UT: TFV - Operation Vanguard

[Gibraltar]

Well at least Chalois is open to the possibility of cooperating.

The Amon are sounding more and more like a potential threat. Or at the very least, have their own agenda.

Oh, yes, the Amon do indeed have an agenda, as we will come to see. It just may not be what you think...

While I may not have agreed with Jellico's call to give T'Ser a field promotion, I do like the story-telling implications and the sudden parallels between her and her Romulan colleague.

I love the way you write Chalois, proving that even among Romulans there can be moderate and sympathetic voices who can be humbled by deeds of compassion.

Thanks, CeJay. Yes, Chalois is young enough to be idealistic and a bit naive regarding her people's typical level of cooperation with 'outsiders.'

I thought that was very interesting to see T'Ser paired off with a Romulan. Both for T'Ser--I imagine she was bullied with the "Romulan" moniker growing up--and for Chalois, who is seeing something very different in a Vulcan that she probably believed was dead.

(Out of curiosity, how do you pronounce Chalois' name? I keep thinking it's supposed to have a French accent, but I know that can't be right... )

It's pronounced CHA-loy, but who's to say she isn't from Romulus' version of France?

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

It's taken a while, but I've finally caught up.

My brain hurts.

The Baron. Romulans. The Amon. Captain(!!!) T'Ser. Sandhurst kidnapped (again).

So many dazzling, baffling and chilling elements to this tale, my head is literally swimming. Yet somehow, you are blending it together into a masterful and cohesive tale that while (at times) is both baffling and annoying, it's also entertaining as hell.

And so many wonderful little nuggets - some funny, some provocative, and others down-right chilling.

Perhaps the most chilling (to me) are the Amon. They simply saw a nice, monstrous Borg cube and "took it by force."

Sorry folks, but if they decide to conquer the galaxy, game over.

I need a nap. And an aspirin.

Carry on, kind sir.

 

[Count Zero]

I'm just chiming in to say that I really like our French Romulan captain. It's always nice to see a nuanced, interesting Romulan character that defies the usual stereotypes.

 

[Gibraltar]

TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8)

Chapter 8

Warbird Vexam

Sub-Commander Chalois was reviewing the latest specs on the warbird’s reconstructed forward torpedo launchers when the door to the commander’s sanctum opened without warning. Chalois’ hand dropped to the grip of the disruptor at her waist and stayed there as she looked up at the severe countenance of Sub-Commander Dekarus, Vexam’s Tal Shiar political officer and command ‘advisor.’

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Dekarus?” she inquired dryly. It was telling that the man had triggered the doors to the commander’s private office using his Tal Shiar override codes, a brazen act that he never would have entertained had Commander Ennig still lived.

Dekarus bristled visibly at her use of his name, rather than his rank. Hers was a far more understated jibe than had been his unannounced entry, but then Dekarus had always possessed all the subtlety of raging sinoraptor. “It has come to my attention that you are considering cooperating with the Federation crew,” he explained coldly.

“So I am,” she acknowledged plainly. “What of it?”

“You have already allowed them access to Vexam’s systems. You have compromised the security of this ship, and our entire mission. How much more are we to reveal to them? The access codes to our border detection grid? The location of our wormhole? Or perhaps our defense strategy for Romulus itself?”

Chalois looked down and continued reading over the schematics. “You’re being overly dramatic. The Starfleet personnel have only been allowed access to non-critical systems, and all their work has been closely supervised. Both the Imperial Security detachment as well as your own Tal Shiar minions have scoured every console, conduit, and circuit they’ve come in contact with, and thus far no signs of improper tampering or surveillance devises have been found.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t any,” he shot back heatedly.

She glanced up again. “Are you suggesting you and your people are incompetent?”

Dekarus’ face flushed a deep green as his eyes narrowed. “I implied no such thing. Nearly a quarter of our crew are dead or injured, and we lack the personnel necessary to be as thorough as I’d like. We must assume that there are surveillance devices onboard that will give away our position.”

Chalois held his gaze while bearing an inscrutable expression. Finally, she decided she had suffered enough of this boorish fool’s suspicion and incompetence. “Tell me, Dekarus, what leads you to believe the Federation has any interest in covertly monitoring our movements?”

The Tal Shiar officer looked nonplussed, as though he didn’t fully understand the question. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“They were already able to track us through our cloak somehow, and tipped their hand in order to warn us of a cloaked device in the first system we followed them to.”

“Precisely!” Dekarus crowed. “And then, in the very next system, what happens? We collide with just such a cloaked object! Can you not see that we were lured into this trap by design? Starfleet arrives just in time to ‘save’ us, while making sure we’ve sustained just enough damage so as not to pose a threat to them. Our brave commander is killed in the line of duty, and his naïve replacement gives them free access to our vessel and its secrets.”

Chalois shook her head sadly. “You see conspiracies behind every nebula, Sub-Commander.” She sat back in her chair, considering him with a skeptical eye. “How many times has the Federation invaded us?”

“They would not dare!” he said reflexively. “They know we are too strong, our will is unbreakab—“

She cut him off. “How often has the Federation sought to undermine our way of life? How many Romulan colonists have been killed by Federation raids against our settlements?”

“It is well known that their Klingon lapdogs do their dirty work for them!” Dekarus announced, his voice brimming with righteous indignation.

A plaintive sigh escaped from Chalois, evidence of her utter contempt for Dekarus’ narrow-minded, state-sponsored paranoia. “Starfleet has come out here to stop the alien fleets from overrunning the Alpha Quadrant. I seriously doubt that they have any agenda involving the destruction of our empire.”

“You sound very sure of that,” Dekarus intimated, letting the accusation sink in. “Have your Federation spymasters convinced you of that, Chalois?”

“You go too far, Dekarus,” Chalois replied in a surprisingly moderate tone. “Perhaps I am naïve for having hoped that you would see their diplomatic overture here for what it is, rather than the ridiculously intricate scheme you perceive it to be.”

Dekarus’ hand dropped to his side, his fingers twitching unconsciously to brush his disruptor’s holster. “You leave me little choice, Sub-Commander Chalois.”

“I suppose I don’t at that,” she conceded with a tinge of regret in her voice. She pressed the toggle on her computer terminal just as the emitter of his disruptor pistol was clearing the lip of his holster. The transporter beam enveloped him before he could depress the trigger. His pattern was shunted through the transport buffer, then scrambled beyond hope of recovery before rematerializing Dekarus’ scattered molecules across some forty-thousand kilometers of open space.

Chalois pressed another button and Dekarus appeared before her once again.

“You will leave my sanctum and report to both your subordinates as well as your superiors that the situation aboard Vexam is well in hand, and that the Federation’s actions have given us valuable insights into their plans for the Delta Quadrant.”

Dekarus nodded sharply. “I understand.”

“Tell them that you will continue to monitor my actions, and that at the first hint of betrayal, you will kill me.”

The hologram nodded its understanding again.

“You have been programmed with all of Dekarus’ operational codes and ciphers, as well as a detailed personality profile and background dossier on him. Owing to his scintillating personality, I doubt you’ll have too much difficulty impersonating him.”

The imposter Dekarus smiled warily, his expression somewhere between a leer and a sadistic smirk.

“Perfect,” Chalois assessed. “You are dismissed, Sub-Commander.”

As the hologram strode out of the office, Chalois whispered softly to the recently departed Tal Shiar officer, “I may be young, I may be idealistic, I may even be naïve… but I am still Romulan.”

*****

 

[Count Zero]

Well, that was unexpected. How did she come to know all that information in Dekarus' possession?

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

And to think - I actually considered Chalois might be a soft touch. She's one shrewd Romulan. T'Ser best watch her back.

At least the Tal Shiar problems have been mitigated somewhat.

 

[Blip]

Well, that was unexpected. How did she come to know all that information in Dekarus' possession?

To coin a phrase: "She's a Romulan, alright!"

 

[CeJay]

Dayum!

Here I was completely underestimating Chalois. And clearly I was not the only one.

A certain ex-Tal Shiar agent paid a heavy price for it. Not only did she expertly dispose of him, she clearly had the whole thing planned way ahead of time. At this point I really hope she's going to be a friend and ally to T'Ser and Europa. Because you don't want her as your enemy.

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

Verrrry nice work, Chalois.

I'd be afraid to see her and Gul Berat working on Tal Shiar/Obsidian Order/Vorta disposal plans together.

 

[Gibraltar]

TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8 continued)

Chapter 8 <cont'd>

Main Engineering, USS Europa

T’Ser stared at the diagram of the matter/anti-matter reactor core for a long moment as she tried to absorb what Lieutenant Ashok was telling her. “So, it’s not something that can be attenuated by adjusting the crystal’s articulation frame, or the alignment of the crystal itself?”

“No,” Ashok replied patiently in his booming voice. “The simple fact of the matter is that ultimately… Captain Sandhurst’s engine design appears unworkable.” The Bolian sounded regretful, as if the fault for the failure lay solely with him.

“I don’t understand,” she said with a scowl. “Why didn’t this issue show up in the simulations?”

“That’s the problem with designing an engine while on a powered warp-sled without the means to test it,” Ashok answered dourly. “We didn’t know how potent the energy generation and transfer was going to be until the drive was actually operational. Now that I’ve included the crystalline micro-fracture equations into our computer test model, the simulations all corroborate what we were all beginning to suspect.”

“The damn thing’s too powerful,” she assessed.

“Yes, sir,” Ashok agreed.

She fought back a sigh. “Any temporary fixes that we can make in the short-term?”

“We can boost the re-crystallization field to one-hundred and thirty percent of normal output to offset the micro-fractures, but that’s like putting an adhesive bandage on an avulsing neck wound. The danger’s the greatest when our power-consumption needs are the highest, so while at sustained high-warp or in the middle of a protracted battle. If the crystal shatters then, at best the explosion would breach the reactor core and heavily damage the engineering compartments. At worst it would take the entire ship with it.”

She nodded numbly, still absorbing the unwelcome news. “And long-term?”

“Back to the drawing board,” Ashok said in a taciturn growl. “A complete re-design of the engine, taking into account the new data.” He looked to the new captain with an expression that conveyed deep misgivings. “Without Captain Sandhurst’s help, this will prove especially difficult.”

“What would we need to accomplish the task, at a bare minimum?” T’Ser inquired, her head spinning with delayed timetables and the unenviable conversation she’d be having later with Admiral Jellico.

“We’ll need to fall back to our sled, where we can use it’s reactor core to provide power while we disassemble ours.”

“Use it like a drydock, then?”

Ashok bobbed his head. “As it was intended, sir. The industrial replicator aboard will also cut our fabrication time in half.”

“Okay,” T’Ser said finally. She mustered her best damn-the-torpedoes command presence and ordered, “Start replicating the components you’ll need while coordinating with the other chief engineers in the task force. I want a consensus on what kind of engine will best meet our power requirements without blowing us all to pieces.”

“Aye, sir.”

Her combadge chirped and T’Ser tapped it as she stepped away from the master systems display board for a bit more privacy. “Go ahead.”

Juneau’s voice issued forth. “Bridge here, Captain. Sensors have detected a Starfleet tactical mission scout on approach at high warp. By registry, it belongs to Galaxy.”

“Understood. Have we been told to expect any personnel from that ship?”

“Negative, sir. Our last communication with Galaxy was a routine data-transfer sixteen hours ago.”

“Okay. Request identification of the incoming personnel.”

There was a noticeable pause before Juneau replied, “I already have, sir.”

“And?”

“And you’re not going to like it…”

*****

Transporter Room One, USS Europa

Both T’Ser and Pell Ojana were waiting for him when he beamed aboard.

Pava Lar’ragos appeared much the same as he ever had, though now he wore a red division shirt under his uniform tunic. He had transported over with a large duffle bag filled with all manner of cutting edge detection gear and several exotic weapons.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?” he inquired of T’Ser as custom dictated.

She paused a beat before allowing, “Granted, Commander Lar’ragos.”

“Dare I ask?” queried Pell from beside the captain.

Lar’ragos shot her a disbelieving look as he stepped down off the transporter dais. “You think I’d just sit back and let someone take Donald?” The El Aurian took up position right in front of the Bajoran. “Don’t worry, Ojana. We’ll get him back.” The determination in his tone was unmistakable.

“That’s certainly the plan, Mister Lar’ragos,” T’Ser said quietly.

Lar’ragos turned his gaze on T’Ser. “Vexam’s due to power up in less than an hour, which means the clock will be running on that week the admiral gave you to find the captain.” He glanced at the rank insignia on T’Ser’s collar. “No slight intended.”

“None taken,” T’Ser replied honestly.

“Where are you starting your search, sir?” Lar’ragos asked pointedly.

T’Ser responded, “We don’t know yet.”

Lar’ragos held up an isolinear chip. “Fortunately, that’s where I come in.”

*****

T’Ser plugged the iso-chip into the data terminal on her ready room desk. Immediately, a high-resolution sensor scan of the brief yet brutal clash between Europa and the Borg cube whose occupants had abducted Sandhurst appeared on the screen.

“You missed a lot of sensor telemetry due to the all the interference in your immediate vicinity,” Lar’ragos explained. “Also, you were trying not to get annihilated by the Borg, so I can understand your being distracted at the time.”

The image displayed was a wire-frame image of the Borg cube as it advanced on the near helpless forms of Europa and Vexam. As the tractor beam drained Europa’s shields, another one reached out from the cube to take hold of the formerly phase-cloaked array that Vexam had collided with. The probe was drawn back towards the cube, where it vanished into a recessed bay.

“I don’t think taking the captain was their first priority,” Lar’ragos explained. “They came for their damaged array.”

T’Ser’s eyes widened at this revelation, and Pell looked dumbfounded. “I… I don’t think anyone thought to look for it after,” the diplomatic officer murmured. She glanced at T’Ser, her confusion evident. “Did we just assume it had been destroyed during the fight?”

“I suppose so,” T’Ser said hesitantly. She looked to Lar’ragos. “Okay, it’s certainly plausible recovery of their device was their motivation, but how does that help us?”

Lar’ragos stared at her as a slight smile formed on his lips. “Do you recall any other cloaked objects that proved dangerous to your crew since we arrived in the Delta Quadrant?” he asked knowingly.

“At In’Drahn station,” T’Ser breathed as the sudden realization struck her. “The hidden device that killed our shuttle crew.”

“Exactly.”

*****

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Aha! The plot thickens. Come, Watson! The game is afoot.

*cough, cough* Sorry, wrong century, wrong genre. Still, it's fun to have Pava back on the Gibra . . ., the Europa, I mean. If anyone can track down Captain Sandhurst (and administer some retribution in the process) it's Pava Lar'ragos. Thankfully T'Ser's ego is not so huge that she seems put out by his arrival . . . at least not too much.

Interesting revelation about the cloaked array. I had not considered that the Amon were actually more concerned with retrieving it than Donald. Or so it seems.

Hopefully Ashok can hold the engines together long enough for them to follow up this lead. Blowing up a starship during one's first command is generally frowned upon.

 

[Gibraltar]

TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8 continued)

Chapter 8 <cont'd>

Amon Warship Transcendent

Donald Sandhurst stood staring into his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bright, shining with a life and vibrancy that he’d not possessed for nearly two years. Though Sandhurst had been captured in an act of violence perpetrated by the Amon, he did not feel like a prisoner, and truth be told, he felt a growing ambivalence about the possibility of being returned to Europa.

He knew from Nestrala that this change of heart was due to the life-essence energy that was infused into both the food and drink he consumed. She had explained to him that over time, a person’s body became dependant upon this energy source, and that once his body had adapted to metabolize it wholly, he would die without it.

Sandhurst realized on some level that the idea of such an addiction should make him recoil in horror, but the fact was that it simply did not. At least, not anymore. The longer he stayed among the Amon, the more at home he felt, the greater his sense of belonging to the tribe. He was physically stronger, mentally quicker, and among these people he had rediscovered the simple joys of life. Good food, laughter, companionship, and a sense of community, such things as he used to associate with his Starfleet career.

She moved into the reflection, pressing herself against his back as she ran her hands over his bare arms and torso. “It is time, my darling Zeischt.”

“Time?”

“Your time of decision.” She took hold of Sandhurst’s arms and turned him gently to face her. “You must choose whether to return to your people for a time, or to dwell amongst the Amon forever.”

He offered her a gentle, almost giddy smile that conveyed the lethargy of ecstasy. “Why must I choose? Are my people going someplace?”

“Zeischt,” she cajoled, “soon your body and spirit will have become irrevocably wedded to the essence.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” he said lazily.

“When that happens,” she continued, “you will have lost the ability to choose freely.”

Sandhurst pulled her close, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of her neck as he inhaled her scent. “I’m so happy here, Nestrala. I can’t remember being this content in ages. I don’t hurt any longer.”

“Freedom from physical and mental anguish is one of the more pleasing side-effects of the essence, but it is one that you must use sparingly and learn to control. Pain and fear both have their place, and the absence of both can make people selfish and reckless.”

“Mmm,” he sighed, “I’m feeling rather reckless towards you at this moment…”

Nestrala pushed him back with a strength that he thought must rival Ashok’s. “Donald,” she said in a serious tone. “You must focus. These early stages of essence adaptation are not unlike the effects of a narcotic. But that will pass in time. You must choose your path, and do so with a clear mind.”

“Clearly,” he giggled.

She frowned. “I may have misjudged how quickly human physiology bonds with the essence. It seems I may have to make the choice for you.”

“If so, then please, choose to keep me here, with you.” He moved to embrace her yet again, but she deftly stepped out of reach.

“If I allow you to stay, you will be safe from your dark lord and his machinations. However, part of you might later chafe at having such a decision imposed on you.”

“Then let me stay.”

Nestrala regarded him for a long moment, then shook her head slightly, her ebony curls dancing in the white light of the cube’s internal core-star. “In time, my dear. But for now, you must resume your old life.”

She touched two fingers to her temple, issuing the command for Transcendent to enter the queue for Shul-Nazahar’s transit hub.

“When you finally join us, and you will, I would have it be an act of your own free will.”

Sandhurst looked crestfallen. “So you send me back to the danger and uncertainty of that ship and its mission? And if I fall, victim to the Baron or some other unanticipated threat? What then?”

“Life is risk, Zeischt, a gamble that our will and judgment will triumph over random happenstance. If you fall, we shall mourn you, and then avenge you.”

“But I will be dead just the same,” he countered.

She smiled enigmatically. “No, darling Zeischt. To have tasted of the essence and lived among the tribe is to exist outside the grasp of death as you have known it."

“What does that mean?” he asked, floundering to grasp her implication.

“In time,” Nestrala whispered.

*****

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

Re: TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8 continued)

This actually seems worse than when Riker was tempted with the powers of the Q. At least Riker still had a clear head to decide with.

Yikes...this has got me very worried for Sandhurst. And honestly, very few things--even the tortures he's been through so far--have had me worried for his sanity the way this has.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Uh-oh. Sandhursts appears to be hooked on the essence - and on Nestrala. She, in turn, appears to genuinely care about Donald as well as his freedom to choose his path.

I'm not sure Donald wants to make that choice. Considering his options, I can't say I blame him.

 

[CeJay]

"Doh!"

That was my first thought when Pava suggested the other cloaked array they had come in contact with as a possible way to find Sandhurt's captors. I can almost imagine some metal forehead slapping taking place.

Anywho, Pava's on the case now. Game over for the bad guys.

Or perhaps not. It looks as if Pava and co. will not have to work very hard to get their captain and friend back. But another, and much scarier thought crossed my mind. What if the Amon are right and this is really to be Donald's destiny? God knows the man deserves to be finally at peace but I'm not sure how I feel about a Gibraltar series without it's tragic hero.

I'm excited to find out what decisions will be made here.

 

[Gibraltar]

TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8 continued)

Chapter 8 <cont'd>

Observation Lounge, USS Europa

Pell Ojana and Pava Lar’ragos sat across from one another in the otherwise empty observation lounge, the only occupants of the long, sweeping table. As the briefing room was located at the front of the bridge module, the stars streaked past from ahead of them, emphasizing Europa’s high-speed trajectory back to In’Drahn station and its beleaguered inhabitants.

“Good work with the observation about the array,” Pell said grudgingly after the two of them had completed their weekly strategic meeting. Typically, these sessions occurred over subspace, but today Pell had the dubious pleasure of having Lar’ragos present in the flesh.

Lar’ragos sat back in his chair, seeming to scrutinize her with his damnably intimidating gaze. “Thanks.”

“Let’s hope it pays off,” Pell added. “Since we’re abandoning an entire species to abject slavery, if not wholesale extermination. If we can get Donald back, at least we’ll have something to show for this whole awful mess.”

As he quirked a skeptical eyebrow, Lar’ragos said, “What the En-Il-Que have done is engage in a full-scale invasion of that star system, and all evidence indicates they plan to stay there for a good, long while. Otherwise, there’d be no point in their pacifying the major population centers, they’d have just obliterated them from orbit.”

Pell’s face twisted into an angry mask. “Is it amusing for you to sit back and watch one species exterminate another? Have you grown so detached during your long life that these things just don’t affect you anymore?”

Lar’ragos sat in silence for a moment, mulling over his next words. Then, careful to keep his tone neutral, he replied, “Commander, I wasn’t attempting to judge the morality of what the En-Il-Que are doing to the Deobeen. I’m simply observing the effect their actions are having on our primary mission. The fact that the En-Il-Que have dedicated so much of their available resources into conquering and trying to occupy these worlds, means that they’ve effectively neutralized themselves as a threat to the Alpha Quadrant for the foreseeable future.”

Though her eyes still blazed, Pell’s face froze somewhere between pain and regret. She bit back an acerbic retort, and looked away to stare out into the storm of oncoming stars visible through the portals.

“I’m not blind to the parallels between this situation and what the Cardassians did to Bajor,” Lar’ragos offered. “And yes, I’m sure what the Deobeen people are suffering right now is unimaginably horrible. If I had the means and authorization to intervene, I most certainly would. Hell, beating the brakes off of bullies is a favorite pastime of mine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Pell said after a long moment, still gazing out the viewports. “The strong and the desperate will always win out over the peaceful and the benign.”

“You forget, Pell, we’re both victims of that truth,” Lar’ragos replied with just a drop of acid in his voice. He watched her closely, absorbing her posture, her expression, the tonality and content of her words, and the meaning and intent of words she had let go unspoken.

“You know,” he prodded gently, “you don’t have to do this, Ojana.”

She blinked, then turned her head to fix her gaze on him. “I’m sorry? Do what?”

“The XO’s position,” Lar’ragos clarified. “I know you don’t like it, that it’s not a natural fit for you.”

Pell sneered, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lar’ragos. Go try and shrink someone else’s head.”

He continued in the same enthralling cadence, as if she hadn’t spoken, his voice oddly seductive in a frustratingly elusive way. “You’re concerned about your performance when the Borg ship appeared, and it’s undermining your confidence in your own judgment.”

She stood abruptly. “I don’t have to sit here and take this crap!”

“I’m not finished!” he barked in a voice she’d never heard before. Pell’s legs buckled of their own accord, depositing her back into the chair where all she could do was sit, staring at him, transfixed.

“Those doubts are weighted down by other, older misgivings about when you were beaten by Ben Maxwell at E’Mdifarr. You almost lost the ship and crew as a result of your indecision that time.”

“Yes,” she confessed dazedly. “Maxwell got the jump on me. I… couldn’t think fast enough, I wasn’t creative enough.”

“Pell, when the Borg ship came out of that fissure, why didn’t you use any of Europa’s alpha weapons?” Lar’ragos asked conversationally.

The Bajoran seemed to snap out of her torpor, blinking as her higher functions began to reassert themselves. All thoughts of fleeing the compartment, however, had vanished. Instead, she answered his question with uncommon candor. “I didn’t think of it,” Pell admitted. “Looking back on it now, I’d try to explain it away with saying we didn’t have time for me to initiate the launch authorization protocols.”

“But that would be a lie,” Lar’ragos coaxed.

“Yes,” Pell said. “But detonating one of those devices could have destroyed us and Vexam along with the cube,” she illuminated.

Lar’ragos bobbed his head. “Possibly, but given that to all appearances, you were about to be attacked and overwhelmed by the Borg, what did you have to lose?”

Pell let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Is there a point to all this?” she inquired.

“You don’t want the first officer’s job,” he assessed.

“So?” she snapped. “It’s mine, whether I want it or not.”

He raised his eyebrows in a gesture of revelation. “And if you had another option?”

It was her turn to look skeptical. “Who? You? What makes you think you’d be any better at it?”

Lar’ragos leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing as his voice took on a cold edge. “Ojana, look me in the eyes and tell me that if the order came down to use one of those weapons to wipe out an entire approaching fleet filled with tens of thousands of desperate refugees that you could do it.”

A long silence stretched out between them. She elected to answer only by dropping her head.

“I could,” he continued. “Without hesitation, and I’d sleep very soundly that night.”

“T’Ser and the crew are depending on me,” Pell said quietly.

“They’re counting on you to do the right thing,” he parried. “Is the right thing continuing to serve in a capacity you don’t feel equipped to handle? Are you willing to gamble the security of the Federation on whether or not you can bring yourself to concur with Captain T’Ser’s firing order for an alpha weapon?”

Again, she had no answer.

“Think about it, Commander,” he said as he stood and moved for the exit. “For all our sakes.”

*****

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Captain T'Ser with Pava Lar'ragos as her XO? Egad!

If my jaw keeps hitting the floor, I'm sending you the bill for my dental work.

Oh, and nice dialogue between Pell and Pava. Awkward, but very revealing meeting between these two complex characters. I have to admit, what Pava said made a lot of sense. And if the need arose to use alpha weapons, I'm not sure that Pell could do it. Then again, I'm not sure that it would be as easy for Pava as he seems to believe.

 

[CeJay]

Pava was pretty forceful in this segment, wasn't he? If I didn't know any better it almost felt as if he wants to get the XO gig for his own selfish reasons. Of course, I do know better.

As for him being able to press the button when it comes to it. Somehow I have no doubt he wouldn't hesitate. The man is a stone-cold SOB if he has to be.

 

[Gibraltar]

TFV - Operation Vanguard (Chapter 8 continued)

Chapter 8 <cont'd>

Supreme Fleet Commander Athelon inspected the sensor display as the tiny vessel approached the Voranti fleet formation. It did not appear especially threatening, but then as Athelon well knew, appearances could be deceiving.

Eighty-nine ships remained of the original two-hundred and seventeen that had fled their home systems deep in the Delta Quadrant some two centuries earlier. During the intervening decades of trials and tribulations, Athelon and her predecessors had developed a finely honed survival instinct.

They had become a cautious people out of necessity, but they had resisted the impulse to grow belligerent without provocation, as so many of the other nomadic groups ahead of and behind them had become. They had consciously elected not to sacrifice that fundamental core of beliefs that made them Voranti, and had established their civilization as the guardians of peace and prosperity in their long-dead alliance that now lay thousands of light-years in their wake.

The incoming vessel had failed to heed the warning broadcasted from the Voranti fleet, and appeared insistent on making contact. This was not necessarily a threat in and of itself, she knew, for more than one persistent merchant ship had braved the oncoming flotilla over the years in order to ply their wares. More often than not, such ventures had proved to be profitable for all parties involved.

Consul-Advisor Tramana addressed Athelon from the couch within his data-sphere. “The craft is small, yet well armed for its size, Supreme Commander.”

Athelon’s mouth whiskers trembled in a mischievous gesture. “Thank you, Tramana. I would once again remind you that we have known each other since we were hatchlings, and you will exhaust yourself if you insist on addressing me as supreme commander every time you open your orifice.”

“Very well, Supreme Commander,” he replied cheerfully. “You would prefer I resurrect your former designation as Yolk-Sifter from when we were tasked with cleaning the crèche as younglings?”

Athelon gave the equivalent of an exasperated sigh. “Guard captain!” she barked.

“Yes, Supreme Commander!” the captain of the guard announced obediently as he moved forward on his hind fin-legs.

“Please inform Consul-Advisor Tramana that I have previously forbidden him to ever mention my youngling nickname, and if he does so again, I will be well within my rights to kick him in the egg-sack until such time as I fall over. Please also remind him of my exceptional sense of balance, from which he may infer that it could well take some time until I have lost sufficient equilibrium as to render me unable to continue abusing the aforementioned egg-sack.”

“Immediately, Supreme Commander!” the guard captain replied smartly. He scuttled over to Tramana’s data-sphere and relayed the message with both additional volume, as well as only the choicest vulgarities that someone with a lifetime of service in the guards’ ranks would be familiar with.

Muted laughter, or what passed for laughter among the Voranti issued from surrounding data-spheres.

“The vessel possesses defensive energetic shielding, as well as integrated armor. However, their shields are not active, and their weapons systems are powered down.”

From another station, a communications director advised, “The ship is transmitting to us in passable Vorashti’i, and they are requesting visual communication.”

“Let us see them.”

A visual image took form on the liquidic display sphere, showing a small, relatively cramped command module containing a half dozen humanoid beings.

“We bid you greetings from the United Federation of Planets,” a woman occupying the center seat announced. “I am the captain of the Federation starship Masada.”

“I am Supreme Fleet Commander Athelon of the Voranti Sovereignty. We are pleased to make peaceful contact with you.”

“And we with you,” the woman replied, smiling. “You may not be aware that your fleet of ships is entering a densely populated region of our galaxy. Some of the governments of this region, like our own Federation, are peaceful and prefer diplomacy over warfare to settle disagreements. Other governments, however, are not as friendly, and might seek to attack you in order to dissuade you from your present course or to prey upon your resources.”

Athelon’s cranial air-sacks inflated, giving her the sudden appearance of ear-like buds growing from the sides of her head. “We have encountered our share of warlike species in our long journey,” she revealed sadly.

“May we inquire as to your ultimate destination?” the woman asked. “We might be able to assist you in plotting a safer course through this quadrant.”

“We have no destination as yet,” Athelon answered. “Every time we’ve attempted to stop and settle a colony, the transient societies following us have attacked and forced us to flee once again.”

The humanoid woman on the Federation ship bobbed her head in a gesture the Voranti translation matrix took to indicate agreement. “Our planners monitoring this mass migration suspected that might be the case,” she offered. “It is possible we may be able to assist you in that as well. We have set aside a number of uninhabited, life-supporting worlds for those societies willing to give up their nomadic lifestyle in favor of settling down. Our Starfleet would help share responsibility for safeguarding those worlds from attack by those who follow.”

Athelon shared a hopeful glance with Consul-Advisor Tramana. “We would welcome hearing more details regarding this potential offer,” she voiced.

“Of course,” the woman answered. “May we approach your vessels?”

Tramana signaled his support, as did the ever-cautious Custodian-General from his interface tank. Athelon’s head twitched to one side. “We welcome your approach, Masada.”

*****

USS Masada

The Defiant-class Masada drifted through the aging cruisers and civilian transports of the Voranti Sovereignty, observing the generations of micro-meteorite strikes and weapons impacts that adorned their hulls, attesting both to their age and the perilous nature of the Voranti’s journey.

The young lieutenant at the forward Flight Control station glanced back towards his captain. “They’re running with only navigational deflectors up, sir.”

“Acknowledged,” she answered, her eyes drinking in the stately majesty of the great ships that had crossed untold thousands of light-years. “Those vessels have seen better days,” she observed with a hint of wonder in her voice.

“That they have, sir,” noted an ensign manning the Science board. “Many of them are showing signs of significant structural fatigue, including microfractures in main load-bearing struts and bulkheads. Their structural integrity grid appear to be a mishmash of cobbled-together equipment, components from other system they’ve cannibalized to maintain their integrity fields.”

“They’re fortunate to have made it this far,” the captain said. “Ops, open a channel to their supreme fleet commander and prepare to send our navigational information.”

“Channel open,” he replied.

“Supreme Fleet Commander Athelon, this is Masada. Please standby to receive our communications packet containing navigational charts for the region of space you’re approaching.”

The aquatic-like visage of Athelon appeared on screen. “Understood, Captain. Again, we offer our gratitude for your assistance. On this arduous voyage, friendly faces have been few and far between.”

“It is our pleasure,” the captain replied. “Few of the nomadic groups we’ve encountered have been anywhere near as welcoming as you. I hope this first gesture of our goodwill will help lead to a lasting friendship between our peoples.”

“As do I,” Athelon answered in kind.

“Engage transmission,” the captain ordered.

*****

“We are receiving navigational data,” called out the communications director.

“Very well,” acknowledged Athelon. “Subject the data stream to our security countermeasures, and once we’ve verified that it is safe, you may integrate the information into our navigational database.”

A team of data-technicians set to work as Athelon spoke in hushed tones with Tramana. Her excitement at the prospect of possibly having found allies in this far flung corner of the cosmos was palpable.

The first sign that there was trouble came when image-spheres throughout the compartment began to wink out.

“What is happening?” Athelon called out.

“Systemic compromise!” cried one technician. “I… I think there’s some manner of computer-virus folded into the navigational data. It’s… broken containment somehow, and is moving through our systems with unbelievable speed.”

From another data-sphere, an engineer called, “It’s breached our communications firewalls! The program has hijacked our comms transceivers and is broadcasting to our other ships!”

“Shut down all centralized computer functions,” Tramana ordered. “Revert to hard-line controls and wire-based communications.”

“It’s too late…” came a plaintive cry as the lighting failed completely and plunged the command center into darkness.

*****

USS Masada

“Their weapons and defensive systems are failing in succession, Captain,” noted the lieutenant at Ops.

“So I see,” she noted coolly. “Raise shields and arm weapons.”

“Shields up,” came the reply. “Weapons online and awaiting your command, sir.”

“Target quantum torpedoes on the weapons pods of their lead ship and fire.”

“Aye, torpedoes away!”

On the viewscreen, a great blossom of fire and debris surged from the underside of the Voranti flagship.

Masada heeled over hard and raced down the z-axis of the cruiser, peppering its superstructure with bursts from the escort’s potent pulse-phasers. Darting out from behind the larger ship, Masada unleashed a volley of photons into the Voranti crèche ships that housed the species' precious younglings.

The crushed, scorched and blasted bodies of juvenile Voranti spilled into the vacuum, extinguishing an entire generation of the already desperately under-populated species.

Then Masada made a run against the Voranti agricultural ships, savaging two of the fleet’s five gargantuan farming barges and sending millions of tons of flaming produce spinning into the void along with the shredded superstructure of both ships.

She loitered for a few minutes more, launching torpedoes and engaging in straffing runs designed to maul their targets, but not to destroy them outright.

Finally, Masada sped away from the collective agony of the brutalized Voranti fleet, the local comms channels filled with damning threats and piteous questions of why.

“Status of their fleet?” the captain asked as she inspected the chaotic scene on the viewer while the escort powered away at full impulse.

“Significant casualties, sir,” Ops reported. “Four vessels destroyed, six more heavily damaged, and it will take them months to dig the cyber-pathogen out of their computers.”

“Excellent,” she breathed with genuine satisfaction. “Engage the cloak, and resume our original course to AvDarLael.”

“Aye, sir.”

As the bridge lighting grew more subdued to indicate the ship's cloaked state, the aft door to the bridge opened to admit a lithe figure dressed in clothing even darker than as his ebony complexion. “Beautiful work, my dear,” the Baron chortled, eyeing the destruction on the screen. “Your deception was executed flawlessly.”

The captain turned to embrace him, her face beaming with equal parts pride and adoration. “Thank you, My Lord. It worked even better we’d hoped.”

“So it did,” he purred, pulling her close. “I think the Voranti’s next meeting with Starfleet will not be such a civilized affair, eh?”

“Much blood will be shed on both sides,” she observed.

“And Donald will know that my vengeance will soon be at hand,” the Baron whispered darkly.

“I have to say,” Liana Ramirez replied lustily as she sank into her lover’s arms. “I had my doubts that your patience would pay off so handsomely.”

“You forget, dearest Lia… I have no need to predict the future. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

*****

 

[Gibraltar]

This concludes Part I: At the Gates of the Task Force Vanguard series.

The story will be continued in Part II: Scorched Earths.