Ethan Neufeld

Once scanned for traces of Black Goo, which thankfully the Nausicaan was pretty certain he did not come in contact with; he immediately hit the showers as Pher would be debriefing the Boss and Nickles. He also needed to see Alex, for she was the first Human he had ever heard take hit for a Nausicaan. There were no medical gowns large enough for Byblos, so he went through the extra cleaning needed to see a patient, his hair tied back not to cause any problems with the Capricorn/Vestibul medical staff. He was told to keep his visit short since the medical ward was packed and the patient needed rest. Well, Byblos would honor that but he demanded to see Alex and his overt tone perhaps got him in. Byblos approached the biobed where Alex lay, looking upon her and immediately asked a question. "Why did you take the bolt for me?" The Nausicaan asked rather gently to the wounded woman lying in front of him. Alex stared into an unseen distance for a quiet, uneasy span, unresponsive to Byblos’s presence before she faintly droned: “I dunno.” Byblos contemplated a response. She probably was on painkillers from the medics. “I guess I am visiting too early, I’m not exactly certain where you were hit. I guess I had to say, thanks. But, I would advise against doing it again for anyone. I think you only get lucky once maybe twice. Get well” He began to exit.. "Don't go," came the quiet plea nearly mistaken for ambiance. The Nausicaan turned and looked at Alex, not many human women would usually like him to stick around. Byblos was curious. “Something I can do?, Uh just a reminder I am probably not going to return to Vestibul. I spilt blood there when things were confusing. I know I killed somebody’s friend over their in the shuttlebay. So I’ll be either here on or the Qob. Probably going to get fired by the boss for excessive bloodshed! Hah!” The Nausicaan tried a laugh. Despite good intentions, the Nausicaan’s mirth had an immediately counterproductive effect and burying her face into her sheets, Alex began to sob. “I'm so dumb,” she said, muffled. “Dumb? I don’t understand?” Alex pulled her head from the sheets, though she shied from making eye-contact and stared at her drawn up feet. “I--” she sniffled, choking back her sobs as she stumbled through false-starts. “I thought--I wanted-- I--” She squeezed her eyes shut and her tears subsided with a steadying breath. When she spoke again, her manner of speech was markedly changed. Alex, the Alex everyone thought they knew, was gone and this girl who sat in her place almost sounded bright, friendly. “You know, I always dreamed of being like you: strong, brave, awesome-- strong;” and she laughed slightly, absently rubbing her shins. “Beside being cool, that’s why I like you, Byblos. You’re not frightened of anything.” She waved her hand, acquiescing to the old cliche. “I know, I know: ‘it’s not a lack of fear, but how you use it’. I get it. But for my entire life, I dreamed about--” She faltered and then tossing her arms open in frustration. “About being the one who used that fear to come out on top; about doing this!” She tossed her head back as the tears began to brim and emitted a shaky laugh. “I thought I’d be some kind of -- I don’t know -- maverick, I guess. Stupid really; I see that now. I wanted that ‘high-speed, low-drag’ lifestyle you see in the movies. I’d save the whole galaxy; carry it on my shoulders, you know? I knew I could handle it. I said all the things tough girls did; did all the things tough girls did. I didn’t just act like all those actresses; I was tough! I tried to join so many teams, but no one would take me and I was angry. I just wanted to be one of them; they didn’t understand.And then, when it finally hit the fan, when I finally had my chance to prove it I could do it, I--” She smiled and everything spilled over her cheeks. “Ugh,” she angrily wiped the tears away. “I failed, I fell apart! I’m still falling apart and crying like a little kid. Why am I crying?! I--I can’t stop and I’m frightened and I can’t look in the mirror. Every time I close my eyes, I see it all over again and I’m frightened that it’ll happen again and humiliated to know I’m not brave! “I’m not brave,” she repeated, quieter. Biting her lip, she managed to look Byblos in the eyes and the words came tumbling out as she lost the last of her composure. “And I want to go home!” Byblos tried to process what Alex just did. She opened up to him some feelings most people care not to share. Especially to his kind, yet it seemed she was embracing his demeanor? “Okay, listen I am not the guy in the universe. I have done terrible things. But believe it or not you and I do have something in common. It’s called survival. This mission was a complete, bust in my opinion. Scientists were supposed to be happily digging for buried treasure, and everything imaginable happened. Pirates, Insane Robots..and if it is true about those freaks with Ethan being Rainmakers.” ‘“You survived a bust of a mission, and I could say the same thing. We are survivors and heck..we deserve some time off. Uh..well I can’t go home. You see I am wanted both in the Federation and Cluster, but yourself..I bet you can get some time off...and visit home. Uh,” the Nausicaan scratched his forehead briefly” Where are you from Alex?” Alex had quieted as Byblos spoke, wiping the tears from her face, among other things. “Tranquility,” she replied, staring at the sheets. “I should have listened to my dad.” “Your Father, Tranquility. Well what did he say that, could upset an independent person like yourself?” Alex was pensively quiet, then began, “He said,” and paused for a moment. “That I didn’t really understand what I said I wanted was,” she finished and smiled morosely. “He was right.” “Wait, your Father was correct about you not understanding what you wanted to do with your life?” The Nausicaan rubbed his chin momentarily. “Uh..what did your father want you to do in that city..be a Guardian or something?” Alex smirked a bit. “No, he wanted me to go to college and learn business,” she said, her voice trailing off near the end with, “take over the company for him someday.” “Well, Alex I did not go to school. Once I was thrown out of the house on Nausica which is customary for males of my race at 13 years old. I was on my own, that is until my father sent word from afar he needed me on his ship. And, I learned some things. Not the kind your father would of wanted. So..what kind of business did your father run?” Alex made a derisive laugh; not directed at the Naussican from the sound, but her father. “What is he not into? Brokers commodities, real estate, you name it; he owns a chain of resorts that spans Bull’s Head to Cardassia. He’s good at being a businessman and made a good life for us. I never wanted to be that good.” Byblos pressed with more humor. “Your Dad is Ferengi?” Byblos moves his right index finger infront of Alex’s face, the did a circle over her exposed ear. “You do not have lobes like a Ferengi, and you certainly are taller than one. You adopted or something?...no wait..You were not purchased by you dad! Heard Ferengi did that with kids..eh...yah Hah!” Alex balked a bit at Byblos’s gesture and made a face. “With the family I’ve got, my great-grandmother could say she’s Ferengi and I’d believe her.” “Listen, I think you are old enough to make your own decisions. Clearly you have skills with security issues. Not all your fellow mates survived this. You also stayed away from the corrupt on Vestibul. Alex, just because you are part of her security team, uh..you cannot take full responsibility for the jykin’ crap hitting the fan. It’s not your fault. Now, if you want to go back to Tranquility and start again. Well, that’s something I didn’t have the option of doing. You have a choice, and you are old enough to make it on your own, and if your father is willing I would take him up on the offer only if you wanted too. The other hand,” “Byblos looked at his other hand rather oafishly. “As much as I am disgusted saying this, you probably would make a good Guardian Cop.” Alex huffed subtly. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said and frowned, tucking her face away again. “I can’t be a cop...” “On second thought you are right, you aren’t dirty like the rest of them on Tranquility. Listen you’ve been shot, you got some time to heal up. Things between three ships have to get sorted out and that will take time. Who knows when it will be when we get back to Xorax. Just don’t kill a nurse okay..no hurry. You have time..Use it okay?” Byblos stood noting a Nurse was eyeballing him as if she had phasers in her skull. “Heh, take care of this one. Alex..we got weeks to Xorax. I’ll be around.” Byblos shined his tusks at the nurse who instantly backed off a bit allowing the Nausicaan to wave a farewell. Alex didn’t have much to say in reply -- it was obvious by the morose expression on her face that she was still fighting an intense battle with her confidence and self-image -- but she managed a smile. Byblos looked and saw the smile he tried his best to smile back with his tusks, suddenly he hit his head on the doorway out. “Ouch!!! Jykin’ Federation Pe`taQs!!!!” and stormed down the hallway making everyone move out of his way.

Maybe it’s been said before, but there’s nothing like staring certain death into a standoff and being swept away to safety by the cavalry. The sound and embrace of that transporter was unlike any other; an inexpressible sense of relief that would have left a healthier man euphoric, pent-up and restless until he crashed sometime later. But Ethan, running on fumes just to survive, didn’t have much left beyond an exhaled breath. Crashing seconds after the transporter had released them, Ethan slumped to sit on the deck as his surroundings blended into a haze. “Doc--” Ethan heard his voice trail off before he registered it happening. His hand heavy, he slapped it to the pouch on his chest and fumbled to open it, retrieving a vialed sample of the black substance that he had collected earlier. He passed it to Soora, brushing hands with her as he let his arm fall and heavy eyes close. “Chief?” Ethan belatedly drew his eyes from the black bag the ship’s medical staff was carrying away to the delicate hand resting on his muddy forearm and then to her face. “Yes, sir?” The young Ensign withdrew her hand, blue eyes searching the hardened expression and distant gaze he unconsciously wore. “The Captain wanted me to tell you debrief can wait. Please get yourselves to sickbay,” she said, gentle but firm. “Aye, sir.” “I’m sorry, Chief,” she added, getting a quiet nod in reply before Ethan left the busy flight deck. "Stay with me," Soora urged. "Trying," Ethan replied shakily, exhaustion evident in his voice as he blinked away the urge to sleep. A wave of dizziness threatened to tip the compartment on its side and he put a steadying arm to the deck. Soora looked down at him, a thousand emotions burning through her mind- pity, guilt... Among others. She closed her eyes for a split second, getting herself back under control, before opening them again and reaching into her bag, getting out an anesthetic hypo, injecting it quickly, not giving him time to respond against it, before getting out some bandages for the move down to medical. Ethan instinctively cringed at the sound of the hypospray and sat compliantly, struggling to simply remain alert much less resist medical treatment and surviving this infection was the least of his problems. He stood on desperate ground in more ways than one. Even if he recovered, he now owed the Qob a considerable debt and Gabriel had thrown Ethan under the bus in his coup de grace. But Ethan, in his current condition, could scarcely contemplate damage control or who would believe him. Soora called for a cot as she bandaged up his wounds quickly. She would be more thorough down in the bay, but for now she just didn't want any blood--or other substances-- loose. She took in a deep breath as she saw the extent of his injuries, but quickly exhaled it. Some random crew member gave her the cot, and she lowered it with a quick movement, studying his form before sitting up the back so he could continue to stay sitting up. "I'll do most of the work, but you're going to need to help a little," she said, just loud enough for him to hear her. “Okay,” Ethan replied with a faint nod of his head. He did his best to help carry his weight without complaint as he moved, but he couldn’t check a grimace or the jaw-clenched hiss that escaped as he settled on the stretcher. He started to lose it, threatening to pitch off to the side. "Woah there," she said, steadying him. "Could have waited for me to lift you." She ran a hand through his hair, a sly move to get a manual read on his temperature while providing some kind of-- could she call it comfort? She didn't let her face change as she felt that he definitely had a fever-- a bad one. "In any case, its an easy ride from here." She popped the cot up so she could push it with ease. "After that little pop, anyway," she said, asking that someone bring down Alex as well. “Mm,” Ethan minimally acknowledged, confused by what she meant and unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Soora called for the crew in the way to move it, and wheeled him out of the transporter room, and into the nearest TL, impatient to get him to a proper room, where she could put her knowledge to some actual use. She then wheeled him into the abandoned--and dusty-- sick bay, frowning before setting in the groove of beginning to heal him, the vial of black goo ever present and as pressed against her mind as it was her leg.

Tough one, but gotta go with T'aral.

They’d been staring at each other from the moment the Andorian had taken sentry near the door, but the contest of wills was one-sided: Ethan weighing his options, looking for another opening, while the Andorian’s cloudy gaze was empty, robotic. He stood like a statue, his weapon trained on their captive, his position revealing nothing. The Andorian didn’t stir as Ethan shifted his focus to the doorway where movement appeared on the camera feeds in the room across the excavated corridor. Hundreds of dully colored dots, drones, converged on the street above. His jaw tightened as he recognized the distinctly humanoid figures that moved across another monitor and stacked up near a building. Another variable had invited itself to the equation. A muffled exchange came from the other room and, predictably, Gabriel stalked through the door a few seconds later followed by the girl. Gabriel narrowly eyed Ethan, but he was beyond accusing Ethan of deception. That Ethan had been sincere on his expendability was irrelevant. They both knew exactly what this new development meant. The only question was how they would deal with this new variable, and Ethan had doubts the outcome would be favorable. “Bring Mr. Neufeld,” was all Gabriel said before he sharply turned and proceeded down the corridor. From an unseen location, three modified drones floated by in pursuit. But the girl remained with her Andorian counterpart, holding her chin high as she looked down on Ethan from the doorway. He noticed her neck and lower jaw, discoloring into a visible bruise. “Stand up,” the Andorian ordered. Ethan didn’t immediately react except to return his focus to the Andorian, but the sentry didn’t repeat the demand. Ethan was smart enough to know they weren’t fooling around and there were consequences for non-compliance. Cringing briefly, he pulled his feet back, shifted his weight and began to rise from the floor. Unsteady at best, his blood pressure plummeted into a hazy darkness and his heart beat raced as he braced against the wall to keep his balance. Neither of his captors moved to help him, apparently not eager to risk getting too close after the scuffle that had injured the girl and killed their Klingon friend. He could imagine how he must look: a wake of dried blood from the wound to his abdomen and down his right leg; a torn, bloodied sleeve and grazed right arm; a gash to his left flank and more blood down his side; and wounds all gummed up with a disturbing tarry substance. Pale and sweating heavily, the side of his face was red from repeated falls. It took a good minute or two before Ethan was steady enough to move. He was getting slower, weaker with time, losing bits of awareness here and there. A persistent migraine made it difficult to think. Spasms and aches from multiple phaser stuns plagued his back and neck, but another agonizing pain was gradually building in his neck, marginally alleviated only by leaning his head back. After painful, uncontrollable bouts of coughing and vomiting, he was dangerously dehydrated. At one point he’d suffered piercing chills and was certain he had a significant fever. Few words described how he felt beyond ‘like hell.’ Willpower was the cache that kept him going, but no amount of willpower could forestall the inevitable. His body was shutting down; the physical reserves would run out and not all the resolve in the world could stop it. Mind-over-body wouldn’t win this time, but he kept pushing where exertion was likely to speed up his end. Ethan pushed away from the wall. The girl left the room first, while the Andorian moved aside to maintain his distance and allow Ethan to pass through the door ahead of him. With ten meter intervals between them, they moved down the corridor. They’d blindsided him. He should have taken a page out of CQ combatives. Focusing on an attack from his 12, he should have watched his six and hadn’t been prepared for what they’d thrown at him. They’d gotten to Kelin and turned him, but despite racking his memory to the best of his dwindling concentration, Ethan couldn’t pinpoint how. He had to find a way to strike back where it’d hurt. Ethan abruptly stopped. The Andorian did the same, still keeping his distance. “Keep moving.” He angled in the corridor between his captors, eyes on the Andorian. “You going to shoot me if I don’t?” “Yes,” the Andorian answered definitively; “You will go where we tell you to go. Whether you will travel consciously or unconsciously is your choice.” The hint of a smile showed as Ethan turned, continuing down the corridor. So much for provoking the Andorian into getting too close, and the girl ahead of him was out of reach so long as the guy behind him was armed. Reaching their intended destination didn’t take long. He recognized the corridor through which he and Kelin had entered as they neared the junction that formed the entrance to the Motoroils’ cave. They joined Gabriel and his modified drone escorts inside, and Ethan immediately spotted his missing weapons and gear. Surprisingly, they’d simply pushed it into a far corner of the cave when they’d captured him earlier. Even the Comp-U was still in place. If Ethan had managed to escape, it would have been easy to find that cave and blow it. His captors were making no effort to hide the layout of their underground stronghold. That they also weren’t hiding his weapons didn’t bode well in Ethan’s mind, but what they were doing there, and how it related to the group of humanoids he’d seen on their camera feeds, remained to be explained.

Go.

A wench? :D So what? You tie the cable to the wench and make her pull the Humvee over the hill? Stuff the buxom lass under the tires for traction? Gee, I wish all Humvees came with wenches.

Off-Roading for Dummies, Chapter "The High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle or Humvee", Paragraph 5: "So You Got Your Humvee Stuck"

Welcome back.

::joins the Admiral with a really big firetruck::

The puppets or ‘zombies’ had largely left Ethan to his own devices. They apparently didn’t feel the need to restrain him, so long as he didn’t make any furtive movements to escape. Maybe it was arrogance; maybe they didn’t think he had it in him, given they were already killing him from within. Ethan warily watched the Klingon that guarded the door from the seat he’d taken at the table as he continued to weigh his situation. He was at a serious disadvantage, but given circumstances it was all he had. He figured he had the energy and strength for a few good shots, and he could either deal them out or take them, but he would come up short in a straight slugging match. The female was the closest to his size and would be the easiest to disable. But the Klingon had heredity on his side and probably outweighed him by nearly forty pounds, if not more given the gear they had confiscated. When Ethan moved, it would have to be quick and deadly. He would be doing them a favor at any rate: they were already dead and didn’t know it, mere vehicles for the disgusting creatures in them. When the woman returned earlier than Gabriel had promised, the first thing Ethan noticed was the intensity of her clouded gaze, triggering an uncommon instinct. Calmly, he returned his radio to the pouch on his carrier. He slowed his breathing, calm and regular to oxygenate his blood and keep his heart rate low. She swayed unnaturally as she approached. “We have intercepted a transmission from the orbiting ship intended for you, Ethan Neufeld,” she said as she stopped within kicking distance from his chair. “Explain.” Ethan answered honestly after a beat: “I can’t.” He watched her gaze shift briefly to his radio. “You choose not to explain?” “I can’t explain,” he smoothly reiterated. “I haven’t heard their call; I don’t know why they're calling.” “We do not believe you.” Ethan shrugged. The woman shifted her weight. “You claim you are expendable and we informed you that electromagnetic signals cannot penetrate this stratum, yet you have been making adjustments to your radio during the last half hour. Why?” “Maybe I don’t believe you, either.” “Then you anticipate a rescue attempt?” “No.” “Explain.” “There’s nothing to explain.” “If you choose not to explain voluntarily, we will extract the information by force,” the woman firmly warned. “Do what you think you need to,” Ethan replied. “But the answer won’t change simply because you don’t like the truth.” “Tell us your plans. You are attempting to mislead us,” she pressed; “their transmissions suggest that they intend to rescue you.” “I wouldn’t know what they’re saying. But if you let me talk to them, I'll remind them to leave me behind.” The woman turned and paced beside him as she considered the suggestion for a heavy, thirty seconds. She then paused behind him and answered: “That would be too obvious. You are attempting to deceive us into revealing our position to your people.” Her move came first, a sharp blow to the wound on his back and shoulder. Fire lanced through him and he grunted between his teeth in pain. “Now tell us the truth,” she stated flatly, moving around him to his more critically wounded side. He didn’t answer quickly enough and she raised her booted heel to stomp deep into his abdomen. It was then or perhaps never. Exploding, he used his hand to knock her foot aside as it came down. She missed her target and teetered forward off balance, and he drove himself to his feet at the same time, catching her with his support side elbow to her throat. He felt the tissue flex and give way. It snapped her head back and her body followed, toppling to the ground in a wheezing spasm. He booted her in the side for good measure and snatched at the grip of a knife she had in a sheath on her hip. It tore free as her Klingon counterpart charged forward. The Klingon was much bigger than he was, but he only had time to raise his arms up in an instinctive effort to shove Ethan back as they met in the center of the room. With a fast parry, Ethan used his support hand to brush the Klingon’s strongest arm aside and shot inside the Klingon’s guard. He hit the Klingon in the face as hard as he could with his elbow, violently snapping his head back and to the side. Bringing the blade in with his whole arm and shoulder as he pulled his elbow back, Ethan rammed the knife through the Klingon’s eye socket, feeling the blade grate against bone. The Klingon, a hint of surprise in his remaining, clouded eye, toppled backward as the tarry blood gushed from his face to the floor. If Ethan had managed to clear the corpse, he might have cleared the doorway in time. But instead of deftly leaping over the Klingon, with his strength ebbing, Ethan became tangled and stumbled over the body. He felt a sharp pain across the top of his right shoulder, followed by a maddening numbness as his limbs quit working and he fell face forward. His own momentum carried him just over the convulsing Klingon and he bodily hit the ground, his feet resting on the Klingon’s shoulders. The air was knocked from him. A feverish sensation flared all over beneath his skin from the overwhelming pain and dizziness played havoc with his balance. Indomitably, Ethan willed himself to his hands and knees. It was the best he could physically muster, swaying there as Gabriel’s boots entered his graying field of vision from the door. “Do not move,” Gabriel warned, holding the phaser point-blank to Ethan’s back. But Ethan was too unsteady and dazed by the first stun to resist in spite of his mental willpower. Shuffling noises came from behind. “This one is damaged beyond repair,” he heard the woman wheeze. “Have the others assist you and carry him to the pool before they die with their host,” Gabriel instructed. Most would have taken as many cheap shots as they could get, taken a piece for payback when he was down. But the woman ignored him as she scraped by in her high-heeled boots; then two more entered the room and hauled the dead Klingon away without giving Ethan a glance. Ethan had tested his captors’ patience, but they weren’t willing to seriously injure or kill him yet. They wanted answers and as long as he was alive, the creatures that had infected him would live. Gabriel crouched beside Ethan. He shoved the vial into Ethan’s face and demanded: “What is this for? For what purpose are you collecting samples of us?” Ethan’s jaw tightened and he didn’t answer; he’d never had any intention of answering. He struggled back to a kneeling position and steadily met Gabriel’s gaze. Scrutinizing, Gabriel’s head twitched to the side and then he stood, tucking the vial away. “There is but one alternative to your cooperation---” It came on suddenly, a suffocating urge to cough that forced Ethan back to his hands and took everything he had. It was unproductive and severe, but he couldn’t breathe without triggering the reflex or supress it. Nearing the pain threshold that Ethan could consciously tolerate, finally the slimy substance hanging in the back of his throat worked free and he spat it on to the ground. “They will devour you,” Gabriel remarked. Ethan stared weakly at the tarry crud that he’d coughed up from his lungs as he gasped for air. “Pray, Ethan Neufeld, that there is another way out.”

Ethan woke choking, sputtering, retching; one swift, brutal attack dumped the contents of his stomach on the floor next to him and tied muscles into rock-like knots. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, coughing on the acrid taste of retreating bile with a painful cringe. Wounds sharply protesting from the sudden exertion, he tightly gasped as he fell back. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there dazed, weakened; eyes closed to the consuming pain and dizzying migraine that left him teetering on the edge of consciousness; listening to the ringing in his ears and the sounds within as he swallowed against persisting, severe nausea. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. He didn’t know where he was and if he was still alone. But the scrape of boots on the ground nearby snapped his eyes open and put him in motion, guided by training so ingrained that it was automatic. His hand went to his holster and found his sidearm missing. “We took your handphaser and rifle, your knife and your grenades; and your detonator,” a feminine voice explained. Partially on his feet with a hand to the ground and poised to rise fast, Ethan remained there for a tense moment as he weighed the situation, eyes falling on the woman. She wasn’t alone; a Klingon stood watch at the doorway behind her and was staring at Ethan, his expression devoid of challenge and yet prepared to receive whatever resistance Ethan might attempt. But Ethan wasn’t in a condition to put up much of a fight unarmed and against uneven odds. Nor was there an exigent need to fight. He wasn’t trained to submit to the enemy; the exact opposite, in fact, and there was a reason special warfare was prized for never being captured by the enemy. But Starfleet had also valued sagacity over automatons. They could have killed him where he’d fallen or here now. They wanted him alive for the moment. That might prove useful, if he played it smart and could endure a bit longer. He pushed back to slump against a convenient wall and exhaled from a subtle grimace, instinctively guarding the wound to his stomach with his free hand. The quikclot gauze he’d wedged there prior to setting the Comp U had become saturated and was drying into a stiff, tacky wad. The external bleeding had apparently slowed. But his captors hadn’t administered any sort of medical care beyond what he’d done himself: it seemed his long-term survival wasn’t a high priority on their list. The woman remained where she had stopped, saying nothing and tilting her head as she studied him with clouded eyes. She might have been an attractive human once, before the corpse-like veil of the Motoroils had consumed her. She was nothing more than a puppet now; a shadow of someone former. He had heard rumors of puppets that could conceal the Motoroils; appear like their former selves. But she either couldn’t or wasn’t trying. He was still underground. They had removed him from the cave to a room that was roughly twenty square meters carved out of solid rock and illuminated by bare light bulbs tacked to the ceiling. A long, composite table and a dozen chairs occupied a spot off-center. Cargo crates, marked in an unfamiliar language, were stacked at one end of the room into to a makeshift counter space, atop which a portable cooking stove and plastic tub had been placed. The motor of portable refrigeration hummed nearby. Kelin’s body was not there and neither were Ethan's weapons. The doorway which the Klingon guarded was the only obvious entrance to the room and possessed no door. It lead into a brightly lit corridor; perhaps the same one Ethan and Kelin had entered from the building in the port city. He could see another doorway that lead to a dimly lit room on the opposite wall, a bank of active monitors glowing within and silhouetting the antennate humanoid who manned the terminals. Ethan tried to focus on the terminals, but couldn’t make sense of their displays beyond what looked like camera feeds of the surface. He reached up to the pouch in which he kept his radio, remembering that he hadn’t managed to call Alex before losing consciousness. The radio was still there. Why? “That will not work down here,” said the woman bluntly, snagging his attention. “The natural mineral-ore deposits in this stratum prevent the propagation of any electromagnetic signals.” Ethan glanced at the rock walls. He hadn’t immediately radioed Alex after Kelin had attacked him in the cave, hoping that he still might have an advantage. Using that to set the demolition charges had been the priority. Radioing Alex to call off their extraction had been secondary. He’d meant to release the detonator’s safety and then radio just prior to squeezing everything into an explosive oblivion. He’d conveniently passed out instead and, unfortunately, hadn’t landed on the detonator. He looked at his watch -- there was still time to tell them he wouldn’t make it, to call off the extraction. If Alex had successfully stalled Maxwell, the Capricorn would still be in orbit; if not, they might catch his transmission before they were out of range. He failed to set off the explosives in the cave, but Maxwell might be willing to drop a few torpedoes and succeed where he’d failed. Ethan had every intention to request an orbital bombardment on his position. If he could get a signal through and if his captors would let him. Pinning the woman in his gaze, he keyed his radio. She didn’t move and his radio didn’t issue the telltale chirp that indicated a successful connection with a receiver. His jaw faintly tightened. The woman hadn’t exaggerated; his radio signal couldn’t penetrate the ground to the surface. It was possible that his radio wouldn't have penetrated the pool cave, had he succeeded in trying then. Sensors would be equally useless from above. He’d suspected the possibility, given sensors hadn't detected the underground network from orbit, but had still hoped differently. He would have to rely on Maxwell and hope his pattern of behavior stuck. Their agreement hadn’t included sending a party for extraction and he suspected Maxwell would refuse to send one after him if he didn't show up for transport. In this case, Ethan fully agreed. They should leave him behind rather than risk others for him. On the other hand, Ethan couldn’t put it past Alex to argue with Maxwell otherwise. She was supposed to stall Maxwell for thirty minutes if they were late. If Ethan missed the agreed extraction window: consider him MIA and irretrievable. But she had her own, stubborn ideas about things. He would have to rely on Maxwell to override Alex; or hope she could set aside fanciful ideas about playing heroes long enough to put two-and-two together when window passed, and have the wisdom to stick to their plan. Ethan was on his own. It was too late for him to evade, and escape or survival were extremely remote, but he had every intention of taking whatever opportunity he could to make it as painful for them as it was becoming for him. His radio might not be able to penetrate to the surface, but maybe he was still close enough to the pool cave. If they hadn’t removed the Comp U, he could set it off with his radio. Movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the doorway. Another shadow had appeared in the opposite room, blocking Ethan’s view of the monitors, and crossed the corridor, entering the room in which Ethan and his hosts were waiting. A bald, human male or what once was. Ethan tracked him as far as the Klingon guarding the doorway, but feeling wearied and feverish, Ethan gave in and let his eyes close. “He does not look well,” he heard the female observe. “He resists transfiguration,” replied a male. “If he does not join us, he will die.” Footsteps chafed the ground and then the same voice, closer this time, asked: “Are you awake, Ethan Neufeld?” Brow rising at his name, he gazed from beneath heavy eyelids at the one who addressed him, and his brow furrowed with recognition of the human who crouched beside and studied him with an inhuman curiosity. “Gabriel?” “Why are you on Zoalus?” “You don’t waste time,” Ethan remarked. “Did Tolmar send you?” “No,” he answered, his voice straining as he shifted to sit more upright on the wall. “I came on my own.” Gabriel again studied the face he had recognized in the video feeds from the mod drone, taking an interest in Ethan's recent cosmetic surgery. “You altered your appearance. Why?” “There’s a bounty on my head in Tranquility.” “You are a fugitive?” “No, it’s not the Guardians.” Unable to fight the urge any longer, Ethan coughed insecurely, the pain it caused working against him and he was certain he would puke again if he coughed too hard. Inclining his head with a sort of concern on his face that was more analytical than sympathetic, Gabriel quietly considered Ethan’s worsening condition. “You do not hear them, do you? That is rare.” “Hear what?” “Your willpower is drowning out their voice.” “Who?” “You are mortally wounded; they have stemmed your bleeding for now,” Gabriel explained, pointing demonstratively to the gash on Ethan’s arm. “They would save you if you let them. You do not have to die.” Ethan glanced at the wound to which Gabriel pointed and his brow furrowed again. The torn flesh had become coated in that black stuff from the cave pool, acting like a clotting agent. Every way he looked at it, he didn’t like the implications. “I prefer being me,” Ethan replied categorically. Gabriel’s expression narrowed, apparently displeased by that response. “Why are you here, Ethan Neufeld?” “To find this place,” Ethan answered, giving in again to the heaviness of his eyelids. Gabriel stood and reached into a pocket. “For this?” he asked, showing the sample vial he held in his palm to Ethan. Ethan made the effort to glance at it, but didn’t answer. “You humanoids have an aversion for cages, yet you are quick to imprison what does not look or act like you,” Gabriel said, and when Ethan still didn’t reply, he continued. “Your ship, the people you came here with: they are looking for us also?” “No.” “Why are they here?” “Archeology,” Ethan answered minimally and cringed at a sudden ache. “We recently detected their weapons fire directed at the surface. Why?” “I donno,” Ethan shrugged. “We aren’t exactly simpatico.” “Will they come for you?” “I’m expendable.” Gabriel nodded at this. “Good.” He turned toward the door. “Recuperate your strength. I will return in two hours and you will tell me what this is for,” he said, flashing the vial before he returned it to his pocket and left.

The pool had begun to calm, its banks writhing as hundreds of black runnels shrunk from the glare of the temporary lights on the surrounding rock, and quickly snaked back into the larger body from which they had sloshed. With the last trickle, an immemorial silence returned to the cavern as the inky, living substance curled around, attracted to a slick of blood that had slowed but was still rising to the pool’s surface. The blue flagellum of two antennae broached the pool and twitched. Steadily they emerged until a head of white hair appeared, grayish and slick with the inkiness into which it had plunged. Exposed to the bridge of his nose, he wavered a few seconds, waiting for any person or thing that might have slipped into the cavern while he was submerged to reveal themselves. Nothing was forthcoming and he disappeared again beneath the surface. Just as the other disappeared, Ethan smoothly emerged and swept eyes over the dimly lit cavern, though his decoy had seemed to work. Feeling certain that he was alone for the moment, he emerged further, gasping and coughing somewhat. Their struggle hadn’t lasted long; but without forewarning, forced to struggle for his life under the water and already wounded, he was at the end of his lung capacity and willpower to overcome the urge to breathe. Double-edged diving knife in hand, he reached out and sidestroked to shore, the blade lightly grinding as he gained purchase on the rock. He grimaced as he tensed his other shoulder and, with as much force as he could muster, drew Kelin’s limp body from beneath the surface of the pool by his LBE harness and heaved him over the bank. Kelin’s body landed there, dangling by the weight of his upper torso, and Ethan’s hand rested on Kelin’s harness until he was sure the body would stay. Quietly but with evident strain, Ethan lifted himself over the bank and rolled to his back, propping up on his left elbow. The sound of dripping water echoed throughout the cavern. He wiped the inky stuff from his face; then reached down and touched the spot that burned deeply on the right side of his abdomen beneath the edge of his carrier. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his blood-coated fingers together. He couldn’t remember being stabbed; only the sudden stabbing pains he’d felt when engaging the muscles to pull Kelin out of the water and the sequent burn. He checked himself over for more injuries that might have been masked by adrenaline. There was a deep, diagonal gash in his right arm; he remembered tearing it as he fell in, on a rock formation under the surface. He remembered Kelin’s first attack carving into his left back and flank where it was left exposed by the carrier. Everything else looked intact. He sheathed his knife and regretfully looked at Kelin’s body where it lay next to him. What was left of the Andorian’s blue blood was slowly seeping from the wound in the side of his neck and spreading across the floor. It was ironic. Ethan had gone to great lengths to ensure his objective remained a secret; out of the hands of those who would use it to develop biological weapons. He hadn’t trusted very many as a result. Being vagabond mercenaries, he had trusted the Qob’s crew least of all, suspecting they were willing to take any job if the price was right. But it was one of the people he had trusted that ultimately set the failure of his mission in motion. Perhaps not by choice, given Kelin’s previous reliability and if Ethan was reading the circumstances right, but Kelin had set it in motion it nonetheless. They said the infection made some go mad; others grew diseased and died slowly, suffering. But he couldn't die yet. He pulled a quikclot packet from his carrier and uncomfortably wedged the gauze into his stomach wound; he couldn't reach his flank to apply bandages and the gash on his arm was minimal in comparison. A grave expression written in his features, Ethan then reached out and closed Kelin’s eyes. He didn’t know how, but it had got into Kelin. And, by his hand forced in self-defense, the epidemic had claimed another innocent life among the hundreds before him. It would eventually claim Ethan’s. The loss of Kelin and the evident outcome was a blow to Ethan’s morale, but it wasn’t over yet. Countless more would die from it like them and those before them, if he didn’t finish. He didn’t have long; the chances that medical intervention could reach him in time or do anything to stem the infection were slim. It had rushed into every open wound and place on his body while he was under the water, and he could feel it beginning to sap his energy as it coursed through him, overcoming his immune system en masse. The fever and organ failure would kill him, but if he survived by some miracle, he’d become a potential carrier. The samples he’d taken wouldn’t make it back. There would be no antiserum, no vaccine. It was a one-way trip now. For its victims, for Kelin, he had to blow the cave; bury this plague and trap it on this dead planet where it belonged. He would bury himself with it. Solaced by the fact that he had the forethought to cling to Kelin’s harness in that bottomless pool, Ethan rolled the Andorian over and retrieved the explosives he had divided between them prior to transport. In total, he had six Comp U bricks -- a pastique of 45% ultritium and 30% nitroamines that was favored for its near-invisibility on conventional sensors -- and a couple grenades. Overkill for a job this size. He would use it all and blast this place into oblivion; he was convinced that he couldn’t overdo it. Favoring the injury to his core, he climbed to his feet and picked up the rifle he had set down, leaving his ruck and the scattered sample vials where they lay. He wouldn’t need them. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and took a moment to listen for approaching footfalls, ready for uninvited company. Ensured no one was coming, he then began to work his way around the room, filling several crevices in the rock face with Comp U and detonators. On the opposite side of the pool, he leaned into the wall for support and gasped. Water dripped to the cavern floor as he stood hunched over at the waist, crippled by acute stomach cramps and bile churning up his throat. He was wearied almost beyond coherence, only half way there and straining to finish. The infection was spreading too fast. Almost done, he privately urged and spit out the bitter taste that had crept into the back of his mouth. He filled the remaining gaps in the rock with explosives, moving progressively slower and struggling to remain on his feet as he worked back towards Kelin’s body. Using the last of the Comp U, he leaned back on the rock and pulled the remote detonator from a pouch on his carrier. He fumbled with it, fighting against dimming sight and fingers that were refusing to work. The blood running down his arm and on his hands, mixing with the oily substance which covered him from head-to-toe, didn't help. He released the safety. Then fell limp and all together collapsed to the ground, out cold.

Blindsided, Alex numbly watched opportunity walk away. Slowly processing what had occurred, she stared down the empty corridor and chagrin began to creep beneath her skin. Her fists tightened into balls and, whipping about, she stomped back into the brig. Not an ounce of forethought could have stopped her as she unleashed her fury on the first, unlucky thing to cross her path. She savagely kicked the waste can sitting beside the desk and it crumpled against the adjacent bulkhead, contents scattering. She felt the eyes in the brig immediately fix on the commotion; while his former guards appeared amused or disparaging, Tomar looked insightful, almost sympathetic. “Shut up,” she hissed, glaring at the Bajoran. “Sir!” an excited voice called from the door; “everything okay?” It was the pair of Verbistul security she had called to cover the brig and free her for other tasks. “We heard a loud noise---” Alex lowered her head as she looked at the dented can, shadowing her face. “Everything’s fine,” she tightly answered, reigning in her anger for the moment. Her crewmates nodded and holstered their weapons, unaware of the battered can that was lying on the floor beyond her. Still refusing to make eye-contact, she leaned back against the desk. “Captain Tomar Raj,” she explained, pointing at the Bajoran. “Keep an eye on ‘em. Captain Maxwell’s expectin’ a jail break from the pirates, so stay frosty.” Things were not remotely going to plan. No surprise there, but it would take more to knock Ethan off balance. He was accustomed to these conditions, and he hadn’t bothered to count the times it had happened in the past due to equipment failures, unexpected changes in objective and the like. Given the rarity of transporters in Bull’s Head, he hadn’t planned on using one, nor had he planned on reconnoitering within hours of the expedition’s departure deadline: case in point. Yet, deviation from his plans notwithstanding, it was the countless contingencies he had run and the thorough preparations he had made in the preceding weeks, which would make the mission successful. He was confident of it. It was simply a matter of exchanging one form of transportation for another, and narrowing his focus to fit into the limited time Maxwell was willing to grant him. It could be done with an acceptable margin for error. He had to accept deviations, but that existing groundwork kept him at the ready, able to adapt and proceed on short notice under any circumstances short of being disabled. The gear he had taken with him as a member of the Qob’s shore party was the same gear he needed for his mission. Even swapping Kelin for Alex was easily absorbed into situation, as Alex had worked parallel scenarios into Verbistul’s security drills under the guise of preparing for the expedition. That those drills might have contributed to the success of Maxwell’s boarding parties didn’t escape him. There was one crucial piece of preparation that remained: analyzing the Qob’s sensor data. Ethan had traveled to Zoalus without knowing the location of his objective; he couldn’t learn it or set his approach without that data. Though Maxwell was resentful and largely uncooperative, getting the data from Lazarus had been painless. But Ethan had hoped for hours if not days and the unwitting assistance of people like Rosetto and Macen to analyze it. He had ten minutes at best to do it all solo. Added to that problem was the Capricorn’s computer core, which was still recovering from an EMP, and that he wanted to keep the data on his objective secure. A borrowed ODRI was the short answer. In Ethan’s perspective, the entire situation on the Capricorn had been too coincidental, and boarding parties from the Verbistul confirmed to Ethan what he’d begun to suspect. Captain Maxwell was after the Capricorn. Grotte had been his puppet; perhaps from the very beginning. Ethan suspected intensions were to undermine relations between Tomar’s people and the Qob; convince the Qob to abandon the pirates or deliver them to the mercy of the Lucky Hand and Maxwell. At the extreme, Grotte had simply tried to kill everyone, but the underlying aim was to remove the Qob, remove Joe Manning’s influence from the Capricorn. Save for those factors Maxwell hadn’t anticipated, like Pher’s unfailing quest for a ceasefire and Alex’s excitability, it almost worked. But when Maxwell’s coup de maitre failed, he swiftly recovered and fell back to direct force. That worked -- not counting the imminent hiccup known as Troy and Byblos that was likely to provoke a coup de grace. Shortly after word of the Verbistul’s boarding parties filtered down, Ethan had anticipated that Main Engineering would be one of their primary targets and left. Sure enough, Markus and Grotte were there when Ethan later returned. But he wasn’t trying to hide from them. Ethan had needed only a moment to verify the game plan with Alex; prevent her from indiscriminately siding against her crewmates and those who would ultimately control the Capricorn. He was anticipating that Maxwell would want to leave the system once he’d secured the Capricorn. He knew chances were slim that he’d find another flight to Zoalus within the next year; he needed Maxwell’s cooperation if he was going to secure his objective before the expedition was completely scrapped. Asserting his cooperation with Markus in Engineering, he borrowed an ODRI from one of the Verbistul crew under the guise of using it to search for hiding pirates. From there he had appeared on the bridge to discuss the situation with Maxwell and negotiate some time for his objective; the rest was recent history. Back in the old ship’s goat locker where he had earlier claimed a bunk, Ethan closed and locked the door to the compartment. He looked at his watch; two hours and they were already ticking. He didn’t have time to take the shower he wanted or catch up on the missed sleep he needed. He hadn’t slept on Zoalus or yet managed to sleep on the Capricorn. He was nearing forty-eight straight, waking hours without a foreseeable break in the near future. It was ironic: in spite of his efforts to help, he hadn’t been that instrumental during the incident with Ford. If he’d stayed in his bunk rather than promptly turning in his report, he might have avoided Pher and been able to sleep through Ford’s paranoia. But he was also a light sleeper. His back was still hurting and, occasionally, his arm would tingle from a half-pinched nerve. A smarter man would have asked for pain killers and sleep aids, but there was no sense in stopping now. He couldn’t leave his objective unfinished. Pulling the borrowed ODRI from the thigh pocket in which he’d tucked it, he turned on the device and faintly frowned. Not enough memory. He deliberated for a few seconds and then speed-dumped it into the Capricorn’s as yet unstable computer core before wiping the ODRI’s internal memory. It was the least he could do for the owner who had seen his ODRI for the last time. Ethan plugged the Qob’s orbital data into the cleaned ODRI with only a few bytes to spare. Using the timeline in his detailed after-action report, he tagged his only lead: the first mod drone they had encountered. He entered a few additional criteria and then the ODRI performed much of the work, tracing the mod drone through thousands of images at a pace beyond Ethan’s capability. It still took five minutes before it had narrowed down the likely location of his objective, accompanied by a sharp warning that the ODRI was running out of memory. The method obviously wasn’t foolproof, but enough to get him by on a tight schedule. Ethan studied the image for a moment and then set the device aside. Pulling out a thinly laminated, topographical map from a pouch on his carrier, he laid it open on the table. He circled a building in the port city that stood a few hundred meters south of the river, near the region explored by the Qob-lead shore party. He studied the surrounding area for another moment and consulted the ODRI; then made a second mark and third mark on his map, noting the coordinates. Folding the map so that his objective faced out, he put it away and grabbed the ODRI. He turned the device off and eyed it briefly. Borrow had been a loose usage. He couldn’t return the ODRI or leave it lying around for someone to find; he couldn’t guarantee that the information would be irretrievable if he wiped the memory. But attempting to destroy it might attract unwanted attention. He’d lose it somewhere on Zoalus. He pulled the power cell and dropped the ill-fated ODRI back into his thigh pocket. Picking up the remainder of his gear, he shut off the lights as he quietly left the compartment. Kelin and Alex were waiting outside the transporter room when Ethan arrived. “Kelin,” Ethan greeted with a nod. “Here, put this on.” Kelin took the object, staring at the coiled mess of wires in his hand. Baffled by its purpose and design, he glanced at Ethan and noticed for the first time that a similar contraption sitting on his head. Gingerly, he did the same. Alex screwed up her face and scoffed. “You look ridiculous.” “What is it?” Kelin asked. “Something the Qob put together to absorb Delta Waves,” Ethan briefly explained. It was just another thing Ethan had been forced to conveniently borrow, given the short time he had to accomplish his mission. But, since Chris had taken a shower prior to their debriefing with Joe, at least one of Troy’s hats had been left lying around in an empty berth and Ethan had scrounged it on his way to the transporter. “There are two types of drones. These ‘hats’ will prevent the first type from detecting us, but stay frosty and don’t attract their attention; they’re about a few hundred to one and they’ll recon you by fire. The second type is modified and probably relies on cameras and audio gear to compliment their sensors. They’ll see us coming, so we’ll have to play this right, but they're also fewer in number: about four to one. I suspect they’re controlled remotely by a person or persons guarding our objective.” “Wait, you’re sayin’ they, like, took control of a bunch of drones?” Alex piped up. “Explains the unusual behavior we witnessed, and it’s what I’d do if I were stuck on this planet and wanted to stay hidden.” Alex and Kelin were unfamiliar with the details of the Qob’s expedition to the surface, but Ethan would have to explain later. He pulled out his map, showing Kelin the marks he had made. “We’ve only got about another half hour of daylight. That could work to our advantage: the modified drones retreat to this building at night. It’s possible that they don’t have night-vision capabilities, but we’ll assume they do. That building is ‘Bravo’ and contains our objective ‘Mike’. If we can locate ‘Mike’, we’ll take samples and set charges to blow the place. We’ll have about forty-five minutes to recon it by sight; we can’t risk using tricorders. We’ll transport in here at ‘Alfa’ and hike our way in to ‘Bravo’. I’ll take point. Our extraction point’s here at ‘Charlie’. Weapons are hot and free, but use discretion and be ready for a battle royal when you do, because it’ll bring the entire planet’s defenses down on our position.” There was a hit of nervousness in Kelin’s expression as he nodded in understanding. Stuffing the map back in his pocket, Ethan looked at Alex. “Lazarus has our primary frequency; the usual will be our emergency channel. I’ll send a burst when we hit our first check-points and for extraction. When I do, it’ll attract drones; be ready to vacate the area ASAP.” He briefly glanced at Kelin and then returned to Alex. “We’ll maintain silence for the rest, but I’ll have my radio on. Keep us updated.” He waited a beat and then added: “Well be at the extraction point at 1745. If we’re late, stall Maxwell.” “Copy,” Alex firmly answered with a nod. “Ready?” Ethan asked Kelin. Kelin was a good kid, but he had the air of a naive college freshman and almost looked pale, if that was possible for an Andorian. “Yes,” he answered, perhaps softer than he’d intended. Ethan nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Let’s go.” He turned and moved to enter the transporter room, but feeling a hand on his arm, Ethan stopped and calmly returned Alex’s intense gaze. Kelin entered alone. Alex had thought about it incessantly for the last ten minutes and felt like it would kill her if she didn’t know. There had to be more to this switch up than what Ethan told her. “Did I screw up?” she asked under her breath. She could almost hear the private sigh as Ethan looked at her. “We’ll talk about it later,” he answered minimally, and entered the transporter room. “You mean ‘yes’,” Alex sourly murmured before following him. The transporter hummed and materialized into an enveloping light show as it reconstructed Ethan and Kelin from the atomic level on the surface of Zoalus. Released by the beam in the same crouching, low-ready positions in which they’d begun on the Capricorn’s transporter pad, Ethan quickly checked the one hundred eighty degree AOR to his front as Kelin did the same at his back. Their radios were on and their firearms running hot. Acting on his personal conclusions, Ethan was confident the internal EM shielding of their radios and firearms would prevent them from being detected unless transmitting or fired. If he was right, they might mitigate what actions an aggressor could take against them. If he was wrong, it would be a short mission. They had inserted into a portion of the port city that was apparently well-maintained by the Zoalus drones. A paved, divided street stretched north and south to the west of their position, and was lined on both sides with a sleek, cobble-stone footpath that branched off to doors and down the gaps between buildings. There were buildings to the south for as far as the eye could see; a kilometer to the north, the street transitioned to a bridge that spanned the river and lead to more endless buildings on the other side. Most of the buildings were two or three stories tall, though those closest to the river were apparently restricted to a signal story. Immaculate, deep-hued lawns covered any open, unpaved ground in the area, and some were bordered by tall, squared hedges. It had the appearance of a business district, but on an alien world you couldn’t be sure. The area was largely deserted, at any rate; the drones had finished business for the day. Ethan had taken advantage of a narrow gap between buildings and fenced by hedges to visibly conceal their beam in. Transporters weren’t always Ethan’s first choice; the element of surprise could take a negative swing for the insertion. But, like everything else, there were practices to minimize the risk. And, given the defensive response to aerial probes, it was slightly better than the point they could have made fast roping from a noisy shuttle. Generally, transporters were detected indirectly when active sensors reported objects or people materializing out of thin air. Unless a sensor was placed in the beam’s path, the chances that the transporter itself -- a tight, directional signal -- would be detected by sensors were significantly minimized. The ‘hats’ did the rest of the work, hiding their sudden appearance from the planetary sensor network. Certain that the area was clear and drones weren’t already rushing their position, Ethan glanced at Kelin. Ethan had mentally noted the next few spots where they’d take cover as they worked toward their objective and pointed toward the first. The young man nodded that he was ready and Ethan reached up to his throat mic. “Alfa,” he radioed, signaling that transport had been successful and they were on the move. Before receiving an acknowledgement, he’d tapped Kelin on the shoulder and they moved out; Ethan taking point and Kelin watching their six. If drones showed up, Ethan imagined the regulars would arrive first and start an exhaustive, routine scan of the area, consuming time while they ran through a complicated decision-making process like before. The modified drone or drones would observe from a safe distance. If they managed to pick up a trail on the footpath, it would be through diminishing infrared signals and not until the team had gained a considerable lead. But Ethan held some doubt that his transmission would attract the regular drones at all. The modified drones and their controllers had managed to subsist beneath the planetary defenses, which meant the regular drones had either ignored their radio transmissions or failed to triangulate them. In most cases, regular drones seemed to leave their modified counterparts alone until provoked. Still, the team didn’t stick around to see if drones converged on their insertion point after Ethan’s transmission. Nor did they rush from the area. Slow is smooth; smooth is fast; fast is fatal. Advancing through the urban terrain smoothly, block by block, it took them roughly fifteen minutes before ‘Bravo’ was in sight across the street. It was a single-story, seashell colored building with a subtly domed roof. The windows facing the street were opaque, blocked by heavy curtains or something similar. They didn’t want to cross the street in sight of the windows if they could choose another approach and moved further down the street, behind the buildings on the east side for concealment. Taking up a new vantage point to the north of their target, Ethan studied ‘Bravo’ again and visually cleared the street, paying close attention to the south. Hand-signing their next position to Kelin, the latter nodded that he was ready. Ethan radioed the second check-point and they moved. They crossed the street, one at a time, in fifteen seconds, taking cover at the edge of a building behind a waist-high hedge. A second look down the street for drones that weren’t pursuing, and they moved on to the rear of the building. Mirroring the west side of the street, a narrow span of grass covered the area between the rear of the buildings to the west and those that faced the next street to the east. Sticking to the rear of the buildings on the west and concealing their approach, they paused at the last building that stood between them and ‘Bravo’. There were no windows on the rear or north side of ‘Bravo’. There were also no doors. They carefully circled to the south side and found another solid wall. The only entrance was in front, and the entire process of concealing their approach and scouting the rear of the building had used what lead they might have had on pursuing drones. Leaning around the corner of an adjacent building, Ethan gazed south toward their insertion point and slowly scanned the west side of the street toward the north. The area was still empty of drones. That the regular drones might have ignored his transmissions wasn’t surprising. But had the modified drones also ignored it or were they keeping their distance? There wasn’t time to speculate. He signaled his intentions to Kelin and they moved low across the front of the building, stacking on the door with their firearms at a low ready. Getting a readied tap on his shoulder from Kelin, Ethan waved his hand across the control surface next to the door. He moved in rapidly, clearing the doorway and taking the path of least resistance to his left, opposite of the door’s pocket in the wall. Kelin went right. They followed the walls several feet inside, each sweeping their eyes over their half of the room with raised weapons. The room was empty: no furniture, humanoids or, more importantly, drones. But Ethan didn’t yet close the door. From appearances, the building’s structure had been recently altered; walls had been knocked down, transforming the entire building into a single room. A staircase was at the rear that descended below ground level. A thick bundle of wires emerged from a corner of the frame in the floor, climbed toward and disappeared through the ceiling -- possible connections to a concealed radio antenna on the roof that controlled the modified drones. Cautiously and with weapons still raised, they converged on the staircase from oblique angles that would put any unexpected target in a crossfire. Artificial lighting cast a blue-gray hint into the room below. Determining that no one was waiting below, Ethan lowered his rifle, returned to the door and closed it. After a few seconds of studying the symbols on the wall, he figured out the locking mechanism and secured the door. The more time that passed, the less likely it was that drones were pursuing them, but he wasn’t going to leave them a welcome mat. He glanced at Kelin, who was keeping an eye on the staircase, and received a confused look in return. The younger man had expected resistance and Ethan read the same question he was feeling in Kelin’s face. Is this too easy? They proceeded down the stairs, clearing them as quickly as possible and entering an open basement that was roughly the same size as the building above it. The basement was empty and they moved on to the next threat: a tunnel that had been roughly excavated and framed in the concrete-like wall to the west. The bundle of comm cabling extended into the tunnel’s depths and Ethan recognized the string of temporary lighting that hung next to it from the overhead. It was manufactured by the Federation. Given the model, it was indisputable proof that someone had been here less than ten years ago and long enough to establish a hidden bunker. There was no ‘safe’ way to approach or travel a fatal funnel and the longer they were, the more dangerous traveling too quickly or slowly became. Smoothly they entered and moved down the narrow passageway. It extended north-west farther than they could see until it curved to the west, and they walked over two hundred meters before they came to the first junction on their right. Ethan’s watch read: 1635; they had an hour and ten minutes left to accomplish their mission and make the extraction point. Ethan paused, checked the corner and then looked at the ceiling. The lights branched down both arteries, but the comm cabling only continued north-west down the main line. The tunnel to the right appeared to terminate at twenty meters and open into a dimly lit chamber. Waiting the few seconds for Ethan to make a decision, a faint buzz darted past Kelin’s ear and he instinctively flinched, getting Ethan’s attention. Kelin shrugged. He hadn’t been informed or had the time to notice that the surface of Zoalus was devoid of animal or insect life, and figured the sound had just been a passing nuisance. Ethan pointed down the tunnel to their right and Kelin nodded. He rounded the corner behind Ethan, absently swatting at his neck as the buzzing settled there and took a bite. Kelin carried on despite the pin-prick sting; but if Ethan had heard the buzzing or been stung, he either wasn’t reacting or didn’t realize it. They quickly reached the tunnel’s terminus, separating again to follow the walls. Like before, no one, humanoid or drone, was waiting for them and they lowered their firearms. The chamber was a naturally formed limestone cave, stretching asymmetrically through the ground on a slight decline from the tunneled exit. The classic stalactites hung over stalagmites, though most had been cleared or broken by humanoid intrusion and some had been used to hang lights. In the center was a large pool and in the sloped ceiling directly above, a horizontal crevice that lead to the surface. Ethan signaled more directions to Kelin, and the latter took watch of the door while Ethan ventured further into the cave. He could hear the sound of rapids as he neared the pool and studied the crevice overhead. They were near the river and, given the darkness pouring through the gap, the sun had set. It was only large enough to accommodate an adult; equipment to cut the tunnels had likely been brought through the building where they’d begun. All information that might prove useful, and he took the time to note a few places in which they could place explosives to effectively collapse the cavern on top of the pool, without compromising the nearby riverbank. That was when the time came. But, right now, what Ethan had come for, his objective or ‘Mike’, was in the pool. Standing over it, he crouched at the edge and stared into the liquid. It either wasn’t water or not water alone. He couldn’t tell how deep it was. The surface was inky and a layer of blotchy rainbows floated on top. Motoroils. That must have been where they got their name, Ethan privately mused. Unable to dissuade himself from taking his attention off the doorway, Kelin watched as Ethan, crouching at the pool, unslung his rifle and set it aside. Removing the ruck from his back and opening it, he pulled out a nitrile glove. Slipping the glove on his right hand, he reached into the ruck a second time and produced a set of four vials. Ethan would take samples for later analysis while Kelin stood guard, and then they would set demotions to destroy the cave before heading to their extraction point. Kelin was relieved that it would soon be over and maybe with time to spare. Kelin tried not to shiver as he reassumed his AOR. It was true that he was Andorian, but after living the majority of his life in space, he’d grown accustomed to the balmy environment of ships. First the Capricorn while Grotte tried to suffocate them out; now here. It seemed the deeper they were, the colder it grew and he hadn’t worn clothing for inclement weather. Stop it. No turning it. Need more. Kelin blinked and shook his head. He listened for a moment, but didn’t hear it again. He should have mentioned it if he thought he'd heard something, but he decided it must have been his imagination instead. The oil on the surface swirled around Ethan’s gloved hand as he lifted out a second vial, capped it and dropped it into a plastic bag with the first. Kelin shifted to get a better look from his post behind Ethan, boots scraping lightly on the ground. Grabbing the third vial, he unscrewed the cap and reached for the pool. Instinctively, Ethan's hand clenched the vial as a burning sensation unexpectedly sliced through the meat exposed by his carrier on his shoulder blade and down his left side. In shock and only half-aware of what had happened, he acted on ingrained training, immediately reaching for his sidearm as he began to rise to his feet, turn and fall back. But there wasn’t enough time to face or gain distance from the threat before Kelin bodily tackled him at a full sprint and they plunged into the pool. The liquid mixture sloshed over its banks as they disappeared beneath, stretching the oily surface into prismatic ribbons.

Think I'm gonna give my kid's Halloween candy a second look...

Following sim 10/17/2011 and "An Impressive Exit" “That’s not a pacifist,” Ethan dryly remarked, pointing across his body at the closed doors as the turbo lift descended from the bridge. Alex grinned, but her attention remained on the control panel, watching the decks count down. “Closet Klingon,” she quipped with a shrug; then added: “except for the giving up part.” Ethan smirked wryly, but the atmosphere in their lift car quickly sobered. Standing aside from the doors and with his left side angled toward the other passengers and center of the car, Ethan studied Tomar. The Bajoran was quiet, absorbed by some thought. “Captain, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry things turned out this way,” Ethan candidly expressed after a moment. The statement drew Alex’s gaze. It was Tomar’s people who attacked and took the Verbistul hostage. The bloody pirates got what they deserved, didn’t they? Why was Ethan sorry for them? More curious, why did he feel the need to say as much? Alex felt only a hunger for justice, if not biblical payback; and other things her mother would have told her to keep to herself for a lack of anything nice to say. Still -- though it didn’t do much for her sense of empathy -- she couldn’t forget that, if not for Ethan, she’d have found herself on the wrong end of Captain Maxwell’s sights, too. She hated to admit that after Maxwell had commandeered the Capricorn without filling her in, she’d become caught up in the heat of the moment. “Hold up, Alex,” Ethan called out to Alex. Gaining nearly three meters in her rush to jump into action, Alex turned and seeing that Ethan had taken cover in a maintenance niche, she sighed at what would inevitably become another delay. “What?” she impatiently asked, moving back and entering the niche. Ethan was unsmiling. “Alex, do you know what's happening here?” Quickly putting the pieces together – a boarding party from her ship transporting unannounced aboard the Capricorn with unknown intentions – Alex balked at the implications. “What kind of jyking question is that?” “It's one you know I have to ask, Alex,” Ethan replied evenly. “This is some kind of jyking joke,” she spat, angry that he believed she might be a plant. That he believed she would think of betraying him. “Alex,” he firmly cut her off, “you’re part of their crew.” “And I don't know what the jyking qo is going on, you---,” she cursed. “I can't believe you think I'd be involved.” “It's nothing personal, Alex,” he tried to calm her. It was simply something he needed to know. “Yeah, whatever. Not like I haven't had your back enough times.” Fuming, she turned and began to walk away, convinced the conversation was over. “I should just leave you here on your own.” “Whoa, Alex,” Ethan caught her by the arm. “Where're you going in a hurry?” “I'm gonna prove you're wrong.” “You're not going to fight off the Verbistul one-handed, Alex.” “What makes you think I can't?” “Just a hunch; I think we're outnumbered.” “You're not gonna just give up,” Alex protested. She restlessly rocked on her heels, scarcely aware of the fact that the niche in which they were hiding was only a few junctions from Main Engineering. “We’ve been up against worse!” “Odds have changed, Alex,” Ethan calmly replied. “What’re you sayin’?” “Your Captain’s behind this -- probably planned it the moment the Lucky Hand radioed pursuing the Capricorn back here. Looks to me like he has the Lucky Hand’s support, controls the Verbistul, and he has taken control of this ship. That’s at least 3 to 1.” “So you want to join Maxwell?” “Cooperate with Maxwell,” Ethan corrected and paused, furrowing his brow. “Is it just me or are you quick to change sides?” Alex scoffed. “I only took this job for the money. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” Ethan half-feigned a look of skepticism. “Really...” Securing Tomar and his guards in the Capricorn’s brig was a short, uneventful formality. Tossing the used flex cuffs into the trash, Alex glanced back at the active cell, eying its occupants between the glowing bars. Eventually, she would have to post a guard and two were on their way, but, for the moment, she didn’t care to wait. Confident that Alex and her crew mates could safely handle the remainder on their own, Ethan was already leaving the brig and she jogged after him. “You didn’t tell Maxwell I’m going,” she called out. Ethan glanced back, pausing long enough for her to catch him. “I’ll have to ask for forgiveness this go around,” he explained. “I don’t want exhaust the concessions he’s already made. He’s not too happy that I won’t give him the information he wants and isn’t what I’d call cooperative. “That means we also have a problem.” He stopped in the corridor again, turning to meet Alex’s gaze and emphasize his point. “Someone needs to stay here and make sure Maxwell doesn’t split; that we can get back to the ship; someone we can trust.” “I trust Kelin,” Alex quickly offered. “But I trust you more and that’s why we need you to stay here.” “What?” Alex snapped. “You can’t just change the team on me; I’ve been looking forward to this. I worked hard to get you here.” “I know; I appreciate everything you’ve done,” Ethan worked quickly to mitigate, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “But the situation’s changed and Kelin can’t do this. “You’re Maxwell’s Security Chief: you’ve got access that Kelin doesn’t. You’ve got Maxwell’s confidence and he’s counting on you; he’ll notice if you go missing. Only through you can we minimize his interference and guarantee a successful recovery. We’re counting on you to get us home at any cost.” A strained silence fell between them as Alex glared at the man she’d come to admire, her mind stumbling. She wanted to be a part of this mission; she’d daydreamed about this mission more often than she could remember. But, more than anything, she wanted to impress him. She wanted to prove he’d been wrong about her now and the year before. She knew she’d be the most indispensable teammate, if he’d just let her prove it. “Va,” Alex finally cursed, reluctantly accepting. “Okay.” “Thanks, Alex,” Ethan said, faintly smiling and squeezing her shoulder. “I knew we could count on you. Have Kelin meet me at the transporter in ten.” He released her and resumed, increasing his pace down the corridor. He still had sensor data to review, a few preparations to make, and not a lot of time.

"Look. Captain. This ship and its crew is in sad shape. The reason you have a Qob grunt playing Capricorn bridge crew is severe casualties. I personally don’t think, if you want Capricorn operational, that you can afford another round of fighting. We’ve had several rounds already. “Talk to Alex. I’ve been trying to talk down the fighting, and almost had the Qob, Capricorn and Verbistul people working together until your latest stunt. If you want this ship operational, I might be able to get back there, but I suspect you’ve ticked people off. It won’t be easy. “Meanwhile, if you know the fine gentile ladies of Orion, you might not need to be told to just take it easy. I’m trying to stay calm, but fear, pain or sudden shock could be bad. You might trigger defense mechanisms. Erections lasting over four hours do require immediate medical attention. Just saying.” Maxwell eyed the Orion, wondering how much she suspected. He looked back at one of his security guards and pointed a stiff finger in Pher's direction, urging him to begin searching her. "You're right. The last thing I want is more fighting. Although I sincerely doubt that the crew of this ship is in any condition to resist, it does still require a crew beyond what Verbistul can provide. "I'll let you talk to your people, but I still want you and everyone else crewing this ship disarmed. Leave Alex to me. She is one of mine, after all, and everything she's been doing on board this ship she's been doing on my orders. All of us, the crew of Verbistul, we are taking command of this ship." He glanced at Tomar and the Bajoran's guards, watching the exchange at gunpoint. "And every aspect of its functioning. This is not to be disputed by any of you." “Ship’s ours,” Alex unceremoniously announced, cutting Maxwell off as she entered the bridge. Dispassionately, Ethan exited the turbo lift in Alex’s wake and patiently waited a few feet away; scrutinizing Maxwell’s people and the Capricorn crew before meeting Pher’s curious gaze. “And what's the deal with tellin' Markus an' not me about the plan?” Alex continued irritably and came to stop in front of the command chair. “Y’know I could’a taken this jykin’ piece a’ junk on my own.” Knowing she had interrupted a conversation between Pher and Captain Maxwell, she shot a narrowed glare at the Orion. Maxwell regarded his security chief and her Vulcan companion warily. It was not lost on him that Selek had spent the better part of the past two weeks aboard Qob. "We had to act fast, Alex. There was a battle in progress and I did not want to risk communicating my intentions. Markus was aboard the ship, so this fell to him. "I have reached an understanding with our guest from Qob. We both agree that any further violence would not be in anyone's best interest. But she voiced concern that you and your team might be too eager for a fight. Now that we're all here together ... you aren't going to have any problems following my orders, correct? And you will not engage anyone on this ship unless sufficiently provoked?" He glanced back at Pher and Tomar. Alex huffed. “D’ya have ta insult me? I am following your orders; only your orders, Captain. I’ve never had a problem with you---sir. My only problem’s with her,” she said, pointing sharply at Pher. “The one sayin’ jykin’ qo things ‘bout me. Tell her to mind her own va bidness and we’ll be peachy, but if she gives me a va good reason--- I’ll do my jykin’ job. I’m doin’ the jykin’ job you gave me, Captain.” Ethan’s face furrowed at Alex as she spoke; at best, his expression was entirely reproving of her behavior, but he didn’t say a word. Her frustration was speaking louder than her common sense -- not an uncommon condition for Alex. It was obvious: Alex didn't like the Qob's Security Chief or her methods, and liked Pher less now that she was aware of Pher’s sentiments. But, between Alex’s angered words, she intended to do her job as Maxwell instructed her, no more or less. "Good enough for me," Maxwell replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Pher. "You see? No problems here as long as my command is respected. Alex, you and Selek can start by escorting the Bajoran and his guards to the ship's Brig. They have been disarmed, but the Bajoran still wields the loyalty of the crew -- you will need to avoid ... interference as best you can." "Captain Maxwell?" Pher spoke gently, without insistence. “There are some -- Shane, Grotte and perhaps Ford -- that need to be disarmed and isolated. Taj isn’t one of them. He, Alex and I have in our various ways been trying to stop the slaughter. There are sane and less sane people from at least three of the four crews. It’s your call, not mine, but I think you would do better to work with Taj. Ask her,” Pher ended, with a nod to Alex. Maxwell raised a hand to Alex and replied with a glance at Tomar. "Violence will be avoided so long as the Capricorn's Captain ensures his crew's cooperation; to this end we will provide him a channel. I still view this as a pirate ship, however, and will not treat him as an equal. For now I want him and his men confined off the Bridge." He looked at Alex. "Rest assured that I trust you to handle your duties responsibly." Tucking her thumbs into her gun belt, Alex looked smug; satisfied that Pher’s concerns -- Alex preferred calling it meddling or subversion -- hadn’t shaken Maxwell’s confidence in her. “You got it,” she said and then tossed her head at Pher. “What ‘bout her?” "Do not trouble yourself over her," Maxwell answered bluntly. He folded his left arm behind his back and turned to face the viewscreen. "She will remain on the Bridge for now. We will keep things under control up here." Alex tsked sourly. “You’re the boss,” she remarked, making no effort to hide her contempt for Pher. “But watch her close; I hear she likes to spray men with her pheromones.” Turning from Maxwell with a pleased spring in her step, Alex gestured for Ethan to join her. He waved her to wait a moment and she frowned. But, for reasons unknown to those observing, she didn’t object and impatiently held out her hand. Ethan discerningly pulled a pair of single-loop flex cuffs from the MOLLE loops on his carrier and passed them to her. Seizing them thanklessly, she moved on to take Tomar and his people into custody. Ethan initially kept his gaze on Alex, but when her Verbistul crewmates were quick to step in and help without prompting, he focused on Maxwell. “Captain Maxwell,” Ethan spoke steadily; “if you don’t mind me asking: what are your plans for the remaining expedition?” Maxwell slowly turned his head, but did not show Ethan his face. He paused for a moment before answering. "Given what has taken place here, Mr. Selek, I believe our employer would agree that the expedition cannot continue. When we have secured this ship, we will be returning to the Hyades cluster." Maxwell returned his gaze forward. "I believe Dr. Phantos will find my arguments compelling." Ethan briefly nodded, though his body language was largely inscrutable. “I’m sure you’ll make a good case, at any rate,” he replied as he briefly glanced toward the view screen. He then decisively added: “But, Captain, with your permission, I’d like to return to the surface before we withdraw from Zoalus.” Maxwell turned to face Ethan, giving him his full attention for the first time. His look was one of suspicion, but not surprise. "And for what purpose, Mr. Selek, would you wish to return to that death trap? Could it perhaps be a purpose that you brought to this planet but saw fit to conceal from me?" Maxwell glanced at his two guards and continued in a low voice before Ethan could answer. "You were tasked by Dr. Phantos or one of the other administrators, were you not? Sent to retrieve a specific object or to uncover information -- something they preferred to be kept quiet?" Ethan remained stolid, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Maxwell as he listened; he only casually shifted his weight once and not for any uneasiness. After Maxwell finished, the seconds ticked by as he quietly considered the other man. “Generally,” he answered methodically but not straining to keep his voice as low, “I guarantee my clients’ confidentiality; you’ll understand if I don’t reveal my objective.” He made a heavy pause. “But if you ask my client, he might bring you into his confidence.” Maxwell smiled grimly. "I have not been in your client's confidence since this expedition was put together. That privilege, it seems, is reserved for mercenaries. "It should take us around two hours to ready for departure. I see no compelling reason to stop you. But if you wish to use the transporters, one of my men here will oversee their operation. And if you do not signal your desire to return within two hours, we will leave you behind." “Four hours,” Ethan pitched, signalling the same with his hand. Pher quietly snorted, but Maxwell didn’t seem to need more warning about Ethan, and she didn’t think enough of Maxwell to give him more warning than the snort. Sure enough... "You ask me to stall our departure so that you might complete an objective that you will not reveal to me?" Maxwell shook his head. "If you will not state your intentions, I will give you no more time. We will contact you before we leave, however, and give you the chance to return." Pher’s snort had drawn Ethan’s calm gaze, but he promptly returned his attention to Maxwell. “Fair enough,” he agreed minimally, making no effort to further haggle or counter Maxwell’s earlier criticism of their expedition’s financiers. “The Qob’s orbital data on our first shore mission was transferred to the Capricorn; I’ll need access to it.” "I know nothing about that; Qob's crew was working more closely with these raiders than with Verbistul," Maxwell turned away and pointed briefly at the science station and its occupant. "Mr. Lazarus is gaining access to the ship's systems and should be able to provide you with what you need. He will act as liaison for your little trip. Do not take too much of his time; there are a number of matters for him to attend to." Ethan followed Maxwell’s gesture; he nodded his acknowledgement and smiled flatly. Having secured for what he’d come, Ethan then wordlessly turned, beginning his exit in the same manner as his entrance, and joined Alex at the turbo lift. “I can handle ‘em,” she murmured. Three Capricorn crew members stood next to her, securely cuffed; Alex held a firm hand to Tomar’s elbow as she kept a watchful eye on his guards. Though the latter were more willing to return her glare, the Bajoran was sober. Surprisingly, he hadn’t put up much resistance and had directed his guards to do the same -- perhaps he’d seen the proverbial writing on the wall. Still, Ethan’s brow rose skeptically at her suggestion. Maxwell’s guards would remain on the bridge with their Captain. Ethan clearly disagreed with the idea of allowing her to escort a high-risk prisoner and his friends alone, and that made Alex scowl. “Fine, have it your way,” she tightly remarked and slapped the call button. Within a few seconds the lift doors hissed aside and Alex entered, easily pushing Tomar and his guards before her. But Ethan didn’t immediately follow, pausing on the threshold to study Maxwell from his shoulder. “Captain, out of curiosity, what are you going to do about the Qob?" Maxwell remained standing at the center of the Bridge, his arm folded behind his back for a quiet moment. "The Qob and the Lucky Hand have destroyed each other. There is nothing to be done." Whether Ethan was satisfied or dissatisfied with Maxwell’s answer, he didn’t say; but nodded almost imperceptibly and simply entered the turbo lift, the doors closing behind him. If Ethan wasn’t the most cooperative and sharing crew member she’d ever worked with, he could at least make an impressive exit. Pher took the opportunity to quietly tap a few buttons on her tactical console, shutting down the programming and sensor packages she’d set up for the battle they’d never quite had the opportunity to join. She tried not to smile as the green icon labeled ‘Qob’ vanished from the tactical display. It was likely inaccurate, anyway, knowing Joe. She’d used the color green to indicate a friendly ship.

Winner: Will Marx. Take it away, CDR.

Thanks, Shalin. Have at it:

Anytime. But don't count out that survival kit yet. There's always real zombies. ::grins::

If it makes you feel a bit safer, purification in this case isn't what you think. When purifying DNA, you use chemical processes and/or filtration to breakdown and separate other cellular components from the DNA in your sample. Standard procedure for any DNA analysis, virus or otherwise, and without purification, you'll get false results. It's been a long time, but I actually remember doing this in biology and it's interesting to watch the DNA unwind right in front of you. Purification doesn't mean the grave samples they took are still dangerous; I honestly doubt they're viable. Though I wouldn't treat this stuff lightly, all the same.

Only Glad has the stretchable strength of ForceFlex Technology. So go ahead: stuff it fuller than a holiday turkey. Get Glad.

Troy and Ethan had joined Pher and Sal as they stood in the passageway, though Ethan remained just inside mess hall and aside from the doorway. The Orion turned to face them. "I'm seeing this as a double mutiny. Neither Chief Engineer is following orders, and both will shut down comm if they aren't getting orders they like. Neither will stand down before the other. Both are using the ship's equipment against any who oppose them. From where I'm coming from, if either of them won't stand down they have to be taken down, but I'd like to try to talk first. Neither chief engineer thinks the other will act rationally. As far as I can tell, they might both be right. It takes two to tango, and neither one wants to stop the dance." "Chris? Captain Taj? I'm seeing this as a double mutiny. Neither Chief Engineer is following orders, and both will shut down comm if they aren't getting orders they like. Neither will stand down before the other. Both are using the ship's equipment against any who oppose them. From where I'm coming from, if either of them won't stand down they have to be taken down, but I'd like to try to talk first. Neither chief engineer thinks the other will act rationally. As far as I can tell, they might both be right. It takes two to tango, and neither one wants to stop the dance. Tomar Raj and Shane joined the group just in time to hear Pher's last comments. Pher looked at Tomar and Troy as she continued, "We've also got an AT boarding party from the Vestibule, that's apparently tangling with Ford's people. They too aren't responding to comm. While they aren't under either of your chains of command, so I can't use the word 'mutiny,' I'd like to talk to them and work with them rather than against them. If we can't get the chief engineers to stand down, I'd like as many people acting together as possible in the chief engineer hunt. I'd really like to see one individual in command. I known. New. Experimental. Radical. Never work. I'd like to try, though." After William and Ethan had finished mechanically jamming the door open, not wanting to be caught in the open, they’d gathered back inside the mess. William had also fused the Main Circuit to discourage eavesdropping. The atmosphere was getting light, but not quickly enough to convince them that they needed to rush. Ethan stood a few inches from the open doorway next to the bulkhead, and briefly glanced at Shane who was favoring a disruptor wound to the shoulder and was apparently on edge. "Troy," he intentionally addressed the man Joe had placed in charge. "I'm not a part of your crew, but I'm with Pher on this; I'd like to see this end without further violence. I know the Verbistul's Security Chief and she believes she holds the moral high ground here. You're not gonna talk her out of doing what she intends to do by appealing to her better judgment. Or with threats." He glanced pointedly at Pher. "But you might be able to redirect her. Given circumstances," he said, glancing at Tomar and then the room in general; "I think it's likely we’ll find Ford in Main Engineering. If not there, then Auxiliary Control or the Bridge -- depending on how trustworthy you think the men you left there are, Captain.” The Bajoran exhaled an exasperated sigh, overwhelmed by the weight of a command newly thrust on him just hours ago. "We were effectively blind on the Bridge," he told Ethan. "Ford managed to cut our access to internal sensors, along with a great number of other systems. I have also hit one wall after another when attempting to contact the people under Ford's authority. These men with me here I trust. I can not vouch for the men I left on the Bridge any more than I could vouch for Ford, though odds are at least one will contact me if something goes awry. Assuming you locate Ford, there is still the question of removing his control." Ethan nodded, splitting his attention between Tomar and Troy. "I'm sure we can pin-point his exact location with ODRIs easy enough. I propose a two-pronged application: a team to negotiate directly with Ford and a secondary team. The negotiating team would attempt to open a dialogue with Ford and negotiate,” he said, turning toward Shane; “control of the ship. Shane would go with them -- in cuffs, if he's willing -- to demonstrate that he's no longer a threat to Ford or the Capricorn. The secondary team would secure the deck against possible retaliation from Ford's associates. That team should be prepared to move in toward Ford's location via maintenance access and temporarily sever the hard connections into that location if negotiating fails. Or, if we can gain control of the transporters, transport Ford to another location that we've secured for him. "We'd redirect the Verbistul's Security Chief and her people into serving on the secondary team; as an engineer, William should also accompany them. And, if it's not asking too much, I'd like to take point on the negotiating team. "That is if you agree with the plan." "I ain't goin' nowhere in cuffs," snapped Shane as he slung one of his captured disruptor rifles round his good shoulder, "especially to that low-life, jykin' peTaq Ford. And don't start gettin' ideas about cuttin' hard lines from MENG, thats a good way of killin' everyone else aboard the Capricorn. Besides, both Will and I have our ODRIs linked to the main computer; that allows us access to anything once we break Ford' encryptions." Ethan stared at Shane, having anticipated the other man’s resistance. “Not gonna argue with you, Shane; the decision is Parsons’s. But I’m trying to help make you less a part of the problem and more a part of the solution right now.” The wrinkles of Tomar's face creased further as he shot a frown at Shane. "If I am not mistaken, this 'link' you are maintaining is precisely the reason that we are in this mess. I am taking your crewmates at their word that Ford is mistaken about your involvement in the cargo bay attack. Showing more cooperation would go a long way toward proving them right." He looked away from Shane to readdress the rest of the team. "It is very possible that knowledgeable people positioned in the right places could disable key hard lines for a short time. As this would be a last ditch effort, I'm trusting that it would not be long before we retake engineering and it becomes safe to re-engage the connections. You could manage to pull it off such that only a few systems are impacted and only for a short time. "My men and I are at your disposal, whatever you decide. I cannot imagine that my command authority is going to count for much with Ford's people, but," he moved around the team to the two rifles he'd offered. Showing no signs of the long, hard years in his bones, he bent over to pick one up. "I -was- once a resistance fighter ... many years ago. And sabotage happened to be one of my areas of expertise." With the hissing and whiring of machinery, the cyborg stood up to his full height and unstrapped his rifle. It was his regular horrible luck that by following Parson's orders, he was being blamed for this whole mess. And people wonder why he had problems with authority. But from the looks of things, both Raj and Pher were about ready to toss him out the airlock. The greenskin would never trust him, but Raj had a good point as far as the other crew was concerned. Joe was likely to kick him off at the next planet if his fellow crew weren't willing to work with him. Not a great way to get paid. Somewhat subdued from his anger, Shane spoke again. "As if my opinion matters to any of you at this point, but negotiatin' with Ford ain't goin' to get us back the control of the Capricorn. Aside from the fact that his men shot me and he's tryin' to kill everything on this deck, a guy this desperate ain't going to give back the ship easily. But if it'll keep him from tryin' to suffocate us for a bit, I'll humor you. Ford doesn't know that Will's ODRI has the same link as mine. That'd be some proof of my 'willingness'." Shane tossed his rifle to Byblos and took the ODRI from his bionic to hand it over to Troy. He then turned to glare at Ethan and indicated the huge bionic, "Good luck gettin' cuffs on this. Hold me a gunpoint if you have to, but if I get shot again I'll stuff your fake ears down your throat." Not the least bit daunted, Ethan patently ignored Shane’s threat; he wore a dismissive expression as if to say, should Shane be shot again, Ethan’s fake ears would be the least of their problems. “You just have to make it look convincing,” he said, indicating Shane’s bionic. Ethan never intended to fully bind Shane; they'd need him if negotiations went south. "You'd wait in the passageway with an escort a few meters outside his location; Ford only needs to see you on internal sensors." Ethan then addressed Troy again: “I think we should keep Will’s link to the core inactive until absolutely necessary. It’s existence could escalate Ford if he finds it. But we’ll also want to keep an eye on Ford’s access to the core during negotiations.” Sal stood next to Pher attempting not to attract any unwanted attention. He looked at Ethan as he negotiated and watched the reactions of his fellow crewmates. Sal wasn't about to side with hostility and he favored Pher's current stand down. What he wanted most of all was to know just what the heck was going on. Since their return to orbit things had been extremely confusing. He had missed to many morning briefings and no one was volunteering to bring him up to date either. Sal looked at Troy, who Joe had placed in command, and wondered what the wild scientist was scheming. He still hadn't established a good repore with his immediate senior and didn't really know whether he could trust Troy's instincts as yet. Sal did, however, trust that Joe, who had the most at stake, was on top of things.

Some minor details to plan remained: how they’d go about finding Ford, team assignments, radio frequencies, timing, et cetera. As Pher had mentioned, there was also the critical need to decide when it would be safe to deliver medical aid to the current casualties and who would go. But, having outlined the key points of his idea, which dealt primarily with Ford, Ethan quietly scrutinized Shane as he waited for more input or for Troy to make his decision. Shane was the only member of the Qob who had weighed in on the idea as yet and had predictably opposed it at first. The only point with which Shane had initially agreed was forcibly retaking control of the computer from Ford. But Ethan felt that was best left as a last-ditch move and declined to debate any of it with the cybornetic engineer. Let Troy decide the merits of what he was hearing and deal with whatever obstacles that might arise: that was the burden of command. It wouldn't have served anyone for Ethan to start a debate with Shane. Still, he might have made a persuasive argument. He wasn’t talking simply because he liked the sound of his voice; though different, his expertise was just as real as Shane’s. But Ethan didn’t like the idea of discussing his references with just anyone and not with most of those currently present. Nor did they have the time to argue. That Shane thought negotiating was pointless aside, one of Shane’s chief disputes with Ethan’s idea was that severing hard-lines into Ford’s location would endanger lives. But, by ‘temporarily sever’ and as Tomar had apparently understood, Ethan had meant temporarily diverting control through a hard-line method to prevent software bypasses. The more critical systems that required constant monitoring, like M/A and Fusion Reactor Controls and the fuel pods, would remain untouched. The systems Ethan wanted to target were weapons, helm and navigation, life-support, and doors -- all systems that wouldn’t become an immediate hazard if there was a brief gap in monitoring -- and bypasses would occur only at human interface points, leaving connections to the core intact. The ship’s orbit would take several hours to decay, and they’d have enough air to survive, assuming they started soon enough to retake control before it was depleted. The idea was to wrest control without permanently or dangerously crippling the ship and give them the chance to approach and subdue Ford. It seemed Shane wanted to take a more complicated route if he couldn’t just kill Ford; keep fighting electronic warfare with electronic warfare. But, in Ethan’s opinion, there were enough software tricks going on in the Capricorn’s century-old computer; using the very links to which Ford was objecting would only escalate him, and breaking encryptions would take time they might not have. It was foolhardy to rely on that as their only contingency and Ethan could have expounded on that concept at length. But he’d held little faith that any of it would change Shane’s mind coming from him. Nor had he believed it would sway Shane's cooperation if he’d pointed out that the cuffs were just a show to put Ford in a sense of security and talking mood. It was unlikely that Ford would talk under any other circumstances, and negotiating was the only way they could remotely expect to gain the trust of those following Ford. Ethan didn’t think it would bother Shane to know that if they couldn’t talk Ford down, the situation might ultimately end with crippled relations, more casualties and more damage. But he was almost certain that if positions between Ford and Shane were reversed, Shane would have wanted the same chance to talk and prevent the deaths of his comrades that they wanted to offer Ford. Almost certain. Shane gave every indication that he saw fighting as the only answer and expected nothing less from Ford. There was a chance he might be right. In another place and time, Ethan might not have considered or tried negotiating with someone like Ford, where the lines between friend and foe were thicker. Ford would have been a priority target. But it was different when the lines were blurred and anyone you encountered could easily become friend or informant as much as foe; you had to consider lives and relying on your potential enemy for support. Every risk and gain had to be weighed, and, in this case, they stood to gain more with Ford alive if they succeeded. Shane’s apparent state-of-mind wasn’t the only reason Ethan had anticipated opposition. Shane wasn’t the first member of the Qob or the expedition to distrust or discredit Ethan. Given the pattern of discredit that he’d encountered since Xorax, he harbored some skepticism that anyone -- save maybe Joe -- would be inclined to consider his ideas. Tomar had been another exception. But Ethan couldn’t immediately account for Shane’s capitulation after Tomar showed support of Ethan’s plan. What made Shane trust Tomar -- whom he’d known for less than a day and was the acting captain of the same band of pirates that had attacked the expedition -- over Ethan? Was it loyalty to Joe? A loose idea of authority and rank? A sense of kinship? It made Ethan question how well Shane would continue to cooperate once Tomar wasn’t there. Could they trust him to carry through on his part? If Troy decided to use Ethan’s plan, they wouldn't have much of a choice.

They're trying to take my tortillas!

“The Verbistul shuttle is nearly there with the backup team.” “I'd be careful about inviting them aboard, Joe. Evade.” “That's not exactly in my hands, Pher. Captain Maxwell insisted that they ignore my authority…” Sun to the shuttle’s baffles, the aged Constellation-class starship loomed brightly in its forward viewport; the distinct Aztec pattern of her hull panels blooming from an illusory solid ghost-gray, as the stellar distance between them rapidly closed. In the cabin lighting -- dimmed in-flight to reduce eyestrain and internal glare -- the co-pilot’s console cast a grim pall on unsmiling lips of the Verbistul’s Security Chief and the severe gaze she laid on the Capricorn. They would soon know the firestorm of Alexsha Vi Dantinamede. “Five minutes,” Kelin th'Les announced at the helm. “Roger. Hailing Capricorn Flight Control for final.” Alex’s eyes leapt to the console in front of her and she called up the interface for the shuttle’s subspace radio. She didn’t expect to receive from anyone other than the Capricorn, and left the radio in the scanning mode she had programmed. She cycled from the Verbistul’s private frequency to the standard accepted for ship-to-ship communications in Bull’s Head. Halfway to keying the hailing signal and opening the two-way channel with the Capricorn, she stared in stupefied wonder as the frequency abruptly auto-cycled and the cabin’s speakers came to life. Hearing it in the rear of the shuttle, Mr. Gotte and two additional Verbistul personnel stifled their private conversation to listen. “---mp-s-i-le---a tha oi-t ere ere -t-l or-n vi-s -n -ur---st-m --- we d-d-n ha- c-tro -et -nd -il do- -par-nt-y---” it began and continued in the same broken fashion for a few seconds more. “Is that the Capricorn?” Kelin asked; “Why is there interfer---?” “Shh!” Alex waved him silent as a second transmission on the same frequency hit their receiver, repeating a broken pattern like one before it. From the rear, the rest of the shuttle’s passengers moved forward and crowded near the pilots’ seats. There was deep attentiveness on the Security Chief’s face, and Kelin watched in puzzlement as she began to rhythmically tap her finger on the lip of her console and then gradually smiled. The second transmission filled roughly the same frame as the first. “Don’t tell me,” Kelin remarked. “Oh, yeah,” she replied and keyed up the channel in push-to-talk. “Scarecrow, Dorthy; read you. Good to hear you. Send. Over.” Kelin withheld his next question; the receiver had picked up another transmission. As he listened, he began to realize that he was hearing a number of different voices in the short on-cycle; some seemed angry but even those that weren’t carried a level of urgency. All were, from the sound, a few feet or more from the actual radio and somewhat muffled; at least two had the quality of being transmitted twice, as though one radio was picking up another. He wondered why the sender insisted on pure on-off keying rather than using voice or tones. He also noticed the threatening edges of a frown creeping into Alex’s expression. “Scarecrow,” Alex replied to the mysterious sender. “Negative; these crows are not scared. Say again, negative. Over.” “What’d they say; who is it?” Kelin asked in the brief gap between transmissions. “Some guy on the Capricorn has taken most of the Qob crew and our guys hostage---dunno why. But I’ve been told to waveoff.” Alex didn’t explain who the sender was and didn’t have time to try before they were receiving the next transmission. Kelin didn’t recognize the code being used, yet he tried to listen more closely to the voices in the background -- to get an idea of the situation and if the sender was indeed one of the hostages as he suspected. But it seemed before they could finish, Alex had stabbed the push-to-talk on their end. “That’s my job, p'tak!” she said, forgetting radio procedure in her frustration. “You’re ko if you think I’m gonna sit around while you’re all trapped. I’m not a coward!” Alex released the button and then stabbed it again, adding: “Over.” From the best Kelin could surmise, the sender again tried to persuade her to waveoff, but she cut them off just as quickly. “Shut it! I’m doing my job! Dorthy, out!” She promptly paused the frequency scanning program. Cycling over to ship-to-ship, she opened two-way communications. “Capricorn, this is Verbistule-02 requesting clearance for final; over.” As she awaited their response, from the corner of her eye she caught Kelin staring at her and said: “With me?” “Absolutely.” Ethan frowned and subtly exhaled at the voice that shouted in his earpiece. He’d overheard the discussion between Pher and Joe; the mention of a shuttle on approach from the Verbistul and Joe’s claim that it was out of his hands. Bad news: the cluster known as Capricorn was attracting more clusters like some kind of black hole. Ford was clearly in a paranoid state and they had zero intel on how many of his crewmates were following him or what systems were under his control. The shuttle could be flying into the unsympathetic sights of a torpedo tube. It certainly wouldn’t help anyone if the shuttle’s crew was also captured or their presence escalated the situation. Until they knew more or could better coordinate, he agreed with Pher and there was no question in Ethan’s mind that the shuttle must be waved off. The shuttle should wait in reserve pending a resolution with Ford or a call for force. When no one else appeared to volunteer for the task of warning the shuttle, Ethan had decided to take it upon himself. He had loosely folded his arms over his carrier, pinning one hand beneath his upper arm and draping the other on the pouch containing his radio. Though he could take a fair guess, he didn’t know who was in the shuttle, its call sign or if they were even monitoring the frequency he intended using. But he knew Alex would monitor what they had pre-arranged for private communications. Cycling the frequencies by memory, he had begin subtly keying Morse code through the push-to-talk button, his thumb appearing to take on a nervous tick as it tapped against the closed pouch. He called Alex, hoping she was either aboard the shuttle or could forward the message quickly enough. No doubt, though Pher hadn’t done the same, she would have preferred that he consult her before he tried contacting Alex. But this was another exigent circumstance for which he was more than willing to bend her protocol; lives were at stake. There wasn’t time to discuss it. More importantly, he didn’t think it was wise to advertise their activities with a neon sign and potentially escalate Ford. Given the other man’s state, it was surprising to Ethan that Ford hadn’t yet commented on Pher’s radio activities or tried to counter them, much less retaliated. He also knew that Ford could easily detect and triangulate his transmissions and trying to hide what he was doing might be the thing that would escalate the other man. Ethan was taking a chance; counting on the fact that the frequency generally wasn’t used or monitored. He was counting that Ford was too distracted or not paranoid enough to start combing the entire spectrum for things that may or may not be there. Perhaps Ford wouldn’t realize what he was hearing if he did -- hard to say how much he might figure out if he caught Ethan, given Alex hadn’t been exactly smart with her responses. Calmly, Ethan started tapping again, attempting to re-establish contact with Alex after her outburst, but it soon became clear she’d stopped listening. Well, it wasn’t for a lack of trying, he assured himself.