Um, no...that would be me.Agent R wrote:Post, the first.
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds
Moderator: LadyTevar
"I want to mow down a bunch of motherfuckers with absurdly large weapons and relative impunity - preferably in and around a skyscraper. Then I want to fight a grim battle against the unlikely duo of the Terminator and Robocop. The last level should involve (but not be limited to) multiple robo-Hitlers and a gorillasaurus rex."--Uraniun235 on his ideal FPS game
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
Believe me when I say that you haven't seen anything yet...Agent R wrote:EDIT: Wow . . . the shit's really hit the fan now hasn't it? Paradox gone, massive temporal disruptions, that collaborating bitch Viqi Shesh stirring up the pot, and now the Q continuum's going down the drain!
No, he's not; Welsey is the Representative who contacted the Gardener. As for the Gardener, well, all will be revealed in due time...Agent R wrote:Wesley's not the gardener is he? Rereading the last few chapters, I had the weirdest feeling that all these mysterious characters we keep seeing are people we know, or should know . . .
I took some time and finally read this. Wow. Incredible. One thing, however, bugs me. And it's in each chapter right at the start.
.
EDIT: Minor grammar fix
STAT WARS? What in the name of all that's unholy is STAT wars? I'm confusedJME2 wrote:Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Stat Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Twentieth Century Fox and Lucasfilm. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.
.EDIT: Minor grammar fix
Last edited by HSRTG on 2005-10-23 12:55am, edited 1 time in total.
Kill one man, you're a murderer. Kill a million, a king. Kill them all, a god. - Anonymous
Is there a cleaned version of this somewhere? Want to read it, don't want to paw through almost 30 pages of posts, most of which will be feedback and speculation.
بيرني كان سيفوز
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Nuclear Navy Warwolf
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in omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro
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ipsa scientia potestas est
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Nuclear Navy Warwolf
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in omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro
*
ipsa scientia potestas est
No, there isn't. I wish there was. I move that this be put in C&C, so that it's greatness may be known!Ender wrote:Is there a cleaned version of this somewhere? Want to read it, don't want to paw through almost 30 pages of posts, most of which will be feedback and speculation.
Kill one man, you're a murderer. Kill a million, a king. Kill them all, a god. - Anonymous
* sigh * Not yet. I was planning to polish the existing chapters over the summer, but I never got around to it. However, once Act II is finished (5-6 more chapters), I'll be taking a temporary break to go back over everything.Ender wrote:Is there a cleaned version of this somewhere? Want to read it, don't want to paw through almost 30 pages of posts, most of which will be feedback and speculation.
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Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11937
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
No, it's not a story update, but a tech. update. Or in this case, more of a possible warning. Last night, my computer started sparking and it appears to have finally kicked the bucket. I'm taking into the shop tomorrow, but it appears that I will probably have to dip into the new computer fund I've had since the PSU failure last year. Since I had new chapters planned for this weekend, I'm just warning in advance that they may not be ready. Thanks for your patience as always, guys.
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Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11937
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds
Author’s Notes: I am so sorry for the delays, guys. But as we all know too well, life can be a bitch at time and I have been so busy as of late. As with earlier chapters, this chapter contains spoilers for the TNG Section 31 novel “Rogue” and ROTS. Other than that, as always, enjoy.
***
Act II, Part XIV
“Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.”
-Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.-
***
Location: Tipoca City
Kamino, That Galaxy Far, Far Away
Growing up, Naqhu De had always believed that an isolationist society such as Kamino would need to adapt and evolve past its long-standing cultural values in order to survive in the galaxy. The future-Defense Minister, however, rarely spoke such thoughts aloud. His father was a member of the Planetary Defense Force and was a staunch patriot who possessed little tolerance for dissent. And though he did not appreciate or approve Kamino parading its technology to the elite of the galaxy, he still remained loyal to the state.
His loyalty had cost him his life the day that the Seperatists attacked, his father‘s regiment blown to the heavens while defending one of the cloning facilities. The attack had changed many minds, De’s included, about Kamino’s role and had led to a decline in progressive thinking and a rise in traditionalist beliefs. Three years later, when the Emperor had offered them the opportunity to dismantle their cloning operations and be left in peace or be destroyed, the people of Kamino had chosen to return to their isolation.
But just because they were isolated didn’t mean that they didn’t have outside contact.
As Defense Minister, Naqhu De was well aware of the events that transpired outside the galaxy. After all, the Galactic Civil War and its successor conflicts could have without warning spilled into Kaminoan space and any premonition of disaster could mean the difference between life and death for his world. To that end, he maintained a network of operatives who reported on the galactic situation. It was through these operatives that five years after Endor, De had been approached by a shadowy emissary.
The emissary had informed him that his leader had plans for Kamino, alluding to the possibility of occupation. However, such plans would be abandoned should De accept membership in an elite secret society dedicated to the protection of the galaxy. His role would be simple, in many ways that of a watchdog: observe and report on any suspicious activities in his secret. In return, Kamino would be left alone as it so desired. And so he had done so for over two decades until the mysterious ship from the Romulan Star Empire had arrived on his doorstep. Knowing what had to be done, he had contacted the society’s leader and was promised that a solution would present itself.
The Defense Minister, however, had expected them to act subtly as they often did; their strength lay in concealing themselves in the shadows. With that in mind, he hadn’t expected a capital-ship to waltz into the system and make-off with the mystery vessel. That in turn had now led to his heated discussion with the society’s leader. As always, he had no visual representation of this individual, simply a holographic ’Sound Only” placard and a distorted, disguised voice.
“Minister, I know your feelings on the matter and I confess that it was unfortunate, but time was of the essence. The Scimitar and its weapon could easily have vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. The very fact that it reappeared after Sector 001 on your doorstep was a lucky break for us. And with New Plympto now gone, our plans need implementation as quickly as possible.”
“That still does not excuse --”
“Minister, your own agents provided you with the clips from the second incursion into Sector 001. You saw its weapon destroy an entire Yuuzhan Vong fleet, a feat that the New Republic has not been able to achieve in its war. Do you really think a mere handful of stealth craft could take it on? No, a Star Destroyer was necessary for the operation. Besides, the reappearance of the basic sign of Imperial might give the Progressives pause, eh?
Naqhu De slowly and grudgingly had to admit that the leader was correct on both counts. A Star Destroyer truly would have been the ideal vessel for taking on the Scimitar. In addition, the Progressives had been making a comeback as of late in the political arena. They wanted to resume contact with the galaxy, particularly with Palpatine now long gone. The appearance of the Imperial vessel and its actions would certainly silence them for a while.
“Perhaps you are right. But what of the one called Shinzon?”
“The Praetor’s absence from the vessel was unanticipated, but not necessary for the completion of the Project. Do with him as you see fit. Until then, continue your observation and report as instructed.”
The transmission quickly ended, leaving the Defense Minister to once again scowl at the deal the society had blackmailed him into accepting. But like so many actions, good and bad, it was all for a noble cause: the preservation of Kamino and its children. His thoughts now turned to the fate of Shinzon and what could befall the human. He straightened his tunic and turned towards his quarters’ door --
-- and came face to face with the compact barrels of Kaminoan firearms, an EE-3 blaster rifle, and a alien dagger. Wielding these weapons of war were the expressionless face of his countrymen, a sickly human, and the t-shaped, polarized face-plate of a green, battered Mandalorian helmet.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
***
Location: Sky City
Tokyo, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy
As a product of Cybot Galactica’s successful protocol droid line, See-Threepio was not only fluent in over six million forms of communication, but designed to serve in the capacity of personal assistant. Under the service of Captain Antilles of the Tantive IV, however, Threepio’s talents had been more used towards other, mundane tasks such as the programming of binary load lifters.
The Tantive IV’s mission to Tatooine, however, had led to the series of events which Threepio into the position he knew he was best suited for. Thus, had gone on to serve the Solo and Skywalker families in the capacity of assitant, nanny, entertainer, and moving target (Threepio continually attempted to explain to Captain Solo that this was not part of his operational functions, but the Corellian kept stating otherwise).
The departure of Mistress Jaina meant that only young Master Ben and Master Jacen would be around to keep him --
“Threepio, I’m heading out,” Jacen said suddenly, rising from the carpet of the suite with swiftness, a look of worry in his face.
“But Master Jacen, where are precisely are you --”
The door to their suite had swished shut before Threepio could protest further. He gave the droid equivalent of a sigh.
“Does anyone care what the protocol droid thinks anymore?”
***
“Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Katarn?”
“No, I’ll be fine, Lieutenant Chang.”
“Very good, sir.”
Katarn nodded more to himself. He had conferred with a number of Federation security personnel, including Lt. David Chang, since arriving, but Munro had been right about his second in command. Cold, yet utterly focused on doing his duty to the best of his abilities. It perhaps reminded Katarn a little too much of his fellow officers from his days as the Imperial Academy on Cardia.
Chang, however, was a sharp contrast to Munro. The Hazard Team Leader was perhaps a tad too young and too optimistic, but a good guy overall. Plus he was one of the best shots Katarn had seen since Cardia. His sharpness in battle was what had likely saved the Jedi from being overwhelmed during the battle for Embassy Row.
Though the missions had been classified, even he knew Munro and half of the Hazard Team had been uploaded onto the Titan. His second in command, David Chang had been left in charge on this end. Rumor had it that would be assigned to Admiral Janeway’s flagship, the Enterprise-E, once fleet operations on the other side of the Terran-Nubian wormhole commenced. Until then, all he had was to solve the mystery of who had bombed the Federation Council Chamber.
The bomb had been smuggled into one of the Republic delegations’ droids, that was universally agreed upon. But readings of the bombing indicated it contained elements of explosive chemicals and particles used in both galaxies. Katarn’s examination of the footage had caused him to concur with Starfleet Security that there was only a single bomb rather than two as some had hypothesized.
Alright, it was hidden inside a protocol droid. How had either security force missed it? Well, that was easy. No security detail was perfect. He, for example, had managed to land of Coruscant and infiltrate a key ISB facility during his hunt for information on the Dark Trooper program. Luke and company had made it inside Black Sun’s headquarters right before Endor. Hell, even the Rogues had infiltrated the weather processing facilities that had been critical in seizing the galactic capital. Even on a capital world, there was no such thing as perfect security.
Regardless, that didn’t answer the question of who had planted the bomb. Was it the Yuuzhan Vong. Likely, especially given the slight hint of the sense of emptiness that accompanied the Vong. Starfleet? Possible, though it didn’t seem their style and --
Katarn could not explain what happened next. It semed as it he was surrounded by pain on all sides, a vision of fire, dancing in his head. It passed quickly, but that did not assure the former freelance agent and Jedi. Katarn felt for his lightsaber, his face turning grim.
Something bad was about to happen in San Francisco.
***
Location: Coruscant
That Galaxy Far, Far Away
The setting sun over the sea of space-scrapers had been found by many during the Old Republic and its successor states to be truly awe-inspiring and oddly comforting. As he found himself leaning against the transparisteel portal of the Imperial Palace’s suite, Jean-Luc Picard found them to be neither. As he had nearly a month ago aboard the Enterprise-E, the Captain found himself longing for a nice, large bottle of a vintage from his family‘s ancestral chateau. And just as before, Viqi Shesh had proven herself to be the source of more sorrow in the life of the commander of the Starfleet flagship.
Less than twelve hours had passed since Shesh had made her broadcast and revelation before the Senate. The Kuati Senator had gone a step further, showing the very footage that Picard had poured over less than a month earlier with Luke in Bunker One, footage of Zweller at the Federation Council and had gone on to cite his mysterious discharge resulting from the Geminus Gulf incident -- obtained legally through the Federation‘s information services.
While she had not come outright and stated the existence of Section 31 -- though Picard had been forced to for Quital and Leia following the meeting -- she had nonetheless claimed that Zweller was part of a vast Federation conspiracy against the New Republic that was determined to see the destruction of all they had fought for.
Picard might have found it all laughable if not for how dark and serious the situation had become and all on his watch. He sighed as he looked at the reflections of the Nubian queen and Alderannian princess. They both had neutral expressions upon their faces, but Picard knew the emotions of anger and the feelings of betrayal that were stirring beneath. Quital was speaking.
“…I am not saying that at all. But if she is right and we have been used, then I need you to understand that I will withdraw our consent for you to establish your Transwarp Hub and base without hesitation. I am sorry, Captain Picard.”
With a bow to both of then, Quital departed the suite, leaving only Captian Picard and Princess Leia. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, neither one of them speaking.
“Princess Leia,” he said at last, “I --”
“Did my brother know?”
Picard did not respond. Leia’s eyes narrowed.
“Captain, did he--.”
“He knew that I knew something about Zweller, but the Vong launched their attack before I could fully inform him.”
“Did Zweller or this Section 31 bomb the Federation Council?”
“I…I don’t know. I am all too aware of the lengths Section 31 will go to achieve what it believes is best for the Federation. But the suddenness of the Vong’s second attack may have not been a coincidence.”
“But they may have nonetheless tried to kill Fey‘lya?”
“It’s possible.”
“And that mystery ship with the biogenic weapon -- was it one of theirs?”
“I don’t know. I honestly do not.”
The silence returned for an uncomfortably long time before Leia resumed speaking, a low, dark and bitter tone to her voice.
“I have been ridiculed and had my name dragged through the mud by those who claim to serve the legacy I fought so hard to create. My brother’s students have been killed left and right and the people they fight for cheer their slaughter. When you rescued the Millennium Falcon at Naboo, I believed I had finally found something unique. I believed that I had found a government that had become everything that I had hoped the New Republic would become after Endor. I saw you risk your lives to help save our own at Naboo and Earth and in turn, I saw an ally and friend unlike any we had ever known. I trusted you Captain and you lied to me. You lied to every single person in the New Republic by denying Shesh‘s accusations today. ”
“With all due respect, Princess Organa, did you fully expect to tell you outright about the existence of a shadow ops group in our government that only a handful like myself are aware of?”
“Of course not; I‘m not that naive. Nonetheless, you had a responsibility to tell us of your suspicions following the bombing. You had a responsibility to deal with Zweller after you learned the truth about him eight years ago,” she said, referencing the Geminus Gulf incident. Picard‘s own anger began rising.
“Do you think I let Zweller walk willingly away? The man’s actions at the Geminus Gulf led to the destruction of the U.S.S. Slayton, the loss of over two-hundred officers, and the Romulans gaining a foothold in the region. I tried to stop him and his superiors pulled him out of the fire.”
“And you just dropped the matter and pretended they didn’t existed?
“Absolutely not! I’ve kept tabs on him and one or two others. But this organization has existed since before the beginning of the Federation. I am certain that a number of rather unfortunate Starfleet actions, particularly in the Briar Patch mess, can be laid at their doorstep. The handful of people who know about the organization either ignore it out of fear, but others like myself fight against it. A handful of individuals against a dark, unholy organization -- I would expect you of all people to understand and even respect that, Princess!”
Before Leia could respond, her comm unit began to beep. The Princess gave a glance at Pi card, then unclipped the communications device. Her hardened expression gave way to one of shock and resignation.
“Understood.”
She lowered the comlink and sighed before turning to face Picard.
“That was the Medical Division. Fey’lya’s succumbed to his injuries. He‘s dead.”
The silence and shock seemed to last for an eternity before Leia resumed.
“Even with the Force, Captain, I don’t know what the future holds. But I what I do know is that I’m not certain we’re meant to reach it together, anymore.”
With that, Leia bowed as respectfully as she could and moved for the exit to the Suite. Picard was left to stare at the sea of traffic and activity beyond the transparitsteel viewing portal, alone with only a single thought to dwell upon.
He had failed the Federation.
***
Location: Colei’bik System
Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
When the Maquis had begun their resistance movement against the Cardassian Union, they had known quite well that they would not have access to the resources and personnel of major, state-of-the-line shipyards. As a result, many of the cell’s ships had been cobbled together from practically anything. An interlocking coil here, an impulse manifold there -- anything went. But the most common vessels had been appropriated were decommissioned Starfleet Peregrine-class fighters and their larger Bajoran Raiders counterparts.
The Liberty had been of the latter variant. Though it had been under his command for a little under a year before the Caretaker had abducted him and his crew, Chakotay had gotten to know the old girl well. Her maneuvers during certain escapes, while deemed insane by both pursuers and the alike, had saved her. It was Chakotay’s hope that, nearly a decade later, these same maneuvers would save at least the Defiant this day.
The Defiant at this moment was in the midst of executing a barrel roll, narrowly avoid contact with the flaming wreckage of a Jem’Hadar fighter craft. As it leveled out, it charged forward over the bow of a Dominion Dreadnought. Despite its massive compliment of dozens of polaron emitters, the gigantic craft was swamped with hundreds of Borg interceptors. The Defiant’s pulse phasers lanced out, sending four into the next realm of existence as the ship flew over the central bow.
There was no acknowledgement on either comm channel as the two craft rejoined the fray. To be blunt, the Defiant and the Unimatrix Zero craft were the only vessels engaged in any discernable sign of heroics. The entire Dominion fleet, even with Odo and the other Vorta in command, were following Jem’Hadar fleet protocols of strict, collective engagement.
The bridge was a study in destruction, wiring and consoles sparking. The Defiant may have been constructed to fight the Borg, but just as with the prototype and the running battle in the Typhon Sector years earlier, it was far more effective with other numbers of the ‘escort frigate’. But Chakotay held his cool, kept his emotions in check. He had learned much from Kathryn during the seven years in the Delta Quadrant and from his mentor Demora Sulu. He had learned from the best of two generations and--
“Commander Chakotay, all the Borg ships have stopped firing.”
Chakotay leaned forward in his chair of command and frowned.
“Could Axum have found a way to shut down their systems?”
“Sir, it’s not just the rogue Borg ships that undergoing this change. The Unimatrix Zero vessels have also stopped firing and all are moving away from the main engagements.”
“On-Screen.”
One glimpsed confirmed what the lieutenant was saying. Every Cube, every Diamond, every Interceptor and Assimilator -- all were moving in a single, unified direction, away from the core of the Colei’bik system. Chakotay went silent, contemplating inwards on the situation and this development.
“Hail Axum and Odo,” he ordered at last.
“Aye, sir.”
The view-screen twinkled and morphed into the three-way communications split that it had been before the start of the battle. But Chakotay could instantly tell that something was very wrong. Where Axum’s face and the background of the Diamond should have appeared, there was only static.
“The problem’s not on our end,” Dax reported from the communications console.
“My technicians concur. We can’t get through to Axum either,” stated Odo from the view screen.
“They’ve jumped to warp, sir!”
Axum’s vacant slot was filled with the image of Borg ships from both sides stretching and warping away from the crown jewel of the Dominion’s circlet.
“Can you get a fix on their heading?”
“Sir, the computer has calculated that if they continue to follow their present vector, it will take them to the Bajoran wormhole.”
***
Axum could not believe what was happening. His hands were moving not of their own volition. They were moving with a rigid, almost machine-like precision. Will as much as he might, they would not respond to his commands. And as if to confirm his rising horror, a familiar, seductive voice echoed loud and clearly mind.
Never forget who you are.
His mind was connected to hers, her thoughts and plans flashing before his vision. And in those last moments before his individuality was obliterate, what he horrified him far more than his return to the Collective’s . He saw her plans for yesterday, today, and tomorrow and it was enough to frighten anyone.
The two galaxies, nay, the universe would not survive such ambitions.
***
Location: Khendra Province
Bajor, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy.
The art of teaching was very much like storytelling. A teacher had to keep the student’s interest with their lectures, while at the same time presenting the lessons clearly and understandable. As a youth on sandy Tatooine, Luke had never foreseen himself as a teacher and storyteller. But that had been before Ben Kenobi had passed on the tales of the Jedi Order. It had been before he had become the last Jedi Knight, before the burden of restoring the ancient peacekeepers and Force-users.
With the aid of data tapes recovered from the Chu'unthor on Dathomir, Tionne‘s knowledge of Jedi history, and his own experimentations, Luke had become a teacher, mentor, and storyteller to a new generation of Jedi at the praxeum. Though the Academy had now been disbanded and made mobile since the taking of the Yavin 4, these lessons were still in effect now on Bajor, in the parlor of the Sisko family.
All three Siskos stood in rapt attention at this tales of both his past and his encounters of the present, particularly that with Benjamin Sisko. Yates had not seemed surprised at all, certain of the vision she had received after the Dominion War had concluded. The young man was distaining intently and passionately, jotting down notes and also seeming satisfied.
Young Rebecca, on the other hand, kept staring at Luke’s lightsaber. She kept asking sporadically if she could play with it. The Jedi Master smiled and respectfully declined. Luke had been like that towards Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru at that age. Hell, so had his nephews and niece and his son would just as likely be.
If we survive this…
But they would. He was on Bajor, the home of the Emissary. He had seen the power of the Prophets and knew that whatever powers the Orbs were capable of wielding, they would be instrumental to saving them all. Mara would find them and then this threat of universal annihilation could --
…
“Mr. Skywalker?”
He had stopped in mid-sentence. Before Yates could repeat the question, Luke held up his hand, his eyes half closed, almost trying to gaze the distant twilight. He sensed something…familiar and yet…
“Get down!” Luke yelled suddenly. The Jedi sprang to his feet, his fingers on the triggering plate of his weapon--
-- and as the familiar green and white blade flashed into existence from the hilt, the side wall of the Sisko’s home seemed to dissolve for lack of a better term. The wooden and stone wall crumbled as a hailstorm of fire and shrapnel filled the living room.
“Why is it the damm psi-dampeners never work?” came a sharp, cold voice from the smoke and fire. As the figure stepped into view, Luke found himself face to face with what appeared to be a man of the Bajoran military. Even had he not made such a comment, Luke could feel waves of anger and darkness coming off of this man.
Luke raised his lightsaber, lunging forward to strike, but the man dodged the energy blade. He moved with such swiftness that Luke briefly wondered if the Force flowed through him. But that was not possible, for there were no midchlorians in this galaxy. Yet, if so, then how could the Orbs be repositories of Force energy? This was a mystery that he was no closer to solving now then he was two months earlier.
However, now was not exactly the time to dwell upon such details.
Luke swung again, but the man dodged again. That didn’t stop him from landing a kick to Luke’s shoulder, causing the Jedi Master to reel back in pain. Before the Colonel could retaliate any further, a series of phaser blasts caught him in the side, sending him flying into the far wall headfirst. As his form crumpled, Luke glanced over and saw that from beneath the table where they had taken shelter, Jake and Kasidy held Starfleet phasers in their hands.
“You don’t leave your home undefended,” shrugged Kasidy.
“Oh, how quaint,” came a voice from behind them. The Master turned and came to face with cloaked, a smiling man of medium height who, with speed that astounded even Luke, raised a glowing object from the folds of is robes. From behind him, Luke could hear Jake draw his breath inwards in shock.
“An Orb of Jalbador,” Jake whispered softly, an edge of terror to his voice. Luke had read of them briefly during his immersion in Bajoran culture. The Red Orbs . Yet, there had been rumors of them causing some trouble of sorts during the Dominion War. Luke could now see that these rumors had been well founded.
“As our allies would say, resistance is futile, Master Skywalker.”
What happened next seemed to unfold as if he were living a dream. The glowing heart of the red Orb seemed to shrink for a moment, then expand without warning into a lance of deadly energy. Reflexes honed by a quarter of century’s worth of battles and exercises went to work. Skywalker snapped his weapon upwards, the green blade meeting the energy lance in mid-air.
But he could barely hold it. This was focused energy the likes of which he hadn’t felt since his battles with the resurrected Palpatine at Byss, power all too much like his first brush with the Dark Side in the cave at Dagobah all those years ago. It was just as great as the surge he had felt from the Orb of Prophecy and Change mere days ago, if not greater.
It was to no avail. As the red aura and lightning surrounded him, the last thing he saw before his vision dissolved into a mixture of reds and blacks were multiple phaser blasts hitting the Siskos and the cold smile of that monk, a smile that reminded him all too well of Palpatine and the evil he had wielded as the darkness finally claimed him.
***
From the smoking ruins of the outer wall, the monk lowered his mystical artifact and smiled down on the fallen form of the Jedi. As he had predicted the Orb had been the key towards bringing down the de facto Grand Master of the New Jedi Order. They truly were the instruments of Gods and of great power. Too bad that hadn’t done much good for Prylar Obanak, though. The monk would have been delighted to inform Obanak of that when he had acquired the Red Orbs, Alas, his knife had slid across his throat during a most inopportune meeting during a visit of the true Pah-Wraith worshipers to his monastery in the southern provinces.
Satisfied that the target was down for the count, the monk took a brief glimpse at the fallen Colonel. Jorel wasn’t moving and the question of his livelihood was somewhat moot when one considered the amount of blood spilled all over the homespun carpet. No great loss there, though. For Amojan‘s sake, the man was a sociopath the likes of which he hadn’t seen since the height of Kai Winn’s career. Besides, the military connection would also be moot with the next and final stage of the endgame. A pity about the carpet, though…
“Sir, what about the Siskos?” asked Jorel‘s second in command. The monk gazed at him, then down at the crumpled forms of the off-worlders. The phasers had been set to stun; despite their aversion to the Prophets, he had no intention of killing the Emissary’s family, at least not yet anyway. A smile crept across his face.
“What’s the point of saving the universe if you don’t have an audience?”
***
To be Continued…
***
Author’s Notes
* Well, we’re drawing closer and closer to the end of Act II. Did I not promise that I still had a few surprises and shockers in store?
* The history of Kamino following ROTS has been explored somewhat in the new Battlefront II video-game. However, the game was released after this sequence was written, hence why I am exploring a different sequence of events.
* While we were told a Captain Sulu had sponsored Chakotay’s entry into the Academy, “Seduced” from the recent Captain’s Table anthology revealed that it was Demora Sulu.
* With his mind wiped at the end of ROTS, Threepio would have no way of knowing that he was not a creation of Cybot Galactica as, but rather a result of a young slave boy’s tinkering.
* The scene between Picard and Leia and the breakdown of the trust between them resembles and is influenced by the breakdown of the Trinity (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman) in DC’s The OMAC Project and Infinite Crisis mini-series.
* Section 31’s involvement in the events of “Insurrection” were hinted at in the novel “Abyss.”
* The incident involving the Red Orbs occurred once again in the “Millennium” trilogy of novels. I am following its continuity rather than the events of “The Fallen” video-game. Also, for those asking about the fate of Prylar Obanak earlier, your inquiry has now been answered, yes?
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds
Author’s Notes: I am so sorry for the delays, guys. But as we all know too well, life can be a bitch at time and I have been so busy as of late. As with earlier chapters, this chapter contains spoilers for the TNG Section 31 novel “Rogue” and ROTS. Other than that, as always, enjoy.
***
Act II, Part XIV
“Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.”
-Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.-
***
Location: Tipoca City
Kamino, That Galaxy Far, Far Away
Growing up, Naqhu De had always believed that an isolationist society such as Kamino would need to adapt and evolve past its long-standing cultural values in order to survive in the galaxy. The future-Defense Minister, however, rarely spoke such thoughts aloud. His father was a member of the Planetary Defense Force and was a staunch patriot who possessed little tolerance for dissent. And though he did not appreciate or approve Kamino parading its technology to the elite of the galaxy, he still remained loyal to the state.
His loyalty had cost him his life the day that the Seperatists attacked, his father‘s regiment blown to the heavens while defending one of the cloning facilities. The attack had changed many minds, De’s included, about Kamino’s role and had led to a decline in progressive thinking and a rise in traditionalist beliefs. Three years later, when the Emperor had offered them the opportunity to dismantle their cloning operations and be left in peace or be destroyed, the people of Kamino had chosen to return to their isolation.
But just because they were isolated didn’t mean that they didn’t have outside contact.
As Defense Minister, Naqhu De was well aware of the events that transpired outside the galaxy. After all, the Galactic Civil War and its successor conflicts could have without warning spilled into Kaminoan space and any premonition of disaster could mean the difference between life and death for his world. To that end, he maintained a network of operatives who reported on the galactic situation. It was through these operatives that five years after Endor, De had been approached by a shadowy emissary.
The emissary had informed him that his leader had plans for Kamino, alluding to the possibility of occupation. However, such plans would be abandoned should De accept membership in an elite secret society dedicated to the protection of the galaxy. His role would be simple, in many ways that of a watchdog: observe and report on any suspicious activities in his secret. In return, Kamino would be left alone as it so desired. And so he had done so for over two decades until the mysterious ship from the Romulan Star Empire had arrived on his doorstep. Knowing what had to be done, he had contacted the society’s leader and was promised that a solution would present itself.
The Defense Minister, however, had expected them to act subtly as they often did; their strength lay in concealing themselves in the shadows. With that in mind, he hadn’t expected a capital-ship to waltz into the system and make-off with the mystery vessel. That in turn had now led to his heated discussion with the society’s leader. As always, he had no visual representation of this individual, simply a holographic ’Sound Only” placard and a distorted, disguised voice.
“Minister, I know your feelings on the matter and I confess that it was unfortunate, but time was of the essence. The Scimitar and its weapon could easily have vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. The very fact that it reappeared after Sector 001 on your doorstep was a lucky break for us. And with New Plympto now gone, our plans need implementation as quickly as possible.”
“That still does not excuse --”
“Minister, your own agents provided you with the clips from the second incursion into Sector 001. You saw its weapon destroy an entire Yuuzhan Vong fleet, a feat that the New Republic has not been able to achieve in its war. Do you really think a mere handful of stealth craft could take it on? No, a Star Destroyer was necessary for the operation. Besides, the reappearance of the basic sign of Imperial might give the Progressives pause, eh?
Naqhu De slowly and grudgingly had to admit that the leader was correct on both counts. A Star Destroyer truly would have been the ideal vessel for taking on the Scimitar. In addition, the Progressives had been making a comeback as of late in the political arena. They wanted to resume contact with the galaxy, particularly with Palpatine now long gone. The appearance of the Imperial vessel and its actions would certainly silence them for a while.
“Perhaps you are right. But what of the one called Shinzon?”
“The Praetor’s absence from the vessel was unanticipated, but not necessary for the completion of the Project. Do with him as you see fit. Until then, continue your observation and report as instructed.”
The transmission quickly ended, leaving the Defense Minister to once again scowl at the deal the society had blackmailed him into accepting. But like so many actions, good and bad, it was all for a noble cause: the preservation of Kamino and its children. His thoughts now turned to the fate of Shinzon and what could befall the human. He straightened his tunic and turned towards his quarters’ door --
-- and came face to face with the compact barrels of Kaminoan firearms, an EE-3 blaster rifle, and a alien dagger. Wielding these weapons of war were the expressionless face of his countrymen, a sickly human, and the t-shaped, polarized face-plate of a green, battered Mandalorian helmet.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
***
Location: Sky City
Tokyo, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy
As a product of Cybot Galactica’s successful protocol droid line, See-Threepio was not only fluent in over six million forms of communication, but designed to serve in the capacity of personal assistant. Under the service of Captain Antilles of the Tantive IV, however, Threepio’s talents had been more used towards other, mundane tasks such as the programming of binary load lifters.
The Tantive IV’s mission to Tatooine, however, had led to the series of events which Threepio into the position he knew he was best suited for. Thus, had gone on to serve the Solo and Skywalker families in the capacity of assitant, nanny, entertainer, and moving target (Threepio continually attempted to explain to Captain Solo that this was not part of his operational functions, but the Corellian kept stating otherwise).
The departure of Mistress Jaina meant that only young Master Ben and Master Jacen would be around to keep him --
“Threepio, I’m heading out,” Jacen said suddenly, rising from the carpet of the suite with swiftness, a look of worry in his face.
“But Master Jacen, where are precisely are you --”
The door to their suite had swished shut before Threepio could protest further. He gave the droid equivalent of a sigh.
“Does anyone care what the protocol droid thinks anymore?”
***
“Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Katarn?”
“No, I’ll be fine, Lieutenant Chang.”
“Very good, sir.”
Katarn nodded more to himself. He had conferred with a number of Federation security personnel, including Lt. David Chang, since arriving, but Munro had been right about his second in command. Cold, yet utterly focused on doing his duty to the best of his abilities. It perhaps reminded Katarn a little too much of his fellow officers from his days as the Imperial Academy on Cardia.
Chang, however, was a sharp contrast to Munro. The Hazard Team Leader was perhaps a tad too young and too optimistic, but a good guy overall. Plus he was one of the best shots Katarn had seen since Cardia. His sharpness in battle was what had likely saved the Jedi from being overwhelmed during the battle for Embassy Row.
Though the missions had been classified, even he knew Munro and half of the Hazard Team had been uploaded onto the Titan. His second in command, David Chang had been left in charge on this end. Rumor had it that would be assigned to Admiral Janeway’s flagship, the Enterprise-E, once fleet operations on the other side of the Terran-Nubian wormhole commenced. Until then, all he had was to solve the mystery of who had bombed the Federation Council Chamber.
The bomb had been smuggled into one of the Republic delegations’ droids, that was universally agreed upon. But readings of the bombing indicated it contained elements of explosive chemicals and particles used in both galaxies. Katarn’s examination of the footage had caused him to concur with Starfleet Security that there was only a single bomb rather than two as some had hypothesized.
Alright, it was hidden inside a protocol droid. How had either security force missed it? Well, that was easy. No security detail was perfect. He, for example, had managed to land of Coruscant and infiltrate a key ISB facility during his hunt for information on the Dark Trooper program. Luke and company had made it inside Black Sun’s headquarters right before Endor. Hell, even the Rogues had infiltrated the weather processing facilities that had been critical in seizing the galactic capital. Even on a capital world, there was no such thing as perfect security.
Regardless, that didn’t answer the question of who had planted the bomb. Was it the Yuuzhan Vong. Likely, especially given the slight hint of the sense of emptiness that accompanied the Vong. Starfleet? Possible, though it didn’t seem their style and --
Katarn could not explain what happened next. It semed as it he was surrounded by pain on all sides, a vision of fire, dancing in his head. It passed quickly, but that did not assure the former freelance agent and Jedi. Katarn felt for his lightsaber, his face turning grim.
Something bad was about to happen in San Francisco.
***
Location: Coruscant
That Galaxy Far, Far Away
The setting sun over the sea of space-scrapers had been found by many during the Old Republic and its successor states to be truly awe-inspiring and oddly comforting. As he found himself leaning against the transparisteel portal of the Imperial Palace’s suite, Jean-Luc Picard found them to be neither. As he had nearly a month ago aboard the Enterprise-E, the Captain found himself longing for a nice, large bottle of a vintage from his family‘s ancestral chateau. And just as before, Viqi Shesh had proven herself to be the source of more sorrow in the life of the commander of the Starfleet flagship.
Less than twelve hours had passed since Shesh had made her broadcast and revelation before the Senate. The Kuati Senator had gone a step further, showing the very footage that Picard had poured over less than a month earlier with Luke in Bunker One, footage of Zweller at the Federation Council and had gone on to cite his mysterious discharge resulting from the Geminus Gulf incident -- obtained legally through the Federation‘s information services.
While she had not come outright and stated the existence of Section 31 -- though Picard had been forced to for Quital and Leia following the meeting -- she had nonetheless claimed that Zweller was part of a vast Federation conspiracy against the New Republic that was determined to see the destruction of all they had fought for.
Picard might have found it all laughable if not for how dark and serious the situation had become and all on his watch. He sighed as he looked at the reflections of the Nubian queen and Alderannian princess. They both had neutral expressions upon their faces, but Picard knew the emotions of anger and the feelings of betrayal that were stirring beneath. Quital was speaking.
“…I am not saying that at all. But if she is right and we have been used, then I need you to understand that I will withdraw our consent for you to establish your Transwarp Hub and base without hesitation. I am sorry, Captain Picard.”
With a bow to both of then, Quital departed the suite, leaving only Captian Picard and Princess Leia. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, neither one of them speaking.
“Princess Leia,” he said at last, “I --”
“Did my brother know?”
Picard did not respond. Leia’s eyes narrowed.
“Captain, did he--.”
“He knew that I knew something about Zweller, but the Vong launched their attack before I could fully inform him.”
“Did Zweller or this Section 31 bomb the Federation Council?”
“I…I don’t know. I am all too aware of the lengths Section 31 will go to achieve what it believes is best for the Federation. But the suddenness of the Vong’s second attack may have not been a coincidence.”
“But they may have nonetheless tried to kill Fey‘lya?”
“It’s possible.”
“And that mystery ship with the biogenic weapon -- was it one of theirs?”
“I don’t know. I honestly do not.”
The silence returned for an uncomfortably long time before Leia resumed speaking, a low, dark and bitter tone to her voice.
“I have been ridiculed and had my name dragged through the mud by those who claim to serve the legacy I fought so hard to create. My brother’s students have been killed left and right and the people they fight for cheer their slaughter. When you rescued the Millennium Falcon at Naboo, I believed I had finally found something unique. I believed that I had found a government that had become everything that I had hoped the New Republic would become after Endor. I saw you risk your lives to help save our own at Naboo and Earth and in turn, I saw an ally and friend unlike any we had ever known. I trusted you Captain and you lied to me. You lied to every single person in the New Republic by denying Shesh‘s accusations today. ”
“With all due respect, Princess Organa, did you fully expect to tell you outright about the existence of a shadow ops group in our government that only a handful like myself are aware of?”
“Of course not; I‘m not that naive. Nonetheless, you had a responsibility to tell us of your suspicions following the bombing. You had a responsibility to deal with Zweller after you learned the truth about him eight years ago,” she said, referencing the Geminus Gulf incident. Picard‘s own anger began rising.
“Do you think I let Zweller walk willingly away? The man’s actions at the Geminus Gulf led to the destruction of the U.S.S. Slayton, the loss of over two-hundred officers, and the Romulans gaining a foothold in the region. I tried to stop him and his superiors pulled him out of the fire.”
“And you just dropped the matter and pretended they didn’t existed?
“Absolutely not! I’ve kept tabs on him and one or two others. But this organization has existed since before the beginning of the Federation. I am certain that a number of rather unfortunate Starfleet actions, particularly in the Briar Patch mess, can be laid at their doorstep. The handful of people who know about the organization either ignore it out of fear, but others like myself fight against it. A handful of individuals against a dark, unholy organization -- I would expect you of all people to understand and even respect that, Princess!”
Before Leia could respond, her comm unit began to beep. The Princess gave a glance at Pi card, then unclipped the communications device. Her hardened expression gave way to one of shock and resignation.
“Understood.”
She lowered the comlink and sighed before turning to face Picard.
“That was the Medical Division. Fey’lya’s succumbed to his injuries. He‘s dead.”
The silence and shock seemed to last for an eternity before Leia resumed.
“Even with the Force, Captain, I don’t know what the future holds. But I what I do know is that I’m not certain we’re meant to reach it together, anymore.”
With that, Leia bowed as respectfully as she could and moved for the exit to the Suite. Picard was left to stare at the sea of traffic and activity beyond the transparitsteel viewing portal, alone with only a single thought to dwell upon.
He had failed the Federation.
***
Location: Colei’bik System
Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
When the Maquis had begun their resistance movement against the Cardassian Union, they had known quite well that they would not have access to the resources and personnel of major, state-of-the-line shipyards. As a result, many of the cell’s ships had been cobbled together from practically anything. An interlocking coil here, an impulse manifold there -- anything went. But the most common vessels had been appropriated were decommissioned Starfleet Peregrine-class fighters and their larger Bajoran Raiders counterparts.
The Liberty had been of the latter variant. Though it had been under his command for a little under a year before the Caretaker had abducted him and his crew, Chakotay had gotten to know the old girl well. Her maneuvers during certain escapes, while deemed insane by both pursuers and the alike, had saved her. It was Chakotay’s hope that, nearly a decade later, these same maneuvers would save at least the Defiant this day.
The Defiant at this moment was in the midst of executing a barrel roll, narrowly avoid contact with the flaming wreckage of a Jem’Hadar fighter craft. As it leveled out, it charged forward over the bow of a Dominion Dreadnought. Despite its massive compliment of dozens of polaron emitters, the gigantic craft was swamped with hundreds of Borg interceptors. The Defiant’s pulse phasers lanced out, sending four into the next realm of existence as the ship flew over the central bow.
There was no acknowledgement on either comm channel as the two craft rejoined the fray. To be blunt, the Defiant and the Unimatrix Zero craft were the only vessels engaged in any discernable sign of heroics. The entire Dominion fleet, even with Odo and the other Vorta in command, were following Jem’Hadar fleet protocols of strict, collective engagement.
The bridge was a study in destruction, wiring and consoles sparking. The Defiant may have been constructed to fight the Borg, but just as with the prototype and the running battle in the Typhon Sector years earlier, it was far more effective with other numbers of the ‘escort frigate’. But Chakotay held his cool, kept his emotions in check. He had learned much from Kathryn during the seven years in the Delta Quadrant and from his mentor Demora Sulu. He had learned from the best of two generations and--
“Commander Chakotay, all the Borg ships have stopped firing.”
Chakotay leaned forward in his chair of command and frowned.
“Could Axum have found a way to shut down their systems?”
“Sir, it’s not just the rogue Borg ships that undergoing this change. The Unimatrix Zero vessels have also stopped firing and all are moving away from the main engagements.”
“On-Screen.”
One glimpsed confirmed what the lieutenant was saying. Every Cube, every Diamond, every Interceptor and Assimilator -- all were moving in a single, unified direction, away from the core of the Colei’bik system. Chakotay went silent, contemplating inwards on the situation and this development.
“Hail Axum and Odo,” he ordered at last.
“Aye, sir.”
The view-screen twinkled and morphed into the three-way communications split that it had been before the start of the battle. But Chakotay could instantly tell that something was very wrong. Where Axum’s face and the background of the Diamond should have appeared, there was only static.
“The problem’s not on our end,” Dax reported from the communications console.
“My technicians concur. We can’t get through to Axum either,” stated Odo from the view screen.
“They’ve jumped to warp, sir!”
Axum’s vacant slot was filled with the image of Borg ships from both sides stretching and warping away from the crown jewel of the Dominion’s circlet.
“Can you get a fix on their heading?”
“Sir, the computer has calculated that if they continue to follow their present vector, it will take them to the Bajoran wormhole.”
***
Axum could not believe what was happening. His hands were moving not of their own volition. They were moving with a rigid, almost machine-like precision. Will as much as he might, they would not respond to his commands. And as if to confirm his rising horror, a familiar, seductive voice echoed loud and clearly mind.
Never forget who you are.
His mind was connected to hers, her thoughts and plans flashing before his vision. And in those last moments before his individuality was obliterate, what he horrified him far more than his return to the Collective’s . He saw her plans for yesterday, today, and tomorrow and it was enough to frighten anyone.
The two galaxies, nay, the universe would not survive such ambitions.
***
Location: Khendra Province
Bajor, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy.
The art of teaching was very much like storytelling. A teacher had to keep the student’s interest with their lectures, while at the same time presenting the lessons clearly and understandable. As a youth on sandy Tatooine, Luke had never foreseen himself as a teacher and storyteller. But that had been before Ben Kenobi had passed on the tales of the Jedi Order. It had been before he had become the last Jedi Knight, before the burden of restoring the ancient peacekeepers and Force-users.
With the aid of data tapes recovered from the Chu'unthor on Dathomir, Tionne‘s knowledge of Jedi history, and his own experimentations, Luke had become a teacher, mentor, and storyteller to a new generation of Jedi at the praxeum. Though the Academy had now been disbanded and made mobile since the taking of the Yavin 4, these lessons were still in effect now on Bajor, in the parlor of the Sisko family.
All three Siskos stood in rapt attention at this tales of both his past and his encounters of the present, particularly that with Benjamin Sisko. Yates had not seemed surprised at all, certain of the vision she had received after the Dominion War had concluded. The young man was distaining intently and passionately, jotting down notes and also seeming satisfied.
Young Rebecca, on the other hand, kept staring at Luke’s lightsaber. She kept asking sporadically if she could play with it. The Jedi Master smiled and respectfully declined. Luke had been like that towards Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru at that age. Hell, so had his nephews and niece and his son would just as likely be.
If we survive this…
But they would. He was on Bajor, the home of the Emissary. He had seen the power of the Prophets and knew that whatever powers the Orbs were capable of wielding, they would be instrumental to saving them all. Mara would find them and then this threat of universal annihilation could --
…
“Mr. Skywalker?”
He had stopped in mid-sentence. Before Yates could repeat the question, Luke held up his hand, his eyes half closed, almost trying to gaze the distant twilight. He sensed something…familiar and yet…
“Get down!” Luke yelled suddenly. The Jedi sprang to his feet, his fingers on the triggering plate of his weapon--
-- and as the familiar green and white blade flashed into existence from the hilt, the side wall of the Sisko’s home seemed to dissolve for lack of a better term. The wooden and stone wall crumbled as a hailstorm of fire and shrapnel filled the living room.
“Why is it the damm psi-dampeners never work?” came a sharp, cold voice from the smoke and fire. As the figure stepped into view, Luke found himself face to face with what appeared to be a man of the Bajoran military. Even had he not made such a comment, Luke could feel waves of anger and darkness coming off of this man.
Luke raised his lightsaber, lunging forward to strike, but the man dodged the energy blade. He moved with such swiftness that Luke briefly wondered if the Force flowed through him. But that was not possible, for there were no midchlorians in this galaxy. Yet, if so, then how could the Orbs be repositories of Force energy? This was a mystery that he was no closer to solving now then he was two months earlier.
However, now was not exactly the time to dwell upon such details.
Luke swung again, but the man dodged again. That didn’t stop him from landing a kick to Luke’s shoulder, causing the Jedi Master to reel back in pain. Before the Colonel could retaliate any further, a series of phaser blasts caught him in the side, sending him flying into the far wall headfirst. As his form crumpled, Luke glanced over and saw that from beneath the table where they had taken shelter, Jake and Kasidy held Starfleet phasers in their hands.
“You don’t leave your home undefended,” shrugged Kasidy.
“Oh, how quaint,” came a voice from behind them. The Master turned and came to face with cloaked, a smiling man of medium height who, with speed that astounded even Luke, raised a glowing object from the folds of is robes. From behind him, Luke could hear Jake draw his breath inwards in shock.
“An Orb of Jalbador,” Jake whispered softly, an edge of terror to his voice. Luke had read of them briefly during his immersion in Bajoran culture. The Red Orbs . Yet, there had been rumors of them causing some trouble of sorts during the Dominion War. Luke could now see that these rumors had been well founded.
“As our allies would say, resistance is futile, Master Skywalker.”
What happened next seemed to unfold as if he were living a dream. The glowing heart of the red Orb seemed to shrink for a moment, then expand without warning into a lance of deadly energy. Reflexes honed by a quarter of century’s worth of battles and exercises went to work. Skywalker snapped his weapon upwards, the green blade meeting the energy lance in mid-air.
But he could barely hold it. This was focused energy the likes of which he hadn’t felt since his battles with the resurrected Palpatine at Byss, power all too much like his first brush with the Dark Side in the cave at Dagobah all those years ago. It was just as great as the surge he had felt from the Orb of Prophecy and Change mere days ago, if not greater.
It was to no avail. As the red aura and lightning surrounded him, the last thing he saw before his vision dissolved into a mixture of reds and blacks were multiple phaser blasts hitting the Siskos and the cold smile of that monk, a smile that reminded him all too well of Palpatine and the evil he had wielded as the darkness finally claimed him.
***
From the smoking ruins of the outer wall, the monk lowered his mystical artifact and smiled down on the fallen form of the Jedi. As he had predicted the Orb had been the key towards bringing down the de facto Grand Master of the New Jedi Order. They truly were the instruments of Gods and of great power. Too bad that hadn’t done much good for Prylar Obanak, though. The monk would have been delighted to inform Obanak of that when he had acquired the Red Orbs, Alas, his knife had slid across his throat during a most inopportune meeting during a visit of the true Pah-Wraith worshipers to his monastery in the southern provinces.
Satisfied that the target was down for the count, the monk took a brief glimpse at the fallen Colonel. Jorel wasn’t moving and the question of his livelihood was somewhat moot when one considered the amount of blood spilled all over the homespun carpet. No great loss there, though. For Amojan‘s sake, the man was a sociopath the likes of which he hadn’t seen since the height of Kai Winn’s career. Besides, the military connection would also be moot with the next and final stage of the endgame. A pity about the carpet, though…
“Sir, what about the Siskos?” asked Jorel‘s second in command. The monk gazed at him, then down at the crumpled forms of the off-worlders. The phasers had been set to stun; despite their aversion to the Prophets, he had no intention of killing the Emissary’s family, at least not yet anyway. A smile crept across his face.
“What’s the point of saving the universe if you don’t have an audience?”
***
To be Continued…
***
Author’s Notes
* Well, we’re drawing closer and closer to the end of Act II. Did I not promise that I still had a few surprises and shockers in store?
* The history of Kamino following ROTS has been explored somewhat in the new Battlefront II video-game. However, the game was released after this sequence was written, hence why I am exploring a different sequence of events.
* While we were told a Captain Sulu had sponsored Chakotay’s entry into the Academy, “Seduced” from the recent Captain’s Table anthology revealed that it was Demora Sulu.
* With his mind wiped at the end of ROTS, Threepio would have no way of knowing that he was not a creation of Cybot Galactica as, but rather a result of a young slave boy’s tinkering.
* The scene between Picard and Leia and the breakdown of the trust between them resembles and is influenced by the breakdown of the Trinity (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman) in DC’s The OMAC Project and Infinite Crisis mini-series.
* Section 31’s involvement in the events of “Insurrection” were hinted at in the novel “Abyss.”
* The incident involving the Red Orbs occurred once again in the “Millennium” trilogy of novels. I am following its continuity rather than the events of “The Fallen” video-game. Also, for those asking about the fate of Prylar Obanak earlier, your inquiry has now been answered, yes?
First post!
"I want to mow down a bunch of motherfuckers with absurdly large weapons and relative impunity - preferably in and around a skyscraper. Then I want to fight a grim battle against the unlikely duo of the Terminator and Robocop. The last level should involve (but not be limited to) multiple robo-Hitlers and a gorillasaurus rex."--Uraniun235 on his ideal FPS game
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force."--Darth Vader
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Crazedwraith
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11937
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
Holy shit how did i not notice this for 7 hours?
Reading now.
EDIT:Holy Shit! Did you just kill Luke Skywalker? I'm liking very much the red orbs inclusion and look foreward to hearing more about the poeple who have them.
Poor Obanak, is Arla Ryees dead also?
And last and certinaly least a nitpick! According to my EF manual Chang's given name is 'Austin' not 'David'
Reading now.
EDIT:Holy Shit! Did you just kill Luke Skywalker? I'm liking very much the red orbs inclusion and look foreward to hearing more about the poeple who have them.
Poor Obanak, is Arla Ryees dead also?
And last and certinaly least a nitpick! According to my EF manual Chang's given name is 'Austin' not 'David'
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General Soontir Fel
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 449
- Joined: 2005-07-05 02:08pm
I haven't read most of DS9 & Voyager novels, so it's a bit confusing sometimes. But this is good. I especially like:
Now, what's with Han, Jaina, Anakin, and Mara?A handful of individuals against a dark, unholy organization -- I would expect you of all people to understand and even respect that, Princess!”
Jesse Helms died on the 4th of July and the nation celebrated with fireworks, BBQs and a day off for everyone. -- Ed Brayton, Dispatches from the Culture Wars
"And a force-sensitive mandalorian female Bountyhunter, who is also the granddaughter of Darth Vader is as cool as it can get. Almost absolute zero." -- FTeik
"And a force-sensitive mandalorian female Bountyhunter, who is also the granddaughter of Darth Vader is as cool as it can get. Almost absolute zero." -- FTeik
Indeed. That's been my favorite line to write since Data's "I'm an andorid, you son of a bitch," back in Act I.General_Soontir_Fel wrote:I haven't read most of DS9 & Voyager novels, so it's a bit confusing sometimes. But this is good. I especially like:
A handful of individuals against a dark, unholy organization -- I would expect you of all people to understand and even respect that, Princess!”
Before I answer this latest round of questions, I want to address a point that was made in the reviews for the latest installment of the story over on ff.net. He didn’t like this chapter because he felt that it shows that the story has moved away from character interaction towards plot development. There was too much wasted potential.
Now, if this had been ten years previous, I would probably have lashed out with venomous, harsh words and responses for you daring to criticize my work. But in the present era, I do not. Though it took me a long time to accept it, I know criticism is the key towards the development of any story. Even the artist cannot see every angle and every possibility that his or he work contains. I certainly cannot.
The point is, he is correct. I take full responsibility for the state of the story and its characters. Crossovers are done because the audience wants to see how these characters from different world interact with one another. With BOBW, there are so many subplots, so many characters, and so many ideas of my Master Plan that I have been forced to focus more on the maneuvering of the players into their respective fields than on their interaction for the last few chapters. And having never attempted a story of this level, it's not easy. In doing so, have indeed move away from the characters.
I can promise Act III, however, will return to a similar vein as the first Act. Act I was about these characters meeting whilst Act II saw them being scattered to the winds at the worst possible time. Act III will seem to return to the fold for the eve of the final cataclysm and how their friendships and mutual talents will or will not save the day. It's actually not unlike "Infinite Crisis" in that regard. Until then, this latest installment and Part XV is essentially be the welcoming mat to the endgame of the Second Act. And what a finale it will be...
My point is, if anyone has any other problems, issues, or questions, please do not hesitate to bring them up. It's the voice of the readers and their viewpoints that are just as critical towards crafting the perfect tapestry as the artists's hands, after all.
That having been said, let me get back to answering questions:
We're still a few chapters away from the end of Act II; what do you think?Crazedwraith wrote:Holy Shit! Did you just kill Luke Skywalker? I'm liking very much the red orbs inclusion and look foreward to hearing more about the poeple who have them.
Seriously, Just because he’s lying on the ground, that doesn’t mean he’s down for the count. It’s not going to be like COIE where people were dying left and right, but there are going to be a fair number of deaths before the curtain closes on Act II in a few chapters; Daniels and Fey’lya were but the first. That having been said, I can promise that I am going to be giving Luke, at ther veru minimum, one mother of all mind-fucks before the story's conclusion.Perhaps, perhaps not.Poor Obanak, is Arla Ryees dead also?
I knew I should have double-checked that one. I'll correct it in future updates.And last and certinaly least a nitpick! According to my EF manual Chang's given name is 'Austin' not 'David'
* Han: As seen previously, he and the Jedi calvary are en route to Bajor. Of course, whether or not they'll be able to stop this Sith/Pah-Wraith cult's alliance remains to be seen. Speaking of which, the identity of the Sith who has been in league with the Neo-Borg Queen will be revealed in the next chapter. It’s probably not who you’re expecting, but it is indeed someone EU readers would know.General_Soontir_Fel wrote:Now, what's with Han, Jaina, Anakin, and Mara?
* Jaina: Is en-route to the Romulan Neutral Zone with Wedge, Jag, and the Titan (yes, the domanant Romulan Subplot will return, but my oh my how it will have changed since last we saw it). She and Jag will finally getting a scene or two together before the end of Act II. And of course, let us not forget the vision Leia had a few chapters back.
*Anakin: Will have one or two more scenes before the end of Act II. I can promise Anakin and company will learn who hired Korath and has been trying to kill Martok. As for the culprit, I won't reveal all the speicifcs. I will however say that his or her identity won't be the shocker; it's what he or she is which will change a good many things...
Mara: Will probably not re-appear until the beginning of Act III. I probably should have waited a few chapters before putting in that bit with Gul Macet.
Thanks once again to all readers new and old for enjoying this latest installment.
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Hedgehog's Roommate
- Padawan Learner
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Been reading your story,and all I can say is WOW. Very good writing. I'm slightly jealous. Keep up the good work.
Minor nitpick: some of your sentences tend to end abruptly. Just a heads up for when you decide to do a clean up.
Minor nitpick: some of your sentences tend to end abruptly. Just a heads up for when you decide to do a clean up.
No war was ever won by dying for your country, but by making the other poor sumbitch die for his. - Gen. George A. Patton
The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of wars. -Gen. Douglas MacArthur
The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of wars. -Gen. Douglas MacArthur
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screamer_3
- Redshirt
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- Location: Restaurant at the End of the Universe
- Contact:
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Instant Sunrise
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 945
- Joined: 2005-05-31 02:10am
- Location: El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Río de Porciúncula
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Blame it on finals; I hope to have updates both this and Yesterdays and Tomorrows by Tuesday. The delays piss me off especially since we're so close to key moments for both stories, but I hope it will be worth the wait.skyman8081 wrote:sonufa.....screamer_3 wrote:I really love reading this series. Is there a way for you to place it as a word document as a link or something?
I thought that this had been updated. Damn you!
In regards to your question, Screamer, follow the link above my sig and you'll reach BOBW's ff.net home...
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screamer_3
- Redshirt
- Posts: 10
- Joined: 2005-11-28 10:07am
- Location: Restaurant at the End of the Universe
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I'm glad you are, especially since I've got a new chapter. But first, as always:screamer_3 wrote:Okey, thanks alot JME2. I really reading this story....
Why so silent, good Monsieurs?/
Did you think that I had left you for good?/
Have you missed me, good Monsieurs?/
I have written you an opera./
Here, I bring the finished score./
Don Juan Triumphant!/
...
Or, as it has been said before, you wanted it? You've got it!
Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds
Authors Notes: I apologize for the delays. Christ, I feel like I’m writing “SUPERMAN/BATMAN” with the delays in the chapters. (Essentially, f*** Kanji, Finals, and holidays -- not to mention writer‘s block). But, that’s not why we’re here, is it? Other than that, as always, enjoy. After all, this is the welcoming mat to Act II’s climax…
***
Act II, Part XV
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
-Macbeth-
***
Location: Tipoca City
Kamino, That Galaxy Far, Far Away
Though based on ancient ceremonial designs, the Mandalorian helmet used both by Jango and Boba Fett was hardly ancient. Like both variations of the Clone Trooper (and to an extent, Stormtrooper) helmets, the headpiece was as sophisticated as the weaponry wielded by the two most recent generations of Fetts. It sported a polarizing visor, breathing filters, and an advanced comlink just to name a few. In addition, sensor bafflers prevented any enemy scanner from picking up the head’s heat signature or other telltale signs. Had anyone been able to peer beneath the headpiece, though, they would have glimpsed Jango Fett’s ‘son’ scowling.
“I told you should have kept him sedated.”
The Mandalorian clone, Shinzon, and Banu Le were standing within the primary holding block of the capital city. Despite is status as the prison complex, the block still bore the same color and style scheme that every other compartment and space of the Tipoca bore. Crime was almost non-existent on Kamino; the daily torrents that battered the cities hammered home the need for every individual to unify and work together to ensure mutual survival.
At least, in theory, it should have. There were the occasional exceptions, the rare malcontent, etc.. But none had ever imagined in their wildest dreams that the Minister of Defense would be among them. Yet, the Cloner’s Council had strived to treat their Minister with respect and show an attitude of “innocent until proven guilty”. Boba thought this to be rather ridiculous considering that De had been caught red-handed. What could he say? Politics. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.
Unfortunately, that had included holding off on an official inquiry until the following morning, against the protests of Fett, Shinzon, and even Banu Le. And when the guards had checked in on the prisoner an hour before, they had instead found a cooling corpse. The Minster had apparently slit his wrists during the night and had bled out, effectively committing suicide and taking his secrets to the grave.
“Boba, that is not how we do things. You should know that better than --”
“Banu, please don’t lecture me on how to treat prisoners. I learned from the best. And if you knew better, than De wouldn’t have been sending out signals to whoever he was taking orders from.”
As a bounty hunter, Boba was used to tracking signals across the vacuum of space-time that would otherwise go unnoticed by law enforcement or normal sensor arrays. Jango had taught him this among other things and it had served the Mandalorian well over the years. After he had docked with the Kaminoan task force and conferred with the Minister, it had been Boba who had discovered the signals indicating De’s communications and thus had led to their present situation.
“If you had given me five minutes with him, I could have found out who hijacked the Scimitar,” Shinzon rasped. The shock and stress of the previous days had accelerated his cellular decay, but he insisted on continuing to plunge ahead at full steam. Again, Banu Le gave an exasperated sigh.
“We are working on that, Praetor. But my communications teams have been trying to trace the communiqués and are having little success. Whoever was instructing his acts, they were doing so by sending the transmission through at least a dozen different systems, including the Holo Net.”
“Let me worry about that,” Boba said. Le starred down at the Mandalorian, an incredulous look upon the Kaminoan’s face.
“Indeed? Perhaps you would like to share your reasoning with myself and the Praetor.”
“I find this whole thing suspicious. De was the Minister of Defense, but there’s signs that more than one signal may have been getting through to Tipoca City. It’s possible that someone under him may have been a co-conspirator who received orders to silence him in the event that an arrest or discovery ever took place.”
“That still doesn’t explain your interest in this affair, Boba.”
“I unravel mysteries and follow trails for a living.”
“And?”
“Then of course, there’s the little matter of that Star Destroyer nearly colliding with the Slave V. I went to great lengths to acquire a new Firespray-class vessel, after all.”
Neither the Praetor or Minister could tell if Boba was being serious. In addition, whatever patience Shinzon may have had finally collapsed. Without warning -- and with a speed that startled even Fett -- he grabbed the bounty hunter by his collar and hoisted him up into the air.
“I don’t give a damm about your precious patrol craft, bounty hunter. All that matters is…is…”
He stopped suddenly, his facial features freezing. A low moan escaped his throat as his eyes fluttered backwards and his grip on the bounty hunter slackened. As Shinzon collapsed to the floor, Banu Le was instantly by his side, his long hands probing the human’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
“His pulse is dropping. Get a medical team in here, now!”
***
Location: Earth
Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
While the Federation was able to rehabilitate low-ranking criminals in locales such as the New Zealand and Tantalus Penal Colonies, the more dangerous threats required special housing. For example, Ananke Alpha, a highly-classified planetoid in the deepest reaches of the Federation‘s space, served as the once and future home for the Female Founder who had led the Dominion’s war against the Alpha Quadrant. Despite secret petitioning from Admiral Nechayev and the One-Hundred and Seventy-Five, it was more than likely that a certain Yuuzhan Vong POW would soon be joining her before the year was out.
Since Commander Data’s one-hit knock-out on the Enterprise‘s bridge, Tsavong Lah had been held in an underground facility similar to Bunker One. The Warmaster was in maximum captivity, restrained in every manner imaginable. Even his mouth was locked in a brace, the result of his attempts to bite off his tongue and swallow it. Either way, the Starfleet infidels had denied the glorious warrior the death that ritual and protocol demanded he take.
He spent his days in pitiful meditation, attempting to pray for Yan-Yammka to take his life or ponder what had become of his fleets of war and his people. His father had likely been chosen as successor, though Nas Choka was also a potential.
Either way, it didn’t matter. He had lost a fleet, a battle, and his pride to a machine. He failed his people, his culture, his Supreme Overlord. He--
Lah’s eyes flashed open. Despite his restraints and sedatives, he felt two pricks to his neck in quick succession. His vision began to blur, but he could make out a single figure standing above him, retracting its hand from his neck. Lah could briefly make out what appeared to be a dark-skinned complexion on the individual as well as forehead ridges. Behind him lay the crumpled forms of Starfleet security personnel.
“Your usefulness has not yet ended, Warmaster. You will adapt to service us.”
***
Location: The Q Continuum
Somewhere in the Universe
When Q had created the anti-time paradox which had troubled Picard and his crew during the final year of service for the Enterprise-D, Data had, in one time-frame anyway, made an analogy regarding the relationship between the captain and the omnipotent entity. "Q's interest in you has always been very similar to that of a master and his beloved pet," he has said.
The reason the walking calculator’s analogy was at all relevant at the moment was because Q felt exactly like a pet who had been forced to jump through hoops by the orders of his master. Scampering through the underbrush, cross-country running -- all this and more had been employed to escape from the GPQ‘s castle and he had the scratches, bruises and cuts to prove it. But, they had made it to their destination, back to the universal pond.
And that was precisely what had Q even more worried than the present situation should have merited.
The portal that Crusher had said he and his posse had arrived through was there and still functioning, but there was no sign of the dancing, lobotomized brethren that had greeted Q, his family, and the Stranger’s upon arrival earlier. Even with the minimal use of powers that he was still able to call upon, Q couldn’t locate them, but their absence only served to add to his immense unease.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”
“Remain calm, Q,” replied the Stranger behind him. “We must keep a cool head before proceeding further, before proceeding to the Concourse.”
Q just starred at him, the stress that had been building since he had first felt that disturbance in the space-time continuum -- how long had it been again? Regardless of the passage of time, Q had finally reached the breaking point.
“Calm down? Calm down?! I’ve been abused by a cheap exploiter of B-movies, the Continuum has been reduced to the Lincoln exhibit at Disneyland -- what’s next? Ninjas on the freaking lawn?”
“Be careful what you wish for,” the Stranger noted quietly, his gazed focused ahead of them. Q looked up and his draw dropped.
“Oh no. No, you have got to be kidding me.”
There, blocking their path to freedom and sanctuary, were two dozen black-clad, sword wielding ninjas. Everyone glared at Q, who proceed to moan.
“Why didn’t I just think of J. Edgar Hoover? J. Edgar Hoover would have been the perfect form of our destruction rather than two dozen --”
The Gardner and his Apprentice suddenly leapt forward, twin pillars of blue light rising in rapid-succession from what appeared to be sword hilts they carried. Moving with a speed and dexterity that would have impressed any layman, the pair swept through the two dozen warriors. It was almost like a dance.
One two, one two -- in rapid succession, their pillars of light connected with the long swords, the blades flashing in the darkening evening. Regardless, it was all over within less than a minute. As Crusher’s possess sheathed their pillars of light, Q took a look down at the fallen forms of their adversaries and whistled, impressed.
“Huh. Well then, I guess we’re home free, then.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” a voice suddenly thundered from the portal. For a moment, Q believed that the GPQ had returned to wreck havoc upon them once more. But before he could voice his belief, a ball-like object suddenly shot out of the portal. Impacting with the soft grass, it rolled for a few feet before coming to a stop in front of the group. Behind him, Q heard his wife and son gasp and he was tempted to join in the choir.
The ball-like object was a head. And Q didn’t need glasses or contact lenses to see that the head belonged to Ayelbourne. The Organian chieftain’s lifeless eyes starred at the Q and his companions as if begging for help that was far, far too late.
“Such is the fate that befalls those who resist the Merging,” came the voice again. Everyone looked up--
-- and out of the portal stepped none other than M.
***
Location: The Fire Caves
Bajor, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Even before he had become the de facto Grand Master of the New Jedi Order, Luke had never been a heavy drinker. Growing up on the desert world of Tatooine, he had known early on that water was a far more important liquid than a simple bottle of alcohol. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t knocked a few back one too many times after joining the Rebellion. He actually still had a minor score to settle with Rogues in that regard, but he chose to ignore it.
Yet, now, with his mind finally coming back online, so to speak, he felt like Wedge, Tycho, and all the good old boys had put him through the wringer again. But he wasn’t drunk, oh no. He had felt like this before, beginning with the hours following Emperor Palaptine’s demonstration of Force Lightning at Endor. He had been hit with the Dark Side and the blast had felt more potent than even Palpatine’s lightning.
“Master Skywalker?”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere. From the echo, he appeared to be in a large open space. He had to blink his eyes several times in order to retrieve his bearings. He attempted to move, but found himself restrained, some manner of rope or chain digging into his sides just as a wooden pole hammered into his back.
It was difficult to tell more initially since illumination came from only three torches flickering in the distance, the mid-range, and closer. As his eyes became adjusted to the dim light, he observed that he appeared to be near the edge of a precipice in a cave-like environment. To his side lay Kasidy Yates and her two children. Like him, they were intricately bound . Young Rebecca, however, was not moving. Luke felt a chill run down his spine, thoughts of Ben flashing through his mind.
“Rebecca?”
“She’s fine; just still out,” replied Kassidy.
“A phaser on stun?”
“Yeah. Forget about us, what about you?”
“I’m…fine. But that thing, that…you called it an Orb of Jalbador, yes?”
The question was directed at Kassidy’s stepson. Jake sighed.
“Yes, yes, that’s what it was,” he said at last.
“I take it then that you’ve had encounters with it.”
Jake nodded slowly. Despite his vow to DTI regarding the classification of the incident known as “The War of the Prophets,” it was kind of ridiculous not to tell the Jedi at least something of it, especially considering their current situation.
“It…during the Dominion War, there were attempts by Cadassian militants, smugglers, and Bajoran cultists to attempt to acquire them. They were believed to be sources of great power and of great importance to the Pah-Wraith. Turns out they were all right.”
“So essentially, they are the tools of the Pah-Wraiths, tools of evil?”
“Damm straight.”
The Siskos and Skywalker glanced to their left, to the source of the voice. Perched on the edge of the preceipce was the monk who was fond of soufflés and glowing objects. He was studying them, a mischievous smile upon his face. In his hands was cradled Luke’s light saber, at his feat an ornately jewel adorned box . Luke didn’t need to assume that the Orb of Jalbador was housed within; he could feel it’s dark energies.
“Of course, their former keepers would deny such things. By the way, Mr. Sisko, since you seem curious, I’ll answer your next question. Prylar Obanak’s dead. Ms. Rees, too, in case you’re wondering. A rather gruesome demise, I might add, but it can be attributed to the late Colonel Jorel.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed and he strained against his bonds. Despite the fact that Rees had attacked and tried to kill him during the “War of the Prophets” she had not been acting of her own accord and though he had not seen her since, he had forgiven her.
“Eh, tray all you like. But you’re not getting out of those that easily, Mr. Sisko. Neither are you, Master Skywalker; they’re specifically meant to restrain a Jedi.”
Luke frowned, his attempts to undo such simple bonds disrupted by the Dark Side presence that permeated and lashed out at the luminous aura of his Force connection. Contact between the Milky Way and Republic Galaxy had been less than two months old. How could these cultists have --
“Because I told them how.”
All around them, the darkness seemed to grow, both figuratively and literally. It expanded before being sucked forth and concentrated, like a black hole. The monk’s already Cheshire cat-like smile seemed to expand even further.
“Guess who’s coming to dinner?”
The black shadows continued to twist and contorted until it re-shaped itself into what appeared to be a humanoid female. She was clothed in a cape and bodysuit that was as black as the shadows of the cave. Her upper body was covered with silvery armor polished to such a rich and fine sheen that it reflected the light of the three torches. At her side was clipped a dangerous, almost-dagger like cylindrical object.
Her head was wrapped in a mask of silvery cloth that seemed to form two points on each side. Here eyes, discernable beneath the mask, were a swirling combination of red, yellow, and orange. She moved with grace, yet it belied training and a touch of intimidation. There was also a slight, barely perceptible whirring as she moved. The monk approached her, bowing with reverence.
“Welcome, my Lady.”
He outstretched his hand and presented Luke’s lightsaber, much as Darth Vader had done to the Emperor decades earlier. Luke wondered briefly is such a move was intentional on their captor’s part. She starred down at him and nodded slowly as she accepted the Jedi weapon.
“You have done well, Palas,” she said, giving an name to formerly nondescript Bajoran monk. She then turned to face her captives, most specially the Jedi. Her eyes narrowed and the bandages beneath her mouth shifted, indicated either a grin or a grimace.
“Hello, Skywalker. It‘s been a while.”
Despite the cloth muffling her voice and the dim light, Luke felt shock and for the first time since Ben’s birth two months before, pure fear. It had been a long time indeed. He knew this individual all too well. The body standing before him was that of Lady Lumiya, Dark Lady of the Sith.
But the voice was that of Callista Ming.
***
Location: Sky City
Tokyo, Earth, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
As a protocol droid, See-Threepio was skilled and talented in the realms of personal assistance and translation. What he was not suited for was life as a nanny. True, his programming allowed him to perform such tasks, but he knew this was not the easiest of livings. He had, at the minimum, a hundred examples of his failings with the Solo children and why with the latest of the Skywalker generation, he was less suited to the task than, say, a TDL Nanny Droid .
“Master Ben, please do try to eat up this, what to the Milky Way humans call it? Ah, yes, applesauce. No? Well it’s not my fault that Master Luke chose not to have a Nanny Droid imported through the -- oh my.”
Threepio was interrupted as a shaft of green light appeared and a figure materialized in the room. She was a human female, in her late twenties or early thirties by Threepio’s estimate. She was blond-haired and clothed in a one-piece blue suit that suited her cobalt-blue eyes. She didn’t appear to be Starfleet, though she had the familiar delta design placed upon her chest. Despite this intrusion, Threepio placed Ben and his applesauce in the playpen and then turned to greet the guest.
“Hello, I am See-Threepio, Human-Cyborg relations. How may I --”
The female raised her hand. Or rather, she raised a hand which contained a weapon which the protocol droid’s photoreceptor and internal databanks were not able to quickly --
“I beg your --”
An orange and green beam lanced out at Threepio, hitting his neck and upper chest. The droid clutched his chest-plate, the gold outer coverings oozing between his fingers and dropping in globs onto the carpeting. The protocol droid attempted to cry out for help or assistance, but his vocabulator had been damaged. As the female raised the weapon again and as orange green light overwhelmed him, his last thought was that Artoo and Master Luke would be most disappointed in him.
***
Location: The First City
Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
While bloodwine was the favored alcoholic beverage among Klingon warriors, there were many who instead prefer the sharp, biting taste of warnog ale. While the Klingon Empire had been engaged for its very existence during the Dominion War, there had ironically been another battle of sorts - albeit economic - waged between warnog breweries and bloodwine wineries over which alcoholic substance deserved to be what the humans would term “the beverage of champions.” Ridiculous to outsiders, perhaps, but it was a matter of pride to the warrior race.
Korath was rather fond of warnog and his benefactor had known this. At every meeting they he had attended, warnog had been consumed at one point or another. He knew it wasn’t laced or contained poison, partly because he was quite the connoisseur of the ale and partly because the ocular implant that posed for his left eye was linked to sensors implanted throughout his body. As such, no sign of foul play was being performed on behalf of his employer and so, he took to enjoying the drink. It really was a fine vintage, made from fields that lay in the valley beneath Kang’s Summit.
But even so, the alcohol’s effects were not doing much to combat the growing knot in his stomach.
“This could potentially screw us over.”
“Possibly.”
Ironically, his benefactor should had been feeling the same fear and dread, but he appeared to exhibit no signs of worry at all. Korath had always had a hard time reading his emotions and this meeting was doing little to alleviate that.
“They say the Jedi possess healing arts. He may very well reverse Martok’s injuries.”
“A claim not without substantiation.”
“And Lorgh’s digging again. I’m worried he may find out who exactly tried to kill our ‘beloved’ Chancellor.”
“No one is perfect, Korath. I admit that I perhaps I should have taken the opportunity to eliminate Lorgh as well, but his death would have given way to suspicion far earlier than necessary. Nevertheless, gentlemen, the time is upon us.”
“Gentlemen?”
Korath watched as his employer reached to his side and tapped his personal PADD. And as it had the previous day, the painting on the wall above the fireplace, depicting Kahless’s epic battle with the tyrant Molor, shimmered and was replaced with a holographic viewer, or rather multiple incoming communications. Were he a Vulcan, Korath would have cocked an eyebrow. The mercenary recognized a fairly prominent number of Generals, many who had survived Morjod’s attempted coup or some who had participated, but had survived Martok’s reprisals over the last four years.
“All is ready. The time has come for you to remember who you truly are.”
He had known that his benefactor was up to something big; the man sat on the High Council for Kahless’ sake. But something like this? Rather than be fearful, however, Korath suddenly felt in pain. He gripped his head in his hands, his rigged forehead throbbing with agony. Added to that, images began flashing through his mind, images of surgical instruments, of firing weapons of, human males and females -- it went on and on and on.
They flashed at such a frantic pace that Korath should not have been able to make all of them out, but he did. And cutting through the pain was the booming voice of his benefactor, speaking to both him and the figures on the screens who appeared in very much a similar state to Korath’s.
“REMEMBER.”
…
…
Yes.
Yes, yes. He remembered. And as he did, his Benefactor spoke again.
“Now, is the hour my sons and daughters, now is the hour."
***
“Now, is the hour my sons and daughters, now is the hour."
Light years away, on a nondescript transport, a tinny version of the benefactor’s voice blared out of a comm speaker that should have been retired along with the D7-class battle cruisers. From a battered and torn seat a foot away, the pilot of this transport sat back and sank into a thoughtful mood, his hand stroking the white tuffs of his exceptionally long beard. At last coming to a decision, he tapped the helm controls. With a groan, the rickety, yet reliable vessel powered up and prepared to jump to warp.
His self-imposed exile was at an end. As the humans put it, the chess match had begun.
***
Location: Starfleet Command
San Francisco, Earth, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Despite the gathering of different individuals of any and every background, the Tactical Preparation Theater was hardly the place for idle chitchat or pleasant news. Today was no exception as an emergency gathering of Admirals watched an image that the majority of sentient beings throughout the cosmos would find horrifying. They saw the blue and golden crescendo of light that was the Bajoran Wormhole bloom open, the dark, Cardassian jewel of Deep Space Nine aflame, but still intact, and hundreds of Borg ships streaming past it before the image winked out.
“I knew it,” growled Admiral Akaar, the large Capellan slamming his hand down upon the oaken table with such force that cracks appeared in it. “I knew Unimatrix Zero was lying through it’s teeth!”
“We don’t know that,“ replied Uhura.
“What more proof do you need?” retorted a Benzite rear Admiral.
“Is DS9 still intact?” asked another.
“We honestly don’t know. Regardless, we’re mobilizing the Expeditionary Fleet. We have over eight hundred ships ready to --”
Uhura was interrupted as sounds of commotion erupted from outside the TPT. There were sounds of phaser fire and a distinctive snap-hiss. The phasers stopped firing and a green shaft of light began cutting through the duranium-reinforced frame.
“Secuir--”
The door fell open towards the floor, revealing the Jedi who had been investigating the Couincil Bombings, Master Katarn, his green lightsaber blade retreating back into its hilt.
“Mr. Katarn, what in the hell are --”
“Get down!” he yelled, tackling Uhura and Akaar with her --
-- and as he did, everything around them exploded.
***
Kathryn Janeway had certainly moved up the Starfleet ladder in her nearly thirty years of service and it wasn’t simply in regards to the ranks. Her first assignment out of the Academy had been aboard the Excelsior-class U.S.S. Al-Batani. After her exemplary service, she had been attached to the Bonestell and Billings before taking command of the Voyager during his historic sojourn through the Delta Quadrant. And now, on the eve of a grand alliance between the Federation and the Republic, she now commanded the prize of the fleet, the Enterprise, flagship of what was meant to be a joint Federation-Republic fleet.
But she had expected to engage Yuuzhan Vong. And with her faith in her future counterpart’s actions, she had never thought she would engage another Borg craft in her lifetime. But that was what she was now doing. The news of the attack on Deep Space Nine and the order for mobilization and Red Alert had barely reached them before all hell had broken lose.
It was with horror that they had watched on as the Fusion Cube had suddenly and without warning awoken from the slumber that had befallen it during the second engagement of the Yuzuhan Vong‘s invasion. Breaking free of its moorings and like a predator stalking it’s prey, it had rotated to face the blue orb that so many had fought to preserve before unleashing several torrents of torpedoes and disruptor fire at the surface.
“What did they target?”
From the tactical station, Tuvok -- who had flocked back to his former captain and friend’s side at her request-- scanned his instruments.
“San Francisco was targeted. The Federation Council building and part of Headquarters have been hit. The Fusion Cube is powering up engines and weapons and moving outwards.
“Is there any response to our hails?”
“None whatsoever,” replied the comm officer.
“Try one more time.”
“Aye, m’amm.”
The comm channel sounded open once again.
“Seven of Nine, come in, please,” she implored and pleaded. And just as before, there was no response. Janeway gave a resigned sigh.
“Dammit.”
She didn’t want to fire on the vessel of people whom had placed their trust in her three years earlier or which contained her protégée and the closest thing she had to a daughter. But they weren’t giving her any choice.
“Have the Shogei Maru launch her fighters, prepare to have a --”
The Tactical Board began sounding again and this time, it was going crazy.
“Mr. Tuvok?”
“Admiral, I am picking multiple transwarp sign natures all converging on the Fusion Cube.”
“On-screen. Magnify.”
Her command had barely been issued before space exploded in a miasma of the all-too familiar green hues of Borg Transwarp Conduits. From these shortcuts through space emerged the fleet that had attacked Deep Space Nine. Cubes, Spheres, Diamonds, Interceptors -- all were there, each with the movement and grace that only the Borg could display as they took position around the Fusion Cube. It was an awe-inspiring image of terror. But Janeway kept her cool, turning slowly to the tactical station.
“How many ships, Mr. Tuvok?”
“I am unable to ascertain a complete number; it is in a continual state of flux. There appears to be at least on the order of seven thousand and rising.
Seven thousand against eight-hundred. A single ship had annihilated thirty-nine ships at Wolf 359 and five hundred more during the Typhon campaign. For the third time in two decades, the Borg were ready to attack Earth. And this time, short of a miracle, there would be no way in hell stopping them.
But Kathryn Janeway would be dammed if she let them have Paradise.
“Open a channel to the fleet.”
“Channel open, Admiral.”
“This is Admiral Janeway to all ships and personnel. Prepare to open fire.”
***
To be Continued…
***
Author’s Notes
* We’re almost at the climax of Act II. Thanks for staying on board everyone.
* The incorrect designation of Slave I for Boba’s current ship has been corrected as per notations in previous chapters.
* Ananke Alpha first appeared in “Olympus Descending”, the Dominion entry in “Worlds of DS9”.
* J. Edgar Hoover is a reference to Bill Murrary’s preference over the form of the Traveler from Ghostbusters.
* The Tokyo R &D center was first mentioned in the DS9 Technical Manual.
* Janeway’s command of the Bonestell comes courtsey of Jeri Taylor’s novels “Mosaic” and “Patheways.”
Star Trek/Star Wars: The Best of Both Worlds
Authors Notes: I apologize for the delays. Christ, I feel like I’m writing “SUPERMAN/BATMAN” with the delays in the chapters. (Essentially, f*** Kanji, Finals, and holidays -- not to mention writer‘s block). But, that’s not why we’re here, is it? Other than that, as always, enjoy. After all, this is the welcoming mat to Act II’s climax…
***
Act II, Part XV
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
-Macbeth-
***
Location: Tipoca City
Kamino, That Galaxy Far, Far Away
Though based on ancient ceremonial designs, the Mandalorian helmet used both by Jango and Boba Fett was hardly ancient. Like both variations of the Clone Trooper (and to an extent, Stormtrooper) helmets, the headpiece was as sophisticated as the weaponry wielded by the two most recent generations of Fetts. It sported a polarizing visor, breathing filters, and an advanced comlink just to name a few. In addition, sensor bafflers prevented any enemy scanner from picking up the head’s heat signature or other telltale signs. Had anyone been able to peer beneath the headpiece, though, they would have glimpsed Jango Fett’s ‘son’ scowling.
“I told you should have kept him sedated.”
The Mandalorian clone, Shinzon, and Banu Le were standing within the primary holding block of the capital city. Despite is status as the prison complex, the block still bore the same color and style scheme that every other compartment and space of the Tipoca bore. Crime was almost non-existent on Kamino; the daily torrents that battered the cities hammered home the need for every individual to unify and work together to ensure mutual survival.
At least, in theory, it should have. There were the occasional exceptions, the rare malcontent, etc.. But none had ever imagined in their wildest dreams that the Minister of Defense would be among them. Yet, the Cloner’s Council had strived to treat their Minister with respect and show an attitude of “innocent until proven guilty”. Boba thought this to be rather ridiculous considering that De had been caught red-handed. What could he say? Politics. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.
Unfortunately, that had included holding off on an official inquiry until the following morning, against the protests of Fett, Shinzon, and even Banu Le. And when the guards had checked in on the prisoner an hour before, they had instead found a cooling corpse. The Minster had apparently slit his wrists during the night and had bled out, effectively committing suicide and taking his secrets to the grave.
“Boba, that is not how we do things. You should know that better than --”
“Banu, please don’t lecture me on how to treat prisoners. I learned from the best. And if you knew better, than De wouldn’t have been sending out signals to whoever he was taking orders from.”
As a bounty hunter, Boba was used to tracking signals across the vacuum of space-time that would otherwise go unnoticed by law enforcement or normal sensor arrays. Jango had taught him this among other things and it had served the Mandalorian well over the years. After he had docked with the Kaminoan task force and conferred with the Minister, it had been Boba who had discovered the signals indicating De’s communications and thus had led to their present situation.
“If you had given me five minutes with him, I could have found out who hijacked the Scimitar,” Shinzon rasped. The shock and stress of the previous days had accelerated his cellular decay, but he insisted on continuing to plunge ahead at full steam. Again, Banu Le gave an exasperated sigh.
“We are working on that, Praetor. But my communications teams have been trying to trace the communiqués and are having little success. Whoever was instructing his acts, they were doing so by sending the transmission through at least a dozen different systems, including the Holo Net.”
“Let me worry about that,” Boba said. Le starred down at the Mandalorian, an incredulous look upon the Kaminoan’s face.
“Indeed? Perhaps you would like to share your reasoning with myself and the Praetor.”
“I find this whole thing suspicious. De was the Minister of Defense, but there’s signs that more than one signal may have been getting through to Tipoca City. It’s possible that someone under him may have been a co-conspirator who received orders to silence him in the event that an arrest or discovery ever took place.”
“That still doesn’t explain your interest in this affair, Boba.”
“I unravel mysteries and follow trails for a living.”
“And?”
“Then of course, there’s the little matter of that Star Destroyer nearly colliding with the Slave V. I went to great lengths to acquire a new Firespray-class vessel, after all.”
Neither the Praetor or Minister could tell if Boba was being serious. In addition, whatever patience Shinzon may have had finally collapsed. Without warning -- and with a speed that startled even Fett -- he grabbed the bounty hunter by his collar and hoisted him up into the air.
“I don’t give a damm about your precious patrol craft, bounty hunter. All that matters is…is…”
He stopped suddenly, his facial features freezing. A low moan escaped his throat as his eyes fluttered backwards and his grip on the bounty hunter slackened. As Shinzon collapsed to the floor, Banu Le was instantly by his side, his long hands probing the human’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
“His pulse is dropping. Get a medical team in here, now!”
***
Location: Earth
Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
While the Federation was able to rehabilitate low-ranking criminals in locales such as the New Zealand and Tantalus Penal Colonies, the more dangerous threats required special housing. For example, Ananke Alpha, a highly-classified planetoid in the deepest reaches of the Federation‘s space, served as the once and future home for the Female Founder who had led the Dominion’s war against the Alpha Quadrant. Despite secret petitioning from Admiral Nechayev and the One-Hundred and Seventy-Five, it was more than likely that a certain Yuuzhan Vong POW would soon be joining her before the year was out.
Since Commander Data’s one-hit knock-out on the Enterprise‘s bridge, Tsavong Lah had been held in an underground facility similar to Bunker One. The Warmaster was in maximum captivity, restrained in every manner imaginable. Even his mouth was locked in a brace, the result of his attempts to bite off his tongue and swallow it. Either way, the Starfleet infidels had denied the glorious warrior the death that ritual and protocol demanded he take.
He spent his days in pitiful meditation, attempting to pray for Yan-Yammka to take his life or ponder what had become of his fleets of war and his people. His father had likely been chosen as successor, though Nas Choka was also a potential.
Either way, it didn’t matter. He had lost a fleet, a battle, and his pride to a machine. He failed his people, his culture, his Supreme Overlord. He--
Lah’s eyes flashed open. Despite his restraints and sedatives, he felt two pricks to his neck in quick succession. His vision began to blur, but he could make out a single figure standing above him, retracting its hand from his neck. Lah could briefly make out what appeared to be a dark-skinned complexion on the individual as well as forehead ridges. Behind him lay the crumpled forms of Starfleet security personnel.
“Your usefulness has not yet ended, Warmaster. You will adapt to service us.”
***
Location: The Q Continuum
Somewhere in the Universe
When Q had created the anti-time paradox which had troubled Picard and his crew during the final year of service for the Enterprise-D, Data had, in one time-frame anyway, made an analogy regarding the relationship between the captain and the omnipotent entity. "Q's interest in you has always been very similar to that of a master and his beloved pet," he has said.
The reason the walking calculator’s analogy was at all relevant at the moment was because Q felt exactly like a pet who had been forced to jump through hoops by the orders of his master. Scampering through the underbrush, cross-country running -- all this and more had been employed to escape from the GPQ‘s castle and he had the scratches, bruises and cuts to prove it. But, they had made it to their destination, back to the universal pond.
And that was precisely what had Q even more worried than the present situation should have merited.
The portal that Crusher had said he and his posse had arrived through was there and still functioning, but there was no sign of the dancing, lobotomized brethren that had greeted Q, his family, and the Stranger’s upon arrival earlier. Even with the minimal use of powers that he was still able to call upon, Q couldn’t locate them, but their absence only served to add to his immense unease.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”
“Remain calm, Q,” replied the Stranger behind him. “We must keep a cool head before proceeding further, before proceeding to the Concourse.”
Q just starred at him, the stress that had been building since he had first felt that disturbance in the space-time continuum -- how long had it been again? Regardless of the passage of time, Q had finally reached the breaking point.
“Calm down? Calm down?! I’ve been abused by a cheap exploiter of B-movies, the Continuum has been reduced to the Lincoln exhibit at Disneyland -- what’s next? Ninjas on the freaking lawn?”
“Be careful what you wish for,” the Stranger noted quietly, his gazed focused ahead of them. Q looked up and his draw dropped.
“Oh no. No, you have got to be kidding me.”
There, blocking their path to freedom and sanctuary, were two dozen black-clad, sword wielding ninjas. Everyone glared at Q, who proceed to moan.
“Why didn’t I just think of J. Edgar Hoover? J. Edgar Hoover would have been the perfect form of our destruction rather than two dozen --”
The Gardner and his Apprentice suddenly leapt forward, twin pillars of blue light rising in rapid-succession from what appeared to be sword hilts they carried. Moving with a speed and dexterity that would have impressed any layman, the pair swept through the two dozen warriors. It was almost like a dance.
One two, one two -- in rapid succession, their pillars of light connected with the long swords, the blades flashing in the darkening evening. Regardless, it was all over within less than a minute. As Crusher’s possess sheathed their pillars of light, Q took a look down at the fallen forms of their adversaries and whistled, impressed.
“Huh. Well then, I guess we’re home free, then.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” a voice suddenly thundered from the portal. For a moment, Q believed that the GPQ had returned to wreck havoc upon them once more. But before he could voice his belief, a ball-like object suddenly shot out of the portal. Impacting with the soft grass, it rolled for a few feet before coming to a stop in front of the group. Behind him, Q heard his wife and son gasp and he was tempted to join in the choir.
The ball-like object was a head. And Q didn’t need glasses or contact lenses to see that the head belonged to Ayelbourne. The Organian chieftain’s lifeless eyes starred at the Q and his companions as if begging for help that was far, far too late.
“Such is the fate that befalls those who resist the Merging,” came the voice again. Everyone looked up--
-- and out of the portal stepped none other than M.
***
Location: The Fire Caves
Bajor, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Even before he had become the de facto Grand Master of the New Jedi Order, Luke had never been a heavy drinker. Growing up on the desert world of Tatooine, he had known early on that water was a far more important liquid than a simple bottle of alcohol. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t knocked a few back one too many times after joining the Rebellion. He actually still had a minor score to settle with Rogues in that regard, but he chose to ignore it.
Yet, now, with his mind finally coming back online, so to speak, he felt like Wedge, Tycho, and all the good old boys had put him through the wringer again. But he wasn’t drunk, oh no. He had felt like this before, beginning with the hours following Emperor Palaptine’s demonstration of Force Lightning at Endor. He had been hit with the Dark Side and the blast had felt more potent than even Palpatine’s lightning.
“Master Skywalker?”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere. From the echo, he appeared to be in a large open space. He had to blink his eyes several times in order to retrieve his bearings. He attempted to move, but found himself restrained, some manner of rope or chain digging into his sides just as a wooden pole hammered into his back.
It was difficult to tell more initially since illumination came from only three torches flickering in the distance, the mid-range, and closer. As his eyes became adjusted to the dim light, he observed that he appeared to be near the edge of a precipice in a cave-like environment. To his side lay Kasidy Yates and her two children. Like him, they were intricately bound . Young Rebecca, however, was not moving. Luke felt a chill run down his spine, thoughts of Ben flashing through his mind.
“Rebecca?”
“She’s fine; just still out,” replied Kassidy.
“A phaser on stun?”
“Yeah. Forget about us, what about you?”
“I’m…fine. But that thing, that…you called it an Orb of Jalbador, yes?”
The question was directed at Kassidy’s stepson. Jake sighed.
“Yes, yes, that’s what it was,” he said at last.
“I take it then that you’ve had encounters with it.”
Jake nodded slowly. Despite his vow to DTI regarding the classification of the incident known as “The War of the Prophets,” it was kind of ridiculous not to tell the Jedi at least something of it, especially considering their current situation.
“It…during the Dominion War, there were attempts by Cadassian militants, smugglers, and Bajoran cultists to attempt to acquire them. They were believed to be sources of great power and of great importance to the Pah-Wraith. Turns out they were all right.”
“So essentially, they are the tools of the Pah-Wraiths, tools of evil?”
“Damm straight.”
The Siskos and Skywalker glanced to their left, to the source of the voice. Perched on the edge of the preceipce was the monk who was fond of soufflés and glowing objects. He was studying them, a mischievous smile upon his face. In his hands was cradled Luke’s light saber, at his feat an ornately jewel adorned box . Luke didn’t need to assume that the Orb of Jalbador was housed within; he could feel it’s dark energies.
“Of course, their former keepers would deny such things. By the way, Mr. Sisko, since you seem curious, I’ll answer your next question. Prylar Obanak’s dead. Ms. Rees, too, in case you’re wondering. A rather gruesome demise, I might add, but it can be attributed to the late Colonel Jorel.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed and he strained against his bonds. Despite the fact that Rees had attacked and tried to kill him during the “War of the Prophets” she had not been acting of her own accord and though he had not seen her since, he had forgiven her.
“Eh, tray all you like. But you’re not getting out of those that easily, Mr. Sisko. Neither are you, Master Skywalker; they’re specifically meant to restrain a Jedi.”
Luke frowned, his attempts to undo such simple bonds disrupted by the Dark Side presence that permeated and lashed out at the luminous aura of his Force connection. Contact between the Milky Way and Republic Galaxy had been less than two months old. How could these cultists have --
“Because I told them how.”
All around them, the darkness seemed to grow, both figuratively and literally. It expanded before being sucked forth and concentrated, like a black hole. The monk’s already Cheshire cat-like smile seemed to expand even further.
“Guess who’s coming to dinner?”
The black shadows continued to twist and contorted until it re-shaped itself into what appeared to be a humanoid female. She was clothed in a cape and bodysuit that was as black as the shadows of the cave. Her upper body was covered with silvery armor polished to such a rich and fine sheen that it reflected the light of the three torches. At her side was clipped a dangerous, almost-dagger like cylindrical object.
Her head was wrapped in a mask of silvery cloth that seemed to form two points on each side. Here eyes, discernable beneath the mask, were a swirling combination of red, yellow, and orange. She moved with grace, yet it belied training and a touch of intimidation. There was also a slight, barely perceptible whirring as she moved. The monk approached her, bowing with reverence.
“Welcome, my Lady.”
He outstretched his hand and presented Luke’s lightsaber, much as Darth Vader had done to the Emperor decades earlier. Luke wondered briefly is such a move was intentional on their captor’s part. She starred down at him and nodded slowly as she accepted the Jedi weapon.
“You have done well, Palas,” she said, giving an name to formerly nondescript Bajoran monk. She then turned to face her captives, most specially the Jedi. Her eyes narrowed and the bandages beneath her mouth shifted, indicated either a grin or a grimace.
“Hello, Skywalker. It‘s been a while.”
Despite the cloth muffling her voice and the dim light, Luke felt shock and for the first time since Ben’s birth two months before, pure fear. It had been a long time indeed. He knew this individual all too well. The body standing before him was that of Lady Lumiya, Dark Lady of the Sith.
But the voice was that of Callista Ming.
***
Location: Sky City
Tokyo, Earth, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
As a protocol droid, See-Threepio was skilled and talented in the realms of personal assistance and translation. What he was not suited for was life as a nanny. True, his programming allowed him to perform such tasks, but he knew this was not the easiest of livings. He had, at the minimum, a hundred examples of his failings with the Solo children and why with the latest of the Skywalker generation, he was less suited to the task than, say, a TDL Nanny Droid .
“Master Ben, please do try to eat up this, what to the Milky Way humans call it? Ah, yes, applesauce. No? Well it’s not my fault that Master Luke chose not to have a Nanny Droid imported through the -- oh my.”
Threepio was interrupted as a shaft of green light appeared and a figure materialized in the room. She was a human female, in her late twenties or early thirties by Threepio’s estimate. She was blond-haired and clothed in a one-piece blue suit that suited her cobalt-blue eyes. She didn’t appear to be Starfleet, though she had the familiar delta design placed upon her chest. Despite this intrusion, Threepio placed Ben and his applesauce in the playpen and then turned to greet the guest.
“Hello, I am See-Threepio, Human-Cyborg relations. How may I --”
The female raised her hand. Or rather, she raised a hand which contained a weapon which the protocol droid’s photoreceptor and internal databanks were not able to quickly --
“I beg your --”
An orange and green beam lanced out at Threepio, hitting his neck and upper chest. The droid clutched his chest-plate, the gold outer coverings oozing between his fingers and dropping in globs onto the carpeting. The protocol droid attempted to cry out for help or assistance, but his vocabulator had been damaged. As the female raised the weapon again and as orange green light overwhelmed him, his last thought was that Artoo and Master Luke would be most disappointed in him.
***
Location: The First City
Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
While bloodwine was the favored alcoholic beverage among Klingon warriors, there were many who instead prefer the sharp, biting taste of warnog ale. While the Klingon Empire had been engaged for its very existence during the Dominion War, there had ironically been another battle of sorts - albeit economic - waged between warnog breweries and bloodwine wineries over which alcoholic substance deserved to be what the humans would term “the beverage of champions.” Ridiculous to outsiders, perhaps, but it was a matter of pride to the warrior race.
Korath was rather fond of warnog and his benefactor had known this. At every meeting they he had attended, warnog had been consumed at one point or another. He knew it wasn’t laced or contained poison, partly because he was quite the connoisseur of the ale and partly because the ocular implant that posed for his left eye was linked to sensors implanted throughout his body. As such, no sign of foul play was being performed on behalf of his employer and so, he took to enjoying the drink. It really was a fine vintage, made from fields that lay in the valley beneath Kang’s Summit.
But even so, the alcohol’s effects were not doing much to combat the growing knot in his stomach.
“This could potentially screw us over.”
“Possibly.”
Ironically, his benefactor should had been feeling the same fear and dread, but he appeared to exhibit no signs of worry at all. Korath had always had a hard time reading his emotions and this meeting was doing little to alleviate that.
“They say the Jedi possess healing arts. He may very well reverse Martok’s injuries.”
“A claim not without substantiation.”
“And Lorgh’s digging again. I’m worried he may find out who exactly tried to kill our ‘beloved’ Chancellor.”
“No one is perfect, Korath. I admit that I perhaps I should have taken the opportunity to eliminate Lorgh as well, but his death would have given way to suspicion far earlier than necessary. Nevertheless, gentlemen, the time is upon us.”
“Gentlemen?”
Korath watched as his employer reached to his side and tapped his personal PADD. And as it had the previous day, the painting on the wall above the fireplace, depicting Kahless’s epic battle with the tyrant Molor, shimmered and was replaced with a holographic viewer, or rather multiple incoming communications. Were he a Vulcan, Korath would have cocked an eyebrow. The mercenary recognized a fairly prominent number of Generals, many who had survived Morjod’s attempted coup or some who had participated, but had survived Martok’s reprisals over the last four years.
“All is ready. The time has come for you to remember who you truly are.”
He had known that his benefactor was up to something big; the man sat on the High Council for Kahless’ sake. But something like this? Rather than be fearful, however, Korath suddenly felt in pain. He gripped his head in his hands, his rigged forehead throbbing with agony. Added to that, images began flashing through his mind, images of surgical instruments, of firing weapons of, human males and females -- it went on and on and on.
They flashed at such a frantic pace that Korath should not have been able to make all of them out, but he did. And cutting through the pain was the booming voice of his benefactor, speaking to both him and the figures on the screens who appeared in very much a similar state to Korath’s.
“REMEMBER.”
…
…
Yes.
Yes, yes. He remembered. And as he did, his Benefactor spoke again.
“Now, is the hour my sons and daughters, now is the hour."
***
“Now, is the hour my sons and daughters, now is the hour."
Light years away, on a nondescript transport, a tinny version of the benefactor’s voice blared out of a comm speaker that should have been retired along with the D7-class battle cruisers. From a battered and torn seat a foot away, the pilot of this transport sat back and sank into a thoughtful mood, his hand stroking the white tuffs of his exceptionally long beard. At last coming to a decision, he tapped the helm controls. With a groan, the rickety, yet reliable vessel powered up and prepared to jump to warp.
His self-imposed exile was at an end. As the humans put it, the chess match had begun.
***
Location: Starfleet Command
San Francisco, Earth, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Despite the gathering of different individuals of any and every background, the Tactical Preparation Theater was hardly the place for idle chitchat or pleasant news. Today was no exception as an emergency gathering of Admirals watched an image that the majority of sentient beings throughout the cosmos would find horrifying. They saw the blue and golden crescendo of light that was the Bajoran Wormhole bloom open, the dark, Cardassian jewel of Deep Space Nine aflame, but still intact, and hundreds of Borg ships streaming past it before the image winked out.
“I knew it,” growled Admiral Akaar, the large Capellan slamming his hand down upon the oaken table with such force that cracks appeared in it. “I knew Unimatrix Zero was lying through it’s teeth!”
“We don’t know that,“ replied Uhura.
“What more proof do you need?” retorted a Benzite rear Admiral.
“Is DS9 still intact?” asked another.
“We honestly don’t know. Regardless, we’re mobilizing the Expeditionary Fleet. We have over eight hundred ships ready to --”
Uhura was interrupted as sounds of commotion erupted from outside the TPT. There were sounds of phaser fire and a distinctive snap-hiss. The phasers stopped firing and a green shaft of light began cutting through the duranium-reinforced frame.
“Secuir--”
The door fell open towards the floor, revealing the Jedi who had been investigating the Couincil Bombings, Master Katarn, his green lightsaber blade retreating back into its hilt.
“Mr. Katarn, what in the hell are --”
“Get down!” he yelled, tackling Uhura and Akaar with her --
-- and as he did, everything around them exploded.
***
Kathryn Janeway had certainly moved up the Starfleet ladder in her nearly thirty years of service and it wasn’t simply in regards to the ranks. Her first assignment out of the Academy had been aboard the Excelsior-class U.S.S. Al-Batani. After her exemplary service, she had been attached to the Bonestell and Billings before taking command of the Voyager during his historic sojourn through the Delta Quadrant. And now, on the eve of a grand alliance between the Federation and the Republic, she now commanded the prize of the fleet, the Enterprise, flagship of what was meant to be a joint Federation-Republic fleet.
But she had expected to engage Yuuzhan Vong. And with her faith in her future counterpart’s actions, she had never thought she would engage another Borg craft in her lifetime. But that was what she was now doing. The news of the attack on Deep Space Nine and the order for mobilization and Red Alert had barely reached them before all hell had broken lose.
It was with horror that they had watched on as the Fusion Cube had suddenly and without warning awoken from the slumber that had befallen it during the second engagement of the Yuzuhan Vong‘s invasion. Breaking free of its moorings and like a predator stalking it’s prey, it had rotated to face the blue orb that so many had fought to preserve before unleashing several torrents of torpedoes and disruptor fire at the surface.
“What did they target?”
From the tactical station, Tuvok -- who had flocked back to his former captain and friend’s side at her request-- scanned his instruments.
“San Francisco was targeted. The Federation Council building and part of Headquarters have been hit. The Fusion Cube is powering up engines and weapons and moving outwards.
“Is there any response to our hails?”
“None whatsoever,” replied the comm officer.
“Try one more time.”
“Aye, m’amm.”
The comm channel sounded open once again.
“Seven of Nine, come in, please,” she implored and pleaded. And just as before, there was no response. Janeway gave a resigned sigh.
“Dammit.”
She didn’t want to fire on the vessel of people whom had placed their trust in her three years earlier or which contained her protégée and the closest thing she had to a daughter. But they weren’t giving her any choice.
“Have the Shogei Maru launch her fighters, prepare to have a --”
The Tactical Board began sounding again and this time, it was going crazy.
“Mr. Tuvok?”
“Admiral, I am picking multiple transwarp sign natures all converging on the Fusion Cube.”
“On-screen. Magnify.”
Her command had barely been issued before space exploded in a miasma of the all-too familiar green hues of Borg Transwarp Conduits. From these shortcuts through space emerged the fleet that had attacked Deep Space Nine. Cubes, Spheres, Diamonds, Interceptors -- all were there, each with the movement and grace that only the Borg could display as they took position around the Fusion Cube. It was an awe-inspiring image of terror. But Janeway kept her cool, turning slowly to the tactical station.
“How many ships, Mr. Tuvok?”
“I am unable to ascertain a complete number; it is in a continual state of flux. There appears to be at least on the order of seven thousand and rising.
Seven thousand against eight-hundred. A single ship had annihilated thirty-nine ships at Wolf 359 and five hundred more during the Typhon campaign. For the third time in two decades, the Borg were ready to attack Earth. And this time, short of a miracle, there would be no way in hell stopping them.
But Kathryn Janeway would be dammed if she let them have Paradise.
“Open a channel to the fleet.”
“Channel open, Admiral.”
“This is Admiral Janeway to all ships and personnel. Prepare to open fire.”
***
To be Continued…
***
Author’s Notes
* We’re almost at the climax of Act II. Thanks for staying on board everyone.
* The incorrect designation of Slave I for Boba’s current ship has been corrected as per notations in previous chapters.
* Ananke Alpha first appeared in “Olympus Descending”, the Dominion entry in “Worlds of DS9”.
* J. Edgar Hoover is a reference to Bill Murrary’s preference over the form of the Traveler from Ghostbusters.
* The Tokyo R &D center was first mentioned in the DS9 Technical Manual.
* Janeway’s command of the Bonestell comes courtsey of Jeri Taylor’s novels “Mosaic” and “Patheways.”