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Old November 25 2012, 11:00 PM   #70
Rear Admiral
Re: UT: Refugee Crisis/Dark Territory-"Stealing Fire"

Always good to hear your comments CeJay. Yeah, Kittles did have heart, but she was a bit too overambitious. As for our prisoners, the suffering has just begun.

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USS Erickson
Captain’s Ready Room
Lt. Commander Norrbom barreled into the captain’s office. She pulled up right before ramming Wyoma’s desk. Breathing heavily, her voice ragged, her bangs askew, the red-faced woman said, “Captain, you’re going to want to hear this!”
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USS Erickson
Main Bridge

Captain Redfeather stood behind Norrbom, looking over her shoulder. One hand was behind her back, the other tapped her chin as she listened to the message again. A tense Commander Donar stood to the side. Wyoma still couldn’t believe it. Ensign Kittles was still alive, or at least she had been long enough to give them exactly what they needed, the location of the bastards who had started all this trouble.

Wyoma knew in her marrow that apprehending them would get her one step closer to securing the regulator.

She turned slightly, regarding the big Angosian. He nodded tersely, the lines etched into his face deepening. Without even being told, he ordered the helm to alter course. Wyoma nodded with satisfaction before squeezing Norrbom’s shoulder. “Good work Helen.” She faced the main viewer, her breath catching as the stars started to streak by. Beyond the dashes of starlight was a gathering storm of chaotic space, made more so by the release of the polaric ion energy. “Mr. French, make sure not to drive us into one of those spatial ruptures will you.”

“Do my best ma’am,” he swiveled around, to grace her with one of his devilish grins.

“Eyes forward Mr. French,” Lt. Jilicia said, stealing the words from the captain’s mouth. The helmsman looked wounded, for all of a second, before his smile broke through again. But he did turn back around to face his console. The captain looked, with some surprise, at the usually quiet Boslic. The woman blushed, her cheeks a slight shade of purple.

“Lt. Jilicia, I couldn’t have said it better myself,” she remarked, punctuating the statement with a laugh.
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The Burning Claw
Cargo Bay

The bay doors closed with a loud clang. Shashlik felt eyes on her back, and she was certain disruptors were aimed there too. Fighting her instincts, she didn’t turn around. She detached the seal of her helmet instead, gulping in the cold, fresh air. “Don’t make another move,” Gedrik commanded.

Shashlik bit back a retort. She couldn’t wait to have her hands around his head. She would crush it like a melon. Beside her she saw Nadeen flinch. “What did you do?” The woman asked.

Ignoring his warning, the Kaylar turned around. The surprise, and reproach, in the other woman’s voice drew her like a magnet.

“No,” she snarled; anguish robbing her speech, as she saw Ramlo, being propped up by two burly pink-skinned Venturi. Her eyes scoured every inch of him, his rubber legs, his pallid complexion, the dull green of his eyes, before alighting on what had prompted Nadeen’s question. His left hand was missing. It it’s place a mauled stump, being attended to by a scowling Tandaran medic.

Reading her expression, Gedrik waved his disruptor. “Don’t worry Kaylar, our good scientist will recover. He just had to be taught a lesson. Now that it has been learned, we can…”

The roar that ripped from Shashlik’s lips even frightened her. But it didn’t slow her down. Despite the weight and bulkiness of the suit, she charged the still talking gray Venturi. She threw herself at him.

The man stopped with a start, blinking profusely as realization dawned. He aimed his gun at her, but for him it was too late. Leading with a shoulder, she crashed into him, pleased to hear the satisfying crunch of bone and the wet sound of emerging blood. Her hands wrapped around the man’s spindly throat while she straddled him.

Shashlik began pounding his head onto the deck plate. Unable to get a shot on her, he feebly began hitting her shoulders and then the back of her head with the all but useless disruptor.

His blows lessened in severity and then frequency, his body began to go limp. Though Shashlik could puncture his throat with her gloved fingers, the Kaylar had another idea in mind. Seizing both sides of his head, she began to squeeze, prompting another round of wheezing gasping cries from the man.

Shashlik felt the bone starting to give way and she threw her head back in triumph, finally pleased to release her pent up rage. She heard the whistle and barely caught the blur as it descended down at her, neatly removing her head from the rest of her body.

There was a sting of pain and then the world swirled around her, as blood and life sprayed from her severed neck. And then she bounced against the deck. Before the darkness smothered her, Shashlik saw a grim Nadeen standing above, a circular, bladed weapon in one hand. It dripped her blood, her life.

She tried to reach out, but her hands wouldn’t respond. She tried to speak, to call Ramlo’s name. But there was no answer. She tried again, but her lips wouldn’t work, her lips had gone numb, her tongue swollen. She closed her eyes, to concentrate on making her lips move again, to let Ramlo know that she was his last thought. Shashlik never opened her eyes again.
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