"Now, your high and mighty whatever-the-appropriate-titles are... you're on my ship." Alex speaks calmly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Down in the conference room, your respective entourages are gradually realizing 'Oh das't it all, our bosses are gone!' and stopping shooting to scratch their heads. Mostly.
It was obviously my mistake as the delegate from Knowhere to let the meeting go on so heavily armed, and I'm sure Commander Quill will have some choice Terran words for me, but here's the simple version we're left with."
He points at them each in turn. "You. And you. Talk. Make nice, with none of your respective posse to look important and fearless in front of. Figure how much face you need to save, then I put you back, and we put today behind us."
He clears his throat. "The alternative is that I dig through the culture files on both of you until I find some kind of mention of honorable suicide, and then I turn you over to the furball to set it up. Then the whole process starts over with whoever's left in charge down there."
A beat.
"I really don't like looking through culture files."
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