After a time the largest of the visiting craft, a homemade runt cobbled together from bits left over from travelling merchants, hove into view in front of the Captain. It sidled up slowly, connecting via a long walkway with the Dead Planet as a backdrop. Sickly green lights blinked along its hull as the connection was finalized. Ganka blew air through his nose, his teeth bared while he looked the vessel over. Content, he turned sharply and left the storage room. The corridors were buzzing with crewmen, all headed in the opposite direction to him. Ganka pushed his way through to the bridge, grabbed a ceremonial coat covered in medals and gold tassels before making his way in the general direction of the reception area.

The Hyperion sported four rooms kitted out to receive visitors and house guests if they intended to stay aboard for an extended period of time. Three of them had been repurposed as a garrison quarters for all the workers and soldiers the Hyperion employed, and subsequently degraded to rubbish filled cesspits. The one remaining proper reception area was relatively garbage free, save a few piles of filth in the corners and under furniture. Furniture had been upturned and some of the paintings hanging up had been defaced, but at least the graffiti had been lasered off and the chandelier was still intact. When Ganka pushed past two guards at the door he discovered a large group of Tindrel clustered in the middle of the reception room, looking at him expectantly. Mostly male, though there were a few women and even some children present. They were clad in rags and looked extremely thin and malnourished. 

An Eliazoph stepped forward, she have been the leader but Ganka was unimpressed. She was shorter than most of her kind, and her horns (a sign of status) had been sheared off entirely. An old looking Gorrompek and a Chirrix with one arm made a half effort, standing in front of the crowd but behind the young Eliazoph. Ganka left two metres between them and they both bowed respectfully. “I am Captain Ganka Horza Outremer Sciarker. I welcome you on the behalf of my crew and i to the Hyperion.” Ganka grunted, taking a step forward which was matched by the Gorrompek and Chirrix behind their chosen representative. “I am Bon Mooy Tindgaard Venpele. We in turn welcome you all back to our homeworld.” The formal greeting over, Bon slouched back over, unwell enough to continue the regal posture most Eliazoph managed. “What is it that you seek?”

“We’re going down onto the Dead Planet. We’re...archaeologists.”

Bon looked around at the crew of the Hyperion. Despite Ganka’s request that they stay out of sight to avoid agitating the guests, a gaggle of the crew had leaked in through the various doors and were staring at their visitors. “I’m afraid we can’t allow it. The Dead Planet is very unstable and should be sacred for us, for all of us.” She said, motioning to Ganka himself. All three races of the Collective came from different systems, but they picked the Dead Planet to be their cultural hub. A middle ground where they could share ideas and pool resources. “Very noble of you. May i ask who appointed you as the Guardians of our planet?” the Captain asked, peering round at the huddled group of Tindel behind her. Bon’s lips tightened. She avoided the question. “What is it exactly that you wish to find on our Dead Planet? She asked, the bristle of metal in the hands of every crewman had caught her eye. “I’ve been led to believe that the Remnant wasn’t evacuated off the world, that it’s still here.”

This elicited a chorus of laughter from the assembled guests, Ganka growled angrily. “That is what every treasure hunter says, we turn them all back. The Remnant was destroyed in transit off the Dead Planet, all those hundreds of years ago.” Bon laughed condescendingly. “That’s untrue, i know where it’s hidden.” Ganka blustered. “Is that right? Would you care to explain how you have such intelligence?”

“Someone told me.”

“Who?”

“Voices from our past.”

“That’s nice, but i’m afraid you won’t proceed, not without clearance from the Council Collective on Outremer. “ Bon giggled, looking back at her flock, who were besides themselves with laughter. They thought him a fool. Ganka looked around and found his own crew hiding grins and guffaws; the young captain ground his fangs. Motioning with one hand in a signal well known to his ensign, Ganka grasped the machine gun that was thrust into his hands. “You can ask them yourself when you meet them, and may the gods rest your filthy souls.” Ganka laughed, opening fire on the congregation. When they all lay dead on the reception room floor, the only contribution being a pack of new bullet holes in the wall, he threw it back to his second in command. Everything was silent. “Destroy their ships and bombard the colonies, we set down in an hour.”