A Spiritual Return {Abrion Systems Authority}

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Zenith Prime had, at one time, been the heart of the Confederacy's military power. The space lanes connecting outward with the galaxy had pumped its lifeblood in the form of capital ships, soldiers, droids, and exotic animals for years. Its capital, Fort Tal'verda, had always been bustling with new arrivals and screaming deck Sergeants. The Templar Order had trained and meditated in the tranquil groves below the southern equator, and the Dreadguard had practiced the art of war above and below the world's crust.

In its heyday, the planet had truly been a remarkable sight to see.

Now, however, it had fallen into only what one could call a state of disrepair. The massive shipyards orbiting the fortress world ebbed with only the slightest signs of life as tiny shuttles moved to and fro. Many soldiers had deserted or outright committed treason after the disaster that was Drunkenwell. While the planet was still under the Abrion Systems Authority, a re-branding of the Confederacy if nothing else, it was nowhere near as powerful as it had once been.

Where thousands of vessels had filled the planet's glowing skies like a swarm of multicolored fireflies; only the empty visage of open space remained, save for the the faintest twinkle of distant stars. Where families and soldiers alike had inhabited the many different environments the world hosted; only the local fauna remained. Fort Tal'verda and some of the underground facilities remained alive and well, as they were necessary to keep the artificial world from crumbling in on itself, but the rest of the modifiable world remained barren of sentient life.

It was this that made the return of the Ge'hutuun such a surprise. The warship, an old San-Hill Star Destroyer, had last been seen under the command of Grand Marshal Calico Tal'verda before his desertion. It had disappeared into the stars, seemingly never to emerge again, until now.

The massive ship drifted idly just out of Zenith Prime's orbit. Scorch marks marred its once pristine gray hull. The green paint lines running down its length were chipped and worn from debris. Three engines on its aft end were nothing more than twisted metal wrecks, and the bridge jutting a hundred or so meters above the main body looked ready to detach all together. A massive chunk had been taken out of its main elevator, and crippled it in the process.

Lifeless, it loomed over the world. The hanger doors were empty and open, and the faintest of yellow light could occasionally be seen scurrying about its dim insides. Deep inside, in the darkest part of the ship's belly, a single body stirred.

His gray eyes shot open and flickered with terror. His lips parted to scream, but all that broke free was a dry hiss. The cold, thorned appendage jabbed into his abdomen once more, and his head lolled back against the table he had been strapped to. Then, all was darkness, and the only sign of life aboard the Ge'hutuun resumed his slumber.

 

[Neskar A'toll]

It was never easy. Trudging a silent tread through the wreckage of the former military hub, Neskar glared around every corner, though there was always nothing there. Countless miles upon miles upon dozens of miles of barren former living quarters, which through only wind blew, and him. All steps make a thundering noise amidst the silence and sent shivers down his spines.

Do not fear. Fear is the mind killer. The job was all there was, and he dared not err on his duty; to retrieve a valuable artefact of the now dissolved CIS. It was somewhere. Neskar did not know exactly. Energy signatures placed it some four clicks north. His ship was some twenty away, out of the range of the still operable guns of the grand fortress that lay some distance ahead. What was it called? Tal'verda? The name burnt a furious hole in his soul. The reminder of a failure, constant. But soon, it would be fulfilled. He swore. In truth, it was why he was on Zenith Prime, former home of the Dreadguard, the rogue organisation of clones he had been hired to wipe out. Neskar had failed in that. The leaders still roamed, though Neskar had still purged some subordinates he had tracked down and executed. He never forgot a bounty, and never gave up a grudge.

His gauntlet bleeped. It was a hollow noise, sounding resoundingly off of the empty buildings. Glaring down at it, he analysed the data on the small screen. Large ship in orbit. Wasn't there when he came. Unfortunate. He went to walk off, then did a double take. At once, he took a small datapad, connecting to his ship. Peculiar. The ship had no signs of life. Had he simply not noticed it? If anything, it intrigued him. Frowning, he decided to fetch the artefact, then sharply return to his ship and investigate this anomaly.

[member="Gravesen Conclave"]

 

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The Ge'hutuun seemed to sing across multiple comm channels associated with the former Confederacy Fleet. The obsolete lines of communication buzzed with a metallic screech, so high that it would pain any normal human or otherwise unfortunate enough to hear it. Then, it began to play over local emergency channels, and so forth. The soldiers below certainly heard the noise, and ha quite likely recognized the ghost ship. They, however, did not have the resources to mount any sort of investigation at the moment.

The massive warship came to life. Lights flickered across its surface, and the two remaining engines roared in the silence of space. Its subtle orbit around the fortress world ceased, and it simply hung there, waiting. The hanger doors lit up as well; bright pale light that seeped out into the dark void of space. Within, the hanger was completely barren, save for a number of massive red arrows pointing toward the central corridor leading further within.

The ship's stewards huddled around the pale body of their most recent chosen. Chrome limbs and bright yellow eyes regarded the man with subtle curiosity. One would come to see their prize, eventually. Until then they would wait; patient as ever.

[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

His helmet screamed. A metallic screech roared from his comma, and in an instant, he had ripped it off and hurled it to the ground, scowling at the erupting helm. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He growled, crouching next to the helmet and thrusting a hand inside it, gripping the communication outlet and tearing it asunder. The screech ceased, but his frown did not. This incident had irritated him. It was now obvious that the not so lifeless ship had something on it. Neskar clutched the precious artefact at his side, then slowly slipped it into his satchel. No losing that, for certain, else the trip would've been mostly worthless. The reward from this job was lucrative and would hopefully open up future interests. Therefore it was a useful incentive for turning up in the first place, despite there being an inherent lack of anything with a certain vice.

It was high time for getting back to his ship and pursuing the possibility of investigating the large warship in orbit. His ship was some trek away. He grunted. Doubting that the soldiers cared that much about him being there, he leant down and retrieved his helmet. Sharply fixing it back into place, Neskar swiftly activated his jetpack and lifted sharply into the air. Glaring downwards, nothing seemed to had pursued him, missile or even a stalking spacecraft.

With smooth sailing back to his own craft, Neskar landed neatly some ten metres from the cargo bay door, tapping a button on his gauntlet which forced a hissing steam to erupt from the crevices of the door, releasing its hinges and lowering it rapidly. Ascending with thunderous footsteps, his anger grew. Sending that venomous screeching down CIS only lines had frustrated him greatly, and first and foremost, he wanted to find out why.

Making his way to the cockpit, he sat and tapped the autopilot button. He couldn't abide flying himself most of the time. Too plebbish. The ship rose with thunderous jets erupting from the thrusters and propelling itself fiercely towards the outer atmosphere.

Soon. He had to find out. He hated leaving things unfinished. Despised it. A job that would not done is a job would not worth starting. Soon.

[member="Gravesen Conclave"]

 

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Ah, there it was. A responder, and a single ship nonetheless. Things could not have been any more perfect. Silently, the caretakers wheeled their unconscious prize down the empty, dead hallways. Lights flickered in their dying throes and cast ghostly pale light across the metallic surfaces of those who populated this ship. The man twisted around in his mental stupor; kept from falling by thin metal wires tied to his pale wrists.

The Ge'hutuun itself flashed wildly as the hunter's ship approached, as if it was pleased with this turning of events. All the hanger doors suddenly shut, save for that single, empty, illuminated fighter bay in its very center. The corridors adjacent to it led directly into the San-Hill's belly and to whatever awaited the hunter within. Whether that be profit, or something far more sinister remained to be seen.

The cannons jutting from the craft's durasteel skin all turned to point inward. Any sign of hostility had evaporated as the ship began its approach.

They would see this go perfectly. There were no further alternatives.

[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

The ship was immense. Colossal, it floated almost inoperable in steady orbit above the planet. Neskar wondered how it was even still intact. All lights flickered and died, apart from a single one.

"Ominous. My kinda thing. Autopilot, send us in. And cut the crap, this seriousness is giving me a migraine.

His ship whirred and slowly manoeuvered towards the only available receptacle; a small fighter bay. Neskar frowned, and walked into the innards of the ship towards the armoury. He refused to go in unprepared. Despite what the readings said, it was unlikely the ship was completely dead, and Neskar wanted to be sure he was ready to make it dead if the need came up.

A thud and a beep affirmed his suspicions they had arrived. "I feel a strange sense of dread. Huh. Nothing permanent, I guess." He gripped the last of his weaponry and moved to the cargo bay. He was ready. Gorgon Net Rifle. CZ-836 assault, his trusty companion. A shotgun, numerous grenades and a decent sized launcher to shoot explosive canisters from. Surrounded in deadly attire, he strolled towards the descending cargo bay. He walked down slowly, cautious.

"I regret everything." He said a final time as he stepped into the hanger, and waited for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. Not that was much, space is a vacuum and all that.



[member="Gravesen Conclave"]

 

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The sound of Neskar's boots thudding against the aged durasteel seemed to almost excite the ship. Twisted metal stretched and strained further down the Star Destroyer's innards, and the effected pieces seemed to scream throughout the hull.

The sound of steel grinding agains steel was almost as bad as the signal sent out before, and then, it was gone. In its place was a rhythmic tapping not unlike the sound of a pen being tapped against a school desk.

The sound was loud and periodic; even calculated if one were to listen closely. The lights in the hanger suddenly died, and cast the empty room in inky blackness. The faint light given from the stars outside faded as well as the hanger bulkhead sealed shut.

All that could be heard was that tapping. Slow, periodic, and predatory in nature. Suddenly, at the mouth of the corridor, four bright orange lights flashed vibrantly.


"Good day, human." The lights spoke in a calm, inorganic voice. "Welcome aboard the Ge'hutuun."




[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

Lights. Neskar frowned beneath his helmet, keeping his stoic facade. He hadn't expected that. What was he getting into? The ship had crashed and ground against itself terribly, so much that Neskar was certain it was going to tear itself apart. Luckily, it had not. The tapping had then begun, dull, monotonous, repetitive to the very second.

Keeping a foul scowl on his face, he glared at the arrangement of lights. The hanger had closed. For now, he was trapped. Lights, darkened, blackened, all there was were the dim light at the end of the corridor, and the orange lights.

"Ge'hutuun? That's what you call this rust bucket? Well. Who the hell do you think you are, sending messages down private channels? But I'm guessing you wanted someone to come up here." He chuckled. "Well, you got me. I'm interested. Spill."

[member="Gravesen Conclave"]

 

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"The previous harbinger named the ship. Not I." The voice stated matter-of-factly.


The tapping began again, louder and urgent. With it, the light began to move quickly toward the hunter; never wavering in the absolute darkness. As they drew closer, the lights flashed to a vibrant shade of emerald. These lights then grew stronger, and cast an eerie green light around a spider-like shape.

The lights were photoreceptors, and the voice, that of a droid's. before the hunter stood a spider droid a meter and a half so tall. The four green lights dotted its headpiece; a tiny bump on the crest of its bulwark.


The durasteel that lined its ancient body was pristine and well kept. Two mandibles protruded just below the head, and twitched about as it spoke.

"I am the Monitor. The Ge'hutuun was the ship of the former Harbinger, Zenith Prome his home, and the Confederacy the fires that forged him." The spider droid rose up a foot or so on six elegant legs.
"He has fulfilled his purpose, and another has been chosen. You have been chosen to retrieve him."


The droid then settled back down to its previous height. It turned partway toward the dimly lit corridor it had come from, and spoke one final time.


"Verd is out of power, as planned. This is good. The Omega Protectorate's assault was not planned. Our chosen people have faltered, this must be remedied." The Monitor then turned fully toward the door, and began to tap its way there; glowing like a green beacon all the while.

"Come."


[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

He was never one for Destiny. He cared little for delicately crafted prophecy, the wishes of Gods did not affect him. However, for some strange reason, he felt compelled to follow. The words the droid spoke intrigued him further. It was a small thing, coming up to his midriff, though it had the ability to rise and glare Neskar in the eye. Neskar could not make out the droid's age, though the chassis seemed aged, the durasteel exoskeleton was pristine. That also intrigued him. How could a droid keep in power for so long, on a ship like this? Questions had to be asked, though Neskar refused to show himself as a lackwit.

"The Confederacy? Huh. May be that I knew your last... 'harbinger'." He looked down at the droid, his voice echoing out from his helmet, keeping a certain raspy quality. The speaker was aged, he didn't care much for it, and it showed.

"And.. your plan? I don't see how the ASA come into it. Unless you got some other kind of chosen people." Neskar frowned. Retrieve him? He cursed internally. What had he gotten into? There better had be a suitable reward at the end of this.

"If what you're saying is true, then we best get a move on." He stalked after the droid, keeping a wary glare on it at all times. The green light illuminated his armour, giving it an emerald glow. Apart from that, it was dark. Too dark. Was the ship running out of power? He frowned again. Whoever built this ship had intended it to last. It was a colossal warship, countless guns covered it, and Neskar wondered how it had gotten to the state it was in. He assumed he would find out soon. For now, this droid held the answers, whether he liked it or not.

[member="Monitor"]

 

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The droid did not slow its pace as they traveled into the innards of the ship. Unlike the outer hull, and even the hanger, the silver hallway leading within was utterly pristine. The lights above clicked alive with each step the Monitor took; diminishing its emerald glow and giving [member="Neskar A'toll"] some room to see. The Monitor did not respond for what would have been an uncomfortably long moment between organics, and only spoke when they came to a four way intersection.

"Perhaps. He is no longer relevant--such is the way of things." The droid quipped it took a sharp right down the hall, and the sound of generators thrumming with power came from the eastern wall.

"The Confederacy was what we had chosen initially. Were it not for Verd's stupidity, it would have stood as the sole galactic power. His lust and lack of self-control caused all of these failures." The Monitor continued. The droid's formerly monotone voice was laced with disappointment now. They came to a massive set of doors, and the Monitor stopped.

"However, Norongachi shows aptitude, and it is time the Architects publicly showed where our support lay....we seek to assist the Confederacy's new incarnation, as will the Harbinger and his companions."

The twin doors hissed open as pressure built within them. Mist flowed from the room the moment the doors parted, and the scent of burning ozone and copper filled the air. Four droids, identical to the Monitor save for white chassis turned to greet the duo. Bacta tanks lined the walls; along with brightly lit terminals and medical supplies of every kind. In the center of the room sat a single durasteel table. A metal casing had been placed over it, effectively hiding whatever lay underneath.

"You are a hunter, or a scavenger yes? The Harbinger will pay your fee if you deliver him to your leader as asked."


[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

"A hunter? Yeah, you could say. So... you want your man to get to Norongachi? Hmm. I'll do it."

Neskar strolled through the twin steel door, wading through the low mist, which, upon making contact with his armour, condensed due to the heat inside the armour. It left droplets of age old water lathered on his greaves and boots, and Neskar glared through the visor of his helmet at the equipment, almost as if he was eyeing them up to gauge their worth. The four similar droids skittered around on the metallic floor, recreating the same methodical tapping, which was truly getting on his nerves a tad.

Neskar halted upon seeing the steel sarcophagus in the centre of the room. Attempting to keep his suspicions at bay, he simply stood there and nodded once.

"So, is your harbinger in there? Hmm." He scowled again. What was he getting into? This stuff about chosen people made his head spin, yeah, the ASA weren't terrible, but...

"Ready when you are." He said finally. For some reason, the name of the ship intrigued him. Ge'hutuun. That was Mando'a, he was certain. The talk of the previous 'harbinger' caused him suspicion. Who was this figure? Neskar assumed he must've heard of him. Tal'verda. Ge'hutuun. Zenith Prime. It all fitted together...

[member="Monitor"]

 

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The Monitor seemed more than please at this. The droid rose up to his full height once more, and made a series of loud beeps and clicks at its comrades. The pale droids all stopped at once, squelched something in their garbled language, and bowed their durasteel heads.


"Deliver the Harbinger to the planet. Do not remove him from his casing until arrival. Leave him with instructions to speak to Norongachi." The monitor began. "Then, you will receive a handsome payment, Hunter."


The underlings began to scurry about the large room; making it feel far more cramped than it truly was. Two of the droids place themselves on either sides of the case, and hefted it over their heads with unsettling strength.

""Once the Harbinger completes the tasks we have given him, we will reveal ourselves to the chosen people. Then, all will be well."

It fell silent then. The droid hasn't even asked for the Hunter's name--it didn't need it. There were ways of tracking an individual when your engineers had full access to their ship for some time.

The two droids began to move the casket, and the faintest glimmer of life within could be seen. A pale, tatooed face, and nothing more. The droids strode past, toward the hunter's ship.

"It is always satisfying to have no chance of risk in a move. Always."





[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

"Take him to Salem? Easy enough. Could say it sounds too good to be true, but I'm not the suspicious type."

Neskar stood as the droids skittered by, carrying the metallic container. Swiftly following them, he noted the strength of the droids, despite their slim size. The origins of the droids were unclear. He could not make out the architecture, they seemed... strange. It would do him well to keep on his guard.

"What if your harbinger fails? You stay here until you find another?"

The pale face. What was it? It was a person, for sure. Zabrak? Ratattaki? Strange. This was something more than him. Neskar, a bounty hunter, barely a warrior, come a remote planet to fetch an artefact, now he was playing chauffeur to a sleeping man.

[member="Monitor"]

 

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The Monitor said nothing as they came closer to the hunter's ship. The outer doors had been opened, and the dull light of Zenith Prime's impressive shipyards seeped through the open doors and cast an amber glow over the room. The four lesser droids continued on toward the ship, but the Monitor stopped.


"Not to Norongachi, near him. Drop the Harbinger into a forest, or another environment out of civilization. He must approach Salem himself, and Norongachi must not know he is the Harbinger until we make our appearance." The droid fell silent for a moment, and rose to its full height. "Norongachi must now know it was you who delivered the Harbinger. You will be paid for your silence."

With that, the Monitor made its way toward the ship. The droids hadn't taken the liberty of waiting for [member="Neskar A'toll"] to give them permission. They were already loading the coffin. "The Harbinger will not fail. We have calculated things perfectly. On the off chance that he is lost, then we will restore the position."

The Monitor turned to face Neskar, and a small surgical had had erupted from its chassis. A credit chip of a sizable denomination; five zeros behind a four, was thrust toward him. "There is nothing more to speak of."

 

[Neskar A'toll]

He looked down at the monitor, considering his words. Close. Not to Salem. Close. Off planet? Unlikely. On Roon then. It was good enough. Neskar wasn't sure if Norongachi was always there, but if their harbinger was as useful as they implied, he would find a way. All Neskar were was the courier. The difficulty was getting there. Roon was shrouded in mystery, incredibly difficult to reach without the correct codes. He had them, of course, as one of the ASA, but it would still be difficult. Nothing he couldn't crack. There were forests on Roon.

Neskar glared up at his ship. The coffin was already in there. He felt unease in his gut, but he chose to ignore it. Shaking his head, he looked back at the droid. He took the chip, examining it. A four with five zeros.

"I expect further payment." He gave a final, almost withering look at the droid, then marched onto his ship, almost expecting the droid to call him back. Besides, they still had to lift the hanger doors.

The coffin was fixed in the cargo bay, strapped and prepared. It was unlikely to fall apart, at least. Coordinates to Roon. He grimaced. It would be a voyage. Tapping a button, the cargo bay door rose, sealing with a hiss. Neskar strolled into the cockpit, leant back on a chair and waited. He took the liberty of removing his helmet. Sighing, he lusted for alcohol. Soon.

[member="Monitor"]

 

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And thus, the wheels began to turn. With the Architects return into known space, and their soon-to-be Alliance with the ASA, things would begin to change. The Monitor would finally have the means to unite what needed to be united, and burn the unworthy. He had watched from afar for centuries. Now, it was time to act.

"Upon arrival." The droid assured.

The Monitor made its way back toward the corridor it had come from, and the outer hanger doors opened in unison. This would be remembered as a glorious day; a turning point in galactic history. For the first time in a thousand years, the Monitor felt pride swell up in its still beating, organic heart.

[member="Neskar A'toll"]

 

[Neskar A'toll]

A single tap of the controls kickstarted the thrusters, lifting the spacecraft some dozen metres into the air. As the hanger doors slowly slid apart, revealing the grand recesses of space, the planet of Zenith Prime was laid bare, directly in front of him. All the time, the objective rang true in his head.

'Deliver the Harbinger to the planet.'

Seemed easy enough, Neskar mused as he tapped a second, more round button, forcing the ships autopilot to grasp onto command. Rumbling with sudden bursts of engine thrust, the elegant ship scooted out of the hanger, then directly applied thrust until it was miles clear. The ship then activated its hyperspace drive, accelerating the craft to beyond the speed of light, speeding out of the system of Zenith Prime.

Neskar sat in the armoury, not far from the cargo bay, and examined the artefact he recovered. He would have to make a small stop on the way to Roon, to deliver the artefact to a certain crimelord. Allowing a smile to creep onto his face, for once, he felt content. Roon was a week's travel away. Soon they would be there, and Neskar could finally offload this precious cargo. The feeling of unease refused to allow him to be settled. Yes, it would be ill if that thing rose whilst they were travelling, very ill indeed.

[member="Monitor"]