“Those ships are huge,” Von Dellums, Director of Fleet Intelligence voiced in a subdued tone. “How much do you think they mass?” He turned to look up at the very tall man standing beside him.Robert Mensah, Chief Advisor to the President of the NeoAfrican Federation blew out a thoughtful breath. “Hmmm. I’d say they’re twice the size of a Sofa Class Assault Cruiser. How well armed they are remains to be seen.”Both men were in a surveillance room inside the Command Complex, a military headquarters building located in the NeoAfrican Federation city of Niani. With a population in excess of 24, 000,000, this sprawling city was the Federation’s capital.The ships that blazed vividly across the table top holo grid appeared almost saurian. They were gray, bloated aberrations, unlike any configuration seen in NeoAfrican space. Their smooth hulls bore no identifying markings.Mensah, who had an eye for space vessels, locked on the forward ship and signaled the young officer on the opposite side of the grid. “Magnify that particular ship, if you please, Lieutenant.”The officer nodded and tapped commands on the grid keypad.The image of the selected ship expanded until it covered the grid display’s surface space.“The central section is so much larger than the forward and rear,” said Mensah, sweeping the image with an analytical eye. “That section either houses smaller craft or troop compartments.”“Or civilian quarters,” Dellums inserted with a speculation of his own. “Could be colony ships. Not necessarily military.”Mensah smirked, casting a dubious look Dellums’ way. “We both know colonization and military go hand in hand.”“True,” conceded Dellums with a smile. “But whatever those ships are, there are only three of them. We can safely assume that they’re not a threat.”Mensah settled his gaze back upon the holo image. “That too remains to be seen.”It was a ten minute commute by executive jet tube to the Noir House.Mensah exited the tube, where he was met by a man and a woman, both crisply attired in the uniforms of the Presidential Detail. Beneath the glitz and splendor that their bright gold tunics and matching slacks conveyed lay the keen ruthlessness of soldiers prepared to go to any lengths to protect their president.Mensah always joked that he was careful not to make any sudden movements in PD’s presence. Reality did not lurk far beneath the surface of his humor.The Noir House was an enormous manneresque building, tan in color with a black dome on top that radiated the sun’s reflection like a dark crystal. A gleaming needle of a pole protruded from the summit of the dome from which a black, green and red flag fluttered in the breeze. There were two entrances open to the public. Mensah was escorted through an underground walkway accessible only to officials with high level security clearances. Once inside the building, he stepped in an elevator that whisked him 30 floors up. When the doors opened, Mensah entered a spacious office.The first sightings that always caught the Chief Advisor’s eye were the breathtaking mounted wood carvings lining every wall in the office. The carvings were of faces and figures. The faces were holo realistic, each one distinguished from the other as if based on real individuals...which they probably were. The figures were less detailed, more abstract, but no less powerful an expression of an art form dating back to a preindustrial ancient Earth.One piece of art hung in the office that dwarfed the rest. It was an oil painted portrait, more than a thousand years old. Regular nano-regeneration kept the portrait looking as if it had been painted the day before. The portrait was that of a cinnamon complexioned man in his 60s. His starkly gray hair was closely cut, eyes dark and intense, jaw line rigid, the set of his mouth uncompromising, almost challenging.Mensah’s erect posture somehow became straighter.That was the kind of reaction the figure in the portrait still managed to evoke two thousand years after his death. For without the brilliant vision and direction of Kyle Marcus Brookins, NeoAfrica would never have come into being.Finally, Mensah took notice of the man beneath the portrait, President Ibrahim Dula, and the five military officers and cabinet ministers standing around his half-circle desk.“Mr. President,” Mensah addressed, approaching the desk.President Dula stood, extending a welcoming hand to the Chief Advisor. “Come in, Robert. We were just discussing our visitors.”The president was a large man with a neatly trimmed goatee speckled with white.. As a university student he had been a strength athlete. His bulky physique, though a little soft in the middle, still retained the raw power of his youth.Mensah greeted the guests as he took his place among them.Everyone, except Dula, then filed toward a long table at the corner of the office and took their seats.The president tapped a button on his desk, bringing to life a shimmering display void that floated a little higher than head level.“Now, we move from speculation to certainty,” said Dula.The face of a Fleet officer appeared on the display void. “Mr. President, unidentified ships are ten seconds from maximum communication range. A direct transmission feed has been established from your office to the coordinates of the incoming ships.” The officer paused, her attention captured by activity beyond the display void. She returned her focus to Dula. “The first ship has just entered comm. range, Mr. President, you may initiate contact at your leisure.”Dula beamed a gregarious smile. “Leisure is what I could use a good dose of these days. Thank you, Captain.”The officer’s image nodded and vanished from the void.“Director Dellums’ people will be monitoring your contact, Mr. President,” announced Mensah.“Very good, Robert.” The president fixed his eyes on the display void and spoke.“Unidentified ships. I am Ibrahim Dula, President of the NeoAfrican Federation. I bid you welcome.”No response.Dula was about to repeat his address when a man’s face materialized on the display.It was a pale face. Very pale. The hair was yellowish and straight, the nose extremely narrow and the lips thin to the point of nonexistence. The man’s complexion bore a pinkish tint off set by a pair of deeply set blue eyes.Mensah was fascinated. He had seen humans like the face on the display in historical texts. Never had he encountered one in person…so to speak.“Greetings, President Dula,” the man on the display announced, revealing a politic smile. His poet’s voice was infused with the robustness of one accustomed to leadership. “I am Admiral Gregor McCray, commanding officer of the Unity Expedition.”“Welcome, Admiral McCray,” said Dula, folding his hands on top of his desk. “How may we be of assistance?”Admiral McCray ran an idle finger along the bottom of his smooth shaven chin. “May we meet, sir?”The president raised his brow. “Certainly. It is not often visitors come to our part of space. Captain Johnson will escort you to a docking station in orbit. From there you will be ferried to my location.”“Thank you, Mr. President.” McCray inclined his head, and then his image faded.Defense Minister Cinthea Amari shook her head. “A white person. I’ve heard rumors that they exist.”The others around the table chuckled.“What do you think they want?” Tirel Vick, Director of the Analysis Bureau wondered.Mensah stared at the AB officer with hidden suspicion.The Analysis Bureau, like Fleet Intelligence, was tasked with covertly protecting the Federation from internal threats. Mensah, however, was concerned that the AB was trying to take on the role of king maker. Attempting to influence the outcome of the last presidential election (as the AB was rumored to have done, which Director Vick would no doubt have denied, if pressed) certainly fell far outside the bounds of the AB’s mandate.“The same thing we want,” President Dula replied, leaning back in his chair. “They want to know who we are. We want to know who they are.” The president gestured to the Defense Minister and the Minister of Internal Affairs, a small, wiry man named Kea Obasanji. “Cinthea, Kea, please receive our visitors at the docking station. Robert, you go along, too. Let’s give them a good first impression.”“Sir, with me present, I don’t know how good that impression will be,” Mensah quipped.Dula grinned. “There’s a risk in everything we do.”1,000 docking stations formed a loose-linked orbital ring around the planet Brookinsia. The most important of the stations hovered in geo-sync, directly above the capital city. The visitors’ ships were not allowed to dock there, however. Not only were they armed, as subsequent sensor sweeps discovered, but their size alone prohibited them from being anywhere within a half system of Brookinsia.Captain Anita Johnson of the Inceptor Cruiser, Douglass, had the visitor delegation transferred to her ship. From there, they were taken via shuttle to the docking station where they underwent a thorough scan search followed by decontamination.If the visitors, two men and a woman, felt any discomfort at being subjected to so rigorous an introduction, their gracious demeanors betrayed nothing of the sentiment. The visitors entered the VIP chamber, a large room with a window that offered a striking panoramic view of the planet below.Minister Obasanji was the first to speak.Minister Amari and Chief Advisor Mensah stood on either side of him. Four PD soldiers wearing gold colored cloaks observed the meeting from all four corners of the chamber. Their weapons, hidden beneath their cloaks remained out of sight so as not to unnerve the visitors.“Greetings,” said Obasanji, sounding a little nervous, in keeping with his jittery personality. “I am Kea Obasanji, Minister of Internal Affairs.” Obasanji gestured to the tall, regal woman to his right. “This is Defense Minister Cinthea Amari, and to my left, Robert Mensah, Chief Presidential Advisor.”Mensah took note of the visitors, particularly the older, shorter of the two males, the one called Admiral Gregor McCray. Until today, Mensah’s awareness of the range of complexions within the human race had been academic. Looking at these three strangers, now, it was almost shocking to him how light their skin was.The lightest NeoAfricans were shades darker than the pinkish hue of these people. The whites’ hair color and texture were radically different. McGregor, who appeared to be in his mid to late fifties, had a yellowish mane with a touch of gray on the sides. The taller, younger male had slightly darker hair, while the woman’s shoulder length light hair bore a highlight of red.All three visitors wore brown uniforms with overlapping dual circle insignias stenciled on the upper right portion of their tunics.McCray introduced himself, then indicated his companions. “My first officer, Erik Thorvald, and Jolene Karsen. She is a contact anthropologist.”“Contact anthropologist,” said Minister Amari, appraising the woman. “I take it encounters like this one are common occurrences for you.”The anthropologist smiled, “increasingly so, Defense Minister.Mensah’s eyes traveled across the woman’s body.Karsen was young, fit and appealing in an exotic way. If only her lips weren’t so damned thin.Obasanji waved a hand toward the chamber exit. “Shall we? The president awaits.”“By all means, sir. Lead the way,” said McCray.
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