First Reply Papers, Please

[AMCO]

Outer Space, Mid Rim

The Transhydian Federated Republics was, to put it mildly, a small fish. Despite its occasionally ostentatious decrees, it controlled only a handful of star systems and its population barely eclipsed one hundred million sentients. Despite this, the polity felt the need to patrol its tiny sliver (thus Transhydian) of the Hydian Way.

This was partly due to a genuine desire to help and partly a ploy to look important.

There was only one issue - the Federal Navy, as it were, only existed on paper.

This minor issue was resolved by contracting the Globex Corporation to 'secure the starlanes, collect tariffs, and protect the inherent dignity of all sentient life'. This lofty task was, given the modest size of the contract and the Federal Navy's limited budget, delegated to a squadron of Phalanx-class Superlight Corvettes staffed entirely by droids.

It is in this context that your vessel finds itself confronted by a full quarter of the mighty and honourable Federal Navy. This may be a result of your roguish behaviour, issues with your transponder, or simply a random inspection.

NB! The Transhydian Federated Republics has, in its infinite wisdom, decreed that no one is above the law. It is therefore entirely plausible that the 'superlight corvette' in question is attempting to pull over your Star Destroyer.

 

[Bella]

Location: Outer Space, Mid Rim
Pilot Gear: FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit │ X-8 Night Sniper
Call Sign: Miracle - FAE/eI-01 “Ballerina” Star Interceptor Mk. II
Tag: AMCO

She could run and they wouldn’t say anything, right?

And yet, Bella didn’t necessarily want to take that chance and risk a court martial or a less-than-honorable discharge. The cameras would catch her if she decided to hit the SLAM and take off. Fortunately, she didn't think that a corporate fleet had much in the way of legal authority over an Alliance starfighter pilot on official patrol just outside of Alliance borders. Even if they did, the consequences couldn't be that bad, especially since she was on duty. Just a small speeding ticket she could have paid off by the Alliance Navy, rather than it coming from her bank account.

While the Togruta was relatively comfortable financially and had few real expenses, a spacelane speeding or reckless flying ticket, with some additional fines for the possession of illegal stealth technology wasn’t exactly easy to cover on a Flight Officer’s salary.

Woops.

 

[AMCO]

Before she could decide on a course of action, Bella would receive a communications request - if accepted, a catchy little tune would be followed by the cultured, albeit obviously synthetic, voice.

<Greetings, unidentified alliance pilot. This is Merryweather-Three, a Globex Security Division customs corvette operating on behalf of the Federal Navy of the Transhydian Federated Republics.> The Merryweather-Three was approaching at a sedate pace, its shields and weapons offline but its sensors trying (and failing) to make sense of the starfighter.

<Your vessel is displaying nonstandard sensor emissions. We are obligated to search it for smuggling compartments, in accordance with Federal Customs Directive Seven, Article Four, Paragraph Five.> Federal Customs Directive Seven, Article Four, Paragraph Five, apparently did not distinguish between stealth-capable starfighters and dingy freighters.

This was unsurprising, as Federal Customs Directive Seven was only two weeks old and, while not poorly researched, had obviously not been written with uncloaked stealth craft galavanting through their space in mind.

 

[Bella]

Location: Outer Space, Mid Rim
Pilot Gear: FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit │ X-8 Night Sniper
Call Sign: Miracle - FAE/eI-01 “Ballerina” Star Interceptor Mk. II
Tag: AMCO

“Excuse me, the Federal Navy of the Transhydian what?” Bella questioned, her tattooed eyebrows rising in surprise beneath her helmet’s transparent visor. While she was aware of the recent political crises which had caused a number of major galactic powers to collapse, leading to a surge of instability, warlordism, piracy, and rebellion, Bella was unfamiliar with the Transhydian Federal Republic or any legitimate powers aside from the Rimward Trade League out in the periphery.

Fortunately, the Togruta didn’t need to wait on the synthetic voice at the other end of the comm to answer, nor had she really needed to ask them to begin with. Her biochip—a holdover from her service in the Eternal Navy, before the Eternal Empire had collapsed—gave her a short, but somewhat unsatisfying brief.

The Transhydian Federated Republics was, to put it mildly, a small fish. Despite its occasionally ostentatious decrees, it controlled only a handful of star systems and its population barely eclipsed one hundred million sentients. Despite this, the polity felt the need to patrol its tiny sliver (thus Transhydian) of the Hydian Way.

Bella rolled her eyes.

Regardless, she still feared any consequences which might land on her head if she were to hit the SLAM and potentially cause a diplomatic incident. Bella had maintained a flawless service record in the Eternal Navy and the Agents of Chaos Armada before that. Accordingly, she didn’t want to start her career in the Alliance Starfighter Corps with an unsightly blemish on her record that might compromise her standing later on.

“My apologies, officer.” Bella said, clearing her throat. “The nonstandard emissions are quite intentional, I’m afraid. This is a stealth craft.” The Togruta clarified, as if she were speaking to a five-year old. “I will comply with your legal orders officer, but might I ask what umm…Federal Customs Directive Seven, Article Four, Paragraph Five is? I’m admittedly unfamiliar with the laws in this sector.”

 

[Khaalt Vyelirr]

AMCO Bella

(Hope you don't mind my joining - I assume each vessel is being stopped independently, or will I stumble across a separate inspection entirely? Either way, this should be neat.)

Location: Mid Rim
Vessel: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/TIE/sr_starfighter - Black with scarlet trim.

Khaalt Vyelirr shifted the thick, black, oaken-smelling cigarra to the far corner of his pale gray mouth. A gloved hand reached up to gingerly rub at his damaged, ash-tipped horn, a pathetic imitation of its rightward twin, which swept in a backwards curve, angling away from his unkempt fiery hair with grace and (he thought) charm - a real lady-killer, he had always believed! While he had escaped with his life and, perhaps more importantly, his TIE intact, the Devaronian couldn't help but feel that his luck had yet to recover, for some odd reason...

While he was far from a superstitious man, the Devish couldn't shake the feeling that, even here in the void of space somewhere in the Mid Rim, that he was being watched.

He slipped his remaining glove off of his gray hand, flexing his digits to get the blood flowing properly once more, and raised his orange eyes to a vanity mirror, flashing his pointed teeth and rubbing a fingertip along a bit of forgotten Nerf flesh, even as he contemplated another snack to pass the time until he reached the next world with a proper civilization - he only wondered, with great excitement, what it could possibly be!

The roar of his TIE's distinct engine heralded his wonderment, even as a hand shifted down towards a custom-made refrigerator to the right and along the floor of his craft's cockpit, his loose purple flight suit rustling over his muscular and athletic form. The gentle clink and its promise of a gentle, relaxing buzz to follow would ease him into slumber. Surely, his ship's autopilot could take care of the rest. A few keypad commands were expertly relayed by the Devish's fingers, while his free hand uncorked a bottle with the flick of a thumb as strong as the Navy that had guided him years before. The salty aromatic savor of his distilled, fermented vegetables drifted upwards from the dark bottle's end, heralding the Devish with its promise of relaxation.

Surely, nothing could possibly interrupt him at this point.

The bottle tipped, and a salted, aromatic orange liquid poured forth into a prepared, blued glass...

 

[AMCO]

<The Transhydian Federated Republics,> The synthetic voice politely repeated, unaware that the listener had already looked up the pertinent information. <The Republics are a democratic union of seven local polities with populations ranging from one-hundred-and-ten thousand to forty-seven million.> Not the biggest fish in the pond, in other words.

Hell, the Globex Corporation owned planets with larger populations than the combined Republics.

<Your compliance is appreciated,> The voice noted; at the same time, the Merryweather-Three made its final approach. <Federal Customs Directive Seven, Article Four, Paragraph Five is a key part of the Republics' Border Control Directive. It mandates the search of all vessels with suspicious sensor profiles. While your explanation is noted, the legislature did not wish to add exemptions for the activities of other nations.> In defiance of Globex's suggestions - but that was left unsaid.

Once sufficiently close to Bella's craft, the corvette would slow to a crawl while tilting its frame towards the airlock. A flexible docking corridor would extend outward, before encompassing the cockpit of her fighter.

<Please stand by while we confirm the integrity of the docking seal and the magcon field.>

--- --- ---
​

I'm afraid keeping this to a one-on-one seems tidier, Khaalt Vyelirr - but I am considering making a Public version, albeit probably not immediately. If I do, I'll be sure to tag you in it!

 

[Khaalt Vyelirr]

AMCO Bella

(No worries, then! Forgive my social ineptitude and brief interruption. I hope you two have fun and I'll be content to read along. Leave Khaalt to jet right on by, completely undetected and boozing away to his heart's content.)

 

[Bella]

Location: Outer Space, Mid Rim
Pilot Gear: FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit │ X-8 Night Sniper
Call Sign: Miracle - FAE/eI-01 “Ballerina” Star Interceptor Mk. II
Tag: AMCO

Once sufficiently close to Bella's craft, the corvette would slow to a crawl while tilting its frame towards the airlock. A flexible docking corridor would extend outward, before encompassing the cockpit of her fighter.

<Please stand by while we confirm the integrity of the docking seal and the magcon field.>

Bella’s features took on an uneasy set.

It seemed that whoever was on the other end was determined to execute out their assigned duty in inspecting her ship, no matter how ridiculous or awkward it might seem. The Ballerina was a small fighter, after all, with seating for only one person. While Bella herself was small as well, it would still be awkward to have a police officer climbing over her lap while checking the compartments for contraband.

“Uhh…confirmed. Standing by.” Bella confirmed as the docking corridor encompassed her interceptor’s “bubble”, forming a tight seal in the process.

For the time being, running was no longer an option, unless she wanted to risk death via violent, explosive decompression and vacuum exposure.

“So umm…how are we going to do this, officer?” The Togruta asked. “Do you need anything else from me? I have my papers ready.”

 

[AMCO]

<We appreciate your compliance.> The airlock slid open, revealing a hallway and a humanoid standing in it. It was immediately obvious that it was a cyborg, or more likely a droid. A fist-sized orb hovered by 'his' shoulder, the large photoreceptor at its centre eying Bella curiously. <We recommend leaving the cockpit, for the inspection.>

It was not required, per the relevant regulations, but as Bella had already realised having a droid crawl over her to look for smuggling compartments was a pretty awkward - and time-consuming - solution. With the way the vessel had been manoeuvred and connected, it should be possible to step right into the Phalanx's airlock.

It was hard to tell with the synthetic voice, but it seemed almost apologetic. Globex had, after all, recommended exceptions in cases such as this. Naturally, that would not stop them from transferring any valuable data coincidentally collected during the inspection to the R&D division. That was just good business.

 

[Bella]

Location: Outer Space, Mid Rim
Pilot Gear: FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit │ X-8 Night Sniper
Call Sign: Miracle - FAE/eI-01 “Ballerina” Star Interceptor Mk. II
Tag: AMCO

Bella gave a deep sigh as she undid her restraints before climbing out of her interceptor’s cockpit and up into the docking corridor. She had left her pistol inside her craft, as she didn’t anticipate that there would be any legal problems with it…

Until its silent mode system dawned on her. She had never actually used that mode before!

The Togruta stopped for a split-second mid-climb, but she knew there wasn’t a way out of it. If she brought the Night Sniper with her, they’d likely ask for her to hand it over for inspection as well. She could only hope that there were no laws against the weapon or at the very least, the officers would think it was a normal blaster pistol! Nevertheless, releasing her breath once more, Bella continued up the docking corridor until she arrived at the airlock, which after a moment slid open to reveal a masculine being—perhaps an HRD—with flawless synthetic features. Slowly taking off her helmet, which came off in moving, interlocking segments due to her lekku and montrals, Bella offered the HRD a soft, yet tense smile as she handed over a datapad with her papers on it.

“You don’t happen to have coffee on board, do you?” Bella inquired. Perhaps her fate was already decided, but the Togruta didn’t want her mind to be slow if it came down to negotiation.

 

[AMCO]

The droid smiled pleasantly, then spoke - its voice matching the previous one. That might strike her as a bit odd, given that it had not been speaking during the last transmission. Evidently, the ship and it matched.

Or perhaps it had simply been wirelessly generating a 'voice'.

"Certainly. We have various blends of synthcaf and a selection of other refreshments. Would you like a seat, or do you prefer to remain by your vessel during the inspection?" The eyebot hovering over its shoulder flew over to the fighter and began scanning it carefully. Soon after, a less human-looking droid showed up, a cup of caf in hand.

"Everything appears to be in order." The droid handed her datapad back after a mere twenty seconds.

Rather than read it like a human would, it simply scanned the content and ran it against various databases.

If she failed to note any preferences, she would receive the blend most likely to be enjoyed by beings of her age, species, gender, and profession, as dictated by the statistical subroutines of the Globex Nutritional Matrix.

"Your blaster pistol is of a model and make regulated by certain local laws. You will need to adhere to stringent requirements should you wish to land on a Republican world with it in your possession."

It was not, however, illegal to have one aboard a spaceship.