|Bars do not a prison make.
||[Mar. 11th, 2007|12:01 pm]
|||||Fix You - Coldplay||]|
::refolds arms for the dozenth time, slouching down to find something more closely resembling a comfortable position::
::does one more visual sweep through room...yes, locked decon door, yes, sullen circus of fellow detainees still lined up down own bench and across on the other::
::thinks wrathful thoughts about the NX crew...if Foster had anything to do with this, long overdue payback is going to be a beauty...::
::stops inward muttering, the silence of the room still too much to bear::
So let me just rehash this one more time. Out of...
...five people, not one of you could put up a decent fight and stay in the clear to help end this mutiny?
::follows his eyes::
...hey! You skipped over me!
Probably because your history with self-defense and protection speaks for itself.
::folds arms too, tapping foot on deck::
::glares across small aisle, clenching fist...if she wasn't a girl...::
Oh, right, throw that back in my face.
Look who's talking, Miss beataborgupoverateddybear. I don't hear you complaining now. Isn't it your life's goal to become a drone or something?
::paces short path in front of the transporter console, discreetly checking wrist chronometer for the tenth time...lunch, dammit, lunch::
::catches a sympathetic look from Wildman...it's that obvious?::
::tries to at least look slightly less disgruntled::
Are we getting anywhere?
::leans against the console, ignoring own reading for the moment and watching Tal's work with marked disinterest::
Ahni doesn't think so. I've been fielding messages from conn all morning...all pretty much along the same vein. When can we go the *bleep* to warp?
::closes eyes briefly::
::counts backward from ten::
::has been carefully monitoring from make-shift command nexus aboard the Borg mothership::
::chooses not to linger on increasing suspicion that the term 'foxhole' would be more appropriate, authority being ever transient in the Collective::
::shakes off disgust at own inability to hold control, focusing on something within grasp instead::
::twists head slightly, tersely gesturing to 'assistant' drone::
Prepare for transport. Obey my instructions. They will not harm you. I expect the same.
::twists head back, inputting own data::
take position on the transporter pad, her pattern disintegrating mere seconds after::
::gives up hiding jaw tick, waiting as another pattern takes form in her place...yes, that would be Borg, further identification can wait::
and her unauthorized phaser, only relaxing when she gives an alert nod::
Get it off there and begin bringing our people back.
::throws out half an eye roll, stepping forward to grab a plated arm, meeting a not really surprising but still pleasant amount of passivity::
All right, you heard the cranky Indian.
::waits impatiently for the man...drone...whatever state he's in...to lumber slowly down, nodding over shoulder to Celes::
Start a transporter sweep of the coordinates I gave you. Seven is supposed to be beaming over to the NX from her end and planting a dispersal field so we can get a solid latch on them all.
Make sure you grab her too. I think it might make Magnus here a little happier.
Not that you could tell. She gets it honest.
::steps between them, flashing a warning look all around::
We're not locating anything until we've found somewhere to stock up and refuel.
::gestures to Celes and Delaney::
Ladies, take a break. Seven...I believe you have a charge you should see to sickbay for a check-in.
And I guess that's my cue to escort them both
::pokes an instructing finger toward door for magnushansen
's benefit, eying his less Borg, less than pleased spawn::
We might even all get there in one piece.
Wrong phrasing. Make that three distinct pieces, thank you very much.
::swallows ripple of amusement despite the situation, hiding it behind a cough::
I guess I should just be happy to know where she ended up...
::catches the Indian's eye, reading his unspoken nudge::
Harry, why don't you follow them...I bet I know where Linnis headed. Keep her calm and out of Doc's programming.
::glances up from console when doors reopen, tipping head in greeting::
I hope this makes more sense to you than me, Ensign.
I wouldn't count on it, Sir...
::moves to his side, looking down to take in the updated readings::
Looks like the same muddle we've been trying to fight through for months in an effort to find them. Without Borg technology to light the way, it's just nearly impossible to beam so far through both space and time.
Maybe the other Linnis could tell me something I don't know, but she hasn't been very enthusiastic about sharing before...
::looks back up, dots connecting in head::
Her daughter. She's it!
I don't think our Linnis would take very well to running into her right now...
::quickly debates...any of them running across either of the 'guests' could cause more trouble than wants to deal with at the moment::
Computer, location of Linnis...
::foresees the potential for error before an answer can even be calculated, switching tactics::
Computer, locate Renara Paris.
Renara Paris is in her quarters.
::grimaces again, nodding to companion::
Arrange to have some guest quarters put together, I don't believe Harry and Linnis will want to share theirs...and tell Ayala to have his security teams keep an eye out for...the other Linnis. I'll go explain the situation to the girl and get her somewhere out of the way for now.