[Taocow PBEM] [Koba, Carlos, Lyle, Talas] Book 3 - Chapter I - Engine Room

Aaron Clausen mightymartianca at gmail.com
Wed Dec 9 23:48:08 GMT 2009

> > [GM]
> > ...
> >
> > Finally Lyle and Koba reach the engineering control panel.
> > A rather dizzying array of screens, buttons and sensors present
> > themselves, and it doesn't help that all hell has broken loose.
> > Koba stretches out his senses, trying to shut everything else
> > out as he snakes his way through the sub's circuitry looking to
> > shut down bridge control.
> >
> > Meanwhile, the sickening brain, its feelings and intentions
> > all but impossible to read, changes tactic, and turns towards
> > the partially cut piece of hull and begins moving in a halting
> > but still rather fast fashion towards it.
> >
> > Behind them, the hatch to the rest of the sub is now glowing
> > white hot, and metal is beginning to melt and flow like butter
> > in a microwave.
> > [/GM]

> [Carlos]
> Carlos shouts "Talas, get that brain!  I'll try to hold whoever
> or whatever comes through the door.  Might need some help,
> Lyle!"
> [/Carlos]

> [Koba]
> "Don't let the brain get away. It will only come back with more help."
> [/Koba]

> [Talas]
> Talas not wanting to wast time running after the Brain. Talas
> pulls out his AT-230 Particle Beam Rifle and fires at the brain.
> [Strike: 15].
> [/Talas]

Talas hits the floating brain with a well-placed burst [Damage: 50MD].
The shot blasts a sizable hole in the lower part of the brain.  The brain
trembles violently, then falls to the deck with a sickening squish.  The
eye stalks seem to be twirling around randomly, and a loud series of
sounds, something like "gzzajdafhtajdfnpphhhhhapong" comes out of
object between the two hemispheres.

> [Lyle]
> Looking down at the panel, points out any important controls to Koba
> since they are still there. He fires up his Psi-shield and prepares to
> deal with anything or anyone coming through that door.
> [/Lyle]

Though the brain is down, things happen very quickly.  The hatch to the
engine room gives a weak groan, and then literally falls off its hinges.
In leap a dozen crewmen, all looking dazed.  Half move towards Talas
and the brain, the other half towards Koba and Lyle.

Behind them come a dozen more of the fish men.  As bad, and at
almost the same time, a large overhead duct suddenly blows open,
and three more fishmen drop out of it directly in front of Talas.

No one has much chance to react, however.  The dying, fried brain
on the ground makes one last sqawk, shoots a beam directly at the
cut section of the hull.  The beam manages to tear a small hole
in the hull, no more than a few inches, but enough so the water begins
pouring in.  And then the hull tears and water is roaring in.  Talas,
the brain, and the three fishmen are literally thrown across the
engine room.

Alarms start going off everywhere.  An emotionless Scottish
voice with a somewhat computerized timbre starts speaking.

"Warning... warning... hull breach in engineering.  Lowering
blast doors and emergency bulkheads.  Engineering and
Section One being sealed off in thirty seconds...  29... 28..."

Lyle and Koba are in an area of the engine room that is slightly
higher, so the water as yet isn't above their ankles, but it's coming
fast.  Talas has been jumbled around like he had just taken a ride
on a cannonball.  Carlos was flung against the far wall, and without
adequate armor is simply laying there, about equidistant between
Talas and Lyle, unconscious, his head covered in blood.

Somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, Koba manages to find
the circuit triggers that cut off the bridge.  It's complex, but as the
water is up around their knees, and the count is "21... 20..."
suddenly the bridge activity monitoring systems show the bridge
has lost control of the engines, reactor and navigation.

The fish men are quickly diving into the water, swimming with
impressive speed and power towards Koba and Lyle.  The
crewmembers that haven't been swept against the wall seem
strangely uncertain, raising and lowering their weapons.

"19... 18...." the voice counts.

Aaron Clausen
mightymartianca at gmail.com

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