[center][h2]Praxis - Zoolith/Korth Coalition Embassy[/h2][/center] 
Kosnitch looked over the reports once again. A few Zoolith exiles had caused an incident, and were currently in custody in a foreign section of Praxis. They were currently still processing them, gathering evidence and dealing with paper work. After that, he'd go to collect them. He'd give the local authorities an apology and condemn the prosecuted. They were probably destined to be sent back into coalition space. There, they'd have their hosts repossessed and sell the perpetrators off into slavery where Praxians weren't looking. The Korth might put them on trial if they caught wind of it. They wouldn't follow through with the verdict when sent back to the Zoolith states; but they could if they really wanted. And that was why they put on the show. Kosnitch mentally shuddered. He only had to ferry players to the games now. He sympathised with the exiles, and felt a twitch of sorrow whenever they were caught. But he always remained watchful. Half the time, they were just an adventurous wretch thinking they'd found easy pickings.

Kosnitch set the papers down and leaned back in his swivel chair. He'd have to deal with the exile next shift. He span himself round once before standing up, facing his desk. It was made from a thing called 'plastic.' The screen for the computer in front of him was bordered by the same material. During the early days, it had been decided that number-brains and husk furniture weren't the most appealing to the ambassadors that visited. Even the section devoted to flaunting the Coalition and all its achievements for civilian view had been made more 'welcoming.' So they decided to buy everything from foreign contractors. By the time he came to work at the embassy, it meant they could get some practical experience handling the things. Reports of confused Coalition members fumbling with door controls and the like had reduced significantly ever since they started. He'd learnt this when reading up on the embassies records. Kosnitch would do it on slow days for something to do.

Pulling open a drawer, he took out a packaged food stuff called a 'sandwich.' It was a primitive meal, but the Coalition considered food to be a low priority item to bring through the portal. They had to make do with local businesses. If Kosnitch recalled correctly, he believed that at least one had made or were working on a product line targeting Coalition members. No had managed to secure a contract for the imported stuff the members not fully qualified to leave the building ate, but some places stocked it. Zoolith were big eaters who typically didn't care about taste, so the nutrient slurries they'd peddle were a cheap source of profit; as long as they managed to regularly snag some of the Zoolith stalking around the embassy. Breaking the seal, Kosnitch extracted the 'sandwich.' Pointing his head upwards, his face plate lifted up to a 90 degree angle, revealing the inner parts of his mouth. Dropping the food stuff in, his face plate snapped shut as his neck muscles rhythmically contracted, grinding the food down.

He exited his cubicle and headed towards the lobby entrance area. He was leaving work early. Or to be more accurate, he was leaving on time, rather than late. Fear of the management meant most did over time. He passed by his usual string of associates who were still working on his way out. He loosely knew a few of them, and had enough knowledge to know that some of them had been replaced. One in particular caught his interest; their host had an array of spindly arms, and they were working on two computers. Kosnitch would have to remember to look up their specifications. They looked they'd been set to scribe duty. The Coalition were still undergoing tests using the alien materials that went into things called 'cybernetics.' Nothing had yet been conceived that would allow a Zoolith to connect to a computer. So for now, they had to settle for using the inefficient controllers named 'keyboards' and 'mouses.'

Kosnitch entered a corridor that branched off into multiple stock closets, and ended in a stairwell that lead to the other floors. He slipped into the room where the dress robes were kept. They were loose things, made that way so they wouldn't have to tailor them to individual biped hosts. The Coalitions symbol, a Z written in Zoolithian and a K in Korthan, had been imprinted onto the front, covering the chest section. He put on a dull black one that had a hood. Some still found his lack of typical facial features disturbing. He also slipped on some light grey hard-socks. Regular foot wear never fitted properly. They instead had a Korth invention - socks made from tightly bound fibres suitable for keeping off any muck that might be gathered from day to day walking. It was fortunate he had control over his hosts sense of pain. The chaffing would be unbearable otherwise. He proceeded down to the ground floor, and into the plain white lobby area. The dull grey, pipe-framed chairs were empty today. The desk clerk kept their eyes fixed on their computer screen as Kosnitch walked by and pushed through the double doors out onto the street.

The sun was lazily making its way down the sky. Or at least, a simulation of a sun. They didn't have any information on how they made everything suitable for habitation by the various peoples on Praxis. Not to say it stopped the Coalition trying to find out. He past the Coalition unity statue as he went to walk down the steps leading to concrete the city streets. The statue was of a Korth standing opposite a kind of pedestal with a naked Zoolith a top it. It was a ball covered in craggy chitin plating. A small opening was near the bottom of it, facing the Korth; a multitude of tentacles were sprouting from it. The Korth side was made from some form of gene-wood, and the Zoolith lasting-bone. Kosnitch idly kicked a piece of litter as he stepped down onto the street. He couldn't decide whether he should go out of his way to buy groceries now, or to just head back to his apartment.

A sudden bluish-light sundered Kosnitch's thought. By the time it had enveloped his form, surprise had begun to register.

Observing the strange event, the passerby on the other side of the street blinked a few times.

'Never seen one of them do that before...' she murmured.

[center][h2]Praxis? - A vast white room[/h2][/center]

There was a beat as Kosnitch's mind began processing the new sensory information. He was in a plain white room. There were others in here. No discernable cover in sight. Wires leading up to higher ground. He was at a disadvantage.

Kosnitch had appeared in the room as he had in the street; standing straight, arms by his side, face pointed slightly downwards. Within a second, he was on all fours, with as low a profile as possible, and his face plate had lifted up to allow for acid firing. He turned to face the other occupants in the room, head snapping to each one of them in turn. Seven bipeds, humanoid. Flesh, clothed. Flesh, clothed. Armed (synth?) flesh? Armed synth flesh? Alien synth shelled, tendrils = potentially armed. Flesh, clothed. Flesh, clothed, spear? = uncertainty = higher risk. One biped, reptilian. Teeth, claws.

Combat instincts fired off in the number-brain of Kosnitch's host. It took a moment longer for Kosnitch himself to process everything that was going on. He had somehow been taken to a big white room with bipeds in it. The shiny tendril sprouting one was speaking. Multi-verse disrupted. Gathered to correct them. A reason for surroundings

He blocked out the wailing danger signals from his host. He was surrounded by foreign bipeds. The room he was in had no discernable exits. He was out in the open. He was in an unfavourable position to engage, and what it would achieve was highly uncertain.

After the initial shock had began to quieten down, a very familiar line could be heard in his head. He has a job. He must do it.

In a smooth motion, he stood upright nearly as quickly as he'd dropped to the floor. He went for the typical routine for starting negations. He brought his hands to hold one another, and let them hang in front of them. It was a thing most humanoid bipeds considered polite. And they seemed to make up the majority of peoples he had to deal with. Even everyone here was a humanoid biped, except the reptilian. He found it rather droll.
He approached the assembled group - the two flesh clothed, one with exposed leg and face skin, and the other with just an exposed face, occupying space near the alien shelled one. Praxis was what it had called itself. How queer, Kosnitch thought. When his presence was acknowledged, if at all, provide a shallow bow and say the following;

'I' am Kosnitch Yovun, representative of the Zoolith-Korth Coalition. You have supposedly brought us here to form some form of team to solve things, yes? This is based on Praxis, yes? Then who am I discussing and functioing with?'