to see what he would do.

"Meal," the admiral repeats with an ever-so-slight edge of impatience. "What do you want to eat?"

Jason kept his unemotional smile as he replied, "Anything with meat and good Ale."

"Cow I can offer you, but not alcohol. Juice, milk, or water."

"Juice will be fine, so will cow," He finally sat down.

Sistriel goes to the computer on his desk and works briefly, then places their order and returns. He sits opposite Briggs. "It should be delivered shortly. Now," his expression turns stern and serious, "I have confirmed reports from YLZ-271 that a team of marines identifying themselves as Anagonians caused damage to a section of the station, causing it to depressurize. Are you aware of this?"

"Yes Sir, I am." Jason's expression turned mutually serious. "I led that team that depressurized that compartment. It was a mistake of judgement on my scientists part. He believed it a door-way, we had no reason not to. Our sensors were out and the stations seemed endless."

He went silent, the spoke firmly. "I take full responsibility for their actions, as well."

"Good. You are a man of some honor, at least. And this..." he stands up, grabs the top datapad on his desk, and returns to his chair, scrolling through it, "Estaban Jones. He was in command of the fleet until we recieved your reply."

"Yes, he was," Jason nodded an affirmative, "Something happened on our Exploration Route with him. No one knows. But after we returned from our mission in a system ten lightyears from here, he's started to turn into something he wasn't."

Jason gave a brief sample of emotion, a soft sigh. "Of course, ever since Admiral Estabon Jones took command, he had been a Meglomaniac. But nothing like this. Now none of us are sure if he was the cause of the sensor outage or not."

He cleared his throat, nothing too unusual because he had something in it. "I must admit I am quite perplexed. However, I do have logs to back-up my claim, and as Fleet Commander I will gladly hand them over. I will take full responsibility of his actions as well." He shrugged, "I took over the position, afterall."

"While your courage is admirable; this is an inquiry, not a trial. I am not interested in placing blame, only in fully understanding what has happened here today. The question of who is responsible and what should be done about it is one for later." He sets the pad down on the tabletop. "How did you open the door that exposed a pressurized section of the station to void?"

Jason nodded, his expression seemed to calm in a way. His gaze, instead of the firm and resolute, became that of understanding and contemplation. Corssing his arms on the table, he sat back in his chair. He thought for a moment about the question. Opening his eyes, he looked at the Admiral.

"We used an Electro-Magnetic Repulsar. It is a very simple device that uses Magnetism to push two sides away from the center of activiation."

Jason began to explain, through a short process, how the Repulsar worked. He explained how it fed off a Marines fuel cell in his pack, and how it managed to push two sides of a metal door open. He also explained that, in fact, it can have it's limits. He made sure to point out that it cannot be used if a door is locked firmly, else it might overload and kill the operator.

"Thats about it," he finished.

Neq'lev makes some notes on the pad as Jason explains, looking quite studious for a klingon. "Did Admiral Jones adhere to Anagonian operating procedures when he ordered armed personnel to board the station?"

Jason Briggs understood what the Admiral was doing, and didn't mind it at all. He continued being questioned without much objection.

"He did not." He sounded quite unsure, and voiced it moments later. "While I am sure that Anagonian Marines are used for primary Exploration Purposes, I do not recall sending an armed contigent this large for just that. It was rediculus. So, no, I do not think so."

"To your knowledge, was the action he took illegal?"

"Well, usually, you don't send Marines who are armed to the Teeth. Your only supposed to send Marines without much weaponry capable of destroying a city." He nodded, "Thats what I believe he did wrong, and illegal."

Sistriel looks up from his note-taking. "You knew his orders violated your laws and obeyed anyway."

"I am a Marine, I obey the laws set down by my Commanding officer." He seemed firm in his stance on this, even his words shown through with the commitment. "However, it wasn't until the full mission was understood that I knew he was wrong in his decisions."

The exchange is interrupted by a loud beep from the Admiral's communicator. He unclips the device from his belt and responds. "owąri."

"diskun zĭn Şĭnrą," the male voice comes through clearly. "Ląngiku Ritzchie əsti keb vi. pąrt ensą vanDək menute ąpren."

"wĭnəι," the Admiral replaces the communicator at his waist. "A diplomatic official will rendezvous with our fleet in about an hour. I will leave the rest of the interrogation to him. If you have any statements to make or questions to ask me, you should do so now."

Jason Brigg's nodded. "I wish I had some extra garments for the occasion. Unfortunatly I'm stuck with this pathetic excuse for a diplomat's attire."

Neq'lev makes some final notes on his pad, then tosses it back towards his desk. It hits the surface, but slides off the back. "Damn," Sistriel grunts.

A long silence is ended by a knock on the door. "Ah!" the Admiral says with a grin. "Food!" He lumbers towards the door and takes a large tray (sized just right to fit through the door, in fact) from an unseen figure. He returns to the table, closing the door behind him, and sets the tray on the surface.

The food is laid out on sturdy hard plastic dishes; certainly not stylish, but much less liable to dent or break than ceramic or glass. Only the utensils are metal. Jason's plate contains a 250-gram steak, two large red flowers shaped not unlike daisies, and a slice of bread. His glass is filled with a creamy orange liquid. The Klingon's dish is filled with what appears to be a giant dead grub, over ten centimeters long. His glass is filled with a thick white substance; presumably milk.

"Enjoy!" Sistriel says, in a tone akin to a challenge to battle. He slices the bug open and begins shoveling out the gooey innards with a spoon.

After a lengthy dialogue, the Anagonian fleet was allowed to leave in peace. Following the incident, the Anagonian and Xanthalian governments established a normal relationship, exchanging embassies and laying the foundation for a friendly coexistence.

OOC: RP cancelled due to inactivity. Ending agreed upon with Anagonia.