Cheleb'khor

Vulcan

T'Pril waited, with West's tricorder in hand. She had no intention of handing over her own. That she had given to P'Trell who, among them all, remained the most capable at the moment. West remained unconscious and she had no confidence that Rodriguez could escape pursuit. With him then lay the best chance of keeping the data safe from these men.

She herself had come near her limits. One more bout of significant exertion was all she could manage, she was certain. Hopefully that would be enough, if only to buy P'Trell time to escape.

P'Trell stood to her left and slightly behind, clearly letting her become the focus of attention when the men revealed themselves. Most certainly so that he could seize that advantage should they be forced to go on the offensive. Together they effectively blocked the shallow pass in the ravine at that point. To get around them, to where West lay and Rodriguez rested, the men would have to go through the two of them. Or perhaps be forced to scale the shallow cliffs to either side…

Any further musing was cut short when the men appeared suddenly ahead, moving with intimidating leisure.

All three were clearly Vulcan. Hair style, facial features, even their desert gear, all Vulcan. The expressions they wore and the air of menace they carried with them however…decidedly not.

The one leading the group carried some manner of prod. A meter long metal baton with a thin, sharp spike at the end. The other two carried blades, clearly designed to clear a path through more robust environments but no less effective for their intended purpose here.

One wore a thick belt at his waist, through which peeked glimmers of golden metal. More of the throwing blades of the sort that had struck Ensign West.

T'Pril could sense Rexas suddenly focus exclusively on that one.

"Captain T'Pril Tucker." The lead man smirked. "I must admit I was very surprised when I was informed I would be hunting you. Delighted as well, of course."

"And who informed you?" T'Pril replied quickly.

Discussion takes time, time provides opportunity.

Keep them talking. Provoke their emotions.

"I suspect you know." He snorted. "Or near enough. You are something of a celebrity you know, even among my people." He shrugged apologetically, "Though perhaps not so well received."

Shifting his attention away for a moment, he gestured at the tricorder in her hand with the prod he wielded.

"That is mine, I think?" He asked, smirking.

T'Pril considered the tricorder, as if it were inconsequential. "That remains to be seen." She replied. "There are agreements that must be come to."

The man grinned slightly. "I think there is little to discuss…"

"It is your choice, of course." T'Pril interjected. "You may negotiate from a superior position or simply step forward and take it by force. I am sure you would prefer the latter but that seems hardly becoming."

"And what do I care for appearances?" The man replied sharply. "You may keep them. And your logic. Your lives as well, if you are careful."

"And honor as well we may keep, I see." T'Pril replied evenly.

The man's eyes narrowed at that. "You speak of honor? To me?" He menaced. "I think that is a subject a Vulcan should best avoid. Half-breed or not."

P'Trell watched the exchange, doing as little as possible to draw attention to himself, though he didn't miss the implications being hinted at. He waited only for the sign that violence would ensue, then he would sink the blade he held into the one who'd wounded West.

And then he would step forward and kill them all. T'Pril's orders notwithstanding. He had no intention of fleeing to die in the desert like a wounded beast. These men would simply track down his corpse and seize the tricorder anyway. He was a trained warrior, highly trained truth be known. Born and bred, in a particular sense of the phrase, for just such situations.

And so even as focused as he was on the inevitable battle, some part of his awareness remained detached enough to monitor his surroundings for surprises.

Such as the fact that something was moving very stealthily along the ridge to his left.

"You question the honor of Vulcan? But what honor is there in this?" T'Pril offered. "We are well aware you have no intention of allowing us to live. These games you play serve no purpose but your own gratification."

He smirked. "You are right, of course. This situation entertains me greatly. But perhaps I find it good sport to offer you…"

"I will not engage in such foolishness." T'Pril interrupted. "It is clear you are a coward. This is why you play the game you do. You fear engaging us even in our weakened condition because you know still there is a chance you may die."

Whatever it was on the ridge continued stalking forward, P'Trell sensed, seemingly focused on the men ahead. Probably because they were making so much noise. It was an animal of some sort then, predatory surely.

And Vulcan wildlife had a particular reputation…

"Are you a fool?" The man exploded. "I need not simply kill you, half-breed! I can make your death welcome before I am done!"

T'Pril shrugged mildly, unconcerned. "I fear neither death nor pain. And I do not fear cowards. Have you anything else to offer?"

The man was openly snarling now, growling in wrath. "Oh, yes." He seethed. "I have much to offer you…"

With that he stepped forward, intent on making good on this threat. The two men with him tensed up as well, preparing to fight…

"Wait!" P'Trell said suddenly. "This isn't necessary."

His voice trembled with apparent fear and he leapt to seize the attention the outburst had afforded him.

"Take the Captain." He said, pleadingly, gesturing at her and stepping away. "Leave the rest of us. We have nothing to do with any of this. We don't even know what you're talking about!"

The lead man stared for only a moment…then burst into laughter. Turning to share his mirth with his men, who chuckled in return…

Until P'Trell returned the borrowed blade, landing it with a solid 'snick' in the forehead of it's rightful owner.

The short moment of surprise might well have been followed by the remaining two men rushing forward to retaliate…if the sehlat on the ridge above had been foolish enough to let such a perfect opportunity slip by.

It was in the air, a sand-colored blur, slamming into the man P'Trell has just struck, ripping into his neck before he had even begun to fall.

Cheleb'khor

Search and Rescue Shuttle: Kehkuh

Sergeant Serahn viewed the scene from the shuttle door through the powered goggles he wore. From their present vantage point it required nearly full magnification to properly assess the situation. They were still several kilometers away, though closing as quickly as the pilot thought logical.

Logic which Serahn considered lacking at the moment.

The lost Starfleet crew had apparently all survived the crash of their shuttle, which was intriguing in itself. That they made it so far on foot through the Forge was perhaps even admirable. Most interesting at the moment however, they had chosen to attempt to lose their pursuers in the broken ground rather than fleeing more quickly through the open sand. Not at all what he would have expected from a Human crew. Perhaps the Captain's lesser Vulcan nature had proven beneficial in that regard. They had to all appearances responded to the situation logically enough.

But now the two Humans appeared to be dead or wounded, with the Andorian and the cloned half-breed facing their aggressors. It would seem confrontation had been unavoidable…

…and apparently a sehlat was now injecting itself into the proceedings. An extremely unusual situation indeed.

He tapped his goggles, returning to standard view and turned to his squad in the shuttle behind him. With a sharp gesture he directed Corporal Soviel to the door before signaling to the rest of the squad to prepare to rappel.

Soviel quickly snapped the safety lock from his rifle and extended the scope, moving fluidly into position at the door. Around him the remainder of his squad began attaching rappelling grips to their gloves, preparing to exit the shuttle once they'd come into range.

Through the scoped sight Soviel quickly assessed his targets…pausing only briefly at the surprising sight of a wild sehlat eviscerating one of the men in the distance…but the movement of the shuttle hampered his efforts to zero in, even with the aid of internal stabilizers. And the path of their flight carried his targets in and out of cover rapidly and randomly.

After measuring the situation for likelihood of success, he was forced to reject it. Snapping the safety lock back into place, he replaced the sniper rifle on the rack and retrieved the regrettably obsolete ballistic version. Without a word he joined his squad in preparing to rappel from the shuttle.

Cheleb'khor

Vulcan

Morales was growing tired. Hell, he passed 'tired' a while back and was stumbling right past 'worn the heck out'. He found it funny how thankful he was now for all those endurance drills. He'd have eaten sand a couple miles back otherwise. Didn't really make the hike any easier, of course. Just made him more accustomed to double-timing it well past the point where his body started begging him to stop abusing it.

Around him his squad panted and jogged along with him. He could spot signs of sunburn on the exposed portions of their faces but, beyond the utterly torturous fatigue beating down on them all, they seemed to be carrying on well enough. Ensign Schaffer was having real trouble keeping up and probably would have dropped out long ago if North had not proven tough enough both to hike and cajole him along.

Morales was tired, hurting and proud as hell of his squad.

God bless the MACO.

Of course he'd never be caught saying such a thing out loud. It was fine enough to ignore it when his men said something like that but officers weren't supposed to believe that kind of nonsense. Didn't exactly inspire confidence from the brass.

But he was sure that if there was a God, then He must love everything about the MACO.

Except maybe all the killing. Maybe not that so much.

But, then again…maybe sometimes. They'd killed a few people he'd bet God had been glad to see get what's coming to them. In fact…

"Major." Stetson panted behind him.

Dammit. Focus, dumbass.

"Whatcha got, Corporal?" He asked, not wanting to turn his head for fear of stumbling in the sand.

"Five o', high." Stetson wheezed.

Morales stopped running long enough to check his five o'clock, behind him and skyward. He spotted the two shuttles, obviously flying just high enough to avoid the dampening field. Too far to make out details but surely their promised reinforcements…

They weren't heading their way, though. They were passing them outward…

"Dammit." He grunted, gasping for breath. "They're heading straight in." He turned and began jogging again.

Ahead of him now, Stetson furrowed his brow. "That's good, right?" He panted.

"Yeah, I guess." Morales chuffed. "I don't like…*pant*…not being there…!"

Stetson immediately started barking, finding the breath to do so from who knows where.

"Alright!" He ordered. "Stop dragging your asses! You want to miss the party, ladies? Quick time!"

T'Pril took advantage of the distraction, despite being completely taken by surprise herself. With the lead man busy expressing shock and horror at what was going only a few meters away, she stepped forward to sling West's tricorder at the other man's face, pivoting to deliver a solid kick to the leader's temple…

…and found his reaction exceeded her expectations. Clearly the result of practice honing his martial arts skill to some near instinctive level. Spinning quickly to the side, he deflected her kick up and away, throwing her off balance, just precisely before she connected. Almost without being fully aware he'd done so, from the look on his face.

She rolled forward into the fall, springing to her feet still a little off balance but at least out of his reach. But he was already moving to attack.

She suddenly lacked confidence in her ability to fend these men off for very long. Her martial arts training was hardly extensive.

"Go!" she shouted, hoping P'Trell would understand he meant him. She couldn't afford to take her eyes off her opponent.

She thought at first that he had disobeyed her. Someone at least suddenly slammed into the man facing her from the side and behind, knocking the prod from his hand and taking advantage of his distraction far more successfully than she had.

But there was a flash of blue to her right, near West. P'Trell was taking her up to flee, at least partly obeying her orders.

Which meant…

Rodriguez. Who was issuing a vicious, if weakly delivered, string of Spanish curses, already falling atop the man as he lay flat on his back. Driving a flurry of violent blows directly into his face, howling like a maniac the whole while.

T'Pril found herself, quite despite herself, exchanging a quick glance of astonishment with the man to her left…before he realized she was open to attack and moved to engage.

He at least proved no more skilled than she, as a quick slap deflected his lunging stab down and to one side, with a follow up backhanded fist to the face staggered him slightly. Enough that a quick step back and side kick to the chest drove him back still further to land on his back in the sand.

Right next to the sehlat, still violently tearing at his comrade. A fact which the instant terror in the man's eyes made note of.

T'Pril dropped into a ready ponn-ifla stance and waited. Enough with attacking, especially as that would bring her in range of the sehlat herself. Now let him come to her.

To her right the man who Marisa had already bloodied grasped her suit top, pulling her off center and to the side. With an angry roar he flexed and slung her long armed away to the other side, propelling her airborne into the rock wall nearby.

The man laying near the busy sehlat rolled away quickly, just as the beast expressed its displeasure with his proximity. It let out a piercing shriek and bared its fangs in an intimidating display of violent intent. The prey beneath it was well dead and it would seem it had decided to deal with the rest of those that had so foolishly failed to flee.

T'Pril decided to slide slowly back, maintaining a ready stance. Better to let the other man remain the next logical target for the beast's fury.

To her right Marisa was already on her feet, in time to meet the bloody man she'd attacked. She staggered a bit and was clearly weak but her fury was palpable to T'Pril even at that distance. She had tapped the last of her reserves, intent on venting her outrage against those who driven them all to this extreme.

Stepping forward, snarling, both fists before her in a classic boxer's stance, Marisa met the man with a trio of incredibly quick, sharp jabs to the face. Then leaning low to take advantage of his mildly stunned state, driving a vicious upper cut to the chin with all her remaining might.

The sickening 'crack' practically echoed through the ravine.

But he didn't fall. Nor stagger back. Though badly traumatized by the attack, he drove forward anyway, blind with rage, to slam one solid fist into her jaw.

Marisa's legs buckled instantly and she was on her knees before him, open to any number of instant kill strikes…

..but his attack had brought him close to T'Pril again, with his back to her. So she stepped forward fluidly, gathering force to stab one rigid hand directly into his kidney.

With a garbled scream he arced his back and staggered to the side, grasping vainly where he'd been struck. She didn't follow up, moving forward instead to grab Marisa's arm, who was already so dredged of strength that she hadn't even the will to fall over properly.

T'Pril went down on one knee, taking Marisa's arm in one hand and digging the other into her suit. With a twist, pouring all her effort into the throw, she rolled and forced Marisa up and to the side, away from the fight. Though she staggered away and slid forward into the sand as a result, she was at least clear of danger enough to take to her feet and flee unopposed.

If, as T'Pril fervently hoped, she were still able to.

Before she could recover herself and take to her feet again, fingers snatched into her hair, yanking her off her knees to sit in the sand, practically defenseless against the snarling man behind her.

Marisa at least, she noted, was stumbling away at last. She need only occupy her attackers long enough to cover her retreat…

Sergeant Serahn hit the ground, detached from the cord and rolled clear, all in one fluid, well practiced motion. Coming to his feet again he quickly surveyed his squad as they came down behind him, checking for any difficulties they may be having. Seeing none at a glance, he unlatched his rifle from the sling at his chest, snapped the safety free and shoved a magazine sharply into place.

In less than one minute the squad was down and preparing their personal gear. Serahn raised one hand to issue a sharp signal to the shuttle pilot above. We are clear, begin aerial oversight.

To the west, less than a fifty meters away, the Human MACO squad came into view. Dodging through the rocks on the edge of the nearby ravine, they hustled forward without pause. Serahn judged that they intended to enter the ravine through the most logical ingress point twenty meters to his left.

It was clear even from this distance that their long hike through the Forge had taken a severe toll on them.

For a moment, Serahn allowed himself the luxury of displeasure with his superiors for failing to aid them the Humans in planning their mission. Had details of the Forge's dampening field been made available, they would likely not have been forced to touchdown so far away from their crewmen. Perhaps they would even have interdicted already, long before the criminals stalking their comrades were able to catch them.

As the Humans jogged forward they began passing him without acknowledgement, still heading for the ravine. Serahn could smell their perspiration before they came close and could hear their ragged breathing, despite what appeared to be breathing aids attached to their faces. He scanned the men as they passed, looking for the MACO insignia denoting the rank of Major. Until he spotted the fourth man in the line, recognizing him as the officer mentioned in briefing.

"Major Morales." He reported. "I am Sergeant Serahn…"

"No time!" Morales barked. "Fall in!"

Serahn simply nodded. A logical course of action. He turned and signaled his men, who leapt immediately to merge with the MACO squad. The two units blended seamlessly, entering the ravine precisely where he would have otherwise suggested, had it been necessary.

Behind him, as they jumped and vaulted down the broken trail into the ravine, Private Ke'van expressed his uncertainty regarding the logic of his orders.

"It would seem I am more often assigned the ammunition bundle than any other squad member." He said, in Vulcan. "I question the logic of this, as there are others more aptly suited to carrying significant weight for extended durations."

"If you require comfort, Private Ke'van, you must seek it elsewhere." Serahn replied. "I am not authorized to supply it."

Serahn was mildly disturbed when one of the MACO ahead suddenly brayed with laughter for no apparent reason.

Rather than fight against the hold the man had on her hair, T'Pril struggled to get her feet under her. Just enough to shove awkwardly and force him to stumble back…into the waiting sehlat.

Who promptly swiped at his legs before given ground, hunching in preparation for a leap.

He screamed at the gash torn into one leg, letting go of her and diving away. T'Pril twisted as she fell back, landing on her side and throwing her head up to guage the sehlat's intentions.

The sehlat glared back, its eyes filled with frenzied wrath, crouched and fully prepared to pounce upon her.

And it surely intended to do so. It was in full rage from all the violence around it, she sensed. Needing to kill. Anything and everything in sight. Until there was nothing left to threaten it.

T'Pril, without thinking, reacting purely on some instinct unknown to her before now, reached out with her mind. Pouring all her rage into the assault, promising horror and destruction if the beast dared attack…violent thoughts that thoroughly appalled her…imaginations of all the sadistic evils she would inflict on the creature…

…and the sehlat flinched…staggering back, growling uncertainly…

…into the man behind it, who drove his blade deep into the beast's back with a terrified scream.

T'Pril was up and running before she was full aware of it. Unsure whether she fled the men who sought her life or the frightening thing she'd just done.

P'Trell continued doggedly forward, Ensign West laid across his back in what the Humans called a 'fireman's carry'. Whatever that meant exactly.

He despised fleeing the fight and most especially leaving a superior officer and fellow crewman to the mercies of their enemy. This was precisely the opposite of what a Security Chief should be doing now. But he found when faced with the violence of the situation that he had been unwilling to allow the enemy any chance at victory. Specifically the spoils of such. So he'd obeyed orders and snatched up everything of value to flee.

It was almost humorous, he mused. That this Human woman had become something of value to him. The thought of leaving her behind hadn't even occurred to him until now. She was so often insufferably stubborn and far more intelligent than he. Both dangerous traits in a female, he knew. And yet…

He'd been so careful to avoid attachments with lovers in the past, something so many other species, Humans especially, didn't seem to have any difficulty with. Largely why so many Andorians in the military routinely engaged in relations outside their species when deployed.

He was Andorian. And the particular level of attachment that this woman threatened would be irreversible for him. Precisely what he'd intended to avoid when he first acknowledged her interest.

And 'lovers'? He marveled at the thought. They hadn't so much as stroked one another yet. He hadn't even decided whether they ever would, for that matter. When had he begun seeing her that way?

The entire situation was beginning to irritate him. Something would obviously have to be done about this. Assuming she even survived this ridiculous mess. A thought which irritated him still further at the distress it provoked…

West, he suddenly realized, was awake. Slapping his back weakly, desperately trying to get his attention…Well, tough. If she can't run on her own then she'd have to suffer the indignity of being carried about. He wasn't about to bother arguing the matter…

Jennifer West, lacking any other alternative and too weak to explain, simply reached out and grabbed one antennae…yanking at it…

P'Trell immediately lost all sense of balance and twisted awkwardly mid-stride. They tumbled to the sand.

He was on his feet again instantly, furious and just beginning to loudly express as much. But the sight of her laying limp in the sand, unable even to move her head to face him, stopped him cold.

He satisfied himself with grumbling instead, stalking over and to pick her up again.

"No time for argument." He groused. "Stop behaving like a child and…"

"No…" She rasped weakly. "Galli…cite…"

P'Trell startled. What? Where?

Turning his head to search his surroundings, he almost didn't notice the tell-tale sparkle along one wall of the short canyon ahead. But he did, as well as the nearly hidden alcove beyond.

"How far does it reach?" He asked quickly.

But West could only stare dully, uncomprehending.

P'Trell snatched her up again, ignoring her feeble attempts to resist. Keeping tight to the opposing wall, he managed to bypass the Gallicite deposit without either of them being electrocuted. A quick dash over to drop West in the alcove and he was back again, crouching along the far wall. Waiting and hoping for T'Pril or Marisa to come along soon.

But suddenly well prepared if anyone else did.

T'Pril continued sprinting forward, spying Marisa only a dozen meters ahead. But her strength finally gave out. She stumbled and fell flat before she could reach her.

Laying with her face in the sand, she spent several moments catching her breath before swiftly forcing herself up again. She turned from pursuing Marisa and clamored up the side of a nearby mound of rock instead. There, still gasping for breath, she fumbled P'Trell's binoculars out and scanned the area behind her, peeking just over the lip of the rock.

The sehlat hadn't fallen from only that one blow, of course. It was up, furious and confused, stalking forward after the one who'd wounded it. He, in turn, was on his back, his blade in the sand out of reach, scrambling away in terror.

The second of the two men, the supposed leader, had his prod in hand again and lunged forward to jab at the beast. T'Pril watched, initially amazed at his utter foolishness…until the sehlat screamed in agony…

...and…disintegrated. Burning to ash in almost an instant.

T'Pril lowered the binoculars in surprise. How was that possible? No powered device of any sort would operate in the Forge…

But it didn't matter. The sehlat was dead and the two men would recover and pursue again soon.

She staggered down from the rock and began jogging after her crew.

Private Miles was the first to spot the small figure in the distance ahead, signaling to the others the moment he did.

Everyone, Human and Vulcan, slowed only slightly in their forward rush, bringing weapons to readiness. And when Miles noticed the Vulcan sniper beside him suddenly dash aside to brace his rifle on a nearby rock, he high-tailed it right alongside to do the same.

Through the rifle's simple glass scope he zeroed in on the Vulcan hostile in the distance. There was another just beyond as well, both in excess of 600 meters. As Miles steadied his aim, he noticed the one beyond stab at the bloody and broken body of a third Vulcan laying in the sand. Some kind of wand of some sort…which completely disintegrated the man's body. Instantly reducing it to a pile of ash and embers.

He couldn't fathom what manner of weapon could accomplish that, much less in a dampening field. But it probably explained the other strange mound of ash to one side...

Which he could only assume had once been the body of a Vigilant crewmen…

He depressed the trigger without a second thought, surprised when twin reports cracked through the air. Through his scope he witnessed green blood spraying from the far side of his target a moment later. Both he and the Vulcan sniper next to him had fired simultaneously, both striking true.

Their target fell dead to the sand immediately and Miles caught a vague glimpse of the rock beyond through two perfect holes in his back as he fell.

The remaining hostile jumped back in alarm. Realizing quickly what had occurred, he evaded, staying low and moving out of sight before either of them could get a bead on him.

"Go, go, go!" Morales shouted from up ahead. "Drop that son of a bitch!"

Everyone sprinted forward as a group, hard on one man's trail.

T'Pril staggered briskly forward, risking falling again with every stride but taking the risk in the interests of protecting her crew. Soon enough she spied P'Trell ahead, crouching along a side wall.

She made straight for him but staggered when she noticed him waving her frantically to the side. Assuming some threat she crouched low and hugged the wall as she moved to meet him.

"Around, this way." He said, he gestured vaguely to the side and toward the deep alcove. There West and Rodriguez sat in the shade, their backs against the wall.

She shook her head. "We must keep moving. They are coming…"

"Good." P'Trell said roughly.

At her inquisitive look, he smirked and pointed at the far wall. Looking that way, it took her a moment to realize the significance.

Gallicite.

Well, yes. That should work quite well. She nodded tiredly back at him and moved to rejoin the remaining crew. Taking care to angle her approach well clear of the deadly mineral.

Before she could reach them, two sharp cracks rang out from the far to the west.

T'Pril didn't bother wondering at the source of the sound. It was much too far away to be of concern for the moment. If it represented a threat, then it would have to get in line behind those they faced already.

When she reached the two she found West hunched over in pain, issuing barely audible instructions to Rodriguez through gritted teeth. T'Pril found herself amazed the woman was still alive, much less engaged in any enterprise at all in her condition.

Marisa was working busily with the phase pistol Jenny had carried all this while, the very one Rexas had handed her back at the Institute. What seemed a thousand years ago.

T'Pril allowed herself the indignity of practically collapsing alongside them. Neither seemed to mind. She gasped for breath while she passively observed Marisa's fumbling attempts to…she had no idea what…with the phase pistol.

"Red…" West muttered through the pain. "…tab…connect it…"

Marisa followed her instructions, forced to view her own progress at an odd angle. She lacked the strength to even lift her head from rest against the wall.

"What are you doing, ensign?" T'Pril inquired at last.

"No sé…" Marisa rasped back quietly.

T'Pril decided not to waste the effort pursuing the matter further just yet. P'Trell was moving to join them. Which meant their enemies were coming to kill them.

Jenny caught Marisa's eye and simply nodded. Then slumped to the side to focus on her agony.

P'Trell immediately wedged himself between the two women to support her, though there wasn't anything really that he could do. As Jenny whimpered weakly, her head in P'Trell's lap, Marisa simply closed her eyes and let the phase pistol fall from her hands to the sand.

T'Pril's eyes rested there…until she eventually realized what she was looking at.

The charging strip of the power cell had been extended somehow, beyond the pistol casing…and it was set to overload…

She blinked. Had West intended…?

Would that…work?

The shuffling sound in the ravine beyond suggested their pursuers were closing in again. From the angry grunting outside, T'Pril could only guess at the distance…but it eventually drew close to the gallicite deposit…

She waited, listening.

He was moving swiftly but limping from the injury the sehlat's claw had inflicted. She couldn't hear the second man, so she assumed he must be far behind…but, no. She recognized now the cracking sound she'd heard before in the distance and what that suggested. He was dead, then. And rescue was finally drawing near.

A gasp now, outside. A catch in breath.

He'd spotted the gallicite, recognized his danger…moving at a swift shuffle now to avoid the deposit…

T'Pril sat forward and took the phase pistol in hand…she waited a moment more…

Until the man outside drew alongside the mineral deposit…across the ravine, where he was safe from the discharge…

Leaning out, she threw the pistol over handed to land near the gallicite.

Loud sparking sounds. The man stumbling back in surprise…a growing, warning whine from the pistol…He began stumbling away, probably not understanding the threat but aware of one nonetheless…

A ground shaking explosion suddenly. Debris hurled with force in all directions, bits of hard rock ricocheting around the canyon…

Dust and smaller fragments settling in the aftermath…

Followed by a dull thump and groan…

Sergeant Serahn slid to a halt, raising one hand at the sound. The entire unit stopped in their tracks before the tremor had reached them, dislodging gravel from the surrounding canyon walls.

Morales spun around. "North, grenades." He barked. "Double quick!"

After a moment, with nothing more heard, Serahn flicked his hand sharply forward and everyone resumed their run. The MACO had drawn into a tight circle, sprinting with North, receiving propelled grenades from his pack and loading them in their launchers.

Morales drew alongside Serahn, breathing heavily.

"This is a problem." He panted.

"Indeed." Serahn replied simply.

T'Pril waited, listening to the sounds from outside. There was pain evident in the man's faltering breath. And he was attempting to crawl away.

When P'Trell moved to leave the alcove she stopped him quickly with one hand.

"Remain here." She said shortly. "I will go."

P'Trell shook his head. "You're in no shape…"

"You must tend to West." She said firmly, meeting his eyes.

He stared back stubbornly…but submitted after only a moment, confirming her suspicions in that regard.

She summoned her will and stepped out of the alcove.

Surveying the damage, she was admittedly surprised at how powerful the explosion had been. The gallicite deposit now littered the canyon floor almost entirely and clouds of dust still hung in the air.

Through it, she spotted the man…the Romulan…crawling away.

Sparks snapped around him occasionally from the gallicite gravel he lay upon, causing him to twitch before he could continue crawling. Green blood washed the sand and rock behind him, marking his passage. He had been inundated with fragmentation.

Through the dust T'Pril observed him coldly for a long moment, her face completely passive.

Then she moved forward.

The prod the man had carried lay in the dust nearby. She retrieved it, examining it closely as she walked leisurely after the dying man.

An injection system, apparently. Some chemical that caused the acute reaction she'd witnessed in the sehlat. A deadly weapon, certainly. But not specifically intended as such, she reasoned. This device was meant to destroy evidence. Physical, bodily evidence.

She lowered the prod from review, having approached the man at last. He was on his back now, propped against a rock, staring up at her. Soaked in blood, pale from all that he'd lost. Choking occasionally on it. But he waited for her.

She stared down at him again for a time, observing him. Committing the moment to memory. And then she spoke.

"This is the fate all your people face." She noted, indifferently.

The man chuckled, before choking for a moment. "You think…*cough*…think you can destroy us so? We have grown…*cough*…strong since the Sundering…"

T'Pril cocked her head curiously. "Why would that be necessary?" She gestured at the bloody scene before her. "You destroy yourselves."

"And we will destr…*cough*…destroy you before we are done!" He snarled.

She turned her attention to the prod again, examining it. There was at least another dose of the chemical left, she noted. Probably several more.

"My people are coming." She said. "MACO undoubtedly. If they arrive before you die, then you will certainly survive."

She turned her attention to him again.

"They will ensure it." She said evenly. "And you will be a prisoner, to be interrogated. Aggressively."

She waited a moment.

Then tossed the prod into his lap.

And walked away.