Bait and Switch (Star Trek Online)

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StarSword
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Bait and Switch (Star Trek Online)

Post by StarSword »

This is a novelization of a Foundry mission series I'm working on in STO, also titled "Bait and Switch". It stars my Fed toon and her command crew.

This fic is also available on FanFiction.net here.
Bait and Switch
by StarSword

Chapter 1: Nebula Surveys Are Boring. Film at Eleven.
Sirens. Smoke. Fire. The stench of burnt plastic and insulation. The signs of a stricken ship of war.

Crewman Davos pokes his head over the barricade and cracks off a burst of fire from his phaser rifle at the boarders. "Bloody pirates," he growls as return fire forces him back down. "Sarge, what the hell does the Orion Syndicate want with an obsolete junk frigate like this anyway?"

I shake my head. "If I had to guess--Hah!" My pistol shot strikes the pirate squarely in the midsection and flings him hard against a wall. "Mmf. Probably our security codes."

The ship rocks, probably a torpedo strike several compartments away. I shove Davos sideways and a ceiling tile crashes to the floor near where his head would have been. "Thanks, Sarge."

"Don't mention it." I check the charge on my pistol. "Damn. Nearly empty, and I count--" I check my tricorder "--four more of them." Davos yanks a rifle from one of our fallen and passes it to me. "Smart. Give me a little covering fire." He sends another spread of bolts down the corridor. I pop the maintenance panel on my phaser and connect two wires that are never meant to touch; now an escalating high-pitched whine. I throw the overloaded phaser down the corridor and yell, "Frag out!"

Davos and I duck behind our cover and a deafening thunderclap and blaze of heat washes over the barricade. Everything's muffled and my ears are ringing. I can barely make out the intercom crackling to life. "Security team to sickbay! Security team to sickbay!"

"Sher hahr kosst!" I swear under my breath in Glyrhondi dialect. "Davos, we're one deck and two compartments away, let's move!" A quick check of my tricorder to see if any of the greenskins survived the phaser's detonation, then Davos and I bolt down the corridor behind us. I can still barely hear anything, but I smack my combadge and say, "Sickbay, Gunnery Two responding!"

Power's out to the turbolift. Battle damage, probably. I palm the Jeffries tube access to the left of it and Davos and I slide into the smoky darkness lit only by emergency lights. We emerge one deck down beside what is probably the one working blast door on the whole ship at this point. The corridor is still full of smoke and I can see a blazing fire in the conference room across the corridor. Fire suppression's system's not working, apparently. Davos and I move by fire and movement towards sickbay. An Orion pokes his head out of a room three doors down, past the next, nonworking, blast door, and I reflexively fire and blow half his face off. Davos moves ahead to the sickbay door then grunts and falls backwards, a knife with an ornate brass hilt sticking out from under his left collarbone. He tries to talk but only bubbles of blood come out of his mouth. A female greenskin who's as far as I can tell barely wearing anything steps calmly out of the room and reaches out to him with a second knife.

I pull the trigger on my phaser rifle, aiming for her ear. The bright orange beam lances out at her and hisses into nonexistence against a personal deflector shield. I have a split second to wonder how they got their hands on that level of experimental technology before she spins and throws her second knife. I jerk sideways and it goes flying past. There's a muffled thrum from somewhere above me as the spinal phaser cannon finally fires, then she's upon me, having pulled two more knives from I'm-not-sure-I-want-to-know-where.

I swing the butt of my rifle up into the matron's chin, feeling the static tingle as it passes through her energy barrier. She parries with a forearm, swings across my face with the other and dances backwards. Only then does the pain from the knife's twin parallel blades hit me. I grit my teeth and try to bring the rifle to bear but she reaches in and slashes the front of the sling, then kicks it out of my hands.

I drop into a fighting stance. Get hold of the knife hands. Keep them controlled and use your legs. She moves in. I send a jab at her midsection. She slaps it wide but it was a distraction as I aim a right kick at her knee. She traps the leg and punches her knife wielding left hand into my wounded cheek. I manage to snag that wrist and hang on for dear life. I see the ghost of something--fear? Surprise?--flash across her face, then she grunts as I knee her in the stomach. I grab at the metal bra that passes for a uniform with this greenskin and headbutt her in the nose and PAIN OH PROPHETS THE PAIN

I collapse backward, her other knife protruding from above my right hip. She shakes her head to clear it, wipes green blood from her broken nose and glares at me, then advances and kicks me in the jaw, sending me sprawling against a bulkhead. "Bajoran bitch!" she grinds out. "If that leaves a mark I'll have killed you too quickly." I can only stare up at her as she kneels down and brings her knife to my throat.

A bolt from a blast assault phaser crashes into her shield and it collapses. She just has time to get out a "What?" before her torso explodes from another shot and covers me in gore. I blink it out of my eyes to see an MP squad standing in the corridor with the SSW.

My ears are ringing again. One of them kneels next to me with a tricorder. "She's still alive!" he hollers over his shoulder. "Get the medic!" He looks at me and says something but I can't make it out anymore and my eyes close.

Not here for much longer, thank the Prophets, I thought as my mind faded. I wonder if this is how the Emissary went...


I sit bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, then collapse forward onto the sheets. My hands go to the right side of my stomach, feeling the roiled, knotty scar left from the Orion matron's knife. It's as healed as it was the last ten times I had The Nightmare, and the twenty before that.

I shove the tangle of sheets off my nude body and stalk to my quarters' bathroom. Cold water to the face, and I look at myself in the mirror. As always, my dark green eyes are drawn first to the two angry pink lines across my left cheek. Then to the four parallel ridges on the bridge of my nose and the sweaty mess The Nightmare made of my hair. "I need a phekk'ta shower," I mutter under my breath, and step into the stall and turn on the hot water.

My name is Eleya. Kanril Eleya. I'm Bajoran born, Federation bred, and I'm a Starfleet captain. It's been 34 years since the Dominion War ended and my people had to live each day wondering if today was the day fire would rain down from Cardassian or Jem'Hadar battleships and our beautiful green world would burn. It's been 25 years since we were admitted to the Federation, and less than a decade since we sold the last of our ancient patrol frigates for scrap and began relying exclusively on Starfleet for our naval defense.

29 years since I was born.

I'm originally from Priyat, a small town in Kendra Province. Mother and Father were town maintenance but I never wanted to spend my life patching plasma coils or running wire. Soon as I hit the legal age I enlisted in the Bajoran Militia, got assigned blackside as a gunnery specialist. Did pretty well, made it to sergeant a couple years later.

Then the Orions hit the Kira Nerys, the frigate I was assigned to. I learned later they'd played dead in a comet's tail waiting for some schmuck--learned that word from an Academy classmate--to happen by. They took out the warp core and half of main Engineering with their first salvo and beamed aboard. It was my first time actually seeing the enemy instead of calibrating the spinal phaser cannon. So we fought. Training and all the nonregulation tricks I'd learned, like overloading a phaser for a makeshift hand grenade, took over. Bridge finally managed to bring the cannon to bear and blew their ship to scrap but they'd already boarded, and we had to keep the cannon online long enough for Colonel Karryn to use it, so six of us manned a barricade outside Gunnery Two. Davos made it. So did I, in case you hadn't figured it out yet. Touch and go for a while there, though (they had to replicate me a new kidney), and the other four died on the barricade. I've hated Orions since.

I reach for the shampoo and lather my mid-back-length red tresses. Not strictly regulation but Starfleet gives a lot of leeway to officers, and anyway it's not like there's much on a cruiser bridge for my hair to get caught in. Never would've gotten away with it as a noncom.

Toweled off, I slide on my plain white underwear, uniform trousers, undershirt, and red and white uniform jacket. I wrap my hair into its usual neat ponytail and punch the intercom for the bridge. "Tess, it's Eleya. I'll be joining you a bit earlier than usual."

A cool alto voice says, "Yes, ma'am."

I call up a few jumja sticks from the replicator and munch on them as I walk to the turbolift. One thing I'll say about life in Starfleet: the food's never quite right, though I'll grant it's usually close enough for government work as Father used to say. I heard an interesting take on it when I went to Starfleet Academy after the Militia shut down its space forces: cooked never tastes exactly the same--varying levels of ingredients and cooking time and such--but replicated does, so replicated always tastes a little bit artificial.

I palm the control for the turbolift and say "Bridge" around a mouthful of slightly artificial jumja stick. About ten seconds later the door slides open and I stride out onto the bridge, lit by a sickly yellow protostar hanging in space off the port bow several million kilometers away, superimposed on a starfield tinged blue by the gas clouds of the Delta Volanis Cluster. My first officer, an Andorian named Tesjha Phohl, sees me, stands and snaps to attention. "Captain on deck!"

"Carry on."

Tess walks over to me. We met in battle, during the abortive Borg assault at Vega when I suddenly found myself the acting captain of the ShiKahr-class light cruiser Kagoshima. The USS Khitomer sent her over to act as my temporary tac officer until the fleet got clear, and Admiral Quinn made both her reassignment and my command permanent. Tess is a bit shorter than me, with short white hair and lots of curves. "Good morning, Skipper."

"Morning, Tess. Jumja stick?"

"I ate already, thank you, ma'am."

"Anything happening?"

"No, ma'am. So far this patrol's been pretty quiet. We've scanned a possible star fragment about two light-months coreward--reported that one to Starfleet Command since it's headed for the colony on Ardiles in a couple dozen years--and several large asteroids that might have tritanium. Nothing of particular strategic importance, though." She checks the PADD in her hand. "We'll be moving on to our next waypoint in about half an hour. Oh, and Lieutenant Korekh wanted to speak to you."

"All right, I'll see him in the ready room."

"Ma'am." I step inside as she hits the intercom. "Security Officer to the captain's ready room. Lieutenant Korekh, please report to the ready room."

As I wait, I look around my room, no different from when I last saw it. On the wall facing my desk hang various medals and decorations, including the Silver Cross I received for defending sickbay on the Kira. To the right, a trophy wall with statuettes of my previous commands. The Kagoshima. The Excalibur-class John Paul Jones. The Stargazer-class George Hammond. Turn to the right and the bronze dedication plaque for my current ship hangs.
U.S.S. Bajor
Galaxy-class Exploration Cruiser, Production Series 23
Starfleet Registry NCC-97238
40 Eridani A Starfleet Construction Yards
Launched 9 August 2409 Earth Standard
United Federation of Planets
A Galaxy-class starship. My ship. 82 officers and 963 enlisted, from a vast rainbow of species and all walks of life. It was once rare for a Galaxy-class to be commanded by one as young as me but the wars with the Klingons and the Borg have a way of eliminating the complacent or unlucky and clearing the way for new blood. Hell, that's the reason I got my first command, after the Borg killed or assimilated the entire command staff of the Kagoshima, which left me, the second shift weapons officer and the senior-most JG afloat, the ship's acting captain.

The door chime shakes me out of my reverie. "Enter."

Dul'krah, Clan Korekh strides in. My security officer's a member of a minor species from the Arucanis Arm, the Pe'khdar, and built like a Cardassian main battle tank, bigger and stronger than most Klingons I've met, with scaly skin, broad flat horns sweeping back from his forehead, six nostrils, and a single topknot of black hair. Like me he didn't start in Starfleet: he was a member of the Pe'khdar military police agency before they were admitted to the Federation, and they let him keep wearing the black and green uniform afterward. "Captain," he says in a deep, rumbling voice, "my team has completed their latest sweep for contraband aboard ship. We confiscated a case of, hrmm, how do you pronounce this word?"

I take the PADD from him. "'Laphroaig,' I think."

"What is it?"

"Liquor from Earth, I believe from an island between Britain and Ireland. At least Crewman Targ has good taste in contraband."

"You have tried this ... La-frog, Captain?"

"Third semester at Starfleet Academy. I remember it was tasty and not much else. One minute I'm out drinking with friends, next thing I know I wake up in my bedroom with a brass band in my head. First I thought Scotch did bad things to Bajorans but then I find out from Anna that humans have the same problem."

I hear the snuffling noise that passes for laughter with Korekh. "I saw this many times in the Ver Eshalakh, Captain." He stops laughing. "In any case this is Targ's third violation for contraband and I no longer believe it is for her own use as she protests. We have confined her to quarters for now and I have laid out punitive measures for your approval."

I glance at the "recommended course of action" line. One week in the brig, one month's pay. Nothing out of the ordinary. I press my thumbprint into the approval box. "Thank you, Captain." He raises his arm across his chest and bows his head in a Pe'khdar salute and strides out of the room.

Business as usual, I think to myself. I walk back onto the bridge and take my chair.

From my right, my science officer, Commander Birail Riyannis. "Skipper, we just picked up a coronal mass ejection from the star."

"Any danger to the ship? Anything unusual about it?"

"Not if we move two million kilometers relative vertical sometime in the next ten minutes, and no, it's just your average several-million-degree blast of charged particles."

"If an ordinary solar storm is what passes for excitement today I'm going to start wondering why I bothered to get up," I mutter under my breath. "Conn, take us two million kilometers relative up."

"Conn, aye," the human JG manning the conn says. "Pitching ship and accelerating to three-quarters impulse power." The sun slides downward out of view as the Bajor rolls backward and begins to accelerate.

Biri walks over. "That'll cause some interesting auroras on the third planet of the system in about 33 hours," Biri says conversationally, leaning on the back of my chair.

I look up at her brown, spot-wreathed Trill face. "Too bad we won't be here. We've got to go to Xi Cassiopeiae 12 today."

"Ooh, I hear it's nice there this time of year." I roll my eyes and she titters a bit, then sobers. "Actually, there's supposed to be some gravimetric flux anomalies that Admiral Lovett wants looked at closer; he thinks they might be signs of Q activity." Off my look, "I know, I know, it's probably just another glitch on Outpost Zeta-Five's end, but you never know. I do know there's an industrial civilization on the second planet that's expected to launch its first manned orbiter in about four months. Mem Alpha wants a scan of the launch site."

"Skipper, we will be in position in thirty seconds," the conn officer calls back.

"Thank you, JG Park."

The next thirty minutes pass with nothing eventful. Tess and I finish our morning paperwork and start a round of chess on our PADDs. I'm down two pawns when my terminal chimes the reminder for us to move on. I lay the PADD aside and tell Park to set course for Xi Cassiopeiae 12 II, warp seven. "Course laid in, ma'am." It pops up on the viewscreen. "We'll need to avoid a black hole at 1710 hours but other than that it'll be a smooth ride."

"Understood." I hit the intercom. "All hands, this is the captain. Prepare for warp, T-minus two minutes." I pick my PADD up, move a bishop to H4, and wait for Tess, but she doesn't make her move before the two minutes are up. "Conn, warp seven. Engage."

"Warp seven, aye." Park smoothly noses the Bajor over, then taps his console and slides the power "lever" forward. The stars smear into rapidly bluing streaks and the ship punches through the light barrier with effortless ease.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the--"

"Captain," the on-duty communications officer interrupts. "We just picked up a message from Starfleet Command. Text-only, flagged 'Captain's Eyes First'. I'll shoot it over to your PADD."

So much for my holonovel, I think to myself. I swipe the chess game off the screen and tap the message open.

[begin transmission]
TO: Captain Kanril Eleya, C.O. U.S.S. Bajor NCC-97238
FROM: Office of Admiral Nadifa La Forge, Starfleet Command, Earth Spacedock
SUBJECT: Assignment Order #15512388515613611643366211

Captain Kanril:
You are hereby ordered to travel to Deep Space 9, Bajor Sector, and report to Admiral Anthony Marconi, C.O. Beta Ursae Fleet Area, for assignment to civil defense patrol. You are expected to arrive at or before Stardate 91306.02.
[end transmission]

I pass the message to Tess and say, "Well, Biri, looks like Q will have to wait. We've just been reassigned. Civil defense patrol on the Cardie border."

"They need a Galaxy-class ship for that? I would've thought something smaller would do."

I shrug. "Far be it from me to question the infinite wisdom of Starfleet Command. Conn, amend previous course. Fastest route to Deep Space 9, maximum cruise."

"Conn, aye. We're five hours from the edge of the star cluster, then it's three days to DS9. Dropping us out of warp to change course now." JG Park taps out a rapid sequence of commands into his console, and the streaming stars out the viewport redshift as the Bajor dumps velocity and drops back to sublight speeds. Still traveling a good .8c the ship heels hard to starboard and swings around. "Accelerating back to warp now, Captain." The stars blueshift again and we streak past lightspeed. "Warp five," Park counts. "Warp six... Warp seven... Warp eight... We are at warp 9.4. ETA to Deep Space 9, 74 hours and 45 minutes."

Looks like I might get some time on the holodeck after all.

----

Author's Note: The Nightmare is set in the late 2390s and AFAIK it's not stated anywhere in the lore when Star Trek Online's personal deflector shields were widely introduced, so I decided that at that point in time they were rare, still-experimental tech.

Canon-wise, I'm treating the technical manuals, particularly the TNG Technical Manual, as a higher source for tech details than the shows, partly because the live-action dialog is sometimes known to contradict itself on that kind of thing within the same episode. I'm also pulling in details from the EU when I feel it's appropriate, as long as they're not contradicted by STO's storylines. For example, Adm. Nadifa La Forge is Geordi's niece, a character who was a high-schooler in the TNG novel Losing the Peace set in 2381.
Last edited by StarSword on 2013-12-22 08:39pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Chapter 2: Reporting as Ordered

Post by StarSword »

Chapter 2: Reporting as Ordered
"Fire missiles! Dump everything!" Thirty-two nuclear-tipped Krait missiles erupt from my flight of four fighters, against an enormous Turusch warship constructed from a 900-kilometer dwarf planet. "Now hard one-eighty, and zorch it!"

A beam from the leviathan barely brushes my wingman, knocking him out of position in his tight turn around his fighter's drive singularity. "I'm hit! I'm hit!" His ship goes into an out of control spin and disintegrates under the stress and his icon vanishes from my sensor boards. Then the rest of us are through the turn and hauling fifty thousand gravities away from the leviathan. The timer on my screen counts down to impact and--

"Bridge to Captain Kanril."

"Frak. Computer, pause program." The behemoth and the array of detonations freeze in place on my screen. "Kanril."

"We're two minutes out from Deep Space 9."

"Frak. All right, I'll be there shortly. Computer, save and end program." The SG-92 cockpit fades out of existence, which leads to me landing hard on my ass when my seat vanishes. "OW! FRAK!"

I pick myself up and walk to the arch, and the door slides open. I walk to the turbolift across the corridor and say, "Bridge."

A few seconds later, the door slides open. The viewscreen is still showing the streaming stars of warp. I know intellectually it's just particles of the interstellar medium interacting with the warp field but that doesn't make it not pretty. Tess moves in alongside me as I walk to my chair. "Skipper, the sign-up sheets for shore leave are in."

"How big of a bill can we expect from DS9 security?"

Tess snorts. "Naturally, most of the ship's enlisted and about half the officers want to go ashore. 758 crew in all. Usual procedures are in place: Anyone scheduled to be on duty has to be back on the ship and sober half an hour ahead." She pauses, and then we're talking as friends instead of captain and first officer. "Have you ever been to DS9 before, Eleya?"

I nod. "I was stationed there for six months about a year before we met. They called me the assistant liaison to the Bajoran Militia but mostly I was a glorified clerk."

"Right, and of course you were born on Bajor."

"A planet's a big place. I never got up to DS9 until after I enlisted in the Militia."

Tess cocks her head and nods. "Point. Changing the subject, what's this holonovel you've been playing?"

"Oh. It's based on this 21st century Earth book series called Star Carrier. I'm playing a fighter pilot."

"So, it's historical, then?"

"No, science fiction. It's--"

"Skipper," the conn officer interrupts, "we're beginning deceleration. Now at warp 8 and dropping. ETA thirty seconds."

"Tell me about it later, El," Tess says, and then she's the consummate professional again.

The streaming stars redshift and the Bajor drops back to sublight speed. We're 400 kilometers out, and Deep Space 9 is an almost invisible speck hanging silently on a starfield marred only by the faint purple Denorios belt. "Communications, contact flight control."

The Vulcan at Communications this shift nods. "Deep Space 9 traffic control, this is USS Bajor NCC-97238, requesting docking clearance, over."

A staticky voice on the other end responds. "USS Bajor, you are cleared for initial approach. Transmitting vector and speed."

"Transmission received, Deep Space 9. Relaying to conn." JG Park takes over at the conn, firing up the impulse engines to one-half and the ship smoothly accelerates towards the station.

After a moment the traffic controller radios again. "USS Bajor, hold at ten klicks. All berths your size are currently occupied but we have a departure in five minutes."

"Roger, Deep Space 9."

The familiar brown three-spoked ring of DS9 grows larger on the viewscreen. As Park throttles back and applies reverse thrust to bring the ship to a halt I can begin to make out some of the ships present. While technically Federation-controlled, the station has been informally considered neutral territory since before the Dominion War, so I'm not surprised to see a few KDF ships, in this case a pair of the Klingons' ubiquitous B'rel-class birds and a Kamarag-class battlecruiser on one of the dorsal docking pylons. I also see an Orion Corsair-class on a ventral pylon, and bite back the slur that leaps to my lips. From our side there's two Nebula-class science ships on the other two ventral pylons, a Freedom-class scout and the USS Defiant on the ring, and--

"Wow," Biri blurts out from behind me. "Is that an Odyssey-class on dorsal two?"

Master Chief Peter Wiggin, the on-duty sensor officer, checks. "Yes, ma'am, USS Valentine, sister ship to the Odyssey-A and the Enterprise-F." The bright white of the giant cruiser's smoothly curved hull glints under from the station's floodlights.

The last big ship on the station is far more functional in design, a boxy Type 105 superfreighter, and it's this ship that is blocking our way. From here I can see the nacelles glowing as the ship's engines warm up. Then the umbilicals detach and the docking tube retracts. Its starboard thrusters briefly fire to shove it away from the pylon, then the aft thrusters fire more strongly to push it clear of the station. The impulse engines kick in and it accelerates away. The traffic controller clears us to approach, comms confirms, and the Bajor maneuvers closer.

"Beginning final approach, Skipper," JG Park says, programming the autopilot. You don't want any mistakes when docking a 4.5 megaton cruiser, especially in tight quarters already occupied by two ships of similar size and mass. Luckily computers are good at this kind of thing. The ship yaws to port to line up with the pylon and accelerates again, then cuts power, drifting forward on inertia. The station passes underneath the viewscreen's camera angle, but having seen this from the other side I can picture it. The ship is maneuvering to place the big crew airlock on the port side thirteen decks above Main Engineering against the docking tube. The forward thrusters fire and smoothly stop the ship's forward motion, then the side thrusters fire, first the port side to push us against the station, then starboard to stop us. Park reports, "Docking clamps extending. Docking clamps secure." Now the umbilicals extend, connecting us to station power and fuel stores so we can take on antimatter, deuterium, and replicator mass. Finally, the docking tube mates with the airlock. "Docking procedure completed."

I press the intercom key on the arm of my chair. "All hands, this is the captain speaking. We are now docked at Deep Space 9. Any crew signed up for shore leave may now begin proceeding to Airlock 24-Sierra-Foxtrot to disembark. As usual if you are scheduled for duty you must be aboard and sober 30 minutes before your shift. Kanril out." I let go of the button and stand, straightening the hem of my jacket. "Tess, you have the bridge. I've got an admiral to meet."

"I have the bridge. I'll call his office and let him know you're coming."

I nod and walk to the turbolift. "Deck 13 tram station." The turbolift car drops a dozen decks in a second, then I catch a tram with thirty-odd crewmen aft to the stardrive. With disembarkation in full swing the turbolifts to Engineering are packed. There must be fifty people crammed in here, not counting four of Korekh's security people struggling to keep things orderly, and the confusion from everyone scrambling to attention at my arrival doesn't help matters. It takes five minutes to get a turbolift, then I get to the airlock and it's an even bigger madhouse with crew from all over the ship lined up. I decide "screw this," pull rank, and cut the line. Rank hath its privileges, as they say. Don't know who says "hath," though.

Dockside, a Starfleet security CPO sees me and salutes; I return it. "Welcome aboard Deep Space 9, Captain. Anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Admiral Marconi's office."

"Suite 204A on the Promenade, sir."

"Thank you, Chief."

I walk towards the turbolift as crewmen begin to file out of the airlock but then my combadge chirps. "Bridge to Captain Kanril." Tess's voice.

I slap the badge. "Eleya here. Go ahead."

"I spoke with Admiral Marconi's adjutant and he's out of his office right now. You should be able to find him on the upper level of the Promenade at around 80 degrees."

"Thanks, Tess. Eleya out."

A turbolift ride and a few minutes' walk later I'm on the Promenade and my senses are assaulted by the cacophany of a thousand or more voices, smells of food from a hundred planets, and colors of people from all over the quadrant. It's nothing like the relative quiet of a Federation starship and I'm quite thoroughly disoriented for a moment. I shake it off and get my bearings. I'm at 120 degrees from station "north" which puts Marconi one deck up and about fifty meters counterclockwise. I walk to yet another turbolift across the way and emerge on the upper floor and keep walking.

Admiral Marconi is wearing a long yellow and gold jacket. He looks to be in his mid-fifties, tall, stocky, with a bit of a paunch and three long-healed claw marks on the right side of his jaw. He's reading a report on hardcopy as I walk up and sipping from a chrome hip flask in his other hand. I snap to attention and salute but he doesn't seem to notice I'm there. After a moment he swears, crumples the report and angrily throws it over the railing where it bounces off the helmeted head of a Breen crewman standing at a kiosk across the way. "Damn them," he says again, and then finally notices me. "And you are?" He takes in my uniform, rank insignia, and combadge and puts it together. "Right, Captain Kanril Eleya."

"Reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease. Welcome to Beta Ursae Fleet Area. You're probably wonder what that was about," and he flicks a thumb at the report. He stops, looks like he's gathering his thoughts, then speaks again. "Let me get you up to speed. How much do you know about the state of things in the region?"

I raise an eyebrow, then point at the ridges on the bridge of my nose. "Sir, I grew up in Kendra Province, I served in the Militia for four years, and I was stationed here for six months as assistant liaison officer to the Militia. I'd say I've got a passing familiarity with the place, sir. As far as current events, I keep myself apprised of the basics."

He presses a hand to his eyes. "Right, now your file's coming back to me. Sorry, I've been up for nearly 18 hours." He lets the hand fall to his side and leans against the railing, looking out the viewport where the Defiant is visible. I follow his look, and from this angle I can see a gaping wound in the starboard bow, and I recognize the blast signature as being from a Cardie phaser, probably a Galor-class destroyer. I can also see tiny specks of light from welding torches.

Marconi speaks again. "Things are pretty rough for us right now. The True Way bombed a temple on New Bajor two days ago. They're still pulling bodies out of the rubble but the death toll's already topped a hundred. I've got a rogue Cardie legate running around playing warlord--you can see the mess she made of the Defiant when we caught up to her at Draylon last week--and we've got multiple reports of Jem'Hadar raiding shipping in the Malon System. And of course the Klingons are ... being Klingons." He takes a swig from the hip flask and offers it to me; I wave it away. He shrugs and continues. "Really makes me wish the Militia still had ships; we wouldn't be stretched so thin. As it is my people have been running double and even triple shifts for weeks trying to keep up with it all."

He straightens, caps the flask and pockets it, and turns back to me. "Well, can't change the past. And since Starfleet Command has seen fit to scrounge me up some more ships maybe we can get a handle on it all. I'm giving you the Defiant's patrol route until she's back in action. The Kagoshima and John Paul Jones should be here later in the week and--what are you looking at me like that for?"

"Nothing, sir. Just, that's really weird: those were my first two commands."

His head rocks forward. "That is strange. And my memory must be going because that would've been in your file. Probably just coincidence, or maybe they think you'll be able to coordinate better with people you know."

"I doubt that, sir. The Kagoshima's gone through two captains since I was reassigned and JPJ's Commander Col'holth and I don't get along."

"Mmf. Well, maybe they're just playing some kind of weird joke on you. Anyway, they'll be here later this week, and we'll work out a new route for the Bajor once the Defiant's repaired. Tomorrow you're heading to the Malon System, and maybe you'll get lucky and can do something about those Jems I mentioned. I'll have the formal orders sent over later. Take some shore leave, but I want you underway by oh-nine-hundred. Dismissed." I salute, and he returns it and goes back to leaning against the railing.

I walk around to the turbolift and slap my combadge. "Kanril to Bajor, come in please."

"Read you, Captain," Biri says.

"We've got our orders. Nothing fancy, show the flag and look scary to pirates. Departure time is oh-nine-hundred tomorrow morning."

"Got it; I'll let Tess know. She had to go handle something in Gunnery One. Bajor out."

I step into the turbolift and go back down to the first level to get something to eat. Maybe that Hathoni restaurant that makes those delicious jumja sticks with kava fruit sauce is still open.


----


Author's Note: The Star Carrier series Eleya's playing a holonovel of is a real series, by the way. It's a four-book military hard* sci-fi series by Ian Douglas, consisting of Earth Strike, Center of Gravity, Singularity, and Deep Space. I picked it for the subject partly because I enjoy it in its own right, and partly because I found the irony of something harder than Star Trek being considered science fiction by Star Trek to be too funny to pass up.

The USS Valentine is named for Mark Valentine, a video artist at Cryptic and an STO Foundry author who died of cancer in September.

I've done a bit of math and scaling but I'm honestly not sure if it's physically possible to fit a GCS, a Kamarag-class, and an Odyssey-class on DS9's upper pylons simultaneously.

* Think Mass Effect codex hard, mind you, not STL-only hard.
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Chapter 3: Arrivals and Departures

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Chapter 3: Arrivals and Departures
Half an hour later I go back to the Bajor carrying a big takeout box of jumja sticks. Cooked, not replicated, and even tastier than I remembered. I drop them off in my quarters then go to the cargo transporter room to oversee the reloading of our quantum torpedo supplies. Not much to do, just sign off on the last requisition forms and watch to make sure the transfer goes smoothly. Then I go to the bridge, where Tess is waiting for me. "How are things in Gunnery One?" I ask.

"Oh, that. They had a power supply glitch in the number two phaser bank but we got it fixed. Also, Commander T'Var is ready to disembark."

Lieutenant, now Lieutenant Commander T'Var was my ops officer, but she's been promoted and given her first command, the USS Olokun in the Eighth Fleet, and our trip to DS9 is an opportunity to do the transfer. She's your typical Vulcan: stoic, by-the-book, and as sharp as they come, and I need to get back down to the airlock to meet her. Before I go, though, I ask Tess when her replacement's coming in. "Lieutenant Commander Reshek is supposed to report in tomorrow morning," she replies.

"Not leaving much room for error, is he?" Tess doesn't say anything either way so I give her the bridge again and head down to the airlock. It's much less of a madhouse now that most of the crew are DS9's problem and I see T'Var's short-cropped brunette head in line behind a warrant officer from astrometrics. She spots me, drops her duffel and salutes. "As you were, T'Var. I came to see you off."

"I appreciate that, Captain. I hope my transfer will not complicate your upcoming mission."

"Civvie guard duty? It'll be good to have an easy run to break in my new ops officer on. I'm more worried about you: you really sure you're ready for your first command?"

"I have served under you for two years, Captain Kanril, and I have observed how you handle yourself and your ship. An Ushaan-class is not an exploration cruiser, true, but the basic principles of command are much the same regardless of vessel."

I smile. "You'll do fine. Knock 'em dead, and don't forget to write."

"I will not." She raises her right hand and parts her middle and ring fingers. "Live long, and prosper, Captain Kanril."

I try to follow suit but no matter how many times I've tried I can never get my fingers to do that so I resort to a handshake. "Live long and prosper, T'Var." The security ensign waves her through the airlock and she picks up her duffel again and steps off the ship.

The rest of my shift is mostly paperwork and admin stuff, signing off on yet more requisitions, giving Crewman Targ a talking-to in the brig ("you're on your last chance," "you keep it up and you'll be cashiered and it won't look good on a resume," that kind of thing), and checking in Main Engineering to make sure the experimental dilithium-free warp core is still operating at specifications. The Bajor's a testbed for a core redesigned to provide the same amount of power but be safer to operate. Instead of running with lots of fuel in the chamber and relying on dilithium crystals to moderate it, it uses minimal fuel levels, which is supposed to be more efficient and easier to shut down: just cut off the fuel and let it burn itself out. I know for certain we can go further on less fuel, always a good thing with the wars straining the Federation's resources, but thankfully we haven't had to test its resistance to a core breach yet.

At 1830 I finally hand off the bridge to the officer of the watch, a Benzite ops lieutenant named Mugo, and go to my quarters to change into street clothes. Dark blue skirt, white blouse, black Klingon leather jacket that cost me a month's pay when I was a lieutenant. I add lip gloss and eyeliner and head for Quark's for dinner and a drink.

The place is packed with people of varying levels of sobriety but it's basically the same as it was the last time I was here. The dance floor is crowded and the music suitably pounding. I hear holo-Leeta's voice over at the dabo table as I muscle my way up to the bar. This evening it's apparently Woadroh on duty. He's humanoid, but looks like he's made of wood, and from some minor species I've never bothered to look up. He's facing away so I tug his sleeve. "Hathon hammer," I say to him.

"Eleya!" he says, face cracking into a huge smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Just a stopover between assignments. Anything interesting going on?"

"'Fraid not. Station theater's between seasons and Holosuite One is down for repairs and the others are booked solid." He pulls a drink shaker out from under the bar and pours a measure of Klingon bloodwine into it, then adds two shots of kava juice and one of Cardassian kanar. He shakes it hard and pours it into a martini glass. "One Hathon hammer. Can I get you something to eat? The gladst is hot."

"Yum."

I pick up the martini glass and sip it slowly. The cocktail, made by some insane bartender on the homeworld, is damned good but like its name says it hits like a hammer. Then somebody taps my shoulder and a rough tenor voice asks, "Is this seat spoken for?"

I turn my head to see probably the burliest Bajoran I've ever met. In fact he's big enough I guess he might be from New Bajor; the colony's got about a third-again the gravity of the homeworld. Spiky blond hair, blue eyes, a rugged square jawline with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Very handsome. "Not by anyone I know," I reply to his question, and he takes a seat.

"Uh, bartender, I'll have what she's having."

"Want me to start a tab?"

What the hell. "Put it on mine," I say.

The Bajoran grins. "Thanks, miss."

"Call me Eleya," I say, proffering a hand.

He shakes the hand. Firm but gentle. "Gaarra."

"Where you from, New Bajor?"

"Yeah, Chamba City. How'd you know, heavyworlder looks?"

I nod. "Heard about a bombing there two days ago."

His face darkens. "I lost a cousin."

I touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I just keep thinking, maybe if I was there and not here--"

"Take it from me, there's nothing down that road. In my case I was there and it didn't change a whole lot."

"You lost a cousin in a True Way bombing?"

"No, thirty shipmates to an Orion boarding party, including almost my entire gun crew."

"Close enough." Woadie finishes his cocktail and one of the serving girls brings out a steaming plate of gladst for me. "What in the name of the Emissary is that?"

"Gladst. Klingon mushroom dish."

"Klingon food? Is it any good?"

I shrug. "I like it," I say, taking a spoonful. Not sure why I've got a taste for Klingon food; most of my countrymen hate it. Still, they do cook some things I won't touch. Like gagh. Live worms. Gross, and it turns into intestinal parasites if you don't chew it properly. 'Course, some humans eat deadly poisonous fish. Takes all kinds, I suppose.

"I'll pass," Gaarra says. "Bartender, can I get a bowl of zabu stew, please?" Woadie nods and passes the order to a server.

"You pass on Klingon and then order Cardassian?"

"War was forty years ago, Eleya, before either of us were even thought of if I've got your age right."

"It's not that. Okay, it is that, just a little, but it's more that it stinks up your breath."

He gives a slightly cocky grin. "And you care about my breath, why, exactly?"

"Well, if we're going to be dancing in a few minutes it'd be nice not to smell the fayzo on it."

"Might take you up on that." He raises his glass. "To... Oh, the hell with it, to getting drunk with a new friend."

"Ha! I'll drink to that." We clink glasses and drink. The music changes to this strange electronic, rock-ish thumping. "Woadie, what's that?"

"Oh, that's from the middle of the last century, almost. Alba ra, Talarian music."

"Talarian? I've never heard of 'em. Gaarra?"

He shakes his head. "It's good, whatever it is. You want to--?"

"Dance? I'd love to."

Gaarra takes my hand and leads me out onto the floor. Normally I feel a bit awkward on a dance floor because I tend to tower over my partner. At 185 centimeters I'm fairly tall for a Bajoran. For once though, my partner's even a couple centimeters taller. He's also a much better dancer than I am so I let him take the lead through this song, and the next. And the one after that. The music shifts to a slow Paradan woodwinds number and he holds me close and we mostly just turn in place. I kiss his cheek experimentally and whisper, "You want to get out of here?"

"I'd love to but I have to be at my ship early tomorrow."

"Same here, so we won't make an all-nighter of it."

"Sounds like fun."



I stroll onto the bridge the next morning at 0830 feeling extremely refreshed despite the early hour and plop down languidly in my chair. Tess gives me a funny look and rolls her eyes. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what,' Eleya?" she says, walking over and sitting in the chair next to me. "You walk in here looking like a grayth that just dined on prize alicorn and expect nobody to notice? So, how was he?"

"Mmmm. He was damn good."

"Details."

"Not now, Tess, there are ensigns present."

She laughs. "Later then, but I want details." Then she's in Number One mode again. "The new ops officer arrived a few hours after you got back last night. He's in your ready room."

"All right." I stand and she follows. The door slides open and--"Oh, hell."

Standing at attention--not figuratively, thank the Prophets; that would've been just perfect--is Gaarra, the guy I went to bed with last night. I turn red, and I can see a muscle twitching in his jaw but he manages a completely professional salute despite it. "Sir. Lieutenant Commander Reshek Gaarra reporting for duty. Sir."

"I prefer 'ma'am.' At ease, Commander." He clasps his hands behind him. I walk to my desk hoping Tess didn't notice, but of course she did and I can see the obvious question on her face. I sit down and pull up Gaarra's--Commander Reshek's file, something that if I'd bothered to take more than a cursory glance at when I first received it I wouldn't be in this position. "U of Alpha Centauri ROTC, then you were on the USS Spruance for seven years. Captain Parsa credits you with saving the ship from a core breach after Chief Engineer Diabate was killed by shrapnel." I look up from the screen. "I don't get it, it says here you were assigned to the nav deflector."

"As you pointed out, ma'am, Commander Diabate got decapitated, and a lot of the other engineers were killed, too, and the nav deflector isn't exactly a necessity when there's a D'deridex trying to blast you into next week so Lieutenant Parrish sent me aft. I knew enough to operate a welding torch and reseal the coolant line and I suppose they considered that worth a medal."

"I see. Well, Parsa's good people, and her recommendation's good enough for me. I'll let you get settled in and meet your staff. We're getting underway at 0900."

"0900, yes, ma'am." He salutes again, I return it, and he executes a proper military turn and strides out of the room.

I rest my face in my hands as the door hisses shut. "Well?" Tess prompts.

My hands drop to the table. "Yes, all right? I had sex with my ops officer, and no, I didn't know he was my ops officer at the time."

I look up at her and she shakes her head. "Those 'details' I mentioned, El? Forget it."

"Yes, thank you for that, Tess." The doorbell sounds. "Enter."

It's Korekh. "Captain, the last of the stragglers are aboard and..." He trails off, looking between us. "Is there something that I should be aware of?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Dul'krah," Tess saves me. "Skipper just had an interesting time on shore leave."

He stands there for a few seconds looking blank, then shakes his head and continues. "DS9 Security detained two development lab ensigns for drunk and disorderly and one torpedo bay crewman apprentice for underage drinking."

"Killjoys."

"Captain?"

"Joke. Dock a week's pay and put the crewman on KP."

"Already the plan, Captain."

"Any trouble with the Klingon crews on station?"

"I am told there was a near-altercation at the Velvet and Lace strip club between my own JG K'lak and a second lieutenant from the IKS HoS. Their man called him a bolwI'."

"'Traitor,'" Tess translates. "I'm surprised K'lak didn't kill him."

"As am I, but they were apparently able to settle it with a drinking contest instead."

"Who won?" I ask.

"Either they were too evenly matched or Romulan liquor does strange things to Klingons. Both became unconscious after four shots and were dragged home by their shipmates."

I chuckle. "Anything else?"

"No, Captain."

I check the clock on my console. 0845. Tess, Korekh and I return to the bridge. Tess and I take our seats and I press the intercom key. "This is the captain. All sections, report readiness." I listen to the string of reports from the ship's various sub-departments. As one section finishes, their department head reports all secure. This includes Reshek in Ops.

"All departments secure," Tess says formally.

"All hands, this is the captain. We are ready to depart. Comms?"

"Aye, Skipper," the communications officer says and turns to his console. "DS9 Flight Control, this is USS Bajor, requesting clearance to launch."

"Stand by, USS Bajor." After a moment, "USS Bajor, you are cleared to depart."

"JG Park, you may begin undocking," I say.

"Aye, Skipper. Docking tube disengaged," JG Park reports from the conn. "Umbilicals disengaged. Docking clamps retracted. We are detached. Firing starboard thrusters." The ship slides sideways ten meters. "Firing aft thrusters." The ship begins to slowly accelerate. "We are clear of the station."

"One-half impulse power. Lay in a course for the Malon System, warp 9."

"Course laid in. One-half impulse, aye." The ship accelerates away from the station. "We are at minimum safe distance."

"Engage."

The Bajor moves onto a new heading, then the stars smear into blueshifted lines and the Bajor rockets past the light barrier.

----

Author's notes: Alba ra turned up in TNG: "Suddenly Human"; you can listen to a sample of it (and Picard being a buzz-killer) here.

The Bajor is altered in a few ways from the Enterprise-vintage GCS. I took Mike's essay from the main site regarding how he would design the warp core safety systems and added an additional justification of the fact that, seeing as how the Federation is involved in multiple wars in the STO timeframe, conserving resources like dilithium could be useful. On a more frequently relevant point, she carries quantum torps instead of photorps.
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Chapter 4: Civil Defense Patrol Is Boring, Too

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Chapter 4: Civil Defense Patrol Is Boring, Too
We're three days out from DS9 and an hour and a half from Malon VII. I'm in the Bajor's officers' gym running on a treadmill. According to the meter I've been on it for half an hour and I've gone about seven klicks. I like running. The rhythm takes your mind off of things.

I hear the door slide open behind me and I slow down and stop and turn to my left, leaning against the handrail as I reach for my water bottle. Seeing who it is, I freeze. It's Gaar--Commander Reshek, damn it, in sweats and a light gray University of Alpha Centauri T-shirt. He sees me staring and stops messing with the settings on the bench-press machine's gravity generator. "Um, I hope you don't mind, Captain. I was hoping to get in a workout before we got to Malon IV." He moves to take off his earring.

"I was just leaving."

"No, you weren't," he says in Kendran dialect, my native tongue. "You were in the middle of a ten-kay run."

"You speak Kendran?"

"Permission to speak candidly, ma'am?" I nod and take a gulp of water. "You're changing the subject. You've been avoiding me since we left port."

"I have?"

He walks over to my treadmill. I move to the opposite rail. "Case in point," he says, waving a hand in my direction. "And it's not just that. Any time I try to make a report, you use Commander Phohl as a buffer, and I notice you do the exact opposite with Korekh, Ehrob, and Riyannis. I get what the problem is, but I have to be able to do my job, at least."

I take a breath and let it out. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's not fair to you."

"Well, look at it this way: You think it's any easier for me? Flip it around. You fucked your ops officer, I fucked my commanding officer. And neither of us knew who the other was until the next day."

"You hadn't read my file, either?"

"It never even turned up in my inbox," he says with shrug and a "what the hell, Starfleet?" look on his face. "I had to look it up on the Bajor's computers after we spoke in your ready room."

I roll my eyes, stifling a laugh. "Typical Starfleet."

"Seriously, though, if it's going to be too difficult to work together I'm sure I can find another ship."

"No, no," I say, shaking my head. "Well, not right away at least; we can at least try to be professional. We finish this patrol and we'll eval how well it went, then decide. Deal?"

"Deal." We shake on it. "Now, can you give me a hand with this thing?" he says, gesturing at the bench. "The grav controls are a little different than I'm used to."

"Trying to set it to New Bajor gravity?"

"Yeah, don't want to lose the edge."

"Hang on." I swallow another mouthful of water, then drape my towel over my neck and walk around to the machine. "These two are the gravity, this is the safety field, and this is for the health monitor which is... over there hanging on the wall, of course." I walk over to the wall, grab one of the cuffs, and toss it to him. "Ship regs; you're supposed to wear one of those. It'll call sickbay on the off chance there's an issue."

He nods and snaps it closed over his wrist. "Do I need a spotter, too, regs-wise?"

I flick a thumb at the security camera. "It's programmed to detect if there's a problem."

"All right." He sets the bench, lies down on his back and takes the bar off the rail. He runs a few quick reps as a warmup, then replaces the bar, ups the weight, and starts pumping the iron with a look of intense concentration on his face. 'Course his face isn't the only thing I'm looking at--Prophets, get your head out of the gutter, Eleya.

Nope. Despite my best efforts I can feel my nipples hardening against my sports bra so I grab my water bottle and leave the room. Maybe we'd best just try to avoid being in the gym at the same time.


A cold shower and lunch later, I return to the bridge. "Captain on deck!" an ops petty officer calls.

"Carry on." The viewscreen currently shows our progress towards Malon VII and the start of our patrol route. We crossed the system's heliopause while I was in the turbolift and are now only a minute out. "All hands," I say into the intercom, "prepare to drop out of warp."

The conn officer on duty, a Karemma named Pakniso, confirms and starts deceleration, calling out the numbers. The stars redshift and a green-tinged blue gas giant with a somewhat anemic ring system inflates into view. I double-check our mission profile for the system. We'll be checking on the various mining operations in the Malon System planet by planet for the next twelve hours or so. "Conn, transmitting patrol route to your station. Ahead one-half impulse power."

"Conn, aye," Ens. Pakniso confirms again. "Half impulse."

"Comms, burst message to DS9, Admiral Marconi's office, text only. Begin transmission. 'We have arrived at Malon VII and are starting our patrol route. Continuing to Regulon at 2030 hours.' End transmission."

"Transmission away," the spot-faced Saurian comms ensign, Esplin, I think her name is, responds.

Patrol duty consists of long stretches of abject boredom occasionally punctuated by some desperate threat to life and limb. An entirely uneventful four hours later we're at Malon IV, a planet that would be considered Class M were it not for the frankly ridiculous levels of chlorine in its atmosphere. Got a lot of life but nothing remotely sapient, though I'm told the Benzites are looking at putting a colony here.

In the meantime our sensors are picking up a small flotilla of ships of varying size and configuration chipping away at the asteroid field orbiting the planet.

"Skipper," Master Chief Wiggin calls from sensors, "I've got four contacts on scan. Breen warships eight thousand kilometers off the port bow."

"Yellow alert. What are they up to?"

"Nothing, as far as I can tell. We're definitely in their sensor range but they're making no hostile moves at all. Weapons and shields are charged but not armed, repeat, not armed."

"All right, what are we dealing with?

"There's three Plesh Brek-class frigates running a circular route around the mining operation, and a Sarr Theln-class warship holding station in the center."

"Tess, load torpedo bays and charge up the phaser strips and shields. Be prepared to go to battle stations any second."

"Aye, Skipper." She presses her intercom key. "All hands, this is the XO. We may be entering combat in a matter of minutes, but we'll try to avoid it. All tactical crew, report to your stations immediately."

Relations with the Breen Confederacy have been extremely tense since they fought for the other side in the Dominion War. Granted, they've recently been more interested in antagonizing their old enemies the Deferi than us, but them being this deep in Federation territory could still be an act of war. We approach quietly, passing a Romulan shuttle nibbling away at an asteroid and enter communications range of the Sarr Theln. "Open a channel."

"Channel open," Ens. Esplin says.

"Breen commander, this is Captain Kanril Eleya of the Federation starship Bajor. Respond, please."

There's tense silence for a moment, then a masked Breen with an blue visor appears on the viewscreen. He speaks in accented but perfectly intelligible Federation Standard English. "USS Bajor, I am Dalsh Chu of the BCV Dorek. State your business, please."

"Just a routine patrol. Can I ask a few questions?"

"One moment, please. I am transferring you to my commanding officer." The screen goes staticky for a second, then another Breen, this one with an orange visor, appears. "Captain Kanril, I am Thot Kong of the Breen Confederacy Navy."

"What are you doing this deep in Federation space?"

"Commerce protection," he says matter-of-factly. "Ragesh Mining is under contract with the Breen Confederacy and has requested additional security."

"Biri, pull the files on Ragesh Mining." I turn back to the screen. "Do you have clearance to be on our side of the border?"

"Transmitting credentials now."

I check my PADD. The credential Kong sent over is pretty straightforward diplomatic boilerplate stating that 104 Squadron, Breen Confederacy Navy, is authorized to conduct military operations in defense of Ragesh Mining LLC personnel in the Malon System. The document bears the signature of Alzbeta Nedvedova, the Federation ambassador to the Breen, and all the metadata reads as genuine. I shrug and ask Kong if he's heard anything about the Jem'Hadar attacks Marconi told me about. "I can confirm," he replies. "They attacked this operation early this morning, 0147 hours your time, but fled back into warp after exchanging fire with the Dorek and two of my frigates."

"Which way did they go?"

"Their exit vector was 88 by 106."

"Nav?"

The nav officer, Lt. Jennifer Ivanovich, responds, "That would take them sunward but there's no way of knowing how long they stayed at warp."

Biri steps over to me and shows me the file on her PADD. "Nothing out of the ordinary, just an asteroid mining company. They're registered out of Betazed."

"Nope, nothing out of the ordinary." I turn back to the screen. "Thank you for your time, Thot Kong. I'll get out of your hair." I make a slashing gesture across my throat to Esplin and she cuts the channel.

Pakniso sets the ship back on its course and goes off shift, and JG Park takes her place. We continue around Malon IV with our vector taking us to a dwarf planet in the mid-system asteroid belt when Esplin's console chimes. Her eyes widen and she turns to me. "Captain! I'm reading a distress signal from a freighter near Malon II!"

"Onscreen!"

The visual part of the transmission is snowy but I can make out the crocodilian face of a very large Gorn. The audio is briefly a cacophany of hisses and growls, then the universal translator kicks in in mid-word. "SSSRrgarg--day! Mayday! This is Captain S'bek of the independent freighter Shargrash! We are under attack by Jem'Hadar vessels! Requesting immediate assistance from anyone receiving this signal! Cargo manifest follows!" I recognize the indie freighter practice of transmitting one's cargo manifest as an offer of payment. The transmission continues on a loop and Esplin mutes it.

"Skipper," Tess says, "under any other circumstance I'd be inclined to let Gorn and Jem'Hadar blast each other to bits, and we play winner, but that's a civilian. We can be there in less than a minute."

I nod and hit my intercom key. "All hands, battle stations." Klaxons sound throughout the ship as I release the key and order Esplin to hail the Shargrash. "SS Shargrash, this is the USS Bajor. We have received your signal and are responding. ETA"--I run the math on my PADD--"twenty seconds."

"Thank you, please hurry!" S'bek responds, then vanishes from the screen.

"JG Park?"

"I'm on it." After a couple seconds, "We're clear of the planet!"

"Warp six, engage!"

----

Author's Note: "Dalsh" is a Breen rank I made up for this fic. The closest translation is "shipmaster", and it's the equivalent of a rear admiral (upper half).
Last edited by StarSword on 2014-01-31 07:34pm, edited 2 times in total.
Star Carrier by Ian Douglas: Analysis and Talkback

The Vortex Empire: I think the real question is obviously how a supervolcano eruption wiping out vast swathes of the country would affect the 2016 election.
Borgholio: The GOP would blame Obama and use the subsequent nuclear winter to debunk global warming.
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Chapter 5: No, It's Not, Either

Post by StarSword »

Chapter 5: No, It's Not, Either
Twelve seconds and 1.3 light-hours later we drop back to sublight and race towards Malon II at full impulse. Master Chief Wiggin locates the Shargrash and throws the optical sensor readouts onto the viewscreen. The Gorn freighter has multiple hull breaches and the starboard impulse engine is out, but by skill, luck, or some mixture of both, they're managing to avoid the worst of the pirates' fire, even using their cargo tractor beam to chuck small rocks and various bits of debris into their path (not very effectively, but they're trying). For their part the pirates, a Jem attack ship and three fighters in varying states of repair, are whaling on them with essentially everything they've got.

"Comms," I order, "broadcast in the clear, all channels."

"Ready, ma'am," Esplin says nervously.

"Jem'Hadar vessels, this is Captain Kanril Eleya of the Starfleet vessel USS Bajor. You are ordered to release control of your helm. Heave to, and prepare to be boarded."

The Jems don't flinch. One of them, probably the biggest and ugliest I've ever seen, even briefly appears on the screen and tells us to go away in a supremely disinterested tone. I'm even a little insulted. "Tess, fire at will."

"Aye. Shields up, locking weapons. Tac hologram online." A 3D display of the nearest twenty kilometers of the system materializes between the command bench and the viewscreen.

The Bajor drives straight at the Jems and a series of coruscating orange streams of nadion particles lance out at the attack ship. Doesn't do too much damage but we get their attention. A purple polaron beam impacts against our shield in return to even less effect. My home's defenses are far stronger than theirs. "Conn, port forty degrees, twenty degree down," I call. "Attack pattern Picard Lambda."

Streams of polaron bolts from the fighters hiss into nonexistence against the shields, followed by a slight jolt to the bridge from a torpedo. "Starboard shields at 98 percent and regaining," Tess reports. "Biri, can you get those fighters out of my face?"

"I'm on it! Tractor beam ... locked!" On the tac display one of the fighters to our starboard freezes in place as a focused beam of gravitons closes an inexorable grip upon it. "He's all yours, Tac!"

"Firing phasers." Our full broadside of eight Type 10 phasers crashes into the irritant and tears it in half in an eyeblink. "Splash one!" Tess crows.

"Two more behind us, sir," Wiggin calls, "and that attack ship is--torpedoes incoming! Locked and homing!"

"Tess," I order, "Forward Two to point defense mode! Reinforce forward shields!"

"Point defense running!" she confirms. "Aft banks locked on contact F2 and firing!" The forward beam easily picks off two of the incoming torpedoes and the third impacts harmlessly on the shields. Meanwhile the aft phasers lance out at fighter number two. One misses but two and three crash straight into its sidewall, which collapses. "Aft launcher locked! Firing!" A single quantum torpedo shrieks out of the aft torpedo tube. Seconds later its proximity fuse detonates, and a multi-megaton burst of plasma and charged particles incinerates the hapless fighter.

"Contacts F1 and JAS1 still active! F1 coming around!" Its symbol on the hologram rockets past us to port and below the saucer, firing as it goes. It lets what's probably its full complement of torpedoes go much too close for us to intercept and they smash full force into our port sidewall. "Shields holding, 78 percent!"

"Return the favor, Tess. Forward beams." Six coruscating orange lances from the saucer reach out and touch the fighter. Two direct hits, four glancing caresses. The fighter's warp core is punctured and it detonates in a blinding flash.

"JAS1 is turning," Chief Wiggin reports, calmly. "Christ, they're moving to ram us, aiming for Main Engineering!" I flash on a horror story from before the Dominion War, when this scenario played out over the planet known as "Paradise" in the Gamma Quadrant and cost us the original USS Odyssey.

Not today. Not here. "Tess, drop aft shields and stop engines," I order.

"What?"

"You heard me. Drop aft shields, stop engines, and put everything on the nav deflector."

"Oh, I see where you're going with this," she says with almost sadistic glee on her face. "Ops, nav deflector to maximum power. Repeat, maximum possible power."

"Nav deflector powered," Gaarra's voice comes through the intercom.

The Jems come streaking in and ... let's say that while combat shields are bad at stopping kinetic impactors, seeing as how nobody on this side of the galaxy uses them, it's precisely what the nav deflector is designed for. They slam into the barrier at a sharp angle and bounce off, the display showing their starboard nacelle has sheared right off. Their shields are down, their weapons are wrecked, and with only one engine they start to go into a flat spin. "Conn, come about, one-four-seven." I hail them again as the Bajor yaws to starboard. "Jem'Hadar vessel, you're defenseless. Surrender now and we'll beam you off your ship."

The response is something I've been told is extremely rude in the Dominion trade language. Their spin begins to slow as they start firing their remaining thrusters in sequence. I roll my eyes, even though I was pretty much expecting this; Jems rarely surrender. "Tess, do me a favor and put them out of their misery."

"With pleasure. Firing as she bears." She hammers her key and the saucer's ventral phaser array lances out once more and transects the ship's torpedo magazine. The secondary explosion disintegrates the forward half of the ship and sends the stern careening off down Malon II's gravity well.

"Damage report?" I say.

"Other than some klutz in astrometrics who fell over and hit his shoulder on a table when that Jem ran into us, no casualties," Biri reports. "No damage either; shields are coming back to full."

"Well done, everyone!" I say in a satisfied tone. I hit the intercom. "Secure ship from battle stations and return to previous alert level." The combat holodisplay disappears and I release the key. "Comms, hail the Shargrash for me."

"Channel open," Esplin says, breathing heavily.

I look at her, then back at the viewscreen where Captain S'bek has appeared. I'll have to talk to her in a bit. "SS Shargrash, you okay over there?"

S'bek nods. "Never in my life did I ever imagine I would be grateful to the Federation Starfleet. I am in your debt, Captain Kanril."

"Just doing my job. Need any help getting your ship fixed?"

"Thank you for the offer but, surprisingly enough, we'll be all right. We managed to save the essential systems and we can make it to the Ragesh Mining repair station at Malon IV on one impulse engine. I owe your crew a round of drinks."

"You're welcome. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"I'll try. Once again, thank you." He vanishes from the screen. Fifteen kilometers ahead, the Gorn freighter comes about and goes to warp.

"Ensign Esplin, can I speak to you for a moment?"

The Saurian stands and walks over, standing at attention. I can see her lips quivering a bit but she stays more or less expressionless. "At ease," I tell her. "This your first time in a real fight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How are you feeling?"

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

"During the fight, I was scared."

"And now?"

"Numb, ma'am. How am I supposed to feel? I just killed people."

"No, you didn't; I did," Tess replies from my right, "but that's not important right now. You're feeling about what the skipper and me expected. Right, ma'am?"

I nod, stand, and put my hand on Esplin's shoulder. "You'll be fine. I'm not going to rely on cliche here: the first battle isn't the hardest, it's just the first. And frankly, as pathetic as that one was, I guarantee the next will be harder. You do your job and work with your crewmates and you get through. The rest is up to the Prophets."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And if you need to talk to someone," Biri adds, "Counselor Shree's office is always open.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Carry on, Ensign."

She walks back over to her station, but it chimes as she sits down. "Now what?" she wonders aloud. She checks the readout and turns back to me. "Ma'am, Admiral Marconi is on subspace for you."

I stand and straighten my jacket. "Onscreen."

Marconi's in a worse mood than he was when I met him, glaring into the camera, his jaw tight. "Captain, I'm pulling you off your route. You are to proceed to the Dreon System immediately at maximum military power."

"Why? What's going on?"

"I have no earthly idea. DS9 picked up a garbled subspace message thirty seconds ago from the Bajoran colony on Dreon VII. The only word we could make out was 'help' and it cut off after ten seconds." He pauses, then continues. "I'm also dispatching the Jadzia Dax and the Amaterasu but you'll be there a good fifteen minutes ahead of either of them. Your orders are to render aid as necessary and report in. Find out what's going on but don't risk your ship needlessly, understand?"

"I never do, sir."

"Good, get moving."

"Conn, set course for the Dreon System." I hit the intercom key. "Bridge to Engineering, give me everything you can get out of the warp drive."

"I'm on it, Skipper," comes the voice of my chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Bynam Ehrob. "I can get you warp 9.98 for forty minutes but I'll have to take the core offline to cool off after that."

"Nav, that enough?"

"Barely, Skipper," Lt. Ivanovich replies. "We'll reach the planet but we won't be able to warp back out."

"Let's hope we don't need to. Conn, warp 9.98."

"Warp 9.98, aye," JG Park replies. "ETA thirty-eight minutes, twelve seconds."

"Tess, yellow alert, and take us back to battle stations at T minus three minutes. JG Park, punch it."

"We're on our way!" He punches the command into his console and the ship accelerates past lightspeed, gunning for the warp ten barrier.

----

Author's note: Counselor Shree is a reference to another Foundry mission, "Relics" by Kirkfat, where she's an NPC. Hope he doesn't mind. :)

In addition to mounting quantum torpedoes and carrying a safer warp core, the Bajor's simply newer than the Enterprise and built with forty-odd years of technical advancements, hence being faster (the big E could only sustain warp 9.9 for ten minutes, as opposed to the Bajor's 9.98 for forty). I'm also analyzing the GCS's armament from a perspective of what you could do with ten Type 10 phasers (not counting the one atop the stardrive, which isn't usable with the saucer docked) if a special effects budget wasn't an issue.
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Re: Bait and Switch (Star Trek Online)

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Chapter 6: Asymptotic to Death
Warp speeds are a little on the strange side. Cochrane's Fourth Law, at least following the 2312 speed scale recalibration, dictates that up to warp nine, your speed is equal to the speed of light times your warp factor to the ten-thirds power. This puts travel speeds for the average journey at a Starfleet vessel's usual cruising speed of warp seven at a little less than 1.8 light-years per day.

Above warp nine, however, the game changes. Here the graph becomes a vertical asymptote, approaching infinite velocity as you close on warp ten. Actually reaching warp ten is impossible, of course. Even transwarp conduits and the quantum slipstream drives they've got on some of the newer ships in our arsenal only add digits after warp nine's decimal point. And if there's one commonality between a warp drive and hoofing it on foot, it's that the faster you want to go, the more energy you consume, and the greater the strain on your engines. Push them too far, and Bad Things happen.

It's for this reason that when Bynam calls the bridge at T minus two minutes, he's worried. "Skipper, are we there yet? Because we're past redline on the warp core. The ship can't take this much longer."

Taking the jumja stick out of my mouth, I reply, "We're nearly there. Hundred seconds out."

"Good, because I'm going to have to take the whole system offline for at least four hours afterwards."

"Effects on a combat mission?"

"Without the warp core? Assuming this is a combat mission, I can get you 90 percent power if we go to 110 on the fusion reactors and kick in the auxiliary generators."

"Tess?"

"90 percent just sets us back to the level of an '80s vintage Galaxy, Skipper. That should still be more than enough to outclass almost anything short of a cube."

I shudder at the thought. After Vega Colony and their subsequent raids all over the Alpha Quadrant I've seen enough of the damned boltheads to last a lifetime, and if it is the Borg there's nothing we can do. Not since they started sending dozens of cubes at a time, under escort no less, instead of just a lone cube. "Start the emergency power systems, Bynam."

"I'm on it. Engineer out."

"Master Chief, we picking up anything?"

"Subspace is a mess, Skipper," Wiggin reports. "Too much interference; I can't see a thing."

"Source?"

"Couldn't tell you for sure, but my gut says somebody's got some serious jamming."

Electronic warfare. That would explain the distress signal being garbled. Who is it, though? Pirates? KDF? Worse?

Whatever it is, it's probably good that we had time to get everyone into vac-suits this time.

"Skipper," JG Park, "coming out of warp in five, four, three, two, one."

The stars redshift and the Bajor rapidly brakes to 0.02c as it approaches Dreon VII. "Master Chief," I say, "run a scan of the area."

"Hold on," Wiggin responds, "I've got something on passive sensors. What are you?" he whispers into his console as we close on the planet. Then, "Gotcha. Captain, I'm reading impulse engines, probably Orion based on the emissions profile. Three corvettes and a flight of interceptors, dead ahead. Range, two thousand klicks and closing fast."

Tess taps a command and the tactical hologram flickers back into existence. "Comms," I order, "burst message to DS9. Begin transmission. 'Have engaged Orion Syndicate ships over Dreon VII.' End transmission."

"Sorry, ma'am," Esplin says in a panicky tone, "they're jamming every subspace radio frequency there is!"

"Steady there, Ensign, we're not in trouble yet. Conn, straight at 'em."

"Straight at 'em, Skipper," Park confirms.

"I have a lock," Tess coolly reports. "Firing forward phasers." Six coherent streams of nadions erupt from the saucer at the oncoming ships. Two swat a fighter out of existence, the others slam into the oncoming corvettes. Tess sets the battery into rapid fire, but the greenskins are flying so close together they're overlapping each others' shields, reinforcing each other. I'm briefly impressed by their ship handling: not many can safely handle ships that close together. The greenskins return fire, charged particles lancing from their disruptor banks and dissipating against our forward shields. "Shields holding, 90 percent."

"Come on, you idiots, flinch. Flinch." If they don't break off soon they'll hit us. At two klicks they finally realize I'm not breaking off and scatter to all sides, fanning out over and around the Bajor's saucer. "Biri, can you get a tractor lock on one of the corvettes?"

"This jamming isn't making things easy! I'm working on it, trying to compensate for the flux patterns!"

"Torpedoes launched," Wiggin states. "Fighters moving to hit us from behind."

"Aft One to point defense," Tess reacts.

The lights dim and the bridge jolts under a barrage of disruptor fire and torpedoes from the interceptors. "Damage report!" I order.

"Aft shields at 80 percent, starboard at 67," Tess replies. "Minor damage to EPS systems in starboard nacelle. Damage Control is responding."

"Conn, come right two-three-zero, forty up. Bridge to Engineering, dump warp plasma from the nacelles. Maybe we can keep them off our backs."

"Wasn't using it anyway, Skipper," Bynam replies through the intercom. "Venting plasma."

A greenish cloud of ionized gas streams aft from the nacelle vents, catching four of the remaining five fighters on an attack run. One explodes outright, one is immobilized, the rest damaged. "Aft phasers locked," Tess says, making an adjustment on her console. "Firing." The stern battery spits lances of bright orange particles into the fighter swarm. One pierces the leader's shields amidships and hits something important enough for a secondary explosion to rip the ship to pieces. Another two slam into reinforced shields that buckle enough under the stress for a third to penetrate and punch into the crew compartment; the interceptor goes careening onto a ballistic course, out of the fight.

"Contact C2 coming about," Wiggin calls. "Reading weapons locks. Ma'am, they've dropped their aft shields!" Far strengthened disruptor fire smashes into our port sidewall, followed closely by a spread of photon torpedoes. The shields buckle and a single torpedo penetrates and strikes a glancing blow 200 meters off the bridge. A console explodes to my right, sending an ops noncom flying from his chair.

"Medical team to the bridge!" I order. "Damage report!"

An engineering senior chief responds, "Hull breach, Holodeck Five and Compartment Ten-Sierra! Casualties in Planetary Sciences! Damage control and medical responding!"

"Defensive pattern Kirk Alpha! Roll ship!"

Park starts the ship into a barrel roll and begins bringing the saucer to bear as Tess returns fire against the corvette. "Torpedoes locked. Launching a spread, dispersal pattern foxtrot." Five quantum torpedoes erupt from the forward launcher and home in as our phaser strips spit fire at the corvette. Two missiles miss completely and careen off into space. One more impacts the shields at the same time as four beams strike home. The barrier collapses and the last two torpedoes collide head-on with the corvette and its entire front half shatters. "Won't be seeing him again, Skipper!"

"Good shooting," I agree. "What about the others?" Disruptor beams strike the aft shields. "Never mind. Tess?"

Biri responds instead. "I've got a lock! Aft tractor beam coming up!" Contact C3 isn't frozen but Biri is able to redirect its course straight into our dissipating plasma cloud which rapidly eats away at its shields. It also renders it a perfect target for a full broadside, which Tess is only too happy to give. Their aft shields overload almost instantly, setting off a secondary explosion that rips a gash in the hull above the port nacelle. A second broadside, off-axis as the Bajor comes about to bring the forward launcher to bear, hits all over the unprotected hull, including against the port maneuvering fin, which snaps loose and smashes into the vessel amidships.

"Forward launcher locked and firing!" Tess crows. Another torpedo races out the tube and detonates. "Direct hit!" The greenskins' warp core explodes and the ship vanishes in a single eye-searing flash.

More disruptor fire to our stern from contact C1. "Fektal thras merka," Tess grinds out in Andorian, glaring at her console as if it just insulted her mother. "She's playing it safe, staying above the launcher's targeting arc, and we're not doing enough damage with the aft phasers. Conn, you've got to give me an Ivan."

"Always wanted to try one," Park replies. He sounds cheerful but I can hear a tinge of concern in his voice. "Accelerating to full impulse to get some distance on him." The distance opens a bit but the corvette stays with us and that last interceptor comes in low to port on another attack run. The ventral phaser strip fires and rakes the fighter stem to stern, ripping off a wing and killing an engine. It goes into a flat spin and quickly disintegrates. "Crazy Ivan in three, two, one, firing thrusters!"

As much as you'd like it to sometimes, a 4.5 megaton cruiser doesn't turn on a dime. Instead, blue-hot fire erupts from the port bow and starboard side of the saucer and the Bajor slews to port as it rotates, the inertial dampers allowing just enough of the g-forces through to be able to feel it. As the ship passes through 100 degrees, Tess announces, "I have a shot!"

"Emergency power to phasers!" I order. "Target the bridge!"

"Firing!" Five searing streams of particles lance out and slam into the greenskins' shields. "They're at twenty percent!"

"Hit 'em again! Park, tilt us!"

"Pitching ship!" Park shouts.

Still flying backwards the Bajor rears up like a stallion, bringing the forward launcher and ventral gun to bear. "Torpedoes locked! Firing everything!" Now all six banks fire and the tube spits ordnance. The corvette's shields shatter under the barrage and five quantum torpedoes strike home. The first puts a crater where the bridge used to be. The second dives into the breach and detonates somewhere inside the ship. The third apparently strikes debris and blows prematurely. The fourth goes straight in and blows a hole out the other side. The fifth overpenetrates, detonating on the far side of the ship, but the damage is already done. Almost as an afterthought the warp core blows four seconds later, reducing the ship to a glowing cloud.

I let out a breath I never realized I was holding. "Good work, people."

Chief Wiggin spoils my mood. "We're not out of this yet. Still reading massive subspace interfer--Impulse engine! Heavy capital, looks like a Slavemaster-class battleship in low orbit, ten thousand kilometers astern!"

"Probably the ship pumping out the ECM. Park, come about and take us after them. Tess, casualties from the last fight?"

Tess grimly replies, "Doctor Wirrpanda reports four dead, twenty-seven wounded from the hit to deck ten. Two critical, ten serious, fifteen minor. Our shields are recharging."

Out of the corner of my eye I see the turbolift door slide open and two medics rush in to begin tending to the injured petty officer. "He okay?" I ask.

"He'll be fine, but we have to get him to sickbay. Three, two, one, lift!" They hoist him onto the stretcher and rush back out.

"Can we handle a Slavemaster-class like this?" I ask Tess.

"No rougher than taking on three corvettes simultaneously, Skipper."

The Bajor makes its way down the gravity well towards the battleship, which comes to port to meet us. We're still upside down relative to them as Tess opens fire. Coruscating orange lances reach out for the battleship, which returns fire. "I'm dropping all shields except the facing side and dumping the power onto that shield," Tess says as the bridge shudders under their disruptor fire. I nod my agreement as we close. Orange and green beams crisscross between us. "Shields holding, 92 percent. Ditto the Orions."

"We need to tip the odds somehow. Tess, put our phasers into random remodulation. Maybe we'll hit the frequency they're using for their shields. Meanwhile pull power from engines and dump to phasers."

"Phasers remodulating," she confirms.

Now instead of a solid orange the blasts from the forward batteries are rimmed in all colors of the rainbow. The battleship fires a spread of photon torpedoes. Tess swats two, three miss, but the rest collide with the shields and the bridge shakes hard. "Damage report!"

"Forward shields down to 70 percent, and I've got power fluctuations in Phaser Three." She hits a key and says, "Damage control to Gunnery Three," into her console mic.

I look back to the tac hologram. Disruptor fire and phasers continue to race back and forth as the distance closes, but as we close head-on I can tell these greenskins are braver than the last. "Conn, they're not breaking off. Come port thirty so we don't get run over." Park bangs out a command and the Bajor swings clear of their heading with only hundreds of meters to spare.

"Switching to broadside and re-angling shield!" Tess says. Eight beams crash into the Orions' facing flank. One green-tinged lance goes straight through and strikes something on the hull. A massive secondary explosion rips the battleship's sidepod off, laying a dozen decks open to space. Air, debris, and bodies rush out of the breach. Tess gives an exultant whoop that leaves my ears ringing. "They felt that one!"

I press a palm to my ear. "A little quieter next time, Tess."

"Sorry, ma'am," she says, not sounding sorry at all. She's in her element, and the joy of battle is in her blue Andorian veins as much as with any Klingon. I shake my head and divert more power to the phasers.

We race past the battleship, firing continuously. "Reading near-complete power loss to their facing shields!" Wiggin reports.

Tess responds, "Aft launcher locked. Launching full spread!"

Five torpedoes shriek clear of the aft tube. One is caught immediately by their ECM, its guidance crashes, and it goes straight off into deep space. The second and third are quickly targeted and swatted out of space by disruptor fire. One more impacts against their remaining sliver of shields. One gets through, hitting like the fist of an angry god against their unprotected hull. One of their impulse engines fails. A secondary explosion, probably a power system overloading, rips a gash in the dorsal hull. "Their shields are collapsing!"

"Tess, hold fire for a moment," I order. "Comms, broadcast on all frequencies." Esplin waves me on. "Orion vessel, your shields are dead, you've got holes in your hull, and there's more quantum torpedoes where the last ones came from. Surrender now and--" Fresh disruptor fire comes in from their aft mounts and they start to roll to present what's left of their shields. "Well, I guess that answers that question," I comment. "Help yourself, Tess."

She gives a toothy grin and resumes pummeling them with the aft phasers. "Launcher locked and loading." She pauses for a moment. "Firing."

Three more torpedoes race out of the tube. Tess has angled them onto a parabolic course, sending them up and over and straight into the still-failed shields. A staccato series of brilliant white flashes, silent in the vacuum, and the battleship's narrow neck shatters. The drive section rushes forward, spinning out of control, and smashes into the bow at a right angle, tearing straight through. The remaining engine goes out but somehow someone must be alive in their engineering section because Wiggin is telling me they've shut down the warp core. "Wiggin, scan for lifeforms."

"Reading four in the engineering section, two a couple decks up."

"Beam them directly to the brig and get medical teams there. What about the planet?"

He shakes his head. "This isn't over, Skipper. Reading small arms fire coming from a small village in a mountain region on the southern hemisphere nightside. Looks like they got some ground platoons off before we got here."

"We'll have to beam down and take them out. Tess, Biri, you're with me. Park, you have the bridge. Esplin, apprise DS9 of our situation and send a general alert to Starfleet Command." I hit the intercom. "Dul'krah, I need four security officers to Armory Two for an away team." The three of us run for the turbolift. "Armory Two."

In the armory I peel off my vac-suit and pull on the body glove that goes on under my battle armor. Robot arms assist with locking the greaves, cuirass, pauldrons, gauntlets, boots, other sections I'm not sure of the names of, securely into their places. The power assistance comes online and I flex my arms and hands, hearing the quiet whir of the servos.

I walk forward to the weapons locker and withdraw a belt of photon grenades. A Type 2 phaser pistol. A Type 4 rifle. A G23 grenade launcher. I turn around to check on the rest of the team. As usual Tess looks even more buxom and curvy than she does in uniform, given the tight fit of the body glove and armorweave plates. But what attracts my attention more is her weapon, which is almost as big as she is. "Tess, what the phekk is that?"

"Phased polaron minigun," she says matter-of-factly.

"Don't remember requisitioning that."

"Bought it from a Ferengi trader while we were at DS9. He supposedly got it from the Dosi."

"You really think we'll need that SAW?"

"Says the woman carrying a grenade launcher," Biri points out, making an adjustment to her Type 4S.

Four members of our security contingent arrive and begin suiting up. I look around to identify them. Lieutenant K'lak, the mustachioed Klingon who was nearly in that bar fight back at DS9. Ensign Kate McMillan, a sweet, friendly redhead who's up for promotion in a couple weeks. Senior Chief Athezra Darrod, a Bajoran from the capital who came aboard at our last port. Crewman Cdebaat, a rough, gruff Tellarite.

My combadge chirps. "CMO to Cap'n," comes the tenor voice of Doctor Warragul Wirrpanda.

I slap the badge. "Go ahead, Doc."

"My team's got the prisoners from the brig. One of them was impaled by a spar before you beamed him out and he flatlined before we got to him. A second is missing a leg. The others are mostly okay."

"I care more about the casualties from Deck Ten, Doc."

"I've still got Specialist Sebod on the table--no, hold the clamp there, damn it!--on the table with a sucking chest wound but the rest are stable, ma'am."

"Keep at it but be ready, we may have more work for you in a few minutes."

"Aye, aye. CMO out."

The transporter room is located right across the corridor from the armory. "Tell me more about the target," I say to the group as we walk in.

Ens. McMillan speaks up. "Village by the name of Tholis, population of less than 750 people, and it's in a mountain range a good hour by aircar from anywhere bigger."

"750 people? What could they possibly want with something that small?"

McMillan shrugs. K'lak adjusts the front sight on his sniper rifle and replies, "Orions may be best known for selling their own women but they also trade in non-Orions." He looks disgusted. "Vile business. Not even the Ferengi will stoop that low."

I grit my teeth as I take my place on the transporter pad. "I hate greenskins. Chief Bandicek, energize."

The Benzite at the transporter station taps her console and I briefly feel an electric tingle, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then I feel nothing.

----

Author's Note: Though I admit to making up the name "Cochrane's Fourth Law", the warp speed details given at the start of the chapter are right out of the TNG Technical Manual.
Last edited by StarSword on 2013-12-22 08:41pm, edited 1 time in total.
Star Carrier by Ian Douglas: Analysis and Talkback

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Re: Bait and Switch (Star Trek Online)

Post by StarSword »

Ok, long chapter. Longest yet, actually.
Chapter 7: A Nightmarish Rage
We materialize on a wooded hillside and I have to adjust my footing immediately. It's dark, but the area is lit up by a burning building about fifty meters ahead. I flick on the underslung flashlight on my rifle's rail. "Athezra, Cdebaat, take point. K'lak, rearguard."

"Aye, Captain," Chief Athezra confirms. He raises his rifle and moves ahead of us with the Tellarite. I count to five and follow, moving to cover their advance. Tess has her minigun slung and is covering with her pistol, and Biri and I have our rifles held across our chests as we move from cover to cover.

We come to the building. Standard colony prefab, plastic construction with duracrete foundation. Staying clear of the flames I pull my tricorder and run a low-power scan. "Got traces of accelerant," I mutter. "Sher hahr kosst, the bastards used a flamethrower on this."

"I got bodies!" McMillan calls from around front. I run around the side to join her. Six or seven, all Bajoran. I kneel by one lying face-down, and check for a pulse. Nothing. I roll the corpse over. Light-skinned woman, maybe twenty-six, brown hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes staring blankly off at the night sky, shot in the gut with a disruptor. I recognize the burn pattern from that terrible night on the Kira over a decade ago. Definitely a KDF-pattern weapon, a compression-style pistol if I were to guess. At least she died quickly. I mutter a quick prayer for the dead to the Prophets and brush her eyelids closed.

"Captain!" K'lak calls. "Over here!" The Klingon and McMillan are on their stomachs at the crest of the hill. The rest of us run over and hit the ground. K'lak hands me his binoculars. "Those two buildings down the hillside."

I look through and zoom in. A pair of two-story buildings in a clearing at the bottom of the hill, mostly burned out and -- "Got 'em. Five, no, six greenskins. Looks like they've got a couple of hostages, one up, one down."

"Can I see, ma'am?" Tess asks. I pass her the binocs. "Well, they're agitated about something."

"Probably trying to figure out what happened to their ride," McMillan says. "Sir, you want to set up here?" K'lak grunts an affirmative and extends the bipod on his rifle while McMillan reaches into his backpack for the spotting scope. "We'll stay up here and cover you, ma'am."

"I'll wait for your signal, Captain," K'lak agrees.

I give them a thumbs-up and get up, moving carefully down the steep hillside towards the pathway between the two buildings. It takes about two minutes to reach the buildings. Tess holsters her pistol and unslings the minigun and we work our way around to the front, opposite the hill. I lean against the cover of the building, feeling the duracrete still warm from the fires that burned inside, hand-signaling the lighter-armed Biri and Athezra to go across to the opposite building, quietly, and I wait.

I overhear one of the greenskins say something into a communicator, then say more loudly, "I can't raise the ship, boss. Something's wrong."

I count off on my hand from five, then jump out from cover with my rifle raised and hit the amplifier on my armor. "This is Starfleet! Throw down your weapons!"

"I'll kill her!" one of them yells, grabbing a sobbing woman -- no, girl, she can't be more than fourteen -- and holding his pistol to her head.

"K'lak, take him!" I bark into my combadge. A single bright orange particle beam lances out from the hilltop and neatly skewers the Orion's head from behind. The girl is aware enough to hit the ground as I pull the trigger on my rifle and strike another of them full in the chest. He stumbles backward and tries to bring his own weapon to bear but Cdebaat hits him again and he goes down.

A disruptor shot hisses into my shields. I swing the rifle and trigger a burst in its direction and the greenskin dives for cover behind a large chunk of fallen wall material. I stand and flatten against the wall as more beams hiss past me.

I hear a whine from over my shoulder and suddenly a spectacular spray of purple bolts goes past me. One of the greenskins takes it full in the front and flies backwards with a dozen holes in him, while number five, this one with a personal shield, gets to cover in one piece. I hear Tess yelling something in Andorian but I can't tell what over the racket from her weapon.

I advance with Athezra while Biri and Cdebaat fire their rifles past to keep them honest. An Orion pokes his head out of cover with his gun, but I spot him and shoot him in the face and half his head paints the wall behind him. Another throws a grenade blindly over their cover. I go right, Athezra dives forward and the detonation sends a wash of heat over me. "I've lost my shields!" Athezra yells. Another orange lance reaches out from K'lak's position and hits behind the Orions' cover. One jerks to his feet and Cdebaat shoots him in the side and sends him sprawling.

"I say again, throw out your weapons and surrender! Last chance to live, you damn greenskin!" The last Orion says something my universal translator refuses to elaborate on, pops up with weapon leveled, and Biri, Tess, Cdebaat and I all shoot him at once. His shield generator explodes with a shrieking crack and sends bits of him everywhere.

"Check the civilians!" I bark at nobody in particular. I run over to the girl. She's basically fine but won't stop crying. and begging, "I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!" in Hathoni dialect.

"Shel na tal. Vo bo tal shek. You're fine. You're safe now," I gently say to her in Hathoni. She's still shaking and crying. "Look, look at me." I grab her head in both hands and force her to look me in the eye. "Look at me, at my face. I'm Bajoran, not Orion. You're safe, understand?" She's still sniffling a bit but at least she isn't outright wailing anymore.

"Skipper, this one's been shot!" Tess shouts to me in English.

"Biri!" I yell over my shoulder. She may be my science officer but she's trained in field medicine.

"On it, Eleya!"

"Talk to me," I say to the girl. "What's your name?"

She sniffles. "Ansela. Shakaar Ansela."

Oh boy. "Shakaar? As in the former First Minister?"

"No relation."

"Whew." That's a relief. At least I don't have to deal with Bajoran politics on top of all the rest of this mess. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"They took my mother. They shot my father in front of me."

"Where did they take your mother?"

"Beamed her out."

"When?"

"I don't know!"

She starts crying again. I'm not going to get anything else out of her like this, so I slap my combadge. "Eleya to bridge, get me Dr. Shree. I need to send her a guest for a while."

"Shree here."

"I've got a traumatized fourteen-year-old for you. Mother's MIA, father's dead, she's physically fine but I don't have the training to deal with this and there's more greenskins down here."

There's a pause. "Captain, I keep telling you to do something about that racism of yours."

"You can criticize my feelings on the enemy later, Shree. Right now I need to do your job."

"I am doing my job."

"No, I am not dealing with this right now! I'm in a phekk'ta war zone! I've been able to get her name, Shakaar Ansela, but nothing else. I need you to take her until I'm sure the area's secure. Need me to make it an order? 'Cause I will."

"All right, fine, send her up. Anybody ever tell you you're a terrible patient?"

I pretend I didn't hear the last part. "Thank you." I turn back to the girl. "Listen, Ansel, I'm sending you to a friend of mine. No, no, focus on my face. I'm sending you to a very good friend. Her name is Shree. She's on my ship, and she's going to take care of you for a little while. Is that all right?" Ansel nods. "Okay then. Chief Bandicek, one to beam directly to Dr. Shree's office." Blue sparkles wash over the girl and she fades from existence.

I turn around and dash over to Biri, who's running a tricorder over the other Bajoran. Male, I'd say mid-forties, green-eyed carrot-top, wearing a muddy tunic that was probably white at some point. Disruptor burns to the right shoulder. "How is he?" I ask Biri.

"I'll live," her patient answers. Who -- Ahel Bajor'eta," he suddenly says in an startled tone in Hathoni.

"Yes, I'm Bajoran," I respond. "Who are you?"

"Surmak Remal, town council. Ansela's my niece."

"Kanril Eleya, Captain, USS Bajor."

The man swells about a size, smiling despite the pain. "By the Prophets, one of ours, a Starfleet captain. That's wonderful! OW!" he suddenly says as Biri jabs his carotid with a hypospray. Then he blinks rapidly, probably to clear the medicine fuzz out of his eyes.

"What's the Orion Syndicate doing here?"

"Raiding for slaves, I'd wager. They showed up about four hours ago and started beaming people out. Anyone who mouthed off or fought back, like our local Militia unit, they shot. Although they stopped beaming folks out and started torching buildings, I think for laughs, about half an hour ago."

I run the math in my head. Half an hour ago would be at least ten minutes before we arrived, which means it's likely there was another ship in orbit that left before we arrived, so we didn't blow up any hostages with the battleship. Then I realize there's something that doesn't add up so well. "Wait, go back a page. Four hours ago? DS9 only picked up the distress signal an hour ago."

"You got a distress signal? That means -- OW!"

"Sorry," Biri says, and adjusts something on her protoplaser.

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, I'm former Starfleet myself." Off my look, "Security noncom, got out in '04. Anyway, if you're here, that means Captain Jerek got through to the backup transmitter in town hall after all. Maybe they're still alive."

"Where's town hall?"

"South of here, past the stone archway."

I turn away and pan a tricorder in that direction. "Reading about a dozen life signs, some Bajoran, some Orion. Also burned buildings."

"Like I said, they were burning our houses for laughs. And, damn, our workshops, too. Tholis gets by on furniture sales. We make furniture from local woods and sell it down the mountain and offworld. Even if they hadn't kidnapped so many of us they've destroyed our livelihoods."

"Eleya," Biri says, "I've done what I can for him but there's a lot of deep tissue damage. He's going to need Warragul to look at him."

"Mr. Surmak?"

"Go ahead, send me up. Just make sure Ansela knows."

"Chief Bandicek," I say into my combadge, "one to beam directly to sickbay. Bridge, inform Shakaar Ansela that her uncle is on the ship in sickbay." More blue sparkles as he's beamed out. I hand-signal everyone to form up and move out.

We move south, past a natural stone arch draped in moss and reach a clearing with several burned houses in it. More bodies, and a vegetable garden that was once neatly manicured but has been partly trampled. Among the bodies is a dead greenskin slumped against a pile of crates. We run over and Biri checks him with her tricorder. "Based on these readings, he was killed with a Type 2 phaser. Definitely a Bajoran Militia model, too."

Suddenly a disruptor bolt strikes Chief Athezra full in the chest. He screams as he flies backwards and the rest of us hit the ground as more bolts and beams shriek out of the woods. I grunt as I land painfully on my phaser rifle. I hit my combadge. "McMillan, we're pinned! I can't see a thing! You see anything from your angle?"

"Hold on. Got 'em. Four Orion males, thirty-two meters ahead of you at the treeline." I overhear her say to K'lak, "Sir, if you'd do the honors? Reference, large stump that looks like your --"

A searing orange lance hisses over our heads. Somebody ahead of us shrieks in pain as I unsling my grenade launcher and pull a proton grenade off my belt. I arm the charge, crack the breech, shove the grenade into the barrel, and snap it shut. More disruptor fire, some fired blindly at K'lak's sniper perch well beyond their effective range. I link the launcher's electronics to my tricorder, find a target, angle the weapon into the air, and yell, "Grenade out!" There's a sound that goes something like choonk as the mass accelerator in the launcher throws the grenade, then a thunderclap, followed by an eerie silence as a fireball rises over the partially trampled katterpod stalks in front of us.

Tess rises into a crouch with her pistol ready and makes her way forward; I cover her with my rifle. She checks ahead of her with her tricorder and signals all clear. "Your grenade was a TPK, ma'am. One of them had a flamethrower and you set off the fuel tank."

We get up and run over to Athezra. He's twitching but alive. "I'm all right, Captain! ARRGH!"

"No, you're not, Chief," Biri says, "you just took a disruptor set to kill right in the chest. Now hold still!" She jams a hypospray into his neck a little harder than strictly necessary and slaps her combadge. "Riyannis to bridge, Chief Athezra needs an emergency beam out. Single EWW to the chest, but conscious and lucid. Send him straight to sickbay."

Chief Bandicek's voice comes through her badge. "Affirmative, beaming out."

Secondhand via McMillan's combadge, I overhear K'lak say, "Ensign, what are you doing comparing a tree stump to my --"

Tess dryly comments, "McMillan, you know your combadge is still transmitting, right?"

There's a loudness-distorted "OH GOD!" Then I don't hear anything else apart from Biri struggling to hold back a paroxysm of laughter.

One man short, we advance through another grove of trees, past a burned-out, formerly two-story storehouse with packing crates piled up next to it, and begin climbing a hill. At its crest is a squat one-story building with a canvas portico. I see more greenskins, including a scantily clad matron, clustered around the door, and drop flat. I pan my tricorder over the building. "Got five life signs inside, all Bajoran."

I hear the matron bang on the door and yell, "Open up in there! Open up in there!"

"Skipper," Cdebaat whispers, "We can take them even without Chief Athezra."

I nod. "Move in slow and quiet, and shoot to kill." We get up, advancing by fire and movement. We're less than ten meters away when I hear a sharp crack. Somebody stepped on a branch. The Orions spin around and raise their weapons but I shoot first and hit one of the males below the left clavicle. The force of the shot spins him around and he goes down, hitting his head on the wall and landing sprawled. Tess rakes the side of the building with her minigun and sends the others looking for cover. Biri opens fire with her rifle and a stream of particles reaches out and hits another of the males in the top of the head.

"I lost the matron," Cdebaat shouts. "Where'd she -- GHALK!"

I spin and the matron comes around a tree and is in my face kicking the rifle out of my hands. She raises a pistol in her right hand but I sidestep, grab her wrist and yank, hard. I bring my right fist down on her hand and smash the gun out of it. Still moving I sweep my right leg into her stomach. I grab her head, smash it into my armored knee and she goes down. The sound of firing is muffled. My ears are ringing as she rolls over and I dive on top of her with my knee landing in her midsection and start hammering her face with my power-armored fists over and over. And over. And over.

Somebody grabs my arm, I throw the hands off. Then somebody tackles me off the matron and holds me down. I swing and connect but the blue-skinned Orion grabs my wrist and presses it into the ground.

Then my brain catches up with my eyes. The blue skin belongs to Tess, not an Orion, and she's screaming into my face, "Eleya! Stand down!"

I just lie there for a moment. All I can say is, "Tess."

"Yes, it's Tess, it's your friend. You back? You went full-on section 8 for a minute there."

"I'm back."

She gets off me and I sit up. "What the hell happened?"

I look over at the matron, whose entire head is a bloody ruin, and the arm I grabbed is bent at an impossible angle. I look at my armor's gauntlets, covered in blood and bits of flesh and brain matter. I look back to Tess, whom I now notice has a split lip. "I have no idea."

"Eleya, you know I'm no stranger to killing people, but I've never seen anyone just lay into someone like that. You beat her to death with your -- okay, not with your bare hands but you know what I mean."

"What happened to the rest of them? What about Cdebaat?"

"That matron had a stealth module. Got the drop on him and broke his neck. Nothing we can do. The other Orions are dead, too." Biri walks over, grabs Tess by the chin and runs a dermal regenerator over her split lip. "Birail, get off, I can do that myself." She grabs the regenerator and starts using it on her mouth.

I wipe my gloves off on the matron's loincloth, spit out a bit of her blood from my mouth, and step over to the console by the doorway to see if I can contact the Bajorans hiding inside. I tap the screen for the doorbell function and a brown-skinned woman maybe a couple years younger than me appears. "I thought I told you sons of Pah-Wraiths to -- Hang on, you're not an Orion. Who are you?"

"Captain Kanril Eleya, USS Bajor."

"What happened to the Orions?"

"I did."

She snorts. "Ha ha. Let me see some identification before I believe you are who you say you are. Slide it under the door." I pop the chestplate on my armor, withdraw my Starfleet credential, and shove it under the doorway. A couple moments later there's the heavy click-clack of a deadbolt and the door opens, and five Bajoran Militia troopers, weapons held ready, warily step out into the predawn twilight.

"Jerek Enya," she introduces herself, "Captain of the Tholis militia detachment. So, our message did get through after all." She looks stern but I can see fatigue in her eyes, and something else.

"Yeah, DS9 got it about an hour ago. It's over."

"No, it's not," she says, leaning forward. "The Orions shot thirty of us that I saw, men, women, children, anyone who fought back or mouthed off, and beamed away over fifty."

"I thought this place had over 700 people in it," Tess queries.

"Most of the town's at a festival down the mountain. The spaceport's had heavy antiorbital guns since the Dominion War and hitting it would've been suicide."

"You fought back," I tell her. "You did right."

"I started with twenty men. Five died holding the datanet transceiver against the Orions. They took a flamethrower to the building. Five more died defending civilians, and I lost the others trying to break through to the backup transmitter here in town hall. I even picked up Surmak, ex-Starfleet security guy, but he didn't last five minutes."

"Surmak's fine," I tell her, "and so's his niece. We found them a few minutes ago and beamed them out."

"Oh, that's good." Her knees suddenly give out and she goes down, hard, slumping against the building. "I'm sorry," she says, looking like she's near tears.

I kneel in front of her. "First time in a real fight?"

"I've never even fired my weapon outside the range before. Captain, this wasn't a fight, it was a massacre."

Now I know what the look in her eyes reminds me of. It's me. She's me, ten years ago on the gunnery deck of the Kira Nerys.

My combadge chirps and JG Park's voice comes through. "Bridge to Captain Kanril."

"Go ahead, Park."

"The Jadzia Dax and Amaterasu just arrived in orbit and they're sending down supplies and medical personnel. We read a cluster of life signs about four klicks east-southeast of your position. Surviving civilians, we think."

"Never mind that, get me Admiral Marconi immediately."

"Aye, Skipper. I'll have Esplin pipe the feed through your tricorder screen."

A moment later the screen lights up with the face of an officious-looking Tellarite petty officer. "Admiral Marconi's office."

"This is Captain Kanril of the Bajor. I need to speak with the admiral immediately."

"I'm afraid the admiral is busy. Can I take a --"

"I don't believe this, does it say 'captain' anywhere on my uniform? You either put me through now, or you get to explain to Starfleet Command why you interfered with a superior officer in the conduct of her duties. Is that clear, Petty Officer?"

It's clear enough, apparently, as he promptly forwards me. If Marconi was in a bad mood before, now he looks frankly shellshocked. "Let me guess, Kanril: Orions again?"

"Yes sir. Wait, 'again'?"

"We've got reports coming in they've raided ships and backwater planets all over the sector block and nearby areas nearly simultaneously. At least twenty-five raids in all. What did they do at Dreon VII?"

"Blew up anything in orbit, beamed in, kidnapped at least fifty people -- I don't have an exact count -- from an isolated village called Tholis, shot anyone who fought back, and burned the place down for good measure."

He nods. "Fits the M.O." I hear the Tellarite say something unintelligible from offscreen and Marconi turns his head. "What's that, Petty Officer? They're sending whom?" Somebody hands him a PADD, which he skims and tosses out of the frame. "Captain, I've just been ordered by Fleet Admiral Riker to release the Bajor and the Amaterasu from my command. You are to rendezvous with USS Marduk, flagship Marduk Carrier Battle Group, and place yourselves at the disposal of Admiral Amnell Kree. I'm sending you the necessary files now."

"Sir, I'm needed more here."

"Captain, you've been in Starfleet long enough to know that you're needed where Starfleet says you're needed. The Dax can handle the mop-up: They've got the best medical team of any ship in the sector and they're beaming in specialists from all over the planet. Frankly I'm the one who deserves to complain about you being reassed. I started this week expecting to have three more ships to protect the sector block and now I'm only up by one."

I'm not really sure what to say to that, so I ask him what he knows about Admiral Kree. "She's a Trill, and a former Peregrine pilot. Scored nineteen confirmed kills during the Dominion War, including a Galor-class at Third DS9. Now Command's got her in charge of a permanent task force they use for troubleshooting and surgical strikes. She's a bit of a jerk but she gets the job done."

"I know the type, sir. I suppose I'd better be on my way."

"Good luck, Captain." The tricorder screen goes blank.

"Chief Bandicek, five to beam up, one to beam to the ship's morgue."

----

Author's Note: A little bit of terminology here: "EWW" is my Trekkified version of "GSW". Instead of "gunshot wound", it's "energy weapon wound".

Eleya's "Does it say 'captain' anywhere on my uniform?" line is a reference to one of Jack O'Neill's lines in the Stargate SG-1 episode "The First Commandment".

Fleet Admiral Riker is, indeed, supposed to be Will Riker from TNG.
Star Carrier by Ian Douglas: Analysis and Talkback

The Vortex Empire: I think the real question is obviously how a supervolcano eruption wiping out vast swathes of the country would affect the 2016 election.
Borgholio: The GOP would blame Obama and use the subsequent nuclear winter to debunk global warming.
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StarSword
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Chapter 8: A Captain's Hardest Job

Post by StarSword »

Chapter 8: A Captain's Hardest Job
We transferred the two villagers we rescued over to the Jadzia Dax before leaving and the Bajor is on course for the rendezvous point in an uninhabited star system about two light-years from the Rolor Nebula, coreward of Deep Space 9. We're six hours into a 45-hour flight, give or take fifteen minutes.

I'm in the morgue, looking at the wall of sealed stasis chambers. Five of the indicator panels are lit. I try to remember something, anything about the names on the panels. Chief Botany Specialist Nathan Rutgers. Security Officer Thara Jhehl. Crewman Recruit Telos. Geology Specialist Juno Ichigaki. Crewman Cdebaat. I know their names, and I knew Cdebaat well enough—I'd brought him on away missions before—to know he was the kind of Tellarite who fully lived up to their stereotype of stubborn and argumentative and fully enjoyed that he did so.

But I didn't know him beyond that. It's something I miss about those early days on the Kagoshima: I knew at least the names and faces of everyone on my crew. But it's impossible to know every member when your crew numbers a thousand-plus. The shrinks tell me it affects me more it does other COs, something they blame on the fact that I came up from the ranks and then got fast-tracked to captain after Vega. Something like, it wasn't so long ago I was on the other side of the fact that sometimes a captain has to order good people to their deaths for no adequately explained reason, and then I feel guilty when bodies inevitably start dropping. I don't know if it's true or not; all I know is, it hurts to have people I don't know die because of my orders.

I curse under my breath and leave the room, heading to the turbolift. "Sickbay." The car hums and drops several decks, then rushes sideways for fifty meters or so and the door slides open. I turn right out of the door and stroll down the corridor, passing an ops warrant officer who snaps to attention as I pass. I absently wave him off and keep walking to the door of sickbay.

The mood is subdued. There's a Vulcan geology specialist, Sebod, I think his name is, out cold on one gurney and stuffed full of tubes. Warragul is standing next to him writing something on a PADD. He sees me and says, "Cap'n."

"Doctor. How is he?"

Warragul lowers the PADD and scratches his bushy black mustache. He's the only human on my command staff, with narrow, deep-set eyes, puffy cheeks, short coal-black hair, and very dark brown skin. He's also the youngest and lowest-ranked member of my staff, 26 as of two weeks ago and only a lieutenant junior grade. He speaks with an accent. I'm told it's Austrian—no, Australian, sorry, but in any case he wasn't born on Earth. "Sucking chest wound. Shrapnel injuries. Sebod's not out of the woods yet, but his vitals are strong."

He steps across the aisle to another gurney, where a young Denobulan woman, a science-track cadet on her midshipman cruise, has had part of her head shaved, and heavy bandages wrap around her right upper arm. She's breathing but out cold. Warragul explains, "Cadet Threx lost that arm but we were able to reattach it. The head injury was worse. Had to replicate and replace part of her skull."

"Will she recover?" I ask.

"We'll have to wait and see how bad the brain trauma was but early diagnostics say she got lucky. She's probably lost at least the last couple of weeks, though. I've got her an induced coma until the swelling goes down." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I always find the humanoid brain fascinating, Cap'n. We know so much about how it works now but there's always something new, and that's without mentioning that … spark that you can never get out of a replicator."

"I'm sure. How are the others from Deck Ten?"

"Stable. I discharged Lieutenant Jeffreys and Gunner's Mate T'Sarn before you got here, and Specialist Ballug will be out of here in a day or so."

"What about Specialist Rodis from the bridge?"

"Flash burns from his console, and a cracked rib from bouncing off Commander Riyannis's console. I sent him home already. Oh, and, uh, Chief Athezra's armor stopped most of that disruptor blast. Corpsman Watkins should be finishing up with him by now."

"Can I see him?

Warragul nods and gestures to the door to the next chamber. I walk over and look in. There's a dozen or so assorted blue-shirts from Deck Ten, and Chief Athezra is sitting on the edge of the bed nearest the door in his underwear as a blue-shirted corpsman runs a protoplaser over his chest. He moves to salute but Watkins, a blonde of indeterminate age whom I'm told has some Betazoid blood, slaps his hand back down and tells him to hold still or she'll knock him out. I chuckle. "How you doing, Chief?"

"Could be worse, ma'am. Doc says I'll be out of here in about an hour. Um, if you'll pardon my asking, do you happen to know what happened to my earring?"

I glance around the room. "No, no idea. I'll check with Warragul on my way out."

"Thank you, Captain. What happened to Cdebaat? He's not here and nobody'll tell me anything."

I let out a breath. "He's dead. Orion matron got the drop on him and broke his neck."

"Damn it," he says in Dakhuri dialect. "Ahn-kay ya, ay-ya vasu. Coh-ma-ra, di-nay-ya." I sniff and join him in the death chant, not really knowing why we're praying for someone whom I don't even know if he was even religious, never mind an adherent to the Prophets.

I guess Athezra and I are just hoping for the Prophets to pass the word to whichever gods the Tellarites worship.

The chief's quiet for a long moment afterwards. "This your first time losing a subordinate?" I ask.

"No, ma'am. I was working security at the outpost on Korvat when the Klinks invaded in '05. Lost a third of my squad, and if the Lincoln hadn't sent in some Peregrines for close air support we'd've been overrun. It's just … It never gets any easier, ma'am."

I shake my head. "No, it doesn't."

I hear a soft rapping on the door from the entryway. I look over my shoulder; it's Dul'krah, with a small duffel hanging at his side. He starts to salute but I wave him off. "Checking on your man?" I ask.

"He is clan," he says by way of explanation. Pe'khdar are all about clan, and he's sort of adopted my crew as his clan away from home.

"Your clan, my away team," I say, explaining my own presence.

He nods, then steps over to Athezra and hands him something held in his fist. It's the chief's earring. He gives his boss a grateful smile and clips it on. Our earrings are incredibly important to us: They're not just symbols of our devotion to the Prophets, they're also symbols of devotion to each other, especially our families.

I query Dul'krah about the duffel. "My vodchakh," he explains, unzipping the bag. I nod in comprehension: He brought his instrument to play for the wounded. He pulls out the instrument, a bell-shaped piece of hollow, dark wood stained almost black, with seven strings running from the base of the chamber to the end of a narrow neck. He then pulls out the bow.

"I'm assuming you checked with the doctor," I say.

"Doctor Wirrpanda said something to the effect that after performing two major surgeries today he'd appreciate the distraction." He nestles the vodchakh under his chin and puts bow to strings.

I've seen vids of professional vodchakhim on the extranet, and while I'm sure Dul'krah isn't that good, he's good enough. I'm a little surprised by his selection, though. The third movement of Tor Jolan's Fourth Concerto is challenging enough on a Bajoran harp. I've never even heard of anybody trying to carry it off on an offworld instrument. He's clearly been practicing and Chief Athezra gives an appreciative smile as I walk back to the door.

I walk out the door and straight into a wall of yellow-shouldered black-jacketed muscle. After rubbing my nose a bit I look down to see Gaarra stooping to pick up a PADD he dropped. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—Captain! Sorry, ma'am."

"Don't worry about it," I say in Kendran, "I should've been paying more attention."

"I was coming to check on … wait a minute, who's playing Tor's Fourth?"

"Dul'krah's showing off, I think."

His head rocks backward in surprise. "Dul'krah? What in the world is he playing it on?"

"Vodchakh." Off his look, "It's a Pe'khdar stringed instrument kind of like a violin, only different."

"Sorry, what's a violin?"

"Oh, uh, human stringed instrument about this long"—I gesture its length with my hands—"with four strings that you play with a bow."

He whistles. "Impressive he managed to translate the chords that well."

I tilt my head in agreement. "I'm sorry, what were you saying a minute ago?"

"I wanted to check on Systems Specialist Rodis. He's in my department, after all."

"Warragul discharged him already. Compared to Sebod, Threx, and Cdebaat he got off easy, just some burns and a cracked rib."

His mouth twists. "I heard one of your away team was killed."

I turn and move down the corridor and hear him padding along behind me. I mentally shrug. "I can't exactly say I miss him; I barely knew the poor bastard." I come to a turbolift and palm the access. "Ten Forward." I lean against the wall and wait for him to request a destination, but he doesn't. "Are you following me, Commander?"

"No, ma'am. But I do owe you a drink from back at Quark's, and if you'll pardon my impertinence you look like you need to talk to someone anyway."

I snort. "Dr. Shree thinks I need to talk to her, sure. But I'll take you up on that drink."

The turbolift slides open and we walk down the hall to compartment Ten Forward, which like on most Galaxy-class ships is the main crew lounge. My head bartender, Nalak Lang, dubbed it Red Sky at Night. I walk in the door and somebody hollers, "Captain on deck!"

There's a commotion as a couple dozen crewmen scramble to attention, and one particularly inebriated Bolian trips over himself and faceplants. I roll my eyes at that and say, "As you were." I catch sight of Lieutenant K'lak helping the Bolian back into his chair and chuckle as I take a seat near the viewport where I can survey the whole bar.

Gray-haired old Nalak Lang steps up to my table. He's Cardassian, of all things, which visibly startles Gaarra. But I know Lang. I know he's never touched a Cardie military uniform. He raises one scaly eyebrow at Gaarra and says, "Vole got your tongue, Commander Reshek?"

"I, uh—"

"Never mind. Usual for you, Captain?"

"Please."

"And what'll you have, Commander?"

"Uh, glass of spring wine, if you have it."

"Not by the glass, by the bottle."

"What the hell, I'll take the whole bottle." Lang nods and slinks back to the bar and I see him pulling out the ingredients for a Hathon hammer.

"Your bartender's a Cardassian?"

"You noticed?" I smile and he shakes his head.

"So what's his story? There's something a little … haunted about him. About his eyes, and the way he carries himself. Like he's lost someone."

I take a breath and let it out. "He lived through the Dominion holocaust on Cardassia, at the end of the war. His first wife and his children didn't. How'd you know?"

He leans back in his chair. "Growing up on a colony in the Gamma Quadrant teaches you a few things. What with the Dominion and all you never know who's going to turn up at the port so it pays to be able to size people up quickly. Take the Klingon over there, for example."

"K'lak? What about him?"

"He's waiting for someone. Keeps glancing at the door. She—okay, I'm guessing it's a she; could be wrong—she's late. But he's … not worried, like he knows she'll be here but she's running late."

Right on cue I spot Ensign McMillan's short-cropped flaming red hair come around the corner and into the room. She looks around, then sees K'lak and dashes over, giving him a peck on the cheek that looks a lot more than just friendly. "That I did not see coming."

"Didn't see what coming, ma'am?"

"Well, K'lak's McMillan's direct superior." What the two of them were talking about back on Dreon VII is starting to make a lot more sense…

His eyes widen and he looks me in the eye. "And you're okay with that?"

"No, not really. I'll mention it to Dul'krah and have McMillan assigned to another supervisor. Oh, thank you," I say to Lang as he comes back with a tray of drinks. He sets down my martini glass of Hathon hammer, a bottle of garnet-colored spring wine, and two wine glasses. Wait. "Two glasses?"

"Just in case."

"How thoughtful, Mr. Lang." He shrugs noncommittally and goes back to the bar.

I start to reach for my cocktail, but then I look closer at the bottle of spring wine. It's 2405 Klatha Reserve, from Lang's stash of real, non-synthehol, underline, booze. "He's really pampering us," I remark, twisting off the screw-cap and pouring a glass for each of us. "Terga yan," I say. He returns the toast and we clink glasses and sip. I taste the dark, fruity tang of zumba berries with a hint of chocolate, and there's a light smoky finish. Very different from the Kendran aquamarines I grew up with, but very good. I smile appreciatively.

We end up spending the next hour just sitting, drinking wine and talking about nothing particularly important. Like family. I tell him about my mother Shora, my father Torvo, and my little sister Teran who's marrying a vedek in two months. He tells me he's an only child and his father's in the Militia.

"What about your mother?"

"Died when I was two. I was mostly raised by my Aunt Nefris, Dad's sister."

"Guessing your father was away a lot?" I ask as I pour another glass.

"No, fortunately he was at the Militia station right there in Chamba City. Only had to go out on maneuvers for a week or so every local month. And now he's the garrison commander."

"Sounds like he had an easier time than I did. I was out for four weeks at a time, minimum, and that was when they had the Kira assigned to the Bajoran System."

"You were, what, ship's security?"

"Energy weapons."

"Yeah, see, Dad's a ground-pounder. Furthest he ever got from the ground was when he was posted to New Bajor in the first place. He was in the first wave to go back there in '76 after the Dominion pulled out. Nefris and Mom followed him after they were sure the Jems hadn't left any surprises behind…"

When we come up for air we've killed a second bottle of Klatha Reserve and my head is pleasantly buzzing. My Hathon hammer sits untouched on the table. I glance at the clock on the wall over the bar. Takes me a second to focus on it but we're still 35 hours from rendezvous.

I stand, carefully, then offer an assist to Gaarra. "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," I say, then I stumble and he catches me. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Captain," he says, grinning. He hunches over and I lay my arm across his shoulders and we walk to the door.

We shamble our way to the turbolift and I say, "Tram." The turbolift thrums and brings us to the tram on Deck 13, which we take 200 meters aft. We catch a turbolift up five decks to the senior officers' quarters, which deposits us just down the hall from my room. "Are you going to escort me the whole way?" I wonder aloud. We shuffle to my door and I manage to palm the access panel on my second try.

We enter a room that seems somehow larger than it usually does. "Lights." Gaarra leans forward and dislodges my arm, dropping me on the bed. I roll over and make a grab at the front of his uniform jacket, pulling him down on top of me and catching him in a clumsy kiss. "Dammit, Captain," he murmurs against my mouth.

"What?"

"This is a mistake," he mutters in between kisses.

"Mmm. Maybe. Fun mistake, though." I let his tongue pass my lips and trap his body with my legs.

He leans back, pulls down the zipper on my jacket and I arch my back to let it fall open. He strokes the ridges on my nose. I gasp. "You taste like spiced moba fruit," he tells me, ice blue eyes gleaming. I pull him back down and my hands look for his zipper.

----

Author's Note: This was sort of a breather episode after three actiony chapters in a row. Also, I wanted to introduce Warragul, the Bajor's Australian Aboriginal-descended CMO, and do some characterization work for Eleya, Gaarra, and Dul'krah. But beyond that I don't really plan out my chapters a whole lot: I write what comes to me. When I started out I figured "Captain's Hardest Job" referred to Eleya's after-action visit to the morgue and sickbay, but now I'm wondering if it didn't end up being a bad sex pun instead.

"Klinks" is STO fan slang for "Klingon" if you didn't know already. I just lifted it and made it in-universe.

Tor Jolan was a Bajoran composer who was mentioned briefly in DS9: "Crossover".
Star Carrier by Ian Douglas: Analysis and Talkback

The Vortex Empire: I think the real question is obviously how a supervolcano eruption wiping out vast swathes of the country would affect the 2016 election.
Borgholio: The GOP would blame Obama and use the subsequent nuclear winter to debunk global warming.
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StarSword
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Chapter 9: The Cardassian and the Trill

Post by StarSword »

Chapter 9: The Cardassian and the Trill
Davos moves ahead to the sickbay door then grunts and falls backwards, a knife sticking out from under his left collarbone. He tries to talk but only bubbles of blood come out of his mouth. A female greenskin barely wearing anything steps calmly out of the room and reaches out to him with a second knife.

I aim at her ear and fire, but the bright orange beam lances out at her and hisses into nonexistence against her shield. The Orion spins and throws her second knife. I jerk sideways and it goes flying past. There's a muffled thrum from somewhere above me as the phaser cannon fires, then she's upon me, having pulled two more knives from somewhere.

I swing the butt of my phaser rifle up at her chin and hear the Orion yell, "OW!" in a baritone voice. The Orion grabs me and starts shaking me, saying to me, "Eleya. Wake up!"

I open my eyes. No greenskin, just Gaarra, rubbing his jaw with his right hand.

Wait, why is he in my bed? Naked?

Oh, right.

Damn.

I sit up and look away from him, out the viewport on the ceiling. My quarters are situated against the sloping roof of the saucer on the edge of Deck 8, and it's a spectacular view. Stars, gas pockets, and blazing dust particles stream past as the Bajor continues warping toward the rendezvous. I feel Gaarra sit up beside me, and he touches my shoulder gently. "What were you dreaming about?" I turn my head and nod at a japoro wood plaque on the wall inscribed in Ashallan ideograms. "'By order of the Minister of Defense of the Republic of Bajor…' Your Silver Cross?"

I sniff and my mouth quirks. "The, uh, circumstances that led to me getting it, yeah. You've read my file?"

"You went to help the CMO and got knifed by an Orion, yes, I remember. How long have you had nightmares about it?"

I shiver. "At least once a month ever since the night of."

"Well, you woke me up when you started talking in your sleep and tossing and turning. Then you punched me."

I wince. "Sorry."

He leans in and kisses my cheek, his beard tickling my skin. "No harm done."

I know I should be pushing him away—Prophets, we shouldn't have slept together in the first place—but I'm still jittery from The Nightmare. I lean against him and we lie back down, my head resting on his chest and his arm around me. We stare up at the viewport for what feels like an hour.

"I've always found it a little frightening, myself," Gaarra suddenly remarks.

"Found what frightening?" I ask, turning my head towards him. He jerks his head in the direction of the viewport. "What, warp?"

He chuckles. "I worked on a nav deflector, remember? That fails, any of those tiny little particles would obliterate the whole ship if it hit the warp field just right to pass through it."

I snort. "It's not going to fail."

"I know that up here. It's down here that's the problem."

"Pfft." I snuggle closer to him and he strokes my hair, then leans his head over and kisses the top of mine. I shimmy further up in the bed and return the kiss to his mouth, then wriggle up on top of him.

The ship's computer chirps. "The time is ten-hundred hours." It chirps again. "The time is ten-hundred hours and ten seconds."

I raise my head for a moment and say, "Computer, shut up." Gaarra puts a hand on the back of my head and brings it back down to him.

We make love slowly, gently, easing away my jitters and worry. Afterwards we just snuggle together for a few minutes.

Finally I push the covers off, swing my legs out, and walk to the bathroom. I shower, towel off, and open the door. Gaarra's standing by the door. "Mind if I—"

"No, go ahead." He enters the bathroom and slides the door shut. I hear the water running as I go to my dresser and dig out a clean set of underwear and a uniform. I dress and step over to the replicator. "Two cappuccinos, two orders egg hasperat, extra spicy." As the food trays and mugs materialize in the replicator I reach into one of the cabinets and scoop out one of the jumja sticks I bought on DS9. I grab the meal trays and take them over to the table and begin munching one of the hasperat rolls, savoring the bite of the spices.

About three minutes later I'm sipping my cappuccino when Gaarra steps back out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He begins picking his uniform up off the floor where it landed last night and dresses. "Is that hasperat?"

"Egg, with extra spices. Help yourself—I repped enough for both of us."

He sits down and tries a sip of the cappuccino. He looks surprised but not disgusted. "What is that?"

"Cappuccino. Friend of mine at the Academy introduced me. Gaarra?"

"Mm?"

"We … shouldn't keep doing this. Sleeping together, I mean."

He takes a bite of hasperat and chews. "I know, you're my superior officer and we could both be written up for fraternization."

"I'm not just talking about the letter of the regs. I have to be able to depend on my crew, and me, doing their duty to the Federation first. And, to be honest, I'm going to have to separate two of my subordinates today for doing exactly what we just spent the night doing so I'm feeling more than a little hypocritical."

"The Klingon and human from Ten Forward?" I grunt in confirmation. "Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem." He finishes off his hasperat and washes it down with a gulp of cappuccino. "You're my captain, and I'll abide by whatever decision you make. It's just…"

"What?"

"I really like you, El."

I smile and touch his hand, so much bigger than mine. No words are needed. I finish my breakfast and we walk to the door together. I give him one last kiss on the lips and head for the bridge, sucking on the jumja stick.

I come to the bridge. We're still more than a day away from the rendezvous so there's really not much to do besides the daily paperwork, but Tess still glares at me for arriving on duty over an hour late. I hope she assumes I spent the night in the holodeck and page K'lak and McMillan to the ready room.

They arrive about ten minutes later and I wave them into the chairs across the desk while I finish the last of my paperwork. I finally thumbprint the last PADD and drop it in my outbox. Without preamble, I say, "How long have the two of you been dating?" K'lak looks a little taken aback and McMillan blushes and looks away. "One of you start talking."

McMillan speaks up first. "Um, two months, off-and-on. I take it you saw us in Ten Forward last night?"

I nod. "And you know that a superior officer isn't allowed to date their direct underling, right? You know the reason why?"

"I do know the theoretical intent behind Starfleet Regulation 1138-Gamma, yes," K'lak replies. "It is to prevent relationships that compromise the running of the organization."

"So you see the problem. You've got two options. Door number one, you break up now and stay that way. Door number two, I move McMillan to a different supervisor and you find yourself a new spotter." That feeling of being a hypocrite is poking at me but I clamp down on it.

"May I suggest an alternative, Captain?" K'lak asks. I raise an eyebrow and gesture for him to explain. "Ma'am, I am a sniper. I am, in fact, the only fully MACO-qualified sniper on the ship. I have invested a great deal of time and effort into training Kate as my spotter, and I do not believe you fully understand the requirements of the job. She does not just locate targets, she also guards me against attack. Trust between sniper and spotter is very important, and a romantic relationship only strengthens her resolve to guard me. It does not compromise the running of the ship, but in fact improves it."

I open my mouth to reply but pause. It's a good argument. In fact, I'm wondering if he rehearsed it, expecting I'd eventually find out. "All right, what's your alternative?"

McMillan answers, "Um, K'lak and were talking about going exclusive. No more off-and-on. Stable relationship."

I just sit there digesting for a moment. "All right. I'll let it slide. But you're both on report for a week and I want you to clear it with Lieutenant Korekh, is that clear?" Something about her face compels me to say, "This was Dul'krah's idea, wasn't it?"

"Well, in fairness to him, Skipper, I'm not certain he really grokked what the issue was. I hear Pe'khdar mores are … pretty wildly different from the rest of us."

"True enough." Pe'khdar don't marry, and their romantic relationships usually only last long enough to produce kids, who are then the responsibility of the mother's whole clan instead of the parents. They actually expect relationships to fade on their own, and the concept of a bad breakup is … practically unheard of. I realize I'm in a reverie and dismiss McMillan and K'lak.

An uneventful day later, I'm on Deck 10 in what's left of the main planetary science lab. Scraps of construction material litter the floor, and the sloped ceiling is bare, unpainted composite except where one of the custodial techs is spraying behind a curtain. My chief engineer, a mutton-chopped Andorian named Bynam Ehrob, is showing me the before pictures. There was a sizable crack in the Bajor's meter-thick ablative armor shell that left this compartment and the one next to it open to space for the two seconds it took the emergency force fields to engage, and over a dozen large fragments of metal-ceramic composite were embedded up to four centimeters deep in the inner wall. "Most of the equipment was a wash. We're still replicating replacements but this place should be back to normal in a day or so, barring any problems with the EPS conduits."

"Were there any major experiments running that will be affected?"

Bynam shrugs and flips a thumb at Biri, who's calibrating a shiny new mass spectrometer. "That's Biri's department, ma'am. I'm just the guy who plugs the holes you put in my ship."

"Your ship?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him. He grins and passes me a PADD to get my thumbprint on the report. "Will the repairs hold if we get into another firefight?"

"We replaced and sealed all of the damaged pressure hull plates to better than shipyard spec, ma'am. Triple-checked it myself."

"I'll take that as a maybe."

"Ha! Little miss negative," he teases.

The intercom chirps and Tess's voice says, "Captain, we're arriving at the rendezvous point in five minutes."

I hit my combadge. "Confirmed, Tess. I'll be there in three." I give Bynam a questioning look but he shakes his head and waves me off. Biri and I run out the door to the nearest turbolift and request the bridge.

Turns out to be two minutes instead of three. I sit down in The Chair and hit the intercom. "All hands, this is the Captain. We are coming out of warp in two minutes, thirty seconds and counting. Kanril out."

Tess takes the first officer's seat next to me. I feel her stare boring into me and finally ask. "Commander Reshek," she simply says.

"What about him?"

"Don't give me that, Captain. The whole crew knows by now the two of you went to bed together two nights ago. I found out from Paul Jeffreys in Geology at breakfast."

I swear in Kendran. "And?"

"As your first officer I'm required to warn you about Starfleet Regulation 1138-Theta. 1138-Theta states that—"

"That I'm not allowed to sleep with my command staff, yes, I know. I dealt with 1138-Gamma yesterday."

Tess pauses, then grips my shoulder. "As your friend, Eleya, I just hope you know what you're doing."

I'm stunned for a moment. "You're serious?"

She gives me a sardonic smirk. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still your XO. The spirit of the regs is to protect the ship. If I ever think for a minute that your relationship, should you choose to pursue one, is endangering the ship or the crew, I'll write you both up myself."

"So noted. And, thanks, I'm grateful."

"Don't make me regret it."

"I'll try not to."

She picks up the PADD next to her and makes a few strokes. "Rook to G2. Checkmate."

"Wait, what?" I grab the PADD from her. It's the chess game we were playing last week. "Phekk. Checkmate indeed."

"Captain," JG Park says from the conn, "we're coming out of warp in fifteen seconds. Warp 8 and dropping."

The starlines redshift and a white dwarf inflates into view. The viewscreen automatically dims it. "Master Chief, any ships in the area?"

"The USS Amaterasu just dropped out beside us, and I've got eight ships in a rough sphere centered a light-second ahead at one o'clock low. Reading four Peregrines on sentry, one Galaxy-class, one Exeter-class, one Typhoon-class, and one … what in the world?"

"What was that last part?" Tess asks.

"I'm not sure, Commander. The saucer reads like a Prometheus-class, but I'm getting some weird mass readings and the emissions profile is all wrong."

"Put it onscreen."

The white dwarf vanishes from the screen and is replaced by a wireframe schematic. I recognize the Prometheus-class's distinctive wedge-shaped saucer, but the primary hull is bulkier, and the nacelles are spread much wider and mounted to the top and bottom of the hull instead of the center. There's obvious hangar doors on the hull beneath the pylons. "NX-95242, USS Marduk," I read off the display. "What the phekk is that thing?"

"Computer, identify starship class," Tess requests.

The intercom chirps and the Bajor's AI reports, "Starfleet Prototype Charlie-Victor-Lima-Two-Five. Marduk-class fast attack carrier."

"Explain project code," I say. I recognize 'CVL' for 'carrier, light,' but the rest is a mystery.

"Project classified delta-two, code word CHARISMA SHRIKE NOVA."

I start to confirm my clearance but Ens. Esplin pipes up from comms. "Ma'am, we're being hailed."

"Onscreen."

A light-furred, blue-shirted Caitian female appears on the screen. "USS Bajor, USS Amaterasu, this is USS Marduk. Captain Kanril and Commander Chuba, Admiral Kree has requested you to approach to standoff range and beam aboard."

"Acknowledged." I hand-signal Park and he begins tapping in commands. The Caitian vanishes and the viewer switches to a layout of the sector. By now the sensors have decrypted the IFF transponders of the other three ships. USS Dominant, a big Typhoon-class battleship. USS Hanson, a Series 20 Galaxy named for an admiral killed at Wolf 359. USS Ivanova, a spindly Exeter-class cruiser only a couple years old, named for an Earth Starfleet captain from the Earth-Romulan War.

We approach within 25 kilometers of the Marduk and Park brings us alongside. "All stop," I order. Park sets us at station-keeping relative to the fleet as the Amaterasu joins us. "Tess, with me. Biri, you have the bridge."

"I have the bridge," she confirms.

We head for the transporter room and step onto the pads. "Captain," Chief Bandicek says, "I'm synced with the Marduk's transporter room."

"Energize."

The Benzite strokes her panel and I feel an electric tingle. Then my transporter room is abruptly replaced by one set into a cozy room full of computers. A female Benzite with commander's pips materializes to my right a moment later. Commander Chuba from the Amaterasu. She's clearly one of the gene-altered ones: no chlorine sprayer attached to her uniform.

A Cardassian with shoulder-length black hair wearing a Starfleet CO's uniform is standing at the foot of the steps. I'm a little surprised by this but Tess, Chuba, and I salute—he's clearly senior to me—and he returns it. "Permission to come aboard?" I ask.

"Granted," he says in a warm tone. "Welcome aboard the Marduk, Captain Kanril, Commander Chuba."

"Uh, my first officer, Commander Tess Phohl," I introduce.

"Welcome, welcome. I'm Bronok Zell, Admiral Kree's flag captain."

"You're, uh, not what I expected, sir," Tess says.

He rolls his eyes. "Why don't you just come out and say it? 'What's a Cardassian doing commanding a Starfleet flagship?'"

"I—"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, I get that all the time. I'm sure you've heard all the horror stories about Federation colonies winding up in Cardassian territory when the paper-pushers redrew the borders back in 2370? That knife cut both ways. A few of our colonies, including Res'toka where my family's from, ended up in the Federation." He gives a rueful smirk. "Goes without saying, we got the better deal there."

"I suppose I deserve that for not reading the files," I remark. "Interesting ship. I've never seen a Prometheus-class with fighters before."

"Well, she was supposed to be the lead ship of a variant class, a pocket carrier for surgical strikes."

"What happened?" Chuba asks.

"Budget cuts, I think. Everything that was left went to building more escorts. Heh, as if we needed more of those."

"Don't remind me," I say. "I've always been on a cruiser. I really don't get Command's obsession with escorts these days."

He grins. "Preaching to the choir, Captain. My last command was an Excelsior-class, USS Kyle Brennan. Bit of a junk heap compared to the Odyssey but could she ever take a hit! Marduk's tough, but not that tough."

"I'm sure. Probably better not to keep Admiral Kree waiting."

"Yeah, that would be bad. I'll be along shortly but I have to go deal with something in Main Engineering. This idiot acting ensign Command saddled us with keeps breaking things with his science projects. Would've kicked him off months ago but he's some ambassador's kid or something so we're stuck with him. Conference room is left out of the door, fourth room on the right."

"Yes, sir."

Tess, Chuba, and I leave the room, passing a mess hall and a sickbay. "Sir," Chuba says to me.

"Yes?"

"If you'll pardon my asking, what the shi'tzien are we doing here? We should be out there, trying to hunt down those pirates."

"Don't look at me, Commander. I wanted to stay at Dreon VII."

We turn the corner into the conference room. It's cramped, up against the sloping roof of the pressure hull, and several junior officers and noncoms are clustered around a holoprojector showing a sun with four planets and a hexagonal icon in the Oort cloud. Standing between it and the table is a female admiral in a red jacket and black pants with an eight-centimeter combat knife belted at her waist, reading a PADD. This must be the Admiral Amnell Kree I've heard so little about. She's about 170 centimeters tall, shorter than me, with tanned skin, a mass of scar tissue surrounding her left eye, and roughly back-length iron-gray hair in a loose ponytail, draped over her right shoulder. She's also got the telltale dual rows of leopard-spots of a Trill host. She's well-preserved but something about her leads me to peg her age as sixty-something. She looks up from the PADD and says in a cool, well-seasoned soprano voice that sounds vaguely irritated, "Good, you're finally here. I'll skip the pleasantries; we're in a hurry. Take a seat, Captains."

She waves in the direction of the table. I sit down next to a Ferengi in a featureless black leather jacket and trousers with a faint scar on the left side of his forehead. Tess and Chuba sit down to my left. Across the table is an older Bolian with commander's pips, a dark-skinned human female with a captain's uniform and graying hair, and a Denobulan male with lieutenant commander's insignia. "Who all are you?" I ask.

"Commander Rixx Broht, captain of the Dominant," the Bolian says.

The human says, "Morjana Shenna, USS Hanson."

"Kairan Juvex, USS Ivanova," the Denobulan names himself.

"Kanril Eleya, USS Bajor," I say. "This is my XO, Commander Phohl."

"Commander Chuba, Amaterasu."

The Ferengi starts to say something but then Captain Zell jogs into the room. "Sorry I'm late, Admiral."

She glares at him and points at the empty chair next to Captain Broht. He takes a seat without a word. "Now that some of us have deigned to grace us with their presence, we can get started." Kree leans over the console set into the table in front of her and bangs out a command, and a holoprojector in the table's center produces a layout of the sector block. "As I'm sure you're all well aware, at approximately 1600 hours Tuesday evening Deep Space 9 began receiving distress signals from ships and stations all over the sector block." Markers appear on various stars and points in deep space. "Those responding found that a segment of the Orion Syndicate had launched a massive, coordinated series of raids nearly simultaneously. We've confirmed thirty-two attacks, and they destroyed over forty million tons of shipping and killed or kidnapped approximately 16,000 people"

The number's gone up. I raise my hand.

"Yes, Captain Kanril?"

"Pardon the interruption, sir," I say. "You said 'a segment' of the Orion Syndicate. What does that mean, exactly?"

"I was getting to that. Our most current intel suggests that this attack was not officially sanctioned by the high command under Melani D'ian. The action was taken by one of her admirals, a matron named Gaila Hyrax. Supervising Agent Grell?"

The black-suited Ferengi taps a few keys and the screen zooms in on a nebula several light-years across. The Badlands. "Thanks, Admiral. We have a source among—"

"Wait, wait," Tess growls next to me. "Did I miss something? What in the name of Phelha is Section 31 doing here?" She's staring angrily at Grell and it suddenly clicks where I've seen the uniform before: Franklin Drake, that smarmy, self-righteous human spook who sent us back in time to fight Devidians two months ago, whose very existence Starfleet Command categorically refused to either confirm or deny.

Kree's response to Tess is as cold as methane ice. "What they're doing, Commander, is providing actionable intelligence on mass murder and kidnapping of Federation citizens. That's the last I want to hear about it. Is that clear?"

Tess subsides but keeps glaring across me at Grell. He shakes his head and continues. "As I was saying, a source among Hyrax's forces gave us the location of one of her fleet bases in the Badlands. They've got some sort of suppression field set up to protect it from the plasma storms, as well as a transwarp conduit they got from somewhere that exits in the Oort cloud of the Ultima Thule System."

Kree hits a key and brings up the Ultima Thule System on the projector. "This is Operation Blue Friday. The Bajor will take point. We know where the conduit is within about a 250,000 kilometer radius—it moves about on its own to keep clear of cometary debris—so you'll have to drop out, find it, and use the debris field to mask your approach. We want them to have as little warning as possible, so we're only sending one ship: The whole battle group would be easily detected."

She focuses in on the conduit and brings up some red triangles, representing likely enemy forces. "Once you make contact, you will jam their transmissions and neutralize any forces at the conduit. The fleet will then warp in, activate it, and proceed to the base to capture it and get whatever intel we can. If the kidnapped civilians aren't there maybe we can find out where they are. Any questions?"

"Where the phekk do they get these codenames from?" I mutter rhetorically, sotto voce, eliciting chuckles from Grell and Captain Shenna.

"Random number generator," Kree says. "Any pertinent questions?"

"How long have we known about the base?" Chuba asks.

Kree straightens and crosses her arms. "We've known about the station itself for over forty years. It was a Maquis supply base before the Dominion War. Chakotay's Val Jean and T'Chon's USS Mjolnir both used the place. We thought the Dominion had destroyed it but then Grell's source reported a few weeks ago that the Syndicate had started the station back up. Starfleet's stretched so thin right now the base just wasn't a priority."

Broht asks, "What level of fleet strength do we expect to encounter?"

Kree looks to Grell, who taps a few commands into his console. "According to my source the Ultima Thule end is only lightly guarded, one squadron of frigates and a cruiser or two at best. They don't want to draw attention from the civvies deeper in-system." He hits the console again and the projection shifts to a diagram of an old K-class space station built into a large asteroid. "The base is another story. Several frigate and fighter groups and at least two or three battleships. No orbital defense platforms though. They wouldn't survive a hit from a plasma storm in the event their suppression field failed. So that's some good news."

I ask, "Who's this source of Grell's? Do we trust him?"

"That would be classified," Grell answers, giving me a toothy grin. "I can tell you that I trust my source. Whether you do or not is up to you."

Nobody says anything for a long moment. Kree finally says, "No other questions? Good, you're dismissed. We move out in fifteen minutes."

The other captains and the admiral stand and file out the door but Grell catches my eye so I stay. "Well, well, well. Captain Kanril Eleya of the USS Bajor. You're younger than I expected."

"What have you heard?"

"All good, don't worry. Frank Drake spoke very highly of you the last time we talked."

"You know Franklin Drake?"

"We're old friends. I was one of his contacts in the Ferengi Alliance Defense Fleet, then I applied for Federation citizenship and he recruited me. Half of what I know about being a spy, I learned from him. I moved up and he stayed a field agent but we keep in touch."

Despite knowing I'm talking to someone who in a just world wouldn't be allowed to exist, I'm having a hard time disliking this Ferengi spy. "What's Section 31's interest here?"

"Political. We've been tracking Gaila Hyrax for almost two years now. Erm, that's two Ferengi years; that'd be around three-and-a-half standard. Anyhoo, we think she's trying to unseat Melani D'ian and this is a power play."

"Why is a coup against D'ian a bad thing?" Tess asks, probably curious despite herself. "I would've thought it'd cause some useful chaos in the KDF."

"It's what would happen after things settle down that worries us. Hyrax is a skritz-jeb fanatic, and a val-eff to boot." My confusion at his terminology must be readily apparent, because he gives an apologetic look. "Sorry, Fed English is my second language. I still mostly think in Ferengi and some of our concepts don't translate particularly well. A val-eff is someone who doesn't accept bribes or negotiate."

"What about 'skritz-jeb'?"

"Profanity." He takes a sip from the water glass on the table in front of him. "27th Rule of Acquisition: 'There's nothing more dangerous than an honest businessman,' and that goes double for politicians. Hyrax is a jingoistic nut, whereas D'ian is relatively malleable if you keep your wits about you and your pheromone masker turned way up, so it's in the Federation's long-term interest to keep her in charge."

I get it. "And because interfering in internal political matters runs counter to the Federation's usual principles—"

He taps his nose and gives a toothy smile. "Bingo. I knew I liked you."

"You sure you won't tell us who this source of yours is?"

"My source has been deep undercover in the Syndicate for a carefully unspecified length of time. I'll reveal him or her if and only if it becomes relevant. Otherwise, unless you manage to pull a sigma-12 security clearance out of your butt, not happening."

"Fair enough."

"Captain," Tess says, "we have to get back to the ship."

I nod. "Maybe we'll talk some more later, Agent Grell."

"Looking forward to it."

Tess and I leave him in the now-nearly empty conference room and head back to the transporter, just in time to see Commander Chuba vanish in a cloud of blue sparkles. "I don't like this, ma'am," Tess says as we take our places on the transporter pad. "Starfleet Command's reassigns us twice in a week, puts us under an admiral we've never heard of, we get sent out with minimal intelligence, and now we're working with Section 31?"

"I don't like it either, Tess, but it's the lead we've got. It's not up to us anyway: we're not an independent command anymore. Chief," I say to the Marduk's transporter operator, "energize."

Another electric tingle and we're back on the Bajor. We head for the bridge and I take my seat. "All hands, this is the captain," I say into the intercom. "Secure for warp, T minus ten minutes." I release the key.

Esplin says, "Captain, the Marduk just hailed us."

"Onscreen."

Captain Zell appears, sprawled inelegantly in his captain's chair. "Captain Kanril, we're transmitting the coordinates. You go ahead and head out now while we're recalling our sentry ships. We'll be going at warp 9.3."

I shrug. That's high, but not dangerously so by a long shot. "Yes sir."

"Good luck. Zell out."

"Park, lock those coordinates into navigation and lay in a course, warp 9.3." I hit the intercom button again. "All hands, this is the captain again. Amend my last. Secure for warp, T-minus one minute."

There's a lull, then Tess says, "All sections report readiness, ma'am."

"Very well. JG Park, engage."

Author's Notes: Here we meet the odd couple of the piece: Admiral Amnell Kree, the hard-bitten, hard-driving, mostly humorless Dominion War vet who does not suffer fools gladly, and Captain Bronok Zell, her unapologetic goofball of a flag captain, and a Cardassian, no less. And the funny thing is, in my mental backstory for them (viewable at Memory Gamma wikia), she requested him.

The jab at escorts dates back to before Cryptic launched the Avenger-class and started giving ship classes besides tacscorts more love. Just like Eleya, I've always been a cruiser guy.

The "Phelha" that Tess mentions is an Andorian war goddess (my creation). Tess herself is agnostic, though (she doesn't think there's enough evidence either way, and doesn't particularly give a shit), so it's basically the Andorian equivalent of "Oh my god" or what-have-you.

The USS Mjolnir is another background-building reference. Saber-class ship whose crew defected to the Maquis, then vanished without trace after the Dominion crossed into the Alpha Quadrant.

As far as Section 31 is concerned, I'm of a mind to take Sloan's comments in DS9: "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges" at face value. A society like the Federation needs a helping of both bright idealism and ruthless pragmatism to survive. The one gives it a reason to fight, the other the ability. Now, I agree Section 31 went further during the Dominion War than they probably should have, especially with that bioweapon that didn't really have any effect on the war in the long run, but I get why they did it.
Star Carrier by Ian Douglas: Analysis and Talkback

The Vortex Empire: I think the real question is obviously how a supervolcano eruption wiping out vast swathes of the country would affect the 2016 election.
Borgholio: The GOP would blame Obama and use the subsequent nuclear winter to debunk global warming.
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