>>5587617Glaring indignantly at the two troublemakers, a slight dampness still visible around her eyes, Cleo seems momentarily lost for words. You feel her arms begin to shake and for a second you worry that she might drop you, but suddenly they tense and go still.
>Kiro and Isobel both roll 10 (8+2) social checks.>Double success.“Oi, FUCK off you two.” Her usually girly translated voice suddenly deepens in register to match her guttural growl, “The Cap’s bloody paralysed and we’ve got torpedoes about to tear us a new asshole and all you wyrm-ridden bastards want to do flap your gums?” Cleo huffs and pushes past them to deposit you securely in your command chair. You can see your devious Ops and Comms officers exchanging smirks behind her back, and Kiro even has the temerity to slap Isobels surreptitiously proffered low-five with a tail tip.
“You able to keep yourself upright, Cap?” Cleo asks with a slight smile, her voice calm and steady once more. “I’ve got a ship to fly!”
<span class="mu-r">Cleo is no longer suffering from emotional distress(1).</span>
“Thanks for the lift Nav, I’ll be fine now.” You reply, slapping her shoulder appreciatively, “I can almost feel my knees again so the meds are doing their job.”
“You’re going to have to tell me that whole story, Dallas,” Isobel remarks with glint in her eye, “Y’know, just to set the record straight and all.”
“It was self-inflicted,” Eyes-of-Night confides to her in a mock whisper, “didn’t listen to the doctor’s advice and look what it gets him.” She shakes her feathery head.
“A shotgun wedding?” The Human officer snarks back, taking her seat at the communications console.
“Alright, enough out of you two gossiping schoolgirls!” Cleo stomps past them, claws scraping menacingly on the deck plates, “We have some hosiles to hunt.”
As glad as you are to see that Cleo is back to her usual terrifying self, precious time has been wasted. You need to know what you’re up against and how long you have left.
“Tactical, tell me you have eyes on those torpedoes.” You call out, your commanding voice bringing silence and order back to the bridge.
“Negative, Captain.” Lieutenant La’afette replies from his station professionally, “Our damaged optical sensors weren’t able to track the enemy vessel and the torpedoes simultaneously. They appear to both be coated in the same stealth plating, no IR or EM signatures detectable at this range, Sir.”
“Damn,” you curse, “I need to know if they were SCRAM equipped or not. It's the difference between them arriving hours or minutes from now!”
“Logs show two GRASERS and ten torpedoes launching simultaneously, Captain” your Ops officer reports promptly, “we appear to have evaded the DEWs with our earlier manoeuvre and we have at least a vector for the torps. Maybe we should fire up the TFA?”
“We should, Sir,” says your Science officer, “with data from the temporal flux antenna, I can tell you whether those torpedoes are using SCRAM or if they’re just ballistic.”