PNPC MCapt Hughes: "Lights Out" (Tag: The Below)
Daniel Eastham
((SB118 – The Below))
Janker: It could be risky. This place has defense shields! They almost trapped me!
Whittaker: :: warily, this time turning his gaze to Hughes :: Defense shields?
::Hughes cast
his eyes upwards and around them, there wasn’t anything immediately obvious
that leapt out at him as being a new addition. If there was anything out of the
ordinary it was well camouflaged or even (and more worryingly) cloaked::
Hughes: It’s possible there are some defense systems Sir, but I can’t see anything yet.
Beyett/Zinna: ?
Trel’lis: My concern is *not* screwing with *fate*, any more than we
have to.
Janker: Hey, you're the ones with the knives...
Whittaker: :: another withering frown at the Pelian. :: You talk too much, has anybody ever told you that?
Beyett: ?
::Hughes tightened his grip on the Pelians wrists, the sort of vice like grip that encouraged the little rodent to keep his mouth shut rather than carry on blithering away::
Trel’lis: The quicker, the better.
Zinna: Can't argue with that.
Janker: So... are we staying or are we going?
:: They kept moving, heading forwards into what looked for all intents and
purposes like an ancient shopping centre. It wasn’t the decaying facades that
caught Hughes’s eye though, there was a whole series of automated turrets
resting and facing into the courtyard, their barrels lowered but ominous
looking to say the least.::
Whittaker: :: tapping Beyett on the shoulder, quietly. :: Look. :: he motioned to the emplacements serruptiously. ::
Beyett: ?
Hughes: Non-Federation issue, arc-turrets. They don’t have a stun setting. Probably bought and smuggled in from outside the station.
Zinna/Trel'lis: ?
Janker: ::A shrug:: There's corpses littered around down here. This is your station, you tell me how they got here. They're way too old for it to have been recent.
Whittaker: :: scathingly :: Haven't I already made it
clear that we didn't know this was here?
Beyett/Zinna/Trel'lis: ?
::Something made the hairs on Hughes neck stand on end, the sinking feeling in his stomach starting to take over as he finally worked it out. That little Pelian had led them right into the firing line of those turrets… and Hughes was sure that he’d seen one of the ancient emplacements twitch with a morbid and electronic glee at a series of targets entering it’s register::
Janker: ::He perked his hairless brows, wide eyes going even
wider:: Really? You would do that? ::Said in the tone of 'so
much for shiny, happy Starfleet.::
::Like a well coiled spring Hughes lunged to the side, tugging Beyett with him
quite forcefully. There was the unmistakable hum of energy, the tang in the air
stinging his nostrils. Not disruptor turrets, at least not anymore. Jury
rigged, adjusted to feed directly from the stations EPS system rather then any
sort of recognisable weapon signature, made perfect sense to keep them hidden.
Hughes brown eyes darted around peeking up over the makeshift cover of an old market stall he found himself ducking behind, those turrets were very much alive, tracking back and forth with a ruthless mechanical desire to destroy.::
Whittaker: Ack! :: he tried to stand but couldn't handle it and had to settle for dragging himself across the floor, his left doing whatever it wanted. He found cover in the form of what he assumed was a wide-based street lamp. He looked to Trel'lis. Are you alright?
Trel'lis: ?
Whittaker: I've been through worse Lieutenant. :: A flash of memory aboard Chennel's former raider came back to him as she ordered her minion to torture him with a Klingon painstick. :: I'll live. :: beat :: Can you see the Pelian?
Trel'lis: ?
Whittaker: :: calling out. :: Can anybody see the Pelian?
Trel'lis: I th-- ::a significant bolt
sizzled by, partially grazing her left “pipe”, stripping it of its mylar
covering. Her head jerked in response, as she cried out from the pain and
shock. Trel’lis lay silent, with an occasional head jerk/spasm. ::
::Hughes crawled over to the stricken Diplomatic officer with a grimace as he watched her contort in agony. At least the emplacements weren’t designed to kill outright, if they were she’d already be a smouldering pile of ash on the floor. Maybe they were used for riot control of misbehaving slaves or something equally unsavoury, even so he carefully inspected her wound with his sleeves tucked over his hands in makeshift gloves. A nasty electrical burn wrapped its way around her neck, leaving him unable to do anything but keep her head supported.::
Trel’lis: ::coming to, as neck spasms
continued:: It caught one of my pipes. ::grimaces, from pain:: We…must… get
out… ::groans:: Must! ::more neck spasms::
Whittaker: Stay with us Lieutenant!
Trel'lis: Dis anyone get that Pekian?
Whittaker: Not yet. But we will Trel'lis. :: he looked around, there were at least four emplacements firing at them. A tactical plan began to form in his mind as he turned back to the diplomatic officer. :: Talk to me Lieutenant.
Trel'lis: ?
Whittaker: Like I said, don't worry about me. :: calling out :: Listen up people: Captain Hughes, Lieutenant Beyett- we need to take out those emplacements. I count at least four. Set your weapons to their maximum settings and take them out. :: beat :: Counselor Zinna- you'll be responsible for getting that Pelian to safety.
Hughes: Understood Sir.
Beyett/Zinna: ?
::Hughes looked at the Type I in his hand, the damned little thing was never going to get up to the power of a Type II, but at least it should be enough to give those emplacements a firm wallop.::
Whittaker: Trel'lis- you need to stay conscious. Understood?
Trel'lis: ?
Whittaker: :: turning the business end of his phaser on to the first weapons emplacement, he steeled himself and schooled his mind into focus, ignoring his still spasming left leg. :: FIRE!
:: Hughes threw himself up over the cover, his aim as precise as usual as he lit up the turret that had taken the first shot, the four converging beams causing the structure of it to superheat into a dull red, then bright yellow before violently exploding into a twisted mess of metal, the heat of it washing over his face while tiny shards of metal fell like rain around them. ::
Whittaker: It's working!
Hughes: =/\= Hughes to CIC, under fire reques…
::Hughes scowled as his communicator just let out a few irritating pips before failing to connect. There was no way they were out of communications range, causing him to ascertain with a sense of dread that those emplacements or something nearby was jamming their outbound communications::
Anyone: ?
Hughes: We’re jammed
::he winced as a second arc of energy smashed into their cover, blue energy tendrils wrapping briefly around it, returning fire with a few direct hits. To his horror, a blue bubble appeared around the second turret to be shot, flickering as those orange lances smashed against it.::
Anyone: ?
Hughes: The others are shielded… but they have to be powered from somewhere, their own generator to shield them from showing up on the EPS grid.
Anyone: ?
Hughes: We c…
::A sudden sensation washed through Hughes, an odd feeling of dread as one of the turrets off to the side twitched towards him. Both human eye and machine eye locked against each other as two sudden realisations hit both of them. First, triumph for the machine as the perfect lock was established on it’s quarry, the second came from Hughes as for the first time in his career he had made a grave error of tactical judgement.
It didn’t last for long as the weapon let out another fearsome blast of energy and caught the human directly in the chest, throwing him back to the ground with a horrific finality. There was no pain, death as swift as the fall of a guillotine blade as the veteran marine fell backwards to the floor with a look of indignation on his face.::
Anyone: ?
Major. Tatash
Marine Lead
SB118 Operations
C239108T10