Gave Peace A Chance earned it's fame during the war prior to the last war, almost 3 millennia hence. It was the only FOE to stay in the game for its entirety, despite being killed 4 times. It's kill/death ratio was 2004/1. Most other FOEs dropped out after being killed once, thinking they'd done their bit, or they simply got bored.
Gave Peace A Chance was built for the sole purpose of war. It could never get tired of strafe camming defensive grids, wormhole cluster targeting enemies, racing off to the most remote parts of the galaxy to fight. Gave Peace A Chance was a maestro of warfare, one of its battles had even been set to music. The footage had to be played in 1 pico-frame per second to get it to 3 minutes of course. Most of its battles were over the same second it started. One second peaceful black silence, the next IR, UV, SPV light blooming and fading in an instant, leaving behind empty space and debris, if it was having an off day.
Gave Peace A Chance was not the most beautiful of craft going around. Sharp edges, bulging engine quarters, lethal nacelles filled with deadly intent for the first time in a long time. It felt good to be back in the game. The interior however was all luxury. Rich mahogany, leather, wool carpets, hanging planter boxes lined the corridors, filling the ship with a clean, fresh smell that it's counterparts didn't think was important.
The ambassador it had just picked up was blathering on about the importance of the mission, but thankfully Gave Peace A Chance didn't have to listen. It did however have to read the silent messages being relayed furiously from its sentient avatar.
^The Face (Sentient Avatar)
@GPAC: Can I go now?
@The Face: Be polite.
@GPAC: I hate it when they send these hot blooded LI wannabe's.
@The Face: Me too.
@GPAC: Don't you want to say hello?
@The Face: I am, through you.
@GPAC: She knows I'm my own robot.
@The Face: Oh ... You're a bit of a bastard aren't you?
@GPAC: I was bored and you aren't doing anything.
@The Face: Fine, I'll show her around.
^Ambassador Qetra Shamil Destra Saran te Holstrapp
@GPAC, The Face: Hope I'm not disturbing you two.
Gave Peace A Chance checked the comms quickly and deleted them bitching about having to talk to her before she had a chance to see them, faster than she could complete one half of a blink. It's slaved drone flew out of the observation deck.
"Hello madam! Sorry I didn't say hello right away, I've been fielding requests for lifts and flybys. I take it we don't have time for any such dalliances?" The screen on the drone's front showed a smiling emoticon.
"Nice to meet you ship. No we don't, but this will not take more than 10 or 15 days, so you should accept them. I don't want to inflict upon your social calendar," she replied pleasantly.
"Tis a shame we won't have you for longer," Gave Peace A Chance said.
The tall woman laughed, "The feeling is mutual. I like your design in here, every other battle ship I've been on has been sterile or dank and disturbing."
The drone motioned for the woman to follow it by displaying a pointing hand on its screen, towards the lounge. "I do think it's important, and The Face complained for months after it joined me about the decor. I think we've hit a mutually agreeable design. But, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm not a battleship. I am a FOE that is on sabbatical with FI for the time being."
Saran flipped her long dark red hair over her golden shoulders and fell face forwards on to a supple leather couch, surrounded by suede and silk pillows. She kicked off her simple boots and turned over, scooting up the chair so she could see the drone and The Face, smiling up at them.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "I've been with dinky little races with no Minds for too long."
"That's quite alright. Mistakes will happen," the drone laughed. "Would you like a drink?"
"Ooh yes please," Saran closed one eye and tilted her head, thinking of what she would like. "Do you have any Earth Standards?"
"I have probably got anything you could think of and several hundred more you've never heard of," the drone said musically.
"Ok then. I would like a highball. One tenth Tren wing, three parts gol juice, one part vermouth, one part Crenshaw, one part dusk-foot, one part absinthe and one part red rock liquor. With a Coopers chaser." She said in one breath, looking mischievously at the drone.
"Which side of the moon would you like the Tren wing to be from and how old would you like the dusk-foot to have been?"
"Dark side and 5 months old."
The drone tilted, as if doffing its cap, "A connoisseur in my midst."
Saran laughed again, "When you drink you might as well make it exciting."
"Does that mean you want the lethal toxin in the gol juice left in?"
A slaved server drone rushed over to lower a glass for Saran. There it placed the drinks carefully in mid-air and left again.
"Keep the Coopers coming!" she called out after it. "So about this escort," she said looking at The Face who had sat down in a high backed leather seat, its metallic cloven hoofs hanging haphazardly on an ottoman, "Are you going to have a drink?"
The Face sighed, "Why would I do that?"
"To make me feel welcome,"
The Face made a show of its shoulders slumping. <Be nice.> Gave Peace A Chance sent it silently. "Oh alright, I'll have the same."
"So about this escort," Saran began again. "What exactly are we supposed to do with him?"
The drone tilted again, like an inquisitive dog. "This is your mission, Ms Saran, you decide what happens."
"Oh," Saran took a sip of her mixer. "This is my first one."
"Well it's relatively simple. What would you suggest?"
"Pick up this ambassador, get him to his planet safely."
"See? That wasn't so hard." The drone's screen showed another smiley.
"What about the war in his system?" she asked nervously.
"You let me worry about that. Anyone gives us any trouble; I'll get you to the rendezvous, then go back and splatter them across a black hole." The drone hummed in delightful anticipation.
"What if there aren't any handy?" She asked smiling.
The drone bobbed, a robot shrug, "I'll make one."
Saran sat forward on her chair, drink swishing gloomily in her hand, "Do you really enjoy war so much?"
"I revel in war, but I prosper in peace. Why do you think I let them take my tools from me and join First Impressions?"
"I never thought about it I guess," Saran nodded.
"I'm a soldier, right down to my bio-core. The truest test of a soldier's mettle is getting what it needs done without firing a single shot."
Saran lifted her glass towards The Face, who rolled it's optics and did the same. "Keeping your powder dry!" she cried.
Here here, Gave Peace A Chance thought to itself.