Chapter 64- Battle Stations!
The look of sheer panic could not be more plain on Hiro's face as he found himself in the middle of bedlam- people were running past him at breakneck speed, the hallway was filled with thick smoke, and alarms were sounding along with flashing lights. Something was terribly wrong and they had come too late. Was this what Angela meant?
"Hiro!" Peter's voice cut through the din, "C'mon! we have to find the others!"
"Move it!" Claire's voice demanded as she ran past guiding a gurney down the hall. She was covered in blood, although Peter didn't know if it was hers or the unfortunate person laying on the gurney. From the looks of it, the victim had been near an explosion and was bleeding out quickly.
"Claire!" He called instinctively running alongside the gurney trying desperately to do what he could to aid the wounded man until they got to sickbay. "What the hell happened?"
"We are being attacked." She stated with an odd sense of detachment. She had a job to do and no matter the horrors of what she was seeing, she was going to do that job to the best of her ability. She was to ferry the wounded to sickbay and she was going to run until her muscles ached…and then she would run some more until the last person was accounted for.
For Peter, it was just another day at the office as he tried his best to apply even pressure to the gaping chest wound to stop the bleeding as he ran alongside. "Who is attacking us?"
"I don't know." She admitted. "Romulans, I think." She glanced down at her passenger and didn't like the ashen complexion of his skin. "Hold on," she encouraged, "we're almost there." They went crashing through the sickbay doors and right into a pile of suffering and misery. "Dr. McCoy!" She shouted. "Where do you want this one?"
McCoy had his hands deep in the abdomen of a yeoman, but managed to turn and with a squint assessed the newest arrival's prognosis. With a shake of his head, Claire knew that the man didn't stand a chance and that she should take him to the back of the room and essentially leave him for dead. Although she had conflicting feelings about this system of care rationing, she thought it best to just not feel at all- and to not look him in the eye as she took him to his final destination or as she turned to leave for her next run. It was just too painful to think about.
"Are you ok?" Peter asked placing his hand warmly on her shoulder. He could see it in her eyes: the frustration and hopelessness that he himself felt at the beginning of his career when he thought he could save every one of his patients if he just tried hard enough. She nodded bravely, but he knew better. He trusted her to hold it together for now, but she would cry later and she deserved to.
"Peter!" McCoy yelled as he ran to his next patient. "I could sure use your nursing skills if you aren't busy. I'm up to my eyeballs in triage here."
"Of course." He agreed jumping in as though he always belonged, applying bandages and learning how to use the dermal regenerator on the fly.
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Sylar stood at the back of the bridge, casually leaning against Uhura's station with his arms folded watching the ensuing battle as calmly as if he were meditating and it was starting to piss her off. Even if he was immortal, at least he could have the decency to pretend he was just a little concerned. So far all of the ordinance that the Romulans had used were photons, with which he could do nothing, so he bided his time until it was his turn to bat.
"Ando!" Jim yelled into the intercom system. "We could use some more juice!"
"OK!" Ando replied with determination.
"Sulu, fire when ready!" He commanded. He was more or less pleased with the results, but it was not exactly total success and they were hanging by a thread.
"Sir! Two people have boarded the ship!" Chekov alerted.
"Get Security on it." He paused to take in Sylar and Nathan at the back of the room. "You guys ready?" He asked. "I need some unconventional tactics here."
"What do you want us to do?" Nathan asked standing straight while Sylar glanced sideways at him like he was a tool for standing at attention like a well trained dog.
"There are too many ships for us to take on at once. It's risky, but I need you two to take a shuttle craft. Nathan, you have flight experience and things haven't changed much. Spock- guide them remotely, but I need you here. Sylar, do whatever you can to disable the ships."
He arched his eyebrow and suspiciously asked, "Anything?"
"Yes- whatever. Blow the damn things to bits if you can. This is war dammit." He reminded.
"Aye, Captain." Sylar lazily saluted as he swaggered toward the lift. He wasn't thrilled about being in a small spacecraft with Nathan, but at least he had been given free rein to do as he saw fit no questions asked and that did please him greatly.
He knew exactly where the shuttles were kept after having to levitate one during the ridiculous tests he and Peter participated in. He climbed in and took the passenger's seat, buckling himself in while Nathan took stock of the controls aided by Spock's disembodied voice dispassionately giving instructions on the operation.
All in all Nathan was pleased that with a few exceptions, the flight controls were remarkably similar to those of his F-15 fighter jet he flew during the war. He was fairly sure that the mechanics of flight would be different in the vacuum of space than it was with the force of gravity on earth, but he would be slow and cautious at first until he got a better feel for the way the craft handled. No barrel rolls or fancy maneuvers for the time being. He glanced at his wingman and found it almost impossible that he was sitting next to a serial killer and everyone trusted this guy with their fate.
While he waited for the plasma shield to dissipate to allow him to leave the dock, he looked straight ahead and cleared his throat. "I guess I should apologize for the way I have treated you over the past few days." The words were hard for him to say and suddenly his throat felt dry- especially when he felt Sylar's sharp, dark eyes cut into him with unexpected surprise. "I was wrong about you. You were the only one that could really help Pete when he needed you and you did it." He ventured a sideways glance at his partner and added, "Thanks for saving my little brother. Without him, I'd probably be more like you."
Sylar sat silently for a moment before smirking. "You couldn't be me." He declared. "Do me a favor and send me a Hallmark card later. Just fly the damn ship and try not to get us killed."
Unbeknownst to Nathan, he had left the com switch on, so Spock heard every heartfelt word fall awkwardly out of the Senator's mouth. He sat blinking at his console, unable to put words to what he had just witnessed other than…well…awkward. Nathan had done everything but say 'I love you man' and Spock could almost predict with pinpoint accuracy what was going through Sylar's head at that moment. Although he did have to admit that he responded remarkably well given the circumstances.
In his own experience, Jim had strayed too close to violating that comfort zone on more than one occasion and had the unfortunate habit of putting his hands on him- be it to slap him on the back or repeatedly poke him in the arm until he was forced to issue a cease and desist request. It never failed that he did this when they were in the lift thereby severely limiting his ability to simply walk away. He apparently found it most amusing to see how long it would be before the legendary Vulcan stoicism reached the breaking point. While he good naturedly played along, half because he didn't want to give Jim the satisfaction of giving in too soon and half because he had a reputation to uphold, the human side of him just once wanted to bitch slap his Captain just to watch those beautiful baby blues well up with tears and relish in the absolute look of shock that would slowly settle on his pale face. Spock was not a cruel man by any means, but he did believe in giving one a taste of their own medicine as humans loved to say. On the rare occasion he did administer the bitter dose, he found it was usually an immediate cure for the obnoxious behavior.
He imagined that Sylar felt much the same way, except he would likely use a power and the possibilities were ghastly. He could electrocute Nathan as he did Jim, he could burn him to a cinder as Peter was, or wait to throw him out of the shuttle once they left the safety of the ship so he would die a horribly slow and painful death as he suffocated. He couldn't in any way condone such an action, but he certainly could understand it.
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"The target is 10 meters from your location." Chimed the voice in Matt and Noah's ears from the tiny earbud microphones they were outfitted with. The men paused and made silent gestures between them to plan the attack. It was mutually decided that Noah would take down the perp while Matt provided cover.
Matt readied his security issued phaser and gave the gun a condescending smirk in comparison to Noah's hand cannon. It looked like a toy gun and he had his doubts as to its efficacy. He gave it a quick turn in his hand and took a closer look. It was well balanced at least and remarkably light. It also appeared to have different settings "S" and "K"- whatever that meant. One thing he didn't notice was an ammunition clip and he was perplexed. He wondered if it was semi-automatic or if he could just hold the trigger down for rapid fire. How much recoil could it have? Perhaps he should have clarified these things with the Security staff before he took it and dashed off behind Noah. He decided to play it safe and use a standard two handed grip and prepare for a kickback like a shotgun. Having the gun snap back and break his nose would just be too embarrassing to explain.
"Five meters and closing." The voice warned. Noah and Matt instinctively pushed their backs harder against the wall in an effort to hide and patiently waited. The intruder was unwittingly walking right into a trap. By the time he noticed them it would be too late; Noah's well trained aim would stop him in his tracks before he could even react. Matt was temporarily distracted by Noah's glasses. Standing behind him as he was, he could just see through the right lens of the iconic glasses and for a moment he knew what it was like to be on the other side of them. What surprised him was that they appeared to actually be prescription- nothing too heavy- but certainly not for cosmetic purposes as he had always assumed. HRG was actually the victim of middle aged vision changes…who would have thought?
"Freeze!" Noah shouted bringing his gun up swiftly as the intruder passed. He roughly slammed the man up against the wall with is free hand and used his body weight as leverage to keep him there while he pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of the interloper's head. Although it appeared he had things well in hand, Matt raised his own gun with a serious look on his face just in case…
"No shoot!" The man pleaded raising his hands in surrender. "Please, no shoot!"
Noah released his grip slightly and asked, "Hiro?"
"Hai!" The man pleaded. "It is me, Mr. Bennet. I came back."
Noah released the terrified little man and holstered his gun somewhat agitated. "You almost got yourself killed. You picked a fine time to come back. As you see, things are a little crazy around here."
Hiro tried to quell his panic and regain some sense of self-control after being ambushed. He glanced around and nodded furiously. "I see. Angela Petrelli warned of this. I think."
"You saw Angela?" Noah asked concerned. "What did she say?"
"She told Peter the future was not what he wanted. We made big mistake." He repeated although even he didn't really know what it meant. The current circumstances seemed to fit well enough for him, though.
"What the hell does that mean" Matt asked exasperated.
"I don't know what she saw," Noah almost groaned, "but let's hope it wasn't this."