The worrying part is, Ronnie's rescued herself, and been rescued - and we still don't know why the Sihonin wanted her, nor what the connection is with the activity at the Rift. Pretty sure there is a connection, and it has to do with "the other one" - but what?
A funny thing struck me, as I was writing a scene: Ronnie has a Siohonin name.
Seriously. Veronika Grau. Four syllable first name, one syllable surname. And the stress is the same, too. (I know people will pronounce these weird names however they feel like, but in my head, they all have the stress on the second syllable.)
No doubt there is scope for many an academic thesis in this, on the intertwining of the roles of hero and villain, and so on and so forth.
Or, it could just be a silly coincidence. Which, in fact, I think it is.
(listens to the sound of PhD theses being torn up to the accompaniment of loud deconstructionist swearing)
"We have sensor contacts," reported Lieutenant Commander Scargill. Admiral Gref just grunted, and shifted irritably in the command chair of the Taras Bulba. Sensor contacts... well, of course there would be sensor contacts. By now, a mouse couldn't squeak in this star sector without alerting his web of satellites and sensor buoys.
"A number of sensor contacts," Scargill continued, his voice becoming high-pitched and excited. "Energy signatures confirm... sir, it's a Siohonin fleet. Reading... that can't be right."
Gref turned in his chair. "What can't be right?" he growled.
"I'm reading - well over a thousand ships, sir. It's immense. The fleet, I mean, sir."
Gref shrugged. "They have industrial capacity. And those lightweight frigates of theirs are a throwaway design - replicators can churn them out by the gross. What about heavier units? Serious starships?"
"It's hard to get a reading, sir, with all the noise... but at least three."
"Three," said Gref thoughtfully. The Siohonin frigate wolf-packs seemed to travel in large clusters, with a single command and control vessel at their centres... three such capital ships suggested a particularly large force, indeed. "What's their heading?"
"They're currently travelling sublight," said Scargill. "Overall bearing seems to be... coordinate vector one seven four by two zero three.... Sir, that'd put them on course for the Dioclema trading station."
Gref grunted. "Give me fleet communications," he ordered.
"Channels open, sir," the comms yeoman called out.
"Gref to all ships. Siohonin fleet has been detected, destination appears to be Dioclema. These people have already attacked a number of Federation and Allied worlds, and we are not going to let them do it again. All ships to battle readiness. We are moving to intercept. I will try negotiations, but you people know me, and the Siohonin are less reasonable than I am. This is going to get rough - but I know you people can do your jobs, and that's all we need to do today. Gref out."
"Setting course for the Siohonin fleet," said Lieutenant T'Nen at the helm.
"Good." Gref muttered darkly under his breath. The Siohonin... it would be better, really, if they did negotiate. But the aliens were drunk with their victories over the Klingons, their conquests of scattered Federation worlds... this was going to end badly for someone, Gref could feel it.
"Sir," said the comms yeoman, "I have Vice Admiral M'Azzur on hail."
Gref groaned silently. The Caitian and his damned carrier... he would have been happier with Ronnie Grau, even, in that space on his fleet roster. The damned furball was too keen, that was the trouble. "On screen," he said, with no enthusiasm.
M'Azzur's face, whiskers twitching, green eyes shining, appeared on the viewer. "I'm ready to take Tiger's Claw in first, sir. I reckon, if we deploy a fighter screen fast, we should make even that number of frigates think twice about tangling with us. What do you think, sir?"
Gref considered. If there was going to be a fight - and he was pretty sure there was - M'Azzur's Atrox carrier would be a lot more use with its fighters already off the launch rails and its considerable armament ready to support them. Gung-ho he might be, but M'Azzur had decent tactical senses. "Very well," he said. "Take point, and get the cruiser elements to back you up - tactical plan Delta Seven."
"Yes, sir! M'Azzur out." Too damn keen, Gref thought.
He consulted the tactical display. "That," he said, "is a whole lot of ships." No one answered him. "Open hailing frequencies," he ordered. "Let's at least give them a chance to talk."
But the face that appeared on the main viewer now was not that of a man disposed to talk. "I am Third Marshal Amaranuk Tem, aboard the Theocracy battleship Bardiche," the Siohonin commander announched. He was blond-haired, blond-bearded, and his horns were long and filed to needle points. "We are conducting military operations in this star sector. Do not attempt to impede us."
"Admiral Gref, Sixth Fleet, aboard the USS Taras Bulba," said Gref. "If you're conducting military operations in Federation territory, be aware that this will not be permitted. Your people have already attacked Federation worlds, but I'll let the diplomats sort that out - for the moment. Right now, I want to see you and your ships turn around and head back to Siohonin space."
"Brave words," said Tem. "And where, in the view of the mighty Federation, is Siohonin space?"
"The details aren't my business," said Gref. "Your home system, maybe? In any case, not here, and not Dioclema station either. Turn back, Third Marshal."
"The Theocracy does not take orders from the Federation," said Tem. "No more than we do from the Klingons.... You are too accustomed to thinking of yourselves as a galactic superpower. Times are changing, Admiral Gref. Learn to bend with the wind... take your fleet home."
Gref rose to his feet. "Take my fleet home? This is Federation space, Third Marshal, my fleet is home. And we will defend it. Make no mistake about that."
"I grant you leave," said Tem,"to try." And the channel went dead.
"Siohonin ships are changing formation," Scargill reported.
Falling into an attack pattern, Gref decided. A basic one, a wall of battle across the sky, seeking to use their numerical superiority to outflank the Starfleet ships and overwhelm them from all angles. Gref engaged his tactical console. "Gref to fleet. They're trying to wrap around us. We're going to punch through and split their forces." He considered. "Attack plans as given, concentrating on vector three seven mark six three."
"Sir," said T'Nen, "that will put us very close to the Bardiche."
Gref grinned. "Damn right it will. In weapons range, in fact. Weapons free."
"Vice Admiral M'Azzur on comms, sir."
"Tell him - oh, put him through."
The Caitian was grinning from ear to ear. "Going in, sir. Looks like you're aiming for their flagship? We'll go after one of the other heavies."
"All right," said Gref. "Stay alert, keep moving. Try and stay out of the way of those kinetic lances, and watch for their other special weapons."
"Yes, sir. Don't worry, my boys and girls will clean up those frigates, no problem."
"Let's hope," Gref growled.
"Fleet in engagement range," Scargill reported. "Weapons fire exchanged... conventional disruptors only from the Siohonin, so far. Lots of it, but individually, not heavy."
"Stalkers going in," M'Azzur reported. The Caitian was practically bouncing with excitement.
"Targeting solution for the enemy flagship!" shouted a tac officer.
"Phasers to maximum," Gref ordered. "Let's give him a nudge he won't forget in a hurry."
"Phasers locked." The tac officer turned, a puzzled frown on his face. "Sir... he's making no evasive manoeuvres. His shields are up, but... he's making no attempt to avoid action."
Gref snarled. Suddenly, he felt a deep inner disquiet, and there was no way to dispel it but immediate, violent action. "Fire as they bear, as soon as we enter range."
"Yes, sir." Light was slashing across the starfield, now, green light of Siohonin disruptors, golden-orange of Starfleet phasers. Were his ships holding their own against the Siohonin onslaught? Gref thought so....
"Enemy in range. Firing phasers."
Taras Bulba trembled as the phaser banks fired -
- and then the ship rocked and lurched, and the bridge was full of the crash-bangs of exploding consoles, and the lights failed and flickered and came back red. The terrific impact hurled everyone to the floor. Alarms screamed. The surviving console displays were unintelligible with static, the air was filled with smoke and fire and noise.
"Damage report!" Gref roared. "What the hell -? What hit us?" He clambered groggily to his feet, and stared at the scene of chaos which was his ship's bridge. T'Nen was slumped inert over the wreckage of the helm console - the tac officer on phasers was nowhere to be seen -
"Coming through now," Scargill's voice croaked. He was staring in horror at his screens, ignoring the blood that ran freely from a gash on his scalp. "I don't understand - we were hit by a phaser barrage!"
"Damage report," said Gref firmly.
Scargill swallowed. "It's - bad, sir. Six per cent structural integrity, hull breaches all decks, main deflector is offline, shields are down."
"Trying to get a line to main engineering now," the comms yeoman chimed in. "Sir, Vice Admiral M'Azzur is hailing -"
"Can you get him? On screen!" Gref shouted.
The Caitian's face appeared, shot through with static, on the main viewer. "Sir," he said, "we think we know what happened -"
"What?" Gref demanded.
"They - somehow, they inverted the region of space between you and their flagship. Turned it, and everything in it, through a hundred and eighty degrees. Your own weapons, sir, they were reflected back on you."
Gref groaned. "Warn the other capital ships!" If they could do that - No wonder the Klingons hadn't got proper reports back on this weapon. Klingon capital ships emphasized firepower over armour, if they were caught like this, their own barrages would blast them to flinders. Even his ships -
"We can fight this, sir." M'Azzur's face was grim, now, and determined. "Come in at multiple angles - they can't use that defence in every direction at once, they'd cut themselves completely out of normal space-time. My fighters can engage them and swamp them."
Gref studied his half-wrecked tactical board. "Try it. You have fleet command. I can't run tac coordination from Taras Bulba now."
"Yes, sir." M'Azzur saluted.
"I'm getting some telemetry back," Scargill said. "Sir - the Siohonin are firing their kinetic lances. The fleet is taking heavy damage." His voice suddenly cracked. "Oh, God - Warspite is moving to engage one of their capitals -"
"Comms! Get a warning through!" If the dreadnought Warspite fired her phaser lance, she was done for.
"Stalkers engaging," M'Azzur said fiercely. "We'll make them pay for -"
And then his voice stopped, and his image vanished from the screen. "What happened?" Gref yelled.
"Trying to get a picture," said Scargill. "I'm patching stuff through, but -"
Disjointed images were appearing on the viewer. Gref groaned aloud as Warspite fired - and the brilliant beam of the phaser lance doubled back on itself, and in one horrifying flash the dreadnought was gone. He could see cruisers taking a savage pounding from the Siohonin lances... the light enemy ships were suffering too, but they had the advantage in numbers, had done from the start. The Caitian fighters were inflicting damage, but without the support of the mother ship - what had happened to M'Azzur, damn it?
"I don't believe it," said Scargill. "Sir, I - I'm picking up the Tiger's Claw."
Gref rounded on the man. "Where?"
Scargill swallowed. "It's... it's at one of our remote sensor buoys, sir. About half a light year away. The Siohonin weapon... it's some sort of overloaded, focused warp field. It physically picks up the target and throws it through subspace. That's where all the interference comes from, that's why the targets just seem to vanish...."
"What about the Tiger's Claw? How soon before they can get back?"
"I'm sorry, sir." Scargill's tone was bleak. "The field must generate a massive gravimetric turbulence. All I'm getting from the buoy is the Tiger's Claw's ID transponder... in among the debris."
Gref sagged back into the command chair. "Do we have any comms channels at all?"
"Can get you fleet-wide on unencrypted only, sir," said the comms yeoman.
"It will have to do. Set it up." Gref took a deep breath. "All ships, this is Admiral Gref. We are outnumbered and outgunned. All ships, scatter and retreat. I repeat, scatter and retreat. Flagship out." He turned to glare at the yeoman. "Get a secure link-up to the buoy network. Send a signal to Starfleet. They have got to know how the Siohonin warp weapons work. There's plenty of redundant bandwidth in that system, work with it. That message has to get through."
"Sir," said Scargill, "I don't know if we - we're massively badly damaged - I don't know if the ship can generate a warp field."
"I do," said Gref. "She can't. Taras Bulba will cover the fleet's retreat for as long as she is able. After that -" He snorted. "I suppose we get to see how the Siohonin treat prisoners of war."
"Your Holiness," Gamariden Tal replied, turning the Glaive's command chair to face the priest. "You are comfortable in your new quarters?"
"Oh," said Amm with a chuckle, "quite like old times, thank you." He stepped forward, and looked around the bridge. "Impressive."
"Suitable, I trust," said Tal, "for the flagship of the Theocracy." He laughed, nervously. "It will take time to get used to that."
"Well, look on the bright side," said Amm. "Unlike the priests of the false gods, at least you and I have the time. Where am I to sit?"
"I have given orders for an observer's chair to be added to the bridge," said Tal. "You will have full access to the tactical displays - you will not, of course, have input into the network. Your blessing, Your Holiness, we require; your military insight -"
"Yes, quite," said Amm. "On the whole, better not." He strolled around the bridge, his eyes avid. "So much nostalgia," he murmured. "How much we would have given for equipment like this, back in the old days!"
"The frigates are still very much in the old style," said Tal, "except, of course, for the special weaponry."
"Tried and tested?" said Amm.
"And easy to replicate. Our fleet grows daily. The losses incurred in the battle with the Federation are... trivial."
"And mostly drabs, anyway," said Amm. "I must say, we have been glad to learn from the military in that... matter. We have so many, ahh, vacancies to fill - in the administrative functions of the former priesthood, you understand. As High Pontiff, it devolves to me to... smooth over the difficulties."
"You are training drabs to perform basic priestly functions?"
"As you train them to push buttons on starships. They are so biddable, so eager to advance their lowly status... it makes them easy to train. In basic functions, within their capacity. And in devotion, in obedience to the doctrine of Sebreac Tharr."
"As it should be," said Tal. "The true god brings us victory."
"And he asks so little in return," said Amm. "Only our devotion, and the occasional material symbol.... It is of this that I must speak. Work is progressing on one of the true god's requirements - the shipments of labourers from the Federation and the Republic have proven adequate to the task. But another requirement is not yet met - oh, do not concern yourself unduly, it is not you who has failed, but our agents in Klingon space. Had the Klingons not dealt with General Ssurt summarily, it would have been the god's pleasure to chastise him. Still, though... the god has needs. And so our lord the Theocrat has requirements."
"What does Enteskilen Mur require?" asked Tal.
"Transportation, essentially," said Amm. "He has decided to take a personal hand in certain affairs. To do this, he needs a starship. A frigate, obviously, is unsuitable for his station - not to mention affording inadequate protection against, ahh, disaffected elements...."
"Are there any such fools left?"
"Oh, Sivetalin Aun and his brethren are leaves that blow with every wind, but there are rumblings of discontent in some quarters - and besides, there is Starfleet, the Republic Navy and the Klingons to consider. So... how difficult are these magnificent ships to reproduce?"
Tal laughed, shortly. "We shall have all we need. Tell the Theocrat that he may take the Warhammer, with the military caste's grateful thanks for his guidance and his leadership."
Amm bowed. "I will send word at once. He will be gratified by your devotion."
"Will one ship prove sufficient? I can detach others, or provide a frigate escort."
"With the god on his side, the Theocrat will content himself with a single ship. The Warhammer. It sounds a fittingly aggressive name." Amm bowed. "I will, with your permission, withdraw and inform the Theocrat now. He is anxious to depart on his errand."
"Of course. You need no permissions from me, Your Holiness."
Amm smiled, bowed again, and left the bridge. Some day, Gamariden Tal told himself as the turbolift doors closed, some day I will kill that man.
So, we're training the former slave class to run the ships and operate these mysterious mechanisms of the "god". And we're assuming they're grateful for their "advancement" in the "natural order."
Sounds like a slave rebellion in the making to me...
Busy weekend - at last, some hints on what the Siohonin weapon suite is like. Sounds like expansion may about to be checked, though at quite a cost from all sides.
And yeah - they put the slave caste in charge of the paperwork - the Siohonin upper classes deserve what'll be coming to them.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Daniella had no idea where she was. The Siohonin had put her aboard one of their freighters, and they had travelled - not for long, it hadn't seemed to be any great time - and, when they brought her out, it was into this vast cavernous underground space, where she was set to work.
It might, she thought, be one of the Reman mining colonies. The lighting was dim, and a lot of her fellow prisoners were Remans. She had tried to ask, at first, but conversation was quickly and brutally discouraged by the guards. The Siohonin military guards were bad, vicious men. The robed ones, the priests of Sebreac Tharr... they were far, far worse.
It was from fragments of conversation among her captors that she gleaned the little she knew so far. The priests moved with the arrogance of new conquerors, ready at any moment to deal pain or death with their flame-tipped wands. Even the Siohonin soldiers lived in fear of them. And they spoke, sometimes, of the "great work", of the "building of the tabernacle". It seemed to be going well. Danielle hated them for that, hated herself for helping them, however unwillingly.
The work occupied eighteen hours of every day, so by the time she fell into her bunk in the common dormitory, she was too tired to ask questions, even if it had been allowed. Huge slabs of black crystal were deposited before her by a robot loader, to be shaped and polished to exacting standards with a sonic probe. If the piece, once finished, met the Siohonins' quality tests, she ate - basic ration bars, but it was food, at least. If it failed - and many did - then she began again, with a new block. Too many failures, and the errant prisoner was given to the guards for punishment. Danielle had witnessed a punishment... and she had resolved not to make too many mistakes.
So she worked, and she watched and listened when she could, because she owed it to them, to Thom and Maury and all the others. She owed it to them to survive, and somehow, to make things right.
She was a Federation citizen, the product of a utopian social order, but more and more she felt the word revenge coming to her mind.
---
One day, one of the Remans cracked. She hard turned in four blocks of crystal, and each one had been rejected; the Siohonin soldiers were standing behind her, speculating loudly about what they would do to her when she was sent for punishment. First, theirs were the only voices, and then the woman's voice made itself heard over the rumbling of the loaders and the whirring of the sonic probes: a thin wordless wail of outrage that grew to an unearthly screech. She flew at them, then, the sonic probe in her hand her only weapon - that, and sheer fury and desperation.
One soldier stepped back, astonished, when she came at him, and tripped over a loaded cargo hopper, and fell. The Reman swung her sonic probe at another, and there was a snarling buzz of weird harmonics as the tool hit his skull, and suddenly he was down too. Three more soldiers rushed her in a body, and for a few moments there was a confused jostle, and then the sound of shots.
The Reman had seized a laser pistol from one of her attackers, and was blazing away with it indiscriminately. One soldier dropped screaming, another silent; the third turned and fled. The Reman sent more shots in all directions, some perilously close to other prisoners - and then everyone was running, Daniella among them, fleeing from the woman's crazed fear and desperate anguish -
Then she gave one last shriek, and blazed with fire, and was gone. One of the priests, Daniella thought, he had seen the disturbance and taken it in hand. Those damned wands - they didn't even need to see you, to use those damned wands -
From high above, a mechanical voice boomed out. "Prisoners will cease from disturbance and return to their work. There will be no more warnings. Prisoners will return to their work."
One by one, the prisoners left their hiding places and trooped deservedly back to their workstations. More Siohonin soldiers were arriving, picking up their dead and wounded, making threatening gestures at the prisoners... but they were concentrating on the Remans, and there was just a moment when Daniella was unobserved.
Just one moment.
She was standing by one of the cargo hoppers, and it was full of blocks that had been approved by the Siohonin, that were on their way to... whatever the Siohonin were doing with them. She still had her sonic probe in her hand; she drove the tool hard into the black-gleaming surface of one block, pressed the activating stud. The noise was drowned by all the other sounds in the cavern; there was no visible change in the block. Daniella went meekly back to her place, began her work again. She didn't know if she had made any difference. She hoped she had.
And I still can't wait for Ronnie to go to town on the Siohnin.
Probably the best move would be for her to hand the Siohnin off to the KDF, who would probably execute the entirety of the military and religious castes. Hopefully including torturing Mur to death over the course of a year or seven.
Now, the wands...those are clearly some sort of telekinetic/telepathic device, some combination of Fek'Ihr's staff and Iconian tech. Which, combined with the statue on TZ, begs the question...are the Rift entities some sort of trapped or dimensionally-lost Iconians?
Andorians don't have fixed sleep cycles, so when we sleep, we sleep deeply. It takes a while for the nagging warble of my bedside communicator to penetrate the fog and wake me up.
I hit the button on about my third attempt. "Shohl," I mumble.
"Skipper." F'hon's voice. "I've got Vice Admiral Grau on the line for you. Sorry, skipper, but it sounds urgent."
I sit up in bed. "Put her through," I say.
"About time," Ronnie's voice says. Her spell in Orion captivity doesn't seem to have harmed her natural... energy... any. "What the hell have you been doing? Sleeping?"
"Yes," I say.
"Sleep is for tortoises!" I think I'm going to hit her if she says that again. "Now, listen, kiddo, I've just had a tactical alert come in from Starfleet, and we are in trouble with a capital T and a lot of rubble. I reckon you'll be getting confirmation of this in about ten minutes anyway, but I'm giving you and ginger-nut the heads-up first, all right?"
"Ronnie," I say, with as much patience as I can muster, "what the hell is going on?"
"It's not going on, it's breaking loose," says Ronnie. "Sixth Fleet just ran into the Siohonin and got its head handed to it. Gref's missing in action. The Siohonin are advancing on Dioclema Station and there's no earthly reason to think they'll stop there. Got your attention yet? Good. Quinn wants us back at ESD for a top level security briefing. So let's move."
---
Hobbled to the speed of the Tapiola, it takes longer than I'd like to get back to Earth. But we wind up cooling our heels, still, for a day and a half while other "essential personnel" - to quote Admiral Quinn - make it in.
By this time, the news media have got hold of the story, and the rash of Siohonin conquests has been splashed across every holovid station in the Sol System. I can feel the tension rising on the huge station.
When we're finally called in to the meeting, it's almost with a sense of relief - until I see who's in it. Ronnie, T'Pia and I are the most junior ranks present - a distinction we share with one other; T'Laihhae. The Romulan gives me one of her trademark brief flashes of smile, but her eyes are haunted, and there are marks on her forehead as if she's had some kind of hasty surgery.
The others in the briefing room are enough to make anyone worry. Obisek is there, his scarred nightmare of a face dark and brooding; J'mpok is there, and beside him is a silent Klingon in a uniform carefully devoid of insignia - an Imperial Intelligence spook, and possibly a very high up one indeed.
And sitting beside Quinn is a small, dapper figure in civilian clothes, with quiet reptilian calm and lambent golden eyes. Aennik Okeg. If the President of the Federation and the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire are here... things must be getting very bad indeed.
"To begin," says J'mpok. "The Siohonin are - or, rather, were - a minor client species of the Empire. Their rise in rebellion has been sudden, unexpected, and... unwarrantedly successful." He glares around the room. "They are getting highly advanced technical assistance from somewhere. Of that much, we are certain."
The nameless Klingon spook speaks up. "We took the opportunity, when the Siohonin extended their operations into Republic space and threatened their interests, to recruit assistance from Republic Intelligence. Vice Admiral T'Laihhae has recently spent much time among the Siohonin. Her report is... disturbing reading. Vice Admiral, would you care to summarize?"
"I will attempt to." T'Laihhae draws in a deep breath. "Until recently, the Siohonin consisted of a vast bulk of disenfranchised workers, ruled by a tripartite aristocracy - military, administrative, and religious. Until recently. Then, a single cult among the many Siohonin religious factions gained... total ascendancy. They have destroyed all the other religious groups, and have established, in effect, a theocratic state, ruled over by the head of the cult."
She pauses. "It has happened with... shocking speed. A year ago, the cult of Sebreac Tharr was a minor one, a historical anachronism, based on the worship of a fire god that was outdated and absurd even by the standards of the Siohonin. Today, the high priest of Sebreac Tharr is the undisputed ruler of the Siohonin - and their increasingly numerous subject worlds. The explanation -"
She stops. She takes a deep breath. "The explanation is simple, but terrifying in its implications. The cult of Sebreac Tharr has attained its total ascendency because... its god is real."
Everyone stares at her. "What?" J'mpok shouts.
"I am not saying it is a god, in any religious sense," says T'Laihhae. "What I am saying is that the priests of Sebreac Tharr are able to interact with some entity of immense power, and they can request it to perform actions on their behalf. Usually destructive actions," she adds, dryly. "Sebreac Tharr is a god of fire, and most of the so-called miracles performed in his name are related to that quality. The priests can target destructive effects, usually involving combustion or extreme heat, virtually at will. Enteskilen Mur, the new theocratic leader of the Siohonin, apparently incinerated every rival priest in the Dolsulca system, all at once. His subordinates do not, as yet, show such wide-ranging powers... but they can target individuals and destroy them without having line of sight, or any detectable sensor data to locate them. It poses something of a tactical problem in ground combat. The Siohonin are technically inferior, still - we have better guns, but they have... magic wands."
"The problem is equally apparent in space combat," the Klingon spook continues. "Our experiences, and Admiral Gref's ill-fated conflict with a Siohonin fleet, show three massive technical advances on the Siohonin side. Firstly, all their ships are equipped with a devastating kinetic lance that can simply bypass shields. Secondly, any capital ship, or any three frigates acting in concert, can generate a subspace pulse that throws an opponent half a light year away, usually wrecking them completely in the process. Thirdly, the Siohonin capital ships - and, we believe, trios of frigates also - can create a warp mirror effect, inverting a region of space between themselves and an attacker - the attackers, therefore, shoot themselves with their own weapons. This last accounts for the loss of many Klingon capital ships, and the disabling of the USS Taras Bulba in Sixth Fleet's battle with the Siohonin." His voice softens a little. "Admiral Gref fought well in that battle, and it is largely thanks to his efforts that we have this information. But we are, as yet, no nearer to having a counter for these weapons."
"In the meantime," says Quinn, "the Siohonin are advancing on all fronts, and we have to find some way to stop them, before it's too late."
"A suggestion," says Obisek. "And I withdraw it immediately, so as not to offend Federation sensibilities... but if this priest Enteskilen Mur is so central to the Siohonin's sudden expansion, one wonders how they would fare if he were to meet with some fatal accident."
"If it could be arranged," says T'Laihhae. "Enteskilen Mur is defended by the military forces of the Siohonin, and, most likely, by the entity he worships. He is not an easy target."
"OK, hold on." Ronnie speaks up suddenly. "What makes this thing god-like? And how do the Siohonin weapons work? Only thing I can think of - that fits with why we're here - is this." Her pale face is screwed up in concentration. "It can manipulate cosmic forces at any range - heat, subspace, kinetic effects, whatever. The Siohonin weapons must just be, well, channels for this thing. Like, like antennae that can tune in on its power, sort of thing." She shoots a glance at me. "No offence. Second thing is, it gets the uses of this power right. It targets what it wants to target, even though it can't see what it's shooting at. What that suggests to me...." She is speaking very slowly and carefully, now. " is an entity that can see the outcomes of possible actions before they happen. Like, it knows that a burst of heat here and now means a happy Enteskilen Mur later, and it sends them accordingly. An entity that perceives time and space from an outside perspective. A timeless thing. Like one of the Bajoran Prophets." Her voice turns steely, and she looks straight at Quinn. "Or like the thing from out of the Stygmalian Rift."
Quinn looks at her, steadily, and he nods, slowly, once.
"Is there further activity from the Rift?" T'Pia asks.
"Yes," says Quinn, "and it's increasing. That, and Q's apparent involvement in this, suggests that you three need to be out at the Stygmalian Rift as soon as possible. If it is the source of Sebreac Tharr's power... we need some way to stop it, and you three seem best placed to do that."
He doesn't suggest how. And I have no ideas.
"Something else we must consider." Aennik Okeg's voice is very quiet, but everyone listens to him anyway. "I have received a communication from the Theocracy of the Siohonin. It lists... certain territorial demands. They include the region of space surrounding the Rift."
"Hang on," says Ronnie. "I'm no great shakes at galactography, but, well, isn't the Rift in the old Tellarite sectors? And aren't the Siohonin, well, the other side of 61 Cygni from there?"
"You are quite correct," says Okeg. "Essentially, they are asking for Tellar. And all the Tellarite sectors... but, most importantly to the Federation, Tellar itself." His lipless mouth quirks into a sort of a smile. "In a sense, they are doing us a favour."
"A favour?" snarls J'mpok.
"Oh, yes," says Okeg. "There are always cries and arguments for appeasement, in times of crisis like this... but this is a demand that clearly cannot be met. It leaves us with no alternative. We must fight." His voice drops. "I only hope we can win."
"Something else we must consider." Aennik Okeg's voice is very quiet, but everyone listens to him anyway. "I have received a communication from the Theocracy of the Siohonin. It lists... certain territorial demands. They include the region of space surrounding the Rift."
Well, if that isn't enough of a tell - even with all the other evidence aside - that the Rift is at the heart of this matter, I don't know what is.
"The other one was cleverer." I hope that our heroines and their crews are cleverer still.
Drop some sort of exotic-particle bomb on the Rift to close it and hopefully kill the Rift entity. Better yet, subject it to eternal imprisonment and powerlessness while it remains entirely aware of its situation.
Do that FIRST, then, with the Siohnin lances, subspace waves, spatial inversions, and fire wands neutralized, hit them with everything the quadrant can cook up.
Then hand Entskillen Mur over to the Klingons so he can be punished on live television. He is a rabid dog who must be put down as quickly as possible.
After all, we don't accord the Borg sentient rights. This guy is at least as bad as the Borg is, if not more.
Borg are sentient, but not sapient. Individual Borg are not capable of comprehending their condition as living beings.
Mur is sapient. On the other tentacle, he's also a subject of the Klingon Empire. He therefore deserves the Klingon version of a fair trial. Shouldn't take long, once this Rift thing has been dealt with...
Borg are sentient, but not sapient. Individual Borg are not capable of comprehending their condition as living beings.
Mur is sapient. On the other tentacle, he's also a subject of the Klingon Empire. He therefore deserves the Klingon version of a fair trial. Shouldn't take long, once this Rift thing has been dealt with...
Mur has shown no signs of mercy, compassion, or anything other than disdain for anyone other than Entskillen Mur. I'd even say that he sees everyone but himself as nonsentient.
He deserves everything that the Klingons feel like throwing at him.
As for the Borg...the important thing to remember is that before Voyager turned them into wimps whose dreadnoughts can be beaten up by a scout ship and a Federation medium cruiser (seriously, Unimatrix Zero was an absolutely terrible episode), they were a hive. Or more accurately, the Borg is a single consciousness with only one motivation: Assimilate.
It's like fighting the Daleks, only worse.
And I'd rather have the Borg or the Daleks than Entskillen Mur.
He deserves everything that the Klingons feel like throwing at him.
Well, that's the usual outcome of a fair Klingon trial, isn't it? Once the "god" has been dealt with, even if Mur claimed right of combat I doubt strongly he could take any randomly-selected Klingon in a bat'leth fight. And if he tried to do it courtroom-style, they've got him cold on rebellion and incitement to rebellion, which is as I recall typically punished by public beheading. Maybe Jm'pok would be merciful and just give him life on Rura Penthe...
Well, that's the usual outcome of a fair Klingon trial, isn't it? Once the "god" has been dealt with, even if Mur claimed right of combat I doubt strongly he could take any randomly-selected Klingon in a bat'leth fight. And if he tried to do it courtroom-style, they've got him cold on rebellion and incitement to rebellion, which is as I recall typically punished by public beheading. Maybe Jm'pok would be merciful and just give him life on Rura Penthe...
Life on Rura Penthe isn't merciful. But I was kind of hoping for worse.
Death by beheading is better than Mur deserves, and he lacks all honor so he can't do honorable combat as that would dishonor the entire Empire by association.
So yeah. Something considerably worse than life--that is, slow death--on Rura Penthe.
The Rift. My mouth is dry, my heart is pounding. The Stygmalian Rift. Damn it, I thought it was gone, I thought I was done with the damned thing.
But apparently not. "Approaching the perimeter of the Rift's coordinates now," says Jhemyl crisply.
"Right," I say, "right. All stop. Dead stop. Hold us, umm, as close as you can get without getting us in it." I tried that once before. It didn't work. Damn it.
"Sir," Tallasa asks, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure," I tell her. "Never better. I'm on the top of the world looking down on creation. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, and all that."
Tallasa stands up, comes up to the command chair, and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Ronnie," she says, "are you all right?"
"Of course I - waitaminute, what?"
She never uses my name. She always calls me "sir", usually with a subtext of I am about three seconds from outright mutiny unless you get your head together, but always "sir". But now she's calling me "Ronnie", and she's looking at me with honest to God concern in those icy Andorian eyes. I suddenly feel about three inches tall. What the hell have I ever done for Tallasa, that she should care about my feelings?
"I'm... OK," I answer her, eventually.
"It can't be easy for you," she says in a quiet voice. "I mean... we all thought it was over and done with. And for it to - to come back, like this -"
"You went through it too," I say.
"Yes," Tallasa says, "once. And I'd already lost everything - well, except Jhemyl." She glances briefly at her sister, sitting prim and alert at the helm as usual. "We might even have gained from passing through the rift - the family scandal was half forgotten after twenty-four years. But you -"
"I lost everything the first time through," I say. "The next ones... sort of didn't matter. Well," I tap my Borg eyepiece, "except for this, of course. Didn't care for that bit much at all."
I'm lying, of course. I think Tallasa knows it. But she doesn't call me on it, and I'm grateful for that.
I twist around in the chair and look at Saval. "What about you?" I ask. "What do you think about being back here?"
He doesn't so much as blink. "In some respects, the situation is disagreeable. Our previous encounter did have deleterious effects on my personal relationships. In other ways, though - well, sir, I have always had an abiding curiosity as to what it was that you saw in the Stygmalian Rift. I appreciate that the Tiaza Zephora incident gave me some incomplete idea -"
"Curiosity," I say. "Know what that did? Killed the cat."
"So I have been told, sir," says Saval. "I am given to understand, though, that satisfaction brought it back."
And it's evidently time for me to gawp again, because that is perilously close to being a joke. Saval with a sense of humour? Tallasa being concerned for my feelings? What's next, Two of Twelve cocking out with a speech in defence of the rights of the individual?
*/*don't hold your breath---*/*
Uh-oh. "Tell Zodiri to get up to the bridge," I say.
"What's wrong?" Tallasa asks sharply. Oh, the scolding tone is back - that's actually a relief.
"Plenty. Two of Twelve is growing a personality again. Last time that happened, it was down to the Tiaza Zephora entity - somehow. Zodiri ran medical scans at the time, I want to know if they match up to anything that's happening now. Leo, get me a channel to King Estmere and Tapiola."
"Uh, the channels are on hot standby already, sir. Bringing them on now."
"Very good, Leo, you are learning. Tylha, T'Pia. Things are starting to happen."
There are two faces on my viewscreen, now, and both of them look concerned, too. In T'Pia's case, as concerned as Vulcans ever get, granted, but still concerned. Whatever I'm doing to encourage all this support and affection, I should bottle it. I'd make a fortune.
"What's going on?" Tylha asks.
"Two of Twelve is getting sassy on me. I think it's the proximity of the Rift, or maybe of the Rift entity. If anything else weird starts kicking off, I'll let you know. What are you guys planning on, anyway?"
"Same as you," says Tylha. "Holding station at the perimeter of the Rift."
"We are conducting intensive long range sensor scans," says T'Pia. "So far, the results are not useful, but of course we have had no time to process and integrate the data."
The turbolift doors hiss open behind me, and Zodiri comes in. The sour-tempered Trill medic barely nods at me before she starts waving a medical scanner over my temples.
*/*hey, that tickles---*/*
"Keep it up," I tell her, "it's annoying Two of Twelve." Zodiri rolls her eyes at me theatrically.
"Are you suffering from a medical condition?" asks T'Pia.
"Well, of course I am, we're talking about me here. But not half as much as I'm suffering from my doctor," I add, with a glower at Zodiri.
"Getting the usual problems from her combination of mule DNA and a head full of rocks," says Zodiri. "I'll process the rest of my results down in sickbay. I'm not seeing anything unusual yet, but then I didn't see a whole hell of a lot at Tiaza Zephora -"
"Oh, god," I say, and start fiddling with my chair's controls. The faces of Tylha and T'Pia disappear, to be replaced by the starscape of the Rift. "Seeing. Seeing. You reminded me -"
The sky is filled with rippled veils of light, an aurora frozen in motion. "The visual aberration you got in the, umm, the whatever it was - spatial anomaly - in Tiaza Zephora orbit?" asks Zodiri.
"Is it back?" asks Tallasa.
"You tell me. What can you see?" I wave a hand at the screen.
"Stars, sir," says Tallasa bleakly.
"She's right," says Zodiri. "Nothing but stars."
"Then it's back," I say. "My own private light show. Whoop-de-doo."
"Ronnie," says Tylha's voice. "You're seeing the same things you said you saw -?"
"Yes," I say loudly. "And when T'Pia asks, yes, same bloody thing. I'm seeing what looks like... veils, curtains of light." I frown. "It looks almost like they're folded into some sort of... pattern. This time."
"The logical course of action," says T'Pia, "is to advance into the Rift according to your perceptions, and to try to correlate those with sensor readings of actual conditions in the region."
"Sir, that didn't work before, in the anomaly," says Tallasa.
"The comparison is inexact," says T'Pia in a carefully neutral voice that somehow manages to be completely crushing. "The anomaly at Tiaza Zephora was a manufactured situation managed entirely by the Rift entity. The Stygmalian Rift itself, on the other hand, is a real location with real phenomena. It is entirely possible that real phenomena will be more susceptible to analysis than the phantoms produced by a Rift entity. I do assure you, any real phenomenon can be examined by the Tapiola's sensors and science teams."
So that's science division putting us humble tactical officers in our place, then. "We're going in then?" I say.
"It would seem the available logical course," says T'Pia.
I look at the frozen folds of light on the screen, and the more I look, the more they seem like the petals of some vast, poisonous, alien flower.
"OK," I say, "so we're going in. But do me a favour, will you? Follow my lead, and go carefully."
Oh ... my. Yes, I know I've said that before. But I didn't expect them to be back at the Rift so soon. And definitely didn't expect them to enter it. Who needs a TMA-2 near Jupiter anyway if you've got a Rift handy?
"My God ... it's full of stars." (2001) Or: "Once more into the breach." (Henry V)
This is GREAT! Enjoying it no end. Even as the rift situation gets exciting, the way the characters bounce off each other continues to make me very happy.
Then hand Entskillen Mur over to the Klingons so he can be punished on live television. He is a rabid dog who must be put down as quickly as possible.
After all, we don't accord the Borg sentient rights. This guy is at least as bad as the Borg is, if not more.
Point of order: you can't deny somebody legal rights because they're evil. That's kind of the point. The Borg aren't denied sentient rights because they're evil - they're denied sentient rights because they AREN'T sentient. Only the total Borg Collective is sentient, and it's at war with the Federation and anyway is so huge that anything the Federation can do to it is the equivalent of stamping on its toe.
That said... after the things Entiskillen Mur has done so far, what they can LEGALLY do to him must be plenty. (Especially if it's the Klingons.)
This is GREAT! Enjoying it no end. Even as the rift situation gets exciting, the way the characters bounce off each other continues to make me very happy.
Point of order: you can't deny somebody legal rights because they're evil. That's kind of the point. The Borg aren't denied sentient rights because they're evil - they're denied sentient rights because they AREN'T sentient. Only the total Borg Collective is sentient, and it's at war with the Federation and anyway is so huge that anything the Federation can do to it is the equivalent of stamping on its toe.
That said... after the things Entiskillen Mur has done so far, what they can LEGALLY do to him must be plenty. (Especially if it's the Klingons.)
I'm actually of the opinion that from a purely intellectual POV Mur is not terribly unlike the Borg Collective. Both beings are fanatically devoted to one goal, have absolutely zero concern for the lives and rights of beings other than themselves, and are motivated by the sole, overriding purpose of galactic-level if not universal genocide.
But yeah, the Klingon legal code is much more "eye for an eye" than the Federation system. Or more accurately "both eyes, some torture, and several reproductive organs for an eye". Sometimes, that's a good thing.
Our initial probe of the Stygmalian Rift is proceeding, albeit slowly. Ronnie Grau is showing an unexpected degree of caution. I suppose, in many ways, it is understandable. Ronnie's previous experiences with the Rift have been sufficient to make any reasonable being cautious. And she is, in her essentials, a reasonable being.
So, we follow her lead, and veer away from obstacles only she can see... and I make my scans, and collate my data, and it obstinately fails to make any kind of sense. Raw data we have, now, on exotic particles and energy fluxes and strange vibrations in space. But I am unable to impose any theoretical framework on it, to develop any hypothesis that would account for the observed behaviour.
It could be argued that the simple explanation is that the Rift entity is taking a hand. But this is to miss the point. It is possible to determine, scientifically, how the entity is affecting events - what means it employs, what energies it harnesses, to manipulate reality. We cannot simply declare it a god-like entity and dismiss all thoughts of enquiry as to how it operates. Even among religious believers, theologians are dedicated to finding out how, exactly, God works.
And the Rift entity, though it is enormously powerful, is not a god. Indeed, if it is actively supporting the Siohonin, and if their society functions in the manner than T'Laihhae describes... then the entity is worthy, not of our worship, but only of our contempt.
Our ships have come to a halt, hovering near some wall in space that only Ronnie can see. I am increasingly having to repress feelings of frustration as my data remains incomplete and inchoate.
Yielding to an impulse, I signal the Falcon, to see if perhaps Ronnie has any further guidance to give. It is not Ronnie who answers the hail, though, but her Andorian executive officer. "Vice Admiral Grau is resting, sir," she tells me. "We convinced her she needed some sleep."
"I see," I say. "Sleep is certainly a requirement. How is Vice Admiral Grau?"
The Andorian grimaces. "She... could be better, sir. Her residual Borg consciousness is causing problems. Something about the Rift is causing it to develop a personality of its own."
"I see." I consider this. "It might be helpful if you could transmit any non-confidential medical information relating to this. If it is associated with the Rift, this might at least provide additional data points for my analysis."
"I'll get on to that, sir. I'm sure she won't mind."
"Thank you, Commander. Tapiola out." The screen goes blank, then shows the starscape of the Rift. I sit thinking for a while.
"You should probably get some rest yourself, sir," says Twosani Dezin. She has evidently detected my perplexity with her empathic abilities.
"Yes," I say, "I believe you are correct. First, though, let me contact King Estmere." Before I rest, I would like a status report, at least, from the carrier.
Tylha Shohl's face, usually severe, is positively bleak when she appears on the screen. "My science teams are taking readings and passing the collated data to you," she says. "If we have any insights, you'll be the first to know. On current showings, I'm not too hopeful. I've got good people here, but this is not their area..."
She seems troubled. "Do you have any other cause for concern?"
"While you science types have been running yourselves ragged," Tylha says, "and Ronnie's been freaking out, I've had time to keep up with the news. And the reports from Starfleet Command don't make for cheerful reading."
"Specify," I say.
"Okeg let the Siohonin deadline expire without making any official response - buying all the time he could, I guess. Now the Siohonin war fleet is advancing in a body into Federation space. They've already either blown out or bypassed the sensor net left by Sixth Fleet, but not before we got indications that their fleet is vast. Starfleet and the KDF are scrambling for every ship and every ally we can get in response."
"To defend Tellar?" I ask.
"They're not getting as far as the Tellarite home world. Best guess is, we're going to meet them in a holding action somewhere near Lambda Cygni. But I''m worried...."
"What are your concerns?"
"We're having to commit a massive force to this. If we lose... neither Starfleet nor the KDF will have enough forces left to meet their normal strategic obligations - never mind stopping the Siohonin." Her voice is increasingly bleak. "It looks like... if we don't stop them now, we don't stop them at all."
It is, at the very least, a disturbing thought to sleep on.
---
It is only a few hours later when I am awakened. As per my standing instructions, the communications officer puts the call from the Falcon directly through to my quarters.
"Wake up, ginger-nut," says Ronnie Grau. Her face is a ghastly sight, even more cadaverous than it normally is. "Shake a leg, rise and shine. We got company."
"Specify," I say, as I clamber out of bed.
"Wish I could. Something with a big warp signature just headed into the Rift. It's nothing familiar, so my guess is, bad guys."
"A Siohonin warship, travelling in advance of their main fleet?" I dress hastily.
"You got it. That's the safest bet, at least. I don't know anyone else who might be interested in the Rift, anyway."
"I see." I shrug into my uniform tunic. Irrationally, I feel more composed, now. "Do you intend to move towards it, or away from it?"
"Generally speaking, towards. We don't learn anything, running away. Besides, it's kind of not my style."
So I had gathered. "Transmit relevant information to my bridge, please. I will join them shortly."
It is not my policy to run - it may cause unnecessary alarm among the crew - but I certainly reach the bridge at a fast walk. The tactical display is live on the main screen when I arrive, and a conference call with Falcon and King Estmere has been set up. I make a mental not to commend communications appropriately for their efficiency.
"We don't have very good reads on the Siohonin capital ships," Tylha is saying, "but what we've got is consistent with that warp signature out there."
"OK," says Ronnie, "OK, so... it'll be loaded for bear, I guess. Siohonin special weapons out the wazoo, wherever the Siohonin keep their wazoos. So, what I'm thinking is, we need to bracket it between us. Any one of us has enough oomph to take out a single Siohonin ship, and they can't have special weapons going in all directions at once. Or at least, if they can, then all bets are off."
"Even so," I say, "we need to evolve a strategy to minimize the risks."
"Already got one," says Ronnie. "Damn, I'm good. The Siohonin are after me, right? We know that much. Therefore, they can't risk destroying the Falcon. Therefore, Falcon goes in on their forward arc, and you two hit it from flank and rear. If we can - and hey, I'm an optimist, I say we can - we try to disable it and take some prisoners. Sound good to you guys?"
"If we can," says Tylha. "But we can't take too many risks - they might have additional powers from the entity, here in the Rift itself."
"So are you saying we should run?"
"I'm saying," says Tylha, "that we keep our fingers on the triggers, ready to destroy that ship if we need to. Yes, it would be nice to have some prisoners, and some answers. Just not at too high a cost, that's all."
"OK, point," says Ronnie. "Look, I'm sketching in a probable course on the tac map. It's only a rough sketch, because the glowy whatevers out there are moving, slowly, and I do not want to chance running into one -" She winces. "Sorry. Never mind."
Her Borg half, Two of Twelve, is evidently continuing to cause difficulties. I study the course projections on the screen. "You are assuming that the suspect vessel will continue on its current heading."
"We got to start with some assumptions somewhere. Anyway, if he's coming for me, chances are good he'll let me come to him, right?"
"He's already slowed to sublight speeds," says Tylha. "Heading... more or less straight towards us. Not that he necessarily knows it's us - we might well be the only interesting thing on his sensors. Siohonin science sensors don't seem to be any too good."
"Hmm," says Ronnie, "now, that is interesting. There are glowies between him and us... either he can't see them, or he can see them and knows they won't bother him. Which shall it be, Passworthy? One of them's better for us than the other."
"We have no direct knowledge," I point out, "that the - glowies - will have any adverse effect on us"
"Yeah," says Ronnie, "and I aim to keep things that way. Let little Ronnie steer you straight, guys, and she will keep you from tangling with any invisible alien energy fields, OK? Now let's move."
The android Pascale has the helm, and she moves us out with nerveless machine efficiency. The Falcon and the King Estmere dwindle in the distance as they move on divergent courses, through the complex network of invisible shapes that only Ronnie can see. The alien ship is a brilliant, enigmatic dot on my sensors. I refuse to think of it as an enemy ship. Not yet. Not without proof.
Long-range sensors construct a visual profile. The ship is a massive cylinder, more than half a kilometre long, with an immense domed prow and four warp nacelles in cruciform arrangement. Visually, it conforms to what we know of the Siohonin warships. Reluctantly, I concede: there is proof. This is the enemy.
"Hail coming in on subspace," reports the communications ensign.
"On screen. And patch in Falcon and King Estmere."
The viewscreen goes blank, and then a new scene appears on it. It shows a ship's bridge, of unfamiliar construction, but not very dissimilar from several Klingon designs. A man is seated on a command chair at the bridge's centre. He is obviously elderly, with wild grey hair and beard, and a pair of immense horns, cracked and seamed with age, growing from his head. He wears robes of black and white and red, with the symbol of a golden flame on his chest. A similar symbol is on the tip of the rod he holds in his right hand.
He stands. "Are there no males I can speak with?" he demands, in an unexpectedly strong and resonant voice.
"I am Vice Admiral T'Pia, currently commanding the Federation starship USS Tapiola," I say. "My colleagues and I represent the most senior Starfleet officers available at present. Please identify yourself."
"A female Admiral. Well, the antics of the unbelievers should not surprise me, I suppose. I am Enteskilen Mur, Theocrat of the Siohonin and High Priest of the one true god, Sebreac Tharr, aboard the Theocracy warship Warhammer."
"I see," I say. "Then you are responsible for hostile acts against Federation citizens. Please stand down, surrender your vessel, and prepare to be taken into custody."
He laughs at that, long and loudly. "Oh, you are priceless," he says. "Perhaps I will keep you, as a pet. Where is Veronika Grau?"
"Right here," says Ronnie's voice, "coming at you from the front. If you think T'Pia's demand for surrender is funny, wait till you get a load of my tetryon banks. You'll just die laughing."
"Veronika Grau." Mur lifts up his shaggy grey head, and his eyes shine with some sort of desire. "You are to surrender yourself to me. Now."
"You're not even going to buy me dinner first? Besides, you're not my type," says Ronnie.
"Laugh while you may, Veronika Grau. You will surrender yourself."
The tactical display shows that Ronnie's plan, so far, seems to be working. The Warhammer is bracketed neatly between Tapiola, Falcon and King Estmere. All three ships will be within weapons range in less than a minute. It is difficult to see how Mur can hope to prevail, even with the Siohonin weapons.
"Red alert," I order.
"Oh." Mur has overheard me. "The amusing Vulcan is making a noise. Still... I must consider this situation. Grau cannot surrender herself if she is dead... and I have decided to keep the amusing Vulcan... so...."
Weapons range.
And the Warhammer spins in place, its speed of reaction unbelievable in so large a ship, and something spills from the domed structure at its prow. It is a sparkling blur, that corrupts and shatters our sensor images - the interference from what we now know to be the Siohonin warp cannon.
When the interference clears, King Estmere is gone.
As Mr. Anderson (of "The Matrix") would say: "Whoa."
Or Alice (of "Alice in Wonderland"): "Curiouser and curiouser."
Or Ronnie: "Mur had better *not* have wiped out my friend and her crew or I'm going to be royally ticked off. And do shut up, 2 of 12; quoting lines from 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' isn't helping. I'm busy."
As Mr. Anderson (of "The Matrix") would say: "Whoa."
Or Alice (of "Alice in Wonderland"): "Curiouser and curiouser."
Or Ronnie: "Mur had better *not* have wiped out my friend and her crew or I'm going to be royally ticked off. And do shut up, 2 of 12; quoting lines from 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' isn't helping. I'm busy."
I just wanna see Mur die in a fashion fit for a North Korea-style evil dictator.
That is, slowly, painfully, and with everything that he's built burning around him.
Death by exploding starship is too good for him. His little toady, the so-called heretic, is culpable as well; he should get the Klingon treatment. Tal, Aun, and the rest should probably be executed as well for mass crimes against sentience.
I'm not sure how removing the Estmere is supposed to be a helpful retort to Ronnie's 'tetryon banks and you'll die laughing,' but I'm not an autocratic theocrat who's been busy smashing my 'kill people who get in my way button' enough to wear a groove in it.
Still fantastic, looking forward to the next part.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Well, as Ronnie correctly assumes, Mur can't really destroy the Falcon while she's aboard it... so taking out the more powerful of its support ships makes a certain amount of sense. Besides, it's the kind of "shock and awe" move that appeals to him....
So. King Estmere is out of the picture... can things get worse? Why, yes. Yes, they can.
Well, as Ronnie correctly assumes, Mur can't really destroy the Falcon while she's aboard it... so taking out the more powerful of its support ships makes a certain amount of sense. Besides, it's the kind of "shock and awe" move that appeals to him....
So. King Estmere is out of the picture... can things get worse? Why, yes. Yes, they can.
As much as I want to see Mur die slowly and painfully, wouldn't it be logical to just blast his ship out of space from both sides while he's busy using OP god mode unrealistically fast turns to deal with Tyllha?
Or just beam Ronnie over with about 60 mobile holoemitters and have ninja programs beat up the Siohnin while Ronnie takes Mur's rod of evil and kicks the living tar out of him.
Even as I shout the order, I don't know if it will save us. The Warhammer moved so fast, so incredibly fast - a ship that size can't turn like that. Not unless it had help
King Estmere is gone. I still can't believe that.
We have one chance. Maybe. "T'Pia. Steer two two seven mark three niner five, then go to max impulse. Jhemyl, keep us between Mur and the Tapiola." Because if Enteskilen Mur decides the little ginger Vulcan isn't funny any more, she is dead meat.
"What's the plan, sir?" Tallasa asks. Oh, like I have a plan.
"Try to lure the Warhammer into the glowies. I don't think Mur can see them."
"Can they harm him?"
"Dunno, really. Let's find out. T'Pia, let's both roll some web mines, round about now."
Web mines tumble from our launchers as our ships sweep out of Warhammer's range - or what I think is Warhammer's range. That ship can move.
*/*give it up---
you can run but you can't hide---*/*
Put a sock in it, you.
"I have a firing solution for the aft tetryon arrays," says Tallasa.
"No!" She looks shocked. "That's what Mur wants. We open fire, he engages his warp mirror thing, we wind up blowing our own nacelles off. No. Indirect fire weapons only."
T'Pia, bless her, has come to the same conclusion. The Tapiola is generating holograms, an impressive battleship and a couple of mean-looking fast tactical escorts. They curve around and close in on the Siohonin ship -
They don't last seconds. Mur isn't messing around any more; he engages his kinetic lance, and the holograms pop like bubbles.
*/*pretty bubbles in the air*/*
Is she singing, now? Damn it, I don't need this.
*/*i know what you need---
and you don't---
hahahahaha---*/*
Unbelievable.
Mur's ship moves into the web mines, and the first pair triggers, and the Warhammer is caged in golden light. Try warp mirroring your way out of that, laughing boy. It won't be enough to do him any serious damage, but it buys us time -
"T'Pia." I sketch out a course on the tac console. "Is Tapiola up for that?"
"I believe it is within our capabilities," says T'Pia's voice. Frankly, that unruffled Vulcan calm is very soothing, in the circumstances.
"Good. We're going to be right behind you every step of the way. I'm hoping Mur will try to take a short cut along the curve of our path."
"Which would, I presume, bring him into contact with the invisible energy fields."
I could argue about invisible, there, I can see the damned things just fine.
*/*well, lucky, lucky you, then---*/*
"That's the idea," I say, firmly ignoring the Borg gibbering in my head.
"We still have no certainty that -"
"If you've got any better ideas, let's hear them!"
"I accept the point," says T'Pia with perfect calm. "Proceeding along the indicated course."
I'm pretty sure an unmodified Tholian ship couldn't handle the manoeuvres I've outlined, but T'Pia's Orb Weaver has a lot more under the hood than any unmodified Tholian -
*/*so had the King Estmere, much good it did them---*/*
"Will you just shut the hell up!" Heads turn around the bridge. "Sorry. Not you. Not anyone here. Lippy Borg problem. Sorry."
The force fields on the web mines have collapsed; Mur is on the move again. He spots the second set of mines, and fries them at long range with his disruptor arrays. The disruptors are standard Klingon style technology, and, actually, they are poorly deployed - the Warhammer is nearly weapons-blind in its forward arc, because that huge dominating rounded prow blocks the firing arcs of the ship's conventional weapons. Of course, since that dome is stuffed full of unconventional weapons, that doesn't help us much.
*/*nothing's going to help you now---*/*
The Warhammer lunges forwards, turning to bear down on our ships. What happens next... is beautiful. The Siohonin ship drives straight into one of the glowing auroral veils, and stops as if it's hit a brick wall. Lightnings flare and flicker all over its hull.
"If it's any help to you, sir," says Tallasa, "I can see that."
"Looks good, doesn't it?" I say. "Any damage reads on them?"
"Superficial only." T'Pia's voice. "They appear to have lost motive power, but their weapons arrays are still active and their shields are up. There is other activity that suggests their exotic weapons are also still functioning."
"We can't go back and finish them off," I say. "OK. Let's put some distance between them and us - and more glowies, bless 'em - and then let's put our thinking caps on and come up with an approach that will work."
"The Warhammer," says T'Pia, "though dangerous, is only a distraction. Our primary objective remains to neutralize the Rift entity."
"It's the same thing," I say patiently. "You can't sling a fat battleship around like a fighter without something finagling in the background. Mur's ship is supported and powered by the Rift entity, and if we solve one problem, we solve the other."
*/*you should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky---*/*
Ignore her. "I suggest we do this." I sketch out another path on the tac display. "Puts us in the middle of a nice knotty set of energy fields, and it'll take Mur ages to get at us, he'll have to go through practically at walking pace. Gives us time to come up with something."
"I hope you are correct. So far, the problem has proven intractable. Still, we will follow your course directions. Tapiola out."
*/*got to admire her optimism---
pity it's unfounded---*/*
Can it, you. Whose side are you on, anyway?
*/*why are you even asking?---
my own, of course---*/*
Yeah, and which one's that? I wonder, as we move along the course I've mapped out between the glowing veils of light. What happens to Two of Twelve in these situations? And why? That hateful Borg voice in my head barely sounds like a Borg any more....
*/*oh, and why might that be? ---
use your head, why don't you, Ronnie?---
don't mind if I call you Ronnie, do you?---
after all---
everyone does---*/*
Waitaminute, what? What is this?
*/*what is this?---
only the voice in your head---
telling you it wants to move out---
shouldn't you be glad of that?---*/*
"Guys," I say aloud, "something distinctly freaky is going on."
"Sir?" says Tallasa.
*/*that one puts up with soooo much from you, why does she stand for it?---*/*
"I'm opening up some sort of a... dialogue... with Two of Twelve. Or she's opening one up with me. How far to our sort of safe haven out there?"
"Two minutes, sir," says Jhemyl.
"Tapiola still with us?"
"On course and speed," says Jhemyl.
"Right. Right. So... what about Mur?"
"Warhammer is still enmeshed in the energy field, sir," says Saval. "No sign of them restoring motive power yet."
"All right. We've got a breathing space - I hope. I'm going to be carrying on the, um, the conversation with my other half. And I'm going to be doing it in my out-loud voice, so you guys can listen in on my half, at least, and maybe get some idea what's going on. We cool with that?"
"Is this a good idea, sir?" asks Tallasa, with no it isn't written all over her face.
"I don't know. I'm going to find out. Something makes Two of Twelve go all peculiar, here and at Tiaza Zephora. I think we need to know what it is."
*/*you already know---
or you should do---
isn't it obvious?---*/*
"It's not obvious to me."
Tallasa starts to say something; then she cottons on to what's happening, and stays shtum.
*/*come on, Ronnie---
use your head for something besides a hatrack---
do I sound like a Borg?---*/*
"You've got... Two of Twelve's voice. And if you're not a Borg, what are you?"
*/*Two of Twelve's voice? Must be force of habit.---*/*
"What do you mean, force of habit?"
*/*not my habit---
yours---
you hear the voice you're used to hearing---*/*
"If you're not Two of Twelve, who are you? Damn it, when did I get someone else living in my head?"
And then I stop. And then I realize.
The voice doesn't say anything. It doesn't need to.
"When did I get something else living in my head?" I ask the question in a strangled whisper. "Way back, a long time ago... right here."
Oh, says the voice, penny's finally dropped, has it? It really doesn't sound like Two of Twelve any more.
"How long have you been there?"
Since your first trip.
"Since I was first in the Rift? How come I haven't realized it before? Why have you never spoken?"
I didn't know how, at first. This... temporal... existence of yours... it was confusing. Confusing, but exciting. A whole new dimension, you might say. It took multiple trips before I... bedded myself in.
"So how did you take up residence? What brought you here?"
You crossed the Rift. You entered, briefly, for one timeless instant, into our... awareness. I noticed you. I saw the new sensations, the different world that lay in your awareness. I moved myself to a - a vantage point - in your consciousness. So that I could learn. So that I could understand.
"You just... moved in, when I passed through. OK. So... what did you learn, and understand?"
Everyone on the bridge is staring at me, now. Except Jhemyl, bless her, who is moving the ship to station keeping. Professionalism. Got to love it.
I learned how this universe works. Ordered time, sequential, cause and effect in rigid succession. I learned how to tell the time. And I learned....
"Learned what? What else? Tell me!"
I learned... to be me. To be an individual, instead of a facet of pure timeless consciousness. I learned that from you. How to have an identity. And I learned something else, too.
"What else? What, besides how to be a, a person?"
I learned how powerful I am, as a disembodied timeloose consciousness in this universe. I didn't just learn how to be a person, Ronnie. I learned how to be a god.
"You learned how to be a god? Oh, no. Sebreac Tharr."
A name. It means a lot to Enteskilen Mur. It means nothing to me, but if he wants to call me by it, what have I to lose?
"Wait." My head is spinning. "What about the other one? At Tiaza Zephora? The one that used Martin Hudson?"
I chose you. Another chose Hudson. The other was... less efficient.
"Martin said you were cleverer than his - parasite. But what was going on at Tiaza Zephora?"
The other needed my help. He had a complex, erratic, inelegant way of binding himself into this reality. It was in danger of failure.
"In danger of failure? It did fail." A thought strikes me. "Did you help it? Or hinder it?"
I gave help... to some extent. But, even if I had tear ducts, I would not have wept when my brother failed.
"You let Tylha and Rrueo get through with the neutralizing compound. Because you don't want to share your... godhood. You want to be top dog."
I already am. All I need is -
"What? All you need is what?"
To secure my access point to this world. As my brother tried to do. Enteskilen Mur... I reached out to his mind. He was a desperate man, derided for his faith in a god no one else believed in. I became that god, for him. I used my power. And, in gratitude and in faith... he will let me use his body and being, as I am now using yours.
"So why not just... do it? Hop out of my head, into Enteskilen Mur's?" The answer comes as soon as I put the question. "You can't, can you? Whatever powers you've got, you're still stuck inside me. You picked me, now you can't get rid of me."
There is a way to make the transfer. Enteskilen Mur will do it. Then... I will be in this world, with the full partnership of a compliant intelligence. Not a fractious and erratic one like yours. My will and my physical body will be as one, and nothing will be impossible to me.
"Fractious and erratic? I've been called worse. What happens to the rest of us, when you make the transfer?"
What happens to the rest of you? Anything I choose!
"What if I say no? Keep you inside my head?"
Enteskilen Mur will compel you.
"Mur will compel me? Why won't you compel me?"
You are... too close... for me to control. It would be like you trying to affect your own brain stem. The transfer has to be initiated some other way. By something external to you and me.
I twist around in the command chair, grope for a PADD. Without looking, I scrawl a message on the surface with my fingertip - without looking, because I don't want the thing from the Rift to see through my eyes. I hold up the PADD, facing away from me, and hope Tallasa can make out the words phaser pistol.
"You can't affect me directly because I'm too close. Like the glowies, maybe? The glowies are, like, inside of you, you can't see them."
You can see them, because you are a parasite inside me right now. Just as I am a parasite inside you. Confusing, isn't it? The voice laughs.
Tallasa presses the cold slick shape of a phaser into my hand. It feels like salvation.
I don't want to die. But... Sebreac Tharr, the Siohonin invasion... it's a matter of one life against maybe millions, and that's not even a choice at all.
"So you can't stop me doing what I want. You can't prevent me -" I raise the phaser, switch the setting to maximum. "If I jam this against my skull and fire, we both go, right?"
I won't let you do that.
"You can't stop me. You admitted that."
I - might be able to block the beam. It would be... difficult. I can't stop you, directly. But you will be stopped.
"How? Who by? My crew will let me do this." I let my gaze fall on each one of them in turn. "My crew will let me do this."
You're really arrogant, you know. If I have to, I will undo something I did, a little while ago now.
"Undo what?"
Arrogant. You really believe you liberated yourself from the Borg? I tolerated the Collective for a while, but it was dull, so dull. But even dull is better than suicidal -
Well, as Ronnie correctly assumes, Mur can't really destroy the Falcon while she's aboard it... so taking out the more powerful of its support ships makes a certain amount of sense. Besides, it's the kind of "shock and awe" move that appeals to him....
So. King Estmere is out of the picture... can things get worse? Why, yes. Yes, they can.
Oh, I don't disagree it's perfectly in line with his character to do it. When all you have is a fire god, everything looks like kindling.
That said....
Man, shevet, you were not kidding on how things can always get worse.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Comments
Now, I assume that little Ronnie is gonna bring some pain down on the Siohnin?
Seriously. Veronika Grau. Four syllable first name, one syllable surname. And the stress is the same, too. (I know people will pronounce these weird names however they feel like, but in my head, they all have the stress on the second syllable.)
No doubt there is scope for many an academic thesis in this, on the intertwining of the roles of hero and villain, and so on and so forth.
Or, it could just be a silly coincidence. Which, in fact, I think it is.
(listens to the sound of PhD theses being torn up to the accompaniment of loud deconstructionist swearing)
Anyway, on with the show.
"A number of sensor contacts," Scargill continued, his voice becoming high-pitched and excited. "Energy signatures confirm... sir, it's a Siohonin fleet. Reading... that can't be right."
Gref turned in his chair. "What can't be right?" he growled.
"I'm reading - well over a thousand ships, sir. It's immense. The fleet, I mean, sir."
Gref shrugged. "They have industrial capacity. And those lightweight frigates of theirs are a throwaway design - replicators can churn them out by the gross. What about heavier units? Serious starships?"
"It's hard to get a reading, sir, with all the noise... but at least three."
"Three," said Gref thoughtfully. The Siohonin frigate wolf-packs seemed to travel in large clusters, with a single command and control vessel at their centres... three such capital ships suggested a particularly large force, indeed. "What's their heading?"
"They're currently travelling sublight," said Scargill. "Overall bearing seems to be... coordinate vector one seven four by two zero three.... Sir, that'd put them on course for the Dioclema trading station."
Gref grunted. "Give me fleet communications," he ordered.
"Channels open, sir," the comms yeoman called out.
"Gref to all ships. Siohonin fleet has been detected, destination appears to be Dioclema. These people have already attacked a number of Federation and Allied worlds, and we are not going to let them do it again. All ships to battle readiness. We are moving to intercept. I will try negotiations, but you people know me, and the Siohonin are less reasonable than I am. This is going to get rough - but I know you people can do your jobs, and that's all we need to do today. Gref out."
"Setting course for the Siohonin fleet," said Lieutenant T'Nen at the helm.
"Good." Gref muttered darkly under his breath. The Siohonin... it would be better, really, if they did negotiate. But the aliens were drunk with their victories over the Klingons, their conquests of scattered Federation worlds... this was going to end badly for someone, Gref could feel it.
"Sir," said the comms yeoman, "I have Vice Admiral M'Azzur on hail."
Gref groaned silently. The Caitian and his damned carrier... he would have been happier with Ronnie Grau, even, in that space on his fleet roster. The damned furball was too keen, that was the trouble. "On screen," he said, with no enthusiasm.
M'Azzur's face, whiskers twitching, green eyes shining, appeared on the viewer. "I'm ready to take Tiger's Claw in first, sir. I reckon, if we deploy a fighter screen fast, we should make even that number of frigates think twice about tangling with us. What do you think, sir?"
Gref considered. If there was going to be a fight - and he was pretty sure there was - M'Azzur's Atrox carrier would be a lot more use with its fighters already off the launch rails and its considerable armament ready to support them. Gung-ho he might be, but M'Azzur had decent tactical senses. "Very well," he said. "Take point, and get the cruiser elements to back you up - tactical plan Delta Seven."
"Yes, sir! M'Azzur out." Too damn keen, Gref thought.
He consulted the tactical display. "That," he said, "is a whole lot of ships." No one answered him. "Open hailing frequencies," he ordered. "Let's at least give them a chance to talk."
But the face that appeared on the main viewer now was not that of a man disposed to talk. "I am Third Marshal Amaranuk Tem, aboard the Theocracy battleship Bardiche," the Siohonin commander announched. He was blond-haired, blond-bearded, and his horns were long and filed to needle points. "We are conducting military operations in this star sector. Do not attempt to impede us."
"Admiral Gref, Sixth Fleet, aboard the USS Taras Bulba," said Gref. "If you're conducting military operations in Federation territory, be aware that this will not be permitted. Your people have already attacked Federation worlds, but I'll let the diplomats sort that out - for the moment. Right now, I want to see you and your ships turn around and head back to Siohonin space."
"Brave words," said Tem. "And where, in the view of the mighty Federation, is Siohonin space?"
"The details aren't my business," said Gref. "Your home system, maybe? In any case, not here, and not Dioclema station either. Turn back, Third Marshal."
"The Theocracy does not take orders from the Federation," said Tem. "No more than we do from the Klingons.... You are too accustomed to thinking of yourselves as a galactic superpower. Times are changing, Admiral Gref. Learn to bend with the wind... take your fleet home."
Gref rose to his feet. "Take my fleet home? This is Federation space, Third Marshal, my fleet is home. And we will defend it. Make no mistake about that."
"I grant you leave," said Tem,"to try." And the channel went dead.
"Siohonin ships are changing formation," Scargill reported.
Falling into an attack pattern, Gref decided. A basic one, a wall of battle across the sky, seeking to use their numerical superiority to outflank the Starfleet ships and overwhelm them from all angles. Gref engaged his tactical console. "Gref to fleet. They're trying to wrap around us. We're going to punch through and split their forces." He considered. "Attack plans as given, concentrating on vector three seven mark six three."
"Sir," said T'Nen, "that will put us very close to the Bardiche."
Gref grinned. "Damn right it will. In weapons range, in fact. Weapons free."
"Vice Admiral M'Azzur on comms, sir."
"Tell him - oh, put him through."
The Caitian was grinning from ear to ear. "Going in, sir. Looks like you're aiming for their flagship? We'll go after one of the other heavies."
"All right," said Gref. "Stay alert, keep moving. Try and stay out of the way of those kinetic lances, and watch for their other special weapons."
"Yes, sir. Don't worry, my boys and girls will clean up those frigates, no problem."
"Let's hope," Gref growled.
"Fleet in engagement range," Scargill reported. "Weapons fire exchanged... conventional disruptors only from the Siohonin, so far. Lots of it, but individually, not heavy."
"Stalkers going in," M'Azzur reported. The Caitian was practically bouncing with excitement.
"Targeting solution for the enemy flagship!" shouted a tac officer.
"Phasers to maximum," Gref ordered. "Let's give him a nudge he won't forget in a hurry."
"Phasers locked." The tac officer turned, a puzzled frown on his face. "Sir... he's making no evasive manoeuvres. His shields are up, but... he's making no attempt to avoid action."
Gref snarled. Suddenly, he felt a deep inner disquiet, and there was no way to dispel it but immediate, violent action. "Fire as they bear, as soon as we enter range."
"Yes, sir." Light was slashing across the starfield, now, green light of Siohonin disruptors, golden-orange of Starfleet phasers. Were his ships holding their own against the Siohonin onslaught? Gref thought so....
"Enemy in range. Firing phasers."
Taras Bulba trembled as the phaser banks fired -
- and then the ship rocked and lurched, and the bridge was full of the crash-bangs of exploding consoles, and the lights failed and flickered and came back red. The terrific impact hurled everyone to the floor. Alarms screamed. The surviving console displays were unintelligible with static, the air was filled with smoke and fire and noise.
"Damage report!" Gref roared. "What the hell -? What hit us?" He clambered groggily to his feet, and stared at the scene of chaos which was his ship's bridge. T'Nen was slumped inert over the wreckage of the helm console - the tac officer on phasers was nowhere to be seen -
"Coming through now," Scargill's voice croaked. He was staring in horror at his screens, ignoring the blood that ran freely from a gash on his scalp. "I don't understand - we were hit by a phaser barrage!"
"Damage report," said Gref firmly.
Scargill swallowed. "It's - bad, sir. Six per cent structural integrity, hull breaches all decks, main deflector is offline, shields are down."
"Trying to get a line to main engineering now," the comms yeoman chimed in. "Sir, Vice Admiral M'Azzur is hailing -"
"Can you get him? On screen!" Gref shouted.
The Caitian's face appeared, shot through with static, on the main viewer. "Sir," he said, "we think we know what happened -"
"What?" Gref demanded.
"They - somehow, they inverted the region of space between you and their flagship. Turned it, and everything in it, through a hundred and eighty degrees. Your own weapons, sir, they were reflected back on you."
Gref groaned. "Warn the other capital ships!" If they could do that - No wonder the Klingons hadn't got proper reports back on this weapon. Klingon capital ships emphasized firepower over armour, if they were caught like this, their own barrages would blast them to flinders. Even his ships -
"We can fight this, sir." M'Azzur's face was grim, now, and determined. "Come in at multiple angles - they can't use that defence in every direction at once, they'd cut themselves completely out of normal space-time. My fighters can engage them and swamp them."
Gref studied his half-wrecked tactical board. "Try it. You have fleet command. I can't run tac coordination from Taras Bulba now."
"Yes, sir." M'Azzur saluted.
"I'm getting some telemetry back," Scargill said. "Sir - the Siohonin are firing their kinetic lances. The fleet is taking heavy damage." His voice suddenly cracked. "Oh, God - Warspite is moving to engage one of their capitals -"
"Comms! Get a warning through!" If the dreadnought Warspite fired her phaser lance, she was done for.
"Stalkers engaging," M'Azzur said fiercely. "We'll make them pay for -"
And then his voice stopped, and his image vanished from the screen. "What happened?" Gref yelled.
"Trying to get a picture," said Scargill. "I'm patching stuff through, but -"
Disjointed images were appearing on the viewer. Gref groaned aloud as Warspite fired - and the brilliant beam of the phaser lance doubled back on itself, and in one horrifying flash the dreadnought was gone. He could see cruisers taking a savage pounding from the Siohonin lances... the light enemy ships were suffering too, but they had the advantage in numbers, had done from the start. The Caitian fighters were inflicting damage, but without the support of the mother ship - what had happened to M'Azzur, damn it?
"I don't believe it," said Scargill. "Sir, I - I'm picking up the Tiger's Claw."
Gref rounded on the man. "Where?"
Scargill swallowed. "It's... it's at one of our remote sensor buoys, sir. About half a light year away. The Siohonin weapon... it's some sort of overloaded, focused warp field. It physically picks up the target and throws it through subspace. That's where all the interference comes from, that's why the targets just seem to vanish...."
"What about the Tiger's Claw? How soon before they can get back?"
"I'm sorry, sir." Scargill's tone was bleak. "The field must generate a massive gravimetric turbulence. All I'm getting from the buoy is the Tiger's Claw's ID transponder... in among the debris."
Gref sagged back into the command chair. "Do we have any comms channels at all?"
"Can get you fleet-wide on unencrypted only, sir," said the comms yeoman.
"It will have to do. Set it up." Gref took a deep breath. "All ships, this is Admiral Gref. We are outnumbered and outgunned. All ships, scatter and retreat. I repeat, scatter and retreat. Flagship out." He turned to glare at the yeoman. "Get a secure link-up to the buoy network. Send a signal to Starfleet. They have got to know how the Siohonin warp weapons work. There's plenty of redundant bandwidth in that system, work with it. That message has to get through."
"Sir," said Scargill, "I don't know if we - we're massively badly damaged - I don't know if the ship can generate a warp field."
"I do," said Gref. "She can't. Taras Bulba will cover the fleet's retreat for as long as she is able. After that -" He snorted. "I suppose we get to see how the Siohonin treat prisoners of war."
"Your Holiness," Gamariden Tal replied, turning the Glaive's command chair to face the priest. "You are comfortable in your new quarters?"
"Oh," said Amm with a chuckle, "quite like old times, thank you." He stepped forward, and looked around the bridge. "Impressive."
"Suitable, I trust," said Tal, "for the flagship of the Theocracy." He laughed, nervously. "It will take time to get used to that."
"Well, look on the bright side," said Amm. "Unlike the priests of the false gods, at least you and I have the time. Where am I to sit?"
"I have given orders for an observer's chair to be added to the bridge," said Tal. "You will have full access to the tactical displays - you will not, of course, have input into the network. Your blessing, Your Holiness, we require; your military insight -"
"Yes, quite," said Amm. "On the whole, better not." He strolled around the bridge, his eyes avid. "So much nostalgia," he murmured. "How much we would have given for equipment like this, back in the old days!"
"The frigates are still very much in the old style," said Tal, "except, of course, for the special weaponry."
"Tried and tested?" said Amm.
"And easy to replicate. Our fleet grows daily. The losses incurred in the battle with the Federation are... trivial."
"And mostly drabs, anyway," said Amm. "I must say, we have been glad to learn from the military in that... matter. We have so many, ahh, vacancies to fill - in the administrative functions of the former priesthood, you understand. As High Pontiff, it devolves to me to... smooth over the difficulties."
"You are training drabs to perform basic priestly functions?"
"As you train them to push buttons on starships. They are so biddable, so eager to advance their lowly status... it makes them easy to train. In basic functions, within their capacity. And in devotion, in obedience to the doctrine of Sebreac Tharr."
"As it should be," said Tal. "The true god brings us victory."
"And he asks so little in return," said Amm. "Only our devotion, and the occasional material symbol.... It is of this that I must speak. Work is progressing on one of the true god's requirements - the shipments of labourers from the Federation and the Republic have proven adequate to the task. But another requirement is not yet met - oh, do not concern yourself unduly, it is not you who has failed, but our agents in Klingon space. Had the Klingons not dealt with General Ssurt summarily, it would have been the god's pleasure to chastise him. Still, though... the god has needs. And so our lord the Theocrat has requirements."
"What does Enteskilen Mur require?" asked Tal.
"Transportation, essentially," said Amm. "He has decided to take a personal hand in certain affairs. To do this, he needs a starship. A frigate, obviously, is unsuitable for his station - not to mention affording inadequate protection against, ahh, disaffected elements...."
"Are there any such fools left?"
"Oh, Sivetalin Aun and his brethren are leaves that blow with every wind, but there are rumblings of discontent in some quarters - and besides, there is Starfleet, the Republic Navy and the Klingons to consider. So... how difficult are these magnificent ships to reproduce?"
Tal laughed, shortly. "We shall have all we need. Tell the Theocrat that he may take the Warhammer, with the military caste's grateful thanks for his guidance and his leadership."
Amm bowed. "I will send word at once. He will be gratified by your devotion."
"Will one ship prove sufficient? I can detach others, or provide a frigate escort."
"With the god on his side, the Theocrat will content himself with a single ship. The Warhammer. It sounds a fittingly aggressive name." Amm bowed. "I will, with your permission, withdraw and inform the Theocrat now. He is anxious to depart on his errand."
"Of course. You need no permissions from me, Your Holiness."
Amm smiled, bowed again, and left the bridge. Some day, Gamariden Tal told himself as the turbolift doors closed, some day I will kill that man.
Sounds like a slave rebellion in the making to me...
And yeah - they put the slave caste in charge of the paperwork - the Siohonin upper classes deserve what'll be coming to them.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
It might, she thought, be one of the Reman mining colonies. The lighting was dim, and a lot of her fellow prisoners were Remans. She had tried to ask, at first, but conversation was quickly and brutally discouraged by the guards. The Siohonin military guards were bad, vicious men. The robed ones, the priests of Sebreac Tharr... they were far, far worse.
It was from fragments of conversation among her captors that she gleaned the little she knew so far. The priests moved with the arrogance of new conquerors, ready at any moment to deal pain or death with their flame-tipped wands. Even the Siohonin soldiers lived in fear of them. And they spoke, sometimes, of the "great work", of the "building of the tabernacle". It seemed to be going well. Danielle hated them for that, hated herself for helping them, however unwillingly.
The work occupied eighteen hours of every day, so by the time she fell into her bunk in the common dormitory, she was too tired to ask questions, even if it had been allowed. Huge slabs of black crystal were deposited before her by a robot loader, to be shaped and polished to exacting standards with a sonic probe. If the piece, once finished, met the Siohonins' quality tests, she ate - basic ration bars, but it was food, at least. If it failed - and many did - then she began again, with a new block. Too many failures, and the errant prisoner was given to the guards for punishment. Danielle had witnessed a punishment... and she had resolved not to make too many mistakes.
So she worked, and she watched and listened when she could, because she owed it to them, to Thom and Maury and all the others. She owed it to them to survive, and somehow, to make things right.
She was a Federation citizen, the product of a utopian social order, but more and more she felt the word revenge coming to her mind.
---
One day, one of the Remans cracked. She hard turned in four blocks of crystal, and each one had been rejected; the Siohonin soldiers were standing behind her, speculating loudly about what they would do to her when she was sent for punishment. First, theirs were the only voices, and then the woman's voice made itself heard over the rumbling of the loaders and the whirring of the sonic probes: a thin wordless wail of outrage that grew to an unearthly screech. She flew at them, then, the sonic probe in her hand her only weapon - that, and sheer fury and desperation.
One soldier stepped back, astonished, when she came at him, and tripped over a loaded cargo hopper, and fell. The Reman swung her sonic probe at another, and there was a snarling buzz of weird harmonics as the tool hit his skull, and suddenly he was down too. Three more soldiers rushed her in a body, and for a few moments there was a confused jostle, and then the sound of shots.
The Reman had seized a laser pistol from one of her attackers, and was blazing away with it indiscriminately. One soldier dropped screaming, another silent; the third turned and fled. The Reman sent more shots in all directions, some perilously close to other prisoners - and then everyone was running, Daniella among them, fleeing from the woman's crazed fear and desperate anguish -
Then she gave one last shriek, and blazed with fire, and was gone. One of the priests, Daniella thought, he had seen the disturbance and taken it in hand. Those damned wands - they didn't even need to see you, to use those damned wands -
From high above, a mechanical voice boomed out. "Prisoners will cease from disturbance and return to their work. There will be no more warnings. Prisoners will return to their work."
One by one, the prisoners left their hiding places and trooped deservedly back to their workstations. More Siohonin soldiers were arriving, picking up their dead and wounded, making threatening gestures at the prisoners... but they were concentrating on the Remans, and there was just a moment when Daniella was unobserved.
Just one moment.
She was standing by one of the cargo hoppers, and it was full of blocks that had been approved by the Siohonin, that were on their way to... whatever the Siohonin were doing with them. She still had her sonic probe in her hand; she drove the tool hard into the black-gleaming surface of one block, pressed the activating stud. The noise was drowned by all the other sounds in the cavern; there was no visible change in the block. Daniella went meekly back to her place, began her work again. She didn't know if she had made any difference. She hoped she had.
Probably the best move would be for her to hand the Siohnin off to the KDF, who would probably execute the entirety of the military and religious castes. Hopefully including torturing Mur to death over the course of a year or seven.
Now, the wands...those are clearly some sort of telekinetic/telepathic device, some combination of Fek'Ihr's staff and Iconian tech. Which, combined with the statue on TZ, begs the question...are the Rift entities some sort of trapped or dimensionally-lost Iconians?
Andorians don't have fixed sleep cycles, so when we sleep, we sleep deeply. It takes a while for the nagging warble of my bedside communicator to penetrate the fog and wake me up.
I hit the button on about my third attempt. "Shohl," I mumble.
"Skipper." F'hon's voice. "I've got Vice Admiral Grau on the line for you. Sorry, skipper, but it sounds urgent."
I sit up in bed. "Put her through," I say.
"About time," Ronnie's voice says. Her spell in Orion captivity doesn't seem to have harmed her natural... energy... any. "What the hell have you been doing? Sleeping?"
"Yes," I say.
"Sleep is for tortoises!" I think I'm going to hit her if she says that again. "Now, listen, kiddo, I've just had a tactical alert come in from Starfleet, and we are in trouble with a capital T and a lot of rubble. I reckon you'll be getting confirmation of this in about ten minutes anyway, but I'm giving you and ginger-nut the heads-up first, all right?"
"Ronnie," I say, with as much patience as I can muster, "what the hell is going on?"
"It's not going on, it's breaking loose," says Ronnie. "Sixth Fleet just ran into the Siohonin and got its head handed to it. Gref's missing in action. The Siohonin are advancing on Dioclema Station and there's no earthly reason to think they'll stop there. Got your attention yet? Good. Quinn wants us back at ESD for a top level security briefing. So let's move."
---
Hobbled to the speed of the Tapiola, it takes longer than I'd like to get back to Earth. But we wind up cooling our heels, still, for a day and a half while other "essential personnel" - to quote Admiral Quinn - make it in.
By this time, the news media have got hold of the story, and the rash of Siohonin conquests has been splashed across every holovid station in the Sol System. I can feel the tension rising on the huge station.
When we're finally called in to the meeting, it's almost with a sense of relief - until I see who's in it. Ronnie, T'Pia and I are the most junior ranks present - a distinction we share with one other; T'Laihhae. The Romulan gives me one of her trademark brief flashes of smile, but her eyes are haunted, and there are marks on her forehead as if she's had some kind of hasty surgery.
The others in the briefing room are enough to make anyone worry. Obisek is there, his scarred nightmare of a face dark and brooding; J'mpok is there, and beside him is a silent Klingon in a uniform carefully devoid of insignia - an Imperial Intelligence spook, and possibly a very high up one indeed.
And sitting beside Quinn is a small, dapper figure in civilian clothes, with quiet reptilian calm and lambent golden eyes. Aennik Okeg. If the President of the Federation and the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire are here... things must be getting very bad indeed.
"To begin," says J'mpok. "The Siohonin are - or, rather, were - a minor client species of the Empire. Their rise in rebellion has been sudden, unexpected, and... unwarrantedly successful." He glares around the room. "They are getting highly advanced technical assistance from somewhere. Of that much, we are certain."
The nameless Klingon spook speaks up. "We took the opportunity, when the Siohonin extended their operations into Republic space and threatened their interests, to recruit assistance from Republic Intelligence. Vice Admiral T'Laihhae has recently spent much time among the Siohonin. Her report is... disturbing reading. Vice Admiral, would you care to summarize?"
"I will attempt to." T'Laihhae draws in a deep breath. "Until recently, the Siohonin consisted of a vast bulk of disenfranchised workers, ruled by a tripartite aristocracy - military, administrative, and religious. Until recently. Then, a single cult among the many Siohonin religious factions gained... total ascendancy. They have destroyed all the other religious groups, and have established, in effect, a theocratic state, ruled over by the head of the cult."
She pauses. "It has happened with... shocking speed. A year ago, the cult of Sebreac Tharr was a minor one, a historical anachronism, based on the worship of a fire god that was outdated and absurd even by the standards of the Siohonin. Today, the high priest of Sebreac Tharr is the undisputed ruler of the Siohonin - and their increasingly numerous subject worlds. The explanation -"
She stops. She takes a deep breath. "The explanation is simple, but terrifying in its implications. The cult of Sebreac Tharr has attained its total ascendency because... its god is real."
Everyone stares at her. "What?" J'mpok shouts.
"I am not saying it is a god, in any religious sense," says T'Laihhae. "What I am saying is that the priests of Sebreac Tharr are able to interact with some entity of immense power, and they can request it to perform actions on their behalf. Usually destructive actions," she adds, dryly. "Sebreac Tharr is a god of fire, and most of the so-called miracles performed in his name are related to that quality. The priests can target destructive effects, usually involving combustion or extreme heat, virtually at will. Enteskilen Mur, the new theocratic leader of the Siohonin, apparently incinerated every rival priest in the Dolsulca system, all at once. His subordinates do not, as yet, show such wide-ranging powers... but they can target individuals and destroy them without having line of sight, or any detectable sensor data to locate them. It poses something of a tactical problem in ground combat. The Siohonin are technically inferior, still - we have better guns, but they have... magic wands."
"The problem is equally apparent in space combat," the Klingon spook continues. "Our experiences, and Admiral Gref's ill-fated conflict with a Siohonin fleet, show three massive technical advances on the Siohonin side. Firstly, all their ships are equipped with a devastating kinetic lance that can simply bypass shields. Secondly, any capital ship, or any three frigates acting in concert, can generate a subspace pulse that throws an opponent half a light year away, usually wrecking them completely in the process. Thirdly, the Siohonin capital ships - and, we believe, trios of frigates also - can create a warp mirror effect, inverting a region of space between themselves and an attacker - the attackers, therefore, shoot themselves with their own weapons. This last accounts for the loss of many Klingon capital ships, and the disabling of the USS Taras Bulba in Sixth Fleet's battle with the Siohonin." His voice softens a little. "Admiral Gref fought well in that battle, and it is largely thanks to his efforts that we have this information. But we are, as yet, no nearer to having a counter for these weapons."
"In the meantime," says Quinn, "the Siohonin are advancing on all fronts, and we have to find some way to stop them, before it's too late."
"A suggestion," says Obisek. "And I withdraw it immediately, so as not to offend Federation sensibilities... but if this priest Enteskilen Mur is so central to the Siohonin's sudden expansion, one wonders how they would fare if he were to meet with some fatal accident."
"If it could be arranged," says T'Laihhae. "Enteskilen Mur is defended by the military forces of the Siohonin, and, most likely, by the entity he worships. He is not an easy target."
"OK, hold on." Ronnie speaks up suddenly. "What makes this thing god-like? And how do the Siohonin weapons work? Only thing I can think of - that fits with why we're here - is this." Her pale face is screwed up in concentration. "It can manipulate cosmic forces at any range - heat, subspace, kinetic effects, whatever. The Siohonin weapons must just be, well, channels for this thing. Like, like antennae that can tune in on its power, sort of thing." She shoots a glance at me. "No offence. Second thing is, it gets the uses of this power right. It targets what it wants to target, even though it can't see what it's shooting at. What that suggests to me...." She is speaking very slowly and carefully, now. " is an entity that can see the outcomes of possible actions before they happen. Like, it knows that a burst of heat here and now means a happy Enteskilen Mur later, and it sends them accordingly. An entity that perceives time and space from an outside perspective. A timeless thing. Like one of the Bajoran Prophets." Her voice turns steely, and she looks straight at Quinn. "Or like the thing from out of the Stygmalian Rift."
Quinn looks at her, steadily, and he nods, slowly, once.
"Is there further activity from the Rift?" T'Pia asks.
"Yes," says Quinn, "and it's increasing. That, and Q's apparent involvement in this, suggests that you three need to be out at the Stygmalian Rift as soon as possible. If it is the source of Sebreac Tharr's power... we need some way to stop it, and you three seem best placed to do that."
He doesn't suggest how. And I have no ideas.
"Something else we must consider." Aennik Okeg's voice is very quiet, but everyone listens to him anyway. "I have received a communication from the Theocracy of the Siohonin. It lists... certain territorial demands. They include the region of space surrounding the Rift."
"Hang on," says Ronnie. "I'm no great shakes at galactography, but, well, isn't the Rift in the old Tellarite sectors? And aren't the Siohonin, well, the other side of 61 Cygni from there?"
"You are quite correct," says Okeg. "Essentially, they are asking for Tellar. And all the Tellarite sectors... but, most importantly to the Federation, Tellar itself." His lipless mouth quirks into a sort of a smile. "In a sense, they are doing us a favour."
"A favour?" snarls J'mpok.
"Oh, yes," says Okeg. "There are always cries and arguments for appeasement, in times of crisis like this... but this is a demand that clearly cannot be met. It leaves us with no alternative. We must fight." His voice drops. "I only hope we can win."
Well, if that isn't enough of a tell - even with all the other evidence aside - that the Rift is at the heart of this matter, I don't know what is.
"The other one was cleverer." I hope that our heroines and their crews are cleverer still.
Do that FIRST, then, with the Siohnin lances, subspace waves, spatial inversions, and fire wands neutralized, hit them with everything the quadrant can cook up.
Then hand Entskillen Mur over to the Klingons so he can be punished on live television. He is a rabid dog who must be put down as quickly as possible.
After all, we don't accord the Borg sentient rights. This guy is at least as bad as the Borg is, if not more.
Mur is sapient. On the other tentacle, he's also a subject of the Klingon Empire. He therefore deserves the Klingon version of a fair trial. Shouldn't take long, once this Rift thing has been dealt with...
Mur has shown no signs of mercy, compassion, or anything other than disdain for anyone other than Entskillen Mur. I'd even say that he sees everyone but himself as nonsentient.
He deserves everything that the Klingons feel like throwing at him.
As for the Borg...the important thing to remember is that before Voyager turned them into wimps whose dreadnoughts can be beaten up by a scout ship and a Federation medium cruiser (seriously, Unimatrix Zero was an absolutely terrible episode), they were a hive. Or more accurately, the Borg is a single consciousness with only one motivation: Assimilate.
It's like fighting the Daleks, only worse.
And I'd rather have the Borg or the Daleks than Entskillen Mur.
Life on Rura Penthe isn't merciful. But I was kind of hoping for worse.
Death by beheading is better than Mur deserves, and he lacks all honor so he can't do honorable combat as that would dishonor the entire Empire by association.
So yeah. Something considerably worse than life--that is, slow death--on Rura Penthe.
The Rift. My mouth is dry, my heart is pounding. The Stygmalian Rift. Damn it, I thought it was gone, I thought I was done with the damned thing.
But apparently not. "Approaching the perimeter of the Rift's coordinates now," says Jhemyl crisply.
"Right," I say, "right. All stop. Dead stop. Hold us, umm, as close as you can get without getting us in it." I tried that once before. It didn't work. Damn it.
"Sir," Tallasa asks, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure," I tell her. "Never better. I'm on the top of the world looking down on creation. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, and all that."
Tallasa stands up, comes up to the command chair, and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Ronnie," she says, "are you all right?"
"Of course I - waitaminute, what?"
She never uses my name. She always calls me "sir", usually with a subtext of I am about three seconds from outright mutiny unless you get your head together, but always "sir". But now she's calling me "Ronnie", and she's looking at me with honest to God concern in those icy Andorian eyes. I suddenly feel about three inches tall. What the hell have I ever done for Tallasa, that she should care about my feelings?
"I'm... OK," I answer her, eventually.
"It can't be easy for you," she says in a quiet voice. "I mean... we all thought it was over and done with. And for it to - to come back, like this -"
"You went through it too," I say.
"Yes," Tallasa says, "once. And I'd already lost everything - well, except Jhemyl." She glances briefly at her sister, sitting prim and alert at the helm as usual. "We might even have gained from passing through the rift - the family scandal was half forgotten after twenty-four years. But you -"
"I lost everything the first time through," I say. "The next ones... sort of didn't matter. Well," I tap my Borg eyepiece, "except for this, of course. Didn't care for that bit much at all."
I'm lying, of course. I think Tallasa knows it. But she doesn't call me on it, and I'm grateful for that.
I twist around in the chair and look at Saval. "What about you?" I ask. "What do you think about being back here?"
He doesn't so much as blink. "In some respects, the situation is disagreeable. Our previous encounter did have deleterious effects on my personal relationships. In other ways, though - well, sir, I have always had an abiding curiosity as to what it was that you saw in the Stygmalian Rift. I appreciate that the Tiaza Zephora incident gave me some incomplete idea -"
"Curiosity," I say. "Know what that did? Killed the cat."
"So I have been told, sir," says Saval. "I am given to understand, though, that satisfaction brought it back."
And it's evidently time for me to gawp again, because that is perilously close to being a joke. Saval with a sense of humour? Tallasa being concerned for my feelings? What's next, Two of Twelve cocking out with a speech in defence of the rights of the individual?
*/*don't hold your breath---*/*
Uh-oh. "Tell Zodiri to get up to the bridge," I say.
"What's wrong?" Tallasa asks sharply. Oh, the scolding tone is back - that's actually a relief.
"Plenty. Two of Twelve is growing a personality again. Last time that happened, it was down to the Tiaza Zephora entity - somehow. Zodiri ran medical scans at the time, I want to know if they match up to anything that's happening now. Leo, get me a channel to King Estmere and Tapiola."
"Uh, the channels are on hot standby already, sir. Bringing them on now."
"Very good, Leo, you are learning. Tylha, T'Pia. Things are starting to happen."
There are two faces on my viewscreen, now, and both of them look concerned, too. In T'Pia's case, as concerned as Vulcans ever get, granted, but still concerned. Whatever I'm doing to encourage all this support and affection, I should bottle it. I'd make a fortune.
"What's going on?" Tylha asks.
"Two of Twelve is getting sassy on me. I think it's the proximity of the Rift, or maybe of the Rift entity. If anything else weird starts kicking off, I'll let you know. What are you guys planning on, anyway?"
"Same as you," says Tylha. "Holding station at the perimeter of the Rift."
"We are conducting intensive long range sensor scans," says T'Pia. "So far, the results are not useful, but of course we have had no time to process and integrate the data."
The turbolift doors hiss open behind me, and Zodiri comes in. The sour-tempered Trill medic barely nods at me before she starts waving a medical scanner over my temples.
*/*hey, that tickles---*/*
"Keep it up," I tell her, "it's annoying Two of Twelve." Zodiri rolls her eyes at me theatrically.
"Are you suffering from a medical condition?" asks T'Pia.
"Well, of course I am, we're talking about me here. But not half as much as I'm suffering from my doctor," I add, with a glower at Zodiri.
"Getting the usual problems from her combination of mule DNA and a head full of rocks," says Zodiri. "I'll process the rest of my results down in sickbay. I'm not seeing anything unusual yet, but then I didn't see a whole hell of a lot at Tiaza Zephora -"
"Oh, god," I say, and start fiddling with my chair's controls. The faces of Tylha and T'Pia disappear, to be replaced by the starscape of the Rift. "Seeing. Seeing. You reminded me -"
The sky is filled with rippled veils of light, an aurora frozen in motion. "The visual aberration you got in the, umm, the whatever it was - spatial anomaly - in Tiaza Zephora orbit?" asks Zodiri.
"Is it back?" asks Tallasa.
"You tell me. What can you see?" I wave a hand at the screen.
"Stars, sir," says Tallasa bleakly.
"She's right," says Zodiri. "Nothing but stars."
"Then it's back," I say. "My own private light show. Whoop-de-doo."
"Ronnie," says Tylha's voice. "You're seeing the same things you said you saw -?"
"Yes," I say loudly. "And when T'Pia asks, yes, same bloody thing. I'm seeing what looks like... veils, curtains of light." I frown. "It looks almost like they're folded into some sort of... pattern. This time."
"The logical course of action," says T'Pia, "is to advance into the Rift according to your perceptions, and to try to correlate those with sensor readings of actual conditions in the region."
"Sir, that didn't work before, in the anomaly," says Tallasa.
"The comparison is inexact," says T'Pia in a carefully neutral voice that somehow manages to be completely crushing. "The anomaly at Tiaza Zephora was a manufactured situation managed entirely by the Rift entity. The Stygmalian Rift itself, on the other hand, is a real location with real phenomena. It is entirely possible that real phenomena will be more susceptible to analysis than the phantoms produced by a Rift entity. I do assure you, any real phenomenon can be examined by the Tapiola's sensors and science teams."
So that's science division putting us humble tactical officers in our place, then. "We're going in then?" I say.
"It would seem the available logical course," says T'Pia.
I look at the frozen folds of light on the screen, and the more I look, the more they seem like the petals of some vast, poisonous, alien flower.
"OK," I say, "so we're going in. But do me a favour, will you? Follow my lead, and go carefully."
"My God ... it's full of stars." (2001) Or: "Once more into the breach." (Henry V)
Either will do. Or maybe both.
"Here goes nothing."
That'll do, too.
But if you're looking for ultimate "you should not have said that" scifi quotes, you could go with Vorkosigan-verse. Like, "Let's see what happens."
Nouveau riche LTS member
Point of order: you can't deny somebody legal rights because they're evil. That's kind of the point. The Borg aren't denied sentient rights because they're evil - they're denied sentient rights because they AREN'T sentient. Only the total Borg Collective is sentient, and it's at war with the Federation and anyway is so huge that anything the Federation can do to it is the equivalent of stamping on its toe.
That said... after the things Entiskillen Mur has done so far, what they can LEGALLY do to him must be plenty. (Especially if it's the Klingons.)
I'm actually of the opinion that from a purely intellectual POV Mur is not terribly unlike the Borg Collective. Both beings are fanatically devoted to one goal, have absolutely zero concern for the lives and rights of beings other than themselves, and are motivated by the sole, overriding purpose of galactic-level if not universal genocide.
But yeah, the Klingon legal code is much more "eye for an eye" than the Federation system. Or more accurately "both eyes, some torture, and several reproductive organs for an eye". Sometimes, that's a good thing.
Our initial probe of the Stygmalian Rift is proceeding, albeit slowly. Ronnie Grau is showing an unexpected degree of caution. I suppose, in many ways, it is understandable. Ronnie's previous experiences with the Rift have been sufficient to make any reasonable being cautious. And she is, in her essentials, a reasonable being.
So, we follow her lead, and veer away from obstacles only she can see... and I make my scans, and collate my data, and it obstinately fails to make any kind of sense. Raw data we have, now, on exotic particles and energy fluxes and strange vibrations in space. But I am unable to impose any theoretical framework on it, to develop any hypothesis that would account for the observed behaviour.
It could be argued that the simple explanation is that the Rift entity is taking a hand. But this is to miss the point. It is possible to determine, scientifically, how the entity is affecting events - what means it employs, what energies it harnesses, to manipulate reality. We cannot simply declare it a god-like entity and dismiss all thoughts of enquiry as to how it operates. Even among religious believers, theologians are dedicated to finding out how, exactly, God works.
And the Rift entity, though it is enormously powerful, is not a god. Indeed, if it is actively supporting the Siohonin, and if their society functions in the manner than T'Laihhae describes... then the entity is worthy, not of our worship, but only of our contempt.
Our ships have come to a halt, hovering near some wall in space that only Ronnie can see. I am increasingly having to repress feelings of frustration as my data remains incomplete and inchoate.
Yielding to an impulse, I signal the Falcon, to see if perhaps Ronnie has any further guidance to give. It is not Ronnie who answers the hail, though, but her Andorian executive officer. "Vice Admiral Grau is resting, sir," she tells me. "We convinced her she needed some sleep."
"I see," I say. "Sleep is certainly a requirement. How is Vice Admiral Grau?"
The Andorian grimaces. "She... could be better, sir. Her residual Borg consciousness is causing problems. Something about the Rift is causing it to develop a personality of its own."
"I see." I consider this. "It might be helpful if you could transmit any non-confidential medical information relating to this. If it is associated with the Rift, this might at least provide additional data points for my analysis."
"I'll get on to that, sir. I'm sure she won't mind."
"Thank you, Commander. Tapiola out." The screen goes blank, then shows the starscape of the Rift. I sit thinking for a while.
"You should probably get some rest yourself, sir," says Twosani Dezin. She has evidently detected my perplexity with her empathic abilities.
"Yes," I say, "I believe you are correct. First, though, let me contact King Estmere." Before I rest, I would like a status report, at least, from the carrier.
Tylha Shohl's face, usually severe, is positively bleak when she appears on the screen. "My science teams are taking readings and passing the collated data to you," she says. "If we have any insights, you'll be the first to know. On current showings, I'm not too hopeful. I've got good people here, but this is not their area..."
She seems troubled. "Do you have any other cause for concern?"
"While you science types have been running yourselves ragged," Tylha says, "and Ronnie's been freaking out, I've had time to keep up with the news. And the reports from Starfleet Command don't make for cheerful reading."
"Specify," I say.
"Okeg let the Siohonin deadline expire without making any official response - buying all the time he could, I guess. Now the Siohonin war fleet is advancing in a body into Federation space. They've already either blown out or bypassed the sensor net left by Sixth Fleet, but not before we got indications that their fleet is vast. Starfleet and the KDF are scrambling for every ship and every ally we can get in response."
"To defend Tellar?" I ask.
"They're not getting as far as the Tellarite home world. Best guess is, we're going to meet them in a holding action somewhere near Lambda Cygni. But I''m worried...."
"What are your concerns?"
"We're having to commit a massive force to this. If we lose... neither Starfleet nor the KDF will have enough forces left to meet their normal strategic obligations - never mind stopping the Siohonin." Her voice is increasingly bleak. "It looks like... if we don't stop them now, we don't stop them at all."
It is, at the very least, a disturbing thought to sleep on.
---
It is only a few hours later when I am awakened. As per my standing instructions, the communications officer puts the call from the Falcon directly through to my quarters.
"Wake up, ginger-nut," says Ronnie Grau. Her face is a ghastly sight, even more cadaverous than it normally is. "Shake a leg, rise and shine. We got company."
"Specify," I say, as I clamber out of bed.
"Wish I could. Something with a big warp signature just headed into the Rift. It's nothing familiar, so my guess is, bad guys."
"A Siohonin warship, travelling in advance of their main fleet?" I dress hastily.
"You got it. That's the safest bet, at least. I don't know anyone else who might be interested in the Rift, anyway."
"I see." I shrug into my uniform tunic. Irrationally, I feel more composed, now. "Do you intend to move towards it, or away from it?"
"Generally speaking, towards. We don't learn anything, running away. Besides, it's kind of not my style."
So I had gathered. "Transmit relevant information to my bridge, please. I will join them shortly."
It is not my policy to run - it may cause unnecessary alarm among the crew - but I certainly reach the bridge at a fast walk. The tactical display is live on the main screen when I arrive, and a conference call with Falcon and King Estmere has been set up. I make a mental not to commend communications appropriately for their efficiency.
"We don't have very good reads on the Siohonin capital ships," Tylha is saying, "but what we've got is consistent with that warp signature out there."
"OK," says Ronnie, "OK, so... it'll be loaded for bear, I guess. Siohonin special weapons out the wazoo, wherever the Siohonin keep their wazoos. So, what I'm thinking is, we need to bracket it between us. Any one of us has enough oomph to take out a single Siohonin ship, and they can't have special weapons going in all directions at once. Or at least, if they can, then all bets are off."
"Even so," I say, "we need to evolve a strategy to minimize the risks."
"Already got one," says Ronnie. "Damn, I'm good. The Siohonin are after me, right? We know that much. Therefore, they can't risk destroying the Falcon. Therefore, Falcon goes in on their forward arc, and you two hit it from flank and rear. If we can - and hey, I'm an optimist, I say we can - we try to disable it and take some prisoners. Sound good to you guys?"
"If we can," says Tylha. "But we can't take too many risks - they might have additional powers from the entity, here in the Rift itself."
"So are you saying we should run?"
"I'm saying," says Tylha, "that we keep our fingers on the triggers, ready to destroy that ship if we need to. Yes, it would be nice to have some prisoners, and some answers. Just not at too high a cost, that's all."
"OK, point," says Ronnie. "Look, I'm sketching in a probable course on the tac map. It's only a rough sketch, because the glowy whatevers out there are moving, slowly, and I do not want to chance running into one -" She winces. "Sorry. Never mind."
Her Borg half, Two of Twelve, is evidently continuing to cause difficulties. I study the course projections on the screen. "You are assuming that the suspect vessel will continue on its current heading."
"We got to start with some assumptions somewhere. Anyway, if he's coming for me, chances are good he'll let me come to him, right?"
"He's already slowed to sublight speeds," says Tylha. "Heading... more or less straight towards us. Not that he necessarily knows it's us - we might well be the only interesting thing on his sensors. Siohonin science sensors don't seem to be any too good."
"Hmm," says Ronnie, "now, that is interesting. There are glowies between him and us... either he can't see them, or he can see them and knows they won't bother him. Which shall it be, Passworthy? One of them's better for us than the other."
"We have no direct knowledge," I point out, "that the - glowies - will have any adverse effect on us"
"Yeah," says Ronnie, "and I aim to keep things that way. Let little Ronnie steer you straight, guys, and she will keep you from tangling with any invisible alien energy fields, OK? Now let's move."
The android Pascale has the helm, and she moves us out with nerveless machine efficiency. The Falcon and the King Estmere dwindle in the distance as they move on divergent courses, through the complex network of invisible shapes that only Ronnie can see. The alien ship is a brilliant, enigmatic dot on my sensors. I refuse to think of it as an enemy ship. Not yet. Not without proof.
Long-range sensors construct a visual profile. The ship is a massive cylinder, more than half a kilometre long, with an immense domed prow and four warp nacelles in cruciform arrangement. Visually, it conforms to what we know of the Siohonin warships. Reluctantly, I concede: there is proof. This is the enemy.
"Hail coming in on subspace," reports the communications ensign.
"On screen. And patch in Falcon and King Estmere."
The viewscreen goes blank, and then a new scene appears on it. It shows a ship's bridge, of unfamiliar construction, but not very dissimilar from several Klingon designs. A man is seated on a command chair at the bridge's centre. He is obviously elderly, with wild grey hair and beard, and a pair of immense horns, cracked and seamed with age, growing from his head. He wears robes of black and white and red, with the symbol of a golden flame on his chest. A similar symbol is on the tip of the rod he holds in his right hand.
He stands. "Are there no males I can speak with?" he demands, in an unexpectedly strong and resonant voice.
"I am Vice Admiral T'Pia, currently commanding the Federation starship USS Tapiola," I say. "My colleagues and I represent the most senior Starfleet officers available at present. Please identify yourself."
"A female Admiral. Well, the antics of the unbelievers should not surprise me, I suppose. I am Enteskilen Mur, Theocrat of the Siohonin and High Priest of the one true god, Sebreac Tharr, aboard the Theocracy warship Warhammer."
"I see," I say. "Then you are responsible for hostile acts against Federation citizens. Please stand down, surrender your vessel, and prepare to be taken into custody."
He laughs at that, long and loudly. "Oh, you are priceless," he says. "Perhaps I will keep you, as a pet. Where is Veronika Grau?"
"Right here," says Ronnie's voice, "coming at you from the front. If you think T'Pia's demand for surrender is funny, wait till you get a load of my tetryon banks. You'll just die laughing."
"Veronika Grau." Mur lifts up his shaggy grey head, and his eyes shine with some sort of desire. "You are to surrender yourself to me. Now."
"You're not even going to buy me dinner first? Besides, you're not my type," says Ronnie.
"Laugh while you may, Veronika Grau. You will surrender yourself."
The tactical display shows that Ronnie's plan, so far, seems to be working. The Warhammer is bracketed neatly between Tapiola, Falcon and King Estmere. All three ships will be within weapons range in less than a minute. It is difficult to see how Mur can hope to prevail, even with the Siohonin weapons.
"Red alert," I order.
"Oh." Mur has overheard me. "The amusing Vulcan is making a noise. Still... I must consider this situation. Grau cannot surrender herself if she is dead... and I have decided to keep the amusing Vulcan... so...."
Weapons range.
And the Warhammer spins in place, its speed of reaction unbelievable in so large a ship, and something spills from the domed structure at its prow. It is a sparkling blur, that corrupts and shatters our sensor images - the interference from what we now know to be the Siohonin warp cannon.
When the interference clears, King Estmere is gone.
Or Alice (of "Alice in Wonderland"): "Curiouser and curiouser."
Or Ronnie: "Mur had better *not* have wiped out my friend and her crew or I'm going to be royally ticked off. And do shut up, 2 of 12; quoting lines from 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' isn't helping. I'm busy."
I just wanna see Mur die in a fashion fit for a North Korea-style evil dictator.
That is, slowly, painfully, and with everything that he's built burning around him.
Death by exploding starship is too good for him. His little toady, the so-called heretic, is culpable as well; he should get the Klingon treatment. Tal, Aun, and the rest should probably be executed as well for mass crimes against sentience.
Still fantastic, looking forward to the next part.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
So. King Estmere is out of the picture... can things get worse? Why, yes. Yes, they can.
As much as I want to see Mur die slowly and painfully, wouldn't it be logical to just blast his ship out of space from both sides while he's busy using OP god mode unrealistically fast turns to deal with Tyllha?
Or just beam Ronnie over with about 60 mobile holoemitters and have ninja programs beat up the Siohnin while Ronnie takes Mur's rod of evil and kicks the living tar out of him.
"Max evasive!"
Even as I shout the order, I don't know if it will save us. The Warhammer moved so fast, so incredibly fast - a ship that size can't turn like that. Not unless it had help
King Estmere is gone. I still can't believe that.
We have one chance. Maybe. "T'Pia. Steer two two seven mark three niner five, then go to max impulse. Jhemyl, keep us between Mur and the Tapiola." Because if Enteskilen Mur decides the little ginger Vulcan isn't funny any more, she is dead meat.
"What's the plan, sir?" Tallasa asks. Oh, like I have a plan.
"Try to lure the Warhammer into the glowies. I don't think Mur can see them."
"Can they harm him?"
"Dunno, really. Let's find out. T'Pia, let's both roll some web mines, round about now."
Web mines tumble from our launchers as our ships sweep out of Warhammer's range - or what I think is Warhammer's range. That ship can move.
*/*give it up---
you can run but you can't hide---*/*
Put a sock in it, you.
"I have a firing solution for the aft tetryon arrays," says Tallasa.
"No!" She looks shocked. "That's what Mur wants. We open fire, he engages his warp mirror thing, we wind up blowing our own nacelles off. No. Indirect fire weapons only."
T'Pia, bless her, has come to the same conclusion. The Tapiola is generating holograms, an impressive battleship and a couple of mean-looking fast tactical escorts. They curve around and close in on the Siohonin ship -
They don't last seconds. Mur isn't messing around any more; he engages his kinetic lance, and the holograms pop like bubbles.
*/*pretty bubbles in the air*/*
Is she singing, now? Damn it, I don't need this.
*/*i know what you need---
and you don't---
hahahahaha---*/*
Unbelievable.
Mur's ship moves into the web mines, and the first pair triggers, and the Warhammer is caged in golden light. Try warp mirroring your way out of that, laughing boy. It won't be enough to do him any serious damage, but it buys us time -
"T'Pia." I sketch out a course on the tac console. "Is Tapiola up for that?"
"I believe it is within our capabilities," says T'Pia's voice. Frankly, that unruffled Vulcan calm is very soothing, in the circumstances.
"Good. We're going to be right behind you every step of the way. I'm hoping Mur will try to take a short cut along the curve of our path."
"Which would, I presume, bring him into contact with the invisible energy fields."
I could argue about invisible, there, I can see the damned things just fine.
*/*well, lucky, lucky you, then---*/*
"That's the idea," I say, firmly ignoring the Borg gibbering in my head.
"We still have no certainty that -"
"If you've got any better ideas, let's hear them!"
"I accept the point," says T'Pia with perfect calm. "Proceeding along the indicated course."
I'm pretty sure an unmodified Tholian ship couldn't handle the manoeuvres I've outlined, but T'Pia's Orb Weaver has a lot more under the hood than any unmodified Tholian -
*/*so had the King Estmere, much good it did them---*/*
"Will you just shut the hell up!" Heads turn around the bridge. "Sorry. Not you. Not anyone here. Lippy Borg problem. Sorry."
The force fields on the web mines have collapsed; Mur is on the move again. He spots the second set of mines, and fries them at long range with his disruptor arrays. The disruptors are standard Klingon style technology, and, actually, they are poorly deployed - the Warhammer is nearly weapons-blind in its forward arc, because that huge dominating rounded prow blocks the firing arcs of the ship's conventional weapons. Of course, since that dome is stuffed full of unconventional weapons, that doesn't help us much.
*/*nothing's going to help you now---*/*
The Warhammer lunges forwards, turning to bear down on our ships. What happens next... is beautiful. The Siohonin ship drives straight into one of the glowing auroral veils, and stops as if it's hit a brick wall. Lightnings flare and flicker all over its hull.
"If it's any help to you, sir," says Tallasa, "I can see that."
"Looks good, doesn't it?" I say. "Any damage reads on them?"
"Superficial only." T'Pia's voice. "They appear to have lost motive power, but their weapons arrays are still active and their shields are up. There is other activity that suggests their exotic weapons are also still functioning."
"We can't go back and finish them off," I say. "OK. Let's put some distance between them and us - and more glowies, bless 'em - and then let's put our thinking caps on and come up with an approach that will work."
"The Warhammer," says T'Pia, "though dangerous, is only a distraction. Our primary objective remains to neutralize the Rift entity."
"It's the same thing," I say patiently. "You can't sling a fat battleship around like a fighter without something finagling in the background. Mur's ship is supported and powered by the Rift entity, and if we solve one problem, we solve the other."
*/*you should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky---*/*
Ignore her. "I suggest we do this." I sketch out another path on the tac display. "Puts us in the middle of a nice knotty set of energy fields, and it'll take Mur ages to get at us, he'll have to go through practically at walking pace. Gives us time to come up with something."
"I hope you are correct. So far, the problem has proven intractable. Still, we will follow your course directions. Tapiola out."
*/*got to admire her optimism---
pity it's unfounded---*/*
Can it, you. Whose side are you on, anyway?
*/*why are you even asking?---
my own, of course---*/*
Yeah, and which one's that? I wonder, as we move along the course I've mapped out between the glowing veils of light. What happens to Two of Twelve in these situations? And why? That hateful Borg voice in my head barely sounds like a Borg any more....
*/*oh, and why might that be? ---
use your head, why don't you, Ronnie?---
don't mind if I call you Ronnie, do you?---
after all---
everyone does---*/*
Waitaminute, what? What is this?
*/*what is this?---
only the voice in your head---
telling you it wants to move out---
shouldn't you be glad of that?---*/*
"Guys," I say aloud, "something distinctly freaky is going on."
"Sir?" says Tallasa.
*/*that one puts up with soooo much from you, why does she stand for it?---*/*
"I'm opening up some sort of a... dialogue... with Two of Twelve. Or she's opening one up with me. How far to our sort of safe haven out there?"
"Two minutes, sir," says Jhemyl.
"Tapiola still with us?"
"On course and speed," says Jhemyl.
"Right. Right. So... what about Mur?"
"Warhammer is still enmeshed in the energy field, sir," says Saval. "No sign of them restoring motive power yet."
"All right. We've got a breathing space - I hope. I'm going to be carrying on the, um, the conversation with my other half. And I'm going to be doing it in my out-loud voice, so you guys can listen in on my half, at least, and maybe get some idea what's going on. We cool with that?"
"Is this a good idea, sir?" asks Tallasa, with no it isn't written all over her face.
"I don't know. I'm going to find out. Something makes Two of Twelve go all peculiar, here and at Tiaza Zephora. I think we need to know what it is."
*/*you already know---
or you should do---
isn't it obvious?---*/*
"It's not obvious to me."
Tallasa starts to say something; then she cottons on to what's happening, and stays shtum.
*/*come on, Ronnie---
use your head for something besides a hatrack---
do I sound like a Borg?---*/*
"You've got... Two of Twelve's voice. And if you're not a Borg, what are you?"
*/*Two of Twelve's voice? Must be force of habit.---*/*
"What do you mean, force of habit?"
*/*not my habit---
yours---
you hear the voice you're used to hearing---*/*
"If you're not Two of Twelve, who are you? Damn it, when did I get someone else living in my head?"
And then I stop. And then I realize.
The voice doesn't say anything. It doesn't need to.
"When did I get something else living in my head?" I ask the question in a strangled whisper. "Way back, a long time ago... right here."
Oh, says the voice, penny's finally dropped, has it? It really doesn't sound like Two of Twelve any more.
"How long have you been there?"
Since your first trip.
"Since I was first in the Rift? How come I haven't realized it before? Why have you never spoken?"
I didn't know how, at first. This... temporal... existence of yours... it was confusing. Confusing, but exciting. A whole new dimension, you might say. It took multiple trips before I... bedded myself in.
"So how did you take up residence? What brought you here?"
You crossed the Rift. You entered, briefly, for one timeless instant, into our... awareness. I noticed you. I saw the new sensations, the different world that lay in your awareness. I moved myself to a - a vantage point - in your consciousness. So that I could learn. So that I could understand.
"You just... moved in, when I passed through. OK. So... what did you learn, and understand?"
Everyone on the bridge is staring at me, now. Except Jhemyl, bless her, who is moving the ship to station keeping. Professionalism. Got to love it.
I learned how this universe works. Ordered time, sequential, cause and effect in rigid succession. I learned how to tell the time. And I learned....
"Learned what? What else? Tell me!"
I learned... to be me. To be an individual, instead of a facet of pure timeless consciousness. I learned that from you. How to have an identity. And I learned something else, too.
"What else? What, besides how to be a, a person?"
I learned how powerful I am, as a disembodied timeloose consciousness in this universe. I didn't just learn how to be a person, Ronnie. I learned how to be a god.
"You learned how to be a god? Oh, no. Sebreac Tharr."
A name. It means a lot to Enteskilen Mur. It means nothing to me, but if he wants to call me by it, what have I to lose?
"Wait." My head is spinning. "What about the other one? At Tiaza Zephora? The one that used Martin Hudson?"
I chose you. Another chose Hudson. The other was... less efficient.
"Martin said you were cleverer than his - parasite. But what was going on at Tiaza Zephora?"
The other needed my help. He had a complex, erratic, inelegant way of binding himself into this reality. It was in danger of failure.
"In danger of failure? It did fail." A thought strikes me. "Did you help it? Or hinder it?"
I gave help... to some extent. But, even if I had tear ducts, I would not have wept when my brother failed.
"You let Tylha and Rrueo get through with the neutralizing compound. Because you don't want to share your... godhood. You want to be top dog."
I already am. All I need is -
"What? All you need is what?"
To secure my access point to this world. As my brother tried to do. Enteskilen Mur... I reached out to his mind. He was a desperate man, derided for his faith in a god no one else believed in. I became that god, for him. I used my power. And, in gratitude and in faith... he will let me use his body and being, as I am now using yours.
"So why not just... do it? Hop out of my head, into Enteskilen Mur's?" The answer comes as soon as I put the question. "You can't, can you? Whatever powers you've got, you're still stuck inside me. You picked me, now you can't get rid of me."
There is a way to make the transfer. Enteskilen Mur will do it. Then... I will be in this world, with the full partnership of a compliant intelligence. Not a fractious and erratic one like yours. My will and my physical body will be as one, and nothing will be impossible to me.
"Fractious and erratic? I've been called worse. What happens to the rest of us, when you make the transfer?"
What happens to the rest of you? Anything I choose!
"What if I say no? Keep you inside my head?"
Enteskilen Mur will compel you.
"Mur will compel me? Why won't you compel me?"
You are... too close... for me to control. It would be like you trying to affect your own brain stem. The transfer has to be initiated some other way. By something external to you and me.
I twist around in the command chair, grope for a PADD. Without looking, I scrawl a message on the surface with my fingertip - without looking, because I don't want the thing from the Rift to see through my eyes. I hold up the PADD, facing away from me, and hope Tallasa can make out the words phaser pistol.
"You can't affect me directly because I'm too close. Like the glowies, maybe? The glowies are, like, inside of you, you can't see them."
You can see them, because you are a parasite inside me right now. Just as I am a parasite inside you. Confusing, isn't it? The voice laughs.
Tallasa presses the cold slick shape of a phaser into my hand. It feels like salvation.
I don't want to die. But... Sebreac Tharr, the Siohonin invasion... it's a matter of one life against maybe millions, and that's not even a choice at all.
"So you can't stop me doing what I want. You can't prevent me -" I raise the phaser, switch the setting to maximum. "If I jam this against my skull and fire, we both go, right?"
I won't let you do that.
"You can't stop me. You admitted that."
I - might be able to block the beam. It would be... difficult. I can't stop you, directly. But you will be stopped.
"How? Who by? My crew will let me do this." I let my gaze fall on each one of them in turn. "My crew will let me do this."
You're really arrogant, you know. If I have to, I will undo something I did, a little while ago now.
"Undo what?"
Arrogant. You really believe you liberated yourself from the Borg? I tolerated the Collective for a while, but it was dull, so dull. But even dull is better than suicidal -
*/*cranial transceivers online---
reconnect--- priority--- reconnect--- reconnect--- reconnect---
reconnecting---
--- 18%
--- 39%
--- 61%
--- 88%
--- complete
reconnected---
Downloading required updates.
Suppressing local personality
--- 22%
--- 47%
--- 71%
--- 98%
---complete
Commencing systems check.
Reactivating control systems.
Assimilation complete.
We are the Borg. */*
Oh, I don't disagree it's perfectly in line with his character to do it. When all you have is a fire god, everything looks like kindling.
That said....
Man, shevet, you were not kidding on how things can always get worse.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!