From: Katrina L. Browne (kbrowne_at_wellesley.edu)
Date: Mon Dec 24 2007 - 01:36:12 PST
-=(^)=- “Foil” Con’t From: “The New CO's Nightmare” -=(^)=- Location: EARTH Scene: Starfleet Command, conference room. Stardate: 2.71221.0903 Arto Halle sat at the Padd strewn conference table sliding several of the padds across to the other Admiral’s sat there as he spoke. “The 13th fleet left instant communication range an hour ago, prior to leaving our primary territory they were joined by the USS STARBLAZER, Commodore Svenson is onboard and returning to the GATEWAY with the fleet.” Commodore Danara-Bennow nodded as she picked up the padd. “We still haven’t received any pertinent information for the Gamma quadrant, I assume Commodore Necarra knows he is going in blind, unless he happens to intercept a data burst.” Pointed out the Intel Chief. “The fleet is traveling as close along the path of the burst as we can predict, but yes with all the variations in tranwarp its still no guarantee they will receive any data.” Responded Arto, while sliding out more padds. “I have elements of the 11th and 8th assembling near BAJOR should the wormhole open.” Began Arto, talking now about the new padd. “Isn’t that a bit of a long shot?” Commented Admiral Seamore. Arto shook his head, “All the assembled elements have transwarp, should we decide when we receive the data transmissions that we need to reinforce further they can be dispatched from BAJOR.” “Ok, who has command of that force?” Asked Catherine clearly taking notes as they talked, despite the information on the padds before her. “Captain Meyhew of the CHURCHILL.” Answered Arto quickly. “Neither of the STONEHENGE or the ABILITY available?” Asked an Admiral at the far end of the table. “The ABILITY is mediating a diplomatic incident, the STONEHENGE may be available, they are currently enroute but are dealing with some problems.” “Problems?” Asked Admiral Hathaway. “They haven’t disclosed them, they said they would transmit a full report when they could.” “Very well,” Admiral Seamore replied as she stood, “Until we receive a data burst there is little more we can do.” -=(^)=- Location: GS-2 Scene: Get Your Grove On Bar and Discotheque Zane Rixx had been lying low for a few days. So far the Starfleet types had been too busy with everything else that was going on within the GATE to really have time to even remember to deal with him. And, as his Deltan lawyer so often reminded his Bolian employer, even if members of security came for the crime lord-turned-politician, they were standing on very dubious legal grounds. Rixx had given a “political speech in a political context” which was a “protected form of communication in every advanced legal democracy.” The term “mutineer” couldn’t really be applied to the rotund man as he was not a subordinate of any military organization. After all, it wasn’t his fault the civilian population responded so poorly to the leaked tape. That was really just poor leadership on the part of the GATEWAY’s command staff. Or so Rixx had comforted himself for the last few days as he holed himself up within his bar. Rixx was a man used to having a fair bit of control over his destiny, but things had been spinning out of his reach for some time now. How that blasted old man had made him a pawn, nay how he would probably still be a pawn if anyone could find the elderly professor, still was a mystery. A Bolian’s heart just doesn’t disappear. Since that fateful day, things had simply gotten worse for Mr. Rixx. He’s been forced into an election campaign he had little desire to be involved in. His people had assassinated the wrong man and framed the worst possible person for the job. Zane, in his folly, had attempted to find a bright side to that fact and had wound up inciting a riot that encouraged the Dominion to start a war. A war that the Bolian was trapped in. With no wormhole, there really was no where to go. He was stuck on a besieged station with a motley crew of protectors aligned against all the might the Dominion could muster in their home court. All in all, things had not been looking up. And then Kane had disappeared. That was perhaps the first bit of good news Rixx had heard during all of the commotion. Rixx had tried to capitalize on that fact. But just like everything else during the last few weeks…when he thought he had had a win, the blue man had really lost. “Whose in command now!?!” he bellowed at his toady Ferengi associate. The smaller man’s lobes twitched for a moment. But Frex had resisted the urge to cover them and cower as his boss gave a painfully loud (or at least painfully loud if ones ears are the size of dish plates) shout. “A Commander Daisy Bryne Davidson…some sort of doctor...according to the file.” “I familiar with the woman,” Rixx said. Bitterness, as harsh as Bolian Rilnach-root tea, infused his voice. “…And she is familiar with my more outwardly criminal side,” he finished, recalling his brief and unpleasant history with the station’s new CO. “She might not remember,” Frex offered up, lamely. Rixx sat for a moment in the dark, contemplating his new situation. While he had perpetually skirted the edges of illegality aboard the GATE, he had also attempted to maintain more upstanding connections. Everyone knew he was corrupt, but it had been those connections (along with some help from his ill-gotten-gains) that had made him even remotely a contender within GATEWAY politics. Under the station’s new luster (or until the Dominion had decided to ruin the façade with some well placed potshots), there had always lurked a darker element. The station stood at a nexus between two cultures with a longstanding, yet submerged conflict. Perhaps the largest and most lucrative trade on the station was in information. As a seat for much of the Federation’s negotiations with Gamma quadrant powers, the mechanical world had seen an influx of questionable types with even more questionable motivations. And Rixx had cornered his fair share of the market that supplied these people with the key tidbits that could mean success or failure to sensitive diplomatic negotiations. The crimelord had also entered the protection business. While much of this was still a well known racket, the station’s position as a frontier outpost had made it a little rougher for some of the merchants in the less well monitored recesses of the GATE. It was these merchants who had immediately supported his campaign and helped to give it a wider legitimacy. While he fleeced them, they also needed him and so, in his way, Rixx provided a public service. “She’ll remember and she’ll damn well make sure we’re all locked up for the rest of our measly existence,” Zane sighed, placing his head in his own outstretched hands. While his boss thought over his current predicament, Frex wandered behind the bar. Since Zane had been so preoccupied by the election and, for some unknown reason, by that elderly human merchant and his droid, he had not been keeping tab on his employees. Frex and many of the others had taken to skimming off the bar in more ways than one. The bleu man suddenly looked up and then addressed the silence more than anyone in particular, “I don’t really have a choice do I? I can’t leave this station and nor can she.” “What are you thinking about?” Rylan, one of the Bolian’ human underlings asked as he nodded to Frex to poor him a glass of acrid green looking booze as well. “The commander has to die,” Rixx said simply, a calm having washed over him for the first time in many weeks. “It’s really quite simple. She either dies or I go to jail. I definitely have a preference over those two outcomes.” Frex tipped his glass back and began to refill it. **Not another assassination…We’re 0 for 2 at the moment.** Frex toke a sip of the liquid and then voiced his concerns. “That hasn’t been working too well for us recently.” Unable to control his temper, Rixx bellowed, “Well, it had damn well better work this time.” Frex’s hand trembled this time, spilling some of the liquor on to the bar top. It sizzled lightly, stripping away some of the metallic surface. “Of…course.” Rixx stood up and paced in the darkened space. They had kept the lights off to give everyone the impression that business was not going as usual within the Rixx establishment. “Our last two attempts failed because we didn’t plan for redundancy.” “Redundancy?” one of the henchmen asked. Frex snapped off a definition in an attempt to keep his boss from getting sidetracked which invariably led to Zane exploding at the lot of them. “Percisely. We need to make certain there is no possible way our attempt could fail. And if the first one does, we need a second one to follow it up immediately,” the Bolian explained, a plan beginning to form in his mind. “But we also need to make certain it can’t be tracked back to us. The last bomb attempt was successful in that regard, but not specific enough. I’m certain, though, that I have some acquaintances who can smooth over this problem for us. Better yet, they will never be traced back to us,” he continued. “Who boss?” the Ferengi associate asked. Rixx smiled as the answer came easily to him. “The station security logs still reflect the fact that we have a long standing disagreement with Karlsa and her people. As you know, Frex, we patched those fences up when I began my run for station politics.” “Her people aren’t very predictable,” Frex’s human associate pointed out. “Nor have mine,” the Bolian leader said, dourly. “Considering our recent success to failure rate, Karlsa has been doing a lot better than us.” “Even if we can get Karlsa to agree to do this, how are we going to get to the Commander?” one of the henchmen asked. Rixx thought for a moment. Commander Davidson had not been the most protected person on the station before she took up the CO role, but now a small band of marines tended to follow her around when she left Operations. And, even she did leave the stations nerve center, she very rarely spent much time in places in which a sniper team could be positioned and hidden. All in all, they needed her on the Promenade. The number of people would effectively mask the assassin before they made their move, giving the team that critical edge of surprise. “We have quite a few merchants who are quite worried about their families and businesses. I imagine they have a number of grievances they would appreciate being aired in a public forum,” Rixx suggested. His few weeks in a life or death political battle had been a quick education in reading situations such as these. “I’m certain with a minimal amount of pushing that we could arrange to have the Commander in a truly open place.” -=(^)=- Scene: Promenade Despite the damage the station had suffered the Promenade didn’t look too bad thought Drake. Although the majority of his attention wasn’t exactly on the structure of this familiar place. Considering most of the outlets were closed and several damaged there were a lot of civilians around, in fact the civilians were lining the walkways near the connecting passage to the Operations module. It was Bob Windsor, an old acquaintance of Drake’s that has told him what was going on. And now Drake stood, next to the walkway entrance waiting for Daisy. He scanned the crowd as was habitual for him, noting nuances of peoples movements, some of them seemed nervous, one down right jittery, him Drake watched with care, but most seemed just tense, hardly unexpected given the stations current situation. There were a number of PATRIOT’s marines around the place along with the GATEWAY’s own security force, no chances were being taken. A sleepy call from behind him alerted him to Daisy’s approach. She still didn’t look comfortable that he was back in an Intelligence uniform but she wasn’t going to let it interfere either. “What’s going on Drake?” She asked stifling a yawn. Her head turned to take in the number of civilians around, the number of civilians all watching her. “Apparently some of the civilians have a problem they need to talk to you about.” Whispered Drake. “At five in the morning?!?” She grumbled. “Daisy, this is the GATEWAY, it doesn’t sleep.” “Well when we find out who decided that, let me know so I can yell at them ok?” She replied still not looking at Drake. -=(^)=- Scene: Get Your Grove On Bar and Discotheque Time Index: During the planning phase “It should be at an odd hour,” Samuel Delorn noted. Since the campaign, he had been a slowly rising member of the Rixx organization and had proved himself accomplished at bullying members of the stations population—a key skill in his line of work. “It always helps to hit them when they aren’t able to react.” Rixx nodded. The plan was beginning to take shape. He had already contacted Karlsa. For her own reasons (and for a fairly substantial piece of change irregardless of how the plan went down), she had agreed to supply her people for the operation. “Only the best,” Zane had asked her, attempting to using his charm on the woman. Karlsa had looked at him coldly, unmoved by the Bolian’s shallow attempts at flattery during their entire conversation, and then answered equally coolly, “As we have already discussed, Starfleet should not be allowed to re-establish itself on this station as the legitimate authority.” Both of them knew that not having Starfleet surely meant that the Dominion would be the dominant player on board. “…But that’s not a problem. A Vorta acquaintance assures me that if the Commander is removed and the Dominion takes the facility we will be treated with…benign neglected.” And benign neglect certainly sounded like a better bargain to him than what they were certain face under the leadership of a woman who had likely developed a hate for all of their kind. “I agree. Does anyone know the new commander’s schedule?” Rixx asked. “When does she sleep and eat and the like?” “Well, I have it from a good authority that she is currently going to bed relatively late. An escort usually walks her to her quarters at around 2a.m,” Frex said, looking over the notes he had started to compile on their quarry. -=(^)=- Scene: CO’s Ready Room Time Index: 0200 Hours Maverick rapped lightly on the slick metal material of the Commander Davidson’s ready room. He could have used the door panel to signal his arrival, but Mav wasn’t a buzzer kinda of a guy. He had a physicality to him that got expressed in small ways, like an old fashioned knock on a door. A muffled voice called, “Come in.” The marine caused the door to whoosh open. (The engineers claimed that they had invented a silent door hydraulic system, but he always heard a whoosh.) Daisy sat behind her desk. He head leaned gently against one of her hands as she looked down and examined a data P.A.D.D. “Another report from engineering,” she said, flicking the rectangle of circuitry gently. “Not surprising. And they’ll be another one tomorrow, but you’ve already been on duty too long,” Mav pointed out. “I thought I was the motherly type,” Daisy playfully pouted before suppressing a yawn. “I know. I’m uncomfortable in the role, but someone has to do it,” Brent shrugged. “It must be a crisis situation,” Daisy added lightly. “I’ll make a deal with you. If I’ve been on duty too long, you’ve definitely been on duty too long. How about we both call it an evening. The Dominion and the station will still be here in the morning.” Maverick frowned. He had not been expecting to get ordered to bed himself in this whole affair. “We can only hope, but as we’ve been shown with the recent upswing in sabotage incidents, that is not necessarily the case.” “You have a second-in-command, just as I do. I’m fairly certain they can man the fort,” the blonde pointed out. Brent sighed. He didn’t say it (that wasn’t his way), but she was right. He *had* been up for a long time, after all. When they had arrived on the GATE they had found the situation convoluted and were not entirely certain who was friend from foe. Even though that had somewhat been sorted out, the Station had been a disaster after the attack. “It’s a deal, but I’m going to walk you back to your quarters.” “Are you becoming a southern gentleman? Escorting a lady?” she teased lightly. -=(^)=- Scene: Get Your Grove On Bar and Discotheque Time Index: During the planning phase “Then that means a 0500 wakeup call is just about perfect. She’ll have had too little sleep to effectively know what’s hit her. It also is earlier, but not implausibly early. After all, very few Promenade shops close and those that do are run by owners who have usually come in by 5 or 6 am,” Rixx nodded. He had talked with a lot of merchants and kissed a lot of their babies in his quest to control the political situation on board the GATE. “I’ll inform Karlsa’s people that the timing will be at 0500 hours and that they should be prepared before that,” Frex nodded. “We’ll need to make certain that the Starfleet types are given as little notice as possible concerning the meeting. We don’t want them to have a lot of time to prescreen the meeting location and run the possibility of early detection,” Samuel opined. “Not a problem. Most leaders would recognize that the civilians are anxious and would therefore not begrudge the fact that an impromptu meeting has been called to discuss their situation. Hell, she was a *counselor*. She’ probably used to neurotic complaints all the time and the desire for people to air them at odd and inconvenient times,” Rixx said with a shrug. -=(^)=- Scene: Promenade Drake chuckled and stood by her side, looking for all the world like someone advising their liege lord. “Bob Windsor there,” said Drake, inclining his head towards the owner of the Lonelyu Traveler, “has apparently been appointed to talk to you.” Daisy sighed, “Well ok, let’s do this then, then I can go back to bed.” There was just enough of a pause in her sentence for Drake to wonder about her reluctance to go back to sleep, but she was already striding forwards to Bob and Drake smiled at her carefully measured strides, she was drawing on all the techniques she had learned from so many people over the years. “Mr Windsor?” She asked politely although it was also clear she already knew that was who she was addressing. “Commander Davidson, we are given to understand you are wanting to evacuate we civilians?” Drake was once again by Daisy’s shoulder as she responded, “That is correct; we wish to keep you all as safe as we can.” “Where will we go? Can you tell us the Dominion won’t hunt us down? We are a long way from the Federation and without the wormhole we have nowhere to run to, it seems to us that the GATEWAY is the best place for us to be.” “You are right, I cannot tell you they won’t come after you, but I can say GATEWAY will come under attack again, that much is certain, and you are all in danger here.” Drake was tense, there was something going on here, but he couldn’t tell what, something just felt... wrong. “Commander,” said Bob, “GATEWAY is our home, we have nowhere else to go, let us stay, let us fight for our homes, for our friend for our families.” “Mr Windsor, all I can offer is to take your request under advisement and speak to the Captain in charge of the taskforce, the final decision....” There is a concept soldiers can tell you of, that of fight time. When fight time happens everything seems to slow down, a brief firefight that took only several seconds may seem to have taken up to a minute to the participants. After the event Drake would probably tell you he experienced something similar here and now. A glimpse of a particular movement from the corner of his eye prompted him in to motion and even as he turned he was pushing Daisy and Bob to the deck. The echo of a projectile weapon was still filling the area when a knife left his hand. Most of the civilians were yelling and running by now, several however weren’t. The marines and security officers tried to take them down but the milling civilians got in the way. Twice more flashes of silver seemed to leap from Drake’s hands, one passing a hair's breadth from the face of a hefty looking Grazerite. A flurry of well placed shots from the marines felled the last few assailants, now losing much of their cover as the civilians fled. The fight time finally seemed to fall away as Drake bundled Daisy back in to the connecting walkway and stood baring the entrance for a few moments before following. Daisy looked a little stunned but seemed ok, when she turned to Drake though he was, for once, flummoxed as to how he might describe the emotion he saw play across her features, or perhaps he just didn’t want to acknowledge that the expression on her face as she saw it was him; could possibly be fear. -=(^)=- Scene: Get Your Grove On Bar and Discotheque Time Index: During the planning phase As the meeting was wrapping up, Kel Norta shook his head. The Bolian had worked for his second cousin for a long time now and usually acknowledged that Zane Rixx could run an operation smoothly, but something just didn’t feel right about the plan they had adopted. At the beginning there had been a lot of discussion of the need for redundancy, but that had fallen to the foreground during the planning itself. “What don’t you like, Kel?” Rixx asked. He was a little gentler with the younger blue man; perhaps because he was family, the rest of the group often assumed that was the case. In its way, that was true, though Rixx could not be said to be a family man. A fiery Bolian woman could be a highly attractive thing (his obsession with the Bonviva woman demonstrated that), but it quickly lost its charms when a close relation was the one angry with you. “It just seems like there will likely be a lot of security forces on the Promenade. Marines, members of Starfleet. Leaves a lot of opportunity for someone to interfere and muck up this whole business. Not to mention make it a lot more bloody than it needs to be. If we want to maintain a place here, we don’t only need to get Starfleet of our backs, we need to maintain some sort of positive relationship with the civilian population. If Karlsa’s involved in a masacare, someone will figure it out. Not Starfleet Security, they don’t really maintain the sort of relationships that are critical to really knowing what is going on here. But there are a number of people involved in the information trade. Since you ran for station governor, I’m certain a number of them have been keeping close tabs on you. Hell, the transmissions to Karlsa are probably already on the market,” he pointed out. Zane nodded. He may have been family and may have been gentler with the kid, but the kid also had brains. It was fairly clear that in a few years Kel could set up his own successful business, but right now he was probably the best adviser Rixx could rely on. “So what do you suggest? We’ve already gotten the Promenade scene in motion. It’s a little late to stop it now.” Kel listened to his relative and his employer, nodding to acknowledge that he understood the older Bolian’s point of view. “I’m not saying we should put an end to the Promenade attempt. But I do think that we need a back up plan. It could and probably would be a wonderful distraction to a second attempt. Especially, if we could hit her in an area where she felt safe and was able to unwind a little after the first try.” “Operations?” Frex asked, dismissively. “It’s impossible. The whole place is crawling with Marines.” “Not impossible; just difficult. But the station’s current state of technological disarray gives us an easy in. There are always repair crews going in and out of that module. Not all of them are attached to crews the personnel of the GATE or the Marines would easily recognize. We could masquerade as one of these fairly easily,” the Norta boy pointed out. “It won’t be so easy,” Frex persisted. “I’m certain they have a security protocol to figure out who belongs and who doesn’t; especially after the recent incidents involving shape shifter imposters.” “Maybe not easy, but doable. We just need to figure out the rotation of the technicians and try to replace our guys for a team from one of the smaller vessels. We know Kenta is leading this mission and that the Marines were largely attached to that vessel. If we take a time slot from one of the peripheral ships, it shouldn’t be an issue. And…as you’ve already pointed out…you have a source within Operations who could provide us with that pertinent detail.” Kel addressed Frex. “Then we just need to reroute them to a place where they won’t be found for a few hours to finish the job.” -=(^)=- Scene: Walkway towards Operations “We need to move,” Drake said clearly. “Some place safe so that the Marines can handle the rest of them.” Daisy nodded. Her thoughts were finally again beginning to come clearly to her. She had been in a few life or death situations before. However, this was different. Most of those times she had been attacked because she was part of a larger group or organization that was being attacked. This had felt oddly personal. Even if they were trying to harm Starfleet by killing the station’s Starfleet figurehead, they had been *specifically* gunning for her. Someone wanted her, Daisy Byrne Davidson—doctor—mother—sister—boss…dead. Not just everyone wearing the quintessential sign of Starfleet…the carefully designed and artistically rendered combadge. “Operations. It has had the most security measures,” the woman finally said, exhaling a breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Drake nodded and then motioned for a nearby marine to come over to them. He addressed the brunet young man who barely looked old enough to hold the phaser rifle he wielded so expertly. **The Marines always recruit young, don’t they,** Drake thought to himself a darker thought rose to the surface of his consciousness, **Or they just die young.** “I need you to make certain our back is kept clear. I’m getting her outa here,” Drake said. “Aye, sir.” The older man than grabbed the wrist of the woman whose life he had just saved. He was probably a little rougher than he had intended. There would be a few bruises in the morning, if they made it to the morning that was. Adrenaline still coursed through his system, dictating a number of his actions and slowing time in that way described by soldiers. Yet, he had this profound sense that they had escaped and that the marines would mop up what ever was left of the attackers. Drake tugged her towards the Operations module. -=(^)=- Scene: Operations Eishnala sh’Kor yawned. Since taking the new post that had required a radical wardrobe change (there was now a little bit of red instead a little bit of yellow on her jumper), she had been working long hours and holding both a swing and Alpha shift. That wasn’t to say she wouldn’t have been if she had held her old post. After all, everyone on board was pulling double duty to get the Station ready for when the Dominion returned. The soldier in her didn’t like the fact that their upcoming confrontation was taking so long to arrive. It just didn’t make good tactical logic. You kick you’re enemy when their down. (Especially if you have as little honor as the Dominion regularly showed.) You definitely did not kick them and then runaway so they could lick their wounds and regroup. It could have been as simple as the fact that the Founders were not aligned fully in favor of the attack, but that theory as was not supported by the fact that Intelligence reports suggested that the Dominion was still amassing a fleet just outside of their sensor range. Furthermore, history from a dozen different worlds demonstrated that when a small power won a battle against a significantly larger enemy, the larger enemy returned; and in greater numbers. On Earth, the Italian occupation of Ethiopia demonstrated this principle. On Eishnala’s home world, the Colstha clan had successful rebuffed an attack by the Kor clan in a time when the clans still regularly went to war. Kor returned and with overwhelming numbers made certain the Colstha stronghold would not even rebuff the wind and snow. A Qualar 2 there were similar stories. All in all, history supported the fact that there would be an attack. **But it doesn’t justify the agonizing waiting,** Eishnala thought to herself as she looked around the cavernous room. A lot of people had joined her in pulling this second shift. The junior grade Lieutenant that managed Operations stood talking affably with a crew of technicians that had just arrived from one of the taskforce vessels. The three crewman dressed in the classic colors of engineers walked off and began to set up their tool kits near one of the displays that still bore the marks of the Dominion attack. The panel that sat near the entrance of the module fluttered alive for a moment as one of them tapped into its power source. Eishnala decided to walk over to John, as he had manned the fort a lot longer than she had. He had been pulling nightshifts since his night officer had died. “Anything to report?” the Lieutenant asked. “No ma’am,” John Muller said. “It’s been pretty quiet around here.” Eishnala shrugged, “Too quite if you ask me. It just doesn’t feel…right,” she finished lamly as she searched for the right word. “Don’t begrudge me my quiet,” Lieutenant Muller said, brushing a dark strand of hair back into place with a sweeping motion of his hand. Eishnala’s antennae gave a momentary twitch. In time, Muller would come to read that as Andorian body language expressing minor annoyance, but that time had not yet come. “It’s a false quiet. That’s the problem.” “I could see what you mean,” John said. He may not have read his bosses body language, but he did catch her tone. “So, what did that team want?” Lieutenant Kor, motioned with her head. She lightened her tone in response to his backing off the sore subject. “They were just checking in. Standard security procedure,” the acting head of Operations said. “I know it’s a standard security procedure. Colonel Maverick and I instituted the policy,” Eishnala said. Though the words sounded harsh, she kept them from having the sting they might have had. “Yes, of course.” Muller reflected for a moment, “The weird thing is I didn’t think anyone was planning on working on that panel right now. It doesn’t control particularly important systems. I would have assigned internal forcefield control a higher order in the cue just because it is a good way to slow down a hostile boarding party.” Eishnala frowned at that report. “That is strange.” The Andorian woman looked over at the group of working men and one woman for a moment. Nothing about them seemed particularly out of order. Pounding feet caught the cerulean blue woman’s attention next. Eishnala heard it before pretty much every one else in the module, but it quickly became clear to all that something was amiss. Daisy and a man that Eishnala had never seen before barreled into the room. They came to a stop just inside the space. “Raise an internal force field on the entrances into this area,” Drake barked. “We can’t,” Lieutenant Kor said quickly. “What’s wrong?” John asked, looking from Drake to Daisy and back again. “Some one tried killing me, that’s what’s wrong,” Daisy said. Any fear she had felt had quickly been replaced by anger. “There was an assignation attempt on the Commander’s life,” Drake clarified. He then addressed to marines that had been ordered to keep watch over the space while Mav enjoyed a bit of well earned down time, “Keep your weapons trained on that entrance. The Marines on the Promenade probably already dealt with the situation, but I’d like to be certain no unwelcome visitors were able to follow us.” Eishnala began to walk down the few steps that separated the entrance of the module from the area that housed the station’s usually functional controls. “You’re unharmed, I take it?” she asked. The rigid woman still maintained a bit of cool tone, but under it hints of caring were beginning to swell up. Commander Davidson was new to the station, but it was clear that she was committed to it. That commitment Eishnala could respect. Yet before they could respond, the Andorian’s sensitive antennae picked up on a muted conversation. One of the blue feelers swiveled lazily back to clarify the exchange. “…looks like they failed. I guess its up to us.” Drake was not nearly as winded as Daisy, but it was nonetheless clear that the whole fight had caught him off guard as well. He was trained for such things, but the moment was always a very different experience. There was just something training couldn’t convey and while he had had moments like this one before, they just weren’t as real after time had passed. (Or at least they shouldn’t be if one was not mentally suffering from the experience.) “You definitely aren’t hur…” Eishnala thought for a minute. It was probably a mere moment, but it felt as if she was reacting from within a sleepy haze. Lieutenant Kor had walked into the room feeling just a little off, a little anxious. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder as Drake finished his question. One of the engineers was digging in their tool kit. They began to pull something out. It looked very similar to a spot wielder. Similar, but not the same. A power source had been strapped to the device and it was clearly not the sort of power cell such a minimalist tool required. Lieutenant Eishnala sh’Kor had been trained for such moments, though they had come very rarely for her during her short career. The Andorian military had taught her to see and respond to dangers on the battle field. Her grandfather had taught her the battlefield was not a physical space, per see, but could encompass any number of areas. Starfleet had demonstrated that the life of what had once been called “red shirts” (the colors had changed) was usually mundane, but that vigilance must nonetheless be maintained. And that training had paid off. Without thinking, she moved in a quick, fluid motion, closing the short distance between her and the man attempting to aim the modified device at the outpost’s CO. Drake quickly caught on to what was going on and tugged Daisy down to the ground, reducing her target profile. Lieutenant Kor knocked the tool/weapon out of the man and her left elbow connected with a sicken crunch to his nose. The female crewman scrambled to get a hold of the device that had flown from her compatriot’s hands. Eishnala kicked it further away and the sound of metal on metal tinkled down the stairs. Shots were fired, though Lieutenant Kor never saw by whom, and the woman and remaining man crumpled to floor. And then…the moment of clarity was gone. Eishnala stood standing over a bleeding man and two stunned people with her heart pounding as nearly as she could tell in her throat rather than in her chest. “Why is everyone trying to kill me today?” Daisy said, her voice muffled by the fact that her mouth was pressed mostly against the floor due to Drake protectively pressing her head down. -=(^)=- NRPG: Daisy seems to have some enemy. Peter and Kim: Hope you’re okay with this. -=(^)=- A Joint Production by the Peter and Katrina Studios…. Peter Aspinall Lieutenant Commander H. H. Drake GS-2 & Katrina Browne Lieutenant Eishnala sh’Kor Executive Officer GS-2 From HyperNews_at_youth.net
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