Contact: A Star Trek Universe Story My First Star Trek Fanfic, and its technically a crossover. Please be kind. CONTACT Standard disclaimer: Any and all recognizable people, characters, places and ideas are the property of their respective owners, etc, etc. Without them, this would not exist. Any resemblance to real people or places is completely coincidental and not the intent of the author, nor does it reflect upon the person or place so named. Prologue: The Prime Directive. Starfleet General Order No. 1. The highest law of the United Federation of Planets. Each and every pre-warp civilization has the right to self-determination. No citizen of The United Federation of Planets shall interfere in the normal and healthy cultural or social development of said pre-warp civilization. No identification of self or mission shall be made to any pre-warp civilization that does not independently develop warp capability, which is indicative of said civilization's level of development. A starship captain's most solemn oath is that he will give his life, even his entire crew, rather than violate the Prime Directive. - James Tiberius Kirk But, what happens if a pre-warp civilization, or one with an unrecognized form of Faster Than light (FTL) travel, is the one that forces contact? What happens? How does the Federation, Starfleet, react? A/N 1: This Fic will be sort of a multi-crossover, between Star Trek, the Worldwar series by Harry Turtledove, and Battlestar Galactica 2003. All properties of their respective owners, I own nothing. You won't need to know the others besides star trek; they're just so I don't have to invent a culture. A/N 2: This fic takes place is the future following the TNG time period, and so is posted in TNG. This also significantly disregards STO, and the Abhramsverse. This timeline is what I want it to be, which means including fanon ship designs, to be credited as appropriate. Chapter One: U.S.S. Kestrel Deep Space, Just outside the Sol System, Sector 001- Stardate: 83506.5- Saturday, Jun 13 2401 The U.S.S. Kestrel was on a routine milk run. The Harrier-class light escort cruised leisurely at impulse speeds in through the dark, empty void of space. Lieutenant Commander Jacqueline Ecclestone, commanding officer, sighed. Her first command, and her first real mission. A nice simple mission dropping buoys to get her crew working together before they deploy to the far borders of the federation with unexplored space. "Bridge to Engineering. Mr. Forney, are you ready to deploy those fancy new EWS(1) buoys?" "Forney here, not yet, Cap- The subspace relays on some of these bleeding buoys aren't automatically aligning. I'll have them ready to go when we reach the drop point, Sir". "Get it done, Mr. Forney. Those buoys are the first line of defense for Earth". These highly advanced sensor buoys were intended to give Starfleet a chance to respond to, and defend against a strike on the heart of the federation- No one wanted to experience the horror of the Breen attack on Starfleet Headquarters again. And thanks to another example of learning from history, Starfleet recognized that all technologies the buoys do go obsolete- Like the Mars Defense Perimeter that was so ineffectual during the first Borg encounter, each buoy is being replaced with an updated variant: better detection range, harder to tamper with- And it was her job to deploy the new buoys. She really hated milk runs; honestly, if these buoys were smaller, a runabout could have done the job. But, a milk run to the edge of the Sol System is just what the doctor ordered on her first command. Granted, her ship wasn't all that much bigger than a runabout- in fact, she was built in the same graving docks as the 'New Atlantic' class runabouts, but she'd be running back to ESD to pick up new buoys. At least her new crew gets some target practice destroying the old worn out ones- The Kestrel was a bird-of-prey, after all. With a crew of only 22, the Kestrel was designed as exactly that- a Starfleet Bird-of-Prey. Lacking the amenities usually found aboard federation starships, her command was back to bare bone basics; not particularly impressive, but she's hers, and she wouldn't give it up for anything. "Ensign Forney to Captain Eccelstone. We've gotten the buoys talking now-Chief Levy had an idea- and he was right! The wankers in supply back at ESD neglected to pull all of the internal storage caps- but tagged them as deployment ready. We've pulled the caps and rebooted the buoys. We'll be ready on your command." "Good work, Ensign. We'll be at the site momentarily. Please transfer transporter control to Ops. And another thing, Mr. Forney." "Yes Captain?" "The chiefs are usually right. Their experience is your gain, Mr. Forney." "Yes Captain." Lt. Cmdr Eccelstone stood, and addressed the helm. "Ms. Whitmore. Position and hold at the first set of coordinates." Aboard any other Federation starship class, Lt. Joshua Atchison, her first officer, would have primary responsibility for such a routine matter. But on a ship with only four officers, he was presently off duty, as he'd have the big chair for beta shift. In an emergency, of course, all the officers would report to and man their posts. But all this meant that aboard her ship, she was the only officer on the bridge, not that the stations were unmanned. Turning to the crewman manning the ops console, "Mr. Qadir?" "I have transporter control, ma'am. Ready to beam the buoy from the Cargo bay on your mark." "Good. How's our position, Ms. Whitmore?" "We're approaching the position ma'am ETA two minutes. A question, if I may?" "Go ahead." Lt. Cmdr. Eccelstone welcomed these questions- they were an ideal way to get acquainted with her new crew, while still maintaining some distance. Aboard such a small ship, good working relationships were critical, after all. "Captain, why were we assigned this mission? Surely, a NAVAID ship is much better suited to deploying buoys. We're so small, we have to return every couple of days to pick up another set of the things." "Good question, Ms. Whitmore. Yes, a NAVAID ship could do this job better than we can, but they're not available, nor are they cleared to handle equipment this sensitive. Plus, tomorrow, after we finish deploying this group of buoys, we'll be meeting up with that flight of New Atlantics conducting exercises at bearing 076 for operational exercises of our own- Fleet just wanted us to be useful instead of in their hair in the bay. This way, we're out here when they're ready." "Yes, ma'am, and incidentally, we're in position." "Mr. Qadir." "Buoys are away, and initiating handshake." "Good, Ms Whitmore, please move us to the next set of coordinates. Mr. Qadir, start prepar…" "Captain!" Crewman Qadir reacted as his training demanded- as an extremely irregular and unexpected message popped up on his console- only directed to him because the new buoy hadn't had the time to connect to the control station. "Flash message from that buoy we just dropped! 98 Contacts at the very edge of its range, no transponders, Sublight!" "Helm, Belay that order. Red Alert!" Lt. Cmdr Eccelstone snapped at her crew, while bringing her hand down on the button, one of the few physical ones on the bridge, that would bring her ship and her crew to its maximum readiness. "Why didn't we see them ourselves?!" "The buoy seems to have better range than us, Captain- must be why they're so classified." "Never mind that! Ops, get me Starfleet Command. Priority One channel, Transmit flagword Playground. Now!" As her First officer arrived on the bridge, she shot him a look. Old friends on a previous assignment, he knew what that look meant, and took operational control while the captain called in. "Ops! Get those coordinates to the helm! Helm, set course and heading, do NOT engage; Bridge to engineering. Secure the buoys, they're not going anywhere." Lt. Atchison familiarized himself with the situation while the blast screens came down over the forward windows; no viewscreen on this stripped down boat. As Lt. Atchison issued directives, Lt. Cmdr. Ecclestone prepared to make her report to the Fleet Command. Almost immediately, the foreboding image of Admiral Dwight appeared in a 2D holographic projection from her armrest. "You transmitted Playground, commander. Get to it." "Admiral, moments ago we deployed the first of the new EWS buoys. Whie integrating into the existing net, it retained a connection with us, and almost immediately it detected 98 ships of unknown configuration, size and composition traveling at sublight speeds at the edge of its range. I've taken the Kestrel to Red Alert, and we are ready at your command." "Shit! Commander, I've just cut orders for that group of New Atlantics to cut their exercise short and join you immediately. You are to take command and scout out who, what these people are. Standard rules of engagement; they may have gotten through our warp detection lines at sublight, but I want to know who they are before I order them shot out of my sky. Try to remain stay out of their sights, Commander. "Admiral, Are you sure? We're a.." "The New Atlantics are configured and manned for scouting, and you know as well as I do that the Harrier Class is a tactical scout designed to work in tandem with the New Atlantics. I know you have a green unexperienced crew, but we have to know now, and you're closest!" "Yes Sir." Lt. Cmdr Eccelstone stood, and addressed her crew. "You heard him. Do we have the New Atlantics? Helm, coordinate with them, set course, their maximum warp. Drop us out of warp outside presumed sensor range, on my mark! Engineering?" "All systems at combat readiness captain." "Sorry, Harry. We're going dark- be ready to ramp up power at a moment's notice." "Aye, captain. Rig for silent running." "Tactical!" "Weapons are in hoy standby, and quantum torpedos are armed and in the tubes. However, I must inform you that running silent will delay phaser availability by approximately 780 Milliseconds." "Acceptable, Chief Sulok- Ops?" "Ready Captain." Mr. Qadir sat stoically at his console, not an emotion to be seen. "Sickbay!" "R…ready" Corpsman Williams unsteadily stood in sickbay, with the EMH beside him, grim faces on. "Stay calm, Crewman. Helm, Mark." Imperial Palace Home – Tau Ceti Prime Earth Year 1901 "It is decided. We will delay our departure. 80 years is far too short a period of time to fix a problem of this magnitude. Our males in coldsleep will have to remain so until we can prevent the anomaly in the killer crafts transition from orbital flight to atmospheric conditions. Something has changed since our last conquest that shouldn't. Find it, fix it, and prevent it from happening again. Selection for colonization fleet will be suspended until such time that Conquest fleet is readied to depart." ~100 Earth Years, 200 Race years later- 2001~ "We have isolated the flaw. We predict that we will be able to correct it in simulation in 150 years, and fly within 300 years. Of course, it will take much longer to refine the design and apply it in the scale on those killercraft built for the Conquest fleet, no less than another 300 years, more probably within 400. Perhaps we should send another probe while we prepare for departure?" "Of course not. There's no need to send another probe to Tosev 3. Those spear wielding barbarians could not have changed much in 1700 years. We have been stable for the past 50,000 years, and every other species we have encountered is similar. We'll simply increase the size of the fleet by 50 percent." "As you command. But what of the males in cold sleep? I am no space travel expert, but surely they cannot remain in cold sleep for almost a millennia?" "You know full well The Race planed for every contingency. The cold sleep procedure when first developed was tested on volunteers for over a millennia before it was ever placed aboard a starship. It is still being tested. They will survive." Imperial Broadcasting Center Home Tau Ceti Prime Earth Year 2378 "We bring this special broadcast today, as The Race launches its third ever Conquest fleet to the world known as Tosev 3. After nearly 900 years of delay, the problem with the Killercraft has finally been resolved, and today, the fleet leaves Home for Tosev 3 is larger than ever anticipated, bigger by 50% to compensate for the delay. Fleetlord Atvar, in cold sleep for almost a millennium, will one day be know as Atvar the conqueror, responsible for delivering Tosev 3 to The Race. Tosev 3 is a colder world than Home, or even Rabotev or Hallesi. According to our probes images, a significant area of the surface of that world is covered in liquid water, and additional analysis shows that frozen water exists in nature, a phenomenon only known to exist on Home within the confines of a freezer or a laboratory. Most unpleasant conditions, for the males of the conquest fleet, but it and its inhabitants, Tosevites, will serve the Race well enough. Observe here an image of a Tosevite as taken by the probe. One can see that the Tosevite riding the beast is wearing what appears to be animal hides, as well as primitive metal plate armour, and carries a crude blade as a weapon. You can imagine what would happen to the tosevites if they were to oppose our Males, who have automatic weapons, land cruisers, and explosive metal bombs. In fact, I predict that the conquest of Tosev 3 should take no more than 3 months, and only that long because there aren't enough males to be everywhere at once. The fleet is composed of the following ships…" Present Day 1 light year from Sol, 11 light years from Tau Ceti Sector 001 The very few males awake aboard the Race starships were bored- they had nothing to do except devour the entertainment database until it was time for the next poor male to relieve him. Sadly, no one was going to be relieving them, but only becuase they were just over a year away from their destination- It'd be good to hae someone to talk to again, instead of just watching the consoles. Not that anyone really needed to- the computers took care of everything, but the Race practiced the principle of better safe than sorry. At least the delay meant that there was more than 800 years worth of new entertainment- no risk of running out. Engrossed in their films and reading, no one was looking outside, so no one was able to see the distant flicker of light that was the Federation starship dropping out of warp, well outside radar range. The U.S.S. Kestrel was watching like the bird of prey it was named for. Citations: The Harrier Class is the invention of Greg MacDonald & Broken Subspace Scene. The description is based on that written by them, and can be found at: www dot treknology dot org/starships3 dot htm . Just replace the word dot with a . and scroll down. The New Atlantic Class runabouts are by an unknown designer, but I found the design and specs here: www dot ewe-squad dot com/runabout/ So far, all the characters are mine. Please, tell me whats going well, and whats going not so well.