Mont'au Returns The sun crested the mountain peaks, sending a fire-like red glow throughout the valley.   Hundreds of Gretchin toiled there, mining, building, and basically making an abominable racket.  They were building what (if you let your eyes go out of focus, hit yourself in the head a couple times, and use your imagination) looked to be a spaceship.  This chaotic construction spread from the main building, a rickety, thrown together structure that looked ready to collapse at any moment.  Atop the roof of this marvel of gravity were fixed two loudspeakers, currently blaring out some Grot’s attempt at a rousing work-tune.  There had been a movement in the past few years away from the sound of someone strangling a cat, but apparently this grot was attempting a revival.  Standing at the rail of this building was the fore-grot, a weasely looking fellow, even for a grot, and a Tau commander.  Below the main building, Gretchin brought in the day’s mining, food gathered in the hills, and…wait a minute, a Tau commander?! Shas’o Ko’vash Mont’au, formerly of the N’dras sept world, formerly commander of a Tau Hunter Cadre, and formerly a punching bag for really ticked-off Sisters of Battle, stood at the railing of his command pavilion, and observed the construction of his ticket off this miserable rock.  For two years since his Cadre had been obliterated by Battle Sisters miffed that he had sent a stealth team into their showers with cameras, he had been the unwilling boss to this army of grots.  Stuck on this miserable planet, where there were no women, save the Gretchin ones (eww), and no ocean to surf.  He had instructed his ‘gang’ to begin construction of a spaceship capable of carrying him back to the Tau empire, and after convincing them that a spaceship was not the same as a blender, the work began.  It was slow, considering five alcoholic monkeys had more brain cells that the entire gang put together, but it was finally taking shape. Littlegit, Mont’au’s second in command, approached the Boss.  “Hey boss, ship’s almost done.  Just got to install the stereo, and we be ready to go!” Mont’au glanced at his second, and pointed at the ship, “Littlegit, the cockpit is not even enclosed yet, and the engines are lying two miles to the west.” “So?” his second replied, puzzled. Mont’au slapped his hand to his head, and slowly stalked off to find a very large beer and a comfy couch.  After a nice nap, he went to the lab, to find his Crisis suit still waiting, well oiled and cared for.  He had not allowed his eager followers to touch it’s delicate circuitry, preferring to work on it himself.  He patted the side of the mighty suit, mumbling to himself, “It won’t be long now.” Two months later, by his estimate (the grots had three days in their calendar: yesterday, today, and tomorrow), the ship was finally finished.  Although it looked like someone had beaten it quite severely with a big stick, the ship looked workable.  A fully suited-up Mont’au climbed the ramp to his ship, dubbed the ‘Big Git’ by his gang, and gave the order to load up and take off.   As the ship began to power up, bolts falling out at regular intervals, the whole place shaking violently, Mont’au strode onto the ‘bridge’ of the Big Git.  Grots swarmed everywhere, making working repairs, yelling at each other, and trying frantically to put out a fire that had sprung up in the water cooler.  With a mighty lurch, the ship took off, headed for space, and freedom.   Mont’au allowed himself a grin, feeling his weapons systems coming online, the suit fully functional and ready.   Two weeks into the trip, they hit a small snag.  Well, the small was more of a big, and the snag was more of an asteroid.  Alarms, bells, whistles, and what sounded suspiciously like a squig being kicked in the dainty parts rang throughout the ship, alerting the crew to the collision, as an asteroid easily bigger than the ship smashed into the starboard side, and held the ship fast to it.  Grots were thrown violently around the ship, as the bright red warning lights began to glow, indicating that they had hull breach on several levels.  The horrified and screeching yells of Gretchin filled Mont’au’s ears, as he struggled to figure out what had happened.  Glancing out the front view-glass, he was greeted with a most unusual sight.   Gretchin were actually walking on the asteroid’s surface.  He shrugged, and thought to himself, “Well, at least we know there’s an atmosphere. An hour later, Mont’au and the full crew, minus a few ‘squishy’ ones they left behind, stepped out onto the asteroid, and were greeted by miles and miles of sand.  Mont’au set his scanners to the full perimeter, and was rewarded with a small radar blip two kilometers to the west.  He informed his gang, and he mass migration of Gretchin began, led by a Tau Crisis suit.  As they marched, Mont’au recorded readings on the surrounding environment.   For reasons unexplained, the asteroid appeared to have a breathable atmosphere, despite having no discernable plant-life.  As they neared their destination, the soft sand gave way to rockier ground, accompanied by small pools of water.  Then he saw it, just on the horizon, a massive ziggurat-like pyramid, made of metal.   Reaching the base of the structure, the gang spread out along the base, looking for an entrance.  Mont’au fired his jump-jets and soared to the top, before landing gently at the pinnacle.  He found there a panel, covered in sand.  Brushing aside the obscuring soil, he activated the system with his suit’s sensors.  He was eventually able to access the command menu, and found the command to open the door.  After keying it in, he was rewarded by shouts of surprise from his gang, and a long metallic grinding noise.  He dropped down, and entered the pyramid, weapons powered and ready.  After marching for twenty minutes down a steep stairway, he arrived at a long row of what appeared to be caskets, set into the wall.  Mont’au walked to one, and brushed aside the dirt on the glass.   Inside, he saw the rusted and broken remains of a humanoid metal skeleton.  He took a step back, surprised at his discovery.  “But past experiences have shown the metal ones regenerate when destroyed, how can this be?” he wondered aloud. After checking for hours, Mont’au could safely say that each and every metal warrior entombed here no longer functioned.  More confusing, perhaps, was the fact that it appeared that these warriors had been left to collect dust, rusting away the ages on this forgotten asteroid.  It was disturbing, he could not figure out what it meant.  Suddenly, a shout from further down the corridor brought his attention to one last tomb, raised above the others, in a place of honor.  He marched to the glass, and looked inside.  A thoroughly rusted and decrepit looking warrior, though still intact enough to be identified as a commander warrior, lay there.  On this particular tomb, strange writing appeared.  Keying on his suit’s translator, Mont’au read the inscription, gaining understanding.  It read: Prototype model, regenerative capabilities nonexistent, operational ability minimal.  Classify worthless and remove useable parts for meltdown and re-molding.   Designate model FORD. BACK