WCD:44 WCD44: WEST COAST DEFENDERS #44 "J'adoube" Part 2 of 2

Mon Oct 9 14:11:01 PDT 2006

Rebecca stumbled as the floor under her feet lurched and bucked like a
maddened bronco. She waited for the most recent tremor to pass before she
trusted her footing enough to pelt for a nearby bulkhead. Just her luck to
draw damage control duty at the moment when things were getting interesting
in the full sense of the Chinese proverb. She keyed the commo net, opening up
communications with the rest of her team.

"Kendricks here," she said, scowling through the bulkhead doorway at the fire
that burned merrily beyond it. "We need to get this door closed so we can
starve that fire. Any of you fine, strapping men know where we left the
remote?"

"In the sofa," replied her wing-man, reaching out to tap the close button.
The door stubbornly remained open despite this display of low cunning. "Well,
that would've been too easy..."

"C'mon kids," replied the other trooper, kneeling his Tornado armor down in
front of an access panel. "The manual garage door closer is right here.
Kendricks, give me a hand here getting this here panel off..."

Rebecca shifted over and began to help her wing-man pry the port loose to
reveal a hand-cranked door control. With a grin, she knelt down and used it
to begin closing the access door.

"Great. At least we can get this hotspot dealt with. One down and six million
to--"

The Lenny Bruce rocked as it was wracked by another volley of enemy fire.
Sadly, that fire stuck all too close for comfort to the trio's location.
Three troopers were knocked ass over appetite as the ship lurched and did its
level best to make the three humans regret having ever evolved a sense of
kinesthesia. Then came an ominous creaking noise... which miraculously ceased
a moment after it had begun.

"...is everyone okay?" Kendricks began, sitting up. She took the sudden
silence as a good sign. Especially as it had sounded like the bulkhead above
had been buckling. "That was close. I think, boys, we'd better finish up and
get gone before anything even worse happens--"

Not quite so miraculously, the creaking sound returned, only to be quickly
replaced by the groaning of over-stressed metal giving way. 

Three troopers were buried under a deluge of metal and debris, vanishing from
sight.

Outside the ship, the battle raged on.

*****************

Not long after the altercation between Thor and Nikon Ninja, TDSM trudged
irritably down the hallway that led towards the medical lab. 

Moose Illuminati or not, he was damned if he was going to put up with much
more of this.

And the doubly frustrating thing was that he really liked his teammates. 

He thought about the accident that had transformed him from one of the
Mega-Intelligence-Bureau's leading research scientists into the hairy
eight-appendage freak that it seemed only Dog Thing could love. He wriggled
his one damaged stub of an arm experimentally as it re-grew.

Imagine that. Poor weak Spectrum had cojones of awesomantium, to match his
grappling hook. And what did I do? Did I rip him to shreds? No, I took my
licks and hopefully proved to everyone that I will follow that man through
the core of a supernova if I have to. He grudgingly had to respect someone
that would take him on in such a violent and provocative way.

And that was the trebly frustrating thing. More than an assignment, more than
a teammate, Spectrum was someone he could count on. Someone he could call
friend. He needed someone who was not afraid to call him out and smack some
sense into him when he is being a royal pain in the butt, which he admittedly
had been now for some time. While the West Coast Defenders were purportedly
staunch defenders of law and justice, it seemed that everywhere they went,
chaos followed. TDSM had chafed under the yoke of working for the MiB, but
back then it was just his own personal dislike for order. Then along came the
M.I. to recruit him. He couldn't stand the militaristic structure of these
sheep working for Aurora, but with the Defenders and Spectrum himself, an
unwitting seed of chaos and destruction, here in the mix....

His reverie was ended as he referenced a hallway sign that directed him to
the medlab. Counting down, he found the correct entrance, 5-23, and stepped
through the automatic doors.

A man blanched and excused himself, as he snatched up his clothing and
muttering an apology, darted out the door, still wearing only an examination
gown. Dr. Sloan wiggled his eyebrows in consternation, and turned, regarding
the arachnid. "Step into my lair, said the WASP to the spider..."

"Thatssss not very funny." TDSM muttered.

"Doctor Dick van Sloan, sir. A pleasure, a real pleasure. I'll be your medic
on this trip, and I just wanted to set up appointments with each of you. Just
to get some baselines, just to make sure I know what I'm patching up when
push comes to shove. It appears you are next on my appointment list,
especially since I had just had a last minute cancellation." He reached
behind with a foot and pushed a drawer shut the rest of the way until it
latched. "Pity that; I was about to check his reflexes too."

Foxy, Spectrum and British Airwave walked the hallways in another part of the
ship. As crew-members encountered Foxy, their reactions ran the gamut from
curiosity to fear. Spectrum put his arm around her comfortingly. "You okay?"

"It's alright sailor. I'm a big girl; I'm used to getting the looks after
all. But you're sweet for asking."

Drumming his chest like a jungle man, he grinned. "Hey I am just looking out
for my wife-to-be." He snapped his fingers, "When we get back from this trip,
we're going to have to register at some of the stores. Can't get wedding
gifts if people don't know what you want!"

Up ahead the sounds of an air-wrench rattled in another service bay.

Along a far wall, suits of armor in various stages of repair could be seen.
Hesitating by the entrance, he looked back at Randall Ames. The elder
superhero was leaning against a bulkhead, his face ashen.

"Randall, are you feeling well? I was going to ask you if we could poke our
head in here for a minute and check things out, but..."

British Airwave straightened and smiled affably, "No problem, just a little
winded--yes, you two go right ahead. I will go on to my compartment and have
a cup of tea and rest a bit. Tis nothing a spot of tea can't resolve."

"Okay, if you're sure..."

"Oh get on with it lad. It's just a bit of jet-lag. I'll be fine." He smiled
and waved casually. "Just don't be late for the meeting with this Captain
Tonk!" He strode arrogantly off, around a corner and out of sight before
clutching his left shoulder in pain.

"Pills..."

Spectrum looked back at Foxy and shrugged. "Lets take a peek in here hon, I
want to get a look at this battle armor they use."

"Looking for a trade-in?" She smiled.

"More like a refit, or maybe an upgrade...." Spectrum replied. They turned
and walked in together, as various techs looked up at the pair from their
work.

"Fascinating absolutely fascinating..." Dr. Sloan looked up from the readings
on the almost completely regenerated stump. "What is this, gene-splicing?
Nanotechnology? Please hold still for the scanner just a bit longer, please."

TDSM stood naked in front of the doctor, spread-eagled and with all of his
arms and legs fully extended, as the Doctor busily waved a scanning wand over
each section of TDSM's black muscular frame. "No, sssserum based radiotherapy
with mutagenic sssubstancesss. Before the accident I wassss working on the
regenerative propertiessss of a rare form of Amazonian trapdoor
ssssspider...I have an itch..."

"Hold still."

"Another doctor once tried to examine me...I ate hissss liver with sssssome
fritossss and a nice Margarita."

"Isn't that supposed to be 'Fava Beans'"? Dr. Sloan retorted.

"He wasssss Mexican."

"Ah." Dr. Sloan nodded. "And you expect me to believe you. Don't move, TDSM."

The doors hissed open and Clark strode in, carrying a disheveled woman over
his shoulder. His stance and positioning did not allow him to see who it was
the Doctor was with, since his burden obscured his view in that direction.
"Hello Doctor, looks like Commander Tonk will need that vitamin shot now..."
he not too gently offloaded her onto an examination table head on towards
TDSM. Turning, he began, "I warned her that she needed to - iiiyyaahhh!"

Captain Tonk lifted her head from its face down position on the pads.

"How the bloody Hell(tm) am I supposed to go 'eeeyah'? I can't even flamin'
spell that. Jess gonna go back to sleep now..." An instant before she started
to lower her head, her eyes refocused and she looked TDSM up and down with a
critical eye. "My, you're a big one. New assignment?"

"Yessss. You could ssssay that." TDSM grinned. "Pardon my undresssss, I
wassss being examined." The Doctor tossed a towel in TDSM's direction, but he
ignored it and remained still.

"Yep, anna shay you ssstill are." Tonk muttered. "Doing anything later?" 

Clark began to stammer something, but was cut short by a look from TDSM.

"You can call me Lydia."

A deep rumbling chuckle came from TDSM. "And you may call me Samuel. 

Unfortunately I have to meet with the Captain of thissss sssship, but
perhapsss later we can have dinner."

"Ah! Sshes a swhell lady! Aye shooould know...OUCH!"

The doctor moved swiftly to the Captain's side and injected a cocktail of
B-complex, stimulants, and a few other god-knows-what, into her backside.
"There you go ma'am. You can take her back to her cabin now, Clark. I suspect
she will be right as rain in just a few minutes."

"Toodles Sammy!" Tonk waved airily as Clark scooped her up and hustled out
the doorway, her head narrowly missing the door-frame.

Clark shouted, "I'll be back later Doctor to discuss the medical stores being
brought aboard!" Turning his attention to Tonk, "Captain, you sure handled
that a lot better than I did. Between you me and the four walls, that
Trapdoor Spider Man scares the crap out of me." He set her standing on her
still wobbly feet.

Tonk did a double-take, "What? You mean I wasn't imagining that man had six
hairy arms!? Bugger. Okay, now I am really sober."

Clark leaned over, barely containing his smirk. "And may I remind you that
not only do you have a meeting scheduled with the West Coast Defenders, but
you just accepted a dinner date with TDSM."

"I did?"

"Yes."

Tonk pulled him close and whispered, "Hide the rum."

*****************

The Lenny Bruce managed to heave about, presenting an undamaged shield facing
towards the incoming missiles just moments before they kissed the ship.
Despite the shielding some damage managed to blow through to the ship proper,
but in the end the internal damage did not prove enough to significantly
degrade operational capability.

Or in other words, the mofo had taken its best shot, and now the crap be
-on-.

"Dial up the ECCM to eleven," Tonk commanded, carefully inserting a straw
into her Capri Sun pack of Canned Heat, guaranteed -not- to spill. 

"I want a clean shot through their static. Unload everything we've got at two
klicks and then take us on past. Once we're beyond firing range, trade ECCM
power for ECM and circle 'round. We're gonna need some time to lick our
wounds."

Sparks nodded, handing out orders to weapons and engineering as he laid in
the plot. Two ships circled one other, neither willing to turn to present a
prow to the other. While a forward facing attack would allow either vessel
the luxury of bringing more weapons to bear on its foe, it would also commit
that ship to a direct approach, making evasive maneuvers extremely
problematic. Tonk wished that she still had full burrito power to pull
exactly that stunt for a second time, but her dinner was already cooled
enough that she didn't dare tap it to that level. The Lenny Bruce still
needed the deadly entree to supplement its depleted power output and draining
it too hard, too fast might leave them dead in the water.

"Missiles away. Beams fired. Their shields..." Sparks blinked in surprise,
and then grinned. "Their shields are -not- coming back up. I think we blew
out a fuse!"

"You'll excuse my rude manners if I don't offer to help fix it," replied
Tonk. "Time to missile strike?"

"Ten seconds. Bad news; they're redirecting as much of their shield power as
they can into electronic chaff. The strike's not going to be as nice as it
could've been."

"Yeah, life sucks all over, but then you die," said Tonk, with a shrug. 

"Give me the good news: was that a hit?"

"That was a hit, sir. Three of our cloud got through. The ship's venting like
an old person at Wal*Store."

"Bring us around. Time to give them their goodnight kiss."

"Yessir. Coming around sir. They're launching!"

"Had a feeling. Turn up the ECM... put as much chaff into the airwaves as we
can. Use our beams as point defense. What I want is to stuff some missiles
down their miserable gullets while their trou are dow--"

"Captain! Their launch is... big."

"It's not the size of the launch, Sparks, no matter what your female
crew-mates say behind your back--wait, what?"

"They should -not- have the launcher capacity for a strike this big and yet
there it is, flying towards us. It's not sensor ghosts... there's just no
effin' way..."

"Are we committed to the run?"

"Yessir, we passed the point of no return ten seconds ago. No turning back
without opening up our cat-flap to enemy response."

"Guts or glory, Sparks. Come Hell(tm) or high water, we're gonna show them
that the Lenny Bruce is not afraid."

"Yes Captain. Weapons is reporting racks ready for launch. Also Captain, I
should point out that our burrito has cooled to seventy-five percent."

"Momma always told me to eat my dinner before it got cold," Tonk muttered to
herself. "Chaff and whatever shields we got anyway. Drain all our batteries
for it. We won't much care about having reserve power if we're floating dead
in the black!"

*****************

Spectrum leaned over the repair bench, looking at the suit internals. 

"So, Oliver, it uses internal battery systems?"

"Yes sir. Not really a field serviceable or removable item. It has to be
repaired here. " Oliver replied, eager to make a good impression on the two
visitors. "The Tornado armor is a slightly modified version of the powered
armor worn by some other groups, most notably the Tornado Knights. It's
personal powered armor; has excellent resistance to small arms fire and
offers limited protection from heavier weapons. It augments strength by dint
of muscle-guided servo mechanisms, controlled from here and here." He pointed
to the receptor pads within the arms and legs.

"Darn it. I was hoping to scrounge up some power sources for my suit. 

Speaking of which, you have a power outlet I can jack into, my battery needs
a boost." He caught the technician stealing glances at Foxy's outfit, and was
about to say something. Foxy glanced at Spectrum and winked as she scooched
up her crossed arms and leaned over just a fraction more to check out the
armor. Gonna have to get used to being with a flirt...he thought to himself.

"Um, sure. What kind of power system does it use?" The technician blushed and
tore his eyes away from the PDA he was holding as a prop to get a better
look. He gestured to a recharging bay for the armor systems.

"Its okay, I think I can get my suit to adapt." Spectrum brought up the
damage control subroutines that allowed him limited access to the nanotech,
and issued a recharge command. "What I really wish was that those suits came
in extra-extra-large."

"Beg Pardon?" Oliver gasped.

"Foxy, is there something somewhere you could go look at while I talk with
this guy for a few minutes, undistracted?"

"There is an R&D lab next door, they have some pretty cool stuff there. 

Ask Stan, he could show you something he's working on."

As Foxy sauntered next door, Oliver quickly thumbed the save button, and
pocketed his PDA, focusing his attention on Spectrum. "Man, if you don't mind
my saying so, sir, she's something else..."

"I guess I don't mind ..." Spectrum shrugged. "Okay. Let's talk about these
suits of armor. They come in different makes and models, right?"

"Well, they are all standard combat units. But we do have a couple
experimental heavies. All suits come with the standard communications array,
but some armor has been fitted with scout features to provide more extensive
command, control and countermeasure functions. Tornado armors possess
micro-missile racks, and they have limited medical monitoring/auto-doc
functionality. Lastly, they are capable of LOS laser communications as well
as passive and active scanning..." Oliver looked over at one of the
camouflaged armor units. "...though the scout armors tend to be better at
that role. Maybe I don't understand your question."

Spectrum sat back as his suit continued to recharge. "I had an idea. Is there
any way to make the armor a bit roomier inside? Say, where I could wear my
ManCo PoWer Armor inside the Tornado unit?"

Oliver whistled and shook his head. "...don't know... I really don't know. He
fished out his PDA and quickly turned off the camera mode, switching to
document data retrieval. The heavies are semi-modular; if we stripped out
some of the secondary equipment and life support....that's a tall order man.
And we aren't even talking about how to get the suits to interlink either..."

Spectrum scratched his chin, "How about telling me this: How quick could I
learn to use the suit?"

"Oh, the troopers undergo extensive training, but even I can make one move
around and do the basic functions. I bet if you are used to powered armor
you're gonna have a much shorter learning curve."

Spectrum was about to reply when there was a loud crash and yelling from the
room Foxy had entered. Spectrum started to move to the door, but tethered to
the charging station he could only shout, "What was that?" 

He quickly set to unplugging himself.

Oliver dashed to the doors and flung them open, then in the next second
yelped and flattened on the ground. Foxy flew into the room and out the
repair bay doors, riding a metallic surfboard. She let out a cowboy yell and
blasted down the hallway out of sight.

Another technician, taller and slimmer than Oliver, dashed in pursuit.

"WAIT! The mobile transport is not calibrated for your size! It's made for
heavy armor use!"

"STANLEY!" Oliver shouted.

Pausing at the exit, Stan panted. "She wanted to know if I could install an
iPod dock on it! I don't know what came over me... she was really interested
in how it worked and I just suddenly wanted her to have it, so I gave her the
control wristband, and..."

Spectrum, now freed, ran up to Stanley. "Is that thing safe?"

"Of course not! It's a prototype! It was a test idea for finding a way to
move the heavy armor to a location quickly."

"How quickly?"

"Ummm... do the words 'meep meep' mean anything to you?"

There was a whooshing sound as Foxy suddenly reappeared at the end of the
hallway, scraping the wall as she made the turn. "WHEEEEEEEE!"

"Foxy! Slow down, you'll wreak that thing!"

"Not much chance of that," Stan muttered, "weapons grade alloys. Tougher than
steel."

"Use the brakes!" Spectrum shouted as she went flying past.

"That's where she might have a problem." Stan rolled his eyes. "Those are
being delivered this evening."

The entire ship gonged as Foxy powered into the bulkhead at the other end.

The trio dashed to the impact spot, and as Stan snatched the control band
from the tether and killed the power, Spectrum and Oliver peeled Foxy's
pancaked body from the wall.

Oliver glowered, "Oh my god, Stan! You killed Foxy! You bastard!"

"No, wait!" Spectrum calmed the two. Taking an enormous breath, he planted
his lips on Foxy's and blew mightily. After a couple lungfuls, Foxy popped
back into normal shape and staggered around in a circle.

"Whee HEehEEE, This Ride requires YoU to be THIS tall to ..." She then shook
herself and recomposed. "I LOVE IT!" Fishing into her pocket, she scribbled
rapidly on a notepad and tore the paper off. "Here, have the accessories and
color options installed, and give her two coats of clear-coat. We'll pick it
up later!" She planted a peck on Stan's cheek and dashed off with Spectrum in
tow.

"But..."

"And get those brakes installed!"

Oliver crossed his arms and shook his head. "Mmmph!"

A moment later, the intercom sounded. "Technicians Hardee and Lorrel. 

Please report to the bridge on the double."

"Well, that's another fine mess..."

*****************

The Lenny Bruce's electronic countermeasures sang a song of confusion in the
approaching missiles' primitive electronic brains. Some veered off-course,
but at this range many more were still able to recognize their intended
target and continued on their suicidal course. The ship's beam weapons
reached out, swatting away as many of those missiles as they could. But beam
emitters were expensive and missile launches were cheap, so there were only
so many that could be batted into oblivion before the first wave struck.

Thus were the Lenny Bruce's shields once again to come between the ship and a
violent end. The Auroran starship rocked with the force of the strike,
battered about despite having just barely managed to prevent the missiles
from coming into direct metal-to-metal contact.

"Shields down, Captain," said Sparks, handing off an order for someone to
coordinate Damage Control, like -now-. "Engineering says we'll have them back
in a coupla minutes..."

"Right, tell 'em not to rush. It's not like we've got a space battle going on
or anything. Launch!"

"Aye. Missiles away. Suggest we turn -hard- because wave two is coming our
way."

"Turn! What the -Hell(tm)- is with that anyway? Where did they suddenly pull
another set of launchers from? Their as--"

"Assistance requested in the rear sections, ma'am! We've got at least one
DamCon team missing. Don't have anyone to spare for a search. What do we do?"

"Ping those Westerners. Time for -them- to pay for their ride on this boat.
How close are the missiles?"

"Two hundred meters and closing fast. ECM chaff is having -no- effect."

"The HELL(TM)? Do they have someone in those things driving them? 

...hey, that's not a bad idea. I could round up everyone onboard who sasses
me and--"

"Judging from their maneuver patterns, I'd say that's exactly what we've got
here, Captain. Time to our missiles hitting... ten seconds."

"Damn it!"

"Sir?"

"I've finally met a commander more heartless and cruel than me! That's it,
Sparks. We have -got- to blow this bastard from the sky. I will

-not- have my bad name ruined by letting him live!"

"Your wish is my command, Captain. Missiles impacting. Nintan ship hulled.
They are at Sitting Duckcon Level one. Bad news is, we're about to take our
own hit on the count of... now."

Everyone on the bridge braced for impact. The Lenny Bruce shuddered a bit.
And the bridge crew stared at each other in surprise.

"Nothing... happened?"

"Did they throw rocks at us or something?" wondered Tonk. "Sparks, I want to
know exactly which miracle just took place here."

"We were hit with -something-, but whatever it was it wasn't explosive. 

I think we're in the clea--oh crapweasles on toast with marmalade jam and tea
on the side..."

"Sparks, report -right- now or you're the first test pilot of our new
human-driven missile system."

"Those 'missiles' that got through... they're clinging to our hull. 

We're reporting small breaches, everywhere one's attached."

"Explosions?"

"No sir. Just cutting. But that's bad enough. May I recommend we scramble
-all- Tornado armored individuals and every hero on this ship now? Unless I
miss my guess, we've just been boarded."

******

BOARDED!?

"Federal Regulation 4.232.57 clearly states that all passengers must pass
through the security checkpoint and turn over all weapons, liquids, gerbils,
and ...."

SOMEONE GET MISTER SAFETY OUT OF HERE!

WILL OUR HEROES COME FACE TO FACE WITH THE ALIEN INVADERS?

WILL FOXY GET A CUSTOM PAINTJOB ON HER NEW BOARD?

WILL SPARKS HAVE TO TAKE KAMAKAZE MISSILE PILOT CLASSES?

UP NEXT: A HERO DIES!

SUPERGUY!

Lawrence Brown

Network / Telecom Geek

TCF Bank
720-200-2505,  cell 303-981-7326
lbrown at tcfbank.com
6400 So. Fiddlers Green Cr.  #800
Greenwood Village, CO 80111

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