A lone wolf wanders through a vast and desolate landscape, bundled in rags that do little to protect him against the blasts of rusty sand whipped up by the merciless winds. Ahead is a stone archway, through which another world can be seen. Walking without will, he passes through it, and finds himself in a humid jungle, with thorny bushes tearing at his poorly protected hide, and insects stinging him constantly. Another archway … and he falls into an ocean … the waters churn and turn into a whirlpool, and he is helpless against its pull. Around and around and down he goes, deep, deep, so hard to breathe …

And the wolf finds himself back on his home world, on the sky island of Rephidim. Off in the distance is Rephidim city, the city in which he was born, and where he once held title. He walks towards it as it looms in the distance – but it does not draw near.

Worthless rags still cling to the wolf, wet, sandy, with thorns and burrs clinging to them … and blood stains.

The wind blows through the trees, carrying with it the song of the Siren.

Clutching his torn and tattered clothing to himself, the Jupani rushes forward now. Finally he enters the outer edges and from here he dashes towards the inner districts. But, these do not come closer. No, as he runs, they seem more and more distant and unreachable. He pushes his way past various faceless citizens who show no reaction to his hurried movement or growing. Only do they complain when he barges into them or shoves them out of the way. Those so moved shoot scornful looks his way even as he continues forward, going nowhere.

A flutist plays on the corner. His flute sounds like the song of the Siren. And children sing-songing in the street. And wind-blown chimes. The song is inescapable.

The wolf staggers on his rags and falls to the ground. In frustration and anger, he reaches for a weapon dropped in front of him by one of those faceless people. He lifts this gun and points it off towards the quarters he cannot reach to fire at them in spite, but pauses. The hand holding the gun falls limply to the side and the weapon clatters to the ground, dropped by lifeless fingers. He stands up now and turns towards the sound of the flute player, before wandering off in that direction.

Clouds gather overhead. It begins to rain. The ground seems uneven, as the wolf finds himself staggering to and fro, unable to do something as simple as walking a straight line.

As if in a daze the wolf stumbles forward towards the Siren's call. Though he trips and falls in his path towards the sound, he continues to pull himself to his feet and walk forward regardless. At one point, he lifts his head to regard the clouded and gloomy sky, only to frown for a moment before dropping his head again.

Water washes against Arkold's feet. Water seems to have built up in the street so deep that it splashes against the wolf's ankles. No … no, he's not stumbling. The ground beneath him is rocking to and fro … like a boat adrift on the ocean!

Arkold drops his head to regard the ocean with what begins as a black stare, but narrows into a focused inspection. He curls his muzzle into snarl as he growls at the water that bothers him.

The water is cold. A cry rings out in the air. Like a bellowing … a bellowing … some sort of creature Arkold can't place.

Upon hearing the cry, the Jupani spins around in place and searches for its origin. He does not call out, preferring to see but not be seen.

As the Jupani spins about, he stumbles and crashes and … wakes up. But in the waking world, he's wet, too, and the blare of an alarm rings through the organic hull of the urgan, while the eerie sounds of Siren music can be heard coming through the walls.

"Dagh's right arm!" cries the Jupani as he pushes himself up and out of the water. He reaches first for his bed where he has hidden his sheathed combat knife under his pillow before he turns to dash for his locker and the equipment stored there.

His battered locker is securely shut, and he almost slams into it, skidding across the lurching, water-covered floor. The other beds are empty, and shouts and cries can be heard in the distance down the corridors.

"Oof!" The Jupani leans against the closed locker for a moment to regain his bearings and balance before he reaches over and works with the latch. Getting that open, he digs through all his equipment. He fastens on the holsters and bandoliers first before securing his guns and moving on to grab his coat and armor.

The ship lurches some more. Strapping on all that armor might take time. And there's no telling how much time the wolf has left. But it's a fair bet that it's not enough to take another nap safely in.

The wolf eyes the armor, then the door, and then the armor. "Ahh, Vhai!" He tosses the armor back into the locker and grab his sword instead. This is slung over his back before he grabs that last prized item of his, the gatling pistol, and secures this to his belt. Ready now, he stalks towards the door but pauses before he reaches it. His hand goes for the combat knife and quickly removes it from its sheath, and the vial from inside the knife. Some of its contents are poured into his hand and he goes to snort them before hiding the vial away again and continuing into the corridor.

A sergeant flings open the door and frowns at the wolf still in the room. "What the Dagh are you still doing in here? We're sealing this section off! Get out of here and get to your station, soldier!" he barks.

Down the corridor, "downhill", the water level continues to rise, swallowing up the passage at the furthest visible point. A metal ladder set into a bony wall, however, provides access to the next levels up and down … and down looks like a bad way to go right now.

The Jupani freezes as the sergeant appears, and lays his ears back against his head. He snarls in surprise at the officer before quickly wiping his powder specked nose with the back of his arm. He stows the knife and the vial secured back inside it in its sheath before dashing off past the guard, into the hallway, and off towards the ladder without saying a word.

Before the other legionnaire moves out himself, he pauses to toss a life jacket to the Jupani. "And put this on! You'll probably need it," he finishes ominously, then departs.

Arkold ends up grabbing it clumsily with his left hand after it is tossed. No quick reflexes here; the life jacket only gets 'caught' after it thumps into him. (Cap'n Kitten! I know 'es behind this, curse him!)

Instead of heading to his station like a good little legionnaire, however, Arkold makes his way up toward the bridge. Along the way, though, he encounters a cartilage bulkhead that has been convulsed into place, sealing off the way he was going to use to get there.

After seeing the route is a dead end, Arkold whips around and dashes off towards his gunnery station, not having much more plan than that at the moment. In frustration he lets off a volley of curses heading that way, too.

While heading through the winding passages, some of which are partially full of water, Arkold sees a floating body – face down – in the water-filled passage tilting askew in one direction off of a T-intersection. Off ahead is a viewport, and a thin spray of water shoots through a gap, raining on the fleshy opposing wall. Another twist the other direction should lead to Arkold's post, not far away.

The wolf stops at the body just long enough to lift it by the clothing at the base of the neck and peer at his or her face before he races off again, leaving his thoughts about the death for the road. He draws his pistol now, figuring the gap in the distant viewport to have been a gun shot hole, and thus enemies may very well be nearby. He also tries to see what can be seen beyond that viewport as he turns off from the corridor into the one leading towards his station.

One legionnaire runs past Arkold, carrying a bucket. He curses as he sees the tear in the wall. Setting the large pail down, he pulls a sucker-footed creature from it and slaps it up against the wall of the urgan, where the flesh has turned dark gray from bruising. The creature clings where it's placed, pulling the torn sides together and partially sealing the hole, while the mechanic-medic fishes another one out to add it to the first.

Down the corridor toward Arkold's gunnery post, he can hear the pock-pock-pock of spine-guns firing, and some shouting and cursing … and high-pitched shrieks that don't sound like they come from any species crewing the ship, or any strange "beast-machine" that Arkold has encountered so far.

The urgan slowly lurches back the other way … and water spills across the floor. Another cartilage bulkhead slams down, sealing off one of the passages … but everything behind that passage was water anyway.

Without a second thought, the Jupani races over toward his gunnery chair. He shouts out, "What in Dagh's name 'appened?!"

As Arkold dashes down the corridor leading to his gunnery post, he is able to see just what is going on. Some of the branching corridors are partially flooded, and his fellow legionnaires are firing into the water with their spine guns, while the thrashing forms of Mariners – no, they're Sirens – can be partially seen.

A Siren slashes out with claws, digging into the face of a black Skreek, who screams in agony, as he unloads his spine-gun into the wall just next to her head.

Arkold's gunnery chair is presently unoccupied. The one next to him is occupied … by a very dead-looking Kavi.

"Oh Dagh! Oh, … by … " stammers Arkold as he staggers to a halt down the corridor from the combat. He shakes his head a little at the horror in front of him. "Eh, n-no way!" He begins to slowly back away from it while aiming his own spine-gun up ahead at the Siren engaging the black Skreek.

A large Rhian steadies his aim, holding a spine gun in both hands, and carefully discharges the weapon into the nearest Siren, then pauses to squeeze the grip, making the living-gun convulse and reload.

A Siren, ethereally beautiful, even though her claws are stained with the blood of the black Skreek, jerks as the spine rips through her body. She lets out a high-pitched noise, and twitches, falling to the lopsided, wet floor.

Near Arkold, the wall convulses and bulges … and then a sharp needle twists its way through, serrated and irregular in shape … like some sort of organic drill, perhaps. The spine works its way through the outer wall, inward, and a little bit of water begins to seep around the forming wound.

As he sees his target fall to the ground, the Rhian shakes his head for a moment, then re-targets the next nearest Siren, triggering his next shot at her. "Get back," he urges the Skreek, and Arkold recognizes Hammerhand's voice.

"'Ey everyone! Get outta the water and back off over this way! Make 'em come to us on dry urgan!" calls out Arkold as he aims his pistol at the next closest target. He however is made to pause in this by the arrival of the drill, and his head turns to regard this, ears perked in surprise. "Oh in the name of … everyone! Pull back! More are coming from back here!"

The black Skreek stumbles blindly, fumbling for his knife. "They're everywhere! Dagh take it, they're everywhere!" He pulls it out, and madly slashes at the air around him. Fortunately, neither Arkold nor Hammerhand are anywhere near him at the moment. "Die, you water devils!"

The equine starts to step closer to the Skreek, then thinks better of it. "Coal! If you can't see, come to the sound of our voices – We're on dry ground, the Sirens can't reach us here." He reloads his spine-gun while he speaks, and takes another step backwards as the rising tide of water makes mock of his claims to dry ground.

As the Skreek starts to stumble toward the Rhian … there's a churning of water just behind the rat, as a purplish, tiger-striped arm rises from the water, claws bared.

A fourth legionnaire – a human, whose random shots with his gun serve to deter the two other remaining Sirens from advancing farther – struggles through waist-deep water towards Hammer and Arkold, then swears and starts as he sees the third Siren rise up behind Coal, and between himself and safety.

The Jupani fires a few spines into the water where he thinks he sees something moving, glancing to the drill worriedly every few seconds. "Leave him! We ain't got any time now; they're borin' through the passage up here, and yer both gunna die if they get through! Come on!" he shouts off towards Hammerhand.

"Leave me?" shrieks the black rat. "Why, you good for nothin' … " He manages to let off a stream of curses … right as a sharp set of claws dig into his back and suddenly yank him underwater. He lets out a rodent squeal, then disappears under the water of the flooded part of the passage.

"Well, stop them from drilling, then!" Hammerhand shouts back. He takes another shot at the Siren who has dragged Coal under.

The dart disappears into the water … but there's no sign of the black rat or the Siren who grabbed him.

With the appearance of the claw behind Coal, Arkold jerks his gun over to try and fire in the water near the blinded Skreek, but some bit of hesitation causes his reaction to be slow and the rodent goes down. He makes no more attempt to aim at the water now. "Stop it? I ain't exactly have an anti-drilling gun 'ere!" The Jupani reaches for the next best thing in his mind, his sword, and switches his spine-gun off to his left hand. He then hefts his sword to swing at the drill bit in an effort to break it. "I don't think this'll work!"

The sword comes down on the bony drill-thing … and cleaves it into gory splinters. Some sort of ichor-like blood squirts out of the broken drill, and it twitches, then withdraws a bit … then, as more blood squirts out, it convulses a little, then falls still.

The Rhian makes a grunt in response, and charges the water towards where the Skreek went down.

Through a nearby window – or, that is, the urgan equivalent – Arkold can see a battle going on outside. Legionnaires with swimming fins and breathers are engaged with Sirens and blade-nosed fish and shark-like creatures … and losing, it looks like.

"Well, eh, drill broken!" yells the Jupani as the living drill ceases to move. The weirdness of having just killed a drill causes him to twitch for a moment, but the situation quickly draws his attention. He switches weapons between his hands again and tries to offer the Rhian fire support while he swims through the water after Coal.

The legionnaire furthest into the submerged section wrinkles his nose, then strengthens his resolve and plunges forward. As Coal squirms in the Siren's grasp, absorbing her attention while she dispatches him, he plants his spine gun squarely against her back and unloads it into her.

The purple Siren's head jerks back, and she lets out a quick squeak … and then flops about, her alien screams filling the corridor.

Meanwhile Arkold searches the water for targets to shoot at. He keeps a close eye on Hammerhand as he searches for targets. A shiver races up his spine as the alien death cry reverberates through him and he winces.

The Siren continues to convulse and scream, her death taking excruciatingly long to complete itself.

Arkold lifts his left sword carrying hand to try and cover one of his ears. (Ahh! Squealin' of the Sisters, ain't it horrid!) It really doesn't help any, but the sound is enough that he at least tries to do something about it. Finally he just plugs the Siren with a few more shots from his own spine-gun.

It takes more than just one shot, as the Siren continues to scream … but at last, she twitches and lays still and silent.

The two other Sirens have vanished from sight. The legionnaire who slew the latest hauls himself out of the water, while Hammerhand wades further in, thrusting down his free hand as he gropes about for the Skreek. "Coal? Coal!"

"This ain't no time to be takin' yer time down there! Get your tail movin'!" calls out Arkold to the submerged Rhian. Noticing the two Sirens vanish he, takes a few steps forward and tries to locate them in the water. "Eh, two more underwater! Watch it!" he adds.

The urgan's body lists a little more the other way. Glowing lines of Sirens glide past the window, serene in their beauty … but their eyes full of predatory anger.

The Rhian, after having ducked his head below water briefly while he searched, suddenly bursts back into the air, the limp body of a rat across one shoulder. He plows for the drier corridor, while behind and to one side of him a Siren rises into view, taking aim with her weapon at his back.

The dead Kavi that was in one of the gunnery chairs slumps further to the side as the urgan's body lists … and at last falls to the floor with a soft thump.

Having been watching for Sirens, Arkold catches the arrival of the one behind Hammerhand. He lifts his gun to point off past the Rhian and sneers at the Siren. "Time ta scream, fishstick," he snarls as he pulls the organic trigger.

The dart launched by the spine gun buries itself into the nape of the Siren, marring the perfectly smooth curvature of her neck. Her neck snaps back at the force of it, and a trickle runs down the side of her mouth, even as she falls forward. She lands heavily against a dry portion the floor, her head cocked to one side, propped by the needle buried into her neck, in such a way that her dying eyes are fixed directly on Arkold. They seem so strangely emotionless … not hateful … not full of anger … and certainly not fear. So strangely … calm. And her eyes quickly glaze over, as her body stills.

The Rhian shudders as he struggles out of the water with his burden. "Thanks, Arkold." He lays Coal's body out gently on the floor. The Skreek's body is torn in a dozen places, flesh and fur hanging off the bone along one leg, face ripped. The wounds seem strangely bloodless, most of the liquid washed away by the water. "Coal?" With awkward care, Hammerhand attempts to revive the battered Skreek.

"Oh … ," whispers the Jupani as he gazes back at those dying eyes, unable to speak more than but a word. After a moment, he forces himself to look away from them and to the approaching wet Rhian. "Eh," he says in reply to the thanks, still shaken by watching those eyes. "Think'll make it?" he asks a second later once his manages to force the image from his mind.

Hammerhand doesn't answer, still working over the rat's body, pumping his hands against Coal's chest, and breathing into the Skreek's mouth. As Arkold watches the pair, he notices that Coal's many wounds are not bleeding … at most, a trickle of blood swells up along them.

The Jupani turns his attentions back towards the water to again cover Hammerhand as he works, this time guarding him as he tries to revive the fallen Skreek. "Eh, why ain't he bleedin'? I mean … water and all but, he should be bleedin' more. I've seen 'em go down with worse and he should be a bloody mess," he asks.

Another strike rocks the urgan, and water sloshes against Arkold's boots. The last legionnaire in the corridor, a human, shoves the remains of the Kavi away from its gunnery chair and straps himself in. "Because he's dead," he tells Arkold gruffly, taking aim with the ship-mounted weapon. "Heart stops beating, you stop bleeding. Get to your station." He fires.

Outside, the Sirens swirl about to avoid the weapon's projectile. It doesn't hit any of them, but at the very least, it broke up their formation, and sends them scurrying about, accomplishing nothing for the moment.

(What'd you expect?) The Jupani doesn't say anything more, now. He just wades over to his gunnery chair and sheathes his sword before dropping himself into the chair. He straps himself in and puts a hand on the targeting controls before aiming at the nearest Siren and firing.

For several moments more, Hammerhand continues in his efforts to resuscitate the Skreek, however futile they appear to be. "C'mon," he mutters, "live." The human shakes his head, taking a little longer to aim this time before firing another shot.

The weapon, strong enough to deal with creatures several times larger than the Sirens, is more than sufficient to deal with such a target. Arkold's target is rent in twain by his shot. The human's shot, though it takes longer to aim, is sufficient to cut another Siren across the tail, maiming her. As more warriors go by … not once does Arkold see any Siren that looks like a male. Only women.

"'Ey, I wunner where they keep the other Sirens. Eh, they can't all be male, or else where they comin' from?" he asks. Again the Jupani takes aim at the closest target to the ship and fires. "And what's causing us to rock like that?"

The human pauses after his last shot, taking the time to survey the scene, looking for any Sirens that seem equipped with unusual items or weapons, or any vehicles they might have.

"Who knows? Maybe these are their males," the human replies eventually, still looking for the best target.

Some of the Sirens seem to be herding burrowspears – the "drilling" fish of the same type that Arkold dispatched, trying to come through the wall. Others are accompanied by vaguely shark-like creatures … but the Sirens show no sign of being accompanied by any of the "living machines" of the Abyssinians. Odder, they don't show any signs of wearing breathers – the Abyssinians, as water-dwelling as they might be, still breathe air, just with amazingly high lung capacities. Their warriors would generally wear breathers for prolonged times underwater, without any pockets of air in their cities to go to.

At last, the Rhian sits back against the wall with a heavy sigh. "Sorry, Coal," he whispers. One large hand reaches out to close the eyes on the staring corpse, then the equine staggers to his feet. "Good luck here. I better get to my own station," Hammerhand says as he departs.

"Try for the drillers, or the shark-things, I think," the human legionnaire suggests, taking careful aim at one of the burrowspears.

The Jupani considers the targets available and decides those armed with burrowspears are the largest threat, and thus starts singling them out. He aims again towards that which is closest and starts firing at it. "Yah read my mind," he tells the human. "And 'ey, any idea why they're so bent outta shape on us? Ever hear of Sirens attacking the Mariners?"

"All the time," the man grunts in reply. "They hate each other." He selects another target, this time a shark, and fires at it.

In the time it takes the Jupani to make his comments, he spears two of the burrowspears … and they thrash about in their death throes, while their handler flees and the other burrowspears in their group scatter randomly. The shark, a larger target, takes a hit, too.

The activity on this side of the ship seems to be thinning out. Perhaps the guns had gone unmanned long enough that the attackers were taking advantage of the "blind spot" … and are now finding out the hard way that it is "blind" no more.

"Anyone ever tell yah why they started fightin', anyway? Or where they come from?" asks the Jupani as he swivels his gun to target another burrowspear. "Ever see their 'factories'? They make things outta other critters. Heh, maybe they made them." He smirks grimly and continues tracking and firing at the enemy.

The human shakes his head grimly. "Why does anyone fight? Maybe the Mariners live on the Sirens' sacred fishing grounds." He leans forward, peering into the gloom around the ship in search of any other, more dangerous targets, while another convulsion shakes the urgan.

The Sirens seem to be keeping a wider berth of the cones of clear fire that the guns are capable of covering. It's hard to tell just how many other positions are still manned on this side of the urgan … let alone how the rest of the ship is faring.

After readjusting himself in his seat, Arkold shakes his head. He switches to firing at whatever target presents itself rather than singling out anything in a thinning crowd. "Eh, ain't many who fight fer no reason at all. Knowin' the Cap'n, 'e likely got us dragged into somethin' … " He snorts and spits off to the side, glancing at the water level before looking back out the window.

A membrane between the two gun stations quivers. A warbling voice burbles, "Hello! Hello? Is anyone still at this station?"

Arkold manages to clip one of those shark-things, but so far he isn't scoring any direct hits for the time being.

"Hey! So we ain't the last in a ship fulla corpses. Yah, we're here, what's left of us anyway," answers Arkold before he pops off another shot.

"All right," burbles the voice. "Keep an eye out for a really big black juggernautilis circling around, should be coming into your sector soon. Keep that thing clear of the urgan or we're – " There's the sound of spine-gun fire. " – good luck!"

"Aw, frag," the human says, his voice almost flat.

"Juggernautilis? What in Dagh's name is a juggernautilis?" considers the Jupani out loud as he begins searching for the vehicle. "Okay, yah heard the talking blubber, somethin' big is coming and we're gunna have to keep it away."

The water is getting progressively more murky, as more of the glowing orbs along the outside of the urgan's hull have been ruptured … and the urgan's own blood obscures the water as well. At the furthest range of what can be seen in the water, though, a long, looming black shape can be seen, slowly sliding just into the edge of Arkold's view through the window. It looks something like a great squid, but the head is encased in a roughly conical shell … and the whole of it, shell and all, is black.

"Big and nasty," the human says in response to Arkold's question. He peers through his own viewport, scanning with his gun cautiously.

Flitting speck-like forms race about the shadow … and it takes further scanning to realize that these are more Sirens, utterly dwarfed by the size of this creature. It is not as large as the urgan … but most certainly large enough to present it with quite a hazard … particularly what with how wounded the urgan must be right about now.

Just outside the window, a human in a wetsuit – his eyes covered with goggles, and his face with a breather – drifts by, trailing a stream of blood from a spear going through his body, limp and lifeless.

Lifting a hand the Jupani points off into the water at the approaching juggernautilis. "Target sighted," he tells the others. Once he is certain they see it he drops his hand and places it back on the target controls so as to bring his gun to bare on the enemy vessel. "Ah, heh, if you know weak points or got any stratagems, now's the time to speak up."

Alas, it seems that there aren't that many in the room for Arkold to address anymore. Not, that is, unless he counts the dead. Just Arkold and the unnamed human.

Outside, quite a bit of debris washes past … an unmanned seaskipper … a cleft Khatta head with a breather still attached to its face … assorted bodies of Sinaians, Abaddonians and Sirens … some apparently harmless fish and other sea creatures that just happened to wander into a target-rich environment…

Arkold turns his head to glance around at the people gathered, or rather, the lack there of. "Uhh." He glances off to the human. "Huh, so, I guess it's just us."

With a hiss as he draws in breath, the human tries to get a bead on the monster. Unfortunately, the debris and his position, more distant than Arkold's from their target, doesn't help any. "Your guess is as good as mine."

A curiously spherical pod floats through the water, drifting up. It looks like a blowfish, round and spiny, and rolls gently as it drifts toward the window, a few yards out.

After sparing a few more glances around to check and make sure yes, he really is one of two people left alive here the wolf's ears flatten. He stares out into the water silently, and the just growls. "Well Dagh's flamin' pit! I ain't gunna just die here. I got a plan! Fire your gun near that sphere. If it really is a blowfish maybe it'll puff, and then I'll shoot it and send it off into that big drill-fish."

"And this will accomplish… ?" the human asks, even as he fires his gun in accordance with Arkold's instruction.

"Eh! You got a better idea?" grumbles Arkold as he begins aiming in on the sphere.

The sphere is large and slow, and presents an easy target.

The human's shot passes close to the sphere … but if it has any capability of expanding further, it neglects to do so. It does quiver a bit. It's still drifting closer to Arkold's window.

"Eh, don't shoot it, 'til we know what it is. It may be one of ours," barks Arkold as he leans forward in his chair to try and make out what it is. "Or Vhai, maybe it's some kinda weapon. Any idea what it is?"

The sphere continues to drift closer, almost at the near end of the minimum effective range of Arkold's gun.

The human is eyeing the ever-closer juggernautilis. "Ah, no, but I do know what that is." He aims his gun once more at the looming black shape, waiting for the sphere to drift clear so he can fire at the Siren's creature once more.

The Jupani shakes his head some. "I don't like this; it may be a mine, and it's comin' this way," he tells the human near him. The Jupani quickly unfastens his restraints and climbs out of his seat. "I'm gunna shoot it before it hits us. Brace fer impact, and we may have ta get outta here." He grabs hold of his chair from behind it and holds it firmly before leaning over the chair and firing the gun towards the sphere.

The human barely has time to react, before the gun's projectile impacts the sphere, causing its surface to cave in as the sphere is caught. It whisks away through the water … and then explodes some distance away, a few seconds later.

A drill-fish with the misfortune of being near the explosion is ripped to shreds by the spiny shrapnel.

A few more spine-spheres drift into view. Thankfully, these do not appear to be on a collision course with any part of the urgan that Arkold can see.

"VHAI!" the human yelps, covering his head reflexively. After a moment, he unclenches enough to get his hands on the controls again.

The wolf's head pops up from behind the seat. He searches around and then pats himself to make sure he's still here. Seeing that he is, he climbs back into his chair and straps in again. "Heh, see if you can spot more of those. When they line up with the juggernautilis, fire and send 'em shootin' off that way," he says as he begins looking to do just that.

The dark shellfish looms closer, turned to face its conical shell toward the urgan. Yes, a few of the exploding spheres drift across the distance between Arkold's gunnery station and the giant shellfish.

The Kampfzengruppe nods and does likewise.

Once a sphere is aligned with the juggernautilis, that is it floats where a spear might catch it and hurl it into the juggernautilis, the Jupani fires. "Here's a bit of Sinaian smarts, you deep sea sucker-squid!"

The spear impacts the sphere … and, sure enough, it sails backwards … then explodes a few seconds later. The black shellfish can be seen to shudder ever so slightly. The sphere exploded a little too early … but it seems to have taken approximately the same amount of time to explode that the first sphere did.

"Hold off, wait for the juggernautilis to get closer," orders the Jupani. He emphasizes his point by waving a hand at the human signaling him to stop. "They're on some sorta time-reaction. Only fire on those mines that will reach the juggernautilis before they explode, otherwise we're wastin' our chance at dyin' some future date to something just as bad."

The human eyes the remaining mines. "You're a born optimist, buddy."

Closer … closer the juggernaut looms … giving a better appreciation for the size of this monster, as it casually plows through the debris of bodies … but its path doesn't seem to be taking it through the "school" of blowfish-mines. That may take a little encouragement. At last, though, by Arkold's estimate, it's within range for a bit of explosive spear croquet.

The wolf grins lopsidedly. "Yah well … " He directs his gun towards a sphere in the distance and nods his head. "Fire at the spheres so that they impact or detonate close to the side away from the mine field. We wanna force it into the mines, or at least make it change course so it's closer to those mines. That'll make our job easier. Fire when you think yah can do that."

The black juggernaut continues to draw closer. It seems to be accelerating.

The human grimaces, looking at the placement of the mines and the juggernautilis. He takes aim and fires the torpedo at the side of the monster that's farthest from the mines.

"Ah, Vhai, it's speedin' up. Keep it up, maybe we can knock it off course or get a blast in past the shell nose," calls the Jupani. He fires off a shot at the bubble he had been aiming at and then begins pelting others in an attempt to speed things up a bit.

It takes several shots … but the spears impale spheres … then carry them toward the juggernautilis … and they explode a short while later, against the shellfish's hull. It jerks with each explosion, as the two gunners pelt it on the far edge – tricky shots at best – and try to herd it toward the sphere field … and … it works!

The black shellfish crashes into a line of the floating spheroids … and then what follows is a series of explosions that send bits of spiny shrapnel and blackened bits shooting about all through the water.

"It worked." The human slumps back in his seat, blinking in surprise.

The Jupani sits up in his chair and grins widely. "YEAH!" he cheers. "Ha ha! Ain't no squid or clam or fishstick, or any other sorta fish-combo with a side of Mateh that I can't wreck! Keep firing! Show 'em no mercy!"

Shaking himself from his startled stupor while Arkold cheers, the Kampfzengruppe soldier grasps the controls again, firing at the remaining attackers, once again focusing on drillers and sharks, if any are left.

As bits more of the black shellfish drift free, and the waters darken with its bloody ichor, it looks as if … yes … the attackers are fleeing! The black shellfish itself changes course, trailing black ooze as it hobbles away.

The voice-membrane between the two gunnery stations warbles with the sounds of cheering. "Ho! Good shooting down there!"

After his initial cheer, the wolf leans forward and retargets the spheres to send them off after the damaged juggernautilis. "Eh? You still alive up there? Well, I got rid of yer juggernautilis. Me and uhh, this human guy here," says Arkold into the speaker as he fires off shots.

Arkold shoots the human a thumbs up and a grin after speaking of him before he goes back to firing at the fleeing enemy.

"Vincent," says the human guy here. "Name's Vincent. And you are?"

"Oh heh, Arkold, of the Offworld Legion," answers the Jupani as he narrows his eyes to try and make out the fleeing targets. He leans back once he sees it's no longer feasible to try and hit them anymore. "You owe me a drink," he mentions, folding his arms back behind his head.