The Choice of Weapons

 Episode Name:  The Choice of Weapons

   Written By:  Daedalus

         Cast:  Adansae, Daedalus, Ivari, Matheson, McTiernan, Milosevic, Phipps and Reian.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Daedalus

     Aired On:  Fri Sep 09 20:05:40 2005

     Stardate:  55251.9

Time: Sat Aug 20 14:03:39 2005

Stardate: 55203.3

Rapid images flicker past the camera of the corridors of USS Thomas Paine. Red lights flashing. The images are silent, and in a jerky back-and-forth between fast and slow motion, with people moving, barking orders that can only be seen on their lips. Something is happening, here below decks. There is an overvoice. "Ship's Log, Supplemental." It is the voice of Commander Ghorev. "It appears the transport Vol'QaHbat's damage, which required us to substitute for it on the return trip to Meq'LUR to drop off its load of Pra Thaal and Antican mercenaries, was not an accident. In approximately the same region of space, just outside the Meq'LUR system, on an approach route back and forth to the Federation border unused since before the Khitomer Accords, we have just taken a series of hits to our port side. Damage Control teams are being dispatched, and I think we're going to be alright, but first we have to figure out what exactly hit us, and why." Images of some familiar faces amongst the mix of extras, of Dr. Matheson and Ensigns Milosevic and Phipps, moving amongst crewmen. "The ship has been locked down and internal fields in place to prevent decompression ... I can only hope that the Anticans and my own people maintain discipline during this time," the images move more into regular time and the camera passes through the 'locked down' mess hall door, to zoom in on the scene there. "...because I simply cannot spare the resources to keep them under control if they decide to be .... over-eager, during this minor crisis. Computer, end log, place in trace buoy, prep for launch on my order."

McTiernan is seated across from Reian and Ada, an almost empty lunch tray before her complete with fork, knife, and spoon. She takes a sip from her glass and then shakes her head. "No!" she explains to the Betazoids with a grin. "I don't think you're getting it. He was a /water/ breather .. " she rolls a hand in the air and gives them a 'now do you get it' look. Then she twitches and shakes her head again, "Maybe you have to be an under the surface dweller to understand the joke." As the red alert sounds, she frowns and pushes to her feet. "No rest for the weary.." but before she can step away from the table, the door seals and she smirks. "Nice" is mutters just before she taps her combadge. "McTiernan to the bridge."

Reian is eating, apparently enjoying picking at the plate of fruit she has before her. Sitting with McTiernan and Adansae, she is clearly relaxed. At ease. Enjoying a moment's respite with friends with a clear conscience, her duty shift behind her. She listens to Piper's explanation of her punchline, the light slowly dawning. Wincing, "Piper McTiernan! That is just.. so very wrong!" she protests, giggling in spite of herself. A giggle that swiftly dies as the sound of the red alert echoes through the room, all trace of amusement dropping from her expression. "Now what?" Quietening quickly as she allows Piper quiet to call through, glancing around the room briefly.

Adansae is caught mid-bite by the alarm and jumps in surprise. Fortunately, she manages to get the food down the correct pipe, thus avoiding an entirely different sort of emergency. "Yikes," she mutters to Reian, her eyes on McTiernan.

. o O Reian feels worry and concern flaring bright, an edge of fear, swiftly quelled.

GAME: Reian contests her Receptive Telepathy vs Moderate and Succeeds.

GAME: Reian contests her Receptive Empathy vs Moderate and Fails.

A few of the Anticans, after the first few moments of initial 'what the---?' begin to move. A few of them head for the doors, only to be rejected in departure. One even bounces off the bulkhead, snarls, and punches the door once.

Reian glances towards the door, "There's some injured." she notes softly to her friends, before glancing to McTiernan, "Milosevic has the damage control team.. they'll open everything back up once the breach is contained." The snippets she picked up passed along, she turns her attention towards the rather irate group at the door. "He's only going to hurt his hand if he keeps thumping solid objects." she muses. There is open concern on her face as she looks to the closed seal, as though looking beyond it.

McTiernan reaches out to lightly brush her hand against the arm of the Antican punching the door. She offers a soft grin. "If you make a dent, Milo will kill me" she teases, waiting for the bridge to answer her hail. Then she grins, "Hear that?" she asks, tone smooth, light, calm. "Milo's already on the problem on the other side. "Buy you a drink?" she throws in in an effort to help them remain calm.

Moving quickly now, Adansae rises from her seat and heads over to the doors. "It's okay," she assures the rejected-and-bounced Antican. "They're just locked to keep us safe. I'm sure the bridge crew has everything under control." She *sounds* confident, at least, and she's smiling at McTeirnam despite the tension in her expression.

. o O Reian feels worry for the injured, a wish to be able to help. Irritation and aggravation.

GAME: Adansae contests her Persuasion vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: McTiernan contests her Presence/Empathy vs Routine and Marginally Succeeds.

The Antican starts to wind up another set of punches at the door, but McTiernan's joke seems to distract him for a moment, and Adansae's words pull him the rest of the way back from tense vibration, at least for now. "My people do not like being ... confined." His eyes travel to the other three or four Anticans now custered around one plain metal table, and none of them look pleased, either. "We do not ... appreciate it. Especially with the Andorians as hostile as they have been."

GAME: Adansae contests her Medical Sciences/Psychology vs Routine and Succeeds.

McTiernan nods, "I can understand that" she tells the Antican. "I'm not big on it myself, especially biobeds in the Infirmary. "How about a game of cards?" she suggests with a grin, trying to get them all to settle in at the tables instead of all standing at the door. "We should give them some room to work" she says with a head tip to the door, "in case they need it."

Adansae nods sympathetically to the unhappy Antican. "We're all in this together," she informs him gently. It doesn't take a telepath to pick up on the fact that she's not nearly as calm as she sounds; indeed, even as she speaks, her eyes are darkening with worry.

Reian turns her gaze from the unyielding door to study the group of mercenaries that are locked into the mess with the group. "No-one likes being confined." she agrees quietly. "However, the door will have to remain closed until such time as it is safe to open it. *That* time will be decided by the officers who are trapped in the corridor, with whatever the trouble is out there. On this side of the door or the other, it would be the same. With a little time, however, the situation will be resolved for both parties." She smiles gently, and turns to wander across the room, speaking to the group at the table. "All in all, we might as well make the best of it. Cards would sound to be an admirable suggestion. I am Telasa Reian. My friends will, I'm sure, introduce themselves. Who might we have the honour of addressing?"

GAME: Reian contests her Charm/Influence vs Moderate and Succeeds.

From Out's comm, Milosevic says "Ensign Milosevic here, we had a breach down the corridor, hence the whole 'red alert' thing. You all okay in there?"

The Anticans do not seem to like what Reian just said, but apparently she said it well enough that they don't go berserk. They do, however, withdraw sullenly in on themselves, and do not resume speaking. The one door-puncher says "I am ---" And looks at the door.

GAME: Reian contests her Law/Starfleet Regulations vs Moderate and Succeeds.

GAME: McTiernan contests her Law/Starfleet Regulations vs Moderate and Marginally Fails.

GAME: Adansae contests her Law/Starfleet Regulations vs Moderate and Succeeds.

"Oh, thank the gods," Adansae mutters at the sound of Milosevic's voice. She turns to Reian and offers the Betazoid a wan smile as she waits for the Lieutenant to respond.

McTiernan taps the chime on the door and says, "Understood, Milo. We're doing okay in here but it would be really helpful if you can spring us soon. I really hate enclosed spaces like this." Sure, she takes the heat, why not?

Reian is still smiling at the group, an expression she doesn't allow to shift from her face as she inclines her head and steps back across to the door with the clear intention of signalling a response to Milosevic, an action she's beaten to by McTiernan. "There we are." she reassures the group as the other woman speaks, "All under control."

And the door opens....

Matheson steps in from the corridor.

Matheson has arrived.

Phipps steps in from the corridor.

Phipps has arrived.

Milosevic steps in from the corridor.

Milosevic has arrived.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Intellect/Perception vs Moderate and Fails.

GAME: Matheson contests his Intellect/Perception vs Moderate and Succeeds.

GAME: Phipps contests his Intellect/Perception vs Moderate and Fails.

Matheson follows the others through the opened door, holding his medical bag which is slung over his shoulder. He looks around, eyes narrowing at the Antican's. He lowers his voice, and says, "They look more than a bit stressed..." to the other officers within range to hear.

The sealed door opens and Milosevic brushes past Phipps into the mess hall. He scans the room and seeing nothing untoward, he finds McTiernan and offers a quick grin. "Lieutenant, how was your lunch?"

GAME: Milosevic contests his Intellect/Perception vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Succeeds.

GAME: Adansae contests her Intellect/Perception vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Fails.

GAME: Matheson contests his Intellect/Perception vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Succeeds.

GAME: McTiernan contests her Intellect/perception & Search vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Succeeds.

GAME: Reian contests her Intellect/perception vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Fails.

GAME: Phipps contests his Intellect/Perception vs Daedalus's Coordination/dexterity & Stealth and Marginally Succeeds.

Reian is visibly relieved to see the door opening, and she makes her retreat, stepping back towards Adansae with a smile. "All settled." she murmurs to Adansae.. but loud enough that the twitchy group at the table can also hear. "Normal service will now be resumed."

Adansae remains near the seated group of testy Anticans, nervously keeping an eye on them while offering reassuring smiles: everything is fine, really, everything is under control. To Reian, she nods, but there's a certain jerkiness to the motion. After taking a few steps away from the table, she motions for the Betazoid to join her.

. o O Adansae thinks, "If the doors enclosing the other Anticans aren't opened soon, we could have a big problem on our hands."

McTiernan watches the arrival of the others to the mess hall and grins. "Damn, and I was /just/ about to break out the cards and poker chips," she tells them all in mass. As her gaze travels the room, she notes the Andorian in the back and offers a simple respectful nod by way of greeting before she turns her gaze back to the Anticans. She puts on a grin and tells the door puncher, "I'll have you know that Milo and company have saved me from a horrible loss at your hands in an exciting game of poker."

"Well, if that's the case, I would hate to break up some a roaring party." Milo also gives a nod to the quiet Andorian in the corner and then looks over at the Anticans. "Things are a little crazy, but we're still on schedule. We apologize for the inconvenience and all. Phipps, can you unseal the other doors from in here?"

"Stressed, indeed." The voice is soft and hard at once, like a razor-sharp blade cutting so surely through silk that the rip is a whisper. "That is because they are cowards." The speaker, the aforementioned Andorian sitting quietly in the corner, has apparently been nursing a glass of Endilev ale through all this, through the red alert, the sealing of doors, and all. He wears the uniform of a Pra Thaal mercenary 'officer', and bears the duty blade of one, but his holster in empty, his sidearm having been checked in like all of the other mercenaries', Antican and Andorian alike. He sips at his ale.

"Normal service for how long?" asks the one hound-like humanoid nearest to Reian and Adansae. He rubs at his knuckles as if they were a touch sore. "How l----" It is then that the insult registers. "Cowards? Cowards, you say?" Twitchy. Bristling. "Cowards?"

Phipps arches an eyebrow slightly, moving closer to Milosevic to keep his voice low. "Nope," he answers, calm gaze turning to the Andorian in the corner for a moment, before he goes on in response to Milo, "but I can do it from outside in just a jiffy, sir." He glances from the Anticans to the Andorians again. "But I suspect it'd be easier to call the bridge and have them do it," he adds, more quietly.

"Oh, dear." Matheson mutters to himself as he hears the veiled challenge between the Antican and Andorian. His arm moves up as he unslings his medical bag.

Adansae stares at the Andorian mercenary with an appalled expression before quickly returning her attention to the Antican at her side. "Don't take the bait," she murmurs, moving a half-step closer to him as she speaks. "He wants you to react. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Reian inclines her head to Adansae, "Looks like it's all in hand." she agrees with the other woman. There is a flicker of surprise visible on her expression as the Andorian speaks - apparently she had remained in blissful ignorance of his presence. Surprise quickly fading to careful calm as the insults begin to fly. She inclines her head, mirroring Adansae's suggestion, "I believe that we had invited you gentlemen to either a quiet drink or a game of cards." she points out. "The offer still stands, if you would care to take us up on it."

McTiernan jumps up, making her way casually between the two on her way to Reian. "Now now, gentlemen. There is no call for that" she begins, her voice level, calm. "Until we reach our destination, we're all in this together so I'd take it as a kindness if you would all just relax and refrain from .. such behavior. I'd really hate to see a ruckus kick up that might cause the Commander to stop the ship .. or turn it around." When Reian nods, she does as well.

Milosevic raises an eyebrow at the unveiled insult. "I have to agree with the Lieutenant here. There's really no call for starting a fracas when we're so close to the destination, now is there?" Milo looks back at the door for a moment, as if trying to decide between one job that needs doing and another. A decision made and Milo walks over toward Piper, backing up her words. "Commander Ghorev has a real low tolerance for fights breaking out under his watch. This I can attest to from experience. I already did my time for brawling back on the station. I'm good, but the Commander's the best. No need to get all of that stirred up, now is there? How about I get you another drink, friend?"

GAME: McTiernan contests her Presence/Empathy vs Moderate and Succeeds.

GAME: Milosevic spends a courage point.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Presence/Empathy+A vs Moderate and Succeeds.

GAME: Adansae contests her Presence vs Moderate and Fails.

GAME: Adansae contests her Persuasion vs Moderate and Succeeds.

The Andorian, for his part, doesn't seem to care one way or the other if the Antican responds. He rises from his seat, drains the last of his ale, and looks at the dog-man for a moment or two. The Antican seems to react well to the many voices of reason. Though he and his four companions are clearly still agitated, they allow the Starfleet offices to talk them down. And they sit.

That's when the hail comes in: "Chief Gates to Ensign Milosevic. Sir, Level 3 is sealed around the breach area, as are the interdeck tubes and conduits. We're confirming it's an outward blow, Sir, but no explosive residue on the inside of any kind at the molecular or sub-molecular levels."

McTiernan offers both sides a nod of thanks before she elbows Reian in the belly very gently. "Did I ever mention that I've yet to have a completely /normal/ cruise off station? Never." She grins and offers Milo a wave. "Get us back in working order, would you already?"

Milosevic takes a step closer to the Andorian as he stands up, but stays out of the direct path to the exit. As his commpin speaks, Milo nods and replies calmly, "Great work, Chief. Come up to deck 2 and see if you find anything. Let me know as soon as you do. I'll be out to join you momentarily." Milo looks at the Andorian, then to Piper. "Assuming everything in settled down here. I am sure it is, right?" That last said slowly to the standing Andorian.

. o O Matheson thinks, "I have a bad feeling about this... Next time, we should take the knives, too."

Matheson steps forward into the room, and, seeing the Andorian stand, steps towards him, holding a hand out, "Please sit down for just a moment while we get all this cleared up. Why don't you let us get you another drink, hmmm?" He holds his medical bag loosely in the other hand, his medical tricorder safely stowed in a pocket.

Reian turns a bright smile to McTiernan, "I see, it's all _your_ fault, is it?" she teases her friend. "Remind me to duck offstation duty next time I see your name on the same roster!" She returns her gaze to the group of Anticans, still waiting for a response to her friendly suggestion. But happy enough to take silence as a dignified refusal, half turning towards her more outgoing companions. And yet still accessible if the group *did* decide they wanted company.

GAME: Milosevic spends a courage point.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Command vs Moderate and Fails.

Phipps gives a small shrug, and rather than waiting longer, simply moves just outside the open door with a long, quick stride. Turning to keep the room in view, he takes out his PADD, and proceeds to prod at it, peering up and into the Mess Hall while he works.

GAME: Reian contests her Receptive Empathy vs Routine and Succeeds.

Adansae takes a seat at the table shared by the Anticans, doing her best to look comfortable and at ease.

GAME: Phipps contests his Personal Equipment vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: Phipps contests his Personal Equipment vs Routine and Fails.

. o O Reian projects, "This isn't new. The Andorian trying to get a rise from the Anticans. They're on a very short fuse."

Phipps' PADD chirrups and beeps back at him, alternating between happy and sad noises. From down the corridor past the open Mess doors, voices can soon be heard.

The Andorian looks at Milosevic and Matheson. "Thank you, Ensign .... Milosevic, was it? But I assure you there's nothing to worry about. Your Commander's reputation is very well known to all of me and my fellows and our men, I assure you. Because his ... reputation is well known to his fellow Andorians, I will abide, I assure you." But his voice is oily as he says it, in ways that are clearly communicating on some level that triggers the Dastardly Doings Meter in all but the most imperceptive of minds. "Since the corridor has been cleared, as is obvious by your presence here, I am going to go see to my own men, now. Please, give the Commander our regards, and our assurance that if there is any trouble here, below decks, in this time of crisis, it will not be his kith and kind who start it." A smile at Matheson, he spares, and a polite 'that's alright' gesture, as if to repeat with a simple movement of hand the same speech he just gave Milo.

. o O McTiernan thinks, "What's wrong with the Andorian, Telasa? Something niggles but I can't quite put it together. What are you talking about?"

. o O Matheson thinks, "He's up to no good, or I'll eat my tricorder."

McTiernan turns a look on Ivari. "I'll thank you not to to indulge in any fighting at all, whether you start it, bait it into happening, or simply join in. If you know our Commander as you say you do then you'll know he won't put up with it." Most of Piper's cheerfulness has slid away and she's just standing there, staring at the Andorian. "If you feel the need to beat each other up, do it off my bird." Yup, she's the FDCO now, so ya.. time to keep the kids clean and in good repair.

GAME: Adansae contests her Mediation vs Routine and Succeeds.

"Good enough, then, friend. Lieutenant, I have a ship to fix if you'll excuse me. I think you have everything in hand here." Milo smiles naturally and walks out of the mess hall and back to the sealed corridor to meet with Chief Gates.

Matheson steps back from the Andoran, dropping his hand. He purses his lips, as if considering saying something else, but bites his tongue for the moment. "Good day to you, then." he says.

. o O Matheson feels A welter of doubt builds up inside Matheson, and there is the distinct impression that nothing good will come of this.

. o O McTiernan thinks, "Not on my ship buddy, not today."

Reian looks more than a little peturbed as she watches the Andorian leave, shaking her head slightly, an almost imperceptible movement. Her eyes thoughtful as she watches his retreat, until she remembers herself and plasters the cheerful smile back for the benefit of the Antican group. "I'm quite sure that everyone here is well aware that this is a peaceful transport. And I'm also sure that everyone here has sufficient courtesy to see that it _remains_ peaceful." Her words aren't aimed in any particular direction, although she drifts slowly towards McTiernan.

. o O Reian projects, "Someone should watch him."

Phipps briefly glares at the door down the hall, on the far side of the breach, accusingly. A quiet sigh, then a glance in through the Mess Hall door; momentary hesitation. And then he slips out of the view of those inside the Mess Hall, headed down towards the accused doorway.

Adansae watches the nearby Anticans closely as Ivari speaks, her carefully-formed smile giving way to a look of growing concern. For now, she seems content to let Reian do the talking while she does the watching and thinks.

Gates arrives a few moments later. "Here's the readings we have, sir." The tall, deep-chested, mutton-chopped English-born non-commissioned officer squares off and hands Milosevic his tricorder. "I have three men suiting up for EVA, but they won't depart until you or the bridge order it."

The Antican, for his own part, seems even twitchier now, but still he sits. Body language flies across the table between him and his fellows. Little, subtle gestures and low throat-rumbles that clearly have some meaning, but for which a Universal Translator has no real context.

"Bridge to Damage Control Team 1." It is Alek Krylow's voice. "Mister Milosevic, Mister Phipps, I need an update for the Commander."

. o O Phipps thinks, "What is it with me and doors?"

GAME: McTiernan spends a courage point.

GAME: McTiernan contests her Command+A vs Moderate and Succeeds.

McTiernan simply keeps her eyes on the Andorian, her back to Reian. She wants to make sure her point is made before she returns to what she was doing before the bait and poke game began.

Milosevic takes the tricorder from Gates and peruses it, his commbadge talking to him before he realizes it. He taps the pin and responds to the bridge. "Alpha-Two and Alpha-Three are both sealed tight and I am looking over the most recent finding right now. It was definitely blown out although no trace of explosives was found on Alpha-Three. I have Alpha-Two's readings with me right now. We had a slight bit of tension in the Mess Hall, but all of that is settled now. I'll let you know as soon as I get the results from Alpha-Two."

GAME: Milosevic contests his Material Engineering/Structural vs Moderate and Dramatically Succeeds.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Physical Sciences vs Challenging and Fails.

Matheson throws his medical bag back over his shoulder and turns around as the other mercenary leaves. He dry-swallows, then walks over to get himself a glass of water from the replicator, until medical services are needed again.

Reian has little to add at this point, she's paying close attention to the group at the table, although she tries her best to keep it unobtrusive. Still standing, not quite willing to sit at the table without an invitation, she's also more than happy to allow those in charge to take control.

"I don't know much about your homeworld," Adansae admits to the Anticans seated at her table. Her tone is even, conversational. "Would you mind telling me a little about it?"

"Standing by," says the disembodied voice of Krylow.

The Andorian, after a long moment, acknowledges McTiernan. "I think we have both made our points clearly, Lieutenant. Rest assured that while we will defend ourselves as we are allowed by even the strictest of regulations, we have no desire for things to get ... out of hand. Now, again, my men should be checked on."

The Antican, after a moment, says "My company comes from the steppes of our world. Which I suppose is rather like saying you come from the cities of yours. Antica is *mostly* steppes. We are hunters. That is what we do. We hunt." A pause. A switching of gears. "This Commander of yours -- he is one of ... them?"

After a few seconds of staring at the tricorder out in the corridor, his face wrinkles with deep thought. A tap to the combadge and then he speaks again. "Lieutenant Krylow, judging by the readings from the breach I can tell you one thing. Whatever the weapon is, it works by pulling and ripping, like a tractor beam or the ol' Borg cutting beams. I don't have the scientific background to say /what/ did it, but I'd recommend a detailed long range scan for anything stealthed or just out of the ordinary."

Reian finally sits herself down, drawing a seat up a little distance from the table, close by Adansae. Listening to the description of the weapon with a little of slight distaste on her face, turning away, preferring to talk to Adansae and the rest of the group of the table. Or rather listen as Adansae talks..

Adansae listens to the Antican's report as if it were the most fascinating tale she'd ever been told, but her expression of near-satisfaction dies a swift death at the change of subject. "He... is," she replies carefully. "But, from what I understand, he's not typical of his race. His loyalty is to the Federation, and to the station where he serves."

"...so apart from the antagonism I mentioned, and one obstinate door, things progressed smoothly, sir." Phipps return is announced first by his voice, then by his actual presence, as he strides back in through the Mess Hall door, peering around with vigilance of gaze.

"Alright," says the disembodied voice of Green, over Phipps' combadge. "Bridge out."

"Hey, hold up there, please, Ensign," comes a voice from behind Phipps. Soon, two crewmen -- one Human and one Andorian -- are escorting two more Andorians in Pra Thaal uniforms into the Mess. The Pra Thaal men look a bit woozy. "Doctor? Doctor?" calls out the Human. "Doctor Mathe---oh, there you are. We were told you were in here. Chief Gates missed these two on first recon of Level 3. Apparently they were hit with partial vacuum before the SIF kicked in and wandered off before we got to the scene. We found them a bit purple in an alcove near Main Engineering. Where do you want 'em?"

Matheson turns back as his name is called, putting down a tumbler of water that he was drinking, "Put them at the table over there." he says, "Sit them down." As he does, he removes his tricorder and scans one, whichever is closer. "We /missed/ them? That seems unlikely."

Reian shifts her chair in a little, bringing herself into the conversation a little more. More Andorians, just what this twitchy crowd needs... Smiling and nodding as the group describe their homeworld, apparently enthralled. "What led you to sign up for this?" she wonders, trying to keep to safe, generalised subjects.

GAME: Phipps contests his Security vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: Matheson contests his Personal Equipment/Medical Tricorder vs Routine and Marginally Fails.

Phipps' brow furrows thoughtfully, turning about to peer first at the two Andorians - a small frown - then at the Human crewman. "Did they mention -why- they were near Main Engineering, perchance?"

. o O Phipps thinks, "Probably too woozy to give me a straight answer rightaway - save time asking - get a quicker answer this way, probably."

Adansae casts a grateful look to Reian as the Betazoid shifts the topic back to a neutral one. She then returns her attention to the Antican who last spoke, smiling her rapt-with-interest smile. The Andorians don't get so much as a glance, but judging from the sudden tenseness in her posture, she's aware of their presence and the conversation taking place about them.

And, indeed, the Anticans notice. Oh, they notice. But the one who was doing most of the talking continues doing just that, with Reian and Adansae. "That is good, then. Until we have reason to believe otherwise, I suppose we can accept that," he says, to Adansae, and then, to Reian: "We are hunters. And warriors. The hunt and the fight is what we do. The Klingons are spread thin. Our world is not near a border threatened by the Dominion. We wish to continue our quest for full Federation membership and the best way to do that is to prove our worth. Does it have to be more complicated than that?"

Meanwhile, the Andorian crewman who is helping the other Andorians to the table says, to Phipps, "That was because of me, Sir. They are my cousins, both keth-kin and near-kin, of the Ivari. Lieutenant Krylow said I could give them a tour. It had just ended, and they had just left...." He looks embarassed, for a moment, flushing purple. "I know I should have stayed with them and escorted them all the way back to the main cargo hold, but...."

Matheson mutters to himself as he looks at the tricorder, resisting the urge to hit the thing against the palm of his other hand. He adjusts the tricorder a bit, "Hrm... Well, it could be hypoxia from the decompression or..." His lips purse as he moves to the other Andoran.

GAME: Matheson contests his Personal Equipment/Medical Tricorder vs Routine and Succeeds.

Reian may well be aware of the chattering behind her, but is keeping her attention tightly focused on the Anticans. "No. No, it does not have to be more complicated than that." she agrees with the sentiment expressed. "Forgive me if I was intrusive. My curiosity sometimes gets the better of me." She smiles apologetically, and glances helplessly to Adansae. Apparently Reian's not terribly gifted with smalltalk....

Phipps arches an eyebrow, letting it drift upwards slowly. Calm grey-blue eyes observe the Andorian quietly for a few moments, before he prompts, very quietly, "But?"

Adansae glances towards Matheson as the doctor struggles with his diagnosis, but doesn't budge from her chair. She's busy being a rapt and committed audience. The Antican who answers their questions is given a genial nod along with a smile. "That's a good reason to do anything," she replies. "The Federation needs hunters and warriors as much as it needs anything else."

"But ... well, sir, I have no excuse, bluntly. I trusted my kinsmen could walk a length of corridor without incident." The Andorian crewman is youngish, about 19 or 20, and his voice is tightly disciplined as he admits to his error in judgement.

"It is hypoxia." Matheson proclaims at last, "Looks as if it was brought on my a pressure differential. It's going to be uncomfortable for them for a while..." He closes the tricorder, and says, "I can give them something for the pain, and then take them to the infirmary for observation."

Reian leans forward a little, shifting her position, but saying nothing else for the time being. Not even turning her head to look to the cause of the fuss behind her. To all appearances, she is entirely content with the company at hand.

GAME: Reian contests her Charm/Influence vs Moderate and Marginally Succeeds.

Phipps nods, slightly. "You're quite correct; that isn't an excuse," he states, bluntly, although his voice is discretely low. "It's an understandable error," he goes on, after a slight pause, smiling very faintly for a brief instant, head tilting marginally to the left, "that you won't be repeating in the future." Eyebrows raise slightly, tiny nod. "We're agreed, I presume?" It's clearly a rhetorical question.

"Aye, Sir," says the Andorian technician, to Phipps.

The Anticans throw the occasional glances the way of the Andorians, but Reian's halting conversation seems to bait them in, with its fumbling charm, at least to some degree. It's clear they aren't completely comfortable with the wounded Andorians in the room, but at least they're talking openly to the officers at the table rather than covertly with odd body language and growls.

Matheson closes his medical scanner and puts his bag on the table. He removes a hypospray and loads it with something, and then prepares to administer a painkiller to the two injured men. When that's done, he says to the crewmen, "Escort them down to sickbay. Tell the nurse to monitor them, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

Why couldn't they be plants? *Much* easier to talk to. Reian ploughs gamely on, however, relaxing very slightly as she hears the instructions for the Andorians to head off down to sickbay. "So, err... back at home, you hunt and fight.. are there contests... formal in any way? Challenges and games? Is there an element of competition?"

. o O Reian feels unsettled and nervous, out of her depth. Worried about the whole situation and the frictions that she can feel to every side.

GAME: Phipps has the merit of Eidetic Memory at 3.

GAME: Phipps contests his Intellect/Perception vs Moderate and Fails.

Despite the faint furrow of his brow, Phipps smiles slightly. "Excellent," he answers, quietly, simply.

Adansae watches Matheson's progress out of the corner of her eye while she and Reian struggle to keep the conversation at their table flowing. "We have formal competitions where I come from," she continues smoothly. "Contests of skill to prove who's the best at various things."

. o O Phipps thinks, "Okay, so, I know the face. Look at the nose. The eyes. It's... no. I can't damn well remember. Oh well. Usual job of pretending not to want to remember, don't draw attention to it, eh Frank? Can't let them know you don't really remember -everything-. That makes it less interesting."

"Yes," says the Antican, to Adansae and Reian, "we have such things. Alphas rise to the top and lead. That is how we govern ourselves both in packs and in larger gatherings. The strongest and best always lead."

The crewmen follow Matheson's orders, or at least start to, but as the door opens to Milosevic in the doorway, a voice can be heard over Milo's combadge, saying "....says that it's some old experimental Klingon defensive grid from during the Organian Peace Treaty days. She and Commander Ghorev are trying to figure out a disabling sequence now, but until we do, we're stuck right where we are, at dead stop, in the middle of this thing, and everyone's to remain where they are. In short, get everyone in that corridor back in the nearest room, since we're going to lockdown again. If Lieutenant McTiernan's down there near you, send her up triple-time and post-haste; the Commander wants her at a console to do some remote guidance and telemetry on some probes."

Hearing 'lockdown', the two crewmen, with the injured Andorians in their arms, stop and look back and forth between Milosevic and Matheson for guidance. They have orders, but apparently orders have just come down which trump those? Maybe?

McTiernan rubs a finger over her nose as she listens to Milo's combadge. "Off to work," she offers to the others as she turns and heads for the door with a backward glance at Reian. Her gaze then flicks over the injured before she's out the door and on her way to the bridge.

"Belay that last, crewman. We're all staying here for a little while longer. Make those injured as comfortable as possible and you, sir," To the Andorian who has been the most vocal, "you can head right back to your seat or stay near your men." Milo nods to Piper as she heads out and walks over near the table of Anticans. "Lieutenant McTiernan, I'll keep things under control here. Not much else for us to do right now but wait."

"Belay that last, crewman. We're all staying here for a little while longer. Make those injured as comfortable as possible." Milo nods to Piper as she heads out and walks over near the table of Anticans. "Lieutenant McTiernan, I'll keep things under control here. Not much else for us to do right now but wait."

Reian's expression remains bland enough, save for a quick glance after McTiernan, and then to Adansae, before taking a deep breath. Trying her best to keep things calm, polite and settled. "May I fetch anyone anything to drink? Or eat?" she enquires. "What sort of foods are your preferences?"

Phipps promptly and silently strides back out through the door, disappearing from sight, clearly with the intent of doing the Security Shepherd bit with regards those outside the mess hall. But not before a careful look around -inside- the Mess Hall, before he slips out of sight into the corridor.

GAME: Phipps contests his Security vs Routine and Succeeds.

At the word 'lockdown', Adansae touches her forehead with the tips of her fingers and pales slightly. Still, when she looks back to her table-companions, she's all smiles again. "Fascinating," she replies. "Not to mention practical. The strongest and best *should* be the ones in command." As Reian shifts towards the replicator, she keep her attention trained on the Anticans. "Hot foods? Spicy drinks?"

. o O Phipps thinks, "Well, at least I'm busy."

. o O Phipps feels faintly worried - but primarily at ease, and perhaps even comfortable.

Matheson nods, with a small grimace, "Very well. Put them over there in the corner. Get them to lay down on the tables, find me some folded tablecloths we can use as pillows." He removes his medical tricorder as he does and follows the crewmen, scanning each of the Andorians in turn, making sure they're still recovering.

At this point, however, the Anticans are in no mood for further small talk. The spokesman of the group, hearing 'lockdown' just like everyone else did, gets up from the table, irritated, twitchy, and starts to pace, making low throaty sounds.

"Aye, Sir," say the crewmen to Matheson, and do as he asks. They both, human and Andorian alike, shoot glances towards the Anticans.

GAME: Reian contests her Receptive Telepathy vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: Reian contests her Receptive Empathy vs Routine and Succeeds.

Milosevic stops not far from the itchy Antican who is now pacing. "Sir, sit down and relax. This will all be over soon enough, but for now there is no good to come of pacing the decks. We have repairs to effect before we can move on. Take the lady up on her offer of some more food or a drink, perhaps?"

Matheson stands over his two patients - now that there is no one else to monitor them, like a mother hen, finishing the scan and then putting his tricorder down. He says to the two crewmen, "Congratulations, you've both just been appointed orderlies. Let's do what we can to make them as comfortable as possible until the pressure in their systems equalizes or we can get them to a hyperbaric chamber in the Infirmary of the station."

Reian's brow furrows, clear worry showing there, and she starts drifting back towards the twitchy group of Anticans, "It's okay." she murmurs softly to them. "Please.. Trust us. Your safety, the safety of everyone on this ship, is of paramount concern. There is no need to worry." Her dark eyes seek out the face of the leader, watching his expression, the woman obviously concerned by the reaction to this latest turn of events.

GAME: Adansae contests her Medical Sciences/Psychology vs Routine and Fails.

Phipps returns by way of the door (and any other entrance would be more than a little surprising), his stride assured and measured. Making his way over to Milosevic, he halts a little way to one side, and waits.

Adansae is clearly flustered when her attempts to keep the Anticans distracted fizzle out. She waits to see how they will respond to Reian's pleas before adding anything of her own.

The 'orderlies' follow Matheson's lead, fish out of water, engineering crewmen suddenly turned medical corpsmen.

Another fish out of water, the Antican snaps at Milo. "Is it now a breach of regulations to *pace* on this ship? No?" He snarls. "Then I. Shall. Pace." The other Anticans seem similarly tense now, but none of them get up just yet. It is clear that they are percolating, though, as the doors of the Mess Hall shut and seal, audibly.

. o O Matheson thinks, "I hope they don't do something stupid."

Milosevic sighs as he glances to Phipps and then back to the leader of the Anticans. "No, it is not a breach of regulations. Pace away if you makes you feel better. It won't open the door any faster, though." Milo shrugs and goes to the replicator, "Iced tea, sweet, add lemon."

Matheson turns away from his patients for a moment, putting the scanner away and leaving them to the care of the new 'orderlies.' He frowns markedly at the Anticans, but says nothing.

GAME: Phipps contests his Presence/Empathy vs Difficult and Fails.

Reian is patient, remaining still and calm in the face of the pacing Antican. Watching him, waiting, trying to understand. "We would be failing in our duty if we allowed anything to happen that would prevent you reaching your destination." she tries again. "Would you allow someone under your care to be at risk? Courtesy dictates that we must see to your security while the ship is in transit." Or paused while in transit, but that's hardly the point...

GAME: Matheson contests his Medical Sciences vs Difficult and Dramatically Fails.

GAME: Adansae contests her Medical Sciences/Psychology vs Routine and Fails.

Phipps peers thoughtfully at the pacing Antican, but gives a small shrug. He turns his gaze back to Milosevic - who has wandered off. With a grunt, the Security officer follows him to the replicator. Very quietly, he informs, "Sir, all persons appear accounted for and the area directly outside is secured as ordered."

"It won't take long," Adansae offers in soothing tones. She's looking at the Anticans still seated at the table, but her attention is also on the one standing and pacing. "Just give them a little more time, and we'll be on our way again." If there's anything to be learned or gained from all the attention she's been paying them, it doesn't appear that she's picked up on it.

The Anticans, at this point, are done talking. The spokesman continues to pace, ignoring the Starfleeters now. The others go into a kind of twitching rocking fit, moving in their chairs restlessly, making low grunts, as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Phipps. That's all we can do for now." Milo takes his drink from the replicator tray and walks over to take a seat that will allow him to keep an eye on everyone in the room with ease.

Matheson strides over to Milosevic. He lowers his voice, "They're going to attack someone. You can see it in their body language." His voice is quiet, but urgent, as if he really firmly believes that.

GAME: Reian contests her Medical Sciences vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Reian bites her lower lip, sighing softly, allowing her unhappiness with the situation to show for a moment. Before she turns abruptly towards Matheson and Milosevic, shaking her head slightly. Whether she heard Matheson's words or not, or simply picked up his conern is hard to know. And then she moves suddenly towards Milosevic, murmuring to him in tones as urgent as Matheson's, "We need to get them out of here... and soon. Can we find out how long this lockdown is going to last, at the very least?"

Spurning the replicator, and instead nodding to empty air that once held Milosevic - a slight frown flickering over Phipps' handsome features - he takes up a standing position off to one side, equidistant from the majority of the Andorians and Anticans. Hands fold behind back, and silently, he watches - but his attention is focused on the Anticans.

. o O Phipps thinks, "Perhaps my deoderant went stale."

As Matheson moves away from the injured Andorians, Adansae abandons her table and slips over to where he was previously standing. Her focus is on the conversation taking place between Matheson and Milosevic; it's unclear whether or not she can hear what they're saying, but the implication of danger is certain.

GAME: Adansae contests her Medical Sciences/Psychology vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Milosevic shakes his head slowly and whispers to Matheson. "I don't think so. They are tense, but I do not think violence is eminent. I agree with the lady here, though. The sooner we can get them out of here the better." Milo nods to Reian and taps his chest. "Bridge, I need an ETA on the end of the lockdown. I have some 'passengers' here in the mess hall who are becoming a bit claustrophobic in here and things could turn a little messy if the status quo remains the same."

Matheson looks at Reian, and nods once, "I concur. But I think this will come to violence if we aren't careful." The doctor bites his tongue when the Ensign keys his commlink, and simply nods. He turns curtly away and walks back towards his patients.

Reian looks towards the pacing Antican, a caged lion if ever there was one. She also makes one quiet observation, "I think that the more the two groups can be kept separate, now and for the rest of the trip, the better. Tensions are high." Not that tensions are high _now_, it's a far more generalised comment murmured in those low tones, before she moves to drift back towards Adansae.

Just as soon as she took the spot beside the Andorians, Adansae changes places with Matheson again -- as close to Milosevic as she can manage without alarming anyone. She bows her head and leans close in order to whisper her next words.

Adansae whispers to Milosevic, "I think their reaction might be a racial reaction -- that Anticans are biologically wired to be claustrophobic. If so, we need to get those doors open *immediately*, or things are going to get very ugly."

This time it is the Commander's voice that comes disembodied. "We are trying to disable a one hundred year old weapon system to which someone seems to have mislaid the access codes, Ensign. It could be some time before we are free. As soon as we can verify that we are at least safe, even if stalled, the ship will stand to general quarters and our guests will be free to move around except in the damaged areas. You will know more, when I know more. Ghorev out."

And *that* doesn't help matters at all. One of the seated Anticans growls audibly. So does the pacing one, who looks like he's barely restrained from flipping over a chair.

. o O Antican thinks, "HE IS DOING THIS TO US DELIBERATELY!"

. o O Matheson thinks, "Thinks just go from bad to worse around here."

. o O Reian projects, "They believe it's deliberate. I don't know why they think it's deliberate, but they do."

Matheson turns his shoulders from where he stands with a medical scanner, checking up on his patients. He grimaces noticeably before he turns away as he hears that it will be longer yet.

Reian's eyes open wide and she shakes her head frantically, as though to clear it. "No." she protests, answering their growls, "No... They're doing their best. It's just an accident... unforseen circumstances." She looks towards Adansae, almost helplessly, before she moves towards the other woman, trying to get her attention.

Phipps subtly shifts one hand behind his back, moving it within reach of his phaser - where the hand cannot be seen. Other than that, he remains calmly motionless - his gaze now almost entirely on the Anticans.

. o O Phipps thinks, "Claustrophobia... should've realised -that-."

GAME: Matheson contests his Medical Sciences/General Medicine+D vs Moderate and Marginally Succeeds.

Adansae looks over to Reian with a searing glance -- the look on her face is stricken, as if she'd missed something crucial at the critical moment. She waits for Milosevic to acknowledge her urgent whisper.

Soon all the Anticans are up and moving now, pacing amongst each other in a very tight circle. If they *are* claustrophobic, pulling themselves into a tight group seems an odd way to react to it, however.

Reian is still moving toward Adansae, her lips moving, "Tell them.. not.. deliberate.." she is starting to say, but it's broken, the Betazoid struggling to keep a coherent flow of words, eyes troubled, her brow furrowed. She pauses, shakes her head again, starts to move once more. And then she moans softly, lifting her hands to her temples, closing her eyes, trying to block sight and sound... before collapse, falling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Matheson motions to the Andorian Crewman, "I need a hand. Or several. I'm going to try to massage them so that the blood flows more easily, and the pressure eases." He puts the medical tricorder away, and looks at the patient, trying to figure out in his head and remember how the blood flows through their system.

Milosevic nods to Adansae. "Note taken, but I can't make the Commander do anything about it right now. You are the counselor. Counsel?" Milo sips at his tea, taking a moment to relax himself even within the cocoon of tension in the mess hall.

Reian goes home.

Reian has left.

GAME: Adansae contests her Medical Sciences/Psychology vs Routine and Succeeds.

Adansae seems quite aware that she's the counselor, and quite frustrated that she's getting all of nowhere with her pleadings. Just as she opens her mouth to respond, Reian crumples to the floor. Instantly, she's crouched at her friend's side, checking the Betazoid with her medical tricorder. She frowns at the readings, then turns her frown back to Milosevic. "I *tried*," she informs him in terse, clipped tones. "My efforts didn't work because this isn't a matter than can be fixed with therapy."

Phipps isn't actually -watching- Reian, so he doesn't see her fall. By now, he's far too focused on the Anticans - and he wouldn't have got to her in time to do anything heroic like catch her, anyway. So his concentration remains relatively unbroken - although he winces when he sees her on the ground - and he calls out, perhaps a little louder than necessary, "Do you need any help over there, counselor?"

"Fine, Counselor. I understand. Well, for now, sitting and waiting seems the best course of action. My engineering skills are going to do no good in this." Milo shrugs and takes a drink from his iced tea.

Matheson waits for the Andorian to help him with the massage, as he goes to work himself, "Come now, I can't do this myself." he remarks.

Does she need any help? It's all Adansae can do not to laugh as Phipps makes the offer. She waves him over. At Milosevic's response, she rakes her fingers back through her hair, causing strands to stand up wildly in all directions. "Listen to me," she whisper-hisses. "I'm telling you that we *can't* wait! This situation is... is critical!" She pauses for a half-breath. Then a full one. Then, she turns to Phipps. "Can you look up any information we have about Anticans while I help Reian?"

Phipps looks dubious, both eyebrows hiking up. His voice is low, and deeper for it; "Certainly, Counselor, but - if things -do- take a turn for the worse, shoudn't I be utterly focused on the situation?" Despite his words, he lifts his PADD in readiness.

Phipps looks dubious once he joins Adansae, attention divided carefully between the circling group of Anticans and her, both eyebrows hiking up. His voice is low, and deeper for it; "Certainly, Counselor, but - if things -do- take a turn for the worse, shoudn't I be utterly focused on the situation?" Despite his words, he lifts his PADD in readiness.

It seems to have sunken in now to the Anticans that Reian has collapsed. Then drop into crouches, watching, waiting.

Well, with the Anticans momentarily calmed, Milo finishes his drink and stands up to join Adansae and Phipps. "Is she alright?"

Matheson turns to Milosevic, abandoning the massage to the Andorian crewman and saying, "Like this. I'll be right back." and walking over to him quickly, "Ensign." he says, with a nod of his head, "Why don't you just open the door and let them out? Before things get out of control?"

As the Anticans drop into crouches, Adansae pulls Reian's unconscious body closer to herself, her eyes darting around the room for a possible hiding place. Of course, there isn't one. "If things take a turn for the worse, you'll be alerted by my screams," she murmurs to Phipps. When Milo doesn't respond to her warnings, she looks to Matheson, pleading. "We *need* to get those doors open."

"Our orders are for a full lockdown until the Commander says otherwise. We can not and will not open those doors until the order is given to do so. Is everyone here clear with that?" Milo's voice takes on a firm tone, the words clear and distinct. "I will not threaten the safety of this crew or this vessel or our passengers by tossing aside our orders and protocol for convenience sake!"

GAME: Phipps contests his Computer vs Routine and Marginally Fails.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Presence/empathy & Command (claiming Advantage) vs Matheson's Presence/Willpower and Marginally Succeeds.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Presence/empathy & Command (claiming Advantage) vs Matheson's Presence/Willpower and Marginally Succeeds.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Presence/empathy & Command (claiming Advantage) vs Adansae's Presence/Willpower and Fails.

GAME: Milosevic contests his Presence/empathy & Command (claiming Advantage) vs Phipps's Presence/Willpower and Succeeds.

Matheson lowers his voice again, teeth gritted, "Ensign. With all due respect, the wheels are going to come off here any bloody minute. We have three people down, and a number more about to start clawing at the walls. I suggest you hail the bridge and inform them of our situation down here." The doctor's jaw clenches as he tries very hard to be respectful.

Phipps grunts at the PADD after tapping at it quietly for several moments - but then his eyes widen slightly, and he sighs heavily... the sound of someone who is very disappointed about something. "You know," he muses quietly, "unless the transporters are down, we could always ask the bridge to beam them to some place on board with, I don't know, holo-emittors. Then we could create a nice open space for them." He shrugs. "Just a thought."

"This is not about *convenience*!" Adansae returns, enraged. She's not shouting, but she's close. "This is about survival! I am a Starfleet officer, the same as you -- do you think I would be asking you to do this if it were about anything less? Have you heard anything that I've told you?" Reian's unconscious head lolls against her arm, but the counselor so distracted that she scarcely notices. "Hail him, or --" She stops. Blinks. Hits her combadge. "Ensign Adansae to Commander Ghorev."

Milosevic mumbles something barely under his breath, "And /I'm/ the one who gets labeled impulsive."

The reply comes, and it is quick and steady but clearly just as stressed: "Counselor, I am in the middle of attempting to create a chain reaction to destroy over seventy seven gravitic field nodes." Indeed, there is *very* little backgroudn noise behind him, as if the entire bridge is holding its breath. "Unless this is a matter of the hull in the Mess decompressing ..... ?"

Oh, and the Anticans? There's now a little rasping noise, which is apparently the sound claws make on a metal alloy floor bulkhead. Like an animal makes to sharpen claws before pouncing. Nobody's pouncing yet, of course. Yet. But...

. o O Matheson thinks, "Impulsive? Hardly."

Milosevic nods as he notes the stress lying under Commander Ghorev's voice and his eyes watch Adansae closely. He crosses his arms over his chest while waiting for her to finish her conversation. He nods to Phipps and his eyes go distant in thought. "Maybe so, Ensign. It's an idea anyway. Transporters may be the answer here. I can only tell you that the door will /not/ open until I am given the okay to do so."

"Starfleet does not believe in blindly following orders, Ensign. You know that. This situation is becoming rapidly worse." Matheson's voice is controlled, barely. "I take exception, but it is your command for the moment. I have patients to see to." His voice is laden with overtones of distaste, at least, perhaps worse.

. o O Matheson feels anger rising up within him, barely throttled back to keep him from throwing in his lot with the Counselor. There is also a heavy element of frustration.

Phipps sighs heavily. Adansae and Matheson each get annoyed glances... He appears thoughtful for a moment, as if on the edge of saying something more, but falls silent - he's said his piece. Now he goes back to work - watching the Anticans very carefully.

"Commander, we need to get the door to this room open," Adansae responds, speaking quickly, her eyes on the Anticans. "We're about to have a decompression of another sort in here -- request permission to open the door." She squeezes her eyes shut, perhaps praying.

GAME: Adansae spends a courage point.

. o O Phipps thinks, "If the transporters are working, it's the only solution. - And if - what the devil? Oh no you don't - Milosevic may be in charge, but nobody is leaving this room and dying on my watch. Not again, damnit!"

. o O Phipps feels a spike of hot fear, quickly crushed by a fierce desire to protect those around him.

"Oh, for the love of Six Hundred Gods ...." The XO's exasperation leaks through, and then suddenly explodes, like a ship that has gone from slow decompression leak to full bore breach. "Counselor, we are locked down. At red alert. And I do not have time to play guessing games as to what decompression 'of another sort' means. The next time you hail me on the bridge during an emergency situation and interrupt important calculations that could mean life or death for every single person on this ship and a small planetoid nearby, do not take half measures. Spit out what you have to say or don't make the hail. You have ranking officers on the scene. Explain to them your issue. Use small words. Use interpretive dance if you must. But do not hail me again unless you want us all to die spectacularly in an explosion they will see back at the Station. Bridge out." And with that, Ghorev's voice is gone.

And the Anticans? Oh, they so did not like that. "ANDORIAN DEVIL!" one shouts, and pounces ... right towards the empty space between Milo and Phipps, as if making for the door.

Matheson doesn't make any more to stop the Anticans as they run, though he does shout, perhaps unhelpfully, "Look out!"

Milosevic watches Adansae still and nods his head once, sharply. "Are you finished yet, Counselor? I think it's fairly obvious that there are far more important matters being dealt with than what is in this room. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. If you wish to file a report on me after this...any of you, feel free. I stand by my decision to follow the orders given and the protocol of a Red Alert and Environmental Lockdown. And you!" Milo spins on his heels to face the Antican that has pounced between him and Matheson, his voice rising in strength and power. "You will be allowed to leave when the Lockdown is no longer necessary. Stand down from your current state of distress or I will have the doctor hypo your mangy asses to coma-land. Lieutenant Matheson, if they do not sit back down and relax, start with this one right here."

GAME: Phipps spends a courage point.

Phipps simply backpedals towards the door, attempting to put himself between anyone who tries to go that way.

Adansae is apparently finished, as she merely sits back with Reian and watches Milosevic take command of the situation.

GAME: Angry Antican contests his Fitness/vitality & Athletics vs Phipps's Fitness/vitality & Athletics/running and Fails.

Alas, the Antican is just not as fast as the security guard with the phaser, who beats him to the door. The Antican crouches, making huffing noises, nose twitching. He turns to face Milo, then back to the others still clustered in there own crouch, as if looking to them for some kind of ... permission.

Milosevic watches the main group of Anticans and when they make no move to sit back down, he turns to Matheson and nods his head. "Put him to sleep, Lieutenant. Best guess on dosage. Then we'll go down the line and they can all take a nice little nap for the rest of the voyage. Or...you can all do as I say and sit down and relax."

GAME: Matheson spends a courage point.

GAME: Matheson contests his Medical Sciences vs Moderate and Fails.

Matheson turns, "Ensign, I'm not even sure I /can/ knock them out, and it's certainly not medically advisable. We need to figure out whatever's making them panic and calm them down. So why don't we all just put our heads together about this." He looks over at Adansae, "Counselor... any help here?"

. o O Phipps thinks, "By the Great Bird... this is ridiculous! Those poor beings are utterly terrified - this one won't even approach me, he's so afraid!"

Phipps looks at the Antican for a good while, all through Milosevic's orders, and Matheson's reply. He takes a good, hard, long look. His eyes widen, then turn to Milosevic, anger vivid in them. He doesn't tremble - but if he did, he'd probably -still- look less angry than he does now. Despite that, his voice is kept calm with an iron grip - no doubt with nothing short of monumental effort. "By the Great Bird," he bursts out, unable to keep silent an instant longer. "Ensign, you may be the line officer here, but that doesn't mean I'll keep silent. I've given you a viable, potentially situation-saving option - for goodness' sakes, man, these people are terrified! They look worse than I did, when..." His voice trails off, and he shakes his head, anger dissipating to disgust. "I'm sorry, sir. But we can't stand here arguing. For all we know, this state could be life-threatening to them."

Adansae looks from Matheson to Phipps -- who gets a slow nod -- and finally to Milosevic. "Ensign, you're in Command here," she informs him coldly and quietly. "Get in there and *let them know that*. Forget your words, your orders, your Starfleet regulations; make them *know* who is in command. They *need* to know."

Milosevic looks at Phipps and nods. "Very well." Milo slaps his commpin and calls out. "Ensign Milosevic to Transporter Room. I need an innership transport of 5 Anticans from Mess Hall to the main Shuttle Bay in 60 seconds. Please have whatever security detail you can mange to be there and keep an eye on them. Milosevic out."

Matheson sighs, "Finally." He looks to Milosevic, and just shakes his head, before then nodding to Phipps and Adansae, "Thank you both." Stepping away, he turns to check on his two Andorian patients, who have been getting massaged by their cousin to release the pressure. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose as he does and lets out a long, drawn out sigh.

Phipps simply heaves a sigh of relief - eyes already on the Antican in front of him. Just in case. His eyes are oddly damp.

. o O Phipps feels deeply sad, and great sharp pangs of grief.

Adansae looks at Milosevic in disbelief as he ignores her completely -- but he's the commanding officer. She says nothing, and returns to her care of the unconscious woman in her arms.

. o O Phipps thinks, "After all - I'm part of a group who actually caused - they're just like I was, that damnable escape pod! So small, so constricted - lucky I'm not claustrophobic - damned Milosevic! - never mind, the report will - won't get away with it, nosir."

The seconds tick past, the Anticans clawing at the duranium bulkheads of the floor, and then they are gone, swept up in a wash of sparkles. And left there, in the dull afterglow, are four Starfleet officers, themselves still stewing in their own neurochemical juices of aggression, of dominance, of ... something.