The Enterprise staggered through space, her warp engines running ragged. Commander Owen Paris sat in the captain’s seat, his not by promotion or assassination but by default. The Empire was dead, killed by Emperor Spock and given the coup de grace by the Klingon-Cardassian-Bajoran Alliance. Only Enterprise still sailed between the stars, of all the great ships that had once carried the Empire’s banner forward. Earth, herself, was enslaved and those subject races that had survived the Empire’s stewardship were in full rebellion against local Empire forces, often siding with the Alliance to overthrow the last vestiges of Earth’s control. Owen wondered why he kept going. Then another Klingon or Cardassian cruiser would detect and attack them and he would bury his ruminations far away to concentrate on the battle at hand. After each, less crewmen survived and less of the Enterprise remained intact. Somewhere down in a place he refused to go, Owen knew it was a futile gesture to keep fighting. Every time, though, he ordered the weapons hot and gave the would-be conquerors fits and shakes before sending them to oblivion. According to the few sources of intel that Owen could still call on, Enterprise was becoming a dark legend in the minds of its opponents, an unkillable demon that roamed space at will. He smirked at the thought. “Some demon-we’re held together by duct tape and chewing gum.” He didn’t voice the thought aloud. Morale was horrible already and there was no reason to lower it further.
They were making for Starbase Cold Station Twelve, an antiquated research facility near the Proxima system. After hitting the Klingon dockyards at Tau Ceti they’d doubled back towards the former heart of the Empire to glean what assets they could. Owen was fairly confident that the maneuver had removed them from the Alliance tacticians’ predicted courses of action. Enterprise had survived by doing the unexpected. Owen intended to keep the Alliance off-balance as long as he could. He knew that doing the expected would put his crewmembers in Rura Penthe and his remaining officers under the knife in some out of the way Cardassian interrogation room. Cold Station Twelve had come up in an in-depth records scan conducted by their helmsman, Ensign Picard. According to the young man, it held a variety of scientific experiments that were “black project” items, conducted without full disclosure to the Imperial Court. Owen desperately hoped there was something there that could be used as a weapon. Enterprise was fast running out of weapons of any kind. Torpedoes were depleted, dilithium crystals were wearing out, and replacement parts were fast disappearing from the Enterprise’s inventory, with no hope of restock.
“Captain, I’ve detected a small ship, about 7000 tonnes, roughly ten thousand klicks out.” The helmsman’s voice sounded strained. “I am not sure how they managed to get so close without detection. Scanning now.”
“Belay that!” Owen nearly came out of his seat. “Sweep us in and take them aboard. I don’t want any messages getting out.”
Picard looked chastened. “Aye, sir,” he said as he altered the great ship’s course slightly. Enterprise swooped in on the craft, a Nimbus-class Terran freighter. Before it could fire up it’s warp drive Owen’s crew had locked it into a tractor beam and pulled it into the fighter bay. The craft’s power systems were automatically disabled as it was brought aboard.
“Ensign Picard, send a security team to secure the crew.” Owen knew the Nimbus freighters had been the most common ship in the Empire and had been used by every race within its territory. The one they had captured could have been operated by any one of the rebelling subject races and Owen wasn’t taking any chances. Picard snapped the orders into his com crisply and returned Enterprise to her original course. Somewhere in the bowels of the battleship, Imperial Marines hustled to obey.
**********************************
Captain Ellis Reed of the Imperial Marines was strapping on his combat harness even as he and his men raced through the corridors towards the fighter bay. The overhead lighting reflected off the silver and black death’s head patches on his shoulders. Reed didn’t even think about the current assignment beyond the necessary tactical arrangements he was calling out to his men. He’d been a Marine all of his adult life, just like his father and his grandfather. The duties were second nature to him. As they waited for the turbolift to take them to the proper deck he scanned his squad. They were all ready to go but his keen eye noticed fray marks on harnesses, worn spots on holsters and a general air of disrepair that a few years ago would have been punished with the use of an agonizer. These days, there was no help for it. With the Empire crumbling, replicators were used for necessary basics like ammunition, spare parts and food. He wasn’t worried, though. His people were all former Imperial Elite Guards, as he, himself, was. Commander Paris had whisked them off of Earth in a daring raid right in the middle of the final Klingon assault. The Emperor had already been killed in hand-to-hand fighting in downtown Geneva while trying to escape and there had been no reason to stay. He shook himself mentally and drew his Type II Annihilator pistol. The members of his squad did the same right as the lift doors opened. Darting out into the linking corridor between the lift and the bay, Reed signaled silently for an envelopment maneuver. His squad entered the bay and fanned out around the freighter, encircling it with weapons raised. Reed noticed scorch marks near the engines. He shrugged and gestured for his First Sergeant to open the main hatch, covering the man as he approached the ship.
******************************************
Owen glanced at the young French man in front of him. “ETA to the station?” he inquired.
Picard didn’t even hesitate. “Seven hours at current speed.” Owen turned to Lt. Schilling, who was doubling as the great ship’s Tactical and Communication officer. Officers were sparse these days and everyone had double duties.
“Billy? You detecting anything in either direction?” The young Prussian snapped to attention, heels clicking. Owen smothered a smirk. He loved calling the formal, squeaky-assed officer ‘Billy’.
“Sir! I have been monitoring the communications for the last hour. Nothing is going in or out, sir!” Wilhelm Schilling held the position as Owen considered his next order.
“Very good. Continue to keep an eye on that. I want to know if there is a hint of a transmission.” Wilhelm slapped his fist to his breast and turned back to his station. Owen focused his attention back on Picard. “Jean-Luc, have you found any more information about what we might encounter at the station?” The young man swiveled his chair around.
“No, sir, nothing new. Whatever they were doing there, they covered their tracks with extreme efficiency.” Picard seemed disappointed that he hadn’t learned more.
“That’s why they refer to it as ‘black ops’, Ensign,” Owen reminded him. The young man turned back to his station, all attention on his duties. Owen sighed. He’d been like that once. He couldn’t remember when, but he knew he’s once been fired up with duty to the Empire and the mission at hand. These days, he mostly felt tired. He wondered if he was slipping.
*******************************
Reed watched as Sgt. M’Benga yanked the manual release on the freighter’s hatch. Cpl. Reagan flipped a stun grenade in as the ramp lowered. Every member of the squad ducked away as it went off and counted to three. After the flash had faded, Reed gestured at Reagan. She jumped the ramp and bounced into the ship, her weapon at the ready. A moment later Reed heard a crackle in his ear.
“Holy shit, sir! You’re not going to believe this!” Reed had worked with Sheila Reagan for six years and he’d never seen her surprised. The astonishment in her voice was clearly evident. Reed waved at M’Benga, who proceeded cautiously into the ship. A moment later, Reed heard M’Benga say, “All clear, sir!” Reed followed him into the craft.
A Nimbus-class freighter was 90% cargo space and this one was no exception. They had been used to move everything from construction ‘bots to the colonies to shipments of plunder from worlds that defied the Empire. As Reed entered he found himself pausing in the doorway with his mouth open. Cold sleep chambers lined the walls and floor in nice, neat rows. None of the chambers were more than four feet long. They were stacked to the ceiling. Each one contained what looked like a human child. Reed’s mouth fell open, even while a part of his mind noticed that M’Benga was waving his weapon around mindlessly and Reagan had allowed hers to droop towards the deck. The very front of the ship was a cockpit, with a single hatch connecting it to the cargo area. Reed noticed the spin wheel on the door begin to move. Shaking off his amazement, he barked, “Places!” and kneeled with his gun pointed at the door. M’Benga and Reagan snapped to and dropped as well, their weapons suddenly handled in an alert and ready fashion. The door opened and an elderly human man stepped through. He lifted his hands in surrender.
“Please don’t shoot,” he implored, “You might hit one of the children.” He was a skinny man with white hair flowing down over his shoulders. The wrinkles in his face were evident. He had to be beyond the reach of normal lifespan extension techniques. His eyes retained their brightness, though, in a piercing blue color. He smiled. “We wouldn’t want that. They could be our only hope of survival as a race.” A puzzled look passed across his face. “Not now,” he gasped, clutching his chest. Before Reed could react the old man slumped to the deck. Reagan dashed over and laid a finger on his neck. She turned her head back towards Reed and shook her head.
“Damn,” he said, wondering what to do next. He wasn’t used to that and it made him angry. “Get a report to Comm-to the captain! Right now! And see if anyone in Science Section can get down here and figure out what all of this is about.” Reagan slapped her chest and hustled off to comply. Reed fumed at the dead man and then turned his angry attention to the cold sleep chambers. “This can’t be good,” he muttered.
*************************************
Ensign Picard and Lt. Schilling gaped in astonishment as Paris fielded the report from the cargo bay. He waited a moment, deciding what to do. Paris never jumped into a decision-he always knew what he was doing. At least, his crew thought so. Paris knew better. In this case, he knew hesitation could prove fatal later. Picard and Schilling both had ambitions and however futile they might seem to Paris in light of the current state of the Empire he knew both men would take any sign of weakness as a signal to make their move.
“Reed!” he barked into the intercom. “I want a full quarantine on the bay. Get a medical team to examine the …specimens, and have them run DNA checks against our database.”
“Aye, sir, “ Reed came back. “I’m on it now.”
“Ensign Picard, let’s get to the station quickly. The answers we seek just may be there.”
“Aye, sir. No deviation from computed flight plan.”
Owen cursed himself for forgetting they had already been ordered to keep to the course. No leader could afford to show weakness. He pondered for a moment and then hit the MACO switch.
“Reed, make sure the vessel doesn’t have any automated systems getting ready to launch thru our shuttle bay doors or explode in the bay, or otherwise disrupt Enterprise.”
Reed confirmed and the lower-level officers on the bridge looked with respect at Paris. He thought they were simpletons for doing so but he bit his tongue. In the Empire, tongues tended to look well-chewed. Instead, he gave a little grin and said,
“Jean-Luc, could you try to squeeze any more power out of the engines?”
“I believe we can divert the power from the mess hall to increase our speed by .03%. Do you wish to do so?”
Paris smirked at Picard’s blatant play. “No, that won’t be necessary. Look around for other options.”
Picard looked uncomfortable. Just then Reed interrupted. “Sir, we have an immediate WebNet response.
Owen held his breath for a moment. Then he dismissed the incredulous looks that the junior officers on the bridge were giving him with a wave of the hand. “I assume, Mr. Reed, that you searched the WebNet for good reason. Would you care to explain?” The sarcasm in Paris’s voice was virtually dripping. Using what was left of the WebNet meant giving away the transmission location of the inquiry. Emperor Spock had set it up that way. Reed had left them exposed.
“Sir, I found just enough in the data base to make me certain that we needed all of the information we could get. Sir, if you could come down here…” Paris listened for the sound of deceit and found none. He glanced at Picard.
“Ensign, you have the con. I’ll be in the cargo bay.” Billy responded as if slapped. Owen chose to ignore it. He had his reasons for encouraging Picard. As a counterpoint to Billy, he was very important. As a loss to the ship, he was somewhat less so.
“Aye, sir,” Picard relied, gesturing for another helm-qualified ensign to take his place. He slipped into the center seat as if he belonged there and Owen wondered if he’d failed to assess the young man properly. Then he waved at his bodyguard, shrugging, and stepped into the turbolift. The massive thrall followed him into the lift. Picard smiled as the doors closed. So did Owen.
*********************************
Reed looked very uncomfortable, nervous even, to Owen’s eyes. That, alone, spoke volumes. Reed was never nervous. When Owen had broken protocol to drop the Enterprise into Earth’s atmosphere in a futile attempt to save the Emperor, Reed had simply stated, “He’s dead,” and transported aboard. The man was unflappable and to see him now so disconcerted was momentous.
“Reed, what did you learn?” Medical crews swarmed over the cargo vessel as he spoke. Reed leaned in to speak in confidence and the Naussican thrall at Owen’s back growled menacingly. Reed didn’t even spare it a glance.
“Have you ever heard of the Chrysalis Project, sir?” Owen turned pale.
“Yes,” he stammered, “I know what it was.” Reed gave him a long, hard look.
“You mean, what it is. The people in the cold sleep chambers are Children of Chrysalis. DNA scans confirm, based on fragmentary records still recorded in WebNet.” He looked expectantly at Paris. Owen’s mind reeled for a moment. Then, as was his way, he made his decision.
“I never wanted to be Emperor,” he said softly, and his hand drifted to the needle gun at is hip. Reed nodded. Owen relaxed his hand.
“Understood, sir. I think…” and here he trailed off, embarrassed. Thinking amongst military men had long been discouraged in the Empire. Those in power couldn’t have the gun-toting types staging coups all of the time, after all. Owen smiled.
“Go ahead. I doubt the Headhunters even exist anymore, Reed.” Even referencing the dreaded secret police made Owen shiver, but he pressed on. “What do you think?”
Reed held his arm out and looked pointedly at the frayed MACO badge on his sleeve. “Sir, the Empire is…passing. We both know it. Using…them,” he nodded at the cargo ship, “Well, sir, they hate us already. I don’t think they’d let us live as a race if we set them loose in the Alpha Quadrant. Um, begging your pardon, sir.” Owen knew who he meant by “they”. He nodded slowly.
“I find your insight and honesty refreshing. You are correct-using them would be a mistake. As the senior surviving officer in Starfleet, I am tasked with deciding the issue.” He gave Reed a steely eye. “I chose to decide against their use.” Reed nodded. “Deactivate the cold sleep chambers and…expend some ammunition making sure there is no future threat.” Reed gazed at him for a moment and then nodded. He saluted Paris and then began screaming at the medical crews to get away from the ship. As Owen exited the cargo bay, Billy walked up.
“Sir, I believe you are making a mistake. Ensign Picard has informed me of the value of the contents of that ship.” Owen noted the two Andorians flanking Billy. His bodyguards, sworn to him for life. “He says we can restore the Empire to it’s peak of power.” Owen sighed. Billy still believed the Empire was worth saving. He gave his thrall a tiny shock with the wrist control he always wore. The Naussican leaped forward at the signal with Orion stels, impaling the two Andorians and scratching Billy as he passed. Owen knew it would be enough. The poison on the tips would assure that. “Whaa-“ Billy gasped before collapsing to the deck. As his face turned purple and he clutched at his throat, Owen shook his head sadly. There was no need for power plays aboard the last Empire ship. There was no real room for promotion, but the methodology of the Empire refused to let go. As Billy’s feet began to pound out a tattoo on the deck in his final death throes Owen felt a warmth in his belly. Looking down, he saw a dagger sticking out of his body.
“The boy was faster than I realized,” he thought as his knees grew weak. He sank slowly to a supine position, his thrall watching him in a confused manner. Then the dumb beast pulled the dagger out and began to apply rudimentary first aid. Owen suspected that it wouldn’t be enough. A surprising thought came to him. He wouldn’t have to see his ship die. Enterprise would survive him. Then the whine of energy weapons caught his attention. He was blocking the cargo bay door open and looking in, he could see Reed’s MACOs being assaulted by Starfleet Security who had come dropping through panels and Jeffries tubes in the bay ceiling. “Picard is making his play,” he thought. Reed’s forces took up position around the cargo vessel, using it for cover. Owen knew they couldn't hold out-they were terribly outnumbered. Despair took him.
They were making for Starbase Cold Station Twelve, an antiquated research facility near the Proxima system. After hitting the Klingon dockyards at Tau Ceti they’d doubled back towards the former heart of the Empire to glean what assets they could. Owen was fairly confident that the maneuver had removed them from the Alliance tacticians’ predicted courses of action. Enterprise had survived by doing the unexpected. Owen intended to keep the Alliance off-balance as long as he could. He knew that doing the expected would put his crewmembers in Rura Penthe and his remaining officers under the knife in some out of the way Cardassian interrogation room. Cold Station Twelve had come up in an in-depth records scan conducted by their helmsman, Ensign Picard. According to the young man, it held a variety of scientific experiments that were “black project” items, conducted without full disclosure to the Imperial Court. Owen desperately hoped there was something there that could be used as a weapon. Enterprise was fast running out of weapons of any kind. Torpedoes were depleted, dilithium crystals were wearing out, and replacement parts were fast disappearing from the Enterprise’s inventory, with no hope of restock.
“Captain, I’ve detected a small ship, about 7000 tonnes, roughly ten thousand klicks out.” The helmsman’s voice sounded strained. “I am not sure how they managed to get so close without detection. Scanning now.”
“Belay that!” Owen nearly came out of his seat. “Sweep us in and take them aboard. I don’t want any messages getting out.”
Picard looked chastened. “Aye, sir,” he said as he altered the great ship’s course slightly. Enterprise swooped in on the craft, a Nimbus-class Terran freighter. Before it could fire up it’s warp drive Owen’s crew had locked it into a tractor beam and pulled it into the fighter bay. The craft’s power systems were automatically disabled as it was brought aboard.
“Ensign Picard, send a security team to secure the crew.” Owen knew the Nimbus freighters had been the most common ship in the Empire and had been used by every race within its territory. The one they had captured could have been operated by any one of the rebelling subject races and Owen wasn’t taking any chances. Picard snapped the orders into his com crisply and returned Enterprise to her original course. Somewhere in the bowels of the battleship, Imperial Marines hustled to obey.
**********************************
Captain Ellis Reed of the Imperial Marines was strapping on his combat harness even as he and his men raced through the corridors towards the fighter bay. The overhead lighting reflected off the silver and black death’s head patches on his shoulders. Reed didn’t even think about the current assignment beyond the necessary tactical arrangements he was calling out to his men. He’d been a Marine all of his adult life, just like his father and his grandfather. The duties were second nature to him. As they waited for the turbolift to take them to the proper deck he scanned his squad. They were all ready to go but his keen eye noticed fray marks on harnesses, worn spots on holsters and a general air of disrepair that a few years ago would have been punished with the use of an agonizer. These days, there was no help for it. With the Empire crumbling, replicators were used for necessary basics like ammunition, spare parts and food. He wasn’t worried, though. His people were all former Imperial Elite Guards, as he, himself, was. Commander Paris had whisked them off of Earth in a daring raid right in the middle of the final Klingon assault. The Emperor had already been killed in hand-to-hand fighting in downtown Geneva while trying to escape and there had been no reason to stay. He shook himself mentally and drew his Type II Annihilator pistol. The members of his squad did the same right as the lift doors opened. Darting out into the linking corridor between the lift and the bay, Reed signaled silently for an envelopment maneuver. His squad entered the bay and fanned out around the freighter, encircling it with weapons raised. Reed noticed scorch marks near the engines. He shrugged and gestured for his First Sergeant to open the main hatch, covering the man as he approached the ship.
******************************************
Owen glanced at the young French man in front of him. “ETA to the station?” he inquired.
Picard didn’t even hesitate. “Seven hours at current speed.” Owen turned to Lt. Schilling, who was doubling as the great ship’s Tactical and Communication officer. Officers were sparse these days and everyone had double duties.
“Billy? You detecting anything in either direction?” The young Prussian snapped to attention, heels clicking. Owen smothered a smirk. He loved calling the formal, squeaky-assed officer ‘Billy’.
“Sir! I have been monitoring the communications for the last hour. Nothing is going in or out, sir!” Wilhelm Schilling held the position as Owen considered his next order.
“Very good. Continue to keep an eye on that. I want to know if there is a hint of a transmission.” Wilhelm slapped his fist to his breast and turned back to his station. Owen focused his attention back on Picard. “Jean-Luc, have you found any more information about what we might encounter at the station?” The young man swiveled his chair around.
“No, sir, nothing new. Whatever they were doing there, they covered their tracks with extreme efficiency.” Picard seemed disappointed that he hadn’t learned more.
“That’s why they refer to it as ‘black ops’, Ensign,” Owen reminded him. The young man turned back to his station, all attention on his duties. Owen sighed. He’d been like that once. He couldn’t remember when, but he knew he’s once been fired up with duty to the Empire and the mission at hand. These days, he mostly felt tired. He wondered if he was slipping.
*******************************
Reed watched as Sgt. M’Benga yanked the manual release on the freighter’s hatch. Cpl. Reagan flipped a stun grenade in as the ramp lowered. Every member of the squad ducked away as it went off and counted to three. After the flash had faded, Reed gestured at Reagan. She jumped the ramp and bounced into the ship, her weapon at the ready. A moment later Reed heard a crackle in his ear.
“Holy shit, sir! You’re not going to believe this!” Reed had worked with Sheila Reagan for six years and he’d never seen her surprised. The astonishment in her voice was clearly evident. Reed waved at M’Benga, who proceeded cautiously into the ship. A moment later, Reed heard M’Benga say, “All clear, sir!” Reed followed him into the craft.
A Nimbus-class freighter was 90% cargo space and this one was no exception. They had been used to move everything from construction ‘bots to the colonies to shipments of plunder from worlds that defied the Empire. As Reed entered he found himself pausing in the doorway with his mouth open. Cold sleep chambers lined the walls and floor in nice, neat rows. None of the chambers were more than four feet long. They were stacked to the ceiling. Each one contained what looked like a human child. Reed’s mouth fell open, even while a part of his mind noticed that M’Benga was waving his weapon around mindlessly and Reagan had allowed hers to droop towards the deck. The very front of the ship was a cockpit, with a single hatch connecting it to the cargo area. Reed noticed the spin wheel on the door begin to move. Shaking off his amazement, he barked, “Places!” and kneeled with his gun pointed at the door. M’Benga and Reagan snapped to and dropped as well, their weapons suddenly handled in an alert and ready fashion. The door opened and an elderly human man stepped through. He lifted his hands in surrender.
“Please don’t shoot,” he implored, “You might hit one of the children.” He was a skinny man with white hair flowing down over his shoulders. The wrinkles in his face were evident. He had to be beyond the reach of normal lifespan extension techniques. His eyes retained their brightness, though, in a piercing blue color. He smiled. “We wouldn’t want that. They could be our only hope of survival as a race.” A puzzled look passed across his face. “Not now,” he gasped, clutching his chest. Before Reed could react the old man slumped to the deck. Reagan dashed over and laid a finger on his neck. She turned her head back towards Reed and shook her head.
“Damn,” he said, wondering what to do next. He wasn’t used to that and it made him angry. “Get a report to Comm-to the captain! Right now! And see if anyone in Science Section can get down here and figure out what all of this is about.” Reagan slapped her chest and hustled off to comply. Reed fumed at the dead man and then turned his angry attention to the cold sleep chambers. “This can’t be good,” he muttered.
*************************************
Ensign Picard and Lt. Schilling gaped in astonishment as Paris fielded the report from the cargo bay. He waited a moment, deciding what to do. Paris never jumped into a decision-he always knew what he was doing. At least, his crew thought so. Paris knew better. In this case, he knew hesitation could prove fatal later. Picard and Schilling both had ambitions and however futile they might seem to Paris in light of the current state of the Empire he knew both men would take any sign of weakness as a signal to make their move.
“Reed!” he barked into the intercom. “I want a full quarantine on the bay. Get a medical team to examine the …specimens, and have them run DNA checks against our database.”
“Aye, sir, “ Reed came back. “I’m on it now.”
“Ensign Picard, let’s get to the station quickly. The answers we seek just may be there.”
“Aye, sir. No deviation from computed flight plan.”
Owen cursed himself for forgetting they had already been ordered to keep to the course. No leader could afford to show weakness. He pondered for a moment and then hit the MACO switch.
“Reed, make sure the vessel doesn’t have any automated systems getting ready to launch thru our shuttle bay doors or explode in the bay, or otherwise disrupt Enterprise.”
Reed confirmed and the lower-level officers on the bridge looked with respect at Paris. He thought they were simpletons for doing so but he bit his tongue. In the Empire, tongues tended to look well-chewed. Instead, he gave a little grin and said,
“Jean-Luc, could you try to squeeze any more power out of the engines?”
“I believe we can divert the power from the mess hall to increase our speed by .03%. Do you wish to do so?”
Paris smirked at Picard’s blatant play. “No, that won’t be necessary. Look around for other options.”
Picard looked uncomfortable. Just then Reed interrupted. “Sir, we have an immediate WebNet response.
Owen held his breath for a moment. Then he dismissed the incredulous looks that the junior officers on the bridge were giving him with a wave of the hand. “I assume, Mr. Reed, that you searched the WebNet for good reason. Would you care to explain?” The sarcasm in Paris’s voice was virtually dripping. Using what was left of the WebNet meant giving away the transmission location of the inquiry. Emperor Spock had set it up that way. Reed had left them exposed.
“Sir, I found just enough in the data base to make me certain that we needed all of the information we could get. Sir, if you could come down here…” Paris listened for the sound of deceit and found none. He glanced at Picard.
“Ensign, you have the con. I’ll be in the cargo bay.” Billy responded as if slapped. Owen chose to ignore it. He had his reasons for encouraging Picard. As a counterpoint to Billy, he was very important. As a loss to the ship, he was somewhat less so.
“Aye, sir,” Picard relied, gesturing for another helm-qualified ensign to take his place. He slipped into the center seat as if he belonged there and Owen wondered if he’d failed to assess the young man properly. Then he waved at his bodyguard, shrugging, and stepped into the turbolift. The massive thrall followed him into the lift. Picard smiled as the doors closed. So did Owen.
*********************************
Reed looked very uncomfortable, nervous even, to Owen’s eyes. That, alone, spoke volumes. Reed was never nervous. When Owen had broken protocol to drop the Enterprise into Earth’s atmosphere in a futile attempt to save the Emperor, Reed had simply stated, “He’s dead,” and transported aboard. The man was unflappable and to see him now so disconcerted was momentous.
“Reed, what did you learn?” Medical crews swarmed over the cargo vessel as he spoke. Reed leaned in to speak in confidence and the Naussican thrall at Owen’s back growled menacingly. Reed didn’t even spare it a glance.
“Have you ever heard of the Chrysalis Project, sir?” Owen turned pale.
“Yes,” he stammered, “I know what it was.” Reed gave him a long, hard look.
“You mean, what it is. The people in the cold sleep chambers are Children of Chrysalis. DNA scans confirm, based on fragmentary records still recorded in WebNet.” He looked expectantly at Paris. Owen’s mind reeled for a moment. Then, as was his way, he made his decision.
“I never wanted to be Emperor,” he said softly, and his hand drifted to the needle gun at is hip. Reed nodded. Owen relaxed his hand.
“Understood, sir. I think…” and here he trailed off, embarrassed. Thinking amongst military men had long been discouraged in the Empire. Those in power couldn’t have the gun-toting types staging coups all of the time, after all. Owen smiled.
“Go ahead. I doubt the Headhunters even exist anymore, Reed.” Even referencing the dreaded secret police made Owen shiver, but he pressed on. “What do you think?”
Reed held his arm out and looked pointedly at the frayed MACO badge on his sleeve. “Sir, the Empire is…passing. We both know it. Using…them,” he nodded at the cargo ship, “Well, sir, they hate us already. I don’t think they’d let us live as a race if we set them loose in the Alpha Quadrant. Um, begging your pardon, sir.” Owen knew who he meant by “they”. He nodded slowly.
“I find your insight and honesty refreshing. You are correct-using them would be a mistake. As the senior surviving officer in Starfleet, I am tasked with deciding the issue.” He gave Reed a steely eye. “I chose to decide against their use.” Reed nodded. “Deactivate the cold sleep chambers and…expend some ammunition making sure there is no future threat.” Reed gazed at him for a moment and then nodded. He saluted Paris and then began screaming at the medical crews to get away from the ship. As Owen exited the cargo bay, Billy walked up.
“Sir, I believe you are making a mistake. Ensign Picard has informed me of the value of the contents of that ship.” Owen noted the two Andorians flanking Billy. His bodyguards, sworn to him for life. “He says we can restore the Empire to it’s peak of power.” Owen sighed. Billy still believed the Empire was worth saving. He gave his thrall a tiny shock with the wrist control he always wore. The Naussican leaped forward at the signal with Orion stels, impaling the two Andorians and scratching Billy as he passed. Owen knew it would be enough. The poison on the tips would assure that. “Whaa-“ Billy gasped before collapsing to the deck. As his face turned purple and he clutched at his throat, Owen shook his head sadly. There was no need for power plays aboard the last Empire ship. There was no real room for promotion, but the methodology of the Empire refused to let go. As Billy’s feet began to pound out a tattoo on the deck in his final death throes Owen felt a warmth in his belly. Looking down, he saw a dagger sticking out of his body.
“The boy was faster than I realized,” he thought as his knees grew weak. He sank slowly to a supine position, his thrall watching him in a confused manner. Then the dumb beast pulled the dagger out and began to apply rudimentary first aid. Owen suspected that it wouldn’t be enough. A surprising thought came to him. He wouldn’t have to see his ship die. Enterprise would survive him. Then the whine of energy weapons caught his attention. He was blocking the cargo bay door open and looking in, he could see Reed’s MACOs being assaulted by Starfleet Security who had come dropping through panels and Jeffries tubes in the bay ceiling. “Picard is making his play,” he thought. Reed’s forces took up position around the cargo vessel, using it for cover. Owen knew they couldn't hold out-they were terribly outnumbered. Despair took him.
