|
Docking Hub - Comorro Station
Comorro Station isn't exactly a station. It doesn't remain in any one place for a significant span of time. It is, in all accuracy, a massive starship - incapable of atmospheric flight - that has been roaming the stars on a voyage that some say has lasted for more than 90-million years.
The vessel is a Yaralu, a sentient spacefaring vessel. Her true full name cannot be spoken in a single day, but is shortened for convenience to Comorro. Several epochs ago, after her final era of fertility ended, she converted the gray-green ribbed chamber of her womb into a docking hub for smaller Yaralu and non-organic vessels. She made it known to the denizens of Hiverspace that she would serve as a neutral outpost for traders and diplomats.
Use of energy and projectile weapons is prohibited aboard Comorro. Violators will be absorbed into the vessel's nutrient replenishment matrix. She is capable of monitoring almost all chambers within the station for illegal weapons, but some areas - such as the Forgotten Quarter - are lost to her neural pathways and sensory organs.
A makeshift ramp has been built about thirty feet from Zero Gravitas' airlock from a crate and a light armor plate, with no apparent purpose.
Daniel watches the approaching Silvereye from his perch on the ramp of the Fox his eyes not moving from the Demarian as he walks with the PDA in his hands. Taking another drag off the cigarette, he scans the room once again to make sure nobody else is coming at him from another direction.
"Damned Svajone." Silvereye murmurs as he closes his PDA down. "They have something to do with this..." He's not talking to anyone in particular but his gaze does go towards the berth usually occupied by Svajone shuttles. He's heading towards the civilian ships, however.
Suddenly, sirens are screaming. From all over the Zero Gravitas.
This is prologue to the airlock's outer hatch sudden bulging from within, as if someone had launched a cannonball into it. The swollen distortion grows again and again with each resounding thud until finally, the damaged doors wail open and a sleek black missile is fired down the ramp. Swinging its feline head this way and that, the eldest of the Ariel quartet - the thousand-year-old, red-striped Epsilon - shakes the very ground itself with a deafening, mechanized roar.
Eylohta arrives from Tradeport - Comorro Station.
Eylohta has arrived.
Kit had just begun to prowl into the docking hub from the tradeport - shoulders hunched now from tension rather than any attempts at ducking attention - before Epsilon's explosive arrival. There is only a split second's pause as she pinpoint's the Phyrrian's position before she is quickly backing up against the wall near the hatch she had just exited, pulling a data tablet from a sling bag; both recent purchases, from their newness. Crouching to one knee, eyes darting quickly between the felinoid, the rest of the hub, and her screen, her fingers tap rapidly across the device; barely needing the occasional visual reference as she types.
A sigh of relief escapes from Daniel as Silvereye moves away from the Fox. Safe for now. Once again he takes a drag off the cigarette. Releasing the smoke from the first he takes another nervous drag as Kit walks in. Things just got worse. And then sending something occurs that sends Daniel into a full paranoia freakout. The explosive entrance of Epsilon causes Daniel to jump to his feet almost dropping his cigarette in the process. The cigarette bounces of his chest and he reaches out to grab it which he just barely does burning himself in the process. He adjust the cigarette to a holdable position then rubs his burnt hand against his pants trying to take the sting away. He begins to pace back and forth across the top of the ramp smoking like a chimney.
Silvereye's ears fold back flat against his skull as Epsilon delivers his roar. "Oh, hells..." He murmurs, glancing about the area as he backs away from the Phyrrian and the Gravitas. "I knew those things were unstable..." He misses Kit's entrance, instead favoring the civilian ships for help.
Alastair arrives from Tradeport - Comorro Station.
Alastair has arrived.
It does not stop with a roar. Low, predatorial rumblings underscore every step taken by the wartorn Tasker, accompanied by narrowed blood-red opticals and a lashing tail. Its ears are erect; swivelling left, right, drinking in whatever its audio sensors will detect, every noise filtered and catalogued according to some unseen process that drives it ever closer toward the Kamikaze, prowling with deadly and dangerous intent.
Kit is a nondescript figure huddled against the wall near the hatch which connects the docking hub and the tradeport...a hatch which abruptly *schlups* closed, nearly capturing a Lotorian that had been scuttling through in its valve. The cyberwitch's fingers pause in their rapid typing at this new development, but only a split-second's glance later, she is once again concentrating on whatever she is writing on the tablet, narrowed eyes flicking up every so often to check on the positions of those scattered within the dock.
Big... robot... oh, shit... oh, god. Daniel backs up the ramp as far as he can crouching down, his back to the Fox. That thing is coming after him. He just knows it. First the Thul, now this. There's no way he is ever gonna go home. He begins to whisper to himself, "It's over. It's really over. He's gonna eat me." Daniel's hand creeps down to his holster placing his hand on the useless pistol at his side.
Perhaps in contravention of better judgment and a will to live Silvereye starts to head towards the Phyrrian, or, perhaps, they happen to be going the same way. Whatever the reason he's heading towards the civilian ships. En route he pulls out his PDA and begins to send a prepared emergency message to the Sentinel watch.
Predators can smell fear, and it would seem Epsilon is no exception - or perhaps the felinoid is merely perceptive. Four paws come to a halt just before the ramp of the Fox's ramp, and batlike ears fold flat against its head. It bares its teeth, staring Daniel down, and utters, "Woof."
The Kamikaze's hatch slides open, and a twin felinoid slinks out. Unlike Epsilon, however, Sigma seems content to simply crouch upon the top of the boarding ramp, yellow-streaked muzzle turning slowly as it scans the bay, tail lashing in metronomic sweeps behind it.
After that shocking introduction to a Phyrrian wartasker's presence, activity in the docking hub slowly begins to awaken - voices rising in a tense and defensive hubbub until the lights flicker...and then die out, plunging the hub into darkness but for a few stars and ghostly pools of luminescence. The glow of a datapad's screen here or there. The twin crimson embers of a Phyrrian's optical sensors. A ship whose external lights are still on.
Sudden, shocked silence...and then cries of shock, anger, and fear begin to cut through the air.
A figure wearing a bright red jacket and leaning on a flashy cane stumbles out onto the docking hub floor. Alastair sways drunkenly, and walks with a more pronounced limp than usual. Clenched in his teeth is a pipe, and once he gets a fair distance between himself and the entrance he stops, lifts one hand, and touches his index finger to the bowl. There's a small burst of flame, then a glow illuminates the Sivadian's face in an irridescent haze of smoke. Alastair takes a deep breath, and then a smile spreads across his face. "Ahhh." He sighs, and his eyes focus somewhat unsteadily first on Epsilon and then on Sigma. It's hard to tell in the dark, but his expression is that normally seen on someone who is admiring the beauty of nature.
"Aww... aww. c'mon." Eylie mutters, giving Alastair a nudge, the giant Timmie lumbering behind the good doctor, "Robocat's gone mad. Dammit." The obviously less intelligent man frowns down at his smoking companion, "It's like-like one of them old movies." Prod.
Newt has arrived.
Newt enters RP mode.
Daniel reaches up hunting for the ever elusive controls to open the hatch of the Fox. There doesn't seem to be any escape, but something inside hims stirs. The fear fades slightly and his body moves into action of its own free will. He is dropping his cigarette as the lights flash off. There's no reason to stick around just waiting. Jumping off the side of the ramp, he uses the edge of it to guide and propel him under it sliding across the floor on his way to the other side of the ramp hoping and praying that he doesn't hit something on the way over.
Darkness doesn't bother Silvereye. He's a Demarian, he can see by the faint light in the docking hub. The general sound of panic causes his hackles to rise, fur around his neck spiking as he growls lightly. He puts his PDA away and turns towards Epsilon. "Go home, tin can."
Epsilon rounds on the Demarian, two burning orbs of bright-red crimson burrowing into Silvereye's namesake. "Batt-le-claw," it drawls out, its computerized East-Enajian articulating each syllable into a venomous requiem. "Greetings and sal... u... tations. Where is Sabrina?"
Kit stills at the sudden blackout, her face lit from beneath by the tablet for a single heartbeat before she abruptly darkens it with a tap and tucks it against her body; effectively disappearing. Those nearby might hear a single scuff of a sneaker as she darts elsewhere...and then, nothing.
Amidst the growing roar in the hub, a voice suddenly rises crystal clear above it - a shriek. This time, not of simple frightened bewilderment, but true terror before it cuts off with a clanging *thunk* of organic meeting metal.
Another split-second lull...and then pandemonium ensues, sounds of feet pounding across the deck, screams, and angry yells for invisible attackers to show themselves all vying for dominance.
In the spill of light from a nearby starship, you see a rippling shadow...like a narrow ribbon, about a foot long, scuttling through its border from darkness and back into darkness.
Razorback has arrived.
Razorback disembarks from the IND Laughing Fox.
All of the lights are out all over Comorro - and inexplicably, everyone present on the station is overcome with a crushing sense of paranoia.
"You sound like you're on the fritz, Phyrrian." Silvereye replies carefully to Epsilon, his tail lashing behind him. He tries to ignore the more general cries of panic, such things happen in the dark and he's not about to turn his back on the war machine in front of him. "I don't know where Sabrina is. Where did you see her last?"
Alastair sways on his feet, and reaches out to grab hold of Eylohta's sleeve. Once he's steadied himself against the Timonae, he absently passes over the pipe as he peers out into the lightless docking hub. After a moment he activates the small flashlight on one of his fingertips, and sweeps the beam across the floor near him.
Eylohta is steady enough, aye, the hulking Timonae like a big... big... dumb guy. With knives. Whee! Frowning still, he takes the pipe from Al, and takes a drag before the embers have a chance to die down. Oooh...
Daniel finishes his slide along the underside of the ramp coming to a stop and crouching down in what would have been the shadow of the ramp if there was enough light for the ramp to have a shadow. He hears the pandemonium ensue in the darkness around him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees something. Seeing that Epsilon has turned his attention elsewhere he sprints across the floor hoping to find out what it is he saw.
Into this mess, when all seems at its darkest, a light springs into existence. In this light stands a tall, dark figure, surrounded by a halo ... or rather just the light from within the ship's airlock in which he stands. Razorback looks about in confusion, his ears sweeping the darkness as he waits for his eyes to compensate.
Newt startles, looks behind him and screams, "GET THE HOOP AWAY FROM ME!" and with that, he bolts it.
"On the Gravitas," intones Epsilon in a low, silky purr. "I see the Fox here. I detect Sigma - I know Kittianna is back. Where did Sabrina Alington disappear to, noble champion of the people?" It takes a step closer - *clank*. "You want to tell me. I can /make/ you want to tell me."
Other ship lights are flicking on, for those crew who manage to find their way back in the darkness. The islands of light, however, hinder as well as help - bright and actinic, they cast harsh shadows and the panicked run of figures through them tend to throw as many unnatural, bewildering movements through the area as to reveal what might be happening. There are the occasional sounds of scuffles, screams of pain or terror...and then the distinctive *crack* of a pistol going off.
There is a moment's shocked silence in its immediate vicinity, and then a soft *fwoop* from far overhead, a gooey *splat* on deck...and then blood-curdling screams begin to fill the air.
An air which is growing steadily stale...the circulation in the hub appears to have been cut off.
You find out it appears to be a giant, foot-long millipede - primarily because, in the edge of light, one has darted in toward your ankle. From the size and wicked curve of its mandibles, any nip it manages is going to sting a fair bit!
There are other things rippling through the scattered pools of light now...beyond the silhouettes of fellow station residents, what look like foot-long ribbons are scuttling through the boundaries of light and dark...scores of legs rippling along either side of their bodies; like giant millipedes.
Silvereye's lips curl back to reveal the barest glimmer of his fangs to the mechanical felinoid. "If she was taken with the others we still haven't accounted for some of them. We're working on it." The pandemonium has caused the Demarian to tense, and the sound of a gunshot just makes him growl. "Idiots! They shouldn't even be carrying guns..." His tail lashes. "What's goin on, Epsilon? Things started going wrong when you stepped out here."
Razorback's eyes widen just a hair as he spots something on the floor. With a quick snort of disgust, he moves out of the pool of light he stands in. At that moment, he hears a familiar voice out on the pad amongst the sounds of panic. He slowly begins to make his way in that direction, ears swiveling back and forth as his nostrils twitch; all of his senses are alert, seeking any information on his surroundings.
"Yah!" Alastair hisses through gritted teeth, and grabs a little more tightly onto Eylohta's arm as he jerks one leg back and throws himself off balance. He shines his flashlight at the floor close to his feet, illuminating a small tear in his non-cybernetic leg and one of the creatures moving nearby. "That hurt." He growls sullenly, and glares at it in an accusing manner. He peers a bit closer and focuses his eyes in on it, then threatens "I'm going to dissect you."
Suddenly, Daniel jumps back from one of the foot-long shadows a look of shock on his face. Leaving no time for the shadow to move away he raises his right leg up and brings his heel slamming back down towards the ground.
Newt runs for and dives at a crate, scampering to get up it as quickly as possible.
"Things started going wrong when Sabrina vanished!" the War-Tasker bellows, gathering its legs beneath it to spring at Silvereye in a powerful quadruped pounce.
Eylohta grimaces, taking one more, big puff from the pipe as he clenches it between his teeth. His hand moves to steady Al, the furrow of his brow deepening as he stares down at the section of floor Al's shining his flashlight finger on. Absently he reaches up in order to pass the pipe.
Silvereye hops to the side to try and avoid Epsilon's attack. The former Battleclaw is as quick on his feet as ever and deftly avoids the blow, though those razor sharp war claws rake across the sleeve of his coat and tear through the fabric to draw blood on the skin below. "That's enough, Epsilon!" He growls, landing in a ready crouch.
Unimpressed, Alastair's crawler circles around to make a second attempt...this time, nipping at Eylohta's near ankle. From the size and wicked curve of the mandibles, a nip from them is going to be smarting pretty badly.
Close...Daniel's foot just barely misses the tail end of the crawler as it scuttles away...and regroups, performing a wide circle before it is zooming in again for his feet.
Newt may find temporary haven atop his crate, but soon enough, it is revealed quite clearly that vertical slopes do not bother the crawlers much, as one begins to nose over a top edge.
People are beginning to crowd into ships now, miniature riots breaking out as strangers try to push in along with crew, fighting amongst themselves as well as the strange arthropods scuttling through the hub. The screams which had originated from, presumably, the one that had fired the pistol, finally gurgle and die off.
Razorback may rue stepping out of the ship at all...there is a scuttle of many legs across the deck as a crawler aims for his feet, mandibles open wide.
Epsilon rolls when it lands, metal scuffing on the tarmac and a gust of wind whipping between it and its opponent as it rights itself. "It all makes perfect sense, you see, Battleclaw," it intones, moving in a steady circle around the militiacat, red eyes tracking his crouched figure as screams and rattles erupt around them in the chaotic bay. "How much did Mika Tachyon /promise/ you for Sabrina's shares in the venture? Hmm? You were always so /willing/ to work with her. Elimination of her grudge-spawned mistrust of the Gravitas crew - echoes of a long-dead Jason Reilly, a long-dead Guiseppe Marcuccilli - for a small fortune? Why," its teeth glint in a rare flash of light, "you could buy that desert-rat wife of yours those curtains she's always wanted."
Razorback's fangs bare in a menacing hiss as the crawler comes near him. The Cliffwalker aims a vicious kick with a clawed hindpaw at the arthropod. If successfull, he simply continues on, following the sound of the scuffle in the darkness.
Newt's standing on his crate, looking around panicedly and letting out a little whine. He stops though, when he sees the head of the critter poking up out of the edge and, with just a moments pause, kicks at it, "HOOP OFF!"
Silvereye growls, low and menacing as he narrows his eyes at the Tasker. "You only have the shape of a felinoid." His claws emerge from the tips of his fingers. "I'll teach you what you're missing!" Maybe it's the crazy in the air but yes, Silvereye just tried to tackle a Phyrrian a war tasker who insulted his bondmate.
The crawler coming in at Daniel gets a pretty good lick in on his foot. Daniel jumps away from the critter and comes back in with a swift kick at the moving target.
Alastair suddenly lunges downward towards the crawlerclose to his feet, losing his grip on Eylohta in the process and dropping to his knees. He stretches out a hand to pin the creature, which retaliates by curling around and nipping at his arm. He gives a short cry, then shakes it loose and scoops it up with the fingers of his other hand. Once he's got a secure grip, he holds the alien arthropod up to get a close look at it. "Hahah. Got you." He practically giggles, then turns his attention to the freshly bleeding slice on his wrist. "But I really hope you're not poisonous."
A hiss of pain escapes Razorback as he quickly withdraws his booted hindpaw from the crawler that has set upon him, and now bit him. He drops into a four-pawed stance, keeping his injured paw away from the offending creature. His ears rotate behind him to seek any approach of another attacker while his right forepaw snaps out at the 'pede before him.
Eylohta growls, pulling his foot back just a little too late to avoid being nipped. He squirms for a moment as Alastair lets go of him and drops to his knees, foot given a pointless shake before being gingerly set back down, "Fuckin'.." He mutters, leaning over to help the Doctor back up, "You really gonna keep that sum bitch?"
A great shudder runs through the hub...an almost-groan, like a ship's frame flexing at a sudden vector change. There are more *foomps* of compressed air overhead and gooey splats, aimed somewhere around the boundaries of the bay. The temperature is rising...perhaps explainable as a combination of the stale air and frenetic activity within the closed space, even as large as it is.
Or, perhaps not...at least, those who have access to sensors would notice that the degrees are climbing slowly but steadily.
Newt, unfortunately, misses as the crawler quickly withdraws as it senses his movement.
Alastair grabs Eylie's pants leg and drags himself upright again, and fumbles for a few moments to tuck his cane under his arm and retrieves his pipe from Eylie. Taking a light puff, he exhales a mouthful of smoke at the creature, as if he's expecting it to mellow out. "Sure." He says with a smirk. "I want to find out what it is." Then he tugs on the Timonae's sleeve. "Is it getting hot in here? Maybe we should climb aboard the ship before the air goes stale."
It would be an awesome photograph, if only the lights were on and someone had a camera.
Silvereye and Epsilon lunge for one another, seeming to hang in the air in a powerful display of feline prowess before the latter plays dirty pool. Swinging its hindquarters, the Phyrrian lashes out with its long, hullsteel tail to crack the Battleclaw across the snout. The appendage comes away bloody - and it is a wonder bones are not shattered in the Demarian's face.
Landing lightly on all four paws, Epsilon flattens its ears at the sound of his opponent crumpling on the ground behind him. It takes a moment to reacquaint itself, unseen components whirring within its head unit, and then cocks a look toward the ceiling - incidentally, where its eidetic memory recalls a vent being present. It does not comment about the lack of circulation, or the rise in temperature, the skittering creatures tracing kaleidoscopic colors around its infrared sensors... no, it is Epsilon. It merely lowers its head in a deep rumble before releasing another bloodthirsty roar.
Eylohta puts a steadying hand on Alastair's shoulder, the Timmie nodding and frowning all at once, "Gross bastard." He huffs glancing briefly towards where he assumes the Gravitas is, upon the Doctor's suggestion, "If ya wanna, Al. Think yer right."
Daniel's kick connects with the little bugger sending it skidding across the floor its body twisting and tumbling as it goes. Being rid of the pest he heads off across the dock looking for somebody, anybody with any bit of sanity left in them. Well, as long as they were not out to get him.
The Cliffwalker releases a low snort at the sounds that are now not far from him. Rearing to his feet, he releases an earshattering roar of his own, a challenge to whatever it is that remains standing from the scuffle. His ears cant forward, sweeping the darkness before him.
Newt stomps at the spot where the bug was, not yet noticing the air quality/
"Also." Alastair adds, almost as an afterthought. "It would be nice to smoke without alien life forms coming up and biting our feet." He sneers at his captured crawly creature, then quickly turns his head back and forth suspiciously as if he expects the others to come rescue it. He shuffles a bit more rapidly after Eylohta. "I was getting hungry anyway."
The numbers of crawlers are increasing...either because there are more of them entering from somewhere, or perhaps there are simply fewer victims now as ships fill up. There is a brief upsurge of fright from those remaining in the dock at the twin roars of challenge, but exhaustion finally seems to be setting in - that, and the heat which is beginning to grow oppressive; a thick blanket that, at the same time it raises irritability, smothers.
- Fwoop fwoop fwoop*...the puffs of compressed air on the starboard side of the hub abruptly go quiet. One, however, suddenly sounds somewhere overhead near Epsilon...something spreading wide like a cape as it flies through the air at the Phyrrian.
"Ohh, me too, Doc. Ya think 'ere's any leftovers? I can't cook worth a damn, y'know." Eylie says back to Alastair, the Timmie ducking at the puffs of compressed air. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, and remains hunched over as he keeps leading on towards the Gravitas. He slows down a bit though, to let the Doctor catch up some. He shuffles, frowning at the increasing crawlies.
One does not simply walk into Epsilon. The Phyrrian circles abruptly in a single feline leap, snarling and gnashing teeth before daring to try and snatch its assailant with its razor-sharp maw.
Daniel veers back towards his original position. He runs up the ramp of the Fox and flies through the door disapearing inside.
Keeping eyes and ears on Epsilon, Razorback rushes to the limp form of Silvereye, a deep growl erupting from his throat as he looks up towards the Phyrrian. "What have you done?" he demands, keeping his paws under him for a spring.
- SPLAT* A gooey, gloppy mess of threads lands unerringly right where Epsilon used to be; an organic net. As soon as it has adhered to the deck, some signal seems to draw a frenzy of crawlies toward it, the millipede-like arthropods squirming and searching through the mass.
Moans, sobs, chitterings and various other vocal noises mix into a nearly indistinguishable drone punctuated only by the occasional, sharper cry. Those who know her well might recognize one of the latter voices as Kit's...a sound composed more of fury than pain, hastily bitten off nearly as soon as it starts.
Alastair leans on Eylohta and limps up the docking ramp towards of the Zero Gravitas "We'll raid the fridge." He declares somberly,. As he gets close enough to see, he raises one eyebrow quizzically as he sees the condition of the airlock. He shakes his head, exhaling a lungful of smoke through his nose. Then he continues right on inside, picking his way carefully. "...I need to find something to put this creature in, anyway."
"Justice," Epsilon tonelessly informs Razor over its shoulder. "Next time he will think before he fails to answer a simple question. There are insects scribbled all over my thermal sensors. Smash them. Bugs are vermin. Vermin offend me." Its opticals blink, and then it is off like a shot, bounding across the bay with no regard for who it is slamming into, past, or stepping on.
Eylohta has left RP mode.
Eylohta has left.
Razorback growls at the fleeing Phyrrian. Then something very uncharacteristic happens. The Cliffwalker abandons Silvereye to race after Epsilon, ears flattened against his skull, fangs bared. He does not seem to have detected evidence of Kit's voice, though he is headed in that direction.
Silvereye continues to bleed from his bashed and very sensitive nose. He stirs lightly, but is still down for the count.
Some time after he dissapeared into the ship, Alastair comes stumbling back through the damaged outer door of the airlock. The Sivadian stretches his arm and yawns, looking around the docking bay as if trying to see if things are back to normal. They aren't, but he does spot Silvereye's unconscious form. Limping in that direction, he approaches the demarian and reaches out to poke him with the end of his cane. The phosporescent design on the shaft glows eerily in the darkness.
Daniel has left RP mode.
Daniel has left.
Epsilon and Razorback would find themselves racing toward the starboard side...following a trail of the same organic nets which had nearly been plopped atop Epsilon. In the intermittent lighting, there is the edge of one, stuck against the side of a crate, another laid flat upon the deck, a third pinned against the corner of wall and freight...all swarming with the crawlies as they nose and wriggle through the net's openings, but thus far, empty. Perhaps the station still has hopes of capturing some prey...as the two are sprinting across the bay, there is a steady *fwoop* of air aimed at Epsilon's trail...depending on how closely Razorback follows, he might get caught as collatoral.
Silvereye is left in a rather untenable position. Abandoned and helpless, while near the netting that had originally been aimed at Epsilon, he is prime bait for the swarm of crawlies which are beginning to nose over toward him.
Silvereye emits an agonized groan as Alistair pokes him. His eyes flutter open, struggling to focus in the low light conditions. He breathes wetly as a shaky paws comes up to feel the bloody mess of his nose. He gives a sharp wince, but the wrinkling of the skin above that sensitive snout just makes this work. "...Brakir that hurts." He whispers, swallowing heavily, no doubt a bit of blood lending a coppery taste to the move. He eyes the bugs creeping closer to him with a muted, dazed alarm. "Oh hells."
- Fwack!*
That's the sound that immediately precedes a frustrated screech. Epsilon is pelted right off of its footpaws by the disgusting wad of slime, rolling end over end in a graceless tumble until its frame is gooey all over and thoroughly adhered to the deck. /"Lotorians!"/ it belts out, levelling blame upon the preferred target of its ire as it struggles in the muck. /"I know you are behind this!"/
It is only by a hair's breadth that Razorback avoids the same fate as Epsilon. As the Phyrrian goes down, Razorback vaults up into the air over it. The felinoid drops into a feral crouch, a triumphant roar shaking the air around him. Until he sights the crawlers attracted to the goo. He leaps further away now, ears swaying in all directions.
Predictably, crawlies are most definitely approaching from all corners of the docking hub toward the trapped Epsilon...though the first few may discover that their mandibles are decidedly less efficient against the Phyrrian's hullsteel hide.
Alastair is digging in one of the pockets of his jacket, while his eyes carefully track the approaching creatures. He produces a bottle of pills, shines his finger-light on it briefly to read the label, and then nudges Silvereye with his foot. "Paintedheart." He says. "You're about to get eaten and you're little big for me to drag you, so you're going to have to get yourself up. Want some painkillers?" He rattles the bottle in his hand as he shakes a pill into his mouth, and then offers it to the Demarian.
"In a moment..." Silvereye grumbles, wincing as he turns away from the bigs and starts the laborious process of getting to his feet. He reaches for Alastair as soon as he finds his footing, the sudden rush of blood away from his aching head causing him to almost fall back down. "Let's...let's walk." He says very meaningfully.
Whatever victory Razorback has claimed, Epsilon cleaves through its bonds effortlessly, twisting onto its side and finally back upright with an agitated lash of tail. Uninhibited though its motions might be, it is still covered in goop, and merely narrows its gaze as sensors detect the steady approach of the insectoids. "Perfect," the Phyrrian intones, preferring not to destroy them - but rather maneuver through and around them, tromping through the pack, resuming hot pursuit of any Ariel signal or racing toward where it recalls Kit's voice emenating from.
Newt stays put on his crate. Glory to the crate, the island of safe-STOMP, STOMP STOMP STOMP-ty.
Razorback growls as Epsilon shakes free of the insectoid-attracting goo. The Demarian growls irritably and leaps over a crawler that has approached him to pursue the robot. Claws remain extended, slicing through anything that should come under them.
Epsilon doesn't look back at Razorback. It does not need to - peripheral sensors, while muddied from the insecto-slime, limited by the darkness, and forced to compensate for often-lackluster infrared, manage to track the Demarian's progress with reasonable accuracy. "Kill only the ones which damage your person! I need as many alive as possible!"
As the Phyrrian continues, there is a fourth empty net...and, finally, a fifth - this one with a half-caught Kit beneath it. The woman is twisted about, one leg nearly hacked free while the other remains fully trapped; already bleeding from at least a score of shallow wounds as she swipes wildly with a dagger at the swarming bugs trying to overwhelm her, face twisted into a snarl as she gasps fitfully for air. This is, no doubt, the fate of the one who had tried to use a gun earlier...from one or two darkening patches on her trapped pants leg, the crawlies are capable of much more than mere cuts when given enough time.
Her data tablet has skidded just outside of her reach, its screen bright. A half dozen windows are open, overlapping each other, lines of code scrolling busily across them.
Silvereye and Alastair better get a move on. The crawlies seem to have finally understood that no prey awaits them beneath the net, and are now moving in a concerted wave toward them...
Newt is indeed king of his little island. Though there are periods of lulls and ambushes, the concentration of crawlies elsewhere has managed to keep the numbers around him manageable.
Alastair shifts his posture so that as much weight as possible is supported by the cane, and limps heavily as he starts to move directly away from the approaching insects. "Right." He says with a sightly hazy tone. "Back to the ship." He does his best to stay ahead of the swarm as they move towards cover.
"Right." Silvereye replies, trying his best to focus through the most likely concussed fog that hangs heavily around his head. He uses his long legs to move quickly, fighting through the pounding pain in his head with each exertion to help Alastair along.
And it is just a scant few meters away from Kit Epsilon is when Razorback makes his spring at the robot, hissing angrily. His outspread paws reach for the metal felinoid as the Cliffwalker goes airborne.
Newt keeps his attention on the state of his crate, making sure his kingdom is clean and clear of all subversive elements.
Through what can only be some miracle of technology, the War-Tasker manages to spring out of the danger zone, cleanly evading Razorback's renewal of violence. "I am covered in an unknown substance which is capable of attracting flesh-eating parasites, and you attempt to tackle me?" it all but marvels, servos hissing when it comes down in a crouch. "Razorback Cliffwalker. ... Accessing. I see. You served onboard the IND Jackal during the tenure of both Captains Mika Tachyon /and/ Swiftfoot Starchaser. I retract my previous incredulity. There is simply no hope for you, at this point."
It turns, levelling its optical receptors upon the hopelessly trapped cyberwitch, loping toward her, right into the midst of the parasites. "Kittianna. Kittianna? Who am I addressing?"
Kit starts and stares as Epsilon abruptly charges into sight...her distraction costing her as she flinches when a crawlie slices into an arm. The reminder galvanizes her - throwing caution to the winds, breaths coming in painful wheezes, she ignores the bugs completely this time in favor of attempting to hack herself from the remainder of the netting...until a wild swipe clangs against hullsteel, nearly jarring the weapon completely from her hold. Teeth bared in a snarl, she pants, "Tannia...I am Tannia," before throwing an arm wide with a wild cry, flinging bugs away along with a spatter of blood.
Not fast enough...one of the bugs is already at the hobbling doctor's - inorganic, this time - heel, while one levers itself halfway off the deck, nipping at Silvereye's tail.
Newt, though, seems to be garnering new attention...this time, five are swarming over the crate's edges, perhaps alerted by all the squashed bodies of its brethren nearby. One tries to take a bite out of the boy's space-suited foot...and meets with a singular lack of success.
O lo and behold the might of the green booted foot. Mighty is its rise and meteoric is its fall upon the bity things of the world. STOMPCRUNCHSQUISH is the example given to the other bugs by the afore mentioned critter. "DIE!"
The crawler manages to bite at Alastair's prosthetic leg, but the attack doesn't do much damage to the cybernetic limb. The Sivadian tries to pick up the pace, limping more quickly with the millipede-like creature trailing behind him for a few steps, jaws clamped onto the pants leg until it's finally shaken loose.
If there's anything to snap Silvereye out of his hullsteel induced lethargy it's an underhanded nip at the tail. The Demarian's entire big frame seems to reel from the shock, his tail snapping reflexively away from the painful bite as he yowls. A moment of adrenaline fueled clarity has him pulling Alastair along and up the ramp of the Gravitas. "Brakir this is not my day..." He wheezes, voice taking on a nasally edge as his nose starts to swell shut.
Razorback skids to a halt at the far end of his leap. "I know not who you arrre," Razorback growls at the Phyrrian as he turns to face him, "Orrr how you have come by that inforrrmation. I assssurrre you, though, metal-birrrthed misscrrreant, that that knowledge will die ... with you!" The Demarian launches himself into a four-pawed stance while a forepaw strikes out at the robot. So far, he seems to be ignoring both Kit and the conversation Epsilon is having with her.
Silvereye has left RP mode.
Silvereye has left.
Alastair stumbles slightly as he crosses into the busted-up airlock of the Gravitas, and makes for the inner door. He keys it open and ducks inside along with the Demarian, then turns to shut it once they're safely inside. A crawler trying to follow them inside is caught with the tip of his cane and flung backwards, and then the airlock door closes and seals with a hiss.
Now up to its neck in creepy-crawlies, the Epsilon swivels its head toward the bipedal felinoid. One skittery bug is hanging on for dear life from the Tasker's snout as it wonders, "Do all Demarians fling theatrical invective before attempting to kill someone, or just you and Silvereye?" It whumps its massive side at the oncoming claws, deflecting the blow, and dives beneath the pile of insects... only to emerge suddenly a split second later, cresting like a whale, and flinging as many as it possibly can from its metal hide and toward the Demarian.
Kit takes the chance as the Phyrrian is distracted to make a last, lunging cut...and then, sobbing for breath, she is dragging and crawling her way toward the tablet, scooping it up before she is staggering to her feet. A few wild swipes, shaking the majority of the crawlies off, and then she is half-staggering, half-limping toward the nearest cover in her memory.
The top of Newt's crate is a veritable slaughterfield by now. He may wish to watch his step, in case an over-enthusiastic stomp in a pile of crawlie guts sends him skidding off the box.
And, just as the atmosphere is thickening to an unbearable degree from heat and stale air...the miasma of fear and paranoia begins to ease away, like the last shreds of a bad dream.
Newt continues stomping, not really concentrating on the precise dellicacies of the act... at least until his mental state begins to change. Then confusion sets in, concentration leaves for a trip to Europe and he wobbles slightly, on boot slipping on what might be an intestine formerly filled with gastronomic love.
Razorback leaps out of the way at the hurled creatures, hissing defiantly back at Epsilon. He growls angrily for a moment until ... what do you know, what was I mad about again. He studies Epsilon, but does not attack again.
Epsilon likewise halts... and in the silence that separates them, nothing can be heard save for the clack-clack-clack of mandibles and hundreds of legs wriggling over the warcat's hullsteel frame. It blinks once before staring back at the Demarian, and then doubtfully - questioningly - utters, "Woof?"
In the ghostly blue-tinted light from the tablet, Kit's motions also stop for a heartbeat...before the tenacious grips of the crawlies has her flinging them off with an over-enthusiastic motion which tips her into the wall of the bay. Nearly sliding down it, she is abruptly tapping at the device's screen, smearing blood and the arthropods' ichor across the surface as she types frantically...
And then the lights snap on, revealing the docking hub in shambles. Cries accompany the relative brightness as various beings wince and cover respective optical receptors. The millipede-like crawlies, legs rippling, slow and halt...before, as a body, they begin to retreat to the docking hubs' corners; filing up the walls and disappearing into hidden orifices high above. A soft sigh, and a blessedly cool breeze brushes past...air not only in circulation once more, but the hatches also opening between the hubs.
Newt screams out, "YOW!" and covers his eyes, breathing deeply as his lungs realise that they've been intaking crud before.
Razorback shakes his head as if trying to free it. of something. "What is .... what happened?" he asks of no one in particular.
"A valid question," comes Epsilon's voice over its speakers, suffering no distortion despite the fact that the Phyrrian is shaking itself out vigorously to dislodge the remainder of the insects from its hide. It swings its head in Kit's direction. "But I know who will know. Kittianna," the Tasker calls, loping toward her on long lemur legs. "You do a poor Tannia impression. You are also bleeding heavily."
As soon as the crawlies finally abandon her, Kit is indeed sliding bonelessly down to a seat upon the deck; hunched over as she pants for breath. As soon as Epsilon is in pursuit, however, the cyberwitch is struggling to rise once more; leaning one hand against the wall as she begins to limp toward the hatch into the trading hub. "Who said...anything 'bout an impression, ship scraps?" she rasps. "The years...have been kind to your logic processors. Bingo...and don't pretend...you care."
Newt just stands there, on his crate, bent down, arms on knees as he tries to recover, "What the hoop was that?"
There are voices rising again, but this time, it is a cleaner anger; driven only by confusion and anxiety over the damages left behind. Dazed, beings are beginning to wander about the docking hub and out of ships, making the first tentative motions to clean up...whether it is destroyed and damaged property, or the occasional body.
Epsilon pads along after the cyberwitch, paws clinking softly against the steel underfoot. "My memorybanks would appear to indicate that you are noted for your competence in high-pressure situations fraught with danger and-slash-or violence. I will correct this error. Erasing previous notation ... updating ... there. I apologize for my inaccuracy."
Kit bares her teeth in a lukewarm snarl at the Phyrrian flanking her. "Not all of us...can exert forces over 800 pounds per square inch. Should'a just let them eat me...rather than listen to you harp...on my handicaps." A stumble, and she halts as she is forced to collect herself, eyes closed. "So...gonna come back to me, now that Bri's gone?" she asks...and though the tone is light, as if in jest, there is a hint of that sly cheshire grin in the slight twitch of her lips.
Alastair has left RP mode.
Alastair has left.
Newt slowly stands up and looks at the crate around him, "Gross." he makes it to the edge and looks down.
"I suspected you would know something about that. Lucky you, you get to live," Epsilon declares, shuttering its opticals once before announcing, "Summons forwarded to clinic personnel, save one Hossomi Nhajatie. I should do the same for the Battleclaw, for the sake of goodwill, if nothing else. This is assuming he survived our encounter. Will you mourn the Battleclaw? It may be more appropriate to notify his next of kin, though I doubt his mate would be able to even comprehend Basic Standard."
Kit laughs; the sound little more than a soft, rasping hitch in her breath. "Know something? Nothing but what the news said...she was with the Tharsis. Anything else...I've been out of circulation for a few days. In case you haven't noticed." She determinedly pushes away from the wall this time, her wind recovered enough by now that she simply begins to shuffle-limp her way directly toward the hatch. "Mourn? Is there anyone worth mourning in this universe or the last? And perhaps it is your understanding of Standard which has suffered...she seemed quite fluent, the last I heard her," she smirks sideways at the felinoid, absently brushind her knuckles across her cheek and smearing crimson across it...an unconscious mirror of the scarlet painting Epsilon's own muzzle.
The crate top is quite a mess. The space around it on the deck is a mess too...but mostly littered with bug parts, rather than smashed into indiscriminate goo.
Epsilon is impatient, but one couldn't tell it by looking at it; the mechanoid remains as outwardly impassive as only one of its kind can be. "Unfortunate. I was looking forward to reading the obituary to her," it monotones, before its tail flicks sideways to rap at the back of Kit's shins. "Sit on my back. I will carry you there. My locomotive faculties are already taxed to their limits, and I do not want to have to drag you when you collapse. Sigma is contacting me -- I've thrown it off the trail with a false beacon in the drydock area. We do not have much time."
The cyberwitch drawls, "You could make one up anyway. Think how happy she will be when he shows up on her doorstep." Between her already shaky grasp of her physical faculties and the solidness of Epsilon's construction - even if the tap had been relatively light - Kit finds herself stumbling to her knees with a grunt before sending the Phyrrian a dark glare. One which morphs quickly into a frown of suspicion as its remarks sink in...and then melts into a small, smug smile. "How will you fool it later, if it discovers your deception?" she asks as she drapes an arm over the felinoid's back, levering herself up until she is back on her feet...wavering for a moment before asserting as she leans a hand upon its shoulder, "Just walk with me. If I sit down...if I even stop for a moment, I don't think...I have to keep moving," she blinks, words only underscored by her unusual loss of eloquence.
"If Sigma wants to force the issue," Epsilon replies, winding down its pace just enough to keep them both moving, "then I will do for her as I did for Alpha and Beta. I doubt she will. Sigma is good for two things, and those are staring and nagging. She is the quintessential housewife on all the holovids. We should purchase her a rolling pin."
Kit snorts as she wobbles a bit before finding a working balance, leaning a hip along with the hand into Epsilon as they make their way into the tradeport. "I wonder if that would make Mika like it or hate it more...she keeps watching those bloody soaps. That would make it a character archetype she's well familiar with...but then, the nagging..." she divulges the dark side with a dry snort before tapping a finger against the hullsteel warmed by her palm. "So, why are you agreeing to this temporary alliance?"
Newt walks around the crate, looking at the carnage he had created, "Wow."
Epsilon lifts its snout to fix her with a steady, red-eyed stare. "I have to discover Sabrina's whereabouts. Even if it means finding only a cold corpse or her component elements scattered in the wreck of an atmosphere. I am... unable to function properly, without... that closure," it explains hesitatingly. "Your interest in finding her is not the same, but the interest is still there. You have a great deal tied up in her safe recovery. The alliance is not only mutually beneficial, but it is very nearly necessary."
"Ah, yes. Kittiana's stake in the company," the cyberwitch's lip curls in a sneer - but the expression is vague and uncertain, as if she herself isn't quite able to grasp yet her feelings on the matter, and the derision is reflex alone. "Well...hard physics is not usually my forte, but as you say...I need a bit of closure on the matter too if I am to wrap up VCS. I calculate our chances...of discovering much, though, to be near-imperceptible...as you should well know." She abruptly lurches, blinking distantly, and then comes to a complete stop; breaths heavy. "I think...I have reached my limits...without having to tap the Nameless One."
Newt gently taps a bug with a foot. It moves, despite being dead, in a manner that makees it unclear as to wether or not it is cringing away from the foot, or just being moved by it. Newt, possibly still mentally unbalanced, goes with the latter and squats down to get a better look.
There isn't so much as a moment's hesitation from Epsilon, who comprehends immediately. "Understood. I am updating our position with emergency personnel. Sit down," it directs. "Keep talking. I will engage your present personality as best I can in order to dissuade any unwanted shifts. Tannia," the Phyrrian is careful to enunciate the name, "tell me. What is your most vivid memory of West Enaj? What did you enjoy most?"
A moment's pause, as if she is contemplating the Phyrrian's offer - or needs the time to even grasp it - and then Kit is sinking down beside it in a graceless sprawl; streaking its hide with red and greenish-black as she slumps into its shoulder. "Most vivid...enjoy?" Her lip curls, wry and sardonic as she struggles with heavy eyes. "The former...when I was given my name. Tannia. That was all I was told, and suddenly, I existed in the universe. The latter...I woke up. The windows were open...I could smell the ocean. A decanter was sitting on the bedstand...blue crystal and glass. It was...the most beautiful shades, like the reefs and the waves themselves, in between storms and during. I stared at it for over a quarter of an hour, until the house's master returned."
Newt pokes it a few times with a gloved finger and, seeing it fail to do anything more then wibble, decides it's safe to try and pick it up to get a better look.
Epsilon settles on its haunches, more like a cat and less like a squirrel, supporting her weight. "That is an interesting recollection, Tannia. Now, tell me a story. Any that come to mind. The most exciting story you can think of. It does not have to be true, Tannia. That option is open, but not necessary."
A moment's pause, and then she laughs. The sound is unnervingly innocent for the current persona - simple delight, with none of the usual sly undertones. "You've made human study...quite the project. You know...how to act quite pleasant, if you want..." Kit husks, voice wavering for a moment - expression uncertain, as if someone else had peeked out for a moment - before firming. She begins to talk, and her voice is steady, if faint and growing fainter...silencing only when the first of the emergency crew touches her arm to ease her away from her prop, going limp mid-sentence.
Newt looks at the coprse in his hand and, after a moments pause, sniffs it. He makes a face and quickly takes it away from his nose. "Gross."
Epsilon does not contest the arrived help, simply padding along after them as silently as if it were still listening to the tale.