The beige blur of faster-than-light travel faded as they decelerated, and reality returned. Tooley drifted them into a stable orbit around the planet, then started transmitting necessary landing codes. The process was much more involved here than it was on most other planets. Corey could see why.
“What the hell happened here?”
The entire surface of the planet was pockmarked by craters that were visible from orbit, many of which would have been apparent from even further away. The biggest one was difficult to estimate without a direct comparison, but it looked to be about as wide around as New Zealand. Each titanic crater had a large ring of raised rock around it that made it impossible to tell where any continents or landmasses had once been. Any trace of what this planet had once been had been buried under the scars of war.
“Orbital mass drivers,” Farsus said. He pointed to the left of the planet, at a derelict orbital station composed of several stacked rings. “Omogm was caught up in one of the few stellar wars in the era before the Galactic Council banned such weapons of mass destruction.”
While the mass drivers were far more elaborate and difficult to construct than nuclear weaponry, they could be far more devastating. The modified rail gun technology could accelerate a few tons of metal into a mock asteroid capable of obliterating an entire continent. A large enough mass driver could even destroy an entire planet, though such a weapon had never actually been constructed.
“How many people lived down there?”
“Thankfully, it was a newly populated colony world,” Farsus said. “And most of the population had time to evacuate. There were only a few hundred casualties. The Bokk League struck it as a show of force, not a killing blow.”
“Still fucked up,” Corey said. He glanced at one of the mass driver weapons still floating in orbit, and noticed several small lights buzzing around it. “Please tell me they’re taking those apart.”
“Exact opposite,” Kamak said. “Council wants to see if they can be repaired, in case they need to sterilize a Horuk planet.”
“Fantastic,” Corey said. “Let’s hope it’s broken.”
“Even if it is, they’ll just build another one,” Tooley scoffed. “We’re cleared to land. Military crew escort, so be on your best behavior.”
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There was no planetary government left on Omogm, but the skeleton crew of security forces assigned to investigate the mass drivers filled that role for now. Two small snub-nosed fighters flanked the Wild Card Wanderer on either side, and tried to follow her descent down towards the surface of the war-torn planet. Tooley entered into the ragged atmosphere far more smoothly than either of the fighters did, and they had to swerve wide to avoid any incidental collisions as the various density layers of the atmosphere rattled their fighters off course. Tooley felt smug about her piloting skills for a second and then drifted into a gentle glide towards the landing zone.
The Wanderer settled in amid a small patch of greenery on the edge of one of the craters. From here, they could overlook a massive inland sea, dyed a sickly greenish-brown by toxins leaking up from the exposed depths of the planet’s crust. Corey tried to ignore the metallic tang on the sea breeze and focused on the manor ahead. It was small but ornately carved, formed out of the same jagged rock that surrounded them.
One of the two fighters kept flying, but the other came to a soft landing right alongside them, and joined the crew as they disembarked. He was a Gentanian, just like Kamak, though with much more pronounced ridges on his bald head, and he wore a military uniform that Kamak would never be caught dead in.
“Welcome to Omogm,” the military man said. “Interested in some beachfront property?”
He waved a hand at the rocky manor.
“It’s recently vacant.”
“Not really in the mood for jokes, pal,” Kamak said. The uniformed pilot shrugged.
“Guess that tracks,” he said. “I’m Lancer Ranrit 1-A-4-4. I’m as close as it gets to being in charge of this shitshow.”
Kamak didn’t bother shaking the hand extended his way, though Doprel did.
“I imagine this wasn’t in your job description when you got assigned here,” Kamak said.
“Far fucking from it,” Ranrit grunted. “We got told there was some rich nutso with a war fetish planetside, but we never really interacted with him. First time I saw the guy was...well, you know.”
“I do know,” Kamak sighed.
“You know him?”
“Nah. Sale happened through a mutual associate. Can’t even remember his name, to be honest.”
“Probably for the best.”
Kamak grunted in agreement. Ranrit led them inside, through dusty halls decorated with rusty weapons and ancient uniforms of military’s far and wide. Farsus’ eyes darted back and forth seeing relics of conflicts he likely knew well. Corey wasn’t much in the mood to look around. He was only concerned with one piece of war memorabilia.
Vanrit punched in a key code to a secure door, and opened the way to the central gallery. Here in the center of the war-lover’s hoard, there were entire tanks, starfighters, weaponized drones, and one old, beat up starship with a boxy frame and fold-up wings. Corey felt the bitter sting of nostalgia -though he didn’t look for long. Kamak also averted his eyes, and plugged his nose.
“You couldn’t cut the guy down first?”
At the center of the room, the Hard Luck Hermit sat motionless -with its new owner crucified on the boxy nose, his torso split open and his ribs spread wide, still dripping blood onto the floor.