Lieutenant Commander Delilah Medina MD
EDF Atlas Slums

As she sat in front of the video log, lieutenant commander Delilah Medina sighed, leaning forward to grab her long wavy brown hair to tie it into a nonchalant side pony-tail underneath her left ear. Adjusting herself in her seat so that she had proper posture the soldier shuffled papers in her lap, exhaled, and began the video log.

“This is lieutenant commander Delilah Medina of the EDF Atlas. This is video log 9851-A regarding the assigned task of holding a press conference between ship personnel and the Terran refugees currently residing in the ships sl-“ she paused to cough. “Sorry, cargo bay. The complete number of refugees is two thousand, four hundred and thirty two persons, of those three hundred and twenty three are children, on thousand and eighteen are women and the remaining one thousand and ninety-one are men. I was apart of a documentation and immunization process of all refugees in the initial days that they were aboard the ship as is protocol and EDF policy. Five days after the inoculation process was complete I was assigned by Captain Ramirez to survey growing unrest within the refugee population and to address it as I saw fit. A civilian doctor by the name of Bernadette Adams at the time had been working with the population and seeing to medical issues that had arisen since EDF medical crews were called away. Staff Seargent Lively escorted me into the Cargo Bay shortly after I was given the task and I immediately began to organize a question and answer forum between myself and the people. I assigned Dr. Adams, as she knew the population better than I did, to collect twelve representative persons of the population who were then asked to compile a series of questions that I would then answer in English, French and Spanish in my attempts to break through any existing linguistic barriers. Within an hour I had a stage and the Cargo Bay projection system on line.”

“The representatives were nine in total and asked myself questions in the following sequence, first Senator James O’Brien, second Dr. Bernadette Adams herself, third Jonathon Holland, a military veteran of an unknown group, Jessica Thornton, mother of two, Doctor William Keller and Nurse Harriet Perkins, associates of Dr. Adams. Then came Keith Evans, father of two and teenager Leanne Taylor. Last and though not a direct correspondent was Rick Warren. The former nine are all documented while Rick appears to not have be apart of the inoculation process. This concerns me however to get to the point.”

“The conference itself was as fluid as possible all things considered,” Delilah sighed, leaning forward onto the ledge in front of the video log camera. She exhaled and brought her hands to her forehead. She was beyond exhausted at this point. The stress of handling some two thousand people, most of which seemed well and ready to hang her effigy, was taking its toll. Sniffing her nose back she pursed her lips, forcing herself to remember the events as best as she could. Describing them was somewhat painful due to the fact that so little progress seemed to have been made now days later.

* * *

“Without further ado, Senator. Let us begin,” she announced through the system. Within thirty seconds the projection screen flashed her words in black, red and blue, in English, Spanish and French. She prayed Bernadette’s needs with satiated for the time being.

“Thank-you Ms. Medina,” the Senator cajoled, holding the microphone tightly in his hand and eying her wearily. “My name is Senator James O’Brien of the Karas system. As a politician I am very used to being a representative of the masses.”

“It pleases me to have you here Senator,” Delilah fibbed. Politicians had always been the bane of her existence due to the way they turned to turn their noses up at personnel in uniform. They were the ones who often stereotyped the EDF profession the worst, if it wasn’t the media. Worse yet they tended to paint the military as a belligerent force. If she answered his question poorly chances were the Senator was a good speaker who could rally the people into doing some serious damage. She treaded lightly as a result, smiling and pushing a few loose strands of hair from her face.

“Now as a politician I believe in representation. Is it possible to have a regular representative of our population liaise on a regular basis with the executive of the personnel on the Atlas?”

Delilah swallowed, nodding and thinking quickly. Ramirez would have her head for this one but she had to be reasonable. “I think that’s a very good question Senator. As of this moment we currently have a typical structure of commanding personnel in charge of the EDF Atlas. Our Commanding Officer is Captain Elena Ramirez and you have heard form her before as she was the one who committed herself to the ship wide broadcast of our situation not too long ago. I’m sure that she would be willing to entertain a brief counsel on a regular basis, time permitting, of a representative of the population.”

The senator nodded, stepping back into line with his nostrils flaring proudly. He seemed to assume that such a position would be his. Delilah smiled and licked her lips, looking straight to Dr. Adams. Bernadette stepped forward.

“Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Bernadette Adams. Out of concern for the welfare of the people here and the conditions in which we live, is there any way we can have access to the ship’s medical facilities?”

Kill me now, Delilah thought. Though in all honesty there was more than one medical bay on board, the largest and busiest was the one under her control. Her staff were already working with wounded soldiers who had somehow gotten themselves into a shitton of trouble, not even to mention the Alien still in residence there speaking to Intel as best it could through an improvised Morse code system.

“The EDF Atlas is currently equipped with three fully function medical bay facilities, the largest is under my control. I speak with a willingness to help those in ailing condition. As this point I am currently responsible for the welfare of the sixteen hundred crew and EDF personnel along with over two thousand of you. We began with our inoculation program of which all of you were apart. I will after this forum delegate some of my personnel who, along with myself, will conduct rounds within your midst to ensure that those with pressing medical needs are helped. No person should suffer and I won’t let it happen on my watch. I assure you that the medical facilities within the EDF are already being put to use by your population.”

She had already doled out such large quantities of drugs that they were severely strapped. They were equipped to handle so many ill. Disease was so different than a laceration. She was more than ready to help the bleeding and battered, not sniffling noses and fevers. But that said Delilah knew that as a doctor she did have an oath to help those in need of medical care and as such it would be contrary to that profession for her to deny these people the help she could provide. Since Ramirez had clearly told her that THIS was now her priority she would be living here instead of in the medical bay like normal.

“Can we access any of the other parts of the ship at all?” Bernadette added. Delilah ran a hand through her hair. “EDF protocol is not truly equipped to deal with our situation. At the moment none of you are cleared to move beyond the Cargo Bay holdings.” At once the crowd began to fuss. “HOWEVER,” Delilah enunciated, her voice loud and quelling the discontent. “Exceptions will be made. I will have to discuss with the Captain just what areas are potentially open to civilians and I will report back to you within twenty-four hours what those are.”

The sad thing was, now in the future she knew exactly what the answer was: it was out of the question. Civilians and personnel would conflict. They had no social areas. The mess hall was small. Lord knows what would happen if they wandered into Engineering. It was all so tricky.

Next was Jonathon Holland who stepped forward with a slight limp to his step. Delilah smiled at him too, though already unnerved.

“As a man who served and one of many able people here, I speak the minds of many when I ask if there’s anything that those of a more professional background could do to help the military.”

“At the moment I cannot think of anything else but to remain calm and patient. I know this sounds tedious Mr. Holland but EDF protocol does not permit a civilian to randomly become associated with service. I hate to sound repetitive in saying protocol says x, or y or z, but it’s stipulated that I conduct this forum in such a way. I appreciate your concern Mr. Holland, and thank-you.”

The questions that came after seemed to drag on. At once the mother, Jessica Thornton seemed to break into tears as she asked whether or not they could go home.

“Mrs. Thornton none of us are currently capable of going home,” Delilah replied bluntly. The shock generated immediate outrage and the woman wailed. “I pride myself on honesty Mrs. Thornton. The jump gate that we knew of to the Karas System, where we are now, as I have stated was destroyed behind us. As of this moment we’re in search of contact and another gate on the edge of the system."

It seemed to get worse from there. Was there any way of contact the other ships at all? My daughters were on another ship. The woman shrieked when Delilah honestly replied that they had no contact at the moment with other ships, as had been stated by the Captain earlier.

Nurse Perkins was next to ask if there would be food, blankets and water supplied to raise the level of comfort for those in the slums. Delilah immediately thought of her own hard mattress and recognized that few people designated such a bed as comfortable. She replied that they would dole out what supplies they had on hand provided that people would receive them in an orderly fashion. Last Delilah knew they did have enough, but they didn’t exactly have extra for those who wanted them.

Next she was asked what their status was? Delilah stated that they were persons designated as refugees. That didn’t exactly go over well either.
Next the father asked if families could have a partitioned area in which to live. Delilah looked out into the crowd understanding immediately that there was a considerable number of children. Delilah stated that they could cluster themselves so long as those currently inhabiting the area they wanted were fully willing to move. It would create obvious problems if those people were unwilling and so she stressed that it would be best if they stayed where they were. Comfort was coming.

It went on and on. At the end of three hours after Delilah had been exhausted and the audience was restless from where they were standing and sitting she ended it. They wanted blankets. They wanted food. They wanted respect. They wanted to run this goddamn ship. They wanted all the supplies for themselves. They wanted everything. The whole frickin’ world. Her patience was diminished when she stepped off the stage. She was dizzy and dehydrated. Immediately she was escorted out by two of the male marines guarding the doors. One thing she knew, however, was that their own personnel were far more likely to be reasonable when it came to dealing with shortages in supplies. But the idea of shortchanging the military personnel for the comfort of civilians unnerved her. What if they went into battle and had doled out every mattress from personal quarters to the civilians? A sleepy set of pilots with twisted necks and sore backs were far from fit for battle. These people had to be reasonable. She had to find some middle ground and understanding by these people. She’d done her best to be honest. Ramirez probably wouldn’t be happy. Goddamn she felt broken, so emotional at this point. Delilah had already retained her temper but now she was just on edge and ready to snap.

* * *

"At the conclusion of the forum I was escorted upstairs. I checked myself into the medical bay for dehydration and was treated with saline. I proceeded shortly after to the mess hall, ate, and then completed the formal report which has since been submitted for the Captain's viewing."

At that point she paused, recognizing just how long the affair at taken her to recount. She watched the clock run in the corner of the camera for a moment before sighing again. "These people," she noted, speaking on a personal basis. Her tone changed and her voice seemed to break as she started. "Don't socialize with the military often. I'm not sure what they seem to expect from me. I'm far from the stereotypical cadet but I am also far from a refugee. I'm fighting to put myself in their position. It disheartens me. I know that I would be just as outraged in their position. But as a lieutenant commander I am beyond frustrated because they don't seem capable of listening. I must have answered the same questions three times."

Her lip trembled and she ran her hands through her hair again. By now most of her hair had fallen out of her ponytail and she looked disheveled. She sniffed her nose and felt the burning behind her eyes of coming tears. "I hate being frustrated," she stated. "If I have to give these people every mattress on this ship, every blanket, every pillow then so be it but I will not compromise the integrity of our crew and future operations."

Lieutenant Commander Delilah Medina MD
EDF Atlas Slums

“Mama?”
“You embarrassed me Delilah. You made an absolute FOOL out of me.”

She was small then, so small. No more than four feet tall, she looked up and into her mother’s heated gaze only to be wounded by it. Her lip trembled. She couldn’t help it. The woman did not step down. In fact she sneered, tossing her long dark hair back over her shoulder and whipping her hand through the air. When it smacked her face she didn’t see it coming. Delilah’s head spun to the left and she breath flew out of her lungs. She couldn’t help but cry at the immediate sting from the hit. Nothing braced her for the second one.

“Don’t you dare cry!”

She came at her again. Delilah crumbled, bringing her hands up to shield her face as she began to wail. “Mama please! I didn’t mean it!”

No amount of words could stop the hellfire of her step-mother. The woman brought her fist down on her back so forcefully that Delilah’s legs flew out underneath her. Defensively she tucked her head and legs in, taking the beating as the kicks started.

“You beastly child! You will rot in hell! Yes you will!”

“Mama please, please please!”

When she woke up it was with a start. Delilah inhaled sharply and felt her eyes burn with tears. She sniffed her nose and was startled as she was no longer being beaten but thrown in her bed from the force of an actual blast. Almost immediately her pager began to buzz next to her cot. It took her a moment to register the room and time. She’d taken up a bed in the stock room in her medical bay out of exhaustion. The video log machine was still open on the desk. What had it been? She checked her watch. Six hours. As she sat up and searched for her combat boots she fought vertigo and nausea. Her body was still reeling. She reached for a bottle of water under her cot, pulling back the lid and downing half of it without thinking twice. With the water came a clearer head. She exhaled deeply and rubbed her temples, breathing through her mouth for a short time before standing and grabbing an emergency kit. The pager was reading 9-1-1 emergency, meaning they were facing casualties.

As she stepped out of the dispensary she was face to face with her staff, all of which seemed confused. All at once their pagers seemed to go off. The mass of then looked immediately to their hips, checking the archaic devices with curiosity. They seemed just as confused about the blast as she did.

“What? Explosion? In the main hanger?” lieutenant Nadine Dawes said, her eyebrows knitting together as Delilah began to delegate.

“I need five of you to set up triage here, the rest of you head down to the hanger immediately. Bring kits. If it’s the hanger we’re probably dealing with chemical burns and blood. Be prepared. I want you to bring the collapsible stretchers too to get those people up here as soon as possible. We’re working on the fly people. We’ve handled worse,” she barked out. The orders flew off her tongue without a second thought. Her staff immediately nodded, turning to garb themselves up in sterilized gowns before quite literally running from the bay.

As she stood there, watching as her staff wove around each other, her hearing began to scream and she zoned out. She could hear her breathing in her own ears, her heart drumming with adrenalin. As her staff addressed each other their voices became long drawn out syllables. Delilah blinked twice, feeling that her mouth was dry and yet her body sweaty. She dropped her kit on the floor, turning immediately to a prepared triage cart by the closest gurney. She pulled out the third drawer and knowingly pulled a pre-loaded syringe from the cart. Hiking back her lab-coat and without thinking pulling down the waistband of her pants, she jammed the needle into her thigh, watching as she shakily pushed the plunger down. Now was not the time to be caught in an unhappy position. At once her heart surged and the ringing in her ears stopped. She gasped and fought to breathe as her heart raced. The adrenalin kicked in and she discarded the empty syringe in a waste bucket. Her staff watched her with concern but knew that they were not in any position to question her. She moved quickly from the hall, swallowing deeply as she headed out into the throng.

The chaos as she forced her way past the lifts to the stairs had her thrown into the shoulders of many. Delilah fought against the crowds who all seemed to surge in a direction that went counter to where she wanted to go. She needed to descend beyond the medical bay deck and into the guts of the ship. The jostling had her jarred. She took an elbow to the chin and immediately her head whirled to the left. She was breathless, just like the hit in her dream, and when she finally get the doors to the stairwell she threw herself down them.

Her feet skid over top of the first steps and landed with a resonating thud on the platform before the next set. Her knees vibrated with her weight and she raised her head forward, looking to where she needed to go. Again she took the stairs five at a time, springing over them and looking to the ground where she would land. Her left arm was extended behind her, her right on the rail, the kid dangling form her left fingers behind her. She moved with the grace of a well trained soldier, pushing her way along five flights before she reached the main hangars. Some of her crew were already in place.

“Lieutenant Samson, report!” she shouted upon the sight of her blond haired companion. He’d helped her on many surgeries on deck and was a handy doctor, very deserving of a promotion. “Ma’am, we have at least fifteen down with second degree burns. One pilot took the brunt of it. She’s in the back. We’re trying to stave off shock.”

“Who was it?” she asked, knowing immediately that she would be sicking her plastics and burn wards on the woman. At the same time she would also be helping if she was no needed elsewhere.

Blades Ma’am,” he responded, his eyebrows knitting together unhappily. He shook his head before kneeling before a wounded engineer and checking his pupils with a penlight.

Delilah’s head swirled, eying personnel and following the burn patterns from the explosion across the floor. It was a concentrated blast, the markings etched in such a way to suggest that they extended outwards from a single source. She was surprised when she saw the lines as they were. Nothing was still burning which meant that it wasn’t a fuel line explosion but a concentrated…weapon? No…

As she pushed her way through the chaos she found her way towards the main bird. She stared up at the machine before kneeling near a mess of blood and bones close to it. She dropped her kit and slapped on a pair of latex gloves, the snap not drawing her attention away from anything but what was before her. She was careful not to step in the main pile of bodily remains but rather quickly started picking through it. Her hands found what she suspected, a mess of wires and residual plastic that had been used to construct a bomb. Closing her eyes she rose to stand, taking her gloves off inside out and throwing her eyes to gaze across the room. The perpetrator was dead. Blades was in shock, and supposedly closest to it all. She would be asking the woman questions later. But for now she had further concerns. She moved beyond the chaos of doctors treating patients to a communication line to the bridge. She dialed urgently, swallowing as she was answered by a lower level linguist.

“This is lieutenant commander Delilah Medina, I need a location on the Captain NOW,” she said urgently, sweat gathering on her eyebrows as she continued to survey her people at work. So many injured. They’d surely be out of supplies within the week at the rate these people were turning up. “She was reported in the Cargo Bay,” the woman responded. Delilah shook her head, hanging up before tearing off, yelling back over her shoulder, "Page me if it's essential, get everyone back upstairs. Spread them out."

When she got there is was far more chaotic. In approaching the steel enforced doors she was met with fully armed marines. “What’s the meaning of this?” she asked. Her heart was louder in her ears than anything else. Her body was thrumming with energy. She needed to keep moving. She had to get to the captain.

“We’ve been told there’s a disturbance inside.”

“There’s always a bloody disturbance with these people. Let me through! That’s an order!” she shouted. The held their guns across their chest defensively. Delilah stared at them with the full intensity of her ferocity. The one marine gasped, turning to look at the other.

“Open the door, a pinch. I’m tiny. I squeeze through, you slam it shut behind me. I’ll walkie you if it gets worse,” she said, opening her kit to pull archaic looking radios from within it. One stifled a laugh but she thrust it at him on the right channel.

The second moved slowly, unlocking the door methodically before turning to her, eyebrows raised.

“I’m ready!” she said, standing near to it. The moment they opened the door she shot through, forcing back anyone near to her and closing her eyes in the process. Behind her the door slammed. Holding her kit close in both of her arms she opened her eyes, suddenly taken aback as a sawed off shotgun was an inch from her nose. "Captain?" she asked lowly, her voice cutting through near silence throughout the expansive area.

Lieutenant Commander Delilah Medina MD
EDF Atlas Slums

Delilah clung to her medical pack, her eyes wide and her flustered expression melting into nothing. The doctor could feel her nails digging into thick nylon mesh, how it eventually had no give and began to burn at her skin. Her body was rigid, her chin held high and her pulse beating heavily in her ears. Adrenaline ensured that her stiff knees and shoulders didn’t protest their aggravation. Breathing heavily, she could see her hot breath catch the barrel of the shotgun. Her eyes were so attentive that she could see the metal catch the mist, changing colors and then fading within seconds in a repeated pattern with each exhale.

"Hello, beautiful," the gun wielder sneered. Delilah simply stared back at him, her arms shifting. As the pack moved in her arms she saw the fear in the company then men held. Another gun shifted, and others stepped back. He seemed to be the only one able to stare her down. The others were apprehensive. They didn’t know what they were doing, many of them far from trained how to hold a gun. She could see their lazy posture, the unsure quality of her stance. She could see the hesitation in their muscles, how their shoulders grew tired from holding the weapons extended improperly. When her eyes returned to take in her hostage taker, the lieutenant commander immediately recognized the clothes he wore as part of the supplies doled out to refugees within the first few nights. She’d handed those out during the immunization process. Her upper lip twitched. He was a civilian. Did they really believe it was so easy to fly a ship like this? To run it? She wanted to see them drive themselves into the ground, kill themselves. No one would know their cause. They were alone for God’s sake! They would die and so would their cause!

His clothes looked to be second-hand fatigues that had been passed out during part of the relief effort, his hair longer than any military man would have been allowed to keep. A small gap between his two front teeth appeared prominent as he smiled down the weapon at the officer he'd caught trying to sneak into the Cargo Bay.

"Had a feeling I'd have more trouble keeping people from getting out, not trying to sneak into this party," he chuckled. His hair, the graying wisps that seemed to move with his body, showed his age. She could see the yellowing in his skin and lips from prolonged tobacco use. She saw his nails, how they were chewed and bitten back, black at the ends. He held the shotgun incorrectly, bearing down at her as if to impose it on her. She was impatient to have some idiot think he could hold a gun like that. It annoyed her. Call it a pet peeve.

"Boss, got another one!" He said, eyes training on the grey-haired man standing on the platform. He turned and in that moment she knew she was dealing with idiotic refugees who felt they were militant when they surely weren’t. With his attention off her for a second she took hold of her chance, dropping the medical bag and thrusting her knee up into his chest. She grabbed hold of his shoulders viciously, driving her leg up into his kidneys. As he bent forward her arms grabbed the shotgun and slammed it up into his jaw. All in one moment he was thrust down and back. His chin whipped back with a sickening crunch and he couldn’t prevent himself from flying back into the railing. His body couldn’t stop itself. It rolled over the railing, falling a few feet into a crowd of unsure people. Women immediately screamed. Further guns were trained on her but Delilah turned, throwing the butt of the shotgun into the collarbone of a young man who had a small handgun trained on her. She heard his body give way of all air. He slammed to the ground and his gun clattered away. Delilah swatted at it with her foot, grabbed it and trained the shotgun on anyone in her vicinity.

“If you’re going to hold a gun to my head, do it properly,” she snarled. The men surrounding her stepped back, but held their ground. “Captain, a medium grade explosive was detonated by a suicide bomber in the hanger,” she shouted, hoping her words would reach Ramirez in the crowd. “Code white has been issued,” she added, knowing the words would be held in understanding. She meant to say that no irreparable damage had been made and casualties, dead and wounded, were under 10 in number. White was a good color to shout. Their audience may think otherwise.

Lieutenant Commander Delilah Medina M.D.
EDF Atlas Slums

She was at attention and yet she wasn’t. Delilah could hear her heart beat in her ears and the moans of the decapitated man behind her were fluid and blurred together. For a second she tuned back into her body, feeling the strain in her right knee of her stance. The ground weighed heavily under her feet as she kept herself in a firm position. Her feet were just wider than shoulder width apart, her heels wider than her toes. Her back was straight and her eyes continuously scanned the men who made moves to surround her. Only her heart was racing. As she checked in with herself, her attention returned to the movement of the men around her. She heard the shuffling of one behind her and immediately she pivoted on her left heel, the movement fluid given her light frame. She aimed her gun up at him, the barrel catching under his chin. She heard him inhale sharply and watched as he stepped back, her hawkish glance making him cast his eyes down. Wimp.

"Here's how this is going to work," the silver-haired man spoke, lifting his voice so that there would be no lack of clarity in Medina's ears. "Drop that weapon and give up the little fight you've got going on or I put a bullet between your captain's eyes. And that's just for starters."

The sidearm in his hands gave true aim directly at the stoic commanding officer.

"Put that weapon down. Every second you spend fighting back is a second that you're killing someone else.

How many officers did they have down here? As her eyes scanned the crowds she saw more worried faces than angry ones. As she counted weapons, she saw more of the homemade variety than formal guns. But of course the guns were in the hands of those who appeared the most aggravated. Her stomach churned as she found them severely outnumbered. It was at least 100 to 2 and the captain herself was currently in the hands of the rebels.

Medina lowered her weapon and turned to face him, stepping towards the end of the platform of stairs. She shifted her fingers wearily, feeling the give of the trigger. “What do you intend to do? Fly this ship? Handle the 1000 officers beyond this hold? We are in the middle of fucking nowhere! No response from command! We’re in enemy territory. We’ll all die and no one will care. No one will know. If you fully expect to seize this ship and then command it with your sorry lot you are sorely mistaken. They could just as easily open the hold and dump us all out. All of us. Including the innocents, which there are clearly more of than you.”

As she uttered that threat she looked into the corner of the doorframe behind her, spying the small black bead sized camera taking video and sound surveillance of the region. “I give permission to Lieutenant Colonel Kaito, interim Captain, permission to do so.”

And with that she tilted the weapon in her hands up into the air, her hands working meticulously to break it down into as few pieces as possible, scattering them on the ground as she held her hands up in the air in surrender.

EDF Atlas CIC

"What do you intend to do? Fly this ship? Handle the 1000 officers beyond this hold? We are in the middle of fucking nowhere! No response from commander! We’re in enemy territory. We’ll all die and no one will care. No one will know. If you fully expect to seize this ship and then command it with your sorry lot you are sorely mistaken. They could just as easily open the hold and dump us all out. All of us. Including the innocents, which there are more of than you.”

The static-burst sight and sound of the young medical officer filled the CIC as the bridge officers watched with bated breath. As Medina released her weapon, she was immediately charged and secured by two men none too please with her show of heroics thus far.

"Fool girl is going to get herself killed," someone muttered from behind a dark panel in the CIC.

"If they were going to shoot Medina, they would have done so the first time she took down one of their men," Narita responded with a gruff smile. As much as he and the ship's chief medical officer dressed one another down and as much as he personally would like to take a swing at the woman, he had to admit that she would have made on hell of a Marine.

"Make a log entry. Effective immediately, I am declaring that Captain Ramirez is incapacitated and am hereby taking command of the Atlas. Note the time."

"Aye, sir."


-------------------------------------------------------------

Cargo Bay Slums

"Glad you could join us, doctor," Ramirez spoke. The area that had once served as the makeshift civilian medical clinic for the Slums was now used as a convenient way to hide away the high-profile hostages used in the impromptu attempt to take over the ship. Zip-ties bound hands together. If there was a way to escape, it certainly was doing a good job of hiding itself.

"Mr. Heldane took tough blow to the head. Lost some blood," the captain said, her eyes drifting between the crewman who'd accompanied her down into the Bay and the small exit to the curtain-enclosed area to which they'd be relegated. Two guards, both armed, including the one who'd taken the gunshot that claimed the life of a civilian, the body just on the other side of the curtain before being dragged away.

Somewhere beyond the curtain, a phone rang. The silver-haired man took measured steps toward the ringing device, making sure that his team shifted in position to compensate before he answered.

"Speak."

"This is Lt. Col. Narita. I demand to speak to the person in charge."

"You are speaking with me, Colonel."

"Very well. You know my name. Who are you?"

"You can call me Perses for now."

"The Titan of Destruction. Amusing. Very well, Perses. You are illegally holding members of my crew. I demand that you release the personnel immediately."

"You and I both know that I'm not going to do that, Colonel. Not until I get what I want from you."

"You and your crew are in an indefensible location with not alternate route of egress and surrounded by lots of very angry Marines. You aren't exactly in a position of power."

"Shame, shame, Colonel. Did you really think that the little rumble on your Flight Deck was an isolated incident?"

"You're bluffing."

"Let's test that assumption, shall we?"

Seconds later, fire alarms begin to light on the board in the CIC, causing one of the duty officers to bolt from her position and nearly trip down the stairs as she reported to Narita.

"Sir, a fire just broke out in secondary atmospheric control. I was able to shut down the system, but it's going to be offline for a while now."

Slowly, Narita raised the CIC phone back to his ear and caught the phone on the other end again.

"That was just a baby. His big brothers are attached to your engines, fire control systems, and maybe even one right under where you are standing. This is the part, Colonel, where you ask me my demands."

"...I'm listening."

"I want a group of Boomers large enough to take a group of 30 men down to the surface, packed with weapons and supplies. I want them waiting in your auxiliary hangar and ready to go within three hours, otherwise you find that your position commanding this ship becomes permanent and your first duty will be to explain the deaths of a whole bunch of civilians."

"That doesn't give us much time. I'll see what I can do."

"You do that, Colonel, and maybe I'll see about keeping these people alive while I'm waiting. Just don't make me wait too long."

With that, the silver-haired man hung up the phone and nodded to one of his associates, who took his position as the leader walked into the curtain-enclosed area and tossed a small medical kit down on the floor between Heldane and Medina.

"That should be everything that you need to patch him up," he said with a surprising sense of sympathy. "We aren't monsters, you see."

-------------------------------------------------------------

EDF Atlas CIC

Invoking the image of his predecessor, Narita pinched the bridge of his nose softly as he contemplated his options in silence. After a few seconds, he locked eyes across the table to the waiting face of his Wing Commander.

"You better get to work."

With that, Morrow bolted out of the room with half a plan and no time to waste.

"Ensign Grey, have a fire team assemble in the auxiliary hangar. And if you're not to busy, now would be a good time say a prayer."

-------------------------------------------------------------

EDF Atlas Flight Deck

"Make a hole, make a hole!"

The last time Aiden Morrow ran that fast, he'd been an Echo cadet contending for the Cup. The stakes were just a little higher now. Flying down the manual hatchway and barely touched the rungs of the ladder as he crashed onto the Flight Deck, he skidded in front of Jason "Digger" Mieczyslawa, grabbing the chief by the arm and jerking him to face the officer.

"You're with me, Chief. We've got about five hours of work and half that time to do it in," he spoke at a million miles an hour. "When's the last time you took a walk in space?"

Lieutenant Commander Delilah Medina MD
EDF Atlas Slums

While a medical professional, Delilah Medina also considered herself a marine. While she wasn’t always the one handling the gun, she sure as hell knew how to. She could blame too many hours at the shooting range, firing off rounds to keep her rage at bay. She was damn good at what she did, whether it was shooting a man dead or stitching him back together. In that instant, as she broke the shotgun down to as few pieces, tossing them in as many directions as possible – if anything to have one less weapon in their hands – she was hard pressed to let it go. The moment she dropped the barrel and shaft of the gun she tossed the trigger pin behind her praying it rolled behind the platform and out of reach. At once the men behind her seemed to regain their confidence. She held her hands in the air and kept her chin down. One burly individual stepped forward. In his hands was a rather old and brutalized looking AK-47. Duck tape appeared to hold the cartridge to the base of the weapon, something that made her sneer. Damn her for being a perfectionist. The stare offended the man who now handled her. He spat in her face.

“Pleasant,” she swallowed, leaning her cheek to her left shoulder to wipe the man’s saliva off of her face. He shoved her down into the crowd which seemed to part like an ocean around her. She connected with many angry looking rebels and behind them fearful and pitying civilians. Sure. Pity. Great. Made her day. Like she needed it.

"Glad you could join us, doctor," Captain Ramirez told her lowly. Medina looked at her Captain, a woman she’d thought batshit crazy just days before. She was in this mess because of her Captain. Now she’d do everything she could to protect the woman. Even though she was a bitch who’d thrown Delilah in over her head. She’d do her damn best, even if it meant death, to prove that the woman had not made a bad decision in sending her down her. The brunette was shoved to sit on a thin cot beside her captain. She could only keep her chin down to think. She leaned her elbows on her knees and sighed, holding her head in her hands. The plastic zipties they had used to secure her hands were too tight for her to move them without them biting into her skin. They threatened her profession by pulling such a stunt. If they stayed on too long, she didn’t want to think about what could happen. She needed her hands. She was surgeon.

"Mr. Heldane took tough blow to the head. Lost some blood," the captain announced. Delilah nodded though she hadn’t seen the man before she’d arrived in the hold. She bit her cheek as she fought to think through the mental map she had drawn of the slums. It had been organized when they’d established everyone, with families located in grids of various sizes, and walkways between family’s tents and cots the same distance to ensure that people could move freely.

Of course, with time people had come to occupy that space making it harder to move throughout the cargo bay. Two marines had complained this morning that it was becoming harder to access specific doorways. She had stood in this very clinic several times over, spoken to that damned civilian doctor. Where the hell was she? This was her space. She should be up in arms about it. Delilah knew she would be if she was in the woman’s position. As she swallowed and looked away from her hands her eyes focused on the incapacitated Dennis Heldane. She recognized him but his name didn’t come to her right away. She treated so many of them and so many resented her for her often crude bedside manner.

Delilah was shocked out of her thought process when her medical kit slammed onto the floor in front of her. Startled, the doctor rose to stand, trying to raise her hands to her face but finding herself restricted.

"That should be everything that you need to patch him up," the rebel leader told her, adding "We aren't monsters, you see."

“Well I can’t do fucking much with my hands like this can I?” she spat back, stepping over Heldane and throwing her hands in the face of the rebel leader. That earned her a slap and a good one across the cheek. She turned to glare at him, her eyes angrier. “You want me to do something about him, I need my hands, Sir,” She sputtered, her words laced with hatred. She turned over her shoulder to look at Heldane and to look at him good. His temple was swollen, split open but not too deeply. The swelling looked superficial but he likely had a concussion if they had walloped him good. All of this was surface interpretations however and from her stance a meter away. You never knew what a patient had in store for you until you were right there at their side.

Midshipman Dennis Heldane
EDF Atlas Cargo Bay Slums

Lying still on his side, facing the blunt blandness of a plastic divider, the crumpled form of Dennis Heldane was motionless in self-imposed reverie. Internally he writhed and roiled with pain, more so from the old wounds to his soul than from his fresh one to the flesh. Wallowing in his own sorrow was a much abused coping mechanism of his. It was a way of shutting reality out, completely insulating the psyche. Heldane’s logic was that if he denied all input from the outside, well then he certainly couldn’t be expected to act within it. It was bullshit and he knew it, but suspension of disbelief was a powerful force. A coward’s trick. In this state of mind he did not deny that he was a coward and this made things much easier for him. A coward lost the right to commit to action. A coward should not act for they would do more harm than good. Dennis proved that during his outburst when he stood before an armed mob and allowed his nerves to fray. Allowed someone to be killed hereby escalating the situation. For this he chastised himself, and mercilessly at that.

“P-p-please God ma-a-ke me stone.” He begged in near silence. Dennis was not a superstitious man by nature, he had seen enough suffering in his life to deny even the most remote possibility that any benevolent deity could possibly exist. In a proper state of mind he knew this most likely denied the possibility of cruel gods too. However, Dennis was an opportunistic believer. He did not engage in religious ritual or expand his knowledge of religion beyond what he already knew in desperate times and he never thanked any would-be gods for any miracle or blamed them for any disaster. In matters of the soul however when his will is strained Dennis tends to blame the gods he does not believe in for his predicament. What god would torture him with a twisted mind and encumber him with cursed flesh? Why no mercy? For what heinous crime which he may have committed in another life he did not have, was he paying the price for now?
Such irrationality strongly appealed to Dennis’s engineered helplessness.

Dennis’s silent self-victimization was crowded out by the verbal and physical confrontation between Lt.Cmdr Medina and the renegades. It was a curious thing to hear the doctor from a different perspective. Up until now Dennis had only heard her scorn her patients and with unnecessarily cruel intent, but doing the same to an armed man who probably wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in her head was something else. It was the difference between condemnation from a position of power, and defiance from a position of weakness. Dennis wished he had that kind of willpower. Yet it was not admiration or respect that began to well in Dennis’s gut but a far more sinister emotion. The amalgam of contempt and jealousy, the most insidious of the seven deadly sins that nobody ever openly admitted to.
Envy.

His pulse quickening with that special kind of hatred, Dennis found he could not remain still. God how he craved the doctor’s power! With not-at-all friendly competition, Dennis willed himself to stir.

“Get. Up.” He growled through clenched teeth and lurched upright on his rear and bracing against the wall rose up on resistive legs. Starring at the entry to the clinic where the doctor stood before the two guards, Dennis noticed the doctor’s hands were bound. The captain was there too, and her hands too were bound.

He also noticed that his were not.