It was tough holding things together. Survival instinct mixed with paranoia, and above all that damned nausea, the feeling that he was about to fall flat on his face, left his mind awash. He wondered if it wouldve been better for him to have stayed in the cockpit; at least then he could still think.
Ellis had obviously been scared witless by his abrupt interrogation. It wasnt hard to see how any confidence she had bled its way out in an instant as she fought for control. Of course, the tension simply mounted, which made the Lieutenant feel worse. Too tense, too nervous, not a way to make a breakthrough.
Ellis head turned slightly.
A disturbance in the air, the briefest moment of some brand of premonition, the feeling that a stone had been dropped in his gut.
Doyle spun around while backpedaling, putting an extra meter between himself and the other man before hed even turned his head in that direction. By the time he did, his fears were confirmed, and his hands balled into fists. His right hand, however, was hovering close enough to the holster to draw it if he needed.
Goddamn bodyguard, he thought in a haze, Hes good, knew I was distracted
No, the pilot stuttered, Just no
He wasnt here to shoot the place up, or hijack this ship. Why would they try to detain him? As far as he was concerned, the only one who posed any threat to anyone was the rest of them to him.
And for a moment his entire focus had shifted; Ellis, the ship, the rumbling, all meant nothing. It was just him and he man in front who looked anything but friendly.
Nickatelli had just about gotten close enough to swing his helmet when the man caught his approach, and the distance between him and the madman suddenly doubled. He'd missed his chance. He stared viciously at the man, and spoke; "Give me the pistol."
"That's enough!" The voice cut though the hangar, and Ellis walked slowly forward. She lightly dropped her helmet on the deck. "This is not why we are here." Her voice was brittle, and she knew her words came out more of a plea than an order. She could see that Doyle was feeling cornered and outnumbered, and if something wasn't done to address that, someone was going to get hurt. Why was Nickatelli pushing like this?
The two men glared at each other, most of their human civilization seemingly given way to something older, and Denise felt as if there were only seconds away until something terrible happened.
Angela Wight stood next to the fighter, watching the unraveling situation with quiet horror.
Denise spoke softly; "Elias. I want you to leave the room."
A look of mixed confusion and surprise crossed Nickatellis' face and he turned sharply to look at Ellis. "What?"
She spoke again, "You heard me. Everyone needs to calm down. You are making things... not calm."
Nickatelli answered; "You're stupid if you think my leaving makes you safer."
She hesitated, glancing at Doyle. What if I'm wrong?
She spoke again, feeling unsure of her words, but finding them anyway.
"Nathan said everything that happens in this hangar is my call. I want you out of here Elias."
Nickatelli seemed about to protest further, then took a few backward steps, turned, and headed for the door. "Fine. Your funeral."
[color=#FFFF00]The Bridge
Captain Wells tried his best to gauge the situation in the hangar, without an audio feed. He saw Nickatelli suddenly head for the hatch. When that hatch opens... Wells scrambled for the comm. He keyed it, and nothing happened.
[color=#FFFF00]Main Hangar bay
As Nickatelli headed for the hatch, Denise breathed out slowly. She looked at the Lieutenant and spoke;
"Lieutenant, we are going to have to trust each other. I'm not going to hurt you; and I hope, that you don't want to hurt any of us." She shivered involuntarily, both from the tension, and from the chill of the hangar.
She walked closer to him, her gloved hands open and low at her side. She continued;
"Please Lieutenant. We have to find out what's happened to you."
Angela Wight quickly spoke; "Wait! The door!"
At that moment, Nickatelli reached the hatch and opened it. Behind the door were two completely surprised crewmen. Each held a Detroit Munitions civilian particle rifle.
The primary threat, the center of his universe as determined by the primal center of his brain, was neutralized.
Doyle looked at Ellis as she walked forwards, hands open in what was, or at least used to be, the universal sign of peace. Look here: no weapons, no fists. Her voice was shaky, but her intentions?
She called him off.
The Lieutenant felt the pent up energy leave him, only to have nothing left to fill the gap. He was getting more exhausted by the minute, no doubt the process accelerated by this whole damned affair. His posture went slack, his white knuckles gone as his hands unclenched
"Please Lieutenant. We have to find out what's happened to you."
He looked at her, mouth half open, eyes half closed. Spent.
The door over her shoulder opened wide. The guns were unmistakable.
A wash of memories.
Basic combat training. Drill Sergeant McGovern. The course was so short, no time for pleasantries, but what use would he have for training in a firefight when his place was in a cockpit? Emergencies? There wasnt any ground to parachute onto. It was a formality.
But they learned it anyway. Part of discipline? It was the way of all militaries, even the desperate and dying ones. Firing stance, rifle, butt held hard to the shoulder, body pivoted sideways, eyes down the barrel.
The men in the doorway were a mirror image of it; all they were missing was the last step.
No time to think. No time to quick draw. Distracted, tired, confused. Threat, long range, ready to strike. Hopeless. Dead man.
Civilian.
Doyle practically threw himself forward, right arm extended, palm open. He pushed into Denise Ellis as if she was a swinging door, his hand on her right shoulder as he stormed up. The researcher barely had time to regain her footing before shed been turned full around and found herself staring at the back of Doyles flight fatigues.
Any moment.
Any moment now and some kind of shot, laser, projectile, dart, needle. He could almost predict where theyd hit, scattered pattern about his chest. His beleagured muscles tightened, bracing for an impact his flesh and bones couldnt withstand, but could maybe prevent from hitting the civilian.
Nickatelli wasted no time; glancing quickly behind him, then back at the two crewmen, he shouted;
"He's armed! Take him down!"
Thomas Keller and Robert Crowley, the two armed crewmen, in a second, had fanned into the hangar with the same skill as the military service they'd left behind; dropping to their knees, shouldering their rifles at the target. In only an instant, information had to be taken in, processed, a decision made.
Crowley caught sight of a man brushing past Denise to stand in front of her. He almost reflexively fired at the man when his brain stopped him, having seen everything in the room and needing just a second to process it. Something's off A voice screaming in his head to wait. "Hold fire." He said quckly, saving Doyle from Kellers rifle by only a fraction of a second.
Four seconds had passed since they had entered the hangar.
The man did have a pistol. In a holster. Crowley didn't find that fact in itself worthy of a kill order. The moving in front of Denise was a protective gesture. This stranger was protecting Denise. From him. Hardly the actions of someone intending harm to the crew.
Five seconds.
"Shoot!" Nickatelli said.
"Stop!" Angela began running from the fighter, no easy feat in the bulk of the suit. "Captain Wells says stop!"
Crowley stood up, as did Keller, and they each bought their weapons slightly off Doyle, but still at the ready.
Angela continued; "The Captain is on his way down."
Denise stepped from behind Doyle, pausing beside him. She caught his eye and smiled weakly; "My turn."
Walking on a line between Doyle and the hatch she walked up to Nickatelli. He glared at her angrily.
Keller eyed Doyle as he spoke, softly, in his own way trying to calm everyone down; "Man, we need to get someone down here to look at the enviromental controls, it's ice cold down here."
Crowley was watching Denise as she stood in front of Nickatelli, having surmised correctly much of what had just happened. Eyes on Denise, he answered; "It sure is."
Denise slapped Nickatelli, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the confines of the hangar.
He couldnt tell if time was dilating around him, or if it was just his perception of it, not that he wasnt used to such nonsense. Tension where? Called off. Again.
Civilian safe.
Ellis safe.
Who?
Now its my turn, she said to him with a slight smile.
Ellis was a civilian? Unarmed, peaceful. Those are what make somebody a civilian?
He wanted to be a civilian.
He also wanted to throw up.
Doyle was suddenly short of breath and started panting. His brain felt as if it was two pounds lighter, bouncing about inside his skull. Surveying the room, his eyes rested upon the Minuteman fighter ten meters away, while everything else seemed to disappear.
Quietly, unsteadily, the ex-Lieutenant whod been through enough fights for one lifetime stumbled over his own two feet until hed crossed the ten meters and doubled over when he reached the fighters nose. Using what was left of his strength, he kept himself propped up on two hands, trying to catch his breath.
The fighter felt room temperature beneath his gloves. Benign. Waiting to be flown off into space yet again, to meet God knew what.
His thoughts collected themselves, and the urge to outright vomit began to subside.
He hardly registered the sound of the smack until after itd already occurred, and glanced over his shoulder. Even from this distance he saw the red swelling on the bodyguards face.
"............itch!" Nickatelli finished, hand at the side of his face. The blow had nearly knocked him off his feet, and he struggled to shake off the stars that danced in front of his vision. He moved to retaliate, to hurt her, and break that arrogant self-rightous look off her face . That's when he noticed that the new guy, Robert something, had eased up behind Ellis, watching him over her shoulder. The two traded a look, and Nickatelli saw a coldness that unsettled him. He knew the scuffle was over.
"You stay the HELL away from me, you dangerous bastard!" Ellis shouted at him; "And stay away from Doyle!" What were you thinking?" The realization that she could have just been killed had dawned on her, combined with the way Nickatelli had acted, and she finally lost the layer of control she had constantly labored to retain. Her heart was racing, her breathing fast and shallow; her teeth were bared.
"How can I EVER trust you Elias? Why would you go so far to get someone hurt? I want you off this deck and I want you to stay off it!" She glanced briefly at Doyle, and then did a double-take as she realized he had walked back to his fighter He's leaving?! She looked back to Nickatelli and said; "This is not over." before turning to walk towards Doyle.
Nickatelli whispered; "No. It sure isn't."
As Denise got closer to Doyle, her mind continued to race, so many thoughts, directions, all at once. The way this had started, trying to figure Elias' motivation, trying to figure how to convince Doyle to stay, and how to proceed even if he did. Mostly, she fought to bring herself back under control. Deep breaths. Determine the question. Investigate. Hypothesize and construct an experiment to confirm it. Review.
She studied the man leaning on the fighter. This wasn't physics equations on a screen, or a wormhole study. This was a human being. Who, if his story was true, had experienced more pain and loss than most could imagine. But she had lost too. Not nearly so as he, but she could feel his loss as well as hers. He was a human being, and she had to help him. The science, the data, the glory that discoveries here could bring, must come after.
She reached him, and he was watching her intently. She found the calm again, and spoke quietly;
"All I can say Lieutenant, is that I'm sorry. I didn't want any of this to happen, but it has; and there's nothing I can do to take it back. Please believe me, that I want to help you. Please stay."
Doyle fixed her with a hard look. Proximity to his lifeline had put him back into shape, and the implications of what had just occurred in the hangar were now understood.
Hes lucky, the Lieutenant muttered, Lucky I was out of it. Otherwise something else might've happened...
His hand tapped the holster slightly.
Sighing, Doyle pushed himself off the nose and stood up straight. The feeling of nausea and confusion was pushed back a notch, and he fought to keep it that way. He fixed his eyes to the ground and kept talking.
Look, Im not going anywhere. I need to find out whats going on, and right now this is the best chance Ive got. I wont cause you any problems unless you make them first.
He looked up at Ellis, then nodded in Nickatellis direction.
That guys my example of a problem. Im not here to blow people away but this pistol is the only insurance policy Ive got. And when youre a thousand light years from home, surrounded by God knows what, its that much more important.
Her expression calm, serious, but nervous, worried all the same. He was an alien being, essentially. At least as far as his origins were concerned. Unknown variable. Possibly a threat.
He didnt want to be, but that was beside the point.
Im sorry about all of this, too, Doyle said quietly. Lets lets just get a move on then, okay? Figure stuff out. You lead the way
He spared a glance at his ship.
Just not too far from here youll probably find out why in a bit.
Denise blinked, puzzled by the remark. He seemed to have lost much of the queasy, uncomfortable look he had shown only minutes before. What does that mean? She filed the thought away for future consideration. She shivered in the cold air.
She nodded. "Okay, let's get to work, shall we? Now where did I....Ah!" She spotted her helmet lying on the deck and walked over to retreive it, returning to Doyle. She looked towards Angela Wight, who was standing near the starboard wing of the fighter. "Angela, aren't you cooking in there? I think it's about time for lab gear."
Angela Wight walked up beside Ellis and Doyle. The helmet turned between the two of them, and Angela spoke; "You really need to see what I' m seeing. It's unbelievable. We shouldn't shut the helmets down."
Denise answered, frowning; "I'm afraid I was a bit hasty in stopping the feed on mine." She looked to Doyle and continued; "Except for one interesting moment, I didn't get much data. I'm afraid we'll need to restart the particle scans. We'll bring in what we can use here, and I'll talk to Doctor Morris about what else we're going to need."
Angela spoke; "So you saw something with your scan too?"
Denise caught movement in the corner of her eye, and looked over to the main hatch. Nickatelli had left, as had Thomas Keller. Captain Wells was talking with Crewman Crowley.
She looked at Doyle; "I'm going to talk to the Captain, and then I'm going to go get out of this suit." She leaned in closer to Doyle; "I'll be back very soon." She turned to Angela; "Angie, watch out for our guest 'til I get back. And helmet off, okay? We're going to upload the data into the computer."
She smiled at Doyle and made her way to the main hatch, stopping to talk to Wells.
A quiet minute of silence, and Angela Wight removed the helmet. A young girl, perhaps about twenty two years of age, a very feminine, somewhat pale face, partly obscured by wisps of light brown hair. The rush of cold air made her breathe in sharply, and she coughed softly. "Oh my." she said, adjusting to the cold air outside the suit. Her hair was matted, wet with sweat, and the air smelled of it, and also a faint hint of strawberries.She wavered slightly on her feet, as she brushed the hair from her face. Her breath came out as a thin white mist. She glanced nervously at Doyle and then towards the hatch.
Denise was pointing towards them while Wells stood , apparently listening to Ellis. After a moment, he nodded, and after a quick glance towards the fighter, Denise walked through the hatch, leaving the hangar.
Wells seemed to eye the two of them for a moment, then turned to Crowley and said something. Crowley hesitated for an instant, then set his rifle against the bulkhead, next to the hatch. The two of them began walking towards them.
Angela spoke quietly;
"I guess it might be harder now, but Captain Wells is a fair man and I promise you can trust him. " She coughed again.
Captain Nathan Wells reached Doyle. He was about forty, a tall, thin build, brown hair. He dressed as if a pilot of a smaller ship, blue trousers, boots, a worn brown jacket made of some type of leather. The face was relaxed and friendly. "Howdy Lieutenant.Got a little tense there huh? I bet as a military pilot, you've had all sorts of unpleasant welcomes' in your time. I regret ours has made that list. I hope we can make it up to you."
He extended his hand.
Angela opened her mouth as to speak, then remained silent.
The younger woman was obviously distressed. Whether or not it was because of him, or because she was just naturally skittish, he didnt know. Nor did it matter; he had enough common sense to leave it well alone.
This man, however, was something completely different. An air of familiarity. References to him being in the military. An offer of a handshake.
It almost felt like hed been dumped into the hold of the ANS Exeter.
Almost.
Doyle let a little grin crease his mouth and brought his hand up to shake the Captains. The grip was firm.
I guess I hope so too, skipper, the ex-Lieutenant said. Nice ship here, but ah he glanced around the bay, bit too modern for my tastes.
The Captain grinned at the remark. "I always thought she was a little too clean myself. I like a ship with 'a little scoring on the hull, a few open access panels here and there. That said, she's been a good girl to us."
Wells gestured to the man beside him;
"This here is Robert Crowley, one of our sensor systems guys."
Crowley nodded; "Sir."
Wells continued, his smile fading for a moment;
"Until the labcoats can wrap their brains around how it is you're *here*, I'd prefer if you kept to this deck for the time being. Ms. Ellis has indicated to me that it is your preference to stay near your vessel anyway, so I hope that request will be within tolerance."
Wells pointed to the opposite end of the hangar, on the other side of the fighter, towards a hatch, one slightly smaller than the one from which Wells had entered.
"Beyond that hatch is a short corridor and two additional compartments. On the starboard side is a lab for the science team, to conduct their work in proximity to this hangar, and on the port side is a small cabin, which is yours if you want it. It's not exactly a resort suite on Planet Curacao, but there's already a bunk, a shower, and a data terminal hooked up. I've left orders that this hangar itself be kept clear of any equipment not in use, so you are free to leave if and when you want to." He smiled again. "You're free to come back too."
Wells glanced at a chronometer on his wrist. "Well, I need to give this darlin' a kick." He looked up. "We're going to Newark Station, not far from here, to purchase some materials for the Institute. Then we have a day or so in orbit above Planet Manhattan, to take care of some bureaucracy, courtesy of the Liberty Government. In the mean time, the science people are going to set up down here, and they'll be figuring how to proceed with your case."
"We're currently docked with the N102, which I believe you met on your way in from California. Some of the Docs are transferrin' over, then the ship will follow us for the time being. Ms. Ellis should be back down in a few. Before I head back to the bridge, is there anything you need?"