World of Targani
Four Years ago.
Moments before the signing of the Armistice


Targani, once a serene garden world, one of countless jewels among a sea of stars, had fallen victim to fires of war. Targani became yet another front in the ongoing Reclamation Wars, scarred, battered and a burnt shell of what it once was, its people having long fled or stranded, forced to endure hardships as powers beyond their world clashed ceaselessly. Targani was currently fought over between two rivaling powers, the Augustan Empire and the Concordat. Both sides fighting a desperate campaign to maintain control of the planet, and the system as unbeknownst to all parties, the war was about to reach its peak.

---

The thunderous sounds of ant-orbital cannons rang in the air as swarms of Concordat ships broke through the regional defenses, the skies dominated by countless dogfights and falling debris. The shorelines of one of several islands were lit ablaze by weapons fire as legions of war drones, supported by elite shock troops advanced towards the Imperial defensive lines. Sitting in the thick of it was a commander William Pickett, a lightly tanned man well into his forties that has seen his fair share of the war. He stood alongside his men, being among one of hundreds poking out of the trenches and unleashing his fury against the battalions that were set against him. “By the gods we WILL hold this line!!!!” He screamed out to himself and his troops.

William took aim, pulling the trigger as he fired his shots, taking down several light drones before he heard the screeching sound of an artillery round. “Incoming!!!!” A soldier cried out before impact, bodies, both dead and barely alive, scattered into the air among the sand. The Commander being among the lucky few that survived the blast, but not unscathed. Within seemingly a flash, he awoke with a jolt of pain in his sides, a shard of shrapnel making a deep cut into his ribs, in addition he was buried by several bodies of his brothers in arms, the sheer weight immobilizing him. The sound of hundreds of footsteps, both human and xeno alike, overtook the air, as Concordat forces begun to cross over the trenches, the defensive line was broken, and fell unto utter chaos as imperial units scattered, the trenches themselves becoming a killing field. William could barely keep his eyes open, the sounds of gunfire, screams, and explosions slowly became more muffled and faded.

Without even realizing it, he had fallen unconscious, Cordie soldiers that passed over him unaware of his presence. Ironically, that artillery strike had saved him.

---

In a blink of a eye, many hours pass, the moon casting its light over the scarred landscape, the shoreline falling eerily silent, William barely conscious, able to hear faint, distant mumbling. Before long, he can feel the weight of the dead being lifted from him, one by one, bright blares of flashlights shun on him as he was forced awake. "We got another one!" A feminine voice from one of his saviors called out to someone. "Oof, he looks real bad, get a medic over here!"

A medic quickly rushed over as he made a quick observation, pulling out a gelpack. "This oughta tide you over for a while." He said as he applied medigel, temporally numbing the pain, at least until he can get properly medical attention. The commander was lifted up by two more soldiers, his vision becoming more clear as he got a good look of his surroundings. Night had fallen, and the battle was long over, hundreds of dead lying in the shoreline, and countless more wrecked cordie drones littering the ground, and thousands of deactivated drones froze where they stood, it was an eerie sight indeed.

"Fuuuck..." William cursed to himself, the pain still lingering somewhat. "Did..we push them back..?" He managed to uttered a sentence, concerned on the outcome. "Get me back to base...we gotta regroup before the cordies come back..."

The two soldiers looked to one another, before looking to him. "We better stop for now." William was lied down, looking quite perplexed to his group of saviors. "Sir...the war's over."

"Come again?" William shook his head in befuddlement.

"The war's over." Another repeated. "An Armistice was signed hours ago." The news came with a flurry of emotions for the Commander. One hand, it's finally over, no winner in clear sight, but it's final over, decades of hell has come to an end....again. On the other hand...so many lives in the past few hours were snuffed out for nothing, if only they had waited, if only they held on, had more time, then many men and women would've lived to see the end of war....

"Sir?" One of the soldiers called to him, the dazed look in the commander's eyes all the more worrying, he looked to his brother in arms, both in agreement they needed to move forward. "Let's...get you out here sir, no reason to hang around here anymore."

The Eastern Front of the known galaxy was a violent place.

The Eastern Front of the known galaxy remained a violent place.

The scars across the carapaced architecture spoke of its violence bestial and unseen. Wounds like trenches, stretching along the colossal length of the dreadnought fleet, glowed and glared under the sight of the Augustan observation systems. One could almost imagine a few fighters and gunships flying into those cavernous maws, if not for the cloud-like swarms of claw-winged masses that swarmed over the wounds. The red eyes glaring within blinked wildly as their winged shapes flew in coiling patterns like a living curtain giving privacy to whatever delicate actions transpired beneath.

There were at least five of them, dreadnoughts by any reasonable stretch of the word, but intelligence on the Front's rearmament programs were hard to come by. Were these really "dreadnoughts" or simply standard battleships? They were not flattened and rigid like the Augustans - their topographies curving and bumpy, laden with overlapping plating and outwardly radiating claws on sloping, arthropod bodies. One could almost imagine such a thing, skittering in a dirty room after flickering lights activated but no boot was big enogh to crush them. They appeared more lumbering predatory in many ways than ship of war.

Some semblance of familiarity could be found amongst them. Something that appeared like wreckage from tales of old Yrranian history - mighty capital ships from the apex of their rule, puppeted by coral-like clumps of inky, sickeningly rotted biomatter that quivered and teemed with machine and organic life intertwined. Enormous, hungry masses of contorting carapace and shimmering, bioluminscent biometallic fungi seeped out of and settled around ancient wounds older than many of the surrounding warships.

Seated amongst the Abyssic fleet, it was morbidly humorous - the puppeted carcass of a long-fallen oppressor's might guided along by what were once its subjects.

It wasn't a secret that the Front viewed the majority of its neighbours with a degree of suspicion. The Augustans were an empire and had not expressed much in the way of rebelliousness against the Yrrani. Some particularly bitter council heads would say they were inheritors of the Yrrani.

Today, they were a necessary, hopeful partner and no doubt, they would recognize the battle damage inflicted upon the Abyssal dreadnoughts. It wasn't that of precision magnetic weaponry, laser lances, or armour-piercing weapons. Those were the wounds of creatures on the hunt that had spotted their quarry, the same ones that hounded the boundaries of both Front and Empire as the lurking terror of the Eastern Arm of the galaxy.

There were other battlegroups that had lately been moving beyond the Front's somewhat shaky boundaries, a smaller one patrolling near the outskirts of the Iterae infestation between both territories, but that was the only one that was public knowledge. The Front had ghost fleets prowling, many of which were said to not even be present in realspace but creeping beneath it like parasites.

This one had a more diplomatic mission in mind.

It awaited a response as it hailed the Augustans.



"We are informed that your masters are a demanding lot. Your factories sweltering, your royal houses hungering, your bones aching, your ears deaf with the echoes of their demands."

"We may be of a different breed but the pressure of an iron heel is the same across all species. We have long since severed the limb to which it is attached."

"Your house stands divided. Their aims are those of expansion and power. That makes them callous, arrogant, and they understand not what their power rests upon."

"The name of the Mother is known here. The winds of change bear the scent of familiarity. We will discuss more in time."

In the private chambers of a hidden hideaway, away from the scouring eyes of Hawkrose authorities, a quiet message played across a screen. Fragmented scrabbles and glyphs rehsaped into text.

Far above, deep in the stars, a fleet of beasts accelerated towards the southern end of Prydwenite space. It blended into the flesh of the night yet it made no effort to conceal itself, its quiet private message aside.

Its comms channels hailed the regional powers and its data relays transferred a mixture of docking information, itinerary overviews, and diplomatic files.

The Front, for all of its miltiaristic aggression, had an eye for potential allies and there had been talks of dealings between the Pyrdwenites and its the Front. They had no history together but in a sense this was liberating; no prior emnity meant nothing to particularly impede any sort of dealings. The pyrdwenites had gotten off easy under the yoke of Yrranians but they hadn't emerged as inheritors of thier power

It wasn't hard to imagine why they might; they were not pure altruists. The Pyrdwenites were beset with growing internal tensions and also were not particularly far from the Tar Yarra. It was openly discussed in some public Abyssic holo-broadcasts that the Pyrdwnenites, even with their ideological differences, would be a useful ally to have and that the galaxy was better with stable, united assortment of houses rather than a shaky one.

Fears of becoming the plaything of Empire were echoed in the Far East, with skepticism towards the Augustans and House Eaglesworn frequently echoing btween the Abyssals and Pyrdwenite masses.

A Front diplomatic envoy however, was not a tool of formenting revolution. Morality was a poor substitute for geopolitics and fervor held less weight than mutual strategic and economic benefit. Before it was the Abyss Front, it was the Wellspring Expanse and to many an entreprenur, that was still true. Their outward trade was not particularly well established, but the Pyrwenites were planned to be the first to truly enjoy the wealth that lay hidden behind anomalous rifts and swarms of ethereal creatures.

Granted, preferences were towards House Hawkrose but there had been no rebukes towards the rest of the Empire.

At best, maybe the Pyrdwenites had seen the people of the Abyss in old newscasts and now dated Yrranian illustrations; a strange and savage people that was mostly known for having forced out what was once the mightiest empire in known space. That was when it was still a collection of planetary insurrections and rogue militaries. What were they to expect now however?

Shadowfall, Capital of House Ravenshade, sometime in the past

“Tell me father, why have you dragged me out into the fields on a day I should be learning?” asked an annoyed voice. They were draped in the familiar bright white and red that made up the colors and heraldry, with the symbol of a large black raven on their cloak.

“There is far more to leading our house than academic learning Eleanor. I think it is time you could use a reminder of where we came from.” responded her, leading them through a winding path that led through wide fields of blossoming fruit trees.

“I have heard the tales of the origins of our house more than once. I do not see the point in making me watch the peasants harvesting crops.”

“They are not peasants Eleanor, they are loyal servants who have committed their lives to our house. I regret not doing this sooner.” sighed her father.

The two continued through the mild weather of the fields as they watched individuals harvesting the vivid array of fruits in the fields. Only a few people danced in between the trees, using cybernetic implants to quickly and deftly harvest the trees. Unlike many other planets across the Prydwenite Empire, Shadowfall was dominated by only two seasons, a long harsh winter and then a few short months of a mild season where the hardy plant-life of the planet quickly blossomed and became ripe for the harvest. It was during this short window where the population of the planet would all come out in force to harvest the fields en masse, before settling down and once again preparing for the descent of the harsh winter.

The pair finally arrived in a clearing among the fields, upon which rested a ship. It was some ancient design, clearly from centuries in the past, almost dating back to the time of the Ynnari. The ship itself was clearly some kind of cargo ship, and it had the familiar symbol of House Ravenshade emblazoned on the side.

“What…is this?” asked Eleanor, staring up at the ship.

“This was our home Eleanor. Quite a difference between hearing a story and seeing its living memory, isn’t it?” responded her father.

“This is where we lived before Prydwen?”

“One of the vessels which we arrived in. There were ten in our convoy when we arrived in Prydwenite space, but of those this is the last one that survives. Your grandfather ordered it preserved as a memorial as a reminder of where we came.”

Eleanor looked at the old ship in amazement. The tales had never quite interested her - she was more focused on her future as the Lord-Protector to be, but she felt drawn into memory. She read the small plaque that lay before the ship, a shining piece of marble emblazoned with the familiar motto of House Ravenshade.

”From cunning comes power, from arrogance comes its loss”.

“There will come a day and time I am no longer of this galaxy Eleanor, and you will be called upon to lead our House to greatness. Your reign will very likely see the civil war of which all of Prydwen has dreaded.” said her father, as Eleanor’s attention focused back on him.

“But Eleanor, I don’t see your future as just the Lord-Protector, but as the Empress of a unified Empire. You are clever, you are smart, but don’t let that make you forget we could lose it all just as easily as we gained it.

He moved to stand side by side with his daughter, breathing a deep sigh as he took in the serenity of the environment around him.

“Promise me, Eleanor, in all that you are destined to achieve that you will not lose sight of where we came from, and those who make this possible.”

Eleanor looked around her, a few of the workers having come to watch quietly from the edge of the clearing at the pair. She took in the sight, and looked back up at her father with a fierce look in her eyes.

“I promise father, for our House and the people who serve it, that I will not lose sight of them, and that when our great victory comes, I will see them stand side by side with me in the share of its glory.”

“Then there is nothing more I can teach you.” he said, with a small smile and a satisfied look, as he took a necklace out of his pocket, a chain of brilliant silver with the small black symbol of the Raven as its charm.

“This was once your grandfather’s, and it was once mine. Now it is yours as the future leader of our house. Let it serve as a reminder of your promise this day.”

She took the necklace into her hand, and wore it around her neck, staring off into the setting blue sun of Shadowfall’s sky. Whatever the future may have in store, she would ensure House Ravenshade’s place in it.

Many, many, years later.

Eleanor came to the memorial as she had many times since her ascension to Lord-Protector to reflect and mediate. Not that it proved an easy task for her - the many master-crafted neural co-processors she had implanted were all buzzing away working on one of the many problems she had before her. Whether it was the now rising insurgents that called themselves the Children of the Mother, or managing the vast and intricate web of inter-house relations, she rarely found herself a moment of peace. But at least here, at the origin of her House, she could if only for a moment quiet the many thoughts that bounced through her head.

She had already proven herself a great leader - the Mereek Conflict had occurred shortly after she had taken control of her House and proved the first real test of her leadership skills. It had not been easy, but it had proven a successful endeavour. House Crowfall now presented itself as a potential ally, being the only major house who was not out to see Ravenshade’s total destruction. In addition, the Scarrans also presented themselves as a valuable partner. WIth the opening of embassies between the two nations, as well as the warp gate between the two nations, Eleanor had managed to secure another valuable trade partner as well as the cooperation of Scarran PMCs.

For all of the successes however, there were now the many problems that were presented before her. House Hawkrose was quickly growing more unstable as their worker populations engaged in wide-spread strikes, or joined insurgent groups like the Children of the Mother. There was also the matter of House Eaglesworn, who as her spies had reported appeared to be seeking a deal with the Augustans. She swore under her breath. Had House Ravenshade’s ascent wounded them so that they would be willing to sell out all of Prydwen just to have a chance to reclaim the throne?

Whatever the problems may be, civil war was now on the minds of all of Prydwen. She left the clearing as she began to put the first step of her plan into motion. If she was to ascend to her rightful place as Empress of all the Empire, she would need at least one major house to back her. There was only one that she had any hope of convincing - and they were under as much threat as any other parties of the inevitable civil war to win instead of Ravenshade. She tapped a few quick words into a communication device, ordering her servants to reach out to House Crowfall and call them for a meeting on Shadowfall itself.

The Joint Armed Forces Air Ground Combat Center
Carth Star System
Ghost Nebula
888 PY

Captain Jaffre’s keen eyes scanned over the gathered crowd of enlisted soldiers, officers, and politicians automatically cataloging threats. The nervous fidgeting of the junior officer in the front row, the too-still posture of the two plainclothes security agents flanking the senator—all filed away in a fraction of a second. Being a member of the Presidential Guard, as well as the head of the team assigned directly to the president, Jaffre had heard the president practice his speech so much that he could repeat it from memory.

“It has been a long eighty-eight years” Jaffre wasn’t even aware that he was mindlessly mouthing the words a second before the president said them, “since the threat of the Swimmers first became known to us.”

“Check that camera crew in the back” Jaffre almost whispered into his hidden mic.

“On it” One of his subordinates immediately responded.

Jaffre had argued against the president giving his speech at the combat center’s central plaza. It was open, exposed. The president had felt that hiding away in an auditorium as he gave this speech on the two hundredth anniversary of the first Swimmer attack would show the public that he was afraid. And the president had further argued that the Swimmers’ couldn’t attack Carth, the capital of the republic. Jaffre couldn’t argue against that, but the Swimmers weren’t the only threats to the president.

“And I know that we have the strength and resilience to-” Jaffre was moving even before his mind registered the flash in the sky.

“Get down Mr President!” He yelled as he tackled his charge. A second later the sound of a massive explosion, followed by a shockwave, drowned out the panicked screams and yells of the audience. Still on top of the president, holding him down, Jaffre looked up at the sky in time to see a destroyer begin to fall to the ground, secondary explosions rippling all across its length.

Two fighter craft screamed into the airspace above the combat center. At first Jaffre assumed that they were going to secure the airzone above the president, but then the second fighter craft opened fire with its cannons, tearing the first apart. It was almost as if that was the signal for it all to begin. The sky above was suddenly flooded with weapons fire as three destroyers squared off against two destroyers and a cruiser, the latter group using their adaptive camouflage systems to paint their hulls with red stripes. Red for Gwennou, Jaffre thought instantly. Or maybe just red for traitor.

“What the hell is going on?!” The president demanded.

A calm, authoritative voice that boomed across the plaza silenced every other sound. It wasn't over comms; it had hijacked the entire planetary broadcast system. “I am Colonel Gwennou. And I have a message to all who truly love our people.”

“Who is this Colonel Gwennou?” Jaffre asked into his mic as he helped the president to his feet. Speaking to the president he said “We are leaving. Now.”

“The decedent government has tried, and failed, to handle the Swimmer threat for a hundred years” Colonel Gwennou continued. “And yet all it has managed to do is lose planets to the Swimmers and bleed our forces. This cannot go on!”

Jaffre’s squad of Presidential Guard formed up around the president as the group moved out of the plaza and towards a predesignated bunker at the combat center. They would wait in the bunker until the army could take care of this Gwennou.

“We have given the corrupt politicians plenty of opportunities to handle the crisis and yet all they have done is thrown away more lives!” Gwennou continued. “They sit at the capital, in the lap of luxury knowing they are safe, as we lose ever more planets on the periphery. This cannot go on!”

“Sir,” One of his subordinates said, his voice tight with suppressed panic. “Confirming local broadcast hijack. And I just got a flash report from Army HQ: Gwennou’s forces have taken control of the combat drone network. All of them.”

“He’s what?!” Jaffre couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“The drone’s. He’s taken control of them. All of them from what I can gather.” Jaffre’s subordinate repeated. “He’s managed to take over the combat center’s control room as well.”

“Impossible.” The president murmured.

Jaffre tuned most of the broadcast out, focusing on getting the president moving. He could hear the familiar, demagogic tropes though—the corrupt politicians, the brave people on the periphery, etc. “...and yet all he has done is thrown away more lives!” The quote hit home. Jaffre knew the casualty reports from the last three periphery systems. His own brother had fallen in battle just a month ago.

“He’s insane” the president murmured in shock. “How could some crackpot colonel get so much support?”

“That’s not important right now” Jaffre said, “right now we need to get you to saf-” At that moment a squad of combat bioroids stepped into view ahead of the president and his guard. At first glance the bioroids almost looked like real twei, but they weren’t quite right. Their skin was a tad too shiny and had seams that gave away their artificial nature. Still Jaffre had heard that in a few years they would be almost impossible to distinguish from a natural biological with sight alone. The second it took to identify the bioroids was being artificial was enough that Jaffre knew he was dead. He had enough time to interpose himself between the president and the bioroids before they lifted their rifles and opened fire. Perhaps he could shield the president just long enough for some nearby soldiers to come to the president’s aid.

Jaffre expected to feel the punch of a bullet tear through his body. But it was surprisingly painless. In fact… He heard the bullets punch into something metallic behind him and his guard. One of his subordinates who was watching the rear let out a surprised yelp.

“Bots behind!” The subordinate yelled. Jaffre turned his head just in time to see two combat drones crumble to the ground.

“What the hell…” Jaffre half whispered as he turned his attention back to the bioroids in front of him.

“Are you unharmed Mr President?” The lead bioroid asked. The squad of bioroids surrounded the president and his presidential guard, their attention focused outwards. The bioroids were acting like they were going to guard the president, not hurt him.

“I thought all the combat drones were under Gwennou’s control.” The president said.

“They are.” The bioroid answered with a raised eyebrow. “But we aren’t drones. We are bioroids. And we are ever loyal to the Republic. Now let’s get you to safety.”

“It doesn’t matter how many loyal soldiers we have if they control the air and orbital space.” The president stated.

“That shouldn’t be a concern sir.” The bioroid countered.

“And why not?” The president demanded. In answer the bioroid simply pointed up. The president looked up to see a destroyer descending into the airspace above the combat center from low orbit. But it was unlike the destroyers currently present. This one had a massive spinal cannon of some kind and it moved with an elegance the other warships lacked.

“Is that the Resuscitated Hope?” The president asked.

“Yes sir.” The bioroid answered.

Jaffre had heard of the Resuscitated Hope before. It was the first so-called bioroid warship. It was named as such as it was intended to be the new hope in victory against the Swimmers. And now it was bringing hope to this battle.

Ghost Nebula
Current Date

For millennia the Ghost Nebula had been isolated. A super weapon deployed by the Yrrani Imperium, the Astral Sword, had cut off the nebula from the rest of the galaxy. A wall that bent and broke the very fabric of space surrounded the Ghost Nebula. Nothing got in. Nothing got out.

Many, both within the Nebula and out, believed that this state would never change. They were wrong. The Yrrani believed themselves to be the masters of all, including the Universe itself, and many others had allowed themselves to be misled. But the thing about the Universe was that it had no master. And it was a resilient thing. The Universe was beginning to fix the damage done by the Astral Sword. It had taken millennia, but was less than a fraction of the blink of an eye for the Universe.

Ships traveling around the border of the Ghost Nebula started to disappear. At first it was just one or two. But the number increased with every week. Holes in the barrier between the Ghost Nebula and the rest of the galaxy had begun to form. Starships traveling at FTL speeds near these holes found themselves sucked in. Many of these starships were destroyed, but a lucky few found themselves on the opposite side of the barrier.

Qua Star System
Ghost Nebula

“How long until we can fire the spinal cannon?” Captain Herve demanded as the heavy cruiser Vambrace shuddered around him. The vibrations were so violent that had he not been strapped to his seat he would have been thrown to the floor.

“Unsure.” The lieutenant in charge of Vambrace’s weapons answered.

“There’s something wrong with the power distribution system.” The officer in charge of the engineer watch stated. “Damage control is investigating it now.”

Herve cursed under his breath as Vambrace shook again. Guardian-class heavy cruisers were tough warships. They were the workhorses of the GNR navy. Yet Herve was on the verge of losing his ship. Vambrace’s secondary batteries and strikecraft would do significant damage to the Swimmers attacking the ship, but without its primary weapon the heavy cruiser was doomed.

“Recall the fighters and prepare for an emergency jump!”

Somewhere in Augustan space

Captain Herve had not intended to take Vambrace to Augustan space. In fact he hadn’t even known the Augustan Empire even existed, yet alone that there was now a way to get out of the Ghost Nebula. Unfortunately Vambrace hadn’t arrived alone.

The Augustan inhabitants of the star system would see the sudden appearance of a heavy cruiser of unknown build and origins. And before anyone could think to try to communicate with this unknown warship, its secondary particle beam cannons opened fire in every direction.

The Augustans couldn’t be faulted for thinking the inhabitants of the warship were insane. There appeared to be nothing around the warship for it to fire at. And when it deployed a squadron of strikecraft that also engaged in battle with an imaginary foe, the Augustans’ confusion and concern must have doubled.

But then one strikecraft crumpled, as if a massive invisible hand had squeezed it. Then there was a flash of plasma from an unknown source and a second strikecraft exploded. Whatever Vambrace was fighting, it certainly wasn’t imaginary.

Somewhere in Abyss Front Territory

“Sooo….” Lieutenant Commander Renan, captain of the corvette Carnelian, drew out the word in the only outward display of impatience he would allow himself. “Have you determined where we are?” Normally Renan would have known exactly where his ship was. But while traveling between stars something… had happened. The ship had undergone some kind of turbulence, which should have been impossible during FTL travel, and had ended up somewhere that it wasn’t supposed to be.

“I’ve checked three separate times,” Renan’s navigation specialist began, unaware of how close even that delay was bringing him to suffering his superior officer’s wrath. “And I’m pretty sure we are outside of the Ghost Nebula.”

“Outside of the Ghost Nebula?” Renan repeated. “That’s impossible.”

“Yes sir.” The navigation specialist agreed. “Yet I’m certain we are. I can’t say exactly where we are, but I’m certain that we are to the galactic north of the Ghost Nebula.”

“Outside of the Ghost Nebula…” Renan repeated again, this time the words came out in a whisper. Was it a miracle or had something about the barrier of the Ghost Nebula changed.

“Um sir…” The officer in charge of the engineering watch spoke up. “It looks like it’ll take a week before we can repair all the damage that… turbulence did.”

“That’s fine.” Renan said. “It’ll give us a while to observe the locals before we leave. Call Lieutenant Meur to the bridge. I want to talk to him.” Meur was the commanding officer of the platoon of drop troopers that Carnelian had been transporting. Renan didn’t normally enjoy using Carnelian as a taxi for ground troops, but if he was going to be in unexplored space there weren’t any soldiers he’d rather have than drop troopers.

“This… is quite the situation we find ourselves in.” Meur said after Renan had explained the situation to him. “Do you think the locals have detected us yet?”

The question surprised Renan. He hadn’t expected a ground pounder like Meur to think of that. “Possibly. This is a stealthy ship, even if it's only a model A. Still… that exit out of FTL was…”

“Rough?” Meur supplied.

“Yes.” Renan agreed, thankful Meur hadn’t said sloppy. “So I wouldn’t be surprised if the locals had detected our arrival. Still, as long as we don’t move around too much and are careful with our emissions the locals shouldn’t be able to detect us without getting much closer.”

“Alright. So what do you need out of me and my men?” Meur asked.

“At the moment, nothing. But we don’t know anything about the locals. Be ready for anything.”