Richard's Animorphs Forum
Animorphs Section => Animorphs Role Playing => Topic started by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin) on January 30, 2015, 10:30:29 PM
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Rogue Element: The Unsung War
Nine months have passed since the events of RE: The Beginning. The intrepid members of the Rogue Element have searched the Galaxy far and wide for a place to call "home." They've found it in the form of an ancient Class M planet which once played host to a violent, war-like space-faring race of bipedal aliens. It has long since been abandoned. The planet's surface is peppered with ruins of buildings and cities some of which soar unbelievably high into the sky, and others which have roots burrowing deep beneath the surface. Most of the buildings, especially in the cities, appear almost crystalline and glow with a soft inner light in all colors of the rainbow.
The planet has little left by way of natural resources, though it has plenty of water and biologics. There are enough resources left, however, to feed the small band's needs for raw matter and metals. During the day, the sky is colored light, pastel green. At night, constant auroras bathe the planet in majestic displays of light. A binary moon system orbits the planet, circling tightly around each other as they travel around the planet's circumference. The system's brightly-glowing reddish-orange star illuminates the planet and powers its biological engines.
An ancient device embedded somewhere within the planet itself projects a Z-Buffer field which makes Z-space travel within the zone impossible, and nullifies all morphing capabilities.
Above the planet, a new satellite orbits this ancient abandoned planet...a rudimentary space-dock capable of repairing and refitting a Mark III dome ship. The station may not look as bright or polished as its manufactured counterparts, with wiring, pipes, and other utilities showing through or completely exposed. The ceilings are almost as high as those on the dome ship, and glow with bright white lighting, but the walls lack the white luster and polish of those dome ship walls. The station is obviously a work in progress, but has already performed its first major modification on the Tyrennian...the installation of a Yeerk pool fifty feet behind the dome. Two stories in height, the hull of the Tyrennian has been expanded to accomodate the new feeding area along with its permanent kandrona generator fed by the secondary apix collider. Where the corridor hallway used to be, a long, metallic bridge now arches up and over the pool to allow passage, the aft door leading back out into the corridor proper, and the forward door leading to a fifty-foot section of primary corridor which leads in turn to the aft door of the dome.
Aboard the space-station, Ossanlin consults with his primary command crew on what their next move should be. Should they make further efforts to explore the planet? Perhaps they should seek to shore up their supplies, after all they're running low on supplement for hosts. Perhaps they should make a more complete map of the system they're now calling home. What adventures await the Rogue Element?
"To carry on, even in the face of pure adversity...that is the mettle of a true Warrior."
~Prince Exil-Mebridor-Sanrin
Former Second-Prime of the Peoples' Navy
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Nine months had passed since Corvis. Since the rebels decided to stay with the Andalites. In some ways, things had gotten a bit smoother between everyone, out of necessity. In some ways there was still a bit of friction. A few had raised eyebrows at a turelect being made First officer. Some had raised eyebrows at an Andalite Loyalist being put in charge of security. Ferxal was certainly surprised at such an opportunity. As Head of security, he had access to practically everywhere. He could keep watch on everyone.
Ferxal and Claxter had long had their reunion. Talk about cowardice, and the brutal battle Claxter ran away from had been discussed repeatedly. It boggled Ferxal's mind that Claxter held the rank of Prince Lieutenant, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He never referred to Claxter by his rank, and Claxter never made an attempt to force anyone to do so.
They were in a meeting to determine what to do next. there was a lot to do. <Priority on essentials should be a given. We should gather as much information on everything we can think of, to make it in the long term.> Ferxal said. <As soon as we can become self sustainable, the better.>
<It might be a good idea to engineer our vessels so they look nothing like Yeerk or Andalite vessels. Nothing that would quickly tip anyone off to who or what we are.> Claxter said. <If it's possible to make anyone believe that the former inahbitants are still around, it would scare off anyone who is already familiar with them.>
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Ossanlin taps one of his cheeks with a lithe finger as he stares at the holo-table, considering their options. This planet had been an amazing find...protected, ignored, avoided even. His stalk eyes scan his primary command crew...Keshin...Kes hin of all people his first officer. If he'd had to list the things that were most-unlikely to happen in the entire galaxy, that would've been right near the top of this list. Aetheas, his budding TO, working diligently to fill the giant hoof-prints left by Enorryma. Claxter, who'd come a very long way in a very short time as pilot. Ferxal, his new head of security...of course, Ossanlin does watch his transmission coordinates. Firin and Rythil who'd shown themselves to be adept engineers and theorists. Young Varekil, who looked grumpy and acted as though he'd rather be somewhere else. And the elephant in the room...Varit with his Taxxon host.
<We need supplies, there can be no denying that. Gamma Serenae has given us a home for now, and a supply of raw matter and potable water. We should explore the surface...if we can find this Z-Inhibitor, we might be able to figure out how this planet is still powering ancient machines...maybe even duplicate the technology ourselves.> He glances at Claxter with a stalk-eye. <Camouflage would be beneficial...>
"We're working on that actually..." Rythil chimes in. "We're working with some of the others on a possible tessellation field...but we need more time...there's a reason no one's been able to develop a camouflage field for capital vessels."
Ossanlin nods to Rythil, then glances at Ferxal before continuing. <Fodder for the hosts...I think that has to take top priority right now. We currently have no way of fabricating foodstuffs for the humans or hork-bajir. Or...taxxons. Gamma Serenae's biologics might end up being edible...but that takes research and time...we may need to raid an Imperial protein supplement warehouse.> He glances at Keshin, wordlessly requesting he and Joanne to weigh in.
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Keshin nods curtly at Ossanlin. "On a planet that's as unknown as the one we're inhabiting, our first priority should be obtaining the resources we require to sustain us. I vote that the War-Prince's request regarding our foodstuffs take first priority, and that our second priority is sending a team onto the surface to find out exactly what we're dealing with. This would not be the first derelict place that many of us have explored, but..."
Keshin pauses, putting his hand under his chin. "...it's rare to find a completely abandoned habitable world with fully functional technology in this arm of the galaxy. Whoever we send down to get a good look around needs to be prepared for possible hostilities from the planet's defenses...or any stragglers or pirates we're currently unaware of. In my own personal opinion, there is no way this place has gone completely unnoticed for this long."
Keshin was, to some extent, baffled as to how he and Joanne had ended up in the situation they were currently in. It was clear to him that the most trustworthy person for his current job would have been Myitt One-Nine-Five, the War-Prince's shorm and longtime "associate" of his. Yet he was the person who had bailed them out of their last conflict with Sector Seven, the person who had been able to act in a time of conflict. Keshin glanced at the group's holoscreen, peering at the murky depths of their mysterious planet's atmosphere.
<Damn place is like a set for a horror movie, yeah?>
<Doesn't the First Officer always die?>
<I sure as **** hope not.>
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<I will volunteer for ground exploration.> Ferxal said. There was only so much time he could spend in the Dome, pretending he wasn't in a ship in space. He needed new sights. something exciting. It was quite possible that exploring a strange world may be a little more exciting than he could handle, but he wasn't going to stay in the ship if he didn't have to. He would have gladly taken up residence in the Ground Base Camp, but the controllers had taken that pretty much for themselves. It was clear that they didn't want the Head of Security looking over their shoulders in their own comfort zone, especially one who was so resistant to bribery and held such a tight grip on protocols. It had become obvious that these rebels were not a heavily trained military force, and even resisted being shaped into something more akin to the Andalite Way.
<I will take Breeyar, and whoever else I can use to gather information and fend off any attackers.> Breeyar, the Hork-Bajir with an Andalite name, was as focused on combat and physical shape as Ferxal ever was. Not that he really had any other skills. Like Ferxal, he was a guy who fights. For better or worse, there wasn't much else either of them knew how to do, and that's what kept them close. They understood each other.
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"I can go or not go depending on where we decide Joanne and I are needed most," Keshin said, nodding toward the War-Prince and the other members of the group. "I have considerable combat experience and I am used to dropping headfirst into the unknown, but I can also direct and monitor the people we have below."
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Varit watches from the side of the room, his huge, jelly-like Taxxon eyes not needing to track in order to see everyone. He listens carefully, trying to decide how to word what he has to add to the conversation. He's been at sensors, as a part of the Tyrennian's primary crew, for a few months now, and yet he still feels like an outsider.
There's probably a reason for that, he reflects, looking down at his bulbous host's body. His insistence on keeping his Taxxon host has made him an outsider among the Rebels as well. The Rebellion felt like a family when he had Jenny as a host, and even, to some degree, when he was confined to the pool. Being stuck with Resseliss, however, he's coming to the realization that one's physical self plays a huge part in the way one is perceived, and thereby in the way one is treated by others. The world is a much less friendly place for a Taxxon. Oddly enough, he's felt most accepted by the Andalite crew. Perhaps, he reflects, getting to know a Taxxon-Controller is a pretty small jump for them, when they're already being forced to learn to work with so many Yeerks anyway.
Varit's been approached, on more than one occasion, about abandoning his host to die, or attempting to put Resseliss in stasis; a procedure which Varit knows is risky at best, considering the Andalites' lack of consideration for Taxxons when designing their stasis equipment. Though it might be prudent to leave Resseliss, given the Taxxon's rampant food and water consumption, and though it might improve the quality of his own life, Varit has not been able to bring himself to cast Resseliss to the wind quite so easily. As long as Varit has a host, there's more he'll be able to do to help the Rebellion. Beyond that, Varit considers Resseliss closer than a friend at this point. Resseliss once saved Varit's life, and the Taxxon has demonstrated an emotional and cognitive capacity that most beings wouldn't think his species capable of. For Varit, watching his host's growth and enthusiasm over the last nine months has been rewarding, to say the least. Recently, Varit's begun to think of Resseliss almost as his child. Almost.
Besides, Varit would be useless at sensors without Resseliss.
"Protocol would indicate that we should verify the lack of threats in the region," he says, wincing at what he perceives as the unpleasantness of his Taxxon voice. "We've been keeping our profile low until the repairs and modifications to the Tyrennian could be completed, which is understandable, but as the... as our First Officer pointed out, there's very little chance this system's gone untouched for this long. We should have done a proper charting of the system weeks ago." He tries to keep the accusation and the indignation out of his voice as much as possible. "Map our area properly. Ins and outs. Dangers. Pitfalls. Opportunities. Give ourselves more to go on than a few cursory scans."
<That will have to be moved down the priority list, Varit,> comes an emotionless, calm voice from the edge of the room. Aetheas. Unlike most of those in the room, he has his back turned to the holo table. He stands a little straighter these days than he did before accepting his position as the Tyrennian's TO, but his tail still isn't really held high enough for one of his stature. Some attribute it to his still-green status in the position. Some would say it has to do with the fact that, as a vecol, he has no business being aboard the ship in the first place, let alone its Combat Elite. Aetheas himself would simply point to the crook in his tail, saying that it causes him pain to stand so tall all the time.
Instead of examining the holo-display at the center of the room, Aetheas's main eyes look out the window and 'down' to where he can make out the starboard dorsal portion of the Tyrennian. From here, all he can see is the prominent arch of the main Shredder and the graceful curve of the dome falling away from them. The ship has certainly seen better days-- even from this distance, some wear and a few scorch marks are still visible-- but now that they've managed to construct a more-or-less functioning spacedock, at least they can maintain her properly.
"There might be food," Varit points out-- a statement with which his host immediately identifies.
<Maybe,> concedes Aetheas, turning away from the window and taking a few steps towards the table, <but I doubt it.> The space before his main eyes is clear of the simulations and information his ARC is usually projecting in the air before him these days. It's a rarity to see Aetheas not working on some theory or some bit of information or study. It's obvious he considers this particular meeting to be of some import.
<Our food supplies are reaching critical levels,> he says, and the holo-display in the center of the room flickers, switching to a number of somewhat-decipherable graphs and graphics which apparently show food consumption rates, nutritional needs, and total Calories remaining aboard the Tyrennian. As he speaks, Aetheas looks more towards Ossanlin and Claxter than any of the others. He still feels most comfortable talking to his Captain and his mentor. <I recommend we raid a Yeerk outpost to secure the supplies we need and give ourselves some breathing room. It could give our new FO a chance to get a feel for command in a real combat situation. If we leave a few auxiliary craft here, the Rebels remaining on the station can use them to begin mapping the surface at their leisure.>
<To say there are technological hurdles between us and proper camouflage would be an understatement,> he says to Rythil. <The portion of the tessellation field you have functioning won't help us at the moment. That, too, will have to be moved down the priority list.> He looks to Ferxal, then to Keshin, his facial expression unchanging. <The Tyrennian would require its primary bridge crew for this mission if we go forward. There will be time for exploration and relaxation when we return.>
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<I agree that if we had the resources, there are things we would prefer to do first, but we unfortunately do not.> Ferxal said. <Raiding an outpost is risky when we're trying to stay hidden, and our ships are still identifiable to the enemy, but having supplies we know the effects of would be much safer than having someone start eating foreign food and waiting to see if they get sick afterwards. We're not quite at that do-or-die point.>
<I don't suppose it would be easier for the controllers to infiltrate the outpost, and steal food? Would that be better than launching an attack?> He asked the controllers. <Actually if it was possible to plant someone there permanently, it could be useful. As long as they don't do a memory scan.>
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Ossanlin listens to each of his officers in turn, noting each one's opinion. Varit had been quite vehement about performing a full system survey...it would certainly be beneficial, but Ossanlin had had to play fast and loose with some of his prerogatives of necessity.
<Peace, Varit...a complete system scan is a necessity, but others are more pressing. Believe me, I do not like being blind any more than you do. You of all people can understand the danger of mapping this system, though...it will take time and extra care. The whole place is littered with mines, which is precisely why we chose this location. We're leaving half of our Tail Fighter complement here to act as shuttles between dock and ground...they can begin mapping the closest system sectors in our absence as the TO has stated.>
He moves his main eyes to Ferxal. <Ground exploration is important as well. Unfortunately, this is a true planet, and until we have accurate seismic scans, I'm unwilling to send anyone out on more than short excursions from the outpost. We have few enough already, we can't afford to go losing anyone frivolously. As for your concerns regarding our profile...they are well-founded, though I'm inclined to be a lot less shy around Imperials. If we're going to make a difference in the war...well the Imperials will eventually have to realize we're a threat. There's no way around that. However, it was my plan to assault one of the nearest resupply stages with a single detachment aboard the Mirage and the Tigirin shuttle. Firin and the others have managed to boost both ships' power levels for greater payload and sustained combat. The Tyrennian isn't ready to make way yet at any rate.> He glances at Varit, Firin, and Keshin. <It is my understanding that there are waypoints along supply routes...not full supply bases, but staging points for supplies to be moved further down the line.>
Firin glances at Aetheas giving him a slightly dour look before turning his eyes back to Ossanlin. "Yes...the Imperials move small quantities to the waypoints at a time...that way if any of the waypoints is compromised, the loss is small. The score won't be huge, but we could probably get enough to last us four or five months at least. The upside is that the waypoints are lightly-guarded...maybe two bugs and a small station with an additional crew of perhaps five...as long as we don't arrive at the same time as a resupply vessel that is..."
He glances at Aetheas as the TO speaks up. "I'm perfectly capable of thinking on multiple fronts, Tactical Officer. Right now I'm considering a multiple-point origin...of course..." He falls silent for a moment as Rythil's face softens a bit. "Sorry, Aetheas...he can be a bit of a...well, an ass. I agree that we should focus all of our faculties on the most-pressing matter...namely that of the host food supply."
Varekil, quiet up until now, finally speaks up. <I can corroborate the TO's assessment of our ration situation. Some of the hosts, humans especially, have already begun complaining of hunger. Physiologically they appear to be suffering the onset of malnutrition. If we cut the rations back any further, I fear we may suffer dire health implications. At the current rate, human fodder will only last another ten days...perhaps eleven. We can cut back if absolutely necessary, but I do not recommend it.>
<Right...> Ossanlin grimaces a bit at Varekil's words. <Myitt and Keslin have supplied me with notes on the closest supply lines and projected shipment schedules. This will require both timing and luck. Should we decide to take this path...Keshin, Ferxal...you would be the tip of the blade, both aboard the landing shuttle. Varekil, Firin, and Claxter would also accompany the boarding group as support. Aetheas, Varit, you two would be with me aboard the Mirage, myself and Varit nullifying the Bugs and you, Aetheas, monitoring and managing the ground team remotely.> He pauses, sweeping his eyes around the group. <Thoughts?>
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<I am always ready to be at the front lines, Prince Ossanlin.> Feral said. He had begun referring to Ossanlin as Prince out of respect, though he did not call him His Prince. He would have liked to get Claxter in the front, to prove himself not a coward, but bringing up personal squabbles in the middle of a meeting was unprofessional. Maybe when they had time, he could convince Claxter to come on one of those short excursions.
<I have no complaints, My Prince.> Claxter said. <If we could time our attack soon after the newest resupply vessel leaves, we get as much as possible with as little risk.>
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"We are of course fully capable of leading the attacking party, although a maneuver of this kind will require quite a bit of luck on our part," states Keshin, crossing his arms. "We'll have to locate an outpost that has a much smaller chance of being attended to by a resupply ship at all. Which is unfortunate because the way stations most likely to receive shipments quickly are also those that are likely to be attended to be ships within a few Imperial hours. I've launched a raid or two for food on these routes before, actually...and there are a few inconsistencies in the schedules that we can exploit. We could pull this off."
Keshin paced over to the screen depicting the planet, frowning. "However, we won't be able to survive upon the skin of our teeth forever like this. I still maintain that after the seismic scans have finished ensuring we will avoid the mines, we need to get some of our more daring men planetside."
Keshin glanced toward Aetheas and said, "TO, do we know the exact details of what one of these outposts would have in terms of weapons? After that early boarding mission of ours turned sour, I have been wary of assuming too much."
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Varit nods at Ossanlin's assessment-- a mildly terrifying sequence of undulations for his Taxxon host-- but sullenly falls silent. He knows, of course, that they need to adjust their priorities for their situation, but to be forced to do things so nonstandard leaves him in a sour mood.
Aetheas shows no reaction whatsoever to the look Firin gives him. He's used to those looks-- it doesn't even cross his mind. Nor does he show any response to Rythil's reassurances, aside from the almost-imperceptible nod of a stalk eye in his direction.
<The longer we can go without alerting whatever waystation we choose to raid, the better. I have already been running an analysis of the schedule information from the Rebels.> As he says this, the familiar glowing shapes projected by his ARC appear immediately before his main eyes, which now focus entirely on the flickering, rapidly-changing images. <I believe I can narrow down our time window to minimize the chance of a delivery or external activity at the waystation when we arrive, even allowing for the standard irregularities and changes to the scheduling.>
He turns both stalk eyes to Keshin. <Unfortunately, it's impossible to know with certainty the weapon loadout of any given outpost, but as with the schedule, I should be able to narrow down the possibilities.> The display in front of his eyes flickers quickly, and then the holo-display at the center of the room changes to show a full, three-dimensional image of a small space station. It is obviously Yeerk in design, an almost beetle-shaped central section is split by three spirals, evenly positioned around its equator. Hanging 'below' the main section is a smaller pod; several doors can be seen- they almost look like sliding garage doors.
<This is an example of what may be one of our easiest targets, an old-model waystation,> says Aetheas. <Without further information I can't guarantee the accuracy of this image, but it should serve as a reasonable approximation. The smaller of these outposts typically only stage food and supplies for short periods of time, usually twelve standard hours or less.> The image zooms in on one of the spires protruding from the center of the station, showing what is clearly ship dock at the end. <Typically such a station will possess only enough armament to act as a deterrent to individual raiders and pirates.> His eyes slide to Keshin as he says this. <Probably no more than one to two anti-ship Dracon installations per dock, and perhaps one or two besides.> The image pans down to the 'garage doors' under the station, which become transparent, revealing a docking bay inside. <Such a station would have a capacity of no more than six Bug Fighters at any given time, though my information indicates that they rarely actually possess this amount. Crew compliment is likely no more than ten to fifteen personnel. In short,> he concludes, <the station can pose a danger, but should be very manageable with some preparation, even allowing for odd variables, such as unknown patrols in the area.>
His ARC's display flickers off and he turns his main eyes to Ossanlin, while leaving both stalk eyes locked on Keshin. He hesitates, <It... is probably prudent to follow our First Officer's lead in this situation, as he's the only one who's had any experience with such a waystation.> It's unusual for him to admit that he may not have all the answers, and how uncomfortable it makes him shows in the way his voice drops off at the end of this last statement.
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Ossanlin nods to Aetheas and favors Varit with a small smile that he hopes is placating. <As you all know, the Mirage has effective active camouflage. Given a semi-competent pilot, it can easily out-perform standard bug fighters. We can descend to true-space beyond sensor range. The boarding shuttle can hold back while the Mirage goes in under camouflage and does a quick on-sight recon scan. That should at least give us an idea of what sort of armament we're looking at. Firin, what progress on the jammer you've been working on?>
Firin looks up, somewhat surprised at being addressed once again. "It is as imperfect as ever, but given our knowledge of standard Imperial communication frequencies, I believe we could successfully block their z-space transmissions for two to three minutes. Longer if the crew is too thick to realize they can simply modulate to a non-standard frequency."
Ossanlin moves his main eyes to Keshin. <I know you've operated beyond the Imperial yoke for quite some time...but if you can remember anything about this model of station, it would be helpful. For example, where would the best place to board be? Somewhere the crew wouldn't think to fortify...and where would the easiest cache of protein supplement be kept?>
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Keshin looked carefully at the screens produced by Aetheas, searching his mind for the last time Joanne and himself had tried to raid one of these stations. It was a fairly infrequent action back when they were both a turelek, and usually happened because they were unable to obtain suitable jobs. After all, why steal rations when you could technically buy food on the local market?
<I dunno. This whole thing seems a bit ****in' shaky to me, Kess.>
<We have few other options.>
Keshin walked over toward the diagram and zoomed in on the right side of the bug-shaped structure. "If we're looking for the easiest place to board from, it would have to be here. If you're coming in for a supply pickup, what you have to do is attach to the bottom of the structure. The waystation's crew then contacts you and proceeds to load supplies into your ship. This right entrance here is actually where the crew's Bug fighters are docked." Keshin scratched his hand through Joanne's hair. "...technically the Tyrennian wouldn't be able to dock with this entrance, but a craft of equal or slightly larger size to what's expected definitely could. The problem is..."
Keshin shook his head. "...we'd be trading our ability to avoid the station's fortifications for efficiency. The main protein supplements would obviously be kept in the warehouse below. There are protein supplements on the level our carrier or Bug would dock with, but they are intended as the crew's personal supply along with extra space. I don't think we could make our way up to the storage level and back multiple times without running into a great deal of logistical trouble."
Keshin gave Ossanlin a serious frown. "...so do we take the more dangerous route, which is more effective, or the route less likely to be dangerous, which is less effective?"
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<I'm inclined to do this as safely as possible. As badly as we need supplement, personnel are infinitely harder to come by. We can't be cavalier here. The key to all of our operations right now is a zero percentage loss rate. That being said, we can't free any hosts this time around.> Ossanlin glaces around the controllers in the room before zooming in on the route that Keshin had said would be the safest route.
<We'll have to neutralize the station's personnel as quickly and efficiently as possible.> He glances up at Keshin again. <Do these stations generally carry any external or internal energy shielding?>
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<Less risk will need to come before greater reward, since any deaths will negate any gain we get in supplies.> Claxter said.
Ferxal made no comment, as it was just as Ossanlin had said. <Will we aim to incapacitate, or eliminate the enemy?>
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Varit pays close attention to the conversation at hand, even as he finds himself with less and less to add. It seems they're going forward with this plan, which means he'll be expected to manage sensors. The more he knows, the better off he'll be. He feels his head spinning, though, as he tries to keep up with the conversation around him.
Aetheas also listens intently as Keshin speaks, but the look in his eyes is far less confused. He runs through the possibilities in his head, attempting to work out in his mind how to attain their goal, how to maximize their haul. This, he reflects, is an easy job, compared with what's coming. Practice. A 'milk run,' as he's heard some of the rebels say.
He nods when Ossanlin suggests that they take the safer path. It's a prudent choice.
When Ossanlin asks about the shielding, he pipes up before Keshin can answer. <The majority of stations of this type use somewhat power-hungry external shielding. We are most likely to run across this variant. More recently, the Empire has begun repurposing the power generators of these stations. They're being replaced with less powerful models, necessitating a change to more efficient, though less effective, internal shields.> He pauses, <We are far more likely to run across the external shielding, according to the latest surveys contained in our databanks.>
He turns towards Ferxal. <I fail to see what difference it makes how incapacitated the enemy is,> he says, sounding genuinely confused. <As long as they do not prevent us from achieving our goal.>
He focuses again on the display at the center of the room. <If we are taking the longer route, I can arrange for hover dollys, personal shielding, perhaps a supply of incapacitating gas and gas masks for our crew...> His ARC's display in front of his eyes flickers rapidly as he trails off and begins assessing what in the ship's inventory might be useful.
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<I do not wish to start disintegrating the enemy when everyone else has their shredder on stun. or using the sharp side of my blade, when everyone else is using the flat. I do not care either way. I just wish to be clear about it.> Ferxal said.
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<Deadly force is not necessary, but if we need to use blades...casualties aren't forbidden. If a death becomes necessary, it needs to be one of theirs.>
Ossanlin nods at Aetheas. <Then we'll have to take down the shield matrix first. The Mirage's shredders should be able to do that. As long as we can evade the bugs long enough to punch a hole here...> He points to the section Keshin had indicated. <The landing crew aboard the Tigirin can engage and begin the station assault while the Mirage keeps the bugs busy.>
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Keshin crosses his arms. "If we go from that entrance we should be able to obtain the protein supplements on that level without as much difficulty as we'd have in a full frontal assault."
Keshin also nods to Aetheas and smiles, impressed with his level of knowledge about the outposts. "Yes, it's unlikely that the kind of station we need to target would have had its clunky external shields replaced yet. The external shield matrix will be far easier to disable on those older models." Neither he nor Joanne were certain as to what exactly Aetheas thought of them, but they both trusted his judgment for the most part.
Keshin turned back to the entire group. "Are all in favor of the current plan?"
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<It would be prudent to go in expecting more than is standard.> Ferxal said, remembering the almost-catastrophe with the cargo ship so many months ago. <I'm sure we can accomplish it if we keep our heads together.>
<Teamwork is the most important.> Claxter said.
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"Agreed," says Varit in response to Keshin's query. He seems distracted... he's still trying to get the upcoming sequence of events straight in his head, and to work out what exactly he's going to have to do to stay ahead of the game.
Aetheas looks to Ferxal. <Yes, it would be best to overprepare. We'll need to move quickly, with as little room for error as possible.> He turns to Ossanlin, <The Mirage and Tigirin should both currently be at the ready. I can request that the maintenance crews make a check to be sure.> His ARC display before his eyes begins to flicker rapidly. <Based on the most current available data, there are a few upcoming time windows which should give us the highest probability of success. Station WX-1191's ideal window should happen in approximately three standard hours, necessitating our departure within...> he pauses as his display flickers through Z-space information. <Quite soon. Station WN-225's window occurs in approximately seven hours, necessitating our departure in a little under two.> He pauses again as the information flickers before him. <I will send you the list of all available windows for stations within twenty parsecs if you wish.>
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Ossanlin nods to Keshin. <Yes. It's as good as we can get without further reconnaissance.>
He turns his main eyes to Aetheas. <Have the ships prepped immediately, our goal will be WX-1191 then. Let's get this done.> Ossanlin takes one last look around the room. <We need the supplement, without a doubt. But don't for a moment take any unnecessary risks. Priority number one is 100% survival. None of us is expendable, nutrients do nothing for a corpse.>
Ossanlin checks over his equipment and nods, moving toward the door and deactivating the small holo-table. <Everyone report to the Tyrennian's atypical hangar within fifteen standard minutes.>
With that he moves out through the door and makes his way toward the primary gangway leading out to the Tyrennian. Around him, small portals look out on the stars and the strange planet below the orbital station. The brightly-lit off-white corridors do little to mask the majesty of space beyond. He makes his way to the hovering gangway and passes through the atmospheric shield, walking along the slightly flexible pressurized pathway to the ship.
-
Aetheas nods to Ossanlin and immediately sends a request to the flight chief; finalize prep on the Mirage and the Tigirin immediately. As always, his communique is short and to the point; he's heard some of the other officers referring to him as up-tight and 'curt,' but he doesn't see any relevant reasons to do things differently.
He leaves the room by a different pathway than Ossanlin, this one heading towards the Tyrennian. He continues to send communications to crewmembers he knows to be around, requesting their needed supplies be brought to the hangar. Several hover dollys. Extra weapons and defenses. Personal sensors and jammers. Medical supplies-- his communication to Varekil includes the list he's recommended and asks him to make further suggestions. He requests extra food and water-- this is not intended to be a long trip, but if things go wrong...
Varit falls into step not far behind Ossanlin. He doesn't seem to notice the windows or the path he's taking or even who he's following. He's trying to run through the plan in his head, again and again, as he walks. Trying to get straight what he's going to have to do. As he walks, he mutters quietly to himself-- mostly bits of the controls and operations for the sensors ("Deactivate the graviton detectors in situations involving exceptionally large craft... Bug fighters tend to emit heat and radiation in the mid-upper microwave bands...") broken up occasionally by a bemused-sounding quote of a portion of a Yeerk or Rebel regulation that they're breaking ("The Captain shall never take part in an away mission if that mission has not been verified safe and secure").
-
Keshin made several checks on his ARC after the meeting was over, along with broadcasting this message to all members of the Tyrennian's crew: <Attention crew of the Tyrennian. We will be engaging in a raid of Imperial Station WX-1191 in approximately three standard hours. The War-Prince and I will begin assigning crew members to participate in the raid immediately. All crew members that we assign are to report to the Tyrennian's atypical hangar within ten minutes. We thank you for your participation and your patience.>
Keshin began using the ARC to contact the team, stopping momentarily in his quarters to pick up their weapons. Keshin stopped, picking up his Dracon and turning it over and over in his hand. Much time has passed. ...we have a perfect map of the ship, you know. We are trusted. We could run Salem's gambit with very few difficulties.
<Don' even think about it, Kess. Don' ****in' think about it.>
<....I am only thinking about it. I am hardly planning anything yet. But if we continue to go down this route, we will never be able to get back to anything even resembling independence. We have already gone too far. We have essentially become Ossanlin's Sub-Visser, and that is exactly what I had hoped to avoid by leaving the Empire.>
<An' you know what, I never quite got that. What kinda Yeerk runs away from power? All these years, Kess, and you never really told me why you did it. I know it wasn' about ****in' me. Either way I'm not going to be on your ****in' side if you take advantage of the guy who saved my life. I can'. >
Keshin clenched his fists, looking down at the ground. He clutched at the fabric of their outfit. <....I understand. We have a mission to complete.>
After Keshin was assured that he was prepared and that all participants had received their assignments, he darted toward the atypical hangar. This was not going to be a particularly significant mission they were going on, but it would show if the Tyrennian had in fact achieved a certain level of coordination.
-
Ferxal and Claxter made their way down the hall to get some equipment and make themselves ready.
<Ever since that supply ship, I've been wary of everything. It's too bad we don't have the luxury of complete military intelligence. It's going to be a rough ride, balancing survival with a need for supplies.> Ferxal said.
<I'm sure it will get easier in time. Once we get enough of the basics going, we'll be able to focus more on our true goals. Just don't take any risks.> Claxter said.
<I'm going to see you pull through a real battle one of these days.>
<We had that skirmish in space a little over a month ago. I think I did well at the helm.>
<I mean a REAL battle. Blade against blade in true battle.>
<I'm a pilot. How many times do I need to remind you?>
<Only until I see you fight two Hork-Bajir controllers at once, and win with nothign but your tail.>
<Your superior is displeased with your stubbornness.>
<I still can't believe you outrank me. Though only technically, since neither of us is in the proper military anymore.>
Eventually they made it to the atypical hanger, ready for boarding.
-
Ossanlin navigates the Tyrennian quickly, returning the salutes from the Warriors he passes in the vast halls of the ship. He passes out into the wide, sweeping hangar area of the Tyrennian, marveling at the sight of humans mixed in amongst the Andalites working in the area. He opens a private communique with Eleric. A single support fighter wouldn't arouse much suspicion, and it would be good to have another combat ship in case the station had more fighters aboard than initially expected. <Command Warrior, report to your fighter and prep for immediate dust-off, twenty standard minutes. Mission details are being transmitted to your ARC. Do not ready Lightning-strike, you'll be supporting us alone.>
<Yes, Prince.>
Ossanlin closes the communication after he receives the response. He walks purposefully into the atypical hangar, glancing over the humans and Andalites readying the Mirage and Tigirin for launch. The soft hum of the Mirage's engines relaxes him. He's almost grown accustomed to the sight of a Taxxon, his stalk eye following Varit and his host in behind him. He notes the presence of both Claxter and Ferxal, and his other stalk eye catches Keshin and Joanne darting in. Despite the change in Joanne's body, she still seems to move with an unnatural lightness of step. Perhaps merely the effect of the arduous training she'd submitted herself to to get used to her slightly different body. Aetheas and Firin are as yet not present.
<Alright, I've requested Eleric join us as support. He will fly as the Mirage's wingman.> He notices a hover dolley being trucked in with extra supplies on it. He takes a deep breath...Aetheas makes a competent and even skilled TO, but he's yet to learn that it is impossible to prepare for every eventuality. Sometimes a commanding officer had to take leaps of faith.
Firin stands near the holo-table deep in thought as the others filter out. <<We're supposed to report to the Tyrennian hangar, Fir.>>
<<This is not what I had in mind, Rythil. And don't call me Fir.>> The Hork-Bajir's attitude had become much more positive lately, but the inane "pet-name" thing had grown wearing.
<<Look...so we can't just sit in a kinetics lab and tinker with stuff all day, so what? We have a chance to make a difference!>>
<<Your optimism is....optimistic. One Dome Ship against two armies does not a revolution make. Part of the reason I agreed to leave the Empire is that we were never allowed to pursue our passions. I see no change in that here.>>
<<What are you talking about? We've helped with tons of engineering projects already!>>
<<Oh yes...first it was the layout of this green-damned station, then engineering the power systems out of rocks and sticks...then the life-support ducts from spare tape and some old rivets...absolutely scintillating.>>
<<Shut up, Fir...you loved making all this junk work out of substandard parts and you know it. Look, once we're more stable, we'll be able to build the lab we've always wanted...there's tons of data to look through here, and we have access to the Tyrennian's memory banks. We could invent some really awesome things!>> Firin took control long enough to smile.
<<Well, look at you. You've come a long way from cursing the "dirty blue-furs.">>
<<These ones are different though. Sort of like that silly human space show...you know, Star Walk or whatever?>>
<<Trek, Rythil. Star Trek.>>
<<Yeah, that...like the Romoluns and Valkuns. They came from the same species but split off because they didn't agree?>>
Firin rubs his forehead. <<Romulans and Vulcans. And are you truly comparing our situation with some ridiculous human fantasy?>>
<<Well, it's pretty much the same, anyway. Just...they're different. We need to go or we're gonna be late.>>
Firin sighs audibly and shakes his head. <<Fine. Off to play infantry grunt again.>>
He makes his way toward the Tyrennian, checking his equipment. He arms the personal shield generator and makes sure he has his Dracon and Cube computer which he's managed to interface with the ARC holo-emitter rather handily. Most of the Andalites he passes remain impassive. A few actually nod to him. Strange that. Out of the few Hork-Bajir the Rogue Element had picked up, most of the Andalites could recognize him since he held an officer position.
As he walks along the hover walk-way, he takes a strange sense of pride in his design. It had been a challenge to overcome the difficulties with both flexibility and rigidity. The field net he'd come up with worked wonderfully, and he could see uses with it in other facets of operation as well. He walks through the halls of the Tyrennian which he'd made sure to memorize by rote and arrives with most of the others already there. He nods in Ossanlin's direction. "I suppose we're ready then."
Varekil immediately makes his way out of the conference room. What was this crazy world he'd fallen into? Suddenly the only Andalite medical expert in charge of a whole crew. A commanding officer in charge of an entire med-bay...learning human, hork-bajir, and even taxxon physiology. And now being deployed in an assault mission. He shakes his head to himself. His mother had been right, he should've just become a Homeworld surgeon.
His ARC buzzes with a request from the TO, who was about the same age as himself, for extra supplies. The TO did like his preparedness, Varekil could admire that. He makes his way to the Tyrennian's med-bay and makes sure his field-medic kit is fully-stocked. He grabs the extra supplies Aetheas had requested as well and throws them into a satchel, hanging it over his shoulder. He checks his handheld Shredder to make sure it's fully-charged and ready before departing toward the atypical hangar. The trip isn't terribly far from the med-bay and he arrives in the hangar with most of the others present. <Let's get this over with.>
-
Aetheas makes his way to the atypical hangar with nearly thirty seconds to spare before their scheduled departure. He's the last to arrive. Things should be in order for their trip; he notes with some satisfaction that the crews are just finishing loading his requested supplies, and the ships appear in better condition than they have in months. He spots Eleric's fighter being prepped, and his stalk eyes turn questioningly towards Ossanlin. That had to have been his decision-- it's a good precaution.
His eyes rove the designated crew of the landing ship. Ferxal and Claxter, begrudgingly working together. They seem to have developed a strange rapport-- though neither likes the other, they know each from the past, and seem to find some level of comfort in their ongoing exchange. Varekil has brought the requested medical supplies. He appears calm, though Aetheas suspects there's a nervousness that he's not showing. Keshin looks ready for anything-- the action, Aetheas recognizes, will feel more familiar to him than the First Officer's duties-- an ironically welcome reprieve. Firin's mind appears to be elsewhere, his eyes wandering from one thing to the next in the hangar. Firin has taken on many of the projects recently which Aetheas himself has had to regretfully let pass him by. There simply isn't enough time in the day to do everything he wants to do.
Time to board.
<Let's begin,> he says, and without any further preamble, turns and walks up the ramp to the Mirage. Varit, the largely unproven Taxxon Controller, looks around at Ossanlin nervously, awaiting the Captain's okay before following the TO. Varit's affinity for rules and regulations, Aetheas reflects, seems utterly at-odds with the necessities of this sort of unpredictable rogue operation, and the stress seems to make the Yeerk less and less vocal as time goes on.
Aetheas catches the look Ossanlin is giving him, though what it means, he cannot immediately discern.
-
Ossanlin nods to Aetheas. <Very well, away crew to appropriate shuttles.> He suits his own words by following Aetheas up the ramp into the Mirage, Varit following him as well. He makes his way to the front of the modified ship. There isn't a lot of room on the flight deck, but he suppresses his urge to cringe whilst thinking about such close-quarters with a Taxxon.
Ossanlin commands the primary hatch to seal and nods to Aetheas. <Prepare the navigation for our Z-Space jump, Command Warrior.> He moves his main eyes to the Taxxon. <Let me know when the boarding crew reports ready aboard the Tigirin, Varit.>
-
Ferxal and Claxter boarded the ship to get things started. Claxter himself went toward the helm, though he wasn't sure he'd actually be doing the piloting. It had just become second nature to be at the helm of any ship.
-
Keshin headed after Claxter and Ferxal towards the boarding ship. He was dimly surprised at how fast and purposeful they still were, even in a body they were less-than-adjusted to wielding well. He snickered slightly at the bickering soldiers and friends that boarded the ship, and met Claxter up at the helm of the Tigirin. He was dimly surprised by how organized they had managed to make the entire process. Joanne seemed almost itching to move.
<I don' ****in believe it, it's been weeks since we got to be on a boardin' party! It's a pirate's life for me, dammit!>
<Calm down and get ready. There's no need to let the rare dash of excitement go to your head.>
Keshin glanced towards Claxter. "Has everyone made it onboard yet? I need to confirm with Mission Control."
<I can't believe we actually got to say "Mission Control." Teehee.>
Keshin wondered why he even bothered most of the time.
-
<I believe so.> Claxter said. He was glad that things worked out for Keshin and Joanne, though he had been less than confident about making them First Officer. It was out of his hands, though. It could have been worse, he supposed. <How have you been handling yourself, lately?>
-
Keshin ****ed his head. "Fine, overall," he said. "I have no complaints. It has been a difficult transition from one body to another, but not one that I regret." He wondered why Claxter would be worried about him. The entire crew had been barely civil with him only a year before.
Keshin tapped the ship's panel, which the crew had modified to accept voice commands. "This is the Tigirin reporting in to the Mirage Mission Control. The boarding party is ready for mission launch, War-Prince."
-
"The crew is aboard the Tigirin, Captain," Varit reports. The steady hum of the ship's power system and the low rumble of the engines coming up to idle make him realize how strange it's felt aboard their makeshift space station. All those months aboard the constantly-running Tyrennian, and he had no idea he'd missed that rumble until now.
<Computer reports all ship's systems at nominal,> Aetheas says, his main eyes turned towards a readout. <Docking bay crew reports that we are clear for launch.> His stalk eyes look towards Ossanlin. <On your mark.>