Proto-Suminus System, Founding steps of the Republic

Little information is available regarding the system denoted as Proto - Suminus .   The tactical data captured previously by Ghostbear Squadron indicated a Zentraedi navigation way point, referring only to the location as an “Agriculture facility".   Food represented one of the primary concerns for the command group. Supplies long since extinguished aboard the repair factory, they were reliant on stores held aboard The Cook. Supplies that would be sorely tested should other Zentraedi vessels seek refuge and repair with their founding republic. The Robotech Repair factory, having successfully folded into the system, dispatched units to conduct preliminary renascences and scanning. These cursory scans revealed three satellite stations, in concentric orbits about a weak star. Two of which had failed, falling silent, victims to the ravages of time and fatigue. Incredibly one facility shows signs of life, an aquatic biodome. Common to all three facilities, appears to be significant damage, the cause of which is not known.   Following an aggravating encounter with one of the local representatives by the name of A'doy , representatives from the various sections of the Squadron convene for debrief. Proto-Suminus Robotech Repair factory station (The Zentraedi Republic) Debriefing Room “Many of you will have had a chance to review squad cam footage captured of my encounter with the Turtle man.   For those who haven’t, allow me a quick summary.   This creature who calls himself A'doy , sought to manipulate us.   He attempted to coerce us into tipping the balance of power that exists within this city, by having us obtain him a device or weapon of great power.” Face darkening Xander continues as traces of anger creep into his voice.   “When this ploy failed to deliver the results that he desired, he fondled Zara.   Asking to trade her and other women in return for food. Supposedly they wished to have the women as brides, however I believe that they planned a different end. I strongly suspect they sort sex slaves as breeding stock.” “Yet another race that wish to see others serve as slaves.   NOT ON MY WATCH, I WILL NOT ABIDE IT! THE PRACTICE OF SLAVERY MUST END!” The cold rage in the Zentraedi Warriors voice causing those assembled to shift uncomfortably in their seats. “Sir, representatives of the Squadron, there has been movement at the Spire located within the city center. I caught a flash of something as I was conducting sweeps outside the dome.” Garret reported uneasily, it was his duty to report pertinent information, irrespective of any underlying tensions. The stiffness in his stance indicative of strict military training, any familiarity he shared with members of the command section, masked as he presented his information.   “A security team was dispatched to investigate. They reported no interaction with the indigenous peoples, though they recovered this device.” “What is it? How do we know that it isn’t a trap or weapon?” Jackie V asked with concern. “Precautions were taken Madam; the device was scanned for explosives and toxins.” Garret replied, biting down on the rebuke he wished to deliver.   How could they think that he would be foolish enough to endanger their lives by failing to do his job?   Jackie was a senior Officer and as an NCO he was most certainly not in a position argue. “I think that I know what this is!”   Grant stood approaching the device. “Long ago, many generations passed, one of my ancestors had a device much like this! Strange parallels between worlds! Please, allow me to try my hand, I believe that I can figure out how to make it operate.” “Very well, Grant .   Pass on our thanks to your team Garret, your vigilance and professionalism is appreciated.” Xander replied stiffly, mildly surprised by the stirrings of rage he felt.    “ Varga , how are your teams progressing with recovery of the salvaged Agri satellites?” The Civilian had been temporarily tasked as Lt. Jonses 2IC, his salvaging skills obtained in the city of Formicarium, providing them with a much needed edge. “They look to have taken a hell of a beating from debris, shielding stripped away, all blistered and warped like they had been melted? Dun know on that one. Anyway, tugs are still moving them in, works a bit fiddly. Some of the structure is sound, other sections crumbles if you grab it wrong.”   Taking a noisy slurp of his cup of noodles, oblivious to the lack of etiquette he displayed, Varga simply stopped talking. Remaining members of the assembly group left perplexed at the complete lack of dress and bearing. “ Jonsey , have we made any progress establishing an interface hook up?” Xander ventured , trying to maintain momentum.   Time was a precious commodity, one best not wasted on idle chat. “Honestly Sir, I have no idea how this Agri-satellite sustained life for as long as it has.   The station looks to have been affected by massive EMF damage. I can only assume that some rudimentary analogue systems survived.   Of the little data I have managed to recover, it is corrupted unto the point of being useless.”   Frustration at his lack of successful progress expressed itself as worried lines at the corner of his tired eyes.   “Most systems and structures produced by the masters follow a standardized template, are there similarities with this facility to any identified in our data bases?” Xander enquired, posing the open question to the teams of technicians seated in the Debriefing room. “Unfortunately not bud.   The wrecked stations, that we are in the process of skull dragging in, are only the same on the outside.”   Varga interrupted, engrossed in his meal. They both had a dome thingy, but structures different on both, designs and bonding too. Kinda like they came from different places, could be?” “Sir, there would likely be a great deal of information that might be obtained visually.” Tillman offered, trying to deflect attention from the lack of decorum displayed by the Civilian. “Much of the surface of the city can be observed from outside the Dome.   We could attempt to generate rough maps, of the elements that we can see.” A crackling sound filled the room as the device at Grant's feet whirred and animated. Odd noises clicked and carolled from a sound horn mounted to the archaic machine.   Then an odd sound with which they were all familiar, the howling whistle of Cyclone jet thrusters.   The machine clicked and stopped, filling the room with silence. “What do you suppose that is meant to mean?” Jackie V asked, voicing the question that remained to be asked. “If I may?” Xavior , the ships psychiatrist stood, preparing to lecture to the assembled parties.   “I would suggest that the people of the dome are trying to talk to us. They think that the roar of the patrolling cyclone represents our language.   This also indicates that who ever is seeking to talk would not be associated with the Turtle hominid called A’doy. ” Xavior surmised.   “We should assume that there may be various factions within this bio-dome and that A’doy does not speak for them all.”

The antiquated device used by the Aquatic citizens to try and communicate with the members of GhostBear Squadron.  A disc of hardened wax residing in the position one might place a record.  An odd mix of aquatic clicks overlayed with the roar of Jet engins leads the group to believe that this is a primitive attempt to communicate. 

Deep within the vaulted catacombs of the underwater Agri station of Proto-Tethys , the denizens gather in a mixture of fear and anger.  Rumour of their liaison’s failure at talks with the Demigods was running riot.  The wordsmith A’Doy had chosen to hide, rather than to accept responsibility for his ineptitude.  Not only had he been unable to reach an understanding with the Queen of these gods, but he had angered the Godling known as The Weapon . With information trickling back to the citizens of the underworld, anger fuelled the Merrow brutes’ searches as they hunted him down.  In short order he was dragged unceremoniously before the assembled crowd.   “What was your aim up there A'doy ?” The Merow digging its claws into the rim of the turtle’s carapace shell.  Lifted off his feet, pinned against the wall, A'doy hoped that he could find the words to save his shell. “Well, granted I gauged the situation incorrectly...” “MISJUDGED!!” Black eyes stared back at him as the crowd grew more restless. The motes of fear mixing with the palpable concern caused by A'doys flippant remark.  The mood of the crowd was desperate, dangerous. If I don’t reign in my tongue it might well cost me my neck!  The realization hitting him as hard as the blows that the Merrow brute had inflicted on his legs. “Please, hear me out! Warriors, skilled farmers, men of honour all. The newcomers appear like the first people, the ancients.” Pausing for effect, A'doy cast his voice wide. Slipping with ease into his roll of the keeper of history, he began weaving his story. “They are not the saviour’s that we were promised in the ancient texts, no they represent the end of times.” The sorrow etched into his face as he pointed to a picture of a Zentraedi warrior stuck to the bulkhead wall. A sorrow he did not feel, yet theatrics was an integral component to weaving a compelling story that they might accept. “On behalf of you fine peoples, I had sought to plead our case with these Gods, hoping against hope that they would be benevolent to our cause.  Instead of understanding and mercy, I discovered that the destroyer of worlds was amongst them.” The murmuring and shouts of anger and concern surged through the crowd, as A'doy had suspected.  Yet this was a reassuring sign, emotion was a tool, one that he might use to steer the crowd towards a favourable decision.  “What hope have people such as we? What hope is there against a God?” “There are warriors amongst us, blooded warriors.  We possess the courage, that one such as you clearly lacks; to stand against this creature.” The Merrow who held him firmly replied, letting his voice carry over the crowd. “Yet weapons such as ours, they would be hard pressed to piece the Godlings shell!” “Indeed, none here gathered could possibly match your strength or courage. Certainly not one such as I, you know me to be feable of body and of will.” A'doy eased the Merrow’s hand away from his neck lightly as he continued his theatrics.  “I lack the skills of our farmers; this too is true.  My one skill, if you would permit me call it as such, is that of words.  A trade of sorts, passed from father to son, over and over.” “One with no value...” catcalls from the crowd followed. Bowing his head in shame A'doy continued meekly. “Perhaps that is the truth of it. Yet at times like these, the end of days , there is merit in the ability to decipher the secrets hidden in the texts left by the first people. There, in plain sight is the answer that we have sought!” Bewildered heads, turned in all directions, trying to identify what the Turtle was referring to. Plaster across the bulkhead walls, the texts left in place by the first people.  Badly water damaged and aged, few words or images remained readable.  Yet the A’doy the Turtle, gingerly brushed one flat, mouthing the words as he prepared to reveal the instructions they hid.

"Yes...Yes, if one knows where to look, how to both read and interpret the riddle, then the answer is clear.”  Turning to the crowd, he made his proclamation. “We must venture into the catacombs of the ancients; their power lies below.  We need but the courage and willingness to reach out and claim it!”  Various groups had set forth from above, each searching for power of the first people. What form that took, none could agree apon, so each group ventured forth on their own.  Having diverted their attention, completely forgotten by the angry crowd, A’doy snuck off on his own.

Years of gifts and bribes unto the creatures that resided in the depths of the catacombs permitted the Turtle man to proceed unhindered.  Undisturbed. “This room looks promising!” A’doy mused to himself. Mouthing the words, trying to sound out the letters, perhaps this room was where the power was housed.  Within, crate apon crate lay scattered about.  The shelves that once held them had collapsed, due in part to both age and weight of the items they held.  Seizing a rusted pry bar from the floor, the Turtle eagerly rushed into the mess. This was a treasure hoard!  His fortunes were finally changing, with these devices the powers of the ancients would be in his hands!  Damn it why was it so hard to open?  Letters stained into the wooden casing defied his understanding.  In truth his knowledge of the script used by the old ones was not extensive, he had not been a good student under his father.  The ability to bluff, manipulate and coerce was where his skills truly fell.  A crump, several, echoed off walls in the distance.  A’doy redoubled his efforts in desperation, what ever the sounds, he knew of nothing natural that could create them.  Which left the powers of the gods!  Curse them, he was so close! The ultimate power lay with in his reach, yet these damn containers of wood and iron would not yield! Within this crate were some form of guns, ones which rattled… Aged muscles strained and bulged, the lid splintered, and a cloud of murky foul-tasting water billowed forth.  Backing away, his skin stinging from contact, A’doy turned with a start. A thudding impact echoed against the access doors to the room, the sound to armour on steel.  The Demi Gods were here, they must have found him!  Pushing forward through stinging murky liquid, he reached in blindly grasping the handle of…. Something?

 With a blast of air, the access door to the room ground open.  The armoured Demigods swept into the room, their magic letting them glide and float over the debris unencumbered. At their head, the Ender of Worlds! Trembling hands withdrew from the crate, eyes wide with terror he aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened, the end of the device turned and rattled. With dawning realisation A'doy understood now just how completely mistaken he was.  The power to shape your world! These were tools of some form, not weapons... There were no more options left to them, dropping to his knees as the levity of his mistake swept over him he broke down, weeping for mercy. Yet mercy was not the way of the Gods, he would die here he knew this... Trembling uncontrollably as they glided over to him he awaited his fate.

Preamble History, Karbarra Marten Ferro "Ferret"  was one of the section members of a task force Kodiak.   A UEEF Exploration specialist, he was assigned to an ad hock task force detachment lead be the Zentraedi warrior Xander. Tasked with investigating an ancient Karbarren structure behind enemy lines during the liberation of Karbarra, his skill set enabled the detachment to bypass traps and riddles. Culminating in the construction accention of Rodar (a Rogue Karbarren) into an embodiment of the Forgebear . History, Ghostbear Squadron. Ferret  has previously been quite a self-obsessed individual.  Easily distracted and unfocused, he walks the fine line between being a helpful squad member and a hindrance.     Known for misinterpreting section commands, his decisions are normally as adlib as his justifications for taking them.   Possessing questionable command skills, these traits have not gone unnoticed, unfortunately gaining the attention of T.R.Edwards and his toadies.   Taking sick pleasure in causing chaos, Edwards utilized his influence to promote the least competent individuals and endeavoured to imbed them into Ghost Bear Detachment (prior to the formation of the Zentraedi Republic).     Oblivious to his shortcomings, Ferret believes himself superior to both Humans and Zentraedi beneath him in his recon squad, why else would he have been promoted in favour of them? As a result, his actions towards subordinates are condescending, unless likely to affect him directly. In truth he is wishes to return to Tirol to indulge in the pleasure cults rumoured to have been endorsed by the scientist Cabel . They would surely know how to please a man of his stature! The Water World, Mon Calamari Azura waves rose and fell, lashed by gusting winds. Threading a path between the mountainous waves the, reconnaissance pod flew with reckless abandon. “Go look at that rock! Go scan that empty sector… you know just in case.” Ferret spat with contempt, as he mimicked the requests of the command group, to angered looks from his crew. “We have a mission directive to...” The technician manning the sensory equipment replied in frustration, voicing concerns clearly shared by the crew. “You said it yourself, the sensory equipment isn’t worth a damn penetrating these waters.   Let’s just have a little fun for once, not like we are going to have anything to report anyway. Let’s face it, none of you are known for your competence at the console at any rate.” Ferret drawled in his thick southern accent,   edged with soul withering criticism. From that polluted rock that was Karbara , to this pathetic globe of water. He should have taken the chance to leave and head back to Tirol . He could have been enjoying the pleasures of the bath houses. Watching the nymph like adolescents in the throes of passion while he indulged in the finer liquors the planet had to offer. But alas no, he had cast his lot with this Zentraedi Republic and in so doing become an outcast. Not that he had the credit to fund such a lifestyle, but those were thoughts for another day. Edging the Recon pod closer still to the sea level, he boosted the speed. Thrilling in weaving the craft between the towering walls of water.   Perhaps it was true, he took some small measure of pleasure in the discomfort of this odd assortment of misfits beneath him.   It was just that these scouting missions were such a bore… “Sir!” One of the humans addressed him stiffly, concern ringing in his voice.   “We have left our designated search area, by a significant factor.” “Listen…”Allowing the trailing legs of the pod to dip into the ocean, Ferret smiled at the plume of spray he generated in their wake.   “This is all harmless fun. We can report in later with some rubbish about interference throwing us off course.” “We have missed our check in window Sir, we can’t hide this dalliance, this screw up.” The co-pilot growled, standing up to point an accusing finger in his direction.   A crusty age ravaged man, these geriatric veterans had their uses, yet were clearly far too stupid to realise their standing in the structure of society.   “Well, I’m not sure if you have looked, whatever your name is.” Ferret motioned to the flight computer, opening a pop-up window displaying mission data capture. “You forgot to log out, according to this information, you were at the stick when this craft chose to deviate from mission directive and play about.   Not to worry, a wandering mind, a symptom of your advanced age, we still value what little you can achieve.” The flash of rage on the old man’s face made Ferret smile inside, eventually these NCO’s would learn their place.   Though perhaps it was best not to draw further attention to their vessel and dereliction of duty.   Gently nudging the control stick, he was completely unprepared for the sudden impact with something within the wave. Speed and momentum, tumbling, twisting.   The UEEF Zentraedi Recon pod punched its way through the wall to water before it, armoured panelling deforming under the impact.   Exiting, completely out of control, the vessel careened off another wave, skipping chaotically like a stone across a lake.   Trailing a stream of debris with each crushing impact, the external damage inflicted on the craft mirrored that inside.   Unrestrained cargo, sundries and the Co-pilot himself churned about the cockpit. Restraint harnesses locking the remaining crew to their stations, as momentum carried the vessel onward. With a lurching thud, the craft impacted against a mountainous wall of water, sliding down its face. Slipping below the surface.   Liberated from a storage locker on Tirol, auto dosing canisters within his flight suite injected Adrenalin, Norepinephrine and pain blockers into his system.   “Best score ever”, Ferret groaned to himself as the cocktail of drugs forced him to regain consciousness.   Dulled pain radiated from his left shoulder, the arm weak and non-responsive.   Dislocated or broken, he was unsure, yet this was far less concerning than the sight of the vanishing pool of light as the craft sunk beneath the surface. Silhouetted above, ominous black shapes circled, hunting prey.   Fear…Real, raw, clawed at his throat as he realised that these beasts rivalled the Recon pod for size.     As if sensing a wounded creature, something turned toward them, snaking forth with speed. “Sir! We have left our designated search area; we have missed our check in window.”   The words echoing in his ears as he sat frozen ridged by fear.   Sinking ever deeper….

The Argo Mon Calamari   Having located remnants of flotsam and wreckage from the lost Zentraedi REF Cyclops the members of Ghost Bear Squadron are coordinating the search for the vessel.   Having engineered and repurposed some of the technical repair robots, Jonesy is attempting to triangulate and close in on an epirb ( Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon ) signal.   Thankful that he insisted on having them installed, he struggles to maintain the drone’s position against strong rip currents below the churning waves. “There looks to be a fair degree of thermal activity about these parts boss, it’s not making visual acquisition any easier.” Focussed on the interface monitor, Jonesy let his voice carry to the members behind him.   “If you transfer of slave the drone camera to another interface terminal, I could watch that for you bud.” Sean mentioned, laying a hand on his shipmates’ shoulder.   The stress of dealing with the repair stations adolescent AI had been winding Jonesy up, they had all noticed it. “Yeah, please Kodiak man. That would be great.” Letting out a breath, he wasn’t aware was holding, Jonesy transferred the information. “Looks like the drone dropped into a chasm, I’m just trying to get the damn thing out before it reaches crush depth.”     “What are these sonar pings?   Life forms?”   Xander’s stoic voice sounded next to Jonesy’s ear, startling him slightly.   “It’s hard to say for sure boss, there looks to be an elevated degree of mineral content dissolved in the water, which is screwing with our sensors.” Sean replied in Jonesy’s stead as he saw his comrade narrowly avoid impacting the drone against the chasm wall as an unexpected current took him by surprise. “Improvise, Adapt, Overcome!” Xander replied flatly to Navy pilot, just the hint of a smile playing at his eyes as he quoted the Marines slogan. “Do the best you can men, but time is of the essence if this is to be a rescue mission and not a recovery of bodies.” Saying nothing Jonesy and Sean shared a glancing look, it had been at least sixteen hours since initial reports that the vessel had failed to check in.   Hopes were not high that the crew were still alive, the wreckage recovered thus far indicated significant damage.   Xander however had more faith in the construction of the Cyclops Recon pod, intimately familiar with how much damage they could sustain and still function. “The Hell…?” Sean exclaimed in confusion at his view feed. “ Jonesy slew to your left. No, your other left and pan up.” Black and red mottling, chit chin and sinew.   A monstrosity some forty-five foot plus slid silently above the drone, dwarfing it.   Multiple armour rimmed eye flicking about, scanning, hunting.   It was not alone… “Were going to need a bigger boat!” Jonesy breathed wide eyed.

The Argo Mon Calamari “Sweet mother of god, this reeks! Even coming through the air filters!” Jonsey   slid his faceplate open, spitting bile on the decking of the Argo. “ You’re not wrong!” Sean yelled back over the sound of the wind roaring in through the access hatch of the hanger bay. “But my old man used to say that’s half the trick.” “Approaching first drop point now, make sure you are both tethered.” The Argo’s pilot voice boomed from their headsets. “Copy that.” LT. Sean Tillman replied though his headset mic, hoping that he could be heard above the background noise. “System prepped; drop is hot.” “Drop is hot!” Various crew voices confirmed, echoing his caution. “I have Alpha, Tillman has Bravo.” Xander confirmed.   They had discussed the action plan earlier, yet with this degree of risk it did not pay to chance mistakes or skipped steps. Nodding at Kodiaks thumbs up, Jonesy answered. “We copy Sir. Double tether attached; I will make the call.” With a lurch the first package slide from the hanger door of the Argo as air caught the fabric of the drop chute. “Bravo drop is hot!” Clear! ” Tillman bellowed in warning as the second package was manhandled into place. “Alpha is clear and deployed Sir.   Bravo is deploying…Fuuuck!” Jonesy yelled before muting his microphone. “ Kodiak , sitrep now!”   Xanders voice stern and commanding, yet with an undertone of concern.   Was that humanity creeping beneath his skin Kodiak mused.   Quashing such thoughts, he hurried to Jonesy’s side, trying to determine the issue. Snared in one of the rollers, nylon rope they had used to lash the package together had caught up…and the drogue chute had already deployed. Fighting against both the weight of the package and the lashing force of the drogue chute, Jonesy was futilely trying to pry the rope loose. Batting him away Kodiak drew his combat blade and began sawing though the rope fibres. “Standby Sir, trying to correct an issue now!” Kodiak grunted as he fought against the rope. With a lurch the rope snapped, jerking free from the rollers, snatching the blade from Tillman’s hand.   Skittering across the floor, tumbling, it was a small miracle that no one was hit as the package was sucked from the hanger ramp. Scrambling to the edge of the hanger ramp, his restraint straps tight, Jonesy peered out.   The optic enhancements of his Scoop helmet allowing him to locate and track both packages.   Alpha was in the water; Bravo had come apart as it impacted. “They are on Alpha already!” Jonesy yelled in shock. “Bravo contact in three, two one. Contact!” “Firing!” both Xander and Kodiak called through as shuddering plumes of water and gore shot into the air. “Did it work?” Xander enquired. “Is everyone ok?” “Yup, just like in the movie!” Jonesy whooped. “Going ta have us some BBQ seafood tonight!” “Brings new meaning to the term bait bomb 1” Sean laughed, crawling up beside Jonesy to look at the damage that the meat wrapped, anti-fortification bombs had wreaked.   Gigantic fleshy lumps of the aggressive Reefclaw predators floated amongst the waves.   The way would be clear now, perhaps they might recover the Cyclone Recon pod safely after all. “ Kodiak check your ten, down four from the horizon. I need a second set of eyes on it.” Jonesy signalled using field craft hand signals. Smaller scavenger creatures were approaching the kill.   But that didn’t seem to be what Jonesy was indicating.   Signalling to head back into the hanger, at least now they could be heard properly. “What man, I don’t see the point of interest?” Kodiak began, confused as to why they had not confirmed whatever it was that Jonesy had noticed. “Oh, nah. Must have been a trick of the light, though that I spotted your knife mate.”   Jonesy replied doubled over, laughing at his own joke.

Mon Calamari City of Ryukyo “Report!” The command, though softly spoken held an unquestionable tone of authority. In truth none would dare to question the commands of the Forerunners . Their word was final, their patience limited. Dismounting his beast, the creature pawed at the silt laden the ocean bed impatiently, its gills flaring from the efforts in making it back to the city. Ore’nac strode forth with a confidence that he did not feel. Taking a knee, he spoke clearly as he addressed the dais of the Forerunners .  "These newcomers , they utilize technology akin to that of the Masters , yet their behaviour seems at odds with what we were led to expect.  “A drone bearing a mechanical voice speaks” Pausing to gather his thoughts Ore’nac struggled with the discomfort of the memories.  “Well the drone speaks in in the voice of the outcasts.  Evidence that these newcomers have broken the non-contact treaty and not for the first time!” “Do not speculate at this time, we do not possess enough intelligence for such actions. Continue.” The Forerunners prompted flatly.  Betraying only fleeting glimpses of their presence amongst the swaying seaweeds that grew from their speaking dais, the scout tried to unobtrusively read their body language for some hint of threat before continuing.    “With little to base our descriptions, we have chosen to refer to these beings as the newcomers .  They claim ignorance toward our agreement. Their troops probe our city with nonviolent incursions, then others carried forth an overt display of military force with the senseless violence and killing of the Reef Hunter’s.  Their choice of weapon displaying low cunning and wanton unfocused destructive power.” Cold, emotionless eyes regarded him, judging his words, weighing his actions. “Have they presented any demands, what do they seek?” “The voice of the outcasts claim that the scouting vessel belongs to a rogue Zentraedi Republic, to which they have pledged.  Supposedly it accidentally entered out territories, possibly suffering from mechanical damage or some such claim.” “Rogue Zentraedi republic? Newly formed, building their strength, perhaps?” Mutterings from the Forerunners , conversations perhaps not intended for his ears, washed over him. Such musings were not for one of his station, for he was but a scout. Born into his role, selectively bred for it, it was not for one such as he to speculate on the deeper motivations of these Zentraedi.  Observe and report, track and hunt. “Scout, you will commune with these creatures at our behest. Go forth and determine what threat they represent.” Confusion played across his brow, never before had one such as he been called apon to liaise in the Forerunners stead. “The danger these warlords represent is real,” The Forerunners intoned harshly, “Your loss is comparable to that of any esteemed member here. Determine their strength, numbers and threat rating. Return with this information that we might chart the correct course for our peoples.” “Thy word is truth; thy word is law!” Bowing deeply the scout accepted his assessment without question. After all, as had been instilled from spawning, this was his purpose. What he was born for, what he was bred for. From this lifetime until the next.

Counsel Meeting of the Zentraedi Republic An afternoon of revelry and celebration, that had drawn on into the evening with the supplement of rare seafood from the ocean planet of Mon Calamari . Some cloudy minds, care of Lt. Jones and his ‘still, sit about the counsel table once again.  Discussion turns to how best to negotiate or Deal with the peoples of this city. “We should utilize the recon and communication drone to paint a target. A safe spot on the ocean floor where we can focus a long-range shot, demonstrate that our weapon systems can reach them.”  Xander replied flatly.  Frustration at being forced to deal with intermediaries of this new race suppressed within his tone, yet evident to those who knew him well. “The only way that you can make the peoples of the world appreciate Weapons of Mass Destruction is to demonstrate their power!” Zara replied straight faced, playing the role of a Zentraedi warrior to the hilt.  The undertones of dark joke lost to many of the other sentinel races present at the table.  “We don’t know anything about this race, except that they are secretive and suspicious of us. That said, they do hold our crew and Recon vehicle. “Insomniac said tapping his stylus against his forehead, as though that might reset or clear his head. “They may only hold bodies and our Recon Cyclops.” Jackie V voiced the unspoken concern held by all seated. “That may be the case, that there is nothing that that can be done for the crew.” Jonesy mentioned with care. Ferret had been a member of their team once, if he had perished within the craft, he deserved a funeral. But not if it should place other lives in danger.  “Of greater concern is the recovery of any military intelligence the Recon vessel might hold.” “Oh, ya got to be Fucking Kidding man!” Varga bellowed across the table.  “How we going to recover that shit huh?  It’s beyond crush depth, lord only knows if anything on it still works.” “Mayhap my lords, we might send forth a collection of our finest warriors.  They could brave the depths of this world, slay the beasts that bar the way and carry out this noble quest.” The robotic voice of the translation box fighting to decipher the words and tone of the Lords of Proto-Tethus. “Why should we bother targeting a clear area? A demonstration that we can hit them and hit them hard.  This posturing is wasting time, if they came to the negotiating table to talk so be it.  This flexing of muscles is meaningless.” Xander interjected, eyes wandering about the faces gathered, lingering on Zara. “We don’t understand their customs…” Xavior interjected. “Perhaps…” Standing abruptly Hadron bowed and lay a hand across his chest.  “I request to be excused. An issue has arisen that must be dealt with.” Distracted by the vibration of a sudden private message, Xander nodded to the giant warrior, lest his embarrassment be betrayed by his voice.  I don’t mind watching you flex…love Z. Pacing angrily down the passage Hadron felt his irritation swell toward fury.  How dare they think to question the Commander. Why would Xander choose to pander to this counsel. The way of the warrior, the truth that only combat would shine its light apon. Alighting a hover platform, fists clenched he braced as the transport rushed him forward.  He had been given instructions, unlike these other undisciplined creatures, he knew how to obey! Entering the auxiliary Weapons fire control, he nodded respectfully to the technicians.  “Our Commander had determined that a display of strength must be made.  Warlord Xander bids us effect a firing solution apon the dome of the city.” Startled concern played across the face of the technician. Duty waring against his moral code as he processed the instruction. “As you order Sir, destroy or damage?” “The Warlord informed the counsel that we should not bother targeting a clear area. A demonstration was needed, proof that we can hit them and hit them hard.  Posturing is wasting time, if they came to the negotiating table to talk so be it.  This flexing of muscles is meaningless.” Hadron replied reciting the instruction none had the constitution to carry out. “Damage the city only, clearly that is our directive. If we annihilate the facility there will be no one left to sue for peace, will there?”  Hadron chastised the man; the ways of war were not as innately know to some as he might have wished “Single Fission Cannon. Fire when you have a solution.”  Hadron stood as parade rest; hands folded behind his back as he watched the view screen. The screen dimmed slightly as a spear of incandescent light lanced forth, striking the ocean and vaporising the waters.  Steam and vapour billowing up in a plume, clouding the target. “Patch in the Recon Drone feed, let us determine if the message had been received.” Hadron order calmly. The visual feed resolved itself as the blinding light dissipated from the drone’s sensory screens.  Untouched, unmarred, the concealed dome to the city remained intact.  A faint glow radiating like a aura from its surface.  “Curious, a misfire perhaps?  A battery, fire four cannons. Should this structure be shielded or reinforced there needs to be no doubt of our superiority.”  Hadron quoted verbatim from the doctrine of war. Blinding fingers of light stretched out, converging on the same location as the seas boiled. Steam billowing into the sky.  “Bring the visual feed back at your first opportunity. Stay vigilant for their first signs of surrender.” “Visual feed active…” The technician trailed off as the image once again resolved.  Crimson glowing sparks raged across the dome, crackling about the fronds of the aquatic plants rooted there in.  Brow furrowed; Hadron growled in frustration. “What trickery is this…” Words caught short as a tempest of energy shot from the dome, crackling and wild.  Following a path back, following the ionised air from the Repair factories weapons. The energy split apart, branching out, slicing deep into the factories hide as soundless explosions destroyed the Fission Cannon Emplacements that had just fired.  Debris and oxygen venting into the unforgiving void. 

Mon Calamari With a thudding impact the Zentraedi Re-entry craft settled against the surface of this water world.  Having chosen an area of calm water, the term was still relative, as wind driven waves battered impotently against the craft.  The listing movement of the vessel aggravating already irritated personalities.  A misunderstanding of intent had resulted in Hadon the Republic’s Zentraedi Combat officer unleashing a barrage of fire against the domed city of this aquatic race.  The combat dogma based behind his decision, taking little heed of an almost complete lack of knowledge of this race. An undetected technology, not encountered previously encountered, reflecting the Fusion cannon beams of the repair station back. The damage inflicted apon the repair station and the resultant loss of life as their own destructive energies flayed armour and structure away, playing on the minds of those making planet fall. “Descending now sir.” The Zentraedi navigation officer reported. Having recently been rescued from the Dagobah swamp planet, the man had proven himself eager to be of service. Casting an eye over the officer’s physic, Xander was glad to see that he was once again recovering muscle mass. Starvation was a hideous thing for a warrior to face, an inglorious end to one’s legacy. In truth the Re-entry craft was almost fully automated, yet the UEEF technicians aboard the Repair Station had not had the luxury of time to carry out the full listing of modifications. The reinforcement of the superstructure and addition of an airlock had not progressed to plan, overrunning many hours.  Thus it was that this craft remained designed for the gigantic stature of the full size Zentraedi. Frustration caused by the series of events from earlier that evening still etched into the faces of Ghost Bear Squadron . Jonesy was the first to break the heavy silence. “Do you know how close we came to attempting to mutually destroy one another? All because of your men Sean !” “You can not be serious? Listen you glorified grease monkey; this was a multi-level fuck up.” Sean Kodiak Tillman spat back, the colour rising in his cheeks. “I suppose that it has nothing to do with your supplying the enlisted men with spirits?” “It looks more like a serious laps in discipline, a very human trait is it not?” Xavior interjected, catching the ire of the UEEF staff within ear shot. “The first shots unleashed were by a Zentraedi Officer, Combat coordinator. The retaliatory strike caused me significant damage.” The stations AI boomed over the intercom system.  “Other than my friend Major Jones , none of you care for me. You treat me as a pet, your decisions do not account for my feelings, I have a voice…” Jonesy sunk his head onto his hands, rubbing his temples as though to relieve the stress of a conversation that had played out time and time again. “We have had this conversation bud, a number of times.  You need to demonstrate that you are responsible, trustworthy, before can treat you like and adult.”  Switching to a private communications channel, the Father son relationship between the UEEF officer and the Station AI resulted in the AI sulking like a teenage child. “Can’t believe that Xander chose to promote that grease monkey ahead of me!” Tillman grunted under his breath as he glared at the man’s back. “I deserve it more, I’ve earnt it. No one is as effective a pilot! I have bagged more kills!” “I gather this vexes you?” The voice at his side startling him, Xavior clearly having overheard his complaint, broke his scrutiny. “Perhaps you are choosing to reflect internal struggles with which you are dealing on other external situations? A result perhaps of unresolved internal conflict with your parents, your mother perhaps?” The withering look that Sean cast at the Zentraedi Physiologist went unacknowledged, he was seriously beginning to regret telling him of Sigmund Freud. “Yet I must urge a degree of self-control, Jonesy outranks many of us now.  Embarrassment at being caught in the act of insubordination, choking back any attempt by Sean at a witty reply. “I think that we can all agree, that what is most important at this time, is trying to avoid screwing this up any further!” Zara growled her voice booming as she drowned out further arguments. “Perhaps we might look at trying to trade something of value for some of their tech secrets?” Jones spoke openly to the room, dark rings visible beneath his eyes. “We have a lot of enemies and few friends, any advantage of edge that we could acquire would be helpful.” “Our people and vessel are of primary concern here, mitigating the hostilities a close second.” Xander interjected before anyone else decided to divert the conversation. “I do agree with your sentiment however Major, provided that any such advantages that we obtain does not cost us more that it gains.” Silent nods of agreement met his gaze. With a shuddering series of muffled crunches, the landing craft settled against the sea floor.  A cloud of silt, long since disturbed billowed forth in a wake, obscuring their immediate terrain. Just as the scout had relayed unto them in good faith, lay the remnants of a once great city. The ruins of which were overgrown with corals and barnacles, now playing home to an entirely different host of oceanic creatures. Shielding it’s face from the silt, clearly alone, yet showing less caution than on their first encounter, Ore’nac wheeled his mount about as he tried to calm the beast.  The quadruped mount growing skittish as the tang of heated metals and foreign smells carried on the current toward them.  A growling screech causing both the rider and his mount to flinch involuntarily as the access hatch of the Re-entry craft cracked open.   A glowing haze growing as the access ramp lowered, bathing the overgrown ruins of the city in a pale blue light. “Stay here friend.” Ore’nac signalled to his mount as mutual grasper pincers released from one another’s flesh.  Small sprays of blood clouding the water before the respective wounds closed, catching the nose of his mount.  The creatures eyes dulling due to the loss of shared intelligence, the scout was thankful that it knew his scent well. “May these talks bode well.” Ore’nac whispered to himself as he strode purposefully toward the Re-entry ship and the glowing hatchway. “I hope that this light will not draw predators…” Aboard the Re-Entry Landing craft.  “Prey….Resources…Biomass…” The hissing cacophony of voices growled across multiple frequencies and communications channels. “What is that?” Xander enquired unto the room. “…Followed the trail that you left for us. Glowing like marker stones in the night…” “Can we shut this down?” Xander enquired as he tried to quell the feeling of unease that was growing within him. A tantalising feeling, something that was both foreboding and familiar. “It’s too powerful, flooding every frequency, all of out channels.” The Communications Technician called out in concern. “ Xander , Jones …We followed your trail…” Undertones of humanity becoming evident within the unknown transmission. His face paling, voice edging toward fear, Jonesy’s words carried across the floor. “ Cook … Captain Cook …The entity!? What trail, what trail did we leave…” “Key me in.” Xander motioned silently to the communications Technician. “This is Commander Xander , you know my title, who is it that am I addressing. There have been no invitations put out to others, save the Zentraedi.” “Not true Xander , we gather that your mechanic replicated the technology of the Dash Drive . Yet like children dabbling with toys you have much to learn. With each attempt, with each amateurish foray with this system, you lit the void like a beacon.” Holding a finger to his lips Xander motioned for the Communications Technician to mute the audio input from their side.  Baking orders he tried to galvanise the section against this new threat. “Let this monologing foolishness play out but ensure that we lock the entity out of our systems. As silently as possible make us ready to repel an attack.” Continuing its dialogue, the entity slid more disturbingly into the speech patterns of Captain Cook. “The misdirection, the misinformation that you transmitted to us wrapped in the blueprints for the Dash Drive displayed intelligence. Higher than that I/we would have expected of you based on your behaviour when you served under me.” “Son of a bitch, that ungrateful mother…” Jonsey bellowed with anger. “It is most likely a ploy to throw us off balance.” Xavior whispered as he lent in trying to calm the Chief mechanic. “We don’t know what drives this thing , its goals, desires, what drives it. It however seems to know both you and Xander , it wants to elicit negative emotions for some reason. “Sir, we are getting some disturbing readings from outside.” The Navigation officer reported in confusion. “Sensors and navigation readings are, well…Just odd.  The readings are spiking and weaning, there are areas of nothingness spreading out to out western facing.”   “Leave this planet. Members of the REF, you are not our target. Just walk away, you have no ties here. These creatures, this planet, failed to reach its potential.  I will remould it, bring it to its full potential…”The entity maintained its diatribe. “Don’t want to be caught sitting here with our pants down…” Sean cautioned. “You lead this THING to the steps of the city of my people?” Ore’nac bellowed in angered disbelief. This THING is a common enemy, to all life. On every planet.” Xavior answered in as calming a voice as he might muster. “Cast us off. Make for the conveyance tunnel, we shall save who we can.” Xander ordered emotionlessly, the warrior within processing the potential outcomes and the steps required to achieve those outcomes. “Tactically, if nothing else, every life we deny the entity is one we won’t have to face in battle.”

The Gorlon consumption Part 1 With a flair of light, the energy shield that had held back the enemy forces, collapsed. Flurries of movement, purple carapaces, light playing off angular metallic surfaces as the chaotic forms of the Gorlons surged through the breach. “They are through! Engaging targets now!” Major Jones , still forced to bellow his sitrep, despite the water muffling noise of the missile volley he unleashed.  Withdrawing to the generator building, he spied further volleys of mini missiles strike out from cover as members of the Ghost Bear Squadron engaged targets. “Focus on any out runners, force them to group up.  We can not let them get to any of the civilians!” Xander cautioned as he assessed the threats.  Aeronautic units, advanced designs developed by a disturbing combination of intelligences. Human, Invid, creature and mutant, the various designs interwoven to create the most efficient vessels.   Vessels engineered to disable, to disarm, to cripple. Obscured behind the twisted swarms of hovering units, multi limbed ground units stalked forward hunting for targets.  Struggling with the ancient alien generator technology, Jonesy added time itself to the list of advisories pitted against him.  If he could just overload this power supply module, he would be able to decimate these Gorlons before they broached the tunnel.  The explosive feedback would cause a chain reaction… Luck, perhaps a sixth sense, urged him to duck.  His second generation Veritech fighter mimicking his actions as a roughly hewn crystalline globe flew through the space he had just occupied.  Smashing against the wall of the generator enclosure, the Technical officer was horrified to observe the structure start to dissolve.  Maggot like worms the size of a mans wrist lay crushed and embedded in the Ferrocrete. Powerful acids from the crushed larvae dissipating in the waters, forcing the Major to abandon his plan.    Shrieks, a cacophony of noise blasted through the squad members respective cockpits, drowning out every radio frequency. Though these Gorlons communicated in a method yet to be comprehended, they innately knew how to disable UEEF communications. The encryptions, algorithms and bandwidths utilised.  Worse, they understood how to hunt their prey by cutting them off from the pack. With communications disabled, the Robotech Repair Station above, and the backup it held would be uncontactable. Ghost Bear squadron members would be on their own, forced to operate with hand signals and body language as learned in the days of their recruit training.  The squads giant mecha translating individual movements fluidly, thanks to the responsiveness imparted by their Protoculture engines. With gun cams linked to their Heads-Up displays, the team had at least a way of checking the positioning of their fellow members, though even those visual feeds displayed signs of signal corruption…

The Gorlon consumption Part 2 “The end of days has come to my peoples…The End Times…” Ore’nac vocalized in horrified dismay as he braced himself at the hatch of the reentry craft, watching these invading creatures pour forth from the access tunnel.   “No Ore’nac , not this day.” Xavior interjected as best he could in this new aquatic language. “Please, my speech in your tongue is poor, call your peoples. We have little time!” “We’ll buy you time.” Xander boomed over his external loudspeaker as his Zentraedi Officers Pod jetted toward the cover of a ravine.  Not for the first time, he gave thanks to the impressive upgrades to the machine that had been implemented by these micronians.  Honed reactions, amplified by technology and training, allowing him to shred one of the enemy fliers with a missile volley. As if of one mind the swarm parted, amber beams from deep within the tunnel lancing out. Ragged furrows etching into the bedrock as the sustained laser blasts tried to target the Zentraedi officer. If not for his familiarity with the machine, countless hours behind the controls, the blasts would have incinerated them both.   “Find cover, utilize the ravine.” Xander signed to the pilot of the Reentry craft, hoping that his instructions were understood by all. “Jonesy and the Dr, lay down suppression fire, buy us time!” With Her hybridised machine represented a larger target than those of her squad mates, Dr Millana still felt the comfort of familiarity with its performance. A combination of Veritech and Zentraedi female power armour, it reminded her of the years of service to the Zentraedi Warlords, back when she was assigned to Queadlunn-Ruu task forces as a support element. “How times change.” The doctor mused to herself as she quickly assessed the terrain and positioning of her fellow members.  Signalling her intent to Xander , Millana darted forward behind a hillock. The beauty of the monument cresting the hill, lost out to the strategic edge that this flanking position might garner. The signal of approval from her commanding officer, following her decision, was still a sensation with which she was learning to accept. “Perhaps this Xander will be a different type of Warlord…” 

The Gorlon consumption Part 3 Like some twisted mockery of life, a monstrous head emerged from the cities transit tunnel. Swaying back and forth on a muscular serpentin neck, Sean was struck by the animalistic characteristics being displayed. The rhythm echoed the documentaries he had seen of Earth, in particular some creature called a cobra. “So Hypnotic…” He intoned to himself as he watched the beast’s eyes focus upon him. Odd how they glinted, glowing from the shadows that had birthed the monstrosity. The sudden flare of light startled him as twin beams of light erupted from the creature’s eyes, slicing across his veritech as he desperately threw the machine aside. “Oh, for Fuck sake!” Jonesy swore with real anger, not that anyone might have heard. The advanced sensory systems of his scope helmet had meshed effectively with those of his prototype VF2 Veritech.  Yet for all his advanced sensory equipment he had been unable to issue a simple warning.  The Christmas tree display of caution/advisory warnings being fed back from Sean’s mecha indicated a penetrating hit, structural damage…Slapping a fresh Eclip into his weapon, he jinked the mecha out from cover. Energy bolts spitting with precision at his target. “Jump attacks!” Millana chuckled to herself. She felt rusty, simulation training she had been forced to endure was one thing but could never substitute for the rush of real combat.  Jump Attacks represented a training level skill, popping up from behind cover to unleash a quick strike and limit a warrior’s exposure. Leaping up once again, she glanced at her HUD. Across the fracas the Major had increased the ferocity of his attacks, but for some reason he was ignoring the troop units. “The neck! It represents a vulnerable target! The realisation came not a moment too soon as the inertia of her jump faded, and gravity pulled her back toward cover. Fingers dancing across the controls, audible warnings advised of excessive power consumption as Millana triggered every weapon system the mecha fielded. Explosions blossoming both within and about the Gorlon swarm. Hard impacts from her mechs rotary particle cannons clearing a path for the storm of missiles that followed. “Well, this machine truly deserves its name!” the Doctor grinned to herself as the Fury sank back into cover.

The Gorlon Consumption Part 4 From his position crouched atop of the Zentraedi Re-entry craft, Xander studied the HUD visual feeds relayed to his Officers Pod. Magnetic foot plates securing his Destroid to the fast-moving vessel that was scooping up civilian personnel. The cargo ramp down, the vessel swept in like a whale swallowing krill, or so he was told. Apparently a Micronian reference to creatures that had once lived on their world.  Irrelevant information at this time, though the skill of the pilot and the effectiveness of the technique, showed promise that could not be ignored. Learned eyes flicked between screens, plucking fragments of tactical information from the swirling chaos. Through the blood and gore oozing from the flailing severed neck, ominous dark shapes moved.  Shapes that had not been visible moments before.  Checking the active sonar ping being emitted by Flipper 1 , Xander realised with dread that the information feed back was full of holes. Spheres of nothingness, akin to physical voids, clustered about the mouth of the tunnel. Frustration prickling the skin beneath his neck, as he fought against the anger rising within him.  “This whole ridiculous situation might well have been avoided had I been permitted to crush this world, this city.” The thought blurring with distorted memories from lives past, the power to incinerate worlds had been his… Yet somewhere deep within these turbulent thoughts, the lyrics, the melody of The Muses song returned to him. The face of his partner, his mate Zara surfacing above all other imagery as the anger and frustration he felt dissipated. In its place, a focus and determination he had not felt before, a clarity of purpose. “Bridge Officer to Squad Leader, do you copy?” The sudden interruption surprising him, perhaps the decapitation of the Scorpion Assault Creature had opened a window for reestablishment of coms? “ Hadron , a welcome voice! The situation and flow of battle has become untenable, initiate the control initiatives outlined for Arcturus. ” Xander had little concern that his fellow officer would follow the request to the letter, despite the ramifications of the actions that had been taken. “As you command. Have the defensive barriers been lowered, or shall we utilize a micronian ballistic missiles? Should we watch for your return?”  The slightest hint of Hadrons concern displaying as a facial tick, near imperceivably save the two officers familiarity with one another. “That is our intent. Prepare to withdraw, this world had been compromised. Xander out.” Well as the humans would exclaim Thank fuck the comms are back! the Zentraedi officers voice echoing within his cockpit.  “Sitrep, squad check in by call sign” Xander issued the order in clipped tones, unsure he wanted the answer. “Boss!” Jonesy exclaimed, grateful for the sound of a familiar voice. “Fully functional, running low on clips and missiles. Won’t be able hold here much longer.” “Section commander, my kill count is high, yet I can not detect any noticeable in reduction in the swarm’s numbers.  Missile expenditure high, roughly forty percent remaining.” Dr Millana reported crisply, falling into her military role. “Should an opportunity present itself, we could learn a great deal by obtaining samples…” “That is true…” Something disturbing caught Xanders eye, the hillock shielding the Doctors position glinted silver, such was the number of spined projectiles that peppered its surface. The video capture wavering and burring as he struggled to discern what they were seeing. “ Jonesy , have you got eyes on Millana’s position? What are you seeing from your position?” The sensation that something was amiss lending a tone of caution to Xanders question. Taking care to minimize his exposure, Major Jones utilizes the advanced sensory systems of his Veritech to scrutinize the Hillock. Sliding across the surface of the hill, a silver metallic sheen spreads out from multiple locations, points populated with clusters of projectile spines. It seemed to move with purpose, the visual feed invoking tantalizing memories that he could not quite grasp.  Yet the sense of dread and nausea that rose up from his gut at the sight of it…    “ Millana , get the hell out of there! Fall back!” Jonesy hollered, voice catching in a tightening throat. “All units fall back! Fall back now!” 

The Gorlon Consumption Part 5 From within the confines of the conveyance tunnel the second head of the Scorpion Assault Carrier was coming into view as the beast attempted to squeeze its way free. Cracks radiating outward from the archway, fracturing the barrier rings that since collapsed.  Should the gargantuan creature get loose there would be no escape Zara realised. Painting a target designation, hoping that she did not overstep her position, she offered a course of action. “ Bring the tunnel down, focus on my target! If that head gets free, we are as god as dead!” “All units, focus fire and Fall Back!” Xander reiterated. “What the hell happened to Tillman?” Reaching up behind his head Sean Tillman tried once again to reset the various circuit breakers that had popped. The restraints of his combat harness had saved him from the worst of his impact yet hampered his ability to access those damn breakers.  Fingers probing in the near total darkness of his cockpit, he fumbled with the release catch. Falling from his seat, the impact stunning him for a couple of seconds. Flailing blindly in the cargo storage slot he at least managed to locate his tactical flashlight. The weak red light washing the cockpit in a disturbing hue.  Shit! The cockpit was dead, how the hell had that happened. What the hell had happened? Evidently this was NOT the best time to have shirked the rules about wearing full armour in the cockpit. Snatching the helmet up, fingers deftly slid to environmental seals as the life support systems kicked in. The beginning stirrings of panic threatened to derail his momentum, as Sean indiscriminately slammed his hand against the Breaker Panel. The hum of systems restarting was short lived as sparks and flashes popped and flared about the enclosed space exacerbating Sean’s panic. “Training, remember your training.” Sean chanted to himself in a mantra as one by one he puzzled out which systems were functioning and those that had failed. Haphazardly the stricken mecha restarted, jerking spasmodically as control commands were issued out of sequence. Strapping back into his command seat, he felt the machine stagger and lurch as he tried to right it. Something was wrong, very wrong! Cockpit lights had failed, Radar failure, leg was missing, multiple communications failures. Where the hell was the squad, where was he? Bracing the machine, he chanced the infrared search lights. Only one beam of the several installed coughed to life, further evidence of the extent of damage that his machine had suffered. Gingerly he pivoted the crippled mecha back and forth as he took in the scene lay out before him. Refuse and wreckage lay cast about further than his search light was able to capture. Pieces of Zentraedi craft, Tolian, vessels of races he had never seen. There was no rhyme or reason to their location, appearing to have simply been pushed to the lowest portion of the domed city, like the collection to some deranged hoarder. “Its a graveyard. Yet as he gazed about a ghosting flicker of infrared light caught his attention. Man made light, a vehicle marker! Dragging the sluggish batteloid through the wreckage, lurching from outcrop to junk heap, he dropped down onto the familiar vessel. The Recon Cyclops! If the comm systems within were working...

The Gorlon Consumption Part 6 “Y'all be wanting to put dem hand in tha air now.” The thin barrel of the Laser pistol looming decidedly larger hovering inches from his face. Raising his hands carefully, Sean cast his eyes to the man holding the gun. Doubled over, the man wore a Tolian style flight suite, dark with a stain that ran down one side. A sheen of sweat coating his face, a decidedly pail human face. Thank god, we had thought you all perished!” Sean exclaimed carefully, hoping to convey his friendly allegiance and avoid being shot. “Are there others aboard, do they need help?” “Oh there be some trouble makers on mah vessel. Dun had ta truss em up all piggy like ‘cause dey got mutany on their minds.” The slurred droop of the man’s mouth, the way his eyes appeared unfocused, he must be on a cocktail of pain killers. Likely self administered by a mind clouded by pain, he was now dangerously irrational. “Well, fair enough then brother. ‘Cept we got trouble boiling over out side, time to cut and run.” Mimicking the mans style of speech as best he could, Sean tried build common ground in order to gain his trust. “Dang it, should have said. Could use your help then bro, need some one trustworthy to help me get this tub up so we can cast a signal. Hey nows that I know you from good stock, ya can call me Ferret. Probably heard o me I’m kinda a big deal.” Together the two men nursed the stricken vessel upwards toward the apex of the underwater cities dome. Unnoticed, ignored amongst the chaos of the running battle the Cyclops Recon pod lifted silently on her anti-gravity drive.  Ferrets behavior was becoming increasingly erratic, much to both Sean and the restrained crews concern. “Are you ok? Is anyone hurt?” Sean’s whisper drowned out by the noise of the computations of the C3 sensory scans he having the vessel run. “The 2IC died when we crashed.  Most of us are banged up bad.” The woman who answered had her arms and legs tied up behind her back like a slaughter animal. “The son of a bitch tied us up, injured and dead alike. He’s gone fucking mental.” Glancing back over his shoulder, the sight of Ferret pacing and muttering in front of the flickering console was starting to fill him with dread. “Got the beginnings of a plan. Need you to start swearing at me, loud as you can.” Sean whispered through pinched lips. “Don’t you fucking touch me! Fucking pervert!” The venom in the women’s scream cutting through the background noise, causing even Sean to recoil in shock. “Well I reckon was had us enough of you squealing there little piggy" Laser pistol sliding effortlessly from its holster, Ferret strode forward angrily toward his target. “Hang on there Ferret, she is kind of cute. Listen let me stow all these critters away first, then I can find out if the lass is willing to talk. Tell me who the other traitors are.” Sean drawled, imitating Ferrrets accent as best he could. “Might be good idea, keep you busy anyways while I dun git thinks ready.” Mismatched pupils gazed back at Sean, the mans face highlighted by the flashing sensors at his collar. “Might take me a bit to pry her tongue loose, but women are born talkers. Well git our info...” Playing the stereotype to the hilt Sean bussled his captives away, greatfull to put some distance between himself and the self-appointed captain of the vessel. With the command cockpit free of interface Ferret ceased his pacing. A faint hissing sound from his flight suite going unnoticed as auto injectors attempted to stabilize his injuries and keep him focussed. Like a veil being draw back from his eyes, Ferret focused acutely on the C3 readouts before him. Clarity, a revolution he had not seen before unfolding before his eyes in real time. “Cunning, ya can’t go outsmarting ol Ferret, I seen your plan there beasties. I be a far better hunter than y'all.” “Ok, don’t know how much time we got up our sleeves. That Ferret guy has gone off the deep end, there are supposed to be escape pods here somewhere!” Sean whispered harshly, taking care that his voice did not carry. “It’s partly due to the drugs that the suite keeps pumping into him and partly due to him being a dumb ass!” The enraged comms technician cussed angrily as she massaged feeling back into her wrists. “This way, part of our type/class vessel training covered emergency disembarkment." Noting the water washing to and forth across the floor, it looked as though time was not a luxury to be squandered discussing other options. “Lead the way” Sean replied in clipped tones. Opening multiple communications channels, the only member on the bridge danced and swayed to the chaos of the message, despite the injuries he bore. “Come to me, embrace me as I embrace you. Let us share our knowledge and ascend!”

The Gorlon Consumption Part 7 Closing of the Chapter. “What the hell is going on?” Sean bellowed over the din of the hissing. Steam and water vapour misted from fixtures and seams of the Vessel. Lights flickered and brightened to a glaring intensity. “He’s going to kill us all!” the blood draining from the technician’s face as realisation bloomed. Strapping the injured members of the crew into the escape capsule, Sean noted the lack of seating and life support. “You good? You just need to aim for those identification lights down there. I ‘ll be right behind you.” “What, but you should be our pilot...” “Our numbers don’t work. Too much weight, not enough life support. You can do this, I’ll be right behind you.” Stepping clear, Sean slapped the emergency launch button, smiling to himself as the bulkhead doors slammed together, silencing the awkward conversation. Scrambling down the hall into the pilot seat of the other escape capsule. Triggering the escape capsule’s laser communications, he locked the beam onto the fast moving spherical shape of the Zentraedi re-entry pod. He had to get a message out before the craft broke visual contact. If he failed, the re-entry pod would break contact. With the enemy, with the escaping crew, with himself. “Witness my actions! The swarm approaches, intent on the consumption of my being...” Cavorting about the command cockpit, arms flailing wildly Ferret spoke to the audience of half seen figures that seemed to materialise at the corners of his vision. The words of his father drifting from his mouth as his mind spiralled under the effects of blood loss and morphine. “Tha swarm is his doing! Any righteous man can bear witness to the works of the devil! Look apon said evil and be not y'all afraid. For within each o us lies HIS righteousness strength...” With the flood of babbling over the Zentraedi vessels intercom system, Sean fought to make himself heard. Damn it Ferret, shut up you fool! The image of a Zentraedi warrior crystallised on the console. His mouth moving, yet no sound issued forth. Shit, poor connection. Sean’s fingers flew across the keyboard, relaying information in short hand. “Surviving crew on intercepted to you. Wait one. Looks like you can’t steal THIS rescue from me...” “...to give yo life, a sacrifice for your fellow man. That is a mighty fine gesture in tha eyes o tha lord. I commit this vessel and her crew to HIS good graces. May he see value in our sacrifice on the altar of war...” The brilliance of the first explosion deep within the Cyclops Recon pod was nothing in comparison to the raw violence that followed as water rushed in, engulfing the vessels Protoculture reactors. Already overloaded, the thermic reaction of vaporizing water exploded. Shockwaves driving out with juggernaut fury at anything standing in their path. Structures, objects, combatants, all found themselves tossed aside by the force of the concussion wave. By some small mercy, the wake tumbled both the re-entry pod and the lone escape capsule out of the lower service access of the domed city. Careening across the ocean floor, the two craft and their occupants managed to convene and make good their withdrawal back to the Robotech Repair factory orbiting above. Behind them the ominous creaking groans emitting from the structure of the Dome herald its demise. Far above, Captain Grant watched from the bridge of his heavily refurbished battle cruiser. Orbital bombardment rained down apon the world below, as a small flaring speck arced its path towards the station that had gifted him the ability to once again rejoin the fight. Yet against which enemy? For the rot within the REF was comparable to the threat beyond. Then there was this new enemy, the Gorlons... “Analysis indicates that you are conducting introspective reviews. Perhaps a musical selection of Rhythm and blues may assist in the thought process?” The pleasant androgynous voice enquired. “Thank you, but no.” The Captain spoke aloud, anxious for the new crew members to make their way to the bridge to allow his briefings to begin. Grant was a little unsure as to how he felt about having so much of his vessel automated. The Repair Analytical Logistics Management Intelligence System nested within the Robotech Repair Station ( RALMIS ) had scripted the new AI embedded within his vessel. An imperfect art, and clearly one that was far from perfected by this entity, one which was being clearly highlighted by the personality deficiencies of this Aleph that had been assigned to his command. Thankfully however it seemed to be learning, perhaps it would do so more effectively when he received his crew. Thus, Grant prayed that the assignment of the new crew members might help quiet such feelings of unease that churned within him. Yet, in truth, it might be that he simply felt anxious about leaving the station. The friends that he knew were here, the relative linchpin of safety that the fledgling Zentraedi Republic represented.  Though he would bear no regrets at having to vacate his seat at the Republic council table. The vagaries required to be followed, customs and nuances of politeness of the various races…as a man of action, the deliberations were tiresome.  Though necessary, he forced himself to admit, for at least each group held a voice. Each group was included within the collective and would help forge the Republics identity. Yet his obligation and duty to the true REF whispered relentlessly in his mind. He keenly felt the undeniable need to find and recover the remains of the Hunters and those warriors who had fallen in the Battle of Praxis. In truth none knew the fate of the REF Detachment, save the shocking admission that the Regent had supposedly made during the opening statements of the ceasefire. Then, in turn, that information had reached their ears via the T.R.Edwards public relations machine. The leadership vacuum that had appeared with the decisive loss of the Hunters and the attached military elements, surely must have resulted in favourable conditions for Edwards and his lackies. Grimacing at the thought, Grant turned away from the view window. These introspective ponderings would only embitter his mood, which ran counter to the impression he wished to forge with his new crew. Sometime later, with no fanfare, the refitted and refurbished Buratimos slid away into the inky blackness. At the helm, Grant suppressed the urge to look back at the station, their future lay down a different path. Their shared destiny stretched out before them, behind them the lay the echoes of the past.