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Lt.Cmdr. Rogg - Finis


Blueheart

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(( Kjenta II, Command Center ))

:: Struggling against the elemental forces of the planet, the Away Team boldly struck a path. From the wreck of the USS Cook to the antenna, they had been attacked and harassed at every turn. Rogg had collected some specimens before hurrying to rejoin the rest. "Hurrying" was a relative term here. The second planet of the Kjenta system had gravity almost three times that of Earth. ::

:: The Away Team made it to the control center. The answers, the secrets behind the mysterious ions flooding the atmosphere, a way to return to Discovery -- everything should have fallen into place once they reached the controls of the antenna. Instead of answers the crazy Treng was waiting. And after she hurled Doctor Aven aside, everything went to pieces. ::

ROGG: Aven.

:: There were only a couple seconds. Treng was focused on Doctor Aven in a way people lacking telekinesis could not appreciate. What Rogg did understand was that she should not have singled out the small, benign Raskorian. The Dachlyd crossed the room furtively, although wary eyes in the Away Team could not have missed Rogg's relocation. ::

:: With an imperious tone the former Starfleet Science officer continued to address her adversaries. ::

TRENG: All you had to do was lay your down your weapons. We would have had a nice chat, perhaps a cup of tea, and then called home to your Federation. Once certain assurances were in place, we all could have beamed up to your waiting ship and gone home. Ticker tape parades, after-school specials, and a protection from your Federation using us so that old, fat, rich people could live to be older, fatter and richer. But no, you had to do things the hard way.

oO I have no idea to what Treng refers. But, yes. There is that look in Tyr's eyes once more. Oo

:: A lack of mammalian dermal responses saved Rogg any chills from disquiet. But the Dachlyd's breath caught short, and not just from the increased gravity. Tyr was usually easy-going and paternal. But the Dachlyd officer knew Tyr's unflinching gaze, recognized grim determination there. ::

WALTAS: ::Snorting:: You mean NOT your way. There is a difference, Treng. I’m not offering a sit-down. Surrender or die. Those are your choices. And that’s more than you gave Moretti.

TRENG: Moretti's death was never part of the plan. Jenkins had orders not to fire. You heard me give those orders yourself. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.

WALTAS: So all of the puppets dance for you, and their strings don’t get cut? Maybe I’m just getting on in years, but I stopped taking orders a long time ago from megalomaniacs. Starfleet is founded on exploration and peaceful coexistence with other races, not dictatorial madmen who rule through fear and threats of death.

:: The discussion was one of desperation. Frustration had given way to anger, and from a mutual rage Tyr Waltas and Treng were attempting to come to terms. It was not going well. Treng held on to the last tatters of a dream which likely died hundreds of years in the past. Waltas was already sizing up an opponent, formulating an attack. Treng probably did not even realize it. ::

:: The Captain's words struck something within the Counselor. "Fear" and "threats". Already two lay on the floor from Treng. Rogg could not understand how Treng had diverged from being a Science officer to this, amoral thing. The Dachlyd understood the madness had to stop. ::

TRENG: That may be, but I learned my lesson about how far Starfleet can be trusted. We played by all of the rules the first time, and six of my crew were killed for our trouble, and after that we were just abandoned. Two and a quarter centuries is a long time to wait Captain Waltas.

PAVLOVA: It's true then?

WALTAS: ::Casting an apologetic look at the Marine:: I’m sorry, Irina. It is. And we’re trying to get you home.

TRENG: So again I give you the choice. Drop your weapons, sit down and we can talk things out like grown-ups, or you will never leave this high-gravity paradise of a planet.

WALTAS::Shaking his head:: And again I tell you that a choice between death and your way is no choice at all. I’m sorry Treng but you leave me no-

:: Rogg had just begun creeping closer to Treng, then there was noise. The report of ancient weapons pierced the room. One of the Security guards went down immediately in a spray of blood, and Pavlova seemed to be the other target. Tyr barked out orders.::

WALTAS: Everyone down!

:: Lacking the combat instincts Starfleet had tried to impart via drilling, Rogg flattened against a wall. The green reptiloid would have made a comical target. But there were distractions on the other side of the room. ::

:: Most of the Discovery crew followed Tyr's example. Doctor Aven was still in a daze across the control room. Rogg couldn't see where Raj had gone. Treng was so close by. The Dachlyd could smell her - breath, flakes of skin, oil, sweat, all mixing with the residue of chemical propellant spreading in the air. ::

oO Too much. Where are all of these bullets coming from? Oo

:: The intrepid Dachlyd did not notice much of what everyone else did. ::

:: The room grew dark, but it did not matter. Rogg had the scent of Treng. There was more gunfire and the sound of people running. Someone screamed. Rogg's shields filled with the sound of Treng's breathing, her concerted movements as she searched around. She was alert for someone, someone charging her. There was a faint tang of oil and carbon steel. At the last moment Rogg almost hesitated, but that was merely a thought. The thought died. ::

WALTAS: Rogg! Morningsong! NOW!

:: The Dachlyd was already upon the despot of Kjenta. Seeking to drive her to the floor, claws clutched at exposed shoulders only guarded by thin skin. Treng fell, and twisted sharply, wrenched herself free from Rogg's unpracticed hold. Gouts of blood spattered to the floor. She was crouched and staring straight at her Dachlyd attacker. ::

oO Her gaze. Her gaze. No. Oo

:: Somehow Rogg believed Treng's mental powers shot from her eyes, but whatever Rogg's spurious logic the immediate effect was that Rogg went for them. Glittering, wet eyes beheld for an instant dagger claws. ::

:: Rogg's breathing did not quicken, though Treng gasped and struggled. She squirmed and thrashed, Rogg held her closer, tried holding her head still to cease whatever unknown power she sought to unleash. ::

oO No one else can die. Protect. Rings. Oo

ROGG: Grakiss- hssalt. Ernt. ::A kick landed directly under the Dachlyd's ribs.:: Gahss.

:: One of Rogg's hands instinctively flinched towards the injury. The Dachlyd remembered the power of Treng's eyes, resumed driving thumbs into them as Rogg's hands held her fiercely struggling head. Blood welled from gouged sockets and claws disappeared into the dark pools. ::

:: The kick unbalanced Rogg, but with high gravity and a tail stable position was soon regained. A prehensile foot maneuvered out and up, tried to pin the kicking legs. Treng's foot struck Rogg in the crotch. Rogg shifted weight to the extended leg, counterbalanced by tail, and dug with the other foot. Curved claws capable of supporting one hundred kilograms dug into flesh unguarded by scales. Treng screamed in death agony, prompting Rogg to screech back in the unnerving, Dachlydish manner. The long toes raked flesh again and again until the blows to Rogg's groin ceased. Rogg's grasping foot sliced down unresisting thigh until claws snagged in the bundle of tendon and ligament joining the patella. ::

:: The Dachlyd was out of breath, light-headed, breathed in fully, a bit more cognizant. Thumbs twisted slightly in Treng's still skull, advanced no further. The stricken woman screamed without cease. Rogg could feel the scrape of bone, warmth, fluttering pulse in a heart's panic. Dimly some xenobiology fact surfaced in the reptilian mind, that brain trauma was not guaranteed to be fatal. ::

oO Tiger. Lion. Cheetah. Yawn. Oo

:: A woman’s scream was cut off suddenly, violently, and then the room grew silent. ::

oO Oh rocks, flaming rocks. Oo

:: Treng's smell was everywhere. Cloying in its meat-stench, rank in Rogg's nostrils was a different, death smell. An awful taste, at once unknown and yet conspicuously Treng oozed over Rogg's tongue, refused to depart as the powerful, wedge-shaped head retreated, jaws parted with a smack. ::

:: With all haste the Dachlyd rose. Fingers slipped out easily. Head looked up to a room of chaos, a room which felt surreal, a place with some familiar fixtures, faces -- and also strange and alien. Rogg moved a few centimeters and stumbled. Claws were tangled in tendons and powerful muscle tissue. ::

:: Turning carefully, only the leg and its bloodied cloth cover was visible. Rogg crouched, freed the stuck claws. ::

:: The reptiloid officer, ostensible Counselor of the USS Discovery, moved away and became resolutely interested in nothing. ::

:: Power was restored to some degree. Two gunmen lay dead in the hallway. Discovery’s personnel had not escaped without harm: Duquzieny was dead, along with Tom Westerbridge. Pavlova lay bleeding out, and Raj had disappeared. Doctor Aven appeared to be ambulatory. Rogg looked away before the Raskorian could see. Rogg turned to note Captain Tyr Waltas. The warrior cleaned the edge of his blade with a cloth reserved for that sole purpose. ::

WALTAS: ::Sheathing the katana:: Doctor, see to Pavlova. Rogg, come with me. Stavins, Amman, Eskyys, see what you can do with this equipment. I recognize this room from Treng’s transmission, so we can assume it’s still capable of transmitting. Try to raise the Discovery. The rest of you form a rear guard. No one comes into this room unless they are unarmed and wearing a Discovery uniform. Understood?

:: Rogg made to speak, suddenly found himself gagging. ::

ROGG: ::spitting repeatedly:: Aye-aye, sssir. oO This is not going away. What do I do? Follow Tyr. Oo

MORNING-SONG: Is there anyone else who needs Medical attention ?

:: Rogg almost chimed in, and thought better of it. The Dachlyd instead limped after Waltas. ::

TBC...

Lieutenant Commander Inarr "Steve" Rogg d'Squamos
murderer
USS Discovery-C, Away Team

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