Private Trogan Orbak

[Trask Skirata]

The Ketyadyr limped into the Core, its crew haggard, its hull burned and cracked. Behind it, a small escort of frigates and corvettes equally beaten sputtered after it. Their exit from Hyperspace was violent and harrowing with bits of molten slag and flaming hunks of mandalorian steel sent hurtling from the hulls of the ships as they decelerated into realspace. What trials and tribulations had the once grand House Skirata migratory fleet faced to end up in this position? For decades they had navigated the stars of the galactic south, providing protection to those in need and rare Mandalorian goods to those that could pay. As the Sith continued to gobble up more and more of the old Outer Rim Coaltion's territories though, they had run from the massive armada.

Trask grasped the com device and spoke, transmitting to one of Alderaan's stations. He wondered if they thought they were under attack from some Maw remnant. When was the last time an Alor-class Mandalorian dreadnought had flown the stars of the Core Worlds? Not since before the old Republics of the early post-Gulag Sith Wars, he knew.

"Alderaan, this is Trask, Alor of House Skirata. My fleet seeks the aid of your people...The Sith- We have families, refugees. Help us."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

The King was alerted to a fleet of ships entering Alderaanian space nearly immediately after long-range sensors picked them up in hyperspace. He'd rushed to the secured conference room with his advisors and generals. They were still all getting there when the ships arrived.

Of course, it sent them into a panic. The Alliance was beset on all sides by enemies- it could be any number of them, looking to take a shot at one of it's most prosperous and culturally symbolic worlds. The defense force was alerted, ships boarded and prepared to shoot into the atmosphere...

"Alderaan, this is Trask, Alor of House Skirata. My fleet seeks the aid of your people...The Sith- We have families, refugees. Help us."

"Your Majesty," a woman in a captain's uniform spoke up. "Preliminary scans are showing extensive damage. Lifesign scans are inconclusive at this range, but..."

"They do need our help." Alicio stared at the image of the small fleet on the holotable in front of him. "Direct them to Sanctuary City. Contact who you need to get the proper permissions." Alicio paused. "And make sure the Castle Bastion is on standby. Just in case."

After a minute, Trask would receive a response, from a calm, steady voice. "Alor Trask Skirata, this is Alicio Organa of Alderaan. You've been sent a fighter escort and coordinates to a field outside one of our cities. Can your ships make the flight?"

A stream of small, wedge shaped fighters flew in formation towards the limping Mandalorian fleet.

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Trask Skirata]

"Alor Trask Skirata, this is Alicio Organa of Alderaan. You've been sent a fighter escort and coordinates to a field outside one of our cities. Can your ships make the flight?"

"Negative," came the abrupt answer, then a pause. "Not the vessels. They're too large and not built for landfall. But we could send transports down. Our fleet would require drydock in orbit."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

Alicio frowned. "Understood. Send as many people down as you can. If you need more shuttles, please ask. Stand by for docking permissions."

"I'll start contacting the stations around Alderaan." Captain da Silva was already on her datapad. "There should be enough space for them if we spread them out."

"Good thinking, Captain." Alicio was already turning, strapping on pieces of silvery armor. "Once you're done, update House Skirata, and recall one of the Greenhouses. We'll need their resources to get this fleet into working order again."

Some of the king's newer advisors seemed confused at their leader's sudden departure. But others quickly filled them in. King Organa was going to help.

Already rushing for his ship, Alicio dove into the future, seeking a vision of his meeting with the civilians outside Sanctuary. How many would be there? How much supplies would they need?

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Trask Skirata]

The fresh air and sea breezes of Alderaan's Sanctuary Coast were invigorating. How many years had it been since he'd walked on a world not poisoned by industry or crippled by its inhospitable nature? The Outer Rim was filled with worlds most would consider barely habitable. Sure, there were its fair share of resort worlds, but even those had an air of manufactured grace that - despite Alderaan being entirely fabricated, were not present here.

"Those Vong sure know how to make a world," he murmured to himself. He wondered what made those Extolled so different from the monsters he'd grown up hearing about. The creatures that called the old Vong Duse home had been so violent, so villainous, that one of the old Pre-Gulag Mand'alors had built a wall around them. He'd heard from time to time the Vong there had gotten out and raided homesteads and towns nearby.

Alderaan was the opposite of that wasteland of decaying buildings and vong-formed filth, yet both places came from the same people. He frowned behind his visor at the thought. He wondered if any of the Extolled still lived in this new Galaxy where Vong had once again turned their shaper's knives and snake staffs on the Galaxy.

"Its peaceful here, isn't it?" one of his lieutenants said, her helmet off to take in the sea breeze. Her long red hair flowed in the wind and smelled of sweat and salt. Had she already been in the waters? "Shame." Trask grunted in agreement before pulling his helmet off, the environmental seals hissing.

"Shame indeed," he said as the Alderaanian shuttles came into view. His eyes wandered over his people. They were volunteers, the rest of his people were safely away aboard other life ships in their fleet elsewhere in the Alderaan sector. Even so, among these 'refugees' were children. They weren't children, he had to remind himself. They had all taken their Verd'goten and were as much an adult in their culture as he was, but age made one see things differently.

"It'll be good for the young ones to see a place like this and live here for a time," he said. "It will teach them valuable lessons about the aruetii in the Core Worlds." His lieutenant barked a laugh as the first of the Alderaanian shuttles touched down at the Mandalorian's makeshift camp of tents and shuttles just outside the city along the beach.

------
​

The Ketyadyr and its fellows limped along the provided flight paths and docked with the yards. Inside, skeleton crews piloted the vessels and allowed Alderaanian crews to enter and survey the ships. Inside the Ketyadyr the vessel looked like a small city unto itself with the massive cargo bay filled top to bottom with ramshakle housing made from storage containers and prefab units. A market centered the area. The entire place looked as if it had been abandoned in the middle of a normal day with tools left by crackling smithies and bowls of food and half empty cups were left in dorms and cabins.

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

The first shuttle opened, revealing... Alicio.

His boots hit the ground first, followed by two people in medic's uniforms. Wearing his armor, metal glinting on his shoulders, he walked with purpose towards the Mandalorians. Other shuttles followed, touching the ground, volunteers rolling out crates of supplies. Food, water, clothes.

"Do you have injured?" Alicio stepped up to the first person he could find, a fearless urgency in his tone. He appeared to be without weapon, and without guards, though appearances could be deceiving.

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Trask Skirata]

"We do." Trask said. "We've already set up a triage den for them." He offered his forearm and hand in greeting. "I am Trask Skirata, Alor of House Skirata. Thank you for helping us in our time of need Alicio."

 

[Alicio Organa]

Alicio nodded as he took the man's hand, though introductions seemed to be more of an afterthought. "Happy to help." With a nod, he breezed past the Mandalorian, headed for the triage tents pointed out to him.

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Trask Skirata]

Trask frowned. He wasn't used to being blown off so suddenly, or so easily. He turned to follow the King and quickly caught up.

"King Organa," he started, "There's no need for you to see to our people personally. I know we have a reputation as killers and soldiers, but it might surprise you that we have doctors of our own."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

"I'm a healer," Alicio said, his voice having grown a little harder. "It won't be a moment."

Their ships had recieved too much damage for no civilians to have been grievously injured. He was an altruist, who went where he felt he was needed most, yes. And even if he weren't suspicious, he likely would have beelined towards the wounded first. But he was also smarter than Clan Skirata gave him credit for.

Alicio knew Mandalorians. They had their own sense of honor, one he only recently came to understand. If this was a trick, there was no way they would wound their own to sell it. So it was the one way to know for sure.

His senses were extended. The Future was his companion. His mind became one with his surroundings. He was ready.

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Ekkeke Shale]

RIP

 

[Trask Skirata]

Trask tightened his fist, feeling more than hearing the creak of the leather in his crushgaunts. He couldn't bear to look, but he had to. He had to face them. His tale hadn't been entirely untrue. The fleet had fought skirmishes against the Sith in their flight from the Outer Rim's southern reaches. Some had died, some had taken grievous wounds in battle.

The doors hissed open to a very makeshift triage. Mandalorian battle medics moved with urgency to tend to the men, women, and newly cristened adults. Some were missing limbs. Some had wounds that looked a few days old but had lacked treatment until now. At least one of their number was encased in a bacta suit, the tanks of their actual medica likely destroyed or damaged.

"We've been running for days," he said. "I couldn't risk stopping to repair or vessel. This is the first time my medics have had time to really take care of my people." Then there were the ones that had been actually hurt from their most recent "attack". Fresher burns from being too close to a gun battery controller or a fool boy who had been walking a gangplank in a restricted zone. Now he thanked their stupidity, though it pained him that any fools had been hurt in this ruse.

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

Alicio stepped into the medical tent, and immediately, his face fell. It wasn't a ruse. People were hurting. The King of Alderaan nodded to Trask, and immediately stepped inside, his senses immediately guiding him to the more critical of the patients. The smell of sepsis and bacta was strong in the air, as Alicio stepped aside a Mandalorian medic, looking down on a wounded soldier, his arm a mangled mess.

"I'll do what I can," he said softly, closing his eyes. The former Count's mouth flooded with the taste of seawater, a deep pressure playing along his fingertips, as he sensed the damage to the Mandalorian's arm. Then, with a peaceful exhale, he gave.

It would feel like a surge of warm water, flowing over the injured man. His wounds began to fill, knit together by a tender hand. By the time Alicio was done, not ten seconds had passed, but the arm had twisted into the right shape again, new skin red and tender. A drop of sweat caught the King's brow, as he turned to the nearest medical professional.

"His arm is still broken in three places. I'm not a master healer, like my wife, but... it should heal cleanly now." Alicio moved to the next cot, holding a half-armored warrior with a burnt torso. As he gathered his energy once more, Alicio turned to Trask. "My people are unloading two rows of crates. One should be medical supplies, the other is food and water. I trust you can organize how to get your people what they need."

- Trask Skirata -

 

[Trask Skirata]

Trask's eyes widened as he watched the man's arm snap back into place. The man seemed to flinch in pain, but with the bones set the arm would at least heal correctly. He wouldn't need a prosthetic.

"By the Manda," his Lieutenant said in a whisper.

"Thank you Alicio," Trask said. His fist tightened and he made a decision. Stepping forward he placed a gloved hand on Alicio's arm suddenly, his grip tight.

"Let us repay you," he said. "Mandalorians once served to defend Alderaan and its people. Let us stay, rebuild, and serve the crown."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

Alicio was surprised by a hand on his arm. Distracted from the healing for a moment, he turned to look the Mandalorian in the face. There was a moment of pause, as a thousand thoughts took the senator's attention. "Alor Skirata... I would be honored, but that's a larger conversation to have later. We can talk repayment after your people are back on their feet. For now... let's just get you there."

He wasn't in the business of saving people to use them later. If they wanted to help, it was better for them to offer it when they weren't relying on him. When they were on an even playing field.

Alicio turned back, energy pooling at his fingertips once more. He tried to conserve his energy, smoothing over the heavy burns of the Mandalorian warrior on the cot. As he worked, he spoke, in a gentle, cam cadence. "You know... Alderaan has a bit of a history with Mandalorians. You wouldn't be the first to offer to stay."

- Trask Skirata -