The base shudders in its poorly supported, hastily constructed foundation, dust streaming from the ceiling, slowing the personnel into a shocked stillness prefacing an abrupt flurry of activity. The second tremor of a receding impact sends the pen clattering from Rush's fingers, one arm shooting out to grasp the edge of the nearest desk. Jaw tight and in the absence of locating any party to which he can direct the blame for that grievous disruption of his mental thought process, he fixes the nearest SF with a furious look.
"The base is under attack," rasps the SF's radio with its ominous crackle of interference. "All non-combative personnel, report to your designated areas; everyone else to your battle stations."
Pause.
"This is not a drill."
"Fair fucking perfect," hisses Rush, neatly evading the swarm of scientists flowing to their quarters or their designated areas or whatever inane destination to which they've been directed. The nearest dialing computer has become his primary focus and so he will execute on that until such a choice of action no longer becomes sustainable.
no subject
"The base is under attack," rasps the SF's radio with its ominous crackle of interference. "All non-combative personnel, report to your designated areas; everyone else to your battle stations."
Pause.
"This is not a drill."
"Fair fucking perfect," hisses Rush, neatly evading the swarm of scientists flowing to their quarters or their designated areas or whatever inane destination to which they've been directed. The nearest dialing computer has become his primary focus and so he will execute on that until such a choice of action no longer becomes sustainable.