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.>
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.>