While sipping a mug of locally brewed ale in a dimly lit tavern in Equus' main starport, a grizzled spacer leans in close and mutters:
"They say a derelict ship drifted into the system last month—some old scout vessel, half its hull chewed up like it ran afoul of something nasty out in there. The locals towed it into orbit, but here’s the kicker: the crew’s gone, no bodies, no logs, nothing but a single word scratched into the bridge console—‘hyla.’ Folks are whispering it’s tied to those old Zhodani rumors, you know, the ones about psionic experiments gone wrong out past the border. The portmaster’s keeping it quiet, but word is, a couple of offworlders in fancy coats—Imperial types, maybe—showed up asking questions. If you’re heading spinward, might wanna watch yourselves. Something’s stirring out there."
"They say a derelict ship drifted into the system last month—some old scout vessel, half its hull chewed up like it ran afoul of something nasty out in there. The locals towed it into orbit, but here’s the kicker: the crew’s gone, no bodies, no logs, nothing but a single word scratched into the bridge console—‘hyla.’ Folks are whispering it’s tied to those old Zhodani rumors, you know, the ones about psionic experiments gone wrong out past the border. The portmaster’s keeping it quiet, but word is, a couple of offworlders in fancy coats—Imperial types, maybe—showed up asking questions. If you’re heading spinward, might wanna watch yourselves. Something’s stirring out there."
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