gone_byebye | (no subject)

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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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The Enterprise- any iteration thereof- must seem positively paradisical compared to this. The Sukhoy Nos is a hundred and seventy-five meters long and just barely has room for a hundred and sixty men. There are decent places on the sub, to be sure, but they're in the crew areas, not down towards the engine rooms and the reactor. And that's where they're heading- away from the parts of the vessel meant for men, and down into the belly of the beast.

Tsybenko mutters to Kirk as they pass through an especially narrow corridor, "I had an uncle on one of these things. How Arkady failed to go mad is beyond me."

"As I recall, the space station wasn't much bigger. People have a way of adjusting." Though the space station wasn't this hot. Clearly they are heading towards the reactor. Jim hopes that he won't need to make up something to explain to Bones why he needs treatment for radiation poisoning.

"Da, but space does not care about you, is only empty. The ocean actively wants you to die," is Tsybenko's only comment as Petliura starts banging on a tightly sealed door and shouting. "Oh- he says to get out here, is emergency situation, never mind the Admiral's orders, the Admiral is a misbegotten son of a whore, all of the usual things..."

A moment later the door swings open and a burly blond man who must have just barely squeaked past the maximum size limitations for a submarine sailor pokes his head out. He squints at the two men not in uniform and rumbles a question to the Starshina.

"He asks who we are, he gets told who we are, he asks why my worthless hide has not yet been tacked to a wall in Moscow for causing such disruption to the national image in space-" Tsybenko rolls his eyes. "Petliura, tell him he can insult me later. We have a submarine to save, hey?" Looking back to Kirk he adds, "Persona non grata is very ugly phrase, but from the right mouths, it sticks."

Jim nods. There's no time to get into anything but what's going on.

"Tell us what's going on with the reactor. How close is to whatever the admiral ordered? Can it be stopped?"

Apalkov rubs at his nose with his thumb and thinks a moment before speaking. "He says he can reverse it if he has five minutes undisturbed," translates Tsybenko. "And he asks if the men are still there- Matochkin's men who were blocking the way."

He looks to Petliura, who shakes his head blankly.

"All right. We do not know if the men are still in the way, but is this or is leave entire Arctic ice cap glowing like firefly," says Tsybenko. "Kirk, we go to reactor room now. If Matochkin's- hm, I think word is stooges- get in the way, you and I have permission of Captain-Lieutenant Apalkov and Chief Ship Starshina Petliura to hit them." He smiles, the closest Kirk's ever seen to a sunny expression on his face. "Shall we go?"

"Let's." It's time like this that Jim would kill for a phaser (so to speak).
A phaser could actually be set to knock the goons and not breach the hull.

Then again, it's not like he has any kind of weapon. "And stooges will do. Though 'goon' and 'thug' were...are popular terms as well.

"This admiral...do you know anything about him?" Jim likes to talk sometimes, to relieve the tension.

It's entirely possible that a bullet fired inside this vessel wouldn't breach the hull, given the construction of Typhoon-class submarines in general. On the other hand, the interior walls and dividers can't protect all of the pipes, tubes, wires, and other conduits- and they're heading for the reactor now, so severing one of those is probably not a chance anyone wants to take.

Tsybenko shakes his head, but the Starshina looks curiously their way at the English words, so Tsybenko starts translating. "Yevgeny Andreiivich Matochkin," he says. "Comes from Chelyabinsk Oblast, in the Urals. I think from what used to be Ozyorsk, before they closed the town completely. Matochkin has been close advisor to President Antonov for years now on many policy matters, not only the military ones."

"And have there been any rumors about his...stability? Or loyalty?" Someplace in the back of his mind, the captain recalls that the events on the space station and at mission control were brought about by the wrong people being in the wrong place at the right time. He wonders if there's some sort of connection.

"Not the loyalty, no," Petliura responds instantly. "Never the loyalty. Matochkin has always put Russia first, even in the old Soviet days."

Apalkov rumbles something under his breath, which Tsybenko translates as, "Matochkin wants to be on the winning side, is all. 'My country first- the rest get the pieces'."

"Surely he can't think that unleashing whatever is on the the other side of the rift is going to serve the interests of anyone on Earth.

"Or is he as much of a doubter in matters of the seemingly paranormal?" It would explain the origins of the rather foolish Russian policy.

Steadily, Jim and his guides get closer. He listens for any sign of the stooges.

"Oh, he is doubter, all right," growls Apalkov through Tsybenko's translation. "If you call the source of the national policy a doubter. He is first and loudest in-"

The rest of the sentence goes untranslated, because Tsybenko breaks off and starts swearing under his breath at a degree of vulgarity that leaves even the sailors looking shocked. "How does the English run?" asks Tsybenko when he can get civilized again. "'Methinks he does protest too much'?"

"Perhaps, and I agree that we probably don't have the time for such details, but if we can get this fixed, it might not be a bad idea to have the Ministry debrief him, and much of the crew."

Jim looks around, knowing there will be a fight, and trying to find something that might be a good weapon if needed.

The thing about highly technical areas of a submarine is that they're usually heavily protected. It takes tools to get to them. Big, heavy tools. Wrenches, for example. There's several of those available if Kirk happens to look in the right places.

Petliura holds up a hand and points straight ahead silently. There's a turn in the corridor up ahead, and if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of someone who isn't supposed to be there, breathing.

"Who is that," Jim whispers while steeling himself.

"Who is that?" is the response, echoing from the corners on stale and foetid air.

A startled, low-voiced exclamation comes from up ahead; our heroes aren't the only ones who can hear the words at the edge of words, after all...

"One of Matochkin's goonds," mutters Petliura. "There will be one other. Are you ready?"

Jim nods silently. No more talk.

Tsybenko's mouth slants wryly; he's... not really all that accustomed to physical fighting. But he does reach for one of the wrenches and move to follow as Kirk and the others make their move.

The two men in the narrow corridor are uniformed and heavily armed for their rank, and have a gleam to their eyes that suggests they don't so much march to a different drummer as that they've wandered off to follow a different parade altogether. The look of surprise when they spot the two unfamiliar figures behind the naval crewmen, though, that's unmistakable. One of them draws breath to speak- and promptly gets a boot to the kneecap from Apalkov. As he staggers, the other one swings one enormous, thick-fingered fist at whoever happens to be nearest.

That would be Kirk. Who would kick himself for not grabbing a wrench the first chance he had. But finds it a lot more effective to kick the big Russian even as he takes the blow to his face.

A blow that only years of reflex make less than totally effective. Teeth are intact, but Jim has a bloody lip.

Well, he's better off than Petliura, whose attempt at tackling the other guard before he could straighten up got him a fist to the gut and then another to the back of the head for his pains. Apalkov roars something that's got to be vulgar, grabs the junior officer out of the way, and snaps two meaty fingers at Tsybenko. "Oh, ёб твою мать," swears the ex-cosmonaut before lunging at Petliura's attacker.

Kirk's attacker is grinning and crouching for another swing. Some men strike and the force comes down their arm straight from the shoulder. This one's gearing up for a blow with all the muscles all the way down to the small of his back- and not guarding himself very well as a consequence.

A sucker punch to the gut and a quick drop to the deckplates is called for. And while Jim really regrets that he can't do what he could when he was 30, he's ar least relieved that his assailant seems to have no real training.

And maybe that the old saying about the bigger they are is true.

Tsybenko is having a harder time of it than Kirk, for all that he's the one with the weapon; his stooge is faster, and tougher. On the other hand Tsybenko is in such a monumentally annoyed mood right now that even though he gets hit so hard he really ought to be spitting teeth, he keeps right on going. His opponent topples to the floor with a thud, and Tsybenko sways a little on his feet. "Hah," he says, shifthing his grip on the wrench. "Two more like that and I get free name change to Gordon Freeman-"

He staggers and grabs at Apalkov's shoulder. "We get the reactor fixed now, da? I need to sit down."

He'll ask what a Gordon Freeman is later.

And moves closer to Tsybenko, in case the Russian needs any help getting to that chair.

It's not far, thankfully. The door with all the signs you don't need even a word of Russian to read is just ahead, and there's a stool close to hand just inside. "Thank you," says Tsybenko, and lowers his head almost to his knees.

Apalkov growls something and moves forward on his own, eyes gleaming. Tsybenko translates without looking up. "He says five minutes. Maybe ten. Then we run like scared baby ponies." The visible part of his mouth quirks. "Is not good time for showing of indomitable Russian spirit, for any of us."

Jim nods, and leans against a wall. The throbbing in his lip feels like it's spreading. He'll never admit he's getting to old for this, but his body must dispute it.

He watches, not having a clue what Apalkov is doing.

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