Dark Territory: Fall Out

[DarKush]

Dark Territory: Fall Out is the latest installment in the ongoing Dark Territory saga. It takes place after the events that occurred in Star: Trek Gibraltar's Prophets and Loss

Author's Acknowledgements: I would like to thank Gibraltar and Dnoth for the use of their characters. To the readers, I hope you enjoy this latest journey into Dark Territory.

 

[DarKush]

Part One: Knife's Edge

Part One: Knife’s Edge


USS Valour
Sector 443
September 2376


“Is your captain always so disagreeable?” The attractive Boslic transport captain whispered in Commander Marc Bolden’s ear.

He shrugged. “Yeah,” he remarked, punctuating it with a quick grin. “But it’s not personal. The captain just hates being left out of the action. I mean, you guys took more fire in the last couple weeks than we have since the end of the war.”

The Boslic shuddered. “Believe me; it wasn’t as easy or pleasant as you make it sound. My crew is mainly civilians you know, they’re not accustomed to being fired upon.”

“I’m glad there are some people who still aren’t,” Bolden said. “Listen, I didn’t mean to make light of you or your crew. You’ve done great work, without the shields, weapons, or ablative armor of this baby right here,” he paused to rap his knuckles on one of the ship’s upper bulkheads. “Without you, hundreds, maybe thousands of Ellorans and Tarlac might’ve died.”

The transport captain blushed, a pleasant shade of violet splashed over her yellowish cheeks. “Thank you commander.”

“You’re welcome captain,” Bolden smiled again.

“Please, call me Delara,” she replied, matching his smile. He nodded.

“Sure,” he replied. “Delara, that’s a beautiful name.” Before the Boslic responded, Bolden’s combadge chirped. As soon as he activated it, his commander’s strident voice barked.

“Commander Bolden, have you finished escorting Captain Delara to the transporter room?”

“I guess I am now,” he muttered.

“What was that?” The captain asked again.

“Nothing sir,” he looked askance at Delara. “We’re almost at the transporter room now.”

“I’m sure the captain can find her way from wherever you are,” his commander said. “I need you on the bridge…at once!”

“Right away captain. Bolden out.” He sighed, smiling wanly at Delara. “Duty calls. Perhaps some other time?”

The Boslic matched his smile again. “You got it Starfleet.”

****

USS Valour
(Main Bridge)


Commander Bolden smoothly took his seat in the ring of consoles surrounding the command well. Captain Nandali Kojo sat ramrod straight in her seat. A beautiful woman, lean, cinnamon skinned, ash blonde hair, and her face dotted with the alluring spots of her Kriosian birthright, it still amazed him how intimidating Kojo could be, even after he had saved her life on more than one occasion.

Of course, she had saved his life and the lives of everyone on board the Defiant-class Valour more times than he could count during the war. That’s why the crew remained loyal to Kojo and was tolerant of the woman’s less than sunny disposition.

But even Bolden noticed that the captain had been more on edge than usual. Knowing what he did of her personal history, Marc had a few guesses why.

She detested being put on the periphery of the Alshain crisis, protecting convoys instead of taking the fight to the Alshain head on. Kojo’s birthworld, Krios Prime, had been subjugated by the Valtese, allies of the Alshain Exarchate for decades before becoming a Klingon protectorate.

Surprisingly the Alshain-dominated occupation had been worse than becoming a Klingon subject world and Kojo continued to carry a burning hatred for the both the Valtese and the Alshain.

The captain had been vocal in criticizing the Federation’s admission of the Alshain into the Federation Alliance during the Dominion War. She had argued, before the Admiralty, and later the press that the Alshain could not be trusted.

Kojo’s lack of political finesse had nearly cost her command of the Valour, but her service record shielded her from much of the political firestorm she ignited.

Even her former commanding officer, Captain Terrence Glover, who had sponsored Kojo’s promotion, spoke out against the Kriosian’s incendiary comments. He had said they hurt the war effort in addition to being disturbingly biased. To Bolden’s knowledge, Kojo hadn’t spoken to the man since.

However, the months after the war proved Kojo had been right all along. The Alshain had used their alliance ties to occupy much of the former Son’a Imperium. Along the way, they had sought to remove the Son’a, Ellorans, Tarlac, and recently the Ba’ku. After months of Federation inaction, Captain Picard had led a taskforce into the Briar Patch to put a stop to the rampage.

A shooting war had began, but quickly resolved into an uneasy cease-fire after a coup occurred on Alshain Proper, the ruling Exarch being replaced by a junta. The junta had recalled all Alshain forces, largely ending the possibility of a widening conflict, except for a few Alshain that had gone rogue and were entangling shipping lanes near Alshain space in hit and run attacks.

Kojo, the widow of a Klingon warrior, mother of half-Klingon children, and a true adherent of the warrior ethos, was disappointed to no end that the Valour had not been chosen for the taskforce.

Bolden had shared in the captain’s commiseration, but he hadn’t been able to tell her how he really felt about the subject. He knew that Kojo was a toxic subject for many of her peers, and the commander also knew that many didn’t trust her: not where the Alshain were concerned.

Putting Kojo in the thick of the Briar Patch would’ve been like throwing a match on a puddle of dilithium extract. Deep down Bolden shared their trepidation. But of course he would never tell the captain that. Marc had grown used to his head remaining attached to his shoulders.

“So glad you could join us Mr. Bolden,” Kojo smiled wickedly. Marc nodded.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world sir…whatever this is?”

Kojo pointed at the screen. “Magnify.” The Ops officer complied. The new hologrid that had recently replaced the forward viewscreen reconfigured to show a larger picture of three small catamaran-hulled ships approaching fast.
Bolden gasped. The captain might just get her pound of flesh after all, he thought with some trepidation. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Yes Mr. Bolden, those are Alshain war ships, and they are on an intercept course.” Kojo replied. “Howler-class interceptors to be exact.”

“Captain, I suggest we get the convoy out of here now,” Bolden said, “Before they get here.”

“ETA in eleven minutes,” Lt. Meelek-Zar, the Skorr Operations officer, said without being prompted.

“Red alert,” Kojo said, sitting back in her seat. The lighting immediately dimmed on the bridge, and klaxons wailed. The captain motioned for them to be deactivated before continuing, “Raise shields and power weapons.”

“Captain,” Bolden paused to make sure he phrased his comments correctly, “I think our primary mission should be escorting these ships safely to Yashklin’IV. The refugees there are in desperate need of these medical supplies.”

The tone of Kojo’s voice was unnervingly sweet. “The Boslic ship has light armament and shielding. It is more than enough to protect the other three vessels. I think its best that we take on these ships now. We vastly outmatch them in firepower. Whatever advantage they might have in speed, if we tie them up now it will allow the other ships to go to warp.” Kojo paused, turning away from Bolden to the tactical console. “Commander Carrick, send a message to Captain Delara and the other ships. Tell them to go to maximum warp now. We’ll provide cover fire for them until they’ve escaped.”

“Aye sir,” Lt. Commander Kirce Carrick said, quickly relaying the message. Seconds later, she looked up, “The ships have gone to warp sir.”

Kojo nodded. “Excellent, now let’s have some fun.” At that instant Bolden didn’t know what he was more afraid of, the attack vessels running toward them or the bloodthirsty gleam in his captain’s eyes.
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Exarchal Grounds Nature Preserve
Alshain Proper


Chairman Orthlin C’Oemnm could get used to this. After another frustrating day moderating arguments instead of governing, C’Oemnm had been relieved beyond measure to shed his heavy clothes and his even weightier responsibilities to lope through the nature preserve as if he were a pup again.

Exarch Jedalla had spent several fortunes to build his elaborate private nature reserve, and he had populated the well-secured woodland with all manner of dangerous, though surely tasty prey from both the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Though the myriad wedge-shaped arcologies that dominated Alshain Proper’s skyline each had nature reserves filled primarily with native flora and fauna, there was no substitute for fresh air or animals untainted by modulated living.

Only the Benzite geostructures rivaled the Alshain arcologies as blends of architecture and ecology but the Benzites dependence upon their hyperstructures had recently become evident after that planet had erupted into mass hysteria after a wave of malfunctions swept their habitats. Orthlin feared a similar fate for his people. He was well aware that his people viewed their habitats with pride, models of culture and advancement that were prominent reminders that weren’t mindless beasts. So, it would be hard to convince them to return to a more natural state of living. Even the formidable Jedalla had treaded cautiously in that regard.

Though Jedalla, the Peerage and many others publicly disapproved of the old, feral ways of their ancestors, there was something primal and very instinctual about the hunt. It was something that reached down through the ages and touched each Alshain heart and rumbled each Alshain stomach.

C’Oemnm’s mobility was terrible. He could feel the shameful burning in his chest after only a few miles run, and the aches in his joints sounded loud in his ears. He howled in disgust and despair. The noise startled a young fawn from its hiding place. It darted in front of him, the smell of fear an intoxicating aroma to the Alshain. He took after the frightened fawn, using his knowledge of the land to shore up his physical deficiencies. When he got close enough, he swiped at the fawn’s leg, causing the creature to crash into a gigantic tree. He set upon her immediately, not allowing her to get up.

He broke the fawn’s neck before he began to feed. His dull teeth made the rending and tearing of flesh problematic, but his hunger and the exhilaration of a fresh kill drove him onward.

By C’Oemnm’s estimation, it must have been hours before Nauarch Yol A’Yaud found him. His military attaché, in full military dress, crashed through the forest, a phalanx of soldiers behind him. Ignoring even the customary sacredness of C’Oemnm’s feast, the younger man blurted, “The Exarch has escaped!”

C’Oemnm nearly choked on the meat he was gnawing. He spat it out before replying, “How is that possible? The Unguis had him imprisoned at one of their secret installations? They ensured me of that!”

“We were fools to trust them,” A’Yaud snarled. “And we might pay with our lives for your oversight.”

“Where is Jedalla now?” C’Oemnm’s hunger had vanished. He stood to his full, impressive height. He did his best to wipe the drying blood from around his muzzle and mouth. “He’s certain to be making his way here, and we have to be ready for him.” C’Oemnm had been shocked that Jedalla had relinquished power so easily. It was completely at odds with everything Orthlin knew of the man, and he had known him for years. It had pained him deeply to depose the Exarch, but Jedalla had left him no choice. His plan to obliterate several Federation worlds in response to their arrogant intrusion into Alshain affairs would’ve surely led to the destruction of all that he and the Peerage had built over the last two decades.

Jedalla’s reaction and Orthlin’s conflicted loyalties had caused him to spare Jedalla’s life. The former ruler had been placed in one of the many secret prisons run by the Unguis, the Exarchate’s secret police. Though the Unguis chief sat on the committee, he hadn’t been able to totally insure the loyalty of his operatives.

To be truthful, Orthlin was surprised that the populace had taken Jedalla’s removal as easily as they had. But there had been a growing restlessness among the citizenry, open acts of defiance, and calls for Jedalla’s restoration. It appeared that the shock of the coup was starting to wear off. Now the people were waking to the reality that centuries of Alshain history, tradition, and custom had been subverted.

C’Oemnm knew that in the court of public opinion, his nuanced reasons for his actions would never hold weight to Jedalla’s rightful claim to rule. C’Oemnm now understood that only by committing regicide would his committee stand a chance to consolidate power and steer the Alshain toward a path of peaceful coexistence with the Federation and the rest of its Beta Quadrant neighbors.

“I have already alerted the other committee members. They await you at the appointed place.” A’Yaud said crisply.

“Excellent work Nauarch,” C’Oemnm smiled gravely. Perhaps then might have a chance to stop Jedalla before word of his escape spread. “If we move quickly, we might be able to prevent civil war.”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Yashk’lin IV
(Refugee Processing Center)
Three days later…


For once Lt. Jasmine Glover was glad to be wearing a biosuit, and she felt awful for it. People were dying around her, consumed by a horrendous outbreak of Uradai fever and she was happy she wasn’t one of them. Though it was the truth, it still felt like a terrible and incredibly selfish thing.

Jasmine promised to beat herself up more about it later once she had finished installing the replacement isolinear chips to the center’s primary generator. She couldn’t believe anyone still used isolinear chips or rods instead of bio-gel circuitry anymore, but Glover had to remind herself that she wasn’t in the Federation.

The Yashk’ani was a fairly advanced species, but a decade or more away from the Federation’s level of technology. She was certain that was a strong incentive for the Yaskh’ani to offer Yashk’lin IV as a temporary haven for refugees escaping the carnage in the Briar Patch. It was a nice way to earn brownie points on the way to a Federation membership, Jasmine thought, and then began to castigate herself again: when had she become so cynical?

And why was she raking herself over the coals so much? She knew the answer, didn’t want to go there, but couldn’t help herself. Jasmine was looking for something to obsess over instead of her last conversation with Terrence.

It had been almost two weeks since Terrence had visited her aboard the medical ship Meharry, her new posting. She still remembered the joy on his face when he saw her for the first time in months, and she could never forget the light that died in his eyes when she told him she wanted a divorce.

Jasmine had anticipated, girded herself for, and actually wanted Terrence to argue or explode at her request. But he had done none of those things. He had merely sat there, quiet as a stone, blinking for an interminable time, his eyes glazed over as if he had momentarily left his body.

Jasmine had never seen her husband react like that, and it had scared her. She had almost called Sickbay, when Terrence snapped out of his trance. Without saying anything to her, he merely got up and left.

Jasmine still was disturbed by how easily Terrence had given up. She had never known the man to relent. Even though he had sent her a response via subspace asking her to reconsider, the message had been rote, robotic, given by a man who seemed to have already accepted the inevitable.

She knew Terrence was going through a rough time. He had recently lost the Aegis and seventy-five crewmen, and his father, former Admiral Samson Glover, a man Jasmine loved as much as her own Papi, was missing. Terrence had taken an extended leave to find him. There was a part of Jasmine that wished she were part of that hunt. If not only to mend fences with Terrence again, but to make sure Samson came back to them safe and sound.

However Jasmine felt her place was here, aboard the Meharry, and she was sure Samson would understand. From what he had told her off his wife Deitra, Terrence’s mother, the admiral had been very sympathetic to the pull of destiny. And Jasmine felt this posting was destined, it was her opportunity to return to engineering, to shake off the fear that had encapsulated her due to the injuries that had taken an arm, a leg, and more importantly, her ability to conceive in the Engineering section of the Mandela, during the Dominion War.

Since that accident there had been nothing but darkness. Not even Terrence’s formidable force of will had been able to penetrate the shroud that had fell across Jasmine’s shoulders, and she knew she hadn’t been a good wife or partner to him.

Jasmine had been struggling with her own doubts, her own feelings of worthlessness for far too long, and she knew she could never be truly worthy of receiving and giving Terrence the love he deserved until she had conquered her demons. But she needed to do that alone, away from Terrence, to prove to herself that she could do it without him. Terrence could never understand that, or so she had convinced herself, and she had pushed him away, trying to give herself the necessary space to rebuild herself.

Now she realized she had perhaps gone about it the wrong way, had been too harsh in her treatment of Terrence, but Jasmine had to make sure her husband didn’t intrude on this time. She just hoped that he would still be there when she was ready.

After she inserted the final chip, the generator rumbled before sputtering back to life. “There,” she said, with mild pride at a job completed, “Good work team,” she said to the small engineering crew that had accompanied her.

This was Jasmine’s second time around as Chief Engineer and she was still working out the kinks as she sought to build a rapport with her new subordinates. The previous engineering chief had been beloved by the crew, and many still hadn’t gotten over his retirement. Though none had voiced such sentiments to her personally, Jasmine had heard about them through the Meharry grapevine.

“Would’ve gone faster if we had beamed these guys down some bio-gel circuits,” Junior Grade Lieutenant Luna McCall grumbled. Jasmine frowned. The grapevine had given Jasmine advance warning about the troublesome McCall as well as about her powerful mother. Luna had recently been transferred to the ship after an imbroglio aboard the Sacagawea.

Jasmine hadn’t been able to glean any details about the exact nature of the controversy, only that McCall’s mother’s clout couldn’t prevent the young woman from being shunted down to a less prestigious posting.

Though Jasmine knew of the value of gossip, she didn’t always trust it, and had sought to develop a relationship with woman in spite of it. So far, things hadn’t gone so well. Luna was headstrong and argumentative. In part that was one reason she had picked the woman to assist her, to preclude any more arguments with her colleagues.

“Starfleet isn’t in the business of giving away technology to non-member worlds, even warp-capable ones,” Glover reminded the woman. “As Captain M’Bira had told you when you broached the subject before.”

“I know,” McCall whined, brushing an errant blonde strand away from her eyes, “still, bio-gel circuitry isn’t as prone to glitches as this old isolinear crap, and plus it would’ve made our jobs a lot easier.”

“If our jobs were easy, they wouldn’t be work,” Jasmine tried to joke, but McCall didn’t even crack a smile. “Let’s get ready to wrap this up.” She ordered McCall to collect all of their tools.

While the woman was doing that Jasmine tapped her compin and checked in with the rest of her scattered team. She had sent two engineers a piece to the four generators spread throughout the large camp.

After she had checked on the progress with each team, Jasmine contacted the ship. She was looking forward to finally peeling herself out of the biosuit, but really looking forward to getting away from Lt. McCall.

****

 

[Gibraltar]

Re: Dark Territory: Fall Out

This is off to a great start, DarKush. I’m always pleased to see more of the Alshain. And Kojo’s background, as provided in The Needs of the One helps give more perspective on her hatred for the Exarchate. Figures she’d end up commanding a Defiant-class, it fits her personality perfectly.

And yep… C’Oemnm should have done away with Jedalla. Oh, well… woulda, coulda, shoulda.

I'm eagerly awaiting more.

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****
Cenobium Sanctum of Oshon
Alshain Proper


Striking down the syndic that tried to block his entrance into the temple had done nothing to cool the fires racing through his blood. Grenadier Lor V’Lon was oblivious to the howls and wails of protests, of the ancient curses that were hurled at him. He had one objective and not even Garrm himself would stop him. In fact, V’Lon was certain that it was Garrm, patron god of warriors, who now guided his hand.

He found Syndic Yarkedi kneeling before a towering bloodstone statue of the goddess Oshon, the patron deity of sacrifice. V’Lon smiled. The moment was too ironically appropriate not to have been designed by the gods.

He roughly grabbed the man by the neck and yanked him around. “You caused this!” He spat at the man. “You sought to strip away our Exarch’s right to rule. You are the true blasphemer!” The syndic had been part of the traitorous plot to depose Exarch Jedalla. He had splashed Itrob bile upon the ruler, seeking to turn him into a nameless one. But everyone saw through the deception.

Why the Exarch had allowed the deceivers to go through with their plot V’Lon couldn’t fathom. However, the wind was ripe with the news of Jedalla’s return and he wished to present a special gift to him upon his return. Holding the quietly praying priest with one hand, V’Lon neatly loped off his head with the sword he held in his other hand.

Dropping the headless body, V’Lon licked the blood that spurted on his face while snatching the syndic’s head before it hit the ground. He held it aloft before the stone eyes of Oshon. “May the unworthy blood of this traitor awake your hunger for more such as him, oh great goddess Oshon, for surely more sacrifices will be made before this day is over.”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Dark Territory: Fall Out

Gibraltar said:
This is off to a great start, DarKush. I’m always pleased to see more of the Alshain. And Kojo’s background, as provided in The Needs of the One helps give more perspective on her hatred for the Exarchate. Figures she’d end up commanding a Defiant-class, it fits her personality perfectly.


And yep… C’Oemnm should have done away with Jedalla. Oh, well… woulda, coulda, shoulda.

I'm eagerly awaiting more.

Thanks Gibraltar. I couldn't have done this story without you. You really set up a nice background that made this story easier to write and the Alshain-Federation conflict easier to understand and hopefully build upon. Also, thanks again for allowing me to use the Gibraltar crew. I had great fun writing them. I've always liked writing for ol' Sandy though.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Dark Territory: Fall Out

You're off to a great start here, DarKush setting the stage for the Alshain-Federation conflict. Gibraltar's right, Kojo belongs in command of a Defiant class and it's looking like she's finally going to be able to sate her bloodlust against the Alshain--but what will the cost be to her crew and to others?

And Jasmine has tons of personal demons of her own to exorcise with no guarantee that Terrence will be there when and if she finally does get rid of them.

And the Alshain look like they're headed for civil war--these things almost always have a nasty habit of spilling over...

Another Dark Territory tale and I couldn't be happier!

 

[Dnoth]

Re: Dark Territory: Fall Out

I laughed too when I read Kojo had a Defiant class, as Gibraltar said, perfect.

It'll be interesting to see if the Glovers will save their marriage or not.

Great work, can't wait to read more!

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

USS Meharry
In orbit of Yashk’lin IV
Sector 443

(Captain’s Ready Room)


Captain M’Bira of Cait put on her best face, but she couldn’t stop her whiskers from twitching nervously.

“You can’t leave us?” Burgrave Sarvanaga said, her brow crinkling with displeasure. “Not with a pandemic on our hands.”

“I have orders,” M’Bira remarked. “We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“That’s not good enough,” Sarvanaga said, standing. M’Bira followed suit.

“I’ll leave a medical team and a security detachment on the planet. That’s the best I can do at the moment.”

Sarvanaga folded her four arms and snorted loudly. “I will take my leave of you then.”

M’Bira put on her best face. She tapped her compin. “Commander Sidhani, please ready an escort to accompany the Burgrave to the transporter room.”

“Aye Captain,” was the crisp reply. M’Bira gestured toward the door. Sarvanaga left the room without saying another word. The captain understood the woman’s frustration. In an effort to build closer ties with the Federation the Yashk’ani had agreed to take in Elloran and Tarlac refugees fleeing from the Alshain pogrom in the Briar Patch.

The Uradai fever outbreak in the camps had spread quickly to the Yashk’ani population, and as the deaths mounted the patience of the Yashk’ani citizens on the planet and in the central government had rapidly diminished. The Meharry shared the heavens with one Yaskh’ani warship, sent to ensure that no one ships left the planet’s spaceports.

The Meharry had recently relieved the Satcher, a sister medical ship, but their medical supplies had quickly been overtaken by the needs of the infected. M’Bira had been waiting anxiously for days for the arrival of more anti-viral medicine. The shipment might finally allow them to contain the disease before it engulfed the entire planet.

From the news M’Bira had recently received from Admiral Khamba at Starbase 116, she knew that things had gotten more complicated. Both the convoy and the Defiant-class vessel they were escorting them had failed to report in.

Though they were still several hours from their expected arrival time at Yashk’lin IV, their failure to maintain contact with the starbase led both the Captain and the Admiral to fear that the convoy might’ve run into trouble.

It was possible that the convoy had run afoul of Alshain marauders or the Phalkerian Domain, the bullies of Sector 443, which was almost as bad. Of course there wasn’t much the Meharry could do in a firefight, but she had advanced sensors and a crew skilled in search and rescue operations.

Khamba had ordered the Meharry to investigate the communications lapse with the convoy and render assistance if needed. The kindly Chelon admiral had promised to send additional help if necessary, but M’Bira knew they would be days or light-years away. Meharry was likely on her own. Still not accustomed to the fourth pip on her collar, M’Bira only hoped she was ready to face whatever might be laying in wait for them.
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Space Station Lemuria
Nautilus Café
A week later…


“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Commander Liana Ramirez groused good-naturedly, holding her glass of Tenarian Schnapps up to the light, entranced by the rainbow effect every time light hit the beverage. Commander William Riker grinned. “This isn’t poisoned is it?”

“Come on Commander Ramirez, I’m not so bad once you get to know me,” he laughed softly before taking a sip from his glass. “We had a run-in or two, but that’s in the past. I took exception to your opinions about Captain Picard’s motivations for the peacekeeping mission, and I don’t make any apologies for that. I’m as loyal to my captain as you are.”

Commander Ramirez paused, blinking a few seconds before meekly nodding. “Of course you are.” The truth was she hadn’t been all that loyal to her commanding officer Donald Sandhurst. In fact, she had regretted being posted to the Gibraltar, and had fought the assignment since the day she had arrived.

Over the last several months, she had come to respect Captain Sandhurst and had grown closer to the crew. However, she couldn’t help but feel her time on the Gibraltar was a holding action, a stepping stone to bigger things. And because of that she remained a little distant. Liana didn’t want things to get too sticky when the time came for her to leave.

“Though I stand by what I said, I also hope I’m a big enough person to respect differing opinions and empathize with other views.” Riker added. “After all, we’re all in the same Fleet.”

“Fair enough,” Ramirez said, still not quite ready to lower her shields.

“No hard feelings then?” Riker asked. Liana let the question hang for a few seconds, as a myriad of scenarios danced through her imagination. Though there was a part of her that wanted to tell Riker just where he could stick his feelings, Ramirez also knew that Riker was a fellow officer and he had a right to be wrong and an asshole on occasion.

“No hard feelings,” Ramirez finally said. “If you say so, it’s all water under the bridge.” Though Ramirez said that, she knew it would take her a long while to fully believe it. A lot of feelings and egos were bruised over the last couple months.

Riker’s grin broadened. “Please call me Will.”

“Okay Will…and I guess you can call me Liana,” the Schnapps eased down her throat, cooling and warming her at the same time. “This is a great drink. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“I can’t take the credit. Beverly-Doctor Crusher recommended it. You said that it many planets imbibe the stuff for its supposed medicinal properties. Some believe it’s the cause of the Tenarian Glow.”

“You can’t be serious.” Liana was incredulous. The Tenarians were considered a very physically attractive race, right up there with the Deltans. Some called their attractiveness ‘the Glow’ and many others had been trying to divine the secrets behind the Glow as if it were a cooking recipe for centuries. “I guess people have to have a reason for everything.”

“I suppose,” Riker said. “So, what’s next for Gibraltar?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Ramirez replied. “We haven’t gotten our orders. Truth be told, I think the crew really needs a break so there’s no rush.”

“I understand what you mean,” Riker said. “That little ship of yours has been through some rough times from what I’ve heard.”

“ ‘Little ship?’” Liana’s hackles started to rise. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” Riker pleaded. “Really. Gibraltar’s a fine ship. Captain Picard can’t stop talking about that personal tour Captain Sandhurst gave him. It was a really thoughtful gesture, a nice olive branch. I wish I had had the time to join them.”

Mollified, Ramirez calmed down. “I’m sure it did mean a lot to Captain Picard. I mean, Gibraltar’s a living link to the past. One of the few Connies still out there.”

“Yeah,” Riker replied, his tone wistful. “The tour made Picard think about meeting Jim Kirk on Veridian III. Also Montgomery Scott, Admiral McCoy, and Ambassador Spock. He said standing on Gibraltar’s bridge allowed him to imagine what standing on the bridge of Kirk’s Enterprise was like, and it gave him a better sense of who they were and what they accomplished than he had before.”

Liana smiled, despite being slightly annoyed at Riker’s obvious name dropping. “I’m sure that Captain Sandhurst will be pleased to know that. You might not believe it, but he respects Captain Picard a lot. Captain Sandhurst was honored to be a part of Taskforce Peacekeeper despite all the head butting.”

“And we were honored to have him…despite all the head butting,” Picard’s sonorous voice cut through her buzz. Both Riker and Ramirez shot out of their seats. Picard was accompanied by Anij, one of the Ba’ku rescued from the clutches of Alshain marauders.

“Captain Picard,” they said in unison. He waved for them to retake their seats.

“At ease Commanders,” he said, “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all,” both Riker and Ramirez said together. They both looked at each and grinned sheepishly.

“Excellent,” Picard said. He sidestepped them and plucked two chairs from an empty table. He gestured for Anij to sit down, and then he followed. Almost instantly, a waiter appeared at the table to take their order. After the drinks had been delivered, Picard smiled with pleasure after his first sip. “Saint Emilion, a good vintage.”

“It does taste very sweet, crisp,” Anij offered. “I like it.” Picard nodded in agreement.

“Though I must inform you that Saint Emilion pales in comparison to Chateau Picard,” the Enterprise captain said, his voice filled with exaggerated pride. Anij playfully rolled her eyes.

“So, I’ve heard ad nausea.” The beautiful Ba’ku drolly remarked. The four chatted amiably for almost an hour. Liana was pleasantly surprised that Picard didn’t totally fit his stiff shirt reputation. Underneath the cool, almost Vulcan-like exterior he was a warm, and even at times, funny person, with a very well-honed dry wit.

She definitely began to understand how the man elicited such devotion from his crew and across the Fleet. Before meeting him, Ramirez had often thought something was deficient in the supposedly top notch officers surrounding him that truly prevented them from leaving Picard’s side.

Now she realized that Riker, Data, LaForge, and the others chose to stay aboard, even though they could’ve each had their own commands by now. Captain Picard had been able to do a rare thing, turning a crew into a family. Ramirez had to admit that she felt familial strains forming among the Gibraltar crew, but she had been keeping away from getting entangled so far.

Seeing the mutual respect and affection Picard and Riker held for each other, it made her wonder if maybe that’s what Starfleet service was all about, building those kind of life changing, life affirming bonds, and not a lonely quest to the top.

For some reason that thought disturbed her. Unable to stop herself, Ramirez started withdrawing into a shell. “Is everything all right Commander Ramirez?” Picard asked, concern etched on his face. Anij was also frowning.

“Yes sir,” Liana said. “I’m sorry…I was just thinking.”

“I’m sure you have a lot on your mind,” Picard said. “The last two months were harrowing at times for us all. And though we didn’t always agree…” the captain let the statement drift, alluding to the tension that had built up between the Enterprise and Gibraltar crews during the mission, “In the end we accomplished our objectives and saved lives. That’s the most important thing and the Gibraltar crew played a significant part in that.”

Liana blushed, not expecting such a high assessment from the Enterprise captain of her crew’s actions in the Briar Patch. If anything, she thought Picard would’ve put Captain Sandhurst on report for the actions he took to save Lt. Commander Pell. “Thank you sir.”

“No need to thank me,” Picard said. “Thank you. A lot of lives were saved because of your efforts.” He paused, glancing noticeably at Anij. Now, it was the flaxen Ba’ku’s turn to blush. “I will be forever in your debt. Anything I can do for you commander please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Ramirez nodded, not sure what to say. And that’s just what she did say. Picard smiled.

“I can’t believe you’re actually speechless,” Riker remarked. Ramirez nudged him with her elbow. “Oww!” Riker yelped seconds later. Laughter erupted from the table.

When Picard and Anij finally got up from the table, Riker following suit, Liana was actually sad to see them go.
She sat alone, nursing her fourth Tenarian Schnapps and gazing at the starfield glimmering through the café’s viewports.

“There should be a law against beautiful women sitting alone,” a voice broke through her reverie. Liana recognized it immediately. She fought to contain her surprising excitement. Turning around, her voice carefully modulated, Ramirez asked, “Jeff, what the hell are you doing here?”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Captain’s Yacht Cousteau
(In orbit of Starbase Lemuria)


What the hell are they doing here? Captain Donald Sandhurst thought, though he was too polite to ask. He merely looked at Lt. Commander Pell Ojana. The Bajoran woman gave him a pained smile.

“This is sweet,” Ensign Brett Lightner remarked, agape at the yacht’s console. “It must be good to be a captain huh, especially of a Sovereign?”

“This is quite an engineering marvel,” Lt. Ashok said with an engineer’s eye. Sandhurst couldn’t disagree with the imposing Bolian. A former engineer himself, he had been just as keen to explore the Cousteau’s systems as he had been to share some alone time with Pell when Captain Picard had figuratively given him the keys to the Enterprise-E’s yacht.

Both junior grade Lieutenants Issara Taiee and Olivia Juneau also seemed pleased with the cushy environs. Noticeably absent were Commander Liana Ramirez, his second in command and Lt. Pava Lar’ragos, Gibraltar’s El Aurian security chief and Donald’s closest friend.

Donald was certain that his invitation to his senior staff came from Pell, because it certainly hadn’t come from him. The captain was disappointed but also concerned.

Things had been going well during for the first week of their forced shore leave, caused by the damage the Gibraltar had undergone in the Briar Patch. The ship was being tended to at the Pacifica Fleet Yards near Space Station Lemuria.

Donald and Pell had spent several pleasant days on the surface. The Bajoran diplomatic officer had recently vacationed there before joining the mission into the Briar Patch and she had happily introduced him to her new friends, two of whom were the in-laws of Captain Terrence Glover, the former CO of both him and Pell.

Glover wasn’t Donald’s most favorite person, though he didn’t hold it against the Mendes family. He had found that he enjoyed their company immensely and had even promised to return as soon as his duties permitted, something he rarely did. Donald wasn’t given over to much sentimentality. He hadn’t even seen his own family for far too long, and he was dreading his mother’s wagging finger for his absence.

Things had been going so well that Donald began to gently inquire about Pell’s time as prisoner of the Bajora-Tava, a group of out of touch religious extremists that still thought Cardassia occupied Bajor. Pell had told him and a battery of counselors and psychiatrists that she couldn’t remember anything of significance.

Sandhurst had backed her up, protecting her from most of the pressure coming down on him from Starfleet Command. The Admiralty was paranoid about any potential security risks among Starfleet personnel.

Relations were still strained between the Federation and the Bajoran Provisional Government over the assassination of Cardassia Premier Natima Lang, since Deep Space Nine turned its weapons array on the premier’s ship. An investigation was still ongoing, but conspiracy theories had spread at warp speed through the quadrant alternately blaming the Bajorans, Federation, or Cardassians for the murder.

Command was understandably nervous about the discovery of a fanatical sect of Bajorans still thirsting for Cardassian blood and on the loose. It was just one more match burning in a tinderbox of post-Dominion War troubles.

Despite Sandhurst’s defense of Pell and his reignited passion for the woman, he also had to alert to any mental tampering Pell might’ve been subjected to. A recent victim of such tampering himself, Donald was concerned about her well being. However his probing had had the opposite effect than what he had hoped. Pell had begun to shut him out. Sandhurst had hoped the trip might lower her shields again.

Pell was still helping him get through his torture at the hands of the mysterious alien known simply as the Baron. It was only right that he provide the same outlet to vent and shoulder to cry that she had.

“So Captain, are we ready to get this show on the road or what?” Lightner asked, with puppy-dog eagerness.

“By all means,” Sandhurst tried to smile but just couldn’t. “Mr. Lightner you take the helm. I’ll ride shot gun.”
****


Space Station Lemuria
Commanding Officer’s State Room


“I know you’re anxious to get some leave time in Jean-Luc,” Rear Admiral Mermon said, his watery voice dripping with surprising sympathy. “After that trying time in the Briar Patch followed by our sessions…but I’m sure that you know far better than I the demands of the uniform.”

Captain Picard nodded, pleased that the Aquan finally acknowledged the recent burdens his crew had endured to stop wanton genocide being committed by the Alshain against the Son’a, Tarlac, Ellorans, and Ba’ku.

During the at times exacting debriefing process Picard had undergone at the station, Picard had come to suspect that Mermon’s chilly demeanor and pointed questions masked the amphibian’s bias towards the Briar Patch humanitarian mission.

Though the venture had met with some success, there had been several prominent admirals opposed to it from the start; chief among them was Admiral Covey at Deep Space Nine, Starfleet’s foremost expert on the Alshain Exarchate.

Covey had turned out to be correct in predicting the Alshain response, but the taskforce had been able to carry the day, barely. The loss of several starships, the near extinction of the Ba’ku, and the deaths of countless Tarlac, Ellorans, Son’a, Alshain, and others still roiled Picard’s conscience.

After rendezvousing with the Challenger to drop off Son’a prisoners and Captain Yejokk, an apparently rogue Klingon operative working with the Alshain, Jean-Luc had been hoping to spend some well earned vacation time on Earth. He hadn’t seen his sister-in-law Marie in quite some time, and he was eager to show Anij his hometown of La Barre, France.

Perhaps the idyllic French countryside could help take her mind off of the horrors she had witnessed over the past several months. He doubted it, but continued to hope nonetheless. Now, he would have to table his enthusiasm. However, Picard had never been one to shirk from duty or complain about whatever obstacles were placed before him. “Enterprise stands ready to serve Admiral.”

The green-skinned Aquan actually smiled, another shocking event. “I expected no less.” He quickly informed Picard of the situation. After Mermon finished, Jean-Luc sat back in his seat, momentarily overcome not just with concern, but also by a gnawing guilt.

His actions in some way had caused this; his mission to save innocent lives had now cost others and might lead to still more deaths. He would do everything in his power to prevent that.

“We’ll leave immediately,” Picard said, waiting for permission to rise from his seat.

“Oh Jean-Luc,” Mermon called to Picard just as he crossed the threshold of the admiral’s door. The captain stopped and turned around.

“Yes Admiral?”

“What about your yacht? Perhaps I could contact Captain Sandhurst for you while you are briefing your senior staff?”

Picard smiled briefly at the courteous offer. “Thank you Admiral, but I think the Cousteau is in good hands. I’ll retrieve it when I return from Alshain Proper.”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Space Station Lemuria
Habitat Section


Their lovemaking had been fierce. After seeing so much sorrow and death recently, Commander Ramirez grasped Commander Jeffrey Thorpe as if he were life itself.

Her ardor nearly overwhelmed the man, but he stayed in the game long enough to make it pleasurable for her. From his flushed appearance and the sheepish grin still on his face, Liana knew it had been pleasurable for Jeffrey too.

“Bet that Haliian chick can’t make you grin like that,” she knew it was the wrong thing as soon as it came out of her mouth. The grin quickly evaporated from Jeffrey’s face. He sat up in the bed, and placed his back against the bed rest.

“You know I really shouldn’t be here,” he said. “I think…I thought I might’ve been falling for Aquiel. There is something there, I know it. But when the reports start coming into DS9 about the hell you guys were catching from the Alshain, all I could think about was you. I prayed…something I hadn’t done in so long I damn near forgot how to…I prayed that you would be alright. I knew if I could see you one more time things would be different.”

“Well, are they?” Liana asked, Thorpe’s tone making her slightly uncomfortable. Ramirez was a career-oriented person. Though she preferred real flesh to holograms, she hadn’t made relationships a priority in her life. She always told herself she could do the love stuff after she made captain. By then, Liana realized she would probably push the time back to after she was admiral and so on.

Jeffrey Thorpe looked at her long and hard. “I…don’t know.” Thorpe was a very honest and decent man. In good shape, but a fairly unremarkable face and, to be honest, presence, it was the man’s empathy that shown through. He cared about people in a way Liana didn’t think she ever had or could, and it was comforting being around someone so connected to the pulse of life.

“Look Jeff, I really appreciate you taking leave to come visit me. This stress reliever was well worth it. But I want you to know this doesn’t have to be anymore than what it is now,” her voice betrayed her, cracking before she got out the last word. Liana hoped Thorpe didn’t notice.

“You don’t mean that,” the human feeling detector replied. Damn, Ramirez thought. She really hadn’t expected to fall into a relationship today. She had a ton of refitting requests to approve.

“Yes…well, no…I guess,” Liana’s mouth felt like cotton. She rolled out of bed, wrapping the bed’s top sheet around her and dashed to her replicator.

After ordering a glass of Altairian water Ramirez took her time drinking it, as she tried to get her thoughts together. Partially satisfied with her come back, Ramirez strolled back to the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Listen Jeff, I’m not sure what I mean right now. But I don’t think I could handle a relationship right now. Especially a long distance one, we are two very busy people after all.”

“I know,” Thorpe said. “The galaxy’s going to hell. But you know what it’s always been going to hell. And to be honest, I’m getting tired of dealing with it all.” He reached out and gently grasped the back of Liana’s nearest arm. He caressed it as he continued. “I’ve already submitted my resignation to Admiral Covey. She asked me to reconsider. I told her I would, but my mind’s made up.”

For a few seconds Ramirez was speechless. “You’re joking right?”

Thorpe shook his head. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“Jeff, stop kidding. We’re Starfleet officers. What else would you do that could be half as exciting as this?”

“Actually I’ve thought about teaching. Going home to New York…giving back.”

“You do that everyday already,” Liana rejoined.

A shadow crossed Thorpe’s face. “I used to believe that…before the war and then the Nightingale and Aegis. It seems that all I do is hurt other people these days. I want to get back to doing good and being able to see it with my own eyes. I can’t say that right now about my Starfleet service. It seems like every problem we’ve tried to solve since the war ended mutates into another, even worse problem. To be honest, I’m tired of it.”

“I never thought you were a quitter,” Ramirez said, more harshly than she intended.

“Is that what you think?” Thorpe asked, his gaze pierced with hurt.

“I don’t know,” Liana replied, and she really didn’t. She had never been given up and she had little respect for people who did.

“I thought you might understand,” Jeff said, his voice dry. “I even thought that you might consider one day joining me in New York.”

“Starfleet is my life,” Ramirez replied.

“No, it isn’t,” Thorpe countered. “Or at least it doesn’t have to be. If you marry it, it’s a demanding, exacting spouse.”

Liana humorlessly grinned, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“All right,” Jeffrey said, oblivious to Liana’s attempt to bring levity back into the conversation, “You don’t understand me now, but I think you will come to see my point of view before too long. And when you do, look me up in New York.” The hand that had been caressing Ramirez’s arm moved to her face. Thorpe made small circles around the woman’s cheeks, before tugging at her chin, bringing her face closer to his.

He pressed his lips softly against hers. Liana couldn’t help but close her eyes and savor the moment in spite of herself, because deep down she knew when it ended, it would be over for good. Ramirez’s destiny was somewhere in the stars. It was her blessing and her curse.

Pulling back from Ramirez, Thorpe gazed deeply into her eyes. With mutual sadness, he realized it too. “Good bye Liana.” Jeffrey Thorpe said, his eyes brimming with tears.

After he left, Liana, the bed sheet still wrapped around her, walked to her viewport, and cursed the stars that compelled her.
****

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

Some very nice character work here--I especially liked the scene with Thorpe and Liana. Thorpe really is in the wrong line of work in Starfleet and it takes a mature individual to realize that. Liana also has to make some hard choices: career or heart.

I also liked how you handled the canon characters: Riker and Picard both rang true here.

And we have a mystery: What's happened to Kojo and the Valor? Did she let her desire for vengeance get the better of her?

 

[Dnoth]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

...so much for Sandhurst and Pell's alone time.

I really wanna find out what Picard's new mission is.

Eagerly awaiting more!

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Escape Pod 5
Somewhere in Sector 443…


Lt. Commander Kirce Carrick pounded the walls of the small, confining pod, rattling the tiny vessel with another string of epithets.

“Done venting?” Commander Marc Bolden asked, the pressure on his chest increasing with each labored breath. He had stopped looking at the drooping life support readings hours, perhaps days ago. “You know you’re just wasting what little oxygen we have left.”

“So?” Carrick asked. “We’re going to die anyway.”

“Love your optimism K.C.,” Bolden grumbled. “But we’re not dead yet.”

“Yes we are,” the woman said with absolute certainty. “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the Valour gone or possibly space dust. And if anyone finds us it’ll probably be those Alshain bastards coming to finish us off. I’m surprised we got away in the first place.”

“So am I,” Bolden said, his brow crinkling as he tried to focus his thoughts, but the lack of oxygen was making it hard to think clearly. About the only thoughts peeking through the haze were memories of his bunk back on the Valour. What he wouldn’t give to be laying on his bed now. He closed his eyes, savoring the thought.

“Stay awake Commander,” Carrick said. “Keep your eyes open.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Bolden smiled.

“I don’t,” Carrick replied. “It’s just the smell in here would be even worse if you were dead.”

“Thanks,” Bolden rolled his eyes. “Tact is definitely not your strong suit.”

“If I wanted to be tactful I would’ve been a counselor,” Carrick remarked. “I like to get my hands dirty, or bloody, cracking the occasional skull or two.”

“Don’t worry,” Bolden said, “You’ll get a chance to rack more than a few Alshain heads before this is over.”

“I better,” Carrick said. “Because somebody has to pay for what they did to us.”
****


SFS Yokkai
Alshain Slayer-Class Destroyer
Somewhere in Sector 443…


Syot Graf D’Grekker leaned forward in the command chair, his dead predecessor’s medals clinking against each other across his broad chest. “Are you certain that this is the last escape pod?”

“Yes Syot,” the oyan at the sensors terminal nodded vigorously.

“Shall I power weapons?” Weapons Officer Kveld Jast asked. D’Grekker snarled with displeasure.

“The Sutahr’s orders were specific. One convoy ship and one pod must be left as bait.”

“But how can the Sutahr be so certain that another starship will arrive soon?” Jast challenged.

“Because that is how the Federation operates. They don’t appreciate the value of traveling in packs of equals, which is terribly inefficient, and so it requires them to always send a rescue party after one of their own encounters difficulty,” D’Grekker said with as much pedantic disdain as he could summon. Jast had been a thorn in his dewclaw for days now.

Why the Sutahr had permitted Jast to remain breathing was beyond D’Grekker’s comprehension. The gark had been a member of the former Syot Wadel G’Wura’s circle after Sutahr R’Vott was relieved due to the loss of standing as a result of the failures of two of her extended Sept, Sutahrs R’Vor and R’Voss in recent actions against the Federation.

D’Grekker had chosen to follow his commanding officer into disgrace. The Sutahr had removed the taint of D’Grekker’s omega-birth by giving him an officer’s commission aboard a Starforce vessel.

Growing up on hardscrabble Risulfr colony, as far from the Exarchate as one could possibly be and still be considered Alshain, D’Grekker never imagined a life beyond toiling for scraps beside the Itrob vermin also living on the planet.

However, a group of sagacious Peers, under the direction of Exarch Jedalla sought to reinvigorate the Starforce by opening admissions to officer school and making graduation merit based. It had roiled a great many among the Peerage, but the reform had given D’Grekker his shot, and he had loped off with it as far as he could. He had made it all the way to first engineer, obtaining the rank of Kveld. And now he was a full fledged Syot. Once the rest of the Peerage came to its senses and restored Exarch Jedalla to his throne, D’Grekker might one day command his own vessel. D’Grekker hadn’t been the only one in the crew that felt they owned either a personal debt to the Exarch, or supported him for making the Starforce a formidable threat again, and service within it one of the most prestigious honors in the entire empire.

Wadel’s captaincy ended as soon as the attack wing received orders from the so-called Coordinating Committee now ruling the Exarchate to cease hostile actions against the enemy and return home. Wadel and several of his reporters were jettisoned into space, and the crew begged R’Vott to put aside her disgrace and return to command. The loss of the Third Fleet’s entire 5th Squadron, in addition to the failures of R’Vott’s kin demanded blood.

D’Grekker knew that R’Vott understood that, and he also knew the woman could perhaps secure her families’ entrance into the Great Terrace despite the loss in station and respect they would endure in the material world.

Her daring had kept them alive while continuing the fight, the attack wing’s crews surviving off the bounty of whatever unfortunate ships crossed their path. However, many of the warriors had grown restless with the hit-and-run attacks. They had wanted to strike a major blow against the Federation, to draw blood. D’Grekker was a bit ashamed to say he shared their sentiments. He had succumbed to frustration; he hadn’t seen the Sutahr’s endgame.

Now that she had struck, D’Grekker couldn’t be more thrilled, or frightened. There was truly no turning back now. He feared for the Sutahr and the mission she had undertaken. He comforted himself with the gloomy thought that at least Jast would be braying in his ears instead of hers. With a clear mind Sutahr R’Vott was unstoppable…or so he prayed.
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Unnamed Planetoid
Somewhere in Sector 443…


“We have fulfilled our part of the deal,” Sutahr Visla R’Vott said as she strode toward the wedge-shaped ship that had recently landed inside the planetoid’s makeshift hold. The silver-white hull was crisscrossed with disruptor burns, dented in places, and perforated in others.

“Yes,” her colleague Nardin sin Phalzan of the Phalkerian Domain replied, with disapproval as he inspected his prize. “But your paladins could’ve left the ship in better condition.” He snapped loudly and the gaggle of purple-skinned, elfin-eared engineers behind him rushed by him to swarm around the vessel. There was a range of emotions on their dark, tattooed faces, ranging from complete rapture to mild fascination.

Neither the Phalkerians nor the Alshain for that matter had such a war craft in their fleet. R’Vott was reluctant to let it go, but it was the price she had to pay to enlist the Domain’s cooperation.

“It took all of my authority to keep my brethren from sending these infidels to the Desolate Plain,” Nadfar Tarwez, captain of the Paladin contingent assigned to the attack wing, gruffly replied. “Be thankful that you received the ship as intact as it is.”

Nardin grumbled before remarking, “But why did you take prisoners? No one must know of the Domain’s involvement until the proper time.” Unlike most Nardin didn’t seem intimidated by the massive Tarwez.

“And no one will,” R’Vott smoothly promised. “However, my warriors are restless, waiting here on this planetoid. The few raids we do aren’t enough to sate their war lust. The prisoners will provide some much needed distraction… until the Exarch arrives.”

“Yes,” Tarwez agreed. “Especially the Valour’s captain. She slew three of my paladins before she was subdued. She is mine.” He thumped his crimson chest plate for emphasis. R’Vott knew not to argue.

“Of course,” she said graciously. “While we’re awaiting both the Exarch and Syot D’Grekker’s next report, you can have your fun.”

****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

Ministry of State, Central Ministries Complex, Governance Arcology
Alshain Proper


The crowd outside the Central Ministries Complex had been steadily growing for days. The protests had started out respectful enough, but a more unruly, corrosive pall had recently settled over the mass. Interminable reports of violence were being transmitted to the Coordinating Committee’s chambers on a nearly continuous basis.

“Chairman C’Oemnm, we have to do something about this!” Committee member Boree L’Bek huffed. “We can’t let this crowd swell anymore. Things are already past the dangerous point. If we hesitate further, this mob will spiral out of control.”

C’Oemnm turned to the heavyset, silver-gray coated woman. “And what do you suggest Boree?” He asked, shocked at how old he sounded. “That we fire on our own people?”

“Yes,” Member Rulf T’Riav answered without equivocation. “This display is unseemly. The rabble should learn their place.”

“It’s just not the rabble out there,” Member Phalin K’Phrey, head of the dreaded Unguis, countered. “Some of the Peerage is protesting too.”

“The lower nobility,” T’Riav sniffed.

“No,” Member Nez G’Nesh replied, her voice coating with disbelief. “The latest reports spotted Dowager Managa among the crowd.

“Impossible,” T’Riav spat. “No one of her high station would ever consort with the rabble. Not even if we deposed her son.”

“It’s true,” C’Oemnm said. He hesitated before he activated the terminal before him. He had ordered that reports be brought in, in a vain attempt to stave off the growing paranoia and desperation spreading among the Committee.

A three-dimensional image of the scene just outside the complex showed the surging mass. Orthlin adjusted the controls until the cameras found Dowager Managa, Jedalla’s mother, standing up her the hand-held carriage, bedecked in a flowing gold-embroidered red robe. Appropriately she was being held aloft in front of a statue of Exarch Jedalla.

T’Riav snorted. “We should’ve razed that statue, and we should’ve sent Dowager Managa into exile along with Jedalla and his family. Another mistake…”

“We all agreed with Orthlin’s plan to keep the Dowager and Jedalla’s eldest son on Proper as de facto hostages, a tacit restraint on any ideas Jedalla might’ve had for pulling something like this,” G’Nesh interjected.

“And we see how well that turned out,” L’Bek hotly retorted.

C’Oemnm rounded on T’Riav, his fatigue pushed back by anger. “Are you questioning my leadership?”

“Yes,” T’Riav said. “Exarch Jedalla should be dead now, his family too. Then there would’ve been no real legitimate claim to leadership, except whoever we picked to be the next Exarch. The paladins should’ve been purged, as well as the leadership of the Exarchal Guard and the Starforce. But in your desire to build consensus, to create some illusionary normalcy, you left a lot of loose ends, and now they will strangle us all if we don’t act decisively.”

“Is that a challenge?” C’Oemnm rose slowly out of his seat. The other committee members looked on with expectant eyes. Orthlin was disappointed that none had risen in his defense. T’Riav rose, his teeth bared.

“Gentlemen please,” the only offworlder in the room stood up as well. Federation Ambassador Depek, Xin Dejong’s replacement, quickly placed himself between the two men. “You have more important things to concern yourselves with at the moment than bruised egos.”

“This isn’t about my ego Xindi,” T’Riav said, pushing lightly against Depek’s restraining hand. “This is about the future of our race.” Depek didn’t budge.

“No,” the sallow-skinned Xindi primate said. “This is about preventing a civil war. And you can’t do that if the Coordinating Committee is divided.”

C’Oemnm nodded. “You speak truth Ambassador.” The Xindi grinned, which made him look even more formidable.

“And do you really think sending a Federation starship back into our space will dissuade the mob outside?” T’Riav was incredulous.

“Especially the Enterprise,” L’Bek’s voice was filled with bile. “It’s the Enterprise that led the assault on our forces in the Briar Patch.”

“That betrayed us by choosing the Son’a over us,” K’Phrey concurred. “We were your allies; we deserved our share of the spoils of victory as much as the Klingons or Romulans. Yet, you sought to intervene in affairs that didn’t concern you.”

“Enterprise was the closest, most able ship available,” Depek made no apologies. “And I guarantee you if Jedalla shows up and finds her above Alshain Proper it might give him pause.”

“Or it could enrage him as surely as the Enterprise’s appearance will do once the populace hears of it,” G’Nesh said softly, her brow heavy with concern. “Not to mention our military forces. They are as likely to turn on the Enterprise as help them repel any assault from Jedalla.”

Depek frowned. “Well…that is a possibility.”

“It’s a certainty,” T’Riav said. He knocked Depek’s hand from his chest, before returning to his seat. He flopped down and crossed his arms.

“The only thing that is certain is that Enterprise is the only ship you can trust right now, as much as it galls you to realize it,” Depek said. “And the Federation’s the only friend you’ve got.”

C’Oemnm sighed, lowering his shoulders before he retook his seat. “I’ve removed our people from Jedalla’s thumb only to be placed under yours,” he put his head in his hands. “What have I done?”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

USS Enterprise-E
(Observation Lounge)


“Mr. N’Saba, a moment of your time please,” Captain Picard said as soon as he finished his briefing. The rest of the senior staff dispersed quickly, though Commander Riker hesitated. Picard nodded, sending the larger man a non-verbal cue that he wished to speak to the Alshain Science Officer alone.

The Alshain’s ears drooped in resignation, but he set his large shoulders as if preparing for an attack of some kind. Picard rose slowly out of his chair. “I know about your resignation request. I regret to inform you that it has been denied.”

The Alshain blinked, his blue artificial eyes eerily similar to Geordi’s. “Because of this crisis on Alshain Proper I suppose?”

Picard nodded. “I wasn’t informed of the exact reason why, but if I had to speculate I would say yes.”

N’Saba sniffed. “It figures. Alas diplomacy is not one of my prodigious talents. Being the token Alshain during Taskforce Peacekeeper did little to stop the bloodshed. What does Starfleet think I can do to stop a countercoup?”

“Your information about Alshain tactics was pivotal to our understanding and success,” Picard countered.

“You call what happened in the Briar Patch a success?” N’Saba retorted, his broad chest puffing out. “I don’t call the slaughter committed by my people and that Starfleet committed upon them successful at all. When your own crew celebrated the destruction of the Starforce’s 5th Squadron all I could think about was the Nauarch that died with the squadron. Edim S’Elani was a friend of Sept N’Saba. I knew his family; I attended the same schools with his children. Not only will they grieve his loss, his disgrace will lower their social standing, a terrible blow. To make matters even worse, Sept N’Saba is a distant relation of the Exarch on my distaff line, who was deposed because of our ‘success’. In times past I cared not for such seemingly trivial things, but they’ve started to become more important to me now.”

“Mr. N’Saba, I understand how you might feel in terms of divided loyalties,” Picard said, his voice softening slightly. “Ambassador Worf, the current Federation envoy to the Klingon Empire, once served on the Enterprise-D. I witnessed his struggle to reconcile his Klingon heritage and his Federation upbringing and I sympathize with your plight. However, even if your experience saves not one life, it could make a difference, and we need all the advantages we can get right now.”

N’Saba glared at the captain, his muzzle twitching. “With all due respect Captain,” he said, his tone bordering on insubordinate, “you don’t know how I feel. I wasn’t raised in the Federation like Worf, I wasn’t indoctrinated like him. I am Alshain. I thought that I needed to be more, but now I realize it’s enough. Starfleet can deny my resignation all it wants. That won’t stop me from leaving.”

Picard was taken aback. He hadn’t been expecting this reaction from the Science Officer. The captain knew the man had been difficult on his various postings, but his achievements shielded him from harsh repercussions. Despite the man’s reputation, Picard wasn’t prepared for such open defiance. “Lieutenant Commander!” Picard snapped. “As long as you wear that uniform…”

N’Saba bristled. “You don’t get it. I no longer desire to wear this uniform,” he said, ripping his combadge from his breast and throwing it on the polished black table in front of the captain. “Are we done here?”

“No,” Picard shook his head. “Starfleet Command has not accepted your resignation and this tantrum you’ve just engaged in has not changed that fact. You will be accompanying the Enterprise to Alshain Proper, and it is your decision whether you wish to do so on the bridge or in the brig.”

N’Saba glared down at Picard for nearly a minute, ears pinned to the back of his head, his thick, black fur bristling. The captain pushed down his fight-or-flight response to stare back at the lupanoid.

The Science Officer snatched his compin from the table and reattached it to his chest. “Permission to return to my cabin sir?”

Picard nodded. “Permission granted.”

At the conference room’s door, N’Saba turned back to Picard. He grinned, rows of sharp teeth glinting from the ceiling’s lights. “You’re good Captain. I didn’t think you had it in you. The only other man I’ve known to stare me down so was Captain Glover.”

Picard remarked dryly, “The next time I see Captain Glover I’ll make certain to compare notes.” N’Saba literally howled with laughter as he exited the lounge. Picard hoped he could defuse any problems they encounter in Alshain space as easily.
****

Cousteau


“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…” Ensign Lightner sang as he strummed his ukulele. Lt. Ashok did his best to try to accompany him with his Vulcan lyre, but the collaboration proved a discordant mess. However, Donald couldn’t be too judgmental. Pell seemed to be enjoying herself, and even Lieutenants Juneau and Taiee were coming out of their respective shells.

Though he hadn’t accomplished anything he had set out to do, Sandhurst also had to admit that he was enjoying this trip, and even Lightner’s horrendous singer. The last several months had been hell, and this excursion was a nice tonic to combat the madness surging around them like a turbulent sea.

Of course at his moment of contentment, Donald noticed a light at the communication console was blinking. “Intermission please,” he said as he got up and walked over to the terminal. The cabin quieted almost instantly. “What’s going on?” Sandhurst asked Lt. Para Lar’ragos, the other person on the line. Donald knew from the pinched look on the man’s face that his vacation was over.

“Donald, Commander Ramirez has been called into a meeting with Admiral Mermon. I think you better get back here.”

“What’s going on Pava?” Sandhurst asked, his voice tightening with dread.

“I don’t know yet, but the look on Mermon’s face wouldn’t win any beauty pageants.”

“Understood,” Sandhurst said. “See you in an hour.”
****

 

[DarKush]

Re: Part One: Knife's Edge

****

USS Gibraltar
(Main Bridge)
En Route to Sector 443…


Captain Donald Sandhurst couldn’t believe how much the center seat had grown on him. It had never been his desire to be a captain. He had been content getting his hands dirty in the Engine room and really feeling his work after long hours keeping his ship running. But fate had other ideas for him.

And he couldn’t deny the catch in his voice, or the goose bumps he sometimes felt each time the Gibraltar set course on a new mission. And he gazed out at the stars from his elevated perch, as if he could see across the universe.

“The mate was a mighty Sailin’ man, the Skipper brave and sure,” Ensign Lightner started another round of the torture he had begun on the Cousteau.

“Can it Mr. Lightner,” Sandhurst ordered. “My ears can’t take the abuse anymore. Swiveling in his seat, the ensign grinned at the captain.

“Sorry sir, that song just has a tendency to stick in my head.”

“And thank you for now passing that tendency on to me,” Sandhurst dryly remarked, feeling good about the repartee. It actually felt wonderful to be a bit frivolous and silly, even though he had never considered himself to be those things. “Commander Ramirez, what’s our status?”

“We’re riding into an unknown, possibly hostile situation half-prepared,” she replied, with absolutely none of the good humor that Donald possessed.

“What else is new,” Lt. Pava Lar’ragos said, beating Sandhurst to the punch. The captain turned in his seat and regarded his long-time friend. The events in the Briar Patch had tested their friendship, and both men hadn’t quite restored their fellowship. Sandhurst thought that now was as good a time as any.

“We missed you on the Cousteau Pava…you too Liana, what we’re you guys up to?” Donald was surprised when he noticed Ramirez’s cheeks reddening. The woman stared holes into her terminal without replying.

“Somebody had to do some work around here,” Lar’ragos remarked. “While you guys were gallivanting about.”

“What you call gallivanting, I call exploring,” Donald replied, with exaggeratedly wounded pride.

“Flying around, strumming ukuleles and Vulcan lyres doesn’t sound like exploring to me,” the El Aurian shot back. “Commander Ramirez and I were picking up the slack.”

“Is that so Commander?” Sandhurst turned back to the woman, trying to divine the cause of her sudden bout of silence, an unusual state of being for the normally outspoken First Officer.

She nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Okay,” Donald decided to leave it alone. He didn’t know what was going on between Pava and Liana, or if he was imagining things. In any event it could wait until after they had returned from Sector 443.
****


Deep Space Nine
(Commanding Officer’s Office)


Admiral Monica Covey hated bad news, which was all she had been hearing since the end of the war. First on Cardassia Prime, where she had to contend with blowhards like the Romulan Admiral Goma and the loutish Klingon General Wo’toth, and then her transfer to DS9 in the aftermath of Premier Lang’s assassination.

Covey had done her best to try to restore the tattered relations between the Federation and Bajor since she had arrived, but after Picard had convinced Starfleet to wade into the Alshain-Son’a war the admiral felt she belonged elsewhere. No other Starfleet officer understood the Alshain like she did. And it was obvious that the ignorance of her colleagues would continue to enflame the Alshain to a point of no return, unless she did something about it.

“You’re kidding me right?” She asked, with a humorless half smile, “They really didn’t send the Enterprise.”

“It was the closest ship available,” Commander Leslie Travers of Space Station Lemuria said. The blond Englishwoman’s lean, florid face filled the tiny screen on Covey’s desk.

Though Covey had already received the official head’s up from Starfleet Command, Travers owed her a few favors, and Monica decided to cash them in. Besides Monica knew that Travers was less than enthused about Admiral Mermon setting up shop on her station and wouldn’t mind doing an end run around the Aquan.

“What about the Gibraltar?” Covey asked. “I thought it was docked at the Fleet Yards for repairs. Even though it doesn’t have the firepower or cachet of the Federation flagship, it’s not as widely known or hated as the Big E.”

“Truth be told, that hunk should’ve stayed mothballed,” Travers said, wincing seconds later. She had forgotten for a second that Covey had been responsible for Captain Sandhurst gaining command of the ship.

Beyond that, Monica had placed one of her most trusted aide-de-camps, Commander Ramirez on board to insure Donald had a smooth, but appropriately challenging transition into the big chair. Covey also knew that a stint on the Gibraltar would give Liana the seasoning and humbling she needed before she got her own command.

“I’ll let you slide this time,” Covey said, “But I warn you not to underestimate Donald or his crew. They’ve pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the proverbial hat too many times to call their success a fluke.”

“Of course Admiral,” Travers said, not even trying to hide her disbelief. “Well, I hope Sandhurst has some more magic up his sleeve, especially if he encounters any thing bigger than a space mite in Sector 443.”

“Why did Mermon send Gibraltar there?” Covey asked.

“I don’t have all the details,” Travers frowned. “Admiral Mermon thought it best to keep me in the dark…even though it’s my station,” the woman rolled her eyes “Anyway, there appears to be a missing convoy that he’s sent Captain Sandhurst to help find.”

“Hmmm,” Covey rubbed her chin. “Sounds fishy to me.”

“Sounds wolfier to me,” Travers remarked. “You know the Alshain have been attacking shipping lanes around their space, the territorial buggers.”

“Thank you for this Leslie,” Monica said after a few seconds of deep thought. “Now I owe you one.”

“And you better believe it’ll be a doozy,” Travers said, with a mischievous smile. By the time Monica had turned off her screen, a plan had already half-formed in her mind. She opened a station comline.

“Lt. Commander Uhnari here,” the Haliian responded seconds later.

“Commander power up the Defiant, we’re going on a little trip,” Covey ordered.
*****