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     Commander Sieven Drexler |
Sieven swallowed a bit too hard without realizing it. He watched the nose of the humongous Pfhor battleship begin to emerge in the second chamber as the internal defenses lit up. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the next series of moves in his mind. He blindly tapped at the console, which beeped softly at him. "Churchill, from Flag, reverse thrusters, one-quarter. Let's stay out of range of those weapons for now." He glanced at the holotable where across Xanadu's length at the door of the third chamber hovered two Traxati weapon pods ready to assist in scuttling Xanadu and making it a useless wasteland. With some hesitation, Sieven looked at the Lh'owon situation display grudgingly. Part of him wanted to know if he was going to die today. It would have been a welcome, certain message in a life defined by its mysteries. Part of him still had the humanoid trait of self-preservation, and when he gazed at the position of the Coronado away team in the Citadel of Antiquity's depths, he did so needing to know if he had a chance to survive. His life was truly no longer in his own hands. It was a feeling of calm that he'd never experienced, accepting that whatever decisions he made in the next few moments were truly inconsequential to his immediate survival. Coronado would free the S'pht, or Churchill would find a way to escape, or Xanadu's weapons would obliterate the Pfhor ships, but he would have no say in how any of those options played out to the solution. It was a grateful helplessness to be unable to save himself. He took a moment, even as Xanadu's defenses fought the intruders desperately, to do something he hadn't done in years with so much intensity. Sieven prayed. BTC |