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The Beginning and the End
Topic Started: Apr 8 2009, 03:59 PM (3,062 Views)
~Scout~
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Artificial
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
There are times when the galaxy seems to stand still, and in these moments, one cannot help but wonder, what purpose does all of this have? What drives a species to colonize, to fight for a cause, to assert authority as the absolute power? Why does gravity pull objects, why is the universe expanding, what made the universe, why does light not travel in calligraphic paths? One can answer none of these things definitively. They are beyond mortal understanding, these rules that are so seemingly set in place that entire civilizations take for granted without question.

It is possible, perhaps, that such a blind faith is valid. But it is still baffling that so few should question such an unguided trust. It is to those that the universe truly begins to unravel its true formula, the wild, anarchic curves of light and space and time calling their names, the unfathomable randomnity of coincidences taking upon a sudden clarity which one could never before see without succumbing to true madness.

To one of these blessed few, nothing is uncertain. The findings of strange phenomena are perfectly logical, a complete cycle of order. The discovery of a previously unexplored nebula, or star, or planet yields all of its mysteries to these enlightened people. They watch as explorers come after, and miners, and bureaucrats and all manners of important persons, smiling invisibly to themselves as the motives of their quarry are clear as a still pool.

But, even to them, the unnatural is unexplainable. Why else would they not be able to explain the populations that have come to dwell in this organic structure of planets, all vanished in the blink of an eye? They cannot explain that which is unexplainable. It follows no laws, no chaos, no semblance of order or disorder from which any link, rational or imaginary, could be drawn. It is then that they are mad. They too vanish at such a lifeless event.

The planetary system now lies abandoned, its jewels untouched. Something greater lurks there. What it is, I could not tell you. But I can tell you that this place will be the center of conflict, of victory, of losses, of love, of lies, and listless ideas, of sacrifices, of searches, of pacts, and broken pacts.

There is not much time.

--

“Tell me more about this proposition that you have,” said Drakershra, the tips of his black claws tapping the riveted metal table idly. “It seems intriguing enough.”

Kaalik smirked. “I would be more than happy enough to devote the ICS Ranseur to your services, and of course any accompanying escorts.”

Drakershra continued to tap his claws. “And how many ships would that be?”

“All told, one frigate, three cruisers, around twenty corvettes and one hundred fighters.” Kaalik slid a holopad to Drakershra. “Take a look, if you should want to see for yourself.”

“I have no doubt that you are telling the truth, Kaalik,” the Xorian said, pushing the pad back to Kaalik with a single glinting claw. The Zorga took the pad back and placed it within his coat. “Your military prowess and discipline is unquestionable, and the scientific achievements that you have accomplished without a dedicated facility are worthy of note.”

“Merely worthy of note,” Kaalik said.

“You still need to prove yourself properly, though you do have quite an impressive resumé,” said the Xorian warlord.

“I see the merit in that,” Kaalik said. “Very well. We may negotiate payment later. For now, my men require orders.”

Drakershra’s grey eyes flashed. “Of course. You may have heard of the tragedy that befell those unfortunate colonists some four months ago.”

“Yes. They were mainly humans, though, and none of my associates were involved, so I took little interest.”

“Neither did I, until recently,” Drakershra said. He opened a folder and slipped some papers to Kaalik. “These are readouts on the system.”

Kaalik scanned the pages with mild curiosity. “The colonists disappeared?”

“Yes. The Galactic Federation suspects foul play. A formal investigation has yet to be engaged, however, as barely six thousand people perished. They’ve been keeping the whole event under shades, but I managed to acquire these files through an influential contact of mine.”

Kaalik glanced at the Xorian. “Who?”

“If it were your business, I would have said,” Drakershra replied.

“Very well, then,” Kaalik said. “What is your interest in going to the system… U-1013?”

“You do not need to know my motives,” Drakershra said. Kaalik eyed Drakershra. “All that you need to know is that there is something in this system that is important enough for me to have interest in it. Your role will be primarily escort duty, but if there are any complications, then you will be expected to assist in whatever way you are capable.”

“Do you anticipate complications?”

“Whatever the Galactic Federation did wrong, we will be sure to find out what it is, and summarily avoid it. It is also quite possible that we will run into others that have come into the system. It should not be an issue, however.”

“Very good.”

“Have your ship and escorts meet me in the Xolt system.”

--

“It’s called the Blight system.”

Commander Serlas Pasifis nodded. “A fitting name.”

“Sadly,” Commander-General Katok Haredni said. “I suppose that’s not its real name.”

“No, it’s really called U-1013, but any system with a history should have a better name than that,” Rear Admiral Felecia Calderon said. The three military minds were sitting in comfortable, dark leather armchairs, on the observation deck of the GFS Sentinel. “Regrettably, the codename was developed by civilian parties, so we had no ability to change it once the name stuck.”

Katok sifted through the papers. “The most recent report on the system was months ago.”

“We have not been able to conduct any missions in the system, due to legal complications,” Felecia said. “The private organizations that had assets there weren’t willing to let the military intervene.”

“Of course,” Serlas said. “We often run into the same problems in Sar Kerith space.”

“Regardless, we have now acquired the necessary permissions to send a military force into the Blight system,” said Felecia. She looked to Serlas. “We would like to offer you a position in the expedition, as we have noted the investigatory skills of the Sar Kerith as being quite keen, and you yourself are an extraordinary military commander.” She then looked to Katok. “The Garlings have a very strong military presence in their own right, and though we know that your species never likes to enter a conflict that they can avoid, we hope that there will be no violence involved here. As a member of the Galactic Federation, and the closest to the Blight system, we would appreciate it if you would send a force, however small.”

Katok nodded. “I will send a small contingent of ships.”

“I would also be honored to join your forces,” Serlas said. “It may be wise to conduct an investigation out of system as well, and perhaps also hire some independent contractors.”

“We will do this,” Felecia said. “There are some ICs in particular that we could contact quickly. I will send messages to them, and hopefully they will respond with a yes.”
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Clockwork Master

"So why should I take this job again?"

"Because interesting times call for interesting people to take part in them," answer an eccentric man over a come link.

Ryan groaned, responded sarcastically, "Really?"

"Really! I think it would be quite worth the experience."

"And you think taking a job from a government's military is worth the experience? I can recall some of my mother's experience enough to get a bad feeling."

"And trust me the nose knows that I have a good feeling about this."

"Only because what could come out of it could would be rather interesting to you," Ryan said.

"Perhaps, but I do look over you're well being."

"Which is sending me into a situation that I could get myself killed."

"Your mother did something similar-

"On her own free will," Ryan finished.

"True, but you really haven't been doing much these days. Further more, you need to start exploring in what you should be doing in life; that's something what your mother did-"

"By running away," Ryan finished again,

"Doesn't make a difference. You still haven't really figured out what to do with your life."

"But does it have to involve military work. Why not something a little more...safer?"

"Anything is bound to have some sort of risk, and yes, I know, the military has a much higher risk. However, let me clearly state or restate my points: You aren't doing anything at the moment, more importantly, you don't know what to do. You also don't have a job; and most of all, I think it would help you get in better touch with...yourself. Plus, the Galactic Federation does know about your mother and some incidents that she’s been related to, and they know about you. They don’t think you as a criminal, but showing some helpful cooperation every now and then will make them less…suspicious of you.”

“Fine!”

“Plus, you won’t have to do any fighting, just-

“YES, I KNOW,” Ryan screamed, exasperated, “I understand. I'll go, but on one condition. I have him along with me."
------------------
A young person who appeared to be in his early twenties, and wore civilian clothing, was getting a lot of attention as he strolled down the corridor of the GFS Sentinel. In truth about how everybody was eyeing him, the man seemed almost completely human with the exception that his irises we this unnatural, light blue color that appeared to shimmer, but nobody could full tell in the light. Similar, a small patch hair at the back of his head was a similar color, with the exception of the shimmering aspect, could be noted.

He would have probably been given a short glance for wearing civilian clothing, but other would have been ignored as he was any other common citizen found in GFed society. It was his massive body guard, or so everybody could guess from where it walked, that brought their gaze upon him and it; and it looked to be the mother of all bouncers. Standing almost three times as tall as and twice as wide, it appeared to a highly advanced, burly robot that had a sort of hunchback appearance. What gave it a look of sophistication was the sleek metal plating , the lack of clunky look servos, and the green, glowing lines of light going up and down it’s body like it was circuitry. Where the head was supposed was a stub that could barely turn; the only facial feature was a single, big, completely green eye of glass.

The robot look rather intimidating, and it’s big, burly hands were wide enough to hold an entire person by his shoulders, and probably squeeze ones head into paste. And it definitely looked ready to defend it’s passenger.

Ryan never felt so nervous in his life as he had towards where he had been told to go.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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Out on the edge of the galaxy, in that gray area of space where there were plenty of settlements but not a whole lot of civilization, a transport ship sailed unobtrusively through the black. It was nothing special to look at, just a hardy freighter of human manufacture, no fancy engines, no apparent weapons, no tags or colors flown, just the name Salty Dog written on the side of the cockpit, evidently with spray paint. Nothing special, but the type where you could tell just by looking at her that she'd get the job done.

That was on the outside.

On the inside, she was a war machine. Ion cannons, missile launchers, and machine guns were hidden in various compartments around the hull. Another heavy machine gun turret sat in the cargo bay, aimed at the door. The engine was pure ballbusting muscle cleverly packaged in an Ol' Bessie-looking chassis. And what looked like a standard hull was armored with the toughest alloys in the known universe

And then there was the crew. Zebesian Pirates, about a dozen of them. Renegades whose clan had long ago broken away from High Command. Not merely an independent faction, but in many ways, an entirely different culture. More tribal than militaristic, more interested in pure piracy than conquest, barbaric even by Pirate standards. Indeed, this particular crew seemed to be doing everything they could to turn themselves into the traditional pirates of human history, going so far as to hang a Jolly Roger in their cockpit.

For these Pirates, the obsession with genetic Perfection with a capital P that had consumed Zebesian society was seen as not only a failed idea, but also tantamount to blasphemy. They sought, among other things, to keep their bodies pure. While modification was the rule rather than the exception in the mainstream, these renegades only altered their bodies out of necessity, such as a lost limb. And even then, they only used cybernetics, believing that endless biological and genetic tinkering (and outright overhauling) had all but destroyed their species.

But it wasn't just about the body. Their body armor was a more ancient kind than the high tech bio armor prevalent among the mainstream, contributing to an overall ragtag look. Apart from their plasma scythes, their weapons were primarily of human manufacture; either stolen, looted, or sometimes purchased from human criminals, particularly the man called Vega.

And then there were the endless failures of High Command. Their seemingly constant defeats at the hands of Samus Aran only seemed to prove the point the renegade clan had been making all these years. They simply wanted no part of what the leaders of their people were doing. Still, they hadn't severed all ties. They still paid tribute to High Command, a little piece of their loot just so they could be left alone. And young warriors of the clan often sought to prove their mettle by signing up with the Armada's elite units, especially the Commandos and Shadow Troopers. But they were always outcasts, and always would be. And were damn proud of it too.

The captain of this particular crew of Zebesian brigands was called Cottonmouth, so named because of his raspy, reptilian voice. "Like a fuckin' snake," as his friend Vega would say. He was known for being a shrewd leader and vicious fighter, who in both avenues sliced like a blade rather than smash like a hammer. Respected amongst his clansmen as one of their great commanders, feared throughout Pirate society for his mercilessness. His men were intensely loyal, and would happily march to their deaths if he commanded it.

At the moment though, marching to one's death wasn't really necessary. The crew of the Salty Dog were, for all intents and purposes, cruising. Just casually flouting out on the rim, looking for something to do. A ship to raid, a settlement to terrorize, or maybe just some backwater where they could get drunk and raise hell. To do what pirates do. Maybe they would run into some action, and maybe they wouldn't. Cottonmouth wasn't expecting too much.

And he certainly wasn't expecting to get caught up in whatever was going on in the so-called Blight system, which on their current course they would be entering sometime within they next several hours.
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BONEITIS!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Technically Dirk, we're in the Blight system. Technically. Although, to be honest you'll be long dead before you even get close to orbiting a planet. Not that there'd be anyone down there to help your mutant ass either."

"Is there anyway...Anyway you would reconsider this?"

"This isn't open for discussion Dirk... its you, or me."

"This is because I'm a mutant... Isn't it? Well fuck you. You'll burn for this, mark my words Saul... You will fucking burn."

If Saul was taken back by the previous comment he didn't show it. Not that he could, his face hidden behind a helmet.
"I don’t know if I'm going to burn, but I know damn well your going to starve. The life support has a distillery, so that'll keep you going water wise. Food wise, there’s nothing at all. Have fun."

With that he pushed Dirk back into the escape pod, and sealed the door. Dirk was silent as the escape pod detached from the Free Vulture. As the pod finally freed itself from the aged ship, Dirk was knelt in prayer, cursing Saul mostly.

The Free Vulture had left the Cresgon system with a traveller paying for voyage to to the Blight system. Apparently he had heard of a 'great suffering' and intended to go and make things a little 'better'. No one aboard told the charitable fellow that there was no one in the Blight system anymore, as he was paying generously. They didn't much like the Mutie freak, but he paid well so they put up with him. Of course, just before arriving in the Blight system the captain of the Free Vulture, Saul Tylerkov was informed that all of the money he was being paid with was actually stolen from a respectable businessman on Kasria, in the Cresgon system. Naturally, this didn't sit well with the captain, or his crew.

After rigorously praying, Dirk looked around the pod. Surprisingly it seemed new and was of high quality, at least compared to the Vulture. Then again, it'd been the captains personal escape pod. Two long padded benches and a life support terminal complete with a communication array. Dirk had heard of a distress beacon before, and if he could read he would have no trouble activating it.

Of course, being illiterate he just pressed every button on the array, praying that a signal would get out.
Edited by SaintlyTurkey, Apr 11 2009, 04:48 PM.
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Science Team has vapor for brains.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
T'kran wasn't one of those people that had bad days... but this one, and the entire preceding week, had been one.

The contract board had been empty for nearly a month, and T'kran was starting to grow impatient. Mercenary work and bounty hunting were the two things he lived for. Being a Pirate, battle was his only real source of entertainment. Everything else he found to be trivial.

And then came the day when a group of ignorant, thieving, good-for-nothing imbeciles had tried stealing his ship. He'd been minding his own business in a nearby bar when he got the alert about an attempted break-in. He'd gotten to the ship just in time to watch the bastards take off. He wasn't about to let a bunch of fools steal his ship and the technology within, so he did the only thing he could; activated the remote auto-destruct sequence.

He hadn't counted on stranding himself on some backwater mudball, though. Luckily enough for him, it had been the same mudball Cottonmouth and his crew had stopped off to resupply on during their journey. After a little bit of persuasion and some bargaining, T'kran had scored a ride on the Salty Dog.

Admittedly, it didn't look like much on the outside, but he was impressed by the modifications he'd found within. Seemed like Cottonmouth and his crew had done a fine job of turning the ship into a deathtrap for the unsuspecting.

However, part of the deal had been that he had to pull his weight in order to earn his keep. being the only extensively enhanced Pirate on the ship, he'd been relegated to manual labour, which he wasn't too pleased about, but at least it was something to do. What he didn't like, though, was the constant mistrust the others showed him due to his genetically modified nature. He barely even looked like a common Pirate any more, looking more like some kind of humanoid reptile.

He hadn't even bothered to ask them where they were going. And so, without realising it, he would be drawn into the Blight system as well.
"A battle for supremacy against many foes is a battle of the best kind. There are few considerations, only those concerning where to place your next shot. It is war in its purest form." - Commander Karziel, Ultramarines 5th Company

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Phantasmagoria
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
As "the luna" came up to the blight system captain Coriues looked at his holo map of the galaxy in the small cock pit.
"wiz what is this system status?", Coriues asked his hologram. The hologram wiz looks like a deep purple colored floating head of a woman with long hair.
"it apears to be rather empty sir. If i may ask why are we entering the blight system sir?", Wiz replied.
" i was told i would be given a job here, and besides it's been boring just lounging on the ship.", Coriues said as he entered the blight system waiting to see what bounty job awaited him.

He was given te job by some man in a bar telling him he would be able to be given a lot of fame, and money if he took the job. Coriues didn't get a good look at the man though, because he was covered up by a cloack, and hood....

Coriues then snaped out of his flash back when a small ship started flying up to "the luna"
beep beep beep....."what is you buisness in the blight system", said a deep booming voice from the speakers in the ship of "the luna". From the other ship no doubt, "just a transmission" Coriues told him self
"i am Zant, and i am nothing, but a touring merchant.", said Coriues trying to lie his way in.
"alright give me a full inventory list, and a photo of the goods."
"ok give me a sec, and let me send you the information." Coriues said turning his chair to face the computer touch screen bringing up a fake file named "merchant id, list, and cargo photo". Coriues then sent the information to the ship
"ok every thing seem ok. You may enter the blight system um...merchant Zant."
"transmission over." said Wiz. Coriues then made his way to the blight system....
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Native Son

"If you're half as good with a blade as you are with that mop," Ravage said, mocking T'kran as he cleaned the floor, "you may find a place here yet!"

Ravage and his brother Scragg stood on the walkway over the cargo bay, where their newest arrival was mopping. The two of them had been having themselves a good laugh taking jabs at the Pirate ever since they had brought him on board. Most of it was just good natured hazing, but there was a more unpleasant undercurrent as well; a genuine disdain for someone not just different, but whose very existence was antithetical to their ideals.

Apart from T'kran, Scragg was the most heavily enhanced pirate aboard the ship. Both his left arm and right leg were cybernetic, and both came with a story. Of course, the story of the arm was by far the more interesting one, though not so much for how he lost the original it as for what happened when they were patching him up. Perhaps T'kran had heard it. Certainly everyone who had survived Aether remembered what happened there in the infirmary.

Ravage and Scragg abruptly stopped laughing as Grifter, Cottonmouth's first mate, suddenly appeared at the end of the walkway. All he had to do was merely glare at them, and the brothers instantly shut up and went headed back to their own duties.

Grifter was a tall, imposing figure, even for a Pirate. His left eye was cybernetic, and featured all manner of scanners and imaging modes. He was also older then the captain, and in fact was the oldest member of the crew by far. Cottonmouth highly valued his wisdom and experience, which also made him the ship's medic by default. He was a quiet, stoic warrior, very much in the mold of his captain.

After seeing to it that his crew stopped slacking off, he headed to the bridge. The captain was at the helm, watching the sensors and letting the auto-pilot do most of the work.

"How is our new arrival?" Cottonmouth asked, not turning away from the instruments.

"The men are having their fun tormenting him," Grifter replied. "Though he seems not to pay attention."

"Unless it gets out of hand, let them be," the captain said. "As long as he earns his keep and can manage in a fight without getting himself killed. And what of the other passenger?"

There was one other person on board. A human, Vega's woman. Grifter had been caring for her ever since her encounter with the parasite, nursing the girl back to health. She was still only operating at about fifty, sixty percent. Considering where she had come from, however, fifty percent was pretty good.

"Resting comfortably," Grifter said. "She is still a long way before she can be of any use. And even then, I would recommend a only a limited role. Perhaps something specialized, until she is ready to move on."

Cottonmouth nodded. On his ship, the one rule was everybody contributed, everybody pulled their weight. Right now, the human was the only exception because of her weakened condition. Once she was healthy though, she'd have to do her part just like everyone else.

A beeping on the console interrupted their informal briefing, alerting them to a contact.

"Looks like an escape pod," Cottonmouth muttered. He immediately checked his long range sensors, thinking that where there was an escape pod there must be a larger ship nearby. Little pods weren't exactly very desirable targets for marauders such as them, although they could often yield a nice if small take. If they could find the ship it came from though, that could be an incredible haul. Especially if half their work was already done for them, thanks to whatever disaster had befallen the ship. Of course, even if there was a ship, it might be a while before they saw it.

"Rally the men," Cottonmouth said. Grifter nodded, and got on the horn.

.......................

Grifter's voice blared over the intercom, calling for all hands on deck. Ravage and Scragg scrambled to the bunk they were temporarily sharing to arm themselves, then marched into the cargo bay, where T'kran was still mopping.

"That means you too," Scragg barked at T'kran. "Get your weapon and get ready. We're going on a raid."

The Salty Dog moved in close to the escape pod, then deftly docked the little craft to her airlock. The captain joined his crew, who were already gathered and ready to overtake whatever opposition was waiting inside.

When the door opened, Dirk O'Rourke found himself staring down the twin barrels of Cottonmouth's sawed-off shotgun.
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A raid, huh? thought the sole living occupant of the engine room. An eye flickered open to examine the data scrolling across a monitor, then two legs swung out of a hammock while the occupant sat and rubbed the last of some sleep out of her eyes.

Unlike the pirates, Aiko didn’t go on any raids. Her lack of participation was partially forbidden, and partially voluntary. After the accident with Grace, Aiko was forced to come face to face with her own limitations to control herself. The lack of control wasn’t really a weakness, but rather just a simple function of how dangerous she really was.

Instead, her job was to oversee any mechanical issues that arose during pirate raids. Frequently, she and a small contingent of pirates remained behind on the Salty Dog while the rest did their pillaging. In reality, the pirate guards were a mere formality to discourage attackers from entering the ship to begin with. Aiko was the real watch dog, and since she’d come aboard, she’d earned her keep many times over.

For one, the ship ran much more efficiently now than it ever had. The SA-X was not particularly bright in its own right, but after eons of stealing memories from other species, the sheer amount of knowledge stored within Aiko’s mind was enough to make her a veritable genius when it came to a few things, and ship mechanics was one of those few things.

Also, having a sentient, moderately controllable, biological self-destruct agent on board meant that if the shit hit the fan, Cottonmouth wouldn’t have to worry about blowing up his ship. Aiko was wonderful insurance, and it was in his best interest to continue to earn her cooperation.

Although officially only Grifter and by default, Cottonmouth, really were supposed to know what she was, hiding a sentient SA-X from the crew for a month on board a cramped pirate vessel was impossible. While the crew didn’t know exactly what Aiko was, after seeing how she brought Grace an inch from death through a simple scratch, it was obvious that Aiko wasn’t what she seemed. However, whatever scorn or distrust that might’ve been directed at Aiko at first had long been smoothed over as good as it could be with Aiko’s qualifications as ship mechanic. She was pulling her weight, and that was all that mattered.

She ate her breakfast while she waited for Cottonmouth to give her orders about the upcoming raid. She didn’t realize that they had already approached an escape pod, not that she would’ve cared.
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Artificial
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
A sergeant with two marine escorts made his way down the hall toward Ryan. The two marines eyed Ryan’s companion cautiously, their eyes narrowed, but the sergeant was unfazed.

“Mister Arma?” he said. He extended a hand to shake. “My name is Sergeant Michael Pansy, and I will escort you to Rear Admiral Calderon’s quarters. She intends to brief you there.”

He led Ryan down the halls, not paying his strange mechanoid companion any attention.

Rear Admiral Felecia was waiting for Ryan in her office when the door opened. “Ah, Ryanchez Arma? Please, sit down.” She gestured to the seat in front of her. Commander Serlas was also standing at the wall behind her, his wings folded up. Felecia waved a hand and the two privates left, leaving only Felecia, Serlas, Sergeant Pansy and Ryan in the room.

“I have heard that you possess a special sort of power,” Felecia said. “The ability to see or sense energy, right? Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” She flashed a smile. “I’ve called you here because we have a situation where your power may be useful to us. See, there is a system called U-1013, and we have had some complications in the system. You might know the system as Blight, but if you don’t then that’s fine, because we haven’t exactly been publicizing that name.

“In any case, a colony was set up on the planet some time ago, and it has become unresponsive. We’ve just been able to acquire the rights to investigate, and we are looking for anyone that might be able to help. Seeing as we don’t know exactly what happened in the system, someone that could detect strange anomalies, such as you, would be very useful to us. The pay would be quite good, and we will give you a small up-front payment. That is, of course, if you’re interested.”

--

The Dark Blossom and her accompanying escorts came out of hyperspace in orbit around one of the planets in the Xolt system. Like all of the other planets, it was a relatively barren, rocky world, but it was high in metals. The view was of a brown nebula, and the brown seemed to permeate into the ship like sand into skin.

“Check,” Drakershra said.

“All good,” Obarskyr, one of Drakershra’s two companions, said. Officer wouldn’t be the right word for Obarskyr or Verasor, as Xorians didn’t really have a formal ranking system, per say, and the relationship between Obarskyr, Verasor and Drakershra was fairly casual.

“Right then. All of you, get yourselves in gear, because we’ve got guests coming and we don’t want it to look like the worker caste spends all their time slacking off,” Drakershra said. The Xorians in the bridge scuttled away, their claws clicking on the metal floor. The bridge was lavishly decorated, with most of the chairs being covered in leather, and various trophies that Drakershra had accumulated adorning the walls.

“Hey Drakershra, the ICS Ranseur has just come out of hyperspace,” Verasor said, not even moments after Drakershra issued his order. Drakershra slid out of the chair and landed on the floor, all four legs touching the ground. His white eyes flashed.

“Excellent. Kaalik certainly knows what he is doing. Have him meet me on the surface of the planet.”

--

Xolt’s fifth planet was a highly industrialized world, criss-crossed with factories that were visible even from orbit. The Xorians were making good work of the planet, and despite the volume of industrialization, the planet was still plentiful with resources. The sky was filled with thick, dark brown and red clouds as the Xorian corvette flew through the clouds. It settled to a hover right above a landing pad, and eased down, four leg-like landing supports sprouting from the hull. Within moments a ramp produced itself from the ship. Drakershra scuttled out, followed by Kaalik.

“Mind the gap,” he said as they crossed a narrow bridge. It was secured with railings, but Kaalik could not help but look over the side, down into the gaping maw of a canyon, the bottom obscured by dark. “You’ll scream for hours before you hit the bottom of that one.”

There was a rather large bar attached to the factory complex they had landed near, which was filled to the brim with Xorian raiders and workers both. While the workers were often pushed around by the raiders, both sides seemed to be enjoying themselves, proving that in at least one place, Xorians could get over their rigid caste system for fifteen minutes or more at a time. The whole room died a little bit in volume when Drakershra entered, but upon realizing that he didn’t want anything to do with them, they started chattering again. Kaalik received some looks of contempt, but he brushed them off. He had faith that Drakershra could keep them in line.

“Two stardusts,” Drakershra said. The bartender grunted and scuttled away to fill their beverages. Drakershra turned to face Kaalik on his stool, which was at least as tall as he was long.

“This is Xolt, then,” Kaalik said.

“Most of the planets in the system look something like this, so yeah, this is Xolt,” Drakershra said.

“I guess I couldn’t have expected any more,” the Zorga said.

“Oh, no. Not even Xoria is a jewel. We Xorians don’t possess any planets that we could call luxurious. They’re all rocky and metallic, more or less. This one just happens to be a bit more barren.”

Kaalik nodded. Two mugs filled to the brim with something that could probably be called an alcoholic beverage were placed on the counter. Drakershra took his in both claws and took a sip. Kaalik likewise took a gulp. It was coarse and grainy, like sandy water.

“We’ve come here to pick up supplies and rendezvous with another carrier, the Looming Threat. I’ve also got some presents for you, as a show of goodwill for your willingness to cooperate,” Drakershra said.

“Really. What kind of presents?”

“A wing of seven fighters, for carrying aboard the ICS Ranseur.”

Kaalik took another gulp. “What kind of fighters? Certainly not Xorian fighters.”

“Oh, no.” Drakershra fiddled with a small screw that had been lying on the counter. “These are Zorgana’s finest, brand-fucking-new and straight out of the shipyards of the Jraghi dust fields.”

“You mean Black Flames.”

“Yeah, those. Even though Zorgana claims not to have any true affiliations with us, we do have some favors to pull with them. You should be happy that I’ve used one of them on you.”

“I’m truly ecstatic.”

“You don’t look it, but then, I don’t know how to read Zorga faces.”

“I suppose we’ll have these fighters loaded up into the Ranseur shortly, then.”

“Yeah. We’ll be ready to leave in around two hours.”

“Excellent. I want to see what Blight’s true face is.”
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T'kran was honestly embarressed to be associating himself with these roughnecks. Their equipment was what could only be called archaic by modern standards, and the attitude of most of Cottonmouth's crew was unpleasant at best. T'kran suffered Ravage and Scragg simply because he knew that they wouldn't last five seconds if they really angered him.

Hell, if he wanted to he could probably kill everyone on board.

But whether they jeered at him or not, they had accepted him on board, and he was more than happy to pull his weight.

"If you're half as good with a blade as you are with that mop, you may find a place here yet!" was what Ravage had said to him.

You have no idea, little man...

Pausing to see what all the commotion was about, his expression soured when Scragg entered the cargo bay. "A raid? Huh, about time. I was beginning to wonder if you boys were Pirates or not." He'd nod however. Furrowing his brow, his charcoal black exoskeleton would bulk out and take a metallic hue, a number of glowing red slits forming in it's surface.

His armoursuit. A helmet would partially form from the armour's collar area, covering his mouth and leaving his eyes and upper head exposed. Upon his right forearm an arm cannon formed, the same black and red hue as the rest of the gear.

Casting the mop into the corner of the room with an annoyed grunt, he hurried towards the docking bay, performing a quick diagnostic as he went. Everything was in working order, but the suit felt oddly calm to him. Normally his ship's data core would be constantly transferring data to and from the suit, but his ship no longer existed. Well, it had either been the auto-destruct, or classified (albeit stolen) Pirate technology making it onto the black market. The last thing the galaxy needed was thieves with cloaking units, after all.

Reaching the docking bay, he almost deflated with exasperation. "An escape pod? You dragged the entire crew down here for an escape pod?" On top of that, he had to stop himself bursting out laughing. Of all things, Cottonmouth was using a sawed-off shotgun. Even an emergency stun pistol could do more damage to an armoured target than one of those.

But still, he was interested in Cottonmouth's little catch. At least it was better than mopping floors.

"A battle for supremacy against many foes is a battle of the best kind. There are few considerations, only those concerning where to place your next shot. It is war in its purest form." - Commander Karziel, Ultramarines 5th Company

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