Week 14 Summary (September 9-15, 2002)

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Gunther had settled down for a short while in his quarters, but his heated challenge with Private Cyan in the mess left him restless. Why do all the sexy ones have to be such hotheads, he thought to himself as he rapped his fingers the desk in his quarters. He smiled. Of course, Miss Young is an exception to that rule. He sighed, looking at his watch. Still, what to do? I can't sleep. He snapped his fingers as it dawned on him. He had heard from another pilot that Dee Dee was working out in the gym. Perhaps, that wasn't such a bad idea. He could check on Dee Dee and work off the adrenaline jitters. Donning on his workout suit, he set out to the gym, hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone unpleasant.

The pilot made his way aft to the room in the rotator collar that allowed the Fierce's crew to pass from the main hull to the arms that led to each of the two habitats. Riding the habitat lift down to the gymnasium, Gunther smiled when the elevator doors opened to reveal Private Young, dressed in workout clothes of her own, looking at her feet. When she looked up and met Gunther's eyes, she jumped slightly, then caught herself and sniffed as though she wasn't at all surprised by his appearance.

"Excuse me, sir," the young mechanic said coolly, brushing past the Lieutenant to get onto the lift.

Moving to aside and blocking the sensor on the lift door, Gunther responded, "Hello, Private Young. You just finish your workout?"

Young looked at the officer above her glasses as she touched the controls of the lift, selecting a deck. "Yes, sir," she answered evenly, perhaps a hint of an edge in her voice.

Gunther sensed something, and his perception rarely failed him. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but he instinctively stepped away from the door sensor and back into the elevator, letting the door slide shut behind him. "Excuse me, I don't mean to pry, but is everything all right, Maribelle? You seem like something has you on edge."

Young looked down at the elevator's controls, nodding but avoiding the man's gaze. "Yes sir," she said quietly. "Everything is fine." When she looked up again there was flint in her eyes. Was she angry with Gunther for something? "Can I hit a deck for you, sir?" she asked.

"No, that's OK," Gunther acknowledged, putting on a concerned look. "I was going to the gym myself, but you looked like you were troubled. I wanted to help if I could."

Young's body language stiffened slightly as the lift began to move. "I don't need any help, sir, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about."

Feeling awkward, Gunther nodded. "That's good." He looked at the deck level display to check the floor they were passing, then looked back at the Young. "By the way, it's been pretty hectic around here lately. I doubt we'll get a chance to have the picnic on the observation deck that we talked about till after this Hanson Sled crisis is over. You still up for that?"

"Um, no, sir, I don't think so. I've... got some double shifts coming up. And I've got..." Young paused awkwardly, obviously searching for an excuse, "a lot of other stuff going on right now."

Flustered at Young's cold response and awkward excuses, Gunther decided to just lay it out straight. "You know, if you don't want to go on an outing with me, you just have to say no. I mean, I'd be disappointed, but I get turned down a lot when I ask a woman on a date. Is that it?"

Young looked at the lieutenant and bit back a retort of some kind. Red-faced, she finally said, "Yes sir, that's precisely it, sir."

The lift stopped at her deck, and when the doors opened the private moved out of the elevator without looking again at the confused pilot.

As the door slowly closed, Gunther called out after Private Young. "But why?" However, the doors then shut, and he was descending back toward the gym. That was really weird, Gunther thought to himself. Did I overplay my hand with her? Gunther pondered about this till the elevator finally stopped back at the correct level. Moving out of the lift toward the gym, Gunther shook his head. Women, just when you think you've got them figured out, they surprise you. A smirked grin creased his face. I guess that's why I can't get enough of them. Opening the door into the gym, Gunther entered the training room, letting the door slide closed behind him.

"Arianna, wait up!" Private Epsilon called out, seeing the young helmsman in the corridor ahead of her. Catching up, the lively gunner socked the other girl in the arm. "Hey, what's this I hear about you and Lieutenant Gunther?! Some kind of bet? He's a real lady-killer, from what I hear. He's a cutie, but didn't you already have your sights sort of set on Corporal Montreal?" Lana smiled wickedly. "Maybe they'll fight over you!"

Arianna sighed heavily, rubbing her arm where she had just been hit.

"I don't have my sights set on anyone!" she protested. "But Lieutenant Gunther does need his ego kicked into place, if that's what you mean. How did you hear about that? It just happened!"

"Small ship," Epsilon said with a bounce of her eyebrows, "word travels fast. Corporal Orr says he saw the whoooole thing, that you like totally went off. I wish I could have seen it!"

"There wasn't much to see," Arianna replied. "We just had a polite conversation about the merits of piloting capital ships over piloting lancers. It really wasn't a big deal. It's just that... well, that damn Lieutenant Gunther needs his ego adjusted."

She stopped talking, sure that her brow was more furrowed and intense than she intended, and then said, "What can I do for you Epsilon?"

Lana shrugged her slim shoulders. "I dunno -- I guess I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out. Everyone's really tense about the marines being over on the sled, and I was thinking maybe we could do something to release some tension."

"I've heard rumors about how some of the people on this ship release tension," Arianna replied, raising an eyebrow. "Just what did you have in mind, Lana?"

"Like... how about watching a trideo? Or we could work out together." Glancing up at Cyan's hair, Epsilon added, "Or maybe you'd let me experiment with your hair..."

"Experiment with my hair? What's wrong with it?"

"Oh you know. Same old same old. You'd look better with long hair, but it not like I can help you in that department. But I could style it for you, maybe add a little color. I've been thinking of going green, myself." Epsilon glowed when she realized that maybe Cyan was actually considering the notion. "Did you want to do that, then?" she asked excitedly, a slight squeak in her voice.

Arianna struggled to find some kind of out. If anyone had been passing by, she probably would have resembled a cornered animal.

"I can't," she stammered, remembering the tasks still ahead of her. "I'm kind of on call, so I can't really get too involved in anything right now. Besides, with the micro-grav, styling hair can't be very practical."

Epsilon made a face. "Oh jeeze, Arianna -- live a little. It's no biggie that you're on call. It'll take all of about an hour, tops, and if the call comes while we're in the middle of things it's not like you won't be able to pick up and go."

"Ummm... I guess," Arianna said, wrinkling her nose. She didn't necessarily want to put her trust in Epsilon, but after her verbal battle with Gunther, she was almost completely out of fight. "What did you have in mind?"

"So," Dr. Gilmour began with a slight smirk as she got her patient settled into a bed, "tell me about your film career, Mr. Valkurie. Word around the ship is that you've starred in a trideo or two. That true?"

Vice smiled at the doctor's comments. "It never ceases to amaze me at how fast stories travel on a space ship." He shuffled a deck of cards that he had acquired. They were for physical therapy, he had convinced an attendant, but mostly they served to use up some of the restless energy that he had stored up resting in the healing gel. "I was in a trid called Hammerhead 7, your generic exo-pilot action flick. The producers wanted the trid to be as authentic as possible, so they used us pilots from the Dauntless to film the exo battles. Some of us were given small speaking parts to play on-screen. And one trideo is hardly a career, although I did get the impression that it could be if I decided to pursue it seriously."

"So why are you still in the JAF -- isn't there much more money to be made in the trideo industry?"

Vice shuffled the cards again. "It might sound silly but there are some things more important than money in life. It might be something to consider for the future but for now I must follow this path, at least for a little while longer." He pulled off the top card. The four of clubs. It was supposed to be the Queen of Diamonds. "I think that I would be a shoo-in for the wounded soldier roles," he added with a wink.

"You were pretty close to being able to play the leading role in a funeral scene, if you know what I mean," Gilmour joked as she hooked up the man's IV.

"This is true," Vice winced as the IV pierce his skin. Even after having been wired up in the gel tank, it still bothered him. "It wouldn't have been a very good scene either, not dramatic enough. I will have to chose my death scene a little more carefully in the future," Vice joked. "Nothing quite as painful mind you, but something where I get to give a long speech, finally professing my love for the woman of my dreams, inspiring that one lone pilot to do better and maybe... no, definitely get one last memorable jab in at my rival."

Valkurie fell silent for a moment. "To be honest I was really more angry that I had been taken out of the fight by the nuke. I've never been shot down, and although that didn't quite count it still felt the same. I don't think that you have much to worry about, Doctor. I've done the shot down bit and it wasn't a role for me."

Gilmour smiled and began entering information into Valkurie's datachart.

"I'm surprised the JAF allowed the pilots of the Dauntless to participate in something like that," Gilding said skeptically from the next bed over.

"What are you saying?" Valkurie asked, raising an eyebrow in her direction. "You don't think that the military would use trids to make themselves look good? It may have been disguised as a gesture of good will by the military to assist with the filming, but I am sure that there was an ulterior motive. The JAF was probably hoping for an increase in recruitment. It wouldn't be the first time that some young buck or doe signed up for the service because they wanted to be like the hero in a trid. Speaking of which, what were your reasons for signing up?"

Gilding raised her chin slightly, defiantly. "I had showed great aptitude for piloting linear frame vehicles... and I wanted to serve the Confederation as best I could. I think that we're going to have to deal with CEGA once and for all here in the next few years, and I want to be there for it. I've had enough of Earther-arrogance. We built our society from nothing, from a few derelict space stations without their help. We certainly don't need it now."

"I wouldn't have figured you for a Hawk," Vice said as he took in the look on her face. "Not that I'm surprised." He fanned out the deck of cards with a smooth spin of his palm and offered them to Gilding. "Pick a card. Let me ask you something, if I may. How much action have you seen? Have you met CEGA in battle? The reason that I am asking is that I have heard many talk of having to face off against CEGA or whoever the enemy-de-jour is, but it is all just the talk of youth. Verbal Hawks who slink away as disinterested Doves when it comes time to back up their words."

Fire lit in Gilding's eyes and her jaw clenched. Dr. Gilmour thought for a moment that the pilot was going to come out of her bed after the man, but instead acid dripped from her words as she said, "Lieutenant, are you calling me a coward?"

Vice studied the expression on Gilding's face for a moment. He had heard about Gilding from the other pilots and had wanted to find out if what they had said about her was true. For someone with a reputation for remaining cold and aloof, the idea of her being a coward had really set her off. So that's what you lose your 'Cool' over, he thought as he palmed the cards back into the deck. "My apologies. I didn't mean to cast a shadow on your intentions or to imply that you were a coward," Vice stated. "I was curious about your battle experience."

"Let me make amends for my unintended slight to your honor," Vice added with a smile. He turned to Doctor Gilmour with a flourish. "Doctor. A flagon of your finest non-alcoholic, low-carb, sterilized, good-for-you-yet-flavorful drink for Ms. Gilding. Put it on my tab."

"Yeah... I'm... perfectly... fine," the small redhead next to Everett Gunther proclaimed. Red-faced and huffing, Dee Dee was wearing a light harness that simulated enough gravity for her to run on a treadmill. Several other crewmen were present in the gym, busily fighting the adverse affects long exposure to microgravity had on the human body. "I'm... already... anxious... to get... back in... the saddle."

Gunther disliked the treadmill, much preferring the rowing machine, but the two machines were still in use. Damn, row hogs. Turning his attention to refocus on his running, he picked up his pace. Starting to feel a bit winded himself, he responded to Dee Dee. "Feeling... a little... lonely... then... are we?"

Without missing a beat, Durst reached over and unfastened Gunther's harness. A split-second later, he was gone, flung from the treadmill against the wall behind him. "Pardon?" Dee Dee asked with a satisfied smile.

Catching his breath from getting the wind knocked out of him as he bounced off the wall, Gunther answered, shouting loudly back across the room, "I... asked... about... whether... you... were... lonely? You know... missing... being... able to... fly. That... sorta thing." Gunther finally righted on the ceiling, eventually pushing himself back down toward the treadmill. Grabbing the treadmill handrails, he glared at Durst, his breathing slowing. "What did you... think I meant?"

Continuing to jog, Durst shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you... were making... some... crack about... my sex life. I get... enough of that... from Fenris." Turning to look at her friend, she wrinkled her nose slightly. "You... okay?"

Starting to strap himself back into the harness, Gunther replied, "Yeah, just a little surprised. I've never teased you about that sorta thing. That would be like calling the kettle black. What's got you on edge? It isn't about Vice, is it?"

"Vice?" Durst asked, her eyes widening a little. "No... what... do you mean?"

"Oh, you can't kid me, Dee," Gunther prodded. "You mean to tell me that you aren't interested in the man? I saw you in the infirmary, and overheard a bit too."

"You're in a world of trouble here, and I don't have much time, so let's make this quick: you've obviously fallen in with a bad crowd -- I understand that, you understand that, the courts will probably understand it. You don't need to go down with Marduke, do you? I guarantee he wouldn't care a damn for you. So tell me: how do we get into the control room and what can we expect once we're inside?" Lieutenant McGregor repeated the questions in German.

"Please!" McGregor heard a man's muffled voice say, "Help me! Are you JAF? Please, God, I hope you're JAF!"

McGregor raised an eyebrow, pulled back from the man's helmet, and radioed to Mandrake, "This just got very interesting, Sergeant. We might have a crewman of the sled here." Keeping the connection to Mandrake open, she touched helms with the captive again. We are with the JAF, sir," she said cautiously, not eager to reveal too much to a potential hostile. "We're here to help the crew and the passengers. Talk to me."

"Thank God!" the man answered, "we thought we'd had it, and that no one even knew we'd been highjacked!" Calming slightly, he continued, "I'm Julius Tompkins -- life support officer. I don't know what these people want with the sled, but they're armed to the teeth and very dangerous."

"Well, you're in safe hands now, Mr. Tompkins," McGregor replied calmly. "My name is Lieutenant Athena McGregor; you can call me Athena if it makes you more comfortable. Unfortunately, we're in the middle of a combat situation at the moment, and we have neither the time nor the resources to escort you safely off the battlefield. Speed is of the utmost importance at this point, and we need to get to the command center. Can you help us? I don't want you anywhere near a fire fight, but if you have any relevant technical expertise you can pass along to the very capable men and women of the JAF Marines here, you would be helping us immensely."

The man struggled slightly underneath the thick black adhesive. "The command center? It's not far past that airlock back there. All the access codes have been changed, and they've got prisoners in there -- not to mention the detonator for a nuke down in the shuttle bay. I don't think barging in there is a very good idea..."

"Fuck," McGregor said. "Sergeant Mandrake, did you copy that? We've got a nuke in the shuttle bay with a detonation switch in the command center. Mr. Tompkins, you said you were in charge of life support, correct? What's the life support situation in the center? Is it pressurized? Can we flood it with a knock-out gas and drop the terrorists and hostages safely? Are the terrorists in protected from that sort of thing?"

"Yeah, I got that," replied Harry before the crewman could answer. "Is he telling the truth though?"

"Good question," McGregor replied, trying to see the man behind his goo-covered faceplate. "That's the truth?" she asked, touching her helmet to a clean part of his.

"What?" the man answered. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I be telling you the truth?"

He seemed either to be telling the truth or to be very good at lying, McGregor thought. "Would it help if I told you I'm in Intelligence, Mr. Tompkins?" She smiled pleasantly. "I ask all kinds of crazy questions. When this is all over, ask some of these guys about it." She winked, hoping to reassure the man.

Harry searched the sled's crew list for a Julius Tompkins as he switched to the command channel to speak to Duran. "Sir, we have a noncombatant here, says he's Julius Tompkins, life support officer. He claims there's hostages in the command center, along with a detonator for a nuke in the shuttle bay."

"Oh, shit," Duran came back. "Have you checked to see if he's on the manifest?"

"Yes sir," replied Harry, forwarding the information to Duran's and McGregor's heads-up displays. "He's on the list alright, whether this guy is really him or not or if he's really on our side I don't know."

Spinning slowly and easily in the microgravity, Ellis flooded the area with her sensor signals. Back down where the squad had advanced from, well beyond where McGregor was speaking to Tompkins, contacts suddenly appeared. The young marine bit her lip anxiously before reporting, "Sir, we've got company. Looks like those two Stalkers. One with a high-caliber gyroc rifle, the other with a gauss rifle." Looking at the warnings displaying on her HUD, she transmitted their location and the rest of the data to her squad mates. "Either weapon is capable of penetrating a Decker exo-suit," she warned.

"Lieutenant, get out of the corridor NOW," cried Harry as he gestured to his squad to take up defensive positions.

"I'm out," she replied, moving to take cover. Switching to the private channel with Mandrake, she added, "Do we leave him there?"

"Yes," was Harry's terse reply as he sized up the situation. The Stalkers would be on them long before they could all get through the airlock, and they had some responsibility to protect Tompkins. The intersection gave them a somewhat defensible position while the Stalkers in the corridor had no cover. Better to take them out now, and quickly. He just had to hope his trained marines were better shots than fanatical cultists. "Squad, take out those Stalkers," he called to his troops. "Don't hit the civvie."

"You got it, sarge," Brinks radioed as he, Ng and Ellis moved out to take up positions behind La Rue.

Taking up a firing position on the ceiling at the corner of the intersection, he opened fire at the advancing exo-suits.

As 10mm bullets from Mandrake's rifle raced down the hall, La Rue fell to a prone position to take aim and also so her squad mates behind her would have a clear shot. McGregor, heading for the intersection to get out of harm's way, cursed when Brinks' heavily armored form brushed past her, pushing her into the night glue that still covered a large section of the corridor. The JAFI officer did her best to avoid the adhesive, but the light gravity made it impossible, and as a tremendous exchange of gunfire suddenly shook the passage, she found herself quite stuck, both legs and one hand ensnared by the viscous substance.

La Rue fired once and a rocket-boosted shell exploded against one of the Sky Stalker's legs. "Hit!" Ellis called, raising her own weapon. That same Stalker responded with a deadly barrage from it's fully-automatic gyroc rifle. Explosions began blooming about twenty meters in front of the squad, then raced closer as the Stalker pilot corrected his aim. One round hit La Rue in the rifle, and another struck Mandrake full in the chest. Harry grunted as his suit absorbed the blast, but then swore as the second Sky Stalker fired its rail gun. Flying straight as a laser, the hyper-velocity, armor-piercing slug went right through the backpack of Mandrake's suit, hardly slowing down.

Alarms sounded in Mandrake's ears as his exo-suit's backup life support systems came up, sealing the damage and re-pressurizing the shell. Systems damage flashed on his heads up display -- fire control and the hydraulics systems had both taken damage.

"Sergeant!" Ellis called, seeing the squad leader turning over in the air, bits and pieces of metal and ceramic floating away from him, along with a trickle of silvery hydraulic fluid.

"I'm still kicking," Harry coughed at the acrid smell in his suit as he attempted to get back under cover and out of the way of the rest of the squad. "Everyone else still in one piece?"

"Lost my rifle," La Rue responded immediately, "but I've got a backup."

"In position," Brinks said from the front, taking aim with his armor gun.

Ellis reported in as well, as Ng did before virtually leaping into place in front of McGregor, shielding the trapped woman from the oncoming fire. Lifting his rifle, he radioed, "Brinks, you goddamned idiot, you knocked the Lieutenant into the glue! McGregor, can you get free?"

"Save the anger for the enemy, Ng," McGregor ordered. Struggling slightly, she realized she couldn't pull free without any direct assistance, but she did have one hand free. "Toss me your solvent and get back to those Stalkers. I'll free myself."

Ng turned around briefly and handed the woman the sprayer. "Stay low," he advised as he turned his attention back down the tunnel.

Brinks loosed a round from his weapon but watched it explode at the feet of one of his tank-like enemies. "Shit!" he swore, steadying his aim for another shot.

Again came the barrage of rockets from the Sky Stalker carrying the gyroc. La Rue and Brinks, both up front, were each hit by one of the projectiles. Brinks shrugged it off, but La Rue took the small warhead right in the head. Her armored shell protected her from the blast, but when the woman's ears stopped ringing she saw that her computer system had been knocked out, image enhancement and all.

Ellis fired a number of short bursts with her heavy assault rifle, peppering one of the exos with fire. "Hit, but no effect," the young marine declared.

The second of the two big Martian war machines took aim with its gauss rifle and fired again. From the corner of her eye as she worked to free herself from the glue, McGregor saw Brinks jerk liked he'd been seared with a hot brand. Further down the corridor, the railgun round pierced the bulkhead as easily as it had Brinks' chest. Toppling in the microgravity, Brinks' guttural wheeze suddenly came over the channel as a few drops of blood escaped from the twin holes in his chest and back plates.

"Shit!" exclaimed Harry as a low drone warned him that Brinks' vital signs were no longer being registered. "Kill those bastards now!" he ordered unnecessarily as he launched himself towards Brinks. As he started to drag the motionless exo-suit back behind the line of fire, he examined it for damage and signs of life.

McGregor got her second arm free just as Brinks went down. "Shit," she muttered, echoing Mandrake's own commentary. With her second arm free, she leaned forward and down to get as prone as she could while still stuck in the glue. She glanced at Brinks and Mandrake and then at the side corridor in which she was to take cover, and she realized she might be able to lever the trooper in that direction. Her Hercules suit could provide the extra muscle, and the glue she was trapped in could provide the extra leverage.

"Mandrake," she said over the private line. "I can worry about Brinks. I've got a medkit on me." She stopped short of making it an order. Mandrake knew far better what he was doing here than she.

"I've got him," Harry replied. "You try to get free and get the hell out of there."

Ellis and Ng opened up again with their rifles as the Lieutenant went back to work on the glue, trying to free her legs.

"I've got this prick," La Rue growled, taking dead aim with the rifle she'd retrieved from her pack. A Jovian Optics Pulsar-Delta laser rifle, the weapon was set to maximum power for its autofire setting and when the woman pulled the trigger the entire corridor was lit by bright, strobe-like flashes of blue-white light. La Rue's aim was true, and she held the gun on target as the powerful, pulsed laser beams lanced into the exo that had taken down Brinks. The first few shots burned and scorched the metal of the machine, but subsequent blasts bored straight through to the soft flesh beneath. The scream La Rue heard in her helmet was imagined, but it made her focus on her deadly task all the more.

Mandrake saw the Stalker fall in a blaze of light as he pulled the inert exo-suit back around the corner, out of harm's way. As he saw that Brinks was alive but in critical condition, Ellis' voice sounded on the radio. "We got the second one -- no, wait. He's badly damaged, but still up. He doesn't have a weapon... he's... crap, Sergeant, here he comes!"

Down the corridor, the Sky Stalker roared forward, it's engines spewing flames as it fired its rockets and came thundering up the passage. Ellis and Ng's last barrage had damaged the war machine, destroying it's weapon and fire control system, but the pock-marked, battle-scarred behemoth stormed on.

Harry stood up from where he was bent over Brinks' body applying a patch to the hole in the back of the exo-suit and snagged Brinks' armor gun. Launching himself into the intersection he spotted the oncoming Stalker filling the corridor in front of him. The targeting reticule in his heads up display refused to lock onto the approaching exo-suit and he was forced to sight down the barrel of the armor gun. Harry fired twice, the recoil of the gun sending him flying backwards into the glue at the base of the intersection.

As Mandrake fired the heavy rifle, La Rue lit the scene again with another laser barrage, just as McGregor managed to free herself from the adhesive. As she moved around the corner to safety, one of the Sergeant's rounds penetrated the oncoming exo-suit and found its fuel tank. The exo was blown to pieces in an explosion that rocked the corridor, and as bright flames briefly licked the walls, the wreckage continued down the corridor at impressive speed.

La Rue was hit hard and swept along with it, but Ng and Ellis both managed to avoid being struck. Mandrake, flattened against the end bulkhead and momentarily stuck in the night glue, swore as the largest piece of the exo's frame came right at him. Lurching, he tore himself out of the glue and moved out of the way just in time to have the fragment slam into the end of the main passage, buckling the wall impressively. La Rue hit the wall head-first a half-second later with the rest of the debris, bouncing off in almost comical fashion. As she floated upside-down in the corridor, her voice came over the squad line. "Ouch. I'm going to feel that tomorrow..."

"Still mobile, La Rue?" asked Harry as he surveyed the damage.

Tucking her legs and tumbling gracefully, La Rue landed on the wall, oriented on a plane 90 degrees from her fellow marines. "Yeah, I'm good," she said, shaking her head to clear the stars.

"Here, take this," Harry said, quickly tossing her the armor gun and returning to Brinks to finish resealing his suit. A wave of helplessness washed over Harry as he looked at the state Brinks was in and realized there was little he could do. Clamping down hard on the feeling Harry opened the squad radio channel. "Ellis, check out the airlock and go through if it's clear. We need to get Brinks out of his suit and patch him up ASAP. And somebody check on the civvie."

Making sure the corridor was clear of hostiles, McGregor headed towards the life support crewman. "I'm on it," she said, reaching for her medkit and fearing the worst.

"Roger that," Ellis responded, her eyes lingering on Brinks for a second before she moved down towards the airlock. Ng took up a defensive position in the intersection along with La Rue, covering both the long passageway McGregor moved down and the narrow corridor stretching beyond Brinks and Mandrake.

McGregor was greeted with the sight of Tompkins' headless body when she arrived at the man's position. Blood bubbled and sputtered from the man's neck, flowing in gentle ribbons aftward, down the long passageway, and she spotted his still-helmeted head slowly tumbling along, accompanied by a fair amount of other debris from the wrecked exo.

"Mr. Tompkins is dead," McGregor said after absorbing the scene. She whispered a quiet prayer for the man. Steeling herself, she reached into his suit pockets, looking for an ID or key card that might help her team accomplish its mission. Finding a few items, including a PDA, she stuffed them into her own pockets and repeated her whispered prayer. "Let's get Brinks taken care of," she said, returning to the marines.

Somewhat callously, all Harry could think was that Tompkins was one less thing he had to worry about now.

Having resealed Brinks' suit, Harry drew out a pair of cables from the back of his suit and plugged them into the life support and maintenance umbilicals on Brinks'. The suit sprang to life as it began to draw power and atmosphere from Harry's own. Harry queried the suit for Brinks' condition and its own as he began maneuvering it over to the airlock. His HUD dimmed slightly as Brinks' grim-looking vitals flashed up along with power levels for both suits. Brinks' Decker's readings were all over the map. Life support was kicking off and on, as were a number of other subsystems. Clearly, the exo-suit was a write-off.

"Sir?" Ellis called over from the airlock. Gesturing at the control panel, she continued, "It's locked down, sir."

Ng turned to look at Mandrake. "You want me to blow it, Sergeant? We should probably seal the corridor first."

Ellis opened the manipulator hatches on her exo-suit and wiggled her fingers. "Or I can try to crack the lock," she added.

"Okay Ellis, see what you can do," replied Harry as he tried to coax the emergency power supply in Brinks' suit to life. The suit couldn't make up its mind whether it wanted to struggle through a second lease on life or just shut down forever. Hoping Brinks was made of tougher stuff, Harry radioed Duran an update. "Sir, we had to take out those two Stalkers that were tailing us. Brinks is out of action but alive, for now. The civilian wasn't as lucky. Any orders sir? Should we continue on to the command center? We haven't been able to confirm the nuke but they've already shown us they aren't afraid to use them."

A few seconds passed, and it seemed for a moment to Mandrake like Duran wasn't going to answer, like his squad was going to be completely on its own. Then static sounded on the line, followed by Duran's voice. "...reach Tucker. Good work on the Stalkers. Were you able to confirm the ID of that civvie?"

"I'm not receiving you clearly, sir. Can you repeat all before 'reach Tucker'"? Harry replied. Switching to McGregor's channel he asked "Did you copy that, Lieutenant? Any thoughts on the possible Mr. Tompkins?"

"Yeah," McGregor replied, looking at the ID card she had found in the man's suit. "It was, indeed, Mr. Tompkins." She flashed the ID card. "I have a few personal effects from the body, too, including his PDA. There might be useful information on it." She felt a little ghoulish about that, but when it came down to it, if invading the late Mr. Tompkins' privacy could save the thousand souls on the sled, it was worth it.

"We've not been able to reach Tucker or her squad yet," Duran repeated. "We need you to gain control of the security system ASAP, and then we should be able to locate and extract them."

"Yes sir," replied Harry. "The airlock here has been locked down, but we should be through soon. Lieutenant McGregor has confirmed Tompkins' identity. I'm still suspicious though, if he wasn't part of the hijacking, what the hell was he doing wandering around? I don't know whether to believe his story about the nuke or not -- any thoughts sir?"

"Just be careful," Duran returned. "Getting into the control room is still our priority -- from there we should be able to check on the whole sled, including the shuttle bays. You see someone about to press a detonator of some kind once you get in there, you don't ask questions, you take them down, Sergeant."

"Yes sir." replied Harry. "I'll keep you advised of our progress."

"I'll take a look at the PDA," McGregor told Mandrake, "while your team works on the airlock."

"Okay, let me know if you find anything useful," said Harry as he watched Ellis at work, while his heads-up display continued to flash warnings at him about the state of Brinks and his exo-suit.

"Lieutenant," Ng spoke up, "would a nuclear weapon have shown up on your scan?"

"No," McGregor replied. "The scan, unfortunately, isn't that precise. We can identify large masses of various compositions -- water, fuel, bulk storage, etc. -- but something as small as a nuclear device wouldn't really show up, I'm afraid."

"Got it," Ellis declared, backing away from the control panel slightly. Lights flashed above the airlock entrance, and then the heavy door slowly rolled aside, revealing a long, narrow and empty airlock. Ellis resealed her suit, then scanned the airlock quickly. "Looks clean," she said, looking back at her sergeant.

End Week 14 Summary (September 9-15, 2002)

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