Fic: Arc, Part 24 (PG-13 for implied... oh, you'll see.)
“You took out the charge packs, didn’t you?”
“Precisely.”
“That’s going to make things a bit difficult if Security starts shooting at us.”
“If you honestly believe there needs to be more fighting, use the weapon you have. Let the rest keep their innocence a while longer.”
Whitepelt glared at him, then felt her face heat up in shame. “Right then,” she said roughly and followed.
Shoot him.
She blinked, shook her ears out, and then trotted a couple of steps to catch up with Marty.
They encountered two more pairs of roving security guards. Both sets were dropped by stunner fire, for which Whitepelt was grateful. The smell of burning and pulverized flesh was still in her nostrils, and she was wondering if there would be any way to ever wash it out completely.
“What I don’t understand is why they haven’t sealed the emergency bulkheads to trap us,” she said, as they approached the dormitory where the remaining prisoners were being held.
“The Holy Den Mother is watching over us,” Marty said confidently, gliding along on his chair. But she was close enough to see the strain lines around his eyes, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The pain meds he’d been administered after his beating had to be wearing off by now.
Finally they reached the dormitory where the prisoners were being held. Whitepelt slowed to a halt, her rifle slung forward. There were no guards in front of the door, which confused her terribly. Could they have been called away by the riot? Then with dawning horror, she realized the reason why no guard would be set.
“We need to get the door open!” Black D2 shouted.
“No, we don’t,” Whitepelt said almost inaudibly, while two large males came up with crowbars to tear off the electronic lock covering the emergency latch release. Then it was just a matter of cranking the door open manually. She let them go at it, not raising a protest or voicing her suspicion as to what they would find. She couldn’t look at it. She couldn’t bear the smell anymore.
As the door slid open finally, both the males staggered back as a wave of bone-chilling cold blasted out from the door. Black D2 rushed inside, the pads of his feet freezing instantly to the dormitory floor, the soft leathery skin tearing away as he ran forward, shouting, “Red! Red, I’m here!” Then he stopped, letting out a whine of despair.
The Varn were efficient, Whitepelt reminded herself, as she looked over the shoulders of the other vulpine, crowded forward to see for themselves, then recoiling in shock. The bodies were piled near the door, as the prisoners had desperately rushed it, trying to break it down as the atmosphere had been evacuated, letting in the cold, so very cold vacuum of space. Over the course of a few minutes all of their moisture had been sucked away, leaving just dry, desiccated husks to be hauled off to Recycling when a work crew could be assigned to the task.
“Did you see this one coming, Marturari?” she whispered to him fiercely, as Black D2 was hauled by his arms out of the room, while the others dared look inside and turn their heads away, the beginnings of tears on their faces.
“No,” he replied. “No, I did not.”
It's all his fault. Things were safe and normal until he arrived. Punish him.
TBC