The Full Monty

[Michael Beckett]

Mike's fist pounded on the sealed door, which reverberated in the exact same satisfying way that you'd expect a door on a helicarrier to reverberate. Most of the doors, especially up around the command deck and the research labs were all swooshy and high-tech, but down here in the bowels of the ship, where Treadstone had crammed all the stuff that was too loud or undesirable for the more civilized areas - generators; waste recycling; Kara Hawkins - things felt decidedly more like a conventional ship. At a guess, it was probably something to do with being below the waterline; or at least, where the waterline was when the helicarrier wasn't a few thousand feet above sea level; but to be honest that was just him grasping at vaguely clever-sounding straws.

Of course, with all the machinery around on these levels, the rooms were probably soundproofed; the military probably wouldn't have given a drowned rat's ass about the noise levels in the rooms where it stashed it's seamen - Ha. Semen. - but Treadstone Industries was a little more people friendly, and Beckett knew that his quarters were definitely soundproof, as he and a cute little Spanish Corporal had extensively tested during her tour of duty aboard.

Frowning, the Sergeant reached for the door chime intercom thingy beside the hatch, and quickly buzzed out MIKE in morse code before holding the talk button down.

"Open up, Red," he called. "It's Sergeant Beckett. The General wants to see you, a-sap."

He hesitated for a moment.

Wants to see us, he mentally amended. That wasn't ominous at all.