UT: THE FOUR YEARS WAR ORIGINS: FUTURE'S PAST

[DarKush]

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Hall of State

Romulus

2160


Commander Marcella stood rigidly along the wall, each hand wrapped around her sons’. Martius had resisted holding his mother’s hand, but she would not have any of his precocious ways today. He wanted to be respected by all the soldiers around him, especially his father. But his time for soldiering and bringing glory to the Star Empire would come soon enough. For now, she wanted to hold on to him for a little while longer.

Marcian, the youngest, was too small to have grasped his place in his bloodline or the empire so he clung to her hand, and when he grew tired of that, to her pants leg. Marcella merely stared down any guard, senator, or erstwhile official who showed any displeasure at the display.

Everyone else stood when the new Praetor and his retinue swept into the circular room. The incoming leader wore resplendent purple robes. In keeping with imperial fashion, he had shaved the beard he had become known for, the change a small acknowledgement of his new change in power. As the man strode over the symbol of the two worlds inlaid in the floor, he made sure to strike the ground with the Debrune teral’n, the symbol of his mandate to rule.

The war had ended in humiliating defeat. Marcella had witnessed it first hand, being one of the ignoble participants at the fateful Battle of Cheron where the Coalition won the decisive victory.

Admiral Norexan had promptly ordered a retreat, and Marcella had joined the rest of the Imperial Fleet in slinking back to imperial territory. She surmised that the only reason she was still alive, when many of her compatriots on that sad journey back to the Hearthworlds now dwelled in the Halls of Erebus, was due to her actions in the Typhon sector a year ago. Today she was in full military regalia, but it had never felt so restricting before, she had never felt ashamed of her uniform until now. Marcella and many of her comrades had consoled themselves with the firmly held belief that the Imperial Fleet had not lost the war, but the politicians had plucked defeat from the jaws of victory.

The Praetor had been found dead, officially by his own hand, before treaty negotiations had even began. The Proconsul had swiftly been made his successor by the Continuing Committee.

His brandishing the Debrune teral’n had been instrumental in solidifying his support. Both Marcella and her husband had wondered why the proconsul had not immediately used the teral’n to take power from his dithering predecessor a year ago.

As the man sat down in the throne-like seat still warm from the last praetor, it dawned on Marcella that he knew the war was lost before Cheron made it apparent and didn’t want to take the blame. He didn’t want to own the mistakes of the previous praetor and with the old veruul thoroughly discredited, his supporters chastened, dead by suicide, or awaiting execution, it cleared the path more completely for him.

Suddenly producing the teral’n amid a shocking defeat further gave hope to the demoralized masses. Marcella smiled to herself. It was quite the masterstroke. Their new leader paused as if to savor the rich aroma of power. He looked around the Senate chamber, nodding at some, frowning at others, luxuriating in his newfound power and prestige. He was flanked by a tall, prim man and the new Vice-Proconsul. The woman had progressed from First Consul, and she remained as lovely and deadly as flock of neiirhs. The vice-proconsul was draped in golden robes, a Therbian blend, and wore her hair long in defiance of the imperial trend.

“Proconsul,” the new praetor called out, his booming voice flavored with an even deeper imperiousness than before. The taller man standing at his side stepped forward. He wasn’t dressed robes like the praetor and the other senators. He proudly wore his general’s checkered uniform. As the situation grew direr, Valens had withdrawn from his position of vice-proconsul and returned to the fight. It had won him the support of the Romulan Guard and many civilians, political armor the new praetor was rightly reluctant to test.

Marcella smiled at her mate, but Valens was intently focused on his audience.

“The treaty has been signed,” he announced with no hint of disappointment or disgust on his patrician face. Valens paused to allow ripples of disquiet to spread around the room. The treaty had been hotly debated in this very chamber and still was not fully accepted by some senators. Marcella was certain in the coming days or months those representatives would have sudden changes of heart or their hearts would simply stop beating.

It was a new day, and the Line of Clodius was ascendant, and she had made sure her progeny was here to witness it. “The war is over,” Valens intoned, his solemnity undermined as a small smile etched on his face, “The war begins”


THE END

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[DarKush]

SEEDS OF RAGE


Beta Aurigae system

2163

Captain Balthazar M. Edison felt more uneasiness than usual. He sat on the edge of his command chair, forcing himself to remain seated. He was wired, on edge. “Magnify screen,” he ordered. The drifting, oval shaped vessel filled the screen. The gray exterior was scored with disruptor marks. Edison frowned, he knew what kind of vessel it was, but he asked anyway.

“It’s a Klingon escape pod,” Science Officer Maldonado answered. Edison nodded with grim satisfaction.

“Any sign of the ship that that pod ejected from?” He asked. He squinted, peering into space, hoping to spot the Klingon warship he knew was lying in wait out there.

“No sir,” Armory Officer Le quickly replied. Edison knew that Le had known the pod was Klingon and had been constantly sweeping to find the parent ship. Even though the man hadn’t been a Military Assault Command Operations soldier, he had proven himself a capable warrior during the Romulan War and during his time aboard the Franklin. Edison didn’t grant trust freely, but Anderson Le had earned his.

“Mr. Le, polarize the hull and arm weapons,” the captain ordered. Le complied quickly.

“Sensors detecting one life sign inside the pod.” Commander Maldonado said. “Sir I think we should recover the pod before polarizing the hull.” Edison frowned. Carmen Maldonado hadn’t been his choice for a first officer. Maldonado was a product of the United Earth Space Probe Agency.

He would’ve preferred one of the more useful UESPA members, like one of the engineers who had put together the Franklin and other starships. Instead Command had picked a butterfly catcher to serve as his executive officer, to ostensibly balance Edison’s battle-hardened experience. The captain remained so far unimpressed. But still, he halted Le from instituting the increased protection. Instead, Edison glanced at Maldonado before saying, “Ready the grappler.”

Le did as instructed. Once he acknowledged so, the captain ordered him to hook the pod. The metal shaft shot out from beneath the primary hull toward the shuttle. “Preparing magnetic lock,” Le said as the claw reached the pod. It snatched the pod, the magnets securing it.

“Good job Anderson,” Edison said. “Now, reel her into the main shuttle bay and send a security team down there.” The quick-acting armory nodded.

The captain turned to Maldonado. “XO, you have the center chair. Mr. Le and I will greet our guest. Lt. Wolff, inform Dr. Crosby to meet us in the shuttle bay.”

“Sir, I should be leading the contact team,” Maldonado stood from her position. Her jaw set, and her dark brown eyes squinted in preparation for another fight. “As chief science officer I should be on hand as should Communications Officer Wolff. I know you don’t trust the translators.” She glanced down, and Edison followed her eyes to the small translator clipped to the captain’s chest. He grunted. The woman was right. He didn’t trust the devices.

And Wolff had proven quite adept at deciphering Klingon in the past. He didn’t have a problem with including her, but Maldonado was a different situation. “First officer, we don’t know who or what inside that pod, their mental state, or their physical prowess. I am confident in Le, and in Wolff,” he turned and gave the woman a sharp nod, “to acquit themselves. I’ve served with them both for some time now. We’ve all gotten our scars.” He turned back to her, “But you…”

Maldonado’s nostrils flared, and he was glad to see that the woman had some pulse. That data hadn’t replaced the blood pumping through her veins. That she wasn’t some walking computer. “Sir, I’ve also earned my right to be here, in Starfleet, and on this vessel.”

“Not with me,” Edison admitted. He knew this conversation should be private, but at the same time the captain also knew that what he was voicing, other members of the crew had. The Franklin team was a tight-knit bunch; many had been MACOs while others Edison had picked due to their war records. He wanted people who knew how dangerous space could be and who could handle themselves with whatever might arise from its depths.

The Fleet brass, the media, they all proclaimed officers like Maldonado to be the ‘future’, scientists and scholars who managed ships that explored space and obtained knowledge, for knowledge’s sake, or out of some vague notion of personal and civilizational improvement. Edison thought such talk was nonsense.

And it flew in the face that these peaceful explorers were sitting on ships that could demolish planets. The whole Federation had been forged in war. It was the natural state of the galaxy, and the misguided like Maldonado and the Federation politicians would fritter away what Edison and so many others had spilled blood to create.

“Permission to speak freely sir?” The woman asked. Edison shrugged.

“Of course,” he granted.

“I know you didn’t want me here,” Maldonado said, and then gazed around the room, “As did many of you. I’ve got ears. But that being said, I am here, and I will do my job.”

Edison nodded along, liking that there was some grit in the woman. “Go on.”

“And further, this whole is Starfleet a military organization, is it a scientific organization, that’s a tension baked into the cake, and it won’t be solved here,” Maldonado added. “But I ask you, all you brave soldiers, what are you so afraid of?”

That question took Edison aback. He wasn’t expecting it. The captain looked around and saw several of the bridge crew sharing looks with each other, some quickly glancing at him and then looking away.

“Peace is not a terrible thing,” Maldonado challenged. “It’s the most desired thing, and we must do all to preserve it and protect it, like helping whoever is in that pod. Captain Archer’s mission to return the crashed Klingon pilot to Kronos probably did more to prevent war between Earth and the Klingons more than anything.”

“He just delayed the inevitable,” Ensign Noble muttered from the helm. Edison nodded in agreement.

“Meghan is right,” the captain said. “The Klingons are just waiting for the right moment to strike. I thought it would’ve happened with the Augment incident right before the war with the Romulans, but Archer interfered again.”

“Maybe he did,” Maldonado conceded. “However, war has been averted and maybe we can push it back further.”

“And that would be a good thing?” Edison was nearly beside himself. “No, we need to face our enemies and destroy them. Letting the Klingons grow in power will only make them more dangerous in the years to come. A decisive defeat will break them and allow our expansion into their territory.”

Maldonado’s mouth was agape; the woman was clearly flabbergasted by Edison’s assertion.

“Surely the Arin’Sen and all the Klingon subjects would benefit from Federation membership,” the captain added.

“But at what cost?” The science officer replied. “More war? Endless war?”

“No,” Edison nodded with certainty, “A deciding war.”

Maldonado looked at the rest of the bridge and saw them all nodding in agreement with the captain. A light went on, and then out in her eyes. “I-I thought we could heal the breach between both sides of Starfleet, I thought I could personally help do that, but-but maybe I was wrong.”

“I think you are,” Edison didn’t mince words. “But yet, you still have a job to do, so you can get to it. Mr. Le, accompany the XO to the pod. Keep your weapons at the ready.”

“Aye sir,” Le said as he quickly stepped from behind his station. He went to the wall-mounted armory and pulled a Type-2 phaser. The armory officer also grabbed one for Maldonado, but the stunned woman looked at the thing as if it was a viper.

“Don’t worry XO,” Edison joked, “today, it only bites Klingons.”

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[DarKush]

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USS Franklin

Sickbay


“So, what do we have here Doc?” Edison said, looking down at the muscular Klingon woman on the biobed. She was dressed in heavy brown leathers and gray furs. Balthazar admitted-to himself-that the heavily-ridged woman was attractive, in a roughhewn fashion.

The woman’s eyelids were fluttering, and she was muttering something low and unintelligible. His translator only caught snippets of it.

Across from him, Chief Medical Officer Crosby peered at his electronic clipboard, before responding. “The patient is suffering from heavy radiation burns, likely caused by exposure to a reactor pit. In addition, the patient has been stabbed several times, in her sternum and stomach.”

Edison looked at the younger, dark-brown man. “And she’s still breathing?”

Crosby consulted his clipboard again. “Klingons have an amazing physiological redundancy which has thus far saved her life.”

“Has she been conscious? Or like this the whole time?” The captain asked, looking back down at the semi-conscious woman.

“No,” Crosby said. “She’s been like this the whole time. Babbling a string of information,” the medic added. “Like you, I’ve only been able to glean pieces. She was some kind of treasure hunter, in the employ for some high clerics.”

“Treasure hunter,” Edison repeated. “But she’s dressed like a soldier.”

The medic cocked his head. “When did you become an expert on Klingon fashion?”

“I fought some Klingon warriors in the Borderland when I was a MACO,” Edison explained. “Let’s just say they left an impression.”

“I can imagine,” the younger man grunted. “I haven’t heard anything that sounds remotely military from her ramblings.”

“If you do, inform me at once,” Edison said. He turned toward the door.

“Captain,” Crosby called out, prompting the captain to stop. He swiveled around.

“What is it Doctor Crosby?”

“Don’t you want to know how the patient is doing? If she will recover?”

“I’ll leave in your hands,” Edison said. “I have more pressing concerns.”

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USS Franklin

Science Lab


The captain entered the cramped science lab. The space reserved for deeper scientific inquiry wasn’t as expansive as the NX-01-class or certainly not the overhauled Daedalus-class vessels.

The lighting was dim, and Maldonado was alone, sitting at a table, her gray jacket draped across an empty chair. She was holding up the long, curved sword in her bare hands.

The woman was moving her head more as she turned the sword around. “Has that thing been decontaminated yet?” Edison asked, causing the woman to jump. She placed the blade down quickly and turned to him, her cheeks flushed, her expression embarrassed, as if she had been caught doing something illicit.

“Are you alright Commander Maldonado?” Edison asked, but he was looking at the blade. It appeared to be inscribed with alien script. He blinked, and the writing was gone. A trick of the light? The captain wondered.

“I’m fine,” the science officer eventually said. “I was just taking a closer look at the sword.”

“The weapon the survivor was clutching in her hands,” Edison added, “as if for dear life.”

Maldonado ignored that part. Instead she turned back to it. “This is a fascinating find.”

“It looks like a sword to me.” Edison was less enthused. His bored expression hid his concern. It was silly, but something about the weapon uneased him.

“That’s where the eye can deceive,” Maldonado replied, though she continued gazing at the object. “While it looks like a simple sword of Klingon design, the metallic alloys in it tell a different story. I think it might be…extragalactic or even extradimensional in origin.”

“Extradimensional?” Edison’s eyes narrowed as he homed in on the weapon. He took a step toward it, to get a better look. Maldonado hesitated to move aside to allow him to get close to the strange sword. The captain bent down and stared at it.

It still didn’t look so remarkable to him, like a typical, though deadly, bladed weapon. “Extradimensional,” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

“There are alloys in the sword that don’t come from either the Beta or Alpha Quadrants,” Maldonado said.

“So, what is it?” Edison asked. “And where did it come from?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” Maldonado said.

“Don’t tax yourself over it too much,” the captain replied. “And let your other duties lag. Special Affairs will be taking that thing off your hands once we reach Outpost 10.” The woman scowled at the mention of the secretive Department of Special Affairs. Edison didn’t care for the mysterious bureaucratic appendage either, but Admiral Gardner himself had sent the order.

Obviously, some higher-ups thought the object was of value, just like Maldonado, but Edison was fine to hand it off. He didn’t like being pulled away from the Klingon border.

He wanted to drop off the sword and get back to patrolling the space ways to ensure that the Klingons didn’t encroach on Federation territory.

“Sir, I request more time to investigate the artifact,” Maldonado said. “Lt. Cormier can handle all the duties of the science department in my stead, and Mr. Le, being the second officer, is a suitable replacement. I can remain here, and within easy reach, via intercom.”

Edison pursed his lips. “Commander, I think you’ve grown a bit too attached to that thing.”

“It’s more than a thing sir,” Maldonado rejoined, unable to not return to looking at it.

“Sir, Lt. Cormier can handle all the duties in the science department in my stead,” Maldonado offered. “And Mr. Le can handle any XO duties, being second officer.”

“No,” Edison said, shaking his head for emphasis. “You’ll secure that object in the archive vault and report to the bridge.” Maldonado frowned, and her lips began to work to argue with his decision, but the captain didn’t give her the opportunity. He pivoted sharply and barreled out of the room. Though the move looked authoritative, Edison knew that the quickness in his step was spurred by a desire to get distance from the weapon.

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USS Franklin

One week later…


Captain Edison trudged down the darkened, nearly deserted corridors. He nodded tersely at the few souls he encountered, but he didn’t stop to converse, nor did he really see the crew he greeted.

The latest nightmare had been the worst. For the last several days, his nights had been restive, filled with dreams of his past, of the countless battles he had fought against the Xindi and Romulans, Nausicaans, Klingons and others. Balthazar had been plagued by those dreams on occasion for years, and he had learned to cope with those mostly.

But tonight, the dreams had been different. They hadn’t come from his past, yet they felt every bit as real. There was a planet, one he had never seen, filled with deep caverns and strange flora and fauna, and there was a tower, filled with small, vicious looking ships, moving about it like a swarm of insects, and then there was another creature, a bluish-white reptilian, with heavy ridged features, but very familiar eyes….

Seeing those eyes, seeing his eyes, had snapped Edison to wakefulness. But the image of his eyes, inside that monstrous face, lingered. The captain didn’t want to go back to sleep. He was afraid of what else was traversing the dreamscape.

He didn’t know what any of the dreams meant, though he was certain about their source. The captain had tried to ignore the alien object since he had ordered Maldonado to place it in the archive vault, but it had sat in his thoughts, like a spider hanging in the corner of the ceiling of his mind, just out of reach.

The Klingon woman, the treasure hunter Dr. Crosby had called her, didn’t make him feel any more at ease about the object. Whenever the woman awoke she was so ferocious, so desirous to reclaim the sword that Crosby had to sedate her. The last Edison had checked, the woman had been restrained to the biobed. The medic, working with Lt. Wolff, had been able to piece together a bit more of the woman’s story, between her ravings and cursing.

The woman had been employed by the Clerics of Boreth, which even Maldonado hadn’t heard of, and Edison just surmised it was some Klingon religious order, to recover a fabled object called Feklhr’s Fang.

She hadn’t answered why the relic was so important. Crosby had told him when Wolff had broached that question, the woman’s eyes had narrowed, and she had suddenly become aware of her surroundings. She had demanded to be released, for the object to be given back to her, or that dishonor would mark all our blood lines. “Quite portentous,” Edison remembered the medic scoffing.

The captain considered checking on the woman in sickbay to see if Crosby had gleaned anything more from the woman, but he knew he was just avoiding the inevitable.

As soon as the door to the archive vault opened, Edison went into action. Commander Maldonado was prone on the floor of the vault and he rushed to her. He knelt and checked the woman’s pulse even though he knew it was futile. The captain had assumed the woman would be sleeping right now. And in a way, she was, though this rest was more permanent. The woman’s head had nearly been yanked off her neck. The obscene angle would’ve rattled most people, but Edison had seen much carnage, and inflicted even more.

He immediately turned to where the blade had been stored and saw that the door had been ripped from it. If the Klingon woman had so viciously dispatched of Maldonado, he wondered about the fate of Dr. Crosby. But Edison would have to worry about that later.

He moved away from the murdered woman and ran to the wall intercom. He slapped it. “This is Captain Edison,” he told the Officer of the Watch, “Second Condition Three! The Klingon female we rescued is loose aboard the ship. She murdered Commander Maldonado and is in possession and should be considered armed and dangerous.”

Edison wished he had a phaser, but there wasn’t time to go back to his quarters or the armory. He had a good idea of where the woman was headed. There couldn’t be any other place for her to run. He hoped he reached her before Mr. Le or any of the security teams now hunting for her. The captain joined the chase.

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USS Franklin

Shuttle Bay


As Edison charged through the doors, he was thrown back. A mass of muscle and bone hit him, knocking him to the ground, and the air out of his lungs. Edison grasped for breath as he struggled to sit up right.

“Sorry sir,” Lt. Le said as the shuttle bay doors’ shut behind them. Two other security officers were slowly getting to their feet. Le threw himself over the captain, knocking the man back to the deck as the ship rumbled, and Edison heard a familiar howling.

As the klaxons blared and the lights blinkered, Edison pushed the armory officer off him. He knew exactly what that sound meant. “She blasted through the bay doors.”

Le didn’t hide his anger. “Sir, she had already reached the shuttle bay by the time we got here.” The captain looked at the other two men, both picking themselves back off the floor. “She was inside the shuttle. We couldn’t stop her. We failed.”

“It’s not over yet,” Edison said, patting the man on the shoulder. He should’ve been angrier, but he hadn’t felt this alive in months. “We’ll run her down. Trust me.”

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[DarKush]

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USS Franklin

Main Bridge


Edison was a walking furnace. The woman’s destruction of the shuttle bay had ripped a hole in the aft section of the primary hull, damaging the warp coils in the portside nacelle. The ship couldn’t go to warp and Chief Smith advised even against full impulse.

The captain had noted the advice but ignored it. He wasn’t going to let the murderer go, even if she had a head start on them. At least the shuttlepod she stole could only go full impulse at best.

“Have we picked back up the pod’s plasma exhaust?” The captain inquired.

“Not yet sir,” Lt. Cormier replied, and Edison blinked as he looked over at the man. He hadn’t gotten used to Maldonado not being there. “Our best estimates are that the fugitive is heading to Klingon space, through the Gamma Hydra sector.”

“Close to our border with the Klingon Empire,” Edison rubbed his stubble chin. That expanse of space, lying between the uncertain and uneasy border between the Federation and Klingons, had long stretches claimed by both powers.

“That would make sense,” Mr. Le chimed in. “She’s attempting to go to the one place we can’t, without starting a galactic incident.”

“That just means we’re going to have work extra hard to prevent her from reaching Klingon space,” Edison declared. “Keep the long-range sensor sweeps going,” the captain ordered. He pushed up. He just didn’t want to sit on the bridge anymore, looking at empty space. He wanted the prey in his sights. “Mr. Le, you have the conn.”

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USS Franklin

Sickbay


“Physician heal thyself, eh?” Edison tried to joke. But Crosby wasn’t in the mood. Though the man’s head was half-wrapped in bandages he was attending to one of the security guards who had been attacked by the Klingon on her bruising dash to the shuttle bay. Nurse Cole did her best to hide her annoyance at the man’s interference.

Edison was sure that Rashida had suggested, more than once, for Crosby to take it easy, but the man was restive, much like Edison. Like the captain, the man had been a MACO, a combat medic who had saved lives amid some of the most vicious battles during the Romulan War.

The captain knew that Crosby was also harboring guilt for not being able to stop the Klingon. He knew that the doctor blamed himself for Maldonado’s murder and all the destruction that the Klingon had wreaked during her escape.

Edison shared in that guilt. He used it to cover his concerns about why Maldonado had been in the archive vault, despite his orders to store the object until Special Affairs claimed it.

“You’ll live Crewman Peters,” Crosby said, a sarcastic undertone to the prognosis. The young woman didn’t notice it. She smiled at the medic.

“Thanks for patching me up,” Peters said. She rolled her shoulder, wincing slightly.

“I didn’t say you could start pitching a baseball again anytime soon,” Crosby admonished. The security guard nodded sheepishly.

“You’re free to go,” Crosby said. “To your quarters,” he quickly added, “You are off duty for two days.”

“But sir,” Peters started to protest.

“You heard the doctor,” Edison added, and the woman nodded, in resignation. Once she had left, the captain said, “Doctor, I need to speak with you.”

Once they had headed to Crosby’s small office, Edison looked back and saw a grateful Cole attending to the remaining patients in the infirmary. Crosby didn’t take a seat, and neither did the captain.

“How are you feeling, really feeling, Mae?” Edison asked.

The man’s hard features sagged. He looked weathered and beaten. The injuries had taken a greater toll than the man was letting on. “I will be fine sir.”

“You need to take the advice that you gave Crewman Peters,” Edison advised.

“Right now, you need me,” Crosby shot back. “You don’t know what we’ll face when we catch her.”

“We’ll apprehend her,” Edison promised. “And I’ll do my best to make sure you’re on hand for it. In fact, I want you at the auxiliary medical station on the bridge from here on in.”

Crosby nodded, “Thank you sir.”

“If anything, getting you out of Nurse Cole’s hair will allow her to do her job easier.” The captain said, finally causing the other man to smile.

“How did she escape? What did you she do to you?” Edison asked.

The medic avoided the question. “She said her name was Rinda, daughter of Rodas,” he said quietly, looking down at his neatly arranged desk. “She used my own instruments against me, including my grandfather’s scalpel,” he said, shaking his head, and moving his hand over his chest. “She carved chunks out of me, but I never gave her anything.”

“I know you didn’t,” the captain said. “She told you her name. What of her purpose?” Le had given the captain an accounting of Crosby’s testimony about the woman’s attack, but he wanted to talk to the medic personally, in part to see how well Mae was doing, and to see if he recalled anything else.

“Outside of her name, she didn’t say much more than she had before. That she was the member of a crew of treasure hunters, hired by a religious order to find an ancient Klingon artifact, an object that was said to possess some immense power.”

“Did she reveal what kind of power this was?”

Crosby smiled coldly, “She was the interrogator, not me.”

“Understood,” Edison replied. “Anything else?”

“She was just insistent, obsessed really, with obtaining the object again,” Crosby said. “She said something about keeping it out of the hands of someone or something called Pabwl'.”

Edison frowned. He didn’t know what that term meant, but his gut told him it wasn’t good. The captain also realized that recovering this object was now as important as apprehending Rinda.

Before the captain could ask another question, the companel in the wall, activated. “Captain Edison to the bridge.”

Edison’s stomach tightened, his adrenaline rising after answering the call. He didn’t look back. “Doctor, you’re with me.”

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[DarKush]

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USS Franklin

Main Bridge


Edison ran out onto the bridge, Crosby close behind him. The captain’s gaze went directly to the main screen. He saw the small, silvery-white winged vessel on the screen. The shuttlepod was moving at full impulse, trying to get away from the Franklin.

“Hail the shuttlepod,” the captain ordered. Le had already exited the captain’s chair. He stood by the center chair but didn’t sit down.

“The shuttlepod is not answering,” Lt. Wolff said tightly.

“Keep the channel open,” Edison said.

“Aye sir,” Wolff nodded.

“Rinda, daughter of Rodas,” Edison spoke to the fugitive. “I am Captain Balthazar Edison of the Federation Starship Franklin. You have stolen one of our vessels, murdered a member of my crew. You will shut off your engines, deactivate your systems, and prepare to be grappled and returned to our hold. If you continue to resist, you will be fired upon. This is your only warning. You have one minute to comply.”

The shuttlepod veered quickly, turning and then rushing back at the Franklin. “Polarize the hull, now!” Edison barked. He took a chair and gripped the armrests.

The ship rocked seconds later as the shuttlepod unloaded. “We’ve been hit with multiple spatial charges and plasma blasts,” Cormier replied. “Shields are down 20 percent.” The shuttlepod was armed with plasma cannons, spatial charges, and polarized hull plating, making the small vessel quite formidable.

“Return fire,” Edison ordered.

“Hard to lock onto the shuttlepod,” Le said, frustrated. “The shuttlepod is agile and she’s mastered it quite well.”

The captain did see how the shuttlepod moved, whirling, spinning, dipping, avoiding the return fire from the Franklin while pelting the starship. The rumbles increased.

“Shields now down 35 percent,” Cormier informed him.

“This is embarrassing,” Noble muttered. Edison glared at the woman and then turned to Le.

“Put an end to this Mr. Le,” he said.

“Aye sir,” Le replied tightly. “Activating phase cannons, plasma cannons, full spread.”

“Do it,” Edison barked after the ship trembled again, rattling with such force that it knocked some of the crew to the ground and caused at least one terminal to spark, its burned circuits filling the bridge with an acrid odor.

An arc of energy fanned from the saucer section, in all directions. “Direct hit!” Le called out a moment later, his enthusiasm a salve for his earlier failures.

“On screen,” Edison ordered. The shuttlepod was spinning again, but this time not due to the Klingon’s volition. “Lock on to weapons and propulsion, cripple that pod.”

Le quickly turned the captain’s words into action, hitting the ailing pod with pinpoint accuracy.

“Polarized hull shielding is failing,” Cormier said.

“Ready the grappler,” Edison ordered.

“Sir, three Klingon birds-of-prey are inbounding at maximum warp, on an attack vector!” Le said. “They’ll be here in seconds.”

“No time to reel the pod in,” the captain said. “Transport Rinda to this ship now!” He wanted to scoop the woman and the object up and book it out of there. Edison toggled a channel to Main Engineering. “Chief Smith, what’s the status of those warp coils?”

“The portside warp coils have been replaced,” Smith answered.

“Good man,” Edison said, “Because we’re about to put your work to the test. Edison out,” the captain toggled off the line and looked up.

“Lt. Yanovich,” he ordered the navigator. “Instruct the transporter chief to get that Klingon aboard!” Edison hated repeating himself.

The woman cursed. “Sir, the transporter damaged during the shuttlepod’s attack.”

“Damn,” Edison said. “Use the grappler then.”

“Too late,” Le muttered. A shadow hung over the drifting shuttle. The three avian looking ships looked like vultures about to pick clean both the shuttlepod and the Franklin.

A green beam shot down from the lead bird-of-prey, latching onto the shuttle. The captain instantly knew what it was. A tractor beam. Franklin was supposed to receive one at their next retrofitting. “Open channel!” Edison barked. Before he got confirmation, the captain began, “Klingon vessel, you are interfering in a Federation security matter. Release that tractor beam, or you will be fired upon.”

The beam continued pulling the pod toward its underside docking port, the orifice opening like a greedy mouth. “Mr. Le, take out that beam.”

“Sir,” For once Le hesitated. Edison glared at him.

“You heard me!”

“But sir,” Cormier now stepped into the fray. As if possessed by the spirit of Carmen Maldonado, the man said, “We could perhaps take on one of those Klingon ships in our condition, but three of them? It’s suicide sir.”

“I’m not letting that murderer get away,” Edison declared. “Now, do as I command!”

Le nodded promptly. A beam loosed from the Franklin, smashing into the tractor beam emitter.

The two Klingon ships flanking the lead ship moved to encircle Franklin. Edison stood, ready for whatever came next. If this was it, so be it. He intended to leave the mortal coil in no other fashion than in fire and blood.

“Lead bird-of-prey is hailing us,” Lt. Wolff said. Edison took a moment, before he told the woman to accept the entreaty.

A large man, with knotty ridges that looked like a scorpion sitting atop his forehead, a hanging mustache, and a thick mane of black hair, smiled at him through the haze of his smoky bridge. “I admire your courage captain. Unexpected for a human.”

“Courage is one thing that isn’t in as short supply among Earthlings as you might suspect,” Edison retorted, glowering at the Klingon. “And I would be happy to demonstrate more, if you don’t hand over my prisoner.”

“Rinda is wanted for multiple crimes against the Klingon Empire,” his counterpart said. “I will send along our appreciation to our Chancellor and your government for your assistance in her apprehension.”

“You’re not leaving with her,” the captain declared. The other man laughed, which sparked Edison’s ire even more.

“And who is going to stop me?” He challenged. “You?”

“Mr. Le, prepare to fire,” Edison ordered. “On my mark.”

The man’s smile dipped just slightly. “If you fire, the lives of you and your crew are forfeit, and your rash actions might ignite war between our peoples.”

“Sir?” Le asked, uncharacteristic nervousness in his voice. Edison looked back at the man, and then at smirking Klingon. He then looked at all his crew, and his past unfurled in his mind. It seemed that he had been born in blood. It was all he knew. All he understood.

And Edison knew in his marrow that war would come someday against the Klingons. Perhaps today was that day, the historic moment where the fuse was lit. Franklin’s sacrifice would be remembered throughout the ages. It would be the last great sacrifice, that final pound of flesh that he had to give in service to Earth.

His lips parted, the order lying expectant on them. And then the nightmare returned. It was him, yet not, him, bathed once again in blood, but that of innocents, as he drained their lives, took the core of them, and in the process becoming both more and less. The eyes, his very human eyes, glaring out from an unforgiving alien visage.

What did it mean? Was he to become the thing he feared most? Had he crossed that threshold already? And would Carmen want the Franklin to be destroyed in her name?

“No,” Edison said, lowering his head, reining in his thoughts, and forcing the nightmare away.

“Excuse me sir?” Le asked.

“No,” the captain said more forcefully. He steadied himself before looking back at the screen. “She’s yours,” he hated conceding anything, but he knew that now was not the time, that his final sacrifice would be made elsewhere.

“Wise decision,” The Klingon smirked, before Edison motioned to cut off communication. He stood in front of his seat, his body wired.

“Lead bird-of-prey just activated a transporter,” Cormier called out, but Edison barely heard him. His memories, the nightmare still tugged at him.

“The Klingon warships are leaving,” the science officer reported the obvious. The three warships quickly went to warp, leaving behind the damaged shuttlepod.

“Reel her in,” Edison mumbled. Suddenly he was tired, bone tired. He ambled off to his quarters, both hoping and dreading the sleep to come.

***********************************************************************

USS Franklin

Captain’s Quarters


Captain Edison had just pulled off his boots when he heard a rapping at his door. “Enter,” he groused. A breathless Lt. Cormier rushed in.

“What is it Lieutenant?” Edison didn’t moderate his crankiness.

“You’re not going to believe this sir,” the science officer said. “But the alien sword was in the shuttlepod. The fugitive had hidden it in the pod.”

The revelation made no sense. Edison asked the man to repeat what he said, not trusting his hearing. “Hmm,” the captain said. He reached for his boots and slowly put them back on.

He picked up his red accented gray jacket from the chair in the kitchenette. “Let’s go,” he said wearily.

The two men were silent as they made way quickly to the archive vault. Cormier tapped in a code, the door sliding up and a tray containing the sword slid out. Edison’s heart sank that the cursed object was back aboard his ship.

“It makes no sense sir,” Cormier shook his head. “I mean, Rinda went through all the trouble to make it back to Klingon space. And when the Klingons showed up and got her back, she hid the artifact aboard the pod.”

“It makes sense if Rinda thought the sword would be safer with us than with her ‘rescuers’,” Edison surmised.

The man ran a hand through his thick brown mop of hair. “Captain, I’m not following.”

“Klingons are fractious,” Edison explained, “Even our first contact with them took place amid a brewing civil war. Archer’s intervention prevented it. Did the shuttlepod’s records show that Rinda sent out communiques?”

“Yes,” Cormier’s forehead wrinkled. “Mr. Le informed me after calling me down to secure the artifact. How did you know that?”

Edison smiled, “It makes sense that Rinda was trying to contact these Clerics of Boreth she was working for. Instead she got the attention of someone she didn’t want.”

“Oh,” Cormier’s cheeks paled. Edison’s smile widened. Cormier had a question in his brown eyes.

“We weren’t able to bring her back aboard Franklin, so she could stand trial, but I got a feeling the woman is getting her just deserts,” the captain said. “Commander Maldonado is avenged.”

“Oh,” the science officer repeated, a horrified expression overtaking his features. Edison left the man to be buffeted by his shock and revulsion at the captain’s cruel relish. Without looking back at the ship’s newest Butterfly Catcher, Edison said over his shoulder, “Secure that thing. It’s off limits. And I can’t wait to get it off my ship.”

Edison left the archive vault, done with the accursed artifact. Though he knew his nightmares were not done with him.

THE END


********************************************************************

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Talk about roaring back with a vengeance! Wow! This is truly an epic project in scope. The breadth of it alone--several hundred years...time travel...alternate universes and dimensions. And, as always, strong characterizations Taman/Vashta, Edison, Penda Dryer, smooth interjection of canon characters. I'm hooked.

 

[DarKush]

Thanks DF,

I appreciate your comments. I hope I haven't bitten off more than I can chew but we'll see. I do feel better about the project than when I started it with the first attempt at "Year Zero."

I did put a lot of references from canon, non-canon, and UT sources. Penda Dryer is named in honor of your character Nyota. I had read that Penda was one of the first names used for Uhura until Nyota was finally canonized in the Trek '09 film.

These stories, especially "The Romulan Prize" and to a lesser extent "Seeds of Rage", make allusions to some characters, ships, and artifacts in my tenth anniversary story "Conspirata."

 

[CeJay]

Alright, all caught up on this now.

Quite a story anthology you've been able to put together. Kudos.

A number of these stories I recognized from your earlier postings and while they all seem to tell different stories, they fit together really quite nicely thematically. My favorite has to be The Romulan Prize for the way it brings together a classically intrepid Starfleet crew, boisterous Klingons and scheming Romulans all in one story, all with their own, well-developed agendas.

There are a lot of threads here which I'm sure will be picked up in future stories. Looking forward to seeing them unraveled.

Well done, sir.

 

[DarKush]

Thanks CeJay,

For reading and for sharing your thoughts. Of the new entries, I did enjoy writing The Romulan Prize the most. (Overall, Prize and Seeds of Rage are my two favorites). I've long been fascinated by the Earth-Romulan War. I've thought-but not too much-about doing a Romulan War story or series, but now that I'm already doing the Four Years War (FYW) that's unlikely. However, I saw in this 'Origins' concept, where I'm laying some seeds for the incipient Four Years War, but also for future DT stories, I thought it would be neat to slip a Romulan War story in there and one told mostly from the perspective of the Romulans since I had to minimize human-Romulan contact and keep the identity of the Romulans secret.

Prize also provided an opportunity to flesh out some ideas I introduced in Conspirata, that of Leta's family being involved in the Earth-Romulan War and one serving aboard the Odaus. So, Terrence Glover is later piloting the ship featured in this story.

It's likely that the Duras-Mogh feud will not factor greatly in the FYW stories I want to tell, but I couldn't help but include them here, or allusions to them. Thanks to Star Trek Online and some alternate histories/futures for Worf, courtesy Memory Alpha, the ambassador is a member of what will become the House of Mogh. Kormog was the father of Torg, an ally of the House of Duras in Star Trek Online, so it's likely that the Kormog here is an ancestor of the future Kormog.

I didn't name the praetor because I wanted to keep that vague so it didn't contradict-hopefully-someone else might have established in the UT. Though I did give the wartime praetor a bad end, so I hope that's not a problem.

I also was very inspired by the fan film Star Trek-Horizon. A very well done film set during the Earth-Romulan War. The Romulan helmets I came up in this story I drew from a similar one featured in that film.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

I'll need to check out Star Trek-Horizon. The Earth-Romulan War does offer a wealth of story potential with one of the more difficult, yet rewarding elements being that of keeping Romulan identities secret in order to stay within canon. While the Duras-Mogh feud might not figure greatly at this time, I do get the feeling that we are dealing with two rising houses bound for an inevitable collision. Again, to echo Cejay, I enjoyed the look into the Earth Romulan war from a Romulan perspective.