Commander Jo Marshall - SujHa’jaj QongtaHghachlIj!
Jo Marshall
((Dopterian Cargo Ship, Dockyards, Orbital Ring))
The pad bloomed white and birthed a figure with the suddenness of a Klingon-shaped fist in the dark. Broad shouldered, red visor snapping down over a face Jo didn't see quickly enough, but the rifle in his hands came up, and that she recognised with pure instinct. The first shot took the wall over Jo's head, slagging a support strut in scorchmarks, while the second hit the target with a wide shot, burning with a flash through the skin of her shoulder, sending her backwards behind the cover of a maintenance crate.
Marshall: Shit— ::her uninjured arm scrambled for her phaser,::—suppress his fire! Keep it low, don't shoot the pads!
zh’Tisav: Or the coils!
Her hand fumbled the grip on her phaser, unused to shooting with her left hand, fingers all over the place. Sheer determination took over. Jo gripped it hard and slammed her back against the maintenance crate as pain sizzled through her upper bicep. Not exactly how she wanted this day to end.
zh’Tisav: That suit looks phaser resistant! Better up your settings.
Cain: Aye!
Marshall: Disable, don't kill, if you can!
The sound of phasers increasing their power reached her ears, and Jo glanced over her shoulder to Vylaa, sending a spray of suppressing fire towards their invader, until it knocked clean out of her hand, sending skittering across the floor. Cain sent her retort in the shape of several blasts of fire. Nothing worked, though. The Klingon still stood on the pad, clad in the red firefighter armour, rifle at the ready and protection negating their attacks.
zh’Tisav: I don’t think phasers are doing the job! He’s got a disruptor. No stun, only kill. He’ll get us before we get him.
Cain: You two alright?
Question aloud, Jo breathed a pained chuckle out.
Marshall: Never better.
zh’Tisav: I’m fine.
Another shot whizzed by, sinking into the bulkhead panelling, leaving a scorch mark but not deep enough to render the metal. All three of them were still awake though, leading to the very strange realisation the firefighter had weak aim at best.
zh’Tisav: I’ve only got my boot knife left. I can throw it, but then I’m out of options... If I can get in close, I think I can disarm him. ::An antenna perked up.:: Unless one of you would like to try, but he’s kind of tall…
Even sucking in a breath or two, Jo wondered why Vylaa had said such an odd thing. Did that mean the Andorian wouldn't fight someone shorter than herself? Cain was a security officer on board a Starfleet ship. Nearly everyone was taller than her.
Cain: I’ll do it. Cover me?
Marshall: We've got you. Stay low. I reckon that visor has limited range.
zh’Tisav: Response
Cain didn't wait for anything else, darting out from cover, going in low and quick under backup fire. Jo angled herself well enough to throw a pot shot toward the invader, catching the sides of the transporter pad as they ducked, swinging their rifle toward Xandria instead. Their security officer dodged, the shots just landing wide enough.
Cain: Nuch!¹
Marshall: Drop him, Cain!
zh’Tisav: Response
The Klingon was big, hefty in his emblazoned firesuit, but Cain was faster, nimbler. Jo watched, in some kind of awe, as the blonde landed the blow to the back of his knees, and sank the bite of her dagger into his neck. He threw his head back, the red helmet connecting with the soft flesh of her nose with a bone-shuddering crunch.
Scrambling up from cover, Jo used the maintenance crate to lean on, steadying her aim as best she could. Only it was too late anyway; Cain's elbow connecting to the firefighter's head took him down, and he slumped to the floor, rifle kicked out of reach. Blood had bloomed over Cain's face where he'd landed the headbutt.
Cain: Why the hell are the firefighters attacking?! And are you two alright?
Marshall: I don't think the firefighters are attacking, otherwise there would've been more of them. ::With a groan of annoyed frustration, she stood up.:: And doing just fine. Good work, Lieutenant, proving the universal truth that elbows were made for fighting.
zh’Tisav: Response
There'd been enough of them on the torus to swarm the Dopterian ship if they needed to. Jo grimaced as she held her arm, like a dead weight hanging beside her, concerned why the effect of the disrupter hadn't taken her out entirely. She approached the unconscious Klingon and frowned, the steady beep of the working transporter system interrupted by occasional snores, then glanced to Vylaa.
Marshall: Can you find anything on him in the database?
zh’Tisav / Cain: Response
Marshall: Scrubbed, then. No one goes to that much trouble unless they meant to make a point.
zh’Tisav / Cain: Response
Jo turned her eyes on the unconscious Dopterian, lying slack on the stretcher, paler than the lunar moon. Had the Klingon come back looking for him and found the Starfleet crew instead? Her blonde frown caught again as she pressed the hypospray from her pocket into the side of her neck, relief sweeping through her in an instant.
Marshall: We need to beam him back to the Gorkon as soon as we can. Him, ::she glanced to the Klingon,:: I can't help but think we're bang in the middle of his cleanup operation.
zh’Tisav / Cain: Response