Sever Tomorrow: The Barrens

[Xiscapia]

Music to Mood By - New Authority Volunteers

We want to be the new authority
You’ll be statistics
As we watch you scream

Though the city of Hivan lights up in the distance, dominating the northern skyline, all that can be heard here is the mournful whistling of the wind. These are the Barrens, a cold desert wasteland that surrounds the capital and encompasses the entire lunar surface. In some places there is nothing but dead dirt, naked rock and iron sky, all of which fuse together into a haze until it's impossible to tell where the land ends and the air begins, obliterating the horizon. Rocky outcroppings, small mountains and ridged hills dot the Barrens, and it is further cratered by the impacts of crashed ships, dumped cargo and space wreckage, while other areas feature nothing but plains of hard ground. Almost nothing grows here, any trees one might see area long dead, blackened and twisted by the fires of colonization; what survives amounts to little more than moss and fungi hidden under rocks and in crevices, almost all of it poisonous.

Rainfall happens only a few times a year on New Rastha, mostly in immediate area of Hivan. This makes water, surface or otherwise, is extremely rare in the Barrens, and thus quite valuable. A few known cold lakes exist in remote locations, as well as aquifers buried deep beneath the surface. Battles have been known to break out between any given faction over water, which are just as fierce as fights for mining sites, defensible territory or abandoned compounds. Most water sources are controlled by bandits or terrorist cells, who use the resource to recruit and keep members who would otherwise die in the parched badlands.

Despite the lack of rainfall, New Rastha is almost always overcast, separated from the stars by a thick gray pall of clouds. These make the moon dim during the daytime and all but pitch black at night, and ensure that attempting to grow most kinds of flora naturally is a lost cause. The clouds also contribute to the relatively low temperatures on the satellite; they never break 50 F (10 C), and have been known to fall as low as 0 F (-18 C) in some places. In the winter it has been known to hail instead of raining. Winds are almost constant, though not usually quick except on occasions when they pick up enough to create dust storms.

Animal life is almost non-existent on New Rastha; natural animals, extinct. What has replaced them are a variety of mutant and aberrant beasts, most of which lurk in subterranean dens, rocky shelters or abandoned buildings during the day and come out at night to feed. Most of these are mammals, though insects, avians and certain types of reptiles have also been reported. These come from creatures that have been infected by toxic sludge, bombarded by radiation, subjected to corporate experiments or brought from other worlds. All of these monsters indiscriminately attack parties moving through the wastes, as they seem to have developed a disturbing taste for sapient flesh; the only people known to be able to control them are members of the Verdant Soldiers.

The main sites in the Barrens are the many and various corporate facilities that have been set up by the major companies that do business on New Rastha. These range from mining stations to factories to laboratory complexes to mercenary compounds, which are universally guarded by troops hired from one of the PMCs, independent mercenaries or automated defenses. Many sites have a combination of these. Such are necessary to protect assets, mainly from the competition but also from the bandits, terrorists and beasts that inhabit the Barrens. This means that every installation is a fortress, because the Barrens are, simply, a warzone.

A large highway connects the capital Hivan to the first major corporate site established in the Barrens, which is the Triad Consortium's headquarters on New Rastha. Some paved extensions have been made to other compounds, while others rely on dirt roads, and some have no such conduits at all, depending on how often and vital trade is. Convoys, caravans and patrols of all kinds can be found on these paths, which means skirmishes happen frequently on the thruways. The Patriarchy only protects the main road in the immediate area around Hivan, meaning that anything that goes beyond its reach is fair game for whoever lurks on these routes. Air travel is somewhat safer, but many corporate facilities have a standing policy to fire upon anything that isn't their own or cleared with them ahead of time that passes within range, and most have the firepower necessary to bring down aerial attackers. The only faction safe from this is the Patriarchy, but its gunships and transports are a rare sight in the Barrens.

Also scattered throughout the wastes, off the main roads where they exist and out in the wilderness, are a variety of nonaligned threats. These include bandit strongholds, camps for terrorist groups, dens of mutants, criminal hideouts and rogue drones. Lost corporate facilities sometimes act as homes for these when they were abandoned by or taken from their builders, but are potential treasure troves of lost technology and information if would-be scavengers and salvage teams can brave their dangers to search such ruins. Other points of interest include crashed starships, caverns, junkyards and the remains of past expeditions that didn't make it. Of course, the corporations that control their own fiefdoms in the Barrens are interested in these things too, so competition to explore and excavate areas of interest can be fierce.

The Barrens can make or break anyone. Even journeying to a corporate headquarters can be an adventure in itself, and most of what they are interested in -territory, resources, technology and their own rivals- can be found there. Making it through the frigid desert for the first time is something of a rite of passage in itself, and the same can be said for those interests that want to set themselves up in it. So prepare well, but travel with caution.
You never know what you might find out there.

We’re going to make the world a better place
We’re going to burn a smile into your face

[Alversia]

Orbit above the Barrens, New Rastha

High above the Barrens, in the cold and empty depths of the cosmos, space itself seemed to ripple and distort. It was though it was being sucked into some unseen vacuum, drawing off the very galaxy itself to fuel it's impending climax. Though the science that could cause such impossibilities was impressive, the apex of civilisation and one which many species still dreamt of achieving, the fact that it was greeted with such casual indifference said much for the attitudes of those who had chosen to travel the inky blackness and claim it as their own.

The distortion appeared only for a second, unaware that it had no audience, before a ship was spat into this realm of existence. The vessel was two kilometres in length, a behemoth of the stars, a great bulk freighter that glided lazily towards her target. The ship was not what one would ever call elegant; it was a horrible mixture of ugly right angles and long straight lines that leant it a stiff and awkward posture. Her keel tapered slightly towards the rear, where four great engines silently heaved their charge towards the planet. Along each surface there appeared rows of turrets; quad-mounted or dual-mounted, some large many small, indeed to the point where one could be forgiven for thinking that the ship was not a merchant vessel at all but some sort of Q-ship, a vessel disguised as a merchant vessel to lure in unsuspecting pirates or raiders, only to find to their cost too late that they fallen into the lair of the beast and were summarily devoured.

Of course, the Authorities of New Rastha would not be taken in by such a guise. They would not be fooled by the armour which had been fitted across her hull, the silver paint brightly reflecting from the system's star. The ship was a familiar sight to any and, indeed, all who traded or had ever traded with the Alversian People's Republic, for the vessel was a Philosopher-Class Freighter. The Class was the oldest still in Alversian service and yet, despite outliving her designers by at least a century, she was still the most common type across the Republic, both Alversian and, indeed, the Setulan Republic, where they had been put to good use by the merchants there. When she had been launched, she had been a revelation; fast, heavily armed and armoured, there was none that could touch her. Convoys plied the galactic trade routes like great migrating herds, impregnable, indomitable.

Sadly, much had changed since their birth and the Philosopher's found themselves in a world that had far outstripped them. They had gone from being the fastest vessel in the fleet to the slowest, they were no longer the heaviest armoured, nor did they carry the most cargo and the reputation they had once held of being invulnerable had long since evaporated. They were relics of a bygone era, a legacy of a different time with different priorities and different dreams.

Standing and looking out across the never-ending sea of stars, Eseri Nylera Vos thought the ship in which she stood had shared a common fate with her people. The Alumina had spent a millennium existing for one purpose and that was to survive. They had sacrificed everything; their civil liberties, their empire, their economy and generation after generation for that aim. When the hordes of invaders had appeared on their doorstep, they had slammed it shut in their faces and held it shut with the blood of countless billions. Now though, the galaxy had changed. The old enemy decisively defeated, the freedom built on the blood of so many children willingly surrendered to the Republic and now Eseri Vos, hero of a thousand battles, found herself out of a job.

Or rather she had, until a few weeks ago. She had not been alone, tens of millions of her kin, raised solely for the purpose of war now found their battle had been won. A new career beckoned, though a majority seemed to make the choice between researcher in some massive company, stripper or prostitute. Vos was a proud warrior, she had spent too long on the front to ever consider settling down into anything but soldiering.

That was why, although New Rastha was as far away from Alumi as she had ever been, it felt like she was coming home.

“Leppi, we have entered upper orbit of New Rastha. What are your orders?” The words echoed in her mind, a voice that was not her own. The feline gazed once more at the stars before she turned back into her office. It was a spartan room, consisting of just a metal desk and chair, a single terminal and a storage shelf. The only luxury was a large and expensive communications device in the corner, which allowed instantaneous interaction with virtually any corner of the galaxy.

Standing in the centre of the room, dressed in the revealing black skin-tight cat-suit with the emblem of Valoria's Security Shield Mercenary Company, was another Alumina. She was much younger than Vos, with short black hair and creamy fur. She was standing to perfect attention, hands behind her back, tail flicking and a serious expression dancing across her fair features.

She had not spoken and yet Vos had heard the statement as clear as if she had spoken the words herself. Sapphire tail flicking and a frown crossing her features,

“I will send a communication to the surface, we will need to work with the native forces as long as we can. Begin preparations for Operation Vesser. Wait for my signal before launching.” The younger Mercenary saluted, hand across her chest, before she spun neatly through 180 and marched from the room. Vos watched her go thoughtfully, thinking that for one so young, Onlemnas Ayle Nesa Val was certainly driven. It was rare to find one who had endured so much so young and come out the other end as such a fine Officer. The Alversian military had lost a valuable asset in her but no matter, their loss was the VSS' gain.

Settling behind her cold, hard desk on her rigid and unwelcoming chair, Vos quickly tapped out a message on the console and dispatched it to the bridge. It was a short message, simple in it's language and it's intentions. It was much how she hoped the Company would conduct itself once it reached the surface.

New Rastha Authorities, this is Commander Eseri Nylera Vos of Valoria's Shield Security PMC vessel Nayatem requesting permission to establish synchronised orbit and launch probes into the Barrens as part of operations.

Once permission was given, she could be patient. She could sit back and wait days, weeks or even months until the right opportunity arose. She had been given time by her superiors, for they understood that some things could not be rushed and this one. Move too soon or too recklessly and their chance may be gone. She had to get this right, for the sake of the females under her command as much as anyone.

It was just like old times.

[Xiscapia]

After the initial usual scans and a brief boarding for inspection the Nayatem was granted permission to fall into synchronised orbit and launch her probes, with the strict warning that use of the ship's weaponry outside of self-defense without the clearance of orbital control would not be tolerated, particularly with regard to the bombardment of the surface. New Rastha in general was already enough of a wasteland without being bombed from orbit, and allowing it would have destroyed the competition between the companies that the Patriarchy relied on to fuel its economy. Otherwise the vessel was left to its own, taking a conspicuous place among the stations and other ships already present. The craft was given a healthy berth by passing freighters and transports, as it was one of the largest and potentially most heavily armed, even among the government craft. It did however receive a brief welcome message from the Xiscapian garrison nearby in a nod to its origins.

When the drones were launched they moved through orbit and into the upper atmosphere without incident. However, if they strayed too near established corporate holdings they would find themselves subjected to scans followed by AA fire of numerous types, most of it accurate and heavy enough to annihilate a given unit; no matter their allegiance and alignment, none of the inhabitants of the corporate anarchy liked surveillance units coming too close. Given the clear presence of such facilities they would be easy to avoid though, and as such could land in the frozen desert unimpeded. If they fell or moved too close to a convoy or road checkpoint they would again be fired upon, but with some careful work by their remote operators they could avoid this fate. So they began their travels across the Barrens.

The VSS would find examples of what they were looking for in three separate locations. The first was in a remote hilly area far from other holdings, a collection of five rundown buildings encased in a small holed perimeter fence with a decaying and broken paved road leading up to it, a peeling and faded sign out front proclaiming it to be a GeneInc facility, now obviously no longer in operation. According to the initial scan there were no obvious life signs or energy signatures within, though there did appear to be some subterranean areas underneath that were not immediately accessible. There didn't seem to be any signs of significant damage to the structures, violent or otherwise, and as such they only looked to be badly in need of maintenance. The lots outside were free of debris and presented a clear approach into the compound.

Next, in an open area with a view for kilometers, was a walled complex with no roads that had two large buildings inside of it. Unlike the first, there were signs of weapons damage on the walls and structures, pockmarked from bullet and shell impacts with some of the walls crumbling and rimmed with scorch marks where it appeared explosives had been deployed against them; the entire area appeared to be lightly irradiated. Several burned out husks of vehicles, including a fragmented shuttle were evident outside and within, though no bodies were visible and it could be surmised that the battle that happened here occurred some time ago. A sagging watchtower, and its twin where it lay crumpled on the ground as well as indentations at the tops of the walls and broken turrets told that this had once been an armed base of some kind, as did the landing pad atop one of the buildings. There was no indication of which factions had fought here, as it seemed identifying insignia and logos had been stripped or burned off.

Last, closest to the capital Hivan with a mostly intact dirt road leading up to it, was mostly obscured because it was enclosed in a large metal dome in a shallow pit, though holes in its surface offered glimpses within. From what the probes could tell with their cursory readings it held a collection of buildings, though exactly how many and what their conditions were was difficult to ascertain, as the dome seemed to resist scans. The top of the dome had a great deal of wear and tear on it and had collapsed into the facility below in some places, but a mechanical cog enclosed in a wheel could be made out as a identifying symbol, though what it meant was unclear. What quickly became apparent was that there were energy signatures under it, some of which flickered and occasionally winked out while others surged and danced, suggesting an armed conflict was happening somewhere out of visual range.

[Xenohumanity]

Music to Mood By – Weapons of Mass Distortion

The grey wastes that stretched from one weathered mountain range to another were just one of a dozen hundred such expanses on in these unlovable barrens of an unloved moon. The dark night was frigid, easily below freezing point even without any water to freeze, and the total cloud cover took away any moonlight or starlight to offer those on the surface anything to dream for or think of. Here in this particular desert, though, sat a great dent of a crater, covered by a thin layer of sand over heat-hungry bedrock, with a dirt road that showed signs of former width and use quickly blowing away into nothing.

The remnants of a quarry could be seen from a great deal away: rotting, rusting pieces of equipment, well-cut square anglings and blocks of stone lying about unshipped, shadowy imprints in the pat-down soil that bear disturbing resemblance to the skeletons of what may have been workers, and even some sections of the original border gate above the lip of this crater remained. The mummified remains of a failed business enterprise brought down by the unnatural wildlife of this place had gone untouched for years now, an exhausted resource more easily found on other worlds. The road had been left unkempt and unaided, now just a fossil of a two-hundred-mile-long by-lane off of the Triad’s primary boulevard. There was nothing here for anybody seeking material wealth or excavation. Wealth is not the concern of lesser beings, however; it was well known by the local raiders that ‘Hell’s Door’ was occupied by more than enough giant pseudo-scorpions and scaly carnivorous ‘monkey-dogs‘ to make it impassible by all but military forces.

If one were situated on the lip of the kilometer-wide crater, watching the sky for no good reason, one would have been able to make out what appeared to be a small orange flickering in the clouds. Your attention so caught, it would appear that it was coming down through the cloud layering with harsh speed, keeping to a tight arc to avoid getting any corporate neighbors or scouts unduly riled up. A few other specks of bright white would be seen coming through as well just as the main orange blot broke through the underbelly of the clouds and revealed itself to be a… no way.

No way, no fucking way that can fly, New Rastha’s 0.96 G be damned.

The colossal rectangular fame of a FireBase pushed through the clouds, its heat-shielding glowing hot and its leg-thrusters roaring. Point-defense cannons began extending, nasty-looking xaser cannons with all manner of gallows-humor graffiti on the barrels, and massive search-lights rose up from flush on the roof on all sides and corners. As it continued its descent, it was quickly followed by easily a dozen troop-landers, cargo shuttles, and Corp-Sec gunships coming in on the thermal their massive command module had trailed behind it.

“Escort team, this is FB 1, confirming operation.”
“Gunnery 1 and 2 reporting in.”
“Haulers 1 through 6 are go.”
“Landers 1 to 4 clear.”
“Escort, this is FB 1, glad to hear it. Preparing to illuminate, Gunnery 1 and 2, move to engage foot-mobiles on opportunity.”

The FireBase’s search-lights slammed to life, drenching the quarry with searing white light. The ruins of the excavation were now a ghastly black-and-white in the contrast, and the wildlife wisely screeched and fled for cover, blinded and terrified for one of the few times in their lives.

“Escort, this is FB 1, confirming foot-mobiles. Gunnery 1, 2, open fire on designated structures, we’ll provide some heavy support. The rest of you, hang tight.”
“Roger FB, Gunnery preparing sweep.”
“Landers heading in.”
“FB 1, preparing sonic decoy.

If the intelligence reports were good, the scorpions used some sort of weird sonar to hunt, and so the riot-amps on the FireBase quickly began belching quite a large volume of high-frequency noise. The two gunships began patrolling the area, infrared and radar quickly finding small packs of monkey-dogs and blowing them to gory smithereens with a few well-placed bolts from across the crater. Creatures quickly began running around panicked, only bringing on themselves more trouble as the FireBase’s point-defense began turning them into smouldering shadows with high-energy weaponry. The shambling six-armed monkey-dogs screeched and ran about the abandoned infrastructure, torn off one by one with bolts and beams, and the bus-sized scorpions began literally piling up in the center of the compound, drawn by the FB’s vibrations and cooked from the inside out with beam-fire.

The reports of true infestation seemed invalid at first, but as the minutes ticked into the double-digits, the pilots sighed and rolled their eyes as they continued their purgation. This was ammo on the budget, and the sooner they could stop firing the better. After a point, the piles of corpses were changed to targets themselves as it seemed the m-dogs started hiding in them, as well as inside the husks of the scorpions. However, after quite a decent while, the floor of the crater was caked in dried, xaser-dehydrated critter-goop, most of the existing buildings were reduced to slag-heaps and shrapnel, and the handful of hive tunnels that had been found in the walls shut and sealed with rocket blasts.

“FB reporting target neutralization. Gunnery?”
“Same here. Only took like, what, fucking 45 minutes. Neighbors are going to be mighty mad.”
“God damned fauna. Still, it was fun. Good for your resume!”
“A’ight, FB, Gunnery awaiting orders while the barrels cool.”
“Cool. Gunnery, land and refuel. You’ll be sweeping perimeter in the morning. ANYWHO, Landers and Haulers head in and park near the edges of the interior. Get your people unpacked and we can start setting up shop. FB will be landing, so stay clear of the center until the piledrivers are in and we give the eh-okay.”
“Roger roger, Haulers heading in.”
“Landers following.”

The vehicles revved up and moved to their assigned locations, with the landers touching down with a ‘crunch’ and the haulers with a ‘slamch’ on the crust of ex-fauna near the lip of the crater. The FB itself lowered itself slowly, slowly into the crater, well aware of the changing aerodynamics of being in something so tight. After a few minutes of vernier-jet adjustment and double-checking nobody was standing under it, the base finally shut down its leg-thrusters and touched down, bending its cybernetic knees and soaking some staggering forces with ease.

Already, Wyrm Defense Corpsmen and various engineers and well-armed corporate officers were stepping out of the vehicles, shaking their heads and laughing at the wreckage of the quarry gear; ‘out with the old, in with the new’ always got violent with X-Tech, it seemed. Combat androids were helping the cargo haulers get out additional supplies and get the spare water tanks out and secured as a priority, the machine-men ignoring the garish white light that narrowed as the FireBase itself touched down and began pile-driving four massive duro-steel columns into the hard bedrock in lieu of a proper foundation.

“FB 1 confirming lock-down. Alright, people, I’m opening the doors. You all got time to nap earlier, so set up shop and you might be able to sleep in tomorrow morning. Welcome to Fortress Vypal, ladies and gents.”

With that, the night’s labor of setting up laser fences, double-checking defense systems, getting sub-structures and FireBase Modules unpacked and built, and doing a better job of mapping the area began. About 8 hours or so of labor should do the job, and until then, the operation plugs and chugs away, feeling far more routine than most of the Wyrms had expected…

[Alversia]

Nayatem, New Rasthan Orbit

After the message had been dispatched to Orbital Control it was a short wait before they received their reply. Permission was given for the ship to go into orbit but, before that, they would be subjected to a scan and a search from Naval Officials. Though the Captain did not like the idea of having unwelcome crew aboard her ship she did recognise that it was a necessary evil. When they had departed from Alumi, her orders had been explicit and left no room for interpretation. She was to co-operate with the authorities unless it proved highly detrimental to their operations.

“Are you sure you want them aboard Leppi?” Val asked, emphasising the seriousness of her words by speaking aloud, rather than using the telepathic link that all Alumina shared. “We are a military vessel, we have hardware and equipment aboard that we should not expose. It is a security compromise!”

“It is a necessity.” Vos replied, keeping her voice level but stern. She could sense the emotions swirling through her younger Comrade, though she did her utmost to keep them hidden. “We need the assistance of the local authorities to proceed with the operation. At the very least, we need their indifference towards our operations. We are not a military ship, not truly. We are a commercial vessel carrying military hardware and are subject to the rules and regulations of all such vessels. They will come aboard and they will carry out their search. If it annoys you so, then I am sure they would not mind guides to help them through the vessel.”

Val nodded, the flicking of her tail betraying her unhappiness but, at the same time, she submitted to the judgement of her superior. With a neat turn, she was gone. When the local Officials stepped aboard the vessel, they would find a pair of Alumina standing in wait for them. They were not armoured, dressed only in a tight catsuit and unarmed. Nevertheless, they acted as shadows for the customs officials, following them all over the ship as they carried out their search, huntress' eyes burning constantly into their backs, haunting their every step. Despite this rather malevolent presence, they were never anything less than polite and helpful at every step, even as they politely and helpfully ushered their guests back to their ship, having been given the green light.

Vos had not met the Officials but she had watched their progress on the sensors and internal cameras. They were technically not carrying anything illegal nor anything out of the ordinary but there was always the fear of something unexpected happening, something that could not have been foreseen. Fortunately, the inspection had passed off without incident and so she was able to turn her attention back to the matter at hand, the launching of drones towards the surface.

Turning off her screen with a flick of her wrist, Vos checked her belt, ensuring that the sleek pistol was still in place and her blade was still secured by her side. Satisfied, she departed her office and headed for the Command centre of the ship. As she stalked the cold corridors of the Nayatem; frigid and dark, cool and unwelcoming. It was entirely silent despite the felines that passed in ones or twos, offering her a snappy salute and standing aside to leave her path unobstructed. The journey to the Command Centre took little time and the double doors hissed open to admit her, flanked by a pair of guards wearing full combat armour and sporting rifles, they did not salute to attention as she passed, nor did she expect them to. It was not an Aluminan custom.

The Command Centre was a long, narrow room that sat in obscured in darkness. The only light came from the multiple rows of consoles that stretched the length of the room, their white and blue auras casting their operator's furry visages into spectral shadows. Their eyes gaunt and hollow as they scanned the data flicking across their monitors. These were accompanied by 3D displays, showing spinning machinery and maps of the surface. Despite the large presence in the room, it was eerily silent with not even the beep of monitors penetrating the repressive atmosphere.

Vos took up position beside Val, who was standing in front of a group of Operators operating 3D interfaces. Their faces were etched in concentration, Val's own expression mirroring their own. She made no motion as her superior stood at her shoulder, no acknowledgement of her presence. Vos did not seem to notice. Instead she concentrated on finding the mind of the young feline, skilfully blocking out the dozens of voices that echoed silently across the space.

”Time to probe launch?”

The voice of her subordinate echoed in her own mind,
”Already away. Estimated time to destination is thirteen seconds.”

So they watched as more than two dozen probes descended to the surface and began their survey of the Barrens. To Vos' eyes, it appeared a godless place, as harsh and unforgiving as any landscape she had ever seen. By the same measure, she could appreciate why it made a good place for a company to establish themselves. There was plenty of space, making each facility quite remote and there was very little chance of being surprised by anything, provided one took the proper precautions.

Of the twenty four drones launched, three were lost to ground fire. Their loss was not mourned, for they provided valuable intelligence in the seconds before their destruction as to the composition and strength of the defences. The positions were marked on the central map as hot zones not to be approached again.

As the scans continued however, three probable locations emerged. They were remote ruins, the remains of some long abandoned corporate holdings that now presented an opportunity for the VSS. The Drones were not equipped for more detailed scans however, so it was necessary to took a closer look.

“Launch the Scuttlers.” She commanded, tapping an Operative on the shoulder. The Operative did not move, save for one hand that flicked over the console in front of her. Within seconds, three canisters were screaming towards the Barrens, their noses glowing red hot as they withstood the terrible strain of atmosphere. They landed with heavy thumps into the ground, the noise echoing for hundreds of miles in all directions, sounding at a distance more like a percussive tremor through the ground. Each cannister opened to eject dozens of small robots.

They were crab like in appearance, no more than five or six inches in diameter and a half inch off the ground yet containing dozens of sensors of every sort, coloured in a jet black that made them all but invisible to the naked eye. They spread out in all directions, silently scuttling their way across the terrain. Already they were sending back information, not only on the surface composition but also details of what was ten or twenty feet directly below them, any heat signatures they could detect within a mile, any form of life that existed within a mile, any form of power sources or technology within the same radius. They were programmed to explore every nook and cranny, every hole they encountered would be mapped, every crevice thoroughly examined. Their only weapons were small stun bursts that could be emitted every couple of seconds and contained the power to disable anything of average human size or average human weight.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles above them, Vos watched as her little bugs filled in the map, giving her as detailed a picture as any Native Cartographer. It would not be long before she had the information she required.

[Xiscapia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility...

Though it would take the Scuttlers some time to traverse the hills they had landed in, during which several would inevitably fall down crevasses and be lost, the majority would eventually make it to the edge of their destination without real difficulty. According to scans the fence that surrounded the compound had once been powered, either with electricity or maybe with some kind of force field, but whatever had once provided that protection was no longer active, allowing them to climb over or go through the main gate. This close they would be able to tell what the five buildings were; a moderately sized combined garage and light transport yard to the extreme north, a large two-story barracks and living quarters longhouse in the west, a small, low scanner station bristling with dishes and antennae like a squatting metal insect on the southwest corner closest to the entrance, a boxy power plant on the southern edge near it and the main four-story structure in the center, presumably offices. No energy signatures or signs of operating technology were evident, though once they got up against the middle building they would be able to tell that it had the underground areas the probes had originally detected. So they spread out towards the five buildings, intent on exploration.

The garage and port would be easily accessible, as the front personnel door was slightly ajar. Inside the space was expansive and mostly empty, one catwalk extended across the top over a bare and dusty floor stained with small burns and black spots where coolant had dripped down, broken only by a handful of crates with rotted food and miscellaneous spare vehicle parts, several of which appeared to have been opened and rifled through at some time in the past. A few offices and break rooms were present at the back, housing a few old tables and chairs, but they had been similarly cleared of anything useful or valuable, leaving nothing but spare desks pushed against the walls and the odd, unused filing cabinet. There didn't seem to be anything of interest in this building. Claws clicking on the concrete, the Scuttlers moved on.

Next came the dorm and quarters, which was also easy to find their way into, the doors were locked and windows shut but there were enough small holes and shafts they could find to allow them entrance. First floor consisted of a cafeteria, dark and with folded tables stacked against the walls with the trays on the counters full of dust and most of the cooking appliances behind them removed, what looked like a carpeted recreational lounge with nothing in it but a single threadbare sofa, a few empty bathrooms with toilets, sinks and showers bone-dry, a couple of storage rooms with empty racks and a clinic identifiable by the sign that still hung on the door, with only cabinets and a few beds left to be searched, all devoid of anything but tongue depressors and thin sheets. Upstairs was all bunks and personal living areas, in which the robots would find a Rasthan sitting slumped on a chair, dressed in ragged clothes with shoes that had the soles almost completely worn through. He was quite dead, muzzle against his chest, an open pack beside him with some decayed food and bits of metal in it, suggesting he had been the one looking through the boxes in the motor pool, and quite well preserved, with no marks or real signs of decomposition on him. Otherwise, the quarters in their entirety looked like they would service about fifty people, though the average Alumina might have some difficulty trying to use some of the facilities, sized for smaller humans as they were.

Across the way, the power plant had several vents on its roof that the Scuttlers could go through, finding their way into the middle of the station first. Whatever had been the core to provide power looked like it had been completely removed, through its metal and glass enclosure was still there with windowed control rooms overlooking it. Elsewhere through the pitch black halls and corridors were intact electrical generators that scans indicated were inactive but could be refitted to be serviceable again, provided they had a power source to connect to. Other than these central areas the plant was laid out simply, with the usual assortment of a few small offices, a security station, a break room primarily for the storing and preparation of food, all abandoned and deserted like the other parts of the complex. There were very few windows, and those that existed were melted and warped from age, making it difficult to see out or in and providing very little of New Rastha's already limited amount of light.

Nearby the sensor station appeared to have only one entrance, the front door, which would need to be pried open, though a combination of use of the stunners on the lock and the utilization of enough of the Scuttlers working together would pop it open. There they encountered their first real obstacle in the hall beyond, where the walls sagged alarmingly, making climbing impossible around a pit of a foul, stagnant pool in the middle of the corridor, extending most of its length. Its composition was unknown, but entering it would immediately melt the drone that tried to cross it, dissolving the metal parts into itself, suggesting that it was acidic. Once they were at least that far inside however the crab-like probes would pick up an energy signature from inside the station consistent with operating electronics, though they wouldn't be able to tell what exactly was making it. If they wanted to find out they would have to devise a way across first.

The last, largest building would prove troublesome. All of its doors were locked, and some of them, including the main entrance and loading hatches, were quite heavy and electronically sealed, though inert so they could not be hacked. The windows were reinforced and none of them seemed like they even opened or could be broken by the weapons at the disposal of the Scuttlers. Where before they could find their way in via vents, air shafts, holes in the walls and other small spaces, on the main office all of these were shut or entirely nonexistent. Furthermore, though their scanners told them there were rooms below, when they tried to penetrate into the building itself they were defeated by some kind of passive shield, likely due to the composition of some of the building's armor, which blocked their efforts, stymieing attempts to see or enter without further assistance.

Unknown Fortress...

When the Scuttlers hit the surface and started to fan out they wouldn't know they were in danger until it was too late. Near their landing site but still outside the compound the ground shifted below them and burst upward in detonations of dirt and shrapnel, shredding clumps of drones as they found themselves deploying right on top of a minefield. With the bombs immediately around them cleared they would be able to tell where the others were under them and avoid them, but their numbers had been thinned and their landing, combined with the explosions was drawing other attention. Energy signatures twisted and moved inside the fortress, and visible figures started to appear inside, running up onto the intact parts of the outer walls and the roofs and windows of the buildings, shapes in their hands indicating weapons. Without any hesitation they opened fire.

It mostly seemed to be gunfire, though the occasional energy blast joined the mix as the men, women and aliens started shooting at the Scuttlers, kicking up dirt or melting it into glass around them. They were not particularly accurate, but what they lacked in precision they made up for in sheer volume, with about twenty of them blasting away at the wave of robots that were scrambling around the site of their carrier missile. Though it would be hard to tell details from range, none of them seemed to be dressed in uniforms or standardized suits, instead wearing grubby cloth, leather, mismatched bits of body and power armor or all three, wielding conventional weapons ranging from small pistols to light machine guns. In that regard they were indistinguishable from most of the mercenaries that prowled Hivan, but the presence of the same dark ink tattoos, stitches in strange and painful-looking patterns and numerous scars suggested that this lot was not working for anyone but themselves. So a cacophony of chattering automatic weapons, the crack of higher-caliber rifles and the shriek of laser rifles and plasma discharge filled the air as the fortress's denizens defended their home from the strange little droids that had fallen out of the sky.

Unknown Dome Installation...

Even close up the all-encompassing dome continued to block scans, this time from the Scuttlers, denying them any information about what was inside. If they had audio sensors they would be able to "hear" the gunshots, howl of energy weapons and the occasional explosions from inside, as even the material the dome was made of couldn't keep that from leaking out. At least one of them would be able to notice tire tracks in the dirt leading through the one of the larger holes, disappearing under the dome, appearing to have originated from elsewhere in the Barrens. Up close they would find that the outlying structure was some thirty meters tall, with smooth sides they would be unable to climb, though various holes and doorways near the base provided plenty of ground-level entrances. Once inside, however, they would find themselves little better off.

There was great interference with both their scans and their attempts to relay information back up to their parent craft under the dome, though it appeared to be limited to that part and no more. They could still perceive buildings and the occasional energy signature, a person or a weapon firing, but their sweeps were by no means complete even from one to the next, missing things they had seen before and losing track of power sources they tried to lock on to. Strangely, whatever was messing with their electronics didn't seem to be a known jammer, curious because the VSS would know about most of the major types available and and used on New Rastha. What they could tell about their immediate area was that it was a very large complex, more of a small city than anything, and that at least one building was burning as at least two sides were clashing in its ruins. To know more they would have to penetrate further, which they promptly did.

A group of the Scuttlers was rounding an alley's corner when they would abruptly find that there was a life sign very close to them, just about to come upon them. A second later a Rasthan male dressed in a combination of leather and metal armor turned the corner, ears perked, tail swishing warily. His face was mostly obscured by a helmet over his head, a bandanna across his snout and aviators over his eyes, but it was still obvious that he jumped in alarm, stepping back quickly. Leveling his assault rifle, he opened fire on them, slugs pounding right through the carapaces of any that were too slow or unlucky in trying to get out of the way. Even as he shot at them he backpedaled, trying to get away.

[Alversia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility

Although a couple of Scuttlers were lost on the journey between landing zone and target, the vast majority made it without incident. They fanned out as they reached the abandoned buildings, scaling the gate with ease before dropping down the other side. A couple of thousand miles up, Vos watched as a complete map of the compound began to take shape. She recognised the outline of buildings and turned her attention to the first. Evidently it had once been a garage, judging by the set up and the black smears which were identified as coolant by her little scouts. They passed over the remainder of the building in short order, leaving no corner unchecked, even scuttling into the air vents and gaps in the walls were possible. They even climbed up and into the filing cabinets, spinning through a hundred and eighty degrees with much clicking of metal on metal and the odd bang and scrap as they traversed the tight space. Their work done to the satisfaction of the feline overlords, the Scuttlers responsible for the garage, moved on to help their fellows elsewhere.

The dormitory was the next building on the list. Its locks and windows proved no match for the determined little robots as they sliced their way in or otherwise just found a gap and slipped through. This building seemed no more remarkable than the last, although to Vos it had the appearance of having been abandoned in an orderly fashion and then looted in a decidedly less organised manner. It was only when they moved upstairs; the map extending upwards as they laboriously traversed the stairs, that they found their first point of interest. Sitting in the middle of a dorm room, surrounded on all sides by bunks, tables and chairs, was a dead Rasthan. Vos did not notice him as first, her attention focused on another group of Scuttlers, but the Operator alerted her to it with a short word. She did not seem perturbed by the body, nor did any of the others. Vos narrowed her eyes as she regarded the body. He was not long dead, judging by his condition, while the worn soles of his shoes and the loot in his bag suggested that he was a traveller of the Barrens. Vos did not like it. Without moving a muscle, she transmitted a message to the operator who, in turn, relayed it to the Scuttlers on the scene. Immediately they obeyed, crawling over the dead Rasthan, sensors switching their focus entirely to him. They were checking for signs of what might have killed him, taking swaps of DNA and even taking samples of his blood. The data appeared immediately in the Command Centre where it taken for analysis. Though they had the ability to scan blood, they did not have the capability to analyse it and so that much be done by the crew of the vessel above.

The power plant was next on the list and it was this that had been attracting Vos’ attention at first. The bones of the facility were still there but its power source was long gone. Had it been scavenged or had it been taken when the facility was abandoned. A couple of Scuttlers moved in to provide more detailed information on what might have once been placed there. Beyond that, there was nothing of interest, the curious shape of the windows perhaps reflecting how long it had been since the building was properly inhabited.

The sensor station was the most interesting yet. It was clear from the Scuttler readings that there was an active power source here, something that made Vos frown. Why was this building still online when everything else had been long abandoned? Unfortunately, the answer to her question lay beyond a pool of what seemed like acid, though it took a few casualties to figure it out. It was like a moat, as if it had been placed there specifically to prevent people from moving deeper into the complex. The Scuttlers took note of the ceiling and the walls before moving forward. One by one, they latched on to the side of the walls, magnetising themselves to provide more grip and began to cross the gap, seemingly ignorant of the fate that awaited those who fell. Once they had crossed the gap and touched once again on the ground, to the other side of the pool this time, they scuttled forward once more.

Unknown and Apparently Abandoned Fortress

The first Scuttler that landed got an unpleasant surprise as he was blown into atoms by a welcoming mine. The ones that followed behind seemed to learn from this and proceeded with much more caution, using their sensors to alert them of mines beneath the surface, which they could then avoid. Unfortunately, this caution seemed to be in vain as every Scuttler reported the flaring of energy signatures and the appearance of life signs simultaneously. Vos watched with a raised eyebrow as they opened fire as one, a mixture of weapons ranging from the modern to the positively archaic. It seemed as though they were equipped in a similar manner. The Scuttlers scattered as they detected the weapon’s fire, taking cover behind rocks, in small crevices or any other position of opportunity. All the while, they were sending back data on their attackers, locking down numbers and even the specific types of weapons that were being used.

“Send down the Drone.” Vos ordered, curious now by the sudden violence.

The flying drone that had first identified the base now swooped down, performing a flyby accompanied by a thunderous boom as the sound barrier was rent asunder by its speed. Of course, the sensors were picking valuable data the entire time, recording the interior of the fortress and the activity that it could see there.

Unknown Dome Installation

The dome posed the biggest challenge to the Scuttlers who emerged onto New Rastha’s soil. The Operators reported with some confusion that they were not picking up anything close to approaching reliable signals, that something was stopping them picking up anything but relatively minor audio and visual information. The Dome itself was impossible to climb even for the Scuttlers but, fortunately, the requirement do to this was negated by the fact that there were plenty of holes at ground level. Thus in merely went the Scuttlers.

If the Operators had thought it was outside then they were pulling their fur out as the virtual map of the map began having a seizure. Locations would appear in impossibly areas, only to be moved on the next sweep or removed entirely. The sound of gunfire was unmistakeable but beyond this, even identifying one another was a challenge in the large complex. The Operators went to work, attempting to diagnose the problem and correct it if possible. Just because they had not seen it before did not mean they could not counter its effects if they were given enough time. The Operators were highly competent programmers as well as excellent soldiers, a legacy of so much time spend hacking and defending systems from enemy attack.

Nevertheless, a small group of Scuttlers soon encountered one of the natives. He was even alive. They seemed to spend a second analysing one another, although judging from the condition of the Rasthan and the conditions of their meeting, the Scuttler’s came off better for this information. One was destroyed as he welcomed him with a spray of fire while the others scattered into cover, still attempting to identify their assailant.

It was Val’s turn to growl in frustration as first their attacker was painted as a Rasthan, then as a dog, then as missing an arm, a leg, half his torso and his head on respective scans. One of the worst even identified him as matching Silvertooth of the Xiscapian Empire and floating forty feet in the air. Upside down.

“Are you clearing the signal?” She hissed at the operators.

[Ibis Galaxy Alliance]

A Hyperspace portal opened above New Rastha, and closed seconds later. Sveral pods, each 200m long, flew out of the portal and crash landed in the Barrens. Robotic legs came out of the pods and they scurriedi towards each other. The legs retracted, and multiple joints came out of the pods and attached, linking them together.

The pods then began to transform into base buildings, with turrets and towers coming out of them. Hatches opened, and soldiers and vehicles came out, and multiple cloaking and defensive sheilds extended from generators. Grakta Volkani, Jim Vakanis third in command, stepped out. The Reapers Scythe PMC had come to New Rastha.

[Xiscapia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility...

As the Scuttlers crawled all over the Rasthan's corpse they would find his blood had congealed in his veins though his body was limp, laid back against the chair. Judging by the contents of his blood he had been infected by a number of virulent diseases which had no doubt been in the process of wearing him down at time of death, though from the DNA tests he was genetically healthy. Naturally no matches came up with anything the VSS had on file, but they were able to retrieve his biological identifying data just fine. Tentative cause of death appeared to be acute myocardial infarction, but otherwise the corpse seemed to have little to offer to them. Across the compound, in the power plant, the Scuttlers would also be able to pick up trace amounts of low-level radiation, suggesting that the generators had been run by a nuclear fusion reactor

In the sensor station the robots came to a juncture, splitting into two hallways, one going right, the other going left. On the left seemed to be a series of rooms for maintenance and storage, all work tables, parts bins and tool racks, empty and disused. The other went past several server rooms, now divested of their hardware and containing nothing but electrical sockets and large quantities of dust. The energy signal was at the very end, inside what seemed to be the main control room for the station, a board of blank terminals and faded consoles that were nevertheless online and operating, glowing faintly though with no discernible readouts. As the Scuttlers turned the corner to see into the rest of the room, their feeds jumped, filling with static snow, and abruptly cut out.

Though the drones in the room were out of contact, the ones out in the halls were still online and, though fuzzy with interference, they could make out something moving down the corridor away from them, apparently either not aware of or not caring about their presence. Detailed scans would be next to impossible to make with the interference, but as it stepped through the pool of acid it wouldn't be difficult to make out that the thing was robotic. It seemed to be the source of the interference, and had also been working on something in the bowels of the station, now abandoned as it stepped outside into the compound proper. Without a backwards glance it loped away, much too fast for any of the tiny Scuttlers to keep up, and soon entered the Barrens and dropped off the sensors altogether, vanishing from the optics of the flying probes as well. With its absence normal operation returned to the robots, leaving them free to continue their investigation of the sensor station.

In the main control room the terminals were still online, powered by a battery pack hooked up to an individual station rather than getting its supply of juice from the defunct power plant. A brief scan would tell the operators that the controls were used to manipulate the station's various arrays, collecting data about the area immediately surrounding the facility. Interfacing with the systems wouldn't yield any logs or information left behind though, it looked like it had all been extracted or wiped, leaving only the basic operating programs still waiting for their next command. Using the larger and more powerful scanners attached to the station would fail to turn up the strange being that had departed, though it would tell the operators that there was nothing approaching the facility in a ten-mile radius. Otherwise, the sensor station was as empty as the rest of the buildings.

Not-so-Abandoned Fortress...

When the probe made its pass over the fortress it naturally attracted gunfire, though given its speed and the dull reflexes of the shooters it managed to avoid the worst of it as bullets and bombs arced in the wrong direction, only a few lucky shots bouncing off the body or lodging themselves into its chassis. It seemed to alarm the people along the wall though, most of whom started to climb down, watching the sky warily until the drone could no longer perceive them except as energy signatures returning to the pair of buildings. According to its scans both of the large structures had multiple rooms and levels inside and was brimming with energy signatures, some electronic, most not. The affiliation of the shooters was difficult to ascertain, though they didn't have any kind of uniform or insignia as far as could be told. However, their hostility to the presence of the robots was evident, particularly with the next event.

Peeling out of a large open door in the building to the right, a rusty buggy tore out of the gates and out into the Barrens, heading for the site where the missile had fallen and released the Scuttlers. It screeched to a grinding halt outside the mine field, throwing up dust as a heavily dressed figure in a hood with a bandoleer strapped across their chest emerged from a hatch in the top with a light machine gun, 7.62x51 mm rounds burying themselves in dirt, ricocheting off rocks and smashing any Scuttlers that couldn't get out of the way quickly enough. From the passenger side a firing port opened and another rifle barrel extended itself, spraying bullets at the drones, trying to force them to move out into the mine field where they would be blown up. Up on the wall a few others added their fire to the mix, firing at range with bolt-action rifles, sniper rifles and other slow-firing, high-accuracy weapons, a little more precise than before. They seemed intent on simply dismantling every one of the little robots they saw.

Unknown Dome Installation...

Sadly, the skill of the operators as programmers proved irrelevant. The interference was not affecting the software of the Scuttlers, but rather throwing up a significant barrier between them and their stations so that when they forced their signals through it came back full of junk data, most of it impossible and unreal. They were able to tell that the Rasthan who had shot at them had retreated, or at least wasn't there anymore, unless the sensors were playing tricks on them again, but if he was still hanging around he wasn't shooting anymore. The hiss and chatter of weapons' fire being traded continued consistently, but the work of the Alumina was at least enough for them to pick up something from nearby. It was only message, audio with a male's voice and fragmented, but it was something.

"Attention...can hear...Carr of...Salvaging...under the old...Limited dome...klicks outside the...attack by the Sons...down two good...us aren't going to make it...emergency...promise anything, but...mate's grave...compensate...possible...hold out...Please...help..."

[North Calaveras]

The Barrens, Freighter Remains

She walked through the remains of the destroyed freighter, it was her second day on this rock and it was a terrible place to be. It was easy enough for their party to get on the ground however, a few missing corporate ships that were intercepted by the Great Leader were turned into spy ships, their crews tortured for their information. They had long since left now though, taking the survivors to Charnel and probably supplying the stolen ships to other armed groups across the galaxy in the name of the Dear Leader. Karon Blackwater had never been to Charnel, the only thing she knew of the place was that it was supposedly a place where the enemy's of the Great Leader went.

She walked onto the bridge, the only place that could be considered safe. It was dark inside with a few energy lights set up to lighten the place, but still most remain shrouded in darkness. There were six others who made this place "home". Three of these men were clones of the Great Leader, they stood silently most of the time and kept their eye out for any intruders or sat quietly and were thinking about things. Karon didn't know what they thought, but only the Great Leader needed to do their thinking for them. The others, including her, were members of the Children of Kash. They were a militant organization that had connections throughout the galaxy, dotting it and spread out, isolated at times. Most of these groups were underfunded guerrillas on many worlds. In the presence of the Great Leader they were given military hardware and even GOU standard issue equipment, though a few things were kept out of their hands. Their armor, usually white, was black now, so was the GOU's skintight armor with ballistic plating. This was to help blend into their environment.

In the far corner of the bridge there sat Duren Impase, he was a black man and wielded a Viper rail gun, a sniper weapon designed to engage targets far away and he was a good shot. He had seen two uprisings on his home world before it was taken over by the Great Leader. He joined seeing it as a way for his people to prosper and indeed the Great Leader provided this for his people. Little did he know that the Great Leader was simply using his people, as with all others, as cannon fodder, operatives, or scientists to help prevent stagnation in the Utopia. He sat their cleaning his weapon, a glint of light shined off the bolt of the weapon and sprayed his face showing off a fierce tribal tattoo on his face, a remnant of his people.

The next man was sitting at a chair drinking a canister of water, re hydrating himself from the long day they had been through. His name was Kamen Turrel, this man was once a poor boy from the slums of a world far on the outer rim of the galaxy. He had been abducted and trained by the Great Leader, a large man who wielded a Mower phased plasma machine gun. It currently sat at his feet waiting to be hefted for battle should it thirst for it. Of all the group, besides Karon, he was probably the most brainwashed by the Dear Leader. This has made him incredibly loyal but at times rash and illogical, though this is how the Great Leader wanted him. A mere pawn moved by his fingers, expendable.

Laying down, his back against a wall trying to catch some sleep was Mehn Johnson, a former mercenary who had joined the Great Leaders cause under the pretenses of his family getting a better life. This came at the cost of his services. Of those in attendance he was probably the least loyal and brainwashed, but his time spent with the group had garnered his trust enough to be worthy. He was the anti-armor support of the group, welding a Shredder pulse shotgun and a Scorpion Plasma RPG launcher. Both of which he loved the sound of going off, not to mention his enjoyment of fireworks. That probably came from his time as a mercenary during the wars with the Imitators.

Last of those in the party was herself, Karon Blackwater, daughter of Kain Blackwater and former second in command of the Great Leader. Her father long gone the Great Leader took her in his care and raised her like a loyal soldier. She was also a preacher of the Children and had a knack for inspiring others and was the most loyal of the group, though the Great Leader seemed to give her some independence. She was relatively small but very toned due to certain genetic advancements. Her weapon of choice was the Skitter, a phased plasma weapon that was small and fired in scary fast bursts, designed for CQC. She was also a skilled hacker and knew a little bit about alien technologies. If there was such a thing as heroes in the insane Great Leaders Utopia she would be it. A slave of the Dear Leader and a cunning women who knew how to get things done. It was she who had just walked onto the dim bridge and approached the Dear Leader.

She was met by a hug, the signature way of the Great Leader to greet his followers. His embrace was awe inspiring and made him something of a father to others. Karon spoke calmly.

" Dear Leader I have searched the ship, their isn't anything of use here, most of it's wrecked and I don't think we can salvage the supplies. It appears some of the cargo is also irradiated, that means the water here is of no use." She said this all while still in his embrace, talking to his ear, or at least through where his eye would be if not for his helmet encompassing his whole head.

" Well done, stay alert and stay with me. This place has a lot of surprises I assure you. Join Johnson and get some rest, I will keep watch..." He spoke, his voice twisted into a deep demonic like tone due to his helmet.

" Thank you Dear Leader, Dreams with you..." She said saluting before laying down next to her comrade and drifting off into a dreamland of some twisted vision the Great Leader no doubt put into her head.

The three clones kept their eyes outside of the bridges front, using their infrared modes on their helmets to keep a watch. Nothing yet had come to contest with them, and that was just the way he wanted it. The less trouble they had the better, things needed to go smoothly or else their operation would take much longer to accomplish.

[Alversia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility

The preliminary data that was returning from the medical team aboard the Nayatem in regards to their deceased Rasthan friend did not, as Vos had hoped, clear up the mystery but rather it seemed to offer even more questions that needed answering. Although he had been in the prime of his life, he had been weighed down with an array of diseases that each may have been quite capable of killing him on their own had it not been for the heart attack that, in all likelihood, had finished him off quickly. it seemed from the Doctors aboard that he was effectively a dead man walking. The Medical team it seemed were asking for more data as well as making requests that needed to be sent down to the surface. They requested of the Operators that they take more detailed scans of the Rasthan, try to ascertain what stage of the each disease he was in and if he had gotten them before he entered the facility or while he was here. The Scuttlers had not picked up anything harmful either in the air or on any of the surfaces but they wanted to be sure and rule it out. Some of the diseases he possessed were certainly nothing to be sniffed at. They also began to run scans to see which ones would pose threats to a soldier with military grade implants for fighting infections and other such diseases.

Their second request was to the surface, requesting access to medical logs and diaries so that they may gather all they could on the diseases he possessed. It was more than likely that they would be fairly common but it was a bad doctor who did not make sure. They also informed the Authorities of the Rasthan's death, unable to give a name but certainly a sample of DNA that may have helped them identify him and give them a clue as to what he had been doing there in the first place.

On the ground, those Scuttlers that had traversed the deadly pool of acid safely resumed their quiet but thorough examination of the other rooms. The first couple of contained nothing of interest, empty and disused as they were. It was the energy signature that they were most interested in and it was in that direction that the Scuttlers were heading. They could pick up active consoles, their screens glowing although the readouts were impossible to see from this angle. Then, as they turned the corner, their feeds were abruptly cut.

The Operators looked on in confusion, working their controls skilfully in an attempt to bring back the feeds but it was no use. The static on the screen suggested that there was heavy interference on the line, as it was the void that would have signalled total power loss. Instead it seemed to suggest that the link was still open, just that the data was not making it back.

"What..." Val started before she abruptly cut herself off. Although the Scuttlers in the room had been lost, those remaining in the hall were still operating and it was they who had picked up, on sensors, some kind of...thing leaving the room. It had a strange style of locomotion, propelling itself in a manner that left them in no doubt that it was an artificial construct. It looked like nothing they had ever seen as it swept casually through the pool of acid and out into the compound. It's progress was tracked by the Scuttlers all over the base, each turning their sensors on it when they could and the aerial drone, having had it tagged by said beings, swept down for a closer look. To the surprise of them all, it simply vanished into thin air, dropping off sensors as soon as it had arrived. No matter, they had recordings of it and some superficial data that may help to narrow it down to a particular type or manufacturer. The analysis began immediately and Vos expected to hear back from them soon.

The room itself seemed to contain nothing of remarkable importance, a series of consoles with data flooding in from the sensor relay above them. Aside from some useful data about their surroundings, it seemed as though they had scanned everything sans the bunker-like building.

Vos did not like it. It had like a great big animal in the room. No matter how tempting the base may have been, and certainly the sensor array was very tempting indeed, the fact that they had no idea what or who was in there made every instinct in her body scream in protest. They were already scanning for evidence on who had owned the base, the Scuttlers searching for emblems or company logos anywhere while they made inquiries with the Authorities, slipping in the right encouragement where required.


The Empty-but-not-really Base

The Scuttlers really could o little against the onslaught faced against them. They hid in cover, conducting all the scans that were at their disposal, collecting information on weapons, armour and personnel numbers but they were not designed to every actually engage in combat. To this end, when shot, they tended to fall apart rather easily, especially when the armoured car appeared and began to pepper them on the flank and the sniper's began to pick off those that were exposed. One by one, the Scuttlers went silent, sending data to the last.

The Drone that darted overhead meanwhile, seemed to escape virtually unscathed. Only one or two bullets seemed to have found it but the armoured underside prevented any from doing any real damage. It had been collecting data for the entirety of the sweep and the data it fed back seemed to suggest that the defenders were rather unorganised, alarmed by the presence of the device and retreating into the buildings, though they did not appear to be armoured. Vos was tempted to send down a fighter, to see if they could clear the fortress without even having to set foot in it. The chaotic armament of the defenders, combined with their seemingly indisciplined and panicked response to a few tiny robots and an unarmed drone suggested to her that they were probably raiders or bandits and certainly not friendly. Certainly no professional PMC force would react as such. Now back to a safe altitude beyond the bullets, the Drone began to scan for signs of radio traffic, to see if it could pick up communications between anyone inside the fortress' ruined walls.

This base was looking the most tempting so far.

The Dome Installation

The attempts of the Operators to clear out the interference from the Scuttler systems was unsuccessful. One by one, they reported that it was an environmental issue and that there was nothing they could from here, leaving them with the frustratingly eccentric map that contained great canyons and mountains Vos was sure did not actually exist. Their persistence did reward them with a small transmission however, a male voice broken and fragmented. Vos eyes narrowed as she listened to it, repeated again and again for their benefit though she had committed it to memory on the first attempt.

"Run a search in all local databases for any criminal group, gang or company whose name begins with the phrase 'Sons' She ordered, turning to one of the other Alumina in the Command Centre, "Include nicknames in the search." The Officer nodded and went right to work.

Fixing her eye on Val, the VSS Commander considered for a moment, measuring her words before she finally spoke. "The Scuttlers are going to be counter productive."

Val nodded to show she agreed.

"It would be better to have paws on the ground."

Val turned to her, an eyebrow raised and tail flicking in an obvious sign of confusion. "Would it? We don't even know who's down there, why they're there or what's going on. We have no intelligence."

"No intelligence is better than bad intelligence but if someone is in trouble then it may be in our interests to help." Val looked sceptical and Vos could understand why. They had both lived the mantra of the Defence Forces; 'no one is greater than the whole.' They had abandoned prisoners before, leaving people behind who were doomed to a life of hell and a slow, agonising death. It had not been easy, but they had oft been told that sacrificing ten warriors to save one was not something the Pridelands could afford, not when their numbers were already so desperately low.

"Send back a transmission on the same frequency." The Operator nodded, "This is Commander Vos, of the vessel Nayatem. Identify yourselves and report on situation." It was a longshot; if the transmission reached them at all then it would be very badly scrambled by the interference. Nevertheless, she had to try.

Turning to Val, there was a new steel in her voice.
"Prepare a party. Go in hot. Weapons are free." The younger Alumina nodded and strode purposely from the command centre, her tail flicking as she disappeared around the corner. Vos watched the monitors with a deeply thoughtful expression upon her visage.

[Ibis Galaxy Alliance]

Empty but not so really base
Three Varathana fighters belonging to the Reapers Scythe PMC cruised towards the base at half the speed of sound. They had heard gunfire and were coming to investigate. All three slowed to fifty meters per second and looked for nearby combat.

[Xiscapia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility...

Closer and more detailed tests of the Rasthan would isolate some of the signs of the bacterial infections and viruses he had been carrying when he had died. Most were in their advanced stages, and included those as mundane as lung cancer and evidence of several kinds of rhinoviruses to those the operators never would have seen before, including a unique genetic disease that had contributed to some kind of tumor that had been lurking in his stomach and an unknown venereal disease that was multiplying in his genitals before he expired. Naturally the Scuttlers, not being medical drones, could not have gotten everything, so a complete checkup of the corpse would necessitate that it be brought to the VSS's doctors, or they go to it. From what they could tell, however, some of the things that had plagued the poor creature could be dangerous to just about anyone, no matter how fit or equipped they were. Contacting the Patriarchy with the DNA, however, resulted in nothing but a confirmation that the data had been received, a theme that would grow familiar to the communications officers aboard the Nayatem in their dealings with the local government.

As for the construct, it remained frustratingly mysterious. When what little had been recorded about it was entered into public search engines and private databases, the results kept coming up empty. It didn't seem like anyone with information the VSS had access to, even with their considerable reach, had ever seen or heard of anything like what the Scuttlers had encountered. A closer examination of the thing might have turned up something, but it had disappeared from sight and scans, not even leaving tracks behind. Whatever the robot was, it was a safe bet that it didn't want to be found.

Fortunately, they would have more luck in finding out who the compound had once belonged to. The government proved as unhelpful as before, not even responding to the inquiries beyond a curt denial to search their records, but all it took was a single scan of the falling-down sign out front that had apparently been missed on the initial approach to tell them that it had apparently once belonged to a company called GeneInc. A simple query into a public search engine produced a number of sites and documents relating to Genetics Incorporated, a formerly Greali outfit that had been taken over by Remelar in the Kitsune Empire once their home planet was liberated and the Intergalactic Empire fell that specialized in genetic engineering, with its major divisions undertaking genetic modification of existing organisms, medically-related cloning, the analyzation and curing of genetic diseases and the building of bacterial plasmids for a variety of benign applications. According to the main site, it had a branch on New Rastha that was still in operation, which provided services for both the Patriarchy and a number of corporate and otherwise private clients. Contact information to reach the local arm was included.

Not-so-Abandoned Fortress...

As the last of the Scuttlers that could be seen in the immediate area were picked off the buggy disgorged a couple of figures who scoured the rocks and banks where the robots had been, both holding weapons that remained out and ready as they carefully skirted the mines, sweeping the ground. Both picked up the pieces and chassis's of the broken machines, taking the immediately obvious ones and carrying them back to their vehicle and dumping them inside before coming back for more. Scuttlers nearby that were hidden and quiet could tell that these were a heavily tattooed human male, the one who had fired upon them from inside the car, and a heavily dressed Zillar female who had been operating the turret. It seemed that they were salvaging what they could of the intruders, intent on bringing the parts back for their own purposes. Nearby their transport idled, creating the largest energy signature outside the walls of the fortress as it waited for them.

Overhead the flying probe would be able to pick up a few communications signals, though they were weak and clearly short-ranged, suggesting the likes of personal radios and small vox units. They could be intercepted and listened in on easily, though the quality was very low, given both the distance and the likely sub-par nature of the equipment used. A couple different languages were being used, including Common as well as the hissing Zillar tongue and gruff native Rasthan, all of it translatable without difficulty. Though they were choppy and profanity-laden, the broadcasts were routed up to the Nayatem accordingly for the perusal of the comm officers listening in. The conversations skipped from one to the next.

"-da hell was dat?"

"<-have a couple of our fuckers picking up the pieces. I think those robots came from orbit, but I ain't seen anythin' like it before. Some bastards stickin' their nose where it don't belong, gonna get it chopped off->"

"<The flying thing'sss ssstill out there. Don't think it'sss a fighter, ssstill just buzsssing usss.>"

"Somebody get out the Galilean and the Nettle launcher, I want it gone. Get a couple teams up on the roofs, extra bottle of grog for the one who takes it down, hear?"

"Shit! Shit! Fighters on the east side, three of 'em, headed right for us!"

"<Get AA up there now, you worthless idiots! Hit them before they hit us!>"

With that the drone would detect frenzied activity from inside the fortress, most of the energy signatures identifiable as people scurrying around inside as they made their preparations. On top of the left building a hatch opened and a couple of humanoids scrambled out, one lugging a large rifle with a large heat signature while the other brought a pair of binoculars up to their face, looking to the east where the trio of Scythe fighters were coming in, as of yet unaware of the danger. Down below the line of gunmen along the wall were sliding and jumping down to the ground, running flat-out for two main structures, abandoning their posts in favor of relative safety. Out in the Barrens the two shooters the buggy had brought were likewise fleeing the area, dropping their loads as they sprinted, the Zillar paying for her haste as she accidentally triggered a mine and was killed in a gory explosion. As the armored car made a sharp, squealing turn the remaining man caught up with it and dove inside as it raced back to the installation, all withdrawing in face of an armed response.

Unknown Dome Installation...

The search that the Alumina ran on organizations bearing the name "Sons" in their title turned up a large number of tags, from legitimate freight hauling companies to underground gladiatorial combat rings to minor street gangs, but the one that was immediately obvious was the Sons of Arel. Also called the Demons of Arel, Hellraisers and the Blood Fanatics, they were a known religiously-oriented terrorist group with its origins on the world of Arel in the Xiscapian-controlled Republica sector in the Alpha Quadrant. The documents indicated that the Sons were zealots on a crusade in the service of a god of war against everything that wasn't them, and they had set down roots in New Rastha, where they were regarded as one of the biggest threats to both the Patriarchy and various corporations in the Barrens. Sons activity had been on the rise as of late, with reported clashes between them and just about every other group under New Rastha's steel skies, which were full of descriptions of berserker rage, suicide charges and a pattern of fighting until they were killed no matter the odds. They were suspected of having camps in the Barrens, so it was not far-fetched to assume that this could be one of them.

When Vos's message went out it was initially impossible to tell how much of it might have gotten through, or even if it had at all. The communications station aboard the Nayatem was no doubt stronger than whatever the being on the other ground was using, but the interference was intense and showed no signs of abating. Even so, at least some part must have reached the person on the other end, because a transmission was dispatched back. It was just as patchy and broken as the first, but it was something. This time gunfire and howling battle cries could be heard intermittently in the background, sometimes blocking out otherwise clear words as the same voice responded, sounding significantly more desperate and somewhat exasperated.

"I said...Malcane...Co...Firm!...under...Limited...twenty...from Hiven...surrounded by the...love of...dead...help!...give you...in my power...they're...kill us...do you need!? If...not going...help...contact...who will!"

[North Calaveras]

On the move

They had left the safety of the freighter an hour ago, moving under the cover of night. The seven man team moved through the rugged and destroyed desert. The air was cold and there was trash and debris everywhere. It seemed like a never ending junk yard out here, but Karon was sure there was a lot of useful technology hidden in this vast sea of wreckage. They moved in a single file line, but with each member at least seven feet apart to help in case some idiot decided to toss a grenade at them. They were as silent as humans could be, which wasn't that silent but they figured they would avoid most contact.

Their HUD's scanned the area around them, the infrared casting a black image across the landscape, sometime a white dot here and there could be seen, some heat signatures. Sometimes large obstacles blocked their paths however, it was a like a city. Karon was in the center, Mehn took himself next to the Great Leader in the front with Kamen and Duren protecting their rear with one of the clones.

Kamen kicked something on accident, it had an almost soft feel to it and caused him to stumble, he turned to look down and saw a dead man. This guy didn't look like he had been dead very long, in fact his body still had a very slight faint of a heat signature. He spoke quickly with focus.

" Possible ambush, spread it..." He said quietly, the group slowly spread out trying not to draw to much attention.

The clones obeyed as well, though they had the final say they trusted the man, this wasn't any normal military outfit, in fact the Utopia itself wasn't normal in any sense of the word.

The Dear Leader leaned against the side of a star fighter and held his head with one hand, the other supporting him. He quivered a moment and gritted his teeth. The result of memory melding had long been a side affect, sometimes the rush of memories would overwhelm the Great Leader. In moments he was fine again. He pointed to a large building that was ahead of them, a little bit in the distance. Some kind of facility it seemed, though it definatley had seen better times.

He pointed and spoke " This way, that building will be our next place to rest and consider our objectives." He said, assuming command again. The others fell in line once more and they trudged their way through the debris infested desert, kicking up small pockets of dust in their wake, the cold air stinging at their exposed parts.

[Alversia]

Abandoned GeneInc Facility

Deep within the bowels of the Nayatem sat the medical bay. Like every other compartment on the ship, it had not started life as such but had been extensively retrofitted to suit the purposes of the VSS. They did not need the small, dozen bed facility that had been here before and deemed adequate for a crew of over four hundred that the original vessel had possessed. For all their strengths, the Philosopher-Class had been very badly equipped to handle anything above even a small medical emergency. In the old days of the Alversian Republic, when men were men and women ate nails, it was expected that anything below limb loss could be handled in the crew's personal quarters. The VSS...did not agree...They needed a medical bay that could not only cope with handling a medium sized military force but also perform scientific and medical researches and examinations as necessary. To that end, the new medical bay contained ten times as many beds, four times as much staff and medical equipment that could be classed as 'modern'.

Serys Nyla Reem was the chief medical officer aboard the Nayatem, a new experience for her as, in all her decades of service with the Defence Forces aboard dozens of ships, none had ever had anything approaching an official medical officer. In the dark days of efficiency and professional cruelty, injured Alumina were expected to tend to their own wounds, using their own medical knowledge. More serious injuries were tended to by volunteer crew took time out to tend them. Reem had never agreed with that procedure. She had dedicated all her spare time to medical research and study, to the point where she could be considered a specialist. Her commander, displaying a rare occurrence of common sense, had appointed her an unofficial medical officer and she was grateful that the VSS had given her the chance to continue in military service. Plenty of reputable hospitals and medical centres had sought her, but the military life was not one easily cast aside so it was the Nayatem that she now called her home.

Right now the snowy white Alumina pushed a long, red hair out of her face and focused on the console, frowning lightly. She was reading the medical data that was being sent up from the Scuttlers on the surface of New Rastha. The data was entirely raw, a collection of blood samples, DNA and others that she and her team would be responsible for disseminating; a job they had set about with some enthusiasm. Vos was waiting to their report so it paid to be quick.

What she was finding as she took apart the data was quite alarming. At first, she had thought the data must be flawed, that the Scuttlers must not be configured for medical scans and there were faults in their collections but as she examined more, she dismissed that idea. The data was accurate, it just impossible.

Satisfied with her conclusions, she activated the small vox lodged in her large, triangular ear.
“Medical Bay to Command Centre.”

“Command Centre here. Go ahead Doctor.” the authoritative voice of Vos replied.

She quickly relayed what she had discovered, the number of diseases and ailments he had been inflicted with, more than should have been practically impossible for a single being to collect, at least simultaneously. Several were fatal on their own, combined she was surprised he had even made it to a chair in which to die.

“There are also several new diseases here which I do not recognise. One appears to be genetic and seems to be responsible for a malevolent tumour developing in his stomach. Further speculation as to its origins is impossible with this data. The other is venereal. They are both highly aggressive and the genetic disease is certainly potent. His immune system appears to have been overwhelmed.”

“What do you recommend Doctor?” Vos asked after a pause.

“I would recommend the site be avoided, Commander. Several of his diseases are highly contagious and quite fatal to our species. The area should be placed under immediate official quarantine and a team sent in to ensure clean up and conduct more thorough tests.”

“Alright Doctor. Command Centre out.”

As soon as the communications were finished, Reem sat down to quickly gather her conclusions and evidence from the sensor readings. She had read something of the planet and realised that the central government paid little interest in the affairs of the Barrens. She worded it more diplomatically than normal, suggesting that several of the diseases were highly contagious and a risk of planet-wide infection was certainly possible unless action was taken.

Not-so-Abandoned Fortress

As Vos was receiving the report from the Doctor with regards to the GeneInc Facility, the Operator's attempts to intercept the radio transmissions came through and, for the first time, they were able to hear excerpts from the inhabitants. Vos' expression hardened as she heard their interactions. It all but confirmed what she had thought the whole time. The base was operated by bandits, or at least someone with a loose affiliation with another corporation. That was all the confirmation that she needed.

'Launch the first wave. Consider them hostile.'

As soon as her words had left her mouth, there was a bustle of activity down in the depths of the Nayatem. A former cargo bay, now converted hangar thronged with crew as craft were brought forward and pilots briefed. The entire operation ran with military precision so, less than ten minutes after Vos had given her order, a dozen small craft streaked from the hangar and turned towards the surface.

Four of these craft split off from the rest and did not head down to the surface immediately but rather tore off away from the fortress. They were four single seat XX-38 space fighters, a sleek model designed and built in the Alversian Republic, they had been renowned for their speed, their manoeuvrability and their fire-power. No longer in service with the Republic, they had found service instead with smaller nations and with companies such as the VSS, which was grateful to have not only one of the most potent fighters in the galaxy in their arsenal, but later models that had been converted to use the Pilot's Remote Operation system, or the PRO system. The Alversian development of Procul, it allowed the pilots to operate their craft from the safety of the freighter while allowing the already vicious craft to be equipped with more armour and weaponry rather than life support and crew seating.

The four fighters that had torn away from the fortress did so in high orbit, waiting until they were a thousand miles from the destination before they dived down into the atmosphere. They glowed red hot with the effort of re-entry but emerged at a more respectable altitude of ninety thousand feet.

Sitting at the head of the formation of four, Pilot Officer Nessa glanced around at her HUD, taking in all the details before focusing back on the task ahead. She waited patiently, glancing down at her scopes until, finally, a marker appeared.

“Target locked.” She spoke into the comm system. “Lee Flight are go.”

Although they could not have known it, the appearance of the Reaper PMC fighters had provided the perfect distraction. As close as they were, the roar of their jet engines would disguise the sound of the Alversian craft so high and so far away. The Alumina pilot took a couple more moments to acquire her target, linking in with the drone high above which had painted the key facilities within the walls and with the Nayatem providing much more generalised information.

“Strike 400.” Came the voice of the Controller. That meant they were 400 miles from their target. Optimal strike range.

“Weapons are hot.” Nessa spoke in the same calm and serious voice. “Lee Leader and Lee One on ATG. Lee Two and Lee Three on CAP.” there were three murmurs of confirmation. “Target locked. Strike One.”

Together the two fighters launched a ramjet missile each streaked towards it's target. Each was armed with nine high yield explosive warheads and would be on their targets in mere seconds, splitting before impact to rain fire and death upon the fortress and it's inhabitants.

At the same time, a message was sent to the three fighters which had moved into the area from the Nayatem, a terse but civil enough message;

Unidentified fighters, you have entered territory claimed by the VSS PMC. If you do not retreat, your intentions will be treated as hostile.

Stalindome

As the four fighters tore off around the curve of the moon and one moved towards the capital city, the remainder slowly descended towards the position marked on their map. There were four more XX-38 fighters which flew protectively over a unit of three XS-150 shuttles which were heading down towards the surface. Unlike the fighters, these were not PROs-controlled but rather utilised the old fashioned pilot-in-a-cockpit system, although those pilots were exceptionally nervous as they guided their craft down towards what they knew was a sensor-dead zone and which would test their skills to the limit. On top of the two pilots in each, there were also two warriors in the rear compartment, dressed in the heavy power armour and equipped with rifles, shields and drones. Val was amongst them, her breathing heavy in her helmet as she descended towards the battle zone.

As the shuttles descended, a message was sent along the same frequency that the reply message had been sent on, checking to make sure that it matched with the original. It was a simple message, repeated over and over again in bursts to minimise the interference.

“Extraction Incoming. Extraction Incoming. Send Signal. Send Signal. Send Signal.”

[Xiscapia]

Not-so-Abandoned Fortress...

The bandits, unaware of the presence of the VSS fighters as they were more concentrated on the nearby Reaper's Scythe ones, never had a chance. Though they were on the rooftop, the spotter and his companion holding the rifle never even heard the missiles coming, which hurtled into contact range before detonating in the most spectacular display of overkill since the landing of Fortress Vypal, killing them before they even knew what hit them. Together the eighteen high-yield bombs, constituting tons of explosives, completely leveled the left half of the compound, blowing pieces of the southern building, chunks of the watchtower and walls and bits of debris high into the air in a holocaust of smoke and fire that shook the surrounding landscape for miles. The blast razed the battlements around the facility to the ground, knocked over the other tower, annihilated the gunmen who had been caught out in the open and nearly collapsed the northern structure, causing it to list heavily to one side, pieces of wreckage and masonry falling from it, the fact that it was still standing at all a testimony to the skill of the original builders. Given the new abundance of energy signatures made by the raging of various fires it was impossible to tell if anyone had survived the attack, but there were no more communications on the airwaves and the XX-38 pilots could at least be certain that no one in the southern (left) structure or anyone who had been standing outside had been left alive.

Except, of course, for the buggy that had been heading back to its base. Making an abrupt turnabout in an eloquent nonverbal display of "Well, fuck that" the little vehicle took off in the opposite direction, heading south away from the former hideout. In its course it would soon pass by the procession of the Children of Kash, not that the driver or the lone passenger seemed to notice them in their panicked flight. Apart from them, the surrounding wasteland was quiet and still. If anything else had been considering approaching the not-so-abandoned-fortress, or trying to move under the cover of darkness nearby, it was now rethinking that plan.

Unknown Dome Installation...

As the seven ships started to draw closer to the dome and broadcast their message the pilots would find that while their scans of the area immediately outside the dome weren't being blocked, attempting to penetrate into the facility with them got only so much static. This would probably have been cause for some relief, as flying through the Barrens at night near the surface with no sensors was an all but suicidal prospect -apart from the lights of the capital and maybe one or two corporate outposts, it was utterly dark with no reference points, since cloud cover prevented the moon and stars from shining down from above. What they would see, however, was flashes of gunfire from under the dome, only seen faintly and intermittently by the naked eye since the signatures were oddly undetectable by sensors. On the approach their contact started messaging them back, seeming to pick up on what they were doing with bursts and copying the tactic. The results, sounding worried and increasingly frustrated, were not a cause for joy:

"Extract...where?...where? Extract...Extract where?...surrounded. Still...Still...surrounded...way...through. No...through...way...from...air...air...from..."

At that point someone under the dome seemed to become aware of their presence, because a bright light jumped out of a hole in the outer shell, spiraling skyward. It wouldn't take a genius, or the targeting lock, to tell the pilots that the brilliant, angled shape diving towards them was a missile, which promptly split itself into six parts, each going after one of the signatures the fighters and shuttles were making, sparing only the furthest XX-38 from their attentions. Twisting and curving their flight paths, the rockets nevertheless made true for their targets, as harshly glowing and coldly unremitting as the unseen stars themselves. Though it was unlikely that anyone would be looking at that point, there were shapes moving along the edge of the dome as well, figures prowling the covered area just inside, seemingly waiting for something. The whole situation was rapidly turning very bad indeed.

[Ibis Galaxy Alliance]

"Hmmm..." The Varathana squadron commander said "Maybewe can take advantage of this." He commed the Not so Abandoned base and said : "Unknown base, we are the Reapers Scythe PMC. We would be willing to assist...for a price."

[Alversia]

Not-so-Abandoned Base

Vos watched with a primal satisfaction on the 3D map as the base shuddered under the impact from the strike team. She watched as men and machines were thrown in all directions, mere rag-dolls to the forces that were arrayed against them. There was a lot of damage done to the structures as well, with buildings shredded and walls collapsing, but there was little that could be done about that. It would have to go down as collateral damage. She doubted very much that any of it would have been suitable for their purposes anyway and thus she would have needed to demolish it eventually. This way...she just got a head start.

The feline continued to peer at the readouts while Lee Section went into a circular flight path, maintaining speed and altitude until further orders could reach them. From the drone it seemed as though the place was quiet enough. Only the inky black smoke of fires meandering into the skies demonstrated any form of movement. Nevertheless, she had to be careful and thus, she send a message to one of her other Operators, tail flicking as she sent it.

'Launch the Scourers.' The Operator nodded and within moments, a second pod similar to the first was hurtling towards the ground. It buried itself next to the first, popping open to reveal four large drones that hovered silently out of their container and headed towards the burning fortress. Unlike the Scuttlers, they were never in contact with the ground, though they took care to scan for signs of mines in front of them as they moved. These were the vanguard, heavily armed and armoured, packed with sensors and weapons, the two metre long drones steadily advanced.

Satisfied that the Scourers were away, Vos turned her attention back to the trio of aircraft that had been picked up and who had been warned away. They were not government aircraft -at least, not according to their markings- and they were of no model she recognised from the Empire or the Republic. They had been given their warning and they had not responded. Their radios may have been broken -on three craft that was unlikely- but they had not even made a single pacifying manoeuvre, knowing they were being watched. In her eyes, no action was as much an answer as any reply could have been.

“Lee Flight.” She clicked on her vox to address the four fighters, “Clear to engage bandits.”

“Understood.” Came the terse reply.

High above the Barrens, the four XX-38's broke out of their orbit and reformed into their pairs. Nessa glanced down at the radar and saw the craft far below, crawling at subsonic speed three hundred miles away. They were fish in a barrel.

“Lee Two and Lee Three. Clear to engage. Take the wingmen. I'll take point. Strike 300.”

“Confirmed.”

“Confirmed.”

Nessa waited patiently for the split second it took for her sensors to securely lock onto the target, supplying her with every piece of information she would ever need in a combat situation, including estimated top speed, manoeuvrability, defences and armament.

“Target locked. Strike Two.”

A second missile dropped from under her craft virtually at the same time as two more did from her companions. The three missiles streaked through the sky at multiple times the speed of sound, so fast that they were out of visual range in a heartbeat. This was alarmingly close for aerial combat in the modern era but Nessa had faith in her team and her craft to pull them through.

Unknown Dome Installation

As the small wing of seven aircraft descended in circles steadily towards their target Val lifted herself from her seat, unable to stick the nerves any longer, and headed for the cockpit. The two pilots ignored her as she entered, focused entirely on the panels around them. Glancing down at their readings and ignoring the inky blackness out of the window, Val had to admit that she had never seen anything like it before. The readouts were perfectly clear, detailing their altitude, the terrain below them and the positions of their comrades. Once the dome came into view, all that dropped away, like a curtain being raised in front of the sensors, completely concealing them from any form of useful information.

“What do you think?” She asked the pilot in Aluminan.

The pilot shook her head. That was all that Val needed to hear.

“This is close enough. We'll move in from here.” She made to turn away, but stillness of the cockpit was shattered by the shrieking of an alarm.

She knew that sound and it made her fur stand on end.

Missile lock.

The pilots had seen the flash before the alarm had even gone off and relayed it to her comrades,
“Missile lock!”

“Break! Break! Break!” the calm voice of the fighter commander sounded over the vox and, within seconds, the XX-38's had split, going into spirals or arching away, launching chaff as they ducked and rolled to evade the missiles. The larger XS-150's had much better protection though, as they launched an extensive suite of counter-measures designed to jam missile targeting sensors, filling them with junk data that concealed the location of the shuttle, with point defences and chaff ready to release if the attackers made it through.

Val dashed back into the main compartment, where the three other members of her team were ready, standing near to the exit and watching their commander with carefully neutral expressions. Val nodded and at once, they turned back to the door. Val was already suited and all that was left was for her to clip on her helmet, hearing the hiss of atmosphere as the seal was completed.

The door of the shuttle opened, the air howling in as the XS-150 jinked to avoid missiles, passing over them with only their boots keeping them secured to the deck.

“Activate stealth systems.” Val ordered into the vox. As one, each of the felines disappeared, sensors in their suits taking in data from their surroundings to conceal them entirely while dispensers ensured to hide their heat and life signatures from any sort of sensors. Confident they were invisible, the four jumped from the shuttle.

“Cargo away.”

“Break.”

The seven craft spun and made a beeline back up to orbit, escaping the missile infested air while the four invisible felines howled forwards the ground. Val watched as it got ever closer, looming up alarmingly before, at the last possible moment she activated her anti-grav device, which slowed her with a sickening lurch inches from the ground and letting her land feet first on the Barrens, the first Alumina groundside.

She spent no time dwelling on this though, instead rushing to cover with her rifle already out, scanning for signs of threats in the darkness.

At the same time, a message was dispatched from the Nayatem, in the same burst signal as before.

“Sensors blocked. Sensors Blocked. Cannot locate position. Cannot locate position. Give position. Give position.”

[North Calaveras]

Near Destroyed Fortress

As they approached their targets they could make out strange noises, the Children of Kash barley knew what was happening before it was to late. A massive explosion rocked the structure nearby in the distance, multiple slams of high explosive weapons, the whole area was lit up, casting light against everything. The blast was seen a bit of a distance away causing the group to turn off their infra red as the blast lit up their visors. Then almost two seconds later the blast wave hit them and dust kicking up. They quickly got up wiping the dust of themselves, the Great Leader took a head count and was assured that they were all okay, just a bit shook up.

The Duren Leader turned his infra-red back on and noticed a hot object heading towards them, some kind of junker vehicle and it was coming in fast. He turned to Duren and held out his arm with a free hand.

"Child..." he spoke.

Duren threw him his Viper rail gun, the Great Leader catching it with one hand before hefting to his shoulder and looking through the advanced optics of the scope. He could clearly make out a vehicle as well as gunner headed their way. He zoomed in and put the dot on the gunner manning the turret. He could see the person breath coming out as the car road down through the junk sea. He pulled the trigger as a sharp smack could be heard as the projectile was accelerated out of the weapon. The round landed and hit the man dead in the chest, blowing him in half, well almost as a chunk of meat still connected the two pieces of his body. White spots appeared all over the vehicle through his infra-red, clearly his remains.

Immediately he switched to the driver now, bringing the weapon down further. He had to unzoom a bit as the vehicle was headed straight for him. The clone noticed the man looking back for a moment and noticing what was left of his friend. With a sick grin the man aimed his vehicle directly at the Dear Leader wanting to run him over for what he had done. The back of the buggy like vehicle puffed little puts of black smoke as a beast that sought to destroy it's prey.

Another round was fired sending the spike through the make-shift armored vehicle and through the window. It grazed mans neck, but the force was still enough to blast a piece of his neck off. He viered the steering wheel and hit the break before skidding into a pile of wreckage. It wasn't long before the Children of Kash were upon him and they surrounded the vehicle. As they slowly approached Mehn kicked off the broken door to reveal the bleeding man. He grabbed the man by the back of his hair and yanked him out of the drivers seat onto the ground before patting him down for weapons.

The Dear Leader spoke

" Leave him for me Children.." He said and the group dispersed leaving the man alone with the three Great Leader clones. They surrounded him waiting for the man to respond.

[Xiscapia]

Destroyed Fortress...

The reason for the lack of response to the Varathana squadron commander's message would be easy to surmise. With one building reduced to rubble and the other a few meters away from falling over, all the communications in the facility had probably been knocked out, and if not there probably wasn't anyone capable of responding -assuming there was even anyone left alive. Of course, he would soon have other things to worry about as the VSS fighters engaged his squadron, starting an aerial battle over the Barrens. Neither flight would find it difficult to find each other, there was no other atmospheric traffic for kilometers in any direction and their respective energy signatures made them beacons on sensors because of it, to say nothing of lights and engine exhaust in the otherwise impenetrable blackness of the New Rasthan night. Yet there were undoubtedly eyes on them, watching to observe their tactics and witness the result of the fight.

Down below the quartet of Scourers, having made their way through the mine field, entered what was left of the installation without trouble. They would have to hover over or around the collapsed watchtower and chunks of the walls where they had fallen, but could clearly detect with their sensors the mound of wreckage that had been the southern building, completely leveled by the missiles dropped from near-orbit. It was on fire in some places where the bandits had been stockpiling fuel and munitions, which had spread to anything flammable to shroud parts of the pile of broken masonry in heat that twisted metal and scorched rock. Outside of it and around the leaning northern structure nothing moved, there were body parts and bits of equipment lying where they'd been thrown but not even a fully intact corpse, never mind a living person. For that they would have to enter the northern building.

Inside the ground floor had most of its interior wall knocked out, only most of the outer walls and some support beams remaining intact. There were a number of gore piles and remains within where gunmen who had been caught close to the windows had been killed in the bomb blasts, as well as an extensive layer of debris and dust that had fallen down onto mattresses, couches, broken chairs and tables and other pieces of furniture that had once made the living accommodations for the people here. To the extreme north it looked like there was a garage built into the structure, now open to the rest of the building, with some supplies and equipment scattered around a broken-down gun truck and another buggy that had been flipped onto its back. There were two stairways leading up to the upper floors of the building, but one had its wall collapsed in on it, making it impassable unless some of it were to be moved, and the other had crumbled at the landing, leaving a three meter gap between the stairwell and ground level. On the ground at least, it seemed like the air strike had killed everyone present.

Crashed Buggy...

Bleeding heavily from a neck wound, the man collapsed into the dirt as he was pulled from his vehicle, quickly disarmed of the SMG, pistol and two knives that the Kashites found on him. His clothing was all grays and browns, good for blending in with the dirt of the Barrens, and included knee-high boots with spiked shin guards, a large metal cup strapped to tattered cargo pants, the better part of a jacket with a bandoleer of ammunition wrapped around it and a pair of gray goggles loose around his neck. His muddy hair, somehow managing to be greasy despite the crew cut, had some blood on it from where the turret gunner had been killed behind him, and his sea green eyes were closed as he curled up on the ground, clutching at his injury and swearing through gritted teeth. At last he opened his eyes, flicking between the three men blocking all avenues of escape. Slowly, he raised his hands in a placating gesture, indicating surrender.

If the others examined the vehicle that would find that apart from the hole blasted in its shuttered window it was still quite serviceable. The buggy was clearly old and had a small junkyard's worth of parts cobbled together, but it still ran and the dash indicated it still had a quarter of a tank of gas left. On the top its turret was a 7.62x51mm light machine gun, still with several hundred rounds of ammunition left on the belt. With space for up to five, two in the front, two in the back and one on the turret, and a small section in the back for cargo that was currently carrying a gas can, a munitions box and a couple crates of supplies, it could make a fine addition to the Children of Kash. Of course, if they chose to strip it down the various components, working parts and pieces of scrap that could be pulled from the chassis would be valuable as well.

Unknown Dome Installation...

"...center. Dome...center...Dome...Dome...center...Dome..."

Having set down behind a rocky outcropping, the Alumina had found cover quickly, crouching behind it some ten meters out from the edge of the dome. With the detonations of the missiles and the hum of the aircraft away they could clearly hear the sound of fighting from under the facility's cover, even from this distance. What they could also see was the shadowy figures lurking at the very edge, more visible on sensors than with eyesight, bulky humanoids in cloaks with helmets painted in demonic visages and smaller ones in heavy robes with gas masks carrying rifles and facing outwards, evidently drawn by the arrival and then retreat of the VSS ships. There were about ten of them, and no indication that they knew exactly where the team was, but they were on alert, scanning the area outside of the dome. They looked distinctly unfriendly.

Hivan Entrance...

"Make fun of me all ya want, but don't make fun of my guns."

"I'll make fun of ya guns until they prove they ain't peashooters," Harrison replied firmly but without rancor. Indeed, she flashed a grin back at the other woman. "I don't mean any offense but I don't wanna see you get shot up because your mouth starts makin' promises your bullets can't keep. Nothin' 'gainst you. Hear?"

"Well, I guess I'm 'fresh off the boat' because I haven't really looked around all that much since coming here. All I know is the name of the hotel that my buds and me are staying at. I'm gonna have to remember to go exploring sometime."

"I'll take you!" The Rasthan volunteered eagerly, despite not being asked. "I know all the best places in the Commercial District. Next time we come into the city I'll show you around." Her tail swished at the prospect. "It'll be great."

At the capital the six other members of the Val's Vixens had led Heather to a garage area just inside the main wall. It seemed to have been built into the structure itself, with a number of large hatches at the very end that would be raised to allow vehicles to enter or leave and kept closed at all other times. Across the massive main floor there were dozens of different methods of transportation being serviced, from little one-person hover bikes and rugged motorcycles to the big corporate gun trucks and even a few armored fighting vehicles; it seemed a number of different factions as well as independent operators were represented. Most of them were mercenaries, but some were clearly salvage teams with buggies weighed down with loads of scrap, survey crews packing up delicate sensor equipment into armored vans, bounty hunters with cages in the beds of their trucks and the like. Nara led the way across the floor to a large vehicle painted the color of congealed blood.

"All aboard," she invited, hoisting herself up the side ladder and accessing the cockpit-like driver's area, where she settled into the seat there and started up the truck. As Heather and the others passed the hull on the way to the back they saw the name Growler stenciled out in block letters on the side, just over the emblem of the Val's Vixens. With the rear ramp lowered they climbed into the cabin, which would have been surprisingly spacious were it not for the numerous crates that took up the space within, leaving only a little space to sit on the benches near the front; the only exceptions were the ladders up to the platforms where machine guns hung from copulas on the dorsal side. Hiz'o climbed up one and sat at the back turret, leaving her legs and most of her torso inside the vehicle with only her head and shoulder sticking out, and the other four sat where they could, Harrison with her back against the panel that separated the driver's cabin from the cargo hold, Morey atop one of the larger crates checking the case with the minigun she had been carrying and Rachael by the ramp. Wherever Heather chose to claim as her own, Sava made sure to stay nearby.

"You like her? Practically need a getup like this to travel around the Barrens," she spread her hand around at the interior of the Growler. "At least, we do."

[North Calaveras]

Crashed Buggy...

The Children were going through the junk yard buggy. It was miracle how these things were held together, as if Orks had gotten a hold of it. Karon pulled what was left of the man on the turret off and tossed his remains off the buggy and didn't bother wiping up the excess blood and shit from the outside of the vehicle, cleaning wasn't necessary.

" It looks like there are a lot of supplies here, maybe he was going somewhere important." Karon spoke looked over the arms and ammo. Kamen pointed at the wreckage of the fortress as it's smoke plumed far into the sky.

"Yeah, there..." He said before walking over to the other size of the buggy and sitting in the door. Duren opened the ammunition box and noticed a lot of rounds, primitive but still deadly. Their colors were all odd, some silver and others brass looking, these roads were probably manufactured in some kind of sweat shop in this wasteland.

Duren bit his lip for a moment and thought things over.

" This is implying they have a larger facility somewhere else, that's probably why they were headed towards the base, maybe a supply run...regardless..." He said turning the key and starting the vehicle " The vehicle still works, we should take advantage of this" They then piled into the vehicle and waited for their Dear Leader.

Buggy Survivor

One of the clones leaned down and rested his hand on top of the mans head, moving his fingers through the mans hair, almost petting him.

" We did not mean to hurt you, we are just looking for some help...we can patch you up if you would point us in the right direction." Behind the dark visor a psychotic man stared emotionless at the man, his eyes bloodshot and insane. The other two clones were know on lookout for any incoming threats. They wouldn't be here longer than a few minutes tops, hopefully they could get going as soon as the man could give them a location.

[Salutem]

"Yeah," Heather began, "I hear ya." Heather than smiled at Sava, "That sounds like a great idea."

Heather followed the group into the garage and to their vehicle. Climbing up the ramp, Heather chose to sit on one of the benches. She gave another smile when Sava sat near her.

After being asked the question, Heather pulled down her hood and looked around the interior before nodding thoughtfully. "She is a nice ride. Not very... subtle. But still nice."

[Ibis Galaxy Alliance]

The wing commander cursed. He had been using his force field to prevent the message he was sending to the base from reaching the fighters from the other PMC and while he was doing that, they launched missiles for some reason. The Jetfighters accelerated to hypersonic speed, and each one fired two missiles at the enemy squadron.Meanwhile, the enemy missiles flew towards the jets. Two were evaded, but two hit one of the Varathanas and anothers hit one. The wing commander was on his own.

[Xiscapia]

Crashed Buggy...

"Didn't mean to hurt me? You assholes did a piss-poor job then," the bandit growled as his hand went back to his bleeding neck, for a moment forgetting his position. He calmed down quickly though, seeming to realize that these men could kill him at any time, and that accepting their offer might be the only way he was going to survive this. Medical supplies in return for information? "Sure, sure, whatever you want," he said carefully, glancing back in the direction of the burning facility. "What are you looking for?"

Growler...

"She is a nice ride. Not very... subtle. But still nice."

"We'd rather have protection and firepower than subtlety," Morey grinned in the way only a Sar can. "She is very nice when the odd bandit gang or disgruntled corporate group comes after us. Take anything up to a rocket hit or two and keep on rolling. I helped put some of the systems, armor and guns on," she explained. "I find land vehicles fascinating."

The whole inside of the armored truck shook as Nara started it up, then swayed a bit as she backed it out and took it out of one of the garage doors and into the Barrens. Hiz'o stayed where she was, tail occasionally flicking as she scanned the wasteland with the end of her turret, looking out for any threats, while Rachael accessed a datapad and started to type away at it, leaning over the little screen in concentration. On the crate Morey brought out her disassembled cannon, checking through the parts and occasionally adding a spot of cleaning agent where needed, preparing for unexpected combat, while Harrison leaned back, pulled her hat down over her eyes, and rested. Only Sava seemed interested in talking, which she continued to do so with Heather, launching a barrage of questions at her about her homeland in a somewhat lower voice than before. "So what's Salutem like? Is the food good? Are you all humans there? Are you ever going to go back? Why did you leave?"

While Heather answered the Growler continued on through the night, stopping occasionally at what were presumably checkpoints on the roads. It was impossible to tell what was happening outside at any given moment, as the cabin had no windows or openings of any kind aside from the topside hatches. Eventually, though, they felt the truck start to slow again, cautiously, and all saw Hiz'o shifting her legs as she rotated the machine gun towards something outside. At that all the females in the hold exchanged glances, looking up from their various tasks, Harrison lifting the brim of her hat with two fingers. Something was wrong.

"Nara, hun, what's going on out there?" Harrison asked, seemingly to the room at large.

"Our old western base is on fire," came the kitsune's voice from the intercom.

"Really?" Sava scrambled over to the nearest hatch, kicking a crate into place, and jumped up on it to get up the ladder quickly. Knocking the cover up with her fist, she poked her head out, turning one way and then the other as Harrison found the third gun port and did the same. "Wow," they heard the Rasthan breath from above, tail whipping. "Looks like something hit it hard. Hey," she looked down to where Heather was standing, letting herself slide down the ladder. "Come look at this."

When Heather ascended she would be able to find the old VV facility very easily. It was the brightest thing in visual range, courtesy of the flames rising up from beside a leaning, heavily damaged building inside a distant compound. Once in a while a resounding boom would echo out from somewhere beyond the site, though what exactly was making the noises none could tell. Indeed, there was no real evidence of what had caused this either, at least not that any of the seven could tell from their position. Regardless of whether Heather stayed atop the van or ducked back into the vehicle, she would be able to hear the others talking.

"Did Griffon's boys move in there after the attack?" Morey asked.

"No, as far as I know it's been sitting empty ever since the Val's Vixens abandoned it," Rachael responded. "Might have gotten taken over by bandits or something."

"Looks from here like it got hit by a bomb," Hiz'o's static-laden voice came down. "The southern building is completely gone."

"Now who would bomb an abandoned base like that?" Harrison wondered.

"I think we should go check it out!" Sava of course.

"Negative," the lead cut her off. "Whatever's going on out there doesn't concern us. We should keep moving."

"If they're attacking one of our old bases under the impression that we're still in it it could very well be our problem," Harrison argued.

"I would be inclined to agree," Hiz'o hissed. "Even if we don't engage, better to know the threat now. Either way, we still need intelligence, and we are in the best position to get it."

"C'mon Nar," Sava practically begged. "If we pass this up, won't you wonder what it was?"

"Until I heard about it on the corporate network, maybe," she retorted, but sighed, relenting. "Alright, since you three sound so eager you can go scout it out. Rookie, Heather, go with them. Maybe we can forfeit part of your Trial if you do well out here. Do not engage any contacts unless you are fired upon first, and try to stay hidden at all times. This is strictly recon, not combat if we can avoid it. Clear?"

"Copy, thank you!" Sava reached into one of the crates, picking out an assault rifle and several magazines, and jerked her head at Heather. "C'mon. If you don't have a vox get one from that box over there. As the lights went out in the cabin to keep the Growler from becoming a beacon in the night the ramp lowered and Sava led the way down, followed by Heather and Harrison as Hiz'o hopped down from the roof, a sniper rifle strapped to her back and a PDW cradled in her arms. With the clicking of voxes and an exchange of nods the other two headed out, quickly swallowed up by the darkness as the truck closed up again. With the absence of any real light it was almost pitch black; if she lacked nocturnal vision Heather would barely be able to see Sava two feet in front of her.

"Crud, I forgot that most humans can't see in low-light," the lupine muttered. "Do you have some kind of retinal implants or night-vision goggles or something?" If the woman indicated a negative Sava would dig around in her pack for a moment before coming up a helmet that seemed to match her security armor. It was rather awkwardly shaped, since it was made for a Rasthan and not a human, but with a few adjustments Sava made it at least close and seal over Heather's head, giving her access to its features, which included a HUD, basic sensors and night vision, a built-in vox and a filter. "Thank the dead gods I still carry this around with me."

Either way, they soon set off out into the Barrens, leaving the Growler near the side of the road, hidden from view by several boulders. It was bitterly cold, the wind biting against any exposed flesh and cutting through thinner cloth, raising goosebumps on skin and fluffing up fur wherever it whistled by. Harrison and Hiz'o had vanished, though regular comm checks told them that the gas-masked alien and her human companion were out there and making steady progress towards the burning installation. For Sava and Heather the trip was slower as they carefully stepped over the uneven, treacherous ground, trying to be as quiet as possible in the black, mostly featureless landscape. The only landmarks were their destination and the capital glittering far behind, almost on the horizon. Out here, the Barrens seemed endless.

"How you holding up?" Sava asked, breath coming out in a rush of vapor after they had just made their way to the top of a low hill.

[Alversia]

Destroyed Fortress

Vos watched on the monitors as the Scourers moved in, filling in the blanks on the 3D Map that the Scuttlers had been unable to reach. There seemed to be no activity amongst the rubble, the air strike having done it's job and cleared out their opposition. She nearly felt confident enough to send down a party to secure the site for the Company but something held her back. It might have just been a hunch, or perhaps it was good old paranoia but she did not want to send down anyone until she was absolutely sure that the site was clear. She turned to the Operators who were watching the heavily armed Scourers and nodded to them,

“Have the Scourers check for subterranean structures.” She commanded. The Operator nodded and, within moments, the Scourers began to sweep backwards and forwards across the ruined courtyard of the fortress, droning over rubble and collapsed buildings, paying no attention to the flesh nor corpses that lay scattered throughout the structure. They were searching only for signs of tunnels or buildings in which soldiers may have hidden from them or a potential security leak that could see the base compromised before they had even established themselves. They were joined in this task by the surviving Scuttlers, breaking their cover once they detected that the threat had gone. They moved along the ground, climbing over the newly formed mountains and bypassing the patches of burning remains, be they human or otherwise. It was clear from the damage that some sort of magazine had been been hit during the strike and that had contributed as much to the devastation as any of the missile impacts. The combination of Drones, large and small, also began making sweeps for survivors, checking for any wounded amongst the wreckage who may have somehow made it through the hurricane of explosions that had swept their compound clear.

High above the compound, Nessa watched on her sensor readout as two of the missiles hit their targets. Though they were too far away for her to see, she could tell from the scopes as the two wingmen vanished that they had been taken down. It seemed as though the XX-38's had their first aerial kills over New Rastha. She could imagine the excitement of Lee Two and Three, but they would put dismiss it for now. They still had a job to do and there was still one fighter out there that had sped up to combat speeds. She was annoyed that she had not gained the kill but she was a patient pilot, she knew that it would come eventually if she stayed focused.

She heard the alarm going off in her helmet and immediately she reacted. There was no thought process behind it, no reasoning or logic. It was simply an instinctive jerk of the control stick that came only with decades of experience on the battlefield, honing and training that animal instinct to the point that it could often perform better in combat than a thinking brain could. On her HUD, she was barely aware of six missiles streaking towards them, moving in a straight line to impact right where their noses had been. She released chaff as she dived, knowing that her companions were doing the same, turning and spinning away while leaving false trails all the way. The first four missiles fell for the trap and detonated amongst the chaff, lighting up the night sky. The remaining two bent around and came shooting back after their targets, locked on the heat signature of the fighters. The two fighters being chased released more chaff and one again, they dived away. Once again, the fast missiles were unable or unwilling to break away, smashed once more into the decoys and exploded, leaving them in the clear. Two of the fighters were down to a single chaff release now, while Lee Leader and Lee Two had two more left apiece. Thank the gods there was only one more fighter left.

With a quick flick of the stick she spun around, feeling the tug of gravity pulling her body this way and that, pressing hard against her frame as she turned her nose back to face her foe. They were still a hundred miles from one another but the other was closing fast from below. She did not need to check that Lee One was with her, for she knew that she was. It was another one of those instinctive things that came from so long together. As Lee Leader and Lee One formed up to take the opponent head on, Lee Two and Lee Three were several thousand metres above them, ready to dive down on their foe if he dared to get too close.

For now, Nessa listened to the beeps in her ear, waiting for the long flat tone that would signal missile lock. She was almost able to time it.

Three. Two. One. Lock.

“Target locked. Strike Two.”

She pressed the button on her stick and was rewarded with a judder as another missile streaked away into the night. It was moving at multiple times the speed of sound and with the other pilot closing in, he would not even have the benefit of a warning before it was upon him.

Unknown Dome Installation

Val crouched down behind one of the outcrops, bent so that only her head appeared over the natural parapet. Although the faint sounds of rifle fire and automatic bursts filled her ears, she chose to focus instead on the figures that had appeared outside the dome. With the eyesight of a nocturnal hunter and backed with the finest equipment available to the VSS, she watched them and counted them. There were ten in all, some bigger than the others. They were dressed in a bizarre sort of uniform, all black with demented masks that reminded her somewhat of the Danaversians and the horrible attire they had worn in the field. They did not seem to be advancing too far beyond the dome but looked like they were merely sweeping the exterior with sensors.

Val's team had deployed around her, prone against the rocks with rifles in front. They were peering down their scopes, each drawing a bead on a single opponent, ready to drop him if the command was given. Val did not give that command. She knew that right now, their only real advantage was surprise and they would be foolish to give it away to quickly and so recklessly. At the same time, she was not sure how long they had to reach the centre of the dome and She was fairly confident that the cloak, concealing everything from body heat to residual radiation.

Slowly, her team began to move forward in two sections, always sticking to cover. One was always covering the other, keeping their weapons trained on the soldiers while the other pair moved like the hunters they were. Val had chosen her team not just from the Night Shadows of the Aluminan Defence Forces, but also from the hunters from the northern parts of Alumi. They were hunters born and bred, trained to move so silently and silkily that their presence was not noted until it was too late. Val had been training for this since she was five, she had fifty years of doing this. She was confident that she could get around them.