Chapter 7
4th March 2631
Starfleet Construction Yard
Near Romulus
The runabout
Herod dropped out of warp and began its final approach towards Starbase 2, in orbit of Romulus.
Sat in the copilot's seat, Ba'el stared through the viewscreen. Romulus hung before the starfield like a green and white marble, the surface obscured by thick cloud cover. Beyond it lay the shattered planetoid of Remus, red with rage and barren of life. The two circled around one another like the two brothers of legend that had given rise to the human name for these worlds. Ba’el stared at them, trying to capture some sense of coming home. He couldn’t. Without the presence of his wife and son, nowhere was home anymore.
Ba’el hadn't been back to his birth planet since long before the end of the war. He had escaped as a teenager aboard a Darmok garbage scow, determined to find the Resistance. Once he had joined up, he hadn’t looked back. Looking at the surface now, it didn't appear any different to the way it had looked when he left. Logically, though, he knew that it couldn't have changed more.
A dark mass appeared on the viewscreen, orbiting high above the planet’s surface. Dark red as the surface of Remus, Starbase 2 was all sharp angles and bulbous modules. A handful of
Ketana­­-class frigates orbited the spinning space station, while shuttles and runabouts darted in and out of its vast docking bays. Behind the starbase hung the spidery frames of the construction yards.
The comm system crackled to life. "Runabout
Herod, this is Starbase 2. Come in."
The runabout's pilot - a five tentacled Terginian with ebony scales and a long snout whose Starfleet uniform had been tailored to fit his anatomy – waved two of his tentacles in a complicated sequence of loops and twirls. The mechanical voice of his translator system spoke moments later, slow and deliberate. "Acknowledged Starbase 2. Runabout
Herod carrying commander, USS
Redemption, requests permission to dock."
A crackle, then, "Denied,
Herod. Captain Sarine is expected planet side. Transmitting coordinates now."
Ba’el logged on to the comm system from his panel, waiting for the coordinates. When the transmission came through, he saw that they were being directed to land on one of the shuttle pads surrounding Starfleet Command. He sighed.
I should have expected this.
"Understood, Starbase 2," the Terginian signed. He glanced at Ba'el. "Permission to fly past Space Dock 22 on my way down?"
There was a pause, then the docking master's voice came back on the line, the smile evident in his tone. "Affirmative,
Herod. Take a nice long look."
The Terginian’s tentacles all rose and fell a half a dozen times, but the translator system remained silent.
He’s laughing, Ba'el realised. He reached over and keyed the comm line open. "Thank you, Starbase 2. Much appreciated."
"Welcome to Romulus, Captain."
As the comm line cut off, the runabout veered away from the dark metal hub of the starbase. The Terginian sent them shooting towards the planet at half-impulse, the tips of his tentacles dancing across the controls. They just grazed the atmosphere, before ricocheting back into space. The space station was behind them now, while in front of them sprawled the fragile cradles of the Romulus Construction Yards, like the cocoons of some strange space-dwelling alien race.
As the runabout zeroed in on Dock 22, Ba'el allowed himself an appreciative look over the other ships under construction. Most were military frigates,
Sisko-class. Dark metal hull plating of reinforced duritanium, bristling with weapons, the
Sisko frigates had a single fifty deck saucer section, snub-nosed and almost triangular. A single QSD nacelle rising from the saucer section’s central hub completed the ship's configuration.
Ba’el identified a few more ship classes under construction, every single one dark and brooding. If the construction yards were anything to go by, the Federation didn't seen much different from the Resistance. Or the Dominion.
A high pitched whistle caught Ba'el's attention. He had been studying one of the massive
Defiance-class dreadnaughts as it flew past them on some kind of test run, memories of his
Enterprise flashing through his mind. He turned back to the viewscreen to see what the Terginian was whistling about and let out a faint gasp despite himself.
Like a beacon of light in the darkness, the ship appeared out of the night. Blazing white hull plating illuminated by the construction dock’s strobe lights, she looked like some vestige of the deep past, from a time before war and occupation destroyed the fragile balance of the galaxy. Gone were the harsh lines and bulky hulls of the military frigates. This ship before him had been made to fly.
The saucer section was streamlined, forming a perfect oval shape. As the Terginian took them up and over the construction dock, Ba’el saw that the saucer shrunk backwards into a tapered tail, sweeping into three nacelles that extended upwards and back away from the saucer section, one in the middle and two on either side.
His pilot guided the runabout back round for another pass, sweeping forward towards the front of the saucer section, slowing as they flew over the registry number and name.
USS REDEMPTION
NCC 3954
"She's a beauty, sir," the pilot said, even his mechanical voice conveying the awe he felt as they turned back around for another pass.
Ba'el could only nod in agreement.
Starfleet Command Complex
Ki’Baratan
Romulus
The runabout touched down on the shuttle pad with hardly a jolt. The pilot killed the engines, one of his tendrils rising to wrap around Ba'el's hand.
"A pleasure, sir."
"Thank you for running me out here, Lieutenant. And for the fly-by."
"You are most welcome."
Ba'el reached down and grabbed his gear from the stowall at his side. He had picked a few personal belongings – a couple of books, some holocaptures, civilian clothes. The rest of his things had been put into storage back home and would be waiting for him when he finished this mission. Swinging the bag over his shoulder, he nodded farewell to the Terginian and headed for the runabout's open hatch.
"Captain.”
Ba'el turned back. The alien had turned his chair to face him, his tendrils writhing in what he assumed was a nervous tick.
"I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did with the Enterprise.” Ba’el felt his stomach clench at the words.
“I fought at Ocara,” the Terginian went on, his metallic voice slow and ponderous, each word drawn out and painful. “If it hadn’t been for what you and your crew did… We would have been overrun for sure. A lot of my friends, they died anyway. Afterwards… Well, I saw the news, I heard what people said about you and what you did… No matter what people might say, I can tell you that anyone who fought in the War sees you as a hero."
The pilot's words propelled Ba'el back to that day. For an instant he was back in the centre seat of the Entreprise, the Seventh Fleet engaging the Dominion forces while he instructed Lieutenant Martak to set a course for Lucara. He could smell the burnt flesh of Javon, his body still smoking where he had fallen behind him. The planet grew in the viewscreen, as the ship shook under the barrage of laser fire from the last few defences around the planet. He heard Commander Kane in Engineering begging him to give the order…
He shook his head, banishing the memories.
A hero? I'm not a hero. He forced a smile.
"Thank you. That means a lot." He was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice sounded.
"I just wanted you to know."
Without another word, the Terginian turned back to his controls. Ba'el realised he didn’t even know his name. He opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it. He watched his back for a moment, then turned and walked out into the sunlight.
Two humans in Starfleet jumpsuits – red collars revealing they were Starfleet Security – were waiting for him. "Captain Sarine?" one of them, a woman of about thirty with raven hair, asked. Ba'el nodded and smiled at both of them. Her mouth didn’t even twitch. "Please, come with us."
Ba'el sighed, settled his bag on his shoulder more comfortably, and followed the two officers to the nearby stairwell. At the bottom, he found himself on a large avenue, green and blue buildings on either side. His escort waited patiently, then set off towards a large building at the end of the avenue, glancing back once or twice to make sure he wasn’t falling behind. He followed without a word. Even if the two officers knew why they were taking him wherever they were taking him, he knew that they wouldn't tell him anything.
Starfleet Command had been designed to fit in with the overall architecture of Ki'Baran. Though the military architects had chosen to avoid the willowy spires and impressive towers, the building materials were the same, a dozen different shades of blue, green and grey.
The buildings themselves were low to the ground, rarely more than two or three stories high. The exception seemed to be the vast command centre his escort was leading him to, the FAW flag flying over the vast entrance way. The building towered above all of the others, at least fifteen stories high if not more.
When they reached the command centre, the two security officers led him up the steps into the lobby. The large reception area was bustling with people, and the noise level was tremendous. Indicating that Ba'el should take a seat in a corner, the female security officer went over to a desk and began filling out forms, while the other officer posted himself a fair distance away.
Ba'el took the opportunity to glance around. Beings of every age, race and gender scurried around, most dressed in standard Starfleet uniforms. Many sat in the comfortable seats scattered in every corner. Ba’el picked out a varied mixture of humans and Romulans, Bajoran and Ferengi, Cardassians and Orions, as well as a dozen races he had never seen before.
Light filled the room, gushing in through the vast windows thart fronted the building and formed the lobby’s ceiling. Outside, he could see down the large avenue to a gated wall. Beyond that wall rose the spires of Ki'Baran. He wondered idly whether he would have time to take a walk around the city before he had to report to the
Redemption. Probably not.
The female officer came back. She held out a badge that said Visitor in large red letters. "Ambassador Benjamani has asked to see you in her office."
"I'm sorry?” Ba’el said in surprise. “Ambassador? I thought I was here to receive a mission briefing."
"My instructions are to take you to the Ambassador, sir. If you'll follow me."
His sense of unease increasing by the minute, Ba'el stood. He followed her across the lobby to a security checkpoint that allowed access to the warren of offices beyond. They passed through with a cursory glance from the security officer on duty, then dove into a series of winding corridors. Having wandered through miles of corridor marked by featureless door after featureless door and climbed at least three sets of stairs, by the time they arrived at their destination Ba'el was totally lost.
His escort stopped in front of another featureless door and pressed the button to announce their presence. After a few moment's the door slid into the wall. The security officer stepped back and indicated for Ba'el to step inside. As he stepped past her, she drifted to the side, standing at attention.
I guess I can expect her to be waiting for me when I come out.
Then why do I feel like I'm stepping off a cliff into the Valley of Fire?
Inside, the office was bright, Earth plants scattered in every corner. Large windows offered a view of the former Senate building, rebuilt as a circular dome and which now housed the Federation Security Council. Stood with her back to him was a short, white-haired woman wearing an Admiral's uniform. It was only when she turned around that he was able to tell she was human.
"Captain Sarine, I presume?" Her voice was cold, though not as cold as her eyes.
He stepped forward, not sure whether to salute or offer his hand. He settled for bowing his head. "Yes, Ambassador. How may I help you?"
"You can start by explaining why the hell the Laurentine Hegemony have demanded you lead the diplomatic mission I’ve spent five years trying to organise?"
He bristled at her tone, but forced a grim smile. "I would like nothing better, Ambassador. Unfortunately, I have no more idea than you do."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"With all due respect,
Ambassador, you can believe whatever the hell you want."
The light in her eyes flared but instead of snapping at him, she smiled. Walking over to her desk, she picked up a padd, tapping it on her open palm. "Quite an interesting file they have on you."
He didn't need to be a Betazoid to know 'they' probably meant Starfleet Intelligence. He just stared at her, waiting for her to get to the point.
"Born on Romulus to a Romulan father and a human mother,” she began, looking down at the tab, “not unusual considering the Dominion's policy of population transference. Father was a weapon’s manufacturer, mother one of his many concubines. Recognised by your father and grew up in the lap of luxury, it seems." She looked up, eyes narrowing. "Now why would the son of a collaborator choose to join the Resistance?"
He kept quiet. He had met women - and men - like Ambassador Benjamani before. She would push him until she got a reaction, until she found a weak-spot. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
After a moment, she shrugged and looked back down at the padd. He say a flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she looked away, though.
"Be that as it may, you did decide to join the Resistance. You started off in a cell here on Romulus I believe?"
He nodded.
"From what I can see, you showed an unusual propensity for tactical planning and... where was it? Ah yes here it is - a natural flare for piloting. Is that why your cell leaders went to such lengths to get you off world?"
"I suppose they believed I would be more useful in one of the more mobile cells," he said, just to keep her off balance.
She smirked. "Ah, it talks. So, you got off world and then..."
"Let me spare you the monologue, Ambassador. You don't have to prove the all knowing, all seeing power of Starfleet Intelligence or how much you know about me. As you obviously know from that file there, I
ran the Resistance espionage wing for three years towards the end of the war. I know exactly what kind of information you have on me. What I don't know is where exactly you're going with all of this?"
She stared at him for a moment, expressionless. Then she looked back down at the padd. "As I was saying," she went on. “You went on to join the crew of the Resistance fighter
Liberty Bell, where you met…”
Ba'el tried hard not to sigh. This was turning out to be a very long day.
Ambassador Benjamani’s Office
Starfleet Command Complex
Ki’Baratan
Romulus
Almost an hour later, the Ambassador put down the padd. Ba’el heaved a sigh of relief. Over the past hour, she had gone into excruciating detail of pretty much every mission he had planned, led or even participated in, second guessing every decision or choice he made along the way. Throughout, Ba'el had forced himself to remain totally silent, nodding once or twice to give the impression he was paying attention. As for Ambassador Benjamani, she had grown more and more cutting, her tone growing more and more ironic.
She glared at him now. "And then we come to the crux of the matter. Operation Heartstrike. The complete and utter destruction of an entire race. Genocide." She smiled coldly. "I believe it was your idea?"
He forced his face to remain totally expressionless.
Here we go, he thought.
This is what she's been building towards.
Now that she had reached her point, she didn't seem to be willing to just let him sit quietly. "I asked you a question, Captain."
"Yes ma'am. It was my idea."
To be fair, it had been a joint effort. At the time, the rebellion against the Dominion had finally turned in their favour. The Resistance movement had been on the rise, the Dominion on the back foot. And yet for every system they liberated, they lost countless thousands of lives, whether in battle or down to Jem'hadar revenge attacks. The ruling council had realised that they needed something big, a clear signal of intent to the Dominion that just might bring about an end to the war. Ba’el and a handful of others had been tasked with coming up with the operation. Once the general lines had been discussed, Ba’el had planned and carried it out.
"You planned the genocide of an entire race, Captain,” the Admiral pressed. “And then you carried it out.”
She jabbed her finger at him. “And now you come back here, hoping for a hero's welcome, forcing your way into a mission of peace.
My mission of peace."
Ba’el had had enough. He stood up. "I didn't force myself into anything,
Ambassador. If it had been left up to me, I'd be back on Earth, rebuilding my mother's house and working in my garden. You have a problem with me leading this mission? Fine. You won't hear any argument from me. I'll go with you to the office of whichever Admiral we need to see and get someone else assigned to go in my place."
When she didn't speak, he went on. "Except you can't, can you? Because the Laurentine won't even speak with you unless I'm there. I don't know why that is, but I'll tell you this, I'm damned curious to find out. So since neither of us are going to get what we want out of this, why don't you stop breaking my balls and let me do my job?"
She slammed the padd down on the desk. He heard the sound of breaking glass. "So you want it to play out like this? Very well. I don't trust you. I think you know full well why the Hegemony wants you, and I think it has something to do with the time you spent aboard Onyx Station preparing your genocide. I think you're a danger to the Federation, a man who doesn't know when to stop. And I think that you're going to jeopardise my mission by your very presence."
By the end of her rant, she was panting. Ba'el looked her square in the eye, and smiled. "There now, don't you feel better?"
She was trembling. Pointing at the door, she spat, "Get out."
He nodded, then turned, taking his time. He stopped on the threshhold of the open door, and turned his head to look at her. "I look forward to working with you, Ambassador."
He left before she could respond. He would have sworn he heard something smash against the wall as he followed the security guard back to the lobby.
Well, Ba'el's certainly not afraid to stick his thumb in the eye of SI. He's pissed the 'ambassador' of royally, though it was well deserved. At least now he knows he'll have one agency gunning for him on this assignment. However, Ba'el doesn't strike me as a man who fails to watch his own back with a second set of eyes.
The story just gets better and better. Two questions: one, do you have a design for the Redemption, or are you looking for help with that, in which case I'd looove to help; and two, I'd think the NCC number would be higher, unless there was a reset of some sort somewhere along the line?
