Ryloth's Last Gleaming (Rebel Alliance)

[Zak Dymo]

"This is the transport ship Makesh to anyone within the sound of my voi..."

The man's vision went black, as the console he leaned over suddenly lurched upward with the rocking of the ship. When he came to a moment later, he tasted blood as he found himself on the floor of the cockpit. He felt something wet as he reached a hand to the console to steady himself, finding his own blood splattered there from where his face had struck before the fall.

Wiping the blood from the side of his face, the man steadied himself as he returned to the console. "Repeat, this is the transport ship Makesh. We are under attack," the man uttered, coughing as smoke began to fill the cockpit. The hum of ion engines resonated, as blaster points dug into the hull of the transport. "To anyone within the soun..."

"Please help!"

As the sound of someone among the crew screaming reached his ears, the man leaned forward and looked out into a sky full of fire, and stars that looked on without care.

"Is anyone out there?"

"No one's coming," the man uttered finally, bowing his head in defeat. "No one's coming..."

A flash illuminated the cockpit, like lightning in the night sky, before a large shadow suddenly blacked out the light of the stars. As the man turned his eyes up, he saw the miracle they'd been waiting for.

"This is the Alliance ship Redemption..."

---

"Sublight drives on-line."

"Shield generator at full power."

"Manuevering thrusters at your command."

As the small droid stood in the center of the bridge of the frigate, he was the eye of a storm of activity. Rebel militia mulling about command and control stations, feeding him information as he monitored the heads-up displays scattered about the room. "...all vessels, stand down," the Rebel droid uttered flatly, continuing the ship's introduction to the widowing field. "Or we will engage you as hostile."

"Raiding vessels appear to be regrouping."

Turning his head, the afro-headed droid merely gave a nod toward a tall man who stood along the bridge railing. "Light 'em up," the former Imperial officer barked loudly, before turning to shout toward the helmsmen. "Adjust heading two mark thirteen, z-minus twelve degrees."

As the first mate directed the engagement of the raiders, the young-looking automaton turned his attention to a different task. "Fly away team, status?"

"You. DROID."

As dark irises gazed up, the child-like machine saw the ship's Twi'lek doctor marching toward him. And the blue skinned woman didn't seem all that happy to be there. "This delay is inexcusable..." she began, stuttering to a halt as the droid ignored her. Putting up a hand, the youth turned to look at the technician he'd addressed earlier.

"Fly away team ready, sir."

Pausing just a moment, the droid tilted his head to turn just slightly back toward the Twi'lek woman. "This delay is why we're out here, doctor," the boy uttered flatly. Turning back to the technician, he said, "Launch rescue shuttle."

"We have medical supplies we must get to Ryloth," the woman snapped forcefully, unwilling to yield the point.

"And we will," the droid assured the Twi'lek doctor, in the same matter-of-fact tone. Turning to face her, the young-looking machine remarked simply, "In the meantime, I suggest you prepare to receive casualties, doctor."

---

[member="Armand Temi"] [member="Marque"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Location: Makeshift med center on Ryloth

The Rebel Alliance hadn't been on Ryloth long enough to begin building a proper medical base. Armand Temi needed to contact the Healer's Guild for some additional help but he had been too bogged down with training the anarchists. And since the unruly kids lived and breathed their anti-authority stance, they were an absolute handful to control. Lucky for him he had Khloe Sparrow who they seemed to follow around like a puppy dog.

Previous to today, he had the Rebels convert an unused barracks to a medical facility. Currently, they were housing only a couple of refugees from the slave trade - two Twi'lek females and one human male, all scrawny, abused and underfed. Rebel personnel was stretched and Armand couldn't trust the anarchists to play nursemaid. Therefore, he busied himself by making up a couple of the beds and cleaning the refreshers himself. No one need question my dedication to this cause, he grumbled to himself as he mopped up some type of bodily fluid from the floor.

Suddenly on the main Rebel frequency which buzzed out from a console in the room, he heard activity - it sounded like a rescue. He put down the mop and pressed a button on the console. "Redemption, this is Battle Dragon. Need any assistance? I can put out a call to the Admiral if so."

[member="BB-4001A"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

Had he wanted to end the engagement quickly, the boy-droid would have dispatched the squadron of starfighters aboard. The fact that he hadn't was meant to be an invitation for the raiders to make a graceful exit.

It was an invitation not all of them took seriously.

As the point-defense batteries provided cover and suppression fire, an ambulance made its way out of the hangar toward the crippled transport ship. Which was faring better now than some of its aggressors were. Bright points of light sparked into being, illuminating the heavens before being extinguished by the vacuum of space. Two raiders had just been destroyed.

Below in the 'pit' of consoles and terminals, a Bothan communications technicians was working fastidiously away at the switchboard when the call had come in.

"Redemption, this is Battle Dragon. Need any assistance? I can put out a call to the Admiral if so."

Switching frequencies, the Bothan answered, "Battle Dragon, this is Redemption. Standby, over."

At the sound of the Bothan's voice behind him, the tall Imperial officer turned to make his way to her station for an update. A moment later, Tal Hobis was making his way toward where the solitary droid-commander stood, monitoring the flurry of activity. Engineering status reports. Operational status updates. Medical reports and status. It was a deluge of information that only a droid could hope to absorb or assimilate in a single glance.

"Continue repeating the offer to surrender," the youth remarked, acknowledging the first mate's presence even while he didn't look up at the man. "And get a second fly away team on deck. Tell them to look for survivors and recover the bodies of the pirates," the small automaton directed in the same matter-of-fact tone.

"Sir," Hobis answered neatly. Then paused before adding, "Doctor Armand is on the link."

That bit of news merited the dark-skinned droid turning to glance up at the man. "He's requesting to know if we need assistance from the Red Fleet, sir," Hobis reported.

The droid processed the information for a moment, then reached for the commlink that was near his usual vantage point on the bridge. "Codename Battle Dragon," Tal reminded the droid, before clicking his heels together and turning to resume leading the fight against the raiders.

Codename Battle Dragon. Odd name for a doctor. "Battle Dragon, this is Redemption actual," the youth announced. 'Actual' was a piece of naval parlance, used since antiquity to denote when the master or commander of a vessel was speaking. "Assistance will not be required, but we may have some new patients for you in addition to medical supplies."

And some bodies for the morgue. But, in their line of work, that went without saying.

Even when patients did everything doctors told them to do, the morgue stayed in business. It was the one aspect of the job which doctors worked hardest to try and avoid, and the one which represented their own job security.

---

[member="Armand Temi"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

A ragged, roughly patched together chop-job of a starfighter, which may at one time have existed as a Z-95 Headhunter, burst into a brilliant ball of color. The explosion muffled by the emptiness of space, the unforgiving cold of which soon snuffed out what remained of that pirates brief existence.

As the last of the raiders vanished from off the sensor feed, the afro-headed boy turned to face the interior of the bridge. "Stand down from general quarters," he ordered, as he casually started toward the door that would lead out into ship itself.

He'd only made it a couple of steps before his Imperial first mate was close behind. "Those were short range fighters," Tal said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but the droid had already anticipated the man's desires. Tal Hobis was a career solider. A strategist. Disengaging the enemy when you possessed a superior force went against all that the man had lived his life by.

"Non-duty personnel may resume recreational activities," the small droid remarked, electing not to pursue the conversation that Hobis wanted to have.

The human stepped into the boy's path. "They'll be back," the man stated shortly. "We should press the search for their command and control ship."

"We just came to the aid of a transport under siege, with indeterminate injuries and damages," the afro-headed automaton replied calmly, craning his head back to look the Coruscant man in the eye. Holding the human's gaze, the boy asked, "You suggest turning our back on them in order to pursue a military advantage?"

The question hung in the air between the two, neither offering any answer. If there was an answer. It was classic military and political strategy. The art of war. A different ship, a different commander, and the perspective on the battlefield changed.

But this was this ship. And this was his charge. "Tending to the sick and injured is our priority. All other considerations are secondary," the droid stated finally, stepping around the man as he continued his way off the bridge. "Make arrangements to dock with the transport," the droid remarked, not bothering to look behind as he continued on his way. As he paused at the aft bulkhead, waiting for the blast doors sealing the bridge to slide away, the dark skinned youth finally turned.

"And have Doctor Hildari meet me in the lower airlock."

---

"You'll find our casualties to be light, captain."

Teelori was a Rodian ship master, the master of a commercial luxury star transport that offered package tours through the Outer and Mid-Rim. According to the flight plan that had been filed for the transport's travel through Alliance space, the ship was bound for Lamaredd. A beach-front paradise for humanoids, or an aquatic getaway for amphibious species. And, indeed, the passenger manifest on the ship had a little bit of everything.

Teelori had a mess of blood down the front of his clothing, stemming from a nasal fracture that had ruptured the major capillaries in the sinus cavity of the Rodian snout. He'd allowed the medical droid to set the small bones, but declined further treatment. He seemed eager to get back on the schedule. "A few burns. Some bumps and bruises," the Rodian clarified, as he led the small droid on a tour through the damaged sections of the ship. Rebel militia worked alongside the transport's own crew in the effort to get the transport ready to fly again.

"The shipyards in orbit of Lamaredd will be capable of conducting major repairs," the droid noted, taking note of the extent of the damage to the vessel's command and control systems. The pirates had attacked with surgical precision. Not at all random. "We'll get you operational, then you can proceed on your way," the child-like automaton stated.

"You have my thanks."

The droid merely nodded in acknowledgment of the man's words, though he did take the opportunity to transition the conversation to a more practical matter. "I was surprised to find a transport this far off the hyperlane," the boy remarked in a neutral tone.

It wasn't an accusation, but the droid did expect some explanation for why a star transport had deviated from its scheduled flight plan.

"One of our passengers, a youngling traveling with her parents, fell ill at dinner," the Rodian answered succinctly. The man's large hand passed through the air as he made an open gesture. "We thought it was food poisoning, or an allergic reaction, but..."

"Was anyone else affected?" the droid inquired, interrupting.

"No. And her condition grew worse overnight. We were making an emergency divert to Ryloth to deliver them to a hospital there," the Rodian answered. "Had I known there was a medical ship in the sector..."

"Doctor [member="Armand Temi"] is currently on Ryloth," the droid mused aloud, more to his own thought processes as he found himself re-writing objectives and plans. Looking back up at the Rodian captain, the boy said, "We can take her from here, and see that she receives proper care."

The Rodian departed, uttering a few pleasantries typical of humanoid conversation, but the droid was no longer listening. Instead, the boy reached through the remote slicer in his internal anatomy and tapped into the commlink for the frigate. Pendago to Redemption.

"Redemption, captain."

Activate the pediatric care unit, and have private quarters readied as close to the infirmary as is feasible.

"Guests, sir?"

Have navigation begin plotting coordinates for a jump to Ryloth. We'll jump as soon as the transport is operational.