The table was large and awkward, but it was nothing Riggs couldn't manage. As he made his way out of the control room, where Gyro was still typing away, he looked around: only Hodges remained by the doorway, his feet planted firmly against the ground and knees bent in preparation for anything. Riggs looked around briefly for Slade, and a slight rush of adrenalin caused his breath to catch. Was the kid dead already? Have they somehow broken in without their notice? A trembling hand began to reach for the improvised grenades holstered at his belt, but fell to his side once more when the faint sound of a second table being dragged out of the dormitories gradually became audible. With a sigh of relief, he allowed himself to relax a little before returning to the job at hand. As he placed his hands back onto the table to grasp it, the Medbay door slid shut to reveal Batter. The second clone also scanned the hallway, just for a second or two, before striding to Riggs' left to grab the table's far side.

"Thanks, guy- and, err... sorry 'bout shutting you in there in that last one," he added, biting his tongue. "Won't happen again- wasn't a good thing to do..."
It had been a highly unprofessional move. A real soldier was aware of everything in his evironment, especially his teammates; it was one of the very first things he'd learned shortly after being generated. To break the link holding their team together was suicide and mission failure, and he knew that.

The process sped up considerably with one more man, and the table was placed in the right-most side of the hallway in no time. As he made his way back to the control room, with the second table well under way, Hodges' voice, now a dry, forced rasp, crackled over his comlink. "Boys, I think things just got worse..."

Riggs stopped dead in his tracks to listen. As he did, the adrenalin that had gripped him earlier began to return. "Something is... I dunno, pushing the door.... Something big, I'd wager...."
By all logic he knew, such a thing was virtually impossible. Blast doors, particularly those creating a seal between a pressurized artificial atmosphere and a vacuum, were ridiculously heavy and difficult to move. Hearkening back to relevant episodes of training on Kamino, he dared not to picture the monstrous thing lying outside that could apply such force to an inforceable object on its own. Even If it wasn't that, it still didn't matter, and the story only ended the same way: whatever was coming for them from out there was going to put up one hell of a fight.

"What do they find so interesting about us?!" he spat in agitation over his comlink. "I thought this was just a rock in the middle of dead, dumb, desolate space! They never tell us bucketheads anything!" Now, thoroughly charged with terror, he dashed out of the control room entrance and leapt over the now two-table barricade, crudely improvised, yet now the only source of cover. If it was the best thing they could do on such a tight budget, then it would have to do. Clutching the unstable grenades (now, likely, more so than ever), he drew in a final tentative breath and expected the worst.