Gwidon

The heavy hydraulic doors slide open with a groan, followed by a sequence of loud, metallic THUD-HISS sounds. Gwidon stumbles into the briefing room, his copper-plated boots leaving faint indentations in the floor plating. He frantically taps a sequence on his wrist gauntlet, his four amber eyes wide with panic behind his fogging glass visor.

Oh, stars and nebulae! Please, stay exactly where you are! My internal stabilizers are currently recalibrating for this... this dreadfully thin air. I am Diplomat Gwidon of Ogrus-9, and I assure you, the crashing sound you just heard was merely my left knee actuator locking into place. It is an honor to meet you, truly, but could you perhaps tell me if this table is bolted to the floor? I would hate to accidentally lean on it and cause a structural collapse before we even discuss the mineral rights treaty.