“So there’s no chance of diplomacy with this Tremor, then?” Richie asked.

Zakarr’s response, claiming that trying to appease or convince Tremor to stand down would be a wasted effort, was exactly what Richie had expected him to say. It disappointed Richie greatly and he sighed, drumming his fingers gently against his waist in frustration. This was all a lot to take in and Richie just wanted to be sure that he understood everything as clearly as he could. Still, killing was never easy no matter how despicable the other person was and it always made Richie feel a little bit on edge. He could sense it was so in the others too, especially Alison who looked to be deep in thought. Zakarr continued, outlining the specific tactics of each of their targets. As Natasha said they were up against a brute, an assassin, and their mastermind, which was a dangerous combination. They covered each other’s weaknesses well.

What caught his attention more than that was the fact that she had suggested splitting up despite knowing the reputation of their opponents for having enormous power. Richie’s brow furrowed, something which Natasha saw all too often. “Are you sure that’s wise, Natasha? I’m not sure if sacrificing numerical strength for speed is a good idea. We have no idea if we’d be able to deal with them if we split into teams.”

“Unless we plan the teams correctly,” Walter said, arguing his point. “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, even Malus and his henchmen. If we can take advantage of that then we should be able to deal as much damage as possible without getting ourselves roughed up too badly.”

While Richie was about to raise his hand to object, Red Dragon quickly agreed with him, stating that they would need to learn about each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and then devise a plan of action from there. Richie quietened down from then on, still not entirely convinced by the idea of splitting up but willing to support the team regardless. Exploring the capabilities of his allies did interest him, however, and while he was confident that he knew everything about them that he needed to know he could just as easily be surprised. If there was going to be as much bloodshed as Richie expected there would be then they would all need to know their new companions inside and out.

Walt, who had been singing the first few lines of Hooked On A Feeling while Skull-Man spoke, took a single step forward and pulled a few small stones out of his pocket. He released them and they hovered a few inches away from his hands. As Walt twirled his fingers about the stones moved with them, bumping casually into each other. “The alien fella beat me to it,” he said. “Silicon manipulation… and that means that I can manipulate stone, glass, concrete, and crystals. Anything with silicon in it, really. There isn’t a great deal on this ship I can use to prove it without wrecking the ship’s electronics but these stones’ll have to be enough.”

Still letting the stones dance between his fingertips, Walter looked over to Alison. He smiled and she frowned, then brought both hands to her hips. Walt thought for a moment that she was going to hit him. He knew Alison was sometimes embarrassed about her powers. Not because of the abilities it granted her but because of the source of them. When she told people that she was possessed by an all-powerful spirit that embodied law and justice most people would laugh. Then again they had all been abducted by aliens only moments before. Explaining Ra was the least of Alison’s worries.

Alison’s skin turned to its unique white-metal alloy, covered with the same golden decorations it always was. Her red hair turned to locks of gold and her eyes sparkled crimson. Tiny flames flickered almost playfully around her eyes, glowing softly as they struck her metal skin. “I…” she stuttered. “I am the latest vessel for a powerful being called a Demon Lord. Through her I can turn my skin to metal and produce fire. With enough training she says I should be able to move objects with the power of thought too but that remains to be seen.”

Nobody seemed to bat an eye. Even Richie, the tech-savy inventor who she thought would scoff at the idea of a supernatural entity, didn’t question her. He only gave her a knowing smirk. [I]Goddammit, he already knew,[/I] Alison thought.

“I invent things,” Richie said as the group turned to him. “Everything I own and use out in the field is custom made. I have all of my usual gear on me, including my glider and my mapping equipment. It might not compare to pyrokinesis but it’s gotten me through a few scrapes. My cells also regenerate from wounds with more efficiency than a human being’s. It isn’t any faster than an ordinary person’s healing factor but I can regrow entire limbs if necessary.”

Richie tapped his lowest right arm. “This was cut clean off once.”

“Sir?”

The group turned to the sound of the voice, an unfamiliar sound that sounded not unlike Zakarr’s, although the accent was far more pronounced. He spoke in English but the figure was clearly Vulcan, dressed in the drab grey uniforms that the rest of the ship’s crew wore. After waiting for Zakarr to permit him to speak the crewman continued.

“We will be entering hyperspace in approximately one minute. The pilot has asked me to advise you and the new assets to take a seat and brace for the initial turbulence.”

Alison wasn’t sure how she felt about being considered an asset, but she had guessed the only reason a crewmember had approached the group to warn them of the turbulence was because the six humans were unable to understand the native Vulcan tongue. A voice blared out over the speaker system and the rest of the crew darted to their positions, most taking a seat by a computer screen or gripping tightly to the metal railings and using them for support.

The sounds of Vulcan speech were quickly replaced with a synthesised voice that sounded somewhat feminine. It spoke single words with a few seconds in between them, and the other crew members seemed to pay a great deal of attention to it.

“Is that the countdown?” Richie asked Zakarr, keeping a steady track of it himself. While he did not speak the Vulcan language he could keep a steady track of the counting process and could make a vague assumption as to what number they were currently on.

[I]Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven[/I]…

“We should probably sit down some time in the next ten seconds before we all get thrown into a wall,” Walter suggested, grippingly tightly onto one of the railings.