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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Definately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to ShenLong for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options" Chapter 205 Mars Colony Base Dome 2nd March AC 198 Time 7:45 [approximate Sanc time 05:36] Barker All he wanted to do, and he was ready to apply the word ‘desperately’ to the need, was to put his head down and rest. To experience the utter relief of closing his eyes and allowing the relaxing, dark wash of sleep to overtake him. It would be wonderful, even if it proved to be only for a few precious minutes. At this point in time there was no chance of that happening, and he lamented the loss to himself with every throb of his unhappy body and mind. He could lay claim to a thundering headache, echoing resoundingly with every beat of his heart. His mouth and throat felt as dry and smooth as sandpaper, and he could, unfortunately, lay claim to a bladder feeling the effects of drinking entirely too much coffee. But at this point in time all of those petty discomforts were secondary to the hard facts governing their lives. They had people out on the surface of Mars. People sheltering in caves through the chill Martian night, who would be running low on vital supplies. People running out of air and the power packs required to keep their suits warm enough to allow them to survive the bitter night temperatures. The sun was rising out there, beyond the safety of the Base Dome, though he could not see it stuck here in the Medical Centre as he was. To the human body the days here were only marginally warmer than the nights, and those people out there were vulnerable, exposed. They were dead and did not know it. He had not managed to unlock the dome. They were dead, though at this time most, if not all, remained alive. At any time now that the sun was rising, the survivors of the night would begin the harsh trek across the rocky, dusty landscape to reach the Base Dome. As soon as the outside temperature warmed sufficiently to reduce the excessive heating load on the suits' power packs, the suit mechanics could redistribute power to be shared amidst other life saving functions, for the forced walk. Absorbing and evaporating body sweat and the moisture in human breath, heating the suit to tolerable levels, regulating the mechanics of feeding oxygen into the helmet and powering the onboard computer systems that allowed the user to operate on the inhospitable Martian surface… it all took power. The power units held limited charge, and there were not enough units to continually change expended charges on the trek to the dome. If the user was to reach the dome at all they would need to maintain a set, rigidly adhered to pace. Hurrying to reach the safety of the dome would serve only to exhaust the power units long before reaching safety, the onboard systems being needlessly stressed; likewise moving too slowly would see the units exhausted. There were newbies out there in that group who might easily make the mistake of not listening to more experienced veterans. Panic could make normally reasonable, rational people a danger to themselves and others and, on Mars, to panic was to die. How many of them would they lose? When this was all over bar the shouting, how many would they have lost? There would be some casualties, he was resigned to that simple truth, but somehow they had to save as many as they possibly could. God, he was tired. Exhausted. He did not want to think; it physically hurt to think. Thinking made his head hurt, his head hurting reminded him of every ache in every muscle his body sported. If he dared to pop a few pills to drown the thumping pain in chemical relief… but no. No, he could not afford to do that. He had already taken more than he should have and he needed to trust his own judgement. He could not afford to worry if a cocktail of chemicals was scrambling his thinking. There was too much to do. He should have returned to the examination room to beard Marquise and his henchmen on that incredible load of tripe they had tried to feed him. Between seeing to the settling of the groups of survivors arriving from the accommodations blocks, overseeing the operations to try to regain control of the Base Dome’s computer systems, and trying to figure a means by which they could get the Dome open safely… he was stretched thin. Too thin. The people who came to Mars were good at what they did; no one here was simply a cast off from society running away. You did not found a colony with outcasts who had no concept of what was required, physically, mentally or skills based. His people were good, damnably good, but they were up against people who were equally as good, if not better. The computer techs were running into firewall after firewall trying to batter down the invader’s defences. The virus was proving to be not only insidiously invasive, but tough to eradicate. It was the work of a demented genius in his opinion, and he could admire that, but he cursed the bastard who had designed it to know every layer of hell. In his opinion dropping the deviant asshole into the heart of a burning star was too good for whoever designed this particular bug. //Locking the prick in a survival capsule without a suit and uploading the virus might be worth a shot. Let the bastard sweat a bit, and then I could shoot the capsule off on a long flight trajectory to the sun. It would be interesting to learn which would get the prick first; the virus crapping out the capsule’s mechanics or the heat of the sun cooking the bastard into a crispy critter?// Uhn, how juvenile of him. He really had no time for this, and it was not in the least bit satisfying even thinking about punishment really. The truth was, there was no one to punish, at least not until after an enquiry found out who was responsible, and that took all of the pleasure out of thinking up potential scenarios. Fact: The program had been written by an unknown and, if he was honest with himself, he knew full well they might never trace the creator. Why did he sit here, in the doctor’s lounge, sipping yet another sludge pot of coffee that would eat his guts away and kill his liver, whilst trying to ‘not’ think about yet another trip to the latrine that his bladder was screaming at him to make? “Barker? You okay?” He dragged his shoulders out of the slump, plastered on what had to be a sickly attempt at a smile that could well frighten off the man, and turned to face the doctor. “Fine. Status report?” “Fine? It’s the word of the day, apparently. You look like shit warmed over, but then I guess we all do. All of the kids are accounted for and fine physically. The mothers, whilst well aware of our situation and understandably worried, are also fine. No one has reported any injuries from the forced evacuation to the Medical Centre. Marquise is sleeping… I think. He’s either sleeping or he was ignoring me when I took his vitals a few minutes ago. Giles is alternating between dozing, growling at Marquise to rest, if he so much as twitches, and looking like he’s about to fall off the chair at any minute from pain and exhaustion.” Well, he supposed this was all good. At least he did not need to concern himself with the Sleepers having attacked those in the accommodations blocks. There might yet be stragglers to come in, but a headcount suggested they had everyone thought to be in the blocks. “Can’t you order the idiot to go and enjoy the benefits of bed rest?” Hunched shoulders in the not so clean white coat shrugged. “I value my life too much.” The coffee pot clinked against the rim of the mug, and the doctor downed a healthy gulp of the hot, black brew. “God, that’s foul! Can’t anyone make a decent coffee around here? Giles looks like death warmed over, and Polnar’s leaning against the wall beside the door looking ready to gut anyone who gets too close to either Giles or Marquise. I think its only the wall that is holding the man up. They’re both dancing attendance on Marquise and looking at each other like he might break in half… or explode at the slightest twitch. And he is twitching, I might add.” The mug paused in transit to his lips and Barker glanced at the man, his frown deepening if such a thing was possible. His forehead already felt like he was carrying around the grand canyon. “Twitching? Marquise’s injuries are that bad?” “Not as far as I know, but then I’m only the doctor. What do I know? No one wants to listen to my opinion when it suits them not to, and it was made quite clear that my presence was not required. I was not initially permitted to touch the man, and it took a hissing war over the top of him before I managed to take his vitals. It felt like I had a knife hovering at my spine through the entire ordeal. I decided before I go back to take the next set of observations, that I will fortify myself with something a bit stronger than coffee… but having drunk this sludge I have to wonder if anything could be stronger.” He lifted the mug in a silent salute and took another reviving sip. Barker sighed, closing his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. They were all wrung out, existing on the edge of their nerves, exhausted and ready to snap at the slightest comment, no matter how innocent it might be. It was not good, but he could not see matters improving any until they had those who were locked out of the base safely inside. “I’ll talk to them. I have enough to do without anyone acting up needlessly. I’d give anything to get my ass in a bed, and when they have the chance to take rest and they refuse to take it…Stupid.” “Agreed.” His coffee was finished anyway and if he tried for another mug he would probably throw up. God, it was vile, an evil brew. Who ever had brewed it should be shot at dawn. He could feel the doctor’s eyes on him as he left the lounge and, just for a moment, a shiver raced up his spine and he entertained the notion that he might be shot, or knifed in the back. But paranoia was a trap he tried not to fall into. That particular doctor had had other opportunities in the last few hours to take him down and had seemed uninterested in doing so. They were all paranoid, those who knew what was happening, who had witnessed what had happened in the dome above. They were only human and when aroused, one’s survival instinct was not to be ignored. Without those instincts the human race would never have survived against larger, stronger, faster and more vicious predators in the dim and distant past. Paranoia was good to a certain extent, but if not controlled it could be a death sentence in situations such as this. Another fundamental truth; not everyone was the enemy and the human race survived best in a cooperative group. He paused at the door to the examination room housing Marquise and his entourage during his confinement. He fought off the urge to yawn, resting his head on the door for a long moment, simply resting, trying not to move, hoping the headache would ease and it would be easier to think. It seemed he'd spent an inordinate amount of time listening and hovering in doorways in the past few hours, and he could not deny that he had overheard some interesting conversations. From a computer tech's inventively colourful metaphors concerning the breeding of the inventor of the virus they were trying to circumvent, to the unbridled fantasies about psychics and visions. Oh yes, most informative. The door shifted as he leaned against it and he immediately tightened his sagging spine. “… he alright? Why is he twitching like that?” He paused, tilting his head slightly to find the door was ajar; the catch had not caught properly and his momentary weakness had been enough to nudge it. Polnar’s voice and he sounded tired. “Maybe you should have allowed the doc to have a proper look at him?” Not just tired, he realised, Polnar sounded genuinely concerned. Barker remained still, careful not to push any further on the door, one hand resting flat against the surface, ready to push the door open. What flights of fantasy might he overhear this time? Polnar and his partner might well let something slip that could be of use to him in tracking down their employer. “I’m not really sure. It could be the result of some of the drugs he took beginning to work out of his system and he is reacting to the withdrawal.” “Just how hyped up was he?” “Nothing hallucinogenic. Just pain killers to get him through the worst of what we had to go through to get here. Did you know the man’s claustrophobic? An effect of the war, apparently. Claustrophobic and he just up and crawls through disused air ducts that were way too narrow for someone of his bulk. Hell, in some places I thought I’d get stuck, and I’m nowhere near the size he is. I nearly stripped the skin off him pulling him through one of the vents. In places he quite literally is raw meat.” Barker frowned, setting his feet shoulder width apart, listening closely for every word. Marquise was claustrophobic? That was news to him. There was nothing said on the man’s medical records. “I don’t doubt getting here was not easy. It wasn’t exactly easy getting into the base for us. We may have to use that method to get others in, but it would take too long to get a large group of people in the way I came. I doubt their survival systems would last long enough to make it halfway through the sewers. It’s a mess. So what’s he like to work with?” “Bloody brilliant.” It was hardly more than a sigh that went a long way to revealing the speaker’s exhaustion, and Barker heard Giles shift in his seat. “He’s naturally intuitive. He can read a situation and has the solution on hand in seconds, if not before it eventuates. He’s definitely a clairvoyant talent, but his Gift seems to have some odd… quirks.” There it was again, that bullshitting fantasy… but they did not know he was listening in on their conversation, so why keep up that theme? It was just… No, it was not possible. “Quirks?” “Well, I don’t quite know how else to describe it. By rights, Chris, if I understand how his Gift works, he should be a raving loony. I sure as hell would be. It’s not what I was taught was the usual, the normal clairvoyance. It goes way beyond that. Raydon’s like that too, in that he’s a rarer variant, but Marquise… He’s far from the ‘standards’ set out by the Training Masters. He definitely has a number of unusual aspects to his talent and I honestly can’t see them sorting those quirks out in short order.” Barker blinked, resisting the urge to bang his head against the door and gritted his teeth. Training Masters, normal clairvoyance, standard sets, unusual aspects… fantasy. Science fiction. “That’s not telling me much, Hayden.” “I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but he’s a puzzle it will take the boss-man and the Trainers years to puzzle out. I’m not kidding, the man is anything but ‘normal’ by any scale of measurement. He’s exceptional. I’m only hoping that this twitching is actually caused by drug withdrawal and not through another bout of vision. He can’t take much more, Chris. It’s getting dangerous. He has to be kept quiet or he’ll lose it, and I’m not equipped, mentally or physically, to take on someone of his scope if they trip over that step into crisis. I don’t have the training to handle a high end Talent in crisis.” There was an uncomfortable silence and Barker shared in it, scowling down at his shoes, wondering what would happen if he believed this drivel and Marquise did slip into this ‘crisis’. The uncomfortable question there was, given the man’s past actions, what would result from the loss of control? “Are you exaggerating… at all?” “No.” Damn, that did not sound good. Giles sounded dead serious. Barker shook his head slightly, far from pleased. “Well, you had better pray he’s not going to lose it.” “Oh, I have been, ever since we had that delightful little episode when he almost fried himself electrocuting Sleepers in one of the garden domes. The bloody man takes risks that scare the shit out of me. A serious word of warning, Chris; and I am dead serious, my friend. If Marquise ever puts a second tie in his hair, just take to your heels and run as far and as fast as you bloody can. You might survive the fall out if you do.” Eh? Barker eyed the door quizzically, wondering if he had heard right. There had been fear in the man’s voice, unmistakable warning. From the silence he could just about guess Polnar’s reaction was as stunned as his own. “Ah… You should get some sleep, Hayden. Take up the offer of a bed whilst you can.” Barker resisted the urge to nod his agreement to that. He only wished someone would march up to him and tell him to get his arse to bed and he could rest his aching body. But no such luck. He was in charge of this situation and there would be no resting until they had everyone safely home in the dome. Then he might be able to afford some down time, act in an advisory capacity perhaps, but stay off his feet and rest both body and mind. “Can’t. I don’t dare. Until I am certain Marquise is clear of entering Crisis, I don’t dare allow myself to rest.” There was emphasis on that word, Barker noted. Crisis. The man sounded his fear, and despite his belief… hope… that it was all a fantasy, an ominous shiver coursed up the length of his own spine. Just what was it? What was this ‘crisis’ that concerned Hayden Giles so much? And just how much of this fantasy… Well, did they really not know they had an unseen listener? Were they talking for his benefit, or did they really not know he was there? He had to ask himself if they would keep up this façade if they did not know he was listening? Not good. He was beginning to doubt his convictions of the definition of fantasy in this case. “Well, if you took up that offer of a bed and Marquise remained asleep, Barker might let you off a return bout of questions.” Someone was moving around in there, a shifting of weight more than footsteps. “He’s already been gone longer than I expected, but he’ll be back soon enough. It shouldn’t take all that much longer to get the survivors settled. I’d love to rest, believe me, but I just don’t dare… and…” Barker could hear the hesitation in his voice, sense the fear in the hitch of his breath.”I don’t think Zechs is actually asleep.” “He’s not?” The rustle of clothing, a few steps as the man moved and a lengthening pause. “He looks to be pretty much out of it to me. Except for the twitching.” “I could wish, but I’ve been monitoring his pulse and the movement of his eyes behind the eyelids. In a way I guess he might be asleep, but I don’t think its real sleep. Or maybe its not ‘just’ sleep is the better way to say it.” Barker caught the deeper breath from Polnar, the length of the pause then, “I thought you said earlier it would not be a good thing if he had another incident?” He thought… he really thought the man was psychic and was having an… erm, for want of a better word, vision? “I’m monitoring his pulse and so far it's steady… and he may just be dreaming. That might be all there is to it, but then I don’t know if he ever ‘just’ dreams. He’s not like other clairvoyants I’ve spoken to, remember? The fact of the matter is, at the present time he is a lot more relaxed since the twins were brought in. That’s good, a relief in a big way, and he does need sleep, so I’m loathe to interfere unnecessarily. I told you, Chris, I’m not trained for this, but I’m the best we have, so we have to go with my best guess assessment of the situation. He’s well aware of our situation, and he knows how far he can push himself. I’d say he learned that lesson during the war, though I’d say he tried pushing the envelope whilst he had the use of Epyon. But he does not have the machine now and he’s well aware of how human he is. I just have to make sure he does not push so far that he exceeds a reasonable limit in response to circumstances worsening.” Barker pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting desperately to sit down and have a good long think. He did not know enough, he was lacking vital information on what Marquise had been doing in the intervening years following the Barton Incident. The war was years over, they were on Mars and just what the hell did Epyon have to do with this situation? “Christ, don’t wish any more complications on us, Hayden. We have to get those people in the caves to safety and, short of trying to get them in through the sewers, which I know might save a few but by no means many, I don’t have a single bloody idea on how to do it.” Barker could only agree with that plea. Matters were complicated enough without anything else further exacerbating the big picture… but he was wasting time. Maybe he could get one or the other of these men to let something slip, some vital piece of information whist Marquise was sleeping? What did he expect to learn from them though? He’d had enough of this fantasy, but if they did not know he was listening in then… No, no, no. He had always prided himself on being a realist yet being flexible enough to deal with any situation that might arise. He was not about to dig in his heels now and refuse to admit that he did not know everything. He was as ignorant as the next man, more ignorant than some and less ignorant than others. One should always have an open mind and never disbelieve simply because it was inconvenient. But he did like this thing called ‘evidence’, and what evidence did he really have to say yay or nay to the existence of psychics? Life threw curve balls all the time. It was a simple fact of life that you learned to deal or you enjoyed a black eye. Drawing a deeper breath, filling his lungs and steadying himself, Barker stepped back, rocked forward from heels to toes three times and took a wide stride forward. His hand hit the door with a decent amount of force, sending it opening wide ahead of him, as though he had marched up to the door instead of lurking and listening, and he strode through the doorway to find himself staring down the barrel of a cocked gun. Shit. Nice. Just lovely. At least Polnar had control of his reflexes and didn’t just shoot him. “Put that away. We have too much work to do to take pot shots at each other; and I don’t particularly feel like getting shot today.” The man inclined his head slightly and glared. Wonderful. “Right then. None of us have time to waste fart-assing around. I’ve got people out on the surface of this bitch of a planet who will be heading our way any minute now, if they are not already on the move. By the time they get here I need to have the base open to receive them.” He strode to the foot of the bed, ignoring the slow lowering of the weapon and gave a general glare somewhere between the two men on either side of the bed and over the top of Marquise, so that no one was his exact focus. “Marquise pulled off a particularly neat solution to get them into the caves overnight, which was all well and good then. Now we have to get them safely here. I’ve got techs working on the computer systems and swearing up a storm, and people working on the radios who hope to make a breakthrough any minute now, for at least ongoing localised transmissions. Its progress of a sort and I need to pick every brain I have access to, to get a viable idea on how to save those people. So give. Talk to me.” Hayden Giles blinked, non pulsed, then looked from Barker to Polnar, who looked just as lost, and back again. After a moment he blinked again, hesitating before he opened his mouth. “Give? Give what?” Good, that put them on the back foot and would hopefully distract them from thinking about his arrival. He flashed the man a look, noting the pain lines at the corners of his eyes, the haggard, drawn look of general exhaustion. If he looked half as bad as that… but no, best not to think it. “Give of your time and effort, and particularly of your imaginations, to get the job done… Or get your sorry ass into a bed and go to bloody sleep and get out of my hair.” He dropped his gaze and… Marquise was… twitching… All over. From his fingers to the toes and long legs beneath the sheet from the movement of the material, and all parts in between, he assumed. Contrary to the movements suggesting distress of some kind, the man’s face appeared to be relaxed, and beneath his eyelids his eyes moved. Small, jerky movements that normally Barker would assume meant the man was dreaming; and not exactly a restful dream he would have thought. He supposed it was alright to frown at Marquise, given both of the conscious men were watching him and would have noted where he was looking. But that was not to say he had to ask… at least not immediately. He did have priorities, after all. “Polnar, any ideas? I’m open to just about any suggestion that has an ounce of practicality giving it any substance.” “A couple, but how feasible they are is another matter. There’s the way we came in, but I doubt many, if any, would have sufficient resources to survive the trek. Another option would be the freight elevators up to the dome. We could clear those for use and use them to bring the survivors down into the base en mass. But that’s for later. It’s really the opening of the airlocks that is the real problem here. Given the elevators are trapped, I am concerned they may have not simply locked the airlocks computer systems. If they have trapped the airlocks, as well…? We’ll have to do a physical inspection and that too will take time to determine.” Barker grunted softly, acknowledging the truth of that speculation. Everything, every action they took, was going to take time. Time they did not have. “They have everything trapped,” Giles commented stretching cautiously and wincing from the protest of various aches and pains. “The cautious bastards didn’t overlook anything, believe me. I had time to have a quick look around before I met up with Marquise, and we saw enough in getting down here to know they would not overlook anything.” “I’m well aware of their expertise; possibly more aware than anyone here of their skill base. Their squad had a nasty reputation during the war, and what they did not rig up after they arrived, I venture to guess the advance force would have taken care of. And they are familiar enough with the systems to have crippled us quite effectively without killing us off one by one. I suppose the first thing we need to deal with are those traps on the freight elevators.” He considered both men, assessing their physical condition and discounting Giles from taking any active role in future proceedings. Still, just because he was physically incapable of assisting at present did not mean he was out of the picture. “I need to know how much experience you had in the Forces, gentlemen. Specifically, I need to know how much, if any, handling of explosives either of you have? This insertion team liked bombs, and they had the reputation for liking the more exotic varieties. I doubt they used the easy to defuse kind here. Fill my resources bucket with useful goodies so I can get together a bomb disposal team.” Both men exchanged looks, but neither spoke and he almost snarled; almost but not quite. Polnar appeared to be giving his partner the once over, assessing him physically as Barker himself had just done. They were professionals, he had to remember, and they would know enough to assess their own limitations. “Unfortunately, most of our Powder Monkeys are out in that work team. Those who are not are out with the survey team, but some of us have to have some useful experience we can draw on. There are people up in the dome itself we need to bring down to where it is safer, and I am hopeful some of them will have useful skills and fertile imaginations in a crisis. I need a think tank I can rely on in absentia, once the radios are up and working. Giles, you are not going to be exactly spry for a while, so you will be remaining here, but if you have the know-how, then I need to know.” He did not want to say that he needed to know how many people were alive in the upper base, and how many had been killed by the Sleeper group. He was almost afraid to find out, but there were, hopefully, survivors who might have the necessary skills to favour them in this situation. “I need to know everyone’s skills to best utilise our resources, so I’m circulating a list people are to fill in according to their skills, but word of mouth here will do for now. The list will eventually make its way here, but we are running out of time. Having said that more times than I am comfortable with, the fact remains it is true. Do either of you have any suggestions for how we can get those people inside the dome before they run out of air and power, excluding the use of the airlocks in the event we can’t disengage the locks? It’s not my preferred option to relocate the bombs from the elevators, or elsewhere, to blow an airlock. That would kill the use of the airlocks and potentially decompress the dome itself, but to be honest the techs are struggling to get on top of this virus.” Barker stretched slowly, painfully, trying to ignore his body's warnings that the need to rest was growing more urgent. Marquise stirred, startling them all as blue eyes snapped open and stared into the distance, seemingly not seeing anyone in the room. Barker twitched, almost moving to touch the man, but for some reason the twitch was all the action his body seemed capable of. For a long moment those ice blue eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling, then they closed and the man grunted softly, shuddering and after a moment Barker realised the twitching had ceased. Marquise eased himself a little higher in the bed, leaning heavily into the pillows supporting him and Giles winced as he leaned close to assist the man. “Take it slowly,” Giles admonished him. The blue eyes were on him, centred on him specifically. Marquise had not even looked at Giles or Polnar, and his face looked pale, almost bloodless. “Blow the Dome over the shuttle port, low, on the far side from the parent Dome. It will need to be large enough to fit the mobile suits into the shuttle bay. The suit pilots can use an unloading platform to convey groups safely down into the shuttle bay. That can be rigged up whilst we wait for them to reach the Dome and no time will be wasted.” Barker opened his mouth to comment about the absurdity and dangers of blowing enviro domes, but after a moment of charged silence closed it again. He was loathe to punch a hole in any of the domes, but the shuttle bay was an isolated habitat, joined to the Base Dome, yes, but totally self sufficient for systems support. Punching a hole there would not affect the Base Dome, and the airlock was relatively large and still usable, from what he had heard. They could shift a decent amount of people directly through to the sub level relatively quickly. “That might just work,” he murmured. Marquise grunted softly, staring up at the ceiling again, and there was something in those blue eyes that sent a shiver up Barker’s spine. That was happening too often for his liking in Marquise’s presence; it brought back memories of the war when his life had hung in the balance. This man was beyond dangerous. “Direct them to get two suits on the recharge system immediately they enter the shuttle bay. It will be easy enough to adapt the power supply to feed the suits' energy units; that can be done whilst they are in transit too, and they will be available for use when the other suits run out of power to complete the transfer. We need to get everyone inside the sub base, not into the Base Dome. You’ll need to get those explosive charges off the equipment lift to get those survivors in the Base Dome down here.” “I know it would be best to have everyone together if it is possible, but they’re safe enough up there. We can concentrate on prepping the shuttle dome for…” Polnar trailed off as he felt the weight of those eyes now looking at him. He seemed as uncomfortable with Marquise’s focus being on him as Barker had been. “They are safe… aren’t they?” Giles lightly touched the broad shoulder, drawing that intense stare to him. “What is it? Something has changed?” “Everyone needs to be underground before the sky falls.” Barker blinked. Too much. Way too much. He spun on his heel, striding toward the door. “Christ! I’m gonna go piss.”
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