Commander Jo Marshall - No Warrior Yields to Flame
Jo Marshall
((Dockyards, Orbital Ring))
Alarms shrieked red and raw, mechanical and merciless, drowning out any specific thoughts Jo had as Klingon curses barged hard and fast through the dockyard tannoy, as guttural a sound as blades scraping stones. Movement started, shapes shifting, silhouetted in the red wash of hazard lights. They needed to get there and they needed to get there now.
Kodash: =/\= Containment failure reported at section seven-dash-twelve. All crews to stabilisation points, now! =/\=
Klingon security and engineers zipped past them on the torus inner circuit, flying speeders designed like workbees only ridiculously faster and lacking the top half. This was it, Jo thought. She was about to die in a Klingon workbee convertible. Heart pounding, she shouted to her officers.
Marshall: Tahlira, grab that one! I'll get behind you! ::She pointed to a workbee painted in rust and scars built to tear around the torus in a heartbeat.:: Vylaa, there's one next to it! Head for the section!
Neither of them questioned the order, or asked for clarification, which was always handy when time felt like it was running in the opposite direction. They bolted headlong for the available speeders, boarding in a matter of seconds. Jo got behind Tahlira just as the ignition caved in and the small vessel spluttered into an engine roar.
Glancing behind her for Vylaa, Jo got half a look at her red hair and cobalt skin as Tahlira floored it, knocking the human back and potentially off if Jo hadn't gripped the supports as tight as her hands would allow for.
The speeders swarmed together as security and engineers alike beared down on the impending problem—problem being a melting hole where the side of a freight ship was moments before. Communicators cackled and Jo reached for hers tapping it once to open.
zh’Tisav: =/\= That looks worse than the first.=/\=
Tahlira jumped at the sound of Vylaa's voice and Jo patted her shoulder to calm her down before she unwittingly sent them careening into the torus.
Marshall: =/\= At least the ship didn't break off this time. There's casualties, though. They're bringing in the EVAC. =/\=
Deyari: =/\= We need to help them. I'd rather not be charbroiled today, thanks. =/\=
Or any other day, if it was all the same to her, ran the thought through Jo's mind as they neared the blast zone. It had happened a fair distance from their previous position, almost a full quarter of the torus ring had zipped by in the blink of an eye. Communications crackled once more, this time Klingon instructions fighting through to get their people into position.
zh’Tisav: =/\= We need to get that plasma fire under control. It’ll weaken the ring's structure, never mind the radiation that’s poisoning all those dockworkers. If we can find a place to land, it’s a real mess down there... =/\=
Watching the chaos and confusion reign down below, Tahlira broke through Jo's worried stare as she turned toward her.
Deyari: I can get us close to the fire if you have an idea of how we can help.
Marshall: Some, I'm no damage control expert. ::They had a few on the Gorkon that sprang to mind, usually in the heat of the moment.:: But plenty of experience when shit goes wrong.
Too much, some might argue, and Jo would likely be one of them, too. The freighter looked as though it'd taken a chuck of itself and thrown it into outer space for laughs. Stray pieces floated, unbidden by the gravity of the planet, carried on waves of heat.
zh’Tisav: =/\= Those firefighters are too close, they need to get back. =/\=
Down on the torus, Jo saw the firefighters moving in to tackle the blaze, equipped in their armoured fire suits, ceramite composites shining under the pressure of the fire. They looked like they were about to ride into battle rather than preserving their safety. Full-faced and tusked visors with rebreather modules would keep their lungs safe. It hadn't saved a dozen or so souls that had already succumbed to the blast, however; those nearest the explosion and the fire before the plasma extinguishers could get there.
Wind whipped around them, and close as she was, Jo found herself having to shout to Tahlira the closer they edge to the disaster zone.
Marshall: Take us in, close as you can get. If we need to, we'll run the last stretch.
Deyari: Roger.
As their makeshift pilot angled the speeder down toward the plasma fire, Jo put a plan together in her head. She could hear Quinn's voice in her head, telling her to keep them away from it, let the Klingons fight the fire and they can investigate the aftermath. But they were there now. Her friend could swing her from the deflector later.
Deyari: =/\= Where is the plasma supply shutoff? =/\=
Marshall: =/\= Docking nodes should have their own isolators where the torus feed branches into the vessel system. Should be in an insert alcove with a lever! =/\=
zh'Tisav: Response
Jo looked forward then, tearing her eyes away from following the lines of the EPS back to the central nexus of the torus, just in time to nearly come fully into contact with a large jutting structure Tahlira swerved at the last second. Her heart slammed, pounding the inside of her ribs as they whipped past the site of their near death and worked ever-closer toward the side of their impending death.
Underneath the speeder, Klingons corralled to make sense of what was going on and get some order in place. It didn't help that they could barely hear the whirring of the engine they rode right above them.
Deyari: =/\=There should be some sort of loudspeaker on this thing, right? =/\=
Marshall: =/\= It'll say something like "weq" on it. =/\=
zh'Tisav: Response
The machine let out a shrill whining shriek, and with slow, deliberate, un-Klingon-crushing movements, Tahlira set the landing sequence. It worked; the occupants on their landing space moved out of the way, though—Jo noted, at least—not without some underbreath curse words exchanged.
Climbing out of the vehicle on shaking legs was a lot more effort than climbing into it had been, Jo stumbled a bit as her foot protested in her Starfleet boot, but it came around all the same when it realised there really wasn't a choice in the matter. Her blue eyes darted about, feeling the roll of the heat from their distance, not assured there wouldn't be another explosion if they couldn't do something quickly.
She glanced at Tahlira, already on the balls of her feet, ready for action.
Deyari: How does it work?
Marshall: Throw your weight behind it!
zh'Tisav: Response
The plasma shutoff alcove loomed out of the scorched bulkhead like a shrine to brute force engineering. The inset recess lined in protective duranium, with a great levered wheel set into it. A Klingon firefighter already stood before it, gauntleted hands locked on the lever, straining with the effort. They barked something guttural at Tahlira through the visor but made space for her on the wheel.
Firefighter: YES, LITTLE WARRIOR! Better to risk suffocation than be dishonoured by hesitation! PUSH WITH ME!
Deyari / zh'Tisav: Response
Jo's attention snagged on a flicker to their left. It wasn't the molten scar of the freighter, but the maintenance building right beside it. Fire had leapt like a predator, licking into the lower decks of a maintenance hab block. Windows belched smoke, the walls shuddered from the plasma heat.
Through the choking haze, silhouetted figures battered at the window of a sealed hatchway. The outer hatch was sealed, surface blistering, red heat pulsing through the alloy. No Klingon in armour had broken off to help. All eyes were still on the freighter. Fist pounded, voices hoarse against the onslaught of the cacophony, even as the fire crawled down toward them.
Marshall: Come on!
Deyari / zh'Tisav: Response
Jo sprinted across the deck, her boots skidding to a halt before the hatch. Even from a metre away, the heat prickled her skin through her uniform. Touching it was suicide. She yanked her tricorder free, thumbing through readouts with shaking hands.
Marshall: ::Shouting over alarms,:: Structural locks are intact but the control node’s half fried. We can’t pry it.
Deyari / zh'Tisav: Response