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Old December 21 2012, 03:55 AM   #89
DarKush
Rear Admiral
 
Re: UT: Refugee Crisis/Dark Territory-"Stealing Fire"

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USS Erickson
Main Bridge

Lt. Commander Norrbom groaned in pain as the beam was lifted off her. Commander Donar bent down, his eyes roving her body, checking for injuries. “Commander Norrbom, can you move?” Besides a fine scarlet scar running across his face, the man appeared none the worse for wear. Now, she on the other hand…

Helen tested her limbs, grimacing with each movement. “Yeah,” she said after few seconds. “Brace yourself,” the Angosian said, grabbing the woman with surprising tenderness. He stood her up, and when her legs started to buckle, held her firm.

“I’m okay,” she said after too long a period. Helen pushed off from him. He steadied her after her body became wracked with coughs due to the thick smoke on the bridge. “The captain?” She asked, searching the dim bridge. The emergency lighting was veiled by smoke. Even the main viewer was opaque. The fires spread across the bridge provided the most light.

The operations officer halfway didn’t want the few bridge crew on their feet to put them out. Though she saw a harried Lt. French ably doing his best with a fire extinguisher. “The captain?” She asked again, scouring the bridge, before looking squarely at Tai.

The man’s broad chest constricted. He looked away. “Oh no,” Helen gasped. “No.” She saw a pile of wreckage entombing the captain’s chair.

“Commander,” Donar touched the woman’s shoulder. “The captain…is not dead.” He said.

“Oh thank God, where is she?”

“She is propped by her chair,” Donar said. “From what I can tell she’s suffering severe internal bleeding. I don’t know how much time she has.”

“Beam her to sickbay,” she snapped, just remembering to leave off, “You idiot.”

“Shipboard communications are down, almost everything else is down as well,” Donar said, “And the ship and the rest of the crew must be my prime concern.”

“Like hell,” Helen said, limping past the man. She would take the captain to Sickbay herself, even if she had to limp all the way. His hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder, and this time not so gently.

“Your first duty is to this ship as well,” Tai’s voice was like steel. “I’m assuming command and you are now the first officer.”

The woman swallowed her anger. “What are your orders,” she gritted her teeth, forcing out the words, “Captain?”

“Getting this ship’s systems back online, and finding out where that pirate vessel is, and being prepared for what they are going to do next,” he said. “Then we’ll see about Captain Redfeather, I promise.”

Norrbom wanted to argue, but she knew that the man’s logic was sound, and she suspected that Wyoma would be disappointed in her if she bucked the man’s orders.

“Can you walk unaided?” The Angosian asked.

“I think so,” she said, favoring her right leg. “I can hop just fine.”

“Good,” he nodded, “Find an operational console and do what you can to get shipboard communications back. We need to get in touch with Engineering to check the status of warp containment and main power.”

“Got it,” She said, using the consoles to steady herself as she hopped in search of a working console. “Found one,” she said, a bit too relief, because she took in more smoke-filled air. Bending over hacking, her eyes watering, Helen was completely defenseless as several red beams of light whined into existence on the bridge.

“What in the nine hells?” Donar gasped. Norrbom jerked up, surprised to hear fear in the Angosian’s voice. A tall, muscular dark skinned woman faced him, holding a disruptor dead at his chest.

“Funny meeting you here husband,” the woman smirked.
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The Burning Claw
Laboratory

Lt. Ramlo refused to cry. Mavaar bit down hard into the stump where his hand used to be, drawing blood. Fueled by pain as much as anger he pushed forward, ramming the woman into the wall. She let go, along with a gush of air and a spray of blood, his blood flying from her mouth.

He punched her repeatedly with the stump, howling in rage and pain each time it connected with her face. Feeling the woman slacken beneath him, he slid the stump under her throat, pressing hard against it while he continued to whale on her with his good hand. Guided by Shashlik’s demanding voice, the Arkenite continued driving his fist into the woman’s face, ignoring the cracking of his knuckles or the blood running between his fingers.

Feral, her survival instinct activating, Mavaar began kicking at his knees and shins, while her fingers raked into his face, drawing blood, ripping skin. But still Ramlo held on, drawing on adrenaline and his formidable strength.

Despite the Nuvian’s prowess, Arkenites were gifted with a natural strength, and coupled with the fighting techniques Shash had taught him, the woman stood no chance. A small part of him hated what he was doing to the woman, demolishing her face as his forearm found her carotid artery.

Desperate, Mavaar released a cascade of pheromones, creating a fog so heady that it made Ramlo’s head spin. He released his hold on her, stumbling backward, trying to clear the air with both hands.

Grinning savagely, moving with feline grace, the woman pounced. She went for his eyes, her fingers digging into one. Ramlo yowled, smacking her hand away, the wild gesture smacking her face. Mavaar fell away from him. The Arkenite’s tears were mixed with blood. Glaring at her with one eye, he approached her.

Mavaar circled him, her beautiful throat bruised from his forearm, her hair askew; the beautiful façade she had constructed had fallen away. “I’m going to kill you,” she said, through ragged gasps of breath, her whole body heaving, “I don’t care whether you figure out the device or not. And if Nadeen has a problem with that, that’s her issue.” On the edge of his vision, Ramlo caught the tip of the device behind him, pointed like a dagger at his back. The Nuvian had carefully maneuvered him into a bad position.

“If you thought I was going to help you, you’re not a complete accessory,” he said, hoping he found the right insult. The woman snarled and lunged at him. Ramlo nodded with brief satisfaction that he had found a sore spot.

Unlike what she wanted, he didn’t jump backward and spear himself on the device. He moved to the side and allowed her momentum to thrust her past him. With a sharp elbow to her back, he assisted in driving the woman into and through the tip of the crystalline device.

Mavaar sighed, gurgling blood as her body twitched spasmodically, pinioned to the device. The Arkenite flinched at the awful wet sound of sliced through flesh.

Ramlo spent little time admiring, or regretting his handiwork. Hopped on adrenaline, he rushed to a computer console and accessed the ship’s main computer. The Arkenite shook his head, not completely surprised by the pirates’ lack of security protocols guarding their central computer. What corsair would expect an attack coming from inside their ship, through their circuitry? “Well, they are about to find out,” he muttered.
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