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Old December 21 2012, 07:52 PM   #90
DarKush
Rear Admiral
 
Re: UT: Refugee Crisis/Dark Territory-"Stealing Fire"

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USS Erickson
Armory

Vorvi slapped the Osaarian plasma charge on the door, thumbed its activation button, and ran around the corridor. Joining Nolun and the others, he covered his ears and closed his eyes as an intense flash and terrible rattling filled the corridor. Nostrils twitching from the acrid smell of scalded metal and burned plastic, Vorvi led his party back into the corridor, toward the room. For him this was the true treasure aboard the ship. He didn’t care about hostages or slaves, but access to Starfleet weaponry would make Burning Claw one of the most fearsome pirates around.

The boarding party gasped with childish delight as they ran their fingers across the assortment of phaser pistols, compression rifles, and Starfleet issue plasma charges, stuffing as many as the could into the large sacks hanging from their sides.

“Hurry, hurry,” Nolun said, “We must return these to Burning Claw so that we can return to procure more bounty.”

“Such as?” Bargan, a pallid Ornaran, asked, as he continued stuffing power cells into his already bulging bag. Vorvi would be surprised if they just didn’t have to beam the man directly from the armory instead of the agreed exit point. “This here alone, should net me, I mean, us plenty felicium.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I get me a replicator,” huffed Grisso, the Tellarite being as thickset as Bargan was gaunt. “I’m tired of our malfunctioning one.”

“Do you have any idea how long it would take to uproot one of those things?” Chided Rothal, a surly bearded, red Orion. “Do you really think that this crew isn’t going to rally or restore this ship’s power soon?”

“Sindull has taken over Engineering by now, we control this vessel,” Bargan shot back. “Hells, we should just take this ship and leave the Starfleet crew on Burning Claw.”

“They can’t all fit on Burning Claw,” Grisso loudly snorted.

Bargan chuckled, “I know,” he replied. “It would be fun spacing excess crew members. Would insure compliance.”

The Tellarite grunted, “I got to admit, that does make sense, and sounds like great entertainment.”

“Shut up you two!” Vorvi snapped, “Let’s go.”

“Well, look at this?” The hulking Ktarian Najok came from the back of the room, his sack empty, but the man held two stylized duty uniforms in his hands.

“What is that?” Nolun asked.

“Some kind of armor, very high-tech,” Najok said, his eyes gleaming with avarice even in the wan lighting.

“How many more are there?” Bargan asked, his hands twitching.

“A whole locker full,” Najok said. “These are probably worth more than all of the bounty we’ve seized thus far.”

“Let’s get them then,” Vorvi ordered the others.

“Stop where you are,” a voice bellowed from out in the hall. The pirates turned slowly to see a lithe Farian standing in the doorway, his compression rifle aimed and ready. “Drop everything and put your hands up.”

Nolun’s laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “You can’t take us all.”

“Perhaps not,” the dark haired man said, cocking his head to the side. “But my friend Lott here, that’s another story.”

A strapping Bolian stepped into view, a large, multi-barreled weapon hanging from his shoulder.

“Frinx!” Bargan said, dumping his bag as his hands went up. Most of the others followed suit. Except for Vorvi and Nolun. Both Venturi dropped their bags, but grabbed their weapons. They aimed them at the Starfleet officers.

“What are you doing?” Grisso cried at his compatriots.

“Shut up coward,” Nolun barked, “If we were back aboard Burning Claw I would space the lot of you for giving up.”

“That’s right,” Vovri said, his finger curling around the trigger of his Vendikan sonic disruptor. He glared at the Starfleeters, seeking to find their fear, but he found only resolve. Despite that, he still boasted, “It looks like it’s a standoff.”

“No, it’s not,” the Bolian declared before he angled his monstrous weapon and unleashed its fury.
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The Burning Claw
Laboratory

Once Lt. Ramlo gained access to the main computer, he sealed the doors to the lab, and placed a forcefield around them. Feeling secure, he pounded in more commands, his speed slowed because he could only type on the archaic console with one hand.

“Here goes the shields,” he said, deactivating the cruiser’s main defense. “Now, the weapons,” he said, almost gleeful to switch off the ship’s offensive systems. Now the ship was prostrate before the Erickson.

He next took over the ship’s propulsion systems, locking out access from the scow’s engineer. “Now, time to talk to the bridge,” he muttered.
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