Star Trek: Yorktown #1 - Trials of War

[Rat Boy]

Certain character match-ups seemed natural, like Zhang kind of taking Hall under his wing. Schneider's interest in Tavas also seemed natural, since he kind of is a little of a xenophile based on his interest in languages. As for Mason and Duclare, wait until Friday.

 

[Rat Boy]

Nine

​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

Since the days of the old NX-01 Enterprise in the mid 22nd Century, the saucer shaped primary hull had been a staple in Starfleet design, an aesthetic passed down largely unchanged for over a hundred years. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, the designers of the NX-class starship had created another tradition that also remained unbroken into the late 23rd Century. Each deck in the primary hull had a ring-shaped corridor that provided access to rooms and quarters that bordered the outer hull. Naturally, the widest deck in the primary hull (in the Yorktown’s case, deck seven)had an outer corridor with the greatest circumference and had been regularly utilized as a makeshift track for runners like Kristen Duclare.

But, the trouble was, everyone on the ship knew it, so it was difficult finding a time to run around the perimeter of deck seven where it wasn’t filled with other running enthusiasts, let alone crew members who normally moved about one of the more utilized decks on the ship and who’d provide unwanted obstacles. But, Duclare thought she had it timed right, just between the time the mid watch was about to come off duty and when the morning watch was getting ready to head to their posts. She had been looking forward to this; she ran track and marathons back at the academy and wasn’t really a fan of using the treadmills in the ship’s gym, not liking running in place like a hamster on a wheel. It wasn’t going to be easy since the Yorktown’s primary hull was one of the largest in the fleet and Duclare hadn’t had time for hard endurance running since coming aboard.

She was presently at the aft end of the deck near the impulse deck doing her stretches; because of the size of the ship’s sublight propulsion system, the corridor she’d be running through wasn’t a perfect circle, but it was close enough. The large doors and caution signs made it easy for her to keep track of where the start/finish line was. Duclare bent down to stretch out her lower back when she noticed someone coming up from behind her. Tensing up and turning around as she raised her upper body, she noticed that it was Mason, wearing almost the same smirk he had when they first met in the science lab.

“Captain?” she asked and only then noticed he was wearing a gray exercise shirt, black shorts, and running shoes. She was similarly dressed, however her work out clothes were a little tighter fitting than his. Hope he enjoyed the view, Duclare thought sarcastically. “Is something wrong?”

“Looks like you and I have the same idea,” he explained before he too started to stretch. “Running laps, I mean.”

“Oh. Have you done it before?”

“Usually just as the mid watch starts, but last night I got too caught up watching hockey.”

“Hockey?” Duclare asked curiously while stretching out her calves.

“Not a fan?” he asked.

“I’m from Montreal. Family worships the Canadiens.”

“Really? I’m from Vega Colony but my family comes from British Columbia. Followed the Canucks all my life. Didn’t have a chance to see them play in person until I enrolled at the academy.”

“Then you must have really loved the finals of ‘52,” Duclare said with a wider grin, almost immediately greeted by a pained groan from Mason.

“I may issue a standing order to prevent you from ever mentioning that again,” the captain said through his teeth. “You run a lot?”

“I was on the track team at the academy. Ran the marathon on Danula II every year. Managed to get third place my last two times.”

“Really? Best I ever did was sixth and that was the only time I ever cracked the top twenty. But that was a long time ago. Four laps around this place and I’m beat.”

“Only four, sir?” she teased, getting a perverse pleasure out of watching her commanding officer squirm yet again.

“That almost sounds like a challenge, Commander,” Mason said in a taunting manner. “Care to put your credits where your mouth is?”

“You’re on, Captain.”

“All right, four laps?” She nodded and they both stood side by side next to the door to the impulse engineering spaces facing starboard. “Just hope no one runs a diagnostic on the grav plating settings while we’re doing this. Ready?”

“Whenever you are, sir,” Duclare replied.

“All right, on your marks, get set, GO!” Mason jumped first before she could get off the proverbial starting blocks and took the early lead, pumping his arms furiously as he charged down the corridor. Duclare fell in step behind, knowing that the captain was burning up too much energy right out of the gate. He was almost a decade older than her and while he had more practice on this impromptu course, she felt she still had the advantage.

Passing through the aft-starboard section of the deck, there were a few members of the crew in the corridors, who quickly pressed up against the walls when the captain and science officer raced past them. Even as they approached the starboard end, Mason kept his pace up and his lead was starting to widen. Fighting off the competitive temptation to speed up, Duclare held back, keeping her legs, arms, and breathing in a steady rhythm.

The running order proceeded without change as they made their way around the bow and back along the port side of the ship. As they neared the end of the first lap, the captain slowed into a steadier, less rapid pace for the long haul as Duclare already had. Lap two passed uneventfully as the bulk of the first had, though she started to notice that more and more members of the crew seemed to be milling about and watching the race.

Mason was still in the lead as they came around to complete lap two, however there appeared to be a group of engineering personnel just outside of impulse deck’s entrance. The captain barked, “MAKE A HOLE!” before he almost collided with them. It did slow him down and allowed Duclare to gain ground; she flashed the unwitting obstructionists a smile as she passed them.

The crowds seemed to double as they continued on for the third lap, cheering them on (and perhaps placing bets), though the way Duclare’s pulse was pounding in her ears, she couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. She was starting to feel the strain of being out of practice for so long, but so was Mason. Duclare could see the sweat soaking through the back of his shirt and could hear his breathing getting deeper and harder.

As soon as he rounded the bend for lap four, the captain shot forward with renewed speed, forcing her to accelerate just to keep up. They passed the bow on the final stretch with Mason still having a significant gap over Duclare. Time for warp factor eight. She threw herself into it, sprinting as fast as she could and to the captain’s credit, he was still holding onto his lead, though it was shrinking little by little. More and more she started to think it’d take a miracle to pass him and wondered if perhaps she had underestimated Mason yet again.

But then, just as they past the port side of the deck, his pace faltered. He was slowing down! His footfalls were unsteady, as if his body couldn’t handle the strain of going at full speed. Duclare surged onward and closed the gap. They approached the aft side and were almost neck-and-neck. The door was mere meters ahead and the science officer leaned forward to give herself a bit an edge. Her focus was completely on the finish line, now filled wall to wall with cheering members of the crew.

Duclare crossed and as she slowed down turned her head around to see Mason lagging behind her, staggering to a stop, almost bent over and gasping for air. Even she felt spent, with the strands of her hair sticking to her forehead. Gingerly, she made her way over to him with an extended hand, even those his were firmly planted on his knees.

“Good race, sir,” she said between gasps.

“Likewise,” he replied. Mason extended a hand and when she shook it found that it was slick and difficult to grip. To the onlookers, he angrily said, “Don’t you people have something better to do? Dismissed!”

The crowd dispersed down the corridor, into turbolifts, or back into the impulse room. Once they were alone again, Mason hobbled over to a wall and leaned up against it. He stripped out of his exercise shirt and wiped his forehead, chest, and belly (the last two of which immediately drew Duclare’s interested glance).

“Look, sir, I’m sorry if this got carried away,” she apologized, trying not to stare too closely at his glistening torso.

“Don’t be. Me and my big mouth. Gotta give you credit; you have pretty good stamina.”

Now there was a loaded term if she ever heard one. “To be fair, sir, I used to run track every day when I was stationed at Starbase 11. And I was the fastest human in those two marathons I mentioned.”

“So was I,” he said, flinging his shirt over his shoulder and finally standing up straight. “I should probably shower. I’m tempted to ask for a rematch, but I think we should wait a couple days, just so I can recover.”

“Of course, sir,” Duclare said. “See you on the bridge, Captain.”

“Commander.” Slowly, he made his way to a turbolift and departed, leaving the science officer with a wide though tired grin of satisfaction…

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

“Yes dear,” Admiral Leland said with a sigh. On his office monitor was his wife, Greta, who was once again reminding him that his duties at Starfleet Command were interfering with her plans for the evening at home. In spite of what had been a repeated argument throughout his career, Mrs. Leland was still smiling, as if she was getting a kick out of dragging him away from his desk. “Look, things are quiet around here, I’ll see about slipping out when Admiral Barnett leaves. Shouldn’t be before too long.”

“Good,” Greta said, her smile becoming warmer. They’d been married for close to thirty years and to Leland’s eye she hadn’t aged a day, though she did her best to hide the fact that she colored her presently dark hair. “Juliana’s supposed to be bringing Derrick over. Way she’s been talking it sounds like he’s getting close to popping the question.”

“Oh great,” he muttered. Juliana, naturally, was their daughter and all of twenty-one years of age. She had two older sisters, both already married. “Another expensive wedding to start planning.”

“You know our baby girl, Jonas. She never liked being fussed over."

“She’s never had a wedding before and I hate to break it to you but she’s not our baby girl anymore.”

“Oh? I thought the dads were the ones who had a hard time letting their daughters grow up.”

“I didn’t say it was easy,” Leland said with a chuckle. Hell, I’ve barely even seen them grow up. “So, I suppose one of us should sit this Derrick down and…”

He was cut off by the buzz of his intercom. Chambers’ voice came on and said, “Sorry if I’m interrupting, Admiral, but…”

“One second.” After muting the channel, he said to his wife, “I should probably take this. I’ll see you when I can.”

“Where have I heard that line before?” Greta asked sarcastically before severing the connection.

After shutting down the monitor, he went from Jonas Leland, loving husband and father, to Admiral Leland, the very irritated Chief of Starfleet Operations. “This had better be damn important, Ms. Chambers.”

“Commander Nelson needs to see you right away.”

“Send him in,” Leland said, knowing full well his aide knew better than to interrupt a private call with only trivial information. Nelson entered the office quickly and the admiral could easily tell from the look on his face that something was wrong. And that it was going to be a long night.

“We just lost contact with the Carson, sir,” the commander said immediately. “She was operating in the Sygos system in Sector 018 and now she’s gone dark.”

Now it was really serious. Although the final frontier was a dangerous place, there weren’t a lot of suspected causes for the sudden disappearance of the Carson particularly with why she was there. “Any distress calls?”

“None, sir. But considering the fact we sent them there to monitor Sector 020 and factor in the fact that another Klingon task force just put to space from their main base near there and it all adds up. The Klingons could be making a move towards Organia”

“Remind me, Commander, of what exactly those intel reports about Organia and that sector said,” Leland ordered. They had hundreds of intelligence sources and data coming in and it was too much for the admiral to keep straight at that hour.

“We’ve been getting word of unmanned Klingon probes sighted near the planet,” Nelson replied. “There was also a report of a Tellarite merchant vessel being shadowed by a Klingon scout vessel about a week ago. One of their stops on their trade route was Organia. It’s my guess they’ve been conducting reconnaissance ahead of an attack and if the Carson was ambushed, it could be a prelude to a full-scale invasion. Based on my analysis of the region, if the Klingons are making a move towards Organia, then they’d be in a position to cut us off from our outer colonies and member worlds. They could use it as a springboard to invade our rimward territories or flank our core sectors.”

He had to give his aide credit for coming to a conclusion that Leland probably would have on his own, albeit slower. That’s why I hired him. “Then they may have just tipped their hands by destroying the Carson if God forbid that’s what happened. Do we have any other ships close to Sygos?”

“The Yorktown can get there in a couple of days if they push it to warp eight, sir.”

“Get down to the ops center and tell Mason to get there; I want firm confirmation on this. Get all the data you have on the Klingons and Organia; I get the feeling I’ll be needing it.” Nelson acknowledged the command and quickly exited the admiral’s office. Jabbing the intercom control again, he said to his yeoman, “Ms. Chambers, tell Admiral Barnett I want to see him on the double.”

“But sir,” she answered and Leland wasn’t in the mood for buts, “the admiral’s in a meeting…”

“I don’t care who he’s with, tell him it’s a God damn emergency!”

“Aye sir.” Leland got up from his chair to head to the CINC’s office, but paused for a moment wondering if he should tell Greta that he was most definitely going to be late tonight. No, she’d been through this before and at least acted like she understood every time. But, a missed dinner was the least of the admiral’s concerns now. One of his ships was missing and the Klingons were massing for a possible invasion, something that those politicians in the Federation Council he loathed so much couldn’t ignore. Hell, this could change everything…

 

[CeJay]

Oh yeah, there are definitely sparks between the captain and the science officer. Which is interesting of course, seeing how they are two very different individuals who don't have much in common. Except perhaps a competitive spirit. I'm looking forward to see if and how this develops.

 

[Rat Boy]

Ten

​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

If the Yorktown wasn’t on a rescue mission, Juliet Okefor might have appreciated the sight she saw on the bridge’s view screen a little bit more. The view of space and the stars that dotted it always had a calming effect on her, though the relief was tempered by reality. Orders had come straight from Starfleet Command two days ago that the USS Carson was missing; a scout ship similar to ones Okefor had served on in the past. According to the communiqué, the Carson had been on the lookout for Klingon ship movements. If what happened to the ship was as everyone feared, then she dreaded the ramifications for the future.

“Approaching the Sygos system, sir,” Tavas reported.

“Take us out of warp,” Mason ordered.

“Aye sir,” said the Andorian. The hum of the warp drive ebbed as the Yorktown decelerated below the speed of light.

“Any sign of vessels?”

“Nothing yet, Captain,” Duclare replied.

“If the Carson was attacked, then whoever did it could be long gone,” Hall speculated.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Lieutenant,” the captain noted. Okefor heartily agreed; they didn’t know what happened to the Carson and any guessing could lead to the wrong answers, especially when the truth could have wide-sweeping consequences for the Federation. “Mr. Schneider, any sign of a ship’s disaster buoy?”

“No sir,” the ensign replied. “All channels are quiet.”

Okefor began feeling a sense of dread. If there was no beacon, usually launched in the event of the loss of a ship, then the crew of the Carson might not have had enough time to deploy it.

“Against the Klingons, they wouldn’t have had a chance,” the navigator remarked and again Okefor’s felt disdain for his militant point of view. “A scout ship like that has minimal defense and armament. A couple direct hits from a warship would have…”

“Captain,” the science officer interrupted. “I’m reading metallic traces, bearing zero three one mark four.”

“Put it on screen,” Mason ordered. Now there was metallic debris displayed on it, clearly vessel wreckage though Okefor couldn’t tell where it could have come from. “Analysis?”

“The debris field is consistent with the mass of a scout vessel like the Carson. Materials are also consistent with Starfleet construction; spread pattern indicates an antimatter containment breach. I’m also picking up weapons signatures consistent with photon torpedoes and disruptors. No signs of escape pods.”

“Klingons,” Hall immediately concluded. “It’s a god damn act of war, that’s what it is.”

“Other species use photon torpedoes and disruptors, Leftenant,” the XO cautioned angrily.

The navigator spun around from his station. “With all due respect, ma’am, none of them are trying to stake a claim to this sector. You’d know that, Commander, if you…”

“Enough!” Mason barked sharply. In a calmer tone, he added, “Is there anything else you can determine with the sensors, Commander?”

“I think so, sir,” Duclare said. “One of the pieces of wreckage looks like a log buoy, but it’s been heavily damaged.”

“That could be why it’s not transmitting, sir,” added Schneider.

“Tie in,” the captain ordered, “see what you can find.”

“I have access,” the science officer replied as she sat down to access the library computer terminal. “The captain’s log is too corrupted, trying the sensor logs.” Several different images flashed on her screens, mostly graphs and charts. “Not a lot from the attack but there is something. I’ll try to put a visual of it on screen.”

The debris field disappeared from the screen, replaced by static. Occasionally, the digital fog lifted and Okefor could see space and stars, but just briefly; nothing to get a real sense of what had happened to the Carson. However, the static cleared momentarily and she could make out another ship in the distance.

“Freeze it right there,” Mason ordered. “Lock in on that object and enhance.”

The image pulled in on the ship, which was still too blurry too make out. The identity of the attacker could be a game changer; the difference between this being just a tragic attack or as Hall bluntly put it, an act of war. After Duclare made a few adjustments, the remaining static was removed and the vessel became clearer. Okefor sighed the second she recognized it: a Klingon warship.

“A Klingon F5 frigate,” Hall commented. Its lines were similar to a D7, however it was much smaller. “Designed for stealth and striking hard at long distances. They wouldn’t have spotted it until it was too late. The Carson probably didn’t last long.”

Mason only nodded, as if he was still trying to take in the revelation. “Get that off the screen. Prepare all the records from the buoy for transmission to Starfleet along with your sensor readings. They’re going to want to know about this.”

“Aye sir,” Duclare replied. The Klingon warship was now gone, replaced by the aftermath of its brutal handiwork.

“Mr. Hall, ready a marker buoy for the salvage vessels. Launch as soon as it’s ready. Not much more we can do now. Maintain surveillance for any other ships. Mr. Schneider, get me a priority channel to Starfleet Command, patch it through to my quarters with the log information.”

“Aye sir,” the communications officer replied.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” the captain concluded as he got up from his seat.

“Aye sir,” Okefor replied. Mason departed and the XO took his seat, gently easing herself down as she too started to feel the effects of this contentious day. Might be nicer if I had my own bloody chair up here.

“Why would the Klingons attack the Carson?” Tavas asked. “If there’s nothing out here, it all seems so…pointless.”

“Scanners aren’t picking up anything unusual,” announced Duclare while peering through her scope. “Long range sensors also still not picking up any hostile vessels.”

“Oh, I bet they’re out there,” the navigator noted slyly. This was hardly the time to be flippant, if not for the destruction of the Carson then of course he was right about there being Klingon warships in the vicinity. “Whatever they hoped to accomplish with that attack, they got it and moved on. You don’t blow up a Federation ship unless you’ve got a reason.”

“Is there anything interesting about the system itself?” Okefor questioned as she got up from the center seat and walked over to the science station. Under normal circumstances, her scientific background and natural curiosity would make her intrigued, though obviously with the situation with the Klingons they didn’t have time for a survey mission.

“Not that I can tell,” the science officer replied. “The outer planets are your garden variety gas giants, as expected. The inner ones don’t come anywhere close to being Class M. Looks like it’s another one of those systems that never quite got off the ground.”

“What about the moons? Anything on them?”

“Nothing. Just a bunch of rocks as far we know, but then again it’s never been charted beyond looking for life or minerals. Why?”

“I…just want there to be a reason for all this,” Okefor commented as she leaned up against the edge of the console, her eyes drifting back to the view screen. “I could spend weeks, months charting a star system like that. Why would the Carson be sent out here?”

“Mainly due to Sygos’ proximity to the disputed zone,” she replied. “It makes for a good place to observe Klingon positions covertly, not that it apparently did them any good. Since there’s nothing here of value, neither side would give the system another thought.”

The XO snorted in contempt. “Is that all space and star systems are now? Commodities to be claimed and fought over? Whatever happened to simply exploring and seeing what’s out there?”

“Don’t forget, ancient explorers back on Earth set out to find new resources and wealth, not just because they could. Even the old Space Race was motivated by nationalistic competition.”

“And look at what happened,” Okefor commented. “Millions died in the conquests of Asia and the Americas. As soon as Armstrong and Aldrin landed on Luna, the Apollo program was gradually shut down and it was nearly half a century before humanity returned to the moon. The colonization of Mars, the expansion of Starfleet following the Romulan War; it seems like the only reason humanity explores is to find something before someone else does.”

“A little competition now and then doesn’t hurt,” Duclare noted, “unless the Klingons are involved.”

Turning back from the stars on the screen, the XO gave her new friend a wry smirk. “Speaking of competition, I heard you and the captain got into it the other day.”

“It wasn’t like that.” She tensed up, as if the accusation that there was something more going on than just a simple few laps around the ship offended her. “We just…both decided to have a run.”

“Rumor has it you beat him by three meters,” Okefor quipped.

“He pulled up for some reason,” Duclare said, then shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe we got a little carried away.”

The XO glanced around before whispering, “Or maybe he preferred the view from behind you.”

“Seeing how winded he was, he definitely paid the price for the show.” They both shared a light chuckle and felt the prying eyes of the rest of the bridge crew fall upon them, wondering what could possibly so amusing at a time like this. Okefor coughed in a vain attempt to cover up the laugh (which by doing admittedly made her a hypocrite for mentally chastising Hall’s remarks). “Actually, I think he’s itching for a rematch, just as soon as he recovers and things settle down, of course.”

“Sounds like you’ve been spending more time with him than I have,” Okefor commented.

“Jealous?” Duclare asked sarcastically

“Carry on, Commander,” the XO said formally before returning to the captain’s chair and glanced ahead to the view screen and the remains of the Carson. Now there was nothing to but wait. And hope…

(Continued below)

 

[Rat Boy]

Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets
Paris, Earth

Pacing angrily just outside said office, Jonas Leland couldn’t tell what was driving him more nuts, the wait or the inevitable idiocy of what was waiting for him in there. An emergency meeting had been called at this late hour (which always seemed to be the case with a crisis), though what for the admiral didn’t know. It was possible that it had to do with the Carson, but then again it could have been something else, something worse.They were still waiting for the principles to arrive and the process had taken far longer than Leland would have liked. As of now, it was only the CSO and Barnett.

“Have you heard anything else?” the CINC asked as he sat calmly in a chair near the desk of the president’s secretary. Thankfully, Barnett’s reaction to the news about the attack and the warship deployments had been what Leland hoped for; determination to defend the Federation at any cost. However, the trick would be convincing the politicians of the severity of the emergency and of Leland and Nelson’s suspicions about the intent of the Klingons. Even Barnett wasn’t fully convinced that the Klingons were targeting Organia, but to Leland, all the pieces fit. It was only a matter of time before the Klingons made their move.

“Nelson’s coming here from the ops center,” Leland replied. The Yorktown had just arrived at Sygos and Captain Mason’s report was due to arrive at headquarters in any minute. “Hopefully he’ll have something new.”

“And hopefully good. If this was an attack, then there’s going to be ramifications.”

“I’d hate to say this, Rich, but this might be a blessing in a very bad disguise. If our theory’s right, the Klingons might have taken the Carson out in an attempt to keep their invasion of Organia a secret.”

“If your theory is correct,” Barnett noted. Leland had to concede that he might be wrong about that. Organia was well outside the Klingon supply lines; an invasion would be a risky undertaking. But it was just the sort of risk he’d take in their place.

“I stand by my conclusions, Rich,” the admiral countered. “If the Yorktown discovers that the Carson was destroyed by Klingons, then it’s all the confirmation I need.”

“And you’ll know what’ll happen. A Federation vessel destroyed without provocation, an invasion force in route to a planet in the disputed zone. The council would believe it’s an act of war.”

“Ain’t our call, Rich, but off the record, I’d agree with it.”

“How can you say that?” the fleet admiral asked. “How can you agree with sending our people to war?”

“Because the Klingons have shed the first blood, sir,” the CSO said firmly as Nelson arrived.

“Sorry I’m late, sirs,” he explained quickly, “but we got the initial findings from the Yorktown. The Carson’s been destroyed; analysis confirms a Klingon attack.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” Barnett asked.

“The sensor records from the log buoy positively ID a Klingon frigate, sir,” Nelson replied. “There’s no sign of any Klingon vessels in the area now, but it’s possible the frigate was an advanced scout and for all we know there could be an assault force on its way to Organia as we speak.”

“And they have one hell of a head start on us,” noted Leland.

“Do we have any assets in the area?” the CINC.

"The Enterprise is the closest starship," Neslon said, "but they're still roughly twenty-four hours away."

“Great,” Leland commented. Jim Kirk had been in battle before (and quite often for someone who was only in command for a couple of years), but the CSO would have preferred to send someone to Organia with more experience in diplomacy. Just hope Kirk doesn’t try to pull one of his patented stunts. “Well then we…”

“Let’s leave that decision to the president,” Barnett interrupted. As much as the CSO wanted to protest that decision, he wasn’t about to argue with Commander, Starfleet in front of Nelson. He knew well enough to pick his battles.

“There’s more,” Nelson said. “We’ve been getting reports out of Babel. Sounds like the negotiations are breaking down.”

“I bet they are,” the CSO remarked. Babel was the codename for a neutral planetoid used for high-level and secure diplomatic conferences such as the current talks between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Perhaps that was why this emergency meeting had been called. “Get back to HQ; continue monitoring messages from all scout vessels on the border. If anybody gets of whiff of a Klingon fleet headed to Organia, I want to know about it immediately.”

“But who’ll handle the briefing?” Nelson asked.

“I will,” Leland replied. Also, considering the arguments that were likely to fly inside, he didn’t want his aide coming under fire. Besides, he had something else for Nelson to do and walked with him back to the turbolift. Once out of earshot of Barnett, he whispered, “Send a coded message to Kirk; tell him what’s going on and to get to Organia ASAP and get them on our side. Full encryption and dissemination protocols; I don’t want the Klingons getting wind of this.”

“Sir?” The protocols in question required sending the message completely encoded to the intended vessel along with orders to proceed to a prearranged location to receive the codes to decrypt it on a direct point-to-point transmission. It was time consuming, but it would prevent any chance of the Klingons intercepting and reading the orders.

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, if the president does something stupid and says we can’t, the Enterprise could always turn around.”

“Understood, sir,” the commander said with a smirk. Nelson entered the ‘lift and departed. Leland turned back to Barnett, who was talking on his communicator. He didn’t like going behind the CINC’s back, but time was of the essence. If Organia was indeed the Klingons’ target and if they captured it, then the Federation had to be ready.

“Excuse me, Admirals,” the secretary, an older human woman, said, “they’re ready for you.”

Without another word, Barnett and Leland entered the president’s office, finding Hawthorne settling in behind his desk, the Founding Four already in their seats, and Chief of Staff Roberts pacing about between them. Both admirals greeted their commander in chief with a “Mr. President” before they took their usual seats.

“Gentlemen, we’re eager to hear what new news you have about the attack on the Carson, but there’s more that we think is relevant,” Hawthorne said.

“Four hours ago,” Roberts explained, “we received an update from Ambassador Fox’s negotiation team on Babel. The Klingon delegation reiterated their demand that we withdraw from the disputed zone or else before abruptly leaving the conference room. Babel’s staff reported that the Klingons are preparing to leave the planetoid and return to the Empire.”

“Then that settles it!” Gav barked. “They’re preparing for war!”

“Has there been any word Ambassador Torlek?” asked Shras.

“None, not even when we asked them about the Carson,” said Roberts. That was odd; usually they immediately would issue a denial even if they were guilty. If they weren’t, then as Leland suspected, there was something more to it. “Their embassy hasn’t returned any of our calls.”

“Who cares?” Gav questioned gruffly. “This is an act of war! They’ve destroyed one of our ships without provocation and they’ve broken off the talks! We must do something!”

“Are we certain that the Carson was the victim of a Klingon attack?” asked the president.

“We are, sir,” Leland replied. “The Yorktown just finished investigating the Carson’s wreckage and definitively concluded that the Klingons are responsible.”

“One scout ship being destroyed in the disputed zone would hardly constitute an act of war,” said al-Faisal. Why do I get the feeling he’s jumping to the other side of the fence on this one? “Such incidents have occurred over the years, after all, but this withdrawal is troubling.”

“Are you saying we should do nothing in response?!”

“Perhaps that is what we must do, Mr. Ambassador,” said Sarek. If Leland didn’t know any better, it sounded as if the Vulcan was irritated by Gav’s bluster. “This may be a test on the Klingons’ part, an attempt by them to gauge our response to increased provocation. Logically if this is the case, then doing nothing would be the best course of action.”

“And if you’re wrong?!” the Tellarite ambassador asked. “What if the attack on the Carsonis a prelude to an invasion!”

“If it is an invasion, Gav, where would they attack?” asked al-Faisal.

“We have a working theory, Ambassador,” Barnett said before the debate got out of hand. To Leland, he added, “Admiral?”

Here’s where the fun begins. He got up from his seat and slid a data card into a reader. The screen on the back wall activated, displaying Sector 018, the site of the attack, and the adjacent Sector 020, location of Organia. “We’ve been receiving reports that the Klingons are making moves towards Sector 020 and the planet Organia; the only inhabited world in the disputed zone. We sent the Carson to monitor the area from Sector 018. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

“That’s all?” asked Shras skeptically.

“Recently we’ve become aware that a Klingon task force departed from an outpost near Sector 020. We believe that they destroyed the Carson to prevent her from warning us about their invasion fleet.”

“I’ve read the reports on the area,” said Roberts. “Organia is practically worthless, no resources, and their society is barely out of the Middle Ages, comparatively speaking.”

“They can use the Organians as slave labor; build up fortifications,” Leland countered evenly, though the criticism was starting to irk him. “And then they’d be in a position to cut off access to our outer colonies and Federation members. The Enterprise is entering Sector 020 and can head to Organia to warn and rally the planet’s population. Meanwhile, with your permission, I’d like to order the Constellation to begin assembling a task force to…”

“I recommend against assembling a large task force in that area, Mr. President,” the chief of staff cautioned. “We’re stretched thin across the line as it is. If we sent a fleet to Organia, we’d be putting settlements in the Archanis and Donatu Sectors in jeopardy.”

We don’t have time for this crap. “That section of the border is heavily patrolled as it is and would be harder for them to break through. Organia makes sense strategically.”

“How certain are you of this, Admiral?” asked al-Faisal.

“Very,” he said confidently.

“I still consider the probability of an attack against Organia is low,” Roberts said irritably. “This could be a diversion from…”

“You have any training in intelligence analysis or military planning, Mister?” Leland snapped, addressing Roberts like a raw cadet.

“I’ve carefully weighed the numbers…”

“Then I have a number for you, since I can tell you’re in love with them. One hundred ninety-five: that’s the crew compliment of the Carson. Their deaths may be our only warning of a Klingon invasion; don’t throw their sacrifice out the window based on odds and percentages!”

“Admiral,” warned Barnett in a deep, terse tone.

“Enough,” the president added with a sigh. He got up from behind his desk and walked over to the windows and stared out across the view of the City of Lights at night. “I don’t want to be only remembered as the first president who led the Federation to war, but it’s looking more likely by the minute. Are we certain that an attack is coming?”

“I trust Admiral Leland’s judgment, Mr. President.”

“Ambassadors?”

“I’m forced to agree with Starfleet’s assessment,” said al-Faisal.

“As do I,” Shras added. Gav merely gave a grunt of approval.

“While Vulcan would never endorse a policy that uses force,” Sarek prefaced, “I share my colleagues’ belief in the Empire’s intentions.”

“Your people’s devotion to peace is to be commended, Sarek, however I don’t think the Klingons are allowing us to entertain that option any more,” Hawthorne noted. “Any talk of military action must be decided before the full council. Mathias, call for an emergency closed door session. The press will no doubt hear of this eventually, but I’d like to keep a lid on it in the mean time.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Roberts answered.

“Admirals, pending the approval of the council, you are authorized to send whatever forces necessary to curtail a Klingon invasion of Organia.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” said Barnett. Obviously Leland wasn’t about to mention that the orders were hopefully already en route after the row he just had.

“We’ll continue to consider our options here until the council is convened, but keep us apprised of the situation along the border,” he added. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Mr. President,” both admirals replied as they got up and started to leave.

“What other options?” Gav asked. “Do you intend to send one of your staff to knock on their embassy’s door now?”

Thank God, Leland thought as the doors closed behind him, cutting off what sounded to be another brewing argument. He did what he had to do and was grateful to get Hawthorne on his side.

“Jonas, a moment,” Barnett said. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. They walked towards the turbolift as far as they could possibly get from the secretary. “Would you mind explaining just what you were doing in there? Last time I checked, I’m the commander in chief and I represent Starfleet’s interests in these meetings. That little argument in there was uncalled for!”

“Permission to speak off the record, sir?” the CSO asked, which was probably the first time he had done so in decades. Barnett nodded, albeit cautiously; if the CINC wanted to make an issue out of this, then Leland was prepared to go to the mat once again. “Maybe you should start acting like the CINC.”

“Excuse me?”

“You might have said something in there, Rich, instead of letting people like Roberts walk all over us.”

“Our job is to carry out the orders of the president, Jonas,” the fleet admiral countered, “not issue them.”

“Our job is to give the president options,” Leland said, “and then carry out his orders. Our job is to also represent Starfleet’s interests in that room. Yes, that means we’re going to step on some politicians’ toes, but there are people out there counting on us to fight for them!”

“Your concerns are noted, Admiral, but provoking members of the Federation Council and the president’s staff isn’t the way go about doing it.”

The CSO smirked. “Seemed to work this time, Rich.”

“Look, Jonas,” Barnett said with a sigh, “I know you and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things and we’ve agreed to disagree on numerous occasions, but I don’t want you bringing our arguments into the president’s office or picking fights with his cabinet.”

“Understood, sir,” Leland said. “Rich, I didn’t join up just to become a grunt and I sure as hell don’t want to keep fighting you, but we’re living in dangerous times. I hate to keep repeating myself, but a lot of people, Starfleet and not, are depending on us.”

The CINC chuckled. “They’re also depending on us to get along. Can we reinforce Sector 017 once the Constellation starts assembling a fleet to head to Organia?”

“The Lexington’s almost to the border. It’ll take a little shuffling, but…”

He stopped when the doors to the president’s office opened and Roberts emerged. The chief of staff approached the two Starfleet flag officers and said, “The president has asked if you would join him on the dais in San Francisco, Admiral Barnett. He’d like for you to brief the full council on what you just told us.”

“Of course,” the CINC replied.

“Did anything else happen in there?” Leland asked before he could catch himself.

“The usual banter,” Roberts answered, sounding as irritated by it as the admiral would have been in his place. “We’re going to keep trying to make contact with the Klingons through all available channels, but I for one am not optimistic about getting a response. Admiral Leland, I want to apologize for my behavior. Obviously we all want the same thing; it’s just that our methods differ.”

This day is full of surprises. “I should apologize, too. I was out of line.”

The chief of staff only nodded on that point; Leland wasn’t expecting any sort of concession out of Roberts, but he’d take what he could get. He turned back to Barnett and said, “We should go over the talking points; no doubt you’ll be asked to field a lot of questions from the full council. If you’ll follow me.”

“I’ll be in the ops center if you need me,” Leland added.

“Jonas,” the fleet admiral said with a nod.

“Rich.” The CSO turned and quickly entered the turbolift to head down to the building’s transporter room. Although Leland had his present job for over a year, he hadn’t had to deal with a crisis like this or more specifically deal with the Federation government during a crisis like this. Although he got what he wanted and what he felt his people needed, Leland had to step on a few toes and ruffle a few feathers to get it. Not that I mind...

 

[Rat Boy]

Eleven

​

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

Officially designated the “Main Operations Center,” what was usually referred to as the ops center had varying nicknames depending on the mood and/or situation. Mission Control, for those harkening back to the old days of Earth’s first forays into space exploration, the Sports Bar, for the occasional weekend where there was nothing better to do and only if there was zero chance an admiral would arrive and tell them to get back to work, and on tense days like this, the Boiler Room. Alexander Nelson could certainly understand why, considering the pressure put on everyone here.

On the main wall were two large view screens displaying information being provided via subspace by a variety of sources. Below them were banks of consoles manned by communications officers coordinating Starfleet efforts throughout Federation space and beyond. Supervising them were two senior operations officers sitting in the middle of the room at master console derisively named “the pool table,” next to which Nelson was standing. On the far wall were bay windows that looked out towards the Golden Gate Bridge, now totally obscured by the evening fog.

The commander caught himself absently glancing outside, looking for some relief from the tense tedium, before turning back to the main screens. The screen on the left displayed sensor information from monitoring stations and ships on the border, including Organia; blinking dots indicated the position of the Enterprise, almost to where it would receive its new orders, the Yorktown holding station in the Sygos system, and the Constellation, which was now holding position as other vessels headed to join her. On the right-hand screen were signals coming in from various news outlets, including a few reporters standing outside the Federation Council building, relaying what little they knew about the emergency session. So far, word about the destruction of the Carson or the withdrawal of the Klingon delegation at Babel had yet to be made public, but there were rumors going around, some of which were fairly close to the truth. Already, calls were coming in to Starfleet Headquarters from reporters looking for any information, on and off the record, but Nelson had clamped down on both. With war looming, now was the worst possible time for a leak.

“Coffee, Commander?” Yeoman Chambers asked as she held up a cup for him, which Nelson quickly took and sipped eagerly. It was indeed turning into one of those days. “I had the maintenance department deliver cots to your office and the admiral’s in case we have to spend the night here.”

“It certainly looks that way,” Nelson noted. “Reminds me of that weird winking out phenomenon that happened a few weeks ago; I blew through an entire weekend here.”

“That’s nothing. I missed my best friend’s wedding when the Romulans attacked.”

“Wait; wasn’t the Enterprise involved in that one, too?”

“And that time travel thing, and the Gorn, and Eminiar,” she quoted, seemingly from memory.

“You seem to be keeping track of the Enterprise rather closely, Yeoman,” Nelson remarked.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt that Captain Kirk was named the most eligible bachelor in Starfleet and one of the sexiest men in the Federation.”

“When do you have time to read those magazines, anyway?”

Chambers winked. “Only when you and the admiral aren’t busy making sure the Federation doesn’t fall apart.”

Nelson chuckled weakly as the yeoman left. Leland, at present, was standing by the pool table with a Feinberg wireless receiver in his ear, carrying out a conversation that he didn’t want everyone else in the ops center eavesdropping on.

“I’ll keep you posted; Leland out,” the admiral said as he removed the receiver and set it down. “That was the prime minister. She wanted an update on the situation before she issued a press release.”

Although Starfleet was re-tasked to serve the Federation as a whole after the latter’s founding, the United Earth government and its governing body for space exploration, the United Earth Space Probe Agency, retained some control and influence over Starfleet Command. Occasionally, the UESPA requested Starfleet assets for scientific missions of interest, though those requests occurred with less frequency. During the Romulan War, the UESPA acted as the oversight council for Starfleet during the prosecution of that conflict, though Earth hadn’t utilized Starfleet in a military capacity since then, deferring to the Federation Council on those issues.

“Admiral, we’ve heard back from six more ships on the border,” Nelson explained. Obviously they were keeping track of the situation near Organia, but another serious concern was keeping the rest of the border protected. “The Shanghai, Upholder, Growler, Capella, Los Angeles, and Invincible reported spotting Klingon warships entering what appear to be staging areas, possibly for hit and run attacks against our forces.”

“Number and disposition?”

“Only three or four per sighting; definitely looks like raiders instead of full scale invasion forces.”

“Great,” Leland grumbled with an angry sigh as he leaned over one of the displays on the pool table. “Are we still sure about this intelligence on Organia? That the Klingons have shown interest in it before?”

“Absolutely sir,” Nelson said. He trusted the source, but felt reluctant to explain exactly where he got it from. “We know about the unmanned probes, we know about the scout vessels, and Sygos is fairly close to the quickest route between Organia and their main base in Klingon territory. The Yorktown may have just missed an enemy fleet passing through.”

“This would be a hell of a time for Starfleet Intelligence to dick up.”

The admiral’s head hung angrily and Nelson felt compelled to bring up something that had been bothering him for the last two days. “Sir, about the Carson…”

“You’re blaming yourself for her loss?” the CSO interrupted. “Don’t. Bad enough that I do it.”

“It was our intelligence that sent them to Sygos,” counter the commander, almost tempted to say that it was his intelligence. His word put the Carson out there and his word that got her crew killed.

“And it was the right call. If the Klingons hadn’t destroyed the Carson, then we wouldn’t know for sure that they’re after Organia. It’s tragic, but that’s how it goes sometimes. It’s up to us to make sure their deaths don’t…”

“Sir, the Enterprise is in position,” one of the two supervisors at the pool table announced.

“Send the decryption sequence,” Leland ordered. The admiral groaned angrily and walked towards the left screen and stared intently at it, presumably at Organia. “I hate this feeling.”

“Sir?”

“Feeling helpless,” he replied. “Hated it when I was in command of Starbase 12 and still hate it now. The data we’re receiving from out there is delayed and based on what coverage we have out there, so if that Klingon fleet arrived at Organia already, we won’t know about it until the Enterprise gets there and then only ten minutes later. There ain’t nothing we can do right now except hope like hell our men in the field come through for us. Must say I’m a little jealous.”

“Jealous, Admiral?” Nelson asked.

“They’re ones making a difference out there. Us? We tell them what to do and wait for them to do it. And imagine what it’s like for them. They’re like pawns on a chess board; no idea what’s going on back here, just reading orders that we send out to them and praying that we got it right…”

“Excuse me, Admiral,” said the second supervisor at the pool table. “The president and Fleet Admiral Barnett have arrived and are on their way up.”

“Oh, this should be good.” Indeed; if for whatever reason the Federation Council voted against taking action, then everything Leland, Nelson, and the rest of the staff in the Boiler Room had been preparing for would be for naught. Organia would fall to the Klingons without challenge and the Empire would be in position to attack Federation positions with impunity. As much as Nelson would like to think the council would come to its senses based on the evidence presented before them, if there was something the commander had been learning of late was that nothing was certain with politicians.

Within less than a minute, Hawthorne, Barnett, Richards, and a few other staffers entered the ops center. Leland and Nelson stood at attention as the group approached them. The CSO’s aide could tell that the president acted as if he had a heavy heart; whatever had just happened at the Federation Council was weighing greatly upon him.

“Admiral, the council has approved the use of force against the Klingons,” Hawthorne said immediately. Considering the president’s focus on domestic issues and his stated disdain for leading the Federation into war, Nelson could only imagine how this development was affecting him. “Do what you need to do.”

“Aye, aye sir,” Leland answered formally. To one of the supervisors with a pointed index finger, he said, “You. What’s your name?”

“Rollins, sir.”

“Dispatch a Code One alert to all commands. Request status updates and reports on enemy positions.”

“Aye sir.” Even Nelson was feeling uneasy at this momentous development. The Code One alert was only used in the gravest of emergencies; the last one issued was a month or so ago, though that turned out to be much ado about nothing. This time it was for real, but the first blood had already been shed. We’re at war…

(Continued below)

 

[Rat Boy]

USS Yorktown
Sygos System

In spite of being off duty for hours, Captain Doug Mason hadn’t been able to work up the strength to eat, let alone lay down on his bed and try to sleep. His appetite for food was all but gone; sustenance right now repelled his taste buds like two like-charged magnets. His mind was also too active for him to get any meaningful rest, however he feared once he did comfortable, he’d have to be summoned up to the bridge again. Making matters worse was his lower back was bothering him, the same back he tweaked while racing against Duclare the other day (thus costing him victory) and the pain was starting to get progressively worse. He was tempted to seek a remedy from sickbay, but bad enough the whole crew knew about what transpired on deck seven, but he wasn’t about the fuel the rumor mill even further by getting caught heading to see Dr. Gertch and thus revealing the toll the race took on him.

The pain, though, was manageable and not what robbed him of any desire for food or sleep. A ship roughly the size of his previous two commands had been obliterated; almost two hundred people dead at the hands of the Klingons. You try sleeping and eating with that on your conscience. Ships had been lost in the line of duty before, but rarely with these implications. Almost as soon as he sent off his reports to Starfleet Command, he knew immediately the wheels he had put in motion. In the meantime, that just left sitting and staring at the monitor on his desktop, trying to keep himself entertained.

Not that there was much to keep him entertained. Mason’s favorite hockey team was off this evening and frankly most of the league was, as well. All other forms of broadcast entertainment didn’t really appeal to him since he hardly ever had time to watch them. News programming was obsessed with the Federation Council meeting that had recently ended along with rumors circulating about a Klingon attack on a Federation ship (which Mason knew for a fact to be true, of course) and of rumors that the Klingon negotiation team had abruptly left the Babel planetoid.

On his screen at the moment were the sensor logs from the scans conducted of the Carson’s wreckage. Mason kept trying to figure out what had happened; how the attack played out. Unfortunately, with the entire ship obliterated and the contents of the log buoy heavily damaged, he could only speculate. Based on the position of the debris field, the Carson had taken a position beyond the orbit of the outermost planet, giving her an excellent field of vision for its powerful long range sensor arrays. Unfortunately, those arrays generated a lot of energy that could be picked up by an enemy vessel. The F5 could have came the long way through the heart of the Sygos system and ambushed her from behind before she knew what hit her. With minimal armament, she wouldn’t have lasted long, and with Klingon communication jammers being as effective as they were, the Carson also couldn’t have broadcasted a distress signal.
What had they seen that would have warranted such an attack? That, too, Mason was trying to consider. Up to this point, the Klingons hadn’t kept their fleet movements a secret, probably hoping that the sight of that many warships massing along the border would intimidate the Federation. If they didn’t want the Carson to see what they were doing, then it was serious indeed.

The door chime buzzed and Mason was grateful for the distraction, partially hoping it was Zhang looking for a drink. “Come in?” To his surprise, Duclare entered with a stack of data cards in hand, though she stopped in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, if this is a bad time,” she immediately said.

“No, it’s all right,” Mason said before shutting down the monitor. “What can I do for you?”

“Latest long range sensor logs and I mean extremely long range. Think we might have picked up Klingon engine signatures, but I can’t be sure. Seems to be in the vicinity of Sector 020.”

“What’s out there?”

“The only Class M and inhabited planet in the disputed zone,” the science officer replied. “Organia; society there is rated Class D Minus on the Richter Scale.”

“It’s also fairly close to our trade and shipping lanes to the outer rim,” he recalled. Now it was starting to make sense. “If the Klingons capture that, then they could really start doing some damage.”

“We did pick up the transponder signal from Enterprise in that sector; maybe they know something about it. Has Starfleet responded to our report?”

“No, and that’s what worries me.” In his experience, any time the top brass was quiet during a crisis meant that something was up. The calm before the storm, so to speak. “Anything else?”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to say,” she said uneasily. “I want to apologize again for what happened the other day.”

“You already did,” Mason said. He still couldn’t figure out exactly why he rose to her baiting. Ego? Mason certainly wouldn’t call himself egotistical. Overly competitive? Well, one had to have a competitive streak if they wanted to get anywhere in Starfleet. And it certainly wasn’t sexism; he had known plenty of female track athletes when he was at the academy who could outrun him even when he was in his prime. There was just something about the way she prodded him that made him want to challenge her to a race and yet he didn’t really take offense to the ribbing. “And I as I said, it kind of was my fault, too. No harm done.”

“I meant how public it was. I know captains value their privacy. Didn’t want you to become the subject of gossip on the ship.”

“Starship captains are like mayors of small towns. The guy at the top’s usually the one everyone talks about behind his back. I’ve gotten used to it.” A thought occurred to him, one that if he was fully rested and thinking straight, he might not have entertained. “Would you care to join me for dinner, Commander?”

“Sir?” Duclare asked in surprise.

“Consider it your reward for beating me fair and square,” he said as he turned in his chair towards the food processor behind his desk. “Besides, I need something to take my mind off this business with the Klingons.”

“All right, sir. I imagine some people will start talking about the science officer having a late night meal with the captain.”

“The crew has a lot of other things on their mind right now. What’ll you have?”

“Just a chicken sandwich and coffee, sir.”

“Sounds good,” the captain said. Mason pressed a few controls to select two orders of the same and the processor’s door opened up. He took one plate and cup, handing both to Duclare before grabbing his and setting them down on the desk.

“Have you heard anything about the situation at Babel?” she asked while they began to eat and drink.

“You probably know as much as I do. Starfleet Command hasn’t commented on the rumors going around one way or the other.”

“So there may be something to them.”

“Probably,” he confirmed. “Reminds me of when I was at the academy around the time of Donatu V. When word came, classes were cancelled and we all assembled in the res halls to watch the news coverage.”

“I remember my parents trying to keep me away from the news,” Duclare said. “They were afraid it’d give me nightmares about Klingons.”

“I remember getting a message from my parents; they were worried that the conflict would still be going on when I graduated.”

“I take it they didn’t approve of you joining Starfleet?” she asked cautiously.

“Not at first,” he answered. “Dad’s a businessman and Mom’s a homemaker; they didn’t quite understand why I wanted to leave home, thought I was taken in with dumb ideas of adventure and excitement. It’s taken awhile but I think they finally accepted it, but Dad’s still not too fond of it. What about your family?”

“Dad’s an artist and Mom’s an office worker,” Duclare said. “First member of my family in Starfleet.”

“Same here. What made you want to join?”

“The usual; seek out new life and new civilizations. Boldly going where no man has gone before…and hopefully not getting shot up by the likes of the Klingons in the process. And you? Why’d you leave home instead of staying around?”

“It’s…complicated,” Mason said evasively, but she kept gazing intently at him while waiting for an answer and for whatever reason he felt compelled to give her one. “No, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life on one planet, no matter how nice it is. A couple times we went on trips to Benecia, the Omicron Persei system, but that was it. Life on a colony world doesn’t offer a lot for someone like me. Like you said, seek out new life and new civilizations. Didn’t work out exactly as I planned.”

“Oh?” she asked. “You got command of the Yorktown didn’t you?”

“And if the Klingons didn’t start this crisis, I might not have. I’d still be back at Earth waiting to take the Forrester out again. Then in a couple years I’d get promoted to squadron command, then maybe a starbase and sit at a desk until I hit mandatory retirement age or get mustered out.”

Duclare smiled. “Don’t look a gift Klingon in the mouth, sir.”

“I guess I shouldn’t,” Mason chuckled.

“Besides,” she added, “with your record, I’m sure you would have warranted getting one of the Big Twelve sooner or later.”

“Don’t be too sure about that. Destroyer captains don’t usually get these opportunities. Not that I wasn’t trying to get a ship like the Yorktown.”

“Oh?”

“As I said, Commander,” he prefaced, “I didn’t join Starfleet to fly around on border patrols all the time. I do want to head out there, see what and who is over the next horizon. But I guess you’re right; it did work out ultimately. Hopefully when this situation with the Klingons calm down, we can actually go out and do something like that.”

“You think it will calm down, sir?” Duclare asked.

“It better. I don’t like to think about the alternative.”

They ate in silence for a moment on that grim notion. The science officer had finished more than half of her sandwich when she said, “If you don’t mind my saying, Captain, I don’t think I’ve heard of you doing something like this.”

“What, eating?” he questioned, feeling puzzled by the remark.

“Spending time with one of your senior officers alone. Except Commander Zhang, of course.”

“Li and I go way back. First day of the academy, in fact.”

“Still, it gives the impression that you’re,” she started to say, sounding like she was searching for the right word, “distant from everyone else.”

“A captain has to be,” answered Mason. “There are…situations where a captain has to make life and death choices, choices that can’t be influenced by friendship and closeness.”

“And yet you picked one of your oldest friends to be your security chief,” Duclare countered, “and you’re having a quiet dinner with your science officer. No man’s an island, Captain.”

“Noted for future reference, Commander.”

“Kristen, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Okay, Kristen,” he commented. “And my friends call me Doug, at least in private.”

“Okay,” she said with a smirk, “Doug.”

Someone about the way Duclare said his name made him start to laugh, which she in turn joined in on. However, as he continued, suddenly his back seized up on him again and he let out a yelp of pain before he could contain it.

“Are you all right?” Duclare asked in sudden concern.

“My back,” he replied as he tried to rub it. “Think I did something to it during our run.”

Before Mason could stop her, she walked around the desk quickly started to massage him. “Let me help; I’m the one who did this to you. Why didn’t you go see Doctor Gertch?”

“And put up with…?” The science officer’s rub down was having the desired effect. “Oh, that’s good. That’s very good. A little…” Then he realized the feelings of relief extended beyond his lower back, lower than that, in fact. In a panic, he suddenly stood up.

“What’s wrong?” Duclare asked.

“I…” Mason started to say. This was wrong; though no regulations expressly forbid what his hormones were egging him on to explore, the simple fact of the matter was that he was her commanding officer. Any relationship beyond friendship would be inappropriate. And there were other considerations that prevented him from entertaining these notions. I shouldn’t have asked her to stay. What the hell was I thinking? “Look, thank you for your help, but I’ll be all right.”

“You sure?”

Before he could firmly put a stop to it definitively, the intercom whistled and Schneider’s voice came on. “Bridge to Captain Mason.”

A little relieved by the interruption, he backed away from Duclare and tapped the intercom control. “Go ahead.”

“Priority all points bulletin from Starfleet Command,” the ensign stated reluctantly. “Code One.”

“Get me intercraft,” the captain ordered quickly.

“Aye sir. Patching you through.”

“This is the captain. Starfleet Command has issued a Code One alert and you all know what that means. As of right now, a state of war exists between the Federation and Klingon Empire. I’m ordering a standing yellow alert throughout the ship. For now, maintain your normal duty schedule; we’ll keep you informed on the situation as it warrants. Mason out.”

“So this is it?” Duclare asked in a worried tone.

“This is only the beginning,” he replied, “and I expect everyone to do their best to make sure we make it to the end. We should get back to the bridge.”

“Aye sir.” Whatever had transpired between them was no longer a concern. The Federation was now at war and the Yorktown was on the front lines. Nothing else mattered…

 

[CeJay]

We get to see a lot interesting behind the scenes elements which really give an impression of how serious of a situation the confrontation with the Klingons was. We didn't really get much of a sense of that on the show. You have very nicely taken the implications of a war with the Klingons to it's natural conclusion.

I like the fact that Mason is getting (too) close to Duclare. It's very human and humans don't always do the right or the most appropriate thing. Even captains. And who knows, after this crisis has passed, it just might go somewhere.

 

[Rat Boy]

Twelve​

Organia

He existed here on the world that gave birth to his people, but he existed elsewhere. He could see the Federation vessel Yorktown, dutifully patrolling the border only a couple sectors away. He could see the machinations on Earth and of the Klingon home planet of Qo’Nos. He could see the forces positioning themselves for the war that was merely a day old. He could also see another Federation vessel, the Enterprise, entering orbit of Organia and transporting down two people. Before the Transition, he was known as Ayelborne; an archaic designation somewhat unnecessary among his people, but for the visitors to the homeworld of the Organian race, it would have to do.

There were two of them, one a human, a race that the Organians had encountered one of their centuries ago. They were an odd sort, a species that seemed to be a contradiction in terms. They could be prone to bouts of great violence and hatred in one instance; peace and compassion in the next. Ayelborne stretched out and sensed that the human was called Captain James Tiberius Kirk and the Organian sensed that there was a sense of urgency about him, that he wanted nothing more than to do what he had come to Organia to do and soon. He also sensed that Kirk dreaded what might happen if he failed.

His companion was a Vulcan…wait, no; only half-Vulcan, Ayelborne realized. One wouldn’t have known using the primitive sensory organs of corporeal humanoids, but this Commander Spock was half-human. The Organians had limited exposure to Vulcans, though they found something admirable in their devotion to peace and logic even though the dark passions of their forbearers was still there, buried deep down under layers of discipline and control. Having human feelings thrown into the mix probably made life for Spock rather unique.

The two men appeared within a crowd of other Organians outside the main gates of their settlement, preserved as it had been prior to the Transition. Ayelborne was some distance away, traveling to them on the primitive bipedal conveyance similar to the ones he had utilized thousands of centuries ago, but he could still feel their presence on their world.

They both glanced around curiously, as if they were surprised by the non-reaction of the Organians. Kirk remarked, “You’d think they had people beaming down every day.”

“Yes; curious lack of interest,” Spock confirmed. They took several steps forward. Gesturing towards a hill some ways from the settlement, the Vulcan added, “Note the ruins in the distance, Captain. Quite large.”

The human took note of the building, commenting, “Yes. A fortress, perhaps; a castle.”

“Whatever it is it would seem to be inconsistent with the reports we’ve been given on this culture.” Those ruins were once a citadel from Organia’s ancient times; before the Transition, before they found a new way. It was left there as a reminder of their past, what they once were and what they had evolved to become. Spock was quite astute; no doubt a great asset to his captain.

Ayelborne had gotten close enough to communicate with them verbally. While still over a dozen paces away and with arms outstretched said, “Welcome.”

“Reception committee?” Kirk asked wryly.

“It would seem so,” answered Spock. They both walked calmly and somewhat uneasily in Ayelborne’s direction.

“You are our visitors; welcome, welcome,” the Organian said to Kirk, giving the human the ancient greeting of his people as he did, a slight bow of his head as he waived both his hands. The captain gave a half-hearted return of the gesture due to impatience as the native of the planet added, “I am Ayelborne.”

“I am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets. This is my first officer, Mr. Spock.”

“You’re most welcome, my friend.” Ayelborne gave the Vulcan the same greeting gesture which Spock promptly and efficiently returned.

“I would like to speak to someone in authority,” Kirk said bluntly.

Unsure exactly how to explain it in terms either of them could understand, Ayelborne replied, “We…we don’t have anyone in authority. But I am the chairman of the Council of Elders; perhaps I would do.”

“You people are in great danger; is there some place we can go and talk?”

“Oh yes, our council chambers are nearby. Please.” Indicating the proper direction, Ayelborne started to lead the visitors into the settlement. The Organian could sense the disquieted thoughts in the mind of Kirk, as if he was on one hand trying to comprehend what he was seeing while at the same time formulating how best to accomplish his task.

“Captain,” Spock interrupted. All three stopped. “If you don’t mind, I should like to wander about the village and make some studies.”

“Of course, my friend; our village is yours,” said Ayelborne in a warm tone. To Kirk, he added, “Captain,” before they split off from the Vulcan in the direction of the central structure of the village, where the Council of Elders met. Or at least where they did before the Transition, of course. Spock, meanwhile, activated his primitive scanning device. An interesting object, but Ayelborne doubted it’d reveal anything more than what he could see with his eyes.

In the halls of the main building were the members of the Council of Elders, including Trefayne, one of the oldest of their race, and Claymare, whom immediately (though not in a way perceivable to Kirk) indicated that he was uncomfortable with the presence of the visitors.

They should not be here, Claymare communicated. We all know what is going on out there, why they have been sent here. They will bring their war here. They are in grave danger.

If we are to communicate, old friend, then do so in a manner our guests can understand, Ayelborne chided. For Kirk’s sake, he verbally said, “Captain, may I present to you the Council of Elders. My friends, Captain James T. Kirk from the United Federation of Planets.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, gentlemen,” the human said. Once more Ayelborne could sense the captain’s impatience. “I wish the circumstances of our first contact were better, but I am here on urgent business for the Federation. Your star system lies within territory disputed by my people and the Klingon Empire.”

“We have heard of them,” Claymare commented. Indeed the Organians had; the Klingons were, in their view, a violent and barbaric race, though Ayelborne and his people sensed in them the capacity for making peace. Perhaps one day they would realize that there are other ways to struggle and seek glory that did not involve bloodshed; that great victories could be achieved without conflict. Sadly, that day seemed to be far off in the future.

“Then you should know we are now at war with them and that time is of the essence.”

“This way, my friend,” Ayelborne said as he gestured to the doors to the council chambers. They all approached them and they opened automatically; if Kirk noticed this odd occurrence, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Gentlemen,” he continued, “my government has informed me that the Klingons are expected to move against your planet with the objective of making it a base of operations against the Federation.”

The elders moved to their respective seats at the council table, with Ayelborne taking a high backed chair at the center. Kirk added, “My mission…frankly is to keep them from doing it.”

“What you’re saying, Captain,” Ayelborne said, “is that we seem to have a choice between…dealing with you or your enemies.”

“No sir. With the Federation you have a choice. You have none with the Klingons; the Klingons are a military dictatorship. War is their way of life.” His tone went from forceful to one more of sympathy, misplaced though it may be. “Life under the Klingon rule would be very unpleasant. We offer you protection.”

“We thank you for your altruistic offer, Captain,” Claymare said skeptically, “but we really do not need your protection.”

“We are a simple people, Captain,” Ayelborne added. Not entirely the truth from Kirk’s perspective, but it was true in the eyes of the Organians. “We have nothing anybody could want.”

“You have this planet and its strategic location,” Kirk countered as he walked closer to the conference table. He did his best to quash his rising frustrations, but it was easily sensed nonetheless. “I assure you if you don’t take action to prevent it, the Klingons will move against you just as surely as your sun rises. We will help you build defenses, build facilities.”

“We have no defenses, Captain, nor are any needed.”

Kirk’s expression to one of incredulity. What kind of people are they? the human thought. He let out a quiet laugh of dumbstruck surprise. While pacing back and forth and in a sharper tone of voice added, “Gentlemen, I have seen what the Klingons do to planets like yours. They are organized into vast slave labor camps. No freedoms whatsoever; your goods will be confiscated, hostages taken and killed, your leaders…” He pointed at Claymare. “…confined.” Kirk stopped before Ayelborne, placing his hands on the table and leaning over. “You’ll be far better off on a penal planet. Infinitely better off.”

“Captain,” Ayelborne countered pleasantly, though that only exacerbated the captain’s annoyances, “we see that your concern is genuine. We are moved, but again we assure you that there’s absolutely no danger. If anybody’s in danger, you are. And that concerns us greatly. It would be better if you returned to your ship as soon as possible.”

Aggravated, Kirk stated, “You keep insisting that there’s no danger; I keep assuring you that there is, would you mind telling me…?!”

“This is our way of life, Captain,” the chairman interrupted.

“That’s the first thing that will be lost!” The human paused, feeling embarrassed over the outburst. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m a soldier, not a diplomat; I can only tell you the truth.”

“If you will excuse us, Captain,” Ayelborne said diplomatically, “we will discuss your kind offer.”

“Yes, certainly,” Kirk muttered skeptically as he nodded.

While the human walked away, Ayelborne leaned over to Trefayne, who whispered verbally, “The risks are too great. Allowing their people a presence here on Organia would only encourage further bloodshed.”

“I agree,” Claymare replied, “but they do seem determined to stay here.”

“Neither side should be here,” said Ayelborne as the doors opened and Spock entered, noting that they automatically parted for him with minor curiosity. “They both seek to claim our world to use against the other. Captain Kirk may be benevolent, but his superiors seek to use Organia as a platform for war just as the Klingons do and that is intolerable. However, the only way this may be stopped is through direct intervention on our part, and that would be intolerable as well.”

“Like we did with the last humans we were in contact with?” Trefayne noted. Ayelborne couldn’t help but notice a resemblance in the demeanor between Kirk and another captain of an older vessel named Enterprise, Jonathan Archer, both in their forthrightness and impatience. It was Archer who took the Organians to task for their lack of willingness to assist him and his crew:

“Maybe you've evolved into beings with abilities I can't comprehend, but you've paid a hell of a price. You've lost compassion and empathy, things that give life meaning. And if that's what it takes to be advanced...I don't want any part of it.”

Indeed, his words moved the Organians into acting, violating centuries’ worth of protocols concerning observation of more primitive races. Archer’s crew was rescued and any recollection of the incident was removed from their minds. At the time, the Organians believed that it would be roughly five thousand years before they were ready to make official contact with the humans. Instead, they and their Federation had brought their war with the Klingon Empire directly to their world.

“Captain,” said Spock in a voice that he thought low enough would be too quiet for Organian perceptions, “our information on these people and their culture was not correct. This is not a primitive society making progress towards mechanization. They are totally stagnant; there is no evidence of any progress as far back as my tricorder can register.”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Kirk commented. The other members of the council debated, though Ayelborne remained silent and took note of the conversation among their visitors. They were more or less in agreement that they should at least extend hospitality to their guests.

“Nevertheless, it is true. For tens of thousands of years, there’s been absolutely no advancement, no significant change in their physical environment. This is a laboratory specimen of an arrested culture.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock; it might be useful.” As Kirk turned back towards the council, Ayelborne silenced the debate. This wouldn’t be settled quickly or easily, but it was imperative to not allow their visitors to become aware of the situation they were really facing.

“We have discussed your offer, Captain,” said the chairman, “and…our opinion is unchanged. We are in no danger. We thank you for your kind offer of assistance although we must decline it.”

Kirk shot an angry look at Spock, as if to say, Do you see what I’m putting up with? Ayelborne added sincerely, “And we strongly recommend you leave Organia before you yourselves are in danger.”

“Gentlemen,” Kirk said, fighting back the burgeoning impatience once more but losing yet again, “I must get you to reconsider. We can be of immense help to you. In addition to military aid, we can send you specialists, technicians. We can show you how to feed a thousand people where one was fed before! We can help you build schools; educate the young in the latest technological and scientific skills. Your public facilities are almost nonexistent! We can help you remake your world. End disease, hunger, hardship. All we ask in return…is that you let us help you…now!”

A curious offer coming from a society pledged not to interfere in the affairs of other cultures. Kirk’s field of view panned along the table, hopeful for the answer he had come all this way to receive. Unfortunately, he obviously wasn’t going to get it. The council made a show of considering the second offer out of respect, but the answer was still the same.

“Captain, I can see that you do not understand us,” Ayelborne said as the communications device on Kirk’s belt began to beep, which he withdrew. “Perhaps…”

“Excuse me, sir,” the human said politely. Flipping the device open and taking a few steps away, he said, “Kirk here.”

“Captain,” a voice from the Enterprise said. “A large number of Klingon vessels have just arrived!” Sounds of alarms and weapons impacts on the other end clearly indicated a battle in progress. “They’re opening fire!”

“Positive identification?”

“Yes sir! My screens are up; I can’t drop them to beam you aboard!”

“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said firmly, “follow your orders. Get out of here! Contact the fleet; return if odds are more equal. Kirk out.” Closing the device, the captain returned to address the council. “Gentlemen, you keep insisting that there was no danger. I…”

“That is correct, Captain,” the chairman interrupted calmly, “there’s no danger.”

“Ayelborne,” warned Trefayne, “eight space vehicles have assumed orbit around our planet. They are activating their material transmission units.”

“Thank you, Trefayne,” he replied as Spock consulted his scanning device.

“Can you verify that?” Kirk asked.

Spock shook his head. “Negative, Captain…but it seems a logical development.”

“Captain, since it is too late for you to escape,” Ayelborne said, “perhaps we should do something about protecting you.”

“If you had listened to me…” the human started to say.

“We must be sure that you are not harmed,” Claymare interrupted.

“Ayelborne,” added Trefayne once more, “several hundred men have appeared near the citadel. They bring many weapons!”

Even the Vulcan seemed astonished by the Organian elder’s conclusion. Kirk asked, “How does he know that?”

“Oh, our friend Trefayne is really quite intuitive,” Ayelborne explained vaguely. He was the first of the Organians to undergo the Transition and had a better grasp of how to manifest himself in both realms their people now occupied. “You can rest assured that what he says is absolutely correct.”

“So,” Kirk concluded dejectedly, “we’re stranded here! And in the middle of a Klingon occupation army.”

“So it would seem,” Spock added as he followed his captain’s frustrated pacing away from the table. “Not a very pleasant prospect.”

“You have a gift for understatement, Mr. Spock. It’s not a very pleasant prospect at all!”

The council tried to warn them but they did not listen. In his own way, Kirk was as stubborn as his predecessor, though said stubbornness had placed him and his friend in danger. Ayelborne exchanged glances with the rest of the elders, silently reaffirming their desire to help Kirk and Spock.

“We must hurry, Captain,” the chairman warned. “We can provide you with clothing to disguise yourself from the Klingons. If they were to find you, well…”

“It’ll be just as bad for you if they discover you’re harboring their enemies!” Kirk countered tersely, though he let out a sigh to calm himself. “But you’re right.”

“This way, my friends,” Ayelborne said as he got up from his chair and led the two of them to a cabinet where proper clothing had just appeared within. Kirk traded a glance with Spock, thinking, I just hope they have something in our sizes. They did, but Ayelborne found it strange that he could find humor in a situation as dire as this.

Ironic; if Archer hadn’t challenged the Organians to find the compassion they had prior to the Transition, they would not be assisting his successor as captain of the Enterprise. They wouldn’t have even welcomed them and let them to their fates with the Klingons. But they now saw things differently. For Kirk, they foresaw that at the twilight of his career and his life, he’d finally let go of his hatred for the Klingons and welcome them as friends. For Spock, they saw him as the catalyst of that lasting peace even at great cost and peril for his closest friends and comrades. But their futures depended on their surviving the Klingon invasion…and this insane war coming to a quick conclusion. The prospects of that happening, Ayelborne sensed grimly, were remote in the extreme…

 

[CeJay]

This made me so nostalgic I went over to You Tube to watch Errand of Mercy again. Or at least the beginning. Clearly I wasn't the only one. You practically copied it line for line but adding the Organian's point of view. I thought that was very cleverly done.

 

[Rat Boy]

It was a bit risky on my part, but I had fun doing it. Had iTunes open in one window and Word in the other. The main goal here was to provide another benchmark along with an alternate perspective to familiar events. Plus, since they're god-like aliens, I could throw in the thoughts and feelings of the other characters without shifting perspectives mid-stride. A minor goal was to also tie "Errand of Mercy" to ENT's "Observer Effect" and imply that Archer may have indirectly saved Kirk and Spock a hundred years after the fact.

 

[Rat Boy]

Thirteen​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

However, Cody Hall certainly didn’t feel like he was there. No, he was on a warm beach, with waves crashing against the shore. He could feel sun beating down on his bare shoulders while he drank a cold beer, surrounded by half-naked women playfully stroking his chest. Paradise, in other words. Some of the women he recognized; Leah, his first high school girlfriend who dumped him the second she caught him in an inappropriate moment with her best friend. Shayla, the Orion student he “studied” with at the academy. Even Commander Duclare was here, as well. As stated, paradise. At least it was until a shadow blotted out the sun and Hall glanced up to see the last person he wanted to see invading his little slice of heaven.

“LEFTENANT!” barked Okefor, clad in full uniform. “Just what in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!”

“I…” he started to protest just a loud siren wailed. Odd, since there was nothing that could be producing that within kilometers of the beach…

Hall’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself in his darkened quarters on the Yorktown, lit by the flashing of the red alert siren. He and most of the other senior officers had been relieved for the day to get some rest, however considering how groggy he felt, the navigator doubted he got the full six hours.

“Red alert!” a relief communications officer announced over the intercom. “All hands man battle stations! This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill!”

“Not again,” Hall muttered as he climbed out of bed and grabbed the uniform tunic he left next to his bed. It had been a day since the Code One had been issued and the Yorktown had been through three engagements so far, but those had been minor; a scout vessel and a pair of birds of prey, all easily dispatched by the starship. They had yet to encounter anything remotely threatening, but Hall found himself hoping that they would come across something that’d put up a better fight.

He raced out of his quarters with his shirt in hand and sprinted into the closest turbolift. After ordering it to take him the bridge, he was in the process of putting his uniform back on when it came to a stop. After poking his head out from the neck, he was startled to realize that two of the subjects of his interrupted dream, Okefor and Duclare, were standing right in front of him.

“Commanders,” he said and thankfully they didn’t take note of his state of distress. They also didn’t notice that the dream they had unwittingly starred in had a…physical response from Hall and he crossed his legs to obscure it.

“What do you suppose it is this time?” asked Duclare.

“I didn’t hear anything before I went…” the XO started to reply as the entire turbolift car bucked under a weapons impact. Clearly this wasn’t another small Klingon ship trying to attack them. An F5? A D7, maybe?

The turbolift arrived and the doors opened. Hall immediately heard Mason (who surprisingly beat the others to the bridge or perhaps never left) state, “Helm, bring us to course two seven zero mark six. Stand by phasers.”

“Aye sir,” said Tavas, who was supposed to have the late watch. Hall scrambled to his navigator’s post while Duclare took over at the science station.

“Weapons ready, sir,” Hall reported. A quickly glance at the view screen and the tactical sensors revealed their assailant: a D6-class cruiser. The forerunner to the modern mainstay of the Klingon Imperial Fleet, the older cruiser shared many visual commonalities to its successor. However, like the aged veteran quarterback faced with a young and talented rookie, the D6 was relegated to a support role these days. While dangerous, it was still no match for the Yorktown.

“Fire,” Mason ordered.

“Aye sir,” he replied. Even from the bridge at the top of the primary hull, Hall could hear the loud whoosh of the phaser banks firing. Two bright blue beams of phaser fire struck the enemy ship, which was tinted green and far more angular than its successors. The salvo had the desired effect, the navigator noted with satisfaction. “Their forward shields are down to forty-three percent.”

“He’s breaking off,” warned Duclare.

“Stay with him,” the captain said firmly. “Mr. Hall, target his aft section. Ready photon torpedoes.”

“We have guidance lock,” he replied. Although he was a highly skilled navigator and weapons officer, up until being assigned to the Yorktown, he had yet to put the latter into effective practice until this war began. Although eager prove himself, he just wish he had enough time to slow down and catch his breath. Ain’t no shot of that happenin’ with the Klinks out here.

“Fire!” A pair of red pulses shot out from the Yorktown and it was a direct hit against the Klingon warship. The D6 turned sharply and returned fire with its full complement of disruptors. They were certainly making it more interesting that the previous battles, but based on what Hall could see on his tactical display, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Hard to port, Helm,” said Mason. “Stand by starboard phasers.”

“Coming around,” said Tavas. Dependable and completely professional, Hall never had any issues with her. What Schneider saw in the Andorian (and it was hard not to notice said interest) was beyond the navigator; she reminded him of a freezer unit with legs and antennae when off duty.

“Phasers ready,” Hall reported. The cruiser turned to starboard to try to get its forward shields away from the Yorktown’s weapons, but its remaining shields weren’t going to last long against the starship’s phasers.

“Fire,” the captain said. The phasers impacted the D6’s shields again and Hall noted with satisfaction that they were that much closer to finishing off the Klingons. “Let him pass astern. Stand by aft phaser banks.”

The target did so and as soon as it entered range of the Yorktown’s rear weapons, they fired. Hall felt a little disappointed that it was this easy; he remembered his mother telling him stories about facing off against D6-class vessels during her days as captain of the Normandy. This one was just flailing about out there, helplessly getting battered by a superior opponent. If that cruiser wasn’t filled with Klingons who’d kill him at the first opportunity, Hall might have pitied them.

“Target’s shields are almost gone, sir.”

“Fire torpedoes!” Another photon salvo tore through the D6’s remaining shields and hull. Pieces and chunks ripped away from the old ship. The antimatter warheads were devastating against unshielded targets, which was likely why the captain held off on using them until now. A series of internal explosions blasted out from the cruiser’s engineering section and swept forward, consuming the entire ship in a bright explosion. Four engagements, four kills. I wonder if the captain will let us stick a broom on the hull when we return to port.

“Target destroyed, sir,” Hall said proudly.

“Mr. Schneider,” Mason said, “have all department heads submit combat reports of this encounter to forward to Starfleet Command.”

“Aye, Captain,” the ensign replied, who must have entered the bridge when Hall was too busy to notice. Hall had to marvel at the captain’s calm during this and all the other engagements during this war. He acted like it was routine, like he had done this a hundred times before. When Hall told his mother that he had been assigned to the Yorktown, she mentioned that he could learn a lot from Mason and he now had no doubt of that.

“Stand down to yellow alert and secure battle stations. Any of you not on watch, you’re all relieved. Tavas, you have the conn.”

“Aye, aye sir,” she replied. Unfortunately, since Hall was both the head of the astronavigation and weapons control departments he had to wait to sign off on those reports, so he wasn’t heading back to his pleasant dreams just yet. The captain, Okefor, and Duclare (whom Hall tried not to watch too closely as she left) exited the bridge. Tavas got up from the helm and assumed the captain’s chair, replaced by Ensign Shaun Briggs, a tall, dark skinned man with a shaved head.

“Think there’s a chance the Klingon ship reported our position before we destroyed it?” Schneider asked as he brought down a data slate for Tavas to sign. “That more of them could be on their way?”

“We’re a pretty tempting target, Wolf,” Hall said lightly. With Mason and the XO off the bridge, he felt he could loosen up a little. Not that he was worried about offending the captain; he was serious, but not a stiff-ass like Okefor. “I imagine every Klingon would want a piece of the Yorktown.”

“If all they got are antiques and scout ships, then they can try all they want,” Briggs joked. “I’m just surprised they haven’t sent one of those bigger D7s at us.”

“Me too.” There were likely dozens of those top-of-the-line cruisers moving into the disputed zone. The D7 was designed as a counter to the Constitution-class after the Battle of Donatu V; on the whole, they were evenly matched, but each ship had its strengths and weaknesses. “It’s a shame they don’t let us paint kill markings on the hull; one more and we’d qualify as an ace under the ancient rules.”

“You two almost sound eager,” Schneider remarked.

“Well, Wolf,” Hall said, “you want to be the best, you have to beat the best.”

“This is war, gentlemen, not a sporting event,” Tavas warned. As the officer of the deck, her word was law, so that ended the discussion right there. Schneider returned to his post while Hall returned his focus to his station, not that there was much to do at the moment. Their patrol course was locked in. That just left waiting for his direct reports to send the results of the battle to him before he could return to bed, assuming another Klingon ship didn’t show up, of course.

It was at times like this with nothing better to do that one’s mind started to wander. Naturally, his concerns drifted towards his mother; Starbase 24 was one of the closest installations to the Klingon border and would definitely invite attack if the enemy was so inclined. But, it was also heavily defended, with half a dozen ships permanently assigned to the station’s garrison and with no doubt many more in the area ready to lend assistance should the need arise.

Then, of course, there was the Yorktown to worry about. Taking down one of the Big Twelve would be an enticing opportunity for any Klingon captain, which was most likely why even these smaller and older vessels that had been plaguing them made at least an attempt at an attack. He didn’t doubt that more trouble would be on its way and Hall looked forward to proving what this ship was capable of.

Or am I trying to prove myself? Recalling the conversation he had with Zhang on the phaser range, Hall had spent his early years growing up and listening to the family’s exploits in Starfleet from his mother on back. That he’d join the Service wasn’t a choice but an expectation; he was an only child and the son of an only child. His mother had gotten him priority entry into the academy and practically dictated his coursework to take and what postings accept after graduation. Every admiral he encountered treated him like a long-lost nephew and every captain like someone who deserved special treatment. It was something he had grown to resent and since Mason didn’t seem to behave that way the reason why he respected him so much. Okefor, on the other hand, had a stick up her ass concerning Hall, though he couldn’t tell if it was because of his pedigree or because of something else.

But, now he had the chance to keep the family legacy going, to put the name Cody Hall alongside his great-great-grandfather who fought at Station Salem One, his grandfather who was killed in action at Donatu V, and of course his mother. And he was now the first member to fight in a declared war since the aforementioned one from the Romulan War. It had been ingrained in him since an early age that he had a duty to serve the Federation and Starfleet to his utmost ability; the family motto, after all, was “Make a difference.” He just didn’t want his contribution to the war effort to end up being shooting down ships older than some of his ancestors…

(Continued below)

 

[Rat Boy]

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

Even though his body was tired to the point of exhaustion, Jonas Leland couldn’t get any sleep on the cot that had been delivered to his office. He had been up for the better part of a day after the Code One alert had been issued, signaling the beginning of the war. He had remained in the ops center, watching reports coming in from all over the border. In addition to Klingon fleet bound for Organia, enemy forces had been launching hit and fade strikes on other Federation targets. Lives on both sides had been lost. Even though Nelson had practically shoved Leland into the turbolift to head back upstairs, the admiral couldn’t possibly sleep at a time like this.

“Damn it,” he groaned as he turned over once more onto his back. A creature of habit, Leland had a hard time adjusting to a new bed, though this cot had more in common with a slab of concrete than a comfortable mattress. My men and women are out there right now putting their lives on the line and here I am bitching about a God damn cot!

It was daylight now on the West Coast of North America, judging by the light seeping through the small gaps in the thick drapes covering the windows. Leland was used to getting rest at odd hours, but not in a situation like this. This war was far worse than anything Leland had to deal with as CSO or before. Closest situation that came to mind was Donatu V; tensions had been running high on the border just as in the lead-up to this war.

Then, the Klingons struck in force all across the border. Leland was the first officer aboard the USS Illustrious, part of the fleet sent to stop the Klingons at Donatu. It was hellish; how he lived through it when so many of his shipmates and friends didn’t, he still couldn’t figure out but now the same scenario was being played out all over the border.

There was a knock at his door. Leland raised his head and ordered whoever it was to come in without identifying themselves. Almost every staffer assigned to HQ was crowded in the ops center (now for obvious reasons referred to as “the War Room”) and there were only a few who’d come up to Leland’s office without asking first. The doors opened and saw Nelson standing there; the toll of the past day weighing heavily on him. His hair was out of place and his face darkened by stubble. The admiral dreaded to think what he looked like at the moment and had made it a point of not looking at himself too closely in his bathroom mirror.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” the CSO asked as he got up from the cot.

“Do you, sir?” Nelson countered wryly.

“Fair enough, smart ass.” Leland made his way over to his desk and sat down, finding his office chair far more comfortable than the makeshift bed he had been trying to rest on. “What’s on your mind?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Be very, very careful when you use the words ‘bad news,’” the admiral warned in a teasing manner. “I’m not really in the mood for it.”

“We’ve just received an update from the Enterprise,” his aide explained and his tone suggested that he wasn’t in the mood for joking banter at the moment. “Eight Klingon battle cruisers entered orbit of Organia and transported down hundreds of troops. The enemy now has control of the planet.”

“Even with this advanced warning, we still couldn’t do anything to stop it.” That wasn’t entirely true; it did give them a head-start in mobilizing forces like the Constellation’s growing battle group. If there’s a line of people wanting to kick me in the ass for something that goes wrong, I’m usually at the head of it.

“There’s…one more thing on that note, sir,” Nelson added reluctantly. “Captain Kirk and his first officer are still on the planet.”

“STILL?!” Leland snapped. “What the hell was he thinking…?!”

“Sir, this could be bad. If they’re caught, the Klingons could torture them for information. Ship deployments, tactics, security protocols; all of it could be compromised.”

Grumbling, the admiral got up and headed to his shelf to pour himself a drink. He should’ve known something like this would happen; Kirk was too much like his father, a Starfleet officer known for betting the farm in high stakes situations. It wasn’t much of a surprise that James T. Kirk took after George Kirk, someone Leland had met on occasion. After downing a bit of whiskey, the admiral calmed down. “No, Kirk’s smart enough to know to go to ground. He and his XO, what’s his name? Spock? Anyway, they’ll lay low and keep out of sight. Still, make the necessary adjustments to comm protocols, send out new code sequences, that sort of thing.”

“Aye sir,” Nelson said.

“What about Enterprise?” the admiral asked. “What’s their situation?”

“Under temporary command of a lieutenant named Sulu. They took some damage when they warped out of Organia and are en route to rendezvous with the Constellation. The task force is still a long ways from being ready.”

“What’s closer?”

“A few destroyers, frigates, support vessels, and the Yorktown,” his aide noted. “Sir, with Organia in Klingon hands, they’re going to hurry to get their fortifications and communications network established very fast. Their plan depends on speed and now that they know that we know what they’re up to, they’ll double their efforts to hit us while we’re still trying to gather strength.”

“Agreed,” Leland concluded with a sigh while returning to his desk chair. “They learned their lesson at Donatu. We take a while to get rolling, but when we do, they’re going to have a lot of hurt bearing down on them.”

“I just hope it’ll be enough this time.”

“It almost wasn’t at Donatu. How much do you know about it?”

“Well,” Nelson prefaced, “I was only about five or six when it happened, so all I know about it is from books and vids. I don’t count that one that was released a couple years ago, of course.”

“What a crock of shit that was,” Leland grumbled angrily. The vid in question was a film simply called Donatu and took very liberal liberties with what happened, shoving the battle itself to a mere backdrop to a very poorly done love story involving fictitious characters. “My wife dragged me to it on opening night in a theater.”

“Mine too.”

“Halfway through I signed a vets petition denouncing it. Argued with the theater manager to get my refund.”

“Wish I thought of that, sir,” the commander said. “You were there at Donatu, weren’t you?”

“It’s not something I go around bragging about, kid,” Leland said. He reached for the small wooden humidor and opened it, revealing his collection of cigars. His wife refused to allow them near their home, which left the office to smoke in, and fortunately Barnett looked the other way. After clipping the end of it off with a cutter and lighting it with a butane lighter, he settled calmly back in his chair. “I was about your age at the time, XO on the Illustrious. We’d heard reports that the Klingons were conducting low scale raids on our border outposts, all diplomatic contact broken off. We were attached to Commodore Robau’s fleet and our monitoring stations picked up a Klingon task force marshalling in the Donatu system, looking like they were going to try something big…”

He remembered exactly where he was when the Illustrious dropped out of warp in the Donatu system. She was an old, beat up cruiser that was obsolete long before Leland put on the uniform (in those days a tight fitting number that the current CSO hated with a passion), darker and less streamlined. There was even a window at the front of the bridge instead of a view screen; thankfully that idiotic concept was phased out.

“Soon as we arrived, we localized the enemy fleet in orbit of the fifth planet right away…”

“I read fourteen, repeat fourteen enemy contacts, Captain,” the science officer had reported. The task force had only numbered eight. Outside the “view screen,” Leland recalled seeing a single-nacelle survey ship to port and the latest pride and joy of Starfleet and the fleet’s flagship directly ahead, the USS Constitution. “ID’ed as D6-class cruisers.”

“Acknowledged,” the ship’s captain, Carson Davis, a veteran officer of a couple of decades, had answered. The D6 was the Klingon Imperial Fleet’s top of the line warship of the day. Obviously not as good as the prototype of the Constitution-class that led the Federation fleet, but more than enough to take care of the rest of the fleet, especially in great numbers. “Maintain formation; hold fire until ordered.”

“…Robau tried warning them off, giving them one last chance to withdraw. They obviously didn’t…”

“Incoming!”

“Open fire, all batteries!”

“Phase cannons, fire!” Leland barked. Fire control back in those days (and up until recently on some ships) was more decentralized, with commands relayed from the bridge to weapons control centers all over the ship. Phase cannons were the forerunner to modern phasers; the fact that the Illustrious still had them was yet another sign of how old she was.

“…we both opened up on each other almost simultaneously. We picked our targets and spread out the damage, but the Klingons concentrated all their fire on one target…”

The survey ship to the left of the Illustrious took the brunt of the enemy’s first barrage. Her shields were quickly stripped and her hull torn to pieces. Chunks flew off and struck the aged cruiser, vibrating the bridge profusely. Klingon torpedoes struck the solitary warp nacelle under the ship’s disk-shaped main hull, ripping it right off of her housing.

“Hard starboard!”

“Captain, enemy contacts breaking formation! Moving to flank us!”

“…and then it all went to hell. Klingons everywhere; explosions left and right. Might have looked a little like what you saw in that vid, but nothing really prepares you for the worst part: the smell…”

After about five minutes, the Illustrious’ shields started to falter under the assault. As what usually happened in battle, power surges overloaded consoles. A back-up fire control panel practically exploded, tossing the crew manning it to the deck. What haunted Leland to this day was the foul odor of burnt flesh that wafted from their charred corpses.

“…they kept hammering us, harder and harder. It seemed like any time we gained ground on them, they took it back…”

A bright flash drew his eyes to the window. What had been there was the USS Artemis, a vessel from a class of cruiser in the decades between the Illustrious and the Constitution. Now there was nothing but wreckage; she was lost with all hands. Obviously she wasn’t the only vessel lost at Donatu V; the smaller vessels that were part of Commodore Robau’s task force were easily dispatched.

The flagship was a sight to behold, though. The Klingons kept after the Constitution, but she kept on going, absorbing the hits and giving even better than she was taking. Leland regretted never having served on a ship like her; his last command before being given desk duty was the USS John Paul Jones, a cruiser of a class launched slightly before the Constitution. She was a good ship in her own right but not quite as special.

“…We were running out of ships and time. Our shields were almost exhausted, casualties reported all over the place, many dead. But, so were the Klingons and they weren’t about to give up just yet…”

“Forward shields gone!”

“Enemy contact moving in for another pass!”

“Hang on!”

One of the enemy vessels fired a head-on barrage at the Illustrious, slicing into the forward section of the hull. Pieces, including portions of the ship’s name and registry, broke off and drifted backwards. One even slammed into the upper part of the bridge dome.

“…Finally, we had the upper hand. The Klingons were down to only two ships; one of them still had warp drive and escaped, the second self-destructed to prevent capture. Of our fleet, only the Constitution, Armstrong, and Illustrious survived, but we had to be evacuated when life support started failing. She was declared a total loss and was scrapped.”

Leland set his cigar down in the crystal ashtray and sighed dejectedly. He spent the long trip back to a starbase in the Armstrong’s cargo bay, sleeping on a cot much like the one now in his office. “The rest, you probably know, kid. Robau was hailed as a hero; everyone there, living and dead, got medals. But it was no victory. True, we sent the Klingons packing, but we nearly lost an entire fleet to do it. And the raids continued for months, not as big as Donatu but it kept going. I was given…extended leave and by the time I was transferred to a new ship, the cease fire was negotiated, the same one that held for the most part until just now.”

“I…” Nelson said, stunned by the memories Leland had related and likely the mournful tone of voice the CSO told it in. “I can’t imagine what it was like, sir.”

“Pray that you never will, son,” the admiral warned sympathetically.

“I…I should get back to ops, sir.” Leland simply nodded in approval and his aide departed. After finishing off what was left in his glass, the admiral returned to smoking his cigar, still haunted by the ghosts his talk with Nelson had conjured up.
There was one detail he had left out, one that he never shared with anyone, not even his wife. During the trip back aboard the Armstrong, the survivors from the Illustrious held a memorial service for the members of the crew who were lost, including a reading of their names. The more names Leland recognized, the more he found it hard to maintain emotional stability. After the service, he crawled back onto his cot, pulled the blanket over his head, and cried for hours, cursing the Klingons, and cursing those brass and politicians who had sent his friends to their deaths. He never cried like that before in his life or since. Doctors and psychiatrists had diagnosed him with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, hence the leave he had told Nelson about. Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to preclude him from returning to duty again, eventually getting his first command and so on and so forth.

“Dammit,” he cursed as he tossed his cigar back into the ashtray. Now wasn’t the time for Leland to be wallowing in his memories of the past. Out there, there were thousands of young men and women likely experiencing or about to experience the same kinds of hell Leland went through twenty-two years ago. And they were all depending on him not to come apart on them…

 

[mthompson1701]

Finally had a chance to get caught up, really enjoying the last couple chapters. Good character development for Leland and Hall. An observation, Okefor has been on the bridge for two battles with the Klingons, and hasn't really said or done anything during them. Hopefully, this is something that will be explored in the future. I'd like to see her at least offer a suggestion to Mason on a course of action, even if he doesn't take it.

 

[Rat Boy]

Finally had a chance to get caught up, really enjoying the last couple chapters. Good character development for Leland and Hall. An observation, Okefor has been on the bridge for two battles with the Klingons, and hasn't really said or done anything during them. Hopefully, this is something that will be explored in the future. I'd like to see her at least offer a suggestion to Mason on a course of action, even if he doesn't take it.

The thing with Okefor is that she's suddenly out of her element now that war has broken out. She was trained to avoid a conflict, but now she finds herself smack-dab in the middle of one under the command of someone who's used to settling things with his phasers instead of his words.

PS, it's technically five encounters, only one of which ended peacefully.

 

[Rat Boy]

Fourteen

​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

The concept of a swimming pool aboard a starship might strike the lay person as being a little unusual, what with the chance the water might spill all over the place during spatial turbulence or a battle. Even more unusual was that someone would be swimming laps in one when a starship was in the middle of a war zone, but it was all Juliet Okefor could do in order to calm herself at a time like this. She had more than enough sleep and the XO feared that if she planted herself in front of a food processor, she’d ultimately have trouble fitting into her uniform. That just left a pastime she had began in a community pool in London as a little girl.

Okefor wouldn’t have considered herself an Olympic-class swimmer; she didn’t even make the team for Starfleet Academy, but she enjoyed the feeling of cutting herself off from the outside world and surrounding herself in water. But, as she swam back and forth across the length of the pool, Okefor couldn’t stop dwelling on the war and the long series of events that had led up to it. As a trained diplomat, one had to have an understanding of history; negotiations and peace talks hinged on remembering the past and hoping to move ahead to a brighter future. As of now, hope was all she had left.

Humanity’s relations with the Klingon Empire had been rocky from the start, after a Klingon pilot crash landed on Earth in the mid 22nd Century. It became worse over the next few years, however after the Romulan War and the birth of the Federation, the Klingons isolated themselves, refusing to deal directly with their new and rapidly expanding rivals. During that time, the Empire seemed content to leave the Federation alone and the 22nd Century drew to a close with no major conflicts between the two powers.

In the early 23rd Century, though, the situation had changed. Most historians Okefor had read referred to this time as the Federation’s “Expansionist Period.” Other scholars had been far blunter in their assessment, calling it an age of human imperialism. Numerous far-flung colonies had been established, first contact with nearly fifty new civilizations was made, and Starfleet swelled to become the dominant space force in the quadrant. Watching all of this with likely weary eyes were the Klingons, and there was a fear by the members of the Federation Council that despite decades of repeated refusals for diplomatic dialogue, contact had to be made with the Empire lest the situation deteriorate into an armed conflict.

Finally, in 2218, the Klingons agreed to hold talks to open a dialogue. Four Federation ships, the Ticonderoga, Poseidon, Miami, and Teheran rendezvoused with four Klingon warships on the border. The Klingon delegation was invited aboard the Ticonderoga for a reception and within hours, disaster struck. A member of the ship’s crew inadvertently insulted the honor of one of the Klingon delegates; said delegate drew a concealed knife and challenged the offending human to a duel to the death. Ship’s security intervened, however the Klingon lashed out and a fight between the crew and the Klingon delegation ensued. Eventually, the Klingons were detained, though several members of the Ticonderoga’s security force had been killed.

Once word of this incident reached the Klingon warships, they fired on the Federation task force. In the ensuring battle, the Poseidon was destroyed and the remaining three vessels were heavily damaged and forced to retreat. Klingon ships began targeting settlements near their territory and Starfleet prepared for war. Thankfully, the Vulcans, who had unofficial diplomatic contact with the Empire dating back over a century, interceded. The Klingon delegates captured by the Ticonderoga were returned and the Empire’s military forces backed off. The specter of war was averted, but the light of peace was still off in the distance.

Tensions rose and fell over the following two decades; humanity and the Federation continued its push to develop the frontier, though this expansion forced the Klingons to do so as well lest they become surrounded by Federation colonies and installations. Where the Federation would colonize planets and mine others for resources, the Klingons would build military outposts and strip them for raw materials until there was nothing left. Where the Federation would open diplomatic relations with new species, the Klingons would conquer, subjugate, and enslave them. Occasionally a raid or some other border incident would threaten to escalate into all-out conflict, but those were contained before they could spiral out of control.

This fragile peace lasted until the Battle of Donatu V and the skirmishes before and after the bloody and ultimately inconclusive showdown between the Federation and the Empire. Afterwards, both sides agreed to a cease fire, though ultimately the cause of their continued disputes had yet to be resolved. Oh, certainly there were attempts to negotiate a permanent border between the two powers, but those always seemed to end because of another border dispute, or worse in the case of this war. And yet, even after so many decades, the Federation and humanity continued to make the same mistakes over and over again.

This conflict, dating all the way back to before the incident on the Ticonderoga, could have been averted if the Federation and the humans who founded it had been more reasonable in expanding its borders. It all rightly smacked of ancient imperialism; two dominant powers clashing to carve out the biggest slice of a finite pie, even in something as vast as the galaxy. For the Klingons to behave that way wasn’t surprising, but humans?

Humanity had overcome its aggressive and warlike tendencies, raising itself out of the ashes of the Third World War and ultimately becoming the cornerstone of the United Federation of Planets. Diplomacy and friendship was supposed to be the top foreign policy approach of the human race, not aggressively seizing every world in sight. It was against everything Okefor believed that the Federation stood for and what she firmly believed what was ultimately responsible for the outbreak of the war. Armed conflicts didn’t happen without a catalyst, for the most part; wars were never declared without a reason.

And it seemed so inconceivable for the XO that this feud between the Federation and the Klingons could have gone on for so long. Of course, there were examples in history where armed disputes dragged on for hundreds of years. The religious and ethnic animosity sparked by the Holy Crusades of Earth’s Middle Ages lasted well into the 21st Century. The Vulcans had a long standing feud with the Andorians prior to the formation of the Federation, and the Andorians had one with the Tellarites, as well. The infamous genocidal wars between the Nyral and the Kiram lasted for almost five hundred years before both species were nearly exterminated. It had to end somewhere, otherwise there’d be nothing left of the Federation and the Empire to agree to the only viable resolution: peace.

It was then Okefor realized she was now floating calmly on the water; her body was fully relaxed, but her spirit wasn’t. She and the rest of the crew of the Yorktown had been fortunate to this point that the only battles they had seen were short, one-sided skirmishes. Fortunate, save for the fact that many Klingons had been killed at the hands of the Yorktown; two hundred on the D6, around a dozen on the three other ships. If she were religious, the XO might have prayed for those now dead…

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

I don’t know how he does it, thought Alexander Nelson as he watched his boss do something he didn’t think was possible when he found him in his office half a day ago. They were in the press briefing room on the ground floor of HQ; the commander and Yeoman Chambers off to the side out of view of the various cameras and journalists while Admiral Leland stood at the podium fielding questions. In contrast to earlier, the CSO seemed vibrant an energetic, as if that shower and a change of uniform off of the building’s gym did more to revitalize him than his fitful attempts at sleep. Nelson wished that all he needed to get going again was that.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t comment on casualties at this time,” Leland said in response to a question. “No comment” was turning into a very frequent response at this point. Fleet Admiral Barnett had conducted the earlier press conferences, but with the CINC finally getting some rest, it was up to the CSO to handle this briefing. In spite of Leland’s protests over loathing these aspects of his job, Nelson had to admire how well he was handling it. “We don’t have hard figures yet and we of course won’t release specifics and details until next of kin are notified. Next question?”

“Admiral, would you care to comment on how you feel Starfleet’s chances are in defeating the Klingon invasion?” one reporter asked. Dealing with the press was an unfortunate necessity, one that Nelson couldn’t stand about as much as Leland did. If they weren’t asking asinine questions that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, then they were accusing them of this, that, and the other thing along with trotting out information that was supposed to be classified. But, this was a democracy, one that they were trying to defend against the Klingons; they’d have to put it up with it.

“I’m fully confident that our forces will prevail,” the admiral replied bluntly. “Next question.”

“Admiral, reports indicate attacks in the Forcas and Archanis systems,” said another reporter, a female. “What is Starfleet doing to protect the colonies from an assault?”

“We haven’t confirmed any raids on civilian targets yet and as I mentioned the true focus of the war are the sectors surrounding Organia. That said we are taking steps to ensure all Federation interests along the border are protected.”

“And what of those who question why Starfleet is focusing more on trying to liberate a non-Federation world than on colonies belonging to Federation members?” Nelson recalled that this particular reporter was usually critical of Starfleet in these meetings and wondered why she kept getting credentials issued to her. “Doesn’t the Prime Directive forbid…?”

“I’m well aware of what the Prime Directive forbids, Miss,” Leland said dismissively, “and I’m sure you’re aware that it is the policy of the Federation to protect all species, Federation and not, from Klingon aggression, especially at times like this. You want to debate it? Take it up with the Federation Council; I’ve got a war to win.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” said Starfleet’s public affairs officer, Commander Lopez, who had been standing behind Leland and likely was interjecting himself before the CSO’s patience ran out. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have. I can try to answer whatever questions you might want to…”

A torrent from the gathered reporters hit the commander as Leland quickly made his way away from the podium. Nelson and Chambers followed in step behind him as the admiral led them towards a turbolift behind the press room. To the aide’s surprise, Leland was smiling.

“You enjoyed taking her down a peg, didn’t you?” Nelson asked.

“You’re God damn right I did,” he replied with a quiet laugh. As they entered the turbolift, Leland added, “Anything I missed while dealing with those clowns?”

“The Pioneer’s been reported missing near Outpost K-6. All channels with the station have also gone dead.”

The admiral let out a low growl of frustration. This news was on top of several other similar stories; a patrol ship goes missing and a nearby installation comes under enemy fire. The Klingons clearly were stepping up their offensive operations along the border. It was only a matter of time, Nelson feared, before the invasion force at Organia would move on to their next target. “Damn it. The Lexington’s the command ship for that sector, isn’t it? I don’t care what Bob Wesley has to do, I want this to stop, clear?”

“Yes sir,” Nelson said calmly, though he hesitantly added, “but, we’re stretched too thin, sir. We had advanced warning, but we still didn’t have enough time to marshal our forces. We’re going to be on the defensive for the foreseeable future.”

“A man doesn’t wake up one morning and say he’s going to go to war by the afternoon,” Leland noted. “It takes years of planning, maybe even a decade’s worth. They could’ve been dreaming this up ever since we signed the last cease fire.”

“But to outplay us so extensively…seems like every time we get an advantage, the Klingons somehow one-up us. We had advanced warning of them moving on Organia, they’re still able to take it. We pick up raiders operating in one system, another raider group attacks another while we’re dealing with the first.”

“I hear you.” The turbolift came to a halt on the same level as the operations center. Chambers exited and headed towards the “pool table” while Leland led Nelson over to the windows, presumably to continue their conversation out of earshot of the staff. “I’ve been dealing with this problem for almost twenty years.”

“Problem, sir?” the commander asked in confusion.

“That no one wanted to listen,” he explained. “We saw signs that the Klingons were stockpiling duranium and dilithium back when I served on Admiral Hunter’s staff, but Starfleet Command wasn’t too concerned about it. I saw the Klingons building up fortifications and defenses while I was captain of the Independence and John Paul Jones, but Starfleet said they’d take my warnings under advisement. They saw Donatu V as the end of the problem, not the beginning. People in power don’t like it when you tell them the sky is falling and it’s their fault that nothing’s being done about it.”

Leland started to pace agitatedly, as if the total sum of his frustrations for the past twenty years were coming to a head. “They build about fifty of those damn D7s, we can only field twelve Constitutions. They construct armed military installations all over the border, we only build listening posts and monitoring outposts. They strip mine a planet once they find it and send all the material to be used for their military, we spend months negotiating contracts, who gets what, and we’re lucky if they give Starfleet ten percent of what’s there. You want to know why they’re beating the crap out of us; because they’ve been spending every day of the past twenty-two years preparing for war while we’ve done nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir,” Nelson said. “The newer escorts, frigates, and destroyers…”

“Were designed by committee!” the admiral hissed. “The Federation Council told Command to load them down with scientific labs, astronomical sensors, diplomatic facilities. Each of our ships is twice as expensive and takes twice as long to build as the Klingons’. I know I’ve said this time and again since you joined me here, but we need to start changing the way we did business around here, but the problem is that we should have done it twenty years ago after Donatu.” He sighed as if to calm himself. “So what would you do?”

“Sir?”

“If you were in charge, how’d you do things differently?”

“Well, I…” he started to reply, thinking for a moment instead of answering right away. “I agree with you, sir; in order to build up our defensive fleets, we need to build ships geared toward that role exclusively. No science labs, no non-essential amenities. Second, we need to start getting the other Federation races to start pulling their own weight. We do have non-humans in Starfleet, but we’re still almost exclusively human and have to defend all eighty members of the Federation. Encourage more aliens to enlist, get their governments to start building ships for us. If they’re not willing to, then at least construct their own vessels and defenses to protect their assets.”

“You’re not suggesting Starfleet should only protect Earth interests, are you?” Leland asked slyly.

Nelson didn’t exactly know how to respond, since he wasn’t sure himself about what he was implying. “Sir, the only reason Starfleet was tasked to defend all Federation interests because after the Romulan War we were the best equipped to do so. But that was when the Federation had only four members. If other species want to benefit from Starfleet, then they need to start meeting us halfway. I know that’s not something that’s considered…proper to think…”

The admiral chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You’re probably not the only person who thinks that…”

“Excuse me, Admiral,” Chambers interrupted as she approached him. “Priority update from the Matador. They’ve sighted three D5 cruisers near Tof-Beta.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful. Well, enough venting; let’s get back to work.” More and more Nelson had been seeing Leland expressing his outrage since the war again; genuine anger over the state of affairs with the Federation and not simple annoyance over the bureaucracy. Lives were being lost because of what the Federation and Starfleet failed to do for years and the admiral had enough. Obviously Nelson agreed wholeheartedly and Leland was right; there were many who questioned Starfleet’s relationship with the Federation as a whole. Just how much the admiral felt that way remained to be seen…

(Continued below)

 

[Rat Boy]

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

The trouble with being the security chief aboard a starship during a time of war was that short of a planetary invasion, there was little to do. Certainly there was the risk that the enemy would try to board the Yorktown, particularly with that enemy being the Klingons, but those were rarely ever attempted for the simple fact it involved dropping shields in the middle of a firefight. Thus, for the course of this war, Li Zhang had spent most of the time making sure his people were where they were supposed to be whenever the red alert sounded. Except for the fact that the Yorktown was being fired on, it felt as routine and dull as when he worked at the Vulcan embassy.

He made his way down one of the corridors of deck five in the direction of the captain’s quarters. Zhang’s old friend Mason had become rather closed off since the outbreak of the war, even more than usual, and the security chief decided to check in on him. After tapping the door buzzer, he was allowed entry to find the captain sitting at his desk with Yeoman Santiago handing him a few data slates to sign off on.

“Li, what can I do for you?” the captain asked.

“Just wanted to see if you had time to talk, Doug,” Zhang answered honestly.

“Thank you, Yeoman; that’ll be all.” Santiago departed with a nod to the commander; she was cute, but way too young for his tastes. He was probably old enough to be her father. “It’s probably a bad time for a drink, Li.”

“It’s never a bad time for a drink.” The security chief went over to the bottle of Saurian brandy and poured himself a glass before sitting down; Mason declined one when Zhang offered. “You know, you’ve been more isolated than usual, Doug. Only times I’ve seen you have been on the bridge and in the briefing room when you’re not locked up in here.”

“I wish I had an office off of the bridge like in the old days,” Mason said.

“What, so you can barricade yourself there instead of in here?” Zhang questioned before taking a long sip. “Were you always this…sociable in your previous commands?”

“Little harder to hide on a destroyer or escort. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even met every member of the crew here. Besides, what’s with everyone being so concerned about me socializing? It’s not like it’s appropriate with a war on.”

“If not now, Doug, then when?” The captain’s shoulders sagged, as if he was conceding that Zhang had a point and as usual didn’t say it aloud. Mason reached over to the brandy bottle and poured himself a drink. He raised his glass to toast as Zhang added, “Who would’ve thought that a colony world boy like you and a humble little city dweller like myself would end up fighting in the biggest war in history?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?” his friend asked wryly.

“On second thought, no,” Zhang said. “I remember that time you made me proofread that paper for that upper division statistics course. That’s one Saturday I’ll never get back.”

“At least you learned something.”

“Yeah, that you write too much.” Truth was Zhang couldn’t remember what Mason had wrote, probably because it was both so long ago and that he was probably drinking at the time. “This all reminds me of sixteen years ago. You know, the Battle of Axanar?”

“Who could forget that?” Mason asked rhetorically. It was probably one of the worst crises in Federation history next to the current war. The Axanar were a species that had applied for Federation membership, however several species including the Andorians protested the effort to have them brought in, spearheaded by humanity. The Andorians had a long-standing trade feud with the Axanar and vehemently protested their inclusion in the Federation. Eventually, a radical faction among the Andorian Imperial Guard overthrew their government before they invaded the Axanar’s home system; the situation threatened to spiral into civil war and the collapse of the Federation. A task force led by legendary Fleet Captain Garth of Izar was sent to free the Axanar. In any case, the battle was one sided and the Andorian forces subsequently routed. A peace mission and an insurgency of loyalist forces against the renegade military elements on Andoria resolved the situation and Axanar was admitted to the Federation; the alliance that was almost broken was now stronger than ever, supposedly. “Still, it wasn’t nearly as bad as this, at least from what I heard.”

“Well, the Andorians were flying around in a bunch of antique cruisers,” Zhang said with a smirk. “You see any action way back when?”

“Too much to tell. Three months into my tour on the Oriskany, a squabble broke out between rival Tellarite mining consortiums on the fringe. They started hiring mercenaries to raid their opponents, so we got called in to put a stop to it. Chased a raider into an asteroid belt, but before we could get an accurate shot off, they rammed into one of the asteroids. Nothing left but a smudge on the rock.”

“Ouch.”

“The mercs reneged on their contracts once word that Starfleet was involved started going around,” the captain added. “We arrested the CEOs and the boards of directors from both companies and hauled them back to starbase. It was a little crowded in the brig on that trip.”

“That’s nothing,” Zhang countered. “I was aboard the Potemkin for about a year when we rescued up an entire transport full of Orion animal women. Full security lock down, no one allowed in except the guards, we weren’t to remain near the brig for more than two hours, and we were all ordered to take mandatory high-pitched sonic showers when we rotated out.”

“That’s worse?”

“Try imaging about forty of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen in your life all trying to seduce you all at once. Then imagine trying to tackle a member of your detail who can’t control himself and tries to let them loose. The captain was lucky half the ship didn’t try to mutiny. Eventually it got to the point where we just locked them all in a cargo bay for the rest of the trip.”

“All right, you got me there,” Mason said. “How’d you manage to get through it?”

“I…” Zhang hesitantly replied, “spent a lot of time in my bunk.”

That made the captain chuckle heartily. “Funny, I had a similar run in with the Orions. When I was in command of the Charger, we got wind they were smuggling some kind of designer drug called ‘jewel of the sound’ through…”

The intercom whistled before Mason could complete his story. Schneider announced, “Bridge to captain.”

“I have the feeling this isn’t good,” Zhang remarked as his friend pressed the intercom control on his desk.

“Mason here.”

“You have an incoming transmission from the USS Constellation; Code 47.”

“I believe that’s my cue to leave,” said the security chief. Code 47 was a private, encrypted channel reserved for captains and above and only viewable by captains and above. “See you around, Doug.”

“Li,” Mason said absently as Zhang departed, sounding like he too was uneasy about the sudden call from one of the Yorktown’s sister ships and one commanded by a commodore. The brass hardly ever called to relate good news.

 

[Rat Boy]

Fifteen

​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

Doug Mason sighed uneasily as Zhang exited his cabin. Perhaps his friend was right about his cutting himself off from the rest of the crew as Duclare had accused him of over a day ago, but this wasn’t time to roam the ship and shake hands. There was a war on and his focus had to be solely on that, particularly with a highly-encrypted transmission coming in from a superior officer.

He reactivated the desktop monitor and tied it into the incoming communication. However, the Federation’s seal appeared on the screen and the ship’s computer said in its mechanical though feminine tone, “This is a secure communications channel. Please state identification and access code.”

“Mason, Captain Douglas C.,” he replied, loathing the fact that he had to give his full name. “Voice authorization Mason November Three Nine Alpha.”

“Working.” The seal disappeared and was replaced by the face of Commodore Matthew Decker, commanding officer of the USS Constellation. With steel gray hair and a perpetual scowl to go along with his perpetual stubble, he struck Mason as captain of an old square-rigged, three-masted sailing warship than a starship.

“Commodore,” the captain said.

“Doug, a pleasure,” Decker replied plainly. He also didn’t strike Mason as someone who enjoyed pleasantries, though the commodore did partake in the odd habit of starship commanders referring to each other in the familiar regardless of actual familiarity. “How’s your ship holding up?”

“We’ve had a few run-ins with the enemy, but we’ve done well.” Decker would only ask about the status of the Yorktown unless he wanted something.

“Good; I see old Jonas Leland’s faith in you is well placed. As you probably know, Command’s put me in charge of the effort of retaking Organia from the enemy and I’ve spent most of this war marshalling a fleet, but we’ve had a setback. The Kongo got ambushed by a D7 on her way to rendezvous with us. Cartwright managed to scare them off, but his ship is under tow back to starbase. I was counting on her being a part of the fleet and I want yours as a replacement.”

“I see, sir,” Mason commented. He only knew of the captain of the Kongo by reputation, but said reputation said that he was an overzealous sort. All aggression, little tact.

“I won’t lie, Doug; we need all the help we can get,” the commodore continued. “The fleet’s numbering near a dozen, but considering the reports we’re getting out of Organia, we’re going to need the big guns ships like ours provide. I’ve already got Ron Tracey and the Exeter here and the Enterprise is inbound, but she’s under the command of some lieutenant named Sulu. I know it’s a long way for you to come, but I need your ship and I need a captain with your experience on our side. Just watch your back; it’s possible they jumped the Kongo to prevent her from taking part in this attack and I don’t want them doing the same to you.”

“We’ll be careful, sir, but what about our patrol station?”

“Command believes the war hinges on who controls Organia; all other concerns are secondary. I’m sending you rendezvous coordinates on a coded frequency. As soon as you join the fleet, I’ll brief you on our plans. Maintain radio silence except in emergencies; I don’t want the enemy learning anything about this operation. Good luck, Doug. Decker out.”

“Aye sir,” Mason muttered before shutting off his monitor. He agreed that Organia was the focus of the war, but as the four battles the Yorktown proved, there were other fronts in this conflict. Pulling the Yorktown out of Sector 018 would put the area in jeopardy, however orders were orders. He reached over to the intercom control and after pressing it, said, “Mason to bridge.”

“Tavas here, Captain,” the helmswoman replied.

“We should be getting a new set of coordinates on a coded channel.”

“We already have it, sir,” Schneider said.

“Feed them to the navigator and plot a new course,” Mason ordered.

“Course is on the board, Captain,” Tavas said. “Estimate we’ll reach the coordinates in twenty hours at warp six, sir.”

“Alter course and take us to warp six. Alert the rest of the senior staff; tell them there’ll be a mission briefing in two hours.”

“Aye sir.”

“Mason out,” he concluded as he signed off. Sighing, the captain realized this mission had gotten a lot more problematic. True, a war patrol wasn’t easy, but now he and his crew were asked to go up against an invasion force and that would make the encounters thus far seem trivial by comparison. Decker was right; Organia was the key to the war effort and now Mason had to get his crew ready for the worst the Klingon Empire had to offer…

* * *​

With trepidation, Tavas exited the briefing room with the rest of the senior officers. Captain Mason had informed them that they were being pulled from their normal patrol route to take part in an attack on Organia, where the bulk of the Klingon armada was stationed. Naturally nervous that they’d be taking on an entire enemy fleet, part of Tavas couldn’t help but feel a little excited that the Yorktown was being asked to play a vital role in the outcome of this war. She just learned to keep those natural Andorian impulses to herself.

“Can you believe it?” Hall asked eagerly as he, Tavas, and Schneider headed to a turbolift to take back up to the bridge. Obviously he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm and the helmswoman could see why it vexed Okefor. “Organia. We’re going to take part in turning the tide of this war.”

“Wundervoll,” the ensign muttered.

“Don’t you study Earth history, Wolf? This could be like the Battle of Midway from the Second World War. Kicking the Klinks out of Organia will turn the tide, send them running back to their territory. Today Organia, tomorrow Qo’Nos.”

“I do study Earth history, Lieutenant. This could easily end up being what you Americans call ‘The Battle of the Bulge’ and we could be the Germans.”

“You always such a worrier?” Hall asked as they entered the turbolift. Of course, Tavas hadn’t a clue what they were talking about; she never really studied Earth history in that great of depth. The closest analogy she could think of was the Battle of Donatu V; a Federation force sent to thwart a Klingon invasion. That obviously hadn’t gone so well for either side. “You’re awfully quiet, Tavas. I thought you Andorians were eager for a good fight.”

“We don’t know what kind of fight we’re getting into,” she remarked. Mason had only told them that they were rendezvousing with the fleet, not what they would face at Organia. Speculation was about all that any of them could do at the moment but Tavas wasn’t one for guessing. “To ponder the issue any further is pointless until we know what we’re up against.”

“You can bet it’ll be a big one. Chances are the Klingons have a large number of ships in orbit and an entire legion of ground troops on the surface. They’ll be talking about this battle for generations to come.”

“What is with you, Lieutenant?” Schneider asked frantically. “You sound like you enjoy this.”

“If this battle sends the Klinks running scared and wins us the war,” Hall countered, “then you’re damn straight I’m gonna enjoy it. They’ve had it coming for decades, entire generations have fought against the Empire and they still keep coming after us. If we put the Klingon war machine out for good, we’ll be heroes.”

“Not all of us joined Starfleet to be war heroes.” Tavas was tempted to put a stop to the argument, however the turbolift arrived at the bridge and appeared to settle it as all three exited. Schneider and Hall headed to their posts while Tavas took the captain’s chair.

Why am I feeling so uneasy? Hall had been right, if slightly inaccurate; the Andorians were a militaristic race and had their fair share of conflicts throughout the centuries. The Andorian Empire at its height rivaled that of the Klingons and the Imperial Guard was a military force to be feared. To defeat a foe like the Klingons and contribute to a pivotal moment in the war did make Tavas feel excited, but there was still that nagging sense of doubt.

Perhaps it had to do with shifting values on Andoria. The Romulan War had been devastating for her people; at its outset, the Andorian Empire was arguably the strongest member of the Coalition of Planets. But, over the course of that conflict, dozens of Andorian warships had been lost; colonies and industrial centers destroyed by Romulan bombardment. A Romulan armada had even made it all the way to Andoria and leveled several cities before a joint human and Vulcan task force drove them out. The Empire was only a shell of its former self and rebuilding its military strength to what it used to be was deemed unfeasible even with outside assistance and unnecessary due to the peace and the formation of the Federation. The glory days of Andorian supremacy were over.

In the century since then, Andoria had undergone a massive transformation. Influenced by other cultures in the Federation, the Andorian people began to embrace new ideals and new philosophies; mainly peaceful ones. The Imperial Guard, once seen as the most influential organization in the Empire and membership coveted as highly as a royal title, was now only a minor defense force. Just as Andorians could adapt to any environmental climate, so too could their society could adapt to any political climate.

That didn’t mean that there weren’t those who clung to the old ways. Indeed, the coup that preceded the Battle of Axanar had been perpetrated by Imperial Guard officers who wanted to restore the Empire to what it was a century ago by conquering Axanar. Even though troop levels in the Guard were at an all-time low, Andorian society still cast a stigma to those who turned down service, especially if an Andorian instead chooses to join Starfleet. Tavas’ clan wasn’t any different; her father was a general in the Guard before his retirement and resented his daughter serving with the “human military.”

Ironic, if one thought about it. It was humanity who first showed the Andorians there was a better way to deal with other species, first by ending the decades-long feud between them and the Vulcans and later with the Tellarites. If that was the old way that people like those who launched the coup a decade ago were trying to preserve, then Tavas wanted no part of it. She joined Starfleet because it promoted that better way and perhaps the reason she felt uneasy about Organia and the war in general was because her people had paid a high price for unending war and conflict.

“Tavas, I think I have something,” Hall announced. “I’m reading something very faint at extreme sensor range, bearing dead astern.”

“Can you get any more than that?” Tavas asked.

“One second.” The navigator got up from his post and went over to the science station. He peered into the scope for a few seconds before adding, “Negative. Nothing there now.”

“It could be a sensor echo,” Schneider suggested. Due to the sensor interference generated by the Yorktown’s warp drive and the wake it left, that was indeed a possibility.

“Or could be someone trying to shadow us,” Hall noted. Again, also possible.

“Helm, come right ten degrees, then left twenty,” Tavas ordered, performing what was once called a clearing of the baffles. “Monitor all sensors.”

“Aye ma’am,” said Briggs from the helm.

“Scanning,” the navigator said as the Yorktown changed course. After swinging back to port, he added, “Nothing. All scanners are clear. If it is a ship, they must have backed out of sensor range.”

“Helm, resume course for the rendezvous; if the sensors pick up anything, report it immediately,” she stated. Starfleet might have promoted a better way, but the Klingons certainly did not. Tavas and the rest of the crew had to deal with it as best they could…

(Continued below)

 

[Rat Boy]

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

Once, back when Jonas Leland first got his start as Chief of Starfleet Operations, he felt slightly intimidated by one of these briefings. Almost every admiral on Earth was now gathered in Fleet Admiral Barnett’s spacious office (even larger than the CSO’s); this literally was Starfleet Command. Komack, Fitzpatrick, Stone; this was an exclusive club Leland was in and he was senior by rank to all of them save Barnett. And yet, in spite of the power sitting in the office, the CSO found it as tedious as a high-level meeting in Paris.

It was just the admirals seated in comfortable leather seats arrayed around the CINC’s desks. Nelson and the other aides were either in the reception area or downstairs in the war room. The sole flag officer from Starfleet Command not in attendance was Admiral Nogura, who was in charge in the ops center. Nogura got the better end of the deal.

“Four raids in the last six hours,” Fitzpatrick, who was in charge of Starfleet forces in the Donatu Sector, said. Like Barnett, he was mostly a career bureaucrat, never having a field command of any note. Most of the admirals, save Stone and Leland, were administrators by trade. “My ships can’t keep up; as soon as the Klingons hit a target, they’re gone by the time our people can get there. There’s no way we can put a stop to this unless we get more ships out there.”

“We’re working on that,” Barnett said in a tired tone. It was a familiar and frequent lament to a statement that had been echoed by each and every one of the admirals seated in the office. Trouble was there wasn’t much that could be done; other than the assets already deployed there, reinforcements from other parts of the Federation was still days if not weeks away from the war zone.

“Klingon scouts have been sighted near Starbase 24,” Komack noted. “The raids in the surrounding sectors seem to be targeting monitoring stations and patrol ships, probably paving the way for a strike. Are we certain that Organia is the only offensive action the enemy’s taking?”

“You want certainty, James?” Leland asked flippantly. “You’re in the wrong job.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve learned very little, ourselves,” said Admiral Gustav Hammerschmidt. “The Hammer,” as he was called behind his back, was the Director of Starfleet Intelligence and looked the part. Lanky with steel-gray hair and speaking with a thick Nordic accent, he was the only admiral who wasn’t seated, instead choosing to stand off in the back of the room. “The High Council and the High Command have insulated themselves quite thoroughly. Any messages they send are either encrypted to the point where we can’t break the code or hand-delivered to their field commanders. If they’re preparing to expand their offensive actions, then we have no idea where or when. We were lucky that Admiral Leland and his people were able to get us this much warning.”

“What can I say? We’re a talented bunch.”

“I see,” the DSI said cryptically.

“And Organia itself?” Barnett asked. “Have the Klingons captured Captain Kirk or his first officer?”

“Our sections did intercept a message from the occupation commander to Qo’Nos, minor priority,” Hammerschmidt replied. “They captured what the report called a ‘Vulcan trader’ named Spock. He was subjected to a mind scanner, but it did not yield any results. Spock has since been released and there has been no mention of Kirk. For now, it appears that they are safe.”

“As safe as anyone can be on a planet occupied by Klingons,” said Leland grimly.

“And how soon can the Klingons be in a position to use Organia as a base for further combat operations?” asked the CINC.

“A week, perhaps,” said The Hammer. “Maybe only a few days.”

“Then we have to hit them with the Constellation’s group,” the CSO concluded. He had been kept abreast of the setback involving the Kongo and the Yorktown replacing her in the task force and while the fleet’s lack of size gave him pause, they were running out of options. They might not be able to wait for more ships to rendezvous with Decker. “If the Klingons break out from Organia, then it’ll be damn near impossible to bottle them back up there.”

“How long before the fleet gets there?” Barnett questioned.

“Twenty-five, twenty-six hours, tops.”

“Very well.” Leland could tell that the CINC wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the Constellation’s group being their only shot at stopping the Klingons. The CSO wasn’t, either, but that was the hand they were dealt. “Then I think we should…”

“Excuse the interruption, sir,” Barnett’s secretary said over the intercom, “but you wanted to know when Commander Kirk arrived.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant; we’re just finishing up now,” the fleet admiral said. “I think we have enough to brief the president on. Let me know if any of you hear of important developments. Dismissed.”

The admirals of Starfleet Command started to get up and leave, though Barnett motioned to Leland to remain. As the flag officers exited, George Kirk, father of Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise entered, exchanging a few pleasantries with them. Though he had retired about a decade ago with the rank of commander, Kirk knew or was acquainted with many of the highers-up in Starfleet, hence his being allowed to meet with the CINC during a time of war.

“George,” Leland said as he got up to greet the old commander. “We missed you at the Pebble Beach last month.”

“My doctor’s been telling me to keep it easy lately,” he replied with a smirk and when Kirk shook Leland’s hand, the admiral noted that his grip wasn’t as tight as it had been before. One wouldn’t have known just by looking at him that old age was starting to set in. His hair was steel-gray and though he was in civilian clothes looked like he could still fill out a uniform. “But, what do doctors know, anyway?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Rich,” Kirk said before shaking the CINC’s hand. “Thank you for seeing me. I know all of you are quite busy at a time like this.”

“I can always spare a few minutes, George,” Barnett said warmly. “Please have a seat.”

As all three sat down, the commander, as he was known to do, came right down to it. “Any word about my son?”

“We’ve been monitoring Klingon message traffic very closely. So far they’ve made no mention of Jim, so it sounds as though he’s in hiding on Organia.”

“If I know Jim, he won’t be for long,” Kirk concluded. Leland couldn’t imagine what he was going through; the number of times Captain Kirk had gotten into trouble during his somewhat brief tenure in command of the Enterprise would worry any parent to death. “He was never one for sitting still and not doing anything when he could make a difference.”

“Chip off the old block?” Leland joked.

“Actually, I think he gets it from his mother. He did make captain, after all. Proudest moment of my life was when I had to call my son ‘sir.’”

“How’s Winona holding up?” Barnett asked, referring to Kirk’s wife.

“About as well as can be expected,” he replied. “I think she’s stopped counting how many times this has happened. She usually just tunes out of the media and goes out into the field, helping the hands.”

“We’re doing everything we can to help him, George,” the CSO said firmly. However, he decided against going into specifics. Though Kirk had many friends at headquarters, he was still a civilian.

Glancing down, Kirk appeared to be doing his best to keep his emotions in check. “I know. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have encouraged him to join up, but I know civilian life wouldn’t suit him; becoming a scientist like his brother, that sort of thing. But it’s terrifying to think of what Jim’s been through. The rough patches at the academy, that incident on the Farragut, losing his best friend when they tried to cross the Galactic Barrier, Romulans, Gorn, Klingons.

“When Win told me she was pregnant again back on the Kelvin, I honestly thought about resigning or taking an assignment back here. We already had one boy living with us gone and I didn’t want Jim to grow up without his dad around. I didn’t want him to have to worry about me. But, obviously she talked me out of it and now it’s me worrying about my son.”

Leland could certainly understand that feeling and was quite grateful that none of his daughters followed in his footsteps. Kirk raised his head, shrugging off whatever he was feeling. “Oh, listen to me. There are thousands of other families in situations far worse than what I’m dealing with.”

“If there’s any change, George, we’ll let you know,” Barnett said.

“Thanks,” Kirk said as he got up from his chair. “I do know one thing: if there’s any way to get out of this mess, my Jim will figure it out. I’ll see you around.”

“You know, the annual Starfleet Command Charity Golf Tournament is coming up in a few months,” Leland said, momentarily forgetting the likelihood that the war would still be continuing by then. “You’re always welcome to join our foursome.”

“Tempting, Jonas, especially since I know you can’t putt to save your life.”

Leland found himself laughing, especially since Kirk was exactly right. Not that he thought he’d have a lot of spare time to work on his short game with the way things were going lately, of course…

 

[Rat Boy]

Sixteen

​

USS Yorktown
Sector 018

This war gets more frustrating by the minute, thought Kristen Duclare as she put away a few things in the main science lab. The journey to the rendezvous with the Constellation’s fleet had been uneventful so far, though the Yorktown was still hours away from the rendezvous point. That wasn’t what was bothering her; since hostilities had broken out, her entire department had become superfluous. Botanists, geologists, and astronomers weren’t particularly useful in a fire fight.

Of course, she had plenty to do; when on duty, Duclare’s backside had been firmly planted in her chair on the bridge when not gazing into her scope (and pretending not to notice Hall staring). When she had applied to return to space duty, she hadn’t pictured that she’d be scanning for Klingon warships instead of stellar phenomenon. For a time she had put up with it as she usually did when faced with unpleasant (to put it mildly) situations, but this was starting to test her tolerance.

After she finished cleaning up, Duclare noted the time and exited the lab; it was getting late and the captain did order everyone to ensure that they’d be at their best when they reached the rendezvous and ultimately Organia. She approached a turbolift stop, though there was no car there, so she had to wait. When it did arrive, she wasn’t all that surprised to find Okefor there.

“Evening,” she said in a tired tone. “Heading off to bed?”

“Yep,” she replied as she entered.

“Deck five, senior officers’ quarters.” The turbolift began to move through the ship.“So, how are you holding up?”

“All right, I suppose. Can’t say I was expecting this when I reapplied for starship duty.”

“They tend to leave that sort of thing off of the recruitment brochures,” Okefor noted. “I certainly might have reconsidered.”

“You had to have known we could have ended up in a situation like this,” Duclare pointed out. “Those Starfleet history courses should have told you that.”

“Still, I do hope for the best.” They continued on for a bit in silence before the XO asked, “Why did you transfer to a starbase? Usually if you do that, the chances of you getting another posting aboard a ship are next to nil.”

“It’s…complicated,” Duclare said uneasily.

Okefor nodded, as if she was going to drop the issue. “I understand. It’s probably none of my business, anyway.”

“Actually…” She grabbed a throttle control and twisted it counter-clockwise to stop the turbolift. Why am I doing this? Duclare hadn’t shared this little story of her past with anyone outside of those involved. But, she considered Okefor a friend and if Duclare couldn’t tell her, then whom could she tell? “I got married.”

Her eyes went wide in surprise. “Are you still…?”

“No,” Duclare said quickly. “He’s a civilian; a scientist. Brilliant, but not really a fan of Starfleet. Thinks it’s a waste of my talents.”

“And he pressured you to resign?” Okefor asked.

The science officer sighed in frustration as she started to pace. “My transferring to Starbase 11 was supposed to be a compromise, but even that wasn’t enough. He kept trying to talk me into quitting, joining him on some remote outpost or space station and then I finally told him off, told him I was sick of him trying to tell me what to do. We argued about it until we were both blue in the face. After that, it was all over; the divorce papers were signed around the same time I put in for a transfer for a ship assignment five months ago. Seems kind of silly to end a marriage over a career choice.”

The XO put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s your life Kristen. No one has the right to dictate how you live it. If your husband was so controlling as he sounds, then maybe it’s for the best.”

“Maybe,” Duclare commented. “Hell of a price to pay, though.”

“You still have feelings for him?” Okefor asked cautiously.

“I really don’t know anymore. Did I love him at one point? Yes, but I don’t think I was in love with the man I ended up married to.”

“We often find out that maybe the people we care for aren’t really who they appear to be until we’re married to them. Of course what do I know? I haven’t exactly been successful in that department.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a winner there, either, Juliet,” Duclare said lightly. She wouldn’t describe the circumstances of her divorce as painful, at least not anymore; more like disappointing. In the end, it was a mistake to have gotten married and she hated the fact that it took her that long to realize it.

“So,” her friend said in a leading tone, “have you told the captain any of this?”

“What?!” After snapping, Duclare realized that Okefor was teasing her; as she had predicted, rumors had been swirling about her being in the captain’s quarters though the war had been the dominant topic of gossip. Playing along (at least for the moment), she countered, “Why would I tell him? It’s not like he’s also the ship’s psychiatrist.”

“Well, you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“You and I have been spending time together,” Duclare countered, “and there aren’t any rumors floating around about the two of us.”

“We haven’t been having late night meetings in our quarters,” Okefor noted.

Well, she’s got me there. Duclare twisted the throttle handle back the other way and the turbolift resumed its journey. Apparently some people couldn’t get their heads around the fact that an attractive man and an attractive woman could be friends. Besides, it was downright foolish to think along those lines with a commanding officer, let alone during a time of war. “Just set aside whatever fears you have, Commander; nothing is going on between me and Captain Mason. We’re just friends.”

She nodded, though she smirked while doing so. “Noted, Commander.”

“Why are you prying so much into my personal life, anyway?” Duclare asked slyly. “Are things that dull around here for you?”

“You’re assuming I have any free time for a relationship,” Okefor said. “And…how do I put this? I don’t exactly have every able-bodied male in the crew trying to beat down my door.”

“Maybe you just need to be a little more assertive. I think Commander Zhang would go for that.”

The XO slowly turned, her eyes opened as wide as humanly possible and then some, almost as if Duclare had just blundered into something her friend was trying to keep to herself. “You’re joking.”

“Not your type?” Duclare asked.

“Hardly,” she replied with a guffaw when the red alert siren started to sound.

“Red alert!” Schneider said, which was becoming an all-too familiar refrain. “Red alert! All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill!”

“I’m really getting sick of the Klingons’ timing,” muttered the science officer.

“Bridge,” Okefor said and the turbolift suddenly reversed direction and headed towards the top of the Yorktown. It felt nice to have a friendly chat after everything that had gone on lately, but as Duclare realized grimly, such respites were short-lived in war…

(Continued on the next page)