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Fathom's Phantoms No Rest for the Weary

Despite the fact that the half-dozen workers that made up Jeremiah's team were considered a unified group they spent surprisingly little time together as a single unit... in fact, Kyle had counted only three instances in which they had happened to be together for any length of time; the most recent lunch break (which was closer to dinner time considering their work schedules) was one of those rare circumstances. The sub-level break room was easily large enough to accommodate numerous groups of their size, but the workers stuck to one side of the room.

There were four large cafeteria style tables, each capable of seating ten with ample elbow room but Jeremiah's work force had split up between two of them. Due to shift differentials between workers and management, the Pointer had not joined them. At Kyle's table sat Sherman, of course, but Dmitri had joined them as well. Wesley and J'vir were the sole occupants of the second table but neither Dmitri nor Sherman seemed to care that the Gerbil and Voljoi had chosen a separate one for themselves.

Wesley and J'vil spent most of their break going over the basics of replacing an electronic pump; apparently their work hadn't gone as well as they'd hoped. Eventually that topic of discussion came to a close with the Gerbil telling J'vil "Well, maybe next time you'll remember to bring a wrench."

A series of chuckles went up around the two tables, and even Kyle smiled at the friendly ribbing. Dmitri was not among those laughing; he simply finished off his protein bar before pulling out his small pill dispenser and emptying two into his palm. The mood was relaxed enough that Kyle's inquisitive nature got the better of him and he found the words leaving his mouth. "So... what ARE those anyway?"

The Snow Leopard's ears flicked back in agitation then went forward again before laying back one more time-- they remained back until Wes glanced toward him; even though the ears returned to a much more neutral position the scowl still remained. The feline stayed quiet for several long seconds, popped the pills into his muzzle, swallowed, then announced quite flatly "Is medicine."

Wes stretched where he sat on the bench and spoke across the way to Kyle. "Dmitri was created by Life Happens Inc... he's a custom model Geneticon and needs to take maintenance dosage. Usually he takes injections, but he's down to pills until the next resupply comes."

Kyle paused at that, thinking about what he knew of Gens and the laws against the manufacture of living organisms. "I thought they made it illegal to create Genticons after the Integration."

Wes shrugged. "For the most part, sure... but the Terran Congress did grant a few licenses... and right now LHI is the only company that still holds one."

Dmitri snorted, speaking simply and succinctly with his thick Russian accent. "Da... an' dis is why DRC purchased LHI."

Wes nodded to the Snow Leopard then looked back to Kyle. "I'm sure the whole 'take over' thing is a little more complicated than just wanting access to their Genesis License, Dmitri... but I bet it sure sweetened the deal plenty. It also doesn't hurt that they got a whole platoon of combat capable Geneticon soldiers like Dmitri out of the deal."

J'vil, the quietest and smallest among the group finally contributed to the conversation. "Everyone here has a past. There is no sense in spending any real time on it."

The Gerbil rolled his eyes. "Well, he's the one who pulled out his HID in front of the new guy."

Kyle looked up from the wrapper of his nutrient bar, "HID? That's what you and Mr. Fowler were talking about the other day, wasn't it, Wes?"

The Gerbil lowered his head into his waiting paw and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That damn Dog loves his PCD's speaker mode way too much."

The Human quieted down after that. "I'm sorry... I didn't know it was private information."

Wes shrugged. "It isn't I guess, but everyone here has stuff they generally don't want getting out. I bet Jerry didn't tell you about him joining the Liberation Front during the Mars Occupation, did he?"

Sherman's ears went up. "He was in the fight for Mars?"

Kyle was not a history major but the corporate war between DRC and VAC was a big deal. J'vil, however, seemed confused. "What was the Mars Occupation? I was under the assumption that Humans were the first to settle there."

Dmitri finished a swig of water. "Was big fight batween DRC and VAC... many years ago."

Sherman snorted. "Wasn't really a fight... more like an invasion."

Kyle nodded. "If I recall, the VAC had a large research station on Mars and DRC pushed a bill through Terran Congress that allowed them to take over operation of it. There was a big flare up when the populace found out that the corporation planned on evicting all residents. Did that have something to do with it?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "Pretty much, yea... a lot of people didn't take it very well. Squatters, Terran separatists, and VAC families mostly... DRC asked to have them relocated to conserve corporate propriety. It was just business... not nearly as EVIL as it might sound."

The Human paused for a moment in thought. "So what did Jeremiah do, exactly?"

The Gerbil smirked. "You wouldn't realize it from how mouthy he still is, but Jerry's mostly come around since his rehabilitation.... he pretty much just grumbles about it these days... which is whole lot better than making bombs."

Kyle turned to stare at Wesley. "BOMBS?"

The Gen shrugged. "Also not exactly as BAD as it sounds... mostly arming ammo stores to explode, modifying electronic devices into improvised explosives, overloading power subsystems... stuff like that. I heard he took out some warehouses, an administrative office, and a shuttle or two, but he still claims he never hurt anyone... except maybe some financiers... in their pocket books. Still, it was enough property damage to be considered for--"

J'vil interrupted him quietly. "Would Jeremiah's story best be left for him to tell, Mr. Wesley?"

The Gerbil looked at the Voljoi. "What's that, Squeaky?"

The small gray alien fidgeted. "Well... What I propose to question is whether YOU would like it if someone told a new member of the team about why YOU have an orange jump suit."

Wesley's expression grew dire immediately and his small round ears flattened. He scowled, rubbing at the only section of his enormous half-body scar visible outside of his suit. "I made some mistakes in my prior position... it happened, and I'll own up to it... but it doesn't mean I like having to explain it every time a new guy comes into the group."

The Gerbil shot a glance at J'vil seated across from him; the Voljoi immediately looked away. Kyle hadn't taken noticed before that J'vil didn't wear an orange uniform but hadn't really focused on the fact that he was the only member of the team other than Kyle himself without one. "How did you end up part of the team, J'vil? You're not... recruited... right?"

The Voljoi cleared his throat, adjusting lapel of his uniform. "I... did not agree with my place on my home planet... Engineer Fowler had a spot open for me."

Wesley nodded, "Yea... his only crime was being stupid... coming to Sigma-Echo to leave something bad is like jumping into the cooking fire because the pan's too hot."

J'vir cleared his throat, obviously uncomforable discussing it. "It was the optimal way to resolve my problem. My people do not look kindly on a change in profession so I was required to look elsewhere."

Sherman's ears raised he did pressed the issue. "So you were a crimin--?"

Dmitri interrupted him, stating flatly "Janitor."

A faint greenish blush came to the Voljoi's cheeks and he sank a little lower in his seat. "There is a certain social expectation set by one's profession and some things are worth leaving in a quest for improvement."

Kyle wasn't really sure what to make of the situation, but he figured that he had best step in and change the topic to something less personal. "Okay, well... I think--"

He got no further than that as a distraction of another sort cut the conversation short. Everyone was thrown off of the benches as the entire room jumped beneath them. The ground shook, the lights flickered, and the walls vibrated for nearly three seconds and then... silence. The lights went fully out for the span of a breath, before coming back on.

J'vil was the first to speak up. "Another attack?"

Sherman shook his head. "It felt like a collision."

Wesley picked himself up off the floor, looking to his wrist-mounted PCD he pressed a button before speaking, "Central, this is Engineer Wesley Par-- ...the comms dead."

Dmitri pulled his own PCD out and pressed a few buttons. "Dere is noting... is like signal is gone."

J'vil got to his feet shakily, pulling out his own PCD. "The station just shuddered and we do not have a comm signal... so that suggests either a VAC assault team is blocking our signals or we were struck by a satellite transmitter which is canceling out communications or--"

Wes smirked. "Or the more obvious answer: Comm Tower is down, Squeaky."

Dmitir scowled, then cursed in Russian. "Derr'mo. Is more work for us."

J'vil glanced from Wes to Dmitri then back. "But... we do not work on communications... correct?"

Wesley clarified. "Whether we have comms or not we still have work to do... it just makes coordinating things harder. But if comms are out then I'm pretty sure Central will want to get them working again... which means we'll probably have to lend them a few extra hands."

Dmitri looked to the Gerbil who was second in command with Jeremiah gone. "Wot is to be plan?"

Wes scowled. "One of these days we need to get you a translation unit... your grammar is fucking horrible."

The Snow Leopard looked unblinking at Wesley, "I keel men five ways wit just one claw--" he held up his pinkie, "tocking is secondary skill."

The Engineer didn't seem impressed. "And yet here you are, fixing life support fixtures just like the rest of us."

Kyle wasn't sure if people were supposed to laugh at the comment but when nobody did it only left him feeling more uncomfortable. Fortunately, Wesley took the lead a few moments later and didn't give him long to be ill-at-ease, "Dmitri, go check in at Central... J'vil, you and I are going back to the tanks to make sure nothing got thrown out of order by that impact."

Kyle spoke up. "And me, sir?"

The Gerbil thought over the question for a moment. "You and Sherman should go check in on the Comm Tower... and let Jerry know what we're up to if you pass him on the tramway... he'll probably be making his way down here soon as he can."

* * * * * *

Usually time alone in his apartment did Jeremiah some good but it just wasn't working. He'd spent nearly an hour working on a crossword puzzle and then took a nap. He followed that up with cooking a real dinner-- not one of the premade things or the fabricated protein drinks from the dispensers. While Jeremiah was no chef he was self-sufficient, and the time spent cooking was more time he could let the thoughts bang around inside his head and hopefully resolve themselves... but it hadn't really worked. In the end he sat down at his table with a drink in his paw thinking about, as had been custom lately, the past.

Despite how much things changed, some things always seemed to be the same. Likewise, no matter how many new experiences the Dog had the old ones always remained. Gazing down at his PCD he read the caption on the old article he'd pulled up and the Gen sighed. He'd all but memorized the cover involving a picture of a damaged civilian atmospheric silo and a collection of Mars insurgents being led away by the Terran military; the foreman sighed. Like the rest of the 'physical memories' he just couldn't set aside, the article was from times that were... no longer.

Although nobody on Sigma-Echo had ever accused the Pointer of living in the past many of his work crew often pointed out that he spent a lot of time 'day dreaming' or 'star gazing'... and that was an accurate-enough statement. The truth was that Jeremiah had a lot of past to reconcile, and so it ended up eating into his day. True, much of his past hurt but, then again, from the past so much more could be learned if only people took the time to review, rethink, and reapply the lessons they'd been taught by the experience. Yes... they were painful times... but they were also good times, in a way.

His life was much more secure than it had been back then-- vastly improved, by a certain measure. Then again, time also had a way of taking away things that had been and leaving nothing in its place. Jeremiah swirled the synthetic alcohol around in the glass he held-- yet another example of progression NOT being all that great. The Dog sighed as he drew a finger across the text on his PCD screen. He downed the last of his drink, but not before toasting. "...to past lives, and the happy stupidity of youth..."

Setting the empty glass and his PCD aside, Jeremiah stood up from his table and glanced around his apartment. He'd just finished his shift: taking readings... calibrating the electronics... fine-tuning the diagnostic schedule for the next shift-- it was a grueling gauntlet of dealing with minutia, but it was done and nobody on his team was injured. All-in-all that pointed toward another day of successful life support administration.

It also meant that Jeremiah had a reasonably strong headache; he would have preferred to have spent the day working on the mechanical components... at least that gave him time to let his mind wander so he wouldn't finish the day having pent-up unaccounted for thoughts. The end result of a day requiring full use of his mind meant that the overflow of unprocessed thoughts and memories ended up clogging him up... not unlike an undercharged CO2 filtration cell not getting put through the scrubber on time. The Pointer paused, realizing that he'd just compared his mind to an atmo-cell. He rubbed his forehead. "Alrighty then... no system administration tahmarrah."

Jeremiah finished the clean-up from his dinner and after-dinner drink then picked up and pocketed his PCD once again. Although he was not usually one to spend a lot of time 'hanging out', the Pointer hadn't every really been motivated to explore the executive deck's single social area, known figuratively and literally as 'The Executive Lounge'. It was as much a restaurant/bar as anything down in the Central Hub, but it was much more upscale, requiring proof of residence on the top decks to even being allowed through the door; despite being a CPO with an orange uniform, Jeremiah was one of the rare 'Ghouls' who was placed on the Executive Deck due to merit rather than rank.

More than just a 'benefit of rank', however, the lounge also carried with it a degree of prestige; they only accepted real money and not station credits... just another of many reasons why the Dog didn't frequent it on any regularity. The one thing it WAS good for, however, was allowing Jeremiah to spend some time alone without actually BEING alone-- it was quiet compared to most bars but there were still plenty of people present. He entered the mood-lit establishment and took a seat on a faux-leather booth bench just a few yards from the entrance. The Pointer let out a sigh as he gazed around at the groups of two-to-eight people doing their get-togethers.

A cream-colored Beagle girl came by and set a wine glass of sparkling water down in front of him. She offered a welcoming smile and Jeremiah didn't miss the faint hum of her order pad's biometric scanner at work. Her eyes glanced from it to him and she smiled. "Good evening, Mr. Fowler. My name's Mary and I'll be your server tonight. Right now I have two other tables, so I hope you don't mind sharing."

The Pointer had only been to The Executive Lounge on two other occasions and each experience was unique. It was obvious that each server had their own set of skills and, coupled with his biometric record, they were able to create unique, equally impressive visits. Mary's casual approach and open demeanor suggested that Jeremiah's file indicated that he preferred genuine interaction, and, he realized, Mary was good at faking 'genuine'. He smiled, willing to play along for the sake of the experience. "No problem, darlin'... It'd be rude to expect you'd be here just fer me."

Mary smiled again and even offered a faint hint of a laugh as she offered him a (real) leather-bound long, thin menu. "Well then... here's our beverage listing, Mr. Fowler--"

The Pointer interrupted her, wondering just how good she was at playing casual. "You can call me Jerry. It's easier to say."

The serving girl's smile widened. "Well okay then... Jerry." She shifted her old on a tastefully elegant electronic pad. "--and here's a custom list of select dishes tailored to your personal taste."

He accepted the pad, inspecting the Beagle girl with all of his attention, seeking SOME kind of flaw in the way she presented herself. Her doe-brown eyes stared almost right at him, but showing much more interest than challenge. She had a welcome demeanor with a hint of playful subservience. If not for the fact that she wore up-to-date, trendy fashion he would have pegged her for the perfect down-to-earth rural Mars country girl.

Smile widening, he just couldn't pass up the chance to flirt. It was harmless, of course... she was almost young enough to be his daughter. Still, it didn't stop him. "What if what ah'd would like isn't on the menu?"

Her full-breath laughter was spot-on. "Oh, Jerry, you ol' flirt."

Yep... she nailed it. Chuckling, Jeremiah looked back to the electronic pad. "Gimme a few t' see what ah can find on the menu that looks as good. Fair nuff, darlin'?"

She winked. "Sue. Just take your time... I'll be back in a few and you can tell me what you want... from the menu."

The added comment was entirely for his benefit, and proof that at least some of the personality she presented was genuine. He was both intrigued and bemused at the same time. Although he'd already eaten, the Pointer's eyes went back to the menu, actually contemplating purchasing something if for no reason other than to pass the time and have a reason to chat with Mary again. The age difference alone was enough to put them in vastly different classifications, but he didn't mind the possibility of some friendly banter.

His thoughts were disrupted by a sudden laugh. A Tiger with a faint but still distinctive Indian accent sat down on the booth across the aisle from Jeremiah's, talking in quite an animated manner. "I'm sorry, my friend... but cannot believe you are a PRIVATE."

His companion:,a massive, bay-colored Shire Horse took a seat across from the Tiger, motioning to the badge on his shoulder. He spoke with a very strong Scottish accent, "What's t'bleeve? Th' rank 'signia's rite 'ere."

The first Gen adjusted a pair of armless glasses where they perched on his muzzle, "Aside from the fact that your contract should have included an automatic promotion to at LEAST Corporal when you joined DRC, I would have thought you would be a Colonel."

The Horse chuckled. "Think yeh mae 'ave me confused with someone else, Doc."

The Tiger folded his paws in front of himself, staring back at the stallion. "Major Ian McIlvoy, I would have said."

The security officer snorted, "Heh... ah almos' woulda beleeved Lieutenant... but MAJAH? That's beyon' jest flatterin', Dr. Makowi... next yeh'll be tryin' t' bribe meh."

One of Jeremiah's ears rotated toward the conversation; he'd heard of a Tiger by the name of Dr. Makowi having been added to the station roster VERY recently. The curious thing of course was that no shuttles had arrived in the better part of a month, yet the Tiger showed up a good number of weeks after that. The Pointer hazarded a glance toward the two men whose discussion had finally quieted down. He only managed to collect a few snippets of dialogue after that but most of it made just as little sense.

Mary returned shortly thereafter and Jeremiah made the commitment; he ordered a drink and an appetizer. Once the server left, the Dog glanced back to the aisle and saw that a large Grizzly waiter was blocking his view of the two occupants of the booth across from him... and didn't miss the way the thin, expressive Tiger's paw was rested oh-so-casually on the ursine's bicep. The moment the Bear left the Doctor locked gazes with Jeremiah. The Dog was quick to look away so he wouldn't be accused of minding their business, but the Tiger had apparently already taken notice. "Foreman Fowler! I was hoping I might run into you!"

The Dog felt immediately aghast at being recognize (especially from someone he didn't know), but also at the Tiger's incorrect title. He decided to address the second, much more easily faced issue first, "Engineer, not Foreman."

The large Horse glanced between the Doctor and the Engineer before addressing Jeremiah, "Yea... 'e 'as a way a oversteppin' rank fer peeple like tha'."

The Tiger rubbed his chin, glancing back at his companion, "Perhaps the issue is that I do not overstate... perhaps YOU people are just under-performing."

The Dog frowned, trying to push a sense of defensiveness aside-- he didn't owe the stranger any explanations. "Well that's a way to look at it, I suppose."

Dr. Makowi pulled out his PCD and began punching away at the buttons before looking up at the Dog again. "Enginner. Oh... so you are... my apologies... I can see how the ah... 'altercations' on Mars might have caused issues."

The defensiveness won over; the Dog's file was supposed to have been sealed after being recruited by DRC. How could Dr. Makowi have known about that unless he DID know Jeremiah? More importantly, why did he check his PCD? "Am I missing somethin' here?"

The Tiger's next words made no sense, nor did the fact that the man grabbed tightly onto the table, claws out for extra purchase. "I would advise holding onto something."

Jeremiah's ears went up. "What does that have to--"

All discussion halted as the lounge's broadcast music came to an end; a half-second later the floor rumbled faintly and the walls vibrated enough that the electric candle fixtures flickered. A murmur went up through the patrons of The Executive Lounge and the talking intensified. The Pointer went straight for his PCD to try and pull up an explanation of the strange disturbance.

Dr. Makowi was quick to object. "There's no sense in checking messages, Engineer Fowler... the Communications Array is offline."

Unwilling to settle for the word of the strange Tiger, Jeremiah pulled up station access... only to find it was not available. He quickly switched over to station diagnostic control... which was also unresponsive. Starting to grow concerned, he flipped through several other channels, even going so far as to check his electronic in-box... but nothing connected. In the end, he asked of nobody in particular. "What in the hell's going on?"

Dr. Makowi stood. "As I said, my friend... the Communications Array is offline. An incoming Freighter collided with it and tore the entire tower off of the hull."

The Dog put his disbelief on the wayside temporarily so he could ask the important question. "How can you know that?"

The Tiger put away his PCD and offered only the most rudimentary of answers. "The Captain told me."

The Horse stood up as Dr. Makowi headed toward the door and moved quickly after the man, "Th' Captain? But 'ow cood she if th' comms 'r' doen?"

Dr. Makowi's pleasant, outgoing demeanor suddenly became much more official. "Private... if I recall correctly you were assigned to accompany me... not ask questions."

Private McGilvoy's disciplined expression gave away nothing. "Aye, ser."

The two left directly, Horse following the Tiger at a quick pace. Watching the exchange frustrated and confused the Pointer... mostly because it made him even more curious. He would have considered the Tiger insane except for the strangely accurate information to which Dr. Maokwi apparently had access.

The Technician tried a few more times to see if there was ANY signal whatsoever on his comm and was partially vindicated by discovering that he'd received a general, very casual "Is anyone there?" message from one of the Executive Deck residents; he remembered the Wolf vaguely when he moved in after the most recent shuttle drop-off-- he worked for the Overseer, if the Pointer recalled correctly.

Jeremiah sent her the little bit of information he had which, granted, wasn't much. At least he had confirmed that direct PCD comms could still broadcast on the local level. It wasn't much, but, he realized, if the station's computer system was still up he would be able to patch into it and gather information directly; his Technician access codes would see to that. Once he had a chance to review a diagnostic he'd be able to make any changes that could possibly be needed to ensure the safety of the station's crew.

Letting out a sigh, the Dog glanced at the wine list that had been presented to him by Mary, the creamy-furred Beagle girl and realized he wouldn't have a chance to get his drink. He pushed the thought from his mind and chose instead to focus on the task at hand: if something took out part of the station then Atmospheric Control would need his expertise. Delaying no longer, the Dog exited the restaurant; his mind had already returned to work and he made sure that his body was quick to follow.

* * * * * *

Alton had suffered through his fair share of industrial accidents over the course of his introduction to engineering (granted, the majority of them had been as an observer). When he was working alongside an orange outfit team in the lower levels and saw a Gorilla's orange uniform get caught in a series of pistols he acted more on reflex than thought; the end result was that he was taken to visit the medical bay alongside the recruited worker.

The doctor was far more pleasant than he'd been led to believe; the Cat's work was deliberate and delicate, and the Donkey was even provided something for the pain that would doubtlessly resurface once the topical numbing agent wore off. In the scheme of things however, Alton's injuries were far less severe than the Gorilla's. While the engineer assumed that they would each have been subscribed bed rest it was counter-intuitive that they were both asked to help the doctor report to the emergency landing. The Donkey really didn't mind however; if there was something wrong with a Freighter then he would be able to help.

Alton walked quietly after the security detail following the Doctor; in his good hand he carried a white satchel marked with the red cross positioned within a crescent moon: the symbol of Earth's medical services. Alton glanced over at the Gorilla who was right beside him; the Gen was carrying an enormous tote over his uninjured shoulder. The Orange suited worker glanced his way at that very moment and offered a subdued smile. "Thanks again fer yer help."

The Donkey was not naïve enough to say what he was thinking; he translated it into a realistic statement. "It was something anyone should have done."

The Gorilla obviously didn't miss the thought put into the response. "I guess... but not everyone WOULD."

The engineer shrugged. "I'd like to THINK they would."

They took a few more steps in silence before the big worker added. "You're... Burger, right? I heard management talkin' 'bout yah."

The Engineer smiled. "Alton.... Burger's a nickname... long story."

"Twenty Five Oh Eight Seventeen... or just Seventeen fer short. 'skinda weird tho... usually I go through intros BEFORE a 'date'."

Alton could feel his ears turn beet-red in the instant he realized that the Gorilla used the term casually rather than suggesting that what they were doing was a--

His thoughts were interrupted by the raised voice of one of the security officers in front of hi., "I'm telling you, Lieutenant, comms are down out of the blue? This could be the first stage of another VAC attack."

The Dalmatian ahead of Alton looked toward the Malamute and shook his head. "Chances are it's just a system failure, Sergeant. They DO happen sometimes."

The doctor, who was closer to the two of them than either Alton or 17, came to a stop and turned around to face his guards. "You know... I've listened to the two of you going off about the comm system for the last twenty-something minutes... did it ever occur to you that we have an engineer right here?"

Both of them turned around to regard Alton when the Cat motioned his direction. The Gorilla took a step away from him, leaving the Donkey on his own to accept all the attention. The Lieutenant drew closer. "Do you have any theories on what's causing the disruption in the Comm systems, Mr. Burger?"

The Donkey had been considering it and had a number of theories. Out of respect however, he chose to address those of the security team first. "Well... it can't be the VAC trying to block comms otherwise the PCDs wouldn't be working either."

The Lieutenant glanced toward the Malamute and gave a faint nod that all but said "See, I told you."

The second Dog offered a casual shrug that suggested "Fuck off, you're probably wrong too."

Sometimes Alton wondered where his strange habit of putting words in others' muzzles came from but he chose to press on instead and elaborated. "As for it being a 'system failure', most 'system failure's are an issue with programming or processing... but based on the impact a split second before the comms went down I think it MIGHT be a hardware problem... otherwise it could have something to do with the Comm System's AP."

The Sergeant spoke up. "How exactly does an impact affect the Communication System's hardware? Isn't all that stuff deep in the station?"

Dr. Cortez filled in the blanks. "The Comm Array is on the outside of the ship... I'm pretty sure that's part of the hardware, isn't it?"

The comment seemed to be as much a question to Alton as it was a smug counter to the Malamute's statement. Rather than let any possible one-upsmanship develop, Alton interjected. "Well, that seems to be the most likely cause... after all any software or program issues would be sporadic or inconsistent... and they'd be fixed fast enough once they were identified, so I--"

The Sergeant interrupted him. "Well... maybe they just haven't been identified yet and whatever caused the vibrations was just a coincidence."

The Dalmatian nodded. "That's a best case scenario, Sergeant... it COULD be an easy fix, but we have to assume that it isn't. Stick close to the doctor. Once we get him to the landing bay we'll report back to the Security Center on the lower--"

Dr. Cortez spoke over the Lieutenant. "Shut up... did anyone else hear that?"

Rather than argue the Dalmatian did fall silent and his ears perked. Beside him the Malamute did the same. Alton heard the faintest sound from somewhere overhead and his ears immediately trained in on it, "That's metal."

He paused, almost jumping when he heard it again, only louder. 17 volunteered "... sounds like structural stress."

No sooner were the words spoken than an even larger, more distinct metallic rending put everyone on their knees, covering their ears. A split second later it was joined by a high-pitched whistle as a section of the metal corridor tore open. 17's voice was barely audible above the sound. "BREACH!"

The Lieutenant's order was quick and decisive. "MOVE!"

The group quickly got back to their feet and everyone ran forward... for all of five steps before a sturdy metal door slammed down, completely sealing the corridor off ahead of them. By then the whistling was so loud that it almost drowned out the sound of an identical door slamming down behind them. Dr. Cortez struck a paw against the door in front of them, "HELP! OPEN THE DOOR! WE'RE TRAPPED IN HERE!"

The tear overhead opened wider and the whistling lowered in volume, becoming the very distinct sound of massive airflow instead. Although Seventeen's voice was not very loud it was still perfectly audible. "These're the lower decks, Doc... nobody's openin' up."

The Cat began frantically beating on the door, even trying to claw at it in desperation. No less frantic, the Lieutenant was still much effective about putting that energy to better use. "Sergeant... Seventeen... see if you can pull some of the flooring loose; we need to patch that tear. Mr. Burger... you need to force the door."

Alton shook his head. "The blast doors are made to resist explosions.. there's no way we--" he paused as the Dalmatian slammed the butt of his rifle against a panel in the wall, revealing a large mass of wires. The Donkey's ears lowered and he went immediately to them. "Oh... force the doors THAT way..."

Overhead the break in the ceiling grew wider and the hallway turned colder in seconds. The auto visors on the security guards' helms shut down and the engineer heard the distinct sound of their internal oxygen system kick on. The Donkey pulled out his portable O2 system but ended up tossing it aside; it would keep him breathing but it was futile against the environmental hazards of a perfect vacuum. Redoubling his efforts the Engineer began pulling the wires out to get better access.

Pain started riddling the Donkey's body as it began trying to accommodate to the developing lack of pressure. His joints ached, and all the sounds around him became muted as less atmosphere existed to carry any of it. He cut several wires and started attaching them back in a modified order, all the while fighting against the haziness clouding his vision. A loud metal CLUNK came from behind him in the hall and the sound of suction ended. A moment later, Alton pulled his paws back when he received a small shock... and everyone in the chamber was thrown off their feet by the sudden return of atmosphere in the form of a surge of air pressure from the opening blast door.

Once the two security guards picked themselves up off the floor they smacked one another upside the head-- apparently a congratulations on survival. Their visors rose and they looked around. The Malamute went to help Dr. Cortez while the Dalmatian assisted the Donkey to his feet. "Good work, Mr. Burger... you just saved us all."

The Cat's observation was very blunt. "Almost all of us... but at least everyone who matters to Central."

Alton looked around the hallway and realized that Seventeen was missing; the only sign of his passing was a faint tattered rag of orange trapped between the hallway's ceiling and the large metal patch that had affixed itself to the breach. The Sergeant spoke. "Once we got the metal plate free I didn't realize what he was doing until after he did it: he jumped.

Alton's ears lowered slowly. "I wasn't fast enough."

The Lieutenant patted him on the shoulder. "You saved the rest of us, Mr. Burger... that makes you a hero."

The Donkey glanced back at the torn strip of cloth hanging from the makeshift patch. "Not as much of one as some."