The Red Frontier: Wrath of the Vanquished

Interlude: Lambs to the Slaughter

In a dark maintenance warehouse, under pus-yellow lights, several figures hung around a rusted steel table. In a language few could understand, they bickered and hissed at each other, voices hushed lest they be overheard. All through their conversation, their alien hands pointed and gestured to weathered map whose corners were laced with dark crimson stains that flaked away easily with a touch.

Blood. Human.

It was then that a loud, rattling clank and a beam of light streamed into the room, announcing an arrival. The figures around the table turned, their beady golden eyes all locking onto a single looming figure who came striding out from the far end of the warehouse, the heavy steel door shut behind him by two armed guards.

In the darkness, the figure was hard to make out, and even as he grew closer, he was a mystery. His face was concealed behind the visor of a Sirthon spacing helmet, its black plastic frame leaving his visage invisible to all who looked upon him. However, he towered over all others in the room, a good foot taller than each of them. With every step he took on his digitigrade legs, a faint whirring sound filled the air, echoing off the walls of the warehouse's interior and creating a low, fearsome drone like an approaching plague of venomous swamp flies.

As he came to a halt by the table, everyone stopped talking, bring a pall of unease over the meeting. The sound of his strides ceased, and a few dared to hope that he would remove his helmet so they might gaze upon his face.

However, he did not. Instead he stood there, remaining masked and incognito. A course of action that the Sirthon respected and understood.

After all, if any alien glimpsed his visage, the entire Galactic League would come bashing down the door...

Silence hung in the air for a long while, and was then broken when the new arrival spoke.
"They have arrived..." a deep, calm voice resonated from behind its helmet. "Are the items in place?"

One Sirthon had the courage to respond. A broad and stocky one dressed in combat armour who leant forward and propped his elbows on the table. "Everything by design, comrade" he chattered through his mandibles. "The smugglers of The Republic Reborn have brought the necessary armaments. The men merely await your command..."

The helmet nodded. "Then let us go over the plan one final time..." The voice said, his head flicking down to study the map. And as he did so, there was a metallic creak as a segmented metal left arm, with vicious clawed fingers and ridged plates for knuckles, gestured to a line of buildings on the map. "Snipers here, here and here, overlooking the front of the embassy. The truck will remain in this alley, with troops hidden nearby." He lifted his head and scanned the group, eyeing them one-by-one. "Weapons are to be set to sub-sonic. If there are any witnesses, shoot to kill."

Another voice spoke up from around the table; a thin Sirthon with one of his four eyes glazed over and milky. "Great Leader, your actions in Nastra have gone just as planned. With the noble sacrifice of our brothers and sisters and the death of Mrs Lucan, the humans foolishly think that they have foiled our plans..."

The figure in the helmet scoffed. "More the fool you for doubting me, Ksinos."

"Indeed, Leader." The three-eyed alien nodded humbly. "I truly underestimated the stupidity of the human filth."

The metal-armed Sirthon rolled his shoulder. "Indeed. One of the many weaknesses of their species. And a tool for us to exploit..." he said slowly.

Everyone at the table nodded eagerly.

Another voice spoke up from amongst this cabal of terrorists. "Our little rodent is armed and ready. He will assist in acquiring the assets from the meeting."