Planet T’Lthar
Talarian Annexed Territory
Alpha Quadrant
The oppressively gray skies served to only to accentuate the bleakness of the landscape, and deepened the gloom of the vast tracts of muddy ashen marshland here in the southern hemisphere of this deity-forsaken planet.
A cluster of Talarian military vehicles arrayed in a defensive circle were the only sign of civilization within two thousand kilometers. They had trekked a full three days to reach this desolate location, their presence masked by deep veins of kelbonite ore that ran beneath the dreary equatorial marshland.
The hover transports were filled with gold-pressed latinum, and the officers and enlisted personnel entrusted with their safety paced or fidgeted impatiently as they waited.
The wind blustered and tousled the wispy fringe of blonde hair on the Talarian captain‘s ridged head. He stared skyward in search of their new allies, the people who had been responsible for arming the Talarians with the advanced weaponry and shielding that had made their recent incursion into Federation space possible.
Two months earlier the Talarian military had stormed across their mutual border with the United Federation of Planets and wrought havoc on a Starfleet weakened by the ravages of the recent Dominion War. The attack had been driven back eventually by Starfleet’s greater numbers and superior firepower, but not before the Talarians had managed to destroy a half-dozen border cutters and starships and heavily damaged twice that number. They’d also slaughtered thousands of Federation colonists in three border systems before Starfleet could land sufficient troops to dislodge their soldiers. The Talarian military had seen that as a down payment for the humiliations they’d suffered in the Galen border conflicts with the Federation two decades earlier.
If their friends delivered what they had promised, those Federation casualties would be only the first of many.
The growl of engines somewhere above the low clouds brought the captain out of his reverie. He watched as the Orion Koutis-class mid-range transport descended through the cloud cover and settled into the marsh atop four extended landing legs. Great gouts of superheated steam rose from beneath the ship as the swampy water contacted the naked, glowing underside of the ship.
A hatch opened above a telescoping gang-plank that extended down to a relatively dry patch of ground near the Talarian formation. The ahmet-sur and his entourage strode down the gang-plank, disruptor rifles readily visible in the hands of the pirate-lord’s guards. They were followed by four more Orions hefting two large crates between them.
The emerald-skinned Ahmet-sur Balvan Gorshin walked forward to stand before the Talarian captain.
“You’re early,” the captain announced as he masked his relief at the Orions’ sooner-than-expected arrival behind a contrived facade of annoyance. He was secretly delighted that he wouldn’t be forced to stay any longer in this miserable stinking bog.
Without preamble, Gorshin announced, “We have the bio-toxins you asked for, as well as the long-range warp-missiles your government requested. You have our payment?”
“We do” came the Talarian’s terse reply.
“Excellent,” Gorshin chortled as he extended his hand in a peculiarly human gesture. “Then we have an agreement.”
The Talarian captain fought the urge to refuse the Orion’s hand, but finally extended his in kind. Talarians harbored a deep xenophobia towards barbarous outsiders, even those with whom they were allied.
Rather than grasp the captain’s gloved appendage, a bolt of bluish energy lanced from the Orion’s open hand and tore completely through the Talarian‘s midsection. It sent up a gout of wet earth as it impacted the ground behind the man. The captain groaned in surprise and pain as he collapsed.
Simultaneously, the Orions behind Gorshin vanished as the ahmet-sur himself wavered into non-existence.
The sudden death of their leader spurred the Talarians to action. They leveled rifles and drew pistols, but there were no apparent targets. They turned circles and scanned desperately for any sign of their elusive enemies.
Weapons ports on the Orion ship opened fire. The area was bathed in stuttering blue pulses of energy that sliced into the lightly armored Talarian soldiers. The ship-mounted weapons were careful not to strike any of the Talarian vehicles, however, and a handful of soldiers shielded by the vehicles survived the onslaught. They lay in the dirt or knelt next to their armored transports as they clutched weapons that offered no comfort against this unexpected assault.
Without warning a group of silvery humanoid figures appeared in close proximity to the surviving Talarians. Each extended a hand and blasted the nearest soldiers with Orion disruptor bolts. No one was spared, and within seconds it was over.
Ahmet-sur Gorshin reappeared briefly before the holographic guise vanished to reveal another shimmering figure that seemed bathed in liquid metal. The motile-armor flowed back and away from the head of Lt. Commander Pava Lar’ragos as he called out, “Everyone else un-shroud. Get that portable launcher set up and enable the holographic field to hide the bodies.” He turned to look at the Orion craft, “Cloak the ship.”
The compact Starfleet assault cutter was briefly visible as the holographic projection of the Orion merchant ship vanished when the cloaking field was engaged. As the ship disappeared from view more silvery figures took form as though emerging from thin air. They quickly set about shielding the dead Talarians from sight with an elaborate holographic blind.
“Commander libfp!” a heavily accented voice called out from behind Lar’ragos. “How you wanting us aiming da launcher?”
The El Aurian turned with annoyance etched into his features, “I told you to stop calling me that, Laz” Lar’ragos groused. “I want it on standby, you can fire manually via Mark-I eyeball.”
The enormous Andorian shrugged indifferently as he quickly assembled the portable mini-torpedo launcher. It was identical to the ones the Orions had sold the Talarians only months earlier. As the team’s heavy gunner, Lazarius was responsible for their larger and more complex weapons systems. His favored magnetic gauss-rifle was cocooned under a layer of motile-armor on his broad back.
“What’s a libfp?” Lieutenant Jolster asked as he set up a holographic generator next to one of the Talarian armored transports.
Lar’ragos sighed, “It’s a pale white segmented flat-worm common on Andoria.”
Jolster chuckled, “And he calls you this why?”
Lar’ragos gestured to his face, “Me pasty-faced pink skin.”
“Okay libfp, it ready to go!” Lazarius announced cheerily. The Andorian‘s heavy regional dialect gave him an uncannily Terran German sounding accent.
As he glared at the enormous lieutenant, Lar’ragos hungrily eyed the man’s wavering antennae. “You’re playing with fire, Laz. You have no idea.”
“Yah, I’m sure.” Lazarius rejoined as he kicked the launcher’s tripod legs open and balanced the weapon on the marshy soil.
“Target inbound,” their com-sets crackled. “Sixty seconds.”
“Places people!” Lar’ragos shouted. The holographic blind snapped on and the scattered Talarian bodies vanished while leaving their vehicles visible.
The silver armor flowed up to cover the faces of the Starfleet Special Mission Team’s members seconds before the holographic field re-imaged them to appear as Talarian soldiers.
Lar’ragos’ guise morphed to form the features of the now deceased Talarian captain. He looked up as the Orion Koutis-class mid-range transport emerged from the clouds overhead.
Moments later the real Ahmet-sur Balvan Gorshin descended the ramp of his ship followed by his retinue hefting the exotic bio-warfare compounds in their securely shielded crates. As the big Orion approached a curious smile appeared on the Talarian captain’s face. In a strangely human gesture, the Talarian extended his hand to the Orion merchant lord...
*****
Thirty minutes later...
The assault cutter Halberd, disguised as a high-speed Kravanti courier ship rose into the sky and left a scene of violent carnage behind.
Dozens of bodies, both Talarian and Orion, littered the landscape among the burning Talarian transports and the smoldering remains of the crashed Orion ship. Distress calls had been made on both Orion and Talarian frequencies, short frantic bursts that described the betrayal of the other before being cut off in mid-transmission.
If all went as planned, within days the Orion Syndicate and the Talarian Empire would be at war. The two groups that had conspired to attack the Federation would suffer the consequences of that collusion. It would not bring back the dead civilians and Starfleet personnel who had fallen during the Talarian Incursion, of course, but it would help to prevent further Talarian strikes on Federation interests while simultaneously balancing the karmic scales of the universe.
And the best part of the whole plan was that neither side would ever know who had truly been behind their mutual betrayal.
Now clad in civilian clothing, Pava Lar’ragos squeezed through the narrow hatchway and on to the cramped command deck of the cutter. As he passed Lazarius he reached out and flicked one of the Andorian’s antennae with his finger, which caused the larger man to spasm and drive his knees into the console housing in front of him. With the lieutenant writhing and cursing behind him, a smiling Lar’ragos settled into an auxiliary station and activated the scrambled comms channel from his terminal.
“SSMT-Twenty One to Command, be advised our mission is accomplished. We will rendezvous with the Katana at assembly point Omega and stand by for further orders.”
Pava’s return to the Teams had been a foregone conclusion since his dismissal from the Gibraltar. Only here could his abilities be fully utilized by the Federation. Only the murky gray world that existed within the Special Operations community would ever accept him for who and what he was. He’d even finally accepted a promotion to serve as unit leader of Team Twenty-One. As he lay his head back against the seat’s head-rest he reflected briefly that home was where you hung your hat... or your armor.
“Don’t even think it, Laz,” Lar’ragos cautioned as the irate Andorian swayed unsteadily over him, vengeance foremost on his mind. “Look what it did to the Talarians, after all.”
*****
Talarian Annexed Territory
Alpha Quadrant
The oppressively gray skies served to only to accentuate the bleakness of the landscape, and deepened the gloom of the vast tracts of muddy ashen marshland here in the southern hemisphere of this deity-forsaken planet.
A cluster of Talarian military vehicles arrayed in a defensive circle were the only sign of civilization within two thousand kilometers. They had trekked a full three days to reach this desolate location, their presence masked by deep veins of kelbonite ore that ran beneath the dreary equatorial marshland.
The hover transports were filled with gold-pressed latinum, and the officers and enlisted personnel entrusted with their safety paced or fidgeted impatiently as they waited.
The wind blustered and tousled the wispy fringe of blonde hair on the Talarian captain‘s ridged head. He stared skyward in search of their new allies, the people who had been responsible for arming the Talarians with the advanced weaponry and shielding that had made their recent incursion into Federation space possible.
Two months earlier the Talarian military had stormed across their mutual border with the United Federation of Planets and wrought havoc on a Starfleet weakened by the ravages of the recent Dominion War. The attack had been driven back eventually by Starfleet’s greater numbers and superior firepower, but not before the Talarians had managed to destroy a half-dozen border cutters and starships and heavily damaged twice that number. They’d also slaughtered thousands of Federation colonists in three border systems before Starfleet could land sufficient troops to dislodge their soldiers. The Talarian military had seen that as a down payment for the humiliations they’d suffered in the Galen border conflicts with the Federation two decades earlier.
If their friends delivered what they had promised, those Federation casualties would be only the first of many.
The growl of engines somewhere above the low clouds brought the captain out of his reverie. He watched as the Orion Koutis-class mid-range transport descended through the cloud cover and settled into the marsh atop four extended landing legs. Great gouts of superheated steam rose from beneath the ship as the swampy water contacted the naked, glowing underside of the ship.
A hatch opened above a telescoping gang-plank that extended down to a relatively dry patch of ground near the Talarian formation. The ahmet-sur and his entourage strode down the gang-plank, disruptor rifles readily visible in the hands of the pirate-lord’s guards. They were followed by four more Orions hefting two large crates between them.
The emerald-skinned Ahmet-sur Balvan Gorshin walked forward to stand before the Talarian captain.
“You’re early,” the captain announced as he masked his relief at the Orions’ sooner-than-expected arrival behind a contrived facade of annoyance. He was secretly delighted that he wouldn’t be forced to stay any longer in this miserable stinking bog.
Without preamble, Gorshin announced, “We have the bio-toxins you asked for, as well as the long-range warp-missiles your government requested. You have our payment?”
“We do” came the Talarian’s terse reply.
“Excellent,” Gorshin chortled as he extended his hand in a peculiarly human gesture. “Then we have an agreement.”
The Talarian captain fought the urge to refuse the Orion’s hand, but finally extended his in kind. Talarians harbored a deep xenophobia towards barbarous outsiders, even those with whom they were allied.
Rather than grasp the captain’s gloved appendage, a bolt of bluish energy lanced from the Orion’s open hand and tore completely through the Talarian‘s midsection. It sent up a gout of wet earth as it impacted the ground behind the man. The captain groaned in surprise and pain as he collapsed.
Simultaneously, the Orions behind Gorshin vanished as the ahmet-sur himself wavered into non-existence.
The sudden death of their leader spurred the Talarians to action. They leveled rifles and drew pistols, but there were no apparent targets. They turned circles and scanned desperately for any sign of their elusive enemies.
Weapons ports on the Orion ship opened fire. The area was bathed in stuttering blue pulses of energy that sliced into the lightly armored Talarian soldiers. The ship-mounted weapons were careful not to strike any of the Talarian vehicles, however, and a handful of soldiers shielded by the vehicles survived the onslaught. They lay in the dirt or knelt next to their armored transports as they clutched weapons that offered no comfort against this unexpected assault.
Without warning a group of silvery humanoid figures appeared in close proximity to the surviving Talarians. Each extended a hand and blasted the nearest soldiers with Orion disruptor bolts. No one was spared, and within seconds it was over.
Ahmet-sur Gorshin reappeared briefly before the holographic guise vanished to reveal another shimmering figure that seemed bathed in liquid metal. The motile-armor flowed back and away from the head of Lt. Commander Pava Lar’ragos as he called out, “Everyone else un-shroud. Get that portable launcher set up and enable the holographic field to hide the bodies.” He turned to look at the Orion craft, “Cloak the ship.”
The compact Starfleet assault cutter was briefly visible as the holographic projection of the Orion merchant ship vanished when the cloaking field was engaged. As the ship disappeared from view more silvery figures took form as though emerging from thin air. They quickly set about shielding the dead Talarians from sight with an elaborate holographic blind.
“Commander libfp!” a heavily accented voice called out from behind Lar’ragos. “How you wanting us aiming da launcher?”
The El Aurian turned with annoyance etched into his features, “I told you to stop calling me that, Laz” Lar’ragos groused. “I want it on standby, you can fire manually via Mark-I eyeball.”
The enormous Andorian shrugged indifferently as he quickly assembled the portable mini-torpedo launcher. It was identical to the ones the Orions had sold the Talarians only months earlier. As the team’s heavy gunner, Lazarius was responsible for their larger and more complex weapons systems. His favored magnetic gauss-rifle was cocooned under a layer of motile-armor on his broad back.
“What’s a libfp?” Lieutenant Jolster asked as he set up a holographic generator next to one of the Talarian armored transports.
Lar’ragos sighed, “It’s a pale white segmented flat-worm common on Andoria.”
Jolster chuckled, “And he calls you this why?”
Lar’ragos gestured to his face, “Me pasty-faced pink skin.”
“Okay libfp, it ready to go!” Lazarius announced cheerily. The Andorian‘s heavy regional dialect gave him an uncannily Terran German sounding accent.
As he glared at the enormous lieutenant, Lar’ragos hungrily eyed the man’s wavering antennae. “You’re playing with fire, Laz. You have no idea.”
“Yah, I’m sure.” Lazarius rejoined as he kicked the launcher’s tripod legs open and balanced the weapon on the marshy soil.
“Target inbound,” their com-sets crackled. “Sixty seconds.”
“Places people!” Lar’ragos shouted. The holographic blind snapped on and the scattered Talarian bodies vanished while leaving their vehicles visible.
The silver armor flowed up to cover the faces of the Starfleet Special Mission Team’s members seconds before the holographic field re-imaged them to appear as Talarian soldiers.
Lar’ragos’ guise morphed to form the features of the now deceased Talarian captain. He looked up as the Orion Koutis-class mid-range transport emerged from the clouds overhead.
Moments later the real Ahmet-sur Balvan Gorshin descended the ramp of his ship followed by his retinue hefting the exotic bio-warfare compounds in their securely shielded crates. As the big Orion approached a curious smile appeared on the Talarian captain’s face. In a strangely human gesture, the Talarian extended his hand to the Orion merchant lord...
*****
Thirty minutes later...
The assault cutter Halberd, disguised as a high-speed Kravanti courier ship rose into the sky and left a scene of violent carnage behind.
Dozens of bodies, both Talarian and Orion, littered the landscape among the burning Talarian transports and the smoldering remains of the crashed Orion ship. Distress calls had been made on both Orion and Talarian frequencies, short frantic bursts that described the betrayal of the other before being cut off in mid-transmission.
If all went as planned, within days the Orion Syndicate and the Talarian Empire would be at war. The two groups that had conspired to attack the Federation would suffer the consequences of that collusion. It would not bring back the dead civilians and Starfleet personnel who had fallen during the Talarian Incursion, of course, but it would help to prevent further Talarian strikes on Federation interests while simultaneously balancing the karmic scales of the universe.
And the best part of the whole plan was that neither side would ever know who had truly been behind their mutual betrayal.
Now clad in civilian clothing, Pava Lar’ragos squeezed through the narrow hatchway and on to the cramped command deck of the cutter. As he passed Lazarius he reached out and flicked one of the Andorian’s antennae with his finger, which caused the larger man to spasm and drive his knees into the console housing in front of him. With the lieutenant writhing and cursing behind him, a smiling Lar’ragos settled into an auxiliary station and activated the scrambled comms channel from his terminal.
“SSMT-Twenty One to Command, be advised our mission is accomplished. We will rendezvous with the Katana at assembly point Omega and stand by for further orders.”
Pava’s return to the Teams had been a foregone conclusion since his dismissal from the Gibraltar. Only here could his abilities be fully utilized by the Federation. Only the murky gray world that existed within the Special Operations community would ever accept him for who and what he was. He’d even finally accepted a promotion to serve as unit leader of Team Twenty-One. As he lay his head back against the seat’s head-rest he reflected briefly that home was where you hung your hat... or your armor.
“Don’t even think it, Laz,” Lar’ragos cautioned as the irate Andorian swayed unsteadily over him, vengeance foremost on his mind. “Look what it did to the Talarians, after all.”
*****
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The other holographic systems are just modifications of existing Starfleet technology, much of which has already appeared in other UT writer's stories.
