Baumann looked at the office. It was set up, running smoothly, and had all of his needs met. Going to the desk terminal, he sent a note to the Chief Engineer thanking him for such exceptional work. He sent another message to the Captain and XO, recommending the man for a Commendation. Installation and troubleshooting of such equipment, some of which the CE didnt even know what was, in such a short time was remarkable and the Intelligence Officer wanted to make sure it was noticed.

Stepping away from the desk, he took a breath. It was done… and now there was nothing to distract him from the other issues facing the German. Clenching his jaw, his turned and went out of the office, securing the door. Stepping next door to his quarters, he went in and hastily changed into white pants made of dyneema, a tough, cut resistant material used in fencing outfits. He picked up the shirt and jacket made of the same… and then threw them on the bed, grabbing a white tshirt and pulling it over his head. Going into his closet, he pulled a long, black bag from the floor and hefted it with a grunt onto his shoulder and walked out the door.

He made his way to the Secure Storage section of the Cargo bay and went inside, locking the door behind him. Walking to the middle of the mostly empty space, he set the bag down with a metallic thud. Opening it, he pulled out two long, black cases and set them aside. He then put both arms in the bag and lifted a strange amalgamation of bars, pistons, cylinders, and electrical components. Standing it on end, he lowered the legs into a tripod configuration. Folding out an arm with a vice like device on the end, he then grabbed a battery pack from the bag and plugged it into a receptacle between the legs. Pressing the power button on the small control panel, he watched it light up and the diagnostics begin running. Seeing as it was working, he turned to the cases, opening both.

Inside each case was a beautiful and well maintained sabre. The silver steel of the blade rose from the guard and handle at the base, and the edges and points of each were extremely sharp. Lifting one out, he placed it in the vice on the machine and cinched it tight. He pressed a few buttons on the control panel and then stepped back and retrieved the other blade.

The machine moved slowly; the sabre swinging gracefully in the air in long, sweeping arc. It then paused, and the blade went to the ready position.

Bauman stretched and lumbered up, his jaw grinding his teeth as his mind kept coming back to his first few days on the ship. Finally, he shook his head and turned to the machine. “Level 4 und alle Sicherheitsvorkehrungen deaktiviert.” His words were terse, clipped… angry. The machine paused and then shot the blade forward at Baumann, who parried the blade with his own. Baumann tried to counter attack, but the machine blocked and went on the offensive again.

The back and forth went on for minutes. Beads of sweat formed on Baumann’s brow and arms, and the incessant ringing of steel on steel echoed in the small space.

Baumann thrust his blade, and the machine parried and brought the blade down across his arm. A line of blood flowed from the wound, and Baumann cursed… loudly. His hold on the frustrations, anger, and confusions of the past days was broken by the sudden pain… and the big German bellowed at the top of his lungs. His blade began moving faster, his impacts harder and harder, and the machine was visibly struggling under the assault. Finally, Baumann smashed his blade into the machine’s, twisted his wrist, and the machine’s blade went sailing off and bunching hard off a wall and onto the floor.

Baumann stood in the now quiet room, his head hung down, breathing heavily. Blood ran from his arm, down his hand, and travelling along the blade to drop slowly from the tip and onto the floor.

Baumann, Intel