Dark Territory: Shadow Puppets
- Thread starter DarKush
- Start date
Dnoth,
This story is showing that Remans can be just as treacherous.
CeJay,
It wasn't so much Sorix, but Chalandra. Of course Sorix is one of the co-leaders of the Reman-Jem'Hadar alliance and has signed off on Chalandra's torture and the Jem'Hadar 'testing' of Daneeka. So, Samson has a lot of pent up anger over the treatment of his friends, and guilt and shame about letting the Iconian probe fall into the hands of monsters. Is another battle afoot? Did you really need to ask?
.
This story is showing that Remans can be just as treacherous.
CeJay,
It wasn't so much Sorix, but Chalandra. Of course Sorix is one of the co-leaders of the Reman-Jem'Hadar alliance and has signed off on Chalandra's torture and the Jem'Hadar 'testing' of Daneeka. So, Samson has a lot of pent up anger over the treatment of his friends, and guilt and shame about letting the Iconian probe fall into the hands of monsters. Is another battle afoot? Did you really need to ask?
.Author's Note: I went back and added a scene between the two previously posted scenes. And I just included the last posted since following the new scene to keep it flowing.
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Pirot Nor
Ward Room
“Lights, slight illumination,” Sorix ordered. The dim decreased by mere degrees. Captain Walker could just make out a humanoid shape in the darkness. The shape leaned forward, revealing strong pale gray hands with spidery black veins that absently tapped the table, with long, sharp fingernails.
The sound annoyed Walker, and he wondered if it was a nervous tic by the Reman, or if the colonel was doing it on purpose, to distract Walker, to knock him off his game. He was resolved to not let that happen. Besides, he had bigger concerns. He shifted his attention back to the human, the man claiming to be Admiral Glover. Benjamin gave him a good once over. Absent the gaunt appearance and the smell, he did look like the man from the holo-files and news reports Walker had seen. A few months ago Admiral Glover had been head of Starfleet Security, but after the assassination of the Cardassian premier on Deep Space Nine, he had mysteriously resigned his post.
Walker had just chalked it up to a skittish Santiago cleaning house as he scrambled to keep his poll numbers from plunging. Now, the captain wasn’t so sure. “Admiral, how did you wind up here?”
“As I said…”
“Long story,” Commander Petrov interjected, drawing sharp looks from both Walker and the admiral. To her credit, Sofia remembered her place and issued a quick apology. Walker glanced at Commander Astar and saw that the quiet Trill was taking everything in, assessing all the meeting’s participants, searching for ulterior agendas and vulnerabilities. Benjamin would do his best to keep his own hidden.
“Well, I guess we can get down to business now,” the captain said. “I’m Captain Benjamin Walker by the way, of the Monarch.” He offered a hand, but Glover just nodded curtly before gesturing for the Monarch officers to take seats. The trio was reluctant, until Torak’Clan sat stiffly across from them. A bit more at ease, now that the Jem’Hadar wasn’t at his back, the captain made his own gesture, and his subordinates took their seats first. “What are our…hosts…proposing?” Walker asked.
“Before we get into any negotiations,” Glover began dryly, “I request that the Starfleet prisoners being held on this station are released and placed aboard your vessel for their safety. Several need immediate medical assistance.”
Torak’Clan growled low in his throat, before he began to rise out of his seat. “Hold,” Sorix said, putting up a hand.
“You’re holding Starfleet prisoners?” Walker thundered.
“Yes,” Sorix didn’t deny it. “They will be transported to your ship at once.”
“You don’t have the authority to make decisions unilaterally,” Torak’Clan said. The large Jem’Hadar was now on his feet, yet his ire was directed into the pool of shadows where Sorix still dwelled.
“Neither do you,” the Reman’s cool matched the Jem’Hadar’s fire. “Consider this a goodwill gesture, a measure to show our new friends that we are serious and honorable.”
“The prisoners are spoils of war,” Torak’Clan declared. Walker winced at the casual disregard the reptilian showed for the lives of others. “Collateral damage.”
“You know that Starfleet will never negotiate with us unless the fate of these prisoners has been decided,” Sorix countered.
The Jem’Hadar turned to the Starfleet contingent. The captain could feel the heat from the warrior’s baleful gaze. It was searing. “So?” He asked. “We have a weapon of unimaginable power at our disposal. The idea that we need to negotiate with inferiors is…disgusting.”
“Us inferiors sure did a job kicking your scaly asses,” Petrov retorted.
“Commander,” Astar hissed, but Walker stayed silent, his teeth clenched. He was afraid to speak at that moment, because he knew the words laden on his tongue would scuttle any chance of an agreement.
Torak’Clan placed the full menace of his gaze on the engineer. “You’re nothing more than an insect. If it hadn’t been for the betrayal of the Cardassians…”
“Yes, the Cardassians,” Sorix cut in, “Think how our alliance will vex them First Torak’Clan,” the Reman made sure to use the man’s rank, a sign of mollifying respect. “With our forces occupying a planet in the Volan system, it will rattle them to no end.”
“And it could provide the perfect staging ground to enact our revenge,” Torak’Clan reasoned.
“Hold on,” Walker huffed. “We’re not setting you up in the Volan system just so you can continue your pogrom against the Cardassian people.”
“Surely now Captain, if the Cardassians are entangled with Torak’Clan and his warriors, their militants won’t be focused on Federation civilians and Starfleet personnel within their space,” the Reman reasoned. “Plus, we could serve as a buffer to check any imperialist dreams the Cardassians might still hold.”
“He has a point,” Petrov whispered. Astar grunted in disapproval on the captain’s other side. He hated to admit it, but Benjamin agreed with Sofia on this one.
“As I said, I can’t condone a premeditated plan to interfere in Cardassian affairs, however if the Cardassians react negatively to your settlement of Volan IV, that is a matter your governing authority will have to address,” Walker said. He glanced at Admiral Glover. The older man’s skin looked waxen and he weakly nodded his head in agreement. Benjamin could tell that these dark dealings were making the admiral ill. His own stomach was twisted in knots, and he felt like he needed a sonic shower. This whole affair got seedier and grimier by the nanosecond.
“I…agree with the captain’s…way of thinking,” the admiral co-signed.
“Excellent,” Sorix said. “Now, let us get on with the business of returning your data.”
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Pirot Nor
Operations Room
“Report,” Second Omara’Son thundered over to the sensor station.
“Second,” the Jem’Hadar Fourth manning the helm began, before quickly informing him of the results of the sensor sweep of the USS Monarch.
“Show me,” Omara’Son said after the soldier finished his recounting. The ocular view screen shifted to an image of the Sovereign-class vessel. In his mind, the Jem’Hadar Second reviewed the weak points in the ship’s design, his gaze following the station’s optical receptors as they trailed the length of the hull and arrived at a patch of the ship right behind the main hull. “Magnify,” he ordered. He peered at the silvery white, smooth area. “I don’t see anything.” It was as much as a threat as a statement. He didn’t have time to waste and if the Fourth had been overzealous in his scan of the ship, Omara’Son would make him regret it.
“It is clever sir,” the Fourth said. “I missed it at first too.”
“Elaborate,” Omara’Son demanded.
“I detected two distinct resonance signatures emanating from the ship, which was unusual, because each vessel usually only contains one signature.”
“I’m aware of that,” Omara’Son snapped.
“The resonance signature was slight, but I localized it to this area of the Monarch, and used a series of modified metaphasic scans to surmise that there is another vessel attached to the hull of the Monarch. I assess that the vessel is using a multispectral emitter, consistent with Romulan manufacture, to take on the appearance of the Monarch’s hull.”
“You, Reman,” Omara’Son called out to the Reman warrior at the science station. “Are you familiar with Romulan holographic technology?” The man nodded before coming over.
He quickly reviewed the data. “We should inform the colonel.”
“We will,” Omara’Son said, “in a moment. I wonder if the Monarch is trying to deceive us.” He wanted to have any theories well thought out before Torak’Clan or Sorix, particularly Torak’Clan asked.
“It is also possible that Starfleet doesn’t know they have a ship latched onto their hull,” the Fourth surmised.
“How could they not?” Omara’Son challenged.
“Well, it is possible,” the Reman spoke up. “We don’t know how long that ship has been attached to the Monarch. Also the Monarch’s sensors and shielding could’ve been severely impaired during its sojourn through the Scarab Nebula, providing this vessel with plenty of opportunities to secure itself to the hull.”
“Perhaps,” Omara’Son conceded, “but I will not take that risk. Initiate battle alert, arm our offensive systems, and scramble our fighters.”
“Sir, should we consult the First and the colonel before we initiate that action?” The Fourth asked.
“No,” Omara’Son shook his head. “While they are in negotiations I am in command. Now do as I command.”
He turned to the Reman. “Order a security detail to the ward room and apprehend Captain Walker and his crew. They will tell us what we wish to know about this furtive vessel, one way or another.”
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Pirot Nor
Ward Room
“Lights, slight illumination,” Sorix ordered. The dim decreased by mere degrees. Captain Walker could just make out a humanoid shape in the darkness. The shape leaned forward, revealing strong pale gray hands with spidery black veins that absently tapped the table, with long, sharp fingernails.
The sound annoyed Walker, and he wondered if it was a nervous tic by the Reman, or if the colonel was doing it on purpose, to distract Walker, to knock him off his game. He was resolved to not let that happen. Besides, he had bigger concerns. He shifted his attention back to the human, the man claiming to be Admiral Glover. Benjamin gave him a good once over. Absent the gaunt appearance and the smell, he did look like the man from the holo-files and news reports Walker had seen. A few months ago Admiral Glover had been head of Starfleet Security, but after the assassination of the Cardassian premier on Deep Space Nine, he had mysteriously resigned his post.
Walker had just chalked it up to a skittish Santiago cleaning house as he scrambled to keep his poll numbers from plunging. Now, the captain wasn’t so sure. “Admiral, how did you wind up here?”
“As I said…”
“Long story,” Commander Petrov interjected, drawing sharp looks from both Walker and the admiral. To her credit, Sofia remembered her place and issued a quick apology. Walker glanced at Commander Astar and saw that the quiet Trill was taking everything in, assessing all the meeting’s participants, searching for ulterior agendas and vulnerabilities. Benjamin would do his best to keep his own hidden.
“Well, I guess we can get down to business now,” the captain said. “I’m Captain Benjamin Walker by the way, of the Monarch.” He offered a hand, but Glover just nodded curtly before gesturing for the Monarch officers to take seats. The trio was reluctant, until Torak’Clan sat stiffly across from them. A bit more at ease, now that the Jem’Hadar wasn’t at his back, the captain made his own gesture, and his subordinates took their seats first. “What are our…hosts…proposing?” Walker asked.
“Before we get into any negotiations,” Glover began dryly, “I request that the Starfleet prisoners being held on this station are released and placed aboard your vessel for their safety. Several need immediate medical assistance.”
Torak’Clan growled low in his throat, before he began to rise out of his seat. “Hold,” Sorix said, putting up a hand.
“You’re holding Starfleet prisoners?” Walker thundered.
“Yes,” Sorix didn’t deny it. “They will be transported to your ship at once.”
“You don’t have the authority to make decisions unilaterally,” Torak’Clan said. The large Jem’Hadar was now on his feet, yet his ire was directed into the pool of shadows where Sorix still dwelled.
“Neither do you,” the Reman’s cool matched the Jem’Hadar’s fire. “Consider this a goodwill gesture, a measure to show our new friends that we are serious and honorable.”
“The prisoners are spoils of war,” Torak’Clan declared. Walker winced at the casual disregard the reptilian showed for the lives of others. “Collateral damage.”
“You know that Starfleet will never negotiate with us unless the fate of these prisoners has been decided,” Sorix countered.
The Jem’Hadar turned to the Starfleet contingent. The captain could feel the heat from the warrior’s baleful gaze. It was searing. “So?” He asked. “We have a weapon of unimaginable power at our disposal. The idea that we need to negotiate with inferiors is…disgusting.”
“Us inferiors sure did a job kicking your scaly asses,” Petrov retorted.
“Commander,” Astar hissed, but Walker stayed silent, his teeth clenched. He was afraid to speak at that moment, because he knew the words laden on his tongue would scuttle any chance of an agreement.
Torak’Clan placed the full menace of his gaze on the engineer. “You’re nothing more than an insect. If it hadn’t been for the betrayal of the Cardassians…”
“Yes, the Cardassians,” Sorix cut in, “Think how our alliance will vex them First Torak’Clan,” the Reman made sure to use the man’s rank, a sign of mollifying respect. “With our forces occupying a planet in the Volan system, it will rattle them to no end.”
“And it could provide the perfect staging ground to enact our revenge,” Torak’Clan reasoned.
“Hold on,” Walker huffed. “We’re not setting you up in the Volan system just so you can continue your pogrom against the Cardassian people.”
“Surely now Captain, if the Cardassians are entangled with Torak’Clan and his warriors, their militants won’t be focused on Federation civilians and Starfleet personnel within their space,” the Reman reasoned. “Plus, we could serve as a buffer to check any imperialist dreams the Cardassians might still hold.”
“He has a point,” Petrov whispered. Astar grunted in disapproval on the captain’s other side. He hated to admit it, but Benjamin agreed with Sofia on this one.
“As I said, I can’t condone a premeditated plan to interfere in Cardassian affairs, however if the Cardassians react negatively to your settlement of Volan IV, that is a matter your governing authority will have to address,” Walker said. He glanced at Admiral Glover. The older man’s skin looked waxen and he weakly nodded his head in agreement. Benjamin could tell that these dark dealings were making the admiral ill. His own stomach was twisted in knots, and he felt like he needed a sonic shower. This whole affair got seedier and grimier by the nanosecond.
“I…agree with the captain’s…way of thinking,” the admiral co-signed.
“Excellent,” Sorix said. “Now, let us get on with the business of returning your data.”
***************************************************************
Pirot Nor
Operations Room
“Report,” Second Omara’Son thundered over to the sensor station.
“Second,” the Jem’Hadar Fourth manning the helm began, before quickly informing him of the results of the sensor sweep of the USS Monarch.
“Show me,” Omara’Son said after the soldier finished his recounting. The ocular view screen shifted to an image of the Sovereign-class vessel. In his mind, the Jem’Hadar Second reviewed the weak points in the ship’s design, his gaze following the station’s optical receptors as they trailed the length of the hull and arrived at a patch of the ship right behind the main hull. “Magnify,” he ordered. He peered at the silvery white, smooth area. “I don’t see anything.” It was as much as a threat as a statement. He didn’t have time to waste and if the Fourth had been overzealous in his scan of the ship, Omara’Son would make him regret it.
“It is clever sir,” the Fourth said. “I missed it at first too.”
“Elaborate,” Omara’Son demanded.
“I detected two distinct resonance signatures emanating from the ship, which was unusual, because each vessel usually only contains one signature.”
“I’m aware of that,” Omara’Son snapped.
“The resonance signature was slight, but I localized it to this area of the Monarch, and used a series of modified metaphasic scans to surmise that there is another vessel attached to the hull of the Monarch. I assess that the vessel is using a multispectral emitter, consistent with Romulan manufacture, to take on the appearance of the Monarch’s hull.”
“You, Reman,” Omara’Son called out to the Reman warrior at the science station. “Are you familiar with Romulan holographic technology?” The man nodded before coming over.
He quickly reviewed the data. “We should inform the colonel.”
“We will,” Omara’Son said, “in a moment. I wonder if the Monarch is trying to deceive us.” He wanted to have any theories well thought out before Torak’Clan or Sorix, particularly Torak’Clan asked.
“It is also possible that Starfleet doesn’t know they have a ship latched onto their hull,” the Fourth surmised.
“How could they not?” Omara’Son challenged.
“Well, it is possible,” the Reman spoke up. “We don’t know how long that ship has been attached to the Monarch. Also the Monarch’s sensors and shielding could’ve been severely impaired during its sojourn through the Scarab Nebula, providing this vessel with plenty of opportunities to secure itself to the hull.”
“Perhaps,” Omara’Son conceded, “but I will not take that risk. Initiate battle alert, arm our offensive systems, and scramble our fighters.”
“Sir, should we consult the First and the colonel before we initiate that action?” The Fourth asked.
“No,” Omara’Son shook his head. “While they are in negotiations I am in command. Now do as I command.”
He turned to the Reman. “Order a security detail to the ward room and apprehend Captain Walker and his crew. They will tell us what we wish to know about this furtive vessel, one way or another.”
*************************************************************
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Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
Merias System
Commander Volok’s breath caught in his throat. “The last shuttle is entering the eye of the ion storm,” Centurion Sovar said solemnly. The bridge’s main viewer was patched into the onboard sensors of the lead shuttle, which was providing a shaky glance inside the hell of the ion storm. The tiny vessel was being buffeted by raging blue energies. However, its reinforced shielding was holding firm.
The ship’s primary engineer had helped him flesh out his ingenious plan to retrieve whatever was emitting the Iconian energy signatures at the center of the maelstrom. He had thought of using a string of remote controlled shuttles, connected by tractor beams, to penetrate the ionic disturbance. Once within the eye, they could use the shuttle’s onboard transporter to enact a series of beam-outs to bring the object into Avengeance’s hold. The engineer had suggested microfilament tethers instead of tractor beams, owing to the storms ability to disrupt energy sources.
It had been a good idea. So far the reinforced shielding for each shuttle had held, but Volok hadn’t known how long that would last, the ion particles could short out the shuttle’s shield generators at any moment. The tethers held firm, though the brutal astral winds were tossing them about more than the patrician cared for.
He was on the edge of his seat, his fingers digging into the armrests. The bridge gasped collectively as the shuttle’s cameras fastened upon a small, winking orb. “Magnify,” Volok found his voice again. The shuttle honed in on the small, blue orb. “Beautiful,” the commander let slip. “Prepare the tractor beam.”
“At once,” his Operations Officer said smartly. “Tractor beam activated,” the woman replied. His heart thudded powerfully in his chest as he saw the green shaft approach the stationary orb. It would be only a matter of minutes before the most powerful weapon in the galaxy would be in his possession. The main screen blinkered, going dark, before filling with static. “What’s going on?” He demanded of Jaron, who was at the sensor console. “Why have we lost visual contact?”
“I’m…uncertain,” the panicked man replied, burying his head deeper in his station’s Sensor Hood. “I am attempting to reestablish contact right now.”
“Commander, I’m detecting a massive energy build up at the center of the ion storm,” Jaron replied.
“Originating from the probe?” Volok asked, his throat threatening to close up. He had no desire to become a victim of the probe’s computer virus.
“No,” Jaron shook his head, “Not…quite.”
“What do you mean?” Volok demanded, snapping around to spear the anxious man with his stare. “Explain!”
“Commander,” Sovar called, swallowing loudly. “The mainscreen…” Volok turned back around.
“Gods,” he muttered. The shuttle’s sensors had been restored. A massive dark sphere now occupied the eye, dwarfing the probe. “What is that?” Though shaped like a planetary body, it was too small to be a moon or planetoid. It was definitely a vessel, but unlike any he had ever seen before. “What type of ship is that?”
“I don’t know,” Sovar said, stepping up to stand beside Volok, perhaps for the last time.
“Tactical scans indicate nothing,” the frustrated Tactical Officer said.
“What about propulsion?” Volok asked.
“I am also at a loss,” the Primary Engineer replied. “The energy signature is similar to the Iconian probe…yet different. The signatures could possibly be masked.”
“From what we know of the Iconians, some likely survived the orbital bombardment of Iconia and perhaps went on to found or influence the Dewan, Dinasian, and Iccobar cultures. It is feasible that the Iconian refugees settled on other worlds," the Science Officer was eager to be part of the conversation.
“Hail them,” Volok ordered.
“No response,” the Communications Officer replied.
“Keep the channel open,” Volok said. He cleared his throat, and tugged down his tunic before speaking. He used his most imperious voice, “Unidentified vessel, you have trespassed into space that is under the current protection of the Romulan Star Empire. Identify yourself immediately!” No response.
“If you do not respond, I will be forced to fire upon you.” Still no response.
“Activate the shuttle’s weapon’s array,” Volok commanded.
“Sir, I doubt its miniscule complement will do much to dent that sphere,” Sovar intimated after Volok had ordered the communication line closed.
“It’s more important to show that we mean business,” Volok said. “I can always spin it that this was just a warning shot, which isn’t a lie. There aren’t many vessels that can withstand the full onslaught of a warbird, as you well know.”
“Absolutely,” Sovar said, bowing his head and stepping back.
“Fire,” Volok said confidently. He crossed his legs and leaned back as the shuttle unloaded on the sphere.
“No effect,” the Tactical Officer intoned. Volok wasn’t too concerned.
“Unidentified vessel, that was just a warning shot.” The sphere remained immobile, and its crew silent. Their silence was becoming impertinence to Volok and he would not allow his crew to view such open disrespect. However, he forced himself to remember why he had come to this forsaken stretch of space, and it was presumably for the same reason that ship had just shown up. He could complete his mission and return their disrespect in one fell swoop.
He gestured for the line to be closed again. “Prepare to fire, photon torpedoes this time,” he commanded, “and while that might either distract or destroy that bothersome ship, I want to begin initiating a series of transports to reel in the Iconian probe. Has the storm affected the lead shuttle’s transporting ability?”
“No sir,” Came the quick reply.
“Excellent, prepare to fire and beam out on my mark.
“Aye sir,” the responses were almost simultaneous.
“Fire,” he commanded. The fire show was somewhat entertaining, though Volok was waiting to hear that the probe was in their possession and safely aboard. However, the probe hadn’t moved. He sat up in his chair, “What’s happening? Why haven’t you beamed the probe aboard the shuttle?”
“I’ve tried sir, it-I can’t get a lock on it.” The Ops Officer said.
“It’s that sphere,” the Tactical Officer chimed in. “It has to be blocking our transporter lock somehow.”
“This ship is becoming annoying,” Volok said. “Is it possible to target our quantum torpedoes through the ion storm with any accuracy?”
“Doubtful,” Sovar said. “The properties of the storm would preclude it.”
“Do it anyway,” Volok declared. “I want that probe.”
“Understood,” Sovar said, issuing the command. Volok felt the deck rumbling as it unleashed a quiver of the Avengeance’s deadliest payload, all aimed at that globular vessel in the eye of the storm, the ship that was mocking him.
If even one of the torpedoes found their target, he would see how smug they would be then.
*************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
Merias System
Commander Volok’s breath caught in his throat. “The last shuttle is entering the eye of the ion storm,” Centurion Sovar said solemnly. The bridge’s main viewer was patched into the onboard sensors of the lead shuttle, which was providing a shaky glance inside the hell of the ion storm. The tiny vessel was being buffeted by raging blue energies. However, its reinforced shielding was holding firm.
The ship’s primary engineer had helped him flesh out his ingenious plan to retrieve whatever was emitting the Iconian energy signatures at the center of the maelstrom. He had thought of using a string of remote controlled shuttles, connected by tractor beams, to penetrate the ionic disturbance. Once within the eye, they could use the shuttle’s onboard transporter to enact a series of beam-outs to bring the object into Avengeance’s hold. The engineer had suggested microfilament tethers instead of tractor beams, owing to the storms ability to disrupt energy sources.
It had been a good idea. So far the reinforced shielding for each shuttle had held, but Volok hadn’t known how long that would last, the ion particles could short out the shuttle’s shield generators at any moment. The tethers held firm, though the brutal astral winds were tossing them about more than the patrician cared for.
He was on the edge of his seat, his fingers digging into the armrests. The bridge gasped collectively as the shuttle’s cameras fastened upon a small, winking orb. “Magnify,” Volok found his voice again. The shuttle honed in on the small, blue orb. “Beautiful,” the commander let slip. “Prepare the tractor beam.”
“At once,” his Operations Officer said smartly. “Tractor beam activated,” the woman replied. His heart thudded powerfully in his chest as he saw the green shaft approach the stationary orb. It would be only a matter of minutes before the most powerful weapon in the galaxy would be in his possession. The main screen blinkered, going dark, before filling with static. “What’s going on?” He demanded of Jaron, who was at the sensor console. “Why have we lost visual contact?”
“I’m…uncertain,” the panicked man replied, burying his head deeper in his station’s Sensor Hood. “I am attempting to reestablish contact right now.”
“Commander, I’m detecting a massive energy build up at the center of the ion storm,” Jaron replied.
“Originating from the probe?” Volok asked, his throat threatening to close up. He had no desire to become a victim of the probe’s computer virus.
“No,” Jaron shook his head, “Not…quite.”
“What do you mean?” Volok demanded, snapping around to spear the anxious man with his stare. “Explain!”
“Commander,” Sovar called, swallowing loudly. “The mainscreen…” Volok turned back around.
“Gods,” he muttered. The shuttle’s sensors had been restored. A massive dark sphere now occupied the eye, dwarfing the probe. “What is that?” Though shaped like a planetary body, it was too small to be a moon or planetoid. It was definitely a vessel, but unlike any he had ever seen before. “What type of ship is that?”
“I don’t know,” Sovar said, stepping up to stand beside Volok, perhaps for the last time.
“Tactical scans indicate nothing,” the frustrated Tactical Officer said.
“What about propulsion?” Volok asked.
“I am also at a loss,” the Primary Engineer replied. “The energy signature is similar to the Iconian probe…yet different. The signatures could possibly be masked.”
“From what we know of the Iconians, some likely survived the orbital bombardment of Iconia and perhaps went on to found or influence the Dewan, Dinasian, and Iccobar cultures. It is feasible that the Iconian refugees settled on other worlds," the Science Officer was eager to be part of the conversation.
“Hail them,” Volok ordered.
“No response,” the Communications Officer replied.
“Keep the channel open,” Volok said. He cleared his throat, and tugged down his tunic before speaking. He used his most imperious voice, “Unidentified vessel, you have trespassed into space that is under the current protection of the Romulan Star Empire. Identify yourself immediately!” No response.
“If you do not respond, I will be forced to fire upon you.” Still no response.
“Activate the shuttle’s weapon’s array,” Volok commanded.
“Sir, I doubt its miniscule complement will do much to dent that sphere,” Sovar intimated after Volok had ordered the communication line closed.
“It’s more important to show that we mean business,” Volok said. “I can always spin it that this was just a warning shot, which isn’t a lie. There aren’t many vessels that can withstand the full onslaught of a warbird, as you well know.”
“Absolutely,” Sovar said, bowing his head and stepping back.
“Fire,” Volok said confidently. He crossed his legs and leaned back as the shuttle unloaded on the sphere.
“No effect,” the Tactical Officer intoned. Volok wasn’t too concerned.
“Unidentified vessel, that was just a warning shot.” The sphere remained immobile, and its crew silent. Their silence was becoming impertinence to Volok and he would not allow his crew to view such open disrespect. However, he forced himself to remember why he had come to this forsaken stretch of space, and it was presumably for the same reason that ship had just shown up. He could complete his mission and return their disrespect in one fell swoop.
He gestured for the line to be closed again. “Prepare to fire, photon torpedoes this time,” he commanded, “and while that might either distract or destroy that bothersome ship, I want to begin initiating a series of transports to reel in the Iconian probe. Has the storm affected the lead shuttle’s transporting ability?”
“No sir,” Came the quick reply.
“Excellent, prepare to fire and beam out on my mark.
“Aye sir,” the responses were almost simultaneous.
“Fire,” he commanded. The fire show was somewhat entertaining, though Volok was waiting to hear that the probe was in their possession and safely aboard. However, the probe hadn’t moved. He sat up in his chair, “What’s happening? Why haven’t you beamed the probe aboard the shuttle?”
“I’ve tried sir, it-I can’t get a lock on it.” The Ops Officer said.
“It’s that sphere,” the Tactical Officer chimed in. “It has to be blocking our transporter lock somehow.”
“This ship is becoming annoying,” Volok said. “Is it possible to target our quantum torpedoes through the ion storm with any accuracy?”
“Doubtful,” Sovar said. “The properties of the storm would preclude it.”
“Do it anyway,” Volok declared. “I want that probe.”
“Understood,” Sovar said, issuing the command. Volok felt the deck rumbling as it unleashed a quiver of the Avengeance’s deadliest payload, all aimed at that globular vessel in the eye of the storm, the ship that was mocking him.
If even one of the torpedoes found their target, he would see how smug they would be then.
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So close and yet so far. That's what Volok must be thinking here. Besides wondering who or what that sphere is. Have the Iconians returned to claim their own weapon? That could be both good and bad.
And it looks like Glover and the rest of the prisoners remain in danger still. Except they soon might have company in Walker and his crew. Things are not looking up here.
And it looks like Glover and the rest of the prisoners remain in danger still. Except they soon might have company in Walker and his crew. Things are not looking up here.
It looks like Volok has stumbled into a situation he might not be able to handle. As for Walker et al...it appears that an ambitious and impetuous Jem'Hadar subordinate might just mess things up--and the twists keep coming. Very nicely done!
Time will tell...thanks for reading and Happy Holidays!
*************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
Commander T’Chaya’s ears perked up. There was a soft trill issuing from her armrest. She glanced down and saw the encoded message scrawl across the inset screen. “Someone calling?” T’Prell asked, already out of the flight control seat. Steen was by her side a nanosecond later. The man leaned over her shoulder, his eyes glued to the inset. He reached toward the inset, but T’Prell grabbed his wrist.
“I’ll take a look at this,” the older woman said. “I have some experience deciphering Romulan codes.”
He glared at her, and T’Chaya could tell he wanted to argue, but the clouded expression passed and he returned to his station. “Keep me informed,” he said over his shoulder.
“You’ll be the first to know,” T’Prell said drily as she gestured T’Chaya out of the command chair. The V’Shar agent slid into it and began working the tiny smooth planed keyboard at the bottom of the inset screen. T’Chaya took over piloting duties, a bit reluctantly.
She had wanted to be on hand to see what data T’Prell was able to pry from the message. The commander turned her focus to the task before her, navigating the ship. The coordinates had been preprogrammed into the navigation system before they took over the vessel, primarily with anesthetic gas and the occasional disruptor.
There had been some debate about whether they should continue on the same course. For all they knew, the Stiletto could be headed toward a Romulan space station or flotilla. But both Steen and T’Prell had both been adamant to allow events to play out.
“It appears that Vakis has an agent…on a space station,” T’Prell said, “And that agent is getting antsy. There’s something about a mysterious vessel…Romulan manufacture…prompting a demand to search the Starfleet vessel…”
“Starfleet vessel?” T’Chaya asked, perplexed. For a fearful moment she wondered if the Nagasaki had been captured. They had lost contact with the ship days ago, and Steen had been strident about maintaining radio silence.
“The agent doesn’t elaborate,” T’Prell said. “Though she has demanded that we speed along if we are to recover the probe.” This was the first T’Chaya was hearing about a probe, but she could tell from the casual tone in the other Vulcan’s voice that T’Prell knew something about it. T’Chaya swiftly switched her gaze to Steen. She caught a glimpse of the man’s scowl. She could see familiarity in the man’s eyes, before he turned his head.
“Probe?” T’Chaya asked. “What is this about a probe? I know that both of you have withheld information from me. Both of you know something about this probe.”
T’Prell sighed. Steen became noticeably quieter. “I guess it will be me then,” the elder Vulcan said after a moment. “Yes, I know…something about the probe, and I am sure that Mr. Steen does as well. I can’t tell you much, but all that you need to know is that it is a weapon of incalculable power, and we must secure it.”
“So, that is the real reason you boarded the Nagasaki?” T’Chaya asked. “To procure this weapon?”
“Not…quite,” T’Prell said again, a pained expression on her face. T’Chaya could sense the woman shutting down. So she turned her attention to the faux Vulcan.
“Would you care to reveal what role you play in this ‘Ambassador’?”
“No,” Steen said, before holding up a finger. His attention was locked on his screen. “I think we have more important concerns at the moment.”
“Oh,” T’Prell’s left eyebrow arched.
“Such as?” T’Chaya asked.
“Vakis,” Steen turned back around to face them, his words as sober as his expression, “She’s escaped.”
****************************************************
*************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
Commander T’Chaya’s ears perked up. There was a soft trill issuing from her armrest. She glanced down and saw the encoded message scrawl across the inset screen. “Someone calling?” T’Prell asked, already out of the flight control seat. Steen was by her side a nanosecond later. The man leaned over her shoulder, his eyes glued to the inset. He reached toward the inset, but T’Prell grabbed his wrist.
“I’ll take a look at this,” the older woman said. “I have some experience deciphering Romulan codes.”
He glared at her, and T’Chaya could tell he wanted to argue, but the clouded expression passed and he returned to his station. “Keep me informed,” he said over his shoulder.
“You’ll be the first to know,” T’Prell said drily as she gestured T’Chaya out of the command chair. The V’Shar agent slid into it and began working the tiny smooth planed keyboard at the bottom of the inset screen. T’Chaya took over piloting duties, a bit reluctantly.
She had wanted to be on hand to see what data T’Prell was able to pry from the message. The commander turned her focus to the task before her, navigating the ship. The coordinates had been preprogrammed into the navigation system before they took over the vessel, primarily with anesthetic gas and the occasional disruptor.
There had been some debate about whether they should continue on the same course. For all they knew, the Stiletto could be headed toward a Romulan space station or flotilla. But both Steen and T’Prell had both been adamant to allow events to play out.
“It appears that Vakis has an agent…on a space station,” T’Prell said, “And that agent is getting antsy. There’s something about a mysterious vessel…Romulan manufacture…prompting a demand to search the Starfleet vessel…”
“Starfleet vessel?” T’Chaya asked, perplexed. For a fearful moment she wondered if the Nagasaki had been captured. They had lost contact with the ship days ago, and Steen had been strident about maintaining radio silence.
“The agent doesn’t elaborate,” T’Prell said. “Though she has demanded that we speed along if we are to recover the probe.” This was the first T’Chaya was hearing about a probe, but she could tell from the casual tone in the other Vulcan’s voice that T’Prell knew something about it. T’Chaya swiftly switched her gaze to Steen. She caught a glimpse of the man’s scowl. She could see familiarity in the man’s eyes, before he turned his head.
“Probe?” T’Chaya asked. “What is this about a probe? I know that both of you have withheld information from me. Both of you know something about this probe.”
T’Prell sighed. Steen became noticeably quieter. “I guess it will be me then,” the elder Vulcan said after a moment. “Yes, I know…something about the probe, and I am sure that Mr. Steen does as well. I can’t tell you much, but all that you need to know is that it is a weapon of incalculable power, and we must secure it.”
“So, that is the real reason you boarded the Nagasaki?” T’Chaya asked. “To procure this weapon?”
“Not…quite,” T’Prell said again, a pained expression on her face. T’Chaya could sense the woman shutting down. So she turned her attention to the faux Vulcan.
“Would you care to reveal what role you play in this ‘Ambassador’?”
“No,” Steen said, before holding up a finger. His attention was locked on his screen. “I think we have more important concerns at the moment.”
“Oh,” T’Prell’s left eyebrow arched.
“Such as?” T’Chaya asked.
“Vakis,” Steen turned back around to face them, his words as sober as his expression, “She’s escaped.”
****************************************************
************************************************************
Shuttlecraft Tavek
“We’ve just picked up another encrypted message,” Lt. Telik said, drawing the captain’s attention again.
“It is similar to the last one?” Lt. Skell asked, leaving the fact that the science officer had been unable so far to decode the previous message.
“It is similar in many respects…but one,” Telik replied, with a glimmer of what sounded distressingly like pride, “It is based on the Debrune offshoot language. I spent several years on Debrune, studying their language and customs.”
Instead of pointing out the woman’s boastful tone, Zorek merely nodded. The Debrune were one of the Vulcan groups that left during the Sundering. They left the convoy and settled on a planet long before most of the Sundered eventually colonized Romulus.
“I had surmised that the previous code had been constructed with heavy usage of pictograms, probably derived from the Reman dialect,” Telik said. “Suffice it say, the Debrune message was far easier to translate.”
“What is the message?” The captain asked patiently. The Science Officer nearly gushed in telling him. The captain stroked his chin, as the information reeled around his brain. After a few weighted moments, he said, “Triangulate the source of that message and alter course accordingly. It appears we have a new mission.”
*******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Main Bridge
“The station has just gone to full alert,” replied Ensign Benecia Quarles, standing in at Ops. Lt. Commander Liyange sat up in the captain’s chair.
“Excuse me?” She blinked, not quite sure she heard correctly.
“The station…” the flustered, sepia-hued crewman began.
“Red alert,” Liyange said, the Ops officer’s words finally clicking. The bridge was washed in crimson and a klaxon screamed from bulkhead speakers. “Ensign Quarles, can you get a transporter lock on our officers?”
“No captain,” the young woman said, shaking her head. “The station has erected a forcefield field. Level ten. We can’t penetrate it without disabling their shield generators.”
“Hail the station,” Liyange ordered, standing up. She wanted to be on her toes to face down whoever appeared on the screen. A gray, pebbled face glared back at her seconds later. “Why have you gone to full alert? Where is Captain Walker and the rest of my crew?” She demanded.
“Why are you consorting with the Romulans?” The Jem’Hadar shot back.
“What are you talking about?” Liyange asked, truly confused.
“Don’t lie to me,” the Jem’Hadar shook his head. “We have the data on the ship attached to your hull, a ship with Romulan energy signatures.”
“Surely you’re mistaken.”
“And surely you can’t be so mendacious to think I would believe you,” retorted the Jem’Hadar. “Because if you are speaking honestly then you should be executed for incompetence.”
Liyange let the stinging aside roll off. She turned to Quarles. “Check our sensors and then our sensor logs.”
“Enough with the charade,” the Jem’Hadar said. “I’ll transmit our findings to you now. Then let’s see you deny them.”
“We’ve received them,” Quarles said, looking up a few seconds later, an alarmed expression on her face. “Captain, this data appears convincing.”
“But it’s matching up with our sensor data I take it?” Liyange asked.
“No sir, not it isn’t,” Quarles replied.
“Confirm that Mr. Torkill,” Liyange said. She had no desire to undercut the young crewman, but she wanted the assessment of a more senior officer.
The Kobheerian curtly nodded a moment later. “There is a discrepancy, and I think the problem lies with us.”
Liyange glanced at the smoldering Jem’Hadar before stepping out of the command well. Liyange was surprised that man hadn’t snapped off another retort. He was patiently waiting them out, confident of the outcome. That didn’t set well with her at all. She quickly strode over to the tactical station. Torkill moved aside for her so that she could look at the data herself. She gasped, chastising herself for the reaction seconds later.
“It appears that our sensor systems have been compromised,” Torkill said.
“Allowing this vessel to hitch a ride?” Liyange said. “For how long?”
“How about we ask the pilot?” Torkill said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
**************************************************************
Pirot Nor
Ward Room
“Why have you issued an alert?” Walker glared at the pool of shadow enveloping Sorix before settling on Torak’Clan.
“I did not,” the Jem’Hadar warrior declared.
“Neither did I,” Sorix voiced.
“But I intend to find out,” Torak’Clan was on his feet, already pivoting toward the door. But it opened before it he reached it. A mixed cohort of Remans and Jem’Hadar barged into the room. One Jem’Hadar took the lead.
“What is the meaning of this Third Tivon’Adar?” Torak’Clan thundered. The subordinate gave an abbreviated accounting of the masked ship. “Captain Walker I think you have some explaining to do,” the First said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Walker said. Sorix emerged from the shadow, his appearance more wraithlike than the captain had imagined. He came to stand beside the contingent.
“What is going on here?” Admiral Glover looked from their captors to the Monarch officers. “Is this true?”
“Of course not,” Commander Petrov replied dismissively. Walker wanted to take that line, but this mission had led from one nasty surprise to another. He glanced at his Exec and saw worry lines forming across Astar’s face.
“This is most distressing news and might have deleterious repercussions…for you,” the colonel replied. “We will get to the bottom of this, until then, you will remain here.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” Walker stated. “I’ll be returning to my ship now, with all Starfleet personnel.”
“No, you will not,” Sorix said. “You will remain here.” He ordered two guards to take up positions by the door. “If any of them attempt to leave, kill them all.”
After most of the Jem’Hadar and Remans left, Glover turned to them, a humorless smile on his face, “Guess I need to work on my negotiation techniques.”
**************************************************************
Shuttlecraft Tavek
“We’ve just picked up another encrypted message,” Lt. Telik said, drawing the captain’s attention again.
“It is similar to the last one?” Lt. Skell asked, leaving the fact that the science officer had been unable so far to decode the previous message.
“It is similar in many respects…but one,” Telik replied, with a glimmer of what sounded distressingly like pride, “It is based on the Debrune offshoot language. I spent several years on Debrune, studying their language and customs.”
Instead of pointing out the woman’s boastful tone, Zorek merely nodded. The Debrune were one of the Vulcan groups that left during the Sundering. They left the convoy and settled on a planet long before most of the Sundered eventually colonized Romulus.
“I had surmised that the previous code had been constructed with heavy usage of pictograms, probably derived from the Reman dialect,” Telik said. “Suffice it say, the Debrune message was far easier to translate.”
“What is the message?” The captain asked patiently. The Science Officer nearly gushed in telling him. The captain stroked his chin, as the information reeled around his brain. After a few weighted moments, he said, “Triangulate the source of that message and alter course accordingly. It appears we have a new mission.”
*******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Main Bridge
“The station has just gone to full alert,” replied Ensign Benecia Quarles, standing in at Ops. Lt. Commander Liyange sat up in the captain’s chair.
“Excuse me?” She blinked, not quite sure she heard correctly.
“The station…” the flustered, sepia-hued crewman began.
“Red alert,” Liyange said, the Ops officer’s words finally clicking. The bridge was washed in crimson and a klaxon screamed from bulkhead speakers. “Ensign Quarles, can you get a transporter lock on our officers?”
“No captain,” the young woman said, shaking her head. “The station has erected a forcefield field. Level ten. We can’t penetrate it without disabling their shield generators.”
“Hail the station,” Liyange ordered, standing up. She wanted to be on her toes to face down whoever appeared on the screen. A gray, pebbled face glared back at her seconds later. “Why have you gone to full alert? Where is Captain Walker and the rest of my crew?” She demanded.
“Why are you consorting with the Romulans?” The Jem’Hadar shot back.
“What are you talking about?” Liyange asked, truly confused.
“Don’t lie to me,” the Jem’Hadar shook his head. “We have the data on the ship attached to your hull, a ship with Romulan energy signatures.”
“Surely you’re mistaken.”
“And surely you can’t be so mendacious to think I would believe you,” retorted the Jem’Hadar. “Because if you are speaking honestly then you should be executed for incompetence.”
Liyange let the stinging aside roll off. She turned to Quarles. “Check our sensors and then our sensor logs.”
“Enough with the charade,” the Jem’Hadar said. “I’ll transmit our findings to you now. Then let’s see you deny them.”
“We’ve received them,” Quarles said, looking up a few seconds later, an alarmed expression on her face. “Captain, this data appears convincing.”
“But it’s matching up with our sensor data I take it?” Liyange asked.
“No sir, not it isn’t,” Quarles replied.
“Confirm that Mr. Torkill,” Liyange said. She had no desire to undercut the young crewman, but she wanted the assessment of a more senior officer.
The Kobheerian curtly nodded a moment later. “There is a discrepancy, and I think the problem lies with us.”
Liyange glanced at the smoldering Jem’Hadar before stepping out of the command well. Liyange was surprised that man hadn’t snapped off another retort. He was patiently waiting them out, confident of the outcome. That didn’t set well with her at all. She quickly strode over to the tactical station. Torkill moved aside for her so that she could look at the data herself. She gasped, chastising herself for the reaction seconds later.
“It appears that our sensor systems have been compromised,” Torkill said.
“Allowing this vessel to hitch a ride?” Liyange said. “For how long?”
“How about we ask the pilot?” Torkill said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
**************************************************************
Pirot Nor
Ward Room
“Why have you issued an alert?” Walker glared at the pool of shadow enveloping Sorix before settling on Torak’Clan.
“I did not,” the Jem’Hadar warrior declared.
“Neither did I,” Sorix voiced.
“But I intend to find out,” Torak’Clan was on his feet, already pivoting toward the door. But it opened before it he reached it. A mixed cohort of Remans and Jem’Hadar barged into the room. One Jem’Hadar took the lead.
“What is the meaning of this Third Tivon’Adar?” Torak’Clan thundered. The subordinate gave an abbreviated accounting of the masked ship. “Captain Walker I think you have some explaining to do,” the First said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Walker said. Sorix emerged from the shadow, his appearance more wraithlike than the captain had imagined. He came to stand beside the contingent.
“What is going on here?” Admiral Glover looked from their captors to the Monarch officers. “Is this true?”
“Of course not,” Commander Petrov replied dismissively. Walker wanted to take that line, but this mission had led from one nasty surprise to another. He glanced at his Exec and saw worry lines forming across Astar’s face.
“This is most distressing news and might have deleterious repercussions…for you,” the colonel replied. “We will get to the bottom of this, until then, you will remain here.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” Walker stated. “I’ll be returning to my ship now, with all Starfleet personnel.”
“No, you will not,” Sorix said. “You will remain here.” He ordered two guards to take up positions by the door. “If any of them attempt to leave, kill them all.”
After most of the Jem’Hadar and Remans left, Glover turned to them, a humorless smile on his face, “Guess I need to work on my negotiation techniques.”
**************************************************************
**********************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
“No effect,” Centurion Sovar breathed. “The barrage had no effect on the sphere.” Commander Volok was beside himself. The large, darkened sphere still sat in the center of the ion storm, completely unscathed, the Iconian probe within its gravitational clutches.
“How…how is that possible?” He asked, rhetorically.
“I do not know,” the Tactical Officer answered nonetheless. “The torpedoes were at their highest yield.” Unable to formulate a response, the Avengeance hung in space, the furious storm of ionic particles the only thing blocking them from the sphere.
“Hail them again,” Volok said.
“Channel open,” the Communications Officer replied.
“Alien vessel,” Volok put on his most conciliatory voice. “This has been a misunderstanding. I apologize if we have offended, but that artifact currently in your possession has great cultural significance to my people. Perhaps we can discussion some kind of financial solution to our current impasse?” If all else failed, appeal to greed. Of course, once they lowered their shields he would beam the probe away from them and warp back to Benzar.
“Commander, the alien ship is returning our hail,” The Communications Officer was so excited his tongue almost tripped over the words.
“Onscreen,” Volok said, tamping down his own curiosity.
“It’s just audio sir.”
“Audio then,” Volok snapped.
“You prevaricate…Romulan.” Volok looked at his centurion, not quite believing his ears, but Sovar’s perplexed expression and slightly green cheeks confirmed that he had heard what he thought he did. Who were these people, and how did they know he was a Romulan? Perhaps more importantly, how did they know he was lying? Were they truly descendents of the Iconians, or Iconians themselves? Or did they spring from race or races that destroyed the Iconian Empire? Information was as important as oxygen to him and he didn’t like being in the dark.
“I have told no lies,” Volok replied smoothly. “That artifact is important to me.”
“But it is not of you.”
“Is it ‘of you’?”
“Return to your miniscule empire. This is your only warning.”
“Sphere is emitting increased power build up,” the Tactical Officer replied. But Volok didn’t need to be informed of that. He could see it with his own eyes. On the screen, he raptly watched bands of energy, rippling like liquid fire across the sphere’s surface, dark orange, beautiful flames that were no doubt lethal. They matched the infernal light glowing just beneath the sphere’s rounded hull.
“Back us off, out of their firing range,” he ordered.
“What would that be sir?” The steersman asked. Volok winced, the question catching him off guard.
“Until I say stop godsdammit!”
“Alien vessel is firing,” the Tactical Officer replied. Volok’s breath caught in his throat and he felt pinned to his seat. The entire command deck was silent as the death they knew would embrace them within seconds. But death didn’t come. The beam erupted from the other side of the sphere, slamming against a large, rippling mass. The waves resolved themselves into the side of another large starship, this one sword-shaped. The ship returned fire, bathing the sphere in a halo of golden energy.
“It appears there’s a new wrinkle,” Sovar replied dryly.
****************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
“No effect,” Centurion Sovar breathed. “The barrage had no effect on the sphere.” Commander Volok was beside himself. The large, darkened sphere still sat in the center of the ion storm, completely unscathed, the Iconian probe within its gravitational clutches.
“How…how is that possible?” He asked, rhetorically.
“I do not know,” the Tactical Officer answered nonetheless. “The torpedoes were at their highest yield.” Unable to formulate a response, the Avengeance hung in space, the furious storm of ionic particles the only thing blocking them from the sphere.
“Hail them again,” Volok said.
“Channel open,” the Communications Officer replied.
“Alien vessel,” Volok put on his most conciliatory voice. “This has been a misunderstanding. I apologize if we have offended, but that artifact currently in your possession has great cultural significance to my people. Perhaps we can discussion some kind of financial solution to our current impasse?” If all else failed, appeal to greed. Of course, once they lowered their shields he would beam the probe away from them and warp back to Benzar.
“Commander, the alien ship is returning our hail,” The Communications Officer was so excited his tongue almost tripped over the words.
“Onscreen,” Volok said, tamping down his own curiosity.
“It’s just audio sir.”
“Audio then,” Volok snapped.
“You prevaricate…Romulan.” Volok looked at his centurion, not quite believing his ears, but Sovar’s perplexed expression and slightly green cheeks confirmed that he had heard what he thought he did. Who were these people, and how did they know he was a Romulan? Perhaps more importantly, how did they know he was lying? Were they truly descendents of the Iconians, or Iconians themselves? Or did they spring from race or races that destroyed the Iconian Empire? Information was as important as oxygen to him and he didn’t like being in the dark.
“I have told no lies,” Volok replied smoothly. “That artifact is important to me.”
“But it is not of you.”
“Is it ‘of you’?”
“Return to your miniscule empire. This is your only warning.”
“Sphere is emitting increased power build up,” the Tactical Officer replied. But Volok didn’t need to be informed of that. He could see it with his own eyes. On the screen, he raptly watched bands of energy, rippling like liquid fire across the sphere’s surface, dark orange, beautiful flames that were no doubt lethal. They matched the infernal light glowing just beneath the sphere’s rounded hull.
“Back us off, out of their firing range,” he ordered.
“What would that be sir?” The steersman asked. Volok winced, the question catching him off guard.
“Until I say stop godsdammit!”
“Alien vessel is firing,” the Tactical Officer replied. Volok’s breath caught in his throat and he felt pinned to his seat. The entire command deck was silent as the death they knew would embrace them within seconds. But death didn’t come. The beam erupted from the other side of the sphere, slamming against a large, rippling mass. The waves resolved themselves into the side of another large starship, this one sword-shaped. The ship returned fire, bathing the sphere in a halo of golden energy.
“It appears there’s a new wrinkle,” Sovar replied dryly.
****************************************************
Who does this ship belong to?
**********************************************************
Pirot Nor
The operative coasted toward the spidery station, her breathing sounding robotic in her ears. The streamlined environmental suit she wore still made her breathing sound like her heart and lungs were on a respirator, just like the bulkier, standard issue suits.
However, this suit allowed for more freedom of movement. And it had built in repulsors, in the soles of each boot with breakers attached along the forearms in lieu of a cumbersome jetpack. Most importantly, the suit was made of the same material as Federation isolation suits, rendering the user invisible to most sensors.
However as she watched the tiny specks of the Monarch crew swarming over her vessel, with Jem’Hadar warbugs and Romulan Scorpion fighters buzzing around them, she knew that stealth technology had its limits, and it was best not to rely too heavily on it. “Get in and get out”, her old handler used to tell her.
She activated her repulsors and straightened her body, forming an organic missile aimed at the nearest docking pylon. It was half-constructed, which suited her purposes perfectly. There shouldn’t be any guards. To pass through the forcefield her suit’s sensors had detected, the operative activated the chroniton patch attached to her belt. It sent currents of chronitons throughout her suit, making her nauseous, but bypassing the defensive screen.
As ably as possible, the operative latched on to the pylon and scaled it down to the docking bay. She paused, calming her nerves and her stomach, before she used a manual control to roll back the docking doors. She slid inside, and rolled the door back in place. She suspected that the unauthorized entrance had activated an alarm somewhere, and a security detail might be on its way in seconds.
She maintained the stealth mode on her suit, and hoped that if any guards did arrive they would suspect a mechanical malfunction, and not do an intensive sweep. Unfortunately they might detect the chronitons. The operative didn’t intend to stand around and wait to be discovered. She glanced around the large, darkened docking bay. Finding a ventilation shaft, she quickly crossed the room, using her visor’s night vision to avoid the clutter.
She clambered up the ladder attached to the wall, displeased with her inelegance. She quickly removed the grate plating, slithered in and replaced it. She tensed, her breath catching as she heard harsh voices below, and saw the glimmer of sweeping lights. That was a close one, the operative thought. She remained motionless long minutes after the voices had ceased and she didn’t see any more lights.
The operative whispered into her helmet. “Computer, layout of Nor-class stations,” she ordered. She blinked as the image flashed across her visor. “Location of mainframe,” she specified. The suit’s data system localized on the station’s central computer. Good, she thought. “Now, plot the quickest course through the conduit network to the mainframe.” The computer complied again. Great, she thought. “Now, search for biosigns at the mainframe.”
The operative wondered if the renegades had enough men to spare to guard the main computer. She would like to know how many, and what species, in order to prepare the appropriate lethal response. There were none, her suit informed.
Too good to be true, the operative thought sourly. She didn’t like it when things went according to plan. “Computer, do a biosign sweep of the pathway to the mainframe.”
Aha, she thought, as the suit relayed nearly a dozen human and other life signs that were belonged to species from the Federation. Most of them were localized in one place. A prison no doubt, the operative thought. Interesting, was the first thought that came to mind. The second was a question of how she could turn this development to her advantage.
*********************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
“Where did that other ship come from?” Commander Volok demanded.
“It…just appeared,” Jaron said, his face greening with exasperation.
“That’s obvious,” Volok snapped, gesturing wildly at the screen. The lead shuttle’s sensor was given the warbird’s deck a command view of the clash of titanic ships.
“Our scans are having some success in divining the propulsion system of the new vessel,” the Tactical Officer said. “The ship is powered by a transwarp drive. Sensors have just relayed the closure of a transwarp aperture near the ship that occurred almost a minute ago.”
“Transwarp?” Sovar asked, in amazement. “This species has mastered it?”
“So it would appear old friend,” Volok said, rubbing his chin, his eyes glittering in fascination. So far, the best minds on Romulus had failed to create a functional transwarp drive. So far, none of the other powers had as well.
Now, there were two things he desired, the probe and the secrets of quantum slipstream and neither were in his grasp. He couldn’t enter the ion storm. Even a warbird couldn’t withstand the astral winds and radiation. The commander also doubted if he could destroy one of those massive vessels, but most certainly he couldn’t fight two of them for the probe. But to come so far and leave empty handed would be disgraceful, humiliating, and it would leave the restoration of the Tal Arcani as little more than the dreams of an old, bitter man. Sovar turned to him, as if reading his mind. “Your orders sir?”
For the first time in decades, Volok was gripped with indecision.
********************************************************************
Pirot Nor
The operative coasted toward the spidery station, her breathing sounding robotic in her ears. The streamlined environmental suit she wore still made her breathing sound like her heart and lungs were on a respirator, just like the bulkier, standard issue suits.
However, this suit allowed for more freedom of movement. And it had built in repulsors, in the soles of each boot with breakers attached along the forearms in lieu of a cumbersome jetpack. Most importantly, the suit was made of the same material as Federation isolation suits, rendering the user invisible to most sensors.
However as she watched the tiny specks of the Monarch crew swarming over her vessel, with Jem’Hadar warbugs and Romulan Scorpion fighters buzzing around them, she knew that stealth technology had its limits, and it was best not to rely too heavily on it. “Get in and get out”, her old handler used to tell her.
She activated her repulsors and straightened her body, forming an organic missile aimed at the nearest docking pylon. It was half-constructed, which suited her purposes perfectly. There shouldn’t be any guards. To pass through the forcefield her suit’s sensors had detected, the operative activated the chroniton patch attached to her belt. It sent currents of chronitons throughout her suit, making her nauseous, but bypassing the defensive screen.
As ably as possible, the operative latched on to the pylon and scaled it down to the docking bay. She paused, calming her nerves and her stomach, before she used a manual control to roll back the docking doors. She slid inside, and rolled the door back in place. She suspected that the unauthorized entrance had activated an alarm somewhere, and a security detail might be on its way in seconds.
She maintained the stealth mode on her suit, and hoped that if any guards did arrive they would suspect a mechanical malfunction, and not do an intensive sweep. Unfortunately they might detect the chronitons. The operative didn’t intend to stand around and wait to be discovered. She glanced around the large, darkened docking bay. Finding a ventilation shaft, she quickly crossed the room, using her visor’s night vision to avoid the clutter.
She clambered up the ladder attached to the wall, displeased with her inelegance. She quickly removed the grate plating, slithered in and replaced it. She tensed, her breath catching as she heard harsh voices below, and saw the glimmer of sweeping lights. That was a close one, the operative thought. She remained motionless long minutes after the voices had ceased and she didn’t see any more lights.
The operative whispered into her helmet. “Computer, layout of Nor-class stations,” she ordered. She blinked as the image flashed across her visor. “Location of mainframe,” she specified. The suit’s data system localized on the station’s central computer. Good, she thought. “Now, plot the quickest course through the conduit network to the mainframe.” The computer complied again. Great, she thought. “Now, search for biosigns at the mainframe.”
The operative wondered if the renegades had enough men to spare to guard the main computer. She would like to know how many, and what species, in order to prepare the appropriate lethal response. There were none, her suit informed.
Too good to be true, the operative thought sourly. She didn’t like it when things went according to plan. “Computer, do a biosign sweep of the pathway to the mainframe.”
Aha, she thought, as the suit relayed nearly a dozen human and other life signs that were belonged to species from the Federation. Most of them were localized in one place. A prison no doubt, the operative thought. Interesting, was the first thought that came to mind. The second was a question of how she could turn this development to her advantage.
*********************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
“Where did that other ship come from?” Commander Volok demanded.
“It…just appeared,” Jaron said, his face greening with exasperation.
“That’s obvious,” Volok snapped, gesturing wildly at the screen. The lead shuttle’s sensor was given the warbird’s deck a command view of the clash of titanic ships.
“Our scans are having some success in divining the propulsion system of the new vessel,” the Tactical Officer said. “The ship is powered by a transwarp drive. Sensors have just relayed the closure of a transwarp aperture near the ship that occurred almost a minute ago.”
“Transwarp?” Sovar asked, in amazement. “This species has mastered it?”
“So it would appear old friend,” Volok said, rubbing his chin, his eyes glittering in fascination. So far, the best minds on Romulus had failed to create a functional transwarp drive. So far, none of the other powers had as well.
Now, there were two things he desired, the probe and the secrets of quantum slipstream and neither were in his grasp. He couldn’t enter the ion storm. Even a warbird couldn’t withstand the astral winds and radiation. The commander also doubted if he could destroy one of those massive vessels, but most certainly he couldn’t fight two of them for the probe. But to come so far and leave empty handed would be disgraceful, humiliating, and it would leave the restoration of the Tal Arcani as little more than the dreams of an old, bitter man. Sovar turned to him, as if reading his mind. “Your orders sir?”
For the first time in decades, Volok was gripped with indecision.
********************************************************************
********************************************************
Pirot Nor
Operations Center
“Do you think the humans are in league with the Romulans?” First Torak’Clan asked, glancing at the magnified patch of silver-white hull where their sensors had first discovered the hologram-cloaked Starfleet vessel. At that moment, the swarthy human female in charge in Walker’s absence had ordered a physical inspection of the mysterious ship. She claimed that her sensors had been compromised and were still unreliable.
She said that the best way for her to confirm the ship’s identity and to see if it was occupied was to have a team search the vessel. Colonel Sorix had ordered their fighters to fly around the starship, ostensibly to offer support, but the threat behind the show of force was evident. If perfidy was discovered it would be dealt with immediately and severely.
“It is…unlikely,” Sorix said. “Despite the wartime alliance, the Romulans still despise the Federation. A couple years can’t erase decades, centuries of distrust.”
“Understandable,” Torak’Clan said, shaking his head. “I comprehend hatred. I know how long, how deep it can be. But I wonder if the Romulans hate your kind more than the humans.”
Sorix merely glared at him, but the Reman Bakin stepped forward, to shake his head. “There might be some truth in that. Our confederation with the Jem’Hadar might be enough of an impetus to convince Romulus to form another temporary alliance with the Federation.”
“That is feasible,” Second Omara’Son replied. “The Romulans hate the Remans, and the Federation fears the Dominion. I’m sure the revelation that not all the Jem’Hadar slunk back to the Gamma Quadrant would terrify many in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“And that horror would multiply upon learning that the Remans, the fiercest warriors of the Star Empire, had found common cause with them,” Bakin added.
“Alone, that would cause shivers, but think of what it could mean, once they find out that we possess the Iconian probe,” Omara’Son said. “We would no longer have to negotiate for a backwater in the Badlands, we could take any planet we wanted. We could form our own empire!”
“We’ve discussed this before,” Colonel Sorix said wearily. “We don’t have the soldiers or materiel to sustain a long campaign against either the Federation or the Remans, but their combined forces would wipe us out.”
“Not if we had help, what about the Klingons?” Bakin ventured. The elder Reman shook his head.
“They are in league with the Federation and have been for nearly a century,” he said, as if speaking to a stripling. “They will not ally with us.”
“Not now, no,” the younger man shook his head. “As long as we are not worthy of their support. But if we prove our mettle, and if we can do what even they could not do, we might earn more than their respect. We might gain their obedience.”
“Oh, and how might we accomplish such a lofty feat?” Torak’Clan scoffed.
“Use the probe on Romulus,” Omara’Son replied. “Wipe it from the galaxy.”
“No,” Sorix said, shaking his hairless head strongly. “No, we can’t.”
“Why not?” Bakin almost pleaded.
“We have discussed such foolish actions before and we have determined that it was impossible, not to mention suicidal,” Sorix said, his tone dismissive.
“Yes, but that was before we actually had a weapon such as the probe. Using purely conventional means, we would stand no chance,” Bakin admitted. “But with this probe, we could make them sue for peace.”
“I agree,” Omara’Son said. “And once the Alpha Quadrant is tamed, we can liberate our brothers in the Gamma Quadrant.”
“Now you speak of conquering the Gamma Quadrant,” Sorix said, incredulous. “We don’t know enough about this probe’s circuitry to even know if we can recreate a second one, or produce enough. As it stands, we lost the only working model we had, and if we went to total war, could we replicate enough, fast enough to counter our enemies?”
“We created the first one easily enough,” Bakin replied.
“And we still have the specs to build others,” Omara’Son replied.
“What about the Monarch? What about its senior officers?” Torak’Clan asked. “We brought them here under a flag of truce. Shall we dishonor it?”
“What honor is there in negotiating?” Bakin spat. “In running away from battle?”
“Are you calling me a coward?” Sorix stood at his full height, his eyes filled with violence. A pall fell over the room. The only sounds were the soft clicking, whirring, and beeping of the center’s computers.
“No sir, I’m calling you obsolete,” Bakin said, quickly reaching for his side. Before Sorix could react, the knife was buried hilt deep in his chest. He staggered back, falling against a terminal, his eyes widened in shock.
“You die now!” Torak’Clan snarled, producing his disruptor pistol with lightning speed. But it was not fast enough. Omara’Son’s polearm sliced through his gun hand neatly, blood spurting out of the fresh stump. Not even grunting, the First rushed his betrayer, bellowing his rage. But he was stopped by a second kar’takin, driven through his shoulder blades from behind, by Fourth Makla’Gar’s hand. Torak’Clan fell at Omara’Son’s feet.
The silence grew pregnant on the bridge, now limned with bloodlust. Both Bakin and Omara’Son looked at each other, no words necessary. Instead the new Jem’Hadar First turned to the other reptilian warriors present and ready. He held up his bloody kar’takin.
“As of this moment, we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives,” he bellowed. “This we do gladly, for we are Jem’Hadar! Remember…”
Bakin stepped in, raising his blade. “Victory is life!”
*****************************************************
Pirot Nor
Operations Center
“Do you think the humans are in league with the Romulans?” First Torak’Clan asked, glancing at the magnified patch of silver-white hull where their sensors had first discovered the hologram-cloaked Starfleet vessel. At that moment, the swarthy human female in charge in Walker’s absence had ordered a physical inspection of the mysterious ship. She claimed that her sensors had been compromised and were still unreliable.
She said that the best way for her to confirm the ship’s identity and to see if it was occupied was to have a team search the vessel. Colonel Sorix had ordered their fighters to fly around the starship, ostensibly to offer support, but the threat behind the show of force was evident. If perfidy was discovered it would be dealt with immediately and severely.
“It is…unlikely,” Sorix said. “Despite the wartime alliance, the Romulans still despise the Federation. A couple years can’t erase decades, centuries of distrust.”
“Understandable,” Torak’Clan said, shaking his head. “I comprehend hatred. I know how long, how deep it can be. But I wonder if the Romulans hate your kind more than the humans.”
Sorix merely glared at him, but the Reman Bakin stepped forward, to shake his head. “There might be some truth in that. Our confederation with the Jem’Hadar might be enough of an impetus to convince Romulus to form another temporary alliance with the Federation.”
“That is feasible,” Second Omara’Son replied. “The Romulans hate the Remans, and the Federation fears the Dominion. I’m sure the revelation that not all the Jem’Hadar slunk back to the Gamma Quadrant would terrify many in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“And that horror would multiply upon learning that the Remans, the fiercest warriors of the Star Empire, had found common cause with them,” Bakin added.
“Alone, that would cause shivers, but think of what it could mean, once they find out that we possess the Iconian probe,” Omara’Son said. “We would no longer have to negotiate for a backwater in the Badlands, we could take any planet we wanted. We could form our own empire!”
“We’ve discussed this before,” Colonel Sorix said wearily. “We don’t have the soldiers or materiel to sustain a long campaign against either the Federation or the Remans, but their combined forces would wipe us out.”
“Not if we had help, what about the Klingons?” Bakin ventured. The elder Reman shook his head.
“They are in league with the Federation and have been for nearly a century,” he said, as if speaking to a stripling. “They will not ally with us.”
“Not now, no,” the younger man shook his head. “As long as we are not worthy of their support. But if we prove our mettle, and if we can do what even they could not do, we might earn more than their respect. We might gain their obedience.”
“Oh, and how might we accomplish such a lofty feat?” Torak’Clan scoffed.
“Use the probe on Romulus,” Omara’Son replied. “Wipe it from the galaxy.”
“No,” Sorix said, shaking his hairless head strongly. “No, we can’t.”
“Why not?” Bakin almost pleaded.
“We have discussed such foolish actions before and we have determined that it was impossible, not to mention suicidal,” Sorix said, his tone dismissive.
“Yes, but that was before we actually had a weapon such as the probe. Using purely conventional means, we would stand no chance,” Bakin admitted. “But with this probe, we could make them sue for peace.”
“I agree,” Omara’Son said. “And once the Alpha Quadrant is tamed, we can liberate our brothers in the Gamma Quadrant.”
“Now you speak of conquering the Gamma Quadrant,” Sorix said, incredulous. “We don’t know enough about this probe’s circuitry to even know if we can recreate a second one, or produce enough. As it stands, we lost the only working model we had, and if we went to total war, could we replicate enough, fast enough to counter our enemies?”
“We created the first one easily enough,” Bakin replied.
“And we still have the specs to build others,” Omara’Son replied.
“What about the Monarch? What about its senior officers?” Torak’Clan asked. “We brought them here under a flag of truce. Shall we dishonor it?”
“What honor is there in negotiating?” Bakin spat. “In running away from battle?”
“Are you calling me a coward?” Sorix stood at his full height, his eyes filled with violence. A pall fell over the room. The only sounds were the soft clicking, whirring, and beeping of the center’s computers.
“No sir, I’m calling you obsolete,” Bakin said, quickly reaching for his side. Before Sorix could react, the knife was buried hilt deep in his chest. He staggered back, falling against a terminal, his eyes widened in shock.
“You die now!” Torak’Clan snarled, producing his disruptor pistol with lightning speed. But it was not fast enough. Omara’Son’s polearm sliced through his gun hand neatly, blood spurting out of the fresh stump. Not even grunting, the First rushed his betrayer, bellowing his rage. But he was stopped by a second kar’takin, driven through his shoulder blades from behind, by Fourth Makla’Gar’s hand. Torak’Clan fell at Omara’Son’s feet.
The silence grew pregnant on the bridge, now limned with bloodlust. Both Bakin and Omara’Son looked at each other, no words necessary. Instead the new Jem’Hadar First turned to the other reptilian warriors present and ready. He held up his bloody kar’takin.
“As of this moment, we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives,” he bellowed. “This we do gladly, for we are Jem’Hadar! Remember…”
Bakin stepped in, raising his blade. “Victory is life!”
*****************************************************
The young firebrands have taken over--I have a feeling things are about to get very ugly.
Looks like somebody has been busy over the Holidays.
A lot of very interesting and very bad things happening here. I'm really intrigued by this female operative in her Iron Man inspired exo-suit. What exactly is she up to and what are her loyalties here?
As for the change in leadership within the Jem'Hadar-Reman alliance, this gotta be bad news for everyone wearing a Starfleet uniform. Of course I'm still bating my breath for some sweet retribution. If any is to be had, that is.
A lot of very interesting and very bad things happening here. I'm really intrigued by this female operative in her Iron Man inspired exo-suit. What exactly is she up to and what are her loyalties here?
As for the change in leadership within the Jem'Hadar-Reman alliance, this gotta be bad news for everyone wearing a Starfleet uniform. Of course I'm still bating my breath for some sweet retribution. If any is to be had, that is.
Happy New Years everyone!
Ah, CeJay I see you caught my Iron Man reference. Surprised no one caught my Terminator one from a few scenes back.
************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
T’Prell wished she could keep her eye on Steen at all times. She definitely didn’t trust the man, yet his plan to split up to cover more territory was damnably logical. The V’Shar agent did trust T’Chaya and knew that the woman would be keeping tabs on the faux diplomat from the bridge.
As long as they held the bridge and control of the central mainframe, T’Prell could breathe a little easier. However, she knew that their good fortune could change at any moment. Lt. Colonel Vakis was rooting around somewhere on the Stiletto, the sensors blind to her biosignature.
T’Prell sidestepped an insensate soldier as he made her way down the corridor. The man’s sleeping form made her wonder how much more time they had before the anesthetic gas wore off. The trio hadn’t been able to drag all of the ship’s Romulan crew to the brig. And both women had prevented Steen from killing the rest.
So, they had left the remainder splayed out in corridors or wherever they had been knocked out, promising to take care of them once they had the ship firmly in their control. But that had only happened right before Vakis pulled her disappearing act.
Now, she was their main priority, and T’Prell knew better than to tie Steen’s hand if he wanted to eliminate the woman. She was too dangerous to remain living. In fact, if T’Prell reached her first, she intended to do the deed.
The thought of execution made her clutch the gleaming, green disruptor she held closer to her chest. With the disruptor and the Tal Shiar uniform she now wore, she felt herself slipping back into the mindset of a people she had spent more time among than her own for decades. And T’Prell wasn’t too upset by that fact. There was a lot to admire in the culture of her distant cousins, and she couldn’t say with all honesty if she wouldn’t have joined their trek across the stars all those centuries ago.
In a sense, the Romulans were more honest about embracing their emotions, but at the same time, so willing to manipulate, repress, or eliminate said emotions, and those who felt them, if they didn’t produce the outcome desired.
T’Prell had suggested that the trio all don Romulan uniforms in case they ran into a patrol, or in the event that one of the Stiletto’s crew woke early. For a few moments, the uniform might give them pause, and that’s all any of the three need to incapacitate them again. T’Prell knew that Vakis wouldn’t be so easily fooled.
Now it was just a matter of hoping that Vakis thought they were fools, and in her overconfidence, slipped up. T’Prell would make certain that if such a fortuitous event occurred she would make it the Tal Shiar operative’s last.
She turned a corner, her senses keen, but what happened next gave her that fatal pause. The air before her shimmered and a forcefield came down, preventing her from going further.
T’Prell unclipped her communicator from her belt. She activated it and held it up to her mouth. “T’Prell to Bridge.” There was no response.
“T’Chaya?” She asked, worry fraying her voice. T’Prell backed away slowly, stopping just seconds before a second forcefield came down behind her, trapping her in the corridor.
The communicator came on with a loud burst of static, making T’Prell jump slightly.
“Sweet dreams,” Vakis snarled, before gas came rushing in from vents overhead.
**************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
Steen rather liked the cut of the Romulan uniform, its jutting, padded shoulders, the harness strapped across his chest. The Tal Shiar, more so than just about any extant organization in the Quadrant represented a kind of order he admired. Too bad the bastards are on the wrong side, he thought to himself. Or maybe I am, the thought came unbidden.
But the Vulcan imposter didn’t dwell on it, allowing it to sit on his brain and fester. He merely brushed it into the box filled with dark and unwarranted thoughts. It was a limitless construct.
He swept his tricorder around the corridor, though he knew the gesture was meaningless. Vakis had found a way to hide from detection which meant she had some access to the ship’s systems, and that meant that he and his uneasy allies were not as secure as they should be.
He should’ve never acceded to the females’ desire to leave Vakis alive. He wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.
“Oh Colonel Vakis,” he called in singsong, “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
“Right behind you,” the voice hissed, striking before he could react.
****************************************************************
Pirot Nor
Computer Access Room
If the operative had believed in a higher power, she would’ve thanked Him or Her. The room containing the station’s central computer hadn’t even been guarded. She chalked it up to the Remans and Jem’Hadar being undermanned, and their primary focus was keeping an eye on the Monarch. Their attentions were elsewhere, exactly where the operative needed them to be.
She pulled loose a panel beside the door’s access pad, and rearranged the wiring inside it until the door slid open. The operative moved quickly inside. She made a beeline to the circle of terminals ringing the long, cylindrical computer. It ran the length of the station’s central core.
The operative got to work, bringing up schematics, scouring databases, searching for data. The language was in still in Cardassian, which wasn’t a problem for her. The war necessitated that she become intimately familiar with the enemy’s language. It only took her a few seconds to find where they had placed the Iconian probe data. She removed a transfer device from her belt and placed it on top of the terminal. While it was downloading, she checked on the station’s communications.
It caused her to frown. In just the span of a few minutes, things had intensified. The Jem’Hadar and Remans were speaking in harsh tones, they were calling for war. And they were looking for traitors.
Come on, she silently urged the recording device. It beeped once it was finished. She attached it back to her belt. “Now, let’s make my exit a bit easier,” she thought. The operative pulled up another schematic. “Here we go,” she said, tapping a button. “And now, for my final act,” she muttered. She took a tiny disc from her belt and slid it into the first access slot she found. She downloaded the cascade virus into the station’s core. It would wipe out all of the station’s computer files, not to mention creating enough chaos to allow her to get off the station unmolested.
Pleased with herself, the operative sauntered through the door, pausing to take one more look at her handiwork. Though nothing appeared different, she imagined the cascade virus already spreading its deadly wares throughout the central core, moving with spidery lethality.
Affording herself a smile, she stepped back into the corridor. The smile vanished as soon as the Jem’Hadar soldier unshrouded in front of her. His rifle was already aimed at her head. “Who are you?” He barked.
********************************************************************
Ah, CeJay I see you caught my Iron Man reference. Surprised no one caught my Terminator one from a few scenes back.
************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
T’Prell wished she could keep her eye on Steen at all times. She definitely didn’t trust the man, yet his plan to split up to cover more territory was damnably logical. The V’Shar agent did trust T’Chaya and knew that the woman would be keeping tabs on the faux diplomat from the bridge.
As long as they held the bridge and control of the central mainframe, T’Prell could breathe a little easier. However, she knew that their good fortune could change at any moment. Lt. Colonel Vakis was rooting around somewhere on the Stiletto, the sensors blind to her biosignature.
T’Prell sidestepped an insensate soldier as he made her way down the corridor. The man’s sleeping form made her wonder how much more time they had before the anesthetic gas wore off. The trio hadn’t been able to drag all of the ship’s Romulan crew to the brig. And both women had prevented Steen from killing the rest.
So, they had left the remainder splayed out in corridors or wherever they had been knocked out, promising to take care of them once they had the ship firmly in their control. But that had only happened right before Vakis pulled her disappearing act.
Now, she was their main priority, and T’Prell knew better than to tie Steen’s hand if he wanted to eliminate the woman. She was too dangerous to remain living. In fact, if T’Prell reached her first, she intended to do the deed.
The thought of execution made her clutch the gleaming, green disruptor she held closer to her chest. With the disruptor and the Tal Shiar uniform she now wore, she felt herself slipping back into the mindset of a people she had spent more time among than her own for decades. And T’Prell wasn’t too upset by that fact. There was a lot to admire in the culture of her distant cousins, and she couldn’t say with all honesty if she wouldn’t have joined their trek across the stars all those centuries ago.
In a sense, the Romulans were more honest about embracing their emotions, but at the same time, so willing to manipulate, repress, or eliminate said emotions, and those who felt them, if they didn’t produce the outcome desired.
T’Prell had suggested that the trio all don Romulan uniforms in case they ran into a patrol, or in the event that one of the Stiletto’s crew woke early. For a few moments, the uniform might give them pause, and that’s all any of the three need to incapacitate them again. T’Prell knew that Vakis wouldn’t be so easily fooled.
Now it was just a matter of hoping that Vakis thought they were fools, and in her overconfidence, slipped up. T’Prell would make certain that if such a fortuitous event occurred she would make it the Tal Shiar operative’s last.
She turned a corner, her senses keen, but what happened next gave her that fatal pause. The air before her shimmered and a forcefield came down, preventing her from going further.
T’Prell unclipped her communicator from her belt. She activated it and held it up to her mouth. “T’Prell to Bridge.” There was no response.
“T’Chaya?” She asked, worry fraying her voice. T’Prell backed away slowly, stopping just seconds before a second forcefield came down behind her, trapping her in the corridor.
The communicator came on with a loud burst of static, making T’Prell jump slightly.
“Sweet dreams,” Vakis snarled, before gas came rushing in from vents overhead.
**************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Cruiser Stiletto
Shadow-Class
Steen rather liked the cut of the Romulan uniform, its jutting, padded shoulders, the harness strapped across his chest. The Tal Shiar, more so than just about any extant organization in the Quadrant represented a kind of order he admired. Too bad the bastards are on the wrong side, he thought to himself. Or maybe I am, the thought came unbidden.
But the Vulcan imposter didn’t dwell on it, allowing it to sit on his brain and fester. He merely brushed it into the box filled with dark and unwarranted thoughts. It was a limitless construct.
He swept his tricorder around the corridor, though he knew the gesture was meaningless. Vakis had found a way to hide from detection which meant she had some access to the ship’s systems, and that meant that he and his uneasy allies were not as secure as they should be.
He should’ve never acceded to the females’ desire to leave Vakis alive. He wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.
“Oh Colonel Vakis,” he called in singsong, “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
“Right behind you,” the voice hissed, striking before he could react.
****************************************************************
Pirot Nor
Computer Access Room
If the operative had believed in a higher power, she would’ve thanked Him or Her. The room containing the station’s central computer hadn’t even been guarded. She chalked it up to the Remans and Jem’Hadar being undermanned, and their primary focus was keeping an eye on the Monarch. Their attentions were elsewhere, exactly where the operative needed them to be.
She pulled loose a panel beside the door’s access pad, and rearranged the wiring inside it until the door slid open. The operative moved quickly inside. She made a beeline to the circle of terminals ringing the long, cylindrical computer. It ran the length of the station’s central core.
The operative got to work, bringing up schematics, scouring databases, searching for data. The language was in still in Cardassian, which wasn’t a problem for her. The war necessitated that she become intimately familiar with the enemy’s language. It only took her a few seconds to find where they had placed the Iconian probe data. She removed a transfer device from her belt and placed it on top of the terminal. While it was downloading, she checked on the station’s communications.
It caused her to frown. In just the span of a few minutes, things had intensified. The Jem’Hadar and Remans were speaking in harsh tones, they were calling for war. And they were looking for traitors.
Come on, she silently urged the recording device. It beeped once it was finished. She attached it back to her belt. “Now, let’s make my exit a bit easier,” she thought. The operative pulled up another schematic. “Here we go,” she said, tapping a button. “And now, for my final act,” she muttered. She took a tiny disc from her belt and slid it into the first access slot she found. She downloaded the cascade virus into the station’s core. It would wipe out all of the station’s computer files, not to mention creating enough chaos to allow her to get off the station unmolested.
Pleased with herself, the operative sauntered through the door, pausing to take one more look at her handiwork. Though nothing appeared different, she imagined the cascade virus already spreading its deadly wares throughout the central core, moving with spidery lethality.
Affording herself a smile, she stepped back into the corridor. The smile vanished as soon as the Jem’Hadar soldier unshrouded in front of her. His rifle was already aimed at her head. “Who are you?” He barked.
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
The bridge crew raptly watched the two behemoths fight in the eye of the ion storm, their energy discharges locking them in a fatal embrace. Commander Volok finally came to a decision. “I will not let that weapon slip through our fingers.”
Centurion Sovar spoke up quickly, “Fair enough sir, but how can we procure it?”
“Check to see if the spherical ship is still holding it within a forcefield or tractor beam,” the patrician ordered.
“No sir, it’s free,” Lt. Jaron said.
“Excellent,” Volok said, “On my mark, initiate a series of transports until it is in our cargo hold. Once it is within Avengeance, I want a level ten confinement field erected around it.”
“Shall I inform Engineering to prepare for maximum warp?” Sovar asked.
“Old ally, you’ve read my mind again,” Volok half-smiled, “Make sure it doesn’t become a habit.”
“Never sir,” Sovar replied.
“Mark,” Volok called. He waited impatiently, his stomach twisting as the Operations Officer called out each successful transport. For the moment it appeared that neither of the dueling ships had taken notice.
“Probe is secure,” the Operations Officer called out.
The commander felt triumphant. He stood up, glanced around the bridge, soaking up the amazement and admiration from his crew. Volok was so close now to pulling it off, to making the Star Empire the predominant force in the galaxy. It was something no Praetor or Emperor had ever come close to achieving. “Prepare for maximum,” his words were nipped in his throat as he was hurled from his seat. Sovar, unintentionally caught him, and both men crashed to the deck.
Disoriented, his body aching, Volok pushed away from the centurion. “Wh-what just happened?” He asked, looking up. In the blink of an eye, the gates of hell had been swung wide open. Bodies were strewn across the command deck, thick cords of smoke strangled the breathable air, and the roar of fires competed with the wailing klaxons.
Through a coughing fit, he heard Lt. Jaron respond, “We…we’ve suffered, massive damage…multiple hull breaches…”
That was apparent, Volok thought as he struggled to get to his feet. He glanced over and saw that Sovar had been knocked unconscious, or so he only hoped. Through the long crack running through the main viewer, the patrician saw that both the sphere and the sword had turned their impressive weapon batteries on them.
“Both vessels, charging weapons,” an unfamiliar voice said. Volok batted the smoke away from his eyes and wiped away the tears its contact caused.
“Scan,” he doubled over, a tendril of smoke tickling his throat. “Dammit, scan the probe…and-and release.”
“Excuse me sir?” Jaron asked.
“Scan it, glean as much data as we can….and toss it back to the bastards,” Volok said, hating every word. But what good was possessing the probe if his ship was vaporized?
“Release the probe,” he ordered.
“But sir,” Jaron protested, “the scan isn’t complete.”
“Release it now!”
“Transport initiated,” Jaron said with a resigned sigh. In seconds, the bluish orb rematerialized within the ion storm.
“What is the status of our propulsion system?” He asked, turning away from the screen, unable to accept what he had just done.
“Engines offline, as our weapons,” the unfamiliar voice said. Volok squinted, but he couldn’t see beyond the wall of smoke obscuring them. “The singularity drive has been destabilized.”
“Our structural integrity field is also fluctuating,” Jaron added. “We could come apart at any moment. Even if either ship doesn’t attack us, an errant ion flare or astral eddy could demolish us just as easily.”
“If we aren’t devoured in a singularity event,” Volok said. “Are we unsalvageable?” There was a long pause. That was enough for Volok.
He had climbed out of the pit of ignominy, back into respected circles, and just for the briefest of moments held the ultimate power in his clutches, only for it to be snatched away. It was as if the very universe hated him. But still he lived, and as long as he drew breath, he could recover what was lost and still rebuild the Tal Arcani and have his revenge.
Fighting back his cough, his voice strained, Volok called out, “Abandon ship!” He turned back to the still immobile Sovar. He crouched down and checked the man’s pulse. He was thankful that the centurion was still alive. He shook the man, rousing him to consciousness.
“Dea,” the man muttered, groggy, “Wha-?”
“No time, old friend,” Volok said, realizing that he actually meant it this time. “We have to go.”
“I-I,” Sovar tried to speak, but then gave up. With a grunt, his muscles straining, his sore body protesting, Volok lifted the unbalanced centurion. Locking an arm around the man’s shoulders and under his arm, Volok dragged him forward and out of the command well. He saw a petite female maintaining the tactical terminal. Through the soot, he saw her sublieutenant insignia. She and Jaron were the only survivors. Her face was as seared as her uniform. He dragged him over to the sensor console. Jaron’s head was still buried in the terminal’s sensor hood. “Jaron…take Sovar to the escape pod.”
“But sir,” the man cried, “what about the data on the probe?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Volok promised. He didn’t trust anyone else to safeguard the data. He just hoped the information was enough to prevent another stint in prison or worse.
“Sir, I,” Jaron protested.
“You,” Volok ignored him, turning to the charred woman, “Sublieutenant?”
“Mekar sir, Sublieutenant Mekar.”
“Mekar, escort both the centurion and the lieutenant to the nearest escape pod.”
“At once sir,” Volok eased the slumping Sovar off onto her, and pulled the still reluctant Jaron from his post. The ship trembled, the shriek of the ship’s structural framework made him clamp his ears.
But he persisted onward, downloading the information he needed and pocketing the chip. “Now, there is one more thing,” he said. He routed what little control he had left of the ship and vented gases to nudge it along. Volok patiently waited for gravity to do the rest.
Avengeance howled as it drifted into the ion storm, the winds clutching it like greedy fingers. Even though Volok knew that he had lessened his chances of survival, he was determined to deny either vessel the prize they sought. The prize that should’ve been his. Perhaps the sphere, and probably the sword ship could survive disruptor beams and plasma torpedoes, but he was doubtful the vessels could withstand the micro black hole the warbird’s destruction would cause.
“Computer, activate self-destruct sequence,” he said, adding the necessary command codes. The computer obediently droned the countdown.
Volok allowed himself a few seconds, on his shattered bridge, watching as fate, disguised as inertia, gravity, or astral winds, pulled Avengeance toward the clashing ships. The ship would truly get to live up to its name. It would avenge the deaths of hundreds today.
He forced himself to turn away from the imminent destruction. Once he the spell of death was broken, Volok hurried off the bridge. Instead of accessing the main corridor as Mekar and Jaron had done, he pivoted to his ready room. The commander had his own personal escape pod.
Stepping into the pod, he did a quick systems check, strapped himself in, and ejected from Avengeance. He activated the pod’s warp engines and zipped away from the doomed warbird. Volok had to clear the projected radius of the warbird’s explosion. It wouldn’t do for the pod to be pulled into the black hole.
Rerouting the aft sensors to his main viewer, Volok sat back and prepared to enjoy the show.
*******************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Command Deck
The bridge crew raptly watched the two behemoths fight in the eye of the ion storm, their energy discharges locking them in a fatal embrace. Commander Volok finally came to a decision. “I will not let that weapon slip through our fingers.”
Centurion Sovar spoke up quickly, “Fair enough sir, but how can we procure it?”
“Check to see if the spherical ship is still holding it within a forcefield or tractor beam,” the patrician ordered.
“No sir, it’s free,” Lt. Jaron said.
“Excellent,” Volok said, “On my mark, initiate a series of transports until it is in our cargo hold. Once it is within Avengeance, I want a level ten confinement field erected around it.”
“Shall I inform Engineering to prepare for maximum warp?” Sovar asked.
“Old ally, you’ve read my mind again,” Volok half-smiled, “Make sure it doesn’t become a habit.”
“Never sir,” Sovar replied.
“Mark,” Volok called. He waited impatiently, his stomach twisting as the Operations Officer called out each successful transport. For the moment it appeared that neither of the dueling ships had taken notice.
“Probe is secure,” the Operations Officer called out.
The commander felt triumphant. He stood up, glanced around the bridge, soaking up the amazement and admiration from his crew. Volok was so close now to pulling it off, to making the Star Empire the predominant force in the galaxy. It was something no Praetor or Emperor had ever come close to achieving. “Prepare for maximum,” his words were nipped in his throat as he was hurled from his seat. Sovar, unintentionally caught him, and both men crashed to the deck.
Disoriented, his body aching, Volok pushed away from the centurion. “Wh-what just happened?” He asked, looking up. In the blink of an eye, the gates of hell had been swung wide open. Bodies were strewn across the command deck, thick cords of smoke strangled the breathable air, and the roar of fires competed with the wailing klaxons.
Through a coughing fit, he heard Lt. Jaron respond, “We…we’ve suffered, massive damage…multiple hull breaches…”
That was apparent, Volok thought as he struggled to get to his feet. He glanced over and saw that Sovar had been knocked unconscious, or so he only hoped. Through the long crack running through the main viewer, the patrician saw that both the sphere and the sword had turned their impressive weapon batteries on them.
“Both vessels, charging weapons,” an unfamiliar voice said. Volok batted the smoke away from his eyes and wiped away the tears its contact caused.
“Scan,” he doubled over, a tendril of smoke tickling his throat. “Dammit, scan the probe…and-and release.”
“Excuse me sir?” Jaron asked.
“Scan it, glean as much data as we can….and toss it back to the bastards,” Volok said, hating every word. But what good was possessing the probe if his ship was vaporized?
“Release the probe,” he ordered.
“But sir,” Jaron protested, “the scan isn’t complete.”
“Release it now!”
“Transport initiated,” Jaron said with a resigned sigh. In seconds, the bluish orb rematerialized within the ion storm.
“What is the status of our propulsion system?” He asked, turning away from the screen, unable to accept what he had just done.
“Engines offline, as our weapons,” the unfamiliar voice said. Volok squinted, but he couldn’t see beyond the wall of smoke obscuring them. “The singularity drive has been destabilized.”
“Our structural integrity field is also fluctuating,” Jaron added. “We could come apart at any moment. Even if either ship doesn’t attack us, an errant ion flare or astral eddy could demolish us just as easily.”
“If we aren’t devoured in a singularity event,” Volok said. “Are we unsalvageable?” There was a long pause. That was enough for Volok.
He had climbed out of the pit of ignominy, back into respected circles, and just for the briefest of moments held the ultimate power in his clutches, only for it to be snatched away. It was as if the very universe hated him. But still he lived, and as long as he drew breath, he could recover what was lost and still rebuild the Tal Arcani and have his revenge.
Fighting back his cough, his voice strained, Volok called out, “Abandon ship!” He turned back to the still immobile Sovar. He crouched down and checked the man’s pulse. He was thankful that the centurion was still alive. He shook the man, rousing him to consciousness.
“Dea,” the man muttered, groggy, “Wha-?”
“No time, old friend,” Volok said, realizing that he actually meant it this time. “We have to go.”
“I-I,” Sovar tried to speak, but then gave up. With a grunt, his muscles straining, his sore body protesting, Volok lifted the unbalanced centurion. Locking an arm around the man’s shoulders and under his arm, Volok dragged him forward and out of the command well. He saw a petite female maintaining the tactical terminal. Through the soot, he saw her sublieutenant insignia. She and Jaron were the only survivors. Her face was as seared as her uniform. He dragged him over to the sensor console. Jaron’s head was still buried in the terminal’s sensor hood. “Jaron…take Sovar to the escape pod.”
“But sir,” the man cried, “what about the data on the probe?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Volok promised. He didn’t trust anyone else to safeguard the data. He just hoped the information was enough to prevent another stint in prison or worse.
“Sir, I,” Jaron protested.
“You,” Volok ignored him, turning to the charred woman, “Sublieutenant?”
“Mekar sir, Sublieutenant Mekar.”
“Mekar, escort both the centurion and the lieutenant to the nearest escape pod.”
“At once sir,” Volok eased the slumping Sovar off onto her, and pulled the still reluctant Jaron from his post. The ship trembled, the shriek of the ship’s structural framework made him clamp his ears.
But he persisted onward, downloading the information he needed and pocketing the chip. “Now, there is one more thing,” he said. He routed what little control he had left of the ship and vented gases to nudge it along. Volok patiently waited for gravity to do the rest.
Avengeance howled as it drifted into the ion storm, the winds clutching it like greedy fingers. Even though Volok knew that he had lessened his chances of survival, he was determined to deny either vessel the prize they sought. The prize that should’ve been his. Perhaps the sphere, and probably the sword ship could survive disruptor beams and plasma torpedoes, but he was doubtful the vessels could withstand the micro black hole the warbird’s destruction would cause.
“Computer, activate self-destruct sequence,” he said, adding the necessary command codes. The computer obediently droned the countdown.
Volok allowed himself a few seconds, on his shattered bridge, watching as fate, disguised as inertia, gravity, or astral winds, pulled Avengeance toward the clashing ships. The ship would truly get to live up to its name. It would avenge the deaths of hundreds today.
He forced himself to turn away from the imminent destruction. Once he the spell of death was broken, Volok hurried off the bridge. Instead of accessing the main corridor as Mekar and Jaron had done, he pivoted to his ready room. The commander had his own personal escape pod.
Stepping into the pod, he did a quick systems check, strapped himself in, and ejected from Avengeance. He activated the pod’s warp engines and zipped away from the doomed warbird. Volok had to clear the projected radius of the warbird’s explosion. It wouldn’t do for the pod to be pulled into the black hole.
Rerouting the aft sensors to his main viewer, Volok sat back and prepared to enjoy the show.
*******************************************************************
