Major Tatash - The Despoilment of the Mind (Tag: Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche/Kelemkor)
Daniel Eastham
((The Waiting Room))
Tatash followed behind the group as they entered the small waiting area offset from the court room. He could tell instantly that it was soundproof as the door fell behind them, isolating them instantly from the hubbub of the arena outside to the point where a pin dropping would have echoed around the room.
He turned his attention towards the other person in the room, the same striking handsome faced that had looked up at them from the PADD, the same one that was a harbinger of the cult they were seeking to destroy.
He flashed them a smile, but it wasn’t a friendly one, it was the smile of a hungry cat toying with it’s prey before consuming them. Predatory, cruel.
Kelemkor: Ah, Vro’che. You have done such a good job in guarding these… Starfleet … guests.
There was a tone behind that message, the emphasis placed on guests was levied with something that implied they were anything but.
Vroche: ?
Tatash kept himself quiet, he was still appearing meek, humble. It was not his place to talk.
DeVeau: ?
Kelemkor stood up and swept towards the trio of Starfleet officers.
Kelemkor: Ah, Commodore Taybrim and entourage. ::He smiled in a lovely but cold way.:: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kelemkor, your aide for this trial.
Taybrim: ::Calmly, diplomatically:: I was not aware we merited an aide.
Vroche: ?
Tatash: We are not the ones on trial, we do not require an aide. This is extremely unusual.
DeVeau: ?
Tatash hated this… sleaze, this fake-speak that permeated the group. It was clear now that there intentions of this man were not friendly, but he was laying the verbal equivalent of a flower wreath on a shallow grave he’d started to dig for them all.
Kelemkor: Come now, Commodore. Surely Attorney Li’otha has explained to you that the likely outcome of this trial is the execution of your officers.
Taybrim: That is a possibility we hope to avoid. ::Sal stated firmly.::
Vroche: ?
Tatash: The political fallout for such a terrible, wasteful punishment would be immense. Is Qo’nos really going to risk hefty sanctions and a souring of relations with the Federation over an internal matter?
DeVeau: ?
He moved towards them again, and Tatash felt something creeping in the back of his mind. A strange sensation like someone was peering through a window at him, a shadow creeping in his thoughts like some sort of muffled spectre.
Kelemkor: There are ways you could save them, if you are careful.
Those dark eyes connected with his, they lingered for a moment.
Taybrim: I am already careful. ::he said with a low conviction.::
Vroche: ?
DeVeau: ?
Tatash: Could you please step back…
The figure didn’t, and Tatash found his thoughts wandering. He didn’t know how to counter the invasion, he’d never experienced something so deeply violating before as he felt his memories dragged up to the surface.
((Flashback – The Battle of the Albion))
::Diago was thankfully quick on his trigger, the Albion letting out orange bursts of energy towards the attacking ships that did their best to adapt to the sudden new parameter being thrown at them, several exploding into blossoms of yellow before subduing into frozen shards of gas and metal.
One by one their number
went down, a few elated cheers coming over the comms as the electronic
smokescreen surrounding the fighters started to dissapate along with their
numbers. Even Tatash couldn't help but feel himself slightly untense, until
that split second of relief bore a heavy price.
His Valkyrie spun violently as something tore hard against the port side, what had once been a pristeen wing now a twisted peice of metal. He'd been rammed, the drones apparently programmed to take every last risk when it came to ensuring victory against their designated enemy::
Computer: Warning, Port engines destroyed. Compensating.
::Slowly the ship came about, steading herself out as she limped towards the Albions perimeter, but the moment had been enough for one of the drones to deliver a firm volley against her damaged hull. Tatash flailed in his chair, thrown against the side of his cockpit as alarms wailed on each console::
Computer: Catastrophic damage. Eject. Eject.
::His training took over, clawed hands grasping for the lever under his seat that would throw the entire cockpit out as a makeshift lifeboat, one tug. Nothing, two tugs. Still nothing::
Computer: Ejection failure.
::His heart was pounding, the blue glow of the Albions shuttlebay painfully close as he fired up the emergency thrusters, throwing him forwards towards it as he tapped on the comms system hoping to the pale goddess it still worked::
Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Albion. Mayday, Mayday.
::Nothing, whatever response had come through was distorted static blasting through his earpeice. His cockpit was cracking, a thin spiderweb slowly erupting over what was once an impossibly strong material::
Tatash: =/\= Mayday...
Computer: Warning, landing gear failure. All systems failing.
::All he could do now was hope as he continued to push towards the docking bay at speed, his scaled knuckles amost white as he did his best to assert what limited control he had on the ruined vehicle. The Albions damaged hull rushed past him as he saw the massive catching net erupting from the shuttlebay floor, he could even make out technicians running for cover as time seemed to slow down as the adrenaline pushing through him hit his peak.
The nose hit the net with tremendous force, the entire fuselage crumpling down as he was thrown forward, what was a moment of reality pushed into a murky darkness::
((The Waiting Room))
Tatash snarled, a guttural, violent sound erupting from him as he found himself transfixed on Kelemkor.
Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ?
Kelemkor: ?
Tatash: Get out of my damned he…
((Flashback – Tilanna V - 3,500 feet above ground level))
::Lights shimmered around him as suddenly his body was forced to spread outwards, Raisillius floating along behind him in freefall. His HUD finally sprang to life, altimeters and artificial horizons along with a target zone flashed up by Falcon's careful navigation.::
Computer: 3,000 Feet. Caution: Exceeding recommended speed.
Tatash: =/\= Pushing through the pollution layer now, watch out for civilian traffic.
::The greenish haze under them approached rapidly, breaking apart into a murky soup of unknown gasses as vehicles passed them by on each side. Some swerved desperately to avoid the two black figures falling, others skimmed by so close that Tatash could make out the faces of their pilots, all mouth agape for that brief split second::
Computer: 1,500 Feet. Danger: Extreme risk to life. Terminal velocity achieved. Deploy parachute.
::He override the suit with a tap on his wrist as the target zone became larger, clearer. As they dropped closer and closer the outlines of the sprawling factory became clearer, each building becoming more then just a mass of grey and brown::
Tatash: =/\= We pull at a 200 feet. You heard right. We open fire from 200 feet above, bring the damned roof down to cushion our fall.
Computer: 500 feet.
::He watched the meter ticking from the corner of his eye, four hundred.... three hundred... every part of him was thumping with adrenaline, every nerve firing off as he pulled the cord. He could feel himself being yanked upwards, threatening to rip the suit right off him as it struggled to cope with the extreme stress placed under it, especially as the micro-boosters attached to the sides also fired.
It took all his willpower to bring his carbine up, the Communicators of his stricken team finally appearing, clustered together in what looked like the dead end of a corridor. Raisillius had already started hosing down the roof and Tatash joined that heavenly choir, leaving the thin steel punctured and shattered before finally his thick boots finished off the rest of it.
The both tumbled in with a tremendous crack, something twinging in his shins as they impacted the corridor with more force then he'd have liked, but the adrenaline took care of that momentary pain as he continued to fire down the corridor. Figures slumped and fell, toppling down in complete surprise as the two heaven sent warriors pushed back up against them.
A few shots landed nearby, one clipping him in his armored pauldron, tearing it off with a sizzle causing his helmet to go dead for a moment as it automatically rerouted control around. The perpetrator meeting a viscous and swift hand from Raisillius's precise bursts of fire.::
Tatash: ::Yelling over the din:: Grenade out!
::He tossed one of those little ovoids down the corridor towards the attacking force, pressing himself back against the wall before the large bang made his ears ring, the shockwave moving down the corridor enough to make him wobble slightly. A second explosion occurred as the Captain took a chance to throw his own.
Tatash didn't need to venture down the corridor to see the results of their effort, the remains of what had a moment ago been aggressive forces now strewn across the floor made gloomy by a pall of smoke. It was grisly, but there was no sympathy. War was never a pleasant thing to look at.::
((The Waiting Room))
The invasion stopped, something was dripping. A steady drop-drop-drop onto the floor.
Pain, searing pain. Something was in his grip. Something heavy. Rage, incalculable rage was pushing through his veins like fire numbing even the ripping sensation in his flank. Every battle he'd fought in, every person he'd lost, killed, maimed pushing his actions like the fury of a thousand ghosts.
He heard shouting, muffled, like hearing things through water. A dull cacophony that wasn't making sense, it was just.. noise. Noise around him, hands trying to grab at him, pulling him, he would not move. He could -not- move. He was war, he was fury.
Taybrim: ?
He heard that, that familiar voice like a lighthouse beckoning him back to his senses like suddenly being thrown in front of a moving train. His conscious snapped back to reality, but still lost in a mire of confusion.
Kelemkor was hovering a foot above the ground, a gasping sound coming from him as a scaled hand was wrapped around his neck, but still he had that smile on his face. Whose hand was that?
Tatash blinked, finally releasing those fingers as Kelemkor dropped back down rubbing his neck with that same face, but now mixed with amusement, like someone had just won an astounding and surprising victory.
Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ?
Kelemkor: ?
Tatash didn’t respond, the mystery of the dripping sound suddenly starting to snap together in his head as he looked at the D’k tahg in Vroche’s hand, it was red. Wet.
It was like his nerves were moving in slow motion, the hand that had dropped Kelemkor pressing against his flank where his uniform was tore and that same warm wetness was running down the inside of it.
Tatash: Sal, I… I’m sorry, I don’t… I don't understand.
Confusion was met with logic. He’d tried to kill Kelemkor, the guard, understandably had tried to stop him. A firearm would have drawn attention, a knife was quiet. But why? Why had he tried to kill him?
Confusion, endless confusion. He felt the medkit tossed at him by Kelemkor who seemed endlessly amused, thumbing over the catch relying now on pure training drill, fingertips searching for something to staunch the wound.
Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ?
Kelemkor: ?
---
Major Tatash
Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company)
Starbase 118 Ops
C239108T10