A century of service

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A century of service Empty A century of service

Post  Guest on Wed Jun 19, 2013 1:17 pm

| July 2300
| Torah System
| Federation Kzinti Border

At six foot eight and a good four hundred pounds when the Kzinti warrior put his weight into a punch it hurt, it hurt like several kinds of heck. It also had a tendency to break things, as was demonstrated now when Tybalt felt something in his side shatter and spread that hurt even wider. The bust bones in his chest weren’t going to get lonely however, not considering that this furball had been working him over for twenty very long minutes, and that before him it had been another only slightly smaller Kzinti with an all too similar penchant for using mama Idran’s little boy as a chair-bound punching bag.

Honestly though worse than the body blows that had now ominously put some blue blood into Tybalt’s spit, was the deliberate cut they had opened negotiations with, a cut that had left a flap of the marine’s forehead hanging down his brow, exposing the shocking white of his skull, and the distinct absence of the antennae that should have been there.

Instead it was now sitting on the desk of the ‘officer’ in charge of this interrogation as the sadist tried real hard to pretend that he wasn’t enjoying this every bit as much as his furred outhouse helpers.

“We can stop this at any time” the @ss-hat offered again, not quite managing to hide the hint of a purr in his lie, “just sign the statement” he urged, pushing the hated document forward again, complete with its hateful lies and sniveling apologies for crimes never committed, “it doesn’t have to hurt any more” he insisted, with the purr finally starting to disappear in lieu of a growing frustration

“th’Idran, Tybalt” the marine hissed in reply, a little extra sibilance in his voice from the cloying blood he could now taste for sure, “corporal, two-five -” he was cut off by a full knuckle smack to the side of his already abused head, boxing his ear and  throwing a fresh wave of darkness into his already spotty vision.

“Sign it!” the officer growled, his amusement now completely faded in the face of this continued unconscionable obstinacy

Tybalt found a use for that mingled blood-spit and hawked the lot at furball and his damn document, more than a little pleased to see that he got the frakker not only in the well tended fur but right in one of his beady black eyes too.

It took a moment for this to sink in, a long ragged series of seconds during which the only sound was the hacking, pain filled laugh of the brutalised andorian in the chair. When the moment passed the big furball was growling and pulling an oversized paw back for a hit that coudl have ended everything but even that was eclipsed by the wordless cry of outrage that came from his boss, who swept the desk out from between them and charged straight at Tybalt with every intention of personally rending him into unrecognisable strips

Which turned out to be a mistake because, while the furred outhouses had been very careful to keep their distance when they punched, the officer’s charge took him right up to the over-the-drain chair that tybalt was tied to, and Tybalt in turn was finally able to make use of the fact that the over confident cats hadn’t tied his feet in.

Even as Officer Frakker clawed three fresh lines of through the skin of Tybalt’s chest he got a still booted foot smashed into his kneecap with all the force Tybalt’s hot running hate could muster, shattering it with a sound not unlike a  dozen not-quite ripe melons smashed onto paving stones. Bone exploded, flesh pulped, ligaments tore and the whole of him tumbled forwards into the man he had been planning to murder.

Arms screaming in a protest of their own as they were driven brutally into the metal drain tybalt gave the cat man a taste of his own medicine and bit down hard into the softest part he coudl find, in this case the officer’s protruding furry ear.

He had torn a bloody chunk off by the time furry outhouse dragged Frakker back and set to swallowing the damn thing so the misbegotten sadist could never have it re-attached. As he did, while outhouse was desperately scrabbling with the medical kit to staunch frakkers bleeding, tybalt made the stunning discovery that his hitherto neglected hands were currently pressed hard against a rather sharp protrusion, part of the drain cover that had clearly seen better days.

With the same disregard for his own safety that had spurred the gobbit into frakker’s face Tybalt wrenched and yanked his wrists about to get that edge onto the plastic line of the binders holding him and jammed down hard over and over again until something gave.

Frakker was just starting to wave Outhouse off, his eyes dark coals of resurgent anger when Outhouse’s head went sideways, a metal chair uppercutting it with force enough to make Outhose’s jaw mimic Frakker’s knee.

Revealed behind the falling form was the very picture of burning revenge, bleeding from mouth, ear, forehead and a half dozen other places, listing heavily to one side and clearly struggling to even stand the Andorian nevertheless managed to fix the interrogations officer with a look that sent shivers up his furry spine.

Frakker tried to scrabble away but the injured marine stopped all that by chucking the now bent chair aside and dropping knees-first onto the interrogator’s chest, causing a few fresh crunching grinds as he did.

“I don’t have time make this last” Tybalt rasped at the man below him, fixing his callused and bloodied blue hands onto the sides of Frakkers head, “so I’ll just make it hurt” he promised, before pushing both his thumbs through Frakker’s eyes. “Oh and by the way you taste like crap” the andorian declared spitting out some of the hairs that even now continued to bother him.

“Least you were dumb enough to come in armed” he continued, distantly aware that talking to himself was probably a little bit nuts, but frankly not having the energy left to care as he reached for the officer’s hip and drew out, of all things, a custom made disruptor pistol. “Arrogant asshat” tybalt asserted as he just managed to focus on it, and the gaudy little additions the late officer had paid to have added.

Letting his bloodshot eyes relax away from that he managed to make out the scattered contents of the kit that Outhouse had been trying to use and let himself relax into the first honest smile since he had spat in the goat-molester’s face. Okay so there was still blood in his mouth and the grin looked far more sinister than actually happy, but he was the only person alive in the room to see it... something he confirmed a moment later as he made out the vacant staring eyes of Outhouse where he lay against the wall with his neck broken like his jaw had been.

Tybalt kicked him in the head, hard, a couple of times just to make sure.

It took all too much fumbling to stab himself with one of the pain meds and a whole lot of trial and error to get the spray skin over his scalp rather than in his eyes but Tybalt just about manged without ever completely taking his eyes off the door that he was pretty sure would be kicked in any moment.

Which indeed it was as a suited up response team burst into the room, pain sticks and body-shields at the ready.

Unfortunately for them being geared up for disruptive product wasn’t the same as being geared up for even an injured armed marine and the sturdy metal and resin shields that were so good against improvised weapons and or thrown fists were complete rubbish against disruptor shots.

Tybalt shot the first, then the second in the space it took for his heart to beat as many times. The third was just realising that something was wrong here when he got a faceful of purple energy too and the fourth was actually trying to back up when he got his. The last member of the team lucked out in that of all them he was far enough away that Tybalt’s severe difficulty aiming, caused by the loss of that antennae, meant that the marine pulled the shot wide, but he then made the mistake of thinking he might bull on through and charged instead of running.

Tybalt actually got to see the purple light shine in that one’s eyes as the point blank shot sent him to join his now heaped buddies. He might even have managed some witty one-liner about it had he not been too busy hacking up another lot of bloody phlegm.

Precious moments were spent getting his breath back again after that one, but the forced pause had the side benefit of revealing a certain blue scalp-appendage on the now still messier floor, one that Tybalt gratefully pocketed with some distant concept that once he got out of here it might come in handy.

After that he staggered to his feet, coughed some more and lurched over to the open doorway, almost stacking it afresh as his boots didn’t quite clear the bodies that were partly blocking it.

Tentatively he peeked his good side out around the door jam and looked up the corridor, desperately trying to focus enough to hold things steady long enough to get an idea if he was about to be buried under a wave of more prepared fuzzy-frakkers or if in fact that had been it.

There was nobody there, just a few more of the familiar hard metal doors with their feeding-spying slots and an empty corridor that ran to a now vacant security desk.

With more than a little effort he stumbled over to the nearest of the doors and pulled back the spyhole cover, leaning his recently patched head against the metal to try and perceive if there might be anyone inside. He was lucky.

“Hey monkey-boy” he rasped into the speaking unit, somehow managing to dig up a littel humour to throw into his raw voice “you wanna blow this joint?” he asked.

Half an hour after that he, now rather thoroughly bandaged and and drugged up, and the half dozen people he had found in those cells had killed another full dozen cat-men as they had tried to retake the cell block but had once again failed to account for the prisoners being armed... this time with the contents of the blocks weapon locker as well as officer frakker’s gaudy sidearm... and some photonic stun grenades kept for grouped prisoner suppression.

In their defence not a lot should have been able to open that locker without the key, it was simply that not a lot happened to include a really hacked off Vulcan with access to the electro-shock gear they had installed in their interrogation suite.

The stunned ones became casualties of expedience, nobody wanting them to ever get the chance to be liberated and angry. Their gear and coms became spoils of war, or at least more tools for the escape kits.

Armed with even more weapons and sporting two very lucky surrendered Kzinti as ‘Romulan mine detectors’ (walk in front, put your fingers in your ears and stamp really hard) the escapees made a somewhat staggering beeline for not the transporters or the shuttle bay but instead the command and control center itself... or rather the office next to it.

“Feckers will have the approach locked up tight by now” Tybalt insisted, six years of dealing with the Kzinti in what was only by the strictest definition not a war, having given him more than a little insight into what the Kzinti security preparations entailed. “But they’re all too tight fisted to actually armour all the way around their hubs” he declared.

Which was how, after disposing of their mine detectors, the escapees used the heaviest disruptor they had stolen to blow a hole right through the wall of that office and charged furiously right into the heart of the hidden base they had been incarcerated in the bowels of.

One antennae down Tybalt’s charge wasn’t so much a rush as a forward-stumbling delayed fall but it did the trick well enough to go for the one man that he really felt the need to have words with, the man rising from the all too fancy gold leafed chair-throne.

The semi clad, mostly lobotomised, girl-toys tied to it just managed to scrabble out of the way before Tybalt launched himself the last few feet and clotheslined the Chief cat-man right out of his ego-trip of a chair, piling his hairy hide down onto the deck and following him down.

Up close like that Tybalt’s messed up balance and shoddy depth perception meant less than nothing and his well earned fury got a chance to express itself fully. The marine lead with a headbutt that splashed boss-man’s black button nose all over his furry face, then followed that up with a rain of anger fuelled pistol whips and punches that would have made the roughest T-bone tender enough to cook.

With control he didn’t think he had however he stopped short of finishing the Cat-Captain off and instead settled for knocking him completely silly and then confirming that his fellow escapees had done a similarly efficient number on all the other folks actually inside the room.

The Vulcan prisoner with the electricity beef was now holding their face together with their off hand and one of the humans was doing likewise with his guts but the mostly unarmed (but claw sporting) kzinti were now either unconscious or wishing they were.

The human offered a nod to say that they could hold it together a little more, long enough for the next step at least, and Tybalt offered him a nod back that immediately made him grateful he was still low to the ground on his fuzzy officer recliner.

“Okay frakk-face” Tybalt growled at said unwilling cushion, shaking him until some light of recognition flickered back into his dazed eyes, “the Mutiny Protocols” Tybalt demanded enunciating each capital letter to make very sure that the Kzinti captain both knew what was being asked for and knew that Tybalt knew. Even so the captain tried to demurr, attempted to shake his head.

The attempt ended very quickly as Tybalt shoved the business end of the gaudy disruptor up under his chin and pointedly dug it in until it could really be felt.

“You sure you want to say no?” the marine rasped, getting another shake of the head, this time however in acquiescence.

A few minutes after that and without a hint of warning elsewhere the deeply buried, last ditch, lethal protocols written for when a kzinti captain found his crew to be rebelling against his ‘lawful’ authority went into action. Every door sealed, every hatch closed and over every speaker droned both a voice and a countdown, giving the armed cat men only a matter of seconds to discard all their weapons before something permanent happened to them.

Even when those weapons were ditched however the protocols didn’t ease up, instead they waited for the room by room personal command of the felinoid officer who had initiated them, making sure that he and he alone could separate and empower those loyal to him while keeping those deemed disloyal contained for ‘justice’

Of course in this particular case the man in question wasn’t getting the chance to do any of that because the moment the protocols had started he had been rudely dragged back from the console he had used and sat on again. He wasn’t even let up when the codes to unlock the coms were demanded, things were deemed a lot safer way.

=/\= Kzinti base to Task Force Freya =/\= the call went, =/\= this is corporal th’Idran of the Torah peace delegation, mayday mayday=/\= he declared. =/\= urgent assistance, medical and material, required at this location =/\=

=/\=Location is cloaked Kzinti base, currently under lockdown, injured include Ambassador Yorral=/\= Tybalt supplied, finally naming the vulcan who had been so key to opening the weapons locker, =/\= and all six other survivors=/\=. That the delegation had been twenty times that number before the ambush and forced surrender went unsaid, along with the fates of every single one of the marine officers that had taken the Kzinti at their word regarding fair treatment.

For some achingly long moments there was nothing, only the laboured breathing of the escapees and the steadily more hopeful breaths of their captives

=/\=Torah delegation, USS Freya, message received and understood,=/\= came the formal reply, =/\= hang in there, help is on the way =/\= the same slightly female accented voice appended =/\= good to hear from you =/\= they finished, their tone confirming the gloated statement the interrogators had so happily bandied about that the federation had written all of the delegation off for lost in the simulated accident that had been used to cover the cat ambush.

By the time the marines of the Freya arrived the cat captain was fully resigned and compliant, both the |Vulcan diplomat and the man with the gut wound were temporarily stitched and Tybalt’s butt was starting to go numb from sitting on his lumpy ‘cushion’ for so long.

The green collared armoured rescue party took no chances and cleared the base room by room as the former prisoners opened doors for them, but they also sent one element ahead of all of that to relieve the people at the heart of it all. Leading that group was none other than the colonel herself, whose presence finally persuaded Tybalt to give up his seat.

“Corporal th’Idran” he declared, saluting, as she stepped around the marines that had lead the way through the self same hole the escapees had burned earlier, “diplomatic protection detail” he expounded, not needing to say that now he literally was the detail in its entirety, “one ambassador and staff ma’am” he offered with perhaps just a hint of irony creeping into his voice.

“Thank you corporal” the Colonel replied, “stand down, you are relieved”


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