Copyright © 1997, 1998
Last updated on 1/21/98
Cargo Bay #2 - 05:48
The Horne and Kor step out into the Cargo Bay, mindful of the ragged edges of the blown lock doors. The bodies are a grotesque sight, blood pumped everywhere and boiled dry in the vacuum. Horne doesn't flinch; he walks over to the small quadrupedal alien that had attempted to jack into PATER, and kicks the body over onto its back. He bends down and peers into the half-silvered faceplate.
"What the fu....?"
Vanessa, lost in concentration, flinches at the outburst and quickly looks down at J.J.
"What's the matter?" she asks in a shaky voice.
<< I don't get 'round much, >> Horne says quietly. << There's a bunch o'stuff I never seen before. Y'all ever seen something like this? >> He looks up at her, and moves back a little so Kor can get a good look at the corpse.
It is a tiny figure, much smaller than a human. Its limbs are small in comparison to its body, and it has a long, thick tail. Dimly, behind the half-silver of the face plate, Kor can make out brown fur, wide staring dead eyes with huge pupils, sharp teeth....
Rafe stops at gravlift 4-E2. << PATER, do you have securecam coverage of the two intruder bodies near the shuttle bay airlock? Have they shown any signs of life? >>
<< _I have partial coverage, mister Awntremont._ >> replies PATER. << _Both individuals have vacc-suits with obvious ruptures and both exhibit characteristics consistent with expiration as a result of exposure to violent concussion and vacuum. I suspect they pose no threat, but caution is advised nevertheless. They may possess some form of postmortem destruct device._ >>
<< Abdul, I'll take point. You might wait on 3 in case I get zorched. >> Rafe proceeds up to deck 2, laser rifle ready in case anyone is only playing dead.
"Ace here, Paladin. I'm about to power up the grapples on the landing gear. I think there are enough ferrous fittings on the doors to hold. My center of mass will be way off, but I think I can compensate enough to get back to the Elissa. I have no idea how much acceleration I can pull, so this may take me a while."
"Is there any chance you can get the other door? Or at least slow it down until I get done with this one? There's no sense letting it drift too far, especially in this bizarre place."
During this conversation Ace was slowly drifting closer and closer to the lost bay door. Finally, as the tumbling door gets within touching distance of the fighter, Etienne gives the maneuver thrusters a last gentle tap.
"Ah, here we go. Power to the grapples...Now...
*WH-CLANGGGGG*
The fighter shudders violently as it suddenly grips a mass nearly half its own weight, and the translational and rotational modes of the door stabilize into new patterns reflecting its suddenly increased mass. Etienne, veteran of many dogfights, rides out the turbulence and waits for the system to settle down to a much slower spin before he begins to nudge the doors to a stop and reverse their course.
It's slow and painful work, but within five minutes he's turned around and limping painfully back toward the Elissa, heeling over at an awkward angle as he drags the door along with him.
Horne walks over to another corpse. One of the metallic centipedes. << Some kinda robot, >> he mutters. << Nuthin alive is that ugly.... >>
He kicks the body gently. It suddenly begins to writhe jerkily on the floor, spraying blue fluids out to boil on the deck. Horne jumps back with a cry, ARL levelled, but the creature goes limp a moment later. Through the cracks in the armor, Kor and Horne see crushed chitin of some kind, and a morass of mangled organs that look nothing like a human's....or anything else's.
Horne backs away, and helps Kor retrieve weapons from the other bodies. These are more normal; Humans, Vargr, Droyne, with standard weapons that might have come from any Instellarms dealer.
Azani turns to Berana << Cripes Berana, this muther is huge. Glad I didn't have ta meet "him" face to face. Give me a hand, we'll flip him from one side, in case he's lying on an explosive and use him as as shield. >> Azani motions to Berana to come to one side of the corpse. << Grab the far side of "him" and flip "him" towards us. Be careful. >>
<< Right....nngh! One....two....THREE! >> The two men strain mightily, and after a moment actually manage to move the corpse a bit. They halt, panting, and try again. It takes three tries before they're finally able to roll the gigantic body over on its back, revealing the RAM grenade launcher it was carrying, crushed to splinters under its weight. The grenades in the clips in the weapon and on its belt are unharmed.
Berana tries to get a look into the silvered face plate. << Huh. Two eyes...fur...nose like a Vargr's, sorta...big teeth. >> He swallows. << Damn big teeth. >> He manages a shaky grin. << Let's get these grenades off of him, and leave him for the Meds to bodybag. *I'M* sure as hell not picking him up, not in full gravity! >>
Aaron waits for the response from Security, if any, then says,
<< I could use your help, Mr. Jonson. We're going to be reattaching the fighter bay doors in a few minutes, and we're going to need to mount and arm a fresh set of explosive bolts on the track clamps. It's supposed to be feasible for a qualified Engineer to do it, but with the battle damage I think we'd all be happier if a Demolitions expert was on hand. Can do? >>
<< I'll be right there! Don't want amateurs playing with that stuff! Jonson to Security: I'm headed for the fighter bay for a bit. >>
'Vouf is silent for a long time, then points an accusing finger at Stubbs. "You are NOT going to tell me that this place evolved naturally!"
"Of course not. It's obviously artificial, but no record or remnant of the creators remains, other than a few rumored artifacts...."
"The Ancients?"
"Pfffft!" Stubbs waves the idea away disgustedly. "The Ancients FOUND this place and threw a FIT 'cause they couldn't figure out how it worked. The Droyne oral histories are pretty clear on that; they claim that this mythical God-figure of theirs, 'Grandfather', came to the Wire and had a huge temper tantrum because he couldn't figure out how it was made. He supposedly stomped off to try to match the feat himself, and a lot of folks think he's still trying!"
"He is."
"What?"
"Never mind, it's a long story," 'Vouf sighs. "Older than the Ancients...."
"Oh, yeah. For sure. At least a half a million years old, probably a LOT older than that. Most of the indigenous flora and fauna were transplanted, though; we have some odd mixtures here."
"Hrm. Who lives at Centerpoint? Humans, mostly?"
"Every species you've ever heard of lives at Centerpoint, and quite a few that you HAVEN'T heard of as well. Fortunately, most of the stranger ones don't get a chance to get out through Gates into our section of the Galaxy, or there'd be hell to pay. There are scientists back home who are still convinced that the sentient chips of Cymbeline evolved there naturally-- God help us if they ever found out the truth!"
That explains those bugs with the big guns.... Zben thinks, still trying to absorb such a varied population...
Turning to allow someone to buddy check her gear, Munro glances at the faces arrayed before her. "Christian. Doejin. Grey. MacLaeran. Good luck in here. See you guys in about an hour." She grins. "I expect my jump drives to be ready to go when I get back, guys!" With a wave, Munro heads through the portable airlock and the great outside.
"Bleah," Grey mutters, giving the PLSS and helmet a quick once-over. He slaps the top of the helmet lightly. "You're tight and clean, Chief. All dials read clear."
"Munro," Doejin chitters, "Will you be safe working alone outside?" He waves his flukes agitatedly. "This is contrary to what Bhyarrvouf says is proper...."
Grey hushes him. "Let her go, Doje. She knows what she's doing." He doesn't sound too sure of himself, though....
"Pater, when the captain is done with our visiting guest, please remind him to report to engineering for repair duty. And keep that jump grid data coming....."
_Noted,_ the computer replies imperturbably.
Christian watches her go with an oddly noncommittal gaze and turns back to the mundanity at hand. She is in her element, quite clearly, but where am I? Fetch this, weld that, fix that circuit, patch that line. Needed, yes, but still... Elsewhere, crushed and burnt bodies screamed in silent anguish at their plight, crying for his talent, his first love. But here... He looked around at the grimly debris-strewn Engineering area. Feh.
He returned to his repair work.
Merkle watches, shaking his head, as Munro's silhouette disappears into the airlock.
<< PATER, could I please have a check list of Life Support functions that require repair or other attention. Please priorize according to what is necessary to prepare for a Jump in 40 to 50 minutes from now. Slap it up on this display...here. >>
_On screen, mister Merkle._ responds PATER. As the display paints with detail, PATER continues, _All SecureCams are still fully functional in the life support compartments and I have detected no notable damage or deliberate tampering as a result of the hostile incursion. With the exception of several sub-systems in need of manual reset due to surge at the point of ship-wide power loss earlier, all life support systems should be restorable to a nominal state in a very short time._
Boris half slips, half walks to a nearby console.
"Folks, lemme know if you need an extra hand with anything...in the meantime I'm goning to *try* to clean up a bit."
Boris clears debris from around the console, and starts working from there to clear crap and corruption from the main walkways.
After Munro dismisses the engineers, Angus scans the list of faults on the main screen to get an assignment and gets to work. "Pater, please prepare a list of any serious faults in the gravitics which will need attention once Jump repairs are complete."
Dr. Karl Morser steps gingerly though the shattered forward hatch of main engineering, trying to avoid vacc-suit contact with the sharp, bowed-out edges of the door. He slowly surveys the chaos that was once an orderly engineering compartment and wrinkles his nose.
<< Ach du mein *Gott*! >> Morser mutters. Searching around the compartment once again, he fails to find the head of engineering.
<< Vo ist Fraulein Munro, please? >> he asks the group. << Who iss in charch heere? >> Tiptoeing through the carnage on the deck, he walks over to Boris and declares, << I haff been 'zhangehied' to verk on repairs. Vut must be done? >>
Moving through the debris of the fighter bay towards the destroyed fighter bay doors, Munro subconsciously catalogues the damage. Grimly she shakes her head.
"Boris. When the captain shows up, hussle his butt out here. He's one of five people qualified to work in zero-G and on the jump grid."
Gag. Giving orders! Munro grimaces at herself. Gods, if my father could see me now, he'd go into shock. 'Not a fit job for a woman! Not the proper attitude!" Blah. Nothing like a good emergency to make you tromp on people and their feelings. Well, back to work. Yolanda looks out from the hanger at a sight she'd never would have believed. Glowing light coming from all around, throwing a diffused shadow behind her. Disconcerting. Disorienting. At first glance there appears to be a glowing mottled wall off the stern of the Elissa. Once the eyes adjust to the excess light, it resolves into an infinite number of glowing, decreasing sized rings headed away from her. A tube. A very *large*, *long* tube...appearing like a deep well or a tall chimney...depending on your frame of reference. Munro pulls herself back from the edge of mesmerization and vertigo and notices Ace slowly growing in size as it approaches.
"Munro to Aolrkhea'. When you get that portable airlock back to engineering, hand it off to someone else to install. Grab a welding rig and please join me 'outside'. The first of the fighter bay doors are arriving and we'll help weld it into place before fixing the grid."
<< I am on my way. >>
"Munro to bridge. We need those work pods!"
"This is all a bit much for me to handle," 'Vouf says in a daze. "You've got to give me some time to sort through it all...."
"Take all you need," Stubbs says sarcastically. "Long as you understand that if you take more than about forty-five minutes, you're going to get fried, and my ship along with you." He grimaces. "You keep dragging me off on tangents, and there'll be a whole fleet of DazzleShips coming down on us in no time!"
"Dazzle Ships? How are those different from Flare Ships?"
"Just a naming convention. Vargr and Aslan call them DazzleShips, Solomani and Vilani call them FlareShips. The Droyne and the Zhodani call them FlickerShips, usually, and the Hivers call them...." he holds up both hands and waggles his fingers in the air. 'Vouf snickers. "Ships with more than one species aboard are normally named for their Masters' species...."
"Then the Elissa would be a... Dazzle Ship." 'Vouf looks thoughtful. "Catchy name, I s'pose."
"Anyway, the people we work for have a vested interest in keeping you and your ship out of Stamerra's hands. We're working at cross purposes, and every good ship and trained crew on OUR side is one less on HIS. Stamerra's people don't like the legal regimentation of Centerpoint; they prefer their living free and easy. The problem is that that doesn't pay the bills. So they have to mug people and steal their ships to stay in spare parts and supplies. Usually we can keep them away from newcomers, but not always. Crews that get captured either swear loyalty to their cause or get sold into slavery, or just killed."
"So basically you're saying that we have to choose between loyalty to you and your people or to him and his, without a shred of objective data to go on." 'Vouf folds his arms.
"I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying that as of now, you have NO choice. If you really did chase him off, you'll have succeeded where none of his victims ever did before, and that's going to rankle. When they come back, they're not going to stop to listen to your pleas-- they're going to pound sand up your asses. I can't MAKE you cooperate. But if you choose to fend for yourself, you're going to have a rough time of it."
"So what if we choose to go with you? What happens then?"
"We fuel you in a tearing big hurry, enough for a Jump-1. Fortunately, we're not all that far from Centerpoint; we Jump there, and you drydock for repairs while you get briefed and get a chance to stretch your legs. Then you have a choice: you can go independent, like a lot of the smaller ship Captains decide to do, and find work doing surveys of the Wire, cargo hauling, industrial support, that sort of thing. You can hire on with one of the big Corporations that handle ship traffic in the Wire. Or you can sign on with MY firm." Stubbs holds up the small insignia that has replaced the Solomani circle-and-cross on his lapel, a simple onyx-black circle with a thin silver rim. "Event Horizon. The only people with the technology to detect Gates as they open. They dispatch ships to study them and retrieve raw materials and technology from the other side. You can become a Gate Chaser."
"What does that get us?"
"The economics are amazingly simple," Stubbs shrugs. "Event Horizon gets paid a decent premium for materials from outside the Wire. They have a good-sized fleet, mostly of fairly small ships. The big lunkers usually belong to the High Port Corporation, who jobs them out to people who can't afford their own ships. They'll make you a very good offer to work for them, Bhyarrvouf, but if you want to get home I'd advise against it. You need the intelligence work that Event Horizon can give you, and Event Horizon can use a ship the size of the Elissa.
"You and your crew will get half-decent salaries, benefits, places to live, the works. EH doesn't pay as well as High Port, not nearly, but there you are. The Elissa and her riders will be dispatched to Gates all over the Wire for various reasons. The work's hard when you have it, but cushy when you don't, and there's no way to predict ahead of time which it'll be. And eventually...." He smiles softly. "Eventually one of the Gates you'll be asked to explore will open near your home, and no one will stop you from going, and not coming back."
"Sounds too good to be true," 'Vouf says suspiciously. "What's the catch? How come no one else chooses to do this?"
"People do all the time," Stubbs replies. "But most choose not to. You can't understand why until you live here for a while, Bhyarrvouf. This place is...." he waves his hands in the air, searching for words. "It's DIFFERENT than home was. To a lot of people, it IS home. People choose not to ever go back, to settle here, all the time. We call them Permanents. People like you, who've just arrived and who say they want to go home no matter what, are called Transients. Some of them never change their minds. Most of them do. It can be heartbreaking, looking through a Gate and wondering, 'Do I take the chance this time? Do I even WANT to? What about my crew?' After a while you just decide that it's easier to stay. If you can stomach looking at the Outside after that, you stay on in Event Horizon as a Permanent, like me. Otherwise you go for the lower risk and higher pay and opt out to another company, and from then on, you're a citizen of the Wire."
'Vouf regards him with sudden curiosity. "Why didn't YOU go back?"
"Me?" Stubbs looks surprised. "I came in here on a Solomani battlewagon, about eight years ago. The crew were handpicked, the flower of Terra. Mean, tough, resourceful, xenophobic as all hell. They got to Centerpoint and tried to go indie as a mercenary company, living in the Solomani Quarter and not going out very much. I was a junior Line officer, one of the Bridge crew. I got bored in the Quarter, so I snuck out and began meeting other citizens on the sly. I got to like it. When the Captain finally snapped and agreed to sign on with EH for a chance to get out of the Wire and get home, I took a chance and volunteered to liaison to the nonhumans for him, so nobody else'd have to. Or so I said. Event Horizon got to like me, and the guys on the Britannica started to get suspicious, so I transshipped to a different cruiser. About three years ago, the Brit got lucky: a big Gate opened in Spica sector, and she was able to get out, minus some casualties and one defector." He smiles. "I was the only man out of several thousand Solomani who was able to make the adjustment. Other people do better, but it's not easy. What do you think of the K'Kree, Captain?"
"Hnh? Are you crazy? I've never met one! They wouldn't get NEAR a Vargr!"
"When we get to Centerpoint, the first Event Horizon official you're going to meet is a K'Kree. He'll walk up to you, alone, and shake your hand. How about psionics?"
"Recent company excepted, I personally don't have any strong feelings about them. But my crew may feel differently...."
"You should warn them that they should wear psi shields and look for shielded places to live, then. Psionics are legal here; in fact, they're encouraged. How about the Zhodani?"
'Vouf stiffens, and his hackles rise. "I make it a point not to deal with them," he says stiffly.
"You'd better get used to the idea of taking ORDERS from them," Stubbs retorts. "They're all over the command structure of Event Horizon, and most of them are psionic. If you've got a problem with that, maybe you WON'T do so well, after all."
THIS makes Zben Really pick up his ears! Zhodani? Those SOB's?? "This won't sit well with a few people...and that's an understatement!"
Horne gasps. He looks up at Kor, his eyes wild. For a long moment, he stands and faces the Bridge, then shakes his head, muttering under his breath in a language Kor doesn't understand.
<< Let's finish this damn job. >> he mumbles.
"Roger that!" agrees Vanessa continuing on to the other bodies. The rod in her hands being held more like a weapon. Whether in response to what was said or to the death throws of the alien is unclear.
"Just what I need, as if groping hands weren't enough, now I have to deal with groping minds!" she adds more to herself than J.J.
J.J. growls something unintelligible in reply.
As the interchange drifts through the chaos that is Main Engineering, Christian occasionally pauses to listen. His repair work continues, but it seems as if his attention is focused elsewhere.
<< ... How about the Zhodani? >>
At this, Christian stops dead in his tracks and his face freezes into immobility.
<< ...You'd better get used to the idea of taking ORDERS from them... >>
Christian listens in shock. His features betray a degree of internal conflict, as his rational mind wars with his gut instinct. This valiant attempt fails. Quickly, Christian moves to the nearest 'fresher station in Engineering and is violently sick into it.
<< ...Psionics are legal here; in fact, they're encouraged... >>
Those around Morton Limner may hear a strangled exclamation from him. It sounds like `Reena'. He is now VERY intent on what Stubbs is saying! Several times he glances at Dan Silvmane's form, his expression warring from fear to excitement...
When the conversation ends Limner pulls out his hand comp and opens his private channel to Igor. "Igor. ID Limner. Code black three black zero red one. Execute code `P dash Alpha', center on adjacent ship ID Hamilcar, record to file codename `Centerpoint'. Noackcepterror."
Anyone in Cargo Hold 1 would notice the large antenna array on Igor swing away from the aft area and point in the direction of the other ship hanging outside...
"Morton, what's up?"
Limner glances up, for a moment seeming surprised not to be alone; "Just setting up Igor to do some data gathering. No telling what we might..." he stops as a new voice comes out to the speakers:
<< Sickbay, Engineering - Merkle here. I'm not sure of what you're handling just now, but would it be possible to enlist your medbots, to deal with our abundant corpse quota? >>
Yorblin taps his comm and replies,
<< Boris, Jan. You may have one, the other is currently assisting in Surgery. However, Dr Limner and I will be headed back to look them over in situ, and we'll bring body bags. >>
At the other end of the ward, Hur'Shurvan stands absolutely still as Dr. Tabor works on his wound.
"Humph," Tabor says, examining the mess. "You're a very lucky sophont, Shurv. This much tissue lost would cripple a human, and a few centimeters to the left or lower would have cost you the leg or damaged your spine. As it is," he chuckles, "You're just going to have a sore tush for a day or two."
"It would be much appreciated if you could get me operational as soon as possible," he says to the doctor. "There must be a tremendous amount of work to do in engineering, and I feel guilty about waiting around here while everyone else is working hard."
"Bah," Tabor waves the argument aside. "You heard Munro. You'll be back to work just as soon as I say you are, and that won't be for another few minutes. I don't want to just slap on a patch that you'll pull loose with your first major effort... I want to do it right. Hmmmm...." He consults a viewscreen, muttering under his breath. "Our Friend the Virush....page sixty-three...hmmmm....say, did you know that you're a-- oh, never mind, you wouldn't be interested in that. Huh! Learn something new every day." He turns away from the screen and begins to seal the wound with great care, only glancing over his shoulder once in a while at the screen.
The Virush casts a glance across the sickbay and asks, "Is there any chance for Dan, do you think?"
Tabor pauses only for a moment before continuing his work, then harrumphs uncomfortably. "Course there is! Course there is," he mutters. "Jan's an expert and our trauma gear's the best you can carry, short of an actual hospital cruiser."
He pauses, and looks over to where Yorblin has obviously begun the procedure for putting the body in cold storage. "But I wouldn't count on seeing him back at work for a good long while, though," he sighs.
A minute later, the job is done. "Okay, Shurv, you're on your way. I'll sign you off and let you go back to work, but for Heaven's sake don't do any heavy lifting or pulling with that leg for at least a day, okay?" He swats the Virush on the rear, chuckling. "Back to work."
Hur'Shurvan attempts to crane his neck around to view Dr. Tabor's repair job, but finds it too awkward to see.
"Thank you very much, Dr. Tabor. I'm sure you have done a fine job."
He lumbers off, limping only very slightly.
He flicks on the commdot as Shurv leaves. "Engineering, Sickbay. Tabor here. Mister Munro, I'm clearing Hur'Shurvan for duty immediately, he'll be along in a moment. I'm afraid," he says in a somewhat softer tone, "That you'll have to do without Dan for the foreseeable future."
He switches off and claps his hands, smiling. "One down. Jan, if you need help I'm available." He casts an interested glance at where DaSilva is working on Neriika. "Or I can help DaSilva with Nishu....?"
Looking at Dan, then to Dr. Limner, "No, I think we're doing as well as we can over here. Uh, just poke your head in on Dr. DaSilva, I get the feeling he'd frown at the word 'help'".
"Duly noted," Tabor chortles. He takes a minute to cleanse and sterilize his hands and clean up the med station where he'd been working on Shurv. Then he strides over to where DaSilva is examining Neriika, and says quietly, "I'm here if you need an extra pair of hands."
"An extra pair of competent hands would be much appreciated, doctor." DaSilva looks up, "Please program a topical application of nanocytes to slough away the outer epidermal layer, standard accelerated burn treatment."
"Nanocytes? Seems like a lot of effort for burn reclamation, but most economies are false ones where lives are at stake. Not his," Tabor adds thoughfully as he prepares the nanocytes, "Ours. I understand Nishu is our best Navigator....if there's anywhere to navigate TO, any more, that is."
DaSilva rapidly assesses the left eye, "Damage is minimal. Cover and reevaluate after 48 hours. Check for possible forming of contractures or global deformity. I suspect there wasn't enough sustained energy for that, though."
Nodding, Tabor finishes applying the nanocyte bath to Neriika's face, then opens and applies a sterile eye-patch seal to the left eye. "Arr, avast, me hearties," he snarls with a grin. "There be another contender in the Lazer Farouk look-alike contest! Arrr!"
As the nanocytes take effect, DaSilva gently pries the melted plastic from Neriika's face. The material, loosened by the nanocytes' removal of the skin surface, comes away easily. "Pilocarpine, there please...", carefully probing into the skin, "irrigate... traction, gently dammit."
Tabor harrumphs, but takes a bit more care in separating the melted plastic from the puffy, blistered skin. Several of the blisters are open and oozing, requiring a dusting with binding powder to seal them.
"Burns to the external structure of the eye in addition to the skin structures... epicanthal fold may need reapproximation... corneal burns are severe, possible lens, iris, and ciliary muscle damage. Corneal abrasion, some clouding."
Tabor's mustache twitches. "If we had an eye bank at hand, I'd say the best option would be to pull it and toss it. But we don't so we can't." He grimaces. "We'll do it the hard way."
"Hmmm, V1 of the trigeminal nerve could be involved... doctor, would you prepare an optical laser please?"
"Optical laser is already pumping and armed," Tabor grins, handing the barrel of the tiny instrument to DaSilva. "All yours, Doctor." He watches as DaSilva goes to work on the eye, gently repairing what damage he can with the laser's tiny beam.
"Humph!" 'Vouf stands up suddenly. "I suppose we'll just have to find out the hard way. All right, Stubbs. I'll clear you for refueling. Then what?"
"I'm a Navigator by trade," Stubbs says. "I'll program the Jump to Centerpoint for you. There's no time to train your people, though they can watch. I'll stay aboard for the Jump...."
"Isn't that dangerous? We've got a bad Grid."
"I won't cut and run back to my own ship when you're in need! We all hang together or we all hang separately, Bhyarrvouf," Stubbs says grimly. "Get used to it. I'll also send over a couple of my best Engineers to help your people with repairs." He grins. "I hope you like new sights, Captain. You're in for quite an impressive view --assuming we live through the Jump."
"If I can handle pirates," 'Vouf sighs, "I can handle sightseeing." He ushers Stubbs out again.
Aboard the Khtaliyr, the time has passed at a maddening pace. Being wrenched from one's normal spatial domain to a strange one was bad enough, but to compound that with rukhta, a coward's attack.... Even the most ardent disciple of taro could be forgiven a violent release... or two.
Lord Tra'Ekhaul, however, remained the familiar brooding figure in his ornate command chair. The casual observer would foolishly consider this to be a good sign. Associates of long standing, as Aiwi, would know far better. Over the long years in service, from Intendent to Admiral, Akhouw had refined his meditative techniques to allow him mental calm at times as these. Yet, the accretion of such aggravations would eventually come due, and honor help that unfortunate target...
Coming out of the briefing with Stubbs, 'Vouf flicks on his comm. << Captain here. Munro, don't wait on the pods for retrieval of the doors. de Mer hasn't howled GK yet, so he seems to have it down; let him get the other one at his discretion. Use the pods for installation, when pilots are available. Out. >>
Alliara sits down in the nerest sensor station and sighs...
"Marooned. In a tube. Of near-air. With precious little chance to do work. Bloody world! Bloody ships! Bloody ringworlds! Bloody life! Bloody! Bloody! Bloody! Join the bleeding scouts! See the sodding world! Meet lotsa bloody interesting people! And stinking count the lot of 'em!"
Standing up, she takes off all the sensor and recording gear of her and stuffing it into ANY satchel, plastic bag or a doggie-poop repository. Sitting back at the chair she stares at the comp-screen in malevolence...
"Putter. Chip me into the linguistic section. Activate concurrent recording of all contacts with non-Elissa crew. Record private conversations, record everything. If you are finnicky, go to the great whale, CAPTAIN, I mean, for permission. This is a closed environment, I want anything, any chance utterance recorded. They may have culture, though I doubt it. The fact that they have jump ships just proves my point. Record them in bathrooms, too. Alert me to any visuals of unknown cultures. Or audios. Any deviations from Galanglic noticed in communication with inhabitants of the chunks of dirt, too. Bloody world!"
_All shipboard dialog is already being recorded, miss Niigurd,_ PATER replies, _except that dialog which has occurred in sections of the ship where damage to interior sensors precludes recording._
"Thank you, Pitter. Please annotate each section of recorded conversations with their location."
A pause. _I will require authorization from the Captain to release recorded conversations of a private or personal nature. I doubt he would object, considering the reason for your request._
"Do so, forthwith. Cross-ref your request with that of Mister Sokuku. I am _ESPECIALLY_ interested in conversation of private and personal and even more of intimate nature. Reason, should the captain require one - private conversation usually dispense with many of the linguistic mores adopting instead an abbreviated for of language and communication systemotology."
_With regard to visuals of unknown cultures, I can provide securecam views of the bodies of several previously unencountered species included in the boarding parties, if that would be useful for you._ PATER adds, _The security teams have not yet recovered them from the aftermath of the shipboard conflict._
"Putter, putter, putter... I am a bloody linguist and somewhat of a xenoanthro. I can obtain VERY little from dead bodies. Though I am sure some of our more bemuscled male members could wring much enjoyment from having holos of these. I want LIVE specimens."
The door to the Bridge opens, and Bhyarrvouf returns, with Captain Stubbs in tow. "Remain at the conn, Mister Nanadh," he says crisply. "Mister Talon, run a full diagnostic of helm systems... we may be moving in a hurry. Mister Blaine, reopen the channel to the Hamilcar, and pipe to the Khtaliyr, please." He motions Stubbs down to the Bridge floor, by the Captain's chair where Nanadh sits.
"Aye Sir!" Zben drops the jamming in that range and re-establishes the link, relaying to the Bridge screen.
When Blaine establishes contact, the viewscreen once again shows the Bridge of the Hamilcar. The tall, frost-cold Aslan woman is seated in the Captain's chair, but rises to her feet when she sees Stubbs. "Receiving you, sir. Is all in order?"
Stubbs nods. He turns to 'Vouf. "With your permission, sir?"
"By all means," 'Vouf smiles.
"Fao, you're GO for crash refuel. Launch all tanktenders; patch comms to this frequency for rerouting to Engineering-- their people will tell you which tanks are too badly swissed to use. I'd also like a rapid-response Engineering team shuttled over to assist in repairs."
The Aslan woman nods. "Might I suggest Main Jump Deck Team Two, sir?"
Stubbs nods, after a moment's thought. "Good idea, Fao. Have them pack and prep for a long stay; once they learn their way around, we may as well leave 'em on the job once we're in drydock." He turns to 'Vouf. "A good team. Well set up for doing fast repairs, especially on mechanical and microelectronic systems. Normally I'd suggest someone with more cybernetic background, but I assume you'd prefer to have your own people handling the computers?"
'Vouf gives him a wry look. "O, yes."
Stubbs grins. "Uh-huh." He nods to the Aslan woman. "I'm going to get set up for the Jump, Fao. Let me know when the SDBs report back in with the prisoners. Stubbs out."
Alliara activates her com-dot,
<< Mister Sokuku. Please note that I would like to have all contacts with indigents by ship crew recorded. Request of the captain that they be instructed to carry voice recorders. What contact equipment, other than what I carry, you think needed in the next six hours? >>
A tap on the shoulder, and Dave Sokuku moves into Alliara's field of view.
"Oh - sorry." blurts Alliara, "Did not notice you..."
"The radio's a nice touch, but you could've just shouted across the room, you know." comments Sokuku. Pointing at the control-ringed holodisplay in the center of the compartment, and the constant attention it draws from Smythe and Werner, Dave adds, "I feel sort of like a fifth wheel over there. Watching those two work is kind of like watching a close-up magic act. Neat things happen occasionally, but I'll be damned if I can figure out why or how."
"I am certain that grown men playing with nice pictures is a joy to behold!" quips Alliara. "They are better employed elsewhere, like repairs. However, this is all to the side."
"Anyway, besides the voice recorders, we need imagers, and sample cases." Dave furrows his brow. "I think we should leave the gas, tissue, and other sampling gear to the doctors,", he thumbs towards Mssrs. Werner and Smythe, "medical and otherwise. I don't know about you, but my training is in cultural, not physical, anthropology. I'd rather talk to them than draw a blood sample."
"Social anthro is the only anthro. The rest is necrology." Thumbing the 'dot: << Captain, I would like Mr. Stubb's permission to interview one of his crew, preferably someone who is not totally ignorant of anthro and language. I want a run-down of the cultural matrices and sophont diversity. And, if possible, a list of languages. And of names, both location and personal."
<< Noted. >>
Tapping his commdot, he calls, << Sokuku to Captain. As contact team leader, I request that *all* crew members be issued audio recorders, and instructed to have them constantly activated when in contact with indigenous lifeforms. Also request imagers to be issued to as many crew members as possible for the same reason. >> After a brief pause, Sokuku adds, << I would also like Mr. Awntremont, Mr. Bishop, Doejin, and Mr. Horne to report to the science section for a contact team meeting, as soon as possible, so that we can begin to plan for crew- wide encounters with the 'natives'. Sokuku out. >>
<< Dave, this is the Captain. Permission granted; see to the distribution of the needed gear. Mr. Niigurd, you have my permission to utilize the resulting transcripts as you see fit; I'll trust to your finely honed sense of discretion in that matter. >> There is a ghost of a canine chuckle.
<< Oh Captain my Captain, >> responds Alliara, << my discretion is noted. Should interesting data of a personal nature come in, I will see that it is cleared with the principles before it is made public. >>
<< Attention, all hands, this is the Captain. Contact Team active, effective immediately. Doejin and Bishop, report to Sokuku as soon as you're no longer needed for repairs; Horne and Awntremont, see Farouk for appropriate release-time from security duties. Out. >>
"Putter," commands Alliara, "I want a list of survey equipment we have. I also require all contact personnel to carry psi-shields until a better understanding of the local cultures obtains. Please effect."
_Noted. Printout forthcoming._ PATER indicates. _I will broadcast your recommendation immediately._
Rafe's face splits in a broad (and utterly uncharacteristic) grin. Finally, he thinks, I can stop playing soldier and do something I'm good at. He hurries to finish his grisly task and sets off for the Sensor Pit as soon as possible.
Munro, with hands on hips, watches Ace approaching with the hangar bay door. "Dockyard slime suckers! If some prima donna, fuel farting ego bloated pilot doesn't get his ass down to the cargo bay and slip his lily white body into a work pod, the backend of the Elissa is going to look like so much scrap metal."
Clearly, the Chief of Engineering was not a happy woman.
Munro's data monocle swings into place. "There's got to be another way."
As the viewscreen blanks and returns to a view of the Hamilcar's bulk, the Bridge observers see a series of tiny ships release themselves from the tanker's hull, trailing long umbilical cords behind them.
"Aha!" says Talon. "Here comes the jump juice."
Soon, there are nine hoses attached to the damaged starship, and indicators on the unruptured fuel tanks register a strong but not overturbulent flow of refined fuel. It will take until about 0640 for the tanks to receive enough tonnage to perform a Jump.
'Vouf says, "Mister Nanadh, you're our best Navigator at hand. Would you be so kind as to show Mr. Stubbs how to access the NavComp?"
He grins. "Sorry to leave you at work, sir, but I'm told that my presence has been..." He chuckles. "...ORDERED in Main Engineering, to bear a hand with the repairs. I'll have your team cleared to come over whenever they're ready. Should you require anything, don't hesitate to ask."
'Vouf then flicks on the comm.
<< Khtaliyr, Elissa. Siaenrra, maintain vigilance per your best tactical decision, but be prepared to return and dock when the tanker tenders finish fueling us; we don't want to leave you behind. I want you on the Bridge and your XO at the NavComp, with Nanadh at the Helm, when we try this Jump. >>
'Vouf's voice softens.
<< I know we have been cheated of honorable battle, my friend, but honor may yet be satisfied. Elissa out. >>
He excuses himself, leans over and whispers a few curt phrases to Blaine, and leaves the Bridge.
"Sir!" is Zben's clipped reply.
At the sound of his Captain's voice, the mood aboard the Khtaliyr lightens perceptibly. Akhouw reaches out for the comm pad.
<< Khtaliyr, aye. Your message is received and understood. Clan Khaukheairl again stands ready to defend against the forces of barbarity and chaos. I shall await the return to my post aboard the Elissa with patience. >>
<< I know we have been cheated of honorable battle, my friend, but honor may yet be satisfied. Elissa out. >>
A facial twitch speaks to his leashed passions and a nod of his head acknowledges Bhyarrvouf's changed tone.
<< Fiya', Captain Bhyarrvouf. We shall sing eikhoifiruah, and one day *he* shall be forgotten. Khtaliyr out. >>
Akhouw leans back into the command chair. "Ki'iwar, analyze current tactical position and available data on ya'uist Stamerra. Calculate regions of high reappearance probability. Holotank display." As Akhouw waits for the computer to produce its results, he glances over to his particular exec. "Status update, milady?"
"All systems appear normal, my lord," Aiwi says coolly, casting him a careful glance. She notes the caked blood on his spacesuit but says nothing. "All boards show white. Sensors indicate no-- HOLD!" She sits upright. "Picking up movement from beneath the layer of radiance. Two craft, each 600 tons displacement--"
Two Ajax SDBs erupt upward from the clouds below and head for the Hamilcar, giving the Khtaliyr a wide berth. The comms center pings.
"Sir, we are receiving a narrow-band transmission from the lead system defense boat. It identifies us by name. Shall I respond?"
His ears perk up at Aiwi's report. "Certainly, Aiwi. On screen."
_Insufficient data to predict regions of high reappearance probability,_ Ki'iwar adds. _Gravitmetric data suggests a point of arrival on the axis of the construct, but this is a zero-order approximation._
Akhouw grunts in response. "Unfortunate..."
Aolrkhea' slows to a more composed pace and enters main engineering. Glancing at the mess, looking at the bustle, returning to the mess, she deposits the portable airlock on the floor (making a bigger mess).
"I have been ordered EVA by Chief Munro. Where is a welding kit?"
Boris looks up from where he's clearing debris from around a console.
"Right over here!"
Turning and reaching to the floor, he retrieves the welding kit that has been his constant companion, since the start of his flight from Engineering to the Bridge. It felt like days had passed since then.
Aolrkhea' reflects between urgency and moral support as she fetches the welding kit. "Boris, did you prepare the cargo database? It was very well done."
"Uhhh...yes, I did. Pardon me, I'm not certain of the proper uh... approach." Boris winces at his choice of words, caught somewhat off guard.
"You do me great Honour. It is my pleasure to serve."
Noticeably nervous, Boris pauses a moment, then returns to his work, wondering if he shouldn't have thrown 'M'Lady' in there somewhere.
Aolrkhea' beams back at Boris. "Very correct, Boris." She drops to a whisper, "Even Aiwi would approve, but she would never admit it publicly."
Aolrkhea' calmly inspects the contents of the welding kit. Removing the hand welder, she does a safety check of her vicinity before firing off the torch. Satisfied with it, she shuts it off and quickly observes the crew.
Noting no external signs of stress, Aolrkhea' joins Munro outside the fighter bay entrance.
"Aye!" is Zben's quick reply to 'Vouf. As soon as the door shuts behind the two Captains, Zben patches into the Security channel:
"Bridge to Major Farouk. Blaine here. Message from the Captain. He would like you to maintain at least one Security person armed and armoured until further notice. Blaine out."
There is a dry laugh from the other end of the commlink.
<< Oh, yes, Mr. Blaine, I believe checking that known hostiles are really dead is a job calling for 'armed and armoured'. Thank-you, Farouk out. >>
Zben then accesses a special Commo channel. "Blaine to PATER: Captain Bhyarrvouf requests that you maintain constant surveillance on Captain Stubbs, and on any addition persons boarding from the Hamilcar. I will be monitoring intership and suit radio frequencies. Please monitor for coherrent beam emissions from Hamilcar and report any to me. Blaine out."
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