Friends and Uneasy Alliances

The smoking remains of one of Starbug’s spherical sections smouldered in a shallow muddy crater, dirt and earth thrown up all around and splintered trees showing the descent pattern. The metal was hot to the touch, some sort of fiery explosion had coated the shell, but the calloused and hardy hands of the Haruk were un-phased by the heat.
It had been a while since any such technology had come into their possession and the Haruk had been quick to lay their claim to it and fend of the raiding Ssala who too were desperate for what technological treasures that might be held within.
Luckily, the humans of Time with No Boundaries were either too pre-occupied or simply didn’t care enough to attempt to retrieve the remains. If they had tried, they would have been met with fierce resistance as the Haruk town had sent its best and most elite warriors, clad in patchwork reinforced leather armour of the humans, to guard the recovery.
Haruk are strong and it had not taken long for the one third of Starbug to reach the Haruk town. None had dared to open it, fearful of what might be inside. Neither had any of the occupants endeavour to explore the outside world either out of fear on lack of consciousness.
The Object, as it had become referred to by the Haruk, were unable to open the ship, security locks preventing exterior opening without access codes. So, with no-one else to turn to, they contacted the only human that they dare trust.

Plisken was brought before the Starbug, his jar of blue liquid still clutched between his hands. His eyes widened and a hope of rescue rushed through his hopeful mind.
The Haruk chief, who stood before Plisken in front of the Starbug wreckage, coughed up some guttural words, a series of harsh coughs and choking sounds that sounded more like a poisoning that conversation.
“Open,” Isaiah roughly translated, the Haruk’s own primitive grasp of English provided only the vaguest version of words.
Plisken looked around at the Haruk, his sharp eye glancing at their armaments. Armed with battered energy weapons and conventional rifles, brandishing sharp sections of metal that they used as swords, and even a few heavy weapons wearily watched over the scene; whatever they planned on using the Starbug wreckage for, they were determined to do so.
Plisken tucked his jar under one arm and approached the section of the Starbug carefully. It was the largest section, with a couple of the engine exhausts still intact at the rear. He punched in the code and the door opened, revealing a mess of comatose occupants and upturned tool boxes. A thick smoke drifted from a ventilation grill, but it was harmless and only masked the identity of the crew inside.
The Haruk peered nervously in, insistent that Plisken should go first. After all, why risk one of your own? Plisken made a step inside but before he could get in more than a foot, a great groan of machinery echoed in the interior. From the smoke raised a tall mechanical beast.
“Reporting for duty, Comrade!” grated the mechanical voice, “Sven Ignatyev ready!”
The Haruk gave a hushed gasp of awe as the robot stepped forth from the smoke of the Starbug. Its metal plates were scratched and battered but the wounds were not from the fall through the sky but from conflict seen many, many years ago.
“My god,” breathed Plisken as he backed away from the robot, “A T-230, I haven’t seen one of these since the 3rd European Disaster.”
A flood of memories poured into Plisken’s mind’s eye, the sound of falling shells and laser gun fire echoing in his head. Another reminder of another time.
But Plisken’s forced trip down memory lane was broken by a great spew of jargon that rushed from Sven’s voice modulator. A series of beeps and error sounds between nonsensical Russian (not the Russian made any sense to Plisken or the Haruk anyway) were followed by a great bang from within the robot’s workings. The lights on the chest and ‘head’ of the robot died and the long arms went limp.
Plisken reached out and lightly tapped the scarred metal skin of the robot. Upon the touch, the robot began to boot back up, a bright new life coursing through the circuitry.
“Ah, that is much better,” Sven said, his voice emulating human speech but still feeling cold and empty, “Greetings , comrade, I just had to reboot my OS, I’m not on the battlefield any longer.”
“Sven Ignatyev,” Plisken said slowly, struggling over the harsh Russian sounds.
“Indeed, my friend,” the robot replied cheerfully, “What is your designation?”
“Plisken, just Plisken will do,” the old man replied cautiously.
“I knew a Plisken once, not to long ago, he was a commander on the field.”
“Different man, nothing to dwell on,” Plisken said, waving away the old memories. Maybe the longer he could keep his past buried, the more of his past he could keep buried, then maybe he would be able to focus on what was now and here.
The Haruk chief barked some words, incoherent guttural gags.
“Hurry. What else?” Isaiah translated.
Plisken gave a short nod to the chief, keeping his manner polite and measured.
“Sven, there is a lot to explain,” Plisken said calmly, “And I’ll do most of it later, or more likely have someone else do it, now wait until I’ve gotten everyone out of here.”

<OOC - I wrote this, with permission and review from UnknownIcicle, to help introduce Sven Ignatyev
-So, who else is in this crashed section of the Starbug?>

<Tag - Sven and anyone else>

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