Deacon
New member
The Krake had regarded the Terran craft impassively. He was not here as a consultant. He did not give opinions, though they thrummed across his membrane continuously, springing up like wildfires in his psyche. Sunspot flares of mental acuity danced across the blue film, signs of life and of sapience, rather than the mimic-meat that surrounded him. Walking, stilted, on their bony legs, organs precariously stuffed into skinsacks. Lacking grace. Lacking precision.
It had come to his attention that the vast majority of humans were utterly disabled. They strongly favored one hand over the other. Some had ambidexterity, but most were effectively crippled in that regard as well. These asymmetrical shamblers had somehow embarrassed the Krake Empire, reduced its holdings significantly - cowed them, humiliated them. A human might get an impulse of rage on occasion, a channeled derivative of the true feeling that had burned across the sea fields on the day the Imperial Sovereign resonated surrender. The pink-purple swirl of shame, acknowledgement of defeat in the fields of battle. How had it come to this?
This derelict was one of so many ships that had bested them. Inconceivable.
Haigen, the mission commander, slobbered his way through trying to pronounce the ship's name. All of it was gibberish to the Krake's proverbial ear - subspeak, the flapping of tongues, wet lips. Repulsive.
The remnants of battle greeted them. The Krake's weapons were drawn - the phase-pulse rifle in his right outer hand, the scattergun in his left outer hand. The two inner arms modulated a scanning tool. His suspensor field pulsed, and the ExRel drone followed behind him, over his shoulder, scanning for life. The rotary cannon buzzed menacingly in its geometrically perfect core. His personal shield generator shimmered.
"Scanning for life, captain," he quirbled through his tentacles, hulking frame silently and smoothly gliding into the room via suspensor tech. Crush-force had killed some of the androids here. Others had been shot.
The Krake awaited instructions dutifully - an impartial observer ready to transform into a brutal killing machine.
It had come to his attention that the vast majority of humans were utterly disabled. They strongly favored one hand over the other. Some had ambidexterity, but most were effectively crippled in that regard as well. These asymmetrical shamblers had somehow embarrassed the Krake Empire, reduced its holdings significantly - cowed them, humiliated them. A human might get an impulse of rage on occasion, a channeled derivative of the true feeling that had burned across the sea fields on the day the Imperial Sovereign resonated surrender. The pink-purple swirl of shame, acknowledgement of defeat in the fields of battle. How had it come to this?
This derelict was one of so many ships that had bested them. Inconceivable.
Haigen, the mission commander, slobbered his way through trying to pronounce the ship's name. All of it was gibberish to the Krake's proverbial ear - subspeak, the flapping of tongues, wet lips. Repulsive.
The remnants of battle greeted them. The Krake's weapons were drawn - the phase-pulse rifle in his right outer hand, the scattergun in his left outer hand. The two inner arms modulated a scanning tool. His suspensor field pulsed, and the ExRel drone followed behind him, over his shoulder, scanning for life. The rotary cannon buzzed menacingly in its geometrically perfect core. His personal shield generator shimmered.
"Scanning for life, captain," he quirbled through his tentacles, hulking frame silently and smoothly gliding into the room via suspensor tech. Crush-force had killed some of the androids here. Others had been shot.
The Krake awaited instructions dutifully - an impartial observer ready to transform into a brutal killing machine.