Amos
The Feral
"The Vong never built anything. They grew it, fed it, and let it hunger. Every weapon they left behind still remembers how to kill."
-Darth Maladi
-Darth Maladi
Unknown Space - Miid ro'ik Ka'ruul Shaan
"Five minutes, Sir." The soldiers voice ruptured through his voice modulator, his already flat tone sounding somehow more robotic. "No atmosphere detected on board, no signs of life aside from the blips you suggested."
Amos studied the man. Behind his armor there was no reading his expression, no telling what he looked like. A few weeks ago he had been a DNA sample stored away in the hold of a long forgotten ship. Now he stood here, grown inside of a cloning facility and made with a singular purpose. The Sith wondered if his soldiers even knew, understood where they had come from, how they had been made; the taint which had been wrought into their flesh.
If they felt familiarity with the corpse now lingering just a few kilometers away. "Good."
Amos replied, glancing around the small cargo hold at the half dozen soldiers he had brought with him.
"Take us into the cargo hold." The Miid ro'ik has sat dead for nearly a millenia now, floating in the expanse of space after a battle that no one could even remember the name of. It's great Dovin Basal's had been ripped apart and murdered, it's yaret-kor long ago ran out of fuel. There was life still there, but only the barest hint of it; just as the Yammosk had said.
If the ship was to fly again, it would need to be revived.
As silence reigned within the small cargo hold, the stolen shuttle made it's way towards the massive open yaw of the Shaan's hangar bay.