[O15 - Glom Tho - PK] AT-AT Factory Output

The Glom Tho Imperial AT-AT factory thundered with relentless industry, its central gantry suspending the half-assembled leg of a war machine destined for the front lines. Orange-clad workers moved in disciplined patterns across the durasteel floor while overhead cranes rotated heavy components into place. On the upper walkway, black-uniformed security personnel monitored every movement below, their presence a constant reminder that production was as much about vigilance as it was machinery.

Since tensions with the New Republic and local pirates have escalated, the facility has shifted to heightened security protocols. Armed patrols swept the perimeter, identification checks doubled, and encrypted transmissions flowed steadily between Glom Tho and command stations throughout the Protectorate of Kalarba. The border worlds depended on these walkers to hold the line against raids, infiltration, and destabilizing influence.

Orders from the Protectorate’s High Command were unmistakable: protect our borders at all costs. The factory now ran around the clock, its lights never dimming, its assembly lines never still. Every bolt tightened and every armor plate secured brought another engine of war closer to deployment, ensuring Kalarba stood fortified against the growing storm beyond its frontier.

On the lower level, technicians clustered around the actuator housing of an AT-AT leg, calibrating servo couplings and reinforcing stress joints. A compact astromech unit interfaced with nearby consoles, its photoreceptor blinking as it processed diagnostic data. Supervisors barked instructions over the roar of welders, demanding precision worthy of machines that would stride into contested territory.

The conflict with outside forces had transformed production quotas into mandates of survival. Weapons crates filled side bays, blaster components stacked beside repulsor lift pallets, ready for transport to border garrisons. Nothing leaving Glom Tho could afford weakness; the Protectorate’s shield depended on reliability forged under pressure.

Workers rotated through exhausting shifts, but the machinery never paused. Beneath the industrial glow of Glom Tho’s skyline, this factory remained a fortress of steel and resolve. Here, in the heart of the Protectorate of Kalarba, the defense of their borders was not debated-it was manufactured.

Lieutenant Alexander Rheiker stood rigid on the upper gantry, his brown officer’s uniform sharply pressed against the factory's industrial haze below. Hands at his side, he listened as the worker foreman detailed the latest production figures: three walker legs completed ahead of schedule, armor plating shipments arriving before dawn, weapons mounts undergoing final calibration. Rheiker’s questions were precise and unyielding; the Protectorate of Kalarba could not afford delays while tensions with the New Republic and other roving marauders pressed against its borders.

The foreman wiped grease from his gloves and assured the lieutenant that the crews were holding pace despite doubled shifts and tighter inspections. Rheiker glanced down at the assembly floor, watching sparks flare as technicians sealed a servo housing into place. “Increase quality control on actuator joints,” he ordered calmly. “If these walkers deploy to the northern frontier, they must withstand more than standard engagement parameters.” The foreman nodded, understanding that failure in the field would not be tolerated.

A sharp chime cut through the hum of machinery-Rheiker’s encrypted comlink. He stepped aside, activating the channel, and his expression hardened as the message played. His presence was required at the Citadel's Prison immediately. Without hesitation, he closed the transmission and turned back to the foreman. “Maintain output,” he said evenly. “I will return once this matter is resolved.” Then the lieutenant strode toward the exit lift, leaving the roar of production behind as a different kind of duty awaited him.