[JP] Marshall, Reynolds & Adea - Bait and Switch (Part III)
Jo Marshall
((Unknown Location))
Marshall: —NO TIME TO TAKE A NAP JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A BLOODY DRAMA QUEEN!
The harsh crack of a hollow pipe impacting bone sounded down the length of a dark corridor behind them, ancient grease on the floor making the corrugated metal decking slippery underfoot, and thick, long dead electrical cables ran across the walls behind shoddily composed panelling. Lights barely illuminated anything from the embedded ceiling lamps bearing down on them, though Jo was easy enough to make out as she crouched down beside ‘Kos, shaking his shoulder.
‘Kos Sim groggily came out of whatever gin-soaked sleep he’d managed to scrounge himself into and blinked slowly in her face. He’d been dreaming about… something, he wasn’t quite sure, but green carpet had seemingly featured heavily.
Sim: ::His voice gruff and rough as sandpaper,:: That’s the first and only time you get to call me a drama queen, Blondie.
Still on her feet, Quinn glanced over her shoulder, hazel eyes roving over the exposed piping and looping cables, peering through the gloom. There was nothing moving down there, though over the grind and huff of the poorly maintained systems, she could hear the bass echo of boots on metal.
Reynolds: They must have hit you harder than we thought. ::She looked back toward the pair and held out a hand toward the Betazoid, offering a boost up.:: Come on, before they catch us up.
Turning the metal pipe around in her hand, Jo followed Quinn’s look up the dark corridor behind them, gripping the makeshift weapon a little tighter. Her heart thumped in her chest, the sonorous pitch of a drumming war machine responding to a threat. And while Jo and Quinn could move swiftly, their friend didn’t have that benefit.
Something hollow and harsh, like a steel rod smashing onto a hollow copper conduit, resounded down the passageway; and adjusting the strap bag across her body, Jo looped an arm under Genkos’ on the other side.
Marshall: Time to move. Don’t think about it. It’s only kneecaps, and what are kneecaps between friends.
‘Kos was still fairly groggy, but he’d picked up on one word of Blondie’s retorts. Feeling himself being bodily hefted up and along, ‘Kos tried to get his remaining leg to work, to be helpful to the war effort. It took a couple of steps, but he managed to not be completely useless. Each step was a bolt of pain straight up his spine, however, and his jaw locked itself into a familiar grimace.
Sim: My remaining kneecap is at a premium...
Reynolds: Everything’s at a premium in here.
She threw him a taut, grim grin, no real humour in it. Quinn looked as she felt; deep shadows under hollow hazel eyes, pale and freckled skin covered in grime and sweat, strands of her fine mousy hair glued to her face. The past few weeks had taken their toll, and the former intelligence officer was no exception.
With the Betazoid supported by the two of them, the trio began to move forward. Tired bodies and aching limbs protested the effort, but the alternative—being caught by the gang chasing them—wasn’t worth thinking about it.
Marshall: The next time they try to come out our side, we’re blowing them up. I’m not sure how, but we’re going to do it.
Anger thrummed through Jo’s body even as they moved at a pace. She could feel it in the clenched muscles of her fist in the middle of Genkos’ back, the pipe settled in her other hand, ready to smash it down hard on anyone coming up behind them. She was responsible for everyone there, and she was determined to get them all out alive, even if it killed her to do so.
‘Kos nodded grimly. His oath to “do no harm” had been left by the wayside years ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed his hand against a violent act. But he was still a medic first and foremost, and healing was his art. But if a few petaQs got their legs blown off by a bomb, then it was us or them, wasn’t it?
Sim: ::Gruffly:: What about this time?
Reynolds: If we can get out of this section, I can seal the door behind us. It should give us enough time to get back to the others.
Marshall: Let’s do it. Everything that buys us time is worth it.
Every step down there was a reminder of the Cardassian outpost on the moving moon; intense underground passageways, the grating underfoot, large doors they couldn’t prise open, and argon taps hidden in strategic areas to provide just enough threat to stay in line. Trip any of the systems, they ignited, and fire would burn through a section like the air could ignite and combust.
The clanging continued behind them, with the occasional interspersed laugh sending chills and shock waves through Jo’s spine. Run-ins with the other gangs in the prison were never simple affairs of diplomatic conversation or negotiated exchanges; it was everyone for themselves, regardless of their affiliates. Species of all kinds left there to rot and die in the dank halls of wherever they were, trying to carve out some existence before inevitably meeting their maker.
Marshall: Could we set the pipes off?
‘Kos looked up at the thick, twirling tumult of pipes set across the ceiling, sometimes branching off into the walls, sometimes snaking around and down a hole in the floor. He frowned as he noticed one pipe, with occasional red valves every few hundred feet. Looked like pressure releases to him, and he remembered utilising something similar when he and Yiggs had broken out of a spoonhead brig. He gestured to one of them with a dirtied finger.
Sim: Get a spark in one of those valves, should set off a chain reaction; this whole corridor will fill with fire for… oh, about three seconds before the emergency cutoff kicks in.
Quinn’s eyebrows made a desperate bid for orbit, shooting up at escape velocity. She glanced past him, toward Jo, remembering all too well the time they had nearly been roasted alive in the corridor on Omicron Noctae. It wasn’t an experience she cared to repeat—she still had a neat little grid of scars on the palms of her hands where she’d pulled up the flash heated grill to get to the fuel lines—but it wasn’t as though they had a wealth of alternatives.
Still.
Reynolds: The corridor with us in it?
Marshall: The corridor with us in it!
Sim: The iso— whatever it is, it’s lighter than air, so if we remain as close to the floor as possible, then the explosion should ::he floated a hand across Jo’s line of vision:: glide right over the top of us. ::He grinned a wicked grin.:: It’s a trick Sparks taught me; it’s come in useful a few times now.
Oh Sparks, one of the few members of their cell who was no longer with them, but not because they were dead. He missed that crazy Scottish engineer and hoped that she was happy on Peshkova, screaming drunkenly, and full throatedly, into an engine of some kind.
Reynolds: You know there’s a very good reason I have her job now.
Sim: ::With a wry smile:: Don’t blame me, I didn’t vote for you.
Not that this was a democracy; sure if you disagreed with Walter’s analysis of a situation, feel free to argue, but also you couldn’t expect him to change his mind unless you made an extremely compelling argument to the contrary. Asking the genius engineer to take over engineering wasn’t a hard sell.
Marshall: As Sparks would say, “Everything explodes, it’s just a matter of when.”
Regardless of what their decision was, they needed to make it quickly. They were slow to move between the three of them, and the clanging of the iron only seemed to get louder behind them, low murmurings increasing in their intensity, echoing boots like the rhythm of a drum. Quinn spared a glance behind, heart thumping against her ribs as she ran through the idea in her head.
Reynolds: If it only burns for three seconds, we’re going to have to let them get right on top of us before we set it off.
‘Kos took a couple of deep, irregular breaths. He wasn’t as fit as he had been. About a decade ago, when he’d been younger, fitter and still had two working legs.
Sim: Anything, if it lets me catch my breath. And you guys are doing most of the work…
Marshall: Why change the habit of a lifetime, ‘Kos?
She flicked a blonde eyebrow up to her friends with a cheeky grin adorning. Worry undercutting through it all. Chest heaving at the exertion of carrying one of her best friends through the tunnel, the air feeling thick and cloistered enough already, as if they were underground and the walls were coming in.
Jo looked over to Quinn, tufts of dark curls getting in the way, taking a few deep breaths as she asked the question.
Marshall: Ready to rumble?
Sim: ::He blew a curl out of his eyes.:: Always.
Reynolds: It’s not like “no” is a valid alternative here. ::She sighed and shifted her weight, easing out from supporting Genkos.:: Fine. One death trap coming up.
TBC
--
Jo “Blondie” Marshall
Second
Skarbek
G239304JM0
&
Quinn “Shades” Reynolds
Chief Engineer
Skarbek
T238401QR0
&
Genkos “Wheels” Sim
Doctor
Skarbek
G239502GS0
