Pilgrimage to the Past

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Pilgrimage to the Past​

It it weren't for his visor, Uhtred doubted they'd have been able to navigate as far as they were. Ordinarily, they'd have flown; it was faster and more efficient, but this snow storm was especially bad. It blinded the instruments too much, froze power conduits and thermal processors. In short, it was too risky. There was a time Deucalians had once mastered the monstrous climate and weather of Hoth, fought off wampas and Skels, ice cats and every manner of hidden and dangers beneath the ice. Ando Prime was cold, to be sure, but it wasn't Hoth, and it certainly wasn't Deucalia. This was winter of another breed.

"We're almost there now! Just a bit further!"

Uhtred could scarcely see those behind and alongside him. The varlwulves they were riding on were fine in the weather, but Uhtred was almost blinded to even just see those more than five meters off from his location. The blizzard was roaring so loudly he had to yell into his armor's comlink just to be heard. It was annoying, but after hours of travel, they were near to their goal.

Erect pillars of stone, and tall walls with engraved carvings showed the way. Much of it was ruined, as was expected. It had been bombed to inhabitable levels centuries ago, whilst there were only children and non-combatants residing in it. And before then, it had been evacuated when the Jedi temporarily relocated his people. Even now, while still standing, this place was a husk of its former self.

Kaltísborg. The capital of Hoth when it was under the control of the Deucalians. Their second home of thousands of years. Now, just a memory. Directing his varlwulf through a nearby mountain's pass, the group found a temporary haven from the roaring snow storm, as the winds lashed out in futility against the mountainside. Hopping down from his varlwulf, Uhtred looked up at a crimson-broze colored door. The rear entrance to the city, long fallen into disuse, but still standing tall.

"Everyone's let get inside. Grab the supplies and we'll get started", Uhtred said, grabbing a TDS-1100 portable computer and a power unit, holding one under his arm while slinging the other from a strap over his shoulder. Uhtred didn't particularly like technical work, least of all in a ghost city, but this one was worth it. If nothing else, it would be nice to have some shelter from the cold.

OOC

• Open to all Deucalians

 

[Tyraré]

Tyraré had been told a lot of stories as a child, of her Clan's History, and that of her people as a whole. Passed down to her from her Mother, and her Mother before, was the tales of Deucalia itself. A frozen wasteland, by all accounts, but one that hardened its people into the mighty warrior race that now lay scattered and apathetic to their cultural extinction. She wondered if it was as cold as Hoth, after all, stories tended to translate in Real Life very messily. What sounds romantic or glamorous in a story could be the utter opposite in real life, and if this planet was anything to go by, frozen wastelands just weren't worth it. Even though she was wearing layers of thermals and had filled up on hot soup beforehand, the wind and snow were slicing through her coat and biting at her skin, threatening to gnash through and freeze her blood and stop her heart, unrelenting in its aggression.

She could see why the Deucalians called this place home.

The Varlwulf seemed to agree with her on that matter, slicing and stalking through the white sheets like scissors through paper. The furry predator seemed more at home here in the cold fog than anywhere else, almost jovial in its barks and growls at potential danger beyond the veil. She trusted her to keep up with Uhtred and the others, given how hard it was to see, and so far she hadn't disappointed. It wasn't too long before the group began to move away from the solid blizzard and into more...well, she'd say familiar territory, but only in the basest sense. She could recognize the dilapidated and rotting ruins for what they were, an indication that they were getting closer, and all things considered, she couldn't be happier - the sooner they got out of this cold, the better.

The sight of the door put more of a spring in her step, as soon as she was close enough, she slung her right leg over the Varlwulf and dropped down into the snow, coming up behind Uhtred and tapping her comms. Even with the blizzard slightly less chaotic here, she still felt the need to be sure he heard her.
"How do we get in!?" She asked, placing a gloved hand on the frostbitten metals, still holding strong after so long. "This technology has to be ancient and I doubt we could force it!"

@Herrith @Iridescence @Farnis13 @Xorism

 

[Lysandra Soleil]

Her boots crunched in the snow and the wind whipped malevolently. It howled and sang. The frigid air bit at her face, especially her nose, chin, and ears. This world was unforgiving, and Lysandra thought Deucalians were supposed to like the snow.

Her varlwulf came from behind her, yipping. Lorraine the varlwulf had her rear down to the snow, and her paws going as fast as they could. At least someone does. The wulf ran ahead, barking at the other two. They were having too much fun for Lysandra to call her back to her side.

As a hopeful diplomat, she was going to have to get used to different planets and their, or lack thereof, inhabitants. Lysandra let out a low groan as she huddled closer in her cloak, the fur feeling nice. She was right behind Tyr, and looking around, hoping for someone else to appear. As they saw the door, Lysandra’s long legs sprung into action. She came up to it, her eyes wide. The ruined city stood tall and proud, even if the inside was empty. It was beautiful.

Lysandra knew that Hoth could mean a lot to the Deucalian’s future. It had meant a lot in the past, and with the culture barely hanging on, the present as well. If they could do anything in this Galaxy, it could be to preserve their past, their ancestors. The journey to establishment was hard enough, but this might be the first steps. The foundation is always important, she reminded herself.

“Not with that attitude,” Lysandra muttered carefully after her sister had cried out. It was supposed to be almost sarcastically, but somewhat meaning it. She tried to generally be a positive person, but the harsh conditions of Hoth were bringing out the snark that boiled deep in her chest. But, she felt it dissipating as both the anticipation and excitement quipped around her. "And what supplies are those, Uhtred?"

@Korvo @Panda @Xorism @Farnis13 @Herrith

 

[Svala]

Svala dropped into the snow and readjusted the weapons on her back, clenching her hands under her gloves in an attempt to keep a bit warmer than she was. Hoth had a tendency to be harsh to its residents. Perhaps it was wise to leave while they still could, these older Deucalians. Perhaps her ancestor was among them, perhaps she was doomed to roam the stars and her bloodline somehow returned home one way or another. Perhaps she was just overthinking things. Either way, there was history here, something that what was left of the true Deucalian people severely needed.

Maybe there was something that could help her, too. The rest of the expedition was already approaching a massive door appearing in the snowfall. She had taken the back of the band, choosing to make sure there were no unwelcome beasts or other people before catching up to the rest with relative ease. Frost developed on her visor once more and she cleaned it off with the swipe of a hand, the long jacket around her shoulders doing well to keep her warm so far. A man called Uhtred, seemingly an unofficial leader of sorts, had grabbed some pieces of technology pertaining to opening the door and was being monitored by their other two explorers. Both people she had met before.

Not exactly people she would have called friends. Not nearly. Mainly she was here because she could fight, and that was about the only reason people ever kept her around. Unless there were a couple jokes tossed her way. Svala exhaled and watched the steam come from her mask, backpedaling to check on their wolves and then arriving at the gate. It was amazing that the color hadn't yet faded from the massive piece of architecture. Maybe it was reflective of the spirit of Deucalia. Again, she was likely getting too sentimental. She said something out loud, a random quote from her rather story-filled mother.

"And thus, the Doors of Death were sprung open. The dead emerged and restored what had been lost to time..."

Let us hope we are unlucky, so as not to fulfill a prophecy.

Perhaps Svala was good at saying the wrong things at the right time.

@Korvo @Panda @Xorism @Farnis13

 

[Eva 'Skuld' Stark]

She loved this icy weather.

Plumes of steam whorled from her visor as she took deep breaths in, delighting in the chill that swarmed over nose and teeth, prickling even through the warm layers of her insulating bodysuit. She had followed, from a distance far enough that wouldn't cause alarm. If they were what the woman thought they were... The usually stern face cracked into a sideways grin, fists clenched in their heavy gloves. It had been a solid decade of trekking amongst the stars, seeking out her heritage in any small whisper, but Hoth... this was where the legends were born. Her people built these walls and thrived in these icy conditions. Even wampas tended to avoid the ruins, even though the last of her kind had passed from these halls so long ago.

But not now.

Icy eyes narrowed at the fast-disappearing tracks that the blizzard tantalizingly revealed. She was no ranger, but even she could track through a wild storm like this.. and if luck was on her side, a proper shelter to find away from the biting wind. She wouldn't bother unholstering her weapons yet; best to keep her distance for now, and approach them slowly. She still wasn't quite certain of the number, but...

Booted feet crunched through the snow in a faster tread as her mind cast back to the Killer Ree. That ship was her baby... she hoped that the semi-sheltered alcove she had nearly crashed herself in wouldn't be buried to the icy rock around it. Much as she loved this climate, there was work to be done, and her clan's standing was to be upheld. You weren't a Stark and prone to weakness, even in the milder climates of Deucalia. The weak were culled, the idiotic would never survive. But then... the wind died briefly, and she saw them. For a brief moment, she could count out the shaggy forms of varlwulfs, and...

One, two, three... four. She counted out mentally, the grin cracking wider slightly beneath her visor. So many, and so young. Perhaps there was hope for their kind in this ghost town after all. And if she was spotted, so be it. Her hands were not loaded with weaponry, and though she itched with the urge to have her blade in hand, she continued forward.

Her objective wasn't fulfilled yet, and she had no intent on dying today.

 

[Torsten Ivarsson]

The bitter cold emanated deep within the depths of Hoth in a constant reminder that they were always the outsiders on this planet, forced to fight for their very survival which was something that had become one and the same for the Deucalian peoples. Harsh winds whipped across the icy wasteland, thick fur coats, and winter armor helped keep a breath of warmth around Torsten as he pressed forward.

Humans fought to survive in this inhospitable world but to his Varlwulf Marley? it was paradise. The happy varlwulf quickly ran ahead to join the others flicking up loose snow underneath its paws. It wasn't home as they knew it but Hoth it was said, would be a means to an end and would prove to provide valuable information if they could find it first. With the snow as it were, visibility was making it harder to navigate in the open but it was the unmistakable figure of Lysandra just within view that guided Torsten toward their objective ahead.

Their combined dreams and aspirations merged as the spirit of their ancestors filled the gathering of warriors and true Deucalians with a sense of both optimism and respect for the brutal environment. What else could they do but succeed where others had failed in the past five hundred years. The ruined city's magnificence and grace had stood the test of time beyond anything that he could imagine, having survived the war and hundreds of years in ruin yet in structure defiantly refused to die out, much like their kind.

The small gathering collected as Torsten arrived near Lysandra to watch their exchanges between sisters with a grin on his face. "Maybe try hitting it with your sword Tyraré, or follow Utred perhaps," he said in a loving but humorous way before pulling the backpack from behind himself and placing it at his own feet. Now at her side, Torsten took some immediate concern at Lysandra's face that appeared to have caught some of the harsh weather outside. Hopefully, soon, they would be inside and could set up their heat sources but in the meantime, he scootched closer and offered his arm for her to take.

@Korvo @Panda @Iridescence @Herrith @Killa Ree

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Snow was everywhere, got on everything. Normally that wasn't a problem, but with electronic equipment, it was anyone's guess as to whether the power core would be negatively affected by it all. Of course, his particular unit was insulated, but there were few things Hoth's cold couldn't batter its way through. And besides that, he still had a protected backup on his Varwulf, Wintermane.

"Come now systir, we don't need to force it", Uhtred said, grinning as he pulled a cord from the power unit, and began sliding his hand alongside the wall beside the door, as if checking for something.

"Power supply. Assuming no other stragglers have come along like we are, then the last time this place was used was probably during the Deucalian-Mandalorian War between the branch lines of the Drast Dynasty, almost four hundred years ago", Uhtred said, pausing for a moment to really remember just how far their people had fallen. "Can't count on anything keeping a spark for that long."

After some checking, Uhtred finally found the port he was looking for... encased in ice.

Auðvitað...

Turning back toward the group, Uhtred let out a sharp, quick whistle, summoning Wintermane over to him. Almost eagerly, the Varlwulf trotted over. After all, Hoth was alike a wonderland for these canines. Reaching into a side back on the saddle, Uhtred pulled out his elduröxi and primed its thermal core, activating the blue-edged glow of the blade. Carefully, Uhtred brought the edge of his elduröxi to the power socket, melting away the ice and hoping beyond all things that the terminal was properly fitted and wouldn't have shorted out.

"Torsten, what would the ancestors say at that suggestion?", Uhtred remarked, smiling. He didn't look away, he had to focus to make sure he didn't end up touching the blade of his axe to the terminal socket, but it was a rare and pleasant thing to have so many of their kind together.

Gott nóg fyrir mig, Uhtred mused to himself, depowering his axe and laying to the ground as he brought the cord from the power unit and plugged it in. As the orange glow of the power unit came alive, Uhtred brought the portable computer up and set it down on the ground, kneeling as he linked it into the second outlet. The terminal was old and probably damaged, if nothing else, then by a lack of maintenance over a very, very long time. It stood to reason that he'd need a separate unit to access the data.

"From what the old man once told me, the side and rear entrances to Kaltísborg were mostly used by hunting parties and patrols. Hoth was ours, nobody else even wanted it. So besides us, the only other people to live here were those blasted Skels, and they were never smart enough to access our technology on their own. So security was...", Uhtred said, moments before the two large double doors began creaking open. "...superficial."

Standing upright, Uhtred watched as two fusion torches, now supplied with power, ignited and burned, revealing a walkway which was equally lit by the daylight. It wasn't much, but it was worth it just to see a semblance of what the place once was. Uhtred almost regretted unplugging both the portable computer and the power unit, rendering the way dark once again.

"Well, let's go then", Uhtred said, carrying both the portable computer and power unit as he ventured inside. "Watch your step, and someone grab that backup power unit off Wintermane., would you?"

@Panda @Iridescence @Xorism @Herrith @Killa Ree @Farnis13

 

[Leif Nylund]

Leif, who until now had been quiet during the trip, went to the Varwulf and hefted the backup power unit. It was a damn heavy thing, but he could handle it. Long as he didn't fall into a snow well or something like that. Being suffocated by snow by stepping too close to a pit of snow was not how a Nylund was expected to die.

Thankfully, the thing had straps so he was able to sling it around on his back. Leif felt his excitement riding as they walked through this area, a place untouched by another Deucalian for generations. When Leif was offered to assist on this expedition he had practically jumped at the chance to witness such history. To be able to see a location he could put to the stories Uncle Tormund told him? Death wouldn't have kept him from the opportunity.

Leif finished securing the power generator to his back and started trudging along, following along with the rest of the group as they went further in.

 

[Tyraré]

Tyraré's head snapped to her sister, standing just beside her, as her little comment was caught by her ear. She brought her arm up and playfully elbowed her in the ribs, flashing a smirk at her sibling before turning back toward their problem. As much as she would have liked to have a little snark-to-snark combat, they had a job to do, and the quicker it got done, the quicker they could leave this blizzard-blasted rock. She could see why the Deucalians of old appreciated a place like this, but she had endured enough without having to live in a wasteland, and they were here to find home, and home, as so many people were fond of saying, was where the heart lay. She moved over to her Wulf and plucked the various satchels and cases off the saddle, hauling them over to the door as Uhtred called for his own white-haired steed.

So, he had a way in after all. Tyraré couldn't suppress a slight frown as she watched their leader melt the ice away to reveal the power outlets for their generators. Why was it that she could never think of something like that? Was it just that she was locked into a straightforward and, some might say, dullard 'Warrior's' mindset? She hoped not, she wanted to change, just being a straightforward warrior had brought her nothing but trouble in her life. She took a mental note of what Uhtred did for later before stepping back, watching the doors creak and groan as they parted, sliding open and letting the cold air rush in to banish the earthy stench that most likely lay within.

She looked to Svala as she rattled off a pretty dramatic line, chuckling at it - she had a pretty dramatic air about her at times, it was fun, made things seem a little more like a grand adventure. Once the doors were parted enough to let them through, she grabbed the straps of her supplies and heaved them all through the snow until they started to spark and scrape and growl against the stone floors. She had the food packs and tent rolls for them all, though she knew someone else had the heat and power supplies. With her job done for the moment, she decided to look around a little, moving away from the group and examining the walls. Running her hand over them, she could feel the Runes and pictures scrawled and engraved across them, history preserved by their people, probably of honor and glory.

"It feels a little weird being here, this place is like...pure Deucalian," She muttered, more to herself than to anyone in particular. "How big is this place?"

@Korvo @Iridescence @Headastator @Xorism @Killa Ree @Herrith @Farnis13

 

[Svala]

Svala turned to look behind the group, cleaning another layer of ice off of her mask. There was a silhouette on the horizon. Approaching. The rest of the group seemed to have not noticed. Too distracted by the siren's call of the dead city. They spoke amongst each other, and she turned back to look at her group as the massive maw leading to the ancient city. She wiped her visor once more and followed, walking up beside the only person she really knew (@Panda ).

"There is more to this expedition than our current group. Someone follows," muttered the Valengard, shifting slightly from the cold.

She looked back from where they came one last time, staring down the horizon before inhaling a deep breath. Svala made a note to stay aware for whatever, whoever was watching them.

 

[Eva 'Skuld' Stark]

As the bitter winds shrieked around her, she paused long enough to commit to memory what she had seen before the latest squall enveloped her vision. She continued on, not in the least deterred, at least long enough to gain shelter and track those that had landed. Others like her... it had been so long, that she felt it was more than mere coincidence. Were they trying to recapture old childhood stories? Reconnect some long lost part of themselves that they no longer experienced, but felt in their bones? Didn't they feel it here, that this was more home than any mealy, measly little gifted planet had ever been given?

She loathed the thought that they had gone from this... massive, feared race in the galaxy, to little more than spacer's fables and secret jokes in some dusty cantina. They were more than that. They were Deucalians! Her fists clenched at the thought, determination stiffening her resolve against the bitterly cold conditions.

So she slowly continued on, pacing west rather than head on north. Following the mental map she had constructed in mere minutes; years of travelling taught a body how to track, how to evade and hide and wait for clearance. Smuggler's instincts, following a gut feeling and tracking her quarry.

It wasn't long until she came to the massive western wall, and felt the rumbling of doors so many meters away. So they were like her... she chuckled softly at the thought, but the wind snatched the sound from her lips, carried it away. She began to slowly make her way to the group, arms open and hands exposed. If they saw her now, hopefully they would not shoot. She'd hate to harm ones that were perhaps much younger than she.

@Korvo @Iridescence @Herrith @Panda @Leif Nylund @Xorism

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

"Big enough", Uhtred remarked, still taking in the place. He hadn't gone far before one in their group, Svala, indicated that they were being followed. Or at least someone else besides them were marching into this place.

"Mind the wolves!", Uhtred yelled back to Svala, who herself seemed to be the first, if not only one among them that was alert enough to notice another party was nearby. "If they mean harm, leave them to the beasts. If not... then we are back to where we left off."

Uhtred was close to openly assuming that the follower was a Deucalian, but refrained. After all, he had little doubt that anyone other than his own kin would ever seek out a city abandoned centuries ago, much less even know of its existence and location. But there was always those from outside his people that would, so he wouldn't discount them. Whichever the case would have been, Uhtred didn't want to delay. Hoth was unusually active, with Anoat taking on an unknown ally of sorts. While Uhtred didn't know whether they would be friend or foe, subtlety was usually the better course in these matters.

As Uhtred continued on, the hallway eventually led into a series of chambers, each one apparently designated to a specific purpose. One room had scrolls together with small orbs, likely the spherical datacrons that Deucalians tended to use. One room was clearly some kind of archive, mostly stripped bare during the evacuation from Hoth. Another room seemed to be an arena, perhaps for training or issuing challenges. But these were still not what Uhtred was looking for. That didn't come until Uhtred spotted a carving on a wall. The carving looked like it was made out of bronzium, but this one was different; it was decorated heavily with crimson-colored crystals, in the shape of a dragon, but with legs and wings. Ordinarily, one might have mistaken it for a depiction of an Arkanian dragon, or perhaps even a mythological representation of a Krayt dragon. But it was a Deucalian dragon. It was Ánlögun, the Formless One. More than any other spirit in Deucalian folklore, Ánlögun most heavily symbolized the Deucalian Exodus and the era of space exploration. This was the hub, where space traffic with the orbital shipyards used to coordinate with planetside operators.

"This is it!", Uhtred said hurriedly, pulling the power unit from his shoulder. The main terminal wasn't hard to find, as it was placed directly in the center of the room. Dropping the unit, Uhtred pulled the power cord and plugged it into the terminal. Slowly, an energetic hum resounded as the terminal flickered to life. Computer panels around the room began likewise flickering to life. It was a good sign, although several interfaces appeared to be malfunctioning, or even not functioning at all.

Even as Uhtred glanced over each of the computer panels, seeing the futhark runes above them, there was again just one in particular he was looking for. Even without operators, navigation computers often continued to log flight information. There was no telling how long ago it was that the power in this place would have run out, especially considering it was likely to have happened once the place had been shut down already, but it was a certainty that it would have lasted at least a few months. And that was more than enough time.

"Flight records, this is it."

It would have been about 500 years ago, when it all happened. It was before the war, before the decline. Another age, where hope was real, was palatable. Nothing at all like now. In fact, even now, hurdle after hurdle kept coming. The terminal and computer unit had power, but the interface was damaged, unresponsive.

"The backup generator, who has it?", Uhtred asked without looking, instead dropping to a knee as he pulled back a panel that housed the inner parts of the computer. He was getting this information, one way or another.

@Iridescence @Herrith @Panda @Xorism @Killa Ree

 

[Lysandra Soleil]

It was a truly beautiful sight. Lysandra’s lips parted, her eyes fully taking in the sight. Her stomach began to tingle. Her arm snaked around Torsten and pulled herself closer. “I never thought this was possible,” she said, almost in a whisper. Tears threatened to fall down her face, a proud smile.​

​

It was very hard to remember that she had the backup generator. It was almost like it had dawned on her very slowly. The usual cool-headed Lysandra let out a squeak and whirled around. ​

​

“Sorry, Uhtred. Here you go,” she handed it to him, her hands shaking. She returned next to Torsten, casting him a huge grin. She stood on her tip toes and watched as it began to power up.
​

 

[Torsten Ivarsson]

The Deucalian people were hardened by centuries of troubles and conflicts but even after hundreds of years in neglect and ruin, the artistry of the room they had entered was breathtaking. Perhaps they were rough people, war had seen to that but they were also capable of so much more intricacy and beauty as this room and those within it represented to Torsten. Briefly embracing Lysandra to enjoy the moment before she wondered over toward Uhtred, he simply replied "Neither did I." sharing a warm smile with her.

Torsten eyed the interesting artworks adorning the room while he was alone, and marvelled at the talent and effort that must of gone into such masterful art until Lysandra returned to him excitedly. It was a huge opportunity presenting itself and he silently hoped that nothing would go wrong with the old equipment as it sprung to life. He reached down, taking her hand softly into his own, Torsten twirled his fingers through hers and held on as they patiently waited to see if what they had traveled so very far for would be there to be taken. A whole new world for their own, a place to call home and grow both as a people and a family.

The stars called to them and soon the call would be answered.

@Korvo @Iridescence @Panda @Killa Ree @Herrith

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

OOC

• Wow, totally forgot to wrap this up and end it. OOF

Uhtred was never a mechanic, but he always had a fascination of a sort with machines. Normally, this was a thing revolving around ships, around starfighters and the like. Never computers and terminals, but in this, there was an undeniable exception. As the Deucalian Reaver connected the backup generator to the computer terminal, the old machine flickered to life, whirring as it lit up, projecting a fairly basic screen brimming with Deucalic characters.

Uhtred frowned slightly at the display. It was not a frown of disappointment, but was a reflection of his mind racing to understand what he was seeing. They were strings of characters; codes perhaps, or else abbreviations and substitutions. Pulling out a datapad, Uhtred linked the two devices together, utilizing a base program to properly interface with the terminal. It took several minutes for the two devices to properly sync, but it soon became clear that what Uhtred was looking at were docking codes, starship registries and departure logs and... recorded starcharts. Uhtred grinned devilishly at that particular discovery.

There were many, most of which were likewise designated through codes. It was annoying, but these were files and logs meant to be sorted and accessed through computer interfaces designed for navigation, not jury-rigged like they were now. Without a direct name for what each of the recorded starcharts and maps were, Uhtred would have had to investigate each starmap individually; a daunting task he was most certainly not looking forward to. Again using his datapad, Uhtred this time went to the starship registry, his eyes scanning through all the ship names relentlessly, even tirelessly, until he found the name; Tómiðkeðja.

The Tómiðkeðja; a fairly little-known ship except among certain circles. In that era, the years just before the dawn of the Goliathan Age, some details were frequently overlooked. But that name... that was the ship that spearheaded the first expedition that rediscovered Deucalia. Because some feared the trip would be a one-way journey, either in death or lost to the infinite void of space, their entire journey was pre-logged, right down to the trajectory of their hyperspace coordinates and their end destination within the Void Sea. Next to the Tómiðkeðja was a sequence of codes, one of which indicated the last departure log and the starcharts associated with it. The Tómiðkeðja was a ship far past its prime, and it never did return from Deucalia, but with the Rogue World rediscovered, it wasn't necessary, either.

Returning to the previous screen on his datapad, Uhtred then accessed the starmap into the Void Sea directly by identifying the needed starchart log with the code associated with the Tómiðkeðja's last flight. And in but a few moments, the data was then fully downloaded to Uhtred's own datapad. The Deucalian Civil War might have seen what their people had only so recently gained lost once more, but it would not be so any longer. It was a first step, and a vital tool in returning his people to their roots, but it was powerful information in its own right as well.

Without a word, Uhtred signaled everyone to move out, but he delayed slightly himself. Taking out his blaster, Uhtred rose his weapon and promptly opened fire on the computer terminal, utterly destroying the log now that it had been copied. After all, value was heightened with something was the last of its kind, so far as anyone knew. And Uhtred had great plans for it...

/End Thread