Ossanlin looks Varit and Resseliss up and down, keeping his expression impassive. A taxxon that had gone out of its way to save a Yeerk? Strange... <Yes...well there may be some difficulty in that depart...> Ossanlin cuts off as his ARC gives him a private tone. <Excuse me.>
Ossanlin opens the communication from Esarvit. <What is it...?
<<Prince, we've picked up z-strain radiation signatures. Three ships jumping in...identity as yet unknown.>>
Ossanlin furrows his brow. <<On my way.>> He looks back between Keslin and Varit. <I am sorry to cut our introductions short, Varit, but I must depart. There is a...situation. The guards will stay with you...likely the best place for you for now is within the Dome.> He nods at Keslin before turning and galloping toward the ramp-well, trusting him to take care of their new charge.
He opens a private communication with Eleric and his other flight-squad commanders as he gallops up the ramp-well and onto the Prime deck. <<Prepare for potential deployment, five minutes.>> He closes the communication, running through the big aft dome bay doors. He gallops across the simulated Homeworld plain, running by Aetheas and Keshin, giving them a passing glance. Somewhat strange to see Aetheas taking a shine to the bounty-hunter...but that's information for later processing. Using the mind-trick he'd learned, Ossanlin files the information away for later perusal.
He gallops through the fore bay doors and down the corridor to the bridge. He slows to a trot as he enters the bridge, walking quickly up to his console. A flurry of hasty tail-salutes greets him. <Situation.>
Esarvit turns a stalk-eye on Ossanlin before speaking. <Three vessels sir, Yeerkish...Imperial .> He corrects himself. <Two salvage ships and a frigate escort...another Z-strain singularity opening, sir...the frigate has spotted us, they're powering weapons.>
Ossanlin narrows his eyes, his brain kicking into full command mode. <Claxter, evasive action. Esarvit, engage energy shielding. Transfer TO console control to the Captain's station.> Ossanlin's holographic display enlarges to surround his entire head and upper body, his ARC interfacing with the display. Loads of information starts bombarding him through the display as twin red energy beams lance out from the frigate. Both salvage ships had begun to turn, no doubt plotting an escape course. The frigate couldn't hope to take on a Dreadnaught dome.
<Sir, the new singularity has resolved...it's a Blade Ship!> Esarvit controls his surprise well.
The dracon energy splashes against the Tyrennian's energy shields, draining them only minimally. <Powering weapons...> Ossanlin starts the charging sequence. Normally the weapons and maneuvering tactics would be handled by the TO. Ossanlin spares only a glance for the empty TO station which mirrors what he's doing at his own console. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if Aetheas might find it instructive. Ossanlin hasn't manned a TO station for years, but he's what they have under such emergency conditions.
A blade ship...the Tyrennian would still be the favorite to win...but best not to take any chances. <Lightning-strike, Storm-shrike...deploy immediately. Stop those salvage ships from escaping.>
Ossanlin discharges the Tyrennian's three primary Shredders at the frigate's foresection, watching the ship's red-glowing shields fade rapidly against the searing blue beams of the Dome's firepower. The frigate needed to go first, then they'd deal with the Blade...
Eleric dips his hoof into the cool water of the Dome's artificial stream, slaking his thirst. Today he finds the Dome particularly...stif ling. Yes, Ossanlin had deployed Lightning-strike more often than any other squadron over the past couple of weeks, but they'd not been deployed for days now. He spent the largest portion of his time in the hangar bay, making sure his fighter stayed prepped and in prime condition...but there were only so many times one could polish an exhaust vent before it began to feel utterly pointless.
When his communicator crackles to life and he hears the order to prepare for potential deployment in five minutes...his hearts begin to race. Yes...YES! This sounds like it's going to be fun. He grins to himself as he opens his own communication to his squad-mates confirming the orders they'd all just heard, galloping for the ramp-well. He passes Ossanlin on the way...the Prince looks serious. Real serious. Eleric's grin grows.
As he reaches the hangar, it's abuzz with Andalites running between fighter bays, the fighters already beginning to hum in their warmup cycles. He nods to his squad-mates as he passes them, a bit of swagger entering his trot. These were the ones he led...Lightning-strike...one of the best fighter squadrons in the military...in his mind anyway. <Get to your fighters, boys...we need to be ready in two minutes.> Three of Lightning-strike's members are older than him, but what was age but a number?
One of Eleric's stalk-eyes catches sight of a Taxxon at the end of the bay and he almost does a double-take. No...a Taxxon...really?! But he leaves himself little time to ponder as he reaches his tail-fighter and runs through his pre-flight checklist, making sure everything is in order outside the ship before entering the ****pit and engaging the safety-restraint field. He hears the blood rushing through his ears as his hearts continue to pump quickly. He checks his gauges and displays, his ARC interfacing seamlessly with the fighter's HUD. His fighter hums like the perfectly-tuned machine that it is, showing ready for launch.
Seconds that feel like hours tick by before another communication comes through. <Lightning-strike, Storm-shrike...deploy immediately. Stop those salvage ships from escaping.>
Eleric grins again, engaging his squad-communication group. <Tails to the wall boys... DEPLOY!> Eleric punches the magnetic catapult and his fighter rockets out into space, plasma engines flaring to life as he forms up at the lead of his squad, whooping mentally with exhilaration. He and his squad separate from the Tyrennian quickly, turning through the debris field. <Let's fry some slug!> He punches up maximum burn, setting a heading for the first salvage ship, his squad-wings falling in behind in formation.
Varekil rounds a bend in the ramp-well and quickly moves out of the way as he sees Ossanlin running upward. He barely catches the Prince's upward nod...so apparently he isn't needed in the hangar, but perhaps would be in the med-bay. Sighing, he turns around and trots back toward the med-bay.
Firin rakes Rythil's hand along his head-spikes in a gesture of frustration. All of this top-end Andalite tech, and he still hasn't been given permission to dig into it. Granted, the files Ossanlin had given him access to were lovely, but they simply didn't match the visceral satisfaction of digging into a state-of-the-art Shredder coil, for example. He looks back down at the mobile handheld device the Andalites had given him. He can't help but feel that one of those holographic projectors they used for their little Apix Realtime Computers would be better, but apparently those were reserved for people who were...important. Speak of the devil, he watches the Andalite Prince gallop through the dome toward the bridge in a hurry.
Firin files it in the back of his mind as he runs his hand across the wall beyond the holographic projection. It feels seamless, yet he knows its not. Somehow these walls were able to produce nearly any sort of natural phenomenon such as wind or rain, as well as maintaining the projection. He looks back over the Dome schematic...the holographic projectors built into the dome walls were quite sophisticated indeed. With a bit of modification, they might be even more-useful for...his thoughts stall out as the day-time hologram slowly fades out, showing the stars outside. Firin furrows his brow, looking up at the naked crystalline dome...odd...the day-cycle still had hours left, so...he gasps suddenly as the tail-like protrusion above the dome flashes bright, almost-white blue, a searing beam of energy lancing forth, burning a bar into Rythil's retinas.
"Dapsen!" Firin exclaims out-loud, winching Rythil's eyes shut in pain before they open again in realization. The Captain running for the bridge...the hologram fading...the weapons fire...they're in a battle! Firin furiously taps at the little handheld device. He wouldn't be able to see console or command functions of course, but he could probably at least see the feed from the basic visual sensors. After a few moments, his eyes widen as his little handheld device shows four Imperial vessels...one of them a Blade Ship! "By the Kandrona..."
<<Imperial filth...>> Rythil had been fairly quiet of late, so this little outburst came as a surprise. <<They deserve what's coming.>>
Firin sighs internally. <<I suppose they do, Rythil.>> The Tyrennian is a fearsome ship...it should be more than a match for this small band of Imperials. Yet he can't stop the little bit of gnawing anxiety from nibbling on the back of his mind. Blade Ships were fearsome too...and if more Imperials were on the way...
<<Stop thinking like that, Firin. You're giving me a headache.>>
<<...>>