"Damage report!"
"Particle shield holding. Aft plasma cannon at 56%. Aft engine has sustained heavy damage; it is currently at 34% efficiency. Hull breeches in the aft cargo bay." The monotone female voice replied.
"Shit, that shoots down my idea about taking out the fighter..." Commander Xander McLeod muttered, pulling himself back into the command chair. The ship rocked once more as several pipes in the ceiling severed, spewing a mix of noxious chemicals onto the bridge. "EVE, vent that gas and shut of the flow!"
"Unable to comply. Containment systems offline." EVE answered in her calm, steady voice.
Cursing the computer's calmness, McLeod stood and reached for the computer console nearest him. Finding it short-circuited, he slammed his fist against the keypad and curse.
"My'Lia?" McLeod shouted across the bridge as the computer bank exploded. The force of the explosion slammed him into the command chair.
"I am still here, Xander." A female voice replied.
"Can you vent that gas form your console?"
"I will try." She answered, pulling herself up. Blue-green blood ran down the pale blue skin of her forehead as My'Lia worked at a frantic pace. The dark blue feathers that covered her head in place of hair were singed and matted from the blood. Clutching his rib, which now burned with each breath, McLeod stumbled his way to where she worked.
"Any luck?" One cue, the overhead vents opened and the gas was sucked form the room with a sharp hiss.
"That answer your question?" My'Lia answered, a smile crossing her face.
"Don't get happy yet, babe. We're not out of the briar patch yet." He replied, pulling on a comm headset as he took a seat at the tactical display. "All hands report."
"We are still here, human." A reptilian voice hissed over the commset. "We are working to return the engines to full efficiency."
"I'm here, Commander." A human male answered. "Hull breaches secured, but the cargo bay is a wreck!" he shouted over an electrical explosion.
"Keep on it, Kyle." McLeod replied. "Kiyana?"
The bridge door slid halfway open, forcing Kiyana to force her way through. "Here." She hissed. Her golden orange fur was matted hit sweat and blood and her olive drab jumpsuit torn and burned along the left side. "We've still got our port weapons emplacements."
"30 plasma torpedoes remain, 5 metaphasics. How many of those chrijaks are left?" she snarled.
"EVE?" McLeod calmly asked the computer.
"All Hive vessels eliminated."
"EVE, contact Confederation Command." He ordered, favoring his right side as he sat back in the chair. That blast had more than likely broken a good portion of the ribs on his left side.
"Unable to comply. Long range communications are down."
"Dre'Sga." My'Lia cursed softly in the singsong Avien language. "Can we enter hyperspace?"
"Hyperdrive engines are offline." EVE answered.
"Damn..." Closing his eyes and sliding down in his chair, McLeod ran a hand through his hair. The Argos was crippled, cut off from any help.
"What is our current location?" he asked.
"Unknown. Star charts and navigation is..."
"Offline. Shit!" McLeod slammed his fist down on the armrest of the chair. "Ideas?"
"We need to set down and repair the ship." Kiyana replied, dropping back in chair by the navigation console. "Our last sensor scan showed a small planet nearby. Appears jungle-class. Atmosphere is breathable."
"All right. Let's see what this girl has left in her and set down. My'Lia?"
"Yes?" the Avien woman answered.
"I want you to examine everyone and care for any battle injures they sustained." McLeod spoke, walking over to where she sat. "Once I clean this wound."
"I will be fine, Xander. It's just a scratch."
"Doctor..." his voice warned.
"I know...I'll take care of it, then I'll take care of those ribs." She smiled. "One of these days, Xander..."
His finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. "Later. For now, take care of yourself."
She nodded and picked her way to the corridor door.
"If you two are done with your heartfelt moment..." Kiyana spoke, her voice rich with sarcasm and her long tail twitching. "I'm going to need a second set of hands setting us down. If you're up to the challenge, of course."
McLeod dropped into the chair beside her and made a quick check of the second pilot's station.
"Whenever you are ready." He replied.