NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is the IC thread for "Shrouds of Darkness" a Star Wars Alt-History
Character based RP.

Changes are thus:

Grievious is not killed by Kenobi, causing some Jedi to potentially survive the Purge when they canonly did not(such as my claimed character, Aayla Secura)

The RP will be set in 15BBY with a Rebellion that is for some reason forming much sooner.

---

Initial posts will often require an explanation for what your character was doing during the purge, and further to explain what they did between 19BBY and 15BBY.

Link to OOC thread: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=563110

Please post the majority of OOC comments there, as well as questions.

OOC: I'll post a response soon with Ranakin's explanation soon.

The hallway shuddered from the force of another explosion. As it did, Master Farlon spoke into the communicator at his wrist, his green eyes blazing below his long, light brown hair. "What happened, skipper?" he asked.

"Another boarding party, sir. Looks like an assault team, three decks above you," a voice replied.

"Will you be able to contain it?" Farlon asked.

"Not sure. We'll give 'em quite a fight, though."

"Keep me informed. Farlon out."

"So how do you want to do this?" Dagrond asked.

"Rear escape pod, my young apprentice. It's clear that they're after the ambassador. Let's not make it easy for them."

"Alright," Dagrond said, pulling his light saber from his belt. "I had point last time, so I guess that makes it my turn."

Farlon smiled. He could sense that the long, graceful lines of the Intergalactic Liner Tranquility, bound for the Imperial Council, were now filled with cracks and holes, and he sensed that, if nothing was done, the ship would not last another day. Yet, something was clouding his vision. It was almost as if fate itself were somehow being altered, impossible though this may seem.

A few minutes later, Dagrond's light saber came around a corner shortly before he did and deflected a blaster bolt from an unseen adversary. As Dagrond watched, fire from the corridor on the other side of his light saber lanced out--three bolts, so fast that only his Jedi reflexes allowed him the ability to count them as separate shots. A rather collective thud on the far end of the hall told him that they had all been hits. He raised his hand, telling his Master and the dignitary whom they both guarded to hold back while he surveyed the situation.

As he carefully emerged from the hallway, he shook his hood down so that his green eyes would be free. To his left--the way that he was to go--lay three men, unkempt and unconscious. To his right stood the incongruity of incongruities.

He looked like a fat old man. He was about average height--a good half a head below Dagrond himself. A dark blue tunic and working pants covered his skin, and thick boots came up to his mid calf. His hair was dark and streaked with gray. His eyes were blue. His skin was light, as if the sun seldom shined on him. And then there were the blades. Two of them. They were not held in his hands, but, rather, extended from his hands. The fingers had bent down in a way that no human hand could, and the blades had come out through what had been the knuckles.

"Well met, Jedi," the fat man said, a slight grin playing across his features.

The man made absolutely no stirring in the Force. Dagrond had never felt anything like it before. He could tell absolutely nothing. It was almost as if he was immune to fate. Still, he did not seem evil, so Dagrond decided that he would not challenge this...cyborg, and that, rather, he would continue with the task at hand.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but duty calls. I've got to get to the rear escape pod."

"Pity," the thing said. "I, too, need its use."

By now, Farlon had made his way around the corner, too. "I'm afraid that we've got priority," he said. "our charge is--."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," the cyborg replied.

This man was becoming positively insolent. "I'm afraid that you have no choice," Dagrond said.

"Oh, I do," the cyborg said, with a depressed sigh, "just not any good ones."

He took a step forward, and the silver blades that he carried turned white. Unusual technology, and it made them the match for any light saber. Dagrond sprang to counter the attack and led in with an overhead hammer.

What the cyborg did then caught the young Jedi completely off guard. Instead of directly blocking the strike, he merely deflected it downward with his left-hand blade. As Dagrond's balance shifted, the right-side blade hooked under and came up, first cutting a swath in the Jedi's robe--but neatly missing his arm--and then settling at a point just above the young man's adam's apple.

"Please," he said, "don't force me to do something that I will deeply regret."

"Dagrond, hold," Farlon said. "I think I've heard of you. You're the Metal Man, aren't you?"

"The very same," the cyborg replied.

"Then you work for good, as do we," Farlon said. "Why are you trying to take our place away from us?"

"I am not," the cyborg replied. "I believe that there will be room for everyone. I merely wished for you to share it with them."

"Them?" Farlon asked.

"It's alright," the Metal Man said, turning his head behind him. "You can come out now."

Eight children, none older than ten, proceeded to emerge from the corner behind the cyborg. At the same time, a tall, elderly woman, clad in purple robes with a four-part hood descending from a bejeweled ring at the top of her head, came from behind the Jedi. "Children," she said, her teeth clenching. "Of all the..."

"Oh, please, pretty lady," said a little girl, staring at the woman with huge, brown eyes. "We'll be good. We promise."

"They've all had The Training," the Metal Man said. "I was taking them to Coruscant to begin the Specialist Phase."

The old woman smiled. She had heard of “The Training,” and the girl had a winsome way about her. "And who could resist such charming young ones?" she said. "Farlon, they're coming. Be along now!"

Farlon smiled. "Yes, your excellency," he said. Dagrond stepped back, and the Metal Man's blades regained their silvery hue.

"I'll trust them to your care," the Metal Man said. "Keep them well."

"What about you?" Farlon asked.

"I don't need an atmosphere to survive," the cyborg replied, “and I don’t have half the Secret Service forces of the Empire looking for my head. I've got some boarding parties to repel--and, if you'll pardon my saying so, your escape pod will need a distraction to keep the pirates off of it. I don't know what the Imperial Defense Forces told you, but help is a lot nearer than it appears."

At that moment, another shot singed through the corridor. Instantly, Dagrond's blade deflected it. The Metal Man rolled and fired, stunning the new adversary as well. A voice, rendered indistinct by commotion around the corner, came from through the hallway.

An electrical hum softly flowed from the cyborg, quickly rising in pitch as he powered up a levitation device of some kind. In an instant, it had propelled him across the hall and into the middle of the concealed enemies. Another quick volley and they had joined their comrades in blissful slumber.

"They know where you are, gentlemen," he said. "They called for help. You'd best get moving!"

Exchanging a quick glance, Farlon and Dagrond glided around the corner and through the path that the Metal Man had cleared for them.

It was only after the two Jedi had made their way to the escape pod and ejected from Tranquility that the full horror of the situation became clear to them. Not one pirate vessel but three had attacked the ship.

Even as he watched, though, Farlon could feel something changing. At first, he didn't notice it, but then it appeared on the far side of the pirate ships, and Farlon knew why they wouldn't be firing on the escape pod. It was tiny--barely one third the size of any of the pirates--but it was diabolically fast, and it had a jump drive. It was a saucer-shaped ship. It would appear, launch a volley of fire, and then jump to another location so quickly that the pirates couldn't even lock their weapons on it.

The cyborg inside of the Transgalactic Liner and the little ship outside of it were turning the tide of the battle. Farlon had heard that The Metal Man could thwart prophecy, but now it stunned him to realize the extent of that ability. Hundreds of people on that liner who would have died now would live. Hundreds more who would have become slaves would now be free.

And the pirates? The way things were going, Farlon could now feel that they would be relieved when the Imperial Defense Corps showed up to save them from the hopelessly disabled hulks that they were stuck in.

Someday, Farlon knew, his path and this cyborg's would cross again. He would make a point of it.

----------------

OOC: The Metal Man is going to Coruscant. When there, he would like to meet up again with Mace Windu, whom he caught in midair as the Jedi Master was falling from the window of a certain high tower. The Jedi and the cyborg have struck up a friendship—Windu has introduced TMM to Form VII of light saber combat and TMM has introduced Windu to an ancient but little-used Sith technique called The Silver Sword (a mirrored surface can reflect the column of a light saber back upon its wielder).

All this, of course, if and only if the person who decides to play Mace Windu agrees.

ooc: *kewen* *buump* *tagg*

The night air was cold. The air silent. Nothing disturbed the trees. Then, a soft hum came from down the gravel roadway, growing slightly louder as it approached.
Movement to the left.
He could see them now. Two troopers on speeder bikes, with a repulsor-limo following behind. They were headed for the mansion in the distance. But if all went according to plan, they would never make it.
Almost, he thought. Waiting was the hardest, but it was neccessary. Timing would be crucial in this operation.
Withing a few more minutes, the little convoy was almost past him. He hefted his sniper rifle and took aim, leading his target...
... as a shot of flame ripped the limo in half.
The troopers were down before they new they were under attack. He slung his weapon, and jumped down from the tree branch. Not a moment later, he was beside the remains of the limo. The blast had seperated it in the middle, leaving the rear half and its occupant intact.
As had been intended.
Allready, another figure stepped out of the wreckage, dragging a human body behind him. He smiled.
Suddenly, sirens in the distance, coming from the mansion. It would take them several minutes to arrive.
Plenty of time.
Both figures turned to the night sky, as a loud roar come over the trees. The LAAT\s gunship apeared overhead, and quickly decended to the ground, stern ramp already open. As they dragged their captive aboard, the ship lifted off and headed into the night, just as the first security forces arrived at the wreck site.
Just as they had planned...

----------

Demon sealed the hatch as Blaze placed the human into a stasis tube. "There," he said as the hatch locked, "That'll hold 'em."
Already heading to the cockpit, Demon climbed into the pilot's seat. "Status?" he asked.
"Up and out," replied Flash from the co-pilot's seat, in the canopy behind him. "I show no pursuit. We're in the clear."
"Setting course for Coruscant," Demon said. "Stand by for hyperspace."
"Ready."
"Ready", Blaze replied from below.
"Engaging." He pulled the hyperdrive lever, and sent the ship hurdling on its way to Imperial Center...

Arreshka Van slid through the ruined streets of Uta-pah. The sancturary of Greivious before the end of the Clone Wars. And the place where the Force had told him to go. He didn't know why, but he knew to trust the Force in such matters. That trust had saved his life more than once. His hand tightened around the blue lightsaber hilt at his belt as his mind flashed back to the hell on Tarron Mazar, where his life as a Jedi had come to an end.

...Cold, it was all so cold. The wind howled through shattered trees, punctuated by erratic blaster fire. Fires roard through guttered homes, swirled above rubble-strewn streets, but he only felt cold. A despairing emptiness swept through him, and his mind flashed back, to the face in the rain. So utterly calm, the calm possessed only by those who know the end beyond a shadow of a doubt. The hum of a green blade, slicing through the troopers who tried in vain to reach the transport. And he flew to safety, leaving his friend to die holding back the white armored troops who sought to reach the Gunship...

"Anya." It was an empty wisper. Behind the transport he saw a flash of fire as the landing pad blew apart, felt the cockpit spin crazily to one side, twisted the controls madly to bring the ship level...

and hit the floor, rolling to his feet behind a charred metal collumn as a stream of blaster bolts flashed by overhead. A second's glance spotted the two clone troopers advancing up the tunnel. His saber hilt was in his hand, and it would have been simple to slash his way past, but he did not use it. Revenge was not the way of the Light, and something told him that whatever his mission here, it would not benefit from the death of this pair of troopers.

"Come out with your hands up!" The troopers were holding back, no doubt calling for backup and waiting in confidence that any move on his part would expose him to blaster fire. Smiling grimly, he reached out with the Force, touching the identical minds of his adversaries, even as he streatched out a different touch to their combadges and helmets.

"Lt, my combadge isn't working! My sensors are down!"

Areshka smiled as he stepped into view. He waved his hand, speaking just loud enough for the troopers to hear.

"Your combadge and helmets are fine. There is no need to contact reinforcements. I can go on my way."

"My combadge and helmets are fine. There's no need to contact reinforcements. You can go on your way."

The troopers stood aside to let him pass. He was twenty paces down the tunnle before he felt the confusion. He was almost at the next turn when he felt the sudden alarm and sensed the blaster bolts a half-second behind. He spun, calling his saber into his hand as he rolled behind another collum. He didn't know why the troopers had recovered so quickly, but it was hardly his most pressing concern. He raced down the side corridor toward a crumbling archway, the troopers running behind. As he passed through the archway, the Force shouted a warning and he threw himself aside as a full squad charged through the arch on the far side of a rain-slicked landing pad.

The troopers spread out, firing from every side. Deflecting the first few bolts he leaped, jumping onto the laticework of bones which seemed to form the roof of the pad. He raced along the structure an inch ahead of the blaster fire, and as he passed above the troopers his blade slashed out, cutting through key points in the structure. With a wrenching crash half the roof came down, pinning several troopers beneath it. Down he dropped, landing in the midst of the stunned soldiers. His blade wirled in the intricate defensive weave of the Soresu style of lightsaber fighting, reflecting shots back into the attacking troopers. Four seconds, and his remaining four adversaries lay silent on the cold, rain-slicked pad. Behind him his original pursueres apeared, came to a halt, starred in stunned silence at the carnage around them, then as one drew thermal detonators from their belts. It took Areshka an instant to realize what they intended, an instant more to seize both detonators with the Force and toss them over the edge of the pit below. There was a second's pause, then a ball of fire roared up past the edge of the pit and the floor shook with the force of a light turbolaser strike. The troopers were thrown off-ballance, but Areshka turned his stumble into a lunge, grapling with the first trooper's weapon while bringing his foot around to trip the second. With a few rapid blows, he reduced both men to a senseless heap on the floor.

For a moment Areshka stared at the troopers, wondering what had possessed him not to cut them down at once. He didn't know, only that the Force had plans for those men that did not involve death on a lightsaber blade, at least not his, not yet. But again, he had more pressing concerns.

From across the open pit, a heavy cannon opened up, blasting a crater in the floor. He turned his fall into a role, using the shockwave from the blasts to hurl him towards the far archway. He ducked inside, only to hear the pounding boots of what sounded like about 30 clones. No escape that way. He leaped back onto the shattered pad, to be greated by the roar of an LAAT Gunship.

For a moment he stopped, the sound jerking him back to that night... but no, there was no time for that. As the nearest gunner brought his turret to bear, the Jedi reached out with the Force, redirecting the turret's aim towards the source of the cannon fire across the pit. The Gunship pilot swerved, to late to save his fellows across the yawning gulf. But his swerve brought him into the path of the cliff side, or rather, the other way around. Areshka felt the crew's spiking horror and desperation, before the wing clipped the rock wall and the Gunship spun out into the void.

And Areshka leaped. Clinging to the top of the enemy vehical, he fought the disorientation as it spun out of control, away from his persuers and ever closer to the opposite wall. In another moment it would crash onto the rim, just above a desserted hanger...

Blaster fire lanced out, striking like lightning bolts from a concealed possision to shread through the Gunship's repulsorlifts. The wreakage dropped strait down, taking Areshka Van with it. As he fell, he felt the cockpit of an identical vessel spin around him, and again he saw the face that still haunted his nightmares, waking and asleep. The last thing he felt before the darkness took him was a sense of overwealming grief, and of helpless failiure.

(OOC: bump. Is this topic dead?)

ooc: you know there really is a starwars rp forum link
http://www.thestarwarsrp.com/forum

OOC: Perhaps I'm staggeringly obtuse, but your link has no apparent relation to this thread. No offense, but are you a troll?)

"Keep your focus on me," cough Greivious as Ranakin attempted to strike the cyborg. "You've tighten your grip too much,"

Ranakin had two green lightsabres as he striked his master again. The former Jedi kept Greivious's attacks centred and eventually, the cyborg had thrusted his light sabre out of his hand. Ranakin jumped to the side as he used the Force to pull his lightsabre towards him before Greivious caught hold of it with his foot. Greivious luanched himself at Ranakin as he forced Ranakin back against the side of the wall. Ranakin held his lightsabre close to him as Greivious forced his two lightsabres to force Ranakin's back against his neck.

"Come on boy!" snapped Greivious as his yellowed eyes glarred into Ranakin eyes.

Ranakin Forced push Greivious away from him as he got a sigh of relief before his lightsabre was throwqn out of his hands. Greivious held the lightsabre close to Ranakin's neck as he turned the sabres off.

"You're getting better," started Greivious. "But we need to practice more if any Sith decide to come after us,"

"Yes master," replied Ranakin as he Forced pulled his lightsabres towards him.

The hall was dark as the Maguem Guards to Greivious watched the long battle between the pair. Their purple eyes turned to Greivious as they walked out to the arms factory where droids were busy making blaster rifles. Greivious looked over the balcony as Ranakin came beside him. He could see what they were doing as he watched cretes being filled with blaster weapons and other equipment that were going to be sent to the Rebellion. The atmosphere was chilly as the planet was found in the outer parts of the Outer Rim. Ranakin joined his Master as he placed his lightsabres on his belt. The guards came beside them as Greivious turned around.

"When you go to met the Rebels," started Greivious as he turned to face the boy. "You must never mention my name if the Empire is to fall,"

"It will be done Master," finished Ranakin.

The Table was a high-class bar and grill, located in a middle-class, middle-height neighborhood on Coruscant. Located on a street lined with bars, it appeared rather undistinguished, and it had a reputation as the one of the quietest places in the galaxy. This was by design.

Its sub-basement was the place where the deals were made--literally under the table. There were two rules here: no violence and, when a curtain is drawn, mind your own business. The simple arrangement had allowed for Sith and Jedi, soldier and rebel to get together and talk about the things that no one would admit to. It had been rumored that once, about twenty years ago, when the place was just getting started, someone had tried to rob the VIP room. The rumor was that it was the first and only time that Sith and Jedi had fought side-by-side. The rumors didn't say much about what happened to the robbers--it was said that they just somehow seemed to disappear.

This evening was like many others--the rooms were busy, but one would never know. When the curtains were drawn, a muffling system engaged that made the conversations quite private. As Farlon entered the lower level, he was not surprised to see the dark motif--the galleyway that led to the rooms was carpeted in black, with granite walls Even the curtains that extended through the doorways were an off shade of black, though they were pleated in white and had flecks on them not unlike a starscape. He made his way through the opulent setting until he came to a room that was designated in the device that he held in his hand. He pressed a button. The curtains parted.

The rooms were simply laid out. Three walls had benches, the fourth had a door. In the center stood a table covered with a white table cloth. There was enough room to sit or to stand as the occupant preferred.

This room had three occupants, two of whom Farlon recognized and one whose identity he understood by conjecture. Along the far wall, sitting in the center was the cyborg he had met earlier, the Metal Man. At his right hand was Jade, a mid-ranking Jedi. To his left was the man's twin brother--or so it seemed, allowing for the man's Sith robes, and the pointy goatee and mustache that Jade lacked. Farlon had heard of the man. Apparently, he was called Darth Vindicus, and he ran a gated community.

"Glad you could make it," the Metal Man said. "It's not every day that we get to meet one who holds the rank of Master."

Vindicus rolled his eyes. "Or forgo the price on such a one's head," he said.

The Metal Man chuckled. "It is the strangest irony to me that, of those in this room, the Sith is the one who believes most strongly in the letter of the law."

"Without law," Vindicus retorted, "there can be only chaos. Sith and Jedi share in common the desire to push the chaos back. Do you know how many children that price could feed, Fat One who Never Eats?"

"Not enough to make it worth the blood that's on that money," Farlon replied.

"Or the disciplining measures should anyone here violate the local custom," the cyborg said.

"So...what brings us here together?" asked Jade, his green eyes seeming to almost bore into the obese old man.

"Two things. First, there is the small matter of the disposition of my students."

Farlon smiled. "I had a funny feeling that you would be asking that," he said with a wry grin. "In your absence, Her Grace Ambassador Bharla has taken it upon herself to continue their education."

"Chalea can be quite the charmer. This is not unwelcome news, but, if she is to truly undertake this process, she must be aware that there are additional arrangements in place. At such time as their education is sufficiently advanced, the two gentlemen at my sides have contracted their services. They will be employed."

"Are you sure that this is safe?" Farlon asked. "Child labor laws being what they are..."

"I assure you," Vindicus retorted, "that every detail is in its place. I need an architect who can design a secure building. They are disgustingly difficult to find. If a young one can do the work--and I trust my former patron when he says that one of his can--then I will have his services--legally."

"I will, of course, pass this information along," Farlon said. "We will contact you when they're ready."

"Good," Jade said. "It will be obvious which one goes with whom."

"That seems to conclude that item," the cyborg finished, "which brings us to the second one. I've been doing some listening of late, and there is a name that often seems to pass on the wind."

Jade laughed. "Rumors of Grievious are like bad coin," he said. "No matter where you go, they always seem to come up."

"You didn't hear this from me," Vindicus said, "but the only rumor that I give credence to is that he...has become...disenchanted with the Empire since it nearly orchestrated his untimely demise."

"And who could blame him," Jade cut in. "Sideous is an old fool, drunk on his own power."

"Perhaps," Vindicus replied, "but he's a tough old fool, and I, for one, do not wish to cross him."

"I need your help, gentlemen. If this rumor is true, then Greivious is going to need a liason, someone to help him communicate with those who hold the key to his future."

"You're not seriously thinking of going against Sideous, are you, Old One?"

"I am merely going to continue to do the things that I do best--to work behind the scenes and bring beings together. And that is why I need your help, gentlemen. I need you to put out whatever feelers that you can, and, if possible, to get word to Greivious that there is someone who might be able to help him accomplish his...newest objective."

Farlon nodded. He wasn't sure whether to call the old cyborg brave or foolish--perhaps he was some of both--but he would do what little he could. These plans worked well with his own. And he would strike up a tacit relationship with this Sith. There was something different about his aura. He was immersed in the Dark Side, but there was a chord of discipline that ran through it, like no other Sith he had known. He would never trust the man, but, from getting a good look at him, Farlon knew that he could, some day, deal with him.

It certainly hadn't taken the cyborg long to live up to his billing. It was said that he was meddlesome, and that he would deal with the worst the galaxy had to offer--but he could find ways to turn bad into good. This was obviously what he intended today. Farlon hoped that he--they--could get away with it. The Force was not clear.

Ranakin looked up to the stars as he studied his modify Jedi Starfighter sitting on the landing pad. He remembered the days of the Clone Wars. The days when he fought alongside Mace Windu and Master Obi Wan Kenobi. He remembered the day he went out in search of Gerivious and eventually found him on the planet Pluto in the outer Outer Rim Terrorities. It was a quiet planet named by a Republican pilot called Pluto Chatter. Greivious had fled to the planet to out live the Clone Wars and avoid the interception of the Sith and Federation Forces. Greivious had built himself a small droid army mainly built of Destoryer Droids and Magum guards armed with double bladed lightsabres.

'The most peaceful planet in the galaxy,' thought Ranakin to himself.

"So," the cyborg said, "his name is 'Ranakin.'"

The group meeting had broken up, and The Metal Man and Farlon had stopped to speak privately.

"That's what it was," Farlon replied. "If he's still alive, you should be able to talk with him. If any doors need to be opened, this should open them." As the Jedi spoke, he removed a stet from a belt in his robes. "But use it carefully. You can be killed for carrying one of these." He placed it on the bar in front of him and slid it toward his curious friend.

"IF he's alive?" the Metal Man asked, picking the stet up and concealing it within his robes. "You mean you can't feel his stirrings in the force?"

"The force is unclear," Farlon replied. "He may have come to an early demise...or...a profound change may have come over him. If you do meet him, be careful."

As they got up to go, Vindicus approached them from behind.

"Don't go yet," he said.

"Why not?" Farlon asked.

"Because there's a raiding party from the empire at the front door even as we speak. Come with me, I'll show you a way out."

"Can we trust him?" Farlon asked.

"I believe so," the Metal Man replied. "I provide him with laborers he values, and you have control over them. It is in his self-interest that we both survive."

"Well said," Vindicus added. "Now, please follow me."

"What would happen if Vader finds us?" asked Ranakin to Greivious as they looked out the balcony to the snow infested planet.

"Vader would've found us decades ago Ranakin," replied Greivious. "I think it could be the lack of the Force that flows through here," coughed Greivious. "In the mean time, we're expected to have Alliance warships arrive at the planet some time soon,"

"I'll make sure we keep an eye out for it," replied Ranakin.

How does one track down someone like Greivious, who can operate above the law?

One starts by assessing his situation, adjusting for his needs and looking for ways in which he might satisfy them.

Greivious was a general who had lost his army. The natural thing for him to do would be to acquire another army. Since he was out on a limb, with no one to trust, that would mean droids. To build droids, one needs parts--in bulk. Assuming that Greivious was smart enough to stash away enough funds to cover such an eventuality--not much of a stretch--the logical thing to do would be to look for large parts orders, or large-to-medium parts disappearances.

Fortunately, the security codes that the Jedi had given the Metal Man were still valid. With these, it was a simple matter to thumb through the shipping orders and police reports in a few hundred systems and look for something unusual.

He almost missed it. It was well-covered. It wasn't a single transaction, but an aggregate of missing parts that took months to pull off. Specifically, several small shipments of Mark IV Motivator Units had gone missing--among a host of other flotsam--in the Polantoor system on the outer rim. It wasn't widely known, but the Mark IV was one of the few civilian Motivators that could be modified to replace the military grade Mark VII.

This would be the Metal Man's first stop.