I'll try keep this brief. I'm terribly sorry for the long wait and, no, this story is not dead. I'm even more sorry to say that I cannot promise that I will be more timely in the future. Life, it seems, can be a pain at times, and time itself is hard to come by. However, I must say thank you to your continued support, and that I am always surprised when someone new follows/favorites my story. It is the thought of all of you, my dear readers, that pushed me to finish this chapter and continue my story.

Also, there is a bit of action, but I'm not very good at it and I was trying to rush though it anyway, as the fighting in this chapter is mostly just to set up some things down the road. Anyway, I'm sure you've had enough of me, so on with the story.

September 8th, 2157

Liko Neera laid in his bunk in 'Feather Valley', the unofficial nickname, used by both Turians and Lokatae for the barracks that all the Lokatae aboard the ship used. The name accentuated one of the Lokatae's more prominent features and, rather than being seen as offensive-even if that was the original intent-it was seen as a celebration of their differences by the Lokatae. The Hierarchy had originally wanted the Lokatae to fully integrate into Turian society, but few Lokatae had little interest in the idea. As such, the Lokatae soon found themselves separated from the Turians during downtime, and that was just the way they wanted it.

Most Lokatae either resented the Hierachy but complied with it, or hated it so much they would rather die than accept Turian occupation. Liko found himself in the former camp, but he understood why those who hated the Turians did so. He himself had once dreamed of a free Inopor, but he now accepted that that was likely never to happen. Citadel law recognized the Lokatae as a client race of the Turians, and with them being one of the big three, there was little hope that would change anytime soon.

Part of the problem, in Liko's mind, was that those who hated the Hierarchy with a burning passion expressed their hatred with death and destruction. They were considered terrorists, and with good reason, many of their protests ending in the deaths of countless innocents. The acts led many in Council space to view them as barbaric, and see the Hierarchy as a necessity to help stabilize the Lokatae. While Liko was slightly offended by that mindset, he had had personal experience with terrorists, and it had instantly driven him to hate them even more than he hated the Hierarchy.

His train of thought was ended by a soft cough from next to him, and he looked over to find Binja Oka, his friend and unofficial 'second in command'. Binja was old blood, like himself, though he hadn't seen as much as the older Lokatae. His feathers were still a bright blue, and he had a lighter step to his walk. Still, Liko would trust the man with his life, having proved himself many a time in the line of fire. Currently, he had a thoughtful expression on his face and an arched eyebrow.

"How'd it go?" he asked, earning a scoff from Liko.

"Guy thinks I can control what other people do." he replied, Binja nodding in response.

"Well, we do all look up to you." he shrugged while sitting down on the bunk across from Liko, not sure if the sentiment was something the older Lokatae wanted to hear. In lieu of a response, Liko stared at the bottom of the bunk above him, contemplating something. What that was Binja couldn't tell, but he fortunately didn't have to wait long for an answer. Suddenly Liko sat up and fixed a cold stare on to Binja, surprising the younger soldier slightly.

"That may be, but I don't like it." he said harshly, trying to drive his point home. "They wont live long if they don't start looking to themselves for inspiration. No one else can fight for them. Only they can save themselves."

Binja met Liko's stare calmly, contradicting the tension in the older mans eyes. When he spoke, it was with the same calm he showed in his expression, already used to Liko's stern attitude.

"Perhaps, in some way, but on the other hand, a good leader can make all the difference in a battle. You know that better than anyone." Binja tried to beseech the soldier before him. Liko sighed and his shoulders sagged, his expression losing some of its edge.

"Yeah, yeah." he said, now much more relaxed. Then he smirked, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Binja snorted, smirking as well. "True enough. Hell, maybe you aren't the right person for the job. That messed up eye of yours scares the crap out of everybody, you know." he said, making both men laugh at the bad joke, but the attempt at humor didn't have a lasting affect. Soon, both men sat in silence, each thinking about the conversation they just had. It didn't last long, as there was always something to do aboard a warship.

"So, what are you going to tell the boys?" Binja asked, breaking the silence with something he had been wondering for a while. While not advertised, the news that they would be fighting rouge Lokatae wasn't exactly classified. The news had spread, fast. Both Liko and Binja knew that none of the other Lokatae on the ship would turn traitor, but it wasn't the same as fighting slavers or pirates. These were fellow Lokatae fighting for what they thought was right, for their own families, even if they were terrorists. That thought could cause hesitation in the field, and they had both seen many fall because of it.

"The truth." Liko replied instantly, Binja nodding easily. He hadn't expected anything less. "These Lokatae may think themselves 'freedom fighters', but they are just terrorists. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter the goal. We'll take them out, and come back for a nice round of alcohol." that last part earned a chuckle from Binja, who shrugged and stood up.

"I'll remember that." he said dryly, moving to the door of Feather Valley. When he got there, his expression grew more serious.

"You should make it soon, though. We'll hit in a few hours, just waiting for the final preparations."

Liko only nodded, the room delving into silence once more. Binja merely shrugged and left the room, a goodbye wholly unnecessary. He would be back soon enough to prepare with everyone else. Liko sat alone, staring at the wall for a second before moving to lie back on his bed once more. He wasn't trying to sleep, he just wanted a few more minutes to relax before everything went to hell and he would just be lucky enough to have five seconds to sit down, something made infinitely more difficult by a strange gut feeling of his.

Liko wasn't paranoid, but he had learned to trust his instincts. There was something about this entire situation that just had him on edge, but he couldn't put a finger on it. He decided it wasn't worth worrying about and pushed the feeling to the back of his mind. No matter what, the Hierarchy would come out on top at the end of the battle.

They always did Liko thought dryly.


The command center of the Shanxi garrison was underground, providing them with a list of advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, they were better protected from orbital bombardment, and if they were ever discovered they could funnel the large number of enemy troops into choke-points. On the other hand, if they were ever discovered, evacuation would be nigh impossible for the very same reason unless, by some chance, at least one of the command centers three entrances had been missed by the enemy. Even then, it would be hard to hide the movement of all the command staff, or anyone else trying to escape.

But there wasn't anything that could be done about it now, they just had to work with what they had.

The explosives had been placed in the spaceport, and the 8th, 12th and 15th platoons were getting in position around it. They would try to mop up any metaloks that survived the detonation, but of course they couldn't stay for long, lest they attract the full wrath of the enemy. It would be their first move against their enemy, and they needed to make a good show of force, let the enemy know that they couldn't so easily be invaded. Of course, anything they did would be a moot point until reinforcements arrived, but they had to give it their all.

With that settled, General Williams looked over the map of the city once more, eying the locations of the individual cells spread throughout the city, indicated by a red circle. While not a popular move, the general had all but abandoned what he called 'obvious targets' such as the capital building, military bases and anything else of military or political significance. While holding the capital building might be good for morale, and military bases were built with defense in mind, there was no way they could keep them for long if the enemy really wanted them. Better to let them have them, and ambush them later when they least expect it. Instead, the cells were holed up in warehouses, apartment buildings, anything that could be improvised into a sort of safe house while not immediately telegraphing the fact that there were soldiers there. Of course, that relied on his men being able to keep their locations hidden, and that would most certainly be easier said than done. With them being outnumbered on the ground, and with little hope for air support, the situation would become desperate very fast.

"Gigla, contact the cells, tell them to initiate radio silence except for the nightly reports. They'll be here soon." he said, the Lokataen aid giving him a crisp salute before running off to perform her task. Williams then turned to another aid, a young, brown haired man who hadn't seen much action at all. This would be his first taste of real action, and it showed in his demeanor. But they were short-staffed, and they needed all the hands they could get.

"Jameson," Williams said, his tone commanding and strong, forcing the young man to gather his composure somewhat. "Get me a line to Joeng, I need a status report." Jameson gave a clumsy salute and quickly set about contacting the man in charge of the upcoming raid on the soon-to-be-destroyed spaceport. As he left, Williams placed a hand on the growing stubble on his face, wondering just how this ordeal would end. The action caused him to remember his late wife, who hated it when he grew a beard, though he kind of always wanted to grow one. Even after she passed he continued to shave regularly, as a way to remember, cope with the loss. But, with the return of the metaloks and the ensuing chaos, he hadn't had the chance.

His mind drifted to the coming battle and all the people that would die. How many people would lose their wives or husbands, mothers or fathers, sons or daughters. On the other hand, what choice did they have. Questions like these weighed heavy on his mind, during any operation, but he always found a way to get through it. With any luck, this time would be no different. At least, he could only hope so.


Admiral Meladum stood in the CIC on his ship, the Fist of the Hierarchy, a dreadnaught capable of taking vast amounts of punishment, and dishing it out in return. It isn't going to be taking fire any time soon, but better safe than sorry, I guess the admiral thought to himself lightly. The fleet was on its final approach to the only planet with signs of development in the system, likely the base of operations for the rouge Lokatae. But, according to the scans they took, there was no way this colony could build even a light frigate, let alone the flotilla of ships they had. Unless they had some formidable stealth technology that could hide shipyards and half a colony, this wasn't the only planet under their control, and the Admiral had a hard time deciding which option would be worse.

Next to him stood General Desolas Arterius, the man who would lead the invasion of the planet on the ground. While both men, grudgingly, respected one another, they were prone to get at each others throats. Desolas firmly believed that, in times of war, there were no rules. Everything was fair game. He was a ruthless bastard who was not afraid to harm civilians if it helped him reach his goals. Tilus, on the other hand, felt that honor was the better part of valor, and even war should be conducted properly. Even so, he had to admit that Desolas always got the job done, which was probably the only reason he hadn't been tried and executed yet.

"You should get ready, we'll hit within the hour." Tilus said coldly with a slight glare directed at the general, if only to get him off the bridge. Desolas didn't even bother to glance in his direction, instead continuing to look out the viewport, the enemy held planet before them. At a better time Tilus would have admired the beauty of the planet, the blues and greens mixing to form what could be described as a work of art. But now he could only focus on one thing; the coming battle.

"I am always ready." Desolas said blandly, and Tilus had to give him that. He looked ready to take on an entire battalion by himself, his heavily modified armor and weapons letting everyone know that he was a force to be reckoned with, the red coloration of the standard issue armor highlighting his demeanor. While not intimidated, Tilus knew he would not enjoy facing him on the battlefield.

"But," he said abruptly, ending Tilus' musings. He gave the admiral an impassive look and turned around, heading off the bridge, "I suppose I should ready the troops." Tilus grunted in acknowledgment, glad to see the general go. He then glanced down at the datapad he was holding, on it the report from the advanced scout that had started this whole thing. He still couldn't shake the strange feeling he had about this mission, mostly due to the strange readings from the scouts that were now matched by the readings from his own ship. Everyone in the fleet had been quickly notified that it was likely they would be encountering a new species, but what their relationship was to the rouge Lokatae was unknown. Most believed that they were uplifted by the Lokatae in a similar manner to the Krogan, but for all they knew they could be intergalactic time-travelers from several thousand years in the future. They needed to get the facts straight.

"Let's get the show on the road." he said to no one in particular, walking to his console in the CIC. Hitting the button that activated the intercom, he began issuing the orders that would hopefully lead to a quick end to the battle, speaking clearly and authoritatively, commanding the attention of everyone listening. Internally Tilus had to convince himself that everything would go according to plan, because he really didn't believe it.


Nathaniel Shepard was with his squad, waiting for the aliens to show up. A few moments ago they had gotten confirmation from command that the aliens were moving for the spaceport, aiming to take it for themselves. The three platoons had just barely finished final preparations for the ambush, and were now hiding in the surrounding area. His squad, along with a couple others, were in a 'Patty Chief' fast food restaurant, a mediocre joint that Nathan had gone to often for it's sub-par food at a decent price. The place looked the same, only it felt abandoned. He had to remind himself that, for all intents and purposes, it was, as anyone who was not joining the fight was already out of the city.

The fast food restaurant was a few meters down the road from the spaceport, an ideal location that had brought it lots of business. Often times tourists, citizens and military personnel on leave alike all found themselves coming to the place at one time or another, enjoying a quick meal after a long flight. Nathan himself had enjoyed eating there for all the activity that had once filled the 'Patty Chief', and for all the interesting characters that could be found there. He had, at one time, enjoyed a conversation with a man who claimed to be the heir to the Menomic throne, the last royal bloodline of the Lokatae. Nathan had suspected that he was just a drunk, mostly because he was human, but the day had been interesting, nonetheless.

But now it would bear witness to death and destruction, instead of laughter and lively conversation.

Nathan glanced once more at the spaceport down the road, surveying the layout. The main building was fairly squat looking, serving only as a focal point for travelers to come and go as they please. Surrounding it were several runways and LZ's, and on the south side stood the control tower, standing high above the main building. If left standing, it would provide whoever held it with a great vantage point to survey the surrounding area. Fortunately, it wouldn't be there for long. The 'Patty Chief' was down the road a ways on the west side, which faced the main road and served as a pick up/drop off point for taxi's, and while the alliance was no stranger to air cars, they still used ground cars extensively as they were cheaper and even a bit nostalgic nowadays.

He then focused his attention to the sky above the the spaceport, searching for any indication that the aliens were on their way. It was gloomy out, thick clouds filling the sky, making it impossible for him to tell, but he looked anyway. For a fraction of a moment he wondered if perhaps they knew about their plan, knew where they were, and were preparing to blast them from orbit, fear tightening his chest. But he quickly locked it down, the fear fading as fast as it came. The metaloks didn't know what they were doing, and they wouldn't know what hit them.

Suddenly he caught a glimpse of movement through the thick clouds, a shape descending towards the spaceport. A few seconds later and he could make out even more shapes following it, nothing more than a fleet of grey spots in the clouds. While he couldn't exactly see them, there was no mistaking what they were.

"Incoming, twelve o'clock high." he said, alerting everyone else in the room to the shapes in the sky. A few moments later the voice from the leader of the raid, Captain Joeng, came through on everyone's helmet radios, he said quite but stern.

"All units, contacts inbound, but hold position until the signal is given." he said, and everyone knew the signal would be the wholesale destruction of the spaceport.

For a minute they sat still, waiting for the invaders to break through the cloud coverage. When they finally did, Nathan got his first good look at the alien transports. They were wide and angular, wings outstretched like a bird of prey descending for the kill. It seemed vicious in its design, meant to instill fear in the eyes of those who looked upon the transports as enemies. Beyond that, there were dozens, perhaps hundreds of them moving towards the spaceport, seemingly unaware of what it had in store for them.

Now all they had to do was wait, every man sitting in silence, lest the aliens should hear them and blast them all into oblivion. Nathan hated the waiting before the battle, feeling that it was ten times worse than the battle itself. He felt he had more control when he was actually fighting, but waiting for the go-ahead felt like torture. Trying to get his mind off it, he began contemplating how well he and the other men would fight against what was essentially the boogeyman of the Lokatae. While they inexorably found themselves in a similar situation to the Lokatae who tried to defend Inopor, out-manned and out-gunned, this time they knew what to expect. They knew the enemy that was pressing down upon them. Even then, Nathan found himself doubting that would be enough, but he knew that he couldn't let his doubts and fear get the better of him. He had a duty to uphold, and on top of that he still had hope, even if it was hard to come by.


General Arterius was a decorated war soldier who had fought in countless battles, securing victory where most thought it impossible. He had ascended the ranks of the Hierarchy, the Primarchs trusting him with more and more resources, assigning him to missions that became increasingly dire. He had learned-the hard way-that he should always trust his instincts.

And right now they were telling him that something was off.

For the better part of an hour Turian forces had been descending upon what was deemed the colony's spaceport, establishing a foothold that would then allow them to expand into the surrounding territory. The general had been among the first to land, dictating his forces and coordinating their efforts from the field, just like it should be. A perimeter had been established, the spaceport cleared and supplies had been shipped. They were almost ready, without a single hitch hampering their plans. They hadn't even seen any of the colony's inhabitants, which was what had him on edge.

They wouldn't just let us roll in, they must be planning something. Probably an ambush.

At the thought the general keyed his communicator, addressing the guards keeping watch.

"All units, this is Arterius. I want more eyes on the perimeter. Something's up."

He received a wave of 'yes sir's in response, leaving him to ponder the situation once more. They were just about set up, mobile command units being rigged up in the main building, as it would serve as their FOB for the time being. Currently he was just outside, eyeing the area around their base wearily. He could almost feel the enemies eyes on him, watching his every move. He probably shouldn't even be outside, lest a sniper pick him off, but he couldn't shake his gut feeling that something was wrong with the spaceport.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he tried to focus on what he would do if he were his enemy. Out-gunned and out-numbered, there weren't a whole lot of options. He would have to make the most out of his limited resources, causing as much damage to his enemy as possible. In those circumstances, he understood the logic of abandoning the spaceport, as it served a very small strategic purpose when faced with the fact that the Turians would just completely roll over any forces left to defend the spaceport, even if they made it difficult. The simple fact was that they had more bodies, and the defenders would lose the spaceport while accomplishing virtually nothing.

Still, to put up no fight just seemed wrong. If he knew that trying to hold a virtually worthless position would end in pointless sacrifice, he would...

Desolas' eyes sprung open as he thought it, and by then it was too late. The world around him turned into nothing but loud noises and raining debris, as the spaceport erupted into flames behind him. Training kicked in and he dove to the ground, trying to avoid getting crushed by the now crumbling building and making sure he was a hard target to hit by any enemy troops. Still, one did not walk away from an explosion unscathed, as smoke and dust now filled his lungs and scraped at his eyes. Through raspy coughs, the general keyed his communicator once more to try to take stock of the situation.

"Report! Who's left?" he asked, knowing that it would be simpler than asking who wasn't.

"Perimeter guard is mostly unharmed, though we got a few scrapes and burns. Not sure about inside the building, sir." one of his commanders replied, and Desolas doubted they would be hearing from them any time soon. Suddenly a new voice caught his attention, coming in over the emergency channel. It was a Turian, young by the sound of it.

"General, we've got contacts emerging from the south! Engaging!"

"Incoming from the east, too. It's an ambush!" another voice sounded, soon accompanied by reports of hostiles coming from the north and west as well.

The sounds of warfare soon filled the air as shots were fired by both sides. The general got up and ran to the nearest squad of Hiearchy soldiers, taking cover behind a large piece of rubble and pulling out his rifle. He would not sit out this fight.

"All units," he addressed whoever was still alive, not knowing however many that may be. "Stand fast against the hostiles, we'll hold for reinforcements." Crouching lower into cover as enemy fire raked his position, he leaned over to a soldier crouched next to him, yelling to be heard above the noise.

"Have the hostiles been identified?" he asked.

"Several Lokatae have been seen, but mostly they're aliens...sir." the soldier added, seeing who he was talking to. Desolas merely nodded, peeking over his cover at the enemy units advancing on their position. He could see a few Lokatae, the tell-tale blue and green feathers giving them away, but accompanying them were what could only, despite the ridiculousness of it, be described as Not-quite-Asari. They had the same figure, though most were a bit broader, and those who weren't wearing helmets had a striking resemblance to the Asari. However, these aliens had skin tones that ranged from a very light tan to dark brown, and he could see that, some of them at least, had patches of fur on their heads.

His suspicions were all but confirmed; the rouge Lokatae had uplifted an alien species. Ducking back down into cover the general keyed his communicator again, this time calling the fleet.

"Spare no expense." he said angrily. "Grind them into dust."


The report of his rifle washed over Liko as he took down another target, the enemy Lokatae's shields flickering and dying under the hail of fire. He smirked as he chose another target, the weapon kicking against his shoulder as this one also fell under his wrath, this one an alien. The sight of the aliens had been a little surprising at first, but once the shooting started Liko had quickly recovered from the explosion and taken up a firing position.

Liko didn't know how many of his fellow Lokatae survived the destruction of the spaceport, as many of them had been the first deployed on the ground. The Hierarchy often sent the Lokatae in first, not because they thought they were the best, but because it was deemed favorable if a lot of Lokatae fell in the initial push instead of Turians. Luckily, they hadn't encountered any enemies until just now, so the Lokatae had been ordered to do the more menial tasks, such as guarding the perimeter.

Liko, for once, was thankful the Hierarchy looked down upon them.

Downing another of the rouge Lokatae, Liko couldn't help but notice something odd. Throughout the firefight, he had barely had to take cover, as the enemy didn't fire at him unless he shot at them first. It wasn't just him, as he noticed that they didn't target his fellow Lokatae either. If he didn't know any better, he would say that they didn't want to shoot him. That would be the last mistake they ever made.

Another enemy went down due to his rifle, and he crouched low to avoid their suppressing fire. Nearby a friendly Lokatae threw a grenade, the following detonation followed by shouts of pain and surprise. In response, the enemies threw a grenade of their own, apparently sick of trying to avoid killing him. The round device clattered on the ground next to him, and though it was alien in design, he recognized its purpose instantly.

"Grenade, scatter!" he shouted, and darted to another piece of cover, the grenade exploding behind him. He made it away just in time, clambering down behind a large piece of concrete that had been a part of the spaceport. While he was confident that they could hold, he secretly hoped that reinforcements were on the way.


Nathan rolled into cover, just barely avoiding a stream of shots cutting through where he had just been. The explosion had worked, drawing the attention of the invaders, and he and the others had quickly taken advantage of the distraction it had provided. Unfortunately it didn't last long, the aliens quickly recovering and forming a decent defense. Still, the Alliance soldiers would try to kill as many of them as they could, before they had to disappear.

But we're not just fighting metaloks he thought, trying to push his unease about it aside. That revelation had come as a shock to everyone; the Lokatae of the Alliance weren't the last of their kind. Even worse, their missing brethren were here to kill them. The news had been relayed to General Williams, and while he too was surprised, the mission hadn't changed. "They are here for our blood," he had said, "and for that they must die."

Still, some of the others had a hard time believing that there were Lokatae invading their home. It was worse for the Lokatae in the unit, as they had believed their entire lives that the Lokatae who hadn't escaped from Inopor had been wiped out. Some had even wanted to try to contact them, tell them that they were alive, but they had quickly been convinced that it would be a mistake. Fortunately so, since the enemy Lokatae had quickly proven that they would not hesitate to kill them.

Nathan leaned out of cover, taking shots at an enemy metalok who had stayed out of cover for too long, downing the alien. He quickly brought his head back down as a stream of fire poured over his position. He glanced around him, seeing other members of his squad taking cover and dishing out fire in return. They would have to retreat soon, as the enemy had likely already called down reinforcements. Once their backup joined the fight, the odds would quickly turn against the soldiers of the Alliance, and trying to stay and fight much longer after that would only end in a blood bath.

Leaning out of cover and firing his rifle again, Nathan just barely caught a low, rumbling sound that seemed to be getting louder ever so slightly. The rumbling intensified, until it seemed to be coming from right on top of him. He looked up into the sky, the sight filling him with terror.

"Oh shit." he muttered under his breath. Recovering from his slight stupor, he quickly called out a warning to all those that could hear him.

"Enemy fast movers, 9 o'clock high!" he yelled, right before the world erupted a second time.


General Desolas ran to another piece of cover, moving around the battlefield to keep the survivors of the explosion coordinated. Much to his surprise, the Lokatae under his command had remained true to the Hierarchy, and he reluctantly had to admit that he was wrong in believing that they would defect at a moments notice. He wouldn't admit it publicly, of course.

A few minutes ago Meladum had contacted him saying that he had ordered an airstrike on the enemy's position. Say what you want about the uptight admiral, but he had to admit that he worked fast. It would only be a matter of seconds before the bombs dropped.

When they finally did, the explosion that rocked the ground around them only brought comfort to the general, despite the destruction they wrought, for it seemed to be the push they needed to send the enemy routing. The change was as drastic as the difference between night and day. Where once they were pressing the attack, fighting with a ferocity that almost seemed Krogan-like, now they ran like whipped varren. They were running in all directions, the only commonality being that it was away from the Hierarchy's defensive line.

Taking a few last shots at an enemy in the back, downing the poor alien, Desolas ordered his men to stand down. From the way they tensed up, many a turian wanted to persue them, make them pay for the attack, but Desolas knew they weren't ready. They needed to regroup, form a plan, organize the rest of the invasion force. Sure it would give the enemy time to prepare as well, but that wouldn't matter in the face if Turian might. They would defeat them simply because they outnumbered them.

Confident as he was, he knew not to get cocky. This attack alone had shown him not to underestimate the enemy, a lesson he would keep in mind for the duration of the invasion.

A beeping from his Omni-tool interrupted his musings, and he answered it immediately, greeted by the voice of Admiral Meladum.

"Reinforcements have almost landed. Do you require another attack run?" He asked, straight to business like a turian should be.

"Negative, one was plenty. The enemy is retreating." the General responded. He then glanced around his shoulder at the ruined spaceport behind him, still smoking from the explosion.

"We might require a new FOB, however."

"Acknowledged." was the admirals only reply, and Desolas smirked. Still glancing at the spaceport, he could only admire it's smoldering visage. He would have fun conquering these rouge Lokatae and their primitive allies, of that he had no doubt.