My Post (Finally - Warning, it's long)

Non RPG: I promised you a post about my character's turn on the
events, and here it is. It singnals my return to the group :D
N.B. It's very long though, so I apologise to anyone who falls
asleep. It deals with the start of the mission to where we are now,
and it's taken five striahgt days of writing, with the whole readign
the posts thing first. Hope you like :)
RPG:
======================================================================
Who: Every bloody one.
Where: Blue dwarf and The planet.
When: just don't alright.
======================================================================
Shakespeare stood at the entrance to the shuttle bay holding a
knapsack and wearing his black medibay suit. However, instead of a
white doctors coat over the top of it like usual, he was wearing a
greyed out combat jacket filled with all sort of medical get up. In
his knapsack he'd placed a small arsenal of medigear should the worst
come to the worst and he actually had to perform some kind of surgery.
He grinned at Hazel Coffey who was looking at him with a slightly
worried look on her face.
"You're sure you'll be fine?" she asked. Shakespeare nodded.
"Fair hazel, I know this is but my first away mission, and yes, I
must confess mine own feelings of little more than terror, but
beasties beware, for my bardical medical skills will suffice to save
the day."
"Good luck William, and try not to annoy Keto while you're down
there," she said, a small impish smile appearing at the edges of her
lips. He leant forward and they kissed, before he broke away and
picked up his bag.
"You, Tara, Jennifer and thy tree willst be fine in they medibay?"
"Yes, we'll cope, William. Don't you worry your 16th century head
about us."
Shakespeare grinned and began walking towards the Starbug. He
stopped and spun around quickly to see Coffey leaning against the
side of the doors and wearing a happy smile.
"Don't let that Appendix give thou sweet self any hassle!" he
called before stepping up the ramp, waving one last time and
disappearing into the green metal craft.
Coffey sighed and wished she were going with him, before
remembering that she had left Jennifer alone in the medibay. She
looked worried for a brief second, then rushed out of the shuttle bay
and towards the medi-department.
Shakespeare entered the main section of the shuttle and stumbled
over to one of the free chairs. He sat down behind it and dumped
placed his knapsack on the small table before smiling at his
supplies. He ordered them neatly whilst DJ, Zodar and Schweeble
moved various weapons and such around the cargo bay. He was very
excited at being picked for an away mission, and being on team one as
well. He just hoped he could prove himself to be more than a
playwright, more than a doctor. He could be…an away team member.
He faltered.
It had sounded better when he was thinking about it in the
medibay. He shrugged and began stockpiling the medi-gear. His
commanding officer, and acting captain, Whitewolf entered the ship
and greeted him warmly.
"Doctor Shakespeare," he said nodding. "I see you are all prepared
for any hideous encounters with anything pointy, sharp and
decapitating?"
"Of course, Sire," he said. "When thy crew becomes sane and of
sense being common, then my presence wills't required be not. For
the crew verily get thyselves into the most hurtful trouble and it is
up to Keto, and mineself to rescue them."
"Good point, Shakespeare," laughed Whitewolf who disappeared into
the cargo bay to check up on the other three members.
Jay Chrysler bounded into the shuttle ten minutes later, carrying
his gear and Shakespeare glanced up from his journal to see Jay
clutching his shoulder and grinning widely.
"Good morning ladies, gentlemen and hamsters," he called out as he
ran. "I'll be your driver for the evening and if there is anything I
can do to make your trip more comfortable, then please feel free to
tell me and let me know."
Commander Whitewolf appeared in the cargo doors and frowned at Jay.
"Getting in the cockpit would be a start, Lieutenant," he said
firmly. He raised a hamster eyebrow at Jay's clutched shoulder.
"Is there anything we should know about your shoulder?" he asked.
Jay's grin vanished and he shook his head quickly.
"No, no problem. Kayn and I, had a little piloting difficulties.
Bounced off one or two walls, that's all. No biggie."
Shakespeare's ears pricked up, and he followed the stumbling
Chrysler into the cockpit. Once Jay had sat down, he spoke.
"Would'st thou like me to take a look at your arm, surely if you
are to control a metal dragon such as this foul beast two arms
would'st be better!" he said, hoping to show his expertise in the
field of medicery before they'd even left the ship.
"Really Doc, I'm fine its just a bruise, I've not lost any motor
functions, besides 'leeches' aren't my kind of treatment"
Shakespeare's face fell and he walked back into the main section
feeling dejected. "But I've not used leeches in at least three
weeks," he mumbled quietly.
He sat back down at his chair, and began writing in his medical
journal again. Gradually the room filled with the other team members
and Chrysler piloted the Bug out of the shuttle bay and into space.
As Shakespeare sat quietly at his seat writing in his journal, his
ear caught snippets of conversation from the other people. He wished
he had more friends aboard the ship. He'd make more of an effort to
mingle at the next Blue Dwarf mega party, he decided.
His ears strained as the various sound bites passed through the
atmosphere.
"Let's get going," he heard Dj mutter aloud and impatiently.
His attention diverted to Alota who sat very quietly staring at the
space in front of her with a very vacant look on her face.
Shakespeare noticed a funny off colouring that looked like a bruise
on her neck and noted it down in his journal.
He watched as Whitewolf moved over towards her and began a
conversation.
"…to worry about," he caught Tara saying.
"How come I don't believe you?" asked Whitewolf.
Shakespeare returned to his journal as the Starbug started it's
descent to the planet's surface.
`And as for evaluations final, I feel that thou current team I am
with can withstand anything that this dredful planet shall throw
gainst us in battle.'
Shakespeare smiled at the last line and put his pen down. He
grinned and looked over at his team mates. Everyone's attention was
still focussed elsewhere.
Maybe he'd gain the courage to start a conversation with someone
else soon.
"Commander Whitewolf, would you please come here for a second?"
asked Chrysler through the bug's intercom. Shakespeare, roused from
his thoughts, watched as the hamster stood up and vanished into the
cockpit. The voices were muffled, but sounded concerned. The crew
in the back of the bug all straining their ears to try and pick up
what was being said. All attempts were unneeded as Whitewolf
appeared a few minutes later, wearing a full frown.
"Crew, I'm afraid we'll have to land a little away from the site co-
ordinates."
"How far is a little, Captain?" asked Zack.
"50 metres?" suggested DJ.
"Try 100," said Whitewolf.
"100 metres? But that's pitiful," said Schweeble.
"No, let me finish, not 100 metres. 100 miles," admitted Whitewolf.
"Are you having a fucking laugh?" asked Alota, loudly.
"Why not land on a branch," hinted DJ.
Shakespeare scowled and raised a fist.
"A pox on ye wretched foliage!" he cried, standing up. He soon
sat down again after a stern look from Whitewolf.
"We'll just have to bear this minor setback, ok everyone. Extra
preparations will be made, we have an hour to get ready for the
landing. I want everyone in tip-top mental condition for this."
"Yes sir," the team chorused.
"Well team, I have good news and bad news, which first?" asked the
voice of Jay Chrysler over the intercom once more.
"Good news first," stated DJ, leaning back in her chair.
"I've found a landing spot," replied Jay.
"So what's the bad news?" queried Alota.
"It's approximately two days walk from our original target."
There was a cacophony of groans from the back area of the bug and
Chrysler smiled.
"Just take her down Lt." Commanded Whitewolf.
"Copy that sir, pre warning here, I'm gonna skim a few trees doing
this landing, the trajectory I have to take is a little steep and it
might get a little bumpy," said Chrysler.
Everyone braced themselves, whilst the ever cautious Shakespeare
pulled out a copy of the in flight magazine for a worst case scenario
possibility.
The bug slightly titled as it's landing legs ripped through unknown
quantities of tree top and branches, before neatly coming to a rest
the correct way up on solid forest ground.
The motion stopped, and the seat belt and tray table lights all
switched off. The team got to their feet, ready to brave the horrors
of the planet which they were sure would face them.
Naturally most were surprised when they discovered the planet was
actually quite warm, with a soft breeze blowing through the air.
"All a deception you know," warned Schweeble. "I've seen planets
like this before. They try and get you to trust em, giving you
perfect conditions, and then at the last second, `bam', you've fallen
right into their trap." He nodded defiantly as DJ patted him gently
on the back.
Chrysler stepped out into the back area of the bug and grinned at
the away team.
"Gotta be careful parking in the forest, kids from the estate will
have your stereo quicker than anything," he said.
Shakespeare followed the rest of the team out of the Starbug, last
as usual, and stepped down onto the rough turf underfoot. He placed
his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow. The area was covered in
dense forest, and the sun was high in the sky. There were a couple
of nondescript flying winged beats in the air, but all were too far
away to be considered a threat or even given more than a second
glance.
Various wild hues of flowers and trees clumped in groups all around
them, and Shakespeare couldn't help but feel he was in someone's
overgrown back yard.
"Methinks we are in spot `f danger town," he muttered.
He had the satisfaction, on the other hand, of knowing that in his
single piece black bodysuit and smart jacket he was easily the most
fashionable of the team.
Shakespeare shook his head briskly.
"William, you'st be having thoughts mad again. Help needeth
quickly," he told himself.
He waited as the group slowly disbanded and filled the small
clearing that the bug had made.
Joe Schweeble knelt down a few metres in front of the group and
began inspecting the ground. Shakespeare raised, turned away and
eyebrow and picked up his issue gun. It was a standard bazookoid,
only specially customised by himself. He'd painted a sonnet along
it's side and coloured the back part blue. Other than that, it was
basically exactly the same as any other bazookoid.
"Umm, team," called Schweeble.
"What have you seen Schweeble?" Asked Whitewolf, as Schweeble
handed a red coloured hair to Zack Richards who took it and looked at
it bemusedly.
"Well, Whitewo...I mean sir...err…Captain. There seems to have
been some kind of fight or something here, I can see traces of blood
and from the looks of how widely spread it is, I think that it was
more than two things fighting. And if that blood is human then
whoever we've come down hear to rescue may already be dead." said Joe.
Zack gulped audibly, whilst most of the team's expressions changed
from positive to negative.
Shakespeare made a mental note to write a last will and testament
sometime soon.
The burning campfire flickered and cast dark shadows over the
tents. He'd been relieved by Schweeble an hour ago and was quietly
sitting on a tree branch overlooking the whole forest and humming
gently to himself. He wasn't particularly fond of night watch, but
that was only because he was alone. Shakespeare hated being on his
own, he needed to talk to people, not to keep himself company.
To try and take his mind off it he admired the huge view presented
to him via the tree top and sighed. The planet looked incredible.
Vast sweeping forests surrounded them for most of the way. However,
he could see some mountains to the side, as well as the first hint of
clear area far away.
"It'll take days numbering a million to reacheth that," he
complained to no one. Shakespeare began to start worrying about
Hazel, the medibay, and Keto.
"I hopest that Keto is faring weller in his team, for I would
hateth to lose friendship such as ours. Hith hate for me and my like
for him. Ours is analogical in such two peas in a pod," he mused.
His mind then switched to his love, Hazel Coffey.
"Where would I be without my dearest Hazel?" He wondered. "She who
hath brought light upon my world, she who hath taken away but my
loneliness. She, who really ith, a summer's day. She whom I miss
mostly whilst being on thou mission."
Shakespeare sighed and swung his legs out further whilst the moon
sat high in the night sky. He took a deep breath and leant back
against the tree, letting his vision fill with the view again, and
keeping himself aware of anything out of the ordinary, watching the
time tick slowly away till his shift was up.
The next morning came soon enough, and Shakespeare was roused from
his tent by the sounding of Zodar's radio unit. He yawned widely and
got to his feet slowly, stretching his limbs gently to wake them up
and get his blood circulating correctly.
There was a long conversation outside the tent whilst Shakespeare
got himself together, and made sure he was ready for any serious
injuries the team might inflict upon themselves. He caught the end
of it when leaving his tent.
"…proceed with caution."
Shakespeare stopped, mouth slightly open, hoping that he hadn't
heard the words that away team's dread.
"Kill us all? Are you serious?" asked DJ. "I mean, I thought this
was a rescue mission, not a search and very-likely-get-killed
mission, sir."
Whitewolf sighed, and looked at DJ.
"Are you always this pessimistic?"
"Yes, I am," DJ smiled, whilst nodding emphatically. "But even
still, don't you think that I could be right on this one?"
Shakespeare considered the likelihood of DJ being right. Had they
scanned the whole place sufficiently before they left? No wait,
they were the crew of the Blue Dwarf, of course they hadn't scanned
the area. That was something that competent space-farers did. He
laughed, and cut himself short when Zodar spoke up.
"Don't worry. Look, team 2 kicked their asses, so we'll just do
the same if they bump into us," he smiled.
DJ frowned.
"But Harris said they could easily kill us all. This was Harris.
Mr. Frank 'Nutter' Harris. The craziest man after the deceased
Will 'Loose' Cannon." She shook her head defiantly, her mind
unchanged.
"I'm not ready to die today," she said. "I'm too pretty."
Zodar nodded.
There was silence as Team One tried to work out how best to
approach the `almost certainly deadly danger somewhere on this
planet, so how do we avoid it?' scenario.
Chrylser was the one to voice what they had all been thinking.
"Well, the longer we wait around here, the more likely these
creatures will find us. I suggest we proceed now, with extreme
caution," he pointed out, whilst discarding an empty bean tin over
his shoulder. DJ's eyes kept on it as it made it's journey to half
buried undergrowth.
As the team got ready to move out, Dj asked Chrysler: "You're not
just gonna leave that there are you?"
"Well…yeah," said Chrysler.
"Whitewolf sir," said Schweeble who was crouched down by his
tent. "I think you should see this," he said.
Shakespeare watched Whitewolf go over to Schweeble. Looking at his
own tent, Shakespeare ebagn to compact it so that he could put it
back into his smart pink backpack (courtesy of the Big Pink Tree.
Shakespeare had wondered how the tree had been able to hold the cloth
or the needle, but hadn't pressed the matter any further.)
He jumped on the tent and was promptly pushed back by the strength
of the poles holding it up.
He leapt at it again and there was a slight crack, followed by
a `whoomp' and the tent fell down, covering Shakespeare entirely.
He lay in the cloth hoping that no one could see him and slowly
gathered up enough pride to stand up.
He got to his feet and bundled the tent cloth in his hands, hoping
that no one had seen him make a fool of himself. Partly relieved by
the fact that everyone else was talking to each other, Shakespeare
began to hurriedly place his tent in his backpack, and he discarded
the snapped rods into the bushes to his left.
Whitewolf spoke up loudly to the group:
"Everyone pack up, we're moving out. There's a long walk ahead of
us and I really don't think that it's too safe to stay here any
longer than is necessary. Let's get going."
The time had passed slowly, and while it felt like twelve hours of
walking constantly it had actually been…oh, twelve hours of walking,
thought Shakespeare as he consulted his watch. He wiped his sweating
brow and flicked the beads of sweat away. Somehow, he was leading
the group forward. Whitewolf was walking behind him talking to
someone, and everyone else had someone to talk to.
Shakespeare's eyes moved to the ground, and he ploughed blindly
into shrubs and tree's before leading them into a clearing. A blood
splattered clearing.
The group stopped, suddenly extra wary, and their trigger fingers
itched. Shakespeare looked about the area and spotted a set of
footprints. Footprints that weren't theirs.
"Whitewolf, I hath reason to call you over and asketh you to view a
thing seen by mine eyes," he said.
Whitewolf came over to him.
"What is it Shakespeare?"
Sir, thyse footprints on floor, perchance views't be human, and
many there are. Thys set on hand other hand, more likely to be named
boot prints. Also, they woulds't be calling to me almost familiar
somehoweth. I hath seen them before."
Shakespeare took a step back as Schweeble knelt down where he had
been crouching and looked over the footprints.
-----------------------snip-------------------------------------------
Joe examined the prints then looked at Zack,
"Zack, come here for a moment would you?" asked Joe. Zack wandered
over to where they were and Joe suddenly stuck his foot out and
tripped him up. He landed face up, with his head next to one of the
bootprints.
"What d'you do that for?" Zack asked.
"For comparison," Joe replied Joe pointed to the boot mark upon
Zack's head that Cubie had made when she kicked him.
"Notice any similarities?" asked Joe smugly.
"Holy smeg," said Whitewolf. "It's a JMC boot that made these
prints, how the hell did that get there?" Whitewolf smiled as he
realised that this was one of the first real leads they'd had as to
the Red Dwarf's whereabouts. Whitewolf took the communicator from his
belt and pressed down a button.
"Hamster 1 to Nutter 1, come in over." *Ktttsssshh* "I repeat,
Hamster 1 to Nutter 1, come in over."
*Ktttsssshh* "Nutter 1" *Ktttsssshh* "we're" *Ktttsssshh* "and I
don't think that" *Ktttsssshh* "over."
"I didn't catch that Harris, repeat over."
*Ktttsssshh* "We can't." *Ktttsssshh* "moving towards."
*Ktttsssshh* "no sign of." *Ktttsssshh*
"Harris, I can't understand a word your saying, but we've found
something very interesting over here, it seems that the escape pod
may have come from Red Dwarf, unless there are anymore JMC ships that
have been out this way, over."
"Thats great Whitew…" *Ktttsssshh* "can you clari…"
*Ktttsssshh* "OH SMEG." *Ktttsssshh* "BACK, MORE THAN LAS…"
*Ktttsssshh*
The radio fell silent.
---------------------------end snip-----------------------------------
"Umm, I don't wanna worry anyone, but that didn't sound very good,"
muttered DJ from the back.
Whitewolf, unfazed by the turn of events, tried again.
-----------------------------snip-------------------------------------
"Hamster 1 to Sierra Papa... Do you read. Over?"
"Hello Hamster 1, I read *Ktttsssshh*"
"Sierra Papa, your signal is breaking up, Boost your gain. Over."
"Hamster 1, We've tried to *Ktttsssshh* I've got *Ktttsssshh* maybe
*Ktttsssshh* are you *Ktttsssshh*"
"Sierra Papa, I repeat your breaking up. If you can hear me, please
contact Harris 1. Find out if their in trouble, their last
transmission sounded like they might be under attack. I'll try to
make another radio contact with you at 2100 hours. Hamster 1 out."
----------------------------end snip----------------------------------
The away team stood still.
"Any one got any bright ideas?" asked DJ. Schweeble continued to
look at the footrpints, whilst the rest of the crew worried at what
was happening to the other team. The transmission had not sounded
too friendly to many of them and they hoped that team 2 were fine.
Shakespeare was especially worrying about Keto. He could get very
angry on occasion, but would it be enough to see away the beasties?
What were they like anyway? He wondered.
Moments later found Shakespeare cursing himself for wondering such
a question.
DJ and Schweeble stood, tense, firing desperately at a clump of
bushes. The team strained to see what was being fired upon, and a
large herd of the beasties appeared from the trees. Soon everyone
else was firing their weapons at them except for Shakespeare.
"T'would'st be prudent to seeketh cover!" he shouted, and dived
into a nearby pot.
He curled up as much as he could in the clay pot and readied his
bazookoid in case one of the creatures had seen him enter his hiding
hole. He shivered in the cold and heard various shouts, war cries
and general screaming and gunfire from outside the pot.
Shakespeare missed his medibay.
There was a bang and suddenly his world turned on its head as the
pot was hit by something and spun over and over before smashing
against a tree. Shakespeare opened his eyes to see a beast standing
above him and slobbering nastily.
"Curse you filthy beast!" shouted Shakespeare, and pulled the
trigger of his bazookoid.
The bolt of explosive fire flew out of his barrel and hit the tree
opposite the creature. Shakespeare cursed as he realised he had been
holding the gun upside down. The creature snarled a vicious laugh
and brought one arm back to slice Shakespeare's head from his body.
Shakespeare waited for the end and was surprised when the creature
suddenly stopped growling and looked back at the tree. Shakespeare
joined the creature in looking at the tree he was resting against.
It was slowly falling towards the pair.
The doctor cursed again and quickly rolled to his left, infused
with large quantities of adrenaline. The creature on the other hand,
stood completely still, shocked to it's core at a moving tree.
There was a sickening squish noise as the tree compressed the
creature on the ground, and Shakespeare found himself dripping with
the creature's blood. He had time to groan before falling to the
ground as a branch from the downed tree dropped and connected with
his head. He fell to cover under the branches and lay still, wishing
that next time he sew up his mouth when asked whether or not he
wanted to go on an away mission.
Sounds of the forest filled everyone's ears as they sat, lay, and
rested in the clearing. The battle had ended, and Shakespeare now
had the task of healing the wounded. He had first bandaged up his
own sore head, and was currently tending to Whitewolf shoulder.
Behind him sat Alota who had a large amount of his jacket in her
arms and was pulling him backwards as she tried to dry her hair on it.
"Blasted woman, my jacket ith no towel!" he said firmly, moving
forwards and attempting to get her to loosen her grip on his
clothes. He felt Alota's cold wet hair fall down the back of his
shirt and he stifled a yelp, before tugging on his jacket again.
She let go of it and allowed him to divert his attention to the
acting Captain. The wound on Whitewolf's shoulder was very wide, and
very nasty. He grimaced as Shakespeare lightly touched the edges of
the hole.
"Be careful," warned Whitewolf.
"It ith fine, sir, I am professional, I know what I am doing,"
reassured Shakespeare. He touched the wound again with a pad of
disinfectant.
"JESUS DOC!" screamed Whitewolf loudly, "I said take it easy!"
"Leteth me do thy medical business," complained Shakespeare as he
began to treat Whitewolf's shoulder.
Whitewolf began to griamce again and commanded the team.
"Everyone start looking at that pod, we need to know who and what
we're looking for. If they're still alive."
Shakespeare stood up from his patient, a nice, clean, bandage
firmly wrapped around Whitewolf's arms.
"Anyone else, needeth medical assistance? I hath brought plenty of
ointment?"
Shakespeare stood in the pod, browsing through the collection of
strewn papers and so forth, trying to find something that would prove
the identity of the crash victim as `Chen.' So far, he'd found
nothing. He was beginning to despair. Then he came across the piece
of burnished metal, and he grinned widely.
"Jay, it seems't ith correct!" he cried from inside the pod,
before exiting and running over to the group. They gathered round
him as he held up the metal object. It glistened and shone in the
sun, matching perfectly with Shakespeare's smile of satisfaction.
"Looketh," he pointed at the word Chen, which was marked in big
black pen alongside the bottom of the piece of metal. "This be hith
personal't log, we hath his words."
"But we already have the Black Box. What do we need the log for?"
DJ asked.
"If `Chen' were to survive crash such as this, he would hath made
entry thus," Shakespeare explained.
"But the Black Box would have recorded that." Zodar stepped
forward.
"No. Shakespeare's right this time. The Black Box recording would
have recorded the interior of the pod until impact and the statistics
of flight, such as the date and..."
White Wolf interrupted "...Perhaps what happened on Red Dwarf."
"Exactly, but if we are to know what happened to Chen after the
crash, we may need the his. It's a little damaged, but it's your
call, White Wolf. What do you think?" Zodar finished, awaiting a
response.
Whitewolf looked about the forest once more, as if evaluating all
possible outcomes.
"If there's nothing else to be found in this pod, the Black box and
Personal log are all we've got besides the bootprints we found
earlier, to find this 'Chen' fellow.
"Zodar, I want you continue working on Chen's personal log if you
can, and see what you can find out.
"Jarvis, I want you to take along that black box, I'd like to know
if the Red Dwarf was destroyed or not.
"And everyone else, listen up. We're following that trail of
bootprints, and we have to keep an eye out of any more of these
creatures."
The Huge hamster prodded one of the nearby bodies with the sole of
his boot.
"I don't want anymore surprise ambushes, so we'll be marching out
two by two in five pairs of people. I want everybody to cover their
partner, and nobody is to move out the eyesight of their partner.
Ensign Schweeble, I want you on point at the front of our line with
me. Ensign Longwood, Lt. Chrysler - I think I can depend on you two
to bring up our rear. Mr. & Mrs. Richards, I want you two in the
center of the line in case we need cover there. Lt. Viagra, you and
Mr. Shakespeare should be in front of Mr. & Mrs. Richards, and Zodar
& Jarvis, I want you two to be behind Mr. & Mrs. Richards.
"Alright, let's move out before any more of these creatures answer
the dinner bell."
Shakespeare trudged along slowly next to Alota, who was still
dripping wet from the pond. With every footstep, he let out a small
whimper of pain as the shock waves went along his frame and sent
needle like jabs into his head.
"William," asked Alota.
"Yes, Miss Viagra," replied Shakespeare.
"Can I borrow your jacket?" she asked.
"Why, of course'st," said Shakespeare, removing it from under the
back pack. "Art thou cold?" he asked, about to hand it to her.
"No, I want to dry my hair," she said, reaching out for the jacket.
Shakespeare drew back and held the jacket towards him.
"Alota, I hath already explained that I be nay towel for thy
dripping follicles," he said, slipping his jacket back on.
"Fine, fine," she said.
They carried on walking. After a whiles silence, Alota spoke up
again.
"William?" she asked,
"Yes?" he replied.
"Please can I borrow your jacket now, I'm cold," she said
truthfully.
"Nay, for I disbelive that thy ith cold. Thy sun is but high in
the air, and the humidty is warming. Thy just wish to dry hair."
Alota shivered slightly. "No, I'm being serious, I am cold."
Shakespeare looked at her for a second, wondering whether or not it
was an act. Then he decided that it was better to be safe than
hypothermia.
"All rightest, here ith my jacket, I fear it is but a little wet
itself, reasons obvious," he said, and handed over his jacket.
They continued walking, Shakespeare storlling in his black body one
piece, whilst Alota wore his sodden jacket.
It was no good, she was still cold, and the sun had begun to lower
slightly. It was now time to stop, she thought, moving on would not
be a good idea. She looked behidn her and stopped, muttering the
word strange.
A mini pile up occurred as the Richards ploughed into Alota and
Shakespeare who had stopped too.
"Why the hell did you stop Alota?" asked Zack, whilst Shakespeare
apologised to Cubie.
"I was just wondering where Jay and DJ were," she said.
Her query was soon answered by the sound of heavy gunfire.
"Double back, let's go!" cried Whitewolf as Team one turned on
their heels, weapons out, heading for their party's stragglers.
"WHITE WOLF! GET YOUR FURRY ASS BACK HERE!" cried Jay madly as he
fired wildly at the creatures running at them.
"Die ya smeghead!" screamed DJ at the nearest creature, before
unloading a round into it's midriff.
"Smeg!! I'm out DJ," cried Jay as he swung the butt of his gun
full into the face of an advancing beast.
Dj tossed him another clip, which he slammed into his weapons just
as the rest of Team one appeared from the undergrowth, their own
weapons blazing at the beasts.
Shakespeare closed his eyes and pulled the trigger of his
bazookoid, the rounds veering away in random directions.
"For Apollo's sake, I'm a doctor, nay a mercenary!" he shouted as
the kickback knocked him down and headfirst into a tree.
"Looks like that's the key guys!" Chrysler yelled over the
gunfire "They don't keep coming if you blow their brains out!"
Shakespeare tried to follow this, but the bash to his head had
fazed him slightly, and he only just managed to get to his feet in a
standing position. He shook his head to see a best in front of him,
and he went flying back again into the tree.
He moaned pathetically and watched as the creature that had hit him
down disappeared in a cloud of red blood, Alota standing over to his
left smiled and winked as she cocked the gun.
"Thank thee, Alota," he managed.
"Call it repayment for the lending of your jacket," she said,
grinning.
He forced a smile before lying on the ground, the team around him
blasting the creature to kingdom come.
Eventually he gained the energy to stand up and he felt the top of
his head. It was bleeding heavily, but that was to be expected, he
thought. A Head wound always bled a lot more worse than it actually
was.
He wiped it on a leaf and picked up his weapon, trying to at least
help in some small way.
Afetr a while of constant firing and wiping out, the beasties
numbers grew less and less, and the ammo also began to grow low with
their attackers, until finally they were alone in the clearing.
"Everyone, good job. I don't think they'll be after us again in a
hurry," said Whitewolf. Team one allowed a small cheer.
"Now, everyone back in line, I say we get outta here just in case
I'm wrong."
The team assembled itself once more and they quickly strolled form
the clearing and back into the dense forest.
Shakespeare hollered as a beast ran at him, his bazookoid fallen to
the ground in a panic. It stopped suddenly as it's legs were torn
away from it's body by a large bazookoid shot from elsewhere in the
bushes. It was Team 2, they had found Team 2. And the person who
had shot the beast was Keto.
"Damn, missed," he cursed looking at the beast in front of
Shakespeare. Keto merely glanced at Shakespeare once, before turning
away and helping the rest of the team members with the fighting.
Shakespeare grabbed hold of his bazookoid and ran into the fray.
Eventually they once again managed to keep the creatures at bay
and the team's greeted each other warmly.
"Charles, it'st good to see to see thou alive," said Shakespeare,
hugging his medical partner.
Keto glared at the back of Shakespeare's head and kept his arms by
his side.
"I'd have preferred to see you in some kind of body sized bag,
Lawrence," said Keto. Shakespeare laughed.
"You don't mean that," he laughed.
"Yes, I do," said Keto, as he went over to one of the patients and
began top pull out bottles of ointment.
Shakespeare couldn't stop laughing and was just glad to see his
friend again, and went to help him treating the wounded. Soon, they
were joined by Alota, who seemed to be very distant once more.
"Thank thou for saving myne life, Alota," said Shakespeare to her.
"You did what?" asked Keto incredulously to Alota, before rolling
his eyes.
"Gods sake," Keto began muttering, "Oh for a medibay," he
complained as the splint dropped down once more. "If Hazel and Tara
have destroyed it, so help me."
Shakespeare sat alone in his tent. He'd just witnessed the eulogy
for Christine and the two Security Team members. It was a very
depressing occasion, they'd lost three of the crew. He sat writing
in his journal and adding his thoughts of the day. Frankly, he'd
been worried about his sanity levels lately. They seemed to be
varying erratically over the last couple of days and he'd been
thinking some very un-nice thoughts. He must have concussion, he
thought. There's no other explanation. I need to get to a medibay
soon to sort out my head, he noted in his journal.
Shakespeare stood next to Keto at the top of the large stairs to
the pillar of the nearby temple. Apparently it was said that this
temple contained Chen and the tribes people that worshipped him as
some kind of god, he thought to himself.
"Worship Chen?" wondered Keto aloud. "But according to my records
he's some kind of oaf. Why would a tribe worship him?"
"Lack of intelligence?" suggested Shakespeare.
"I wasn't asking about your problems," spat Keto at his compatriot.
Shakespeare quietened down and leant against the wall, staring to
hear what Whitewolf was saying to the group.
"Gadzooks!" he exclaimed as he suddenly felt it give way and he
fell into blackness before coming to rest in a heap at the bottom of
a large flight of stairs.
"Mr Shakespeare, are you alright down there?"
Shakespeare stood up and stemmed the flow of blood from his head
again.
"Methinks thy pride and dignity are the only wounds thy hath
received," he said, tying his head bandage tighter.
"Alright you wait there, we'll be down in few moments," called
Whitewolf.
Very soon the group had arrived in a large amphitheatre with a
tin can of beans sitting on an altar in the middle.
"This beggars belief," said Shakespeare to himself as they
approached it.
They were stopped by a tribal leader who walked out and began to
address Whitewolf. It seemed that Chen, who really was being
worshipped, had managed to perform the sacred task, which consisted
of opening the sacred object: A tin can of beans. He had then been
moved with another large group of people to some other place.
"Well, it looks like Chen has left with these 'others'. Which I can
only guess are some people coming here upon the activation of some
kind of communications beacon or something like that. Does anyone
else have any other hypothesis's or proposals on how to proceed from
here?"
Shakespeare thought about possible ideas, but all involved
returning to Starbug, going back to the Blue Dwarf and sleeping for a
week, and he was certain that they wouldn't been seen as constructive.
There was silence until DJ piped up from the centre of the group.
"I do," she said.
White Wolf looked at her eagerly as if to say "Please, tell us."
Shakespeare listened intently as she laid out her plan for the
security members to go froward, find Chen and bring him back, leaving
everyone else here to wait in the temple. She finished speaking and
waited for a reaction. Shakespeare heard Keto growl slightly and
knew that Keto had a different idea.
"Wonderful idea," spoke up Keto from the back of the crowd, "And
exactly what do you think is going to happen to those of us without
weapons training, waiting here when these guys find OUT that we've
sent off our security team to capture their God? How exactly are we
supposed to defend ourselves without (a) any weapons and (b) anyone
who knows how to use a weapon?"
Shakespeare grimaced. He hoped Keto would calm down, he might be
bad, but Harris would not like one of his team mates ridiculed.
Shakespeare had to stifle a grin as some indiscernible voice called
out something about ointmenting the attackers to death. Keto glared
in the voices general direction and the laughter died away.
"I say we all find out what it was this 'Chen' did for these people
that called the 'Others', and then find out where in hell they've
taken him," said Keto, "Then, we *all* go. I'm certainly not
remaining here without some form of protection I can rely on."
He folded his arms and looked about for some support. DJ on the
other hand was scowling directly at Keto. She licked her lips.
"No, Mr Ointment, I wasn't suggesting you wait here with your
thumbs up your asses while we did all the dirty work. What I was
suggesting was you wait here and play with your little ointments
while someone watches you guys like good little children," she
explained slowly. "I'm sure we could set up a playpen in here, and
nothing would be able to get in or out, especially when we put up a
big sign saying 'Stay away bad people, signed The Security team and
the occupants' mommies'."
She said, mocking Keto. A faint murmur of laughter wavered across
the group as DJ smiled smugly and Keto glared, his face turning red.
Shakespeare made sure that he had some sedatives and bandages ready
just in case things got a little nasty.
"I suggest we all split up into two equal groups again, everyone
here is bound to have someone who has the same even skills of
another, we go and find this 'Chen' bloke, it would be easier if we
split up like this, we can cover more ground. And besides this 'Chen'
bloke who was found by this tribe has probably been eaten, I mean
they all look like cannibals," said Alota taking Keto's side.
"Some of us are good with weapons even if we haven't had weapons
training. We know which end of the weapon *not* to point into our hip
and most of us know how to pull the trigger. Also leaving half the
crew behind with just a sign saying 'Stay away bad people signed the
security team' is not going to help us one bit," she said looking at
DJ, who returned with evil looks.
"Yeah," muttered Keto under his breath. "That's Dr. Ointment
anyway." Shakespeare put a consolatory hand on Keto's shoulder who
just brushed it away quickly.
"Now, now everyone, we'll try and keep it friendly, it's just an
away mission. All three of you have good points, but I tend to agree
more with Keto and Alota on this one.
"Harris and I will look through these doors and rooms. Harris you
take the left set of doors, I'll look through the right. The rest of
you can stay here and keep watch for any beasties or anything else
out of the ordinary. None of you are to kill these tribes people,
and that goes doubly for you Harris, unless they become a threat to
the safety of the crew," commanded Whitewolf.
The two leaders disappeared into the dark and went over to their
respective doors sets whilst the remaining members of each away team
stood still in the silent and quiet amphitheatre.
"Keto, thou thinks't we'll be okay?"
"How the hell should I know? Do I look like a psychic?"
"Psycho, more like," a barely audible voice muttered through the
crowd.
Keto glared, trying to single out the person, whilst Shakespeare
laughed under his breath.
======================================================================
Lister: When it comes down to it I'm a pretty straight and honest
geezer.
Rimmer: Where'd you get them then?
Lister: I nicked 'em.
======================================================================