Ethan Neufeld

There’s a term for thinking of a more appropriate or clever response after it’s too late to say it: l'esprit de l'escalier. It’d been a long time since Ethan felt like he’d thought of the right thing to say too late. But, as he glanced across the locked down mess at Pher talking on her ODRI, Ethan was keenly aware that he had missed the opportunity by light-years. Summarize it in two sentences, she’d said. With a private cringe he realized that he should have replied with finality, “We came. We lost.” Cynical truth, but it would have minimized what happened next: no inquisition; no debate; no demoralizing sense of fruitlessness. He could have shrugged if she’d asked him to explicate and left it at that. He’d be on his way to a shower and his bunk right now; not trapped in this compartment by a paranoid raider, with Pher’s unspoken attribution of insubordination and wanton disregard leaving a foul aftertaste in his mouth. His impression of her thoughts had been confirmed, but she was off by his reckoning. He’d complied with her directive banning powered gear without protest; only in the most exigent circumstances of danger had he bent it. His willingness to disregard his own discretion -- carry cold weapons as they directed -- was a testament to his compliance. Conversely, when they could have searched for Sal on foot, Pher had acted independently and ignored her directive as it suited her; she was ultimately the one responsible for the result. She was the one who had caused negative results by breaking her own protocol. Yet he was the one who was too eager to alter protocol? She was blaming him? Incredible. That he’d given into the instinct to defend his opinions and actions, however, after he’d earlier decided that any argument with Pher was pointless, was uncharacteristic. He obviously wasn’t fairing with the frustration, fatigue and exhausting pain as well as he liked. What a drag; all this trouble for a lousy bunch of parasites. As he saw it, Pher’s perceptions of him had been shaped by poor communication and a lack of desire to fully integrate him into their team. If Pher had really wanted to cut down on bad drone encounters, she should have stopped making unilateral decisions and relying on their ODRIs. They were lucky, in his opinion, that only two team members had been shot and on stun. That she’d tried to lend weak merit to his methods -- as she thought she understood them -- was absurdly counter to her inflexible sense of prerogative. Truthfully, he felt like he was beyond a snowball’s chance to demonstrate the soundness of his reasoning or that he was equally capable of discretion. They didn’t and probably never would see eye-to-eye. But why should he care if Pher thought he was inept? It didn’t matter and, when he had no intention of sticking around, discussing or dwelling on grievances with this crew any longer would be a waste of energy. Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears. The mission was over and they could hang his recommendations for all he cared. He was alive and well; he still had his objective. I’m not here to impress anyone; I’m here to do a job. Inconveniently, with the shuttle due from the Verbistul at any moment, Ford was getting in the way. There was no swift solution for that problem, so what would Pher’s protocol be in this case? He wondered. Initially, she had suggested shooting through the door and it was no secret that Ethan had expressed mild consternation when he’d seen her unsling her grenade-launcher mounted rifle. She thought Ethan was the ‘excitable’ one, yet could jump from peremptory over-cautiousness to all but aggressively overreacting in the blink of a transporter? Fortunately, she’d since switched tactics and was trying to call the ship’s Captain for help. It wasn’t the bigger drawbacks that stopped her from actually shooting the door. Soora had voiced reservations and Pher had reconsidered, citing a concern that setting off alarms wasn’t subtle enough. But if getting out was that imperative, Ethan felt alarms -- or a captor’s threats -- were generally immaterial. That notwithstanding, Ethan personally wasn’t ready or desperate enough to start using explosives on a door in such a tight space, nor attempt phasing it when no one else in the compartment was ready. He saw no immediate danger or need get out---for the moment. It seemed Ford wanted living prisoners to interrogate and Ethan was willing to patiently see where things went. Contradiction? No, the situation merely demanded a different response than Zoalus in Ethan’s mind. As it’d always been, Ethan’s actions were motivated by trained discretion and not excessive caution or zeal. In this case, he was interested more in listening to the crazed raider carry on than making a hasty, uninformed attempt to escape. He’d felt early on that the hostiles on Zoalus wouldn’t respect diplomatic attempts; just force and the off-switch -- hence his desire to secure their advantage while they could -- and nothing had yet proved him wrong. But there was no reason to overlook the possibility of talking their way out of here; likewise, Ford might have some enlightening things to say. If they played it smart, they might gain a stronger ally in Tomar or even Ford; whereas shooting their way out would guarantee pushing a portion of the Capricorn’s crew from the fence into enemies. Ethan casually leaned against the sideboard and stuffed his left hand into a pocket, using the other hand to reset his thumb break before resting on his holstered pistol. He hadn’t sought a part in the murder investigation earlier and, had Ford begun any later, he would have missed this. Any lingering issue with the surface team sunk completely from his care as he paid Ford and Troy his full attention. Ford was convinced the Qob’s bionic engineer was some kind of saboteur; that was an ironic twist. Only a few days earlier, when the Capricorn had attacked the expedition, he had remarked to Shane: We all have secrets. He’d meant it as a veiled warning. Ethan couldn’t begin to speculate if Ford was right or wrong in this case, but he now had Ethan’s curiosity piqued. One thing was certain, at any rate: the Capricorn was a full-on cluster fitting for Zoalus. Talk about stepping out of the fire---into a bigger fire.

On 02 May 2420 at {HH:MM} I, Selek, was instructed by Captain Joe Manning to report to the Verbsitul's shuttlebay for landing party duty, along with Qob First Mate Chris Nickles, Security Chief Pher, crewmembers Sal Rosetto and Zaphod Dascal; and Verbistul Science Officer Alex Macen. The landing party was to be lead by Chris Nickles and Pher. I was informed that we would be conducting a submerged insertion via modified shuttle, as this was determined to have the most success. At {HH:MM}, we checked our equipment and boarded shuttle Verbistul-01. At {HH:MM}, while en route, the landing party executive determined our insertion point (+35 16' 44'', -76 28' 13'') with the assistance of Troy Parsons aboard the Qob in orbit. Our insertion point was a fjord approximately 220 kilometers north of Site #2, and approximately 10 kilometers east of an unknown Port City that was 190 kilometers east of Site #1; we would exit the shuttle 20 meters from shore. We were informed that we would have to climb cliffs in the area of the beach to proceed inland. At {HH:MM}, the Qob initiated radio silence due to the approach of a hostile vessel in the star system. At {HH:MM}, we exited the shuttle, made an uncontrolled assent to the surface and swam to shore south of the mouth of the fjord. I did not notice contacts in the immediate area. Upon arrival at the beach, Zaphod and I determined the best route up the cliffs. I took lead and Zaphod and I proceeded to free solo up the cliff face. After securing anchors at the top, I assisted Zaphod in setting up belay and returned to the base of the cliff to assist Chris, Pher and Sal with climbing the cliff. I then returned to the cliff top and we determined that we should leave my climbing gear in order to facilitate a quick retreat. At {HH:MM}, we proceeded west, inland on foot, toward the Port City and paralleling the fjord to the south. At {HH:MM} Zaphod conducted an active tricorder scan of the area and informed us that the planetary sensor grid had detected his scan. Within approximately five minutes, we sighted three planetary defense drones approaching our position and took cover. The drones arrived on Zaphod’s previous position, but first appeared unable to determine the team’s exact locations after taking cover. At this point, Sal made a remark regarding the Zoalus language; Zaphod growled on two occasions; and Chris said to Zaphod, “Easy.” I noticed that the drones appeared to react specifically to these three members of the team by approaching and scanning their positions, but the drones appeared lose or end sensor contact once said team members ceased speaking. At approximately {HH:MM}, the drones ceased searching the area and appeared to follow our tracks toward the cliff. At this time, Sal broke cover and said, “I have an idea. Sorry, everyone, if what I'm about to do doesn't work.” He then proceeded to attract drone attention by whistling and approaching their location. The drones reacted by appearing to scan in our direction, and then one drone (A) approached Sal while the remaining two (B and C) continued to scan in the direction of the cliff. After reaching Sal’s position, Drone A scanned him, but appeared unable to make a satisfactory sensor contact. It then appeared to notice Sal’s shadow and make a furtive movement. It fired at the shadow and appeared to use the resulting dust and smoke to determine Sal’s exact position, at which point, Drone B and C began moving back toward our position. Drone A attempted to shoot Sal, but Sal immediately ran and was not struck. Drone A appeared to track Sal’s retreat via his footprints and fired additional shots, but did not strike Sal. At this time, I noticed Zaphod break cover, appear to power up his phaser and ask for permission to return fire. The drones did not appear to detect Zaphod’s phaser in standby. Permission to fire was denied by Chris, and Zaphod powered down his weapon and returned to cover. Sal then said, “I guess it's smarter than I thought.” Sal took cover and Drone A appeared to lose his sensor contact. At this point, Sal attempted to touch Drone A and the drone reacted by changing its orientation to scan Sal’s new position. Chris said to Zaphod, “Tell him [sal] to remain still;” and Zaphod said to Sal, “Stay still. Lay low.” I noticed that Drone B reacted by scanning Chris’s position and Drone A reacted by scanning Zaphod’s position, while Drone C appeared to patrol the perimeter. Said team members ceased speaking and Drone A and Drone B continued to scan for approximately two minutes; then appeared unable to establish sensor contact. The three drones broke from our position toward the cliff and eventually disappeared in the direction of the beach below. At {HH:MM}, the team regrouped and we determined an alternate exfiltration route to the shuttle. Sal also informed us that each drone possessed a control panel and that the ‘hats’ created by Troy had interfered with the drones’ sensors. At {HH:MM}, we proceeded west on our original heading. At {HH:MM}, we altered course and proceeded west-northwest toward the river that feeds the fjord, flowing east to west from the direction of the Port City. Around {HH:MM} and 3 kilometers west of our insertion point, we sighted an additional drone (D). Drone D altered course to intercept us and we took cover. I turned off my radio at this time, suspecting it had attracted the drone. Drone D approached our position and appeared to accurately scan and determine the positions of Zaphod, Sal and myself; and scanned me for the longest period of time. The drone did not scan Pher or Chris. After scanning us, Drone D proceeded on its original course. Drone D’s instrumentation appeared to have been recently modified. At {HH:MM}, the team regrouped and proceeded on altered heading. At approximately {HH:MM}, the team determined it was necessary to find shelter for the night as it was nearing dusk. The team moved to and made shelter in a building (A) built on the south river bank, approximately 2 kilometers from the Port City. (It was later discovered that Building A was a maintenance shed for the planetary defense drones.) We secured the building. At about {HH:MM}, we discussed our situation and objectives. Pher said that Zaphod, Sal and I had “ticked them [the drones] off,” and the team leader directed the team to turn off all powered gear until further notice. We were further instructed to preapprove any action that would violate this directive. I agreed, saying, “You're right: the last contact was my fault. I left my radio on. Everything’s off now. Won't happen again." I fully complied with the directive at this time. From {HH:MM} to sunrise at {HH:MM}, Zaphod stood watch outside Building A and stood watch inside. I possessed nightvision, but was unable to use it due to the directive concerning powered gear. At {HH:MM}, Zaphod entered the Building A to sleep while the remainder of the team stood watch. At appoximately {HH:MM}, a drone entered Building A and Pher directed the team to make immediate egress. After exiting the Building A, we counted at least three dozen drones in the immediate area; they appeared to be maintaining the gardens around the local buildings. The drones did not appear to detect us as we moved away from the area. Around {HH:MM}, the team leader instructed Sal to take point and choose a building to collect intel. Sal selected a building (B) approximately 500 meters to the southeast, as it was determined that drone activity in the area was minimal. During our approach of Building B, around {HH:MM}, we sighted Drone D and it appeared to briefly scan our position before proceeding on its previous course. At about {HH:MM}, we arrived at Building B and Sal and Chris entered the building. Pher stood watch outside roughly five meters from the entrance of Building B; Zaphod at the southwest corner; and I stood watch at the northeast corner. At {HH:MM}, Sal apparently became lost inside Building B and Pher activated her ODRI to locate his signal and then entered Building B with Chris. Within approximately one minute, I sighted Drone D approaching our position from the east. At this time, Pher exited Building B and I noticed that Drone D appeared to stop and focus on her position. Feeling the team was in immediate danger, I disregarded the directive against powered gear; and turned on my radio in order to create a distraction and attract the drone to my position. The decoy appeared to work, as Drone D did move on my position, at which time I turned off my radio and expected Drone D to lose my sensor contact. However, Drone D remained on my position and proceeded to scan me. It then fired at me on stun, striking me with a precise shot in the abdomen below my plate carrier and I was rendered unconscious. I awoke after about five minutes, face down and twenty meters west of my original position at the northeast corner of Building B. I discovered a drone had attached to my belt with its tentacle. It was inactive and had apparently been shot. A second drone (E) was attempting to carry the inactive drone from the location, however, the inactive drone was still attached to my belt and Drone E could not lift our combined weight. Drone E scanned my position, but did not appear to detect me. Unable to determine the cause of the extra weight, Drone E used its weapon to sever the tentacle that was attached to my belt and carried the inactive drone to an unknown location. I picked up the severed tentacle and delivered it to Sal, at which time the all team members entered Building B. I was medically checked by Chris and he determined I was not critically injured. We discussed our next objective and returning to the shuttle. Sal was given permission to activate his tricorder and collect data on Building B before we moved out. Around {HH:MM}, the team sighted a large force of drones - including several modified drones - approaching our position at Building B from the Port City. Pher and Zaphod took defensive positions outside; I was directed to alert Chris and Sal and did so. Within a few minutes, the force of drones surrounded and began firing on Building B. There were concerns that the building would not withstand the attack and Chris ordered us to regroup outside. Again, disregarding the directive against powered gear, I threw an IR/S strobe toward the south in an attempt to distract the drones. It did not have an apparent effect; our actions appeared to be ignored. Chris, Sal and I exited Building B and headed east, regrouping with Pher and Zaphod and taking cover in a creek bed roughly ten meters from the building. It was immediately determined that the team should return to the shuttle. We followed the creek bed north toward the river, intending to follow the river toward the fjord. At approximately {HH:MM}, I noticed that we were being followed by a detachment of roughly two dozen drones - some of which were modified. We halted to rest and I attempted to inform the team of contact, but the drones were on our position before we could move out. At this time, Pher said she would attempt opening a dialogue with the drones. She approached a modified drone (F) and said, “Do you guys watch B movies? If you want us somewhere, show us where;” further stating that she was providing them with English for their translators. Drone F replied, “Follow.” The team was then directed by Pher to follow the detachment of drones. I broke cover to follow Pher and a second modified drone (G) approached me and said, “Follow.” As instructed, I followed drone G. Chris objected to my actions and I explained that I was following the instructions given to me. I continued following Drone G for roughly ten meters, at which time I was stunned in the back by a third drone and rendered unconscious. At about {HH:MM}, I regained consciousness in the Capricorn transporter room. Based on my observations as documented in this report; it is my opinion that powered devices fitted with electromagnetic shielding do not emit sufficient electromagnetic signatures in ‘standby’ or ‘passive’, to register on the sensors or threat indicators of modified or unmodified defense drones. This could provide an advantage for future teams and expeditions. However, I do not recommend future insertions on Zoalus unless countermeasures can be obtained against what I suspect are the video or holographic processing capabilities of the modified drones; or the drones can be completely deactivated.

"I'm fine," Ethan reassured, finding the attention troublesome; "just a little stiff." More than that, he privately admitted; he hadn’t slept in the last thirty-six to forty-eight hours - not since the night before they’d launched from the Qob - and, though he couldn't completely relax, he was plummeting off the adrenaline dump of sustained hyper-vigilance. He cringed good-humoredly at those who’d expressed concern. “Tired,” he added; “If it’s all right with you, Nickles, I’m gonna claim a bunk and some sleep.” Ethan didn’t receive any objections; he suspected they couldn’t think of an immediate purpose for an outsider like him to fill in the investigation. Currently, interactions with his teammates implied that they hadn’t discerned the level of his qualifications while on Zoalus. In fact, there were intimations that they suspected he was inept, reckless, or trying to endanger the team intentionally; just another Xorax expeditionist that required a chaperone rather than trust. But - given that he’d demonstrated compliance and voiced no objections, despite the disparity between their training and opinions; and had done nothing, of which they were aware, to warrant such a reaction - there was no accounting for why. If anyone warranted their wariness, in his opinion, it should have been Rosetto for the stunt he’d unilaterally pulled at the beginning of their insertion. Yet their reactions to Rosetto’s subsequent, repeated requests to power up tricorders had been markedly different than what Ethan received for his sole request to dry fire his weapons. That Ethan, as an outsider, simply made an unfavorable impression on his counterparts: it was the only explanation he had. But, for the moment, Ethan shrugged it off and left them the mess. He really didn't care and didn’t want things another way. It would have been inconvenient if the situation had been different; if they’d been actively seeking his opinions and participation. That they might leave him alone, in these circumstances, was an advantage. Ethan navigated through the Capricorn’s passageways unaccompanied. The familiarity of her unfailing Starfleet design was nostalgic; and finding privacy on the old Constellation-class was easy as most of the raiders preferred the officers’ suites. He took a bunk on a sparsely occupied deck in old the group of shared quarters set aside for Starfleet Chief Petty Officers - the ‘goat locker’. The irony wasn't lost on him. Securing his gear against curiosity and possible thieves, he surveyed the unused compartment. The Capricorn had seen better years, he privately mused. He shook his troubled right hand, cringing as sharp sensations permeated his arm into his neck and forced him to sit from the threat of blacking out. He had nothing nice to say about the motive behind the drones that had stunned him. Though some of the numbness and muscle spasms in his right extremities had abated, the agony in his back and head was unrelenting. He should have visited the doctor, as Byblos suggested, but he’d convinced himself that they had better things to do. There was a ship full of patients that were worse off than he was. More than a decade earlier, doctors and therapists had told him he was lucky to retain any feeling at all, let alone live through the incident. One had equated his human nerves to a sheet of aluminum foil: once it’d been rolled into a ball, he’d never completely eliminate the wrinkles. What else could another doctor do short of handing him pills that might barely ease off the edge and compromise his mental state? He'd deal with it and, right now, he wanted nothing more than to shower, shave and just sleep it off. But, first, he had a report to write for Joe Manning and the expedition; and he smirked half-way into the opening line. The charade had grown stale to the point that identifying himself as ‘Selek’ didn’t come naturally.

T'aral wins by default.

Instinct and the startling recollection of being shot – for the second time in the same day – finally spurred Ethan to consciousness. Seven minutes after transport, he woke and sharply inhaled. Finding himself in an unfamiliar transporter room, of all places, was disconcerting at first. He'd expected to end up somewhere else entirely but inevitably on Zoalus. Surrounded by familiar faces – some of which hadn't gone to the Zoalus surface – it didn't take long to recognize that he was likely on a friend-controlled ship in orbit. No one present seemed to notice him wake: they were busy discussing how and where to transfer him for further medical evaluation and care. Ethan rolled over his left side and on to his hands and knees, groaning mutedly for the effort. As before, his body ached and protested from the aftereffects of being stunned, but the pain was far more pronounced this time. He suspected that he had been out longer in this incident – cumulative effects of taking stun twice, and possibly a higher setting in the second shot. But, to his dismay, his spine felt like it was painfully shrinking, sending spasms into his right thigh and his right arm was disturbingly numb. He recognized the familiar feeling from years before. The drones must have hit him square in the back and when the energy overwhelmed his nervous system from that central point, the old injury had been aggravated. Ethan pulled to his feet, using the bulkhead for support. Doctor Soora wasn't far behind, immediately inquiring in her dry, practiced way if he was all right. "I'm fine," he answered minimally, "just disoriented." Soora seemed to accept this, though she'd undoubtedly want to give him a medical workup at some point. Ethan glanced around the transporter room as the party slowly broke and filed out. He wasn't sure what ship they were aboard; he only knew it couldn't be the Qob or Verbistul. Neither ship possessed transporter technology. But the look of this ship was familiar: he was sure he'd seen something similar in a Starfleet museum once. Eventually someone told him it was the Capricorn and he smirked. His thoughts turned over to the Zoalus surface. Ethan thought it was ironic that Pher had decided to talk to the drones. He'd considered doing something similar. Though he had intended to carry it out at a later point in the expedition, with less diplomatic tongue-in-cheek and far more definitive promises to retaliate if he didn't like how they responded. He wondered now if it would be worth it or if he'd been handed a bit of an advantage that he could use later. Ethan was now confident that he could field an accurate guess on the modified drones' capabilities without looking at the tentacle they'd captured. Their superior abilities couldn't be attributed to altered sensor frequencies. Using active scans would have attracted a regular drone to the modified drones' activities sooner than was evident. They couldn't hide their weapons discharges, but they could delay attracting regular drone attention. Ethan decided that it couldn't have been more advanced environmental analyses, either. That sort of equipment could be extremely complex and the modifications looked jerry-rigged and too low-tech. That only left one logical explanation, which also paralleled their audio capabilities and understanding of English in Ethan's opinion. It all made complete sense to him. It was very clever.

Uh, heh. Didn't expect that. Here it is:

Caption #1 Kirk: This...is the real. Mirror. Universe. Spock: Frightening. Kirk: Yes, Mr. Spock, one...can only wonder...what's next. The Twilight Zone? Captain #2 Bush: There are tribbles in my White House. Captain #3 Rumors said Alec Baldwin would give us a real 'star trek' if Bush won. Regrettably, this is all we got. And that should get you what you need V'Roy. Not Comedy Central, but what's the point of quoting a skit that's been done before?

....... Heh. I thought you were asking about ideas for the reaent's current mission. Must've been mistaken. Good generic ideas from the others; don't have anything to add to that.

As long as it doesn't get me a Vulcan neck pinch, I'm willing to help. But I don't have a lot of time to get up to speed. Do you have any background? Can you summarize what's happening on the Reaent?

Sal lifted his head above the brush and turned back toward the building long enough to see what was going on. The drones that were in and about the building were emitting laser beams in random directions. The red heat filled the area and trees and small bushes were chopped up radically and set afire. The building had sustained minor damage, but what was infinitely more interesting was the vessel rising slowly above the Port City. Sal stared at it probably too long as he tried to analyze its design. It wasn't of known technologies he thought but couldn't be certain. They were still a distance away from the city and it looked like it was only about 30 to 50 meters in length. Propulsion was also a mystery. The vessel seemed to hover quite stable. Sal couldn't see much detail without visual aide but he could see that it had at least one lower gun turret or something protruding below its main deck. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder probably due to his impact with the wall moments ago. He wasn't immobile but he wouldn't be doing calisthenics in the morning. He was tired and what he wouldn't do for a good old cup of java right now was on his mind. Sal stopped running and crouched down in the bushes watching the action. He noted that the drones didn't really seem interested in them. They were fighting each other. He thought about this for a long time and rationalized that this was unusual and illogical. Why would there be factions? And if there were factions 600 years ago then why would there still be fighting. The dominate faction would have destroyed the others long ago. This was something new. There was something that he had not been told about the previous expeditions. Looking toward the creek, Sal saw that the others had gathered near its edge and had also stopped running. He walked over to join them and see what their next move would be. "Stay low and don't huddle too close," Pher said as Sal approached, looking to the others as well, not just Sal. "If they get lucky, I want only one casualty! Stay behind some sort of rise. These things like energy weapons. If you can't see the city armaments, they haven't got line of sight on you!" "This smells like a war, guys. One side wants to kill anything living? The other doesn't? Don't know about you guys, but I think I'm with the no genocide faction. That would be the side that tried to kidnap Ethan. They seem to be providing distraction and cover fire to cover our retreat. If they are doing it on purpose, we owe them, maybe, sorta. I'm guessing the genocide faction won the war, which was suspended when they ran out of people to kill. Both sides using similar technology, built by the same people. No genocide faction has better sensors. Genocide faction has more guns, definitely more big guns." Bringing up the rear, Ethan went prone against the reverse slope of the creek's bank for cover and briefly glanced at Pher further downstream. Save for her sound tactical advice, much of what she had said slipped beyond his concentration on the battlefield. With a battle this close, there were only a few things he bothered absorbing at that moment. This was nothing like a battle between sentient beings. Sentient beings had to cope with uncertainty, fear and moral conscience on the battlefield. But it was an intense, soulless battle going on out there. Some of the drones’ reaction times were a fraction slower; noticeably behind the others and inaccurate as a result. They were probably being directed or controlled by the modified drones somehow. Yet every drone was scoring a 100% firing rate; not one drone hesitated to absolutely aim or fire at other drones. Posture, submit, flight or fight - the only response the drones seemed to recognize here was fight and fight to completely destroy. Tossing a strobe to distract the drones while the team escaped the building had been pointless. The drones were so intent on 'killing' each other that they hadn't noticed the team's movement and the team could use that to their advantage. Enemy of my enemy. It also meant the drones had no compunctions or reasons to stop until the entire problem was erased from the battlefield. It meant they were likely to use whatever means necessary to win. There was an artillery platform out there; an entirely new problem. There was no way of confirming the platform’s full range of armaments at this distance. Not every species used only energy-based weapons, despite apparent preference. Not every weapon was limited to line of sight and, if they had the means, it wouldn’t stop the defenses from estimating the team’s position. It wouldn’t stop them from sending in ground troops to recon by fire or drive them out into the open. Nor was there any sure way of telling who actually had control of the platform before they used it. All things they didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way. Ethan didn't want to stay long enough to discuss the drones or their intent. The danger was high that they might get swept up by the battle or become the next target if the modified drones won. That they were built by the same people, won some war years ago or were providing cover fire was surplus information for the moment. If the modified drones won the current fight, Ethan had no doubt they'd be on the team like white on rice in a snow storm. Targeting him again, if there was any consistency to their actions. They might also retaliate for shooting one of them earlier; maybe to lethal ends. The team wasn't prepared to hold out or even properly react to an engagement with force. That an aggressor would get off the first shot was a given; Ethan had come to accept that fact a long time ago. But with cold weapons, it was guaranteed that the drones would get in more than one shot if not score hits before the team could respond. If the team was going to escape notice and attempt to make it back to their shuttle, now was the time to do it, while drones were too busy fighting drones. Quickly, he moved back toward Pher and went prone again on the rise of the creek bed beside her. "We need to keep moving while we can," he advised; eyes out and speaking as low as possible. Maybe they could follow the creek and use its steep banks for cover before cutting a hard ninety toward the shuttle. Chris had been running along but not to close to the others trying to keep some distance between them all. As he topped the hillside to the creek bed he turned for a moment to see if anything was after them. For a change it wasn't. At least not at this time. He took a sigh of relief wondering what the hell was going on. Drones fighting drones. Maybe some of them were trying to help? Who knew. He then heard Pher give her command and dropped below the side of the creek bed and acknowledged the other two officers comments about getting back to the shuttle. He was in agreement with that, even though it meant the swim again Sal turned to listen to Ethan coming up from behind. He was in agreement with getting off this battle ground and wasn't ready to start communicating with any drones regardless of its affiliation. He knew, however, that once he was back on the shuttle and preferably back on QoB that he'd be able to decipher this language. They could return with a brand new weapon in their stores....LANGUAGE. "Pher, what do you think? Follow the creek bed? It's noisy but keeps us low. They don't seem to be very interested in us at the moment anyway. We could make a run for the shuttle!" He wasn't sure that this would work. His shoulder was killing him but he kept the pace trying not to let the pain get the better of him. "Sounds right, Sal." Pher half stood, looked about, and spoke. "Downstream, I think. Follow me!"

(After Rosetto's reply.) Ethan furrowed his brow as Sal stared at him and explicated on the hazards of the experiments they'd conducted. Experiments? What experiments? He was honestly confused, wondering how it was that everyone seemed to be blaming him for what had happened to him. He hadn't conducted any experiments. He had turned on his radio as a tactical decoy, but he hadn't bothered mentioning that. Why was he automatically the only one at fault for what happened? Once Sal was finished, Ethan remarked, "Thanks for the tip," appreciative that someone had at least pointed out how the washroom sink worked. "Think we have a plan. If there's nothing else, I'll take watch," he added and then left to find a window with a good view.

(Prior to Rosetto's reply.) Ethan smirked at no one in particular. He couldn't help feeling incredulous. He hadn't once mentioned his speculations or made any suggestions, but it was like Pher already knew what he'd been thinking. He'd poured exhaustive efforts into substantiating and refining his theories, and seconds before he even had a chance to actually voice or bring any of it to real fruition, the entire situation had changed. Now that Pher had pointed it out, he realized that this tentacle looked different from the one that he had picked up earlier. Apparently, as it turned out, collecting the regular drone's tentacle for Sal might have been small beer. So much for favors at any rate, he privately mused. He pointed at the tentacle in Sal's hand and asked for clarification. "That's from the modified drone?" The answer was, unsurprisingly, affirmative. He didn't ask where it had come from; he could guess as much himself. "And we're confident that we can learn what we need from that?" There was a variety of replies, but the general consensus was also positive. Casually stuffing a hand into his pocket, Ethan's brow rose over a tight expression and he tilted his head in a show of mild skepticism. But only silence followed, implying he had nothing worth adding or significant objections. If they really believed they could learn all they needed to know from that mechanical limb, who was he to suggest otherwise? He wasn't a scientist or engineer. Small unit tactics in unconventional warfare, direct action, reconnaissance and hostage rescue were his specialty. By extension, he knew some things about the theories behind sensors, radios and other gear; science of the battlefield so to speak. But he was, all things considered, just another grunt. As a grunt, running around in enemy country was a fundamental part of his expertise and operating without accessible radios or weaponry went against his better judgment to painful extremes. On that alone, he could think of a few reasons not to continue as they were. But he sensed saying as much would only open up an empty debate with no change to the course of action they'd eventually decide to take. And, really, what was the point of debating all that at length? So he could be responsible for causing delays or sparking animosity? Sure, he could argue that they needed their radios. But the pressing need to find out if it was safe to turn their radios on had fizzled with the modified drone's arm in-hand. Everything the next expedition needed to know was in that arm - sensor capabilities and radio frequencies. In the meantime, they could just as easily open radio contact with Qob in the shuttle from underwater, where the drones didn't go. As for live weapons, there was a strong argument that if they simply didn't turn anything on, it wouldn't matter. The drones would leave them alone and they wouldn't need to use weapons. Ethan didn't agree with that line of thinking, but he also couldn't compete with it short of causing a stalemate. They were intent on returning to the shuttle soon and, from there, the Qob. He might as well shy away from any harebrained ideas of attracting more attention to the team now and just cross his fingers a little tighter.

And this was on a 'good day'.

Ethan didn’t move again or make a sound until he was sure all of the drones had moved far beyond hearing range. Though he could still see some drones in the distance, instinct told him to regroup and move to better cover the second he safely could. He pushed to his feet and grunted at the pain that rhythmically pounded in his head and spread through his core as he stood. He hated being stunned. Designers of less-lethal technologies had never learned the meaning of ‘soft touch’. He was wet, caked in mud, cold and it was still raining. His poncho was gone, still caught on the drone that had dropped him when its hook slipped from his carrier and unwittingly carried off by its salvagers. There wasn't a spot on him that wasn't wet or muddy; seeping under his carrier, belt and worked into every exposed gap in his gear. His ego was bruised, head aching, body stiff and banged up a bit from the clumsy treatment he’d received. Not conditions he particularly liked, but things he’d grown used over the years and no real harm had been done. Nothing a bit of time in a dry, warm place and something to show for their troubles couldn’t fix at any rate. Ready and waiting to rejoin to the others, he glanced at Pher as she rose from concealment nearby. Then, in a moment of recollection, he looked to the severed tentacle that was partially submerged at his feet. Rosetto had wanted to capture and study one of the drones. Brow furrowing, he crouched down and fished the tentacle from the mud. It wasn’t a drone, but it was part of one. Standing again, he began walking and then jogged the few dozen meters back to the building, the tentacle limply dangling in his hand. He unceremoniously presented it to Sal at the entrance and then finally entered the building at Sal’s insistence. He wasn’t one to complain, but still welcomed the chance to get out of the rain. Murky puddles marked his trail from the door as he ventured in deeper and out of sight from the windows, seeking a more secure place to change. He found a chamber that was, he guessed, the Zoalus equivalent of a washroom. It didn’t seem to have running water. Pulling a plastic bag from his pack, he was soon dressed in dry clothing, though mud still coated his exposed skin, hair, boots and gear. He left the wet clothing and gear behind and rejoined the others, reassured to find that all were in better condition than he was. In the foyer, standing back from the windows, he then fully took in his situation for the first time since being stunned. Some of the scene outside spoke for itself. From the looks of it, the modified drone and its unmodified companions had tried to take him somewhere after stunning him and in a direction relative to the port city. That explained why he’d ended up roughly fifty meters from his original position and why one of the drones had been hooked to his belt. But where the modified drone had disappeared, how the two unmodified drones had been damaged or why the five additional drones couldn’t carry on what the modified one started was a riddle. Initially he’d thought his teammates had come to his rescue; said to hell with the risks and fought the drones into withdrawing. He soon learned, brow lifting in surprise as they recounted the incident, that it wasn’t nearly the whole story. Pher had risked firing on the modified drone once and had successfully hit it. But it’d been the drones who ultimately freed him by attacking their own kind. “Really?” he’d remarked aloud in a falling tone and some disbelief. The team had gone largely ignored by the group of five. Even after returning fire on the modified drone and briefly gaining their attention, the garden-variety drones had acted as though the team was invisible. But the team hadn’t been able to safely do much more for Ethan than what the drones had done themselves. It was the five salvaging drones that deserved his gratitude, however incidental his rescue had been to their apparent objective - attacking the group of three and collecting its two unmodified members. Desiring to piece things together for himself, Ethan earnestly drew from the team as much information on what happened as he could. There were a few details on which everyone who witnessed the incident agreed; none of which coincided with Ethan's thoughts. In Ethan's opinion there were at least two distinct groups of drones. The drones that tended gardens, maintained equipment, patrolled the landscape and repelled landing parties, used laser-based weapons and were physically identical from drone to drone. These drones could perceive and react to sounds, proximity or touch, unnatural electromagnetic emissions and weapons discharges. But their sensors were unable to compensate for Troy’s space hats or directly detect the wearers. These were the drones they first met on land. They were common and everywhere and were most likely connected to the fixed surface-to-air batteries. Others had split these drones into two groups: the 'gardeners' and 'security'. But Ethan hadn't seen the need. Whether one gardened or patrolled was secondary to their collective ROE and how they might respond to directives from the network. And he suspected a 'gardener' drone was just as capable of shooting them as 'security' drone. The other group was the modified drone; some dubbed it 'science'. It used stun rather than the clearly lethal weapons of the other drones. Its modified sensors were also clearly superior to the others and it was in the habit of taking live captives. It was an oddity among hundreds of drones that all looked and acted exactly alike. Some on the team saw this as an indication of an established social order between the drones, but Ethan wasn't convinced. No one could explain why the drones had attacked each other. Why the modified drone was allowed to escape unchallenged by the others. If the modified drone was cooperating with the two unmodified drones or if it was controlling them and how. If the three were all part of the same group or if the modified drone had actually appropriated its unmodified companions and why it couldn’t similarly control the group of five. Why the modified drone stunned and took captives apart from basic curiosity. Or why it had taken an interest only in Ethan; some might not have agreed its interest was intentional, chalking it up to just a matter of place and time. Ethan didn't believe it. Circumstances, as they’d played out, had reduced the chance that more unmodified drones would return with reinforcements and seek payback on the team for their losses. But Ethan had a feeling that he’d see the modified drone again. It wasn’t the first time the modified drone had taken more interest in him than everyone else. Yesterday, it was a longer scan, radio off, and while completely ignoring the remaining half the team after him. And then, today, visibly reacting to Pher when she appeared in the doorway of the building and after powering down her gear, but clearly targeting Ethan. The scans it’d occasionally directed at the building weren’t just curiosity; it was also watching its back, making sure Ethan’s teammates didn’t try to take it by surprise. Or maybe it was looking for someone that shared the same traits as Ethan. But he suspected it wanted something. Wanted something from him or wanted him for something - something that needed him alive. The question was what. And why him: was it his appearance, height or weight; something he was carrying; his smell? Briefly, it’d crossed his mind from a jaded bit of humor that he’d somehow pissed the drone off in another life. More now than ever, he was convinced the modified drone could see past his space hat and not because it was malfunctioning. Whether ‘seeing’ was figurative or literal, he didn’t know. No one had managed to get a good look at its modifications, but there was a surplus of possibilities - anything from using different sensor frequencies, to video capture and processing, to enhanced environmental analyses. Whatever the explanation, Ethan was sure of one thing: his radio wasn’t the culprit. Believing the modified drone presented a danger to his teammates, he’d turned it on without Pher’s permission. He couldn’t fully discount that the drone might have detected the radio - using it to attract the drone had been his intention in the first place. But the drone was already advancing relative to Ethan’s position before he turned the radio on and it gave no indication that it detected the change. The drone might have also ignored it, but the point of differentiating between detect or ignore was moot. The purpose of ignoring sensor contacts was prioritization: you might as well consider a contact undetected if consistently ignored. The result was too definitive for what was intended as a brief decoy to suggest the radio played more than the smallest part. Even after turning the radio off, the modified drone hadn’t just blindly shot at him. It unshakably watched Ethan as it waited for its companions to arrive before taking action and the odds were against Ethan when it finally did. The shot itself had been fast, decisive; aimed and accurate down to the centimeter. It struck him solidly in the lower abdomen, a hairsbreadth below his carrier. It was the closest to a centered body shot the drone could make without striking and dissipating the energy across the armor carrier’s internal plates. If it was the radio the drone was following, it should have shot the radio on his shoulder or near it. But the drone clearly aimed away from the radio and intentionally missed his vest. The shot showed calculation; awareness of things that should have been hidden by the space hat even if it detected the radio; things the powered radio couldn’t have revealed to it. Pher’s active tricorder scan to find Rosetto after he’d gone missing, however, was a different story. Once he learned of it, Ethan had to give the modified drone credit. It’d seized on and triangulated what was reportedly the briefest emission within seconds. That was impressive, considering it took a stronger weapon discharge from the modified drone to attract the attention of the rest. But it also corroborated Ethan’s theories on the modified drone’s sensor capabilities and objectives. If the drone only followed active signals, the drone should have homed in on where Pher’s ODRI had been and left Ethan alone. Or, if following his shielded radio, it shouldn’t have been able to distinguish between who was carrying which device; only that they were a several dozen meters apart. And yet, after reacting to Pher, it specifically zeroed in on him. It stunned him, not his radio, and then somehow directed two unmodified drones - they apparently couldn’t sense him on their own - to carry him off and left the rest of the team untouched. There had to be more to it than electrical signatures; had to be. From the beginning, Ethan had known that active gear or scans would likely attract drone attention. But, to Ethan, there was a sizable difference between active gear and powered gear that wasn’t producing emissions or was, in other words, operating in passive mode. In his opinion, gear that was shielded could be powered up and go undetected as long as it remained passive - tricorders on passive scan, radios that weren’t transmitting, weapons in standby, binoculars and night vision in any mode. He wanted to test that theory; lift the ban on powered, shielded gear. They hadn't started out with clear objectives beyond a hazy idea of conducting recon and figuring out the drones. In his opinion, testing the drones' abilities fell within that broad scope of their current objective. He needed to know and he didn't feel like they could safely wait until they returned to the Qob and for a lengthy review of the data they had. No radio schedule had been set with the Qob to his knowledge; no one was checking their radios on the hour. He wanted to be able to hear the Qob when and if they tried to contact the team; know what was happening in orbit, if anything had changed or if they should be expecting something they couldn't see from the ground. They could have also used their radios for signals intelligence; found a way to monitor the drones' movements via their communications. And giving Sal the chance to passively analyze the Zoalus language on his tricorder would benefit them all, maybe even give them a key to communicating with the drones sooner. Above all, he wanted a live weapon in his hands. Their record wasn't great at the moment. They were running into the drones without trying very hard and often coming out behind. This time they'd been lucky; the modified hadn't been interested in a firefight. But their chances of winning a full engagement were slim and would grow slimmer the longer it lasted. Dodging fire in the next attack while waiting for their weapons to warm up would multiply that against them. From a full retention holster with thumb-break, Ethan could draw a live weapon and fire three accurate rounds to a subject's center of mass in 1.8 seconds. He held the record as one of the fastest, accurate draws. It was likely that some would think he'd exaggerated or lied if he told them. Most would be blown away if he showed them. But, truthfully, it wasn't that impressive. An aggressor could produce their weapon and fire a single, fatal round to the center of mass in a quarter of a second or less. That was seven times faster than Ethan's remarkable, holstered draw. Naturally, if pulling his rifle from just a low ready, Ethan could fire in the same amount of time. But it was the aggressor that always had the opening advantage in a firefight and that much was scientifically proven. The aggressor's advantage lied in what the defender didn't know. The moment the weapon was fired, the aggressor had already gone through all the mental steps and made his decision to shoot. By that point, the defender was already seconds behind and would lose precious time in assessing the situation, taking cover if he hadn't and making his own 'shoot or don't shoot' decision. Add a cold weapon to the scenario - half a second for the additional step of turning the weapon on and 2 or more seconds for the weapon to warm up. Now you more than guaranteed the first shots to the aggressor and multiplied the defender's chance of taking a hit or being killed without returning fire. The modified drone had been the aggressor and Ethan the defender. In that incident, the drone had lifted its tentacle, unhampered by holsters and slings, and shot Ethan before he could decide if the movement was even hostile. That was fast by his standards. Would it have made a difference if his weapon had been live? Given he was carrying his rifle in a low ready at the time, there was a good chance he could have reacted soon enough. There was also a good chance that he still would have been shot. But Ethan was convinced that having a live weapon could only increase the odds in their favor for future encounters. The problem lied in convincing the others that testing the drones' responses was a worthwhile risk. He couldn't fully explain why he felt so strongly about taking that course of action and that weakened his argument. And the team was naturally drawn to rally behind the Qob's Security Chief over a stranger like Ethan. They had unconditionally accepted Pher's theories that no device should be powered. That active was not the same as passive didn’t matter. Breaking through a barrier like that might be impossible. It was a frustrating position under a stubborn someone who wasn’t shy of making unilateral decisions when it suited. Not that he was guiltless on that count - justification aside; he’d made plenty of unilateral decisions in his lifetime and was even insubordinate in turning on his radio. He knew the moment the team learned what he’d done, they'd automatically assume it was the reason the drone had targeted him. The evidence between them was the same, but everything rested on their vastly different viewpoints. If anything, revealing that he turned on his radio would reinforce other arguments and undermine his, making it hard to sell the finer details that might prove it wasn’t the cause. There was only one way he felt sure that he could really change minds. He could conduct a test without approval and let the results speak for him. The problem was justifying something that insubordinate and he couldn’t. Short of his theories possibly being very wrong and endangering them, it could also irresponsibly fracture the team. He had only the power of speech at his disposal. There was still a chance they might accept what he had to say. And if not? Well, there would be other opportunities to test things soon enough, he reminded himself. “That drone’s different,” he observed casually and left it to take the conversation where it would.

As the smoke of the laser impacts cleared and the smells of burned metal and atmosphere lifted away, two drones lied dormant on the ground. Their attempt to carry off Ethan had failed. Five drones, the culprits who had swept in from the horizon and opened fire on the errant machines, were now closing in on Ethan's position. Their laser fire had ceased; they either did not notice or chose to ignore the lone modified drone that was making its escape back to the port city, having never received even a glancing blow (from the five). One of the five sentries continued past Ethan toward the second fallen drone. Three spread out to patrol the area, their sensor tentacles waving all around them and still failing to acknowledge either the Qob team or the escaping drone. The fifth stopped directly beside Ethan, just beginning to wake up from his stunned condition. The telltale hum of whatever enginery allowed the machines to hover two feet above the ground gave them away to Ethan even as he fought to regain his senses. The initial disorientation was fierce. Laying face down where the abducting drones had dropped him and having sunk a few centimeters into the saturated claylike topsoil, the memory of being shot finally stirred him with an instinctive gasp. It hit him all at once; the ache of being knocked cold and the chill of the rain and mud as it soaked into his clothing and sapped his warmth. Then he clearly heard the rain, pounding rhythmically around him; recalled why the sound of the drones signaled danger to him, that he was on Zoalus and what he was doing there. The only thing missing was what had happened after he’d been shot. What had they done to him? How much time had passed? Gingerly and still groggy, he propped up on his forearms, lifted his head and chest a little from the ground and quietly spat the mud from his mouth. Suddenly there was a voice nearby and Pher’s soft warning, no louder than the rain to him, came as a surprise. He glanced in her direction, barely able to make out her figure as she hid in the brush within arm’s reach. He hadn’t expected her to come to his aid and not with the drones so close to him. Even as she hushed him, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was genuinely worried for more than herself. Wiping the rest of the mud from his lips, he slowly turned his head to the sound of the nearest drone. The drone's tentacles bent slightly underneath its body as it lowered itself not beside Ethan but beside the fallen drone. Several panels on the hovering machine's ovoid body lit up as its sensor tentacle, pointed directly at the still drone, shuddered. Another tentacle emitted a rapid series of beeps. In one smooth motion, the tentacles all spread apart and then wrapped around the drone's fallen form, lifting it up like a spindly hand of metal. This same interplay was taking place fifteen yards away, the second of the fallen drones being first regarded then lifted. In this case, however, there was a snag - literally. Though the drone was inactive, the hook emerging from one of its tentacles was still caught on Ethan's garrison belt. Several times, drone pulled at drone pulled at Ethan, tugging futilely and managing only to drag Ethan a few more inches along the ground. The lifting drone stopped and released its sensor tentacle from the grasp to again wave at Ethan's position. He tensed, expecting to be stunned again or worse. But nothing immediately happened. The tentacle waved fruitlessly; Ethan’s brow furrowed as he began to grasp that this drone couldn’t see him and was confused. Eyes fixed on the drone, he warily maneuvered a hand down his side. Not desiring to be dragged further and feeling for the hook, he worked it free from his belt, careful not to shake machine to which it was attached. Unaware of Ethan’s movements and unable to determine what was fixing the hook in place, the sentry settled on the only solution available aside from abandoning its cargo - it freed a second tentacle and fired a thin laser beam. Realizing its intentions, Ethan winced and was forced to turn away as the slope of the beam brought it within millimeters of his neck, scorching the earth and sending hot steam into his face. Neatly severed, the tentacle sparked once and flopped on the ground beside him. Then, as one, all five drones turned back to the horizon and departed the scene, two of them with their damaged quarry.

Meant to end this earlier. Shalin wins.

Ethan was tired. That he was nearing twelve unbroken, waking hours in his heightened state on top of another twelve waking hours before played only a small part. He was at a loss and, in a word, discouraged. Pher's lecture and threat had been irritating. Her account of their performances hadn’t been easy to choke down. Underscoring others' mistakes while minimizing those of your boyfriend and overrating yourself wasn't what Ethan called inspiring leadership. It was true that, next to their successes, he'd privately counted the individual mistakes that were made. It was impossible not to when every move had to be evaluated. And it was natural to feel frustrated in response. The people who had made those mistakes wouldn't forget them any time soon. Pher's pain stick couldn't match the gut check Ethan felt when faced with the very real possibility that he'd endangered the team. "Sal, Zaph, Ethan... You three have ticked em off, while Chris and I haven't yet... "You with me, Luv?" Pher had coaxed Chris. "You're right," Ethan had remarked before Nickles could answer her. "The last contact was my fault: only rational explanation. I left my radio on." Preempting the things he was sure they'd say with raised his hands, he'd added; "I know; everything's off now. Won't happen again." Discretion had kept Ethan's spoken observations to the team generalized, focusing on the we and solidarity of the group. Discretion had also kept him quiet when Pher singled them out. Recognizing mistakes was essential to survival, but faultfinding had no place in that environment. It did more harm to morale than help. He was a confident individual, driven by some unquantifiable need to beat every odd and win every challenge. He wouldn't have become who he was or achieved what he had in life if he'd abandoned one goal or obstacle because it was hard. A little discouragement now wasn't about to end his confidence, but it was still a very real feeling. It'd driven him to pointlessly dwell on theories throughout the night, only to admit that he had no corroborating evidence and abandon them by morning. And to top it off, it'd knocked him fresh out of new ideas for a while. They'd remained in the maintenance shed after sunrise. Not to Ethan's liking, but he was relying more on his teammates' judgment than his own after their second encounter. The drones soon swarmed the area as he'd expected. But, in the complete absence of electrical signatures, they'd carried on like the team was just part of the scenery. Pher's theory and his fault in the second encounter were as good as confirmed. And when Pher suggested they move on, Ethan had privately shrugged. Why not? From there it was no small leap or surprise that they were able to move from the shed unnoticed. Well, almost unnoticed. Their patchwork friend from the previous evening – if really the same drone – had reappeared and apparently scanned their position. But it'd kept at a distance and its scan was short. Ethan chalked the incident it up to coincidence. Conducting area scans might have been its primary duty and they'd stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time, he'd reasoned. That there were so few of their customized friends around hadn't escaped Ethan's notice. The document Sal Rosetto found claimed the drones were originally designed as common caretakers. But Ethan had thought the 'new' drone with its altered appearance, was evidence that the system was adapting to deal with the team. It'd appeared less than an hour after their first encounter and zeroed in on them instantly. He'd half-expected an army of them to come pouring from their maintenance sheds ready for battle after a full night. But, out of the dozens of busy caretakers they saw that morning, he counted only one or, maybe, two of the modified drones. What was keeping the system from rolling out hundreds like them; resources, uncertainty or overestimation? Why were those drones different? Maybe the modified drone's reappearance wasn't a coincidence. He'd tucked the idea away, but the thought hadn't stayed far from his mind. The possibility that the team was perfectly visible – to the modified drones at any rate – would have far-reaching implications. Historically, humans employed many technologies in warfare that emitted traceable signals; radios and networked computers, ancient sonar and radar, phasers and more. Use of these all carried some risk of detection. Many times this risk was mitigated by running silent or dark, being more clever and patient than the enemy or, in the case of a superior power, by being more advanced. But as technology became smaller and more available, tricorders multiplied that risk. Suddenly you could see much more from the palm of your hand and so could everyone else. With some exceptions in Ethan's experience, opposing forces didn't employ active sensors on the battlefield at the ground unit level. Some units weren't even issued active-capable gear. Generally, ground units relied on communications with observation posts, air support and orbital platforms to provide greater situational awareness outside their physical senses. There was a mutual understanding among the advanced powers that active scans from the ground units were a liability, leading to exposure, stalemates and even massacre. It was no longer submarine Captains who were waiting for the enemy to make the mistake of going active first. But the drones didn't seem to understand the concept or care. It wasn't the first time an enemy hadn't got the memo. Conventional training and skills alone didn’t stand much of a chance against unconstrained, active sensors. They were like all-seeing eyes. You couldn't hide and you wouldn't get far if you ran. There were ways around sensors, countermeasures designed to defeat them using one trick or another. Troy's space hats were one of those tricks. But what if they weren't working? What if the modified drones could see through them? What if delta radiation was a crucial part of their sensor packets and the sensor gaps were giving the team away? If the hats weren't concealing them, the fact one member or another was better skilled wouldn't matter. Chances were good conventional techniques wouldn't conceal or cover their presence any better. Their current approach would be ineffective. But they couldn't just turn around and act as carelessly as the drones. Or could they? Maybe he was looking at it from the wrong angle, too deep in one frame of mind to see it for what it was. He hadn't been in a good position to see exactly how Rosetto had provoked one of the drones into firing at him. But the drone might have perceived a threat to its wellbeing and only fired out of self-defense. And once it believed the threat was gone, it stopped firing. It was the only incident in which a drone had fired. It was also the only time anyone had intentionally got their attention. By extension, it seemed like Pher's speculation on drone reactions was right. Get too close to an artifact or protected property and get zapped. But it'd surprised Ethan that the drones hadn't done much after the team spent the night in one of their maintenance sheds. Assuming most of the drones couldn't see them; one modified drone still might have and told the others. And even the 'blind' drones were smart enough to track the team's presence if they'd tried. Maybe the drones didn't care. Ethan couldn't help wondering what would happen if they met their modified friend again. A third scan would do more than stifle any false ideas that all of the drones couldn't see them. It'd blow everything they thought they knew out of the water, including persisting thoughts surrounding what was aggressive posturing and what was not. It'd also mean he – his radio – wasn't responsible for drawing drone attention.

Ethan took his multi-tool with a frown and briefly regarded the Luminox watch he held in his other hand. He flipped the face over and lightly applied the flat driver into one of six notches, pressing counterclockwise until the threads broke free. Twisting and pulling the back cover of his watch off, he casually popped out the power cell and stuffed it into the zippered thigh pocket of his fatigues. He replaced the cover and studied the watch again. The gas-cells on its face and unmoving hands would still glow. But the watch's warranty was probably shot along with its renowned water resistance and EVA suitability. He returned the inert watch to his wrist and tipped his head back against the wall with a private sigh. His hands lay draped over raised knees and held the closed multi-tool between them. His rifle was propped next to him still in its disquietingly 'dead' state. He sat looking at the doorway from the corner of his field of view, feeling combat ineffective. Lot of good the night vision was doing in his bag. The darkness didn't even the playing field as much as it tipped the scales against them. Zap – the only member capable of unpowered night vision by virtue of his Caitian physiology – was standing watch out there alone. They didn't have a choice. "Sal, Zaph, Ethan... you three in particular may have been pushing it. If I'm interpreting the drone lingo correctly, they just said 'We are watching you.' Let's assume they know we are here. They are starting to know us as individuals. They are keeping score. You three have ticked 'em off, while Chris and I haven't yet. We don't know the score keeping system. I'm assuming getting to close to certain secrets could easily count as a score against us, either as a group, or as individuals. "If you are considering powering something up, talk about it first. If you are considering deliberately drawing attention, talk about it first. If you are considering going close to an artifact of some sort, I'd suggest not only fully powering down, but leaving anything with a power supply well clear of the artifact. If you disagree, let's talk about it first. And remember, if the drones are in the immediate area, no talking. Got it? "If you really and truly disagree, I'm going to take a big risk by powering up my pain stick and applying it to various parts of your anatomy. The drones seem pretty smart. I'm guessing they would understand." Pher turned to Nickles. "You with me, Luv?" Damn, that was annoying. The team member most experienced in special recon chastised by an individual whose tactical experience amounted to chaperoning sex addicts and horizontal tangos. Still, she had a point and her concerns echoed his. The drones were rapidly adapting to the team's presence. There was no doubt in Ethan's mind that the drones would test them again and soon gain the upper hand if they hadn't already. He'd run the last incident over and over in his mind trying to make sense of it. He'd thought his training effectively hid his presence before. He couldn't recall anything the team did that could have attracted the second contact. They'd maintained better intervals, checked their volume and kept their chatter to a minimum. They were careful how much dust they kicked up as they walked. They'd moved slowly, smoothly and immediately paused after first sighting the drone. Their space hats should have filled in the rest, but the drone still changed direction and moved in on their position. Only one thing seemed to clearly account for what provoked their second encounter or its result. Ethan had instinctively turned off his radio once the drone moved in, but the damage was done. The drone sighted him and lingered on his position the longest in spite of his training and efforts to remain concealed. It was probably looking for the lost power signature. The attractor must have been his radio. It was the only conclusion he could reach that didn't create more doubts than it did answers. He was responsible for attracting the drone's attention and endangering the team. The rest was all a matter of common sense. It'd scanned Zap and Rosetto because they'd been the closest to Ethan at the time. It'd ignored Pher and Chris simply for the reason that it hadn't seen them. Knowing he couldn't use it to transmit, he'd left his PAC set on to monitor the traffic he might pick up from the surface or orbit. He'd thought the drones couldn't detect the negligible power signature through the radio's EM shielding or that they were at least ignoring it. It hadn't taken much to convince Ethan he might have been wrong. Their second encounter gave him every reason to believe he was wrong. That the drone had left without engaging them after he turned off his radio reinforced it to some extent. He hadn't turned his radio back on or turned on another device after that. Burned once, you do everything you can not to get burned twice. That he had attracted the drone when the odds should have been in his favor spelled bad news. The drones had finally surprised him. He hadn't objected to what Pher said and he hadn't made much of a reply. It wasn't out of any fear of Pher's pain stick. Maybe there were other explanations that he wasn't seeing and more improbable, obscure things really were at work. Maybe he was right; maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should have spoken up. And if it wasn't his radio that had attracted the drone, then they were doing a bang up job of hiding. All bets that they couldn't be seen would be off at any rate. But weigh the probable consequences of sharing his theories about priorities and sensor thresholds and what did he get? The risk that their caution would relax, they'd all turn on their devices and suddenly a mechanical army was knocking at the door demanding utility overheads. He decided early on it was better to keep quiet than float potentially harmful guesswork. That was before they learned the shelter they'd taken for the night was one of many maintenance sheds and network hubs for the drones. The place had already added to Ethan's unease the moment he saw it. Save for a fine layer of dust, everything inside was tidy. The exterior was well-manicured for at least twenty meters in each direction and then the wilderness took over. All evidence said the residents had left suddenly or intended to return, but the drones were keeping it up while they were gone. That meant it wasn't completely abandoned. Was it wise to stay there? It left the lingering question of why the people had vanished in such a hurry. Or, maybe, what had made them disappear. Ethan held no small suspicion of the drones and the part they might have played in it. He'd incredulously shaken his head as Sal related what he'd learned on his tricorder prior to Pher's energy ban. They couldn't move once night had fallen and were stuck in that shed. It didn't matter if Ethan or anyone else was familiar with moving under the cover of darkness and they'd decided not to stay. They couldn't use the powered night vision they had and Zoalus couldn't provide moonlight without a moon. The team was effectively blind. So they might not attract attention with their 'dead' gear, but if a drone got curious, alerted or needed a recharge during the night? Knock, knock. Though he couldn't use it as designed, Ethan grabbed his rifle and stood to walk the interior perimeter for the third time since Sal had fallen asleep. He'd gone four or five days on mission without sleep before. He wasn't apt to sleep until he reboarded the Qob and he didn't sleep that night, not for one second.

"We need to be more careful if we are to get back to the shuttle." Nickles's remark earned their team leader a stony look from Ethan. The muscles in his jaw noticeably tightened as he checked himself from saying the first thing that crossed his mind. He inhaled deeply and turned his attention to the distant cliff; then exhaled from his core and moved off a bit. There was no mistaking his silence. He was tense and angry and felt he had every good reason to be. They weren't off to a great start. He would set personal conflicts aside for the team; he wasn't going to ignore that his teammates might get him killed. It seemed like they'd had the advantage. They'd gone over a beach, scaled a cliff and began moving further inland without a sign of hostility. A little over an hour and they hadn't made contact. They might have made it to the nearest defense towers sans contact with tangos. But the party was kicked off early when the planetary defense system detected an active tricorder scan and sent armed drones to investigate – all predictably from Ethan's view point. In fact, Ethan had felt confident that was exactly what would happen if they didn't stick to their ROE and keep their presence minimized. They shouldn't have used active scans. He didn't blame them for feeling blind without tricorders. Like a craze over cell phones so many years ago, not many in his generation could leave home without one. Everyone had their security blanket; Ethan's was his firearm. It was the obsession with active scans he criticized. They'd become a harmful crutch since the first handheld. Passive scans only revealed whatever objects were putting out enough electromagnetic energy, strong magnetic fields and mechanical waves or reflecting enough of them to be detected or separated from all the EM noise. For a small tricorder that was usually the sun, the orbiting rock you were walking on and sometimes the wind, unless you literally kissed it to the object you wanted to scan. Not a lot of bulk information at once; never sufficient enough to build maps or locate lifesigns. Passive scans on most tricorders had gone the way of the mythical paper and pencil, background props that were rarely used. And no one relied on their given senses to fill in the blanks anymore. Whenever there was a question, they instinctively turned to the active scan without considering the consequences. It'd become so common place that no one recalled it was necessary to emit a signal before the tricorder could tell you what reflected it back. And any signals that were emitted could likewise be received or detected by any device listening for them, including other passive sensors. That was why Ethan had never privately purchased an ODRI or tricorder; why he didn't let technology replace the human element. Tricorders and civilian models in particular were intended for revealing what wasn't seen, not stealth. They had their applications. But reliance on that sort of technology spelled trouble in his line of work. They painted you like a red bull's-eye every time. It was easy to jam tricorders with noise or bounce false signals into one. If you trusted everything your tricorder told you and thought you saw the enemy, it was more than likely they could also see you. If you couldn't see the enemy, you risked falling into a false sense of security thinking they couldn't see you or surprise you while you were too busy trying to find them on your tricorder. He'd pushed it aside when Zaphod mentioned having to resort to 'a good old visual scan', but that hadn't stopped him from feeling disbelief. He'd been trained to rely on his human senses first and no more than a few passive-only devices second. He'd started the mission out in that mindset and hadn't considered the notion of using an active tricorder to do what his eyes and ears could do better. Things that could seriously mess with your given senses weren't as common as things that could turn your tricorder into glorified pocket lint. That a tricorder had given their advantage away, however, was only a cloud on the horizon. And if they had died, it wouldn't have been for any defect in Troy's bizarre space hats either – the ones home-rigged to absorb delta radiation. When the drones moved in and didn't directly shoot them, it quickly became clear that the hats worked. They were right. The snakes were masked by their delta-eating habits. Good, solid SWAG and no surprises there. Sun Tzu said: know yourself and know the enemy. If you don't know the enemy, you will suffer defeat. What Sun Tzu hadn't said and what good tacticians knew: knowing your enemy didn't mean you always had to get up-close and personal on the battlefield. Surprisingly often, knowing yourself and remote observations were enough to approximate the character of the enemy. The planet's defensive systems had successfully held off trespassers for years; it was shortsighted to suddenly think they'd forget how to do that now. But not knowing the enemy was, ironically, the real scythe that barely missed the team's heads. The tactical intuitiveness and ingenuity demonstrated by the drones hadn't surprised Ethan. Focusing on different senses when unable to use another like sight; using shadows and other substances to find or mark a target, or using tricks to bait a reaction; tracking where an enemy had been. The drones' techniques were familiar to Ethan. He'd expected similar methods and skills of himself. Where it seemed to Ethan that the others had assumed the drones would react robotically, Ethan had anticipated meeting an enemy that shared his senses and strengths, and was at least as well-trained and as smart as he was. Know yourself: know the enemy. Trusting that he would meet an equal or better in the drones, Ethan's reactions had been instinctive. As the drones searched he was patient, remained prone and behind cover; controlled his breathing; carefully guarded his shadows, the dust and foliage he disturbed, and his profile and body presentation; and, more importantly, kept quiet. The results were clear: the drones never targeted or moved in on his position, never gave an indication that they suspected he was there and it was likely they didn't sense him at all. Only Pher had similar results. Though, given her proximity to Chris and whispering with him, it hadn't been obvious to Ethan at the time. In contrast, the others had repeatedly attracted the drones' attention with poor tactical discipline: breaking cover or concealment at the wrong times, talking aloud and growling or worse. It was the dreaded learning curve or naïveté that nearly emblazoned Tango Uniform, DRT on their hides the first time. That Pher had to direct them to spread out when contact was made because they weren't maintaining their five to ten meter spacing hadn't been much of a surprise. Even the drones had kept intervals between themselves; just more evidence that Qob was flying on Lady Luck's skirts more than skill. It wasn't by fluke that certain critics referred to the rim mercenaries as cowboys or SMACKs – Soldiers Minus Ability, Coordination and Knowledge. In the first few minutes of their encounter, things for Ethan had quickly gone from spooky to singularly tense. His teammates attracted the drones' attention to themselves in record speed and that had put Ethan in a bad spot. He was no longer just another team member. He had to give extra attention to the safety of his inexperienced teammates, running his sense of hyper vigilance into overdrive without actually being able to intervene in a way that was tactically sound. It would have been fine if it had ended there and only left Ethan feeling tenser than he remembered feeling before. But once hadn't been enough for Sal Rosetto. The drones were vacating the area when Rosetto, without giving his team a heads up, intentionally provoked one on purpose and with it Ethan's anger. Ethan wasn't sure if Sal had done it to try to disable, trap and study one or maybe both; he didn't care. If he'd wanted to do a science project, he would have joined the local Science Fair. More than once Ethan had considered ways to knock Rosetto out – none that wouldn't have attracted attention, regrettably. A few times he'd found himself painfully clenching his jaw when the others didn't get a clue the first time and shut up. He'd felt incredulous that Zaphod had thought throwing a rock was a good distraction to save Sal from himself; and relieved when the Caitian heeded his signal not to do it. Were they honestly trying that hard to make the drones stick around? Ethan's adrenaline was rushing to fill the gaping holes in his team's security. But the irony was the others were really acting, however impulsively, to protect each other and Ethan hadn't lifted a finger when Rosetto started taking recon by fire. Despite his anger, it wasn't a decision he'd made lightly or out of spitefulness. Ethan had guessed and Sal had incidentally proven the drones couldn't be easily taken by hand and the only other option he had was phasers. But, generally, the idea was not to react hastily to recon by fire. All hell would have broken loose the moment they started returning fire. At least Nickles had recognized that and told Zaphod to stand down. By the end, though his principles espoused protecting his teammates, Ethan knew he wouldn't do anything to intervene if one of them had actually taken a hit. He would have remained hidden, let them play bullet stopper while he walked away to tell the story. He wasn't about to make a rash move out of sentiment. What good would it have done to shoot the drones? Start a prolonged engagement they didn't have the resources to fight? Save his teammates long enough to face the entire defense net as it came down on their position? Leave a gruesome stain in the grass so another team could risk their lives searching for it when they went missing? Notify every ship in orbit: hey, look, we're right here? Leave his mission unfinished and his objective out there for the next chump to find? Some things you just didn't do. There was more at stake here than satisfying scientific fantasies and thirst for escapades, far more. Some were patting themselves on the back for 'a job well done' once their hostile brush with the drones was over. 'There's no reward without risk', was the general impression he was getting from their exchange. They counted it as an unavoidable necessity because they'd learned new things about the drones. But to Ethan it was like trying to rationalize that you ignored your instincts and put your hand in the fire so you knew burning hurt. He obviously didn't agree with their assessment; he thought intentionally provoking the drones in this case was idiotic and deserved his anger. Testing the enemy had its time and place, but not in haphazard, impulsive experiments like this. Discretion was the better part of valor. Ethan hadn't needed to provoke the drones. By knowing himself, he had already hypothesized and expected most of what the others apparently only learned by mistake. It was luck that had saved them in Ethan's opinion. And this mission was taking a fast spiral from suicide to Hades without passing go and collecting two hundred credits. What had once looked like a workable gap in the their levels of training, experience and methods on the Verbistul, now felt to Ethan like a hellish, stretching abyss that common sense couldn't bridge between them. His anger seethed quietly as he looked at the cliff. He couldn't think of any realistic way to bring the team up to speed; to radically correct their skill sets in the field without causing more harm than good. They were on hemmed-in ground now; the only way was to keep moving forward and hope their uncanny luck filled in the critical gaps or that some of Ethan's example might wear off on them. There was no question he possessed the advanced skills here. Still, he wasn't without his mistakes on this mission: he was only human. He'd rationalized that it'd cut down on time, but he shouldn't have left the rope; he knew better. Effective minimization of presence was his usual style; leaving behind valuable equipment wasn't something he normally did except in rare circumstances. And it was always better not to extract from an AO in the same place you entered when possible. There was a good chance he'd be out a rope once the drones finished with it. Not that the drones needed it to follow their path from the beach, he mused. He worked his gloved fist a few times and ruefully looked at his forearm, exposed from the elbow down by his rolled up sleeves. He'd scraped his hand and arm free soloing the rock face when a weak edge had broken away. It wouldn't be hard for the drones to track down the small amount of blood and skin he'd left behind. If their sensors were sensitive enough, they'd find epithelial cells and maybe even residual IR signatures wherever any of them had touched. And if they couldn't, the drones would probably still be smart enough to put two and two together when they spotted their footprints in the sand below. But Ethan wasn't concerned for the safety of their shuttle. Given the healthy stock of fish in the sea, it was unlikely that the drones would be taking a swim after it. The only complication that concerned him was that they'd find their retreat into the sea blocked. Besides the evidence that the drones could 'hear', there were a few more things Ethan knew or could reasonably speculate that the others had or hadn't caught on to yet. Whatever means gave the drones the ability to fly didn't restrict them from making extreme altitude changes on land – that meant no 'safe zones' in tall mountains and buildings or low ravines. It didn't feel too farfetched to suggest the drones were capable of learning or adapting to just about any new situation. And not only were they armed but they engaged weapons free. On the other hand, they didn't seem to have a great deal of patience; once they lost their target they hunted for five minutes before moving on to another objective. The drones' sensor assemblies weren't strong enough to pick up the power signature of his Luminox watch. Or maybe the signature was so weak didn't interest them. That was a bit of luck as the only way to stop the quartz was to remove the battery and that wasn't a simple task. They also couldn't detect his radio or were ignoring it, so long as it wasn't transmitting at any rate. Beside the tricorders and ODRIs the others were carrying, it was the only other device that had been on since launch. Given the amount of time they were on land before being detected, they could reasonably narrow the cause to Zaphod's active scan. Ethan had intended to shut off his radio per Zaphod's suggestion when the drones had appeared. Then he'd quickly realized as the drones zeroed in on everyone but him that they weren't showing signs of interest. He knew the moment he pressed the radio's talk button that would change. Though the ships in orbit wouldn't be able to pick it out from surrounding noise, two kilometers line-of-sight was a good signal on land. But as long as he didn't transmit and the radio wasn't trying to self-identify with a receiver, its power signature was dark to the drones. He imagined the same thing would hold true for their weapons. In an age when most firearms were energy-based and could easily be disabled by electromagnetic pulses (EMP) or interference, designs generally included some level of shielding. He'd noted that when Rosetto provoked the drones the second time, Zaphod had briefly powered up his assault phaser and it'd gone unnoticed. If Ethan was right, they could power up their weapons in standby without capturing attention until fired. The three to five second delay during power up was a long time to go without a firearm. Still, EM shielding had limitations and Ethan had left his weapons powered down for that reason. He wasn't eager to fully test the theory on shielding or interest yet. The drones had moved on and they didn't need their weapons for now. But it was a theory that might come in handy later if they met with a certain stand-off at the O.K. Corral or had some equipment they needed to hide. Privately cataloging what he knew and what he suspected; reviewing their encounter while it was still fresh in his mind, he glanced at their surroundings. There was one answer Ethan couldn't figure. In the city always a reflection; in the forest always a sound. And you don't wanna go in the desert. The drones had shown resourcefulness when it came to acquiring their targets. They'd demonstrated that they possessed the same senses – touch or proximity, hearing and sight – in one form or another. But there was a missing piece. Their team was first group of humanoids on Zoalus after an extended period that were drying and sweating in the sun after their swim in the ocean: they had to smell peculiar. There was no doubt in Ethan's mind that Pher could probably tip some meters with her Orion physiology if she'd tried. Yet the drones hadn't given any indication that they could sense odors. Was their smell not strong enough or did the drones simply not have the ability to sample and trace particulates from the air? More time and observations were needed to narrow down the drones' prioritization and sensor thresholds; the full range of their senses; how quickly they learned and adapted; and if their IFF list could be changed.

Less than a minute had passed while Ethan privately assessed the incident and weighed what he could contribute to the team from that point. The drones hadn't surprised and hadn't disappointed. His team had disappointed when he would have liked to be mercifully surprised. But he preferred being disappointed when it came to the drones; that philosophy was guiding his initial and continuing estimations of the drones' capabilities. He didn't want to waste what small advantage that might give the team - despite the differences in their individual skills - and didn't want to be caught surprised if he could help it. The Qob's uncanny luck seemed to be holding out so far; their close encounter hadn't scrapped the mission and Ethan wanted it to succeed. There was still a chance it could succeed. He wasn't ready to call it a failure and crawl back to the Qob yet. Ethan giving up? That would be the day. "We have an alternate extraction point: a trail about 500 meters east of the cliff. Let's get moving and finish this," he calmly said to Chris, not wanting to loiter. They should have already been on the move; at least distanced themselves from the spot where they'd been detected. "The longer we're in country, the higher our risk." He glanced at Sal, noting a look on his face that Ethan could only interpret as scientific ambition. He added, "And a little more stealth can't hurt."

::brow raised, nodding:: Yeah, might just. Good luck.

Hey, late welcome, Kerris. 14S, eh? I'm guessing by the mums and 'totally awesome' that's the MOS you'd like?

Heh heh. ::grins:: Okay, have at it.

Even without a word spoken on the subject, it might have been apparent to some that the Qob and Ethan did not agree on methods and SOP. They didn't remotely conduct themselves in the same way – one had the bearing of a salty trawler and the other carried a strong military presence. Ethan wasn't generally talkative, but he'd been careful to keep his objections and criticisms to himself. He couldn't expect a ragtag, mercenary crew at the dark-end of space to possess the same costly training and experience he did. It was unwise to try and alter their methods this late in the game. More importantly, negativity was poisonous to the team ecosystem; the key to their collective survival. That was already hanging perilously due to Joe's and Ethan's unwillingness to trust each other; it didn't need any more reason to fall apart. Instead, he'd vocalized whatever constructive input he could offer and tried to keep up. Circumstances and his experience put him in a better position to conform to them than them to him. Still, he'd fallen short. No diving gear, not even a simple pair of fins for each team member. He had the expertise and foresight to realize they might need that gear and, when it really mattered, he'd carelessly relied on someone else to secure it. He should have taken the initiative, whether it was welcomed by Dr. Phantos and the Mercs or not. However briefly, Ethan had mentally kicked himself for the shortfall in their gear more than he faulted the Qob. But it was too late to be helped and there was no point in dwelling on it; he'd quickly let it go. The fact that he had some climbing gear with him was ironic. He hadn't packed it in consideration for the Qob. He'd brought it on the good chance that he would need it to reach his own objective on Zoalus. Something that he'd planned on carrying out later in the expedition, if they managed to secure a site for the Scientists. But, when the time came, he'd followed an unexpected intuition to bring what he had with him on their first insertion. It looked like it would serve both of their objectives in the end. There hadn't been much room in his luggage; there obviously hadn't been any left for personal diving gear. What he did have in climbing gear was minimal. 60 meters of single 10mm rope and smaller segments for hitches, nylon webbing and some runners; a couple Figure-8 belay devices; several pear-shaped screw-lock and D-shaped wire-gate carabiners. He didn't have much in the way of protection, active or passive: a couple spring-loaded cams and a few hexes. He'd anticipated anchoring above his objective and repelling down a single pitch; not climbing first. He had one harness. Given she was going to help secure his objective, the Verbistul's Security Chief had brought her own harness. It was fitted for her and might have fit Pher, if he'd had it with him and he didn't. But, in a pinch, he could tie one or two out of webbing. Anything else he didn't have would have to be similarly improvised. Ethan hoped it wouldn't be a multi-pitch climb from the beach. Depending on the terrain, he might not have enough equipment for a single pitch. He wasn't sure what sort of climbing skills or experience the others had; that was a point of interest. It was more than likely that the lead climber would have to free solo their way up to the top. If it went well, there'd be solid trees for a wrap-3-pull-2 anchor, or a boulder suitable for tying a bowline on a bight. If not, there was still a chance they could set two or, preferably, three self-equalizing anchors in a crevice. Whatever it was, they had to know what they were doing. The anchors had to be bombproof. Then, to save time over belaying from below, the lead climber would anchor top-side and set up a direct belay from there using the Munter Hitch. The HMS would wear more on the rope, but he hadn't brought better belaying devices and it provided improved braking over using an 8 as a belay plate. The preliminaries for their climb set in his mind; Ethan stood and joined the others in the aft of the shuttle as they prepared to disembark underwater. The Caitian was doing deep breathing exercises. He heard someone else mildly hyperventilating and it provoked a passing look of concern on his face. Hyperventilation was one of those peculiar urban legends, fueled by the belief that it increased oxygen saturation. Truth was it unnaturally depleted carbon dioxide levels within the human body. That had the benefit of giving the swimmer a sense of increased lung endurance. But it also increased the chances of drowning. It was a double-edged trick. As it worked out, for humans at least, dropping oxygen levels played a much smaller part in triggering the impulse to exhale or breathe than rising carbon dioxide levels. Without enough carbon dioxide, the signal to breathe was postponed and the unfortunate swimmer never sensed the approaching blackout from hypoxia before it happened. The community that had trained Ethan in freediving had restricted breath-holding to specific and limited situations that couldn't be effectively accomplished with a breathing apparatus. Using the technique he'd been taught of two calm inhalations, Ethan could make 50 meters on a breathhold dive if necessary. But the exercise of hyperventilation before a breathhold dive had been absolutely forbidden with bold, red font in his manual. It hadn't been allowed for tests and was something Ethan didn't practice. Deep breathing beyond two inhalations was generally considered excessive and discouraged by some. For the moment, he didn't immediately comment on it. They had assured the rest of the team that they knew what they were doing. He was relying on that; he believed them. Maybe what wasn't good for the human was good for the Orion and the Caitian. Humanoids in the galaxy seemed like they were frequently more different than they were the same. And, he assured himself, that at 8 meters depth and 20-40 meters from the shore they were close enough to the surface and beach if there was a problem. Ethan had decided to leave his boots on for the swim. There was an outgoing current from the fjord. But they didn't necessarily want to swim up the fjord. And if they couldn't swim directly for the one of the flanking beaches because of undertow and rip currents, they could swim parallel until they were free of the sandbars. That was likely what Pher had in mind when she had asked Rosetto to aim for a position above their objective. He imagined their swim would end up less than the few hundred meters required in boots and gear for combat water survival training. Not really comfortable and not his first choice, but it was doable with a combat stroke and better than trying to put his boots back on over the beach. Though he wasn't the only one who was armed, by comparison he looked like he was closer to serious combat. His armor carrier and fatigues were Crye Multicam with knee and elbow pads; as usual he was wearing tan, rough-out waterproof Danners. Along with the climbing gear and a few first-aid items, he had a pair of gloves, a boonie hat, a compass, water and a few ration bars in his pack, and other equipment. Pulling his radio from a pouch placed near his shoulder, Ethan checked its settings once more. The radio was a robust little black box; far more water resistant and gave its user finer control than the older combadges. Following the report of incoming contacts and suggestion for radio silence, he had turned its transmission power down. He'd still be able to hear transmissions from the Qob or his teammates on the surface. But his transmissions would carry no farther than one or two kilometers in line-of-sight before its signal-to-noise ratio made it unintelligible and unidentifiable, inseparable from the noise to most receivers. An auto-dimming touchscreen dominated one side that was designed to detect input from even gloved fingers. There was a sealed data port for connections to other devices like tricorders, and a jack for plugs from earpieces and microphones; a black wire led from it, weaved beneath Ethan's MARCIRAS vest to the piece on his ear. The radio was capable of transmitting and receiving almost any manner of communication - data, text, voice and 2-D images - via both subspace and FAL radio. But it didn't have sensors. That'd be up to the others and their ODRIs. He stuffed the radio back into its pouch; then he patted down the pouches near his waist that held the extra charges for his weapons and visually checked them. His knife was sheathed near the back of his left hip. He lifted his phaser carbine and dropped the magazine. A press of a button near the top and the magazine indicated it had a full charge with a brief glow. He reseated the magazine and verified that the power was really deactivated. It would take a few long seconds to warm up after being switched off, but it would minimize their readable energy signatures consistent with Pher's suggestion. He pushed the rifle around on its two-point sling so that it hung out of the way behind him. Pulling his assault phaser from the holster on his thigh, he checked the magazine's charge and then pushed the cowling forward. The internal lights were dark, confirming that it was also shut down. Replacing the cowling and taking it in his left hand, he tested the retractable, nylon-coated steel lanyard that secured the phaser to his person. Satisfied, he holstered his secondary weapon and glanced at the other man who shared his admiration for antiques. It'd surprised Ethan that Zaphod had volunteered to take point (he didn't know that Zaphod was a particularly good swimmer). But Ethan aimed to team up with him as his so-called battle buddy; no one would solo on a battlefield if he could help it. No doubt, Pher and Chris would prefer working with each other over being separated with the new guys. More than that, Ethan had every intention of leading the climb, if he could convince them to let him. It didn't feel like it'd be an easy sell. He had the training and roughly fifteen years experience as a lead climber in the military, none of which he'd let go to waste in the last four. But everything he knew he had gained in the Federation's Starfleet and the name seemed to leave a bitter taste for residents of Bull's Head. Nor was he eager to waste time explaining his qualifications and life-story on foreign and hostile shores.

Short disclaimer/warning for real life: Hyperventilating before a breathhold dive is dangerous. It's expressly forbidden in the communities (e.g., US Navy) that restrictively practice and perform breathhold dives. Remember safety while swimming: always swim with a partner and never dive without proper supervision. Thanks.