[member="Cole Dagos"] [member="Vilaz Munin"]
------------------
Krenis had long ago stolen a frigate from the Republic, along with everything associated with his renewed ARC program and many of the members had joined him in the Clans, many joining Skirata. The nature of it made him smile- it was a repeat of his own history occurring eight hundred years later.
But now, it had another use. He stood on the bridge in his eukar'gam, helmet on the commander's chair as displays and readouts raced through the bridge. His crew bustled about, reading off reports.
"Medical bays aurek through esh full!"
"Incoming shuttle of refugees- fifty total."
He pinched his nose, calculating before responding. "Direct them to deck Krill. Start deploying the combat medics."
One of his bridge officers stared at him. Krenis glowered, but explained.
"They're not doctors, but they're trained in these injuries. Traumas, contamination, toxin. We don't have enough real doctors."
"Aye, captain," the response came back and they started directing through the comms."
"Shuttle One, proceed to docking ring three. Medics will rendezvous."
"The Keldabe Kitefish is requesting permission is to dock alongside to share resources and erect a temporary airlock tunnel. They just arrived in-system and have supplies."
"Permission granted," Krenis replied pacing to the viewports and looking down at the world below. He didn't know what had happened to Mandalore, but it sent an ache through his heart. Its forests and mountains and ancient cities had welcomed him as one of their own, fully and completely, which was more than even the Republic had done.
The ship rattled as the heavy freighter connected to the frigate.
"Orbit velocity decreasing, adjusting thrust."
The words slipped through his mind, registered with a nod. They were good and knew what they were doing. He just needed to give overall directions and they made it work.
More and more shuttles were bouncing between orbit and the planet's surface now, as seismic instability rocked the core, polluting the atmosphere and toppling buildings, rippling tectonic plates.
Other ships joined their assemblage, docking wherever they had the space and ability until a small city had formed- a warren of ship types hooked to together to form almost a small city.
Krenis turned and strode from the bridge, boots echoing against the durasteel. They had vod to take care of. It was a disaster of a massive scale, but Mando'ade were Mando'ade.
And the Mando'ade took care of its own.
"Planet instability holding!"
So it wasn't going to be ending soon. He strode to the corridor and activated the intercom.
"This is Krenis Skirata, commander of the Relentless Hope. I'm taking command of the situation until the Mand'alor or another member of the Council arrives."
He tapped a few commands into his datapad, transferring them to his ship's quartermaster and chief medical officer.
"Please send a manifest to these individuals concerning your the kind and amount of your supplies, available space, and transport capabilities. Priority is getting as many people off the surface before transferring to another planet."
He clicked off as new voices began to echo through the warren of durasteel corridors. Sobbing and cries and screams- children, the sick, the injured. The heart of a culture and its people, now deeply scarred.
Krenis let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against the cool steel. Why now? Why Mandalore? It didn't matter, really. What did was that it had happened, but still, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he was getting too old for this.
------------------
Krenis had long ago stolen a frigate from the Republic, along with everything associated with his renewed ARC program and many of the members had joined him in the Clans, many joining Skirata. The nature of it made him smile- it was a repeat of his own history occurring eight hundred years later.
But now, it had another use. He stood on the bridge in his eukar'gam, helmet on the commander's chair as displays and readouts raced through the bridge. His crew bustled about, reading off reports.
"Medical bays aurek through esh full!"
"Incoming shuttle of refugees- fifty total."
He pinched his nose, calculating before responding. "Direct them to deck Krill. Start deploying the combat medics."
One of his bridge officers stared at him. Krenis glowered, but explained.
"They're not doctors, but they're trained in these injuries. Traumas, contamination, toxin. We don't have enough real doctors."
"Aye, captain," the response came back and they started directing through the comms."
"Shuttle One, proceed to docking ring three. Medics will rendezvous."
"The Keldabe Kitefish is requesting permission is to dock alongside to share resources and erect a temporary airlock tunnel. They just arrived in-system and have supplies."
"Permission granted," Krenis replied pacing to the viewports and looking down at the world below. He didn't know what had happened to Mandalore, but it sent an ache through his heart. Its forests and mountains and ancient cities had welcomed him as one of their own, fully and completely, which was more than even the Republic had done.
The ship rattled as the heavy freighter connected to the frigate.
"Orbit velocity decreasing, adjusting thrust."
The words slipped through his mind, registered with a nod. They were good and knew what they were doing. He just needed to give overall directions and they made it work.
More and more shuttles were bouncing between orbit and the planet's surface now, as seismic instability rocked the core, polluting the atmosphere and toppling buildings, rippling tectonic plates.
Other ships joined their assemblage, docking wherever they had the space and ability until a small city had formed- a warren of ship types hooked to together to form almost a small city.
Krenis turned and strode from the bridge, boots echoing against the durasteel. They had vod to take care of. It was a disaster of a massive scale, but Mando'ade were Mando'ade.
And the Mando'ade took care of its own.
"Planet instability holding!"
So it wasn't going to be ending soon. He strode to the corridor and activated the intercom.
"This is Krenis Skirata, commander of the Relentless Hope. I'm taking command of the situation until the Mand'alor or another member of the Council arrives."
He tapped a few commands into his datapad, transferring them to his ship's quartermaster and chief medical officer.
"Please send a manifest to these individuals concerning your the kind and amount of your supplies, available space, and transport capabilities. Priority is getting as many people off the surface before transferring to another planet."
He clicked off as new voices began to echo through the warren of durasteel corridors. Sobbing and cries and screams- children, the sick, the injured. The heart of a culture and its people, now deeply scarred.
Krenis let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against the cool steel. Why now? Why Mandalore? It didn't matter, really. What did was that it had happened, but still, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he was getting too old for this.
