StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Stardate 106845.1
Fifty years after Star Trek Nemesis

"And I introduce our chief scientist, Ms. Hansen," President Sa'tar said. Sa'tar eyed the frail woman mounting the podium. It was hard to believe that Ms. Hansen was once a representative of the greatest threat to sentient life in the galaxy. Standing in front of the clover emblem of the United Federation of Planets, Ms. Hansen's regal flowing blue and emerald gown contrasted with the shining polished hardwood.

"Thank you assembled guests and representatives of the Federation," Ms. Hansen said. "As you all know, after the Alshain reforms, the Federation Science Council was disbanded and serious study commenced on the effects of warp drive on subspace. On Stardate 47310.2, the USS Enterprise-D commanded by Captain Jean-Luc Picard--" A pause. Even now Picard elicited respect, thought Sa'tar. "--and two scientists demonstrated the danger of warp drive."

"Unfortunately, the Alshain reforms came far too late. During the Dominion and Borg wars, science and prudence became subjugates of security and necessity. Transwarp drives used by the Borg accelerated the subspace damage. Over the past few months, cubic parsecs of space disintegrated into subspace. Trade has ceased between thousands of worlds. Although the Borg tranwarp conduits planted during the Borg invasion are now heavily traversed and warp drive use has been restricted to all but essential travel..."

"That was not enough," Ms. Hansen said. There were murmers around the room. Now was time to release the dreadful truth, thought Sa'tar. She had fought for this, for the truth. The old guard, mostly Admirals of the old Starfleet, had battled to bury the secret. But they wielded little power now, and the truth had to be told. Ms. Hansen's celebrity status and blackmail "convinced" the old guard to relent, although Sa'tar knew one day they would take revenge. But as dreadful was the truth was, keeping it secret was impossible.

"Subspace damage is increasing exponentially. Warp drive will no longer function in the Alpha Quadrant in under a week. The damage is irreversable," Ms. Hansen said.

There was a roar, mostly from the public gallery. Before the Alshain reforms an issue of this magnitude closed the doors of the Federation Council, thought Sa'tar. The Andorians in particular stood up and shouted. Impulsive Andorians, thought Sa'tar. Sa'tar nodded at the Vulcan delegation who were the only ones sitting still. The Tamarian Ambassador had his arms crossed and after a minute of shouting stormed out the double doors.

Perhaps a hundred years from now historians would accuse Sa'tar of demolishing the Federation. But the seeds of destruction had been sown long before Sa'tar had taken the reins. News reports don't change the world. Only facts change it, and those have already happened when we get the news. thought Sa'tar.

She was confident the truth would prevail.

Deep Space Nine
Ten days later...

"Where are those reinforcements!" screamed Lieutenant Wilks at Ensign Revail.

"They're just sitting there... approaching on impulse..."

"Tell the Admiral we can't hold out much longer!"

Revail punched the communcations panel, then banged it.

"Subspace communcations just... aren't working!"

"Fix it!"

"I don't know how sir."

"A blip on the sensors... more Dominion reinforcements coming through the wormhole!" said Ensign Severn.

"How many?"

"Ten... twenty... a hundred... two hundred... my god sir..."

Wilks clenched his teeth. Where was the Tenth fleet? Where were his reinforcements? Why was the USS Prometheus and a hundred Federation ships just sitting there two seconds away by warp? They were Starfleet dammit, why were they being sacrificed like this, and to what end?

"Fire all odd numbered quantums and direct fire at Dominion capital ships," Wilks said.

"Sir, another blip on the sensors," Revail said.

"More Dominion ships?"

"Not Dominion!" said Revail. She frowned. "Cardassian. And another fleet from another vector." Revail punched a few buttons. "They're... Son'a ships. In a holding pattern several parsecs away."

"Son'a? What the hell--"

"Shields are down. Intruders on deck twelve, deck fifteen, deck eighteen, deck seventy-five--"

Wilks punched a button. "Ronald--"

"I've got a hundred men in here," Ronald said as an engineering computer whined in the background.

"If your men are overwhelmed--"

"Sir--"

"If they break through, fire your phaser at the antimatter reactor. That's an order," Wilks said, pressing off.

"Cardassian troop transports landing in major Bajoran cities--"

"Direct all photon launchers at the troop--"

Before Wilks could finish the sentence, he felt a piercing through his chest and excruciating pain before a bulkhead impaled his face.

Over the next month, travel between star systems grinds to a halt. Many worlds cede from the Federation. Starfleet, in order to trap an overwhelming Dominion invasion force, destroys hundreds of transwarp conduits. Only the failings of warp drive prevents the Dominion from immediately conquering the entire Alpha Quadrant in one fell swoop. Despite this curse turned to boon, the Federation suffers defeat after defeat by Dominion forces which merely sends ship after ship through transwarp conduits until they attrit the defenders to nothingness. The Dominion funnels hundreds then thousands then tens of thousands of vessels into the Alpha Quadrant. The Klingon and Romulan empires sever their transwarp conduits to Federation space. On their own and vastly outnumbered, Starfleet has no choice but to isolate much of the Federation from the Dominion invasion force. Only the lattice of transwarp conduits randomly placed by the failed Borg invasion twenty years ago remains. The Cardassians and Dominion armadas are victorious, but their forces are whittled and reduced to garrisons due to the gallant efforts of the remnants of Starfleet who seal thousands of vessels by sacrificing Earth and thousands more destroying any transwarp conduits they can and finally the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant before they are hunted down and annihilated. The Bajorans are herded into slave labor camps and their antiquated resource ships reflagged under the Dominion banner, pressed into immediate service. An uneasy period of phony war begins with neither the remnants of the Federation nor the Dominion and Cardassians able to strike a killing blow...

Brian

Most of the powers of the Milky Way had seen the damage to space and the resulting inability to use warp drive as a disaster, but Chancellor Pal Corna of Andor saw it as an opportunity. While it wasn't widely known outside the leadership of the Empire, Andor had been looking to escape the Federation for decades.

The mighty United Federation of Planets had begun to decay as soon as Sulu had left the Presidency and the "New Enlightenment" wave had transformed the government.

This by itself wouldn't have been enough to get the Andorian parliment and chancellor scheming for years and years to cede from the UFP. A decline was difficult but not impossible to reverse after all, and the Federation had remained a major power in the galaxy.

No, what had truly spawned the desire to leave the Federation was the incredible greed of Earth and the increasing racism in Starfleet's ranks against Andorians.

Where Earth had become more and more the heart of the Federation and Vulcan became a center of learning, Andor and Tellar, the other two founding members, were largely neglected. Thank you for helping us turn back the Romulan armada way back when, now be quiet and don't make trouble.

The increasingly socialist practices instituted by the Federation Council had caused the once mighty Andorian shipbuilding industry to wilt on the vine. Had the Council done anything to stop this? No, they had simply announced the construction of the Utopia Planetia yards on Mars, in the Sol system.

And how had the Council responded to the increasingly loud complaints of its Andorian representatives? Why, by limiting the number of colonies that they could settle, so the Andorians became a proportionally smaller and smaller minority as time went by, of course.

When the Borg scare after Wolf 359 had happened, at last the Andorians had felt hope that they might be restored to pretige within the Federation. But had Starfleet turned to them in order to remilitarize, a group of warriors more sane but no less determined than Klingons? No, instead they'd gone to the Zakdorns, new members whose reputation for combat prowress was so ancient that it was meaningless. That had been a slap in the face to all of Andorian society.

Perhaps the worst was the growing racism in Starfleet. The number of Andorian applicants to the academy was as high as ever but the academy was accepting fewer every year. An Andorian had needed to be almost absurdly exceptional to get in, while incompetent humans breezed through the entrance process. Andorians were a war-like people, and the Federation was about peace, not war, some politicians liked to say.

So they had wanted out, but surviving alone in the galaxy was no simple matter, especially since the Andorian Imperial Guard had effectively ceased to exist some time ago. First was the problem of retaliation from the Federation. They would not easily let a founding member go. The Council would play the press like fiddles, and to the rest of the galaxy the legitimate Andorian government would be made to appear a band of rogues with no right to speak for their people. Starfleet security forces would occupy the planet and put puppets of the Council in power.

So they had waited for their time, old leaders passing their aspirations to new ones, all waiting for an opportunity.

And at last it had come. With warp drive inoperable throughout the galaxy, and the Dominion closing in, the Andorian Empire had announced its independance.

*

Of course, there were worse things in the galaxy than the Federation. In fact, once you weren't under their control, the humans were really quite tolerable.

So in light of a rapidly growing Son'a nation and the new Fludic Imperium, apparently brought to what remained of the Milky Way by the collapse of subspace, not to mention the Dominion and Cardassians, Pal Corna had sought out the Empire's old allies, both human and Vulcan.

All in all, things were going well. They'd gotten new colonies, the economy was booming, and the Imperial Guard was being rebuilt. Who knew what the future held?

OOC: Pal Corna's title is "Emperor" in the game, but that's because I forgot to change it to Chancellor when we restarted. Memory alpha says that the Andorians are led by a Chancellor, so that's what I'm going with for RP.

Of such great powers or beings there may be conceivably a survival . . . a survival of a hugely remote period when . . . consciousness was manifested, perhaps, in shapes and forms long since withdrawn before the tide of advancing humanity . . . forms of which poetry and legend alone have caught a flying memory and called them gods, monsters, mythical beings of all sorts and kinds . . .
--- Algernon Blackwood

From unknown catastrophes birthed a sinister light that fell upon no mortal eyes but only those timeless. Slitering tendrils emerged from the realm beyond, descending immaterially upon unsettled worlds like a terrible dawn. All knew of it's arrival yet no words emerged past quivering lips.

Heralds and portents beckoned to the most sensitive of souls across a million stars, maddeningly cooing in cruel mockery of a mother's whisper. From the undergrowth of civilization grew a new seed of those consigned to fate, a choir of voices enacting nameless rites undone for strange eons.

Deep within the depths of ignorance now lay a solitary glimpse; a dreadful glimpse of truth fleshed out from an accidental peicing of seperated things. The tingle of air and chitter of insect, to the words resounding and heard yet falling upon no ears...

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"
"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dramining."

A few months ago…
==========================================

The chambers of the Detapa Council shone with a grim light as a cold sun bore down upon the beleaguered world. Famine had returned to Cardassia on the heels of a billion deaths, the destruction of an Empire, and the erosion of subspace.

“Gul Tubain, the Councilor will see you shortly,” the aide intoned with clinical indifference. The excitement of Cardassia’s slow rebirth had gone out of the populace since the collapse of warp travel, as food and supplies ground to a halt or rotted on planets cut off from the rest of the Union. To make matters worse, partisans had begun raiding convoys and skirmishing along the border, a cruel twist that was not lost on Tubain. He turned the orange crystal over in his hand, and waited.

“It’s funny,” he had said to the Council the day before, “How often our troubles come from the smallest of enemies. The Bajoran insurrection broke down the will of our occupation, the Maquis stretched our patience and resolve to hold those territories that were legally ceded to us, and our people were liberated from ourselves by Damar and his own band of rebels.”

“But, the terrorists who steal food and enflame tensions with the Federation are not freedom fighters—they are criminals,” he spoke slowly, emphasizing the bluntness of his last three words. “But they are still Cardassians, and it is us who have failed to provide them with what they need. The First Order stands ready to move into the border, put an end to the raiding, and restore the supply lines to our distant colonies.” And there his address ended, and another citizen took his place to plead his case. It was a carefully plotted move, and the inherent blandness of it spoke volumes.

“Tubain! I see you have something for me,” Ravek said, gesturing widely and standing from his desk. He reached across to embrace Tubain’s outstretched hand, taking the small crystal from the Gul with a smirk that twisted his well-fed features into a visage more fitted to a God of Plenty than the de-facto leader of a starving empire. His opulence was not a sign of corruption though, but of popular support, and he wore his rolls like a badge of office. “I’ve been looking for this piece,” he remarks, replacing the largest of the orange players to the board. “You really should know better than to disturb a game of Kotra.” The councilor’s eyes glittered flintily above his smile, and he gestured for Tubain to sit.

“I needed a way to get back here today. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to find an adequate excuse to bring me back so soon otherwise, especially not after suggesting we use the Military on our own people.”

Ravek huffs out a frustrated laugh—politics demanded he snub the Gul, not grant him an audience. “The violent excesses of some sixty years ago came on the backs of martial victory. The Council is not eager to give you free reign,” he comments, uneasily adjusting the lines of his tunic as he maneuvers his bulk to his chair. The desk itself is not uncommon Cardassian design, but it suddenly appears to Tubain like an anvil, upon which laws are bent and forged. He becomes aware of the frustration in the Councilor’s voice, and takes a moment to consider where the hammer lies.

“I’m glad the meaning of my gesture was not lost on you. I was relieved to receive your letter, requesting me to appear and return your missing game piece,” the Gul replied, attempting to come at the subject from another, less guarded angle.

“No, its meaning was not beyond me,” he snaps. “Kotra is a game of bold strategies, and your address was nothing if not bold. Why take the Castle though?” Ravek waves his hand towards the Kotra board as he takes his own seat behind his desk. “Don’t tell me you believe the Union will fall?”

“Don’t tell me you believe it can’t!” Tubain leaned forwards and put his hands squarely on the knife-edge of the desk. “Life under martial law was hard for our people, but this is what drove them to it! We’ve come far since the end of the Dominion War, but if we refuse to use the military to preserve the state the state will die and the military will be all that remains. We must intervene! I appeared before the Council as a citizen of the Union rather than the military liaison so that you could see this isn’t about the divisions of power, but about our very survival!”

Ravek meets him with silence, his face turned ashen and stony by the harsh, bitter light of the setting sun that creeps between shutters laid only half open. There is a tension in the Councilor’s jaw, the shadow of a younger, stronger man unburdened by responsibilities, and he turns his face away. Tubain sighs, and stands, staring towards the man, but receiving nothing in return. He makes to leave, but the creak of the chair holds him. Ravek faces the Gul, face cast into shadow, and asks, “What is it you’re planning, Tubain?”


Today
==========================================

“Ahh, Councilor Ravek, it’s good to see you. You’re looking well,” Tubain said, reaching up to help the portly official down the uneasy footing leading to the factory deck.

“You’re a liar, Legate Tubain. I have grown too fat to make these kinds of visits. What terribly expensive war-toy is it you’ve gone and given breath to now?” The Councilor was breathless from the descent, but still blustered. “Perhaps you should install some turbolifts instead of making warships. I daresay we need one more than the other!”

“You injure me, Councilor!” Tubain laughs and bangs on the glass that overlooks the shipyard’s factory yard, a massive length of ship stretched out from end to end, hissing away as parts are installed across its girth. “Look at that! Now that is power. I tell you Councilor, it can do things we haven’t even got words for yet.”

“Does it vote?”

“Not yet—we could install Federation holodeck and hope for the worst, if you like.”

“Alright, I’m impressed. You don’t need my seal of approval though, a little defense spending is the least the Detapa Council can do. The citizenry is howling for it anyway,” the Councilor said, coming to lean up against the glass and look down at the beast below. “Ever since the Dominion returned, smashed the Federation and invaded Bajor, the idea of an open borders policy has grown a little stale with us all. I regret having to invade the Human’s worlds after all the work we did repairing relations with them—the fact that we were stealing them from the Dominion’s mouth made it easier to justify as liberation—but the land-grab has not only allowed our people to rebuild, but bottled the Dominion up quite nicely. Frankly, I would rather pay for the restoration of our art and spiritual instiutions than battleships,” Ravek offers, with obvious regret, “But the Cardassian people have found it’s much easier to debate the ethical use of military force on a full stomach. We have resources to spare as it is, thanks to our new territories.”

Tubain smirked. “Ah yes, but once the Dominion is defeated and the Federation wants the worlds back we ‘liberated’ from the Jem’hadar, will the famines and recession return?” Now it was Ravek’s turn to smirk.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it, Legate. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to study for my meeting with the Tamarins. Have you ever attempted to discuss a trade agreement only in epic metaphor? Ravek, his taxes collected!”

"Cardassian disruptor rifle. Modified to fire ten megajoule bursts with a refire rate of two seconds. Expanded magazine. Can be taken apart and assembled in fifteen seconds," said Pieron to Karan.

Karan lifted the disruptor rifle and examined it. She took it apart. She put it back together and inspected it. She aimed the weapon down the shooting range and looked down its iron sights firing it at a ten centimeter thick armor plate penetrating with the first shot. Killing Jem'Hadar would be trivial with this weapon.

"How much?" Karan said.

"For Bajorans, ten bars," Pieron said.

"The Federation price control board doesn't exist now, merchant. Maybe I'll talk to the Klingon. Or the Romulan. Or the Betazed," Karan said.

Pieron snarled and grabbed the disruptor rifle. "Your freedom fighters need reliable weapons, not Federation toys." Pieron paused. "Six bars."

"Fine," said Karan snatching the rifle back. "I'll be taking this with me."

"Pay first," Pieron said.

Karan smiled and tapped her wrist communicator. "Karan, one-one-six-eight-two-six. Six bars of latinum."

The gold bars appeared at Pieron's feet. Running a scanner over them, Pieron cradled the bars and deposited them in his tritanium safe one by one, his eyes shining.

Karan exited. At least Pieron would always be on their side, as long as they had latinum to keep his mouth shut. Figuring out what Jem'Hadar wanted. That was much harder. They didn't want women. They hated culture. Much better were the Cardassians, but there weren't many of them around. Hopefully that would change. Karan was looking forward to slaughtering some of Bajor's blood enemies.

For now, Jem'Hadar would do.

Brian

Admiral Kamat of the reconstituted Bajoran Militia stood on his Challenger Class vessel inspecting the bridge. It beeped and whistled with Bajoran efficiency. Everything was durable and rugged. The consoles had tactile keyboards and the bridge commander's chair allowed him direct access to maneuvering thrusters and targeting data without cumbersome commands shouted in the heat of battle. Kamat knew this all came with a price, of course. The Dominion and now the Cardassians manipulated their government like puppetmasters, never revealing enough of themselves to present themselves as occupiers but definitely in real control. At least for now.

"Admiral, a priority message from Bajor," Nerak said, Kamat's long time aide.

"I'll take it in my quarters," Kamat said.

He went to his quarters and shut the door with a deadbolt. Activating the transmitter, Kamat's hands entered in a twenty character password. The Kai was smiling.

"Yes, what is it," Kamat said.

"My child was born today," the Kai said.

Kamat grinned. The child was the design of a new battlecruiser class vessel, being worked on jointly by a cadre of Federation engineers and Bajoran scientists. The battlecruiser would be based on a Galaxy class hull, stripped down. The Galaxy design despite its reputation as a workhorse instead of a true warship had been the mainstay of the Federation fifty years ago. With the holodecks, dolphin tanks and extra crew quarters removed and replaced with weapons, electronics and extra shield and power generators, it was a formidable foe with a tried and tested design that could be produced en masse with Bajor's antiquated shipyards using off the shelf components. The Galaxy would be Bajor's salvation from the Dominion and the Cardassians.

"Give the child my blessings," Kamat said.

"Of course," the Kai said.

Kamat turned. The Emissary would be pleased with this development.

Brian

The galaxy had been relatively peaceful, and for that Pal Corna was grateful. The old dynamics of the galaxy before the collapse of subspace were totally gone, and every race that hadn't isolated itself seemed to have adapted a wait-and-see approach thus far while they learned the new rules. Whether the galaxy would fall back into a state of seemingly endless cold war was something that was still yet to be seen.

It was just a normal day for the leader of the Andorian Empire, at least until he got a call from R&D. He activated his office's viewer, and the image of two Andorian scientists in the stereotypical lab coats greeted him. The elder Corna recognized as the big chief of R&D himself, but he didn't know the younger one. Both were smiling, but Corna noticed that the younger one had a rather maniacal looking gleam in his eyes.

"Chancellor, we're sorry to bother you, but my young protege here has just made an amazing breakthrough," the chief said. "Do you recall the incident with the genetically engineered superhuman Khan?"

"I think so," Corna answered. "He tried to steal a device known as the Genesis Torpedo, did he not?"

"He did, Chancellor," the chief nodded. "It was later discovered that a planet the Genesis device was used upon would eventually destroy itself, but my young friend has discovered a way to avoid that problem!"

Corna was stunned. "How?"

"By reversing the polarity!" the young Andorian exclaimed, more loudly than was strictly neccessary. "It's so simple! I can't believe no one ever thought of it before! Reversing the polarity is the answer to everything!"

"...right," Corna said. "How long before we can make use of it?"

The chief quickly held up a hand to prevent the younger scientist from answering. "We still need to develop it more," he warned. "And protomatter is an essential part of the device. Because of how dangerous it can be, we cannot have the manufacturing facility on one of our worlds, the threat would be too great. So everything neccessary for the production of the torp would have to be on the ship which delivers it. That, Mr. Chancellor, will be one expensive ship."

"So long as it doesn't bankrupt the Empire I don't care how much it costs," Corna answered. "This project has top priority."

"Yes, Mr. Chancellor," they both replied in unison and cut the transmission.

Pal Corna smiled, pleased. The Andorian Empire had quickly surged to dominace in the immediate aftermath of subspace's collapse, but they were able to claim far fewer worlds than the Son'a and Cardassians. Probably because of the three systems bordering their home system, two were nebulae and one was the Vulcan home system. If Corna didn't know better he'd swear it was some kind of karmic revenge or payback for something he'd recieved in a past life.

Either way, as time went on, the Son'a and Cardassians were beginning to gain more and more strength. Corna had decided he liked having the most powerful Empire in the accessible galaxy. Perhaps with Genesis, he could have that for many, many years to come.

...a few weeks ago
==========================================

Legate Tubain commanded a vast armada from the helm of his Keldon prototype, but he was nowhere near the borders of the Union, a welcome luxury. Instead, he was overseeing the colonization of several small worlds when the news came to him in the strangely parsed speech of the Tamarins. They set a rather leisurely course for New Cardassia, and the Legate mulled over what he had heard.

"How many?"
"Several craft. I believe it was close to six, or perhaps eight."
"Did they fire first?"
"No, it seems they were deliberately attacked."
"But why would the Vulcans--?"
"Perhaps it was a simple error in logic," Tubain jested darkly, heading into Council chambers and quickly availing himself of a chair at the thickly populated table. He glanced around and wagered he was currently seated somewhere between the Minister of Education and the staff from the department of Sanitation. All in all, not bad for a military man. His fame bought him little executive privledge.

"Ah, Tubain, excellent." Ravek leaned back in his chair, some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. "The Tamarins are howling! The majority of their expeditionary fleet obliterated at first contact with the Vulcans, and here we sit and do nothing--or so they say."

Tubain's confuision was clearly written across his ridges, and he leaned forwards to ask why the Vulcans would have attacked. "I thought we had settled disputes by opening up that region to Vulcan expansion?" He glanced to the Councilor in charge of the foreign affairs ministry.

"The Vulcans made no attempt to colonize those sectors, before or after we said we would allow them to colonize any worlds they could reach. The only presence they have is a light cruiser spying on the one colony we landed in the area," huffs Dumere. "They claimed infractions on part of the Tamarins, but the Tamarins had no worlds or heavy warships, and posed no threat to a cohabitation of the area. If they expect us to bar our allies passage into area which is firmly within our control, simply to avoid offending our guests..."

Ravek nods. "The Tamarins even say they attempted to establish diplomatic contact before the Vulcans attacked. Well before!"

"We have advocated patience," Councilor Dumere explained quickly, the rapidity of her speech demonstrating just how frustrating this entire exchange has become. "The Tamarins are very far from the Vulcans--there's no short-term risk of their worlds being sieged, and we are hoping to buy time to settle this more peacefully than our metaphorically-inclined neighbors," she says with a dry smirk.

"Yes, but in any case," Ravek interjected, "This situation is going to require care. Tubain, we want you to work with the Tamarins to assess the strength of the Vulcans while the rest of us appeal their logic."

The meeting adjourned, and Tubain's vessel left within the hour.

...days later
==========================================

"A fleet? They've sent a fleet into our space?" Tubain was dumbfounded, the stylus slipping from his hand back to his desk.

"Yes sir, a fairly heavy one. Approximately five heavy cruisers with four light cruiser escorts. It appears to be comprised of many of the elements that decimated the Tamarin expeditionary fleet." The lieutenant seemed frustrated with having to repeat himself.

"...has the Detapa Council asked them why they have a well armed combat fleet churning through Cardassian space?"

"Sir, the Vulcans claim it to be a..." he pauses, rephrasing, "...fact finding mission. A fact finding mission with heavy cruisers. Perhaps their targetting arrays double as biological survey equipment."

"It would not suprise me, coming from a Vulcan," the Legate growled. He looks across his rather important paperwork, and sighs, fidgeting as he realizes he needs to get moving on this. "Alright, tell the Tamarins we're heading out. Get me the Detapa Council--Ravek if you can, but settle for anyone in the Foreign Policy ministry." The lieutenant disappeared into the bowels of the amber-hued warship and within five minutes an aide of Ravek's appeared on the screen.

"Tubain, Councilor Ravek has prepared a statement for you," the aide said, slicing off the Legate's question as it began to form in his throat. "The Vulcans seem committed to a path of aggressively pursuing the Tamarins, and may even see our own colonies as threats, or targets of oppritunity," the young aide read, "something which we can neither afford to let happen nor discount as unlikely. We have asked them to reverse their fleet, and await their reply. But we humbly request the First Order mobilize to protect shared assets along the Vulcan borders, and that you coordinate with our allies and Intelligence in the case that further actions are necessary." The transmission ended promptly afterwards.

Tubain sat, somewhat baffled, for a moment or two. Intelligence could only mean one thing--the Obsidian Order. Though cleaned of corruption by Garak's purges during Cardassia's cultural rebirth, it remained such a fixture that it was impossible to remove, let alone rename. Intelligence it was called, but the Obsidian Order it was. One does not simply discard one of the most advanced intelligence gathering operations in the Galaxy!

The Legate's fingers darted across the computer panel, dragging a Vulcan schematic up to display. The Tamarins, though suffering severe losses in the one engagement so far, had at least given the Cardassians a picture of their likely enemy. "Not too terribly impressive," Tubain grumbled, placing a transmission to the Order. Their response was swift.

"Legate! We have been expecting you. How is Korriban?"

"Lovely as always," Tubain replied. "I take it you've already hatched some devious plot to bring this skirmish to an end even before it starts?"

"Ahh... it will not be that easy," the Order operative replied. One never asked for a man in charge. Rank in the order often had nothing to do with authority--it was another level of smokescreen to avoid any one operative from becoming more important. Authority was hidden, like the rest of the Order. "It would appear the Vulcans are more than certain of themselves, and a few unfortunate accidents aren't going to scare them off. But, we do have something on-hand that might be--"

"You're planning to use the same plan that we prepared for the Dominion, on the Vulcans?" Disbelief and disgust came across the gulf of space very clearly, and the operative looked wounded by the distaste in Tubain's speech. "Isn't that a little... severe?"

"Now Legate! What is worse? Forcing the Vulcans to abandon Orelius Minor, shut down their industry, and end the war before it started... or forcing each of them to fight and die in a war they have no chance of winning? Worst yet, they may even have time to involve other species, and turn this into an actual conflict." Tubain chewed his lip, and thought for a moment.

"I don't like it. Has Ravek signed off on this?"

"Of course Legate. Afterall, it was his idea!"

...yesterday
==========================================

"Ravek, they're not turning around."

"Tubain, I know, I know. Fools--damn fools! They're forcing our hand. We can't allow this, and we can't cave in. They'll destroy several more Tamarin fleets if they continue onwards, and threaten every world in that region..." the heavyset Councilor bellowed, trailing off as new information streamed in. He grunted and spun the monitor around. More Vulcan vessels. "Minelayers."

Tubain knew where this was headed. "They've moved more heavy ships in behind their smaller ones as they advance, refitting old vesels. They are building battlecruisers now as well, and probably mining the wormholes. I have trouble seeing the logic in this."

"Oh, the logic is clear, Tubain. A show of force left their forces victorious over our allies, and now they're betting on our weak will and good nature to allow them to steal territory from us we had previously agreed to share. By driving out the Tamarins they've probably betted that they can seize that entire arm of space. Their vessel has only now stopped it's surveillance of our colony world, and I believe it's moved to rejoin their greater fleet." Ravek was frustrated, driven into a course of action he did not enjoy. "I did not want to start another war."

"If all goes according to plan," Tubain reminds the Councilman, "the Vulcans will be left with so little production capacity that they'll be forced to come to the table. The Order seems fairly certain it will work, and we more than posess the military capacity to stabilize that region. The First Order is poised to move in as soon as the Operatives complete their missions, and the Tamarins have sent several vessels down to help defend our colony worlds threatened by the roaming Vulcan battlefleet. Plus," Tubain added, "I asked the Order to do me a favor. I think it'll be helpful for minimizing the actual fighting required, should the Vulcans not cease, or slow this buildup and attack."

Today
==========================================

There is no dawn in space, but there was on New Cardassia--and at daybreak, local time, across Orelius the Operatives of the Obsidian Order packed up and left in small shuttles as a small fleet of fifteen vessels slid through the inky space into Orelius Minor. The Vulcan fleet pressed forwards, and reports of skirmishes with the Tamarins extinguished any hope of a last minute change of heart. Saboteurs running a misdirection operation on one of the Vulcan warships are foiled, but Vulcan intelligence misses the quieter plots, and each of the targetted worlds erupt with famine. Refugees flee from city to city, then world to world, as the grim news becomes clear. All but two worlds in the entire colonized system are devoid of any food at all, and the small worlds that were left are too small to support more than a tiny fraction of the millions of citizens who need aid. The mass exodus back to their Homeworlds leaves the Vulcan system of Orelius Minor bare except for warships and empty cities.

"Good," Tubain remarks, surveying the operation from his Keldon. "No civilians to get caught in the line of fire. Let them all leave--or resettle elsewhere if they desire--we've proven our point." He turned back to the viewscreen to watch the end of Ravek's speech.

~~...and it was this that demanded of us action. The Cardassian Union has become a force of stability, and order, and peace in the years since the horrific cataclysm that has left us so scattered from each other. But as we reach out to others to join us, occasionally there are disagreements, and miscommunications, and sometimes there are aggressors who would seek to destroy everything we have all worked for.

Now, I believe the Vulcans to be a people of peace, and reason. Their leaders have faltered in their duty as good stewards, but anger is not with them, but those who would distort that message of peace and reason to justify war and suspicion. We have already asked the Vulcan leaders to come to the table, and speak with us, so implore them to end this now!

Those who are duty-bound to fight us, we hold no malice for you. Question the logic of your orders! Those who are honor-bound to fight us, we have no anger for you either. But ask yourself, will it help your people? There is a time for standing up and fighting, but this is not that time...~~

It was a pretty piece of propaganda. Tubain surveyed the next wave of fleets entering the Orelius system amid other minor reports. The scout from the 'Southern Expedition' ran face-first into mines. The 'Eastern Expedition' was nearing the edge of Vulcan space. There was a surplus of production. And the Tamarins did not believe they could hold the Vulcans from breaching Torman. Tubain chuckled at that. "They'll wish they hadn't..." he remarks to himself. A message beeped through and appeared on his viewer.

"Ravek! Good to see you," Tubain replied with earnest suprise. "All is well here. Checking in?"

"Yes, mostly. I also wanted to ask you how you managed to clear the Vulcans out without the huge loss of life we had previously expected! When we had drafted these plans for combatting the Dominion, much was made of the lethality of the methods. But I'm finding it hard to find more than a handful of accidental fatalities and some bellyaching." Ravek was nearly as suprised. Mystified, perhaps.

"Ah, well, we changed the payload slightly, Councilman. You told me to work with the Order--I found the viral agent to be too indiscriminate. If we choose to unleash a metagenic plague onto a world, the population really should have done someting to deserve it other than mining or farming."

"Yes, yes, I'm not angry, just suprised! How did you develop a new virus in such short order?" Ravek was pressing him for information, and Tubain was being unusually coy.

"Well, Councilman, the solution was already around, in fact. A weapon of mass destruction unlike any other." Tubain holds one of the small 'bomblets' in one hand. "Nearly silent, and capable of a non-reversible, surgical destruction of an entire world's food supplies practically overnight, and no associated risk of millions of dead civilians."

"...that's just cruel." Ravek's voice is gravelly.

"Why Councilman, don't you like Tribbles?"

"The Vulcans. The Vulcans are the key," Karan said.

Rowen grunted. His coarse hair streaked with grey and muscles bulging from his tight shirt, former Corporal Rowen of the Federation Marines was a force to be avoided. Like a lion loosed on a cheering crowd Rowen pointed out targets on the map. If only I had a hundred Rowens, thought Karan.

"No. We should hit the Dominion and Cardassians where they are weakest. Assassinate key leaders. The Cardassian Agricultural Minister and the Dominion Ethics Commissioner are particularly vulnerable and will be exposed at next month's peace summit," Rowen said.

"We have no support. No government recognizes us. If we are to be legitimate we need supplies, equipment and information. The Vulcans are getting more and more aggressive. I'm hearing rumors of a Vulcan High Command, a militant faction who seized power," Karan said. She paused. "The Vulcans could be powerful allies to free Bajor from the Dominion and Cardassians."

"Fool! Have you looked out the street lately, woman? Industrial replicators, food, medicine, law and order. Your people love the occupation. Your own government wants you dead. They don't want to be freed. We're on our own."

"All the more reason we want outside help. And the Andorians. The Vulcans and Andorians were once Federation. Bajor was Federation. They--"

"The Human Starfleet is annihilated. The Federation's dead. Anybody who wants to bring it back's a fool," Rowen said. He stormed out.

"Perhaps," Karan whispered. "But fighting for a dream's better than endless death."

Brian

Across Jem'hadar minds in the Maxia system, a resounding, reoccuring dream appears in the minds of many each night. The sight of a huge writhing creature from beyond known space, squirming in manners in which no living being should. Words of an unknown and guttoral tongue resonate... the meaning instantly known on a basic, instinctual level.

~Leave Maxia, and turn over your colonies to us... attempt no further entry into our space. Obey and leave us.~

One tiny scout ship was not something that always recieved the full attention of the Imperial Command. Sometimes they went for a month or more without getting a new order, feeling oh so very important.

That changed when a warp point opened in the system they'd just left, a Dominion system. Imperial Command was suddenly screaming at them to go back and investigate.

If someone with technology advanced enough to manipulate space in such a manner, the Andorian Empire needed to know about it, especially if the Dominion were invading someone or themselves being invaded.

"She's gaining support," Minister Ural said. Kamat kept his face concerned, but his mind was on other matters, an essential trick for pleasing children, women and politicians.

"Karan won't kill Bajorans," Kamat said.

"You believe so. What happens when the Cardassians begin rounding our people up in concentration camps or imprisoning us? Every Jem'Hadar or Cardassian the resistance movement kills makes it that much harder for us to maintain the peace."

You mean maintain your puppet of a government, Kamat thought. But he controlled his facial muscles. "Of course Minister. But what would you have me do, hunt down freedom fighters? Our soldiers wouldn't do anything even if I ordered them. Karan and her people are legends."

"We may have an opportunity," Ural said.

"Oh?" Kamat said. That time, Kamat could barely contain his boredom. Opportunities to politicians meant money, women or status. Kamat doubted Ural was involving him in some lucrative scheme, and even if he was Kamat would decline. The traitor would be executed once Bajor was liberated. And Kamat was happily married. He cared nothing for a politician's ambitions.

"The Vorta are in a rage. Apparently, last month there was a telepathic intrusion against Jem'Hadars, Vorta and even Founders. They have traced the signal to the galactic core."

Suddenly Kamat didn't have to feign curiousity. "What kind of telepathic intrusion? Vulcan? How many were hurt?"

"None were hurt. It wasn't an attack. More of a warning, telling the Dominion to leave a sector of space and cede colonies. And." Ural paused. "Jem'Hadars. Vortas. Founders. They all received the message."

Kamat nodded. Power of that magnitude, to deliver coherent words thousands of light years to billions of beings, was beyond even the Vulcans. "And what do our Cardassian overlords wish us to do?"

"They are not our overlords. They are our benefactors," Ural said.

"Ah, of course," Kamat said.

"The Dominion has perfected Borg transwarp conduit technology."

Kamat's jaw nearly dropped. Since subspace collasped, the only way to travel between subspace were transwarp conduits from the Borg invasion forty five years ago. There was no pattern to their conduits. Interstellar trade annihilated itself overnight. The mighty Dominion economic prowress, moreso than the Dominion war machine, was proving to the galaxy's greatest terror. Now the Dominion was able to go anywhere, whenever they wished. "And what do they intend to do with it?"

"They are opening a transwarp conduit to the coordinates near the galactic core where they believe the transmission originated."

That was good news. The more the Dominion got themselves in trouble, the more Jem'Hadar were killed and to Kamat the only good Jem'Hadar was a vaporized one. "I wish them all the luck."

"Once the wormhole is stable--" Ural leaned forward. "--I am ordering the fleet through it."

"What?" Kamat said. His face heated and if half a dozen guards loyal to Ural's family weren't in the room Kamat would have strangled the collaborator. "The people will not stand for it."

"The people will. Attacking this enemy will bring the people will focus them on an enemy other than the Cardassians and Dominion. And you have to agree, this threat cannot be ignored."

"Why not?"

"After they defeat the Dominion, do you want to be a telepath's lap dog? The Dominion may be terrible Admiral, but at least they do not rape our women or bombard our cities or penetrate our innermost thoughts. This enemy is much worse."

The sniveling politician was right. The people would unite behind the government in a war, and an enemy with the power to reach out to billions of minds was a danger to the galaxy. Of course, with the people's attention focused on a new enemy they would be less focused on the fact that they were ruled by a puppet government. It might even dull the resistance movement for awhile. And make it less of a chance than an uprising would behead Ural.

"I want my staff to go over the war plan," Kamat said.

"Do that," Ural said.

"The Captains won't agree to sending their ships to fight a war not our own," Kamat said.

"That will be remedied. In an hour the Prime Minister will give a speech declaring war on the invaders. The people will know that their minds could be invaded in their sleep. And the Captains will listen."

Listen to me, not you, you weasel. But Kamat could do nothing. Not now, anyway, not until the Galaxies were ready. Ural's supporters were too powerful. "I understand. I will convince the Captains."

"Do that. And if they do not listen." Ural paused. "Remove them."

Remove them, an euphemism Kamat was well familiar with. He choked on his own spit for a second. "I will do what I can."

"You are popular Admiral, but never forget who has the power," Ural said. The politician stood and left, his bodyguards forming a phanlax around him. One day, the traitor would be dead, and Kamat would make sure he towered over Ural's body and pissed on it.

Several days later a great armada leaves Bajor. The ships are refitted mining vessels, their processing equipment replaced with shield generators, upgraded with Dominion weapons and armor. As Dominion overlords watch, the vessels enter the wormhole in waves, their Captains not knowing what to expect, but knowing that the enemy beyond the wormhole is far worse than the Cardassians or even the Dominion.

Brian

"Impossible," Ural said.

"They are all dead Minister," Kamat said. "Their blood is on your hands now." Kamat felt cold. He knew attacking an enemy they knew nothing about broke every military rule in the book, and now he was right and the entire Bajoran fleet was annihilated with minimal casualties to the invaders. To make matters worse, the fleet had been under the command of one of Ural's political apointees, and when the battle started the vessels were ordered to stay in rigid formation, easy targets for enemy capital ships. Their technology surpassed anything the Bajorans would field for years. Kamat doubted the Dominion or even the Cardassians could resist this great scourge.

Ural leaned forward in the monitor. "The Bajoran public cannot know of this."

"I do not think you understand the magnitude of this defeat Minister. Even if I wanted to I could not stop the news from spreading." Kamat paused. "You ordered our people to their deaths."

"I did what was right for our people. Do you know how many Bajorans would have died if we disobeyed the Founder's wishes? Or how many Cardassian troops would have deployed in our cities had they even a hint of disobedience?" Ural spat at the screen. "If we had defeated this enemy, the Dominion would have let us administer the captured territory. We would have ushered in a new golden age for Bajor."

"But we did not. There are a quarter million dead Bajorans instead and our civilization is on the brink of destruction." Kamat crossed his arms. "Place yourself under arrest and I will make sure that you are spared the death penalty, traitor."

The monitor went dead. Ural wasn't likely to obey, but soon even his most loyal retainers would desert him. More blood would be shed before this was over, and the first would be the traitorous collaborators. Kamat pressed his comm badge.

"Is the shuttle fueled?"

"Yes Admiral."

Kamat would save his people. If the cost was trading one overlord for another, Kamat would gladly pay it. The Bajoran people would not have their freedom today, or tomorrow, but they would have their lives. That was all he could offer his people, and he was not sure even of that.

The enemy could simply decide to murder us all, thought Kamat. And there was nothing to stop them.

Brian

Pal Corna scowled as he read the report on the new Apollo design. It had failed utterly in simulated combat against a smaller foe. He typed out a message to R&D that the project was to be restarted. In the meantime, the Archangel class was to be upgraded and kept in production.

That done, he turned to the latest intelligence reports. The past few months had been very eventful for the galaxy at large. The Federation, which imperial intelligence was making increasingly clear was actually the Bajorans, had had a massive battle against the Fluidic Imperium and lost.

The Imperial Guard had been pressing him to send intelligence out to aquire information on the Fluidic Imperium for some time. Perhaps now he could gain that information without sending good intel operatives out on suicide missions. He sent off a message to the "Federation."

The galactic balance of power could very well be shifting, and Corna wanted to come out in a good postion when it was finished. His advisors had suggested he try and seek stronger relations with other nations. The Tamaranians seemed an agreeable enough people, and intelligence had reported that New Cardassia was surprisingly democratic.

This would take some careful thought...

Taking no heed from the beckoning of caution, each silvery-white hulled ship sailed into the immaterial realm, intent on claiming what they thought theirs. Two score and Twenty emerged, finding but gnats against their armaments. They approached a solitary jewel, the first in what hungry eyes wished would be many to the taking.

The Flotilla drew nearer unimpeded towards the planet.. when a great bastion appeared to boil up from the space between stars. Cries of outrage and panic followed, soon replaced by that of terror. A great gate upon the walls opened and out emerged the army of C'Thulu the Dreamer, Who Waits In R'yleh.

The shifting and empyerian forms of the defenders were magnificent and yet horrifying, each glance of which inspired aesthetic pleasures that drove men to new heights of madness. They dove through the center of the invaders, feeding on their arrogance, their fear and their shame. Ships tore asunder, while others were devoered alive by hundreds of tiny mouths. Those who fled fired back, injuring or destroying the least breeds of the dreadful armada.

More came, but and strange light emerged from the unharmed ships of the sleeper. Colours, unlike those seen on any planet yet previous emerged, streaming out like slick oil to meet the humans. Those that it touched turn grey and chalky, breaking down into dust and foul ashes.

But one wounded human ship now remained, struggling to escape to the sanctuary of home. But they had opened with their arcane and unguided sciences a new path. A route in which the jibbering horrors of the realm of R'yleh could take to a new feeding ground.

Perhaps out of collective shock, researchers and scientists, mathematicians and engineers across Federation space heard but a single message, spoken in their own voices...

The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

It had been a quiet month, quite unlike the one before it, during which a flurry of messages to and from both the Cardassians and the Bajorans had occupied much of his time.

The new leadership of the Cardassians was more reasonable and diplomatic than he had ever known Cardassians to be. Corna wasn't about to let his guard down, but it was still heartening.

The Bajorans, well, they were still the Bajorans. Yet they'd suggested something to him that he hadn't been able to get out of his mind since: rebuild the Federation.

He felt like something of a hypocrite for being so intrigued by the idea of a new Federation; he'd recently just be joyous to get the Andorian Empire out of the old one, after all. Yet, the basic premise of the Federation was sound: a group of worlds united as equals for common defense. Safeguards could be written into a new Federation constitution to prevent the failings of the old Federation from being repeated.

The door chime sounded. "Enter," he called.

A young intern entered and gave him a message from the Vulcans. Corna read it and scowled. For once, the Vulcans would not see reason. It looked like they would follow their present course to their doom.

It would look bad, he mused, if he tried to remake the UFP and couldn't even get the pointy ears to join.

Perhaps it was just a foolish dream after all. He was surprised to realize that the thought saddened him.

Quadra Sigma System
==========================================

It had been a busy week. The Vulcan shipyards over the abandoned new homeworlds of the Society were blasted apart by the heavily armed Zeta Fleet. Lessons had been learned early on about the Vulcan style of self defense: burn your land, and leave mines. Lots of mines. Sometimes so many mines that a full field would have it's losses replaced the next day. Several thousand tons of Cardassian war machinery was torn apart by these nasty little things, and Tubain had grown sick of hearing about them every day.

It was no wonder then that the fleets that rolled into Orelius Minor and Quadra carried with them enough minesweeping power to obliterate a full four hundred mines in a day. Even once they split up, each sub-fleet was capable of independantly sweeping the seething forests of Vulcan military mines.

When Zeta fleet first breached Quadra it encountered the first sign of resistance yet--a Vulcan fleet, complete with starbases, arrayed in defense of their wormhole. The battle itself raged for a suprisingly long time, nearly a full day of fighting, but it highlighted the differing design strategies of the two fleets. The Cardassian emphasis on layered defenses and the incredibly expensive Kelindide armor proved it's worth, with the UWS "Quadra's Dawn," flagship of Zeta fleet, taking little over three percent damage in the battle. It was the only vessel to take hull damage, and it was repaired in two more days when Quadra Sigma VIII was cleared of any remaining Vulcan shipping.

Several worlds were still controlled by the Vulcans, but only one colony remained. The fleets avoided it, seeking to avoid any 'last stand' that would force them to demonstrate to the galaxy that Cardassians have not forgotton how to land troops in civilian centers, or lost their stomach for shooting children. Tubain struck all possible invasion plans off his desk with undue ferocity, knowing that images of Cardassian landing forces would do more harm than conquering another small would would do good.

"They harmless. A blockade at most is needed, certainly not invasion. I believe we can offically call this war over. It was hardly a war to begin with," Tubain said with mild confusion and pronounced annoyance. "A scuffle perhaps--all due respect to those injured by the mines, but we hardly even fired a shot."

The face at the other end of the connection wabbled and droned on and Tubain's thoughts drifted. A small line of cardassian text popped into the corner, noting that two colonizers had arrived from Orelius Minor to begin the reconstruction of this sector. It seems that the Vulcans did at least manage to slow the Cardassian advance, if not in the way the Legate had expected.

Nelbato System
New Cardassia
==========================================
"Councilor?"

"New word from the Andorians," Ravek guessed from over his reading.

"No sir. Federation-styled ships are apparently enroute through Nelbato. They're not equipped with long range scanners, but they've observed some of our larger ships in transit," the young military man reported in crisp tones. Ravek sighed.

"So? They know we have Keldon-class vessels. What do you expect me to do about it? You said they didn't posess detailed scanners?"

The officer pursed his lips. "No, they don't.

"Bwuh!" half laughed Ravek. "Well then, what'll they do? Report us? Let them. I'm suprised they haven't asked for our assistance yet. Though it's possible that they're less autonomous than we expected. I wonder how short a leash the Dominion has them on."

"Very short, I presume," the officer replied. "Much like we were."

"Mrmmm... they always were a stubborn bunch. You'd think a shapeshifter would be less stiff than that!" He rapped his knuckles on his desk and pivoted his chair. "How about the Species vessel in Quadra. Any word on that?"

"Our linguists are working on it. The Tamarins too--doesn't seem to be much to it besides..." he said, trailing off, embarassed. "...poetry?" Ravek's sigh went to a groan.

"Not another one! At least the Andorians know how to speak. I grow fonder of them every day. Their ship though, is it a threat?"

"No, it's a nebula sweeper. Seems they want to eliminate some of the plasma pockets in Quadra and Orelius. Zeta fleet is only a week away, at most, from their homeworlds. I suspect they're somewhat concerned of a secretly massed force along their borders. The benefits to us are obvious though--no more Badlands for Vulcan raiders. If only we'd had their help back against the Maquis..." Ravek tsk'd him.

"The Bajorans haven't forgotton. Perhaps it's time for us to. Depending on Dominion response, we may be working closely with them before long. We're not out of the line of fire just yet. Fear can drive people to make very bad decisions. We need to ask... who is going to be afraid of us now?