THE UNDEFEATED
Site of the Heretic Fleet Wreckage
Tags: Kathrok | Ostak Cl'mana
The dim-hued light of the work-lamp played on the exposed flesh of Tathra's right arm, clasped in his left palm. The wounds from Galak's ice-gun hadn't fully healed, leaving scars like drilling holes in the side of his wrist and elbow. His eyes wandered back to the work in the process engine. Ardak had fared better than Kardun, but not by much. Ardak became the main base of operations for the Heretic forces under Galak's leadership during the civil war. They had already partially converted to ships with standard galactic technology when the Warmind attacked, taking over the Drael technology - leaving them with far more ships than the Loyalists under his command for some time. When he and the others escaped Kardun in a drop pod from a crashed Carrier, they had all expected to find working vessels in the facilities left behind. But that was not the case, the destruction of Kardun and the fleets above had wrought havoc on the neighbouring moons as well.
Ardak was a wasteland. Pilfered by debris and bodies during the destruction of the Warmind. That was his one solace, whatever Drek'ma had became, it died at the end of war. They had saved the Galactic Empire of the Drael from the horrors it unleashed upon both sides of the conflict. The Titan rose, finishing the application of the bandages around his right wrist - settling into a knelt position opposite his tools. He had been the only one of the survivors he'd come into contact with with knowledge of the ships used by the Heretics. It was an older design, a Striker Shard utilised before the time of the Ish'makra and the Seers. A compact fighter once used by the Zealots of the Draelvasier.
How ironic.
He almost snorted, feeling the growling frustration with his old protege still lingering in his chest. Galak had fought so very hard to build the Empire alongside Tathra, only to turn around and exceed all previous expectations, furiously trying to tear it down. He often wondered if Osam would've stood alongside Galak or himself. He played over that last battle in his head a dozen times a day, sometimes with his Axe. The battle lasted far longer in his mind if he had still had the Axe. A snap brought him back to reality as the wrench in hand was bent awkwardly, tugging on the manifold. A low growl escaped him, setting aside the broken wrench as he accessed the damage he'd caused. They were almost finished, when Kathrok returned with the capacitor, Tathra would be able to start feeding fuel into the engine and test the ship's other systems. His hands were as steady as he could manage, reconnecting the wiring of the main console to the systems diagnostic servers throughout the ship. Knowing where the problems were, would get things moving along a lot faster. It would also help if he could stop making mistakes like this.
He knew the others were equally as eager to return to Drael space. The first time, for Kathrok. It had been nearly a decade, but he believed in the strength of those whom had been left behind. Guilt was useless, he would set things right upon his return. That was all Tathra could hope for.
Scrapping sounds echoed over the hull of the modified Striker. Was it friend or foe?