In a dark maintenance warehouse, under pus-yellow lights, several figures hung around a rusted steel table. In a language few could understand, they bickered and hissed at each other, voices hushed lest they be overheard. All through their conversation, their alien hands pointed and gestured to weathered map whose corners were laced with dark crimson stains that flaked away easily with a touch.

Blood. Human.

It was then that a loud, rattling clank and a beam of light streamed into the room, announcing an arrival. The figures around the table turned, their beady golden eyes all locking onto a single looming figure who came striding out from the far end of the warehouse, the heavy steel door shut behind him by two armed guards.

In the darkness, the figure was hard to make out, and even as he grew closer, he was a mystery. His face was concealed behind the visor of a Sirthon spacing helmet, its black plastic frame leaving his visage invisible to all who looked upon him. However, he towered over all others in the room, a good foot taller than each of them. With every step he took on his digitigrade legs, a faint whirring sound filled the air, echoing off the walls of the warehouse's interior and creating a low, fearsome drone like an approaching plague of venomous swamp flies.

As he came to a halt by the table, everyone stopped talking, bring a pall of unease over the meeting. The sound of his strides ceased, and a few dared to hope that he would remove his helmet so they might gaze upon his face.

However, he did not. Instead he stood there, remaining masked and incognito. A course of action that the Sirthon respected and understood.

After all, if any alien glimpsed his visage, the entire Galactic League would come bashing down the door...

Silence hung in the air for a long while, and was then broken when the new arrival spoke.
"They have arrived..." a deep, calm voice resonated from behind its helmet. "Are the items in place?"

One Sirthon had the courage to respond. A broad and stocky one dressed in combat armour who leant forward and propped his elbows on the table. "Everything by design, comrade" he chattered through his mandibles. "The smugglers of The Republic Reborn have brought the necessary armaments. The men merely await your command..."

The helmet nodded. "Then let us go over the plan one final time..." The voice said, his head flicking down to study the map. And as he did so, there was a metallic creak as a segmented metal left arm, with vicious clawed fingers and ridged plates for knuckles, gestured to a line of buildings on the map. "Snipers here, here and here, overlooking the front of the embassy. The truck will remain in this alley, with troops hidden nearby." He lifted his head and scanned the group, eyeing them one-by-one. "Weapons are to be set to sub-sonic. If there are any witnesses, shoot to kill."

Another voice spoke up from around the table; a thin Sirthon with one of his four eyes glazed over and milky. "Great Leader, your actions in Nastra have gone just as planned. With the noble sacrifice of our brothers and sisters and the death of Mrs Lucan, the humans foolishly think that they have foiled our plans..."

The figure in the helmet scoffed. "More the fool you for doubting me, Ksinos."

"Indeed, Leader." The three-eyed alien nodded humbly. "I truly underestimated the stupidity of the human filth."

The metal-armed Sirthon rolled his shoulder. "Indeed. One of the many weaknesses of their species. And a tool for us to exploit..." he said slowly.

Everyone at the table nodded eagerly.

Another voice spoke up from amongst this cabal of terrorists. "Our little rodent is armed and ready. He will assist in acquiring the assets from the meeting."

"Good." The tall figure extended his right arm, revealing one exactly like his left; an alloy-crafted limb of pure metal that moved with eerie precision. "The truck will then escape, and we will have what we need to win our home back from these 'liberators'."

Another figure spoke up the table. His mandibles parted as he spat a globule of phlegm onto the floor. "The human and Xan-Klar scum will at last pay for what they did! Sirtha Prime will be ours once again!"

"For our people!" The group cried out, hands raised to the air.

Their leader did the same. "For our people..." he said, clenching his fist of steel.

With that, each and every Sirthon around the table disbanded, snatching up whichever belongings were theirs and creeping out of sight as quick as they could. All except one; a small Sirthon who humbly edged towards the tall figure, clutching a clipboard close to his chest and looking up at the helmeted cyborg with a glint of fear in his eyes.

"Great Leader, Shrashe is ready to see you about the new armaments..." he said, trying desperately to keep his voice from trembling.

The tall figure looked down at him. "Very good" he replied calmly. "Take me to him."

With that, the shorter Sirthon spun around and walked to where he needed to be. The reverberating sound of whirring suddenly started up again, punctuated by the clunking of pistons and the thudding of heavy feet on bare ground.

A tremor ran up the young Sirthon's spine as his mind visualised what was standing behind him. Just likes his arms, the helmeted figure's legs were made of metal. Yet another sacrifice he had made so that the Republic might soon return to Sirtha Prime.

The pair moved a short distance through the warehouse, to a section that had been cordoned off by makeshift barriers made from piles of old scrap metal.

Their engineering department. Ad hoc, but serviceable.

Within, seven Sirthon men and women were all hard at work tweaking and testing at machinery. Spanners twisted at rivets, wires sparked and fizzled, and plasma cutters sawed through slabs of plasteel, carving them into shape.

All of those Sirthon continued to work diligently; all except for one. A Sirthon male, covered in dirt and smeared with lines of oil, kneeling over a ship's point-defense laser barrel with a wrench in each hand.

As the helmeted figured neared, everyone else promptly stood to attention, while this Sirthon looked up from his work and widened his four eyes in gleeful surprise.
"Ah, Great Leader!" he exclaimed joyfully, setting his tools aside and hopping to his feet. "At long last, I have the honour of meeting you in person!"

The Great Leader inclined his head, robotic arms folded over his chest. "I assume your little raid was successful, Shrashe?" he asked calmly.

Shrase's mandibles pulled back, the muscles on his temple contracting as he bared his sickly teeth. "Of course it was, Leader. The humans never saw us coming..."

The leader glanced to his left, at something hidden in the shadows. "Where were they being taken?" he asked.

Shrashe scoffed. "To a scrapyard deeper in Union territory. To be ripped apart, destroyed and auctioned off." Rage filled his voice. "Just like everything else the aliens stole from us!"

The helmeted figure nodded, clenching his metallic fingers. "Indeed, comrade" he murmured in a hushed voice as cold as icy brine. "They have taken everything. The humans have taken our unity, the Kropen have taken our beliefs, and the Nalyr our equality... all to further their own ends. Besides them, the blasted Xan-Klar took away our mighty Chancellor and our freedoms, placing us in chains."

As he spoke, the mighty figure scanned the room, eyeing through his helmet's visor what his people had become; pariahs, downtrodden and hated even on their own homeworld. A world which was rightfully theirs.

"But that will all change. Tomorrow's actions will be the first step on the path of reclamation. We will take their beloved citizens from them, and then we will use them as pawns in the upcoming game. A game that will return us to the glory we once had, and is ours by right!"

Reacting to his leader's words, Shrashe decided to show to him the fruits of their labour. A raid on a Union transport ship that was taking debris and other relics of the war away from Sirtha Prime.

With a proud and righteous heart, he pulled a nearby switch on the wall, and a sound radiated through the room as a vast lifting platform in the centre was powered up. A great metallic grinding then gnawed at his ears as a trio of metal shapes rose into the light from a sunken holding pit inside the warehouse.

They were just as they all remembered. Robust and powerful, squat legs and broad arms, with hands that could crush stone into dust. Laid beside each of them was a huge blaster cannon, while rocket systems and heavy lasers were mounted to their backs, ready spring up at any time. Their hulls, once scarred and torn apart, were now spick-and-span, and their systems were now optimal, thanks both to the hard work of Shrashe and the engineers, and the hardy nature of Sirthon technology.

Rescued, repaired and ready for battle; three mighty War Mechs of old.

The leader of the Hand of Reclamation removed his helmet and twisted his mandibles into an alien smile.

"A year ago, they conquered our home..." he said slowly. "How fitting that they will soon die upon our soil..."