Dark Territory: Pandora's Jar
- Thread starter DarKush
- Start date
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USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
Lt. Commander Ivan Cherenkov perched himself on the corner of the captain’s nearly empty, polished desktop, occupied by only two coasters. He twisted the bottle cap off and clinked his bottle against Tai’s. Then he held up the beer, marveling at frothy suds forming at the top of the bottle before taking a drink.
“I haven’t had the genuine article in a long time,” he remarked. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Tai Donar replied with a slight smile. He took a careful sip before placing his bottle on one of the coasters. He noted that each was adorned with the twin laurel Federation symbol. Nice touch, he thought. He allowed his former team leader to take another drink before venturing, “If I may speak openly sir….”
“Of course,” Ivan said, holding the sweating bottle in his hand, his head angled down at the Angosian, his blue eyes patient, but insistent at the same time.
“What am I doing here?”
“Well, when I was searching the database to temporarily fill in some of our crew gaps before we set sail, I detected your application for lateral entry into Starfleet. It intrigued me. You had never expressed interest in joining the Exploratory Division before.”
“You know as well as I do that war changes things…this last war more than most,” Tai said quietly. Ivan nodded with sympathy.
“This is about your last mission isn’t it?”
Tai stared at him, but didn’t respond. “It’s not your fault,” he added.
“I-I can’t go back there, its different now. I trained him…I let him down.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Cherenkov replied. “Like you said, the war changes things. It changed people, usually for the worst.”
“I was his team leader, I should’ve recognized the signs,” the Angosian would never forgive himself, and he promised he would never forget.
“Just like I should’ve on Kesprytt?” Ivan felt he had to dig up his own pain, his own failure to reach out to his friend. “Sometimes shit just happens and you’ve got to roll with it.”
“You paid a price I never did,” Tai replied, heat rising to his cheeks. “If anything I shouldn’t even be applying to Starfleet. I probably should’ve never left that prison cell on Lunar V. Maybe I am a monster like they said.”
“Save the pity party soldier,” Cherenkov barked. “You know that’s not true, and it does no good beating yourself up about something that happened in the past. Was he your responsibility, yes? But was it your fault? No, and you corrected the situation.”
“After the loss of far too many lives,” Tai sadly added.
“You didn’t know anything about that until it had already happened, and when you got involved, you ended it, quickly, and dare I say, perhaps more mercifully than I would have,” the Russian admitted, more ghosts of his past stirring in the ether of his memories. Visions of his life before Special Missions and the Marines, of his work for the Orion Syndicate…. “He got off lucky, if you ask me.”
The Angosian said nothing, but his stony gaze told Ivan: Who’s asking you? The commander chose to ignore that. “I want you to serve as Strategic Operations Officer on this mission. You’ll be manning the tactical console.”
“Sir, don’t you already have a Tactical Officer?”
“Yes,” Ivan nodded. “Lt. M’Raow, she’s good. But she’s not you.”
“She might have a different opinion,” Tai replied dryly.
“If she does, she can take it up with me. On this vessel, the Tactical Officer also serves as the Security Officer. She’ll have her hands full without having to be on the bridge too, trust me.”
Tai shrugged and Ivan smiled. “That’s more like it, like the old Tai. This will be good for you, it’ll get you some experience, some familiarity with the Exploratory side of things. Just promise not to go soft like me.”
Tai gave the man a once over. “I don’t see an ounce of softness on you sir.”
“Good, you’re already halfway to a promotion and you’ve only been on board a couple hours.” The laugh the two men shared was broken up by the chime of the door. “Who is it?”
“Commander Dangal.”
Ivan’s shoulders slumped. “Everything all right?” Tai asked.
“It was,” the Russian sighed. He threw back the rest of the beer, savoring the taste. He would hold on to that for however long he had to weather Tropical Storm Dangal. “We’ll talk later. In the mean time, find a uniform and make yourself at home.”
********************************************************************
Starbase One
Observation Lounge
“Easy on that throttle Juanita,” Captain Glover muttered. Through the large, wraparound port windows he watched the Aegis disengage from the docking clamps with a start, almost pinging a shuttle that was shuffling along behind it. The ship righted itself quickly, giving Terrence a wistful side view of its sleek, four nacelle frame. It seemed almost as if Juanita or perhaps Ivan had heard him and was giving him one last, long look at his ship. “I should be up there,” he said, a bit more loudly, and far more sadly.
“You’re where you need to be,” Jasmine said, pulling close to him. She wrapped her arm around his back and drew him to her. He hadn’t been this close to his wife in a long time, and he welcomed the opportunity, if not the cause of it. He bent down, his lips brushing against her soft, raven hair. He kissed the top of her head. The war had divided them, in more ways than one, and Terrence was somewhat mollified that he would get some time to reacquaint himself with his wife.
“And I’m sure Ivan is going to make sure not to leave a dent on the hull.” His other rock, Lt. Commander Pell said. She stood on his other side. He glanced at her and smirked.
“He better not, or he’ll be spending time in zero-gee removing it,” He replied, only half-joking.
********************************************************************
Alshain Starforce Destroyer Bonecrusher
Slayer-Class
In Orbit of Belos Prime
Sutahr Vallo R’Vort didn’t blink. “Prepare for orbital bombardment.”
“The Son’a has offered surrender,” Kveld Rask repeated, respectfully but still firmly. She smiled at him.
“I heard you the first time. Power our weapons.” Rask relayed her orders.
“Sutahr, the commander of the Turbulent is contacting us.” The Communication Officer informed her.
“On screen,” R’Vort snapped.
“What are you doing?” Sutahr L’Brax roared without preamble. R’Vort jumped out of her seat, her teeth bared.
“If you don’t accord me the proper respect as the mission commander, I will turn my weapons on you.” Vallo knew that the older L’Brax was the peeved that a female had been awarded with the mission to cleanse the Belos system of the Son’a. “Now Bajis, I advise you to return to the formation and charge your weapons. Turbulent will take lead in immolating the planet’s southern continent.” She knew addressing him by not by his Sept name would enrage him even more than her order. He snorted and then glared at her, his large nostrils flaring. R’Vort calmly met his gaze.
“I will not repeat the command,” she said after a few seconds. He blinked.
“I…will comply,” he grumbled. R’Vort signaled to cut the communications. The other ships took up position around the planet.
“Teleport our personnel from the surface,” R’Vort ordered. A couple minutes later Rask replied:
“All personnel have been removed from the surface.”
“Sutahr, we are receiving another communiqué,” the Comm Officer informed her. “From the surface; the planetary governor.”
R’Vort smirked. “On screen.”
“What is the meaning of this?” The shrunken-faced woman raged. “We have surrendered!”
“So,” R’Vort shrugged. “This is war, and unlike the weakling Alshain that amused your kind in the past, Exarch Jedalla believes in total victory. Your blight will be removed from this world and soon the entire quadrant.”
“This is outrageous, unconscionable! It goes against all sentient laws regarding warfare!”
“The Son’a have treated us like animals for decades, and now it has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Enjoy Hell,” R’Vort chuckled. She turned to her Weapons Master. “Fire!”
The sutahr ordered the sensors to pan out wide so she could get a larger view of the cascade of fire that rained down upon Belos. It had been a relatively easy victory. They had exploited a surprising opening in the Son’a defensive perimeter and took the colony by surprise. As their ships punched holes into Belos, her thoughts took her back to that gap.
Where had the ship gone too? Why wasn’t it there? Had someone gotten advanced warning of the strike force? Had they balked, or where they bringing back reinforcements, or planning something more sinister? She rubbed her chin idly as the disruptors broke through the crust of the planet, and bright orange yellow geysers of magma sprayed across the planet’s buckling surface. Belos died in less than five minutes.
“Hold,” R’Vort ordered. The firing ceased immediately. She marveled at the molten world below her, flaring like a new star. Her bridge crew roared in triumph, but she could not share in it. Her job wasn’t complete yet. “Rask,” she called. He turned quickly to her, at rigid attention.
“Yes Milady.”
“Has all the information from the Belos colony’s defensive network been downloaded into our systems?”
“Not quite.” He answered after checking.
R’Vort sniffed with displeasure. She stood up and stalked to her stateroom to inform her superiors and to contemplate. Without looking back she said, “I want to know at once when that download is complete. There is a missing Son’a ship out there somewhere, and this mission will not be finished until its space dust.”
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
Lt. Commander Ivan Cherenkov perched himself on the corner of the captain’s nearly empty, polished desktop, occupied by only two coasters. He twisted the bottle cap off and clinked his bottle against Tai’s. Then he held up the beer, marveling at frothy suds forming at the top of the bottle before taking a drink.
“I haven’t had the genuine article in a long time,” he remarked. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Tai Donar replied with a slight smile. He took a careful sip before placing his bottle on one of the coasters. He noted that each was adorned with the twin laurel Federation symbol. Nice touch, he thought. He allowed his former team leader to take another drink before venturing, “If I may speak openly sir….”
“Of course,” Ivan said, holding the sweating bottle in his hand, his head angled down at the Angosian, his blue eyes patient, but insistent at the same time.
“What am I doing here?”
“Well, when I was searching the database to temporarily fill in some of our crew gaps before we set sail, I detected your application for lateral entry into Starfleet. It intrigued me. You had never expressed interest in joining the Exploratory Division before.”
“You know as well as I do that war changes things…this last war more than most,” Tai said quietly. Ivan nodded with sympathy.
“This is about your last mission isn’t it?”
Tai stared at him, but didn’t respond. “It’s not your fault,” he added.
“I-I can’t go back there, its different now. I trained him…I let him down.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Cherenkov replied. “Like you said, the war changes things. It changed people, usually for the worst.”
“I was his team leader, I should’ve recognized the signs,” the Angosian would never forgive himself, and he promised he would never forget.
“Just like I should’ve on Kesprytt?” Ivan felt he had to dig up his own pain, his own failure to reach out to his friend. “Sometimes shit just happens and you’ve got to roll with it.”
“You paid a price I never did,” Tai replied, heat rising to his cheeks. “If anything I shouldn’t even be applying to Starfleet. I probably should’ve never left that prison cell on Lunar V. Maybe I am a monster like they said.”
“Save the pity party soldier,” Cherenkov barked. “You know that’s not true, and it does no good beating yourself up about something that happened in the past. Was he your responsibility, yes? But was it your fault? No, and you corrected the situation.”
“After the loss of far too many lives,” Tai sadly added.
“You didn’t know anything about that until it had already happened, and when you got involved, you ended it, quickly, and dare I say, perhaps more mercifully than I would have,” the Russian admitted, more ghosts of his past stirring in the ether of his memories. Visions of his life before Special Missions and the Marines, of his work for the Orion Syndicate…. “He got off lucky, if you ask me.”
The Angosian said nothing, but his stony gaze told Ivan: Who’s asking you? The commander chose to ignore that. “I want you to serve as Strategic Operations Officer on this mission. You’ll be manning the tactical console.”
“Sir, don’t you already have a Tactical Officer?”
“Yes,” Ivan nodded. “Lt. M’Raow, she’s good. But she’s not you.”
“She might have a different opinion,” Tai replied dryly.
“If she does, she can take it up with me. On this vessel, the Tactical Officer also serves as the Security Officer. She’ll have her hands full without having to be on the bridge too, trust me.”
Tai shrugged and Ivan smiled. “That’s more like it, like the old Tai. This will be good for you, it’ll get you some experience, some familiarity with the Exploratory side of things. Just promise not to go soft like me.”
Tai gave the man a once over. “I don’t see an ounce of softness on you sir.”
“Good, you’re already halfway to a promotion and you’ve only been on board a couple hours.” The laugh the two men shared was broken up by the chime of the door. “Who is it?”
“Commander Dangal.”
Ivan’s shoulders slumped. “Everything all right?” Tai asked.
“It was,” the Russian sighed. He threw back the rest of the beer, savoring the taste. He would hold on to that for however long he had to weather Tropical Storm Dangal. “We’ll talk later. In the mean time, find a uniform and make yourself at home.”
********************************************************************
Starbase One
Observation Lounge
“Easy on that throttle Juanita,” Captain Glover muttered. Through the large, wraparound port windows he watched the Aegis disengage from the docking clamps with a start, almost pinging a shuttle that was shuffling along behind it. The ship righted itself quickly, giving Terrence a wistful side view of its sleek, four nacelle frame. It seemed almost as if Juanita or perhaps Ivan had heard him and was giving him one last, long look at his ship. “I should be up there,” he said, a bit more loudly, and far more sadly.
“You’re where you need to be,” Jasmine said, pulling close to him. She wrapped her arm around his back and drew him to her. He hadn’t been this close to his wife in a long time, and he welcomed the opportunity, if not the cause of it. He bent down, his lips brushing against her soft, raven hair. He kissed the top of her head. The war had divided them, in more ways than one, and Terrence was somewhat mollified that he would get some time to reacquaint himself with his wife.
“And I’m sure Ivan is going to make sure not to leave a dent on the hull.” His other rock, Lt. Commander Pell said. She stood on his other side. He glanced at her and smirked.
“He better not, or he’ll be spending time in zero-gee removing it,” He replied, only half-joking.
********************************************************************
Alshain Starforce Destroyer Bonecrusher
Slayer-Class
In Orbit of Belos Prime
Sutahr Vallo R’Vort didn’t blink. “Prepare for orbital bombardment.”
“The Son’a has offered surrender,” Kveld Rask repeated, respectfully but still firmly. She smiled at him.
“I heard you the first time. Power our weapons.” Rask relayed her orders.
“Sutahr, the commander of the Turbulent is contacting us.” The Communication Officer informed her.
“On screen,” R’Vort snapped.
“What are you doing?” Sutahr L’Brax roared without preamble. R’Vort jumped out of her seat, her teeth bared.
“If you don’t accord me the proper respect as the mission commander, I will turn my weapons on you.” Vallo knew that the older L’Brax was the peeved that a female had been awarded with the mission to cleanse the Belos system of the Son’a. “Now Bajis, I advise you to return to the formation and charge your weapons. Turbulent will take lead in immolating the planet’s southern continent.” She knew addressing him by not by his Sept name would enrage him even more than her order. He snorted and then glared at her, his large nostrils flaring. R’Vort calmly met his gaze.
“I will not repeat the command,” she said after a few seconds. He blinked.
“I…will comply,” he grumbled. R’Vort signaled to cut the communications. The other ships took up position around the planet.
“Teleport our personnel from the surface,” R’Vort ordered. A couple minutes later Rask replied:
“All personnel have been removed from the surface.”
“Sutahr, we are receiving another communiqué,” the Comm Officer informed her. “From the surface; the planetary governor.”
R’Vort smirked. “On screen.”
“What is the meaning of this?” The shrunken-faced woman raged. “We have surrendered!”
“So,” R’Vort shrugged. “This is war, and unlike the weakling Alshain that amused your kind in the past, Exarch Jedalla believes in total victory. Your blight will be removed from this world and soon the entire quadrant.”
“This is outrageous, unconscionable! It goes against all sentient laws regarding warfare!”
“The Son’a have treated us like animals for decades, and now it has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Enjoy Hell,” R’Vort chuckled. She turned to her Weapons Master. “Fire!”
The sutahr ordered the sensors to pan out wide so she could get a larger view of the cascade of fire that rained down upon Belos. It had been a relatively easy victory. They had exploited a surprising opening in the Son’a defensive perimeter and took the colony by surprise. As their ships punched holes into Belos, her thoughts took her back to that gap.
Where had the ship gone too? Why wasn’t it there? Had someone gotten advanced warning of the strike force? Had they balked, or where they bringing back reinforcements, or planning something more sinister? She rubbed her chin idly as the disruptors broke through the crust of the planet, and bright orange yellow geysers of magma sprayed across the planet’s buckling surface. Belos died in less than five minutes.
“Hold,” R’Vort ordered. The firing ceased immediately. She marveled at the molten world below her, flaring like a new star. Her bridge crew roared in triumph, but she could not share in it. Her job wasn’t complete yet. “Rask,” she called. He turned quickly to her, at rigid attention.
“Yes Milady.”
“Has all the information from the Belos colony’s defensive network been downloaded into our systems?”
“Not quite.” He answered after checking.
R’Vort sniffed with displeasure. She stood up and stalked to her stateroom to inform her superiors and to contemplate. Without looking back she said, “I want to know at once when that download is complete. There is a missing Son’a ship out there somewhere, and this mission will not be finished until its space dust.”
********************************************************************
Glover really does miss the Aegis...and I think the Alshain are going to be glad he's not around, though Ivan might have a few things to say about their behaviour.
Also, where's the damn ship??
Also, where's the damn ship??
********************************************************************
PART THREE: THE SHADOWS OF THE GODS
January 2376
USS Ariane
Captain’s Ready Room
“Enter,” Captain Brennan called out clearly, her voice strong. Lt. Phelan, the Phalkerian Security Officer, walked cautiously in the room, as if each step he took was causing considerable strain. Natalie had a good idea what was causing the junior officer such distress but she decided to let him reveal it in his own good time.
“Captain,” Phelan nodded curtly when he came to stop at the edge of her desk. The lithe, purple skinned Phalkerian stood at rigid attention. Sweat glistened on top of the young man’s bald head and his normally light purple complexion was had a darker violet flush.
“At ease,” Natalie said. She didn’t want the man to burst a blood vessel. He relaxed only slightly.
“You have something to say?” The captain finally prodded, unable to allow the man to stew. It wasn’t like he had done anything to deserve it. She was the one breaking regulations and defying orders after all. And she liked the earnest young man. Phelan had been instrumental in helping smooth her transition to the Ariane’s center seat. She had lost her ship above Cardassia, but the battered crew of the Ariane had lost their captain and first officer, and it appeared their sense of direction. Natalie knew she hadn’t made things much easier when her desire to keep the tattered remains of her old crew together broke off other pieces the Ariane’s already shattered crew. Phelan had helped keep the peace, unlike some other members of the crew.
“Captain,” Phelan chose his words carefully. “Commander M’Vess explained clearly that our course change, our new mission, and implementing radio silence were all on a need to know basis. I accept that…but this new change of plans has made others skittish.”
“And how can you be certain?”
“I know this crew,” Phelan said with wounded pride.
“It’s Maggie isn’t it? She’s the locus of this, isn’t she?” Phelan said nothing, but Natalie got her answer when she noticed his shoulders bunching up slightly. Brennan sighed. She knew she should’ve gotten rid of the testy Operations Officer when she had the chance, but she had wanted to maintain some sense of continuity for the shell shocked crew.
Captain Odvan, the ship’s former commander had tapped Grayson to be his next Executive Officer at the end of the war, but his death had negated that. Brennan wanted M’Vess to occupy that role and she gave Grayson the option of staying in her current position or moving on, with Natalie’s full support. She had even been willing to cash in some of her capital for the woman, but Grayson had declined. And she had been a nest of gossip and innuendo ever since.
Phelan’s and Grayson’s romantic relationship made the situation even stickier for all parties involved. “Permission to speak freely sir?” The Phalkerian finally asked.
“Of course,” Brennan said. “Please.”
“I’m not Counselor Gomes, but I don’t need a wall of degrees to tell you that the crew’s morale isn’t where it should be.”
“Oh.”
“Yes sir,” Phelan nodded, pausing, as he struggled how to string together his words. He was trying not to be inelegant, Natalie realized.
“Just say what’s on your mind,” Brennan huffed, no longer amused.
“The crew, not just Commander Grayson, don’t trust you enough yet to feel comfortable with this drastic change in orders,” Phelan blurted. He winced seconds later, but the captain merely nodded.
“Well, this isn’t a democracy,” Brennan replied curtly. She knew perhaps she could’ve found another, more gentle way to phrase it, but she didn’t have the time or inclination. She had a promise to keep, one she had made to herself.
“But sir, the coordinates you gave Ensign Azrak will take us directly into the Pyxis Cluster, through a good portion of the Son’a-Alshain war zone.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Natalie said tightly, despairing the look of frustration forming on Phelan’s face. When had she become so cold, and so pissy? She wondered. “And I intend for the crew to carry out my orders. Trust is merely a luxury. I would like to have it, of course, and in time I am sure I will earn it, like I did on the Ehecatl, but at the moment I value obedience much more, is that clear?”
“Of course, captain,” Phelan said with reassuring crispness.
“Anything else?”
“No sir.”
“Dismissed.” After the Phalkerian had left, Natalie swiveled around in the seat to look at a framed painting of the Ariane’s former commander. The smiling Bolian was surrounded by his family. They had all been lost in the Cardassian Wars. The crew of the Ariane was all the family that Odvan had left and he had given his life to protect them. In the back of her mind Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if she was needlessly placing Odvan’s sacrifice in vain to bet to bed her own demons. But she put the thought out of her mind. She was sure if ever the safety of the Ariane conflicted with her desire to rescue the Urania, she would make the right decision. It bothered her though that she wasn’t sure what that decision would be.
******************************************************************
USS Aegis
Recreation Center
The punching bad ripped open, its contents spilling on the floor. “Sorry,” Lt. M’Raow, the mess pooling around her boots. She held up her boxing glove, her claws had shredded the fabric. “I’ve really made a mess of things.” The incident brought several training regimens to a halt as officers and crewmen stared at the hapless Security Officer, some shaking their heads, others smirking. Juanita, taking it all in, frowned. She powered down her machine, and quickly toweled her face.
“It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned up and mended,” Lt. Rojas said, stepping off of the treadmill. “Well, on second thought,” she added, after getting a better look at the condition of the bag. “A replacement might be in order.”
“It appears I can’t do anything right Juanita,” M’Raow mewled. She hung her head. Rojas touched the woman’s shoulder.
“What’s going on M?” M’Raow had been her tutor at the Academy. The woman was a whiz and was quickly scaling up the ranks. She was already on the captain’s short list to head both the Tactical and Security departments before Juanita suggested it. Captain Glover always had an eye for young talent. Juanita hadn’t seen M’Raow in years, though they kept somewhat in touch via subspace. It appeared that the woman still lacked some social graces. Thankful for the academic help, Juanita had endeavored to teach the woman some social skills to match her formidable intellect and work ethic. Before the Academy, M’Raow had had little exposure to non-Caitians. And from what she had intimated to Juanita, her acclimation to the polyglot world of the Academy had been extremely disconcerting at first.
“Oh…it’s…everything,” the woman conceded. Juanita glanced around, checking to see who was listening. She eyeballed a few onlookers until they resumed their exercising.
“How about we get out of here, let’s head over to the Aerie.”
********************************************************************
PART THREE: THE SHADOWS OF THE GODS
January 2376
USS Ariane
Captain’s Ready Room
“Enter,” Captain Brennan called out clearly, her voice strong. Lt. Phelan, the Phalkerian Security Officer, walked cautiously in the room, as if each step he took was causing considerable strain. Natalie had a good idea what was causing the junior officer such distress but she decided to let him reveal it in his own good time.
“Captain,” Phelan nodded curtly when he came to stop at the edge of her desk. The lithe, purple skinned Phalkerian stood at rigid attention. Sweat glistened on top of the young man’s bald head and his normally light purple complexion was had a darker violet flush.
“At ease,” Natalie said. She didn’t want the man to burst a blood vessel. He relaxed only slightly.
“You have something to say?” The captain finally prodded, unable to allow the man to stew. It wasn’t like he had done anything to deserve it. She was the one breaking regulations and defying orders after all. And she liked the earnest young man. Phelan had been instrumental in helping smooth her transition to the Ariane’s center seat. She had lost her ship above Cardassia, but the battered crew of the Ariane had lost their captain and first officer, and it appeared their sense of direction. Natalie knew she hadn’t made things much easier when her desire to keep the tattered remains of her old crew together broke off other pieces the Ariane’s already shattered crew. Phelan had helped keep the peace, unlike some other members of the crew.
“Captain,” Phelan chose his words carefully. “Commander M’Vess explained clearly that our course change, our new mission, and implementing radio silence were all on a need to know basis. I accept that…but this new change of plans has made others skittish.”
“And how can you be certain?”
“I know this crew,” Phelan said with wounded pride.
“It’s Maggie isn’t it? She’s the locus of this, isn’t she?” Phelan said nothing, but Natalie got her answer when she noticed his shoulders bunching up slightly. Brennan sighed. She knew she should’ve gotten rid of the testy Operations Officer when she had the chance, but she had wanted to maintain some sense of continuity for the shell shocked crew.
Captain Odvan, the ship’s former commander had tapped Grayson to be his next Executive Officer at the end of the war, but his death had negated that. Brennan wanted M’Vess to occupy that role and she gave Grayson the option of staying in her current position or moving on, with Natalie’s full support. She had even been willing to cash in some of her capital for the woman, but Grayson had declined. And she had been a nest of gossip and innuendo ever since.
Phelan’s and Grayson’s romantic relationship made the situation even stickier for all parties involved. “Permission to speak freely sir?” The Phalkerian finally asked.
“Of course,” Brennan said. “Please.”
“I’m not Counselor Gomes, but I don’t need a wall of degrees to tell you that the crew’s morale isn’t where it should be.”
“Oh.”
“Yes sir,” Phelan nodded, pausing, as he struggled how to string together his words. He was trying not to be inelegant, Natalie realized.
“Just say what’s on your mind,” Brennan huffed, no longer amused.
“The crew, not just Commander Grayson, don’t trust you enough yet to feel comfortable with this drastic change in orders,” Phelan blurted. He winced seconds later, but the captain merely nodded.
“Well, this isn’t a democracy,” Brennan replied curtly. She knew perhaps she could’ve found another, more gentle way to phrase it, but she didn’t have the time or inclination. She had a promise to keep, one she had made to herself.
“But sir, the coordinates you gave Ensign Azrak will take us directly into the Pyxis Cluster, through a good portion of the Son’a-Alshain war zone.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Natalie said tightly, despairing the look of frustration forming on Phelan’s face. When had she become so cold, and so pissy? She wondered. “And I intend for the crew to carry out my orders. Trust is merely a luxury. I would like to have it, of course, and in time I am sure I will earn it, like I did on the Ehecatl, but at the moment I value obedience much more, is that clear?”
“Of course, captain,” Phelan said with reassuring crispness.
“Anything else?”
“No sir.”
“Dismissed.” After the Phalkerian had left, Natalie swiveled around in the seat to look at a framed painting of the Ariane’s former commander. The smiling Bolian was surrounded by his family. They had all been lost in the Cardassian Wars. The crew of the Ariane was all the family that Odvan had left and he had given his life to protect them. In the back of her mind Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if she was needlessly placing Odvan’s sacrifice in vain to bet to bed her own demons. But she put the thought out of her mind. She was sure if ever the safety of the Ariane conflicted with her desire to rescue the Urania, she would make the right decision. It bothered her though that she wasn’t sure what that decision would be.
******************************************************************
USS Aegis
Recreation Center
The punching bad ripped open, its contents spilling on the floor. “Sorry,” Lt. M’Raow, the mess pooling around her boots. She held up her boxing glove, her claws had shredded the fabric. “I’ve really made a mess of things.” The incident brought several training regimens to a halt as officers and crewmen stared at the hapless Security Officer, some shaking their heads, others smirking. Juanita, taking it all in, frowned. She powered down her machine, and quickly toweled her face.
“It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned up and mended,” Lt. Rojas said, stepping off of the treadmill. “Well, on second thought,” she added, after getting a better look at the condition of the bag. “A replacement might be in order.”
“It appears I can’t do anything right Juanita,” M’Raow mewled. She hung her head. Rojas touched the woman’s shoulder.
“What’s going on M?” M’Raow had been her tutor at the Academy. The woman was a whiz and was quickly scaling up the ranks. She was already on the captain’s short list to head both the Tactical and Security departments before Juanita suggested it. Captain Glover always had an eye for young talent. Juanita hadn’t seen M’Raow in years, though they kept somewhat in touch via subspace. It appeared that the woman still lacked some social graces. Thankful for the academic help, Juanita had endeavored to teach the woman some social skills to match her formidable intellect and work ethic. Before the Academy, M’Raow had had little exposure to non-Caitians. And from what she had intimated to Juanita, her acclimation to the polyglot world of the Academy had been extremely disconcerting at first.
“Oh…it’s…everything,” the woman conceded. Juanita glanced around, checking to see who was listening. She eyeballed a few onlookers until they resumed their exercising.
“How about we get out of here, let’s head over to the Aerie.”
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Aerie
“I still find the humanoid desire to congregate…perplexing,” Ensign Lomar revealed as he sidled up to the bar. “Each cabin is equipped with a replicator unit that can generate the same nourishment.”
“On one level, you’re right,” Dr. Rieta Cole replied, “But for many humanoids, there’s more to sustenance than food and drink, there is emotional nourishment that comes from sharing experiences, and from physical contact…or proximity.”
“I see,” the Kelvan said. Though Rieta knew he didn’t. On the surface, Lomar looked liked like a fairly bland human, with close-cropped red hair and pale blue eyes. But she knew that his physical form was only a shell. She had only heard stories, most of them fantastical she was sure, but none of them Lomar would corroborate or deny, that the Kelvans’ true form was monstrous, a mass of tentacles and teeth. And that the first Kelvans that had reached the Alpha Quadrant had taken on more humanoid forms in order to blend in. Others had followed the first wave, encouraged by the mostly peaceful first encounter with the Enterprise over a century ago. New Kelva stood on the edge of the Milky Way, near the galactic barrier.
Contact with the Kelvan transplants had been sparse over the years, but Lomar had left the colony to join Starfleet, for reasons known only to him. Rieta couldn’t help but admit a medical interest in Lomar, not only due to his bizarre physiology, but also because she couldn’t read his mind. In fact, she jumped at the chance Captain Glover offered her to be Lomar’s guide, before a counselor was selected.
Rieta knew that the captain was dithering over the selection because he had little faith in counselors. He hadn’t told her that, but she had read his thoughts. It hadn’t been her intention and over the years she had developed methods of relegating most peoples’ thoughts to background noise, but sometimes, when she was close enough and the emotion behind the thought pointed enough, it plowed right through her defenses.
She hadn’t told anyone aboard Aegis about her telepathic abilities. She didn’t want them treating her different, like she saw how Lt. Commander Cherenkov tensed up around Lt. Dindral, even though the half-Betazoid was only an empath. She couldn’t perform a mind scan like Rieta could. And she was very reluctant to reveal her abilities to the captain now because she knew how he felt about her. And it would embarrass him, and she didn’t want to do that, because she had similar feelings. Though Rieta was certain those feelings would never be acted on. To do so would wreck the captain’s marriage. And Rieta couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, not just to fulfill her own desires.
So, she was quite pleased to spend time with the oblivious Lomar, who didn’t experience emotions the same way most humanoids did. The silence surrounding him was refreshing.
“So, what will you two have?” The attractive red-skinned Orion bartender asked, flashing an inviting smile. Lomar wasn’t affected at all, and the young woman was disappointed, despite keeping the smile in place. Dr. Cole filled the awkward moment by placing her order. She turned to Lomar. He was looking past the waiting bartender at the rows of bottles behind her.
“Made up your mind yet?”
“No,” Lomar said honestly, “Antediluvian Tomar merely told me to ask for something green.”
*******************************************************************
USS Aegis
Aerie
“I don’t get it,” Lt. M’Raow finally admitted, after her third drink. “Why would Commander Cherenkov do this? Does he question my ability?”
“No, that can’t be it,” Juanita answered. Though she wasn’t sure if that was the case or not. Ivan Cherenkov was a hard man period, but particularly to figure out. He kept to himself and Juanita had never seen him relax in all the months she had known him. “Maybe, it’s just that he feels more comfortable with Lt. Donar on the bridge. I think they served together in the Marines or something.”
“Special Missions,” M’Raow corrected. “They served on Special Missions Team Nine.”
“Still doing your homework I see,” Juanita replied with a smile. She took another sip of her Tenarian Glow.
“I thought everyone knew that, after the Kespyrtt III incident,” the Caitian added.
“What incident?”
M’Raow rolled her eyes, her whiskers twitching with reproach. “And I see you’re still not keeping up with current events.”
“Excuse me, but I’ve been a little busy lately, fighting a war and all,” Juanita said, defensive.
“This happened before the big war, it happened during the one with the Klingons,” M’Raow added.
“Oh,” Juanita said. “Yeah, I was knee deep in Temporal Probabilities then. Remember, Professor Wells?”
M’Raow smiled. “Of course,” she said. “He was an interesting figure.”
“To say the least,” Rojas frowned, “And you said the elective would be easy.”
“It was…for me.” The two women shared a much needed laugh.
“Look, I’m sure this thing with Lt. Donar is temporary, and we could use all the tactical experience the guy possesses. We don’t know what we’re stepping into in that Cluster.”
“Well, Donar is Angosian after all, and from I heard, he was one of their supersoldiers.”
Juanita shrugged. “Beats me.”
“You’ve really got to start watching more news.”
“It’s too depressing,” Juanita quipped.
The Caitian growled softly and threw her hands up. “Sometimes, I just don’t know what to do with you.”
“Me either,” Juanita laughed. The Caitian’s laugh was cut short. Her eyes slit and her ears perked up. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s him,” M’Raow hissed. “The man who took my job.” Juanita craned her neck around to see the object of her friend’s wrath. And despite herself she was impressed.
Muscles bulged against his black and gray uniform and he walked like he owned the Aerie. Their heads weren’t the only ones turned by his entrance, and the majority of them were as impressed as she was, from the appraising looks Juanita caught. Oblivious to them, Donar strode to the bar. Juanita gasped, “Wow.”
M’Raow grumbled. Juanita wiped the appreciative smile off her face when she turned back around. Her friend’s lips were pursed with displeasure. “Hey, what side are you on here?”
“There aren’t any sides, we’re all Starfleet,” Juanita pointed out.
“Yeah, but some are more favored than others it seems,” M’Raow said.
“You’re still Tactical and Security Chief on this boat, I think that’s something major,” Juanita offered.
“But I’m not on the bridge any more. I’m not in the center of the action.”
“You mean the captain can’t see you,” Juanita replied. “Well, he’s not on this mission and he didn’t reassign you. Commander Cherenkov did.”
“Yeah, but how is this going to look when Captain Glover resumes command? He’s going to think that I was reassigned due to poor performance.”
“No he won’t,” Juanita said, shaking her head. “He would never rate you poorly without clearing out your Jeffries Tube first.” M’Raow looked at her, perplexed.
“Human idiom,” Juanita explained. The Caitian nodded.
“There seems to be so many of these sayings among your people. Caitians are more direct.”
“That’s what you think,” Juanita winked. “I’ve dated Caitians and I know that’s not the case. Remember R’Pel?” M’Raow sucked her teeth at the mention.
“Not the finest example of Caitian manhood, but then again, you always did have a thing for the bad ones.”
“What can I say, I have a thing for danger,” Juanita chuckled, stealing another glance at Donar. And she knew that he was trouble.
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Aerie
“I still find the humanoid desire to congregate…perplexing,” Ensign Lomar revealed as he sidled up to the bar. “Each cabin is equipped with a replicator unit that can generate the same nourishment.”
“On one level, you’re right,” Dr. Rieta Cole replied, “But for many humanoids, there’s more to sustenance than food and drink, there is emotional nourishment that comes from sharing experiences, and from physical contact…or proximity.”
“I see,” the Kelvan said. Though Rieta knew he didn’t. On the surface, Lomar looked liked like a fairly bland human, with close-cropped red hair and pale blue eyes. But she knew that his physical form was only a shell. She had only heard stories, most of them fantastical she was sure, but none of them Lomar would corroborate or deny, that the Kelvans’ true form was monstrous, a mass of tentacles and teeth. And that the first Kelvans that had reached the Alpha Quadrant had taken on more humanoid forms in order to blend in. Others had followed the first wave, encouraged by the mostly peaceful first encounter with the Enterprise over a century ago. New Kelva stood on the edge of the Milky Way, near the galactic barrier.
Contact with the Kelvan transplants had been sparse over the years, but Lomar had left the colony to join Starfleet, for reasons known only to him. Rieta couldn’t help but admit a medical interest in Lomar, not only due to his bizarre physiology, but also because she couldn’t read his mind. In fact, she jumped at the chance Captain Glover offered her to be Lomar’s guide, before a counselor was selected.
Rieta knew that the captain was dithering over the selection because he had little faith in counselors. He hadn’t told her that, but she had read his thoughts. It hadn’t been her intention and over the years she had developed methods of relegating most peoples’ thoughts to background noise, but sometimes, when she was close enough and the emotion behind the thought pointed enough, it plowed right through her defenses.
She hadn’t told anyone aboard Aegis about her telepathic abilities. She didn’t want them treating her different, like she saw how Lt. Commander Cherenkov tensed up around Lt. Dindral, even though the half-Betazoid was only an empath. She couldn’t perform a mind scan like Rieta could. And she was very reluctant to reveal her abilities to the captain now because she knew how he felt about her. And it would embarrass him, and she didn’t want to do that, because she had similar feelings. Though Rieta was certain those feelings would never be acted on. To do so would wreck the captain’s marriage. And Rieta couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, not just to fulfill her own desires.
So, she was quite pleased to spend time with the oblivious Lomar, who didn’t experience emotions the same way most humanoids did. The silence surrounding him was refreshing.
“So, what will you two have?” The attractive red-skinned Orion bartender asked, flashing an inviting smile. Lomar wasn’t affected at all, and the young woman was disappointed, despite keeping the smile in place. Dr. Cole filled the awkward moment by placing her order. She turned to Lomar. He was looking past the waiting bartender at the rows of bottles behind her.
“Made up your mind yet?”
“No,” Lomar said honestly, “Antediluvian Tomar merely told me to ask for something green.”
*******************************************************************
USS Aegis
Aerie
“I don’t get it,” Lt. M’Raow finally admitted, after her third drink. “Why would Commander Cherenkov do this? Does he question my ability?”
“No, that can’t be it,” Juanita answered. Though she wasn’t sure if that was the case or not. Ivan Cherenkov was a hard man period, but particularly to figure out. He kept to himself and Juanita had never seen him relax in all the months she had known him. “Maybe, it’s just that he feels more comfortable with Lt. Donar on the bridge. I think they served together in the Marines or something.”
“Special Missions,” M’Raow corrected. “They served on Special Missions Team Nine.”
“Still doing your homework I see,” Juanita replied with a smile. She took another sip of her Tenarian Glow.
“I thought everyone knew that, after the Kespyrtt III incident,” the Caitian added.
“What incident?”
M’Raow rolled her eyes, her whiskers twitching with reproach. “And I see you’re still not keeping up with current events.”
“Excuse me, but I’ve been a little busy lately, fighting a war and all,” Juanita said, defensive.
“This happened before the big war, it happened during the one with the Klingons,” M’Raow added.
“Oh,” Juanita said. “Yeah, I was knee deep in Temporal Probabilities then. Remember, Professor Wells?”
M’Raow smiled. “Of course,” she said. “He was an interesting figure.”
“To say the least,” Rojas frowned, “And you said the elective would be easy.”
“It was…for me.” The two women shared a much needed laugh.
“Look, I’m sure this thing with Lt. Donar is temporary, and we could use all the tactical experience the guy possesses. We don’t know what we’re stepping into in that Cluster.”
“Well, Donar is Angosian after all, and from I heard, he was one of their supersoldiers.”
Juanita shrugged. “Beats me.”
“You’ve really got to start watching more news.”
“It’s too depressing,” Juanita quipped.
The Caitian growled softly and threw her hands up. “Sometimes, I just don’t know what to do with you.”
“Me either,” Juanita laughed. The Caitian’s laugh was cut short. Her eyes slit and her ears perked up. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s him,” M’Raow hissed. “The man who took my job.” Juanita craned her neck around to see the object of her friend’s wrath. And despite herself she was impressed.
Muscles bulged against his black and gray uniform and he walked like he owned the Aerie. Their heads weren’t the only ones turned by his entrance, and the majority of them were as impressed as she was, from the appraising looks Juanita caught. Oblivious to them, Donar strode to the bar. Juanita gasped, “Wow.”
M’Raow grumbled. Juanita wiped the appreciative smile off her face when she turned back around. Her friend’s lips were pursed with displeasure. “Hey, what side are you on here?”
“There aren’t any sides, we’re all Starfleet,” Juanita pointed out.
“Yeah, but some are more favored than others it seems,” M’Raow said.
“You’re still Tactical and Security Chief on this boat, I think that’s something major,” Juanita offered.
“But I’m not on the bridge any more. I’m not in the center of the action.”
“You mean the captain can’t see you,” Juanita replied. “Well, he’s not on this mission and he didn’t reassign you. Commander Cherenkov did.”
“Yeah, but how is this going to look when Captain Glover resumes command? He’s going to think that I was reassigned due to poor performance.”
“No he won’t,” Juanita said, shaking her head. “He would never rate you poorly without clearing out your Jeffries Tube first.” M’Raow looked at her, perplexed.
“Human idiom,” Juanita explained. The Caitian nodded.
“There seems to be so many of these sayings among your people. Caitians are more direct.”
“That’s what you think,” Juanita winked. “I’ve dated Caitians and I know that’s not the case. Remember R’Pel?” M’Raow sucked her teeth at the mention.
“Not the finest example of Caitian manhood, but then again, you always did have a thing for the bad ones.”
“What can I say, I have a thing for danger,” Juanita chuckled, stealing another glance at Donar. And she knew that he was trouble.
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
Son’a Destroyer Ktynga
Command Salon
The Pyxis Cluster spread out before his vessel, a turbulent sea of gases and radiation. If he didn’t have to enter it, Subahdar Par’na would’ve loved bringing the ship to all stop and admiring its chaotic beauty. It might even take his mind off the reports he had read about Belos colony, and the guilt gnawing at him.
The Alshain hadn’t been content to accept the surrender of Son’a forces there. Par’na had hoped that at least some of his people would survive, even as prisoners. The Son’a didn’t share the Klingons absolute abhorrence of captivity. Another day would give them more time to plot their revenge, Par’na had told himself. But the Alshain hadn’t been charitable. They had cooked the planet, not even saving it for them.
It made him wonder if the mad Jedalla had finally decided on a policy of extermination instead of forced removal.
“Subahdar, long range sensors have detected a signal, Starfleet in origin,” his Sensor Officer kindly drew him from his dark musings.
“What are the coordinates?”
“We shall have them in a few minutes.”
Par’na stood up, massage the aching neck. He glanced at his attendants, one Tarlac and one Elloran, who waited constantly at his side. He motioned toward his stateroom. “Inform me as soon as you have the coordinates,” he told his Sensor Officer.
********************************************************************
Alshain Starforce Destroyer Bonecrusher
Slayer-Class
“Milady, we think we have detected the ion trail of the Son’a vessel. It’s degraded considerably though,” Kveld Rask said, bowing in apology.
“About time,” Sutahr R’Vort said. She put the specially designed Vulcan lyre aside. She had taken up the lyre at the commencement of the war against the Alshain. Music soothed her, particularly the haunting sounds from that arid world. The Vulcan way was so different from theirs, so repressed, but yet they created beautiful literature and music, and Vallo thought she had discovered the reservoir of passion burning beneath the calculated restraint.
Of course, she knew being a Vulcan-phile was a holdover of her upbringing, when the nobles of her parents’ generation thought that Alshain culture was savage and sought to emulate the more civilized galactic cultures. Exarch Jedalla had put an end to such nonsense, such low self regard, and R’Vort was inspired by the new sense of pride and purpose among her people. However, the lessons passed down to her could not be easily forgotten, nor could she not still find some pleasure in the cultures of others.
“How degraded is it? Can we still plausibly extrapolate a projected course?”
“I’ve already ordered it,” the Kveld replied. “The ship is on trajectory toward the Pyxis Cluster.”
“The Maw?”
“Yes,” Rask answered without pause.
“Then we shall go there as well. There will be no place under Garrm’s eye that the Son’a can hide from us,” R’Vort boasted. “And I will not rest until every one of them receives justice.”
********************************************************************
Son’a Destroyer Ktynga
Command Salon
The Pyxis Cluster spread out before his vessel, a turbulent sea of gases and radiation. If he didn’t have to enter it, Subahdar Par’na would’ve loved bringing the ship to all stop and admiring its chaotic beauty. It might even take his mind off the reports he had read about Belos colony, and the guilt gnawing at him.
The Alshain hadn’t been content to accept the surrender of Son’a forces there. Par’na had hoped that at least some of his people would survive, even as prisoners. The Son’a didn’t share the Klingons absolute abhorrence of captivity. Another day would give them more time to plot their revenge, Par’na had told himself. But the Alshain hadn’t been charitable. They had cooked the planet, not even saving it for them.
It made him wonder if the mad Jedalla had finally decided on a policy of extermination instead of forced removal.
“Subahdar, long range sensors have detected a signal, Starfleet in origin,” his Sensor Officer kindly drew him from his dark musings.
“What are the coordinates?”
“We shall have them in a few minutes.”
Par’na stood up, massage the aching neck. He glanced at his attendants, one Tarlac and one Elloran, who waited constantly at his side. He motioned toward his stateroom. “Inform me as soon as you have the coordinates,” he told his Sensor Officer.
********************************************************************
Alshain Starforce Destroyer Bonecrusher
Slayer-Class
“Milady, we think we have detected the ion trail of the Son’a vessel. It’s degraded considerably though,” Kveld Rask said, bowing in apology.
“About time,” Sutahr R’Vort said. She put the specially designed Vulcan lyre aside. She had taken up the lyre at the commencement of the war against the Alshain. Music soothed her, particularly the haunting sounds from that arid world. The Vulcan way was so different from theirs, so repressed, but yet they created beautiful literature and music, and Vallo thought she had discovered the reservoir of passion burning beneath the calculated restraint.
Of course, she knew being a Vulcan-phile was a holdover of her upbringing, when the nobles of her parents’ generation thought that Alshain culture was savage and sought to emulate the more civilized galactic cultures. Exarch Jedalla had put an end to such nonsense, such low self regard, and R’Vort was inspired by the new sense of pride and purpose among her people. However, the lessons passed down to her could not be easily forgotten, nor could she not still find some pleasure in the cultures of others.
“How degraded is it? Can we still plausibly extrapolate a projected course?”
“I’ve already ordered it,” the Kveld replied. “The ship is on trajectory toward the Pyxis Cluster.”
“The Maw?”
“Yes,” Rask answered without pause.
“Then we shall go there as well. There will be no place under Garrm’s eye that the Son’a can hide from us,” R’Vort boasted. “And I will not rest until every one of them receives justice.”
********************************************************************
The more the merrier.
This is not going to be a walk in the park for Cherenkov and Aegis when all these factions will eventually meet. There is a lot of bad blood between these people which is guranteed to produce some fireworks.
I like what your doing with the Aegis crew.
Always a lot of fun. Great job.
This is not going to be a walk in the park for Cherenkov and Aegis when all these factions will eventually meet. There is a lot of bad blood between these people which is guranteed to produce some fireworks.
I like what your doing with the Aegis crew.
Always a lot of fun. Great job.
Thanks CeJay,
I really enjoy having a chance to go back and flesh out these characters. I had no idea really who they were when I wrote my first story, "Valley of Peace", and by the second story "Under the Shadows of Swords", you know how that ended so I never really got time to play around with them onboard the ship. Of course, there's my retroactive "Corruption of Blood" and your "The Times They Are A'Changin'" that also featured the crew during this timeframe.
I hope you do enjoy when the inevitable clash occurs. I decided to throw an Alshain ship in there after all, reminiscent of the old TOS stories where some Klingon commander went rogue in search of glory. I also decided to make the Alshain commander one of the "R" clan, inspired by the Alshain commanders in Gibraltar's "Prophet and Loss". I also used one of the benighted "R's" for "Fall Out." I decided to keep it all in the family.
I really enjoy having a chance to go back and flesh out these characters. I had no idea really who they were when I wrote my first story, "Valley of Peace", and by the second story "Under the Shadows of Swords", you know how that ended so I never really got time to play around with them onboard the ship. Of course, there's my retroactive "Corruption of Blood" and your "The Times They Are A'Changin'" that also featured the crew during this timeframe.
I hope you do enjoy when the inevitable clash occurs. I decided to throw an Alshain ship in there after all, reminiscent of the old TOS stories where some Klingon commander went rogue in search of glory. I also decided to make the Alshain commander one of the "R" clan, inspired by the Alshain commanders in Gibraltar's "Prophet and Loss". I also used one of the benighted "R's" for "Fall Out." I decided to keep it all in the family.
As this story takes twists and turns in my own mind, I'm renaming things along the way. Part 3 will be renamed "The Spaces In Between" in the final version of this story.
********************************************************************
Starfleet Headquarters
Earth
“You offer only self-righteous indignation in our war against the Son’a, yet you ask our government for permission to allow one of your vessels passage through a conflict zone,” Protocol Officer Ting V’Tan snorted. “Surely, you must be joking.”
Does it look I’m joking jackass, Admiral Samson Glover thought. His holographic likeness was being beamed to the Alshain envoy and he had to be careful to modulate his tone, facial expressions, and posture. Like it or not, this jerk was his gateway to the military command overseeing the Pyxis Cluster. And Samson wanted to project strength, coolness, and confidence. He clamped down on his temper and said as diplomatically as possible, “Officer V’Tan, this is a humanitarian mission.”
The Son’a had already practically thrown themselves at Starfleet, telling them about the beacon in the hopes that the Federation would reciprocate with aid. As far as Samson knew, no tangible aid had been forthcoming, though some members of the Federation Council had proposed creating safe havens for the Son’a and President Santiago was mulling imposing sanctions against the Exarchate. Though Samson hadn’t at first thought it necessary to get permission to enter the disputed territory, the more gains the Alshain made on the battlefield the more territorial and arrogant they became. And he didn’t want to send the Aegis, especially with Cherenkov at the helm, into a potential hot zone. The man might actually cause a real war this time.
“As you can see, I’m not human,” Sneered the golden pelted lupine.
“No, but I am sure you are a person of honor, and just like your Starforce, Starfleet doesn’t leave its members behind, alive or dead. We must investigate this beacon at its point of origin. Some of our people might be there, or this buoy could tell us where any survivors might be found.”
“And what shall Starfleet give my government in return for our generosity?” The bureaucrat asked. “Perhaps an end to this talk of sanctions?”
“The military does not make public policy,” Samson answered.
“And our government doesn’t make military policy,” V’Tan sneered.
“I thought you might say that,” the admiral said coolly. He glanced away from the screen. “I told you Nauarch, he would say that.”
V’Tan balked. “Nauarch?” He asked nervously. Samson permitted himself a smirk as another hologram took shape. The massive, dapper countenance of retired Nauarch Anvos D’Anzan stood beside him. Samson had first met the Alshain admiral during the initial planning phase of the Pyxis Cluster mission near the end of the war. He had been surprised that the man had been amenable enough to his proposal.
“I am honored admiral,” V’Tan gave a short bow, and Samson was heartened to see that it was only half-perfunctory.
D’Anzan snorted. “You know little of honor,” he rasped. “If you knew of such things, you would never try to wring concessions from a man asking permission to bring home his war dead. They are truly the honored ones.”
“But sir,” V’Tan stammered.
“Starfleet fought valiantly with us, and it was because of them, that we are even able to pursue our war with the Son’a. Don’t let the pounding of the blood in your veins deafen you to that fact,” D’Anzan said.
“But, but there are channels I would have to go through, procedures that must be followed to grant such a request.”
“Then perform them,” D’Anzan replied with a shrug. “Perhaps my not being active is causing you to still drag your feet. I know my clan mate Nauarch D’Arrosa would be very disappointed that you are stymieing Admiral Glover’s efforts. D’Arrosa considers the loss of the Starfleet ship a black mark on his career, and I’m sure he would be gracious with anyone who helped him expunge it. I’m also equally sure that he would be less than gracious to anyone that denied that from happening.”
Samson was practically grinning from ear to ear now and he didn’t care if the harried V’Tan saw it. “Do I make myself clear?” D’Anzan added.
“Of course, of course,” V’Tan said. “The authorizations will be ready within the hour.”
Thank goodness, Samson sighed. After V’Tan had rushed offline, and he gave his thanks and farewells to D’Anzan, he informed Commander Cherenkov that Aegis was cleared to enter Alshain territory. Now I could get back to Starbase One and check on Terrence, the admiral thought with a merciful sense of relief.
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Main Bridge
Lt. Shardha Dindral knew it was silly, but she felt exposed. Sitting in the command chair, which sat at the end of the command well, it made her feel like one of the old Imperials from the dynastic era of Betazoid history. And anything that reminded her of her noble heritage, of being a daughter of the Fourth House, was not something she found pleasing.
She glanced down at her old console. Both the operations and navigation consoles were joined together and wrapped around the command well. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Lt. Commander N’Saba hunched over her terminal. The lupine had rubbed her wrong as soon as he beamed aboard and he had proceeded to be a pain to everyone around him. Shardha didn’t understand how Lt. Rojas, much less the more marionette Commander Cherenkov tolerated the man’s rudeness. But the people who had served with him on the Cuffe seemed immune to his snide comments and overall bad attitude.
That wouldn’t be such an issue if only his old comrades crewed this vessel, but they comprised only a handful aboard Aegis. It was an issue Dindral knew she should take up with Commander Cherenkov, but had begun avoiding him as much as studiously as he was avoiding her. He was a very private man; she didn’t need to be an empath to figure that out. But what he couldn’t grasp is that she didn’t care.
Everyone had secrets, or things they wished to keep to themselves, and Shardha took no pleasure in robbing others of something so intimate, even if she could, which she couldn’t. As much as he had once tried to explain that to others, they either didn’t believe her or couldn’t grasp the difference between reading thoughts and sensing emotions. But when Shardha thought about it, she had to admit that there really wasn’t much of a difference at all.
Dindral was still pondering that revelation when the doors to the captain’s ready room swished open and Lt. Commander Cherenkov strode out. “Captain on the Bridge,” the eager Ensign Farrier beat her to standing at attention. Shardha quickly vacated the seat. Cherenkov claimed it without even glancing at her. Looking down at the screen inset into the chair’s armrest, he began keying commands. “Report,” he said, still gazing down.
There wasn’t much to report. All of the ship’s systems were operating in normal parameters, she told him. “What about the biogel circuits,” the Russian finally looked at her, his ice blue eyes raking over her, and through her.
Shardha ignored the chilly gaze. She updated him on the status of the upgrades and tried to add a little levity with, “And the Commander hasn’t contacted the bridge in about an hour, which is the first time since he touched down. I would call that progress.”
“Would you now?” Ivan smiled coldly.
“Well…uh…yeah,” Dindral’s mouth felt drier than a desert. “I mean…” She hated getting flustered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lt. Commander Uhnari, who had been manning the bridge’s engineering terminal, start to stand up.
“I know what you meant,” Cherenkov said, his glare intensifying. “We are about to go into a potentially hostile situation and…”
“Excuse me sir,” Lt. Commander Uhnari said, drawing Ivan’s attention, but hopefully not his ire. “Can I speak with you…privately, Sir?” The only sounds that could be heard on the bridge were the soft whirs and beeps of the operating systems. All side conversations had ceased, and Dindral felt everyone shifting their attention to her, and Commanders Cherenkov and Uhnari. She was grateful her darker hue prevented the blush from showing on her cheeks.
Cherenkov’s glower didn’t help matter. He jutted his head curtly in the direction of the Ready Room. “You’ve got five minutes Commander Uhnari.”
He stepped away from the command chair. “Lt. Dindral, the conn’s all yours.”
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
“Excuse me sir,” Lt. Commander Uhnari repeated as soon as the doors closed behind her. “But what the hell was that about?”
“I suggest you watch your language Commander,” he admonished her.
“And I suggest you watch the way you treat a junior officer on the bridge…Sir,” she added hastily, but pointedly. “Permission to speak freely?”
Ivan almost chuckled. “I think you’ve already crossed that Rubicon.” He was willing to permit Aquiel a little leeway due to them serving together aboard the Cuffe. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
“Listen, I know what it’s like to have a commanding officer riding me for no reason, and at least Lt. Rocha’s excuse was that he had been replaced by a coalescent being. What’s yours?”
Cherenkov nodded, remembering the bizarre incident from Aquiel’s service jacket. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Lt. Dindral,” Uhnari huffed, as if it should’ve been obvious. “You’re being too hard on her, and I want to know why? Captain Glover thought she could do the job. That should be good enough for you.”
“I had wanted you to be First Officer,” Ivan blurted, wishing he could reel the admission back in. That pulled Aquiel up short.
“Really?”
“You’re the most senior serving beside Dr. Cole and me,” Cherenkov explained.
“But my duty record hasn’t exactly screamed command material,” Aquiel admitted.
“It was good enough for Captain Glover to promote you on the Cuffe and bring you with him over here,” Cherenkov said. “And your engineering staff doesn’t seem to have many complaints.”
“Many?”
“Okay, none, well…very little.”
“Why does that not fill me with confidence?”
“Your exemplary work proves you know what you’re doing, day in and day out. The captain wanted you to stay down in Engineering. He wanted his expert on hand in case we encountered any problems with the propulsion or power systems. Not to mention, our special visitors.”
“You had to remind me,” Aquiel smiled, and a smirk almost broke through on Ivan’s face.
“Listen, maybe I am being too hard on Dindral,” Cherenkov couldn’t believe the words were spilling from his lips. “She has been a model officer and has gone above and beyond due to our staffing shortages.”
“Wow, I thought I was going to have to beat that out of you,” Aquiel smiled, relieved. “Right now, I’ve got Commander Dangal breathing down my neck. Some people like that type of scrutiny, but I can tell you that Shardha, like me, isn’t one of them. Trust her a little more.”
“You know the only reason I haven’t ordered you to clean injector tubes for the rest of this mission is because your crew saved our lives countless times in the war.”
“I know,” Aquiel smiled. “You pick up a few things about a person after you’ve served with them for a while.”
“So, you must also know that my goodwill is starting to run out,” Cherenkov replied. The Haliian nodded.
“I guessed as much. May I be excused?”
Ivan held up a finger. “One moment,” he said, stepping in front of the engineer. He tried not to be distracted by the alluring scent of her perfume as he made eye contact. “If you ever interrupt me in such a disrespectful manner again on the bridge…”
“Got it sir,” Uhnari replied, a vein popping up along her jaw line. The air chilled between them.
“Now, you’re dismissed.”
Ivan usually didn’t feel bad about pulling rank, and despite Aquiel being right, she had went about showing him the error of his ways all wrong. But this time was different. Ivan decided to take a few moments before stepping onto the bridge to figure out why, even though deep down he knew. And he wasn't sure he liked it, which bothered him even more.
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
Starfleet Headquarters
Earth
“You offer only self-righteous indignation in our war against the Son’a, yet you ask our government for permission to allow one of your vessels passage through a conflict zone,” Protocol Officer Ting V’Tan snorted. “Surely, you must be joking.”
Does it look I’m joking jackass, Admiral Samson Glover thought. His holographic likeness was being beamed to the Alshain envoy and he had to be careful to modulate his tone, facial expressions, and posture. Like it or not, this jerk was his gateway to the military command overseeing the Pyxis Cluster. And Samson wanted to project strength, coolness, and confidence. He clamped down on his temper and said as diplomatically as possible, “Officer V’Tan, this is a humanitarian mission.”
The Son’a had already practically thrown themselves at Starfleet, telling them about the beacon in the hopes that the Federation would reciprocate with aid. As far as Samson knew, no tangible aid had been forthcoming, though some members of the Federation Council had proposed creating safe havens for the Son’a and President Santiago was mulling imposing sanctions against the Exarchate. Though Samson hadn’t at first thought it necessary to get permission to enter the disputed territory, the more gains the Alshain made on the battlefield the more territorial and arrogant they became. And he didn’t want to send the Aegis, especially with Cherenkov at the helm, into a potential hot zone. The man might actually cause a real war this time.
“As you can see, I’m not human,” Sneered the golden pelted lupine.
“No, but I am sure you are a person of honor, and just like your Starforce, Starfleet doesn’t leave its members behind, alive or dead. We must investigate this beacon at its point of origin. Some of our people might be there, or this buoy could tell us where any survivors might be found.”
“And what shall Starfleet give my government in return for our generosity?” The bureaucrat asked. “Perhaps an end to this talk of sanctions?”
“The military does not make public policy,” Samson answered.
“And our government doesn’t make military policy,” V’Tan sneered.
“I thought you might say that,” the admiral said coolly. He glanced away from the screen. “I told you Nauarch, he would say that.”
V’Tan balked. “Nauarch?” He asked nervously. Samson permitted himself a smirk as another hologram took shape. The massive, dapper countenance of retired Nauarch Anvos D’Anzan stood beside him. Samson had first met the Alshain admiral during the initial planning phase of the Pyxis Cluster mission near the end of the war. He had been surprised that the man had been amenable enough to his proposal.
“I am honored admiral,” V’Tan gave a short bow, and Samson was heartened to see that it was only half-perfunctory.
D’Anzan snorted. “You know little of honor,” he rasped. “If you knew of such things, you would never try to wring concessions from a man asking permission to bring home his war dead. They are truly the honored ones.”
“But sir,” V’Tan stammered.
“Starfleet fought valiantly with us, and it was because of them, that we are even able to pursue our war with the Son’a. Don’t let the pounding of the blood in your veins deafen you to that fact,” D’Anzan said.
“But, but there are channels I would have to go through, procedures that must be followed to grant such a request.”
“Then perform them,” D’Anzan replied with a shrug. “Perhaps my not being active is causing you to still drag your feet. I know my clan mate Nauarch D’Arrosa would be very disappointed that you are stymieing Admiral Glover’s efforts. D’Arrosa considers the loss of the Starfleet ship a black mark on his career, and I’m sure he would be gracious with anyone who helped him expunge it. I’m also equally sure that he would be less than gracious to anyone that denied that from happening.”
Samson was practically grinning from ear to ear now and he didn’t care if the harried V’Tan saw it. “Do I make myself clear?” D’Anzan added.
“Of course, of course,” V’Tan said. “The authorizations will be ready within the hour.”
Thank goodness, Samson sighed. After V’Tan had rushed offline, and he gave his thanks and farewells to D’Anzan, he informed Commander Cherenkov that Aegis was cleared to enter Alshain territory. Now I could get back to Starbase One and check on Terrence, the admiral thought with a merciful sense of relief.
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Main Bridge
Lt. Shardha Dindral knew it was silly, but she felt exposed. Sitting in the command chair, which sat at the end of the command well, it made her feel like one of the old Imperials from the dynastic era of Betazoid history. And anything that reminded her of her noble heritage, of being a daughter of the Fourth House, was not something she found pleasing.
She glanced down at her old console. Both the operations and navigation consoles were joined together and wrapped around the command well. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Lt. Commander N’Saba hunched over her terminal. The lupine had rubbed her wrong as soon as he beamed aboard and he had proceeded to be a pain to everyone around him. Shardha didn’t understand how Lt. Rojas, much less the more marionette Commander Cherenkov tolerated the man’s rudeness. But the people who had served with him on the Cuffe seemed immune to his snide comments and overall bad attitude.
That wouldn’t be such an issue if only his old comrades crewed this vessel, but they comprised only a handful aboard Aegis. It was an issue Dindral knew she should take up with Commander Cherenkov, but had begun avoiding him as much as studiously as he was avoiding her. He was a very private man; she didn’t need to be an empath to figure that out. But what he couldn’t grasp is that she didn’t care.
Everyone had secrets, or things they wished to keep to themselves, and Shardha took no pleasure in robbing others of something so intimate, even if she could, which she couldn’t. As much as he had once tried to explain that to others, they either didn’t believe her or couldn’t grasp the difference between reading thoughts and sensing emotions. But when Shardha thought about it, she had to admit that there really wasn’t much of a difference at all.
Dindral was still pondering that revelation when the doors to the captain’s ready room swished open and Lt. Commander Cherenkov strode out. “Captain on the Bridge,” the eager Ensign Farrier beat her to standing at attention. Shardha quickly vacated the seat. Cherenkov claimed it without even glancing at her. Looking down at the screen inset into the chair’s armrest, he began keying commands. “Report,” he said, still gazing down.
There wasn’t much to report. All of the ship’s systems were operating in normal parameters, she told him. “What about the biogel circuits,” the Russian finally looked at her, his ice blue eyes raking over her, and through her.
Shardha ignored the chilly gaze. She updated him on the status of the upgrades and tried to add a little levity with, “And the Commander hasn’t contacted the bridge in about an hour, which is the first time since he touched down. I would call that progress.”
“Would you now?” Ivan smiled coldly.
“Well…uh…yeah,” Dindral’s mouth felt drier than a desert. “I mean…” She hated getting flustered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lt. Commander Uhnari, who had been manning the bridge’s engineering terminal, start to stand up.
“I know what you meant,” Cherenkov said, his glare intensifying. “We are about to go into a potentially hostile situation and…”
“Excuse me sir,” Lt. Commander Uhnari said, drawing Ivan’s attention, but hopefully not his ire. “Can I speak with you…privately, Sir?” The only sounds that could be heard on the bridge were the soft whirs and beeps of the operating systems. All side conversations had ceased, and Dindral felt everyone shifting their attention to her, and Commanders Cherenkov and Uhnari. She was grateful her darker hue prevented the blush from showing on her cheeks.
Cherenkov’s glower didn’t help matter. He jutted his head curtly in the direction of the Ready Room. “You’ve got five minutes Commander Uhnari.”
He stepped away from the command chair. “Lt. Dindral, the conn’s all yours.”
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
“Excuse me sir,” Lt. Commander Uhnari repeated as soon as the doors closed behind her. “But what the hell was that about?”
“I suggest you watch your language Commander,” he admonished her.
“And I suggest you watch the way you treat a junior officer on the bridge…Sir,” she added hastily, but pointedly. “Permission to speak freely?”
Ivan almost chuckled. “I think you’ve already crossed that Rubicon.” He was willing to permit Aquiel a little leeway due to them serving together aboard the Cuffe. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
“Listen, I know what it’s like to have a commanding officer riding me for no reason, and at least Lt. Rocha’s excuse was that he had been replaced by a coalescent being. What’s yours?”
Cherenkov nodded, remembering the bizarre incident from Aquiel’s service jacket. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Lt. Dindral,” Uhnari huffed, as if it should’ve been obvious. “You’re being too hard on her, and I want to know why? Captain Glover thought she could do the job. That should be good enough for you.”
“I had wanted you to be First Officer,” Ivan blurted, wishing he could reel the admission back in. That pulled Aquiel up short.
“Really?”
“You’re the most senior serving beside Dr. Cole and me,” Cherenkov explained.
“But my duty record hasn’t exactly screamed command material,” Aquiel admitted.
“It was good enough for Captain Glover to promote you on the Cuffe and bring you with him over here,” Cherenkov said. “And your engineering staff doesn’t seem to have many complaints.”
“Many?”
“Okay, none, well…very little.”
“Why does that not fill me with confidence?”
“Your exemplary work proves you know what you’re doing, day in and day out. The captain wanted you to stay down in Engineering. He wanted his expert on hand in case we encountered any problems with the propulsion or power systems. Not to mention, our special visitors.”
“You had to remind me,” Aquiel smiled, and a smirk almost broke through on Ivan’s face.
“Listen, maybe I am being too hard on Dindral,” Cherenkov couldn’t believe the words were spilling from his lips. “She has been a model officer and has gone above and beyond due to our staffing shortages.”
“Wow, I thought I was going to have to beat that out of you,” Aquiel smiled, relieved. “Right now, I’ve got Commander Dangal breathing down my neck. Some people like that type of scrutiny, but I can tell you that Shardha, like me, isn’t one of them. Trust her a little more.”
“You know the only reason I haven’t ordered you to clean injector tubes for the rest of this mission is because your crew saved our lives countless times in the war.”
“I know,” Aquiel smiled. “You pick up a few things about a person after you’ve served with them for a while.”
“So, you must also know that my goodwill is starting to run out,” Cherenkov replied. The Haliian nodded.
“I guessed as much. May I be excused?”
Ivan held up a finger. “One moment,” he said, stepping in front of the engineer. He tried not to be distracted by the alluring scent of her perfume as he made eye contact. “If you ever interrupt me in such a disrespectful manner again on the bridge…”
“Got it sir,” Uhnari replied, a vein popping up along her jaw line. The air chilled between them.
“Now, you’re dismissed.”
Ivan usually didn’t feel bad about pulling rank, and despite Aquiel being right, she had went about showing him the error of his ways all wrong. But this time was different. Ivan decided to take a few moments before stepping onto the bridge to figure out why, even though deep down he knew. And he wasn't sure he liked it, which bothered him even more.
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Main Bridge
Lt. Commander Uhnari saw Lt. Dindral trying to make eye contact with her, but she ignored her.
She wasn’t sticking up for the woman because they were friends or she sought her friendship, because she didn’t. Making friends had never been easy for her. Aquiel just didn’t like to see someone treated unfairly, particularly by a superior officer. She had had enough personal run-ins over the years with her superiors to finally divine when she was really out of line and when they were truly jerks.
Aquiel was also worried about Commander Cherenkov. The man was a hardass, and when he had first came aboard the Cuffe she did her best to avoid him, knowing a confrontation would be in the offing. However, once she had become Chief Engineer avoidance was no longer an option. And she had found the Russian to be tough minded but surprisingly fair for a senior officer type. Also, as Aquiel became more acquainted with being in the leadership herself, she found herself at times actually agreeing with Ivan and her peers.
As a child on Halii, she never would’ve imagined becoming a part of the machine. Then again, there was little she could imagine about anything. Each day since leaving Halii had been a blessing.
Despite the occasional scrape and setback, her Starfleet career had been almost charmed in comparison to her upbringing. Aquiel had achieved a level of success that she hadn’t had much right to claim or even to aspire to, but she had made it, and she intended the same for Shianna, her little sister. Following in her footsteps, the younger Uhnari had joined Starfleet too, but rather than subject herself to the grueling Academy, Shianna had enlisted.
Aquiel had held her formidable sibling off from joining until the war had ended. But nothing could stop her from signing up as soon as victory was declared. And Starfleet needed all the manpower it could get right now. Aquiel was sure that the only reason Command had entrusted a Prometheus-class ship to her, with her relative lack of experience and spotty service record was not due to the considerable will of Captain Glover, but more to the shortages of experienced officers, of any kind, across the board. Though Uhnari had the sneaking suspicion that Commander Dangal was eyeing her perch.
Geordi had given her the run down on the Zakdorn. He had been on the Advanced Starship Design team for the class’s pathfinder, the Prometheus. But more senior engineers had gobbled up the few Prometheus-class ships that were launched: the eponymous original, Deucalion, Pyrrha, Epimetheus, and Menoetius.
Her old friend had further told her that Dangal had been slated for the Menoetius, but that ship had been destroyed during the Breen attack on Earth. Its replacement, the Aegis, had gone to Captain Glover, and he had chosen Aquiel to continue on as chief engineer.
She suspected the man was hanging around, using the bioneural check as a pretense to find fault with her, to angle his way into her position. Aquiel almost smiled at the thought of the Zakdorn actually thinking he could force his way onto Captain Glover’s staff. Aquiel also knew that Ivan would have a thing or two to say about that as well, even if he did just ream her. And that thought made the smile stretch across her face. His pulling rank had irked her, but she had to admit that she could’ve handled getting his attention in a less disrespectful way. Ivan felt a need to reassert himself, and she wasn’t all that put out by that, like she had been with commanding officers she felt less sympathy for; though she was beginning to wonder, if sympathy was all she felt for Cherenkov.
Still pondering and smiling, Uhnari stepped up to the turbolift doors. Aquiel wanted to get back down to Engineering to surely prevent one of her staff from dropping Dangal into the warp core. The doors opened before she reached the proximity sensor. Dangal stood in the doorway. Tall and muscled, the Zakdorn’s eyes alighted on her. He crunched a padd in one of his large hands. One of his assistants, a harried Bolian, clutched several padds against his chest.
“Commander Uhnari, just the person I was looking for.”
Oh boy, Aquiel said, trying hard to not to roll her eyes. Here we go again.
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Sickbay
“This is the last time, I mean it,” Dr. Lall replied, her mien deathly serious. She placed the hypo back in a tiny black case and slid it into her desk drawer. “You’ve got a problem Natalie, and this isn’t going to solve it.”
Brennan rubbed the spot on her neck that had just received the injection. “Remember, I’m the one that told you.”
“Corillan acid addiction isn’t a laughing matter,” Lall said sternly. “Neither are these anti-acid blockers,” the Talarian said, rapping her knuckles on her desktop, just above the drawer she had dropped the bag in. “The blockers haven’t even been approved by the Starfleet. Who knows what damage even the cure is doing to you, not much the disease.”
“Wasn’t it enough to tell you I had a problem, and a solution,” Brennan shot back. “You know I needed something. I couldn’t handle the pain. But I knew that acid wasn’t the way to go and I’m trying to correct that.”
“Natalie, we’ve been friends for a long time. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be alive without you,” Lall replied, tracing a finger along a still vivid scar running jaggedly across her face. As a young lieutenant on the Skylark Brennan had led an away team onto a damaged Talarian shuttle. The only survivor had been Lall. Her husband had died when the shuttle encountered a nasty stream of astral eddies.
In the days that followed the rescue, Natalie learned that the scar raking Lall’s face hadn’t come from the accident. It had come from her husband. Natalie had also learned, to her disgust, that such behavior was far too commonplace among Talarian men and women lived as second-class citizens. Bringing Lall’s concerns to her captain, Natalie had argued successfully for him to petition for asylum for the widow.
There had been nothing left on Talar Prime for the woman, and she didn’t want to be forced into another marriage or worse. After asylum had been granted, Natalie and Lall had developed a deep friendship. Eventually the woman was able to follow her dream of becoming a physician. Natalie had jumped at the chance to bring Lall aboard the Ehecatl, and the captain needed her old friend more than ever on the Ariane.
“Lall, you don’t owe me anything, but I would like your support,” Natalie nearly pleaded. “I can beat this. I know I can.”
The Talarian sighed. “I know, but I just don’t know if remaining a captain puts you in the best position to do that. It’s a lot of stress.”
“Now that’s an understatement,” Natalie said, with a wry grin. “But seriously, what else can I do? Where can I go? The war took everything away from me. Everything…”
“Michael,” Lall whispered. Natalie blanched at the mention of his name. “You can’t bring him back, and you can’t run away from that.”
“I know that,” the captain hardened. She didn’t want to remember him. She couldn’t deal with that right now. Natalie straightened her uniform. “I need to get back to the bridge.”
“This isn’t over Natalie,” Lall said sympathetically. “You can’t evade this.”
“This is my demon and I’ll deal with it how I damn well please,” she snapped.
“You know I have the authority to remove you,” Lall replied.
“But do you have the callousness to do so? Knowing what it would do to me,” the captain replied. When the Talarian didn’t respond, Natalie nodded. “I thought so. You’re still a friend after all. Let me work through this, you can trust me. I’ve never let you down before, have I?”
Lall looked her directly in the eye, her sharp gaze penetrating, “There’s a first time for everything.”
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Crew Lounge
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating, just a little love?” Chief Engineer Barry Simcoe asked, his English accent much more pronounced after his third drink. The group huddled in a far corner of the lounge, engrossed in a deep synthehol-soaked conversation.
“No, I don’t think a medical evaluation is out of order,” Lt. Commander Maggie Grayson replied, her tone deadly sober. “Captain Brennan might be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. It’s not like there hasn’t been an epidemic of it that broke loose across the Fleet after the war.”
“Are you really suggesting that the Captain’s gone off her rocker?” Science Officer Rhonda Askew asked, incredulous. She blew and then brushed thick, hanging dreadlocks away from her freckled, mocha latte face. And then she laughed nervously, hoping to defuse or deflect another argument, Maggie knew.
“I for one won’t even entertain such a notion. The captain is in perfect health,” Junior Medical Officer Kellas said, her gaze hooded behind her prominent forehead ridge. “And such talk could be construed as insubordination or worse. I suggest you keep your gripes to yourself this time, Maggie.” The Ktarian warned.
“We have a right to know what our lives might be on the line for,” Grayson replied, unperturbed. “Captain Odvin was always transparent with us.”
“Brennan’s not Odvin,” Askew offered gently.
“Damn straight she isn’t,” Grayson shot back.
“If the mission’s need to know and Captain Brennan feels we don’t need to know, then that’s just the way it goes,” Simcoe shrugged. “We’ve all been in this game long enough to know that. It makes no sense trying to change the rules this far in because they aren’t to your liking, or better yet the captain isn’t.”
“This isn’t personal,” Even Grayson didn’t believe that even as she said it.
“Riiight,” Askew said, drawing a laugh from Simcoe. Grayson’s face flushed red and she sputtered to find a snappy rejoinder.
“Well, all this secrecy isn’t helping crew morale, that’s for certain,” Lt. Sinal replied, coming to her defense. The Suliban served directly under Phelan. He glanced around the nearly deserted lounge. It was bathed in an ominous red, reflecting the infernal gases that the ship was currently traveling through. So far the Ariane hadn’t encountered any major problems on their journey into the Pyxis Cluster.
That thought was just starting to fade when klaxons cut through the assorted noise in the lounge. The room turned an even deeper shade of red. “Red alert,” Maggie shouted a nanosecond before Captain Brennan’s voice boomed:
“Red alert! All hands to battle stations!”
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Main Bridge
Lt. Commander Uhnari saw Lt. Dindral trying to make eye contact with her, but she ignored her.
She wasn’t sticking up for the woman because they were friends or she sought her friendship, because she didn’t. Making friends had never been easy for her. Aquiel just didn’t like to see someone treated unfairly, particularly by a superior officer. She had had enough personal run-ins over the years with her superiors to finally divine when she was really out of line and when they were truly jerks.
Aquiel was also worried about Commander Cherenkov. The man was a hardass, and when he had first came aboard the Cuffe she did her best to avoid him, knowing a confrontation would be in the offing. However, once she had become Chief Engineer avoidance was no longer an option. And she had found the Russian to be tough minded but surprisingly fair for a senior officer type. Also, as Aquiel became more acquainted with being in the leadership herself, she found herself at times actually agreeing with Ivan and her peers.
As a child on Halii, she never would’ve imagined becoming a part of the machine. Then again, there was little she could imagine about anything. Each day since leaving Halii had been a blessing.
Despite the occasional scrape and setback, her Starfleet career had been almost charmed in comparison to her upbringing. Aquiel had achieved a level of success that she hadn’t had much right to claim or even to aspire to, but she had made it, and she intended the same for Shianna, her little sister. Following in her footsteps, the younger Uhnari had joined Starfleet too, but rather than subject herself to the grueling Academy, Shianna had enlisted.
Aquiel had held her formidable sibling off from joining until the war had ended. But nothing could stop her from signing up as soon as victory was declared. And Starfleet needed all the manpower it could get right now. Aquiel was sure that the only reason Command had entrusted a Prometheus-class ship to her, with her relative lack of experience and spotty service record was not due to the considerable will of Captain Glover, but more to the shortages of experienced officers, of any kind, across the board. Though Uhnari had the sneaking suspicion that Commander Dangal was eyeing her perch.
Geordi had given her the run down on the Zakdorn. He had been on the Advanced Starship Design team for the class’s pathfinder, the Prometheus. But more senior engineers had gobbled up the few Prometheus-class ships that were launched: the eponymous original, Deucalion, Pyrrha, Epimetheus, and Menoetius.
Her old friend had further told her that Dangal had been slated for the Menoetius, but that ship had been destroyed during the Breen attack on Earth. Its replacement, the Aegis, had gone to Captain Glover, and he had chosen Aquiel to continue on as chief engineer.
She suspected the man was hanging around, using the bioneural check as a pretense to find fault with her, to angle his way into her position. Aquiel almost smiled at the thought of the Zakdorn actually thinking he could force his way onto Captain Glover’s staff. Aquiel also knew that Ivan would have a thing or two to say about that as well, even if he did just ream her. And that thought made the smile stretch across her face. His pulling rank had irked her, but she had to admit that she could’ve handled getting his attention in a less disrespectful way. Ivan felt a need to reassert himself, and she wasn’t all that put out by that, like she had been with commanding officers she felt less sympathy for; though she was beginning to wonder, if sympathy was all she felt for Cherenkov.
Still pondering and smiling, Uhnari stepped up to the turbolift doors. Aquiel wanted to get back down to Engineering to surely prevent one of her staff from dropping Dangal into the warp core. The doors opened before she reached the proximity sensor. Dangal stood in the doorway. Tall and muscled, the Zakdorn’s eyes alighted on her. He crunched a padd in one of his large hands. One of his assistants, a harried Bolian, clutched several padds against his chest.
“Commander Uhnari, just the person I was looking for.”
Oh boy, Aquiel said, trying hard to not to roll her eyes. Here we go again.
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Sickbay
“This is the last time, I mean it,” Dr. Lall replied, her mien deathly serious. She placed the hypo back in a tiny black case and slid it into her desk drawer. “You’ve got a problem Natalie, and this isn’t going to solve it.”
Brennan rubbed the spot on her neck that had just received the injection. “Remember, I’m the one that told you.”
“Corillan acid addiction isn’t a laughing matter,” Lall said sternly. “Neither are these anti-acid blockers,” the Talarian said, rapping her knuckles on her desktop, just above the drawer she had dropped the bag in. “The blockers haven’t even been approved by the Starfleet. Who knows what damage even the cure is doing to you, not much the disease.”
“Wasn’t it enough to tell you I had a problem, and a solution,” Brennan shot back. “You know I needed something. I couldn’t handle the pain. But I knew that acid wasn’t the way to go and I’m trying to correct that.”
“Natalie, we’ve been friends for a long time. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be alive without you,” Lall replied, tracing a finger along a still vivid scar running jaggedly across her face. As a young lieutenant on the Skylark Brennan had led an away team onto a damaged Talarian shuttle. The only survivor had been Lall. Her husband had died when the shuttle encountered a nasty stream of astral eddies.
In the days that followed the rescue, Natalie learned that the scar raking Lall’s face hadn’t come from the accident. It had come from her husband. Natalie had also learned, to her disgust, that such behavior was far too commonplace among Talarian men and women lived as second-class citizens. Bringing Lall’s concerns to her captain, Natalie had argued successfully for him to petition for asylum for the widow.
There had been nothing left on Talar Prime for the woman, and she didn’t want to be forced into another marriage or worse. After asylum had been granted, Natalie and Lall had developed a deep friendship. Eventually the woman was able to follow her dream of becoming a physician. Natalie had jumped at the chance to bring Lall aboard the Ehecatl, and the captain needed her old friend more than ever on the Ariane.
“Lall, you don’t owe me anything, but I would like your support,” Natalie nearly pleaded. “I can beat this. I know I can.”
The Talarian sighed. “I know, but I just don’t know if remaining a captain puts you in the best position to do that. It’s a lot of stress.”
“Now that’s an understatement,” Natalie said, with a wry grin. “But seriously, what else can I do? Where can I go? The war took everything away from me. Everything…”
“Michael,” Lall whispered. Natalie blanched at the mention of his name. “You can’t bring him back, and you can’t run away from that.”
“I know that,” the captain hardened. She didn’t want to remember him. She couldn’t deal with that right now. Natalie straightened her uniform. “I need to get back to the bridge.”
“This isn’t over Natalie,” Lall said sympathetically. “You can’t evade this.”
“This is my demon and I’ll deal with it how I damn well please,” she snapped.
“You know I have the authority to remove you,” Lall replied.
“But do you have the callousness to do so? Knowing what it would do to me,” the captain replied. When the Talarian didn’t respond, Natalie nodded. “I thought so. You’re still a friend after all. Let me work through this, you can trust me. I’ve never let you down before, have I?”
Lall looked her directly in the eye, her sharp gaze penetrating, “There’s a first time for everything.”
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Crew Lounge
“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating, just a little love?” Chief Engineer Barry Simcoe asked, his English accent much more pronounced after his third drink. The group huddled in a far corner of the lounge, engrossed in a deep synthehol-soaked conversation.
“No, I don’t think a medical evaluation is out of order,” Lt. Commander Maggie Grayson replied, her tone deadly sober. “Captain Brennan might be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. It’s not like there hasn’t been an epidemic of it that broke loose across the Fleet after the war.”
“Are you really suggesting that the Captain’s gone off her rocker?” Science Officer Rhonda Askew asked, incredulous. She blew and then brushed thick, hanging dreadlocks away from her freckled, mocha latte face. And then she laughed nervously, hoping to defuse or deflect another argument, Maggie knew.
“I for one won’t even entertain such a notion. The captain is in perfect health,” Junior Medical Officer Kellas said, her gaze hooded behind her prominent forehead ridge. “And such talk could be construed as insubordination or worse. I suggest you keep your gripes to yourself this time, Maggie.” The Ktarian warned.
“We have a right to know what our lives might be on the line for,” Grayson replied, unperturbed. “Captain Odvin was always transparent with us.”
“Brennan’s not Odvin,” Askew offered gently.
“Damn straight she isn’t,” Grayson shot back.
“If the mission’s need to know and Captain Brennan feels we don’t need to know, then that’s just the way it goes,” Simcoe shrugged. “We’ve all been in this game long enough to know that. It makes no sense trying to change the rules this far in because they aren’t to your liking, or better yet the captain isn’t.”
“This isn’t personal,” Even Grayson didn’t believe that even as she said it.
“Riiight,” Askew said, drawing a laugh from Simcoe. Grayson’s face flushed red and she sputtered to find a snappy rejoinder.
“Well, all this secrecy isn’t helping crew morale, that’s for certain,” Lt. Sinal replied, coming to her defense. The Suliban served directly under Phelan. He glanced around the nearly deserted lounge. It was bathed in an ominous red, reflecting the infernal gases that the ship was currently traveling through. So far the Ariane hadn’t encountered any major problems on their journey into the Pyxis Cluster.
That thought was just starting to fade when klaxons cut through the assorted noise in the lounge. The room turned an even deeper shade of red. “Red alert,” Maggie shouted a nanosecond before Captain Brennan’s voice boomed:
“Red alert! All hands to battle stations!”
********************************************************************
Voices of dissention are beginning to take hold of the Arianne but for now I'm not willing to believe that a Starfleet crew would consider mutiny. But her drug-addicted (?!) captain clearly has her work cut out for her.
In the meantime on the Aegis, Aqiuel is waging her own battles. I've always liked her and now even more that she decided to stand up for the other officers on the ship, not the least bit intimidated by the big, hardass Russian. I wonder if this is the story their relationship takes off.
Cool stuff.
In the meantime on the Aegis, Aqiuel is waging her own battles. I've always liked her and now even more that she decided to stand up for the other officers on the ship, not the least bit intimidated by the big, hardass Russian. I wonder if this is the story their relationship takes off.
Cool stuff.
This story is proceeding nicely. As I told CeJay, with the topsy-turvy direction my life has been taking recently, the stories here are truly helping me keep it together. Great work and while I might not be here as often as I'd like, I'm still doing the best I can to keep up.
DF,
Good to hear from you again. I'm sorry to hear that things aren't going well for you at the moment, but hopefully this rocky period will pass quickly. Sometimes all you can do is endure it and outlast it. I miss reading your work and look forward to delving back into it when you're able. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Would it be cool if I threw a mention of the Sutherland in there? Perhaps a Shelby cameo?
CeJay,
The drug addict thing wasn't planned for Brennan. Though I did want to show how the war had changed her, and I could imagine her trying to use drugs as an escape. Regarding the name Michael, I think I'm going to change that to Matthew. I was wondering if I could make him Matthew Owens? I don't remember you writing much about the man's personal life. And though the name Mike just popped into my head without a clear reason why at first, the more I thought about it, I remembered Matt Owens and I thought it might be a cool tie to the Star Eagle series. Like the Halloween avatar too. In regards to your question about Ivan and Aquiel, maybe. This story will at least bring them closer together. "Valley of Peace" takes place a couple months after this story, and "Corruption of Blood", and if I don't put them together by the end of PJ, at least the seeds will be planted for them to sprout over the following several months.
Good to hear from you again. I'm sorry to hear that things aren't going well for you at the moment, but hopefully this rocky period will pass quickly. Sometimes all you can do is endure it and outlast it. I miss reading your work and look forward to delving back into it when you're able. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Would it be cool if I threw a mention of the Sutherland in there? Perhaps a Shelby cameo?
CeJay,
The drug addict thing wasn't planned for Brennan. Though I did want to show how the war had changed her, and I could imagine her trying to use drugs as an escape. Regarding the name Michael, I think I'm going to change that to Matthew. I was wondering if I could make him Matthew Owens? I don't remember you writing much about the man's personal life. And though the name Mike just popped into my head without a clear reason why at first, the more I thought about it, I remembered Matt Owens and I thought it might be a cool tie to the Star Eagle series. Like the Halloween avatar too. In regards to your question about Ivan and Aquiel, maybe. This story will at least bring them closer together. "Valley of Peace" takes place a couple months after this story, and "Corruption of Blood", and if I don't put them together by the end of PJ, at least the seeds will be planted for them to sprout over the following several months.
Feel free to throw in a Suthy/Shelby cameo, DarKush. You're right, sometimes, all you can do is just ride out the storm--I know it'll pass soon, they always do--it's just a pain in the butt while it's going on.
Just hang in there DF. We all have those times and sometimes it seems like there's no way out or the ordeal will go on forever, but it doesn't. We just have to tough it out, even though that sucks. Thanks again DF for allowing me to use the Sutherland characters. I took a look at the Expanded Universe page and saw there were gaps for the Security Chief and the Operations Officer post-Dominion War. I wasn't sure if you wanted Sito Jaxa to be both tactical officer and security officer. I took the liberty to create two new characters to fill the gap. Lt. Pierre Auguste of Senegal and Lt. T'Jol of Vulcan. T'Jol is the Security Chief and Auguste is the Operations Officer. I also created Lt. Rudd and Ensign Amax of Axanar as redshirt security guards. I hope you don't mind. I needed some extra bodies in case I had to take someone out on the Sutherland. I hope you don't mind.
********************************************************************
Son’a Destroyer Ktynga
Command Salon
Subahdar Par’na rushed onto the bridge, his hood falling from his balding skull. He was so excited that he forgot about the mottled, sparsely haired scalp that usually kept hidden. “We are in sensor range?” He asked for confirmation as he took his seat from Lieutenant Lojef, his second in command.
“Yes,” Lojef said, as equally relieved.
“On screen, on screen,” Par’na rushed, gesturing with both hands. Lojef looked at the Sensor Officer. Har’ena input the command into her terminal. Static crackled across the screen, eventually giving way to a thick wall of gases.
“Increase magnification,” Par’na ordered, sitting on the edge of his seat. Har’ena complied. The haze dissipated after the deft officer reconfigured the sensors, bypassing the densest patch of gas. The receptors zeroed in on a rift resting in space, undulating like a laughing mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Par’na looked at Lojef. “Where is it?”
“Sir, the signal is coming from inside the spatial rift,” Har’ena said. Par’na rubbed his wrinkled chin absently, while taking in the revelation.
“I should’ve known things couldn’t be this easy,” Lojef remarked.
“As always, you are correct,” Par’na chuckled mirthlessly. “Is there some way we can perhaps we can lock onto the coordinates of the probe and use a tractor beam to pluck it from the rift?”
“That’s an interesting idea,” Lojef said. He turned to the Science Officer. “Tarlo, is that feasible?”
Tarlo, hunched over his screen, didn’t acknowledge his superior. He merely waved, as if swatting a pest. Par’na chuckled again, this time at Lojef’s exasperation. The two men had a love-hate relationship that kept things interesting aboard the ship and even managed to leaven intense times such as these. Tarlo looked up a few moments later, with more creases across his jowly face.
“Sir, I don’t think it would be feasible…at least not from this distance, and I caution that we get too close to that rift. It is exhibiting spikes in gravity. If we get too close, during one of those spikes, we could be sucked into the spatial tear.”
“Too many of our people have already died for us to not see this through,” Par’na said without a thought. “Proceed toward the rift.”
“But sir,” Tarlo began.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Lojef replied. “Helm, carry out the commander’s orders.”
“But if we get too close,” the Science Officer pressed.
“We won’t,” Par’na snapped, his good humor over. His focus now was totally on the rift rippling before his vessel, the smile on its lips now locking mocking to him. There was no way he could return to the conclave and tell them he was so close to the Imperium’s possible salvation but had given in to his fear, and old space hag tales. “We’ll only go in as far as we need to. But I’m not leaving without that probe in our possession.” The air was heavy with Tarlo’s unsaid response, but the man wisely kept it to himself.
Par’na was mollified only slightly by the phlegmatic man’s acquiescence. “Helm, best speed.”
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Main Bridge
“I suggest you vacate this sector of space immediately!” The Alshain bellowed, his spittle hitting the screen. Captain Brennan was glad she wasn’t in the same room with the enraged man. If she had been at the moment being pelted with saliva would perhaps be her least worry.
“I am responding to reports of a Starfleet distress beacon,” she said calmly.
“Your ship registry identifies you as the Federation Starship Ariane. You are not authorized to enter the Cluster to search for this so-called beacon,” her counterpart sneered.
“So now you’re questioning whether a beacon exists?” The captain still kept up a façade of calm though her patience was starting to wear thin. She could also sense the tension growing among the bridge crew. The captain needed to end this and quickly. And hopefully without starting a war with the Exarchate.
“I question nothing. The only thing I’m requesting, and I do this only because of our former alliance, is for you to leave. You are violating Alshain territory, encroaching upon sovereignty. This is your final warning.”
“I am duty bound to respond to all ships in distress,” Captain Brennan replied, edge creeping into her voice. “And I will respond to this hail.”
“Alshain frigate powering weapons,” Lt. Phelan said just loud enough for Brennan to hear. Underneath the screen she gestured for him to do the same.
“I see Commander that we are having a failure to communicate,” Brennan said. “We have no territorial designs on Alshain territory, nor do we wish to contest the Exarchate’s claims to this region.”
“They aren’t ‘claims’,” the Alshain replied, mortified. “This is our space.”
“Okay,” Brennan shrugged. “It’s yours. You can accompany us if you like.”
“Only one Starfleet vessel has been authorized to enter this section of our space and it isn’t yours.”
“What is he talking about?” Lt. Commander Grayson asked. Brennan grimaced.
“Not now,” she replied harshly.
The Alshain commander smiled. “Only the Starship Aegis has been granted permission to enter our space. You are trespassing.”
“Is that true?” Grayson spoke up again.
Commander M’Vess growled low in her throat. But the Operations Officer would not be intimidated.
“Do we have authorization to be here or not?” Grayson asked, point blank.
“You’re relieved,” Brennan hissed.
“Alshain vessel is firing,” Phelan said. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw M’Vess motioning for Grayson to remain at her post. Brennan’s pulse quickening at the imminence of combat and her concern focused almost exclusively on her crew and ship, she decided to let M’Vess countermanding her orders to slide, until the battle was over.
“Evasive maneuvers,” Brennan called. “Return fire.” The image on the view screen shifted from the fuming Alshain commander to his warship. Two fiery beams flared through space, on a direct course toward the Ariane’s main hull.
*******************************************************************
********************************************************************
Son’a Destroyer Ktynga
Command Salon
Subahdar Par’na rushed onto the bridge, his hood falling from his balding skull. He was so excited that he forgot about the mottled, sparsely haired scalp that usually kept hidden. “We are in sensor range?” He asked for confirmation as he took his seat from Lieutenant Lojef, his second in command.
“Yes,” Lojef said, as equally relieved.
“On screen, on screen,” Par’na rushed, gesturing with both hands. Lojef looked at the Sensor Officer. Har’ena input the command into her terminal. Static crackled across the screen, eventually giving way to a thick wall of gases.
“Increase magnification,” Par’na ordered, sitting on the edge of his seat. Har’ena complied. The haze dissipated after the deft officer reconfigured the sensors, bypassing the densest patch of gas. The receptors zeroed in on a rift resting in space, undulating like a laughing mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Par’na looked at Lojef. “Where is it?”
“Sir, the signal is coming from inside the spatial rift,” Har’ena said. Par’na rubbed his wrinkled chin absently, while taking in the revelation.
“I should’ve known things couldn’t be this easy,” Lojef remarked.
“As always, you are correct,” Par’na chuckled mirthlessly. “Is there some way we can perhaps we can lock onto the coordinates of the probe and use a tractor beam to pluck it from the rift?”
“That’s an interesting idea,” Lojef said. He turned to the Science Officer. “Tarlo, is that feasible?”
Tarlo, hunched over his screen, didn’t acknowledge his superior. He merely waved, as if swatting a pest. Par’na chuckled again, this time at Lojef’s exasperation. The two men had a love-hate relationship that kept things interesting aboard the ship and even managed to leaven intense times such as these. Tarlo looked up a few moments later, with more creases across his jowly face.
“Sir, I don’t think it would be feasible…at least not from this distance, and I caution that we get too close to that rift. It is exhibiting spikes in gravity. If we get too close, during one of those spikes, we could be sucked into the spatial tear.”
“Too many of our people have already died for us to not see this through,” Par’na said without a thought. “Proceed toward the rift.”
“But sir,” Tarlo began.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Lojef replied. “Helm, carry out the commander’s orders.”
“But if we get too close,” the Science Officer pressed.
“We won’t,” Par’na snapped, his good humor over. His focus now was totally on the rift rippling before his vessel, the smile on its lips now locking mocking to him. There was no way he could return to the conclave and tell them he was so close to the Imperium’s possible salvation but had given in to his fear, and old space hag tales. “We’ll only go in as far as we need to. But I’m not leaving without that probe in our possession.” The air was heavy with Tarlo’s unsaid response, but the man wisely kept it to himself.
Par’na was mollified only slightly by the phlegmatic man’s acquiescence. “Helm, best speed.”
********************************************************************
USS Ariane
Main Bridge
“I suggest you vacate this sector of space immediately!” The Alshain bellowed, his spittle hitting the screen. Captain Brennan was glad she wasn’t in the same room with the enraged man. If she had been at the moment being pelted with saliva would perhaps be her least worry.
“I am responding to reports of a Starfleet distress beacon,” she said calmly.
“Your ship registry identifies you as the Federation Starship Ariane. You are not authorized to enter the Cluster to search for this so-called beacon,” her counterpart sneered.
“So now you’re questioning whether a beacon exists?” The captain still kept up a façade of calm though her patience was starting to wear thin. She could also sense the tension growing among the bridge crew. The captain needed to end this and quickly. And hopefully without starting a war with the Exarchate.
“I question nothing. The only thing I’m requesting, and I do this only because of our former alliance, is for you to leave. You are violating Alshain territory, encroaching upon sovereignty. This is your final warning.”
“I am duty bound to respond to all ships in distress,” Captain Brennan replied, edge creeping into her voice. “And I will respond to this hail.”
“Alshain frigate powering weapons,” Lt. Phelan said just loud enough for Brennan to hear. Underneath the screen she gestured for him to do the same.
“I see Commander that we are having a failure to communicate,” Brennan said. “We have no territorial designs on Alshain territory, nor do we wish to contest the Exarchate’s claims to this region.”
“They aren’t ‘claims’,” the Alshain replied, mortified. “This is our space.”
“Okay,” Brennan shrugged. “It’s yours. You can accompany us if you like.”
“Only one Starfleet vessel has been authorized to enter this section of our space and it isn’t yours.”
“What is he talking about?” Lt. Commander Grayson asked. Brennan grimaced.
“Not now,” she replied harshly.
The Alshain commander smiled. “Only the Starship Aegis has been granted permission to enter our space. You are trespassing.”
“Is that true?” Grayson spoke up again.
Commander M’Vess growled low in her throat. But the Operations Officer would not be intimidated.
“Do we have authorization to be here or not?” Grayson asked, point blank.
“You’re relieved,” Brennan hissed.
“Alshain vessel is firing,” Phelan said. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw M’Vess motioning for Grayson to remain at her post. Brennan’s pulse quickening at the imminence of combat and her concern focused almost exclusively on her crew and ship, she decided to let M’Vess countermanding her orders to slide, until the battle was over.
“Evasive maneuvers,” Brennan called. “Return fire.” The image on the view screen shifted from the fuming Alshain commander to his warship. Two fiery beams flared through space, on a direct course toward the Ariane’s main hull.
*******************************************************************
*******************************************************************
Sisko’s Creole Kitchen
Earth
Three Days Later…
Admiral Glover sipped the last bit of coffee before placing the empty cup back on its dish. “That was certainly filling,” he smiled, patting his stomach, and hiding his disappointment that his abdomen wasn’t as washboard as it once had been. Well, perhaps not exactly washboard, per se.
His younger, thickset brother Sheldon was still drinking his iced tea. “Thank you for bringing me here Sam, this place is great.” The man’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in everything.
“You’re welcome, Joseph is the best chef on this continent,” Glover nodded with certainty.
“I’m not talking about the food,” Sheldon replied, “Though the cuisine was fine. No, I’m talking about New Orleans. You know I’ve traveled all around the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and there’s so much right here on Earth that I haven’t explored.” The archaeologist said with breathless wonder, gazing past his brother to take in the buildings along the city’s historic French Quarter.
“Well, if you ever tamped down your wanderlust and came back home more, you could do that,” Samson replied. “Not to mention finding a wife.”
Sheldon snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh not that again,” he said, pushing his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. His brother had stopped taking Retinax VII several years ago and had decided to resurrect the archaic practice of wearing corrective eyewear. Samson thought it was silly, not to mention impractical, and quite possibly dangerous. What if Sheldon lost or broke his glasses while he was traveling by himself through hostile space or while he was stuck in a moldy crypt. But Sheldon thought it made him look more professorial. Add to that the ancient tweed sports jacket with patches at the elbows. Somewhere along the way Shelly had rifled through their parents’ old vids and tried to imitate to a tee the academic characters in them.
Sheldon had always been an eccentric sort, but Samson could never deny the man’s brilliance. Though Sam had written a few well regarded books on the Romulan Star Empire and was considered something of a scholar on the subject, Sheldon was a polymath. Though his genius wasn’t tempered by enough discipline in Sam’s eyes, and never had been.
Archeology was a field that gave him some structure, but a lot of flexibility and alone time, which was a premium for his younger brother. Sam was just glad that Shelly had found something productive to lend his talents to. “It’s a shame that I won’t be able to spend more time here,” Sheldon said, his regret genuine.
“Off again, I see.” Samson said, equally regretful.
“Yes, now that I know Terrence is recuperating, I need to get back out to the dig site.”
“I see,” the admiral sighed. “Where is it again?”
Sheldon’s face pinched briefly with annoyance. “Kurl,” he said, “How many times do I have to repeat that? It’s not that hard of a name to remember.”
“I know,” Samson replied. “It’s just that every time I talk to you, you’re in a different place.”
“Well, rest assured, this dig will keep me stationary for several months,” Sheldon said, his tone neutral. Samson couldn’t glean whether his brother was sanguine with that or not. “We’ve just unearthed another Kurlan city. The finds have already been amazing and I don’t think we’ve even discovered the mother lode.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it in no time once you return,” Samson replied.
“I believe so too,” Sheldon remarked, without a shred of modesty. He stood up and patted his sides of his dark brown trousers. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to be pushing off.”
“So soon?” Samson was shocked.
“Sure,” Sheldon said. “I need to get back.” The admiral stood up slowly.
“What about saying good bye to Terrence and Jasmine?”
“Already did that.”
“Okay, how about I escort you to your shuttle?” In response, Sheldon dug in his pocket and pulled out a small communicator.
“I’ve got that covered to,” He said before activating the device. “Hold for beam out,” he said into the communicator. “You’re a busy man, being the new head of Starfleet Security and all. I’ve wasted too much of your time as is.”
“You’re my brother,” Samson began.
“I knew that already,” Sheldon replied. “Now tell me something I don’t know?”
Samson was stumped. He scratched his head, his exasperation mounting. “Sometimes, I just don’t get you Shelly?”
“Well, I knew that too,” Sheldon grinned. “But you know, it at least keeps things interesting. Till next time brother.”
Samson walked around the table and two men embraced far too briefly. Sheldon pulled back. “One to transport.” Samson chocked up slightly as his brother dissolved in a flash of light. It had been too long since they had spent time like this, and he didn’t know when he would get to see his brother again.
His sadness was interrupted by another flash of light right in front of him. For a nanosecond, Samson’s heart lifted, hoping that Shelly had changed his mind and decided to spend more time with his family. But the person that resolved before him was his Vulcan attaché.
“Admiral,” she said, her breathlessness shocking him. “You’re needed back at Headquarters, right away.”
********************************************************************
Central Bazaar
Kooval III
Occupied Cardassian Space
“Did you really think it was going to be like this?” Operations Officer Pierre Auguste asked. Lt. Maria Django didn’t try all that hard to not roll her eyes at the man’s naïve question. She stared hard into the man’s dark eyes, almost the same color as his smooth, chocolate face. His skin was of a richer, darker hue than her own, burnished by the tropic climes of his native Senegal. Auguste looked around in wonder at the sights and sounds engulfing them, his tricorder hidden underneath his flowing robes. Part of his turning around almost each step they took was not just for reasons of wonderment. He was scanning passerby and tents, looking for their contact. “The resistance to our rebuilding efforts, I mean?”
“What did you expect? People don’t take kindly to being occupied, no matter who’s doing the occupying,” Maria asked, unbelieving that there was anyone left that had their head stuck that deeply in the sand. The fourth member of the away team, Ensign Amax, of Axanar, also shook his scaly head in disbelief.
“Knock it off Maria,” Commander Sam Lavelle said, pausing to allow a Cardassian woman, dragging two scraggly looking children behind her, to pass them. Lavelle took the opportunity to turn around and glare at both of them. He pulled down the mask covering the lower half of his face so that they could hear him clearly. Each member of the away team was similarly garbed, in part to protect against the strong desert winds and rough sand particles, but also to disguise them from the locals. Humans weren’t normally seen this far into Cardassian space, unless they were Starfleet, and the team wisely didn’t want to draw undue attention. “Enough with the back and forth you two,” he said, though Maria knew he was directing her comments towards her. “Keep your mind on the mission, and your eyes peeled.”
“My eyes are peeled all right,” Maria said naughtily, taking in Sam’s tall, muscular frame. Despite being swaddled in robes, she could make out the muscles that she had spent so much time familiarizing herself with over the years. Sam couldn’t help but grin nervously, his cheeks starting to redden.
“That’s enough Lieutenant,” Lavelle said, his smile fading and his gaze becoming harder. “Let’s get back to work.”
*******************************************************************
Sisko’s Creole Kitchen
Earth
Three Days Later…
Admiral Glover sipped the last bit of coffee before placing the empty cup back on its dish. “That was certainly filling,” he smiled, patting his stomach, and hiding his disappointment that his abdomen wasn’t as washboard as it once had been. Well, perhaps not exactly washboard, per se.
His younger, thickset brother Sheldon was still drinking his iced tea. “Thank you for bringing me here Sam, this place is great.” The man’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in everything.
“You’re welcome, Joseph is the best chef on this continent,” Glover nodded with certainty.
“I’m not talking about the food,” Sheldon replied, “Though the cuisine was fine. No, I’m talking about New Orleans. You know I’ve traveled all around the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and there’s so much right here on Earth that I haven’t explored.” The archaeologist said with breathless wonder, gazing past his brother to take in the buildings along the city’s historic French Quarter.
“Well, if you ever tamped down your wanderlust and came back home more, you could do that,” Samson replied. “Not to mention finding a wife.”
Sheldon snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh not that again,” he said, pushing his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. His brother had stopped taking Retinax VII several years ago and had decided to resurrect the archaic practice of wearing corrective eyewear. Samson thought it was silly, not to mention impractical, and quite possibly dangerous. What if Sheldon lost or broke his glasses while he was traveling by himself through hostile space or while he was stuck in a moldy crypt. But Sheldon thought it made him look more professorial. Add to that the ancient tweed sports jacket with patches at the elbows. Somewhere along the way Shelly had rifled through their parents’ old vids and tried to imitate to a tee the academic characters in them.
Sheldon had always been an eccentric sort, but Samson could never deny the man’s brilliance. Though Sam had written a few well regarded books on the Romulan Star Empire and was considered something of a scholar on the subject, Sheldon was a polymath. Though his genius wasn’t tempered by enough discipline in Sam’s eyes, and never had been.
Archeology was a field that gave him some structure, but a lot of flexibility and alone time, which was a premium for his younger brother. Sam was just glad that Shelly had found something productive to lend his talents to. “It’s a shame that I won’t be able to spend more time here,” Sheldon said, his regret genuine.
“Off again, I see.” Samson said, equally regretful.
“Yes, now that I know Terrence is recuperating, I need to get back out to the dig site.”
“I see,” the admiral sighed. “Where is it again?”
Sheldon’s face pinched briefly with annoyance. “Kurl,” he said, “How many times do I have to repeat that? It’s not that hard of a name to remember.”
“I know,” Samson replied. “It’s just that every time I talk to you, you’re in a different place.”
“Well, rest assured, this dig will keep me stationary for several months,” Sheldon said, his tone neutral. Samson couldn’t glean whether his brother was sanguine with that or not. “We’ve just unearthed another Kurlan city. The finds have already been amazing and I don’t think we’ve even discovered the mother lode.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it in no time once you return,” Samson replied.
“I believe so too,” Sheldon remarked, without a shred of modesty. He stood up and patted his sides of his dark brown trousers. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to be pushing off.”
“So soon?” Samson was shocked.
“Sure,” Sheldon said. “I need to get back.” The admiral stood up slowly.
“What about saying good bye to Terrence and Jasmine?”
“Already did that.”
“Okay, how about I escort you to your shuttle?” In response, Sheldon dug in his pocket and pulled out a small communicator.
“I’ve got that covered to,” He said before activating the device. “Hold for beam out,” he said into the communicator. “You’re a busy man, being the new head of Starfleet Security and all. I’ve wasted too much of your time as is.”
“You’re my brother,” Samson began.
“I knew that already,” Sheldon replied. “Now tell me something I don’t know?”
Samson was stumped. He scratched his head, his exasperation mounting. “Sometimes, I just don’t get you Shelly?”
“Well, I knew that too,” Sheldon grinned. “But you know, it at least keeps things interesting. Till next time brother.”
Samson walked around the table and two men embraced far too briefly. Sheldon pulled back. “One to transport.” Samson chocked up slightly as his brother dissolved in a flash of light. It had been too long since they had spent time like this, and he didn’t know when he would get to see his brother again.
His sadness was interrupted by another flash of light right in front of him. For a nanosecond, Samson’s heart lifted, hoping that Shelly had changed his mind and decided to spend more time with his family. But the person that resolved before him was his Vulcan attaché.
“Admiral,” she said, her breathlessness shocking him. “You’re needed back at Headquarters, right away.”
********************************************************************
Central Bazaar
Kooval III
Occupied Cardassian Space
“Did you really think it was going to be like this?” Operations Officer Pierre Auguste asked. Lt. Maria Django didn’t try all that hard to not roll her eyes at the man’s naïve question. She stared hard into the man’s dark eyes, almost the same color as his smooth, chocolate face. His skin was of a richer, darker hue than her own, burnished by the tropic climes of his native Senegal. Auguste looked around in wonder at the sights and sounds engulfing them, his tricorder hidden underneath his flowing robes. Part of his turning around almost each step they took was not just for reasons of wonderment. He was scanning passerby and tents, looking for their contact. “The resistance to our rebuilding efforts, I mean?”
“What did you expect? People don’t take kindly to being occupied, no matter who’s doing the occupying,” Maria asked, unbelieving that there was anyone left that had their head stuck that deeply in the sand. The fourth member of the away team, Ensign Amax, of Axanar, also shook his scaly head in disbelief.
“Knock it off Maria,” Commander Sam Lavelle said, pausing to allow a Cardassian woman, dragging two scraggly looking children behind her, to pass them. Lavelle took the opportunity to turn around and glare at both of them. He pulled down the mask covering the lower half of his face so that they could hear him clearly. Each member of the away team was similarly garbed, in part to protect against the strong desert winds and rough sand particles, but also to disguise them from the locals. Humans weren’t normally seen this far into Cardassian space, unless they were Starfleet, and the team wisely didn’t want to draw undue attention. “Enough with the back and forth you two,” he said, though Maria knew he was directing her comments towards her. “Keep your mind on the mission, and your eyes peeled.”
“My eyes are peeled all right,” Maria said naughtily, taking in Sam’s tall, muscular frame. Despite being swaddled in robes, she could make out the muscles that she had spent so much time familiarizing herself with over the years. Sam couldn’t help but grin nervously, his cheeks starting to redden.
“That’s enough Lieutenant,” Lavelle said, his smile fading and his gaze becoming harder. “Let’s get back to work.”
*******************************************************************
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********************************************************************
Central Bazaar
Kooval III
Occupied Cardassian Space
“Feel right at home I bet T’Jol?” Captain Elizabeth Shelby asked cheerily.
“I do not,” Security Chief T’Jol’s cold response was almost welcome in the blazing heat that permeated the environs of the bazaar.
“Captain Shelby didn’t mean that literally,” Lt. Sito Jaxa explained, “The captain only was making a reference to Vulcan being a desert world like Kooval III.”
“Thank you Jaxa,” Shelby said, smothering a chuckle. The informal mentorship program she had set up to familiarize the new officers to life aboard Sutherland was at least paying off with these two; but not so much with Django and Auguste. She thought it was cute that the Bajoran had taken the new Security Chief under her wing, though T’Jol hadn’t asked her to, and didn’t seem all that sanguine with the prospect, most of the time. Sito needed all the friends she could get, and T’Jol needed someone to help show her the ropes.
“My apologies Captain.” T’Jol replied quickly.
“I’ll let this one pass,” Shelby remarked, “Let’s chalk it up to nerves.”
“But I am not nervous,” T’Jol answered soberly. Shelby rolled her eyes.
“Yes, being nervous or anxious would be showing emotion,” the captain replied.
“Correct,” T’Jol responded.
“Fine, you don’t have to admit it,” Shelby teased. “I’ll be nervous enough for all four of us.”
“Captain, do you believe this to be a trap?” Lt. Sito asked, her brow crinkling. She had argued for the captain to remain aboard the Sutherland and Shelby had repeatedly assured the skeptical Bajoran tactical officer that the situation wasn’t as dangerous as it appeared. They were meeting an informant with information about the Crimson Shadow, a new insurgent group making a blood soaked name for itself in the Allied occupation zones. The informant, a member of the Valerian cartel, had supplied information to Starfleet in the past. The Valerians had been one of the major weapons suppliers to Cardassian insurgents.
The long running extremist group the True Way, and splinters from Legate Damar’s Cardassian Liberation Front had initially been the leaders of the violent opposition to the Allied occupation. But recently a new rightist veterans’ group, the Crimson Order, and its military wing, the Crimson Shadow, had forced themselves onto Starfleet’s radar. The Shadows seemed to have a different benefactor than the Valerians and had eschewed their business offers. For the right price, and the appropriate discretion, some cartel members weren’t opposed to selling the Shadows down the river.
Starfleet Intelligence had learned that one of the Shadows, a Gul Tresca, was operating in the Kooval System, using it as a haven to strike at aid convoys heading to Cardassia Prime. According to SI, Tresca had a violent reputation stemming back from the Bajoran Occupation. Shelby was anxious to take him down, even if her stomach roiled a bit at the method to bring it about. Lt. Rudd had the bars of latinum slung across his broad chest, bandolier style. Shelby didn’t know if the large man was breathing heavy because of the weight of the bars or from the heat.
“Are you okay Mr. Rudd?” Shelby asked.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, straightening. “Just a little hot under the collar as it were.”
“I guess my physical conditioning programs haven’t been strenuous enough?” Lt. Sito asked. Shelby couldn’t tell if the Bajoran was joking or not, and from the stammering reply of the younger Rudd, she was definitely sure that he didn’t think she was.
“You can discuss the revisions aboard the ship,” Shelby replied. She turned to T’Jol. “Detecting any Valerian life signs yet?”
“No,” T’Jol said, the tricorder clipped to her belt, beneath her robes. Shelby knew the woman’s keen hearing could detect the beep on a low setting that wouldn’t alert the informant or anyone else. Shelby was certain all the eyes watching them weren’t benign. Though the Shadows or other potential adversaries had yet to make a move.
They rounded a corner and ran into Lavelle’s party. “Anything,” Shelby asked. Lavelle’s eyebrows beetled, giving the captain the answer she knew, but didn’t want to hear.
“Back to square one?” Lavelle asked.
“We’ve already searched every inch of this dump,” Django remarked. “There just aren’t any Valerians here.”
“So, this was a wild goose chase then?” Lavelle replied, clearly not pleased.
“It appears so,” Shelby said, the heat suffusing her skin had nothing to do with the weather. “Someone has been jerking our chain.”
“Not quite,” a voice said from the air, “Though there is something I would like to jerk on you captain.”
Both away teams brandished weapons and looked around them wildly, trying to pinpoint the direction the voice had come from. “How about you show yourself, and maybe we can talk,” Shelby offered.
“Such an assignation might be worth more than the latinum in your possession, if the rumors are true,” the air shimmered before Shelby. A smallish figure, decked in an orange blind suit appeared before them. The mystery person pulled off their helmet, revealing the leering bulbous face of a Ferengi. Rows of earrings dangled from both of his large tattooed ears. “DaiMon Drux at your service.”
“Drux?” Shelby asked, surprised. She remembered the name from several years ago. He had been a big time pirate and smuggler until he had ran afoul of the Klingons and been sentenced to Rura Penthe. Somehow the Ferengi had survived the infamous prison planet and appeared to be trying to rebuild his fortunes.
“So, you know of me? A fan no less?” The leer morphed into a grateful smile.
“Not quite,” Shelby replied, regretting the dimming of the smile’s wattage. “Though I am familiar with some of your exploits.”
“Well, that’s something I suppose.”
“How did you escape Rura Penthe?” The Ferengi perked back up.
“That’s a long story, a thrilling tale that can best be told in the private quarters aboard my vessel,” the leer had returned.
“We didn’t detect any Ferengi vessels in orbit,” Lt. Auguste said.
“I’ve taken great lengths to not draw attention to myself,” Drux patted the bright orange suit. “Why would I park my own vessel in orbit around this dustbowl?”
“Good point,” Auguste replied. Shelby noticed Django smiling at the man’s perturbed expression. Auguste was book smart, but not too street smart. He had spent a good chunk of the war planetside, using his formidable intellect to help keep the Federation’s war machine from breaking down. The need for experienced officers had compelled him back into service aboard a Starfleet vessel and Shelby had thought he would be a good fit for Sutherland. Though she thought he was a bit uptight, his intellect and organization skills were top notch. She was sure that someone aboard the Suthy would loosen him up before long. She was pleased that the man had the hide of rhinoceros because Maria had been riding him hard ever since he came aboard.
“Do you have the information we need?” Lavelle asked.
“The latinum?” Drux asked, wiggling his fingers. Shelby gestured to Lt. Rudd. The big man slid the bandolier off his chest and placed it before the Ferengi’s feet. Glancing down at the row of bars the pirate almost danced a jig. He reached down to golden ingots.
“Not so fast,” Shelby said, waving her phaser, “The information first.”
“Oh, that,” Drux smiled. “Here you go,” he unzipped a pocket on the breast of the suit and threw a data rod at Shelby. She snatched it neatly out the air.
She gave it a once over. “This rod is empty.”
“Yeah, I know,” Drux said. The air shimmered all around them and the two away teams found themselves surrounded by armed Ferengi. “The cartel learned about my side business, and being the gracious gents that they are, they decided not to kill me. They used their information on me to secure deals with the Shadows. And the down payment on my life is securing you. The Shadows want you.”
“No,” Lt. Sito shook her head. “I won’t be a prisoner again.”
“Cool it Jax,” Django muttered.
“It’s okay Jaxa,” Shelby said. “I’m sure we can come to some type of arrangement, offer the good DaiMon a counter proposal.”
“I wish that were true,” Drux said. “But I have no wish to cross the Valerians again, in addition to the Shadows. I just wish that you had accepted my original offer captain. At least your last few hours of freedom could’ve been more…pleasurable.”
“And yours could’ve been less painful,” Shelby said. The Ferengi guffawed.
“Perhaps I can make a side deal for you,” Drux said, “After they are finished interrogating you.”
“Not gonna happen,” Lavelle replied, through gritted teeth.
“You’re right about that,” Django quipped.
“We’re not going to go quietly,” Shelby said. “And you can’t subdue us all.”
“We have the advantage. We have you surrounded. It would be nonsense to resist us.”
“Oh yeah, like being prisoners to a bunch of anti-Federation terrorist sounds better than instant death,” Django replied snappily.
“All right,” Drux sighed. “Stun them.”
“No,” Sito snarled. She threw her weapon at the Ferengi nearest her. The phaser cracked against the man’s nose. He stumbled back. By then the Bajoran had pulled a serrated knife from the folds of her robes. She sprang at the Ferengi, the blade slicing the man’s neck. A geyser of blood spurted from the wound.
“Go,” Shelby commanded, jolting everyone out of the shock of Sito’s horrific attack. Lavelle and Django charged their gunmen, the skittish Ferengi hesitating long enough to receive a tackle from Sam and a roundhouse kick from Maria. T’Jol felled a Ferengi with a neck pinch, and Amax’s furious hissing made one Ferengi toss their weapon and run off towards the dunes. Rudd and Auguste weren’t having as much good luck. Rudd’s Ferengi had pulled an electric whip and had lashed it around the man. The smell of cooking flesh and the man’s screams were short lived. Sito took her knife and threw it into the attacking Ferengi’s skull.
Auguste rolled on the ground with the Ferengi, the alien biting into the meat of Pierre’s shoulder. The man screamed, and the Ferengi bit deeper, blood seeping onto the ground.
“I got this,” Django replied. She moved quick and low, hitting the Ferengi hunched over Auguste with full force. The Ferengi crashed into the ground. Maria pounded the man’s skull until he stopped moving.
Shelby had watched it all, the emitter cone of her phaser pressed into the flesh of Drux’s neck. “You guys forgot the stun setting on your weapons,” she asked with a smile. The away team stood up, some shakily, and Rudd leaning on Lavelle. They gazed in amazement at the carnage they had wrought. The only one that didn’t seem to be fazed was Sito.
The young woman had been through a lot, had suffered tortures and violations that Shelby couldn’t even fathom, and had endured them. But she had been changed, and the things they all had to do in the war hadn’t allowed her to properly heal. It had perhaps made her problems worse. In fact, the captain pondered if the wars against the Klingons and Dominion had made worsened them all. At least she could take some small joy from what came next, “DaiMon Drux, you’re arrest.”
********************************************************************
USS Sutherland
Captain’s Personal Quarters
Captain Elizabeth Shelby toweled off her face. Though the sonic shower had been refreshing and necessary, she still liked the feel of warm water on her skin. Even after the shower she still didn’t feel she had gotten all the sand off her skin or out of her hair. Being nearly covered from head to toe had provided little defense against the pernicious grains.
She glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink and ran her hand threw her damp, hanging blonde strands. She knew she should celebrate tonight, even though they hadn’t gotten the information they came for, Drux was already proving to be fount of information about the criminal organizations preying on post-war misery in the former Cardassian Union.
Now, whether the information could be believed, was another story. Though the Ferengi did have a bevy of holodeck programs that he offered free of charge after Sutherland had impounded his vehicle. She pursed her lips while gazing at her reflection. “Should I play the Vulcan love slave or her liberator tonight?” She pondered.
The squawk from the intercom system embedded in an overhead bulkhead put her ruminations on hold. “What’s up?” She asked.
“Captain Shelby, you have a priority message from Admiral Glover,” Lt. Auguste replied.
“Pipe it down here,” Shelby replied, now all business.
“Acknowledged.”
“Shelby out,” she said, rushing to throw on her sky blue Tholian silk robe, hanging beside the door to her bathroom. She glided to her desk and activated the desktop computer. Admiral Samson Glover nodded tersely at her seconds later. Her old friend looked uncharacteristically grumpy. This wasn’t going to be a good meeting. “Admiral,” Shelby nodded in greeting. “What can I do you for?” Her levity fell on deaf ears.
“I need your help…off the books,” the man replied.
“I’m all ears,” the captain said, leaning forward. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
********************************************************************
Central Bazaar
Kooval III
Occupied Cardassian Space
“Feel right at home I bet T’Jol?” Captain Elizabeth Shelby asked cheerily.
“I do not,” Security Chief T’Jol’s cold response was almost welcome in the blazing heat that permeated the environs of the bazaar.
“Captain Shelby didn’t mean that literally,” Lt. Sito Jaxa explained, “The captain only was making a reference to Vulcan being a desert world like Kooval III.”
“Thank you Jaxa,” Shelby said, smothering a chuckle. The informal mentorship program she had set up to familiarize the new officers to life aboard Sutherland was at least paying off with these two; but not so much with Django and Auguste. She thought it was cute that the Bajoran had taken the new Security Chief under her wing, though T’Jol hadn’t asked her to, and didn’t seem all that sanguine with the prospect, most of the time. Sito needed all the friends she could get, and T’Jol needed someone to help show her the ropes.
“My apologies Captain.” T’Jol replied quickly.
“I’ll let this one pass,” Shelby remarked, “Let’s chalk it up to nerves.”
“But I am not nervous,” T’Jol answered soberly. Shelby rolled her eyes.
“Yes, being nervous or anxious would be showing emotion,” the captain replied.
“Correct,” T’Jol responded.
“Fine, you don’t have to admit it,” Shelby teased. “I’ll be nervous enough for all four of us.”
“Captain, do you believe this to be a trap?” Lt. Sito asked, her brow crinkling. She had argued for the captain to remain aboard the Sutherland and Shelby had repeatedly assured the skeptical Bajoran tactical officer that the situation wasn’t as dangerous as it appeared. They were meeting an informant with information about the Crimson Shadow, a new insurgent group making a blood soaked name for itself in the Allied occupation zones. The informant, a member of the Valerian cartel, had supplied information to Starfleet in the past. The Valerians had been one of the major weapons suppliers to Cardassian insurgents.
The long running extremist group the True Way, and splinters from Legate Damar’s Cardassian Liberation Front had initially been the leaders of the violent opposition to the Allied occupation. But recently a new rightist veterans’ group, the Crimson Order, and its military wing, the Crimson Shadow, had forced themselves onto Starfleet’s radar. The Shadows seemed to have a different benefactor than the Valerians and had eschewed their business offers. For the right price, and the appropriate discretion, some cartel members weren’t opposed to selling the Shadows down the river.
Starfleet Intelligence had learned that one of the Shadows, a Gul Tresca, was operating in the Kooval System, using it as a haven to strike at aid convoys heading to Cardassia Prime. According to SI, Tresca had a violent reputation stemming back from the Bajoran Occupation. Shelby was anxious to take him down, even if her stomach roiled a bit at the method to bring it about. Lt. Rudd had the bars of latinum slung across his broad chest, bandolier style. Shelby didn’t know if the large man was breathing heavy because of the weight of the bars or from the heat.
“Are you okay Mr. Rudd?” Shelby asked.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, straightening. “Just a little hot under the collar as it were.”
“I guess my physical conditioning programs haven’t been strenuous enough?” Lt. Sito asked. Shelby couldn’t tell if the Bajoran was joking or not, and from the stammering reply of the younger Rudd, she was definitely sure that he didn’t think she was.
“You can discuss the revisions aboard the ship,” Shelby replied. She turned to T’Jol. “Detecting any Valerian life signs yet?”
“No,” T’Jol said, the tricorder clipped to her belt, beneath her robes. Shelby knew the woman’s keen hearing could detect the beep on a low setting that wouldn’t alert the informant or anyone else. Shelby was certain all the eyes watching them weren’t benign. Though the Shadows or other potential adversaries had yet to make a move.
They rounded a corner and ran into Lavelle’s party. “Anything,” Shelby asked. Lavelle’s eyebrows beetled, giving the captain the answer she knew, but didn’t want to hear.
“Back to square one?” Lavelle asked.
“We’ve already searched every inch of this dump,” Django remarked. “There just aren’t any Valerians here.”
“So, this was a wild goose chase then?” Lavelle replied, clearly not pleased.
“It appears so,” Shelby said, the heat suffusing her skin had nothing to do with the weather. “Someone has been jerking our chain.”
“Not quite,” a voice said from the air, “Though there is something I would like to jerk on you captain.”
Both away teams brandished weapons and looked around them wildly, trying to pinpoint the direction the voice had come from. “How about you show yourself, and maybe we can talk,” Shelby offered.
“Such an assignation might be worth more than the latinum in your possession, if the rumors are true,” the air shimmered before Shelby. A smallish figure, decked in an orange blind suit appeared before them. The mystery person pulled off their helmet, revealing the leering bulbous face of a Ferengi. Rows of earrings dangled from both of his large tattooed ears. “DaiMon Drux at your service.”
“Drux?” Shelby asked, surprised. She remembered the name from several years ago. He had been a big time pirate and smuggler until he had ran afoul of the Klingons and been sentenced to Rura Penthe. Somehow the Ferengi had survived the infamous prison planet and appeared to be trying to rebuild his fortunes.
“So, you know of me? A fan no less?” The leer morphed into a grateful smile.
“Not quite,” Shelby replied, regretting the dimming of the smile’s wattage. “Though I am familiar with some of your exploits.”
“Well, that’s something I suppose.”
“How did you escape Rura Penthe?” The Ferengi perked back up.
“That’s a long story, a thrilling tale that can best be told in the private quarters aboard my vessel,” the leer had returned.
“We didn’t detect any Ferengi vessels in orbit,” Lt. Auguste said.
“I’ve taken great lengths to not draw attention to myself,” Drux patted the bright orange suit. “Why would I park my own vessel in orbit around this dustbowl?”
“Good point,” Auguste replied. Shelby noticed Django smiling at the man’s perturbed expression. Auguste was book smart, but not too street smart. He had spent a good chunk of the war planetside, using his formidable intellect to help keep the Federation’s war machine from breaking down. The need for experienced officers had compelled him back into service aboard a Starfleet vessel and Shelby had thought he would be a good fit for Sutherland. Though she thought he was a bit uptight, his intellect and organization skills were top notch. She was sure that someone aboard the Suthy would loosen him up before long. She was pleased that the man had the hide of rhinoceros because Maria had been riding him hard ever since he came aboard.
“Do you have the information we need?” Lavelle asked.
“The latinum?” Drux asked, wiggling his fingers. Shelby gestured to Lt. Rudd. The big man slid the bandolier off his chest and placed it before the Ferengi’s feet. Glancing down at the row of bars the pirate almost danced a jig. He reached down to golden ingots.
“Not so fast,” Shelby said, waving her phaser, “The information first.”
“Oh, that,” Drux smiled. “Here you go,” he unzipped a pocket on the breast of the suit and threw a data rod at Shelby. She snatched it neatly out the air.
She gave it a once over. “This rod is empty.”
“Yeah, I know,” Drux said. The air shimmered all around them and the two away teams found themselves surrounded by armed Ferengi. “The cartel learned about my side business, and being the gracious gents that they are, they decided not to kill me. They used their information on me to secure deals with the Shadows. And the down payment on my life is securing you. The Shadows want you.”
“No,” Lt. Sito shook her head. “I won’t be a prisoner again.”
“Cool it Jax,” Django muttered.
“It’s okay Jaxa,” Shelby said. “I’m sure we can come to some type of arrangement, offer the good DaiMon a counter proposal.”
“I wish that were true,” Drux said. “But I have no wish to cross the Valerians again, in addition to the Shadows. I just wish that you had accepted my original offer captain. At least your last few hours of freedom could’ve been more…pleasurable.”
“And yours could’ve been less painful,” Shelby said. The Ferengi guffawed.
“Perhaps I can make a side deal for you,” Drux said, “After they are finished interrogating you.”
“Not gonna happen,” Lavelle replied, through gritted teeth.
“You’re right about that,” Django quipped.
“We’re not going to go quietly,” Shelby said. “And you can’t subdue us all.”
“We have the advantage. We have you surrounded. It would be nonsense to resist us.”
“Oh yeah, like being prisoners to a bunch of anti-Federation terrorist sounds better than instant death,” Django replied snappily.
“All right,” Drux sighed. “Stun them.”
“No,” Sito snarled. She threw her weapon at the Ferengi nearest her. The phaser cracked against the man’s nose. He stumbled back. By then the Bajoran had pulled a serrated knife from the folds of her robes. She sprang at the Ferengi, the blade slicing the man’s neck. A geyser of blood spurted from the wound.
“Go,” Shelby commanded, jolting everyone out of the shock of Sito’s horrific attack. Lavelle and Django charged their gunmen, the skittish Ferengi hesitating long enough to receive a tackle from Sam and a roundhouse kick from Maria. T’Jol felled a Ferengi with a neck pinch, and Amax’s furious hissing made one Ferengi toss their weapon and run off towards the dunes. Rudd and Auguste weren’t having as much good luck. Rudd’s Ferengi had pulled an electric whip and had lashed it around the man. The smell of cooking flesh and the man’s screams were short lived. Sito took her knife and threw it into the attacking Ferengi’s skull.
Auguste rolled on the ground with the Ferengi, the alien biting into the meat of Pierre’s shoulder. The man screamed, and the Ferengi bit deeper, blood seeping onto the ground.
“I got this,” Django replied. She moved quick and low, hitting the Ferengi hunched over Auguste with full force. The Ferengi crashed into the ground. Maria pounded the man’s skull until he stopped moving.
Shelby had watched it all, the emitter cone of her phaser pressed into the flesh of Drux’s neck. “You guys forgot the stun setting on your weapons,” she asked with a smile. The away team stood up, some shakily, and Rudd leaning on Lavelle. They gazed in amazement at the carnage they had wrought. The only one that didn’t seem to be fazed was Sito.
The young woman had been through a lot, had suffered tortures and violations that Shelby couldn’t even fathom, and had endured them. But she had been changed, and the things they all had to do in the war hadn’t allowed her to properly heal. It had perhaps made her problems worse. In fact, the captain pondered if the wars against the Klingons and Dominion had made worsened them all. At least she could take some small joy from what came next, “DaiMon Drux, you’re arrest.”
********************************************************************
USS Sutherland
Captain’s Personal Quarters
Captain Elizabeth Shelby toweled off her face. Though the sonic shower had been refreshing and necessary, she still liked the feel of warm water on her skin. Even after the shower she still didn’t feel she had gotten all the sand off her skin or out of her hair. Being nearly covered from head to toe had provided little defense against the pernicious grains.
She glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink and ran her hand threw her damp, hanging blonde strands. She knew she should celebrate tonight, even though they hadn’t gotten the information they came for, Drux was already proving to be fount of information about the criminal organizations preying on post-war misery in the former Cardassian Union.
Now, whether the information could be believed, was another story. Though the Ferengi did have a bevy of holodeck programs that he offered free of charge after Sutherland had impounded his vehicle. She pursed her lips while gazing at her reflection. “Should I play the Vulcan love slave or her liberator tonight?” She pondered.
The squawk from the intercom system embedded in an overhead bulkhead put her ruminations on hold. “What’s up?” She asked.
“Captain Shelby, you have a priority message from Admiral Glover,” Lt. Auguste replied.
“Pipe it down here,” Shelby replied, now all business.
“Acknowledged.”
“Shelby out,” she said, rushing to throw on her sky blue Tholian silk robe, hanging beside the door to her bathroom. She glided to her desk and activated the desktop computer. Admiral Samson Glover nodded tersely at her seconds later. Her old friend looked uncharacteristically grumpy. This wasn’t going to be a good meeting. “Admiral,” Shelby nodded in greeting. “What can I do you for?” Her levity fell on deaf ears.
“I need your help…off the books,” the man replied.
“I’m all ears,” the captain said, leaning forward. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
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USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
“Understood,” Lt. Commander Ivan Cherenkov said, not hiding his displeasure. After the transmission ended, the Russian swiveled around and then stood up. He stalked over to the vertical window port and watched the stars streak by. Aegis was hours away from reaching the Pyxis Cluster. He should’ve known that things wouldn’t continue to go so smoothly. After a few moments, he made his decision.
He tapped his combadge. “Lt. Dindral to the Ready Room.”
“On my way sir.” Seconds later, the door swished open and the half-Betazoid strode in. Ivan turned around.
“Not good news I take it sir?” Dindral asked.
“It’s that obvious,” Ivan said drolly. “Please take a seat.”
“I would rather stand sir,” Dindral replied. Ivan smirked.
“You sure you’re not a mind reader?”
“No sir,” Dindral said, a smile starting to warm her cool demeanor.
“Good,” Cherenkov replied. His decision to trust Dindral more was already starting to thaw the chill between them. “I’ve just received some bad news from Admiral Glover. It appears that a Starfleet vessel, the Ariane has gone rogue. It’s on an undetermined mission inside the Cluster and has destroyed an Alshain starship.” He paused to allow the gravity of his words to sink in. Dindral swallowed and nodded for him to continue. “Our mission has changed. The beacon has become a secondary objective. Our first priority is to apprehend the Ariane, and find out what the hell they’re up to.”
“I see,” Dindral said, her shoulders tensing. “Do you think the Ariane is also attempting to retrieve the beacon?”
“It’s possible,” Ivan admitted. “Ariane’s CO is Natalie Brennan. She fought in the Battle of Pyxis Cluster toward the end of the war. Perhaps she’s on some personal mission; Exorcising her demons.” He paused, his thoughts dwelling on the demons he needed to let go of. “Hell, it could be a ship filled with Changelings for all we know.”
“Sir, I can inform the crew of the new mission,” Dindral offered.
“Do that,” Ivan said. “And emphasize that the Alshain military sector commander has given us a seventy-two-hour window to find Ariane before they do.”
“Seventy-two-hours?” Dindral asked incredulous.
“I know, it’s a preposterous timeline, but I think that’s the whole point,” Cherenkov replied. “The Alshain want the kill, but they want to be ‘fair’ and mollify the Federation Council and Starfleet Command with this deadline. And with one of ours just committing an act of war, Paris isn’t in any condition to make demands.”
“Doesn’t sound to collegial too me,” Dindral admitted.
“We’re not the policy makers,” Ivan replied soberly. “I leave the niceties, real or feigned, to them. I advise you do the same.”
“Aye sir,” Dindral said.
“Go and inform the crew,” Cherenkov ordered, “Dismissed.”
********************************************************************
Starfleet Headquarters
Earth
“Terrence you really should be back in the infirmary,” Admiral Glover said, doing his best to smile. “You too Commander Pell.”
“This wasn’t exactly my idea sir,” the Bajoran answered, giving his son a despairing glance.
“Dad, I know that look on your face, what’s wrong?” Terrence asked. The operation had been successful, though extremely taxing. He just didn’t feel like lying about, regaining his energy while his crew, Jasmine, and just everyone else he knew was working. In fact, he even felt naked without his duty uniform on.
“Does Chirurgeon P’Trell know you’re down here?”
“Not…necessarily,” Terrence admitted. The admiral frowned.
“Son, your health is not something you should play around with.” He turned a stern eye towards Pell, “You either Ojana.”
“See, I told you your father would say something like that.”
“I already knew that,” Terrence replied. “But something in my gut told me to talk to you, and when I tried to contact you, your attaché told me your schedule was pretty heavy today.”
“You sure they got out all the murkmaws?” Pell joked.
“Actually it is, you caught me in between meetings,” Admiral Glover said.
“Well, I’m sure you can give me a few moments,” Terrence forged ahead. “You never let your career stand in the way of spending time with me before.”
The admiral sighed. “You’re not going to like this.”
“I think I’ll take seat,” Pell said. Admiral Glover gestured toward two of the seats facing the desk. Terrence eased the woman into a chair.
“Son, I think you might want to sit down as well.”
“I’ll stand Dad.”
“Okay, but you might wish you hadn’t after I’m done,” the admiral said, before he began.
********************************************************************
USS Aegis
Captain’s Ready Room
“Understood,” Lt. Commander Ivan Cherenkov said, not hiding his displeasure. After the transmission ended, the Russian swiveled around and then stood up. He stalked over to the vertical window port and watched the stars streak by. Aegis was hours away from reaching the Pyxis Cluster. He should’ve known that things wouldn’t continue to go so smoothly. After a few moments, he made his decision.
He tapped his combadge. “Lt. Dindral to the Ready Room.”
“On my way sir.” Seconds later, the door swished open and the half-Betazoid strode in. Ivan turned around.
“Not good news I take it sir?” Dindral asked.
“It’s that obvious,” Ivan said drolly. “Please take a seat.”
“I would rather stand sir,” Dindral replied. Ivan smirked.
“You sure you’re not a mind reader?”
“No sir,” Dindral said, a smile starting to warm her cool demeanor.
“Good,” Cherenkov replied. His decision to trust Dindral more was already starting to thaw the chill between them. “I’ve just received some bad news from Admiral Glover. It appears that a Starfleet vessel, the Ariane has gone rogue. It’s on an undetermined mission inside the Cluster and has destroyed an Alshain starship.” He paused to allow the gravity of his words to sink in. Dindral swallowed and nodded for him to continue. “Our mission has changed. The beacon has become a secondary objective. Our first priority is to apprehend the Ariane, and find out what the hell they’re up to.”
“I see,” Dindral said, her shoulders tensing. “Do you think the Ariane is also attempting to retrieve the beacon?”
“It’s possible,” Ivan admitted. “Ariane’s CO is Natalie Brennan. She fought in the Battle of Pyxis Cluster toward the end of the war. Perhaps she’s on some personal mission; Exorcising her demons.” He paused, his thoughts dwelling on the demons he needed to let go of. “Hell, it could be a ship filled with Changelings for all we know.”
“Sir, I can inform the crew of the new mission,” Dindral offered.
“Do that,” Ivan said. “And emphasize that the Alshain military sector commander has given us a seventy-two-hour window to find Ariane before they do.”
“Seventy-two-hours?” Dindral asked incredulous.
“I know, it’s a preposterous timeline, but I think that’s the whole point,” Cherenkov replied. “The Alshain want the kill, but they want to be ‘fair’ and mollify the Federation Council and Starfleet Command with this deadline. And with one of ours just committing an act of war, Paris isn’t in any condition to make demands.”
“Doesn’t sound to collegial too me,” Dindral admitted.
“We’re not the policy makers,” Ivan replied soberly. “I leave the niceties, real or feigned, to them. I advise you do the same.”
“Aye sir,” Dindral said.
“Go and inform the crew,” Cherenkov ordered, “Dismissed.”
********************************************************************
Starfleet Headquarters
Earth
“Terrence you really should be back in the infirmary,” Admiral Glover said, doing his best to smile. “You too Commander Pell.”
“This wasn’t exactly my idea sir,” the Bajoran answered, giving his son a despairing glance.
“Dad, I know that look on your face, what’s wrong?” Terrence asked. The operation had been successful, though extremely taxing. He just didn’t feel like lying about, regaining his energy while his crew, Jasmine, and just everyone else he knew was working. In fact, he even felt naked without his duty uniform on.
“Does Chirurgeon P’Trell know you’re down here?”
“Not…necessarily,” Terrence admitted. The admiral frowned.
“Son, your health is not something you should play around with.” He turned a stern eye towards Pell, “You either Ojana.”
“See, I told you your father would say something like that.”
“I already knew that,” Terrence replied. “But something in my gut told me to talk to you, and when I tried to contact you, your attaché told me your schedule was pretty heavy today.”
“You sure they got out all the murkmaws?” Pell joked.
“Actually it is, you caught me in between meetings,” Admiral Glover said.
“Well, I’m sure you can give me a few moments,” Terrence forged ahead. “You never let your career stand in the way of spending time with me before.”
The admiral sighed. “You’re not going to like this.”
“I think I’ll take seat,” Pell said. Admiral Glover gestured toward two of the seats facing the desk. Terrence eased the woman into a chair.
“Son, I think you might want to sit down as well.”
“I’ll stand Dad.”
“Okay, but you might wish you hadn’t after I’m done,” the admiral said, before he began.
********************************************************************
Thanks DarKush and I love your additions to the Sutherland family--if you don't kill one or both of them off, I think I'll keep them if that's all right with you. Hopefully things will improve soon--but I don't want to jinx things, but I and the rest of my family are keeping on thinking positive thoughts and I know we'll get through this patch--we just have to keep persevering just as the characters in your story are doing.
Exorcising ghosts as Brennan is trying to do is always risky business because all too often you make a bunch of ghosts in trying to get rid of the old ones and I have a feeling that's what's going to happen here. Much as I like Ivan, I don't think he's going to be quite up to dealing with this situation--although if you're setting this after "Blood Cries", Liz and Sito know all about it and Terrence definitely does. A great tale that just continues to get better!
Exorcising ghosts as Brennan is trying to do is always risky business because all too often you make a bunch of ghosts in trying to get rid of the old ones and I have a feeling that's what's going to happen here. Much as I like Ivan, I don't think he's going to be quite up to dealing with this situation--although if you're setting this after "Blood Cries", Liz and Sito know all about it and Terrence definitely does. A great tale that just continues to get better!
Oh boy, the frying pan is completely empty now as everyone just jumped en masse into the fire.
This is gonna be fun.
This is gonna be fun.
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