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Beat the Drums of War ("Blood of the Ancients")
starswordc
Member Posts: 10,963 Arc User
Beat the Drums of War
by StarSword-C and Worffan101
Based on “Blood of the Ancients” by Cryptic Studios
Prologue
by StarSword-C and Worffan101
Based on “Blood of the Ancients” by Cryptic Studios
Prologue
Andromeda galaxy. May 24th, 2410.
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness woke up.
Ow. Damn those puny and insignificant worms! Oh, well, better go back and lend the incomprehensible power of my imponderable majesty to leading the glorious invasion of unstoppable might and unending gloriosity…
How dare those pathetic servitors kill him! He was inevitably fated for greatness!
The Iconian sat up with a moaning thrum, hauling himself out of the casket that had been set up for him after the first 16 times he’d died and been spontaneously reborn on the same point on the same planet. It seemed to be relative to the planet and its rotation, the scientists said, and the Iconians had halted this planet’s plate tectonics millennia ago. So all Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness needed to worry about was the painful crick he got in his neck every time he died and woke up again.
His head had been blown up, this time. Accursed servitors! They should know their place!
Grand High Lady Destined-for-Eternal-Glory, the sister of Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, greeted Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness with the usual flowering praise, which he reciprocated, as he exited his father’s storage bunker. It took a few hours, but it was custom, and Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness loved customs. They tended to massage his ego.
Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds, He-Who-Rules-All-Worlds, Infinite Supreme Imperator of all Iconians, Ineffable Sovereign of All Galaxies, Supreme Grand Deity, Incarnation-of-Glorious-Destiny, Master of Fate, Shining Paragon of Eternal Dignity, Eternal Hierophant of Perfection, Glorious and Eternal Lord of Light, Master of all Mysteries, Model-for-all-Virtues, Undying Suzerain, holder of more titles than it was practical to use even for the Iconians, the father of Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, was in a council meeting and barring extreme circumstances would be for a year or two. There were several hundred members of the council, after all, all of whom would speak, and all of whom would engage in at least two hours of pompous bragging and at least four hours of fawning adoration of the magnificence of whichever speaker they were responding to (more, it they were talking in response to more than one speaker) every single time they wanted to talk.
This was how Black Caste Iconians worked, after all. They were the first and foremost of the six Iconian castes, and the only ones who used complete Old Form names rather than abbreviations, like Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness’s deceased assistant M’Tara. They were destined to a man for shining glory and eternal dignity--and as the son of Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds, Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was destined for the shiniest glory and most eternal and perfect dignity. Which would of course be explained to him with pompous and fawning adoration whenever he met another Iconian or groveling servitor in daily life.
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness personally felt that more pomposity and fawning adoration was necessary. It massaged his ego so nicely.
The Supreme High Lord checked himself in a flawless silver mirror (held up, of course, by a groveling Herald), and tapped his mustachio, which vibrated. It wouldn’t do to conquer a galaxy with his magnificent visage in anything less than its usual flawless perfection, after all.
"Great War! / And I cannot take more! / Great tour! / I keep on marching on / I play the great score / There will be no encore / Great War! / The War to End All Wars"
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
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ch’M’R Khohlr. Azure sector. 0200 hours Federation Standard Time, June 8th, 2410.
D’trel heard the chime, vaguely. She didn’t look up from her paper, scratching at the surface with her charcoal stick.
“Come in.”
The door hissed, and then closed. A large, heavy shape moved to the Rihanha’s chair and stood, hands clasped behind his back. D’trel looked up, rubbing across her eyes with her arm to hide the tears.
“What is it, First?”
“Priority hail from Command, sir. I came myself; I believed that you would not appreciate being hailed remotely.”
“Thank you, First,” said D’trel, putting aside the paper, a half-finished charcoal drawing of a Rihanha with an angular face on the open page. “What does tr’Kererek want?”
First Omek’ti’kallan did not comment on the drawing as D’trel grabbed her sword; he merely followed, calmly, as the Rihanha strode for the door. “We are to report to Terra. High Command has attached the Second Fleet to the Alliance Anti-Iconian Force. Battle plans are being drawn up today.”
“Good.” They entered a turbolift, D’trel strapping on her sword. “Bridge.”
“Warbirds Temer and Rea’s Helm are in position and ready to engage quantum slipstream,” Omek rumbled. “Zel says that the fastest route should be to jump to New Romulus and take the transwarp gate to Terra.”
“Good.” The door hissed open. “Zel, flight plan approved, let’s go, press the button.”
“Yessir,” said the Breen, pressing the button. “Ah, I love briefings. So much more formal than just being told by the boss what to get.”
“Yeah, this is a military, not a Breen crime syndicate,” said Min’tak’allan from his station. “Need a drink, sir? Tea’s going to be ready in a minute.”
D’trel shook her head, walking for her office with Omek’ti’kallan behind her. “Not at the moment.” The door slid shut behind the Rihanha and Jem’Hadar as the Breen and Ferasan started arguing amicably about Breen airbike gangs.
“Briefing materials from High Command,” noted First Omek’ti’kallan as he passed a PDA to D’trel. “You are to be in command of a joint fleet—Republic, Federation, and Klingon personnel.”
“Fine. Huh,” she added, looking at the PDA. “They pulled almost everything back from the Delta Quadrant for this. Tr’Kererek’s anticipating an Iconian attack. Smart man. First, get the combat teams briefed, we’re on yellow alert until further notice.”
“Yes, sir.”
First Omek’ti’kallan left, D’trel paging through the PDA behind him.
“...and well, I’ve told you how I got tired of working for Thot Kol, that guy was a dumbass, but I gotta say, there’s nothing quite like the thrill of being behind the joystick…”
The turbolift doors slid shut, and the Jem’Hadar waited calmly for the twenty seconds of descent, his hands clasped behind his back. The doors opened, and he strode calmly out onto the armory deck.
It was unlikely that the tactically inept Iconians would attempt an attack on the war conference. But if they did muster up some common sense, then by Odo’Ital, First Omek’ti’kallan and his soldiers would be ready to meet them.
Valentine Memorial Auditorium, Earth Spacedock.
The auditorium is packed with COs from across the Beta Quadrant, Starfleet, Klingon, and Romulan alike. A black-clad Fleet Admiral William Riker stands at a podium in front of one of the bigger wall screens I’ve seen, flanked by the flags of the Federation and Starfleet Command. “May I have your attention please?” The murmuring and chitchat dies down.
“It’s confirmed. War,” he says simply, turning to a map of the Federation and its surrounds. “In the early hours of the morning yesterday the Vulcan Defense Force vessel Vanik encountered, engaged, and destroyed an Iconian probe vessel near 40 Eridani B. We have since confirmed sightings and sensor traces of such probes in several major star systems, including Sol, 61 Cygni, Andor, Qo’noS, B’hava’el”—I grit my teeth—“Dewa, and Cardassia. Cross-reference this with reports of major troop and ship movements from our operatives in the Herald Sphere, and we have strong indicators of invasion within the next week.”
He pauses for effect. “This is the real thing, and it’s going to be bloody. The Iconian forces have severe technical and numerical superiority despite their general lack of tactical skill. If we’re going to have a prayer of winning this, we have to fight smart. Admirals, conserve your forces and be prepared to retreat from an untenable position unless there is no alternative. We’re going to be seeing a lot of chase fights.”
He flicks the screen over to a chart, an order of battle. “Starfleet Command has called up every reservist we can find a spot for, and we’re preparing to call up the corps of cadets if we have to to defend the Sol System. General Kagran has informed me that the Klingon Empire is doing likewise, but they’re concentrating on Qo’noS. And Supreme Commander tr’Kererek has pulled back practically every ship the Republican Fleet had in the Delta Quadrant.” I raise my hand. “Yes, Captain Kanril?”
“Is anybody else helping, sir?”
“We’ve sent envoys to the Dominion, the Breen, the First Federation, even the Tzenkethi and Kinshaya. Haven’t heard back yet. We do have people coming from the Delta Quadrant—the Hazari, Hierarchy, Benthans, and Turei are chipping in a couple battle groups’ worth of ships, and the Kobali are contributing two infantry regiments—” At which point a groan runs through the hall. “That’s enough of that! Look, I’m no more fond of the Kobali than anyone else here, but if we lose, everyone loses. We need all the help we can get, and they want to help, and that is my final word on the subject.” He turns back to the list. “The President spoke to the Grand Nagus earlier today; the Ferengi are looking to their own. They’re expecting an attack on Ferenginar and planning accordingly. Ditto the Cardassians; they don’t have the ships to spare anyway, so we told them to pull back everything they could to Cardassia.
“By far the biggest strategic problem is that the enemy has the initiative. Their gate technology allows them to teleport forces anywhere in the galaxy in short order, and we have limited understanding of this. Your secondary responsibility is to acquire information. Record everything, and transmit it continuously.”
“Where to, sir?” somebody else, a Bolian rear admiral I don’t recognize, asks.
“Every allied base or outpost in range,” Riker replies. “Makes it harder for the Iconians to block it.
“We’ve sent assignments out to your ships. Commodore Paris and Admiral D’trel are heading up special task groups to which some of you will be assigned. Code word for the operation is Iron Dome, and—”
The red alert klaxons blare, and Riker starts, grabs his PADD, and swears.
I know what he’s going to say before he says it.
“That was Starfleet Science. We just picked up Iconian gateway signatures near Starbase 234 and the Dewa system. The invasion has begun.”
There is a brief moment of silence, and then one of the civilian scientists screams. COs and flag officers bark orders and move to their attack groups. Riker beams up, and outside ship engines start to glow and wink out as the fleet mobilizes.
“Kanril, Garok, Sloan, K’Rokar, Bovanovitch, Perry, you’re with me!” barks a compact female Romulan armed with a sword, a TR-116 projectile rifle, an automatic large-caliber pistol, and at least three knives that I can see. Plus a grenade belt. At least she shouldn’t run out of weapons anytime this century. I hustle over, nodding to a Klingon that I recognize from a meeting I had on the Bajor before the One of One incident.
“I’m not one for lengthy introductions so I’m keeping this short,” says the Romulan. “I’m Rahaen’Enriov D’trel. You may have heard of me. If I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Anybody who breaks off to do some glory hounding will not be supported by the fleet and can expect to die, so stay in formation and follow orders. I value independent thought and creativity, but keep it in the meeting room—in a battle, my tac plot lets me see the whole map, so there is nothing that you see that I don’t, and I have command authority. If you find my actions to be alien to your uptight Federation standards, or want to b*tch at me about that Kobali f*cker I killed, I will give you exactly one reminder that I am a Rihanha, not a Lloann’na, and to shut up and do your job. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear as Andorian ice,” growls Garok on my left. “We will crush the Iconian filth!”
D’trel turns to me, one eyebrow raised.
I take a breath and think for a moment. “I’m… not going to say I completely approve of your past actions—General Q’Nel had to go, but political assassination isn’t exactly in the handbook—but I’ll follow your orders, sir. Or should I address you as ‘ma’am’?”
D’trel’s smile is thin but genuine. “Call me sir. I think that this will work. Let’s move. D’trel to Kholhr, one to beam up!”
USS Voyager, Off Earth Spacedock.
I knock on the door. “Enter!” The door slides open and I stride in and wait for the chocolate-skinned Vulcan to acknowledge me. “Captain Kanril. You should be on the Bajor; we are about to leave for Vulcan.”
“Admiral Tuvok. I had a thought. Based on that probe the VDF destroyed, we’re expecting an attack on Vulcan, right?” He nods. “No way the VDF can hold them off, and we don’t have enough ships left to defend all the core worlds, right?”
“Speak your mind, Captain.”
“What if we got the Undine to help?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “That does not seem wise.”
“But does it seem possible? Look, they’ve got as much reason to hate the Iconians as we do, maybe more. If the visions that commander showed me during the Schrödinger’s Butterfly… episode are true, the Iconians deliberately targeted Undine children to provoke them against us. And I saw the reports on that thing you got into with Cooper and that command ship.”
“This assumes we can reach a friendly tribe. And based on your own reports, Captain, the Undine may be involved in fratricidal warfare at this point.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but you at least know where to find the Undine I met and how to identify them. Jump into fluidic space in the Idran system, don’t act threatening, and check the hull markings under ultraviolet light. And… Sir, mind-meld with me.”
“Captain?”
“Look, I mind-melded with T’Var once—long story—and she spent the next two days saying ‘phekk’. And that guy spent a pretty good length of time rummaging around in my head. I’ll lay you even odds he’ll recognize the traces of me in your thoughts.”
His eyebrow seems to be stuck in the ‘up’ position. “I do know the aftereffects of a mind-meld, Captain.”
I ignore his chiding tone and press on. “Sir, the last thing he said to me was, ‘We will come. We will fight.’ Against these odds—”
He holds up a hand to forestall me stating the obvious. “Captain, you have already won the argument. The risks are, as I said, considerable, but the other option is impermissible.” He stands and gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk; I take a seat.
“Are you prepared?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. Do it, sir.”
He nods and carefully places his fingertips against my face. I try to control my breathing, not to mention my gut reaction at having a man other than Gaarra touch my face like this. Tuvok intones, “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…”
“All ships, this is D’trel,” barked the Rihanha as she slid into her command chair. “We go in through the transwarp gate to ch’Mol’Rihan, then punch it through quantum slipstream to Starbase 234. Everyone’s on battle stations until further notice, make sure that you’ve got some coffee or such because this is going to be a long night.” She tapped her comm and turned to the helm station. “Zel, let’s go.”
“Yes, sir,” confirmed the Breen. “Engines are running at peak performance, for once.”
“Good,” said D’trel. It could be difficult to pull full engine power from a modern set of impulse engines on a T’varo spaceframe, but D’trel’s engineering team was generally good at keeping things running properly. “Omek, weapons?”
“All systems ready and functioning at maximum capacity.”
“Good. Engineering, how’s my singularity core?”
“We’re running hot,” reported Daysnur over the intercom. “Everything’s smoother than it’s been in months, we finally got to do a full repair session last week.”
“Excellent. Keep it that way. Min’tak’allan, sensors?”
“Functioning at peak efficiency, sir! We’re in top fighting shape and ready to take out some would-be alien overlords, sir!”
D’trel smiled a little at the kid’s exuberance. It helped her control the boiling rage at the Iconians that was bubbling under the surface.
At least Omek was there to take over if she lost it. The Jem’Hadar was one person who D’trel trusted completely and implicitly in all things.
The transwarp gate loomed on the viewscreen and activated. A small group of vessels followed.
“Alright, let’s move in,” said D’trel. “Today, we cut some vengeance in blood from the Iconians.”
Zel chimed in, “Transwarp in five, four, three, two, one…”
Undisclosed location, the Delta Quadrant.
“Admiral Reynolds, I can’t help you,” the brown-clad, bell-necked Vaadwaur told the black-clad, tattooed human.
“Overseer Eldex, I don’t believe you fully understand the gravity of the situation. If we can’t stop the Iconians’ advance—”
“They’ll treat us no differently than they’ll treat you of the Alpha Quadrant. I didn’t say ‘won’t’, I said ‘can’t’. Thanks to my predecessor we have barely enough ships and troops left to defend our own borders and we’re still engaged with the Borg. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must look first to my own. If the Iconians come here, we’ll fight them, but I simply can’t afford to send my men and women to fight on the other side of the galaxy.”
Marama Reynolds sighed. “Very well, Overseer Eldex. I don’t like it but I understand. I’ll see myself out.”
“Admiral Reynolds?” Eldex called after her. She looked over her shoulder as she reached the door. “May God be with you.”
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
Looking forward to seeing more.
/subscribe
Read the first line and I already know this is a collab with Worffan! :P Can't ever imagine how! No sir!
Right, now I'm going to read it!
Trials of Blood and Fire
Moving On Parts 1-3 - Part 4
In Cold Blood
Trials of Blood and Fire
Moving On Parts 1-3 - Part 4
In Cold Blood
Well, we established in our earlier stories that the Kobali weren't popular with anybody in the Alpha Quadrant side of the Delta Alliance, and once the Federation News Network got hold of the full story on the kind of TRIBBLE the Kobali got up to and put it on teh interwebz, well... does the term "political sh*tstorm" ring any bells?
Not to restart an old argument that's been argued 'til we were blue in the face, but in our shared interpretation there's four problems with the Kobali:
- Unless you had willed your own corpse to them, the Kobali using your mortal remains to make more Kobali is reproductive activity without the consent of one of the partners. That's r*pe, by definition.
- They never seem to understand at all why this is a problem or why a Kobali who remembers his past life might prefer that over life as a Kobali, and will retrieve you by force, "because it's our culture and you're just an errant child and we know better". And because of a fatuous Prime Directive handwave, i.e. blatant railroading, there's jack sh*t you can do about it even if you aren't even in Starfleet.
- From a military point of view, they're a net drain of resources. Their only modern warship was built with Alpha Quadrant technology and their land army was apparently too poorly equipped or trained to fight off the mere remnants of the Vaadwaur, despite having the home field advantage and the fact that the Vaads were simultaneously fighting practically every other warp-capable species in the whole gorram quadrant. (Technical advantages will only get you so far: at some point you need to have the troop numbers to back it up.)
- They lied repeatedly to their own allies, who came well out of their way to help them out, about militarily relevant information, and repeatedly gave total BS excuses when they were caught at it.
And in the better-thought-out universe we're aiming for, people actually hate all this and react badly to it. (In contrast the Vaadwaur are basically just Space TRIBBLE, something the Federation has been dealing with effectively for over a century, and from a military POV they would have more practical worth as allies than the Kobali. Rule of thumb, anybody who can curbstomp the Borg is somebody you should at least try to turn to your side.)But as Riker noted, when the enemy is actually making use of what Nelen Exil foreshadowed in the Dyson reputation cutscenes, i.e. using the Dyson sphere to transport enough ships to blot out a sun, you need even what little, unpopular help the Kobali can provide.
Thanks for reading, fellows!
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
Sorry for trolling (and I acknowledge that itt is, because I'm not actually reading this because of your collaborator's involvement -- nothing personal, but his work simply does not interest me anymore) but the Libran in me means I have to strongly disagree with this viewpoint...
Post-mortem abuse of a corpse is utterly morally reprehensible, and not something I can condone on any level, but I do not believe that it fits the criteria for ****. When worffie last started throwing this word around for any kind of contact he felt was unacceptable, he tried to use the criteria that impregnation took place in Tripp's 'encounter', it be considered ****. Well I'm sorry, but not every **** results in pregnancy, thus reproductive viability is not a determining criteria IMHO. **** is about domination, power and control, not simply 'getting some'... That 'getting some' aspect is utterly removed from the Kobali mindset and practices. They simply see 'empty meat' which can be transformed via their process into something else...
But please don't take that mean I'm some kind of Kobali apologist or defender, they utterly disgust, I simply have very strong opinions on this subject, and don't like to see the woried misused... Anyway, that's my .2c on the subject...
Oh, trust me, the only reason I took the Kobali side of the argument was because people were talking about committing genocide against an entire race just because of their reproductive method. That their reproductive method includes using the corpses of aliens without consent (forgetting for the moment the Vaadwaur weren't dead, but in stasis) disgusts me as much as anyone else (though I do take the view that the corpse is meaningless, that's a religious discussion which has no place here).
But yeah, I agree with you on that, I just draw the line at committing or being complicit in genocide.
EDIT: Marcus is technically correct. What the Kobali do may be a violation of the human body, but it isn't r***. Arguably, it's just as bad or perhaps worse.
Trials of Blood and Fire
Moving On Parts 1-3 - Part 4
In Cold Blood
You raise some good points, but frankly, I personally (not speaking for Worffan) am using the word "r*pe" because I honestly don't know another English word that would fit better ("necromancy" doesn't quite work either). Leaving out the normal implications, the technical definition of the word is "non-consensual sexual activity", and while Kobali don't reproduce sexually per se, they do reproduce using a humanoid partner without that partner's explicit consent (because, granted, the partner isn't in a position to give consent at all). But factor in Q'Ret's behavior towards Ens. Ballard in "Ashes to Ashes" and you get your unpleasant control overtones.
(Totally not touching the Trip Mpreg thing. That didn't even make sense.)
But like I said, we've been over all this back when the Kobali still mattered in-game and they're not even really making much of an appearance here. I probably shouldn't have brought it up to begin with, TBH. Still, I think you might want to pay attention to this story. Minor spoiler but I prevailed on Worfie to have us give D'trel a little character development and start to steer her away from just plain "woman with massive PTSD motivated by revenge".
That's pretty much where I was. There is one species in Star Trek that I would be okay with the protagonists completely exterminating, but that's the Borg.
My view was just that we should dump the Kobali and bring the Vaads under Eldex in since they'd actually be useful.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
That's pretty much my view as well. I was rather uncomfortable with the Kobali's actions, but nothing justifies genocide.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Normally, I'm happy to agree to disagree, but on this specific subject, I have (sadly) too much personal experience to view the Kobali process (messed up as it is) in the same league as r*pe (and what you've refered to in Ashes to Ashes, again, strange and unpleasant by Human standards, but IMHO more Stockholm Syndrome/Psychological abuse rather than r*pe) but am happy to agree not to argue about it as I don't want to derail your story any further :cool:
Thanks for the heads up, but TBH, I'm simply not interested in reading anything Worfie writes, and seeing his name as a co-author was enough to give me serious doubts about reading it at all... I did give it a try... I got halfway through Riker's briefing and just lost the will when D'trel started barking orders... Sorry, but I've got to speak honestly
As to the Kobali. I am an organ donor on my CDL. When I am dead, I will no longer be using my eyes or my kidneys or whatever. Please do what you can after I shuffle off this mortal coil to make someone else's life better.
The determining factor for me concerning organ donation is myself and my family are informed and have consented to this prior to my exit from this plane of existence. I'd be a lot more understanding of Kobali practices if they did not seem so hell bent upon what amounts to high tech grave robbing. The deceased and their families obviously do not have a chance to provide informed consent prior to the repurposing of the deceased.
In both the ST:VOY episode and here in the game, no one has a chance at informed consent. If the Federation truly does champion the rights of the individual over the rights of society, this should change. Not so sure the Feds could not investigate why the Kobali cannot reproduce normally and come up with a viable solution.
Oh, waitaminnit. There's that gosh darned informed consent thing again. Only this time it is being applied correctly. Ain't that odd?
Well,
Anyway, we're trying to get the next chapter out by the end of the week but real life is getting in the way (Worfie's working a summer internship with limited Internet, and I'm looking for my next job because my entire last paycheck went to loan payments).
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
The rather over-the-top depiction of the Iconians is also something to get used to, but otherwise, I like what I'm seeing so far, and hope you continue.
But then you get weirdness like at the end of "Surface Tension" where the Iconian says not to attract their attention again. And there's me sitting there going, "Wait a minute, this whole clusterf**k was your idea to begin with. How did we attract your attention?" And again with the "You were warned" line in "Uneasy Allies". (This is where the Iconians-as-hammy-idiots comes from: It was Worfie's reaction to the guy in "Surface Tension", which, by the way, how the hell you gate straight into a Klingon victory celebration, vape the entire High Council, and not one person present takes a shot at you?)
And then we have the one in "House Pegh" claiming to be a god. As a general rule, being convinced of your own godhood doesn't exactly go hand-in-hand with mental stability.
Besides which, there's the issue that they went the covert manipulation route and yet explicitly have enough ships to fill a Dyson sphere, outnumbering probably the entire Alliance by several orders of magnitude, all of which they can readily transport into the Milky Way, so why the heck did they bother with all the sneaking around in the first place instead of just invading?
As for besieging Qo'noS, my interpretation is that the STFs are single points in time: what you're seeing as a siege, I'm seeing as a single invasion attempt (which we're incorporating, though not by name).
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
Those fools who grovel before the Western outsiders
The Emperor demands that our nation be restored
In his name the samurai once again march for war
On our walking machines we stride across the land
Towering above the mist with our swords in hand
The shogunates men rise in defense of their masters
But their spirit is weak and our steel is stronger
I ride to war on my ironclad beast.
Upon the foreigners terror will my men feast.
For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens.
Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)
Their unfair treaties will be rewritten in blood
A warning to their kind and our weak-willed shogun
We'll take back the skies from their coal-fired airships
Cast away their disease and their lack of respect
From the flames of Kagoshima to the walls of ancient Edo
We will strike at their heart with unrelenting anger
We can no longer stand by as the shadows grow long
The steam-powered samurai's age has finally come
I ride to war on my ironclad beast.
Upon the foreigners terror will my men feast.
For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens.
Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)
Ikuze!
Oh - Reh - San- Jo
We will restore the Emperor to his rightful place
Regain our pride and save precious face
Uproot the weeds that have soiled our land
Pray to our ancestors and make amends
We are modern relics of the most ancient traditions
At war one last time for the sake of our nation
One final stand on this most glorious day
Then the steam-powered samurai will fade away
I ride to war on my ironclad beast.
Upon the foreigners terror will my men feast.
For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens.
Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)
Steam-powered Samurai, Escape the Clouds
The largest fleet the Klingon Empire had assembled in living memory hung silent in space over QonoS. Not even for the invasion of Cardassia had so many ships gathered under the aegis of the Imperial Klingon Defense Forces.
And for good reason, Commander Boroth, the first officer of the IKS BortaSqu, reflected. QonoS defenses had been caught unaware when the Undine struck in January. This time they had warning, and JmpoQ Qang would not allow a second such insult to the honor of the Empire. To that end, the Chancellor had taken personal command of the defense.
Where are they? Lieutenant Commander Hark growled. My blood thirsts for combat.
Patience, Hark. Youll get your fill of battle soon enough.
Captain! Serassh, the Gorn science officer, exclaimed. Reading several Iconian gateways opening in sector six! Herald ships on attack vector!
As I said. Sound general quarters! Shields up!
CHAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!!!!! Captain Koren howled, hammering the fire all button on her console repeatedly. TAKE THEM DOWN!!!!! Today is a good day to die!
Sir! Theyre hailing us! shouted the comm officer.
Put it on, growled BoRoth.
The Iconian on the viewscreen laughed malevolently as the BortaSqu bore down on the lead dreadnought, gunfire and torpedoes streaming from its mounts. PUNY LESSER BEINGS! YOUR PATHETIC AND INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE MINDS CANNOT COMPREHEND THE MAGNIFICENCE OF SUPREME LORD VALOROUS-DEEDS-OF-MIGHT! FOR VALOROUS-DEEDS-OF-MIGHT IS DESTINED FOR GREATNESS, AND MY FORCES ARE INVINCIBLE! It laughed again, at length.
Sir, suggested Boroth mildly, maybe we should approach it from the flanks? That main gun does look like it can
I have no fear, Commander! yelled Koren. We will face the Iconians with good Klingon steel and Klingon disruptors, and they will fall before
The world exploded as the Iconian dreadnoughts forward weapons fired. Sirens blared. Viewscreens whited out and exploded. Lights shattered. Consoles blew, sending officers screaming through the air. Part of a wall vanished and the operations officer was messily beheaded by a flying axe of battle steel that embedded itself half a meter into a console on the port wall.
ARGH! Koren snarled as Boroth pulled her to her feet. What was that? What hit us? What weapons do we have?
Sir, weve lost engines, weapons, and shields! growled Boroth, checking his console. Were dead in space!
Koren opened her mouth, closed it again as a line of blood started to roll down her face from a gash on her scalp, and settled for an angry growl.
With respect, sir, said Boroth, watching the dreadnought float silently past outside the force-field-closed hole in the side of the bridge, I did suggest that maybe flying into its main gun was a bad idea.
Starbase 234, Hatoria Gamma-12 System.
Admiral Yarlin Dao, the flag officer-in-command of Hatoria Sector Fleet, is a familiar face to me. Back when I was in the Militia, he was my COs boss, the Commandant of Space Arm. Oh well, Militias loss, Starfleets gain. Its good to see you again, sir, I tell him in Bajorla, smartly saluting in Militia manner out of respect. How long you been out here?
About two years, Captain, the grey-haired man from Dahkur Province answers. Given my Resistance experience I was a natural choice once we were sure the Republic wasnt a rumor. No offense, RahaenEnriov, he adds for Dtrels benefit in somewhat poorly pronounced Rihan.
None taken, Dtrel answers in Federation Standard. Where are you, on the station?
No, maam, the USS Regent. Biggest ship I have, and if even half of what the scouts in the Herald Sphere have been telling us is accurate, were gonna need it.
Sounds good to me. Well be operating under your command for this mission.
Understood. Im designating you as backup, maam. He sighs. Im hoping we can hold the Iconians here, keep them away from New Romulus and the Nequencia colony, but our priority is to evac the civilians and nonessential personnel. Captain Appiah?
The screen shifts to a slim, dark-skinned human with a buzz-cut and a thin beard, the base commander, Jojo Appiah. Ive called in or shanghaied every ship in the sector. Their RV is Narendra III; the local Klingons owe us a favor. Weve already begun the evacuation but
Wiggins console chirps and he jerks forward in his chair. Bloody hell. Captain!
I know that tone. Sound battle stations! How many gates, Master Chief?
Four that I can see.
101 Wing, Admiral Yarlin orders, stick close to the station. Nine-Seven through Nine-Nine and Task Force Vengeance, follow me in and watch that crossfire. Hundred Wing, stay in reserve. May the Prophets be with us.
You heard the enriov. Move in, Haakona Support Formation..
It takes me a moment to remember that formation, but Dtrel helpfully sends the layout to my tac plot. Its an old Romulan battle plan, from one of the earlier Federation/Romulan wars. Devastating against the light Andorian escorts favored by Starfleet at the time.
Bajor is in the middle, behind the Regents formation, with the two lighter cruisers slightly behind and above us to provide support. KRokars sleek MatHa-class raptor is beneath us, cannons ready. The lighter escorts are in a rotating ring around this set-up, slightly ahead, but I know that theyre ready to shift back and then break off at a moments notice.
This formation is designed to bust blockades, and given the sheer number of Herald ships incoming, its pretty clear that Dtrels plan is to use me like a sledgehammer, hitting the cruiser-and-raider wolfpack on the Regents flank while the flagship takes on the Herald battleship dominating the incoming force. Theres four cruisers and around twenty raiders in that pack, plus swarms of fighters, but the coordination is lackluster; uneven lines and that kind of chaotic, irregular formation that stinks of an inexperienced or even stupid flag officer. Good, we have a fighting chance. If they were holding a better formation, their Iconian tech might be enough to beat us, but like this, we should punch through and break them.
The Heralds come in, raising their shields in leisurely disorder. Again, reads like arrogance and lack of coordination.
But the readings were getting from those ships...
We have a good, fighting chance. But its going to be rough.
There are two cruisers in the middle of that attack group, holding something like a coordinated pair, I say, indicating the ships on my plot. Dtrels using us like cavalry from pre-industrial armies; thats the equivalent of an infantry battalion. But not a good one. We need to break anything like order they have before they form actual order, or theyll swat us like a bug. Tess, target the one on the right, phasers to maximum power.
Aye, Captain.
The Heralds weapons ports are starting to glow, now, but ours have been hot for over two minutes already. Were almost in range
Then the lead battleship fires and five birds-of-prey simply evaporate. A roar of shock erupts over the comms.
All ships, fire at will! Yarlin bellows, trying to regain control of the situation. Ahead, the Regent lights up with phaser fire, targeting the Herald battleship. The spindly-but-massive vessel, looking more like an elaborate theatrical mask than a starship, responds with a swarm of trash, EMP and electronic-warfare probes to sabotage us and leave us stranded while the Heralds blast us to splinters. The tac plot highlights some of our ships in green. Green Group, stick to holding Sector Zero-Three-Seven!
Phekk, theyve got a range advantage! I tell Dtrel. The Romulans already calling for Garoks Neghtev-class to clear away the probe swarms before we get too close; as I watch, her own cannons fire a spread volley.
Tess, torpedoes on that cruiser the moment its shields drop!
Aye, Captain! I hear in her tone a vicious little grin. Shes actually enjoying this.
Garoks ship is big, the closest the Klinks have to a GCS, but like most Klingon capitals its built for firepower and maneuverability over defense; and survivability is needed in the point position here. However, the disruptors are powerful and the commander has a good eye, so the mobs of trash headed for my ship dont even make it to Dtrels escorts, now pulling ahead slightly. The Starfleet battlecruiser on my other flank then joins in as the NaSpuchpa opens fire on the other cruiser in the pair ahead, the other two moving in behind and maneuvering to fire on the escorts.
Lead escorts, fire on the raiders! orders the Romulan. The raiders are breaking off from the wheeling mob theyre making around the cruisers, but theyre still packed close enough together that the cannons make mincemeat of them. Tess gets more of them with the phasers in automatic targeting mode.
Come on, closer, closer Now, Tess!
I have a lock. Firing! Tess switches targets and the main phaser strip forward of the bridge lights up, two firing pulses whipping along its length faster than the eye can follow. The pulses meet and a thunderbolt slams out into space, crosses the void in an eyeblink, and skewers a cruiser dead-center, battering its shields down in one shot and setting its running lights flickering. Fire, fore tube! A spread of quantum torpedoes shrieks into space, and five detonations in rapid succession rip it to fragments.
Switch to the other one, finish it off! The other lead cruiser is floundering, its shields failing under Garok and the Avenger-class USS Aldebarans assault. Tess locks on and hits it with the saucer and starboard nacelle phasers. The warp core detonates and the ship is incinerated in a single blinding flash.
Two more cruisers, raiders are broken, says Dtrel. Kanril, take Perry and Sloan and hammer that cruiser on the right, Im taking Garok and Bovanovitch to the left with KRokar, were breaking that TRIBBLE.
The cruiser turns to meet us and its fire hisses into our forward shields. Shields holding, eighty-three percent! Gaarra calls.
Captain Hollis to any ship in Sector Zero-Four-One, need backup!
Dtrel, thats Yarlins flag captain! I tell her.
Stay on target, Kanril! I need your ship to break that cruiser! Shes terse, audibly stressed, and worriedfor good reason. More gates have opened and the Heralds numbers are mounting.
Regent, Warsaw, were on our way. On the plot a trio of tactical escorts from 98 Wing break off and move to support the flagship. I can hear Dtrel swearing faintly as the Aldebaran tanks a hit from the cruiser that the Romulans half of the strike group is targeting; there isnt a second hit, as the escorts, raptor, and battlecruisers rip through the shields and hull of the enemy ship with their next volley.
One-on-one, the Herald ships are more powerful than ours. Herald cruisers are even a threat to the Bajor. But we have the advantage of coordination, something the Heralds seem to lacksomething that I note to myself as the cruiser were targeting begins to burn from Perry and Sloans weapons fire and my phasers.
Tess, torpedo, dead center.
With pleasure, maam.
A quantum warhead leaps out across space. The Herald ships seem to have little if any point-defense or ECM despite their powerful shields and weapons and array of offensive electronic warfare gear, and this cruiser is no exception. It takes the torpedo in the central firing tube and detonates.
Regroup! orders Dtrel. Despite our successes here, the enemy by now has a massive numerical advantage. The Regent, especially, is taking heavy fire from two Herald battleships. Move to reinforce the flagship!
Captain Hollis screams on the comms, Shields are dead! I cant hold iiiit!
Hollis voice vanishes in static as a raider crashes into the hull blister containing the bridge. Moments later a lance of light skewers the Regent and it vanishes in a fireball.
As Dtrel hollers that shes assuming command, I bellow to the communications officer, Esplin, get me a channel to Starfleet Command, now!
Channel open, maam!
Command, this is USS Bajor. Broken Arrow. Repeat, Broken Arrow. Allied forces in danger of being overrun!
Kanril, get over to the station and hold off those raiders, theyre trying to gate infantry onto the station! barks Dtrel over the fleet link. Garok, Sloan, KRokar, assist Kanril and defend her from enemy cruisers! Bovanovitch, Perry, theres a battleship on the right flank, were going to take it out. Mogai-wing formation, well put me in the beak, Bovanovitch, take left, Perry, right. Come up from the south.
Dtrels flagship reorients in space, and the Aldebaran and Tarsem Gau follow, angling up towards the Herald battleship from its rear at a sixty-degree angle. The enemy heavy tries to turn, but Dtrel fires one of those supercharged plasma torpedoes that the Romulans put on some of their Tvaros and the Herald ships shields fall, the hull burning and cracking under the assault of superheated plasma. I dont see what happens next; Im busy with my own fight. Tess, get that raider out of my face!
Locked! Firing! Three blasts from the dorsal phaser hammer into the little ship, punching a hole through its shields and skewering something important. The engines flame out and it goes ballistic, careening out of the battlespace in a wild tumble.
Captain, Esplin interrupts, I have a text-only response from Command
Short version! I snap. Where are our reinforcements?
There arent any reinforcements! Were it!
My tac plot blares. A cruiser astern. Garok, theres a bogey locked on my rear!
Already on it, growls the Klingon. Sloan, target the weapons. Fire!
The cruiser turns to face the new threat, a predatory Klingon battlecruiser and sleek Tempest-class swooping in and breaching the shields on its starboard side. Seconds later a Defiant wolfpack comes in with a barrage of quantum torpedoes and smashes it to fragments.
Tess, three raiders, travelling in a pack, port side. Give em a broadside!
I see them!
The raiders explode as the phasers thrum again. One makes it through, barely, but the Klingon raptor covering us from above blasts it to bits with those deadly fore cannons.
Battleships down, but theres another wave coming in, growls Dtrel over the comlink, voice taut with rage and concentration. Maintain rolesBovanovitch, watch your flanks there.
Tess, I dont like the look of that fighter pack.
The phasers fire. The Herald fighters vaporize. Herald ships arent advanced enough that their little fighters can withstand Starfleets most advanced phaser banks fired with all the power of a line battleship.
Thank you. Six raiders coming in on vector three-one-zero mark two-six. They dont make it past us.
It continues in that vein for the next several minutes. Dtrel keeps us mostly on raider duty, but she calls us several times to hammer the fore shields of larger Herald ships that get too close while the escorts get them from the rear. As she gets a better feel for the Heralds and their tactics, she starts calling the lighter cruisers into tag-teaming Herald cruisers or packs of raiders around a single cruiser.
Frankly, the Heralds dont seem to be that great at tactics. Some are clearly smart enough to use basic tactics and to try to avoid getting shot, but by and large the attack is disorganized and focused primarily on hammering our starbase and ships with the firepower that the Heralds can bring to bear. Theres little coordination, not even the fluid, shifting kind that Dtrel favors, which is probably the main reason were doing as well as we are.
But even so, we have a small task force and a space station, with a small defense group to support us. And more Heralds keep gating in.
Ten minutes in, Dtrel has the Bajor and the two Klingons escort a pod of runabouts and a couple freighters that are making a run for it, carrying as many personnel as can be evacuated from the station. Our shields are taking a beating and the structural integrity field is flashing warning signs, but were alive, even after a Herald cruiser, a battleship, and a pack of fighters decide to try their luck with us.
But as we turn to return to the station, I hear the com signal from the starbase.
Admiral Dtrel, this is Control. Fall back to New Romulus, repeat, fall back to New Romulus.
Captain Appiah I start.
Kanril, weve got everyone off who can get off and theres thirty million people on that planet who need starship cover! Meet up with Commodore Paris at New Romulus. Ill hold them off as long as I can!
Theres a pause. Dtrels voice is grim as she gives the orders: Fall back! All ships, form up and fall back!
Give em Hell, Captain, I tell him. Prophets walk with you. I turn to Lieutenant Park as the ship shakes around us. Park, disengage, quick as you can, and set course for New Romulus.
The ragged survivors of the fight, two dozen capital ships, about forty birds-of-prey and Tvaros, and a little less than three hundred fighters, shoot their way clear, with the Bajor providing cover fire as we pull back and go to warp. The Iconians dont follow, intent on finishing Appiah off.
The fight is no longer visible, but were still within sensor range, and Wiggin calls out weapon reports. First torpedo barrages, and then the starbases main phasers, several times more powerful than anything you can fit on a starship, finally come into play. One battleship falls, then another cruiser. Even one of those dreadnoughts vanishes from the plot. But the Heralds just keep coming.
Captain, Esplin quietly says, Im picking up a transmission from Captain Appiah.
His voice is distorted by static and the sound of gunfire. Hope youre well away, Kanril. Shields are failing, Environmental just took a hit, and weve lost the number two phaser. We have boarders on decks five through nine, trying to get into the computers. Ive thrown everything Ive got, wish it couldve been more. Initiating self-destruct sequence. Godspeed.
Then the sensors register the stations fusion reactors going supercritical.
ChMolRihan orbit, two hours later.
Only a small force of Iconian Heralds had reached the adopted Rihan homeworld when Dtrels task force got there. They bullrushed the hastily gathered fleet in orbit and punched through with sheer velocity, scattering some kind of self-propelled beacons into the atmosphere around the Hwael Ruins. Romulan and Kobali ground forces are converging on their position but theyre short of heavy armor support, Commodore Paris finished explaining as his USS Mercury joined their group and took point.
Mercury, Bajor. Were carrying some anti-tank missiles we can send down, leftovers from the Delta Quadrant. Ill have Ops start replicating more, and well deploy everything weve got as soon as were in transporter range.
Dtrel grimaced. What she wouldnt give for one of those Lloannengalae T-204 tanks the Bahjorha had brought to Kobali Prime right now. But anti-armor missiles would suffice.
Three cruisers, one battleship, and a few dozen raiders. Survivable odds.
Right. Nothing complicated. Punch through, evade their main guns. Bajor, clear out the trash, raiders and sabotage probes, then take on the battleship as a distraction, try to force them to redirect power to the fore shields. Sloan, KRokar, Garok, Bovanovitch, handle the cruisers. Only one battleshipParis, you up for a flanking attack?
Yes, sir, replied the Human. Were taking it down?
Yes. Mogai-wing formation, Im head, youre right wing and anchor, Perrys left wing. Use the Bajor as cover, get below, target the engine blocksthose seem to be weak points.
Understood, sir. Forming up.
Kholhr, this is KhreRiov tThavrau. My squadron will assist.
The more the merrier, Subadmiral, Zel answered. Mintakallans chuckle turned into a cough halfway through. The kid was always trying to be more professional.
Dtrel spoke one word: Attack.
The two visible formations crashed into each other in a kaleidoscope of beams, bolts, and torpedoes. At the core, Kanrils battleship, far larger than the Kholhr, spat lance after lance at its enemy counterpart, spending its quantum torpedoes with abandon.
Keep it steady, KRokar, Dtrel said. Zel, watch that cruiser--
Vengeance, Mercury! Paris radioed. Youve got one on your tail, thirty klicks aft!
I saw him! I saw him! Zel answered. The Breen hurled the little warbird into a corkscrewing hairpin turn as a salvo of cannonfire battered the aft shields, managing to evade the worst of it. Shtel, this guys good. Jultah cruiser, flying it like a fighter
A new, male voice broke into the channel in Rihan. Kholhr, on my mark, pull up.
Zel stopped cursing midway through an inventive combination of the Tzenkethi version of the verb to copulate and the Talarian noun often translated as TRIBBLE. If a Breen helmet could smile, xir helmet would have. Understood, Commander trSauringar. Ill keep her nice and level until then, but make it fast.
Three, two, one, mark! Zel hauled back hard on the stick as an enormous Dderidex-class warbird dissolved out of empty space, its forward battery already glowing with terajoules of energy. As the two ships passed each other close enough their shields struck sparks, the Aenrhien fired and cored the pursuing cruiser from stem to stern.
Good shot, there, Dtrel congratulated the Aenrhiens gunner as a trio of Dhael-class warbirds and an ArKif-class carrier decloaked alongside and took up guard positions, the carrier already disgorging its load of Scorpions. Perry, Paris, reform formation; Kanril, keep holding that battleships attention. Were taking it down.
Yes, sir! Kanrils voice was eager.
Move in, full impulse!
The three escorts slipped under the Federation battleships hull, diving a dozen kellicams before spinning around into an upwards lunge. Above, the battleships shields were weakening, the Herald commander frantically diverting power to absorb the Bajors assault.
Dtrel smiled the feral grin of a hungry shark. Wait for it.
Twenty kellicams, the engine blocks straight ahead. Ten. Five.
Open fire!
A blitzekrieg of plasma, phaser, and disruptor blasts pounded into the Herald ships ventral shields; already weakened, they flared and died in under a second.
Torpedoes! shouted Dtrel, unnecessarily in the case of her own vessel as First Omektikallan had already launched three high-yield plasma torpedoes straight into the Herald ships exposed engines.
The Herald ships engine blocks burned, then crackedand the entire massive vessel detonated, its core erupting in a gout of flame as the systems short-circuited.
We take that cruiser next. KRokar, Sloan, Bovanovitch, the other cruiser. Kanril, operate as a base, target the raiders. Garok, cover Kanril. TThavrau, provide support wherever youre needed. Move.
The three escorts streaked upwards, evading Herald weapons fire with nimble ease, then curled around behind the chaotic mess of the Herald formation, headed for the rear of one of the remaining cruisers.
Nice and easy, same plan, said Dtrel calmly. On my mark.
Hes trying to shake us, warned Zel. Couple of raiders coming ournever mind, thank you, Kanril.
My pleasure.
Stay on target. Weapons hot. Engine pod, again.
Herald turrets fired, and sirens blared as the little warbirds shields shimmered, but the Herald vessel was too forward-heavy to defend effectively against a rear attack and too clumsy to evade three escorts.
Fire.
The cannons blazed, and the vessel erupted. Dtrel checked her tac plot again. The other cruiser was disabled, leaking atmo and adrift into open space. Good, maybe theyd be able to learn something useful from it. Clean em up, then start beaming teams down. First, get our men suited up for heavy combat, and bring the explosives.
Shall I bring the grenade launcher? rumbled the JemHadar. Or would that be too bulky?
Bring it. You or I can handle it. We can always ditch it and pick it up later if it becomes a liability.
Dtrel looked over the plot again. Without the support of cruisers or battleships, the Herald raiders fell easily. Mopping up would be a short business.
TThavrau, I want your group to monitor for new gateway signatures as soon as weve cleared the last few raiders. Two dozen of them left, lets finish this.
The torpedoes were set for a full spread. Dtrel smiled. First Omektikallan knew what cheered her up. For a given value of cheer, at least.
The remaining Herald raiders lasted maybe a minute. Most of that was taken up by one ship zigging and zagging across the battlefield, trying to get behind one of the smaller ships. It was pinned, however, by a phaser beam and a plasma blast from Bajor and Kholhr before it could do so.
Good work. Begin beaming down away teams. LZ is hot, so go in armed for Klingon saber bear. Im headed for the transporter room.
Kanril!
High Admiral? the Bajoran asked, flipping up the visor on a MACO-issue hardsuit as Dtrel jogged up. She was surrounded by a small group of gray-clad Starfleet Security troopers.
This seems to be the only place the Heralds have landedtheyre ignoring the city completelyand Paris got an unusual reading from the caves. I want you on my team to go down; youll be hunting with JohKghan and Jak here. Im with Omek and Daysnur.
A burly Nausicaan and a muscular turak huntress lifted weapons in a quick salute.
Alright. The rest of my team can secure the surface. Dulkrah, she said to a towering, horned alien Dtrel didn't recognize, you have command.
Sir, the alien acknowledged in a deep voice, then began directing the soldiers, who jogged off deeper into the woods towards the sound of gunfire.
Good. Lets
Gateway opening! barked the Nausicaan, grabbing his disruptor compression rifle as his tricorder started beeping frantically.
Defensive positions, around the cave! barked Dtrel, cocking the Sig Sauer nine-millimeter automatic pistol that shed brought with her and ducking behind a rock.
The gateway opened, and Dtrel held up a fist.
On my command!
A tall, slender shape flew through, ornate things that mightve been armor attached to its body.
FOOLISH CHILDREN! it thrummed. I AM LMIREN THE ETERNAL, FOREMOST OF THE FOURTH OF SIX CASTES, LORD OF MAGNIFICENCE, INDOMITABLE SUZERAIN OF
It stopped, and looked around. HEY, WHERE IN THE NAME OF ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS ARE THE SERVITORS?
Open fire! barked Dtrel.
The Iconian turned, just in time to have its forehead blown open by a nine-millimeter frag round. As it screamed in agony, a hail of energy weapons fire shredded its body.
Kanril lowered her gun a couple of centimeters, the emission tube smoking a little. Prophets, who talks like that?
Believe me, Captain, rumbled Omektikallan, that was nothing. Do you know of the Iconian that attacked QonoS in January? The Supreme Lord that called itself fated for greatness?
Yeah, why?
High Admiral Dtrel has killed him twice, now. And he is a thousand times more melodramatic than that one was.
Youve got to be joking, replied the Bajoran. Nobodys that hammy.
First Omektikallan made a rumbling noise not unlike a quiet chuckle. I promise you, Captain, that the one I speak of is. I personally witnessed him become angry at another Iconian for killing a Romulan who he had been describing his greatness to before he was finished. They may have actually tried to kill each other if High Admiral Dtrel had not ordered us to open fire.
Alright, lets move it! ordered Dtrel, having reloaded all of her numerous weapons. Into the caves, secure the gate!
Mars Defense Perimeter, Sol System.
So, youre sure this is going to work, Admiral Taitt? Fleet Admiral Quinns voice asked over the comm.
Am I sure? Not hardly, Rear Admiral Zandra Taitt answered. But if this works, zero casualties and we lose one ship that was set for scrap anyway. The willowy black woman was standing on the bridge of the USS Caelian, one of the eight original Vesta-class ships, which had been badly damaged over Vaadwaur Prime: half the decks were still open to space and the shields and main fire control were completely dead. Unlike most of Starfleet Sciences current admiralty, Taitt was a combat veteran, with almost as many decorations for courage under fire as for scientific achievements. Shed faced the Borg on the Enterprise-D less than a year out of Starfleet Academy, and after incinerating a Borg ship with a solar flare not much scared her anymore. She continued, Bajors sensor data on the Iconian gates indicates they use a
Fleet Admiral Quinns sigh manifested over the comm as a burst of static. Save it, Zandra; I didnt understand a word the first time you explained it. All right, you have a go. Good luck.
Rear Admiral Taitt smiled, softly. Yes, sir. Conn, get us to the coordinates of that subspace anomaly. Deflector control?
Here, sir, came a voice through the internal comm. Sir, the gateways opening!
Oh, no.
Sir? the conn officer queried worriedly.
We shouldve had more warning!
Command to Caelian, whats going on out there?
Sorry, Quinn, not going to be zero casualties, after all, Taitt muttered grimly. She slapped her combadge. Anybody nonessential who can reach a lifeboat, go now! Conn, full impulse!
All ahead full, the conn officer confirmed. Its been an honor, sir.
The Caelian screamed towards the edge of the opening Iconian gateway, a blue disc in space. Beyond was a vast, empty expanse, a thousand Herald battleships, a titanic dreadnought, and the distant star of a Dyson Sphere.
Deflector control, begin the cascade and then run for the lifeboats! But she knew there was no way anyone who wasnt already off would live through this.
At least it would be quick.
As the ships bow intersected the portal, Caelians deflector dish glowed, and flashed. The gateway, and the battered but still-sleek ship halfway through it, vanished from Earth space.
Zandra Taitt died smiling in satisfaction. Meanwhile, Supreme High Lord Light-of-a-Thousand-Suns barely had time to utter a surprised curse as the black holes gravity tore his entire fleet to atoms around him.
This is quite possibly the oddest away team Ive ever been on, not to mention the deepest underground Ive ever been.
We reach the first crevice, left here by the Iconian-induced tectonic event during the gateway incident. The Nausicaan clambers down first, lowered halfway down the crevice on the strange aliens tail. He lands with a bit of a grunt, but stands easily.
Grounds stable, pass her down.
Pass I manage before the burly creature grabs me with its--her?--prehensile tail and heaves me bodily over the edge.
...Winds damn it, f*cking ask her first! grumbles the Nausicaan, now about a foot from my involuntarily-yelping face.
Yab doj nil? Onchut kortak notaj? asks the alien from above me.
Shes not Pack, not like us! Shes damn Federation, they do things all formal! Alright, just drop her, Ill catch
I drop, and the Nausicaan makes good on his word. He puts me down on my feet fast, too. Smart man.
The alien drops down herself, with the ease of an arboreal creature. It/she looks apologetic. My apologies, it rasps, deep and guttural. I am not very familiar with your Federations traditions. I presumed that you were to be treated as Pack, like my comrades on the Vengeance.
No offense taken, but warn me next time, I say. The Nausicaan chuckles.
Ready, Captain?
I heft my MACO rifle, which hums the sweet hum of impending death. Always. I start walking down the tunnel.
Im on your six, grunts the Nausicaan around his fangs, sliding a fresh power cell into his disruptor and cocking the weapon on my right. On my left, the other alien is eerily silent, holding a shield of all things and a kinetic pistol, with a spear strapped to her back.
Good. Uh...whats with
JohKghans species prefers to avoid unnecessary noise while on the hunt. Wed be considered incompetent, impolite morons among her kind right now, actually. Big stupid noisy talkers that we are.
Yoj torkhSnâga, snarls JohKghan. Her voice is incredibly deep and guttural, something Id expect from a giant professional wrestler, not a five-foot-zero offspring of a Terran baboon and a naked ape. Oversized preyfood duhin-kon. You lumber so, and cannot stop your bellowing.
Lumber? More like waddle, snorts the Nausicaan, his snarling voice professionally quiet. Why, after that death-by-chocolate cake they were servingwait. He stops and holds up a hand, voice dropping several decibels and his tone becoming deadly serious. Movement, in the reflection, that bit of glass, three oclock.
We go silent, moving over towards the wall.
The Nausicaan holds up a hand. No fancy signs, now. Just fingers.
I hold my rifle to my chest and nod. He grins, in that horrible split-mouthed way of Nausicaans.
Three. Two. One.
I take two steps out from beyond cover, my phaser rifle humming, and drill a hole through the first armored figure. I mustve hit something important, because its glowing core flares and collapses.
The Nausicaan sprays a volley of high-velocity fullerened antimatter packets from his autocarbine, catching another suit as its shields buzz up. The third charges, in a clanking, robotic manner unlike any living thing Ive ever seen.
JohKghan impales it with her spear. The lights flicker. She snarls, and grabs her spear with her tail, then pulls its head off with her free hand. The lights got dark, and it stops moving.
Suit number four is coming for me. I bring my rifle to bear, but its getting too close
Then its knocked sideways by another shot from the Nausicaan. I react quickly, holing it with my rifle.
Good shooting, grunts the Nausicaan appreciatively. A professional admiring good work.
JohKghan stabs one of the bits of metal with her bluish metal spear. What kind of prey is this? You cant eat metal! She sounds genuinely insulted. They actually sent dead metal against us and expected it to make us its prey? The formal language has no words for that level of chongkut stupidity and arrogance!
I quietly grunt my agreement. The Nausicaan snickers and makes a complicated series of gestures with his unarmed hand. JohKghan signs something else back.
What was that? I ask, unfamiliar with this sign language.
The Nausicaans tusks twitch in his species version of a blush. Sexual themes, sir. Sexual themes. Too delicate for your Federation sensibilities.
I snort. Try me, jok an chak shattuk noj.
He starts, then snickers, his fanged maw splitting in a wide grin. Okay, you got some guramba in your blood, Captain. I was suggesting that the Iconians like to turkut their equivalents of duhin-konan animal from her planetand she said that they dont even have the excuse of being perverts, theyre just that dumb.
I nod philosophically. Based on what Ive seen so far, that makes sense.
The Nausicaan snickers again. The alien flashes another lightning-quick hand sign.
I dont ask for a translation.
Dtrels team is coming in through the back path, an escape tunnel that was dug after the collapse of the gateway cavern during the incident last year. Our job is to knock on the front door.
Herald attack group, through the next door, grunts the Nausicaan, tapping his eyepiece. I nod slightly, seeing the heat signatures on my own HUD. The alien just grins--if that lips-pulled-back-from-fangs ghastly maw can be called a grin. It shoulders the spear in exchange for a wicked-looking projectile gun. Its tail curls into a strange shape, then twitches in a pattern.
Game on, growls the Nausicaan. Hes using an antiproton autocarbine, part of an Omega Force standard-issue armor set popular with MACOs in assault roles. The primary shot function blows the door to splinters. The following spread volley setting smashes into the Heralds personal shields like a tide of fire.
Four more armor suits and a titanic beast like the ones Ive seen outsidemy HUD pegs it as a class-four, or Defiler. Herald light armored artillery.
My regular guns probably useless, so I pull the pins on an entire cluster of proton grenades and throw them into the cluster of Heralds just as the Defiler raises its staff. The resulting impact shreds its shields, splinters the armored suits, and sends the great beast reeling with a roar.
JohKghan, or however that name is spelled and pronounced, plugs it in three of its eyes with her projectile gun. Impressive, for sighting one-handed with a shield.
The Defiler screams in agony, pulling up its glowing staff again, but the next antiproton blast hits it in the face. Blinded now, its head a burned ruin, it shrieks with rage and pain until I lob another grenade into the open mouth.
Lucky shot.
The blast is somewhat muffled, but the result is very impressive.
Main chambers up ahead, remarks the Nausicaan. Nice throw there.
I grunt my acknowledgement. JohKghan sniffs the Heralds corpse, then snarls.
You not up for eating that? asks the Nausicaan.
Let it rot, and endure a thousand years trapped in its body before it reaches Ungkat, snarls the alien. Smells like poison, too. Not worth trying.
My ear com chimes, and the Nausicaan puts his hand up to his own ear-hole.
Kanril, this is Dtrel. Were in position in the rear, reading two class-ones and a class-five near the gateway. Looks like theyre trying to hack the consoles, the gateways powering up.
Were ready, sir, I reply after quick nods from the Nausicaan and the alien. Were one corridor out, just took out some Heralds. You want us to provide the distraction?
You have grenades?
Yes, sir.
Good. Open with those, class-fives are effectively armored artillery.
We move in. The Herald Harbinger is visible through the open door; its back is turned.
Wow, thats arrogant.
Jak, right?
Yeah, grunts the Nausicaan.
Soften up his shields for me, will you?
My pleasure.
The Nausicaan moves forward carefully, me and the alien just behind. His gun is raised, sighted at the Herald. I know that the effective range on those things isnt great; thats an assault troopers weapon, not a sniper rifle.
I unbuckle my grenade belt in preparation.
The armor suits must spot us, because they start moving for the center of the room, in front of the gateway. The Harbinger, or class-five as my HUD helpfully pegs it, turns and glides toward us.
PUNY
Its incipient melodramatic rant about our insignificance is cut off by the antiproton volley impacting with its shields. The bombastic speech peters off in a howl of rage, and it raises its staff.
Fire in the hole!
My grenade belt comes with an attachment that lets me pull all the pins at once. I tug this eminently useful little tab, and throw all twenty remaining grenades into the fray.
Oh, right. I had plasma grenades in there.
Oops.
The explosion of fire, antimatter, and superheated plasma knocks the Herald flat on its TRIBBLE, howling in pain and rage. The suits move forward, but are swiftly holed by JohKghan, who has figured out where to shoot them for what looks like maximum effect.
I AM A SERVANT OF SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS!! howls the Herald, hauling itself to its feet. YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY
Oh, shut up, grumbles Dtrel over the comm in my ear as her pistol sounds. The Heralds head erupts as she empties the clip into it; the frag-tipped rounds impact with its relatively-unprotected rear with the shields down and tear it to gory shreds.
Nice shooting, sir, I comment.
Thank you, she says, walking over to us. Daysnur, Jak, check the computers. Kanril, JohKghan, stand guard with Omek and me.
Daysnur, the Lethean, taps at one of the control consoles for the gate, then curses inventively in about six languages. Sir! Theyre headed for Laenas III. The Preserver archive!
Ariennye, curses Dtrel. Only one reason theyd send a ground force thereintel. Dtrel to Paris! Gather up the away teams, then get your team and my strike group to the transwarp gate and get to Laenas III as fast as you can! Were going to take the direct route.
Direct route? rumbles the JemHadar, Dtrels XO if I remember correctly.
Dtrel points at the gateway, now at full power. Direct route.
The JemHadar smiles like a hungry shark as he understands the plan. I do, tooits a good plan, the Iconians are probably too arrogant to monitor gateway traffic. Well get there before they can do too much damage.
Jak, Daysnur, fire it up. Omek, Kanril, JohKghan, with me. Jak, Daysnur, once were through you follow.
The JemHadar motions me to his left. Captain. I will guard the High Admirals flank. Will you protect mine?
Yeah. Kanril Eleya, by the way. Captain of the Bajor.
I am honored to meet you at last. I am First Omektikallan, servant of glorious OdoItal, first officer of the Vengeance.
At last? I hope you havent heard the bad stuff.
He smiles, quite warmly for a JemHadar, as he double-checks his polaron gun. Before us, the gateway fires up. You are frequently the subject of irate talk show hosts, much like Dtrel. I concluded that any officer who receives such coverage while still commanding a successful ship could not be that bad.
Theres a reason I picked you, Garok, and Perry, says Dtrel as she lines up slightly ahead and to the right of the JemHadar. Garoks probably the single most competent battlecruiser commander the Klingons sent to the Delta Quadrant, and top-three overall after Jarod and maybe Worf. John Perrys one of the top five heavy escort commanders in the Federation and has experience with overwhelming odds, and youre a top capital commander with a record full of quick thinking. I told Kagran and trKererek when they floated this plan to me that I had a short list for who I wanted on my strike team, and they got me three off the top.
Thank you, sir.
Dont mention it. Ready?
Were short-circuited by a voice on the comm. Dtrel, this is trKererek! I need you back on your warbirdthe Heralds are back, in force this time!
Phekk.
Dtrel growls deep in her throat as she snatches for her communicator. Rekkhai, Im afraid I have something more important to do!
Thats an order! We lose this ground, we lose it all!
No, rekkhai! The Heralds may want the planet but the Iconians want the Preserver archive, and they want it badly. If we can save it we deny them vital intelligence, and maybe get some ourselves.
Theres silence for a minute. Are you willing to risk the lives of everyone on this planet if youre wrong?
She answers without hesitation, Id stake my mnheisahe on my belief that Im right, KhreEnriov. They want the Archive, and they want it badly.
TrKererek audibly sighs. Fvadt. Very well. But if you get there and theres nothing militarily useful
Ill come back immediately and start killing Heralds, rekkhai. She closes the channel. Wonder why nobody thought to try maybe analyzing or hacking that archive already, she mutters. I went to enough damn trouble fighting Thot Trel over the thing All right, for real this time, are you ready to go?
We sound off. The Romulans grin is feral. Savage. Nothing like the vague frown that shes been wearing, or the easy smile she traded with the JemHadar.
Thats an old Resistance fighter, about to lob a bomb into a Cardassian army barracks.
Lets hunt.
Vulcan system. 2100 hours Federation standard time, June 8th, 2410.
Admiral Tuvok? asked VanZyl with concern. On the viewscreen, an Iconian fleet approachedan impossibly huge Herald dreadnought, a pack of about ten battleships, and swarms of cruisers and raiders like clouds of vicious insects around the behemoths.
Tuvok swam back from his mental conversation. His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
I believe, Lieutenant Commander, that we are about to receive some assistance.
Sir? asked the Trill in confusion.
Tuvok was about to explain when the communications officer squeaked. Admiral Tuvok! Were being hailed by the Iconians!
Tuvoks mouth twitched upwards again. One intimately familiar with Vulcan facial expressions would have recognized the equivalent of a manic grin. Onscreen.
An image of a deep burgundy Iconian, this one with yellow sparks tracing through its translucent body, appeared on screen. It laughed, deep and maniacal.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! Puny inferior beings! You cannot possibly imagine the infinite dignity of High Lord Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life! Your end of days has come! For I shall annihilate your puny world with but a thought, and there is nothing that you pathetic, quivering servitors can possibly do to stop the inevitable victory of my magnificent glory! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR
It cut off as a thousand voices sounded mentally, a wave of thought crashing through the minds of every sentient present.
THE WEAK WILL PERISH!!!
High Lord Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life gurgled in terror and turned, screaming for the dreadnought to reorient, but far, far too late.
A hole in space opened up on the planet-killers flank, and nine Undine bioships flew out in an octagonal formation.
AND YOU ARE WEAK. DEATH TO THE CORRUPT, TO KILLERS OF HATCHLINGS, TO THOSE WHO DARE TO THINK THAT THEY CAN RULE US. SLAY THEM ALL!
Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life screamed wordlessly, and a blast of eye-searingly bright heat and light erupted from the central bioship, blasting the dreadnought in half and tearing through a half-dozen Herald battleships that got too close to the corsucating beam.
Tuvok couldnt help but smile, insofar as a slight twitch of one side of his mouth was a smile, at the next message from the Undine.
WE HAVE ARRIVED, TINY STRONG CLUTCH-MATE TUVOK. THE MANY WILL SURVIVE. THE WEAK WILL PERISH.
...and then perhaps another paragraph detailing the magnificent deeds of my illustrious father, and then I can leave the Heralds to destroy my enemies as I watch some Supreme Conqueror
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was having a good day. With his infinite fleet, even the puny servitors that had previously been able to defeat his magnificent brilliance and awe-inspiring power would be crushed, brought crashing to the broken ground! His fleet was so great and so mighty that, as per Iconian tradition, he would, after introducing himself with an eloquent speech describing the barest hints of the full extent of his imponderable perfection, sit back and watch some cartoons for the duration of the battle, then take all the credit for the brilliant strategy that had defeated the pathetic lesser beings.
It was a good life, he felt, as he stroked his mustachio, tapped his computer screen to save the lines for his speech, and leaned back to revel in his perfection. Truly fitting for one of his magnificent visage, incredible sexual potency, and incomprehensible brilliance.
O magnificent and brilliant Supreme High Lord, mighty sovereign of a thousand worlds, may this pathetic and puny lesser being please suggest a strategy for your perfect consideration?
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was jolted out of his daydream of his own brilliance by a small, pale Herald Thrall, which was holding a personal data device and a small rectangular thing that Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness didnt recognize.
For a moment, he considered smiting the servitor down for interrupting him and its relatively informal greeting, but given the fawning tone, the insignificant creature was probably here to describe his incredible brilliance. Perhaps next time.
What is it, puny being?
O Mighty One, I know that I, Servitor 18754, am but a foolish and pathetic novice before your incredible brilliance and tactical genius, but I was wondering if you had seen this satellite data?
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness sighed internally. Great. Work.
He levitated the data device into his hand, and flipped through it.
What is this?
O Mighty Lord, I took it upon my insignificant self to analyze this data from the last, ah, incidentthe one where the puny servitor caused your divine self to be momentarily injured?
It actually took Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness a moment to realize that this must be a reference to his last death.
Of course. That pathetic being will pay for its perfidious attack!
Of course, my Lord, of course, and who better to destroy it than a tactical genius of your magnificent caliber? But I was not sure, my Lord, if you were aware of this data, which indicates the identity and capabilities of that servitor Admirals ship?
What is this tactics of which you speak? asked Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness in genuine confusion.
O Majestic One, your jest is wondorously hilarious your mastery of tactics and your brilliant military leadership are a legend among us lowly Heralds! Oh, and my Lord I thought that you might in your undying majesty and genius appreciate this? It held up the object, which Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness recognized as a primitive book, a device still used by some servitors and other lesser beings. He took it, cautiously, wary of being infected by the pollution of lesser beings.
The title read, in a primitive language of puny lesser beings, The Art of War.
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness decided to cover his ignorance with bluster.
I do appreciate your offering to my divine self, puny creature, thrummed the Iconian. Now back to your station! In appreciation for your dedication to my infinite majesty, I shall read this thing. Glory to Me! Glory to the Iconian Empire!
Glory to Thee, O glorious Supreme High Lord Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, hissed the servitor, bowing and scraping as it retreated. Truly, your infinite majesty shall rule over all worlds!
Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness never saw the Heralds sly smile as he opened the book.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
But we certainly did, and I sense trouble...
Infinite possibilities have implications that could not be completely understood if you turned this entire universe into a giant supercomputer.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Damn it to hell.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Mostly Worfie. I mentioned earlier that he reacted ... poorly to the Iconian in "Surface Tension". He responded by exaggerating the hamminess.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Rihan slang for Federation citizen. More polite than "Hevam", which is a slur for "Human".
Also, with SHLIFFG...his dialogue is intended to be annoying. This guy is supposed to make you want to punch him out every time he opens his mouth; I spend literally hours crafting his over-the-top rants and making sure that they include the hammiest melodrama I can devise. If you aren't annoyed by his bombastic stupidity, I'm doing something wrong. Yes. Yes, this means a LOT of trouble. Wait until you meet Supreme High Lord Venerated-Beyond-Measure and SHL Star-of-Glorious-Majesty. Both get hoisted by their own petards, the one because he simply cannot allow an offence to his dignity to go unpunished (as he sees it) and the other because he throws a temper tantrum when he gets called "flawed".
I also wrote a bit with SHLIFFG's daddy, who is so preposterously over-the-top that he has an announcer to tell everybody how modest SHLIFFG's daddy is. A process which literally takes hours.
Also, link to an undamaged version of the story: https://fanfiction.net/s/11288250/1/Beat-the-Drums-of-War
To explain more fully, the Romulan language we're using here was originally developed by Diane Duane for her Rihannsu series (five novels set between TOS and the TOS movies: The Romulan Way is dated the year after TMP). The Romulans, or Rihannsu as they call themselves, refer to the Federation informally as the Lloann'mhrahel, literally "them, from there", because in-series they had no real idea what they were dealing with at first contact: in this version of Romulan history the Sundering between the Vulcans and Romulans was set off by an attack on pre-warp Vulcan by the progenitors of the Orion pirates, of all people, so they assumed the worst when a Federation scoutship turned up in the Romulan system. (This version of first contact was jossed by ENT, mind.) So, the Federation is the Lloann'mhrahel, Starfleet is the Lloannen'galae ("them, from there" + "aerospace fleet"), and a Federation citizen is a Lloann'na (plural Lloann'nasu).
I've theorized a more formal translation for the UFP as Temanna nnea Rehvieen, literally "Union of Worlds".
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Ehhh, more "my country considers my actions fully legal and the international community OKed it" with regard to Q'Nel*, and "I'm OK with you pushing your limits and taking opportunistic pot-shots if you have the chance but my orders will be obeyed" with regard to her subordinates and especially the Klingons, who have a tendency to disregard orders to go glory-hounding. Pretty much the same thing, just not quite that simple.
*This is something that Starsword and I have alluded to and outright stated in other stories; the official explanation is that while flying back to Kobali Prime after mercy-killing Kobali Kim, D'trel called the RR ambassador to the Delta Alliance, who basically said "My government is done with Q'Nel, we are removing him". The Alliance security council decided in the Romulans' favor, and D'trel was told to use her best Rihan judgement and follow her mnhei'sahe. Which lead to Q'Nel losing his head.
IKS Taj, Qo’noS orbit.
Worf, son of Mogh, stood at the helm of his battlecruiser and scowled.
Ja’rod, son of Lursa, voiced their shared opinion of the battle before them. “J’mpoq Qang is a fool as well as a dishonorable targ. I cannot believe I allied Duras to his House. Would it really kill him to use intelligent tactics instead of mindlessly charging?”
Worf didn’t laugh. He simply growled. “An enemy such as this cannot be met with force. The Iconian yIntaghpu’ are without skill or courage, but they have power. Better to strike their flanks and cover the approach with cloaking mines as the Federation did to the wormhole during the Dominion War. There is no honor in a stupid, pointless death.”
Ja’rod grunted in agreement. “‘The wind does not respect a fool.’ You’re sure this will work?”
“No,” growled Worf. “But it is our best chance. And if it fails, at least we will die well.”
“True,” noted Ja’rod. “‘There is no greater death than a death in defense of House and home.’”
“Kahless the Unforgettable,” noted Worf with an almost-smile.
“My lord!” called a young Klingon bekk from the communications station. “BrokoS Sa’ and his fleet are in position and ready to engage!”
“All ships, this is Worf, son of Mogh. Today, warriors, you reclaim your honor in glorious battle! Stay in your formations and follow the battle plan, or I will kill you myself. Glory to the Empire! Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam!”
Sixty thousand Klingon throats roared over the commlink in response. Ja’rod’s mouth twitched.
“I think, Worf, that it is a better day for the Iconians to die.”
Worf’s smile was colder than the depths of interstellar space. “Indeed, Ja’rod.” He held out his arm to the younger man. “Let this be the hour in which the feud between the Houses of Mogh and Duras is laid to rest at long last.”
Ja’rod hesitated, then grasped Worf’s forearm with his own. “I would have it no other way, Worf. We will face the enemy as brothers-in-battle.” They released each others’ arms and Ja’rod keyed his communicator. “Ja’rod to Kang. One to beam directly to the bridge.”
As Ja’rod vanished in a swirl of red particles, Worf turned to the tactical display and thumbed his commlink again. “All units, commence attack!”
A hundred Klingon battlecruisers, backed up by a thousand birds-of-prey, leaped forwards, decloaking on the right flank of the Herald fleet as a thousand Nausicaan and Gorn warships and hundreds more of mercenaries and pirates from across the quadrant tore out of space on the left flank. The blitzkrieg of their weapons fire was, for that brief, glorious moment, brighter than the local sun.
It was a good day for Iconians to die.
Lae’nas III. Preserver Archive chamber. 1800 hours Federation standard time.
First Omek’ti’kallan strode out of the gateway, an armored Bajoran guarding his flank, and saw D’trel in the process of using her sniper rifle to plug a class-three Herald, or Thrall, in the head. Being a generally sensible and practical man, he eyed the rest of the Heralds—four class-one metal suits, Herald light infantry, one class-two, enhanced metal suit, Herald heavy infantry, and one more class-three Thrall, Herald shock trooper/skirmisher--and calmly aimed his polaron assault weapon towards the class-two. He pulled the trigger, and a blast of condensed exotic particles flared out and smashed into the shields of the glowing construct. They held—Iconian technology was quite advanced, and the weapons and armor of their Heralds were extremely powerful.
It was of no consequence in this case, however, as one of the class-threes fell with a hole in its head. Captain Kanril saw the class-two charging the away team’s position and squeezed off a quick shot from her DMR, rolling sideways to take cover behind some rubble as D’trel had. First Omek’ti’kallan fired again on the onrushing Herald, then stepped to the side and shrouded at the last moment.
The class-two turned with lightning speed, its optical sensors staring straight at the shrouded Jem’Hadar.
Well, it was worth a try.
Omek’ti’kallan pulled out his kar’takin with one hand as the other shouldered the gun. The Herald charged, and the Jem’Hadar simply lowered his weapon.
The Herald’s “head” smashed right into the triple-hardened quadritanium blade, and one of the “eyes” sparked and burst, but the “creature” kept coming. Omek’ti’kallan sidestepped again, using the class-two’s own momentum to fling it into a considerably-sized rock with enough force to fell a medium-sized hippopotamus. The Herald droid cracked and sparked, but rose again, haltingly this time.
Kanril’s rifle took it through the chest, burning the control unit to ashes.
“Good shot, thank you, Captain,” rumbled the Jem’Hadar over the comlink. Two class-ones were still standing, but Daysnur and Jak stepped out of the gate as Omek watched. He didn’t even need to pull his gun back out.
“Alright,” said D’trel. “Let’s see if we can figure out why the Iconians wanted this place so badly.” She clambered over to the Preserver console and activated it, the holographic Preserver interface buzzing to life...
Kendra Valley, Bajor. 1506 hours local time.
The Herald Harbinger was an impressive sight, striding towards a small farming village as gray-clad Bajoran Militia soldiers retreated for better cover before it, firing ineffectual bursts as they withdrew calling for backup.
“PATHETIC FOOLS!” it roared. “WE ARE THE SERVANTS OF T’KET THE INFINITE, FOREMOST OF THE RED CASTE, SENIORMOST OF THE FIFTH-OF-SIX-CASTES, LORD OF A THOUSAND WORLDS! KNEEL BEFORE THE GLORY OF THE—”
Then a tank shell hit it in the face and the top half of its body was liquefied.
Two kilometers away a Militia artillery spotter pulled off the headphones attached to his tricorder and turned to the tanker standing in his ride’s open hatch. “‘The glory of the boom’?”
“Probably some weird religious thing they have, Sergeant.”
A PFC sitting on the tank’s sponson cleaning his rifle laughed. “Bah. Foreign religions. Always naming their Prophets individually and TRIBBLE. Mental, if you ask me.”
The sergeant shook his head. “Damn Iconian minions, thinking that those arrogant idiots are enough to build a religion around. It’ll never catch on, I’m telling you.” He changed the subject, raising his tricorder. “Let’s take out that lander before they gate anything else in.” He hit his combadge. “Battery Five, this is Sierra Two-Six. Fire mission, over.”
A crackly voice cut through the static left by the Iconians’ gates. “Sierra Two-Six, this is Battery Five. Fire mission, out.”
The Heralds had destroyed the GPS satellites on their way in, so Sergeant Rokon was working off a map. “Grid CG Two-Six-Niner One-Seven-Four, direction One-One-Three-Eight, over.”
“Grid CG Two-Six-Niner One-Seven-Four, direction One-One-Three-Eight, out.”
“Enemy landing craft and about twelve squads heavy infantry or light armor in the open, danger close, over.” Well, they were calling it a “lander”, but it seemed more like a focus to let the Heralds gate in their troops. Herald tech was a primitive version of Iconian tech, the squints were saying, and the Iconians were apparently too lazy to do more than the bare minimum by themselves.
“Enemy landing craft, twelve squads heavy infantry or light armor in the open, danger close, out.”
A new voice entered the channel. “Sierra Two-Six, FDC. R, C, HEAT spotting round, over.”
“Confirm, FDC.”
“Shot, over.”
“Shot, out.”
There was silence, then a whistling sound rent the air and the landing craft vanished in a fireball. The tankers cheered as the shockwave echoed over them with a crump. The sergeant got back on his communicator. “FDC, direct hit on the lander. Adjust fire, direction Zero-Six-One-Seven, two hundred meter spread, recommend frag shells. Fire for effect.”
Lae’nas III. 1805 hours Federation standard time.
“All right, so we have a janitor, two art students and an ‘executive assistant’.” D’trel wasn’t quite cursing, but it was close. “Interface, get me someone who actually knows something about the Iconians.”
The holographic Preserver hummed again. It flickered, Daysnur and Jak’s computer spike interfering with the holo-emitter’s control computer.
<Another one coming down,> signed Joh’Kghan.
“Maybe this one will make all this unnecessary,” grunted Jak, pulling out the spike. “We got the data, but it’s heavily encrypted.”
“Of course,” sighed Kanril. “Because nothing we do can ever be easy.”
D’trel almost smiled. Then her communicator beeped.
“D’trel here.”
“High Admiral, this is Min’tak’allan!”
“What is it, kid?”
“A Herald attack group just gated into the system. Reading a pack of about fifty raiders and two cruisers. They’re not approaching, just… holding position about a light-minute out from Lae’nas III…”
D’trel swore. “Alright. That reeks of a trap to me, but then again these are Iconians…but then again, obfuscating stupidity is very possible. Don’t attack, just stay ready for a fight and keep scanning the area. Stay in formation.”
“Yes, sir.”
<Foolish alien that is supposed to know things is here,> signed Joh’Kghan. The fifth Preserver of the day, this one appearing male, stepped out of its tube and looked around.
“Ah, my children. For many generations of your kind have I slept. Why have you awakened me?”
“The Iconians are invading this galaxy with intent to subjugate the entire population. We need any and all intel you have on them, and not the encrypted version that we’ve extracted. Can you get us that, or are you another glorified escort?”
“Escort?” asked the Preserver in confusion.
D’trel pinched the bridge of her nose and struggled not to grind her teeth. “Can you get us all of the intel you have on the Iconians or not? They’re attacking our homeworld. I need to get back as quickly as possible.”
“Of course, my child,” said the Preserver. It moved over to the archive control console and began typing. “Have you done something to the Archive? It shows a leak of data.”
“Yes, we downloaded the archive. Encrypted, but still useful. We would prefer, however, to have the intelligence in its non-encrypted form.”
The Preserver smiled. “I believe I can manage that,” he said in a fatherly tone. “I was a chronicler, and I helped to create this place.” He turned to the console. “Ah, the Iconians. They are the first of our children, and for a time, the most troublesome. They were different once, brighter.”
“If the Iconians were brighter, the others must not be sentient,” Kanril murmured to Jak, setting him snickering.
“Sometimes I do wonder,” the Nausicaan rejoined. “Especially given the Inevitable Whatsit.”
“Oh, c’mon, he can’t be THAT bad.”
“Twenty credits says you’re wrong. He didn’t learn a thing from being vaporized when we saw him last.”
Kanril’s jaw dropped. “You’re on.”
“I’ll collect later.”
“You mean I will. The Iconians have to be capable of learning, even if his joke about them being the ‘brightest children’ is the best one I’ve heard since those rumors of Klingon intelligence.”
Even D’trel almost smiled at that one. First Omek’ti’kallan made a rumbling noise that passed for a laugh. Daysnur and Jak snickered.
The Preserver stopped typing and turned his head to the armored Bajoran. “Insh’alhalan, that was not meant as a joke. I referred only to what they achieved in their time in the galaxy. They were the undisputed masters of the space between spaces, what you so inadequately refer to as ‘subspace’. They ruled—”
“Can you back up a bit? What’s ‘Insh’alhalan’ mean?” Jak asked curiously.
“It is what her people called themselves eons ago,” the Preserver answered patiently, “before the kingdom of Bajora began its first wars of conquest, before your own kind even discovered fire, Nausicaan.”
“Not bad,” growled Jak, giving an appreciative glance and nod to Kanril. “‘Course, we got into space faster.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you stole warp drive from invaders like the Klingons did,” the Bajoran shot back.
“So? We’re an enterprising people!” The Nausicaan mimed tugging at the pockets of a suit jacket. “And we didn’t need a bleeding-heart Federation handout, neither.”
The words left his mouth before he realized what he was saying and he tried to give an apologetic look, but Kanril was already glaring at him, one hand twitching above a holstered sidearm. “You wanna go, little man?”
The Nausicaan shook his head, deadly serious this time. “Winds, no, I don’t want to end up like that class-four back in the caves.”
“Then watch your phekk’ta mouth, gek tak rukk kull.” She turned and stalked away.
“Cut the chatter and get the data,” growled D’trel, checking her chronometer. “We’re on a clock here. And Jak?” The Nausicaan nervously turned to her. “See me in my office when we’re done here.”
He started to answer but then he heard a low hum in the air, and his tricorder blared. “Heads up, we’re gonna have company!” he yelled.
Vortexes tore through reality around them, one of them a blue scar in the air directly in front of Jak. A meaty fist came through the portal and crashed into his breastplate, sending him flying into the central pillar of the Preserver Archive. A titanic class-four emerged, staff glowing as it bellowed like an angry hippopotamus.
Then there was whistle of steel ending in a metallic impact, and the Herald Defiler’s eyes seemed to cross, then winked out as it crumpled to its knees and crashed to the ground. A thrown combat knife—no, a rifle bayonet—was buried to the hilt in the back of its head, still vibrating.
Jak’s eyes tracked it back to the gray-armored Bajoran who was already drawing a bead on a construct with her service pistol.
“Nice throw, Kanril—watch your back!” A class-three emerged from a gateway behind the Bajoran, but the Nausicaan straightened at the waist and clipped its upper body with his antiproton gun, knocking it off-balance long enough for Kanril to pivot and shoot it through the skull with her pistol.
“Thanks, pirate.” She twisted and cracked off several more lances of incandescent fire, advancing in a Weaver stance on a construct that had exited a gate practically on top of Daysnur.
I hate these f*cking droids, confided the Lethean to Jak telepathically. No brains to target, no minds to sense…
Gonna have to deal with it as best you can, Jak thought back. And move over towards the corner a little more, two suits are trying to flank you.
“Why are they not attacking the Preserver?” asked Omek’ti’kallan over the comlink. Jak risked a glance as he rolled behind the Defiler corpse; the Preserver was cowering by the console, but the Heralds were ignoring it completely.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it!”
D’trel’s sniper rifle sounded, and a Thrall fell over the Defiler’s body on Jak’s right with half of its head gone. The Nausicaan cursed inventively, and blasted another volley at the incoming class-ones. He could handle himself in a fight, but this was getting ridiculous!
Another gateway opened, and a trio of Defilers and several constructs began forming a sort of wall of flesh around it, using their bodies to shield it from the Alpha Quadrant soldiers. Kanril fired several shots on wide-beam, dropping four of the bots, but then her phaser pistol clicked dry. She tossed it aside and dove behind a roof support as a Defiler returned fire.
Jak rolled sideways, narrowly evading a Defiler energy blast, and landed in a pool of water behind a decent piece of rock. He peered up as far as he could without getting another energy blast to the face, and saw…
An Iconian, jet-black and with orange “veins” running through its body, stepped out of the gateway. It floated forward, telekinetically levitating itself, and observed the battlefield.
“KEEP THEM PINNED DOWN, YOU IMBECILES. IF EVEN ONE SHOT FROM THOSE WORTHLESS INFERIORS HAPPENS TO MAR MY MAJESTIC VISAGE, ALL OF YOU HERALDS SHALL PAY WITH YOUR MISERABLE LIVES.”
“My child,” said the Preserver, standing up now as it had apparently realized that the Heralds weren’t shooting at it. Jak blinked up his HUD after two tries and pinged a preset battle plan across the comlink; moments later, D’trel’s approval came through and the soldiers stopped firing.
“I AM NOT YOUR CHILD, INFERIOR BEING,” thrummed the Iconian. “I AM SUPREME HIGH LORD STAR-OF-GLORIOUS-MAJESTY, FIRST COUSIN OF ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS HIMSELF! YOU WILL SHOW PROPER REVERENCE FOR YOUR GOD.”
“Wait for it…” hissed D’trel over the comlink. “First, can you reach it?” The Defilers still maintained their guard, moving slowly alongside the Iconian. Come on...all it took was one stupid dismissal of them by the Iconian…
“You do not have to do this, my child,” said the Preserver, its earlier arrogant condescension gone, an almost pleading tone in its voice now.
The Iconian laughed, deep and malevolent. “OF COURSE I MUST DO THIS. I HAVE WAITED MANY EONS TO FINALLY DESTROY YOUR KIND ONCE AGAIN! I WAS FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE GRANTED THIS GREAT HONOR BY OUR FORCE COMMANDER, SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS HIMSELF, AS EVEN HE RECOGNIZED MY PERFECTION.” Its posture and tone shifted, less melodramatic and more laced with malice now. “WE WILL CRUSH THIS PUNY GALAXY BENEATH US. THIS LAST HOPE FOR THE INFERIOR REBEL SERVITORS WILL BURN. BUT FIRST, I WILL HAVE THE SATISFACTION OF KILLING A PRESERVER MYSELF.”
“I’ve got no shot, sir!” Kanril sent.
“None of us do, those Defilers are good.” The Rihanha’s voice contained a trace of admiration. “Good soldiers. Damn shame that Iconian wasted so many of them for its little ego trip.”
The Iconian thrust out a hand, and the Preserver rose into the air, its limbs contorting in unnatural ways. Still no clear shot, damn it!
To its credit, the Presever didn’t scream, didn’t even utter a sound.
“Come on,” hissed D’trel. “Move, you big lumps…”
“A… pity,” gasped the Preserver, “such… a… great… pity.”
“I have it,” rumbled the Jem’Hadar quietly over the comlink. “It is loaded. If one of the Defilers moves, I will have a clear shot.”
The Iconian thrummed again with an evil chuckle. The Preserver faced its death with a smile as the Iconian raised its body higher.
“A… great… pity, that our… first children… were so flawed.”
The Iconian howled in rage and clenched its fist, and the Preserver liquefied.
“INSOLENT LESSER BEING!” shrieked the Iconian, blasting the Archive console and obelisk repeatedly. “I WILL SHOW YOU FLAWED!” It lashed out again, and its arm hit one of the Defilers by sheer proximity.
“YOU IMBECILE!” the Iconian howled. “HOW DARE YOU STRIKE YOUR GOD!” It thrust, and the three Defilers burst in an instant.
“NOW!” shouted D’trel.
The remaining Heralds, a trio of Thralls and four Constructs, opened fire, but too late. D’trel fell with a grunt of pain as a Herald energy blast bled through her shields and burned her arm, but her bullet flew true. As did the shots from the others’ weapons.
Supreme High Lord Star-of-Glorious-Majesty’s upper torso was blown apart by a confluence of frag rounds and energy weapons turned up to the maximum setting. He screamed once, and then learned first-hand that First Omek’ti’kallan had brought a grenade launcher, unwieldy as the device could be in normal combat.
The Iconian’s legs collapsed to the ground as the rest of his body shattered.
“Man down!” barked Omek’ti’kallan as Eleya, Daysnur, Joh’Kghan, and Jak immediately shifted to targetting the Heralds.
Jak took a class-one in the “head”, and rolled sideways to avoid the counterattack from two others. A class-three dropped as Eleya fired again, and a bullet and a disruptor beam holed another class-one. Daysnur swore over the comlink as the remaining Thralls targeted his hiding-place, running behind a pillar with Construct weapons clipping his shields.
Another shot from Eleya, another Construct down. Jak blasted the two Thralls with his full-auto setting, and they dropped, one from the antiproton fire and one from a bullet from Joh’Kghan.
“Second-degree burn,” growled the Jem’Hadar over the comlink. “You need to be more careful, sir.”
“I can still fight, let me the Ariennye up!”
Two Constructs left. Daysnur and Jak blasted one together and it fell. Eleya pulled her rifle’s trigger, and cursed.
“Overheat! Phekk’ta safety!”
“I have it,” growled the turak, powering up from the “moat” behind the last class-one and stabbing it clean-through with her spear.
“Sher hahr kosst! Iconian phekk’sa maktal kosst amojan destroyed the phekk’ta interface!” swore Kanril.
Jak scrambled back up, stepping in Iconian bits as he went for the archive. “Chak on ja! Worse than that, that Winds-cursed scum fried the memory core!”
“Can you retrieve any information?” asked First Omek’ti’kallan, D’trel cursing in pain as he took a medkit from Daysnur and started running a dermal regenerator up her arm.
“If he’d just destroyed the interface I would’ve had a chance, but that ruk dra shattuk chak an Iconian scum fried the memory core; the data’s gone!”
“We have the encrypted data, though,” hissed D’trel around another curse of pain and Kanril’s swearing. “That’s better than nothing.”
“And whatever’s in there is important,” noted Daysnur. “That Iconian said it was our ‘last hope’ or something.”
“You actually listened to that guy?” asked Jak.
“Hey, he wasn’t as bad as the Inevitable Fate guy.”
“Nobody’s as bad as the Inevitable Fate guy.”
D’trel winced as she flexed her freshly-patched arm. “Cut the f*cking chatter and beam back up. At least we have the f*cking data, even if it’s encrypted. We’re heading back to ch’Mol’Rihan, now.”
“High Admiral!” shouted Min’tak’allan through D’trel’s combadge.
“Ariennye, what now? Report!”
“We’re picking up a massive gateway signat—spirits preserve us!”
D’trel didn’t bother to ask what the young Ferasan saw.
“Beam up, everyone, now!”
Supreme High Lord Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness thrummed deeply, coughed a couple of times, and flexed his arms, stretching to make sure his torso was loose. He was ready.
“Inferior being, bring us through the gateway.” An impulse struck him, a piece from the book that that servitor had given him—and he did need to remember to reward the insignificant creature, it really was an interesting book. “We will begin my glorious attack with a little of what is called ‘shock and awe’. Fire the main gun on the Archive the moment we emerge!”
“Ingenious, O glorious one,” groveled the Herald helmsman. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness thrummed in self-satisfaction as he gave his mustachio a quick once-over. He’d already memorized his speech, of course.
The Herald said something fawning about his magnificent intellect, but Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness barely heard it. He was in the zone now. It would be impossible to deny the eloquent perfection of THIS speech!
The main gun thrummed, and the Iconian took one last deep breath.
“Hail them.”
By the time I get to the Bridge, D’trel’s already got the fleet in formation, and the first of two battleships are coming through the gateway. Delta Flight is arrayed to my left, Commodore Paris in the point position of a delta formation, with the rest of our task force circling the Bajor in a Romulan hammerhead formation. It’s about the best we can do in this situation; Paris to target and destroy enemy heavies in synchronized attacks, me to hammer heavies face-to-face, the cruisers to provide support, and the escorts in our group to keep the trash off of my tail.
But there’s two battleships, a lot of cruisers and raiders, and a titanic dreadnought the size of a starbase visible through the gate.
“Oh, phekk me, that thing’s big. Wiggin, if you see a weakness on that dreadnought, tell me immediately!”
The Herald dreadnought emerges from the titanic gateway, swarms of cruisers and raiders swirling around it. The main gun begins to glow…
“Kanril, get the Ariennye out of there!”
“Evasive action!” I bark, and Park spins us hard to starboard. Behind us…
The gun fires, and our shields catch the barest edge of the mile-wide blast of heat and light as it lances the planet. A mushroom cloud erupts from the surface, the shockwave spreading for hundreds of kilometers. The Bajor shudders, and the red-alert siren blares.
“Rear shields down to 87% and regenerating! What the hell was that thing?”
“Wave motion gun!” I snarl. “Esplin, do whatever you can to keep coms up, our biggest advantage here is coordination and tactics!”
“Captain,” says Esplin nervously. “We’re being hailed by the Iconians.”
“Put them on screen,” says D’trel over the fleet link.
“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” laughs a jet-black Iconian with an ugly mustachio-like chitinous growth on its face. “YOU SEE BEFORE YOU THE INVINCIBLE GLORY AND VENGEFUL MIGHT OF THE UNBELIEVABLY GLORIOUS SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS, MASTER OF GLORIOUS FATE, SUZERAIN OF A THOUSAND WORLDS, MAJESTIC DEITY OF IMPOSSIBLY GOOD LOOKS, SON AND HEIR OF THE GLORIOUS AND INFINITE IMPERATOR, ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS! YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY COMPREHEND—” At which point Esplin gives up and mutes him.
“Oh, come on,” I grumble. “I think he missed his calling—should’ve been a phekk’ta springball announcer.” Tess snickers. Garra mutters something about shaving his upper lip.
Damn, now I owe that Nausicaan twenty credits.
My console beeps as Inevitable Yadda Yadda continues pontificating, becoming more animated and probably louder as he goes along. It’s actually quite impressive, in a sadly pathetic sort of way; he seems to be actually enjoying himself. D’trel has used the Iconian’s introductory speech to send out a quick battle plan and formation instructions. There’s a note attached. I open it on my PADD.
I killed this f*cker twice already. Let’s teach this hlai-f*cking son of a mogai and a cyanobacterium how to die.
I smile. This is going to be almost fun.
Raenasa, Hachae s’Temer, ch’mol’Rihan.
Ekhifv Temjahaere D’Tan had to be hauled out of his office by Obisek and two hulking Havran shadow guards as air raid sirens howled outside and deorbited debris and orbital fire pounded into the city’s deflector shield, while outside the high granite walls the forest burned.
“With respect, lhhei,” growled the towering Havranha, “our people need a live leader, not a martyr. Erei’Riov, get him to the Zdenia, now. Knock him out and drag him if you have to. I will follow in—”
“D’Tan! Ekhifv Temjahaere D’Tan!”
Obisek turned with a muttered curse… but it wasn’t the terrified sublieutenant that he had expected. Instead, a white-haired old Rihan man in Imperial-styled robes was shouldering his way through the crowd, carrying a PDA.
“Ambassador tr’Ethian,” growled Obisek. “Why are you still here? You should be evacuating.”
The Rihan man’s face was alight with an almost-manic grin. “Evacuate? In our moment of triumph?”
“What are you saying, ehl’alha?” one of the shadow guards asked, practically spitting the last word as he dragged the Proconsul behind him. Obisek flashed a glare at the man.
However, the ambassador’s spirits were so high that he completely ignored the slur as he ran after the retreating Proconsul. “The fvillhu has sent the Galae!”
D’Tan stopped in his tracks, shook the shadow guards loose, and wheeled in place. “How many ships, Llairhi tr’Ethian?”
“No, you, don’t understand, lhhei, he sent the Galae, the entire Galae!”