| abstract
| - It was dark. That was all Trazon could comprehend as consciousness flickered back to him. Groaning, he felt around, and his hand came into contact with what he recognised as the leather surface of his command chair. Picking himself up, he stumbled on something. Feeling downwards, he came into contact with skin. Warm skin. So, at least I'm not an only survivor, he thought. He didn't know what had happened. One moment, they were desperately trying to evade an Imperial cruiser—a cruiser belonging to the 888th Legion, no less. He had given the order to hide in a cloud. As soon as they entered the cloud, the lights began to flicker, and everything began to distort. The last thing he remembered was a crewman reporting an anomaly of some sorts before he had blacked out. "Er..." he tried to speak, but he found his throat too dry to pronounce any comprehensible words. "Who's there?" said a flat, whining voice. Trazon groaned. Of all the bloody things, he hazily thought. "Kriff you, Tel..." he mumbled. He recognised the voice only too well. It was TL-87, the ship's onboard supervisor droid, designed as some sort of experiment by high command to find a way to bolster the alliance's officer numbers. Trazon often had difficulty suppressing the urge of tracking down whichever idiot had okayed this and shooting him. For three months, he had endured constant whining about keeping budgets in mind, conserving supplies, and other such nonsense that he neither understood or cared about. He was not a patient person, as his comrades constantly reminded him, but Tel, as it was nicknamed, could try even a Jedi Master. "Oh, it's only you." said Tel. "Are you alright?" "Nah, I'm fine." groaned Trazon, stumbling through the darkness. "What the kriff happened?" "I'm not sure. We appear to have crashed somewhere. That's the extent of my knowledge." Crashed? thought Trazon, as he focused. Crashed where? There were no planets in the nebula, and the whole nature of it prevented any solid celestial bodies from forming inside or near it. Feeling around, he touched what he recongised as the control console. Immediately he noticed that it was not warm and whirring as it usually was. "If you have difficulty seeing, I can provide illumination. My Cybot Galactica 67-H photoreceptors can provide a..." "For kriff's sake, Tel, now you tell me..." "Mind your language, sir. Complying." Trazon immediately brought his hand to his eyes as light suddenly flooded into his vision. It took a few moments to adjust from pitch darkness to bright light, then he looked around. The bridge was in shambles. Crewmen were spread-eagled everywhere, consoles were smashed or smouldering, and in general the whole place looked like a nexu had torn through it. Standing a few metres away as Tel, his eyes glowing brilliantly, his chassis covered in dents. But apart from him, there was no operational machinery working in the bridge. Clearly, power was offline. But if that was so, then artificial gravity would also be off, and that was clearly not the case. So, they had landed somewhere. "Gotta get outside..." mumbled Trazon to himself. He still felt shaken, and he could barely think straight. Stumbling past Tel, he approached the emergency escape airlock tucked away in the wall at the back of the bridge. Instinctively, he pressed the 'open door' control on the wall. When nothing happened, it suddenly occurred to him that a lack of power would also result in the airlock doors not opening. But there was more than one way to open a door, he thought. Taking a thermal detonator from his belt, he placed it on the side of the door, and stepped right back. A few seconds passed, and the detonator imploded, blowing the door down more easily than Trazon had expected. He took a step forward. The blast had blown in the outer airlock door as well, and now natural sunlight was seeping in. Trazon poked his head out, tasting fresh air. He looked up, and saw a clear blue sky that immediately brought back memories of his home on Corellia. He looked forward, and saw that the transport had landed in what seemed to be some muddy crater dotted with patches of water. Surrounding the crater was an expanse of fields and small, primitive-looking dwellings dotted here and there. What looked like wheeled speeders had parked around the edge of said crater. "Tel, where are we?" asked Trazon, dreading the answer. "My inbuilt navigational sensors have provided no answers. I have not detected any nearby HoloNet stations. In short, I don't know." "Well, I intend to find out." announced Trazon. "I'm heading down to the armoury to gear up. If we're in the kind of situation I think we're in, it's better to be safe than sorry. And launch some of the probe droids, if you can. I want to know what's out there..."
*
* James Andrews Perry was in deep thought as he walked along the side of the road that lead to his parent's home just outside the small town of Winterfield. If you could call it a town—it consisted of little more than a few houses, a convience store, a church, and a run-down school that hadn't had much renovation since the 1950s. The nearest other population centre was something like ten miles away, and the nearest place you could properly call a city even further. Earlier that morning, he had woken up to hear his parents talking about a meteorite thad had just impacted in Winterfield lake. He had rushed downstairs out of bed, and from what he had gathered, a big meteor had fell out of the sky into the lake during the night. The impact had emptied the lake, reducing the land around it to a bog, and the police and fire brigade from the nearest town had rushed down to make sure that nobody was hurt. For some reason, they weren't letting anyone near it, saying that it was too hot or some reason like that. Information had leaked out, however—the meteorite was very large, ninety metres long, but most of it was buried in the lakebed. This bothered James. A normal meteorite that large would have totally decimated the entire area, and would have caused an earthquake that would have been felt throughout most of Kentucky. He knew this from reading about the Tunguska impact of 1908 in Russia. He read a lot. And for this reason, he had become the resident nerd of the local school, and the butt of many jokes amongst the popular kids. But that wasn't the only reason why he was often the target of a playground jeer. His mother was American, but she had married his Scottish father in Glasgow, and he had spent the first five years of his life in Everness, before moving to London, and then for some reason that he still didn't understand his family had moved to his grandfather's home here in Kentucky. He had still retained his Scottish accent, however, and was the only one in his school who kept pronouncing 'tomato' in 'an un-American fashion', as his teacher's had put it. And, seeing as the teachers—and most of the adult population of Winterfield, for that matter—seemed to be stuck in Joe McCarthy's days, he had often been put down and excluded from activities at school, despite the fact that his A grades often shone out amongst the Ds and Fs of the other kids. For this reason, he felt a massive hatred for his parents, to the other kids, to this whole damned town. For this reason, he took solace in his computer and high-speed broadband internet, and spent most of his free time on forums and editing wikis. There was a whirring sound. James looked up. Floating about thirty feet in the air above him was a metal thing, which looked like a small saucer the size of a dustbin lid with a large lens and some antennae. He stood rooted to the ground, his rationality trying to get the better of his imagination. Maybe it was a weather balloon. Maybe it was some strange helicopter. Maybe... Before he could continue to get a closer look at it, the thing sped away at a blinding speed, making some electronic garbling noise that sounded like 'scan of the system' repeated over and over. James scratched his head. He didn't know what to think. Maybe it was nothing. He wished he had brought out his camera phone in time. Perhaps telling someone would be a good idea, he thought. No. His parents were certainly too busy to care, and it would destroy what little reputation he had at school. Shrugging, he continued down the dusty path. He would have to try his best to forget what he saw. After a few more minutes of walking, James arrived at his small farmhouse home, with the wind blowing tumbleweed across the dusty yard and the family dog briefly looking up from its lazing around on the porch. Walking up to the door of the wooden old house, which according to his grandfather had been around since the Civil War, he opened and walked inside into the living room. A note from his mum on the dining table informed that his parents had headed down to Lousieville on a shopping trip. Bloody typical, he thought. His parents clearly still hadn't figured out how to use a mobile phone. Sighing, he began to walk up the stairs to his room, where his beloved computer was waiting. The doorbell rang. "Coming!" called James exasperatedly. He walked back down the stairs and opened the door, expecting to see either someone from the local church distributing leaflets denouncing abortion, some lost driver asking the way to the interstate, or a salesman. The person standing at the door was none of these. In fact, James hadn't seen such a person in his life.
*
* Manchuria, People's Republic of China The mountains of Northern Manchuria. Desolate, remote, and sparsely populated by anyone's standards. What few locals lived there were a mixture of native Chinese, Mongolians, Russians, and some leftover Japanese from WW2. The Chinese government itself barely had any authority there, with the only real presence it had being an airbase and a small depot that had built during Mao Tsetung's revolution of 1947. Now that it had achieved superpower status, the Chinese politburo was considering building nuclear missile silos in this area due to its remoteness, but other than that, it was not particularly concerned about what happened in that area. Until now. Driving in a SUV along a grey dirt track that snaked through the foothills of the mountain were two agents of the Ministry of State Security of the People's Republic of China, Li Qua, and Xu Kaikhu. Six hours ago, they had been woken up and dragged down for briefing for seemingly no apparent reason. Their gruff chief had informed them that a matter of hours ago, a meteorite had entered the atmosphere above North Korea and had now impacted in the mountains of Manchuria. When they asked why the Ministry of State Security was so bothered about a meteorite, the chief had forcibly informed them that their spy satellites had detected unusual concentrations of radioactivity and metal around the impact site, and that Beijing was worried that the impact could be some sort of weapon from North Korea or the imperialist Americans. When he had put it like that, both agents immediately jumped to the job. Both of them had been lounging around headquarters for months now. Seated in the driver's seat of the SUV was Li Qua, an older agent who tried to present himself as a consummate professional, rarely displaying emotions and rarely talking if necessary. A hardline communist, he disliked the new changes in the PRC, but nonetheless was going along with them. Seated beside was Xu, an enthusiastic, chatty rookie, who, much to Li's annoyance, had been jabbering for the last hour about things he couldn't care less about, such as the new film from America or some random European celebrity. Despite Li's efforts to make him act more professionally, Xu was still not taking his job completely seriously. "...and then I said, screw that, she makes Chairman Mao look like Elaine Ng!" Xu was jabbering in Mandarin. "You have been chatting about such nonsense since we left Shenyang. It is getting on my nerves." growled Li. "Loosen up, man! Don't you get bored driving for so long? Anyway, didn't I tell you about the...." "Don't want to know." sighed Li. It was understandable, he thought. The latest generation of State Security agents. Born and raised in the new Western culture-draped China. Eager, energetic, and annoying. "As I was saying..." continued Li when the satnav built into the SUV's dashboard began beeping. "We're nearing the site." said Xu, with a hint of relief in his voice. "We should be expecting locals around it." "What's the procedure? Do we take them out?" "No need. These peasents are superstitious. They will probably think it a warning from the gods or something. I'll bet my salary they don't even know we've had a revolution!" Both of them laughed, with Xu disguising his suspicion. Not like comrade Li to make a joke, he thought. The SUV pulled up at the top of a steep valley overlooking a large gorge. Both agents got out and their jaws immediately dropped. Half-buried in the side of a nearby mountain was a gigantic wedge shaped metal thing. It was even larger than an aircraft carrier, perhaps even the size of a small town. Various strange insignias were painted into the side of its immense hull, which was scorched and battered, presumably from the atmospheric entry. Debris ranging in size from buildings to cars was scattered all across the valley, and a pool of some liquid was forming around the huge metal hulk. As both of them struggled to fully comprehend what they were looking at, their minds accepted one thing: this definitely wasn't North Korean or American. "Call headquarters." uttered Xu. "We're gonna need backup."
*
* The Oval Office looked so depressing in the morning. At least, that was the thought running through the head of Richard Gates, President of the United States of America, as he took a sip of hot warm coffee that had just been prepared by his sectretary. Looking through the latest reports on the desk before him, he couldn't help but feel a sobering sense of depression. Ever since Obama had been assassinated last year, America just hadn't been the same. Sure, it had got out of the economic crisis of 2008 intact, but ever since her forces pulled out of Iraq in disgrace, the bombings in Houston, and with China about to eclipse her as the world's superpower, that good ol' American patriotism just wasn't to be found anymore. His approval rates were abysmal, riots were on the rise, and even Europe was starting to turn their noses up at the US. He took another sip of coffee and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. What with all this stress and problems piled on him, with Congress and Senate sitting on their lazy asses and bitching about how awful he was, he had only been getting two hours of shut-eye a night in the last few weeks. And now the sec-def was nagging him that North Korea was posing a threat to peace in East Asia, now that it had had a leadership change and reforms in every sector. Personally, he felt that America should sort its problems at home before it went on another self-righteous crusade to some hole of a third-world country, but the rednecks at the Pentagon seemed to think that another war would magically sort out all the problems on his plate. The door opened and he looked up. Walking towards him, with a folder under his shoulder and a grim look on his face, was vice-prez James Booth. A weedy, strange little sleazeball who made Palin look like friggin' Jesus, in Gates's opinion, but his general reputation had him as the glue keeping the American system of government from collapsing in on itself. Nonetheless, he had a look on his face like his mother had just did. Gates's attention was definitely piqued. "Mister President, we have a situation." announced Booth, throwing his folder onto the desk. "How bad could it be, James?" asked Gates, taking another sip from his coffee. "I'll get straight to the point. At approximately 2300 hours last night, a large meteor impacted into a lake in rural Kentucky. The impact and the resulting shockwave were considerably less than what an object would normally produce. Not only that, the radar projection of its trajectory clear showed that it slowed down as it descended." Gates could only reply with a gaping mouth. "Local police units were on the scene within hours, and let's just say that their description of the object sealed our fears." continued Booth. "We've seen to it that other than them, no civilians will be able to get a good look it. I've taken the liberty of making sure that some FBI agents have been dispatched to..." "Cut this X-files nonsense and get to the point. What are we dealing with here?" "In essence, Mr. President, a vehicle obviously of extraterrestial origin has crashed on US soil. Before we take any more steps, I need your authorisation to invoke the Blackshake protocol." "The what?" "Didn't you go over this when you got into power, Mister President? I can accept that you were not entirely ready for the role, as recent events have demonstrated, but still. The dossier on the table contains all you need to know." Gates began flicking through the papers before him. "And while you're at it, sir, I some more news. At 2200 hours, SDI command detected another similar object entering our atmosphere over North Korea and landing somewhere in Manchuria. We don't think this is a coincidence. We can't be sure of the consequences of this, but if our own little gift from the heavens is anything to go by, and taking into account Ho-Sen's attitude to us, they might be very disturbing indeed." Groaning, Gates held his head in his hands. "I...very well. You have my authorisation to invoke this Blackshade thing. I don't want to imagine what'll happen if people learn we're in the middle of an alien invasion or whatever this means. Who else knows about this?" "Couple of Kentucky cops, Pine, some of the FBI and nobody else really. We move fast, we can cover up this thing before it gets out of hand. I have to go and inform Kowalski, now." "Right. Tell Sylvia to brew me another coffee while you're at it, Booth. I'm definitely gonna be needing it..."
*
* Trazon looked around the dwelling as the kid led him into the back room. After leaving the transport, he had made his way through several fields, using probe droid recon to lead him to this building. He had seen some uniformed figures amongst the vehicles on the side of the crater, but considering they were lying on the ground with bottles scattered around them, he had decided that they weren't the best people to ask for directions. In any case, he felt relieved that this planet had civilization—human civilization, no less. A primitive-looking one, but even the most tech-shy hippies in the outer rim would have a HoloNet transceiver somewhere. The kid who had opened the door had seemed quite surprised, but then again so would anyone if they saw a rebel SpecOps commando turn up on their front door. He seemed friendly, at any rate. "So, where you from?" asked the kid in a strange, vaguely Coruscanti accent. "You sound kinda Australian." "Corellian, actually." smiled Trazon. He had learned from experience that friendliness and a good smile tended to help in situations like this. Despite this, the boy gave him a look usually reserved for raving lunatics or Toydarians. "Riiiiight..." he said slowly. "So, whaddya you say you needed again? Internet?" "Yeah." said Trazon. Internet. Probably just some weird-ass slang term, he thought. "So, what's with that weird gear you got on you? You some army guy? Cosplay?" said the kid as he turned on what looked like a personal workstation on a wooden table. "I'm with the rebellion. SpecForce. Don't tell anyone, will ya?" winked Trazon. Given the Empire's attitude to the outer worlds, he thought, they weren't likely to go crying to nearest moff. The boy gave him another strange look. "Uh...right. Some anarchist movement?" "Come on, kid. Even the highest hippie this side of the Corellian trade spine knows about us. Don't you even there's a war on?" "Er...no offence, sir, but have you been smoking anything?" Trazon raised his eyebrow. He felt on the verge on losing his temper when his holo-communicator beeped. "Excuse me." he said, raising it to his face. A small inch-high hologram of Jara Xerto, his intelligence officer, flickered into view above it. Ignoring the look of utter and profound shock on the boy's face, Trazon stood up straight. "Xerto. Do we have a sit-rep?" "Don't look too good, commander. Most of us are still alive, but the ship's totally kriffed up. We haven't got enough spare materials, and even if we did getting it out this hole would be a damn nightmare. By the way, what the hell are you doing out there all on your own? We've got probe droids for recon, you know." she said, putting her hands on her hips in that bitchy pose Trazon hated so much. "Found a local. Human, no less. Looks friendly, speaks basic." "Ah. Well, have you found out where the kriff we are?" "Working on it." said Trazon, lowering the comm. "Hey, kid. What's the name of this planet?" "E-Earth." he stammered, still looking shocked at the hologram. "Sector?" All he got was a blank look. "Arm?" "Er...hold on, I'll show you." The boy turned around and typed on a keyboard on the workstation behind him. Within moments, what looked like some sort of encyclopedia entry on a galaxy appeared on it. Trazon looked closer. A strange spherical logo was in the top left-hand corner, and the text was strange, yet familiar. Looking at the picture of the galaxy, which was a bit different from the usual pictures, he asked: "Hey, kid, what's this?" "The galaxy we're in. The Milky Way." "Oh..." Trazon suddenly felt very ill. He turned back to the comm. "Xerto, we've got a problem..."
*
* "Sir? Can you hear me, sir?" Jarmas's eyes flickered open. Gradually, the bright sphere of light in front of him faded into the angular face of a medical officer leaning over him. Andrenalin flooded into him as he quickly remembered where he was and what he was doing. "Evasive manouevers!" he cried, sitting up and causing the officer to start. "I want reactors three to four diverted to---" "Er, sir? If you would care to have a look around..." Jarmas paused. Around him, the bridge was wrecked, with glass from broken monitors and pieces of smashed console scattered around the floor, which was slanted at an angle. Emergency metal panels had slid over the windows, making it impossible to see what was inside. Medical droids and officers were tending to injured personnel, some of whose bodies were twisted at various gruesome angles. Jarmas took pleasure in hearng their screams as the droids operated, with anasthetic being in short supply. Pain made men strong, and strength was key for order, and order was key for perfection. That was his philosophy. Jarmas took a few steps forward, despite the irritating whinging from the medical officer that he needed to rest. Some of the screaming from the wounded was a bit too loud for his liking. True men, true Imperials, would not yell like newborns or women. They should submit to the pain, for it would test their bodies to the limit and strengthen a man's muscle and will, thought Jarmas angrily. But then again, one should always remind oneself that few are perfect like me, he told himself. That was why he covered his face, for it was perfect. And why should he have to share perfection with those who lacked it? But now to focus on the situation at hand, he thought. "I want a situation report! What has happened?" he cried out to nobody in particular. Most on the bridge were either tending to wounds or yelling, though. "I, er, have some data, kommander." said a whiny, meek voice. Jarmas turned around to see intelligence officer Hadrich Fest enter the bridge, carrying various papers and data. He did not like this snivelling, scrawny little man. His incessant complaining betrayed his lack of will, and the only reason he was here was because Tarkin had assigned him here, saying that his skill would be perfect for the Legion. And while Fest's performance was indeed satisfactory, Jarmas wished he could try and conform to the ideal of perfection he was creating for the Legion. "Does it provide an explanation? And I want a damage report too!" barked Jarmas. "Well, er, it seems we have crashed..." "What are you talking about, crashed? There is nothing to crash into for the next parsec! Maybe you should--" "The fact is, kommander, that we have crashed into a solid body of some sort. Now, ah, the main reactor is leaking and is shut down, but the auxiliries have been activated. The forward part of the ship has been wrecked, but our shields and hull took the worst of the impact. Most of the crew and combat personnel survivied, but injuries are widespread. Remaining sensors reveal that we are imbedded in a rock structure of some sort, and I am in the process of dispatching probe droids to--" "Enough! I tire of your pratter. Where are we?" "The HoloNet trascievers are still intact, but we have been unable to identify any stations in the immediate vicinity, and--" "Keep trying. I want the engineers working on getting us spaceworthy again!" "Er, I'm afraid, kommander, that most of the flight equipment is damaged beyond repair, and even if was intact we are unable to launch in our current position. We, ah, will require heavy-duty tractor beams to even remove ourselves from..." "I do not want excuses! I want progress! Hurry up, before I--" "You should listen to him, you know." Jarmas looked up at the sound of the cold, stony voice. Walking into the bridge, jackboots clicking, was armor commander Arkhan Goll. Jarmas rolled his eyes underneath his mask. Goll was strong in body and mind, this was true, but his attitude was somewhat annoying. Still, this betrayed the fact that he was willing to stand up and dominate those around him, and Jarmas respected this. Strength was, after all, the most important virtue of a man. "I've taken the liberty of having done a sensor sweep of a radius of five hundred miles around us, and from what I can ascertain we've impacted into the side of a mountain on a Class M planet with varied terrain. There's a body of water to the east of here, and limited settlements. I'm also told that we've been surrounded by primitive combat vehicles. As Fest said, all attempts to discern our galactic location have failed. Perhaps we should prioritize making contact with the natives or whoever is behind said vehicles." "You said they were primitive? Well, I will not have us fraternizing with weak, insignificant species! We are Imperials! We will not go so low as to--" "Yes, yes, yes, but hear me, kommander. I don't know if we're on an Imperial, rebel or neutral world, or even what sector we're in. And I certainly don't know how we ended up here, but in our current state even the most meagre of resistance could overcome us. Our stormtrooper divisions are mostly unconscious, our armored vehicles aren't even in the correct position, and our medical and maintenance teams are all busy. I propose we make contact with whoever's out there and at least find out if we're in a position to recieve help, and if they're hostile try and buy time." Jarmas paused. Of course, he would have thought the same in short time, but it would be better to delegate this task to Goll, as no doubt more important matters awaited his attention. Suddenly, one very important question entered his head. "Where is Vonclaus?" "In the sickbay. Medical droids report that he will be unconscious for at least another seven hours." Jarmas chuckled. Now he could finally command without the interference of that incompetent arrogant idiot. "Goll, you will conduct observation and communication with these inhabitants. If they prove hostile, react with extreme predujuice."
*
* Li watched as Helix transport copters landed in the valley floor and unloaded several T-99 tanks which took position around the large metal craft embedded in the mountain. Around him, several hundred Peoples' Liberation Army personnel had taken position around the craft, having arrived in impressive time. Armored vehicles, mortars, and mobile artillery had all been trained on whatever that thing was, but Li was confident that it was certainly not American or Russian as the colonel commanding the PLA forces here was. Engineer teams were already working on finding a place of entry into the thing, and president San Ho-Sen wanted a sitrep from him within the hour. "So, where do you think it comes from?" asked Xu, having just finished a conversation with a PLA commando. "I've no idea. And I don't really want to think about that, to be honest." "Well, it is clearly not of human origin. I wonder what's inside." Xu looked away from him and watched as helicopters lowered engineers onto the tower potruding from the rear of the thing. Comrade Ho-Sen had also wanted no civilians capable of informing others to witness this, and he agreed. The social implicatios for China—for the entire world—would be immense. The entire worldview of all on the planet would be shaken. And if the beings who created this thing were friendly, then man would no doubt feel insignificant and purposeless next to them. And if they were hostile...another thing not worth thinking about. His radio beeped, and he brought it too his ear. "Xu here." "Comrade Xu!" came a tinny voice from within the radio speaker. "We have made entry to the craft!" "How? I didn't hear any explosives." "We were let in!" Xu's heart jumped. Now was the moment of truth. "By who? By what?" "You're not going to believe this..."
*
* CIA agent Moyder Kowalski stepped out of the Black Hawk transport helicopter as it settled beside the crater. Around, several Chinooks deposited Delta Force and Marines, who quickly surrounded the crater and began establishing a perimeter. With Blackshade powers instated on him, he now commanded the troops around him. He noted a number of unconscious cops, smelling of alcohol, sprawled on the ground nearby. His heart lept. God knows how many civvies could have had access to the crater in that time. "Sergeant!" he barked to a nearby Marine. "Has the nearby town been locked down?" "In the process, sir. We've instigated the whole chemical spill cover story as you said." "Good. Find anyone who seems like they've seen this, take 'em in and give 'em Blackshade protocol 5. We can't take any chances." "Protocol 5?" "Yes? You deaf or something, dammit?" As the soldier went off to carry out his orders, Moyder stood on the crumbling edge of the crater, observing the massive metal bulk imedded in its muddy center. He hadn't seen such a thing since his tour of Area 51 last year. As one of the few FBI agents allowed access and knowledge of Blackshade, his worldview was, suffice to say, somewhat different then that of his comrades. He knew that the US of A had threats beyond China and North Korea. He didn't know if the object in the crater fell into the category of threat of asset, but as he knew nothing about it, he had to treat it with extreme caution. "Sir?" said a soldier, walking up to him and saluting. "We have evidence that something has left the craft not long ago. We discovered footprints coming out of the crater. Look fresh, sir." Footprints? Dammit. The last thing Moyder wanted was a little grey man or whatever the hell was in there walking around and scaring the locals. "Get one of those Black Hawks and do a five-mile sweep! In fact, get Des Moines and ask 'em for a Predator! Find anything or anyone who looks suspicious, and take him in!" Moyder then watched as decom teams, clad in radiation suits, waded down into the crater and began fixing equipment to the craft. A number of Marines with FGM-148 Javelins took position around and took aim at the object, just in case. Moyder had also arranged for a couple of A-10 Thunderbolts armed with armor-melting rounds to be at maximum readiness at the nearest USAF base. Some would describe this as overkill. Unnecessary application of firepower. But in Moyder's mind, nothing was too extreme when it came to situations like these. If the object turned out to be a threat, he'd nuke the area if he could. Or drop a MOAB into the crater, more realistically. "Sir!" A tinny voice came out of his radio headset, and he noticed one of the decom team members near the object waving. "We've got movement inside the thing! We think something's coming out!" "Take positions!" yelled Moyder to the troops around him. Immediately, the soldiers took positions and aim, dozens of XM25 greande launchers, M16s, and anti-tank weapons swivelling in the direction of the object of the crater. Moyder himself produced his SIG P226, for all the good it could do. A hatch near the top of the object began to slowly open, and the weapons shifted their aim in that direction. Something moved inside. Sweat broke out on Moyder's brow. This whole thing reminded him of part of one of his favorite childhood novels, The War of the Worlds, where a disgusting creature emerged from such a similar capsule. He expected a horrible, tentacled creature to emerge. Something otherworldy. Something that he'd be forgiven for shooting down on the spot. He just hoped his men could hold their fire if it was friendly, no matter how ugly it was. Something completely different to his expectations emerged. A young, twentysomething woman, wearing some kind of armor, emerged, and looked around, confused. A woman. A human woman. Eyes, ears, nose, all in the right place. Jack and the Marines lowered their weapons, and he adjusted his shades. "Wha...?" was all he could say.
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