If it was even going to manifest itself at all, and I'm not sure if it would have without something drastic happening--as it did. At least in my version of events, by the time of the Volan III incident (2 years later), he'd healed to the point where only a medical scanner could pick up that anything had ever happened. And that's funny about Garak!!!
Poor Berat... it must have been so hard to have dodged death, healed and then to have that happen again. Plus he's an engineer!! Speros can tell his nonsense in a vacuum.
You know...it can be very hard on him, yes--especially because the Volan III incident wouldn't have gone so badly if not for his own past. But that said...the events of Betrayal also put a hell of a fire into him--hence his decision to fight the discharge orders. Now, Berat puts up with Speros...but DON'T give him ideas. Speros + airlock + faulty pressure sensor...I'm sure he's dreamed of how to do it even though I don't think Berat would ever stoop to that level.
No, I think that's above Berat too... but maybe someone less scrupulous will get sick of his attitude... Not advocating, it could happen!
If you back up to Page 13 of this thread, you'll see the March 29th installment...I'd love to know your opinion, and any warnings about anything that's not working. Since the 29th...I'm afraid I've managed, in true Cardassian fashion, to run my yap. (So glad to see a United Trek author reading! I was starting to believe you guys had gone on strike! )
My bad for not responding, been trying to rework my own stuff, but I am reading yours. I thought it was a great piece, showing once again that the Cardassians think they're being made second-class citizens piece by piece, without the Dominion firing a shot, thus far. And the bad fall at the end made me wince, I've done that on occasion, only sprained the ankle though, didn't fracture or break it. Now write, godsdamnit!!! NB: We're not on strike, though it may appear that way. As soon as my first two rewritten stories have been beta read, I'll post them. I'm working on the third this week.
Glad you're liking it! As I said to someone else...I love Iymender to bits, but I just couldn't imagine that ALL Cardassians--even those in the military--are these perfect soldiers by any means. Especially not one whose main function in the military is to do something totally unrelated to actual infantry combat in terms of the skills it calls for. Once I realized they were going to have to drop out of a ceiling...I realized I just could NOT see it go well for him. Hopefully I will have the new section up by this time next week, but we'll see. It's always iffy, with my work schedule, and the possibility of a challenge entry brewing up.
Nice update - although I'm a bit late. I do like the small description of the cat like person attacking a Cardassian in the hallway and then chaos taking over the attack. Out of curiousity, what exactly what did that other crewmember used to find that broken ankle?
Welcome back! Glad you liked the battle! Gul Rebek's got a rather...odd piece of technology at her disposal. One that REALLY didn't work well when it debuted ("The Wounded"--embarrassing failure there), but she got it working and is the only one in the Cardassian Guard who's able to use it. Go here if you're curious about the hunter array...
In that case the better start teaching you Cardassians how to land properly! Probably woulda dropped only 2 feet if he'd hung from his arms first! Tsk tsk... poor guy!
Probably more than that...the ceilings ARE a bit high in this place. Still--Iymender's kind of in his own world a lot of times. Instinctive reactions to a cyberattack he's great at. Instinctive reactions to anything physical...not so great. Trust me, Iymender's embarrassed about this. It's not the first time something he's done, either by accident or ignorance (say, of social situations), has gotten him unwanted attention. But he feels bad that he's done it at a time like this!
I feel bad and embarrassed for him! And what a time for a broken ankle... Need to find out what happppeeennnnsss!!!
OK, guys...my Internet access is going to be limited over the next week, and what time I do get will probably be given over to the Ad Astra Round Robin. HOWEVER--I WILL be doing writing for my main universe, just not be able to upload it. If all goes well, I shall return bearing gifts! Expect a new Thirteenth Order segment next weekend, AND a contest entry!
FINALLY! I have a new segment! ---------- “This is it,” Ador confirmed with a voiceless whisper. “We’re right under the command center.” Macet nodded—though this action was somewhat complicated by the fact that even sitting, his head brushed up against the crawlspace ceiling. “Very well. We must assume that Dalin Zopreg and any co-conspirators on base are captured or dead. Our objective must therefore be to do whatever we can to help the main force in securing the base. I intend to signal them shortly. “ç’Thesil…” The Andorian tried to veil her reaction: the Cardăsda ‘th’ was a hard, dental ‘t’-like sound, aspirated but nothing like the Andorian or Federation Standard sounds. The ‘zh’ lay outside his ability to pronounce as well; the s-like ‘ç’ was as close as he could manage. “I apologize,” Macet said. “There are no sounds like that in Cardăsda.” zh’Thessel shrugged. “It’s nothing,” she curtly replied. The Trager gul bowed his head in acknowledgment of the words, but made a mental note of the grudging undercurrent to the Solarion IV colonist’s tone…one he hoped wouldn’t prove contagious to her fellow borderworlder. Macet was quite aware of Rusot and Dolak’s covert border-crossing raid on the colony world, and had the circumstances been reversed, he expected he too would have held a grudge. “Are you hearing any signs of pursuit?” “None so far,” the Andorian reported, “but once someone thinks to scan for DNA residuals at our last known location, they’ll pick up our trail.” “Of course,” Macet said. “Ador—can we signal the main force from here?” The young ragoç lifted his scanner, squinting as he took a series of readings. “I still have a fix on their wristcomms from here. There’s a lot of interference here; I think we’re right under the central subspace array, but that’s to our advantage…as long as Riyăk Iymender’s protocols are still working, the combination of internal and external interference should shield us from detection but let us get out a brief signal.” “I will give the signal,” Macet declared. “ç’Thesil, Burakgazi—I need your ears and your attention to your scanners; notify me the instant you get any indications that the base personnel have engaged our people. Be ready, for I plan to force their leadership to choose: will they fight with us for Cardassia, or die as Dominion traitors?” A faint hiss of subspace static burst forth from Spirodopoulos’ wristcomm, then resolved into words. “All units—forward!” His eyes flicked over at Gul Speros, not seeking approval but giving warning. “Forward!” Speros snapped, before the human could seize the initiative. Lacking the Cardassians’ eidetic memories, Mike Spirodopoulos had stared at those maps for hours, burned them into the back of his mind until he could see them in ghostlike projections against the void of the subconscious. This had been a riverbed once, wide as the great Mississippi, when there had been enough moisture in the Lessekda atmosphere for it to really rain…now it provided them an unobstructed path from which to charge at the base: not so narrow that they had no room to maneuver, but largely free of boulders, crags and other obstructions. He knew exactly where they were headed, and his reaction was almost one of instinct just like it had been on AR-558. And in the heat of the moment, it felt just as right. This time there would be no restraint, no stun setting: this time it was raze or be razed. Both men’s rifles flew from shoulder into hand, safeties flicked off, power cells shrieking as they revved to maximum. Armored Federation and Cardassian soldiers alike mirrored their leaders’ motions. And forward they charged, some with a shout that neither commander chastised them for: it was too late for subterfuge now. “Focus, Riyăk! Eyes on your console!” Rebek couldn’t tell what rattled Iymender the worst: the pain from his injured ankle, or the corpses of his former co-workers still strewn on the floor, untended and exposed before foreigners. She felt for the young man—but the rest of the Jem’Hadar could be along any minute and they couldn’t afford even an eyeblink of hesitation. Iymender mumbled, “I apologize, Gul.” “Don’t apologize,” she ordered. “Obey. And keep Chedrigan informed when he needs to be; he can’t help you if you don’t talk.” Even with his fingers flying across the console, he managed a slight inclination of the head. T’Ruveh stood statuesque next to him, ready to support him the instant they had to move. Te-Mae-Do guarded the door, ears and the tip of her elongated tail twitching her agitation even as it held her weapon. After a few seconds, Iymender gave a sharp hiss of indrawn breath. “Not good…Dalin Zopreg’s been stripped of his command codes.” This presented a twofold problem: someone was obviously onto Zopreg’s participation in the rebel conspiracy—but just as bad, it had been his codes Iymender had planned to use to prep the Hide’eki for launch. “Can you override?” Rebek asked. “Theoretically—yes. Quickly? No. I think can crack the system, but it’s going to be dirty…not to mention unpredictable.” “What do you mean ‘unpredictable’?” “There are layers of anti-tampering protocols written into the programs controlling the docks. If I can’t disable every single countermeasure on those ships, those ships will launch—presumably to remove the ‘threat’ from the station—but they’ll blow to pieces before we’ve even cleared the stratosphere.” There should’ve been some resistance by now! Spirodopoulos fretted. The front line had closed within a football field of the shipyard now—well within rifle range, and close enough that a superior shot with a disruptor pistol could probably pick off some of the slower-moving soldiers of the Thirteenth Order. He glanced over at Glinn Daro, raising an eyebrow and hoping the Cardassian would understand the gesture. The former infantryman wordlessly mirrored his concern with a nod, then signaled Ragoç Nedav. “Do you know anything about what they’re planning? Have they set out booby traps? Or are they planning to ambush us themselves?” “There was talk of an ambush, but it hadn’t been finalized by the time I left.” Daro called to Gul Speros. “I recommend speculative fire, Gul—if they’re there, let’s flush them out!” There were too many power conduits, supply crates, and land-speeders to hide behind, not to mention the various spires and towers typical of Cardassian architecture, to be sure exactly where the opposing forces were hiding. The Jem’Hadar weren’t likely to react to this recon-by-fire…but at least a few Cardassians probably would stick their heads up. “Do it!” Speros barked. The front line unleashed a sweeping barrage with a motion like a handheld fire extinguisher, gold beams spewing forth like distilled sunrays. One beam caught the motor of a landspeeder, which exploded violently in a miniature mushroom of flame. Someone screamed on the other side; a flailing figure stumbled out from behind the wreckage, wreathed in fire. For just a moment, Spirodopoulos’ path was clear: he reacted out of instinct and shot. The fireball dissolved into a particle cloud and dissipated. And even if only for a second…things went quiet. Then a pulse with the intensity of a magnesium flare erupted from behind one of those talon-spires, ripped into the heart of the Thirteenth Order line. Spirodopoulos, Daro, Folani, and everyone around them dove for the dust as the Jem’Hadar polaron blast connected with the enthusiastic young Saar from the Westmoreland, killing him instantly. Burning cinders blew forth from the point of impact; a couple caught the upper sleeve of Spirodopoulos’ cuirass like micrometeorites against a deflector shield. He’d seen this sort of ricochet cause significant burns back on AR-558…but to his astonishment, the debris hit his Cardassian armor and bounced right off. Lieutenant Haeruuh lifted his rifle and aimed back along the polaron cannon’s trajectory. The Jem’Hadar ducked out of the way too quickly for the brindle-furred Caitian’s bolt to connect. Haeruuh kept up a stream of suppressing fire, causing some of the Jem’Hadar’s shots to go wide. Still…enough were connecting: the Thirteenth Order had only just reached the perimeter. Then Spirodopoulos whirled around: all hell was breaking loose behind him. “Damn it!” he shouted. “They’ve shrouded! They’re in our lines! Folani—Subek—Rashad…get after them!” The hell with Speros! the Greek officer decided: he wasn’t about to stop there. “Prashek, Sidrular! You too!” “Go!” Daro seconded with a wave. Spirodopoulos forced his attention forward. Their efforts to draw out some of the resistance had helped a bit—but it clearly wasn’t enough, not with the kind of weaponry the other side had. They had to get inside that building, but they’d hit a near standstill. That polaron cannon had to go, and for all Haeruuh’s efforts, the Jem’Hadar were just too quick for him. He’d taken out one of the soldiers, but a second fell right into place with hardly an interruption. Gul Speros pushed his way back as well, his fury at the Jem’Hadar gunner so intense he barely even flinched at each concussion, barely even diverted his step. Spirodopoulos turned to Daro on his left: “We’re going to have to blow that spire! How many of us will it take?” “Commander!” a voice squawked in his right ear before Daro could answer. It was the obsidian-and-grey feathered Aurelian, Ngaer. “I can take that gun!” The Starfleet soldier spun around. So too did Daro and Speros. “By yourself? Wait…are you saying you can actually get enough lift to fly up there?” Aurelians had hollow bones, he knew…though much more capable in Earth-type gravity environments as far as basic mobility was concerned, like Elaysians they weren’t much good for hand-to-hand combat against more solidly-built species. “With a boost—but yes. Help me get enough altitude and I can blow that cannon.” Spirodopoulos fixed her with a hard gaze. In previous battles Spirodopoulos had sent men and women to spring suspected traps…but never, ever anything like this, something carrying a near-certain death sentence. “You realize the second the Jem’Hadar get their hands on you—and we know they’re up there in force—or the second you fall…you’re dead, right? I need another option—that’s a suicide mission!” Ngaer’s neck feathers fanned out in protest. “Sir, I…” “So be it!” Speros retorted before Ngaer could supply her own objection. “If she is ready—she is ready. Let her go; there is no truer service to the Union. Or…I would think…to your Federation. Burn your sentiment—she already has.” The Jem’Hadar gunner let rip once again. Another voice cried out in agony. “Medic…!” Still alive, still suffering, slowly bleeding to death from wounds that thanks to Dominion weapons’ anticoagulant micropellets would never seal… “Ensign Ngaer—take that bastard out!” Spirodopoulos knelt next to the Aurelian’s left ankle. “Maraft!” he called to the Benzite at Ngaer’s right. “Help me!” Thouves Daro simultaneously called out complementing orders. “Suppressing fire the instant she takes flight! And mind your aim…we’ve only got one who’s flight-capable—we can’t afford any friendly fire!” “Stand and lift on the count of three!” Spirodopoulos shouted. “Get ready—one…two…three!” She’s a lot lighter than she looks, he thought as he and Maraft pushed to their feet in a maneuver that looked for all the world like a cheerleading squad getting ready to toss someone. The instant Ngaer’s taloned feet left their hands, she beat at the air with her great wings…and she was away. For just a second, it seemed, no one reacted, Federation, Cardassian, or Dominion: the Aurelian lifted off like a great raven, pushing hard against the still air to gain all the altitude she could while she still had the strength. The Thirteenth Order lines opened up with an unremitting barrage as she cleared a hundred meters, propelling herself towards enemy lines with each flap. Then, at maximum altitude, she fixed her wings and started to glide. Ngaer pointed her disruptor rifle and took aim from on high. Spirodopoulos never saw the beam against the glare of the Lessekda primary. No one, however missed the massive explosion as polaron cannon and spire blew apart in a rain of shrapnel and unleashed exotic particles. Nor could he miss the awful shriek as one of the Dominion-loyal Cardassians’ disruptors connected with the valiant young woman’s left wing and she crashed to the dust behind enemy lines. “Forward!” Spirodopoulos bellowed. “Do not stop for anything until you’re through those doors! Not a thing!” As he obeyed his own orders, he caught a glimpse of Gul Speros out the corner of his eye—a powerful, cryptic expression in the elder Cardassian’s eyes that in the moment he could not decipher.
Ah, more battle! Brave, brave woman, that Ngaer. Hopefully she lives through this mess. Well-written, of course, with just enough balance between action and thought. It's fast, but not so fast people can't grasp it. Very good!
Wow...that was a quick reading! But I'm very glad to know the pacing is still working for you--that was my biggest concern. About Ensign Ngaer--I'm afraid she does not survive. She, Spirodopoulos, and Speros all knew she wasn't coming back. Once she lost her wing, she fell behind enemy lines...and the Jem'Hadar did not hesitate.