Session export: Abraxas Strikes Back

The Herald of Entropy pulled into its assigned docking bay at the Elos Vrai spaceport. The clearance codes transmitted, of course, had not outright identified the ship as such. It was not exactly the wisest thing for the leader of House Qel-Droma - and therefore the leader of the Blind Man criminal enterprise - to broadcast his movements so openly. As Alex secured his helmet and headed for the docking ramp of his ship, a half-smile crossed his face as he once again considered the irony of his position. Stealth and subtlety were not exactly his strong suits, and yet here he was in charge of an organization devoted to spying, information brokering and just all-around operating in the shadows.

Ah well, he thought as his steady strides carried him through the docking bay, I suppose there is some value to providing a big, gleaming distraction so that those better suited can slip a knife between your enemy’s ribs.

The lights of the spaceport hallway shone off the highly polished silver and gold trim of his otherwise matte black Mandalorian armor. While such gear was far from uncommon on a surface level, he did draw a few glances from people more familiar with the style, given how archaic the actual design of the suit was. He paid this no mind and glanced once again at his datapad, both sending a missive that he had arrived to aid in the defense of Arx and double-checking that he was on the way to the correct rendezvous point.

Jai shrugs off, and proceeds to guide his Starspeeder to one of the vacant landing pads. “Sheesh, finally.. Now, where to go next,” murmuring under his breath. He collects his gear and equips his armor promptly, slinging his rifle around his shoulder and grabs his half eaten ration before heading for the exit door. Jai takes out his data pad and performs a quick scan for the gathering point as he makes his way through the various passageways. He double checks his gear, made sure his helmet was on the right way this time, tightens his fists and continues to walk with haste towards the group of people huddled around a focal point.

Elos Vrai, Aphotis knew it well enough. She had peered through the expansive viewport of the Dark Ascent, giving her a great overview of Eos City. Everything on this continent was designed to be imposing and grand. The first time she visited it—as the then-new Dark Council member—everything did leave an awe-inspiring impression.

Now, years later, nothing felt new or exciting. The click-clacking of her bladed heels echoed through the spaceport halls. The tall, masked Sith could feel the visitors desiring to gaze at her, but her brooding aura prevented their eyeballs from turning in their sockets—afraid that her electric-blue might stare right back at their souls and instill a curse upon them.

’Hector von Ricmore, what are you getting yourself into this time?‘

The Kiffar had a way of finding himself in precarious, yet interesting, situations, and Tir’eivra was not going to miss out. At the very least, she could learn the capabilities of those individuals from the other clans that would, hopefully, not be too craven to join them.

Professionalism, efficiency, and results.

That was how Anders ran the Antei Combat Centre. With each step down the cold, durasteel hallways, one could listen to the enigmatic clangs of vivroswords on durasteel. The taste of tibanna gas discharged from blaster pistols tainted the air. Pained grunts and agonised cries echoed from the dissapointments that were rushed to the on-site medbay.

Failure was often the best instructor, and Anders himself was an incredibly effective teacher. His method was simple; learn from your mistakes, or die. There was no margin for error. The Brotherhood had little use for the feeble and sapless. He was molding warriors, not functioning sycophants.

He should have been preparing. There was an awakening in the Force. Anyone with any kind of sensitivity could feel it not just from himself, but Draca too, Aphotis, Mune Cinteroph, and more.

It was not enough.

Darth Lenora still lived. Watching, skulking, taunting. Anders needed more. More.

He certainly did not have time for the blue-hued Kiffar in the holoprojector.

“I fail to see how your little pirate incursion is any of my concern, Ricmore. If you are so inept that you require assistance, perhaps you should hire your so-called Vizsla brothers in arms. Perhaps do something worthwhile with your credits for once in your miserable existence.”

Anders’ voice was sharp, his tone unamused and bitter.

<@476595775187451913>

Circe hopped of the shuttle that Aylin had used to bring her to her destination, or at least as close as she was allowed to fly. Stretching herself out, she was happy for the short walk she had to do. Aylin was a good friend, but she never knew when to shut up, and she had to tell her more than once that she didn’t need glitter on her armour. It was fine just the way it looked.

Fixing her rifle over her shoulder, she made her way over to Hector.

Among the many ships moving in a flurry within the port, a bland Sheathipede parks in an opening of the bay as its door opens up, voices escaping the moment a single crack is formed.

“-said to give you time to settle in, make a few allies, not to let you have all the fun.” A gruff voice growls.

“That’s what this is, don’t worry, you’ll get the next one. I promise it’ll be an even deadlier life or death situation. Trust me, its all the time with these people, you’re not missing a thing.” Responds a light-hearted, almost reassuring, tone.

Before a response can be made, a cloaked figure nearly dives out the opening and slams a hand on the side of the vehicle, signaling for the door to be closed, the ship raising up from the space as it does.

The silver-haired individual sighs and raises his right hand, pressing his glasses up as he glances about for a moment as numerous people darted from one area to another in far more of a rush than him. Eventually spotting a couple of individuals he recognized from a few Clan gatherings, as well as one from his own personal investigations, the Warrior Priest trusted his gut that it was the right area for the meeting. For better or worse, as he approached and the man’s blue eyes began to scan over the individuals slowly but surely pulling together, he felt more confident that this hodge-podge group was indeed the right one.

-Lucky me.- The thought echoes within his mind with a grin upon his lips.

Sometimes being Korvyn’s bodyguard slash lackey was monotony. Endless standing around pretending to not hear the ins and outs of what happened in the ISB. It was normally just reports and intelligence files. Though Race knew where enough bodies were buried to fill an Imperial Star Destroyer. Today however was not going to be one of those days. Korvyn liked to send him in these missions to keep up Race’s combat prowess and instincts.

His Tie Echelon transport Korvyn sent him in had just touched down and Race was already itching to get to the rendezvous point. It wasn’t often that a Brotherhood wide operation was called for and he couldn’t wait to be in the thick of battle. Even better was the opportunity to prove himself in front of the Iron Legion and other members of the Brotherhood.

He quickly marched in the direction of the assigned meeting place. His Heads Up Display showing the route on the top corner. He saw some members already assembled and Hector Von Ricmore in a heated discussion with the Combat Master. Race didn’t care as his Imperial training took over. With quick strides he marched right up to the pair. Giving a salute to the leader of the party he stated in a rigorous tone. “TK522 reporting for duty, Sir.”

The Council, in their infinite wisdom, had made it a habit to send the Regent to attend to many menial affairs. While they huddled in their machinations they would often send him away to deal with minor trade disputes or efficiency inspections of some backwater mud farm. Thran was certain it was retaliatory. He was certain they were forcing him into paying penance for disobeying their every rule.

The little incident with Project: Firestorm had certainly raised their collective ire. His insistence on rapid military expansion and increased spending had also drawn long silent stares from the collective council. They were also displeased with his insistance on ACE retaining the rights to any shared designs from their allies, the Severian Principate. Now, they were expressing their displeasure.

He rolled his eyes. He hadn’t even fully read the brief for this mission. There was something about a Hutt and something about a mining outpost. The minutiae within was lost to him. Surely there would be someone that could fill him in. He turned his eyes down towards a datapad for the remainder of the flight.

The Alium traversed the atmosphere with ease. It flew in perfect formation above the spaceport, until granted permission to land. The s-foils actuated and the wings rose as the descent began. The shuttle sat down gingerly at the spaceport of Elos Vrai, degassed and regulated pressure, and laid down the boarding ramp. He stood and strode down the ramp, expecting a welcome party of well polished diplomats.

He instantly saw the stormtrooper, a Mandalorian, and the Combat Master.

Oh great…jarheads. He thought to himself.

He buried the discontent and strode over to them. He made his announcement.

“The Council has sent me to oversee this action. Your success today is of the utmost importance to the Council and to ACE. Our full resources are at your disposal.” Thran said.

The flat line on the Combat Master’s face curved into a slight grin. Poor, poor Ricmore. So young. So easy to light the fire under his feet. The darkness swirled. Festered. Yes… that was it. Use your anger. Use it as a source of your power or let it control you.

Learn, or die. Always the teacher.

Alas, the young man did have a point regarding Arx, especially if the Regent himself was now involved.

“Lord Regent, a pleasure to make your acquaintance as always,” Anders offered a slight bow of his head. “Do not mind us, we are simply having a philosophical discussion.”

He focused his attention back onto Ricmore.

“War is always on the horizon. It is inevitable, a fact of life. Only the strong survive. The weak either perish or live in the shadow of the strong long enough to witness true victory.”

Through victory, my chains are broken.

“Very well, Ricmore. I shall bequeath you this one request. My bladed for the purposes of this endeavour, shall be yours. I shall make my way to your location post haste. Expect my arrival.”

He cut communications. He had an urge to kill something. It was time to test his new abilities.

<@476595775187451913>

“A Kaminoan, A Pigman, and a noseless Octogenarian walk into Arx…This sounds like a bad joke.” Thran remarked, half to himself, picking up his data pad

“These Bounty Hunter types generally have no loyalty to anything other than credits. The fact that this lot has signed on to this insane mission tells me that there’s something more to this. My intuition tells me we’ll need to do more than just buy out their contracts. Given what you’ve shown us of the Kaminoan’s proclivities, I will requisition a contingent of combat droids. It may help with casualties. ” Thran scrolled through his tablet.

Many thoughts ran through his head. It had been a while since he’d been directly involved in battle. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the boardroom was not so different from a command center. Much of the verbiage was the same anyhow; winning strategy, defend a brand, capture a market, reinforce a position. He felt oddly at home. They were clearly on the defense when it came to this aggression.

When he served as Praetor to the Herald, Thran had personally seen to the installation of substantial planetary defenses for Arx. The planetary shield would take a sizable fleet to crack. If they had planned to assault the planet, they would need to find a way to deactivate that first line of defense. Thran figured that securing the shield gate station would be a good place to start preparing a defense against any sizable assault. If they could keep the shields unbroken, the Iron Fleet ought to be able to break the back of any assault before it began.

“Do we have any indication where or how they will attempt to bypass Arx’s shields? And do we have any intel on where they intend to land? Any idea of force size and composition? Surely they aren’t throwing three souls at a solid wall” Thran asked.

“That is an awful lot of hardware for a Hutt crime lord,” a lilting drawl poured out from where Alex leaned against the wall at the far end of the room. “Even one as big as Abraxas must have pulled in favors or have somebody else backing him to be able to put together that kind of fleet for a petty revenge attack.” Idly spinning his helmet about in his left hand, his eyes narrowed a bit as he spoke.

“This feels like there must be more to this. While I have no doubt that for the whiny slug this is about saving face, it feels like somebody else might be using this as an opportunity to see just what kind of resistance Arx can put up in a pinch…”

“Never underestimate the pettiness of a bruised Hutt ego…” Thran said, stroking his chin.

The Corona-class frigate was an effective screening vessel. In great numbers they could prove to be terribly troublesome for even a large cruiser or Star Destroyer. With the primary Fleet indisposed, stopping the ships in orbit would be impossible. They could effectively blockade the planet.

“With so many unknowns, perhaps it would be prudent for us to remove some of the variables. I’m not certain it’s possible…but if we could project the planetary shield downward to the surface, we could force them to land where we choose and close the door behind them. They will be forced to meet our mustered forces on our ground, where we can be ready and waiting. Once the enemy ground force has been liquidated, their fleet will likely scatter or at least buy us time to call in favors from the Clan Fleets. Even well paid pirates are smart enough to flee when the odds tip against them” Thran said.

In many ways The Exchange was more powerful than the combined Forces of the Iron Throne. They relied on The Exchange to procure all of their hardware, test new weapons systems, and more. It took an army in its own right to keep the forces of the Iron Throne equipped and fed. Thran had recently exhausted a great deal of energy in stretching those bounds to their limits, including employing an Entire regiment of mercenary security contractors. They weren’t Stormtroopers, or army regulars, but they were armed and experienced.

“ACE can provide combat assets sufficient to repel a ground force of that size, though it would require committing half of our Corporate Security Team. We have some armor too… AT-ACTs and TX-225s, plus skiffs for mobility…Not exactly Heavy Artillery, but would pack a punch.”

Thran glanced from person to person. He got the sudden impression that they were looking to him to make the calls. Such was the burden of being a Councilor.

“I’m no General, but it’s the best I got. We’ll still need to enact something to keep the enemy frigates occupied. Any ideas?” He asked

“It sounds perfect to me.”

From out of the shadows emerged the Brotherhood Combat Master. He stood with his ar.s behind his back and a smile across his face.

Jai stands at a more relaxed state. “Perhaps we can use a decoy of sorts, by er.. sending out a ship to draw their attention as we make a swift strike and flank them.” He rummages through his pocket and pulls out the remainder of his ration, lifts his visor and continues to munch on it.

Circe was listening from the side of the group, standing in the shadows that hugged her form. Letting them slowly drop her glowing eyes and marking on her visor appeared first. She didn’t know much about big army tactics and usually kept out of them, but she could at least show her interest in stricking one of the targets.

“I guess small groups can easily move under the radar to take out the heart, when the head is distracted?”

“That would be expensive…” The Regent affirmed.

He pulled up ACE’s stock lists on his datapad. Thran scrolled through the appropriate channels, locating Synergy’s present stock. As he suspected, that item was limited. They did not keep large numbers in stock, few high end items were kept in large volume.

“We would need an appropriate vehicle to serve as Anti-air platforms. I suppose the Occupier tanks could be modified, but I’m not certain we have the time.”

“Of course, there’s always surrender. Abraxas sounds like a potent threat,” Anders suggested with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Thran didn’t much care for the tone of Anders voice. Being on the Council had lowered his tolerance for bad attitudes significantly.

“I’d expect a man of your station to be eager to put up a fight, Combat Master. Your comments will be noted in my report.” Thran said.

He hid a smile masterfully, maintaining a straight lipped disappointment in his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t even write a report, much less take the time to acknowledge the existence of others in that report. He turned back to the others.

“Very well. I think it’s best if we take a bit of both plans for the Frigate situation. We should run a decoy…well, bait perhaps is more appropriate. We capture the Frigates focus and draw them into our missile trap. We’ll have to make it count, we won’t have an endless supply of missiles.” Thran said.

“Besides,” the statement followed a bark of laughter from the far end of the room, “Abraxas is just a whiny child throwing a tantrum. We bloodied his snout when we messed up his outpost, and now he wants to try to give us a black eye in return.” A tinge of menace slid behind the overall light and passive tone of voice Alex usually carried as he said, “It is imperative that we teach him the error of that impulse.”

Anders resisted the urge to retort to Alex, though he found his own stance rather uncomfortable. He tugged at the collar of his robe, a bead of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

The Priest listened to the conversation between the group members, eyes flicking behind glasses to each individual as their voice rang out. For now, the conversation of vehicles was outside his realm of preference, so he kept his quiet stance for the moment.

The click, clacking of bladed heels approached the strangely mixed company. With a thump Aphotis placed down two bags that she filled up with goodies from the duty-free shop nearby.

“Missed anything important? By the way, the taxes are incredibly favorable on Arx.”

She motioned for the nearest droid to come over and kept grabbing its attention until it gave up and simply did what she told it to. With a sighing beep, booping the ‘mule’ carried away the luggage to her own ship.

“Not all that much, really.” Alex waved toward Aphotis casually; their last encounter hadn’t left them as much more than acquaintances, but it was in his nature to be generally friendly to people until they gave him reason not to.

“Mean ol’ Hutt has a bunch of ships and a decent number of troops and armor. Plans on making a big ol’ mess of Arx because he cannot abide what we did to his ramshackle drug smuggling operation. I assure you it was not all that impressive, it only took like four of us to shatter it.”

“He will be better prepared this time, and with greater numbers,” Anders sighed and took a step back to lean against the nearby wall for balance.

The tall Sith inclined her masked head at Alex.

“I appreciate the update, Draconis.”

“Mhm…,” Aphotis expressed her agreement with Aequitas, followed by a sharp hiss of air.

Electric-blue darted towards Hector behind her visor.

“Greetings, Ricmore. I shall give you my thoughts.”

Her eyes showed intentional saccades as she scrolled through the available information via her HUD. A clawed hand played with the corrugated hose of her headpiece as she processed the data.

There was an audible pop before the hiss as her chest inflated with a deep breath.

“The Kaminoan would appear to be the most psychologically robust of the individuals, but that is only true if you lack creativity. He clearly gravitates towards acceptance and being perceived as useful. Therein lies doubt and weakness, ultimately leading down to fear. One could insult and downplay his achievements, or render him unable to work on them at all. Do this via his peers, spread whispers and rumours, let it eat away at his conscience. Remember, the inability of others to accept your path, is not your concern—the Dr. is no Sith.”

“Now, for the next on our dear list. Brakka, she requires the aid of cybernetics. This speaks of loss and age, but also of a dependency on tradition and physical strength. Now, I can not say this with certainty—based on the lack of further information—there may be a trepidation of ranged weaponry lying underneath. This could serve as tactical approach as well as serve as psychological warfare. Clearly, sever the limbs before interrogation, render the nervous system incompatible with further cybernetics. Electromagnetic radiation comes to mind.” There was a slight pause, but still no exhalation. .

“Finally we have Dax Vantoss. Reputation is of interest here. The Neimoidians rationalise choice by thorough risk assessment, one could equate this with cowardice—do not. The display of wealth is where it counts here, I am sure our Regent could put him in his place with well-placed Dun Möch. Mock his clothes, mock his status and see this obsession turn inward.”

“Would this suffice, Ricmore?” Aphotis crossed her arms over her chest and, with a long awaited hiss, finally exhaled.

Thran’s eyes tilted slightly from his datapad.

“Your profiling of the enemy combatants is undoubtedly sound.” The Regent began. “ Though, perhaps, if timeliness had been listed among your virtues, you would know that Arx is under threat of siege and we haven’t got the luxury of time to plot complex psychological unraveling of the combatants. ”

Thran’s eyes turned back to his datapad. He tapped away furiously.

“Furthermore, what you have failed to include in your analysis is the will of the director of this tragic comedy. These captains will step exactly where the Hutt directs them to. Abraxas has made it clear, through boldness of a full frontal assault, that this is not going to be a contest of wits. It is his delicate ego that directs all of the enemy’s actions. He will act boldly and brashly, like a petulant child. I am certain this conflict will be resolved in the old-fashioned way; with blade and blaster bolt…Perhaps if we find our enemies isolated, I shall measure consideration on insulting Vantross and company to death. Though, I suspect I’ll find more efficacy at the end of my lightsaber. Until then, I think we ought to keep our focus on relevant tactical information.”

The Regent turned to Ricmore.

“How long do we have to prepare for the assault?” he asked, continuing to tap away on his datapad.

The tall woman raised her shoulders, she was somewhat surprised that the Regent was concerned about the psychoanalysis, but not the prior shopping experience.

“It would be terribly dull if there was no skirmish.”

“If boldness and brashness are the order of the day,” Alex stepped away from the wall and paced the room a bit, “then I daresay we can match and exceed them on that as well.” He casually juggled his helmet in an off-beat rhythm to his feet, accompanying and providing an almost hypnotic quality to his casual steady drawl. “It is one of my more endearing or infuriating qualities - it all depends upon who you ask - that I have never met a challenge I could not barrel into head-on with a disarming confidence. Some has characterized it as foolish and dangerous bravado, but I still stand here hale and heart. The same cannot be said for a long list of my opponents…”

“Your bravado is both noted, and incredibly foolhardy,” Anders coughed lightly.

Finally some headway Race thought to himself. He signed up to put holes in people not stand around talking. To many generals and not enough troops made for a mess in his experience. He had triple checked his gear and was ready to get to the fun part.

“What are the rules of engagement? ” Race asked before clarifying. “What I mean is how dead do you want them?”

“I am neither the Fist nor the Voice, so rules of engagement aren’t my forte. But, I would suggest we offer no quarter. After all, ACE will gladly buy all the Hutt’s holdings at estate auction.” Thran continued to tap away on his data pad.

Soft footsteps from boots could be heard as another man entered the room. He was tall, blue-skinned, and possessed crimson eyes that could pierce through the souls of lesser beings. In fact, he looked remarkably like the other Chiss in the room..

“Apologies for my tardiness, you would not helieve the traffic. Now, what has already been-”

The new arrivals attention had been diverted by the other Chiss in the room. His eyes narrowed on them, and they seemed to balk, their skin flashing from smooth blue to what appeared to be a reptilian hue.

They tried to make a break for it before Andets’ command of the Force lifted them off of their feet. He summoned them towards him as with a single motion, his lightsaber soared to his hand.

And impaled the imposter in the gut.

“I do not take kindly to impersonation…” Anders removed his lightsaber and tossed the Clawdite’s body over towards the Regent. “I do believe he has moments left of his life. If we want anything extracted, I would do it post-haste.”

Aphotis smacked her lips from the sheer fright emanating off of the dying Clawdite, a flavor she intended to savor.

’I wonder about those automated saline pumps, shrinking organs could open up so many possibilities,’ the Sith witch thought to herself in the middle of the commotion.

Thran reacted instantaneously. With his datapad tucked under his arm, he extended his free hand. He grabbed the Clawdite by the face. His eyes narrowed.

Flashes of the Clawdite’s memories pierced his mind. He walked back through the shapeshifter’s mind. Picking out useful information from the broad memories of an entire mind was like picking a single star out of a night sky. He narrowed his focus. Pounding in the ears. Pain. Fear. Failure. Regrets. He honed his mind again. A deal. A personal vendetta. He searched those things remembered most recently for the hallmarks of what drove the Clawdite to Arx.

Who had sent them? Who was the target? How did they get enough information to mimic the Combat master? Were there others? He searched for answers to all of his queries. Some were revealed in great clarity, others but shards of detail with little context. Thran parched the stolen memories from his own, framing them to reveal the secrets of the would-be infiltrator. He winced and released the changeling.

The process was quick, albeit violent. After such an intrusion, most would wish for a swift death. Fortunately for the Clawdite, It would come presently. In mere moments, they would pass through the last threshold and enter the house of the dead.

Thran scoffed. He knelt down beside the infiltrator and picked a recording device from their person.

“Well, well…what do we have here?” he said directly into the device.

He was instantly thankful he had not revealed all of ACE’s capabilities. Its modest fleet of warships could still become a factor. The remainder of their plan would need to be altered to account for the enemy’s eavesdropping. He kicked himself for being so careless. He stood up, seething. He took a deep breath and put his mouth to the recorder.

“Listen closely, Gorgface. I need you to ake a big step back and… literally FRAK YOUR OWN FACE! I am a very busy man and you have now twice wasted my time…I don’t know who you think you’re freking with, but heed my words carefully…Arx is MY territory, sleemo. So whatever you’re thinking, you’d better think again. I am going to rain down upon you an endless firestorm so intense that any traces of His Repulsiveness Abraxas’ slimy, repugnant, sniveling, shitcovered existence is wiped from every last record in this entire doshing Galaxy. You will need the entire New Republic and a binding Senate resolution to even delay me from destroying you. I will FREK you up!” Thran roared.

The Force swelled up around the Regent. Fury. Rage. Frenzy. The small recording device in his hand shook. It crumbled into pieces, shattered by the weight of his unfettered emotion.

Anders, whilst initially disgusted at the choice of language, could not help but comment;

“You realise, of course, that you are wasting your time. Abraxas is a Hutt, and thus, believes that the galaxy revolves around him and that he is untouchable. Of course…”

Anders then smiled. “We know that is far from the truth.”

All Circe did was tilt her head a little, the eyes on her helmet seemed to flicker slightly. Although she didn’t mind slaughter at all, they were wasting time and a Hutt’s ego would only grow with each passing moment that nothing was done against him.

“Guess we need a lot of salt,” she dryly said

“I do hope someone has Dracaryis on speed dial,” Anders folded his arms across his chest.

Azler continued his employment of golden silence, listening and observing. The arrival of the murderous heels elevating a clearly analytical mind, the rebuttal and critique, the juggling display and charge request, the inquiry of hostages versus corpses with a surprising disregard for information gathering, all had his eyes and ear for attention but none quite so much as the moment of revelation at two Combat Masters before him.

~…No one noticed?~ The Krath thought to himself as his eyes once again roam the group from behind his crimson glasses, far more critically this time. While many of these individuals were new to him, he had studied the hierarchy at least a bit upon his return to the Brotherhood and he was fairly certain that he was one of very few not in some position of power within this gathering. All the paranoia he had heard about the old management having in great excess, perhaps in this day and age pride was more prevalent. It was only the man’s resolve to continue appearing ‘docile’ that prevented him from at very least chuckling at the situation.

“Now it becomes an interesting gamble; do we change the plan because they know what it is and will possibly account for it, or stick with the plan because that they know we now know that they know, they shall surely expect us to change the plan and may be surprised by us still going through with it anyways?” The almost amused tone to the Priest’s voice does pull into question if he is more entertained by the fun of getting to say such a dumb yet accurate truth or enjoyment of the mind game that is now in play for Thran to debate between, but the question is nonetheless an interesting point to put to the man.

“All they have gathered thus far, is the various methods we could apply to murder them,” Aphotis’s modulated voice was monotone, the eyes behind her visor were fixed on the Clawdite.

“Apologies, I spoke too specifically. I meant more broadly is anything and everything that was even suggested off the table and we must start whole-cloth new or is it still worth pushing for something that was mentioned regardless in hopes that it would still work if they think we wouldn’t now?” amended the silver-haired man with a glance towards Aphotis. “Simply asking for future suggestions, as if we wish the board cleared, then we know not to bother with bringing up the previous idea of capturing a Frigate using a baited decoy even if the rest of the decided plan is vastly different.”

“I cannot imagine they were not already prepared for the majority of the things we had already discussed,” Alex seemed entirely unperturbed by the entire doppelganger event which had just occurred, the steady, slow pacing of his words continuing unabated from the last time he had spoken. “Amidst the ‘let us use planetary defenses,’ ‘let us turn the shield into a blockout to determine the battlefield,’ ‘let us use armor-penetrating missiles against their fleet,’ it is not exactly as if we are reinventing the wheel here. Frankly, if they were not already preparing for such tactics, then they were hardly a threat from a tactical standpoint to begin with.”

“To the south of the Iron Garage. In the desert. We can pull active stock from the motor pools. Those that don’t fall to blaster fire can suffer the fate of the sands.” Thran was, if nothing else, decisive.