PNPC 1LT Alene Torado — Crank Call
Nolen Hobart
((Passageway, Deck 7, Main Module, Deep Space 33))
Torado: Good. If it hurts, you’re not dead, sir. You got my pack?
Zenno: Not dead. It would satisfy the wrong people and annoy all the others. ::Breath:: We got the pack, but we need to get to Ops. Are you ready?
Alene frowned. He was the ranking officer, it was his prerogative to continue bleeding all the way up 7 decks. But she foresaw a damned inconvenience in her future. She eyed him with some skepticism.
Torado: All due respect, sir, that shoulder isn't going to patch itself. At least not on our timetable.
Zenno: I’ll be fine. I can shoot. If anything I am more motivated now than before.
Torado doubted whether it was a question of motivation, and more about physical ability. She didn't know much about anatomy, and even less about Bolian anatomy. For all she knew, he might have kept his spleen in his upper arm, and was minutes away from death. Come to think of it, where exactly did she keep her spleen?
He wasn't bleeding profusely, but he was bleeding. And spleen or no, the graze seemed deep enough to cause significant muscle damage, which could easily limit his mobility and effectiveness.
Torado: ::dubious:: Uh-huh.
Zenno: I’m thinking up the ladder here, then down to Passageway R-3, then up ladder all the way. But I am open to influence if you have a different suggestion?
She eyed his shoulder. Climbing six straight decks’ worth of cramped Jefferies tube ladder was sensible, usually. It would be the path least likely to run into enemies. But it also would be the path putting the man’s ability to overcome his injury to the greatest test.
Torado: R-3 should also have a turbolift junction. We could climb the shaft instead. We'd have a better sense of things outside on the way.
The exact same amount of climbing, but more opportunities for breaks. Of course, it was also easier to fall, but then they would just have to avoid doing that.
Zenno: Excellent. We will do that. Let’s go.
She nodded, and followed him as he turned to make the first, short climb. For the second time that day, they nearly collided due to an abrupt and unannounced halt.
Zenno: Sorry about your hands. Your uniform. Sorry about all of it.
She looked down at the blood that covered her fingers and splotched her duty jacket.
Torado: Eh, I've been covered in worse.
There was a pause, and then the Bolian clarified.
Zenno: The blood, my blood. It’s caustic. There will be… many symptoms. Apologies. Try not to touch your face or eyes. ::beat, smiles: So, shall we be on our way?
Torado: ::arched eyebrow:: We'll, that explains the tingles.
No more words were needed, and this time she followed him to the ladder. Better to have him above her than vice versa.
((Timeskip, Passageway R-3, Deck 6, Main Module, Deep Space 33))
The short climb up to Deck 6 had been uneventful, and Alene noted she didn’t get dripped on by acidic alien blood. In some contexts, it would have been a terrifying prospect, calling for eternal unwavering vigilance. In this context it was merely a curiosity of the moment, with only a slight chance of mild inconvenience.
They’d exited out of the Jefferies Tube with, by now, a highly practiced routine. Listen, look, clear, confirm, close the hatch behind. They didn’t know it at the time, but they were among the last of the Federation personnel below Deck 3. The station’s forces were in full retreat, making a last stand in and around Station Ops for fear of losing everything, and the Lattice forces were making one final push to take it, for fear of being destroyed by their own allies for fear of failing to take it.
Torado: ::rifle aimed down the hallway ahead, whispering:: How’s the shoulder?
Zenno: Response
Torado: ::whispered:: Not tingling as much anymore.
Zenno: Response
They approached the turbolift doors and Alene made for the control access panel. Slipping her (somewhat tender) fingertips in a small crevice behind the backlit faceplate, she pulled hard until it popped off, revealing a mess of circuitry and one large mechanical arm. Without power to the turbolift system, the only way in was with a manual hydraulic control. As Zenno stood guard, she pulled it free of its housing, and began to crank it clockwise. The doors moved.
But not nearly as quickly as she wanted them to.
Torado: ::cranking, frustrated:: If this was an actual emergency we’d be dead.
Zenno: Response
Then something caught her ear. She stopped and looked, and clearly Zenno had heard it, too. A swishing sound? Could have been a Sheliak coming down the hall. But, no, there was some vocality to it. She held her breath to hear more clearly. Was it… crying?
Torado: You hear that, too, sir?
Zenno: Response
Tags/TBC
———
1st Lieutenant Alene Torado
Marine Officer
As simmed by
Lt. Commander Nolen Hobart
Executive Officer
USS Khitomer (NCC-62400)
A240001NH3