Just ordinary, average people who weren’t using strength-augmenting alien armor.

Ironically, they’d probably have been less afraid if she’d used a laser to cut her way in.

Milla Chans took a moment to examine the area and noted that there were several people with palm lasers pointing shakily at her. She slowly held up her hands and made it a point to not make any sudden motions.

“I am Ithan Chans,” she told them. “Colonial Navy.”

The palm lasers stayed pointed at her, but the shaking subsided a little, so she breathed easier. Palm lasers were intended more for survival than anything else. They started fires, heated rocks, cut things, those sorts of utilities. However, they were powerful enough to injure a person, even fatally in extreme cases, and she had no desire to put the alien armor to a serious test.

There was, of course, absolutely no reason for any of these people to actually own them, but Milla found that people in the cities tended to do strange things for no apparent reason. She doubted any of them had ever actually used the small devices; however, it didn’t stop them from acquiring them.

She wouldn’t mind, really, if they would acquire a training course at the same time. Unfortunately, most people who wished to own such things really had no idea what they would do with them should they actually acquire them.

The people calmed a bit more, and Milla reached back and pulled the tabs that broke her suit’s seal. She pulled the faceless helmet off and looked around. “I require a communications terminal.”

They stared at her for a long moment before one of them finally stepped forward. “M…My rooms are through here.”

Milla nodded, not realizing that her minute gesture was lost in the suit, and walked in the direction he was pointing. She had to duck a little to get through the door but still managed to scrape the top of the helmet along the frame. The armor only gave her a small increase over her normal height, but it felt like she was towering over everything she encountered.

The terminal was in a table in the center of the room, and she winced at the thud her hand made when she reached out to turn the system on.

“Sorry,” she told the man who had followed her into his rooms, trying to ignore the rather large crack that had appeared in the terminal. Luckily, it didn’t seem to affect operation, so she keyed her code into the military channels with extremely delicate precision and soon found herself face-to-helm with a rather shocked-looking secretary.

“This is Ithan Milla Chans, Colonial Navy, identification code Senthe Auros Bonis Kirof Bonis Senthe,” she rattled off calmly. “I need to speak with the commander in charge of systems defense as soon as possible. I have information concerning the unidentified ship in orbit and the soldiers on the ground.”