The Iolas System

Entering the Iolas System Two months, it has been a long two months. Well two months and what, six days now, it should not matter…Yet it plays on your minds, despite the technological leaps and bounds aboard the station, despite the achievements. There have been substantial gains for all citizens of the Republic. A holiday was held to resounding success and tourism between the aquatic races and the terrestrial ones have helped to forge bonds of friendship. The workers union have been tireless in their efforts to reinstate the repair drone workforce and sensor array, which has exponentially improved the coverage RALMIS has at its disposal. At last review, the AI was happy to report that it had 76% facility coverage with 63% of that unlikely to cause serious health risk to its family. The events at Mercenary Point a heavy price, most certainly have both improved the quality of live and the capabilities of the station.  Civilian entrepreneurs have opened bars and restaurants, Hydroponic farming employs many who would otherwise struggle to contribute. That said however the capacity to build a fleet is well beyond the station’s capabilities at this time. The sheer volume of materials required is staggering, speaking to the staggering dominance once held by the Masters. Though with the acquisition of the Saurian Mining vessel, significant inroads shall be made to addressing that problem.  The Mining Vessel itself has been dry docked for the extent of the Space fold event, extensive repair and reconstructive works stripped her back to bare bones. Kaleb Jones was adamant that he would not risk men in a ship that might enact some sort of purge event on the crew.  The refit is only just beginning now, though expected to progress more efficiently once the Republic is in real space once again. Little further information has come to light regarding the Masters planet known as Janus . Republic council debates have been labouring on a course of action.  Some proposing that the world is treated as a hostile entity, “This station is now the ultimate power in the Universe!”, the comment drawing embarrassed chuckles from the humans. Some beloved movies are being misunderstood as historical documentaries. A brief flash of light heralds the Republics arrival into the Kuiper Belt region of the Iolas System. RALMIS , the Rupublic’s A.I. has taken measures to obscure the Repair Stations entry, yet every ear aboard still strains against background noise, listening to determine if they have been discovered.   The mercantile jewel in the Robotech Masters holdings, the Iolas system represents the center for trade, commodities, and technological innovation. Radio, Trideo, trade data bellows over every communication channel akin to some Hawker or street merchant. Cyclops Recon vessels slip soundlessly from the Republic station, gently probing the system, striving to stay hidden. The images they relay back are in stark contrast to the massages being transmitted. Ships of every make and model lie silent as they draw closed into the system. Trade lanes lay blocked with merchant ships, many ancient designs unrecognisable against modern databases. The purple star at the heart of the system pulsating and dancing at this distance flares brightly, painting the vast graveyard in a violet hew as radio feedback briefly shrieks over the cacophony of advertising and radio drivel. The wash of voices return…voices of those long past, voices of ghosts? “Where is my Sit Rep? Has Cyclops group Beta responded yet?” Hadron enquired, a trained eye watching the for the IFF transponder that had suddenly winked out. It had yet to reappear and the crew was fast approaching their status update window. Intelligence could often be in error, yet this, this was something else entirely…   

Good afternoon to you all. I am Doctor Gailson , one of the fortunate members assigned to The Cook before she decided to go cavorting about the galaxy.   It is times such as these that my team and I count ourselves incredibly fortunate. Were we not to have been aboard we would never chance to witness the beauty and destructive terror of this celestial object? I have been asked to deliver this briefing in relation to what this Star is, behavioral characteristics and associated hazards. The purple pulsating star at the center of this system is known as a Magnetar . Magnetars are Neutron stars with a mass about 2 times that of the sun. Born from the explosive death of another larger star, these city size celestial objects pack quite a punch. Often when a sun explodes in a violent supernova, the outer layers can blow off, often in a spectacular display. What remains is a small, dense core, that continues to collapse. Gravity presses the material in on itself so tightly that protons and electrons combine to make neutrons, yielding the name neutron star. On average, gravity on a Magnetar star is 1 trillion times stronger than gravity on Earth. In fact, it is strong enough to significantly bend radiation from the star, in a process known as gravitational lensing, allowing astronomers and other interested parties to see some of the back side of the star. The flickering emissions of pulsars are so predictable that normally researchers and deep space pilots use them for spaceflight navigation. Now on to what danger does this pose to personnel and infrastructure? Firstly, the magnetic field of a Magnetar would be lethal even at 1000 km due to the strong magnetic field distorting the electron clouds of the subject's constituent atoms, rendering the chemistry of life impossible. Biological life would liquify. Then there is the hazard of Radiation, the most common being Gamma, Xray and Galactic Cosmic Radiation or GCR, though the strength of magnetic field tends to draw such flair ejections back to the Magnetar itself. Weakened fields at the magnetic poles can generate pulsar discharges, however this does not seem to be present in this object. Now, for the safety warnings. Gamma and Xray waves can be stopped by a thick or dense enough layer material, with high atomic number materials such as lead, iron or depleted uranium being the most effective form of shielding. The Ionizing radiation waves are capable travel hundreds or even thousands of meters through an atmosphere, this figure significantly changes in space.  They are however able to be effectively stopped if blocked by a hydrogen-rich material, such as concrete or water. Not typically able to ionize an atom directly due to their lack of a charge, neutrons most commonly are indirectly ionizing, in that they are absorbed into a stable atom, thereby making it unstable and more likely to emit off ionizing radiation of another type. The most practicable method of shielding against this radiation being water immersion or dense hydrocarbon such as a paraffin wax coating. Rule of thumb being exposure time and distance from the radiation source directly affects accumulated dose. The Surface area of our vessels acting akin to collector dishes, the larger the vessel the higher the collected dose. How does this affect the Iolas System? High radiation background count, irradiated objects in the Kuiper belt, High gravitational interference. Then more importantly, what effect does this have on the planet Janus … I have yet to determine, as the preliminary data laves us with more questions than answers. Our hypothesis is that Janus is protected by an advanced shield of some manner. We speculate that the shield converts Kinetic energy from the battering radiation waves into energy, possibly to sustain the planet. A conversation field, for lack of a better name, the potential technologies that we might recover from this planet… They would surely rival those unlocked by the arrival of he SDF1 itself!

Iolas Primaris Debrief witness statement 1 of 2: 1 st LT Aguis This might once have been a wonderful world to live on…now, however. I could never profess to having the intelligence of someone like Dr Gailson , but any fool can see that something has happened here. Our initial reconnaissance flights over the landscape revealed a world barren, stripped of life, or close to the process of being completed. The thin atmosphere provided at least a minimal protection against the radiation and RFI glitches that had been plaguing our fly over. Speaking of which, the combination of pronounced gravity and thin atmosphere made our fly over bloody difficult. Higher cruise speeds alleviated this somewhat, yet I would strongly recommend not attempting supersonic flight speeds. The aircraft became almost uncontrollable if it were not for my co-pilots combined efforts…  At search grid Epsilon we noticed a new addition to the landscape. A recently crashed spacecraft of a design that we did not recognise. Before you ask, no it didn’t match anything in our flight data logs either. We plotted the position and prepared for a figure eight over the location to gather more intel. The second pass indicated an active energy source and the faintest signs of life, a thermal spike moving somewhere. At the speed we were traveling we had a limited window to capture information. The issue being on this second pass being that we drew fire from an unseen location, we failed to get a lock on that point of interest. We bugged out to report our findings as instructed. Debrief witness statement 2 of 2: 1 st LT Aguis I found myself reassigned to one of our REF Cyclops craft as a support element. We were tasked with conducting a possible search and rescue op at the location of the downed alien craft. Even though we took precautions with electronic shielding and fine tuning our approach vectors, the feed back was still frustrating.  We approached the drop zone with dual C3 systems running (my crew running backup) and located a swarm. Our lead cyclops identified the airborne swarm to be of some sort of inorganic creations. Mindless, instinctual, they were strafing and hacking into the upper hull of the craft in a frenzy. Reminded me of a swarm of wasps, no pattern or reason to their attack, just a single-minded aggression. Their proximity to the hull of the unidentified craft prevented our forces using an initial missile or artillery strike. We landed short of the target zone and endeavoured to draw the inorganics away from their target. CDR Xander took point and engaged, his strikes having the desired effect, allowing us to effectively paint the targets as they streamed away from the hull of the alien craft. The energy readings coming from the crafts drive core were highly unstable. It is my opinion that the inorganics would willingly destroy the vessel and themselves in the process had we not effectively intervened. None the less, with targets painted and clear of the hull our combined forces made short work of the airborne units. It was at this time we became aware of two ground-based units that had torn an airlock free from the craft. This would suggest that inorganic forces may have been within the craft. PFC Jones had with some difficulty worked his way behind the enemy forces and reported evidence of bloodshed surrounding the airlock directly opposite the one torn free. The fluctuating energy readings were of significant concern, enough so that CDR Xander requested us fall back and abandon the mission. There was a degree of disagreement that I overheard, though i do not care to be involved in such matters. PFC Jones  previously held the rank of head of mechanical services, as subject matter expert he held confidence that should the team be able to breach the alien craft directly above the drive core that he should be able to safely stabilize it or shut it down within the given time frame. Risk Vs reward, I’m glad that I don’t have to make such calls, yet perhaps after the losses we have suffered the Commander had become gun shy? No don’t write that…What do you mean it’s a audio recording?  Awh fuck…

Ship Breaking Pockmarked with a latticework of holes the once proud vessel lies dormant, nestled deep within the Robotech Masters Factory. The factory that now serves as the home of the fledgling Zentraedi republic.   A future that has yet to be written for those aboard is now tied to the factory station. However, the dormant vessel does not share in that fate, riddled with umbilical cables the once venerated ship known as The Cook serves now as little more than a standby emergency command station. Like voracious insect’s specialist work crews strip the carcass of anything of value. The hiss of heated metal reverberated within the empty confines of the vessel. The spitting slag, a dull orange in the harsh glare of the work lights, fell in uneven globules to the decking.  Struggling against the clumsy controls, Varga swore coarsely in frustration as the construction mecha’s plasma torch jerked and traced a ragged incision through the bulkhead. “You reckon that this is even worth the effort boss man?” Fennix coughed out the words through a throat that had been seasoned by decades of welding fumes. It was small thanks that the man was in the industrial crane mechanoid, his stench spoke far louder that his voice could muster. “If I can salvage enough of this alloy plating intact then yes. Half the battle is compensating for these servo motors, this piece ‘o junk is sketchy as hell…” The shake in the mechs limbs could not be entirely attributed to its wear and tear... the excuses dying on Varga’s lips as he spoke them for he knew that the other man would not buy his crap anymore that he could sell the excuses to himself. “Sure, but only if that bucket ‘O bolts has been drinking as hard as you and Miss Valentino were last night.” The older man’s broken chuckle devolving into a rasping cough. “Where did you meet a spicey piece of crumpet like her any way boy?” “It was a long time ago, we went through some shit together, just got lucky for once in our wretched lives and ended up here.” Varga grunted as he pressed himself to focus on the task at hand. For the most part those years of his life left a bitter taste in his mouth. The hacking cough of a reply that boomed through his headset must have been Fennix’s attempt as laughter. “Must have been some real bad shit if you think THIS counts as being lucky!” “Pessimistic old fart you are! Listen, everyone has a past and shit, ours is more of a comradery born out of hardship. Fate I suppose drew us together on a nasty planet called Arcturus , we had each other’s backs there, we keep that going. Hey! Make sure you have that plate magnet secured!” Varga knew that he had said more on the topic than he had wanted to. Fennix however would not let the subject drop. He knew what the other man planned to say in reply, they always asked the same questions. Arcturus had been many things in its history, though it was best known as having been a prison planet. A dumping ground for the galaxy’s undesirables… “Sounds like you are trying to spin an old man stories Boss. The Karbarrens that I drink with told me stories ‘bout that world, a purgatory made real and there weren’t no getting free neither!”  The disbelief in the older man’s voice cut deeply, wounding what little honour he still clung to. Baiting him to divulge more, Varga tried to redirect the topic. “Well sadly enough, we are slowly gutting the evidence as we speak. This ship, the James T. Cook, was instrumental in our escape from that hell. It pains me to break her down, yet practicality must trump emotion in times such as…” With a groan the weight of the bulkhead tore along the incised line that Varga had cut, a ragged fracture that raced onward through the virgin plate. A staccato of muffled booms and clangs erupted around them both, loud enough, forceful enough to reverberate up though their cockpits. A long awkward silence drew out as both men remained deathly still, waiting, not daring to even breath. “Well suppose that was the worst of it, just noise! Ships got old bones, the just be settling…” Fennix muttered as began moving his mechanized crane away from the wall towards the access hole that had previously been created. With an amazed disbelief Varga watched the crane mech shuffle on its stiff legs. Shuffling towards the hover skid anchored by the access hole that had been sliced into the ships hide. The shuffling image oddly enough invoking memories of his grandfather.  Fond memories, though the old man had passed away long ago. He had become overly forgetful in his older age… Like a warning bell rung far too late, Varga saw the steel cable pull tight. The steel cable that Fennix had forgotten to detach, the one running from the crane arm of his mecha to the magnetic lock affixed to the bulkhead wall.  Desperately trying to drive the sluggish construction mech away from the wall plate, in his heart Varga knew it was far too late. The wall section tottered before inertia tipped it beyond the point of no return. His seat wrenching hideously Varga was but a rag doll within his harness.    Crashing down, a combination of the weight and freshly cut hard edge tore through his mecha, catching the edge of his cockpit continuing down through the machine. Fire surged from some unseen source by his feet as he felt himself falling, tumbling. Jarring impact...his head came to a rest finally. Pain flared through his body, more insistent than the adrenaline hoping to mute its signals.  The iron tang of blood filled his mouth. Struggling to breath he spat it out, glistening white fragments stuck to the now dead view screen in front of him. Teeth, or fragments of them. Fumbling about in the near total darkness, weak fingers struggled with the normally simple task of pressing the emergency rescue button. Delirious with pain Varga chuckled to himself, “It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop at the end.”

The squeal of rent steel sounded shockingly loud in the silence that enshrouded him. Had he passed out? He could not be sure, his head felt thick, thoughts were tenuous and fleeting. Voices, strangely thick and guttural, sounded as though from far away.  Complete darkness and silence had been his only companion for some time now, the slow heady thudding rhythm pulsing at his temples. Perhaps his time had come to move from this limbo to the depths of the underworld? Were these the voices of the demons calling for him… “Couldn’t tip the scales in favour for my redemption…” the sad resignation in his voice, croaked out through blood splattered lips was unrecognisable to Varga .   The screeching sound intensified, becoming painfully loud. Blinding light flooded into his cocoon, illuminating its gore painted surfaces in harsh relief. Finding that he could not turn his head, trembling hands tried to shield his eyes from the painful glare.  Twisted and misshapen, Varga felt a wave of nausea seize him as realisation dawned. The mangled and twisted clumps of flesh were his hands! Fingers lay twisted in a bizarre pattern, one or two were crushed in sections.   “Can you hear me the Boss Man? Jowryyhn and his friends find you yes. We get you to your healer woman, she fix you up, put you right.” A fur decked muzzle, protruding from an archaic exosuite, filled his line of vision. “’Hold up, these humans are fragile. They break easily, if you just pull the man out his bits might fall off.” “Don’t they grow back? They can lose a paw or two and they just regrow?” A babble of voices, rough and guttural. Karbarren, yet the accents varied wildly from those that had worked for Varga. “The ones that I have seen just leak a lot, then they die. If this one is your Boss Man he holds value, not worth the risk. Cut him free but DO NOT pull the pieces out. They stop it from leaking to death.” Spoken in accented Karbarren, the last voice held a distinctive note of authority. “I’m hurt, hurt really bad!” Varga realised with a sinking resignation. Pain flared and ebbed indistinctly throughout his body. “This is the end, or it should be. Even if I survive this, my body is destroyed, it would be better just to fade away and let death claim me.” A light breeze, a movement of air, fluttered debris across his fixed field of vision. A thick ribbon like banner caught his attention as it undulated. Written on it’s surface, Fare thee well… “Farewell indeed.” Varga blinked away a tear regretfully.   The stiff brace of the support frame held him inert. A halo of metal splines and rings held fragments of his bones. The doctors had thankfully been brutally honest with him, there was slim hope that his legs would re-establish effective blood flow. Should that happen they would have to be amputated. Like some of his fingers had been, beyond saving. Beyond saving…He had died on that operating table, a horrible messy death. The doctors hadn’t initially noticed, so preoccupied in their attempts to stem his bleeding, to stop his body going into shock. The Tollian crash cart automation system, a highly advanced medical robot had leapt into action pumping his corpse with fluids. He knew that he was dead, the medical machine knew it, yet the doctors continued their work in desperation.  Hidden under the skin and fat on the left side of his chest a faint purple glow hinted from under his skin.  A smugglers pocket they used to call it back on Acturus , an incision was made into the body and a plastic sleeve forced inside under the skin. “Some habits die hard.” The irony of the though was not lost on Varga . The amethyst Soul Crystal that he had stolen, laying within the smugglers pouch, had saved him.  More correctly, it had let his consciousness flood back into this mangled body as crash cart medical robot re-established his life signs. “A second chance. Don’t fuck it up this time!” The though drove him, lending him a strength that he had not know before.  Quenching the despair far more effectively than the alcohol ever had.   “There it is!” he exclaimed to himself. The visual feed from the stations technical droid fed back the information that had needled at the back of his thoughts. The wreckage of his construction mecha lay sprawled out amongst folded seating and card tables. Suppressing a shudder and averting the drone from the construction mecha, Varga was not ready to relive that moment. Maybe one day, one day when he could stand there…but those days would be a long time away. “There! It wasn’t my imagination!” The visual feed swept up showing a stage and podium. Elaborate seating set out on the stage, ribbons, and sashes. Above it all a banner, the banner that had almost prompted him to abandon all hope. Fare thee well Captain Grant “What the hell? There was no fanfare for Grant when he left, what the fuck is this?” An enormous crate sat on the stage wrapped in dust covered paper. Curious he had the drone prescribe a wide circle about the crate then up and over it. His breath catching in his throat as the drone did so. There was no top on the crate, it looked to have been designed to have the side walls collapse. It would have been a flashy revelation, had the event ever happened. Yet it had not, Captain Grant had left in secrecy rather than the fanfare that had been intended. The fanfare that had clearly been planned as quite an event, based on the stage and the crate reveal.   For within the open topped crate sat a military jet aircraft unlike anything Varga had ever seen. Deep blues, almost black in their lustre were accented by light grey panel work. To the Republic lay emblazoned on a reflective banner draped diagonally over the machine.  His keen mechanical eye noted prototype aviation markings and sensor attachments. Vindicator 1Bravo… “Where the hell did this come from?”  

Base Camp Tartarus Iolas Primearus Lt. Delahunt, Medical detachment. The healthy recovery of the Garudan escapees has been a curios marvel over the days that have passed. Having found myself tied up with my medical duties, the security guard reports paint an odd picture.  The most marked recovery of individuals appears to be after they enter a deep trance like state.  Despite our assistance the Garudans remain suspicious of our actions, in general their conversation stops when they notice that they are being observed. The exception being Cam‘A’Roon , the dark furred Garudan male who has refused to leave my medical station where the injured female is being treated.  Clearly concerned with the female’s welfare, he has made great efforts to communicate, with astounding progress. Notably perceptive, his eyes miss little in our body language and actions. When I attempt to “sugar coat” the diagnosis for the female he calls Rahn’ley he disengages either from our conversation or tries to trap me in a lie. We have no idea who or what he was before this conflict wrapped him up, but some of the troops providing security are concerned that he might be a spy. Or a diplomat, I’m not sure, apparently there might be a betting ring running. My moneys on a merchant or smuggler of some sort, I have 20 credits riding on it, good odds too. One thing that has struck me as odd are his references to speaking or channelling their Elder spirits? At first, I believed that it may have been a cultural joke that I was not understanding, my polite chuckles at what I thought to be humour earnt me a look of disgust. He continued with his conversation however and informed me that, due to the decoctions that I had given her, Rahn’ley had been in contact with her great grandmother, a reputed seer? Now I don’t care for all of that mumbo jumbo, but we know little of this race. Honestly, I did not listen at first, but he spoke of a falling star, a hidden key, something else and Thanatos the Angel of Death being drawn into an inevitable conflict with  Dolos.   . I recall the myths Aquatic races believed, the Helios references. They remind me of some of the jumbled up Greek mythic stories of my youth. Odd that they might surface way out here? 

Base Camp Tartarus Having set up an effective defensive position, Xander and Vederir have established a defensive set of minefields to across the most likely valley access paths to slow or stall an all-out ground assault. The inorganic behaviors normally appear to be chaotic, almost instinctual. This has led the group to believe that there are likely to be limited command units active in the field. With the Base Camp Tartarus established, scouting units (both atmospheric and orbital) have been scouring the planet for signs of life and structures of interest. Ruins rise from the ashen waste like the bones of some gigantic fallen beast. The structures giving hints to both being incredibly advanced and artistically constructed. Broken statues of prominent individuals adorn the weathered facades, lending credence to the theory that this might have once been a location of great wealth. One find, which has helps support this theory, being the ruins of a Satellite communications dish.  Within the basement of the now ruined structure the squad’s engineer identified and retrieved data from numerous hard drives. Centuries old financial data, numerous messages, invaluable intelligence information… If it can be deciphered. Perhaps the hand of fate has finally delt you a good hand for once. Cam’A’Roon , one of the Garudan cat people that Ghostbear detachment recently rescued appears to possess a phenomenal talent for the spoken word. In a stunning four days since the establishment of the forward operating base, he has developed a rudimentary to passing level of English comprehension.  His mate (or close friend) Rahn’ley , he professes is a linguist of some note within the people of their home planet. They have tentative thrown in their lot with the group and offered to assist where they might with decoding the information gathered thus far.

Base Camp Tartarus Post defensive action against Invid inorganic extermination force. In the aftermath of the decisive battle against the Invid inorganics, Vederir seeks our the Garudan known as Cam’A’Roon to try to clarify the reasoning behind the decis ion for their peoples making the desperate if not ill-fated voyage to this system, this planetoid. ion for their peoples making the desperate if not ill-fated voyage to this system, this planetoid. “The wording, I am left to suppose, may not have any meaning unto your people Vederir . Thus with all respects I am forced to utilize terms and references common unto these human creatures. Though such wording does not capture the majesty nor the nuances of our people, it permits me to at least convey elements of our intent.” The steaming bowl of sardine like fish in Cam’A’Roon’s lap wafting unpleasant odor about them both as they sat and conversed. “I believe that your and your forces are aware of elements our story. The home of my people lies within the steel grip of the Regent , a militant and unspeakably cruel creature and his advanced army. Desperation can be a driving force like few others. A full belly and from a position of relative security, one might find their mindset shift somewhat. But I digress, why are we here? What led us to this point? At some point in our history, a merchant or trade delegation from the race known as the Robotech masters visited our home world. The memories of such times are jumbled and murky, with little in the way written records remaining. None the less, a fleet of nine space vessels were traded with us, impossibly, incomprehensively advanced in their build and design.     The promise of riches and wealth that could be achieved at the market worlds of this race were enticing. With little comprehension it was said that our ancestors stocked our first vessel with all manner of fine clothing and effects. It was launched to much fanfare with the dreams of our people riding in the wake, five long years there after the vessel that returned was not the one that our elders had sent forth. Instead of our people or merchants he found ourselves faced with an enemy race of armoured warrior’s intent on conquest and domination. Our attempts at resistance were futile, or so I have been told. This all occurred long before any of us were born, so we were not there to witness the events first-hand. Yet while walking the Hin , we witnessed or relived the brutality inflicted upon those who resisted. Desperation forced our hand, and we chose to try and utilize the trade ships of the Robotech Masters to find an answer to our salvation. These humans make vague references to something called an astral plane and of gifted individuals who are capable of communing with the spirits of their ancestors. Perhaps there are some similarities between our people after all, for such abilities are common form my race. It is through the memories and echoes of our collective past that our group were able to decipher at traces, hints at a puzzle or riddle if you will that may unlock our salvation.”

Base Camp Tartarus Republic debriefing tent. LT Mitchel stands at the front of the tent, sweat glistening on her brow from the heat generated by so many bodies pressed into the small confines of the makeshift Command and control area. Desks and display units from the Agro have been setup in the center to permit battlefield control and troop coordination. This unit represents the logistical elements that allow for the effective and efficient synergy that has given your units such a deceive edge in combat. A rough drawn diagram of the Iolas system and unit deployment displays in one corner of the white board. “This has been one of the largest deployment of inorganics witnessed thus far. The units deployed were light, agile, designed to strike fast and hard. We have dubbed this an Extermination force, clearly intended to overrun and overwhelm a forward scouting force or a group or one of the nomadic groups that we believe may dwell within the area. Out of respect toward the fallen, we shall not portray the imagery capture of desiccated remains that the lead units had decorated themselves with. Though we do have compiled evidence of variations in the behavioural traits of these Inorganics, this behaviour is unprecedented.”   A simplified 3D rendering of the set up and terrain features at deployed forces traces the movements of the opposed forces. Intelligence officer LT Mitchel continues her debriefing and battle assessment. “A rough estimate of enemy forces dispatched is as follows; Cougar skirmish units 132 destroyed, Garn airborne units 60 units destroyed 6 units fled from battlefield. These units were later destroyed by coordinated attack between orbital spotters and artillery units deployed with Ghost Bear Detachment .  Of the Crann scouting/command units 2 units were destroyed. A time stamp appears above the battlefield fairing red at the precise moment the Inorganic command unit is destroyed. Lt Mitchel highlights enemy forces, indicating their loss of cohesion and the significant change on behaviour. “As always, the timely destruction of the lead command unit should be prioritized, however care must be taken as the switch to instinctual subroutines in the inorganics appears to vary significantly between theatres of war. The reaction time or behavioural switch observed here at Iolas Primis to date represents one of the fastest that we have witnessed. It is out hope that with this significant reduction in Inorganic forces, that the hidden nomadic survivors we suspect to be on planet may become more mobile. We still have not received any responses to our open band calls, and yes before you go cracking heads boss, we have been bouncing the signal covertly as to disguise the source of origin. The garbage that or garbled information to date is coded differently. The information that we have deciphered being weak spluttering’s of advertising data, much of which dates to roughly the same period of time as those discovered being beamed from Janus, minus ten to twenty years perhaps. With these preliminary findings we suspect that Iolas Primis may have been the first planet in this system to go dark. If this was a direct result of an Invid occupation or caused by some other event we can not determine accurately without further information.” Sighing audibly, Lt Mitchel closes down the 3D rendering and associated files. Quickly loading screens of data and images, the information that appears is a cluttered and incomprehensive. “This is just some of the data that we have managed to extract from the Garudan vessels flight computer and Navigation computer. What does it all mean?...I have no damn idea frankly. The information captured is astounding, especially given the substandard construction of the vessels.  With the loss of the vessels, we can not verify this hypothesis, however we strongly suspect that they were designed as trap ships. A one way trip for which ever or whatever poor creatures that had  had the misfortune of hitting the launch button. The most recent Garudan refugees spoke of their regrets in not fulling the cargo holds correctly as per operating instructions. Now to specifics, the vessels have captured vast amount of astronomical and navigation data while both in slow transit and orbit about the planet. The issue being that in its current format we are unable to decipher the language and encoding. Making it unusable to us in its current format.” The frustration in her voice is reflected back about the room in the mutterings emanating from those seated. Having conducted interviews with the new Garudan rescues, their comprehension of the sciences are poor, however they are highly perceptive. They indicate that whilst stuck in their decaying orbit, various automated ship systems appeared to be probing, searching for something. What that might be? Well, until we can crack the language and coding barrier… My command unit is still reviewing the battlefield trace that is being brought in. The hominoid remains are being studied carefully for anything that might link them to a specific location or nomadic tribe, but such studies do take time, more so with the number of holes in our database for this system.  

The Lazarus Effect. NPC Character notes: Dr Gailson is a pioneer in Robotechnology research, assigned to a vessel known as The Cook , his disgruntled personality has seen a marked transformation with the entry to the Iolas System. Dr Xavior is a Zentraedi Extra-Terrestrial Affairs Liaison and Psychologist. His bed side manner can be quite brutal by human standards, though surprisingly effective. Dr Millana is a Zentraedi Medical Officer. Although an effective and efficient combat doctor, she is s till coming to terms with the human influence of emotional attachment to life and grief over the loss of loved ones. Dr Gailson is a pioneer in Robotechnology research, assigned to a vessel known as The Cook , his disgruntled personality has seen a marked transformation with the entry to the Iolas System. Dr Xavior is a Zentraedi Extra-Terrestrial Affairs Liaison and Psychologist. His bed side manner can be quite brutal by human standards, though usually effective. Month upon month have turned the pages of the calendar since the chance discovery of a derelict Zentraedi craft within the Proto-Suminus system. Information regarding the discovery and the Frozen Zentraedi warriors that were entombed within the dead craft has been heavily suppressed. Non the less, loose lips and speculation has run rampant, and far-fetched rumours abound of “Slumbering Ice Giants” and “Titans of Tartarus” being imprisoned in a mythical vessel. As speculation abounds, so too does mistrust and elements of fear. Superstition and an adamant belief in literal interpretation of mythical stories by those Republic races less scientifically gifted than their fellows has led to wild conspiracy theories. In an attempt to quell the building concerns and tension, three of the Republics top doctors have organised a debriefing to present their findings to the Council.   “My apologies to the board, I had thought to have been able to come…Well I had hoped to be able to present more.” The Trideo feed has been flattened into a 2d format and the quality is subpar at best. Dr  Gailson , Dr Millana and Dr Xavior sit at one end of a broad conference table. The faces of the Republic Council are not visible, yet the audio pickup captures their muttered replies.  It sounds as though few if and have any idea of why this debriefing has been called. Unperturbed, Dr Gailson forges ahead with his diatribe.  “While within the Proto-Suminus system our forces discovered the remains of what we suspected to have been a Robotech Masters Science vessel. The vessel was old, notably so, perhaps many centuries and of a design that R.A.M.I.S. was incapable of classifying effectively. Power had failed, life support had failed, the vessel had been abandoned and forgotten to the ravages of time. A breaching team made entry seeking to recover Navigation Maps and other pertinent information.” What must have been intended to have been a dramatic pause drags out uncomfortably before Dr Xavior picks up the story line and tries to engage the audience’s interest.

“Damage to the interior of the vessel was extensive and apparently intentionally focused. Evidence indicates a determined attempt to prevent capture of anything of intelligence value, corrupting, damaging, or destroying near everything of value. Yet this paled in comparison to what was yet to be uncovered.&nbsp; For frozen in their death throws our teams discovered the remains of several dozen Zentraedi warriors. Their faces etched in rictus of emotions, each cryo tube had been sabotaged to trap it’s occupant within as it powered up and then failed.” &nbsp;“I you please?” Dr Millana indicates her desire to head off questions that she can see forming within the audience. “No, this was not an accident. These were clearly the actions of an individual who was well versed in chamber operation. A malicious and deranged act of torture and murder. &nbsp;Trace evidence inadvertently left at the scene combined with studies in biomechanical movement indicate these horrific acts were carried out by a full size Zentraedi.” Panicked voices almost drown out the audio feeds. Fear and anger underpin the barrage of questions shouted at the doctors, devolving into a racket of noise. The visual feed showing the three doctors shifting uncomfortably in their seats, though to the trained eye the discomfort is likely more due to the lack of decorum than the emotive overture. They allow the gamete of emotions to play out before Dr Xavior stands and shouts back angrily at the Council members. “You were elected to represent the people of this Republic, each of you a chairperson, who through merit or popularity, convinced the masses that you best represented their interests. This uncouth display represents the basest of behaviour, all of which is derived from self-interest and self-preservation.” The derision drips from his every word as Xavior’s language provides you with the first indications at his disgust toward both the members and their positions. “This Zentraedi individual was not located aboard the vessel, it is believed that it may have escaped via a short-range shuttle craft. Time frames and sequencing for when exactly these events were occurred are lost to us, primarily due competent scuttling of the vessel and the concurrent degradation of evidence to solar exposure.&nbsp; As to the sabotage, we suspect the individual in question was likely to have been the warlord known as Kyron. ” Unanimous concern underpinned by the motes of true fear bubbles about the briefing table in a smattering of almost indistinguishable voices. “ Kyron the great deceiver, the Trickster, the Mad King! We should not have come here; it is folly to challenge Dolos .” &nbsp; Ignoring the superstitious mutterings, Dr Gailson indicates a PowerPoint like presentation board. “This represented a multi-facetted research challenge for us as a team. A full report shall be furnished unto you all shortly, the purpose of this briefing being to highlight the fact, as we believe them to be, that we have uncovered.” “Whether intentional, or inadvertent, this Kyron has been drawn to the Iolas system as well. Though we do not know what brought him here or how he came to be here on the planetoid known as Janus, we do know why he is here. By his own admission, he intends to mount a Zentraedi crusade.” “Dependant upon your clearance, some of you may have been privy to this information previously.” Xavior interrupts as if on cue, before launching into his spiel. “ Kyron apparently does not know of our presence in this system. Our attempts to communicate with him have met with no success, our communication attempts using both deception and antagonism have yet to net any reply. Having studied his profile in-depth, I suspect that he can not hear our messages. He is representative an individual shouting into the void, but deaf to the answered replies.” “Do we know how many may have answered his rally call and how recently?” Various enquiries from the board members are summarized into a single question to the doctors as the auto-translator examines the phonics and summarises almost before the conversation has run its course. “It is our hope that, in having disabled or reprogrammed the messaging buoys that were previously boosting his message, that we might have prevented any further Zentraedi vessels entering the system. Well, any that might look to align themselves with Kyron . There are traces of Zentraedi drive signature in the system, but the degree of debris combined with the intense radiation that is bombarding the system...it makes analyse nigh impossible.”&nbsp; “There MUST be some way through the shield which envelops Janus however...there must! From a evidentiary stand point there are not enough Zentraedi wrecks to account for the traces of drive signature that we have discovered.” The exasperated look on Dr Gailson’s represents perhaps the first time that any of the board members, let alone yourselves, have seen any form of expression from the otherwise stoic doctor. “We share this news in the strictest of confidence. Our recent guest, Cpt. Grant gifted unto us a stolen prototype Veritech fighter, a machine described as being a Zentraedi buster. Racial overtones aside, the weapons platform holds an unusual position, it appears designed as a breaching tool. It’s primary weapon indicative of an energy shield disruptor. This weapon technology has yet to be tested, though I suspect that there must exist a weak point or access gate way incorporated into the planetary shield that we can exploit. The location or key to which, we hope that the members of Ghost Bear section might discover.” “What of the Ice Giants you found? What truths do you attempt to hide from us, the stories explicitly warn of the grave danger of releasing the Titans from Tartarus!” You watch masks of control slip over the faces of the three doctors. Dr Millana stands and clears the display screen with an irritated flick of her stylus. “Your Mad King, as you call him, destroyed Tartarus. He entombed the Titans or Ice Giants as you wish to describe them and extinguished the spark of life that dwelt within their breast.” You notice Xavior cock an eyebrow at Dr Millana’s &nbsp;explanation, but a subtle nod urges her to continue. “Much of what I am about to deliver may fall outside of your comprehension, I have endeavoured to &nbsp;simplify the science as best I can without detracting from the pertinent information. The full size Zentraedi, the Ice Giants, were subject of genetic experimentation. There is evidence of manipulation to their gene sequencing, the most notable being the reinforcement of the subject DNA Telomeres. Telomeres are DNA-protein complexes that cap the ends of linear DNA strands, stabilizing them and preventing chromosome instability. Telomeres become critically short after repeated cell divisions without adequate telomerase activity, making cells susceptible to apoptosis, death and to a clear increase in mutation.&nbsp; Apoptosis can be simplified to represent programmed cell death. The other key find being the introduction of foreign DNA strands to the test subjects. The skill used fuse or bind these strands is akin to some of the greatest artworks that I have born witness too. Sorry I digress. Some Robotech Master, one can hypothesize a Clone Master, sought to produce a warrior caste of Zentraedi even more formidable than those fielded previously…”&nbsp;&nbsp; With reference to the following story arcs, that first occurred in the Proto-Suminus system Dr Gailson and a select team have been working secretly in an attempt to unravel the secrets of the Zentraedi Warriors found adrift in Cryo stasis. <a href="https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/8028629/under-pressure" rel="nofollow">https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/8028629/under-pressure</a> References to the Dr Xavior can be found here: <a href="https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/9237234/mercenary-point/?pageforid=9275630#post-9275630" rel="nofollow">https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/9237234/mercenary-point/?pageforid=9275630#post-9275630</a> &nbsp; The rediscovery of a stolen Prototype Veretech designated VF-1B can be found here: <a href="https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/9341446/the-iolas-system/?pageforid=9702523#post-9702523" rel="nofollow">https://app.roll20.net/forum/post/9341446/the-iolas-system/?pageforid=9702523#post-9702523</a>

Airborne Invid inorganic units have been probing the camp defences, attempting to identify opening weak links in the defensive chain as the demobilization continues.&nbsp; From where these new forces have emerged is yet to be identified, in part, due to the disruptive interference emanating powerfully from other locations on the planet. However, satellite assets have identified what appear to be tunnels burrowed into the barren cliff faces, like insect infestation into a corpse. The thunderous crump of artillery from the M.A.C. II monster shudders out as the pressure wave washes over the Forward Base Camp. &nbsp;The bustle of activity as the UEEF Forces demobilise the camp is punctuated by the crump of anti-aircraft artillery. The play of mixed emotions that play out over the faces of the Garrudan refugees, Admiration, Respect, Fear. “They wield other worldly weapons with a disturbing familiarity…” “You have seen their cannons sear these Invid monstrosities from existence, with a natural ease…” “I heard tell that they are born to this path, the path of the warrior…” “A partial truth…An alchemist struck a pact with a daemon from the shadow realm, their ministrations birthed a legion of these warrior creatures…” Cam’A’Roon shook his head in dismay, his fellow refugees were not the companions he would have chosen as representatives for his race. No wonder these Zentraedi warlords and his retinue were so dismissive toward them. He had not thought himself to be so vain, yet it wounded his pride to be considered worthless. A burden… So lost in contemplation was he, that the shuffling steps of Rahn’ley were lost to his ears. His subconscious mind however registered her approach. The pained gasp as she took a misstep and stumbled toward him. Reacting with a nigh precognitive speed his body twisted and rose to meet her. Arms subconsciously enfolding her unto him, catching her in a tight embrace before either of them was fully aware of their actions. The moment, though fleeting, stirring the shared unspoken feelings that smouldered beneath the surface. “My thanks Cam’A’Roon …” Rahn’ley gasped, surprisingly thankful for the throbbing pain that lanced through her healing leg and hip.&nbsp; It helped to mask the embarrassing trembling her body betrayed in his touch. “I could not permit you to fall…” his simple response carrying a depth of emotion that took the place of the words that neither of them could voice. “ I saw you in deep contemplation, might I ask what vexes you?” &nbsp; Accepting his hand, Rahn’ley eased herself down onto the military cot bedding that had been assigned to them by these Humans. Keeping her voice low and soft, she tried to ignore the feelings that bubbled up within her. Sitting closer to her than custom would dictate, he leaned in permitting their conversation at least a modicum of privacy. “I suppose what it irritates me that here, with these people, is that I can not contribute. You and I are learned, significantly more so than some of our fellow refugees. Yet our talents go unused, unrecognized.” Frustration, though tightly suppressed, edged the Garrudan’s words with an unpleasant bitterness. &nbsp;“I think that the key issue may be more a sense of trust. Their values are different to ours Cam’A’Roon. From what I have seen thus far, they are suspicious in their nature. I suspect that we must somehow EARN their trust and respect, though I know not how.” Rahn’ley’s wistful reply a startling contrast to her normally cheerful mood. “I have heard however, that your talents have been utilized. Your gift of being able to converse in alien tongue has once again proven invaluable. You can provide assistance to our rescuers…” “If I am to be honest, I must stop you there and clarify.” Cam’A’Roon interrupted, embarrassment evident in the fall of his shoulders. “ The talent belongs to my father, since passed. It is through the HIN that I can commune with his spirit and have him assist me in deciphering what my ears pick up. Though speech and language can be more than mere words, hands and body language often convey subtleties that the words alone may fail to.” Rahn’ley tried with some embarrassment to suppress the heated blush that was creeping from under the neckline of her gown. Had her actions betrayed her blossoming attraction to him? If so perhaps these actions replaced the words unspoken that she needed him to hear. &nbsp;“I can only wish that you and I might have been granted permission to join the adventure, can you imagine the wonderment of setting eyes on the halls of this ancient temple? One of the soldiers who are our guards let slip that it was dedicated to the sun. I wonder if it would be as grand as the stories that the Trader regaled our people with? &nbsp;&nbsp;The priceless fresco’s, the statues of noble men and women, the history of…” A thunderous crump interrupted Rahn’ley’s conversation, as they found themselves both rising to their feet reactively in fear. The anti-aircraft fire ended unnoticed whilst they had been talking, but this sound represented something entirely different. Subsequent crumps smaller reverberated through the ground before the sound reached their ears. Eyes scanning the plunging ridgelines they squinted their eyes against the saturating ultraviolet light that bathed this world in purple hues. Dust and debris erupted from one of the ridge lines in a series of random explosions. The thin atmosphere and high gravity of the planet playing with the debris in peculiar fashion as dust rippled upward into the air. “ Somethings wrong…” Cam’A’Roon breathed, before unannounced, he scooped her up and started running. “ Seek cover!” he bellowed as he sprinted toward the mountainous structure of the robot that the UEEF soldier’s cad called a M.A.C. II. Trembling vibrations shook through his body, be they from the cascade of explosions that tore the ridge line asunder, or the fear of Rahn’ley as she buried her head against his chest, he was unsure. Small pinging sounds began echoing through out the camp, the sound of impacts on armored machinery. Gasping lungful’s of the gasses that were filtered into his re-breather, he felt the digging pressure of metal against his waist, noticing the metallic rods of some form of brace that ran down Rahn’ley’s leg. Gently lowering her to the ground, she noticed his eyes and hurriedly adjusted the fall of her gown for modesty. Her wide eyes however, fixed on the fiery wreckage that illuminated the wreckage of the ridge line. “They destroyed it! Why, why would they destroy something so priceless…”&nbsp;

The hold of the Argo thrums with the idling power of the anti-gravitational drives. The vessel has been kept at a state of readiness while the rear-guard await the order to withdraw from this front. &nbsp;Through the open ramp way, which once permitted the fast deployment of Bioroid troops, Republic forces and service technicians can be seen carting out their tasking. The framed scene viewed through the lowered boarding ramp, plays out like one of the flat screen films captured for antiquity, as infantry gun pits reveal themselves as camouflage netting pulled away. The demobilization moves along briskly and efficiently, perhaps due in part to the atmosphere of death that presses down upon the psyche of all those who have come here seeking answers. The desolate landscape that was once teaming with life lies choked under thick blankets of ash. As the thin winds tease and play with the ash drifts, bleached bones of the fallen victims are revealed throughout the passing phases of the day.&nbsp; This world is a tomb and human superstitions run deep, the desire to leave drives plays at the frayed nerves of these fatigued men and women. Muted voices are faintly discernible from within one of the sea containers stacked within the Argo’s hold. Arranged like the building blocks of some giant child, each one of the sea containers house a mission critical station. Crew quarters, Medical, Command briefing, and it is here from outside the command briefing container that the muted voices are emitting. &nbsp;An unmistakeable tone of frustration clearly discernible even if the words spoken are not. “So, in brief, your troop failed us.” The spokesman for the Republic Council let the cold anger of his emotion match that of the glare that he casts back at the reconnaissance detachment. &nbsp; “NO! We haven’t finished, speaking yet.” His words cutting off any change to respond as solemn nods from those other representatives seated at the Republics Council table affirm their support of this firm stance. &nbsp;&nbsp; “Our purpose, our overriding purpose, has followed a relatively simple set of objectives. Firstly, to find Allies and Supporters. We are in agreeance that these efforts have initially born significant fruit and we are thankful for your efforts, however this submission to elevate the military rights above those of the Republic council and its citizens carries disturbing undertones. You have a voice on the council, but you do not and shall not dictate unto it.” Confused glances pass between the squad members at these comments. Jonesy motions silently through combat sign language to wait and observe. The Spokesman is clearly worked up over some issue, allow him vent before asking for clarity or countering his accusations. “Resources. They are in rich supply here, that is true, yet the radiation from this central star hobbles our efforts at effective salvage. This system is only a treasure trove because it kills anything foolish enough to wander into it’s embrace. One might liken it to the tales of Tantalus , in that we remain stuck here with the sustenance we desire forever just beyond our reach. It is for these reasons that we, as the council propositioned a test pilot to attempt to breach the barrier shield about Iolas Secundus . Once the VF-1V flown by Jasper has managed to effectively breach the barrier and permitted us access to Janus, strike force Yellow Jacket will locate the Pulsed Hyperspace Communications Array . Commander Breetai will be contacted.” His hands beneath the dull steel table at the centre of the room, Vederir deftly types in military shorthand to the team. “This is an overstep of their authority, justification on what grounds?” Reading the surging anger, not only directed about the room but also that which is radiating at them from the council, Jonesy interjects.&nbsp; “It would appear that you have us at a disadvantage our most honourable spokesman. In what manner has the military lorded itself over the Citizens we vowed to protect?” “Don’t try to play the innocent party with us, we are not the fools you think us to be. We intercepted the secret communications between you Commander Xander and the Republic station Weapons master. This Hadron replied that he would follow you into oblivion and back if that was your order.” The blood flushing the spokesman’s face would almost comical were it the situation concerning a different matter. “This has all he hallmarks of a military coup, we refuse to just sit here and t you to install yourself as out dictator, we…” The Transmission cuts out mid-sentence to be replaced with an image of a Zentraedi warrior in full military dress, cool eyes look across the group with distain. The face is immediately familiar and yet the expression is foreign. The image of Xander , bedecked in traditional Zentraedi battle dress addresses you with a booming voice. &nbsp;“I have waited for this moment for quite some time. The planning involved; the number of different pathways that could have been chosen. Well, when all has been said and done, time was on my side for once. So good to see your face again brother…” The image morphs and flows, Xander’s features digitising and rearranging into those of another, the colour spectrum of the figure being the last to change as he skin takes on a violet hue and the dark hair washes to blue. &nbsp;“ Khyron , you son of a…” Vederir rages his chair clattering back against the wall of the sea container with the force of his actions. “I see that my fame and glory has travelled far my small and insignificant one. In fact, your and, well what ever this sorrowful collective are, is of little consequence to me. You are tools, nothing more in much grander schemes that I have put into play. That said it will bring me at least some measure of satisfaction to corrupt all that you have built, all that you have strived for.” “Do permit your underlings to record this transmission Dearest Brother, perhaps encourage their ingenuity. Afterall, a gift horse left outside the walls of a mighty fortress is surely there for the taking… “You do love the sound of your own voice don’t you!” Beta Ray allows his heckle to bait the infamous warlord. By all know records the tyrant perished in a suicidal assault against the SDF-1 on Earth, yet here he stands taunting both Xander and the group. His hand creeping toward the control on his wrist gauntlet, a hand wraps around his wrist staying his action. “I would enjoy crushing each of your fragile little bodies into the dust of the first planet of this system, were I not otherwise occupied with greater plans. I shall have to satisfy myself with watching you slowly starve to death while listening to your pathetic calls for assistance to this Republic Station that you have infested with your parasitic filth.&nbsp; They are deaf to your voice now; they will know only the words that I speak through your image brother. The footnote against your legacy will still remain, yet I shall play your part with more skill than you can muster.” &nbsp;“Why even go to all this effort, what does this gain you? Surely enough time has passed between you and Xander to put aside any feuds?” Zara’s words hang in the air as Kyron flicks his eyes towards her in annoyance. “So brother, you have gone far softer than I might have suspected. You took a mate with these Micronians.” The scorn on his face twisting his features into a disturbing mask. “Small female creature, your deaths represent little more than a brief amusement for me.” “You are tools and stage markers in a much grander scheme. Components of a trap set for a one-eyed beast that must be drawn from its lair. The pitiful call for assistance from its favoured son surely can not be ignored. One I have caught the beast, its head shall be rendered down, and the skull mounted in my trophy room.” Smiling wickedly Kyron peers intently back at the group through the vision screen. I have loyal interceptor gunships hunting your satellites and support craft, well those that chose not to believe the stories that I have woven in your stead. Run little humans, your time is come.”

Base Camp Tartarus With brutish efficiency you watch as the Bioroid Terminator Drone’s man handle the ancient relic recovered from Chrono’s penthouse from the back of the hover truck. Their robotic strength disguising the true weight of the object. The combat programming shoehorned into their limited processor brains, clearly leaving little room for capturing of fine motor skills. Their design creates the &nbsp; With some relief you find little significant damage to the globe. The appearance of the strange object drawing quite a crowd of onlookers from amongst the guardsmen and Garudan refugees as it is examined.&nbsp; You note with mild frustration that Rahn’Ley has somehow shuffled her way past the security personnel barring access to the staging area once again. “Maybe we can win back hearts and minds starting with this one?” Jonesy mutters through his squad comms channel as you watch her progress towards your party. “I would rather know how the fox girl can move so quietly and slip herself past our check points with a limp and a busted hip?” Mild frustration betraying itself in Zara’s , mannerisms as she strode forward to block the Garudans path, though her voice maintained a careful neutrality. “You can’t be back here Rahn’Ley , we need to maintain security here, for both your safety and ours.” The electronic key chain fob around the petite Garudans neck buzzes and chirps out a delayed reply, &nbsp;“But I may be of some use unto you. My injury may have physically slowed me, but my mind does not share the same restraints. My injury does not define who I am. Mentally I can still dance, though perchance physically those days have passed.” Had the words been spoken to another member of the UEEF, it is likely the reaction would have been more sympathetic. Stiffening noticeably Zara reached up and unfastened her helmet, revealing her face as she pulled back her hair. The words she emitted sounded forced out through a rigid mask of self-control, hard eye pinning the Garudan in place. “Life is pain, it is suffering, it is duty. It is stolen moments of kindness between loved ones. It is accepting that your injuries ARE how people will see you, how they will judge you.” The puckered pink scaring over one side of her face contrasting with her pale skin and dyed green hair. The scaring traveling down beneath her collar line hinting at more extensive injuries hidden from sight. Rahn'Leys &nbsp;sharp intake of breath betraying her shock in a slip of etiquette that would have shamed her family. “Come, run your eyes over this object.” Zara interjected quickly. “Show me your worth, let me see with my own eyes that your own crippling injuries do not prevent you from contributing.” Grabbing the Garudans wrist in a painfully tight grip she marched Rahn’Ley over to the relic. “Make room, let this cripple prove that she can contribute, if not place her in the brig. She represents a security risk.” Nervousness playing through her movements Rahn’Ley shuffles about the ancient relic, fear-based adrenaline masking the ever-present pain of her injuries. Eyes widening, the familiarity of the symbols and works dawning on her as her gloved hands delicately rotated the globe within it’s gimbal. Janus, it had to be. A topographically designed representation of land masses, countries, cities; just as the paper documents described them. Documents stashed away in the ill-fated cargo vessels her people had absconded with; vessels that had brought them to this forsaken system. Translating for her, the electronic fob chirped out in poorly punctuated English its interpretation of Rahn’Leys muttered comments “It’s as the documents described, cities merged unto each other. Political boundaries are more dominant than those set by land masses. A centre of technological excellence and innovation divided by with rivalries, perhaps paranoia? Weather control, environmental control, social control…The Masters truly looked to dominate every aspect of their subjects’ lives.” Clawed nails, protruding through her dress gloves, Rahn’Ley traced the lettering adorning the fixed framework. “Hmm, each etched symbols feel polished, as if from touch. Keys to a lock perhaps… Chronos, no that does not work. Surely it could not be…Betrayer?!” A barely audible click responds from the globe as the last letter in the code sequence falls into place. A small island section raises slightly from the surface of the globe as the Garudans sharp eyes catch ever detail. Nimble claws prise the edge of the island map section, drawing it free from the globe. A shaped compartment about 4 inched deep, a cylindrical brass mesh enclosure, containing something within. “Careful, Keith voices the unspoken though that flashes like a warning into each team members mind. Pushing his way forward he runs a chemical sniffer over the object, “Poisons, one of the tools of assassins and the truly paranoid, like this old man Chronos one might suspect.” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The results come back clean; however, you notice the Garudan handling the object with the upmost care. Extracting the object Rahn’Ley carefully unwraps the package within, a ornate key with a primitive silken sash wrapped around the stem of the key. Reading out loud to the group the Garudans voice takes on a dream like murmur. “ My dearest Cythera, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to the same view as I. Though Cabal’s young and lustful ways must have been intoxicating to you, the man’s beliefs are foolish and naïve. To rally against the Masters in the same mannerisms as the fool Zor…Well you know for yourself of that folly. Our villa has been locked since the day you chose to lie with this betrayer. It is not through fault of your own, he beguiled many with his honeyed words. Take this key, join me at our villa that we might put this period of our lives to rest. &nbsp;