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Rangers Redux (fiction)

Re: Rangers Redux

Thank you! Wonderful pieces of story. :)

I have been trying to resume my story too... but as things currently are, it faces tough competition for my attention -- one web server, two websites, two translations and multiple programs waiting.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Hi Channe,

I've been reading your story for a while now, and I've finally decided to delurk and tell you what a terrific piece of writing it is. I've noted from time to time you've referred to it as 'draft' quality. If that's the case, point me at what you consider a finished product because I definitely want to read it ;).

I, for one, have no nits with your writing, and I certainly understand how RL can conspire to slow a story down (in my case, that's coupled with chapters getting longer and longer :rolleyes:) but you've stayed with it. I only hope you plan to assemble the story at some point into a single entity (perhaps on Jumpnow? Ern and Berry are branching out into more than J&D, you know).

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed reading so far. New B5-related FF is scarce, good B5 FF even more so. Please keep it up (I also know how hard it is to stay interested in the same story over long periods of time :LOL:)

V/R
John Hightower
www.jumpnow.de
 
Re: Rangers Redux

And by the way, since the chance exists... thank you too. :) There is one story which I accidentally found at JumpNow, sometime around this Spring... I think it was called "2285". Quite interesting, I must admit.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Sarah did not sleep much that night.

She lay on her bunk staring blankly at the bare, bursting mattress above her, an egg-shaped indentation in the middle where one of the human techs was curled, lightly snoring and dreaming of tomorrow.

Finally, the red-and-blue parallel lines smeared together, and ran into curves that resembled the Enfalli's predatory, slippery lines, and Sarah dozed unwillingly.

But she awoke only an hour and a half later to the chirping of her pager summoning her to the small conference hall.

The Ranger base breathed as much life at midnight as it did at mid-day; techs scurried everywhere, lights blared, ships came in smoking from the hatches and took off for the front lines in droves. Floodlights covered the launch area with alternate places where bright white beams reflected off green exoskeletons and dark shadows nullified the existence of ground.

The conference halls were located behind the training areas, so Sarah lugged her bags, intent on getting some hours logged in the sims after whatever it is she would be doing there.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Thank you. :D

I so wish I would have already managed another chapter in my story... but I have only pieces. I also have this... asset tracking database.

Before I can take time to write stories... the database must accomplish more than reporting fifteen yellow plastic fish, located in Testing Department, in custody of Testing Person. :eek:

It must allow the convenient entry, modification and linking of assets, and their inventory with portable terminals. After it does... perhaps I can switch back from PHP to English -- at least for a little while.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

present-day

Singh flagged Martel down in the hallway on his way back to the bridge. She dodged between a group of techs toting maintenance equipment, passed Na'feel, who was swearing while standing on a stool, her head stuck in a ceiling cavity, and called after him.

"Captain," she yelped, waving. "David."

He stopped, turned, and stared at her wordlessly, before reaching out to punch a code into a nearby hatch. She skidded to a stop nearby, her words tumbling out quickly.

"He wasn't supposed to die -- I mean, I didn't know anything about -- he was old, but -- Captain, we're fucked," she mumbled.

Martel's lip turned into a sneer as the hatch opened next to him, revealing one of the cargo holds. His eyes stopped at her collarbone, where he noted she was still not wearing a Ranger pin. He entered toe room and headed to the back. "Losing control of the situation, Singh?"

"You're remarkably calm," she snapped, following him.

"Part of the job," he returned, stopping in front of a few storage boxes stacked behind a stack of extra bailing wire. "I've seen worse."

"Worse than this?" she squeaked.

"Yes, worse," Martel returned. He yanked open a box and retrieved a Ranger pin and tossed it in Singh's direction; the woman, frowning, snapped it in mid-air and stared at it sullenly before attaching it to her shirt. "Haven't you?"

"I don't get out much," she muttered.

Martel laughed and pushed himself to his feet, quickly scanning the small, low cargo hold with a narrow, intent glare. "That's the problem with you people," he said, crossing the space to root through another box. "You're incredibly smart, really capable -- hell, you could probably screw me silly in a stave match, but -- you slept through the Shadow War!"

Singh crossed her arms and spat steel. "No, I wasn't at Coriana, if that's what you mean, but someone had to do what I did. You think I liked it?"

Martel found the box he was looking for and unlatched the top, peering inside. "What are you here for?"

"I want to know just how much we got," she whispered. "Saroteg did us a great disservice by his death."

He snorted; his hand dissappeared inside the box. "Malcolm conducted a pre-interview. I'd estimate -- sixty percent of what we need for the mission."

"Sixty percent!" she exclaimed. "Not enough."

Martel shrugged. "Ah, hell, it's not here. No, it's enough. Between that information and extrapolation by my crew --"

"Your crew doesn't have the technical background for something like that," she interjected. "We should abort."

Martel's eyes hardened as he found what he was looking for -- an datacrystal of the kind and shape made specifically for Earthforce security readers. He placed it in his pocket.

"No. We're perfectly capable," he replied.

"Your crew is in --"

"Insane?" he said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "I've heard that before."

She sighed. "No, that's not what I was going to say, Captain. It seems to me that we can't have a civil discussion without blows being cast. Let me know when you've calmed down, and we'll talk like civilized people."

She whirled and walked out of the room.

Martel was left. He fingered the datacrystal in his pocket and watched as crewmembers from the Liandra crossed in front of the open hatch, one after another, moving quickly in dizzying combinations of engineer and computer tech, Minbari and Drazi and human.

He smiled and reached for the room's companel.

"Malcolm, meet me in my briefing room, willya? Rescue Na'feel from the aft second hallway while you're at it."
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Ooooh, John Hightower's reading me... hello, and thank you. :) In fact, thank you all, those of you who are probably getting sick of my sporadic posting... here's one that should be titled, "Channe Has Fun With Drazi Culture In Service Of The Greater Cause."

--

Something occurred to Malcolm, left alone in the infirmary’s triage room in the company of machines that hummed and chirped in a low, unobtrusive fashion.

Through the clear window that opened upon the ship’s surgery, the intelligence officer could see Firell, who with firm, birdlike movements was beginning the official autopsy. He walked to the window and watched intently; Firell’s eyes raised once to regard him warily before returning to her work, thin fingers carefully pressing the scales around the dead Drazi’s ear as the nurse, Jean, took a blood sample.

He tapped on the glass. Firell looked up; she saw him waving her over. She handed Jean her tools and came to the door, pushing it open with one hand about an inch and a half.

“What is it?”

Malcolm glanced over her shoulder at the body. “Run a test -- look for embeds, muscle chips, something, go through the body by hand if you have to,” he said. “There’s gotta be something here, if he was as important to the mission as Singh obviously thinks he is. He might have swallowed it before the mission, in which case it would still be in his system --”

The healer blinked. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward. “He didn’t know he had epihemia, right? But he was old, Firell, he was emeritus at his university already, and if he was a devout Droshallan like Singh says, he shouldn’t have been in space in the first place -- it all make sense,” he said, the words falling out one after another in a haze of excitement.

Firell frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Until recently, when Droshalla appeared on Babylon 5, her worshippers followed a holistic -- they accepted and used technology, but considered the sacred land she walked on, you know, Drazi Prime, to be the only place in the universe where they could live -- they were agrarians, and geologists, and were involved in a lot of earth sciences, and the Drazi Ministry of Land Usage is, of course, mostly Droshallan, and this is changing you know now because of the whole Babylon 5 thing, but --“

The Minbari healer shook her head. “Stop,” she commanded. “I don’t understand.”

Malcolm nodded, not about to slow the pace. “Did you know that there are no Droshallan members of the Drazi space force? That the merchanters who operate in the spacelanes don’t hire Droshallans? Saroteg was an archaeologist, he spent his whole life digging up Droshalla-era artifacts, he never left Drazi Prime! People of his religion teach the outside world, and know just as much about it is as your ordinary drazeg, which is why he was teaching technique using telecommunications from Beta Durani -- but the Rangers had to come to him instead of vice-versa! What did he know that was so important? Singh looks like she believes that what he knew died with him, but I really, sincerely doubt it.”

Firell was quiet for a moment. “You think he might have -- yes, all right, I’ll run the metal battery. Jean --“ she said, and closed the door, calling orders to her nurse.

Malcolm stood there and caught his breath.
It would make sense, he thought. No wonder Saroteg never left the guest room while he was here. He was probably scared shitless.

He turned his back and went to walk out the door, but stopped in his tracks.

There was always someone manning the computer terminal in the triage room. It wasn’t always medical personnel -- which meant the nurse, Jean, or Firell -- but there was usually someone there, trained in basic first aid and left to run the place. But there was no one there now.

He felt the temptation seep into his bloodstream, and tried to ignore it.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Thank you. No offense taken at possible modification of Drazi culture. :D

(It would be insulting of me... to expect you to follow what another *may* have written... letter-by-letter even into uncertain territory.)
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Bah, I can't write anymore. I don't like this. Entirely too expositionary and silly. Eeek. But I guess I'll put it down anyway.

the past -- tuzanor

The conference room door was locked, but the intercom was functional; Sarah pressed the button and waited.

"Yes?" asked a crackling, elderly male voice.

"Sarah Cantrell here," she said in return, hoisting a bag further on her shoulder, where it hung, digging into her shoulder uncomfortably. She began to wonder if it had been a good idea to bring the sim equipment -- she'd not had the need to deal with one of the older members of the Rangers since graduation from the training camp.

A long moment passed and the door parted on one side, disappearing into the wall. Inside the conference room was a luminous, backlit crystal table of Minbari design; seated at the table were a gaggle of unfamiliar faces, Minbari and human, and one she only knew by sight: the surviving exec of the trashed ship the Enfalli had rescued. He was shut up in a mobiler, a Minbari device that wrapped around injured bodies and assisted the walking, fighting, and daily work of injured Rangers too well to be in hospital but not yet agile enough from the recovery of injuries to fight unassisted. Four others were dressed in a variety of formal and informal Ranger clothes, all haphazardly put on.

"Ranger Cantrell," the voice said, and rose. It belonged to an old Minbari gentleman of indeterminate age, clad in a simple grey habit. "Thank you for coming at such a late hour, but, as you know, there is no time to waste."

Cantrell could only nod in shock as she realized she was speaking with Carall, a member of the Ranger Council, the body that was second only to Entil'zha herself.

"You have met Ranger Martel, have you not?" Carall said, calmly, noting the man in the mobiler with a flick of his wrist. When the Council chairman gave her no indication to sit, she remained standing.

"Not formally, sir," she said, nodding respectfully to the man.

Martel chuckled. He moved forward a bit in his wheelchair, grinning widely. "No, I remember you," he remarked. "You were the one screaming at me to release the access codes, after all that shrapnel damage."

Sarah hadn't felt so embarrassed since the time her sister had put her underwear on display for the whole school to see.

Carall harrumphed and Martel returned to a staid, respectful stance, a jaunty grin remaining on his face and his eyes alive with something other than respect. "Cantrell, we were very pleased with your gunnery work in recent weeks, and you certainly proved yourself capable of leadership after the death of the Enfalli's former captain. These are your new crewmates. Captain Tarrant," he noted, at which a mid-forties, curly-haired man nodded, "David Martel, Dulann sh'crai Chu'domo, Enrique Serra, Jack Roberts, and Sayal of the family Mir. You are their new weapons officer. Please sit."

Sarah exchanged nods with the others and took a nearby seat with gratitude, happiness coursing through her veins. Serra seemed as flustered as she, Roberts exhausted -- had they been raised from sleep, as well? Only Martel looked alert.

Carall turned and faced them. "Immediately following this briefing you will report to the light cruiser Lutia, which is due to ship out as soon as possible. You will join the front-line forces near Babylon 5 and await further orders."

The Minbari shut off the display. "That is all."

Sarah blinked. Carall, his duties finished, swept out the door with an aide, leaving the rest of the crew staring at each other from across the table. Restive, Sarah fidgeted; the others looked blankly at one another with the uncomfortable stares of strangers forced to immediately get along with other strangers, until Tarrant rose and broke the awkwardness with an order. His stance, and slightly bemused shrug, made her convinced that he, like the others, had been blindsided.

"Right," her new captain said. "Get what you need. I want you on the Lutia an hour ago."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and left. Serra followed, not saying a word; Roberts turned to the remaining four in the room.

"Tarrant's new, you know," he said, jabbing a finger over his shoulder casually. "New promotion. This is his first captaincy. I'll see you all there."

He vacated the room, as well.

Sarah smiled thinly at her new crewmates and went to pick up her bags. "Ok, I guess there won't be sim practice this morning," she said, hoisting them onto her shoulder once more.

The large Minbari female, Sayal, stuffed a mobile terminal in her pocket and stood. "I believe you will like the weapons facilities on the Lutia, Cantrell," she said. "They're second-generation, not third, like the Whitestars, but..."

The doors closed behind the two women, leaving Martel and Dulann in the room alone. After a tense moment, Martel whistled, laughing a bit in relief. An amused grin tickled Dulann's mouth as he regarded his human friend.

"I do see what you mean," the Minbari strategist said. "She does resemble the letters you showed me."

Martel stood, slowly. The mobiler clicked and moved into action, supporting his still-weak muscles and tissues. "Not good," he said.

"Good," remarked Dulann. "The resemblance is skin-deep, at most. Sarah Cantrell will be a completely different person than your fiancee. You would do well to remember that."

Martel sighed, and looked down. He poked a button on the mobiler; the machine howled its discontent. "Nope, this thing is not going to let me out yet. They must be desperate, sending me off to the front lines as exec when I can't even walk on my own."

Dulann nodded. "The situation is always what you make of it, David."

The human snorted. "I think you're full of shit, Dulann. This time, we're going to die."

"You say that every time. I don't believe you anymore," Dulann replied.

"I mean it this time," Martel said. "I'm an exec of no use, our captain is an idiot, and I look at my gunner and see -- and see --" he trailed off, sighed, and didn't finish the sentence. Dulann just regarded him with the patient eyes of the Minbari religious and extended his hand to squeeze his friend's shoulder in support. Not a Minbari gesture, but one Dulann had picked up from his time working with humans.

"Yeah --" Martel said. "You know what I see."

Dulann nodded.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

:: peeks out from a quite extensive jumble ::
:: of database fragments, datacollection software and terminals ::

:: notices a colorful piece of story, and quickly reads ::
:: conveys thanks and greetings to the author ::

:: disappears back into the jumble of incomplete tech ::
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Hmm. I have a set of little character notes I've thought about making public just so you people can catch up after a very long absence. There shouldn't be any spoilers here. They aren't necessary for the plot, but are just to refresh your memory about where everybody stands. There's more in my little stash, however, but you don't get to see them yet... ;) :D

CANTRELL
- grew up in the tunnels of Mars Dome 1
- former waitress in diners and nightclubs
- as a teen was homeless for a year
- has been in bar brawls and sometimes starts them
- considered by many to be among the best gunnery officers in the Anla'shok
- served as gunnery deputy on Enfalli during Sector 83 battle ("Shadow Dancing"), where she met Martel and Dulann
- looks like Martel's dead fiancee
- has stated on the record that she would die for Martel in the right circumstances
- prefers to think that she is direct, but Martel thinks she is "evasive" and "insinuatory" at times
- thinks Firell is "too alien" to really talk to
- hates Mural a whole lot
- thinks Malcolm is far too serious

BRIDGES
- born on Beta Colony, native language Spanish
- present during Shadow attacks on that colony and was really "never the same" afterwards
- former Shakespearean actor
- has stated that all he wants is peace and is willing to die for that peace
- values control, sublimating the emotions, intelligent, very perceptive and in-tune with his physical surroundings
- is in love with Firell, secretly
- very suspicious of Martel's past after what Mural told him

FIRELL
- deeply religious
- favorite meditation is the Triary (re: Delenn's triangle thingy)
- former Minbari cleric on Nesma with Dulann; treated the survivors of the Nixiam cave-in
- knew about Martel's past and was accused of treating him for quantium mania without keeping records and keeping that information from official records
- served as a field medic during the Minbari Civil War, where she was involved with an event that caused members of the medicinal field on Minbar to shun her until she joined the Rangers
- reclusive, antisocial, brusque
- is kinder to Bridges than to others
- clean freak
- counts Dulann as a good friend

TIRK
- had surgery to be able to speak Standard
- the Liandra's all-purpose go-to guy
- reliable, strong, slightly slow, but perceptive; truthful

DULANN
- from the Third Fane of Chu'domo; would be Lennier's peer
- former Minbari cleric; on Nesma during the Shadow attack with Firell, and part of the delegation that rescued Martel
- a low-level telepath
- Michael Hargreave, the ship-shade from TLADIS, still speaks to him
- helped the telepaths on the Alafa in the battle of Sector 83 ("Shadow Dancing") fight Shadows despite his supposed inability to do so
- insightful; a student of Ranger philosophy
- quite the optimist
- Martel's oldest friend
- has stated on public record that he would die for Martel if necessary
- has been called "Martel's lapdog" by other Rangers

MARTEL
- former Q-40 miner for Nixiam Industries, a human-rights violator
- present on Nesma during Shadow attack, during which the mine he was working in collapsed; lost his fiancee, was rescued by Dulann and Firell's religious order
- as a child served as a bilgeboy during the Earth-Minbari war after parents died
- wounded badly in Sector 83 battle when he was a first-level tech on the Alafa
- very good at hand-to-hand combat
- sarcastic, slightly rude, runs a tight boat
- likes flarn
- dislikes Ranger authority after Enfalli incident, but submits to it anyway
- Centuari seer-woman predicted he would be buried in a mineshaft collapse, eight months after Nesma
- Is skeptical about Dulann's telepathic abilities; doesn't always believe him
- Trusts whatever Malcolm says

SASAKI
- neophyte crack pilot with a little bit of humility and a lot of talent
- a top gun without the attitude
- grew up poor in a household that worshipped ancestors
- doesn't usually talk to other Rangers, especially Na'feel
- feels grateful just to be on the ship

NA'FEEL
- father was a spaceport mechanic with own shop; grew up around engines
- served as an engineer for Narn private-enterprise supply ships
- participated in the Resistance against the Centauri at a very young age
- acerbic, annoyed, deeply personal, haunted, alone
- doesn't like Sarah at all
- calls Kitaro "gok-swill"
- swears a lot
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Malcolm slid into the seat in front of the information terminal without trepidation. In the back of his throat, he tasted metal, and nerves caused his hands to shake a little; he fought quickly to gain back some measure of control.

In the ship's temple, Firell had so much as told him outright that he wouldn't find any official record of his captain's possible sickness. Well, that was all well and good, Malcolm thought, lifting his hands to access the medical inventory records; while the Minbari doctor may have been ordered to keep mum and may have neglected or falsified data on that count, there had to be a paper trail somewhere in the huge, cavernous databanks that were the Liandra's medical records kept by her meticulous, thorough healer.

And while Firell was busied in the other room with a dead drazeg, he intended to find it.

A preliminary search of the system found Malcolm staring at what was, perhaps, the most well-stocked infirmary he'd ever seen. There were drugs for almost every eventuality; bandages fit for a small army; knockout painkillers and anti-drug patches for Rangers who hadn't yet kicked their landlubber habits. There were a number of portable ICU units, practically an entire mobile triage hospital -- he found himself wondering, paging through the list, where she kept it all.

But no anti-mania drugs.

He then moved to Martel's medical records. It was as Firell had said. It stretched back to Martel's first Ranger physical, where he had been examined and declared fit for duty. Following that were a number of green, clear entries, and then a flurry of nasty diagnoses, last-minute surgeries, physical therapy sessions, and painkillers prescribed towards the end of the Shadow War -- this surprised Malcolm; he hadn't known that Martel had been that near death. They eventually ticked to a halt, however, and the robustly healthy man he knew to be his Captain returned to the records, albeit with an addition of a dose of Thurisol here and there for insomnia.

Physical clear, he read. Physical clear. Physical clear, rec. seritolrin for injuries recieved in training. Physical clear. Physical clear. Physical clear. Physical clear, rec. seritolrin for injuries recieved in training.

If he had been a normal man, Malcolm would probably have stopped right there out of frustration.

But Malcolm wasn't a normal man.

He began to bring up the back-entries to each of the records. Information spilled before him, much of it useless; the time and date of each visit, the room in the hospital, whether it had been on Tuzanor or on-ship, and which doctor had seen him. If Firell was falsifying data, he wanted to know how far back the deception had been occurring.

His stomach did a number of flip-flops.

Aside from a goodly number of battle-related surgeries, Firell had signed off on each and every physical he'd had in Tuzanor. Martel'd seen Firell for headaches, for backaches, for training-related injuries, for -- for insomnia pills?

How long had Firell known Martel? Longer than she'd intimated to Malcolm, at least; perhaps even longer before that.

Something burned inside of him.

He brought up the first record -- the first comprehensive physical Martel had been subjected to upon acceptance for Ranger training.

Physician: Firell, he read. Human male, near-perfect health. Prescribed seritolrin for sprained shoulder recieved in training.

Malcolm wasn't a pharmacist, but he knew enough field medicine to recognize the drug Martel had been taking periodically for years now. It was a strong painkiller, stronger than anything the intelligence officer had ever recieved for any of his sprained extremities.

He brought up one of the medical dictionaries.

Seritolrin,{i] Malcolm read. A long list of drugs that it should not be used with followed.

And then: [/i]Enzymes in Seritolrin is a key ingredient in the industry-standard anti-psychotic drug Heslin. Do not perscribe Seritolrin if patient is already taking Heslin.

And, next to that, scrawled in Firell's hand: "3Srl2Thr."

His vision swam. All of a sudden, the ship -- a tiny tin can, careeing towards a near-dead planet and a difficult mission -- pressed in on him, creaked, groaned, taunted him with his new-found knowledge.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Malcolm was just starting to get up when Firell exited the examination room, slapping off gloves. She stopped in her tracks as she saw him, one white, bloodied hand covering dangling daintily from her dextrous fingers.

"What do you need, Malcolm?" she queried.

Although the intelligence officer had once blasted Shadow ships not ten feet from his cockpit window, worked in the firey factories of Beta Colony, and had once fought hand-to-hand with an angry Narn bent on murder, he found himself thinking that this was, perhaps, the most precarious situation he'd ever been in.

"Nothing, thanks," he said. The incriminating record blazed on-screen; he moved his fingers quickly, guiltily, to eliminate it from the screen, his eyes still on Firell's.

Firell nodded slowly. "Well, all right," she said, turning to go into the washroom.

"Wait," he said, stepping down from the records aerie.

Firell turned, glove in hand. She was wearing the Minbari version of scrubs; they were splattered here and there with some kind of reddish-green gore. Not blood, but definitely something from the interior of a once-living creature.

"You look --"

"-- like I am in the middle of an autopsy," she finished with a half-smirk. "I am working. I do believe that you might have work to do, as well. Surely the infirmary isn't where you need to be right now."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I wanted to check if you'd found anything in Saroteg's body," he explained.

Firell cast a glance back to the examination room. "You won't find the answer to that question in the medical records, I believe. As I said before -- what do you need?"

Her gaze pierced his skin as Malcolm slowly came to the realization that Firell probably knew more about his actions then he'd thought. But, then, maybe she was just bluffing; she'd been conducting the autopsy, not peering through the window at his actions.

Intelligence officer, my ass,Malcolm thought. I can't even cover my own tracks on my own goddamned ship.

The words came unbidden. "For you to stop hiding the truth from me," he said.

Firell lowered her gaze and folded the dirtied glove into her still-covered left hand. When she lifted her eyes again, it was to regard him coldly.

"I've always told the truth to you, Malcolm," she said, softly. "I used to be a religious. I do not lie. And I do not appreciate being accused of falsehood, either, especially by a crewmate, a shipmate, someone I trust, someone who --" she skidded to a halt, verbally stopping the storm of un-Firell-like speech. "I have to get back to my work, and so do you."

Malcolm's stomach jumped and twisted. "Seritolrin. I'm no doctor, but I know you don't give Seritolrin for sprains and bruises, Firell. Much less when combined at intervals with Thurisol. That's -- that's loony-bin fare, that's -- dangerous, it's goddamned dangerous, and it's illegal and you know it. Firell, what's going on?"

Firell turned her face back to the exam room. "I have to work, Malcolm," she said.

He sighed. "You can trust me, Firell."

She blinked, looking dispassionately in his direction. "Can I?"

Malcolm stopped, stumbled. "Do I mean that little to you?"

Firell looked down and took a deep breath.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Ok, then.

--

Firell considered the situation, weighed her options, came to a decision she considered logical -- and made her first fatal mistake.

The diminutive Minbari raised her chin, looked kindly into her shipmate's face, and responded as best she could.

"Malcolm. You are my friend, you are my confidante -- I do care for you deeply. But you know as well as I that we have duties as Rangers that extend beyond the personal relationships we hold dear. You mean a great deal to me, but that has nothing to do with any official duties or capacities that I may be assigned. Now -- if you'll excuse me -- I do have to get back to my work."

She smiled, bowed slightly, and dissappeared into the examination room, leaving Malcolm alone.

The intelligence officer dismounted from the computer corral and headed out into the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets. Rangers who passed him shuddered and wondered; the angry look on his face was that of a man wounded by his best friend -- a Caesar facing a Brutus, with deep, haunted eyes, shoulders hunched and torso crumpled.

"Hey, Malcolm --" he heard. He turned quickly; Martel was speeding up the hallway, Singh in tow. "Just the man I want to see. Listen, I -- are you sick?"

Malcolm found himself recoiling from his Captain. He blinked, and raised a hand to rub his temples. He'd completely forgotten about the intelligence he needed to submit. "No -- no, just a headache, Captain."

"Mmm, you should see Firell sometime within the next few hours. We're about to enter the system and I need everything you've got, especially you -- intact and headache-free," Martel said, his brow furrowing. Behind him, Singh crossed her arms and pressed her lips together in annoyance.

"Um. Yes," Malcolm said. "Firell is in the middle of the autopsy. I've instructed her to look for embedded chips, muscle crystals, the like -- things that scans may or may not catch."

Martel didn't look convinced. He replied, all business, all crossed-i's and dotted-t's.

"Great. Fine. Keep me updated. But I need those prelims. I need them now, Malcolm. We're coming down to the wire, and you are behind deadline. Get me what you have within ten minutes, and it had better be good. Because if we go in unprepared, you'll be the first off the shuttle."

He jogged off down the hallway. Malcolm watched him go, swore underneath his breath, and took off for the bridge.
 
Re: Rangers Redux

Would I get boring if I said "Thank you!" again? :D

Then again, what else could I say?
I mean, there were no spelling errors to nitpick.
And your ability to weave a nice story is quite impressive.
 

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