circle7 | gosh we're always saving your hide, james

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gosh we're always saving your hide, james

Bentley didn't go on missions. It just wasn't something he did. The anxiety and intensity of such a situation was unsavory to begin with, and dangerous, and Bentley didn't like dangerous.

But seeing as he had no field experience, and yet was one of the most qualified doctors in Circle 7, it set him up to be set out eventually. Apparently it was some sort of requirement, for experience's sake; to know you could act in the middle of action, or in dire situations. Bentley knew he could. Inside of a hospital, that was. Outside? It was hard to say. He had his pack which was fully equipped with what he needed, but what if an emergency arose?

At the very least, he was assigned with another, more field-experienced medic and Evan, who was more than familiar with these sorts of missions. Not to mention, one of the few people Bentley would call his friend. There was a small comfort in that - but it was very small.

"S-so, what's the situation? How bad are the commander's injuries?" he asked, trying to get a grip of the situation. They had ten minutes until they landed.

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Evan and the other medic shared a brief look, passed in silence between them, before Evan huffed out a chuckle. "Relax, doc," he urged, waving a hand in Bentley's direction. They were all strapped down in body harnesses in preparation for touchdown, but that hardly seemed to restrict Evan's long-limbed reach as he extended an arm to clap Bentley soundly on his upper arm.

The older medic pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, calling over his shoulder at the other two. He was much, much older than Bentley, and fairly fond of the stationary life inside the First Circle himself, now that his old bones had finally gotten the better of him. It was part of the reason Bentley was being trained for field duty at all. "He's being kept stable at the rendezvous point by his subordinates, but they need us to do some first-aid and preparatory work before they can move him."

"And I'm just here to provide in-flight entertainment," Evan quipped.

Even the comforting pat made Bentley jump. He played it off (horribly) as straightening up in his seat, his legs crossing, but his brow was still wrinkled with worry.

"I-I see," Bentley said, his hands clamped together in his lap. "Thank you, doctor." Bentley already had respect for the older doctor from speaking briefly with him on occasion; most being work-related issues. They only worked together once or twice. But now, his respect was becoming much more profound. How nice it must be to feel so calm in this sort of situation.

"And yes, Evan, you're doing a great job. Ha. Keep it up."

Evan made a face of mock hurt, reeling back as far as the straps across his chest would let him. "Way to stick it where it hurts, doc," he responded, holding a hand to his heart. It made a thick thumping sound as it made contact, the harness vest softening even the strongest of blows. "I'm just trying to help, but next time, you can ask Vi to come instead, then."

The old doctor gave a small, amused sound. "You two are so energetic. I'm feeling kind of old now."

"Never," said Evan, shooting Bentley a conspiring smile. "Bentley's the biggest ol' killjoy out of all of us," he added, even as he playfully shoved at the side of Bentley's head with the flat of his fist. With how tightly they were strapped down, Bentley hardly even budged, but Evan kept his hand on his shoulder to steady him anyway, perhaps not entirely oblivious to the way Bentley was seizing up and attempting to hide it.

"I-I'm not a killjoy," Bentley stammered with a frown. "I'm just... new to this."

The poor doctor didn't even have the comfort of his usual button-up and vest ensemble. He was given more practical clothes for fieldwork; a jumper made of heavy duty fabric, with about a hundred pockets. (Well, seventeen pockets; Bentley counted.) Each of them was also equipped with a headset; a small thing that fit surprisingly comfortably in the shell of the ear.

The most alarming thing Bentley had acquired with his suit-up was a gun. Now and then he'd brush his fingers against it, trying to get used to the feeling of a dangerous chunk of metal being strapped to his hip. It didn't help.

"Exactly how many, um, hostiles, are still out there?"

"Don't worry about those," said Evan, taking his hand away to fiddle with his own headset. His gestures could have easily been passed off as idle motions - pulling up the collar of his jacket, brushing back the hair near the ear the hearing device was fumbled into, running a hand up that side of his neck. No doubt he was trained to make it seem so to the point where it was instinctive that he hide it, even if he was amidst colleagues. "That's what I'm actually here for. It's my job to lead you two through the path of least resistance, so to speak."

"Which doesn't necessarily mean there will be no resistance," the older doctor pointed out, practical as becoming for his position.

Evan smiled at being caught in his wording, none too offended from the looks of it. "No, but then that's what my gun is for. Yours," he continued, directing the words at Bentley now and motioning to the holster around his waist. "Is for self-defense, in case you get separated. I doubt it'll get that bad, or else they would've sent a soldier class with you, and not just me."

A minute amount of tension disappeared from Bentley's shoulders. From experience, Bentley knew very well that Evan could be all smiles in the most straining of situations. Not that he didn't trust him, but he wary. He appreciated the other doctor's honestly, though. To an extent.

"I sincerely hope that is the case," he said with a swallow, checking his watch. Five minutes until touchdown.

Right on cue, the shuttle began to shake, throttled by the atmosphere upon re-entry. It was minute - barely a tremble compared to the age-old 'spaceships' of years prior, but to someone holding themselves so tight and rigid, it might as well have been an earthquake. There was a muffling presence in the air, indicative of the rapid descent as the inner pressure system quickly compensated for their constantly decreasing altitude, but the four of them (including the pilot) could hear each other well enough, given the headsets. The muffling didn't do anything except to make the sound of their breathing a bit louder - some more rapid than the rest.

"I hate landings," said the old doctor, the distaste audible in his voice. "It always feels a little like my bones are being pulled out of my body."

"I can assure you they're all there," said Evan, voice tinny over the communications headset. "But if I see any bones leaving your seat, I'll let you know, señor médico."

"Don't get smart with me, young man," laughed the doctor.

"You all right there, doc?" asked Evan, this time not referring to the elder of the two. His head was turned towards Bentley in his harness, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"Oh, jeez," Bentley mumbled to himself.

Bentley was gripping the arms of his chair tightly, trying to steel himself against the shaking. Despite his limited amount of travel, flying didn't bother him, but it sure wasn't helping his nerves.

"Fine, yes, fine," he said. "I-It's not the atmosphere entry I'm worried about, anyway. But I feel better. Honest."

It was a lie, and he knew Evan knew it was a lie, but it helped to pretend it wasn't.

True to expectation, Bentley earned an unimpressed, knowing stare for that, but also true to his hopes, Evan didn't mention it. Instead, he patted the doctor's arm with the back of his hand to get his attention, waiting until Bentley was looking at him and not at the windows that might crack or the harness that might snap or the pressure system gauges that might suddenly go haywire before pulling something out of his pocket. It was a feat of great difficulty, considering there was a belt fastened right above the pocket he was fishing into, but with the right twisting and cleverness, he finally whipped out a handheld inter-global transmitter.

"Let me show you something," said Evan, flipping open the top latch. It was a pretty standard model, a lot like any transmitter seen on the street on any number of planets, but the firmware was clearly modified, from the strange appearance of the screen. Most likely, it was fashioned to look ordinary, as not to garner attention in public, but had been re-programmed to suit the Circle's needs. Evan pressed a few buttons on the screen before turning it to face Bentley. "Know what this is?"

It was a picture, snapped in haste from the look of the slight blurriness near the top of the image, like Evan had had a split second to take it before he had to pull it out of arm's reach. It was a picture of someone very familiar, though her hair was neon green instead of purple at the time of the capture, and she had one hand out, reaching for the device, and one pressed into her face, covering her nose and mouth. Her pallor was no where near as flourescent, but it was beginning to match the tint of her hair.

Distracted by Evan, Bentley watched curiously as he dug for something in his pocket. It looked like an average mobile device, but knowing the Circle, none of their gadgets were 'average'. 'Average' meant it could be tracked, and that wouldn't do for a Circle member. So, it had to be a modified device of some sort.

After a moment of patiently waiting, the noise in the cabin began to change. They had entered the atmosphere safely and engaged in atmospheric flying which, while smoother, was still not exactly quiet. Different engines had engaged, creating a constant hum in the ship. Bentley eased enough to lean forward as much as the harness would allow him, studying the screen of the device.

"Is that... Viana?"

"You can't recognize her?" Evan asked, turning the screen briefly towards himself for inspection. "Oh, I guess her hair was a different color back then, but the expression is pretty recognizable, isn't it?"

The expression he was referring to was, of course, one of utter disgust and increasing hatred, the former directed at less of a person and more of the probably unhappy state of her stomach during whatever descent she was trapped on, and the latter most likely directed at Evan, who was the most statistically likely person to have taken the picture, being that he had done so, and was still breathing with both lungs in tact.

"Can't mistake that homicidal look, no," Bentley agreed. "When was that taken?"

"From a mission right before we came to get you, actually," Evan mused, rubbing his chin. "Vi likes it when her feet aren't on the ground, just not quite this way," he explained, sounding much like the indulgent parent recalling the eccentricities of their children. He slanted a look up at Bentley, turning the screen towards the doctor again. "A good look on her, don't you think?"

For the first time since liftoff, Bentley smiled, even if it seemed strained.

"I think you mean 'kidnap me completely against my will', but I get your point," he said. "Does she still get like that?"

"Don't say it like that," said Evan, letting the screen cut into darkness upon staying idle for too long. "You say it like you'd have it any other way."

After a bit of fidgeting, he managed to slip the transmitter back into his pocket. "She's a...little bit better now," he added, wincing a bit at the 'little'. "I mean, she usually waits until after we've landed to hurl, nowadays."

There was another trace of a smile, because really, they did Bentley a favor by kidnapping him. He still wasn't sure they knew that.

His smile quickly turned into an unpleasant expression, though.

"So she didn't before, huh?" Bentley said with a cringe.

Evan flashed a panicked look to his side. "Please don't throw up on me, doc."

"Or me," said the older doctor. Bentley just gave an amused huff.

"I'm not going to throw up," he assured. "If I do, I'll save it for solid ground."

Which, speaking of, they were swiftly approaching. The doctor finally decided to look out the window, awed just briefly by the scenery. Not that it was brilliant, or beautiful, but he had simply seen nothing like it before.

He could see why it had been nicknamed the Dead Moon. Gray dust clouds swirled about, blurring the actual surface. Now and then, though, there would be a patch where you could see through to the ground, which was a dismal gray. Jagged plains and hills stretched across the surface, dotted by the skeletons of once tall trees. All that dust was ash, Bentley suspected, from the day this place was destroyed. The atmosphere had been slowly decreasing since then, making the breathing conditions unlivable, on top of the fact that you would probably inhale enough dust to kill yourself.

Nowadays, no one actually lived here, but there were valuable things left behind on the planet that were often scavenged for. The bases here were made underground to avoid the cold surface, and make for easier mining. Of course, it wasn't always nice people. It usually wasn't.

"Prepare for landing," came the pilot's voice over the headset. "Masks on, packs ready."

Dutifully, both the older doctor and Evan pulled a close-fitting visor and helmet ensemble on over their heads, sticking their necks out from between the seat harnesses to secure it around their necks. They closed with a vacuum-sealed 'shuuup' against their skin, the sound of their breathing becoming that much louder as the helmet worked to filter the gaseous air for their human respiratory systems.

Eurydice was once much more favorable to the human race, but time and corrosion had clearly taken its toll. Apart from that, the lack of fauna or any vibrant color whatsoever outside made it clear why its chances for recovery were additionally slim. Slim lines of neon light - wherever they accented machines and uniforms, were the only things that stood out against the monotonous backdrop now, and even as the Circle shuttle touched down, settling on the ground with creaks, like a heavy, settling house, not a blade of grass swayed. Even the dust was too heavy to kick up.

Evan unlatched his harness first, almost immediately out of his seat once it was deemed safe by the pilot to do so. He stood up and stretched, clearly enjoying the option to free up his long limbs again. He turned to Bentley, though his face was barely visible now through the reflective lens of the orange-tinted visor. He looked like just another helmeted face. "Don't puke in your helmet either. For your own sake, this time. You do not wanna be stuck for the entirety of this mission swimming around in your own stomach contents."

Bentley tied his mask securely, his messy bangs jutting out at the top. He leaped out after Evan once they had landed, moving cautiously. It was unfamiliar ground, even in feel; there was so much dust, your feet sank into it. It was heavy, and though certainly dry, it almost acted like wet sand.

Their jumpers blended right in with the terrain - gray and dull - making them less of a target. It made Bentley wonder how Commander James had gotten himself in such a situation. The Circle members were usually very meticulous and careful. They had jumpers for each type of environment, masks for each planet with poisonous air, even weapons for certain kinds of enemies. His troop must've known what would await them. Though on a dead, renegade world, he supposed there more a higher chance of being unprepared.

It certainly didn't help to know that their first medic had been killed, and was why Bentley and Dr. Cambria were there.

"Thanks. I could've down without the mental image, though," Bentley sighed.

"I just didn't want your imagination jumpin' to scarier ideas while we're walking around on hostile terrain," answered Evan, his suited figure doing a one-shoulder roll. While he took a quick survey of his weapons - holsters strapped, guns at hand, he turned to survey the area.

It only looked dead. Space scavengers were a wily bunch, accustomed to hiding when there was little to hide behind. Even subconsciously, the sound of Evan's steady breathing seemed to lower and quiet, as if trying to draw the least attention to him as possible. Considering how thin the filtered air was, even a simple task as that had probably taken some effort to master.

"Doctor, you ready?" he asked without turning.

As Bentley was almost always referred to as 'Doc' or by his given name, the older medic took it as a cue to respond. "Yes," came his calm voice as he reached out to place a hand on Bentley's elbow. "Are you, son?"

"Yes," the answer came, a bit too quickly, jumping when Dr. Cambria touched his arm. "Of course I am. Let's, um, do this."

Bentley had inconspicuously sidled himself near one of the many dead trees surrounding them. He looked a lot like a frightened deer, glancing about each way, yet staying perfectly still otherwise. The dead moon, on top of being very desolate, was very quiet. The only sounds Bentley heard came through his headset. It was rather unnerving, when you were used to a bustling space station.

"Come on then," said Evan, waving his hand in a beckon for the other two to follow. The going was slow but careful as they crossed the barren part of the terrain, their footsteps tested to be sure before he really put his foot down. It only picked up when the flat, heavy ground gave away to rocky outcrops and what looked to be abandoned artificial constructs - large metal containers that were empty and painted with dirt, grime and graffiti, and little cylindrical buildings that must have once housed the inhabitants of the abandoned moon. Their doors swung open and their windows were glazed over with settled dust now.

Evan stuck to the shadows of these objects, instinctively seeking a path that offered the most cover. Unlike the doctors, there was a signal he occasionally checked on his transmitter, most likely an encrypted terminal of conversation that led them to their targets. Eurydice was deathly quiet save for the occasional low-pitched beeping of the device, audible only through their shared intercom connection, so it must have been strange when after a while, Evan began to hum something under his breath, quiet and repetitive, but with a distinct melody that the discerning ear could pick out. His voice sounded calm but lonely, as though it should have had an accompaniment, as though it was only one part of a synchronous song.

And then it suddenly stopped.

Evan stopped walking too, a hand extended at his left to stop the other two from progressing - no audible 'Wait' or 'Hold it.' He just froze.

Eurydice itself was calm but lonely, making an eerie suitability for Evan's tune. It was tinny through the headset, but somehow, it made it all the more unsettling.

Just before Bentley could tell Evan that he was severely creeping him out with his humming, everything was silent. The doctor could hear the ringing in his ears. He was very still (ever so good at being scared out of his wits), shouldered up against an abandoned building, a hand hesitantly at his hip over his gun. His breaths were long and slow, to make the least noise.

His eyes scanned the area for what caused the sudden halt. Bentley didn't see anything but gray and steel.

After a moment, Evan turned and relaxed. "Oh," he said flippantly. "False alarm."

The amusement dripped off his voice.

Dr. Cambria gave an exasperated sigh. "No games, please."

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