Thought for the say "Pain is temporary. Honour is forever"

[b] New Alas, Space [/b]

The Shipmaster listened to the message playback, including that which had become redundant in translation to the black tongue. He turned back towards the communications terminal, tapping a few commands. The liason at the Ministry for Contact flashed up for a moment, and the shipmaster repeated back the message. Just seconds later, the hologram turned to the council, the four high councillors, Respect having returned from his undisclosed business. The Shipmaster fell to his knee, one fist smashed into the centre of his chest and the other hand touching the floor. Respect was the first to talk, eager to delve back into his position. The tongue switched accordingly, and became softer and more respectful
"Rise, shipmaster. Now, we have nothing embedded in galactic politics, no way to tell Terrans and... Did the Terran name them 'Iscandarians'?" Respect paused, glancing to the other High Councillors. Wisdom nodded and Integrity spoke
"As Respect notes, we have no way to tell them apart. You are the instrument dispatched, and you will be trusted. Know them better." Integrity said. Wisdom took over
"Be warned, Shipmaster. The alien may be confused by the customs. Do not mistake their actions as an affront to the ways of the warrior." The councillors disappeared and the shipmaster tapped another command on the console, transmitting a message, reverting to the black tongue

"You understand us then. Meet with us in corporeal form, that we might know each other!"

[b]Nouvelle, Space[/b]

The Major looked to the terminal as they received a response, his mandibles twitched as he tried, and failed, to reproduce their language. It was impossible for him, and it dawned on him that differences in anatomy likely meant they'd never be able to reproduce his language either. He let a long "ah" sound as he checked the signals source. He could make no sense of the alien language and with the click of a button would direct it back to the Department for Language at the Ministry of Contact for translation.
He tapped a few of the holographic buttons on the command terminal. The Minor glanced at him again. They were Special Operations Warriors, he understood the Minors concerns. Talking was not theirs strength, they were used to being unseen.

The message he transmitted back was a simple one. It contacted imagery, an arrowhead with a single dot underneath. Then, block of metal with a blade upon it, a hammer smashed the end in order to bend it, rendering it worthless. He was attempting to convey that he had but one ship and wished peace, whether that would be the view of the alien was unknown. After that he cut the transmission again, but he had a feeling they would be found.

The Major turned towards the Minor
"Fire up the engines. After that signal, they will have found us anyway. Halt us 200 thousand kilometers from the source of the response. Disable all stealth features and move out of the shadow we've been hiding it. We are not part of this war, they shouldn't fire"
"And if they do?" The Minor inquired with a tilt of his head
"If they fire, then we ride to paradise tonight."

The small ship glided out into the black of space, its engines glowing a brilliant blue as it did. Its shields powered up and shimmered slightly before becoming invisible to the naked eye and the sleek black ablative paint would make it almost a silhouette were it not caught in the glow of its own engines and the nearby star.