Author's Note: The events of this story take place approximately nine months after ST: Insurrection, and two months after Geometries of Chance. Like that story, this will also be a Work-in-Progress. Your commentary and critiques will be very much appreciated.
Chapter 1
Planet Ba’ku
The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Sector 441
Anij of the Ba’ku stepped from her house into the bright midday sunlight, roused from her afternoon siesta by the inexplicable sound of thunder from cloudless cobalt skies. Around her others exited their homes, staring skyward, muttering questions in hushed tones to one another.
“Has the Federation returned?
“Have more Son’a come home?”
The Ba’ku had eschewed technology in order to live a simpler, agrarian lifestyle on their idyllic world. Anij and her companions had no way to determine the nature of the disturbance, no sensors with which to identify whomever was intruding upon their serenity.
An oasis of peace for centuries, the Ba’ku’s tranquil existence had been disturbed by an attempted revolt two generations earlier. A small cabal of youngsters who had become enamored with the idea of exploring the cosmos had rebelled against their society’s strict prohibitions against technology. They’d gone as far as trying to seize power from their elders, and when their efforts failed, they were exiled from paradise by their friends and families. Thus banished, the called themselves the Son’a, and set out to utilize advanced technology in conquering a corner of the universe to call their own.
Reconciliation of a sort had come from an ill-fated collaboration between a rogue Starfleet admiral and his Son’a allies. They’d attempted to capitalize on the Ba’ku world’s innate healing powers, gifted by the metaphasic radiation emitted from the planet’s rings. When an attempt to physically relocate the Ba’ku aboard a custom designed holoship was thwarted, the Son’a took it upon themselves to abduct their former kin by force. Only the efforts of the captain and command crew of the starship Enterprise, acting against orders, managed to stop the Son’a plan and led to a rapproachment between a minority of the Son’a and their estranged families.
In past weeks however, greater numbers of Son’a had begun to return to their people’s adopted homeworld. They’d been driven back to the Briar Patch nebula by the inexorable advance of some nameless enemy they’d made in their misguided efforts to build an empire for themselves. Their shameful homecoming had been as refugees rather than as the conquering heroes they’d hoped to be.
Many were casualties, their wounds testing the Ba’ku’s healing abilities as well as the planet’s rejuvenating energies. Bodies and spirits broken, the Son’a had come seeking both shelter as well as the succor of their mothers and fathers.
Anij ran back into her house, locating in a dresser drawer the compin given to her by Jean-Luc prior to the Enterprise’s departure nine months earlier. She tapped the device hopefully, yearning to hear the confident timbre of her lover’s voice. Instead she found only ominous silence.
She wandered back outside to find Gallatin hefting a disruptor rifle. The repatriated Son’a general had been reunited with his people throught the efforts of Picard and his crew, but still clung stubbornly to some of his more suspicious and militaristic ways. Anij touched his shoulder, causing him to startle. “I’m sorry, Gallatin, but you know such weapons are prohibited.” At that moment, the irony of her uttering such a statement while clutching a Starfleet communicator was lost on her.
Gallatin grunted, tilting his head upward. “Tell that to the Alshain.”
“The Alshain?” Anij frowned, “Aren’t they the enemy you’d spoken of?”
“Yes,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. The plasticity of the man’s skin had relaxed during the months since he’d returned, but his face still offered a troublingly distorted visage. Now, Anij read both anger and fear in his recovering features.
“Why would they come here?” she asked, dread beginning to clutch her chest like a vise.
Gallatin’s voice was determinedly calm though his hands grasping the rifle trembled slightly. “Because they make no distinction between Son’a and Ba’ku, Anij.” He turned to face her, his countenance haunted by regret. “And they have sworn to cleanse their captured territory of our kind, in order to restore the Greater Alshain of ages past.”
She gaped at him in disbelief, “You’re saying they’ve come to relocate us as Ru’afo meant to do?”
Shouldering his rifle, Gallatin grabbed Anij by the upper arm and pulled her along with him as he headed for higher ground and the dubious cover of the surrounding forest. “No, my friend. They mean to slaughter us all.”
*****
Starbase 12
Executive Lounge
Office of the Admiralty
Vice Admiral Edward Jellico clutched his mug of coffee, staring across the table at his two colleagues as the three flag officers collectively ate breakfast while establishing Starfleet operations protocols that would affect a twelve sector area of Federation space. Jellico had been appointed the new Assistant Chief of Starfleet Security only weeks earlier, after his predecessor had ascended to the top post in Security following the quiet ouster of Admiral Samson Glover from that august assignment.
Jellico had taken the opportunity to familiarize himself with his new position by embarking on a first-hand tour of the Federation’s trouble spots to better assess the UFP’s overall state of security. What he’d found was troubling. Not enough ships, too few people, and far too many critical missions to perform, all of them seemingly vital to national security.
Seated across from him in the Starbase’s executive lounge were Rear Admiral Bryce McCormick and Vice Admiral Thiv’ala, the regional heads of Starfleet Operations and Logistics, respectively.
They’d just tabled the discussion of repealing the Federation Council’s stop loss order that prevented Starfleet personnel from resigning or retiring from service. Jellico was worried McCormick might suffer a stroke due to the emotional spike the conversation seemed to engender in the man. At the moment, Starfleet was still churning out ships at wartime production rates in order to fill the numerous vacancies caused by the war’s attrition. Staffing these craft was another matter, as it took substantially longer to train a Starfleet officer or enlisted person than it did to build a starship. Changing tacks, the vice admiral broached the subject that had really brought him to this place.
“So, what do you think of Picard’s proposal?” Jellico baited the hook as subtly as he could. He’d already decided to green-light the captain’s plan, but he’d rather talk these officers into supporting it rather than shove it down their throats. He would force the issue if he had to, of course, but Jellico would at least give them the appearance of hearing them out.
McCormick snapped at the prize like a starving grouper. “I think it’s a load of crap, Edward. I’ve already had to divert a dozen starships away from this theater to bolster anti-insurgent operations along the Cardassian border.” The rear admiral’s face reddened with frustration. “I know things over there are rough, and Bill Ross has his hands full, but I’ve got my own priorities to worry about. If Picard wants a public relations coup, tell him to look for it elsewhere.”
Jellico shrugged, “Jean-Luc’s got a point, Bryce. The Alshain are hunting down the remaining Son’a like animals. They’re our allies, and a pogrom against the Son’a, however reviled they are, makes us look bad.”
McCormick threw up his hands, “And I care because…? Damn it, Edward, you know what a proud people the Alshain are. They’ve suffered Son’a plots and intrigues for generations, not to mention outright invasion of their territory during the war when the Son’a signed on with the Dominion. If you ask me, a little payback is in order.”
Jellico quirked an eyebrow and gave McCormick a disbelieving look. “Payback is one thing, Bryce. Ethnic cleansing is something else entirely.” Raising his glass of orange juice, he offered a mock toast, “My friends, to genocide.”
That took some of the wind from McCormick’s sails. He grabbed the linen napkin from his lap and tossed it onto his plate in a gesture of exasperation. Giving man a few moments to recover his composure, Jellico looked to the Andorian admiral to his right. “Opinions, Thiv’ala?”
The cerulean-skinned man appeared thoughtful for a long moment before forming his reply. “McCormick is correct insofar as our available ships and personnel are concerned. At present, this command is supporting three planetary relief operations, coordinating sector patrol assignments along the Klingon and Romulan borders, overseeing the establishment of several refugee settlements for displaced Tarlac and Ellora fleeing the conflict, and combating a significant rise in interstellar piracy brought about by the perceived weakness of Starfleet assets in this region.”
McCormick gestured to the Andorian while looking at Jellico, clearly enjoying that the other admiral appeared to be taking his side. Thiv’ala shot McCormick a self-conscious glance that the human failed to see before turning back to Jellico to finish his assessment. “That being said, Admiral, any opportunity to stem the violence taking place in and around the Briar Patch would prove welcome. We have our hands full as it is without the added burden of tens-of-thousands of refugees from the Alshain encroachment into Son’a territory.”
McCormick’s eyes shot daggers at Thiv’ala who pretended not to notice as he spooned a scoop of yulta fruit into his mouth. The man turned to face Jellico. “I can’t spare any more ships. I just don’t have them. I’ve got runabouts pulling picket duty posts that should be occupied by cruisers. Border defense is practically laughable right now, and Picard’s little mercy mission will only serve to make matters worse.”
“Be that as it may, Bryce, President Santiago is a believer in image dictating reality. He feels this mission is of vital importance in the post-war playing field, gentlemen. If the Federation doesn’t move to bring its allies under control, we’ll only be inviting trouble from the second-tier powers in both quadrants.”
McCormick rolled his eyes. “I know Picard’s got a thing for these people, Edward. But Santiago’s standing in the polls is low enough already. Does he really need another foreign affairs fiasco just before the election?”
“I’m aware of the risk we’re running with this operation, and failure is always an unwelcome possibility. But imagine the media disaster we’d face if we’re seen to be tacitly supporting Alshain atrocities?” Jellico frowned, “And I’d remind you that I’m not Picard’s biggest fan, either. Despite that, his relationship with the Ba’ku and the Son’a make him the best man for this particular job.”
McCormick sat forward, grabbing his coffee mug and taking a draught. “We turned a blind eye to the Klingons’ actions at Lakesh. They butchered the civilian populace trying to dig out the insurgency on a world supposedly under Starfleet supervision.”
Jellico’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “That wasn’t our fault. How were we supposed to know the Cardassians in that system were sitting on top of a hidden arsenal? Ceding the Crolsa system to the Klingons was our only recourse.”
McCormick eyed Jellico sullenly, having realized the true nature of this meeting. “This is going to happen, isn’t it? My protests be damned, you’re going to stage from this starbase and bleed me dry.”
Nodding regretfully, Jellico said simply. “Yes, Bryce. I am. This one has presidential authority behind it.” Trying to soften the blow, he added, “Besides the Enterprise, I’m contributing four ships tasked from other commands. Six ships is all I need from you.”
Shaking his head angrily, McCormick finished his coffee in a single quaff and stood abruptly. He collected his padd from the table top and placed it inside a briefcase. Giving Jellico a final heated stare, he inquired, “And which heads roll when this whole operation falls apart and our people start coming home in flag draped coffins?”
Jellico’s smile reminded McCormick of a Terran shark. “If that happens, President Santiago takes another ten-point hit in the polls, and Picard loses credibility and forfeits his chance of ever making admiral. I, on the other hand, walk away smelling like a rose.”
McCormick gave him a saccharine smile. “What about me?”
“You? You get your ships back and win the right to begin each sentence for the next year with ‘I told you so.’”
*****
Planet Ba’ku
The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Sector 441
Anij had cried herself out by the time the Alshain arrived on foot to examine their handiwork. The shattered remains of the Ba’ku village, home to their people for ten generations, smoldered in the valley below. Unlike the Son’a, who’d at first attempted to forcibly relocate their alienated families, the Alshain had made no such attempts to minimize the loss of life. A brief but effective orbital bombardment had reduced their community to scattered cinders, killing all but the handful of the Ba’ku who had joined Gallatin and Anij in their flight from the village.
Her dear friend Sojef and his young son Artim, who’d both survived the harrowing pursuit and capture at the hands of the Son’a less than a year before were now dead. Anij’s entire world had been crushed in a matter of minutes, her society annihilated with casual ease by an enemy she’d only heard rumors of prior to this dark day.
Gallatin and two similarly armed former Son’a stood guard over their distraught Ba’ku hosts. Drav’in approached the ex-general, kneeling beside him as they observed the lupine Alshain strike team as the enemy soldiers sorted through the embers of the village, looking for any sign of survivors.
“Gallatin, we should go. We can follow the kelbonite deposits into the mountains, just as the Ba’ku did to thwart us. It should mask our life signs as effectively.”
Gallatin lowered his field glasses, pushing back from the lip of the overhang they were using as an observation point. “That will safeguard us from their sensors only. These are Alshain. They’re a race of hunters, and once they have our scent, it will only be a matter of time before they find us.”
“Then what are we to do? Where shall we go?”
The general was considering his reply when they heard the muffled crackle of snapping twigs behind them. The traumatized Ba’ku survivors did not notice the sound, for none of them had ever had to develop the kind of situational awareness that helped one to survive in a combat environment. Before Gallatin and Drav’in could turn and raise their weapons, the enemy was upon them.
*****
Executive Officer’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Gibraltar
Docked to Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine
Commander Liana Ramirez stepped from the sonic shower, wrapping a towel around herself as she padded quietly through her cabin’s sleeping alcove so as not to wake her sleeping guest. She donned her uniform slowly, burdened by thoughts of their upcoming assignment. It was a troubling mission that she’d discovered only the day before that Captain Sandhurst had volunteered them for.
She’d have to confront him about it, and it wouldn’t be easy. Ramirez had bent over backwards to be accommodating to her commanding officer in the weeks since his return from neural-psychiatric reconstructive counseling on Betazed. On their last, ill-fated assignment, the captain had been held captive and tortured by a madman for weeks, and the resulting psychological scars ran deep. He hadn’t been the same since his return, and she felt naïve for having hoped that he’d come back as his old self.
Suddenly someone grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her off balance, sending her toppling onto the bed. ‘Great,’ she thought angrily, ‘Six months ago I’d never have let someone surprise me like that. I’m losing my edge.’
“Good morning, Lia—“ Commander Jeffrey Thorpe’s voice caught in his throat as Ramirez reversed his grip on her arm, taking control of his limb as she rolled to a position of advantage and pinned him to the bed with a painful joint-lock. “Ahhhh! Woman, what’s wrong with you?” he hissed.
“Good morning to you, Mister Grabby Hands. And exactly what leads you to believe that you can have your way with me on this fine morning?” Her tone was mostly playful, but contained a hint of genuine irritation.
Thorpe fought to control his breathing, struggling against the pain of a shoulder pushed to the limit of its range of motion. “Just— just playing around, Lia. Please, let go.”
She released her grip, climbing off the bed and leaving Thorpe face down on the rumpled sheets massaging his now aching limb. “I’m yours when the uniforms are off, Jeff. I thought we’d established that rather clearly.” She made a show of smoothing out the tussle-related wrinkles in her jumpsuit. “As you can see, the uniform is most definitely on.”
Thorpe rolled over, eyeing her warily. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month, and I still haven’t even begun to figure you out.” He sat up, placing his feet on the floor. “You’re not big on subtlety, Liana. I’m picking up a very strong vibe that this whole arraignment is merely recreational.”
Ramirez stepped back into the bathroom, running a brush through her long black hair before starting to tie it into a low-maintenance bun in back. “Playful canoodling in the morning smacks of an actual relationship, Jeff. We agreed that this was purely physical.”
He pulled on his shorts and stood, walking over to lean against the doorway to the bathroom alcove. “So you’re eliminating the possibility of it being anything but?”
She spared him a withering look while fiddling with her hair. “I’m nobody’s fallback girl.”
He crossed his arms defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The Haliian woman, Jeff. I’m not blind, or stupid. When we ran into her at Quark’s the other night, you acted like you’d been caught with you hand in the cookie jar.” She smirked at his evident discomfort with her observation. “Well, maybe not your hand…”
Wincing, Thorpe moved behind her, his hands up in a gesture of supplication. He looked into her eyes through the reflection he shared with her in the mirror. “I’ll admit that I have feelings for Aquiel, that’s true. But we’ve decided against risking our friendship by taking it to the next level.” He turned on the charm, conjuring up the devilish smile that Ramirez found so oddly irresistible. “The fact that I’m attracted to her doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be open to a genuine relationship with somebody else.” He raised his eyebrows, “If a certain someone would lower their shields.”
Ramirez met his eyes, taking the implied offer into consideration. She and Thorpe shared a great deal in common, but those commonalities were a shared pain that had brought them together during the Gibraltar’s refit at DS9. Both she and Jeffrey had lost ships under their command in the Crolsa system, ships that by rights had belonged to other men. They’d been the stand-in’s, the acting captains, and ultimately both had been found wanting. Now, Thorpe was acting CO of DS9’s dedicated warship, the Defiant, while Ramirez was nearing the halfway point of her year long obligation to Gibraltar’s XO’s billet.
He slowly lowered his hands to her shoulders, maintaining eye contact as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck. She closed her eyes, her body electrified with the sensation. Liana couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone even this close. She firmly believed that relationships were a luxury someone on the fast track to command couldn’t allow themselves. She desperately enjoyed sharing a bed with him, but they were too dissimilar in disposition and ambition for their coupling to be anything other than an enjoyable diversion. She was driven and focused, while Jeffrey was a feather on the wind, an explorer at heart who’d stumbled into the command division purely by accident.
She sighed, then reached up and placed her hands atop his. He paused, sensing she’d raised her defenses once again. “Jeff, I’m truly flattered, but this is as far as it goes.”
Her compin chirped, “Sandhurst to Ramirez.”
Thorpe turned away, his expression one of disappointment as she tapped the pin. “Go ahead, sir.”
“Commander, just a reminder that our briefing in the station’s wardroom is in thirty minutes.”
“Acknowledged, sir. On my way.”
She found him slipping on his civilian clothes in the bedroom. “Tonight will be our last in port before we head out,” she tried to sound upbeat. “If you’re not too busy, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again before I leave.”
He stared at her calmly as he buttoned his shirt. “I thought you made your feelings… or lack thereof perfectly clear, Commander.”
She liked him, she really did. She didn’t want to hurt him, and had made every effort to establish that the only thing this could possibly be was a brief dalliance. “Let’s just let this be what it is, Jeff. It’s not that I don’t want a relationship eventually, but it can’t be right now, not while I’m on this ship. Later, when I have a command of my own, circumstances might be different.” She stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest and looking up into his face. “If we try to force this, someone’s going to get hurt. And right now, odds are that it’d be you.”
He nodded reluctantly then dipped his head to meet her brief kiss. Then she was gone.
*****
Chapter 1
Planet Ba’ku
The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Sector 441
Anij of the Ba’ku stepped from her house into the bright midday sunlight, roused from her afternoon siesta by the inexplicable sound of thunder from cloudless cobalt skies. Around her others exited their homes, staring skyward, muttering questions in hushed tones to one another.
“Has the Federation returned?
“Have more Son’a come home?”
The Ba’ku had eschewed technology in order to live a simpler, agrarian lifestyle on their idyllic world. Anij and her companions had no way to determine the nature of the disturbance, no sensors with which to identify whomever was intruding upon their serenity.
An oasis of peace for centuries, the Ba’ku’s tranquil existence had been disturbed by an attempted revolt two generations earlier. A small cabal of youngsters who had become enamored with the idea of exploring the cosmos had rebelled against their society’s strict prohibitions against technology. They’d gone as far as trying to seize power from their elders, and when their efforts failed, they were exiled from paradise by their friends and families. Thus banished, the called themselves the Son’a, and set out to utilize advanced technology in conquering a corner of the universe to call their own.
Reconciliation of a sort had come from an ill-fated collaboration between a rogue Starfleet admiral and his Son’a allies. They’d attempted to capitalize on the Ba’ku world’s innate healing powers, gifted by the metaphasic radiation emitted from the planet’s rings. When an attempt to physically relocate the Ba’ku aboard a custom designed holoship was thwarted, the Son’a took it upon themselves to abduct their former kin by force. Only the efforts of the captain and command crew of the starship Enterprise, acting against orders, managed to stop the Son’a plan and led to a rapproachment between a minority of the Son’a and their estranged families.
In past weeks however, greater numbers of Son’a had begun to return to their people’s adopted homeworld. They’d been driven back to the Briar Patch nebula by the inexorable advance of some nameless enemy they’d made in their misguided efforts to build an empire for themselves. Their shameful homecoming had been as refugees rather than as the conquering heroes they’d hoped to be.
Many were casualties, their wounds testing the Ba’ku’s healing abilities as well as the planet’s rejuvenating energies. Bodies and spirits broken, the Son’a had come seeking both shelter as well as the succor of their mothers and fathers.
Anij ran back into her house, locating in a dresser drawer the compin given to her by Jean-Luc prior to the Enterprise’s departure nine months earlier. She tapped the device hopefully, yearning to hear the confident timbre of her lover’s voice. Instead she found only ominous silence.
She wandered back outside to find Gallatin hefting a disruptor rifle. The repatriated Son’a general had been reunited with his people throught the efforts of Picard and his crew, but still clung stubbornly to some of his more suspicious and militaristic ways. Anij touched his shoulder, causing him to startle. “I’m sorry, Gallatin, but you know such weapons are prohibited.” At that moment, the irony of her uttering such a statement while clutching a Starfleet communicator was lost on her.
Gallatin grunted, tilting his head upward. “Tell that to the Alshain.”
“The Alshain?” Anij frowned, “Aren’t they the enemy you’d spoken of?”
“Yes,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. The plasticity of the man’s skin had relaxed during the months since he’d returned, but his face still offered a troublingly distorted visage. Now, Anij read both anger and fear in his recovering features.
“Why would they come here?” she asked, dread beginning to clutch her chest like a vise.
Gallatin’s voice was determinedly calm though his hands grasping the rifle trembled slightly. “Because they make no distinction between Son’a and Ba’ku, Anij.” He turned to face her, his countenance haunted by regret. “And they have sworn to cleanse their captured territory of our kind, in order to restore the Greater Alshain of ages past.”
She gaped at him in disbelief, “You’re saying they’ve come to relocate us as Ru’afo meant to do?”
Shouldering his rifle, Gallatin grabbed Anij by the upper arm and pulled her along with him as he headed for higher ground and the dubious cover of the surrounding forest. “No, my friend. They mean to slaughter us all.”
*****
Starbase 12
Executive Lounge
Office of the Admiralty
Vice Admiral Edward Jellico clutched his mug of coffee, staring across the table at his two colleagues as the three flag officers collectively ate breakfast while establishing Starfleet operations protocols that would affect a twelve sector area of Federation space. Jellico had been appointed the new Assistant Chief of Starfleet Security only weeks earlier, after his predecessor had ascended to the top post in Security following the quiet ouster of Admiral Samson Glover from that august assignment.
Jellico had taken the opportunity to familiarize himself with his new position by embarking on a first-hand tour of the Federation’s trouble spots to better assess the UFP’s overall state of security. What he’d found was troubling. Not enough ships, too few people, and far too many critical missions to perform, all of them seemingly vital to national security.
Seated across from him in the Starbase’s executive lounge were Rear Admiral Bryce McCormick and Vice Admiral Thiv’ala, the regional heads of Starfleet Operations and Logistics, respectively.
They’d just tabled the discussion of repealing the Federation Council’s stop loss order that prevented Starfleet personnel from resigning or retiring from service. Jellico was worried McCormick might suffer a stroke due to the emotional spike the conversation seemed to engender in the man. At the moment, Starfleet was still churning out ships at wartime production rates in order to fill the numerous vacancies caused by the war’s attrition. Staffing these craft was another matter, as it took substantially longer to train a Starfleet officer or enlisted person than it did to build a starship. Changing tacks, the vice admiral broached the subject that had really brought him to this place.
“So, what do you think of Picard’s proposal?” Jellico baited the hook as subtly as he could. He’d already decided to green-light the captain’s plan, but he’d rather talk these officers into supporting it rather than shove it down their throats. He would force the issue if he had to, of course, but Jellico would at least give them the appearance of hearing them out.
McCormick snapped at the prize like a starving grouper. “I think it’s a load of crap, Edward. I’ve already had to divert a dozen starships away from this theater to bolster anti-insurgent operations along the Cardassian border.” The rear admiral’s face reddened with frustration. “I know things over there are rough, and Bill Ross has his hands full, but I’ve got my own priorities to worry about. If Picard wants a public relations coup, tell him to look for it elsewhere.”
Jellico shrugged, “Jean-Luc’s got a point, Bryce. The Alshain are hunting down the remaining Son’a like animals. They’re our allies, and a pogrom against the Son’a, however reviled they are, makes us look bad.”
McCormick threw up his hands, “And I care because…? Damn it, Edward, you know what a proud people the Alshain are. They’ve suffered Son’a plots and intrigues for generations, not to mention outright invasion of their territory during the war when the Son’a signed on with the Dominion. If you ask me, a little payback is in order.”
Jellico quirked an eyebrow and gave McCormick a disbelieving look. “Payback is one thing, Bryce. Ethnic cleansing is something else entirely.” Raising his glass of orange juice, he offered a mock toast, “My friends, to genocide.”
That took some of the wind from McCormick’s sails. He grabbed the linen napkin from his lap and tossed it onto his plate in a gesture of exasperation. Giving man a few moments to recover his composure, Jellico looked to the Andorian admiral to his right. “Opinions, Thiv’ala?”
The cerulean-skinned man appeared thoughtful for a long moment before forming his reply. “McCormick is correct insofar as our available ships and personnel are concerned. At present, this command is supporting three planetary relief operations, coordinating sector patrol assignments along the Klingon and Romulan borders, overseeing the establishment of several refugee settlements for displaced Tarlac and Ellora fleeing the conflict, and combating a significant rise in interstellar piracy brought about by the perceived weakness of Starfleet assets in this region.”
McCormick gestured to the Andorian while looking at Jellico, clearly enjoying that the other admiral appeared to be taking his side. Thiv’ala shot McCormick a self-conscious glance that the human failed to see before turning back to Jellico to finish his assessment. “That being said, Admiral, any opportunity to stem the violence taking place in and around the Briar Patch would prove welcome. We have our hands full as it is without the added burden of tens-of-thousands of refugees from the Alshain encroachment into Son’a territory.”
McCormick’s eyes shot daggers at Thiv’ala who pretended not to notice as he spooned a scoop of yulta fruit into his mouth. The man turned to face Jellico. “I can’t spare any more ships. I just don’t have them. I’ve got runabouts pulling picket duty posts that should be occupied by cruisers. Border defense is practically laughable right now, and Picard’s little mercy mission will only serve to make matters worse.”
“Be that as it may, Bryce, President Santiago is a believer in image dictating reality. He feels this mission is of vital importance in the post-war playing field, gentlemen. If the Federation doesn’t move to bring its allies under control, we’ll only be inviting trouble from the second-tier powers in both quadrants.”
McCormick rolled his eyes. “I know Picard’s got a thing for these people, Edward. But Santiago’s standing in the polls is low enough already. Does he really need another foreign affairs fiasco just before the election?”
“I’m aware of the risk we’re running with this operation, and failure is always an unwelcome possibility. But imagine the media disaster we’d face if we’re seen to be tacitly supporting Alshain atrocities?” Jellico frowned, “And I’d remind you that I’m not Picard’s biggest fan, either. Despite that, his relationship with the Ba’ku and the Son’a make him the best man for this particular job.”
McCormick sat forward, grabbing his coffee mug and taking a draught. “We turned a blind eye to the Klingons’ actions at Lakesh. They butchered the civilian populace trying to dig out the insurgency on a world supposedly under Starfleet supervision.”
Jellico’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “That wasn’t our fault. How were we supposed to know the Cardassians in that system were sitting on top of a hidden arsenal? Ceding the Crolsa system to the Klingons was our only recourse.”
McCormick eyed Jellico sullenly, having realized the true nature of this meeting. “This is going to happen, isn’t it? My protests be damned, you’re going to stage from this starbase and bleed me dry.”
Nodding regretfully, Jellico said simply. “Yes, Bryce. I am. This one has presidential authority behind it.” Trying to soften the blow, he added, “Besides the Enterprise, I’m contributing four ships tasked from other commands. Six ships is all I need from you.”
Shaking his head angrily, McCormick finished his coffee in a single quaff and stood abruptly. He collected his padd from the table top and placed it inside a briefcase. Giving Jellico a final heated stare, he inquired, “And which heads roll when this whole operation falls apart and our people start coming home in flag draped coffins?”
Jellico’s smile reminded McCormick of a Terran shark. “If that happens, President Santiago takes another ten-point hit in the polls, and Picard loses credibility and forfeits his chance of ever making admiral. I, on the other hand, walk away smelling like a rose.”
McCormick gave him a saccharine smile. “What about me?”
“You? You get your ships back and win the right to begin each sentence for the next year with ‘I told you so.’”
*****
Planet Ba’ku
The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Sector 441
Anij had cried herself out by the time the Alshain arrived on foot to examine their handiwork. The shattered remains of the Ba’ku village, home to their people for ten generations, smoldered in the valley below. Unlike the Son’a, who’d at first attempted to forcibly relocate their alienated families, the Alshain had made no such attempts to minimize the loss of life. A brief but effective orbital bombardment had reduced their community to scattered cinders, killing all but the handful of the Ba’ku who had joined Gallatin and Anij in their flight from the village.
Her dear friend Sojef and his young son Artim, who’d both survived the harrowing pursuit and capture at the hands of the Son’a less than a year before were now dead. Anij’s entire world had been crushed in a matter of minutes, her society annihilated with casual ease by an enemy she’d only heard rumors of prior to this dark day.
Gallatin and two similarly armed former Son’a stood guard over their distraught Ba’ku hosts. Drav’in approached the ex-general, kneeling beside him as they observed the lupine Alshain strike team as the enemy soldiers sorted through the embers of the village, looking for any sign of survivors.
“Gallatin, we should go. We can follow the kelbonite deposits into the mountains, just as the Ba’ku did to thwart us. It should mask our life signs as effectively.”
Gallatin lowered his field glasses, pushing back from the lip of the overhang they were using as an observation point. “That will safeguard us from their sensors only. These are Alshain. They’re a race of hunters, and once they have our scent, it will only be a matter of time before they find us.”
“Then what are we to do? Where shall we go?”
The general was considering his reply when they heard the muffled crackle of snapping twigs behind them. The traumatized Ba’ku survivors did not notice the sound, for none of them had ever had to develop the kind of situational awareness that helped one to survive in a combat environment. Before Gallatin and Drav’in could turn and raise their weapons, the enemy was upon them.
*****
Executive Officer’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Gibraltar
Docked to Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine
Commander Liana Ramirez stepped from the sonic shower, wrapping a towel around herself as she padded quietly through her cabin’s sleeping alcove so as not to wake her sleeping guest. She donned her uniform slowly, burdened by thoughts of their upcoming assignment. It was a troubling mission that she’d discovered only the day before that Captain Sandhurst had volunteered them for.
She’d have to confront him about it, and it wouldn’t be easy. Ramirez had bent over backwards to be accommodating to her commanding officer in the weeks since his return from neural-psychiatric reconstructive counseling on Betazed. On their last, ill-fated assignment, the captain had been held captive and tortured by a madman for weeks, and the resulting psychological scars ran deep. He hadn’t been the same since his return, and she felt naïve for having hoped that he’d come back as his old self.
Suddenly someone grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her off balance, sending her toppling onto the bed. ‘Great,’ she thought angrily, ‘Six months ago I’d never have let someone surprise me like that. I’m losing my edge.’
“Good morning, Lia—“ Commander Jeffrey Thorpe’s voice caught in his throat as Ramirez reversed his grip on her arm, taking control of his limb as she rolled to a position of advantage and pinned him to the bed with a painful joint-lock. “Ahhhh! Woman, what’s wrong with you?” he hissed.
“Good morning to you, Mister Grabby Hands. And exactly what leads you to believe that you can have your way with me on this fine morning?” Her tone was mostly playful, but contained a hint of genuine irritation.
Thorpe fought to control his breathing, struggling against the pain of a shoulder pushed to the limit of its range of motion. “Just— just playing around, Lia. Please, let go.”
She released her grip, climbing off the bed and leaving Thorpe face down on the rumpled sheets massaging his now aching limb. “I’m yours when the uniforms are off, Jeff. I thought we’d established that rather clearly.” She made a show of smoothing out the tussle-related wrinkles in her jumpsuit. “As you can see, the uniform is most definitely on.”
Thorpe rolled over, eyeing her warily. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month, and I still haven’t even begun to figure you out.” He sat up, placing his feet on the floor. “You’re not big on subtlety, Liana. I’m picking up a very strong vibe that this whole arraignment is merely recreational.”
Ramirez stepped back into the bathroom, running a brush through her long black hair before starting to tie it into a low-maintenance bun in back. “Playful canoodling in the morning smacks of an actual relationship, Jeff. We agreed that this was purely physical.”
He pulled on his shorts and stood, walking over to lean against the doorway to the bathroom alcove. “So you’re eliminating the possibility of it being anything but?”
She spared him a withering look while fiddling with her hair. “I’m nobody’s fallback girl.”
He crossed his arms defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The Haliian woman, Jeff. I’m not blind, or stupid. When we ran into her at Quark’s the other night, you acted like you’d been caught with you hand in the cookie jar.” She smirked at his evident discomfort with her observation. “Well, maybe not your hand…”
Wincing, Thorpe moved behind her, his hands up in a gesture of supplication. He looked into her eyes through the reflection he shared with her in the mirror. “I’ll admit that I have feelings for Aquiel, that’s true. But we’ve decided against risking our friendship by taking it to the next level.” He turned on the charm, conjuring up the devilish smile that Ramirez found so oddly irresistible. “The fact that I’m attracted to her doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be open to a genuine relationship with somebody else.” He raised his eyebrows, “If a certain someone would lower their shields.”
Ramirez met his eyes, taking the implied offer into consideration. She and Thorpe shared a great deal in common, but those commonalities were a shared pain that had brought them together during the Gibraltar’s refit at DS9. Both she and Jeffrey had lost ships under their command in the Crolsa system, ships that by rights had belonged to other men. They’d been the stand-in’s, the acting captains, and ultimately both had been found wanting. Now, Thorpe was acting CO of DS9’s dedicated warship, the Defiant, while Ramirez was nearing the halfway point of her year long obligation to Gibraltar’s XO’s billet.
He slowly lowered his hands to her shoulders, maintaining eye contact as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck. She closed her eyes, her body electrified with the sensation. Liana couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone even this close. She firmly believed that relationships were a luxury someone on the fast track to command couldn’t allow themselves. She desperately enjoyed sharing a bed with him, but they were too dissimilar in disposition and ambition for their coupling to be anything other than an enjoyable diversion. She was driven and focused, while Jeffrey was a feather on the wind, an explorer at heart who’d stumbled into the command division purely by accident.
She sighed, then reached up and placed her hands atop his. He paused, sensing she’d raised her defenses once again. “Jeff, I’m truly flattered, but this is as far as it goes.”
Her compin chirped, “Sandhurst to Ramirez.”
Thorpe turned away, his expression one of disappointment as she tapped the pin. “Go ahead, sir.”
“Commander, just a reminder that our briefing in the station’s wardroom is in thirty minutes.”
“Acknowledged, sir. On my way.”
She found him slipping on his civilian clothes in the bedroom. “Tonight will be our last in port before we head out,” she tried to sound upbeat. “If you’re not too busy, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again before I leave.”
He stared at her calmly as he buttoned his shirt. “I thought you made your feelings… or lack thereof perfectly clear, Commander.”
She liked him, she really did. She didn’t want to hurt him, and had made every effort to establish that the only thing this could possibly be was a brief dalliance. “Let’s just let this be what it is, Jeff. It’s not that I don’t want a relationship eventually, but it can’t be right now, not while I’m on this ship. Later, when I have a command of my own, circumstances might be different.” She stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest and looking up into his face. “If we try to force this, someone’s going to get hurt. And right now, odds are that it’d be you.”
He nodded reluctantly then dipped his head to meet her brief kiss. Then she was gone.
*****
Oh, geez, I crack myself up! Oh, yeah, and the three of them out carousing would spell definite badness for the male gender. The Widowmakers are on the prowl!
