gone_byebye | (no subject)

Mid-January, 2008
RCMP/Ministry of Extraordinary Threats Emergency Hangar
Alert, Nunavut, CA

Even in times of the highest tension and most danger, people find ways to keep themselves busy, and neither the Ghostbusters nor the men and women of the world's northern watch bureaus were any great exception. "Ray? Ray! Ray, check it out." Venkman shook his friend's shoulder. "Egon's in a fight with one of the Inquanok guys."

Ray opened an eye and glanced sideways. Several of the Danish contingent and a couple of the Pohjola Project's Sami members were gathered in a semicircle centered on Egon and a broad-faced, dark-eyed man in Danish uniform. "Wow. Spengs is looking kinda..."

"Green," Winston finished for both of them. "That's freaky. What are they fighting about?"

"The worst thing they've ever eaten," said Venkman. "Eske's winning."

Ray and Winston exchanged glances. They both knew Egon's eating habits. "How?" Ray finally asked.

"That's not food," Egon suddenly said, loud enough to be heard over the snickering Greenlanders. "That's biological waste. You can't consider anything with that level of ammonia in it to qualify as edible."

"This from the man who admits to eating casu marzu," said his opponent with the serene smile of a man who knows he's won. "Hákarl is nothing-"

Winston shook his head. Ray gave up on the possibility of a nap and stood up. "Has anyone seen where Captain Korpan went?" he asked, and one of the Finns pointed. "Thank you."

He found the Canadian in the tiny office attached to the hangar, one hand pressing his headset against his ear and the other taking frantic notes. As Ray walked in Korpan lifted his eyes, winced, and held up a piece of paper that read:

Magnetic fields flaring
Deep ones report Russian helicopter near 82.7° N 114.4° W
Radio comms dorppinng like brick

A moment later Korpan scribbled one last line:

Dammit, I can spell. Marines on the way. Tell the others. We're going in.

Ray shuddered, nodded, and went in search of a better door.

[OOC: Assume everyone will be arriving from Milliways within five minutes of each other. Also, don't click on the food links above if you have a weak stomach.]

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Jim offers his hand to the Russian. "It's good to see you again. And good to have someone else who's dealt with the unexpected. It's just a shame that you couldn't talk some sense into your countrymen prior to this." Perhaps there is too much enthusiasm on Tsybenko's part, but Jim nearly matches it.

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as we can," says Tsybenko, shaking the hand. "We take the snowmobile. This is no day for trying to fly."

"I don't think I've ever used a snowmobile before. I hope you can drive?" It's been how many years since Jim's one attempt to drive a car. He knows better than to try again on something even more complex.

"Sure," says Tsybenko. "It's been a while, but sure, I can drive it. You can lean left or right and keep watch as needed, yes?"

"That sounds simple enough." And with that, Jim, bundled up if not entirely sure what he's getting into, is ready to go.

The trip to the gash in the ice (so Tsybenko refers to it) is going to take a little bit. The Russian's better at handling the snowmobile than he'd thought, but the winds are murderous today on top of everything else. And overhead, in the thin pale light of the high Arctic, the aurora borealis is rippling and twisting against the still-daylit sky. "Not good," Tsybenko observes. "Not good at all."

"You mean the aurora?" It's beautiful, but Jim is quite aware that it shouldn't be visible at this hour. "No, that is definitely not good."

"That, and look-" Tsybenko lifts one hand to indicate a streak of red wiggling through the uppermost reaches. "Very rare, the red aurora. Normally that takes solar maximum. The conditions are breaking down, and breaking down hard."

On the space station, Tsybenko's attitude had been bad, but it had always been laced with at least a little sarcasm. Now he just sounds grim.

"Tell me something, Kirk. What do you think will happen if the mission goes wrong?"

"It would be foolish to guess, Mister Tsybenko. But..." Jim smiles grimly as the ice and snow race beneath. "I've had some experience with dimensional rifts. I'm afraid it's classified, but I can tell you that destabilized space is about as bad as Ray has been saying. Even if there are not more creatures like the ones we faced on the space station poised to cross over, there is a good likelihood that the energies unleashed will do harm to the area. And beyond."

Tsybenko would make a disgusted face if he were facing in the right direction to do so. As it stands, the wind simply has his features whipped into a grimace. "I was afraid of that," he says. "I tell you, Kirk, sometimes I wish I'd listened to Uncle Anton and gone into hardware business."

Nevertheless, he revs the engine a little faster, and the distance goes flying by....