Unfortunately CeJay the Remans or Jem'Hadar aren't into reading bedtime stories for their prisoners on big soft beds with fluffy pillows
. If they subjected Daneeka to a bedtime story she would likely ask for the sparing session.
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IRW Bateleur
Command Deck
Subcommander Volantis was calm in the face of death. Her gaze was steely as she eyed the looming saucer section of the Monarch that dominated the center of the viewer. The screen was split showing all of the ships surrounding them, the Remans curiously waiting to deliver their death blow.
Certainly they were waiting for her to crack, for her to beg for her life, but Volantis would never disgrace herself, not to mention the soldiers under her command. Nor would she disgrace Commander Volok.
“Sensors Officer Marca send out a distress signal, that should distract them for a few seconds. They’ll think we have other cloaked ships nearby.”
“I wish we did,” grumbled the Weapons Officer. Volantis was usually intolerant of unsolicited comments on her bridge, but this time she merely smiled tightly. A little impertinence in the face of oblivion wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Message sent,” Marca replied.
“Excellent, now launch our log buoy, with a coded, repeating message to Volok. We must inform him…of our failure.” She didn’t want to look around at her crew, but Volantis forced herself to. Though she would never verbalize an apology, it was there on her face and in her eyes for every gaze that met hers.
“At once Subcommander,” Marca said, busying herself with her final tasks.
“Hold, make sure it is repeating. At least one or two messages should get off before the Remans destroy it or the Monarch captures it.”
“Romulan vessel,” it was Captain Walker. Volantis waved away the hail. “Romulan vessel,” the human repeated.
“Buoy away,” Marca remarked a half-second later.
“Excellent,” Volantis said. She watched as one of the Reman ships promptly atomized it. Without a prompt, the Sensors Officer said:
“Two message cycles were completed.”
“Good enough,” Volantis said as the deck trembled beneath her feet. The Reman ships had begun to set in on Bateleur, softening her hull up even more. “You won’t carve up my vessel like a fowl,” the subcommander declared. “Activate self-destruct.”
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USS Monarch
Main Bridge
Captain Walker pounded his armrests. “Damn it!” He cursed as he watched the Remans surgically cutting into the Bateleur’s hull. “Those rash bastards have made the Romulans desperate. I can’t talk them down now.” He replied, his anger heightened by the insistent beeping of the ship’s sensor station. The captain had just been informed that a power surge was building in the Bateleur’s singularity drive.
“In all honesty, the Romulan commander seemed pretty rigid and defiant already,” Commander Astar calmly pointed out. Walker grunted in acknowledgement.
“I know that Leza,” he groused. “It’s just…so damned unnecessary.”
“Well, you could try to get the Remans to cease firing, but we both know that it’s gone far beyond that stage now,” Astar replied. Walker nodded.
“Back us off Jonda,” he called to the Catullan flight controller.
“Aye sir,” the pink haired pilot chirped, easing the ship back as far as its straining engines would permit.
“I’m sure those Reman ships got the sensory apparatus to know that the warbird is building toward a massive explosion,” Torkill said. “Why aren’t they backing off, they’ve delivered their deathstroke.”
“Perhaps because there are some things more important than death,” Lt. Commander Liyange said with an eerie sense of knowledge. Leza knew the young woman had spent part of her youth working in Bajoran refugee camps with her parents and had even shared a harrowing tale or two, often at the urging of one of the crew, because Arjuna didn’t like to talk about those times.
“She’s right,” Walker said, a mysterious tone to his voice. “But I don’t share the Remans death wish, keep backing us out of here Jonda.” On the screen, the Remans ran a coordinated assault against the Romulans, dodging in like blades to deliver deadly barrages, before darting out again, leaving an opening for the next ship.
“Doing my best sir,” the ensign said, but the propulsion system is being uncooperative.
“Petrov,” Walker turned toward the auxiliary engineering console in the back of the room. He saw it was empty. “Where’s the chief engineer? I thought she was headed to the bridge?” Everyone looked askance at the question. “Locate her, and find out the status of the fires in Main Engineering while you’re at it. I want to know how much damage they’ve caused on top of the battle with the Romulans.”
“I’ll take care of it sir,” Astar said. She stood up.
“What are you doing?” Walker asked, his expression hooded. He had expected her to check the console attached to her seat.
“I think a firsthand perspective would be better, don’t you?” Astar asked, tapping her compin before Walker could respond. The transporter effect already had a grasp on her before the captain could open his mouth.
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Imperial Romulan Cruiser “Free Reman ship” Arbiter
Command Deck
“Lieutenant, we’ve only got seconds before the warbird self-destructs!” His second warned him.
“I know that,” Lt. Bakin said through clenched teeth. With each flash of their weapons, each score upon the nearly shattered hull of the warbird, he saw an indignity wrought upon him or his kin at the hand of a Romulan. Decades of humiliations, of violations of the most debauched and horrific kind.
He owed them so much pain and he wanted to share it with them. He wanted to die with them, his hand on their throats.
“Lieutenant, what of the mission? Colonel Sorix’s orders!”
Bakin almost laughed. “Colonel” Sorix had been a mere second in command until Volus had died liberating them from their Romulan enslavers during the rebellion that took place after their ship was beset by Jem’Hadar during the close of the war. It had been Sorix though that had negotiated a truce with the Jem’Hadar who murdered their Vorta commander upon hearing of the Changeling’s surrender at Cardassia Prime. The defeat had ripped asunder the notion of the shape shifters’ divinity for this band of Jem’Hadar. And both they and the Remans sought to be free of their masters.
The Reman lieutenant bit down on his bottom lip so hard he could taste the coppery dark green blood welling up from the perforations. “Pull back, to a safe distance, full impulse.” The ship lurched back so suddenly that it almost threw Bakin from his seat. He had been perched at the edge of his command chair.
He didn’t reveal his displeasure. Griping was considered a weakness, not fit for a Reman. Remans adapted to whatever the gods threw at them and made it function for them. That was the special gift of his people. And perhaps their curse.
They had been too accepting for so long, but the war had changed them, as had the new leaders cropping up among their people, like Viceroy Vkruk and Shinzon, whom some claimed was a human. The very thought of a human growing up among the Remans, of surviving the dilithium mines, and gaining respect and leadership among his kind, was so absurd that Bakin had knifed the man who had told him. As a man of honor he had only impaled him after the man kept insisting that he was not jesting, that Shinzon was actually human.
Surprisingly, Bakin began to chuckle at the memory. “Lieutenant, the Retribution and the Accuser are not pulling back.”
“Hail Pansa and Naso, tell them I demand they comply at once!” Bakin snapped.
“No response,” the second replied.
Bakin yanked his blade from its hip holster and plunged it into his armrest, ignoring the sparks burning his hand. His dull yellow eyes blazed with rage. He detested defiance of his orders, even more than Sorix did.
“It’s too late for them now anyway,” his Weapon’s Chief replied. Already the cage containing the singularity drive had ripped free of its moorings after an intense flash had ripped apart the warbird and engulfed Retribution. The explosion’s shockwave tossed Arbiter about like a toy. Bakin grabbed the hilt of the knife still stuck in his armrest for purchase. He watched as it slammed into the Monarch, nearly overturning the ship. The Monarch had been much closer to the warbird. It had been limping along in a mostly vain attempt to put distance between it and the detonation.
The wave receded quickly, though it had rained havoc upon the troop ship’s systems. He could see by the flickering lights across Monarch’s hull that the grand starship had fared worse, and Bakin was glad for that. It would allow him to keep the upper hand with the Federation ship and its crew, even as the sole surviving Reman ship of this mission.
Though Accuser wasn’t gone yet, it was only a matter of time. The doomed vessel was being pulled into the black hole created by the warbird’s demise. Bakin only allowed himself a slight grimace as he watched the ship stretched out to fantastical length as the singularity’s clutches took hold.
“Is our communication system functional?”
“Yesssslewwwtenant,” his second said, his words mashing together. Bakin regarded the man and saw that the left side of his head was nearly caved in. Yet the man maintained his post.
“Contact Monarch,” he ordered, keeping his voice level. To show any emotion over his subordinate’s plight would also be seen as a weakness. It was an honor among his people to die in combat, so waking the life slowly drain from his second due to a wound incurred on this battlefield was supposed to fill Bakin with joy, like a good Reman warrior. Though it didn’t.
He would miss his second, who had become his friend during the war against the Dominion. Bakin made a mental note to avenge his friend’s memory as soon as they captured more Romulans.
“Federation starship responding,” the Weapons Chief replied strongly. Bakin took his eyes off his friend. The man had leaned back in his chair and his breathing had become shallow. The Weapons Chief had quickly picked up the slack.
“On screen,” Bakin said.
“Lieutenant Bakin, just what the hell was that?” Fumed red-faced human with circular captain’s pips on only a shade redder collar.
“Justice,” the Reman simply replied.
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