Star Trek: Palais is, if you like, my own Canon Articles of Federation
Ziegler struggled to urinate. The first night in space was always, for him at least, difficult. The thump of the warp engines, constant, powerful, was usually comforting and reassuring, but on the first night, his first attempt to go even, they were nothing but distracting. After five minutes, Zeigler gave up trying, closed the head’s door behind him and strode forward through the Press Lounge back towards the Staff Area.
The panoramic picture windows along each side of the lounge were dotted with planets, stars, and more immediately, starships. The escort, a single Galaxy class Starship; Challenger (herself escorted this close to the border by an Akira class cruiser, just visible in the distance) hung in space, dwarfing the small, arrow-like Starfleet One.
Ziegler raised his hand at an approaching journalist from the Vulcan Gazette, (Gazette was the universalised name; only whatever god you worshipped knew how to pronounce the actual, Vulcan word!) indicating he wasn’t interested in talking to him at this time, let alone giving him a quote or whatever he wanted. Managing to get out a muffled “No”, he slipped through the sliding doors that would take him to the vessels inner sanctum- a practical carbon copy of the Palais.
The President was reclining on the sofa if you were being kind, and lying spread-eagled if you were not, studying (and stabbing at) three PADD’s while deep in conversation with Sam Tyler, his Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy, and a coterie of other aides. The outward bound journey of two weeks was taking up much of the committee stage for the Presidents Energy Bill, introduced to the General Assembly a week ago, and in conference with the Palais Legislative Office and the Deputy Leader of the Assembly, both back in Paris, the President and his legislative aides were coordinating his, and the Assembly Group’s, response to the latest proposals coming from the Assembly committee, hopefully in time to hold a vote before the President returned to Earth.
Zeigler, as Director of Communications, naturally took an interest in such discussions, although he had deputised his Policy Liaison Team to the impromptu meeting. Zeigler would be coordinating the ‘overall message’; where the Energy Bill fit into the legislative program of the President, while overseeing the development and implementation of the communication strategy. Judging from the light smile from Denar Breht, the Bolian member of the Zeigler’s policy team, the Bill would be modified little; resulting in the only work required being the tweaking of the communications framework developed earthside in concert with the Bill itself.
Zeigler was looking forward, it would be a relief. The past months had been difficult. There had been no political or media momentum. For the first time in the Presidency they had found themselves stranded, becalmed. This would be a pretty straightforward trip, some helpful exposure outside the Sol bubble and a few speeches that would lay foundations for the next few months in terms of policy. The trip, Zeigler was glad to note, would probably be capped off with the completely non controversial passing of the Bill, which after the quagmire of the cancelled ‘Klingon Normalisation and Aid Bill’, would be a step in the right direction.
*
A few hundred light years away, a ‘gaggle’ patrol of three light cruisers; a modern Intrepid leading two slightly more elderly Centaur class vessels dropped out of spacewarp about four light years from the Tzenkethi border, with their mission to retrieve an intelligence gathering station which had been for the past few months snooping on Tzenkethi ship and logistic movements. The Intrepid would transport the intelligence ‘gondola’ to the shuttle bay and the four crew to the ship proper, whilst leaving the living quarters, externally indistinguishable from any stray tugged cargo container to its fate, whilst the rakish Centaur’s ensured no prying eyes.
As soon as the ships slowed to sub-light speed they turned on all their sensors, instantly revealing themselves to anyone that may themselves be watching, but also locating the tiny station. However, rather than the small return of the intelligence post, at least ten ships appeared, on a course that indicated they had been lurking behind the systems star. Immediately the ‘gaggle’ went to red alert and action stations, before ‘dimming’ their sensors - retrieval would have to wait. The switching of the ships sensors to their ‘tactical’ setting increased the elapsed time by almost a quarter of a millisecond before a positive identification of the ships. Three large Tzenkethi cruisers and seven smaller corvettes. Not only were they not who the ‘gaggle’ expected, they were not meant to be in this area. (Firstly because it was Federation controlled, and they were trespassing, and secondly because the intelligence station had not identified ships remotely like these in its intelligence streaming that, seconds before dropping out of warp, the Commander leading the three ships had tapped into and consulted.)
The Commander, (unusually based aboard one of the Centaurs, despite the Intrepid’s superior command, control and communication facilities) immediately ordered his charges to slow and begin to turn away from the gathering ships before enabling, but not executing evasive pattern Omega Alpha 12. The three ships would, on the Commander’s word, accelerate to maximum sub-light speed, come about 180 degrees in a wide banking manoeuvre, with each vessel taking an axis, before unleashing a full salvo of torpedoes ‘over their shoulder’ before slamming the throttles through the gate and hightailing it from danger. It took seconds for the pattern to be entered, but without provocation or firing first, the Tzenkethi vessels would avoid the small fleet’s wrath.
The Commander, experienced administratively if not in combat, edgy and nervy, saw the Tzenkethi powering their shields as provocation enough. “Execute, execute, execute” he cried; almost shrieked, and before his bridge fell silent the torpedoes were away and the stars melting into one as the ships rapidly accelerated.
*
Starfleet has many command centres. The most famous and iconic one, in San Francisco is a museum; damage sustained in the Whale Crisis of 2271 put it beyond economic repair: a situation not helped by its practical obsolescence in command and control terms. The replacement centre, much less well known but much more modern and capable had been built in an artificial cavern deep below the city. Consisting of a single large room on three levels, surrounded above, below and around with more specialised suites, the centre commanded, liaised with and occasionally directed ships throughout the quadrant.
Just over ten seconds after the torpedoes were fired; the three ships computers blasted a burst of information back to Starfleet’s central computer core, located deep below the surface of Pluto, which relayed it instantly to Earth and the San Francisco command centre. Thirty seconds after the torpedoes had left their tubes, bedside communicators were buzzing.
Ziegler struggled to urinate. The first night in space was always, for him at least, difficult. The thump of the warp engines, constant, powerful, was usually comforting and reassuring, but on the first night, his first attempt to go even, they were nothing but distracting. After five minutes, Zeigler gave up trying, closed the head’s door behind him and strode forward through the Press Lounge back towards the Staff Area.
The panoramic picture windows along each side of the lounge were dotted with planets, stars, and more immediately, starships. The escort, a single Galaxy class Starship; Challenger (herself escorted this close to the border by an Akira class cruiser, just visible in the distance) hung in space, dwarfing the small, arrow-like Starfleet One.
Ziegler raised his hand at an approaching journalist from the Vulcan Gazette, (Gazette was the universalised name; only whatever god you worshipped knew how to pronounce the actual, Vulcan word!) indicating he wasn’t interested in talking to him at this time, let alone giving him a quote or whatever he wanted. Managing to get out a muffled “No”, he slipped through the sliding doors that would take him to the vessels inner sanctum- a practical carbon copy of the Palais.
The President was reclining on the sofa if you were being kind, and lying spread-eagled if you were not, studying (and stabbing at) three PADD’s while deep in conversation with Sam Tyler, his Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy, and a coterie of other aides. The outward bound journey of two weeks was taking up much of the committee stage for the Presidents Energy Bill, introduced to the General Assembly a week ago, and in conference with the Palais Legislative Office and the Deputy Leader of the Assembly, both back in Paris, the President and his legislative aides were coordinating his, and the Assembly Group’s, response to the latest proposals coming from the Assembly committee, hopefully in time to hold a vote before the President returned to Earth.
Zeigler, as Director of Communications, naturally took an interest in such discussions, although he had deputised his Policy Liaison Team to the impromptu meeting. Zeigler would be coordinating the ‘overall message’; where the Energy Bill fit into the legislative program of the President, while overseeing the development and implementation of the communication strategy. Judging from the light smile from Denar Breht, the Bolian member of the Zeigler’s policy team, the Bill would be modified little; resulting in the only work required being the tweaking of the communications framework developed earthside in concert with the Bill itself.
Zeigler was looking forward, it would be a relief. The past months had been difficult. There had been no political or media momentum. For the first time in the Presidency they had found themselves stranded, becalmed. This would be a pretty straightforward trip, some helpful exposure outside the Sol bubble and a few speeches that would lay foundations for the next few months in terms of policy. The trip, Zeigler was glad to note, would probably be capped off with the completely non controversial passing of the Bill, which after the quagmire of the cancelled ‘Klingon Normalisation and Aid Bill’, would be a step in the right direction.
*
A few hundred light years away, a ‘gaggle’ patrol of three light cruisers; a modern Intrepid leading two slightly more elderly Centaur class vessels dropped out of spacewarp about four light years from the Tzenkethi border, with their mission to retrieve an intelligence gathering station which had been for the past few months snooping on Tzenkethi ship and logistic movements. The Intrepid would transport the intelligence ‘gondola’ to the shuttle bay and the four crew to the ship proper, whilst leaving the living quarters, externally indistinguishable from any stray tugged cargo container to its fate, whilst the rakish Centaur’s ensured no prying eyes.
As soon as the ships slowed to sub-light speed they turned on all their sensors, instantly revealing themselves to anyone that may themselves be watching, but also locating the tiny station. However, rather than the small return of the intelligence post, at least ten ships appeared, on a course that indicated they had been lurking behind the systems star. Immediately the ‘gaggle’ went to red alert and action stations, before ‘dimming’ their sensors - retrieval would have to wait. The switching of the ships sensors to their ‘tactical’ setting increased the elapsed time by almost a quarter of a millisecond before a positive identification of the ships. Three large Tzenkethi cruisers and seven smaller corvettes. Not only were they not who the ‘gaggle’ expected, they were not meant to be in this area. (Firstly because it was Federation controlled, and they were trespassing, and secondly because the intelligence station had not identified ships remotely like these in its intelligence streaming that, seconds before dropping out of warp, the Commander leading the three ships had tapped into and consulted.)
The Commander, (unusually based aboard one of the Centaurs, despite the Intrepid’s superior command, control and communication facilities) immediately ordered his charges to slow and begin to turn away from the gathering ships before enabling, but not executing evasive pattern Omega Alpha 12. The three ships would, on the Commander’s word, accelerate to maximum sub-light speed, come about 180 degrees in a wide banking manoeuvre, with each vessel taking an axis, before unleashing a full salvo of torpedoes ‘over their shoulder’ before slamming the throttles through the gate and hightailing it from danger. It took seconds for the pattern to be entered, but without provocation or firing first, the Tzenkethi vessels would avoid the small fleet’s wrath.
The Commander, experienced administratively if not in combat, edgy and nervy, saw the Tzenkethi powering their shields as provocation enough. “Execute, execute, execute” he cried; almost shrieked, and before his bridge fell silent the torpedoes were away and the stars melting into one as the ships rapidly accelerated.
*
Starfleet has many command centres. The most famous and iconic one, in San Francisco is a museum; damage sustained in the Whale Crisis of 2271 put it beyond economic repair: a situation not helped by its practical obsolescence in command and control terms. The replacement centre, much less well known but much more modern and capable had been built in an artificial cavern deep below the city. Consisting of a single large room on three levels, surrounded above, below and around with more specialised suites, the centre commanded, liaised with and occasionally directed ships throughout the quadrant.
Just over ten seconds after the torpedoes were fired; the three ships computers blasted a burst of information back to Starfleet’s central computer core, located deep below the surface of Pluto, which relayed it instantly to Earth and the San Francisco command centre. Thirty seconds after the torpedoes had left their tubes, bedside communicators were buzzing.
