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Fathom's Phantoms Double-Down

Despite the fact that the Apercu's defense systems hadn't been used once since leaving the Sigma-Echo Station, Tirzsark found himself toying with them more often than not. Between random observation sweeps with the rotating turret to long hours of calibration, the Cytkus wiled away the days being about as useful as his last male partner.

Tirzsark hadn't exactly planned on becoming a permanent fixture in the relationship between Sahk and Zayehs but he somehow got dragged into it because of the convenience and the stability... oh... and the sex... couldn't forget the sex. Zayehs was a large, very in charge female who probably spent more time interested in post-molt grinding than most males with a smooth-skin fetish. Regardless, she never left Tirzsark wanting for attention. Sahk, on the other hand-- what a snivling little cloaca.

Despite having always taken at least a semi-active role in any relationship Tirzsark often found himself being maneuvered into an even more dominant status within their group. Being so completely tail-lashed by Zayehs, Sahk had obviously surrendered himself into a more passive position when it came to his hemale partner... but Tirzsark was not particularly interested in feeble, self-conscious males. Still, things progressed for the three of them as they made a go of establishing a relationship.

It wasn't until Sahk started using 'she' when describing Tirzsark that the hemale realized just how bad it got-- the male had no drive, no ambition, and no interest in being anything other than a stay-at-home sex toy; Tirzsark didn't like the idea of being in charge of anyone, so he certainly wasn't about to let Sahk call him a her. The idea might have appealed to any number of females or hemales, but that just didn't fly with Tirzsark and, ultimately, their family union dissolved; sometimes the reptile envied the races that only had two sexes. It was shortly thereafter that Tirzsark took a post with DRC Corp, and hadn't looked back since.

The Cytkus grumbled to himself, adjusting the power draw on the turret; he was trying to convince himself that he didn't bother looking back when, in fact, he realized that he'd been thinking about his old life for well over an hour. He had to remind himself "Focus."

It was after the third reminder that he decided the time had come to take more drastic steps in entertaining himself. Flipping on the power feed for the defense system, Tirzsark slid into the gunnery seat and began tracking the occasional asteroid that came into his turret's field of motion. The Cytkus had just lined up a firing solution when the PCD on his wrist chimed in that it received a communique. "What are you doing?"

Commander Ely was certainly not the feeble, self-conscious male that Sahk had been... the human's authoritative tone had told Tirzsark as much from the get-go. The Cytkus easily sidestepped reproach from the security commander with a deft reply. "Systems diagnostic."

Commander Ely's incredulous voice responded from Tirzsark's PCD, "By powering up the turret? How is that a diagnostic?"

The reptile pressed the deactivated fire button for the turret and imagined making the hunk of rock explode into a shower of debris. The thought made him think about how much Raska had 'exploded' when he hit HER target; a grin slid its way across his serpentine snout. He waited a moment before replying casually "I'm making sure it still rotates and responds to controls."

The smile faded slowly however when no explosion manifested; he hadn't armed the turret and there wasn't anything to fire-- he wasn't irresponsible, after all. Commander Ely hadn't responded, so Tirzsark added, "Burger's too busy to do a diagnostic for me and I'm not good with gyro readouts or hydraulic-whatevers."

The Neo-Human finally responded, "Hmm... and how familiar are you with flight control systems?"

Commander Ely's segue from one discussion into another seemed particularly odd. "Flight systems? You mean being a pilot?"

The Commander grunted a dismissal, "Never mind. Just let me know before you power anything up... I'm tracking resource utilization among the ship's systems."

Tirzsark felt a keen, devious thought stir within him. "Anything?"

Commander Ely confirmed with a single word. "Anything?"

The gunner put forth a question with as much innocence as he could manage. "Like... if I hook up my vibrating faux-clasper tonight?"

The Neo-Human's confusion was about normal for most of the races that weren't familiar with a hemale Cytkus' preferred sex toys. "Your... what?"

Tirzsark responded unabashedly. "I think the closest equivalent a human has is called a dildo. See... hemales sometimes find that it's good to have something firm to encase with our hemipen--"

He didn't have a chance to finish due to the good Commander interrupting him. The Human's response was spoken loudly and with obvious lack of appreciation for the Cytkus' humor. "Ship systems, Tirzsark... tell me before you power up any ship systems."

His smile didn't even come close to fading, "Should I tell you when I'm powering something down too, Commander?"

The Neo-Human's voice was particularly icy. "That will be all, Gunner."

That was perfectly fine with Tirzsark; he didn't mind a challenge. The Cytkus offered a snappy salute as he spoke. "Alright, Commander... thank you for the chat. Oh!" Just so you know I'm going to power down the defense systems now."

The Commander disconnected after a tersely stated "Thank you."

Commander Ely had been particularly up-tight since the death of Captain Keizer. Although Tirzsark originally thought it may have been due to a degree of unrequited love or some other such clandestine secret, the Cytkus finally had to face the reality of the situation: Commander Ely was not really leadership material. Unfortunately for the gunner, that meant an end to his fantasy of a take-charge alpha male soldier.

The Neo-Human may have not had any problems telling people what to do when he was second in command but things changed when he was the highest ranking person on the shuttle. When thrust into such a position he suddenly seemed much more like an average Cytkus male: skittish, unsure, and looking for direction. Tirzsark snorted, realizing that he had spent a lot of time thinking about sex lately and had been far too busy letting his hormones lead him.

Plenty of other races generally considered Cytkus to have overactive libidos, hyper-stimulated sex lizards and, truth be told, Tirzsark didn't much like giving that impression. The simple fact of the matter was that the Cytkus home world had a lower oxygen content than the atmospheres of most other species' worlds. During the furthest points of the planet's orbit around their star the oxygen in the atmosphere increased several percent. It was traditionally during this time that the Cytkus physiology moved into breeding mode.

Tirzsark raised his PCD and checked the atmosphere of the Apercu; most of the other races preferred oxygen mixtures on the rather high side, meaning that unaccustomed Cytkus had to deal with the constant aphrodisiac of oxygen rich blood coursing through their veins... it seemed almost hypocritical that the other races would tease them so harshly about wanting sex so badly when they were the direct cause of it. Tirzsark scowled at the high oh-two reading; Burger apparently didn't take him into consideration when he'd rebooted the life support and let it slide back into atmospheric default a week back.

The hemale spoke aloud, calling the engineer on his PCD. "Burger..."

It took a moment before the Donkey answered and, when he did the Cytkus was surprised to see that the transmission from the engineer looked like a humanoid blob of oil. Burger had somehow dirtied up his PCD and most of Tirzsark's view was of the large streaky smear of grease which, humorously enough matched the donkey's fur color far too well. Burger sounded weary and tired... as usual. "I'm here."

Tirzsark amended to be as cordial as possible, "You didn't set the oh-two right last time you fixed the life support, sweetheart."

The Donkey flicked an ear... at least, that's what the Cytkus thought he saw through the haze of grease and oil. "The system went to default... I--"

Something about the way the Donkey fidgeted at Tirzsark's soft, crooning voice made the Cytkus smirk. "Do you know what 'default' is on a Cytkus ship, Burger?"

The engineer was quiet for a few moments. "Um... seven... I think."

Tirzsark was surprised and happily impressed that the untested Donkey got the answer right, "Yes. Seven. And what's 'default' on a DRC Corp shuttle, Fuzzy?"

Burger answered without delay. "Ten."

Tirzsark appreciated how an occasional sneak peek of surety managed to show through the usual lack of confidence the Donkey displayed. "Very good."

The junior engineer continued. "That's the normal levels for humans and Gens and Gorumn..." he paused, and the next words reverted to his much more submissive tone, "...but not Cytkus."

Tirzsark chuckled. "Riiiiight... not Cytkus."

The Donkey faltered again. "I... uh... I'll lower it back to eight when I'm done in the cargo bay. Nobody's been in there since we landed and I wanted to check on the--"

Tirzsark leaned forward and licked the screen on his PCD. "Oh no... that's fine, Burger... that's fine... You can hold off til tomorrow. I don't mind a little extra oxygen..."

The engineer fidgeted, rubbing at the grease on his own PCD; the Cytkus recognized it as a nervous habit. "Uh... I... maybe I should... uh--"

The hemale hissed softly. "It can wait. After all... I'm sure it's been awhile since you had a chance for companionship, and with all the oxygen I'm kinda eager to find out just much like a Donkey you really--"

Burger gulped audibly, "I'll go take care of the oh-two levels right now. The cargo bay can wait til tomorrow."

Tirzsark chuckled to himself at how quickly the nervous engineer disconnected after that. He turned his PCD off then slid down the ladder leading from the turret into the main body of the transport. While others not familiar with the colorful dance of Cytkus social interactions might have mistakenly thought that the hemale was picking on the engineer, they would have been wrong. Truth be told, the gunner actually was interested in the Donkey or, more specifically, quite curious.

Tirzsark wasn't after the engineer as any long-term relationship material, but he WAS quite curious to see if he could fit his two hemipenises around what he'd been told would have been quite a large slab of flesh. If Burger was anything close to his namesake species it would be a very exciting prospect. Of course, Tirzsark's interest was only a passing fancy but, then again, it WAS the Donkey's fault for setting the oxygen level to default.

The Cytkus was in high spirits as he strolled down the hall. Tirzsark smiled as he went, even bothering to practice the Human talent of whistling which, he'd come to learn, was much more difficult without their thick, fleshy lips... though he'd managed to create a close imitation using his tongue for assistance in controlling his breath. The hemale was just starting to wonder how he'd waste the next several hours of downtime when his PCD let out a casual beep, calling his attention to an incoming contact.

He answered it simply. "Tirzsark."

A deep, imposing voice answered. "It's Raska."

It's all the Gorumn woman had to say; he knew exactly why she was calling. The Cytkus felt the scales around his muzzle crinkle as he grinned. "In your room, or are we going to bother Itchy by going to mine?"

The navigator pointed out an important fact. "My room isn't large enough."

"It's been large enough before."

Raska presented a counter argument with more than a hint of excitement in her tone. "I've told you how I like performing..."

Tirzsark smiled at the green-skinned woman's image on his PCD. "You've been performing very well, yes."

The Gorumn sent a faint shiver up his spine when she referred to him by the nickname she assigned him. "I meant for an audience, Sark."

The Cytkus heard the sound of Beatrice's voice further from the PCD on Raska's side. "Hello, Tirzsark."

Raska glanced off in that direction, then back at the screen. "I've been talking to her about you."

Tirzsark's smirk grew. "Oh have you now? Well... I DO have two--"

The Gorumn woman interrupted him, "No... you're mine."

The pig woman spoke up, "I just haven't seen a hemale before and--"

The Cytkus' smile got wider yet; he'd heard that line before. "And you're curious. Well... I have it on good authority that the cargo bay is available."

The PCD transmitted a series of whispers until Raska spoke up, "Three minutes. Don't keep me waiting, Sark."

The Cytkus turned off his PCD, but not before noting "I never make you wait, you know that."

Tirzsark was pleased that he'd have a way to work out some of his hormones while waiting for the oxygen levels to normalize. Honestly, he had no trouble with performing in front of an audience-- he'd done so on multiple occasions though, he reminded himself, they usually ended up participating.

Smiling to himself, Tirzsark made his way toward the back of the ship, eager for the opportunity to see just how curious the medic woman was, and just how willing Raska was to share. As he turned the corner into the hallway that led to the cargo hold, he quickly discovered that he would never find out: Raska and Beatrice had just opened the door to the hold, setting off a jury-rigged trap of armed ordinance.

* * * * * *

Sherman awoke, laying on his back-- he never laid on his back. He also awoke with someone in his arms-- it had been a long time since he awoke with someone in his arms. Boone, the spindly little Human that had almost died from exposure was no longer shivering. He squirmed in the Bull's grasp, sleeping fitfully but appearing much healthier than he had been when Sherman first found him.

The laborer slowly sat up and looked around, keeping hold of the Human resting on his chest. The mobile command center was not an enormous building by any means-- at scarcely 8' tall and twelve feet in diameter, it was hardly spacious, and yet it provided the group what they needed most to survive: a stable atmosphere and heat. Glancing to the MCC's two cots, he saw that one was empty and the occupant of the other was looking his way.

The overseer spoke quietly. "How is he?"

Sherman looked down at the Technician, still pale, but not nearly as close to death's doorstep as he had been previously. He shifted his grip on the unconscious man so he could sit up while still keeping Boone resting against him for warmth. He kept his own voice low as well. "Alive, ma'am."

As if reading his mind, the Overseer followed the Bull's gaze to the empty cot and answered his unspoken question with a whisper, "The sun is up again and Dr. Ibrin is starting a preliminary scan of the area."

Sherman grunted acknowledgment quietly, "Ma'am."

He slowly stood, doing his best to avoid jostling or disturbing Boone. Once he got to his hooves the bull moved to the empty cot and gingerly set the technician onto it. Bundling the Human up in the blankets he turned to the overseer, trying hard to make sure she didn't see that he was favoring his left leg; he'd worked with groups in the past where bad things happened to injured laborers.

The Overseer took the break in discussion as an opportunity to clarify. "He's probably looking for comms that can reach the shuttle. My best guess is that he'll be trying to get an extraction team together."

He nodded simply at the explanation; it was more than what she owed a laborer anyway. "Ma'am."

She grunted, sitting up; Sherman didn't miss the obvious damage she'd sustained to her thigh. The Overseer saw him looking at it and was quick to add, "I'll be fine... but most of the big equipment was probably damaged or destroyed by the fall."

Sherman chose to focus on the wound instead, "You need a medic, Ma'am. So does Boone."

The Overseer nodded in a surprisingly casual manner, "Probably... and it looks like you could do with one yourself."

The bull straightened up a little more, berating himself for letting her see the way he stepped lightly with his left hoof. "I'm fine, Ma'am."

She thankfully changed the topic. "You said you found Moe."

Sherman shifted his weight from one hoof to the next, wincing when he felt the pain of his injury; he quickly buried the sound by clearing his throat before acknowledging her comment. "Yes, Ma'am."

The human woman explained simply, still speaking quietly, "The Overseer and Security Commander, were issued long range communications. Mine broke in the fall, but it's possible that Commander Moe's is still operational."

Sherman acknowledged her comment, "Yes, ma'am."

He had an idea what her next words would be. He was right. "Go back to where you found Moe and see if the communicator is still working. If so then we can plan accordingly."

Boone murmured, silencing them both. "Tim..."

The feeble call sent a pang of empathic pain through the bull; he knew how close the Technician and the Supervisor had been. Sherman had known what that had been like at one point... a long time ago. He looked down to the Human and slowly drew the blanket further up around the unconscious man, tendering verifying that he was suitably tucked in.

The Overseer whispered, catching his attention. "Sherman?"

He looked to her, "Ma'am?"

"I'll stay here with Boone. I need your help making sure nobody else dies."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She slung her injured leg over the edge of the cot and pulled out a small tub of medication. Sherman watched as she popped the top and began administering a slathering dose of antiseptic-smelling gel. Once she had dressed her wound she held the tub out to him, "Tend to your leg and then go find that communicator."

The bull accepted the first aid gel, pausing as he inspected it, before finally acknowledging her order. "Ma'am."

He was surprised that she would provide him such an important supply. He was far too used to laborers being expendable but, he realized, he was the only labor left which, apparently, meant he was quite an important resource. After applying a dose of the medication to his wound, he handed the nearly-empty jar back to the overseer. She accepted it and stowed it away.

Testing his leg, Sherman was surprised to find how well the gel had dulled the pain; the bull was not used to high quality medical supplies. He glanced to the door then paused, looking back to Boone, who was crying softly in his sleep.

The Overseer spoke with calm certainty. "I'll keep an eye on him, Sherman. I need you out there with Dr Ibrin."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Bull gathered up the small collection of tools he'd managed to locate before stumbling upon Boone that night. The Overseer watched him critically, most likely to make certain he was going to follow her orders; it was something Sherman was certainly used to... he'd been a laborer for more private parties, business firms, and corporate organizations than he would care to have remembered.

The Overseer's next words were accompanied by a concerned tone. "And be careful."

Sherman repeated what had become his most common phrase as of late. "Yes, Ma'am."

With nothing else to be done, the Bull checked the charge on his breathing mask: 82%. Sliding it into place and affixing the straps to hold it there, he headed out into the MCC's entry room, shutting what he left behind out of his mind with as much finality as door that sealed it off. Turning on his mask, Sherman pressed the button that opened the outside and shrugged off the arctic blast of wind that greeted him.

It wasn't hard for the Bull to find his way back to where he'd left Moe's corpse the night before; with no real snowfall his hoof prints were easily visible amidst the shards of ice and debris that had fallen down into the pit when the ceiling had shattered. About a hundred and fifty yards from the MCC Sherman rounded a large ice pillar and there, behind a berm, lay the dead Bug. The security commander's body, however, was not alone.

Dr Ibrin's face pulled tight in a scowl once the two locked eyes. "Oh... it's you."

Sherman quickly glanced about the scene, noting the disturbed areas around Moe's body as well as the fact that the Bug's equipment had been rifled through. He didn't bother wasting a 'sir' on the Gray. "The Overseer sent me to get the comm."

The Doctor's response was monotone and unemotional. "Unfortunately it is broken."

Tight about the same time the Voljoi spoke the Bull's eyes caught sight of the transceiver which lay on the ground beside the Bug's corpse, ground against a rock in the middle of what looked like a foot print... a Voljoi foot print. "Oh."

Dr Ibrin stowed something into his carrying pouch as he leveled a question. "Why did you kill the Commander?"

Sherman countered the accusation immediately. "The fall killed it."

Shifting from one hoof to the next uncomfortably, Sherman gained an even greater appreciation for the ointment he'd been given-- he barely registered the pain when he put his weight on his injured leg. The Bull stood his ground, facing down the little alien. The Voljoi glanced at the corpse. "The fall caused fatal wounds but Commander Moe didn't die from any of those, now did it?"

Sherman didn't particularly like the doctor's tone, firing off one of his own questions in retaliation. "What did you put in the bag?"

Dr Ibrin's black eyes narrowed and the Voljoi stowed the pouch into one of his deep coat pockets. "Nothing that concerns a laborer."

The Bull glanced at a large hole in the ice pillar that flanked them; it hadn't been there the prior night and the carved-out section was far too neat to be naturally occurring, "Digging is MY job. It DOES concern me."

The Voljoi pressed his previous question, but what caught Sherman's attention was that the Doctor used his real name. "Why did you kill the Commander, Mr. Paisley?"

He raised an ear, gazing incredulously at the little gray man, who had just spoken a name that the Bull had been assured was not on any paperwork in his records. "what?"

Dr Ibrin smirked in a smug, self-satisfied manner. "Clinton Paisley. I assume you weren't aware that anyone on this team knew about you... or about your past... exploits."

When Sherman didn't respond the Voljoi took a step closer, "Now... tell me... why did you kill Commander Moe?"

The recruiters had promised him that his file was a closed one... how then did the doctor know anything about him? The bull answered, fists clenched at his side and shaking faintly as he tried to figure out Dr Ibrin. "It ordered me to. It was in pain."

The Voljoi strode past him. "And so you snapped the commander's neck. What a hero."

Sherman lashed out and grabbed the doctor's arm, squeezing it firmly as he latched onto the small gray man, "Commander Moe ordered me to."

Dr Ibrin glanced down at the firm grip on his forearm, then up to meet Sherman's gaze; the Voljoi was not intimidated. The large, black eyes glanced down again at the Bull's grip, then back up into his face. His voice was calm and collected but held a distinct and very clear threat to it, "Let go of me or I might just let the Overseer what I know about Tavis-4."

Sherman opened his hand immediately and Dr Ibrin reclaimed his arm, smoothed out his sleeve, and looked back to the icy pillar, "How much do you know?"

The Voljoi pulled out a miniature mining torch. "I know about Tavis-4 and about how you brokered a deal with the DRC Corp hiring officials to keep your record closed... isn't that enough?"

Sherman felt that it was more than enough; it was entirely too much. "How?" Rather than answer his question the Gray simply pushed his advantage. "Assuming you make yourself useful I might just let you keep your secrets."

Sherman growled his next words. "What do you want?"

"Your cooperation."

The Bull added as much belligerence as he dared in his next question. "You don't want anyone finding out about that bag?"

Dr. Ibrin nodded. "Nobody is going to find out about it, yes. But... not just that."

"What else?"

The Voljoi indicated several spots before handing the Bull the mining torch. "I want you to cut more wedges out... here... here... and here."

Sherman accepted the tool and glanced up and down the incredible height of the ice pillar, "That will bring the whole roof down."

Dr Ibrin offered a humorless smile, "So it will. And it will provide us a convenient slope to climb out of this sink hole."

The bull objected. "Boone isn't ready to be moved yet. We can't bring the ceiling down before moving the MCC or--"

He trailed off, not liking the way that the Voljoi was staring at him. The Doctor wasted no time in clarifying. "We aren't going to move the MCC. Nobody is going to find out about the bag... and nobody is going to find out about your past... Clinton."

Considering the doctor's tone, inflection, and body language his meaning was impossible to misread. Regardless, Sherman was not out of questions. "Why? Why do something like this?"

The Voljoi stated in as haughty a tone as the bull had ever heard. "Ask fewer questions and we will get along better."

The laborer gripped the mining torch tightly in objection. "... they'll be killed."

Dr Ibrin met his gaze critically and announced flatly. "Just convince yourself that they're in pain."

Sherman grit his teeth, turning the device on. "Yes, sir."

The Voljoi glanced upward toward the icy ceiling far above them. "Good. When we return to the shuttle I will direct the crew to depart. We will say we found nothing and that the mission was a complete failure."

The bull nodded, adjusting the stream into a precision flow, knowing that his work would require a clean cut. "Yes, sir."

Dr. Ibrin continued speaking, not even heeding the Bull's ascent. "I will take responsibility for the loss of the crew, and, if you perform well, I will even give you credit for saving my life... you will be a hero for once... Sherman."

The Bull let out a sigh; why did there have to be so much killing? "Yes, sir."

The Voljoi continued, "And then this little planetoid won't continue to be such a problem for the Project."

Sherman paused for a moment at the reference to a 'Project' but he realized curiosity would have to wait-- he couldn't have it keeping him from his job. With the mining torch in one hand, the Bull reached out and grabbed Dr Ibrin by the neck with the other; he buried the tool's thin blue flame into the top of the Voljoi's oversized, hairless, gray head.