Vikkron (DISCONTINUED)

Anomaly

The Partalan Android looked back at the starship, a Scout Carrier. He wondered if there were still ships in the hangar at the base of the ship. Scanning, most were beyond repair, but a few were capable of a slow TP. Even more, the mystery of his new location (and time, for that matter) was something needing to be analysed right away. He let his idea of refuge in a scout linger in the background, rather sure that this station had some type of repair bay. 

Walking to the sliding doors of what seemed the 44th Century of his kind, they opened with a soft squeak, as if the bases were old and in disrepair.  Inside, races of different type, some he was familiar with, busheled around, mingling, eating, and listening to live music with numerous instruments, all while absorbing to smell of savory foods and slowly dehydrating. Places like these made the Mind what it is today, surprisingly,  the Android thought. 

No one seemed to notice his presence as he waded through the crowd, searching for a repair bay, or shop; anything to get him going somewhere. Not that his first impression of the station was bad, but noting on his emergence here wasn't intended. Although, it could have been worst; the ship could have arrived with nothing nearby, completely stranded. Suddenly, a person stopped him, a Terran. "Whoa," they said with surprise. "Check it out! What are you?" 

Seeing how this person spoke, Blade decided it best to change from his default voice setting. Standard Arvic would pose no use here with these people. Instead, he applied a more... informal piecing of words with a neutral voice tone. "Uh, I'm an android," he replied. "Not from around these parts." 

"That's obvious," the Terran said. "Never seen anyone like you before."

"I'm sure there are others, somewhere," Blade replied, hoping that he was right.

"Well, see ya," the Terran said while walking off, softly punching his fist into the android's shoulder plate. Blade looked at it and rubbed it off. "Damage report?"

<- 0% Damage Received. Total Damages — 28.49%. -> , his control chip stated.

"28.49%? That's a lot more than usual."

<- There is a repairs shop a few feet away, to your right. ->

"Thanks," Blade replied as a location mark appeared along with the time till arrival.

<- After you repair yourself, get something to eat. ->

"Yes, I know. I am feeling awfully famished..."

Some while after he checked into the shop and got numerous background checks, with nothing being found, he did manage to obtain a meal with some currency that the repair man gave him. The aroma of food cooking and frying was abundant no matter where you were. This level of the station wasn't grimy at all, instead polished and clean like a fancy restaurant. Some foods were rapped up in foil, others served at a table. There was a division of the traffic and the seating area, a large glass wall tainted a slight blue.

Walking over and sitting down, a waiter soon came to his aid, giving him a menu. He thanked them and searched for something inexpensive, having only worth 200 credits of which to use. After a few minutes, he found something that caught his eye — escargot. It was a dish from old Terra, when the nation's we're all separated with their own problems to deal with. It was considered a delicacy and Blade was rather surprised that dishes like these were still served. Blade decided to order the old world dish. Meanwhile, to pass the time,  he talked to his systems chip.

"Any updates on the situation?"

<- Numerous. I have found where we are. The T.S.E.R.S.S, a Vitarian owned space station in 23 Terran Century time. The station was once owned by the Tekenhalmians, but we handed over to an Arkivitalius after the original owner died. ->

"Strange. Why was it handed over after death and not given to the owner's relatives?"

<- The owner has a daughter, yet they had seemed to have some sort of trust system with the Vitarian. It looks like that system went over family ties. That's all I've got. ->

"Interesting. How's my core?"

<- Running well. A tad bit damaged, but nothing of the 23rd will be able to fix or replace. ->

"Anyway for me to repair it myself?"

<- Possibly, although I wouldn't recommend it. There might be some left on the ship, just as backup. The core you're currently on should run about a week at it's hull strength. Could explode if you aren't careful. ->

"Inform me when I've got two days left, then decreasing exponentially per hour. I need to have steady usage."

<- Understood. You're food should be arriving shortly.  I will start scanning your remaining systems and ship in the meanwhile. ->

***

The Irian Command was not in a good mood. After the news of the desertion of the Genesis, it was known that more would follow in Meh-vaj's misleading path.

The ever so real threat of a rebellion was knocking on the front door, weapons ready. Given the tools possessed by the Irians as well as the locations friendly to the Genesis (there had been many of those rising in just a few hours after the desertion started), the coming war at two fronts wasn't going to end well for any side.

The Irian Command had to do something to remove the Terrans and Rebels both at the same time. Their efforts in research proceed well, and before long, a separate dimension, the Lopside, was uncovered. Plans ready, the Command headed towards the best place to come across them, the center of the galaxy.