This is a Drill

Medbay 
 * This brightly-lit bay is cordoned off into four main sections: the waiting area, the operating room, the semi-private rooms for the bed-ridden, and the checkup room. While nowhere near state of the art, the medbay is more than servicable and extremely clean, even if the magazines are several years old. A set of double doors lead out to the Residence Deck.

Scheur is in her hoverchair, talking to Rathenhope. Snow has just walked in, and Amelia is asleep in one of the beds; Alandra is in the back room, napping.

"Agreed," Rathenhope nods to Scheur, waving at Snowstreak. "The more, the better."

Snowstreak takes in a full breath then mmmms "Speaking of good omens... I found a feather today." He offers a bit of a smile while his whiskers twinge and perk, holding up a little white feather. It is... well, it looks very little in his paws but it is a feather. The way he says it, it sounds like he discovered the reason the gnomes steal all the single socks from the laundry.

Volouscheur asks Snowstreak curiously, ~How is a feather a good omen, to you?~ Her aura shimmers apricot, and she sounds genuinely interested. ~How are feathers special?~

"A white feather on a space station, sort of rare," admits Rathenhope with a nod.

Snowstreak shrugs gently and then offers "I have a fancy for feathers... think they are a prime example of genetic simplicity creating things that overcome feats of engineering that took many species hundreds of generations or more to discover. That and they tickle." He grins as he demonstrates by teasing it at Rathenhope's shoulder for a moment before shrugging and putting it back in his pocket. His tail flicks happily behind him all the while.

Volouscheur grins, ~Plus, you can make pretty things with them.~ She grimaces a little again, one hand resting on her stomach.

Rathenhope ignores the tickling, his flak jacket taking all of the flak. He simply peers carefully at Scheur. "You okay?"

The lights in the medbay turn from standard white bright to intermittent red. A menacing voice announces over the intercom, "Intruder alert in medbay! Intruder alert!" The marines by the door drop down to their knees and raise their rifles.

Snowstreak 's tail twinges behind him as he blinks, his head tilting just a bit as he looks at the others with this look that took the French centuries to master- that look of quoi?

~Think so,~ Scheur replies. ~They're just more active than normal today...~ Her aura flickers silver at the intruder alert and she zips her hoverchair over to a spot that's at least *partially* concealed, and starts wriggling out of the hoverchair.

Rathenhope blinks, already throwing himself behind a medbed the second the alarm goes off. "I hope that's a drill," he yells.

It doesn't take but a minute before there's the sound of crashing and two hooded men are running through the area, carrying pulse rifles. They bear no markings on their clothing either, nor on their flak jackets. As they move quickly through the bay, objects in their way are quickly thrown to the ground. BOOM! The front doors are opened by two other marines, one being Lucius. "Private, stay by the door." He says to one of the sentries. Motioning to the other one, he rises and the duo becomes three as they move at a crouch through the bay.

Is that a thud or a thunk coming from the airducts?

The hooded men are, if you look very closely, also wearing ski masks.

Volouscheur tugs at her hoverchair, using it as a shield. As she does so, she pops open one of the compartments in the arm, pulling a stun pistol out. She's tense, aura shimmering silver and orchid, strands of crimson flickering at the edges.

Snowstreak 's fur hackles swiftly as he rolls on back ball of his foot to face the ones in ski masks. Its a gut and primal instinct- that feline feeling of bravado that generations of survival in a primal environment instilled. His claws extend as he ducks down to all fours, his fur hackling along his back though most of it is hidden behind the pristine white of that well worn lab coat. The Wings of Demar emblem on his chest patch shows up with a touch more color in the emergency lighting.

"Stay down Scheur, Snow," Rathenhope calls out. "Obviously no drill," he mutters to himself, reaching down to pull out a pulse pistol from his own pocket. He takes aim almost immediately, shooting at one of the man, going for the kneecaps, before ducking back under the bed.

The lighting in the medbay is dark, emergency red. Formerly there was a siren in the background and the announcement of, 'Intruder Alert in medbay'. One marine stands by the door, scoping the area out.

One of the men pushes a shocked doctor out of the way and the other one ducks down low behind some cover the area and coming to a stop. They are about fifteen metres away from the group. That's when the one who was standing takes two full pulse shots to the kneecap; the pain knocks him to the ground unconcious. The other one doesn't even look back. He pops up behind a wooden desk and pops off a shot at Rath.

The marines, on the other hand, split up following hand signals from Lucius. One stays in the mid area of the bay, one moves forward to find some cover and Lucius.. well, Lucius watches the sound from the ducts.

Volouscheur is tucked down behind one of the beds, out of her hoverchair. She's positioned the chair to use it as additional shielding, and she's retrieved her stun pistol from the chair. Her aura makes her position fairly obvious, though; she glows silver and orchid, streamers of crimson wrapping around her. At the shots fired, she wriggles a bit, positioning herself so that she can shoot under the bed if she sees a target.

The ducts are relatively quiet compared to the doctor bowling going on below them.

Norton is somewhere that isn't here. Marines are running amuck. Non-marines are utilizing cover. One hooded and ski-masked guy is beating fleet across the medbay. Another guy in the same stylish clothes is down.

Snowstreak keeps his head down though he begins stalking along beneath the tables, whiskers twinging as his mindset clicks to one of the hunt. His clawtips click upon the floor as he crawls on all fours like some feral beast from the imagination of William Blake. His lips find themselves curled back to expose the sharps of his fangs as he steals his way closer, tailtip for once kept low.

Rathenhope attempts to roll out of the way, but the one shot hits him hard, elicting a yelp of pain and some rather hard breathing. "Ugh. Fucking OW," he groans, shaking it off and attempting to shoot the other guy too, taking precise aim so as not to kill.

Voliast had been out of medbay, ferreting down some food, when things had turned bad. Seeing the marine looking in and guarding the door, the Doctor gives a quiet nod and almost heeds the warning proferred on his approach. The Vollistan stands briefly silhouetted in the doorway, check number one on the local chesklist of immediate death. Appraising the situation, and seeing Rath's shots let off with incredible accuracy, the doctor manages to get his breath back long enough to edge along the wall near the door, staring into corners and odd nooks, plainly looking for something.

The evildoer in mask takes two to the arm and screams in pain as he goes down. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He yells. "ERRRGH." He doesn't look like he's getting up.

One marine has taken cover right now. His eyes now swoop to the ceiling as he surveys the vents where the noise was coming from. The second one, left behind before now has a clear shot of the masked man, whose just been shot by Rath. His eyes go wide. For his own part, Lucius gets up and waves his arms around. "CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!" Clicking a button on his vest the lights return to normal. He darts over towards Rath, leaving his weapon swinging from his neck.

"ceai ceai oeaineo haan aeli EehAso Yaasaiere uaaEjanu annAi " Scheur snaps. She peers at the legs she can see moving around from her vantage point under the bed. Wait, 'cease fire'? There's a sudden flare of yellow from Scheur's position, ~The hell?! This was a shade-cursed *drill*, wasn't it?!~

A grate comes tumbling down from the airduct system. Norton on a rope comes out right after, managing to not plumet head first to his death or do anything else terribly dramatic until his boots hit the deck. He's still in his favorite worksuit with the practical addition of a psi blocker. After getting his bearings, he's moving towards the downed ski-masked, hooded types.

Snowstreak 's tail twinges as he ruffles up all the more though he stays down low. His claws can be heard raking with venomous pace along the floor in vindictive and outraged, garrish hatred building in his chest.

Voliast actually slumps down behind the medical bed where Scheur's been taking cover. His face is to the floor, his aura is beet red, and he's shaking. It's only when he looks at her that she would realize he has the devil's own grin and is hiding silent laughter amid tears. "What? They were doing a -drill-... damn. Good thing I didn't arrive a few seconds earlier. Thank Rath for their intact consciousness and ability to think they're the same shape..." He's laughing quietly as he curls up around the female Vollistan, letting the "Grown-ups" talk to Rath while he prepares to hoist her back into her chair.

Rathenhope blinks, carefully standing up, pushing himself up on the bed with his left hand, right hand still covering the two downed opponents. "Let me guess. Drill as Scheur says, and I just nearly killed two of your men."

"Are you fucking serious?" Lucius stares at Rathenhope, and then at Voliast. "Did you not notice there wasn't a 'THIS IS NOT A DRILL' addendum to the announcement? That nobody was freaking the fuck out in the medbay, besides you?" He shakes his head at both of them, glancing to the Doctor. "Yeah, joke about it. Hilarious." The man moves off to administer first aid. Now that the lights are back on normally, doctors and such run over to assist. One of them notes, "This one's unconcious. Smashed his head after taking that hit in the kneecap. The other one's got a bad pulse blast in his arm." No need to stabalize when the facilities are right here. The Sergeant helps hoist the two wounded onto stretchers to be taken off to the OR, which is in a seperate section.

Volouscheur aids Iast in getting herself back into her chair. ~Sometimes we laugh to keep from being absolutely furious, Sergeant. This? Is one of those times.~ She glares at Lucius, aura red and orchid, ~Did you ever think, for a moment, that we *haven't* been doing silly drills like this? That, if we're unaware it's a drill, we're probably going to react *the same shade-damned way we would if it were real*?~

"Please. Don't make you kill you or, worse yet, be impolite. Please," says Norton as he watches the two get carted off. The 'pleases' sound, to say the least, a bit strained. "Please. Go away as quickly as possible." He tacks on, for good measure, "Please."

Voliast hoists himself, and thus in effect, Scheur, up off the floor. "Well, you see, two things people never seem to account for with these. If the default position is that any message which does not include "this is not a drill", IS a drill, it would be wiser to put "this is a drill" at the end of the message warning about intruders. Additionally, if you say the reason you -don't- do that is so people will think it's real and give their all... then what in the name of Volir's shiny and unmentionable undergarments are you complaining about?" In spite of his grumping, once he was certain Scheur was in her chair and had kissed her lightly and then ruffled her hair, Voliast would hustle it to the OR section with a sneering mock-salute to Lucius and Norton, disappearing from sight as the newly injured marines are moved. Norton gets a large smile in passing. Voliast's black medical bag seems to have appeared from nowhere, but is already being opened. From inside comes the unknowable smell of chemical, burning ointments, and crushed and whole herbs. Fronds of some green thing poke out in abundance as he rifles through it on the way away.

Head and face heavily bandaged, Amelia stirs sleepily at all of the noise in the medbay. "Wha... what's going on..?" the blonde woman murmurs, her uncovered eye remaining closed. "Is everything all right?" She sounds less than fully present, voice dazed and thick.

~The NLM, in their munificent wisdom, decided to do an intruder drill,~ Scheur informs Amelia. ~They're rather cranky now, because we didn't realize it was a drill and shot the 'intruders'.~ She peers over at Norton, strands of silver and cyan wrapping around each other.

Rathenhope just shrugs at Lucius, holstering his pistol and carefully leaning himself back onto his feet. "Well. I think it was a complete success. Your marines did nothing. I took them down, thus showing that intruders just can't get away." He smiles at Norton. "No worries, most of the crew is leaving on the Star in under twenty-four hours. That includes you Scheur, and Iast," he calls out.

Snowstreak 's tail just kind of twinges as he stands up. His hackles are raised and his claws extended. The taste for blood is visible in his gaze as he glares at the intruders as if he were about to start removing limbs whether they are detachable or not. His tail flicks fiercely back and forth behind him as he growls again- words spoken in consanants in his current mood and mindset. Primarily r's and the occasional g. His shoulders rise and fall with every breath as he tries to calm himself

"No. Because you, of all people, were a marine." Lucius says in an irritated tone. "And now two of my soldiers are hit. It's /assumed/ that such things are drills. It was an accident that you shot them. But please, don't for a minute tell me I don't have a right to be fucking angry when you actually do something bad, like shoot my soldiers, but you have a right to be angry when I talk to you in a mean way and hurt your feelings. These drills don't take into account armed civilians who think its their job to shoot at people when they don't know who they are, and people who haven't actually done anything to boot. I don't expect to have a logical argument, in any case. Tom, would you have liked us to shoot one hundred metres way through civilians and tag them with pulse shots? That would have been wise. Why don't we just throw down a fucking grenade in the med bay?" He turns to glower at the Demarian. "Calm the fuck down, buddy."

That seems to be a bit much for Norton who seems to be fresh out of 'pleases.' There's a ca-chink as a round is chambered in the large bore assault rifle and the weapon gets shouldered. Stalking after the departing Volistan doctor, he says in a voice loud enough to be heard but not in a shout, "Get the fuck out of my medbay, you cum guzzling, shit stinking, drug dealing, pimp. I will stitch you from brain stem to crotch with machine gun fire if you are not flying out of this facility by the time I have taken the safety off this weapon. You have finally managed to piss me the fuck off. I do not like to curse. I do not like to be pissed off. I like you even fucking less. Leave or fucking die, you contaminated fuck. If your damned cock holster opens one more time to spit out some bit of snide commentary, it will be the last fucking thing you say. So, it had better be something poetic to go on your tombstone." A thumb moves to the safety.

~...oh dear Vollista...~ is Scheur's soft comment at Norton's actions and words. ~He's finally snapped. Lucius, you're probably going to be short one captain, shortly. That, or you'll be lacking all of the Osirians. Or both.~ Her aura shimmers silver and her eyes are white-rimmed.

Voliast, about to turn the corner into the emergency-room section of the medbay, and already travelling with the wounded, is not inclined to do much... except turn right around to face Norton, and proceed immediately for the door to the medbay. He's got his arms in the air, almost theatrically high. One hand holds a syringe with some pink liquid in it, the other a spray of green plants. He heads for the door, not saying a word. Of course, before he's stepped out it, and presumably with Norton's gun still trained on him, the doctor would seek to propel the syringe, with his mind, directly into Norton's neck, where a powerful sedative he had plucked from his bag as the gun threat had began, would hopefully do some good in keeping him from being shot anyway, and in knocking Norton for a loop in a nonlethal fashion, as the telekinetic exercise would be undertaken outside of the field of the Psi Blocker itself.

The syringe flies true, puncturing the suit and injecting its contents into Norton's neck. He goes down.

Rathenhope just shrugs at Lucius. "I saw danger to my crew, I rea-" He stops short as Norton goes on a crazy spree. "Right. Thank you for making my life -so- much easier. The Osirians are leaving. Right now. The second quarantine is lifted we will be tak-" He then stops yet again as syringe of doom goes for Norton's neck. "Oh. Fuck," he groans, then quickly addresses Luicus. "That. That was self defense," he informs the marine. "I would advise you inform your general of the reason you just lost your best chance."

Voliast pauses immediately, hands still in the air, dropping the green leaves, which elicits a smell of sage. He doesn't move, aura shot with green and terrified indigo. He slowly drops to his knees, declaring loudly and in a voice trembling with adrenalin: "Sedative. Strong, but just a sedative. I honestly thought that, in his c-current state, when I couldn't sense if he would shoot me one way or the other, he would shoot me when I turned to go out the door anyway..." And, he's kneeling, eyes closed. "I fully expect to be beaten most soundly or otherwise incapacitated now."

"Shut the fuck up." Lucius asides to Scheur, yanking his RNS issue sidearm free from its holster. He aims at the area of the two people. "Captain, stand down, now. Doctor, get out of here before..." His words are cut short as Voliast propels the syringe into Norton's neck. Shifting his aim a few centimeters to the left and turning the weapon to its mid setting (stun), the soldier stands firmly. He lets off a trinity of shots at the psionic doctor, blue streaks flying through the air. "Get your fucking doctor off of my ship. Now."

Voliast falls over face-forward as the shots hit. He's smiling, his hands still raised, but clearly now: in peace-signs, with middle and index fingers in a "Y", and the other three fingers grouped. This dissolves as he falls into drooling oblivion, and his aura dims. But it stays locked red and gold as he goes over like a tree. The fall coincidentally puts him face-first into the herbs he'd just dropped, softening the sharp impact on the floor of the medbay. His hair strems out behind him, concealing face as the tall doctor measures his awkward and gangly length in the "dust" which is now settling.

As Lucius fires on, and knocks out, Voliast, Scheur's aura turns crimson and ebony. She taps the controls, hovering forward to go pick up her mate and settle him awkwardly in her shrunken lap. The medbag is also collected, and she ends up with him sprawled over her, medbag held in her free hand - the stun pistol being put away. She slowly turns the chair around so she's facing the door. Cooly, she says to Lucius, ~Do realize that you just lost any chance of us ever helping you again, Sergeant. And neither begging nor pleading shall put the milk back in its' churn, now that it's spilt.~ Slowly, she starts to hover out, kissing Iast's neck and sighing.

At this moment the Quartermaster decides to step in. Martin jaw's drop as he glances around and his hand drop to the MK7 at his thigh. "I came at the wrong moment." He murmurs as he looks to passed out Norton and then to Lucius await orders like a good little Marine.

Snowstreak twinges his tail as he follows, clawtips still clicking on the metal-clad floor like the tick of a grandfather clock. His shoulders are squared in that distinct feline posture that hints that now is NOT the time to inquire jokes from him. His ears cock forward as he offers to Scheur "Would you like me to carry him?" Every footfall though... tick- tick- tickitty-tick tick tick...

"With absolute pleasure, Sergeant," Rathenhope says cooly to Lucius, just watching Iast fall and be taken out by hoverchair. "Your General is going to be pissed," he remarks, turning to go as well. "Back to the ships," he says, addressing the Osirians. "Where we will quite happily -stay-. Good day Sergeant. For what it's worth, I'm sorry this went down this way."

"He just threw a fucking syringe at my crazed superior officer. Who /remains/ my superior officer. He should have just walked out and we would have dealt with Norton. He didn't, he decided to play cowboy. And now he's taking a nice nap. Get on your ship. Bring whoever wants to come with you. Don't come out of the landing bay." Lucius cautions, slipping his weapon away after putting the safety back on. "When this quarantine is over, you're the first ship out. I did what I had to. Now out. Gods have mercy on your souls when the Phyrrians come around. As for my General, he'll be what he is. And so am I. Good bye."

~He was acting in self-defense, you idiot.~ Scheur says to Lucius. She then smiles up at Snowstreak, aura flattening to matte green. ~...would you? I...there's not quite enough room, and we *can't* leave his medical bag here.~

"Happy fucking day." Martin shakes his head an starts off towards Norton's fallen form. The Martian doesn't bother looking at the nonmilitia folk. His heavy steps are acompanied by soft murmurs in Latin.

Snowstreak nods and leans down to scoop up the Vollistan in his arms, holding him much in a fashion you might carry a child. Well, a really big child... who is glowing. He offers "No frets... happy to get out of here to be quite honest." His tail begins moving behind him again as if quietly conducting the symphany the stars are written in... or giving another go at summoning Quarlinethrix. Who knows.

"No. Self defense would have been exiting the room promptly. Since you're neither a lawyer nor a scholar, I think we can consider this discussion at a close until it comes for the Captain to face our commanding officer and answer for pulling a gun on a civilian. Good day, citizen." Lucius doesn't look away from Norton, kneeling near him to pick the man up.