Late Winter, 2322
Kitezh, Yasny System, Chekhovsk spaceport
After a long, arduous two-month travel through squeezed space and normal space, a star liner hailing from the Hawking system finally arrived in Low Kitezh Orbit, carrying a diplomatic team made of the indigenous Grawla of planet Hawking. A silvery glider received the visitors, before entering Kitezh's atmosphere, circling the entire planet once, slowly decreasing its altitude, before it finally touched-down on the snow flanked, black asphalt runway. The skies were clear today, an endless blue with the infinite, white and snowy terrain underneath, flatter than a polished mirror and just as reflective, with only a cluster of black and grey towers in the distance to breakup the horizon.
As the Grawla sat in their sanitized, cushioned seats, strapped in by their seatbelts, an alien voice sounded over the speakers, filling the air with an indiscernible language. A white, humanoid form stood up from the front seat. "Coat Hanger," with arms, the Grawla called them, the ewman liason assigned to them by the bots that hid in that city that surrounded that river and hugged the coast. They looked barely ewman, clad in white armor and a mostly featureless skull, save for a couple of cameras and a speaking hole.
"Thank you for choosing @#@*&$R (Chekhovsk) air space Services. Please unfasten your seatbelts, gather your belongings and mind the gap as you exit. Have a good day!" Coat Hangar translated to the team, switching to a feminine voice that matched whatever was in the air, a couple of its words unpronounceable despite the translation.
Kitezh, Yasny System, Chekhovsk spaceport
After a long, arduous two-month travel through squeezed space and normal space, a star liner hailing from the Hawking system finally arrived in Low Kitezh Orbit, carrying a diplomatic team made of the indigenous Grawla of planet Hawking. A silvery glider received the visitors, before entering Kitezh's atmosphere, circling the entire planet once, slowly decreasing its altitude, before it finally touched-down on the snow flanked, black asphalt runway. The skies were clear today, an endless blue with the infinite, white and snowy terrain underneath, flatter than a polished mirror and just as reflective, with only a cluster of black and grey towers in the distance to breakup the horizon.
As the Grawla sat in their sanitized, cushioned seats, strapped in by their seatbelts, an alien voice sounded over the speakers, filling the air with an indiscernible language. A white, humanoid form stood up from the front seat. "Coat Hanger," with arms, the Grawla called them, the ewman liason assigned to them by the bots that hid in that city that surrounded that river and hugged the coast. They looked barely ewman, clad in white armor and a mostly featureless skull, save for a couple of cameras and a speaking hole.
"Thank you for choosing @#@*&$R (Chekhovsk) air space Services. Please unfasten your seatbelts, gather your belongings and mind the gap as you exit. Have a good day!" Coat Hangar translated to the team, switching to a feminine voice that matched whatever was in the air, a couple of its words unpronounceable despite the translation.