UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND PLANETARY SURVEY

CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED

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UNSCPS Exploratory Report

Preliminary Planetary Survey of 1352-Alpha-3

Published January, 5, 2554

Submitted for the Consideration of the Committee January, 6, 2554

Commissioned by the United Earth Nations Senate Committee for Exploration and Colonization

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Planet Surveyed: 1352-Alpha-3

Initial Observation Date: October, 18, 2524

Initial Observation Location: Rosenbaum Orbital Interstellar Observatory, University of Circumstance, Kuiper [1]

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Planetary Statistics

Perihelion/Aphelion: 144,050,188 km/155,991,434 km

Orbital Eccentricity: 0.01887

Orbital Period: 379 Solar Days

Orbital Inclination: 4 degrees to invariable plane

Natural Satellites: 1352-Alpha-3-A

Mean Radius: 6413 km

Surface Area: 516796466 km^2

Surface Gravity: 9.84 m/s^2

Average Surface Pressure: 105.962 kPa

Atmospheric Composition: 78.01% Nitrogen, 21.002% Oxygen, ~1% Water Vapor, Trace Gases

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Planetary Analysis:

1352-Alpha-3 is a rocky planet third from the star 1352-Alpha. It possesses one natural satellite, 1352-Alpha-3-A. 1352-Alpha-3's orbital and physical characteristics are comparable to Earth's. With regard to orbital characteristics, it possesses a more elliptical orbit, a longer orbital period, and a higher degree of orbital inclination compared to Earth. With regard to physical characteristics, it possess a larger mean radius, greater surface area, higher surface gravity, and a higher average surface pressure compared to Earth. However, these values are generally similar enough to Earth for 1352-Alpha-3 to be considered an Earth-like planet.

1352-Alpha-3 possesses an atmosphere similar in composition to Earth's, with an atmospheric pressure sufficient to sustain liquid water. This atmosphere is judged capable of sustaining unicellular and multicellular anaerobic and aerobic life. Five (5) model organisms were used to test the compatibility of 1352-Alpha-2's atmosphere with life: E. coli, S. coelicolor, C. reinhardtii, O. sativa, and M. musculus. Over the 3-month initial exploratory period, all five organisms proved capable of surviving and reproducing in the atmosphere of 1352-Alpha-3, with no significant deleterious alteration of behavior or biological processes observed. Standard planetary exploration sterile practices were observed during the initial exploratory period. All organisms, offspring, and related samples and waste were accounted for and humanely euthanized via nitrogen gas asphyxiation, followed by plasma incineration of remains and injection into a super-high inclination rapid-decay solar orbit with a radius 50,000 km less than the minimum orbital radius of the innermost planetary body.

1352-Alpha-3 possesses significant quantities of strategic resources. Preliminary analysis indicates an unusually high proportion of deuterium present in 1352-Alpha-3's oceans. In addition, 1352-Alpha-3 possesses widespread and significant mineral deposits including, but not limited to, titanium deposits comparable to pre-colonization Epsilon Eridani II.

1352-Alpha-3 possess native unicellular and multicellular organisms. Under a model of genetic drift assuming a severe global population bottleneck event occurring roughly 100,000 years ago, over 94 percent of 1352-Alpha-3 native organisms possess an extremely high degree of genetic similarity to analogous organisms native to Earth. Of particular note is the dominant intelligent species. After correcting for genetic drift, this species presents no significant genetic differences from H. sapiens. Due to the slightly higher surface gravity of 1352-Alpha-3, it is possible the average individual of this species possesses slightly higher physical potential than the average individual H. sapiens; however, significant differences in average nutrition and healthcare make any such effect hard to discern. This organism is present on all major continents, although organized, large-scale social structures have only emerged on two. The two dominant social structures are roughly analogous to the historical social structures of feudalism, similar to Medieval Europe, and a loose confederation of city-states, similar to Classical Greek city-states [2].

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Recommendations for the Committee:

1352-Alpha-3 is a habitable planet that possesses immense reserves of strategic materials. The pre-existing intelligent native population of 1352-Alpha-3 is a complicating factor, but not an insurmountable one. The authors of this report recommend 1352-Alpha-3 as a target for colonization, combined with diplomatic and/or military efforts to assimilate or pacify the native population in preparation for maximum extraction and exploitation of planetary resources. In addition, the presence of an previously undiscovered, isolated, extant species, for all intents and purposes genetically identical to modern humanity, strongly suggests Forerunner involvement [3]. The authors of this report believe this merits further investigation due to potential advances in xeno-archaeology and xeno-technology.

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Citations:

[1] Dragovich, Kim, Pulaski. "Recent Discoveries of Exoplanets Though Gravitational Microlensing Observation and Proposals for Refinements of Interstellar Parallax Methodology." Journal of Astronomical Studies, vol. 3012, no. 3, Jan. 2525, pp. 233-38.

[2] Galatas, et. al. "From Greece to the Franks: The Sociological Legacy of Classical Hellenic Civilization in Medieval Europe." Journal of Sociology, vol. 2191, no. 6, Mar. 2510, pp. 160-66

[3] Akira, et. al. "A Meta-analysis of Studies of Human Genetics from the 21st Century to Present in the Context of Recent Xeno-Archaeological Discoveries Concerning the Forerunner Civilization." Genome, vol. 4519, no. 1, Sep. 2553, pp. 8-50.

It started, like most events with some significance ought to but very few have the courtesy to, with a slight trembling in the ground. Even fewer noticed at first, lost amid the hustle and bustle of King's Landing. Certainly, to Rose's aching feet, a little trembling made no extra difference whatsoever, sore as they were after a day of standing on mud, broken tiles, and uneven cobblestone. It was hard work, trying to make a living in Flea Bottom, standing outside her family's alehouse and hollering all day to attract customers. No doubt, she had it luckier than most who found themselves stuck in this rancid corner of King's Landing — Mama made sure she remembered that, every time she tried to complain about anything and everything — but her poor, tattered excuses for shoes did little to ease the pain that came from standing all day. At this point in her day, all Rose looked forward to was a bowl of brown from the alehouse pot, maybe a little bread and cheese if there was any to spare, and a scratchy straw bed that may as well have been a royal cushion for all her tired bones cared. What was a little trembling to her, then?

The trembling grew in strength, now accompanied by the faintest chopping sound, as if something was repeatedly slapping the air, far off in the distance. It was hardly audible above the cries of fishmongers and innkeepers, but to Jan's ears, practiced at listening to the slightest creak of timbers and the rhythmic thumping of ropes to detect the slightest fault in the ship's hull, the noise was just barely there. He didn't have much time to consider it — the Jenna Mae was leaving on a trade run to Essos on the morrow, and the Captain wanted every inch of the ship in tip-top shape before she set sail from King's Landing and out of the protective embrace of. Blackwater Bay. There was tar to be applied, provisions and goods to be brought on board, pay to be calculated, sails to be mended, and bilges to be pumped. The Captain was a hardass, but he'd seen Jenna Mae through many storms with not a man missing overboard, and he always paid fairly, so Jan kept his head down, did his job, and thought nothing more of the noise.

The trembling was now strong enough, the chopping loud enough that it roused Marion from an ale-induced slumber. Groaning against a splitting hangover headache, he rolled off of his bed and fumbled on his swordbelt, not bothering with his golden cloak as he stumbled out of the guardhouse. Swearing oaths to disembowel the man who thought it would be a real laugh to run a horse race through Dragon Gate this early in the morning, he stopped short at the sight of his brothers in arms standing in formation in the courtyard, being reviewed by a trio of knights on horseback. The ever-obsequious Commander Janos Slynt scurried along in their wake, offering flattery and empty statements of support, and Marion's heart nearly stopped as his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw that one of the knights wore the white of the Kingsguard, the other two donning Baratheon yellow. Now cursing that no one had thought to warn him of a royal inspection of the City Watch, Marion made to sneak back into the barracks to find his armor and weapons, but before he could a rider pulled up to the courtyard opening amidst a clatter of hooves, eyes wide with fright. The Baratheon knights immediately went over and began interrogating him in hushed tones, but Marion's hearing had always been good, and even in his hungover state he could make out mentions of 'them' and 'approaching the city gates'. Who 'they' were would have to wait, as not even seconds afterward the chopping noise reached a ferocious fever pitch as what could only be a dragon swept over the courtyard, wings beating the air beneath it as its green, metallic form flew by in the blink of an eye. Men shouted and broke formation, Janos Slynt dove to the ground and covered his head with his cloak, and the backdraft of the thing's passage caused Marion to stumble and fall to the ground. As he picked himself up the noise receded, only to be replaced by the shouts of small folk and a distant, thunderous rumbling that gradually grew louder, not unlike a cavalry charge approaching at full gallop. Hungover fully cured, Marion scrambled to his feet and ran to look for his equipment, swearing to the Old Gods and the New to never touch ale again.

The shouting of Goldcloaks and smallfolk was now loud enough to waft up to the windows and battlements of the Red Keep. However, they were nearly drowned out by an overpowering whirring, chopping noise, the source of which was now making a leisurely circuit around one of the castle's many high towers. Servants and ladies shrieked and ran for safety as a company of archers lead by a sergeant of the castle guard assembled in a courtyard. Pyce was among them, leather-gloved fingers trembling as he raised his bow and drew the string back to his cheek, squinting against the morning sun. At the sergeant's command, the company loosed, the twanging of longbows reverberating around the yard as black-shafted arrows arced into the air. To Pyce's horror, his green, stubby-winged target merely rose a little higher into the air, causing the majority of the arrows to fall short and pepper a nearby rooftop. The few that hit skated harmlessly off the creature's armored belly, and as it turned its nose towards the archers Pyce wildly thought that perhaps the Targaryens had returned with their dragons to burn them all. In the distance, someone called for a scorpion to be brought up, but before one could be found the creature seemed to lose interest, flying off in the direction of King's Landing proper. Arms falling numbly to his sides, Pyce could only stand there as more men-at-arms ran past him, spears and halberds in hand as they raced to assemble at the castle gates, shouted reports of an approaching force of strange soldiers and metal beasts whipping the Red Keep into a frenzy not seen since Robert Baratheon crossed the Trident.

"Blackberry Lead, this is Seagull One, reporting local troops massing in your path. Estimate four zero zero foot-mobiles in front of city gates, armed with long spears, seven zero foot-mobiles on top of the walls, armed with bows. Identify two, belay that, three artillery pieces on top of the walls, appear to be catapult or ballista-type weaponry, over."

"Seagull One, Blackberry Lead, copy. Do the local troops pose a threat to you, over?"

"Blackberry Lead, Seagull One, negative. The archers do not have the range to reach me or the power to penetrate. The ballistae seem to have a limited arc of fire which I am avoiding, over."

"Seagull One, Blackberry Lead, copy. Maintain your position and report changes immediately, out." Captain Zheng Wei Yue signed off the radio and turned to his traveling companions with a resigned smile. "Apologies, everyone, but it appears our reconnaissance has kicked the hornet's nest. No guided tours of the city for us." Some lighthearted complaining floated back, but for the most part, the eighteen UNSC marines crammed into the passenger compartment of an M650 Mastodon with him really hadn't expected anything different. If the last thirty years had taught them anything, it was that peace and harmony were the exception, not the rule, in humanity's shitty little corner of the galaxy.

"I suppose it was inevitable," grumbled Mateo Figueroa. Despite his tailored suit and hard, silver, polymer briefcase, at odds with the highly utilitarian interior of the Mastodon, the seasoned UEG diplomat seemed perfectly at ease amidst half a platoon of UNSC marines. His voice was slightly muffled by a half-face respirator, a precaution against contracting or spreading airborne illnesses. The marines also wore respirators as part of their standard HAZMAT gear — nobody wanted a smallpox blanket situation on their hands. "I do wish that we'd chosen a more subtle means of aerial reconnaissance, a drone, maybe, or a high altitude plane. Maybe not a Falcon."

Zheng grimaced at the veiled rebuke. "Yes, perhaps a drone would have been wiser. However, I expect that seven Scorpions pulling up to their front door would have woken them up regardless." They also did wonders for keeping the road ahead clear. Despite the warnings of some local villagers — the ones who hadn't run off in terror — the convoy had not experienced any sort of banditry. Maybe the local lords were doing a good job of keeping the peace; more likely, hundreds of tons of steel and titanium moving faster than anything these people had ever seen, kicking up a large dust cloud and making a noise like a continuously rolling thunderstorm, were enough to make even the most daring highwayman look for easier prey.

"Maybe so." The Mastodon jolted as it went over a deep, wide rut in the path. None of the APC's passengers were particularly inclined to dignify the only-occasionally paved trail they drove on with the name of 'road'. Apparently, the 'Kingsroad', as the locals called it, was a feat of planning and engineering, a symbol of royal power and authority. During a brief stint on Earth, Figueroa had walked a three-thousand-year-old Roman road in better condition than this muddy track, and the tanks chewing up the ground ahead of them surely were not improving matters. "Whatever the case, it's really too bad we couldn't announce our arrival beforehand. Terrible diplomatic form, really, this would never fly back in UEG space."

"Novel circumstances call on us all to bend a little, sir. I'm just thankful we can drive in daylight like this without being strafed by Banshees," Zheng replied, eyeing the briefcase and the documents it contained, representing all the information compiled by the Office of Naval Intelligence and the UEG Diplomatic Corps regarding the current state of affairs on the continent. Most of it was metaphor and exaggeration, tall tales and hearsay, gathered from interviews with villagers and farmers whom to a man had not exactly been the most forthcoming with information. Whether that was due to an order from on high or a natural distrust of strangers was unclear, but enough common threads existed to stitch together into something resembling a coherent tapestry of the local situation. Figueroa had spent the last few days poring over every last scrap of information, barely sleeping or eating as he tried to learn enough about local customs and traditions to not provoke a war with the first words out of his mouth. Zheng was just thankful that the locals spoke English, improbable as that was. "I'm not sure what we could have done, short of leaning out of a Pelican and shouting through a bullhorn."

"I'm not blaming you, just indulging in a bit of wishful thinking. As first impressions go, if you can't go for the velvet glove, then the iron fist is a good second option." For the natives, who didn't seem to be out of their equivalent of the Middle Ages yet, an armored convoy with three Falcons loaded for gunship duties buzzing overhead counted as a good chunk of iron indeed. The fact those natives were human, and that they even had a practically carbon-copy version of the Middle Ages, complete with lords, ladies, and chivalrous knights… well, the implications of that were best left to the anthropologists and xeno-archaeologists.

A speaker embedded in the roof of the Mastodon crackled to life. The driver's voice came through, rendered slightly tinny by the connection. "Captain Zheng, we're ten minutes out, sir. The city is in sight."

A brief murmur went through the passenger compartment. Taking a peek through the driver's camera feed, Zheng could see the towers of what the locals called 'King's Landing' poking up over a hill. Still distant, they were growing rapidly in size as the convoy drew closer, and he was forced to admit that it was a rather impressive city by the standards of the Middle Ages. Perhaps that was to be expected, given it was the seat of the current ruler, some man named Robert, but still striking nonetheless. "Thank you, driver," Zheng said, before standing up, bracing himself on the overhead bar, and keying his radio. "All sections, listen up," he called, "We're twenty minutes out from contact. When we stop, I want a perimeter established immediately. Lead Scorpions up front, rear in the back, with canister shot ready. Mastodons in the middle, Warthogs on the left, right, and behind, on the lookout for local forces trying to flank us. Infantry fill the gaps, use the tanks for cover, overlapping fields of fire. I want the mortar section next to the Mastodons and dialed in on the city walls. Is everyone clear on deployments?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Excellent. Furthermore, keep your fingers off those triggers. Even if the locals make a hostile move, absolutely no one fires unless I give the word. Can we all do that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That's what I like to hear. That's all for now, prepare to disembark shortly." Zheng sat back down with a sigh and redid his seatbelt, then turned to Figueroa. Under the cover of the Mastodon's engine, he whispered, "Mr. Figueroa, my priority is to keep you alive. I understand that this is a sensitive diplomatic mission, but if your life is in danger I will act."

"Believe me, Captain," the diplomat whispered back, "I would also much rather remain alive. However, do keep in mind that this is a quasi-feudal society with a deeply entrenched warrior culture that places a heavy emphasis on honor and fealty."

Zheng waited a beat, then realized he wasn't going to elaborate. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to break that down for me. I got my degree in geoengineering, not sociology."

Figueroa blinked, then said, "Well, this falls under history more, but that's fair." He took a breath, collecting his thoughts, before continuing, "For this first encounter, it means that there is likely to be a great deal of loud, aggressive posturing on the part of the locals. Expect a lot of 'in the name of lord so and so, ruler of yada yada yada, my name is blah blah blah, lord of hickville and nowhere. Kneel and pay tribute or suffer the consequences of death, dismemberment, et cetera.' They'll tend to view things in terms of hierarchy and try to establish dominance. Also, damn if this thing doesn't make it a little hard to talk," he finished, tapping his respirator in annoyance.

"That's… quite blunt," the captain said, unable to keep a note of concern out of his voice. "But it's all just posturing, a show, right? They can't mean it seriously."

"Oh, no, they can and will," Figueroa replied, in the tone of someone weary of an ordeal before it had even begun. "The initial cultural exchange is likely to be rocky, despite our best efforts at preparation. While you and I might be understanding of gaffes, these people are much more likely to take it as a personal slight to their pride and honor, and react… unpleasantly. They'll initially view us as inferior, barbarians essentially, and anything which seems like us acting out of our place will trigger a backlash."

"Ah." Zheng fell silent for a moment, frowning at the floor. "But you said that they have a warrior culture, yes? Similar to the hinge-heads. That means they respect strength or displays of strength." He looked at Figueroa with a slight smirk. "So that's why you're having half the company tag along, to look scary and dissuade anyone from doing anything stupid before cooler heads prevail."

"That, and to shoot our way back to base in case things do go south." The Mastodon went over another rut, even deeper and wider. The bump prompted a snarled chorus of complaints from the entire passenger compartment, everyone a little on edge after being packed like sardines in the back of an APC for over an hour and a half. Restraints kept both Zheng and Figueroa in their seats, but the harnesses dug painfully into their shoulders. Massaging his abused deltoids, the diplomat said, "The finer details do not particularly concern us; we're not here to meddle with local affairs much further than perhaps, let's say, disappearing one or two of the more intransigent leaders."

With a derisive snort, Zheng replied, "From what I've seen, we'd be doing people here a favor. I've only seen people living worse in refugee camps, and even they could at least be sure that some drunken soldiers wouldn't rape their daughters and rob them blind."

"Can't deny it." They shared a quiet chuckle before Figueroa turned serious once more. "Captain, I want to emphasize one more time how important it is that you let me take the lead on this one. This planet has titanium reserves exceeding Reach and the agricultural potential to feed three other worlds, not to mention the possibilities for colonization. We need the resources of this world for the rebuilding effort, and for better or worse that means establishing good relationships with the locals. So even if things are looking dicey, I must ask you to trust me to talk our way through. As soon as I have an agreement with this 'King Robert' or his representatives for further meetings, we'll bug out back to base."

"Hey, no complaints here. The Navy needs the metal, and after the Covies glassed all our farm worlds…" Zheng tightened his grip on his rifle. "We need every planet we can get our hands on. Goddamn, why'd there have to be people living here? How the hell did they get here? How the hell did the Covies not find them?"

"Now, now, let's not let complicated questions get in the way of our job. We're here to talk with people, not figure out their history. Compared to the War, this is practically a vacation." Figueroa's expression soured at the idea of Covenant troops marching all over the verdant countryside, filling the air with their harsh alien barks and stinking it up with their foul, inhuman stench. "Yes. Practically a vacation."

"I guess. Almost a shame we're about to strip-mine them for all they're worth." Zheng's gaze turned distant, as if he could see through the Mastodon's armored sides. "Take your pictures and get your souvenirs now, before Liang-Dortmund and Traxus rip up the countryside and plaster their logos everywhere."

"Heh. I'm sure we'll set aside a nature preserve or two somewhere. Untouched wilderness is a rare find nowadays, and this planet has plenty of it. In fact—"

The intercom came to life once more, cutting him off. "Twenty seconds out, sir."

"Thank you. All sections, prepare to disembark." As the Mastodon began to slow, its passengers unbuckled and stood up, groaning in relief at finally being able to stretch their legs. Zheng winced as he popped out a kink in his neck, then reached down a hand to help Figueroa up. "You can tell me all about it later, sir." Donning his officer's cap, Zheng made his way to the rear of the Mastodon, assault rifle held loosely across his front as he prepared to be the first out of the door, the marines lining up in two columns behind him. "Don't exit until I sound the all clear, understand?"

"Perfectly," Figueroa replied, pulling on a pair of sterile white surgical gloves and making sure his respirator fit properly. "Don't provoke them too much, will you?"

"I can certainly try." The Mastodon came to a complete stop, engine rumbling for a few seconds more before it quieted into an idle. The smell of sewage and cramped, unsanitized humanity filtered into the passenger compartment as the doors opened, strong enough that it penetrated the respirator's filters. Combined with the sounds of shouting and the clattering of metal, it gave the impression of a bustling but quite primitive Medieval city — exactly what they'd expected, but a bit of a let down from the lofty descriptions of they'd been fed. Figueroa wrinkled his nose, but the marines didn't seem to be perturbed at all, instead looking quite excited at the prospect of first contact, this time on humanity's terms. "Seems there's been quite the greeting prepared for us. HAZMAT gear on; let's say hello to the locals, shall we?"

Pike in hand and leveled forwards, Marion prayed that nobody could see how badly his hands and knees were trembling. Normally, standing in formation with his fellow City Guards, forming a bristling wall of polearms two men deep, gave him a rush of confidence and a sense of invincibility, especially against the disorganized, malnourished mobs who usually opposed them. Facing down four enormous, monstrous metal carriages, which growled like a horde of bears and did not flinch in the face of a spearwall, that sense of invincibility evaporated faster than dew in the morning sun. Perched on four blocky, armored wheels like the sphinxes of the Citadel, looming as tall as the Mountain atop his destrier, covered with armor that looked like it could shrug off dragonfire and menacing the assembled men-at-arms with long, barrel-like contraptions, the carriages made Marion realize exactly how unprepared the Goldcloaks were for a real battle.

Behind them, several more carriages pulled to a stop. Doors opened from their sides and a host of men spilled out, wearing grey-green armor and carrying strange weapons which looked like crossbows which lacked the bow portion. They carried no banners and their faces were obscured by some manner of mask that covered their mouths and noses while some sort of orange visor covered their eyes. As they fanned out and took positions behind the armored carriages, Marion wondered which lord could have mustered the resources to build such massive vehicles. He doubted that even the crown had enough gold to acquire and forge this much metal; such an effort would bankrupt any lesser lord who attempted it.

As the strange soldiers assumed their positions, one of them, wearing a cloth hat instead of a helmet, turned and called back into one of the carriages. Moments later, another man stepped out. This one did not wear armor, but instead some sort of black, form-fitting cloak worn over a white undershirt, finished with a red decoration that hung around his neck like a noose and carried a slim, silver box which he held by means of a handle protruding from the top. Like the rest, he also wore a mask that covered his mouth and nose, but his eyes were visible above it. This must be the lord, then, Marion thought, but what was the purpose of arriving like this? Had he come to treat, or to conquer? And if to conquer, why with only a hundred or so men that Marion could see?

As the lord conversed with the cap-wearing a man, shooting glances at the Goldcloaks, a clatter of hooves signified the arrival of a group of about a dozen knights. Most of them bore the charges and banners of Houses Baratheon and Lannister; their leader, however, wore the white of the Kingsguard. When he removed his helmet to get a better look at the new arrivals, blonde locks spilled from beneath the steel.

"You there," said the Kingslayer, pointing at the sergeant in charge of the Goldcloak detachment. Janos Slynt was off somewhere else, on the excuse of 'rounding up reinforcements', leaving the hapless man to command the company. "What have they done since arriving?"

"N-nothing of note, milord," the sergeant stammered. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the continued growling of the carriages, much diminished but still loud enough that Marion's ears would be ringing for hours afterward. "Their men have taken up defensive positions facing us," he continued, pointing at the soldiers half-hidden behind the armored bulk of the carriages, "but they haven't made any moves to advance."

"Hmph." Dismissing the man with a haughty wave, Ser Jaime Lannister contemplated the newcomers, one hand on his chin. He seemed perfectly at ease, in contrast with the tense knights surrounding him and the nervous whinnying of their horses, the growling of the carriages spooking the beasts. His gaze seemed focused on the lord; in turn, the lord and the cap-wearing man, who Marion concluded must have been an advisor of some sort. "Quite a motley bunch, aren't they? Don't even have the decency to display their banners."

"Quite so, Ser Jaime," said one of the Baratheon knights. Longsword in hand, he glared at the newcomers through the slits of his helmet. "At your command, ser, we will charge and drive these dogs from the field."

"With ten other knights, across a hundred feet of open ground, against a disciplined line?" the Kingslayer replied mildly, one hand gently fingering the pommel of his own sword. "I daresay they'd love for you to try."

"Then… what shall we do?"

"We wait." Jaime gestured towards the newcomers and their strange carriages with a careless hand. "These men have obviously come with a brazen goal, or they would not have arrived in such a vulgar manner. As they have not attacked, I presume they have come to treat, and if they have come to do treat, I say that we allow them to come to us. A lord, after all, does not go to his subjects to hear their requests."

The Baratheon nodded. "A fair point, Ser Jaime." Though they kept their swords drawn, that seemed to placate the more aggressive knights, something Marion was extremely thankful for. Though he had no doubt a combination of the City Guards and knights of the realm would win the day, he had no desire to taste a crossbow bolt in the process.

The lord's conversation seemed to have come to see sort of conclusion, as he nodded and began to walk forwards, his advisor close behind, another of those strange crossbows held loosely across his armored front. A stir went through the Goldcloaks as they walked past the frontmost carriages and began to cross the ground between the two sides. Their stride was even, undaunted, almost casual, despite the wall of spears and the dozen knights who stared them down as they made their way forwards.

When they had gotten about a third of the way, the Kingslayer gestured to the other knights and spurred his horse into an easy trot, riding out to meet the two men at roughly the halfway point. Their fluttering banners and gleaming armor made quite a contrast to the unmounted, unadorned pair in front of them. Marion thought that they made for quite an impressive sight, but the newcomers didn't seem the least bit intimidated.

The two groups stood still for a long moment, each side carefully evaluating the other. Eventually, after an interminable silence, the newcomers were the first to speak. Marion was a little surprised to hear the Common Tongue leave their mouths, heavily accented as it was. "Greetings, strangers. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" the lord said, stepping forward with a hand raised in greeting.

The Kingslayer took his time in responding, examining his fingernails before turning a contemptuous smirk upon the newcomers. "I am Ser Jaime Lannister, Sworn Brother and Knight of the Kingsguard," he said in a supremely bored tone. "In the name of King Robert of House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, I demand that you kneel and identify yourself, stranger."

A long agonizing moment followed in which the man didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the Kingslayer's words or blade. Instead of kneeling, he turned to look at his advisor, a slightly amused quirk on his lips. In the tense silence which followed, Marion caught the slightest hints of a whisper, something that sounded like, "I told you so." The moment dragged on, with the knights growing visibly impatient. Just as Marion thought Ser Lannister would cut the man down for his disrespect, he slowly and deliberately lowered himself to one knee, distaste coloring his expression as his fine clothes met the dirt.

"Ser Lannister, my name is Mateo Figueroa, ambassador of the United Earth Government. In the name of Earth and all her colonies, I come before you in peace."