Dark Territory: Shadow Puppets

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by DarKush, Jun 21, 2010.

  1. CeJay

    CeJay Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2006
    Nice twist with Dar's sister being behind the abduction. I'm sure this is not the family reunion he was hoping for.

    And tensions are brewing on the Monarch. I like Lezla taking a stand, even if it was an aborted one thanks to that Warbird showing up out of nowhere. This is going to painful for everyone involved.

    On a marginally related note: I'm fairly certain I had a dream last night with Terrence Glover. I swear that has never happened before. I can't remember why but he was in a fist fight with Michael Owens and Amaya Donners (!) trying to settle something. How very peculiar.
     
  2. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    Sounds like the germ for another Crossing Over story :)
     
  3. Gibraltar

    Gibraltar Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Sep 25, 2005
    Location:
    US Pacific Northwest
    Holy crap! :eek:

    Dar's sister... and now a Romulan ambush of the Monarch. Everyone in this story has the right to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with 'Worst Week Ever!'
     
  4. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    Gibraltar, the week is far from over.

    ********************************************************************
    Imperial Romulan Warbird Bateleur
    Command Deck

    The Monarch lied before them like succulent prey, completely unawares. Subcommander Volantis could barely contain her joy. The large, silver Sovereign-class ship represented all that was wrong with the Federation…and dangerous. Instead of projecting its power, it chose to hide it with graceful artifice. “Activate forward weapons batteries, all of them.”

    “At once,” the eager Weapons Officer replied. Volantis rewarded him with a half-smile. She made a mental note to remember the young man’s name. After she was promoted for destroying the Monarch, she would make sure to bring him aboard the ship she would be awarded.

    She didn’t know why the Monarch was dithering on the edge of the Scarab Nebula. They had a several day advantage, but Volantis had been pushing the Bateleur’s limits, and its crews’, to catch up and they had.

    Unfortunately the nature of the Scarab Nebula prevented use of the cloaking device. The ship’s Science Officer had come up with an ingenious replacement however. Using the ship’s ramscoops to collect the gases from the nebula, Volantis had carefully expelled the gas, covering the ship and making it blind to the Monarch’s sensors.

    Now within weapons range, the time for pretense was over. Volantis had ordered the engines to full impulse. And the ship’s beaked prow bore down on the Monarch.

    “Fire, fire, fire!” She yelled, pounding her armrests as her own blood thirst got the best of her. Bateleur hurled javelins of charged energy at the Monarch, smashing into the ship’s portside.

    “Erebus’s bones!” Spat the centurion standing at her side. The Monarch had shifted its shield strength to its port side and also rolled the ship away from the barrage, causing many of the plasma shafts to pass over or under it, and others to miss the systems Volantis had wanted disabled.

    “Monarch is coming about,” The Weapons Officer called out. The enemy vessel had turned slowly to face them, a band of energy crackling along its wide saucer hull. Walker wasn’t going to run. The human actually had some fight in him after all, Volantis realized. All the better, the subcommander thought. She would quickly show him what it was like to fight against someone who had slain the best the Dominion could throw at them. While Walker had been off on ‘diplomatic’ missions, a cog in the Federation’s cowardly scheme to hold back their strongest warships and let the Romulans and Klingons do the heavy lifting so that they could emerge the stronger after the war was over.

    “Do the same,” Volantis ordered. She couldn’t wait to demonstrate what she had learned from years on the battlefield. “Reengage.”
    *******************************************************************
    Scarab Nebula

    Ousanas Dar tried to sit up and quickly realized that was a mistake. A wave of nausea followed the agony. The medic placed both hands on his chest and gently eased him back on the bed.

    “Chalandra?” He asked again, squinting as he sought to look beyond the mask covering the lower half of the doctor’s face. All he saw was scarred skin around the eyes. “It’s not possible.”

    She slowly removed the mask and Ousanas gasped. “Oh gods,” he murmured, “What happened?” He reached up to touch her face, ignoring the embers of pain along his side. She moved just beyond reach. Half her face was melted, with bruised green and brown skin. What patches of hair left on her head were now bone white, not the lustrous black he had remembered.

    “Delta radiation,” she remarked, and it pinched Dar’s heart to hear his sister’s familiar voice come from such an unrecognizable and hideous countenance.

    “How?”

    “The ‘liberation’ of Benzar,” Chalandra glanced around and raised her bent arms as far as she heavenward as she could. “But the warship I served on was crippled during the fighting, its propulsion systems ruptured. I…was in engineering at the time, attending to the injured....when an isolation plate shattered. It doused me with radiation. I was told my mate…died saving my life.”

    The still outreached hand went to Dar’s mouth. “Mate? You wed Posca?”

    Chalandra nodded wistfully, “Oh yes….”

    “But…”

    “I know, I was supposed to be dead right?” Chalandra said. “That does frequently happen to family members of those declared enemies of the state, like you were.”

    “I’m so sorry,” Dar said. “I never…got to tell you.”

    “No, I suppose you did not,” Chalandra said, her voice frigid. “You were too busy assuaging your conscience to worry about what your defection would mean for our family.”

    “We were strong,” Dar said.

    “Emphasis on were,” Chalandra remarked, bitterly. “First, it was that hybrid aunt of ours and her entreaties to the humans that cast a shadow on the Dar name. And then your defection, a black stain on the glorious Norkan campaigns.”

    “They were massacres, I was there,” Dar protested, remembering the slaughter he had participated in as a young man far too many moons ago. “There was nothing glorious about it.”

    “It was actions taken against our enemies,” Chalandra replied. “They would have done the same to us if given a chance, if we had shown weakness.”

    “That…that’s not true,” Ousanas protested, seeking to rise again. Spasms shook his body. This time his sister didn’t move to help him. She merely stared at him, her eyes cold and black as onyx.

    “My brother,” Chalandra shook her head; what appeared to be regret wreathed her warped features. “Still the idealistic fool little brother! You spent far too much time at Aunt Caithlin’s knee, listening to her spin her tales about the commonalities among humans and Romulans, even Klingons,” the medic spat. “Even the foreheads. Perhaps there was never a chance for you.”

    “Someone had to speak, someone had to let the galaxy know what the Empire was doing. It was wrong.” Dar replied, not giving an inch. “And it was my hope that the truth would filter back into the Empire.”

    Chalandra laughed. “You cost me everything. My marriage, my children, our family honor, our family holdings, all of it….gone.” She leaned over him, and spit in his face. Ousanas didn’t try to remove the spittle. He let it roll off the side of his face and onto his pillow.

    “They arrested me, and to gods I wish they had executed me right then, but the Proconsul, an old family friend you remember, took pity on me. He said that even Commander Jarok spoke fondly on your behalf. He let Posca and my children go unmolested, though they had already renounced me by that time. They sentenced me to life in the dilithium mines, to stitch up Reman slaves. It was there I remained, in the darkness, among the filth, until this accursed war, and they drug me to the stars to patch up Reman warriors, because noble Romulan medics didn’t want to touch them.”

    “Gods,” Dar could only mutter. He couldn’t imagine the hell his sister had endured, for decades, and all because of him. “Sister…”

    “I’m a survivor,” Chalandra said. “Do not grieve for me. If it didn’t concern you when our family was whole and healthy, when we respected, it should be of no concern to you now.”

    “But…”

    Chalandra held up a hand. “I have adapted.” She turned away from him. “Come forward.” Ousanas caught movement out of the corner of his right eye. A rangy Reman emerged from the shadows. His iridescent uniform sparkled in the dimness. He had never seen the wraith before, but there was something familiar in the twinkle of his otherwise pitch black eyes. A wicked blade gleamed in his hand.

    “My life has not been a total waste,” Chalandra said, the bitterness thick in her tone. “Thraex…this is your uncle.”
    *******************************************************************
     
    Last edited: Aug 7, 2010
  5. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    *******************************************************************
    USS Nagasaki
    Captain’s Ready Room

    “T’Prell in order to better assist in your mission I would like to know what the remnants of a Starfleet and Romulan vessel are doing in the nebula?”

    “You know Zorek, you can just be honest and ask the purpose behind my mission,” T’Prell replied, shifting easily in the chair facing his desk.

    “I just did,” Zorek said, confused.

    “There were was no need to spin it as if it was a benefit to me, you merely wish to sate your curiosity,” the woman replied.

    “And to better guarantee the safety of my crew, yes,” the captain nodded.

    “I couldn’t get a rise out of you if I tried,” T’Prell smirked. “I was hoping starting a good row would get you distracted.”

    “I don’t think I have ever ‘started’ a ‘row’” Zorek remarked.

    “Forgetting Vega Colony?”

    “I had hoped that you had forgotten Vega Colony,” the captain said. T’Prell chuckled.

    “Those were…interesting times.”

    “Indeed,” Zorek nodded, “And you’re stalling again.”

    “I know.”

    “It would be remiss of me to ask you to defy orders, though I ask this request…as a friend.”

    “I know that too,” T’Prell’s smile was now sad. “It’s Samson.”

    “I see,” Zorek replied, his expression grave, “Admiral Glover.”

    “He is out here, somewhere in the nebula…we lost contact with him, and now we find this, scraps from a pitched battle. I can’t help but wonder if Samson got caught in the crossfire.”

    “I suspect that I am not privy to the admiral’s purpose in the Benzar System, so I will not ask it. The mere fact that he is here and came here clandestinely says enough. Do you think he was on starship?”

    “I don’t know,” T’Prell said, “I hope not.”

    “It is unlikely, if the admiral wished to be furtive in his movements, traveling by starship is not the way to do it.”

    “Thanks Zorek,” T’Prell said, a relieved expression on her face.

    “Would the admiral’s mission involve a starship and a Romulan warship, or is this another matter entirely?”

    “I don’t know,” T’Prell answered truthfully, the relief draining from her expression. “But I intend to find out. Permission to borrow a shuttle sir? I would like to expand our search. I know it will take time to investigate the debris and identify it.”

    Zorek thought for a few moments, stroking his beard, a gesture so commonplace with him that T’Prell found herself chuckling again. “What?” The captain asked.

    “Nothing.”

    “I am not sanguine about the prospect of you taking a shuttle into the nebula,” Zorek admitted. “You know how unstable such phenomena can be.”

    “I’ve traversed the Badlands at least a dozen times,” T’Prell said, with distasteful pride. “I could pilot a shuttle through the Scarab Nebula with my eyes closed.”

    “Be that as it may, I will assign you a pilot.”

    “Captain Zorek,” T’Prell started to protest, but he held up a hand.

    “It’s the only way I will grant you permission to exit the ship. With the piloting duties taken care of, you can focus more on calibrating the sensors to find the admiral…if he is in fact inside the nebula.”

    T’Prell shook her head in agreement after a few seconds. “That makes sense.”

    “I will have the Vanik prepared immediately,” Zorek said, his fingers flying across his desktop terminal.” A half-minute later, he addressed her, “Commander T’Chaya will accompany you.”

    “Captain, with all due respect, I don’t think T’Chaya is too fond of me.”

    “What does that have to do with her abilities as a flight controller? She is the best pilot aboard, and I would like my shuttle back in one piece.”

    “Only the shuttle?”

    “In this time of constrained military budgets, it would be illogical not to do all that was possible to ensure the safe return of valued equipment.”

    “So, giving your Exec and I a chance to bury the lirpa has nothing to do with your decision?”

    “As long as you don’t bury it in each other, then no,” Zorek replied, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “Anything else?”

    “No sir,” T’Prell said, standing up.

    “You’re dismissed. And good luck.”
    ********************************************************************
     
  6. DavidFalkayn

    DavidFalkayn Commodore Commodore

    Joined:
    Dec 13, 2003
    Oh...so much good stuff here--family honor, betrayal, all woven into a tight suspenseful tale of revenge and envy. The scene with Dar and his sister was especially poignant and tragic--familial love turned to hate is amongst the most powerful of emotions.
     
  7. CeJay

    CeJay Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2006
    Yeah, I can see why Dar's sister may harbor some resentment after everything she has been through because of his defection. This is not going to be a happy family reunion. Instead it's going to be the painful kind. Very painful.

    I'm very much looking forward to the two Vulcan women sharing a small shuttle. Talk about an awkward situation.
     
  8. Gibraltar

    Gibraltar Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Sep 25, 2005
    Location:
    US Pacific Northwest
    Dar really screwed his family over, and now it appears he may well reap what he’s sewn.

    Zorek and T’Prell interact well together, with T’Prell playing her counterpart as the ultimate straight man. To his credit, Zorek is no less clever, just ever so much more reserved about it.

    Here’s hoping the Monarch can recover sufficiently from Volantis’ ambush to rally and fend off their attackers.

    Wonderful material, keep it coming!
     
  9. BrotherBenny

    BrotherBenny Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Aug 3, 2005
    Location:
    BrotherBenny
    Agreed, this is shaping up to be a nice little adventure for everyone involved.

    I know the capabilities of Walker and Astar so I'm looking forward to seeing how they get out of this.
     
  10. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    Thanks again to everyone for the comments and observations.

    ********************************************************************

    USS Monarch
    Main Bridge

    Captain Benjamin Walker waved away help as he pushed himself up from the floor. On shaky legs, he made his way to the command chair. He had been racing toward the center seat when the first volley from the Romulan warbird had hit. The force of the attack had thrown him to the deck.

    “Damage report,” Commander Astar called. The Trill was already gracefully assuming her seat; the one right of the vacant command chair. He figured that she must have grabbed onto a wall or something to remain steady, or perhaps her steadiness came from within, whereas Ben had been feeling rickety since Merias III.

    Favoring his jaw, Walker glared at the screen. The blood was pounding so loudly in his ears that he didn’t even hear Torkill’s and Liyange’s rapid recitations of the damage the Romulan sneak attack had just caused. His entire focus was on the great, green bird floating in space before him. “Mr. Torkill, let them have it.”
    ********************************************************************
    Imperial Romulan Cruiser Arbiter
    Command Deck

    The Remans watched in rapt attention as the two starships pounded one another, space ripped to shreds between them. The shields for each vessel held for a few minutes, before the Monarch broke off. Though the Sovereign-class ship was almost the equal of the D’deridex but it was far sleeker and more maneuverable.

    Lt. Bakin had been slaving on the hull of one of the newer warbird variants, one that would be able to match the Sovereign in terms of sleekness and lethal grace. He had once found pride in constructing ships he knew he would never fly, but now those quaint sentiments were a life time away, the idle notions of a slave and nothing more. But Bakin was a soldier, a rebel, a warrior for the Reman people. And he had the Romulans to thank for that, and he knew just how to thank them. “Prepare to engage the Romulans,” he ordered. The Reman ship had remained at the edge of a nebula, using its radiation to mask its signature.

    Bakin had watched as the Romulans used a similar tactic to overtake the Starfleet vessel. The Arbiter had been tracking the Romulans for quite some time. Bakin had wanted to take them out immediately, like he had done with the last Romulan vessel that had crossed his path, but Colonel Sorix had stayed his hand.

    “Follow them,” had been Sorix’s last command before they lost communication. So, Bakin had complied. Grudgingly, Bakin admitted that the older Reman had proven correct again. The Romulan had led them to a true prize, the Sovereign class vessel. With a ship like that under their control, they could really take the fight to the Star Empire.

    The two large battleships remained locked in vicious combat, circling each other as their weapons rent the sky. “They are moving toward a pocket of sirillium,” warned the Sensor Officer. “If they ignite it…” The woman didn’t have to finish the sentence.

    “I think the time for following is over,” he declared. He paused, gauging and challenging any dissent among the crew. They remained stonily silent, and ready at their post.

    Bakin nodded in approval. “Contact the others in our set’leth pack. Let the battle be joined!”
    ********************************************************************
    USS Monarch
    Main Engineering

    “Damn,” Chief Engineer Sofia Petrov cursed, wiping the blood from her mouth. The last volley had thrown her hard against the master systems display, her mouth cracking against its unforgiving surface. She shook her head, wincing at the headache starting to bloom. “Got worse things to worry about,” she muttered.

    “Commander, commander are you okay?” Junior Lt. Hoss asked, rushing to her side. Petrov waved the young Tellarite away.

    “Check the warp core, make sure the shielding remains in place,” she commanded as she stood back up. Petrov wiped away the smear of her blood from the console.

    “Aye,” the husky male replied before trotting off, into the gathering haze. Sofia had survived enough space scrapes to know that that last hit had done serious damage. The engineer didn’t need the shrieking of the klaxons and the acrid smoke rising from the damaged impulse drive control and throughout Main Engineering. The stench burned her nostrils and made her eyes water.

    The ship rattled violently again, causing a powerful electric feedback current to course through several consoles, frying an unfortunate few. The smell of burnt flesh and fur now competed with the smell of melted circuits and biogel packs. Sofia tried to activate the fire suppressant system, but it was off line. “Shit,” she said again, quickly thinking of another idea. “Okay, level four forcefield around the impulse drive, airtight,” she vocally ordered the shipboard mainframe.

    “Level Four Forcefield initiated,” the mechanical feminine voice replied. A golden square shimmered around the drive. It did little to stop the smoke still billowing throughout the room, but it at least would prevent more from hampering her crew. Unfortunately, other fires raged, seemingly up and down the gantry encircling the warp core. Red markers lit up the display board for each fire. She didn’t know if she could contain all of them with forcefields, without trapping her crew inside them.

    “Chief Engineer Petrov, what’s your status?” Walker barked. The formality in his voice concerned her more than its raggedness. In fact it stung. But she knew that Benjamin would withdraw from her after she revealed who she worked for and brought him into the fold. She had told herself that this would happen, but it still didn’t prepare her for when it did actually happen.

    “Captain,” Petrov said tightly, her eyes rapidly scanning the master display. “We’ve got multiple fires, up and down the gantry,” she said, “And we’ve got countless wounded.”

    “Go on,” he commanded. Sofia’s face pinched up but she complied.

    “The warp core is still intact, and we’ve got warp power, but the impulse drive is down.”

    “Get it back up,” he ordered. “ASAP! We can’t keep fighting the Romulans with thrusters, and I’m not going to run from them, so warp stays in our back pocket until absolutely necessary, got it.”

    “I’m sorry sir, but the impulse drive is a lost cause,” Petrov replied. “The drive control is on fire. I’ve already began shifting impulse functions to the warp propulsion system. Once it’s completed, it will reduce the speed of both systems by twenty-five percent.”

    “Get to it,” Walker said. “Out.”

    Sofia blew back an errant lock of hair that had fallen over an eye. She got to work, implementing her plan. She did her best to ignore the agonized moaning and screams.
    Her staff ran from the clouds, many holding their mouths, rubbing their eyes, or retching. Some carried injured crewmen. Some of them were already beyond saving.

    “Medical team to Main Engineering, immediately,” Petrov shouted into her combadge.

    “Acknowledged,” Dr. Zammit replied sharply, his voice devoid of its usual mischievousness.

    Petrov looked again at her console. The lighted displays beneath its smooth surface were flickering. Sofia barely made out that the shielding still held around the warp core, but she didn’t know how long that would last if Monarch continued to take such punishment.

    Three shafts of light appeared at the entrance to Main Engineering. That’s all Zam could spare, Sofia thought with a sigh. “Where do you need us?” The earnest young medic asked. Two medtechs came with her. All were loaded down with heavy medical kits. Sofia pointed around them.

    “Take your pick,” she said. Many of the injured had been propped against the walls, while a few brave souls went back into the smoke, looking for others. A few had emergency breathing masks on and hand-held extinguishers, but there hadn’t been enough for everyone. She even saw a few attempting to return to their stations. She was proud of them, all of them, but Sofia wouldn’t allow it.

    “Get out of that smoke!” She bellowed, coughing as it invaded her nostrils, making her throat raw and her nasal passages drippy, while burning her chest. She wiped the snot from her nose with the back of her hand. Many of the crewmen that had been rushing back in stopped immediately, except for her second-in-command. Lt. Kanva, her headstrong second, continued into the bloom.

    “I’m closing off the warp core and shifting main control to the auxiliary engineering console on the Main Bridge,” she said after her coughing bout. If she had to eject the core she could do it from the bridge.

    “Some people are still not accounted for,” Lt. Kanva replied as she emerged from the smoke, dragging a large, unconscious Capellan by hooking her hands under his arms and clasping them around his broad chest. She dropped the man at the base of the master display, bending over as she placed her hands on her knees, taking a moment to catch her breath.

    “Lt. Kanva, you disobeyed my orders,” Petrov snapped. “Don’t do it again.”

    “My apologies Commander,” the Rigelian replied. “My physiology can better handle intense heat and smoke,” she got out, right before she tipped over, landing onto the Capellan.

    “Medic!” Sofia called, bending down to check for Kanva’s pulse. Thankfully it was strong.

    “We got to move this crew, all of them, the sooner, the better,” the young woman was no longer earnest. She was grim and hard eyed. “Our scans indicate that the toxicity in this room is increasing by the second.”

    “I’ll close the blast door,” Petrov suggested. The medic nodded.

    “That would help,” she said.

    “Alright,” Petrov said, her fingers running over the console, searching for the door release. As she did so, she scanned the room filled with her crew, taking a mental headcount. Her finger hovered over the activation control.

    “What’s wrong ma’am?” The medic asked.

    “Hoss, where’s Hoss?”

    “Who?”

    “Never mind,” Petrov said. “I’m going in there, to find one of my crew.”

    “But Commander…”

    “No time to argue,” she snapped. “Go ahead and began transporting the crew to Sickbay. If I’m not out in two minutes close the blast door.”

    “But Commander….”

    “That’s an order!”

    “Aye,” the woman said reluctantly.

    “Good,” Petrov patted her on the shoulder before dashing off to her office. She took out a breathing mask from its wall enclosure and secured it before heading back out. It would at least give her a few minutes of oxygen. She also grabbed a fire extinguisher. There was no way that it contained enough retardant to put out the multiple fires, but it could clear a path to Hoss, or so she hoped.

    She ran back out and past the medics and her crew, her gaze fixed firmly on the wall of smoke before her. “Here goes nothing,” Petrov muttered before entering the inferno.
    *******************************************************************
     
  11. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    *******************************************************************

    Scarab Nebula

    Lava coursed through Ousanas Dar’s veins. His stoicism had long abandoned him. Another anguished cry ripped from his soul and tore through his lips. Almost his entire existence had become a ball of agony, throbbing and pulsing, like a dark, primordial heart. And he was trapped inside it.

    “Mother, he supplied us with the ability to manipulate the probes hours ago, but yet you persist in this,” he heard a voice at the edge of the pain.

    “Yes,” was the clipped reply of another voice before another wave crashed into him.
    *******************************************************************

    USS Monarch
    Main Bridge

    Captain Walker wasn’t mollified by the small fires dotting the hull of the warbird. He knew that Monarch was engulfed in twice as many flames. Besides, he wouldn’t be pleased until they had cracked that egg open and get at the singularity drive powering it.

    “Launch quantum torpedoes,” Walker ordered. He wasn’t sure if Sofia could contain the fires in Engineering and it would be a matter of time before they reached critical systems, causing a warp core breach. He wanted to take out the Romulans while he had the chance.

    “Sir, our forward tube has been incapacitated,” Lt. Torkill replied. “And we only have one functional photon torpedo tube.”

    “I see, what else?”

    “Three aft photon torpedo tubes and seven phaser arrays,” the Kobheerian crisply replied. The fight had truly been fierce and Monarch had taken an extensive amount of damage, a dispiriting amount in light of the warbird not being space dust by now.

    “How about the Romulans?” Commander Astar asked, no doubt to cheer up the bridge crew as much as to seek out information.

    “From what I sensors can tell us, they’ve got three functional disruptor arrays and one photon torpedo array still operational. They’re primary disruptor array is still functional.”

    “Sounds about even to me,” Remarked Ensign Jonda from the helm.

    “Yes, it about does,” Walker said, “Prepare to fire, all functional forward batteries, on my mark.”

    “Aye sir,” Torkill replied.

    “Fire,” Walker ordered.
    ********************************************************************
    IRW Bateleur
    Command Deck

    “Evasive maneuvers! Evasive maneuvers!” Subcommander Volantis yelled, rearing back in her seat as she watched the wall of directed energy rush toward them. The ship turned, too slowly, in response to her command.

    Her world became a riot of sound and fury, nearly throwing her from her chair. She dug in so hard that her fingernails broke, but she ignored the pain and held on. The ship flipped over, the lights blinking, consoles sparking, voices crying in terror and agony. Volantis closed her eyes and prayed. The ship righted itself seconds later.

    She stood up on shaky legs, and looked around the dimmed bridge. The crew that was alive, or able, were recovering their stations or checking ship’s systems. The main viewer was an ocean of static.

    Volantis looked for the centurion and saw that the man had been impaled on the shards of a shattered terminal. “Damage report,” she called out, not caring who supplied the information.

    “The fusillade punched through our starboard shielding,” the substitute Sensors Officer grimly replied. “Our starboard nacelle was sheared off,” she added.

    “Erebus’s spittle!” Volantis cursed. “What about the casualties?”

    “We’re still tabulating those,” the Sensors Officer remarked. “And we have shifted emergency shielding starboard to seal off the breaches.”

    “What about our singularity drive? Was it affected?”

    “Thank the gods no,” the Sensors Officer said.

    “Thank the gods indeed,” Volantis said. She surveyed her tattered bridge again. She had promised the crew glory, she had promised herself glory, but she thus far she had led them to slaughter. Walker had proven a far more resilient foe than she had imagined possible.

    “What is the status of our armaments?”

    “Only the primary disruptor is online,” the substitute Weapons Officer spoke up. The eager young man that she had made note of had been one of the first to fall.

    “Shift all ship’s power to it, life support, everything,” she ordered.

    “Subcommander, the array isn’t equipped to handle such power,” the Weapons Officer pointed out, as was his duty. “It will overload the array and it might take half the bridge with it.”

    “I’m well aware of that,” Volantis said. “That is why I want the bridge cleared. I will take over things from here.”

    “Subcommander, I will not leave my post,” the Weapons Officer declared.

    “Nor I,” the Sensors Officer chimed in.

    “Nor I’s,” filled the bridge, and it warmed Volantis’s heart.

    “So be it,” Volantis said. “We shall die together.” She turned to the Weapons Officer to coordinate where they should deliver their final blow.

    “Subcommander, Subcommander!” The Sensors Officer’s voice brimmed with excitement. “A Romulan cruiser, Kestrel-class, has emerged from the nebula!”

    “Onscreen,” Volantis thought, before grimacing. The main viewer was still shot. She turned to the Sensors Officer. “What is a troop transport doing here? Are there signs of a larger ship accompanying it?”

    “No indications.”

    Volantis frowned. This was highly peculiar. Troop transports had light armaments, and generally required support and protection from capital warships. Its appearance though was hope that such a larger warship was nearby. She was peeved that Volok didn’t trust her enough to complete this task, though relieved that she would survive to fight on and one day claim her glory.

    “Contact the troop ship,” she ordered.

    “No responding to our hails,” now the Sensors Officer was frowning.

    “Is our communication network functioning properly?”

    “Yes Subcommander.”

    “What about theirs?”

    “Uncertain.”

    “Try them again.”

    “No response, yet two more troop transports have emerged from the nebula,” the Sensors Officer told her. “Both ships are moving to flank us. The original ship is covering us aft.”

    “Commander Volok sent three capital ships?” Volantis asked. That seemed like overkill, even to handle a Sovereign-class vessel.

    “The first ship is broadcasting a message, on all frequencies,” The Sensors Officer had a pinched expression on her face. None of this was making sense.

    “Federation starship, I am Lieutenant Bakin of the Reman ship Arbiter. We will demolish this warbird as token of our friendship.”

    Volantis laughed at the impertinence. Even with half a wing, the Bateleur could destroy the three lightly armed ships. Though if the Monarch joined them… Volantis motioned for the Sensors Officer to open a hail. “Starship Monarch, if you assist these Remans you will be entangling your Federation in the internal affairs of the Star Empire.”

    “You attacked us first,” Walker’s voice cut like a saw.

    “We were mistaken, we thought you were giving aid and comfort to enemies of the Star Empire.”

    “Slaves you mean?” Walker rejoined, “And come off of it, you’re probably just as surprised by the arrival of the Remans as we are.” He paused. “Lt. Bakin, we accept your offer, on one condition: the surrender and not the destruction of the warbird. We have a lot of questions for them.”

    “We will never submit, and we shall cleave through these Reman toy ships like a prong through a mollusk,” Volantis boasted.

    “Sir, I’ve completed my scans of the Reman vessels,” the Weapons Officer said quietly, “They have been modified, significantly, and with Dominion weaponry.”

    “What?” Volantis was aghast.

    “Sir, in our weakened condition, the Remans could destroy us…easily.” The man nearly choked on the word.

    Volantis felt as if she had been punched in the gut. She reclaimed her command chair. She didn’t know how much longer it would belong to her. Options, none of them optimal ran through her head. “I can’t surrender, I just can’t,” she muttered, wondering why the gods had chosen to desert her.

    “No surrender,” she stood up, her voice resolute. To the audience still listening, she roared, “No surrender!”
    ********************************************************************
     
  12. BrotherBenny

    BrotherBenny Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Aug 3, 2005
    Location:
    BrotherBenny
    Goodbye Volantis, it hasn't been nice knowing you.
     
  13. Gibraltar

    Gibraltar Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Sep 25, 2005
    Location:
    US Pacific Northwest
    You've written some splendid battles, my friend, but this was one of your best. Two capital ships, slugging it out blow for blow, a test of mettle and endurance for both.

    Nice to see the rug pulled right out from under Volantis. Couldn't have happened to a nicer Romulan. :devil:
     
  14. CeJay

    CeJay Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2006
    I'm kinda disappointed the Remans showed up. I'm sure Walker and the Monarch could have finished off the warbird on their own. Now it truly seems unlikely they have any kind of chance.

    Just a word of warning to Walker. You can't trust a Romulan. But never, ever trust a Reman.
     
  15. DavidFalkayn

    DavidFalkayn Commodore Commodore

    Joined:
    Dec 13, 2003
    Wonderful sequence both the battle and Dar's torment. Vivid and powerfully written.
     
  16. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    Thanks everyone. I hope you enjoy what happens next.

    *******************************************************************
    Scarab Nebula

    Samson Glover winced for Daneeka as two Jem’Hadar soldiers threw her back into the cell after another ‘training’ session. He rushed to her side, but the Bolian shied away from him, covering herself up with her tattered uniform as best as possible. Deep azure blood oozed from cuts running the length of her arms.

    “My God child, what did they do to you?” Samson glared angrily at the Jem’Hadar. To his surprise they stepped back. He had never seen a Jem’Hadar back up before, nor had he heard of it. Though he recognized the true reason for their reticence seconds later. First Torak’Clan strode into the room. He stopped with military precision just behind Daneeka, who was supporting herself on one elbow.

    Torak’Clan stared at the admiral, and Samson recoiled. Half his face was a mass of burned, pinkish flesh and one eye had become chalky and sightless. “It would be wise to heed the Bolian’s warnings human. Her blood is corrosive to most organics, even Jem’Hadar it appears.”

    “I see,” Samson said, glancing at Daneeka for confirmation. She nodded.

    “Perhaps you’ll stop using her for sport then,” Samson said, knowing that he shouldn’t provoke his captors, but at the moment he didn’t care. He girded himself for a blow or worse from the Jem’Hadar, eyeing the gleaming short polearm attached to the man’s hip. But Torak’Clan merely laughed.

    “Lt. Daneeka is worthy sport indeed. All of my soldiers want similar scars. Not even the Klingons left us such trophies.”

    “What I wouldn’t give for a bat’leth right now,” Daneeka muttered. This prompted even more laughter from the Jem’Hadar. Samson shook his head, unable to comprehend the odd emotions from Torak’Clan and his soldiers.

    Everything he read about the Jem’Hadar had showed them to be stoic warriors, though ferocious in combat. Marionettes without much individual personality. However there was a cleavage in the behavior between the Jem’Hadar grown in the Gamma Quadrant and those produced in the Alpha Quadrant. Alphas were engineered specifically to fight species in this quadrant, which produced an arrogance among them, since they thought they were better enabled to win the war over their older Gamma brethren. Alphas also needed less direction. They were more confident in taking independent action, for good or ill. Samson hoped to find a way to make it for ill.

    He cleared his voice and assumed an authoritative tone, “First Torak’Clan, what do you plan to do with the Iconian probe?” He demanded, hiding his own shame in giving up data about the weapon behind a wall of defiance.

    “You will see…in time,” the Jem’Hadar commander said. “Soon, all of the Alpha Quadrant will,” he promised.

    “Good luck with that,” Samson scoffed. “I might have folded, but Commander Dar…”

    “Already has,” Torak’Clan declared. “We are already preparing a field test for the weapon.”

    “No,” Samson shook his head, disbelief almost robbing him of speech. “Impossible.” Daneeka punctuated it with a curse.

    “You son of a bitch, what did you have those Reman monsters do?”

    “Remans?” Samson asked, confused. “What about Remans?”

    “They’re working together,” Daneeka said, her rage powering her to sit upright. “The bastards are in league with each other.”

    “Is that true?”

    Torak’Clan nodded. “Yes, there is no need to hide it. I am not ashamed of the Remans. They fight with honor, and they were slaves like we once were, but no more. Neither of our people will ever be enslaved again, and we have you to thank for it admiral.”
    ********************************************************************

    USS Monarch
    Main Engineering

    Lt. Commander Sofia Petrov wished she could rip the breathing mask off so she could scream out Hoss’s name, but she knew that the wall of smoke would overwhelm her in seconds. It was bad enough that she could barely see. She tapped the side of the goggles and they switched to infrared mode.

    She squinted, the heat from multiple fires nullified her ability to hone in on Hoss’s heat signature. “Going to have to do this the old fashioned way,” she muttered, switching the view back to standard. She made her way slowly across the catwalk, moving gingerly to avoid gouts of flame and waves of heat. Petrov didn’t want to be knocked off.

    Her heart thudded in her chest, and the sweat made the handle of her fire extinguisher. Each level she climbed, the heavier the thing. The engineer had tried to be conservative with its use, reserving its foam to suppress only the worst patches of flames in her way.

    “Hoss,” she called out again, “Hoss!” She yelled, though it sounded like a whisper, even to her. The fires roared around her. There was a part of her that wanted to quit, that wanted to leave the Tellarite to her fate, but Sofia couldn’t do that. She understand and often lived by the ends justify the means code of the Section. She had held on to that code to trap Benjamin in her web, but she had always felt she could separate that part of her from who she really was. But now, that shadow was creeping into her life. And she wanted to draw a line, needed to, where Hoss was concerned.

    As far as she knew the young man was an innocent, and saving his life could be at least one deed she could feel good about without qualifications. But the damned inferno was making completing the good deed extremely difficult. However, Sofia trudged on.

    She had reconfigured her combadge to hone in on Hoss’s biosignal and after she scaled two more levels, the beeping was so intense that it rivaled her heartbeat. Her breathing was labored as the oxygen depleted from her breathing apparatus, but Sofia pressed forward.

    She founded the unconscious Tellarite slumped over the deuterium tank control terminal. She started running toward him, but a firm hand clamped down on her shoulder. “What the…” She started to turn around, and was assisted by a mighty shove which threw her against the railing. Sofia flailed as she struggled not to go over.

    “Let me help you with that,” the voice was familiar, but now devoid of its roguish charm. She stopped struggling and turned back to face the man who had just attacked her. He loomed over her, his muscles tense for a fight, his hands clenched with murderous intent. His gaze was full of accusation, all aimed at her. Sofia was almost more confused than she was afraid.

    “Demetrius, what is going on?”
    *****************************************************************
     
  17. CeJay

    CeJay Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2006
    No good deed ... as Petrov is just finding out. She may be already passed redemption anyway.

    I continue to enjoy the Jem'Hadar/Reman alliance. Even if they are cold-blooded bastards. Beating up on Daneeka like that just ain't right.
     
  18. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    Unfortunately CeJay the Remans or Jem'Hadar aren't into reading bedtime stories for their prisoners on big soft beds with fluffy pillows:). If they subjected Daneeka to a bedtime story she would likely ask for the sparing session.

    *****************************************************************
    IRW Bateleur
    Command Deck

    Subcommander Volantis was calm in the face of death. Her gaze was steely as she eyed the looming saucer section of the Monarch that dominated the center of the viewer. The screen was split showing all of the ships surrounding them, the Remans curiously waiting to deliver their death blow.

    Certainly they were waiting for her to crack, for her to beg for her life, but Volantis would never disgrace herself, not to mention the soldiers under her command. Nor would she disgrace Commander Volok.

    “Sensors Officer Marca send out a distress signal, that should distract them for a few seconds. They’ll think we have other cloaked ships nearby.”

    “I wish we did,” grumbled the Weapons Officer. Volantis was usually intolerant of unsolicited comments on her bridge, but this time she merely smiled tightly. A little impertinence in the face of oblivion wasn’t such a bad thing.

    “Message sent,” Marca replied.

    “Excellent, now launch our log buoy, with a coded, repeating message to Volok. We must inform him…of our failure.” She didn’t want to look around at her crew, but Volantis forced herself to. Though she would never verbalize an apology, it was there on her face and in her eyes for every gaze that met hers.

    “At once Subcommander,” Marca said, busying herself with her final tasks.

    “Hold, make sure it is repeating. At least one or two messages should get off before the Remans destroy it or the Monarch captures it.”

    “Romulan vessel,” it was Captain Walker. Volantis waved away the hail. “Romulan vessel,” the human repeated.

    “Buoy away,” Marca remarked a half-second later.

    “Excellent,” Volantis said. She watched as one of the Reman ships promptly atomized it. Without a prompt, the Sensors Officer said:

    “Two message cycles were completed.”

    “Good enough,” Volantis said as the deck trembled beneath her feet. The Reman ships had begun to set in on Bateleur, softening her hull up even more. “You won’t carve up my vessel like a fowl,” the subcommander declared. “Activate self-destruct.”
    ****************************************************************
    USS Monarch
    Main Bridge

    Captain Walker pounded his armrests. “Damn it!” He cursed as he watched the Remans surgically cutting into the Bateleur’s hull. “Those rash bastards have made the Romulans desperate. I can’t talk them down now.” He replied, his anger heightened by the insistent beeping of the ship’s sensor station. The captain had just been informed that a power surge was building in the Bateleur’s singularity drive.

    “In all honesty, the Romulan commander seemed pretty rigid and defiant already,” Commander Astar calmly pointed out. Walker grunted in acknowledgement.

    “I know that Leza,” he groused. “It’s just…so damned unnecessary.”

    “Well, you could try to get the Remans to cease firing, but we both know that it’s gone far beyond that stage now,” Astar replied. Walker nodded.

    “Back us off Jonda,” he called to the Catullan flight controller.

    “Aye sir,” the pink haired pilot chirped, easing the ship back as far as its straining engines would permit.

    “I’m sure those Reman ships got the sensory apparatus to know that the warbird is building toward a massive explosion,” Torkill said. “Why aren’t they backing off, they’ve delivered their deathstroke.”

    “Perhaps because there are some things more important than death,” Lt. Commander Liyange said with an eerie sense of knowledge. Leza knew the young woman had spent part of her youth working in Bajoran refugee camps with her parents and had even shared a harrowing tale or two, often at the urging of one of the crew, because Arjuna didn’t like to talk about those times.

    “She’s right,” Walker said, a mysterious tone to his voice. “But I don’t share the Remans death wish, keep backing us out of here Jonda.” On the screen, the Remans ran a coordinated assault against the Romulans, dodging in like blades to deliver deadly barrages, before darting out again, leaving an opening for the next ship.

    “Doing my best sir,” the ensign said, but the propulsion system is being uncooperative.

    “Petrov,” Walker turned toward the auxiliary engineering console in the back of the room. He saw it was empty. “Where’s the chief engineer? I thought she was headed to the bridge?” Everyone looked askance at the question. “Locate her, and find out the status of the fires in Main Engineering while you’re at it. I want to know how much damage they’ve caused on top of the battle with the Romulans.”

    “I’ll take care of it sir,” Astar said. She stood up.

    “What are you doing?” Walker asked, his expression hooded. He had expected her to check the console attached to her seat.

    “I think a firsthand perspective would be better, don’t you?” Astar asked, tapping her compin before Walker could respond. The transporter effect already had a grasp on her before the captain could open his mouth.
    ******************************************************************
    Imperial Romulan Cruiser “Free Reman ship” Arbiter
    Command Deck

    “Lieutenant, we’ve only got seconds before the warbird self-destructs!” His second warned him.

    “I know that,” Lt. Bakin said through clenched teeth. With each flash of their weapons, each score upon the nearly shattered hull of the warbird, he saw an indignity wrought upon him or his kin at the hand of a Romulan. Decades of humiliations, of violations of the most debauched and horrific kind.

    He owed them so much pain and he wanted to share it with them. He wanted to die with them, his hand on their throats.

    “Lieutenant, what of the mission? Colonel Sorix’s orders!”

    Bakin almost laughed. “Colonel” Sorix had been a mere second in command until Volus had died liberating them from their Romulan enslavers during the rebellion that took place after their ship was beset by Jem’Hadar during the close of the war. It had been Sorix though that had negotiated a truce with the Jem’Hadar who murdered their Vorta commander upon hearing of the Changeling’s surrender at Cardassia Prime. The defeat had ripped asunder the notion of the shape shifters’ divinity for this band of Jem’Hadar. And both they and the Remans sought to be free of their masters.

    The Reman lieutenant bit down on his bottom lip so hard he could taste the coppery dark green blood welling up from the perforations. “Pull back, to a safe distance, full impulse.” The ship lurched back so suddenly that it almost threw Bakin from his seat. He had been perched at the edge of his command chair.

    He didn’t reveal his displeasure. Griping was considered a weakness, not fit for a Reman. Remans adapted to whatever the gods threw at them and made it function for them. That was the special gift of his people. And perhaps their curse.

    They had been too accepting for so long, but the war had changed them, as had the new leaders cropping up among their people, like Viceroy Vkruk and Shinzon, whom some claimed was a human. The very thought of a human growing up among the Remans, of surviving the dilithium mines, and gaining respect and leadership among his kind, was so absurd that Bakin had knifed the man who had told him. As a man of honor he had only impaled him after the man kept insisting that he was not jesting, that Shinzon was actually human.

    Surprisingly, Bakin began to chuckle at the memory. “Lieutenant, the Retribution and the Accuser are not pulling back.”

    “Hail Pansa and Naso, tell them I demand they comply at once!” Bakin snapped.
    “No response,” the second replied.

    Bakin yanked his blade from its hip holster and plunged it into his armrest, ignoring the sparks burning his hand. His dull yellow eyes blazed with rage. He detested defiance of his orders, even more than Sorix did.

    “It’s too late for them now anyway,” his Weapon’s Chief replied. Already the cage containing the singularity drive had ripped free of its moorings after an intense flash had ripped apart the warbird and engulfed Retribution. The explosion’s shockwave tossed Arbiter about like a toy. Bakin grabbed the hilt of the knife still stuck in his armrest for purchase. He watched as it slammed into the Monarch, nearly overturning the ship. The Monarch had been much closer to the warbird. It had been limping along in a mostly vain attempt to put distance between it and the detonation.

    The wave receded quickly, though it had rained havoc upon the troop ship’s systems. He could see by the flickering lights across Monarch’s hull that the grand starship had fared worse, and Bakin was glad for that. It would allow him to keep the upper hand with the Federation ship and its crew, even as the sole surviving Reman ship of this mission.

    Though Accuser wasn’t gone yet, it was only a matter of time. The doomed vessel was being pulled into the black hole created by the warbird’s demise. Bakin only allowed himself a slight grimace as he watched the ship stretched out to fantastical length as the singularity’s clutches took hold.

    “Is our communication system functional?”

    “Yesssslewwwtenant,” his second said, his words mashing together. Bakin regarded the man and saw that the left side of his head was nearly caved in. Yet the man maintained his post.

    “Contact Monarch,” he ordered, keeping his voice level. To show any emotion over his subordinate’s plight would also be seen as a weakness. It was an honor among his people to die in combat, so waking the life slowly drain from his second due to a wound incurred on this battlefield was supposed to fill Bakin with joy, like a good Reman warrior. Though it didn’t.

    He would miss his second, who had become his friend during the war against the Dominion. Bakin made a mental note to avenge his friend’s memory as soon as they captured more Romulans.

    “Federation starship responding,” the Weapons Chief replied strongly. Bakin took his eyes off his friend. The man had leaned back in his chair and his breathing had become shallow. The Weapons Chief had quickly picked up the slack.

    “On screen,” Bakin said.

    “Lieutenant Bakin, just what the hell was that?” Fumed red-faced human with circular captain’s pips on only a shade redder collar.

    “Justice,” the Reman simply replied.
    *****************************************************************
     
  19. CeJay

    CeJay Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2006
    I do like the bedtime story idea though. Now that would be a plot twist.

    The Remans are a bit too emotional for their own good here, aren't they? Not sure if the Jem'Hadar will appreciate that kind of work dedication.

    Monarch finds herself in a bad spot. The surviving Remans appear to be wanting to make nice but you never want to negotiate with these guys from a position of weakness. Walker and Astar will have their hands full here.
     
  20. DarKush

    DarKush Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Joined:
    Nov 18, 2005
    ********************************************************************
    Shuttlecraft Vanik
    Scarab Nebula

    “Well, isn’t this cozy,” T’Prell muttered.

    “Excuse me?” Commander T’Chaya asked, unable to stop herself. She had been repeating axioms from Surak’s Analects while piloting the shuttle through the treacherous nebula. Though it was illogical to divide her attention, T’Chaya regretfully needed the distraction. T’Prell’s incessant humming or soft singing was wearing down her resolve like Chinese Water Torture. And perhaps the most frustrating thing was that the woman was not doing it on purpose. She was not trying to get a rise out of T’Chaya like many non-Vulcans had often attempted to do when they meet a Vulcan.

    No the woman was just naturally annoying, it seemed. The first several hours T’Chaya had held her tongue, more concerned about the occasional buffeting eddies the shuttle encountered. But the last two hours had been smoother and the irritants were becoming more noticeable.

    “Oh, nothing,” T’Prell said, looking up. The woman had been working the ship’s sensor array. She turned back to her work without waiting for T’Chaya to respond. Or get a chance to complain, the commander noted with regretful disappointment.

    T’Chaya decided to take the dismissal as a fortunate occurrence that would prevent her from expressing her displeasure. She redoubled her own efforts.

    The intercom sparked to life. “Shuttle Vanik…this is Captain…Zorek,” static filled the line.

    “Captain, what is your status?” T’Chaya asked.

    “You’re…breaking…,” Zorek said, before the static drowned him out completely.

    “We’ve lost communication with the Nagasaki,” T’Prell said, frowning. “Due to the nebula’s radiation.” Now they truly were alone.

    “Wonderful,” T’Chaya muttered.

    “What was that Commander?”

    “Nothing.”
    ******************************************************************

    Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
    Stateroom
    Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
    (Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)

    The young officer huffing before him was clearly out of breath, but Commander Volok sensed something else behind the quivering in the man’s frame besides physical exertion. He didn’t have time to coddle his junior officers. He was waiting on word from Subcommander Volantis.

    Underneath his desk, Volok stretched the stiffening fingers of the hand he had recently broken. “Out with it Decurion!”

    “Uh…yes,” the man swallowed hard and composed himself before speaking. “Sir, we’ve just received the Bateleur’s log buoy.”

    “Log buoy?”

    “Yes sir.”

    “The ship…is…”

    “I…uh…believe so sir.”

    “You may go now Decurion.”

    “Ah…sir.”

    “Now. Decurion.” Volok was surprised by how calm his voice was. The young man was astute enough to know he was treading into dangerous waters. He quickly thumped his chest and threw out a salute before retreating from the room.

    The scream started deep within him, a low rumble in his soul, that grew in such power and force that it seized his body and ripped open his mouth, all his anger and rage, all of his frustration, and it reverberated off the walls. He fell from his chair, sinking to the carpet behind his desk, empty and unfeeling. “What does it take?” He asked the gods who had abandoned him. “What does it take to kill you Glover? To get my righteous revenge?”

    He hadn’t cried for a long time, but the tears flowed, and they burned his skin. They were not tears of sadness, but of hate, and they poured like lava down his cheeks. “Commander Volok,” the intercom spoke to him from what seemed like hours later, though truthfully he had lost track of time. He no longer cared. “Commander?”

    “What?” His voice was ragged, and the defeat in it shocked even him, even after all that had transpired.

    “We are receiving a message from Ambassador Ovida, she is requesting that we return to Benzar immediately.”

    “What?”

    “Ambassador Ovida has…”

    “I heard that,” he said, the edge returning to his voice. He propped his elbows back on his desk and used them to pull himself back to a standing position. Leaning over his table he said, “What is the reason for the order?”

    “None was given.”

    Volok frowned. He didn’t know what was happening, but it couldn’t be good. However, he couldn’t defy the woman’s order. Even his sterling war record could be tarnished, or even worse, forgotten, if he bucked the establishment too early, and it might make Ovida suspicious about his clandestine activities. “Prepare the ship for departure.”

    “At once Commander.”

    He set his jaw and girded himself. “Send me Bateleur’s log buoy.”
    *****************************************************************