Setting
INK
"Link to Grimorean Base of Danurgh, read me!"
The newly imported, sphere-shaped Model F Scout Probe carried a single crew of four people, all crushed into a space roughly forty feet in diameter. The man floating along by the control panel and microphone was muttering incessantly into it latter, and from what seemed to be the wiring of the Scout Probe, a warm, male voice was calling out.
"This is Grimorean Base of Danurgh's Operator, Denil Rockfert, speaking at the moment to Model F Scout Probe Number Six, how do you do this fine day?"
The person using the microphone on the ship coughed lightly and responded briskly. "Model F Scout Probe Number Six en route to the Death Cloud for our tête-a-tête with Unlife, signs of incomings?" A grunt that was taken as a 'no' resounded through the packed module, and an audible sigh of relief hung in the air. The Operator of the Scout Probe glanced momentarily out of the quartz windows, admiring the view of the white and yellow pinpricks in the eternal twilight of outer space-- then caught his breath as they blinked out of sight.
Within a few moments, Model F Scout Probe #6 had lost connection to all Grimorean bases.
Around a smooth, wooden, circular desk, five men sat, each with folded arms on the table and their heads down.
"The sudden loss of signal indicates that they might have hit something," the youngest-looking one whispered frantically, "or maybe..."
None of them wanted to think about what 'maybe' was.
"But how could have they manoeuvred the Death Cloud without hitting something? I assure you t-that the ship was still on the inside," another responded, shivering a bit.
"See, that's a good way of putting it," the oldest one, with a shiny scalp and a somewhat stooped back encouraged a tad bit bleakly. "Besides... we've got a decent amount of allies... our trade of Findop Nicks surely has to mean something..."
The newly imported, sphere-shaped Model F Scout Probe carried a single crew of four people, all crushed into a space roughly forty feet in diameter. The man floating along by the control panel and microphone was muttering incessantly into it latter, and from what seemed to be the wiring of the Scout Probe, a warm, male voice was calling out.
"This is Grimorean Base of Danurgh's Operator, Denil Rockfert, speaking at the moment to Model F Scout Probe Number Six, how do you do this fine day?"
The person using the microphone on the ship coughed lightly and responded briskly. "Model F Scout Probe Number Six en route to the Death Cloud for our tête-a-tête with Unlife, signs of incomings?" A grunt that was taken as a 'no' resounded through the packed module, and an audible sigh of relief hung in the air. The Operator of the Scout Probe glanced momentarily out of the quartz windows, admiring the view of the white and yellow pinpricks in the eternal twilight of outer space-- then caught his breath as they blinked out of sight.
Within a few moments, Model F Scout Probe #6 had lost connection to all Grimorean bases.
Time-Skip; Five Minutes Later
Around a smooth, wooden, circular desk, five men sat, each with folded arms on the table and their heads down.
"The sudden loss of signal indicates that they might have hit something," the youngest-looking one whispered frantically, "or maybe..."
None of them wanted to think about what 'maybe' was.
"But how could have they manoeuvred the Death Cloud without hitting something? I assure you t-that the ship was still on the inside," another responded, shivering a bit.
"See, that's a good way of putting it," the oldest one, with a shiny scalp and a somewhat stooped back encouraged a tad bit bleakly. "Besides... we've got a decent amount of allies... our trade of Findop Nicks surely has to mean something..."