IKC FHew 7C6110
In the belly of the Whale – Scouring the hull
by Soghla' Jared
Post Details
Jared muttered various foul oaths as he crawled across the hull of the F'Hew. No-one would recognise them as oaths any more, but if any of the Zokala clergy had still existed to overhear his words, they would have had to immediately go and ritually wash themselves.
The suit was twice his size. The arms and the legs were outrageously bunched up, and he was having trouble keeping his hands in the gloves. He also had a magnetic boot in each hand, and one tied around his waist. Moving was slow work. He would have loved to have stood up and just walked to the spot on the hull, but he had only been able to extend the inertial dampeners to reach just over a meter beyond the hull. If he stood up, the moment the F'Hew turned he'd be yanked off into space.
After a minute or so, he reached the scorched impression that marked the tagged section of hull. He clipped the boot tied around his waist to the hull as an anchor, and reached for the Federation tricorder.
This was it. 782 millirads of Nucleonic radiation. This was the tag.
A weapon impact jerked the hull, making him loose his footing and let go of the tricorder. It drifted a few feet from the hull, and then vanished in a flash of movement as the F'Hew pulled a hard turn. Had Jarad not anchored himself at the waist, he would have gone with it.
He grimaced. That was going to be hard to replace. That meant he only had one of those tricorders left. Lose that, and he was dependant on the klingon ones - which basically only detected lifesigns and weaponry with any accuracy.
Latching onto the hull again, he pulled the modified disrupter out of his belt.
You don't use guns, a forgotten part of his mind told him.
"It's not really a gun anymore! I've modified it into more of a tool."
You're spliting hairs, the voice told him. It has a barrel and a trigger. It's a gun. You promised.
He often had this feeling. His personal suspicion was that the voices in his head were his own. People he'd once been, but forgotten about - still lurking down in his subconscious. This one had a disciplined feel to it. Possibly something from when he was a soldier - long, long ago.
"You can chop wood with a Batleth when times are tough. This is the same."
He aimed the disrupter nozzel, although he did hold it backwards - avoiding using it LIKE a gun. The beam sputtered a bit, but it did project enough energy to slowly varorise the metal off the hull. It was going to be a slow process, but it wasn't easy to get the energy right to only take off a few millimetres of metal.
There was a roar as a weapon blast impacted a matter of metres away, erupting in a flowery plume and sending glowing hull schrapnel scything past, inches away from Jared's suit. He lost his grip again, but kept hold of the disruptor. Jared's shouted protestations sent the extinct Zokalan preisthood scuttling back to the ritual baths.
What the hell am I doing? Millimeters at a time? This is a B'Rel! The armour is more than a meter thick! It's designed to take meteor hits!
Scrambling to the middle of the tagged area, he planted one of his hand-grip boots right in the centre. Then, he made some adjustments to the disruptor. He could feel it start to gently vibrate as it started to build up an overload. Stuffing it firmly into the magnetic boot, he began to scramble away with his remaining boots.
He didn't have time to get back to the airlock. He barely manage to make it over a low ridge in the hull, lying as flat as possible just beyond.
Face down against the hull, he felt the thump as the disruptor went off. It shook the surface underneath him and made him lose grip with two boots, but he managed to keep one hand and one foot still connected.
He looked over the ridge at his handiwork. The Disruptor and the boot were both gone, as was a 30cm layer of hull.
,'. Jared to bridge! That SHOULD take care of our tag. I'd appreciate a minimum of hard turns until I'm back inside! ,'.
by Soghla' Jared
Post Details
| Title | Scouring the hull | |
| Mission | In the belly of the Whale | |
| Author(s) | Soghla' Jared | |
| Posted | Thu Mar 18, 2010 @ 3:40am | |
| Location | Outer hull | |
| Timeline | During the Galor attack |
The suit was twice his size. The arms and the legs were outrageously bunched up, and he was having trouble keeping his hands in the gloves. He also had a magnetic boot in each hand, and one tied around his waist. Moving was slow work. He would have loved to have stood up and just walked to the spot on the hull, but he had only been able to extend the inertial dampeners to reach just over a meter beyond the hull. If he stood up, the moment the F'Hew turned he'd be yanked off into space.
After a minute or so, he reached the scorched impression that marked the tagged section of hull. He clipped the boot tied around his waist to the hull as an anchor, and reached for the Federation tricorder.
This was it. 782 millirads of Nucleonic radiation. This was the tag.
A weapon impact jerked the hull, making him loose his footing and let go of the tricorder. It drifted a few feet from the hull, and then vanished in a flash of movement as the F'Hew pulled a hard turn. Had Jarad not anchored himself at the waist, he would have gone with it.
He grimaced. That was going to be hard to replace. That meant he only had one of those tricorders left. Lose that, and he was dependant on the klingon ones - which basically only detected lifesigns and weaponry with any accuracy.
Latching onto the hull again, he pulled the modified disrupter out of his belt.
You don't use guns, a forgotten part of his mind told him.
"It's not really a gun anymore! I've modified it into more of a tool."
You're spliting hairs, the voice told him. It has a barrel and a trigger. It's a gun. You promised.
He often had this feeling. His personal suspicion was that the voices in his head were his own. People he'd once been, but forgotten about - still lurking down in his subconscious. This one had a disciplined feel to it. Possibly something from when he was a soldier - long, long ago.
"You can chop wood with a Batleth when times are tough. This is the same."
He aimed the disrupter nozzel, although he did hold it backwards - avoiding using it LIKE a gun. The beam sputtered a bit, but it did project enough energy to slowly varorise the metal off the hull. It was going to be a slow process, but it wasn't easy to get the energy right to only take off a few millimetres of metal.
There was a roar as a weapon blast impacted a matter of metres away, erupting in a flowery plume and sending glowing hull schrapnel scything past, inches away from Jared's suit. He lost his grip again, but kept hold of the disruptor. Jared's shouted protestations sent the extinct Zokalan preisthood scuttling back to the ritual baths.
What the hell am I doing? Millimeters at a time? This is a B'Rel! The armour is more than a meter thick! It's designed to take meteor hits!
Scrambling to the middle of the tagged area, he planted one of his hand-grip boots right in the centre. Then, he made some adjustments to the disruptor. He could feel it start to gently vibrate as it started to build up an overload. Stuffing it firmly into the magnetic boot, he began to scramble away with his remaining boots.
He didn't have time to get back to the airlock. He barely manage to make it over a low ridge in the hull, lying as flat as possible just beyond.
Face down against the hull, he felt the thump as the disruptor went off. It shook the surface underneath him and made him lose grip with two boots, but he managed to keep one hand and one foot still connected.
He looked over the ridge at his handiwork. The Disruptor and the boot were both gone, as was a 30cm layer of hull.
,'. Jared to bridge! That SHOULD take care of our tag. I'd appreciate a minimum of hard turns until I'm back inside! ,'.