Dark Territory: Dancing with the Devil

[DarKush]

***************************************


Central Command Vessel Selqet


“Scan that vessel,” Sarkos ordered. “I want to know if there are any non-Phalkerian life signs onboard.”

“No sir,” the sensor officer repeated. “Only Phalkerian life signs are registering.” The Vorta leaned back, contemplating his next move. He knew that the Founders could literally take the form of any being or object they chose to, and would be oblivious to detection.

“That ship has incurred extensive damage,” Gil Horgan said. “Should we offer assistance?”

“Hail them,” Sarkos said reluctantly.

“No response,” the communications officer replied. “It appears that their communication systems have been damaged as well.”

“Scan the damage, see if you can determine the origin of the blast marks,” the Vorta said, with increasing dread. He suspected he already knew the answer.

“The phaser damage….is consistent with Starfleet energy signatures,” the sensors officer remarked, nearly choking on her own words. She looked at the Vorta and then Horgan, her eyes glazed with concern. “This ship was attacked by a Starfleet vessel!” The realization crackled like bolts of electricity across the bridge.

“Starfleet,” Horgan whispered, clenching his teeth. “We must seize this vessel and interrogate the crew to find out what happened to the Starfleet vessel.”

“Sirs, there are two disparate ion trails leading from the Phalkerian corvette, on nearly faded and the other far more recent.” The sensor officer replied.

“Good work Glinn-Sed Erexa,” he remarked, acknowledging the woman by name. The officer relaxed visibly from the recognition. It wasn’t something given frequently on either Dominion or Cardassian vessels.

“Shall I prepare a boarding party?” Horgan pressed.

“No, Gil Horgan,” Sarkos replied, his voice steely. “I want that vessel vaporized.”

“But sir….” The thickset Gil began.

“Are you questioning my orders?” Sarkos asked with a deceptively mild tone.

“Destroy the vessel,” Horgan ordered, his voice cracking slightly. The deck plates under Sarkos’s boots rumbled as energy coursed through the ship and formed deadly spears of energy that erupted from the Galor-class cruiser’s forward array. The beams stabbed into the hapless Phalkerian vessel until it cracked apart in an anticlimactic explosion. Sarkos didn’t even blink.

“Follow the most recent ion trail,” he ordered.

*********************************

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Main Bridge


What in the Five Afterlives could be taking so long? Archduke Davgan thought, but he knew better than to verbalize his displeasure. He gave a furtive glance to the equally uneasy Fokus. His large manservant rolled his massive shoulders every few minutes, the only outward sign of his growing impatience.

The Phalkerian aristocrat tried to keep his mind on helping the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar scan the Vortices, but he was worried about Nixe, he finally had to admit it. She had been in his family’s employ for years, long before Davgan had assumed mastery of his house. His father had bought her from market while he had been away on studies, serving the family faithfully ever since. He didn’t like handing her over to the Founder without being around to insure she was safe, but what else could he have done?

He was under no illusions about the Dominion. He knew the Changelings took what they wanted, and the Founder asking him was a mere formality. Besides, Nixe was a slave, property that could be replaced, and this deal with the Dominion was a once in a life time opportunity, perhaps the only real chance the Phalkerian Domain had to increase its sphere of influence in Sector 443 and beyond. He hoped Nixe wasn’t being sacrificed in some strange Founder ritual, but if that was the case, her loss might result in a very substantial gain for him and the Domain. He was comforted by that thought, and hoped that Nixe would be too.

One of the Jem’Hadar’s resonant voices pulled him out from under his weighty thoughts. “First, I am detecting a slight subspace variance, moving on a direct intercept course with our vessel.”

“I am in command of this vessel while the Founder is in dispose!” The Vorta snapped. “You will accord me the proper respect.” The Jem’Hadar stiffened, but then curtly nodded his head.

A large, grizzled Jem’Hadar, the First, stepped from behind the tactical station. “Third, do not disregard protocol again,” he warned. “Now, report.” The Jem’Hadar Third repeated his assessment, and both the First and Vorta went to his console, standing over his back as they read the data on his screen. Davgan was tempted to join them, but he received a few frigid stares from several of the other Jem’Hadar soldiers on the bridge that froze him.

“It could be a cloaked ship,” the First said. “I recommend we raise shields, deploy an antiproton beam, and alert the Founder.”

“Or it could merely be a concentration of gases,” the Vorta countered. “I do agree that we should deploy the antiproton beam, but I don’t think we should disturb the Founder while she is preoccupied.” The Vorta glanced over at Davgan.

The First pursed his gray, rough-skinned lips, a frown making his visage even more intimidating. But the man held his piece and issued the Vorta’s orders. It only took a few seconds, before the Third called out, “Ship decloaking!” The barrage started before the warrior had completed his warning.

********************************

 

[DarKush]

********************************

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge


“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” Glover bellowed, jumping out of his chair. “How did those bastards make us?”

“Captain we were never completely certain that the gases and radiation inside the Vortices might interfere with the cloaking device,” Lt. Seb N’Saba explained.

“Sir, I think the more important question is how we are going to survive this,” Commander Bheto said, her modulated tone an attempt to calm him. Both of the command officers were gazing out of the ship’s main viewer. The large, imposing Dominion warship had already turned to face them, its forward disruptors spitting fire. The ship rattled under the pounding with such force that it threw Terrence back into his seat. It appeared that their first strike on the Dominion vessel had had extremely limited success.

“Status report!” The captain snapped. Gralf quickly ran through it. And Meldin informed him that shields were down twelve percent, but holding, and that the weapons systems remained online. Glover was relieved that more of the ship and her crew hadn’t been damaged. “Ready the quantum torpedoes….let’s call this one a day.”

“Readying torpedoes,” Meldin called out, seconds before the Dominion ship fired again. The tactical console exploded in Meldin’s face. The man screamed before falling back, his face and torso in flames.

“Meldin!” Bheto wailed, leaving her seat, to be by his side. “Some one help me!” She screeched. “Oh gods!” She knelt beside him, and cradled him while another quick thinking bridge officer grabbed one of the fire extinguishers from the aft bridge locker and doused the man with foam.

“Medical emergency on the bridge,” Glover informed Dr. Nemato.

“I’ll send someone as soon as I can,” the Antosian clicked back.

“Not good enough,” Bheto said. With surprising strength that Terrence had never witnessed before the Andorian slid the unconscious Benzite over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She stood up, her legs buckling slightly before she was able to lock them in position. “Permission to leave the bridge sir?”

Terrence really didn’t want to let her go, but images of his wife, injured during the Dominion’s rampage in the Tyra System flashed across his mind. How could he deny Amanisha an opportunity to do all that she could for the man she loved? It was a chance he wished he had been granted. The captain swallowed hard. “Take him, and get back here on the double.” She nodded and then shifted the Benzite on her shoulders again before trudging to the turbolift.

“Can the tactical station be salvaged?” He asked, already putting Bheto and Meldin in the back of his mind.

“No sir,” an extremely green Ensign Souza, the fire extinguisher still hanging in his grasp. “The panel is fried.”

“Gralf, transfer control of that station to your terminal,” Glover commanded.

“Sir, weapons systems are offline,” the Xindi-Arboreal responded, his voice rising slightly.

“What?” Terrence couldn’t believe his ears.

“Incoming!” Ensign Desvignes called out.

“Hold on!” Glover yelled. The lights flickered and several more consoles sparked fire. Acrid smoke began filling the bridge.

“Captain, I think retreat is in order,” Lt. N’Saba suggested.

“Not until we finish our mission,” Glover said. “Evasive maneuvers,” he ordered. “And get those damn weapons back on line! N’Saba, transfer Ops to your station so that Gralf can put his full attention on rearming us!”

“Dominion warship is powering weapons,” both Gralf and N’Saba said at the same time.

“Desvignes, get us out of the line of fire!” The captain roared. The Cuffe jinked suddenly, avoiding several disruptor shafts. “Good job Ensign,” Glover said. He toggled a switch on his chair’s armrest. “Pedro, how much juice do we have?”

“The warp core is undamaged. We’ve got full power…for the moment,” the Chief Engineer tightly replied. Glover knew that the tightness was caused by stress and not due to their current disagreement.

“Thank God for small miracles,” Glover muttered. More loudly he said, “On my command, I want maximum warp.”

“You’ll have it,” Pedro replied.

“We’re finally leaving?” N’Saba asked.

“No,” the captain shook his head. “We’re going deeper into the Vortices.”

********************************************

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Main Bridge


Archduke Davgan sat in a corner, oblivious to the frantic activity occurring around him. His head was still ringing from smacking the deck during the assault from the Starfleet vessel. The first strike had been deadly; impacting the ship a split second before the Vorta issued the order to raise shields. The beams had carved into the battle cruiser like a roast.

Though Davgan had been knocked nearly unconscious after falling to the deck in the initial barrage, he retained enough awareness to pick up snippets of conversation and glimpses of what was going on around him. He had found himself impressed, and more than a little disturbed, by how calmly the Jem’Hadar went about their duties even while the ship took heavy fire.

The Phalkerian noble didn’t sense or even smell fear from them; if anything their eagerness was palpable. The archduke watched through a thickening haze as the reptilian warriors moved promptly and efficiently across the debris strewn bridge.

“Secure the Founder,” the Jem’Hadar First ordered one of his subordinates. Davgan suddenly remembered the exchange with the prissy Vorta. He looked around the bridge and spotted the man’s legs; the rest of his body was covered by a bulkhead.

The dutiful Jem’Hadar pulled up short at the entrance. The door opened to reveal the Founder. She sagged against the open portal. The Jem’Hadar reached out to assist her, but then froze in deference. The archduke finally sensed trepidation from one of the creatures.

“Return to your station,” Ipotane said, her voice weak, but still ripe with imperiousness. The soldier quickly resumed his post.

The First filled the man’s spot at the Founder’s side. He gave a brief report. The shape-shifter scanned the bridge, her face impassive. “Have the assailants been destroyed?”

“No, but we have succeeded in disabling their weapons systems,” the First crisply replied.

“Excellent,” the Founder dipped her head. “I want that ship secured and its senior staff captured. The rest of the crew can pay for their crimes in a work camp.”

“Yes Founder,” the First replied. The Changeling dismissed him, and he turned sharply back to commanding his troops.

By that time, Fokus had made his way gingerly over to Davgan. Planting his back against a wall for leverage, he had placed his arms under Davgan’s, locking his massive hands across the noble’s shoulders. He had then hoisted the aristocrat to his feet. Once he had made certain Davgan could stand on his own, Fokus pushed off the wall. He stood beside his master, trembling and swaying every so often. The large man was bleeding profusely from his side; a wicked piece of metal was sticking out of his side. “My manservant needs immediate medical attention,” Davgan told the Founder. She regarded Fokus, her eyes strangely gazing over.

“Dominion warships are not equipped with medical facilities,” she said, her voice more thoughtful and kind than her words. “There is nothing we can do for him.”

“That’s unacceptable!” Davgan snapped. His voice drew the predatory gazes of several Jem’Hadar. “This is no way to treat potential allies!” The noble was shocked when Fokus laid a large hand on his shoulder, and patted it. Normally such a violation of protocol would result in a severe flogging, but Davgan merely looked up at the man and patted the hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Ipotane said again. Fokus staggered, and he fell backward. Davgan felt the vibration in the soles of his boots when he crashed into the deck. He knelt down beside the man, but Fokus was already dead. The archduke turned his grief to rage. He whipped around on the Founder.

“Where is Nixe?” He demanded. Ipotane’s features tried to approximate a look of sympathy.

“She also was killed…in the initial assault.” The Changeling looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze.

“I want to see her body,” he declared, not believing her. “It is my right as her master.”

“You may view the body after we are finished here,” the Founder promised, but he knew it was another lie.

“We are currently preoccupied with more important things,” Ipotane remarked, the gush of a fire suppressant punctuating her point.

“I want to see Nixe’s remains now,” he said, rushing toward the entrance to the bridge. Ipotane reached out, stretching her arms to grab the man. He struggled in her elastic grip. Ipotane easily lifted him and placed beside Fokus’s corpse.

“I said after,” the iron in her voice brooked no challenge, and Davgan, beside himself with impotent fury and outrage, didn’t.
***************************************

 

[Dnoth]

The Nixe situation caught me off guard. That could prove to be interesting. It seems the Cuffe got off a few good hits, but now they're on the ropes. Hiding seems like a good option about now.

 

[Gibraltar]

Oof. Yeah, that could have gone better. Glover had best engage escape pattern 'Flee!'

And what the devil was the Changeling up to with the servant girl? I don't buy her story for a second, but something freaky was going on in there.

Terrific material, keep in coming.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Ouch! From cat to mouse to what next? For Glover's sake he better hope it's not roadkill!

I'm also curious as to what's going on between the Changeling and the servant girl. Is she in fact like Odo--or is there something more insidious at work?

Also, Davgan is beginning to see what life in the Dominion is going to be like...

 

[CeJay]

Fascinating development here.

As for Cuffe's attack: The best-laid plans of men and mice ...

Nixe is a wild card here. The Founder is lying about what happened and when changelings are involved all bets are off.

Somethin' is cookin' and I can't yet smell what it is. Intriguing ...

 

[DarKush]

***************************************

Central Command Vessel Selqet
Stateroom


Gil Horgan finished his report. Sarkos nodded with approval. “So, there was a massive exchange of directed energy in this area?” He repeated.

“Yes,” the Cardassian replied. Sarkos nodded again. Horgan was by far one of the most agreeable Cardassians he had ever worked with, a true credit to his race. Once this mission was over, Sarkos would recommend to Legate Damar to promote Horgan to a gulship, leapfrogging an entire rank. The Dominion needed more loyal, efficient men who understood the meaning of service.

“And both ships went deeper into the Vortices?” The Vorta asked. Horgan answered in the affirmative again.

“I see,” Sarkos thought, as a plan formed in his mind.

“Shall I lay in a pursuit course?” Horgan asked.

“No,” the Vorta shook his head. “We will return to the beginning of the Vortices and wait for whoever comes out of there alive. With this entrance being the most heavily mapped entryway into the Vortices, it is a good chance that they will return this way.” And if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be too broken up about it.

****************************************

USS Telamon
Main Bridge

Admiral Canfield was getting on Captain Linda Stallings’s nerves more than usual. It was already bad enough that the admiral had taken command of her vessel and sent the ship into a rough part of space all while giving her only the scantest of explanations. And he even told her that the scraps of data he provided could not be shared with the rest of the senior staff or crew.

Now the man was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the command seat he had commandeered, while she watched from the First Officer’s chair. Lt. Commander Yu, her XO, sat at an auxiliary aft console.

“Have long range sensors detected anything yet?” The admiral asked every few seconds.

Finally her Ops Officer was able to give him a satisfactory answer. “Sir, we’ve got something,” Lt. Greenlee said, with a heavy dose of relief. “There is a vessel coming out of the Vortices.”

Canfield spun around. “Is it a friendly?” Greenlee paused, as she scoured the data.

She frowned, “No sir, it’s a Galor-class battle cruiser.”

“Damn,” the admiral said. Stallings sat up in her seat, her stomach coiling, and her muscles tensing. She had to force herself not to stand up and issue orders. For the moment she wasn’t in command, and it was needling her.

“Red alert,” Canfield ordered, “Battle stations.”

“Admiral Canfield,” Stallings did stand up. “We can’t take on a Galor-class warship. This is a Nova-class vessel, built primarily for short term planetary exploration. We won’t stand a chance.”

Canfield regarded her coolly for a moment, before he grinned. “My grandfather once told me that it isn’t the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog. The Telamon might not be able to stand toe to toe with that ship, but that doesn’t mean we can’t defeat it.”

“All right, what do you propose?” Stallings was curious in spite of herself.

“I’ve got an idea,” the admiral said, tapping his forehead. “There are a couple still left in this old noggin.” He then proceeded to fill them in.
***********************************

 

[DarKush]

***********************************


USS Cuffe
Main Bridge


The ship shuddered again. “Aft shields down to 15%,” Gralf called out.

“Damn, how the hell did they catch up to us so quickly?” Glover asked. No one had an answer for him. “I thought we had hit them pretty hard.”

“Obviously not hard enough,” N’Saba drolly remarked, eliciting a glower from the captain. The ship rattled again.

“Aft shields are gone,” Gralf solemnly informed the bridge.

“Swing us around,” Terrence ordered. “We’ll make a pitched stand right here.” Lt. Desvignes steered the ship around, until its saucer section was facing the oncoming Dominion battle cruiser.

The captain was grateful that Gralf had at least got the forward phaser arrays working. “Fire, phaser full spread,” Glover ordered. A deadly wave of energy rippled through space, enveloping the Dominion battle cruiser.

When the storm faded the battle cruiser remained in one piece, but Glover was happy to see several hull fractures venting plasma and warriors along the ship’s ventral spine. The shields around the ship were crackling, but within seconds the Jem’Hadar had restored enough minimal shielding to prevent a second volley from having an equal affect. However, the enemy vessel remained stationary. “Now, back us the hell out of here, fast as you can.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Desvignes smartly replied.

“All power to forward shields,” the captain added. Gralf nodded.

“Sir, aren’t we still going the wrong way?” N’Saba asked. “While the Jem’Hadar is doing whatever the hells they are doing, we can shoot past them and get a good lead on them in the process.” Some of the other bridge crew looked expectantly at the captain, silent hope in their eyes that he would listen to Lt. N’Saba, but Terrence shook his head.

He grinned evilly, “I’m not through with these bastards yet.” He got out of his seat and approached the flight control station. Glover clapped the helmsmen on his shoulder. “Henri, hit the skids, I’m driving this boat the rest of the way.”

*****************************************

USS Telamon
Main Bridge

“Has that Galor detected us yet?” Admiral Canfield asked.

“No,” the Takret lieutenant at the Tactical station remarked. Captain Stallings nervously ran her fingers through her graying blonde hair.

“This is a really risky gambit admiral. Do you really think it will work?”

“We’ll see in a few minutes,” Canfield nodded at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Lt. Commander Ouna, began preparations to generate an artificial gravimetric shear.” The Bolian engineer went about the task with grave determination. The admiral had studied the Segomo Vortices and new that it was a stew of various radiations, one of them being neutronic radiation. He first ordered Ouna to use the ship’s Bussard collector to collect as much neutronic and graviton radiation as possible, because the admiral knew it was the perfect gun powder for the bullet he wanted to lob at the unsuspecting Galor. Canfield intended to use the Telamon’s two deflector shields to simulate extreme differences in the gravitational coefficients of both volatile radioactive substances.

“Hostile has spotted us,” Ouna informed them. “They are raising shields and powering weapons.”

“I suggest we do the same,” Canfield said. “Also…evasive maneuvers. Let’s at least look like we’re preparing to duke it out with them.”

“Hopefully this plan of yours will work or we’ll have to slug it out with a very pissed off group of Cardassians,” Stallings grumbled.

“At least they can say we died with our boots on,” Canfield joked, but no one laughed. Not even him.

************************************

 

[DarKush]

************************************

Central Command Vessel Selqet


The stingray-shaped ship cleaved through the soup of radiation and gases in the Vortices. Propped in the command chair, Sarkos hoped he had made the right decision. He was counting on the victor of the battle between the Cuffe and the Dominion cruiser would so damaged that they would be easy pickings.

But he wasn’t sure he really had the stomach for deicide. And if he was able to do such a monstrous thing, could he get away with it? Wouldn’t the Founder on Prime know what he had done? The Vorta disturbingly had to admit that he wasn’t so sure that she might, even though the Founders were omniscient, or were supposed to be. If the Founders were true gods, as all powerful and knowing as his kin were told to believe, why did the Federation Alliance retake Deep Space Nine? And why had they fought the Dominion to a stand still? Why had the Founder not figured out how to reopen the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, necessitating this trip to the Segomo Vortices in the first place?

For a long time Sarkos had tried to kill his viperous doubts, but he couldn’t any longer. What if the Founders weren’t divine? The thought seized him with an arctic fear. He looked around wildly, expecting to be struck down immediately for his blasphemous thoughts. But nothing happened. Just like nothing would happen if the Selqet destroyed the Dominion battle cruiser, except that his life might be saved. The Vorta reproduced via cloning, but that didn’t make him covet living any less, particularly if the insights he had gained might be destroyed or deleted when the latest Sarkos model was taken from the cloning vats.

He needed to survive, to trump that smirking Keilan if for no other reason. He had to admit that he no longer believed in the Founders’ divinity, and the religious fervor to claim all of the Alpha Quadrant had withered to nothingness inside him. All he lived for now was power and position. Now that he knew the truth, if he could place himself in an important, indispensable position Sarkos could one day use it to overthrow the false gods and set the Vorta up as the sole rulers of the Dominion.

Was it not the Vorta who were the linchpin to the Dominion already? Overseeing the Jem’Hadar and maintaining the organizational structure of empire? It was time they received their due, the Vorta had long since repaid their debt to the Changelings for bioengineering them, turning them from primitive primates to one of the most evolved species in the galaxy. The least Sarkos decided he could do was let them survive, granted they accepted the new order he would impose.

His smile widened over his ghostly features as he imagined would be, and he resolved to himself, because there was no one else to pray to, that he would live to insure it happened. His dreams of the future were short-lived however. The screech of a proximity alarm drove the dreams away. “What’s happening?” He said haltingly, still not fully in the moment.

“We’ve detected a Starfleet starship at the mouth of the Vortices,” Horgan informed him.

“Impossible,” Sarkos breathed, but he knew it wasn’t. Section 31 would be as determined to cover their tracks as he was, and he was certain his change of plans had alarmed them. “Power forward disruptors and raise shields,” he said confidently. “Put the vessel on the main viewer.” A small, silver white starship appeared. That’s the best Section 31 could do? Sarkos scoffed. “What type of vessel is that?”

“It is a Nova-class,” Erexa replied, perplexed. “Used primarily for planetary exploration,” the woman added.

“They’re no match for us,” a female at the weapons console sneered.

“Never underestimate Starfleet officers,” Horgan barked. “I first fought against them at Camor V during the first war. They are a duplicitous lot.”

“Then I suggest your crew destroy them as quickly as possible,” Sarkos recommended. Horgan nodded in agreement.

“Sir, I’m detecting a massive ejection of neutronic and graviton energy from the Federation vessel,” Erexa said. The Vorta looked back at the screen. A cloud of energy was forming around the starship.

“Starship is firing weapons,” the weapons officer yelled.

“Prepare for incoming,” Sarkos commanded, but nothing happened. The starship was pouring its energy into the cloud, and the cloud was alight, twisting, crackling, and thinning into a cord of pure, destructive energy. The cord expanded as the starship continued firing at it.

“Stop them,” the Vorta said. He didn’t know what they were doing, and that was reason enough for him to issue the order. “Fire on the Federation vessel! Destroy it!” The Galor unleashed a volley in the direction of the starship, but the writhing cord of energy consumed it.

“Energy wave is moving towards us,” Erexa informed them. “At maximum warp speed.”

“Transfer all power to forward shields!” Gil Horgan yelled, ignoring him. The stocky Cardassian was running along the bridge to each station, making sure they complied with his order. “Do it now! Do it now!”

“What is going on?” Sarkos said more forcefully. Horgan stopped, looked at him, and blinked. A sneer inched across his face. He flicked a thumb at the screen.

“See for yourself,” he said. The Vorta’s eyes snapped forward. The viewer was filled by a white crackling string of energy fast approaching them.

“What is that?”

“It’s a gravimetric shear,” Erexa replied. The Vorta didn’t know what that was, but judging by Horgan’s near hysterics and the woman’s hopeless tone, he knew it couldn’t be anything beneficial.

“Full engine reverse,” he barked. “Full engine reverse!”

“It’s too late for that,” Horgan said.

“Evasive maneuvers,” Sarkos replied. The fat Cardassian shook his head.

“How damaging will this thing be when it hits us?” The Vorta asked. Erexa shook her head.

“No,” Sarkos pounded his fists on the armrests. “No,” he muttered again. Not when he had finally discovered the truth of his existence. It couldn’t end now.

“Brace for impact,” Horgan ordered before the shear sliced into them.

**********************************************

USS Telamon
Main Bridge


The bridge watched in silent horror. Captain Stallings winced as the shear cut cleanly through the Galor-class ship, dissecting it before both halves exploded. “Helm, take us into the Vortices,” Adm. Canfield ordered, not missing a beat.

**********************************************

 

[Gibraltar]

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the most dangerous Nova-class ship in Starfleet!

Nice trick by the Admiral... and now we're getting a clearer picture of how S31's been playing this particular game, and with whom.

 

[Dnoth]

SFI vs. S31 vs. a rogue Vorta...this should be interesting.

 

[CeJay]

Well that appears to be it for Sarkos, who could hardly believe his fate. (Actually I was kinda surprised there too).

Now Canfield and the Telamon can come to the aid of the Cuffe. But please, does Glover look like a man who needs any help?

 

[DavidFalkayn]

That old dog Canfield most definitely does have a few tricks up his sleeve--31 might find that bringing him back to heel might be a difficult and painful proposition.

And so goes Sarkos' dreams of overlordship--he obviously failed to completely read his Evil Overlord's Handbook.

And now it's all on Glover...

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Just getting caught up - great action segments! So Glover is going to take the wheel, huh? Shades of Captain Ahab!

And a clever ploy, creating a wave of gravimetric shear. I hope Canfield has some more tricks up his sleeve!

 

[DarKush]

**********************************************

USS Cuffe
Sickbay


Commander Amanisha Bheto felt guilty about breaking her promise to the captain, but she couldn’t bear to leave Meldin alone to Dr. Nemato himself had begun to attend his injuries. One of the nurses had made a quick assessment of the Benzite’s burns and had had him placed on a biobed, and gave him a hypo before activating a steri-field around the bed. The Antosian Chief Medic was attending the more serious injuries pouring into the medical center first.

When he finally slid over to Meldin, he twisted his eye stalks at Bheto in a motion she recognized as a scowl. “Don’t you belong on the bridge,” his mandibles clacked. The rebuke was a mental slap, reminding the Andorian of her responsibilities.

“Oh, I…I just wanted to make sure Meldin would be alright,” she stammered.

“We’ll take good care of him,” the vermicular doctor promised. “Now you go and take good care of us.”

“Yes,” Amanisha nodded. “Of course.” She turned toward the door, looking back only once more, her heart tearing as she saw Meldin’s burned face.

Wiping away tears, she ran down the hallway, rushing to the nearest turbolift. She really hadn’t realized how much she cared for the man until that console had exploded in his face. Bheto had thought their relationship was merely a wartime fling, brought on by stress and a desire to enjoy what little life they might have left, but now she realized it was something much more. And she was happy about that, though she didn’t know how her family would feel if she ever brought Meldin home.

She entered the turbolift. “Bridge,” she called out, before she broke into a chuckle, imagining the looks on her parents’ faces, all four of them, as she introduced them to Meldin. Of course they would be disappointed because Bheto was breaking her commitment to her partners, and washing her hands of her responsibility to form a bond with four others to procreate and keep the Andorian race alive. But right now she was more concerned about her life, and she knew it would be much emptier without Meldin in it. Bheto sent a prayer to the gods as the turbolift shot upward to the bridge.
**************************************


USS Cuffe
Main Bridge


Despite potential death in front of him and certain death behind him, Captain Terrence Glover was having a hell of a time. His fingers shot across the smooth pane of the flight control console as he input new flight directions quickly, keeping the Dominion warship that was pursuing them off balance. One of the downsides of that was the space sickness he was certain he was engendering in some of his own crew, but they could complain to him about it later.

He was a pilot at heart and his time in Nova Squadron in the Academy had been the best years of his life. Whenever he got a chance to get behind the yoke he took it. Though Terrence wasn’t as good as he used to be, he knew he was still one of the best flight jockeys currently in the Fleet, and certainly the best among his fellow captains.

He flew the ship backwards, the saucer section facing the onrushing Dominion ship. Gralf still hadn’t restored aft shields yet, but it didn’t matter. As long as the ship’s sensors were working, it didn’t matter which way the Cuffe was turned. Glover still had a 360-degree view. One thing the Xindi-Arboreal had fortunately been able to set up was an auxiliary tactical console, which was being currently manned by Lt. Desvignes.

Glover had to admit the young man was a pretty good shot. The latest phaser fusillade smashed into the Dominion warship’s shields. “They’re shields are weakening,” he cried out, with obvious pleasure.

“Hit them again before they hit us,” the captain commanded.

“You got it sir,” Desvignes replied, laying on more fire.

“Their forward shields have buckled,” Gralf said before Henri could. Glover glanced back and caught the young man rolling his eyes. He grinned, before transmitting data for another evasive maneuver.

“Everyone hold on to your lunch,” the captain called out as he dove the ship under the return barrage from the Dominion ship. The bridge escaped the return fire, but unfortunately a portion of the unshielded aft section was struck, spinning the ship wildly. Glover did his best to stay planted in his seat, but the blow took out the inertial dampening field, and he soon found himself against a wall, his head pounding and slick with his blood. He quickly opened his eyes to darkness. Lighting for the entire bridge had gone out, even the emergency lights.

The captain called out, “Is everyone okay?” Only a few answered back. He tried to stand up, but his rubbery legs wouldn’t support him. He crashed back down to the deck in a heap, vomit ejecting from his mouth. Wiping the remains of the burning, bitter liquid from his lips, Glover yelled, “Someone…turn on the damn lights.”

In a wicked answer to his request, the bridge lit up courtesy of the still functioning main viewer. Terrence quickly realized what caused the illumination was more incoming fire.

“Shields,” he shouted before his voice was drowned in a rain of destruction.

*********************************************

 

[DarKush]

*********************************************


USS Cuffe
Shuttle Bay


The light stabbed into Terrence’s eyes, slicing right into the back of his brain. He tried to cover his eyes, but the light still made its way through. “Wha….” He tried to speak, but his tongue was thick and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert.

“The captain is awake,” Dr. Nemato intoned. “I’m sorry sir,” he said more quietly. Glover steeled himself against the pain, removed his hand, and opened his eyes all the way. Dr. Nemato stood in front of him, raised on his hind legs, waving a medical tricorder over him. Though the medic was classified as an Antosian dryworm, Terrence had always thought he resembled an Earth centipede.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” an equine-faced Vorta stepped into Glover’s line of sight. He immediately tried to stand and regretted it when his head throbbed painfully. “Please remain seated,” the Vorta said cheerily. “I am Geirrod,” he said, with a curt bow.

“What…do you want?”

“We already possess your vessel, so I guess…nothing,” Geirrod said.

“How?”

“After the shields went down, they transported canisters of some type of sleeping gas throughout the ship,” Glover turned in the direction of the voice. He saw that Seb N’Saba had been bound, with two Jem’Hadar soldiers standing watching over him. In fact, as far as the captain could tell Jem’Hadar were crawling all over the shuttle bay. It appeared that a good deal of the Cuffe’s crew had been captured as well, but not all. The crew was lumped together in a large tightly packed square in the middle of the shuttle bay. He was flanked by Ensign Souza and Lt. N’Saba.

“I’m sure you are taking stock of your crew,” Geirrod said, nodding. “A wise move…it is a hallmark of your concern for the men under your command. We have rounded up several groupings of your crew in various holds throughout the ship.”

“Though some remain unaccounted for,” a Founder glided into Glover’s view and Geirrod quickly stepped back, with an exaggerated bow. “The gas was not as effective as we had anticipated. It’s only a matter of time though before they are either captured or neutralized.” The Vorta remained glancing at the Founder’s feet, or what passed for feet. Terrence wasn’t so impressed. “Captain Glover,” the Changeling remarked. “I’ve heard much about you. Your actions during the retaking of Deep Space Nine as well as in the Kabrel system have given us cause for great concern.”

“I’m honored,” Terrence said, trying not to wince. He didn’t want to show as little weakness around the shape-shifter as possible. “Let’s dispense with the bullshit, what are you going to do with my ship and crew?”

“Very direct…for a solid,” the Founder appraised. “So I will afford you the same courtesy: I will take your vessel back to Cardassia Prime to serve as a symbol of the futility of the Federation’s resistance, and after you and your crew have been interrogated, you will live the remainder of your lives supporting our war aims as slaves.”

“Like hell,” Glover spat. The Vorta recoiled, and then he moved in and punched Glover with such force that the man’s head felt like it was split open.

“How dare you?” Geirrod said, mortified, his face twisted in hatred and disgust. “You are unworthy to breathe one second longer.” He drew his sidearm and jammed it into the captain’s temple. N’Saba growled, and began straining against his restraints, until the Jem’Hadar began to pummel him.

“Stop it you bastards,” Terrence roared, but knew if he made a move towards the Alshain Geirrod would pull the trigger.

“Don’t shoot him,” the Founder said. Geirrod didn’t remove the weapon. “Don’t,” the Changeling said more forcefully. The Vorta reluctantly moved the disruptor, and then he turned the pistol on Ensign Souza and fired.

“No!” Glover shouted, this time rising to his feet. He lurched toward the Vorta. Geirrod swiveled the gun back at him, but Terrence clamped down on the man’s wrist. He twisted it hard, satisfied when he heard the bones pop and the pistol fell the deck. He wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, catching one of the Jem’Hadar out of the corner of his eye too late. When he turned around to confront them, he was met with the butt of a rifle between the eyes.

**************************************

 

[DarKush]

**************************************

USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube above the Shuttle Bay


Commander Bheto placed a restraining hand on Pedro’s beefy shoulder. “Don’t do it Pedro,” she quietly warned. “Now is not the time.”

“Those bastards….you saw what they did to Ensign Souza, the captain, and N’Saba!” He said, his voice thick with anger. “They’re going to pay for that.”

“They will,” the First Officer promised, her voice as cold as an Andorian winter. “But first we have to gather our numbers and come up with a plan. We now know where they have the captain, we’ll rescue him. I promise.”

Lt. Commander Rojas signed. “All right sir. But I want to be the one that takes out that sniveling Vorta.”

“I can’t make that promise,” Bheto replied. “I think the captain might get him first.”

***************************************

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Auxiliary Control Room

In the hubbub surrounding the Jem’Hadar storming the Federation starship, Archduke Davgan had stolen away. He made his way to the Auxiliary Control Room, the last place he had seen Nixe.

Stepping across the threshold into the dim room, he called out her name. Unsurprisingly there was no response. He walked around the room, checking the dark corners, even scouring the floor for any sign of his servant. Eventually his eyes spied a pile of dark ash. He knelt beside it, running his fingers through the crumbling flakes.

The Phalkerian noble was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the Jem’Hadar soldier carefully approaching him from behind. “What are you doing?” The man asked, causing Davgan to jump to his feet. He turned around, but before he could respond the soldier placed a forearm to his throat and drove him into a wall. “The Founder told you to remain on the bridge.” Davgan gurgled, trying to speak, unable to, he pointed toward the pile. The reptilian soldier followed the choking aristocrat’s frantic gesture. Immediately he released the man, and dashed over to the pile. He fell to his knees, and a keening wail emitted from his lips.

Rubbing his throat, Davgan’s fear was momentarily overtaken by his curiosity. “Wha-what is it?” He cautiously approached the keening soldier.

The man slumped forward, all malevolence gone. “A Founder….this is the remains of a Founder.”

********************************************

 

[CeJay]

Even Glover's hotshot piloting skills didn't get them out of this one. And now the enemy is amongst them. But as long as just one member of the crew remains free there is hope for Cuffe.

And then there is Canfield in his underpowered ship but with a number of tricks up his sleeve coming to the rescue.

And most intriguing of all, the Founder may or may not be who they think she is. A possible ally or a deadly foe ... oh what a great yarn.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Looks like Bheto and Pedro get to do their John McClain imitations. And what is going on with the Founder? I wonder if Davgan's servant was the Starfleet mole after all...

You're spinning a nice web here, DarKush...I'm enjoying it.

 

[DarKush]

********************************************

USS Cuffe
Arboretum


“This is the best we could do?” Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas glumly asked as he looked at the far two few crewmen standing nervously before him.

“It’s more than enough,” Commander Amanisha Bheto confidently replied. “In order to harass the Jem’Hadar we’ll need to hit hard and be quick about it. Small strike forces work best.” The Andorian concluded.

“We don’t even have enough people for a volley ball match,” the Chief Engineer complained.

“This is the strangest pep talk I’ve heard,” Transporter Chief Balk said. The burly Tellarite, and ship’s gossip hub, scowled at Rojas. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but sometimes it better to keep your opinions to yourself.” The engineer glared at him, opening his mouth to retort, but Bheto gestured for him to keep quiet.

She quickly reviewed the crew she had at her disposal: Chief Larn, the Lurian recreations officer, Technician Dokkal, an Ithenite computer specialist, Naren Chopra from Stellar Cartography, Balha, a Dimoran from the Security branch, the Grazerite Nurse Wyd, Valerie Cha and the Axanarii Risla, both assistant engineers. Only Balha and the engineers were armed. The Jem’Hadar had long since secured the armory. Wyd had a laser scalpel in his satchel. Amanisha stopped herself from shaking her head in concern. There had to be a way to rescue the captain, save the crew, and defeat the Jem’Hadar, she just didn’t know how. She sighed, “Right now I need ideas people.”

Everyone looked around, avoiding her insistent gaze. “Well…” Dokkal started hesitantly, “it appears that Lt. Gralf was able to lock the Dominion out of the mainframe. It should take them hours until they figure out how to gain full control of the ship’s systems.”

“That is if they don’t get the information from torturing Gralf or someone else,” The rodent-like Balha twitched her pinkish nose in disgust.

“Perhaps we should give those horny toads something else to worry about then,” Valerie Cha offered, cringing when the reptilian Risla hissed at her description of the Jem’Hadar. “Sorry,” she replied.

“What do you mean lieutenant?” Bheto pressed; she could save the lecture on respecting diversity for later.

“Let’s give them so much to work with that they’ll be too busy to torture anyone,” Cha elaborated. “I think we should take out our propulsion system.”

Pedro smacked his head. “Not my babies.” The Andorian smiled. Seeing the look on her face, the hefty engineer’s shoulders slumped. “I have to admit it does sound like a good idea.”

“I think we should go one better,” the First Officer suggested. “I think we should retake Main Engineering.” The doubt in the room was palpable.

“Sir, in all honesty how do you think we fare against a unit of Jem’Hadar?” Chief Larn asked.

“We have the element of surprise on our side,” Pedro said.

“And we’ve got me,” the squat, copper-hued Dokkal thumped his chest. “I might be able to do something with the power or environmental systems in Main Engineering to help out.”

“Thanks Mr. Dokkal,” Bheto said.

“I can see fairly well in the dark,” Risla said, “and I’ve been waiting to sink my claws in the Jem’Hadar since Commander Rojas gave the order to vacate Engineering.”

“And don’t forget the crew still down there,” Rojas offered. “If the crew in the Shuttle bay is awake it’s a good bet that the Engineering crew is as well, and they can assist us in overpowering the Jem’Hadar.”

“There could be a lot of casualties,” Wyd pondered ominously.

“We don’t have a lot of options,” Pedro said sharply. “This is about the best of a bad lot.”

“It’s risky, and foolish, but it just might work,” Bheto said. “Let’s move out.”

***********************************************

Dominion Battle Cruiser

As soon as Geirrod stepped off the transporter pad he made a threat. “This engine problem had truly better be worth my time or the Founder will hear of your incompetence!” The Jem’Hadar satisfactorily recoiled. But the warrior recovered his reserve quickly.

“Come this way,” the Sixth gestured as he walked out of the transporter room. A Fourth stood outside the door.

“This way doesn’t lead to Engineering,” Geirrod balked.

“Sir, we are not going to Engineering,” the Fourth revealed. “We…needed to concoct a compelling enough reason to bring you back to the ship.” The Vorta blanched, stepping back. The few times the Jem’Hadar had mutinied were well known among his people. He prayed that he wasn’t about to become a sad footnote in the history of the Vorta.

The Fourth chuckled. “If we wanted to kill you would be dead already,” he said. “Follow us.” Geirrod nodded imperiously, trying to regain the upper hand.

“Lead the way,” he commanded. The two Jem’Hadar led him to the Auxiliary Control Room.

Immediately upon entering the room, the hairs rose on the back of Geirrod’s neck. He saw another Jem’Hadar, a Fifth kneeling in the center of the room, a haunting, low wail escaping his lips. Archduke Davgan was cowering in a corner of the room. The man’s face was covered with welts and bruises.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Vorta demanded, surging forward. He was about to grab the Fifth by the shoulder and turn him around when he saw the pile of black ash at his feet. Instantly his legs wavered, and he sank slowly to the ground beside the quivering Jem’Hadar. “It-it can’t be?”

“Our scans confirmed it,” the Fourth said mournfully. “Those ashes were once a Founder.”

“Impossible,” Geirrod said, though he wasn’t even sure it was him speaking; his mind was reeling. “The Founder Ipotane is currently aboard the Starfleet vessel, and I am sure she would’ve informed me if another god had chosen to bless our mission with their presence.” The Fourth nodded with an unnerving understanding, before turning toward the Phalkerian.

“But this one has an interesting tale,” he replied, unsheathing his kar’takin and pointing it in the quavering, purple-skinned man’s direction. “Speak!” he demanded.

Davgan hurriedly repeated his story about Ipotane’s suspicions that his servant Nixe was a Changeling. The pile of ash corroborated that assessment, but what disturbed Geirrod was why Ipotane would kill Nixe? Until Odo, no Founder had ever harmed another, and what could possess a god to strike down one of their kin? Could it be out of some misguided sense of loyalty that the young god Odo seems to possess, or could it be something far more terrifying? Can gods go mad? The Vorta just didn’t know, and he resented Davgan for presenting him with this damning conundrum.

“What are your orders?” The Fourth intruded on Geirrod’s thoughts. He wanted to lash into the man, to cry out that he didn’t know, but it would be too unseemly. He needed more time to sort this out; perhaps he could find the answer to Ipotane’s behavior from the Founder on Cardassia Prime. He clung to that idea like a golden thread of hope, a lifeline that kept him from falling into the abyss of madness himself.

“Tell no one of this,” Geirrod demanded. “Collect the Founder’s remains and personally deliver them to me.” He turned towards the Phalkerian. “This didn’t happen. You didn’t see anything did you? Your servant died in the initial assault, correct?” The Vorta waited the man out until he mumbled in compliance. Geirrod actually managed a smile before turning back to the Fifth still kneeling by the dead Founder. “Fourth, dispose of that one. His mind is gone.”

The Fourth, still holding the kar’takin, lifted it up and drove its blade into the man’s neck. The Jem’Hadar Fifth spasmed silently several times before the Fourth ripped out his blade and threw the man’s dead body away from the Founder.

***********************************************