Private A time long past

[Vemric Keldra]

KELDRA
EN ROUTE TO ROON
TAG: Oleander Webb

GOD OF EGYPT​

It was blissful being amongst the stars again.

Vemric had started to feel caged in with all the work that kept him glued to his office on Rothana. He envied the representatives and ambassadors and their ability to travel so freely. For someone that spent the majority of his lifetime on the bridge of a ship, it was hell to now be planet-bound. That cursed broadcast that had spread some panic in the fledgeling State had been the smallest of blessings as well, as it was up to him to travel from system to system to bring assurance that, no matter the course of action the Parliament decides on, the Confederacy would not let itself be vulnerable and allow its member-worlds to be attacked.

It was good to be on the bridge of the Requiem again - even if it was on a diplomatic mission to Roon. The ship had been to hell and back again thrice over now, but she still held true and her crew had changed very little over the decades. Miles was still at the helm, albeit an aged Fleet Admiral now. The personnel still operated like a well-oiled machine. In one of the rare instances, the Sephi was well content with the state of his dearest ship.

"Do you think she'll see war again, Admiral?" he asked in an abnormally normal tone while he stared at the void.
"Given the climate in the Galaxy, Sir...uh..." Miles started but stumbled at the title of his long-time superior.
"The usual would do, Miles, continue." Vemric assured.
"Thank you, Sir. But yes, based on the climate in the Galaxy, I suspect she will, at some point. And she will still put most to shame." the Admiral answered.
"She's in good hands when I'm not here, so I believe that. Admiral." It was a rare thing to hear a compliment coming from the stoic Sephi noble. Miles knew better than to show surprise. He had realised when the Head of State had stepped onto the ship, that there was a different air surrounding his superior - if it was anyone else, he would have attached the word giddy to them. But he knew Vemric long enough to know that this was a rare occasion where the man was relieved and content.

"Sirs, apologies for interrupting, but we have a small unidentified vessel appearing in our vicinity." came Commander Shaw's feminine voice behind the duo.
Miles raised a brow at Vemric as if to ask for orders. The Sephi's own brow lofted.
"Very well." he answered the man before he glanced at Shaw. "Have Pol raise the pilot for identification. If there's no answer, activate tractor beams and ready a Marine escort to detain the pilot once they are in the hangar. I would like to have a word with them."
"Yes, Sir." she said before turning to enact the order.

The two men glanced at each other. They both knew they couldn't take any chances now, in light of the threat given to them by the R-Duba stranger. Extra security had to be enacted.

Vemric just hoped that the pilot was just wrong place, wrong time.
​

 

[Oleander Webb]

WEARING: X
WIELDING: X | X
TAG: Vemric Keldra

For anyone to claim that Oleander was especially tech-savvy would be to make a fool of the claimant. Death himself found what he needed and stuck to them, even if they weren't especially necessary in the moment. In his time spent in stasis, technology had progressed further than he had the time or interest in catching up to entirely. The Obelus, as he was starting to call the ship he'd 'inherited' (far better than the name it was currently registered as) from a past meal served every purpose he had for a vessel and more. State of the art stealth capabilities, a hyperdrive to get places, a cot to sleep on, maybe a weapons system if something went haywire, were more than all he needed.

If he ever found the maintenance tech who had turned off his vessel's stealth gear, it would be on sight.

The Anzat cursed under his breath when the hail came in. Getting stopped on his way to the planet had not been part of his plan. Being perceived at all was an issue in its own.

The Requiem...he'd been in a ship of that name briefly before, not long enough for him to be able to identify the ship by it's exterior. That relic of the past had also been doomed, from his understanding.

A foolish idea, perhaps, but one spurred by a distaste in dealing with clearance codes or other minutia, he hit the 'unmute' button. "Voidwalker. Mission classified." His old call sign back when he was an agent of the Confederacy. In those days, that should've been enough identification to be left alone (that or someone else filled the gaps in for him). Perhaps if he used it with the same level of confidence, it would grant him passage this time around.

A frustrated huff departed Oleander's nose as his ship lurched to a reverse outside of his control. He wasn't surprised his bluff was called, just annoyed. Rising from the cockpit, all he wanted to do was hide and deal with whatever welcome was waiting for him on his own terms. But that, he also recognized would be foolish.

The vertebrae in his upper back popped as he rolled his shoulders, considering his options. His vibroblade would be easy enough to stow among the layers and hidden compartments of his armor. His lightsaber, however, was a different story. That, he resigned to leaving on his belt. Perhaps the display of such a weapon would further solidify him as someone to be left alone.

With a sour expression glued to his countenance, he jabbed whatever button would allow him to exit the ship to face whatever welcome party was waiting for him.

 

[Vemric Keldra]

KELDRA
EN ROUTE TO ROON
TAG: Oleander Webb

GOD OF EGYPT​

"Commander, report!"

There was the smallest of twitches at one of the corners of Vemric's mouth. For the longest time, that was a line that he had used with Miles himself. It was heartening to know that he had grown into his own and can now use it against his own subordinates.
"Unsatisfactory reply, Sir. Only receives this and we initiated tractor beam." Shaw replayed the oncoming vessel's reply.

"Voidwalker. Mission classified."

Vemric's head snapped toward his shoulder as he glanced over it at the bridge crew.
"Sir?" Miles asked next to him as he noticed the movement after he gave a nod at Shaw.
"That name..." In a very rare moment, the dark brows dropped low in thought. His mind was racing through his immense memories to try and find why it sounded familiar.

When the memory finally hit, the Sephi was already sweeping toward the door of the bridge.
"Commander, order the men to not engage! Have them ready but they should not engage or encircle at all!" he ordered as he swept out the room, Miles trotting to keep up.
"Yes, Sir!" she acquiesced as she moved to relay the message.

"Anything I should know, Sir?" Miles asked as he finally matched pace with his superior's sweeping and long gait.
"You should know the name, Admiral. It's owner had been on this very ship during the battle of Rhand." Vemric answered almost curtly. Not only was it staring them in the face, it was also a dark time that both men had avoided speaking about for decades.
Miles wracked his brain as they hurried down to the hangar. Finally the wrinkled face lighted up as he remembered.
"The Knight Obsidian?" he asked.
"Hm."
"Wasn't he an...?"
"Anzat? Precisely why I ordered not to engage, Admiral. It's been many years. There's no knowing what his demeanour is like now." Vemric said as he stepped off the turbolift.
A new thought almost balked Miles. "Sir, with all due respect, but I can't have you enter that hangar. Allow me to mediate instead." he said, trying his best to not shrink back after the words left his mouth.
Vemric stopped and raised a brow at him. "Have you been speaking with my Vice-Head, Admiral?" he asked, referring to Xazzex Xivar . After the attack on the Station, she had been adamant to not have the two of them in the same vicinity as far as possible.
"Not at all, Sir, but we can't have our Head of State's brain sucked out, pardon my bluntness." Miles said.
"That's enough, Admiral." Vemric replied aloofly before he swept ahead down the corridor and into the hangar. Miles defeatedly followed behind in silence.

The scene that met them in the hangar was an interesting one. For now, the Marines kept their distance as ordered, but they all had hands on their weapons and the cold visors all met the person at the top of the loading ramp. A brow lofted as Vemric swept forward toward the captured ship. If Miles wasn't grey already, he would have sprouted white hairs right there at the fearlessness of his superior.

"I'd change my face if I were you, Master Webb. These men are trigger-happy." Vemric told the Anzat as if no time had passed since they last spoke. ​

 

[Oleander Webb]

WEARING: X
WIELDING: X | X
TAG: Vemric Keldra

A brow rose as he remained on the loading ramp, unmet with further instructions. Had he been brought in by an automated system? No, he could sense the soldiers and their weapons trained on him. Perhaps they were scared? No, that didn't seem right, either. So what was it, then? What could they possibly be waiting for?

He heard the voice before he saw the face, his farsighted gaze having degraded beyond struggling to see things up close. Hibernation and then madness had not treated him well in that regard. While his memory at times was fuzzy, he couldn't imagine a world in which he'd forget that voice. They'd been allies once, in a 'same team, different department' sort of way. When the tides of the battle had turned out of their favor and Vemric had suggested Oleander take his leave, Death had imparted a portion of himself with the then-Grand Marshal.

One had to wonder if such a move explained the Sephi's survival. Just as one had to wonder if that had been the catalyst of the Anzat's eventual descent to madness of which he only recently clawed his way out of.

"They haven't taken a shot yet," Oleander responded, arms outstretching as if almost challenging someone to make a move. "Your doing, I assume?" To a civilian, a walk was a walk, but to the trained eye, he descended the loading ramp with a gait that didn't quite marry casual walking with predatory instincts seamlessly.

"You're looking surprisingly not dead, given where we last departed." The conversational tone was almost a direct response to the panic he sensed in who he assumed was the Sephi's second. "What's with all the pageantry here? I've no time for inspections."