Commander Jo Marshall - tIq vIvoqbej
Jo Marshall
((Dopterian Cargo Ship, Dockyards, Orbital Ring))
Frozen in place, Jo didn't move as she listened again, waiting for the sign they hadn't jointly imagined a noise they wanted to hear. They didn't wait long. Another pained groan tumbled out of the gap between the doors, louder, though not by much.
zh’Tisav: There! Another...
Marshall: Tricorders saying we've got a ping. The room must've shielded them from the fire, somehow. Can you prise the door open?
Vylaa checked her big spanner up against the door gap.
zh’Tisav: Not easily. We’ll need more leverage, and my spanner won’t fit..
Marshall: We need something that won't snap like a twig. ::She glanced around.:: Hold on.
Pieces of a damaged store crate—likely smashed against the bulkhead when the explosion hit—lay on the ground, and Jo found a length of it that wasn't sharp at one end but looked sturdy enough to pry the plating off a shuttlecraft. Shucking off her jacket, she wrapped it around one end and slotted it between the doors, making room for Vylaa.
Marshall: On your mark.
The zhen shifted her weight, bracing a foot against a buckled bit of floor decking.
zh’Tisav: Now!
Throwing their weight behind it, they both leaned into the broken arm. With a screech of door plating and fused panel, the gap increased by a fraction. Repositioning their leverage, they tried again, and again, giving it all they could until finally, muscles aching and blood rushing, the door gave way. Momentum doing what momentum does, it sent Vylaa flying back against the wall, knocking the breath out of her lungs, while thrusting Jo forward to collide inelegantly with the open panel.
zh’Tisav: That smarts!
Marshall: You'll survive. ::She peeled herself off the door and glanced over.:: Unless you won't, then I've got a medkit somewhere.
Vylaa waved her off with the gesture of those who had taken more than their fair share of beatings in the last year. Small collisions with inanimate objects were par for the course in recent memory.
zh’Tisav: I’ll be fine. But I haven’t heard our friend in there make a peep in a while.
Jo took a breath, physically taking stock of everything that wasn't broken or bleeding, and mentally confirming Vylaa's observation. When the groaning had stopped, she couldn't say for sure, as it'd blended well with the exertions of the two officers battling the door.
Marshall: That's a point.
Door now ajar enough to fit through, Jo and Vylaa stepped into the chaotic disarray on the other side. Everything everywhere and broken, sharp edges and wedged furniture which had once made the room a workspace. In the centre of the room, a triad of consoles had once stood, mounted on pedestals. Jo could tell from the one hanging on by a thread, the other tipped onto its side as if mauled by a hungry Android looking for parts.
Under the console, a Dopterian lay, stuck beneath the slight weight of it, and by the look of his body, burned and cut up. Buttery blood dribbled from behind an ear. Jo scanned him quickly, looking for any obvious signs of broken bones or fractured skull, noticing the clothes he wore weren't the same as those they'd pulled out from the wreckage before.
zh’Tisav: I should be able to lift the console, if you’ll pull him out.
Vylaa pushed against the console, her weight bearing on it. Jo nodded, quickly clearing a small area with the side of her boot.
Marshall: Ready when you are.
Jo took a firm grasp of his underarms, and on Vylaa's lift, Jo pulled the Dopterian free. He groaned again with the movement, though it sounded weaker, fragile almost. Exertion aside, Jo retrieved the jacket she'd used to protect their hands on the bar and wrapped it up, tucking it beneath his head. Tricorder out, she switched it to a medical setting and ran it over him as Vylaa lowered the console.
zh’Tisav: How bad is it?
Marshall: Pretty bad. Rib fractures, pulmonary contusions, liver trauma, soft tissue lacerations from the shrapnel. Superficial burns though. Some good news.
zh'Tisav: Response
Marshall: He's disorientated, struggling to breathe. ::Her lips formed a thin line as she looked up to Vylaa, forming a decision.:: We're going to have to move him into transporter range. See anything we can use as a makeshift stretcher?
zh'Tisav: Response
The lights, what remained of them anyway, flickered once, then again. Longer this time, as if the ship had processed it had died and this was the final, quivering exhale. The corridor outside rattled with a metallic clang. Heavy steps of boots in an echo chamber. Jo froze, glancing at Vylaa, her hand reaching for her holstered phaser. If they’d dragged this man out of danger only to be ambushed in a half-collapsed room, they’d be easy prey.
Cain / zh'Tisav: Response
Lieutenant JG Xandria Cain swept in, and relief hit Jo like fresh air after smoke. She let out a breath, shoulders sinking, the knot between her ribs loosened just a little.
Marshall: Deyari made it out in one piece, then.
Cain / zh'Tisav: Response
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