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[center][color=gray][h2]Sector 14[/h2][/color][/center]
	A burst of light emitted from the warp-gate at the arrival of the gubernatorial patrol, but that light itself was awash in the radiance of the sun that bathed the gate's aperture. A light corvette with with a fighter escort on both its port and starboard sides reoriented themselves from the sun's surface and maneuvered toward Tortuga station.
	They were met instantly by a small pack of raiders—seven at the most—that descended upon them and flew close. Some light fighters in the pack skimmed the corvette's ion wake, and up and over the length of the ship never straying more than ten meters from its hull and the barrels of its guns. It was an ace bit of flying that sent a very clear message. Though the pirates crowded the patrols—bullying them for navigable space, no weapons fire was exchanged. And, as long as neither side gave the other any excuse it would remain that way until the patrols finished their search.
	It was the governor's assistant's emphatic warnings that landed him the assignment, and he cursed himself a little for having to leave the safety of his cushy desk job. "Don't worry, sir," the corvette's chief pilot said to his the assistant. "They're here for the same reason we are: to show the colors and fly the flag... so to speak."
	[color=f26522]"We're here for more than that,"[/color] the Governor's Assistant bit back. [color=f26522]"We're here to assess a possible threat to the empire itself!"[/color] 
	The primary pilot shrugged and adjusted their course to do a fly-over of the first planet while his copilot spoke up. "These plant things seem to keep to themselves. We don't go down and they don't come up." She keyed in a command sequence to initiate a low orbital pass, "There's never been a ship, and the only people to come off-world have only done so per recall order and EOM sanctioned shuttle." 
	[color=f26522]"What about the pirates?"[/color] the governor's assistant asked.
	"What [i]about[/i] the pirates." The ship's commander shot back as he stepped onto the bridge. Some boots clomped on the deck and salutes sailed through the air before all were waved away. He was obviously annoyed at his ship being dispatched to escort a low tier civilian, and somehow being roped into the patrol schedule, but it was the assistant pilot who responded.
	"They don't go down there either," the copilot added "As far as we can tell there's no profit in it." She dismissively waved a hand as she added, "The closest they came was to drop a derelict hulk onto the planet, but it fell into an ocean. Mighty fine splash."
	"And completely unrecoverable," the primary pilot added with a half turn to meet the governor's assistant's gaze. 
	While the govenor's assistant continued to question the crew about the system, and handed out orders to his civilian teams, chatter flashed across the comms—from port to starboard—outside the ship and earshot of its captain. 
	"Why are they even here?" The starboard escort asked the port one in reference to the light corvette that joined them in their normal patrol. 
	"Higher ups think this back water station is some kind of threat I guess," was the response that flicked back over the comms in the other direction. 
	"Don't start none. Won't be none." Was the grumbling response that echoed back.

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	After surveying the first planet from low atmosphere the light corvette returned and docked with the station, while its two escorts took up a defensive posture around it. The governor's assistant had growing concerns that the pirates themselves had become infected, and quite reluctantly admitted that he needed to see for himself if that was true. However, nothing in his experience suggested that, if they were, that they could still manage to fly as intimidatingly as the welcoming party did.
	The governor's assistant and his armed guards disembarked the ship onto the station but were held in quarantine for an unnecessarily long amount of time. The port authority's claims that the airlock had jammed were eventually given weight by the appearance of a mechanic. 
	A petite woman with oil smeared across her freckled face, and the name 'Mac' on her badge, tore at the door panel with the butt of her spanner. Once the panel was opened, a mechanical rat scampered down her arm and into the inner workings of the door control. She thrust her thumb onto a communication control and made an announcement to those trapped in the airlock. "Sorry 'bout this. There ain't a door on this station that defaults to 'open' when the circuits are fried. We'll have you out in a jiff." 
	Inside the door control the mechanical rat stripped wires with its teeth and tied them with its claws. Then its tail was thrust into a port, like a programming spike, while the control commands were reconfigured to match the new setup. A few moments later the airlock door opened and released the governor's assistant and his personal guard onto the ship.
	[color=f26522]"We'd like to have a look around, if that's alright,"[/color] the governor's assistant said as he motioned for some doctors to follow the trio through the station.
	"Ain't my problem," Mac said while Brie scampered back out of the door control so that it could be resealed. As Brie made its way back up Mac's arm it caught sight of, and drew attention to, the station's resident mouser after which it quickly hid in the mechanic's overalls. The rat-like idle behavior was a personal touch to the custom mechanical pet that Myriam was most proud of. Meanwhile, the mouser—a black cat—hopped up onto a crate as to catch the entire disembarking crew in its deep yellow eyes.
	"What exactly are we looking for?" one of the doctors more so complained than asked the govonor's assistant.
	The assistant turned to respond and address the doctors directly while reiterating a summation of their orders. [color=f26522]"Any sign of the fungal infection,"[/color] he said, [color=f26522]"We're only aware of the Zombie strain, but there's no reason to believe that it couldn't mutate."[/color] The assistant paused while handing out data pads. [color=f26522]"You all know the symptoms. Keep a clear and level head out there."[/color] 
	A light flicked down the hall, and the word "balls" came out of mechanic's mouth around her spanner. She dropped the spanner into her kit and pointed at the airlock door control. "No warranties; implied or expressed." she said while backing away. She glared at the governor's staff for a moment as she walked down the hall. Then after a moment she flung her toolkit over her shoulder, turned, and disappeared down an adjacent hallway to continue the litany of maintenance the station so apparently needed.
	Similarly, the mouser too was gone; having disappeared into thin air the moment that Mac broke the observer's line of sight to it.
	[color=f26522]"Stay safe,"[/color] the governor's assistant ordered with unease as the light in the hall flickered again.

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	The activation of the gate did not go unnoticed by the Perennial fleet who had taken refuge on the other side of the sun, and it was with this in mind that Whisker Wishes was dispatched from its ordinary patrols on the station to observe the interlopers who had just arived. The 'zombie strain' of The Spore, as it was called, was a heavy mutation of an old spore of the ancient caste. It was a projection of what the Great Web's ancient ancestors might have become but not for the humans. It had begun as a variation of the spore that survived the cleansing 370 human years ago, and was as similar to the modern Perennial as humans were to chimpanzees. That is only sharing a mere fraction of DNA. 
	The great web was not quite certain how humans differed from monkeys but from the mind of Gretchen Gravage the answer was simultaneously 'a lot' and 'not as much as they'd like to think.' 
	As they watched, and waited, the Great Web consolidated its forces in the corona of the star where the sensors of men degraded to much for their organic presence to be considered a reliable reading. The behemoth that was dropped in the ocean was tackled by water breeds: algae, seaweed, and the like. The conversion process itself had been completed long before The Great Web began its diversion with Aria Summers.
	Now, close to the sun, the Light Perennials genetics resurfaced in terms of chlorophyll in the armoring. By consuming vast amounts of stellar radiation that would ordinarily be cast off or stored in the science vessel's hull, the Great Web was able to to grow and evolve three capitol ships—carriers—from the science hull template they obtained in the ocean. 
	At this stage it was impossible to know exactly how the humans would react, as a society, and when they would come in force to return fire to the Perennial world. But, this time, they would be ready. They would be waiting. Of all the Perennials aboard, perhaps Boar was the loudest when he snorted in grim anticipation.