1stLt Samuel Woolheater – Mnemosyne
Radamio
((Under the Shield – Dig Site Three - Marohu III))
It brought Samuel no joy to see the man suffering, if that’s what this spectacle was. Woolheater kept his eyes on both men. Some species could play dead. They could literally stop their heart and breathing for minutes to hours. Some species would emit a foul odor that smelled like death. Others could slow their bodies down so much that they appeared dead, until they shanked you and you discovered – too late – that you had been had. Woolheater had seen that happen. So, who could say if this was not some ruse? Even so, they held the high ground, and if either of them made any sudden moves, Sam was right there with stun setting ready to fire. Tekmeth kept pointing and indicating to the cylinder; he clearly wanted it.
Greaves: This? (Gesturing toward the device)
Woolheater: Colonel? I got ’em covered.
Sam made sure that he was between the Colonel and Doctor Nis while at the same time not blocking sight lines. The Colonel, Nis, and Thasho had an unimpeded view.
Semidon: It’s his sereth-vahn.
Thasho: Oh, yeah, it was in the report that he needs that stuff.
Sam exhaled, a sharp breath through his nose.
Woolheater: Could be medicine, could be bait.
Greaves: I’ve seen explosives that size before, but something tells me he’s not about to blow us all up, himself included.
That was an excellent point. If they were trying to steal it away, an unknown alien piece of technology, probably not a great idea to blow it up.
Nis: This sereth-vahn does what, exactly?
Semidon: It’s a medicine. He needs it from time to time. He’s going to have to inject himself.
Woolheater kept his rifle steady, eyes following every move. Greaves glanced at Jania for a read. Sam caught her face too…annoyance and confusion, neither of which is a good sign. When she started scanning with her tricorder, Sam shifted his stance, a silent reminder to the two prisoners to stay put.
Tekmeth wasn’t looking good. His throat worked in and out, tendons straining, eyes bulging with each ragged pull of air. The Paradan tilted his head from side to side, then cut a glance at Tekmeth before falling quiet. Tekmeth’s whole body trembled harder with every breath.
To Sam, it was still theater, whether real or staged. He had seen men hyperventilate, pass out, drop like a sack of bricks, then bounce right back without a medic ever laying hands on them. For all he knew, this was just the man’s version of a panic attack. It gave Sam no pleasure to see it, but his job wasn’t to offer comfort. His job was compliance and control.
If Tekmeth truly collapsed, Starfleet’s Chief Medical Officer was standing right there. And if it turned out to be a trick, then one less question mark breathing made the odds cleaner. Either way, the team stayed in control.
Jania moved toward the crate, but one of the diggers cut her off. Sam’s grip on the rifle tightened.
Woolheater: ::a harder edge:: Whoa there! Hey! That’s close enough.
Semidon: From what I understand, the cylinder is tied to his biometrics. He’s the only one who can open it.
Sam stayed locked in, his stance showing it did nothing to put him at ease. Colonel Greaves turned back toward the youngest person present, and the self-reported leader of the group.
Greaves’ voice cut through the tension.
Greaves: Thasho, you trust these two?
Sam’s eyes never left the pair, but he listened.
Thasho: I don’t know! I don’t feel like I know these guys all that well. We picked up a bunch of diggers just a few days before we left.
Jania stepped in, her tone steady.
Nis: If you sincerely believe he’s a threat, the Marines can restrain him enough to allow him to open the container, and we can do the injection ourselves.
Thasho wavered, biting her tongue, eyes flicking from Jania to Tekmeth.
Sam studied the man. He had seen plenty of ruses in his time, feigned weakness, fake choking, men who would sell the act hard to get an opening. Usually, the performance fell apart quickly under pressure. But this one…if it was an act…was good. His rifle stayed locked on center mass, the stock snug in his shoulder.
The tension hung in the air, and Tekmeth was as pale as moonlight.
Greaves: Give him the medicine. Woolheater, keep your rifle on him in case he gets froggy or it turns out to be a weapon.
Sam’s cheek pressed firmer to the stock. His finger slid forward, resting just outside the trigger guard.
Woolheater: Aye, Sir.
Sam shifted his weight slightly, keeping the barrel in line.
Woolheater: Nice and easy. No sudden moves.
Semidon/Tekmeth: Response
Jania was already in place, tricorder working, her light flashing in Tekmeth’s eyes. The device chirped, once, then twice, sharp notes that made his jaw tighten. Sam didn’t know the medical meaning, but his gut told him it wasn’t good.
Nis: How frequent are attacks of this sort?
Semidon/Tekmeth: Response
Woolheater: Sounds like you need a new line of work, friend.
Greaves: I concur.
Semidon/Tekmeth/Nis: Response
Greaves: I’m not sur-
The clang of metal on stone echoed across the chamber, sharp enough to make heads turn. Sam flicked his eyes toward it, but his rifle stayed level on Tekmeth and Semidon.
A figure had gone down in the crates, but Sam wasn’t about to peel off and leave his sector open.
Sam exhaled slowly, cheek firm on the stock. His eyes stayed on Tekmeth.
Greaves/Semidon/Tekmeth/Nis: Response
The wounded stranger staggered, his painted face pale, clutching his side. He pitched forward and hit the stone with a wet slap. Brown-orange blood spilled from between his fingers, seeping across the floor in a jagged trail.
Woolheater: ::into his earpiece mic:: =/\=Cpl. Jones, take a lance and check that contact. Keep it tight.=/\=
Jones didn’t hesitate.
Cpl Jones: Aye, sir.
He snapped his head at two of the LCpls, and they were moving, rifles low-ready, boots eating distance across the chamber. One Lance stayed with the main group, anchoring Sam’s flank.
Greaves/Semidon/Tekmeth/Nis: Response
Sam didn’t so much as twitch his muzzle off Tekmeth. His voice stayed low, steady.
Woolheater (to Greaves): Sector covered, sir. Contact is being checked.
Greaves/Semidon/Tekmeth/Nis: Response
From across the way, Sam caught the faint hiss of comms. Jones’ voice came clipped and professional:
Cpl. Jones: =/\= Contact secure. One male, humanoid. Wounded, phaser burn across the ribs. Still breathing, but he’s painted up in white and red war paint. Doesn’t look like one of the diggers.=/\=
The words carried back fast and flat, all business.
All the while, the intruder’s bloody flow found the artifact crate. A single droplet of alien blood slid down the side and dropped onto the artifact. It had grown very bright blue now, and a low rumbling was emitted. Inside, with a hiss like hot iron quenched in water, the artifact flared, a cold blue pulse that leapt from the box and raced up the walls and up into the dome. A low, ominous sound vibrated the room.
((Mnemosyne Dome))
The chamber shifted. And there was movement all around them now.
At first, it seemed like a trick of light, a flicker of torch-shadow over the dome’s carvings. But then the stone itself rippled. Centuries of dust and neglect fell away. Figures that had been frozen in bas-relief began to move, their limbs sliding against the rock as if the wall were water. A soldier raised his blade mid-strike, a mother bent to shield her child, a crowd lifted their faces to an unseen sky.
Dozens, hundreds of them, all caught in eternal scenes, and all of them now shifting, twisting, alive. Their movements were silent except for the dust falling. Open mouths and no words, silent screams and silent victories. All of the movements, hundreds of bas-relief scenes in motion all around them, and all in motion.
Eyes that had been blind stone blinked. Mouths that had been mute stone whispered, lips working soundlessly. The carved procession circling the chamber turned in unison, every face angled downward, watching the intruders at the center of the dome.
It was like standing inside an audience of ghosts, the walls themselves bearing witness. The figures moved in endless loops, fight, mourn, embrace, collapse, then reset, only to play again. An eternal theater, carved from the bones of the mountain, now awakened by blood and presence.
The artifact glowed brightly blue now. And from the center of the room, a pedestal rose from the floor, and a spotlessly clean and shiny orb, about the size of a grapefruit, pulsed with light.
Greaves/Semidon/Tekmeth/Nis: Response
TAGS & TBC
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Scout Sniper / Infantry Officer
MARDET, Starfleet Marine Corps
USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850