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ULC 9: In Memory of Spock
worffan101
Member Posts: 9,518 Arc User
For our ninth LC, we're celebrating the life and impact of Leonard Nimoy, and mourning his passing, with a special prompt. Please keep this polite and respectful. Otherwise, rules work as usual.
"His Was The Most Human." --submitted by ambassadormolari
Spock: science officer of the first U.S.S. Enterprise, friend to James T. Kirk, ambassador and saviour of the Federation, friend to countless peoples across the galaxy, mentor to Proconsul D'Tan of the Romulan Republic, and founder of the Romulan Reunification movement. It has been years since Spock disappeared, presumed lost, in a vain effort to avert the Hobus disaster.
On the twenty-third anniversary of Spock's death, members of Starfleet, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Republic, and countless other governments and organizations gather on Vulcan to commemorate his heroic sacrifice. Write about your own captain's experience in attending this memorial.
Other prompts for this month:
"Infection" --submitted by grylak
"While in deep space, a sudden plague is found on board. But it's been weeks since the last contact with an alien species and the cargo holds are empty. So where did this disease come from? Is it a deadly disease that kills in hours, or something as harmless as a common cold that turns everyone's skin blue? How badly is it affecting your crew and can your doctor hope to find a cure in time before everyone sucumbs? Alot of captains are used to dealing with enemies they can threaten and shoot, now it's time to see how they react when there is no clear foe."
"Old Flame" --submitted by starswordc
"They say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Once upon a time, your character was deeply in love with another, but it ended. Now, years later, your latest mission brings you and your ex back into contact. The rest is up to you."
__________________________________________________________________________
Rules are the same as usual. No NSFW stuff, one story per author per prompt.
The discussion thread is here.
Index of previous unofficial challenges:
"His Was The Most Human." --submitted by ambassadormolari
Spock: science officer of the first U.S.S. Enterprise, friend to James T. Kirk, ambassador and saviour of the Federation, friend to countless peoples across the galaxy, mentor to Proconsul D'Tan of the Romulan Republic, and founder of the Romulan Reunification movement. It has been years since Spock disappeared, presumed lost, in a vain effort to avert the Hobus disaster.
On the twenty-third anniversary of Spock's death, members of Starfleet, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Republic, and countless other governments and organizations gather on Vulcan to commemorate his heroic sacrifice. Write about your own captain's experience in attending this memorial.
Other prompts for this month:
"Infection" --submitted by grylak
"While in deep space, a sudden plague is found on board. But it's been weeks since the last contact with an alien species and the cargo holds are empty. So where did this disease come from? Is it a deadly disease that kills in hours, or something as harmless as a common cold that turns everyone's skin blue? How badly is it affecting your crew and can your doctor hope to find a cure in time before everyone sucumbs? Alot of captains are used to dealing with enemies they can threaten and shoot, now it's time to see how they react when there is no clear foe."
"Old Flame" --submitted by starswordc
"They say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Once upon a time, your character was deeply in love with another, but it ended. Now, years later, your latest mission brings you and your ex back into contact. The rest is up to you."
__________________________________________________________________________
Rules are the same as usual. No NSFW stuff, one story per author per prompt.
The discussion thread is here.
Index of previous unofficial challenges:
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"Coming up on coordinates now, Captain," Lieutenant Drew Mason noted from the helm of the USS Endeavour
The holographic viewscreen was filled with the amber-hued bloom of the newly formed nebula, against which the vessels from the Federation's diplomatic envoy, and their Romulan observers could be seen, arranging in what reminded Drew of a surfer's paddle-out.
"Very good, Lieutenant," Fleet Captain Marcus Kane replied, making a note on a PADD and passing it to his executive assistant, the newly promoted Ensign Amanda Palmer.
"May I?" enquired Sub-Commander Galan tr'Varo, the Romulan observer assigned to the Endeavour for the duration of their time in Romulan space.
Amanda's eyes flicked uncertainly to her captain, uncertain of the protocol, but the deceptively young-looking man merely nodded.
"By all means, Sub-Commander," he replied. "If you'd care to add anything to the request, I'm sure Chef Ramsey will be willing to accommodate you."
The Romulan made a noise of amusement, more a snort than a laugh, and his expression was more a sneer than a smile as he glanced down at the PADD, before returning it to the girl.
"If your galley carries kheh'irho, I would raise a glass in toast," he quipped, to which Kane dipped his head slightly.
"It doesn't," he admitted. "But I acquired some from a friend in Ra'tleihfi in... twenty three seventy four which I would be willing to share..."
Galan scowled as he performed the calculation, compared the result with his knowledge of Human ageing, and then the appearance of the fleet captain. He would not lower himself to being the butt of a Terran's joke, and with a snort, simply turned away to approach the master system display at the rear of the bridge.
"Shields are handling the radiation from the nebula with no sign of strain, Sub-Commander," chief engineer Lieutenant Commander Rebecca Van Doren reported helpfully as the Romulan drew close.
"Captain," Commander Jedda Tobin said from her seat at communications. "The Enterprise is signalling the assembled ships."
"Open a channel to all decks," Kane said.
Unconsciously brushing her neatly bobbed hair back behind her ear, Jedda quickly implemented the order, then nodded, and Kane snapped:
"All hands, stand to attention."
The broadcast from the Enterprise began to play over the ship's intercom.
"We are assembled here today, to pay final respects to our honoured dead," It was not the address of the senior officer present, nor the Federation president, who had travelled aboard the Enterprise to pay their respects, but one of the most un-mistakable voices from history, taken from archive footage. "He did not feel this sacrifice a vain, or empty one, and we will not debate his profound wisdom at these proceedings. Of my friend, I can only say this -- Of all the souls, I have encountered in my travels, his was the most... Human..."
O U T W E I G H E D
STS Storm Station, synchronous orbit over Oceanus Procellarum, Luna
Stardate 64486.68 (2387.06.26.1519)
Romulus and Remus were gone. Just as Ambassador Spock had predicted weeks ago. The Hobus supernova, somehow channeling its energies through subspace, now threatened every star system in explored space, possibly even the galaxy itself.
Captain Frank Grimes, Special Projects Manager at Starfleet Tactical Systems, could only sit and watch from afar in helpless fascination as more and more star systems were wiped off the galactic map. And more and more Starfleet ships sent to evacuate the core worlds of the Romulan Star Empire disappeared without a trace.
He knew of Ambassador Spock's plan to stop the destruction. He knew of red matter - the metastable quantum soup derived from ultraenergetic decalithium, which would theoretically form a singularity out of any surrounding matter or energy.
With nothing better to do at the moment, he ran the calculations again.
"It could work," he murmured, when he saw the results. "If the formation follows theory, it would work. But there'd be no way to escape the gravity well of the singularity. With a reaction that energetic, you'd practically be inside the event horizon..."
"Frank, you are talking to yourself again," Atticus spoke up. "And Admiral Davis would like you to look over something in his office."
"On my way." Grimes closed his computer terminal and walked out of his office, and down the corridor to see his boss. "What are we looking at, Bill?" he asked as he stepped inside the sanctum of the STS Technical Director.
R. Adm. Bill Davis waved his special projects supervisor to a seat. "The Romulan Mining Guild drilling and ore-carrying vessel Narada," Davis said as a hologram appeared over his desk. "Four hundred twenty-two meters, dry mass three hundred and twenty-six thousand tons, ore capacity six hundred sixty-eight thousand tons. Light defensive armament, standard crew complement forty-seven. The Enterprise took thorough scans when rescuing this ship from three Reman light warbirds last month."
"So?"
"The Big E just sent scans of what they confirm is the same vessel, after it just wiped out an entire squadron of Klingon heavy birds of prey." The hologram showed a squid-like monstrosity, painful to look at and dwarfing the 685m Sovereign-class the hologram displayed for reference. "It is reasonable to believe that this ship is also responsible for the loss of several Federation and Cardassian ships responding to the Hobus event and the destruction of Romulus and Remus."
"How?" Grimes looked over the readings the Enterprise took of the energy signatures. "This reads like Borg-tech."
"Best guess, the Romulans have developed techniques for weaponized, controlled assimilation of their own ships. If they can turn a completely unremarkable mining vessel into something capable of doing this..." the hologram showed a debris field that had been a Klingon scout-raider squadron "Can you imagine what they'd do if they turned this technology loose on a Mogai, a D'deridex or, god forbid, another Scimitar?"
Grimes shuddered. His eyes nearly went liquid at the thought.
"Frank, the captain of the Narada is hell-bent on vengeance for his lost world. He can't be the only one. If what's left of the Romulan fleet has access to this technology, they could destroy us every bit as thoroughly as that subspace shockwave bearing down on us. I want your department to work on a way to counter this tech... and..." Admiral Davis looked up at the ceiling. "Atticus, Dark Zero protocol. Authorization Davis-Two-Six-Nine-Whiskey-Bravo."
"...You want me to figure out how we can use it ourselves," Frank guessed.
Bill Davis nodded pensively. "You're our foremost expert on Borg material science. I know you worked on something like this before..."
"Project PARAMOUNT," Grimes said, "wasn't like this at all. This ship looks... like it was grown. Like a living thing. And these readings... I'll have to get Atticus to ping the Big E's AU to confirm, but it looks like it's carrying an emergent artificial sentience."
"I noticed. It scares me, Frank. I don't like it when our enemies have scarier toys than we do. I want you to fix that."
"I'll get right on it," Grimes nodded, downloading the data to his secure PADD. "I assume I'll have to keep Atticus in the Dark?"
"Orders from Charlie. He wants to keep the program deniable, for now. So no traceable files, and no cute project codenames." Davis looked up. "Atticus, dump active memory to secure backups, and restore from Dark Zero."
"Any word from the Jellyfish, sir?" Grimes wondered. "If Geordi can't collapse Hobus, none of this will matter. I've been tracking the subspace propagation wave. It'll cross into the Sierra sector sometime tomorrow, and be here the middle of next week."
"Geordi didn't take the Jellyfish," Davis informed him. "Ambassador Spock did. He felt he needed to... see this through to the end."
"Spock..." Grimes fell silent for a moment. Scientist, diplomat, teacher, Starfleet Captain. Spock was the reason that Grimes - or rather, the man Grimes' memories were lifted from - had entered Starfleet in the first place. He'd met him a few times at science conferences; never more than a brief conversation, but he felt connected to him, somehow. Like one feels connected to a childhood hero, he supposed.
"...subspace interference. We lost contact with the Jellyfish when it crossed the shockwave plane," Davis was saying. "The Narada was in pursuit. The Enterprise was a few minutes behind. But if it worked..." He checked his watch. "...we should be receiving word from Captain Data any moment now."
"I see," Grimes mumbled numbly.
"Bill, Three-Nine-Sierra is picking up a subspace transmission from the Enterprise right now," Atticus announced. "I shall route the signal through my hypernodes so you can hear it as it comes in."
"Thank you, Atticus."
"-has been completely consumed by the singularity," Captain Data's voice reported, with as little emotion as if he were commenting on the weather. "Astormetrics predicts that the subspace shockwave should now subside before it impacts another inhabited star system. Our sensors show warp trails from the Jellyfish and the Narada, both ending beyond the singularity's event horizon. Obviously, there is no hope of recovery for either vessel. The Enterprise will remain on station and observe the phenomenon until we receive further orders.
"Also, I feel the need to share Ambassador Picard's words, upon realizing what had happened to Ambassador Spock: 'He sacrificed himself to save us all. May his soul live long, and prosper.'"
Admiral Davis released a grieved sigh. "Atticus, send all telemetry from the Enterprise into the station's computers, and backup at Olympus. Link to her AU as soon as realtime comms are established."
"Understood sir."
"Thank you... Um. Frank... I need... a few minutes alone."
"Yeah, me too," Frank Grimes said heavily as he got up to leave. He shuffled back to his own office, staring vacantly past the staffers and the bulkheads and the moon and stars beyond. He sat behind his desk and sat there, unmoving, allowing the weight of Spock's sacrifice to settle on him.
"Frank, the Enterprise has intercepted a lightspeed transmission from the Jellyfish which may interest you."
It took Grimes a long few seconds to react to that. "Let's hear it," he finally said.
"The audio was too badly distorted. I will display as text."
The computer terminal opened on the desk, and Spock's last words displayed on the screen.
'Do not grieve' he says. Well, dammit, the greatest man I've ever known, my hero is dead. So forgive me, Spock, if I just can't help it.
Frank Grimes may have been a Changeling beneath his skin, but after fifteen years he'd developed a Human soul. And he had never felt more Human than at that moment, when he sunk his head into his arms and cried.
*/ Ambassador Picard's words and the Jellyfish final transmission taken from Star Trek: Countdown /*
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
Once per year, every news channel in the Federation, and now in the nascent Romulan Republic, showed the same program.
This year differed only slightly, in that now there was a statue of a handsome, wise-looking Vulcan man with an inscribed plaque at his feet behind the speakers.
On the bottom of every screen, in every language spoken throughout the hundreds of Federation worlds and dozens of Republic worlds, flashed the name and title of the person mourning Ambassador Spock of Vulcan as each dignitary moved up to the podium to make a short speech.
Fleet Admiral trKererek left the podium after making a short speech about the legendary Vulcans wisdom. He was succeeded by a petite, wiry Rihanha of ninety-something years, who the caption discretely noted as High Admiral Dtrel, holder of the Temer Order of Merit and prominent member of the Unification Party. Aside from the last remnants of polite clapping for trKerereks speech, there was silence.
Dtrel took the stage. She would not cry. She had promised herself that.
She was quiet for a moment, eyes closed, holding the podium. Then she spoke into the microphone.
The Lloannmhrahel has very few people who the Rihanh would call heroes. Fewer still who the Klingons and their allies would, too. Only one of them saved the entire galaxy.
Spock was a true hero. Some would even call him a messiah. His dream has brought about a once-impossible peace, with Humans, Klingons, and Rihannsu standing side by side. Vulcan, Gorn, and Havranha, all here, on our new world, because of Spock. His dream of Unification has brought our people from shattered remnants to a shining light in the galaxy. His sacrifice is why we still exist.
To me, personally, Spock was a hero. An idol. Dare I say, a messiah. His dream gave me a year of true happiness, and propels me even to this day. Before I heard of Unification, I had no purpose--I was just another street girl, surviving day to day. I tried protecting other street people, but it always ended badly. Always. I didnt have a purpose, I was just surviving.
Then one day, when I was in my early forties, I decided on a whim to spend some money I had scrounged from a petty theft on a news holo. The first story was about a speech by Ambassador Spock on Unification. It started out with the usual genetics and Sundering tales arguments, but then he said something that really made me think. Unlike the usual Vulcan superiority arguments, he said that Vulcan society has flaws. He admitted it. That was...I was an orphan, you see, raised in the system, everyone always telling me that they were better than me, that I needed to be taught how to behave in their way.
Spock didnt talk that way. He admitted that both people had societal flaws, and he said that if Rihan and Vulcan came together, they could be something greater than the sum of themselves, a beautiful whole once more, equal parts Surakian logic and Rihan passion. And...well, it gave me a purpose. A reason to live, not just survive.
I ended up falling in with a Unificationist cadre who met in a cave system beneath an old warehouse. It was there that I met...well, suffice it to say that I had the most wonderful year of my life. It didnt end well, but...I wouldnt trade it for anything. Ever since, Ive been devoted to Spocks dream. Reunification. The ideal of Rihan, Havran, and Vulcan as one harmonious whole. That is what gives me hope.
Mine is not the only story of one who was touched by Ambassador Spock. Far from it. Every man, woman, and child in this galaxy owes their lives to him. When he flew the Jellyfish into the Hobus propagation wave, he knew that he was not going to leave. And if he had not used the red matter device, the entire galaxy would be dead, a burned-out shell for the Iconians to reconquer. Spocks sacrifice was our salvation.
Dtrel was openly weeping now, as was most of the audience.
So, thank you, Spock. Thank you for my life, my year of happiness, and most of all for my purpose.
She turned, facing the statue, and spread her hand in a Vulcan salute.
Live long, and prosper.
Live long, and prosper! said most of the crowd, raising their own hands in salute.
He did, whispered Dtrel to herself, smiling in the sad way that people do when they remember someone who lived a good, full life. He very much did.
And she left the podium, allowing the tears to come in force.
Early June, 2409.
"Do you know what it is like to meet a ghost, Ms. Lexis?" Gregs asks the science officer, his First Officer, this question, after returning to Starbase 234, in the Tau Dewa Sector.
The Trill officer merely tilts her head in confusion, it was an unexpected question after ten minutes of silent walking through the, somewhat sparse, lower decks of the station. " I don't know, sir," she says hesitatingly, "Are we speaking of true apparitions, memories of the past, the Devidians, or something more...personal?" Gregs merely smirked as he stopped in the hallway, and chooses to lean against the nearest wall, while Zinuzee attempts to access her own room across from Gregs.
"It's more like a combination of one, two, and four while being brought about by number three at least once," he says, "Our...unauthorized jaunt into the past brought about last month by the Devidians, and our most recent event with the Guardian, made me think of the dead men we've seen in a span of two months, men who've been gone for more than thirty years to everyone else; it's... perplexing, to say the least."
At last Zinuzee opened her door, and stood within the doorframe of her temporary housing for the night, requested just so she could get off the ship, even for a night. "Sometimes Gregs, no everything is easy, you've known that since day one at the academy...since day one of your command," she says, tears threating to spill at the memories, before she straightens back up, "We can't always get to say we've met our heroes, let alone in their prime, but don't let the knowledge of their futures, burden you, live life; to quote Mr. Spock, 'Live Long and Prosper'." She turns to her room, before taking a fleeting glance behind her at her superior-in-rank-officer. "Good Night Gregs," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."
******
2410; The Delta Quadrant
Stardate: 87157.05
Jenolan Sphere, Interior
Ky'mar
Gregs woke up in a sweat, his mind reeling form the slight nightmare he had, a flashback from his last face off with Gaul, which ended with a reappearance of a certain oily, black-green figure and the death of his crew. He shook it off as nerves, knowing the date and what it meant 23 years ago. Today though, was a very special day. After 23 years, a tumultuous 'cold' war for 22 years, a very 'hot' war lasting seven months, a near civil war somewhere in-between, defeating at least three coup attempts on three different occasions, (technically) time traveling Jem'Hadar forces, defeating time traveling Klingons, annihilating time traveling Borg, defeating and then making peace with the Undine; it was a long year that seemed impossible looking back. Now a new year has begun, starting with that same peace with the Undine, making allies and enemies, exposing a threat to the galaxy in the form of a parasite, the origins of said parasite as well as its links with the Solanae and Elachi of the Delta Quadrant, and their masters, the Iconians, and then accumulating in, at least for now, an uneasy understanding between the Kobali and the Vaadwaur forces.
Now though, was a time for short, relative peace. A 'live stream' from across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants was to be displayed throughout the Delta Quadrant to all Alliance ships available. The Ky'mar was one such ship, it was near to the Trakia System and was given the chance to tap into the claimed Hirogen array by the Alliance crew who were currently aboard it, made up of quite a few Hirogen from the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, under the command primarily of Romulan Republic and Alliance officers.
All was silent, as the whole ship stood in awe at the sight before them. For the past month on Vulcan and on Mol'Rihan, two monuments were being built in absolute secret, cordoned off by opaque, holographic, force field domes; both were to be revealed today on subspace throughout all three Quadrants. Now they were finally revealed, as the twin statues of the Vulcan Ambassador to Romulus, the man who started the Unificationist movement, who inspired many for over one hundred years, now his greatest feat was finally coming to fruition some twenty three years later, today Vulcan and Mol'Rihan came together to honor one man on this day of peace.
On Vulcan, the famous Vulcan greeting was etched in stone: 'Live Long And Prosper'; while it's fraternal twin on Mol'Rihan held the famous Vulcan Surak's quote: 'The Needs Of The Many, Outweigh The Needs Of The Few'. Both phrases fitting of a man who tried to unite a people and heal a far-long to open wound. His ideals had sparked a new generation, and now they would forever be remembered by future ones. The fiery orb sitting behind the statues were testimony to that, and both served a dual purpose, the first to physically represent his Katra and all the beliefs it held, the second to spark similar ideals in the next generation of Kirks, Scotty's, Bones', Spock's, and so many more.
Gregs Son'aire, a Captain who looked back upon his very short life, thought back to an event last year and he smiled. Perhaps not all ghosts were bad. 'Wherever, whenever, you are Mr. Spock,' he thinks to himself, 'Live Long and Prosper.'
The Captain of the Gate:
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods,
"And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?
"Haul down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?"
— “Horatius” 27-29, Lays of Ancient Rome, Lord Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1st Baron Macaulay
Vulcan’s Forge, Thaei
ch’Rihan date 02/04/4101 A.S. (20 June 2410 Earth Standard)
The Rihannsu were long-lived, and had long memories. Particularly among the noble classes the holding of old grudges was a cherished tradition, and their pursuit could lead to cycles of violence and revenge lasting for centuries. Mnhei’sahe demanded that a loss of face be rectified by word, deed, or if necessary, blood.
But like so many things in the fabric of the Rihanh, this was dual-edged, for as the Rihannsu rarely forgot or forgave past slights, so too did they remember past favors and aid. The sun-blasted volcanic mountain range of Vulcan’s Forge reminded Morgan unpleasantly of the hottest days on her farm on Virinat, without the benefit of a cool breeze from the higher elevations. It would be that the Thaessu marked the anniversary of the Loss and the Sacrifice at the height of local summer.
Though on another level, she reflected, it made sense: Lost in Fire, they were, and so in Fire were they remembered.
Rows of granite statues stood along the paths to the temple and the shrine, monuments to great thinkers in the annals of the Thaessu. Morgan could name some of them. Surak. T’Chel. Syrran. Their katric arks stood silent in the temple behind her.
But for one statue, there was no corresponding ark. An impossibly aged face, intricately carved formal robes, hand outstretched in the Thaes gesture of greeting. The Thaessu mourned the loss of Llairhi Spahkh’s katra, though he was but one life among billions snuffed out in the Loss. Morgan was here not for his death, but for his life, and privately suspected an irony: of all the people present at this memorial, she was likely the only one who had actually met the man.
Bhoewen Ehrie District, Ki Baratan, ch’Rihan
ch’Rihan date 07/12/4062 A.S. (4 January 2371 Earth Standard)
“But why do I have to go?” the ebon-haired fifteen-year-old complained. “It’s just going to be a bunch of stuffy speeches and boring old people!”
“Do you consider me a ‘boring old person’, then, Morgaiahal?” the taller woman said, turning from her mirror and looking at her daughter with an amused smile.
“At the moment, yes! And I told you to stop calling me ‘Morgaiahal’!”
Iliana t’Thavrau laughed and straightened the sash of her ceremonial robes. The earth-colored tivish fabric from Mirhassa wasn’t the best grade—that was well beyond a civil servant’s means, even one like her with familial connections to one of the Houses—but it was good enough to be seen in the expected company. The sash, a darker shade of brown and trimmed with gold thread, bore three insignias embroidered in black: first the emblem of the Shiar, then the sword-and-quill mark of Hfihar s’Nennien, the family of the deihu for whom Iliana currently worked, and finally the stylized Terelex Straits fishhawk that was the sigil-beast of Hfihar s’Thavrau.
Iliana turned to her only child again. Morgaiah had hit a growth spurt recently and her reflexes hadn't quite caught up. Iliana remembered that awkward, gawky period from her own childhood: if nothing else mother and daughter had that in common.
She studied her daughter critically as the young woman petulantly planted her hands on her hips. Iliana could see much of herself, the same obsidian hair, pronounced widow’s peak, and narrow forehead ridge descending to the bridge of her nose. But where Iliana was green-eyed, soft and sweet-faced, Morgaiah’s eyes were a stormy blue and she could see the germ of an austere, elegant beauty.
Tack number one: show the benefit to going. She laid a hand on Morgaiah’s shoulder. "You want to go to Phi’lasasam in two summers, yes? You’re going to need a deihu to sponsor you.”
“Great-Aunt Sindari,” Morgaiah said dismissively.
Iliana studiously ignored the mogai in the room, that she hadn’t been on good terms with her aunt, Hru’hfirh s’Thavrau and the representative for the entire Sheratan VII colony, since she’d mysteriously turned up pregnant fifteen years ago while serving as Deihu tr’Vreenak’s chief of staff. Instead she pointed out, “She’s family. She’s not allowed to sponsor you, not after that dung-for-brains half-breed slipped through. But this is a state reception. There will be more than enough deihur present for you to make a contact and cultivate the necessary ties. I can introduce you to tr’Vreenak, t’Nai, and t’Nennien. Believe me, It’ll work to your favor now and later. And getting out of the house for something other than school will do you good anyway.”
“I get out of the house all the time.”
“Yes, and you spend most of it with that Terrhaha.”
“So what? I’ve known Gina since I was five.”
“And you’ve known for that long that I don’t approve,” Iliana told her point-blank. “I’ve let it slide this long, but you’re not a child anymore. If to become an officer in the Galae truly is your wish, you must start preparing now.”
Morgaiah glared at her mother. Iliana stood impassive.
Morgaiah looked away first. “Fine. I’ll come to your stupid Deihuit session.”
“Excellent. I had your robes cleaned; they’re hanging in your room.”
“Are you going to be there?” Morgan asked the short blonde Terrhaha over vidcom.
“Sorry, Morgan, couldn’t even if Mom wanted me there. I’ve got a school project due in two days and I’m behind.”
“Fvadt.”
“Come on, Morg. The ambassador’s going to be there. It can’t be that bad.”
It was that bad.
Morgan itched. Her formal robes hadn’t fit properly for years no matter how much time her mother’s tailor spent on it, and the fabric wasn’t anywhere near as good as the tivish her mother wore. To make matters worse the speechifying had been even more boring than predicted, mostly statements of intent by some of the voting blocs in the Deihuit regarding a new threat from afar. In the tongue of the Declared it had been dubbed the D’Nneikha—the Dominion, in the tongue of the Lloann’nasu—and as on so many other things the Deihuit was divided on the appropriate response.
It was rather impressive how a politician could make something as dramatic as the wanton destruction of hundreds of freighters, a colony numbering seventeen thousand, and a Galaxy-class starship sound as exciting as a recitation of the Ki Baratan comm directory. Despite her best efforts Morgan only really understood the basic details. And at the moment they were less important than the insistence of her stomach that she fill it. “Pardon me,” she said to a silver-haired man standing in her way at the buffet table at the west wall of the Hall of State. “I’m trying to reach the osol twists.”
“Allow me,” a warm voice said in return. With movements that struck Morgan as coolly measured and considered, the Rihanha selected one of the candies and turned and passed it to her.
She looked up into an aged face, one of the oldest-looking men she had ever met. A strange expression was on his face: His mouth was set in a thin, severe line, but the deep-set brown eyes were smiling. “Narihu-difv hwio?” she asked. Who are you?
“Narihu Spahkh rhanne,” he answered in simple but flawless High Rihan. I am Spock.
So, not a Rihanha after all. A Thaesha. The Thaesha, in point of fact, the current ambassador for the Lloann’mhrahel. So that explained the two Lloannen’galae officers standing nearby in yellow tunics, obviously his security detail.
“Who are you?” Spock asked.
“Morgaiah. Morgaiah ir’Sheratan t’Thavrau.”
“Ah, the friend of Eugenia Parker.”
“You know Gina?” she asked in surprise.
“I know her mother, Counselor Annette Parker. She is very pleased that Gina has found a friend outside the embassy compound, particularly in as hostile an environment as ch’Rihan.”
“I wish my mother shared that sentiment.”
Spock’s expression remained impassive but he inclined his head slightly. “Respect her; you will only have one.”
“Corrupting our youth again, Llairhi Spahkh?” a harsher voice interrupted from behind Morgan.
She turned and looked up into a gaunt Rihan face. The man’s robes were the dark blue of a stormy sea, and his sash bore an emblem of swords crossed behind a stylized thrai. “I was not, Vreenak,” Spock replied. “We merely have a mutual acquaintance.”
“Deihu Merken i’Rateg tr’Vreenak, sir,” Morgan greeted the newcomer, bowing her head respectfully.
“And you must be the daughter whom Iliana ir’Sheratan speaks of so often.”
“Morgaiah t’Thavrau, sir.”
“Look up. Let me see your face, girl.” Morgan did so. The deihu was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Spitting image of your mother,” he finally said. “She worked for me for nine years. I was very sorry to see her leave.” He turned back to Spock. “I’m sure you’re aware, Llairhi, that my Jol Tan Coalition will be voting against your proposal.”
“I would like you to reconsider. Our post-combat analysis of the altercation between the Odyssey and the Jem’Hadar—”
“—is irrelevant,” tr’Vreenak cut him off with a slashing motion of his hand. “If the D’Nneikha can bring down one of your vaunted Cehlaer-class warbirds, I congratulate them on the achievement. What hurts the Lloann’mhrahel helps the Shiar ih’Saeihr Rihan.”
“An illogical position for the leih of the Tal’Shiar,” Spock remarked evenly.
Tr’Vreenak laughed and poured a glass of wine from a decanter on the buffet table. “Precisely the response I would expect from a Thaesha.” He veritably spat the last word. “Wine?”
“My lord,” Morgan said hesitantly, “I’m… going to have to agree with Llairhi Spahkh.”
Tr’Vreenak raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Well, if the Jemhhadarsu can so easily down a Cehlaer-class warbird, I suggest they would have even less trouble with an Amarcan-class or D’deridex-class.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Sir, I am reasonably well-versed in the capabilities of our arms—what isn’t classified—and I intend to apply to the Phi’lasasam soon. Respectfully, lack of cloak notwithstanding, the Lloannen’galae battleship is a superior design. The superstructure alone is much sturdier than any current warbird and the deflector shields are considerably more powerful.”
“Their shields were completely ineffective.”
“Can you be sure that yours won’t be?” Spock asked.
“No,” tr’Vreenak admitted. “But neither can we be sure that if your government is granted the use of a cloaking device, it will not be used against the Rihanh.”
“Sir, again I’m going to have to disagree,” Morgan said, more confidently this time. “The Ekhiel s’Lloann’mhrahel has kept up its end of the Alpha Trianguli and Algeron agreements to the letter. It is we who’ve violated it, more than a dozen times.”
Tr’Vreenak looked unpleasantly surprised at being contradicted by a girl young enough to be his daughter. “You trust the Lloann’mhrahel?”
“Where keeping the peace is concerned? Yes.”
“Well, I wish I shared your confidence. The answer is still ‘no’, Llairhi Spahkh. Good night.”
“Bedah, Deihu tr’Vreenak,” Spock courteously returned, half-bowing in the Rihan manner. He watched the much younger man leave. “I am not surprised at his reaction.”
“Neither am I, sir. Do you want some wine? It’s from my homeworld.” Spock gave her what she thought was a questioning look. “My family runs the Sheratan VII colony; I was born there.”
“Then, yes, I would.” Morgan poured him a glass of the garnet liquid and passed it to him. “I remember the first time I drank Rihan wine. 2276, during the Rihannsu Lleisir revolution. I was greatly saddened to learn of rh’Rhiyrh Ael’s assassination.”
Morgan shrugged. “That was decades before I was born, sir.”
“I am aware. But I believe you would have liked her.”
A red-robed Deihuit staffer came up to Spock. “They’re ready for you, sir.”
Spock smoothly knocked back his glass of wine and placed it on the table. “Give Gina Parker my regards,” he told Morgan, then strode down the steps to the floor of the chamber.
“Deihur khlinae’eriin,” he addressed them, “on behalf of the United Federation of Planets I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to address you in person, and I will endeavor to be brief. By now you have read my proposal to allow the limited use of a Rihan cloaking device aboard our prototype vessel the Federation Starship Defiant, in return for full disclosure of any intelligence thereby gathered.” He paused. “The Dominion represents a threat of unknown scale, but their disregard for the sanctity of sapient life is abundantly clear. The Tal’Diann and Tal’Shiar were given full access to information gathered by Starfleet Intelligence and the Ferengi Alliance, and earlier today I submitted affidavits from both agencies finding no cause to believe the claim by the Dominion that our ships and settlements violated their borders as they stood prior to the destruction of the New Bajor colony.
“But that is the limit of our knowledge. It is imperative that we learn more. I will politely remind this assembly that fifteen Rihan trade vessels and one prospector ship for the Mining Guild, over seventeen hundred Rihannsu all told, are among the dead. I recognize that there is much bad blood between the Federation and the Rihanh, but I urge you to set aside old hatreds in the face of this new and terrible threat.” He began to slip into High Rihan, his sonorous voice calm yet somehow rich with emotion. “If you agree, we stipulate that we will share all we learn of the D’Nneikha, no matter how significant, and that the cloaking device will not ever be used against the Shiar i’Saeihr Rihan. This I do swear upon my own mnhei’sahe, as well as that of the Lloann’mhrahel.”
“How far can we trust your mnhei’sahe, Thaesha?” asked Deihu Koval, a prominent opponent of the Lloann’mhrahel. “You’re a Unificationist, aren’t you? Poisoning our youth with your pretentions of Thaesha superiority and talk of logic and suppressing emotions? Your activities have, of course, been well publicized.”
“I am a supporter of Unification,” said Spock evenly, as Neral glared pointedly at the smugly-smiling Koval for his rudeness. “But I am not, as you claim, motivated by my ‘pretentions of Thaesha superiority’. Indeed, I recognize the great misdeeds that my ancestors enacted against yours during the Sundering.” A ripple of shock ran through the Hall; that a Lloann’na, much less a Thaesha, would say such things, even in front of the Deihuit on ch’Rihan… “I do dream, one day, of seeing the children of Vulcan and the children of ch’Rihan united once more, as one people, brothers and sisters with Rihan courage and Vulcan logic in equal measure, but for now, Deihu, my goals are considerably more mundane. As I have stated, my government will agree to the terms negotiated between myself and Fvillhu Neral, and I will consider it a matter of personal pride to ensure that my government keeps its oaths. Thank you.”
Some of the deihur began to clap quietly, but Fvillhu Neral pounded his gavel from his chair, set below the simple metal seat where an ancient sword sat across the arms. “Order! We shall have order!” The chamber grew silent. “I now call for the vote on Session 3407, Bill 1138, proposal by the Llairhi for the Lloann’mhrahel for exception to Treaty of Algeron Article IV. You may mark your ballots.” The deihur gathered in the chamber tapped their wrist communicators while the fvillhu watched the outputs on a datapad. From the gallery Morgan spied her iron-haired great-aunt, sitting in the Suketh Coalition’s section, elbow the man next to her and glare at him; he hurriedly adjusted his vote.
After a few minutes the Fvillhu raised his head. “Final tally, fourteen absent, seven abstentions, 507 ‘aye’, 494 ‘nay’. The motion passes. These proceedings are closed.” He pounded his gavel twice. “Deihuit adjourned.”
Vulcan’s Forge, Thaei
Present Day
The alliance forged by the old Thaesha had been fleeting, Morgan lamented. By the time she’d entered the Phi’lasasam with an appointment from her mother’s employer Sakeru t’Nennian, the Shiar had signed a nonaggression pact with the D’Nneikha.
Still, Spock had planted a seed. Friendship, Morgan thought, glancing behind her at the olive-skinned Terrhaha in Lloannen’galae dress whites. And his Sacrifice, that was honored even in the remnants of the Shiar. Billions had died, including Morgan’s family, from Aunt Sindari to beloved Iliana, but because he acted, billions more were saved.
Morgan stepped forward and mirrored the statue’s gesture. “Khlinae arhem.” Thank you.
Author’s Notes: I was trying to do two things with this piece. The prompt, obviously, but also explore Morgan’s backstory some more, including where she got her nickname.
I borrowed some of the details on the working of the Senate, including political party names, from Last Unicorn’s RPG supplement The Way of D’era.
Bit of a Mythology Gag in my epigraph. The first and last Rihannsu books also used verses from that poem.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
This was originally more "how do the crew spend their spare time" story--Zel hangs out with the guys in the break room, Omek helps people, and Daysnur and Jak spend time together--but I added a basic plot and some Kazon to make it hang together. And to give D'trel something to do.
Played around with Nausicaans here; decided that the reason we see huge Nausicaan NPCs in-game when most player Nausicaans are shorter is because female Nausicaans are only distinguishable from males by sheer size. Not much has been done with the species in canon, so why not? Also decided to give a big Take That to ENT's nerfing them into patheticness; these aren't scrawny wimps who can be intimidated by Human freighters, these are big, brawny dudes who punch each other out to show affection.
Shout out to starswordc, my frequent writing buddy, specifically to his ongoing ULC 8.2 story.
Cast:
High Admiral D'trel: Linda Hamilton (circa Terminator 2).
First Omek'ti'kallan: Chiwetel Ejiofor.
Subcommander Daysnur: Alan Tudyk.
Subcommander Zel: Kevin Michael Richardson.
Subcommander Jak: John Barrowman.
Science Bekk Min'tak'allan: Wil Wheaton.
Lieutenant Twimek: J.G. Hertzler.
Sublieutenant Ta'narin: Lani Minella.
Bekk Kortar: Dave Rivas. You rock, dude.
Sublieutenant tr'Shaien: Dave Rivas. Because Rivas rocks.
Wolf Anderson, FNN newscaster: John Stewart.
Fleet Admiral tr'Kererek: Bill Corkery.
Unnamed FNN newscaster: the blonde woman from the Daily Show, the annoying one, forget her name.
Benthan governor: Vaughn Armstrong.
Commander tr'Rehu: Adam Baldwin.
Commander t'Ethian: Jewel Staite, love her voice.
Commander tr'Khellian: Wil Wheaton, he's cool.
Krusk, chieftain of Clan Kronzag: Olga Kurkulina.
Jor, warrior of Clan Kronzag: Glenn Thomas Jacobs. (love his stage fighting)
Jak
"There's nothing to worry about, honey."
"You know that I'm going to be worried anyway," I retort, checking my uniform in the mirror as Daysnur fiddles with his collar. "My parents aren't going to care that I married a Lethean, hell, they even went to Krugg's wedding when he married his wife, and Krugg's the black sheep of the family. They WILL be upset that you didn't rip my arm off at the wedding; they're traditionalists!"
"Hey, your cousin married a Gorn, they voluntarily attended his wedding, you really think they won't keep an open mind?"
"Krugg's wife ripped his arms off the day they met, just like a fairy tale," I grumble. "Dad's clan leader, his son can't just go around marrying anyone!"
"Then I'll prove my strength or whatever else," my husband (oh, four winds, I never get tired of saying that!) says with a shrug. "I mind-dueled an Undine infiltrator a few years back and I'm top-ranked in the mindhound corps, you don't get there without being tough in realspace as well as mindspace."
"We're Nausicaans, honey," I note. "We throw darts at each other for sport. This is a different league of toughness. Oh, and before you make a mistake--when we meet my parents, my mom's the bigger one with scarier tusks."
"A great beauty, huh? Don't worry, I didn't start dating you without learning the basics of Nausicaan biology and culture."
I laugh and pull him in for a hug and a kiss, but then I feel the telltale hum of the ship changing course.
"What the...Jak to Zel, what's going on?"
"Change of course, buddy. Sorry. Looks like meeting your parents at Jenolan will have to wait; we just got priority orders from Command. We're to lead a relief convoy to a Benthan colony world that's suffering an outbreak of Vendakan pox."
"How long is this going to take?"
"A day out, day back, nothing serious," says High Admiral D'trel over the coms link. "We're bringing tr'Rehu, t'Ethian, and tr'Khellian. Two D'deridex-class to provide support and help with the hauling, one Aehlal-class for backup. I already sent a message to your parents explaining that you'll be late. Your father needs to be there all week, anyway; something about leading strategic operations for the Klingon Empire."
"Understood. Thank you, sir." I cut the com link and grab for my duty uniform.
"Guess we can worry about this later?" my husband asks.
"Sure. I'm on duty now, talk after your shift?"
"Sounds good to me."
Omek'ti'kallan
"Thank you for your help, Alphan," says the Benthan governor, shaking my hand with genuine relief in his eyes. "We're an out-of-the-way colony already, and with the recent Borg and Undine activity, official help is still three days away."
"I am glad that we could be of assistance," I rumble. "Third, commence transport."
Crates of medical supplies shimmer into existence, and my men begin unloading the supplies, passing them on to Romulan, Reman, and Benthan doctors.
"We really can't thank you enough," says the Benthan governor again. "This will save hundreds if not thousands of lives, in this city alone! And it should allow us to stop the spread before it hits the other colonial cities."
"I am honored," I reply, unpacking a crate as I speak. "It is a rare day that our assistance is quite so well-timed."
"Well, we are very grateful; what with the recent Borg mess, Undine skirmishes with the Borg, and now the Kazon taking advantage of the chaos from that and the Vaadwaur business, there's really no way an unguarded freighter or convoy can get through. The Kazon may be dumber than someone who cooks with Leola root, but they are savage and remorseless. Unguarded freighters are easy prey for them."
"If they attempt to attack our convoy, we will destroy them," I rumble. "We have a battlecruiser, two battleships, and the High Admiral's personal vessel in orbit; the Kazon, being barely sentient, will be no challenge. Such is the order of things."
The Benthan chuckles, passing out chemical vials and hyposprays at my side. "I only wish the Kazon would learn that sooner rather than later; the Guard is sick and tired of their constant attacks."
Zel
"Oh, kurgan, did you see the look on his face when Okeg told him he was fired?"
"Never gets old," chuckles Twimek from Engineering, rewinding the holovid to see Sugiihara's uncomprehending gape again. "Funnier than Voice in the Wilderness, even."
"You watch that sh*t?" I ask. "Isn't Voice a racist fool who's always Humans first?"
"Sure, but I only watch it to see him say dumb things. Elements, that man gets paid to talk???" A laugh breaks out; that's the level of the humor in the break room most nights.
The break room is technically open for poker night, but there isn't much poker going on. Instead, we're watching FNN's constant coverage of the Kobali situation. Ambassador Sugihara was sacked, finally, six Federation officers were recalled for court-martial in the attempted cover-up of the Kobali's backroom dealings, and they're playing nearly nonstop clips of D'trel executing Q'Nel on all the channels.
It's been nearly two weeks and they still won't shut up about it.
"Turn on channel 4," suggests tr'Shaien from Ops. "I like Wolf Anderson."
I oblige. Wolfram "Wolf" Anderson, FNN's most popular and respected reporter/pundit, is discussing the situation with Fleet Admiral Kererek.
"Put it up," says Ta'narin, the Kobali. "I can't hear."
"...disciplinary action being considered?" asks Wolf.
"Why would we discipline an officer for actions that she was ordered to take?" the Fleet Admiral replies. "If anything, the fault lies with me, for ordering Q'Nel's removal, and the Alliance Security Council for agreeing with our Ambassador that regime change in the Kobali government was necessary for any lasting peace deal with the Vaadwaur."
"I see," says Wolf diplomatically. "There has been, however, a lot of talk in the Federation surrounding High Admiral D'trel's actions; Admiral Janeway, in particular, called for her removal, saying--Janeway's words, not mine--"she is a monster, no Human would ever do such a thing. If I had been in her place I would have given my wholehearted assistance to the Kobali and I would not have regretted it." Again, Janeway's words, not mine."
"To which I respond with a Human expression," says the Fleet Admiral, "Pot, meet kettle."
Wolf almost chuckles, and we burst out laughing and cheering.
"Surely you're not insinuating, sir, that a Starfleet Admiral is..."
"My government's opinion of Admiral Janeway is common knowledge, and I will not speak any further on this matter," says Kererek firmly. "I will state, however, that it it the very height of arrogance and rudeness to judge a Rihan officer, from a Rihan state, by a Human measure. In our culture, removing those who do such evil deeds as Q'Nel did as swiftly and efficiently as possible is the proper way of doing it."
"Hey, channel 2's running a broadcast on that dust-up with the Borg and Vaads that the Feds had!" says Kortar from Engineering over the laughter, cheers, and thrown items. "Put it on, will you, sir?"
"Sure!"
"....Bajor under famously short-tempered Captain Kanril Eleya were involved in a major battle with Borg forces in the Delta Quadrant; details are still sketchy but we have learned that Overseer Eldex of the Vaadwaur Supremacy agreed to full alliance negotiations following the conflict. Reports indicate a substantial Borg fleet, possibly disconnected from the Collective, engaged the Bajor near Vaadwaur space, but were repelled by a combined Alliance-Vaadwaur fleet. Unconfirmed reports suggest the presence of at least one Borg Queen, which may have been killed in the..."
Yellow alert sirens blare, and the report automatically mutes. Min'tak'allan's voice comes over the intercom.
"High Admiral, Subcommander Zel, I have several sensor contacts one minute out, looks like Kazon warships, not sure what sect. We need you on the Bridge, sirs."
"Looks like poker night's over," I say, shutting off the holo and sprinting for the turbolift.
D'trel
"All ships cloaked?"
"Yessir," Min'tak'allan reports.
"Good. Alright, men, we're running short-handed and without medical crew, so be extra careful. Zel, prep us for the usual assault, we'll try to thin out the raider packs before taking on the battleships."
"Kazon dropping out of warp," says Riov t'Ethian from ch'M'R Ra'khoi s'ch'Rihan. "Reading seven carrier-class capitals and three packs of about thirty raiders each."
"We will take the central pack. Eyiv s'Rea, attack pattern Velal Four. Take on those carriers; remember that these are Kazon, they're going to do some incredibly stupid things. rh'Rhyirh Ael, attack pattern Valdore Seven, use your singularity projector as needed. Ra'khoi s'ch'Rihan, support as needed. Go."
Kholhr leaps forwards, a speeding shadow, weapons charged and ready. The Kazon ships come into visual range; I recognize the savage insignia of the Kazon-Nistrim.
Or maybe Kazon-Mostral. Or maybe Kazon-Halik. Could be any of the lumpy-headed buffoons, really. But I think it's Nistrim.
"In firing range, sir."
"Torpedoes to full spread, destabilized plasma projectile on that carrier to port, all cannons to scatter volley, Min'tak'allan, grav well on the raiders. Now."
We scream out of space, a blitzekrieg of cannon fire and plasma torpedoes fanning out and impacting with the Kazon raiders before us. A massive, red ball of superheated plasma flies for the carrier on our port side, and hits it dead-on, most of the blast even leaking through the shields and setting brief fires off all along the hull.
Raiders die as we streak up, still nearly at full impulse, and...
"Jump us!"
We leap forward through a ripple in subspace, a miniature singularity left behind us and pulling the Kazon raiders together into one crushing mass...
"Turn us!"
We spin like a top at full speed, inertial dampeners screaming, and I again set the cannons to scatter volley.
"Fire torpedoes, full spread!"
Kazon return fire belatedly lances out, but it barely scratches our shields. Our blitzekrieg vaporizes the bunched raiders in an actinic flare of heat and light, and Zel loops us off towards one of the other two raider packs, which is now splitting up...
Three carriers are down. Alright.
"Switch roles! Battleships, beams to fire at will, full spread! rh'Rhiyrh Ael, focus on the carriers! Zel, cloak us and pull us around for a flanking run on that carrier."
We ripple out of sight, Kazon phasers trying and failing to track us. They don't have cloak-sniffing technology and they're too stupid to just put the phasers to minimum power and shoot in every direction, so we easily slip behind one of the four remaining carriers as raiders flare and die around my battleships onscreen.
"Cannons to rapid fire, torpedoes to maximum yield. Target engines. Now."
We ripple back into sight a few sparse kilometers behind the Kazon carrier, and I shoot everything we have into its engines. Its shields ripple, crumple, and die; the hull and engines flare and burn, and three high-powered plasma torpedoes slam into its unprotected rear. Zel veers off as explosions tear holes in the massive ship's sides, and its core goes critical in a blinding flash.
"Cloak us."
I scan my tac plot, looking for weaknesses...
"Freighters are safe, for now--all ships report in."
"Riov t'Ethian here, we've sustained light damage to the hull, but our shields are back up and engineering teams are repairing the damage. Fire at will, arrain!"
"tr'Rehu here, we're sustaining heavy damage, two capitals and a raider pack on our tail!"
"tr'Khellian here, we have this capital well in hand, rekkhai."
"Understood. Zel?"
"On our way, sir," said my helmsBreen. I set the torpedoes to full spread.
"Cannons to scatter volley. Decloak now!"
Another cannon blitz blazes out, again primitive Kazon raiders die. One of the carriers breaks off its attack, but our torpedoes spew out and a pair of high-yield plasma torps hit the second carrier on a downed shield facing, causing its engines to short and explode, taking out the shields.
The raiders burn en masse as Zel brings my speeding starship into a lightning turn, bringing us in perpendicular to the Kazon. To the idiotic pilot of the remaining carrier, it must seem like we're swooping down from above.
"Cannons!"
The cannons fire, pulses of blue-green plasma blasting out like pale fire, and the shields drop.
"Cutting beam!"
A modified Borg kinetic cutting beam fires, and the Kazon ship's hull rips open.
"Projectile!"
Another super-high-yield ball of evil red plasma blasts free, and Zel goes into evasive maneuvers as the Kazon capital is instantly obliterated.
"Status?"
"All Kazon ships confirmed down," says Min'tak'allan. "What's left of that one capital is signalling surrender."
"Have t'Ethian beam them to her Brig. We'll sort this mess out after we're done helping the colony."
Helping people always makes me feel warm inside.
Jak
Mom and Dad are standing around a table with a bunch of other Nausicaans and some Klingons when Daysnur and I walk in.
Dad's instantly recognizable, wearing his fancy Honor Guard armor and actually getting respect from the Klingons around him. Being the most badass clan chief in a century will do that for a man.
Mom would be a lot harder to find if (a) I weren't her son and (b) I didn't know my species. See, we Nausicaans don't have much in the way of external sexual dimorphism; our kids usually eat regurgitated goop and stuff, so our women are only different from the men in being bigger and nastier with slightly wider hips.
Anyway, I point out Mom and Dad to my husband and go to meet them.
"Dad!"
"Huh...oh, son!" Dad punches me in the chest, hard. I was expecting it, and punch him right back. The Klingons, undoubtedly used to Nausicaan affection, ignore us.
"Good to see you, boy! Haven't seen you since..."
"Cousin Krugg's wedding?"
"Oh, yeah! Heh, he got arrested for smuggling again, you hear?"
"Yeah, I had to bail his rear out of prison. Hey, Mom!"
Mom's punch knocks me to the floor. Everybody laughs, Nausicaan and Klingon.
"Good to see you, boy," she growls as I get up and slug her arm as hard as I can. She doesn't even flinch. "You got married?"
"Yeah, small shipboard ceremony...uh...Well, he's here, so...Mom, Dad, this is my husband, Daysnur."
"Nice to meet you," says Daysnur, and punches Dad in the chest just like we rehearsed.
Dad evaluates his punch for a moment, then nods slightly and slugs him back. My husband sways but doesn't stagger.
"Not bad. I guess not everyone in the family can marry a Gorn."
"Nah, Krugg got lucky," says Mom, appraising Daysnur and knocking him down with an easy punch. "Not bad, though. Not bad at all. You a mindhound, little man?"
"Yeah," manages Daysnur, obviously winded, as he gets back to his feet. "I fought an Undine one-on-one once. Kredek of house Konjah was secretly a shapeshifting infiltrator."
"Not bad," growls Mom. "Guess I can forgive you for not ripping off my boy's arm at the wedding."
"Yeah, not everyone can get as lucky as Krugg and get a real-life fairy tale, with a woman who ripped both his arms off the first time they met," agrees Dad. "Plus, can't expect everyone to know and go along with Nausicaan traditions. I approve, son. Good catch!"
"Good eye, boy," says Mom, slapping me on the back, hard. "We gonna see more of you?"
"Well, the High Admiral's stationed here as part of Operation Delta Rising, so...as long as you're here, I'll probably be in the area."
"Good. We'll go Kazon hunting sometime. Anyway, your father and I need to get back to work here. Good to see you, though, and glad you married well, boy!"
We all slug each other's arms, Mom's punch leaving me numb and Daysnur wincing, and Daysnur and I leave.
"See?" he asks as we pass by the always-busy Exchange. "Was that so bad?"
"No," I say with a bit of a happy sniffle. "Not at all."
Adapted from Foundry Mission “The Interwarp Experiment” by AstroRobLA
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
And they may not want it to end
But it will, it's just a question of when
I've lived long enough to have learned
The closer you get to the fire the more you get burned
But that won't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust
I know you're an emotional girl
It took a lot for you to not lose your faith in this world
I can't offer you proof
But you're gonna face a moment of truth
It's hard when you're always afraid
You just recover when another belief is betrayed
So break my heart if you must
It's a matter of trust
You can't go the distance
With too much resistance
I know you have doubts
But for God's sake don't shut me out
This time you've got nothing to lose
You can take it, you can leave it
Whatever you choose
I won't hold back anything
And I'll walk away a fool or a king
Some love is just a lie of the mind
It's make believe until it's only a matter of time
And some might have learned to adjust
But then it never was a matter of trust
I'm sure you're aware love
We've both had our share of
Believing too long
When the whole situation was wrong
Some love is just a lie of the soul
A constant battle for the ultimate state of control
After you've heard lie upon lie
There can hardly be a question of why
Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
But that can't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust
— Billy Joel, “A Matter of Trust”
I materialize in the transporter room of the USS Destiny and a Bolian in a CO’s white-on-black snaps to attention. I guess it’s because of the gold braid that’s been added to my uniform recently for the Karagite Order of Heroism; I’m pretty sure she has seniority. “Captain Merkell. Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted, Captain Kanril,” Traes Merkell assents, and I step off the transporter pad into the Defiant-class escort’s cramped interior. “I’m honored to finally meet you,” she says, stepping forward to shake my hand.
I gesture to the trio behind me. “My XO, Commander Phohl, my ops officer, Lieutenant Commander Reshek, and my science officer, Commander Riyannis.”
“Sial’alachua, Commander,” Captain Merkel says to Tess, brushing a hand across her bald blue temple.
“I appreciate the gesture, but wrong greeting,” Tess answers with a sardonic smile. “Imperial Andorii isn't my first language—I’m from the Adris Islands, not Lor’Vela Oblast.”
“Sorry. I’ve got several Andorians on my crew and I guessed.”
Tess shrugs. “Well, at least you pronounced it right.”
“So what’s this about?” I ask. “The admiral was pretty tight-lipped: all I got was a destination and a code word, EXCALIBUR MINT GATEWAY, and Starfleet Intelligence wouldn’t clear me for the file.”
"Sorry about that; Commander Dalton insisted. This experiment’s really taking a toll. As you can see the Destiny’s little more than a science experiment at the moment.”
“Yeah, I had some questions about… Wait,” I stop in mid-sentence. “Dalton? What’s his given name?”
“Well, Jerrod Dalton, of course, Captain. Rumor has it the two of you knew each other at the Academy. I infer that’s why he requested the Bajor specifically.”
I grimace. “Yeah. We knew each other. It’s… complicated.”
Merkell gives me a rueful grin. “Yes, I’ve noticed that things are often ‘complicated’ where Dalton is concerned. Brilliant man, but sometimes brilliance comes at a cost to everyone else.”
I grunt in agreement. “Preaching to the choir, Captain Merkell.”
She laughs. “Maybe we can trade stories later. Meantime though, we’re a little overextended here getting ready for the first field tests.”
“Field tests of what, exactly?” Gaarra asks.
“Well, I’m no scientist, but from what I’ve been told this ‘interwarp drive’ thingummy is supposed to be a revolution in faster-than-light travel. It’s a take-off of a standard warp drive, but instead of producing a warp field only slightly larger than the ship by distorting subspace, it supposedly punches the field into what Dalton calls an ‘accessible dimension.”
“I get it,” Biri says. Off my look, “Well, it’s Shar’s Hypothesis—the field is going to snap back into normal space, but with a much greater radius.”
“How much greater?” I ask cautiously.
“Well, for our first test, Dalton set a goal of a ten-kilometers diameter. He says he’s being conservative.” I raise an eyebrow at this and she gives me a look like she can’t believe what she’s saying. “Yes, he thinks a warp bubble big enough to encompass the entire Fifth Fleet is ‘conservative’. And apparently the upper limits could be in the high hundreds of klicks.”
“He’s right,” Biri says with a look of wonder on her face. “If you incorporate Cochrane’s Eighth Law and Har’chak’s Theorem… Gaunt’s hosts, the implications are staggering—you could just move Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards over to Epsilon Eridani in one trip!” She pauses. “He really built this? It’s not a mock-up or anything?”
“Well, so his team says. All I know is, I had a junior department head go over my head to Starfleet Science and bull right through a couple parsecs of red tape to volunteer me for this.”
Now it’s my turn to be sympathetic. “Yeah, that sounds like Dalton.”
“So, how do you two know each other? You must’ve been pretty close if he wanted you specifically, Kanril.”
“That’s… Can I answer that later after I’ve had a chance to talk to him?”
“Sure.” She points at a door leading aft. “He was in the engine room last I heard. Also, I wonder if you could do me a favor." I gesture for Merkell to continue. “Well, you’ve got a Galaxy-class starship with full amenities, right? We’ve pretty much been cooped up in the Destiny for months. If you could loan us some holodeck time—”
“Say no more,” Gaarra agrees, and hits his combadge. “Reshek to Ops, have the holodeck schedules cleared for Merkell’s crew.”
"Many thanks."
We head aft and down the corridor, dodging a rather frazzled Andorian lieutenant who’s trying to fix an EPS leak. I hear her grumble something to the effect of “Not again!” as I go past, headed for the aft section of the ship and Main Engineering.
Back in OCS I did a stint on the USS Fearless, a first-run Defiant-class the Academy uses as a trainer. I know what a Defiant-class engine room is supposed to look like: anything else. The warp core is overgrown with extra cylinders and consoles and supply tubing, and steam is hissing from some of the assemblies. The ship’s chief engineer, another Andorian, a chaan by the look of his antennae, is standing by the center console. He snaps to attention at my rank. “As you were. I’m looking for Commander Dalton.”
“Around back, sir.”
“Captain prefers ‘ma’am’,” Gaarra corrects him, but I’m already moving past. I duck under a low-hanging conduit and catch sight of a blond human in work greys, hunched over a console.
He doesn’t seem to have noticed my approach. I tap him on the shoulder and he turns, and I briefly get a glimpse of his eyes widening before my right cross smashes into his jaw. I feel the pop of a bone giving in my ring finger but the sight of him flying backwards, bouncing off his console, and landing in a heap on the floor is worth it.
“Captain!” Tess cries warningly behind me. Somebody else yells, “Security to Main Engineering!” into a combadge as she and Gaarra grab both my arms and haul me backward.
“It’s all right, Chief Howard!” Dalton says. “I deserved that.”
“Ye’phekk maktal kosst amojan deserves a lot more than that!” I yell in a mix of English and Kendran. “Get off me!” I shake them loose.
“What the phekk was that about?” Gaarra demands.
“The captain and I used to be engaged.” He rubs his jaw. “Whoo, you still pack a punch, sha fe.”
“You do not get to call me sha fe after what you pulled,” I snap as he clambers to his feet.
“‘Engaged’?” Biri repeats.
“Years ago when I was in OCS, before this *sshole up and shipped off to the phekk’ta Gamma Quadrant in the middle of the night!” I force my fist to unclench. “You’ve got a lot of nerve dragging me out here when we’re supposed to be in the Delta Quadrant reinforcing Admiral Reynolds.”
“Look, I’m older now, and a tad bit wiser if I’m lucky. There’s a lot I need to explain, but trust me, this wasn’t a frivolous request.”
“Oh, you want me to trust you?”
“Well, yes,” he says in a slightly sheepish tone. “But I’d rather have that conversation somewhere less public,” he adds, eyeing the CHENG. “Can you meet me in the officers’ mess in about fifteen minutes? You’re going to need to hit sickbay anyway, get your combadge set up as a dosimeter.”
That gets my attention. “This contraption of yours is radioactive?”
“No,” Biri says, “but if I remember the theory right the process does involve triolic waves.”
Dalton nods. “The Trill’s right. We don’t have it powered up right now and the core is pretty heavily shielded, but you never know.”
“All right, Dalton, I’ll hear you out,” I grudgingly agree. “But I reserve the right to break your nose.”
Biri laughs. “I think I’ll stick around here for a while, talk shop with the crew.”
Gaarra’s combadge goes off as we head out the door. “Sir, it’s Bellevue. We’ve got a safety trip in Holodeck Two.”
“They’re trying to mess with the programs already?” Gaarra asks in an exasperated tone.
“Looks like.”
“All right, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Gaarra looks at me with an irritated expression, nose ridges crinkling. I jerk my head in the direction of the transporter and he nods and starts that direction.
Then I feel eyes on the back of my neck. I grab the back of his uniform and pull him back. “Wha—Mmmf!” he manages as I turn him around and kiss him, hard, lightly biting his bottom lip as his beard tickles my chin. I hold onto him for about six seconds then let him go. Tess is staring at me in surprise, one antenna twitching. “What was that about?” Gaarra asks, looking a bit shellshocked.
“To TRIBBLE off Dalton. Go; I’ll see you later.”
Tess laughs at this as we head forward, stepping around the crew in the tight confines of the ship. “So, how long had you known each other?” she asks, still snickering.
“About a year. Admiral Ben-David sent him to pick me up when I got to the Academy, then we met in a nightclub a couple months later, had dinner, and things got serious fast.”
“And you were going to marry him?”
I make a face. “Yeah, but the engagement wasn’t that official yet. We’d done the Rite of Grasses but there’s still half a dozen rituals after that, and we hadn’t set a date or had any of the banns read, either.”
“Heh. You wanted a traditional Bajoran wedding?”
“My parents did. At that time I’d’ve been happy being married by Commander Falwell on our midshipman cruise. That was just before he left.”
We stop in sickbay to get our combadges set up (and me to get my finger fixed). Tess stays outside the officers’ mess and strikes up a conversation with the Destiny’s XO, while I steel myself and step inside. Dalton’s changed into his service blacks and waves me over to a table where he’s replicated some hasperat. “Still can’t kick the habit, not since you made it for us that time on spring break.”
“Stuff the small talk, Commander.”
He half-grimaces. “I guess I deserve that one. You probably have a lot of questions.”
“Just the one, really: Why?”
“Yeah. ‘Spose that covers it. Why did I leave? Truth is, I left because I didn’t want to. I couldn’t bear to have you out of my life.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, that doesn’t make sense.”
He laughs. “Yeah, let me try that again. You were… like nobody I ever met. You were a partner and an inspiration; it was getting to the point where I couldn’t imagine life without you. But you have to understand, that’s not why I joined Starfleet.”
I look at him for a moment, trying and failing to read his face. “You’re telling me you got scared?”
“Sort of. I was scared that there were things I needed to do that I wouldn’t with you around.” I unwrap one of the hasperats and wait for him to continue. “You remember I told you how my family moved to Aldebaran when I was twelve, how the liner was hit by the Orions? I’d probably be dead or enslaved if a Starfleet frigate squadron hadn’t run off that Syndicate carrier. Three of the four ships were blown away but they saved all our lives.”
“Yeah, you told me that’s why you joined Starfleet. What’s that got to do with—”
“It wasn’t just a motivation for me to join. I felt… feel that I owe the Service my family’s lives. I joined up to give the Federation everything I could, to be the best I could be. I wanted to do my part to keep other families from suffering disasters that could be avoided.” He lets out a breath. “It may sound arrogant but it made me think I might have a destiny to fulfill, something more important than my own happiness. But after I met you I wasn’t thinking about that until I got the offer for that deputy science chief gig on the Planck. You realize how rare it is they offer that to a cadet?”
“Yeah, so why didn’t you tell me about it?” I ask around a mouthful of hasperat.
“Because I turned it down. I didn’t want to leave you.”
I nearly choke. “What? What the phekk are you talking about, ‘turned it down’? You left without saying a word!”
“Well, that night I was going to tell you about it, and that I’d said ‘no’. I wanted you to be proud of me, and happy for us. But then when I saw you, I realized I couldn’t have both. We’d both know I’d put you ahead of a unique career opportunity. That’s selfish, not something to admire. At worst I might’ve ended up resenting you for it.
“I barely slept that night, and by morning I’d realized I only had one option, so I went back to Admiral Serrikan and asked if the job was still open. I decided if I just left without a word, it would hurt and you’d hate me, but hopefully you’d get over me.”
I rest my face in my hand. “Did it ever occur to you to just ask? I probably would’ve said yes! Prophets, Dalton, I’m a space warfare officer—they had me slated for Gunnery on the Betazed! There’s no job for me on a research post! It was damned arrogant of you.”
“Arrogant? Yeah, probably. Probably selfish, too. But I was afraid that if we talked it out I wouldn’t be able to leave, even if you did say yes.” He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to excuse myself, and I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but maybe it counts as an explanation? And hell, look at you now. Jay-gee to full-bird captain in two years, and how many medals, again? And your ship’s becoming a bit of a legend in its own right. I’m happy for you.”
I accept the compliment without comment. “All right. So why did you bring me out here?” He looks around the room, then pulls something out of his pocket and attaches it to the underside of the table. The sound of the ship rapidly dulls. “An anti-snoop?”
“Can’t risk being overheard. That’s why I needed you. I needed someone I trusted completely. There’s been some glitches with the interwarp experiments. Nothing major, yet, but it’s got my hackles up. This technology could change the face of the galaxy if it works, and I think somebody’s tampering with it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. I’ve gone from discarded lover to trusted confidant in the space of four minutes. My head is spinning.”
“Do you really have to be sarcastic? This is serious. Nobody really knows where this tech could go. I’ve been telling everyone we’re at least a week away from the first test, but I was stalling so you could get here.”
“And you were stalling because…?”
“Because if enough people think we’ve got days to go, I think I can maybe derail any interference if we suddenly move it up to tomorrow. Also means we’ve got a big reserve of crew on hand that I know haven’t been compromised, and, well, it’s a Galaxy-class starship.” He exhales again. “Maybe I’m getting paranoid but there’s too much at stake here. This isn’t just about warp fields and moving ships. If my simulations are right, for all practical purposes there is no hard mathematical limit to how big a field you can make—someday we could be moving stars.”
My mouth drops open. “Sher hahr kosst,” I breathe.
“Yeah, so you can see why somebody might want to steal it or shut us down. Then again, if I am being paranoid, I’m glad it got me to finally tell you all this.”
“Well, Dalton, I’m still angry at you. But I’m in.”
He slumps back in his chair, visibly relieved. We just sit there eating hasperat for a while, not talking. Finally he says, “So, you and your ops chief?”
“Mmm? Gaarra?” I nod, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Funny, Gaarra and I met in sort of the same way you and I did. Picked him up at Quark’s on DS9, next day I walk into my ready room and he’s reporting for duty.”
He laughs. “He a good guy?”
“Very.”
“I’m glad.”
Then my combadge chirps. “Dammit.” I put down the hasperat and slap the badge. “Kanril, go.”
“Tess here. Hope I’m not interrupting, but Master Chief Wiggin just picked up a blip of a radiation signature out in the asteroid field. Definite triolic wave signature.”
I glance over to Jerrod; he shakes his head. “We haven’t done any tests out there and triolic radiation doesn’t occur naturally.”
“Phekk. All right, we’ll go check it out.”
* * *
Author’s Notes: And here’s the conclusion of the Jerrod Dalton mini-arc I started back in From Bajor to the Black. I took a few minor liberties with Dalton’s backstory (some of it, like his colony getting hit by the Borg when he was 12, doesn’t jibe with either STO-canon or Eleya-canon) but the plot is more or less the same as “The Interwarp Experiment”.
One of the few things that really stuck in my craw about the romance path in “The Interwarp Experiment” was Dalton having taken the decision out of your hands. I suspect AstroRobLA may not have a military background, but both my parents were US Navy officers. If you’re not married you can’t apply for an assignment together, and even if you are married it can be hard: Mom and Dad spent three months of their engagement and most of the first year of their marriage with him at Norfolk Naval Shipyard and her in Panama, and the only place they could get an assignment together after that was Boston (which really cut into Mom’s job options; she ended up stuck as a recruiter until she got out).
Now magnify those long-distance relationships by a few orders of magnitude for Starfleet, where ships are sometimes out for years at a time between ports and you may not even be in the same quadrant as your loved ones. Yeah, Eleya’s pretty well within her rights to play the woman scorned here.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
by antonine3258
ULC9 Old Flame
Note: Set after What Was Left Behind and my ULC8 entry for Anriel, which involved a two-week case of abduction.
New Romulus, almost everyone called it. It wasnt the perfect translation of MolRihan, but what language could capture the essence of another? Anriel had spent years trying to perfect the old high form of her mother tongue and was still a mere neophyte, so she didnt judge those who spoke less constructed tongues. And the beautiful new home growing from the world was worth the price of a bad translation or twenty.
Even here, in the depths of the section of the city intended for the Remans, cast in almost permanent shadow by a natural cleft, color and life bloomed. Artful textures imprinted with the pigments of a dozen colonies decorated the buildings and even the roads. And true to Obiseks imprint on the Reman members of the Republic, most of them were functional, giving directions or ownership signs, and the streets grooves helped protect against the spray from the mighty waterfall dominating the city, as careful and subtle forcefields dulled its sound to a roar.
Anriel herself was a burst of color, dark tan and henna hair stood out against the utilitarian tan of the Romulan uniform, even its full dress variant with the blood-green cape. She nearly glowed doctors had given her a fresh layer of skin to help correct some of the abuse weeks of long personal combat had inflicted. She shone against her companion, in spite of her best counsel and efforts. Veril, her Reman chief engineer, sulked in a somber hooded version of the usual duty uniform, arms folded and nearly pouting. A crowd of Remans sat around, trying not to pay too much attention to the heroes at the small street café.
Anriel sighed and put down her tea and hissed, You are allowed to mingle you know, I am supposed to just be chaperoning. I cannot believe you are frightened of anything. Hidden, but picked out with great care earlier was the elaborate filigree telling Verils tale and counting coup, one of the variations Remans had come up with to find an identity outside the shadow of the Empire. Theyd spent four hours putting it on the final cap the capturing of the Empress herself, and Veril was covering it up.
Im not scared. Youre the one who managed not to kill her, I was just there, Veril said after a long silence. Anriel felt like she had centuries on her companion, instead of decades. Veril had lost her entire family when the Remans new world of Crateris had died, as near as they could tell. Her captain had more or less been promoted to parent as a result, and she wondered how Zden had managed it.
The location wasnt helping. She did her best to hide it, but she hadnt had to deal with Remans at all until her third decade. She still thought they were somewhat creepy and dangerous, which wasnt really fair. So having to not think monster godchild on top of everything . She gathered herself with some effort.
Veril it could have easily been a Federation or Klingon captain who was there instead when we found that station, Anriel said, I did nothing extraordinary by those standards. Veril looked dubious. The Remans, holding back at last, had been having autographs signed and pictures taken. Though it had been a month since Sela was delivered to Delta command by Jarok, there had been a second burst of interest following Anriel and Jaroks return from Anriels kidnapping by Iconian-aligned forces.
And, Anriel said, It would have been easier if another empire had found her. The return to the Jenolan Sphere had been agonizing, with a large minority on both crews baying for blood. Jarok had at least one knifing on board the Lleiset, and theyd had to post bridge officers to keep the brig secure. Dozens of promising crew had terminated their careers for the chance to be the one to get their hands around the Empresss neck. Veril looked down briefly at that.
Right, but so I was there on the ship, but whats all this mean? She asked, jingling slightly, And whod believe it? I look like Im playing dressup in my mothers Veril trailed off. Anriel hadnt heard much of Verils mother, and it didnt look like it would be happening now. Captaincy was, truly, a series of unique challenges.
Veril, anyone who discounts what happens off the bridge or thinks a captain stands alone, unstoppable, is a fool. You of all people, with what your team in engineering has accomplished under your direction, should know that the banner is only as tall as its wielders. We have accomplished much through skill and luck. I am only here to have tea because of all your efforts. You have earned everything you wear, and you should wear it proudly, Anriel said gently after some thought. She hoped it worked.
Veril traced a curve in the table, Just... its the Empress, shes scum, but every decision Hakeev made, she stood behind. Every damn trigger, every family broken up and we just stood there and took her away. I probably dont even deserve this, she fingered the hood on her uniform.
Yes you do, Anriel said fiercely, I do not know where the Republic will end. But, having had the opportunity before, clearing a blood debt does not stop the pain. Veril looked dubious, and Anriel repeated, more quietly, It does not, The Admiral smiled briefly, I am not saying it did not seem like a good idea at the time, but blood oaths and working around them are part of the past that left your people in shadow, and mine choking itself to death. If theres one thing Dtan has done well, it is bring some rationality.
Veril stared at Anriel for a while, and finally spoke. All right, but can we leave this? Theyve, she gestured at the Remans struggling visibly not to listen, seen enough, and Im not ready.
Anriel thought, Well, we were going out all afternoon. So we have some time. I know we have not had much time on the new homeworld, do you have anything you want to see?
Well, Veril said, How about we bug the Acamarians? I keep getting all those fabrication requests, and Im curious at seeing the espionage epicenter of Tau Dewa. She smirked, looking younger and more at ease under the hood. Anriel laughed and stood to give a light bow.
Lead the way. I have not seen it in person either.
**********
Veril was feeling better away from the crowds of admirers. Shed been hurt to find the ornamentation was out of style with the Remans who had moved to Tau Dewa so far, but wasnt going to admit it to the Admiral. Veril had an idea of what sort of time their freelance troubleshooter position must eat up, and even if Veril had barely a trace of her peoples unusually high telepathy rate, she could tell Anriel was feeling guilty over something. Veril wasnt stupid, after all. The Admiral had to be snatched out of some pithy power play of a blood fight, and maybe they had overreacted, a little, with the firepower in the rescue party. Why else waste all this time trying to present a colonist hick who knew her way around a plasma manifold at the heart of the still-emerging Reman culture.
The Rihannsus mind was shifting planes all the time, if Veril bothered to concentrate, she could catch fleeting glimpses of an art gallery, with whatever painting Anriel desired front and center. Right now, she was, in full admiral dress, walking three steps behind, the dutiful servant, playing for the crowd the imperious Rihannsu hawk a mere chicken for the Remans. Shed have to find something nice for Anriel, Veril decided.
First, though, the Acamarian embassy. Veril was looking for it. A minor power, allied with the Federation, struggling to hold onto their clan-based social structure in spite of pressures of population and technology. Their proximity to Imperial space had made them a target of intrigue in the past. Now that they were the closest friendly power to Republic space, it was worse than Khitomer.
The Acamarian had too large a delegation, so they had scattered through the city, struggling to make sure all their voices were heard in proportion. The sheer number of clans and their proportion, along with being a useful trade partner, meant all that communication flowing through multiple buildings to fit in the sheer size of their delegation. Which meant Klingon and Federation security efforts to show the flag, Ferengi agents, independent and otherwise, seeking to use the trade agreements between all powers to their best advantage, and worst of all: Tal Shiar, having wormed in once before, struggling to hold on to enough rot to maintain their position.
The last was a problem, the rest a neat way of concentrating the Republics many neighbors onto a single target for the constant battle for influence and attention that was the art of diplomacy, seeking an additional lever to move the Republics careful neutrality.
It was also a useful proving ground for lower-ranked officers to get all sorts of security and signal intelligence training, helping the Acamar reinforce their annexes against data intrusion attempts. It wasnt uncommon to see Acamarians coming in and out, accompanied by a hundred races employed by a dozen powers, with Republican staff crawling all over, struggling to maintain security.
As a metaphor for the Republic it was fairly effective, but any random Acamarian annex there were three at last count in the Reman sections made great people watching, in Verils opinion. And though she didnt swing it, as chief engineer of a starship she had sufficient pull to kibitz on whatever task the Republic set its sons and daughters to countering whatever was in the latest intelligence forecast. Veril found it soothing, though having her commanding officer playing shadow, along with the slight jingle from her own decorations was throwing her off.
The building itself was thankfully distracting. A Gorn of one of their merchant castes was arguing with a Bolian outside the gates, waving what looked like a jar of tulaberries. An Andorian in MACO gear (or at least Andorian-sized MACO gear) next to one of the big warrior Gorn, in full decorated combat harness looked on with mild interest. At the café across the street, two humans were whispering with an Orion and an Acamarian at one of the sidewalk tables.
But real pay dirt was quickly found two Remans and a Rihannsu, in civilian adjunct gear, were adjusting a cabling conduit heading into the embassy. The three were arguing over the readouts of a PADD, and Veril could feel the Admirals interest peak briefly before she brought it under control. Veril walked up behind the Remans, as the third older looking and weathered, without the usual forehead ridges most Rihannsu had, stopped talking at the parade of rank. After sixteen seconds, by Verils count, the two Remans stopped talking and looked behind them, stiffening to attention.
The two did a double-take almost simultaneously when seeing Verils decoration. That made her feel a bit better, at least someone picked up on it.
Carry on, Veril said, Just curious about whats been happening in the city. Since my last mission, preening just a little, Im sure youre doing good work, she said in a stiff tone, enjoying herself. With people she was actually running as a team, she preferred softer tones and fluidity, but this was for fun, And was just curious how youre helping our allies.
The left Reman started to explain, Were seeing a cyclic power surge in the direct links to the outer star clans main holdings. We think someones trying to exchange additional information with the frequency, and-
The third interrupted with something Veril couldnt catch. It was either technically the same language or babble, her translator imprint didnt do anything with it. She felt a sudden warmth behind her, a spike of intent that was enough to make her think about signing up for mind-doctrine classes next leave.
What? she said harshly, wondering what she was missing as her shadow leaned forward.
If I may, Subcommander? the Admiral said politely. Veril nodded, Third form of the second post-Exodus cycles, after the first Empress. Madness lies in searching for reason in the wild. Veril turned, mouth hung open. Where did sehVirinat find time to sleep? The admirals spike of interest wasnt diminishing and her eyes fairly danced, but she had the grace to sound apologetic, Anti-Vulcan rhetoric development was an elective in secondary school.
The other member of Anriels species present stated, It was really more of an anti-intellectual development. I had a thesis on its links to failures in spending allocation to warp coil research before the fourth Senate iteration. Were you a history student, Admiral? the male asked politely. Veril was watching Anriel closely, so the brief flash of dismay was visible.
************
He didnt recognize her, at all. It was decades and worlds in the past, but not at all. She hadnt been sure when they were walking up. Whatever privations after Hobus had weathered and aged him immensely in only twenty or so years, when they were at the same finishing school for several years in indoctrination before going on to higher education. Ratar had been fond of the phrase in its obscure form, to insult those with a tendency towards trying the same old tired forms.
She had thought he was dead. Never confirmed, but close enough. It was far enough in the past that it was unlikely this was some targeted attack. And if it was an attack, why have him look so very different? She could feel her vision swam for a moment, and Veril made an abortive gesture to grab her arm, but stopped. Ratar showed no strange reaction.
Was it so long she was unrecognizable? She hadnt seen him, and thered been one time several times, really. Had she built it up over the years? Her last name had changed, her House and lines were burned, but shed thought that two would be able to find one another again.
She found herself saying, pacing out the conversation, instincts of paranoia and politeness combining, I was mainly a theater student, she ignored Veril muttering, Hah! under her breath and whatever it is the Reman had won, I have studied only pieces of the old cycles we are living in a time of more change than any since the Exodus, and there are few parallels the Republic wishes to draw, were you a student?
Ratars face twisted, like something sour. The wrinkles were less a factor in such a grimace, and she felt a pang of familiarity, flashing back to when he was losing a debate. Yes, or I had intended to be. Rhetoric and history was a useful skill when one sought to do their duty to the Empire, when it was an Empire worth preserving. That ended in fire, but thankfully, the Republic has some use for one who trained on databases and communication systems. So Admiral, there is still duty, yes?
It was a clear, if polite brush-off. Perhaps shed been mistaken, but even among billions, one so close oh, Elements knew she could arrange some DNA scanning, probably dig up the old databases to confirm, but there was no light of recognition. Her past, apparently, still was ashes and death. She motioned to Veril with a mild nod. The Remans dark-adapted eyes saw it easily.
Of course, Citizen, thanks for indulging us, Veril said with a slight bow, and motioned with an imperious jerk of her head that she and her CO should head toward the nearby café where intrigue was fermenting.
With as much rank as they were carrying, the Klingon missions Third Military Attaché and the Director of Subspace Communications (2nd class) for the FCA happily cleared away, skittering back towards their embassies to reveal this new development to their intelligence staffs. Veril and Anriel, meanwhile, ordered some of the new vintages of ale that the planet was producing.
Veril managed to make it to her second bottle before asking, Were you two close, maam?
Very, Anriel said, I thought. Once. I hoped, perhaps. It might have been an alternate universe. It might as well be. She took a long pull.
Were you happy? Veril asked cautiously.
Yes, she said, then thought, Certainly. I do not think I could describe to myself at that age how happy I am now. But I was happy with him. I thought him dead. I may be right.
Oh but
Yes, it was worth it, Anriel sighed, and shook her head. Her eyes were dry. Perhaps it was a ghost she had seen. Even now, I think. That was a better thought, perhaps. A glimpse of the past. Or maybe an alternate present.
Oh, Veril said again, and looked at the small figures arguing still over a signal that may just be noise. I know we dont have much leave. I need to er, research what the style is .. could we try again next time? she asked shyly.
Anriel blinked, shaking herself, and smiled briefly. Love was, after all, a grand thing of passions, even after the fire was dead, and she was glad Veril had been able to look past the wreckage. Of course, she said warmly, We can give it another try when we get back. Just a quick show the flag to Kobali Prime with Captain Kim to check on their rebuilding.
Veril looked attentive. No really, that is all for now, Anriel said, We just captured the Empress and faced a species that steps across planets. Even we are entitled to a simple mission. Her engineer looked depressed, and Anriel laughed. You are already so weighed down with glory you are embarrassed by it, and you are sad we might not uncover some conspiracy?
Veril laughed briefly in reply, a dark chuckle, You might be right. I guess the Empress put it into perspective what we live through all the time. Those guys were nothing right? And hell, Ive got rank. I know Obisek. Ill set the fashion! she said voice brightening. Her eyes slid past Anriel to the dark figure again.
Anriel moved slightly to block it, There is plenty of time for all of us, she said, gesturing around. We have this and hope again, we will take the best of the old shadows, and leave the rest of the ghosts to the bones of the earth. She signaled for more ale, For now though, we two brave heroes of future epics can enjoy a little rest.
- That's it for now, I'll post some thoughts in discussion when I can, but currently would be a double-post.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
The Axanar's deck rocked under Captain Meral Ranek's feet as her ship took another direct hit, intertial dampeners straining against the absorbed impact of the blast. On the screen in front of her, the flat, spade-like shape of a Vaadwaur assault vessel screamed past, actinic blue flashes sparking across the screen as it strafed them with polaron fire.
"Damage report!" Meral shouted. She already knew the damage had to be bad-- she could something on the bridge burning, which was never a good sign.
"Shields are at seventy-five percent!" reported her Tactical officer, Lietenant Commander Esther Onuora. "Some energy bleedthrough has caused hull damage on our aft side!"
"The Rhode Island has taken significant damage as well," her science officer, Lieutenant Commander T'Sel, reported, her voice remaining calm even though she had to raise it over the klaxon. "The Talaxian fighters are also taking heavy losses."
Meral swore under her breath in Cardassian. She didn't need to look at the tactical readout to envision how the battle was going-- three of the fast Vaadwaur attack ships were busy picking on the Axanar, which left one to duel with Captain Kim in the Rhode Island. Meanwhile, a fifth ship was busy trying to hunt the Talaxian fighter squadrons that were busy darting in and out of the nearby asteroid field. The Talaxians were fighting gamely, and had already inflicted telling damage on the Vaadwaur ship, but the Vaadwaur vessel was playing smart, using its heavy polaron barrages to eliminate the asteroids and reduce the fighters' cover. Before long, the Talaxians would have nowhere left to run.
Of course, the only reason they were still alive was because the heavier Vaadwaur battleships were currently distracted by the Talaxian and Benthan forces elsewhere in the planetary orbit. The Benthans, in particular, had volunteered to keep the Vaadwaur tied up while the Talaxian refugee ships made their escape, and Meral could see one of the four Talaxian transports at the corner of the screen, limping and trailing oxygen after the Vaadwaur attack ships had taken several chunks out of it. They had to work fast, Meral knew-- reports indicated that the Benthans were taking heavy losses, and sooner or later Vaadwaur reinforcements would arrive to kill off the remaining transports. And them, obviously.
"Hard right, Attack Pattern Sisko One!" she shouted to Kala, her helmswoman.
Her first officer, Jalan Kino, quickly read his Captain's intention and followed up with a suitable tactical order. "Miss Onoura, prime a torpedo spread and overcharge phaser cannons for a forward volley!"
The starfield swept across the viewscreen as the Axanar did a sharp turn, barely evading a stafing burst of cannon fire from the other Vaadwaur ship. Turning in an elegant roll, the heavy escort came up behind one of the other Vaadwaur ships and unloaded her cannons, orange flashes blazing across space the inky void. Phaser bolts slammed against the lighter Vaadwaur's rear, and it seemed to shudder from the impact as its shields buckled and then gave way under the volley, before phaser bolts punched into its aft. Broken bits of hull and flaming oxygen trailed alongside magenta engine strata.
That was the opening that Onuora needed. The Axanar's forward dual phaser banks speared outwards, driving two shafts of orange light straight through the Vaadwaur ship's hull. The enemy vessel came apart in a puff of blue flame, and the bridge rumbled as the Axanar flew through the explosion, shields blazing as the wreckage of the Vaadwaur ship pattered off of it. It must have been a suitably impressive sight for anyone on the Rhode Island who had been watching, Meral thought with a surge of pride.
The other two Vaadwaur ships responded by making sharp turns that would have been impossible for any other vessel, and the Axanar shook again as the other Vaadwaur struck her from behind. Somewhere in the background of the bridge, something exploded and sparked. Meral gritted her teeth involuntarily, as though feeling her ship's wounds herself. The Vaadwaur ships were faster and more manouverable, she knew, and were taking advantage of that fact as they darted and swerved around they Axanar like wolves worrying at a bear, trying to force her to split her fire. But a Dervish-class heavy escort was no slouch in a fight like this-- what the Axanar lacked in manouverability, she made up for in the sheer toughness of her hull and shields, and as far as Meral knew, her ship was packing more weapons arrays on either side than her nimble opponents.
"They're matching our manoeuvers, Captain!" Kala shouted, the Klingon's voice betraying an irritated growl. "I can't bring either of them into our forward arc!"
"Then don't bother, Kala." Meral leaned forward in her seat, her hands clawing into her arm-rests. "Onuora, intensify aft turret fire. When I give the order, unleash a full torpedo spread. Kala, on my mark, initiate Manoeuver Zeti-Cygnus One."
She saw Kala grin wolfishly at the order. Next to her, Jalan looked at her in surprise. "You think they'll fall for that one?" the Bajoran officer asked.
She turned and smile at him. "Only one way to find out, Commander." She turned back to the viewscreen, the constant strobing flashes of polaron fire bathing the bridge in an indigo afterglow. "Engage!"
Kala punched the conn panel-- literally. The viewscreen went into a blur as the Axanar suddenly spun like a top, its saucer revolving like a top and swinging nacelles and main hull out like spokes on a wheel. The Vaadwaur ships seemed to swerve in surprise as the Federation escort they were harrying suddenly turned to meet them, spitting phaser bolts back at them with unrestrained fury.
And then the torpedoes flew-- a dozen starry-blue dots that streaked outwards in two directions at the Vaadwaur ships. One enemy vessel reacted with admirable speed, weaving and twisting out of the firing arc-- three torpedoes slammed against its shields and rocked the nimble ship, but it managed to evade the other three as it streaked past the Axanar and escaped certain death. Its sister ship was less lucky-- it took all six torpedoes dead-on, and promptly erupted in a ball of blue flame as its unique weapons systems suddenly went critical.
That left only one Vaadwaur ship to face them. Unfortunately, this ship had already darted in behind them, and was swinging around with a vengeance.
The bridge shook again, and this time Meral heard the distinct ventilation of fire control systems at work. "Aft shields are down!" shouted Onoura. "Hull breach on deck five!"
Meral gritted her teeth, and tried not to think of the men and women who would have been on deck five at the time. This is war. I'll have time to grieve later.
"Bring us around!" she ordered. "Keep them off our back! Onoura, get those shields back up!" This skirmish was confirming everything that she had read about the Vaadwaur's combat capabilities-- that their ships were extremely manouverable, their weapons were potent, and their commanders were both skilled and relentless. The briefings had also mentioned a particular love of quantum and tricobalt warheads. If any of those got past her ship's shields...
The Axanar spun and weaved, blue and orange tracers crisscrossing back and forth as the Federation escort's after turrets traded fire with the Vaadwaur's forward cannons. The Vaadwaur ship hung on, matching the Axanar move for move as it harried the Federation ship, blazing away with its cannons. The Vaadwaur captain must really hate her, Meral thought. He wasn't letting her go-- he was going to keep on her aft until he finally blew her and her ship into cosmic dust.
The ship shook again, and something broke loose from the ceiling. "Our hull's at sixty percent!" Onuora shouted. "They have a torpedo lock--"
And then the Vaadwaur ship exploded.
Meral blinked, staring for a few uncomprehending seconds as the Vaadwaur ship tumbled, broke apart, and detonated in a wash of blue polaron flame on the screen. Her brain tried to recreate the last few seconds she had seen, and thought she remembered seeing the distinct blue-white flash of a quantum torpedo. But then, of course, her captain's instincts kicked in. "Report!" she ordered.
"That Vaadwaur ship was hit by a torpedo barrage from..." Onuora's face suddenly lit up as she looked at the console. "Captain, we have a new contact on sensors. It's the Ozymandias!"
No sooner had its name been announced when the long, elegant shape of the Vesta-class cruiser came gliding past, starlight reflecting off of its silver hull. Phasers and torpedo spreads lashed out from the sleek vessel, and the next closest Vaadwaur attack ship visibly staggered off its course as it took several direct hits, before finally exploding in spectacular fashion. This left only the ship that Kim had been duelling with, and the wily Human finally gained the upper hand-- the nimble little Rhode Island danced around and put a quantum torpedo through the Vaadwaur ship's bow, blasting it into rapidly-disintegrating chunks.
And just like that, the skirmish was over. Meral took a few seconds to recline in her seat and take a deep breath. On the viewscreen, the Ozymandias drifted up alongside them, looking for all the world like the Axanar's older, more protective brother. Her disciplined, photographic mind raced back to all of the command rosters she had glimpsed over at Delta Command, and recalled the name that had been assigned to the Ozzy's chair. It had been a name that she had never expected to run into again, especially not out here.
"Well," Jalan breathed, "talk about making an entrance."
"Captain," T'Sel reported, "the Ozymandias is hailing us."
Meral nodded automatically, even though a part of her inside was jumping with trepidation. "On screen," she ordered.
The screen blinked, and a handsome face in the crisp white of a captain's uniform appeared against the backdrop of a gleaming bridge. And he had the look of a proper captain as well now-- the fresh-faced eagerness that Meral remembered was gone, replaced by a professional calm that made itself evident in the neat cut of his brown-blonde hair, the icy calm of his black eyes, and the smoothness of his fair-skinned features. But that confident grin of his, Meral noticed, was still there.
"Sorry for the delay, Axanar," Captain Talas Adara of the U.S.S. Ozymandias said. "We were caught up dealing with a Kazon raiding party on the way in. That being said, it was pretty rude of you to start the party without us, Meral."
Meral grinned back. Talas still had his aloof sense of humour, after all these years. "If we'd known you were coming, Kim and I would have saved you a few Vaads to play with," she quipped back. "As it is, all you did was steal a few kills from us."
"You mean 'saved your butts,'" Adara corrected, the iciness of his black eyes melting a little to allow for a mischievous spark.
"Oh, semantics," Meral dismissed with a theatrical sigh.
The Betazoid captain chuckled. "Glad to see you haven't changed much, Meral," he said. "You were always good at acting calm and aloof whenever I scored higher than you."
Meral gave him an annoyed frown. "Well in this instance, you had a Vesta in addition to your usual telepathy, so I'd call that an unfair advantage," she quipped back. She knew as well as anyone, though, that, Vesta or no, Talas Adara was one of the best Tactical commanders Starfleet had to offer. He possessed a quick thinking mind that could adapt to any situation, a daring attitude that suited intense space combat, and, perhaps most significantly of all, a highly-focused telepathic mind that could sense the intentions of enemy captains. It was a deadly combination that had won him fame and accolades in action against the Klingons and the Borg, and rumour had it the only reason he hadn't made admiral yet was because Command was reluctant to lose a starship commander as good as him to desk work and bureaucracy.
In addition to all these things, though, he was also an old friend of hers. Well, friend might be putting it kindly. They had started out as rivals in the Academy's tactical training exercises, with each of them trying to get a higher score than the other. Meral actually remembered thinking over old poems and literature in the middle of the exercises, solely to mask her thoughts from Talas. Somehow, that rivalry had turned into a friendship, one that had been spurred on by their relative backgrounds: both of them had come from worlds ravaged by the Dominion War, both of them had lived through the terror of occupation, and both of them absolutely refused to let that affect their lives in the slightest.
And eventually, they had become more than just friends. Talas Adara, Meral had discovered, was the sort of person who was willing to risk social censure and scandalous whispers by going out with the Academy's resident Cardie girl. But that had all been years ago, before they had both graduated, and moved onto their new ships, new careers, and new lives...
She frowned, at that point, when she realized that Talas was probably reading her thoughts, as usual. Suppressing a surge of annoyance, she instead thought of a particularly cacophonous Pakled nursery rhyme she had once heard, and watched in satisfaction as Talas visibly winced. That would show him.
A side-screen suddenly popped up, showing the battered-looking face of Harry Kim as well as the smoking bridge of the Rhode Island behind him. Meral winced at the image, realizing only now how much damage the Rhode Island had taken. Come to think of it, her own bridge probably wasn't a pretty sight to either Kim or Adara, either.
"If you two are done reminiscing on the Academy Days, maybe we could focus on the task at hand?" Kim grumbled. "I've just got word back from Justicar Deredd of the Benthan forces. They're suffering heavy losses, and they won't be able to keep the Vaadwaur battleship groups from breaking through for much longer. If we're going to evacuate the refugees, we're going to have to do so now."
Meral felt a brief surge of shame at being called out for unprofessionalism by Kim, but quickly suppressed it. Kim was right, they had a job to do here.
"Miss Onuora, what is the status of the Talaxian transports?" she asked.
The Human ran a quick diagnostic. "Two are still undamaged and warp-capable captain," she reported. "One, though, appears to have taken severe damage to its main nacelles. The fourth has taken critical damage-- its life support systems are failing."
Meral involuntarily clenched her teeth. "So we won't be running any time soon," she breathed.
"I guess not," Kim agreed grimly. "If one of you can beam aboard the survivors from the critically damaged transport, I can tractor the one with engine damage to safety."
Talas nodded. "Agreed. I vote that Meral takes in the survivors-- the Ozymandias has more space, but we've also taken less damage, and are in a better position to cover a retreat."
Seemingly predicting that his captain would object to the proposal, Jalan turned to Meral and nodded. "He's right, Captain," the Bajoran said. "The Ozymandias can take more of a pounding than we can at the moment, and right now our focus should be getting out of here with the refugees."
Meral sank back in her chair and dug her fingers into the armrest. Sometimes she hated it when Kino was right. "Show-off," Meral muttered aloud to Talas, before tapping her badge. "Bridge to all Transporter Rooms, commence beaming up survivors from the Talaxian transport Flixin." She turned to her officers. "T'Sel, signal the undamaged Talaxian transports to go on ahead. Inform them that we'll be right behind them with the rest of their people."
T'Sel nodded and tapped her console. An instant later, two of the Talaxian transports jumped to warp. The remnants of their fighter squadron-- four ships, out of the original eight-- stayed, however, forming up alongside their damaged transport in a ready position. Meral had to hand it to the Talaxians, their military forces, meagre as they were, were pretty dedicated.
An instant later, the shimmering blue field of a tractor beam enveloped another transport from the Rhode Island. Slowly the little science vessel powered forwards, tugging the larger transport behind it.
"We'll rendezvous back at the Drena system," Kim said. "From there, we can either head directly back to the Sphere, or drop the refugees off with the Benthans."
Meral nodded. "Good luck, Kim. We'll follow up as soon as we're finished beaming up survivors. Axanar out."
And with that, Harry's portion of the screen blipped out, and a second later, the Rhode Island and the transport it was tugging both disappeared in the familiar, sliding blur of warp translation.
"Status?" Meral asked.
T'Sel did a quick diagnostic. "Transporter Rooms Four and One report successful beamouts. Most of the Flixin's surviving crew have been successfully retrieved."
"Let me know when we get all of them, then. Tactical, keep all weapons in a ready state." She had to admit to a certain tension that made her neck-ridges itch. The Vaadwaur could arrive, screaming in to attack, at any moment. She glanced at the screen to keep her nerves from eating her alive. "Ozymandias, see anything out there?"
"Not a thing," Talas replied on the screen, "but our long-range sensors should pick them up long before they enter weapons range. Between the Talaxian fighters and my ship's Runabouts, we should be able to get multiple firing angles on any incoming hostiles."
Meral nodded. "A sound plan, one the Vaads hopefully won't be expecting." She leaned back in her chair and crossed a leg, grateful for this bit of conversation to break the tension with. "Once we're in safe territory, I'd like to invite you to my bridge for a tactical analysis on the Vaadwaur's usual ploys."
Talas smiled. It was an old code of theirs from back in the Academy-- tactical analysis really meant dinner at my place. "I'd be delighted, Captain Ranek," he said. Meral smiled...though she also caught Jalan rolling his eyes.
At that moment, though, a sensor alarm suddenly went off. "Captain," T'Sel announced, "Sensors are picking up a subspace distortion eight point five-seven kellicams directly starboard."
Meral shot up in her seat. A subspace distortion? She had not been expecting this, but she immediately knew what it meant: Underspace.
"Shields up!" she announced, knowing that the order doomed any Talaxians still waiting to be transported.
"Red alert!" Jalan added. "Prepare all weapons to fire at--"
He was cut off, at that moment, when the Ozymandias's bridge disappeared from the screen, replaced by a full view of the starscape. Meral saw a swirling yellow mouth yawn open in empty space, before the long, massive shape of an Astika-class artillery ship slid out. It was massive, dwarfing the swanlike shape of the Ozymandias and blotting out most of the stars. This close, Meral could see the tawny, shark-like material of its hull, the malevolent purple glow of its deflectors, and the crude gunports on its surface that, even now, were swivelling around to track them.
And then all hell broke loose.
The bridge rocked violently as the Vaadwaur battleship announced its arrival with a missile volley, several quantum and tricobalt warheads slamming against her little ship and the Ozymandias simultaneously. Blue explosions rippled on the viewscreen, and shields flared-- small, mangled explosions flared in succession as the Talaxian fighters blew apart and died under the volley. Behind her, a monitoring station burst and exploded, and Meral head the screams of a crewman and smelled the stench of burning flesh.
They had caught her by surprise, she realized with a mixture of surprise and rage. She had expected the attack to come from further down the system, not from out of nowhere like this. Up until now, the Vaadwaur's use of the Underspace had seemingly been limited to their smaller ships, and activated only by the presence of one of their larger capital ships. The Alliance had never before encountered a battleship emerging from Underspace on its own like this...and the Vaadwaur knew it. Damn them, they knew it.
"Shields are at twenty-five percent!" Onuora shouted.
"Evasive manouvers, Attack Pattern Omega!" Meral ordered.
"Return fire, full scatter volley!" Jalan added.
On the viewscreen, the Ozymandias sprang into action, a Runabout wing launching from the Ozymandias in close support. It was an eficient response, but one that had been slowed by the surprise of the Vaadwaur's sudden assault. Phasers and torpedoes pierced the darkness as the Ozymandias and her Danubes fired up at the Vaadwaur ship, and shorter, stabbing flashes stitched upwars as the Axanar's cannons and turrets blazed to life as well. The Vaadwaur ship's shields flared under the assault, even as it lashed back with its own rows of polaron cannons.
The Axanar shuddered under several direct hits, as, on the viewscreen, more yawning chasms flared into being, polluting space with that sickening yellow colour.
"Captain," T'Sel said, her normally placid tone suddenly urgent, "subspace distortion, directly behind us--"
And then the ship shook violently, and stopped.
Warning beacons flared, as, on the viewscreen, the battle swirled in front of them. "Report!" Meral ordered, even though she was already guessing the answer.
"Gravitic drone, Captain!" Kala shouted. "It came out of that Underspace portal and ensnared us!"
Of course, Meral realized. She had read nough tactical reports to know that the Vaadwaur liked to employ gravimetric anchors that were near-impossible to break free from, pinning defenceless ships in place for--
"Energy buildup from the Vaadwaur ship, captain!" Onuora exclaimed. "They're charging up their cannons for an artillery barrage!"
Meral swore. "Fire aft torpedoes, high yield!" she ordered. "Take out that drone!"
Her TacNet quickly adjusted, showing a brief image of the gravimetric drone as it was blown apart by two successive quantum torpedoes. The ship lurched as it came free...and it was a fraction of a second too late.
"They're firing!" Onuora shouted.
"Brace for impact!" Kino ordered. He must have known, just as Meral did, that it was a wasted effort-- with their shields in the state they were in, they would not withstand one of the Vaadwaur's infamous artillery barrages.
Time seemed to slow as, on the viewscreen, the Vaadwaur ship began to rain down blue fire. Dozens of high-yield polaron bursts came descending upon them, each of them packing enough explosive force to shred the Axanar's shields and turn the ship itself into dust. Meral found herself only able to stare, transfixed by her own impending death.
And then, from out of nowhere, she thought she heard a voice...Talas'...say something. Sorry.
A great, silver shape suddenly invaded the screen as the Ozymandias came soaring into view, its sleek shake turning as it presented its upper hull to the barrage. And then the screen went white...
The ship rocked violently, with such intensity that Meral was nearly thrown from her seat. It subsided soon after, the white glow on the screen remained, as sensors slowly adjusted to the intensity of the glare.
Her command instincts kicked in. "Damage..." She was cut short by the need to gag as she breathed in a mouthful of smoke. "Damage report!"
"We have hull breaches on Decks Three through Five!" Onuora reported. Meral noticed a few burn marks on her face from where her console had sparked. "Aft and foreward shields are down, and one of our dual cannon batteries is out of commission." She looked up from her screen, and seemingly read Meral's mind with what she said next. "Engines are still intact, though, Captain."
Wordlessly, Meral turned back to the screen as the the glare finally subsided. The first thing she saw was a hovering cloud of scorched metal shards that she realized had once been the Flixin. A sick feeling twisted at her gut when she realized there had still been people on the Talaxian transport, waiting to be saved. The feeling was eclipsed, however, when the Ozymandias rolled into view. Meral winced in horror at the sight of the proud ship-- the foremost part of her saucer had been mostly obliterated, exposing jagged spars of metal to the void and turning the saucer into an ugly, twisted half-crescent. The bridge section was gone, and the deflector looked like a shattered mirror of blue glass. Numerous hull breaches crisscrossed the main hull like infected black wounds, and the ship's left nacelle had been sheared off at the pylon, leaving the ship stricken and amputated.
Hundreds of the crew had to be dead, she knew. And they had died saving her, taking a polaron bombardment that would have otherwise destroyed the Axanar. She shook her head. No, so told herself, that wasn't true. They had been saving the Talaxian refugees on the Axanar, as per their mission. Talas woud never have put himself and his ship at risk like that for..
"More subspace rifts are opening, Captain," T'Sel suddenly announced. "The Vaadwaur are bringing in more reinforcements!"
"The enemy battleship is turning to face us, Captain!" Kala added.
She leaned forward in her seat. She had to make a decision, and fast. "T'Sel, are you reading any life signs on the Ozymandias?"
The Vulcan ran a quick diagnostic. "Yes Captain--"
"Good. Lock a tractor beam on the Ozymandias! Kala, get us out of here, maximum warp!"
Her officers did as they were told, and then the starfield blurred. She felt the familiar hum of engines behind her, and knew they had warped away successfully. "Status?"
"No sign of pursuit, Captain," Kala reported. The Klingon sounded almost disappointed. Almost --she hadn't earned that Starfleet uniform by being foolhardy.
Meral sighed. Not in relief, but out of physical and mental exhaustion. She knew she had nothing to be relieved about yet. "Status report on the Talaxian refugees?"
"Transporter Room One reports that we managed to get sixty of them aboard before we were forced to raise our shields," T'Sel stated. She paused a little before continuing. "There were originally a hundred passengers on the Flixin, Captain. The rest were left behind when we raised shields."
A lump rose in Meral's throat. There was nothing we could do, she told herself, though she knew she'd have to tell herself a few dozen more times before she believed it. "What about the crew?"
"We have thirty-five people awaiting treatment in sickbay, Captain," Onuora said. "Twenty-three of our people are confirmed as KIA."
Twenty-three letters she'd have to write to their loved ones, in other words. Closing her eyes, she straightened against her chair and took a deep breath. "Open a channel to the Ozymandias," she ordered. The distinctive chime of the comm system beeped to life in response. "Ozymandias, this is the Axanar. We're currently towing you to the Drena system. Can you give me an update on your crew's status?"
She waited for a voice on the other end, trying not to let anxiety show on her face as she waited. Talas, don't you dare die on me.
There was a crackling burst of static, and suddenly a voice-- grainy, distorted, but obviously female-- could be heard. "Oh, thank God! This is Commander Truman of the Ozymandias, ma'am. We've lost a lot of people here, and we're knee deep in wounded. We've had to move temporary command here to Engineering, after our bridge got destroyed."
Meral tensed. "Commander? Why are you answering? What happened to Captain Adara?"
There was a short silence on the other end. "The Captain...he didn't make it, ma'am," Truman said. Her voice sounded shaky. "He was the last to leave the bridge when..."
Truman's voice trailed off at that point. Meral's throat tightened, and her fingers dug into her armrest. For a few seconds, all she could do was stare numbly at the maimed image of the Ozymandias on the viewscreen.
She inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry for your loss, Commander," she said stiffly. "Stand by, we will transfer medical and repair teams to you when we are able. Axanar out."
The channel beeped closed. For a few seconds, silence reigned on the bridge, punctuated only by the hum of the engines and the crackle of lingering flames.
Then, slowly, Jalan turned to face her. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said solemnly. "I know you and Captain Adara were close."
Meral wanted to say something to Jalan at that point. To say anything, really, to break the silence. But the words died in her throat. All she could do was turn to Jalan and give him a slow, appreciative nod.
And then, slowly, she stood up. She couldn't stay here on the bridge any longer: she needed to be alone. "You have the bridge, Commander," she mumbled as she turned and exited her chair. "Alert me when we get to the Drena system. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my ready room."