Angels2200

Anatolja felt almost jealous when she watched Kate being carried out of the hangar.
Now she's got a nice and warm bed and a couple of people who'll care for her every need. I wonder if anyone will find it suspicious if I zap myself, too? Honestly, she didn’t envy Kate at all. The lack of sleep and coffee had finally taken its price. After being on duty for more than 24 hours, like all of them, accidents were to be expected, not only with people prone to them. And considering Kate, it had only been a matter of time anyway, until she really hurt herself. Too bad it had to happen on my watch.

I hope she’ll be allright.

----

Dark Nova was in space, Mac in the brig, Kate in medical. Nothing to do, for the first time since she didn't know when.
A smoke, a drink, a hot shower and a bed...
...
No, strike that, gimme only the bed!

She thought that she should rather start cleaning up the hangar and fix some gear, prepare for Dark Nova coming back. But right now, she just didn't care. Someone else could do that.

Who else?
Oh no, don't do this to me, I can't stand it anymore! I don't want to anymore!

There was no Sparks, who would be taking care of things and no Tibbs either.
Tibbs...

Anatolja went back to Sparks' office and logged herself into the ship's maintenance system, where she pulled up the life support control of the CIC. She didn't have access to the actual controls with her clearance but she still could read the monitors. Some of them were showing critical values. That crazy OSI bitch was serious. They were not going to last much longer, if it wasn't already too late.

I'm gonna need a weapon.

Dear Grandma,

Back when I enlisted, you made me promise to stay out of trouble and come home safe. You know me, I never was able to stay out of trouble. But now is the first time that I will be intentionally breaking my promise and go looking for trouble. I am afraid that if you receive this letter, I will have broken the other promise, too.

They will accuse me of mutiny, treason even. Do not believe them. Know that my motives were never of such kind. But I can no longer just stand by and watch the terrible things that are happening here. There is no time left, I have to act now.

I am sorry for all that I have done wrong.

Love,
Anatolja


She folded the hastily scribbled note and put it into her footlocker. Anatolja didn't really expect her grandma to ever receive it, but she owed her at least to try. She also owed Tibbs. Maybe not with her life, especially not after the other day, but she still just couldn't let them get killed, after they had accepted their failure and surrendered.

Anatolja took the padded bag in which she kept the parts of her antique rifle out of the locker. Completely assembled it was too long to fit into the box. In a small plastic box she found her last stock of ammunition. Fourteen rounds.

Going into battle with outdated equipment and almost no ammo. Really clever. But if I have to fire this baby somewhere in the outer sections, at least I'll be making nice holes in the hull.

She quickly loaded the rounds into a magazine and concealed it together with the parts of the weapon between the tools inside a large toolbox she had brought from the hangar. This wouldn't hold up against a proper search, but it would be good enough for a quick glance from someone who wasn’t too familiar with antique weapons.

Strangely enough, after having fired the weapon countless times, the thought of actually using it in combat was weird, to say the least. Anatolja often had wondered when and where the rifle had last been used. Really used. She had bought it on a rag-fair and all she knew about it was that it was at least a hundred years old. Getting it back to firing condition had cost her a lot of money, but it was worth it. They just didn't make weapons like this anymore. Modern guns were lighter, more precise, had a larger ammo capacity and higher firing rate, but the old AK-47 was still unmatched in ruggedness.

Anatolja just loved the simple but sturdy design of the weapon. It was almost fail-proof. Just as simple, but far from fail-proof was her plan: Somehow get the weapon unnoticed to the main engine control room, from where most of the ship’s systems could be manually overridden and use it to "convince" the crew there to open the doors to the CIC, so that the mutineers actually could surrender. Oh, and not get killed in the process.

There was of course the distinct possibility that opening the doors would result in a firefight in which many of those whom she tried to save were killed. But if she didn't, they were dead anyway.

There was no escape plan. She was aware that her chance of getting away was extremely slim. All she could hope for was that the security crew that would be storming the engine room a couple of seconds after she had performed her coup, wouldn’t shoot her on sight, but give her the chance to surrender herself.

Mallory watched Verulian leave, no -- stalk -- off the bridge before turning back to track the fighters' positions on her tactical holo.

Admirable, I suppose, Yates. But do you really think you are doing that woman a favor bringing her back here? We don't have enough staff to cope with even our own wounded right now... What sort of a reception do you think she's going to find? With OSI acting the way they are, probably just have her shot upon opening the pod. Possibly the both of them. Perhaps that might be a mercy as opposed to another death bed interrogation...

The CAG sighed as she set down the comm piece. No time to be distracted about lives from the other side of this mess. Dealing with Verulian was going to be difficult.
I'd feel safer if I had my sidearm while being alone in the same room with that woman...

----

The remaining OSI staff carried on after the departure of the two core command officers. "Status of firing solution?"

"Fully plotted. Eighty percent of ordinance loaded. Upload to warhead guidance in progress."

"Is this really a good idea? We're going to burn all of our long-range firepower."

"There's no choice anymore. Updates on defenders?"

"Increasing radio chatter. Anything out there is still small and in the radar shadow."

"That station has over ten thousand civilian..."

"They're colies. Who the fuck cares."

"Sir! We are locked on and loaded."

"Good, change heading for-"

"Ma'am!"

"What?!"

"I... Um, the... the squad sent to storeroom number eighteen," a young, ashen-faced comms tech was holding out a headset in a shaking hand.

"Yeesss...?"

"...Screams, sir."

----

The plasma rifle was firing on full auto, but it still felt to PFC Joan Hager as if she could watch each round streak towards the target. And miss.

"FUCK! WE'RE SO FUCKING FUCKED!!"

It had been less than twenty seconds since that the ceiling plate had crashed down on to Sara while they were approaching the warehouse door. The plate probably hadn't been enough to really injure her, but the blur that followed it out of the hole had sent Sara flying three meters down the hall like a rag doll. She hadn't moved since. Their sergeant had given name to the harbinger even as she died next.

"BOT!"

Wearing an insane grin, Edward dodged the fire from PFC Hager's weapon and continued his assault on the now second to last Marine. His remaining, already blood stained fist connected. Joan heard helmet and bone shatter even over the weapon's report as her last squad mate's head snapped back. Continuing its path, the bot moved with the falling body for a half step before kicking it towards Joan, using her dead friend as both shield and weapon.

She was knocked to the ground by the impact and weight.
It did all of this with only one arm?!

The squawking from the commlink in her ear was drowned out by her own scream of pain as the machine crushed her hand that still held the rifle under its foot. The latter sound ended as those unyielding fingers encircled Joan's neck.

----

"Ensign! Get another detachment there ASAP! Our OSI troopers outside the CIC are closest. They're guarding corpses in there by now anyway... Reallocate from somewhere else to backfill."

----

Edward let the limp woman's body fall to the deck. A range of expressions played across his ruined face. He felt like laughing. Singing. Yelling.
Weak! All of them. Fragile. Powerless compared to him! Useless!
He flexed his bloody fingers in wonder as his features settled into a smile. How warm. What a unique feel and smell.

The commlink on the dead woman buzzed angrily. Amused, he bent down and gentlely plucked it from the ear and hair that still held it. After all, one had to be careful with such things when one was as powerful as he was.

----

"...report, damn it! What the hell is going on down there?"

A masculine laugh that came over the channel, sending shivers down the spines of everyone on the bridge who heard it. "All dead. I crush them! Hmmheheemauhahah!" the voice lapsed into maniacal laughter again.

"Who is this?!"

"I AM EDWARD! Surprise you? Forget not meatbag!"

----

Edward crushed the pitiful bit of plastic and metal in his fist. Nothing could stop him. None of them.
"Trying stop me! AFRAID OF ME YOU NOW ARE THAT I'M NO SAFE LONGER!"

He laughed and raged seeing the bodies around him. His face contorted into an indescribable blend of emotions. Tears fell unbidden from his remaining eye.

Good boy.
He didn't know where that voice came from. Nothing made sense any more. Errors. Why was his core failing? HE hadn't given it permission to!
"Whhhyyaatt..."

----

Down the hall from the engine room, Mirunova watched cautiously as most of the marines suddenly snatched up their weapons and ran off.
"Something come up suddenly, eh gals? My lucky day, I guess. Go on. Scram already and don't come back."

“Crone to Morrigan control, I am ready for an approach vector.” The casualness of her own tone was a bit jarring to the silver-haired pilot as the Morrigan loomed menacingly before her. This was far from a routine landing. Thus far her grapple link had held fast to the enemy escape pod, but how much longer the pod’s hull would hold up to the strain of flight was anyone’s guess. If the Morrigan refused to provide any further assistance, Crone would have to find some way to land without damaging her own fighter or the pod. A grapple-active landing was a near-certain disaster, as the tow line would almost instantly warp as it entered the Morrigan’s artificial gravity field.

“Stand by, Crone,” came the tense but neutral voice on the other end of the comm, “we have a launch in progress.”

A launch at wh-, was all Crone had time to wonder before the Morrigan shook with the force of its attack. All of its missile bays released simultaneously, the weapons streaking outwards in a glowing display that would’ve been quite beautiful in other circumstances. In that moment Crone realized what Emerald-class missile cruisers like the Morrigan were truly capable of. As the ordinance rocketed past Crone’s Siren, their course became obvious.

A first strike at the Final station…. It’s begun. Crone closed her eyes briefly and shuttered. This was not the situation she had envisioned for the final phase of their assigned mission.



“Catnip to Lead, acknowledge,” the OSI spook began, breaking a long silence that had proceeded their near-dogfight with both Omega and Morning Star squadrons.

“… Oh! Aye, lass, go ahead,” Claymore replied awkwardly after a few moments, the pilot still unaccustomed to her sudden battlefield promotion to squadron leader.

“My screen is showing friendly long-range ordinance… a lot of it. Looks like the Morrigan has started her initial assault on the Final station.” A moment passed before Catnip continued in a confused tone. “I thought the attack would start at a closer range.”

“Verrulian probably decided teh engage early now that her coover’s blown,” Claymore muttered, mostly to herself.

“I’m reading it on my screen now,” Banshee said over the comm. “It looks like almost all the Morrigan’s long range weapons. Their courses seem to be diverging now.”

“It’s a Hard Burst formation,” Price added. “They’ll assume slightly different approaches until they reach a critical distance from the target, then they’ll converge to strike simultaneously. The attack is designed to spread out an enemy’s defenses while the attackers close in.

“What is teh Morrrigan sending against the station, Cat?” Claymore inquired as she viewed the cloud of contacts on her screen.

“Looks like Lashers and Breachers, plus a mix of Sunburn rocket packs and EMP charges.”

Claymore remembered how devastation a single Lasher was against the Spectre and tried in vain to imagine the destruction of an entire salvo of them. Even if they were the enemy, she still found herself hoping that the Final station had at least some chance of defending herself against such a deadly barrage.

“Keep formation, Novas,” Claymore said finally, “we have a patrrrol teh finish.”

Meanwhile, in her own cockpit, Cassie barely registered her squadmates’ conversation. Her thoughts were with Crone… and Hobbit. The real struggle was happening back on the Morrigan and here they all were stuck out on patrol. She fought herself to remain calm, but the feeling of urgency was growing.

We need to get back there before it’s too late for either of them….

Sergeant Keena knew something was wrong the moment the blonde tech walked around the corner. Her uniform identified her as flight deck crew so she didn't have any business at all in this part of the ship. Also, she was hurt and belonged into sickbay, now that the fighting had stopped. But mostly it was her unsteady eyes, somewhere between highly alert and scared shitless, that gave her away.

She knows! Anatolja stopped dead when her eyes met those of the seasoned security officer who seemed to be in command of the guard crew securing the engine room. What now? Run? Too late for that! Fight? Yeah, right. Play along and hope for a miracle?

Meanwhile the two other marines had surrounded her. She could see one from the corner of her eye, to her left. The other one would undoubtly be exactly behind her. The sergeant approached from the front.

"Let's see some ID, please.", Keena said.

The tech put down her large toolbox far too quickly, then froze for a moment, took a deep breath, and much more slowly took her ID card out of a pocket. Oh please, are you even trying? If I ask you now what's in the box, will you say "Nothing!"?

"What's in the box?", she asked, while studying the readout on her handheld, to check the ID card.

Again, the answer came far too quickly: "Nothing! ... ahem, tools, I mean!"

Yeah, right.

Anatolja watched in horror how the marine to her left stepped closer and opened her toolbox. To her own eyes, the parts of the gun stood out between the tools as if they were spray painted bright red. Shit! I'm dead! How could I ever be so dumb to think this could possibly work?

"So, what are you doing around here? Shouldn't you be on the flight levels, or rather sickbay?"

Anatolja stared at her in disbelief for a second, before she realized that they hadn't shot her yet.

"Err... umm... I was told to report to the engine room. They need a tech there."

"A fighter tech." Keena raised an eyebrow. C'mon, you can do better than that!

"Look, what do I know, with all the shit that's going on around here. Maybe all the capship techs are dead or whatever. If some friggin' OSI officer tells me to report to engine, I'm sure as hell not gonna ask her why!"

Look at that, now we're getting somewhere! That wasn't half bad. If it wasn't for your performance so far, I'd almost believe it. Did you practise that little speech in front of a mirror?

"There you are! About time you showed up! We sent the request half an hour ago!" The new voice came from the engine control room door, which had opened and revealed a short and chubby woman in a blue jumpsuit.

"Well, stop gawping and get moving! You did bring a number five injector, did you?"

...

"Err, yes, ma'am! Of course, ma'am!"

Anatolja rushed past the confused security sergeant, towards the door, only to be stopped by a sharp "Hey, wait a second!" from behind her.

Dang! And here I almost started to believe in miracles!

"Forgot something?" Keena waved Anatolja's ID card and pointed at the toolbox, that still stood on the ground, right where Anatolja had put it.

"Fighter techs... a little slow, are they? Must come from the noise. Always thought those jet engines go right to your brain.", the woman in the blue jumpsuit said.

Keena didn't show any sign whether she found the joke funny. "Why wasn't I informed you had a tech coming?"

"Oh, we didn't inform you? I'm really sorry!" The woman in blue's voice was oozing with scoff. "Now, you, get in here, we got work to do!" She roughly pushed Anatolja, who had retrieved her ID card and toolbox, through the door and into the engine room.

Woha. Now, while we're at it, can I get another miracle please?

"I admire your dedication to security, sergeant," a slightly accented, but precise voice suddenly interrupted from behind the two quickly retreating techs, "but we all have to deal with adversity, at times. Particularly from this squadron's staff."

A woman with Asian features and short, dark hair strode through the doorway. She wore the black uniform of an OSI officer and carried herself with an air of absolute self-confidence and authority.

Where? How the hell did she come from behind me?

The marines scrambled to attention in the officer's wake. As the woman's gaze fixed on her, Anatolja's surprise turned back to panic. She knows! She...!

"Wipe the stupid off your face before someone notices." The OSI officer spoke barely moving her lips and only loud enough for Anatolja to just barely hear the order.

"Who? Wa, What?"

The woman in black had brushed past them, but stopped and looked back. She wore the rank of a Lt Cmdr as well as a small, dangerous smile. "Me? I'm here for the same thing that you are: an environmental 'adjustment.' Isn't that right?"

Both techs were silent, but only Mirunova's was due to shock.

The Lt Cmdr's expression turned hard and her voice became admonishing, "What the hell were you thinking? The cameras here are actively monitored. Do you even know where the controls are, or how to use them?" She resumed walking. They had to hurry to catch up, with Mirunova's heavy toolbox rattling away.

"Who are you? I..." Further questions or protest were cut off.

"Raissa Chakato. And what I want to know, petty officer Anatolja Mirunova, is what side you are on?"

Now past the turn-around on their flanking patrol, the Novas were headed back to the Morrigan. The quiet tedium and the blank sensor sweeps should have felt as a blessing after all the action they had seen during the last few days, but Claymore just couldn’t get herself into a grateful mood. More fighting was imminent, and she was quickly finding the storms of battle themselves seemed to be less agonizing than the lulls in-between. Also, a crushing feeling of sadness had begun to envelop her within the silence of the patrol. Seer’s words over the comm – the first she had spoken in a long while - seemed to mirror Claymore’s own thoughts.

“We’re a broken squadron now, Rhiannon, aren't we?”

“Aye, Cassie… that we arrre.”

“I would not count us lost just yet,” Banshee’s cool voice sounded. “We have ships that still fly, guns that still fire, and hearts that still beat.” The confidence in her tone brought a small but significant feeling of hope to Claymore’s mind. Now she better understood why Crone had taken to referring to Banshee as the sword at her side.

“Claymorrre to Catnehp, I wan’ yeh teh monitorrr the Morrigan’s comm trraffic as we cloose in. Rehporrt aneh oonusual trransmissions orr mentions of Crrone.”

“Copy that, Lead.”

“What’s the plan, ma’am?” Banshee asked.

“Same as it’s always been,” Claymore replied, “We prrotect each other.” A soft but warm laugh then sounded over the squad channel.

“You may be the craziest bunch of women I’ve ever served with,” Ducky chuckled. “But goddamn it, I’d give better odds to myself winning a dogfight with the Devil than to anyone standing between this squad and any one of its members.” Claymore smiled a bit at that, then she pulled out her personal comm unit from her flight suit and activated the boosted signal.

“Claymorre to Sanchez, come in.”

“Sanchez here, what’s up?”

“Arre yeh still in the mess hall?”

“Yes, ma’am, and so is the chef.”

“Have the chef steh put for now. I need yeh to head for the prrrimary flight deck and meet oop with Crone. Get yehr comm link to her so I can contact her after she lands.”

“OK, I’ll try my best. Sanchez out.”

“I would hold off on any further communications back to the Morrigan, ma’am,” Catnip warned. “The OSI is on high alert and there’s no telling when they will detect your transmissions.”

“Aye, lass, understood. Alrright, Novas, to the Morrigan and to Crrone.”

“What about Hobbit?” Banshee asked, her chilly tone betraying her own feelings regarding the former Alliance pilot. Claymore was quiet for a moment before she decided to ask the Nova on hand who had the most at stake in the matter.

“Seer…?” The response was quiet and shaky, but determined.

“Yes, we save her too… if there’s still time… we save her too.”

“Very well,” Claymore concluded, satisfied that no more discussion was needed for the issue to be settled, at least for now. Grouping into a tight formation, the five fighters accelerated back to their home base.


****************************************

“Crone to Morrigan, I am still standing by for a SAR.” She was becoming impatient, her fighter hovering just outside the Morrigan’s flight deck, enemy ejection pod still in tow. It had been forty minutes since she had assumed her landing vector, but her repeated requests for a shuttle to pick up her cargo had gone unheeded. She was about to make the request again when the by-now-familiar and flat voice of the bridge communications officer came across the channel.

“Morrigan to Siren, Verulian has ordered that you either leave the pod outside or risk it on the landing. As the battle with the Final station has now begun, the SAR craft are now reserved for friendlies only.” Crone gritted her teeth at the thought of Verulian’s stubbornness. Yet at the same time, a part of her mind wondered if she wouldn’t have done the same thing even a few months ago. Still, she didn’t bother to hide her frustration in her response.

“Acknowledged, Morrigan, just be understanding if I scuff up the deck a little.”

Crone then came in gently, trying to anticipate how the pod would move in relation to her fighter. However, as her Siren came within the influence of the flight deck’s unseen gravity plates, the grapple line sagged and swayed chaotically between the weight of fighter and pod. There was no balance she could find. Crone made adjustments as quick as she could, even slamming her own ship down hard onto the deck in order to keep the pod from crashing. Yet at the last second the grapple finally failed and the pod hit the deck with a loud thud, falling onto its side and rolling for about twenty meters before coming to rest. Not waiting to finish her power-down cycle, Crone leapt from her cockpit has the hatch swung up and rushed to the pod. Fortunately, the pod had stopped with the door facing upwards. A pair of marines came over, aiming their weapons at the pod door nervously. Crone carefully activated the door panel. After the pod’s computer automatically confirmed the presence of a breathable atmosphere, it unlocked the door. Crone hauled it aside and peered in. The figure in the flight suit stirred slightly and a mutter came from inside the opaque helmet. The suit was clearly of Charan design, down to the rebel flag patch on the right shoulder. There was something odd about the shape of the figure to Crone’s eyes, sitting there squeezed into the pod seat; something vaguely familiar. The figure looked up at Crone and started, no doubt recognizing her own Alliance flight suit. Slowly standing up, the figure removed the helmet and both Crone and the marines took a step back in reflex. The hair was only shoulder-length, but with the same curls and warm-black color. The eyes were the same icy blue, and the skin a moderate shade of brown. It was a face Crone had come to know well, but now blended with the sharper features of a man… a real man.

“I am Captain Jace Dory, Confederate Militia, Serial Number 7255-8149,” he said quicky, looking anxiously at the rifles the marines were pointing at him. “I hereby demand proper legal council due a prisoner combatant under the Centauri Treaty concerning the rules of interstellar war.” Crone made to speak but one of the marines interrupted.

"What you are 'due' will be for our commanders to decided. You're under arrest. Come with us." Crone then felt one of the guns against her own back. "Both of you."

“You were … saying something about radio transmissions, Captain?”

The room was heated by ship’s life support system to a pleasant 23 Celsiuses, like the most of the ship’s interior, but Mallory felt the chilling cold. There was something in the presence of Commander Verulian that used to make people feeling uneasy. I must be hard, harder even than this, and I must get to the point quickly, before she outplays me

“Commander, you were speaking with the Bear frigate captain shortly prior and during our engagement. I have recordings on that. Carter’s RIAS intercepted it. I listened to those recordings, to those… negotiations.” Commander frowned and smiled, rather dangerously.

“Captain you do realize such tricks and traps are the regular part of OSI’s job, now did you make all this show just because of that trick?! You are certainly losing your grip captain”

Mallory frowned, genuinely pissed off. “Do not insult me by taking me for a fool, Commander, I urge you.” Now it was time for Verulian to frown and make aggressive gesture, but Mallory did not let her. “There have been three more times when you pulled the same ‘trick’ Commander. And the time you torpedoed The Spectre? That was after they refused to cut the deal with you. The Kitomer group was nothing but the pass through the Final station for You, because even Morrigan can’t take this station alone. But the mutiny you had planned, happened to occur too early and things got out of your control.”

“That bits and pieces of speculations Captain, not enough for anything but me having you put in front of the firing squad for treason!”

“That’s bits and pieces that make you grow pale and sweating, Commander. You think we believe you didn’t know about the upcoming mutiny? You think we believe those OSI stormtrooper company no one knew about was here just for safety precautions? Do you think we believe that you did not report securing the ship to HQ on a secure channel to avoid compromising the cover?”

Verulian was simply pale and on a verge of exploding. “Do you have anything more to say, Captain?”

“I do, Commander. It is impossible to even sneak past the Final Station with one ship. But three weeks ago the Assault Bulk Personnel Military Carrier was reported KIA with all the crew, search for it’s wreck still ongoing. And week ago another Heavy Cruiser ‘Persephone’ sent on a sweep mission near The Border, reported critical engine malfunction and emergency stop. It hasn’t been heard from since then. You are disappearing Morrigan as those two ships disappeared, Commander. You provoked a mutiny, made a third of it’s crew slaughter themselves, eliminating those who would not be loyal to you in person or scaring the rest into obedience. All this to disappear high-tech military vessel of tremendous firepower, and get it off the Alliance roster. You just stole the ship from the fleet to fly solo.”

Commander Verulian looked menacingly at her subordinate, when she hissed: “What’s to stop me from killing you right here and right now, Captain?”. Mallory, in turn, looked pale, but confident, almost feeling victorious.

“Because Novas are still out there and they won’t believe in another CAG betraying the Alliance, and I can control them. You don’t have too many competent officers in you crew now, Ma’am. And I’m no threat to you. I want in.”

------------------------------------------------------------

Mirunova hardly could keep the pace with this strange OSI officer who talked like there was something weirdest of the weird going on.

“What were you after – petty officer?” The OSI Commander insisted. “Because you don’t want to tell me you were coming to the engine room, do you? And I can still feed you to those marines we just passed”

this is where I’m dying

“I aaaa… I wanted to get to CiC and liberate my friends, who slowly suffocate there”

Chakato smiled. “Good, now you do what I say and we get them out, at least some of them. By that time with a little bit of luck we will have the shuttle and my pilot comes back alive and with the shipment.” She rose her hand communicator and spoke “It’s me. Where are you now?” and after a while of listening to the other side she added “Make it quick. And remember we need to get Ross as well, if we only can.”. Then she looked at the astonished face of Petty Officer Mirunova and explained, “I made a promise I intend to keep”

Unsurprisingly, this sort of “explanation” only made Anatolija feel more stupid. “Who…who are you and what on heaven’s name is going on here?” she asked awkwardly

Chakato frowned, but then answered “I am not really OSI, as you probably guessed already, and we’re stealing from this ship. But before you get a loyalty issue, bear in mind that this ship is not Alliance anymore. No more questions.”

If Kate felt silly being carried on a stretcher to medical, she felt even more self-conscious and guilty upon arrival. The normally organize and efficient center wasn't anything like her (numerous) memories of the place. It was the aftermath of a war zone, for lack of a better description. Injured, dying, and maybe even already dead overwhelmed the space and staff. Doctors, nurses, and corpswomen moved from one case to the next as quickly as possible. But OSI seemed to be able to re-prioritize all that work when they wanted to.

She wasn't hurt nearly as badly as many, but Kate felt she was going to die of shame when she was delivered to one of the precious few exam tables and then Dr Banner herself was pulled away from whoever else she had been attending to. The chief doctor's scrubs were bloodstained. She looked tired, overworked, somewhat desperate... and completely pissed off to be dragged off to attend to such a non-urgent case as Kate's.

Kate's disbelief abruptly wore off as she remembered something. "Hey, weren't you with the... *mmphf*!"

The outburst was cut off by Banner's hand frantically covering Kate's mouth and the feeling of something cold and sharp pressing against her neck.

"SHUT UP! Shut up, god damn it!" Banner hissed through clenched teeth, trying, and failing, not to show any reaction. "Or I'll kill you myself, I swear it."

She knows. How does she know, damn it? Think! ...They're not going to take me! ...Calm down. Calm down...

Banner had a poorly concealed scalpel held close to the (now even more) unwelcome tech's neck in a pose that the Erdanian doctor desperately hoped looked like taking a pulse at the neck. The look in her eyes was enough to convince Kate that the older woman was indeed crazy or desperate enough to do something rash.

Fortunately for Banner, Kate's one escort was inattentive and conversing with her peers who were guarding a private room. That room. The MD was in a bad position, and she knew it. She was as good as dead if this private opened her mouth again, but how to keep her quiet?
I know her well enough. She's not a bad person. Just... caught up in this all. And she's timid enough... Maybe... Maybe I can bargain. At least build up enough doubt to buy me some time.

The craziness in Banner's face changed into a wary, probing expression. "I'm not an enemy. I haven't killed anyone. I didn't want anyone hurt; I'm a doctor." She licked her dry lips. "I'm on a different side, yes. But we've sort of lost now, haven't we? They've killed or captured most of us. You tell on me and they'll interrogate me -- do you know what that means? What they'll do to me?" Banner was breathing faster now, obviously scared. "They'll get names from me. Others who haven't been noticed. Same things will happen to them -- if they don't kill us first -- you want that on your conscience? Turning all of us in?"

By some miracle of timing, the door to medical hissed open and two OSI clad marines entered supporting, no -- dragging, a limp form between them. It was obvious, even to Kate, that the woman had been cruelly beaten. Banner tensed and closed her eyes at the sight, perhaps in recognition of the victim. One of the medical staff raised a protest at the woman's condition, but was brushed aside as the two delivered their prisoner to another guarded door before leaving again.

"What happened?" Banner tucked the scalpel away and examined Kate's arm. Not particularly delicately, but concerned and professionally . She was fairly certain that Kate was going to keep quiet at least for a bit now. It was time to change tactics and play nice and harmless.

"I got shocked."

"I need a wet dressing, here! Burn gel!" Banner called over her shoulder, miming the act of putting on a glove to indicate the style needed. She turned back, fitting the stethoscope around her neck into her ears before quickly unzipping Kate's coveralls and pulling the clothing off her shoulders.

"And this?!" The mass of hastily bandaged, but still bleeding scratches and cuts from the earlier misadventure in the ductwork stood out against Kate's pale skin.

"I... I, uh... fell and got..." The MD's businesslike manner was working against Kate's natural embarrassment reaction at being suddenly partially stripped.

"*Phfft*" Banner resumed her examination and, under her breath, the attempt to save her own skin. "Let me tell you something else, Ross. I think there has been a successful mutiny aboard, but not ours. I don't know what's going on, but you heard that Captain Dominguez was killed on the bridge? She wasn't." Banner's eyes flicked meaningfully towards the nearest guarded door.

"She'll live. But they're saying she's already dead. They're not protecting her there -- they're keeping anyone from seeing her."
"...Why?"
"I dunno. But it strikes me as quite odd. Yourself? Might want to be careful who you talk to. And... now I know that you know."

In other words, likely trouble for me if I say anything about her.

"Your pulse is stable. A bit fast, but stable. I'd normally check you out further, but considering... You'll live. Come back in a day or two... if any of us are still around..." And with that, Dr Banner hurried off. Pausing only long enough to confer with an approaching nurse before pulling on a new set of gloves and mask and re-entering one of the operating rooms.

The nurse was brusque. "Drink this. Your electrolyte balance is probably shot to hell." She handed Kate a nasty tasting packet of syrupy liquid while cutting back the burned sleeve to expose her injured hand and arm. "This is a sterile, active, wet dressing for burns. Dermal proteins, nanos, stabilizer, and of course anesthetics. It'll protect, promote healing, and reduce scarring. Good for up to 48 hours. Come back then for a dressing change and cleaning."

The thing hurt like hell going on, but afterwards felt like a thick, heavy, skintight glove. One that made everything it covered numb... "Don't use your hand for anything. And if something whacks it, you're going to regret it. Now let's see about these cuts. Some of those are probably going to scar..."

With a swish and click sound that Aurora was now becoming all-too-familiar-with, the brig door shut and secured itself. This cell was a bit more luxurious than the one Aurora had occupied onboard the Kitomer, with mattresses on the two cots that occupied opposite walls in the room, a large sink with soap and washcloths, and a bookcase with a few worn volumes actually inside it. As Aurora wearily took a seat on the closer cot, her eyes regarded her most recent cellmate who was pacing about anxiously. Both of them had been permitted to at least discard their bulky flight suits, and now his crimson and dark yellow uniform clashed quite appropriately with Aurora’s blue and black.

Jace Dory, what were the odds? From Cassie, Aurora knew that he had thrown in his lot with the Confederacy a long time ago, and his actions had driven his sister to take the completely opposite path all the way to Dark Nova Squadron. However, of his personality she knew nothing… aside from the fact that his marriage to the rebel pilot Beanpole had gone bad. Aurora noticed her own curiosity with surprise. Normally, she would see this man as nothing but a rebel… an enemy worth little examination. When did curiosity come to trump her usual disdain? Was it just because he was related to a friend and comrade-in-arms, or was this another symptom of the change that had occurred in her heart since her last mission?

“You’re welcome,” Aurora said at last. Jace stopped in mid-pace at the sound of her voice, his face turning to hers with a look of disgust.

“What?”

“You’re supposed to say ‘Thank-you for saving my life’,” Aurora said with a casual air and a half-smile-half-sneer on her face, a part of her marveling in a perverse way about how cruel everything was turning out for herself and everyone else doomed to serve in this whole ill-conceived venture. Jace’s own expression was one of raw anger.

“Fuck you, Terran bitch! You think I’m grateful that you delivered me into the hands of OSI interrogators? If you wanted to do me a favor you would have left me to get picked up by confederate forces or at least blown me to pieces.”

“Local radiation was at lethal levels,” Aurora replied calmly. “Another couple hours and your pod’s shielding would’ve failed, making a confederate rescue unlikely. And unfortunately for you, I don’t shoot down escape pods. That’s more of a… confederate tactic.” An enraged Jace approached Aurora, who in turn rose to meet him. They were of similar height, and the whole of the civil war seemed in that moment to focus itself into their confrontation. Jace was thin and lean, but a quick glance told Aurora that he was still likely to be physically stronger than herself in a straight-up fight.

“I could kill you with my bare hands before the guards could stop me, little Terran girl” Jace said in a soft and deadly tone. Aurora matched it perfectly as her piercing blue eyes gestured downward.

“You got too close, little Charan boy. One swift motion with my knee and you’ll never have an erection again.” Jace’s face suddenly tightened with a pang of barely-restrained anger mixed with panic. Aurora’s twisted sense of triumph swelled for a moment.

“Most of us ‘Terran bitches’ aren’t trained to fight men nowadays, but you never know when the knowledge might come in handy.” For a moment it looked like Jace might test his luck regardless, but then he backed off. The hurt pride showing on his face was subtle but impossible to mistake for anything else. Aurora wondered to herself how much awe, respect, and adoration he had been showered with, undeserved as it may be, simply due to the rarity of his gender.

Or how much has he suffered because of it? The thought quieted her own anger somewhat and she took a seat once again on her mattress.

“Let’s start again,” Aurora said matter-of-factly, “My name is Aurora Yates, callsign Crone.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Crone,” Jace replied sharply, his gaze regarding the cell door. “Just… just leave me alone and I’ll do the same.”

“Aren’t you at all curious why they put me in this cell along with you?”

“No,” Jace answered, although his brief pause said otherwise.

“Then maybe you’d be interested in the current whereabouts of your sister instead?” This time Jace turned to face her, his expression cautious but hopeful.

“You know my sister?”

“Cassie flies at my side in Dark Nova Squadron… at least she did until today when I was removed from the squadron for saving you.”

“She’s still flying?!” Jace’s look was now one of absolute horror. “No… no… that’s not true… she… I told her not fly anymore. I warned her to stay low and get off the flight roster. I wanted her out of the way until-“

“Until the mutiny was over and the Morrigan was in rebel hands,” Aurora finished, nodding in understanding. “So a warning was what was in that message you sent to her. Your ex-wife delivered in discreetly, but it still got intercepted by the OSI before she could see it. The contents of that message must’ve been what lead the OSI to put Cassie under suspicion as a traitor.” Jace’s look became desperate.

“No! They didn’t torture her, did they?!”

“Interrogate yes, torture no.” Jace breathed a sigh of relief, and then pounded the cell wall with his fist in frustration.

“Why did she have to come here? I told her to stay away from the war and take care of our mother. She has no business fighting for the enemy.”

“She might well say the same of you,” Aurora replied sincerely. Jace gave her an annoyed look but said nothing, and for a while neither spoke.

“Cassie should be returning from patrol soon,” Aurora said at last. “You may yet get a chance to see her. Are you still wishing I blew you to pieces?” Jace’s eyes narrowed and he flashed her an obscene gesture. Aurora responded with a smirk and settled down onto her cot for a long-needed nap. There was nothing else to do for now.

“You’re welcome,” she said, before closing her eyes.

Down the sewer tunnel Aurora flew, her body screaming with the pain of exertion, her mind drunk on its own rage. The boy rebel who had slashed her face was now only a few paces ahead of her. The blood from her cut cheek ran down her neck and began to mingle with the growing blood stain over the left breast of her uniform. Aurora knew she could bleed to death if she didn’t slow down soon, but the possibility didn’t faze her. The embarrassment of being caught off-guard, the sense of vulnerability she had suffered at the tears of this rebel scum now fleeing from her like the coward he was; these drove her onward heedlessly. And the greatest wound of all, though she would never have admitted it, was the same hate and pain she herself had known for so long being reflected back into her eyes by this young terrorist.

The boy was obviously in a panic, his paths through the sewer passages seemingly chosen at random. Ash’s voice called desperately in Aurora’s ear, begging her to slow down and let the boy go. Aurora could well guess how angry Swift would be that one of her girls was delaying the mission by running off on a personal vendetta, but Aurora could brush this thought aside just as easily as that of her own serious condition.

At last, after a ten minute chase, the boy’s random selections turned against him, and he found himself facing a dead-end; a solid metallic wall with only a small drain at its foot far too small to crawl through. The boy reeled around only to see Aurora standing before him, gun raised and eyes blazing. The boy jerked back immediately, tripping himself up in the process and falling in a heap.

“Get up!” Aurora screamed at him. “You wanted to play soldier, now get up and die like one!” The boy scrambled on his hands and feet backwards until his back slammed into the dead-end wall. His utterances were an incoherent mix of weeping and desperation.

“Crone!” Ash called from behind her.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Aurora said angrily and she charged her rifle.

“Crone, come on! It’s just a boy and we have a mission to finish!” Aurora could hear the pleading in Ash’s voice. It sounded like a pitiful weakness to Aurora’s ears. Just minutes earlier this little bastard had tried to kill her, and now Ash dared suggest that she spare him and move on?!

“Was this your choice?!” Aurora shouted at the boy, thrusting her rifle towards him. “Did you choose this? Or did they force you?!” The boy shook his head. Tears were in his eyes again, but Aurora was not about to fall for that deception again.

“Crone!” Ash cried more forcefully, “Swift says leave the boy and meet her at the rendezvous point now!”

“Fuck Swift and fuck you!” Aurora spat back at her comrade. None of them understood, and how could they? It had to end… it all had to end. Leave one alive and more will come later. The cycle starts all over again. Aurora reached up and felt the wound on her cheek, calling the blood on her fingers as her witness. This one dies now and the cycle is broken. It had to end now!

“How many Terrans have you killed?” Aurora asked the boy menacingly. “How many bombs have you planted beneath the feet of unsuspecting Alliance soldiers? How many false tears have you shed?!”

“Please,” the boy managed at last, his eyes wild and pleading. “Please don’t… I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die… I won’t do it again… I… I won’t, please….” The boy’s words were followed immediately by the high-pitched whine of a plasma bolt set to fire. Aurora’s blood-streaked face was cold, her eyes hollow and still.

“You’re right… you won’t.” Aurora took aim.

“Crone, stop!” Ash yelled. Aurora fired.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Aurora’s scream echoed down the shadowy corridors of the sewer, but neither Ash, the boy, nor Crone paid any heed to it. It was a memory, a memory within a dream, and Aurora knew it well. As with so many nights before, she was forced to watch the dread moments of her life played back before her mind’s eye. Yet never before had she ever been able to raise her own voice against it. Now, for the first time, she was standing right there, her true self present (though unseen) within the sewer passage on that terrible day she had lost her soul. Despite her piercing cry however, she could not change the past, and none of those there in the memory could see or hear her.

Her shoulders sagging with weariness, Crone (the Aurora of the past) shouldered her rifle and turned to face Ash, her expression neutral and unmoved. Slumped against the sewer wall lay the boy’s body, a gaping hole had been blasted through his cheek and some of the contents of his head were now splattered against the wall. As Crone passed by, Ash shrunk away in a mix of disgust and fear. Crone then beckoned to her, as she half-staggered down the tunnel.

“Come on, Ash, we need to meet up with the others. They won’t wait for us forever.” After a brief hesitation Ash followed at last. As the two turned a corner and disappeared, the Aurora of the present remembered that Ash never really treated her the same way again after that day. Their once strong friendship had been somehow tainted in a very fundamental way within that dead-end sewer, and it was never able to be fully repaired.

Aurora turned and faced the crumpled corpse of the boy she had murdered those all-too-few years ago. At first she feared to go near it, but eventually the compulsion within her became overpowering and she rushed over to the boy. Falling down beside him she cradled him in her arms. The tears that overflowed her eyes fell down and ran over the scar on her cheek before landing on the boy’s blasted face. She had been so wrong. Nothing had ended by the death of this boy, or any of the many others she had killed. Nothing had changed. The killing had continued, and since then the boy had come to visit her at night, plaguing her dreams. It was he who had sat at her left during her card-game nightmare. He who had shown her the card: a weeping Hobbit with a gun in her mouth. The cycle had not been broken, it had simply turned in a new and unlooked-for direction.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora said to the dead boy, her voice chanting the statement between her groans and her tears.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….”

“You found it grudgingly, as did I,” came a gentle voice. Aurora looked up and saw her father, the sturdy and proud soldier of the Alliance. “It was the only way I was able to fall in love with your mother.”

“You’re… you’re not angry?” Aurora asked meekly.

“No, Aurora, I am relieved. At last you can hear me clearly. Your guilt has twisted my voice for so long. I never wanted you to suffer as you have.”

“You have come to a new place,” another voice sounded, and the red-headed man came to stand beside her father, both of them adorned in opposing uniforms, but standing side-by-side as brothers. “Now you begin the task you were meant to do.”

“But I’ve lost so much time, so many friends,” Aurora replied in sorrow. “How can I just start again now when the situation looks so hopeless?”

“Count the assets you have, not those you lack,” her father said firmly. “The Dark Novas are shaken but they are still loyal to you.”

“All but one,” Aurora said, the sting of Hobbit’s betrayal flooding back into her mind.

“Don’t be so certain of that,” the red-headed man said.

“Another time will come for you,” a third voice spoke, and Aurora suddenly realized that the boy’s body had vanished from the sewer floor. Now he stood beside the others, looking healed and whole once again.

“Remember me when that time comes, remember then… remember now.”

With that, the sewer and the forms of those people from her memory faded away.

Aurora awoke gently, still in the Morrigan brig, and looked over to see that Jace had also decided to sleep rather than continue pacing uselessly around the cell. The feeling of her dream was still fresh, and as she sat up her whole body shivered from the force of it. She *had* changed somehow. She was now sure of it. Whether she had truly communed with her father, her friend, and her victim while in her dream she could not say. But it was inescapable now. She had a new mission indeed, one which dwelt in her heart and stirred the soul she once thought she had lost forever. She had the peaceful feeling that, in spite of whatever new horrors may come, her sleep would be a lot less troubled in the days ahead.

The marines watched the techs and the OSI officer vanish inside the engine control room.

"Umm, boss?"

"What is it, private?"

"Don't you think that was a little fishy?"

"A little fishy? No shit!"

***

The engine control room did look nothing like Anatolja had imagined it would look. She didn't have too much experience with capital ship technology, so she had just figured the engine room would've looked something like any control center, the bride, for example. Actually, it looked more like a medical facility. It was brightly lit and every surface was either pure white plastic or polished chrome, with the exception of a multitude of computer screens lining the walls. All of them were of exactly the same size and showed a puzzling amount of data - diagrams, graphs, tables with endless columns of numbers.

This must be what heaven looks like for Calamity!

Three more women in blue jumpsuits sat in comfy looking armchairs (padded in white, of course) in front of the screens. "Carry on!", Chakato stopped them just as they noticed the officer and before they could jump up. Chakato didn't waste a second and continued to another door at the far end of the room, with Anatolja and the other tech still following.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, they said, but Anatolja was feeling more like "out of the fire, into the boiling pits of lava" right now. Somehow she had been more comfortable with bullets flying around her head, at least there you knew what the danger was. But now? Chakato seemed to have a well prepared plan and to be knowing what she was doing, much unlike herself (because honestly, her own plan sucked big time). But still, or maybe because of this, Chakato gave her the feeling of the proverbial pawn on the chess field. Could she be trusted? Was she just using her to her own ends? And what was that about Calamity and a promise?

The engine room techs watched the scary OSI officer and the weird fighter tech vanish through the side door into what they called "the bowels": the corridors surrounding the actual main engine, filled with wiring harnesses thick as a grown tree and switchboards as big as a small apartment. Nearly every system of the ship was in some form connected to this place. The air smelled of hot metal and old grease and normal conversation was impossible due to the noise of the ventilation system.

Anatolja's eyes automatically searched the array of control lights on the switchboard in front of her. Some of them were flashing, some flickering, but all were green or amber-colored. No critical error. As if I even had the slightest idea what I'm looking at. Could be the fire control just as well as waste disposal. My god, this place is huge!

"Keep up! We have no time to waste!" Chakato had stopped a few paces ahead of her. She almost had to scream against the noise of the ventilation. "I wish you had brought Ross. That would've saved us a lot of trouble. But you did bring that number five injector, did you?"

They climbed silently through wires and pipes for another minute or so, until Chakato finally stopped in front of a rather small and unimpressive looking switchboard. Unlike most of the bigger ones it didn't have glass doors with locks and handles, but a plain metal plate that was fixed with four screws in the corners.

"D-43, this is it. Open that." Chakato commanded. She checked her watch. While Anatolja was loosening the screws, she continued: "Listen up now, I will explain this only once. From the moment I leave, you will wait exactly three and a half minute, then you will cut the lines CNX-08 and -09 and inject this signal into line CHX-21." She handed Anatolja a small handheld device. "You will then replace the cover and proceed down the corridor to the second maintenance ladder. Climb up one deck and head back to the next access hatch. Either me or my associate will meet you there in approximately seven minutes. Got all that? Good. Time is starting now."

Anatolja was alone again. It was almost like in a bad movie, where the good guy blinks and the bad guy vanishes without a trace. Only that she wasn't so sure about who was the good guy and who the bad guy, in this mess. Also, she had actually seen Chakato walk down the tunnel, without any mysterious vanishing.

Three and a half minutes to wait. An eternity. The three wires she had to manipulate were quickly located, pliers on the ready and the injector applied. Now she just had to wait till the time was right. To do what, actually? Anatolja didn't have the slightest idea what system she was messing with here. It could very well be the life support for the CIC, it could also be something completely different. Chakato's small device was coded and gave away no clue, obviously she didn't trust her. Likewise, Anatolja didn't trust Chakato either, she didn't trust her at all.

There was still one other option. She still had her gun. She was alone and the way back to the engine room was clear. And now she even had an escape route, that she didn't know about before. But what if she failed? What if the engine crew didn't cooperate? What if Chakato was honest about her plans? What if she wasn't?

Damn, Auto, make up your mind!

"F%#K!"

Her cry of frustration was drowned by the noise of her foot kicking the metal cover of the switchboard across the corridor.

Still almost two minutes...

The rifle was quickly assembled, she could do it blind, with one hand on her back. Pliers and injector went back into the toolbox without having done their jobs. Everything was ready. It was so simple, just go back there and show them who's boss. Why was she still hesitating? The rifle had never felt so heavy.

One minute left...

If I go down that path, there's no turning back. I'll have to go all the way, I may have to hurt them, kill them even.

The image of young Private Thomas flashed across her mind, how she dropped to the floor, a surprised look on her face and a ridiculously small, but still deadly, hole in her side. A hole she had made.

That was different! That was self defense!

And that was what would make what she was about to do now so much worse. Cursing under her breath, she took the rifle apart again and took her tools out, just in time to meet Chakato's deadline. She closed the switchboard and set off towards the access hatch described by Chakato, tears rolling down her face. She was very well aware that the only reason why she had decided against going back to the engine room was because she wasn't sure whether she would be able to pull such a bold move off, not because it was the wrong moral decision. And she hated herself for that.

Anatolja reached the access hatch in question with half a minute to spare. The passageway changed from pitch black to dull orangish twilight as some sensor or other noticed her entering. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Regardless, there wasn't anyone else around.

"Cuchka derganaya. Fsyoe zaeebahnuh..."

*Mirunova.*

"Zaebis'!" It was her comm. It sounded like that OSI spook. "What?"

*Minor change in plans. I have more legwork than I anticipated. Locate router panel L017-415P. It is further aft in the service way you are in now. Inform me when you have found it.*

It was a 20 meter or so walk, but easy enough to find. "OK."

*Get it open and disconnect patch 141. That will disconnect a whole lot more than necessary, but it is the quickest way since I am not there. And I doubt you have a 3 mm optical splicer-filter on you...*

"What's this going to do? What am I messing with this time for you?"

*For me? Nothing. This is for you. This will cut the override controls for the CIC's life support systems. Among other things... The system will go self-regulating and restore nominal conditions.*

" 'Other things'?"

*That is a primary feed and sense route for life support on many decks throughout section five. Cutting it will not cause any outages, but it will generate quite a bit of attention.*

"Great. Then what?"

*That your prerogative. If you take that service passage forward for three bulkheads you will be directly above the CIC. There is not a hatch, but I believe there is an air duct in the area you could cut into if you want to enter via some manner other than the guarded door.*

"Well could you get rid of them for me, perhaps?!"

*Possibly.* There was a click, which seemed to suggest the conversation was over.

Well, here goes nothing...
If she was expecting warning sirens, lights, or anything of the like, they didn't appear. Absolutely nothing happened beyond the mettalic click and a little light spilling out of the disconnected optical cable.

"Well... If that actually did what she said it would, then I guess it's time to finally do what I actually intended to do."
Anatolja re-assembled her rifle and loaded a clip before setting off at a jog back down the service passage. It didn't take long before she was cursing the bulky, heavy toolbox. She was loathe to part with it's contents, but... She finally gave up, grabbing what essential items she thought were going to be most necessary and could be easily clipped to her belt or stuffed into pockets.

*FYI, Mirunova.* It was Chakato again. The damned woman came and went on her comms just as in real life... *I am not convinced anyone is still alive in the CIC. The environmental conditions have been at lethal levels for quite some time.
Also, you have passed by at least three security cameras so far and were under another while working on the router...*

"Chort tzdbya beeree! You're telling me this now?!"

*What you do now is not my concern. However, if you understandably do not wish to remain on this vessel with those who currently control it, get down to Hanger 02 within the next twenty-three minutes.*
That was the blown-out hanger still in lockdown.

"You're playing me. Again. Aren't you, you damned, sneaking bitch?!" Anatolja slammed the butt of her 47 into the unyielding metal wall.
"Huh?! Aren't you??!" There was no response nor indication her rage had even been heard.
"...Pizdets..."

The scene that greeted the arriving backup OSI marine squadron outside of Storeroom Eighteen was one that would be with them all for a LONG time. It wasn't the carnage, nor the blood, nor the death, nor any of that. That was the norm for them.

No, it was the bot. Or rather, what it had apparently spent its last moments doing. Its now motionless form was frozen in the act of making love to one of the bodies. Whether it was in some last act of defiance or some sort of twisted attempt make up for the hurt it had caused was a question left forever unanswered.

The NCO was the first to shake off the shock. She walked up to the mess and blew the bot's head apart with one very angry round from her plasma rifle.
"Get it the fuck off of her. Harris, Long -- get that door open! We have an unknown in there, ladies. Look alive!"

The control panel was unresponsive, but that never stopped determined grunts. Especially highly trained and experienced ones with explosives... Four small shaped charges were quickly placed over the areas of the wall where the door's hydraulic arms would be.

"Set!"
"Do it."
"Clear!"

The charges detonated as one. Immediately, the squad rushed the door -- they knew the drill. Pull wedges were inserted at the door's center seam.
"Two. One. GO!"
Two pulled and the doors parted.
"Movement!" The pointwoman opened fire briefly. "Went into the cargo elevator! Shut and moving!
"Sweep and secure, move!"
"Sir!"
There wasn't anything else in the room. A whole lot of stacked plasteel boxes, some that obviously had been abandoned being loaded onto the elevator, and a lot of gaps where crates were missing.


----------------


*Command, target escaped into the cargo lift three. Moving down decks. Storeroom is secure.*

"Damned incompetence!" Verulian was back on the bridge and her interest in the news that a live male prisoner had been acquired had quickly reverted back into rage at the ongoing disaster that was THE storeroom. "Shut it down already."

"I... I can't. The computer isn't accepting the override."

"What!"

"It's not my..."

"Then get the power cut manually. Where is it?"

"Pass... Passing deck five now."

"It's heading for the hanger. But that's still purged."

"Sir! The environmental controls for section three just went offline!"

"What? That can't be..."
"...access trunk has been severed..."
"...get that onscreen..."

The chaos flowed around Verulian, "...god damn it..."
This ship is anything but mine, I swear.