There were maybe three days of rest at best where the team could relax as best they could in the midst of prisoner guarding and patrols. Vard has been busy reverse engineering the armor from the two Navy Ohnmatu operatives for something they could use. For the next couple weeks, small time missions...but after Devastis and Irk, anything could really be considered small time. What was really going on was an interference game. Byte doing his best to hold off the wrathful, scarred Grimm from calling them back to Vort. He wanted them to wrap up his campaign, a campaign now going in their favor. Especially with Saro given full authority over Imperial Troopers in the absence of a proper commander since the last fell, Grimm nearly joining him.
General Vaukt was pushing for them to return as well, he could use their expertise...especially as the unit Kazak helped form was now dangerously depleted thanks to Ohnmatu counterattacks. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable would happen and they'd be sent back to that hellhole.
The past few weeks were a welcome change of pace. No more reality-bending questions or uncertainty bordering on obsession to know what was true and what was a lie. No Irk. No Devastis. Vult, fully intending to compile his report of the neutralization of the threat on Devastis and deliver it to the Tallest had run into a snag. The Massive had unexpectedly departed its normal patrol rotation of occupied Imperial space. What little information that could be gathered was something had happened and the Massive was not under the control of the crew. Something that involved Zim. It departed known Imperial space and left for a very remote, desolate sector far off the explored maps.
No immediate access or communication to the Massive meant no new assignments for the time being. Falling back on protocol, Imperial brass on Irk delegated and dispatched his team for what could be best described as busy work at best. Asset retrieval. Investigating anomalies. Things of that nature. Most of them could be completed by flying directly to the coordinates assigned in the vessel and sending one of the teams down to recover it. Inane artifacts or undiscovered elements. Things for Research and Design to tinker with...things that Vard helped himself to small samples of for his own study.
To be expected, the campaign on Vort was not going as planned. Having been away on assignment elsewhere for the past few months, Vult had only heard passing bits of intelligence. Staggering casualty reports. Successful Vortian counter offensives. Loss of Imperial armor and weapons being fielded by the enemy against their own forces. The sorts of things that were a sign of a campaign quagmired and stagnated to a full stop and only serving to inspire the VDF and boost morale with each small victory.
Guiltily, he was glad they were not tasked to return and put boots on the ground in that mess again. Flying around desolate expanses of space to check out strange readings or acquire a core sample of a celestial body was far less stressful or dangerous aside from the occasional run-in with indeginous lifeforms. Some were more dangerous than others. Several times Aero was disappointed she was not allowed to keep a creature as a pet, no matter how "cute" they were. Others were downright horrible-looking, offending nearly ever sense, and incredibly dangerous. A rare few proved to be delicious once harvested for their sweet, juicy meats.
The Vortians sure weren't complaining about the meat either. Anything beat Irken rations. Aside from fresh meat when the mission allowed it, both the Irkens and Vortians had a solid six months of Vortian Navy rations to dive into. All courtesy of their captured stealth shuttle...a shuttle in which Aero had long since covered Vortian Navy insignia and replaced it with that of the Empire, keeping the low visibility scheme it already had. A small recompense for trashing her hangar.
Corr was finally free to move about, albeit in a wheelchair, but he spent a great deal of time in his quarters, talking with Calla, finding out more about the past. Though...not all those conversations proved to be entirely on history. They took a rather personal turn. He took a drink from a mug, he heard the Vortians refer to it as kafes, and Hesa really seemed overjoyed to have access to some again. Whatever this bean water was, it was strong, bitter, but good.
"So...Calla...what was your family like? Your husband in particular...You said he was a soldier like us. What did he do?"
Calla, the most recent addition to the passenger list of the Ghost of Irk, willing or otherwise, was...managing. The whole being trapped in an ancient PAK on obsolete hardware was being handled as well as could be. At least she was no longer alone, left in the dark, with nothing but silence. The sort of sensory deprivation that could drive a person mad if subjected to long enough. The one known as Corr was her usual conversationalist. The others came and went from time-to-time. Mostly with their own morbid curiosities about her. Answering the same set of questions became tiring after a while.
Corr was the exception. He poked and prodded at other things: Culture, Politics, Technology, Cuisine...all manner of things to satiate his curiosity. All things Calla was more than eager to share...most of the time. Some subjects were still sensitive given the tragic fate of Devos and her people and what terrible evil rose from the ashes.
A forlorn sigh escaped the vox-speaker integrated into the PAK at his query.
"He was. A member of Devos' Planetary Defense Force. DPDF, for short." She began, recollecting the memories within the storage discs of the drive...her digitized memories saved. "His name was Kalan. A Corporal. He was stationed at Fort Viilan's Drift as a mechanic in the motorpool."
A pause with a bemused huff, the closest she had come to an actual laugh yet.
"I worked on-base in the commissary. The Drift, we called it. Rather remote place on Devos. The Drift provided security for the nearby mines and refineries. Not that they were needed. The worst that typically happened was misguided youths vandalising equipment or trying to make off with mined material to sell for spending money. Devos wasn't like the crime-infested cesspool that Irk had become."
There was a familiar location still on Devastis, at least from the description of it. Though Fort Viilan had long since become a storage depot for military hardware. Namely small arms and artillery. "Compared to what we do, that honestly sounds like a refreshing change of pace." He couldn't help but smile. "Was Irk really that much of a mess then? Did we already rid the planet of it's natural splendor to control it? What was Devos like when you were there? If you could see it now...I'd imagine you'd weep. The planet's a giant military base and training center now."
"Devos was...incredible. No overpopulation. No urban decay. No smog-choked skies. Clean air, the purest waters, and rolling plains as far as the eye could see. Nature, unmolested and we a part of its ecosystem, not its conqueror. Fertile farmland abundant across its equator. Countless hydroelectric power plants and wind turbines. Everything was powered without an ounce of pollution produced. Mining was the primary export as Devos was incredibly mineral-rich. Massive veins of easily-accessible ores and alloys...unfortunately most of it became future weapons of war that were, in turn, used to subjugate us."
A morose pause with a long, uneasy exhale as if her unseen emotions were getting the better of her.
"...if Devos has become what you said it is now, I am fortunate I cannot see it for I would likely weep…"
Another pause.
"...I didn't like Kalan at first, you know. I hated him, actually. He was young...foolhardy...and frankly, The Drift did not exactly have the largest pool of dating options given how remote the base was. I had left the planetary capital, New Yurrik, and settled The Drift. Grew tired of mundane city life. Where else could you find adventure on a frontier world than on the frontier on the frontier world? No one told me it would be droll and boring as it were...but then there was Kalan. He always tracked grease across my freshly-mopped floors. Man may have had a golden heart after I got past his abrasive charm, but his common sense left much to be desired at times."
Corr couldn't help but chuckle, "Reminds me of some people I knew over the years." The resident blockhead of a Heavy Weapons expert came to mind as one who really lacked common sense. "I would've loved to see Devos in your time. It sounds peaceful...much better than Irk then and now. Almost reminds me of what I saw on Vort with how you describe it."
"...Vort?" Calla queried. "That isn't any colony I'm familiar with. Is that a more-recently developed world?"
"It's...an interesting world. I'll have to give you some more details a bit later. Though, suffice to say while there are cities, there's also forests, mountains...it has quite a bit of natural beauty on it." A shame that such natural beauty would be ground beneath the boots of the likes of Grimm and Saro. He looked through some more of the data...curious… "You good with patterns, Calla? I think I see one but I want to make sure I'm not seeing things."
A huff.
"You sure you didn't suffer a head injury in addition to your broken leg? Your questions are all over the place."
"...Very funny," He was starting to like her attitude the more he talked. "No, it's this data disc I have. Commander Vult received it from someone on one of his missions. Everything I've been asking you history wise over the past few weeks, you've confirmed so much of what's here, and then some. It's leading me to the same conclusions about the Empire that you had about the Republic." He was starting to understand the resistance to it all now...and that this rot goes way back? It wasn't even an Empire to start with? Corruption abounds… "It's these file names on this disc. I haven't noticed it until now that I've gone over much of it...but I think these names all seem to have some sort of a number attached to them based on what order they're in and how many words are in the file name. Clever…"
"Sounds like a code to me." Calla offered. "The movement on Devos used similar encryption methods to pass brief messages or notify others of the locations of caches. The sorts of things that couldn't be openly discussed or blatantly spelled out at the risk of getting a surprise visit from IIA in the middle of the night…so are we back to business then? Frankly, I'm tired of it. I'm not asking for much to have civil conversation, am I? Feel like I've earned that since I've been your personal search engine for the past several weeks."
"Honestly?" He looked at his terminal and closed the window, "That can wait for now." He spun his chair round to face her PAK. "I have some good news for you. Vard is busy cooking up some more features to add in the meantime while Kazak keeps looking into getting you a body. We also have...some of your things from the processing center when he and some others went through there...you were quite an attractive woman."
Silence.
"...I...thank you? I suppose?" She stumbled, really caught off guard by the comment entirely. Confusion and uncertainty best described it. She wasn't sure of what to say, let alone feel...assuming she was technically capable of emotion given her current state.
"...Look...before you go any further with that...I'm not dense. You realize how...silly this is, yes? You're asking personal questions and giving compliments. You're trying to serenade a talking box."
"It might seem silly to you...in fact from the outside with no context I'd appear to have lost my wits." He paused, "I know that there's someone in there. You were someone then...you had a body. You lived, breathed...and if we can help it, we can get you out of that box and back out here again." These were some confusing feelings for him in part...but he was feeling them. Some lost instinct, buried under the Empire's propaganda and need to control everything. "Yes, it's quite strange...but better than having no company at all."
"Should you though?" Calla reasoned earnestly. "I appreciate your efforts, personal bias notwithstanding, but...I lived my life. I was born, I lived, I loved, I bore offspring, I raised them...I already had a go at it. My fate was the result of my choices and actions. None of which I regret...I only wish it did not bring me as I am now."
A hesitant pause.
"...Then again, I would have never had the opportunity to meet you. You're rather intelligent for a soldier. Most of you can barely do arithmetic unless you're not wearing shoes."
"Sounds like something the Empire and the Republic didn't exactly respect…" He paused as well, "If we had just followed orders explicitly, they never would've found you, and we wouldn't be talking right now. So much would be different. I'm really glad I met you." She couldn't see it, but he was smiling. "Hopefully soon we can fix this so that you can have more than just hearing my voice."
"I would be lying if I wasn't at least morbidly curious as to what you and your friends look like." Calla admitted. "Mostly because all I see is darkness...assuming I am "seeing" anything at all. It's nice to hear the sound of your voice...even if you pester me with nonsense for hours."
He couldn't help but chuckle. "Well what else am I supposed to do confined to a chair with a broken leg? It's not like I can…" he stopped to think of something witty to come back with, but that really wasn't his department. Haxx had more comebacks, even if they were lowbrow. "I realized I actually have no comeback for that."
"Don't confuse my words for complaining. It's not lost on me how...incredible it is to have a "living" window to the past. I am a piece of history, a relic...and apparently much of what you know is far from the truth I know." She reluctantly admitted. "Just...as much as Kalan annoyed me, I was a sucker for a man in uniform. Had to have liked him well enough to have two children with him...I miss my boys...I wish I could see them again…"
"Meanwhile we've been deprived of the ability to be parents...to have children…" He frowned, taking a breath. The only one on the ship he knew of who could relate is Turb. He was a parent, who nearly lost a son on Praxxus and then almost lost his daughter had it not been for Vult's mercy. He didn't know about the other two. "Even maturity was deprived from us up until we figured something out with these PAKs recently. It's a shame...to love, to be loved...to have a family. These sound like life-changing events that draw people closer...yet we've been denied that, almost had the instinct driven out of us entirely…"
"It's not gone. Not completely. I can tell that alone in your tone," Calla observed. "Instinct is instinct, it doesn't go away and can't be written out of your DNA so easily. Were that the case, you wouldn't look the same as I did centuries ago. Our species would be completely changed and they wouldn't have the need for the PAKs at all. All they have done is bury and suppress. You and your ilk are the shovels and every stroke of the spade, you're one step closer to uncovering it all."
"And we've already uncovered so much…" So many lies...so much revealed...some by a Vortian, zounds by Byte. "I wonder how much has been discovered by some of the others who are no longer bound to obedience under the Control Brains. This level of freedom is...it's almost intoxicating at times. Yet we have to continue to maintain a show of loyalty, for now."
"A most dangerous game you play. I know the rules well." Calla quipped. "Unlike me, however, you have the resources and reputation with a touch of circumstances at your disposal. All things that are greatly in your favor...I may assume much but it sounds to me like you and your allies are destined on a path not unlike my own. You do know once that threshold is crossed, there is no going back, yes?"
"More than aware...Those personal goons of Krad's from your day are still very much around. In fact, IIA is stronger than they were then. Every single unit of Imperial Troopers or Irken Elite have a company sized force from IIA attached to them. They don't fight with us, they're just there to watch for traitors and keep things in line. Most they do is guard prisoners, if any were taken. Spec Ops? They usually only have one officer to watch for potential defectors and hit their off switch. Why we don't have one I think is because of our...uniqueness. If we did, I think we'd have all been lined up against a wall and shot at this point."
He paused and then shook his head, "I've seen them kill people for less."
"From what little you've told me of your...Tallest, their arrogance is blinding. They hand-picked your Commander and believed him to be the model drone and ideal soldier for this experiment of theirs. That they could not possibly be proven wrong...or maybe a lack of IIA allows you to air out the Empire's dirty laundry all around. You have just been fortunate that your traditional contemporaries are terrible at their jobs and drawn you to actual battlefields and not the homes of dissenters."
"We've already been dragged through one grinder of a battle thanks to them...and we were lucky. Kazak located our commander and brought him back after he was buried alive. He wasn't even part of our unit at the time. I may have had some reservations about him at first, but I'm glad he's with us now."
"Fate has a strange way of working like that. Even whenever I last drew breath, I believed things happened the way they did for a reason...even unto my last drawn before I was imprisoned in this virtual cage. Your superior surviving and defying the odds is not by chance or luck alone. The same can be said for all your close scrapes and the outcomes."
He pondered what she said. Some greater purpose that made it all worth it? Maybe… "I have to wonder what fate has in store for us yet...for me, my team, and even for you, considering you've come back from the dead."
"In my experiences, we just aren't meant to know. Knowing would spoil the surprise." She concluded on a lighter tone. "Just...words of advice seeing as you and your friends are destined for what I believe you are as an eventuality...do not relent. Do not give up. Do not lose hope. Never stop. Friends will die. You will be betrayed. Those you care about will suffer greatly...but never forget WHY you are doing it and what will become after you achieve your goals. No sacrifice is too great. Don't stumble where we failed."
The life of a rebel...a tough one, but one he's certainly willing to take the plunge into after all that's been exposed. "We'll either succeed or die trying. That's what we do. I'll be glad when we can have you by our side in this, and to have you outside of that box."
"Unless you're particularly unfortunate like me and get neither life or death." She jested with a bit of morbid humor. "Don't thank me yet. All I've done is told you what happened to me and what not to do to repeat the same mistakes I have. A colorful saying passed around the movement before things went to absolute tyranny...back whenever we still felt it possible to resist and convince the Empire to leave us be was this: It's only treason if you lose."
Corr couldn't help but chuckle at the statement. "It is technically correct. Though, I suppose we would also need a plan for what comes after. To go into this without any idea of what to construct after would only lead to more chaos. This is quite the tall order...and for such a small number of us."
"One step at a time. Your Commander seems to have a good head on his shoulders. He hasn't led you astray yet from what you've told me...the exception being closer to biting the hand that feeds you, but I digress. For good reason." Calla admitted. "I can't recall if I have said it or not...but thank you...for keeping me company. Really. Anything to alleviate the onset of madness being confined to a piece of ancient technology."
"I'm happy to, and I'm glad to have your company as well. I'd probably also go mad confined to a chair with nothing to do but stare at a screen all day. Having one of your bones snapped by a twig somehow gives you an appreciation for being able to walk or run without issue."
"I can only imagine. The worst I ever suffered was being shot once after a botched raid. Mass-driven slug in the abdomen. Didn't kill me, but I wished I died as painful as it was. No broken bones. Don't have any bones to break now, either." Her humor made another appearance with a sigh. "...you said The Drift is still active, yes? Well, not as it was in my time, but the Empire still uses the facility, correct?"
"It's just Fort Viilan now...but, yes, it's still around. The Empire repurposed the buildings. It's a big storage depot. Most they did I believe is just add buildings over time. There's other architecture around there that seems even older than what was around at the processing center. Why? Is there something important there?"
"Nothing important...well, strategically important, anyway." She admitted. "Just...curious if the personal effects I stored away are still there. With the coming storm the Empire wrought on Devos, I burned any and all ties I had. Reduce the risk of being compromised or people close to me used against me in the event I was ever captured or interrogated. I used the last of my savings before closing out my account to purchase a hermetically-sealed lockbox. I placed things very sentimental to me in it - photographs, sappy love letters Kalan wrote me, Vlaaksmas ornaments my sons made me...little, worthless things to anyone but me...probably all that I have left in this universe to call my own should they still exist."
He nodded, really understanding how sentimental those links to the past would be to her, especially so once she's finally free of this forced imprisonment. Strategically important, no, but important to her, and he wanted to help. "I think we can have someone go back and get them for you." He started, thinking of having Kazak do it. The man already proved himself with a solo operation, and this seems like it would be. "I know someone who would be a good choice to look for the box, and we have a stealth shuttle now...it's not impossible for him to sneak to Devastis and back. I can talk to Commander Vult about it. I'm sure it can be arranged."
"I couldn't ask you or your friends to risk so much for something so trivial in the grand scheme of things." She insisted, despite dearly wanting to see those items again...if and when she could see once more. "...but should you happen to return there and be in the area...I would be most gracious. Maybe even moreso if you happen to pull off this new body thing...I may kiss you yet, Corr." She concluded with a small laugh.
Corr chuckled as well. "It's the very least I can do in the moment for your company and all the information you've provided. I also intend on getting you that new body. I want to see you out of there." A slight smirk came over his face, "I might hold you to that kiss. I'm certainly not opposed."
"Don't make a girl a promise if you can't keep it," Calla toyed, if not somewhat somber just thinking about all the things she couldn't do, confined to the PAK. "It's been so long and I don't know what the layout of The Drift looks like now...but I took the lockbox as deep as I was allowed to go with what little clearance I had working in the commissary. One of Kalan's friends from the motorpool allowed me to go a level deeper. Sub-Level 4, I think. There is a storage supply closet at the end of the corridor. I removed a ceiling tile and set it in one of the load-bearing supports, tucked between the brackets. The only way it's picked up and moved is if someone found it. It's been hundreds of years, so it's a possibility...though I hope not at this point...getting my hopes up for nothing. Wouldn't be the first time I've been disappointed though if that is the case."
Corr wrote all that down, good directions to give Kazak or whoever goes to do this. "We'll do our best. Even better if we do find it. Considering we found you? There's a chance."
"Don't go out of your way for me. I can't even imagine the workload and pressure a unit of your nature is already under. Don't let this undermine you or draw any unnecessary attention."
"I'll see what the Commander thinks." He quickly jotted down the pattern of numbers from the file names so he could go see Rem and then Vult on this request. "Are you going to be fine for a short time? I need to speak to Vult, then I'll come right back."
"I'll manage. Not the first time I've been alone in this thing." Calla jested. "If you're going to be a long time, you can always pawn me off on someone else and I can bother them for a bit. I'm starved for company, you can imagine."
"If I find I'm going to take too long, I'll send someone your way, don't worry. I won't forget you." He smiled and wheeled himself out of the room, headed for the elevator and taking it up to the bridge. He hoped to see Vult there, but he might be somewhere else. Wheeling in, he withdrew his notes on the pattern. "Rem, I have two questions," he started. "First, where's the Commander? I need to speak to him on something. Second, I found a pattern. I wonder if you can help me make sense of it."
The resident pilot and navigator heard the lift open, rising from her seat at attention as a trained effort. Her superiors never caught her unaware given the layout of the vessel. A positive of being isolated on the bridge most of the day. Nevertheless, she snapped a crisp salute at Corr's arrival before transitioning to at-ease.
"I haven't seen the Commander since roll call this morning, Captain," she informed. "My logical guess to his location would either be in the briefing room or the brig, Sir."
Pattern? Her brow furrowed behind her implants as a hand rose to grasp the offered sheet of scribbled numbers. Their arrangement was odd, but she mentally deduced a workable format within a few seconds once it all clicked together.
"My best estimate would be these are celestial coordinates, Sir." Rem informed to the best of her ability. "Assuming the format is the same, they designate the divisional location of an object in three-dimensional space. Sector, quadrant, system, so on and so forth...though I've never seen coordinates start like that before."
All the more curious now, she approached their navigational computer at the center of the bridge. Bringing up the manual entry mode for coordinates, Rem applied her theory as she typed in the required information in the appropriate format. Hitting the final key on the haptic interface, the computer went to work, the three-dimensional holographic projection of countless stars, systems, and celestial bodies zooming out to all of known space. Imperial territory, Vortian territory, and countless other dominions being subjugated by the Empire were displayed...then the display panned...and panned...and panned...it panned well beyond the known edge of the universe before coming to a stop on...nothing.
"Strange," She muttered, rubbing her chin in contemplation. "The system accepted the coordinates...but they don't appear to be anything discovered or known. They're several dozen light years away from the edge of charted space, Captain…" Rem paused, looking at him directly. "May I ask how you came by these, Sir?"
"I noticed the pattern when studying some items brought back on board." A partial lie, but still truthful. Vult gave it to him after arriving from Irk. "Intelligence gathered while we were on mission; I thought it was nothing, though this changes that. You've been extremely helpful." He gave her a nod, holding his hand out for the sheet with the coordinates on it. "I need to hand this over to the Commander so he can deal with it properly."
Glancing to the written-down series of numbers briefly, she handed it back to her incapacitated superior officer. The navigational system would have it in its recent search history for recollection. She didn't need it anymore anyway.
"Yes, Sir." She obeyed with a nod before snapping another salute before about-facing to return to her duties...of taking the helm once more and ensuring the ship's course didn't take them headlong into any ion storms or asteroid fields.
Corr returned her salute and then returned to the lift. Rather than try the briefing room first, he headed for the brig. Best to try there first. It was a wise call, he found Vult present, along with Hesa who brought him some snacks from the Vortian stocks previously, along with some food for the prisoners. Though now she was having a conversation with the prisoners.
"Wait, wait, so let me get this straight, you two aren't VDF?"
"No, yes, it's complicated. The VDF even among ourselves typically refers to the ground-side branch." Vara was speaking, "Chief Orpos and I are actually both with the Navy."
"So your Navy does spec ops too? Not just the ground guys?"
"Correct, though sometimes we end up working together." Vara looked over to see Corr rolling in. "I see sick call's clocking in." The Commander quipped behind the bars.
Jur looked over, sitting on the edge of his bed eating his desert ration containing a sweet pie. He swallowed what was in his mouth before joining in. "Well, I'll say this. You don't look any worse for wear. Not too many people would even be in a wheelchair after having their femur snapped like a twig."
Corr huffed, "Well, we're not many people among the five of us here, are we?" Excluding the VDF Brigadier General and Doctor, this was a room full of spec ops. He turned his attention to Vult. "Sir, I found this in that data disc you gave me from Irk. I ran the pattern by Rem while I was looking for you. She confirmed that these are coordinates for a location outside of charted space."
Vult, who had been playing more hands of the card game with their prisoners and maintaining the rules of whomever won the hand got to ask a question within reason, set his cards down to look at the paper offered by Corr. Hearing the source of the information had his undivided attention. Byte provided this. Byte snuck in and embedded this information for a reason.
"Rem is our expert by far...but even I know the Empire has no known locales starting with those series of inputs." Vult deduced, looking to Turb. "I'm yet to ask my questions from the last hand." He folded the paper once over to slip through the bars. "This look familiar to any of you?"
Vara took the paper, she would know coordinates given her background. A brief look and her red eyes went wide in shock. She looked to Turb briefly, knowing he also would've been connected to the location. Her pleasant demeanor was gone. This was...massive. "How in the fuck did you get your hands on these? These aren't on common Vortian navigational computers."
The change in mood was not lost on Vult. These phantom coordinates were not some fluke. Apparently they meant something to their unwillful guests.
"A combination of intelligence from Irk and Devastis. Given your shock, I assume this is very detrimental to your people and would be unfortunate should they leave this vessel and be passed onto the Tallest." He bluffed to keep their attention. Cordial or not, they were still his prisoners and still very dangerous. "Your continued compliance will ensure this location stays known only to those aboard this vessel. What are these coordinates to? What is this location?"
Jur spoke a few words to Vara in their own language, and she responded, the realization hit him. They both went there before to test their suits. "We've codenamed the station Kyozist."
Before she could continue, a hand came to her shoulder. It was Turb's, she nodded to him. "Commander, we didn't build it...we found it. The station is clearly alien in origin, able to maintain itself in orbit that it hadn't crashed into the planet below. It's been something of our base of experimental science. What advances we made, we wouldn't have made without that station. Some aspects of their suits we learned from what we held there, as well as exploring the planet's surface. We don't know who made this technology, only that it's given us the edge to keep holding Vort." The doctor took a breath. "I beg you, don't expose the station. If the Empire were to get its hands on its contents...the galaxy could be plunged into a darkness I cannot even begin to imagine."
Fully expecting great obstinance and defiance given their quickly-soured moods, Vult was pleasantly surprised Turb shared what he did. An alien construct of some sort. Alien to the Irken. Alien to the Vortians. Highly-advanced and the source for many of the marvels and breakthroughs the Vortian Federations brought into the known universe...the very same the Empire stole through betrayal.
"As I said...your compliance means its location stays aboard the vessel and goes no further." Vult assured. "...a...mutual associate shared this information, encrypted in data given to the Captain here. Someone, somewhere outside of your very small network of individuals aware of this location has knowledge of it and has provided it to us. For what reason, I do not know...but I intend to find out."
Corr cleared his throat. "Sir, I also have a...favor to ask." He paused before continuing, "Calla, she said there's some of her personal effects back on Devos in Fort Viilan, should still be hidden. I want to help her, and these personal items of hers should make things more comfortable when we finally get her a body." Another pause, "...I'd like to ask that Lieutenant Kazak take the stealth shuttle and complete this task, solo."
Vult's furrowed brow of confusion gave way to sympathetic understanding as Corr explained the matter in full. Though, what he suggested was not something so simply accomplished or done given the nature of their assignments. Granted, his recommendation for Kazak to undertake the matter as a solo operation, off-the-record, made the most logical sense.
"If you're asking for my permission to greenlight, Captain, you have it. Just make it abundantly clear to the Lieutenant he is to operate with the utmost scrutiny. We have been tasked with investigating anomalies in lieu of the Tallests' orders given the Massive fell off the scope. See to it that he leaves no footprint or trace in his wake."
"Yes, sir, thank you." Corr snapped a quick salute and started wheeling himself back to his room. He'd call Kazak in and discuss the matter with him quietly. Vara, meanwhile, smirked, hearing that the Tallest were effectively in absentia and they were without more direct leadership.
"Sounds like something interesting happened with your leaders...though it doesn't sound like it wasn't one of ours. If it were, you'd be too busy picking through the wreckage. Inside job?"
"Doubtful," Vult answered, looking back to the quartet of Vortian prisoners as Corr wheeled himself towards the lift. "There's been no confirmation of the Massive's destruction. Only that it has been...misplaced. It departed charted space some time ago without warning. Naturally, this has been kept very quiet until it can be located and returned to its normal patrol path."
"Hm...whatever it is, it's certainly...strange." She looked at Vult directly, "Especially with some rather...you and your team definitely aren't like the others, are they? We already put that much together based on your equipment. Though, being here...you're already seeming different from the rank and file." A brief pause, "And you're not going to tell them about Kyozist?"
"You were compliant with my request. I'm a man of my word." He nodded. "That secret stays with me, but we will be investigating for ourselves given the...circumstances on how we came to acquire those coordinates."
"So only you'll have it, lovely...not sure what that means for the rest of us…"
Rem's voice soon came over the speaker, stopping Vara from continuing her thought, "Commander, new mission just came in from high command. Sending the details to the briefing room now."
Hesa looked at the others, "I can watch them for a bit while you go look at whatever it is that needs your attention."
The Commander nodded. "Appreciated, Corporal."
Relieved of watch and able to leave without incident, Vult took to the central grav lift in the ship. A short time later and multiple decks passed, he arrived on the level where the briefing room resided. Down the corridor and to the room, he entered.
"At the terminal, Navigator," He intercommed to the bridge.
"Should be coming up right...about...now."
The terminal lit up with information. A number of ships carrying supplies to the Empire's developing world of Destructia as of late have gone dark. The source of last transmission all seemed to come from the nearby planet designated 8875 on Irken charts, Apagor on Vortian charts, part of the word 'Forbidden' from their language. The atmosphere was hostile to starships with strong electrical storms and heavily ionized on top of that. It seems like it would be suicidal to fly into the planet. Though logs from Vortian observers have noticed breaks in the weather from time to time, enough to fly down and avoid the turmoil of the atmosphere. The window was short, lasting from 10 minutes to 30 usually, and only an hour at most.
Command's mission is for them to examine Apagor's surrounding planets and moons for ship debris or transponders and report back. A small list of items of import to salvage if the ships are found, but no instructions on how to deal with any potentially surviving crewmen.
Vult studied the contents of the assignment sent to them. At least it wasn't a return to the Massive or Vort to return to the war effort that had long since stagnated and quagmired. Imperial freighters going dark wasn't a common occurrence, especially ones of those tonnages. Massive, crewed vessels often with their own fighter wings docked in their hangars for escort and reconnaissance. Granted, it was a little arrogant of the Armada to not send escort vessels to fend off potential threats.
Nevertheless, their objective was simple in theory and massive in scope. Make landfall on Apagor and locate the missing vessels or confirm their destruction and find who was responsible. Speculation alone pointed to gravitational interference or something altering readings for course headings and pulling the ships directly into the Level 4 Hostile Environment world. Scanning probes never made it past entry due to the high winds and near-constant lightning storms raging across the planet. There's no way a massive freighter loaded to bear would survive entry...would it?
The Commander pondered for a moment. He had the coordinates to a very sensitive location to the Vortian Federation. Some research station involving a fallen empire of aliens long lost to time and their relics remained for study. The same location Byte provided to Corr through the data offered. That wasn't coincidence. He wanted them to find it and go there...but this new assignment pulled them in the opposite direction, back to Imperial matters.
Arriving to a conclusion on how to best address it given the current climate of the team, Vult messaged Volx and Kazak to come to the briefing room as soon as possible.
Kazak had a few days of supplies packed and was headed for the shuttle when he got the message, as well as packing the Vortians' mass accelerated weaponry. He took a breath and turned around, backtracking and headed for the briefing room. He arrived first, looking like Vult caught him at the right moment. Volx was only about twenty seconds behind him. She saluted Vult after walking in. "Reporting as ordered, sir."
Waiting until the both of them entered the room, he motioned to the table.
"Have a seat, both of you."
Volx cast a glance at Kazak, wondering if he was aware what this was about, but obliged nevertheless. The Commander forwarded the pertinent information to each of them before proceeding.
"Brass back on Irk in lieu of the Tallest is keeping us busy," He began. "Just received an assignment to investigate missing Imperial freighters en route to Destructia."
"Destructia, Sir?" Volx queried, scanning through the mission brief relayed to her.
"The Empire's newest permanent installation. A world colonized with the intention of turning it into another Armada training facility and mass production manufacturing for every implement of warfare at our disposal."
"Another Devastis then…" She summarized.
"Essentially," Vult agreed with a nod before proceeding. "That would be the case if the necessary equipment and supplies were making it to their destination. These reports have listed the last five freighters have all went missing with no response from their transponders near these coordinates."
He brought up the three-dimensional holographic projection of space near the planet designated as #8875 with very clear warnings and travel advisories regarding its hostile climate on the surface.
"At first glance, it appears there's some sort of gravitational disturbance or the planet is causing false readings and these vessels are being drawn in being too close to 8875's gravity well. Irk wants to know the fate of these vessels. Either locate them or confirm their destruction and recover anything useful to determine the cause of the loss."
"So...we are a salvage recovery team now, Sir?" Volx queried somewhat cheekily.
"I don't get to pick what we do, Lieutenant, you know that."
"Of course, Sir."
"With Corr being out of commission due to his still-healing injuries, I need you to head up Purple Team and investigate Eight-Eight-Seven-Five."
"Yes, Sir." Volx nodded.
"Volx."
"Sir?"
"...be careful down there. Rem can tell you more about the planet itself, but just looking at initial reports, the surface is unkind to vessels and people alike. Communications are likely to be rife with interference. Once you are planetside, we will be out of contact with you. Be mindful of meteorology and climate. The storms move in somewhat regular patterns across the planet. The windows are small and the duration is lengthy."
"Will do, Commander." She nodded once more, "When are we to make landfall?"
"As soon as Rem sets course and takes us there. Once we are in-system, assemble Purple Team, take a shuttle to the surface, and proceed on-mission. Any questions?"
"No, Sir. I will look over the dossier in detail before we arrive and brief Purple Team accordingly, Sir."
"Get it done, Lieutenant. Dismissed."
Volx rose from her seat, snapping a salute before making to depart the room, leaving Kazak alone with Vult.