Rowan stumbles away from the brawl and backs up to the wall, feeling behind him for the antiquated comm unit he had installed to complement his exquisite ironwood bookshelves and hand-carved desk. He pulls the mouthpiece off its holder and shouts into it, “Security to the Captain’s Quarters! Security to the Captain’s Quarters! Ensign Adalat has lost her mind! This is the captain speaking. Hello? Hello!?”
Adalat snickers at Rowan’s pointless calls; no security will be coming to his aid. She is taller and stronger than these interlopers clinging at her, and she has drawn first blood. She is not going to back down. I just need to deck these fools. The Cerean is too short for Adalat to hit by snapping her head backwards, and besides, the Pantoran is already wounded. If she takes him down, then she can recover her blaster. He is clinging to her right arm, so she raises her left and brings the upper elbow down fast and hard. The Pantoran redirects it with his right forearm and follows through on the motion, bringing that hand back around for another of those knife-like strikes. She jerks her torso out of the way this time and shrugs off another set of blows from the Cerean as well.
With her acute peripheral vision, Adalat registers Rowan now down on his knees, grabbing for her fallen weapon. Like he knows how to use it. But just in case… The clingy Pantoran is smaller than she is, but he could still make a good shield should the captain try to take a shot. If he wants to be all handsy, she can play that game too. She gives up trying to swat him and switches to grappling, aiming to get an arm around his neck and control of his body so that she can hold him between her and Rowan. That buffoon is pointing the blaster at her and shouting, “This is madness, Ensign Adalat! Stand down. You’ll be completely stripped of rank for this! Guns are not allowed on my ship!”
But the Pantoran is too agile and seems to have a good deal of experience with close-in fighting; he yields to her pull, causing her to yank him farther than she had intended. This gives him the space to raise a foot and kick in her backward lower knee. That leg buckles, sending Adalat crashing to the ground, but she pulls him down with her. They hit the floor with a thud. The shock of the impact must weaken his grip because she is finally able to shake him off. The Cerean tries to grab her, but Adalat shoves her aside and scrambles toward the captain on all fours, like one of her grazing ancestors. He lurches back away, muttering as he fiddles with the side of the blaster. When the shot finally comes, it is a blast of concentric blue circles that disperses harmlessly across the floor next to her.
* * *
Guns firing and friends in the mix… this is not at all like the boxing or wrestling rings at university. And now the mutinous Frozian, who barely seems to notice Kerr-Lonn-Ny’s jabs, is crawling after the captain while Tcho sucks in a breath on the floor. What can stop someone so big and strong? Kerr-Lonn-Ny frets, hastily looking around the room for ideas. Her eyes light upon the tall and ornate shelving units. They are laden with more knickknacks than books but look heavy in and of themselves. She dashes over to one and tries to yank it down onto the Frozian before she can regain her feet. It hardly moves, though, so Kerr-Lonn-Ny jumps up and shoves off the wall with both feet, pressing her back against the bookcase. It topples over, and she falls with it, rolling off to the side as it lands on her target.
Shards of vases skitter across the floor around him, and Tcho briefly considers whether the situation warrants revealing he has a blaster himself. He could hit the Frozian from here; she is currently not too close to anyone else to endanger them, and a single shot might be enough to subdue her. But his blaster would raise a lot of questions. Right now, Tcho and Kerr-Lonn-Ny are just helpful people; he is simply here to back her up as she delivers her warning. He decides things are not dire enough to risk exposing his own activities. Instead, he rolls toward where the mutineer is caught under the bookcase, intending to box her in. She wriggles out from under the weight and seems to finally decide that the jig is up, because instead of launching herself at the captain again, she scrambles toward the door, planting her upper knee in Tcho’s ribs as she goes. Holding her blaster steady with two hands, the captain steps to the center of the room. “You’re going to answer for your crimes, Adalat! There’s a spot in passenger recuperation waiting just for you!” he shouts as he fires another errant shot at the floor.
As Kerr-Lonn-Ny climbs back to her feet, she sees Tcho, closer to the exit, do a kip-up and then launch himself at the Frozian to restrain her. They tussle in the doorway, and Kerr-Lonn-Ny vaults over the fallen furniture to join the fray. The mutineer repels her, sending Kerr-Lonn-Ny stumbling back a pace, and then she slams her upper elbow into Tcho’s temple. There is a resounding crack as the side of his head snaps against the doorframe, and he slides down to the ground, suddenly still. Kerr-Lonn-Ny looks down at him, stunned, as the Frozian flees across the foyer. The captain’s words snap her back to attention. “Stop her! I’ll make sure your friend is okay, but we can’t let Adalat get away!” She makes her choice in an instant. Running I can do.