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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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Jim takes a seat, knowing that the situation is past grim, he knows that. It may be beyond his skills. And yet, he is looking forward to the chance to see some action.

"Hang on a second," says Ray to Kirk. "There's someone I need to get-"

He trots off and comes back with a Canadian in tow. The other man is shorter than either Ray or Kirk, dressed in the most modern Arctic survival gear currently available in Canada, marked with a number of insignias of rank and accomplishment in addition to the five-flag patch everyone here is wearing and the logo seen in the icon here. "This is Captain John Korpan of the Ministry of Extraordinary Threats' rapid response force," Ray says. "He's the on-site coordinator for this operation."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," says Korpan, and salutes. "I understand you're an officer of some unusual experience yourself? This isn't exactly orbital conditions, but..."

"...but I have some idea of what to expect, and I do have some training in arctic conditions." Not recent, but it will have to do. "Consider me completely at your disposal, Captain."

Captain Korpan nods. "Fantastic. How are you with non-hostile nonhumans? Dr. Stantz here persuaded a unit of Deep Ones to lend us a hand with a possible rescue, but we need him and the other Ghostbusters in the same area in case of a full breach. My guys're good at handling the unusual, but they're... not so good at dealing with fish people, not just yet."

"I think I can handle it." He wonders just how much Ray told the man. "And it would probably be for the best if no one used the term 'fish people', for starters."

"That's getting off light. My guys from the Maritimes wanted to call them chowderheads." Captain Korpan shakes his head. "Anyway. They've spotted the Sukhoy Nos headed for one of the worst potential rift spots under the ice. The Russians must've launched it while they were still negotiating with us about possible alternatives. We don't have time to force them to change course and it's no longer even remotely safe to try and sink them. The Deep Ones have a couple of watertight vessels and they're offering to get the sailors off the sub in case of emergency. Consensus is, it'd be a better idea to have a human be the one to talk to the sailors, but we can't reach them from the surface. Magnetic interference's off the scale. Close range radio's another story- you up for it?"

"One question: how will I communicate with them? I don't speak Russian." And expects them to be rather like Chekov's ancestors might and speak only Russian.

"We give you volunteer interpreter," calls out a voice Kirk may remember- heavy with a Russian accent, but speaking in clear enough English nonetheless. It belongs to a blond man with a crooked grin. "Hallo, Kirk. We met on space station, do you remember? Tsybenko. After my country says 'we do not want to hear about the things you saw, we do not want you to talk to people', I move to the States and find a better job with American scientists. And now I am right back in hell!" He seems far too cheerful at the prospect. "Captain Korpan, I arrive with Marines. They wait outside."

Korpan blinks a few times and nearly laughs.

(And the mun faceplams, because the iPod just started playing "Major Tom" by Peter Schilling...)

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."

It feels weird to be working as part of a large group. The Red Panda always eschewed this kind of teamwork, feeling that he could be more effective if left to his own devices. He only teamed up with other superheroes when facing an immediate threat to the entire world.

The Red Panda's not here, though. And if Dr. Stantz is right, this is one doozy of an immediate threat.

The girl in the steel-gray catsuit and goggles greets Ray with a mock-salute. "Flyin' Squirrel reportin' for duty."

Several people glance in the girl's direction in mild surprise, but Ray just looks glad to see her. "Fantastic," he says. "Squirrel, um, these are representatives from all three northern watch bureaus and the United States Marine Corps. The ones in the red and blue are from Finland, they're with Project Pohjola. The ones in blue and yellow are from Greenland, they're the Inquanok Patrol. And the ones who look like Mounties on steroids are the Canadians, they're the Ministry of Extraordinary Threats Rapid Response Team. That fellow over there is Captain Korpan, with the Ministry. He's the local operation coordinator. Apparently we're having a lot of trouble with standard radio communications, since the magnetic fields are going completely berserk. I really don't mean to be stereotypical about Canadians and their skill set, but do you by any chance have any skill at piloting snowmobiles or powered sleds or anything of that nature?"

"I can drive anything you've got," she says with confidence.

...no, she has no idea what a snowmobile is. Why do you ask?

"Oh good," says Ray, relieved, and somewhere his dead grandfather is knocking his head against the wall about the whole failure-to-get-more-details thing. "Because the Russians seem to be doing something from both directions. The Deep Ones reported the presence of a helicopter with Russian markings at the site that used to be the North Magnetic Pole up until a few years ago, but they can't get close enough to tell what's going on. We need somebody to head in that direction for an intelligence sweep- can you and Tyler do it, do you think?"

"Mayyybe," says the Squirrel, looking thoughtful. "How're we gonna get info back out with no radio, though?"

"Heliograph," says Korpan, looking up. "We've got some old Signal Corps heliograph mirrors here and high-intensity flashlights to use with 'em in case the sunlight or the moonlight fails. Forty kilometer viable range."

He's assuming she knows Morse code, of course, but there's a translation key in with each of the mirrors just in case.

"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?"

"Nice. Haven't used one of those in a while. So this is strictly reconnaissance, right?"

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

"Right," says Korpan, and Ray nods. "Although if the situation breaks down, you're authorized to use whatever means necessary to prevent a disaster."

A hesitant pause. "Uh, Cap'n Korpan, sir? If the situation does break down, whadda we do about Tyler?"

Korpan bites his lip a moment, his eyes sliding to Tyler and then back to the young woman. "Your snowmobile will have twice as much fuel as it needs to make the trip to the helicopter area and back," he says. "If it breaks down in a purely mundane way, signal for everything you're worth and get him on it. Tyler, you'll have to learn to drive in a hurry if that happens."

"And if it breaks down the other way, signal for reinforcements. There'll be Finns on alert for that." He nods to two of the shortest people in red and blue.

"Mr. Revenant's been teaching me to fly the spectre-copter, does that count, Mr. Korpan?" He looks up at local flavor of his liason officer. Kid came packed out with as much as he could carry and still run at 'sneaky little bugger' pace with. "And last I checked I could get eaten by something and still survive with the armor I'm wearing."

Agent K steps across the threshold, bearing a gleaming, three-foot long, triple-barreled Korlian XT-17 on his shoulder. A jet-black MiBlackberry up to his ear. And what seems to be a grin on his face.

Been a while since he's had a mission worth toting one of these along.

Of course, the XT-17 isn't the only ~~plasma~~ heat he's packing. There's a Series 4 Deatomizer strapped to his hip, just in case. A Man in Black is never less than well-prepared.

"Zed, I'm crossing over now.... Affirmative, rest of the team's already assembling.... Right... Right... Got it. I'll check in with a preliminary After-Action Report at mission's end."

K stows the phone and takes a look around.

Edited 2008-01-26 03:41 (UTC)

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