NOVEL FROG Chapter Forty-Four: Prototype
Dr. Boyd leads N-Vorl to a large metal locker set into the wall of the employee lounge. A yellow sign on the locker reads: ‘Authorized Personnel Only. Any other use will result in criminal prosecution.’ Teresa motions to the locker with a dramatic wave of her hand.
“Now, if you will be so kind as to shoot the lock off with your nifty shoulder gun…We can implement stage one,” Teresa says with a grin.
She is barely able to make out N-Vorl’s face in the dim light of the room, but she can discern the soft clicking of his mandibles. The enormous yautja aims his shoulder cannon at the locking mechanism and fires. The locker’s metal door flies off with a shower of sparks. Teresa shields her face from the brightness and glances back at the now open locker. She springs forward, once the heat has subsided, and rummages through the locker.
Tucked inside the locker are various forms of weapons and explosives. Orville rifles, Harr rifles, a couple of M1 rifles, blocks of an experimental explosive substance called metracite, and other explosives. Teresa looks over one shoulder at N-Vorl.
“The company ordered these weapons stored in here in case we were ever boarded and needed to put down a few enemies. The goal would be to get as many out and head for the escape pods. Leaving nothing of the ship behind. What the company didn’t count on was Chief Engineer Theodore McAvoy. As much as I hated that man…He knew his way around a ship. Disabling the ship’s primary systems and security…Was probably like a walk in the park for him. No one who knew this arsenal was here…With the exception of Security Chief Crews…Made it back to this part of the ship before your group arrived.”
What Dr. Boyd conveniently forgets to include in her explanation, is a nagging theory that Security Chief Crews may have returned in an effort to save her. However, by that time, she and Bess had already left the labs. Looking for him.
Teresa grabs a few blocks of metracite and a detonator. She hands them to N-Vorl. She makes sure to gently touch his hand as she passes him the materials.
“You see? If I’d wanted you dead, N-Vorl…I could have done it a long time ago,” Teresa says with a sly grin. “Pretty much since Day One. Except for one teensy weensy problem. The company never bothered to give me security clearance to open the damn locker. How silly of them. By the time I managed to get this thing open....My mini-war would have been over before it was waged. I'm not that suicidal."
Teresa chews on her inner jaw and gazes briefly into space. She can almost feel Security Chief Crews' hand gently sliding under her chin. She issues a tiny sigh before continuing.
"In truth, I wasn't supposed to know these weapons even exist. Something about: 'making sure I didn't prematurely terminate any test subjects'. Guess the people in charge were worried I might get cold feet. But, the security chief and I were...Rather close. He wanted me to know I was safe and in good hands. Looking through our saboteur’s work logs…I don’t think he knew the weapons were here either. Oh well. Time to put all that awesome yautja engineering I keep hearing about to good use. There are two…Possibly three main hives. One in communications…One in the habitat wing…And one in the transport hangar. The transport hangar is our way out. We set charges strategically around the ship. We hit the habitat wing first, then communications, then the transport hangar.”
Teresa grips N-Vorl’s arm and strokes the closed lid of his wrist device. She studies the intricate patterns on its surface--wishing she had time to examine the device in more detail.
“We’ll save this puppy till the end,” she says meeting his gaze. “Just in case things get too hot!”
P’taal and Glotis stride confidently into the lounge. Glotis’ net gun and combistick are ready for action. P’taal’s shoulder cannon angles looking for a target. When they see it is only N-Vorl and Dr. Boyd in the room; the two combatants calm down a little. Teresa is grateful for the dim light enveloping the room. Even though, she is sure that the masked P’taal can see her hands just fine. Via his infrared interface.
“These abominations cannot be allowed to live,” N-Vorl says. His voice is unwavering and strong. “We are going to destroy the ooman ship!”
Even in the darkness of the room, Dr. Boyd can sense the fury that ripples through Glotis.
“What do you mean, destroy the ship? My resear—,” Glotis begins.
N-Vorl cuts her off with a raised clawed hand.
“Enough, Glotis! With Elder Glandis presumed dead, and Mau-Nis injured…I am in charge of the clan. What is left of it,” N-Vorl growls. “We both know the only reason you took this assignment was to be closer to P’taal. Elder Glandis…Your brother…My uncle...Turned a blind eye because he knew the affair would end once you were married. He trusted you would do your duty. But you have had your time together. Let us now leave. What creatures manage to escape to the planet’s surface will live to create more. But the ones aboard this ship must be cleansed. I owe Elder Glandis that much.”
Glotis is still quite unhappy. She nods and then storms angrily from the lounge. Teresa returns to the burnt locker and removes several rifles. She glances at the flamethrower she and Harold worked so hard on together. It leans against a chair several feet away. She blinks rapidly and turns away, wiping a large tear from the corner of one eye.
N-Vorl and P’taal turn to leave. Teresa calls to them from her place kneeling before the locker.
“The power outage…,” Teresa utters. “It isn’t due to any loss of power caused by the disturbance. I think this is a deliberate act. They’re on the move again. They probably sense the other Judases here in the lab. There's a war going on....And we're right in the middle of it. That's why Glandis never made it off of this ship. They're coming."
N-Vorl’s chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing. He and P’taal exchange a glance and N-Vorl nods decisively. The new leader’s mandibles click open and shut with his growing excitement.
“Very well,” he says. “Let them come.”
With those words, P’taal and N-Vorl exit the lounge.
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Lab Room One
Glotis practically storms into the quarters she and P'taal now share. Glancing around the room, Glotis considers destroying every single remnant of ooman existence present in the makeshift living space. She casually removes her combistick from where it is attached to her belt. Extending the destructive metal tool to its full length, Glotis clenches her teeth and releases a low growl.
P'taal's appearance in the room causes Glotis to reconsider her violent tantrum. For P'taal to see her in such a crazed state would not be ideal.
Despite his enormous size, P'taal moves calmly and gracefully toward his stricken lover. He cradles her face in his large hands. Glotis glares at him with more love than contempt.
"Why did you choose to stay behind, P'taal?" Glotis challenges him. "You could have left with the others. Why stay to protect the ooman female? Do not feed me the lie about honor. I know about honor. This is something else. Has she turned your mind as well?"
P'taal's brow creases and he tilts his head inquisitively.
"I do not understand," P'taal says.
Glotis refuses to be consoled. She removes P'taal's hands from her face and turns away from him. P'taal stares at her back with a pained expression.
"Do you not see the way N-Vorl looks at her? The ooman?" Glotis hisses. "And the way she looks at him? When she believes no one is watching. Something has changed between them. Has the same happened to you?"
Glotis whirls to face P'taal. She is surprised to find him actually smiling. The large warrior steps forward and once again takes Glotis' face between his hands.
"Is that what all of your anger is about?" P'taal teases.
Pressing his forehead to Glotis', P'taal peers deep into her eyes.
"I will never love another as I have loved you," P'taal says. "Were you not fated to join with another....I would fill our house with the voices of many descendants."
Glotis laughs half-heartedly. The rest of her heart simply isn't in the joke. P'taal is the love of her life. Her only true love. Nothing will ever change that.
"The ooman doctor did nothing to sway my decision," P'taal continues. "When I first elected to stay behind....It was because I suspected we would be forced to engage the Judases in battle. It seemed inevitable. I wanted to fight and die with honor. The thought of living without you....Was too great a burden. It was the ooman who changed my mind. She wishes we had not stayed as well. She cares for your welfare, Glotis. She has said: 'It is better to live with a memory....Than to become one.'"
P'taal grips one of Glotis' hands and presses it to his mouth. Glotis meets his gaze with pain-filled eyes.
"I will always remember the times we had together," P'taal says reassuringly. "I refuse to burden you with the memory of my death. If it is within my power....I will help to defeat this enemy which has murdered our esteemed elder. Your brother. And I will live. Maybe we will find each other again."
Glotis' eyelids perform a slow blink and she takes a deep breath. P'taal rubs his right cheek against her left one. Glotis chitters with both sadness and agitation. Closing his eyes, P'taal draws Glotis into a tight embrace.
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Teresa crosses to the med pod and hovers over Mau-Nis. The injured yautja is coming around somewhat. Approximately thirty minutes before, Teresa ordered the med pod to stop administering painkillers, and Mau-Nis is gradually becoming more and more alert.
“How do you feel,” Dr. Boyd says. She strokes Mau-Nis’ head with a sweat-moistened hand, concern etched on her face.
Mau-Nis remembers his absent limb this time and slowly rises to a sitting position inside the med pod. He stares down at where his arm once was for a brief moment, and then turns to Teresa.
“I feel as if I am only half the yautja I was yesterday,” the warrior says in a voice filled with bittersweet melancholy.
Teresa sits down on the nearby table and raises up both arms. In her hands is grasped a bulky weapon, attached to a black heavy duty battle harness. She offers the weapon to Mau-Nis with a saddened expression.
“I know you’ve been through so much, Mau-Nis…But it’s not over yet. We’re pretty sure the Judases are planning to overrun this part of the ship. We’ve got a plan. We’re going to need everyone packing heat. Seeing as how you no longer have your shoulder weapon....I thought you might appreciate a replacement.”
The injured yautja actually manages a wide smile.
“You do not need to beg me to kill the enemy who slaughtered my elder,” Mau-Nis says, confirming what was, up till now, only a suspicion. “I am honored to go back into battle.”
Climbing to her feet, Teresa helps Mau-Nis into the battle harness—attaching the metallic weapon to where his arm formally took up residence. Teresa explains the basics of the weapon while securing it to the yautja’s muscular body.
“It works with a neural interface,” Teresa says. She positions the thin eyepiece in front of Mau-Nis’ right eye, and attaches an electrode to the side of his head. “It shouldn't interfere with your mask. Just look at what you want to shoot at, and give the command.”
Mau-Nis nods, as Dr. Boyd finishes attaching various pieces of the harness to his body. Teresa completes her work and backs away—peering at Mau-Nis with admiration.
“The battle harness belonged to an ex-colonial marine buddy of mine,” Teresa explains. “Richard lost his arm fighting on New Vegas. Retired soon after. He was part of the civilian security team in charge of the labs. He was killed by the Judases. I’m guessing…Right after they escaped. It was his body we found torn apart next to the security desk. Never thought we’d have a reason to use that Mech-gun harness. It’s only a prototype. It's never actually been used in battle. Which means, you get to take her out on her maiden voyage.”
Mau-Nis nods again, but there is a peculiar gleam in his eyes.
“Thank you,” the brave yautja says.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Teresa teases. A wry smile creeping onto her face. “I don’t have time to properly train you on this thing. You’re about to get the crash course.”