Medicrew: The Next Generation.

========================  Who: The Stranded People  Where: Plebe, where they're stranded  When: Shortly before they stop being stranded and get back to mainstream posting like sane and sensible martians (so we hope)=========================
--cut--  "No mechanicaleth beasties," observed Shakespeare, "We hath fortune with us today!"  "What's that?" asked Wildflower as a large rumbling noise sounded in the background.--cut off--

  "What's what?" asked Keto.  "That?" repeated Wildflower.  "What?" asked Keto.  "THAT!"  "What's THAT?!"  "THATS THAT!"  "WHAT?"  Wildflower sighed and took a deep breath.  "WHAT IS THAT RUMBLING NOISE?" she yelled in Keto's face.  "Oh, you mean THAT," he said, "If I knew what that was, I'd answer that."  Wildflower stared impassively at Keto and breathed in and out a few times.  She began mumbling under her breath and turned away from the doctor, trying desparately to hold herself back from either a) killing him, or b) killing herself.  "Methinks we mayeth have found the solution to thine question," murmured Shakespeare, taking a step backwards.  "For once, I agree with the moron," nodded Trisees, also stepping backwards as a huge shadow loomed towards the small group. They all looked up.  "Is it just me, or have we run into Mommy?" asked Keto.  Bearing down on them was a Plebian robot of similar construction to the others - except this was a Plebian robots from the mouth of Hell. Fifty metres from end to end, the rumbling was in actual fact the buzzing of its wings as it flew towards the ship storage area.  Of course, the rumbling was nothing compared to the noise that ensued once it landed.  CRASH!
  The shockwave off the ship landing, was enough to send the medicrew into the air.  Gravity soon took over and brought them down to earth.  "Argh," shouted Wildflower, rubbing her buttocks.  "How in hell do we expect to defeat this?!" shouted Alexander, trying to get to her feet.  "DEFEAT?" shouted Coffey from her position on the ground. "DEFEAT?!  WHY DON'T WE CONCENTRATE ON ESCAPE?!"   By now the buzzing sound of the wings was defeaning, and the force of the downflow was almost enough to keep thecrew on the floor where most of them lay.  "We can't run away from something like this, it would catch us in no time!" said Alexander.  "I agree with Coffey!" shouted Keto over the deafening buffeting of winds, "We need to grab a ship and get away from here now!"  "No, Alexander's right!" yelled Wildflower.  "LOOK!" snapped Keto, "It's perfectly simple!  All those who agree with Wildflower and Alexander, raise your hands!"  There were a couple of muffled grunts as the wind forced down the arms of those trying to raise them.  "Very good.  Shakespeare, you make a run for the side of the clearing. While it's busy tearing you to shreds, the rest of us'll make our escape..."  Shakespeare saluted.   "If thou sayeth so Charles...waits't, teareth me to thy shreds't?"  The hell bot looked down at the medicrew and growled loudly.  There was a loud vibrating as the cannons on it's back began to glow.  "Oh crap," muttered Keto looking up at almost certain extinction.  The cannons hummed louder, and the medicrew placed their hands over their eyes, resigning themselves to lives as plebs.  Keto flinched as he heard a loud explosive noise and jerked his head upwards.  A few metres away from the hell bot was a ship, flying in mid-air, it's own weapons charged and unloading into the back of the metal monstrosity.  The hell bot's concentration shifted from the medicrew as it rose into the air and aimed its weapons at the ship.  "Quick!" shouted Keto, findign movement easier now. "To a ship."  "Who's flying that ship?!" shouted Coffey.  "Where's Trisees?!" asked Alexander.  "There's your answer," shouted Keto, as the quartet ran for cover.  As the huge mechanical monstrosity turned around and around, trying to target the relatively small ship circling around it, the mediquad hurried over to another, slightly larger and hopefully spaceworthy vessel.  "Get in!" ordered Keto. The others ran past him, into the ship. Coffey, the last to enter, suddenly stopped.  "Just a thought," she said, as they both glanced up at the huge (and now slightly dizzy) construction, "Do you know how to fly this thing?"  "Do you?"  "No."  "Then yes, of course I do."  Coffey shook her head and hurried inside. Keto followed and headed to the bridge...where he was somewhat irritated to see Wildflower sitting in the pilot's seat.  "What are you doing there?"  "I'm baking a cake, like all people sitting in the pilot's seat of a ship do, of course," replied Wildflower, "What do you think I'm doing?"  "I think you're thinking that you can fly."  "It could be worse, I could be thinking you can."  Keto opened and closed his mouth for a second, but could find no reply to this.  Wildflower smirked and continued, "Besides, I seen vaguely how Starbug's are flown, this one can't be too different."  "Assuming that this vague knowledge comes from the fact that you briefly went out with that Chrysler creature," sneered Keto, "I'm even MORE reluctant to trust your flying ability."  Wildflower shot him a glare that would have nailed anyone else to the wall.  "And I suppose you're infinitely more qualified, having grasped all the basics of how to mix liquids together?"  The glare was returned with twice as many nails.  "CAN WE PLEASE GET ON WITH IT!" shouted Alexander, "Lawrence is up there risking his life now, so let's get this thing moving and HELP HIM!"  As Keto slumped down into the co-pilot's chair with very bad grace, Wildflower leaned forwards and stared at the array of buttons before her.  "Okay, let's try...*this* one!" she said, and stabbed down randomly.  There was a lurch, and very brief sensation of free-falling, and a thump that knocked everyone off their feet.  "What was that!?" exclaimed Wildflower.  "That, I would hazard a guess, was the landing gear," growled Keto, "Which is generally required if you're ON LAND."  "Shut up," snapped Wildflower, and hit another button. With a series of clicks and a high-pitched whine, the engines burst into life.  "All right, here we go!" she said, and pulled slowly back on the joystick.  Trisees was beginning to worry.  The craft he had so hastily leapt into was a small one, obviously not meant for space flight...or, if it came to it, long term flight at all. The small guage that he was desperately hoping was NOT fuel (but inwardly knew was, indeed, fuel) was now almost invisible, and blinking rapidly.   And he could swear that the engines were beginning to misfire...which was not a good thing as the gigantic robot beneath him was swiping ever harder at his craft.  And to make things worse, one of the larger vessels was rising up beneath him very rapidly...very rapidly indeed...almost too rapidl...
CRUNCH!
  Instantly, hundreds of alarms went off, and lights began flashing all over the place.  The engines cut out, Trisees was thrown out of his chair and across the cabin, and cursing inept pilots who wouldn't know what a collision alarm was if...well, if they collided with something!  Grabbing a backpack, Trisees pelted through the miniature corridors of the ship, knowing that any second that giant robot was going to stop being such a klutz and actually manage to HIT his craft...  Coming to the airlock, Trisees hit the emergency release button and was almost sucked out by the slipstream. Peering out, he saw one huge metallic arm swinging his way.  "Here goes!" he muttered, and leapt out.  As he fell, there was a huge thud behind him...and then an explosion that seared the hairs on the back of his neck and sent tiny bits of debris...and large bits of debris...spiralling past him. Trisees was just thinking how lucky it was that he hadn't been hit by any pieces, when a tiny piece of shrapnel hurtled down and embedded itself in his ankle...of the opposite leg to the one previously injured.  "YAAGH!" he yelled, "CAN'T I EVER CATCH A BREAK!?"  With that, he pulled the cord on the parachute.  Except it wasn't a parachute.  The backpack tumbled open, spewing spare parts for the ship all over the place as Trisees continued to fall.  "How...TYPICAL!" he moaned, as the ground loomed closer and he prepared to say goodbye to this w...  There was another, final THUMP, and Trisees had the wind knocked out of him as something swung through the air and caught him in mid fall.  "Holdeth on, Lawrence!" said a medieval voice, and for once Trisees was almost glad to hear it.  Shakespeare and Trisees, dangling from the end of a winched-down rope, barely avoided being hit by huge arms flailing at them...and by the enormouse Plebicising beam that shot within inches of Shakespeare's nose.  "Ye Gads!" the bard declared, "Thateth was a closeth shave!"  "Just get me on board so I can pilot this thing better than whoever you currently have at the helm," muttered Trisees, "Which by close observation I gather to be Wildflower. Nobody else has a negative level of expertise in piloting."  Slowly, the rope was winched up, and the ship rose.----------------------  <ooc: Break out the champange!  The Medicrew is headed home!>