After the hijacked transmission from the Reds and Blues vanished, Chairman Malcolm Hargrove took a moment to center himself, drawing on the dull background roar of the Staff of Charon. He would not let himself be rattled by this sudden change in development. He'd come too far and invested too much to fail now. In the end, Project Freelancer's surviving rabble would only be a minor inconvenience.

"F.I.L.S.S.?" he inquired in a controlled voice as he stepped away from the console, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Yes, Chairman?" responded the dull voice of the former Project Freelancer asset. It had taken a considerable amount of time to make the suitable … adjustments ... to the program's personality matrix to suppress those pesky personal opinions.

"Please clear my schedule for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Chairman," F.I.L.S.S. replied.

"Could you verify that Locus' delivery was sent to the trophy room?" the chairman asked as he began to pace.

"The crate from the shipwreck was unloaded and delivered this morning, sir. " Behind him, a terminal lit up, displaying details concerning the Meta armor's new location.

"Wonderful. I could use a bit of good news today." Pausing mid stride, Hargrove turned once more. "I do believe Felix and Locus may not prove up to the task at hand," he mused out loud. "Certainly they've shown themselves incapable of dealing with a single band of idiots pretending to be soldiers. I will not allow their incompetence to impede the acquisition of the planet's resources. F.I.L.S.S.," he ordered, "prepare a recording. It seems time to make some additional arrangements."

"Yes, Chairman."

In another part of the galaxy, a green and blue armored alien hissed quietly to itself as it watched the communique from the human Malcolm Hargrove. After years of unsuccessful negotiation, the human was finally begging for its help. It would at last be able to complete it's quest.

Pausing only to send a single word back (Yes), the alien turned and hurried to another part of its ship. It had long known this day would come and preparations were already underway. With dexterous claws, the alien energized the waiting machines.

It would take some time to activate its assets but there were still tasks to complete. While the units prepared, it would review the information Hargrove had sent about the planet the humans had named Chorus and determine where it would most likely find the tools and key it needed.

The human colonists would be no match for weapons built and left behind by its long forgotten ancestors. What's more, the soldiers the humans had found to fight for them would be no match for the units the alien had chosen to aid it in its quest. No, the alien knew these soldiers and had spent several years devising the perfect counter as it surveyed their every move.

The alien laughed, a soft, grating honk honk noise. After years of frustration, it would finally have its revenge.