The Galactic War: Rogue Element ~The Beginning

[Aluminator (Kit)]

<<There's nothing here,>> says Varit to his host, despair leaking into his voice. <<There's nobody here!>> He looks at his instrument panels, ignoring the flashing red light, signalling LOW CABIN PRESSURE in Yeerkish. The scanners are picking up nothing... which may not be saying much, considering the state of this Bug.

He pushes down his panic and alters the scanning method. The sensors should still give him something. After all, they had been working two days ago, at the other rendezvous point. There'd been a number of fresh ion trails that might indicate a gathering of the Rebellion, and, farther out, a larger one. Much larger, and probably Andalite in origin.

He had stayed for all of about a half an hour, debating whether or not to send his beacon, before his nerves had gotten the better of him and he'd run for another rendezvous.

<<Wait, no, there were ships here. Several of them. Not long ago.>>

<<Empire?>> wonders his host, hunger welling at the thought of all the meat the Empire could provide.

<<I don't know,>> admits Varit as he wrestles with the controls, doing his best to resolve any information that might be useful. His host's surge of hunger has again reminded him of how hungry he, himself has become. It's been nearly three days since he used up the last portable Kandrona generator. <<The sensors have all but had it. If it's an Andalite or an Imperial ship that finds us, we're dead.>>

<<Shall we try another rendezvous?>> asks his host.

<<I won't survive that long,>> says Varit. <<You may not last that long, either.>> He specifically avoids looking at the broken human skeleton, now nearly picked clean, lying on the floor in the back. Just meat. It was just meat. Not his friend. Not a member of the Rebellion. Just meat.

<<You can't let us starve!>> shouts his host, suddenly, screaming inside his mind, wrestling for control. With some effort, Varit pushes his host's control back down.

<<No,>> he agrees a few moments later. <<We have to try something.>> He hesitates for a few moments, then enters some commands on his console. A distress beacon begins emanating from the ship's weathered communications array. <<Someone will find us,>> he says confidently, but even his host can tell he's not confident it'll be by someone friendly.

[Chad32]

<Thank you for the rescue.....Prince Ossanlin?> Ferxal said as he realized who he was talking to. His neutral expression gave way to momentary surprise, before he forced it back down to neutral. He always strove to maintain himself and not show emotion, but this was a bit much after what he went through. <Um...As I stated in the distress message, I am Warrior Ferxal Escoth Dhoraim, under Prince Foosal. We were ambushed after being led into a trap, and I am possibly the only survivor, though I don't know for certain. Personally I'd much rather be on the ground than in a cramped vessel in space.>

<I apologize. That was trivial information. More importantly, whether Prince Foosal is alive or not, I would like to post a transfer on the grounds that my Prince has let his hatred of Yeerks interfere with doing his duty. I would appreciate traveling as far as the nearest base to where you are going.>

<Also I apologize for asking such a thing but...you do realize you are listed as KIA, do you not?>

Ferxal didn't really know what to make of this. Why was prince Ossanlin still alive, piloting the Tyrennian? Why had he severed contact with the Electorate? What did this mean for him?

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Varekil shakes his head as he begins to scan Ferxal's body with a small but powerful sensor wand that relays data to his ARC.  <Aside from a few minor hematomas and partial O2 deprivation, he is uninjured.>

Ossanlin nods.  <Thank you, Command Warrior.  You may return to the med-bay if you wish.>

Varekil nods and turns, walking back toward one of the ramp-wells.

Ossanlin returns his attention to Ferxal.  <Indeed, Warrior...I do realize.>  Ossanlin turns toward the nearest ramp-well and begins to walk at a leisurely pace, the security squad taking up flanking positions around Ferxal.  <Accompany me if you would, please.>  After a few moments have passed, Ossanlin speaks up again.  <Ferxal...for whom do you fight?>

[Chad32]

Ferxal followed Ossanlin as commanded. This wasn't good. He didn't know what this was, but somehow he felt like he'd gone from one ambush to another. All he wanted to do was head for the dome and try to relax, but he felt like he was walking on thin ice right now.

<I fight for the Electorate. I fight for the People. That is what my duty and honor would have of me.> He didn't know where Ossanlin was going with this, but felt it wise not to talk too much. His tail tensed very slightly as his biological fight or flight response was triggering, but he maintained an even tone and expression.

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

<Indeed.>  Ossanlin continues walking toward the dome.  <But what if the Electorate are not fighting for the People?  What if the Electorate is actually hurting the People....whom do you fight for then?>  He watches Ferxal with one stalk eye, the other scanning the hallway, his main eyes still facing straight forward.

[Chad32]

<The Electorate's primary job is to represent the People, though corruption is not unheard of. I am unsure what my answer would be. As a Warrior, my duty is to obey the commands of my superiors, who are employed by the Electorate. However if my superior does something that is undeniably wrong, then I would want to transfer to another unit. If the Electorate itsself was corrupt, I suppose I would try to work within the system to improve things.>

He got the feeling that Prince Ossanlin might have gone rogue, and taken his ship and a crew with him. That seemed to be the implication, at least. Faking his death, along with a crew of loyal soldiers, to...to do what? What did he expect to accomplish with this? He wanted to ask, but felt it may be best to let Ossanlin guide the conversation.

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

<A solid plan.  Effect change from the inside.>  A couple of humans walk by and Ossanlin watches for Ferxal's reaction as he continues.  <What if the Electorate itself is being controlled by a shadow organization?  That while they believe themselves to be in power, they are really just dancing on strings pulled by others?  What if the Electorate, at this organization's behest, committed an act of terrible atrocity against their own allies whilst at the same time losing our primary defensive position to the Empire because of that act?  Would you still be able to fight from within?>

[Chad32]

Ferxal noticed a couple of Human morphed Andalites walk by, and his stalk eyes followed them as he walked. He wondered if they were testing out their morphs to practice balance. He had seen holograms of Humans before, but was certain that their homeworld was controlled by Yeerks. They were quite far from the planet to be practicing for any infiltration mission.

<You believe there are Andalites using the Electorate for their own goals, and that the People are not following who they think they are? That this organization has recently betrayed you or someone else you support, and you can't do anything while working for a willing or ignorant puppet government?> Ferxal said. He didn't know if Ossanlin had come across some dark part of politics that could ruin their society, or if he was just following a conspiracy he believed in. <Does this have something to do with the Human Homeworld that would explain Andalites practicing Human morphs?>

<Although, to answer the question, I'd have to say I really don't know. If this were true, it is out of my level of experience. I am a Warrior, though I do believe I may have been promoted sooner had I actied more like Prince Foosal wanted me to. Still, this sort of thing is not something that crosses my mind. I have been far too busy just dealing with the more direct problem of the council of Thirteen and its Vissers. However, as far as tactics go, I suppose one must always keep a stalk eye behind yourself while fighting what's in front of you.> 

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

<I do not merely believe Warrior, I know.  You and everyone else know them as Sector Seven.>  He finally reaches the dome and enters.  Several Andalites, humans, and a couple of Hork-Bajir are out and about relaxing or feeding.  Ossanlin turns to face Ferxal.  <The humans and Hork-Bajir you see are not morphed.  They are true humans.  True Hork-Bajir.>  He pauses, glancing at his security staff before continuing.  <Do you believe that Yeerks are evil, Ferxal?  Do you believe that genocide is the appropriate course of action?>

[Chad32]

Ferxal knew there was a Sector Seven but hadn't taken a close look at it. His time had always been spent on smaller matters. When they reached the dome, he was so happy to see trees and grass, for a moment that was all he noticed. A slight smile briefly crossed his face as once again he had to contain himself and bring his neutral expression back. He wanted to run across the grass, and felt like he could do lap after lap around the small semblance of the Homeworld that resided in all dome ships.

After a moment or two, he couldn't help but notice more Humans and Hork-Bajir. Not morphed Andalites, but real ones, as Ossanlin explained. Quite possibly controllers, as the Prince's next question implied.

<My family has taught me that strong emotion can lead to weakness. That it can cause people to throw common sense to the wind for personal goals. I do not hate Yeerks, though that is only because I do not hate anyone. A detail that I was never able to convince Prince Foosal of. I do not believe Yeerks are evil by definition. They have different morals than us because of a completely different lifestyle. I do not think that genocide would be appropriate, though I'm not sure if a species that lives in others could coexist with sentient, free thinking species as a whole. There would be exceptions, to be sure, but genocide or confining them to pools seems as bad as allowing them involuntary hosts just because there likely won't be enough voluntaries to go around for a species that propagates as much as they do. It's a complicated situation, and just debating it with others can warrant punishment in some circles. Whether they're evil or not, and what to do if they aren't, seems more for philosophers to debate, instead of Warriors.>

<You have taken in Yeerks that I would assume have rebelled against the Empire? Your sympathies with these people, and distaste with Sector Seven has led you to break away and begin something else? I suppose the first thing I would wonder is how this alliance came to be, and are you certain these hosts are completely voluntary? No cases of brainwashing, memory wipes, Stockholm syndrome, or other trickery?>

[Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)]

Ossanlin takes a deep breath.  This Warrior seems rather frank about everything, and gives little away in his tone of thought.  At least he hadn't raised his tail.  <I see.>  Ossanlin turns back toward the central part of the dome, walking slowly again.

<Indeed, some of these humans and Hork-Bajir currently host Yeerks.  Others are not hosted at this time.  Some simply choose to remain uninfested...others lost their Yeerks in the attack on their base.  As far as I am aware, there are no hosts here who are not either voluntary, or mentally unstable when uninfested.  I have spoken with many of these individuals whilst their Yeerks feed.  If any asked to remain uninfested, I would gladly assist them, but each reinfests of their own volition.  They are all members of the Yeerk rebellion.  I fought for years to develop a relationship with them...one of trust and cooperation...then in one fell swoop, Sector Seven wiped it all out.>

He turns his main eyes back on Ferxal.  <I believe it is possible for all of our species to coexist in peace, and even to mutual benefit should we be able to see past all of the propaganda.  This is what the Tyrennian has become...a demonstration of that possibility.  A demonstration of what we can accomplish together.>

Ossanlin pauses for a long moment before going on.  <Ferxal, I will not lie...your presence presents a difficulty.  Every Andalite aboard this ship is loyal to our cause...each chose this path voluntarily, I wouldn't have had it any other way.  You, however, have not been offered a choice, so I will offer one to you.  We can conduct repairs on your Tail Fighter and render it serviceable at least as far as engines and life support are concerned.  We can then conduct a memory modification upon you and place you back in space near the battle-field.  You will remember nothing about the Tyrennian or your rescue...you will only remember falling unconscious and then waking up.>  He pauses a moment before continuing.  <Or...you may choose to remain with us.  But you should note, Ferxal...trust is earned, not freely given.  If you choose to stay, you will be relieved of your ARC, Shredder, comm, and any other pieces of equipment which might be used to cause harm.  You will also be restricted to non-critical portions of the ship and will be assigned a security escort...at least until I'm convinced that it's unnecessary.  I will give you some time to decide, but be warned, I will only offer this choice once.  Should you choose to remain, you will not be able to leave again.>

At that moment, Ossanlin's comm tones in his head.  He opens the channel.

<<Sir, we've received another distress beacon...Yeerkish in origin.  It seems to be emanating from the Rebellion's rendezvous coordinates.>>

<<Very well, I'm on my way.>>  He closes the comm and glances at Ferxal again.  <You may remain in the Dome for the time being.  Serid and Aurellia will continue to escort you.  I must return to the bridge...there is a matter that requires my attention.>

Ossanlin turns and trots toward the bridge.  The officers Tail Salute as he enters, and he returns the gesture.  <Proceed to the rendezvous coordinates, Prince Lieutenant.>

Ossanlin calls up the sensor readings at his console and sees what appears to be a lone Bug Fighter...and very very damaged at that.  So few...

[Chad32]

Ferxal walked out to the dome, tasting the sweet grass. He closed his eyes in thought, wondering if he should choose to leave, or take this opportunity to do something different. Propaganda existed. Blind hatred existed. Honestly, he had been treated as a bit of an outcast for not being as adamant against controllers. He wanted to know what sparked Ossanlin's motivation to do this. What made him even start wanting to build relationships with Yeerks. Yet he was busy with something else, and left. He thought about perhaps attempting to approach one of the Human controllers to get information out of them, but his escort may disapprove of that.

Could he gain something from staying here? Would doing so rob him of honor, and betray his duty? Should he vote to stay, only to attempt to undermine the ship from the inside? Certainly that was possible. He practically never morphed, but he could acquire someone who had access to the bridge, and martyr himself to the cause. Yet Ossanlin was fighting possible corruption in his government. If sector Seven was all the Prince said it was, then they were the ones without honor. It would be nigh impossible to deal with the problem from the inside, and this ship and crew may be the best hope for dealing with it from the outside. There were many Andalites fighting the Empire, but who was fighting against a corrupt military that thought to take control away from the People with this war?

Either choice could bring regret in the future. He was thankful for having time to think. He gazed at the group of controllers, being tempted to speak with them, but who would be most willing to talk if he was allowed to do so? Who could tell him more about what was going on?



<Yes Prince Ossanlin.> Claxter said, flying the ship towards the last rendezvous. Having done this a few times before, he was already aware of the proper distance to stay to keep the rebel from fleeing. He wasn't sure they had a heading to go to after this stop, though.

[Terenia]

Of the various humans in the Dome, Nefitt is nearest Ossanlin and Ferxal. He is sitting, cross-legged, on the grass, wearing the same faded brown scrubs that he arrived in. At eye level is a holoscreen, with the limited medical information he has been given access to displayed in  Galard.

For the moment, he has abandoned his studies. Instead, he watches the Andalite captain with a curious, discerning gaze until he leaves. The new Andalite -- the one that had been rescued -- seems to be remaining in the Dome, under a guard.

Nefitt watches him for a moment or two longer, toying with one of Kevin's long dreadlocks as he tries to gauge the importance -- or danger -- of this new person. He doesn't hide the fact that he is staring, even moving the holoscreen aside a little so that he has a less obstructed view.

[Chad32]

Ferxal noticed one of the Humans looking at him directly, and didn't look away when he noticed. This person might as well be where he starts, for better or worse, so he walks over. Serid and Aurellia watch him closely.

<Greetings. I am Ferxal Escoth Dhoraim. I was recently rescued from a damaged tail fighter, and have been informed that this is a rogue vessel with controllers on it. I would like to know more about what is going on her, and was hoping someone would be willing to speak with me. Apparently there is corruption within my government, and a group of Andalites has attacked a group of Yeerks that actually oppose the Empire. This action seems highly impractical to me.>

[Terenia]

Nefitt's bushy eyebrows raise a little at being approached so directly. He pauses before responding, sizing up the Andalite. From his position on the ground, he seems much larger and more formidable than he might otherwise, and Nefitt is still unused to the creatures.

"What government isn't corrupt?" he finally says, swiping his holoscreen away entirely and giving Ferxal a small, bland smile. "And what Yeerk would live aboard an Andalite ship unless there were no other option?"

With a small grunt, Nefitt shifts his weight to his knees and pushes himself to his feet. His host's joints crack and pop at the movement, making him wince a little. The human can't be older than forty, but Nefitt moves him with the care an old man.

"Nefitt Six-Three-Four," he says once he is standing. "My host is Kevin Walker." He extends one hand, offering to shake. The skin on his arm was once a slightly tanned pinkish color, but has long since been covered by ink. Swirling tattoos, in a variety of odd patterns, make their way from his wrist upward, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his scrubs.