Julius's office aboard the Star Walker was a haven of relative calm, contrasting with the frenetic activity of the rest of the flagship. Holograms of battlefields and fleet deployments slowly rotated in the center of the room. Julius, Admiral Thrawn, and Data were immersed in a highly detailed strategic discussion.
"...The weakness of the Ork fleet lies in its lack of cohesion," explained Thrawn, his red eyes glowing with cold intelligence. "By striking their warlords in a targeted manner, their already precarious structure collapses on its own. A remarkable economy of force."
Data, perfectly still, added in his analytical voice: "The probability of success for this tactic increases by seventy-three point four percent if coupled with a feint against their supply fleet. I recommend using the Raynor-class corvettes for this maneuver."
Julius listened, his fingers steepled under his chin, absorbing every piece of information. These exchanges were invaluable for refining his Legion's military doctrine.
Suddenly, a soft but insistent alarm sounded, shattering the room's calm. A red luminous halo flashed on Julius's desk.
Data instantly turned his head. "Proximity alert. An unidentified vessel has exited space-fold at standard distance. It is not responding to Legion identification codes."
An image appeared on the main desk screen. It wasn't a warship. It was a small cargo vessel, of modest, likely civilian design. Its hull was scorched, scarred by impacts from unknown weapons, and a gaping breach revealed the darkness within its guts. It was adrift, engines dead, like a derelict.
"Analyze residual emissions," ordered Julius, standing up.
"The vessel is emitting an automatic distress signal on an old Imperial frequency," reported Data. "No signs of life aboard according to biological scans. However, I am detecting a weak power source from the main cargo hold. It matches the energy signature of a... high-priority military data beacon."
Thrawn stood up as well, his piercing gaze fixed on the wreck. "A derelict carrying a message. Too damaged to be a direct threat. But the timing is... suspicious. A lure?"
"Possible," admitted Julius. "But if it's a message, it could be vital. Data, send a security team. Quarantine Protocol Delta. I want that beacon recovered and analyzed in the sterile chamber. And scan that wreck down to the last molecule. I want to know what attacked it."
A few minutes later, a team of Sentinels in beskar armor, accompanied by technicians, docked with the silent cargo ship. Inside, the scene was macabre: no bodies, only signs of a struggle and residues of unknown organic plasma on the bulkheads.
The beacon, a black metal cylinder, was retrieved and placed in a containment field. Data, from the bridge, connected to it remotely via the Star Walker's systems.
The decrypted data flooded the screen. It wasn't a text message, but a short, choppy, and heavily corrupted video recording.
The image showed the devastated bridge of another, larger ship. Streaks of green energy weapons flashed through the air. Shouts and screamed orders could be heard, and then a white, angular creature—a Rak'Gol—leaped in front of the camera, its eight limbs and cybernetic weapons perfectly visible before the image dissolved into static screech.
One last audio fragment emerged from the chaos, the desperate voice of an unknown captain:
"...repeat, this is the Dawnstrider! We are under attack by an unknown xeno species! They are... they are impossible to stop! They have..."
The transmission cut off abruptly.
A heavy silence fell over the office.
"The Rak'Gol," Julius murmured, recalling the fragmentary reports from the Helldivers. "They are expanding their territory."
Thrawn crossed his arms. "That cargo ship fled a battle. It jumped in desperation, its crew died during the transit, and it drifted to us. A message in a bottle... a deadly one. This beacon is not a distress call. It is a warning."
Julius turned to the screen, where the frozen image of the Rak'Gol seemed to defy him.
"Then let's not let it be forgotten. Data, plot this cargo ship's entry trajectory. Find me its point of origin. Thrawn, prepare the fleet. It's time to send a response to these... newcomers."