[u][b]RCNS [i]Anna Karenina[/i]
New Columbia High Orbit
[/b][/u]

Under the pretense that it’s port-side hangars were all busy at the moment, Anna Karenina’s landing control directed the ambassador’s shuttle on a sweeping detour to a starboard hangar. Their approach took them around the bow of the Commonwealth battlecruiser, past the enormous hatches that concealed her axial superlaser arrays, then around her starboard broadside and the rows of railguns and missile tubes, then down towards an upper hangar, just close enough to catch a glimpse of the dorsal gamma laser turrets, crouched and inactive like sleeping dogs.

The UFS delegation was greeted by Ribbentrop and Captain Wellesley with great ceremony, then whisked off on a brief tour of the ship, then down to the diplomatic stateroom where a small reception had been whipped together seemingly out of nowhere. There was food, drink, even a string quartet and a large crystal sculpture of the UFS sigil. Where exactly such things had come from aboard a warship was anyone’s guess, but there they were. There weren’t all that many guests; the rest of the Vit’azny diplomatic delegation, a few off duty senior officers, and a scattering of civilian specialists who happened to be on the ship.

Captain Wellesley excused himself back to the bridge after a while, while Ribbentrop chatted with the UFS Ambassador. The Commonwealth and the UFS had shared borders for years, and the quality of available translation software was quite good. Despite not speaking the same language, Ribbentrop and the ambassador were able to converse quite easily with their in-ear translator devices. As the reception began to wind down, Ribbentrop decided enough time had passed to broach the topic of why they were there.
“Ambassador,” he began, “I’ve certainly enjoyed learning more about you and the Federation. I think it’s time we got down to business, if you’ll pardon my bluntness.”

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Captain Wellesley tapped his fingers along his chair idly. Hopefully things in the stateroom were proceeding well. Ribbentrop was certainly a capable diplomat, so Wellesley wasn’t particularly worried. A disturbance on the main holotank caught his attention. Wellesley glanced up, noting a number of white icons that had appeared at the edge of the system. He frowned. “Clear civilian traffic off the display,” he called out. Much of the clutter on the display winked out, letting him get a better look at the white icons. CIC evidently still couldn’t identify them, but gravitic sensors gave an idea of the mass and position of the signatures. They were larger than most signatures around the system, and arranged in formation. Wellesley felt the fur on the nape of his neck bristle. He opened an interior channel.
“CIC, Bridge here. What’s the holdup on the unknowns at the system’s edge?”
“Gravitics are still analysing the signatures. At the moment we believe it’s a Federation patrol; we’re waiting to hear back from New Columbia traffic control.”
“Understood.” Wellesley closed the channel.

Half a minute or so passed as Wellesley continued to frown at the display. Suddenly, the signatures flickered orange. Wellesley swore, and began issuing a stream of orders.
“Sound general quarters throughout the ship, battle stations! Helm, bring the IDC to full power, evasive maneuvers, as far as we know there are already missiles closing on the ship. Comms, request access to the Federation tactical net, I don’t want us shooting eachother by mistake. Tactical, load missile tubes with long range cruise missiles and interceptors, half and half. Look lively people, we have company!”