Author: proximalflame

“Your sidearm, Corporal.” Natalya held out her hand towards the Marine next to her. Almost instantly there was the comforting weight of a Colt 997 in her hand. Optimized to function with power armour systems, it was awkward for an unarmoured human to use. That didn’t stop Archer from jamming the barrel up into Arykka’s chin. …they would all say she was escaping and a threat to others… “Do you trust me?” she purred.

Being persona non grata to her fellow officers did have some perks, Natalya had to admit. It allowed her a certain degree of freedom in her decisions, since she was no longer constrained by the thought of repercussions to her image or career. Her mother would be proud; she’d always taught her daughter to focus on the positive side of things. Oh, she was ostracized from official and unofficial gatherings, her security clearances had been revoked, people that she’d thought of as friends and comrades were suddenly too busy for a cup of coffee, let alone able to return her comms. She could handle it if it were just herself, but Donald, Li and the remaining captains in TF 111 were getting caught in the crossfire. Things had gotten worse since Newfounding; one or two incidents had bordered on insubordination.

Moria MacLean whimpered, pulling her knees up to her chest. She knew she was better then this, she wanted to be better then this, but she was trapped, alone in the dark aboard an alien vessel. Her crew was dead or imprisoned. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping, praying to whomever or whatever was listening that this was all a bad dream, that all she had to do was open her eyes and she’d wake up in a Concordat sickbay.