I wrote this a while ago, you'll probably want to read the first part before you read this. Or not, it likely won't make a difference. *glares at kirby*
1, 2, 3, 4, hit it!
Bronski awoke with a piercing headache. He was lying on his back in the crew cabin of the Peacekeeper courier ship. He could hear the faint hum of tachyon engines. A good sign—whatever had happened back on Dorcas, they hadn't been captured and their ship had remained at least marginally functional. As for the crew...
"Sir? You all right?" Daschka was seated across the room, his face set in a grim expression.
"Yeah," Bronski grunted. "My head hurts like hell."
"Doctor Cavanagh said you had a mild concussion, that you'd get over it soon."
Clearly, the doctor had more pressing business to attend to. Bronski ground his teeth together.
"What is it?"
"It's that Zhirrzh, Svv-selic. He took a couple of 10mm rounds to the back," Daschka said quietly.
"It's bad?" Bronski asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
"Bad enough. Cavanagh says she doesn't know enough about Zhirrzh physiology to treat him, but if he doesn't get help soon we're going to lose him."
"So what do we do about it?" Bronski bit out. Daschka pressed his lips together for a moment.
"We're taking him to Oaccanv."
"Zhirrzh world."
"Yes, sir. The leader—Gilag—gave us the coordinates. Said it was the best chance we had."
"Really," said Bronski, raising his eyebrows. For the alien to give them the coordinates to what was obviously a highly developed Zhirrzh world was an incredible gesture of faith, one that Bronski wasn't at all sure he would be willing to make himself.
"Yes, sir," Daschka repeated. "That's not to say any of them were happy about it. They were jabbering and flicking their tongues at each other over it for at least 10 minutes. Can you walk, sir? We'll be there in another hour."
"Yeah," Bronski grunted, hauling himself upright and clutching his forehead with one hand. "Let's go."
Bronski had gone into the medical room expecting something bad. But all the years of military service he'd been through couldn't stop the nausea that took hold of him when he saw the Zhirrzh.
"He's in shock," Melinda Cavanagh said, looking up. Her voice was muffled by the white surgeon's mask she had strapped over her face. The elder Cavanagh sat by the box of supplies, looking exhausted and worried. His shoulder was bandaged, his arm in a sling. "Surprisingly few broken bones—they're similar to cartilage in structure. But he's losing blood fast. We're in serious trouble here. I don't know if you've thought of this, but if he dies we're going to be in a bad position with the rest of the Zhirrzh."
The thought hadn't had much of a chance to work its way into Bronski's brain by this time, but Cavanagh was right. Even with Gilag on their side, which Bronski wasn't sure he was at this point, there would surely be politicians scrambling to capitalize on the incident. Their chances of that surely hinged on whether or not Svv-selic survived. And, of course, there were the humanitarian motivations Bronski had been having an increasingly difficult time surpressing as of late. Too much time spent around civilians, he suspected.
Melinda Cavanagh was still waiting for a response of some kind.
"Yes," he said lamely. "There's that."
"Sir?" Daschka asked into the silence. "If you don't mind, we could use your expertise in the...ah...the other room."
The "other room" was one similar to the darkroom the Zhirrzh elder had been imprisoned in—encased in lead, et cetera. Certainly not something that came standard on this class of ship. When it came to equipment, NorCoord Military Intelligence could work wonders when they had the motivation.
Based on the context, it seemed likely that Bronski's men were using it as a sort of war room. The official word was that Zhirrzh elders couldn't breach any kind of refined metal, and therefore any room would have sufficed. But evidently Bronski's men had decided it wasn't worth the risk. He could hardly blame them, under the circumstances.
As Daschka held the door open, Bronski glanced at the occupants. One he'd expected. The other...his eyebrows went up when he saw Kolchin seated beside Cho Ming. The bodyguard stared right back.
"Apparently Mr. Daschka felt that I might be useful in working this out," Kolchin said blandly.
"Fine, whatever," Bronski said, not in the mood for argument. His head was still killing him, besides. The Brigadier sat down opposite Daschka at the utilitarian metal table in the center of the room. "All right," he said abruptly. "What do we know so far?"
"We know the attackers used both projectile weapons and lasers. We know the Zhirrzh have used no projectile weapons during the war," Cho Ming began, with the precise tone of someone who has been thinking something out for a very long time. "That may or may not mean that they don't use them at all in military operations. Conversely, our own limited knowledge of efficient high-powered laser weaponry is questionable at best. Portable laser weapons are extremely hard to obtain in the Commonwealth, wheras projectile weapons are everywhere. Our bogies used both. This implies either that the attack was a collaboration between local and Zhirrzh forces, or that someone very much wants us to think it was. The obvious question is who."
"If I may," Bronski interrupted. "that was a Bhurt out on the landing pad the Zhirrzh soldiers took out. That all by itself should bump the Mrachanis to the top of the list of suspects."
"Are you sure it was a Bhurt, not some other unknown alien? Something from the Zhirrzh worlds?" Kolchin asked skeptically.
"No, it was definitely a Bhurt, and pointing a Peacekeeper-issue anti-air rocket launcher to boot," Bronski replied.
"Ah." The bodyguard fell silent.
"The attackers used no radio during the attack, that certainly counts for something," Daschka spoke up.
"None?" Bronski cocked an eyebrow.
"None the ship could pick up," Daschka said. "I had Garcia scrub through the readings after we meshed out. Nothing. Besides, I'm sure our new friends would have noticed."
"Maybe they did," Cho Ming suggested darkly.
"No," Bronski answered. "I've seen what those kinds of transmissions do to them. Not something they could simply hide from us. Besides, we'll get to the issue of their trustworthiness later. Okay, we have strong reason to believe the attack was perpetrated by a group of Mrachanis, Bhurtala, and Zhirrzh. The next question would have to be why."
They continued in that vein for a full hour, so wrapped up in their work that they barely registered the jerk of mesh-in, or the clunk of landing gear being deployed, until Garcia knocked to let them know they were on Oaccanv.
NorCoord Parlimin Jacy VanDiver strode bitterly from the courthouse, bumping a chattering Mrachani violently out of his way. The battle was over. And, as usual, Cavanagh was free without a scratch on him. And Lee was still missing. Every inquiry he made about his aide was somehow "lost in the shuffle." Something was fishy here, and VanDiver would bet money Cavanagh, again, had something to do with it. VanDiver was going to find out what happened to Lee, and he was going to nail Cavanagh and whoever else was responsible.
He saw Pheylan Cavanagh climbing into the driver's side of an immaculate Black Lexus, provided no doubt to the little brat by his father. Pheylan Cavanagh, the one he'd been sure he could reel in, was now as free as the rest of the stupid family. On impulse, VanDiver went over to the car and looked in the window. Pheylan Cavanagh glanced at him coolly, and rolled down the window.
"Can I help you with something, Parlimin?"
"You're not getting away with this," VanDiver ground out, trying to put as much menace into his expression as he was feeling at the moment. "You're still up to something, and I'm going to find out what it is. Even if I have to tail you across the Commonwealth myself."
"Really," Cavanagh said, his tone cavalier. "One would think a Parlimin of the Northern Coordinate Union would have matters of more importance to attend to. Diplomatic, or even military ones."
<.<END OF TRANSMISSION>.>
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Map-Review | My Portfolio | The Matrix: Unplugged
Banks and banks of humming machinery! I've never seen so many knobs. We're going to have to do something, Charlie! Try pushing that button there. No? How about that one? No, not that one either. I know! I'll try pushing this one. Hold my hat will you? Good fellow.
[This message has been edited by Thrawn42689 (edited August 28, 2004).]
1, 2, 3, 4, hit it!
Bronski awoke with a piercing headache. He was lying on his back in the crew cabin of the Peacekeeper courier ship. He could hear the faint hum of tachyon engines. A good sign—whatever had happened back on Dorcas, they hadn't been captured and their ship had remained at least marginally functional. As for the crew...
"Sir? You all right?" Daschka was seated across the room, his face set in a grim expression.
"Yeah," Bronski grunted. "My head hurts like hell."
"Doctor Cavanagh said you had a mild concussion, that you'd get over it soon."
Clearly, the doctor had more pressing business to attend to. Bronski ground his teeth together.
"What is it?"
"It's that Zhirrzh, Svv-selic. He took a couple of 10mm rounds to the back," Daschka said quietly.
"It's bad?" Bronski asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
"Bad enough. Cavanagh says she doesn't know enough about Zhirrzh physiology to treat him, but if he doesn't get help soon we're going to lose him."
"So what do we do about it?" Bronski bit out. Daschka pressed his lips together for a moment.
"We're taking him to Oaccanv."
"Zhirrzh world."
"Yes, sir. The leader—Gilag—gave us the coordinates. Said it was the best chance we had."
"Really," said Bronski, raising his eyebrows. For the alien to give them the coordinates to what was obviously a highly developed Zhirrzh world was an incredible gesture of faith, one that Bronski wasn't at all sure he would be willing to make himself.
"Yes, sir," Daschka repeated. "That's not to say any of them were happy about it. They were jabbering and flicking their tongues at each other over it for at least 10 minutes. Can you walk, sir? We'll be there in another hour."
"Yeah," Bronski grunted, hauling himself upright and clutching his forehead with one hand. "Let's go."
Bronski had gone into the medical room expecting something bad. But all the years of military service he'd been through couldn't stop the nausea that took hold of him when he saw the Zhirrzh.
"He's in shock," Melinda Cavanagh said, looking up. Her voice was muffled by the white surgeon's mask she had strapped over her face. The elder Cavanagh sat by the box of supplies, looking exhausted and worried. His shoulder was bandaged, his arm in a sling. "Surprisingly few broken bones—they're similar to cartilage in structure. But he's losing blood fast. We're in serious trouble here. I don't know if you've thought of this, but if he dies we're going to be in a bad position with the rest of the Zhirrzh."
The thought hadn't had much of a chance to work its way into Bronski's brain by this time, but Cavanagh was right. Even with Gilag on their side, which Bronski wasn't sure he was at this point, there would surely be politicians scrambling to capitalize on the incident. Their chances of that surely hinged on whether or not Svv-selic survived. And, of course, there were the humanitarian motivations Bronski had been having an increasingly difficult time surpressing as of late. Too much time spent around civilians, he suspected.
Melinda Cavanagh was still waiting for a response of some kind.
"Yes," he said lamely. "There's that."
"Sir?" Daschka asked into the silence. "If you don't mind, we could use your expertise in the...ah...the other room."
The "other room" was one similar to the darkroom the Zhirrzh elder had been imprisoned in—encased in lead, et cetera. Certainly not something that came standard on this class of ship. When it came to equipment, NorCoord Military Intelligence could work wonders when they had the motivation.
Based on the context, it seemed likely that Bronski's men were using it as a sort of war room. The official word was that Zhirrzh elders couldn't breach any kind of refined metal, and therefore any room would have sufficed. But evidently Bronski's men had decided it wasn't worth the risk. He could hardly blame them, under the circumstances.
As Daschka held the door open, Bronski glanced at the occupants. One he'd expected. The other...his eyebrows went up when he saw Kolchin seated beside Cho Ming. The bodyguard stared right back.
"Apparently Mr. Daschka felt that I might be useful in working this out," Kolchin said blandly.
"Fine, whatever," Bronski said, not in the mood for argument. His head was still killing him, besides. The Brigadier sat down opposite Daschka at the utilitarian metal table in the center of the room. "All right," he said abruptly. "What do we know so far?"
"We know the attackers used both projectile weapons and lasers. We know the Zhirrzh have used no projectile weapons during the war," Cho Ming began, with the precise tone of someone who has been thinking something out for a very long time. "That may or may not mean that they don't use them at all in military operations. Conversely, our own limited knowledge of efficient high-powered laser weaponry is questionable at best. Portable laser weapons are extremely hard to obtain in the Commonwealth, wheras projectile weapons are everywhere. Our bogies used both. This implies either that the attack was a collaboration between local and Zhirrzh forces, or that someone very much wants us to think it was. The obvious question is who."
"If I may," Bronski interrupted. "that was a Bhurt out on the landing pad the Zhirrzh soldiers took out. That all by itself should bump the Mrachanis to the top of the list of suspects."
"Are you sure it was a Bhurt, not some other unknown alien? Something from the Zhirrzh worlds?" Kolchin asked skeptically.
"No, it was definitely a Bhurt, and pointing a Peacekeeper-issue anti-air rocket launcher to boot," Bronski replied.
"Ah." The bodyguard fell silent.
"The attackers used no radio during the attack, that certainly counts for something," Daschka spoke up.
"None?" Bronski cocked an eyebrow.
"None the ship could pick up," Daschka said. "I had Garcia scrub through the readings after we meshed out. Nothing. Besides, I'm sure our new friends would have noticed."
"Maybe they did," Cho Ming suggested darkly.
"No," Bronski answered. "I've seen what those kinds of transmissions do to them. Not something they could simply hide from us. Besides, we'll get to the issue of their trustworthiness later. Okay, we have strong reason to believe the attack was perpetrated by a group of Mrachanis, Bhurtala, and Zhirrzh. The next question would have to be why."
They continued in that vein for a full hour, so wrapped up in their work that they barely registered the jerk of mesh-in, or the clunk of landing gear being deployed, until Garcia knocked to let them know they were on Oaccanv.
NorCoord Parlimin Jacy VanDiver strode bitterly from the courthouse, bumping a chattering Mrachani violently out of his way. The battle was over. And, as usual, Cavanagh was free without a scratch on him. And Lee was still missing. Every inquiry he made about his aide was somehow "lost in the shuffle." Something was fishy here, and VanDiver would bet money Cavanagh, again, had something to do with it. VanDiver was going to find out what happened to Lee, and he was going to nail Cavanagh and whoever else was responsible.
He saw Pheylan Cavanagh climbing into the driver's side of an immaculate Black Lexus, provided no doubt to the little brat by his father. Pheylan Cavanagh, the one he'd been sure he could reel in, was now as free as the rest of the stupid family. On impulse, VanDiver went over to the car and looked in the window. Pheylan Cavanagh glanced at him coolly, and rolled down the window.
"Can I help you with something, Parlimin?"
"You're not getting away with this," VanDiver ground out, trying to put as much menace into his expression as he was feeling at the moment. "You're still up to something, and I'm going to find out what it is. Even if I have to tail you across the Commonwealth myself."
"Really," Cavanagh said, his tone cavalier. "One would think a Parlimin of the Northern Coordinate Union would have matters of more importance to attend to. Diplomatic, or even military ones."
<.<END OF TRANSMISSION>.>
------------------
Map-Review | My Portfolio | The Matrix: Unplugged
Banks and banks of humming machinery! I've never seen so many knobs. We're going to have to do something, Charlie! Try pushing that button there. No? How about that one? No, not that one either. I know! I'll try pushing this one. Hold my hat will you? Good fellow.
[This message has been edited by Thrawn42689 (edited August 28, 2004).]