Explosive Ordnance Disposal

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

The slaved science/sensor console groaned as Shane leaned against it with the full weight of his bionic. Peering intently at the internal sensor data from the scientists ship, he spoke into the comm headset, his gruff voice filled with the annoyance and agitation he felt with the whole situation, "Vulcan-boy or whatever your name is, what's yer status?"

 

Ethan pushed off the urge to give his name before he fully realized the unconscious thought had occurred. "No casualties; no damage," he tersely reported via the radio in his suit. From the beginning of the engagement on the Verbistul, his manner of speech had taken an edge of controlled intensity. But as he regarded the shell of a bomb that had nearly killed them, there was a subtle energy mixed into the normally easygoing and decisive composure of his voice.

 

"The triceron was released; forcefield is holding," he added after briefly consulting the tricorder in his hand.

 

He looked up at the Verbistul's Chief of Security where she stood on the elevated platform that surrounded the warp core, stooping toward the forcefield like someone peering into a cage at the zoo. But she wasn't observing a curious, animal attraction that she might later remark was 'cute'. Her brown eyes were wide with shock, glued in fascination to the bomb through the plate of her helmet. He could vaguely make out a shiver along the contours of her suit as she shuddered in horrified relief.

 

Ethan's reaction was harder to discern, but the same feeling of disbelief rushed through him and prickled across his skin. He'd become intimate with the risks of his chosen occupation early in life. As a result, death was something that he took in stride better than most and he was willing, without hesitation, to lay his life on the line and lose it for the greater purpose. But it wasn't something he'd give up recklessly and when the Reaper jokingly knocked on the door and ran, he didn't laugh. Every second, credit and detail that had gone into his training was meant to hedge the chances of his survival. They had drilled into him skills, vigilance and paradigms of decision-making until they became second nature and as much a part of him as the color of his eyes. What he'd gained, to him, was the most valuable part of his character; he liked being alive. He couldn't succeed if he was dead.

 

"You okay, Alex?" he asked.

 

Her gaze traveled to Ethan and she quietly stared at him for a good ten seconds. "Not really," she said, adding an uneasy but witty smile. "For a moment, I saw my life flash before my eyes. No one told me this was just the dress rehearsal."

 

Shane blinked, "Who the qoh is Alex?" He shook his head, not wanting to mess with it. "Alright, Vulc..." One of the bridge officers leaned over and whispered something to him. "Uh, I'm mean Newfield, have you located a container for the bomb? It needs to be able to hold a vacuum, preferably a chemical container of some sorts."

 

Alex shot Ethan a smart-alecky look and a lifted brow. "Newfield?" she mouthed in a toothy, amused grin, not wanting to be heard over the open comm.

 

Ethan immediately held up a gloved hand and diverted his attention to the container they had scrounged up shortly before the bomb discharged. Alex sourly pursed her lips at being signaled to 'hold that thought', but didn't interrupt further. She knew better.

 

"Affirmative; we have an air-tight container," Ethan responded to Shane. He was appreciative that Shane wasn't pushing him to explain who Alex was; the identity of the Verbistul's Security Chief was the least of his concerns and not worth their precious air-time on the radio. They'd heard her voice and knew she was there; formal introductions could wait until later. It was bad enough that others were making an issue of his name; at the moment he didn't really care what they called him so long as they accomplished their mission.

 

"Shane," Ethan continued. "What about the triceron?" It was evident at least to Alex that Ethan wasn't trifling. She could see the wheels turning in his head; he wanted the shortest path to the nearest exit. He felt trapped with hostages running around unchecked behind Pher and her team; Holstrum and other unknown conspirators or raiders possibly hidden among them. He wanted to regroup before the others ran into more trouble. Separated, their manpower was reduced by a third and maybe more after the hits Byblos had taken. Why Ethan cared so much about a group of people he didn't know might have baffled Alex if she didn't know him, and she still thought it was a waste of time. Let the mercenaries get themselves killed, she thought.

 

"We'll pump it out through emergency coolant vents before we lower the forcefield," Alex chimed in and then screwed up her face and directed at Shane: "Unless you want to keep to for some reason?"

 

"Who the jyking qoh is this?" Shane snapped angrily in his low growl. "Get off my comm and let me do my job, ya petaQ." Shaking his head and mumbling, he pulled up a different set of sensor readings on the console display. "Newfield, do not empty the triceron yet. We need to flush the vent pipin' to clear any residual particles first. Pull up the venting system on yer console and activate a nitrogen flush. After that, run a level two diagnostic to double check and then you can flush yer triceron. Got it?"

 

Ethan's jaw set grimly as he listened to the exchange on the radio between Alex and Shane; with a curt cutting motion across his neck and a warning glare, he cut off Alex's angry retort. Caught on the verge of speaking and with her mouth open, Alex gnashed her teeth and slowly pressed her lips together as Shane explained the venting procedure uninterrupted.

 

They couldn't have picked a more inconvenient time to reciprocally trip over their egos; Ethan thought, beginning to eye the row of outlying consoles. He'd expected something like this from Pher or even marginally from Soora, but, evidently, Shane had been the wildcard. Given the circumstances, however, Ethan was in a good position to persuade Alex to drop it. She was more concerned about making Ethan angry than getting her fair comeback.

 

"Copy," Ethan immediately answered Shane and muted the open radio.

 

"Alex; console," he firmly directed with a motion of his head and hand, and ignored the resentful look she was boring into him. He could have done it, but she was more familiar with the Verbistul's systems and carried higher security clearances.

 

"I got it," she snapped and was heard only by Ethan as she stepped down from the platform, irritation evident in her body language despite her suit. She settled at one of the surrounding consoles and immediately began flushing the vents with nitrogen, bitterly murmuring to herself, "You're not the only one who thought of that, Mr. Shane."

 

Alex obviously hadn't changed much in two and a half years. She was skilled and bright, but stubborn and unwilling to reign in her arrogance and temper for the sake of the team. Alex had been irate when Ethan eventually rejected her application on those grounds. She had accused him of prejudice at first, knowing that he'd been reluctant to honor her employment recommendation. But Ethan had enlightened her then; "Personal conflicts will happen, but there isn't a place here for those who can't set that aside and work seamlessly with their teammates or follow orders." From there, they'd parted on fairly neutral terms. She'd found that Ethan's near-infinite patience made him a difficult man to hold a grudge against and she wasn't so much offended as motivated. She was convinced she could prove Ethan had made a mistake, and when Ethan showed up asking her and Rodney to help him infiltrate Xorax as the half-Vulcan Selek, she saw her chance.

 

"How long will this level two diagnostic take? Fifteen minutes?" Ethan asked. He hoped for a small margin as he watched over her shoulder, the computer highlighting each section of pipe as the nitrogen was pushed through by exhaust fans and varying air pressures.

 

"Try forty-five," Alex replied, almost thrilled that Shane's instructions would set back, if not completely frustrate Ethan's plans to quickly regroup. Even a level-three diagnostic would push it at a maximum run-time of ten minutes under peak conditions. She heard Ethan exhale and then the telltale beep as he unmuted his comm with the Qob.

 

"Shane," he said into his radio, "would a level four diagnostic be enough to verify the vents are clean?" He saw Alex squirm in her suit as the Security Chief held her tongue. He knew Alex would have said yes, but, ironically, on her own ship she wasn't in charge of security matters anymore. Dr. Phantos had given the mercenaries a greater latitude and Shane was ultimately responsible for their present task, their lives and the lives of the Verbistul's crew. In Ethan's paradigm, Shane or Pher had to give the word and he would follow it – no matter how much that made Alex want to beat her head bloody against a bulkhead.

 

"Yeah," said Shane passively, already thumbing through a different set of data on the scientist's vessel. "Whatever, just make sure the vent lines are clear before the triceron is flushed. Any chunk you and yer girlfriend accidentally blow off the Verbistul's comes out of our cut of the job and I'm not in the mood to lose cash over carelessness."

 

Quickly, his eyes scanned over the reading from inside the forcefield. "What's the status on the device? Any sparkin' since the initial trigger?"

 

"Negative," Ethan calmly replied.

 

It was beginning to get under Alex's skin as she sat obediently silent in her chair. She wanted to know why and how Ethan remained patient with the treatment he was receiving from the Qob's crew. Every bit of her itched to answer Shane with a spiteful, 'blow me' or 'you're going digital', followed by the hum of artificially dead air; and there was no end to the list of things she dreamt of telling Pher about her tactics. But there was little doubt in her mind that Ethan would nix that like he'd nixed her comeback on Shane. Like it or not, they all had to work together and even she admitted that her idea of 'suggestions for improvement' had the finesse of a battering ram.

 

She heard a faint click as Ethan switched his transmitter from VOX to push-to-talk; if she wanted, they could talk without being unintentionally overheard by the Qob and taking up precious air on the radio. Inquisitively, she turned from the console and found she was looking at Ethan's back as he quietly stood between her and the warp core. She guessed that he was finally irritated and decided not to add her opinion to his thoughts. She was only half-wrong and half-right.

 

Ethan was mulling over Shane's response as he regarded the bomb, eyes still instinctively sweeping his field of vision as Shane's words, 'yeah, whatever', prompted the formation of a small frown. He'd asked a simple 'yes or no', 'give me your best judgment' question and couldn't figure out the point of philosophizing. It didn't have the desired effect, communicating sensible urgency or caution; it was about as useful to Ethan as kicking a wall. The only worthwhile conclusion from Shane's passivity was that Shane had effectively given Ethan the full run of his discretion, which he was determined to use to their advantage. But for nearly a full minute Ethan stood there, using what time he still had while stuck in Engineering to reflect: exhaustively weighing his options, the needs and lives of his 'team' and the Qob, and the hostages and their ship – until Alex interrupted.

 

"Nitrogen flush's done," she said.

 

Hearing her voice he twisted to look over his shoulder, the console noiselessly flashing behind her. After a brief lull he answered.

 

"Start a level three."

 

Alex grinned, though not as enthusiastically as she might have if he'd requested something faster. In fact, it looked drearier than she intended. She spun around her seat and began the requested diagnostic, large, bold-faced numbers appearing on the console. The estimated countdown began at 10:13.

 

Ethan pushed the transmit button on the arm of his suit. "Qob, Ethan. Nitrogen flush completed; running a level three diagnostic now with ten minutes," he reported.

 

"Good." Shane replied." And quit mutin' yer comm, I keep thinkin' you've set off the triceron. As soon as we've verified that the chemical is completely flushed, we need that bomb in your container and sealed. I want that thing out of an airlock and at a decent distance before the fail-safe detonator goes off."

 

"Airlock, roger. Negative mute; VOX disabled to save airtime," he replied simply and then just as quickly released the talk button, plunging whomever was listening on the Qob into silence.

 

Turning his back to the bomb and adjusting his phaser carbine on its sling around his body, Ethan settled down on the warp core platform. Reflexively feeling out slightly behind and above the trigger housing with his gloved, right thumb, Ethan found the tactile fire selector and flipped it to safe. Letting the weapon cradle in his lap, he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his raised knees.

 

"So this turned into a jyking mess," Alex commented as she casually joined him on the platform.

 

The corner of Ethan's mouth briefly flinched in an unrealized smile as he audibly exhaled. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy," he pragmatically remarked. He glanced at her and knowing that she was searching for blame more than feeling conversational, he added: "Not their fault. They did the best they could with what they had."

 

Alex sneered at what she felt was wasted charity. "What did they have?" she scoffed.

 

Ethan was quiet for a moment as he considered her question. "Resolve," he suggested; "concern for this ship and crew."

 

"Peh," Alex breathed acidly. "You heard that punk, Shane; they're only concern is for their paycheck."

 

Ethan shrugged and tilted his head, conceding that fact. "But, whatever their motive, they still put their lives on the line for you and probably succeeded."

 

Alex couldn't think of an immediate rejoinder and sighed at her defeat on the matter. "I wish more people in the galaxy were like you," she finally murmured, giving no clue into the thought process that led her there.

 

Surprise crossed Ethan's face and then his brow fell into a furrowed, questioning look. "Why like me?"

 

Alex shot him a glare that seemed to say the answer should have been obvious. "Never mind," she dismissed. "So how much do the mercs know about you;" she smirked, "Ethaniel Newfield?"

 

"They know I'm not Vulcan and they know my name. They'll piece the rest together," he answered matter-of-factly. She was only mildly disappointed that she didn't get a rise out of him by making fun of the moniker she suspected he valued.

 

"But how'd they find out in the first place? Did you break?"

 

"Nope. From what I'm told, their security chief recognized me from a bounty poster on Tranquility. The act was pointless after that."

 

"What?" Alex let out a piercing laugh. "That's priceless; you wanted for bounty," she said, obviously unaware of the circumstances that had led to someone offering a bounty on Ethan. She might not have thought it was funny if she knew.

 

Ethan markedly frowned at her, ears ringing from the overload in his helmet, and he looked to the console behind her. Five minutes remained until the diagnostic was finished; then there was the time it would take to flush the triceron, repressurize Engineering and transport the bomb to an airlock. From their vantage point, the blast doors seemed like they'd become a whole lot thicker.