Objects In Mirror Are Stranger Than They Appear

Objects In Mirror Are Stranger Than They Appear
A Crossover Story
by Sam Redfeather & Christina Moore (CamSPD)​

*NOTE: In the Star Trek: Gibraltar series timeline, this story takes place between the events chronicled in Backup and Treacherous Waters.

Prologue

USS Gibraltar
Escort Group Theta-3
In Combat With Unknown Threat Vessels
Sector 22010, Occupied Cardassian Territory

“I could really use a visual right about now!” called Captain Donald Sandhurst over the din of wailing klaxons and the background noise of a half-dozen urgent conversations taking place elsewhere on the bridge.

From the Operations console in the bridge well, Lieutenant junior-grade Olivia Juneau struggled to clear the haze of static that filled the viewscreen as another blow to the starship’s shields caused the bridge lights to dim sympathetically. “Working on it, sir!”

From her post nearby, Commander Liana Ramirez, Gibraltar’s executive officer, silenced the audible red alert as she spoke up. “Threat vessel is coming about… making a hard turn to port. Tactical, you should get a forward firing solution on them in approximately fifteen seconds.”

“Aye,” confirmed Lieutenant Pava Lar’ragos from the standing tactical console situated just behind the captain’s chair. The deceptively youthful looking man glanced up at Sandhurst as he noted, “I’m reading a twelve percent drop in available phaser power on the saucer’s starboard dorsal and ventral banks, Captain. Whoever they are, they're packing some impressive ordinance.”

Rather than replying to Lar’ragos, Sandhurst ordered, “Helm, once we’ve achieved a forward weapons lock, hold position behind them, z-plus fifteen hundred meters and twenty degrees to starboard off their Y-axis.” As Ensign Lightner at Helm acknowledged the order, Sandhurst toggled the comms to Engineering on his armrest. “Mister Ashok, status of available power to phasers?”

The ship bucked again as a compressed tetryon beam slammed into Gibraltar’s forward shields from their assailant’s aft weapons array. The comms crackled sporadically as the vessel’s overtaxed power grid fought to absorb and dissipate the energetic onslaught. Thus, Ashok’s reply from Engineering was drown out by a squealing hiss that caused Sandhurst to wince. “I’m going to take that to mean he’s working on it,” Sandhurst murmured to himself.

“We’re in firing position,” Lar’ragos announced from behind him.

“Target weapons emplacements and shield generators,” Sandhurst commanded. “Fire.”

The viewscreen image cleared somewhat, though the picture still wavered uncertainly. Sandhurst could just discern a brace of photon torpedoes and accompanying lances of phaser energy flaring against the deflectors of the mysterious enemy ship.

“Moderate damage to their aft shields,” Lar’ragos assessed. He held firm to his console as a counter-strike from the threat vessel jolted the ship.

“Continue fire,” Sandhurst commanded. He glanced over at the Science station. “Lieutenant, any ID on the threats yet?”

“Nothing concrete, sir,” Lieutenant junior-grade Kuenre Shanthi replied. “The superstructure of the ships appears to be a mish-mash of Klingon, Acamarian, Son’a and Rutian technology, but the energy signature indicates there’s a Romulan-style artificial singularity powering the ship. The weapons systems are a mix of Cardassian, Ferengi, and Orion armaments, all top-of-the-line.”

“Life signs?” Sandhurst pressed.

“Indeterminate, sir. They’re running a frequency-modulated thoron field that’s masking the crew’s bio-signatures.”

“Could be Cardassian insurgents,” Juneau offered from Ops. “Might be pirates, Maquis—“

“Could be anybody,” Sandhurst cut her off sharply. “Doesn’t matter.” Another savage blow on Gibraltar’s port side caused the captain’s chair to snap around as the deck lurched to the tune of groaning duranium. “We have to finish this,” he said with detectable urgency in his voice, “and soon.”

*****

The Miranda-class escort Maputo had gone head-to-head with the formation of raiders as they dropped out of warp almost on top of the cargo convoy. As the freighters scattered, Maputo, Gibraltar, and the Norway-class Wessex moved to intercept the as-yet unidentified vessels which were refusing to respond to challenge hails.

However, the five enemy ships had proved unexpectedly tough, highly maneuverable, and especially well armed. Their varied assortment of weapons had a wide frequency dispersion which strained the ability of the defending starship’s shields to refract or absorb their incoming fire. The result was that all three Federation ships began taking damage in earnest as each tried to keep the raiders from destroying or capturing the hapless cargo haulers in their charge.

*****

The wildly corkscrewing swarm of missiles braved the phaser fire from Maputo. Only a third of the incoming warheads were extinguished by the starship’s defensive barrage, and the remaining weapons obliterated the last joules of the older vessel’s flagging shields. As the enemy warship swept past the already badly mauled escort, its tetryon cannons shredded Maputo’s weapons roll-bar, port warp nacelle, and punched three gaping holes cleanly through the forward section of its saucer.

Escape pods began to blast away from the crippled hulk, but only a handful had launched before the attacking ship’s aft weapons array launched a salvo of photon torpedoes that pierced Maputo’s engineering section to impact the starship’s warp-core and antimatter stores. The forty-two year old workhorse vanished in a blinding flash of escaping protons.

*****

“Maputo’s gone!” Juneau exclaimed as Gibraltar was buffeted by their sister ship’s death throes.

“Acknowledged,” Sandhurst noted, careful to keep his voice neutral for the sake of the crew. In his mind’s eye, however, he recalled a conversation with Commander Chorik days earlier where the venerable Tellarite officer reflected on how relieved she was that after this last escort mission, Maputo would be transferred to more mundane patrol duties along the Romulan Neutral Zone.

Remind me never to complain about our luck again, Sandhurst reflected mordantly to himself.

On the newly restored viewscreen, the captain could clearly see the aft shields of the threat vessel collapse, and Pava’s well-placed phaser shots quickly and efficiently crippled the raider’s weapons emplacements, shield generators and engines.

“Nice shooting, Lieutenant,” Sandhurst praised as he referenced the abbreviated tactical display on his armrest. “Helm, come to course one-seven-three, mark zero-two-nine, and standby to make a short-range warp jump. We’re going to run interference for Wessex.”

At that precise moment, the forward half of Maputo’s starboard warp nacelle, blown free from the ship’s destructive paroxysm, pierced the naked hull of the raider Gibraltar had just disabled. The vessel’s exotically jerry-rigged propulsion system was devastated by the impact, and the micro-singularity at the heart of its reactor core was set loose while being simultaneously bathed in the charged plasma still contained in the nacelle fragment’s warp coils.

Rather than dissipating, or being flung off into the universe as typically occurred with the destruction of singularity-based engines, this particular specimen drew in the warp plasma and expanded, ever so slightly. This, in turn, caused a minute gravitational shift in local subspace.

“And…” Sandhurst watched as the threat vessels harrying Wessex approached the spot near where he intended for Gibraltar to drop out of warp, her weapons blazing. “…Engage!”

The Constitution-class starship jumped to warp at the exact moment the fabric of subspace around the vessel flexed with the infinitesimal expansion of the artificial singularity. A rift in time/space was opened and the starship Gibraltar thus pierced the veil and quite unintentionally jumped completely out of the universe.

*****

 

I almost forgot about this story and I'm happy to see you working on it again. TOT11F seems like so long ago and I miss writing for it. Keep up the great work, Gibraltar! United Trek creates the best Star Trek fan fiction that I've seen around the internet.

 

I now remember this story from Tales of the 11th Fleet. Alas, it is unlikely that the band will get back together.

 

I wouldn't mind writing for Tales of the 11th Fleet again. You might have known me as Captain Universe or Goldshirt11.

 

Darkness had enveloped him, and for a few moments Donald Sandhurst had no concept of self or the passage of time. That blissful, untroubled state was rudely interrupted by a howl of utter despair and anguish from directly behind him. Sandhurst opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he tried to remember when and where he was. The sound of a physical struggle prompted him to turn his chair around to face the clamor.

The sight that greeted Sandhurst’s eyes drew him the rest of the way out of his lethargy. Pava Lar’ragos was struggling mightily with two crewmen at the back of the bridge, the three men grappling on the floor at the base of the tactical station. One of the men glanced towards Sandhurst and gasped, “The lieutenant’s gone crazy, sir! He started attacking Sengupta for no reas—“

The crewman’s statement was cut short by the sudden intrusion of Lar’ragos’ elbow, which smashed the man’s nose flat and rendered him insensate.

Sandhurst tried to rise from the chair, only to find that the messages from his brain to his legs were taking a damnably long time to reach their destination. He stood jerkily, only to topple over onto the deck nearly atop of the now unconscious environmental systems technician. “Pava… what the hell are you doing?” he managed to shout, but Lar’ragos seemed not to hear as he delivered two jolting head-butts to the other crewman. The stricken crewman curled into the fetal position, his hands clamped to his shattered teeth and jaw.

Lar’ragos scrabbled to his feet, his eyes wild and his expression that of a hunted animal. Sandhurst tapped his combadge and announced, “Security to the bridge! Lieutenant Lar’ragos is having some sort of fit!” He then lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Pava’s legs.

As Lar’ragos fought to pull his legs free, Ramirez came bounding over the top of the captain’s chair and barreled into him shoulder first. At the last instant Lar’ragos pivoted sharply and used Ramirez’s momentum against her, redirecting her attack and sending her flailing past him where she collided heavily with the Master Systems Display screen.

Lar’ragos suddenly crouched, an instant before a phaser stun beam sizzled over his head. As he dropped, he drove his knee into the side of Sandhurst’s head, dazing the captain who relinquished his grasp of Pava’s legs.

At the Operations station a signal trilled, announcing the arrival of an urgent short-range subspace hail. Juneau was too busy cowering beneath her console to answer the transmission.

Lar’ragos turned and rushed to meet Shanthi, who had drawn the phaser from beneath the Science station and was standing and turning towards him. Lar’ragos grabbed hold of Shanthi’s forearm as he delivered a knife-hand chop to the young man’s elbow. This caused Shanthi’s arm to curl reflexively and drive the phaser into his own cheek before the ebony-skinned junior officer fumbled the weapon.

Lar’ragos drew Shanthi into him and pivoted sharply, just in time to for the science officer to catch Ensign Lightner’s stun discharge squarely in the back. The El Aurian then shoved the semi-conscious Shanthi backwards over the bridge safety railing, sending him toppling back into the well. Lightner had to decide whether to risk another shot, or attempt to save his comrade from a potentially fatal fall. The pilot dropped the phaser and lunged forward to catch Shanthi awkwardly as the two men collapsed to the deck in a tangle of limbs.

The Saurian Petty Officer Sossk rushed forward, attempting to tackle Lar’ragos to the deck. She received a crushing knee-strike to her abdomen for her troubles.

Lar’ragos turned back to find that he had left the bridge a mass of writhing or unconscious bodies. His desperate, searching eyes finally found the turbolift doors which the small reptilian mid-brain that was driving his fight or flight response recognized as a means of escape.

The comms panel trilled again, but there was nobody willing or able to receive the message.

The El Aurian stalked around the upper deck of the bridge towards the turbolift, only to pause briefly to side-step a combadge that had been thrown at him. His preternatural sense, however, failed to alert him quickly enough to the second, more serious threat that followed.

Ramirez’s heavy stun beam caught Lar’ragos in the center of the chest, launching him off his feet and sending him crashing to the deck where he lay still amidst the twitching, moaning forms of his many victims.

“At… ease, Mister Lar’ragos,” Ramirez gasped from where she lay at the foot of the systems display board. She lowered the phaser to the deck with a shaky hand, breathing a sigh of relief that the ordeal seemed to be over.

That’s when Gibraltar trembled from what could only be another weapon’s impact.

Ramirez swore mightily as she clambered painfully to her feet and staggered towards the Tactical station.

*****

 

Chapter 1

Cardassian Galor-class Warship Teravi
Cardassian Security Zone

Gul Ibik Dasin shot his sensor officer a disbelieving look as he barked, “What do you mean ‘it came from nowhere?’”

The officer drew his eyes away from his sensor return to fix the gul with a look of absolute certitude. “It just dropped out of warp, sir, practically on top of us, but there was no prior sensor contact with any vessels at warp within two parsecs.” Glinn Vettrel glanced back to his panel. “Reads as a Federation starship, 23rd century design, running with shields up and weapons activated.” The man emitted a grunt of surprise. “She’s maneuvering hard, and looks like she’s been in a battle. I’m seeing shield fluctuations, minor hull damage, and power distribution shortfalls.”

“Raise shields, arm weapons systems,” Dasin ordered as he moved to stand beside the sensor station. He called out, “Communications, issue challenge hail. Inform them this is a restricted security zone, and inquire as to why they’re in Cardassian space taking an overtly hostile posture.”

Dasin leaned over to examine the scanner’s information. Though the gul trusted the sensor officer’s judgment, as Vettrel had served with distinction aboard Teravi for five years, this unexpected situation had the potential to turn ugly quickly. So, Dasin felt it was incumbent upon him to see the facts with his own eyes.

Vettrel shook his head in confusion as he gestured to the sensor recording of the starship’s arrival. “It’s all right there, sir. She came out of warp, with the expected hyper-relativistic downshift, but there’s no indication of any vessel at warp so much as a second beforehand.”

Dasin scowled, and looked askance at Vettrel. “Cloaking device?”

Vettrel ran a quick analysis of his sensor returns, then nodded almost grudgingly. “Very possible, Gul. Certain kinds of cloaking devices bleed tetryon energy, and the starship is showing indications of elevated tetryon levels.”

Dasin stood, turning to face the viewer. “A cloak-equipped Starfleet vessel jumps in on top of us with weapons hot? Their captain is either a fool or has completely lost his mind.” He turned towards the communications officer. “Any response to our challenge?”

“No, Gul. They are receiving, but they have not responded.”

“Try again,” Dasin said as he moved towards his command chair. “Engineering, set power systems for combat energy distribution configuration. Weapons officer, prepare to target the Federation ship with disruptors and torpedoes.”

Confirmations of his orders echoed on the bridge as Dasin assumed the gul’s chair. “Are they broadcasting a standard Starfleet identification transponder?”

After a moment’s pause, the communications officer replied, “They appear to be, sir, though the signal looks to be coded.” She turned to fix a skeptical expression on her commanding officer. “Gul, they’re not broadcasting on the agreed-upon frequency range we’ve established with Starfleet, nor are they using the customary encryption protocols.”

Dasin frowned. “I think I’ve been sufficiently patient, given the circumstances. Weapons, target the perimeter of their shield bubble with one forward disruptor bank. One-tenth standard power. Let’s see if that gets their attention.”

“Set, sir,” came the response.

“Fire,” Dasin ordered.

“Hit, sir, precisely where you specified.”

Dasin glanced to the comms officer. “Anything?”

“Negative, Gul. No response.”

“Flight, bring us around to their starboard side, course two-two-seven, mark three-zero-four. Weapons, set disruptors to fifty percent intensity and stand by.”

*****

USS Gibraltar

“Everyone, resume your stations!” Ramirez urged as she braced herself unsteadily against the Tactical console. She was certain her right shoulder was dislocated from her impact with the systems display board, and though the pain from the injury made her light-headed, Ramirez had more pressing concerns. She reached for her combadge with her good arm, only to remember that she’d thrown the device at Lar’ragos as a distraction before stunning him. Ramirez called out to activate the audio comms pickup. “Medical teams to main bridge,” she ordered as she tried to determine Gibraltar’s situation.

They were in combat, under fire, and the long-range sensors were now inexplicably inoperative. The short-range sensors were spotty at best, giving only minimal details about the surrounding space. The main viewscreen was offline again, and most of the senior staff had been incapacitated in Pava’s rampage.

Juneau crawled out from beneath the Ops console, sheepishly taking her seat as she fumed internally at not having participated in the crew’s defense against Lieutenant Lar’ragos’ mysterious assault.

Lightner’s expression was pinched and he seemed to be favoring his right leg as he extricated himself from under Shanthi’s dazed form. He took a moment to make sure the science officer’s pulse was strong and steady before limping over to seat himself beside Juneau at the Flight Control station.

Juneau noticed the blinking communications prompt at her station and observed, “Commander, it looks as if someone’s been hailing us.”

Ramirez nodded fractionally. “Is it the Wessex?”

“No, sir. It’s a general hail, marked high priority, broadcast in the clear on a non-Starfleet channel.” Juneau skimmed the message, and looked back to Ramirez with evident confusion. “They claim to be Cardassians, and say we’re in a security exclusion zone.”

The doors to both turbolifts opened within seconds of one another, disgorging both security and medical personnel onto the bridge. The security personnel took custody of Lar’ragos as the med-techs fanned out across the compartment to treat the injured.

“Bullshit, those aren’t Cardassian ships. These bastards just destroyed Maputo, and I’m not terribly interested in talking to them at the moment,” Ramirez fairly growled. “Helm, they’re coming around to our starboard side. Come hard starboard and bring our forward weapons to bear.”

*****

Cardassian Galor-class Warship Teravi

“They’re coming around to face us, sir,” Vettrel cautioned.

Dasin anchored his elbows on his command chair’s armrests and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Disruptors against their forward shields, fifty percent burst.”

“As you command, Gul… firing…”

*****

USS Gibraltar

The short-range sensors finally allowed Ramirez to gain a weapons solution on the only vessel within range. Too large to be Wessex, the ship’s mass approximated what Ramirez remembered to be that of the unidentified threat vessels.

The bridge lurched with the impact of weapons fire on Gibraltar’s forward screens.

“All right kids,” Ramirez hissed between clenched teeth, “Here’s your answer.” The XO acquired a manual lock on the wavering sensor return, confident in her own targeting abilities. She touched the firing control, and sent a flight of four photons and three phaser blasts at the enemy vessel.

*****

Cardassian Galor-class Warship Teravi

“Gul, they’ve just locked we—“ The rest of Vettrel’s report was cut off by the ferocious impact of Gibraltar’s weapons against Teravi’s shield grid.

Lights flickered, and an unmanned auxiliary console erupted in a shower of sparks as various crew were thrown clear of their seats by the concussion of the starship’s opening salvo.

“Weapons, bring disruptors to full power, target that ship and open fire with all batteries!” Dasin shouted above the din.

I have been disciplined, patient, cautious, and what did it get me? the gul reflected angrily. Ambushed, that’s what. Now Dasin would show the intruders that despite the depredations of the Federation, their allies, and eventually the Dominion, the Cardassian military still had both might and metal. He would defend his nation to his last breath.

“Multiple hits, sir! Their forward shields are at seventy-seven percent, starboard shields at sixty-three percent.”

“Evasive maneuvers, Rakal technique, variation five!” Dasin ordered as he studied the tactical plot map on his chair’s side console. “Comms, send a coded emergency broadcast to the Central Command, requesting immediate assistance. And contact Starfleet Command via Sanctuary to tell them they have a damned rogue ship out here!”

It was not the first time in Cardassian history that a Starfleet captain had elected to wage a personal vendetta against his people, but Dasin vowed that this time the outcome would be decidedly different.

*****

USS Gibraltar

“Status?” Sandhurst asked, the query sounding suspiciously like a groan. One of the med-techs was assisting the captain into the command chair as Ramirez remained manning the Tactical station behind him.

The medic toggled the automated safety harness on the captain’s chair not a moment too soon, as Gibraltar was struck again by a fusillade from the nearby threat vessel. Sandhurst shook his aching head as if to try and clear the cobwebs while he squinted at the static-filled main viewer. “Please tell me that’s not just me…” he murmured back towards the XO.

Ramirez flashed a distracted half-smile as she loosed another barrage at the faint sensor echo that represented the enemy ship. “No, sir. The viewscreen’s out of commission again. Long-range sensors are offline, short-range sensors are barely functional, shields are holding at about forty-percent across the board, and phasers are at seventy-three percent efficiency.”

Sandhurst touched a hand gingerly to the goose-egg on his temple as the med-tech injected him in the neck with an analgesic hypospray. “Number of threats?”

“Only one that we can see, Captain.”

“Status of Wessex and the convoy?”

“Unknown, sir. I’ve tried hailing Wessex but there’s no response. Negative contact with the cargo ships, also.”

Juneau called back to the captain and first officer, “I’m not picking up on any of their transponders, either, sirs.”

Ramirez sent streams of phaser fire at the enemy from multiple banks around the perimeter of the saucer as Lightner executed a turning maneuver designed to maximize the number of Gibraltar’s beam weapons the older ship could bring to bear. “Nicely done, Ensign,” she praised his creative piloting.

Sandhurst activated the comms to Engineering. “Lieutenant Ashok, we’re practically fighting blind up here. I need sensors back immediately, if not sooner.”

“On it, Captain,” came the Bolian engineer’s terse reply.

“Exec, can we launch sensor probes and direct their telemetry back to us as remote scanning platforms?”

“Not at present, sir. Both fore and aft tubes are presently cycling torpedoes. I strongly suggest that we neutralize the immediate threat before unloading either tube for reconnaissance purposes.”

The captain nodded in reluctant agreement.

The ship jolted once again from some kind of directed energy weapon slashing across their starboard deflectors. “These guys know their business,” Ramirez remarked. “They’re hammering our starboard quarter every opportunity they get.”

“Helm,” Sandhurst ordered, “assume a defensive posture. Keep our starboard grid out of their sights.” Turning back to look at Ramirez over his shoulder, Sandhurst remarked dryly, “It figures that we’d get into a knife-fight with overpowered raiders right after they requisitioned away the last of our quantum torpedoes.”

*****

Cardassian Galor-class Warship Teravi

Two of Teravi’s torpedoes sailed harmlessly past the starship, duped by the vessel’s wild maneuvers. Gul Dasin had to admit a grudging admiration for the effectiveness of their opponent’s frenetic and unpredictable course corrections. Though most of the starship’s fire, conversely, had managed to strike his ship, the Federation vessel’s compromised sensors had prevented them from concentrating their weapons on a single shield grid.

Thus, Teravi’s defenses had been weakened, but only moderately so as all grids had shared the brunt of the incoming fire. Their attacker, however, was not so fortunate. Dasin’s weapons officer was pounding the starship’s starboard grid, which appeared to have been already weakened at the time of the ship’s mysterious arrival.

Dasin watched with satisfaction as another of their torpedoes zeroed-in on the enemy. This one struck home against the starship’s aft shields, causing the deflectors to shimmer noticeably, an indicator of their growing instability.

*****

USS Gibraltar

Lt. Commander Pell Ojana, the ship’s Bajoran diplomatic liaison and second officer staggered onto the bridge as the deck bucked beneath her feet with the impact of the enemy torpedo.

Sandhurst glanced over at her as Pell just barely caught herself on the safety railing, her feet threatening to slide out from under her. “You’re late to the party,” Sandhurst noted.

Pell shot him a scathing look in response. “I was stuck in an inoperative turbolift between decks, sir.”

He favored her with a sly smirk as he gestured towards Shanthi’s now unmanned console. “Take Sciences, please, Commander.”

Juneau called back to Sandhurst from Ops. “Sir, looking back over the comms prompt from the enemy ship, it does contain a standard Cardassian translation matrix.”

“I could fake that, Lieutenant,” Ramirez shot back tersely. “They’re just playing head games with us.”

“Wait, what?” Sandhurst looked confused. He swiveled around in the command chair to face Ramirez at the Tactical station. “They hailed us? When? What did they say?”

Ramirez’s posture tensed noticeably as she was unexpectedly called on the carpet in front of the crew. “It was while you were incapacitated, Captain,” she replied evenly. “And given the circumstances, I refrained from taking the call.”

Sandhurst’s expression hardened. “Psy-Ops is a two way street, Exec,” he intoned sharply, then pivoted around to face the still inoperative viewer. “Mister Juneau, open a channel on that frequency.”

A disruptor blast scored across the ship’s ventral shields, causing yet another concussive jolt to race through Gibraltar’s spaceframe. The LCARS displays on numerous bridge stations began to flicker randomly.

Ramirez whispered just loud enough for Sandhurst to hear. “Sir, respectfully, we’re outnumbered and outgunned. Our shields are weakening, and we have only partial short-range sensors. We need to start thinking about tactically un-assing the area.”

“Channel open, sir,” Juneau announced.

“Unidentified vessel,” Sandhurst began, his tone appropriately dour. “You have staged an unprovoked attack on a Federation relief convoy. Disarm your weapons and stand down. Federation and Cardassian vessels are en route to assist. You are in range of three sensor monitoring stations, so there is nowhere you can run where our forces cannot find you.”

*****

Cardassian Galor-class Warship Teravi

“Unidentified vessel, you have staged an unprovoked attack on a Federation relief convoy. Disarm your weapons and stand down. Federation and Cardassian vessels are en route to assist. You are in range of three sensor monitoring stations, so there is nowhere you can run where our forces cannot find you.”

At this unanticipated pronouncement from the seemingly berserk Federation ship, Dasin favored Glinn Vettrel with an openly skeptical look. Vettrel, equally mystified at the message, merely shrugged. “That,” assessed Dasin, “may be the stupidest ruse I’ve ever heard attempted.”

Teravi’s spiral-wave disruptors lashed out to punish the starship yet again, this time scoring a hit to their dorsal shields as the smaller vessel nosed over and dove down-relative to their Cardassian opponents.

Vettrel consulted his board, then turned back to address the gul. “Sir, our scans suggest that the ship came out of warp effectively blind and suffering pre-existing battle damage. It is possible, however unlikely, that they were attacked by someone else, fled, and have mistaken us for their pursuers.”

Dasin grunted sourly. “I was actually thinking much the same thing, old friend.” He leaned back in his command chair. “Only one way to be certain. Flight, z-minus half a million kilometers, full impulse. Give us some separation and put us outside their weapons envelope.”

The gul raised a hand towards the communications station, indicating wordlessly that he wished to respond. “Federation starship, this is the Cardassian cruiser Teravi. It is you who have committed a breach of treaty by entering a restricted security zone without authorization with your shields raised and your weapons systems armed. You then refused to answer our challenge hails. When we fired warning shots across the perimeter of your shields, you responded with your full offensive capabilities.” Dasin shot a sidelong glance at Vettrel as he added, “In a show of good faith, I am standing down to give us both a chance to reassess this situation. However, should you choose to resume hostilities, you will be shown no quarter.”

The viewer had shifted to an aft-wards view of the starship as Teravi raced away. There was a long pause before a reluctant-sounding response. “Teravi, this is the starship Gibraltar. We agree to a cessation of hostilities, and we will stand down as well.”

Vettrel reported, “Sir, they are coming about and decelerating. They are taking their weapons offline.”

*****

USS Gibraltar

Sandhurst sat in his chair, fairly itching with anticipation as he waited impatiently. “Well, Master Chief?” he inquired finally.

Five decks below, standing in Commander Ramirez’s darkened quarters on the leading edge of the saucer, Master Chief Tark looked up from the eyepiece of the XO’s 19th century telescope. The ancient optical device was pointed at the large rectangular viewport in the outer bulkhead. A severe frown took shape on his pugnacious Tellarite features as he tapped his compin. “Captain, I can confirm the threat vessel is a Cardassian Galor-class cruiser, as advertised.”

*****

 

This is looking good. Extra-dimensional travel, a universe different from your own... I love this! Will you be using CamSPD's additions to this or will you be writing your own? I ask out of curiosity.

 

CamSPD and I are both picking up where we left off, with a few alterations and updates since the original. Thank you for the commentary and the interest!

 

Chapter 2

Sanctuary

“Captain Natale, can you come out here, please?”

Synnove Natale was just finishing a log on the station’s current status---such as it was---when Lt. Commander Jordan Kelley’s voice came over the intercom. She tapped her combadge and replied even as she was standing. “I’m on my way, Mr. Kelley.”

Exiting her office directly into the Nor-class station’s Operations Center, she strode over to where her second and first officers stood studying a display on the the main console. Dal Eton Kirek, the Cardassian who had been assigned as her first officer on this joint venture between the Federation and the Cardassians, looked up at her as she approached.

Ignoring the disdainful look he shot at her, Natale only said, “Report.”

“We just received a transmission from the Teravi, a Cardassian Galor-class warship, ma’am,” Kelley began. “They’re reporting a rogue Starfleet ship, one that came out of warp with shields up and weapons hot.”

“The Teravi is on patrol in one of the restricted security zones,” Kirek added. “No Starfleet vessel should even be within a parsec of restricted space.”

Natale stifled a sharp reply, though her voice was firm when she said, “I am well aware of what ‘restricted security zone’ means, Mr. Kirek.”

The agreement reached between the fledgling new Detapa Council and the Federation Council which allowed Starfleet and civilian Federation vessels to bring relief supplies into Cardassian space had, of course, been made with certain provisos in place: Starfleet and their allies were not allowed to send occupational forces into the Union, and there were seven “no-fly” zones through which only Cardassian vessels could travel. Natale had agreed with her tactical officer when he surmised that the Central Command was using these security zones to rebuild their crippled fleet.

“What is the Teravi’s present location?” she asked.

Grafydd, Sanctuary’s chief engineer, mumbled as he keyed in a few commands at his own station and brought up a static-filled image on the viewscreen.

Natale glanced sidelong at him. “Any chance of clearing that up, Commander?”

“I’m workin’ on it, Captain,” the Terellian told her. “The damn saboteur---“

“There is no proof as yet that there is a saboteur on this station, Commander,” Kirek said with a mild sneer.

Grafydd looked about to argue, but Natale silenced him with a minute shake of her head. “Just clear it up as best you can, Grafydd.”

Nodding, the engineer tapped several controls, utilizing all four of his hands, and after a minute or so, the image on the viewscreen cleared at least enough that the static didn’t completely obscure the map of several star systems. Sanctuary’s location---as well as those of nearby Starfleet vessels---were marked with the usual delta-shaped icon, and all Cardassian ships registered in the station’s database were marked with their own manta ray icon. One of the manta rays in the upper left corner was blinking.

Natale stepped closer toward the viewscreen. “Can you enhance that, Grafydd?” she asked.

Grafydd huffed, but nonetheless complied, enlarging the section containing the blinking Cardassian icon. Near it was a Starfleet delta in red rather the standard yellow, marking it as an unidentified vessel.

“Commander Kelley, did the Teravi’s transmission also contain a transponder code for the alleged rogue?” the captain asked over her shoulder.

She heard Kelley tapping the keys at his console. “Yes ma’am,” Kelley replied, then said, “Wait a minute, this can’t be right.”

Natale turned back to face him. “What is it, Commander?” she asked.

Kelley looked up. “According to this, the transponder code of the Starfleet ship identifies it as the Constitution-class U.S.S. Gibraltar---which is impossible because that ship’s part of a museum and has been for about seventy years.”

The Orion walked over to stand next to Kelley and Kirek so she could see his display for herself. Frowning at the information on Kelley’s display, she looked up at Grafydd. “Commander, contact the Starfleet vessel nearest the Teravi’s coordinates. Tell them to find out what the hell is going on.”

*****

USS Columbia

"Captain, we're receiving a transmission from Sanctuary. They're requesting we proceed to Restricted Security Zone Four at once.”

Captain Lindze Regan stood from her command chair and strode toward the communications station. “Did they give a reason for ordering us into a no-fly zone, Lieutenant?” she asked.

The young Selkie officer nodded. “The message says the Cardassians are reporting that a rogue Starfleet vessel entered the zone firing at the Galor-class ship Teravi.”

Regan turned to her first officer, who responded with a raised eyebrow. Turning back to her communications officer, she asked, “Anything else, Mr. Steb?”

Lt. j.g. Ahjar Steb tapped his board, then replied, “We're to negotiate cessation of hostilities and determine the identity of the Starfleet ship. Their transponder code identifies them as the U.S.S. Gibraltar, which Mr. Kelley at Sanctuary says has been a museum piece for more than half a century, Captain.”

Turning again toward the front of her bridge, Regan addressed her pilot. “Mr. Faris, set a course for Zone Four, warp eight. Let’s get there fast, before whatever is going on ignites another interstellar conflict.”

“Aye, Captain,” said the Trill at the helm. “Course and speed laid in.”

The captain strode back to her seat and sat down. “Engage.”

*****

USS Gibraltar

“We have partial long-range sensor restoration, Captain,” the crewman at the Engineering console advised in a subdued tone.

Sandhurst had been standing over the woman’s shoulder, doubtless making their mutual wait all the more awkward and uncomfortable for her. He pushed away from the station, moving to resume his seat in the captain’s chair. “Location and status of our convoy and Wessex?”

A moment of silence followed as both Juneau at Ops and Pell at Sciences probed the surrounding space with intensive scans. Juneau was first to answer. “I’m not seeing any indication of any of the ships from the convoy, sir.”

“Confirmed,” Pell echoed from the upper level. “No sign of Wessex, either. And no warp-signatures leading away from this vicinity, so where are they?”

Sandhurst’s scowl was pronounced. “Escape pods from Maputo or Wessex?”

Juneau’s voice was heavy. “None, sir.”

“In fact...” Pell added, a tinge of confusion evident in her tone, “...I’m not scanning any debris at all.” The Bajoran looked up at Sandhurst, her expression perplexed. “Maputo suffered a warp-core breach. There should be wreckage spread out over thousands of kilometers, and the resonance trace from the core-breach would be detectable for months.”

The captain spun in his chair to face the Flight Control station. “Mister Lightner, position fix.”

Lighter consulted his panel. “We’re right where we’re supposed to be, sir. We dropped out of warp precisely where you ordered.”

Sandhurst stood, looking toward Pell. “And yet no sign of the convoy, the ships that attacked us, or any indications of Maputo’s destruction in our immediate vicinity?”

“None, sir,” Pell replied with certainty.

Ramirez was gently but insistently preventing a medic from escorting her to the turbolift. She cradled her dislocated arm as she turned to Ops. “Juneau, reference the nearest Federation subspace repeater. I want to compare the ship’s chronometer to Starfleet’s official clock. I’ve got a feeling we may have lost some time during that jump.”

The captain shot his exec a sidelong glance, then nodded hesitantly at the possibility of such an occurrence.

“Oh, goody,” Juneau breathed. She groused, “Who doesn’t enjoy a game of two-thousand questions with Temporal Investigations?” as she completed the assigned task. As data scrolled across her display, the young woman’s eyes widened. The lieutenant turned to face the increasingly woozy looking Ramirez. “Commander... “ she gulped, “Federation time-base indicates that we’ve come back in time approximately eight months.”

Sandhurst sighed audibly, “Oh...”

“...shit,” Ramirez finished for him before wobbling unsteadily. The med-tech moved to assist her and Sandhurst gave his XO a pointed look.

“Sickbay, Commander, and no arguments. You’re no good to me in a diminished capacity.”

Ramirez relented and allowed the medic to assist her to the turbolift. Sandhurst pointed to Pell, “Commander, you’re acting XO until Ramirez returns.” He stepped up onto the upper deck of the bridge, walking a slow circuit around the perimeter and gauging the ship’s status by the information displayed on the various consoles. “Okay, first order of business is to get our systems restored. Now,” Sandhurst intoned as he seated himself back in the command chair. “We’d better hail Command and explain our situation. Ops, open a channel to the nearest starbase.”

After a few moments, Juneau glanced back at him. “Sir, I’m having difficulty. None of our communications encryption ciphers are being accepted by the comms-network. I can’t access a secure Starfleet channel.”

Pell addressed Juneau from the Science station. “Have you taken into account the time-shift, Lieutenant?”

Juneau nodded. “Aye, sir. I’ve reset the comms ciphers to what they should have been eight months ago, but still I can’t get past the secure firewalls.”

Sandhurst rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, a sure sign of his mounting exasperation. “Fine. Broadcast in the clear, Starfleet Emergency Channel One.”

“Aye, Captain. Channel open, sir.”

“This is the USS Gibraltar to any Starfleet vessel or installation within range,” Sandhurst began. “We are issuing a Code One-Alpha-Zero, ship in distress. Our vessel has come under fire by unidentified aggressors, and we have apparently inadvertently wandered into restricted Cardassian space. If you copy this transmission, please respond.”

*****

USS Columbia

“Thank you,” Regan said diplomatically. “I appreciate your understanding in this matter, Gul Dasin.”

On Columbia’s viewscreen, her Cardassian counterpart nodded mutely, cutting off the channel without another word.

“Friendly fellow, that one,” muttered Jacen Faris.

“Indeed, Lieutenant,” Regan agreed with her pilot, then stepped up to place a hand on the shoulder of Chariza Guinan, her Operations officer.

“Have we got the record of their scans yet?” she asked.

The dark-skinned El Aurian danced her fingers across her console. “Yes, Captain---we’ve just received the data.”

“Transfer the data to Mission Ops I, Lieutenant,” Silmar, Columbia’s first officer, directed her. The Vulcan turned immediately and headed for the back of the bridge, followed by Regan.

The console came to life at Guinan’s direction as Silmar was lowering himself into the seat, and he immediately tapped the controls to bring the results of the Teravi’s scans of the rogue onto the screen. “According to these scans---assuming the Cardassians have not altered them in any fashion---”

Regan looked down at him from where she stood on his right. “Do you suspect subterfuge, Commander?” she asked, knowing that he was suspicious by nature as a result of spending nearly thirty years as an Intelligence operative.

He returned her gaze only briefly before looking back to the screen in front of him. “Although deception would serve no purpose in these circumstances, I would not discount the possibility. We are, after all, dealing with a species with whom we were at war not five months ago.”

“So pray for the best and prepare for the worst,” Regan said as she looked back at the data scrolling across the small screen.

“According to these scans,” Silmar began again, “the vessel encountered by the Teravi is the U.S.S. Gibraltar, a Constitution-class Refit Vessel. Gibraltar appeared suddenly on the Cardassians’ sensors with her shields raised and weapons armed.”

“And it looks like she’d already been through one hell of a battle,” Regan added, pointing at the screen. “See that? Evidence of battle damage, but I don’t recognize the residual weapons signature. And here, this says the ship’s systems were heavily damaged as a result. It’s entirely possible that the Gibraltar warped into Zone Four as they were fleeing from whoever attacked them, and engaged the Teravi believing that they had been pursued here.”

“Captain, all Starfleet vessels were made aware of the Restricted Security Zones within Cardassian space at the time the treaty was signed,” Silmar told her. “I do not believe that the captain of this ship would direct it into a known no-fly zone, even if they were fleeing from a battle.”

“Not unless he or she has a score to settle, and we’ve all got one of those with the Cardassians,” piped up Rokha Tyrel from the tactical station.

Regan afforded a pointed glance at the Orion, but it’s purpose was lost as his back was to her. Deciding for now to ignore the comment, she looked at Silmar. “What about the report that the Gibraltar is supposed to be a part of a floating museum right now? How is a relic that’s been stripped of her essential systems suffering battle damage and flying through restricted space at the risk of igniting another war neither side can afford?”

Silmar raised a slanted eyebrow. “I do not know, Captain. I would surmise that the most prudent course of action at this point would be to contact the Gibraltar herself and speak to their captain.”

She grinned. “Indeed it is,” Regan said and turned around, heading down the ramp as she called out an order to her communications officer. “Mr. Steb, hail the Gibraltar---”

"Captain,” Steb said as an alarm chirped from his console. “The Gibraltar is hailing us. They're broadcasting on Emergency Channel One.”

Regan glanced over from where she had stopped between the Ops and Helm. “Are they now? By all means, Lieutenant, let’s hear what they have to say.”

“This is the USS Gibraltar to any Starfleet vessel or installation within range. We are issuing a Code One-Alpha-Zero, ship in distress. Our vessel has come under fire by unidentified aggressors, and we have apparently inadvertently wandered into restricted Cardassian space. If you copy this transmission, please respond.”

“I wonder why they do not use a standard communications frequency?” Silmar wondered aloud as he stepped up to Regan’s side.

“It would appear their long-range sensors are either malfunctioning or offline, as a scan would certainly have detected us by now, Commander,” Guinan called up over her shoulder. “They have no idea we’re less than an hour away.”

“So it would seem,” Regan said. “Mr. Steb, open a channel to the Gibraltar, same frequency.”

“Channel open, Captain.”

“This is Captain Lindze Regan of the Starship Columbia. You are indeed in restricted space, Gibraltar, specifically Security Zone Four. Give me a rundown of what happened as you know it, and maybe we can help you out of the pickle you’re in.”

The image of Gibraltar’s smaller and more austere bridge wavered before steadying. A Caucasian human male who appeared to be in his mid-forties sat in the command chair. He was lean and angular, with a head of white hair that was shaved down to a fine stubble. He bore a resigned expression, the look of a man accustomed to hard times.

“Captain Regan, I’m Donald Sandhurst, commanding the escort Gibraltar. We were guarding a relief convoy to Ansaris II when we were ambushed by tactically superior raiders. I initiated a short-range warp jump to assist one of our cohorts, and we emerged blind with the Teravi advancing on us. She opened fire, and we defended ourselves, thinking they were one of the raiders.” His countenance grew even more subdued as he added, “And it appears we’ve been temporally displaced on top of it, brought some eight months into the past, if Starfleet’s time beacons are accurate.”

He thinks it’s December? Regan wondered with a glance at Silmar. The knee-jerk reaction of Sandhurst and his crew was understandable, but it had still created a bit of a sticky situation---which was now complicated by a possible temporal incursion.

Lovely, she mused, thinking that an investigation by DTI was a headache she could do without.

“If you believe you’re supposed to be preparing for Christmas dinner, Captain, then you’re correct,” she said at last. “It’s April 21st. But that’s a matter to be sorted later, I’m afraid. Right now we need to get you out of Zone Four and back to Sanctuary, where you’ll be able to conduct repairs and tend to any wounded.”

Sandhurst appeared nonplussed. “Sanctuary? I’m not familiar with that designation. I thought Point-Station Delta was the closest Starfleet outpost.”

Regan raised a dark blonde eyebrow, frowning as she absorbed his words and studied the harried, worn look in the eyes of the man on the viewscreen. She didn’t need her limited telepathic abilities to confirm that this was a man who had seen far more than he’d ever have desired, and her gut told her that he believed every word he’d just uttered.

The scientist inside told her with sudden alarm that time wasn’t the only thing that the Gibraltar had jumped when they’d made their mad dash from the scene of her recent battle.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she looked directly at the the screen and said, “Captain Sandhurst, I’m afraid that the only Starfleet outpost inside Cardassian space is Sanctuary. You might recognize its former designation of Empok Nor---the station was renamed as of Stardate 53641.8, when Starfleet was brought in to help the Cardassian government refurbish the station and make it an operable starbase again.”

“Captain,” Silmar said quietly in her ear. “I would advise caution until we ascertain with certainty the identity of this man and his vessel.”

“Thank you, Commander. Why don’t you take care of that?” she murmured in reply, then returned her attention back to Sandhurst. She noted Silmar reaching forward to place a hand on the shoulder of their Ops officer, who nodded mutely and left her station.

On his bridge, Sandhurst muted the comms from his chair and looked to Juneau. “Check the database for any updated information on the disposition of Empok Nor, Lieutenant.” He opened the audio again and said, “Captain, to my knowledge there are presently a total of eight Starfleet and Klingon installations operating throughout occupied Cardassian territory. I’ve visited five of them personally.”

Juneau turned back to whisper, “Empok Nor was pre-emptively destroyed by the Klingons on the order of General K’Vada when they discovered Cardassian insurgents were using it as a base of operations, sir.”

This time, both eyebrows rose in surprise, as Regan knew full well that the only reason the Cardassian government had agreed to accept the aid offered by the Federation and their allies was that they not send occupational forces. There were a number of people---the Klingons among them, as well as some Starfleet admirals and a number of Federation member worlds---who believed an occupation of the Union would only be fair, serving the Cardassians a little of their own bitter medicine. But the stronger voices (stronger for the time being) had dissuaded the idea of occupation, citing the inevitable unrest, resistance, and anarchy such a move would cause. Better to attempt friendship than chance starting the fighting all over again, when in truth neither side was capable of another sustained conflict.

Too many lives had already been lost, and the Federation Council was not willing, at present, to risk anymore unnecessarily.

Thus, the words she was hearing only served to feed her growing suspicion. Before she could respond, however, Guinan returned with a PADD in hand, handing it to her silently before resuming her station. Absently, Regan reached up and tucked her hair behind her mutely pointed ear as she read. She learned that Sandhurst, Donald was---according to her ship’s database---a senior engineer at Utopia Planitia, one decorated several times for his mechanical skills.

The image included in Sandhurst’s biography also showed a man much stouter than the officer facing her on the viewer. Utopia Planitia’s Donald Sandhurst appeared to outweigh this man by a good thirty pounds or more, and sported a thick mane of dark black hair.

And he was no captain: the Sandhurst whose record she was reading was only a lieutenant commander by rank, further gelling the idea that the man on the smoky bridge on her viewscreen was not only out of time, but out of place. As a scientist with a degree in quantum mechanics, she knew that it was a plausible explanation, and perhaps the only one to explain the already numerous differences in the information each captain possessed. She realized then that an interrogation by Temporal Investigations might be the least of her headaches in the near future.

“Ms. Guinan, what’s our ETA to Gibraltar’s coordinates?” Regan asked then.

The lieutenant checked her board. “At present speed, twenty minutes, Captain.”

Looking back to the screen, Regan said, “Captain Sandhurst, it would seem that there is a discrepancy between our respective sources of information. Given what you have told me and what I know to be true, I suspect that you’ve done more than travel back in time. I cannot confirm without further scans of course, but I am beginning to suspect you may also have crossed a dimensional barrier. According to this,” she said, gesturing with the PADD, “You’re a commander and senior engineer at Utopia Planitia, not to mention your ship is in a museum.”

“Captain, what sort of damage did the ships in your convoy suffer?” queried Silmar.

At Regan’s assessment, Sandhurst sagged noticeably in his seat, as though deflated. “Loathe as I am to admit it, Captain, that makes sense, given the available evidence.” He took a moment, then seemed to rally, sitting up straighter in his chair as he answered Silmar. “Our fellow escort, the Maputo, was destroyed, and we believe a number of the freighters suffered damage as well before we lost sensor contact with them.”

Silmar turned to Regan. “Captain, presuming your theory is correct, an antimatter explosion at the precise moment of Gibraltar’s warp jump could explain how they crossed the dimensional barrier.”

“Not to mention the trip back through time, Silmar,” Regan said with a nod. To Sandhurst, she said, “Captain, we’ll reach your coordinates in another ten to fifteen minutes, at which time we’ll tow you out of the security zone and head back to Sanctuary for repairs. We’ll also use that time to figure out a way to send you home.”

Sandhurst inclined his head towards the viewer. “Thank you, Captain. Your help is greatly appreciated. We’ll be awaiting your arrival.”

Regan offered a small smile. “My pleasure, Captain Sandhurst. We’ll see you soon.”

*****

 

Chapter 3

Sickbay, USS Gibraltar

Pava Lar’ragos lay beneath a restraining field, pumped full of sedatives as the medical team worked to treat the others injured both in the pitched battle with the raiders as well as those hurt in the lieutenant’s berserk rampage on the bridge.

Issara Taiee, Gibraltar’s Chief Medical Officer and a talented nurse practitioner, finally broke free from treating Petty Officer Sossk’s abdominal contusion and made her way to Lar’ragos’ bedside. She paused momentarily to observe one of the ship’s two EMH Mark-I holograms forcing Ramirez’s shoulder back into its socket with an improvised sling as the XO endured the discomfort with her typical perseverance.

She ran a neurographic scan on the El Aurian, sighing as she read the results and prompting a curious look from her chief nurse. “I’ve seen this before,” Taiee commented. “Neural fugue. His brain’s gone into overdrive, flooding his system with high levels of neurotransmitters and a host of exotic El Aurian protein chains that do heavens knows what.”

“What’s it mean, sir?” the nurse asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Taiee admitted freely. “Last time we gave him a neurotransmitter inhibitor and an anti-inflammatory, then made him as comfortable as possible until he woke up on his own.”

“You think that’ll work this time around?”

Taiee cocked her head thoughtfully. “I sure as hell hope so.”

*****

USS Columbia

The engineering and medical personnel on the transporter pad vanished, only to be replaced by the solitary form of Captain Donald Sandhurst. He was still sporting a sizeable knot on his forehead, which was beginning to turn a nasty shade of purple. Nonetheless, he offered a wary smile as he inquired of the welcoming committee, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Lindze Regan returned the smile and nodded. “Granted, Captain. Welcome to the Columbia,” she said, then raised an eyebrow. “That looks like a nasty bump---have you been tended by your doctor?”

Sandhurst stepped down off the dais, extending a hand towards Regan. “I haven’t, actually. My medical staff is busy tending to the rest of the crew.”

She accepted the proffered hand and shook it warmly. “In that case, allow mine to see to you. Your crew needs their captain whole, and that goose egg there could be just a precursor to something worse. Shall we?”

Regan gestured toward the door of the transporter room, the Marine next to her stepping aside wordlessly. She knew that she was not really giving the man a choice in the matter, and he seemed wise enough to know that. After all, if he were smart enough to make captain where he was from, then he’d be smart enough to know she was simply taking all necessary precautions---

---which included having her Chief of Security act as his escort.

Sandhurst fell into step alongside Regan, careful to remain a step behind the ship’s captain. He gazed admiringly at the vessel’s interior layout as the trio navigated the heavy cruiser’s passageways. “Nebula-class,” Sandhurst enthused, “a tremendous platform. Tough, fast, functional, and beautiful.”

Regan smiled proudly. “That she is, Captain Sandhurst. As it so happens, I was project supervisor during the final stages of Columbia’s construction, and this is actually the third ship of that name I’ve served on. This one’s held up quite well and is most definitely a credit to her class.”

Sandhurst smiled amiably. “Years ago I was an engineer aboard Cuffe, a Nebula. I’ve got a strong affinity for this class of ship.”

The three officers approached and entered a turbolift, which Regan ordered down to Deck 12. “Captain,” she began, “I hope you understand that returning you to your proper place and time may prove to be rather difficult. Recreating the exact circumstances of your escape from the fight with the raiders won’t be easy.”

Sandhurst’s mien was appropriately dour. “Providing that our assumptions about what’s happened here are correct, Captain, I’d call that an understatement.” He glanced over at Regan. “This isn’t my first cross-dimensional encounter, though it is the first time I’m the one who’s fallen down the rabbit hole. I’m well aware of the difficulties involved, and that’s if your version of Temporal Investigations will even allows us to make the attempt.”

The lift stopped then, and Regan waited until she, Sandhurst, and Ryan Bennington had disembarked before she replied. “I should think they’d insist, given the fact that you and more than likely several of your crew members have counterparts in this universe. While having another ship in service would certainly be helpful given how thinly spread Starfleet is, I can’t see any logical reason for forcing you to stay---unless they believe that the risk inherent in purposely causing an antimatter explosion at the moment of a warp jump is simply too great.”

Sandhurst issued a disconsolate grunt. “With Temporal Intimidations you never know. It’s always causality-loops, predictive-algorithms and probability matrices with that bunch.” He cast a quick sidelong look at the admittedly attractive female captain, offering her a sardonic grin. “And it sounds as if your occupation is going as swimmingly as ours. Damned bloody nightmare.”

She glanced up at the taller captain as they approached Sickbay. “We’re not actually occupying Cardassian space, Captain. We’re only here to lend aid in the way of food, medicine, and building supplies. Policing of Cardassian citizens remains a duty of the Cardassian government---it’s one of the stipulations for their accepting our help in the first place, though certainly the Klingons and the Romulans wouldn’t mind wrapping a gauntleted fist around the Union. Starfleet, however, only allotted sixteen ships for the project, half of which are about as old as your own. As I’m sure you know, sixteen starships simply isn’t enough to transport relief supplies and protect civilian cargo transports across the entire Union.”

“Then your leaders are far wiser than ours, Captain,” Sandhurst fairly murmured in his mild South African accent. “Our occupation of Cardassian territory was supposed to be a temporary measure to keep the Union from sliding into anarchy while we helped them to feed their people and rebuild their infrastructure. In reality, it’s turned into a protracted quagmire pitting us against diehard nationalist insurgents. It’s cost Starfleet and the Klingon Defense Forces dozens of ships and thousands of lives in the past year.”

The Sickbay doors parted and the three entered. Dr. Jir’az, the Denobulan who was Columbia’s Chief Medical Officer, was just coming out of his office. “Ah, Captain Regan, always lovely to see you,” he said warmly. “I see you’ve brought a guest.”

Regan smiled. “I’ve brought you a patient, Doctor. This is Captain Donald Sandhurst, whose vessel was in quite the scuffle very recently.”

Jir’az eyed the bump and it’s accompanying ugly bruise on Sandhurst’s forehead. “‘Scuffle’ hardly seems the word, given the looks of that,” he said. “Why don’t you hop on a biobed, Mr. Sandhurst, and I’ll be right with you.”

Sandhurst eased onto the exam bed and laid down gingerly, wincing as the effort caused his head to pound fiercely. “If only this had been the result of our battle. It wasn’t. My El Aurian chief of security doesn’t cope well with interdimensional travel, apparently. He got a little frisky on the bridge and I made the mistake of getting in his way.”

As Bennington stood at a discreet distance away, positioning himself by the door, Regan stayed at Sandhurst’s shoulder while Dr. Jir’az fetched instruments from a cart on the other side of the room. “My Operations officer is El Aurian also, Captain---nearly two hundred years old. As she tells it, her people have a sensitivity to such things, though not even they can say precisely why. For a species whose lives can span centuries, they make more an effort to avoid time travel than we do.”

She looked down at him as the doctor came over and set his instruments on a tray next to the head of the bed. As Jir’az opened a medical tricorder and began running the scanning wand along the younger man’s body, Regan asked, “I could ask Lt. Guinan to visit with your officer, if that’s alright with you. I’m not certain she can actually do anything for him, but Chariza once told me the El Aurians are spread so thinly across known space now that they don’t often encounter their own kind---kind of like the Muus-a, though not quite as nomadic.”

Jir’az finished his scan and picked up another instrument, this one a dermal regenerator. As he held the lightly humming device over the bump on Sandhurst’s forehead, he said, “Sir, you are very lucky all you suffered was a knot on your head. I am detecting a mild concussion, which is not unexpected, so I’m recommending you not try to sleep anytime soon. Of course, I doubt you will given your current circumstances.”

The Denobulan looked across his patient at his captain. “My scan revealed his body is in a state of quantum flux, with other indicators showing he’s precisely eight months older than we are. I’d say that’s clear evidence, Captain, that Mr. Sandhurst and his crew are neither where nor when they should be.”

Sandhurst smiled wanly. “My quantum resonance should be off slightly as well, which is typical with an individual shunted into a parallel reality.” He chuckled wryly, “I can’t believe I just made that sound like a common occurrence.” He pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and coming to a sitting position. Sandhurst touched a hand to his head. “Much better. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Just one more thing, Captain,” Jir’az began, reaching for the hypospray he had loaded. Holding the device to Sandhurst’s neck, he depressed the control button. “A little something for the headache you no doubt have. And it was my pleasure to help you, as my team will help your doctor take care of your crew.”

As he appeared to inspect the Denobulan physician, Sandhurst queried, “Do you have much experience with El Aurians, Doctor? My CMO has her hands full, and my officer is in an induced coma until we can determine what’s wrong with him.”

He turned to Regan. “Any assistance your El Aurian officer could offer would be appreciated, Captain. I know that Pava’s proven reticent to interact with others of his species in the past, but he’s really not in any condition to object at the moment.”

Jir’az regarded him a moment before saying, “I know that the El Aurian sense of self-preservation is perhaps one of their strongest primal directives. It is in most species, of course, but with El Aurians the ‘fight or flight’ reflex is somehow amplified. If your man became uncharacteristically violent, it was indeed likely a result of crossing the barrier between your dimension and our own, as the species is, as Captain Regan said, especially sensitive to time and space. Any interruption of his base need to escape would send him into what some species call a healing trance. Has he ever been in a state like this before?”

“Once that I know of,” Sandhurst revealed. “A band of Orion mercenaries attacked our ship with a subspace weapon. That little stunt put Lar’ragos in a coma-like state for three days.”

“From what I understand of it, the length of the healing trance varies---they can last hours, days, even weeks,” the doctor informed him. “It all depends on the severity of the injuries sustained, as well as the age and mental state of the individual. I’ve been told that during the trance an El Aurian often relives old memories. For some the experience is pleasant, others not so much.”

“Would the presence of another of his kind have any effect, Doctor?” Regan asked.

Jir’az shrugged. “The trance is very much like a coma, as Captain Sandhurst just described. Whether or not an individual in such a state can even hear or understand what is going on around them is something that has baffled medical science for ages. There are those that believe the patient can and does hear; however, Chariza’s presence could have no effect at all. Even if he hears her, he may not trust her in his condition simply because he doesn’t know her. But I also cannot say that she won’t be able to reach him somehow. I suppose anything is worth a try.”

Regan looked at last to Sandhurst, noting once again how his eyes seemed to indicate there was far more to him than just what she saw. Putting that notion aside, she said, “If you would like for Lt. Guinan to try and get through to Mr. Lar’ragos, Captain, I’ll have Dr. Jir’az contact her and send her over to your ship. In the meantime, you and I have the fun task of contacting Starfleet Command and Temporal Investigations.”

Sandhurst’s expression soured once again. “Grand,” he said without an ounce of conviction. “And, yes, please have your officer visit Lar’ragos, Captain. Whatever help she might offer would be welcome.” He slid down off the bed, finding his feet right where he’d left them.

*****

USS Gibraltar

Chariza Guinan walked the corridors of the old ship feeling slightly nervous, though she knew that logically she had no reason to feel that way. The man she was going to see was unconscious---for all intents and purposes, he was in a coma. There was no way to know if he would even be able to hear her, nor if he would respond were he able to.

But really, what did you say to a complete stranger who was in a biologically-induced coma?

Well, she had to say something. She had to try, if for no other reason than that he was a fellow El Aurian. She shook her head mutely as she walked behind the enlisted man leading her to Gibraltar’s Sickbay, quietly marveling at the fact that she knew so little about her own people. She’d never been in a healing trance herself, and if her mother ever had, she’d never mentioned it. Her father she hadn’t seen or spoken to since she was a little girl---she didn’t even know if he was alive---and El Aurians truly saw so little of each other that she’d never really delved too deeply into questions about her own biology. She knew what should could and could not ingest in the way of food, drink, and medicine, knew what she had to do in order to maintain a healthy, attractive physique... and she knew how to listen. How to read people and get to the heart of their concerns. Her people were very good at that.

As the young, stoic non-comm stopped and gestured to the Sickbay doors and then wordlessly departed, Chariza made a mental note to have a long talk with Dr. Jir’az when this current crisis was over.

Inside the somewhat crowded medical center, she paused a moment to observe. This was a rather large Sickbay given the class of the ship, and she wondered if perhaps it had been expanded during a refit. There were certainly more biobeds and medical officers than she knew came standard on a Constitution-class, and there was a great deal of equipment here that she knew for certain was generally only issued to newer ships like her own.

Noting which of the medical staff were from Columbia and which were strangers, she gently snagged the sleeve of one of the latter as the young woman passed, saying quietly, “I’m here to see Lt. Pava Lar’ragos---can you show me where he is?”

The young woman smiled grimly. “Won’t do much good, the lieutenant’s in a coma.”

Guinan returned the sad smile. “I’m actually here at the request of your captain,” she said.

The girl blinked, and Guinan didn’t even need to use her inherent genetic gifts to see that her words carried a lot of weight. From the subtle changes in her posture and expression, she guessed that this young ensign respected Captain Sandhurst very much.

“Oh, of course,” she stammered. “Lt. Lar’ragos is right over there.”

Guinan looked to where she pointed, and noticed a short, compactly built woman with a bob haircut, standing next to the biobed of a prone man with brown, curly hair. She noticed a look of concern on her face as she entered data on the padd in her hands. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded her thanks to the med tech and started over.

Taiee looked up from her oversized medical padd as the enigmatic lieutenant in the services gold under-tunic approached. The petite nurse practitioner offered a warm smile to the new arrival. “You must be Lieutenant Guinan. Welcome. The captain told me to expect you.”

A full, genuine smile in the midst of such uncertainty had what Guinan assumed was its desired effect---she smiled as well. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m glad to be here, though I don’t know as how much help I’ll be. Captain Sandhurst, when I spoke briefly with him before transporting over, said Lt. Lar’ragos generally eschews contact with his own kind. That compared with the fact that he doesn’t know me at all...” She shrugged helplessly.

“Pava’s a private man,” Taiee explained, “most especially when it comes to his past. I’d guess that he’s guarded around members of his own kind because he’s probably easier for other El Aurians to read.” She turned and patted the unconscious man’s shoulder maternally. “But I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture all the same. I’ll be in my office if you need anything, Lieutenant.” And with that, Taiee left them alone.

Chariza nodded and watched her walk away, then reached for the little visitor’s stool and sat upon it. Looking at the sleeping form of the man before her, she studied the lines of his face, the way his eyes danced back and forth behind the lids. She got the sense that he was indeed dreaming, so perhaps the brief rundown Dr. Jir’az had given her in the transporter room was correct. If so, she found herself wondering what sort of memories he was reliving, hoped that they were pleasant. Of course, given the tightness of his mouth, she doubted it, and she felt a little sad for him. Bad enough to live through horrible experiences once, but to be forced to live them again, when you couldn’t tell yourself to stop thinking about them?

Tentatively, she reached over and took his hand, holding it in both of her own, and concentrated. Though she didn’t need to touch him to read him, she’d found that contact helped strengthen the connection when attempting to do so. Given that she’d never tried to purposely read a person who wasn’t even conscious---

She saw a young man running, breathing heavily. Another man, what looked to be a military officer from a species she didn’t recognize, laughed at him as he stumbled and fell.

“Poet, how nice of you to grace us with your presence,” the officer said with a sneer, then kicked the younger man, much to the delight of the other recruits standing nearby.

Guinan blinked, and looked at Lar’ragos’ face. Though he hadn’t aged much physically, she knew that the man before her now was far older than the one she had just seen. Then she was snared by another snippet of memory...

Starfleet Cadet Lar’ragos struck out, catching the Cardassian soldier in the throat with the knife-edge of his hand. As the soldier toppled forward, he grabbed the man’s rifle and brought it up in a single smooth motion as he turned toward the other two Cardassians that were advancing on he and his classmates. The weapon screeched, a beam lashing out from the emitter and engulfing the man and woman, whose molecular structure fragmented and uncoiled in a brilliant golden wash of swirling energy.

And another...

The hand of a Hirogen hunter gripped him by the neck, shaking him ferociously, Pava was covered in cuts and bruises, blood had run and dried in a number of places, and he hung limply from the larger creature’s hand.

“He is done,” said the hunter, dropping the semi-conscious man he held without thought. The barest grunt of pain escaped from his utterly exhausted lips as he landed heavily, his breathing shallow as he fought to stay conscious, even while hoping that this time, they would just get it over with and kill him.

The hunter looked across the room at another of his kind. “Have him healed so we can drop him off on the next viable planet. I’m already looking forward to hunting him again.”

“My god,” Guinan breathed, giving the hand she held what would have been a comforting squeeze had he been awake to notice. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I know I can’t change it, can’t save who you were from that hell. Don’t even know if it will matter to you how I feel, but I’m still so sorry.”

Not knowing him personally, she was thus unprepared for the next memory fragment that came to her, one in which he was the one who was lethal, killing without mercy. The unparalleled violence he elicited on his foe left her feeling shaken, and she nearly let go his hand. But she thought better of it, instead grasping it more firmly. Guinan wondered suddenly if he was somehow aware of her now, and had actually chosen that particular memory in an attempt to scare her away like he had so many others.

But surely he couldn’t do that in his unconscious state...could he?

She sighed. “No wonder you hide, Pava Lar’ragos,” she muttered softly. “I wouldn’t want to burden anyone with that kind of pain, either. Though if you’re listening in there somewhere, I have to warn you that I’m here on orders---not that I wouldn’t have come simply if asked. And I’m not scared that easily, so like it or not I’m staying right here.”

*****

The Klingon Negh’Var-class battleship lay sheathed within its all-concealing cloaking field, immune from detection by the Galor-class cruiser that had just entered orbit around the Cardassian colony they were here to observe.

The dimly light bridge of the mammoth warship was host to a quiet discussion between a tight knot of warriors gathered around the command chair. Seated in the throne-like chair was the brigadier, the warlord charged with carrying out this most sensitive and vital errand on behalf of the High Council of the Klingon Empire.

“What is the disposition of their surface forces?” the leader asked.

“Some twelve-hundred poorly trained and inadequately equipped conscripts, m’lord,” came the quick response. “If this is the best they can muster to safeguard their attempt to re-arm their nation, perhaps they are not the threat we took them to be.”

The warlord in the center seat frowned markedly. “It is their intent that matters here, General, not the success or failure of the endeavor. They have signed a treaty promising not to rebuild their military forces to the same level they previously maintained. From what we’ve seen here and in the other two ‘security zones,’ it is evident that the Central Command intends to resume operating at pre-war levels.”

“And so?” growled Colonel Guerish, the Commando Special Groups leader. “Let them rebuild, and in a decade or two, our next generation of warriors will have the honor of laying waste their union yet again.”

The brigadier shook his head in a gesture of sufferance. “Colonel, the galaxy around us remains largely unexplored, and those vast tracts of cosmos contain threats and treasures so momentous as to give even the wisest warrior pause.” He spread his hands expansively. “Do we allow the treacherous Cardassians the time and opportunity to become a threat to our interests yet again, while we strive to expand the borders of the empire to encompass more systems and servitor species? Why stomach a potent threat so near our home systems? The coming decades may find our people engaged in any number of ferocious conflicts with enemies as yet unseen. Let us not shed precious blood and treasure again on a people already once bested.”

A murmur spread through the group, as the high-ranking officers saw the wisdom in the brigadier’s words.

He raised a gloved fist, prompting the others to return to their own commands. “As soon as they have returned to their vessels, prepare the drones for launch. What are the particulars of the enemy ship?”

“Galor-class cruiser, m’lord,” came the prompt reply. “By designation, the Teravi. The ship is showing signs of recent combat, with stress-related micro-fractures in her hull plating and intermittent failures in her shield generation matrix.”

The cloaked drone craft would approach the Cardassian ship, positioning themselves near the vessel’s bridge, primary weapons ports, and communications array before detonating. Thus crippled and unable to give warning to their comrades, Teravi would be only the first to fall as the mighty fist of the Klingon nation came down upon the military outpost and the civilian colony that supported it.

“All warriors, all ships, to arms,” ordered Brigadier Pava Lar’ragos of the Klingon Defense Forces. “Today we draw first blood. Only when the last of the Cardassian people lay prostrate beneath my boot will I sheath my sword!”

*****

 

Chapter 4

Ansaris II
Ansaris System, Cardassian Union

A rain of disruptor fire slashed through the clear blue sky to explode against the surface in a hellish barrage that was as much felt as it was heard.

Gul Dasin sprinted towards one of the few remaining bunkers, running a zig-zag pattern as he’d been trained years before, despite his knowing that if an energy blast from the devastating orbital bombardment struck anywhere in his vicinity, all the fancy footwork in the galaxy would not make one whit of difference.

He dove through the open doorway, his armored cuirass absorbing the brunt of his chest’s impact with the cement floor. As he scrambled to his feet, someone thrust a phaser rifle into his hands as a voice called out, “Gul, who is it? We’ve lost all contact with the orbital defense grid, and we can’t even identify who’s attacking.”

Dasin fought to catch his breath, cursing the recent weeks he’d spent aboard Teravi since the end of the war neglecting his exercise regimen. “Type-3 disruptor cannons,” he croaked. “And the ships are equipped with cloaking devices. It’s either the Klingons or the Romulans.”

His first officer aboard the Teravi had managed to broadcast a single, brief alert that cloaked mines had just detonated in close proximity to the ship, crippling her. Before Dasin could ask about the identity of the attackers, the signal had been cut off. Although he didn’t want to acknowledge the likelihood of it, in his heart of hearts Dasin knew his beloved warship had been destroyed.

One of the terrified conscripts gaped at him. “But why? Why would they attack us?”

“It would seem that we may have given others in the quadrant reason to harbor hard feelings against us,” Dasin noted dryly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculous inquiry. He tried again to contact Teravi via his communicator, but the communications frequencies were all jammed.

A battle-hardened glinn that Dasin had identified as a combat veteran straight away was calmly checking the charge on his disruptor rifle as he said, “It must be the Romulans, then. If this were the Klingons, they’d have transported down to engage us in close-quarters combat by now. Say what you will about the barbarians, they’re not afraid to fight their enemies face to face.”

As Dasin was about to reply, another salvo of disruptor pulses screamed from the sky to hammer the civilian colony nearby. Great gouts of earth and debris mushroomed skyward as the ground shook violently.

“No!” cried one of the conscripts as he witnessed his home city laid waste. The young man sprinted for the exit to the bunker, only to be met on the threshold by the butt of the glinn’s rifle connecting solidly with his head. The young man collapsed to the floor, blood coursing from a wicked cut to his eye-ridge as he moaned and struggled to cling to consciousness.

Dasin nodded curtly at the glinn, approving of the man’s action. The conscript would accomplish nothing by running out into the nightmarish firestorm except sacrificing his life needlessly.

As he ordered two other men to retrieve the fallen soldier, a runner sprinted into the chamber, skidding to a stop in front of Dasin. “Gul,” the woman nodded respectfully, “Legate Morott requires your presence in the C-in-C.”

Dasin turned and followed as the woman raced back through the narrow and dimly lit bunker corridors. He struggled not to sound out of breath as he called ahead to her, “Does Central Command know what’s happened here?”

“We’re launching a warp-capable distress beacon to call for help right now, Gul,” she answered as she ducked through a pressure door.

* * *​

USS Columbia, en route to Sanctuary

Captains Regan and Sandhurst were headed at last to the transporter room after their long conversation with Admiral Tattok at Starfleet Command and the director of the Department of Temporal Investigations. It was an unpleasant ninety minutes for the both of them, though Lindze Regan admitted to herself that it was likely more discomfiting for Sandhurst than herself. He’d been grilled extensively by the DTI director, as if the woman was trying to make sure that he wasn’t a spy of some kind. When the conference had finally ended, Regan had looked at her fellow captain with a crooked smile.

“Well, that went… well.”

Sandhurst scoffed mildly. “If you say so---though I did warn you that Temporal Investigations would play hardball. ‘Under advisement’ indeed.”

She nodded, and even she was beginning to suspect that DTI would make up some excuse for keeping Gibraltar in this universe. They didn’t care if their own universe needed them, didn’t care how unfair it would be to the people who had families and loved ones they’d left behind. All they would care about is the fact that they had another hundred or so bodies to fill the ranks.

“That you did, Captain, though for your sake and that of your crew, I hope they make the right decision and do what they can to send you home,” she replied.

Gibraltar’s captain then expressed his desire to return to his ship so that he could see to the condition of the vessel and his crew. Regan nodded again and accompanied him to the transporter room.

“If I may say so, Captain Sandhurst, I look forward to getting to know you while you’re here in our little corner of the omniverse,” Regan said as he stepped onto the transporter dais.

Turning, Sandhurst nodded. “Comparing the differences in our respective realities should prove entertaining,” he said with a faint smile. “Even if we do go home, we’re going to be here for a while, giving us plenty of time for a more pleasant conversation.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Captain,” she replied, stepping back toward the operator’s console and glancing over her shoulder. “Whenever the captain is ready, Walter.”

The aged transporter chief nodded without comment and entered a few commands, and Regan turned back to her guest.

“Energize,” Sandhurst called out, and seconds later he disappeared.

As the last vestiges of transporter energy were dissipating, Regan heard her first officer’s voice over the intercom.

“Silmar to Captain Regan.”

With a sigh, she turned and walked out of the transporter room, heading for the nearest turbolift. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“Captain, we’ve just picked up a signal on long-range sensors, transmitting on a Cardassian emergency frequency.”

“A distress call?” she mused aloud as she pushed the call button for the lit. “What’s it saying?”

“The colony on Ansaris II is requesting assistance from any vessel within range. They’re reporting an attack from cloaked ships using type-three disruptors, ma’am.”

She knew of only three species off the top of her head that used that kind of weaponry: Romulan, Breen, and Klingon. Two of those were operating sporadically in Cardassian space already, but all three were known to use cloaking devices. And all three would have reason to attack the Cardassians---the Romulans and Klingons simply because it was in their nature to conquer (though doing so would violate the Allies’ treaty with the Cardassian government), and the Breen perhaps for some payback. After all, during the final engagement of the war, the Cardassian fleet had turned from the battle and the Breen had suffered heavy losses.

A stray thought passed through her mind as the lift car arrived and the door opened for her.

“Isn’t the Ansaris system inside the security zone we left a couple hours ago?” she asked.

“Affirmative, Captain.”

Regan ordered the lift to take her to the bridge, then said, “Commander, get Starfleet Command on the comm again. I won’t make the mistake of going back into that security zone without authorization from the Cardassian government.”

“Understood, Captain. Silmar out.”

Regan’s thoughts churned as she rode the lift up, pondering the unusual circumstances of the attack occurring so soon after their own departure from Security Zone Four. Silmar approached as she stepped out on the bridge a few minutes later, saying, “Captain, Admiral Tattok is online for you.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she said with a nod. “Have it patched to my ready room.”

Silmar nodded and signaled to Lt. Steb as she turned into her office. Sitting at the desk she switched her monitor on, and found not only the small Roylan admiral on the screen, but Captain Natale as well.

“I have advised Captain Natale of the situation,” Tattok began. “We must tread carefully, Captains.”

“Indeed, sir,” Regan replied. “If you order us to respond, I’m fairly certain Gibraltar can make it to Sanctuary under her own power.”

“The only other ship within range of Zone Four is the Triumph, Admiral,” Natale reported. “Certainly a Defiant-class and a Nebula are sufficient to respond, as we don’t have the entire fleet in the system as yet.”

“Both powerful ships... What is the status of the Gibraltar, Captain Regan?” Tattok queried.

Regan frowned. “Begging your pardon, Admiral, but you’re not suggesting the Gibraltar respond to the distress call as well, are you?”

Tattok nodded on his half of the screen. “I'm considering it.”

“It was my understanding that they were heavily damaged before they even crossed the dimensional barrier,” Natale put in, her words telling Regan that Tattok had advised her of the entire situation. “Then they also engaged the Teravi---is the ship even in a condition to fight?”

“Captain Sandhurst told me that his people are very efficient at repairing on the fly,” Regan replied, recalling their brief conversation on the way to the transporter room. “Things are a little more chaotic where they’re from, so they’ve had to become so. But that’s not the point.”

The admiral’s eyestalks turned to her. “What is your point, Captain?”

Columbia’s captain took a breath. “Sir, with all due respect, how can you justify asking them to take part in a conflict which doesn’t even involve them? This isn’t their fight or even their universe---why should they get involved?”

“I did not say I would ask,” the little man said then.

Regan felt her eyes widen, and noticed a similar change in expression on Sanctuary’s commander. “Sir, you cannot order them,” Natale said slowly. “Can you? If they’re not from our universe, does Starfleet even have any authority over the Gibraltar crew?”

Tattok took a moment to look at each woman in turn. “They are Starfleet officers, Captains. They should do their duty in any universe they're in.” He sighed then. “Though I certainly do have the authority to give them orders, that is not my intention. I will, however, make a request of Gibraltar’s captain.”

Lindze Regan sighed imperceptibly. She was grateful to the admiral for not forcing Sandhurst and his crew into anything, and grateful to Natale for her support. Though she’d spent nearly two hours with the man, she found that she could not say for certain what she thought his response would be when asked.

“Why don’t I have our communications officer contact Gibraltar so that you can speak to Captain Sandhurst, sir?” she said then, and at Tattok’s nod, she tapped her commbadge and instructed Lt. Steb to make the connection.

After a few moments, Sandhurst appeared on screen, dressed in a yellow engineering utility jumpsuit with a sheen of sweat beading on his brow. He was seated in a computer interface alcove situated just off a narrow corridor. Sparks could be seen raining down from overhead in the companionway beyond the door. Sandhurst seemed mildly surprised to see multiple faces on his screen, most especially one belonging to yet another species with which he was completely unfamiliar. The diminutive admiral had been fascinating enough, and now this exotic orange-skinned woman had been added to the mix. Tattok’s presence, however, dominated his attention. “Admiral, sir,” Sandhurst offered by reflex.

Tattok nodded minutely. “Greetings once again, Captain. A most disturbing situation has come to our attention. The colony on Ansaris II has been attacked and the starships Columbia and Triumph are responding... but three ships would be better than two.”

It would have been impossible to miss the dark cloud that briefly swept across Sandhurst’s features at the admiral’s assessment. There was a moment’s pause, after which he offered a very subtle nod as the worry lines in his face seemed to deepen. “Of course, sir. My ship and I are at your disposal.”

“Donald,” Regan began quietly, having noticed Sandhurst’s brief scowl. “Are you sure? This isn’t your universe so it’s not your fight.”

“No one would blame you if you wanted come on ahead to Sanctuary to finish your repairs, Captain,” Natale added.

Tattok nodded again. “They are correct, captain---I'm not ordering you to assist. The decision is yours,” he said solemnly.

Sandhurst inclined his head, presumably toward Regan. “Thank you, Captains, Admiral. I understand that this isn’t necessarily ‘our’ fight. In my universe, more often than not Starfleet is behind the eight-ball. We never have enough ships or personnel to do all that’s asked of us, and I’ve witnessed more good people than I care to remember die because of those shortfalls.” He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to take in the officers facing him. “Ultimately, Starfleet exemplifies an ideal, that of helping others in need, regardless of the costs to ourselves. I’m sure that ideal is as alive and well in this universe as it is in my own.”

“Well spoken, Captain Sandhurst,” Tattok said. “We have those ideals here and they are indeed alive and well. You are to be commended for your willingness to participate in this operation.”

“What is the status of your weapons and warp drive, Captain?” Regan asked. “Obviously we’ll have to disengage our tractor beam so you can fly under your own power---the question is do you have that power?”

“Our warp drive will be restored within the hour. We’ll have phasers online in two and a half hours, and our torpedo systems were undamaged. We can be underway as soon as the engine repairs are complete. With the exception of relatively cosmetic hull damage, Gibraltar will be battle ready by the time we reach the Ansaris system.” Though he tried to cover the pride in his voice, it was evident nonetheless. “We’ve got rather good at conducting field repairs.”

Despite her misgivings, Regan smiled. “So you said. If possible, try to get your phasers online a little sooner. We’ll head back to Zone Four immediately---we’re about two hours out and it would be good to have you fully armed when we arrive. I’ll leave my engineers onboard your ship until the last possible moment to help you speed things along. Captain Natale, what’s the status of the Triumph?”

Natale consulted something offscreen, then looked back. “Captain Wallace is flying faster than you are at present, but he’s also farther away---though still closer than anyone else is. I believe he’ll arrive at about the same time as Columbia and Gibraltar.”

“Good to know. Admiral, we’ll certainly do our best to keep you posted,” Regan said then.

“Appreciated, Captains. Good luck to you both,” Tattok replied, then severed his connection.

Natale looked at both Regan and Sandhurst with the same solemn expression. “Flying in blind, not knowing what you’re up against, is never an easy situation. Both of you take care,” she said.

Regan nodded and offered her a small smile, having already developed an affection for the younger woman, and an appreciation for her responsibilities as commander of the station and de facto fleet liaison. “You know I will, Synnove.”

Sandhurst cocked his head thoughtfully, looking at Regan. “Well, I took the phasers offline to effect repairs to the power-transfer systems. I can have them up and running again in thirty minutes, but until those couplings are fixed or replaced we’ll only have about seventy-five percent power to our phaser banks.”

“Don’t short-change yourself, Captain. I’d rather have you at full power, but of course I’ll leave it to you how you handle your repairs. Just do the best you can,” Regan told him. “Captain Natale, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from us soon.”

“I better. Sanctuary out.”

With a sigh, Regan then looked at Sandhurst. “How well could your ship really perform if you go in with your phasers at seventy-five percent, Donald? Tell me honestly---goodness knows what we’re up against.”

“My ship’s edge is in its maneuverability, Captain. Our phasers are underpowered to begin with, but we can pack a punch with our photons.” He smirked conspiratorially. “Any chance you’ve got some quantum warheads you’d be willing to part with?”

“I’ll have to check, but if we can spare any, they’re yours. Alright, if you think you can manage with seventy-five percent power, then go for it. I don’t like you being at a disadvantage, but then your entire ship is a disadvantage given how old she is---not that I’m demeaning such a fine lady. You just don’t see ‘em around much anymore,” Regan told him.

“No offense taken. That seeming vulnerability is to our advantage, Captain. More than one of our opponents have been blindsided because they refused to take a century old Connie seriously.”

She had to grin at the pride he so evidently felt for his ship. Regan knew she’d feel the same about hers, or any ship named Columbia. “And it’s an advantage we’ll certainly exploit,” she said, then sighed. “At least with a Connie you don’t have to worry about families. Flying a ship with children onboard into a combat situation never gets any easier. My kids just came back onboard for the first time since the war, and already...”

She shook herself slightly, feeling a mild flush creep up at her lapse in decorum. “As I said, we’ll be back in Security Zone Four in about two hours, perhaps a little less now. Signal when your engines are ready and we’ll deactivate the tractor beam and beam back our people.”

Sandhurst took notice of Regan’s momentary lapse. “Captain, if you’d like, my shuttles are at your disposal. We could offload your civilians onto our auxiliary craft and send them back to Sanctuary to get them out of harm’s way.”

“I’ve considered doing that with our own, as we have plenty of shuttles. I just don’t know if we can afford to spare the personnel to fly them---not many of our adult civilians possess the necessary know-how to pilot a shuttle. I’ll have to speak with my first officer while there’s still time, get his assessment. I do thank you, though, for your offer. If we have need of any of your shuttlecraft, I’ll let you know. Right now, I think, we both need to see to preparing our crews.”

“Agreed,” Sandhurst replied. “I’ll contact you as soon as we’re ready to go to warp. Gibraltar, out.”

* * *​

 

Klingon Imperial Warship K'Mpec
Ansaris System, Cardassian Union

Glinn Vettrel writhed in pain as the searing dermal probes pulled free from his traumatized flesh. They were mounted on an automated armature device that retracted up and into the darkness, leaving Vettrel panting in agony as he considered his fate.

“You know,” a voice spoke from out of the surrounding gloom, “I’ve always envied the Cardassian people their resilience. To have suffered so greatly for so long, and to have used that experience as the driving force behind creating an empire… I can empathize. Your people’s experience is not unlike that of the Klingons after the depredations of the H’urq.”

Vettrel drew in a sharp breath as he struggled to override the pain signals from his abused body which threatened to completely overwhelm him. “Why have you… attacked us?” he croaked. “Where is the Teravi? What have you done with the crew?”

“You know why,” the voice responded with an edge of condemnation. “You invited the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant and plunged our worlds into war. You then betrayed your masters at the last possible moment, proving your treacherous nature beyond any doubt. And here, now, we find that you’re re-arming in violation of the armistice.”

“I… I know nothing of that,” Vettrel hissed as he fought to suppress the misery of his injuries.

A human then appeared before him, approaching from out of the dark. He looked to be relatively youthful, and was adorned with a Klingon military uniform, all leather, metal, and fur. “Glinn, your people must be brought to heel. The Cardassian nation nearly led the whole of the Alpha Quadrant into slavery, and this cannot be forgiven, or forgotten.”

“Who—who are you?” Vettrel spat, his eyes wide with both agony and anger.

“Your lord and master, Cardassian,” the man answered with a tight smile that Vettrel found unaccountably disturbing.

“Never,” the glinn replied with tormented conviction. “We’ll die before we kneel before the Klingons or anyone else.”

The man shrugged casually. “That would solve the problem to my satisfaction.”

Vettrel coughed, his chest wheezing with a sickly gurgle. “My people are trained to resist physical and mental torture from infancy, human. You will learn nothing from me that you might use against Cardassia.”

The man appeared momentarily confused, but then raised his eyebrows expressively as he caught the glinn’s reference. “Oh, you mean this business?” he asked as he slowly inserted a finger into one of blackened holes the dermal probes had left scorched into Vettrel’s chest. “And I’ll thank you not to confuse me with a human again. It makes me rather… testy.”

Vettrel gasped in response, his mouth open wide in a soundless scream of purest anguish.

“To clarify, Glinn, this is not a technique employed to glean information from you, but a method I utilize to gain a greater understanding of the person I’m confronted with. For instance, subjecting you to these tests has confirmed for me that I must explore alternative means to gain your cooperation. Mere physical discomfort would be insufficient.”

Vettrel struggled briefly to break free of the apparatus that shackled him in place, to no avail. His body sagged in response to his growing exhaustion and cumulative wounds.

A holographic image sprang to life before him, and Vettrel was shocked back to full consciousness by a crude electrical charge lancing through his restraints.

“This is, if I’m not mistaken, your home city of Bathuul on Cardassia IV,” the man announced matter-of-factly, as though he were narrating a documentary, “some twenty-seven light years distant from our present position.” The image, clearly taken from an orbital perspective, zoomed in on the continent below to reveal a sizeable metropolis that still bore the scars of the Dominion’s brutal reprisals months earlier.

“And here we see the neighborhood where you were raised, Ilisan Vettrel. The park where you played with your siblings as a child, the same park you bring your children to when you’re home on leave.” The image increased in resolution until a patch of picturesque parkland could be observed.

“And here,” the man continued, “less than half a kilometer away, is your home. This structure has housed generations of your family for well over two centuries, hasn’t it?”

Vettrel gaped at the image, his mind racing as he tried to understand how this man could know such intimate details of his life.

The image of the house became opaque, and was overlaid by graphical representations showing the present occupants of the structure. “And here we find your lovely, devoted wife Mileksyne, and your six children, preparing for the day ahead.” The man turned to observe Vettrel’s confused expression, a faint smile gracing his thin lips.

“Holographic trickery,” Vettrel spat defiantly.

“I assure you, Glinn, this is all too real,” the man replied languidly. Though every fiber of his being wanted to deny it, Vettrel harbored a gnawing suspicion that the man’s words were true.

“Glinn Vettrel, please divulge the locations of the Central Command’s other secret military installations.”

Vettrel replied with the most vulgar Klingon curse he could muster.

The man laughed without humor, and then corrected the Cardassian’s pronunciation of the epithet. “Do you have a favorite from among your children, Glinn?” the man asked conversationally. “One that you would wish to see spared above the rest?”

He pulled valiantly against his restraints yet again, but Vettrel succeeded in doing nothing more than tiring himself further and aggravating his weeping injuries. He stared daggers at his captor, but remained silent.

The man nodded fractionally. “It’s always been Sinmai, your eldest daughter. She bears a striking resemblance to your older sister who died when you were only six. Even their voices sound quite similar.”

Vettrel couldn’t summon a response as the man laid bare the Cardassian officer’s very soul.

“So be it. Out of respect to you, she will be last among your family to pay for your intransigence.” The man removed a compact padd from his belt, holding the device up for Vettrel’s inspection. “The images you see are courtesy of a cloaked attack drone in orbit of Cardassia IV. Even when the cloaking field is disengaged, the device’s stealth surfacing makes it nearly invisible to sensors. Taking into account the still woefully inadequate scanner coverage remaining to the civil authorities on that world following the war, the odds of it being detected are virtually nil.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that you’ve gone to all this effort for a single mid-level military officer,” Vettrel countered as he desperately tried to convince himself of that fact.

“You may believe whatever you like,” the man rejoined. “Unfortunately, Klingon disruptors are too crude a weapon for such precision targeting. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I was forced to modify high-yield Ferengi phasers for this task.”

The image zoomed in again, this time close enough that Vettrel could make out the form of his youngest son, Kinmas, sitting in his booster chair at the breakfast table as his wife finished preparing the morning meal.

“As you’ve known Kinmas the least amount of time of all your offspring, his loss should be somewhat less acute.” And with that, the man triggered the device in his hand. Less than a second later, the image flared as a beam weapon scythed into his home from sixty kilometers overhead and vaporized his two-year old child.

He could see Mileksyne, who had been thrown to the floor by the blast, flailing at the base of the food-preparation station.

“It will take your wife a moment to process what has just happened,” Brigadier Pava Lar’ragos observed with a detached amusement that made Vettrel’s blood run cold. The El Aurian gave his Cardassian prisoner a questioning look. “Do you recall the locations of the other covert installations, Glinn Vettrel?”

Vettrel’s heart thundered in his chest as the image shifted to that of his next oldest child, now cowering in the home’s sanitation portal as his mother’s horrified screams rang throughout the house.

Pava held the padd aloft once again. “No? Very well, then…”

* * *​

 

Yikes. I'd start talking, personally, probably why I'm not a Cardassian officer.

 

Wait!?! There's new Gibraltar pr0n?!? I gots me some catchin' up ta do!

 

I've wondered what a Mirror Universe Pava would be like. Granted, this isn't THE Mirror Universe but a different 'verse nonetheless with a Pava lacking any moral compunctions. Scarier still is the thought that this Pava is not 180 degrees opposite but perhaps a few enough degrees different to separate a hero from a tyrant.

 

Chapter 5

USS Gibraltar
Observation Lounge, Deck 2

Sandhurst had assembled the senior staff to inform them of his decision regarding Vice-Admiral Tattok’s request. Everyone was in attendance with the exception of Pell Ojana, who was minding the bridge as repairs to Gibraltar’s systems neared completion. Even the beleaguered and exhausted Lieutenant Ashok was present for the briefing, and appeared so overwhelmed by the last thirty-six hours that he was uncharacteristically silent about having to attend the meeting.

The captain took a moment to appraise the expressions of his senior officers before announcing his intentions. “First, I want to make it clear that I understand that all of us are hoping to find a way to return to our own reality. Our families, friends, and careers are back there waiting for us. However, the stark reality of our situation is that finding a way back could take months, years, or it may never happen, given the apparently random nature of the circumstances that brought us here.”

Some of the younger and less experienced officers began to shift uneasily in their seats at this proclamation, having hoped to hear the captain reveal some ingenious plan to see them all quickly and safely home.

Ramirez observed him silently, keeping her own counsel.

“Taking all that into consideration,” Sandhurst continued, “we are presented with circumstances in the here and now that are impossible to ignore. The Starfleet in this dimension is plagued by the same shortages in ships and personnel as our own.” He reached forward to toggle a control set into the table’s surface. The large viewscreen set into the inner bulkhead came to life, displaying a diagram of the nearby Ansaris system.

“Their Federation has just lost contact with all Cardassian assets in the Ansaris system, to include the warship that we mistakenly engaged upon our arrival. A distress call from a mayday buoy deployed from the system indicates they were attacked by a threat force utilizing cloaking technology and disruptors, so it’s a good bet either the Klingons or the Romulans are involved.”

Ashok folded his arms across his broad chest defensively and Juneau emitted an audible sigh. Lightner rubbed his chin in an unconsciously anxious gesture while Shanthi’s frown threatened to collapse into a full blown scowl. Taiee sat forward in her chair with concern etched into her features as Ramirez maintained a painstakingly neutral poker face.

“We could very easily turn around and set course for Sanctuary, both literally and figuratively, but we’d be leaving our fellow Starfleet personnel to cope with whoever’s tearing apart the Ansaris system without support.”

Juneau began to fidget, clearly on the verge of speaking out of turn. Ramirez, seated next to the impulsive young lieutenant, made no move to intervene.

“Therefore, I have agreed that Gibraltar will participate in the task force investigating the Ansaris situation, offering whatever assistance or support we can.”

Juneau’s hand shot up practically before Sandhurst’s voice had trailed off. He steeled himself for what was sure to be only the first of several heated objections to his chosen course. “Permission to speak candidly granted, Lieutenant,” he announced preemptively. “That extends to all of you,” he added, surveying the faces around the table once again.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she seethed, gesturing animatedly. “This isn’t our fight, Captain! It’s not even our reality!”

Sandhurst observed her patiently for a moment before forming his reply. In a soft, yet determined voice, he answered, “It’s our reality now, Lieutenant. This Starfleet wears the same uniform we do, and swore the same oath we did… word for word. They’re dedicated to the same principles we are.”

“Respectfully, sir,” Shanthi spoke up, interrupting Sandhurst’s train of thought. “Doesn’t the Temporal Prime Directive prohibit us from becoming involved in the affairs of other timelines and realities?”

“The TPD does caution against interfering with the natural progression of events in alternate timelines, yes. However, it’s less a hard and fast prohibition than an assessment made on a case-by-case basis by the commanding officer.”

“And your argument in favor of intervening on the side of this alternate Starfleet is what, Captain?” Taiee asked pointedly.

He answered with conviction, “To put it simply, given the circumstances, it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing for whom, sir?” Ashok rejoined. “Walking into a fight that doesn’t involve us, one that might well violate Federation law and Starfleet protocol, and that could endanger our attempts to get home intact doesn’t strike me as the wisest course.”

Taiee stared sidelong at the enormous Bolian. It was the most she had ever heard the notoriously tight-lipped engineer say at one time.

Sandhurst stiffened, unprepared for both the intensity of the opposition to his plan, and the number of senior officers voicing their reservations. He held up a hand in a gesture of delay. “I realize this course of action provokes strong feelings in all of you. I want to return to our space as much as anyone, but I won’t do it at the expense of our fellow Starfleet personnel.”

“But they’re not!” Juneau exclaimed heatedly.

Sandhurst’s jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his irritation with Juneau’s outbursts. “I disagree, Lieutenant. And as I am the highest ranking officer from our quantum reality, my judgment in this matter prevails.”

He turned to examine Ramirez, who continued to remain silent, though she watched him intently. “Commander, you’ve yet to render an opinion on the matter.”

“My input is not required, Captain,” she replied neutrally. “My duty is to carry out my captain’s commands to the best of my abilities.”

“Fine,” he said a bit too succinctly. “Good.” Sandhurst drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he turned back to the others. “If there’s nothing else, I want all of you to see to combat preparations. Columbia is sending over a load-out of six quantum torpedoes, which we’ll use sparingly if we end up in a fight with someone.”

He looked to each department head as he continued issuing orders. “Ops, I want a dozen Class-I sensor probes prepped and ready for deployment. I want them rigged to erect a tachyon-detection screen between them. Hopefully, that’ll give us a little advance notice if some cloaked ships come sneaking around. Medical, have Sickbay prepped for mass casualty triage from the colony. Engineering, I know we’ve already taken a beating, but make us ready as you can for more. Our phaser banks are the priority. I also want replacement critical systems components staged nearby priority target locations, like weapons arrays and shield generators.”

A litany of confirmations answered him, but it was impossible to miss the reticent tone of the responses. The officers filtered out of the briefing room, uncharacteristically quiet, leaving Sandhurst and Ramirez alone.

The captain turned in his chair to face his XO. “Okay, Exec. Let’s have it.”

The merest hint of a smirk tugged at one corner of Ramirez’s mouth. “As a matter of fact, I agree completely with your choosing to ally with their Starfleet, sir.”

She was holding something back, so Sandhurst pushed with a, “But…?”

“You’ve selected the correct course of action, but I believe your reasoning could use some more scrutiny, sir.” she offered after a moment’s hesitation.

He gave her an expression that begged elaboration.

“We’re Starfleet, they’re Starfleet. We have a mission to complete before we can start concentrating on getting home, I get that. Nevertheless, we have a Cardassian colony which is being jeopardized by a powerful threat force, quite possibly the Klingons. We’re one of three starships being sent to render aid and investigate. The lead ship is a Nebula-class cruiser.”

Sandhurst appeared confused. “And?”

Her smirk blossomed into a full smile. “Is any of this sounding familiar, Captain? If you could find a scenario closer to what we faced at Lakesh, I’d like to see it.”

The color drained from Sandhurst’s features as he settled back into his chair, his countenance one of utter surprise. “I… I hadn’t thought about it in those terms,” he practically stammered. Sandhurst shook his head slowly. “I can’t deny that it’s an apt comparison, but this is the situation we find ourselves in.”

Ramirez held his gaze with a hard look. “Like I said, sir, I’m completely onboard with offering our assistance. I just want you to be cognizant of the parallels here. I’d hate to see you compromise the crew’s safety because you were trying to ‘win’ a scenario that you felt you lost the first go around back home.”

“Of course…” his voice trailed off as he wrestled with this new and uncomfortable revelation.

Ramirez stood. “Master Chief Tark is overseeing the arrival of our ‘loaner’ quantums, so I’d better get back up to the bridge to carry out the final checks on our tactical systems.” She paused, waiting a moment until Sandhurst broke free from his reverie to acknowledge her departure. “With your permission, Captain?”

“Yes, of course. Dismissed, Exec,” he uttered distractedly.

* * *​

He felt the presence… the contact… the energy of another of his kind in close proximity. It was a welcoming sensation, not unlike a spreading feeling of peace and warmth. As his consciousness bubbled to the surface, he began to take in his surroundings, noting the muted sounds, hushed conversations and the antiseptic smell of Sickbay. And, unless he was mistaken, there was someone holding his hand.

Lar’ragos opened his eyes to inspect his visitor and found himself looking into an unfamiliar face. Though he’d never set eyes on her before, the beautiful woman sitting at his bedside was clearly El Aurian, radiating an ethereal energy that only his species could lay claim to.

“Small galaxy,” he croaked, his throat parched.

Chariza had been sitting with Lar’ragos for a couple of hours when the bits and pieces of memory---most of which showed her the hardships he had lived through, but a small few of which had featured the people she assumed he considered himself close to, among them Captain Sandhurst---suddenly stopped. She concentrated on his face, saw that the tightness which had for so long pursed his lips had relaxed, saw that the shifting of his eyes behind their lids had slowed. She felt a sudden sensation of welcome and knew that he not only sensed her, but was actually pleased another of his kind sat beside him.

And then it was as though an emergency bulkhead had slammed down between them, for suddenly she felt absolutely nothing---no sense of his memories, his emotions, his thoughts... not even the ethereal energy her people emitted naturally. Though he was very much physically in front of her, psionically it was as if Pava Lar’ragos had vanished.

Guinan started, her eyes widening a fraction even as his eyes opened and settled on her face and he spoke. She blinked, blurting the first thing that came to her mind: “How the hell do you do that?”

“Years of practice,” he answered after taking a long sip from a water bottle provided by one of the nurses. He blinked, clearing his eyes, then assessed her for a long moment. “Pava Lar’ragos,” he said by way of introduction, “though I’m guessing you already know that.”

Shaking herself minutely to dispel her discomfort, Guinan smiled lightly. Given the horrors she had seen while he slept, her instincts told her he’d had to learn to shield himself the way he did as a means of self-preservation, and had likely been doing it for so very long that it was now an automatic function of his cerebral cortex. She could hardly begrudge the man doing what was necessary in order to survive, so she decided she would not let the odd sensation of emptiness bother her---but it was truly strange to meet someone who could shield himself so completely. Chariza doubted he registered to even the most gifted of telepaths.

Nodding, she replied, “I do. My name is Chariza Guinan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lar’ragos.”

He frowned, inspecting her yet again as if looking for some minute flaw that he could sense but could not see outright. “I thought I knew all of Guinan’s children…” he murmured, the tenor of confusion in his voice.

Raising an eyebrow, his visitor said, “So you’ve met my mother?” then shook her head with a chuckle. “As she tells it, she’s had ‘many’ children, so it’s really not a surprise that you’ve missed one or two. For that matter, I can’t even say for certain that I know all my brothers and sisters---and truth be told, I’m not all that close with my mother. Guinan’s not even the surname I was born with, but I suppose you could say I adopted it in a misguided attempt to feel closer to her.”

She shrugged dismissively, then suddenly realized she was still holding his hand. Feeling slightly embarrassed now that he was awake, she started to lay it back down on the bed. “Um, sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be,” he replied smoothly with a disarming smile. He laid his head back on the pillow, still observing her. The smile faded, and he suddenly appeared concerned. “Try not to take this the wrong way… but you’re wrong.” He blinked again, as if trying to cast away some phantom image. “Or maybe it’s just me… but something’s not right here.”

Guinan frowned for a moment, then realized he was not yet aware of what had happened. “I think I know what you mean. I hate to have to tell you this, but as it’s likely what led to your being in Sickbay... Pava, you and your ship are not in the universe to which you belong. When your ship warped out of the battle you were in, there was a warp core explosion at the same moment---one of the other ships in your convoy, I’m afraid---and those two events happening simultaneously pushed Gibraltar through a dimensional barrier. You’re in a parallel reality.”

Unexpectedly, Lar’ragos actually laughed at the revelation, relieved to finally have an explanation for the overwhelming sense of disorientation that had gripped him since he’d awakened. “Of course,” he remarked dryly. “Only we’d end up tossed into the wrong dimension. If it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all.”

“Oh, come on now, Mr. Lar’ragos,” Guinan said. “You’ve lived through the Borg, the Hirogen, and the Dominion---and you’re still here. I’d say you’ve had some good luck.” Even if you do hide yourself away from everyone, she added silently.

Lar’ragos looked up sharply in response to her appraisal. He eyes clouded, his mind plagued with dark memories. “It’s not for lack of trying, young lady,” he said softly, though his voice held an undercurrent of icy detachment. “It’s just that nobody’s been up to the challenge.”

Oh no you don’t, she thought, raising an eyebrow as she studied his expression. “I may be a little more than two hundred years younger than you, but at my age I am hardly a child. Though given what I have seen of your past---your little shielding technique apparently doesn’t work while under the healing trance---I’ll concede that taking you down would be a most difficult feat indeed. Your ability to endure what you’ve been through is a testament to the strength of your spirit. Perhaps it is why Captain Sandhurst was so hopeful that I’d be able to help you---I think he draws some of his strength from you, from knowing you have seen and lived through much worse than you will ever tell him. Having strong people around him makes him a stronger leader.”

She lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant manner. “Of course, what do I know? I only spoke to the man for a few minutes. You, on the other hand, I’ve been sitting with for nearly two hours.”

The red alert klaxon sounded in time with the flashing crimson lights, indicating that the ship was now stepping up to battle stations. Lar’ragos looked to Guinan, his expression earnest. “Speaking of Donald, what’s he got us into now?”

She stood and looked round for the pleasant woman who’d been standing next to his bed when she had come in earlier. “I don’t know---like I said, I’ve been sitting here the you for the last two hours.”

The first person to pass by in a few minutes happened to be one of the medical assistants from Columbia. Guinan reached out and took gentle hold of the young man’s arm, asking, “Do you know where Gibraltar’s doctor is? Or for that matter, what’s going on?”

“You mean no one’s told you?” he countered, and when she shook her head, he went on, saying, “Apparently Columbia, Gibraltar, and the Triumph are responding to a distress call in the Ansaris system. They were attacked.”

Guinan frowned. “We’re heading back into a restricted security zone on purpose, Ensign? Pardon me, but perhaps you heard that wrong.”

The ensign shook his head. “No, ma’am. From what I heard, we’ve permission from the Cardassian government to investigate, since we’re the closest ships in range.”

* * *​

 

Klingon Vor’cha-class Battle-cruiser Jeg’Vahm

Captain Ta’gahN sat ensconced in his command chair, watching from under hooded brows as the tactical plot-map registered the arrival of three Federation starships at the edge of the Ansaris system. “Report!” he barked, spittle flecking his graying beard.

“One Federation battle-cruiser, and two escort ships, sir!” the tactical sensor officer announced.

Ta’gahN grimaced. His rear-guard task force still had nearly two-hundred warriors on the surface, sifting through the rubble of the Cardassian colony and the military outpost that had been concealed beneath it. While the brigadier had taken the rest of the assault group on to the next target, Ta’gahN’s squadron had been tasked with locating and exterminating any remaining Cardassian holdouts dug in on the planet, as well as confiscating any advanced weaponry the military complex had been researching.

He knew that Federation interference was a possibility from the outset of the mission, and that if pushed he might have to open fire on the empire’s allies, but he did not relish that idea.

The grizzled Klingon captain had fought alongside many Starfleet officers during the Dominion War, and had found that they comported themselves well and honorably in combat, evidencing self-sacrifice, courage, and a host of other admirable qualities. Ta’gahN knew of many Klingon commanders who merely tolerated the alliance with the Federation, but he himself firmly believed that they had proved themselves worthy partners.

“Their capabilities?” he inquired, though he’d assessed that almost immediately after the starships had been detected.

“The heavy-cruiser and the gunship escort will doubtless prove formidable, sir. The older ship is maneuverable, but its design proved too vulnerable and was phased out of service decades ago. Its weapons are limited.”

Ta’gahN bobbed his head once in silent assent, finding the senior officer’s assessment credible.

“Alert the Kraas and Ving’Ma to widen their orbits and step up to defense condition two. If we are forced to reveal ourselves to the Federation craft, I want them to initiate attack pattern forge-hammer, variation four. The Nebula will be our primary target, followed by the gunship, and then the older escort ship.”

The various stations acknowledged his orders and set about laying the trap that Captain Ta’gahN hoped he would not be forced to spring on his erstwhile Starfleet comrades.

* * *​

Sandhurst’s combadge chirped just as he was reaching into the EPS junction for a very delicate adjustment with a micro-EM-attenuator. “Go ahead,” he called out, opening a comms frequency without touching the device.

Ramirez’s voice issued from the compin. “Captain, ETA to Ansaris system is ten minutes.”

“Acknowledged,” he said patiently, trying to ignore the sweat dripping into his left eye from his forehead. “I’ll be up to the bridge by the time we drop out of warp, Commander.”

“Understood, sir.”

He finish making the repair, his hands operating deftly even within the confined space of the junction. At least I haven’t lost my touch, he thought with satisfaction. He replaced the junction cover hatch, then backed out of the maintenance crawl-way and into the corridor where the rest of his repair team was busily sealing the last of Gibraltar’s hull breaches.

Sandhurst replaced his equipment, then hustled double-time to his quarters where he exchanged his engineering jumpsuit for his duty uniform before reporting to the bridge.

* * *​

As Natale had calculated, just moments after Columbia and Gibraltar dropped out of warp at the edge of the Ansaris system, the Defiant-class Triumph arrived.

Standing and striding toward the front of the bridge, Regan looked at Steb. “Open a channel with Gibraltar and Triumph, Lieutenant.”

The Selkie acknowledged as she then ordered the relief Operations officer to scan the system, before greeting the other two captains who appeared on her screen.

“Captain Wallace, a pleasure to see you again. I only wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Aye,” Brian Wallace replied. “The feeling is mutual, Captain.”

Gesturing, Regan introduced Wallace and Sandhurst. “Have either of you picked up anything out of place on your scans?” she asked them.

“Negative,” Sandhurst replied after looking over his shoulder at Shanthi’s shaking head at the Science board. “We’ve got a flight of Class-I probes rigged to establish a tachyon sensor net. It won’t give us much coverage, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Captain,” Regan replied, garnering an assenting nod from Wallace. “Once we’re in system, deploy your probes and set them to orbit the planet. Captain Wallace, Triumph will take a flanking position, and Gibraltar will bring up the rear. We’ve got point.”

“Affirmative, Captain,” said the Scotsman. “Triumph is ready when you are.”

“Aye, Captain. We’ll launch probes once we’re in range of the planet,” Sandhurst affirmed.

“Then I suggest we do what we came here for. Columbia out.” When the screen switched to an outside view of the two smaller ships pulling into formation at Columbia’s left and rear, the captain turned to her pilot and ordered him to take the ship in at full impulse.

“Red alert,” Silmar called out as Regan turned around and moved to take her seat again.

“Mr. Tyrel, phasers and torpedoes on standby---just in case,” the captain called over her shoulder, then spared a glance at her first officer, who informed her,

“Major Nir’ahn reports the Marine landing party is ‘locked and loaded,’ as are the security personnel assigned to accompany them.”

Regan nodded, her eyes on the screen. “Advise the major we will be in transporter range in just a few minutes.”

“Captain,” called Ensign Toroh from her place at Science I, “sensors are picking up Klingon lifesigns on the surface of Ansaris II.”

Klingons? Regan thought, wondering just what the hell they were doing violating the armistice, when the Klingons could hardly afford another war as much as anyone else at this point. This was a bold, blatant move on their part, which told her they were after something.

“Operations, transmit a message to Sanctuary that we’ve encountered Klingon forces at Ansaris,” Regan ordered, then looked over at the science station. “Cardassian lifesigns, Ensign?”

The young officer checked her board. “I’m picking up a small knot of Cardassian lifesigns at the same location as a number of Klingon biosigns. The rest are scattered.”

“It would appear that the Klingons wish to take prisoners,” Silmar commented.

“So it would, Commander,” Regan returned.

The Jeg’Vahm appeared as impressively as it did unexpectedly, immediately in Columbia’s path at a distance of some one-million kilometers. Although the battle-cruiser’s weapons were powered down, her shields were fully deployed.

The operations officer reported this new development even as it was happening. Lindze Regan settled more firmly into her seat.

“Maintain course and speed, Mr. Faris," Regan called to her pilot. "Mr. Steb, open a channel to the Klingon ship.”

Both officers acknowledged, then Steb called out, “Channel open, Captain.”

“Klingon vessel, this is Captain Lindze Regan of the Federation Starship Columbia. Your presence in Security Zone Four and your unprovoked attack on a civilian colony is a blatant violation of the aide agreement with the Cardassian government as well as the Treaty of Bajor. Recall your ground forces and leave the system now, so that further acts of war can be avoided.”

A high-ridged, craggy-faced Klingon officer sat facing the viewscreen on the darkened bridge of the warship. “I am Captain Ta’gahN,” he announced in a throaty growl, “of the Klingon Defense Forces. We are conducting special operations in this system against Cardassian insurgents. I respectfully request you depart this system immediately, Captain, so as to avoid any unfortunate friendly-fire incidents.”

Regan raised an eyebrow. “If you are conducting these special operations legally, Captain, then may I ask why your efforts were not coordinated with Sanctuary? Why is there not least one Cardassian military vessel in orbit with you? Cooperation on such an endeavor between Cardassian and Allied forces is a requirement of the Federation’s aide agreement with the new Detapa Council as government and policing of Cardassian citizens remains a duty of the Cardassian government, after all.”

Ta’gahN glowered from beneath his prominent crest. “This is an internal Klingon matter, Captain. The Cardassians are understandably reticent to assist in our efforts at digging out the insurgency here. As helpful allies of the new Cardassian state, we have taken it upon ourselves to shoulder this burden alone. As for why Starfleet was not informed, I do not know.”

Her smile was benign, but internally Regan growled. “I’m afraid that I disagree with you---this is far more than ‘an internal Klingon matter’ when you violate established terms of peace. Any information gathered by your government as to the activities of insurgent forces, especially those operating within a restricted security zone, was required by the signing of the aid agreement that you share it with both the Cardassians and the Federation. As fond as he was of our allegiance, I find it difficult to believe that Chancellor Martok would risk alienating his Federation allies, so I am left to assume that you are operating without government approval. Knowing that we would have made every effort to conduct a proper investigation into reports of insurgent activity, instead of coming in to shoot first and ask questions later---as you have clearly done here---is, I suspect, why Starfleet was not informed of your plans.”

She stood then and strode forward, her expression firm and unyielding. “I respectfully request, Captain, that you recall your ground forces and leave. Now. Before you make things worse.”

The formidable looking warrior sat forward in his throne-like command chair. His voice lowered another octave, which couldn’t have been easily done given his natural register. “Captain, I am in the process of withdrawing my ground forces as we speak. We will depart this system within the hour. Until that time, any approach by your vessels to the planet could, and very likely would result in unfortunate consequences. As for the legality of our operations, such things are the vagaries of admirals, diplomats, and politicians. My concern is solely with defending the Empire against all enemies, Cardassian insurgents included.”

Regan realized he was attempting to intimidate her. She also had the feeling he was bluffing through his beard, so she asked her science officer, “Do we have confirmation that the Klingon ground forces are withdrawing, Ensign Toroh?”

“Sensors are showing transporter activity on the surface, Captain,” Toroh reported. “However, it appears the Klingons are taking some of the Cardassians with them.”

Mimicking the man on the screen, Regan lowered her own voice. “I won’t allow you to take prisoners to be tortured and killed at your whim, Captain. I intend to continue my approach to the planet despite your obvious threat to engage in hostile action against your allies. I have been ordered by my government and that of the Cardassians to investigate what has happened here, and I have every intention of doing that. I will not be intimidated by you, Ta’gahN, nor will I give you an hour to gather more prisoners or execute every Cardassian within range of your disruptors on the planet’s surface, regardless of innocence or guilt. Either collect your troops---and only your troops---and withdraw in the next ten minutes, or be prepared to risk inciting another interstellar incident. Your choice, Captain---do you want to go to war again?”

Ta’gahN inclined his head towards the viewer, as if accepting a challenge. “Let me speak plainly. If you approach the planet before my ships have withdrawn, I will fire on you. Before I do so, I will bombard the surface of that world with cobalt diselenide-laced explosives that will render the planet uninhabitable to Cardassians for the next two-hundred years. It will also have the unfortunate side effect of killing any Cardassians left on the surface.”

The Klingon captain offered a grim smile. “I would be honored to do battle with the great Captain Regan, hero of the Battle of Selva. Death at your hands would assure me a place in Sto-vo-kor.” He cocked his head slightly, as if assessing her mettle. “Are you willing to risk the precious lives of your crew because of your impatience? Is an hour worth the lives of dozens or hundreds of your people, Captain?”

Regan ground her teeth and took a barely perceptible breath to retain her calm. She signaled to Steb to pause the audio. “Lieutenant, advise the Triumph that their priority is to to take out anything fired at the surface.”

“Yes, Captain,” the communications officer replied, quickly carrying out the order.

“Captain, if I may speak freely, why not just give them the hour?” spoke up Tyrel from Tactical. “So they take a few dozen prisoners, so what? What’s a few dozen compared to the millions the Cardies killed during the war?”

She turned slowly, noting that Silmar stood and faced Tyrel as well---everyone on the bridge was looking at her or him.

“Lt. Commander Tyrel,” the captain said slowly, “I am no more fond of the Cardassians than anyone else on this ship. No more so than those Klingons out there. What makes me better than they are is my refusal to sacrifice ‘a few dozen’ lives to appease my anger at the Cardassians’ stupidity. Your oath as a Starfleet officer is supposed to make you better, as well. However, I can understand why there are those who simply do not agree with my decision to defend them---anyone who disagrees is free to leave my bridge.”

With that she turned back toward the viewscreen, confident that if the Orion actually left, Silmar would take his place at Tactical. “Mr. Steb, resume audio.”

As soon as he had signaled she was back on with Ta’gahN, Regan said, “Allow me to speak plainly as well, Captain Ta’gahN: Any further attempts to remove Cardassians from the surface, any weapons discharged at the surface, will be considered an act of war. I’ve no desire to engage in battle with Federation allies, but I will do so if you continue to threaten the Cardassians or my ships. My decision has less to do with impatience than it does with my desire to maintain the peace. I should think that your priority as well---or have you been in the throes of battle fever so long that you’ve forgotten what peace feels like?”

Sandhurst watched the tense exchange with a powerful sense of déjà vu, recalling his nearly identical encounter with the Klingon General K’Vada, butcher of Lakesh. However, in Sandhurst’s case, he had been forced to yield to the general’s superior forces, else be destroyed out of hand along with his ship, his crew, and the beleaguered survivors of that ill-fated relief mission.

He was disturbed to find that a part of him actually yearned for battle to be joined, so that in this reality at least, the Klingons might be taught some measure of humility.

* * *​

 

Déjà vu, indeed. Ramirez shows why she was such an excellent First Officer - supporting her Captain while at the same time pointing out the inherent problems (and motivations) behind his willingness to take Gibraltar and crew to the Ansarsis system.

I liked the conversation between Guinan and Pava, providing another glimpse into both the mystery of El-Aurian community (or lack thereof) and a reminder of the heavy weight that Pava bears regarding his past. Regrets? He has a few . . . unlike his dopple-ganger in this universe.

Now to see whether the Klingons will blink first or if war breaks out between the UFP and the Klingon Empire.

 

Fantastic, as always! I've said many times that I truly respect your choice to permit your much-loved original central characters to be subjected to the realities of life, even the harshest of realities. It's just one part of what makes reading your tales so enjoyable and exciting: you truly never know what might happen next or to whom. That said, it's a real treat to be immersed in another adventure starring those same original characters that many of us came to know and love - including Gibraltar. And, once again, you've crafted an exciting and compelling story that has completely drawn me in. I will look forward seeing where you take us on this new/retro ride, and I can't wait to see what develops with Pava's doppelganger. It's always particularly fascinating when you explore the darker aspects of his personality. Cheers, and ahead warp factor 8!