Redux of the Polygems (IC)

[Zender_Solarheart]

(Roll20 link: https://app.roll20.net/join/419511/cqRyGw)

<<Briefing>>

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

As each of you sat in the briefing room yesterday, Commander Richter Stein informed you of the situation thus far on Belle Magnis. The Five Golden Rings, aka "Goldies," have claimed the recreational orbital colony for themselves, for reasons yet unknown. Some of you may have pondered what an insurgent regime that could topple a forward base like Midguard 2 years go would want with a vacation resort...but the "why" of this situation isn't important to your mission. Whatever they're planning, it's up to you to make sure they don't pull it off. Your orders are short, simple, and to the point:

1: Make your approach to the colony using the provided "Hogan" grapple-fighters, and land in a docking bay to be chosen by the C.O.
2: Secure any and all civilian survivors onboard the colony, with the Senators' daughters taking top priority.
3: Eliminate the FGR presence onboard the colony. Take no prisoners, let none escape, leave no trace.
4: When you are prepped for EVAC, launch an extraction beacon. Your ship will pop 3 blue flares for the signal.

Good luck, Stilettos. Do us proud.

The briefing was yesterday afternoon. Well-rested and fully armed and armored, each of you now make your way to the hangar bay, where your grapple-fighters for approaching the colony are docked. As you make your way through the doors to the hangar's waiting room, you spot your commanding officer, Captain Greggory "Greg" Spade, alongside a combat mechanic that some of you may recognize as Lieutenant Victor "Vigs" Sledge. Others among you may know him better for his self-assigned title of "occupational playboy," which he more than lives up to.

"So then, she asked if she could 'get used to the co-pilot controls,' so I climbed in with her to help out. From then on, I was basically putting the 'cock' in 'cockpit,' if you know what I mean." "Vigs, could we please talk about this some other time? You're starting to remind me of ol' Ducker." "Ducker? Come on Cap, at least I've got some class." "Yeah, some. By the way, our ops team is here." That statement from the Captain apparently snaps Vigs out of his "chat mode" state of mind, and he quickly stands to attention. "C.O. on deck!" He calls out like a tried and true soldier, to which Greg replies: "At ease, Lieutenant...and company." He then proceeds to give you all the low-down.

"As I'm sure they told you in the briefing, our mission today is half search-and-rescue, half search-and-destroy. Rescue the civvies, and destroy the Goldies, both of which are familiar territory. I'm sure they also told you how we'll be getting onboard: the GF-71 'Hogan' grapple-fighter, one for each of us. Care to brief them on the specs, Vigs?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n. Alright maggots, listen up...eh, I'm just joshin' ya. We all got enough of that in basic, am I right?" After a bit of an awkward chuckle, Vigs clears his throat, and continues: Aaanyways, here's the scoop on the Hogans. Being the best grapple-fighters that mass-production has to offer, these babies pack all the top-of-the-line tech. The engine packs a twin-thruster variant of your classic solar furnace propulsion system, with each thruster being kept in one of the two leg pods. These pods can either be tucked behind the fuselage in Speed Mode, or extended downward for better handling in Combat Mode. The shields are almost twice as strong as the outdated Enkidu's was, and even if they do fail, your armor's got ion-retardant paint, which helps against EMP strikes. As for the arsenals, we've got Photo-Vulcan guns mounted alongside the fuselage, Ion Missiles loaded in the dorsal launcher bays, and a Plasma Bayonet on the left arm. The right arm's kept open-handed in case you need to grab something, whether that something's a discarded weapon, an object of importance, or the face of any poor Goldie shmuck that gets too close, hehe."

"Thank you, Vigs. Glad to see your love for the ladies hasn't been hurting your machinery." After clearing his own throat, Cpt. Greg adds his own conclusive comments: "I know the Hogans aren't a vehicle any of you've actually flown before, but you have had practice with the sims, and the controls should be nothing new for you. I have the utmost confidence that each of you can handle it. We have about 2 minutes before we prep for launch; if there's anything you want to say to each other before then, now's the time. Speaking of which..." Greg makes eye-contact with Pvt. Fate in the back, and asks: "Could I speak with you for a moment alone, Private?"

<Napsii>

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

After the others disperse and Greg secures an area for you and him to speak privately, the Captain provides you with a quiet piece of advice: "I'm sure you remember a certain something you have that's very special, right? Well, the Republic would rather not let it enter the public eye. For that reason, you are to avoid using it unless absolutely necessary. I'm sure you can handle that, can't you?"

[daxtinator396]

Dax sighed lightly. He hated these damn things. Whatever happened to normal space fighters? Now you gotta read 6 different manuals and spend a lifetime in a sim to work one! Bah. Well he had plenty of time in the sim for sure. He started to approach one of the grapple fighters and leaned against it,"Come on! Let's get out of here so we can get the real fun started! You know.. Back on the ground."

[Zeus Kabob]

"Man these things are ugly" Pook says, rapping his knuckles on the Hogan. "I hope it runs better than it looks"

Pook then turns to Dax and speaks quietly. "Nice to see you're on this mission, Dax. I've heard good things about your combat performance"

Pook sures up his equipment. On his back is a backpack with a semi-spherical neutron core for his rifle, his multi-tool (knife, driver, crimper, stripper, tweezer, and needle), a couple of packed meals, a canteen of water, a light change of clothes, and a charger.

He keys on his HUD; no new messages. He visually checks all his gear; his belt has 6 heat shurikens conveniently pinned on, as well as his shock rod. Hanging next to his backpack is his rifle. Folded to conserve space, the rifle is still 2.5 feet long. It's pre-loaded with Pook's second core.

[Argonaut]

Josephine stood in the back of the pack, half a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She blinked sleepily, respectfully listening to the briefing. She hadn't had her morning coffee yet, and all of the heavy armor and gear was tiring. Once she was out in the field, she knew she'd be fine. Adrenaline made this heavy stuff almost weightless.

The only sort of response she gave other than her blank expression was a glare towards Vigs. He had tried to hit on her once, which resulted in a punch to someone's face and someone walking away with a bloody nose. She smiled faintly at the memory, just before slipping her helmet on. She didn't want to talk with any of the other operatives, and did her best to make it abundantly clear while she waited.

[Reaver]

Cordevo kept quiet despite being excited about trying out the GF-71s. He had trained so much with that type of interface that he could basically operate it bindfolded. He blamed his fatigue on the mistake of staying up so late, tweaking his weapons and operating suit to his liking. "It's still far too early to be flying." He grumbled to himself as he stuffed some pretzels in his mouth. At least he had his favorite snack to keep him happy, which was more than he could say for that one girl that was already getting pulled over by the Captain. He was certain it was nothing good but that was as far as his curiosity went as he pulled down his mask to chew in peace. A solid and a quiet bunch. Maybe I won't have to worry about someone interrupting my hacking this time.

[daxtinator396]

Dax looked over at Pook and held out a fist tapping his against Pook's,"Likewise. Should be good. I look forward to spotting for you." He said with a grin and then laughed at Cordevo,"Kid there's no such as too early in space." He said chuckling and then asked,"Mind if I bum a pretzel?"

[napsii]

"I'm not sure what'll happen next, but don't worry. I'll be fine." Fate was saying, quietly, as she looked out into the broad field of stars and nebulas. Aside from the several constellations she had picked out from the blanket of colours -- The Axeman of Norya, Runa's Wheel and Angelis Autumnia -- there was a particularly luminous nebula that glistened like sunlit ice. The young woman shivered lightly, musing a gigantic snowstorm which stretched for lightyears and frosted every planet, star and asteroid in its grasp. She put a fingertip to her mouth and hummed, nibbling pensively on the black undersuit beneath the dark shell of her combat armour. Her Photon Rifle, stock collapsed, was magnetized firmly to her back aside a long, dark sheath; a corded hilt projected over her left shoulder. She couldn't have a better excuse than now to let her thoughts drift, even as, behind her, almost a dozen or so personnel chatted heavily among themselves beneath the shade from the gigantic Hogans they would pilot down to the orbiting colony of Belle Magnis.

She had spent hours in futilely pushing around what she had been told like it was food on a plate, attempting to align her thoughts with the severity of this mission. The anxiety that characterized an impending mission wasn't new to her. She had spent years watching these people disappear into black voids, stormy planets and collapsing space stations with no promise they'd return, but she was a soldier now, and now that was a promise she had to make for herself at the least, and at the most for every single person around her, soldier or not. To wonder what one become of the people around you -- or whether they'd return at all -- was a potent and dizzying thought that only became more frequent and urgent as they counted down their time to launch. She had done her regular exercises, stripped and polished her gear and concentrated her entire psyche into her mission -- their mission -- as the Stiletto mindset dictated, but it wasn't enough to suppress the most destructive feeling of all: the worry of impending failure.

There was an emotional squeak, and something warm brushed against her heel.

She turned and squatted down. Yet, she thought that there was more to the Stilettos than just war.

"Oh, but you already know that, don't you? There's a good Astro." she dictated enthusiastically to the ruby-eyed furry creature stationed at her feet.

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

Sometimes, it was enough to just be people. Astro nuzzled her outstretched hand.

"No, you can't come with us. Want me to bring you back a souvenir?"

Astro nodded in a clear affirmative, bright eyes betraying more intellect than his baby fat suggested.

"Then, how about a--"

A loud, commanding appeal to action interrupted her suggestion and sent the creature skittering beneath a nearby machine as if he had an FTL drive.

Fate sighed in content and paced off toward the centre of the hangar, where the rest of her teammates had assembled to hear Captain Spade's statements. At ease, she stood and listened, neither distant nor adjacent to her colleagues, but there was little she had not already heard aside from Lieutenant Sledge's glowing plaudits of the GF-71. She looked up at the nearest of the Hogans, which drowned her in its shadow, picking out its many features as the Lieutenant cycled through them. Its tight engineering was par for the course for the Stilettos, or so she'd learned, but she had reserved little enthusiasm for it. The simulator she'd experienced during her training was rather... convincing, and neither did she have a particular fancy for technology. Looking at this machine, she felt, was like tasting a shot of too-strong alcohol. But it was her duty to pilot it, and the sense of duty overwhelmed her complaints -- feeling such responsibility was one of the joys of this career, or so she'd been told.

As the briefing concluded, the rest of the Stilettos dispersed into the hangar to savour their last few minutes. She had been told that time was a meaningless instrument out in the field; minutes and hours only mattered when you had a second to enjoy their existence, and few Stiletto operations provided such an existence.

But nonetheless, she was bound to return an older woman.

She wondered what the others thought of such things, as she often did. Now that she counted herself as a soldier among soldiers and no longer merely an observer or an intern, her courage to ask such questions was scarce. She couldn't be certain of what would offend the sour and capable Josephine, or what long and bizarre story she'd be punished with if Vigs decided he was in a talkative mood. Then there were men like Dax and Pook, who were gregarious but at times distant, or Cordevo, who... likely preferred his pretzels.

Her wandering gaze snapped back to their commanding officer.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." she agreed immediately, familiar anxiety and curiosity kindling inside her. None of them hadn't experienced the vague dread that characterized the moment when one's CO singled them out in private, but Fate already knew it was neither impending disaster nor a trivial matter. She walked with him to a quieter corner of the hangar, her expression flat but attentive.

Yes... and then there was Captain Spade.

He was one of those people who she knew little of. His many consummate achievements were known through all levels of the Republic, but no person could look at his record and claim they were familiar. But without him, she wouldn't be part of the Stilettos. It was him, after all, who retrieved her as she drifted through space and ensured that she lived through the following days. As a civilian, she could only ask so much any of them, but they had given her so much back.

Fate hesitated for a moment and then nodded, given pause by the icy feeling of severity which pulsed in her at that moment. The simple image of having to face down all of the prying eyes, even from billions of kilometres away, never failed to overawe her.

"Y-Yes. You can count on me." she stated with determination. It was the kind of conviction which only barely defeated her feelings of uncertainty at that moment, and in that respect was all the more genuine.

Across the hangar, Astro pattered nervously across the floor from his hiding place, eyes lit with anxiety and apparent gloom. Fate scooped him up as he ran within arm's reach.

"Astro, too." she grinned, rubbing the little creature's forehead with her finger.

[Reaver]

Cordevo raised an eyebrow as Dax approached him. "I'm twenty-eight so don't get accustomed to calling me kid. You can either call me Cordevo or Cords, seeing how technology is my bread and butter. As for the pretzels?" He replied as he lifted his mask high enough to reveal his mouth. "I'm rationing them for the mission. I need enough to last the whole thing, sorry." He stated the last part as he stuck another pretzel stick in his mouth and began to slowly chew it.

The pretzels kept his mouth busy, which helped him think, something that he knew he would be doing a lot of today. He already silently disagreed with the plan of action presented by the C.O Spade. Flying in with Hogans was bound to draw attention, not to mention the main bays would probably be locked down if these militants were worth their salt. Worth their salt like my pretzels are. He smiled at the random thought, even though he wasn't completely sure if anyone else could even find the humor in it. "You should probably get to your Hogan. GF-71s work a lot better when they are warmed up before lift off." He flashed the Neko a confident smile before pulling his mask back down and heading for the closest Hogan. The faster they lifts d off, the faster he could find a mainframe to infiltrate and do his job.

[Zeus Kabob]

At Dax' spotting offer, Pook grins. "I look forward to putting those Goldies in the ground"

Hearing Cordelia's suggestion, Pook opens his craft hatch and fiddles around with the startup procedure. Despite a long time around them, Pook's never been good with anything that flies. It's a shame, 'cause almost all his recent Phantom missions involved LALO stealth drops.

"I don't know what it is, but the things make me nervous" Pook thinks to himself. "Maybe it's the thin skin separating me from certain death, maybe it's the fact that you have to fight fast and loose with the things..."

[daxtinator396]

Dax grinned at him,"I've lived almost 10 times as long as you. But yeah. I'm Dax and you probably WONT see me. Good luck Cords. Cat's paw." He said raising his hand in a Neko symbol for stealthy good luck. He moved over to his Hogan and hopped in started up the engines and started flipping dials in the preflight checks.

[MiscChaos]

Derek tries his best to resist a yawn, frankly bored with the proceedings at this point. What he wouldn't give for a lunchbox gun right now. Not to injure someone, but he just thought of a really good prank involving a lunchbox gun, a lunchbox, a couple of documents, and a chicken. The chicken's the best part too! But he doesn't have any of that, so he contents himself with looking over the planes they'll be forced to ride. And he can only think of them as planes, no matter how state of the art they might be, since he knows he is not the best with those Hogans. He can fly them decently, but in combat he's not quite good at using it as a weapon. So a plane it is.

"You'd think we'd invented teleportation by now so we can just go straight there." Derek says around a yawn. Well, everyone's starting to head for their Hogan's so no point in trying to spontaneously invent a phaser. Well, not necessarily... hm, the technological prowess needed for something like that might be high, but if he gets bored enough he might just try it. But not right now, not enough time. Damn, no inventing teleportation spontaneously then. Shrugging, he lazily makes his way to a Hogan to warm it up. He's not gonna ignore someone who knows what they're talking about after all. That's how patients end up with candy surgically implanted into their livers. Well, Derek's only done that once, but that patient really shouldn't have pissed him off mid-surgery!

[Zender_Solarheart]

(For the sake of brevity, let's skip the parts where y'all mount up in the Hogans and lift off.)

Having exited the docking bay of your carrier ship - the P.S.S. Sleipnir - you find yourself in the cold emptiness of space around New Scotland, Belle Magnis orbiting the planet not too far away. Some of you may have expected to be greeted by the Goldies the moment you left the Sleipnir, met with a warm reception of missiles and enemy fighters...but this is not the case.

In fact, you're not really greeted by anything at all.

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

The kitten image is Pook. I literally searched for "Maine Coon" on Roll20's image finder, and chose one that suited my fancy.

<TACTICAL NOTES>

-For reference, every square is roughly 100 feet in size. Each turn, your Hogans will be able to move up to 500 feet in any direction while in Speed Mode, or 200 feet in Combat Mode. You can move and perform standard actions (either attacking or switching modes) once each per turn, though whether the move phase comes before or after the action phase is up to you.
-The Sleipnir has its own supply of HP and EN, as well as a support field surrounding it, marked in blue. Tokens friendly to the Sleipnir will gain an extra +2 on evasion rolls, as the ship will be able to provide covering fire within that area.
-The image of a space station represents the "home free" zone for this scenario. If you can reach this location in one piece, you will be able to dock at Belle Magnis. Land all surviving allies on the colony to achieve victory.

Instead, the only thing between you and the colony are scattered bits and clumps of debris, most of it metallic in nature. You're too far away for a more detailed look at first, but as you move a bit closer, you find a number of familiar pieces of tech among the junk...all of it military-grade. Vulcan guns here, the nose section of an outdated grapple-fighter there, and (from what the Mechanics can spot) portions of a plasma engine's frame scattered about. This is clearly the remains of an orbital defense force, but the tech is too outdated for even the standard Republic military, though it'd certainly prove sufficient for occupying a mere tourist attraction like Belle Magnis. Whose could it be?

Regardless of the former owners of the wrecks, things seem very quiet out here. Too quiet, perhaps. The Captain has yet to provide any orders, so you have an opportunity to explore a bit if you so choose...

[Zeus Kabob]

Keeping his eyes peeled to make sure he isn't ambushed from behind the space junk, Pook continues in speed mode towards the carrier in an oblique route.

[Reaver]

Cordevo grumbled, snapping the pretzel stick in his mouth in half as his hogan sped ahead of the group. He still felt uneasy about how easy the mission was going, not to mention he hadn't had any coffee this morning. From what he could see, the entire orbital defense had been obliterated and that was a feat regardless of how outdated the systems were. That only left three options about the Golden Rings, they were either well trained, had enough numbers to overwhelm the system or had enough firepower to punch through, none of those appealed to him.

He began to tap a panel on the side impatiently, eyeing the space colony in the distance but unwilling to stray far from to group to make a dash to it. He double-checked the systems as he kept it in speed mode. The space between the colony and the scraps of the orbital system reeked of ambush alley.

[Argonaut]

Josephine eased her ship forwards, keeping a sharp eye out for anything unusual. A small smile crept across her face, the feeling of adrenaline brightening her mood.

[daxtinator396]

Dax dashed towards the debris in his Hogan. Open space was a bad place to be in a dog fight. Things never went good. Ever. So forward he went,"Pook. When we hit the debris go grapple mode. I have uneasy feelings..." He sent out over the radio. He others would hear but he wasn't worried about them. They would be fine in taking care of themselves.

[Zeus Kabob]

Responding to Dax' message, Pook turns his ship towards the debris field. "I guess we'll be safer as a pair. I'll scan left, you scan right. Standard 240 surveillance, plus movement and anomalous objects. Kill on sight."

[daxtinator396]

Dax was pleased at the professionalism and nodded without thinking then thought about the fact no one could see him. He punched the comms again,"Roger Pook. Keeping eyes on sectors aye." Was his simple reply as his eyes where peeled for anything unusual and his hands grasped the controls tightly. He was gonna be ready to move if he had to. And REALLY move.

[napsii]

"Engine temperature is... sufficient. Control elements functioning as normal. Heads-up display... synchronized."

Fate pushed a bead of anxious sweat from her brow as she cycled rhythmically the Hogan's instruments. Beneath her, the vessel hummed and then levelled out, the autopilot steadily locked on their destination. For a time, it felt like she was sitting still; their formation blistered through space, but the stars around them did not move, and the silvery structure of Belle Magnis inched forward so sluggishly that she could forget it was moving at all. Only the machine's fallible and sometimes arcane instruments -- a maze of colourful moving grids which stuck to the canopy, seemingly overlaid on space itself -- maintained her bearings. She let her hands hover away from the throttle to rub her palms, savouring the metallic, recycled oxygen to fortify herself. In the folds of her comrades' wings, there was little to worry about monsters jumping suddenly from the dark.

She pushed a button on the control panel. The floor of the cockpit crystallized and then cleared into a transparent surface, as if it had been heated into glass, and in a moment, it was as if her feet were resting on thin air.

No, there were no monsters under the bed. But then... what was there to see?

The young woman eased forward on the throttle to keep pace with her wingmates, acutely aware of the Hogan's mass as the thrusters egged the fighter on.

"There's... not much around here." she observed on the comms, mostly as a confirmation to herself. She had asked what she needed to know about the Five Golden Rings twice. The first time, while in training, she was told only that they wanted to shoot you and everyone around you. The second time, when asking the Stilettos about why the Goldies wanted to do so, she was told it was because it would kill her. Even now, the insurgents' philosophy still evaded her -- they were more like a coalition of many overlapping ideas, she had read -- but as unhelpful as that research was, that they would want to open fire and slay them remained a constant. But the sensors were blank, no plasma fire streaked across her canopy, and none of them cried bloody murder over the radio. No, the stars were as still as ever, and if the monster wasn't in its closet, it had to be somewhere.

She hummed pensively, reluctant to wonder where that was.

"That debris ahead of us looks pretty fresh... no mineral build-up on the surface yet." she observed, keying directives into her flight computer. A three-dimensional image of the nearest debris whisked onto her HUD. Immediately, she had to concede that she did not recognize most of the components, but it was difficult to forget the Vulcan guns and plasma engines which had dominated the hardware of countless regular armies and paramilitaries since before she was born. But the forces of the Republic were anything but regular; even if the Galactic Council hadn't been steadily nurturing the Navy's budget for years now, this hardware still would have struck her as obsolete.

Seeing her comrades speed ahead to navigate the debris field, she vanquished the image of the debris and flicked off the autopilot. Minding the controls, she eased forward, following the luminous, annotated silhouettes of the other ships into a formation.

"Staff Sergeant Aithri-- er, Josephine, on your three. Dax, on your six. Maintaining formation balance." she radioed, invoking what of the Hogan tactical training guide that had been cemented into her memory.

"Er, Captain Spade, I would imagine that Derek and Vigs bring up our left side?" she questioned with a note of insecurity. There were parts of the training guide that might have slipped her mind in the pressure cooker that was uncertain territory.

[Zender_Solarheart]

As the formation of Hogans edges closer and closer to the debris field, the empty silence of space persists with the serene, yet eerie atmosphere it offers. Some of the more tactically-savvy of the group may note how this feels way too much like a trap...but it wouldn't be the first time Captain Spade and his comrades have turned the trap back on those who set it, and anything the Goldies could sufficiently threaten them with would be hard to hide, even amidst all this space junk.

"Huh? You guys seeing that?"

Vigs' comment is accompanied by a waypoint marker popping in on everyone's HUD, pointing to a spot smack dab in the middle of the debris field, where a peculiar sight peeks out from behind one craft's remains, slowly disengaging its optical camouflage:

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

Caladbolg.png (51.49 KiB) Viewed 1612 times

"Wait, isn't that the...ohhh shit."

Back during the days of the Urtragian Vikings, there was a rather infamous case regarding an old Stiletto warship - the P.S.S. Fenrir - being lost in a nebula. Speculations of a Viking raid surged quickly through the populace, and while the official word was that it suffered a freak accident with its main reactor, the truth is that no one - not even the finest investigators in the RTGS - know what exactly happened to it. What was even more distressing, however, was that a war-mech prototype was onboard that vessel when it vanished, last known as "Project Caladbolg"...and that very same war-mech is now staring your formation in the face, or "cockpits" if you prefer.

"Team, keep your distance. We still don't know if it's friend or-"

Greg's statement is cut abruptly short by a quick bolt of electrical energy zipping past his fuselage, as if meant to be a warning shot. The question of friend or foe has just been answered. "Okay, nevermind that. Open fire!"

<ACTIVATING COMBAT MODE>

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

NOTE: This is a zoomed in shot, for clarity purposes.

While you will still make Vision checks for projectile accuracy (and Mobility for melee accuracy), your Hogans have different offensive and defensive values than your primary equipment. The Photo-Vulcan guns have a base damage value of 3d6 + 10 (multiplied by 1.5 against energy shields), your missiles do 1d10 + 10 (which is tripled if they hit an unshielded target, making them ideal for killing shots), and bayonet strikes deal 1d20 + 10. These damage values are added onto your Technology stat for overall attack power, and when attacked, the same stat will decrease damage done to you.

<Meanwhile, onboard the Sleipnir...>
(Raven)

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

Well, isn't this wonderful? Command expected there to be some orbital defenses set up by the Goldies, but nobody counted on a freaking lost prototype showing up. Needless to say, that reveal has put the ship at Red Alert status, and all fightercraft are on standby, ready to support the ops team as necessary.

This is where Voltan comes in. Having been rather hastily suited up and put in a Hogan of his own, he's got some particularly heavy weaponry, if the situation calls for it. While the team's Hogans all have the right hand empty for the sake of versatility, Voltan's has a Plasma Spread Cannon mounted there instead. It's essentially a vehicle-grade Plasma Shotgun, with enough firepower to melt right through a heavy bomber. Some may consider it wiser to have him out there already, but until Command says so, he's to stay put. Something in his gut tells him he'll be called to action soon enough...but until then, he can get in a little time to review the controls and nuances of the craft, if he so desires.