Star Trek/Star Wars: Fearful Symmetry

[JME2]

Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm Ltd. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.

STAR TREK/STAR WARS: FEARFUL SYMMETRY

Story by JME2 & Theran-Rel

Written by JME2

Author’s Notes: To faithful readers of The Best of Both Worlds, I’m sorry, but despite not having penned a chapter in over a year, I’m burned out. I’m tired of writing the Yuuzhan Vong, tired of the struggle of the Gods, etc. It’s my own damm fault for not planning out things and trying to cram in everybody. So, time to experiment, try something new…

Historian’s Note: In the Star Wars timeline, this story begins in 0BBY during the events of Episode IV: A New Hope. In the Star Trek timeline, this story begins in 2374 during the events of DS9’s “Sacrifice of Angels”.


***


Prologue: Focal Points


***


“Fate is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity.”

- Publilius Syrus -


***


“I’m hit! I can’t stay with you!”

“Get clear Wedge, you can’t do any more good back there!”

“Sorry!”

Han Solo tightened his grip on the Millennium Falcon’s control yoke in response to the intercepted fighter transmissions that were issuing from the cockpit’s comm board.

“Faster Chewie, faster!”

The roar of the Girodyne SRB42 sublight engines drowned out the boisterous complaints of his Wookie copilot as the Falcon accelerated. The silhouette of the monstrous Death Star was growing larger and larger by the moment, a small blotch against the backdrop of the orange gas-giant Yavin. Han could begin to make out its signature weapon, the super-laser dish set in the upper hemisphere. He scanned the Falcon’s sensor board. The Rebel squadrons, or what was left of them, were concentrating on a specific Trench in the northern hemisphere, just as Dodonna had instructed a mere hour earlier.

I certainly didn’t think I’d be assaulting the most powerful weapon in the universe a month ago.

Less than a standard month ago, he had been a hotshot, yet talented pilot running exotic spices from Kessel to Tatooine for Jabba the Hutt. It was a decent paying gig and the Hutt had like Han – always a plus. After years of working from odd job to odd job, from Corporate Sector slavers to Ploovo Two-For-One, it had seemed like Han and his Wookie co-pilot had finally found a comfortable niche and forget about any employment problems.

Naturally, the universe had chosen this moment to deal him a bad Sabacc hand. Again.

An Imperial Cruiser had attempted to intercept and board the Falcon, outbound from Kessel with a full load of contraband. Han still didn’t know if the cruiser’s presence had been mere coincidence or if someone under Mourth Doole, their supplier, had tipped them off. Both ways, it hadn’t exactly been a pressing concern and there had been no choice, but to dump the very expensive cargo. Because of the gravitational properties of the nearby Maw Cluster, recovery of the ejected contraband had proven impossible, meaning that Jabba had to be recompensed.

Unfortunately, it was his and Chewie’s lack of spare change which had prompted them to work for the Hutt in the first place. He had been agonizing over how in the Seven Hells he was going to pay Jabba back when fate had seemed to intervene. A farmboy, two droids, and a crazy old hermit had booked passage to Alderaan, promising a payment of 17,000 credits. It would be more than enough to pay off the dumped shipment.

After what had happened at Kessel, however, Han should have known by now that things were never that easy. They had been pursued off world first by Sandtroopers, then by two Imperial cruisers before escaping into hyperspace. They had arrived at Alderaan, only to find the planet destroyed by a moon-sized Imperial battle station called the Death Star. They had been pulled into the Station and had promptly launched an insane rescue of Alderaan’s surviving princess, or “Your Highness" as Han had called her.

Two close escapes – and one dead old hermit later – they’d reached the main base on the backwater jungle world of Yavin IV, only to discover that her Royal Highness had been right: There had been a tracking device slipped onto his ship. The Death Star was coming. Scrambling to prepare, the Rebel leadership had found a possible weakness involving a thermal exhaust port in a trench located in the northern hemisphere. A pair of well-placed torpedoes would travel into the station’s reactor and start a chain reaction which would

It was a bold plan. And while Han had been used to pulling bold plans and maneuvers in the past, this was one that he was more than willing to sit out. He had collected his reward for the Princess’ liberation’ and was preparing to get the hell out of there when the farmboy, Luke, had angrily confronted him. He said that the Rebellion needed his help, that he knew what they were up against, and condemned Han’s actions as cowardice.

Han had initially tried to shrug it off. The kid didn’t know what he was talking about. He had no idea of what Jabba would do if he wasn’t recompensed. But while Han didn’t consider himself selfish, Luke’s words, coupled with Chewie’s growls and own points, had echoed over and over in his mind. It wasn’t until they were out of range and ready to make the jump to lightspeed that Han had finally changed his mind.

Now, the Falcon was racing at top speed back towards the Death Star, towards Luke. They were close enough to the trench that Han could get an accurate sensor reading on the trench run, courtesey of the Falcon’s advanced Fabritech sensor suite. He saw two Incom T-65 X-Wings and three Sienar Fleet Systems TIE fighters. Han recognized the two wingman’s craft as standard TIE’s. The middle craft, while clearly from the TIE line, was unlike anything he’d seen from the Empire. He winced and went cold as the rearmost X-Wing was obliterated by the center TIE’s laser fire. For a second, he was afraid that Luke had been shot down when the comm channel spurted open again.

“His computer’s off. Luke, you’ve switched off your targeting computer; what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m alright.”

Han’s relief was tempered by his disbelief. The Kid had potential and had proven a decent shot during their escapades in Detention Block AA-23 and the TIE fighter pursuit. But what in the Nine Hells was he thinking? Han inwardly groaned, wondering if that crazy old hermit’s mumbo jumbo talk about a mysictal energy field was playing a role in this stupidity. His discomfort intensified as several shots from the center TIE strafed Luke’s rear.

“I’ve lost Artoo!”

Han had heard enough.

“Chewie, warm the quad cannons up. Target those TIES as soon as we’re in range.”

Once again, he willed the Falcon to go faster. They were almost there, almost…

The center TIE suddenly fired again, his lasers inflicting far more damage than before. The fighter’s sublight engines sputtered and Luke’s X-Wing went flying out of the trench. With grim satisfaction, Han squeezed the firing trigger. The leftmost TIE fighter was instantly destroyed by the red stream of death from the quad cannons.

“Hang on Kid!” Han yelled into the comm, preparing to target the center TIE next. But before he could, the rightmost TIE suddenly and without warning veered to his right. It collided with the center TIE, nicking it before it smashed into the trench wall. The collision threw the center TIE out of the trench and spinning out of control. Han prepared to line up the quad cannons, hoping to blow the craft to the Seven Hells.

Beside him, Chewbacca grunted an observation form his sensor board. Han looked at him, the wayward TIE fighter forgotten.

“A massive power surge? Where?”

Chewie gestured upwards. Han looked up above him through the transparitseel viewing port. What he saw left him speechless for one of the few times in his life. Dozens of kilometers above, eight acid-green beams of energy were coalescing in the superlaser dish. They met and combined into a single, focused beam. The beam seemed to hang in midair for a long moment before lancing out across space, towards the blue-green jungle moon of Yavin 4. The moon vanished in a brilliant inferno, a massive and fiery energy wave expanding out from the space where the Rebellion had built their last, best hope at survival.

Han or Chewie were shocked silent. Neither of them had actually seen Alderaan destroyed and now they understood what must have happened in those final seconds before the Falcon arrived.

“LEIA!”

It was Luke’s anguished cry that brought the two out of their shock. The kid’s fighter was drifting above and away from the trench. His engines were still firing and the fighter was slowing, but not of the pilot’s accord; Han could see the red aura of the fusial thrust enginers fading. That wasn’t stopping Luke firing his laser cannons at random. A few shots nearly singed the edge of the Falcon’s shields.

“Luke? Luke!” Han swore. “Chewie, fire a warning shot at him.” The Wookie just starred at his pilot. “Do it!” Han growled.

With resignation, the Wookie complied and the ventral quad laser issued several more blasts. Chewie’s expert aim prevented any of them from actually hitting Luke. The near-misses, however, seemed to bring the kid of out his futile rampage.

“Kid, there’s nothing we can do for anyone down there!” He scanned his sensor board, scowling at what it was displaying. “We have to go. Now! This place will be swarming with TIE’s in another minute. Can you jump to hyperspace?”

Luke didn’t respond. Han’s irritation and fear rose.

“Kid, we don’t have time for – “

“Sublight’s down,” he said at last, struggling to remain calm. “I have hyperspace capability, but Artoo was hit; he’s in danger of going offline at any second.”

Han swore. The navicomputers on starfighters like the X-Wings, required an astromech droid for operation and hyperspace calculation. If Artoo went offline, then they would need to moor the X-Wing to the Falcon, an operation that required time which they didn’t have. If they could only get to a safe location, then moor it…

For one brief moment, Han considered just leaving Luke to his fate and just making a jump for Tatooine. The Corellian quickly shook off that thought, ashamed at himself. He had risked his life and ship to come back for the kid and he wasn’t finished yet.

“If you can coax at least one jump out of him, then –“

“Where exactly are we jumping to?

Han looked out the cockpit. The X-Wing that had been forced out of the Trench before Luke was maneuvering alongside them.

“Wedge, right?”

“Copy. As I said, where are we going? I’m not going to risk them tracing my vector to any Alliance cells or ships.”

Like Luke, the pilot was struggling to not let his despair leak through. And his logic was sound. Han weighed the burden of bringing Wedge along, then shrugged his shoulders.

“The more the merrier. We need someplace nearby, yet out of the way for the moment, long enough for us to change our hyperspace vector so they can’t track us and get Luke aboard. How’s Maridun sound?”

“Lovely. Programming it –“

Wedge was cut off as a blast of green energy narrowly missed him. Han looked down through the cockpit again, his fears confirmed. The turbolaser towers were firing up again and in the distance, the outline of TIE fighters could be seen. They were out of time; it was now or never.

“Luke please tell me you’ve got that jump programmed.”

“Programmed; I can do one jump!”

“I’m ready too,” came Wedge’s voice.

“Chewie?”

The Wookie growled in approval as the Falcon’s navicomputer board lit up.

“Then let’s make it count. Punch it!”

With the turbolaser towers and the inbound TIE fighters blazing behind them, the YT-1300 freighter and the two X-Wings shot forward and jumped into the dark reaches of hyperspace.


***


The mood inside the command deck of the Death Star, was more subdued than one would have expected. After all, the superlaser had just eradicated the main Rebel Alliance base. But even junior officers knew that such jubilation was frowned about by the Imperial military standards while on duty, particularly in the presence of a General and Grand Moff. Nonetheless, there was still a sense of triumph permeating throughout the chamber. Even Wilhuff Tarkin felt a smug satisfaction as he turned to face his aide, General Moradmin Bast.

“There, you see General? I told you that you overestimated their chances.”

Bast’s face reddened, but the General remained silent. Tarkin turned to the communications
officer.

“Prepare to dispatch a message via HoloNet to Coruscant and the Emperor. The Rebel’s secret base on Yavin 4 has been destroyed.”


***


“Ben, if I were you I’d start coming up with a Plan B.”

The words of Jadzia Dax cut into Captain Benjamin Sisko’s brooding and concentration, returning him to charred, yet still intact main bridge of the U.S.S. Defiant. The mood was quiet and tense. O’Brian and Bashir were not engaging in banal chatter or quoting “The Light Brigade” again. Even the Cardassian ‘tailor’, Elim Garak was not interjecting with any pleasantries or his cultural perceptions. All attention was focused on their station consoles. Sisko starred forward at the viewscreen and the oncoming rush of stars at high warp. They were almost there; he could almost visualize the target before them.

The Defiant was racing at maximum warp towards the rechristened Terok Nor, formerly Deep Space Nine. The ship bore the brunt of five months’ worth of engagements, evasive maneuvers, phased polaron beams, and more. She was falling apart and in desperate need of a complete servicing within a fully staffed shipyard. But still she pressed on. Their mission was of utmost importance and urgency. The fate of the Alpha Quadrant literally depended upon the next minute or two.

For five months, the war between the Federation Alliance and the Dominion had raged on across the Alpha Quadrant. Unfortunately, the war had been going largely in the Dominion’s favor, despite isolated victories such as the destruction of the Torross III Shipyards and the Argolis Cluster Sensor Array. The only reason the Federation and Klingons hadn’t already been overrun was that their foes had been unable to get their full fleet through the wormhole thanks to the mines left by the fleeing Federation forces. With their onboard replicator units, any attempt to destroy them would be futile as their neighbors could replicate replacements within moments.

With the wormhole closed, the only way to get reinforcements was a seventy-year trip at conventional warp. That wasn’t exactly helping matters much, though. The Klingon Invasion of Cardassia, the brief Second Federation-Klingon War, and last year’s Borg Incursion in the Typhon Sector had left both allies bloodied, exhausted, and short on supplies and manpower. The Dominion and their Cardassian allies, by contrast, were rested, refreshed, restored, and ready for conquest. Still they had held on and Sisko had begun assembling the forces needed to recapture the station as a way to boost morale and shift the theaters of war.

Then five days ago, disaster had struck. Deep Space Nine’s resident barfly Morn had made it behind Federation lines with a message from Kira and his son. The Dominion had discovered a way to use the station’s deflector array to emit an anti-graviton beam that would disable each mine’s replicator unit one at a time. The minefield could then be destroyed by conventional means. The armada was only half-assembled, but they had no choice. Admiral William Ross had ordered them to launch.

Of course, their departure had not gone unnoticed by the Dominion, which had waited on the edge of the path to the Bajoran Sector with a vast armada of their own. Even with the late arrival of a Klingon Defense Force contingent, the fighting had been so heavy and brutal that only the Defiant had been able to break through enemy lines. With three hours left on the clock, the warship had taken off at maximum warp, racing against time to save the Alpha Quadrant.

There was now less than a minute left on the ship’s chronometer.

“Captain, we’re entering visual range of Deep Space Nine,” reported Nog. It was a formal, though unnecessary report. Sisko could begin to see the familiar dark jewel of the Denorios Belt that had been their home for five years. Even at this distance, he could make out the basic features of the station in addition to the Cardassian and Jem’Hadar ship contingent that was either docked or cruising alongside the station. And behind them…

Sisko heard several gasps from behind him. Behind Deep Space Nine, where there should have only been empty space, were rows upon rows of antimatter mines. When they had abandoned the station, the mines had been cloaked to further frustrate any Dominion attempts at removal. Sisko he graviton array must have also disabled the mines’ cloaking devices. Now, the entire field was now exposed to the light of day.

“We’re not going to make it,” O’Brian said softly.

“Quiet Mr. O’Brian,” Sisko muttered, but the engineer was right. They were still thirty seconds from firing range. Sisko starred ahead helplessly as time seemed to freeze. Then, Deep Space Nine’s forward weapons array activated. Phaser fire lanced out, striking the edge of the minefield. The now deactivated mines and their antimatter charges exploded, initiating a cascade that quickly engulfed the meticulously laid rows and spread. It was if a cluster of stars was burning and twinkling out of existence, signifying that twilight had fallen on the Alpha Quadrant.

For the longest moment, no one spoke. It was Jadzia who finally dared to break the tumultuous silence on the bridge.

“What do we do now?”

Sisko starred ahead at the space beyond the station, where he knew the mouth of the Bajoran Wormhole lay, unprotected and ready to admit thousands of Dominion ships. He opened his mouth, then closed it. A moment before, he had been prepared to order the Defiant into the wormhole and fire off as many pulse phaser blasts and quantum torpedoes before being blown to smithereens by the oncoming Jem’Hadar.

But what good would that accomplish? Would a blaze of glory save them? Would it do the Federation any good?

“Set a course back to Federation space,” he said at last in a tired, heavy tone. “Prep a communiqué for Admiral Ross and Starbase 375 that we were unsuccessful. The minefield has been deactivated.”


And God help us all.


***


The mood inside Operations, or Ops, was one of jubilation. The Cardassian soldiers were openly applauding and cheering. Gul Skrain Dukat’s face was stretched wide in a feral grin. Even Weyoun and the normally emotionless Jem’Hadar displayed something resembling palpable excitement in their features. Only the Female Founder remained expressionless, as if it was still business as usual.

“Send a message to our listening posts in the Gamma Quadrant,” she ordered, circling the operations table to ascertain the current status of their blockade. “Tell our reinforcements the Alpha Quadrant awaits them”

“Sir?”

From the opposite side of the Operations table, Gul Corat Damar was hunched over tactical station.

“The Defiant’s set a course back towards the Federation fleet. Shall I target it or dispatch craft to pursue?”

Dukat was surprised by this. Through operations against the Maquis and the Klingons, he had come to know Sisko and have an understanding of how the Captain thought and fought. So, he was half-expecting Sisko to try something foolhardy, such as attacking Terok Nor directly or heading into the wormhole to confront the coming fleet. No matter, though.

“No. Let them carry back the news of their failure to the main fleet.”

“I agree,” Weyoun added, attempting to bask in the glory and appear useful to the Founder. “It will demoralize them further and cause them to retreat in lieu of the coming reinforcements. If they doesn’t deter the still active Federation and Klingon ships, then order our ships to pull back from the battle and await the incoming reinforcements.”

Dukat breathed quickly and heavily. The tension that had been building in him for weeks, if not months, was finally fading. He tossed the baseball into the air once more and caught it, gripping the leather surface tightly. His grin widened even more.

I’ve won Benjamin. You’ve lost.


***


TO BE CONTINUED…


***

[Theran-Rel]

Looks great!

[Coalition]

Looks very good so far.

[Darmalus]

It will be interesting to see where this leads with the main dues ex machina removed from each series. Without its primary leadership, the rebellion may fragment, and the Alpha Quadrant looks to be in for a long, bloody war of attrition.

[clone1051]

Without its primary leadership, the rebellion may fragment

I think the real problem with losing Yavin isn't that the Rebellion lost its leadership (Ackbar and Mon Mothma are still alive, along with plenty of others), but the fact that the Death Star wasn't destroyed. And now that some Imperials are aware of a possible weakness, particularly Vader, they will be a lot more careful during future attacks.

[Darmalus]

I think the real problem with losing Yavin isn't that the Rebellion lost its leadership (Ackbar and Mon Mothma are still alive, along with plenty of others), but the fact that the Death Star wasn't destroyed. And now that some Imperials are aware of a possible weakness, particularly Vader, they will be a lot more careful during future attacks.

Ahh, yes. Its been a while since I saw Episode 4. What assets did they lose, now that Yavin has a new ring? Leia, obviously, but I'm not sure who else was there at the time, or exactly what resources just got destroyed.

[FA Xerrik]

I have to agree with clone's assessment. Militarily speaking the loss wasn't insurmountable on Yavin, but the Empire is still in possession of the Death Star and that bodes far worse for the Rebellion. I think the situation is far worse in the Alpha Quadrant. There's really no "war of attrition" left to right, since in the OT the Allies needed to hold the wormhole to force even a temporary stalemate. With the full resources of the Gamma Quadrant now arrayed against them, not just the waiting fleet of ships, I can't help but think that the Allies are really boned.

[Master_Baerne]

Please do continue this. The possibilities of a deus-ex-machina free universe appeals.

[Trogdor]

It saddens me that you've abandoned BoBWs, but I can certainly understand why you did it and this has great potential. Please, good sir, write on.

[clone1051]

Just based on what you see in the movie, I doubt that there was more than a regiment or so of ground troops, and of course only 30 fighters. A miniscule loss, even for the Rebels. The only casualties that would have an affect on them would be the losses of Dodonna (who was captured anyway not long after in the normal timeline) and Leia.

[Darth Ruinus]

Im probably missing something, but what are these deus-ex-machinas that are being talked about?

[JME2]

Im probably missing something, but what are these deus-ex-machinas that are being talked about?

In regards to Star Trek, after the minefield was destroyed, Sisko took the Defiant into the wormhole on a suicide run. The Prophets tried to stop him from killing himself and Sisko essentially blackmails them into destroying the incoming Dominion reinforcements. DS9 producer and writer Ira Steven Behr has justified this as part of Sisko's character arc and relationship with the Prophets in past interviews. I understand his points, but I still refer to it as "Prophet ex Machina"

In regards to ANH, some might consider the thermal exhaust port weakness and Luke's last-minute save to be dues ex machinas in their own right.

[JME2]

Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm Ltd. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.

STAR TREK/STAR WARS: FEARFUL SYMMETRY

Story by JME2 & Theran-Rel

Written by JME2

Author’s Notes: Well, Theran and I are glad to see everyone liked the prologue. Now, let’s see if we can’t shake things up even further, though not in the way many may think…


***


Chapter 1
Five Years Later – Part 1


***


“Your morning Caf, sir.”

Seated in his chair of command, Captain Heroh Amada of the Rebel-controlled Nebulon-B Frigate Javelin accepted the steaming cup from his aide. Beyond in the transparitsteel, the tumbling masses of the Vergesso Asteroids tumbled and rotated slowly against the backdrop of stars.

“Thank you.”

As the aide moved back towards her station, Amada turned his attention back to the data pad and stylus with which he had been preparing for Alliance Command.

…six months of operation and the Empire still has not caught on. Our intelligence was correct; Grand Moff Kintaro’s reputation for laxness continues to work in our favor. Nevertheless, our vigilance is continuing; every security precaution has been taken to prevent exposure of the depot and shipyard. We expect to have the next wave of Y-Wings ready for deployment within the week.

He paused in his writing, a somber expression playing on his face, then continued.

Morale throughout the Javelin and the base is low – or rather, lower than normal. Today marks the fifth anniversary of –

“Captain!”

Captain Amada looked up from the pad, his attention focused upon his sensor board operator, Lt. Kard Seid and the panicked expression he wore.

“What is it?”

“Captain, we’re getting gravimetric fluctuations across the board. We’ve got incoming reverting from realspace!”

“Remain calm, Lt. It could be anything,” Amada ordered, but a sinking feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach. If it was what he was all but certain it was…

The massive forms of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer and two Victory-class Star Destroyers streaked out of hyperspace, verifying Amada’s worse fears. Swearing, he opened the secure comm channel to the depot kilometers away.

“Alert Condition One. This is Captain Amada to all depot personnel. All units, we’ve got —”

“Sir!”

Seid was pointing out towards the viewing ports. Amada’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped at the sight of the last thing he’d had expected the Empire to send to their base, the last thing he would ever set eyes on as the bridge was consumed by fire.


***


Imperial Admiral Kendal Ozzel winced slightly as the forward bow of the Super Star Destroyer Executor slammed into the Rebels’ Ncbulon-B Frigate, tearing it apart as if it was nothing. He wasn’t worried; the Executor’s shields were second to none. He was more worried about –

Behind him, Ozzel heard an approaching sound, a strange, continuous, slow, and deep mechanized breathing. Knowing full well who it was, Ozzel turned sharply in crisp military fashion to address his superior.

“My Lord, the fleet has moved out of lightspeed and we’re preparing to –

“You have failed me for the last time, Admiral.”

Ozzel’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, as if to protest. But the only words which issued from his throat was a chorus of gurgles and gasps. His eyes widened even more and his hands went for his neck, as if he was attempting to pry an invisible fist away from his throat. It was a losing battle and a futile expenditure of his final moments. Without grace, he crumpled to the bridge floor, dead.

Above Ozzel’s spent form stood a tall humanoid, cloaked in a jet black cape. His head was hidden behind a similarly black helmet and death mask. A control panel and switches were set into both his chest plate and belt and a cylindrical device no longer than a foot in length hung from his side. His most distinguishing characteristic was the breathing which had alerted Ozzel to his coming. He was feared, respected, and loathed by countless beings throughout the cosmos. His name inspired more hushed tones than even his master. He was a veteran, a warrior, Supreme Commander of the Imperial forces, and a Dark Lord of the Sith.

He was Darth Vader.

Lord Vader starred at Ozzel’s quickly cooling body for a moment, then turned to face a nervous officer standing a few feet away near the central bridge consoles.

“You are in command of the Executor now, Admiral Piett. ”

“T-Thank you, Lord Vader,” the newly-promoted and now ex-Captain Firmus Piett replied somewhat uncertainly. His military training overrode his uncertainty and he moved to instruct his subordinates and oversee the operation of the bridge. Vader turned away and focused his attention on the transparitseel viewports lining the bridge’s ceiling and the conflagration taking place kilometers away.

To their port and starboard flew the forms of two Victory-class Star Destroyers and the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Avenger. They were a detachment of his personal naval contingent, dubbed “Death Squadron” by Imperial naval tacticians and planners. As Supreme Commander, Vader could have had punished them for this minor and seemingly annoying infraction, but the name amused him and very few things did anymore.

Before him, the tumbling masses of the Vergesso Asteroids hung in space before this small, yet powerful armada – along with dozens of X-Wings, Y-Wings, and other myriad craft. They were the reason that Vader was leading this attack, for they represented the secret the Vergesso Asteroids hid: a hidden starfighter depot and its defense ships. It should have been a simple advance from the outer edge of the Lybeya system, followed by a straightforward attack meant to send a message to the Rebellion and crush their depot.

And it would have worked if that idiot Ozzel hadn’t dropped the fleet out of lightspeed practically on top of the field. It was a strategy he had favored in many military engagements and even Vader had been unable to understand the man’s fixation on this particular tactic. He mused that now, he never would. Now they had to deal with the asteroids in addition to the fleet, but no matter. If anything, it was a blessing in disguise. Vader had been looking for an excuse to ‘discipline’ Ozzel for a while.

And at least the intelligence on the depot was correct, considering the source…

The intelligence on this secret Rebel starfighter depot had come from the criminal organization Black Sun of all places. Once, there was a time when he would never have accepted information like this from the syndicate. But that impediment, the Dark Prince Xizor, was long gone. The Fallen had been climbing the galactic hierarchy ladder for the last several years, placing him closer and closer to threatening Vader’s position as the second most powerful man in the galaxy.

But it was not to be.

In the midst of this climb, the Falleen had fallen victim to a coup engineered by his lieutenants, the Vigos. The Hutt Vigo, one Durga Besadii Tai, had emerged as the new head of the syndicate. While Vader had not directly interfered or influenced the coup, he had provided subtle…encouragement at one or two instances. If Sidious had known or suspected Vader’s limited involvement – and Vader was certain that his ever omnipresent master did – he hadn’t reprimanded his apprentice – yet.

In any event, Durga now ran the syndicate. Due to his…early life experiences, Vader despised the Hutts with a passion. But he – and the top Imperial commanders, who were in agreement with him for once – would rather have the Hutt running Black Sun than an ambitious schemer like Xizor. Besides, Black Sun was in no position to threaten the Empire. Durga’s control of the organization was tenuous. He was focusing most of his efforts on keeping it intact and his furious rivals in the Desilijic Clan in check.

So far it was working, but if it came down to an all-out crime war, Durga wanted to keep it as minimized as possible and prevent Imperial interference – hence this gift of a secret Rebel shipyard’s location. Sidious had tasked Vader with taking out the depot, for it was part of his new standing orders; he had been recalled from the Death Star to oversee the final systematic elimination of the Rebellion.

As two Corellian Corvettes attempt to engage the Avenger, Vader shook his head. Five years had passed since Yavin, yet still the thorn in the Empire’s side remained. The Separatists had at least had the sense to know when it was over after the final battles at Coruscant, Utapau, and Mustafar. But the Alliance simply would not die, even with Tarkin’s pet project ready to blast their homeworlds into oblivion.

For the Rebels to continue this long, they were either courageous or insane and Vader was firmly behind the latter opinion. It was especially becoming annoying and tiresome for him personally. Yes, he had duties to carry out as the Supreme Commander and would do so as long as the Rebellion continued. But he also wished for an end to this destructive conflict, so that he could continue his agenda.

Just as Sidious dedicated more and more of his days to uncovering Plagueis’ secret discoveries regarding immortality, Vader sought relative peace and quiet so as to focus upon more constant meditation. He believed that a full, calculated infusion of Dark Side energies could be used to finally and fully heal his body from the injuries Obi-Wan Kenobi had inflicted upon him on the lava fields of Mustafar twenty-four years earlier.

But this could not happen as long as these Rebel insurgents continued their petty little hit-and-run strikes against the Empire. Until then, he was stuck commanding the Executor and Death Squadron in a mop-up operation that had lasted far longer than it should have. His premature exclamation from the Battle of Yavin bitterly echoed in his minds.

“Today will be a day long remembered. It has seen the death of Kenobi, and will soon see the end of the Rebellion.”

Vader focused on the burning Vergesso Asteroids and starfighters, praying that day when he would be fully healed and able to garner the power necessary to topple the Emperor and rule the galaxy himself would come soon.


***


Outer Space was vast.

With a size of over 120,000 light years, the galaxy was estimated to contain 400 billion stars, with half of them being orbited by planets. Though only ten percent of them were capable of supporting life, that still left countless worlds spread out across the cosmic tapestry. But even so, space was vast. Even with the galaxy divided into various segments and territories, there were still large chunks barren, empty area of space. In was in one such area, in the distant regions of the Outer Rim and near the borders of the Unknown Regions and Wild Space that one could find the main fleet of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

The fleet, drifting slowly through space at sublight speeds, was of moderate size, consisting of a mixture of modern and outdated craft. The modern ships were comprised of Corellian gunships and corvettes, Neulon-B frigates, and Gallofree GR-75 transports. The older vessels consisted of several recognizable, though infamous models from the Clone Wars. Among them were old Trade Federation Lucrehulk-class capital ships, Munificent-class star frigates, Recusant-class light destroyers and a single Providence-class cruiser, the Rebel One, which served as the Alliance’s flagship.

They were flanked by scores of starfighters, predominately X-Wing’s, Y-Wings, Z-95 Headhunters, and others. It was overall a motley, yet impressive, ragtag fleet and a strangely peaceful sight, like a school of fish swimming through the currents of their undersea home. The same could not be said of the conversation taking place within Rebel One’s main conference room.

“I warned you!” screamed a tall, middle-aged human male of medium build. His most prominent feature was not his long, swept back hair or thick mustache, but two brown eyes that were ablaze with fury. The recipients of his comment, a tired, middle-aged auburn-haired human female, sighed while her aide, a young human male, tapped away furiously on a datapad.

“Garm, please calm down. I know that you’re angry –”

“I warned you, Mothama!” General Garm Bel Iblis repeated, all but screaming into the Chandrilan’s face. Though he was sitting away, the aide, one Malan Tugrina by name, flinched at the verbal barrage. Bel Iblis’ own aide, Sena Leikvold Midanyl, was seated across from Tugrina and her face remain impassive. She was used to Bel Iblis’ outbursts, but this time, she knew he was in the right.

“Yes, you did Garm,” Mon Mothma quietly. Bel Iblis ignored her.

“I warned you that keeping that task-force at Vergesso was a mistake, that despite Kintaro’s reputation, it was too out in the open. And my vindication had cost the lives of dozens of badly needed Rebel pilots, their starfighters, not to mention the Enygma, the Winds of Alderaan, and the Javelin. But you didn’t listen to me! Again!”

“And their loss was a tragedy; I’m not in denial about that.” She sighed again, scanning over her own notes. “With their loss, we’ll have to find a new cell to operate out of the Bajic Sector and find another method for attacking Milvayne. Next time, I’ll—”

“No, there won’t be a next time.”

Mon Mothma just stared at him, feeling a gnawing in the pit of her stomach

Oh please no. He’s vowed to do it before over the last decade. Please let him just be blowing off thermal exhaust like he normally does …

“Garm—” she began, but Bel Iblis cut her off with his a violent motion of his hand.

“No. It’s over. I should have left after Organa and his daughter were blown to smithereens, but I stayed out of respect for him. I have offered you advice on military matters since before the signing of the Corellian Treaty. I have offered it continually. You have more and more refused to listen to reason. We needed that strike force at Vergesso and without it, our operations have been dealt

“I am trying to hold the Alliance together,” she countered, anger creeping into her voice.

“And by doing it singlehandedly, you’re sabotaging the very thing you claim to care about. You know,” he continued, a falsely contemplative look on his face, “This singlehanded, single-minded rise to power, of trying to claim the sabacc plot at the expense of , what does it remind me of?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right. It reminds me of a certain Nubian Senator and colleague we once knew.”

Mon Mothma’s gaze went icy.

“How dare you, Garm! Do you have any idea how much Chandrila has suffered because of my actions?”

“It’s nothing Corellia hasn’t been put through before, but you don’t see me complaining about it. Besides, as the glorious leader of the Alliance, you see fit to do whatever you want,” Bel Iblis responded, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, I’m entitled to do the same. And I’ve made my decision. I’ve tolerated this idiocy and incompetence for five years in Organa’s name, but no longer. I will not have you placing the lives of anyone else under my command in danger. I will fight the Empire on my own as I should have after Anchoron. For your own sake, stay as far away from me as you can.”

And with that, the onetime Corellian Senator and co-founder of the Alliance to Restore the Republic walked out on Mon Mothma and her aide. Midanyl rose, gave Mothma and Tugrina both impassive looks before hurrying after her superior.

And then they were alone. The ex-Chandrilan Senator and her aide just sat there in stunned silence at what had just occured. Then Tugrina sat up and pulled away from the table, as if to pursue the two Corellians. However, Mon Mothma held up her hand.

“Let them leave,” she said wearily. Tugrina just starred at her.

“Senator Mothma, are you crazy?! If he leaves, then his entire contingent will follow. We can’t afford to lose him, not after what happened Vergesso!”

“I know, Malan,” she bitterly replied.

“Then why aren’t you getting up and chasing the General all the way to the airlock?” he demanded.

“Malan, you know too well that there’s no point. Garm Bel Iblis is a Corellian to his core. Once he has decided upon a course of action, he will follow it without compromise. He won’t listen to me or anyone else.” She paused, then added, “this has been a long time coming. We’ll have to adapt – again. I’d like a little time alone for now, if you don’t mind, Malan.”

“Of…of course, Senator,” he responded, in shock at this abrupt dismissal and Mothma’s restraint. As Malan exited, Mon Mothma pulled her chair around to gaze out the transparisteel viewports of the conference room. She took in every visible Alliance ship and sighed again, placing her face in her hands.

Bel Iblis was right on many things. She had been wrong to have the starfighter depot established at Vergesso. She had thought that Grand Moff Kintaro’s reputation would allow them to remain undetected. He had also been right on the matter of their late ex-senatorial comrade, Bail Organa. Bail had been the mediating force between them. With him gone, it had only been a matter of time before this schism occurred. Mothma was somewhat shocked that they had managed to prevent it from happening for five years.

But his loss, combined with Vader’s attack on Vergesso, was going to hurt the Alliance badly. She didn’t want to give into despair but it was increasingly difficult not to. The Alliance to Restore to Republic was outmanned and outgunned ten thousand to one, not counting the Death Star. Their leaders were splintering and more and more Rebels were jumping ship every week.

How did they have a hope of restoring peace and justice to the galaxy if they didn’t have a hope of remaining united?


***


Despite the communications channel having long gone silent, Han Solo sat starring at it, lost for words.

It just had to happen on today of all days. Well, no point in keeping it to myself.

With a grunt, he raised himself up and exited the cockpit, but not before taking one quick look at the sensor board. The Millennium Falcon, or at present the Sunlight Franchise, was ostensibly on a freight run through the Hydian Way, transporting grains and other farm subsidies. Surreptitiously, he and his crew were monitoring Imperial fleet deployments on their way back to the Rebel fleet.

He rounded the circular corridor and past the quad-cannons access tubes, and emerged in the main hold. Wedge Antilles and Chewbacca were seated at the holographic game table that been installed at his co-pilot’s insistence right after their days in the Corporate Sector. The astromech Artoo was off to the side, but had his manipulator arm extended so as to operate the controls and play his own hand.

While the board was normally used for dejarik, the Corellian, Wookie, and astromech were engaged this evening in a rousing round of pazak. Judging from his winnings and the size of the scowl on Chewie’s face, Wedge was choosing to ignore Han’s cardinal rule about letting Wookies win any form of game or competition. His grin wavered, however, when he saw the look on Han’s face.

“I just got an update from Command,” Han said.

“How’re we doing?”

“Same as always.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. Actually, it’s more of a two-for-one this time.”

“What’s the first piece of bad news?”

“The Empire hit Vergesso.”

Wedge’s boyish grin faded entirely at this. Artoo whistled and even Chewie was stunned.

“Oh no,” Wedge said quietly, struggling to bring his control to bear, to compartmentalize himself against the grief of the death of those Rebel pilots, many of whom he had known and flown with over the last five years.

“Any survivors?” But he already knew the answer.

“No survivors from what we can tell. And in typical fashion, it gets worse. Bel Iblis is gone.” Off of Wedge’s shocked response, he amended, “No, no, he wasn’t killed. He walked out of a meeting with Mon Mothma, then jumped to hyperspace with the Stouthearted and his contingent in tow.

The trio was silent for a long moment before Wedge spoke up.

“I can’t say I’m surprised; we all knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

“I know,” Han agreed, a grim, yet conflicted look now etched on his own face. On one hand, he had gained a great deal of respect for Mon Mothma in the five years since Yavin. But Garm Bel Iblis was a Corellian, as were Wedge and himself. And as they had grown up in the waning days of the Republic and the rise of the Empire, they had both considered him a hero.

“And it had to happen the fifth anniversary, of all days, too,” Wedge added solemnly.

Speaking of which…

“Where’s Luke?”

Wedge gestured down the hall, back in the direction Han had come from.

“Sleeping in his bunk. Do you want me to get him up? Tell him the news?”

“No, the Kid’s shift isn’t for another hour. I’ll tell him when he gets up.”


***


Luke swore under his breath as he turned his attention back towards the task of piloting his craft through the Trench, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. Biggs, his old buddy, had just been blown apart by the unfamiliar TIE, his killer and escorts bearing down on the X-Wing. Luke tightened his grip on the starfighter’s throttle and accelerated. He then flicked a side-switch and the targeting computer deployed, the display coming to a rest

There it was. The thermal exhaust port, just as General Dodonna had specified. And just as Red Leader before him, Luke closed in on the target. Just a little closer and he’d be in range to deliver the payload. Sweat rolled down his forehead, threatening to obstruct his vision through the helmet visor.

Use the Force, Luke.

Luke starred around, uncertain at the voice. It was Ben’s voice, as disembodied as it had been during the final-shoot out onboard the Death Star. He shoos his head and re-focused upon the approaching thermal exhaust port.

Let go, Luke.

Time and space seemed to slow down for Luke. He felt something…unusual, different, and encompassing engulf the interior of the cockpit. It was the same feeling he’d had during the exercises against the trainer remote in the cargo hold of Han’s ship.

Luke, trust me.

Luke starred for a third time, felt the energies, and made his decision. With a click, he retracted his targeting computer.

“His computer’s off. Luke, you’ve switched off your targeting computer. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m alright,” he responded confidently. His confidence was interrupted as the X-Wing jolted courtesy of laser-bolts from the strange center TIE. A warning light began to flicker on his board. Luke frowned and looked back through the cockpit’s rearmost canopy to verify the computer’s reported.

“I’ve lost Artoo,” he reported, trying to ignore the charred, sparking astromech co-pilot and focus here and now. The thermal exhaust port was almost there. Almost…

The TIE fired again and this time, Luke paid the price. With another jolt, the X-Wing’s engines sputtered and against his will, the starfighter went flying out of the trench. He pushed buttons and pulled at knobs ,but it was no use. The sublight engines had been damaged. As he struggled to regain control, he looked up through the spinning space—

--and could only watch in horror as dozens of kilometers above, eight acid-green beams of energy were coalescing in the superlaser dish. They met and combined into a single, focused beam. The beam seemed to hang in midair for a long moment before lancing out towards Yavin IV. He could only watch as the Rebel Headquarters was blown apart again.

However, this time as it had in previous dreams, the explosion inverted and reversed itself, reforming the planet. However, now it was no longer a blue-green jungle moon, but a brown-gray, unknown world. And every time at this juncture, the voice repeated itself…

Luke…

Luke’s eyes flashed open, his will overriding whatever dream or phantasm his subconscious had conjured up. He was on the Millennium Falcon, in his bunk within the crew quarters. He sighed, breathing heavily, and just lay there, resting in a fetal position.

Luke…

And right on cue, the voice made on last appeal before fading away. Well, he was not going to respond to the voice. He never did. It wasn’t real, he had told himself time and again. Just an hallucination, a figment of his imagination which he had convinced himself for a time to be Ben Kenobi, a manifestation of his guilt over not being able to fire the proton torpedoes during the Trench Run, of his failure.

And because of him Leia…Leia was dead. So was Dodona and the other Rebels on the moon. So was Ben Kenobi. So were Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and Biggs Darklighter. All dead. In the long run, they were probably all dead; that much the last five years had taught him. It had been a long five years. Five years since the Death Star had emerged triumphant over the remains of Yavin IV. Five years since the constant retreats and reversals of fortune had begun for the Rebel Alliance.

Five years since he had last dared to use the Force.


***


TO BE CONTINUED…


***

[Themightytom]

so what has the federation been up to for five years? If they didn't retake Deep Space nin they probably couldn't hold off the Jem' Hadar, are they also a rag tag renegade fleet?

[JME2]

so what has the federation been up to for five years? If they didn't retake Deep Space nin they probably couldn't hold off the Jem' Hadar, are they also a rag tag renegade fleet?

Originally, the closing scene aboard the Falcon was instead a look in on the Milky Way. However, I spoke with Theran and we both agreed it was best to hold off on that for this installment. This represents what I considered one of the main problems with The Best of Both Worlds: too much inter-cutting between both galaxies in a single chapter. Here, I'm trying to avoid that, to have each chapter focus on one galaxy exclusively. So, we'll definitely be checking in on the Alpha Quadrant in the next chapter and see how it's fared against the Dominion invasion.

[Themightytom]

Originally, the closing scene aboard the Falcon was instead a look in on the Milky Way. However, I spoke with Theran and we both agreed it was best to hold off on that for this installment. This represents what I considered one of the main problems with The Best of Both Worlds: too much inter-cutting between both galaxies in a single chapter. Here, I'm trying to avoid that, to have each chapter focus on one galaxy exclusively. So, we'll definitely be checking in on the Alpha Quadrant in the next chapter and see how it's fared against the Dominion invasion.

That seems like a plausible approach. I'm kicking around a fanfic that combines elements of oBSG, nBSG stargate and star wars, but i'm not getting anywhere because the back story would be too big, and to tell the stories of the characters involved in all three universes would be pretty rediculous. I'm thinking of scaling it into two stories that link up in a third installment, or just cutting a lot of personal back history involving characters that I have created and no one cares about :-p

or even scrapping the project because if I need to put so much work into conveying my "plausible" link between the unelated series, its probably a little too rediculous for anyone else to follow :-p I have seen crossovers taht involve rifts, Q and even Dr Who and i feel likei can't use any of those devices without making them look like a device.

[JME2]

Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm Ltd. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.

STAR TREK/STAR WARS: FEARFUL SYMMETRY

Story by JME2 & Theran-Rel

Written by JME2

Author’s Notes: Well, last time we visited the Empire and the Rebels five years after the Battle of Yavin. Let’s see how the United Federation of Planets and its allies have fared five years after the failure of Operation Return…


***


Chapter 2
Five Years Later – Part 2


***


Outer space was vast.


With a size of over 100,000 light years, the Milky Way Galaxy was estimated to contain 400 billion stars, with half of them being orbited by planets. Though only ten percent of them were capable of supporting life, that still left countless worlds spread out across the cosmic tapestry. But even so, space was vast. Even with the galaxy divided into quadrants, parsecs, and sectors, there were still large chunks of barren, empty areas of space.

Or at least believed to be empty.

The interstellar highways and wild space contained refuse from passing starships, wreckage from long-concluded battles, background radiation, strange and unknown creatures, and stellar debris. In one such area, in what would be classified the northeast segment of the Alpha Quadrant and beyond lay PX-324507, a previously uncharted asteroid field on the very edge of the United Federation of Planets’ space.

Or rather five standard years earlier, what had been the United Federation of Planets.

Emerging from the edge of the field and carefully navigating past the outermost asteroids was a small gathering of vessels. All were distinctly Federation Starfleet in design, with their saucer sections, twin nacelles, and main hulls. It was a small, pitiful force, especially when compared to the larger fleets that had assembled and gathered to fight the Borg Collective and the Jem’Hadar and the Cardassians in previous years.

It was a mixture of older and newer designs, consisting of two Excelsior-class cruisers, an Akira-class gunboat, and two Ambassador-class medium cruisers. A handful of Peregrine-class fighters flew cover alongside them; while they were capable of warp, the Akira-class vessel serves as their carrier. All of the ships were in a state of disrepair. Their nacelles and Bussard collectors were darkened as were their running lights, denoting a minimal usage of power. Carbon scoring marked their hulls as did breaches scattered here and there.

In the center of this loose formation was a long, sleek ship, a Sovereign-class vessel. She simultaneously was one of the last of her kind ever built and the last surviving example of this short-lived class. Despite her aerodynamic layout and sleek frame, the vessel had seen better days. Her white hull too bore carbon scoring and breaches. If the running lights had been in operation on this central ship, however, they would have illuminated the starship’s name and registry, a registry that under normal conditions would have read:

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE ∙ NCC-1701-E


***

“Can anyone remember when we used to be explorers?”

In the observation lounge of the Enterprise-E, a balding man in his early seventies stood alone, his back to the viewport. The words he had uttered echoed in the enclosed space; there was no one to respond to his reflection upon the state of the cosmos. He was starring intently at the twin display cases set into the adjacent wall and separated by the briefing viewer. The cases contained golden models of previous Starfleet and pre-Starfleet starships to bear one of the most prestigious names in history.

He traced the lines and contours, from the simple geometry of Jonathan Archer’s NX-01 to the bulkiness of his second command, the 1701-D. All of the models were dusty, scratched, and in need a good a polish. Their usual magnificent sheen was tarnished and dulled by these conditions and the dim illumination of the lounge.

Like the Federation.

Picard knew that the lighting was a practical measure. They no longer had access to the dilithium mines of Elan or Coridan or the Gallamites’ duranium deposits. Minimal power usage conserved resources. It also helped the remaining Federation ship convoys and squadrons from avoiding Jem’Hadar patrols by minimizing their energy signatures. But there was also a symbolism inherent with them.

His eyes lingered on the Galaxy-class model for a long moment. It was hard to believe it had been almost fifteen years since they had launched from Earth Station McKinley for the Fairpoint mission. It was even hard to believe that it had been nearly a decade since the Enterprise-D had plunged to her fiery death through the atmosphere of the remote planet Veridian III and the Enteprise-E had taken up the mantle.

It was especially hard to believe it had been five years since Operation Return had failed and, like with these models, twilight had fallen on the United Federation of Planets.

So many lost opportunities and friends gone forever. So many strange new worlds, old worlds, all of which now have to be liberated or destroyed or avenged in the name of –

“Admiral?”

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard snapped out his reflection and curtly turned to face the speaker. A female officer had entered the lounge, a PADD in hand. Three solid gold pips on her collar marked her rank as Commander and shone with the same brilliance as her long, curly blonde hair. Her uniform, like his, had seen better days. No one cared anymore, though; replicator rationing meant that fresh, untarnished clothing was an unneeded luxury. Even a few extra ergs of power saved from the replicators could literally mean the difference between life and death these days.

“We’ve cleared the asteroid field. The communications board reports that we’re online and ready to commence the war council,” she said. Picard nodded.

“Thank you, Commander Shelby. You have the bridge for the remainder of the meeting. ”

“Yes sir. Give my regards to the rest of the Losers, Admiral.”

Picard smirked slightly at that. ‘The Losers’ was an insult for their activities coined by the Loyalists, the inter-planetary government and systems that had once compromised the Federation, but now served as the Dominion’s collaborators in the occupied territories. No one quite knew who among the Loyalists had first coined it. Starfleet crewmen versed in ancient Earth music believed it may have come from a song originating from the mid-20th century. Picard had scanned the lyrics, especially the closing stanza for his own verification purposes:

Here's the last toast of the evening, here's to those who still believe
All the losers will be winners, all the givers shall receive
Here's to trouble-free tomorrows, may your sorrows all be small
Here's to the losers, bless them all

Perhaps this insult had originated from Earth’s 20th century, just as the Maquis’ namesake had come from Earth’s Second World War. Perhaps not. Either way, no one, not even Picard cared. In fact, he liked it. It gave their merry band license to use the derogatory counter-assault of ‘Vichy’s” towards the collaborators. And the members of the Losers had worn it like a badge of honor and with pride.

“I will, Commander.”

As she left, Picard moved back towards the conference table and its chairs, which had begun to hum, signifying the activation of the Holo-Communicator. The Holo-Communicator had been a work in progress in the final pre-War months, an attempt by Starfleet R&D to eliminate the need for traditional viewscreen communications. In this case, the holo-projectors were built directly into the observation lounge’s chairs and gave the appearance that the participants were present and in the flesh.

It was not easy to set-up, especially as the signals were being piggybacked on what was left of the Starfleet Communications network as well as the Loyalists’s own communications network. Despite their best hackers, every usage ran the risk of being traced. But in these perilous conditions, the Losers needed real-time, up-to-date communications, especially for the monthly meeting of the War Council.

The lights abruptly went out, however, plunging the observation lounge into darkness. Sighing, Picard tapped his combadge.

“Mr. laForge?”

“Sorry, Admiral. One of the relays blew out. I just have to reroute it and…”

As quickly as they had gone out, the lighting fixtures came blazing back to life. Sighing at what should have been an easily correctible problem normally, he moved to adjust a setting on the table control panel. As he did, the first member of the war council materialized in the adjacent chair. It was a human male in his mid-forties. He was dark in complexion and his head was hairless, save for a black, unevenly cut goatee. His uniform was patched and burned, but even as a hologram, he wore it proudly.

“Admiral Picard.”

“Captain Sisko.”

The former commander of Deep Space Nine had barely settled in before another image winked into existence. Picard was expecting to see an albino-skinned humanoid with slicked-back hair and golden eyes. Instead, he gave a little start at the incoming figure, a bearded man in his late 40’s. Four solid gold pips lined his uniform collar, denoting the rank of Captain. A small, wry smile on his face only widened as he locked eyes with Picard.

“Admiral.”

Picard felt himself working through his surprise, and return the smiled.

“Number One.” He paused, his surprise coming back to the forefront. “Is there a problem with Mr. Data?

Riker shook his head.

“Commander Data send his condolences. He had a brainstorm during the nightshift and he and the team have been burning the midnight oil. He’s prepared a report and I’ll be updating you in his place.”

Picard nodded in understanding. Riker’s hologram turned to face the seat across from him.

“Where’s Worf?”

“Commander Worf has not yet checked in.”

“Hardly surprising,” Riker chuckled, though with somberness. While the Federation was no more, it was as if the Klingon Empire had never existed. After the fall of Earth, the Dominion had chosen not to take on the Klingons immediately, instead preferring to secure the Federation first and sacrifice their initial momentum; the Dominion was all about long-term planning and strategizing, after all. While it had given the Klingons some time to fortify their positions even more, it had done little good. When the Jem’Hadar and the Cardassians had come for them, they had come swinging hard and fast.

The only advantage was that the majority of the Empire’s warriors had refused to yield to Dominion occupation. The Dominion had paid heavily for every system they had taken both before and after the fall of Qo'noS. The Klingon Empire had been conquered in its entirety, but even with Gamma Quadrant reinforcements, their Alpha Quadrant expeditionary fleets were spread thin as a result.

Despite the fall of the Klingon Empire, Worf and General Martok had not only survived, but had concocted a plan. They were leading a sort-of ragtag fleet of surviving ships, pushing further into the Beta Quadrant in an attempt to rearm, rebuild, and survive to fight another day. According to Worf, the warriors commanding these KDF ships resented the hell out of surviving and not going down with the rest of their culture.

But it was a necessary evil and they would gladly follow Martok into the gates of Gre’thor itself. However, they pressed on, and as such, the ragtag fleet was the Losers’ last strategic reserve. As a result of their nomadic flight plans and the need for secrecy, it made staying in regular contact with the Losers difficult. For the moment, Picard was going to assume that he wasn’t within range to transmit a signal.

“Good morning, everyone.”

A third hologram had winked into existence, a male humanoid. He had light-gray skin, two thick vertical neck ridges, slicked back hair, and ridges encircling his eyes and forehead. He was clothed in a simple black tunic and pants, a mixture of human and alien styles which he claimed to have designed and cut himself. "You can take the spy away from the tailor shop, but you can’t take the tailor away from the spymaster’s office," Sisko had told him a few years back.

“Mr. Garak.”

With Starfleet Intelligence gone, Elim Garak had arisen to assume the mantle of the Losers’ spymaster, an appointment that had, and still did, generated controversy. Yet, he had been the son of Enabran Tain – literally and figuratively – and his insight and connections had proven invaluable in keeping the Losers going these last five years.

Like the others, Garak had barely materialized before their next councilors appeared almost simultaneously. The first figure was a brown-haired human woman in early 40’s, dressed in a silver and purple tunic. The second figure was a middle-aged, bald human male in a yellow-mustard operations uniform and in a wrinkled lab coat.

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” the male replied in a matter of fact, deadpan tone. Everyone, even Picard, groaned while the hologram rolled his eyes at their collective response.

“Oh please; that was hysterical.”

“Only in your mind, Doctor Zimmerman,” the woman replied dryly to the man who, while the father of modern holography, was also the basis of the annoying though useful Emergency Medical Hologram program. Picard looked the attendees up and down for a moment, his eyes drawn again to the empty chair that should have housed Worf’s holographic representation.

“Really Dr. Brahms,” Zimmerman continued as he faced the woman, “it means little that —”

“Well,” Picard interrupted, sitting down at last, “it appears Commander Worf will be tardy. We’ll have start without him. The war council is called to order. We’ll begin with Captain Sisko’s report. Captain, how do the winds of war blow from your position?

Sisko leaned forward, his image flickering slightly as he did. Picard knew it was not due to the projectors themselves, but the distance and point of broadcast. The Defiant was operating as close to the Cardassian Union as feasibly possible, gathering intel on Dominion fleet movements. The distance, combined with the nearby interference of Badlands’ plasma storms, meant that they were lucky to be getting real-time signals at all.

“Dominion ship movements remain the same in the Cardassian systems. The Monac Shipyard alone will be bringing a new wave of Keldon-class warships online before the end of the month.

“As was to be expected,” Picard noted grimly. The Keldon—class were effectively upgraded versions of the Galor-class, the favored ship-choice for the Union. But because of the limited resources and costs during the Klingon Invasion and the Dominion War, they had not been produced en masse. Now, five years later, they were being churned out as regularly as the Galor-class ships themselves. Picard knew that their increased firepower was going to give Sisko and any other Losers operating within the Badlands trouble.

“However, the Chief and Rom are working on a plan for trying to delay their launch or destroy them outright. They should have it on my ready room desk in the next day or two.”

“I eagerly anticipate what the two will come up with. In your surveillance of the shipyards and Dominion communications traffic, have you picked up anything from the political scene on Cardassia?”

Sisko shook his head.

“Our intercepts haven’t told us much. In fact, unless I’m mistaken, I believe Mr. Garak knows more than we do.”

“From what I can determine,” Garak said, picking up the conversation, “Legate Damar is rumored to be pushing new proposals for a larger Cardassian role in the occupation of the Klingon Empire. The Dominion is being slow to acquiesce or respond to his requests, if at all.” There was a smugness on his face at the thought of Dukat’s former protégée, now the leader of Cardassia, being forced to navigate the nightmare that was the Vorta bureaucracy. “Nothing new out of Earth, though; just the usual propaganda ramble. Oh, I also have an update report from the, ah, Odd Couple.”

The corner of Sisko’s mouth twitched in a half-smirk at this remark.

“They are currently in negotiations to acquire shipments of quadrotriticale, which are looking favorable. They also report problems in acquiring the weapons we need for the Grazerite operation from our usual black market suppliers.”

Picard frowned.

“The disruption of Grazerite shipping will affect the Dominion’s supply lines and we need that in order to raid the outpost on Shamin. “

“I will impress upon them the need to stop bickering amongst themselves and try harder.”

Despite himself, Sisko’s mouth again twitched in a half-smirk at this. Picard just shook his head, and turned to face his former second-in-command.

“The Grazerite operation also hinges upon what Commander Data’s team has accomplished,” Picard said, turning to face his old XO.

“Commander Data and his team are continuing their work on developing the next wave of countermeasures,” Riker reported. “Thanks to Data’s brainstorm, they should be ready for distribution within the week. Iregardless, we’ll have at best, we won’t have much time before the Dominion readjusts.”

Early in the war, the Dominion had established a sensor array in the middle of the Argolis Cluster. It was more advanced than anything Starfleet or the Klingons had, and was capable of detecting cloaked ships or uncloaked ships within a fifty light-year radius. Fortunately, the Defiant had destroyed the array, though not before studying it and gaining as much intelligence on its operating capabilities as possible.

Unfortunately, that was before they had lost the war. Now, there were arrays scattered all throughout Dominion-held territory. And it was a constant battle to avoid their detection and develop countermeasures, a battle waged by the best remaining engineers in the Losers and overseen by Data aboard Riker’s current command. It was eerily similar to how the Federation and Romulans had been in a constant struggle to upgrade their cloaking technology and anti-cloaking detection technologies respectively after the Neutral Zone incident of 2266.

“Good work, Number One. Give my congratulations to the team.” He turned to face Dr. Brahms’ hologram.

“There’s something else, Admiral,” Riker said. Picard looked at him.

“What is it?”

Riker hesitated for a moment. “Admiral,” he said at last, “Commander McDaniel asked us to relay a message to you.”

Commander McDaniel was the commander of the Ortenis facility, one of their last shipyards and one that the Dominion had not yet been able to locate. His request to relay a message to Picard through Riker indicated that they were still having trouble with their long-range communications transceiver.

“The Bonchune,” Riker continued, “was heavily damaged in a recent engagement with a Jem’Hadar patrol. She can be saved and refitted, but they’re requesting permission to strip the Bozeman and the Hathaway for necessary parts.”

This request was indicative of a problem that was becoming more and more commonplace. While they still maintained secret, hidden shipyards like Ortenis, they were all but useless without a fully functioning Starfleet infrastructure. Parts that should have been readily available did not exist or were scarce. Picard was reluctant to order the scrapping.

On one hand, they needed every ship they could still get and stripping them for parts diminished the Losers’ size and effectiveness. But on the other hand the Bonchune was one of few remaining Nebula-class ships they still had. Its sensor packages and weapons platforms were just as vital as the two ships alone. The Admiral sighed.

“Relay to Commander McDaniel that the has permission to strip the Bozeman and Hathaway.” He knew Captains Baetson and Williams were going to give him hell for this, but they didn’t have a choice. With the order given, he completed his turn and came face to face with Dr. Brahms’ hologram.

“Now, have you made any progress since the last meeting of the war council, Doctor?”

The woman who had helped to build the Galaxy-class’ massive and advanced warp engine systems sighed.

“We’re still having no success with the prototypes. We just can’t stabilize the drive long enough.”

Brahms’ gaze drifted towards the observation viewing port and settled on one of the Excelsior-class ships escorting the Enterprise-E, a forlorn and frustrated look on her face. Picard understood perfectly. A century before, Federation engineers had believed that transwarp speeds, a faster-than-warp propulsion method, were finally within reach. The Excelsior, already a test bed for then-state of the art systems, was installed with a prototype transwarp drive.

Unfortunately, the drive’s tests had been less than successful and the despite multiple attempts at fine-tuning, the project had been abandoned – though the Excelsior-class had still become the work horse of the fleet for years. The arrival of the Borg eighty years later illustrated that transwarp was possible and while the Enterprise-D had managed to tap into one of the Collective’s Transwarp Conduits, further attempts had failed.

The tactical advantages inherent in transwarp had pushed Starfleet R&D to try to finally crack the problem in the months leading up to and during the Dominion War. But they had been unsuccessful. Five years after the fall of Earth, the remaining engineers in R&D were still working on it, hoping to finally provide the Losers with a major tactical advantage against the Dominion Occupation. If there was silver lining to it all, the Dominion hadn’t had any success in achieving transwarp either.

“I’m not throwing in the towel just yet,” Brahms continued, coming out of her momentary lapse. “And Dr. Kahn feels that it’s more imperative that we achieve transwarp at his point.”

One of Trill’s most noted scientists, Dr. Lenara Kahn had worked with Starfleet in previous years in an attempt to pioneer the development of artificial wormholes. Just as with the transwarp project, the Dominion War’s onset had hurried the need for successful development. When the Federation had collapsed and the remnants of Starfleet had coalesced, Picard and the rest of the hierarchy had felt that transwarp was a greater R&D priority than artificial wormholes. While slightly resentful, Kahn hadn’t objected and she was attempting to offer her own insight to Brahms’ team.

“I agree. Keep trying as best as you can.” He turned to face the bald man. “Dr. Zimmerman?”

“The tests were successful,” replied the holography pioneer, a slight hint of smugness directed at Brahms who glared at him. ”We are ready for retrofitting of required starships for initial deployment of the Emergency Operations Hologram. With the ship-wide holo-projectors in place, it will finally solve that pesky little problem of manpower shortage we’ve had going. We’re also close to a breakthrough on the full-ship holographic filter.” He paused, then added, “I still think that the Command Hologram is a viable operation, though."

Picard sighed. Every time at every meeting, Zimmerman just had to bring the ECH proposal up. He knew that they were short of manpower and that holographic crewmen were a possible solution. But it was one thing to have holographic doctors and engineers and quite another to have holograms directing ships in battle from the center chair.

“It’s still under consi– Mr. Garak?”

Everyone turned. Garak was starring off to the side, as if lost in thought. He looked back at the assembled Losers.

“Forgive me, Admiral. I must excuse myself from the proceedings for a moment or two.”

Picard’s brow furrowed.

“Is there a problem on your end?”

“Possibly. I’ll know in a moment.”

Garak’s image winked out. Picard turned back to face Zimmerman.

“As I was saying, Dr. Zimmerman, while the EMH and EOH programs have been instrumental in our cause, the Emergency Command Hologram, while ingenious, still requires consideration. We need to—”

There was a flash as Garak suddenly rejoined the conference. And even before his image had fully rematerialized, Picard knew something was wrong. The tailor-turned-spymaster’s expression was grave, a stark contrast to the cool, if somewhat optimistic veneer he usually employed in day-to-day life.

“Mr. Garak, what is it?”

“I suggest anyone who can access the Dominion public communications network do so. We have a problem.”

“As opposed to?” Zimmerman asked incredulously. Garak’s eyes narrowed on him.

“I’m afraid it’s a rather large problem,” the spymaster stressed.

Wasting no time, Picard tapped the controls, then turned to face the display screen built in between the display cases of the previous Starships Enterprise. The signal took a minute to two to achieve a connection. While it did, Picard stared at Garak, his mind racing.

What has happened?

Picard scowled at the Dominion insignia faded into the familiar image of the former office of the Federation President in the Palais de la Concorde. Two figures were sitting behind the desk formerly used by Min Zife, Jaresh-Inyo, and all the others who had preceded them as President of the Federation Council. The leftmost being was a pale-skinned male humanoid with elongated ears, violet eyes, and a false, if oily smile. He was a Vorta, perhaps the most infamous of his kind in the Alpha Quadrant:

Weyoun.

After the fall of Earth and the general surrender of the government, Weyoun had been appointed by the Female Founder as a Dominion prefect of all occupied Federation territories. Naturally, he had made his headquarters on Earth, in the very heart of what had once been the Federation. To his right was a man in his late sixties, bearded, and attempting to convey a false sincerity and regret similar to the Vorta’s. Picard’s fist clenched at the sight of Matthew Dougherty, Commodore of the Loyalist Defense Force and Weyoun’s direct subordinate.

Almost everyone at the table was starring daggers at Dougherty’s image and Picard didn’t blame them. Many Starfleet Officers had betrayed their oaths and jumped shipped as the Dominion had closed in on Earth. Some had gone independent while others had sided with the invaders. Picard knew several under the commands of these assembled leaders had been among them. But Dougherty had been the most prominent, though it didn’t surprise Picard in retrospect. His past interactions with Dougherty had given him the distinct impression that the Admiral was what ancient humans would have termed an ass-kisser, a career officer who had eagerly climbed the ladder to attain his rank. In effect, he was perfect as a Dominion puppet and mouth piece, as demonstrated by his current speech.

“…have been repeatedly warned to cease their rebellious attitudes and left us no choice. Virtuous elements within their command structure finally prevailed and overcame the foolishness and bloodthirstiness that has marginalized these dissidents from mainstream n society.”

Picard frowned at Dougherty’s words, then slowly turned away and looked at the vacant seat that should have been occupied by Worf’s holographic transmission. A knot of fear tightened in the Admiral’s stomach and he desperately prayed that Dougherty’s next words would not confirm his worst fears.

“This morning, with their aid, a joint Dominion and Loyalist fleet located and destroyed the Klingon terrorist fleet that has interfered with peacekeeping, relief ,and reconstruction operations throughout the better part of Beta Quadrant. There were no survivors, no cloaked ships to carry the day or to disrupt our vital humanitarian missions any longer.”

The knot tightened even more in Picard’s stomach. Sisko and Riker closed their eyes, in turmoil and mourning. Everyone else, even Zimmerman, displayed expressions of shock and disbelief at this news and the implications it brought. General Martok, Worf, the Klingon Resistance’s main fleet and resources and with it, the Losers’ sole strategic reserve – all gone.

“As I have in previous public broadcasts to the Loyalist systems,” said Weyoun, taking over the broadcast from Dougherty, “I urge all remaining insurrectionists once again: Surrender. The war is over. Order has been restored to the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. There is nothing left to fight for. Let us return to the spirit of friendship and cooperation amongst our peoples so that together, we can maintain a just, orderly society that your children and their children, and all our children may live in. Long live the Dominion.”

The image winked out, leaving on the familiar Dominion insignia before it too faded. The observation lounge had gone deadly silent.

“As I said,” Garak repeated softly, “we have a problem.”


***


TO BE CONTINUED…


***

[Stuart Mackey]

Very good, post more.

[Singular Intellect]

Great story so far JME2. *thumbs up*

I'm interested in seeing if the Borg make an appearance and the Dominion gets a nasty surprise when they find out about that transwarp conduit the Borg established less than a lightyear from Earth.

[JME2]

I'm interested in seeing if the Borg make an appearance and the Dominion gets a nasty surprise when they find out about that transwarp conduit the Borg established less than a lightyear from Earth.

Trust me, the Dominion's going to have bigger problems than a Borg incursion in another few chapters...

[FA Xerrik]

I'm interested in seeing if the Borg make an appearance and the Dominion gets a nasty surprise when they find out about that transwarp conduit the Borg established less than a lightyear from Earth.

Trust me, the Dominion's going to have bigger problems than a Borg incursion in another few chapters...

It wouldn't be... oh.. a turbolaser problem, would it? Just, y'know, throwing it out there.

[JME2]

I'm interested in seeing if the Borg make an appearance and the Dominion gets a nasty surprise when they find out about that transwarp conduit the Borg established less than a lightyear from Earth.

Trust me, the Dominion's going to have bigger problems than a Borg incursion in another few chapters...

It wouldn't be... oh.. a turbolaser problem, would it? Just, y'know, throwing it out there.

Well, the problem is certainly more...triangular in nature than cubical...

[JME2]

Disclaimer: Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures. Star Wars created by George Lucas and owned by Lucasfilm Ltd. I own the story and any original characters/species. No copyright infringement is intended.

STAR TREK/STAR WARS: FEARFUL SYMMETRY

Story by JME2 & Theran-Rel

Written by JME2

Author’s Notes: Sorry about the wait; summer move-out and employment woes are over. So, we’ve established the basic geo-political situations in both galaxies, so now it’s time to cut back to that galaxy far, far away and just in time for a big bang, too…


***


Chapter 3
Omega and Alpha – Part 1


***


Philosophers and religious sects had long debated the meaning of life and the universal question of why. Had the galaxy, indeed the universe, sprung into existence due to a random collision of particles or had there been a divine, invisible hand guiding the formation? The defunct and traitorous Jedi would have rambled on about it being the will of their mysterious ‘Force’ or some other claptrap. One thing was certain. If there had been some kind of divine plan in mapping the galaxy, it had not been perfect. For every stable sector and star system, there were any number of astronomical hazards or anomalies scattered that could be found or avoided.

One of the more peculiar ones lay on the edge of known space, Just beyond the misshapen spice world of Kessel and past its Garrison moon, one could find ionizing gasses drifting through space and being sucked downwards like water flowing through a household drain. These spiraling gases were the only indicator of the deadly Maw, a cluster of black holes that all competent navigators, smugglers, and pilots avoided. Like the eye of a terrestrial hurricane or storm, the center of the Cluster was a stable, quiet region free of the gravitational forces and seemingly unreachable.

Or rather, it once had been.

But like almost everything else in the galaxy, the insidious tendrils of the Galactic Empire had penetrated even the mighty Maw Cluster. Now, a loose string of asteroids and interconnected bunkers lay in the center of what had been empty space ten years earlier. A hollow sphere constructed of a series of overlapping wire frame and over a hundred kilometers in diameter hung above the asteroids. Flying in a holding pattern alongside the facilities were four Imperial-class Star Destroyers.

The registries emblazoned upon their white hulls identified them as the Star Destroyers Gorgon, Hydra, Basilisk, and Manticore respectively. The sight of these mighty ships above any inhabited world would have struck fear into the local populace. The sight of these massive vessels against the backdrop of the mighty black holes was one that paradoxically mixed terror with a strange sense of serenity.

However, the mood inside the executive office of the lead Star Destroyer, the Gorgon, was anything but serene. A red-headed, human female in early forties and wearing an olive-green tunic was seated and glaring at the monitor built into her workstation.

“Are we on schedule or not, Sivron?”

The image of a pale-skinned alien with twin tentacles that grew from the base of his returned the glare. Annoyance was etched upon his face and his dagger-like teeth were clenched

“The engineers are insisting on another systems check.” He scoffed, then continued, “The test’s schedule is already off. It is not my fault that they are being so overcautious with –“

“Sivron, if they’re right about this, then they have every right to be cautious. Quit complaining and get the test ready,” she snapped.

“Understood, Admiral,” the Twi’Lek responded, a faint of iciness in his voice.

Imperial Admiral Natasi Daala resisted the urge to scowl again as Tol Sivron’s image winked out of existence, replaced by the great seal of the Imperial Empire. She had spent the better part of the last decade putting up with the Installation’s Twi’Lek administrator and his antics. There were days Daala was half-tempted to summon him to the Gorgon on the pretense of a meeting and then throw him out the airlock. She innocently wondered what would kill him first – the vacuum of space or the gravitational pull of the surrounding Maw Cluster.

But contrary to what he might think in private, her dislike of Sivron had nothing to do with the Human High Culture and other humanocentric speciesism prevalent throughout the Empire. Indeed, Daala had never once subscribed to that school of thought. No, the Twi’Lek was a creature of habit, bureaucratic to his core, and dedicated to schedules and procedures. While that in theory allowed for a well-oiled machine, Sivron usually shifted the blame for any mistakes to his subordinates. And for man who professed intolerance for complaining, Sivron certainly seemed to do enough of it himself.

In this instance, though, the engineers were correct and Daala had sided with them. Every precaution was necessary. Today’s experiment had the potential to literally blow away all of their previous accomplishments, including their refinement of the Death Star design itself. While their current tableau of research operations, such as the Metal-Crystal Phase Shifter or Project: Sun Crusher had potential, the possible benefits to the continued Imperial supremacy were immeasurable. A single miscalculation could mean the end of Maw Installation and their continued service to the betterment of the Empire; Sivron’s failure to accept that simple fact was maddening.

Daala flicked a switch on her board, the thought of the experiment pushing out her annoyance at Sivron and replacing it with genuine excitement. She was half-tempted to comm Commander Kratas and order a shuttle be readied for launch. But no, her place was here for now. While she trusted Kratas with Gorgon, they were awaiting an incoming shuttle from Wilhuff with supplies and Bevel Lemelisk himself. Lemelisk was an odd one – no two ways about that. But without his guidance, the Death Star project would never have been completed. She was curious to see what new projects he would contribute during this latest visit.

With a ping, the link-up with the Installation’s mainframe was completed. The Imperial seal dissolved, swirled and coalesced into the sight of one of research labs situated in the adjacent asteroids. A cluster of scientists in the standard hazard suits were gathered around a spherical device. Cables ran in and out of the sphere, transferring power and data to adjacent databanks and display screens.

The sphere itself was solid save for a transparent hatch made out of the same quantum-crystalline armor that Xux had been developing for Project: Sun Crusher, an appropriation she had been most unhappy with and had vigorously lobbied against. A handful of small blue particles were drifting lazily within a blue energy field.

“Preparations are completed. Project Catalyst is a go,” announced the lead scientist, Dr. Onecul and the man responsible for today’s discovery. Two of the adjacent scientists nodded and pulled levers, twisted knobs, and punched in commands.

“Synthesis is in progress,” came the voice of another of the scientists. Daala leaned in. her eyes close enough to see the graininess of the video transmission.

“The power build-up on these little guys is incredible,” the same scientist remarked in wonderment. Though their backs were turned, Daala could imagine the looks of joy and enthusiasm that were undoubtedly upon their faces. They were like children in a toy shop when their experiments turned out well.

“Adjust power distribution nodes to .52.”

“Calibrating to .52…now!”

As she watched, the particles began to drift in a more coherent pattern, as if they were synching up. Their blue glow began to intensify.

“Yes! They’re stabilizing! They’re –stars above, what’s—”

Daala did not have time to frown or process this exclamation. She didn’t even have time to form a coherent thought as the executive office of the Gorgon was consumed by flame.


***


For the last decade Master of Imperial Projects Bevel Lemelisk had walked through the corridors of the Death Star. Most often, though, it had been through the visualization of said corridors, levels, and bulkheads residing within his mind’s eye. Some of the corridors he recognized while others were unfamiliar, as if his steady hand had not designed and crafted them in perfect formation. To be fair, this was true. He knew that he had only refined the Death Star’s design. The full history of the battlestation’s development was convoluted and unknown to all but a few.

The idea, as he understood it, had originated with Rath Sienar, head of the Sienar Systems and the supplier of the Empire’s TIE fighter lines. He had pitched the idea to Wilhuf Tarkin, then governor of Eriadu in the years leading up to the Clone Wars. For reasons Lemelisk still did not understand, the plans had left Tarkin’s possession and ended up with in the hands, or rather appendanges, of the Geonosisans. They had tinkered with Sienar’s design and had their cohorts in the Confederacy of Independent Systems had the resources, would have used them as the basis for an ultimate weapon.

But with the end of the Clone Wars, the plans had ended up back in the Empire’s hands. Over a decade later, Lemelisk had become involved in the project and the rest was history. After the launch from Despayre, Lemelisk had compared his final revisions with Sienar’s original designs. While much of the internal spacing and the power systems had been rearranged, one design element had remained constant: the quarters of the station’s commandant and his adjacent wash facilities and personal lounge.

It was in this lounge that Bevel found himself tonight – or at least what accounted for nighttime in the Imperial Navy’s official timekeeping system; he hated the old Imperial Cadet joke of ‘It’s always night in space.’ The lounge was of moderate size, consisting of several monitors, a couch, and a magnificent view of the interior hub of the battlestation. Stormtroopers, engineers, officers, droids, and more could be seen going about their lives, moving through corridors and walkways or simply taking advantage of the station’s necessary recreational facilities. In the center of the lounge was a small table, composed entirely of expensive, yet luxurious greel-wood.

Seated directly opposite from Lemelisk was a human male in his late sixties. He was tall, gaunt, and balding, though his most prominent feature was a pair of distinct, sunken cheekbones. It was a stark contrast to the heavier, almost boyish appearance and shock white, wild hair that Lemeleisk sported. Years of sitting around and refining weapons of mass destruction could impact even the healthiest physique and figure, after all. As he had joked on occasion, he bore his paunch for betterment of the Empire.

“More brandy, Bevel?” the man asked, gesturing to two snifters of amber-colored liquid lay on the center and an accompaniment battle.

“No, thank you Wilhuf. I’m quite fine,” Lemelisk replied almost absently.

“Your loss, my friend,” said Grand Moff Wilhuf Tarkin, knocking snifter back and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. With a sigh of satisfaction, he placed it down upon the table and gazed at Lemelisk again. A flash of exasperation and annoyance

“Bevel, would you please put that damm thing down for one hour.”

Lemelisk looked up from the datapad that he had been scribbling upon.

“I’m just making some notes, Wilhuf.”

“The inspection was a success, Bevel,” sighed Tarkin. “You said so yourself at the evaluation not two hours ago. Five years of operation and the Death Star is still a tightly run ship.”

“Don’t you mean station?” Lemelisk asked dryly. Tarkin smiled faintly in return. Lemelisk knew that Tarkin was not a particularly humorous man by nature, nor did he care much for friendship . It was only due to their close collaboration that Tarkin was not reprimanding him or worse.

That or Tarkin had consumed more Luranium brandy than he thought. It was hard to tell; he had, after all, been half-focused on his technical notations and tinkering.

“Well, to be fair, we must also give credit to the official overseer.”

“Yes. The Lady Jade has proven most…effective in her role. More so even than expected.”

Even if slightly inebriated, Tarkin was careful on the matter of Vader’s replacement. For one, he made regular sweeps of his quarters for ISB and COMPNOR listening devices and even with his high-ranking position, knew he was better off being vigilant. He knew of to many unfortunate high-ranking idiots and imbeciles who had underestimated the length and breadth of not just the main Imperial security services, but also Palpatine and his right-hand man.

Yes, he had had an amicable, if mutually beneficial working relationship with Vader since the subjugation of the Wookies two decades earlier. As Vader was handling Death Squadron’s ongoing hunt for Rebel One and the other insurgent hold-outs, Jade had come onboard to take over the position of overseer. The Moff personally much preferred Jade to Vader and it wasn’t simply a matter of cybernetics or…aesthetics.

She was cool, competent, and thankfully not as erratic and temperamental as Vader had been during the initial years of the station’s operation. She could however, be ruthless and her ruthlessness was much more refined and focused than Vader’s. Tarkin could also not help but note that there was a sense to her that seemed…off at times. It was similar to the dark mysticism that the Emperor exhibited during his private audiences with members of the Imperial Court or visiting dignitaries or with Tarkin himself, which was why he was careful in discussing her.

That she was a Force-user, he was absolutely certain of. Was she a Jedi? No, or at least not a full grown Knight. She was too young to have been a survivor of Order 66 or a former Jedi as that sociopath Jerec or Vader was – or rather, as he had long suspected Vader of being, though he had never been able to prove it. Perhaps she was a…what had they called it? Youngling? Padawan? Or perhaps Palpatine had simply found another Force-sensitive to mold into an extension of his will and of the Imperial way of life.

Either way, it was not in the public file and Tarkin knew better than to try to dig for information on the Emperor’s closest servants. If Palpatine wanted to conceal the information, than it would remain concealed and the last thing he needed was the most powerful man in the galaxy coming down on him. Stars knew that everyone else in the Imperial hierarchy was giving him grief…

“Well,” Lemelisk finally said, “the Death Star’s efficiency is certainly better now than in five years. Perhaps now may be the time to finally implement the suggested upgrades or proceed with Phase Three.”

Tarkin starred at the weapons engineer, who in turn sighed.

“Wilhuf, I now that we keep having this discussion and I know how protective you are of this station. But five years later and I’m still not fully happy with the power distribution system. We knew the power demands would be incredible, as would the operating costs. I’ve been tinkering with the design aspects. I do believe that we can eliminate the need for a full-scale hypermatter reactor. The station could be scaled back to just the superlaser with a core engine drive, defenses, fighters, etc.”

Tarkin set the tumbler down, a cold hard expression spreading across his face.

“I have told you before Bevel, I have had these….discussions with Command.”

Discussions was putting it lightly; it was more akin to heated, fierce arguments waged across opposite ends of the Holo-Net and in person. While the higher-ups in the military supported the Tarkin Doctrine, they felt the Death Star was a waste of resources, manpower, and credits. That irksome General Ron Mohc in particular continued to oppose the project. What was it Vader had set to Admiral Motti shortly before they had launched five years earlier?

“Don’t be too proud of this technological terror you’ve constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.”

While the military didn’t embrace the existence of the Force, they agreed with Vader’s mindset and were looking into alternatives. Rumor had it that their chief technologies specialist, Umak Leth, was working on some kind of stationary weapons/missile platform for deployment within the Core. Tarkin thought that the very notion of this ‘galaxy gun’ was preposterous. What good was firing missiles through hyperspace at helpless worlds? It couldn’t even remotely duplicate the raw fear and terror generated by arrival and orbit of a fully-armed and operation planetoid-sized battle-station around a helpless world.

No, Tarkin would carry on and fight for the Death Star’s continued existence. The engineer knew this, but his loyalty to the Moff was tempered by the artistic streak within him, to reach the technological point of perfection and efficiency. Bevel opened his mouth to retort when the click of Tarkin’s personal comlink blared to life. Tarkin and Lemeleisk continued to stare at each other for a moment before he picked up the comlink.

“This is Tarkin. What is it?”

“It’s General Bast, Governor.”

The Grand Moff sighed audibly. General Moradmin Bast had remained Tarkin’s aide for the last five years and his second in command of the Death Star. From what Lemelisk understood, while he was still completely loyal to Tarkin, he had also never lived down his embarrassment over his premature recommendation of evacuating the Death Star during the final minutes of the Battle of Yavin.

Then again, maybe he was right, Lemelisk thought. The scientist had nearly had a coronary when he’d been informed that a coordinated Rebel operation dubbed Skyhook had obtained three sets of the Death Star’s technical readouts. Over the course of many sleepless nights, he had gone over the plans time and again, trying to be absolutely certain that there was nothing that the Rebels could exploit.

After Yavin, Lemelisk had analyzed the battle data and determined that the thermal exhaust ports in the hemisphere trenches were a potentially fatal flaw, as Bast had perceived during the battle. They’d been able to install more turbolasers along the trenches, but a full retrofitting of the entire station was the only way to fully correct the problem. To his annoyance and constant frustration, Tarkin was still dragging his heels on permitting those upgrades.

“What is it, General?”

“Sir, we have a priority alert incoming from the Outer Rim. There’s been an incident.”

Tarkin frowned. The Oversector Outer, which was under his administration, comprised most of the Outer Rim Territories. Theoretically, any problem or dispute eventually reached his office. Yet, he often ignored the smaller, annoying warnings, preferring to delegate it to lesser Moffs or subordinates. Bast knew this and had tried to respect it. So, Tarkin knew the General would not bother him with mundane trivialities or minor, easily contained planetary calamities. Something had happened.

“Rebel-related?”

“No sir. It’s some kind of strange natural disaster…”

He stood corrected. Tarkin prepared to roll his eyes, preparing to discipline the General.

“… in the Calandra Sector.”

Tarkin’s eyes stopped in mid-movement. He and Lemelik traded significant looks.

“Where in the Calandra Sector exactly?” Tarkin slowly asked.

“Kessel, sir.”

“And what to the reports mean when they say a natural disaster, General?” queried Tarkin, unease and a sense of dread filling his being.

“Reports are that the Maw Cluster, for lack of a better term, exploded, consuming Kessel and its Garrison Moon.”

Tarkin’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped an inch. Lemelisk swore under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Black hole clusters don’t simply explode, Bast.” Tarkin’s arrogant, almost dismissive tone belied his fear and uncertainty.

“I know that sir, hence why I felt this needed to be brought to your attention.”

Tarkin paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had to be careful with his next orders. Even after five years, Bast still didn’t know about Maw Installation, or at least not the full details. Tarkin trusted him and knew that the General had probably deduced something about its existence, but he did not trust Bast enough to provide full disclosure.

“As overseers to the Oversector Outer, I am authorizing martial law in the Calandra Sector. Arrange a relief convoy from the Klatooine and Bimmisaari fleets and agencies. A unit dispatched from the Death Star and under the command of Ironhide VI and Dr. Lemelisk will coordinate the search and rescue for any Imperial personnel in the area.”

“Sir?”

“It could very well be a Rebel superweapon of some kind. As a weapons engineer and specialist, Dr. Lemelisk will be on site to determine this possibility. Those are my orders, General,” Tarkin snapped. There was a short pause.

“Understood sir. Bast out.”

The channel closed. Tarkin noticed that Lemelisk was starring at him with an incredulous look on his face.

“You want me to coordinate a relief effort?”

“Don’t be an idiot. I want you to determine what in the seven hells happened out there,” Tarkin snapped. “It may be related to Project Catalyst, it may not be. It may even be the natural fluke to end all natural flukes. It may be that the Rebels have their own kind of superweapon – ridiculous, I know, but what else was I going to say to Bast – and this is retaliation for the assault on their Vegresso base. Either way, get out there and find out what happened. ”

“And if our experiment is indeed responsible for this incident?”

Tarkin’s expression contorted into a grimace. Lemelisk sighed.

“That’s what I was afraid of. Give me half an hour to pack my bag and I’ll be on the Ironhide VI.”

Tarkin barely returned an acknowledgement as Lemelisk scurried out of the parlor. The Moff remained seated, his hard eyes straining to peer through the amber-colored liquid of the snifter and deep expanse of space that lay beyond the transparisteel.

Natasi, what have you done this time?


***

TO BE CONTINUED…

***

[Darmalus]

It lives! Hurrah! I am quite curious about what they hoped to accomplish with this "Project Catalyst" they mentioned, and what the exact results of this disaster were. At first I assumed a wormhole, but this sounds far more destructive, maybe an entire region of unstable wormholes? A section of space that doesn't know which universe it belongs to anymore? One way or another, I'll be watching to find out.

[JME2]

It lives! Hurrah! I am quite curious about what they hoped to accomplish with this "Project Catalyst" they mentioned, and what the exact results of this disaster were. At first I assumed a wormhole, but this sounds far more destructive, maybe an entire region of unstable wormholes? A section of space that doesn't know which universe it belongs to anymore? One way or another, I'll be watching to find out.

We'll deal with the effects on the Calandra Sector two chapters from now (as to the nature of the particles they were experimenting with, well, there are enough hints to give you an idea of the Pandora Box's the Maw scientists have opened). Anyway, the next chapter will return to the Milky Way. We'll see the Klingon rebels' destruction from the Dominion's perspective, have a few surprises apperances, and lay the final groundwork to get the action going.