[b][u]The Master Plan, Part 2: Loyalty[/u] - excerpt from 'Moonrakerssss'[/b]

~

This is the second part of this Ames Sond piece. Please read Part 1 first, to understand the situation! It can be found here, below the artwork: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/37025496/

~~~


Overflowing with determination to thwart the insane jewel-scarab's world-ending scheme, Ames Sond turns to Dr Holly Goodhead and asks her, "Where do you suppose that radar-jamming system is?"

The chaparral bird-woman locks eyes with the python, already knowing what he will propose. They must disable or fully destroy that sub-system of the sizable space-station, at once. If Drax's little floating city were to suddenly become visible to those upon the surface of the Earth - or the radars thereof, to be exact - the United States government would send an expeditionary force to investigate, immediately.

"We didn't pass anything on the way in from the shuttle dock, so--" the brilliant avian agent pauses, perhaps to compose her thoughts.

"Deeper," says Sond, succinctly stating the situation, with a smirk.

With a wry smile at the edges of her beak and a clack of her tongue within it, Dr Goodhead gives Ames a look of bemusement as she turns to lead the way further into the space station. As they proceed, their shared smile - though short-lived - is due to the python's single word statement hearkening back to something Holly had moaned to the male a few times, in a fit of passion.

Both of them now wonder if they will ever again experience pleasure, with one another, or with anyone else. Will they be able to escape Drax's orbital facility with their lives? It seems unlikely. Sabotage to an enemy base is always a huge gamble; you run the risk of being caught within whatever destruction you bring about while covertly exiting its confines.

To attempt to cripple a space station would almost certainly mean the already precarious ability for anything to survive in the vacuum of space would be compromised. One simply could not flee to the outside. The only way to return to Earth would be one of the six shuttles, the Moonrakers. Any of the sextet of space-craft could easily be damaged or detached from their docking points, leaving any and all occupants of the orbital platform entombed within. And what chance was there to hijack one of the precious shuttles, now? There would be no way to do so undetected. It is entirely possible that the snake and the bird will never have the power to undock a shuttle without some internal authorization.

They could remain trapped within, with a small army of hostile combatants.

But what was the alternative, for Sond and Goodhead? They may never again feel the touch of love, even if they succeed in stopping the madman named Drax, but they may have a modicum of solace in knowing they allowed billions of innocent lives on Earth - to survive. If the two spies succeed in their mission, the population of the planet will never know how close they came to being wiped out by the nerve gas that Hugo Drax funded development of, and now sits poised to unleash.

Both of them know this, and the knowledge weighs upon them as they move deeper into the station, past countless crew members. The pair blend in simply by virtue of being there, in those ever-present yellow jumpsuits worn by the whole of the crew. Even without the proper attire, it can be said that the crew will perhaps trust that anyone on the space station should be there, for it should surely seem impossible for any interlopers to have made it into the remote, secret launch facility in the midst of the Amazon river basin - and then also to have covertly boarded a shuttle to be ferried to the lofty destination that was the space station.

With the Drax Industries branded outfits, the naga and the roadrunner pair move functionally invisibly through the crew, toward their goal.

~

A module named 'Orbital Communicator' turns out to be the location of the radar-jamming technology.

The advantage of a hugely complex operation is that, to function properly, all portions need to be clearly denoted. Like departments in a business, the sections of a mad industrialist's hidden headquarters - or in this case, his deadly-satellite-launching orbital platform - are helpfully named.

Less helpful is the fact that said Orbital Communications room is in a portion of the station that has no artificial gravity.

The whole station spins to allow for gravity, based on centrifugal force, in the outlying areas.

But the Comms room, with its many radar dishes and domes, could not have been in a place where its array would be repeatedly made to face away from the planet, thanks to the rotation. No, it exists at the end of a long cylindrical tail of sorts, below the main body of the station, where the rotation-created gravity was non-existent.

Down through the passage, the python and the roadrunner float, achieving downward momentum through the use of regularly placed metal bars, designed just for the purpose of allowing the crew to move about easily. Of course, in a world without gravity, perspectives shift. For them, it is simply forward.

The end of the 'corridor' turns out to open through the ceiling, from the perspective of the communications hub. As they enter the quiet room, the spies observe a pair of technicians, silently working. Gracefully, the beautiful bird flips to alight upon the floor with her taloned feet, stopping her weightless progress. She nods to the men who look up at her, and they turn back to their work. Meanwhile, Sond flows onto the ground gently, his long form coiling up in a pile.

Although it is perhaps 30 feet wide, the room is only just taller than the average person, allowing one to reach either ceiling or floor to easily reach a hand-hold, and use it to move about the space.

Flexing carefully to push himself to the bank of radar screens that a chipmunk closely monitors, the naga nods to the rodent, acting as though he is merely observing the ongoing work. Holly remains in the middle of the room, near to a diligently working iguana. The lizard watches an intricate device embedded within the floor, making notes on a clipboard he holds.

Catching his eye, the chaparral bird gives him a charming smile. His own snout - which had been frowning naturally - curls into a half smile, eyeing the girl up and down, curious about her intentions.

Without a word, Dr Goodhead holds the iguana's gaze with her own and makes a show of displaying her agility by stepping from hand-hold to hand-hold, toward her 'new friend'. Her feet are able to grasp the metal bars on the floor while her hands pass along from one anchor-point to the next, above. The previously bored reptile's eyes light up at the interesting demonstration of the woman's weightless mobility. The next thing he feels, though, is the pain of a powerful right hook connecting with his snout.

Holly had retained as many points of contact with the various handholds, to give herself the leverage to deliver a strong punch, using her forward momentum as well as the power of her legs bending and pushing her forward from where they had just wrapped around a final metal railing on the floor.

The iguana is sent reeling, spinning through the air of the room, all while soft-spoken words about the status of the space-station continued to drone on over an intercom. Next to Sond, though, the other technician twists away from his station, hearing the commotion. He glances at the python, who shrugs, looking with perfectly acted shock at the avian female. The chipmunk is clearly not going to allow the feathery female to batter his buddy unchallenged.

Simultaneously, the bulky lizard recovers, turning himself around and launching back toward Holly, clawed hands outstretched.

Seeing that both the rodent and the lizard could perhaps flank his companion at the same time, Sond is already reaching his tail out to the retreating leg of the chipmunk, grasping it and halting the crewman, mid-flight. Ames has anchored himself with his hands, and uses that leverage in the weightlessness to simply yank back on the sole mammal in the room. With a sly smile, and a flick of the tail, Sond sends the chipmunk careening away from the road-runner.

In the centre of the room, Holly has re-anchored herself, and as the iguana is on the cusp of reaching her with his grasping hands, she stretches a leg forward, her strong lower limb gracefully arching up so her talons can ensnare the lizard's face. His hands snap to her leg, grasping the thick-scaled hide fruitlessly, attempting to dislodge her. With the coordination of a ballet dancer, Holly uses her leg and the iguana's forward momentum to send him flying all the faster, toward Sond.

Meanwhile, the chipmunk is still grasped in Sond's tail, and has only just impacted with the wall next to the naga, in a heap of limbs. The rodent had protected himself from too much harm, his arms stopping his head from hitting the side-wall of the room. As Sond sees the iguana sailing toward him, he whips the chipmunk outward once more, on a collision course with his co-worker.

There is a satisfying *thwock* as the two Drax employees connect, and the now conked-out pair float aimlessly, weightlessly through the air of the Comms-Hub.

Ames gives Holly a wide smile and nod, dipping his head to her, silently commending her on her combat skills.

Likewise, the bird beams back, floating herself forward and toward him. Together, they shift to study the bank of screens the chipmunk had manned, only moments ago.

"Where _did_ you learn to fight like that? NASA?" Sond asks, jokingly avoiding the obvious answer of her skill being a portion of her CIA training.

"No," chuckles Holly, answering along similar lines, once more acting as if she wasn't an American agent: "Vassar."

Together, they observe the vast control panel. The good doctor lowers her beak near a central device embedded within the radar-jamming console while Sond opens a panel on the wall nearby. As Goodhead works to remove the device, Sond sees the wiring that connects it. At the same time, the serpent rips out a length of the cables that provide the connection for the beeping machine, while the bird manages to unlock the unit that was doing the work. Twice over, it is disabled! The lights in the room glow red, denoting the problem, even as 00S moves to use the cables as ropes, to truss up the two crewmen.

While hogtying the iguana's wrists, ankles and tail together, Sond looks up, confirming that the deed was done. "Jammer's off, then?"

"Permanently," the 'runner coos. "Earth'll spot us in no time."

~

In short order, there is chaos within a highly classified American facility. Massive screens plot the orbital path of the just-detected object above the continents of the world while numerous engineers rush to and fro. The level of chatter is high, all of it on the topic of the exact nature of the unexplained [i]thing[/i]. Is it alien in origin, or terrestrial?

A red phone is in use, in the hands of an air-force colonel, while other high-ranking officers look on, listening. The decorated osprey sighs as he speaks, his scaled fingers gripping the bright red plastic receiver tighter. "Yes. Yes. Will you please listen, General Gogol? We didn't put it up there."

The deep Russian accented voice on the other end of the line gruffly states, "Neither did we, Colonel Scott. So, how are you suggesting our two illustrious nations co-operate upon this alarming matter?"

Sitting up straighter, the avian declares into the hotline, "We've taken action already. As we speak, we're sending a marine-astronaut shuttle on a path to intercept whatever this thing is."

"Very well. But, if we do not hear from you again in the next 12 hours, we take action ourselves, and hold you responsible for the consequences," the Kamchatka brown bear replies, a grumbling undercurrent of threat coursing through his throat.

~

"Launch pre-program complete, sir," announces the husky seated at one of the three central control panels within Drax's inner sanctum.

From his position upon the raised observation platform, the shining jewel-scarab watches over his creation from on high, his four arms tucked behind his back, hands clasped together. Hugo Drax's deep, booming voice projects out over the large main chamber of the space station as he commands, "Launch globe number one."

In the upper reaches of the room, within the clear-walled passage filled with identical globes, one can see the conveyance system activate. The many globes shift forward, heading toward the external wall. They move in unison upon a track, and the first in the line is moved to into an automated airlock, which shuts. All air is removed from the small confines - pumped back into the station - for it would not do to waste such a quantity of oxygen.

The external door opens onto the vacuum of space and a precision mechanism ensures the all-important globe is jettisoned upon the exact vector desired, sending it into its own orbit around the planet below.

Within the central hub of the station, a large-horned ram monitoring another station upon the raised command platform perks up. He turns his head to one side, to call out a calmly but firmly reported alert: "Our tap on the T.D.R.S.S. indicates a planet-side launch, sir."

Lifting his large eyes from the scope he uses to observe the path of the first globe as it sails away from the station, Drax listens. The sheep adds, "Continental USA, Vandenberg AFB."

The beetle pauses in thought. His antennae twitch, and his brow furrows. "There are no launches scheduled," he states softly to himself, certain in his knowledge of all possible space excursions on this, the most important of all days, in his grand plan. Quickly, he replies to the sheep, his voice booming once more. "Check radar-jamming system."

With a few clacking noises of hoof-tipped digits on buttons and the whirring and beeping of his console, the black-wooled sheep searches for the answer.

"Well?" asks Hugo, his concern only just barely noticeable amid his usual supreme confidence and almighty authority.

"Jamming power supply and backup--" the sheep says, pausing only slightly before delivering the surprisingly unfortunate report. "--have failed, sir." The wool-coated male's eyes dart between his screens and the direction of his scarab superior. He dare not look toward Drax, for fear of the anger he imagines might lie there.

Luckily for the ram, the insect has greater worries than blaming - or shooting - the messenger. Drax commands from his lofty position. "Security Team 'J'! Investigate immediately."

A sliver of worry worms into the impossibly ambitious scarab's heart.

He finds his eyes turning once more to the countdown clock that denotes the time before each launch of the globes, with their deadly payloads of nerve gas compound.

As much as he would like to enact his plan faster, he knows better than anyone that the weapons can only be launched at precise locations along the station's orbital path.

Another one fast approaches, though.

~

Inside a long tube-like passage between modules of the space-station, Ames Sond and Dr Holly Goodhead spot the release of the second lethal globe through a window that affords them a view of the vast blackness outside. They can see the hexagon-ringed spherical satellite-bomb as it is jettisoned from the side of the main space-station module.

"Blast! Another one," Sond curses, thinking of each as a tremendous failure, given the potential for death that each contains.

The roadrunner-and-python pair pause for a moment in their journey through the station to watch the globe retreating silently over the awe-inspiring view of the Earth below.

There is a sound of cloth shuffling behind Sond, and the sense of a presence.

Many crewmen and women had been passed by, in the cramped corridors of the station, so to hear another group of yellow-clad crew-members walking behind the naga and the avian would have been nothing to worry about.

But this sound, this presence.. it simply stops behind Sond and Holly.

Ames is the first to turn around. At first, all he sees more or less at his own eye level, is the waist and crossed arms of a truly gigantic form.

Looking up, the snake's eyes are drawn immediately to the silvery gleam of the massive metallic teeth in the maw of the towering, beastly brute. Jaws, the mountainous komodo-crocodile, looms over the serpent, and grins with cold humour down at the agent, clearly relishing another chance to put the spy in his place.

Quietly lifting a hand to tap Holly's shoulder, the naga alerts his companion to the abnormally tall hybrid reptile's presence.

She too turns, then needs to jerk her head up. Her beak gapes open as her eyes raise, also meeting that same sharp, sadistic, silvery smile.

Holly swallows, weighing her options.

But Sond has already seen beyond Jaws' arrival; there is a whole team of security personnel accompanying him. While most of the crew - and the two infiltrating spies - are clad in yellow jumpsuits with a black line on the outside edge of the sleeves and pant-legs, the security team wear the inverse: Black with yellow trim-lines.

These ebony-coated enforcers wield their black stun-guns, ready to suppress any resistence in those they face. The thick wand-like devices are prepared to deliver powerful electric shocks to any who disobey.

Evidently, this is the 'Security Team J' of which Drax spoke. The pristine white passage has filled with the elite guard, following their enormous captain.

From up the cylindrical corridor, one of them approaches and grasps Holly's arm, pulling her along. There is a moment of hesitation, her eyes darting around, gauging the enemy numbers. But, with Jaws behind her and the gaggle of guards ahead, she relents.

Reluctantly, Sond slithers along after the CIA agent who has long ago become an impromptu partner in his mission.

He's come so far, though! From England to California, to Venice, to Rio de Janiero, to the Amazon rainforest, and lastly into space. To be stopped now, when the end of Drax's mad scheme is so close, Sond cannot abide. He whips around, springing upward on his flexible form, lashing out at Jaws.

The spy's spontaneity is his undoing, for in his haste, he aims his punch for the snout of the giant. A resounding *CLANG* sounds in the unearthly quiet of the station passage as Sond's fist impacts with the indestructible dental work - which is itself supported by a neck nearly as thick as the naga's body.

Ames grunts, clutching his hand in pain. Another pained hiss escapes him as a heavy foot comes down upon his tail, Jaws deliberately pins the tail as he leans over toward the curved wall. Seemingly without effort, the crocodile-komodo rips one of the many hand-hold bars from its sockets. He holds it out, moving to sling it over Sond's head, as if might entrap the naga's upper body with the metal bar.

Dodging deftly down and backward, the serpent's retreat is mitigated by the monstrous clawed foot upon his other end. But, Sond did not intend to flee. Instead, he flows forward once more, pushing heavily forth with all his strength, the whole of his considerable constrictor bulk flinging at the front of Jaws.

Again, there is no effect. The naga's yellow-suited form merely crumples noisily against the unmoving wall of muscle that is the big brute.

Even worse, the metal hand-rail is now easily brought down behind the python's head, the material creaking as Jaws begins to bend it around Sond's neck. It is as though the colossal crocomodo can and will craft a noose for the naga, strangling him with a knot of metal.

In a last-ditch effort to halt his own imminent end, Sond swings an arm again, punching the only sensitive place he has left to easily attack: The monster's groin. The naga had been pulled in tight against the lower belly of the humongous henchman, after all. Sond's uppercut is met with a *CLONG.*

Jaws and the snake freeze in place.

The towering male glances down, suddenly looking self-conscious, his eyes darting from Sond to his troop of guards, and the bird woman they hold in place.

For his part, Ames' expression is one of confusion, then concern, and perhaps pity.

Not a word is spoken between the two while a small handful of the black-suited guards surround 00S. Jaws releases the naga, allowing his deputies to strike the spy with their stun-batons. Sond twitches his coils tighter while a pained, hissing grunt is forced from his grimacing snout.

With the clear threat of further electric discipline, the snake is led away from Jaws, and the whole group proceeds onward, escorted toward the central chamber of the massive space station.

~

The upper body of agent 00S is flung outward from the main column at the heart of the large command room. His coils trail after him, slowing his flight - and yet, he still nearly slides off the edge of the central platform. If he was a biped, he would have sailed over the side, to the floor some 6 meters below. Clearly, he was launched into the room by the gigantic green brute.

Sond's arms dangle over the railing-less precipice while his roadrunner partner is shoved forward through the door behind him, nearly tumbling over the slowly gathering coils. Jaws bends and turns sideways to thread his immense muscular bulk through the door, before standing tall, utterly blocking the passage all three have just emerged from.

Standing upon the telescope platform that exists slightly higher than the one his opponents occupy, the jewel beetle, Hugo Drax, strides forward, head held high. He stops at the edge and peers down upon the bird and the snake with a regal disregard, all four hands held together, behind his back. With a deep inhale that seems to denote his annoyance and aggravation at Ames' arrival, he announces: "Mr Sond. You appear with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season."

While rising smoothly, acting as if the way he was just tossed into the room had no effect upon him whatsoever, Sond replied with typical unperturbed flippancy. "I didn't think there [i]were[/i] any seasons, in space."

The beetle is prepared with a retort, just one of four hands coming forward, a single finger raised, as he makes his point. "As far as you're concerned, only winter. That great killer of reptiles, bringer of torpor and hypothermia. You may have found my fortress here, but you will also find your icy death." The gleaming gold-skinned villain slips the one hand back behind himself and turns to address the avian, whom Jaws grasps and tugs to force her to move, to stand alongside Sond, while his master aims his ire at her. "And the treacherous Dr Goodhead, I daresay a desert-borne bird is only slightly less disadvantaged, in the cold?"

With the two spies in close proximity once more, Holly turns her beak to one side to murmur to Sond, "As if insects thrive in frigid conditions..!"

Sond's chuckle is sibilant.

The scarab fumes at the sound of the snakeman's mirth, and cries, "[i]Silence![/i]" before he calms again and his placid, cold demeanour re-solidifies. "Despite your pitiable efforts, my finely wrought dream approaches its fulfillment."

Dr Goodhead steps forward, pointing a claw defiantly up at the thick-bodied beetle. "Your dream, whatever sort of nightmare it is, hasn't a chance, Drax."

"You think not?" The plates that make up the border of Drax's mouth shift into a rare smirk. "We shall see."

There is brief moment of silence wherein the python and roadrunner operatives attempt to imagine a way to escape their situation, and the megalomaniac arthropod considers how to best dispose of the interlopers, before the bright-blue-eyed canine speaks up.

"We're coming up to third launch position," the husky technician announces, to Drax.

"Launch globe number three," commands the insect.

Just as with the previous ones, it proceeds out and is jettisoned in the precise, robotic manner, sailing away into orbit above the Earth.

"No doubt you have realized the splendour of my conception," Hugo begins, while walking down a ramp toward Sond and Holly, from his higher observation platform. "First, a necklace of deathly gems, around the Earth.." he continues walking toward snake and bird, having reached the middle platform. "50 globes, each releasing its nerve gas over a designated area, each capable of killing 100 million people, but leaving all plant and unintelligent animal life, unscathed."

Sond and Holly look at each other, concerned. They had not known the precise projected body-count for each globe. Now, their minds are gripped, thinking about how there are three globes out there now, which they must stop.

Even one was too many.

Drax's deep voice drones on, "Civilization, as you know it, will cease to exist." He says this last part simply, lightly, his antennae flicking upwards in an airy gesture. It is as if he considers the annihilation of all societies across the world in their present states would be a blessed relief, a weight off the shoulders of the world itself. "Then, a rebirth, a new world."

"And what makes you worthy to act as judge? To sentence all the people of the Earth to death?!" Dr Goodhead hollers, her eyes wide, taking a step nearer to Drax, now that he is so close to her. One of Jaws' huge hands lands on her shoulder, keeping her from advancing further.

"My qualifications?" Drax asks, then ponders a moment. "The mere fact that I can is one reason. That I have the will is another--"

Sond cuts in to add, snidely, "Any crazed maniac with a functioning hand and arm can grasp, lift, and swing a stone, to kill. It doesn't prove that his target deserves to die of a caved-in skull. You could have used your wealth and your intelligence to help the world, improve it."

"Your childish logic is noted, snake. Before the rude interruption, I was going to explain how the people of the world are dooming the planet and themselves, aside from their constant wars and the atrocious crimes of species against species, the heinous wronging of individual against individual. But I see that you believe there is still time to course-correct. I do not believe this - in fact - I know it to be false. All that's left is the full abort and re-commencement that my design represents."

Turning and speaking almost to himself, the beetle adds, "It's poetic, that the renewal I bestow upon the world shall mirror that of the great Scarab god Khepri, who renewed the sun each day and who rolled it up over the horizon, creating the dawn."

"You DO know that myth of Khepri and the sun was created simply because people saw scarabs - [i]which are dung beetles[/i] - rolling their balls of feces along the ground, yesss?" hisses Sond teasingly, glancing around to see if any of the command crew are listening, speaking more for their edification than that of the gold-skinned, 'sacred' scarab. "You don't actually believe yourself to be related to Egyptian deities, do you now, Drax?"

"Enough, you lowly worm!" shouts Drax, in his frustration. His shining wing-covers flex upward, his wings lifting away from his suit, jittering in agitation while he raises his fists.

Given that no-one has actually physically stopped him from speaking, the python pressed on, "But if you want to go try to roll the sun through the sky, be my guest. Give it a nice big push for me--aah!"

One of the guards from 'Team J' had stepped forth and is now in the midst of giving the serpent a long buzzing jolt of electricity from the prod his team possessed. The snake writhes on the ground in physical pain, but mentally relishes that which he said - and the way Jaws had not moved to silence him as quickly as the brute probably should have.

Hugo glares at the English python and the American avian, shooting a dark look at Jaws and any other command crew who dare to look at him askance, in this moment.

Dutifully, the ram technician is monitoring the situation outside the station. "U.S. spacecraft on course to intercept us, sir."

At the end of a calming breath he was already in the middle of, the beetle placidly issues the order: "Activate laser. - Prepare to destroy spacecraft."

Outside, upon a segment of the station that extends upon a slender connective arm to the central hub, an immense panel slides open and an enormous laser emerges from behind the just-opened panel. This round weapons platform does not rotate, unlike the rest of the floating, spinning miniature city. It remains stationary and stable, to accurately intercept incoming threats, thanks to the aid of computers and gyroscopic stabilization.

Casually, the jewel-beetle walks up to Sond, who was still recovering in a messily coiled heap on the ground. "You see, my dear Sond, we're well able to protect ourselves against [i]all[/i] enemies, outside and in."

"Speaking of which, allow me to introduce you to the airlock chamber," the bug says, walking on past 00S after the momentary stop to peer down at the reptile dispassionately. The somewhat short insect marches leisurely down another ramp, toward an airlock that exists on the exterior wall of the central chamber.

Pausing to turn back and watch as the naga rose into his lifted, 'standing' posture once more, Drax gestured to the ominous door behind himself. "Observe, Mr. Sond, your route from this world, unto the next." 

The hatch was painted with thick yellow and black stripes, denoting its inherent danger. Reaching out backwards with one of his lower arms, Drax hit the activator for the chamber without looking. With a hiss of hydraulics, the hatch doors slid apart, splitting along a seam where one yellow and black stripe had been touching. One half went up and the other down, revealing a an almost totally darkened space. A second later, a red light dimly illuminates the tiny room, making it appear akin to the lethal maw of some great beast.

Drax turns his head subtly, his antennae adjusting as he addresses the avian infiltrator and traitor. "And you, Dr. Goodhead, your desire to be America's first woman to undertake a space-walk will shortly be fulfilled," he says with a smirk shifting the leathery plates that comprise the scarab's mouth. There is a touch of cold mirth in his voice as he adds, "You will also be its last, unless there are some female astronauts upon the approaching shuttle."

"You're a monster, you realize that, right Drax?" Holly breathes, with equal parts disbelief and unhidden hatred, through her beak. She wishes dearly to use her sharp-edged bill to rip the insane insect's feelers free from his head.

Sliding forward slightly, the serpentine spy spoke up. "So, you jettison the two of us, and this will leave you here, on your flying.." he trails off for a second, searching for the right word. "--stud farm, conceiving your new.. perfect society?"

"If you care to put it like that, yes," answers Drax, staring daggers at Sond, across the distance between bridge-linked platforms. Then his gaze shifts, looking above and behind the two agents. It does not take much to surmise where the thick-bodied bug is looking. Taking his cue from his employer, Jaws steps up behind the python and the roadrunner, ready to usher them to their doom within that small, red-lit chamber at the beetle's back.

Sond's mind races. He's been doing his best to buy time, to somehow last until the American shuttle arrived. But now, he could tell, if nothing changed, he and Holly Goodhead would be banished to an unimaginably frigid death in space and in short order, the station's laser would easily destroy the approaching marines, or rangers, or whatever-the-hell the yankee military had designated their zero-gravity combat teams. 00S didn't care what they were called, just that they would get there, and enable the end of the scarab's scheme.

A gigantic green-scaled hand landed heavily upon Sond's shoulder, dwarfing it. Where Jaws went, death followed. He had been a reaper throughout his professional life, and that trend shows no signs of stopping. Though Sond had tangled with and escaped from the strangely sizable crocodile-komodo a number of times within both this assignment and a previous one, it seems like that particular stream of luck has now finally run dry.

And yet..!

After the frown one might expect from the naga's visage at having Jaws' impossibly immense hand upon him, a slight smile flashed across the serpent's snout, before he hastened to hide the flutter of hope.

Solutions from within problems, as always.

"And, of course, anyone not measuring up to your [i]standards of physical perfection[/i].. will be exterminated?" asks Sond, with a touch of sibilance.

Hearing this, Jaws glances across the room, towards the tiny mantis-woman who he himself had brought to the space-station. The metal-toothed monster can see that the young albino and bespectacled woman is looking around at the other crew members and their relative uniformity, in comparison to herself and her mountainous companion. The tall, beautiful, dark-scaled lizard woman who works at watching a system of the station next to the insect does not notice the minuscule mantis-maiden's mounting concern, or the way she peers back at the huge, hulking hybrid.

Drax, who has kept his eyes affixed to Ames Sond, replies calmly to the naga. "Certainly."

"Interesting.." Sond murmurs, glancing around the room, as if taking in his surroundings in general. In truth, is observing Jaws and the small mantis most of all, seeing how they have locked eyes, volumes being spoken between the two. "..Most interesting," Sond hisses, once again looking back at Drax, trying to the golden jewel beetle's attention just long enough.

The mantis' large eyes silently plead with the steely-mouthed croc-komodo while he gazes back at her, his expression conflicted.

Oblivious to the revelation shared by the opposite-sized pair, Hugo Drax addresses his hired muscle. "Jaws," he begins, raising both of his left arms to point, one at Ames, one at Holly. "Expel them," he orders, gesturing back with a flick of his head and antennae, at the airlock just behind himself.

Jaws hesitates, and looks to Dolly. She looks back at him, with all affection.

To anyone who had observed the pair in the Moonraker base or on the subsequent flight to the space-station, it would be clear that they were very much in love. Her name is Dolly, and she smiles at Jaws, because she knows what will happen next, as sure as she knows he has a good heart, despite ending up in the occupation he has now, due to his unique nature. 

In that instant, that tiny moment of hesitation, she smiles slightly, knowingly, encouragingly, at her mighty man.

He smiles back, although his worry remains evident upon his snout.

"JAWS!" roars Hugo, uncaring and unseeing of the tender connection between tall reptile and diminutive insect. All he sees is a malfunctioning part, in need of correction. "DO AS I SAY!"

Slyly stealing a sidelong glance upward behind himself, Sond looks to Jaws, a half smile on his snout.

Jaws remains still, looking at Drax, taking a large breath, thinking. His mind may well be made up, and he is merely weighing the options of how exactly to proceed.

"EXPEL THEM!" Drax demands, his sheer level of volume contrasting with the tomb-like silence within the stations' command module.

All eyes are on the towering, muscle-bound male.

The crocomodo's gaze is narrowed, and upon his employer. The loud outburst from the scarab seems to have disheartened the large lunk, and he turns away, much to Dolly's dismay.

Jaws gives a silent order, via hand-gesture, to two of his black-suited guard-team. The two guards move forward past Jaws, moving toward Ames and Holly, to force them toward the airlock. 

Suddenly, Jaws whips around behind the two elite guards and brings his hands up to their heads, easily clapping both of their skulls together, knocking them out handily, their dark-suited forms collapsing to the floor.

They make a shiny, elite heap.

A number of additional guards and crew rush forward. All at once, a rapid melee ensues. Jaws' massive body blocks the whole of one side. Lunging forward on one leg with his surprisingly long reach, his claws grasp the whole of the front of two guards' yellow space-suits, his fists balling up all excess material. He lifts both men bodily and flings them back just enough to send them screaming down to the lower level, off the edge of the central platform. The line of further opponents makes him sigh - he realizes he should have thrown the just-dispatched pair backward into the crowd, to stymie them.

Sond takes up position on the other side, trying to block the other bridge that leads onto the central platform he occupies with Holly and Jaws, and the main command crew. Perhaps if they could keep hold of this most middle area, they would have some modicum of control of the station itself! The serpent whips himself around one approaching guard, while slapping his tail across the body of another, pushing him back, not caring if the target topples off the raised floor. His main concern is keeping the prey in his loops from harming him before he passes out from lack of oxygen. The constrictor keeps his quarry from any inward breathing, of course.

Holly steps forward to ward off an attack from another woman, who looks to advance upon Ames, while the naga is busy. The roadrunner takes hold of her opponent's arm in both hands, flexing it painfully to control the next movement, and uses the forward rushing momentum of the other woman to execute a judo-flip. The lizard cries out in pain, then has the wind knocked out of her as she lands on the edge of the platform. Soon, she is dangling there, unable to get enough of a grip to climb back up.

"Seize them!" Drax shouts, motioning with four hands at the crew already in motion, urging everyone in the vicinity to rush into the fray.

The even larger wave of opposition that flows inward all prove to be clever enough to stand back from the weaponless snake, chaparral bird and crocomodo. They're armed with stun-batons or laser pistols, poised to subdue or kill. Reluctantly, the three stop resisting upon seeing the odds against them.

The ram technician, seeing that things near to him have been handled, announces: "Sir, U.S. spacecraft, two minutes to intercept."

"Blast! There's no time to deal with these fools. Opening the airlock now could interfere with our accuracy. Stand by to laser that shuttle," he commands, then glares at Sond. "Your time will come, soon enough."

Outside, the massive laser cannon on the stabilized, non-rotating portion of the station is leveled at the incoming vessel, while the shuttle full of airforce men is too distant for the Americans to see what lies in wait for them, as they fly directly toward their all-but-certain doom.

Within, a voice over the loudspeakers drones: "Initiate firing sequence."

Another voice responds robotically, from somewhere else in the station. "Initiating."

Surrounded by the business end of the Drax Industries proprietary laser pistols, Sond stands stock-still, in the midst of the command platform. There is a small screen that has a view of outside the station and displays the phrase 'Target Lock' below a large targeting reticle centred over the majority of the star-filled image. The shuttle comes into view on the screen, and the insidious machinery goes to work. It tracks the vessel's movement, zeroing in on the possible source of salvation.

There is a beeping that begins and steadily grows in frequency, as the cutting edge computer closes in on a lock. Sond imagines that a steady tone will accompany death, just as with heart monitors in a hospital.

Over the station's speakers, a woman's voice is heard: "U.S. spacecraft within laser range, 25.5 and closing. Range 15.. Range 10.."

The targeting screen is mounted upon the console manned by the black-wooled sheep. Desperate, Sond scans the multitude of controls from his position not too far away, slowly and subtly shifting his stance upon his coils, or his long neck atop his shoulders to see around or above the guards in front of him, hoping to find some way to stop the laser itself. He realizes that the screen is likely just one of many mirrored outputs, and that the weapons systems are controlled elsewhere - where-ever those disembodied voices had come from. 

And yet, the snake spots something else entirely - although perhaps just as useful to a saboteur such as himself.

There is something labelled thus: "EMERGENCY STOP - DO NOT USE UNLESS STAION SECURED"

The shuttle draws ever closer while Sond shifts his tail to slide the side of it into Holly's taloned foot. She looks at him and the two lock eyes before Sond darts his eyes forward, pointedly, along with a slight flick of his forks and nod of his snout. She sees what he does, and uses her elbow to bump his arm, pushing it forward subtly, telling him she's ready, and that he should do it.

Behind them, Jaws can see they're planning something, and prepares himself as well.

The target lock indicator beeps more and more rapidly.

"Laser firing," the voice on the loudspeaker informs. "-in five, four, three--"

As 'three' is being said, Sond lunges forward, and encircles the guard directly in front of him, a single heavy loop of naga body dragging him to the ground, arms pinned. Meanwhile, Holly tackles the guard next to the one Sond bound, who otherwise might be able to use his stun baton on the serpent.

"-two--"

Ames is still moving forward, his form flowing around the person he entrapped. Simultaneously within the split second of this sudden scrambling, Jaws grabs the collars of a pair of crew that stepped forth in pursuit of the python, yanking them both down on their own tails, painfully.

"-one--" 

00S flips up the protective cover upon the 'EMERGENCY STOP' button and stabs a claw down upon it.

Outside, a dozen retro-rockets in key positions upon varying portions of the station and the long supports that connect them, all fire as one.

The rotation of the station decelerates precipitously, coming to a rapid stop, disrupting the whole of the crew. The invisible momentum of all those within the private little floating city is suddenly known to them. Beforehand, the centrifugal force had been their simulated gravity, and now it is a force that thrusts them sideways, akin to a cricket ball released from the hand of a spinning arm.

Standing bodies are swiftly made to be no longer standing. They're launched over consoles, off platforms, into walls. Those lucky enough to be seated are either made to flop out of their chairs, or most fortuitously, be slapped backward against the back of them. Others perched upon rolling chairs are treated to a wild ride across the floor, crashing into walls or allies. Sickening crunches and screams echo through the black, white and grey confines of the suddenly not-so-sterile station. Blood is spilled and bones are broken, some lives lost in the central chamber, given the severity of the fall from the higher platforms within.

Even those quick enough to catch themselves mid-tumble receive sprains or strained muscles, unable to plan a proper self-saving manoeuvre.

Most important of the crew flung about within the station are those operating the giant laser turret. Its deadly beam is never unleashed, as the technician meant to operate it is meters away from his console, now - crumbled into the spot where a wall and a floor meet. What's more, the turret-platform's counter-spin leaves the defensive weaponry out of alignment as well. The weapons node had to rotate its connection to the main station portions, just to remain stationary, and continued to do so for a time after the stoppage, leaving it horribly out of sync.

It will take time to re-establish such a delicate balance.

Time that Drax now no longer has, thanks to Ames Sond, Holly Goodhead, and the defector Jaws.

With the simulated gravity negated, many groaning crew-members begin to inadvertently shift themselves off the floor and into the air, thanks to their pained writhing. Others, who managed to remain safe, begin to try to move about the station in zero-G. They clumsily push away from walls or floors to glide from one spot to the other, attempting to return to their posts, or to aid their comrades.

-

In the silence of space, the US shuttle advances, unmolested. Those aboard are totally unaware of their previously imminent and now suddenly averted doom.

~~~

[i]Amethystine/Ames Sond 00S and related IP (c) to his owner.
James Bond 007 and related IP (c) to Ian Fleming & Albert R Broccoli's DanJaq LLC & EON Productions[/i]

~

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