The Taskmaster's shuttle descended from Argovia's clear skies, streaking toward the swampy surface, and a dozen more followed it. Some were full of warriors, Mawites disciplined enough to stand guard for long periods without getting bored and brawling with one another. Others held equipment, all of the supplies and electronics they would need to restore long-neglected electrical systems and hack into ancient security and comms systems. Still others were packed to the bulkheads with
Drudges, standing room only. The glassy-eyed biological drones stared straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking, unfeeling.
After pressing so many slaves into combat duty, this was the available labor force.
The shuttles set down, each one sinking a little lower than anticipated as its landing struts
squelched into the swampy muck of Argovia's surface. The loading ramp unfurled, and Tu'teggacha and his bodyguards stepped out, surveying the scene. Rising up before them was the dark bulk of the old Imperial outpost - a relic from the
first Galactic Empire, established more than eight centuries ago, rather than any of its many successors and imitators. The place was heavily overgrown, the flora of the surrounding marshland growing over the walls and up through the foundations, cracking the duracrete.
Even so, it was
shockingly intact for a structure of its age.
The Taskmaster sighed, a sound like swamp gas bubbles rising to the surface of a murky lake, as he took in the sight. It was going to be a
tremendous amount of work to get this place up and running, and they were on a tight schedule to do it. Making the entire thing feel even more burdensome and futile was the fact that they'd have to abandon it when they were done. Argovia was much too far from their territory, and much too close to that of the hostile Enclave, to ever actually
hold. It was only a temporary stepping stone, a navigational aid on the route to Rothana, were the Maw would seize much-needed supplies.
Tu'teggacha would much rather be in Argovas City, rounding up new slaves from the population of criminals and lowlifes. To watch the hope fade from the eyes of the enslaved, to feel his power over their petty little existences, was one of the great joys of the Ebruchi's life; it reminded him that
he was no longer small and weak and subject to others' whims. In this galaxy you were either victim or victimizer, and he had chosen the latter as soon as he was able. Unfortunately, he was needed here, to oversee the reactivation of the nav beacons. It was a complex task, requiring a logistical mastermind to efficiently complete.
He would just have to play with the new slaves when he got home.
"Unload those supplies," the Taskmaster ordered a gaggle of Drudges, who had been standing in near-perfect stillness in the absence of orders. He turned and pointed at another knot of the purpose-built labor slaves.
"Clear the foliage around the entrance." Both groups obeyed in eerie silence. They lacked mouths, for why would they ever need to speak? Obedience was the entire reason for their existence. Of course, their simple-mindedness meant that they needed oversight; they had extremely limited problem-solving ability, and had to be walked through complex or open-ended tasks step by step.
"Fan out and keep an eye on them," Tu'teggacha told his warriors.
There was no telling what might lurk in the complex...
... or how soon the Enclave would find them.
