Log:First Order: Agent: Missing: Part 2
In to the desert.
OOC Date: February 12, 2019
Location: Draxon IV
Participants: GM: Artemis, First Order: Hadrix Rol, Oran Arcantael, Drath, and Saanvi
Draxon IV. Within the laboratory of one Doctor Plag who has exited stage left and announced that the shuttle the group arrived on, and was to leave on, was to be destroyed prior to the departure of staff and whatever other gear they had managed to pack up until that point. Turbo laser fire, rocket-powered lifters, and explosions have followed. The group now faces off against mercenaries and several turret fixtures.
A volley of shots from all parties, mostly haphazard and scattered in the sea of plasma-infused flame and the confusion of explosions heard outside of the doors. One of the bolts finds a target: the combat medic who may be best equipped of all to handle the scorch mark spidering along her right shoulder. Hiram pads at his armor, pulling away burning fabric and flesh in equal measure as he curses up a storm.
Snarling as blaster fire continues to fill the air between troopers and Mercs, Hadrix does what Hadrix does best. <<"Ninety-One, tend to the injured, we will need to find alternate ex-fil!">> Snarling beneath his helmet, he vaults debris and hoses down Hiram once again, spraying liquid fire all over the man, wreathing his armor in a devilish glow. <<"Focus fire, single targets.">>. The big trooper looks to Kiky again, pilot light flaring on the flamer, <<"Unless they surrender...">>
Saanvi is down having sustained not one but two shots. Hastily trying to scoot towards anything towards cover with one hand helping to move her and the other keeping up firing in desperate bid to provide herself cover.
Drath nods to Hadrix, raising his weapon again as Saanvi gets hit, then returns fire at another of the mercs. His outer comms switch on, and a battle cry of sorts goes out as he opens fire and hits Kin-Wan Marnel in the head, misting the mercenary over the area behind him as he starts to move back towards the door they came in. <> he calls back over the comms to Hadrix, though his movements suggest he considers the exit door the possible location of egress for this particular fight. Where else would they go?
The turrets whir and seek targets based on some algorithm's logic but there's something wrong with the way they've been installed or perhaps the rain of scorched flesh is sending their sensors about. They find nothing but the walls as they unleash a volley.
Oran's carefully maintained tower of telekinetic tables dissolves, eventually - sadly - under mercenary fire, and the protection they provided is gone in so many splinters. The dark-clad man hisses in pain and stumbles as he takes a shot to the right leg shortly after, and repays the favor with a snapped neck to an unlucky mercenary. "Destroyed, what do you mean, /destroyed/? Already?"
Hiram's scream pierces with a clarion force, matched in its unsettling nature only in the way that the mercenary's flesh seems to liquify and slough off like a blister torn off of one's palm. It is a mercifully short lived sound that's quickly replaced with a gurgling noise and the acrid, succulently sweet scent of cooked humanoid meat. The remnants continue to smolder as he collapses in to a heap with a crunch of plate and the jingle of spare ammunition on his bandolier.
Saanvi's shots find purchase in the center of Kin-Wan's mass, knocking aside plates and bruising the man's musculature underneath. He grits his teeth in a hard-formed smile, crimson lining each startingly white tooth until Drath's pinpoint shot turns his skull into a smear.
Votino is victimized at the phantasmal hands of Oran's will. His body succumbs to gravity's pull and folds to his side.
Kiky, Rine, and Talan all eye each other and pull in to a tight formation, backing towards the large blast door that Dr. Plag had vanished behind mere moments before. Eyes wide, teeth grinding, and weapons firing, they slowly retreat. Most of the group focus on the trooper wielding fire: the glow of plasma beckoning their shots like a moth to the flame, but Kiky deviates and her volley crunches in to the plastoid composite covering Drath's chest.
<<"I didn't mean our ship, Ninety-One, I meant one they'll have here">> Hadrix growls as he sees weaponsfire zero in on Drath, while other shots seer past him, warming his hip and melting into the floor by his foot. Ducking into a combat charge, the big trooper's flamer continues to belch fire, tracing heat-shimmers and irridecent colors like a star spraying solar flares. Externals kicking on he snarls aloud, "Throw down your weapons, or we will kill you!" feet planted as he throws plasma onto his first target, flesh and plastoid armor running like candlewax in the heat.
Saanvi stops her firing when Hadrix issues his demand but her weapon remains lifted. Her other hand yanks open a med pack andtugs out sterile gauze to hold against her side to apply pressure in a bid to staunch the bleeding. Her complexion pale and expression draw into a grimace.
Drath grunts as he's hit, sending the right side of his body back as the plasma melts his chest plate and scars at the flesh beneath it. The mercs are going down fast, getting defensive, and so he raises his rifle again, hitting the injured Talan Truden in the chest and sending them down as well. <<Let's hope they have a transport outside then.>> he notes, as he steps up next to Saanvi and steps himself in front of the medic as she goes about bandaging her own wounds.
Oran dodges fire like a man performing choreography of the interpretive dance 'Alone With the Empty Space Where My Conscience Used to Be', and reaches toward Rine Morituri with a thoughtless gesture that ends her career as a freelance suspicious science station security officer. "Worst case scenario, we have to stay here on Draxon IV until someone comes to get us," Oran grumbles. "The Order knows we're here, they're not just going to shrug and leave us in the sand. It might just... take a while."
Kiky does not have an opportunity to express her agony in quite the same way as Hiram as the air is swallowed by fire long before her lungs get the chance to draw a breath to form sound. She passes out from shock, eyes bursting and skin drenched in flaming fuel now fused with the misshapen metal of her armor.
Drath's shots are efficient, crunching hard in to the Rodian's already wounded chest. The trauma proves too much as blaster fire spills his organs out on to the ground, the abdominal wall no longer able to resist the yawning pressure of bruised tissue.
Oran does strange things, and much like the reaction any rational individual would have witnessing the Knights' dance routine, Rine's life ends with a spontaneous twist of her head a little too far to one side.
The organic foes down, and now only the turrets, Hadrix continues to press the firing stud of his flamer. He is quiet again, focused on his work, the design of his helmet cooling the air he is breathing to keep from seering his own lungs. <<"Lord Oran... Can you open the doors to the lab? We can hold him, you can strike...">> Spray, spray the flame. It's precisely a reverse form of extinguisher... for obvious reasons.
Saanvi gets something in place to stop the bleeding from one wound. She pauses to take a swig from her canteen and then begins tending to her wounded leg, stopping the bleeding and manufacturering a makeshift splint to help her with mobility.
Keeping himself between Saanvi and the only remaining enemies, that happens to be the turrets, he seems to prefer keeping the medic safe while she tends to her won wounds to moving to a more defensible position. One turret pops, and he opens fire at another, missing it and hitting the durasteel wall behind it, likely due to favoring the side of his chest he'd been hit on. The suggestion from Hadrix meets a grunt of general approval, but otherwise he's currently standing in the way of that blaster fire and Saanvi.
Oran leans back against the nearest wall with a light thud and looks at his bleeding leg. Oww, he got SHOT, it's terrible, this is so off brand for him. A turret fires, he leans, the other one fires, he leans the other way, and manages not to get hit again, mightily does the machinery try. He reaches out to snap one into sparking salvage, then raises a brow at Hadrix. "Possibly, after the turrets are no longer a distraction. The power is infinite. My command of it is not. In any event, /if/ I can open a door, I may not be able to do anything else if the nature of doing it requires sustained holding it open. Medic, situation report regarding everyone's injured status, please?"
The casing on a turret curls in on itself as Hadrix tests his weapon's mettle against metal, finding that the make of the automated weapon is mediocre at best and ill suited to standing up to the molten temperature. Another turret implodes under the force of Oran's will in a tableau of the dichotomy of stature versus mind over matter.
Mindlessly, the turrets continue to fire back. Their screeching, rhythmic blasts are the only remaining noise save for the air exchanger in the corner of the room continuing to manage the humidity and temperature levels of the domed foyer.
Pivoting in place, Hadrix turns towards the turret in line with his most recent target. Watching smoke and ignited blaster fuel chuffing out in dull thumps of released pressure before he spews flame at one more turret. He wastes no time on growling, shouting, or other declarations of his fury. He wants Plaq, or Plag, or Playg - wierd stretchy neck non-human whom he is not a fan of.
Saanvi looks up from her own work as she gets the splent strapped into place but does not yet move to rise "I have ceased the bleeding of my own wounds but my ability to bee ambulatory is limited. Prognosis of survival is good. Ninty one sustains an untreated Prosterior wound. With treatment prognosis is good. You have sustained a wound which while not life threatening limits your ability too be ambulatory. Your prognosis is good. Reccomended triage order in order of severity of wounds: Drath then you."
Drath snorts softly in his helmet, accidentally sending that over the comms, but then promptly shutting them off afterward. Another round of fire is aimed at the turret, and another round of fire misses. It's almost like he's trying to lead an enemy that is stationary, considering he was hitting the moving targets quite a bit easier earlier.
Oran puts the last turret out of Drath's misery by breaking it like a child careless with a toy. A weird, creepy, telekinetic child with a murder toy, but the analogy stands. "Treat Drath. Don't worry about me," he informs the medic after listening to her report, then pushes away from the wall. "The scientist is in this interior room with an unknown number of hostiles, points of egress from said interior space are unknown, and the state of our transport off-world is unknown. Given the Faust's... reaction here, we can likely surmise that these fools do have something to do with our missing Agent, something they're in a hurry to get off-world, something they obviously don't want discovered. Correct?"
Silence then as the turrets are either melted back to their constituent parts or compacted like beverage cans. The pilot light of Hadrix's flame rifle whispers and flickers with unspoken hunger. The air exchanger hums quietly no worse for wear despite having its cover ripped off to block blaster fire by the creative Knight. There is no grumbling, gutteral rumble of rockets, no mounted installation fire, nor chatter over the intercom.
Behind the group, a closed door to the airlock behind them. At their fore, the large blast door that Doctor Plag, the Faust, had so rudely disappeared behind at the Knight's suggestion that he accompany them in to the desert. Around them, the dome lingers: its durasteel shell the only thing keeping the crew free of the oppressive heat of the magnetically charged, and obnoxiously bright, surface of Draxon IV.
Slinging his flamer and drawing his vibrosword, Hadrix looks about the room. He's not in charge, he's just waiting to be pointed in the next direction, at the next obstacle. Plus he's got a sword to kill people with. How wierd is that?
Saanvi holsters her weapon and struggles to her feet with a pained grunt and much graceless flailing. She manages to right herself and taps Drath's shoulder, "Permit me to treat your wound." it isn't a request.
Drath lowers his weapon slightly as the final turret is disposed of, though he keeps it in a ready stance. Giving a nod to Oran, he turns back towards Saanvi, then slings his rifle so she can have access to the burned out plastoid overing a part of his chest. It's a bit of a pain, naturally, but that's why they have a medic! <<Standing by.>> he announces for the others.
"Resounding silence, thank you," Oran dryly replies to Hadrix and Drath's readiness to await orders. Saanvi gets off the hook, she was bullying a patient. "Very well, we'll try it. If this doesn't work, we're going to have to explore other alternatives, such as finessing the locking mechanism through computer use, or..." vague gesture, "Explosives." Vanguard finesse. "Please stand ready in the event that I don't fail to open this infernal door." He raises his hands.
The doorway strains against Oran's command, reality attempting to cement the rules that govern most things: gravity, mass, the mechanism that keeps the door shut until otherwise directed by the rail system by which it falls in to place. But the Knight prevails and bit by bit, with a banshee's shriek of protest, the doorway lifts as a curtain might to reveal the scene behind. Hot air rushes in as the desert greets the onlookers. Where there was once a room with lab equipment, now a duracrete pad sits scorched from obvious rocket burns. The immediate view is sparse, flattened spaces of dust and grit echoing the pattern of pad and burn here and there. A crate or two linger still, damaged by flame or partially packed as the group had to leave ahead of schedule. Glass lingers here and there, rough silica hewn in to a different form.
<<"I had already engaged my idea of a plan. It seemed the most prudent option.">> Hadrix notes when Oran rips the door open. Hadrix is already moving to kneel and scout for more surprises on the other side of the door. <<"Area clear, check water rations - priority to Knight Asset. Set suits for fluid recycling.">> he continues to check, <<"Our ground transport is still here... So we have some sort of shelter besides this dome. Going rekkie...">> Hadrix moves through the opening, eyes peeled for trouble.
Saanvi frowns gently, "Posterior wound lacks adequate access without risking further exposure to contaminants." She watches Oran's work with wide eyes full of wonder. She murmurs softly to her notating the stress points as they happen like a radio announcer keeping the crowd informed on the action in a sports game.
Drath gives a sigh, but he doesn't respond to Sannvi, instead turning away for a moment as he gazes around the room. <<Roger.>> he responds to her, raising his rifle as he approaches the door they'd entered into the compound from. Reaching out, he taps the controls, causing the airlock door to hiss open as he takes a few steps outside, weapon raised. <<Shuttle is toast, looks like we'll need another way off this pile of sand.>>
Oran had clearly expected that beyond the disappearing doctor's door would be more lab. It's not so. Reality is not obliging with this interpretation. "Wonderful. He's absconded into the wild. ...Wonderful," the Knight grumbles, briefly scrubbing his face with his hands before he lets them drop. Overall, he looks waaaay less impressed with the results of his endeavor here with this door than Saanvi did. "The interior infrastructure is a wreck, our ship is gone, and their ship is gone. Our only chance of data discovery at this juncture would appear to be the fateful trip to the wreck site that the Doctor so vehemently declined to accompany us on. Do not stand on ceremony here, if you have ideas or opinions, speak candidly."
The shuttle the group arrived in is a scorched and twisted ruin of metal. The pleasant accomodations, rations, and the stalwart pilot have long since been reduced to nothing resembling their constituent parts. The flames dance in a multitude of hues as fuel and chemicals intermix to create a reaction-filled flurry of strange conversions between substances and energies. It's pretty.
<<"Wreck site may have a means for us to make some sort of signal, even something garbled if it can get past all the interference. Or if nothing else maybe enough of the fuel cells will be intact for us to use them as a thermo-nuclear signal fire">> Hadrix notes, moving to investigate the transport craft, blade drawn because it's harded to inadvertantly explode things by stabbing them. <<"Even an escape pod system that we can angle upwards... we could put you in and fire it, if the thrusters look like they could take it up to atmosphere. Then we assume you send a retrieval craft.">>
Saanvi looks around, "Let us start with the basics. First let us list our functional assets and then our most immediate needs. From there our available courses of action should become self evident." she suggests calmly like they couldn't all die here waiting for retrieval.
Drath scans the outside of the structure, sighing at the lack of a shuttle as he steps around to some of the left behind crates that the team wasn't able to pick up. Slinging his weapon, he leans over to remove the lid to one of them, tossing it over to the side with his armored hands and a grunt of discomfort as he peers into it. He takes a moment, then moves to the next, then the next... <<We have... Some glow sticks, protein packs. Could work as rations. Some sealed water, and a bunch of equipment I can't make heads nor tails of.>> he calls back to the others. <<Anymore crates out there, Nine-Oh?>>
Oran rummages. It's not typically a verb associated with a man otherwise slightly obsessive about his need for everything in its place, but here, things are not in their places, and he's taking a moment to pry crate lids off and examine their contents. What he sees doesn't seem to please him. "Judging by what's left here, I suppose we can infer that they've been planning to leave this place prior to our unnecessarily dramatic arrival. They might have given us the transport and a wild-mynock chase just to get rid of us and get out /without/ the deaths of an entire team of mercenaries, but... there you have it." Oran straightens, and eyes the transport. "Bring the food, water, and lights. We have enough for maybe a day and a half. We're going to the wreck site."
The heat continues to beat down on the now mostly abandoned camp. The dome remains the only stalwart remnant, save for the walls, and the scorch marks about, that there ever was a research facility. At least within the shadow of the dome some measure of shade can be found. The shuttle's remnants continue to burn in mocking, rainbow-hued tones.
Hadrix moves towards the dome, loading up as neccessary, but also making sure to grab a pair of corpses by the ankles and begins dragging them out as he goes. "In case we have to come back" he notes over externals, dumping the corpses unceramoniously once outside, headed for the transport. As his externals click off it almost sounds like he was humming, as if he enjoyed this shavit... Psycho.
Saanvi pipes up, "My lord, You should consider permitting me to address your wounds. You will not want any disadvantage if we are here and run low on water."
Drath echos a <<Roger that.>> through his comms, and proceeds to grab whatever crates he deems necessary. Sealing them back up, he picks them up, one at a time, and carries them back into the shelter. <<Can we close that blast door back there? Is life support still running in here?>> he asks curiously as he goes about his toils.
"Check it. If it's not operational..." That would be bad. Oran considers. "...Make sure we can get back in later. Drath, Hadrix, you're driving." Heading to the transport, he eyes Saanvi, and clearly doesn't want to have the wound addressed... but eventually, he relents, "As long as you can do it on the way."
The multi-wheeled personnel carrier sits in the hot sun. Around it, a corona-like mirage causes it to shimmer like a diamond against the backdrop of flowing sand. In the distance, a range of low and rocky hills beckons to travellers weary of seeing nothing but the languid slither of dunes on the horizon line.
If the troopers ever decide to check the vehicle, they'll find it unlocked as Doctor Plag promised. With a full tank of gas and the requisite startup sequence just waiting for a push of the button to get the metallic beast of burden started, it seems a safe bet that it will at least take them some distance in to the desert. It's not a luxury craft by any measure but there's seating enough for everyone. For the truly observant, the rear carries scorch marks and crimson scuffs that could not be scrubbed out of the texture of the metal: it's likely that this craft was military surplus from some battle past. Mercifully, the vehicle's environmental control appears to be working but the sun still beats through the transparisteel windows and the fuel gauge flickers ungainly when the air conditioning is turned up to full blast.
The blast door is mangled enough by Oran's forcing that it's not going to come down easily. The locking clamps have been twisted out of shape and serve to do little but halt the movement of the unwieldly door. The air circulator seems to be working overtime, humming aggressively with an ever rising, whining pitch.
Sliding into the transport, once the goods are stowed and prepped. Hadrix settles in at the controls and starts the machine up. <<"Lord Oran, as much as you love it when I give you operational suggestions, I suggest you get some rack time in the back there, if you can handle the reprehensible accomodations. You got shot today.">> setting off in the direction of the wreck site, as directed, once everyone is in and the crawler is buttoned up.
Saanvi dips her head, "Yes, my lord." She promises, fishing out a fresh pair of gloves and reaching into her medic's kit and limps after Oran, accepting his terms and not daring do moore than assist he permits her to tend his wounds. Once settled she will tend to his injuries.
Drath sighs after glancing over at the door, but ah well. They can work on it later. Grabbing a few protein packs and a liter of water, he hoofs it to the transport, favoring his left side a bit as he stows the supplies into the back and climbs into the passenger seat. Rifle it brought out, and propped up on his leg as he defers the driving to Hadrix. After all... <<I can fly a starship, but probably not this thing very well. It doesn't even fly!>>
"I have complete confidence in you," Oran informs Drath, which is Knight Asset code for, you're being held personally responsible for whatever goes wrong until I'm back from being treated and resuming my position as responsible for everything that went wrong. Climbing into the transport, he complains at Hadrix, "I'm fine! I am fine, I've been shot far worse, thank you, I -- wait, no, that was a stab. Right," sigh, "This is the worst I've been shot." He submits to Saanvi's treatment, and peers impatiently out what passes for windows as they travel.
The shocks on the vehicle are mediocre, making for a bumpy ride as it crests the dunes but it at least seems well-suited for the clime and does not get bogged down in the sand. The group makes good time spanning the distance between abandoned camp and the position First Order Intelligence had indicated on the map within the span of a couple standard hours.
Rising in the distance, the low, rocky hills make themselves known. Nestled between several bluffs, the remnants of a mining operation start to come to bear despite being partially reclaimed by the flowing sand. Clean angles and warped fencing mar the natural terrain. Along one cliff, a v-shape has been cleaved out of its apex. The reason for it becomes apparent as they round the bend.
A large freighter has crashed near a duracrete-reinforced ramp that curves in to one of the cliffs before meeting a giant, earthmover sized door that's partially ajar. The ship has survived well enough despite apparently careening over the cliff. The trajectory suggests it was deliberately downed there but is nowhere near flightworthy. Alongside the damaged hull, a few characters can be made out: "G E N E S I". The rest is obscured. Equipment similar to what was seen at the research camp can be seen strewn about. The ship still appears to have power and some bits of it are intact. Unfortunately, the cockpit is totally destroyed.
"The first thing that's going to go through your head, once your body gets passed the shock is, 'Damn, why do I feel so good now?' and then you'll probably feel antsy. We'll attend that when we're back near Nar Shadaa..." Hadrix is having a good time, probably the highest spirits anyone has ever heard the guy in... well in ever. Behind enemy lines, cut off, danger all around, risk of horrific death at every turn. Yeah! Once in proximity to the site in question he leans forward in the seat before bringing the crawler to an abrupt halt and hops out, <<"Tracks, fading, investigating... Definately was going to be a setup">> trying to get close to determine the most logical direction that they went.
<<"They head for the bluffs over there">> Hadrix points, <<"After that it's a dice-throw hoping they went straight.">> The trooper stands from his investigations <<"Orders, Lord Oran?">>
Saanvi finishes cleaning, mending, and wrapping Oran's wound, "You should have most of your range of motion back, my lord, I would avoid testing it strenously for a few days." She scoots back and leans against something solid to let her eyes sink down a bit briefly.
Drath takes his time getting off of the transport when they get there. He's the injured one, after all, after everyone else has been worked on. Keeping his rifle ready, he simply follows the others around, keeping an eye out on their surroundings as they work. <<Think we should follow them?>> he asks curiously. The answer is probably, but before then he starts to approach the downed shuttle to see what he can see there.
"Honestly, 'sir' will suffice. There is one lord holding dominion over this organization and he is not me," Oran corrects nomenclature, while testing weight on his leg and seeming surprised that there's so much improvement going on under that sassy new bandage. "You've done well. I commend your skill," he notes to Saanvi, before exiting the transport to go out into the hellish heat and investigate the wreckage.
Computer terminals. The desiccated bodies of the crew. "Medic," jeez, Oran, she has a name, "These look like the bodies of science personnel, with... without organs? Fluid? See if you can determine cause of death. Investigate the bodies, lab remains, and computers for information. Comm us with whatever you may discover. Hadrix, Drath, with me; if the tracks point toward these bluffs... we will investigate. If you discern an ambush before I do -- stop me. Please. Thank you."
"Copy, on point. Stagger form - reccie on foot. Ninety-One, priority guard duty, Knight Asset" Hadrix notes. He doesn't get back in the ground vehicle. He is moving careful, looking for additional signs as he goes, not wanting to distrupt anything as he moves with vehicle vibrations. But its' so sandy, and bright, and sandy... Crimany. It's like a desert out here or some shavit.
Saanvi's eyebrows lift and her eyes widen. Someone might see desiccated corpses but Saanvi sees an intriguing puzzle and suddenly their plight is forgotten. A fresh mask and gloves are donned and she tugs out a pair of magnifing spects and tugs those on and gets right in there. She sticks her hand right in the empty cavities and palpates, "I am not certain what I am feeling giving the state of these bodies." But curiosity is her super power so she fearlessly gawks and irreverently prods.
<<Copy.>> Drath responds, keeping near Oran with his weapon hoisted up and at the ready. Keeping a look out on the horizon, and then focusing his attention on the downed shuttle, he watches and waits to ensure nothing goes wrong at this point in time. And if it does, he'll be ready, there to shoot whatever went wrong in the face! Hopefully. As the others examine the bodies, he turns himself outward, keeping an eye on the desert around them.
<<Tracks I can see from this distance seem to be skirting the edges of the bluff, as opposed to going deeper. Keep your eyes peeled.>> Drath pipes up over the comms again.
"Are they just dried up from the heat and perished in the crash, or did something altogether more sinister happen?" Oran comms to Saanvi, "Check the ship's computers, see if there are any logs, science records... if it's possible to identify any of the bodies as our missing agent, please do that as well." Focusing back on the bluffs and nearby area, he frowns, looking down at tracks that seem to mysteriously vanish. But up ahead - a circular pattern in the dunes, do you see it?" He's heading that way to investigate. "What in the bloody hell is this. Drath, Hadrix, both of you follow the tracks skirting the edges."
Saanvi frowns gently "IT might be wise to avoid going anywhere on foot. OR alone. Or making much nose." She looks to Oran "It is my hypothesis that these cadavers were injected with digestive enzymes and then drained of the resulting protein-rich contents for the purpose of nourishment." She rummages a bit and finds one of the key cards. she tries to scan the card and fails. She leans forward and with effort that makes her a bit dizzy she blows dust from the scanner and scans again. This time the card reeds and the system flickers, gives an error. Basically she spends the next fifteen minutes fussing with the machine before finding some salavageable logs "Let us see if the surviving logs provide us with any clues."
<<"Stang!">> Hadrix is back on closed comms, nothing to be heard outside. <<"They were picked up by a landing craft, sir...">> The big trooper stands, keeping in the shade, <<"I think they were definately looking to just kill us when we got here and we forced them to ditch the plan...">> he begins marching back for the main force.
<<Think I preferred fighting that bunch back there to fighting a walker out here.>> Drath responds in addition to Hadrix's observation, after walking out there with the larger man, of course. He stops out in the sand, making a slight groove with the tip of his boot, then turns around to head back towards the shuttle. <<Looks like we're alone out here. For now.>>
Oran listens to Saanvi's description of what she's discovered about the corpses and stops. He stops the progress toward the dune circle and just stands there, clothing whipping in the wind and boots sinking into the sand, and listens. There's a pause. There is a long pause, while his brain has a generalized reaction of 'AAAAAAAAAA' and he reboots it in safe mode.
"......Understood," the Knight finally comms back to Saanvi, in a tone suggesting he has never disliked understanding something more than he just did right now. "Digestive enzymes. So something turned their internal tissues and organs to liquid, ate them, and likely means to do the same to us should it have an opportunity to do so. Right." He takes a step backwards, then comms, "Right. Hadrix. Drath. Mind the wildlife and other potential unpleasantries. Avoid this dune. If there's nothing to be done for the tracks, owing to the departure of those who were lying in wait, then we go back to the Genesis, copy the logs, find the agent's body, salvage anything useful, and back to the transport."
As Saanvi presses a button on the computer, the screen flickers and hisses with shorted electricity but eventually things work well enough to call up a fragmented video. A Mon Cal greets the viewer, the background a lab with a containment cannister and within what appears to be a wriggling worm with elongated teeth spiraling about one opening. He moves to speak....
