A Sabre silently sped through the icy fields, orbiting for a good five minutes, out of effective scanning range of the Trotsky as the pilot send a non-audio hail to the still vessel. The message was rather simply stating that its short-range transmitter was on the fritz, and requesting permission to dock. The dock controller, looking at the message, reluctantly ordered the exterior hangar door open and sent back a green light. After all, if it was someone they had to kill, they could much more easily do it on deck. The small fighter looked a little banged up having scorch marks along the hull and dents in the hold. That said, the actual frame of the ship was as perfect as it was when it rolled off the assembly line. The seductive humming of the engines slowed as the pilot allowed the docking tractor to take hold of the ship, bringing down against the hangar deck softly, causing a gentle jolt through the vessel as the tractor disengaged and the engines powered down with a stereotypical whir.
The small manhole under the cockpit clicked open as a ladder slid down soon behind, the pilot, a rather... unusual figure descending from the claustrophobic cockpit. Some of the idle crew couldn't help but stare as the masculine figure become more apparent... He stood at least seven feet tall, his arms covered in some kind of steel padding really, was the only way to describe it. His legs were also lined with the same, odd plate armour which covered his arms, and if it wasn't obvious already - it was now. This creature, whoever or whatever it was, was certainly NOT human. As he turned around to examine the large room, his distinctly reptilian features came to view, an elongated head with a large maw, scales a light brown, and showing their age. Its eyes were little blue orbs supported in steel sockets that resembled what could only be called web as it spread out along the top of his skull, before meshing with the skin and the bone. He bore no helmet, and no form of protection for his torso; instead, he only wore some sort of military vest, devoid of any decoration or insignia, though obviously not his 'day clothing'. He stood with a slight slouch as his arms hung low, a pair of deadly looking claws at the end of each limb...
He rose his hands as if to show he wasn't a threat to the security who he now found pointing their weapons at him, each with an intent, cold, calculating look in their eyes. There was nothing but silence for a time, before the noiselessness was broken by the lizard's voice. "I'm here to see whoever is in charge of... Recruitment," he said with a slight tone of irony, his voice a little cracked, his accent having a soft Bretonian ring. "May I?" he questioned, his mechanical eyes darting to whom he believed was the officer on duty.
