PNPC 1LT Alene Torado — Can’t Win for Losing
Nolen Hobart
((Passageway, Deck 7, Main Module, Deep Space 33))
They were on the offensive, and that made First Lieutenant Alene Torado very happy. It was a luxury. On the back foot, you could only fall back if things got rough. And sometimes you couldn't. But she and Zenno had formed a kind of guerilla assassin unit in the station's lower decks, and it was work that suited Alene.
They'd laid traps, with the marine serving as bait. And now they were on the hunt. They moved stealthily down a darkened and seated corridor, towards the distant and deck-muffled sounds of combat.
They trod carefully, coming upon the scattered remains of Starfleet officers, and the splattered, almost puddled remnants of Sheliak invaders. There was a scorched smell to the bodies, possibly from weapons, but the burns on the Starfleet corpses didn't have an impact pattern that Alene recognized. And the sulfur hints added to the theory that there were Tholians about, in compromised suits.
She wrinkled her nose at the sights and smells and focused on looking for something she couldn't see.
Zenno: We should have brought breathers for this.
Torado: Smells like Tholian, but I don't see any here. Must have got away.
Zenno: No matter. Let’s proceed up.
They advanced down the curved corridor in silence until they came upon more corpses. This time, there were Tholian among the dead. And worse.
Torado: ::gesturing with her chin:: Looks like civvies.
Zenno: The evacuate signal was given. They should have listened…. Wait!
They might have listened, for all Alene knew. They might have been bushwacked on their way to an evacuation point. Much of the Khitomer had been left behind by Torado and Zenno a deck below them. But it certainly wasn’t the Khitomer contingent they could hear. She very nearly held her breath while she listened to garbled banter between Tholians up ahead.
She looked at Zenno, who was looking back at her. He began to sign to her.
Zenno: ::Hand Signs:: Attack or run?
Torado: ::Whispering:: Known me how long, and you still ask?
Zenno: ::Whispering:: It’s polite.
The Khitomer’s security chief smiled in a way that was both reassuring and troubling to Alene, but just the same they charged ahead and opened fire on the Tholians.
But something was wrong. The enemy returned fire, but only half-heartedly, it seemed. They disappeared around a bend, and the hairs on Alene’s neck stood on end. Alene hesitated to pursue them. The situation smelled wrong to her. It wasn’t the resemblance to the lure she’d used against Zenno. They just weren’t this clever. If they were running away from them (or to something else) it could only be for something more tempting than a pair of Starfleet personnel behind enemy lines.
And so, she stopped, instinctively. She imagined that Zenno had the same reaction, but realized she’d imagined wrong. She looked over to Zenno, who was wincing. One of his gold shoulders was torn open and singed, and the man himself seemed torn between wanting to grip the wound and not wanting to exacerbate the pain. He was also spewing a steady stream of what she assumed were Bolian naughty-words that the universal translator spared her from understanding.
Torado: Ah, crap.
Zenno: Response
She motioned toward the wall that the enemy had disappeared around and glanced back down the corridor. If it was a lure, improbable as that felt to her, they might get impatient and come back if the pair of them waited too long before stepping into their trap. At the same time, Zenno wasn’t going to be able to deal with that on his own.
Torado: Sit down, sir, let’s deal with this. ::reaching to the waist pouch at her back:: Can you get your jacket off?
Zenno: Response
She nodded as he began his attempt. The tear of velcro and the shuffling of cloth were the only sounds in the corridor at that moment. She pulled the waist pouch around to the front and dropped it by his legs, and readied her rifle.
Torado: Basic supplies in here. Gotta clean and dress it. I’ll be right back.
Zenno: Response
Alene took off in pursuit of the retreating Lattice forces and slammed her back against the wall. She took a few deep breaths, half expecting to be shot the moment she peered around the corner. But she couldn’t delay, she needed to get back and help the Khitomer chief. She twisted her torso and took a quick peek, pulling her head back even before her brain had a chance to process what she saw.
Her brow scrunched up in confusion and she looked again. She was confronted with a very short hallway that led to a pair of doors that had been knocked or blasted open. Inside was a small lounge that, despite being in a fair amount of disarray with knocked over chairs, seemed entirely devoid of life.
With this puzzle in her head, she jogged back to the wounded Bolian, who’d managed to get his uniform jacket half-off.
Torado: They’re gone.
Zenno: Response
She set her rifle’s safety lock, and set it down on the deck beside her as she crouched down by the Lieutenant. She reached out with both hands and rolled his jacket sleeve off of his wounded shoulder towards his wrist as gently as she could.
Torado: Dead end. Had to have beamed out. ::chuckle:: Maybe we won, sir.
Zenno: Response
She squirted the water from her kit through the gnarly graze on the Bolian’s shoulder, attempting to clean out as many stray bits of fabric that might be hiding there. Her optimism was forced, and entirely unsupported by her own internal estimation of what was likely happening. She didn’t know, but she didn’t think it was good.
She didn’t get a chance to give voice to this, however, before the station buckled and turned upside down. The lights disappeared and sparks flew, further down the corridor. A terrible scraping of metal echoed deafeningly through her ears, and Alene lost her balance, toppling over from her crouch onto the floor.
She heard the distinct pop of emergency bulkheads snapping into place, and just as quickly as it had all happened, it stopped. The emergency lighting came on, and the deck stopped wobbling. Fortunately, they’d been in an empty corridor at the time, and there was little that could get tossed about besides them.
Stergis: =/\= Stergis to any defense team...report in. =/\=
In the dim lighting—which, she silently bemoaned, would not make dressing Zenno’s wound any easier—Torado gathered herself. Her elbow throbbed. A bad bruise, for sure, but they weren’t getting shot at for the moment, so she had time to prioritize. She needed to confirm that Zenno was still alive.
Zenno: Response
Done. Then she needed to get that wound bandaged up. And then they needed to figure out how screwed they were.
Torado: Good. If it hurts, you’re not dead, sir. You got my pack?
Zenno: Response
Tags/TBC
———
1st Lieutenant Alene Torado
Marine Officer
As simmed by
Lt. Commander Nolen Hobart
Executive Officer
USS Khitomer (NCC-62400)
A240001NH3