[Vergial] Return to Sender
With the creature hatched and a library of information on her species, we’ve begun the process of accommodating it. Apparently their needs aren’t too complex, and we should be expecting signs of basic intelligence soon enough. The habitat staff finds it somewhat distasteful to harbor a child in this fashion, though they in the position to argue.
Her species is that of Shiloniap, though the p is often replaced with an ‘n’ for simplicity’s sake. What a curious way to handle your own species’ name.
Shilonians are unusual. They’re hardly involved in galactic affairs, and have quarantined their planet from outsiders. This appears to be rooted in religious and historical beliefs, though there are ways for outsiders to enter. It has been decided that contacting them about the child is the best way to handle this.
As it happens, their lax attitude towards space has put them quite close to a few objectives. Using some gathered intelligence, it’d make a good place to break and weaken the pirate lines and rout them. The recent quiet is best broken on our terms, and attacking near neutral space will catch them completely off guard.
Augmenting this decision is recovered intelligence from the destroyed vessel, which was mostly tasked with a stealth regroup. It’s presence near a celestial body tell me this ship was probably a throwaway for a numbers-based attack, begging the question where their more effective forces will be moving from.
Or why their route took them this deep into federation space to begin with.
The Admiral took his seat besides the soldiers, pilots and cleaning crew. The mess hall wasn’t a place of splendor, the higher dining rooms were given that luxury. However, Vergial wasn’t a man to savor the gifts of life, only the gifts he’d earned himself. It made him relate-able to his men, despite his often harsh but fair attitude.
Usually he remained quiet and stoic, and now he was absorbed by a folder of papers. Pictures and details that attracted the eyes and leans of the people flanking his space.
“So, Admiral.” The pilot started his query. “What’s it all about?”
“Shilonians. They’re in a blind spot of the Federation due to their isolated nature. Never learnt anything about them until now, as the GF would prefer they’d get steamrolled so they can use the planet for more... productive purposes.” The gray feline’s tone was dour with a hint of annoyance. “Of course they can’t take action themselves. One doesn’t simply invade personal space.”
“Oh, yessir.” The pilot sat himself back down and returned to his bowl of heated liquid. It had little too appraising about it, and its bland taste was a blessing.
“What part are you at?” The other, yet unremoved soldier asked, peering over the sheet.
“Their external relations. No major representatives, tight border patrol, visa’s more limited than breakline. It makes me wonder why there’s even an egg floating around anyway. They’ve more in common with those low-tech agricultural cults than any true space-faring civilization. That despite their proximity to two of the largest armadas in the galaxy.” He huffed, flicking a page to the soldier’s discontent.
“Sounds boring.” The eating soldier muttered as he returned to his dish.
“The architecture is quite interesting. Ornamental with a flare for brightness. Garish and blaring to the eyes. Of course, you can never quite tell with closed societies.”
“You can say that again. I hear enough about people falling for tourist traps.”
The Admiral was unamused by this response and folded up his document, leaving behind the food he’d yet to eat.“I was more referring to limited exploration space for the archivists and observers. Rare is the planet with a mono-cultural civilization. Even the Federation cannot pretend to be homogenized.”
“Mind if I question your mentality, sir? Because I fail to see why this is so important.”
The gray feline got up from his seat and took a long hard look at the soldier. He had long figure that, at this table, the rumors and musings would be at their strongest, yet, in the back of his head, he knew that didn’t guarantee the obvious being kept in mind. “The Federation doesn’t extradite prisoners to unclear judicial systems. And I will not hand over a Federation citizen without a clear understanding of what state I’m handing to.”
“Huh.” The pilot nodded and pursed its mandibles together. “Guess she would technically be one, being born in Federation space.”
The Admiral was slightly disappointed. But equally, he was late. Spending time not eating lunch with an appointment immediately after is a fine way to miss out on meals.
Research does not bode well. I’ve decided to play a ploy of sorts. By subtly requesting a list of missing persons from the Shilonian homeworld, I can evade handing her off. I won’t ditch a fresh soul in the grinding of uncaring bureaucracies, especially not one backed by cultural bias.
Apparently Shilonians have a distaste for Starborne offspring. This would explain the egg’s transit, and I cannot help but feel partially responsible for allowing this problem to form.
Aside from this, the Federation opposes the plan to take military action near their planet. I can understand that bolstering or staging an assault near that location would certainly warrant suspicion, but what planet isolates itself and proceeds to claim diplomatic dominion over neighboring systems?
Still, their recommendation is to push from friendlier territory, so we have a legal defense should proximity grow too intimate for them.
By the time we arrive, I’ll have the required information to handle accordingly regarding the child as well as the sweep. For now, preliminary intelligence suggests that my hunch is at the very least plausible, judging by manifesto anomalies.
I still think they should just call them illegal transactions. ‘Allegedly’ is a good term in proper doubt, however one shouldn’t cast doubt when the truth is naked and bare. It’s that kind of half-action that allows these ‘manifesto anomalies’ to fester like wildfires.
