Operation Freedom Bird (Requisitioning a Robotech Factory)

The Argo, Robotech Assault Carrier High Security Communications container.   Xander has assembled the group for an informal, yet classified briefing, to discuss expected conditions at the Robotech Factory and some of the history associated. “Our path to this facility started long before the recent events on the ice planet Arcturus .” Xander began, pausing as he took a sip of coffee, fleetingly uncertain where he should begin this story. “During our initial deployment to the Ice Planet, as a scouting Flotilla, my section managed to obtain enemy intelligence. The intelligence data recovered proved to be   old Zentraedi Navigation logs. I provided this information to the section commander, however the bonds of trust between our peoples were fragile at that time. The micronians command, correction the Humans, were loath to include me in their struggled to decipher the information that we had obtained.” There was no malice in his statement, Xander simply presented the information factually. “A previous squad member by the name of Thomas J, was leading the science officers’ attempts, trying to comprehend the code in relation to points of interest. Humans and their egos.” Xander sighed, shaking his head sadly. “He was failing to make headway and grudgingly requested my assistance.” “Written in Zentraedi, the meaning of the glyphs had been instilled into every warrior long ago. With a laugh I simply pointed them out, much to Thomas J’s disgust, but that is a story for another time.”   Sitting nearby, an embarrassed Jacki-V brings up a copy of the Navigation Log on the projection screen, highlighting information in conjunction with Xander’s descriptions. “This entry indicates the factory, a large one. Another entry here, indicative of being a large automated mining station. These others represent small automated Agriculture stations and number of repair/resupply/medical stations. Frustratingly this information failed to impress the Human command elements of the expedition, I believe they sought high profile targets to help further their careers. Resultingly the navigation logs were put aside and forgotten.” Xander pauses, looking to Jonesy who nods his approval with the assessment of the state of events. “The campaign on Arcturus did not go well, a long story, the details of which I shall discuss another time. With telling losses, the battered remnants the detachment were forced to flee in a badly damaged Zentraedi Destroyer that we had commandeered. The destroyer now known as The Cook .”   “Thus, it was that we limped toward the station factory, our hope being that there might be enough power left in it to carry out the necessary repairs. We reasoned that, perhaps we might meet up with our Flotilla Command Carrier which, having been forced to withdraw its support from Arcturus orbit, was now missing in action.” “On arriving at the Robotech Factory, we were greeted by the wreckage of a destroyed ship, a drift in space nearby the station, of the Masters design. Elsewhere a half destroyed Zentraedi Destroyer lay crippled, connected to the station by one of the docking arms. Unchallenged, we too docked in one of the gantries and headed to the command centre cautiously.” Gun camera footage, care of a Pilot by the handle of Beta Ray, accompanies Xander’s descriptions. The pictures illustrate a decrepit vessel, illuminated in red, by dying emergency lighting. Walls and passageways bare the scars of weapons fire, leaking fluids and corrosion. “The path to the command center was littered with Zentraedi remains, from the injuries evident on the corpses, some were caused by the stations automated defence systems. Other, more gruesome injuries clearly had been caused postnotum.     We suspected that use of the defence system was intentional, the advanced technology would not have suffered a system error.” Deferring to Jonesy , Xander leans forward filling everyone’s coffee mugs, watching faces as he tries to read the squads mood. “In the Station logs recovered, we discovered that the facilities main Protoculture reactor had been on the verge of running out. The Masters feared what would happen if the Zentraedi found out, the anarchy that would likely ensure. Under order, the majority of the sector's garrison were placed into stasis, whilst those vessels powered by Protoculture fuel supplies, were secretly cannibalised to supply the fleet destined for Earth.” Cold anger creases Xander’s brow as he silently recounts the senseless death and bitter sting of betrayal. Noting his commanders internal struggle, Jonesy continues with carefully chosen words In order to disguise their actions and sow confusion, the logs show that the Masters transmitted a distress message, reporting a revolt aboard the station. Heeding the call, the Cruiser Kyra Rothguar was assigned to answered.  Renowned for their ruthless efficiency, the all-Female Zentraedi crew engaged the males in fierce battle within the confines of the Station. Believing that the males had broken the warrior code, no quarter was given.   The Masters ruse had worked effectively allowing them to attempt escape.

Placing a hand on Jonesy’s forearm, Xander resumes the account. In their arrogance as they departed, the Masters unleashed their weapons, targeting the Female Zentraedi Cruiser's missile battery. Perhaps they desired to cull any witnesses, I can not say. Their casual disregard for the lives of these loyal warriors…” Xanders coffee mug suddenly shattered in his hand, droplets splattering across the table.   Standing, he deftly sweeps the broken remnants into the trash, before continuing as though nothing has happened.   “The focused attack ignited a chain reaction, rending apart several decks. Superb training and discipline by the fast-acting female crew managed to contain the damage, enough to prevent it resulting in complete destruction.” “Aboard the station, someone gained control of the command center. Halting the self-destruct sequence, they unleashed the stations beam cannons on the Master's fleeing ship, destroying it.  In the aftermath, with all the male security forces dead or dying, but a small number of the female warriors remained.” Stemmed by limited weapons and supplies, the survivors where unable to locate the stations main vault of food and water rations. With their survival options fading, a skeleton force was selected to stand guard while the remaining force would go into status in hopes other relief forces would come to their aid. The warriors left to stand guard, all too soon, ran out of supplies. Unit cohesion broke down as individual violent tendencies surfaced. Forced to consume the bodies of the fallen, they eventually began hunting one another down for food, until Rothgar was the only warrior left standing. These events had taken place over a period of 3 years before we arrived. Jones and some of our other engineers succeeded in rigging together a power coupler, allowing us to work our way past sealed security doors. Working our way through the corroding structure, we found the command room.   Surprisingly there were signs of someone still alive aboard the station. On alert, we continued to the main reactor area, which was found to have been fortified. Thankfully were able to flush enough of the system to power up the repair bay the soon to be named Cook was trapped in. What we had not realized was that when we docked in one of the gantries, mechanical locking clamps had secured the vessel.   With power reapplied, the clamps disengaged. We scavenged just enough power to do some minor repairs and to wake 100 Zentraedi. What little power remained was redirected into the stats batteries, in the hope the UEEF would send a ship to recover the possible survivors in stasis. That never eventuated. With difficulty, we conducted some reprogramming or the control system.   If we were ever to returned, and had to retake this location, we could do so easily. Of course, we thought we might have to retake it from the Invid or Masters, not a Pirate group. The food supplies, readied weapons and as many mecha we could fit onto the Cook where stripped before we departed. A lot of unfinished gear was left behind. Some of the automated defences were functional in parts of the station, they were locked down and back door pass coded, known only to Jackie V , Beta Ray , Jones and Xander . Suspecting that the UEEF could use our assistance in their assault on the Robotech Master Home world, we set course for Tirol to join the fleet.

Operation Freedom Bird The opening act Utilizing the refurbished Tollian Assault ship The Argo and placing their trust in the experimental technology of the Dash Drive , the members of Squadron Ghost Bear have reached the outskirts of the system where the dormant Robotech Factory lies. Crippled Zentraedi warships silently lie in echoes of their death throws, having managed to reach this safe haven, only to discover the facility deaf to their plights.   A swarth of debris blankets the immediate sector, making normal piloting conditions hazardous and combat maneuverers deathly perilous. “Multiple contact groups sir, linking tactical data to our units now.” Jackie V reported crisply, her fingers deftly striking the control terminal of The Argo .   “The drive signatures and flight characteristics are concurrent with the pirate raider craft that we encountered earlier.” “Acknowledged, Tillman and Jonesy , move to combat speed and prepare to engage with the north eastern group. Hunter, with your longer range take point against those craft circling in from our west, ensure that they don’t flank our position. Xavior and I shall take point on the Argo.” Clean and precise, the unit slid their mecha into their assigned positions.   Xander watched the movements with a sense of pride.   The familiarity and professionalism, the strong bond of teamwork, this must be what it was like for humans when they spoke of family.   “I don’t expect them to stand down, however all units are to hold fire while I attempt a peaceful resolution.   If they truly are indentured slaves, forced into piracy, then they deserve a chance at mercy, at freedom.” Xander commanded wistfully.   The two Spherians that they had retrieved from the failed attempt to hijack the Argo had been terrified to the point of considering initiating the self-destruct sequence on their own vessel over capture.   Fear was a powerful leadership weapon, though far less reliable than trust and devotion.   “Stand down, enemy vessels I request that you stand down at once! The Zentraedi have returned to reclaim this facility, we offer you this one chance at a non-violent…” The open channel message was interrupted as focused beams of light unexpectedly burst forth from one of the manufacturing pods.   “Sir, weapons fire! Anti-warship weaponry and they are trying to get a targeting solution on the Argo!” Despite the evident concern tingeing her voice, Jackie V maintained her composure. “Painting the position now Sir. I thought that the facilities energy reserves were exhausted, how are they firing at us?” “Unknown. The how is not important at this time, the fact that it CAN however, must be dealt with.” Frustration clear in the set of Xander’s shoulders. “All units, weapon systems on the Factory Repair pod are hot! Take cover, evasive flight tactics!   Engage targets of opportunity, provided that you stay hull down against those damn guns!” Volleys of laser fire crisscrossed the expanse, hunting targets. The veritech fighters of Ghost Bear Squadron darting like fish between the closing barrage of fire.   The Argo, significantly larger and heavier, incapable of such feats, was not as lucky. The fates, it seemed did not wish to claim her this day however, for by luck or divine chance asteroid debris spoiled the shot that would have decimated the Argo and all hands. Blinding light silhouetted the asteroid as Xander watched it crumble and vaporise in slow motion before his eyes.   “Like so many planets before…” he muttered under his breath. “This production line, how do they differ Clone Master ?” The voice emanated from the darkness, cold, devoid of emotion. “A new trial, experimental my Lord.   Warlord template as the council requested, however with the introduction of genetic material that permits cellular repair of damage brain tissues.” The Clone Master replied, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “Higher aggression traits, musculature and a marked reduction in empathy.” “These creatures are tools, nothing more, DO NOT loose site of that fact!   The have a functional life span of one decade before they become obsolete, do not think of them as pets.” The disembodied voice issued an undisputable caution. “These are constructs my Lord, nothing more. With each generation I can refine them, bring them closer to perfection.” The Clone Master replied in disgust. The thought of one of these crude beasts as a pet was abominable. “Then explain the reasoning behind altering the cranial tissue?” There was menace evident in the undertone of this voice, the being in the cloning tank realised. Either the voices were not aware that he was able to comprehend, or they simply did not care. “Each time we reprogramed these creations, there is the likelihood of mental degradation. My most successful subject to date, Khyron , displays the early signs of this.   Potentially this could result in unpredictable behaviour, clearly an undesirable trait.” The Clone Master , where ever he was, replied.   The warrior within the cloning chamber subtly tried in vain to look about, yet its head was secured in one plane, immovable.   Growth lattices of synthetic bone affixed it in place, preventing it from moving, despite all attempts. “Hmm, what is this?” A figure, most likely that of the Clone Master, hovered into view. “How is this possible, you still have several days of vat growth to undergo.   Your basic nervous system is incomplete, yet you appear to possess cognitive function?”     The being in the Cloning Tank gazed out at this miniature creature, small and insignificant, yet there was something about the creature that filled it with dread. “Xander , yes that shall be an appropriate name for this test subject. I look forward to seeing how you perform in the field test, subject Xander .” The clone master muttered aloud as he drifted from view. The planetoid of Wilton had been openly defying payment of the trade tithes demanded of it by the benevolent Robotech Masters .   A technologically backwards planet, the Masters had seen fit to share with these primitive peoples technology and trade goods that surely must have eased their burdens. It most certainly had resulted in it rising to prominence opening new markets for the exotic soul crystals that were prized about the empire. None of which held any influence on the young warlord.   The benevolent Masters had the good grace to permit this primitive race to join the Empire, honour demand that they contribute to the tithe as should any vassal. A lesson that must be taught to all vassals, lest the defiance spread.     “I am reaching approach vector now my esteemed Lords.” Xander knelt before the multi window control screen, images of the High Lords of the Robotech Empire gazing down apon him with emotionless disinterest. “As expected, you have performed well thus far Warlord Xander , do not fail us in this task.” The head of the Council of Lords replied. “I shall not!   Should it cost my life, I would willingly pay it for the greater good, the ongoing honour of the Empire!” The young Warlord vowed, patriotism swelling in his breast. There was no greater privilege than to have been gifted this mission. “See that you do not, for the consequences for…hrrug……fzzeg….” The communication wavered and failed.   This was to have been expected, the external heat was reaching critical levels, the antenna array had most likely burnt off. Sweat ran freely down his finely crafted body as the heavily modified Zentraedi gunship plunged into the sun. “Mother, what is that? A new star?” Gazing at the glory of the stars, rebreather affixed to his feline face the young Garudan tugged at the hem of his mother’s robe. Wilton was to be their new home. His father’s business had brought them to this backwater, there were many new families here now and friends to be made. His mother as usual payed him no heed, she was discussing the spiritual glory of walking the Hin with the people of stone. Maybe some of the other children that he had met would be interested in his find…Why was it becoming so light? It was late evening, the sun had long since chased from the sky, yet the purple and red of dawn crept across the landscape. Smouldering and aflame, a scarcely recognisable mass of deformed metal materialized in close orbit to the planetoid Wilton , the contrails of fold-drive energy trailing away.   The inertia of molten mass of Zentraedi gunship carrying it onward into geosynchronous orbit.   A shower of molten armour marking its passage like a dying meteor.   It’s pilot, the Warlord Xander stood at the helm. There as little left to do, though he was determined to watch the aftermath of his actions. Before he succumbed to his injuries.   The shielding on the gunship had failed, his hands blackened and cooked were locked in rictus on the support bar next to the last remaining view console. The flesh dead, like much of his body, his heart slowing due to critical organ failure. “For the glory of the Empire he whispered unto himself.” A jet of solar energy sprayed forth from the still open space fold envelope. Untamed energies cascading over but a section of the planetoid. Yet the death note hade been signed, the intense heat igniting the atmosphere. A rolling wall of flame curling about the sphere, igniting every organic organism. Burning away the atmosphere… “It is done…” Xander gurgled as his body failed, locked to the bars of the command console, dead eyes fixed on the dead world below. “Construction is progressing well sir. The Factory should be operational in a matter of days, analytical systems are finalizing the checks now.” The Clone Master finished his report, the tedium of being required to set up such facilities grated on his nerves.   Though he did have to admit that there was a certain pleasure to be gained in the knowledge that the dead planet of Wilton had been gutted and now housed a Robotech Repair Factory .   No better message to be demonstrated to the vassal planetoids than parading this corpse planet as a costume. Surprisingly on arrival here, construction teams had discovered the frozen, cooked remains of his experimental Xander Warlord.   Remarkably the cranial tissue had survived the devastating roasting that destroyed the creatures body.   Perhaps life-support failure had acted like cyro-stasis, perhaps the manipulation of the brain genetics.   Having reimplanted the brain in to a surrogate clone he instructed the facility to run a battery of tests, statistical data would validate if this line of product was worthy of his effort. Once tissue repairs were complete and a memory erasure carried out, it could be reassigned to the fleet.   Loosing interest in the project, the Clone Master , floated away to his next project.   The Arc, now this would permit him to roam the magnitude of the Empire. Examine the various lifeforms that inhabited it, like shopping at the Grand Bazaar on Tirol , he would be free to purchase test subjects to perfect his research. Provided that the Grand Counsel did not discover his misdirection of funds and resources. Come to think of it, the perchance some slaves from Arcturus might prove entertaining… “Sir, please! Are you ok?” There was fear and concern in Jackie V’s voice, a hand on his shoulder. Restraining the urge to slap this insolent creature Xander gazed down with undisguised loathing at he young ensign. Where the hell was he? Why would a female dare to touch him, the insolence!   Something wet ran down his chin, dripping into the material of his flight suite.   Wiping it away his hand was left smeared with crimson. “Blood?! Which of you insubordinate cowards chose to strike a superior officer?” The rage in Xanders voice echoed about the command bridge.   Who were these creatures, they certainly were not pure Zentraedi. Were they some form of crossbreed? Fearful and pathetic creatures! Nausea gripped him causing him to double over in pain, despite himself as seizures shook his body.   Blood, there was grit and blood in his mouth. Hacking he spat out fragments of tooth. Something was disturbingly wrong with this body that he was inhabiting.   Had he been taken prisoner, captured by the micronians. Had the campaign under Lord Breetai failed? Like a flood, a jumble of images and memories overwhelmed the Zentraedi officer. Memories thought long erased emerged from the depths for his subconscious, merging, amalgamating into something that the Clone Master could never have foreseen. Raggedly coughing Xander drew himself from the floor.   Looking up, he waved a terrified Jackie V to stand down. Laser pistols drawn, the crew backed slowly away from him, aim never wavering. With blade drawn Xavier drew the Warlord to his feet. “ Are you defective? Do these people harm and I shall end you myself brother!” There is no ill intent in Xaviors words, he has seen too many a loyal Zentraedi warrior succumb to degenerative madness. A mercy killing, performing last rites is the only honourable end for many of these poor creatures. “Stand down brother, please stand down my friends.” Xander croaks out, wincing in pain. “Something has happened to me, something far beyond my design.   Jackie , my apologies, I had no intention of scaring you, or placing any of you in danger.”   “None the less, I will examine you in the Med Bay sir.” Xavier commands in a tone that indicated that he will accept no other outcome. “Very well, that is advisable.   Jackie , if you haven’t already please transmit the shutdown codes via our backdoor programme. Lets get those damn guns off line. Jonesy , take command while we ensure that I am who I think that I am!” Xander requested formally as he allowed Xavier to escort him to the medical bay. “Brother, we MUST, take this facility intact! Our honour demands it!” Xander whispered…

Robotech Maintenance Pod “Ok, so approximately 340 feet from your axis of travel, you should spot an access hatch. You will need to check your 360 as I can’t ascertain if it is a wall, floor or ceiling mount.” Running on caffeine alone, J onsey battled his fatigue. “There is a hell of a lot of scrap and rubbish down here Sir, going to take us a bit.” The reply bit back with thinly veiled derision. “Well we need you to keep focussed here Sargent, the A rgo is a sitting duck out there.” Clearly Jonsey was going to have to have words with this individual later.  The detachment support element was running on minimal rest and good intentions.  Cobbled together from military and civilian elements, the rag tag recruitment they had been forced to adopt had not lent them any favours. Not that J onsey had really been left with much of a choice, the veil of secrecy that shrouded this mission had effectively dictated that.  Should Edwards and his council learn of the disappearance of The Cook , well the response would be brutal and direct. The running betting pool in the maintenance crew included: Declaring The Cook and her crew deserters, renegades. Stripping General Cosgrove of his command and seizing/reassigning all assets. Declaring that all crew and associates of Xander were enemies of the UEEF. Jonsey grimaced as he sipped the bitterness of the coffee that was pushed into his hand.  Varga nodded at him in acknowledgement. “I know it’s crap, but it does the job.” That V arga , a civilian had stepped up and offered to help coordinate the efforts of these non-combatants, had been the lifeline he desperately needed.  The sheer scale of this facility was enormous! The damage sustained from the Robotech Master sabotage and the resultant fight for survival, of those left here to die, had inflicted telling damage. Sadly, more than Jonsey and his crew would be capable of repairing in any reasonable time frame. Triage was the order of the day, determining the most critical systems and attempting to bring online whatever they could. If only... “Ok Sir, we have found it. There's a Zentraedi hanger stuffed in the access, pulling it out shortly.” The number of mutilated corpses wedged into odd locations aboard the station was concerning. Identifying what had happened to each and every individual was beyond the scope of this mission, musings for another time. “Bloody thing is stuck good, like it's been strung up here. Don't just stand there you limp cocks, help me move this thing. It’s the size of a god damn whale, everyone grab a hold.” “Sergeant, you are hot micking.” J onsey winced, hoping that the rest of the crew wouldn't notice. They had set up a maintenance communications channel to avoid interrupting military orders.  Despite the pressure that his team was under to facilitate a safe haven, he knew that he was left no choice but to push them in their efforts. Unfortunately, as was apparent by their flippant behaviour, they saw fit to push back. “Listen Sergeant, sort your damn team out! Coordinate your actions and get this done! There are dozens of circuits that need to be checked and reset before we can power this hulk.” Exasperation and anger lacing his words more harshly than he had intended, Jonsey allowed the momentum to carry him.  “If you are incapable of performing this simple task …” The Sergeant and his crew never heard his words. Nor did they notice the multiple dull red flashing lights on the corpse’s chest. The force of the explosion blanked the visual feeds, tossing broken bodies about in the access passage as an alarm howled in the makeshift command center.  “No, no, no. This can’t be happening, no god no!” Someone was muttering in shocked disbelief. With a start Jonsey realised that the voice was his own. Cascade power failures, as resultant from the explosion, robbing both men of any further information. “Seven, seven flat lines. All of them, they are all dead.” Varga whispered in disbelief. The surge of nausea rising from the pit of his stomach took Jonsey by surprise, choking the words in his throat.  He had held the strings of fate for each man, yet in his haste he tore them asunder. Their blood was on his hands. He could taste it as surely as the bile in his throat. Gripping the now dead console with white knuckles he felt the shock hit him as his legs gave way. Collapsing to the floor, the consoles teetered and landed across his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Varga commented looking down at his trapped friend. “You… help…” Jonsey gasped, struggling to breathe. Struggling to shift the weight of the display console, his strength failing him. “To have your dreams crushed, to be powerless to act.” Varga continued ignoring his friends attempts to speak, the back of his hand tracing against Jonseys cheek. “Greed, it is a trait easily exploited in so many creatures. Your man Varga merely saw the soul crystals as a quick source of income, up until he decided to pick them up.” With the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Jonsey struggled painfully against the crushing weight.  Yanking his laser pistol free he swung it towards Varga . Contemptuously Varga battered the weapon aside. “I laced your drink, maybe a little too much, but you represent the last of the puppets that I needed to collect. Oh, there it is! The look of panic so indicative of your race.  But you haven’t learnt true fear yet, oh no, you have so much to learn and I have so much to teach.” The being that was controlling Varga gazed down at his paralysed victim.  Vice like hands roughly gripped Jonsey’s head, as the being forced the jagged edge of the Soul crystal against his flesh. “Yesss, scream for me child, this shall be the first of your many lessons!”

Location unknown “It doesn’t seem to be working on these two, Snipps !” “Arrh hell, what gives with that? I ground up the stuff and put it in everything I could find, can’t be any fight left in em!” “Dunt matta, the crystal things ain’t working right!” Shrouded figures wavered before Xavior , with one eye swollen shut it was going to be difficult to pick details. His face ached where they had worked him over, perhaps they assumed him to be the Detachment leader. Had he told them that?   His mind was so clouded, far worse than the time that he had been drinking with Rodar . What had happened, the last memory he had was… The Maintenance Bay maybe? His Vindicator had required a replacement arm after a catastrophic misfire.   The maintenance techs had been overly sour toward him, so he had agreed to share a Victory Cigar . As foul an experience as he had ever been forced to endure, evidently one was not supposed to inhale the greasy smoke into the lungs. Memories fell away after that point. His mouth and lungs still stung from the after effect. Something tapped his hand, rhythmic and persistent. What was this? Fingers, not his own pressed into the palm of his hand, shifting, moving. “Howd you bring down the brute soldier Ratty ?” “Contact vector drugs, they gots loads a stuff like dat in their med center hey. Might even have something for that rash you got after the last job we dun! Put the gel in its boots, took a while but dun worked good.” Tap, press, tap tap. The fingers were trying to tell him something, a message, a code? He knew this, knew it instinctively from combat training, it was so frustratingly close. Yet his clouded mind struggled to grasp the thread of memory that would unravel the puzzle. “Right, sit em up then Ratty . They got a message to put out for tha boss 'fore we can move the rest a da crew in.” Rough fingers gripped his hair, yanking forcefully, painfully, as he was forced into a sitting position. A low grunt of pain from behind him confirming the suspicions of his muddled mind, he was bound to another captive.   The tapping of fingers against his started once again, forceful, insistent. “Right ya weak piece of crap, youse tell your crew ta lay down dem shooters. Or I takes you apart with me cutters.” “Can’t believe this one was ment to be the destroyer of worlds, hey Snipps . Just weaklings surrounded by mindless brutes like this thing, least OUR boss got real power hey!” The unexpected slap across his face drove searing pain through his already swollen eye.   Wincing with the pain, Xavior experienced a moment of clarity. They were seated in the first aid station of the Argo, the cold surgical steel of the floor hard against his legs.   Before him stood a man, of sorts. Cruel looking mechanical shears taking the place of his left forearm. “The label of the Demigod, was the Phaethon . The immolator of worlds.” The voice of the captive behind Xavior spoke with solemn timbre. “Aint no one talking ta you fuck face! Ratty, pull its tongue out for me hey.” The individual referred to as Snipps instructed while laying the mechanical shears on top of Xaviors knee. The taped message into Xaviors palm, firm and commanding. Authoritative. Finally, he understood! “Make ready. Attack!”

“ Sara !” The sharp whisper and gentle knock of an elbow into her arm, brought stirring her from the light sleep. Colour flushing her cheeks, it appeared that the speaker had not noticed. “Thanks Sean .” She whispered under her breath. That she had drifted off during a briefing was embarrassing enough, had the speaker noticed this laps of discipline, her shame would have been crippling. Directional overhead lighting throwing out a tight pool of light, throwing the speakers face into stark relief.  Mind blank, Sara studied the figure trying to recall who they represented and what the heck this briefing was about. “ Arthur , catch me up, what did I miss?” The subtle whisper, thankfully unnoticed by the other senior staff seated in the theatre. “Not sure where this is going, something about incompatible technologies. Not really following it myself, too much jargon.” Outfitted in formal dress uniform, Sara noted that it fit Arthur quite well.  Had they not worked so closely together, she may even have invited him for a drink.  But after the Hadron/Rothgar incident everyone was being careful not to let budding relationships interfere with their assignments. “I must be tired, I can’t follow any of this. Who is the speaker and what is so important as to drag us all from our duties?” Angling toward Sean she probed for more information, struggling to keep the frustration out of her voice. “No idea, but even Xander is here. Must be important to drag him away from the command con. Just wish that this guy would get on with it!” Frustration clearly evident in the harsh clipped nature of Sean’s response. “…It is not just a case of engineering, there are multiple levels on which these two technologies conflict.  Initial studies were incapable of capturing or accounting for these effects.” The speaker continued, his heavily accented voice adding yet another layer of difficulty to an already complex concept.  A raised hand interrupted the diatribe.  “Sir, we have witnessed some of after effects these conflicts on the Daedalus .” Jonsey spoke up clearly, confidently. Addressing the speaker as an equal, causing several senior personnel to shift uncomfortably in their chairs. “Yes, it came to my attention that the Daedalus had returned.  This is a matter of deep concern, as I believe that you are just beginning to discover.” Unspoken, though the implication was, the speaker wanted it clearly known by all, that none were truly his equal. “In simplistic terms, the technologies inherent to the Dash Drive are incompatible with those of the Protoculture Drive System . The associated level of risk becomes even more unpredictable should the Dash Drive interact with the Fold Drive . We do not have enough data to determine what a safe threshold of use might represent.” “Well actually Doctor, I have pictures of the internal structural degradation of the Daedalus , they may prove useful.” Jonsey offered, apparently aggrieved at being dismissed so readily. “You entered the vessel?” The speaker lent forward gripping the lectern with urgent concern. A Doctor? Why would a doctor be debriefing them in relation to technical issues with Fold Drives ? What was there to fear, Drog’no had been defeated.   What the heck was going on.  Sara’s mind reeling as it fought against the illogical information. The imagery of the lecture theatre swam in her vision, suddenly light headed. Darkness obscuring the walls as shadows crept from every corner, consuming the reflected light, devouring the image. “Very well, clearly we do not have the time for subterfuge.” The speaker referred to as the Doctor walked forward to stand before Sara . “I have been trying to discretely warn you all of the dangers that this technology represents, for freedom of choice is the core of my beliefs. However, there are elements actively seeking to force your hand, those that would encourage you to risk another jump.” “No, please let me finish my child! The connection is fragile.” The Doctor held up his hand, quelling any interruption. “A choice, a terrible choice will be forced apon you and your fellows. Traps within traps! Yet in times like these you must recognise when an action is futile, plot the course that might carry you to safer waters.” “Damn it! No, there is more to be said!” The Doctors image wavers, dissolving as the darkness of unnatural shadows crawl across his image. “Beware of Ed…Power…” Gasping, sweat plastering the bedding to her skin Sara starts awake. Slapping the intercom panel frantically “ Xander , sir we need to talk, all of us!”

Poetic license has been taken with this section of the story. A retelling of events, to chronicle how the party arrived at the predicament in which they now find themselves. The man behind the curtain. As the last quick connect control cable mated home, a low audible hum issued forth from the Matrix. A melodic, yet unrecognizable rhythmed sound. Song like, dipping and weaving. Emanating from deep within the Protoculture matrix , reverberating through the steelwork of the decking. The vibrations induced by the sound, spreading forth, waking the station from its forced slumber. Jonsey marvelled at the beauty and complexity of station. Here they stood at the figurative heart of the station, bearing witness to it being brought back to life. How few humans would ever have the privilege of experiencing an event of this magnitude? Intrusion alert , intrusion alert . Counter measures deployed ! “ Jonsey ?” Xander , prompted. The disturbing dreams that the crew had been experiencing had left them rattled. Jonsey had been considerably affected, refusing to discuss what he had experienced. To be expected sir, I’m on it now! Just need to use our backdoor code... Deploying advanced defensive countermeasures, not essential personnel to lockdown stations. Frowning Jonsey tried repeatedly to gain access to the security settings.... “Sir, we have a situation!” Jackie V the sections communications technician broke in on a secure frequency. “Someone or something is actively shutting us out of station controls!” “Must be a control nerve centre on this level somewhere, a supervisory control station.” Jonsey interrupted in an exasperated tone. “Whoever, whatever, is causing this is too fast for me. Programming and codes keep changing, I can’t maintain the upper hand.” “Copy that, Jackie we need the schematics for this level now.” Xander replied firmly, driving the team to action. “Shit, son of a...The copies I had just got corrupted sir.” Jackie replied in despair. “Which direction Jackie , from what you recall?” “South west from your position, that would be my best estimate sir.” “Form up Ghost Bear detachment, we are going to have company.” Xander barked out his warning.   “The agent is in position now my Lord.” The technician announced. “Good, what is its condition, is is fully functional?” Edwards inquired, the welfare of the agent was arbitrary, he needed to know if it could perform its mission. “The agent is malnourished; response time is slow. Expecting improvement with access to facility power.” The emotionless response from his Ghost technician a pleasing indicator of their progress with the Trollian surgical module. No trace of the technician’s personality remained, yet the skill sets they required remained unscathed. “Perfect.” Edwards mused to himself. “Order the agent to establish audio and visual links as soon as possible.” Keying a secure line to his 2IC Benson, Edwards was pleased when the man answered almost immediately. “The show is about to begin Benson, make haste to the viewing room .” Particle cannon fire lanced down the passage way, throwing movements into stroboscopic disarray. The members of Ghost Bear detachment had long since opted for infrared optics, however the cascade of fire made it difficult to pick targets. Robotic automata, stylised about the design lines of the Zentraedi Battlepod of old, moved with ruthless efficiency. Some hidden command signal driving their actions, they heedlessly continued their onslaught. “ Jackie , was there a secondary terminal on this level? We need to shut down this drone swarm before we become overrun!” Barking orders over the din of return fire, Xander hoped that he was understood. “I have your visual feed, there is a secondary communications control in this level, access via a service corridor.” Jackie replied, addressing the unit as one. “There should be exposed conduit works and control cabling running to the Node. That’s the best I can offer” “Understood and acknowledged. Sean and Sara , escort Jonsey to that location. I’ll buy us time.” Alternating communications frequencies, Xander tried once again to issue a shut down command to the defence robots. A grim smile curling the corner of his mouth as yet another ‘bot sank into diagnostics and repair mode. Where had these machines been when hundreds of thousands of his people were ordered forward into the teeth of enemy guns? What had they been seen as, a mobile meat shield, mere cannon fodder?   Cold anger at the callous disregard the Robotech Masters showed the Zentraedi twisting in his guts. “Found it, sleazing the system now!” Jonsey reported excitedly. “Assisting with program input!” “Covering!” Sara and Sean replied. With highly drilled proficiency the squad executed their tasking, each member an integral part of the whole. “CONTACT, flank!” Sara shouted over the echo of controlled blasts of fire. Whatever it was that that was wrestling them for control of the station was becoming desperate. Swarms of Heavy Assault drones arriving via rapid deployment lifts. “Take my spot Sara .” Twisting his mecha with martial grace, twin bolts of energy sliced through empty air. Sean's return fire catching his assailant in a weakened spot and reducing it to scrap. “It’s so damn fast! Upload this program for me while I try and nail it down!” Jonsey hollered, fighting to establish dominant control. The crackling hiss of armour, the soft warning voice, the amber cautionary display in the squads shared HUD. “Who’s hit?” Xander surprised himself at the concern that had crept into his voice. “ Sara , rear armour hit, penetrated!” Sean reported glancing across at the smoking, blistered hole in her mecha before returning focused fire. The throng of Assault bots was thick, a small miracle that the damage they weathered had not been more telling. The overwhelming numbers would see the tide was turning against them. “ Sara ?” Jonsey enquired, looking for a response. “Program uploaded, just a little shaken.” The blood trickling down her forehead, evident in the cockpit cam, telling a different story.   Fingers dancing across switches, she pushed her mech away from the interface terminal. “ SEAN , BRACE!” The reverberation from the armoured superstructure of station, amplifing the noise of the missile barrage. In the remnants of the plasma fire, only slag. Defence system anomaly, maintenance shutdown. “Thats the Bots Sir, don’t have full control, but neither does it.” The clatter of keys underscoring Jonseys efforts. “Understood, moving on the control center now.” Throwing his mecha forward, he raced down the hall. “I have Jonsey covered, give the boss some back up.” Sean directed, his mech signalling a thumbs up as she departed. Standing before the view console, Edwards watched and waited. “This Benson, shall be memorable.” With a groan, the protesting steel blast doors slid apart as Sara encouraged them to open.   Before them, kneeling apon the floor was a humanoid form. Cybernetic tendrils snaking away from it, embedded in to various terminals and ports.   Green chitinous protrusions plate the being akin to a biomechanical armour, generated by an insane mind. “Venton!” The disgust and disappointment in Xanders voice making the name shameful. Control screens burned to life, the image of Edwards face leering at Xander. “So it comes to this! Traitorous Zentraedi, you indicated that the station was unpowered. Worthless, much like yourself. “Looks can be deceiving…” Xander replied before Edwards spoke over the top of him, cutting off his reply. “Yes, can’t they now.   I gather you have found my puppet, my mole if you will. “ Edwards smirked, enjoying the preamble, drawing out the play of his hand.   “Oh he has proven to be quite a useful tool, I know a great deal about you and your deserters. He assisted me in generating the evidence required to have Grant imprisoned. You see soldier, my reach is limitless. “That seems doubtful.” Xander replied coolly. “If it were you wouldn’t be stalling for time, as you are now.” Eye narrowing General Edwards glared spitefully at the leader of Ghost Bear Detachment .   “ General Cosgrove met with an unfortunate accident, he has suffered a complete mental breakdown.   You belong to me. “We do not, we belong to the UEEF . Sir” Xander replied evenly. A sneak curling the crooked scaring of his mouth, Edwards continues in a venomous tone. “Very well, these are my terms, my orders. Your detachment will present itself and this Repair station to me at Tirol. You shall bend the knee and swear fealty to me as your Lord! You will renounce the Hunters and support a vote of no confidence!” “My loyalty lies with General Breetai and he supports the Hunters . The Detachment have their own minds, I can not speak for them.”   Glancing to his left Xander confirmed that the feed was being recorded. Fury flashes across Edwards face briefly before he regains composure.   “Go then, run to your precious Hunters, save them if you can!” Please be the look of confusion playing across Xander face, the General continues.   “As result of a serious breach in security, the enemy may have discovered information relating to the location of forces at Praxis .   Go on now, take the Cook , play the hero.   See if you can save your beloved...” A barrage of armour piercing mini-missiles sever the connection as they obliterate the Invid Experiment that was known as Ventom. Aftermath See the entry Rubicon for Xanders speech to the crewmembers of The Cook   and Ghostbear Detachment.   See Echo's of the past for the fall out of the groups decisions not to submit to indentured servitude under General T.R.Edwards. Finding themselves now in possession of a semi functional Robotech Masters Factory , and with enemies on all sides, the Ghost Bear Squadron set about making the station jump ready. A phenomenal work load lies ahead before they can return full functionality to the station, however that pales in comparison to the threat of Forces sympathetic to General Edward cause.  Forces that they predict will be making haste in order to capture the station before if can Space fold   to safety.  Their destination the unknown system of Proto-Suminus , where they hope to secure a source of food and act as a rallying point for the fledging Zentraedi Republic.