Adrian Laguna wrote:Loch
"Wonderful!" exclaims Vlaska, sounding quite pleased at the rapid movement of negotiations. "We too have basic ground rules that every merchant, contract pilot, corporation, or trader in our space must adhere to. While not as impressive as your Spacing Guild, various Unions can offer similar services within Republic territory. Finally, our Transit Authority and Home Fleet will require cooperation from trading ships in ensuring the safety and security of everyone. Apparently, we are all on the same page here," he adds with a laugh. "Our agencies will be more than willing to cooperate with yours in ensuring that trade between us runs smoothly."
There is a short pause, the Shindra looks at Vlaska for a moment, "The regulations governing trade with non-governmental entities have been in place from time immemorial. Such trade can start as soon as the merchants show-up on our space. Trade with sovereign nations, however, does require a specialized treaty approved by our General Assembly. And speaking of governments," Vlaska now turns to address Jacob Bashir, "the Republic would also be interest in establishing formal diplomatic relations with Loch. Making an embassy, stationing some diplomats to run it, drawing-up negotiations procedures, the works."
"I'm sure we can make the neccessary arrangements," Jacob replied, "there's a lot of spare room in this complex, and it is basically what it's designed for."
"We'd like to return the favor with the establishment of a Guild Union Embassy on one of your worlds. The embassy can be used to contact the Guilds, the various patron worlds and even Concord should the situation call for it." Sutiri speaks.
"Given their nature, they usually take up a little more space then a conventional embassy, but we'd be more then willing to lease the land and it beats having to establish contact with over thirty different organisations within the region." Alastair smiles broadly at the Mekidar diplomats.
Meanwhile...
Shearwater
The occupants of the freighter were too frightened to offer any resistance. Equipping the passengers with vac suits was impossible given the restraints on time and resources, this anything the passengers could have used in defense would probably have resulted in dire consequences. A few were considering how difficult it would be to put something sharp through that armour.
Meanwhile, in Shearwater's high orbit...
The Guardian screeched along the flightdeck of it's host's flightpod. With most of the fighter's vital systems damaged in the attack it was impressive that it was able to land at all. The fighter was pulled through a large airlock and onto the hanger deck.
The deck gang, wearing vac suits, sprayed the still hot wounds with a nitrogen compound that seemed to act as a coolant and decontaminant, white steam billowed over the fighter. Once it was deemed safe the hatch was popped and the pilot removed himself, unsteadily, via the step ladder. The deck gang remove their helmets and immediately get to work on the fighter.
Weaker then a child that had just awoken from a terrible nightmare, the Quelectin pilot flying as Alpha one turned to the deck chief.
"Where are the others? Did anyone else make it back?" His voice labours.
The deck chief, looking solemnly at the flight leader, responded "I'm sorry Colonel."
The pilot stood there, the expression on his face dropped as his heart almost stopped. There were a few moments of unconfortable silence before the Chief realised that he had to finish the explanation.
"Beta, Epsilon and the rest of Alpha. They're all gone sir."
Images of the attack repaid themselves through the pilot's mind. Memories of frozen alien bodies being forcefully ejected into space by their own atmosphere, for a brief time, warmed his heart as his bloodlust was quenched. But that was then, all he could feel now is a cold shiver as he realised that instead of becoming a great martyr for his people, he'd sent everyone he cared about to become martyrs in his stead.
Until a few minutes ago, duty and honor seemed like such simple concepts.
An idealist would fight for whatever cause was worthy enough, nomatter how impossible, nomatter what the odds to achieve what (until fate would prove otherwise) impossible goals. Marshal-General Coldrock, commander of all forces stationed at Shearwater, was a realist. By know the Quelectin had a good knowledge of what was lying in front of them. They knew that the forces that would be upon them would greatly overwhelm Shearwater's defenses. The probability of the Silver Flame surviving a prolongued campaign with these assailants was uncertain whereas the chances of successfully defending Shearwater were the opposite.
The goals have shifted from that of impossibility to that of uncertainty. Now all Coldrock needed was a way to change the rules so they could reclaim some probability.
"ORC Drives ready Sir."
"Tell the section commanders to relay a message to the people of Shearwater. Tell them not to lose hope. We will return for them. All craft, execute ORC jump."
With the actions of what history would remember as either a wise leader or an abject coward, the vessels in high orbit around Shearwater faded from the Crobuzon sensors.
