Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140529222025

Ryan Swets posted July 26, 1999 01:28 AM

Checking his wristcomp for the third time, Ryan sighed. Close to two years, a record. He was a slacker. He knew it.

It did not, however, change the fact that the temperature inside his X-wing's cockpit was approaching a hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. Another crimson bolt sizzled by, just inches above the transparisteel canopy, and he flinched almost imperceptibly as the heat was intensified once more. They were beginning to get the range, he supposed.

At any other time, Ryan would have had an excuse handy, delivered with a disarming grin that had gotten him into as many dangerous situations as it had saved him from. This time, however, all concentration was given over to survival. The five runabouts chasing his small fighter had the advantage of fire-control computers that could talk to each other; he had himself. The phaser bursts made only the barest flicker in the force before they became a reality - it was a fine razor to tread, and the X-wing bore several carbonized streaks that attested to one or more near successes. It was fortunate that the running would be over soon, one way or the other.

"Miranda, I need emergency braking thrust... yesterday, please!"

The X-wing's computer warbled once, and it dropped from warp with the five runabouts close behind. Dampers groaned as they dissapated the inertia of a stop the fighter had never been designed to withstand - replacing the hyperlight capacitators with warp field generators had been a fortuitious decision, but it was putting a great deal of strain on the rest of the ship - but Ryan immediately swung the nose around and rammed his sublight throttles up to full impulse as the small fighter dove deep into the area of space he sought. He could only hope they were still in the area; his charts were nowhere near new.

Too late for that, now... he realized, thumbing the comm to open-broadcast.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. Fighter Miranda calling Vextis, repeat, Miranda calling Vextis. Please switch up five-seven and respond." A hard kick to right rudder saved him from being scattered into constituent atoms. "Repeat, mayday, mayday. Miranda to Vextis, please respond. Vextis, do you copy?" More angry red phaser blasts violated the space uncomfortably close to the darting X-wing, raising another set of ugly black mars on the white surface of her S-foils while the fighter wheeled about to dart into another set of eye-exercising evasive maneuvers. Ryan swore softly. After three days, his concentration was waning, and he was beginning to consider rounding on the runabouts and firing back, for what little effect it might have.

"Vextis, are you there?"

Rah Serlwah posted August 03, 1999 09:59 PM

"Commander..I have a transmission coming in on one of our old channels."

Although it couldn't be seen though the mass of white fur, Rah raised an eyebrow, his soft growl like purr of a voice registering the curiosity he felt. "Put it on the overhead, Logan."

Suddenly, the communications room on the Vextis was filled with a voice Rah had heard many times before.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. Fighter Miranda calling Vextis, repeat, Miranda calling Vextis. Please switch up five-seven and respond." A few seconds of silence proceeded another short burst of transmission. "Repeat, mayday, mayday. Miranda to Vextis, please respond. Vextis, do you copy?"

Rah nodded to Logan, giving him a silent go ahead to switch to the requested frequency. Almost immediately, Commander Swet's voice again echoed through the small room. "Vextis, are you there?"

Wheeling his chair across the floor, Rah punched a button on the com. In his usual (sometimes annoying) calm voice, he took over the transmission from Logan. "Commander Swets. Its a pleasure to hear from you again. How can we be of assistance?

Ryan Swets posted August 10, 1999 02:16 AM

Static nearly killed the transmission as another phaser burst passed between the X-wing's starboard foils, briefly washing the cockpit in a dim red haze. It was getting even warmer - Ryan was considering another run into warp when the reply came through.

"Commander Swets. Its a pleasure to hear from you again. How can we be of assistance?"

The sudden voice in his headset caused a start that nearly saw the fighter vaporized. Ryan managed to kick the X-wing into a spinning dive heartbeats before the phasers came, boiling paint off of its hull as they passed centimeters from the cockpit. Rolling to put the transmission's source into a gimbal lock, he tried not to shout into the mike as he twisted the fighter into another set of weaving dives.

"Rah, is that you? It's good to hear you again... I've got some datacards that I think Ryax and Kat'll want to see, but my friends back there are just dying to get their hands on them - barring that, they'll just make sure nobody else does. I need some pest control and a real cot to sleep on if it isn't too much trouble..."

Rah Serlwah posted August 10, 1999 02:56 PM

"Pest control. I'll see what I can do for you, Commander. As for the cot, I'm sure you haven't been gone long enough to forget where your quarters are. Someone will be with you in a moment."

Rah left the comm open just in case. Wheeling his chair across the room, he punched a series of buttons. "LaeAnne, please report to the Comm room stat." While, normally he would have called for Ry, Kala or even Kat, none were available at the moment. He could just imagine LaeAnne muttering something about a fine time for all the chief officers to be planetside.

Within moments, the chief security officer entered the small room. He could tell she'd rushed by the high color in her cheeks, but that was the only indication. "What's going on?"

Rah's soft pur-like chuckle swept across those present. "Seems Commander Swets is making one of his grandiose entrances again. He's got some pests he needs taken care of and you're the only one who can send the fighters out."

LaeAnne nodded. "Do it." She was not a pilot herself, but, being acting captain of the Vextis at the moment, her authorization had been needed.

Rah spun his chair to face the console. "Fighter squadron 2, report to the bay. Set coordinates for secter 236. Orders are to exterminate all but the friendly in the odd looking X-wing. When you arrive, report to Commander Swets...that is if he's still in any condition to report to. Out."

LaeAnne shook her head. "Rah, you have a wicked sense of humor. I'm glad Commander Swets didn't hear that."

Only the shifting of white fur on the communications officer's face indicated the smirk LaeAnne knew to be there.

Linton Travers posted July 14, 2000 03:53 PM

He was bored. Well, more bored than usual. It had been over a week since he'd been off the Vextis and he was going bat-shit crazy. When the call came for a fighter escort, he jumped at the chance even before the order had been completed. At least it was *something* to do.

Derin Olitay posted August 06, 2000 01:16 AM

Head rested in his hands, Derin sat there, in the cockpit of his fighter thirty minutes deep into his favorite fantasy. With a huge smile on his face, and a slight bulge in his pants, he had just gotten to the best part. Red was just about to breathlessly praise his stunning virility and profess her undying love when the fighter pilot alarm buzzed in his ear, startling him to near impotence. He hardly heard Rah as the orders came through the comm.

Derin sat up and glanced around the hanger bay like a pervert caught being perverted and half expected to see Red coming towards his fighter with a bobbitizing knife in hand. Seeing no such thing, he took a deep breath and strapped himself in just as the other pilots came running in and hopping into their fighters.

"Alrighty.... lets go out and kick some unfriendly ass ya'll !!"

Derin flipped switches in his fighter, taking it through its start-up sequence as the bay door began to open. He watched as the vastness of space slowly came into view, only slightly distorted by the domed force field over the run way strip on Vextis' back. Slowly he moves into position then fires his jets, streaming out of the bay, then down the runway before pulling up. There was a very slight tug on the fighter as it broke free of the magnetic pull of the strip, which kept the tech crews and their tools from floating away. His fighter flickers lightly as his shields pass through the runway shields, Vextis' main shields then once more as it switches to its own shield frequency. Finally in open space he moves the fighter into line with the others and hits the comm.

" Okay, what's the plan of action? "

Linton Travers posted August 06, 2000 01:17 AM

Damn he was cramped. He hated this fighter. He hated everything about it. Most of all he hated the lack of room it provided his 6'4" frame.

The Ceria-12 he was assigned aboard the Vextis was probably the worse built machines this side of Hades-9. Cramped cockpit for a normal man, the inability to keep from overheating. He'd have to talk to Kat about this hunk of shit.

Still...it was either that or take the BlackJack out for a free-float. Mechs had never been known for their space flight ability.

As he squeezed himself into the pilot seat, he happened to glance in the direction of the kid, Derin. He could tell something was up with the guy and, he was pretty sure he knew what. There was only one reason a kid like him blushed so darkly or looked so guilty.

Softly, Travers chuckled deep in his throat. He'd have to find out the details at a later date. Right now, there was a party going on somewhere and he was fully intent on crashing it.

"Alrighty.... lets go out and kick some unfriendly ass ya'll!!" His own voice sounded tinny across the crapy radio and he sighed heavily. As the Ceria-12 lifted slowly towards the roof of the bay, Travers again told himself he needed to talk to *someone* about a new ship....and *really* fucking soon.

Linton Travers posted August 06, 2000 01:46 AM

This was getting worse by the minute. After the initial question, it dawned on him that there was no one to command this group. They were flying blind.

" Zed 3, where's your commander?"!

The kid's voice came back hesitantly. # In the Inferno, Sir...with Lieutenant Spraks. Commander Morgahn left them in charge during her leave.#

The "Inferno", as it was commonly referred to was Med Unit 2, Dante's Inferno. The little set of offices acquired its name from the chief med tech, a 7' croc-man who's tolerance for low temperatures was nonexistent.

Travers shook his head in disbelief. # Both commanding officers are in the Inferno? Dare I ask why? #

Again the boy's voice came over the link, still uncertain what to say or what to do. # They....um.... They made the mistake of....eating in the forward Galley...the one....well...the one that Ms. Jaq does *not* have a say in. Food poisoning Sir. #

"I should let Jaq know. *That* would cure them fast enough." His voice was barely a mumble, but apparently some of his words had transmitted.

"Pardon me, Sir?"

"Nothing. Paxton, take 3 fighters and go high-right. I'll take the other 4 and go low-right. Once they're in visual, make your first run. Strafe as many as you can from the top. We'll come up from the underbelly once you've cleared. Keep in mind, kiddies that the lead fighter is a *FRIENDLY*. Lets keep the damage to a minimum on that one, alright?"

He received several cackled "Rogers" in reply and, sighing heavily, he shifted his stick and executed a beautiful barrel roll, shooting for the low end of the blips on his sensors.

Derin Olitay posted August 13, 2000 03:17 PM

The stars blurred past as Derins eyes glanced over his controls. Everything was in the green and they were 30 seconds away from their targets. Derin's hands gripped the flight stick tightly. His hands were steady, as they always were, but the rest of him shook with anticipation, adrenaline, and fear. Going into battle always gave him mixed feelings. He loved it, and wouldn't trade it for anything, but just like a singer or actor he got waves of butterflies in his stomach that made him feel like puking just before the curtains came up.

He was a good pilot. Much better than most his age, but that was his main problem. His age. What Derin had in raw talent he lacked in experience but that wasn't about to stop him from doing what he loved.

The fighter dropped out of warp and the five runabouts came into view. The curtains were up ... the show was on.

As per Travers' instructions they broke out in formation and hit the runabouts high & low on the right side. Their attack gave the X-Wing the chance it needed to get away and none too soon. The fighter looked as though it were on its last wings and could barely go into warp. The battle would have been over just then as the fighters spun around to follow the X-Wing into warp, headed back to Vextis, but the runabouts had other ideas. Whatever their reasons they didn't want the X-Wing getting away. Two of the five runabouts managed to jump into warp on hot pursuit of the X-Wing. Three of the fighters were able to jump off and chase the chasers but Derin & Travers didn't make it. The remaining three runabouts blocked them off and fired on them heavily. Whomever was behind those runabouts were good. Derin knew he was in trouble, so did Travers.

Travers drew the fire of two of the runabouts onto himself hoping to give Derin a chance and he knew it. He tried to shake the runabout off his tail and get off the defensive but it wasn't working. Blast after blast hit his fighter. His shields were going down quickly and his fighter rocked with every blow. Glancing to his side he saw Travers' fighter barreling between two blasts from the runabouts that were on him. He was trying to maneuver his fighter, while not getting hit, into a position to help.

"Stop dicking around those runabouts before they catch you Trav! I've got things under con--- "

Another blast rocked his fighter. That last one was bad. His shields couldn't take another hit and even if he managed to break free now his weapons were blown. Going into warp and running for it wasn't an option. His fighter was more maneuverable than a runabout but not at warp speeds and this runabout was already out flying him. His comm. crackled. Apparently Travers was trying to tell him something but it seemed as though his weapons weren't the only system on his fighter that was blown. Derin looked to his sensor screen and there was the runabout, right behind him, as always. But coming up behind it was Travers, and behind him was another runabout. The third was no where to be seen. Travers must have taken it out somehow but he was being pounded by the remaining one behind him. "Fly you idiot!" Derin muttered under his breath. He could see Travers' was concentrating on attacking the runabout that's been on his ass the whole time. "Damnit! your going to get yourself killed trying to save --- " Whoum!!

Too late.

His fighter took another hit. His shields flickered. His hull creaked. His control panels burst. The blast blinded him, and as he closed his eyes from the bright flash a flying piece of plastic ripped through his eyelid and embedded itself in his eye. At that moment he flashed back to school, the image of his instructor warning him about the dangers of flying without the protective goggles or face plate of your flight-suit helmet in place echoing through the pain in his eye. He heard his comm. crackle through the haze of pain.

It crackled again.

Then again ... and a blaster hit ripped through his flickering shields, tore into the back of his fighter and... and, then he saw Red.

Linton Travers posted August 19, 2000 04:25 PM

He was furious. Raging, all consuming fury. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just his own six he had to worry about, but when he realized the kid was still with him.... and then, to top it off, when this crappy bit of work laughingly referred to has a "fighter" lost its weapons.... the fuckers overheated *again*.

Nothing worse than combining blind rage with frustration. He couldn't shoot. He couldn't fight. All he could do was run...and dodge. There wasn't a fucking thing he could do for the kid. Hit after hit on the little ship cut through his soul as if his own piece of crap had taken the blows.

He had drawn two of the runabouts away from the kid, hoping to give the little fighter a chance to make it to warp. It had been too late, however. The kid had taken way too much damage. There was nothing he could do. *DAMN* he despised that and, realizing it only made him more furious. He knew the kid had tried to tell him something...he could tell by the crackle of static suddenly blaring in his ears. If he had stopped to think about it, perhaps he would have cared about what the kid had to say. He didn't have time to stop.

Still trying to keep his own fighter together while dodging the blasts from the runabouts, he wracked his brain for some miracle to pull not only his *own* ass out of the fire, but the kid's as well. Then it happened. Sheer luck, sheer stupidity... He wasn't about to stop and question. While rolling from one runabout, he happened across the path of the second. Only reason he knew this was the bright blue streaks racing past the cockpit. Timing was perfect even if it *wasn't* planned. The chase took the runabout on his tail directly into the path of the first's firing line. Before either could correct, a lovely red-orange flash announced the total annihilation of one of his "friends." With a WHOOP, he completed the roll and dove directly for the kid, full blown plan in the works.

In his excitement, he didn't remember that the kid's comm probably wasn't working. In his excitement, he didn't consider that screaming into the mic would probably do more damage to the kid than a hit from one of these git-abouts. Pure adrenaline pushed him beyond all reason.

"HANGON KID, SUPERMAN ON THE WAY!" Alright...so it was arrogant. So it was vane. So he didn't give a flying fuck.

His trajectory took him into a bank, allowing him to bead in on the runabout on the kid's six. He didn't need to check to see if his own shadow was still with him. The damn fool kept knocking at the door with those ugly blue streaks. A grim, but determined smirk on his face, he watched as the runabout in front of him drew closer without even trying. He pushed the crappy bit of metal beyond all reasonable....and unreasonable limits, milking her for every bit of power she was worth. Bad choice of thoughts, considering what the hunk of junk was actually worth.

He didn't stop to think of the results his actions would drag out. He was hell bent intent on cramming the Ceria-12 up the tailpipe of the runabout on the kid's six. Hey, that was *one* way to get a new ship.

He was nearly at his objective when he saw the hit. He didn't have to be a tech to know this one was bad. If the kid had survived it, he'd have to make sure to find out the good-luck charm the kid carried. Travers eyes narrowed further, his rage at its full fury.

Muttering to his target, his knuckles white, he pushed the Ceria-12 an ounce further and, as the nose of the little bit of crap began to glow red from the runabout's thrusters, Travers dove and jammed the throttle into maximum reverse.

They say your life passes before you eyes in situations like this. If it was true, then either he had a *very* uneventful life or the brilliant emerald green eyes and medium-length copper-red hair were the *only* things that *were* his life. He would eventually stop to reflect on this...*if* he survived. But as his helmet smashed into the control panel, all conscious thought gave way to the unconscious. He never saw the success his suicide run created. He would never know that sacrificing all forms of propulsion of the Ceria-12 as well as a great portion of her underbelly as the drives came through the bottom plating would cause such confusion in the runabouts that they would never be able to pull out of the imminent crash in time. Most importantly, he never saw the satisfying fireball above him as ass-end met nose of both runabouts.

He only saw green.

Chomja Kajat posted August 20, 2000 12:52 AM

The other two runabouts had gone into warp to continue their pursuit of the X-Wing despite its heavy escort. Apparently someone in the runabouts had thought three to two was more than enough to eliminate the pilots in the now crippled fighters. Well, they were only half right.

Chomja had watched most of the battle on his sensor screen. Jim Kochanski was in back suiting up. They both knew the actual fighting would be over by the time the ‘Fang was in range to do anything about it. This wasn't that kind of rescue. Unfortunately it was the kind where you pulled the survivors out of the rubble. If there were any.

The battle continued as the ‘Fang approached, still unable to assist. Chomja watched the larger fighter go down under heavy fire. Some fancy maneuvering on the part of the smaller fighter lead to the destruction of the first runabout but the odds were now two to one which were really far worse than three to two. That was when it happened.

It was the ballsiest thing Chomja had witnessed performed by any pilot to date and probably the stupidest but it had the advantage of evening the odds, if you consider zero to zero even odds that is. With one runabout on his tail and up near ramming speed heading for the other, the pilot pointed the nose of his ship at full power and then slammed down the retros, ripping his own engine from his fuselage while what was left of his craft, the little that was left, spiraled away from the ensuing explosion. The pursuing pilot, blinded by the flash, parked his nose in his ally’s ass.

The Wookiee’s Fang swooped in. The YT-1300 was good at that sort of thing and so pilots who flew them into combat tended to swoop a lot and usually at just the right moment to save the day. Chomja could be heard howling over the comm if you had your subspace tuned to just the right frequency.

"Wrooarrhh!"

“I’m ready, get me into position.”

The fang went for the closest fighter first. Around the small hatch on the dorsal side of the ship magnetic grapples were fired. They pulled the damaged craft into position until it clanged against the raised bars around the hatch, leaving about five feet of vacuum between the hatch and the cockpit of the fighter. The hatch opened as Kochanski was propelled into that space by the lift from below. He took in the situation fast before igniting the laser cutter.

“This one’s alive,” he yelled into his comm. as he worked, “but only just. Looks like his console exploded in his face. His airmask looks compromised so when I blow this seal he’s going to decompress. You’d better get us into capture range for the other fighter now. This one’s going to need more than first aid.”

He was cutting into the hull just behind the cockpit. There was an explosive bolt there that was designed to release the canopy but it was meant to be triggered from inside the cockpit. He felt his balance shift when the ‘Fang’s thrusters fired but kept his eyes on the hull of the fighter. Better not to look at the stars spinning to either side. The last cut made, he pried the panel away and reached inside, avoiding the hot edges of his cut and gripped the lever. He paused before pulling. Timing had to be just right. He pulled. The bolt fired and the canopy slid aside. The pilot’s restraints detached from their moorings at the same time and like a shot Jim reached in and pulled. With a kick against the fighter he propelled them both into the ‘Fang’s airlock which automatically sealed and pressurized. The pilot drew a ragged breath. He was lucky to be breathing at all but space pilots tended to be trained for this sort of thing and were treated for it in advance. Explosive decompression was always a possibility. Jim dragged his charge into the main cabin and went back inside the airlock. He released the damaged fighter and watched it drift away while Chomja maneuvered the ship to grab the second craft.

Wait… Wait… When what was left of the second fighter made the connection Jim hit the panel and launched himself out a second time. This pilot’s restraints had torn loose from the stress of his suicidal maneuver and he had been thrown against the console, face down. Jim couldn’t tell what condition the pilot was in by visual alone but he could tell the condition of the fighter. No life support and there was a crack forming across the glass of the canopy. If that glass broke before Jim had the bolt blown the cabin would decompress with no chance of getting the pilot free in time to save his life. Jim went to work.

The metal armoring of the hull cut agonizingly slowly but that crack was spider webbing its way across the glass more quickly than he had hoped. By the time he had nearly cut the entire panel, the crack had edged its way within an inch of the edge of the canopy. No time to finish his cut he dropped the laser, reached his gloved fingers into the newly created seam, and pulled. The metal seared through the outer layer of his gloves instantly. Melted plastic globed off and drifted away. He could feel the heat burning his hands while he pulled the armor away. With barely enough space to get his hand inside he reached in and yanked on the lever. The force of the bolts releasing did shatter the glass but not until it was out of Jim’s way. He reached in and got a grip on the pilot.

The man was too big for the space inside and his arms were at sickening angles. Dislocated both shoulders, Jim judged correctly, broken left arm, compound fracture to his left collarbone. This was not a patient that should be moved but Jim moved him.

He reached inside, got a grip on the pilot and twisted the man’s entire frame until he could pull him out of the tiny space. His burned hands protested but he kept pulling until the man was free. The pilot’s oxygen mask was still in place but from the condition of his face he could very well be drowning in his own blood underneath it. Once the pilot was free of the cockpit Jim reached around his torso with one arm and pulled them both towards the airlock with the other. The motion jostled the man’s arms and Jim was concerned with the clarity of the thought that struck him next: He didn't feel that.

The airlock hatch closed. The cabin pressurized. The fighter was released. Nothing to do now but get to the doctors.

Derin Olitay posted August 22, 2000 12:51 AM

Derin saw Red. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew this woman, even if it was mostly in his fantasies, he would have though he died and gone to heaven. It was a cheap line, one he had used a few times before without much success, but from this moment on it would have special meaning to him. She was an angel sent from above. She had to be. There is no other explanation. His lips curled a bit in a small smile as he looked up at her smiling form. Her lips moved but nothing came out and he suddenly realized that everything was silent. Everything. In a slight bit of panic he glanced around quickly and spotted Dante coming toward him. His mouth was moving as well but, nothing. He shifted his eye back to Red who was tapping away on a data pad. He squinted and tried to focus his eye as she held it up in front of him.

He blinked his eye and that's when it hit him. Pain. His entire body tensed with it. He opened his mouth to groan but nothing came out. All he got for his trouble was another sharp pain, on top of the others, shooting through his throat, up his cheek bones, into his eye sockets, and right into his brain.

Red grabbed a paloforit solution and moved to Derin's side. She slid and locked the solutions vial into a slot in his life support system. She sighed softly as she configured the system, lightly tapping console buttons, and setting the system to deliver yet another set of meds. He was running out of slots. She turned to walk away just as the system beeped, signaling his raise from unconsciousness, and twirled back around while calling for the Doctor. As his eye fluttered open weakly she smiled and leaned over a bit. "Welcome back Mr. Olitay. You're a lucky man you know." She spoke, even though she knew he couldn't hear her, but it didn't matter. She picked up a data pad from a tray and began tapping in a message for him to read.

"What are his vital signs nurse?" Dante, in one of his famous shirts, walked toward them. He always felt uncomfortable calling Red 'nurse' for more than one reason. For one, the way he felt about her made it hard to be formal. He asked her to transfer to the other med-bay on Vextis before but she refused. Of course, being chief medical officer, he could have pulled rank and forced her but that wasn't about to happen for way too many reasons to list. Another reason he felt strange calling Red 'nurse' was she had the skills to be a doctor. In fact, technically, she was a doctor. Red just decided to take a job as a nurse. It gave her less paper work, which she loved to make him do, and gave her more time for what she thought was most important ... patients. One of which suddenly started going south.

Derin's body tensed and began convulsing. His life support systems beeped wildly signaling all kinds of problems. Dante stopped in his tracks and looked on. Normally the first order of business would be to grab a few hypospray solutions and shoot the patient up with meds. Red, had her own approach. No matter how many times he saw it, it still got to him. She simply dropped the data pad, pulled a stool up beside the bed, and placed a hand on Derin's forehead, the other on his chest, and spoke softly. Her calm voice and caressing touch worked damn near every time. Derin's convulsing body slowed to a stop and his vitals signs returned to normal as he drifted off.

"That's it Mr. Olitay. You rest now... " Red smiled softly as she stood. "...you've been through a lot for one day." She leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his forehead then stepped away from the bed.

"Good work... Red." Damn formality.

Linton Travers posted August 30, 2000 06:29 PM

He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting on the wooden covered bridge watching the bobber play on the gentle current of the river. It was a beautiful day and he hadn't a care in the world. It didn't even bother him that he hadn't caught a fish. He was just enjoying the time alone. It had been too long since he had been here...too long since he had felt safe.

"Heya, little brother." He had heard the footsteps on the wooden planks behind him, but he knew instinctively that they belonged to Jack.

"Heya, Jack. Grab a pole. Nothing biting, but its worth the view to try." His brother's soft laugh filled the air around him and he smiled at the memory of it. He sensed rather than watched his brother sit beside him, feet dangling towards the water much like his own. Very soon, a second bobber....a twin to the one at the end of his line...added itself to the slow moving water and for a time, the two men simply sat there in silence.

"Anyone bother to tell you you're dead?" It was as if he was mentioning the weather, the casual tone to his voice only slightly drowning out the sounds of nature surrounding them.

"Yeah, they told me, Dev. Not really what I had planned for the rest of my life, ya know? Still, it isn't all that bad. The fishing's good."

Devon Morghan, AKA Linton Travers, AKA Loltar chuckled. "Don't suppose you've seen Darrak around, eh?" For the first time, he glanced at Jack. Nothing had changed in the older man since his death about six years ago. Still the same leathery tan skin, still the same fine powdering of gray at his temples. Even his silver-flecked sapphire blue eyes were still as clear and impenetrable as when he was alive. Eyes that now showed surprise as they turned to him.

"Darrak's on this side?"

Travers nodded. "Kat got him a year after you died. Stripped him of all his holdings in your name and then completely destroyed his body...or what was left of it. She was followed to Pelvar by several of her friends and combined, they killed him. Course, I had a bit part in the matter, myself. Unfortunately, the ranch was destroyed as well."

The flash of pain at the mention of Kat's name was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared, but Travers knew his brother too well to have missed it. "She nearly killed herself on many occasions. I don't mean by putting the blaster to her head and pulling the trigger......least, I don't *think* she tried that. She took suicide runs....like the trip to Pelvar. She went alone. Left no trace for her friends to follow, or so she thought. There were other times...I'm sure more than I know of. It took her a long time to heal, though I'm sure she's never forgotten you. She still wears the rings you left her."

Jack sighed heavily, but said nothing, so Travers continued. "She's married now. Has 3 kids." Again surprise registered on Jack's face.

"Kat? With kids? You're kidding me! She always swore she hated kids."

"Oh, she still swears it and as long as you aren't watching her with them, you would probably believe it too. She's a good mother, Jack...even if she won't admit to it."

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Kat a mother. I would have never believed it. She's doing well now then, huh?"

It was Travers turn to sigh. "Off and on. She still holds me responsible for your death. I swear she's trying to kill me in all sorts of round about ways. She has her moments."

"Why do you stay with her, Dev? Especially since it seems she hates you so much." Jack cocked his head slightly.

"I promised you a long time ago, Jack, that I would take care of her for you... that I'd watch out for her. Its a promise I did not make lightly."

Jack shook his head in disbelief. "She's married now, Dev. She isn't your responsibility. Get on with your life."

Travers turned away, shrugging slightly. "It is my life, Jack. I run freight for her now on occasion. Now and again, I do some piloting. Things aren't all that bad, really. I mean, what else do I have to do? Besides, she's part of a corporation now. Technically, I work for the corporation, not her."

"Still...isn't there someone out there you'd rather be with?" The dead silence gave him away. "Who is she, Dev? Does she know how you feel about her?"

Turning slightly, he leaned his back against one of the support struts holding the roof over the bridge. "Her name is Kieshon Lowdye. She's a friend's kid sister. I....don't know if she knows...." he left the sentence unfinished as he sighed heavily. "It wouldn't matter anyway. I'm not right for her. She deserves someone better."

Jack shook his head once again, more in sorrow than disbelief. He seemed about to say something, but was interrupted by the rumble of distant thunder. Travers looked up to the sky in surprise only to find black clouds rolling in where once there was blue sky.

"You've gotta go back, Dev. They're not going to let you stay here right now. You've got things to do."

Travers shook his head. "No way, bro. I may not belong here, but I'm not going back. There's nothing back there....nothing that wants me, anyway."

For the first time, Jack took a hold of Travers' arm. "What about Kieshon? What about her brother? They need you. They would mourn for you. Do you want that? Do you want to cause this girl so much pain?"

The sky was getting darker. "She won't mourn for long, Jack. She'll find someone."

Jack was getting angry now. If there was one thing he couldn't stand was self pity and his brother's was seriously trying his nerves....and Travers knew he was treading on dangerous ground. He *wasn't* prepared, however, for the rapid punch to his nose. He never saw it coming and, at first, never knew what hit him. All he felt was the searing pain radiating throughout his face and the blinding white light distorting his vision. Then...there was the most beautiful pair of green eyes before him, crying for him. Copper colored hair brushed against his cheek and the soft lips he had so often dreamed about moving as if saying something to him. And then all was black.

KieshonLowdye posted September 03, 2000 11:03 AM

What the hell had he been thinking? Who was the idiot who had commanded him out on this near suicide mission? Did he think he was getting away from her that easily?

All these questions ran circles around in her head blotting out the hard feelings that had been left behind at her brother's Ranch.

First, there had been the heated argument with Juxtor, her older brother, when she had told him she was heading back to the Vextis.

"He told you to stay here, didn't he? I don't like that he went by himself either, but when Loltar says stay put, he generally means it, sis", had been Jux's main argument, though in truth Kieshon had known that he was as pissed at their long time friend as she was for taking off by himself on this chase after Nelson's killer, which seemed more and more as time passed never to end.

In the end, with her brother's eyes darkened with anger staring after her, Kieshon had boarded the Slayer and prepared for the jump to the space station that would begin the chain of events that would get her eventually to the Vextis.

The Slayer, known as the Green Eyed Lady had no more than settled into the docking bay on the Vextis when Kieshon noted a parcel of hurry happening at the far end of the dock. It looked like they had just completed a recover project, though she’d never noticed such hustle before over what looked to be the most twisted pieces of crap that had ever been pulled from space.

Harshly she was jarred from her regard as the blocks were placed to secure the Slayer before it had even come to rest fully on its landing skids. With a growl she slammed a hand to the hydraulic release that would open the front of the fighter like a huge mouth.

As the jaw dropped Kieshon released the harness’ that crossed over her shoulders, released the strap of the flight helmet and with a shake of her head sent the curtain of copper to fall around her shoulders. Brilliant emerald eyes darkened with anger as she spotted the guilty bay jock. “NEVER block my landing gear until I give you the okay to do so,” she ordered with a growl to the gruff looking jockey.

He was like most when Kieshon got her dander up and backed down a step with his hands raised as he watched her stand. A look of question crossed his blocky visage as she bent and appeared to fiddle with something at about knee height.

Beneath that flight suit who the hell could tell what this woman was up to. It was only for a moment that he considered what all might be beneath that flight suit before he redirected his line of thought as he noticed the look that was being directed at him. This chick looked like she could spit nails if it was necessary, and after playing dodge ball with the irate husband of that barfly from the previous night he didn't really want any further smears to his record on the Vextis. Jobs were hard enough to come by and they were a long way from the main station.

Kieshon watched, counting to ten repeatedly as the guy fell back into his "I'm the man" stance and walked away from her and the Slayer. Her step as always shuffled, she made her way off the small platform that formed the seating arrangement of the Slayer and reached around behind her to a panel on the dropped jaw of her fighter, punching in the code that would secure the Slayer until she returned.

Before she could depart from the Bay she glanced again in the direction of the hustle and bustle. Before she had even started the landing process she had a radio communication for the woman she had meet only once on the Vextis. She had been ordered, though Commander Katrylle Morgahn had insisted it was not such, to present herself immediately once the Slayer was secured. Granted, she was on the woman's turf, but after their last encounter, Kieshon wasn't particularly what you would call "in the frame of mind to take commands".

As she drew toward the edge of the cluster of bay Tech’s something lurched deep in her but, though it wasn’t something that she could specifically put a finger to. What remained of the twisted hulk that had once been a Ceria-12 made it almost unidentifiable. Brilliant green eyes scanned the crushed ship but were drawn inexplicably back to one spot. The conversation of the milled group moved around her but she didn’t hear it as a sick feeling washed over her. The flight helmet that she had still been holding fell from suddenly numb fingers as everything around her seemed to mist over.

“You actually fit in this sardine can?” Kieshion asked with laughter in her voice. “Do they make a shoe horn big enough to force your backside into the pilot’s seat?”

Loltar had brought her into the lock down bay as he gave her the grand tour of the Vextis. “Laugh it up smart ass! Hey, no don’t do that. Shit! You trying to get my ass thrown in the Brig?”

Cramped as the space was there was no way he could get his upper body twisted enough to prevent the pen knife she held from scratching into the side panel. “Kat’s going to have me drawn and quartered, geesh, Kieshion. When you get outta that seat I’m gonna take you over my knees and give you a whoopin…”

Crudely blocked letters were clear against what should have been the interior wall of the crushed hull.

KL was here!

Travers had tried to act all pissy about the scratched claim, but he'd not been able to maintain it for long. That had been what, about five months before, and two month's prior to his chase after the suspected killer of Nelson. Whether he had caught up with the woman or not was unclear, as his last communiqué had stated simply that he was aboard the Vextis.

Kieshon turned sharply, setting herself off balance and right into the nearest Tech. Concern etched the man's face as he looked at the woman. Her face had washed to a sick shade of grey and her eyes gave the impression of a deer frozen in the headlights of an ATV bearing down on it. He reached a hand to steady her, only now recognizing her from the only other time Kieshon had been aboard the Vextis.

"Hey, yer with the Green Eyed Lady, ain'tcha?" His hold to her arm tensed slightly as he felt the tremors that shook through her and radiated outward. "Oh shit, you... ah... ," the man stammered as he remembered that this woman knew the guy who usually piloted the pile of junk near which they stood. And by her reaction, he suspected that she had just found out in the worst possible way that something had happened.

Motioning over one of the members of security, he spoke in a hushed tone to the guy, yet his eyes didn't stray far from Kieshon whose own eyes would not break from the wreck on the platform. "Looks like ya were expected, ma'am," the Tech offered trying to break that brilliant green gaze from it's target. "Ryan Devlin here was sent ta escort ya. He's one of the Security Officers here board the Vextis."

Kieshon nodded, but it was still as though she hadn't heard the man. Hold of her arm was transferred from the Tech to Officer Devlin but she was totally unaware of it until the man gently eased her away from the wreck and turned her in attempt to break her line of visual contact.

"I was sent to bring you to Captain Morgahn. She will meet us at one of the private conference rooms on Deck C" The man barely hid the cringe that surged through him at the look Kieshon gave him.

Her voice was low, but the tone and timber were clear despite the fact the woman looked like she had just visited death. "You will tell me where the pilot of that ship is, and then you will take me there. Commander Morgahn can just wait till I'm ready to see her".

Well, a month in Brig flashed before the man's mental eye. He was not prone to breaking direct orders from any of his superior officers, least of all the one who had given him the command to bring this woman to one of the private conference room. Nor had the awkward gait of this woman escaped him, but he had no doubt that despite whatever disability she might have, he would find himself out cold in an elevator shaft if he didn't escort her to sick bay. That would be after all their objective.

With a sigh Ryan Devlin moved in the direction they needed to go. At least in as direct a path, without chancing running into Commander Morgahn en route.

[This message has been edited by KieshonLowdye (edited February 28, 2001).]

Red Seno posted September 04, 2000 12:29 PM

Red had seen the signs of anguish too many times to stop the young woman from rushing into the medbay. There would have been no reason to stop the girl anyway. Red was of the firm belief that the sick and injured healed faster and better with loved ones around them. So far, there had only been one other to visit either men; Commander Kat.

Kat had spent time with both men, sitting by their beds, softly talking to them as Red had suggested. The young one, Derin Olitay, had regained consciousness on several occasions, but was not yet out of intensive care. The other, Linton Travers, had been in a deep coma since they had brought him in nearly three days ago. Perhaps this young woman would pull him from it.

Red spotted the very nervous security officer just outside the door and smiled. She liked Ryan Devlin...but then, she liked nearly everyone on board. But Ryan was different. He always seemed out of place, causing most women, Red included, to feel as if they should protect and mother him. Devlin blushed when he saw Red's attention was on him and the nurse's smile deepened.

"Did you pull escort duties these days, Ryan?"

Devlin stumbled over his words, himm'ing and haw'ing before finally letting it slip that Commander Kat had sent him to retrieve the woman and escort her to a conference room. It was clearly a command that had been undermined, presumably by the young woman.

Red patted Devlin's arm, a move that made the man blush even darker. "Go tell Commander Kat that I have the woman and I will send her along as soon as she is done with her visit of Commander Travers. It may be a while, however. I would like the young woman to spend some time speaking to him. Perhaps she will be able to bring him closer to the surface of his mind."

Devlin looked green. He had defied a direct order...not by choice, of course..but still, he was now being sent to admit to his commander that the order *had* been defied. In his mind, there would be no excuses for such a blatant disrespect. All these thoughts were like an open book to Red. Not because she was psychic, but simply because she was an excellent nurse. She had spent years reading people...their expressions. This man before her was one of the worse at hiding his thoughts and emotions she had ever seen.

"I'm sure Commander Kat will understand, Ryan. Now go on. She'll be more annoyed if you keep her waiting any longer. I'll watch after the girl."

Without another word, Devlin turned on his heels and quickly made his way down the corridor. Once he had disappeared, Red returned her attention to the young woman, moving quietly up behind her and gently stroking her hair in reassurance.

"Talk to him, girl. He can hear you even if he can't respond. Talk to him."

Katrylle Morgahn posted September 04, 2000 12:42 PM

Kat had been waiting for a while when Ryan Devlin made his appearance in the conference room. An appearance without Kieshon. Kat sighed heavily. She had hoped to break the news to the girl gently. Devlin confirmed that Kieshon had already known about Travers before he had reached her.

Kat was not angry about being disobeyed. Of course Devlin would not be reassured on this matter. He apologized profusely, repeatedly calling her "commander"...which exasperated her more than his appearing in the conference room without Kieshon. Kat was finally able to dismiss the sec officer after several more minutes of apologies.

Leaning back in her chair, she sighed again. She couldn't blame the girl. Kat would have killed anyone who stood between her and Ry if the situation was the same. Kat had proven it once before. The memory....vague as it was...of the Sokie flashed through her mind. She couldn't remember anything of that day apart from the blinding migraine and the fact that Ry would be killed. Those around her told her she had ordered the Vextis to fire on the New Oregon vessel...a vessel who had not been threatening, yet had refused to help create a worm-hole with which Ry could escape impending death.

She flicked her hand as if to physically dash the thoughts from her mind. She would give Kieshon time with Travers before she searched the girl out.

[This message has been edited by Donovan (edited September 06, 2000).]

Ryan Swets posted July 30, 2002 06:15 AM

Something was burning.

In the close confines of the X-wing's cockpit, Ryan was unsure which subsystem was producing the thin haze of blue smoke that drifted lazily on the scant breeze of the ventilation system, but specifics hardly mattered. He doubted the fighter's main reactors would ever be able to restart without an extensive repair and refit, and was assuming the ship could even be made fully spaceworthy again.

To say the X-wing looked like hell would have been an overstatement of generous proportions. Her paint, where it was still visible, had boiled into a gelatinous sludge and gruesome scars marked the greater part of her S-foils and fuselage. One blaster cannon had lost a foot of its barrel and another was missing completely, the victim of a too-close photon torpedo detonation that had perforated the entire starboard flank of the fighter with six-inch holes, several of which continued to leak various fluids like weeping wounds. The situation inside the cockpit was no better, rapidly collecting smoke being one of Ryan's lesser worries. The entire instrument panel was dead, a collection of blank and lifeless multifunction displays. The auxiliary navigation and targeting readouts on the elbow consoles were likewise useless, refusing to switch modes, insisting instead on rapidly cycling through several variations of gibberish. Even as he watched, one of the aux displays flickered and died, accompanied by a faint sizzle. The haze inside the cockpit thickened.

Of the other ships, both friendly and hostile, there was no sign. Ryan had stretched his senses to the limits of his Force sensitivity, searching for any ripples that might suggest a ship at faster than light speeds in the area... so far, not even the faintest flicker had brushed his consciousness. He was preoccupied with his search when the main battery finally died, plunging the cockpit into total darkness.

"Shit." Acting on years of instinct and rote knowledge of his ship, Ryan stretched up to flip the toggle for emergency power. Nothing. Shit. He flipped the toggle back, counted slowly to ten while the circuit recycled, and tried again. Nothing. Shit.

The third try was a charm - a small relay buried deep in the internal workings behind the cockpit began to hum gently, and suddenly the cockpit was illuminated by a faint red glow, made the color of tinctured blood by the lingering haze. The light was enough, however, for Ryan to decide that all of the primary instrumentation was too far cooked to recover short of a complete overhaul.

The flight controls were a different story. Seemingly dead with the negligible current provided by the last minutes of main battery power, the emergency reserves proved enough for a solid if sluggish response. A tiny analog LED display next to the pilot's left elbow told Ryan that enough power remained in the batteries for four hours of flight time at half throttle -- if the stricken fighter could even manage half cruise in its condition -- and minimal life support.

Without guidance, however, the difference between four hours and forty was moot. What began as a decent enough day was beginning to look decidedly bad.

The lone fighter was his salvation. Tracking an oblique course along the same plane as his X-wing, Ryan felt its passing as a distinct tremble through the Force. Logic would suggest that a ship on such a course would be heading for the general area in which he knew the Vextis to be – but any path that led to other folks was better than drifting through space for the next billion years as a frozen corpse. Ryan eased the throttles forward with a soft mumble of encouragement, pleased when the little ship built up momentum and responded to his touch on the stick. The X-wing turned ponderously, then settled in to follow the disturbance as best it could.

If he was lucky, its destination might even be less than four hours away.

Anyone bothering to pay attention to the region of space to starboard and aft of the Vextis might have noticed an odd sight: a single X-wing, battered almost beyond recognition, creeping slowly inbound along the same course taken by the fighter that had arrived several minutes earlier. One might have easily concluded that it had traveled a relatively short distance in trail, fortunately as it were, for it was obvious the small fighter would have simply fallen apart if it were forced to travel much farther. No surprise, then, when the X-wing made a beeline for the docking bay, slipping through the airlock forcefields and out of sight.

He’d obviously caught them at a busy moment. Techs swarmed over the hangar bay deck, surrounding several recent arrivals. Most of them were almost as bad off as his X-wing, and there were two that were obviously worse. One, a fighter rendered unrecognizable by horrendous combat damage, was nothing more than a mangled cockpit. Ryan winced as he manually undogged his cockpit and pushed the scarred canopy slowly upwards – he obviously owed several pilots a great deal. If they were still around to be grateful to.

"Hey!" Ryan gestured to one of the ‘techs who had come to watch with a good deal of confusion when he arrived unannounced. "Where’s Kat?"

The man shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously caught off guard by the blunt interrogation. “Kat? You mean, uhm, Commander Morghan? I, ah, I don’t know... maybe I should call Security and have them escort you t... hey! Where are you going? Strangers aren’t allowed in there!”

Ryan was already halfway through the doors to the turbolift.

"Don’t worry. I’m not quite a stranger... I’ll find her myself."

Whatever the ‘tech said in response was cut short when the doors snapped shut and the turbolift began ascending for the main decks.

Ryan had covered most of the ship, making detours whenever a roaming crewmember or security guard got too near, with no luck. He was going to try the conference room when he stumbled upon the sickbay. All conversation in the room died as he entered, the bright orange of his heavily carbon-scored flightsuit being a dead giveaway that he was not from around these parts, but his attention was immediately drawn to the figure in the center bed.

"Travers? Holy shit."

Katrylle Morgahn posted August 11, 2002 12:49 PM

She had been silently leaning against the furthest corner of the med-bay watching Dante and crew franticly working on keeping Travers and Olitay alive. It didn't look good. Although her face remained expressionless, the constant tapping of a single finger against her arm expressed the worry she had for the two men's survival. Although she hadn't known Olitay, she had become use to Travers...almost to the point of actually liking him, though she would never forgive him for what she believed was his part in Jack's death.

She had seen Ryan enter, though he obviously hadn't seen her. Had his outburst, she softly called him to her and explained the entire distorted mess.

Red Seno posted August 11, 2002 01:11 PM

... All The Kings Horsemen ...

~ ~ ~ Derin Olitay was a lucky son of bitch. At least, that's what people said.

~ ~ ~ The entire rear end of his fighter exploded, leaving his body riddled with shrapnel. His heart, lungs, liver, stomach, left kidney, and eye took damage from flying pieces of hot metal, plastic, and glass. Needless to say his internal bleeding was bad, but then that's just the beginning. Every bone in his body was either fractured, broken, or shattered except for his right big toe, both thumbs and nose. He also had burns which covered a bit more than 70% of his body along with various bruises, scrapes, cuts, and gashes. If that wasn't enough, apparently, just before the exploding fighter sent its shrapnel to Swiss cheese and collapse his lungs, Derin, managed to breath in some super heated smoke and cook himself from the inside. His mouth, tongue, and esophagus were pretty much BBQ’d. But, along with having shredded lungs, a leaky heart, bleeding stomach, failed kidney, bad liver, missing eye, broken bones and a burned body inside and out, he had a will to live.

~ ~ ~ Technology. It has taken people further than most could have ever imagined. It has made things better, and worse. In the field of medicine it's grown in leaps and bounds but one thing has always remained the same. Nurses and Doctors still, with all their technology, don't heal people. Since the beginning all they've been able to do is help the body heal itself. Sure a dermal regenerator looks like it mends a cut like magic, but all it does is stimulate, increase, and accelerate cellular reproduction so the body can do what it does at a faster pace. But what do you do when the body needs more help then technology can provide? That was the question on the lips of four of the best doctors, though that was a matter of opinion, in the sector. Dante, Kerln, Boch'la, and Nasa had been planning, practicing, and preparing for the past three days. Derin was headed for a series of complicated surgeries. His body, and will, were slotted to be put to the test.

~ ~ ~ The doctors first day together had been spent arguing. Though somehow, through the bickering of too many chefs, a plan of action was mapped out. They managed to agree on what procedures should be done first, second, third, ect. They came together on how each procedure would be approached and who would lead which one. The second day for the doctors had been spent in the holodeck, practicing the surgeries on a holo-Derin. They went through it four times. The holo-Derin survived once.

~ ~ ~ On the third day the doctors spent the morning preparing themselves. That after noon they gathered in Dante's office in order to go through it all one last time.

~ ~ ~ Red spent the morning at Derin's bedside talking to him. A complete waste of time in most peoples view. He was deeply unconscious and even if he weren't he still wouldn't have been able to hear her considering his eardrums were blown out in the fighter blast. But to Red none of that mattered. There was more to communication than sound, sight, or even consciousness. It went deeper then that and he may not be able to hear her words, but she was sure he could feel them. He was trapped within his body and some where, some how, he had to be reaching out and trying to break through the barriers of his injuries. Her presence might be what he needs. A beacon light in a dark ocean. Sure, people laughed at her sentiment. Her sappiness. But so what? She loves what she does, she feels it really helps, and in the end, that's all that matters.

~ ~ ~ Later on, when the troop of doctors began filtering in from their quarters, Red went about preparing the surgery room. She was nearly done when a soft shaky voice drew her attention and pulled her out of the room. Standing there, accompanied by one of Vextis guards, was an old woman. The woman stepped further into the med-bay tentatively, as though the floor, and the world, were made of glass. She moved as though one false step would shatter the universe around her, as if any second her world would end. And that's exactly how she felt. Red's eyes softened in their usual way and she smiled, her voice taking on a reassuring, almost motherly tone as she moved toward the older woman.

"Hello Ms. Olitay."

Katrylle Morgahn posted September 28, 2002 11:53 AM

The hard wooden chair perched precariously on two of its four scarred wooden legs, the back resting firmly against a wall. Three inch stiletto heels clung to a cross brace, one foot in constant but slight motion relaying either impatience or nervousness.

She had been there for hours, mentally marking each passing second with the persistent beeping of the machines monitoring the vitals of the two injured men. She didn't blame herself...not for their injuries at least. They had been doing their jobs...noting more, nothing less. Still, there was guilt. She had never forgiven Travers...no, Devon...Devon Morgahn was his true name...a name which may might decorate a headstone in the near future. She tried to shake the thought from her mind, but only succeeded in pushing it to the back.

She had never forgiven Devon for being unable to save his brother Jack. She had known nearly from the moment she had discovered his true identity that there had been nothing he could have done to stop the ambush that day. Still, she could not let herself stop the misguided blame that constantly erupted in her every time he was within view.

The kid was a different story. Shit, even now she could only think of him as “the Kid”. She couldn’t remember his name. She had seen him a few times in the launch bay. She knew he was a pilot, but that had been all. Red had mentioned earlier that the Kid’s mother had been in to visit him, and secretly, Kat was relieved she had been busy debriefing the other pilots. She had never been good with grieving mothers.

Olitay. Derin Olitay. The name came to her suddenly.

She sighed heavily as she unhooked her heels from the chair and shifted her weight enough to let the levitated front legs drop heavily to the floor. Instead of standing, however, she simply propped her elbows on her thighs and rested her face in her hands. Only the heavy sounds of boots stepping through the door brought her from this position.

“Anna change?” Her single eyed gaze drifted to the t-shirt covering the massive chest under the lab coat. Surprisingly, there was no witty slogan emblazoned where normally there would be.

“You’ve been here a while, Kat. Take a break. Get sssome ressst. They aren’t going anywhere for a little while yet.” Dante tried his best soothing smile, but with two-inch sharp teeth in his great crocodile-like maw, he failed miserably. Still, she understood the intention.

“No. I want t’b’here when they wake up….if they wake up.” The last was said at almost a whisper.

“I’ll call you. You need sssleep, Kat or you won’t be any good to anyone.”

“I willnae b’ana good t’anaone r’gardless, M’friend…No until they’re back.” She punctuated her words with a nod towards Travers and Olitay.

Dante knew it was fruitless to argue with her when her mind was set on something so he simply turned to Travers and began making notes on the man’s chart.

“Y’know he ain’t gonna wanna b’borg, right? T’much like Darrak.” Dante had known a small bit of history between his patient and the woman behind him, but Darrak was a new one.

“Darrak? No one I know, Kat.” He continued to modify the file before him as he waited for her answer.

“He ain’t gonna wanna be like Darrak.” Dante glanced over his shoulder at her. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts and he wondered if she even knew she spoke aloud.

“Kat. He’ll make that decsssion when he wakesss.”

Her single eye’d gaze focused on the doctor in a moment of confusion before realization set it. “Yeah. He’ll make the decision. How much longer he gonna b’down, Dante? How much longer will they both b’ down?”

Dante returned to the PAD before him. “I can’t anssswer that, Kat. They will be back when they return. I can tell you that thingsss are looking better. They’re getting ssstronger every day.”

The heavy sigh told him that she had heard the meaning behind his words. They may not ever come back. The injuries had been extensive. He heard the thump of the back of the chair against the wall as she once again resumed the position she had been in for the past several hours. He simply turned to the other man and began his hourly update of the chart.

Chomja Kajat posted November 16, 2002 09:21 AM

Life in the cavernous docking bays of the Vextis went on, Jim observed. As if there was any choice. They were more like a busy spaceport than any starship shuttle bay he had ever seen. There were fighter patrols on regular shifts, private shuttles that seemed to come and go as they pleased, and cargo ships that ferried supplies picked up at local systems Vextis didn't have time to stop at. It didn't slow down much, even when the ship was at warp.

Vextis genuinely was a mobile city, with a city’s needs. Those needs were enhanced by the fact that the ship’s chef didn't approve of replicators. Jim hadn't looked at any supply manifests, but if he had to guess, he’d say about three tons of flour, ten thousand eggs, three thousand gallons of milk, and four thousand chickens had been delivered this morning. That was a little more than yesterday. And that was just this bay. There were others.

The ‘Fang occupied a small chunk of the bay and had for the last five days. She was in need of some minor but critical repairs and the big guy had stubbornly refused to let one of Vextis’ techs do the work.

“Wrarrharhh!” There was a clank from below. Jim chuckled to himself. Chomja was trying to do the work himself because Jim wasn’t in any shape to do it.

He rolled on one elbow and pushed himself to his feet. Somehow he managed to do it without falling off the top of the ship. He walked over to the open hatch and yelled down, “You doing okay, buddy?”

The responding growl was all the answer he needed.

“I ask because I’m heading back into that hellhole the locals call ‘The Inferno’ again. I won’t be able to offer any pointers till I get back.”

“Wroarh? Aarrarhhhwor?”

“I told you, twice a day. Doctor’s orders.” He held his bandaged hands in view of the open hatch as if to remind the wookiee why he wasn’t doing the work himself and then walked off, chuckling at the frustrated yowling that followed him. Sure, he was teasing the wookiee, but Lord knows, Chomja was quick enough to do the same thing when it was Jim doing the work.

He slid down the ladder to the bay floor using his ankles and his elbows on the steel handrails and was fortunate not to go sprawling when he hit the floor.

Twice a day for an hour at a time in a tissue regenerator was his reward for saving the lives of those two pilots. He had third degree burns down to the bone on both his palms. Well, it wasn’t all bad. The pretty nurse who covered his sessions had never failed to heap praise on him for his heroics. And she was a redhead. Wraouarhh!

He blinked in surprise at himself. Maybe he was spending too much time with Chomja. He was starting to think in Wookiee. 