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Post by Eliza Silvermantle on Jan 30, 2018 7:14:37 GMT
Location: Caernarvon Station, Century Wayoint, Terran Confederation, 2 lightyears outside the Sol System
Date: 1500 local time, 29.01.2977 GC/1000 fleet time, 520 FR
Nostalgia truly was a strange thing, Eliza mused as she surveyed the view displayed on the screen within her quarters, a real-time image of the space station the coming negotiations between Arcanus Military Industries and the Terran Confederation would take place aboard, as well as the surrounding space. In the near distance, the battle station/supply depot known as the Kraken's Maw loomed, providing a not-so-subtle visual representation of the power her people commanded. And yet, which was truly her people? The ashen-haired woman was of Terran blood, and had been born and raised for most of her life on the world that had given the galaxy arguably their most warlike species to date, yet her father had been the one to create the company-world. It was a strange position she found herself in, though looking at where it had all taken her, Eliza didn't think she'd have changed anything.
Without warning, a gentle chime broke the Umbra Witch from her reverie, prompting the woman to activate her comms unit to answer. "Aye, what is it?" she prompted, not bothering with the standard protocol. She never did bother with standard protocol.
"Ma'am, the shuttle is ready for departure. We only await your arrival," the ever-calm voice of one of the many AIs that had taken on life of their own, one that went by the name of Veska.
"Understood. I'll be down in a few minutes, jist need ta make sure I've got th' right specs loaded ta these datapads fer Admiral Dane. Gan ahead and let th' rest of the detail know, please?" Eliza replied, even as she gathered the datapads in question. Titan Program, check. Sable Fire Powered Assault Armor, check. Mercury-class battleship, check. The youthful woman smiled faintly as she ticked off each item on the list. "Looks like I've got everythin', Ves. See ye in a bit," she added before ending the call. The female AI was probably one of Eliza's favorites, in part because she was a genuinely friendly personality that still knew when to be tough. It also helped that they often gave excellent advice when Eliza was herself at a loss. Perks of being able to literally ignore their own emotions, she mused.
True to the older woman's previous statement, Eliza took only a few minutes before she was boarding her personal shuttle, a custom vessel with strong resemblance to a broadhead's tip with the whimsical name of Dancing Lancer. "Ma'am, not to pry, but are you sure-" Veska began before promptly being cut off with a pointed stare from the fiery Umbran.
"Aye, I'm sure. These are my own people, and I'm na gannin ta dress like some daft tit wi more coin in their purse than sense in their heid. They'll either respect that choice, or sod off," she stated plainly.
"Ah. So you mean to show the Terrans you in your entirety?" Silence followed the AI's statement for several seconds until the faintest trace of a smile twisted her synthetic features in as impish a manner as any human ever did.
"Na what I meant, Ves. Feckin' hell, woman, do ye need ta take liberty or some shite?" Eliza muttered as she caught the innuendo involved. "But ye've got th' point I meant, I think. They're on edge as it is due ta th' firepower that jist showed up on their doorstep. Best na hide anythin' more than needed. Gan get th' ship movin', lass. We'll be gettin' hailed soon enough if I read th' Admiral right. Like as na he'll want ta know as much as he can about us before we dock."
"Of course, ma'am!" Veska answered, promptly adopting a more professional demeanor as she hurried about her assigned duties, leaving Eliza to her own thoughts once more. This meeting would prove most interesting, potentially historical. Whether it would suffice to ease the tensions between the Alliance and AMI, however, she wasn't entirely certain. Daiban at very least seemed to be wary of the Terran Confederation's power, power that would undoubtedly increase by orders of magnitude if a large enough contract was negotiated. In the end, it didn't matter to the nearly six hundred year old woman. She gave her allegiance to only two worlds; Earth and the ringworld that was home to AMI. Everyone else was a client at best.
Caernarvon Station at Century Waypoint was the latest in a series of waypoint stations that had been situated at the mid-point between Sol System and Alpha Centauri. Eight hundred years since this place had become the first permanent way-station outside of Sol, and it still amazed some of how desolate the region looked from this spot. It almost would deter one from trying to go further. Especially since less than fifty astronomical units away was the outer reaches of a vast and volatile gravitational anomaly known as Scylla.
Docked at the station was the TCS Concordia, recently out of space dock for refit, yet bearing still the scars of the past few years at the thwarted revival of the Kromus Pirate Empire. The flagship's accompanying task force had taken up patrol position within visual range of the station itself, as they were not supposed to expect trouble, but as the last several years had been rife with not only the threat of the Kromus, but also tensions between Confed and the greater Galactic Federation over increasingly bitter treatment of the Terran race by the Federation Congress on Daiban.
Not to mention a repeal on the bio-weapons development and research bans previously held under Chairman Arba'dos Kei'aton, something that the Confederation at large was not happy with. Not after the crisis three hundred years ago involving bio-weapons and attempted military takeovers. Some memories, thankfully, did not fade.
And now this; a visit from some organization claiming to offer trade with the Confederation and wishing to make direct contact to discuss a 'business' relationship. To be honest, something felt very odd about the entire situation, especially given the size of the ships that had appeared about a light-year outside Caernarvon's primary visual range. The leader of these "Arcanus Military Industries" vessels had assured the admiral that they were arriving with weapons unarmed to show their intent. Castor Dane, however, knew from history that such was sometimes a show of false colors. He was taking no chances with this. He watched patiently from a viewport on the station, and as he saw the size of the lead vessel of this cluster of ships on the adjacent display screen, Dane felt his heart skip a beat. It was massive, big enough that it, at minimum, rivaled Sol-Station, the primary headquarters for Confed's military that was situated in Jupiter orbit.
Who the hell were these people, and why were they coming to the Confederation with some kind of offer?
"Admiral, we've picked up a lone shuttle jumping into local area. No active weapons detected yet."
Well, so far, these Arcanus people had held their word. Dane gave a nod to the messenger and turned to make his way to the main hanger bay to greet their arriving guests. Meeting this "Eliza Silvermantle," he knew, was going to be very interesting.
Post by Eliza Silvermantle on Feb 26, 2018 5:52:10 GMT
Eliza all but reclined in her seat, which almost resembled a throne for a monarch of old as the smooth-hulled vessel made its final approach before acquiring docking clearance. A faint smile played at her lips as she calmly opened the internal comms. "Veska, show our friends our hands, then open a channel," she ordered quietly.
"Aye, ser," the android responded, entering in a series of commands that retracted the panels that concealed the _Dancing Lancer's_ compact, yet highly formidable arsenal, though no power was sent running through the weapons themselves. Another few seconds later, a holoprojector lit up a few feet in front of the ashen-haired woman, whose expression remained calm, if faintly amused.
"Admiral, we're makin' our final approach. Donna worry about th' display. Old custom fram back home ta show th' master of th' house any and all arms ye might be carryin' before enterin'. Na sure if it's still in practice, mind. I've na set foot in Scotland in centuries. Make yer checks as ye wish, and we'll proceed wi yer permission. Sound good?" she asked.