The Normandy, Serpent Nebula

"We will follow your shuttle to this Citadel Tower in Thunderhawk Talon Alpha." The towering Captain announced as he stomped away towards the shuttle bay with his sergeant in tow. Any other day she would have stopped them, but she had received word that some anti-human groups have organised a rally at the docks, no doubt still holding a grudge since she shot Joram Talid in order to save Kolyat. The last thing she needed was eight foot tall extradimensional superhumans reinforcing anti-human sentiment with their chainsaw swords.

"Commander, I have notified Citadel control. They will clear a way for the Talon Alpha to the Tower." Traynor reported, looking more at ease now with the giants off the bridge.
"Wise precaution. Scan data indicates high energy plasma based engines. Could pose dangers to shuttlecraft following too close behind." Mordin noted and Samantha nodded back in thanks. While a very intelligent woman with an outstanding record, she still sometimes had self confidence issues.

She watched on the sensors as the brick shaped red gunship slowly emerged from the hangar and began to follow the drone sent to guide it in. "Mordin, Ashley, Liara and Miranda, come with me. Everybody else, make sure the Normandy is ready for takeoff." The two spectres and the scientists went to the airlock to face off against the jeering crowd towards the taxi, trusting in C-Sec to hold the mob at bay.

The Retribution, Serpent Nebula

Jonah Orion felt as if the world has been blanketed under a thick grey fog once the Retribution cleared the Wormhole. There was a sense of dislocation, Warp was distant, the walls of reality holding it back almost fully. The Navigator could barely see the Astronomican's pulse and the Astropaths were nigh useless, if at least alive and unharmed. His powers felt weakened like never before, though it was not as bad as the proximity of a pariah, still he was diminished. The only silver lining was that he could feel no demonic entity trying to pry his mind open in decades.

While he was monitoring the Captain aboard that distant space station to the best of his abilities, Avitus was running scans on the alien fleet. The ships were tiny and undergunned, but there was so many of them. Some had curved, finlike shapes akin to a merge of Eldar and Tau aesthetics, while thwo other types bore resemblances to the Normandy. Others were almost insectile, and one fleet particularly looked like ring shaped cargo haulers which have seen better days.

"There is so many of them that we can not miss, yet we would run out of macrocannon ammunition before we killed them all." Avitus complained to himself.
Cyrus looked at Tarkus before speaking. "We should send word to the Inquisition. This is Ordo Xenos matters."
Martellus shook his head. "The Mechanicus should benefit from whatever technological advantage we can uncover. The Inquisition would interfere with this process."
Tarkus silenced both of them with an upraised gauntlet. "Brothers, the Ordos will be notified, after we give the Priests of Mars a head start. If this Shepherd was telling the truth, we must be cautious. Inquisitorial politics are fickle at the best of times."

The Citadel Tower

The Councilors and Admiral Hackett were eyeing up the giant in front of them, and he was looking back at them. Shepard thought about those old western films but did not particularly like where that idea was heading.

"I am Captain Aramus of the Blood Ravens Fourth Company, scion to the Immortal God-Emperor of Terra and I demand passage to the planet you call Earth, in the name of the Holy Imperium of Mankind. " The towering warrior said, the artificially deepened voice coming through his helmet's grim speaker grille.

"The Citadel Council greets you, Captain. Spectre Shepard has informed us of your arrival and we would prefer to have cordial relations with your state." Tevos replied, deciding to err on the side of politeness. No amount of persuasion could deter the Captain from keeping his weapons on his person and she was not keen on finding out how good they are at overcoming even the most advanced of security kinetic barriers.

"Are the Blood Ravens the military arm of your goverment, Captain?" Sparatus asked, and Jane tried to shake the mental image of an alien space roman talking to an extradimensional space roman. Humanity by large agreed that it was a good thing the Turians did not take offense at the comparison, having somewhat a positive opinion about the ancient empire builders.

"We are part of it." The space marine replied after a pause. She knew they were xenophobes to some extent, but hoped that like Cerberus during the Collector crisis, they could concentrate on the common enemies.

"Why do you want to visit Earth?" It was Valern's turn to question, his large eyes scanning the towering warrior up and down. "We need to verify your claims about it being a parallel to Holy Terra. The Warp is a fickle place and we must entertain that possibility. Otherwise I would not be here."

"Excuse me, but what is this Warp?" Sparatus knew the English word and its meaning, but even for an alien it was obvious that the meaning was different here.
The giant looked almost puzzled at first, silent for a few moments. "The Warp is the Sea of Souls. The underworld that some of your local human religions theme as Hell."
Everyone was silent for some time, before Valern simply decided to skip this issue. Perhaps this was some sort of religious belief that would be later explored, but right now they had more pressing issues.

"We captured a Tau soldier, a so called Fire Warrior. He mentioned a race he called Be'gel, or Orcs, that could be a threat to Humanity and the rest of the Council races. Have you ever encountered an alien species by that name? Pardon us but we always thought orcs were a fictional race." Hackett asked, trying not to sound ridiculous about space orcs.

"I have battled the orks for two centuries. You can bribe them for a time, but you can never be at peace with them. They exist solely for war and they can tear a human apart with their bare hands. This station would not last a day against a full blown Waaagh." They flinched to a man at the last word, half a shout, half a growl, and searched the armoured figure for any trace of sarcasm or joke, but found none.

"Is he serious?" Miranda asked Shepard in a low tone, out of his earshot. The giant turned his helmeted head and green lenses burned into Miranda's eyes.
"Orks may be comical to some, but underestimating them is the quickest path to their stomachs. " He paused for a few moments, collecting what he learned off the Extranet while having retreated to their cabins on the ship. "Imagine something stronger than a Krogan with a Vorcha's ability to regenerate and the lifespan of the Asari, coupled with an innate psyc... biotic field that enhances their technology."

Cunning bastard keeps intel about the Imperium to the barest, but at least he is willing to talk about its enemies, Jane thought. "What is the easiest way to beat these orks?" She asked him.
"The older the ork gets, the bigger he will become. The bigger he is, the higher his rank becomes. Kill the biggest ones and the horde will loose its morale." It was Thaddeus who replied. He seemed far more sociable than his commanding officer.

"Somehow I feel that is easier said than done." She looked at Aramus. "Captain, what about the Tau?"
He looked down at her. "They are a species that uses other xenos as mercenaries or client races. Their technology is powerful, but their physiology is weak when it comes to close combat." He turned back to the Council. "I will, for the time, refrain from hostilities if you can prove that this Earth is really Terra. It is against the purpose of my being to wage war on the Homeworld. I will answer more questions about the Imperium's foes after you prove you are saying the truth. I'll await you on your ship, Commander Shepard."

His message delivered, he turned and walked away from the Council. "Commander, I understand you are facing a difficult situation, but as you record with the Krogan prove, you get along well with warriors. We do not want these humans as our enemies." Tevos turned to her after the superhuman was out of any possible earshot, but there was a question in her voice when she said the word human. "Professor Mordin, please explain." Jane nodded to the aged professor.

"Honoured Councilors. The Captain is only human in origin. He is part of a warrior species made with extremely advanced genetical engineering. Rapid healing factor, multiple redundant organs and an extremely adaptable and resilient biochemistry." He tried to talk slower than his usual hyperactive manner.

"That sounds very much like the Krogan, Professor Solus, do you think we can use the same solution if necessary?" Valern asked and Shepard had to surprass a sneer of disdain. "Not possible. Immune system and genetical structure exceptionally durable. Not even sure of sexual reproduction. Psychological analysis suggest that even trying such a course of action would result in a similarly genocidal response."

"Let us try not to poison the short tempered genetically engineered killing machine, shall we? We do know that there are three other contingents like his out there, likely each with a dreadnought like that." Sparatus replied and shook his crested head. "The Captain's armour was highly decorated, as were his weapons. My impression of his culture is that of a warrior with some concept of honour or similar system of values."

"Councilor, to the extent our limited data allows us to guess, he sounds and bears himself as knight of Earth's past. Appealing to martial pride and a code of honour may get us farther than biological weapons." Miranda spoke up, walking back and forth before the Council. "Are we to take the word of an Ex-Cerberus terrorist?" Valern glared at her.

"Shepard vouches for her good intentions. We would be dead thrice over if it was not for her." Tevos retorted, trying to tone down the confrontation. "If showing this warrior Earth will avoid a war, so bet it." The other two nodded and she looked to Hackett.
"I will trust Commander Shepard will keep him from doing anything destructive." He replied. "We also need to discuss the reports we are getting from C-sec." Jane looked up at her superior. "Sir?"

"We have been getting reports lately of certain anti-human activist groups. There are concerns that they are preparing to form a terrorist group and strike at Alliance targets. Saracino is already using rumors of this movement to gather the scraps of whatever Cerberus supporters are left." Sparatus explained and shook his head. "We can not let these incidents get any worse. It would give Terra Firma too much power as well as incite anti-alien sentiment in humans. This situation has the potential of spiralling out of control quickly. The information is not officially released yet and we want to keep it from gaining more attention."

"To prevent more radicals from joining either sides." She nodded. Radicals, human or not, never give up. It was never that easy, Shepard knew. "I will keep my eyes open, Councilors."

"It is decided. Take the Captain to Earth and do your best to allay his fears, Spectre Shepard." Tevos said and the three others nodded. "This meeting is adjourned."

Omega

The bowels of Omega were changing. Unknown to anybody, spores were shred from ork hides and flew in the ventillation systems to travel all across the station. Many ended up in bright areas to be cleaned up, or in less bright areas to be trampled underfoot as it tried to grow. Others ended up in ventillation ducts without any source of nourishment to stay dormant for centuries to come. But some managed to get to the garbage disposal and recycling areas, as well as heaps of organic trash left in hidden, abandoned chambers.

There the spores grew with the genetically engineered speed of their kind, greenish mushrooms sprouting in the matter of hours to voraciously consume any biological waste. Some of these had the luck to land in areas with some lighting left, and the algae beneath their surface swelled with the absorbed power. Most of the spores became colonies of fungi that began to break down the rock of the asteroid to absorb what little mineral content they could find.

But others that found greater sources of biological matter began to swell, transmorphing into cocoons. Inside these cocoons, life began to take shape in the form that was most fitting for the amount of resources available. After a day, many of these cocoons broke apart in great goushes of amniotic juices as the Squigs inside crawled out. Squigs were the most common of all Orkoid creatures, their genome as variable as their forms to best adapt and shape their environment.

Some were mucous, fatty eaters of trash and fungi with an eye or two. These crawled the ducts and began to feed on whatever they could find, growing bigger and fatter as their stubby legs carried them from meal to meal. Others were less benevolent in nature, with up to six eyes and huge, fanged mouths full of razor sharp teeth. This wilder breed began hunting like lone stalkers in the endless night of Omega's underbelly, their gaping maws consuming other squigs, rats, or whatever other vermin was not fast enough to flee.

A few fungous growths found themselves by sheer fortune near abandoned trash heaps, broken down recycling machinery or even corpses of those slain in battle and forgotten as they fell off the catwalks to their doom. Rapidly growing tendriles pierced deep into fractured armour, dug through layers of plastic garbage and corroded away the wrappings from forgotten crates of rations. In the cocoons of these, the shapes inside began taking on a humanoid aspect.

The Serpent Nebula

Commander Shepard

Shepard waited for the Thunderhawk to return behind the airlock to the hangar. It had taken a detour to its mothership before docking with the Normandy, something that the Captain forgot to mention to her, much to her annoyance. The red vessel did not tarry, and in a minute it was out of the cavernous prow hangar bay again, heading to her ship. She tracked the sensor readings of the Normandy about its progress on her Omnitool and shut it off when the gunship finally arrived.

As usual, the rest of Thaddeus's squad have stayed aboard the vessel, but there was a newcomer as the two Astartes officers walked down the ramp. This was the self identified spellcaster who she had met on the surface of Veralis. He bore a pistol in one hand, and an eagle topped staff in the other, his armour a dull greyish blue and his helmet haloed by a strange hooded device. She tapped her foot on the floor while the three giants went into the airlock for decontamination.
"Captain, I would greatly appreciate it if you told me about any such detours in the future." She greeted the trio with the displeased frown that high ranking soldiers made in every universe when they were left out of the loop.

"I decided to bring Epistolary Orion with us for this trip. He is the Librarian of my company and I place great value on his wisdom." The towering Captain replied after taking off his helmet. He was no doubt enjoying her discomfort, even it did not show on his face. The Librarian took his helm off and simply nodded at her. Even from limited experience with the Space Marines, she could tell he was ancient, or had more than his fair share of harrowing encounters. His brown skin bore so many scars and wrinkles that he could have been old enough to be her grandfather. Or if what Mordin said about their aging, possibly her great-grandfather.

But his eyes were what drew her gaze. They reflected a life of unimaginable horrors and suffering the likes of which she could never guess. She felt a mix of admiration and pity for the man, for he had must seen and faced Hell itself. Not even the veterans of Reaper invasion had such a haunted look in their eyes.
"Welcome aboard, Epistolary Orion." She offered her hand to the Librarian, who gave it a gentle shake after raising an eyebrow.

"Thank you, Commander. Wisdom is the path we must follow here." The voice certainly matched the eyes. She decided that she was quite glad that the third Astartes joined his fellows. Coupled with Thaddeus, he maybe able to hold back their zealout of a Captain from doing anything rash.

Jonah Orion

He could feel that she was glad to see him. Through his psyker's eye, the cybernetic woman was a tightly knot mass of determination, loyalty and directness. Not unlike his Captain, though he knew better than to give voice to that.
The scarring of his soul and face left by the daemon's violation and his centuries in contact with the Warp as a powerful battle psyker have torn deep lines across his face, in spite of his Astartes physiology. No doubt the air of age and apparent humanity it gave him helped her accept his arrival, which was just as well. His presence was necessary on board the Normandy to ease the Warp transit of the Retribution to Earth.

"Hello there, Sir! I am Yeoman Kelly Chambers and I am here to accomodate your needs during your stay on the ship." The young woman that so cheerfully greeted him was a veritable ball of enthusiasm, curiosity and overwhelming, open friendliness.
"Take me to my appointed quarters, Yeoman Chambers. I am not as young as I used to be and solitary meditation would do me good." It could have been said that he was trying to reinforce his status as an elder, but in truth he did need to meditate and pinpoint the Normandy for the Retribution's Navigator to follow. The light of the Astronomican was barely visible, and the Astartes were taking no chances at getting lost in the warp. He recited the first verses of the meditational prayers as Kelly lead him to his room.

The Serpent Nebula

The whole Citadel fleet watched as the Normandy departed Earth through the semi-repaired Mass Relay. It was still not fully operational, and the transits were not as always fast as they used to be. The officers aboard the vessels now turned to watch the Retribution, expecting it to follow suit after the Normandy.

Instead of approaching the Relay however, the giant dreadnought turned its cannon-endowed prow towards the general direction of the Solar system. The sensors of the science vessels in orbit around the Citadel began to register exotic forms of radiation, just as they had did with the probes that began the whole encounter.

Space and time itself buckled and tore in front of the crimson ship, flowing into a purple tear on the face of reality. The whole population on the Citadel stared in awe either through telescopes, the naked eye, or at their viewscreens as the vessel approached the rift. Bolts of multicoloured lightning that left an unexplainable foul taste in their mouths lashed out to pull the giant warship into the rift in the blink of the eye. With an implosion of nameless and unspeakable colours, the rift was gone as if it had never existed before, throwing the Council and everybody else into a confusion filled argument about what just happened. Many inexplicable nightmares were soon to follow that lasted for weeks.

Omega

Aria kicked another Squig away from her feet. This one was a big, fatty lump of flesh with six legs, two eyes and a singularly stupid expression on its face as it flew three meters to land in a heap of trash. She was not surprised when it began gnawing on some plastic waste.

It has been two days since her meeting with Bloodflag, and the Ork "Kroozer" as it was called, had made its way to prowl around the neighbouring systems by somehow dissapearing at the edge of the system and reappearing a few hours later every time. She did not know how they pulled this off, but nobody managed to witness the deed in action.

Most of the Ork's victims were pirate gangs. Their ships returned in the Kroozer's hangar and ferried orks to and back from the station, each evolving hourly with new accessories of scrap bolted to its patched hull. Extra engines, ramshakcle weapons and scrap armour soon covered them all. She did not mind this, as the pirates were just as likely to attack transports she wanted to safely dock on Omega as they were likely to give her some gift of allegiance.

She had come to know a little about the Ork ways during their forays onto Omega and she was taking notes and comparing reports as she sat in her couch. Bloodflag was either referred to as Captain or simply as Boss by his underlings, and he had two elite cadre of warriors that were clearly the most dangerous of the greenskins. He had three underlings, the giant slab of muscle called Brickfist, who wore his namesakes as knuckle dusters of all things, an assassin called Spookums, and his engineer who answered to Mister Nailbrain. The "mek" very seldom seen, while Brickfist often went around to keep a semblance of discipline amongst the orks. Spookums was never really observed, he just seemed to pop up now and then, confusing any would be tracker by his untracable nature.

His bodyguards were known as the Nobs, and they were a mean bunch, each a towering brute of muscle with armour covering most of their bodies, or even bolted to their skin. They were festooned with grisly trophies and metallic charms, and each carried a unique melee weapon of singularly brutal design. Giant pincer claws, buzzsaw axes, chainsaw axes or swords or even mauls were present, while most also boosted gold plated pistol at their hips. The nobs glared around themselves sullenly, like a pack of pitbulls waiting to be unleashed.

The other upper echelon were the Flash Gits, gun loving maniacs who seemed to dress as much as a pirate as they could and wielded mutli-barreled heavy weapons that were bigger than her entire body. They boasted about their guns, their hats, and then their guns again, bartering for whatever got their fancy. Whenever it was a rocket launcher or a pirate hat, the shop owner was left with a handful of teeth. It was best to accept this, as it was the orks currency and disrespecting a three meters tall pirate with a gun as tall as himself was an idea not even the stupidest of merchants entertained.

The middle echelons consisted of the Lootas, Storm Boys, Commandos and Tank Busters.

Covered in heavy weapons and assorted scrap, the Lootas were gun crazy junkrats who shifted through whatever wreckage they could find, more often than not liberating something that did not belong to them in the process. She had seen one toting the gun turret of a Mako as if it was his favourite stuffed animal. Not even the other orks liked them, no doubt having been exposed to the work of their sticky fingers.

The Storm Boys were paratroopers with jetpacks strapped to their backs. They seemed much more disciplined than the other orks, sporting chainsaw swords and rapid fire submachine guns, as well as what appeared to be military uniforms out of Earth's world wars. One squad of them took to marching up and down before the entrance of the Afterlife while singing some old soldier's song, and it took five hours before they got tired of it.

The Commandos were always creeping around, covered in a mix of gaudy camoufledge netting and carrying their heavy rifles and long, sharp knives. They seemed to have a love for cigars and wearing night vision goggles wherever they went, no matter how well it the area was. She could have sworn she has seen one wearing purple camo netting one day, but just as she looked at his way, there was suddenly nothing there. They were also the only type of Ork which seemed comfortable operating alone, instead of in gangs like the rest of their kind.

The Tank Busters were an anti-armour contingent who sported rocket launchers of singularly strange and primitive designs, even going as far as to use limpet mines on a stick as hammers, or lead around leashed Squigs laden with stacks of dynamite of all things. They often nosed around whatever vehicle happened to be in sight. She was glad that this particular detachment did not visit often. One spark and they could blow an entire district up with themselves.

The lower end of the orks were the so called Boys, divided into two groups. The Shooter boys were infantry with heavy bore, primitive rifles and vicious looking knives, mostly clad in toughened leather and a few metal scrap plates. The other were the Chopper boys, who exchanged the rifles for handguns and giant cleavers. Despite their lower standing, perhaps they were the most belligerent, or stupid, of their kind. Brawls have become a constant nightmare in all drinking establishments. After a Blood Pack gang got clubbed to death with those bulky rifles, everybody realised that it was best to let the orks brawl it out between themselves.

Most of the gangs learned after a few fights. The orks were insanely tough and quite happy to eat whoever they shot or clubbed to death. A single ork was extremely dangerous at close range, quite easily capable overpowering even a Krogan, but their ramshackle rifles were as inaccurate as their aim, and even they did not shurg off headshots. However a gang of ten to thirty orks could simply shoot in the rough direction of their enemy and the spray of bullets was guaranteed to hit something. Said bullets were almost as big as her fist and filled with explosives. Crude, primitive, but quite lethal if they managed to hit.

Some orks were more crafty than violent, and soon began selling whatever they could get their hands on at the back alleys and black markets. From selling Squig flesh and leather to engine parts and looted Omnigel, the only constant seemed to be their love for haggling and their willingness to shoot any shoplifter, ork or otherwise.

Beside the orks and the always underfoot Squigs, there were the Gretchin or Grots. While half the size of a human, they could be surprisingly vicious when cornered without the option to flee. The little scrawny runts were surprisingly smart and cunning, and unlike the Orks, they became quite obedient after she punched a few of their teeth out. At first she thought they were the ork young, but everything pointed at them being a slave race as she observed how the orks treated them. A few of them even contacted her to offer their service as spies. They were not wholly reliable, but they worked for nothing more than free food and whatever trash she gave them.

Lowest of all were the Snotlings, little green gremlins the size of a small monkey. At first these too were mistaken for young Grots, but the green little spies quickly refuted this claim with an apparent air of someone whose parentage had been greatly insulted. The Snotlings did manage to become the new stupidest species in the galaxy, ousting the Vorcha from the questionable honour of that position. The little gremlins were not even wholly sentient or able to speak, smart enough only to wear a fur rag around their waist and mimic rude hand gestures. Soon the local mercenary and pirate gangs began using them as target practice themselves, something the orks did not seem to mind at all and participated in with relish.

The orks used them also for bowling, football and other horrific treatments including emergency rations. Even the Grots jeered at them and prodded them with sticks. At first all but the most craven of Omega's denizens felt pity for the "child" aliens, but the snotlings' unfriendly attitude and tendency to bite became widely known after a few good souls have taken it upon themselves to house the little vermin, which resulted in nasty bite and claw wounds. These humanitarians quickly refocused their efforts on helping out the Grots, who had more than enough cunning to take full advantage of them. Soon Gretchin beggars were everywhere, showing white bandages that often concealed healthy limbs. The local lowlifes tried to shake down the little beggars, but they were slippery as eels and even when caught, their rusted, filth covered knives were often enough to scare away any bully who valued his eyesight.

As for the ork ship itself, it was a massive pile of scrap with engines cobbled together on one end, big guns on the other end, with smaller guns and hangars in between. That was apparent from the first visual contact. Their engines seemed to use energised toxic waste, something that should not have surprised her after getting acquainted with the barbarians. What was a total surprise was that from what long range battle footage she could gather, their craft had a shielding that apparently worked against lasers and had some sort of long range energy weapon turrets along its dorsal hull, despite the fact that most of its weaponry was a crude yet somehow effective arsenal of immense gunpowder artillery.

There were even a few odd words that she did not knew, but soon guessed their meaning. Zog was clearly a curse word of some sort, while dakka meant firepower, something they invariably yelled when shooting their guns. Shooty and Choppy were the adjectives that indicated ranged or melee prowess of a weapon. Stompy was the honorific for a powerful brawler, while git was the regular disparaging name they called anyone who was not an ork, Gretchin or otherwise. Umiez meant humans, trukk or wagon was a vehicle, and there were many old English slang words in usage. It seemed their whole language was based on a mangled English with some words of their own language and simple sound imitation thrown in. Waaagh was the universal battlecry, which any ork was happy to shout on any occasional, especially during fighting and driving. This word was always shouted, the more spittle flying, the better.

Aria wondered if she could get a hefty price for this intel from Tevos, or at least a large favour, when a shrill cry of "Boss! Boss!" interrupted her concentration. The leader of her Grot spies, Snitchit, was standing before her in his latest 'James Bond' outfit, which consisted of a thrown together suit of black dyed rags, sunglasses and a ramshackle pistol.
"What is it?" She asked the creature, who put on a disquietingly evil smirk on his little sly face. The Gretchin decidedly had a mean streak a mile wide and were more than happy to prey on those even weaker or dumber than they were.

"Bray was bein' delerikt in his dooty again boss! I sees him eating while watchin' da security gubbins and the zogging four eyes hazn't even given me any! He needs a good pokin with da zappa prod boss!" As his name implined, Snitchit was as petty a snitch as one could find. She sighed in annoyance and glared at the little green man.
"Is that all you can tell me?" She asked, and the nasty little goblin shivered. "Well boss, ya see, I ovaheard some of da boyz talkin' about somefink new called eeezoo. The Mekboy wants it, whateva da zog it is."

She hid her smile with a well practiced ease. So these orks were new to Element Zero. That was a piece of intel that could get a very high price indeed, if she can get the Extranet restored in time to talk with Tevos before someone else finds out and brings the news to the Council by ship.
"Well done, Snitchit. You are a good spy after all." She moved to give the creature a few the shiny trinkets she kept around her person for just this purpose. The grot squeeled in happyness and made an insulting mockery of a salute. "Now not a single word about this to anybody else, you understand, my little friend?"

"Right boss. I got it, me lips are sealed!" The little green goblin quickly sneaked away with his reward, his head dissappearing as he reached the crowd at the floor level of the bar. Yes, this piece of intel would bring in quite the haul.

The Gitstompa

"Boss, I think I figured out what makes dis eezo stuff go. It just makes stuff lighta!" Mr Nailbrain was making his report one the bridge, while Bludflagg was studying the list of the captured freighters. They have all been orkified to some degree, and he was mulling over which of his boys would be suited to captain the tiny pirate raiders.
"How does that work?" He looked up from the readouts, the monitor trailing cables from the wall and hoisted before him by a trio of Grots.

"Zog me if I know boss, but this can make our flyers go even fasta!" Mr Nailbrain replied. "I also rummaged through some of theirz computa stuff. I believe I have found somefink. Dere is dis system of worlds called Dakka, boss, and its abandoned! Sure it is a sign from Gork to set us up a nice pirate bay!" The Mekboy explained with eager hand gestures.

"Dakka system, huh. Maybe a sign from Mork indeed. Call back the boyz and prepare da krooze for jumpin'. We'll check dis Dakka system out and see if we can get ourselves a nice warkamp goin'."

Author's Note: My job keeps me from regular updates, but the story is not dead. Proofreading is slow and my time is limited but I got concepts ironed out for the next two chapters.