Ensign T’Fearne - Express Boarding Pass [Part 3]
teayl.thorn
((OOC: Apologies for my delay and for posting these slightly out of order. I just wanted to make sure I got some current tags out. I’ll post parts 1 and 2 as backsims as they likely have no tags.))
((Maintenance Tunnel, Soliton Express))
The pair of vulcanoids dropped down into the maintenance shaft with practised ease, their boots making a loud clang on the flooring of the maintenance shaft. As the other officers and shady locomotive employees headed towards the aft, the security team veered off in the other direction, towards the front of the train. Tucker and Nakada's last encounter with Emzai meant that they had a general idea of her position as of a short time ago.
With her rifle strapped to her torso and her favoured T2 phaser gripped tight—set to stun—T’Fearne moved like a shadow, sweeping intersections with tactical precision as Raga covered her. Each junction, each dim corridor brought them closer to their target.
As they advanced, the memory of—the last time she had occasion to work with the commander surfaced—a firefight on DS33 crept back into her mind. T’Fearne’s trial by fire—fresh out of the Academy, green, unproven, but determined. The universe had tested her mettle that day. The Lattice Alliance had nearly overrun the station, and she had been there, clinging to her rifle, her training and the unwavering presence of the Starfleet officers defending the station. She had seen terrible things, but she had also seen loyalty, tenacity and bravery from the crew of the Ronin at Raga’s lead.
Raga: With luck I’ll be able to hear her. But there’s a lot of people and machinery to sift through. ::he closed his eyes, pausing briefly:: Most of it I can sort through, but I think people have realized there’s a big problem.
T’Fearne: ::checking the corridor behind them, rifle raised:: That’s impressive. All I can hear is the machinery down here. Does it sound strained to you?
They pressed on. The maintenance lights flickered above, like the power was being leeched, casting strange silhouettes on the slightly curved walls. The opulent exterior of the Soliton Express—a fusion of art nouveau, sleek lines and flowing chrome—masked its retrograde innards in the bowels of the carriages. The technology beneath was industrial, and utilitarian.
T’Fearne’s sharp ears weren’t as acute as Raga’s, but her sense of smell was another matter. At a four-way junction, she paused, inhaling sharply through her nose, mouth slightly ajar. The air was oddly warm, infused with sharp notes of industrial fluids, recycled ozone, and the peculiar stew of dozens of denizens of the Alpha quadrant—plus a pungent, earthy stench she immediately recognized as excrement.
oO Smells like the mess at PS4 Terminal. Still better than the bio-hazard cleanup in ensigns Poagie and k’Oar’s quarters on deck 08. Oo
Suddenly, a soft hiss overhead broke through the background din—then screams, raw and choked, spilled from the cabins above.
T’Fearne stared, looking for the source of the sound, something acrid seeped into the background scent profile she had just sampled.
Raga yanked his rebreather from his belt, slapped his commbadge and slammed the mask over his face.
Raga: =/\= Raga to Tucker, quick! Rebreathers now! =/\=
The hiss became a steady exhale, a sickly vapour cascading down from the carriage above like a curtain of poison. T’Fearne froze mid-inhale, forcing herself to halt her breath. With only a sliver of air in her lungs, she dropped into a crouch, reducing her target area and tried to calmly and quickly apply her own re-breather, the same clear face shield that she had used on PS4 to avoid the airborne contaminants. Fumbling for her rebreather, green motes flared in the corners of her vision.
She slid the mask over her face, the seal snapping tight against her skin, fingers trembled slightly. Then came the blessed sensation of filtered air, and she drank it in.
For a few moments, the Vulcazoid just concentrated on inhaling and exhaled deeply several times to clear anything she might have inhaled from her lungs.
She only half heard Raga’s voice come through the muffled veil of his mask, sounding stern and clipped.
Raga: Emzai… on Grus Beta Three… she has a preference. ::he checked on the Ensign:: Ensign, are you alright?
The tunnel wavered for a moment. T’Fearne blinked, green spots swimming at the edges of her vision.
T’Fearne: :: mumbling :: I think… maybe… What is that?
For a moment she could have sworn she heard her comm chime and Alyndra’s voice saying ~ Syrex to T’Fearne ~, but it echoed strangely in a dim part of her mind to be dismissed as imagination or effects of the gas.
Raga: Ensign, are you alright?
The second time he asked his voice sounded sharper. The green spots receding from the edges of her vision. She stood slowly shrugging off the dizzying effect, phaser raised once more.
T’Fearne: I believe I am unharmed and ready to proceed, Commander.
He gave a grim nod and raised his tribracer, pulling up the schematic of the train. T’Fearne concentrated on covering them, her dark eyes sweeping for movement in the shadows through the face shield of her mask as he parsed the data before heading off with renewed determination.
Raga: Good, let’s move. If she’s triggered this, I imagine she’s either desperate or maybe someone did something to piss her off. Either way, we need to find her and free Tsim-Shah.
T’Fearne: Agreed. Though if this is desperation, I’m concerned about what she does when we corner her.
Something terrible had clearly happened to the train, hijacked by terrorists with a personal vendetta against Starfleet and Niac in particular, and the passengers above were paying for it now.
They moved. The passage twisted through the train's underbelly, flanked by modular walls and crosshatch tunnels. The structure made sense—a network of adaptable modules, designed to disconnect and reshuffle like a giant mechanical puzzle.
Ahead, the next airlock loomed. Raga crouched low, watching.
Raga: Go ahead and open it. I’ll cover you, then we’ll switch. Old fashioned leap toad.
She had never played leap the amphibian and thought it mildly insensitive to some member species of Starfleet, but his instruction was obvious.
T’Fearne: On my mark.
She triggered the airlock open with sudden intensity. As it hissed Raga entered first, scanning every corner, motioned her through and then cycled the lock. The gas hung thicker here, a slow, creeping mist.
Raga: Vitals are fluctuating all around us. I’m guessing she had that gas rigged in every car.
He studied his bracer and she peered at the indicators of beings in distress. There were hundreds, maybe more. T’Fearne stared at the data. This target—Administrator Emzai—had implemented the plan that their team had come up with to gas a carriage with anesthizine. This target had done it bigger and better than they had the capability to do.
T’Fearne: Should we stop? Try to help? :: gesturing above with the phaser ::
He shook his head.
Raga: No, we keep moving. Emzai is our goal. If we get caught up trying to help the people in the cars above she’ll be free to move about as she wishes. Besides, the best ones suited to help them are the other team. They have Chief Tucker and Doc Syrex.
T’Fearne: Understood. :: to herself :: It’s like she's anticipating our actions. How are we going to apprehend her if she has more countermeasures planned?
Raga opened the next hatch and T’Fearne cleared it swiftly, but her jaw was clenched, trying to anticipate the next surprise attack.
Raga paused suddenly.
Raga: Dammit, where are you? ::he murmured::
T’Fearne: :: mildly concerned :: Sir?
Through the re-breather it was hard to see what he was looking for, just a faint luminous glow of his eyes catching the inside of his mask in the dimmer lighting of the maintenance walkways.
Raga: I’m listening for her, but it’s hard to sort through the screams of everyone in this car. Keep moving. ::he tapped his commbadge:: =/\= Raga to Tucker. We’re still looking for her, but that gas is lethal and I think in every car. If you have any chance to stop it, please do so. =/\=
Tucker: =/\= Response =/\=
T’Fearne kept her composure and her attention on the way ahead of them. She had confidence in Alyndra and O’Connor’s abilities after spending time with them on PS4, but she was glad to hear from their team after the vapor attack. She was not confident about the plan to decouple the carriages. Separating themselves meant that they couldn’t come to each other's aid. She couldn't help feeling that they were heading deeper into the spider's nest, strung along in exactly the way the target intended. Her ear tips itched.
Raga: =/\= Good, well let me know when you’re going to do that. Two commbadge clicks, just in case we’ve found her by then. Don’t want to tip our hand because she can overhear. Raga out. =/\= ::to T’Fearne:: Alright, we’re almost to the next car we should…::the bracer chirped:: Tellarite lifesigns. There’s three total between this car and then next. Can you narrow down which isn’t in one of the passenger spaces?
He nodded towards her own tricorder.
T’Fearne: One moment… You’re thinking that he is still down here?...There. It's the third one, currently farthest from us. Starboard corridor junction. It’s inert, but I'm registering a comm badge!
Raga: Response
T’Fearne: Sir. Aren’t we doing exactly what she expects? She knows you, she’s expecting the crew of The Ronin to come for one of their own. He is being used as bait.
Raga: Response
Time was literally running out, the corner of her tricorder display showed the diminishing hours, minutes and seconds to impact, but rushing forward could be deadly. She paused for a moment, looking down at her own golden uniform and then gestured at the Commander's red Starfleet jacket.
T’Fearne: What if we confuse her expectations? We could get rid of these for a start and borrow some of the passengers' garments. If she’s expecting Starfleet officers, she’ll see us coming along these tunnels easily, but if we look like passengers, milling about, weak, dying and affected by this vapour we might be able to get closer unnoticed and then drop down from the passenger level.
Raga: Response
She shrugged out of her jacket, pocketing her comm and pip and resettling her phaser rifle. She pointed up with a raised slanted brow.
[Tags, You're it! / TBC]
===============================
Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14