The Galactic War: Rogue Element ~The Beginning

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Ossanlin raises an eyebrow at Keshin.  <Your common sense...your common sense is to the almighty currency...personal gain.  I might be amenable to nothlitizing you, but note that measures will be taken to ensure that you don't abuse the gift.  And, of course, I would need to hear from your host...without you...that she is willing to forsake her own body and face for another.  And yes, there are security locks and sensors in place, but if there's one person who knows how to wriggle through infinitesimal cracks, it's you.>

He turns his attention back to Aetheas.  <Tyrennian schematics.  Capabilities.  Specs.  I wasn't lying, Aetheas.  You must know the Tyrennian's support struts as your own bones, it's hull as your skin.  You must know its engines and thrusters as your legs and its sensors as your eyes and ears.  You must know its shredders as your tail, because the Tyrennian must be an extension of your body.  You need to know to a precise degree what she is capable of, and how hard you can push her.  Where her strengths and weaknesses are.  You must know it as you know your own capabilities and limitations.  This is no minor task, Aetheas...I'm asking you to accomplish in months what Enorryma developed over years.  You may relax today if you wish, but tomorrow, that will not be an option.>

<The same goes for you, Claxter.  If you wish to relax today, you may.  But starting tomorrow you will be on full helm shift with a temporary overseer.  You are both dismissed, unless you have further current need of me.>

Ossanlin glances at Myitt with his main eyes.  <I'm glad to see you out and about, Myitt.  We should speak...>

[Chad32]

It seemed quite a bit, hearing to what detail a TO would need to know the ship. Though it probably shouldn't come as a surprise. It was one of the highest stations, and a TO was one of a captain's highest confidantes.

<Yes, my Prince.> He said, giving a small bow as he turned to leave. He spared a stalk eye at Ennoryma's stasis pod as he left. In a way he wished if she must succumb, that it had been before she left the Electorate. What good would it have done to risk everything if she might die so soon after leaving? It felt like a waste.

He affixed his new insignia, and made his way back to the dome. He considered relaxing a bit, since it may be a while before he could relax again.

[Aluminator (Kit)]

As Ossanlin explains the level of detail to which he would be expected to know the Tyrennian, Aetheas feels himself getting more and more excited. Oh. Oh yes. If ever there was a position so perfectly hand-crafted to his talents, this was it.

<Thank you, Captain,> he says with another brief salute, <but I would rather begin today.> He turns and follows Claxter out the door, eager to begin his research. As he exits the med-bay, he takes his new insignia, the crescent of the Warrior, into his hand and considers it.

After a moment, he finds himself walking with Claxter back towards the dome. <So...> he begins, his stalk eyes pointed back the direction they'd just come from. He seems unsure of how to continue that thought, however.

[Chad32]

<Yeah...> Claxter said, still letting what just happened sink in. <Things are going to get very busy for us. I'm fully aware you have a lot of potential, and I hope to see you make good use of it. I also hope I'll be a great pilot as well.>

He looks at the rebels, wondering a lot of things. <I really hope this works. I feel like perhaps I should take this opportunity to rest up, as it will be a while before I can again, but if I do I may become too anxious.>

[Myitt]

Myitt, nonplussed by Keshin's reaction, doesn't hound the melancholy-looking turelek any further.

She clears her throat and listens patiently as Ossanlin and Aetheas discuss Aetheas' promotion.


Ossanlin's voice ringing in her head, calling her by name, snaps her back to full attention.


"It is good to be out and about, Ossanlin," Myitt agrees grimly. "I should see who has arrived. I want to thank you again, my friend, for...for everything your people have done to help us. I think some of us are settling in, at least marginally."

[Shenmue654]

"You can hear from Joanne any time you would like, Ossanlin," Keshin says, raising an eyebrow. "Although you'll find that someone who has been dealing with our curse for double the time I have will be more than amenable to its end."

Keshin represses a smirk at Ossanlin's comment about their ability to wriggle. They did always have a few tricks up their sleeves, but it was laughable that the War-Prince now seemed to think of them as some kind of ne'er-do-well grandmaster. They were bounty hunters, not spies!

<To be fair we did almost kill 'im.>

<True.>

Keshin watches Myitt's thank Ossanlin for his kindness, but decides against saying anything. He needs a proper opportunity to thank Myitt himself, but this likely isn't it. The Yeerk had very likely saved their lives, and he still wondered why. There had been a few unusual...incidents when they both were desperate, but there was no love lost between them.

[Aluminator (Kit)]

<You will,> Aetheas says absently when Claxter says he hopes he makes a good pilot. The words are said without any emotion, almost without any thought- it's just matter-of-fact. <If I rest, I will only be wishing I was training,> he says. <This is the sort of assignment I believe I'll enjoy.>

He takes a look around the dome and decides that the chance to observe and interact with some of the rebels may outweigh the privacy of his quarters. <I think I'll begin studying here,> he says, not realizing he's speaking out loud. <It's pleasant in the dome.> His mind is still running a mile a minute, going over what's just happened. He sets off at a steady pace across the grass, heading for the crew quarters.

He turns his stalk eyes to Claxter, <If this doesn't work, we'll all end up incarcerated or incinerated.> He smiles at his dark little joke.

[Chad32]

<I appreciate the vote of confidence.> Claxter said. <I suppose we need to make sure it works, then. No going back now.>

Claxter begins walking around the dome, thinking to himself. He notices Xevec opening and closing the door to a room. <Is the door causing problems?> He asked, looking at it.

"No, just making sure it isn't locking me in or anything." Xevec said absentmindedly.

<I assure you that we are not trying to deceive anyone here. You are not prisoners.>

"Don't take it too personally. I just have problems trusting anyone. I don't even trust the rebels completely. It happens when you get stabbed in the back by someone you trust."

<I am sorry. Is that why you left the Empire?>

"Yep. Someone i thought was my friend made a mistake, which is often fatal when you work for Visser Three, and he found a way to frame me for it. So I go from Sub Visser to new guy at the rebel base soon after. Didn't you have a different rank before?"

<I was just promoted, due to an officer not being able to continue her duties.>

"You're supposed to be rebels too, so I'd say drop the ranks altogether."

<The ranks are an important part of our military life, and are unlikely to be discarded. Besides, we are holding out hope to one day be reinstated after we help the Yeerk rebels.>

"Maybe. Maybe not. What do you do, anyway?"

<I will be piloting the ship.>

"Interesting."

<I don't suppose you are friends with Terenia, are you?>

"No. She's not an easy person to get close to. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but deep down she's not purposefully malevolent. My partner and I don't approve of what she did to Efaen, or her idea to bring Efaen with her, but my own 'hands' aren't the cleanest and Derrel is too busy with his own life to really care much what Terenia's done. Or to work hard to make friends with someone who wants to be left alone. Not that I would even want to rock the boat by agitating Corliss' wife. I take it you're pretty angry at her."

<Why shouldn't I be?>

"Why indeed? Are you just as angry at your boss for letting Efaen go?"

<W-well he had safety measures in place that were supposed to prevent that sort of thing.>

"As someone who has had a leadership position in the past, I would suggest you not dodge questions, or scapegoat. If you're going to be angry at someone for being partly responsible for something bad, it would be fair to spread the blame evenly. Why send some broken stranger to a delicate mission, instead of someone he trusted, regardless of safety measures?"

<I don't know.> Claxter started feeling uncomfortable with how the conversation was going. <I have to go do something...> He said, leaving.

"See you around!"

[Aluminator (Kit)]

Aetheas watches as Claxter approaches one of the rebels with some level of envy-- he himself has always had a difficult time simply approaching strangers and striking up conversation. With a sigh, he heads to his quarters and grabs a data pad. He puts in a request for the computer to upload all available information pertaining to the Tyrennian itself to the pad-- he notes that some restricted information is omitted, meaning he hasn't been given full security clearance yet.

Moments later, pad in hand, he heads back out into the dome.

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Iksilon sighed as he boarded the shuttle, activating his private communicator.  <Their identities?>  His body-guards left him as they were supposed to do, and he retired to his personal chamber.  The shuttle was not large, but Iksilon demanded his privacy.  Only silence answered him.  He sighed again.  <Cendir, there are times for these little games, and times to avoid them.  This time is the latter.>

<Yes...Iksilon.  As to the identities of those who raided Corvus…I do not know.  But…>

<Then why did you contact me, Cendir?  Do you simply enjoy wasting my time?  You know how much I love to waste time…>  Iksilon retired to his cube, relaxing after the events at the facility.

<We discovered some puzzling information…>

<Contact me when you have them in custody…>  He began to close the communication.

<That won’t be possible.>  Even though it was a voice-only transmission, Iksilon could all but hear the cringe in her thought…for good reason.

<Must we have another…talk…Cendir?>

Nothing but silence answered him for a few moments, before the female spoke up again.  <They performed a blind double-jump.>

Iksilon cursed to himself.  Blind jumps were incredibly risky, but also very effective at shedding pursuers.  <I…see.  This is disappointing news, Cendir.  I believe we may need to revisit our prior…conversation.>

<But, darling…as I was trying to tell you, we do have clues…>

<Clues?  At least tell me what type of ship they were piloting.>

<They rendezvoused with a larger vessel.  A much larger vessel.>

So…a larger group…the guerilla troops had simply been an elite strike-force.  A well-armed and well-informed strike-force.  <A Blade Ship then?>

<We…didn’t actually see either ship, they had early warning probes deployed and ran as soon as we entered the system.>

Iksilon sighed to himself.  It had been a long time since Cendir had failed him so completely as this.  Perhaps it was finally time to have her taken care of.  But running did indicate a wish to remain completely unknown…not undetected, but unknown.  Perhaps there was more to this situation than met the eye.

Cendir pulled him from his thoughts once again.  <Not a Blade Ship.  As I said, we obtained clues.  The larger ship had been orbiting a large ferrous planet-core.  While the magnetism disguised the ship’s sensor profile, it also preserved the ship’s ionic spectral profile.  Radioactive decay allowed us to determine how long the ship had been orbiting the core.  After computing the parameters, the spectrum was too large for a Blade ship and too small for a pool ship.  We cross-referenced the spectrum with all ships in the…Dark Scythe’s memory banks…we could find no matches.>

Iksilon ****ed his head to the side.  No matches…the Dark Scythe’s sensor array was beyond compare, as were so many other things about his flagship…that kind of detailed analysis couldn’t have been obtained by any other ship.  Not so quickly anyway.  It likely would’ve taken weeks.  An unknown sensor profile…how odd.  Their database was complete…to think there might be an entire element beyond Sector Seven’s perception…it was laughable…ludicrous even.  <Very well, transmit the data to my personal ARC.  I will do some…pondering.  You’re lucky you were able to give me something, Cendir.  I need you to return to Alpha Dektrat.  I will be joining you in a few days.>

He closed the communication and rubbed his temples.  This small setback…it couldn’t ruin his good mood.  But work was never done, not for the Alpha Lord.  He loaded the recorder data from the Corvus facility into the small computer in his personal quarters and began searching for any clue…any nugget of information regarding the unknown element that had freed the rebel Yeerks.  The virus had obviously been designed specifically for the Corvus computer system, and that was troubling in and of itself.  Who could’ve obtained such specific information and then carried out such a precision surgical strike?  Perhaps the rebels were far more dangerous than he originally assumed them to be.  Most of the recordings were scrambled…but one…the one in the Yeerk containment vault…that one had caught a clear image of one of the Hork-Bajir…and the image Iksilon saw was more than troubling.  The Hork-Bajir was wearing an ARC with a command-comm wrist-panel.  And while the residents of Corvus had professed multiple times that the raiders had used clearly Yeerkish beam weapons, the profile Iksilon made out in the dark of that still image was one of an ASAR.  Modified to be sure, but an ASAR nonetheless.  The petite Andalite narrowed his eyes and began to think furiously.




*                                      *                                        *




The week seemed to pass quickly.  There was too much to do, and not enough hands to do it.  The Tyrennian managed to visit five other rendezvous points, and found a few more rebels, though not nearly enough.  So many names lost…so much tragedy.  They were approaching the sixth rendezvous point now, and according to those in the know, this was one of the last “official” emergency points.

Both Keslin and Myitt were becoming regular presences aboard the bridge of the massive Dome Ship.  Ossanlin had granted both access to the information files regarding the basic functionality and operation of the ship.  It served to help placate the other rebels, but also, Ossanlin hoped, would help to keep the rebels aboard the Tyrennian once they finally made their decision regarding the matter.

As Ossanlin had both expected and feared, Aetheas had thrown himself full-on into his training to become an admirable TO.  Expected because that was Aetheas’s personality…his drive to fulfill his own expectations of himself.  Feared because while Ossanlin needed the speed, he feared it would burn the young Andalite out quickly.

Claxter was progressing in his own training on the helm of the Tyrennian.  He now made a passable pilot, and at this rate of learning, would become a respectable one in short order.  Both wore their new insignia, though the official ceremonies had yet to be performed.

Eleric had used every opportunity to deploy Lightning-strike, though Ossanlin has not approved any training drills as yet.  He’d continued his efforts with Efaen as well, though he couldn’t tell if they were bearing any fruit.

Varekil’s demeanor had become somewhat surly with the added responsibility of becoming Prime Medical Officer, but he’d been more than tolerant of the human and Yeerk presence in what had now become his med-bay.  Ossanlin had given them clearance to view all files pertaining to the med-bay’s equipment as well as the records on Andalite physiology and pathology.

Ossanlin had also given some clearance to a few of the other rebels.  The one known as Firin-985 had been given clearance to the engineering records of the ship after demonstrating an insatiable thirst for the knowledge.  Perhaps it had been too soon to trust, but Ossanlin had always felt some racial responsibility for the plight of the Hork-Bajir people.

Ossanlin had also relaxed the restrictions on Keshin, though he was still forbidden to go anywhere near the docking hangars.

As they approached this final rendezvous point, all seemed quiet.  Would they find anymore rebels?  And if so, what surprises awaited them?



((Sorry guys, this is a bit sub-par, but I’m having trouble with the creative flow, so give me a bit of a break.  ^^))

[Chad32]

Drifting through space was a lone Andalite Fighter. It had taken heavy damage, as the engines were blown out, and there was a hole in the hull. The only thing keeping the air from being sucked out was the fading energy shields, though there was precious little air left inside. Air tanks were often stored in a compartment in the ship in case of emergency, but the compartment had been on the wall that now had a hole in it. Coincidence? Who knew? Ferxal had been drifting for a long time, and was losing hope in finding anyone. He had sent distress call after distress call, but no one had answered, and he was contemplating giving himself a quick death instead of one by suffocation.

<One last try.> He told himself as he started feeling groggy from the lack of air. One last try, and if it wasn't answered, he would end it. <This is Ferxal Escoth Dhoraim of the Andalite forces. I am stranded and dying. Please help me. If there is any Andalite ship that can hear this, please help me.> The last message was send out. He leaned against the console, legs tucked under him, and waited. He looked at his tail blade, and wondered if he could really bring himself to self terminate. Being trained for something like this was one thing. Actually doing it was another.

[Shenmue654]

Keshin wandered the Tyrennian with disinterest, drawing Joanne's hand along the wall in an ancient gesture she had once used to focus her attention and calm herself. Ossanlin had come no closer to allowing them to use the Escafil Device, and the longer Ossanlin waited the more medicine they ran out of. They were trapped on this ship without funds and without a means to procure trust that anyone would accept. They had a few leads on the side, though. Talking to the rebels had proven fruitful enough--- Although he doubted they had what they were looking for, they might have the means now to either mix or procure it.

<We're not completely lost. If we can convince either Ossanlin to change us in exchange for our permanent support, or we can find elements in the rebels who want it....we might have a place to hang out.>

<An' then there's Salem's ask.>

<We can't do anything on that front until we have the ship's trust, although it's looking better than it was. And do we even want to? Maybe this is the solution to our problems, Joanne.>

<We've been free birds. D'you think we could live in a metal cage?>

<.....we need to ask ourselves that question, if it means life. Yeerks see that, where humans do not.>

Keshin decided that their best course of action, perhaps, was to talk to the rebellion about whether the Yeerks had reached consensus on their objectives aboard the Tyrennian. He headed in the direction of the crew quarters and thus their "section" of the ship, taking Joanne's hand off the wall and instead focusing on moving forward.

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Ossanlin glances out the viewport of his administrative office, watching the streaks of distant stars as the ship moves through regular space.  It had been a rough week, but they'd found several more rebels.  That was good news of course, there are now enough hands to keep the ship flying...once they become trusted and trained anyway.  But Ossanlin's doubts continue to multiply.  Efaen's Halcyon chip is the largest concern looming in his mind.  He wouldn't perform the surgery without her consent...but Sector Seven would be frisking their hooves once they realized she had been implanted.  The chip's frequency would allow them to trace Efaen's whereabouts no matter where she went, and right now, her presence endangers the entire ship and crew.

To make matters tougher, the last rendezvous point is apparently incredibly close to what sensor information indicated had been a fairly recent skirmish between the Andalites and the Empire.  Ossanlin had ordered Claxter to bring the Tyrennian in from well away...far enough to detect any ships possibly remaining in the area.

And of course there was the matter of founding a base of operations.  The Tyrennian's long-term survivability depended upon having some sort of space-dock facility to conduct repairs and maintenance that could not be completed otherwise.  Where could such a facility be built safely?  Where would they find enough raw materials?  How could they keep it truly hidden?  How were they going to build and maintain a permanent kandrona facility aboard the Tyrennian?  Of course that last depended upon the rebels deciding to remain with the Tyrennian.  Everything hinges upon that decision.  What would the Tyrennian do without rebel support?  Ossanlin shakes his head, still gazing at the passing stars.  He has contingency plans of course, but not a single one is even remotely desirable.

Ossanlin's comm thought-chimes, pulling him out of his thoughts.  He glances at the comm-sender and opens the frequency.

<Sir...we have detected a...distress...beac on.  It's Andalite in origin...Tail Fighter-class.>  Esarvit's somewhat monotonous tone showcasing a bit of trepidation.

Ossanlin furrows his brow.  This is a dangerous situation.  The intelligent thing...the intelligent and ruthless thing to do would be to simply ignore the cry for help.  An Electorate-loyal Andalite would represent an enormous threat.  Morph-capable...likely familiar with at least the basic engineering of Dome-class vessels...and completely unknown.  He nearly tells Esarvit to ignore the beacon when the older Andalite speaks up again.  <There is apparently a message accompanying the beacon, sir.>

Ossanlin sighs to himself before speaking up.  <I'm on my way.>  He closes the communicator and makes his way into the officer meeting room to the bridge.


<Captain on-deck.>  One of the bridge attendants calls out, the call followed by a flurry of tail-salutes.


Ossanlin returns the salute.  <At leisure.>  He glances at the Andalite currently attending to the comms station and nods to him.  <Let's hear it.>


<This is Ferxal Escoth Dhoraim of the Andalite forces. I am stranded and dying. Please help me. If there is any Andalite ship that can hear this, please help me.>


Ossanlin quickly scans the Tyrennian's records of the name supplied.  It brings up an obviously-dated image from the Academy as well as the most-current information listed about him at the time of the Tyrennian's last connection to the Andalite strike-net.  Of course they'd no longer be able to connect to that...it would be a dead giveaway as to the Tyrennian's survival.  The information certainly wouldn't detail this skirmish, it's much too recent.  But the file shows his most-recent rank and deployment information, as well as his service history and basic psychological profile.  Ossanlin gives the information a quick skim...the smart thing would still be to simply ignore the distress beacon, but should this Andalite be consigned to death when the Tyrennian was in a position to help?  Ossanlin shuts his eyes for several moments before opening them again and looking into the holographic eyes of the old holopic of Ferxal.  <Yaolin...>  He mutters quietly.

He glances at Claxter.  <Plot an intercept, Prince-Lieutenant.  He sounds as though he doesn't have much time.>  He hopes fervently that he won't come to regret this decision.

[Chad32]

Claxter had been piloting the Tyrennian for a week, and he was still a bit at awe with that fact. Training had been stressful, but he had managed, and now he was getting confident that he wouldn't do something horribly bad. He had heard the message, and the name Ferxal sounded familiar. He thought about it as he watched the sensors to line the dome ship's hangars with the damaged fighter.

<Ferxal was on my old ship.> He said, mostly to himself. <Which one was...oh yeah. The creepy one.> He hadn't exactly made friends with many people when he was an aristh under Prince Foosal, and he certainly hadn't made friends with Ferxal. He was the best at tail fighting, and enjoyed being face to face with an opponent, but his near monotone voice and always neutral expression put off almost everyone around him. He was cold, but obedient. Still, as skilled and obedient as he was, Foosal didn't like him. Foosal didn't like anybody. There was always something wrong with you, and he wouldn't let you get away with being imperfect for a second.

The hangar bay opened, and the tractor beam pulled the tail fighter in. fortunately one part of the ship that was still operational was the air intake system, and as soon as the doors closed it went to work pumping fresh air into the ship. Ferxal had all but collapsed when he saw the Mark III Dome Ship coming. What were the odds? To his knowledge, only one was currently deployed and Prince Foosal didn't say anything about it coming here for reinforcements. Even they weren't supposed to be here.

 They hadn't opened communications to him, but as long as they were coming, he would just be thankful to everything worth thanking that he was saved. Once safely in the hangar, he ordered the ship's door to open, managed to stand without getting dizzy and falling again, and walked out to meet whoever would greet him in the hangar.

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Ossanlin watches as Claxter pilots the Tyrennian into position to receive the severely-damaged tail-fighter.  Ferxal's file had indicated he was a ground specialist, but ground-specialists couldn't do a lot in space combat situations.  His secondary function was likely to be Tail Fighter pilot.  Ossanlin glances at Esarvit.  <You have the command, Prince Lieutenant.>  He moves his main eyes to Serid.  <With me, Command Warrior.  Have a security team meet us in the irregular docking hangar.>  He opens a communication with Varekil, asking him to join them for a possible medical emergency.

Ossanlin and Serid make their way to the hangar bays where Varekil and three security personnel meet them.  He makes his way to the scarred, unusable Tail Fighter and watches as the hatch opens.  <Welcome aboard, Warrior.>