sunchime | ☆ call-out post

☆ call-out post

call me out


Milly ✪ Baten Kaitos (CRAU) bombsheltered By night: Starbreaker, cyborg superhero. By day: cyborg trust fund baby and barista.	Lina Inverse ✪ Slayers dragonswag Beautiful sorcery genius, dragon spooker, every monster and innocent village's worst nightmare.	Agent York ✪ Red vs. Blue (AU) neverknocks Special agent, infiltration expert, professional smartass.

Cordelia Naismith ✪ The Vorkosigan Saga fontofhonor Survey astrocartographer turned Countess Vorkosigan with emotional x-ray vision.	Miles Vorkosigan ✪ The Vorkosigan Saga forwarmomentum A manic mailbomb of a human being living two very exciting lives.	Padma Vorpatril ✪ The Vorkosigan Saga sometimesnotsober Handsome, affable, and well-practiced in the ancient Vor art of day drinking. Dead at 35.

Jake Peralta ✪ Brooklyn 99 titleofyoursextape (voice testing) Ace detective. Terrible adult. Encyclopedic knowledge of 80s action movies.	Dr. Micah Niadem ✪ The Vorkosigan Saga (OC) withanh Excitable Betan Survey geologist and liquor connoisseur. They're really, really into rocks.	Sonia Vorbarra ✪ The Vorkosigan Saga vorbratta Willful princess, war survivor, expert prankster. She can start a rumor like nobody's business, especially when it's none of hers.

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Eames hasn't taken a solo job in years now, not since he and Arthur went half each on a ship that neither of them could hope to afford on their own without back-to-back jobs for at least a year. (Though Arthur did helpfully point out he was talking about Earth years, which are shorter than the cycles on Tarnax, so that's something.) But an old contact reached out to him specifically, so solo it is. Not like it was hard sell, the job would more than pay for the new weapons array Eames has been dying to get his hands on.

Apparently there's some scientist whose work is in very, very high demand. High enough to kidnap the esteemed Doc themself and try to make off with them all the way to their home system.

It doesn't seem to be a very well-thought out plan, if Eames had to guess it was probably spur of the moment. Saw an opportunity and went for it instead of considering that people would be very determined to get their scientist back too. Which is the kind of uncertainty Eames thrives in. It's alarmingly easy to get on the ship with some story about being local law enforcement and routine checks, to get some security officer to show him around. Even easier to send him for a "nap" and use his face and ID to have a look around the cargo bay and holding cells for anything-- anyone who looks out of place.

When he comes across Micah's cell, he very nearly laughs at the familiar face, and it occurs to him maybe he should've gotten a name for the person he's supposed to be rescuing here. But it's a fair guess this is the person he's here for.

"Dr Niadem?" He doesn't expect Micah to recognize him, what with having a different face on and all, but he approaches the clear door with a serious expression.

The sad thing is this isn't even the first time Micah's been taken captive for one kind of research or another. Will anyone ever kidnap them for something besides their admittedly impressive brain?

Well, on second thought, maybe it's better that that's the only attractive thing to...whoever's behind this one. Micah's not a fighter -- they have absolutely no illusions about that -- so they've cooperated so far, but quietly waiting for some way to get word back to their cohort. Maybe the opportunity will present itself. In the meantime, they've been adamantly close-mouthed to their captors. Micah knows well what they're after -- they've been working on some groundbreaking propulsion systems, but it's strictly proprietary. Luckily, so far none of their captors have seen fit to extract information from Micah by any more physical methods.

When someone calls their name, they assume it must be one of their captors -- but the voice doesn't sound familiar, and when they look up, neither does the face. Micah frowns, their brow knitting slightly, and sits back a little harder against the back wall of their cell.

"Who are you?" Micah peers at him, looking wary. "Not the mastermind, I hope. Those guys usually have enough sense to orchestrate these kinds of things remotely."

"I'm the one getting you out of here."

Eames says it with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile, but otherwise he's not wasting any time. First things first he peeks at the console by the door to see if he can get it open, but in the short window he's got he doesn't think he could break that lock without tripping any alarms. Which is fine. Probably. He can improvise this.

Holding up a hand in a gesture for them to wait — because no doubt they have questions — right now he needs to focus on getting them off this ship.

It takes a bit of fumbling to get the fancy-looking communicator working, but once he has it he puts in the earpiece and turns a little on the spot, affecting the posture and kind of expression of the guy he, uh... The guy he looks like right now. Making sure to sound plenty grumbly when he starts talking-- "yeah, I need to take our passenger to medical but the scanner's not working -- yeah. no yeah. 'course I tried that..." Etc. etc. until he convinces whoever's on the other end to come and open the door for him.

Micah's eyes widen a little. If he's telling the truth -- and frankly, they're not feeling too trusting right now -- then maybe this won't end messily. They find themself holding their breath as they watch Eames, trying to decide whether he's really friend or foe.

But then one of Micah's captors shows up, and Micah, thinking quickly, immediately doubles over with a convincingly pitiful groan. They mumble something about feeling ill and terribly dizzy, their breathing shallow and irregular. The other guy frowns at Micah, then glances at Eames's scanner with pursed lips.

"You don't even have it on the right setting," he says accusingly, just as Micah collapses to the floor as soon as they've fainted. "I told you, if this light's still blinking, it's -- oh, for fuck's sake. Never mind with the scanner now. We need this one awake and coherent."

And then he does exactly what Eames needs and opens the door.

There's an approving smile on Eames' face when the guy turns around to open the door, replying with some vague thanks and affirmatives that are more grunts than words. The content of what he's saying doesn't really matter seeing as he won't remember it later, not with the way Eames immediately descends once the door is open to put him in a sleeper hold.

"Looks like they didn't hurt you," there's a man wriggling in his arms, but don't mind that. He grunts and pulls his grip tighter, debating on whether or not to kill the guy, "that's good."

Micah rolls back to their feet with a little breath, trying to take stock of her apparent rescuer with fresh eyes. This could still be a trick, or worse yet, not a rescue, but a hijacking.

"Yes, well -- " The man in Eames's grip struggles fiercely once more before going limp. Micah winces. "They said they didn't want the merchandise getting damaged, or something to that effect. Besides, they hadn't quite gotten to the extraction stage yet."

They edge out of the cell, eyes still on the unconscious man as though paranoid that he much lurch back to consciousness at any moment. They finally turn back to Eames, brow furrowed.

"Who are you really? I mean -- who sent you?"

Eames elects not to kill the man — he's kind of a dick, but it probably wouldn't do to just kill people who haven't done anything to him yet. Instead he makes sure to deposit his limp form in the cell and close the door as soon as Micah's out. Oh, and take his weapons. Those'll be useful.

"Eames. We've met, actually." He glances at Micah with something of a smirk, adding a wink for good measure as he gestures to his face, "I looked a little different at the time."

That only answers one question, but as per the others, he tilts his head to look up at a speaker embedded in the wall above them and raises an eyebrow, "we've only got a few minutes before someone raises an alarm though. How about I answer all your questions back on my ship?"

Micah blinks at him -- they have a very good memory, and granted it's better with faces than names, but a sliver of remembrance comes to the surface. The urgency of the situation hasn't escaped them. They give Eames a quick, decisive nod.

"That sounds like a solid plan," they say, trying not to sound too obviously relieved. "Let's get out of here. I hope you've got a fast ship."

"Faster than anything this crew has, certainly." It's a passive comment as Eames looks around to judge the fastest route back to the docking bay from here. He'd spent a little while looking over ship blueprints, but given the time constraints, it's not exactly as if he could memorise the whole thing.

Left is probably good. He thinks it was mostly storage down that hallway, should be fine. Eames gestures with a tip of his head for Micah to follow him that way and offers them a gun of their own. It's a gesture of trust more than it is that he expects Micah to actually shoot anyone-- it's loaded and working. Hopefully they won't elect to just kill him and steal his ship.

Micah blanches a little at the sight of the gun and, with a slightly embarrassed, nervous smile, shakes their head, holding their hands up. "Better in your hands than mine," they say quietly. "I think I'm more likely to be a danger than a help with one of those."

Sorry, Eames, Micah is a huge weenie and doesn't do guns. They could steal the ship and fly out of here no problem, sure, but they're not going to. Having a guy who can do guns around is extremely helpful right now.

They keep close to him as the two of them turn toward the left. Distant sounds make the hairs stand on the back of their neck -- pursuers, alerted security? Or just other people on the ship going about their business. "Where to now?"

That's fine, Eames just nods and sticks it in a holster. At least they know he's willing to trust them with a weapon, that's gotta be worth something.

Or not. Eames isn't really thinking about it right now. Security's pretty tight on this ship, an alarm should go off any second now and he wants to be as close to the docking bay as possible.

"This wa--" speak of the devil. He's cut off by a voice (the captain's, he assumes,) demanding any available security make their way to the holding cells. That's fine. That's cool. "They're onto us. Ship's probably going to go into lockdown as soon as they see you're not in your cell."

He picks up the pace a little, at this point speed is better than stealth, and glances at Micah with his eyebrows raised questioningly. "How fast can you run?"

Micah can't help it -- hearing the security announcement makes them freeze just a second, grabbing their nerves by the fistful and squeezing tight. But they catch their breath and look back at Eames with an uneasy smile.

"Well, it's been a few years since college, but I was on Silica University's track team."

Honestly? Sounds like they can probably book it faster than him. He's not gonna say it though, just in case somebody gets any funny ideas about leaving him behind.

"Hangar's a straight shot forward from here and then down two floors," Eames slows a little to check if there's a stun setting on the gun and glances back at Micah, "just make sure to keep moving, alright? I'll deal with anyone if they get in the way."

Micah can hear their heart thudding in their ears now, but they take in a deep breath and nod. It's like the five hundred meter dash, except there are armed guards along the way. That, and Micah has no real proof that Eames is who he says he is, but they're willing to take the chance at this point.

"They took me up through the lift. I don't think I'll have a hard time finding it." They tense, poised to start bolting in earnest, but pause to look briefly at Eames. "Thank you," they say breathlessly, and take off at a dead run.

Eames follows at a decent clip, running, but not so fast he can't keep an eye out for anyone coming after them.

Micah's faster than he expected, at one point Eames stops to shoot someone coming around a corner (just to put them out of commission, it's not a kill shot,) and when he looks up he loses track of them for a moment. It's a worrying moment, he likes Micah and he's being paid a lot to get them home safe, but he catches sight of them and, well he'd be relieved if he had the time.

There's definitely some gunshots behind Micah, the occasional shout — sometimes anger, sometimes pain, at least one that sounds more shocked and offended than anything — but Eames does a decent job following their lead. He just really hopes Micah has at least some idea where they're going.

Even in the panic, Micah knows exactly where they're going -- they turn a corner and they can see the hangar lift at the end of the hall. Every gunshot behind them sends a fresh jolt to their senses, and the urge to turn and look back out of curiosity is strong at times, but not nearly as strong as Micah's fight-or-flight reaction. They all but skid to a halt in front of the hangar lift and immediately open-palm slams the down button. The door...does not yet open.

Judging by the faint grating sounds from below, it's on its way, but that doesn't stop Micah from repeatedly hitting the button again in desperation, finally glancing back down the hall at Eames with a very what do we do now face.

When he catches up, Eames spares a moment to frown about the fact the lift isn't here yet, but it's fine. It's good. It's not like all the security personnel on this ship know exactly where they're going.

He'll just... meat-shield and hope. Eames moves to stand in front of Micah so he's between them and anyone who comes down the hallway, the fabric of his clothes audibly straining as he bulks a little just to make sure he's covering them.

"So," he checks the charge on his gun and then glances at Micah over his shoulder with a light smirk, "how's things?"

Mashing the elevator button always works in video games, but this is not a game, and there are men with guns fast approaching. Micah swallows a nervous laugh.

"Oh, you know -- defended my most recent dissertation, decided to take a sabbatical for some more research, got kidnapped to -- I don't know, probably work on some doomsday device or something." It wouldn't be the first time! When will people learn. "What about you? Do anything interesting lately besides, er -- wearing someone else's face?"

"Got a new jump drive," he half wonders if putting Micah in front wouldn't be smarter. They're precious goods after all, but glancing back at them over his shoulder, he can't tell whether or not that'd just end up with Micah having a panic attack on the floor.

Eh. Good thing he's probably got significantly more live fire experience and a biological advantage over all these guards. It means his aim doesn't waver all that much when folks start rounding the corners after them,

God this sucks.

"Here's hoping we get out of her soon so we can take it for a spin."

“A new jump drive? Which one?” For a moment, academic excitement banishes the fear from Micah’s face, replaced with one of abject, intent curiosity. Sometimes all you have to do is mention something even tangential to wormhole physics to take Micah’s mind off the present. “That research I just mentioned, it’s actually regarding the dynamics of—“

Nothing like gunfire to bring one right back to the present, of course. Micah sucks in a breath and moves to press themself flat against the wall just as the elevator doors part in some technological divine intervention. Micah immediately ducks inside. “Ride’s here!”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Eames huffs a slight laugh at Micah's questions. It probably says more about him than he's entirely comfortable with that it's something he finds endearing, but it's not like that's something Eames plans to give any thought to. Especially not when the bulk of his attention is on those seconds between him backing into the lift after Micah and the doors closing when he hits the button. In here is the most vulnerable they're going to be and he doesn't like it.

But the doors do close and there's the gentle hum of the elevator's descent in the background while Eames desperately hopes they're not going to be greeted with guns in their faces when those doors open.

"It's a modified CCX-DS-8," he finally answers, entirely nonchalant as he checks the gun in his hands. It's a drive that was set to be a big deal in various militaries, but no-one was interested in buying it for what it was worth after word got out that blueprints and a prototype had been stolen.

It's also supposed to be for ships bigger than the one Eames is leading Micah to, which certainly looks like just an escape pod from the outside. But that's not what's important here.

"Modified how?" Micah even almost forgets their unease around guns, watching Eames's face rather than his hands. And by whom, since Micah knows Eames isn't an engineer by trade. But they go silent when the elevator creaks to a halt on the hangar deck, staring out as the doors grind open.

And no guns jump out to greet them. Micah lets out a provisional breath and leans slightly to glance out the side of the elevator, but doesn't move otherwise. They look over at Eames uncertainly.

"Maybe they haven't alerted security on this level yet?"

"You'll see," is his response, accompanied by a wink as he gets Micah to his ship and gets the door open quick as he can. Once they're in, it'll be pretty easy to see the engine that takes up much too much space; it's not exactly an expert job but definitely someone who has a good idea what they're doing has fitted the thing so it won't blow out the ship's systems whilst maintaining most of the speed and manoeuvrability it was designed for.

None of this is anything that Eames cares about right now. He's in a hurry to get out of here, rushing back and forth to get Micah onboard, manually open the hangar, and get back to the jumpship without being sucked into space. Which he manages, just about, and knowing nobody's gonna be able to come down here without suiting up gives him some breathing room to get things up and running. (In the interest of maintaining that breathing room, he gently shushes Micah at the first indication of any questions.) Time to get out of here.

It's smooth sailing once they're out of the hangar bay, it's not like these kidnappers are willing to use lethal force, and the pod is a small target with an excellent pilot. Granted, being a retrofitted escape pod, it doesn't have the best internal gravity system, but it's fine. Eames is managing just okay. Easily outmanoeuvreing the larger ship and the few pilots sent out after them. It doesn't take long at all before he's confident they're home free and Eames is making the journey to the port where his own ship is docked.

At the speed this thing can move, it's less than a day's travel to get there, not long at all before he's 'docking' at the ship's main cargo hold and running through several layers of security to get them on board. It is significantly more spacious on the actual ship, (not that that's hard,) and it come to life with a low hum that feels like home to Eames, tension easing out of him as he moves through this space that's his.

He's not quite ready to pay full attention to Micah just yet. There's a display on the wall toward the exit to the ship proper, mostly for logging inventory but they can run quick diagnostics from it too-- he just wants to have a quick look and make sure everything's running okay since nobody's been onboard for a few days. Shifting as he moves without considering that Micah's never seen him do it before, back to himself in his stolen (and uncomfortable) clothes by the time he reaches the panel.

Rodion wasn’t really Pharma’s first choice of transfers, but a promotion is a promotion. He’d been on the senior surgical staff in Iacon, but given his proven skill and expertise, the Senate had seen fit to send him to take over as head of surgery at the clinic in Rodion. Doubtless this will prove to be a valuable career experience, though, and maybe even a stepping stone to further promotion. Certainly it’ll give him new opportunities to pursue new research—he hasn’t published a paper in a while. He’s due.

He doesn’t mind the transfer as much because at least the head of the clinic is someone he knows. Someone he gets along with, even, which isn’t unheard of, Pharma actually does have friends (sometimes), but he likes Ratchet. Ratchet is on his level—he’s not the Autobot CMO for slouching. That’s a position Pharma would like to see himself in at some point, but he doesn’t necessarily begrudge Ratchet the fruit of his hard work. Pharma will just have to work harder.

The door to the CMO’s office is half-open. Pharma gives it a sharp rap with his knuckles before stepping inside, nodding at Ratchet with a vague smile. On him it’s always looked a little like a smirk.

“New head of surgery, reporting for duty.”

Ratchet is reading a datapad, his optics sharply focused. He doesn’t even look up when Pharma comes in.

“You’re late,” he snaps, and he looks about to say more before his stern, irritated expression cracks and he drops the pad to the desk, his face warming.

“Get in here,” he says, sounding pleased now instead as he leans back in his chair and nods to the one opposite his desk, shoving a few piles of pads and detritus out of the way. “Sit down. How the hell have you been?”

Pharma's mouth tugs back in a grin, taking a seat easily across from Ratchet, one leg crossed over the other. This was about the reception he was expecting, and he's far from disappointed.

"Oh, you know," he says, with feigned offhandedness, "a breakthrough study here, a few papers there -- and now a promotion, apparently."

“Oh, you’ve had the spare time to publish, how nice,” Ratchet says as if he hadn’t read everything, his voice dry. “Well, it’s a bit of a mess here—I requested this transfer, sorry to apparently drag you with me. The department is running smoothly, it’s just the influx of patients and lack of staff, and how often I get dragged back into Iacon for stupid pointless interminable meetings, the only apparent purpose of which is to massage certain people’s egos. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Pharma smirks slightly at Ratchet. Of course he's read anything -- Pharma wouldn't expect anything less than Ratchet keeping up on surgical literature, and Pharma likes to think that Ratchet might have a special interest in reading his work. They'd worked together plenty in the past, overall.

"Noted," he says with the same dry touch to his voice. He leans back in the chair, one arm slung over the back. "And don't apologize -- if anything, I suppose I should be thanking you." He tilts his head. "I have to say, I never thought I'd be working under you. You've really moved up the ranks."

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☆ call-out post

micah doesn't have an open post so i guess it's happening here

WHAT i totally thought i had one. anyway so glad about this continuing CR

madi i can never forgive you for this

i am a criminal

i always knew you were trouble

;)

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what hte fuck i wrote this tag and never posted it

how dare you. (they said 10 days later)

IM A WINNER

Re: IM A WINNER

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well i sure hope this works for you

prewar bullshit for ratchet

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