Frontier Space. A forgotten planet orbiting a White dwarf star. A belt of rocks, asteroids and moons hung in its orbit like a horizontal avalanche against the eternal backdrop of the universe. The planet itself looked still, dead and lifeless. The God Weapon had completely written off most of the world as uninhabitable centuries ago. The once vibrant ecosystem it maintained had been turned to glass, it was the only planet of the three to survive the bombardment. The other two became unstable and fell apart. Bright lights illuminated the orbiting debris surrounding the planet; crustacean-like ranches clamped to the sides of rocks barely bigger than the colonies themselves, self sufficient homesteads populated by Tindrel too proud or too poor to leave their old home’s presence. The system didn’t get many visitors, so when the Hyperion exited hyperspace dangerously close to the Dead Planet, all of the colony-group’s meagre vessels flew up to greet it.

The Hyperion was originally built by humans on Earth as a kind of Royal Yacht , to ferry various dignitaries around known space on goodwill trips, publicity stunts and conferences. Several years ago it had gone missing. All the crew were sent unconscious back down to Earth in a lifeboat as the Hyperion zoomed away. It had undergone a makeover since then; the regal red paint job was gone, replaced with a menacing matte black. The eagle perched atop the Earth insignia was gone too in favor of the three curls of the Tindrel Collective. The inside had retained most of it’s luxurious fittings, but had been misused by the crew. The antique 25th century furnishings were tarnished with food stains and blood. Wrappers, old ammunition casings and all manner of detritus littered the carpeted floors. Lewd graffiti was scrawled on the walls, ‘No room for humans’ and ‘Dyjranja eats skag shit’.

The Hyperion’s bridge on the other hand was spotlessly clean. All of the navigation and control equipment had been vastly upgraded; a new console had been added directly behind the Captain’s chair (which had been modified to suit the various Tindrel physiologies) to accommodate the new suite of ship’s weaponry that had been installed. The Hyperion had not originally been considered a craft created from combat, so the bridge looked out directly into space through a curved plate of toughened glass rather than hide in the belly of the beast. To counteract this weakness an ugly shield generator that sat on the Hyperion’s nose now protected the craft via kinetic barriers. It was a multi-species ship now, but each different alien detachment had their own sleeping quarters. However slight, the Tindrel had superiority, with their quarters being closest to the bridge.

Captain of the Hyperion, Ganka Horza Outremer Sciarker, stood at ease in one of the observation rooms. The Dead Planet sprawled out below him from behind a thick plate of glass. A big Gorrompek, he wore a network of scars up and down his arms from a past J’arden’tor, Trial of a Hundred Cuts. The observation room, once a place of relaxed luxury with lots of soft couches facing an artificial fireplace had been converted into a storage room. The Captain still enjoyed coming here occasionally, to get away from the constant noise and people asking for direction. Unfortunately he couldn’t avoid it this time as his number two, Brabat Kang Outremer Flitch, buzzed his way in and stood to attention by the door. “Captain, people are requesting to come aboard.” Tindrillian, the manufactured language of the Collective, was a very harsh and brutal sounding tongue. It encompassed a combination of very precise clicks and other throat sounds with long sweeping words and animalistic vocal ranges. "Bring them aboard. Make them comfortable in the least shitty reception area; i will be with them soon." The Captain replied, waving his lieutenant away. As the door buzzed closed he returned to his thoughts, staring down at the Dead Planet below.