It depends, of course, on which Cardassians have access to said technology...
Star Trek: Sigils and Unions--The Thirteenth Order
- Thread starter Nerys Ghemor
- Start date
The Trager was established in having such technology (Dominion transporters and sensors) in the early DS9-Relaunch novels. I do use some of the stuff from the early novels, but my timeline diverges very quickly from the "officially licensed" one.
The Sherouk has the same Dominion tech that the Trager does.
Also, the ships that the Thirteenth Order is trying to commandeer have that tech, AND Dominion-engineered shields and structural upgrades. So, while the Dominion still did not give the Cardassians better weapons or engines, they've got some pretty good stuff.
Nice--and it would be interesting to see how this affects the Balance of Power after the war's over....
I really wonder about that, myself.
It depends, of course, on which Cardassians have access to said technology...
Indeed. Macet and Berat are most trustworthy--but what about the other ships that were outfitted with this technology? That part we don't know...
If your post-DW Cardassia looks anything like the one in the United Trek universe I'd be very concerned about who would end up with this technology. But I think you'll paint a very different landscape. I'd be interested in seeing your interpretaton as a mattter of fact.
Nice, tightly written chapter.
I get that feeling that you're just ichting to write a story entirely in Cardassian. Readership might be a problem though.
Nice, tightly written chapter.
I get that feeling that you're just ichting to write a story entirely in Cardassian. Readership might be a problem though.
I'm not entirely sure what the post-War universe is going to look like, to be honest. On one hand, I think we're seeing some potential movers and shakers coming up in the Thirteenth Order here, people who could help matters...but on the other, I am not sure I have quite as "rosy" a picture of post-War Cardassia as the Pocket Book novels seem to, nor am I sure it will be quite as grim as the UT universe. I have yet to determine that.
The issue of the Cardassians having Dominion technology was actually raised in the Pocket Books novels--in fact, the Trager was named as having such upgrades. But there seemed not to be a lot of follow-up on that. Considering the things we've seen Dominion transporters do (direct transport from Terok to Empok Nor, for instance, and the transport of Eris possibly even all the way THROUGH the wormhole), it seemed that this would have to represent a major technological leap forward. And yet there was no coverage of what it would mean for Cardassia to have that technology.
LOL, about the story in the Cardassian language--indeed, that would be a challenge for readership! I'm afraid I am not quite as far along with the grammar as I'd like, to even be able to think about something like that! That said, though, you will be seeing a chant in a later chapter, that I did translate fully. I'm writing a few chapters ahead and that's actually a section I'm working on now.
The issue of the Cardassians having Dominion technology was actually raised in the Pocket Books novels--in fact, the Trager was named as having such upgrades. But there seemed not to be a lot of follow-up on that. Considering the things we've seen Dominion transporters do (direct transport from Terok to Empok Nor, for instance, and the transport of Eris possibly even all the way THROUGH the wormhole), it seemed that this would have to represent a major technological leap forward. And yet there was no coverage of what it would mean for Cardassia to have that technology.
LOL, about the story in the Cardassian language--indeed, that would be a challenge for readership! I'm afraid I am not quite as far along with the grammar as I'd like, to even be able to think about something like that! That said, though, you will be seeing a chant in a later chapter, that I did translate fully. I'm writing a few chapters ahead and that's actually a section I'm working on now.
^When you do have Cardassian grammar down, I'm sure we all would love to see a Cardassian Dictonary, a la Mark Okrand....
Just a thought.
Just a thought.
LOL, well, that could be a long time coming!
Very weird, that...
New section!
-----------
Mike Spirodopoulos had been through his share of transporter dematerializations—but never anything like this. The tingling sensation, the near-paralysis, the sparks before the eyes…these sensations were much the same. But it was happening so fast this time—so much more so than the Federation or Cardassian transporters he’d experienced so far.
More disorienting, though, was the utter dissolution of the outer environment. During a normal transport, until the very last instant something of one’s surroundings remained visible beyond the shimmering curtain of light. This time, everything was awash. And in that very last instant…did he imagine the void of space?
Then reality reasserted itself—with one difference: the orbital drydock was far, far closer than it had been just a second ago. In fact…they had crossed inside the shield perimeter, to the point at which the station, if it fired on them, risked destroying itself.
It was possibly the most audacious maneuver Spirodopoulos had ever seen. But there was no time to cheer. Except for Zopreg and Iymender, everyone on the small Cardassian vessel readied their weapons as they passed through the ribbed frame of the dock, and out of the threat from the station’s armaments.
“Let’s hope Tevrak did his job,” Iymender mumbled, then worked furiously at his padd.
Almost immediately Dalin Zopreg shouted, “Bay doors opening—both La’aghour, and the Gălor!”
“How many Hide’eki got through?” Macet called.
“Three,” he reported. “One destroyed mid-transport. The Sherouk and Trager have re-engaged the Jem’Hadar…no other teams are coming.”
“Zopreg, scan the ships—how many aboard, and what species?”
The pilot tapped at the attack shuttle’s controls. “Ten to the Gălor—only ten! Six each to the La’aghour,” he called out. “Cardassians, all!”
Spirodopoulos had never imagined, at any point in his forty years of life, and most especially not during the Dominion War, that such news would ever be cause for celebration. But the presence of Cardassians in recent days meant that some could be turned. Especially since fewer of the Hide’eki had made it through than Gul Berat had hoped for, every one of the Lessek orbital personnel to assist them in the launch, especially of the Gălor, was critical—at a very minimum, bridge and engineering stations would both have to be manned.
“Signal the others,” Macet ordered. “Each team lands aboard the nearest vessel and runs straight for the bridge. Nedav, Chedrigan—carry Iymender and find shelter for him...then make best time to follow us. Expect resistance…but be prepared as well to receive allies among them.”
It seemed almost no time before Dalin Zopreg warned, “Brace for impact in kreth—dovay—bret—çek…!”
They shot through the bay doors still at far above the recommended velocity for such a maneuver. No internal tractor beams—the modern fighter pilot’s equivalent of the wire-and-hook system the carrier pilots of Earth’s World War era used to stop their aircraft on landing—were there to brake or guide them…so instead, Zopreg hit the reverse thrusters as hard as he could and threw the ship’s antigravs to full power.
Despite this, and the inertial dampers, the nose of the Hidekiy still pitched hard into the deck. The thud of impact reverberated through every deckplate and bulkhead aboard the attack shuttle, into their feet, and hammered against their ears. Iymender let out a sharp cry as the impact jolted his damaged ankle.
The instant their momentum ceased, Zopreg powered down and blew the hatch. Spirodopoulos swung his rifle off of his armored shoulder in a motion mirrored by everyone else aboard the ship, powering it up to the middle setting—enough to vaporize whoever it hit, but without the nasty blasting effect that could punch a hole through a bulkhead.
And the first sound that greeted Spirodopoulos upon his egress was disruptor fire mixed with astonished Cardăsda cursing. There was already a pitched battle playing out on the shuttle deck—what looked like three or four Cardassians trying to kill the Thirteenth Order intruders, and another three fighting to hold them off. The majority of the combatants appeared to be women. A body already lay on the deck, inert…one of the defenders or aggressors?—he couldn’t be sure.
One wrong shot and we could take out our allies!
But he had to do something—Iymender, and Nedav and Chedrigan by extension, were essentially pinned down in the Hidekiy until they flushed out the Dominion loyalists. And one of the loyalist Cardassians had just reduced Cadet Tran—a genial young Vietnamese woman with the nickname of ‘Tranya’—to a puff of ash and smoke.
Then the Cardassian who had shot Tran—a tall, pale man of Upper Rivçalda origin, to judge from his looks, locked eyes with Spirodopoulos. His upper lip curled into a sneer and in that second, even at this distance, the Greek officer could see every single macroscale, every single ridge, and every feature right down to the stormcloud grey of the Cardassian’s eyes.
“Hey!” Spirodopoulos belted, irate. “Ve’, ça!” Yeah, you!
Spirodopoulos heard the power cell of a phaser rifle behind him whine—the height suggested it was Macet. And if he played this just right…the taller gul might have a better angle for a shot than he’d ever get.
Those eyes glared hard into his now, exactly as he’d intended: the man was furious enough already at the sight of aliens wearing the armor of the Cardassian Guard—all the more so now to hear his people’s language pass across alien lips without the slightest sign of that faint digital distortion that should have overlaid his voice if he’d spoken with the aid of the translator. And Spirodopoulos had even paid attention to the vocative, which according to Riyăk Loshek, the man who led the informal Cardăsda lessons at the Lessek camp, was one of the most commonly-missed points by foreigners. Of course, it helped that the Greek language had once had the same grammatical construct—while not a part of modern speech, it still came naturally to him.
His adversary took a shot at him, which went wide. Good…now I just have to get him that much madder… So Spirodopoulos added something he’d heard many a time from the Cardassians of the Thirteenth Order: “Çlaykothoul tsepouda!” Dominion traitor!
He may have had somewhat of a Terran accent—but that certainly didn’t get in the way of the Cardassian’s understanding. Furious now, that alabaster-grey finger squeezed the trigger of his disruptor pistol—
—only for the beam to carve a scorching line in the ceiling before the dead man’s finger could release the weapon entirely. Macet’s shot had practically eviscerated the other Cardassian: for some reason, his armor had prevented the beam from completely vaporizing his body, leaving a gaping hole in the center of his chest with only the empty, skeletal ribs—both of bone and cuirass—remaining.
At the same time as Macet destroyed the Dominion loyalist responsible for Tran’s death, Folani picked off another, giving the other rebels the opening they needed to make short work of the rest.
Finally the rebels spun around to face the boarding party. “Dalin Raxesh of the Technical Corps,” announced a lanky, wildly grinning woman of Nevotda extraction. “I am a servant of Cardassia—and so are these. Let us help you…we can mind engineering while you fly us out of here.”
“One of my own will accompany you,” Macet said. “You understand, of course.”
Raxesh bowed crisply: it was only natural in her view that the gul would want to watch her people for signs of treason. Still, one thing gave her pause: “Cardăsda pă vedrayçda?”
“The Federation soldiers will follow me to the bridge. But they have proven themselves thus far, Dalin.” The gul pushed a button on his wristcomm—a chronometer function, it seemed, though Spirodopoulos had yet to figure out where that was located on his. “We’ve talked long enough. Did Verest grant clearance codes already to use the ship’s transporters?”
Raxesh raised an eye ridge. “He did—but what am I transporting?”
“One of our people shattered his ankle…our programming specialist. I need you to transport him, and the men supporting him, to the bridge as soon as we signal.” Exactly on cue, Riyăk Iymender poked his head around the corner from inside the attack shuttle. A rather sheepish smile spread across his face, especially as his eyes fell on Dalin Raxesh. Now there’s a universal constant, Spirodopoulos couldn’t help thinking: that was definitely the abashed expression of a young man caught in an embarrassing position not just in front of his superior, but before an attractive woman.
“Gorhoç edek, Gul. And one more thing,” Raxesh added. “I’m having Gor Yoprel transported over.” At Gul Macet’s questioning look, she explained, “He’s the gunner who spared your lives just now. He’s loyal…I don’t know about anyone else over at the dock, though—so just Yoprel.”
“If you vouch for him, Dalin,” Macet replied in a cautious tone. “His disobedience will be upon your head—as with any of these.” The lead engineer bowed crisply in understanding. “Now we’d best be on our way,” he warned, gesturing to the five headed to the bridge with him. “Ador—stay with Raxesh; switch your wristcomm to live feed so I can hear you. The rest of you…with me!”
-----------
Mike Spirodopoulos had been through his share of transporter dematerializations—but never anything like this. The tingling sensation, the near-paralysis, the sparks before the eyes…these sensations were much the same. But it was happening so fast this time—so much more so than the Federation or Cardassian transporters he’d experienced so far.
More disorienting, though, was the utter dissolution of the outer environment. During a normal transport, until the very last instant something of one’s surroundings remained visible beyond the shimmering curtain of light. This time, everything was awash. And in that very last instant…did he imagine the void of space?
Then reality reasserted itself—with one difference: the orbital drydock was far, far closer than it had been just a second ago. In fact…they had crossed inside the shield perimeter, to the point at which the station, if it fired on them, risked destroying itself.
It was possibly the most audacious maneuver Spirodopoulos had ever seen. But there was no time to cheer. Except for Zopreg and Iymender, everyone on the small Cardassian vessel readied their weapons as they passed through the ribbed frame of the dock, and out of the threat from the station’s armaments.
“Let’s hope Tevrak did his job,” Iymender mumbled, then worked furiously at his padd.
Almost immediately Dalin Zopreg shouted, “Bay doors opening—both La’aghour, and the Gălor!”
“How many Hide’eki got through?” Macet called.
“Three,” he reported. “One destroyed mid-transport. The Sherouk and Trager have re-engaged the Jem’Hadar…no other teams are coming.”
“Zopreg, scan the ships—how many aboard, and what species?”
The pilot tapped at the attack shuttle’s controls. “Ten to the Gălor—only ten! Six each to the La’aghour,” he called out. “Cardassians, all!”
Spirodopoulos had never imagined, at any point in his forty years of life, and most especially not during the Dominion War, that such news would ever be cause for celebration. But the presence of Cardassians in recent days meant that some could be turned. Especially since fewer of the Hide’eki had made it through than Gul Berat had hoped for, every one of the Lessek orbital personnel to assist them in the launch, especially of the Gălor, was critical—at a very minimum, bridge and engineering stations would both have to be manned.
“Signal the others,” Macet ordered. “Each team lands aboard the nearest vessel and runs straight for the bridge. Nedav, Chedrigan—carry Iymender and find shelter for him...then make best time to follow us. Expect resistance…but be prepared as well to receive allies among them.”
It seemed almost no time before Dalin Zopreg warned, “Brace for impact in kreth—dovay—bret—çek…!”
They shot through the bay doors still at far above the recommended velocity for such a maneuver. No internal tractor beams—the modern fighter pilot’s equivalent of the wire-and-hook system the carrier pilots of Earth’s World War era used to stop their aircraft on landing—were there to brake or guide them…so instead, Zopreg hit the reverse thrusters as hard as he could and threw the ship’s antigravs to full power.
Despite this, and the inertial dampers, the nose of the Hidekiy still pitched hard into the deck. The thud of impact reverberated through every deckplate and bulkhead aboard the attack shuttle, into their feet, and hammered against their ears. Iymender let out a sharp cry as the impact jolted his damaged ankle.
The instant their momentum ceased, Zopreg powered down and blew the hatch. Spirodopoulos swung his rifle off of his armored shoulder in a motion mirrored by everyone else aboard the ship, powering it up to the middle setting—enough to vaporize whoever it hit, but without the nasty blasting effect that could punch a hole through a bulkhead.
And the first sound that greeted Spirodopoulos upon his egress was disruptor fire mixed with astonished Cardăsda cursing. There was already a pitched battle playing out on the shuttle deck—what looked like three or four Cardassians trying to kill the Thirteenth Order intruders, and another three fighting to hold them off. The majority of the combatants appeared to be women. A body already lay on the deck, inert…one of the defenders or aggressors?—he couldn’t be sure.
One wrong shot and we could take out our allies!
But he had to do something—Iymender, and Nedav and Chedrigan by extension, were essentially pinned down in the Hidekiy until they flushed out the Dominion loyalists. And one of the loyalist Cardassians had just reduced Cadet Tran—a genial young Vietnamese woman with the nickname of ‘Tranya’—to a puff of ash and smoke.
Then the Cardassian who had shot Tran—a tall, pale man of Upper Rivçalda origin, to judge from his looks, locked eyes with Spirodopoulos. His upper lip curled into a sneer and in that second, even at this distance, the Greek officer could see every single macroscale, every single ridge, and every feature right down to the stormcloud grey of the Cardassian’s eyes.
“Hey!” Spirodopoulos belted, irate. “Ve’, ça!” Yeah, you!
Spirodopoulos heard the power cell of a phaser rifle behind him whine—the height suggested it was Macet. And if he played this just right…the taller gul might have a better angle for a shot than he’d ever get.
Those eyes glared hard into his now, exactly as he’d intended: the man was furious enough already at the sight of aliens wearing the armor of the Cardassian Guard—all the more so now to hear his people’s language pass across alien lips without the slightest sign of that faint digital distortion that should have overlaid his voice if he’d spoken with the aid of the translator. And Spirodopoulos had even paid attention to the vocative, which according to Riyăk Loshek, the man who led the informal Cardăsda lessons at the Lessek camp, was one of the most commonly-missed points by foreigners. Of course, it helped that the Greek language had once had the same grammatical construct—while not a part of modern speech, it still came naturally to him.
His adversary took a shot at him, which went wide. Good…now I just have to get him that much madder… So Spirodopoulos added something he’d heard many a time from the Cardassians of the Thirteenth Order: “Çlaykothoul tsepouda!” Dominion traitor!
He may have had somewhat of a Terran accent—but that certainly didn’t get in the way of the Cardassian’s understanding. Furious now, that alabaster-grey finger squeezed the trigger of his disruptor pistol—
—only for the beam to carve a scorching line in the ceiling before the dead man’s finger could release the weapon entirely. Macet’s shot had practically eviscerated the other Cardassian: for some reason, his armor had prevented the beam from completely vaporizing his body, leaving a gaping hole in the center of his chest with only the empty, skeletal ribs—both of bone and cuirass—remaining.
At the same time as Macet destroyed the Dominion loyalist responsible for Tran’s death, Folani picked off another, giving the other rebels the opening they needed to make short work of the rest.
Finally the rebels spun around to face the boarding party. “Dalin Raxesh of the Technical Corps,” announced a lanky, wildly grinning woman of Nevotda extraction. “I am a servant of Cardassia—and so are these. Let us help you…we can mind engineering while you fly us out of here.”
“One of my own will accompany you,” Macet said. “You understand, of course.”
Raxesh bowed crisply: it was only natural in her view that the gul would want to watch her people for signs of treason. Still, one thing gave her pause: “Cardăsda pă vedrayçda?”
“The Federation soldiers will follow me to the bridge. But they have proven themselves thus far, Dalin.” The gul pushed a button on his wristcomm—a chronometer function, it seemed, though Spirodopoulos had yet to figure out where that was located on his. “We’ve talked long enough. Did Verest grant clearance codes already to use the ship’s transporters?”
Raxesh raised an eye ridge. “He did—but what am I transporting?”
“One of our people shattered his ankle…our programming specialist. I need you to transport him, and the men supporting him, to the bridge as soon as we signal.” Exactly on cue, Riyăk Iymender poked his head around the corner from inside the attack shuttle. A rather sheepish smile spread across his face, especially as his eyes fell on Dalin Raxesh. Now there’s a universal constant, Spirodopoulos couldn’t help thinking: that was definitely the abashed expression of a young man caught in an embarrassing position not just in front of his superior, but before an attractive woman.
“Gorhoç edek, Gul. And one more thing,” Raxesh added. “I’m having Gor Yoprel transported over.” At Gul Macet’s questioning look, she explained, “He’s the gunner who spared your lives just now. He’s loyal…I don’t know about anyone else over at the dock, though—so just Yoprel.”
“If you vouch for him, Dalin,” Macet replied in a cautious tone. “His disobedience will be upon your head—as with any of these.” The lead engineer bowed crisply in understanding. “Now we’d best be on our way,” he warned, gesturing to the five headed to the bridge with him. “Ador—stay with Raxesh; switch your wristcomm to live feed so I can hear you. The rest of you…with me!”
Ahh...if it's been awhile, you did go back to look for any previous sections that you missed, right?
Anyway, glad you enjoyed it!
Anyway, glad you enjoyed it!
Excellent!
This, together with the last handful of scenes, has got to be the longest action sequence I've ever read--and each segment is different enough to keep interest without wearing the reader out, yet at the same time flowing reasonably well.
Looking forward to see how you'll top all this....
This, together with the last handful of scenes, has got to be the longest action sequence I've ever read--and each segment is different enough to keep interest without wearing the reader out, yet at the same time flowing reasonably well.
Looking forward to see how you'll top all this....
Well, we'll have to see what happens! I don't know that any other part will be approached in QUITE this way, but it's really been an amazing challenge and one that really stretched my wings to work on. It's kinda inspired by some of the stuff I've seen Tom Clancy do.
Nice name change, Nerys. Is it permanent or just for Halloween??
I'm loving this story. Your writing is top notch and far better than some professional drivel I've seen and read in recent years.
Keep it up.
I'm loving this story. Your writing is top notch and far better than some professional drivel I've seen and read in recent years.
Keep it up.
I think that I can assure you that the name change is only temporary, given both our opinions of the late unlamented Gul Skrain Dukat.
Remember, Dukat is for Halloween not for life!
As for Tom Clancy I liked some of his earlier works in particular Red Storm Rising, but I found his latest works to be too much of an Authorial Tact with Clancy forcing his politics into the narrative at the expense of the story itself.
I can see the inspiration in your latest sequences but I also like the uniqueness of your writing style ND.
Has anyone read any Larry Bond? I'm rereading some of his earlier novels (Vortex, Cauldron and Red Phoenix) and they have given me some ideas for Checkmate when I finally get back to it...
Cardassian techo-thriller, a natural genre?
Glad you're enjoying!
BB--I'll be getting to your story either on my lunch break or when I get home today. Loooooooooooooong shift to work...
And trust me...the only Dukat I would give any honor to is his AU "good twin."
Oh, and Thor--I never had the "politics" problem with Tom Clancy. If anything, it was the technical stuff he'd go on too much about at times. But unlike Michael Crichton, though, he remained capable of creating characters you could empathize with.
BB--I'll be getting to your story either on my lunch break or when I get home today. Loooooooooooooong shift to work...
And trust me...the only Dukat I would give any honor to is his AU "good twin."
Oh, and Thor--I never had the "politics" problem with Tom Clancy. If anything, it was the technical stuff he'd go on too much about at times. But unlike Michael Crichton, though, he remained capable of creating characters you could empathize with.
Thanks for informing me a new section was up! I don't really know what to say, beyond:
1) Great as always.
2) I'm very much enjoying it still.
That's more than enough, I suppose
. Oh, and something I feel like adding, now I think about it: Rush is right, you're handling this extensive action sequence very well, and I appreciate in particular that you're keeping the focus on the characters. I think many writers get too caught up in describing the action and ensuring it "feels" convincing that they forget the purpose of the action is to further their character's story. It's good that that hasn't happened here- I'm seeing "the characters in the action scene", not "the action with the characters sidelined as characters and turned into moving pieces", if I phrased that okay .
I don't really know what to say, beyond: 1) Great as always.
2) I'm very much enjoying it still.
That's more than enough, I suppose
. Oh, and something I feel like adding, now I think about it: Rush is right, you're handling this extensive action sequence very well, and I appreciate in particular that you're keeping the focus on the characters. I think many writers get too caught up in describing the action and ensuring it "feels" convincing that they forget the purpose of the action is to further their character's story. It's good that that hasn't happened here- I'm seeing "the characters in the action scene", not "the action with the characters sidelined as characters and turned into moving pieces", if I phrased that okay .
Thanks! I was worried at first that people might not like it, that there's "thought stuff" in the middle of an action sequence, but I'm glad to know that's working out for you!
Oh, I prefer reading characters' thoughts during action. Makes it more personal--and therefore, more thrilling.
I mean, hey--"objective" action is okay on screen--but in print, I'd take personal, middle-of-the-action "he felt the ship rock around him" over dry-descriptive "the ship went left, than right, etc." ANY day.
Star Wars books have too much of that "objective" stuff, from what I hear....
I mean, hey--"objective" action is okay on screen--but in print, I'd take personal, middle-of-the-action "he felt the ship rock around him" over dry-descriptive "the ship went left, than right, etc." ANY day.
Star Wars books have too much of that "objective" stuff, from what I hear....
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