In the long Embassy dining hall, the sumptous diplomatic dining area of the Terran Diplomatic Corps two figures stared at the serine calm after a bustle of frenetic activity.
On a perfect Queen Anne oak topped table (or perfect recreation of) the perfectly clean and perfectly polished tableware was set perfectly. Each seat had been perfectly adjusted to the relevant guest and their species' needs, and the menu perfectly attuned to the latest perfect Terran dining fashions. All was pretty perfect.
The Diplomatic droid hummed happily to itself as it scanned the area for micro imperfections. A desert spoon was realigned by merest fraction of m millimeters using house manipulation fields.
The Ambassador looked on, formal diplomatic attire had been donned, he looked suitability uncomfortable. "Are we sure about the menu choices?"
"Tsk, they have all been adapted to the relevant digestive needs of our guests. All allergens edited out, all flavours still present " The drone tutted, "All you have to do is great the guests with the usual grace, and not put your foot in your mouth."
"And, The Emperor?"
'Away" The Diplomatic Droid effected an aura in its shields that might be considered a smug grin to those who knew, "Imperial appointment on an outer colony for a festival, he won't be back soon, so no risk of interruption."
The Ambassador visibility relaxed. "Good, at what cost to our..."
The Droid observed it as a multispectral flash as the Ambassador vanished. While the Ambassador observed was a sudden patch of blackness, streaming lights, followed by a cold, wet, splash and pressure!
His emergency gell suit cut in, as the word 'sanity' was drowned out by a mouthful of brine and he found himself in the deep, his chest reinstated, and this time no ribs were broken.
"Ahh, Ambassador, this wont take more than a few minutes of your time, I know you are busy. Would you mind telling those gathered what these inferior Human factions are up to here?" The Emperor, surrounded by hundred of Auran followers, was looking up at an underwater projection of space.
The Ambassador coughed his mouth clear, he felt alert as what he assumed were combat stims engaging and the adrenaline coursing through his body. This was new, and probably thanks to the Medbot taking initiative. It took all his skills and years of experience not to unload several minutes of swear words at the Emperor, and took in the scene as it moved, and projected in front, no, now through, then behind him...
"Okay, it's looks like a simple grab and go mission. Four Civilian ships from the Lost Colonues are stranded in this volume of space. Each opposing fleet is trying to 'rescue' the crews." This sounded plausible to him.
"Nearest us, we can see Slingons, in green amd blue, a non-Terran warrior race that have a high honour code. They would object to being called 'Human'. Technically their race evolved from lizard types, but they do appear roughly humanoid.
Next to them are an Ancient race, in dark blue, their largest ship, guns blazing, that has shot the line, trying to reach an objective. Their apparence is unknown, their ships appear only ever few decades, a rare sight indeed, fast, high tech, accurate guns, but brittle. They only brought three ships, but those ships have really advanced weaponry, so we can surmise that their tech will be highly sort after.
Beyond that, The Loyalist Empire are the large grey wedges beyond. Heavy hitters that rely on fighter power to project damage.
Note the Slingons have rear firing weaponry, especially the Vor'cha class cruiser, a rare feature in these fleets, and that Ancients big ship which shot the gap, has just found out and is now a molecular cloud."
"Nasty! I like these Slingons, they hit hard!" The Emperor giggled in the Ambassador's mind.
"The Loyalist Imperials are already hunkering down on the far civilian ships, 'gently encouraging' them to join them. The Ancients have also dashed to grab at the third ship."
Slingon Birds of Prey are trying to sneak to the Colonial President's ship, but the Imperials Victory class ships were closing fast, with guns blazing. One Bird of Prey is gone already.
The Loyalist Imperials are closing on the fourth Colonial ship. The Slingon D7 cruisers are moving to engage the Ancients ships, but have not accounting for the Ancients's speed, and blundering over the space whale Instead..
"They're a protected species, shocking!" The Emperor'a thoughts echoed through his mind, hevwas pretty sure The Emperor had picked up sarcasm.
"Birds of Prey, you will note, are very nimble, pack a punch, but not built to go toe-to-toe with big warships, or deal with quick fighter screens. The Slingons are being stopped from getting to the Presidential ship here, permanatly. That flotilla was never going to last long enough I'm afraid. Whoever took a side bet on them surviving, pay up." Various tentacles flurried between Aurans as debts were paid. The Ambassador grinned to hinself, knowing Auran gambling habits had been useful.
"The Ancient are quick, but sometimes speed is not enough. A D7 packs an awful lot of firepower and the Blue Ancients are too busy worrying about diplomacy to realise the D7Slingon is in their rear arc." The Ambassador pointed at the screen, knowing it wasn't an insult for Aurans.
"And having a Slingon D7 with all its firepower in the Ancients vessal rear viewers will cost those blues dearly I feel.
A brief flash of light signalled the destruction of the Ancient's second vessal. "These losses might be hard to replace for the Ancients, who knows how their economic infrastructure works."
"The Imperials Loyalist are swarming those two Colonial ships, solidifying a lead in this possession race. The Ancients smallest ship high tails it across the volume of space, showing a true burst of speed that other races can only dream of, to contest the Presidential ship and get out of range of the D7." The Ambassador noted the screen was highlighting these features for him.
"It is certainly hotting up now. A second Slingon D7 is chasing down that Ancient ship, which is dodgingbaround anotherbSpacevWhakevas cover. Meanwhile the masses of the Imperials swing towards the Slingon Vor'cha! That's a lot of grey firepower, even for something as big as a Vor'cha, to deal with." A realtive size grapg flashed up on screen. The ambassadorvsuspected that for a culture like the Aurans that hated artifical intelligences one had been brought along to help him out here.
"The blue Slingon D7 managed to talk to the Colonials on the supply ship, at the same time taking down the smallest Loyalist Imperial ship, beleive they are called 'Interdictors' but that Imperial big ship, they call them 'Star Destroyers', is closing fast." More labels, definitely AI.
Now there is a sight you don't often see, a Slingon Vor'cha next to a Colonial Diplomatic ship. being straffed by Imperial TIE fighters. It is also being pounded by those two Victory Star Destroyers, and will not survive long, all bets are off." A surge of disappointment flooded through the waves.
"The Green D7 has tried to take on the Victory Class Star Destroyer. Not a great plan. It was already damaged, and would also not last long," The Ambassador shook his head, "Theym Slingons fight and die for honour, it is their greatest strength and weakness at the same time."
'M"The Vor'cha is now being pounded by the Imperial Loyalists, which is terminally stopping it securing the Colonial President."
"Looks like the Imperial Loyalists have basically taken all the objectives." The Ambassador shrugged. The unblinking eyes of the Aurans presemt all looked at him. "A big win for the Loyalists."
"Even the smallest Ancient, who is hiding behind that space smqhake, fell victim to the Imperials. Their victory is cemented."
" The final Slingon D7 vravely holds the transport objective, but the Imperials are now closing it down."
"And Victory laurels goes to The Victory Class ship, leaving an uncontested volume of space for the Loyalist Imperials, who no doubt will be opening 'negotiations' with the Colonial hierarchy rightbabout now." The Ambasssador waved at the crowded, bowing.
The Ambassador could see various bets being paid off, and what he assumed were the equivalent of nods of thanks from various Auran digniatories, as he felt the teleport wave wash over him again. He rematerialised in the dining room, along with several hundred litres of brine, all several meters above the ground. The house's field manipulators caught him and gently placed him down on two feet on the polished and dry floor, as the water was redirected b the fields to the Imperial guest tank. He was still soaking wet through from before his safety shield had cut in, and leftbpuddles as hevwsljed. Cleaner bots emerged to wipe up after him. He started shaking as the adrenal rush faded, but he had surived an encounter without any broken bones, for once.
"How long was I away?" he enquired of the Diplomatic Drone.
"A little under ten minutes, so just enough time to get dry and change, before the guests arrive." The Droid smirked, "Fresh clothing is already waiting in your quarters.
"I need to see the Medbot first," the Ambasador walked quickly out of the room, leaving wet footprints behind him, "I owe him some thanks and some questions!"
Remember...
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