Jo Marshall - Walking On the Moon

[Jo Marshall]

((A few hours later: Bridge, the Skarbek))

::The hours passed in tense quiet, instructions flying between stations, reports coming in from all angles of their small ship as they barrelled through space toward the Fourcade’s reported coordinates. Jo’s stomach clenched in twisted fear with the recent reality of losing friends coming back to haunt them, like the perpetual ghost of a life lived on the other side. There wasn’t much Jo could do apart from watch as the four took them ever closer until…

::…Until the moon was as stark on the viewscreen as space itself.

::Analysis of the crust slipped through their computers, reports of a barren rock barely able to sustain a breathable atmosphere and minimal water, though microbial life showed signs of being the only living thing down there. However, it was the deep and penetrating scar across the rocky landscape that captured their attention. Like a cleft in the rock itself, their friend’s vessel had dove through the atmosphere and hit the surface hard enough to carve a path through stone and grey dust, the remnants of which still in the air like ash clouds. Flashes of carmine, amber and yellow could be seen licking the hull plating of the Fourcade with sections of the ship broken off in the plunge.::

Brunsig: ::Low,:: Scheiße.

Marshall: Understatement of the decade.

Tereen: Response

::Jo leaned on the console in front of the viewscreen, watching over Walter’s shoulder as the reports came flooding in from their various systems and sensors. If there was any chance of surviving that wreck, Caedan would’ve found it — he had to have, or she was going to kill him.  The forward section of the ship looked somewhat intact, but the rear and starboard shot completely. From that distance, scorch marks weren’t evident on the sides, but something had taken them down.::

Sienelis: Reading lifesigns and to no one's great surprise, significant damage. Looks like the power's out.

Brunsig: So no point in hailing them.

Tereen: Response

::Valesha shook her head, still combing through the responses from their subsystems and sensor matrix. Leaving Walter’s side, Jo leaned her arm on the upper strut of the bridge beside the Romulan and watched her work.::

Sienelis: There's something else.

::With a delicate dance of her fingers across the sensor controls, she shifted the viewscreen image away from the Skarbek, to another artificial thing on the surface. From where they were, it was little more than a cluster of roofs, buildings with roots that went deep.::

Sienelis: No signs of life or power. Looks abandoned, but sensors can only read the surface structures. I'm pretty sure they go underground, though how far I can't tell you.. ::She paused, frowning.:: The signatures are definitely Cardassian.

::Like a blanket of snow had whumped down immediately, silence covered the bridge as the meaning filtered through brains — Cardassians on a remote moon in the middle of the DMZ, with a base that could extend underground. A ripple ran the length of Jo’s spine and she inhaled a sharp breath, her teeth fully embedded in her bottom lip; the last time she’d been so close to a Cardassian compound of that magnitude, she’d received a brand and a lifetime of nightmares for the trouble.::

Brunsig: =/\= Red, take Sparks and Tereen and transport down to the Fourcade. Find Nkai, ::he paused, and she could hear the incomplete thought "if he's still alive",:: and lend a hand with repairs. =/\=

Sevo: =/\= Response =/\=

::With a glance toward the hybrid comms officer, Walter jerked his head toward the door, dismissing her from the bridge and toward the tender mercies of the flame-haired Trill. As if he’d heard the order on the wind, Chris reappeared from wherever he had vacated to and slipped back into the operations chair without a word. Jo realised he might have been hanging in the wings, listening to the situation, and knew the gravity of it without being informed directly. His face certainly fell in the same pattern.::

Brunsig: =/\= 'Kos, there'll be wounded aboard the Fourcade. Gather up Sylvek and Fortune and head down with supplies in the Inayat-Khan. ::He glanced toward their pilot.:: Xerix'll fly you and he can be a spare pair of arms once you're down there. =/\=

Sim: =/\= Great. =/\=

::The one word answer was all that was needed from the Doctor; the acknowledgement of his task arriving in a deadpan voice. Usually, Jo would’ve laughed at the resigned derision ‘Kos emanated, but this was the Fourcade and friends hanging in the balance with the sword of Damocles cleaving the air above their heads, so she remained in stony silence, exhaling a breath through her nose.

::It was then Walter turned to her, as she chewed the inside of her cheek, her arms crossed, but body practically vibrating with the need to move and do something before it was too late. She met his blue eyes of steel with hers of sky, a blonde eyebrow arching with a silent question.::

Brunsig: Jo, go take a look at that outpost, and take Strip and Fingers with you. ::He paused, then with a shake of his head and a grimace, he continued.:: And throw Shades into that mix. She might have a clue why the Cardassians have been building secret bases on backwater moons.

Marshall: Yeah, if anyone’s going to know…

::The sentence trailed off with unnecessary words unspoken, the meaning was there all the same. A spike of suspicion flit through her; the thought of the Fourcade evading capture and discovery for years, until now — until they had a former Starfleet Intelligence Commander on board their vessel, with access to their broadcast information. Dismissing the thought, Jo nodded and ducked down the passageway off the Bridge.::

((Outside the Outpost, Omicron Noctae IIIa))

::Who the hell had let Reynolds drive? Jo had, apparently.

::Dropped from the Inayat-Khan like an egg into boiling water, their cross lander vehicle raced across the dunes of grey powder and rocks at a clip under the ministrations of the daredevil driver behind the wheel. If Jo wasn’t absolutely sure the hybrid wasn’t trying to kill them, she would’ve been absolutely sure the hybrid was giving it the old Academy try. With a glance behind, and a hand fully wrapped around the support cage of the vehicle, Jo caught the eyes of Cory and Sami, hoping neither of them were as motion sick as she felt.

::Of course, that could also have been an effect of the rebreathers attached to their faces. Atmosphere breathable to a point, only a small addition was necessary to compensate for the greedy amounts of breathing humanoid lungs tended to do to sustain the simple thing of life.::

Marshall: How’re the armaments looking like? If there’s a midnight rave going on down there, I don’t fancy turning up to a party empty handed.

Reynolds/Stoyer/Neathler: Response

Marshall: I’m hoping not. ::She glanced to the brunette at the wheel, the uncanny resemblance to her partner as stark then than ever.:: Just take it easy. If they’re still rocking around, they’ll have scouts, or a giant eye roaming from a tower somewhere. Get us close enough to do the final approach on foot.

Reynolds/Stoyer/Neathler: Response

Marshall: You’re a menace to society and I don’t mind telling you.

::Dust kicked up into the air as the large pitted wheels of the cross lander gripped into powder and skidded to a stop. They’d rocketed past where the Fourcade had rested in the rock, and if there was a smell of burning on the air, the rebreather did a good enough job of keeping it out. As her stomach climbed back down from the notch it had carved into her throat, Jo pulled herself out of the seat and jumped out of the vehicle, boots hitting the ground, wobbly legs as standard.

::And that was definitely one jagged looking outpost digging out of the dirt. A cluster of buildings, more like someone had rammed together pieces of metal together to the tune of a child’s imagined interpretation of what a Cardassian base would look like. Panelled sections of the walls were missing, having slumped into the dust long ago, and what could have once been a sensor grid was covered in powder.::

Marshall: Slow and steady we go, then. Eyes peeled.

Reynolds/Stoyer/Neathler: Response

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Jo Marshall
Cell Second
The Skarbek
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