Qwark pulled the skiff out from the Phoenix, and contemplated a land. The ground around Kyzil, unfortunately, had already gotten too muddy, and, in the few places it was safe, looked prone to landslides.
Qwark fitted on his O2 mask and took a deep breath, before hitting the eject-and-return button, flying out of the cockpit, and screaming his head off.
He spread his body wide, controlling his descent, pulling the ripcord on his chute at the best moment before rolling and landing in the mud.
"So much for photo ops," he grumbled, and righted himself, already covered in red mud from the landing.
Qwark noticed a series of flares; the teleported crates had already landed on the plateau. He trudged through what had once been cracked and dry desert, now quickly turning to sludge, hoping to get to more stable ground before the whole mesa turned to a soupy quicksand mess.
Thankfully, he'd spent enough time in the Florana swamp to know how to slog through wet mud.
"It's just a mud facial… just a mud facial… in my underwear," he muttered audibly, as he trudged to civilization.
Within a few more minutes, Qwark made his way to the signal flares, with not a moment to spare. He saw Ratchet instructing the Velldin locals in putting up dams and levees, and most of them were not going to hold when the torrents finally crashed down from the mountain, and the blue crate- the one containing the medicine and rations- was still in the potential path. Over the steadily increasing winds, Qwark yelled as loud as he was able.
"Ratchet! I'll help with sandbags in a minute. I need to move these supplies to a better location, or they're going to get washed away the minute the floods and mudslides start. Do you have a barricade?"
The Sheriff was really the one coordinating the efforts to get the levees up. Ratchet's just been dashing from one site to another, helping with the heavy lifting where he can, and taking out any obstacles like stubborn rocks or aggressive toads with a few well-placed whacks of the wrench. It's as tough as any battle he's ever been in, with the rain and mud slowing him down, and the constant pressure of getting the defenses up before it's too late.
He did see when the supplies touched down, but so far, the volunteers have been able to spare nobody to get them safety. And when he sees Qwark approaching, he's the only one with ears good enough to pick his voice up. Honestly, he'd really rather have Qwark doing some lifting on the front lines – there are too few volunteers as most of the villagers have already sought shelter or been evacuated. But then again, Qwark is right; those crates won't be any good if the water carries them away into the canyons.
"Get them to the Planetary Defense Center," he bellows. "And shelter there, if you can't make it back here in time."
Qwark nodded, over the din. He remembered where the PDC was; not too far, and well secure. The place should even have some land skiffs for use during mudslides (if it was like the one on Florana, at least), so as long as visibility wasn't shot to heck, he did have a way back that would be tenable.
Qwark was an idiot, but he was well versed in self-survival. And right now, damn did he need it.
With a mighty groan, Qwark hefted the entire crate over his shoulder, and began slogging up towards the center.
Twenty minutes local later, and Qwark deposited the crate with a large group of Veldinite elderly and children seeking shelter in the main hall, tents set up along the open pathways and children giggling that they had off from school.
Qwark looked among them. Most would not be returning to standing houses. He remembered that, and sighed as he readied himself for the torrent he'd face going back out in the wet and cold.
With a final reminder about some of the food meant for Ratchet mixed with the rest of the supplies, Qwark took a stim pack to wake himself up, slapped himself on the knee to psyche himself for the work ahead, and took a skiff from the storage room in the basement.
Qwark slipped and slid, hanging on for dear life, remembering the kids back in the safe haven as he pushed the skiff harder. He just needed to get back to Ratchet and start holding the line.
People were depending on him.
It felt good to be needed.
Back at the barricade, the ground – which started as dry sand and turned into slippery mud – was now a fast, ankle-deep current of water traveling from the mountains down toward the canyons. The volunteers were getting scared, and careless. When a small span of the dam caves in at the bottom, there's such panic and disorganization that what could have been a small, easily-patched hole, grows and a whole section collapses and is washed away before either the Sheriff or Ratchet knew what happened. Although incomplete, the dam was already holding a lot of water back, but now that it started to cave in, the water rose swiftly.
Already some of the villagers are fleeing. The few that gallantly stay behind don't have a chance in hell of rebuilding in time, and soon enough the Sheriff gives up. "We did our best, folks. Get to your shelters while you still can."
Ratchet, for once, is at a loss. He stood there with a sandbag still hoisted over his shoulder, watching the rest of the volunteers flee for their lives. The water splashed and swirled around him, almost up to his knees, and another section of the half-finished dam caved in.
He snaps out of it, drops the sandbag, and ran. It's too late to get back to the garage, and he's out range of Aphelion's radio. Half-running, half-wading as he struck out for higher ground, he hoped that Qwark at least had the sense to stay at the PDC, before he took a twisted step, feeling a horrible squelch, as his leg sunk down far deeper than it should have.
'Well, this blows,' Ratchet complained to himself.
It's not Ratchet's first encounter with quicksand, it's not even his first encounter with quicksand during a Veldinite desert storm. But it is probably the worst. And the fastest; he'd never sunk up to his waist this quickly.
He took several deep, calming breaths, ducked his muzzle into his O2 mask, and looked at his options. No Clank to help him out, his wrench is too small to use for balance, and there's no tree or building nearby that he could attach his kinetic tether to. Looks like he'll have to do it the hard way. With another deep breath, he leaned backward, trying to roll on his back so he can float and carefully pull his legs free. But the tides from the mountains are coming fast, and if he doesn't get unstuck before then – well? His limbs start to feel jittery and he nervously clenched his fists and heaved a sigh through his teeth.
This is the worst day ever.