"History Unfolding" Part Four (B)
'Dunnich Circle, Napiers Point, and Other Places of Interest'
1st Lieutenant Greg Ward-SFMC
Commanding Officer/ARCs
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
And other NPCS
=====================================================
(Napier's Point- Unknown Complex: 14:18 Hours)
"Movement right!" Ward shouted, bright bolts from his rifle trailing in that direction. Sure enough he got a couple of hits, but the swarm was closing in anyway. Quickly he thumbed his rifle for a wide-angle beam. Conserving phaser energy went out the window... extra energy in phaser cells wasn't going to do a dead man any good.
The Trill Lieutenant looked over to his sergeant who pulled his rifle back and began fumbling with the cell door. "Reloading!"
Lieutenant Ward had no clue what this building was supposed to be, and therefore really had no idea where he was. All he knew was that it's armored walls offered protection, but the unfinished complex no more than a story or two tall was still easily breachable by it's designers. He recognized the packages some of the T'Kith'kin were carrying with them... it looked like they were getting ready to do 'just' that.
They were in deep trouble, and he knew it. True to the man's training and spirit, Lieutenant Ward took the last detailed scans of the facility he could with his battlefield issue tricorder and the intelligence equipment that they all carried with them. He then tossed both devices out of the complex and over the edge of the cliff.
If they were going to die, then maybe their comrades might get some kind of use out of the gathered information. At least if it wasn't on his body, there was a slight chance that his buddies would get them.
Outside there was a line of bright flames as multiple howitzer blasts found their mark, exterminating the T'Kith'kin by the dozen. At this stage the only point behind the artillery was retaliation. Sometimes that was all the reason you really needed.
Like any good officer, Ward put the condition of his soldiers as paramount. They'd completed their mission to the best of their ability... he did his best to ease their pain. He administered the last hypo shots, gave them comforting smiles... and when he realized one of his team had been completely unresponsive, closed his eyes for the sake of dignity.
"They're going around the back!" The sergeant screamed out, ducking down as energy blasts struck all about the position he once manned.
The sound of cutting was so loud that a deaf man could probably hear it. It probably wouldn't take more than a few minutes for the T'Kith'kin shock-troopers to cut and melt away the building's exterior... and charge through the opening in number.
He took out his type II, set it for kill, instructed the rest of his team to do the same, and set the weapon within easy reach on the floor. He knelt next to it, aiming his rifle at the reverberating plates. If the T'Kith'kin were going to kill him, he was going to make it a memorable death.
On the other side of the wall, a squad of T'Kith'kin soldiers were burrowing into the building. They weren't your standard soldier drones intended to die and take out as much of the enemy as possible in the attempt, but rather more sophisticated T'Kith'kin engineering commandos. They were well educated and well trained, and particularly blood-thirsty. Like their mindless comrades they killed everything except the females (which they used for their own purposes) and moved on to the next mission. Unlike them, they were schooled in the principles of breeching fortifications, of adapting to situations, and educated in the sciences of war enough that they were able to do their job with brutal efficiency.
They'd cut through the first layer of the armored building. They knew what the building was, and was doing their best to take it in tact. They were under strict orders to do so. The building must be saved. Immediately after the battle, nobody thought much more of the unfolding operation than that it would be a classic, textbook example of a rescue operations. After Lieutenant Ward's equipment was recovered and analyzed, For'kel would remark just how fortunate they were that the building was destroyed when it was.
The rest of the military community would agree in time. It was an experimental 'inter-system' transporter device, which the Breen had intended to move reinforcements and supplies from their solidly held positions in the Alpha KS-129 system, to Alpha KS-128 instantaneously. Three full months of the Research and Development and industrial production might of the Breen Confederacy had been spent on this experiment... and after the disaster that befell their forces on Alpha KS-128 it would be banished to the annals of other military weapons systems that never made it... like 'Atomic Annie' or individual jet-packs.
The damndest thing though, was that it would've worked given half a chance.
The next layer of armor was removed, the T'Kith'kin burrowing deeper. They were careful to avoid any major power conduits or structure supports. It was difficult going, but all the approaches to the building were sealed and secured. They had all the time in the universe...
Or so they thought.
Napier's Point had been a dominating geological feature that the Triad considered too steep to climb, too well fortified to attack from the sky, and too heavily defended for even a major land attack to capture. Never had it crossed any of their minds to tell the Starfleet Marines that, as they now climbed said unscalable cliffs.
A round, metallic ball rolling towards the commando squad went unnoticed amidst the noise of the drilling.
The photon grenade exploded, killing most of the commandos immediately. The squad's leader and one of his troops stumbled back... having survived only to feel their legs grabbed by seemingly disembodied black hands and yanked. The two survivors were left falling, screeching all the way to their deaths when they hit the turf below. They never saw the bodies of those that reached up to pull them down into the depths of hell.
Ugahlo and Leah got up on the cliff.
"Wilcox, Xaz, establish a perimeter." Elba ordered her human and Klingon squad mates with practiced efficiency. "Let's get our people and get the hell out of here!"
Inside the compound, Lieutenant Ward waited. His eyes stared ahead with such force that one would've thought he was trying to bore out before their captors got in. What he couldn't figure out was why exactly the vibrations seemed to stop. There was no noise, no sounds of cutting equipment anymore, nothing to signify there was anyone on the other side.
Was this the calm before the storm?
"What's the friggin' hold up?" One of Ward's injured teammates growled angrily as she gritted her teeth. "Why don't they just get it over with?!"
"Maybe they've decided to just bomb the place." The Sergeant hypothesized.
Then everyone jumped when there were some heavy knocks on the armored door they entered through.
Why the hell were the T'Kith'kin 'knocking' on the back door?
"Keep your weapons locked." Ward whispered, before walking towards the door. He decided to brave the unknown...
And was nearly knocked over by the onrushing Marines in black.
"Thank Gods, I'm glad to see you people."
"Likewise sir, Colonel Arvelion sends his regards." Sergeant Elba patted his shoulder. "Time to go, Lieutenant."
"No argument here, sarge."
"What's your status Elba?" The Colonel's voice popped up on the comms next.
"We're in, evacuating now sir. Looks like the T'Kith'kin sent reinforcements for the Breen. Three Marines down... we have one fatality."
There was an audible sigh on the other end. "Nobody get's left behind, sergeant."
"Understood sir." She replied before closing the comms. Leah and Ugahlo had wordlessly moved to the firing positions at the front and began sweeping the field before them. Ward and his sergeant began moving the two living ARCs after Kurita, like lightening, stabilized both. He did his best to revive the dead Marine...
And was awarded with the faintest of life sign readings. The Man who had been dead for 3 and a half of the longest minutes there were had a sucking breath and a barely beating heart again.
Elba helped the Doc move him to a stretcher and strap him in. Fortunately the stretcher came with a harness that allowed it to be lowered at a controlled pace by rope. Ahh the advances of modern technology. "Time to go you two."
Leah gave Ugahlo a pat on the shoulder as a heads up that she'd cover him. The broad shouldered and tall African threw a photon grenade and took some parting shots as the Sergeant and Kurita made their way out.
She fired her last few shots before activating the beacon and throwing it out at the T'Kith'kin pod. Leah jumped out the door, patted the two Marines left behind to cover the roping area, and ran for the back.
The Marine pair hurled grenades, fired their last shots, and retrograded backwards where Lieutenant Ward and Sergeant Elba opened covering fire. Thirty seconds later the last Marines roped down, the T'Kith'kin not finding the wires in time to cut them.
As soon as Leah's boots hit terra firma, she was on the radio. "Colonel, we've cleared the complex. The beacon is set, you're good to go."
"History Unfolding" Part Four (C)
'Dunnich Circle, Napiers Point, and Other Places of Interest'
Colonel For'kel Arvelion-SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
And a Bag'o NPCs
=======================================================
(Alpha KS-128)
Meanwhile the Breen Naval Infantry were preparing for what would be their last effort to wipe out the Federation forces on Alpha KS-128. Ahead of the 7th Breen Naval Infantry Regiment, 300 T'Kith'kin drones began their decent. The pods they were in sticking as close to the tree-line as possible without making their contents drop the dozen plus meters to the ground a tree drop would require.
Their pods were designed for easy dropping, and with a phenomenal capacity to absorb damage while in decent. The heavily armored hulls were the primary reason the T'Kith'kin war machine was so effective, and virtually unbeatable in amphibious combat. Anything less than a direct hit from a heavy weapons system and the Pod was protected. All the Marines' heavy weapons were channeled on the 28 ships in orbit that replaced Thufi's fleet on station.
It was the kind of situation the T'Kith'kin shock troopers thrived in. The pods protected them until they were in close... and once they were in close, the T'Kith'kin were able to outclass any fighting force yet fielded against them.
The 188TH was about to get their first licks.
For'kel knew better than to have his Marines waste valuable energy and reveal their positions by firing with ineffective small arms at the pods. He would wait and bide his time.
The pods landed.
He waited.
They splattered open, the force dispersive gel inside spilling outward.
The Marines held their fire.
The gel retracted, the T'Kith'kin drones seemingly 'awakening'.
"NOW!"
No, For'kel didn't have the heavy weapons needed to bring down the T'Kith'kin landing pods. But he 'did' have a dozen photon mortars, all of which had been given ample time to calibrate on their targets, teams of iso-magnetic launchers, and heavy caliber phaser support weapons. The slow decent of the pods had allowed the Starfleet Marines time to set up an air-tight defense and demonstrate why 'they', not their insectoid rivals, deserved the recognition of being the most feared fighting force in the Alpha Quadrant.
The T'Kith'kin were slaughtered by the pod-load before they even took their first steps. The Photon Mortars struck with pinpoint accuracy and precise timing. The force that was supposed to soften up the Federation lines for a Breen breakthrough was slaughtered like sheep. Not a single T'Kith'kin soldier ever made it into the tree line.
The Breen pushed on anyway. They were reinforced by troops from the 28 ships in orbit, which were now trading blows with the planetary defense stations the Marines still controlled. In the center of the Federation lines, the largest armored battle in the war to date unfolded. The Starfleet Marine tankers, despite being out numbered and exhausted, exacted a horrible toll on the Breen tanks with their glowworm rounds, and on the T'Kith'Kin shock troops with their AMAT shots.
In the skies, the surviving Hydran veterans linked up with their rookie counter-parts and engaged Marine and SVG pilots for domination of the skies. Parallels could be drawn to the Battle of Britain during Terra's WWII, or the Battle of Tlerkex between the Hydran Star Empire and the Lyrians nearly a century ago for the desperation and total commitment each side fought with.
Enemy artillery rained down on their positions with alarming regularity. The Marines counter-fired, but for the first time seemingly in the whole engagement, the Triad forces were making good use of their numerical superiority. The 188TH resisted stubbornly, but was forced to concede ground for no other reason that to avoid falling too far behind (or rather be left out too far ahead) of the main Federation body of troops. For every inch of ground they gave however, the Breen bled. The fighting in some parts became bitter contests for patches of ground measurable in centimeters at times.
The Marines threw everything they had at their attackers except the kitchen sink... and that was only for a lack of sinks at the moment. It got to the point that some Breen were hung up their ankles in pesty rope traps (Fork had showed a few Marines how to set them up) while others had tree logs literally fall on them.
Fork barely had time to prep one of his traps, a trip-wire system with a hollow log, stored inside were armed photon mortar rounds that exploded when it hit the ground. Impressively it was a Breen APC that triggered that trap, and exploded in flames as a result.
In turn, a Breen fighting vehicle opened up on a Marine gun pit, killing both Marines there.
It was in the midst of retreating to a new position despite the ankle deep snow that Leah's words came in. "Colonel, we've cleared the complex. The beacon is set, you're good to go."
"Acknowledged. Arvelion to Marine T-A-C, I need close in air support at Bravo Delta one-one-seven, grid coordinates zero-one-three-four; one-six-nine-five. Burn them out!" While screaming for the air support, For'kel was left fighting for his own life. He gunned down an unlucky Breen infantryman who'd traveled too closely, only to have to duck for cover when his two friends showed up.
As soon as he had relative safety, the Colonel realized he never got a response. "Arvelion to Marines T-A-C, come in?"
Again nothing. Nothing but the sounds of energy weapons being exchanged and the screaming of Marines and Breen as they were hit, or the cries associated with CQB.
Fork popped up long enough to put a round in the side of some Breen's helmet who was about to execute a Marine that was wounded. Spraying the area in front of him, he and another Marine rushed up, grabbed their wounded comrade, and fell back... all the while he was busy yelling into his comm set.
"Arvelion to Marine T-A-C, Priority one, over."
"Arvelion to Marine T-A-C, please respond?"
"Arvelion to Marine T-A-C..."
Finally someone's voice crackled over the open channel. "Sergeant Ilal sir, Marine T-A-C is down. We're evacuating the Alamo..."
Before the Trill could explain why, bolts of angry enemy weapons fire from the sky, long held off by the mighty Alamo's heavy shielding, struck the mountain itself and blew large pieces of it literally into dust. Their last defense point had been destroyed... For'kel suddenly felt far more exposed and a lot more alone than he had been previously.
"Ilal?! Sergeant respond!"
Nothing.
Honestly, for a split second, the Colonel considered throwing in the towel. Only the scenes of what they'd seen at the prison camp, in all reality, kept him from doing so. If he was going to die, he was going to go down fighting. The whole battle seemed to stop for a minute as the grunts from both sides witnessed the incredible firepower from orbit which they contended with. It was going to take a miracle to save them now.
=========================================================
Strange was the way in which the Prophets selected their angels.
Ava's screens were blinking in yellow, urging caution.
*************************************************************
-SHIELD INTENSITY READOUT-
Grid 1: 33% Strength
Grid 2: 33% Strength
Grid 3: 41% Strength
Grid 4: 33% Strength
Total: 35% Strength
-PHASER CELL CAPACITY-
Cannon 1: 27%
Cannon 2: 28%
Array 1: 18%
Array 2: 18%
Reserve: 0%
-ORDINANCE SYSTEMS-
-EXPENDED: RETURN TO BASE-
-COUNTERMEASURES UNAVAILABLE-
*************************************************************
-FLIGHT SYSTEMS READINESS-
-WARNING, SENSOR NETWORK IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Navigational Sensor Array Damaged
Action Recommended: Reduce Flight Speed
-WARNING, THRUSTER ASSEMBLY IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Thruster Assembly 2 Burnout
Action Recommended: Return To Base
-WARNING, POWER DISTRIBUTION IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Port Primary Node Damaged
Action Recommended: Return To Base
-WARNING, STARBOARD BUSSARD COLLECTOR IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Foreign Object Detected
Action Recommended: Vent Bussard Collector- Return To Base
-WARNING, STRUCTUAL INTEGRITY IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Multiple Hull Punctures
Action Recommended: Emergency Forcefields In Place- Return To Base
-WARNING, COMPUTER OPERATIONS IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Primary Computer Core Off-Line
Action Recommended: Secondary Systems Engaged- Return To Base
-WARNING, COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM IMPAIRED-
Analysis: Transceiver Array Damaged
Action Recommended: Scanning Open Frequencies- Return To Base
***************************************************************
And naturally, the Perennial favorite on the Tactical Situation Monitor...
***************************************************************
-TACTICAL SITUATION DISPLAY-
-WARNING, HOSTILES DETECTED-
Analysis: Multiple Hostile Signatures Detected
Action Recommended: Deploy ECM Measures
-WARNING, COUNTERMEASURES EXHAUSTED-
Analysis: Physical Countermeasures Unavailable
Action Recommended: Disengage, Return To Base
***************************************************************
This was when you started praying. Praying that your bird held out long enough for you to touch down somewhere remotely friendly. Praying that the dozens of enemies around you ignored you long enough that you could actually land. Praying that the bad guys below you were too stupid and/or too busy to look up at the sky and take shots at you... and most of all praying that your own guys didn't call you in on yet another mission your battered craft wasn't ready for. She was more than willing to listen to her onboard flight system right now and head for base.
That was not to happen however.
It was only by chance, but 'one' specific frequency had been picked up as her fighter 'channel surfed' for the squadron signal. It was Colonel Arvelion, frantically screaming for Marine T-A-C. Ava took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself as much as she could given the situation. She could either go for it, or she could pretend she didn't hear it, retreat to base, get her fighter patched up as much as possible and then head back out when she was in a much more capable condition.
And then a fucking mountain blew up, and put paid to that plan. She was going in.
"Computer, lock on signal and open frequency." She waited until the line opened. "Colonel, I hear you. I can only give you one pass though, you need to reconfirm your coordinates."
The sounds of the battlefield radiated throughout the cockpit. Damn, and she thought she had it bad up here.
"Coordinates confirmed!" The authoritative shout came back. "Requesting close in air support at Bravo Delta one-one-seven, grid coordinates zero-one-three-four; one-six-nine-five, over!"
She scrolled the databanks to map B-D-117.
A tactical solution locked onto the specific grid coordinates, and fed a holographic view of the area to her HUD. Exactly what he wanted became quite clear then.
"Roger Colonel, if you have any Marines in the area tell them to take cover, I'm inbound and hot."
Ava's mind ran through a pre-strafing check-list.
She went to secondary navigational systems and slowed her flight speed.
She gave a hand signal to her flight lead indicating she was making a run.
She evened out her shield strength on all grids, though if there was even a moderate amount of Flak she doubted very much she'd get out of it alive.
She did her best to re-channel power, but that was of limited help.
She flushed the bussard collector.
And then she plotted her trajectory as the target came in view. Like so many ants below, the T'Kith'kin were working, Hydran and Breen specks moving to help them retake the one building in that whole grid. She had one shot at this, and like every other Federation fighter on that planet today, needed to make it count.
Coming in from high her fighter screamed down like a hawk that found it's prey. Every joule of phaser energy she had in her battered craft was unleashed. Like an ant hill through a magnifying glass on a hot summer day, anything on that bluff was burned to a crisp, and the building destroyed, obliterated into millions of pieces as it's shielding systems were inoperable.
Then the damndest thing... not for the first time something 'completely' unexpected happened.
She hadn't even noticed for a fraction of a second, her eyes focused out the cockpit. When she turned to her screens though they went blank, her HUD went dark, the engines and thrusters shut down... she barely was able to pull up and use the accumulated speed to maintain control of the craft.
****************************************************
-FLIGHT SYSYEMS READINESS-
-WARNING: POWER SYSTEMS DISRUPTED-
Analysis: Power Generation Interrupted
Recommendations: Regenerative Power Generation Sequence engaged; No Recommendations
*****************************************************
The engines kicked on, but it was a bit late. The belly of her fighter hit the edge of the cliff, she did an awesome spiraling flat 360 towards the ground. Her fighter must have skidded for a full kilometer before it finally came to a stop.
"By the Prophets..." she murmured, the Stagnorianette laying back against her seat. "I need a vacation."
Behold what most societies had known as the work of divine intervention.
=============================================================
Just exactly how was crashing a work of divine intervention? Or whatever you happened to call fate?
Unknown to anyone at the time, the Hydrans had built their long-range transporter pad using a specific compound later classified by Federation Scientists as Hydranium. Catchy right? Well it just so happened that when you took Hydranium, and introduced it to regular old oxygen at a high temperature, such as... say... the kind you got from the radiation halo of a high-powered phaser blast, and bombarded the element with nadion particles (which phaser beams were composed of)... you got an awesome energy killing effect.
Like, we'll say, the effect the Breen energy dampening weapon had on ships during the Dominion War. Such was the brilliance of working together and combining technologies.
To understand why it was a miracle, you needed to take a step back.
Starfleet, over the course of centuries, had developed a wealth of combat experience in all sorts of hostile terrain. In fact, Starfleet Marines went through a specific training session of combat in energy adverse environments. As a result, Starfleet's fighters, shuttles, and even their hand-held phaser weapons like rifles and side-arms, were redesigned to be regenerative. A power dampening field made the weapons less efficient, but the regenerative phaser guaranteed they still operated in almost all such regimes.
The Breen, having developed an energy dampening weapon, had never actually fought outside their borders other than by starships. Their troops never needed to engage in combat on such fields... as such they never felt the need to build a regenerative capacity into such insignificant systems.
The Hydrans never faced an energy dampening weapon system in a ground campaign either, and thus they never built regenerative capacity into their land-based systems.
The T'Kith'kin never faced an energy dampening weapon 'period'. NONE of their equipment was regenerative.
The result was that Hydran fighters dropped out of the sky and crashed while their Starfleet counterparts simply had hiccups. Breen battle tanks ground to a halt and dropped like dead-weight, easy pray for their Starfleet counterparts that simply had to reboot. T'Kith'kin ships in low orbit, readying a massive bombardment that would utterly destroy their adversaries, lost all power and spiraled towards the planet, burning up on atmospheric entry.
And that meant, in about twenty seconds, after the initial awe of the beautiful display the reaction they witnessed caused subsided, the Starfleet Marines whom had been put through hell's wringer all day every day since the POW camp was liberated, they were going to realize THEIR weapons still fired, and the Triad's didn't.
Having been cut off and surrounded, the Marines at Dunnich Circle were the first to recognize that their opponents were not, or could not, fire back.
Following that, For'kel's Marines... now at the very edge of the forest they had been defending, like their historical antecedents at Belleau Wood on Earth once did, prepared to take back their woods in the extremely old fashioned way... line abreast, bayonettes fixed, and shooting from the shoulders.
The rest of the Marines, realizing that they had the advantage now, did the same.
The SVG, long abused and battered by the Triad forces, relegated to a supporting role because of their general combat ineffectiveness, and only recently having found a sense of unit pride forged ahead next... determined to avenge themselves on the enemy that had fought for six long months.
It was a massacre in the making.
The couple of hundred surviving T'Kith'kin... those fortunate enough to have been in drop pods when the angelic bright flash occurred, tried closing in on the Marines. They were exterminated with extreme prejudice for their efforts, their soulless and lifeless corpses left to freeze in preservation out in the cold. They were the only ones of the Triad ground forces who didn't feel terrifying fear strike, and that was only because that capacity had been bred out of them.
The Hydrans and Breen on the contrary ran. The brave ground forces of the Breen, famous for NEVER turning their backs to an enemy, broke ranks and ran. There was no serious attempt at a rear-guard action, no real try to slow the Starfleeters down, just a screaming run for someplace far away.
Teufelhunde. It was the name given to US Marines at the battle of Belleau Wood by their German counterparts. It meant 'Devil Dog', like Cerberus the mythical beast that guarded the very gates of hell itself.
For the unfortunate Breen and Hydran troops left alive, fleeing to find some sense of safety anywhere, or even a place where there weapons might actually work, it was an uncannily accurate description. The Starfleet incarnation of Devil Dogs hunted them down. There was no stopping the advance of the black wall of death that was the Federation forces... the normally soft, frail, weak looking faces of the primarily humanoid Federation forces were hidden under the jet-black visors of their battle armor while they raced forward. Some would call it poetic justice that the tormentors had now become the tormented.
For 12 kilometers the Marines hunted them. For 12 kilometers the 'formations' of the Triad endured assaults, artillery barrages, ambushes, sniping... those who couldn't keep up fell to the Marines, as far as their comrades knew they died. The 'only' hope of salvation lay on the other-side of a valley. If they got there, then maybe they could get some of the shuttles operational... get out of dodge before they were captured.
Before they were undoubtedly treated with the same brutality they'd treated the POWs with.
The Triad Fleet, short now a half dozen ships, the T'Kith'kin contingent sent with them, climbed for open space, fearing some sort of new Federation super-weapon that could destroy their fleet. They made no attempt to try and save their ground-troops on Alpha KS-128... risking the ships would leave their hold on Alpha KS-129 undefended. It was there they would have to fall back to. Their sensors had detected the arrival of Federation starships in the system... they couldn't stay. It was too late... for the Triad the barbarians were at the gates.
For the Marines, the cavalry had just arrived.
“Bar-room Diplomacy…”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four “Demeter” – Local Irish Bar ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was inevitable really, no matter where you went, no matter how many light years or how many different species you encountered, if there was even a small Terran population, there was an Irish Bar! Standing outside she looked up at the oh so familiar green four leaf clover with the golden Irish harp insignia rotating inside it. In some ways though, it was reassuring, though it always paid off to check the species of the cook. Irish stew a la Tellarite was not something she ‘Ever’ wanted to touch again as long as she lived.
Stepping inside she paused a moment and looked around, wooden panelling around the walls, comfy chairs scattered throughout the room, dim lighting and music that brought an immediate smile to her face. ‘Goddess I love Irish music!’ She muttered as she walked to the bar.
“Hullo there cailín.” The barkeep greeted her as she walked in. Looking her up and down the Terran behind the bar eyed her garish Hawaiian shirt and jeans with a tolerant shake of his head, obviously used to seeing worse in his time. His eyes though fixed on her comm badge. “You’ll not be one o’ them Starfleet micky-dodgers that wants that ‘synth-ale’ feck would ya?” He asked in a disgusted tone of voice.
“Mead if you have it please, as real as it comes.” Kimberly asked with a smile, leaning on the bar, starting to unwind the more he spoke. There was something about an Irish accent that was so relaxing.
“Ah, now that I have cailín, you sit yourself down somewhere and I’ll go see to a bottle for ya.” Vanishing through a door behind the bar he left her there smiling. Picking a quiet corner she settled into a low soft chair with a sigh of contentment. Putting her feet up on the table she settled lower into the seat and closed her eyes. Let everyone else enjoy the noisy clubs, bars where you had to scream to be heard, this was relaxing. True, Irish pubs could be just as rowdy, or even more so that just about any other bar in existence, but right now this was perfect.
She was checked in for her event, preliminaries were going on over the next few days but right now all she needed was to get off ship and relax, most of the crew were doing the same, though there were rumours of something else going on, but what the hell, if she were needed that’s what the funny looking ‘A’ on her shirt was for!
Hearing the gentle clink of glass on glass after a moment she opened her eyes to see the barkeep pouring a honey coloured liquid from an unlabelled bottle into a small glass. “Home brewed, best mead in this sector or any around us.” He proclaimed sincerely and proudly. Standing back with the bottle in one hand he looked on expectantly, obviously waiting.
Smiling patiently she picked up the glass and gently inhaled the aroma, ~ Ah… Mead. ~ Savouring the smell she sipped the drink then swallowed slowly, enjoying the smooth flavour. Nodding she held out the glass, “That Sir, is very good.” She complimented him, “fill it up and leave the bottle. And if you have any more you can ship a dozen bottles to the USS Galaxy for the attention of the Chief Medical Officer.”
“That I can do,” he promised, “you sit an’ relax, if’n you be needing anythin’ else jus’ holler.”
Sitting back again she topped up her glass, closed her eyes and let her mind drift. For the first time in weeks she just let her mind wander, random articles from medical journals came and went, snippets from a piece by Tennyson she had yet to finish reading, a metal note that she needed to log a formal reprimand for Maxwell. All things she could ignore for now.
Right now, all that mattered was mead, Irish music, and in a little while checking to see what species the chef was.
<= Have you found her yet Zelo! => The voice that came through a comm badge was without a doubt the most chilling and sobering moment of recent memory for Kimberly, the pleasant warmth of the home brewed mead was swept away in an instant by a rush of adrenalin to be replaced by a bone numbing chill, half an hour or more of pleasant relaxation and mead vanished at the sound of that voice. ~ Oh no…!!! no! No!! NO!!! ~ her mind began repeating over and over. Opening her eyes she sat upright and stared at the four security officers who had entered the bar while she had been daydreaming. One of them was heading her way, the others relaxing near the bar, it was from the one walking towards her that ‘his’ voice was coming from.
<= I told you to search the bars down there, not sample their wares! Now, have, you, found, her! => Speaking slowly, as if to a slow child the voice over the comms was pleasant, smooth, but there was no mistaking the steel edge to it.
“Affirmative Sir, tricorder scan checks out, we have her, she’s right here in front of me.” The Lieutenant obviously leading the foursome smirked down at Kimberly as he stopped before her table, “We’ll be inviting her up shortly Captain.”
<= Good. Oh, and Kimmie, I was pleasantly surprised when the Galaxy was sent to participate, it’ll be nice to catch up. => With a chirp the line closed, but Kimberly found herself not listening anymore, standing she realised the Lieutenant towered over her by more than a foot, and was probably almost double her weight. Breathing in and out faster and faster she looked around, watching as his friends settled into chairs and waved to the barkeep.
“What if I don’t want to go!” She asked belligerently, her anxiety levels rising more and more with the passing of each second.
“Now darling, the skipper wants to see you, so we go see the skipper. Simple isn’t it. And seeing as there’s four of us and only one of you, and seeing as you’re the non violent type according to the boss I don’t really see how you can refuse.”
“Oh Gos-se!” Kimberly muttered as the Bajoran turned slightly and smirked to his comrades, obviously confident that even in their drunken state their superior numbers, and the reassurance of her unwillingness to resist she would go peaceably. Frustrated, angry and still shaking from hearing ‘that’ voice so unexpectedly again, reason and logic suddenly took a back seat in her mind and a kind of haze washed over her eyes, one thought and one thought alone was prominent in her mind, she was ‘Not’ going with them! Stepping back a little she swung wildly at Bajoran, instinctively and without thought, and watched with some satisfaction as her opponent staggered back slightly from the sloppy punch, probably more out of surprise than anything else she realised. Seizing the initiative, and knowing she’d never hear the end of it if word got back to the ship about all this she stepped forward slightly and with as much force as she could muster she launched the point of her foot into the tender area of most humanoid males. Right between his legs.
Still slightly off balance, a combination of alcohol and her wild punch, the Lieutenant was unable to even think about dodging.
What happened next is something most humanoid males prefer not to think about, as it invariably brings tears to their eyes… Even those without tear ducts!
The Lieutenant suddenly experienced a physiological rearrangement at something akin to high warp speed. His internal organs shifted to make way for the high speed passage of a new set of tonsils that lodged themselves firmly above his existing set. This rapid relocation of bodily parts through his throat obviously stretched his vocal cords to such a point that he was suddenly unable to emit anything but a thready high pitched squeak that seemed to linger in the air. Conversation and movement in the nearby area ceased as every humanoid male cringed at that sound, a universal sound of a male in such agony that it was beyond adequate vocalisation.
Still emitting that high pitched squeaking noise, the Bajoran sank to his knees, protectively clutching the previous location of his new tonsils. Rolling onto the floor, he lay there, whimpering and squeaking to himself, his mind and body now firmly locked in its own private world of agony, a place few ever went to, a place of such torment that the mind forever shuns away from such memories with a primal fear from its dimmest recesses.
Looking down at the mass of quivering protoplasm on the floor Kimberly just smiled and looked around, trying to maintain the satisfied air and smug smirk that seemed to go with the occasion. Ignoring his companions, who had all risen from their seats, but were hesitating as to what to do next she stepped over the blob on the floor and walked out, head held high. Hoping that she could control her now rolling stomach until she got outside, she nodded politely to the Tellarite who held the door open for her, then, once clear of the bar bolted for the nearest toilet to be violently and repeatedly sick.
"Getting Started"
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
& some Tangnagel Array personnel
==Tangnagel Array in the Tycho Epsilon system==
While K'aa had gone to the Array's main computer core and Ensign
Matthews to the engeineering section to begin work, Commander Jaxom
went to the main control center so they could coordinate their
efforts.
Jaal walked through the cramped corridors trying not to think too much
about the smell. It wasn't a bad smell per se, it was just different
than he was used to… 'way' different.
The Captain of the Kepler was right, this station and it's crew were
long over due for turning over and refreshing. Many things the Trill
noticed needed some attention.
The petty officer showing him the way was a jittery mess. The poor
guy's rotation off the comm. Station had been put off since the war
started and it showed. "W-w-we're almm-m-m-ost there."
"Do you always stutter?" Jaal asked in a kindly manner.
"N-n-no. It only st-st-started recently."
"Have you considered laying off the caffienated beverages?" Jaal asked
trying not to sound like a smart ass.
"G-g-ot to stay alert!" he straightened his posture with his reply,
"Th-there's a war going on you know." The petty officer looked back to
Jaal as they continued on through the narrow halls. "Have you seen
m-m-much action sir?"
Jaal nodded solemnly, "Yeah." He tried to sound like he didn't want to
talk about it but that didn't stop P.O. Jittery.
"Wh-what kind? If you don't m-m-mind my asking." He stopped walking at
the door to the command center, "We've taken to looking at some of the
comm signals that pass through the array for some news… b-b-but I'm
sure you know all the real news is encrypted and we haven't been able
to crack any of the codes…" then, realizing what he was saying the
ensign retracted the last statement, "N-n-n-not that we're
tr-tr-trying to hack into sensitive information."
Jaal raised one eyebrow, "Look," he rested one hand on the ensign's
shoulder, "We all understand you've been bored to tears and
desperately need a well deserved break. You're going to get one,
believe me… and to be honest, I don't think anyone will blame you for
peeking into the comms you were able to… but I'm going to suggest you
don't mention it to anyone else."
Jittery nodded eagerly. "O-o-okay." He stepped into the door sensors
range and it slid open obediently.
The command center looked fairly like a smaller starship bridge with
the exception that there was no command chair or conn and ops consoles
in the middle. Instead, there was a table that looked very much like
the 'pool table' in a ship's main engineering chamber. Arranged around
the table was surrounded by six ergonomic chairs. Around the perimeter
of the room were more consoles and displays showing the status of the
array's variety of systems. There were no windows to the outside Which
Jaal felt gave the place a claustrophic feel that he didn't care for
at all.
In fact, now that the thought came to the forefront of Jaal's mind,
the entire array had a claustrophobic feel. He decided that accounted
for the slight uneasiness he'd felt since beaming over from the
Kepler.
Once they stepped in they noticed in one corner a pair of bodies very
close to each other. Jaal scratched the side of his cheek as he
scrutinized the couple. He shook his head slowly back and forth while
loudly 'ahemming'.
The two untangled themselves and snapped to attention. Both were very
red in the face and both trying to zip up the fronts of their
cover-alls quickly.
Jaal stood watching the youngsters with his arms folded across his
chest. He tried to look stern but he also remembered getting caught in
much the same way in his younger days fresh out of the academy… and
before.
From the looks of them they were barely out of basic training when
they were assigned to the array. The petty officer that brought Jaal
to the command center looked equally embarrassed. "Th-this is
Commander Jaxom. He's head of the team that's upgrading the array."
"Hi," Jaal said gruffly.
Jittery looked to the commander, "These are crewmen Kathy Roberts and
Terrence Stevens… the current duty operators." He explained with an
unhidden tone of disgust.
"Miss Roberts," Jaal looked at the brunette, then to her sandy haired
male counter-part. "Mister Stevens. Do I need to remind you that we're
here to work?"
"No sir!" they chimed in unison.
"And that there's a 'war' going on?"
"Yes sir!"
"And that the strategic importance of this station has been elevated
to a much higher level than you're used to?"
"Yes sir!"
Jaal held up three PADDs he'd been carrying. "Good. Then I can count
on you two to save the shenanigans for your off-duty hours. We have
things to do to get ready for the upgrade." He walked over and handed
each crewman one of the PADDs, "Here's a list of diagnostics that need
to be completed before your duty shift ends today. Let's try to keep
our minds on the tasks at hand, shall we?"
"Yes sir!"
Each crewman took their PADD and headed over to the far side of the
room and began tapping consoles.
Jaal, still holding one PADD in his hand looked to Jittery with
narrowed eyes. "That sort of thing happen often?" It was then that
Jaal noticed the furious expression on the petty officer's face.
"Something wrong?"
Jittery, whose real name was Petty Officer Second Class Bernard
Blanks, looked right back at Jaxom, "N-no sir… I mean, w-w-well. Kind
of… no." He was careful to speak soft enough to not be overheard by
the others. The look of anger was immediately replaced by one of
rejection.
Jaal sighed. The problem was obvious now. "Care to talk about it?
It'll make you feel better. Believe me." The Trill spoke in an equally
soft tone. "How long did you two date?"
Blanks closed his eyes for a second. When they reopened he explained
in a hushed tone. "Almost th-the entire time we've been here. I-I-I've
never s-seen them together l-l-ike that before."
Jaal glanced over his shoulder. Miss Roberts turned her attention
immediately back to the console and pretended to study the information
it was displaying while keeping a conspicuous distance from Stevens.
"Look, you'll have to talk to her about it another time," Jaal spoke
with empathy, "There's a counselor with us. You might want to talk to
him. Right now, we have duties to perform. Now, are you going to all
right?"
Bernard nodded, "Yes sir."
"Good."
"Can I ask you a question sir? A personal question?" Bernard asked suddenly.
"Sure." Jaal answered.
"What would you do?"
Jaal's brow furrowed in thought. He'd lost a lot of women in just
about every way one could think of throughout his life. "You have to
decide whether or not you want to hang on to her. If you do, then talk
to her. Find out what she's thinking. Find out how she feels about
you. Find out how she feels about him. Then you two can work things
out and hopefully this won't happen again."
"Wh-what if…"
Jaal didn't give Bernard a chance to finish, "If you decide it's over
now or she won't talk, or she tells you it's over get yourself another
girlfriend and kick Stevens in the dick and be done with'em both. Now
let's get to work."
Jaal thrust his last PADD at the petty officer and began to tap the
console next to him.
Bernard looked at the commander incredulously, almost as if he didn't
believe what he'd just heard. "Really?"
Jaal stopped typing a moment and looked at him somewhat annoyed that
the conversation was going on longer than it should have. "Yes.
Really. Now, if you want some shore leave, start that level eight
diagnostic on the high gain antenna receiver assembly."
"History Unfolding" Part 5- Finale
Colonel For'kel Arvelion-SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
And Special Guest Appearance By
Lieutenant Colonel Peter Shaw- SFMC (Written by Russ)
Commanding Officer
82nd Starfleet Marines Regimental Combat Team
============================================
(Alpha KS-128)
For'kel looked overhead with some hesitance. Given the way things had gone, he half figured to see the sun blotted out by T'Kith'kin drop pods. Enough T'Kith'kin soldiers, and it didn't matter how much of a technological advantage they had at this point, they'd get overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
He was relieved when the craft that were blocking out the sun-light turned out to be the forms of Starfleet Marine Corps Hoppers.
The few Hydran fighters left in the skies were quickly dealt with by the dozen or so squadrons of SFFC and SFMC craft escorting the Hoppers. In the horizon, streaks of fire added some orange to the otherwise azure, cloudless sky. The fact that the fighters and hoppers appeared to be in no particular rush suggested to For'kel they must have been enemy vessels... otherwise there would be a lot more urgency.
Above them, looking down from one of the dozens of hoppers, was an old friend.
============================================================
"Colonel," the hopper pilot called out, "it looks like we have some Triad forces moving through the valley."
Pete smiled. "Drop us in their way. Tell Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta companies to fall in behind us. I want Echo and Foxtrot in kill zones on either ridge-line. Get our scout snipers deployed."
"Aye sir!" The co-pilot replied as he sent out the orders along the tactical intranet.
Looking up from the surface one just saw a mass of drop ships fall in around the valley. As the Marines of the 82nd 'All Amazings' Marine Regimental Combat Team unloaded, they took up positions to start taking out the Triad forces if they needed to. Mortar positions were set. Interlocking fields of fire were established. Snipers set up basic nests, singling out key personnel through their scopes. On either side of the valley, Marine Corps hover-tanks trained their weapons inward, their AMAT rounds ready to wreak untold havoc on the majority Breen Triad force trapped inside.
A few minutes later Pete's XO, Major Claire 'Chesty' Puller, walked up to him. "Sir," she started, "all forces are deployed. We are also starting to make contact with the scattered Starfleet forces that still remain."
Pete thought momentarily. He hadn't kept track of his old Commander and friend, but he did know the Galaxy had been in this sector not too long ago. "Get me their Commander. And can someone broadcast a surrender request to this Triad freaks please. Otherwise we are going to have to kill them all, and the paper work on that just sucks!"
Chesty nodded and walked off to give the orders.
The Triad forces came to a stop in the valley. They were officially 'boned'. They had no weapons at all to speak of. They had Starfleet Marines ahead of them, Starfleet Marines behind them, and by now it was rather obvious that their ships weren't coming back to help them. They had no fighters to come to their rescue. They had no Artillery to open a hole they could escape through. There was no armor coming up to break them out of this jam. There were no shuttles landing to pick them up.
Several of the Breen, some who had fled from the POW camp or were someway involved with it, were already formulating cover stories in hopes of avoiding punishment. There was an audible clatter as the majority of the enemy troops, over 20,000 strong, just surrendered and threw themselves at the mercy of their Federation captors.
Some fought on... either out of pride and sense of duty, or because their own crimes were so grievous they expected no mercy from the Federation. Those were laid low in fairly short order.
"About damn time your people showed up." For'kel smirked while the Marines busied themselves taking prisoners for transport to the awaiting flotilla of ships. "It's been a long time Pete. Wow, a Lieutenant Colonel huh? Starfleet must be getting desperate."
Pete turned and saw his friend and smiled, "well, we were over at Risa. Enjoying the beaches, women," he said as he hugged his old friend. "How the hell did you end up out here? And me rescuing you AGAIN!?"
"Nice of you to show up to 'rescue' us when we had them on the run." For'kel smirked. "And in either case, I don't remember there ever being a 'first' time, you and your again." He shook Pete's hand. "Hope you've got room on all your ships up there for this many prisoners."
"Sir." Leah patted the Colonel's arm. "Reports from the ships in orbit. Most of the Alamo staff made it to the underground bunkers, they've beamed most of them up and the rest should be out shortly."
Fork nodded, grateful for that bit of news. "Sergeant Ilal?"
"Was among the survivors, sir." Leah smiled. "He had minor injuries though, the doctor on the... Athena... says it's going to be a day or two before he's up hacking computers and intercepting comm signals again, but he'll be fine."
"Good. Send out squads to pick up any downed pilots and report back here."
"You should also know sir..." Leah's smile faded as she reported the grim news. "General Yotz was among the dead."
The Stagnorian bit down on a chapped lip, nodded, and began taking stock of everything around him. Looking around, the amount of devastation the fighting had wrought on the otherwise pristine world was a real eye-opener to just exactly how fortunate they were to be alive, let alone victorious. It was the ones that weren't... the way the POWs they rescued were treated, the death and destruction the Triad brought however, that burned him deeply.
Sometimes, revenge was entirely justifiable. "Your Marines going to be around for a while, Pete?"
"Long enough to make sure we are secure," he replied. "And grats on the position promotion," he said. "What the hell happened here?"
"The usual, I'll explain in detail while we're on the way. We need to hit the next system over, Alpha KS-129."
"Sir?" Private Owen followed. "I thought our mission was to secure 128? Didn't we do that?"
"We did... but it's not enough." For'kel pulled off his helmet and set it under his arm. Leah did the same, the petite blonde shaking her hair free. "I know the Marines are exhausted, I know we've accomplished our mission here, and I know we've all earned a ticket home. But as long as the Triad holds 129, what we won here isn't secure, and I can't leave this half-finished. We take out 129, and we shut down the invasion route and secure a sub-space highway straight to the front. They need to be made to understand..."
"I thought that was what we fought 'this' battle, for?" Leah, knowing she was treading on thin ice by the tone the Colonel suddenly took, tried delicately pointing out.
Fork took a breath, trying to calm down. He was still running high on adrenaline, and the fatigue, exhaustion, and physical deprivation of the campaign didn't do anything to salve his temperament. There was definitely a punitive element to his thinking... not so much revenge, but rather a desire to guarantee they weren't back here 6 months from now re-fighting the same battle. "The SVG and the 4th MD can hold things down here. Up for one more attack?" He turned to Pete.
Pete nodded, "I know my marines are, but yours are pretty beat up. It wouldn't hurt to put a stay for 48 hours. We will need at least that much time to processes the POWs, not to mention I would hate to give the Triad forces a weekend group to battle against. Would make them look that much worse for loosing," he grinned.
"It also gives them 48 hours to rush in more reinforcements. We can't take that risk." For'kel headed off towards one of the hoppers. "The 4th and the SVG can handle processing the POWs. If we move quickly we can attack 129 while they're still weak. They can't have much in reserve, or they would've sent it here. Let's go get them."
Pete looked over at "Chesty" and he could read her face like he could read his own wife's. "Give the orders," Pete finally replied. "Tell the Liberte we are on our way back up. At least two ships need to stay in orbit with a fighter squadron to support the marines staying. And find me "Geo". I want a landing spot on that planet."
"Aye sir," she said as she walked off. Pete headed in the other direction after Fork. "Fork," he said when they were out of ear shot of the others. "I don’t want to guess what you guys went through. I've seen some of these aftermaths. I've had to pick up more pieces, clean up more people, rescue more people then I'd dare to guess. But I do know one thing. These marines need rest. The Triad won't notice they have lost communications for at least eight hours. Let your men rest. It will do them no good to go into a new fight with no rest."
"There will be time to rest on the ride to one-twenty-nine." The Stagnorian said with a weary grin. "My Marines have been here since the start, Pete. We're going to see this through to the finish."
====================================================================
(Alpha KS-129)
The Methane atmosphere of Alpha KS-129 made it the perfect staging point for the Hydrans in this sector. While the battle to secure the other side of the sub-space highway was underway, Alpha KS-129 had been a hot bed of activity. Breen and Hydran Construction Battalions had built a viable military base on the planet, defended by a T'Kith'kin Regiment, a Breen Naval Infantry Brigade, and two divisions of Hydran Imperial Marines. The base included a T'Kith'kin breeding laboratory, and an industrial replication center for the mass production of military equipment and supplies. A powerful sensor network, not yet fully operational, plus an integrated space and planetary defense network (also not yet fully operational) made up the major systems in play.
The theory had been that once 128 was captured, the Hydrans could eventually establish shipyards around 129, and launch entire fleets directly into the heart of the Federation enemy. A number of divisions, the reserves for the 128 attack, had already moved through the base on 129, and last news was that another 30,000 soldiers were on their way, and a second battle-group of 16 ships were being sent to reinforce the system's defenses.
Those reinforcements were not going to come though. They'd been pulled away in the effort to shore up the conquest of Delta IV. Naturally, with the way complex bureaucracies worked in tri-partite alliances, none of the respective commands opted to inform the Commander of 129's garrison of this change. After all, the Hydran General must at this point have had enough forces to maintain 129. A victory at 128, in the eyes of the upper echelon, was insured. Why would they need then to divert such resources to garrison duty on a planet that was behind their lines?
But things hadn't gone as planned on 128. Above and beyond the reserves that had been sent, the Breen general on 128 requested additional forces. The Hydran General had authorized the deployment of the Breen Brigade and T'Kith'kin regiment via the newly developed long-range transporter. A part of him salivated to see if the device would be successful... if it was, his enemies would have a new fear to contemplate.
He was disappointed when the 7,500 strong force of Breen and T'Kith'kin soldiers re-materialized back on the mass transporter pad some twenty minutes later. According to his operator, there was no receiver signal from the installation on 128, triggering a safety protocol that sent the multiple data streams being redirected by the unmanned 'pipeline' satellite stations right back to the originator. He wasn't quite sure he followed, but he didn't need to understand, he saw the results.
They sent an encoded message to 128, wondering what the hell was up.
They received no response.
Then, just twenty minutes ago, 128 missed it's last status report. That was the first time anyone thought something was wrong. Orders were given for the Flak points to be manned, for the main shield generator to be powered up, and for all ground troops to assemble for defensive deployment. For the troops on 129 that had expected to sit back and watch a quick fight from the safety of the back, and had become accustomed to rear-echelon duty, a rude awakening was in the works.
Half-completed defensive systems went on the fritz.
Gun-crews found their weapons incompletely installed.
The fighters on 129 launched, most manned by inexperienced, hastily trained novices who were in the midst of training when they were called up.
And the worst... the power-grid fried at one point from the sudden onset of demand necessitating a complete power-down.
The fleet moved into low, geo-synchronous orbit to transport badly needed repair components and engineering staff to the surface. The transports they had taken to arrive at 129 now served as manufacturing centers, replicating and dispensing supplies as quickly as they could.
This time it was the Triad fleet that would get caught flat-footed, in low orbit defending 'light-weights'.
=======================================================
(Bridge- U.S.S. Athena N.C.C. 79215)
The second Sovereign Class starship of Task Force Sigma, like a hunter stalking it's prey, began making it's way past the star designated Alpha KS-129. Behind her, 47 Federation starships and numerous squadrons of starfighters. The Hydran fighters on the other side of the star had been easily handled, before they could so much as warn of the oncoming danger. It would be another few minutes yet before the solar plane was arranged in such a way that the enemy ships would realize the several picket fighters had disappeared, and with the more powerful planetary array down...
It really shouldn't have been this easy.
In command of the Athena, a joined Trill woman in her mid to late 30's by the name of Alypia Batica Casex.
"We're receiving a transmission from Captain Limariko of the Saratoga, ma'am." The Lurian Operations Officer reported. "We have permission to engage."
Alypia nodded. "Signal the rest of our battle group. Standard phalanx battle formation. Shields to full, standby all weapons. Let's stick to the plan. Torpedo barrage at maximum range, close in at one-half impulse. Priority to targets designated by SWAC."
The crew of the Athena, as professional as any crew in the task force, snapped to work. The Federation Task force closed in on their targets in the standard block formations. As soon as each phalanx reached the maximum torpedo range of 3.5 million kilometers, they let loose with their quantum torpedoes by the salvo. The 48 ships fired 240 torpedoes, nearly the whole complement of a Galaxy class starship, in the span of 5 seconds. The torpedoes sped to their targets, impacting where they could.
Admiral Sl'trek on the K'lar felt the salvo come in before his crew could even warn him of the assault. At different stations on the behemoth Dreadnought, the inbound shots were detected. It's shields went up as soon as it's tactical sensors indicated to it's crew that they were acquired by targeting sensors. It's operators then worked on counter-measures, though without the simultaneous ability to maneuver courtesy of their atmospheric position, their counter-measures were wholly ineffective. The heavy shielding system of his ship sustained six direct hits from quantum torpedoes... a brunt not easily born by any kind of ship.
And his was lucky. Other ships were not so fortunate. The transports in particular, lacking the coordinated response of the practiced crews of their big brothers and thus slower to respond, often found themselves sustaining direct torpedo hits without even the benefit of shielding. Two of them were destroyed in orbit, their wreckage being spun at high speed by the planet's gravity and the explosion behind them... leading to heavy shards slicing into other hulls and causing extensive physical damage.
Like Captain Von Ernst before him, the Breen commander ordered his ships to climb as rapidly as was possible, and in turn left the transports stuck fending for themselves. The Defiant class ships with Task Force Sigma ravaged the lightweights, and the half dozen destroyers trying to serve as a screen. The almost 2 to 1 numerical advantage the Starfleet force enjoyed was multiplied early on by the gravity induced sluggish reaction times of the Triad force. The ill-trained Hydran fighters were slaughtered by the veteran Starfleet pilots whom also had the advantage of diving at their land-based counterparts. The fact that the starships of the Triad force were left fending for their own defenses only guaranteed their ineffective flak production.
There was only one option... every ship was going to be left on it's own. The Admiral had to sling everything he had at one portion of the Federation line, pray for a breakthrough, and then get whatever he could through the breakthrough.
The massive impellars of the K'lar flung the ship forward. It's tactical department launched every torpedo it could, stopping just for reload. They targeted a specific section of the Federation line, heavy and light disruptor turrets blazing away. All around her, her fighter compliment exploded in a really costly fireworks display.
But there were just too many targets even for the heavy hitting K'lar. The Federation fired back with it's own heavy punches, two Sovereigns and a Galaxy Dreadnought pummeling it's bow as it tried making it's break. From it's port and starboard midship, two Prometheus class battle cruisers opened up with their high-powered phaser banks. A trio of Akira Class ships let loose with their massive torpedo armament.
The K'lar's tactical crew responded by moving the entirety of the K'lar's secondary shielding system to the bow, and it's tertiary shielding to it's port and starboard. They drew heavily on their power reserves and rear shields, it's 45 disruptor cannons chattering away with one pulse after another. It's 6 energy dampening weapons firing ineffectively in hopes of just getting the Federation ships to break. Her 2,100 crew did their best to show their advanced ship's ability to roar. They disabled one ship of the Saber Class, and forced the withdrawal of a Nebula Class cruiser.
Behind her, a Breen Destroyer exploded, and a Hydran light-cruiser began plummeting back towards the planet. A Defiant Class ship had shot it's engines and thruster assemblies out, and gravity was a merciless opponent.
The power output of the K'lar was such that her rear sensors didn't even register the Defiant Class. The Defiant brilliantly followed it up, her quantum torpedoes armed, her phaser cannons primed, all of which expertly let loose mere kilometers away from the K'lar. The mighty ship's shields collapsed under the weight of the assault, and her aft based turrets turned to fire manually. Their crews just barely chasing off the Defiant.
And in doing so repeating the earlier mistake. This time however it was a mixed group of fighters, SFMC and SFFC pilots about to demonstrate why 'sometimes' a razor blade could be far more utilitarian than a broad-sword.
The SFMC fighters, pre-loaded with torpedoes designed for homing in on ground units, fired them point blank at the impellar assemblies of the K'lar. A dozen Mk. VI photon torpedoes struck their mark, equivalent to the same firepower as an original run Intrepid Class emptying out a third of it's torpedo armament on a single target. Coupled with the gatling phaser cannons, it was as if someone had cut the giant in the room off at the knees. A large trail of flaming, ionized plasma began steaming from the second and third impellar assemblies, cutting the K'lar's maximum sub-light speed by 40%.
Then the SFFC fighters, originally primed for fighter supremacy missions, opened fire. Their torpedoes were the weaker micro versions, but they were carried in 'much' greater numbers. Coupled with their guns, the armored impellar covers were punched through and substantial damage was caused to the first and fourth (outboard) impellar assembles. The K'lar's best sub-light speed was now only one-third of it's normal capacity. With the Federation ships blocking it's way, warp was impossible... and without speed it was going to be even more exposed to the heavy fire being sustained on it.
There were just too many targets for the K'lar to stagger fire her mighty guns on. She chose the Saratoga, apparently the flagship of the enemy fleet to receive the majority of her fire... but the Saratoga had heavy shields and a lot of speed. After a heavy exchange that left the K'lar woefully weakened on the starboard side with only minimal damage inflicted on the Saratoga, the Federation ship ran out of range, replaced by her comrade 'Athena'.
What planetary defenses there were opened up on the Federation force, but these consisted solely of their mid-power cannons. The Federation ships just stayed back, making it impossible for these systems to play a major role.
The shields were weakening.
Damage control teams scrambled back and forth trying to repair what they could.
Soon there were gaps in the K'lar's shielding. Her heavily armored hide began taking the brutal punishment of direct torpedo and phaser hits. In spots it became spent, and hull breeches were soon forming.
Still. the mighty K'lar struggled on. Her valiant crew, among the best in the Confederacy, made their Starfleet counterparts work for every firing solution, every targeting arc, every hit and miss. They threw everything they had into the effort, jamming communications, jamming sensors, drawing the power from their destroyed impellars to redistribute, firing, firing, and firing some more. She spurred towards one of the Akira's, before veering back into line with one of the Prometheus ships.
Three vessels were disabled by the K'lar... it would take 4 months worth of shipyard time to repair the damage wrought by the K'lar. Her crew battled bravely, upholding the honor and pride of the Breen Confederacy. Still, she was taking an enormous amount of damage... her commander certainly, and her crew likely, knew there was no escape. Even as they moved into the heart of the Federation formation, the Starfleet ships could hunt her down. All she could do now was buy time for her escort vessels to escape.
In one of a number of ironic twists that marked the Alpha KS-128 campaign, the USS Hispania, an old fashioned Excelsior Class ship that was part of the support squadron, dealt the K'lar her fatal blow. Having been upgraded to Lakota standard so that she could tend to the Defiant class vessels on long cruises, she shoved four quantum torpedoes and three heavy caliber phaser blasts into the K'lar's aft. One of those torpedoes found the K'lar's row of anti-matter storage tanks that fueled her fighter wing as well as her own reactors. The antimatter escaped, explosively annihilating all matter it came across. Protective force fields were raised, but by then explosions had spread all along the power distribution of the network, forming fissures in the hull a dozen or more levels deep. Several of her heavy turrets simply exploded 'off' of her hull.
The Hispania barely had time to get clear as explosion after explosion set the K'lar ablaze from bow to stern.
Her shields dropped, and with three-quarters of her crew dead or dying the K'lar became wracked by explosions. Her own reactor succumbed three minutes and seventeen seconds after the Hispania's shots.
The rest of the Triad ships ran, but like foxes in the hunt they were hounded. Just one Hydran gun-ship, too unimportant to be bothered with, made it out of the foray. Every transport and capitol ship had been annihilated or captured... with the Federation losing just 3 ships disabled and a smattering of fighters lost.
There was a lengthy bombardment of the planet now that her space borne defenses had been laid wasted. With incomplete planetary defenses, there was nothing the green troops on 128 could do. Salvo by salvo, the Federation fleet annihilated her outer defenses, took advantage of the gaps in her shields, and devastated her fortifications. It lasted for the longest hour anyone on the surface ever lived.
By the time the Marines landed, the enemy on the ground, cut off from any hope of evacuation, reinforcement or resupply, threw their hands up in surrender. There were a few small skirmishes, and the instance of lone diehards fighting as much as they could... but the casualties for the Marines were extremely low. Most of the 15,000 survivors of the bombardment gave up without much of a fight.
The mission was over.
"Holo Threats"
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - USS Galaxy
& Special Guest
Holodeck Four - USS Galaxy
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~
Shivering, and not because of the chill in the air, Kimberly looked around
the dank cave and wondered where the next abomination would appear from. Six
so far in quick succession, and with no way of knowing how many there were
she didn't really want to get trapped down a narrow tunnel with them bearing
down on her, manoeuvrability was an asset right now, especially since they
seemed unable to turn after starting their charge.
Hearing a noise behind her she whirled around, expecting to see a mottled
grey and black horror starting its charge, instead though what she saw gave
her a fright of a very different and stomach churning nature. Thinking for a
moment that Lieutenant Krieghoff had entered the holodeck she opened her
mouth to give him a very blunt and loud dismissal, she found though her
voice caught in her throat as the figure stepped to the edge of the circle
of dim light in the cavern.
It wasn't Victor. In hindsight she should have expected this really. Over
the years her memory of the man had faded slightly, there was only a vague
passing resemblance to Victor, mainly around the eyes, but there was one
thing they both could do without any effort what so ever, they both
instilled fear in her.
Failing to hear the deep and steady patter of daemon hooves until it was too
late Kimberly found herself suddenly bouncing off a wall and onto the floor
as the creature took advantage of her lapse of attention. Feeling the
artefact slip from her grasp as she hit the floor she curled up as the
daemon landed on her. Even with the safety protocols on, the assault knocked
the wind out of her, she also knew her back and ribs would be protesting
loudly in the morning and she'd be black and blue from the assault.
[Program concluded] the computer announced emotionlessly, [You have died.]
Cursing silently she squirmed partially out from under the creature that had
just killed her and looked at the figure now stood in the dim light in the
centre of the cavern, recognising the face with no difficulty she found
herself biting her lip so hard she tasted blood, "What the Fuck are you
doing here!" she snapped angrily.
"Why Kimmie," he replied in his deceptively soft voice, "can't I swing by
and see an old war buddy when I'm in the vicinity?"
"Piss off!" she said, clearly angry at more than being interrupted.
Not making a move to help her out from under the creature the man stood
watching, "I thought I'd let you know myself since I was nearby, I got
promoted. It's Captain Russo now, of the USS Templar... Are you happy for
me?"
"Look, how can I phrase this so it penetrates your thick skull..." she said
in a deeply sarcastic tone as she squirmed a little more, "Chur ni-duh...
Tah mah duh hwoon dahn," she nearly shouted as she finally extracted herself
from under the creature, satisfied that the few expletives she'd learned
from him in their time during the war were still fresh in her mind. Raising
her voice as she stood, "Computer, end program!" she called. Receiving no
reply she glared at the figure before her, "what'd you do!"
"I thought we should have a little time to talk," settling down on a
convenient rock he looked at Kimberly in her nineteen twenties garb and
raised an eyebrow, "That's not polite you know."
"You should know, you taught 'em to me. And the last time we talked I ended
up regretting it, still do!" she reminded him, "just go away!" she snapped
angrily.
"In a while, since you were so close I thought I'd take the opportunity to
stop by. My assistant chief of security was most put out with you by the
way, I assured him you were a most peaceful person, he's, ah, still smarting
somewhat from his encounter with you." His tone was soft, deceptively
smooth, yet the whole time he never took his eyes off Kimberly.
"Well you've seen me, now so don't let the forcefield burn your butt on the
way out!" she practically spat, "and don't send any more of your goons after
me!"
"I might remind you that you are addressing a superior officer."
"Oh you're a superior something," she replied quickly, "I saw plenty of your
superiority on some Goddess forsaken rock in Cardassian space. And might I
remind you I saw only too well how you treated people there, friends and
enemies!"
"Hey, I wasn't the one acting like some jian-huo." He said in an almost
emotionless tone.
"I was eighteen you Bastard, a Cadet, and I trusted you!" She cried out,
practically shouting now. "You were a Starfleet Officer and I guess I was
stupid in thinking you might have known better than I did! You were the one
who 'told' me what had to be done!" Starting to feel a little dizzy, and not
from her recent flying experience she looked around, trying to recall where
the tunnels behind her led to, wanting to get away from him. "You lied to
me."
"I said we needed information, how you got it was entirely up to you, you
said you could do it." In comparison to her anger he seemed serenity
itself, sat there talking softly.
"After you persuaded me, told me what he was like. You..." words failing her
she looked at him again and found her fists clenched so hard her nails were
cutting into her palms, and for the first time in many years she found
herself full of anger and was ready to lash out at another living being with
forethought and malice... "Go away!" She said from between clenched teeth,
"go find some deep dark worthless hole and stick your fucking worthless hide
into it... Wang bao DHAN..."she started, raising her voice as she did so.
"I still am your superior officer," he interrupted her, still speaking
softly.
"Not in my book," she snapped, "and I hope one day everyone else finds out
what I know!"
"Ah, but then, the record of a war hero is never looked at too closely,
people want to remember the good times... not dredge up old memories and
innuendos that can't be proved." He reminded her cheerfully.
~ Yet! ~ she thought hopefully, "Are you gonna go?" she asked impatiently,
desperately wanting to get out of the holodeck have a shower and throw up.
"In a moment, aren't you curious as to why I made the trip here?" he asked
mildly.
"No! Computer, medical override, chief medical officer, emergency shut down
of holodeck four and open the doors!" she ordered in a loud voice.
As the simulation faded around them Kimberly was a little upset to see that
the years hadn't dulled his reflexes; Russo was already stood by the time
she was half done instructing the computer! What mortified her was that he
was *between* her and the door as well! Skirting around him she headed for
the door, trying to keep as much distance between them. There was a
desperate need right now to find a 'fresher to throw up in. Even the most
gruesome moments in her horror holonovels, or a manic triage session in
sickbay hadn't induced this much nausea as this man's mere presence seemed
capable of.
Moving quickly Russo stepped between her and the door then moved slowly
forward. Each time Kimberly made a move away from the wall he blocked her,
manoeuvring her slowly back until she was backed up into a corner. Hoping
that he would just say his piece and leave she looked to the floor and
closed her eyes. A childish move perhaps, but despite her bitter hatred for
the creature before her she still found herself unwilling to raise her hand
against him, knowing full well if she tried he'd have her where he wanted
her.
"Still haven't quite gotten over that have you, despite recent events
Kimmie," he said softly, his breath warm against her left ear, "still
determined to find a better way than killing still? You haven't changed
much."
Feeling tears pushing against her eyelids she closed her eyes tightly, not
wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction, "At least I have 'some'
principles," she said, amazed at how level her voice sounded, knowing full
well if the bastard touched her all she would do then is scream.
"After the fact though. Anyway, I heard about your little debacle in the
Tslatothis system some time back, lost a runabout, nearly lost your crew, no
appreciable results and a Klingon agent later found dead, gutted like some
old Targ. Plus a man dead, by your hand I believe. There's a lot of people
not very happy with you young lady, including Klingon Intelligence. People
do change apparently."
~ Oh Goddess! ~ she thought, recalling the Klingon Victor had mentioned so
long ago it seemed, and most definitely recalling the man she had killed,
"Your point!"
"I'm here to offer you a job," he said suddenly, his voice no longer next to
her ear, and obviously several meters away, a brief clatter sounded followed
by his voice, receding even further, "I need a Doctor, and Counsellor,
someone who'll follow orders, plus someone who'll, shall we say be prepared
to be a little flexible with the rules. You'll fit the job quite nicely if I
do say so. I'm going to speak with a few friends, try and pull some strings,
see if I can get you assigned to the Templar."
~ NO!!! ~ She screamed silently, opening her eyes she saw him stood by the
door, "I'll refuse any transfer, the Templar is a Marine and Fighter
platform, I can't... won't..." Stuttering suddenly, she found herself
unable to form a coherent word, something she hadn't done since she'd been
six.
"I've already explored options for Ms Agathon, so you needn't worry there.
You may have noticed she aced her entry exams. Plus, refusing really
wouldn't be such a good idea, there are... dangers involved in refusal." He
suggested with a smile.
"D D D Dangers?" she stuttered softly, almost dreading the answer.
"Why spoil the surprise," he said urbanely, "have a read of the PADD, it'll
crash soon so you'd better hurry, there's some notes on there you might find
interesting. Until later Kimmie."
Watching as he left Kimberly slid down the uneven wall and pulled her knees
close, hugging them tight as she watched the PADD, dreading the contents
almost as much as the man who had left it. Feeling the tears run unchecked
down her cheeks now she sat there staring at the PADD, not even noticing
when its screen darkened over an hour later and it let loose several wisps
of smoke.
Starfleet Third Echelon: The Bainbridge Chronicles
Intermission: “Blood Bowl, Round 1”
Based upon the game “Blood Bowl” by Games Workshop, Inc. and the “Blood Bowl” novel series by Matt Forbeck.
USS Bainbridge Bashers:
CPT Gabriel McKibben, Team Captain/Blitzer
CMDR Alexander Clayton, Catcher
LTCMDR Jeremiah Leger, Blitzer
LT Michael Zim, Blitzer
LT Simena, Blitzer
LTJG Sannek Cole, Catcher
ENS Pr’Kat, Lineman
ENS Tal’Essa Damant, Blocker
CWO Jaheira Tethyr, Catcher
WO3 J.T. Holland, Blocker
MCPO Jordan Raleigh, Thrower
SCPO Lucas Miller, Lineman
CPO Casey Ryan, Blitzer
CPO Matthew Riggs, Lineman
CRW James Winston, Lineman
CRW Jonathon Mace, Lineman
CWO WALL-D “Waldie”, Team Equipment Manager
CWO WALL-E “Wally”, Team Equipment Manager
EMH Mark-I “The Doctor”, Team Apothecary
Bob Biffiord – Commentator
Jim Johnson – Commentator
Rhett Bhool – Referee
**********
Starfleet Games Demonstration Sport
Arena Holodeck; Magritta, Aldorf. Spike! Tournament Arena
*Cue Monday Night Football Theme*
"Good evening sports fans, and welcome to Blood Bowl. I'm your host, Bob Biffiord, transmitting to you live via Cabalvision here in the lovely town of Magritta where the first round of the Spike! Tournament is about to begin. You join us here tonight with a
capacity crowd, packed with members of every race from across the known world, all howling like banshees in anticipation of tonight's game and oh yes, there are some banshees in the crowd tonight! Well kick-off is in about two pages' time, so we just got time to go over to my co-commentator for tonight, Jim Johnson, for a recap on the
rules of the game before battle commences. Good evening Jim!"
"Thank you Bob! Well, good evening and boy are you folks in for some great sporting entertainment. First of all though, for those of you at home who are unfamiliar with the rules (rare as that might be), here's how the game is played:
"Blood Bowl is an epic conflict between two teams of heavily armed and quite insane warriors. We call them players. Players pass, throw, and run with the ball, attempting to get it to the other end of the field to the end zone. Of course, the other team must try and
stop them, and recover the ball for their side. If a team gets the ball over the line into the opponents' end zone, it's called a touchdown; the team that scores the most touchdowns by the end of the match (usually an hour's play) wins the game. Of course, it's not
always as simple as that..."
"Right you are Jim; Nuffle's sacred number of eleven means that each team can only field that many on pitch at any given time. Each team is allowed five backups for substitutions that happen quite frequently to prevent some coaches from grabbing just anyone out of
the stands and throwing a jersey on them. Games sometimes are won by scoring the most TPK, or Total 'ponent Killed, by killing off or incapacitating so many of the opposite team that the team has to forfeit regardless of touchdowns scored, such as one our favorites; the Chaos All Stars, which shockingly just lost the title to the Bad Bay Hackers in the Blood Bowl a few short months ago.
"We now take you down to the action where the team captains are meeting for the coin toss. Tonight's matchup is between the Bainbridge Bashers, led by Blood Bowl veteran Gabriel McKibben, and the Mootland Mighties, led by Blood Bowl veterans Perry and Mippin. Out for the coin toss is tonight's head referee; Minotaur Rhett Bhool..."
On the north end of the field, Clayton groaned. “Ah man… The Mootland Mighties?” he asked in disbelief. “I was hoping that we’d draw the Chaos All-Stars or at least the Orcland Raiders.”
McKibben shrugged. “Don’t look at me. The computer does the match-ups.” He said. “Besides, being a newly formed team in the program means that we get low picks for the tournament. That, and this being a demonstration sport for the Starfleet Games, the officials didn’t want to put two live teams up against each other until they saw what’s so popular about this program.” He then grinned. “Look at the bright side, we might get the Klingons interested in the games and they might be up for a match…”
Leger snickered as he was looking at the Mighties at the opposite end of the field; the Mighties were an all Gnome/Halfling team. The only person above two feet in height was their thrower; a tree man by the name of Thicktrunk Strongbranch who towered over everyone on the field. “Heck, we shoulda got Le’on on the team. Or maybe replicate an army of Waldies and Wallys to take them on. Then it might be a fair matchup. Heck, at the very least, Le’on could at least sharpen his claws on the walking tree over there.” There were a group of chuckles from that.
“Yeah, but the Galaxy has him for their Baseball Team now.” Clayton said.
“How the hell is he gonna hit the ball though?” J.T asked. “He’s got to have a strike zone like a foot tall…”
“Three Fourthssss of an inch to be precisssse…” Simena hissed out.
“Alright… alright…” McKibben said. He was glad that he and Alex were able to recruit so many of the crew for the program to be a team. He was getting tired of having holographic teammates that were completely inept. “Miller, Riggs, Winston, Mace, and Pr’Kat on the sidelines with the Doc and the Exocomps.” He said. “Relax, you’ll get action soon enough. Everyone else, take your positions while Alex and I go out for the coin toss.” Everyone nodded and ran to their kickoff positions.
McKibben and Clayton walked to the midfield point where Rhett Bhool, Perry and Mippin were waiting. The massive Minotaur, who was wearing a zebra skin tunic that designated him as the referee, pointed down at the two Halflings, “Call the toss.” He rumbled.
“ORCS!” the two of them squeaked together. Bhool nodded and flipped the silver coin into the air. McKibben and Clayton watched it fly up into the air. The coin’s two sides had a picture of an Orc Head on one side and the picture of an Eagle in flight on the other. The coin landed on the ground and the Ref bent over to pick it up. “Orcs it is.” He said gruffly.
The two Halflings cheered. “We’ll receive!” they cried out as they jumped up and gave each other high fives. The funny thing was that they only managed to get a foot or two off the ground when they jumped.
“We’ll defend this side.” McKibben said as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where his crew were already set up at. Bhool nodded and tossed him the ball, which was a standard football with spikes outlining it in four neat rows. It made for a nice weapon as well as the principle object for the game. McKibben placed the ball into the ground, ready for kickoff and looked at his team who were all clad in uniforms and protective gear that looked like lightweight medieval armor with extra spikes and various sharp implements. Weapons were forbidden by the ‘traditional’ rules, but that never stopped teams from bribing the Refs to get them into the stadium. Dwarven and Goblin teams were famous for doing that.
Bob and Jim continued their commentary, which was heard all over the stadium via the giant JumboBall (a huge crystal ball) at the north end of the stadium that was also broadcasting the events on the field. Bob started it off; "The Mighties elect to receive, so
that puts Mighties on the south end of the field, ready for the kickoff. Team Captain McKibben signals that he's ready and away we go!" The crowd got silent as McKibben ran towards the ball, but then a dull roar wound up to a resounding crescendo as he reached the spiked ball and punted it down the field. "And it’s another amazing kickoff for McKibben!" Bob shouted. "He nearly makes it into the stands every time with kicks that tends to rival that of most ogres, yourself included Jim."
"That's right Bob; I can see Perry back behind his own end zone, trying to fight off the crowd who looks like they want him for lunch." Jim said
"Well who could blame them?" Bob asked, licking his chops. "That boy has blood that would make anyone besides my fellow vampires want to sink their teeth into. Perry has the ball, and oh! That had to hurt; I'd hate to be that fan that just had the ball slapped into their face. That’ll teach him to reach down onto the field. I haven't seen a hit like that since dinner at your house last week Jim."
"I keep telling you that my daughter is usually gentle with guests." Jim said defensively. "She must be going through another growth spurt. Perry breaks out of the end zone, barely dodges a tackle from newcomer Michael Zim. Zim skids on the grass and ouch! Right into back wall! He’ll feel that in the morning.”
Meanwhile, Perry was running straight for their thrower. The crowd saw this and picked up on the chant; “The Tree! The Tree! The Tree is on Fire! We don’t need no water! Let the bugger burn! Burn Baby Burn!” The Strongbranch ignored the chant and picked up Perry, ball and all. He then reared back and hurled the Halfling down the full length of the field. Jordan and Casey then got to the tree, put their shoulders down, and plowed right into it, causing it to flail its branches about in an attempt to steady itself.
“TIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMBBBBBBRRRRR!” The holographic crowd roared with approval as the treeman tipped and then fell with a crunch, shaking the whole stadium.
Meanwhile, the Halfling was still in flight. “You’d think that the program would come up with a more original play than what was in the book…” Clayton muttered as he watched the Halfling sail through the air. He stayed back in the Bashers’ end zone in case they Mighties tried such a tactic. He caught the Halfling before he could touch the ground and make an official touchdown. He tucked the Halfling, ball and all, under his arm and streaked off down the field with the Halfling kicking and squirming the entire way.
Clayton was cut off by a horde of Halflings blocking his way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sannek waving for the ball. Clayton chucked his package over to him before being brought down by five Halflings all at once. For small buggers, they sure were deadly in numbers.
Sannek caught the squealing airborne Halfling, tucked him under his arm and continued down the field. He hurdled over another Halfling that came sailing his way and then ran unopposed to the Mighties’ end zone.
“TOUCHDOWN BASHERS!” Bob and Jim called out together. Sannek was so thrilled at the touchdown that he spiked the ball, along with the Halfling.
“I LOVE THIS GAME!” Sannek called out as he raised his hands in victory. Suddenly, he was hit from behind by two Halflings and he stumbled into the stands.
The crowd roared with glee as they hoisted Sannek up over their heads and started passing him up into the nosebleed seats. “Aw hell no!” he protested as he started to fight his way back down.
“Oh my…” Bob said over the loudspeakers. “There goes another promising career. Let’s just hope that there’s something soft for him to land on there at the bottom.” He said as he watched the fans pitch Sannek over the edge of the stadium. The fans at the top were all waving as Sannek plummeted over.
McKibben winced. Even thought the holodeck safeties were on to prevent death, a fall like that would still probably hurt. He looked over at his ship’s EMH. “Doc, go see if he’s ok would ya?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction that Sannek went over at. The Doctor mumbled something about being a doctor, not a coroner as he left the dugout to go retrieve Sannek. McKibben turned to the team and clapped his hands together. “Alright then… Lets see… Mace, you’re in for Sannek.”
Mace, the massively built El Aurian nodded and stood up. “Helmet, please?” he asked brusquely, but politely, to one of the exocomps nearby.
Wally and Walldie looked up at him, blinked their massive goggle eyes and then scurried over to the crate of armor. They both started chattering in their own language as they searched for a helmet that would fit him. They finally found one, engaged in a brief tug of war over who would give it to him before Wally came up with the helmet and sped back over to hand it up to him.
Mace slammed it onto his head and nodded to Wally. “Thanks Wally.”
“WaaaalllEEE!” Wally said with glee. The little mechanical guy certainly was easy to please.
The Bashers lined up again for the next kickoff. However the Mighties were not coming back out onto the field.
“What’s this?” Jim said over the loudspeakers. “It seems that the Mighties are not coming back out onto the field… Well ladies and gentlemen, that can happen here in Blood Bowl. It looks like with a score of 1-0, the Bainbridge Bashers win the game!”
McKibben heard the groans of his own team. “Lets hope for Klingons in the next round…” he said.
"Road Hazards"
Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Ella "Songbird" Grey
Rylus Kerry (NPC)
****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Arion Forest
Land Based Vehicle Competition
****
Ella was pretty sure that it would take a miracle to win this race.
Hell, she'd probably be lucky just to cross the finish line intact;
Rylus Kerry from the Brandenburg was infamous for "accidentally"
bumping competitors out of his way.
It didn't really matter. She had decided to compete in these games to
see if she could, not for medals. The only thing that mattered was to
learn from the experience, have some fun, and try not to get anymore
outlandish vehicles.
Oh, and she had to beat her boss at all costs.
"Ready to lose?" Ella yelled over at Nathan.
"Not gonna happen in a million years, darlin'!" Nathan shouted back at
Ella from his own vehicle. He double-checked that he was strapped in
securely and that his fuel levels were nominal, then grinned over at
Ella again. "And you'd better remember our bet!"
"Yeah! Don't cry when I win!"
He smirked at that. "Keep talkin' trash, Songbird! Yer just makin'
things worse fer you after this race is over!"
Her reply was lost over the roar of the engines and then they were off.
Nathan floored it, and his own vehicle's engine growled as the
all-terrain wheels dug into the dirt and propelled him forward. The
other racers, including Ella, sprung forward at the same time, and the
race started off with all the drivers neck-and-neck, dirt, grass, and
mud flying behind them as they screamed into the first section of the
race course.
Nathan looked around himself, trying to gauge the distance between his
vehicle and the two surrounding him. One of them happened to be Ella,
and when she looked his way he grinned wildly and waved at her as he
gunned his engine, trying to pull ahead of the pack and quickly
establish a lead.
"Oh no you don't," Ella said, and jerked the wheel towards him.
"Hey!" Nathan shouted as he saw Ella's vehicle swing toward his.
Panicking, he turned the wheel sharply, avoiding a collision but
sending his own vehicle off into the middle of a dense thicket of
trees and other plants. It took everything he had to keep from
slamming into one of the trees and end his race early.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," he growled as he swung his vehicle through
the plants, finally coming out the other end of the thicket to find
Ella beside him again.
"Cheater!" he shouted at her.
"Playful!" Ella corrected when he came back into view again. He might
have replied but at that moment she was preoccupied with the large
tree that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They hadn't been
kidding when they'd called this track 'adventurous.' "Whoa!"
Nathan shook his head at her and looked ahead just in time to see the
tree they were both headed towards. "Yikes!" he cried out, his foot
automatically slamming on the brake as he turned the wheel to avoid
hitting the tree. His tires screeched and dug into the dirt track, and
his vehicle spun until it came to a complete stop, and facing in the
completely wrong direction.
"Goddammit!" he growled, slamming a fist on the steering wheel. He
quickly shifted gears and tried to get turned around, but not before
most of the other racers began to pass him, including Ella.
"Eat my dust, Cowpie!" Ella hollered.
"Ah knew Ah shoulda stuck with the flyin' stuff," Nathan muttered as
he worked to get his vehicle pointed the right way again. "Ah'm an
eagle, not an earthworm."
Meanwhile, Ella was trying keep from launching into the air. The
halfway mark of the course had some impressive dunes and her vehicle
was practically flying. She could see Kerry up ahead and figured -
from the lack of destroyed cars and cursing drivers - that he wasn't
in the lead. Maybe there was some hope after all.
***
"This is hopeless!" Cowboy moaned as he tried to catch up with the
other racers. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles
going white, and pushed the pedal down as far as it could possibly go,
putting the possibility of crashing into one of the huge trees in his
path and dying a horrible, fiery death out of his mind. One of the
other trailing racers hit a rough patch of dirt and spun out, and
Nathan grinned fiercely as he flew past them and through the halfway
point.
Cowboy let out a whoop as his vehicle sped up the first dune and flew
high into the air. "Now this is more lahk it!" he shouted with glee as
he soared over the next dune. He took advantage of his temporary
vantage point to see where his competitors were, and spotted Ella
about four cars ahead of him, barely behind Rylus Kerry and another
racer, with a couple more leading the pack up ahead of them. Nathan
saw Kerry's vehicle suddenly smash into the racer beside him, sending
them careening off to the side and giving Kerry room to get ahead.
Nathan frowned, but before he could react further he noticed that the
ground was coming up on him at a very alarming rate. "Oh shi--!"
The wheels of his car slammed awkwardly onto the top of the next dune,
and the force of the impact flipped the vehicle over, sending it
rolling down the rest of the dune until it finally reached the bottom
and stopped. The sturdy vehicle somehow managed to land rightside-up,
but Cowboy was dazed nonetheless. He shook his head and wobbled a bit
in his seat, waiting for the dizziness to pass. "This event sucks!" he
snarled in frustration.
***
Rylus Kerry tried to contain his excitement as he ran yet another
racer out of his way, ensuring that they could no longer endanger his
chances at winning this competition. Out of all the other Brandenburg
crewmen taking part in the Games, he was the only one who hadn't yet
won anything. He'd be damned if he was going to come away from this
race, his last shot at winning a medal in these Games, without
achieving victory.
He couldn't lose. Not only would he have to face his crewmates back on
the Brandenburg, but he would have to face his father, an influential,
powerful, and very overbearing admiral at Starfleet Command. Rylus'
had always been forced to measure his life and career against his
father's, and both were found wanting in the admiral's eyes. Failing
to win an event in which Rylus was highly favored would be a great
disappointment to his father.
Besides, after what he'd overheard that stranger going on about in the
bar the night before, Rylus knew for a fact that he couldn't lose. If
he hadn't listened in on the conversation the stranger had been
having, Kerry would have never known about the secret obstacles
Starfleet had thrown onto the course, which were designed to test the
racers' true skill. Rylus had expected that everyone else would have
known about the obstacles, too, but he quickly learned the truth after
he'd steered Ensign Wallace from the USS Indianapolis into one of them
back during the first lap. Rylus was apparently the only one who knew
what was really going on, and he was going to use that knowledge to
his advantage. Nobody was going to beat him this time.
He spotted another racer coming up on his right, and he glanced over
his shoulder to see who it was. He frowned when he realized it was
Lieutenant Grey, who'd been a particular thorn in his side throughout
the race. He looked ahead to see where they currently were on the
track, and spotted another hazard up ahead, partially obscured by the
dirt and some loose foliage. Rylus looked over at Grey as she started
to move ahead of him, and he smiled.
****
Ella grinned as she passed Kerry. She tightened her hands on the
steering wheel and focused on the racers ahead. Perhaps she could have
a shot at third place now. Winning the bet against Nathan was the
ultimate goal but placing third would be even better when she was
bragging on the flight deck.
She didn't see hazard until she was almost on top of it.
"Shit," Ella said pulled hard on the wheel to swerve out of the way.
Rylus grinned as Ella came up on the obscured pile of debris, and
before she could maneuver out of the way, he slammed his foot down on
the accelerator, his tires throwing dirt and sand several meters
behind him as he sped up behind Ella, preparing to ensure that she
wouldn't cross the finish line.
There was a sudden roar and terrible crashing sound, and suddenly
there was nobody behind Ella at all. A quick look around showed her
Rylus' Argo tumbling end over end down the side of the dune, entangled
with another Argo. The two vehicles seemed to roll down the dune for
ages before finally coming to a sudden and painful-looking stop at the
bottom.
Nathan slowly opened his eyes, and saw only sun and sky. He heard the
engine of his Argo fizzle out, but the wheels continued to spin
slowly, searching for something to dig into but finding only air. He
also heard Rylus Kerry moaning piteously from his own wrecked Argo.
"That oughta teach you," Cowboy scolded, not sounding quite as
impressive as he was hoping he would.
He grunted as he pushed himself up to a sitting position just in time
to watch Ella vanish beyond the edge of the dune, hopefully on her way
to third place or better. He laughed quietly and laid back down,
slowly managing to fold his hands behind his head, and just smiled as
he looked up at the sky and waited for one of the emergency medical
teams to show up and make sure nobody was seriously injured.
"What the hell," Nathan mused, smiling. "Ah'm a sucker fer a damsel in
distress."
"Many Happy Returns"
by Ensign Sharzhevashi zh'Rin
***
The shuttle was quiet. Perhaps too quiet, but it gave the lone
occupant time to reflect on the last week. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin
checked the helm readings one more time before sitting back a little
more in her chair. In the end, the last week had left her more
conflicted than ever before.
She could still feel his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind
her, face buried in her hair. It was like the time before she had
gone to the Academy, still free to be where she willed. And they had
stolen many walks alone in the hills behind her home. Korazei ch'Vesh
had always been a dream. He seemed so perfect in every way and sent
her heart soaring whenever he looked at her. And then his smile? A
dream, for certain.
This particular trip, though, Shi had spent it with all of her
bondmates. It was a prelude, she knew. One that would set the stage
for events soon to come. They would very soon need to fulfill their
role, their needed duty to their people. The shelthreth. Together,
they would conceive a child. The idea filled Shi with a sense of
dread.
She shifted in her chair as the feeling of the hands ran down her
spine. There was a lot of joy there too, though. It would be amazing
and wonderful. To be so fully fulfilled with the three other beings
to whom her heart belonged. It wasn't always so, the loving. But for
her, she loved each very deeply. The fact that she loved Korazei more
filled her with guilt.
They had been walking together along the sands by the ocean.
Hand-in-hand, they strolled gazing up at the stars, trying to find
their own. It was there, most certainly, but the sky was so different
from here. They had been certain they'd found it on three occasions
that night. It wasn't until they were lying together in the sand that
they had decided for certain which it was. A guilty flush had
suffused her cheeks as her thoughts ventured down forbidden paths
later that night.
Their lying in the sand had been the height of innocence, as had been
their entire relationship. It was taboo to seek out otherwise,
especially before the shelthreth. Yet, from her time in Starfleet and
her time reading holoromances from Bajor, idle thoughts had turned
that time together into a much steamier midnight tryst.
"zh'yi," Kora had said with a smile as they walked back to the house
they shared for their stay, "is everything alright? You look like you
just ate some overripe sandbush seeds?"
The statement had so startled her, that Shi tripped in the sand and
sent the sandals, which had been in her hand, flying. It look the
pair nearly an hour to find one of them. For most of that hour, Shi
was apologizing while Kora rummages through the scrub.
When they had finally parted, setting two months for a reunion, and
for the shelthreth, Shi was nearly dizzy with emotion. The joy and
fear were too much. It wasn't until she was speeding away at warp did
her heart finally begin to settle.
In her parting, had the kiss with Kora lingered too long? She had
tried to compensate with Kala and Shren, but upon reflection perhaps
she had overcompensated. Kala had been near to suffocation when their
kiss finally ended. She would see them again soon, too soon on one
hand but then on the other she was anxious as she hadn't been in quite
some time.
As the Galaxy finally showed on sensors, Shi was feeling normal again.
She was ready to work, ready to return to piloting the ship. It
would feel good to get back to work and do the job she had signed on
to do.
As she brought the shuttle in to the aft shuttle bay, she checked her
messages. There was one from Kora waiting, as well as a second from
both Kala and Shren. She couldn't help feeling amused, as she powered
down the shuttle's systems, to find herself looking forward to those
messages when she reached her quarters.
The access hatch hissed open and Sharzhevashi zh'Rin stepped down onto
the deck of the Galaxy once again. Standing there with a grin was
Artemis Bancroft.
Shi smiled and gave her friend a hug. It was good to be home.
“The Games We Play – Part I”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – USS Galaxy
Captain Roy Russo – USS Templar
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four – Demeter – Zero-G Gymnastics Station ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Watching the crewman from the Gorgon sinuously work his way around the Zero-G court Kimberly had to nod appreciatively, not only at his easy style, but also at the most excellent figure that the body hugging suit was impressively showing off. Smiling at the thought she chuckled as she dressed for her own first run, she hadn’t really expected quite so many people to be participating in this event, but there had been a respectable turn out.
Pulling her knee pads on she began a few leg stretches to get comfortable, still watching the monitors on the walls that displayed the three courts. So far the Gorgon crewman was looking to be a serious player, and perhaps the most serious competition, though there was a Vulcan from the Centaur that was also performing very well.
Doing a little math in her head she compared her own times from the Galaxy to their listed scores, then winced a little as she realised she’d have to make all three of her first round runs nearly perfectly just to stay in the games to the finals.
“Ah well, no one ever said this was going to be easy.” She muttered philosophically.
“True, true.” A voice replied from behind her in a deceptively cheerful tone.
Spinning Kimberly found herself face to face yet again with ‘him’. Captain Russo, ego maniac and asshole extraordinaire. Sitting heavily on the bench in the small room she sighed. There was only one exit from the changing room, and he was stood in the doorway, so unless she wanted to fight her way past him that meant it was probably time for ‘another’ conversation.
“I thought I m..made myself clear last time we spoke,” she muttered with some resignation. His last visit had left her physically and emotionally drained, and she had no desire to try a zero-g run feeling like that, might as well throw in the towel right now. Just his presence brought out so much anger, and fear.
“Why Kimmie, I’m hurt. I thought we had an understanding.” Smiling he looked up and down her figure, wrapped in the clinging body suit he smiled as he ran his eyes over her.
Seeing the look in his eyes she shuddered slightly, feeling a little unclean under his scrutiny, not needing to be psychic to guess where his mind was right now. “Get your mind out of the gutter asshole,” she snapped, “and then go t..t..throw your body into one.”
“Language young lady, your mouth was never this filthy before.” Lifting his eyes to her face he smiled broadly, “when I heard you were taking part I thought I’d pop over and show some support.”
“T..t..tell you what,” she stuttered, mentally cursing the fact that he had such an obvious effect on her, “show me some support by heading over to an airlock and taking a quick walk outside, that’ll c..c..cheer me up immensely.” Rooting around her kit bag for a moment she snatched her elbow pads out and pulled them on as she lowered her gaze to the floor and tried to relax, a nearly impossible task right now but she tried. Setting the other object she had pulled out at the same time she made sure it was active and out of his sight. Every time she stuttered she could see the smirk, the bastard knew it was because of him, and he was enjoying it.
“Perhaps another time, while I’m here though I was wondering what you thought of the PADD I left?” He asked civilly, “and when we can finalise your transfer?”
“I didn’t r..read the PADD,” she admitted, glancing up at him, “it fried.”
“Pity, I would have appreciated your thoughts on what was on there, you used to be more curious. May I ask why you didn’t read it?” Leaning against the door frame he appeared relaxed, calm, but at the mention of not reading the PADD there had been a flash, however brief, of irritation.
~ He’s right; I did used to be more curious. ~ She realised, wondering now just what ‘had’ been on that PADD, ~ Ah well, no sense crying over spilt milk. ~ Dismissing the regret for now she shrugged, “I t..told you, I’m not interes..s..sted.” ~Damn ‘IT’! ~ She swore at herself loudly, ~ How in the name of all that’s holy am I gonna stand up to this guy if I can’t even frelling ‘talk’ properly! ~
Settling her pads on her elbows comfortably she looked up at Russo, still lounging indolently by the door, taking a deep breath she formed her words carefully in her mind, determined to get through one sentence in this conversation without looking like a quivering wreck. “Mind if I, ask something?” she requested slowly.
Spreading his hands slightly he smiled, “Of course,” he invited cordially.
“Why now?” Steeling herself, she had expected this conversation to happen sooner or later while both their ships were here, and after his last appearance. She’d done a little investigating once she’d gotten over his previous appearance, but there were still questions. Looking down, since staring at him was only making talking harder she focussed on putting on and doing her boots up as she spoke softly and slowly, carefully getting each word out one by one. “I asked myself the question, and it made me think, so I did a little digging.”
“Oh? And what did you come up with?”
Still looking at her boots she closed her eyes and called to mind the image of her computer screen in her office, focussing on that she fixated on the information and ignored him. Speaking slowly but clearly she recalled the information that had cost her a few favours. “You petitioned a while back for further weapons research, weapons to attack the Hydrans, bio weapons. Their ships are semi organic, and any bio weapon that can disable their ships, would give us a tremendous advantage, you wanted to go further though, you wanted a weapon that would attack not only the ships but their crews also.”
“There’s a problem there though,” she added with a small grin, realising jus how much that must have irritated him. “After word was leaked about the attempted genocide on the Founders no one wants that publicity again, even though it helped win the war no one wants to be remembered as the officer or politician that condoned genocide, so your request was vetoed. But you still want to do it don’t you!” Opening her eyes she looked at him, suppressing the shiver that ran up her spine every time she looked in his eyes, “you want to win, and you don’t care, how many have to die so you can.”
“You’re speculating Kimmie, and making some unfounded accusations.” He replied, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
“I k..k..know, there’s no proof, but I asked myself why you’ve come to me, now. Then it hit me, Captain M’Kantu.” Looking down again she sighed, realising she had one deep seated fear of this guy! She couldn’t even face him without loosing it. Keeping her eyes downcast she focussed on her memories of her research again, it helped a little, at least she could string her words together as long as she concentrated.
“I did some outstanding work there,” she admitted proudly, “I expanded on existing ideas and came up with a whole new procedure, and you’ve obviously read about it, and you also know you have something, something you can hold over my head, something to try and make me work for you, to do what you want. I imagine your current CMO has objections to creating a bio weapon of mass destruction, so you want someone you can exert some influence over.”
“A somewhat harsh suggestion young lady!” His tone becoming flat and steely.
“But t..t..t..true none the less.” She retorted sharply, looking up again, ~ Damn this stuttering! ~ “You.. you’re not the only one with friends Captain, and I called a few of mine. The Hawks in the Federation love you, war hero who’s determined to win. Y..you figure, if you can give the Federation a resounding victory, who’ll complain how you did it!”
“As I said, you’re speculating. And while this is diverting it’s irrelevant to the topic at hand, which if I may remind you is your pending transfer.” He reminded her, pulling a small PADD out of his jacket. Holding it out he waved it gently, “if you would be so kind as to approve the request.”
Looking up at the small device she sighed and shook her head, “No.” She refused simply after a long silent moment.
“I would recommend you accept Kimmie, as I mentioned there are, well, dangers in refusing.” Dropping the small PADD into her lap his face and voice suddenly lost their pleasant and calm demeanour and his eyes flashed dangerously as he grabber her chin, forcing her to look at him, “The least of which would be people finding out just what happened in the POW camp young lady!” He almost snarled.
“G..g..go ahead. Let it out. I don’t care, but k..k..know this. You bring anything out into the open and I’ll drag you down with me” She promised. It was getting harder and harder to remain impassive, harder to sit there and not bolt for the exit. Perhaps the only reason she didn’t was that her legs were shaking so much she wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone run! That or the vice like grip he had on her face.
“How? What can you do to ‘ME!’” He asked scathingly.
“Quite simple.” Still being forced to look up at him she smiled unexpectedly, where he expected fear she smiled instead. Suddenly she realised all this time she’d been so worried about him, so afraid of him, she hadn’t given a thought to anything else, but he had as much reason to worry about her!
“All it would take is a request to the JAG office for a court appointed PSI scan, a scan to verify any accusations, then the whole mishegoss comes out. Everything!” She announced flatly, looking at him directly again she tore her face out of his grasp. “You really wouldn’t want that would you.”
“That would be a very bad idea!” He warned her, though his voice and face ever so slightly betrayed his concern at the thought.
“Why not?” Kimberly muttered absently, a glimmer of an idea forming… He was worried! Feeling a little bolder with that thought in her mind she sat up. “I’ve read a little law since I g..graduated, not much admittedly, but as I’m a department head now I have to have a grounding in legal proceedings. And I’m n..not so sure which one of us would come out the worse.”
With that thought firmly in her mind she took a deep breath and stood, picking up her helmet as she did, “This is over ‘Captain’,” she decided, letting him know exactly what she thought of him with the emphasis and inflection she put into his title. “Go away.”
“No Kimmie, I don’t think so.” Stepping forward so quickly Kimberly wondered for a fleeting instant if he’d somehow managed to beam across the room, and then she found herself slammed up against the lockers on the far wall, eye to eye with Russo. A painful position considering he was easily a foot taller than her, and he was holding her up at that height by a single hand around her throat.
Grabbing at his arm she tried to loosen his grip, but it was like clawing at a duranium bar and even with both hands she failed to move his arm by so much as an inch.
“Now,” he breathed, slowly inching his face closer to hers menacingly as she fought for air, “let’s try this again shall we?”
“The Games We Play – Part II”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – USS Galaxy
Captain Roy Russo – USS Templar
Surprise Guest Star
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff – USS Galaxy
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four – Demeter – Zero-G Gymnastics Station ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Now,” he breathed, slowly inching his face closer to hers menacingly as she fought for air, “let’s try this again shall we?”
Before she could answer, or Russo could speak again, his head was jerked to the side and driven forward into the locker next to her with punishing force.
“No, no, no, no,” Victor said in an oddly cheerful tone, “You’re doing it all wrong - you have to make *contact* when you kiss someone... like that. Let’s try it again, shall we?” He pulled Russo’s face back up with the same grip on the back of the man’s head he’d used to drive it forward, grasped the wrist of the hand pinning Kimberly in his other hand, and twisted, forcing it to release her while Russo tried to get his bearings after the stunning impact. Still smiling, he powered Russo’s face back into the locker a second time.
Collapsing to the floor in front of the two men Kimberly gasped for air, coughing and retching almost simultaneously, dimly aware of the hollow gong sounds each time Russo’s head impacted on the locker above her as Victor redecorated. Looking up between gulps of air and fits of coughing she thanked the gods and the elements in the privacy of her mind. Some aboard the Galaxy had likened Victor to the angel of death, but right now he most certainly looked like nothing of the sort, a guardian angel was more apt right now.
“Still with me?” Victor asked as he pulled Russo back a second time. “Think you’ve got it down now?”
Russo spat out a curse groggily and raked a foot down Victor’s shin to try and free himself.
“Oh, how sad – a slow learner,” Victor observed, Russo’s manoeuvre seemingly having no effect. “Most people get it in two, but that’s all right. Pay attention now…” he crashed Russo’s head into the lockers a third time, denting the locker door and causing the other man to sag at the knees as his eyes rolled back up in his head.
“…because the third time’s always the charm,” he finished with a smile at Kimberly.
“Vic.. victor,” Kimberly stuttered, this time though because of intermittent coughing instead of fear, “good to s..see you.” A wash of relief flowed through her as she leant against the locker and looked up at Russo, his glazed expression and the slow trickle of blood down his forehead spoke volumes about his current condition, “He’s not d..dead is he?” She asked as Victor checked the still figure in response to her question, stuttering this time as she focussed on the face that had tormented her dreams for so long.
“No,” her shipmate replied cheerfully, “just unconscious. He hadn’t really hurt you yet, after all.”
Getting her breathing and her stomach under control Kimberly stood, leaning on the lockers for support, not realising until she stood just how unsteady she was. “Good, unexplained b..bodies tend to make people nervous,” she decided, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, relishing the feeling of the air in her lungs. “Besides he’s supposed to be a Captain, let’s show ‘some’ r..respect to the rank at least. Just make sure he’s out c..cold.” She decided regretfully. Ignoring the temptation to plant her foot somewhere tender she realised right now he wouldn’t even feel it, and besides, kicking someone when they were down was ‘his’ forte.
“Oh, no worries about that,” Victor assured her, letting Russo slide to the floor. “He’ll be out for a while yet.” He considered the unconscious figure. “Any preferences on where or how they find him?”
Shrugging she looked at the unconscious figure with a total lack of concern, which, considering both of her chosen professions took some doing, “Not really,” she admitted casually, “Let’s leave him here. I’ll m..move to another room.” Retrieving her belongings quickly she skirted the figure on the floor as she left. “Thank you Victor,” she said gratefully, if a little unsteadily as she walked out beside him, “I..I never expected him to get violent. I should have k..known better really though.” She admitted to herself, it was who he was; violence seemed to be his answer to most things.
“Fair enough,” Victor nodded. As Kimberly gathered up her things, he looked around the room, found a bar of soap and within a few moments had produced a faked up scene hinting that Russo had slipped on the soap and knocked himself out. “Always best to give folks something to find,” he commented as they departed. “Especially if it’s embarrassing to the individual in question, they rarely look further – and in this case, Russo will likely accept the ribbing for the soap-slip as opposed to admitting what he was really doing there.”
Looking back as the door closed she compared briefly the man that lay there to the man who was beside her, ~ Memory really does play tricks on you sometimes. ~ She realised. When she was still new aboard the Galaxy she'd set eyes on Victor when he walked in sickbay, and, not knowing about this 'aura' he had, the vague similarity between these two men and his aura had terrified her, and Victor had become Russo in her mind for a while.
He still gave her a serious case of the heebie-geebies every time he was around, but now at least she could look at him and just see Victor, at least today had provided one useful thing.
Holding a hand out she offered him the small comm unit he had given her the other day after she had asked for his help, “Did you w..want this back? Or should I keep hold of it until the games are over?” Truth be told she never wanted to give it up, she had spent years forgetting the past, and now it was all there again, clawing at her mind, clamouring for attention. Something, anything to hold onto as a safety line was what she needed right now.
“Why don’t you hold onto it,” Victor returned. “I set it up to broadcast the signal to a tricorder for storage; I’ll just switch it over to a secured computer storage unit until we’re out of here. Better to be safe and all that.”
“Thank you.” Smiling she slipped the device into her bag, grateful for his offer. “I promised I’d explain, and I w..will. As soon as I’m back aboard get me drunk and I’ll ‘fess up, I p..promise, I owe you that much at the very least.” She offered, for once seriously planning on telling the truth. Victor had gone out on a limb here for her, and had heard some things that had to make him ask questions, he deserved some answers.
Victor raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a lot of experience getting women drunk, you know. That’s generally reserved for the sort of short-term relationships that I never really had, and, truth be told, don’t see any purpose in. Perhaps we could try something else as a motivational agent?”
Laughing gently at that, she oddly found herself relaxing a little at that comment. “I don’t normally get d..drunk either, but there are a few days when a drink or two help to relax me.” Thinking a moment she shrugged, “We’ll figure s..something out,” she offered as they approached a small medbay set aside for the competitors. “I’m gonna stop by here before m..my run.” She decided suddenly, wanting to make sure Russo hadn’t damaged anything, her throat was still aching and sore, not the distraction you wanted while attempting zero-g acrobatics. “Thank you again Victor.” She said sincerely, smiling at him warmly.
“Glad to help,” he replied. “I’m just glad I got there before something worse happened. Satisfying as it was, I doubt that solved your problem, but it might give him something to think about for a while. You let me know if and when he starts to be a problem again and we’ll come up with something a bit more permanent in the way of a solution. I’m pretty sure that Counsel Hinanat would be glad to take him to the carpet for you, for example.”
“Hey, Victor,” she said suddenly as she turned into the medbay, “your g..girlfriend, Angelina isn’t it?” She asked curiously from the doorway.
“Angelienia, yes,” he corrected her pronunciation gently. “Why?”
“She’s a lucky girl.” She complimented him softly as she stepped into the room beyond.
Victor blinked, and then smiled back. “I don’t know that *I’d* say that,” he chuckled. “But she certainly would, and that’s what counts, isn’t it?”
<… Later …>
“Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!” Russo groaned as consciousness returned with a blinding pain behind, around and in his eyes. Looking at the now closed door with a loathing he didn't think he was capable of he pulled himself up slowly, his head threatening to implode with every minuscule movement. Groaning as he made it to his knees he paused in his attempt to stand to throw up over himself, and then slipped face first onto the floor as his knee landed on a bar of soap. Laying there for a while his mind spun in erratic circles, unable to focus he muttered incoherently, slipping in and out of consciousness.
After some time he rolled onto his back and cursed loudly at the uncaring ceiling, the monitors on the walls had just loudly announced a respectable qualifying time for the entrant of the USS Galaxy in the Zero-G bar-maze, another thing he had hoped to control seemed to be slipping from his grasp.
Furious at Burton, her friend and himself he cursed loudly, and then promptly threw up again as the volume of his own voice seemed to dig needles into his mind. He had underestimated the bitch. Tapping his chest several times he managed to hit his comm badge on the fifth attempt. “Russo to Templar, James, do you read.” He got out with some effort.
<= Here Sir. Sir, are you… =>
Cutting his XO off he closed his eyes as he tried not to throw up again. “Has Obotu left yet?”
<= Yes Sir, his transport left almost an hour ago. =>
“Fuck! ‘SHIT!!’ Uunnhh!!! Tell Hanako she's going to have to fill in as CMO, our replacement has had a change of heart.” ~ Damn the bitch! ~ “And James, I need you to get some information. Everything you can lay your hands on regarding Kimberly Burton, and I mean everything! I want to know her life, better than she does. Go back to the day before she was born, nothing is too trivial, understood!” He ordered harshly, each word forced out between clenched teeth.
<= Yes Sir, I'm on it, if I may ask..? =>
“You may not! Get on it! And, have the transporter room beam me directly to sickbay. ‘NOW!’”
“<= Sir, are you.. =>
“God ‘Damn’ it James, do it!” Biting back the desire to cry out as yet another lance of pain washed through his mind he silently cursed the universe for its timing.
~ Go tsao de suo-SHEE jien huo Burton! ~ He cursed silently as his transporter retrieved him.
“Friendly Competition”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
And other Zero-G Bar-Maze Competitors
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four “Demeter” – Zero-G Gymnastics Station ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Of the seventy or so people who had entered the competition, just under half that number had qualified for the finals, and of those thirty two people Kimberly had her eye on only one of them. Lieutenant Zelo from the USS Templar.
She’d been watching the monitors while waiting in the lounge, deciding that an open area invited less chance of being ambushed again, and at the moment the crewman from the USS Gorgon was in the court. Each time he entered the maze his run had been better than the last, he was good, there was no doubt about it, and she had to admit her chances of beating him, and everyone else’s it appeared were vanishingly small. He was very very good!
Everyone else though, well the Vulcan who was currently leading the rest of the field had plenty of competition for the silver, but right now none of them really concerned Kimberly, her target sat on a couch some distance away casting the occasional look of loathing in her direction, to which she invariably responded with a sweet smile, remembering the look on his face as she had temporarily rearranged his physiology. Okay, violence was ‘not’ the answer to problems, and to be honest she was more than a little ashamed at her spontaneous assault, but his face had been picture worthy.
“You keep watching him, people are gonna start wondering what you’ve got in mind.” A voice suggested humorously from behind her.
Turning Kimberly looked up at the source of the voice and smiled, “Just assessing the competition,” she replied amiably, “he’s got a better time than me.”
“He’s not the one you have to worry about,” sitting beside Kimberly on the low sofa the woman dressed in a flame red suit with gold pads nodded at the monitors where the Gryphon crewman was weaving his way around the maze, “he’s the one to beat.”
“Don’t I know it, but I have to be honest and admit he’s much better than I am.” From the look on the other woman’s face she knew it too. “Kimberly Burton, USS Galaxy,” she introduced herself with a smile, extending her hand as she spoke.
“Lessia Arda, USS Cyntana.” The other replied pleasantly, shaking the offered hand “So, why’s ‘he’ the one to beat? You got a beef against the guy? Or something different in mind?” She asked with a sly smile.
“Nah, not a beef against him as such, I sorted that out when I re-pitched his voice with my foot.” She added, her face flushing in embarrassment at the thought. “No, it’s his Captain I’d like to piss off, the Templar isn’t doing so good in the games, and keeping this guy from winning a medal is a small, even petty maybe means of annoying him.”
“Annoying Captains isn’t the best way of endearing yourself to the command structure of Starfleet.” Lessia warned.
“What’s life without its ups and downs, besides, what can he do to me for just doing what we’re here for.” The logic was pretty good, though Kimberly knew full well he could do plenty. He’d tried once already, and something told her he wasn’t done yet.
“True.” Lessia agreed. “Anyway, the finals are over the next couple of days and some of us have decided, win lose or draw we’re gonna throw a Zero-G party for the maze runners once we’re done, interested?”
“Of course, where and when?” ~ Party time. ~ She found the thought very appealing, socially she’d been very backward on the Galaxy of late, there’d been a lot of work, unwinding with a bunch of maze runners sounded like a fun evening.
“We’ve got the okay to use the three courts once the finals are over. I’ve got my staff ready to do a little work and take the adjoining walls down, helps being the Ops Chief.” She added with a smile.
“Count me in, I’ll be there. You need anything?” She offered, perking up more than a little at the prospect of a party.
“Thanks, but we’ve got it pretty much covered, or should I say my staff does.” She added with a mischievous grin. “Nineteen hundred, evening of the finals, and remember, dress for Zero-G.” Standing Lessia waved as she walked off, “Have a good run.”
“You too.” Standing herself she began pulling her own pads on over her suit, silver pads today over a light blue skin snug. She was glad of the colour assignment, being the unlucky soul who had been assigned hot pink with bright orange pads had to hurt the ego; that was one colour mix no one had wanted.
<= USS Galaxy.. Call for USS Galaxy entrant.. Course Two.. One minute warning. => The computer intoned emotionlessly.
Picking up her helmet she settled it in place as she worked her way through the crowd to the room in question. Each one was slightly different, and you were assigned to a room at random, add to that the randomness of the course in the room and it was just another element of uncertainty in the game. The computer tallied your results of course, adjusting slightly for course length and the room, the results were then displayed at the end of the days events.
It made for an anxious afternoon.
Greeting the door judge she submitted to the requisite tricorder scan and at his nod stepped over the gravity step in the doorway and into Zero-G. Closing her eyes she let her body adjust to the micro gravity environment for a moment as she drifted slowly across the room. She had five minutes if she wanted them, and she used most of it warming up and doing a few basic manoeuvres around the room, letting the blood in her body equalise itself.
Stopping herself at the flashing green start bar she raised a hand. “Ready.” She announced, nervous and eager at the same time.
The lights dimmed to fifty percent, and the whole course lit up before her, scanning the room she gauged the general direction she would be going in. “Complicated.” She muttered as the bars started winking out, from the finish back to the start. As soon as the start bar went red that was her cue to begin. Orientating herself to the course she braced to kick off, needing every second.
Bing. As the bar switched colour she kicked off, automatically reaching for the next bar in the run. As of now she was on auto pilot, her conscious mind being directed by her sub conscious. If you stopped to think about what you were doing, or what you needed to do, game over. You had to relax and go, trust your instincts and just go.
Grab. Swing. Push off.
Bar by bar, each one flashing by, a blur of red bars. Twist. Leg hook to grab that one.
Effort, it took a lot of effort. Even though you were in Zero-G you used all your muscles. You get tired quickly.
One hand, grab. Next bar other hand. Curl up, push off with legs.
Twist, look out, mind the gap.
You sweat as well, gloves help there, sweat band to keep it out of your eyes, but it’s there. You can smell the salt.
Slow down, sharp turn. Use the momentum.
Next one, corner bar, don’t use the wall, kick off. Go.
Strangely though you feel light headed, sometimes euphoric. Probably because of all the blood rushing to your head in the micro-gravity.
On and on, red bar, red bar, red bar. Where’s the next one.
Thump.
Suddenly it’s over, there is no next bar. As with almost every runner you get to the end of the course, but your mind is still looking for the next bar, and you forget to stop. It’s inevitable, almost everyone does it, and ironically it’s where most injuries happen.
Rubbing her shoulder Kimberly looked around for the door. The bitch of it was she’d have to wait until later for the results. Everyone got their results at the same time. Drifting over to the door she accepted the judges hand and let him steady her back into gravity.
Turning she looked back at the course and scanned the room, there were two flashing bars in the room. Purple, a pair of fouls. Touching a bar not part of the course was a foul.
~ Damn! ~
Disturbia Part 6
Ophelia Zamora
JAG
Ensign Charlotte Dooley
AKA Faylin McAlister
Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge
Location: Conference Room A Liaison Department
============================
It was the only place on this damned ship where she could find a tad of solitude albeit Ensign Dooley's cold presence. The Ensign left her well enough alone, except for the occasional sideways weird glance she would cast Ophelia. Clearing her throat, Ophelia sighed with a bored urge to continue to complete the report on several case transfers that the Consul wanted as soon as possible.
'Wonderfully delicious...." Fay sang in her head as she raised the blond hair to peer out of long bangs at Ophelia once again. It was about time that she finished what she came here to do.
Her pointed moist tongue darted out of her mouth, slowly wetting her bottom lip attempting to quench the utter hunger of death she felt rising within her.
"Lieutenant." Fay's tone was quite soft, yet posed a question within the melodic tings of her voice.
"What Ensign?" Zamora mumbled as she wrote an opinion on the note section of the electronic document that rested before her.
No response. The silence danced around the room for ten more minutes until Dooley's voice broke the silence. Her blue eyes bored down upon her target from across the room with no recognition from Zamora, just yet.
"Lieuuutenant...." Her tone changed slightly, still Dooley's vocal recognition, yet with an overly minuscule inflection of McAlister's own husky voice.
"What...is it Ensign?" Her head stayed lowered, her concentration unwavering.
No response. Sighing, Ophelia wondered what type of sophomoric game Dooley was playing with her. A few more minutes passed.
McAlister forced herself to stay seated, although the temptation to pounce on her victim was almost overwhelming at this point. Her mind danced with the possibilities that were laid wide open before her. Her victim, sat unknowingly a few feet from her. This was the place she dreamt of. The place where worlds would collide, and it was just yummy.
"Lieuuuteeeennnaaannntttt." The tone transformed almost to the point of her voice being completely McAlisters.
Zamora froze instantly. The stylus she held tinkled to the desk top without so much of a millisecond between it's landing and Zamora recognizing the voice from her past. Ice shot up the veins in the back of her neck, causing her hands to instinctively shake uncontrollably. The coffee in the mug she still held on to was experiencing tremendous motion, causing it to splash over the edge of the mug. She refused to look up, but felt she should.
The edge of her breath jerked forward, causing her to slightly gasp with tension laced oxygen filling her lungs. Her hands continued to shake violently, forcing the coffee mug to fall to the floor. With it, spilling the contents of luke warm coffee at her feet. The less than tempting heat from the drop of coffee soaked through the bottom of her Starfleet regulation pants. As she slowly raised her head, she knew that the coffee would not be the only fluid that would soil her clothing.
"Tell me Ophelia, ever dance with the devil in the pale moon light?" Her voice, sadistic in tone softened as she stood from her seat.
Zamora felt herself raise from her seated position, her gaze locked on McAlister in what appeared to be a permanent fashion. She stayed silent as her hands reached out behind her to feel the conference rooms walls.
"Lights, zero percent illumination. Ophelia Zamora, authorization code 53632." Zamora's voice came out of McAlister's vocal cords for a mere second.
Zamora finally bumped into the wall behind her, finding herself highlighted by the only emergency light in the room. All around her was swallowed in death's dark blackness. "How..." She managed to mutter.
"Petty question Ophelia."
Her eyes darted to the left, then to the right in an attempt to find something to focus on. Nothing came into view. She knew McAlister was in the room, but where? Her voice suggested a spot, however...once Fay spoke again, she seemed to be in another spot.
Fay watched her victim squirm in the dim spotlight. Ophelia was more timid than she thought. That didn't leave much for the fight before the kill, which disappointed her in a way.
"Oh where oh where has Faylin gone?" McAlister sang in a teasing voice as she moved freely throughout the room.
"Fay....please..." Zamora whispered.
"What? Excuse me?" Fay's voice grew hard and harsh.
"Please..."
"Pathetic." McAlister spat. "I expected so much more of you Ophelia. So much more...."
Zamora felt the slight breeze brush past her, completely scented with Fay's perfume before the initial pain ripped into her. Grabbing her left forearm, she felt something warm and sticky flowing from her flesh.
"One down, several more to go sweetheart."
Ophelia winced as she darted into the darkness. She felt herself bump into another wall, causing McAlister to chuckle.
"Zamora to Security...."
Nothing.
"Nice try bitch....do you think I'd not have everything set up when I came to get you? You really are an idiot."
========================================
Humming an obscure tune, Consul Ayanna Hinanat rounded the corner to the conference room. Usually, she heard voices from within, laced with good humor. Today was different, it was silent.
Reaching out, she pressed the entrance code to enter the conference room. A slow beep of a non authoritative entry teased her.
"Huh?" She tried again. The beep laughed at her.
=========================================
Fay stopped short as she heard the beep.
"Someone wants in Ophelia....let's let them in, shall we?"
Unlocking the door, as Ayanna punched the code in for the third time, Hinanat's eyes grew quizzical as she entered the darkened room.
"Lights...."
Nothing.
Walking in a step more, she turned as she thought she viewed a dark shadow around the door's controls. With a hiss, the entry to the conference room was sealed shut.
"Ayanna...get...out..." The voice warned.
"Naw, too late for that shit." McAlister announced.
Hinanat's mind ran rampant. Negative feelings, anger mixed with revenge laced with fear slammed into her head causing her to step backwards. "Ophelia?"
"She's not in right now....leave a message." Fay's cold laughter filled the room.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Why I'm the infamous Faylin McAlister, dressed up as your little assistant Ensign Charlotte Dooley." The darkness still protected the party in some fashion as Fay continued.
"I'm sure that you've heard stories about me from little miss sunshine over there. Now, take a seat and let me finish."
Hinanat felt herself get pushed down in one of the chairs. In an attempt to stand, she was slashed at her right knee.
"I said SIT!" McAlister paused. "Ya know, life would be so much easier if people would just listen to what they were told to do! Christ!"
Ayanna felt the initial pain subside as she concentrated on it. The question as to what to do now swam in her head as her eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness.
“Maze Runners”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Commander Lessia Arda – Chief of Operations – USS Cyntana (NPC)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four “Demeter” – Zero-G Gymnastics Station ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Nice run yesterday, looking good Kimberly.” Lessia complimented her as they sat awaiting the results to be announced. They had all waited patiently yesterday afternoon as well, but an official had informed them of a computer glitch, and while their scores were safe, the final results would have to wait.
It hadn’t exactly been a relaxing evening, if her nails weren’t already kept short because of her profession she’d have gnawed them to the bone. ~ I hate waiting! ~ she had realised every hour until she finally fell asleep.
“Thanks, two fouls though, that sucks!” Hitting a bar not part of your course was a foul, and gave you a one second penalty, not much, but when the differences between the maze runners times were measured in tenths of a second, a one second penalty was a lot.
“Hey, don’t fret it; we all do it, even wonder boy over there.” Nodding in the direction of the crewman from the Gorgon she smiled, “Three fouls yesterday for him, not enough to knock him from the top slot though.”
“Frell, nothing short of a phaser cannon is gonna take that from him,” Kimberly said with a smile, she didn’t begrudge him it, he had style and skill. And an incredibly fine butt! Staring at said butt she found her mind wandering, realising that the deep tan skin snug he wore really suited his complexion. She was brought back to reality a moment later by a tapping on the top of her head.
“Demeter to Burton, please relay your hyperspace co-ordinates,” Lessia joked sarcastically. “I’d ask you to get your head out of the clouds, except we’re above the clouds here.” Following her gaze she smiled, “no need to guess what you were thinking!” She accused Burton good naturedly with a glance at the same figure.
“Hey, don’t tell me you haven’t had similar thoughts,” she accused the other woman, flushing an impressive shade of red, for some reason feeling a little guilty. Granted, it had been a while since someone had caught her eye like this guy. Last person had been T’Prala on the Arizona, and that’d been... ~ Damn! Four years ago! ~ She realised. Where does the time go?
“Nope, not this girl, happily married for eleven years,” she said proudly.
Looking at the pale skinned woman next to her Kimberly realised she had been chatting to her all day about inconsequential matters, yet still only knew a small amount about her, and likewise probably. ~I guess this is one of the reasons they put the games on, we get to meet officers and crew from so many different places, people we might never have met otherwise. ~ The woman next to her looked human, but then she could easily be Betazoid or any number of humanoid species. And to be honest, it didn’t matter, right now they were just two Starfleet officers, women, admiring from afar a very cute guy.
“Is he on the Cyntana with you?” Kimberly asked curiously, subspace relationships were a pain, and from personal experience could erode the relationship after time.
“Only for the last two years, before then we had different postings.” She admitted, “It’s much better now, and we’ve started talking about a family.”
“Congratulations,” Kimberly offered warmly, having the chance to have a family aboard ship wasn’t all that common, different postings being the biggest hurdle, but with the opportunity there. “Have you decided when?”
“Not until the war is over, hopefully soon, but...” Leaving the sentence hanging Lessia shrugged. They were all thinking the same occasionally of course, the war. It was not the idea time to start thinking about families, but then no one knew how long this would last. That was the problem with war; it didn’t exactly have a timetable.
Simply nodding in agreement Kimberly sighed, and looked up at the still blank screen Standing, “You know, I’ve come to the firm conclusion that I ‘Hate’ waiting.” She decided firmly, “I’ll be back in a moment.” Nodding in the direction of the ladies room she headed for the changing rooms, muttering dark thoughts about judges and computer geeks who couldn’t get a set of numbers to display on time.
Opening the door to the locker rooms all thought of the war and the results vanished from her head as her ears were assailed by a high pitched keening sound that drove needles into her ears and mind. Slapping her hands over her ears she staggered back, recoiling instinctively from the noise. Backing into something she fell over, unable to stop herself while she covered her ears, dimly aware of the rest of the competitors scrambling around her, moving away, or in a few cases towards the door.
Looking through the open door she could see down the hall, half in-half out of a door down the corridor the Vulcan from the Centaur, S’Talis, was laying, a pool of dark green blood around his head.
Scrambling away from the door she tried to put as much distance between it and her as she could, but finding it harder to coordinate arms and legs as her stomach rebelled and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Then, as suddenly as it started the noise ceased, leaving a painful ringing in her ears.
Swallowing several times, trying to quell her rebellious stomach Kimberly rolled onto her knees, swaying slightly as she knelt. Feeling a hand on her shoulder she looked up to see Lessia before her, her mouth moving but no sound was coming out.
“What?” Kimberly asked vaguely, wishing Lessia would speak up.
“I SAID. ARE. YOU. OKAY?” She faintly heard. It was only when Lessia shouted Kimberly realised it wasn’t her talking softly, there was still the ringing in her ears that was blotting out softer sounds. Shaking her head she reeled suddenly as the motion set her head spinning.
“Uh, not sure.” She admitted, passing out.
"The Maltese Eptgac, Part One: Giggles is On The Case"
8-ball Hunter
Ella Grey
Johnny Walker
***
"From the moment I saw her, I knew she'd be trouble. She was a classy
dame, I'll give her that, a real cool customer. She had those big eyes
that could drown a man, if he wasn't being too careful with his heart,
or his spending money. I'd met women like that before---all tall
drinks of water looking for a savior. And I was never the hero type,
but a woman like that . . . made me wish I was. So I watched her from
the back of the bar, singing her blues to anyone who'd listen. She had
the voice of an angel, but the dress of Jezebel, a little red number
inching higher and higher as she swayed on stage. I lit a cigarette
and watched her, through the din and the blue haze. She was everything
a woman ought to be. I'd stay away from her, if I had any sense at
all."
The woman on the stage stopped singing and looked at her with an
expression of amusement mixed with bafflement. "What are you doing?"
"Dude," 8-ball said. "It's called monologue-ing. Haven't you ever
watched a film noir?" Jumping up from her seat, 8-ball crossed the
Holodeck and stood just below the stage. "Anyway, forget that. Come
down here. We got to talk."
"Okay," Ella said as she hopped down from the stage. "Although I
wouldn't exactly describe myself as tall."
"Well, nobody says things like short drinks of water. Fuck it. You're
tall enough."
"Is that licorice in your mouth?"
8-ball sighed the long, aggravated sigh of someone who was constantly
dealing with "the little people." (And though it didn't occur to her,
of course, it was also a sigh often associated with the much put upon
Samantha Widdlestein). "You're missing the bigger picture here," she
said, as she chewed her licorice "cigarette" smaller and
smaller."Something awful has happened."
"Eptgac has been kidnapped."
***
--Four hours and thirty-seven minutes ago, precisely--
8-ball was looking forward to having a couple of days off in a row.
She wasn't exactly sure what she would do with that time, but she was
vaguely thinking of something to do with hot temperatures and
holographic sand. She could try out her latest bikini and dress Eptgac
up in little teddy bear swimshorts. More importantly, she could find a
holographic man, or a real one, to lather some sunblock on her. This
was a good plan, and she was all set forth to do it, until she entered
her quarters to discover that Eptgac was not there. In the past, it
would not have been strange to have temporarily misplaced her little
furry companion. She had used him as a dart board, punching bag, and
voodoo doll respectively. She could go days, even weeks, without
wondering where the little bugger was. But this was before the Time of
Catatonia. And now he had sentimental value, dammit. So, when 8-ball
came home and saw that he was not right on the bed where she'd left
him, she immediately started to freak out, long before she saw the
note. By the time she saw the note, she had calmed herself down from
two panic attacks.
This is what the note said:
gO bAck to YouR vUlcAn TraIniNg, Or thE tEddY beaR geTs It.
And 8-ball said, "Fuck that. I'm going to find this bastard and fry him alive."
****
"So now you're on the case," Ella said with a shake of her head. "I
dunno, Eight. Wouldn't the training be easier?"
"Pah," 8-ball scoffed. "Easy is for sissies. And anyway, some punk
thinks he can just waltz into my quarters and take away my most prized
possessions?" She looked away dramatically, wishing the holodeck would
shine a spotlight down on her without actually having to ask for
one--it ruined her flow.
"This time," 8-ball said darkly,"they went too far. They fucked with
the wrong half-Vulcan." She made sure her gaze was appropriately
steely.
Ella sighed. "If you say so. Well, Detective, where do we start?"
"Well, we have to make a list of suspects, obviously. Anybody who
could have had means or motive to take the bear. T'Pei comes to mind,
but it seems sketchy. There are more logical ways to rope me back into
training . . . I don't even think she wants me to come back to
training. I wouldn't want me, if I were her." 8-ball chewed on her
licorice until she didn't have anymore. Then she pulled out another
piece and chewed on that.
"Still," 8-ball said. "She'll have to stay on the list, for now.
C'mon, Ella. Who do you think? You're supposed to be my partner in
crime, here."
"Hmmm ... it would have to be someone with access to your room. So
probably anyone with a security clearance. Or how about Johnny
Walker..."
8-ball's eyes lit up. "You mean Johnny "The Ostrich" Walker? You gotta
watch out for him. He's a crafty one."
The pilot rolled her eyes. "You two have been spending a lot of
quality time lately. Maybe he had an ulterior motive."
8-ball put a hand to her heart. "Johnny? Betraying me? Using my
friendship as a means to a dastardly end?" She dropped her hand
abruptly. "Yeah, could be. Plus, he has this weird effect on my room
doors. They just let him in like he owns the place. All right, add
Johnny to the list. Who else . . . well, the Doc knows I care about my
teddy bear. She fixed him up once, although I don't think she's too
invested in my therapy. If only Saul were on board. This is just the
sort of thing Saul would do." 8-ball sighed. She missed her devious
little friend.
"What about Victor?"
"Victor? You mean, your love muffin---do not speak; I haven't given up
hope. He's a little . . . I don't know, broody, for stealing teddy
bears, isn't he? Doesn't quite sound like something worthy of the Dark
Lord." 8-ball frowned. "Or Dark Lord Junior. He has been toning down
the death thing lately."
Ella shrugged. "He might be concerned about you, having shared your
brain for awhile, right? And he's working on a sense of humor. Maybe
him and Angie are in cahoots."
"Do not speak the Evil One's name." 8-ball thought about it. "I don't
know that Little Miss Death Stealer and I have ever even had a
conservation, but I won't cross it off. That's what makes a good
mystery, little twists and turns. It could be anyone."
8-ball turned away dramatically. "I knew it could be anyone," she
said. "I knew I was missing something . . . and by the time I figured
it out, it could be too late."
"You're going to keep doing that aren't you?"
8-ball thought about it. "Yeah," she said. "Probably. Come on. We have
to go and check out . . . The Scene of the Crime."
****
*The Scene of the Crime*
"The room was quiet, but a strange sort of quiet, the quiet you get
when someone's been killed. I knew the bear could still be alive, but
the icy cold gnawing in my gut told me we didn't have much time."
"Yeah, he could be slaughtering poor teddy's left and right," Ella said.
8-ball ignored Ella's complete lack of enthusiasm. She stalked around
her quarters, looking for clues. "There's always a clue," she said,
drawing her phaser and looking under the bed. There was nothing under
the bed. 8-ball was a little disappointed.
"Um, is that a phaser?"
8-ball glanced down at the phaser. "Oh, come on," she said. "I'm not
going to shoot anything. It's just for the ambiance." 8-ball flung
herself on her bed, completely dejected with her lack of clues. She
looked mournfully down at her phaser. "Find anything yet?" she asked
Ella.
"Gonna shoot me if I say no?"
"No," 8-ball said, "but I might feed you to some hungry tribbles if
you don't get into character. And don't say tribbles are
harmless---obviously, you haven't seen Saw 5000 yet."
She twirled her phaser around carelessly. "Well, this was a bust," she
said. "We need to start interviewing suspects, if we're ever going to
get anywhere." With that, she set her phaser down and started
unzipping her uniform.
"Uh, why ..."
"Because I'm hot for you, and I want to make some mad monkey love
before investigating." 8-ball rolled her eyes. "Because this is the
best way I know to get Johnny Walker to come through those doors. Just
give it a five seconds. 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . and 3
quarters . . . ."
The doors opened and Johnny Walker walked in. "Hey, 8-ball," he said,
then looked at Ella. "Oh. Am I, uh, interrupting something . . ."
Ella was impressed. "I should try that sometime."
"Sit down, Mr. Walker," 8-ball said. "We have some things to discuss."
Johnny Walker raised his eyebrows and sat down on the bed. He was well
aware that his friend had some . . . quirks, and it was usually just
easier to go along with whatever she wanted. "What's up?" he asked.
8-ball didn't respond immediately. Instead, she turned to face the
wall. "He was always a shifty character," she said to the shadows. "He
might not look shifty, but I can tell about a man. I wouldn't trust
him as far as I could throw him, that's for damn sure. But would
Johnny "The Ostrich" Walker really have the stones to pull off a caper
like this?"
Johnny glanced back at Ella. "She still taking her meds?" he asked.
"To be honest, I'm not sure she ever had the prescription filled."
8-ball spun around dramatically. "A crime was committed today," she
announced. "A crime of dastardly proportions. An innocent teddy bear
was kidnapped and a ransom note left behind. Tell me, Mr. Walker. What
do you know about this?"
Johnny looked at the note that she dropped in his lap. He looked at
her, then at Ella, then back at her. "Seriously?" he asked. "Someone
took your teddy bear?"
"Not just somebody," 8-ball snapped and then leaned in, close to
Johnny. The effect would be better if she was wearing something
low-cut, but you couldn't have everything in life. "It was you."
Of course, 8-ball had no idea that it was Johnny at all, but it
sounded a lot better to say it all resolved and gung-ho like that. The
mixture of confusion and amusement that crossed Johnny's face,
however, did not exactly make the words "Master Villain" spring to
mind.
"I didn't take it," Johnny said. "What the hell would I want with a teddy bear?"
"I can't know your nefarious motivations," 8-ball said, pulling back
to pace appropriately. "But let's look at the facts--you have access
to the room. The doors never stop you from entering; you could have
easily slithered your way in, took my beloved teddy bear, and
slithered on out. You have means and opportunity. What do you have to
say for yourself, Mr. Walker?"
And then, breaking character, 8-ball threw Ella an irritated glance.
"And are you gonna help at all? Honestly, Sherlock never had to deal
with this crap from his partner."
Ella threw up her hands helplessly. "My knowledge of crime procedurals
mostly dates to the late twentieth century." She looked at 8-ball's
computer thoughtfully. "Although if you can hold up the investigation
for ten minutes I can get a better idea of what you're looking for."
8-ball made a shoo-ing gesture with her hand and turned back to
monologue some more. "This one was a tough nut to crack," she said,
"but I knew he'd break down, eventually. They all break down in the
end. The Ostrich was no better."
"Okay," Johnny said, annoyed. "Seriously? The ostrich? I refuse to be
'the ostrich.' That's the dumbest mobster name I've ever heard."
"All right, tough guy. Why don't you give it a go?"
Johnny thought about it a minute. "What about . . . Bad Ass Johnny?"
8-ball snorted. "Yeah," she said. "I think we'll stick with The Ostrich."
"Okay, I think I understand now," Ella said brightly as she came back
into the room. She unclipped her hair, shook it out a bit, and then
struck a pose.
Then she turned her attention to Johnny with a seductive smile. He gulped.
"Hey there, Handsome," Ella said in what would have been a husky
voice- had it not been for the vocal implant, of course. "Why don't
you tell Giggles here were you stashed the bear so that you and me can
have some playtime of our own." While Johnny stood there gaping she
turned to Ella. "How was that?"
"That was awesome!" 8-ball said. "You see? This is what I'm talking
about." Then, she frowned a little. "But, Giggles? Really?"
Ella flashed a quick smile and then turned back to Johnny with a full
pout. "Come on, Johnny. Don't leave a girl hanging dry." The pout
turned into a smirk. "I'll show you some new things to stuff."
Johnny put his head in his hands. "I live amongst crazy people," he
said. Then he glanced up at the women above him and figured he might
as well play along. "Look," he said, "I ain't heard nothing. Word on
the street's been shy of teddy bears. But, I did see a dame lurking
around here this morning, and seemed to me that she had something to
hide."
8-ball raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" she asked. "And who just who might
this mysterious dame be?"
"The doc," Johnny said, "the lady doc in town. Burton's her name.
Doctor Kimberly Burton."
"The doc!" 8-ball said and then looked at Ella. "She fixed Eptgac up
once. Took pretty good care of him. I don't know why she'd be looking
to hurt the bear . . . and I don't know why she'd care if I went back
to my Vulcan training . . . nevertheless, it's a lead. Any lead is
good. We should go investigate."
"Does that mean I get to leave?" Johnny asked.
8-ball turned to glare at him. "You're free to go," she said, "for
now. But I don't want you going nowhere, you hear? I'm keeping an eye
on you."
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Like I'm just going to take a shuttle and fly
off," he grumbled. He said something else about the psychosis of
half-Vulcans and stomped away out of the quarters.
8-ball turned back to Ella, excited. "Finally," she said, "a clue!
Computer, where is Doctor Burton?"
"Doctor Burton is in Sickbay."
"Awesome," 8-ball said. "Well, Ella, you coming?"
Ella nodded. "Sure, I think I got time for an interrogation or two before work."
8-ball grinned, then quickly dropped the grin in favor of a more
serious, "detective" face. "I didn't know who took the bear," she
said. "But I'd get to the bottom of this. Because this one was
personal."
"And no one messes with 8-ball "Giggles" Hunter."
TBC
“An Unexpected Encounter” (Part I)
Ensign Ty L’Hari
Maxine Jacques-Tori
The sun shone brightly high above the main athletics arena, causing
the curvy tritanium structure to shimmer in the heat. Crowds of
spectators milled around it’s perimeter, many sporting banners, signs
or clothes announcing their allegiance to various teams. There were
vendors of all types scattered throughout the crowds, their wares
ranging from foods of every known world to souvenirs of the games
themselves. In the midst of this sea of people, Ty was enjoying the
simple pleasure of being just “one of the crowd”.
He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular, just milling about. Stylish
sunglasses shielded his eyes from the light reflected off the arena,
and his hair was more heavily styled then he’d normally have worn it
on duty. The white, sleeveless top showed off his defined arms and
chest, and he wore surfer-style calf-length shorts with simple
sandals. There were a few interested glances from passers-by, but Ty
wasn’t looking for that kind of company. It had been hard to blend
into the background onboard the USS Einstein, the Intrepid class ship
had only carried a crew of one hundred and fifty, so crowds had always
been in short supply, and it was nice just to mingle and be a nobody
along with a load of other nobodies.
He had stopped to browse through one of the souvenir stalls when it
happened; his muted psionics suddenly coming to life and demanding his
attention. It was an odd sensation, not un-nerving or frightening, but
a sense of raw power, akin to a powerful bass note that was more felt
than heard.
Ty saw the source’s effect on the crowd before he saw the source
itself. There was a slight parting moving through the crowd, like the
bow of a riverboat cutting through water. Then it reached a gap in the
sea of people, and the source moved into view.
The woman was the classic image of betazoid beauty, dark hair spilling
in loose curls around her shoulders, hazel eyes glittering like a twin
pools of untold depths. High-heeled boots disappeared into her
stylish, purple trousers, which hugged her waist and thighs but flared
out towards the ankles. Her torso was wrapped in a white top with a
plunging neckline, panels of white lace showing her flat stomach and
sides. Long sleeves of the same material clad her arms, flaring out
from elbow to wrist and giving her the look of some ancient
enchantress. That image was further enhanced by the slender silver
rings that encircled each of her fingers, and the glittering gemstone
which rested above her breasts, suspended on a silver chain which
seemed to trace a path to her cleavage. The stride was even, measured,
and unhurried, carrying her slowly but inexorably towards the surfer,
and drew many amorous glances from members of the crowd. But there was
something in the atmosphere surrounding the woman that prevented the
glances from becoming anything more, a kind of indifference and
supreme confidence which gave the impression that, like a great work
of art, this woman would be best appreciated from a distance.
The beauty moved before him, stopping close enough that he could smell
the delicate scent of her perfume, and for the first time, their eyes
met.
“Hello, Tias…” The woman’s voice was both sophisticated and sultry.
“Max…” Ty breathed. “I never expected to see you in a place like
this.”
That knowing betazoid smile crept over the woman’s beautiful features.
“The universe isn’t as big as the planet-bound like to think Ty…”
She looked around at the crowd for a moment and then shrugged.
“Besides. I have time on my hands right now. The USS Pioneer is back
in drydock after another spat with the enemy, and while docked there’s
little demand for the ten-forward lounge, so I decided to take a
vacation and see what The Games were all about.”
Ty’s eyebrow arched. “Let me guess, Ten-fore took the brunt of the
attack again?”
“Not directly, but there was some minor damage. Just as well really,
my business insurance costs me enough as it is, but what’s a bar
manager to do?”
Max glanced around, before turning back to him. “Speaking of bars, I
fancy a drink. Care to join me?”
Ty’s smiled back at her. “I’d love to.”
“Final Run”
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer – USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Commander Lessia Arda – Chief of Operations – USS Cyntana (NPC)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Epsilon Four “Demeter” – Zero-G Gymnastics Station ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Security… Check…”
Turning her head Kimberly watched the Andorian apparently talking to himself sidle off to a corner. Ever since S’Talis and his ‘accident’ yesterday security had been crawling around, and there were now checkpoints set up now to monitor ingress and egress to the competition area.
It wasn’t the most relaxing of environments, but at least it was safer... She hoped. The changing rooms had been cordoned off all night, not that she had noticed, having spent most of the night sleeping off the sonic assault in the nearby medbay. Fortunately for her there was no permanent damage, inner ear disorientation brought about by the noise, S’Talis though was still there, needing surgery to repair his delicate Vulcan hearing. Which unfortunately for him meant forfeiting the game.
No one was quite sure what had happened, Security had announced a failure in a sonic shower, but that was all right now. Though for a sonic shower to put out that kind of noise was freakishly weird! That and the ever present guards now around had raised more than a few eyebrows, why lock the place down for a faulty shower?
Looking up at the results board she watched as the scheduled list of runs was altered, again. For the third time this morning the schedule had been updated. There was a definite air of tension in the room, especially after the gravity had unexpectedly cut out during a test in room three. The entire event had been postponed for an hour for engineering checks.
“Where have you been?” Kimberly asked anxiously as Lessia literally ran into the common room, “you’re late!”
“I know, I know,” Lessia snapped as she sat and started changing in the lounge. “I’ve had a ‘BAD’ morning.” She snapped, obviously angry.
“What happened? And relax, when you didn’t turn up for check in on time I had a chat with the marshal, when he checked and saw an alert out for you he set your run back a couple of hours, I’m up next.” Pulling her own pads on she smiled, “I mean, I couldn’t let you forfeit, I need to loose to you honestly.”
“Bless you,” Lessia said, breathing a sigh of relief and sitting back. “I don’t know what happened, some freak transporter glitch. Scott and I were beaming down earlier and our clothes made it down, everything except me and Scott. We got beamed to some lagoon half way around the planet, butt naked!” She announced indignantly. “Now,” a smile and a faint flush creeping up her face, “don’t get me wrong, it had the potential for a great romantic getaway, but it wasn’t what we had intended for today. It’s taken my people on the Cyntana this long to find us. If our clothes hadn’t made it down no one would have been any the wiser.”
“Three hours to find two butt naked people somewhere on the planet, not bad.” Kimberly nodded approvingly, “Strange though, apparently that’s not the first ‘glitch’ I’ve heard of this morning.” Stretching to settle the suit and pads comfortably she nodded to the monitors where ‘wonder boy’ as Lessia had jokingly called him was warming up. “Our champion there and a few others got stuck in a turbolift earlier, they got in, asked to come up the mountain and instead it dropped them down the shaft and got stuck over a mile and a half down. Took them an hour to extricate them.”
“I’ll tell you something, I’m having my people and security double check the rooms before the party later. Damned if I want over a hundred people having a gravity accident.” Lessia decided, indignation still evident in her voice.
Standing Kimberly rested a hand on her new friends shoulder, “Take a deep breath and relax,” she advised. “You’re here, you’ve got time and no one is hurt. We’ll deal with it later okay. I’m sure security is on it.” ~ And if they’re not, I’ll make a call! ~ She decided, this was getting weirder and weirder. Casting an eye across the room where Zelo stood by one of the huge windows that showed the mountain range below them outside she found an idea forming in her mind. ~ He’s not ‘that’ petty is he? ~ She wondered of the Templars commander.
Starting to unpack Lessia nodded, “Good call,” she decided. “Are the changing rooms open?”
“Yes, but the sonics have all been taken off line, water showers only.” Kimberly advised her, not exactly sounding unhappy at the thought.
“What a shame,” Lessia agreed with a tired smile. “How are you this morning, you feeling up to this?” After Kimberly’s collapse yesterday Lessia had gotten her to the medbay, then hung around for several hours until the doctors had proclaimed her uninjured and fit to continue. It had taken most of the night for the ringing in her ears to subside though.
“Yes, and thanks again...” Hearing her name called she looked up at the boards, “gotta go, we’ll talk in a bit.” Giving the taller and older woman a quick hug whispered in a low voice so only Lessia could hear, “Do me a favour, keep an eye on Zelo. I’ll explain later.” She promised.
Arriving at the game room a moment later she waited patiently for the marshal to run his usual tricorder scan, studying the room beyond as he worked, as with each heat the room changed slightly, the more competitive, the more bars. She was glad she didn’t play in the same category as the selkies, their game rooms looked like an inside out porcupine!
“You’re good to go. Have a good run.” The door marshal said with a wave into the room.
Smiling her thanks she stepped into the room beyond to warm up again, for the last few days she had been in and out of zero-g so many times it was becoming more and more relaxing. Stretching and then spending a few moments swinging on the bars to limber up she resolved to do this more while on ship. For no other reason really than it was good fun.
Catching the green start bar as she drifted by it she held it loosely and raised her voice. “Ready.”
The qualifiers had been a challenge, no worse though than the courses she used on ship. The quarter and semi finals though had gotten progressively harder, each with their own set time limit to simply pass the heat. Now, here in the final heat, with only thirteen contestants left who had made it this far you were really put to the test.
The course lit up before her, running around each wall as you would expect, then looping around again, then again. Triple the distance, but only double the time. Even more exertion required and a much higher chance of a foul.
She’d only done a course like this a few times, for daily exercise a normal run was a good workout. This though was punishing, set to challenge you, push you and see if you could just finish it.
Even being awarded the wooden spoon was an achievement. It meant you had at least managed to finish this level within the set time, and could do better.
Orientating herself to the course as she waited to start she relaxed, breathing slowly, waiting.
Bing.
Autopilot. Starships have them, so do people, you just can’t program it to go from ‘A’ to ‘B’ via a prepared route, well, not specifically. It takes training, time. The brain is a wonderful thing, it can process information in so many different ways, but the conscious mind only uses a fraction of that information.
The sub-conscious, well, now that’s a different matter. It ‘can’ access and utilise that information, but letting your conscious mind take a back seat to the sub-conscious isn’t easy. You need to relax for starters, meditation helps. Fighter pilots need to be able to achieve a sort of relaxed meditative state, allowing all the data in their cockpit to be available to their conscious mind, via the sub-conscious.
That’s what’s needed here. You need to be aware of everything, where the walls are and where the bars are. Which ones you can touch, and which you have to avoid. How fast are you going, how can you speed up, or slow down? Move by move the information changes, and your senses update your own internal computer, your brain.
Add to all that a healthy dose of luck and a prayer and you’re off.
Swing... Grab... Owww, Dren!!!
One foul!
Don’t count the fouls! Worry about how bad you’ve done up to now and you start doubting your skill, doubt your skill and you do worse, make more mistakes, and so on, a vicious cycle that’ll have you wrapped painfully around a bar before you can think ‘Look out!’
Three walls covered... Fifteen to go.
Legs around that one! Pivot... Pray!
‘Whew’ Push off... Reach... Good.
Gonna take time, a normal course covers six walls, this is eighteen. You’re tired by six normally.
Seven walls and your shoulders have more than a dull ache slowly spreading between them.
Nine walls and your calves don’t just ache, they throb.
Ten and you’re panting like someone has beamed out half the oxygen on the room.
Eleven and you’re not only smelling the sweat you can feel it oozing around inside the skin tight suit you’re wearing.
Every move is starting to have an associated ache with it. Legs, arms, shoulders, back. Even your backside aches.
Or did I somehow manage to run into a bar with my butt?
Thirteen walls and you’ve slowed a little, perhaps more than a little, no one can keep up a high velocity throughout eighteen walls. Try it one day, I guarantee you’ll end up smeared over a wall.
Fourteen walls and you’re ready to kill for a drink, just a sip of water. Quit and you can have a drink, sweet cool water.
Fifteen and that’s when your hands and wrists ‘really’ start rebelling.
Sixteen, and now your neck aches so bad it’ll take the masseur a month to unknot the cords in your muscles. You’ve been looking around so much with less resistance than usual. Not uncommon for a maze runner to be pulled out of the court with whiplash.
Seventeen. Nearly there, and now’s when people start getting careless. Eager to finish mistakes are made. Good runners who have got this far take it easy. Better to finish with a score than be disqualified.
Eighteen. Wow. Eighteen. By now though you’ve lost count a lot of walls back. If you get to wall eighteen you’re on total autopilot, there’s sweat, pain, aches and bruises, you don’t know it though, you’re still going.
And then you stop. It’s not graceful, and certainly not pretty. Once the course runs out the auto pilot crashes. And so do you, wrapped around a bar is the usual end of a run.
Panting Kimberly looked ‘up’ as the door opened. ~ Why, oh why, do I do this to myself! ~ she wondered, her body feeling as if several large Naussicans had just run into the room and body slammed her against the walls for several minutes.
Unwinding from the bar that had unceremoniously stopped her she drifted slowly to the door, not even looking around for a tally of fouls as she did. The score board would, eventually, tell her how she’d done when it updated this afternoon, or she could watch the re-run.
Right now all she wanted was a long soak in a bath and a nap!
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