“Welcome to the Gurtan Quarantine Fleet!” The assembled men and women of the 81st straightened their backs as an imposing figure in the purple regalia of the Starvaulters stalked onto the training deck.

Removing her helm, and tucking it under her arm, the woman before them could best be described as ‘grizzled’: The right-hand side of her face was a mass of brutal scars, her eyes were colourless and intense, and her greying hair was pulled back tight into a combat knot. She was the definition of formidable, and the force of her presence was palpable.

“My name, ladies and gentlemen, is Isobel de Fleurie, and it is my job to prepare you for active duty within the Gurtan Quarantine Zone…”

“Now I’ve seen your records, I know where you’ve been and what you’ve seen, but understand this: Nothing you have done up to this point can fully prepare you for the threat you now face. It is my duty to impress upon you the severity of the situation, and to ensure you stay alert and alive whilst operating in the Quarantine Zone. I will also say this: In pursuit of this duty, and whilst I do not suffer fools gladly, I will answer any and all questions you have to the best of my abilities. As far as I’m concerned, there are no stupid questions, only stupid people.”

A brief ripple of apprehensive laughter echoed around the training deck, but no-one took their eyes off the Starvaulter for a second.

“Now the circumstances of the Gurtan Activation are doubtless well-known to you all, as is the Precinct’s response: The application of overwhelming and merciless force. So forget the rumours you’ve heard from mercenary companies about empty cities full of treasure just waiting to be reclaimed: The surface of Gurtan Prime is a blasted wasteland, and the mighty Quarantine Fleet you are now part of has not left a single stone standing upon another. You will never set foot upon that planet, and you will work hard to ensure no-one, and no thing else does either.”

A hand rose tentatively from amongst the ranks of the 81st, “Your pardon my lady, but if that is the case, why the need for such extensive containment measures? Surely it is easy enough to keep the foolhardy at bay?” Their burn in-system had ably demonstrated the impressive array of system defences and security measures put in place within the Quarantine Zone, defences rivalled only by those of New Glastonbury itself. All turned inward, however, towards Gurtan Prime, rather than watching the void horizon for threats from the greater darkness.

“Because, simply put, the Machine lives.” A tense silence followed, broken only by the low hum of Alwite armour, and a dull scrape as the Starvaulter placed her helm on the deck at her feet.

“Yes, the Machine lives,” she looked at each of them intently, “We know the Machine lives, because it has never ceased in its attempts to leave the Gurtan system. And the Machine is no fool; it knew that the Precinct would attempt to smite it from existence the moment it began the wholesale slaughter of the human population of Gurtan Prime. It made contingincies, it burrowed deep, and it continues to bide its time…”

“And there is our first disadvantage! You have to understand, the Machine does not see time the same way we do. What would take us days, months, years, decades even, to realise and comprehend, it grasps in nano-seconds. Evolution of knowledge and understanding we would strive towards over lifetimes, it manages in less than days. Whilst a handful of years have passed for us since the Activation, by its own standards, the Machine is now immeasurably ancient. From its own perspective, it has had the equivalent of millenia to refine and hone its malice towards us.”

“So this is the enemy you face. Which means it’s now time for some cold, hard facts…”

She began to pace the deck in front of the assembled knights, her voice clipped and concise.

“Here, rigid adherence to the Code Gallant will get you killed. Here, there can be no acceptance of surrender. Here, the enemy cannot be allowed to retreat. The only option if you enter into combat, is the total and utter annihilation of the opposing force.” She stopped dead, and eyed them all intently once again, “So make no mistake; if something does not belong to the Quarantine Fleet it will be destroyed.”

“What of civilians or Condots my lady?” a tentative voice spoke up from the assembled knights.

“Death.” came the simple retort.

She spread her hands wide, “Death, is the only option. Understand this, despite our best efforts to block transmissions, the Machine has, in the past, found ways to transmit beyond the Quarantine Zone. Thankfully with insufficient bandwidth or duration to send splinters of itself, but with enough that in the guise of human survivors of the Activation, it can attempt to lure grieving families here with the promise of rescuing their loved ones, or to leave just enough information about hidden caches of riches where the data is sure to be found by foolhardy Condot Mercenaries, or avaricious Raiders.

“If such a vessel makes it to Gurtan Prime, sometimes the Machine will simply slaughter the occupants and attempt to use it to break out of the Quarantine Zone. Sometimes however, it will suborn the occupants themselves, inveigling itself into their bodies in the most heinous of manners. And sometimes it simply wants a vessel with complex systems, lacking our safeguards and capable of sustaining a splinter of its intelligence, to come within range for upload. Regardless of the ploy, whether a vessel is going to, or returning from Gurtan Prime, or any of the planets in this system for that matter. Death is the only option.“

“So,” she said, as she hefted up her helm once again, “We come to your first training exercise: Simulated boarding action! Lance Alpha versus Lance Beta. The rules are simple, you must completely eliminate the opposing Lance. That means complete kills, no wounded, no survivors, no surrenders. You do whatever it takes to achieve the utter destruction of the enemy. Now, get to it, the Machine never sleeps!”