Xahkephra knew that something was happening, although she did not know what.
Nasamehyt stiffened before suddenly abandoning her, walking away with long strides. She had seen this behavior from him before… he did this when something important was happening, something that demanded all his attention. Yet it had only happened on the ship before this and Xahkephra felt a sudden flare of hope in her chest. Surely this was an opportunity!
She had to be careful though. The Immortals were looking at her with dull but hungry eyes, seeking for new prey. They would most certainly hurt her, she knew, if she dared to try to escape beneath their watchful gaze. So Xahkephra kept still, just waiting for an opportunity.
That opportunity came with the attack. A strange force that she quickly identified as necron launched a quick and vicious attack. Doom Scythes blazed above them and the Immortals turned away from her, going to the far more important duty of repelling an assault. And Xahkephra slunk away, aware that the collar would be her downfall. Nasamehyt would use it to find her… unless, of course, the enemies won.
That led to her resolution and the following actions. Just fleeing was not enough. Xahkephra was still the great warrior princess of Khatekh. Her body might be weak, she might not be connected to any recall, but she did not care. She would act, both to secure her future and spite the monsters who had destroyed her Dynasty, her family. If that meant she tasted true death, so be it.
She saw a good moment to intervene when a Destroyer was fighting an entire group of Warriors, led by a single Overlord. The Destroyer was the one with four legs and bladed arms, quick and darting and very dangerous. The Overlord was doing fairly well but he was losing his Warriors, which might lead to his downfall… Xahkephra climbed clumsily onto a large piece of equipment, part of the adamantium extracting operation. She was insane to do this, but insanity could sometimes be the path to victory.
From on high, she waited for the right moment and then leapt. Her body was weakened but Xahkephra knew its' limitations well and landed as she'd intended, on the back of the Destroyer. He was caught entirely by surprise as she looped her chains around his neck, for all the world as though she would choke him. She could not of course – she could do no real damage – but she could yank his head back and put him off balance with her unexpected weight.
That was all the advantage the Overlord and his Warriors needed. They struck instantly, taking full advantage of the Destroyer's distraction. Xahkephra quietly swore as a blade went through the Destroyer's chest and nearly hit her, although she couldn't really fault the one who had done it. Destroyers were nothing to play with. Then the Destroyers' knees buckled and Xahkephra realized she had a slight problem.
There was nothing she could do about it, though, and when the Destroyer went down she went with it. Cursing, she tried to untangle her chain but found it was quite a mess, the Destroyer was almost immovable to her weakened body. Then the Destroyer vanished, going for recall to the ships above them, which was actually a relief. It freed her from the dead weight. Of course, that left her surrounded by strange necrons from an unknown Dynasty and Xahkephra finally got a good look at them.
"…?" Xahkephra was deeply confused as she looked at them. Half of the Warriors looked typical enough, but the other half were anything but… they had strange faces, almost like aeldari? But no… some lesser race? And woven metal braids? Their leader had the same strange face but aside from that, he was certainly an Overlord. Still, what was this? "What are you?" she asked without thinking and the Overlord tilted his head.
"I am Captain Yentark of the Uhnashret Dynasty, in service to the Sautekh." Oh, Sautekh Dynasty! That was a great relief, the Phaeron of the Sautekh would surely look on her with favor. Although it didn't entirely answer her question. "Forgive me… what are you?" He made glyphs of confusion and Xahkephra realized her appearance was equally mystifying to them.
"I am Xahkephra, warrior princess of the Khatekh Dynasty. We awoke late, and were conquered by the Maynarkh. I was taken as a captive and modified to what you see," she said and Yentark's head turned, as though he'd heard something. Likely he had, via interstitial messaging.
"I see… we have no time for this. Darius, Igor, take her to the landing point," he quickly ordered and those two warriors saluted. Then the rest of them moved off, leaving her in their company. They were one of the very strange type, the other a typical Warrior.
"This way, Lord," the strange one said and she decided not to correct the mode of address. Her formal rank before had been Princess but it hardly mattered any longer, Lord would do. "I am Darius." The two of them stayed quite a distance from her as they began to walk, Xahkephra noticed. Well, her bodily condition was frightening.
"I'm Igor… forgive me, but what did they do to you? I never imaged a necron could… smell." Xahkephra was a bit surprised by that. She had an odor? A quick check suddenly revealed that her olfactory capabilities were completely offline. She hadn't really noticed, but it was a very minor concern.
"I'm not certain what they have done to me. What does it smell like?" Xahkephra asked, curious despite the utterly vile nature of it. Igor thought about it for a moment.
"Harsh chemicals, like vinegar and bleach," he said after a moment. "Chlorine smell but… not quite the same… harsher. I'm no field engineer, but the way your Living Metal is bubbling, I think it's outgassing." Ah, yes, of course. Those awful bubbles could be releasing gasses. "We need to get you to the Crypteks."
"Yes indeed… but I would also like to know. Why do you look like that? Are you not a true necron?" Xahkephra bluntly asked Darius. Although she had noted Igor was not a necron name. Not to mention that Warriors were normally non-sentient and these were anything but. There was a brief pause.
"It is a long story but the short of it is, we were once human. We are pwi-necrons from the Serf World of Hope, in service to the Uhnashret Dynasty," Darius said and Xahkephra felt a soul deep revulsion and rage. Biotransference was the greatest ill ever forced on their species, but also their greatest achievement. To use it on lesser races was a defilement of all they held sacred! "I know this must seem wrong to you, but we already had our own, human version of biotransference." Wait… they did? Xahkephra knew very little of humans, just the tiny bit Nasamehyt had let drop, but he had indicated they were not that advanced. "The Crypteks can explain as they look after you… I'm sorry, we're just ignorant, illiterate soldiers, we might get things wrong."
"Speak for yourself! I am a semi-literate soldier!" Igor said, deliberately puffing his chest out. Darius made glyphs of amusement and then they reached the landing shuttles.
There were indeed a few Crypteks there, handing field repairs of damaged units. They were taken aback by her appearance and as Darius and Igor left, they debated how to deal with her injuries. After a bit of back and forth they decided she should be quarantined, in case whatever she was afflicted with was infectious. Xahkephra did not think that was remotely likely – the odds of such a thing getting free and infesting the Maynarkh was great – but they were insane, so she could not rule it out. She accepted the confinement on the condition that someone explain precisely what had been happening with the Sautekh Dynasty. Soon, Xahkephra was getting all the news, starting with the fact that Imotekh the Stormlord was now the Phaeron of Sautekh. She'd had no idea, her Dynasty had been attacked so soon after awakening, they really knew nothing of events as a whole.
The Cryptek in charge could speak as he worked and Xahkephra marveled at the sequence of events, uncertain how she felt about much of it. If the humans already had biotransference, they of course could use it… using the bodies of their dead was a defilment, but only six thousand necrons was a truly desperate situation. Xahkephra wondered what decisions she would have made, if she had been in Phaeron Rahkaak's situation. Quite a conundrum. Then the events after that… the shard of Mephet'ran and the death of the young Cryptek… Xahkephra felt like this should be turned into a play. Perhaps someday in the future, it would.
You never knew.
Nasamehyt was deeply annoyed with his current situation.
I should not have come to the planet. I should have remained on board my flagship. Against a lesser race it might have been different, but against other necrons, the battle in space was of paramount importance. They might be fighting over this ball of dirt, but the outcome would not be decided here. No, it would be decided far above, in the void of space.
Yet Nasamehyt made lightning swift calculations and realized he could not reach the lander in time to go back and take control. Vaguely, he was aware that his own superiors would surely tear a strip off his hide for this… but that depended on him surviving to reach them.
With no choice, Nasamehyt resigned control of the naval battle to his second and concentrated on organizing the ground defense. His forces were excellent and included many Deathmarks, who he intended to use to the fullest. The Maynarkh did not follow the usual codes of war, which forbade the use of Deathmarks on their own kind.
Of course, other necrons knew that about the Maynarkh, which made the advantage a bit less than it could be. There would be other Deathmarks stalking his Deathmarks, in a deadly dance of death. Ah, the games they played. Nasamehyt laughed in delight at the thought.
What strange enemies these are, Nasamehyt mused as he dropped into managing the command net. Back in the times of the ancient necrontyr, they had not done things this way… they had depended more on individual units, individual initiative. Now such initiative barely existed, and the Warriors in particular required firm direction.
The strangeness of the enemies was in their faces. Quite a few of them had death masks in the shape of human faces… Nasamehyt had fought humans a few times and knew that feeble, weak yet remarkably tenacious race well. They had genuinely put up a good fight, at that one world, what was it called again? The name slipped his mind and it hardly mattered anyway. These though, these were humans that had transcended their mortal bodies and Nasamehyt approved. Who wouldn't want bodies like theirs? Nasamehyt knew that others of his kind considered it a curse, but that baffled him.
(he could not remember what he had lost)
He would certainly kill them though and Nasamehyt took deep pleasure in joining the battle personally. He tore through the weaker enemies, his customized staff blazing with power. His Warriors and Immortals were with him, as they clashed with the formations of the enemy.
"I call challenge. Will you face me?" A voice rose over the battle and Nasamehyt registered a fellow Overlord, likely the commander of the opposite force.
"I am Nasamehyt, Overlord of Maynarkh. I have won too many battles to detail, and I claim relation to the Mother of Madness. Who are you, who thinks to face me?" Nasamehyt returned, not stopping his battle for a moment. His response was based on the ancient necrontyr, but a more abbreviated version… in the Flesh Times, they would have listed their major battles, typically five at the most. With millions of years behind them, though, most necrons just couldn't bother. Some did though, and when they did, the challenger was expected to respond in kind… that could result in a challenge taking hours as endless battles were recited.
"I am Itolyx, Overlord of Uhnashret. I claim special rank… I once stood as an Immortal, before my Phaeron elevated me." Well, THAT was unusual. Nasamehyt was surprised to hear it… with most Immortals only semi-functional, mentally, one being elevated was rare indeed. "I claim noble blood through my father, but I am commoner born. Will you face me?" Nasamehyt could easily refuse this challenge on the grounds of pure snobbery. However, that was not his way and he actually admired it.
"I will face you." Although he had no intention of fighting fair. A Deathmark, unused until now, was ready and would assassinate this Itolyx at the perfect time. That would enrage the enemies, of course, but Maynarkh was used to that.
Nasamehyt ordered his Warriors and Immortals to give him space, and this Itolyx did the same. Nasamehyt was able to see him clearly… he was a sleek lined Overlord, built a touch more lightly than most of that rank. Likely because of his history as an Immortal, but it suggested he would be a bit more focused on agility than pure strength. Nasamehyt felt a tingle at the thought. This could be an interesting duel. Aside from that, Itolyx had only one point of interest… on his chest, inscribed in gold, was a glyph-poem praising loyalty and devotion to duty. Nasamehyt thought the sentiment was extremely simple minded, but the artistry of the poem itself was excellent.
(Kototep had made it for Itolyx and he had liked it a great deal, and decided to inscribe it on himself)
Nasamehyt and Itolyx met in a quick clash of staves, circling and testing each other. As Nasamehyt expected, he was light on his feet and moved with grace. Yet, he was also strong as any Overlord and had the consummate skill of an Immortal… this was genuinely a battle he could lose. If he was to abide by the rules, that is.
Nasamehyt had absolutely confidence his Deathmark would intervene at the right moment, and just devoted himself to the duel. They quickly got serious, Itolyx attacking very strongly and Nasamehyt meeting him with the murderous intensity that had brought him victory so many times. He craved death, the feeling of another warrior crushed beneath his hand, and he was very good at finding it.
Then, shockingly, Itolyx stumbled and fell to one knee. That was the kind of thing that normally happened only to organics… a tiny bit of fatigue, a rock sliding beneath their feet. Yet, it COULD happen to necrons, if they happened to be fantastically unlucky. Nasamehyt swung –
And was hit in the chest by a shot from his own Deathmark.
?! Damage signals rose through his buffer and Nasamehyt knew his core had been pierced. For a moment, he was completely outraged. Why had the fool taken such a dangerous shot?! Yes, it was bizarre that Itolyx had stumbled at just that moment, but the Deathmark could have waited for a shot that couldn't hit him at all!
(the reason was a slightly faulty reprogramming. The Deathmark in question had belonged to the Khatekh Dynasty and while the Maynarkh had forced loyalty protocols upon him, he was a full sentient and carried a deep, abiding resentment against them)
(taking a dangerous shot was the only small, feeble way he could act on that resentment)
The duel shifted with stunning speed and Nasamehyt could not recover. His Deathmark's cover was blown and another Deathmark was now going after him, and Itolyx was taking full advantage of his injury. He tried to defend himself but another blow quickly landed, rupturing his core further and stealing his strength. Nasamehyt fell to one knee, struggling just to lift his weapon as he sensed his enemy about to take the final blow.
Ashkathka? The name floated through his mind and Nasamehyt had no idea why. It had no meaning to him, he knew no one by that name. Why was he thinking it?
Then his skull was crushed beneath Itolyx' staff, and thought itself came to an end.
Before he went to the ground to take care of matters, Manric had a quick conference with Tadutep. He wanted to see if the great master of Naval combat agreed with his assessment of his own failure.
"I have been reviewing my performance. Am I right in thinking that my major mistake was not accounting for the fact that I do not have a true flagship?" The simulations he'd been trained on always assumed the commander in charge of a fleet had a Cairn class flagship. Yet Manric only had a Harvest class cruiser and he'd accidentally put it in far too much danger.
Yes, that is precisely what happened. Also, I want to apologize. Apologize? For what? I noticed you were doing that against the human pirates as well and I thought of mentioning it, but I decided it was harmless… against lesser races it is meaningless and I never imagined we would encounter a necron fleet that could exploit that mistake, if by accident. Tadutep tilted his head, thinking about it. They were communicating via a full, two-way ship communication, visual included. I am sure they had no idea they were targeting your command ship, they only saw an opportunity to eliminate a ship that was being used incorrectly. Yes… if Manric saw a ship being used incorrectly for the class, his mind would definitely not immediately go to the overall fleet commander being there. No, he would assume some kind of mistake in classification in the command net.
"Well, I'm not pleased with my mistake, but at least I know it now and can avoid it in the future." Tricked by his simulation trainings, ugh. So foolish. "We can go over the rest of it later… I need to check on the surface of the planet." Things were more interesting there. "I leave you in command here." Tadutep nodded, accepting the direction.
Thank you nemesor, I will serve you well. Manric nodded back before ending the communication. Then he took a shuttle to the surface.
The planet had once been a beautiful world, and it would be again. For now, though, it was deeply scarred by what had happened. An entire continent had been almost sterilized and there was real damage to the atmosphere, although Manric estimated it would clear after a few years. Those would be hard and cold years, though, and hopefully the planet would not be pushed into an ice age. Manric made a mental note… they should likely dispatch some environmental cleansing experts to try and clean this up. They could shorten the recovery considerably.
Manric started with the landing zone, the place with the heaviest adamantium deposits and the spot the Maynarkh had been actively exploiting. He could tell, just from the equipment in place, that the adamantium was definitely as reported… the Maynarkh had been engaging in serious excavation. That was good, it would incline the Stormlord to offer support to this planet. Manric wondered though… would Charnovokh want to officially claim this world? Or would it perhaps go to Phaeron Rahkaak?
Manric put that thought aside and went to see the necron they had rescued. He was actually horrified when he saw her… her necrodermis had been completely removed, leaving an awful, pitted black appearance. It reminded Manric a bit of coal. Still, while that was unfortunate, it wasn't too bad… what was terrible were the damages to her frame that the Living Metal was failing to repair and most of all, the reason for that failure. Manric could see the Living Metal bubbling and frothing, trying to repair the damage and being somehow prevented. A pungent odor reached him and he almost took a step back, but controlled himself. She was being held in a restraining force field with a single Cryptek?
"I thought we were concerned she might be infectious?" Manric asked and the Cryptek turned to see him.
"We are sir, but it was decided that one of us needed to man up and accept the risk." Ah, of course. "I volunteered. I'm fairly sure it's fine… I'm still researching, but I strongly believe the collar is the source of the infection and it's confined to the one wearing the item." That would make sense. Manric stepped closer and then shut off his olfactory sense. That scent was so unpleasant.
"I am Manric Duleth, fleet commander of this force. My nemesor is Overlord Zahndrekh," Manric said gravely as he started noticing a few small details. She was wearing a few plaques, a few shards of a cloak. They were extremely finely worked and set with precious stones, yet broken and some of them were even stuck into her foaming, damaged Living Metal. Manric tentatively identified this as a deliberate humiliation on the part of her captors, leaving her just enough finery to be identifiable as royalty. "I am told you are Xahkephra, warrior princess of Khatekh?" That information had been passed to him as he was coming down. She nodded.
"My proper rank is Princess, but there is no point to that any longer. Lord is sufficient," she said and Manric could sense her smoldering anger, not at him but at the Maynarkh. He also sensed a core of hard headed practicality to her… she saw no point in clinging to a rank that was truly meaningless, without her family. Still.
"I believe Overlord would be more appropriate," Manric said after a moment. Fallen or not, she was still royalty of a foreign Dynasty and deserved that much. "Can you please tell me what befell you?" He had guessed, in general outline, but wanted to be certain. Xahkephra nodded and launched into her story.
There really wasn't much to it. An old grudge with the Maynarkh that had resulted in annihilation. Xahkephra was incensed by it… she did not understand why an enmity that was more tradition than feeling, inactive for millions of years, was suddenly worth killing over. Well, actually, she did understand.
"Wretched opportunists, they just saw the opportunity to take advantage of our weakness," Xahkephra said bitterly. "The enmity between us was an excuse, that was all. Curse the vile filth and curse the universe, that we happened to be in such close proximity to them." Yes, that was really what had sealed the Khatekh's fate. They had been smack in the middle of the Orpheus sector, that area of space that Maynarkh had brutally taken from the Imperium… and also the Dynasties unfortunate enough to live there. "Nasamehyt's death is a start, but only a start. I hope he suffered the agony of failure before he died!" Manric assumed that was the commander of the forces they had destroyed.
"So when you are repaired, you will swear loyalty to Sautekh?" Manric asked. "Imotekh has stated that when our war with the Silent King is done, we will go to war against the Maynarkh Dynasty and it will be a war to the knife." No quarter offered or given. Xahkephra's eyes flared.
"I have many misgivings about the insane things you are doing with humans and this madness of souls, but I do not care. Yes, I will swear loyalty to Sautekh in search of my revenge," she said and Manric could sense her utter dedication, her determination and rage. "I have met the Stormlord before and hold him in the highest esteem… I will be pleased to offer my loyalty to him, personally."
"I am certain he will take your oath," Manric said gravely. He could sense that she meant every word. Then Manric turned his attention to the Cryptek. "Do you have a preliminary report?" He'd mentioned the collar being the source of the problem, but was there more?
"Yes sir… this is definitely a nanite infection. I have yet to puzzle out all the functions but I strongly believe the source of it is the collar. It seems to be rather ingenious… we really need a much higher level Technomancer to take a look at this. However, my preliminary analysis is that the collar acts as a housing for the nanites, keeping them energized so they can continue their work. The work itself is much easier to evaluate… they are constantly 'chewing' at the nanites of the Living Metal. The bubbling effect is from dead nanites." The Cryptek sounded deeply interested in the problem. "It seems to be calibrated perfectly to match her recovery systems, resulting in a constant nanite war… truly fascinating. If this were miscalibrated, her entire body would be torn to ribbons." The Cryptek paused for a moment. "That's why we need a great luminary of the Technomancers to take a look at this. I feel, very strongly, that it is booby trapped. I refuse to even attempt to remove it." Ah.
"I see… we will have to see if High Technomancer Ibianza is available," Manric said after a moment's thought. He glanced at Xahkephra. "She is Imotekh's daughter and has inherited his brilliance, in many ways." Where Imotekh was focused on war, though, she was focused on research. Manric was confident she would be able to fix this. Xahkephra nodded.
"Knowing the Maynarkh filth as I do, I agree that this collar is likely trapped. I am more than content to wait," she said. "I apologize for the smell, however."
"It cannot be helped… when you are absolutely certain there is no chance of infection, please send her to the fleet. My flagship, preferably." Of course, the Hope's Light might not be fully repaired. Manric felt a stab of sadness at the thought… he needed to get a Cairn class ship, if he was going to be doing things like this, but giving up the Hope's Light would hurt. At least it had survived this battle, if badly damaged. The Living Metal and attentions of the Crypteks would mend it.
That taken care of, Manric went to his next objective… talking to the surveyors and seeing the xenos native to this planet. A quick trip to the mountains and he was able to meet the pwi-necron named Valdar. The other one was not present, but with a very good reason.
"Casimir has gone with Horosska and a squad of Warriors to see if they can find anymore survivors hiding in the mountains." Ah, he had not thought of that! "We told at least one tribe to flee here, and perhaps others would have thought of it independently. Horosska is a war leader of this tribe, she volunteered to help try and coax them out, if they find anyone." Manric hoped they did find some other survivors.
"At least this alien race is in no danger of extinction," he said, reflecting on it. The Maynarkh would have gotten to the other continent in time but for now it was untouched, and had a decent population of the xenos. Valdar made glyphs of relief.
"The other continent? We hadn't finished our survey when our ship was taken, but that continent also has adamantium." Ah, did it! "Not as good as this deposit, but fairly good, and we also found a decent deposit of gold." That was always welcome. Manric sometimes thought gold was the strangest of things… a metal with virtually no real use aside from adornment, it was symbolic of wealth and the rarity of it made it perfect for currency. Yet, what real value did it have but beauty? There were some uses in technology but by this time, every one of them had been overtaken by other substances. Pulling his mind away from that strange conundrum, Manric focused on Valdar.
"Can you tell me precisely what happened?" Valdar ran through it with military precision and Manric was a bit aghast. A pirate king?! "What madness…" Although Manric absolutely saw how Ostos intended to do it. The little scout ship would be incredibly valuable to pirates, as it could boost into a system, take a quiet look around and boost out, almost certainly evading detection. The Imperium of Man was aware of the scout ships but even so, many of their colonies would just lack the technology to detect them. Other alien races would have no hope. And from owning an incredibly valuable resource, Ostos could wheel and deal and backstab his way to power among the pirates. Yes, it could be done.
It was still madness. Manric understood, intellectually, the mindset… Ostos clearly felt no real connection to Hope and he craved excitement and power. Yet, to pursue nothing else… it was an alien thing to Manric. Even most of the Death Seekers felt a connection to Hope, and were pleased that they could use their mental disorders in service to their people. To be so disconnected from everything was very strange.
"I'm really concerned about how he passed the tests. Sir, can a psychopath who knows a bit about psychology spoof the tests?" Valdar asked and Manric tilted his head at the thought. He knew exactly who to ask, though.
Diarmuid, I have a quick question for you. Can a psychopath with knowledge of psychology pretend to be normal on personality tests? Manric asked and received a very quick reply.
Oh yes, absolutely. I did it once myself. Really? That seemed out of character for him, Diarmuid was open about his mental disorders. You know I was damaged as a child… my grandparents were trying to fix me, the poor fools. After a while the psychiatrists realized it was hopeless and they were getting free help, so they started sending students. One year when I was becoming a man, they sent me such a nice, pretty girl… I started pretending she was helping me, because I just liked her. It was funny when the year was over and she left and a crusty old bastard went over my tests and looked me right in the eye and said "you were faking all this" and I cheerfully admitted I had. Ah, fun times… but why do you ask, sir?
It looks like the surveyor who stole the ship was a psychopath who fooled the tests. He seems to have an idea that he'll parley the vessel into becoming a pirate king. Manric wasn't sure he could pull it off, but it did seem like a fairly solid plan to him. Diarmuid sent back a glyph of admiration.
Quite a daring plan! If you catch him, give him to me sir, I'll make an honest man of him. Well, so to speak. Would that really be the punishment if they ever caught up with this Ostos? Conscription into the Death Seekers and the personal attentions of Diarmuid? Manric felt highly amused at the thought. Then he turned his attention back to Valdar, who had recognized he was conversing with someone and was patiently waiting.
"I just checked with a known psychopath, he says that is definitely possible." And if Diarmuid had done it as a child, this Ostos could certainly have pulled it off. "We might need to work on those…" Could necron technology be used? Manric didn't think they had technology to determine personality though. A mindshackle scarab COULD force the one being tested to answer truthfully, however. Manric put that aside – that was for Simokh – and looked at Valdar thoughtfully. "Did you want to come with us? We will be going to Hope, to take a wormhole to Zahndrekh." He was still stationed at Egg and Phoenix and that was also a designated wormhole terminus, with the buoys set up in system. "Or would you prefer to remain here? We could send a new survey ship to you, with a new third." Manric had a feeling they would prefer that.
"We would rather stay here, sir. This planet's survey wasn't done and also, I'm concerned about the Anaut… they might need help adapting to their new land. We're not xenologists but we've seen many worlds and it's like old Terra's Australia, so long cut off it has completely different species." Valdar shook his head. "It might be hard on them." Manric was fairly sure they would be fine – species at this technological level tended to be adaptable – but nodded.
"Just don't let them become dependant on you," he warned. Valdar nodded, but Manric was sure he'd thought of that… he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. As they spoke, Manric glanced towards the cave and saw little aliens peeping out at them, shy and curious. He thought they were rather pretty, with their green skin and beautiful head fronds. The too-wide mouths full of carnivorous teeth and reflective eyes were very alien, but that just made them interesting to him.
Alas, Manric had things to do that didn't involve the little xenos. Going back to the excavation site, Manric began sorting out what kind of garrison they would need to leave on this planet. Like the lunar base, this world was just too valuable to leave unattended but Manric hated leaving so many forces behind. Finally, he decided they would leave a picket of five ships and Yentark and his men. Perhaps instead of necrons holding this world, they would send humans from Hope? Well, he would leave that to Phaeron Rahkaak and the Charnovokh.
That wasn't really his business. His work here was done.
