NRPG: *start music* A day or two ago The story I must tell I went out on the snow And on my back I fell; This one was funny, kinda like that fool in the turbo lift. Candy Cane for the one who gets it. Today's compile index is brought to you by peppermint: Day 12 (USS Boudicca ­ Deck 1, Turbolift - SO Crewman Abu Nighy - 1818) (USS Boudicca - Bridge -- SEE- Lt. Matthew McLaren- 1918) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Ensign Miandra Simmons - 19:50) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Security Officer Hrissan - 19:55) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Sgt K’nan K’iria - 2000) (Starbase Valhalla - Security Holding Cells - ACSO - Ens (jg) Carlyle Deston - 2000) (Starbase Valhalla ­ Subsection 14, Temporary Command Center - OO CPO Chrystine Nicklaus - 2007) (Starbase Valhalla - subsection 14 - aCO Commander Archibald Stakes - 21:25) RPG: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Mission: The Fires of Heaven, Day 12 Stardate: 2407.07.09 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< (USS Boudicca ­ Deck 1, Turbolift - SO Crewman Abu Nighy - 1818) Abu shivered in the cold, as he was surrounded by the enemy. The only thing keeping them at bay was the rifle in his hand. He nervously held on to it trying to accidentally kill anyone. He had his phaser set on a kill setting, but he didn’t want to adjust anything in case his fingers slipped. "Now that you are there, Mister Nighy, I would suggest you collected the weapons from the others and put them to one side and have the marines stand near the forcefield." ordered the captain. “Y..y..y..yes, sir” said Abu in as confident a voice as he could must, being vulnerable as he was. “A..a..a..gainst the forcefield!” When they had complied, Abu bent down awkwardly trying to collect the rifles and phasers in his hands. “J..j..just stay there.” he said, hoping that they were fooled. But now his nervousness was manifesting itself as sweat despite the cold. He crouched, refusing to simply bend down, to pick up the weapons as best he could without losing his own weapon. But Abu was not someone who fortune smiled upon often. In fact it seemed to rarely smile upon those around his immediate vicinity either. Abu’s fingers slipped. “Woah!” he shouted, as a beam fired out striking one of the marines in the turbolift. Caught off guard, he slipped and fired again striking more of the marines. “Duck!” he warned, as he desperately tried to maintain his grip, while men were falling down around him. “No, don’t!” he shouted, as more men were hit. He actually stepped on a phaser, setting it off and into his foot. “Owww” he yelped, as he lost his own balance finally, grabbing at anyone to keep himself up. Failing miserably, all he managed to accomplish was to drag someone down on top of him. “Help” he said weakly from under the large marine before passing out. (Reply Bridge crew, Sickbay, Any) (posted by Kaweo Kanoho) (USS Boudicca - Bridge -- SEE- Lt. Matthew McLaren- 1918) Matthew had been doing everything that he could from the bridge, which is to say not much. He was superfluous to what was happening. All he was really doing was treading on the Acting Chief Engineer's toes. The real problem was that Matthew had no idea what he should be doing now that he wasn't the Chief Engineer on the Boudicca. Things would have been so much easier if Stakes had reinstated him to the command of Main Engineering before the battle started, then Matthew would know exactly what was expected of him. He'd have his own personnel to use to get things done. As it was he had to request assistance. Granted Matthew hadn't been very considerate of Lieutenant Al-Sharif. He had cut orders instead of liaising. The fact was it was more out of concern that Stakes or one of the other officers would see him as useless, than anything else. He had confidence in his… no *the* engineers on the ship. They were professionals dedicated as much if not more so to the resolution of this conflict than he was. Questions and reports shot across the bridge and Matthew, although ready to report on a umber of things at any given time was always beaten to it by someone else. In essence Matthew McLaren, once Chief Engineer of the Boudicca, was feeling like a third wheel. He hadn't even been allowed to leave the bridge when he'd requested it. So he stood, silently checking information as others reported it, always one step behind. When the Captain developed his ideas about using the ship's shields he hadn't asked Matthew his opinion or for any suggestions. It was as if the captain had completely thought him no longer a valuable asset. And so Matthew watched the next few minutes unfold around him, a observer more than a participant. "Brace for impact!" The ship shook heavily as it's shield collided with the base shield. A luminescent glow was briefly visible on the viewscreen until the base shield repelled the ship. Luckily as they were now closer to the base, only a portion of the weaponry of the base could fire on them. "Once more, Mister Sevant." Again the ship moved slowly forward until the shields connected and the glow re-appeared and this time for longer but again the ship was repelled. "The maneuvering thrusters are too weak, Sir. I can't maintain position against the repulsion with just them. Request permission to use the impulse engines." "Permission granted, but remember that once the base shields are down we will be flying straight into the base hull, so keep your wits about." Matthew turned his chair so that he could see the main view screen. His mind was on Arania. Somehow he had a deep unsettling feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong. It was a different feeling entirely than he had felt going into the battle. "Yes, Sir!" "How are we doing, Mr. al-Sharif?" "Not good. Our primary shield is down by 20 percent, the base shield is down by just 5. Their regeneration rate is much higher than ours. Unless we can maintain the assault for a prolonged period, we are going to run out of shields whilst they still have 40 percent left." "You heard the Lieutenant, Mister Sevant, once more, please. And make it last." Again the ship came forward but this time the glow was there for several minutes, whilst the ship buzzed and groaned under the strain. "We lost primary shields! Generators are gone. Auxiliary shields are still active and at 66%. Base shields are at 31%. It is going to be close." Matthew resisted the Urge to micromanage the shields He wasn't the Chief Engineer of this ship any longer. The Captain had replaced him and had not asked for his interference. Suddenly the bridge lights went out for a few seconds. "Power drop on all decks. Two major central conduits have been fried. Re-routing power but it is going to get worse. Backups are not meant to maintain this power flow. Also we are losing structural integrity. Forward sections are being starved of power. Structural failure expected in three minutes." ~He's going to tear her apart.~ "Mr. Laroon, what is the status of the aft torpedo launchers?" "Both are loaded and ready to fire, Sir." The Captain nodded. "Shields status?" "Base shields 14% and falling. Our shields 29% and falling. Faster than theirs." "Mister Sevant, new orders. Maintain present position until the base shields are below 4%. Mr. al-Sharif will tell you when. Then cut the impulse engines. As the base shield pushes us away, turn the vessel around so that Mr. Laroon can fire the aft torpedoes. A full spread from the aft torpedoes should then suffice to bring down the remainder of the shields." "Base shields 10%. 9%. 8%, 7% ..... 6%, 5%,... NOW!" The ship suddenly lurched and the Captain was dropped unceremoniously on the deck. "Torpedoes away!" "Sir! The marines have signaled. The eagles have landed! First transporter waves are on board and have made contact with enemy units. Resistance is fierce but manageable." "Of course they have," the Captain replied as he dropped into his chair. "Failure was never an option. Status?" "Heavy damage on all decks, hull breeches on decks 10 till 14. Only minimal secondary shielding available." Matthew reported as he turned back to the console. The starbase opened fire then shaking the ship to-and-fro like a rag doll. "Sir! Starboard nacelle took a direct hit! Warp engines off line." Matthew watched as the engineering status screen showing red colors all over the ship. It was finished. The Boudicca was dead. "Sir! The remainder of the B-group is approaching. They will be with us in five minutes." "All hands, this is the Captain speaking. Abandon ship. All hands, abandon ship. This is an order. Abandon ship. We will rendezvous at the starbase, make for the openings created by the marine dropships. All hands, abandon ship." Matthew lowered his eyes to the deck for a moment. He wondered, even as the ship was being pummeled by phaser fire from the station whether or not he would see the Boudicca again. With a heavy heart, he stood and headed for the nearest transporter room. (reply none) (posted by Daniel Greene) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Ensign Miandra Simmons - 19:50) Mia was sitting with her feet in the large tub of water security had oh so generously given her at medical's orders. She'd been perfectly fine with drying out and dying of dehydration while stuck in an air filled tank, but apparently that wouldn't be allowed until the powers that be decided what exactly they wanted to do with her. She'd been a perfectly happy cadet, everything had been going great at the Academy and while she was no where near to the top of her class in anything but navigation and piloting she was still graduating. Before the ceremony and ship assignment, you had to take a loyalty oath and test. She was pretty sure she'd done THAT four years earlier when she joined Starfleet and she had a Betazoid ask her all sorts of questions, so she wasn't particularly worried. However, many of the questions seemed to be lead around for 'will you do whatever you're ordered no matter the moral or ethical consequences?' which, of course, she'd given a resounding 'Hell no!' That wasn't why she had chosen Starfleet as the space force to join. If she didn't care about the purpose, she'd have just signed up with the first private armada or mercenary group that offered her a good deal. She'd then found herself confined to a brig cell in Starfleet HQ, drugged a few times to be moved a few times, and now found herself on what she assumed was Starbase Valhalla by the crew patches. Security didn't talk to her, what she assumed were counselors seemed to have their hands tied and the doctors really seemed to be working on automatic. She hadn't had any of her sensory suppression medication in a while, so she picked up the vibrations of battle. The red alert sounding was a give away to the rest of her prisoner companions. They couldn't really communicate, other than by Morse code which, of course, the guards knew just as well as everyone else. But sometimes, at 0300, it was nice to hear the security field zapping out the rhythm of a war anthem and knowing you weren't alone. Things definitely looked positive when holding got put into lockdown and the security officers started putting on armour and grabbing phaser rifles. She lost interest again when there was no sounds of rescue coming their way even if the station did shake several times. Finally the red alert was turned off and silence crept into the holding area. "Well?! Someone must be able to tell SOMETHING!" an impatient voice finally demanded. This generated a lot of guesses and no answers that were bandied about until a group of marines broke in, chasing one of their previous security officers. "Surrender or I gas the lot of them!" "I can hold my breath for seven minutes, shoot him!" Mia called, easily recognizing the guard who'd taken delight in waking them randomly for no apparent reason. (Reply Marines?) (Posted by Lorna) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Security Officer Hrissan - 19:55) Hrissan and her team had been assigned to work with K'nan and her marines, clearing the holding decks. Most of them wore BDUs; Hrissan's feet were as usual bare of any kind of footwear and her hands were free of the restricting gloves. Instead of a helmet she wore an earpiece and mic so she could communicate with the others in the search and release party, and the lightly-armoured jacket of the Security BDU. They were presently chasing one of Valhalla's Security Officers, who had taken to his heels when he saw them coming, leaving his comrades to hold off the Boudicca team. K'nan and her group had been ordered to follow, and Hrissan had tagged along, the old security adage of 'if he runs away, he's up to something' strong in her mind. They were hard on his heels when he entered what Hrissan guessed was the long term holding bay. The cells were basic and there was an unpleasant smell which made Hriss's nose twitch in disgust. The man they were chasing turned at bay close to a console. He pointed his phaser in their direction and snarled, "Surrender or I gas the lot of them!" "I can hold my breath for seven minutes, shoot him!" one of the prisoners called cheerfully. =/= She may but the others can't =\= one of the marines said. Hriss visually measured the distance between them and the guard; roughly four metres, she estimated. If she could edge forward a bit, say half a metre, it would be easy.... "I sssurrrenderrr," Hriss said clearly, winking at K'nan as she passed her. The two of them had often trained on the holodeck together, and K'nan was well aware of the Caitian security officer's abilities. "Put your weapons down," insisted the guard. Hriss almost grinned to herself, he was making it so easy. She walked forward, careful not to get between K'nan's line of sight and the guard, holding her weapon at arms length as if surrendering, and crouched to lay it on the floor. The instant the phaser rifle left her hands, she adjusted her balance and leapt, extending her claws as she did so. She had judged the distance nicely and as she landed slightly to one side of the surprised guard, grabbed both his hands with both of hers. Her claws pierced his wrists mercilessly and with a scream he dropped his weapon as a swift kick from Hrissan swept his legs from under him and he fell to the floor with Hrissan crouched on top, the claws on her feet piercing his uniform just enough to let him know the threat there. Ignoring the blood running from his wounds, Hrissan hissed and bared her teeth. "Don't move," she advised him. "If you trrry I'll dissssembowel you." Her ears picked up the sounds of K'nan and the others moving forwards. "Now, " Hrissan said, "I advissse you to lisssten carrrefully and ssspeak the trrruth. You get one chancccce. What isss the code to open the cellsss?" (Reply K'nan, any) (Posted by Liz) (Starbase Valhalla - Long Term Holding - Sgt K’nan K’iria - 2000) The marines had been transported into a lower area of the starbase since their transporter wasn’t working properly. K’nan didn’t understand the reasons, she didn’t have to. She just had to get the remainder of her team off the ship, as ordered. Once they had gotten onto the base, the Major had taken stock and reorganized the squads based on who had made it so far. Security officers were pressed in to fill the gaps. K’nan’s squad had been lucky, she had lost fewer men than other squads. But they were costly nonetheless. K’nan had been given six security officers to work with her squad and then sent out on recon. Unfortunately, with the ship down, they only had short ranged communications through their BDU’s. So they had to be extra cautious since there would be no back up if they got into trouble. At least K’nan had worked with Hrissan before and they had done some cross training as well, so it wasn’t like she had been stuck with some idiot security officer. It had taken them ten minutes and they were chasing down a lone security officer. K’nan found it odd that he was alone. She suspected a trap. But other marines were assaulting the base, so it was possible that the station had repositioned its crew in its most defensible positions, much as the Boudicca had done. ~So this is either a trap or this is a fool.~ K’nan thought as they ran him down the corridor. He entered a room and K’nan warned her squad to be cautious. The squad halted at the door way, as the man, phaser in one hand, threatened to gas the inmates. “Get me a manifest of who’s in these cells” said K’nan into her subvocaliser. =/=Understood=\= reported one of her men. The man reiterated his threat and Hrissan took the lead and offered their surrender. While she passed K’nan, Hrissan signaled that she had a plan. K’nan signaled back, while someone reported =/=They’re all Star Fleet Officers. Looks like trumped up charges too.=\= “Understood, start to lower your weapons.” ordered K’nan. Just as everyone was starting to crouch to lower their weapons, Hrissan launched herself into the air startling the security officer. Immediately, their weapons were at the ready. But Hrissan had the situation well in hand. The trembling security officer quickly gave in to Hrissan’s demands. “Go.” she said to one of her men, who walked over to the console to deactivate the containment fields. “Defend the perimeter.” K’nan ordered, while she watched Hrissan throw the security officer into a newly emptied cell. “Is everyone alright?” asked K’nan. (Reply Simmons, Deston, Any) (posted by Kaweo Kanoho) (Starbase Valhalla - Security Holding Cells - ACSO - Ens (jg) Carlyle Deston - 2000) There had been those seemingly long-ago days of excitement and anticipation - blotted out almost entirely by the more recent memories of fear and dread. Now even that was fading into a sort of grim acceptance of despair. At least there'd been no physical torture, though the few overheard comments now and then, coupled with the boredom of isolation, served as a pretty fair substitute for psychological torture. One can only catch up on sleep for so long; one can only meditate, or cogitate, or delve into memory, for so long. The cells were spacious enough, and the sparse furnishings barely sufficient, for daily exercise regimens, but workouts only helped a little. The two meals a day were nourishing, and even palatable, but also prime examples of barely-adequate gustatorial mediocrity. No data, no conversations, no stimulation, nothing. He'd contemplated escape, briefly, when it became apparent that he was being knowingly held without cause; but he had nothing to work with, and the cells were, for a human with no tools, utterly escape-proof. Boredom. Approximately two weeks, plus or minus a day. Or so. Almost impossible to make a mark anywhere to record anything. But he thought he had a fairly clear recollection of about fifteen meals. And always, his thoughts returned to those few overheard snatches of conversation, dwelling on them. Words spoken with scorn, with sneering condescension, with disdain. By other Starfleet personnel. /About him/. "The Admiral says never..." "...wipe them all out..." "...meat shields..." "No traitors on /this/ flight, runt!" Cadet - no, /Ensign junior grade/ - Carlyle Deston had left Admiral Jopek's office that day with his assignment confirmed. He'd packed his few belongings, said his good-byes, and scrambled to make the connections that would get him to his assigned berth. There had been that bit of confusion: a connection changed to Starbase /Valhalla/. Eh, it was Starfleet; /dynamic/ was a key word when orders and situations changed the best-laid plans of Admirals and ensigns on an hourly basis. He'd hopped the shuttle to /Valhalla/ and debarked, looking for his connection to the /Japheth/. Two Security ensigns had motioned to him - and so quickly it almost literally caused his head to swim, Deston was in a holding cell. Fear, dread, despair... boredom. Then the alerts had begun, and jolts of new fear shot through him. Shouting, orders - running. The lights dimming; obviously a major power drain, probably the deflectors. Something big going on, almost certainly a battle, but what, who - /why/?! Though he ached for information, Deston, at this point, would no more ask his captors for news (even if they would bother answering) than he would ask for their hand in marriage. And on and on it went, until- Deston had been standing close to the force barrier at the entrance to his cell; he suddenly found himself on his back in the far corner of his cell. His head was woolly and his perceptions confused. After a few moments he came to realize that the lights were flickering and mostly out, there was a smell of burning insulation and ozone in the air, and things were oddly quiet. Deston stood and groaned as he did so, as he became aware of a body-wide ache. It must have been an explosion of some sort, that had cast him like a ragdoll across the room and knocked him senseless. Didn't seem to be any real damage to himself, no broken bones, though he imagined that he'd be sporting some pretty incredible bruises in a day or so. There was- /The force field was down./ Deston hesitated. How long would it stay down? Where were the guards? Never mind, it was down and the opportunity was ripe. Deston wobbled for a few steps, then grew more surefooted as he accelerated... right into one of his jailers. ~/DAMMIT!/~ The man was haggard; it looked like he'd taken some damage in the explosion that had hurled Deston into the corner of his cell. But the security ensign was upright, armed, and looking very determined, with his phaser aimed right in Deston's face. "Good, you're up, meat shield. Looks like the Admiral's plans didn't pan out, and it's all gone pear-shaped. But you're a meat shield, and you're /my/ meat shield now, so I expec- hhhuuuuuuuuaaAAAAAAAHHH!" The force field had come back on, and the security ensign had been, unfortunately for him, standing right in the door. It wasn't really a scream or a shriek that he uttered as he writhed in the grip of the field; it was more the sound made as surprise and pain fought to ride the forced exhalation of air caused by compression of the thorax. It only lasted a few seconds, until the ensign ran out of air. Still, it was pretty ugly, and Deston took a couple of steps back in shock. Panic and pain continued to battle across the ensign's face; he'd dropped his phaser almost immediately and was fighting to draw a breath. Deston could hear the force field generator start to hum as it attempted to resume it's normal function. The hum grew in volume and pitch, until finally the ensign was expulsed into the cell with Deston. Simultaneously, the force field emitted a great spark across it's projectors, and died. Deston slowly went over and retrieved the phaser. Now armed, he checked the security guard, and administered - after a brief internal struggle - sufficient first aid to get him breathing again. He decided that even a low stun setting on the phaser would probably be too dangerous to use on the wounded and unconscious man, so he decided to trust in his superior condition, phaser, and a little luck, and simply left the guard in the cell, hoping that it wouldn't be a mistake. He could hear voices, now, out in the corridors beyond his section. Rescuers, probably; more of his captors, possibly: either way, Deston wasn't about to spend any more time waiting. Carl Deston, newly freed and a little less naive, hefted the phaser and went forth. (Reply any) (Posted by John O'Neill) (Starbase Valhalla ­ Subsection 14, Temporary Command Center - OO CPO Chrystine Nicklaus - 2007) Chrystine worked feverishly to establish a comm system by patching into the Starbase’s comm system with equipment they had brought with them from Boudicca. The captain had decided their command post would be here, since they had stumbled into an area with an infirmary and with defensible points, or so she had been told. So she had been ordered to set up a comm system so they could find all their people who had managed to get off the Boudicca safely, without compromising their chatter to the enemy. While the departure from Boudicca had been far from disorderly, crew were scattered about on several decks, each going where the transporter chiefs thought best. An untold number had gotten into escape pods, so the other purpose was to ascertain how many had made it onto the base. The only good news was that marine ships that the Boudicca had been escorting had successfully begun their assault on the starbase, hopefully drawing away any defenders from the crew’s current command center. Their main mission at this point was to survive, as best they could. This was something she could handle. Ship battles always put Chrystine on edge since she really didn’t have anything to do, but sit tight and hope the ship didn’t explode with her in it. At least now she felt like she was doing something useful. ~Got it!~ she thought, as she ran over to Captain Stakes. “Captain, I got the comm system working. You’re good to go, Sir!” reported Chrystine. (Reply Stakes, Any) (posted by Kaweo Kanoho) (Starbase Valhalla - subsection 14 - aCO Commander Archibald Stakes - 21:25) "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Archibald looked up as he heard his daughter speak up behind him. He stretched his arms and got up from the floor where he had been lying with his phaser ready to fire as soon as another enemy security officer dared to show himself on the other side of the corridor. The fact that they hadn't seen one for over half an hour meant little to Archibald. With all that was ongoing on the base, he assumed that the troops were needed elsewhere. He was just happy with the fact that they had been given some peace and quiet as he was feeling tired and exhausted. He looked along the group of crew that were guarding the corridor together with him and found they looked exactly like he felt, haggard and worn out. He sighed, then remembered the question Esme had posed him. He turned to face her and nodded. "How are things in the back?" he asked instead. "They lost another two," Esme replied. " The equipment in the triage center that we found is failing left, right and center and the doctors have very little equipment that actually works. The place was too badly shot up. The two remaining working biobeds are tied up and they need at least four more to give the more seriously wounded a chance of survival. But they are still trying to do the best they can." Archibald sighed. ~Two hundred and six and falling,~ he thought as he clenched his jaws. And to make matters worse there were several bridge crew in there as well. The ones that were needed to give guidance and strength. Lorak, Carft and Dallas, all were in one of the last escape pods which had been hit directly by one of the starbase's defense posts as they had made their way across. After a minute he shook his head slowly. "Sorry, what was your question again?" Esme looked at him for a second then came closer and put her hand on his arm. "Nobody is blaming you," she said but he shook her hand off. "I am," he said tersely. She looked at him and examined his face, then sighed. "I know," she said. "You are as bad as mum." She smiled softly when his face turned towards her. "Anyway, I asked you if you wanted the good news first or the bad news." Archibald sighed. "Give me the good news first. I could use some right now." "OK, the engineers managed to repair the replicator that we found, so we can have a hot supper." Archibald looked back along the corridor and licked his lips. "OK, so what's the bad news?" "They can only get it to make spaghetti bolognese. BUT they found a way to stop it from exploding as soon as it materialises. It took them a while, though so the room is now literally wallpapered with spaghetti." Archibald regarded his daughter for a second, wondering if he wanted to risk eating a plate of self combusting noodles. But before he could say anything, his ears picked up a soft thudding noise, coming from the corridor. He almost immediately recognised it as being heavy armor like BDU's. "Visitors!" he barked and he dropped himself down on the ground. "Melody! Take your group to the left! Sasha, to the right! They have heavy equipment, so we need to catch them in a crossfire. Fire on my mark!" He heard a thud behind him and he shot a look back, to find Esme lying behind him peering over his shoulder into the corridor. He was about to say something but she just shook her head, as if to say that she wouldn't move, then pointed forward. Cursing inwardly, Archibald growled as his ears picked up the somewhat melodic multiple thud . thud . thud . thud. thud, as if the group that was heading their way was marching like on a parade ground. He licked his lips and felt weak for a second, wondering even with the crossfire, how long they would be able to hold out against a group of marines in BDU's who would no doubt be carrying heavy weaponry. He realised that it was not going to be too long, but perhaps if the first volley from them was accurate and forceful, they might stop the marines from storming the place. He looked to either side of him to see if the other groups were now in place and nodded to them when he found them there. Then he looked along the corridor as he listened to the rhythmic thud . thud . thud as it came closer and closer. then just when it sounded like the first troopers would round the corner of the corridor, the thudding stopped. "They know we're here," Archibald realised, "lying in wait." In his mind he knew exactly what he would do if he had been commanding the other side. Grenades, rockets, anything that would break up a group of defenders. Only when the defenders would be in disarray, would they then come charging in to mop up any residual resistance. Thud! Archibald raised his hand, signaling all to be ready to fire. Thud! Archibald's hand wavered in the air. Something was not right. The thuds now sounded solitary, as if it was only one person approaching. "Wait!" he hissed as he lat his hand drop and peered into the corridor as if his eyes were strong enough to straighten the rounding corridor, to show what was lurking behind. Thud! Thud! With two quick steps somebody wearing the fully armoured marine outfit had rounded the corner and gazed along the corridor towards the defending group. The helmeted head moved from side to side to scan the defenders lying in wait. But for one reason or another, Archibald could not give the order to open fire. He guessed it was partly because the single figure just stood there and looked at them and partly because the figure was clearly unarmed. But there was also something about the figure, about the pose that it struck, that made him wary of attacking. "Wait!" he shouted when he saw how both hands of the figure were raised and went for the helmet. With some jerky movements, the helmet was released and slowly lifted off. As the helmet was lifted off, long blond hair fell out of it, flowing around the shoulders of the woman as she clamped the helmet under her right arm. Archibald's eyes grew wide but then his head was banged against the deck with a loud clang as someone behind him used his body and his head as springboard to get up fast. "Mummy!" the dazed Archibald heard Esme cry as in her haste to get to the lonely figure she kneed and kicked her prone father. Archibald with his head against the cold floor closed his eyes and sighed twice. He heard how Esme squeaked and jammered and rambled on, until a soft voice said: "Hush now, poppet." The aCO suddenly realised that the voice had sounded a lot closer by than it should have been and he looked along the deck and found his view being obstructed by two armoured boots just a foot or so from his head. He looked up and found an armored hand outstretched in front of him and looking up further he could see Lydia looking down on him, with her left hand patting a sobbing Esme's back. Archibald sighed and using the offered hand, pulling himself off the ground. He did not let go of the hand and stared into his wife's eyes for at least a minute, during which both said nothing. They just looked at one another, their eyes conversing in silence. Finally Lydia sighed and pulled her hand back. "I knew you'd be here," she stated matter of factly. Then she looked around herself at the haggard looking defenders. "You got wounded," she stated and without waiting for confirmation, she turned her head towards the corridor. "McAlpine! Get your crew here, on the double! Where?" This she said to Archibald having turned her head back. "Esme," Archibald said as he saw a group of medical personnel scurry towards them. "Show them." As the medics 'flew' past led by a hopping Esme, Archibald noticed some of them carrying mobile field equipment, biobeds without the actual beds and reams of medical kits. "You came here well equipped," he remarked, earning him a look from his wife, who didn't say anything. Words were often so unnecessary. They looked into each other's eyes once more. "I missed you," Archibald admitted. Yes, words were often so unnecessary. But still very nice to hear. (Reply by all, any) (Posted by Adrie Geuken) NRPG: Peppermint? Well, I guess it makes a good tea. But I prefer hot chocolate with a gingerbread cookie, mmmm..... Best part of the holiday always the food. Oh ,the people, I guess..... but the food....... Ahh...... -USS Boudicca, NCC 49901 Star Trek: Freedom - http://www.startrekfreedom.com