Ice Cold [Flashback]

[Blane Stark]

[[The following is a flashback.]]

[February 2nd, 2521. St. Albans]

"Where are you, you Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze.?" Blane cursed softly through the thick wrap on his face. The bitter cold of Saint Albans was tearing into him, even through his thick military issued cold weather gear. A particularly nasty gust of wind made him blink several times. Moisture from God knows where had gathered on his eyelashes, and they tried to freeze together. He rubbed them gently, to clear them.

He lay, all but invisible, on a high bluff overlooking a small town. He had been waiting for almost an hour. The snow flurried around him, but his eyes were locked on the town below. Sooner or later, the man he was waiting for would come out, sooner or later.

Blane adjusted his position slightly, moving his rifle to fit comfortably in his grip. When they had sent him out here, he hadn't dreamed it would be such a long job. Days, at most, he had figured. But instead, he had been here for almost two weeks. Two weeks of lurking in shadow, and freezing his ass off. All to prepare for this day. Watching the routine, scouting out the best view point, all the legwork was done. Now it was time to put it all to use.

Glancing through the scope, he caught sight of a figure moving out of the bar. A smile broke on his face, although it was blocked by the wrap. He watched, as the man stumbled drunkenly through the street. Here was the target. David Blaize, a criminal, and a scumbag. The alliance had been trying to find something to pin him for, for a long time. It had finally been murder. Two federal agents investigating a domestic complaint had been strung up in a tree. Blaize had rabbited, and disappeared. That was when Stark had been called in.

Blane had been told only the basics. Given a packet loaded with information, and told to find the man. It hadn't been that hard. Looking through the older files, he had discovered a family homestead on St. Albans. A quick wave to the local office, and it was confirmed. Blane had been sent out on the next ship heading out this way.

The man in the street had slumped up against a nearby wall. Blane could see him taking a swig out of a flask, and looking around. "Jeezus, aren't you cold?" He muttered softly. Sure, the altitude and lack of windbreak made it worse, but it was by no means warm down there. He pressed the thoughts away, and focused on his job. Blaize had made the mistake of standing still.

Everything seemed to slow down, the wind no longer noticeable, nor the cold. Blane's breath came in slow, measured tempo, and he focused solely on the man in his cross hairs. A few more adjustments, and he squeezed the trigger. The shot sounded like a slap, the silencer and the wind carrying away the noise. He watched, as his target jerked some, at the impact. The blotch of red spread quickly, and the victim looked down at it... confused.

If David Blaize had looked up at that moment, he would have perhaps seen the shadowy figure looking out over the town from his perch high in the sky. But before he could, the man was gone. Melting into the snowy evening darkness, vanishing without a trace. He was gone before Blaize hit the ground.

"Specter to command. Target down, moving to rendezvous point." Stark said, into his radio, as he made his way off the cliff face. Mission accomplished.

He made his way down the narrow path, and was heading along the outskirts of the town, en route to the evac point, when it happened. A crunch in the snow behind him made him turn. He saw the man who had been following him, just as a second man grabbed him. Blane cursed his lack of attention, the cold having numbed his senses. But as he flailed against the two assailants, he felt a sharp pain in his gut. The blade of the long thin knife was in and out before he could so much as cry out.

Blane fell to the ground, and clutched desperately at the wound. He began crawling towards the town, using only one hand. The cold, and the wind, and the pain, brought him to a halt. He tried to go farther, but collapsed. As his eyes closed, he felt certain, this was the end.

[Alexis Jennings]

Alexis Jennings was twenty three and already renowned at what she did, being a companion was an art form and she loved it. On a white mare in St. Albans, the two all but blended into the background. Alexis almost appeared to the untrained observer as though she were floating across the mountains. All that could be seen through the flurries of snow was the brown fur coat surrounding her figure. The two glided along at a decent pace as she smiled to herself. She had just left the arms of a very well to do and prominent figure in the Alliance. No companion had ever quite satisfied him until her. Alexis liked to win and never handled rejection well. Though it was a rare thing for her to ever be rejected, she made a point of it. She had thought it peculiar to meet on St. Albans, however the aforementioned alliance official preferred to keep things very discreet and she respected his wishes. Aside from her strong-willed manner which she kept at bay while doing her job, Alexis was the epitome of professionalism.

The wind pricked her skin like tiny claws as she pulled her coat more tightly around her. Peering through the snow she thought she could see what appeared to be four men in front of her quite a ways off. If she wasn’t mistaken one of them was being bushwhacked. With a sense of urgency she pressed Gypsy, her horse, onward. The two were flying through the air. Alexis bent forward against the biting wind her face buried in Gypsy’s grey-white mane. They reached the man who had collapsed into the snow but the other men were long gone. Alexis pulled on the reins and they came to a halt. She dismounted with the grace of someone who had ridden horses all her life.

In case this was an ambush Alexis pulled out her golden pistol and prodded the man’s shoulder. It was then that she saw the blood. He looked in a rather terrible state, in far too much physical distress to try something devious. “Excuse me, Sir?” she holstered her pistol at her hip, “Can you hear me?” she asked taking his pulse. He was still alive. She turned around, Gypsy stood loyally in the ever growing darkness. It was then that she made a motion with her hand and a distinct whistle combination. Gypsy made a snort and knelt down in the snow. Alexis grabbed hold of the man about his armpits and dragged him the very short distance, “If you can hear me, which I highly doubt,” she said as she strained her muscles to drag him, “My name is Alexis Jennings,” she introduced herself before hoisting him one leg at a time over Gypsy’s back. “And this,” she sighed, “Is Gypsy,” her mare snorted in response as if to protest another person riding her. Alexis sat behind the man on the saddle and clutched him about the chest careful to avoid his wound as she held him upright with one hand and the reins with the other. She made a clicking sound with her tongue and Gypsy rose again with both the man and Alexis on her back and they began towards the town and where she knew Lance Howe would be situated for this man was in grave need of a doctor.

[Lance Howe]

"What have we got?" Lance asked roughly as he answered the door. He wasn't expecting company and it was a little late for typical business hours. That meant that somebody had gone and gotten themselves hurt and needed a doctor immediately. Lance wasn't thrilled to have his evening ruined but he also wasn't the type to turn away work. That was his bread and butter, and this case could potential present quite a challenge... there was probably some sort of compassion buried in there too, not wanting some poor bastard to bleed out or whatever simply because the timing was inconvenient.

The doctor was confronted by a woman dragging an unconscious man, the obvious patient. Lance immediately helped her carry him in and began his survey of the injured man. Numerous contusions covering the body and face, possibility of concussion or other head trauma and potential broken nose. Several lacerations causing minor but widespread bleeding, looks worse than it is. Several defensive wounds and damage to hands. Hands! Second degree frostbite at best, feet in a similar state. Overall condition from apparent beating obscured general signs of extreme hypothermia.

The doctor silently signaled for his younger siblings to act. The young girl immediately brought blankets to the operation area and the boy vigorously began to feed the building's fireplace. Lance crudely wrapped the affected areas but then walked to a nearby cabinet and began searching though it. He returned with a syringe of a blue-green liquid which he injected into the man before then finally tending to bleeding. Heat, rest, and luck would take care of the rest of his injuries. Funny how the most alarming symptom, bleeding, was the least of the man's worries.

"Who is he?" Lance asked as he began to wrap things up.

[Blane Stark]

Blane felt as though he was floating above his body. When the woman arrived, he could hardly groan a sign that he was alive. She hoisted him onto her horse, a gorram horse of all things. He drifted dangerously in and out of consciousness, as the journey into town progressed. It seemed as though it took longer than normal. But then he found himself in a building. A man was standing over him. Then it went dark for a while.

Blane came back to the sound of a voice. He managed to catch enough of what was being asked to understand. He coughed, and winced. "Sgt. Blane Stark" He whispered, barely audible. "Alliance." He coughed again, and his vision blurred.

"Who was it?" He asked, with a wince, as the heat warmed his hands and feet. It seemed his condition was worse than he had noticed. "They got me.... In the snow.... Should've seen em." He fell silent, breath coming in gasps. "Have to get back to... rendezvous." In his hypothermic state, his suspicion was heightened.

His hand had been slowly moving to one of his pistols. The heat had done enough to allow him to grip the weapon. His current state, made thought difficult, but his training, and muscle memory kicked in. He pointed the gun fluidly at the doctor. "Who in rutttin hell are you?" He asked, gritting his teeth.

[Alexis Jennings]

Repeating the same whistle combination as they reached the home of Lance Howe Alexis gracefully dismounted from her kneeling steed and with great effort not to further injure the man she supported him like a crutch. His body was limp and hung heavily against her frame. Alexis struggled, albeit persistent, to the door and knocked securing the man with both hands.

“Hello Lance my dear, we’ve got a patient for you,” she smiled in greeting. There was a certain elegance about her, even when Alexis was casual and friendly. It was like a light that drew others to her, whether it was training or genetics that gave her such a quality others took notice. She observed the few villagers out of her periphery as the door opened, they were rushing off to their homes and eager to be out of the cold and yet they paused to look at her, not the injured man in her arms but her. She was more focused on Lance and the injured man however and was thankful for the help in ushering him into the house.

As Lance went about his work she asked, “Can I help?” watching as his siblings rushed around. She knew a fair deal about medicine because of her father. She had wanted to take after him and become a physician, but her mother never wanted that for her. “I don’t know. I found him out there in the snow. He had been bushwhacked by the looks of things.” Then she heard a faint voice and turned to the man who seemed to be speaking. As the man, formally known as Sgt. Blane Stark apparently, pointed a gun at Lance her eyes widened. “Wait,” she gasped moving from her potion against the wall between them and placed a hand on top of his pistol, “Lance is a doctor, you are badly hurt, he is trying to help you,” there was something calming and almost hypnotizing in the way she said it.

[Lance Howe]

"He needs a warm bed more than anything." Lance replied matter-of-factly to the offered help. Even with advanced medicine and procedures, the body was often its own best healer.

Then the man came around, Alliance military apparently. It made his predicament all the more interesting, being jumped so easily by a bunch of thugs and/or falling prey to the elements. You'd expect some off-world tourist to fall into traps like that but not a trained and equipped Alliance soldier.

Suddenly, the man had drawn his sidearm. Lance cursed for not having checked for something like that although in his defense he was a little busy saving the man's life. Even mild hypothermia was likely to cause mental confusion. The sergeant here had a bit more than a mild case. His frostbite also posed another issue. It was a wonder the man could even move his hands and fingers well enough to control the weapon. Even so, he could end up easily aggravating the injury and in his paranoia cause even more harm to himself.

Whereas Alexis tried to actively talk the gunman down, Lance scoffed at the threat. He'd like to see how well a dazed and confused man could shoot especially with fingers in that state. The man also currently wasn't 100% "with it" or he wouldn't be acting in such a way. His reactions were unpredictable and likely not to be completely governed by reason.

"Doesn't feel so go, does it?" He asked somewhat aloof and only half interested. "Your fingers I mean. You keep waving that thing around for much longer and you're likely to lose at least one." By now his fingers would likely be numb, still partially frozen stiff, and beginning to form enormous and painful blisters of various colors. If the shock of seeing one's own condition and the fear of losing those precious digits was not enough to cut through the mild mental incapacity currently griping Blake then there probably was nothing else they could do but get shot or wait him out.

[Blane Stark]

Blane's hand throbbed, as it warmed. And as he looked down, and saw the nice colors they had turned, he dropped the gun to his chest. His head fell back, and the world swam for a moment, as he tried to hold on to consciousness. His brain was foggy, he felt like falling asleep. The warmth of the room, and the length of his day, all pulled against him. But he fought it off. He had to stay alert.

"Need to contact the evac bird." He managed to say. His thoughts were all messed about in his head. He couldn't figure it. He was wearing warm clothing. How had this happened? Let alone the fact that some po dunk hillbillies managed to get the drop on him. He couldn't figure it out, maybe when he could think straight. "Where's my radio?" He tried to reach for it, and found the pouch empty.

He was slipping out, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer in the world of the awake. "Contact them." He fumbled around for his Identacard. "Here." he managed to extract it from his pocket. And then slumped. The warmth and exhaustion overtook him. He passed into dreamland, as the doctor went about his business. His last words, were whispered to the woman. "Thank....you."

[Alexis Jennings]

Alexis nodded as she listened to Lance and stood out of the way. She watched him work and hoped the man would be alright. From what she could see it looked like he had rather severe frostbite, that couldn’t feel very good, if he could feel at all that is.

She let out a sigh of relief as the man, Blane, dropped his gun to his chest and she stepped aside. As he asked about his radio she looked to Lance silently and then back at Blane. She had no idea where his radio was or if it was even on him at the time she had found him. She gave a small reassuring smile at his last words however and moved out of the way to take her position at the wall once more allowing Lance to finish his work without interruption.

[Lance Howe]

The man was smart enough to put the gun down rather than refuse treatment from a couple of good samaritans. At the mention of a radio, Lance looked to Alexis who seemed to be as clueless as him. "Whoever 'got' you must have taken it or it was left behind."

The doctor snapped his fingers for his younger brother and then handed him the evac card. "Take this to the Sheriff and see if he can't call it in to the Feds." It was unlikely that the local Alliance boys would know anything about the operations of a man like this. It was even less likely that his "evac" would find him in time, but at least this way the greater Alliance government would get wind of it. Eventually they'd show up to collect their man.

[Where are we going with this thread from here?]