By SCSPIEKER - Dec. 31, 1969 After the short walk up the anchor corridor leading away from the Gaines, Alex watches Booths disappear into an elevator. Approaching the solid central hub of elevators and ladders, he takes visual inventory of the donut-shaped loading area around it and the eight anchor halls that converge here. This is his workplace, and he knows it well. New shipments must first be offloaded through one of the main locks at the end of the anchors. Then it's either towed or carried via powerloader down the corridor and into this holding area before loading onto one of the big freight elevators to be moved down for more permanent storage below in the holds. He can almost hear the metal rhythm of the powerloaders' heavy footpads moving up and down these corridors. Heavy footsteps-- He twists around, rifle raised at the shadows. Far behind him, Healy and that Patty babe are trotting up the corridor headed his direction. He shakes his head at his paranoia and hits the call button. In moments, he's alone in the elevator, dropping level by level through the station's core. As he stands waiting, plummeting, he notices smeared blood on the wall, and bloody boot-prints stain the floor. If the med team had come through here using the same elevator, this would be the blood of the cops under that fork-- He fights a wave of nausea, and shakes the image out of his head, closing his eyes against the aweful evidence in the tiny chamber. The door opens, and he steps out into the white sanitized world of the medlab. A plump nurse (he doesn't remember her name) frowns and examines his chin right away, although the first thing she looked at was the pulse rifle. "Any broken teeth?" "Yeth." He can see, through clear plexiglass, that the members of the trauma team and a couple of the cops are already being treated. They wave their hands around, faces wild and teary, recounting the horrors of the events they. The medical staff stands in silent disbelief, absorbing the witness' stories. Someone rushes off to answer a ringing phone. "Open your mouth." One quick glance at the bleeding gums, the split skin below the lip, and she says seriously, "Follow me, Mr. Gonzales." She leads him up the hall and through a door on the left side, into a small treatment theatre. "Take a seat," she says, indicating the table, as she fetches some first aid supplies from a cabinet. As he sits, unsure what to do with his armor and weapons, as she inquires, "Is there anything you want to tell me about what happened?" [Gonzales] "Tell you something?" he echoes incredulously. "Yeah, nurse, lots of stuff. Watch your back and the backs of everyone else around you. Put motion sensors on your ventilation ducts and don't travel in groups of less than four. Get a gun. A big one. If something big and dark and scaly that drips metal-eating acid out of its mouth comes looking for you, run. That's what *I* have to tell you, Nurse," he concluded as she looked at him. "We should nuke those two damn ships, or send em into the gas giant. Something. They're probably already here," he says as his eyes start to look around the sanitary whiteness of the medlab. The discussions in the next room seem to have escalated, and one of the members of the trauma team barges into the examination room. "...he'll tell you," he says. The man is still covered in blood from his efforts in the Gaines airlock. He points at Gonzales, demanding a witness for something he's been explaining to another doctor. Everyone wears a worried expression. "You saw them," accuses the man. "They were huge, f---ing unbelievable, weren't they? They just came from everywhere, right?" He turns to the other doctor, almost grabs him by the lapes. "You can't let them go up there!" Before Alex can ask who is going up where he finds his answer through the glass of the elevator. Everyone turns their heads and sees quite clearly that the xenoresearch boys from below are headed up-- "They'll get us all killed!" protests the trauma med-- to the airlock. [Gonzales] Alex had hopped up from the table, grabbing the strap of his rifle without even realizing he had it in his hand. Slinging it up to his shoulder, he brushed past the weak protests of the nurse and left the medlab behind him, headed for the xeno boys on an intercept course. Interposing himself between them and the lifts, he spread his arms out to obstruct their path. "Okay, so an entire Marine unit gets chewed up by these damned things, we just kill a whole f*ckton of 'em, and you think that you poindexters are gonna go and get one or something. F*ck that. I can't let you go and get yourselves killed. Too many have already gotten killed over this shit." Cursing at the wall, Alex realizes there's no way he can stop them. They're already in the lift, going up. They're carrying a lot of science equipment, wearing protective goggles and white plastic smocks. Up they go, disappearing higher up the hub, before he can take a shot or a breath. "Take another elevator!" someone shouts, and already Alex is racing to the column of lifts and ladders: forget the ladder, there's no way to climb all the way up to the docking anchors. He tries each of the elevators, but each is in use somewhere higher above in the hub. No telling how long he'll have to wait. "We have to stop them!" shouts that same trauma team guy. "They'll get in the station and then we'll all be dead! We're already f---ing dying!" [Gonzales] Think, think, think, think!!! Alex cursed at himself, trying to find something to do. No elevators. Climbing is no good. He needs to be faster. . . Suddenly, he spun to the Medlab entrance and charged in, grabbing the nurse he had just left earlier, he shouted at her. "Comms! Ops! They can shut down the lifts! Keep them out of the docking tubes." His head twisted around, trying to find the nearest comm panel. "Where is it, dammit!?" A tall, well-groomed doctor, who is much calmer than Gonzales is, enters the lobby. He takes up a phone and plugs his card in. "Operations." He says. A moment later: "Listen, this is Doctor Blatt. We've got three people down here who are screaming at the top of their lungs to get help-- Yes, from the docking anchor. They said there were three dead police officers and a-- yes!-- and I think the xenoscience team is heading up there-- okay. Okay." He's holding. A small illuminated display above the elevator door indicates the car's position: it stops midway up, confirming everyone's suspicions. Finally Blatt says, relaying the message from whomever he contacted up there, "He says there are police officers guarding the passage to both ships, and nobody's being allowed through. They sound busy as hell up there. Can somebody tell me what's going on in the um, the ships? Sir, you can't have that gun in here," he says to everyone at once. "I have an appointment in five minutes." [Gonzales] Alex looked from his rifle to the doctor's face, then back again, and couldn't help a laugh from escaping him. "Sure doc. Just fix up my jaw and I'll get out of your hair. But first, let *me* tell you what's going on. Big things. Bad things. Big bad things are a- comin'." Alex took a step towards the doctor. He raised his arms out and up and hooked his fingers like claws. "They've got acid blood, doc, claws. They're stronger than any two men and their hide is smooth and shiny, and it'll take more than what you've got down here to keep 'em off of you. Like those guys said," said Alex with a toss of his head towards the formerly more animated souls of the security force, "they might even be on the station. . .right. . .now!" he said with a lunge that made the doctor flinch back against the examination table. Alex straightened and let his arms fall to his side casually. "I don't know what they are," he said with a normal voice, devoid of the odd vibe it had earlier, "but the Marines say they found them on the Korea, got damn-near butchered to the last man. So we go on the Gaines to take stock and such, turns out that the things are there, too. So more fighting, more dying, and here we are, with infested ships attached to our two arms. Not a pretty picture, huh doc?" He sat down on the exam table. "Now, about my teeth and jaw. I was thinking pain killers after you stitch 'em up." "I think your chin can wait," says the doctor, grimacing after Alex's speil. "We should talk with management about this right away." As if on cue, a phone rings. Blatt answers. "Yes. Yes, he's here." Alex is surprised to find that the phone's for him. It's someone from operations, and he's got a lot of questions. "Who might still be on the Gaines, Mister Gonzales? Did you know what happened to the people who went in there with you? Can you come up here right away?" There must be some confusion up there in operations. From the background chatter alone, Alex would think there's a convention being held in the station's central ops room. Whomever he's on the line with now obviously isn't informed about the xenoscience team on its way to the docking anchor, judging from his line of questioning. This guy isn't going to do anything to improve his situation. Alex spits out a sharp angle of broken tooth and swallows a little more blood. [Gonzales] "Yeah, I'll come up straight away," said Alex, still surprised that Ops was talking to *him*, asking his opinion on things. "There was the janitor- maintainance guy. Adams, or something," he said, his mmeory all but wiped out by adrenaline and internal blocks to keep out bad memories. Selective remembering, yeah, that was it. "And free up the number three lift. There's a bunch of xenoscience eggheads trying to get to the Gaines via lift #2. I got them to shut it down, but make sure that the teams at the hatches know to keep these assholes out of those ships. For all our sakes. I'll be up ASAFP to cover the rest of your questions. Bye," and then he hung up the phone, turning to the doctor once again. "Duty calls, Doc, so make it so I don't swallow any more blood or have to spit out tooth fragments, 'kay? It's starting to bug me a little bit." [THE OPERATIONS CENTER] Patwardhan shrugs her shoulders and cringes at the effort. The schematics on the blueprint- blue table display are meaningless to her, or nearly so. The half- dozen citizens of Rodina crowding around the table forces her to step away and survey from a distance. They know the place better than she does anyway, and seem to have no trouble mentally translating the complicated deck diagrams into real spaces within the space station. The concentric circles and radiating lines only make her think of bicycles, of fragile construction and tenuous air pressure. The streets of her home town were clogged with bicyclers, brown feet pedaling through mud and gravel. The mingled, raised voices of the operations center reminds her of the street sounds and of trading her mother's fabric for chickens in the market. This place is much the same: desperate individuals bartering for a future. Next to her, officer Healy and Lieutenant Beaudreaux listen intently to the architect, or engineer, or whoever, Schabowski's his name. They're on the topic of security, and ways to ensure that the aliens won't find a way inside Rodina. Handsome and rugged, Schabowski's face is taut with concern. Butting in, Lieutenant Gene Johnson points at the anchor corridors leading to the Gaines and the Korea. "Those are the most obvious ways in, right? If we just block them off, wouldn't they, uh, just have to stay where they are? I mean, until a rescue ship arrives?" Patwardhan realizes how foolish it is to presume that the things are only of animal intelligence. Are the aliens presuming the same thing of us? she wonders. Johnson doesn't exactly impress her with his oversized gut and lazy drawling speech. The marines tried to barricade themselves against the aliens before. It hadn't worked. The other man at the table, Sato, wear the same worried face. Healy had explained when they were introduced that he and Schabowski probably knew more about Rodina's design than anyone else on the station. However, despite their expertise, Patwardhan finds no comfort in the presence of these two gifted engineers. Maybe comfort's a thing of the past for all of them. An angular form catches her eye from across the room: someone has just let Josh Booths through the security checkpoint, and the marine crosses toward her as best he can on eight toes, pulse rifle swinging from his shoulder. By the time the two of them have rejoined the security officers and engineers at the display table, general manager Holcomb and company have also stepped in. Brushing back an errant lock of gray hair, and straightening his tie, Holcomb looks not at the deck plans, but at the people gathered around them. "We must remain calm," he says rationally. Standing closest to him, Mina detects the odor of whiskey on his breath, but under the circumstances, she understands that nerves are shot, and wouldn't mind one of her own. The silence only extends to the next table or console, where other administrators are busy collecting data, taking roll of the citizens that have been moved up to the cafeteria for their own safety. Holcomb continues, locking gazes with those around him. His eyes are red, perhaps from weeping, perhaps from alcohol. "This is a most unfortunate situation, and I fully intend to do what is necessary to guarantee our survival. I must admit that I'm at a loss to understand these..." He swallows hard. "These creatures. I don't know what they can do. I don't want to know. But I have my orders, as do you, and the Company is very specific on the protocols for dealing with a situation such as this. But they don't say anything about hostile creatures like these. "We have sent distress signals to the Sulaco, which I have been informed is en route to LV-426 as we speak. The Sulaco is the nearest vessel in the region with the facilities to assist us. At best, she will not arrive for some 400 hours, so we're on our own until then. "I think we all agree that the highest priority now is the integrity of the station," Holcomb continues. "Let's use whatever we can to seal ourselves off from either ship." He holds his hands out as if to release himself from responsibility on this issue. By his attention, it's obvious that he's now laying the job on Sato and Schabowski. Now on to Healy, Johnson, and Beaudreaux. "Keep everyone together. I want everyone together, as much as possible. I've already ordered all but essential personnel to remain in the cafeteria. For now, the science and medical departments will stay put, so I'd like to get some security down there, okay? "You soldiers," he says, looking directly at Booths and Patwardhan. "We'd appreciate any help you could lend. Will our weapons be of any use against them?" Johnson recites: "Shotguns and revolvers. Slug ammunition only, nothing explosive." He looks with some concern at the high-powered rifle in Booth's hands. Holcomb: "I'm afraid to think what those automatic weapons will do to the bulkheads. Schabowski?" The engineer shakes his head slowly. He knows exactly what would happen: everybody would die. Nightmare images begin to populate his imagination: broken duraglass, shattering and crashing away into open vacuum, human bodies plucked up and pulled into the cold void. Then the general manager asks matter-of-factly, "So what do you need from me?" One of his assistants snaps up a clipboard and pen at the ready. [Healy] Healy listens to the various summaries of access routes, bulkhead positions and crawling ducts. Ones the GM (General Manager, not you Dave) poses his question, she pipes up with her concerns before answering. "I think that we're going to have to accept that in all possibilities, some of these things are already on board... I can't think of how, but we can't just *assume* we're safe." Before continuing, Healy scans her eyes ones again over the diagrams of the various corridors around the docking anchors currently supporting the Gaines and the Korea. "We need to make sure that no more can get on here... what do we need to do to detach the two ships? I'd rather a few hundred meters of vacuum between us and then, rather then just a steel door." Healy relaxes a little, glad that she's finally had a chance to speak to plans to the people that count. She slides the pulse rifle strap off her shoulder and drops it down on the table with an audible 'thump'. A crick of the neck later and she's ready to go on, "We'll need to get some patrols happening throughout the station, five man teams minimum, and we're going to have to break out the shotguns on this one. We should put some security in the cafeteria too, not much point in putting all those people there without some defense." Healy leans back against the table behind her, ready to accept critisism on her ideas. Once again she slips a cigarette out of her pocket and in her mouth where it hangs, unlit. The flexible, fabric umbilicus corridors used to join the two ships with Rodina can be easily detached, even remotely from the operations center. They're affixed with metal bolts, and the whole unit will slowly drift away if released. By now a few others in the ops center have begun to gather around, bystanders to the meeting of the minds. One of the systems operators nods that it can be done, just say the word. Holcomb listens intently to Healy's proposals, but makes no announcement about actually carrying it out just yet. His tone is politely scathing. "I apologize to ask, but how many security officers are left in your team, Sergeant? Are you suggesting that we arm civilians?" The question brings about an uncomfortable moment in which a division is made between those persons in the room who are armed and armored, and the greater majority who are not; those who are going to make it, and those who are going to go down screaming. So what would happen even if she could put guns in the hands of civilians, Healy wonders. She knows the number of shotguns aboard Rodina: two per officer. That's thirty six to go around. She could probably convince Booths and Patwardhan-- what's taking Gonzales so long? Patch him up already and-- anyway they'd definitely see the logic in distributing their small collection of firearms. Counting the 9mm automatic Colts and the Taurus revolvers in the total, and yes, she thinks she could form a militia of the civilains and what's left of her police team, around sixty armed persons. Half would be equipped with only a sidearm, but these could be mixed in with heavier weapons. She's surprised to find herself thinking like a general of an army, guiltily predicting the casualties and how they will be dealt with. She's already left some of her friends dead on the Gaines. And if those things get in here, that's what's going to happen. They're all going to die. Either way, it's a loss. Her thoughts darken. But maybe, maybe the pulse rifle before her can make her come out even. Absently, she lights the cigarette and draws in a satisfying smoke. Healy stands straight again, considering Holcomb's question, "Sir, I'm suggesting that we do what we need to survive..." Without waiting for permission Healy picks up the pulse rifle again, slinging it on to her shoulder. She walks over to the operator that had originally nodded, "Do what needs to be done, lets get some breathing space from those things." She then proceeds over to the console where she can make station-wide announcements, "This is Sergeant Healy, all security team leaders meet me at the security armoury in five minutes. To all other staff... as a security measure we're looking for voluenteers to aid our security teams in some procautionary patrols... anyone with past firearms training or skill is encouraged to help out... let the nearest security officer know." Healy switches off the mic and goes over to the main group again, this time she addresses the marines, "I could use your help on this one too if you're up to it?" Then she turns to Mina, "Mina, if you're not busy I could use your help getting these teams together." Healy slips her Taurus out her belt holster and tosses it out of her hand slightly, catching it by the barrel, she holds the gun's grip out in front of her, offering it to any unarmed person that may take it, "So who's ready to come with me?" [Mina] Mina stood forward instantly. She had been fidgety throughout the whole session, and at a loss as to what to say: despite the massive loss of human life and horrific injuries, she was still trying to accept the terrible truth. She unconsciously touched her hip, where nestled her revolver - not as impressive as the pulse rifle, but offered some modicum of defense. She finally put the cigarette she had stashed behind her ear to her lips, and lit it, with well practised, fluid motion, holding the smoke in her lungs for a second then, easing it out slowly. "For sure. Let's do it." [Sato] Sato sat quietly through the meeting, watching the faces of the military and security staff around him. The somber attitude told Sato a lot, all of them were facing something serious. His initial assumption was that they were overplaying the threat. Military always seemed to want to stress their own necessity, especially when that necessity was dubious on a facility like the Rodina. After watching the faces of those about him, he was beginning to think that things were more serious than he had anticipated. "I'm going to check on the docking anchors for the Korea.", Sato states as he gets up from the table. "I can hit the anchors for the Gaines afterwards... unless you want to handle them Schabowski. Lockdown of the main access hatches should be sufficient for now, unless your xenos can travel through vacuum. If you're really worried that some of these xenos are already on the ship, I'll proceed to begin a lockdown of other external hatches, internal doors and access cooridors. I'll start with unoccupied areas. If we have a threat on board then we can localize it. This sound OK, Shabowski?" Sato then leaves and heads for the docking anchors for the Korea so he can inspect them personally. He punches up some company technical documents for procedures when dealing with an external threat on his handheld computer and scans them as he walks, making mental notes of other precautions he should utilize. [Healy] Healy quickly stops Sato before he leaves, "Sato... seperate the ships... I don't know if those things can travel through space... but I don't want to run the risk. Remember they got from the Korea to the Gaines some how. Seperate the ships. As for the internal lockdown... I think that's a good idea. Is it something you can do quickly?" [Schabowski] "You do it, Sato" - Chris nodded, but then he looked straight into the young man's eyes - "But remember to do it swiftly. Don't waste your time on normal double-checks of the hatches' balance, we both know, that it's not necessary. I'd rather risk some minor damage of the doors than the damage from these... creatures. We can do it later " - He paused, thinking about something, and then added - "Oh, and one more thing. First of all put the hatches on stand-by with the main terminal, so in case these creature try to open them before you've cut them off permanently, the internals will close automatically. That's not much, but it might help. And don't get yourself killed" - he smiled, but when Sato had left the room the smile instantly disappeared. Krzysiek turned towards Healy - „I'm not really sure about this idea about giving guns to civilians, especially the ones, who had never really used them in the heat of battle. When under pressure they may start to shoot uncontrollably. And excluding only the high-punch weapons won't do. Sure, the walls were thoroughly tested and performed good even when under artillery fire. The windows are immune to anything under 10mm. However, we've got many dangerous things onboard, which are much more fragile. Oxygen and nitro cylinders, cans with poisonous chemicals for the greenhouse maintance, mercury in the lamps, and so on. The bullets will be more than enough to destroy their shelters. I'd advise giving the weapons only to experts, like the soldiers, and security officers. But it's your call." [Booths] Booths, once a clerk had let him in, slightly disappointed that he would not get to shoot the door down afterall, had acquired a cigarette and a light. At the moment he was contentedly puffing away. In lieu of chewing gum, this would have to do. It always amused him to hear people talk tough, and even in this situation, under siege, and in this environment, fear permeating it, he smirked. He let them harp on for a few moments before butting in. He shook his head. "This is what you are going to do, Healy, and ...Mina?" A lit cigarette pointed at each of them for emphasis. He was cutting out the beaurcrats, and dismissing them. "Mina." He nodded. "You are going to set up your cops in three men sweep teams." He took a drag at the ciggie, and blew the smoke out. "Five minimum? F*ck that shit." He shifted his ass of the console where he had parked it and moved forward a bit. "You are not trained for these kind of actions. But I'm going to teach you as much as possible while we have the time, and the blood." Another drag. The cigarette butt went flying behind him. "Three men teams are mobile, and in tight quarters like a space station or ship, are optimum. One man moves, while the other two keep'em covered. Then the next man in line advances, and so on." He smiled grimly. "Ideally you should have a man with a motion tracker handy, so do you have some, or can some of your eggheads put some together?" He shrugs. "Anyway, you need your non-combatants in a place that is big and open, a meeting room, or assembly area, storage holds and s--- like that. Anywhere that is open, and has limited approaches." He rolled his shoulders to get rid of some tension. "Then put some cops to guard them." His hand flexed. "Then you sweep this dump from top to bottom." He adjusted the various pices of equipment on his person, and turned his attention back to the people. "These things are big toothy motherf*ckers, but they also look insectile." He shuddered involuntarily. "And they work in groups. They might work like a hive, and if they are on board, they would need something central, with lots of approaches. Any ideas?" He shifted from foot to injured foot, winced. "Umm, anybody got some gum?" [Sato] "Good idea, I'll have the hatches set to standby for now.", replies Sato. "The corporation likely has procedures set up for this type of occurrence, once I finish this I'll take a look at what kind of recommendations they give. Be back soon." [Sato] "All right, I can detach the umbilicus corridor remotely.", replies Sato. "I'll do so from here before examining the hatches, though we won't have much to worry about if they can't travel through open space. I'll have the nearby hatches set to trigger an alarm if the airlocks are used. I'll go down and make a physical check anyway, I should be able to tell if any sort of forced entry has been made." "As for internal lockdown, the main problem will be the possibility of inhibiting Rodina personnel from reaching areas they need to be. My idea would be to force use of internal keycards on normally unlocked doors, but let all levels of security be cleared to unlock them. Unless these xenos posess a high degree of intelligence, they won't be able to work the doors and it shouldn't cause much interference with our people.". Sato looks at Healy expectantly for the go ahead before beginning his work.