Outpost A-5

[i] Not such a bountiful harvest [/i]

There is what appears to be a small groan from the ship, and there is an squishy sound as a strange organic door, made of seven segments, opens up, curling side ways to allow entry into the ship. Interestingly, there is no escape of air from inside the ship, implying it was already depressurised. The green mist inside hangs around regardless, some leaking out into nearby space. A single creature slowly draws out and onto the side of the ship, clinging on by its tentacle arm. It appears humanoid in shape, in its other hand rests a welding tool of sorts, the tip glowing green betraying its ready state. Hanging from its flesh are several bulbous sacks, one of which appears to be torn and empty. It twists its head sharply toward the small drone, and speaks slowly in its alien tongue.
"What is this we see before us, an angel of metal but of death or life... Time shall tell us, make us. We are damaged, the rocks of voids set upon our barren fleets from Ark, where the rain has long since settled and the scenes are washed away. Name your mind, shell, for we deal with the master not the slave"