An aquila class observer vessel, launched from the Draken-Corin in orbit around the moon, moved over the remaining Packilvanian capital ship, and brought itself to a halt. Whilst the pilot stayed at the controls, his companion got up, and climbed down to one of the research chambers in the belly of the vessel.
The device in the centre of the room had started its life as an eccentric graduate project, a demonstration of advanced gravitational control systems. Despite its now working condition, it remained little else than that - the incredible precision required for the placing of the wormhole interstices making it useless beyond a few kilometers. Still, it was fairly impressive.
The man stepped inside the chamber at its heart, and activated the machine. A magnetic scanning beam passed through his body, and in its wake billions of tiny womholes came into existence.
Each of them was but a few millimeters in diameter, each capable of carrying a single photon at a time. They didn’t coat the man; there was room enough for light to permeate in to him from the outside, but given the nature of human sight, there were enough for the purpose required.
Aboard the Packilvanian vessel, the opposing interstices of the plethora wormholes opened, knitting themselves into pattern directly in front of the Packilvanian commander.
An extra large wormhole opened, hidden inside the smaller ones. It was capable of carrying enough air that, when suitably amplified, the sound waves spoken inside the Aquila class could be heard inside the Packilvanian vessel.
The perfect replica of the man in the chamber, now standing upon the bridge of the Packilvanian command ship, opened its mouth and started to speak.
“Your message is heard, and understood. It is not our wish to partake in this conflict, but your action leaves us no choice. Nonetheless, we still aim to find a peaceful solution. To that end, you are invited to the negotiating table, to be held upon the administrative island of the East Pacific. Three representatives from your nation will be permitted to attend, and no weapons will be allowed.”
He turned, and started to walk towards the wall, and then seemed to reconsider and turn back. “Know that we bear you no particular ill will. However, if you continue to press this course of action, we will destroy you.”
He turned away again, and as he walked towards the wall the light that made up his image gradually dimmed, until there was nothing remaining.
Back aboard the observer, he saw the pilot leaning against the wall, a wry smile on his face.
“Was that little piece of drama really necessary,” he asked.
The man shrugged. “No, but you know how it is. Perception is often more important than fact, and if that little show put them in mind of exactly what we can do if we choose, then it was worth it.”
“But the whole ‘fade’ effect? I’m damn sure that wasn’t in the original programming…”
“So I made a few changes, ok? Honestly, you’ve got no bloody sense of atmosphere, have you…”
“Let’s just get back to the command vessel.”
The man stopped, briefly, as he reached the foot of the ladder. “I just wish I could have seen his face…”
Across the East Pacific, the same message was transmitted to the offices of government of The Wachovia Coalition, FPS, Hoopland, Kellsek, and Loop, though by more conventional channels. In the East Pacific administrative district, the ambassador from Codex sat down at the long table, and waited for the representatives to arrive