One of the digital clocks on the 'wall of clocks' began to beep. Looking up from the pot of water, Moss was at first confused. It had been a while since that particular clock had seen any relevant data. Only two of the four dozen clocks actually showed the time– the rest were data streams. Moss had modified all of the digital clocks and connected them to the Biped's data ports, making use of its military data collection systems. That way, he could easily read the unit's built in sensors without having to be inside the cockpit. The clock continued to beep. Moss stood and walked over to the wall. "Fuck, which one are you, again? I should have labeled these." he mumbled aloud. He stared at the clock:<i>88:88… –5:01… UA:_8…</i>It was really going crazy. 88:88 was an alert warning, –5:01 was a distance, but… what else?<br/><br/>Moss scratched his head, "Fuck me. This is really baffling." It wasn't a life sign. It was something more than that. He turned his attention towards the Biped, "Leo, your data streams are really giving me hell. What are you trying to tell me? Xenomorphs? Fucking what?" Moss walked over to the Biped and climbed up to its cabin. He pulled the lever and the capsule opened, shedding some dust. He looked inside, and while it took his eyes a second to adjust, the message became blatantly clear,<i>Unidentified Aircraft – Local Airspace: AtS Outfits Detected</i>. Moss cursed aloud. There could be trouble coming his way. Serious trouble. He jumped down from the cockpit and grabbed his rifle. He hurdled towards the watchtower ladder, and scaled it two rungs at a time. He exited through the back of the van, and looked through the scope of the rifle, swinging it full circle. He didn't see anything, at least not in the sky. –5:01 was 5.01 Km from the stronghold.<br/><br/>He hadn't checked whether or not it had changed position. Maybe the craft had moved on. Or maybe it had landed. Moss scanned the horizon again. Sure enough in the distance, there was a ship. It looked almost new; probably an Airborne scout. He adjusted the scope and peered through again. There were two people on foot, one with a shotgun, the other seemingly unarmed. He grabbed two tracer rounds from his back pocket. One was a standard tracer, the other a 'Paladin' tracer, used to counteract snipers of unknown position. It was essentially a long distance flash-bang. He loaded the standard tracer and pulled back the pin, taking aim directly between the two, and then up a bit. The last thing he wanted was bloodshed on his hands. Evidently, the armed figure was had the advantage, and was probably the Airborne scout. Unaware of either of their motives, Moss observed the movement of dust around where the two were standing. They were probably after the waterhole. He might be able to prevent the Airborne pilot from killing the poor scavenger if he could get their attention. He made the shot, a bright orange flash tearing from the muzzle and passing a couple dozen feet above their heads. If he had thought this through correctly, the pilot now had more important things to worry about than picking on the locals.