Kessendra

When the shooting had stopped with the remaining enemies retreating further into the complex Adrien stood up and stepped out of cover. They were regrouping to prepare for another defense, and likewise they should be getting ready for another attack, keeping them on the defensive for now would give them more options later. Adrien was already formulating a plan when Neassa spoke up with her sitrep. Adrien followed along glancing discretely using the infrared function of his Hi-sense enhanced eyes in the various directions as she laid out the positions of people around them.

His initial idea was to send Neassa and Connie downstairs to get the slaves to freedom while he and Silas finished off the slavers on this level, and he was about to say so when Neassa called out. Adrien was fortunate enough to have great reflexes so when he heard the 'clink-clank' of the detonator his first move was to protect Connie and so he lunged toward her and pulled her down under him exposing his own back to the explosion to shield her shouting, "GET DOWN!" as he did so.

Some shrapnel grazed the left side of his forehead causing a rather nasty gash that immediately started bleeding everywhere, even on Connie. And being a head wound it was bleeding a lot. So Adrien when he looked down and saw blood all over her assumed the worst, "No-" he said in a hushed tone as he immediately, frantically started searching for the wound to close it. "Please, please no. No no no no..." He again said in the same hushed but increasingly more panicked tone as the blood pool grew. And he, in his state of panic with is eyes beginning to well, didn't notice that the blood was coming from his own head and increasingly more so as his heart pounded faster.

It was damnable luck, really. He had no right to be preserved. And Silas could not help but hear Nahimana, the Qiraash woman's voice echo in his brain-pan (or was that the tinnitus?) "...those who cross your path, and some who choose to walk that path with you. Death." Neassa's armour-clad form shielded him from the blast, bearing much of the brunt of the explosion directly. He saw it all, and was just a little. too. slow. Saw her thrown off her feet, saw Adrien fall over Forseti's prone form, saw as Neassa hit the wall at a sickening angle. He witnessed all of this, even as he reached for her, and missed.

He was beside her before she had even settled on the floor, hands moving over her, assessing. Easy... easy Warrior. His hands were not gentle, but not aiming to hurt, either. It was difficult to determine with her body armour, but he couldn't feel... couldn't sense and broken bones. Lacerations, sure. The soft joints between hard plating on her armour had sustained damage, especially in the lower extremities, and he was certain her inner thigh was burnt, but he worked quickly, laying hands on her mid-section and hips, calling on his (dwindling reserves of) inner strength, dulling her pain. There was obvious concern in his voice as he spoke to her.

Today is not your day to die, Warrior. Not here, and not now. The law states clearly that the righteous shall triumph over overwhelming odds, and you are righteous and just, Warrior.

Silas expended as much of his Strength as he felt he could, and more, until he felt certain he would collapse from the effort. He may have stood connected to and preserving Draykon for hours, but that was a constant intensity. This was acute shock trauma and blood-loss.

After a few more agonizing moments, he had stabilized her bleeding. Her pain would be dull, distant, though her day of fighting would most likely be at an end until the doctor could see to her. She maintained a sort of consciousness, but that too was distant, hazy. A necessary side-effect of the removal of her pain.

Rest awhile, Warrior. I'll be back for you.

He stood, and approached Adrien and the Nagai, placing a hand on Draykon's shoulder. Captain. She's ok. Come on... we've got work to do.

Silas prepared himself for the impending assault on the remaining slavers up the stairs, concern over his fallen comrade splitting his focus. Adrien's anguish over what would turn out to be his own injury was also unsettling, and the Preacher tried to press the emotions out of his head. But it was in that moment that he felt... something. Another presence. In fact, several beings. Close by. This was different. Not the slavers. There was fear, anger and more than a little pain. No... these were the slaves. They were here. 

Captain -- the slaves. They're here. Close. reaching out with his Inner Strength once more ...beneath us. He looked over at the stairwell. Above them waited the remaining slavers. But the stairs led down as well, and Silas knew that if one group met the other, all their efforts would be for naught. They're coming this way.

Silas frowned, as much from the overwhelming sense of foreboding and hatred he felt emanating from the presence leading the slaves as Adrien's order to return to the ship with the wounded. Even so, he understood the Captain's sense of honour and duty. He did the mental math figuring out how long it would take to get back to the ship, and return to Draykon.

Very well, Captain. I'll take care of them. But watch yourself. It'll take me the better part of five minutes to get the injured back to the Midnight Shadow, and return to you.

There was no point in wasting further breath or time. Neassa was stable for the moment, of that he was certain. But the Nagai was gut-shot, and looked as though she was going into shock. It was easy to see that she needed more immediate attention than the warrior woman, and though it pained him to leave Neassa in her condition, even for a minute, Silas didn't hesitate, and stooped to speak briefly to the diminutive Nagai.

...If you'll permit me. indicating her prone form Silas scoops her up in his arms and moves for the rubble-strewn exit and the waiting ship. The Preacher didn't own a com link, so he hoped the pilot, or some of the remaining crew would see them coming.

Silas is not quick to relent, at first ignoring the woman's pleas and continuing on, but as her struggle nears a level that would potentially do her further injury, he stops, and lowers her to the floor a stone's throw away from Neassa. His conscience is in conflict, and given his preference, Silas would refer to the 'Law' in this case, to judge which course was the better of the two orders: the Captain's, or the injured crew member? There was no time, and he was quickly learning things were not always so cleanly black and white.

He examines the wound once more. It is ugly, and her core temperature will continue to rise as her body fights the effects of the blaster burn. She is in shock, and her body is nearing its breaking point, though her fierce will is evident, and may just be enough to get her through this. The emotion behind his eyes runs cold as time is not on their side, and the words come out harsher than he meant them to, but the inference was clear: there could be no failure.

You will not pass out, Forseti. You will hold this position and you will watch our backs. You will not die, are we clear?

He does not wait for a reply, but turns and moves quickly to follow Adrien, scooping up a blaster dropped by a fallen enemy as he goes. Casting one final glance over his shoulder, he enters the stairwell.

The headstrong captain nodded to Silas then gave one last long glance at Connie before he turned and trotted toward certain doom. He was certain of what lied ahead of him, he was outnumbered, out gunned, and they knew he was coming, but he had an idiot card up his sleeve. He had training to evade grunts like these slavers, he was smarter than them, he was better prepared than them, he had a plan, and most importantly he had something to fight for. The right motivation is a powerful weapon.

He again used his eyes to scan for heat signatures, seeing that there were three in the room ahead and they had blaster rifles pointed at the door. He looked around to see if there might be another way in and spotted an air duct and a maintenance hatch on the floor. He weighed the options and pulled the hatch up then climbed inside the tight shaft then contorted his way toward the room ahead. He could hear the slavers whispering as he drew nearer but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying just yet. He remained as silent as possible.

"There isn't no more blaster fire, maybe they're all dead."

"And maybe they're waiting for us to come out there and check if they're dead."

"They could be dead, you heard that explosion, Terran said he was gonna blow 'em ta bits. Maybe he did."

"Well you you think they're all dead why don't you poke your stupid face out there and find out."

"Oh shut up you son of a shutta."

"Both of you shut up! I think I heard something."

The three once again focused their attention on the door as Adrien slid his barrel up through the grate on the floor and fired twice, hitting both of his targets with headshots through the lower jaw and out through the tops of their heads. He then popped up out of the floor and shot the third twice in the abdomen to disable him which worked well, the slaver dropped his weapon and doubled over in pain. This gave Adrien the chance to take his time to get information. He pulled himself out of the hole and replaced the grate. Then kicked the weapons away from the downed slaver and shot the other two one more time in the head each for good measure then sat down in front of the one that was still alive. "Where are the controls for the AA gun?" He spoke calmly.

"Go to hell."

Adrien looked down and shook his head and then shot the slaver in the shin. He then waited for the slaver to stop wailing before calmly stating, "Don't make this hard." He then aimed at the man's groin, "Now, where is the control room for the AA gun?"

"No please....if I tell you won't let me die?"

"You know I can't do that, you've seen me, you'll tell someone what happened here and-"

No! I won't! I promise!

"I can't risk it, I'm sorry, but if you tell me I won't let you suffer."

"Down the hall to the right, fourth door on the left."

The slaver spoke with a hesitant, somber tone. He knew that he was dying and that if he didn't tell him his suffering would be long and painful. "Thank you." Adrien stood, looked down at the slaver, aimed at his head, and pulled the trigger then turn and walked into the hallway toward the AA control room.

I'm making people around me uneasy. Guess I'd better take it easy with the whole flying bit. Considering my first few times involved me crashing, I suppose that's for the best. Still, it bums me out that Ryzer, Doctor Sacharo and the others feel so uncomfortable about it. Or is it something else? It's the way they're looking at me, I just get the feeling there's a lot of things going through their heads. But whatever, I guess the best way to avoid all that is to not be such a show off. I settle down near the ramp and just sit there, pulling my knees up to my chest, and keep watch. Until I hear Mr. Weston say he's going to check on the others. Now I really should just leave this all to the grown ups, but I'm seventeen, not exactly a little kid any more, even if I kinda look like one. Way I figure it, I've been pretty much next to useless, and I really want to be helpful. I just hope I know when I start getting in the way instead of helping. Miss Ryzer's busy with her food. I'm sure Mr. Weston's hungry, and didn't she make this for all of us? I'm a little less shy, in a ways, and I move really fast...sorta like, fast enough that things look like they're standing still next to you fast.

"SorrybutI'mkindapeckishthisisgreatthankyouI'llgivesometoMr.Westonbye." Motor mouth, check, in-house tornado, check, delicious appetizer, double-check. I'm carrying a plate of the good stuff now, and I sneak to the cockpit as silent as possible...because...I have no idea why I'm so nervous about entering a cockpit, I mean I fly a honking cruiser on my own. But I've got this stupid...uhm...phobia? About other cockpits. But at least Mr. Weston's here, and he's trying to contact the armored lady who's my father's friend. And I hear the reply to his query. Now I'm no medical expert, but thanks to super-hearing, I can tell when someone's hurt. And the lady? She's hurt. I know it. I can feel it in my gut.

"She sounds pretty bad." I announce myself. I have an incredibly squeaky voice, that kind of goes with my size, so it really sells this image like I'm ten years younger than I really am. Problem with that is how hard it is for people to take me seriously. Like I'm just a little kid, what do I know of the dark horrid universe we live in? Answer? I know plenty. I know the galaxy's a bad place, and I know being a pacifist in war zones is insane, but I still will not fight, not when I can bend metal with my bare hands. That's a strength I do not want to mess with to hurt people with. But what I can do is protect. "I think your friend's been hurt. Her voice, and the way she was hesitating in her sentences. Could be a mild or major concussion. I know a thing or two about head injuries."

I would know, considering my head was literally split in two before, and it's a miracle I survived that. Problem was the messed up memories and even bigger holes in them. I try not to think about it too much. Focussing on the immediate problem helps distract me from my own. I settle down in the chair beside Mr. Weston and I offer him a plate of the goodies. "I...I have good hearing. Really good. And I think, if she's hurt, maybe the others are too."