StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Right! Unlike the OTHER two unfinished stories floating around waaaay at the end of this forum, THIS story is already plotted out, and, with the advent of summer break rapidly approaching, I should be able to finish it. I should, anyway, since I already know generally what is going to happen instead of making it up as I go alone.

Chapter One
"Forward the fleet!"

And forward it went. Twenty thousand ships on either side, closing rapidly, narrowing the black gap between them. The Western Imperial Armada moved as a single spear with thousands of glittering points to met the Republican fleet. Thin lines of cruisers and destroyers had already engaged, skirmishing, trading shots across the dark expanse.

"Launch all fighters!"

They poured from the assembled warships like flies; swarming, buzzing to the skirmish lines to engage in frivilous dogfights, a hundred thousand and counting.

The deck of the Vader was calm and collected, as befitted an Executor-class command ship. From this safe haven, ringed by fifty battleships, Commodore Delitare could command his squadron with ease. Immense power was placed at his fingertips- eight hundred battleships, a thousand cruisers, two and a half thousand destroyers, frigates, and cruisers. He gazed cautiously across the rapidly closing gap as his forces hurled themselves into the exploding battle; he considered the ships it was his duty to kill, the vastly superior formation it was his duty to slash and trap within an inescapable gauntlet of fire so that the Republican flank could be set upon by the reserves. Sensors read nearly four thousand warships in that formation.

"Lieutenant Belmont; my compliments to Captain Lain and would he please move his strike force into posistion?"

The main battle was already underway. Wave after wave of turbolasers collided, forming an explosive kaledaescope blinding to the eye. Destroyers and cruisers on either side went off like firecrackers as heavy battleships exchanged ponderous broadsides capable of cracking planets.

"Captain Lain will comply with your order at once, Commodore."

"Excellant, Belmont. Inform Captain Adria to deploy the screen according to the preset formation we have discussed."

Onboard the battleship Swift Wrath of Justice Captain Adria was carefully disregarding her orders. The preset formations were fine for stroking Delitare's ego, but they would hardly do in a real battle, and she doubted he would notice. She issued some general orders, shifted her forces, and allowed her subordinates to take initiative, making a mental note of those who did and those who did not; not an easy thing to do in the middle of a chaotic fleet engagement, but she managed.

The light elements of Delitare's fleet detached themselves and rushed the Republican lines in a seemingly suicidal blaze of glory. In truth, Adria kept her forces dancing, dodging, feinting and thrusting at once. Her was the lone battleship in the formation; it punched molten holes through the waves of fighters come to strike him down, burning up X-Wings and B-Wings with impunity as torrents of torpedoes streamed past her vessel.

The actions of the Imperial screen puzzled the Republican commander. On his starboard flank the grand battle was being decided; a quarter of his ships were fully engaged in the contest. His remaining forces would rush the Imperial screen, only to have the Imperials fall back, regroup, and come again, guns blazing. Cruisers exploded and destroyers crumbled under lucky volleys, but slowly, the group was wearing down the strength of his shields...

The battleship Prince's Crown had manuevered its way out of the Imperial formation; whilst the Republican ships engaged Adria's elusive fleet a small armada of heavy warships surged forward, following Captain Lain and the Prince's Crown into battle and death.

Delitare crooned, the noise bubbling from the back of his throat. The Republican commander tried to disengage his flank to protect the core of his formation, but this foolish attempt quickly disintergrated under the hammering fire of the main Imperial fleet. Lain's men now took the brunt of the assault while Adria's light screen carved up the Republican cruisers and frigates at their leisure. Delitare frowned; he thought he had instructed Adria to hanging back after the initial attack, but now he could not remember.

Lieutenant Belmont interrupted his reverie.

"Commander, the reserve has arrived."

"Excellant. Disengage our forces."

The vast Imperial machine began to drift away from the Republican fleet. It had been battered heavily, the center suffering enormous losses- a quick check confirmed that Delitare's wing had taken only a light battering. Entire squadrons of destroyers had been reduced to floating wreckage. Imperial warships collided with the debris of their Republican counterparts in their haste to withdraw. Black, ruined battleships haunted the battlefield, the drifting hulks listing like eerie giants in the night.

The Republican fleet, numerically equal, had also taken a severe beating. Further, it had failed to destroy the Imperial picket craft- the Interdictors- that had hung well outside of the main battle. Now, wave after wave of bombers swept toward the light cruisers, the last chance of a pyrrhic Republican victory.

That hope was dashed when a new, smaller armada leapt out of hyperspace. Lacking any real fleet screen it had only a smattering of destroyers and picket craft to herald its arrival; but Delitare knew there were thousands of heavy battleships in that fleet. They struck the Republican forces with a vengeance, the torrents of bright green laser fire eating up ships quicker than the mind could comprehend.

"Commodore! Unidentified craft exiting hyperspace." Belmont again. Delitare frowned, tracking the craft with his eyes across the tactical map. Bizarelly shaped, it had unwieldy proportions and a bulging center, exploding in little arcs of spindly metal arms that extended in all directions.

"Commodore, massive increase in tachyon emissions...electromagnetic spikes...Commodore Delitare! Hyperspace rifts opening in the middle of fleet-"

And in a single blinding second Commodore Delitare and the crew of the Vader died four thousand times. They were ressurected three thousand fifty-two times and lived ten thousand four hundred and sixty-nine lifetimes of twenty-five thousand eight hundred and ninety-two seconds each.

Of course, this what they thought was happening. The truth of the matter was far too mindbogglingly complex; the human brain, advanced as it was, simply did not possess the necessary facilities to understand it.

So for eight hundred million forty-nine thousand sixty-two years they hurtled through hyperspace, only to skip back to where they had begun and repeat the entire trip. Delitare knew only light, in the brief pauses where he knew anything. If it was not light it was a jumbled mix of emotions and sentiments combined with the sensation of being thrown violently into thick metal planks.

Then it vanished, and he again was standing, intact, on his deck. Belmont screamed.

"The fleet's gone!"

Delitare stared at the visuals; the tactical display; the sensor readouts. The Vader was surrounded by no more than twenty-five ships, and half of those frigates and cruisers. A smattering of destroyers and a handful of battleships rounded out the small flotilla.

"Commodore! We have upwards of twenty contacts, unknown design, closing fast." Belmont again. Delitare shouted the order to go to red alert. Glancing at the sensor displays, he noted that the Prince's Crown was not listed. Captain Adria, however, appeared to come through- whatever it was- intact.

The small Imperial formation moved into combat posistion as a wing of the alien craft approached it. They were sleek and curved; database checks turned up no matches.

"Belmont. Hail them."

"The ships appear to be mostly small light cruisers and gunboats, sir. They are not responding to our hails- they appear to be arrayed in a combat formation. We are detecting energy surges onboard several of the ships."

The wing was rapidly closing. Most of the ships had a saucer-like attachment welded to the front; others were boxy and compact. Delitare waited some moments as they rapidly approached, waited for some transmission to get through or some breakthrough to illuminate the entire situation.

Nothing happened; the alien craft grew ever closer.

"We must presume they are hostile. Order them to surrender or be fired upon."

"Ships not responding to hails, Commodore. The fleet is requesting orders, commander."

Delitare did not hesitate for a moment.

"Fire."

A devestating stream of energy erupted from the fleet. It crashed upon the sleek-looking ships and swept them away; hulls buckled and vaporized at first impact. Feeble bubbles of resistance flared up now and then only to crumple with a whimper.

"Commodore, ten of the ships are on our flank, firing on the cruisers. They are sustaining damage to shields. Captain Adria requests orders."

Now Delitare paused. These ships- whatever they were- were clearly no match for his vessel. It seemed likely that these were Republican allies- elsewise would they refuse to respond to his hails? - recruited in secret and kept hidden from the galaxy at large. Some of the saucer-ships appeared to have an unusually large amount of volume for vessels of their class; perhaps they were merchantmen converted into privateers. Capturing one of the ships might shed some light on the fate of the Imperial and Republican fleets.

But no. They had fired upon Imperial vessels. For that crime there could be but one just response.

"Destroy them."

The alien fleet had arrayed itself in a tight formation; first they turned loose a volley of missiles before switching to some sort of beam weapon. Two dozen of the torpedoes exploded on the side of a small cruiser; a few small, boxy ships zoomed up close to strafe the failing shields, tearing up explosions around gun emplacements.

Adria's wrath was swift and terrible. The frigates and cruisers withdrew rapidly, funneling the alien starships straight into the firing arc of her ship. The great battleship's guns unleashed their fury in tight barrages concentrated on one ship at a time, the cruisers and frigates sniping out from under the protection of the great ship. With lethal efficacy, five of the ships were obliterated in short order, their fire soaked up by the battleship's immense shields. The rest of the attackers broke off, fleeing for the safety of deep space.

Adria's forces leapt forward, guns blazing in pursuit.

By now only two of the alien craft remained, but they were safe- with a flash and a flare they entered hyperspace and the Imperials could not follow them.

"Belmont!" snapped Delitare, "Where is the fleet? Where are we? And how did we get here?"

"Negative on all three counts, Commodore. I'm sorry; scanners seem to be reporting gibberish."

"Who were the belligerents?"

"That is unknown, Commodore. There were no matches in any of our databases. We sustained no serious damage, though- several of the Hawk's batteries were destroyed and it suffered some damage to the port hull."

Delitare steepled his forehead between his fingers.

"Thank you, Belmont. Inform Lord Vanguard."

Belmont nodded nervously. He did not look forward to the trip; he did not even think it necessary. In all likelyhood, Lord Vanguard already knew.

***

"Captain Riker! We are detecting twenty-six new contacts. Unknown origin."

Riker frowned.

"Visual." Responding promptly, his officers clicked and tapped around on various touchscreens. A blank sea of stars greeted him...but in the distance...

"Computer! Focus. Enlarge....by God!"

The crew gasped. A flotilla of warships cruised through space where nothing had been mere seconds ago. And warships they undoubtly were- huge ships, terminating in great wedges or long, smooth cylinders, bristling with threatening turrets and tubes.

"Dominion?" asked one of the bridge crew weakly. Riker shook his head. His force had only recently arrived, to rendevouz with a squadron under Captain Bilchet- now this mysterious force, this unknown quantity, had appeared between the two groups.

"I honestly have no idea. Hail them."

"I've been trying. They are not responding to hails, but maybe- Captain! Bilchet's force has raised shields and powered up their weapons!"

"What the-? Dammit! Hail them! Get Bilchet on the line!"

Riker stared at the visual. He could now clearly see Bilchet's small squadron hurtling toward the much larger alien fleet. In short order this image was replaced as Bilchet's face appeared on the viewscreen, his long, arched nose offset by his unusually large ears.

"Captain Riker, what is the problem?"

"What are you doing, Captain? This is possibly a first-contact situation. We need to move cautiously."

"I agree, Captain, but they are not responding to our hails."

"Maybe they can't. Maybe they don't speak our language. Dammit Bilchet, we can't rush into this!"

"Those thoughts had crossed my mind as well, but my primary concern is the safety of my crew. I will not open fire un-"

The line was cut off suddenly. One of the bridge officers began shouting.

"Captain! We've lost all contact with Bilchet's forces, the aliens have opened fire...confirmed, we have confirmation, the alien vessels have opened fire. Bilchet's force has- has sustained one hundred percent casualties..." His voice tripped, hiccuped, and died away.

Riker slumped. One hundred percent! In the span of a few seconds? What was going on? Who were these people?

"Sir, the fleet is requesting orders."

Riker was hoarse. Most of the surviving Federation ships had not waited for orders; they strafed the alien craft, phasers blazing, with no discernable effect. Riker could not see option but to commit himself fully.

"Open fire."

Dozens of quantum torpedoes leapt form as many tubes. They formed a sweeping wall, crashing down upon the nearest and smallest alien vessel. Riker was about to order the fleet to reform and strike at another target, when he noticed something quite unusual, something that made his bridge crew swear and curse in despair...

The alien ship still lived! It was certainly worse for the wear, shields collapsed in several places, but it was still in fighting condition. Several Defiants raced forward in a suicidal plunge, cutting loose with their forward phasers, ripping up weapon emplacements. Riker's own ship, the Titan lashed out with long firey lances.

Rapidly, the smaller alien vessels withdrew, the formation collapsing in on itself, and half of the Federation ships followed triumphantly...

"No! Dammit! Order them to pull back!"

Vainly, Riker attempted to recall the other captains. But the brilliant explosive plumes that blossomed in the stars were each a solemn bell, pealing off the lists of dead. The Defiants, gone. The Aeniad, a sturdy, refitted Galaxy-gone. Two Akiras- both consumed by the murderous fires.

The Federation fleet was routed. Without orders, the Titan fled the field at maxium impulse. Riker felt the urge to berate his bridge crew, to scream and rage at them, to do something. But he could only watch as a trail of fire and death followed at his heels.

With a silent flash and an invisible bang he vanished into warp.

***

Of course I know Vanguard thought, vaguely irritated. He was privy to every thought and emotion onboard the ship. Thirteen years of exposure had attuned him to the vessel and it's crew; every move they made, every thought that passed through their soft, small minds was to him like a flashing beacon in the night.

The lieutenant captain stepped through the sliding doors. Vanguard did not crack an eyelid. Belmont stared, unnerved, at the Sith Lord, hanging upside down in his utterly spartan medition chamber, clad only in a black, silky robe.

Belmont, driven by some unknown force, reached out and touched the garment. It flowed through his fingers like water, cool, soft- frictionless.

He gazed at the bit of cloth he held between his forefinger and thumb, marveling at the simplicity, the elegance of the design. Enraptured as he was he did not notice the tiny tendrils of thought creeping into his skull, wrapping themselves like ivy around his mind. They picked and flicked and sorted through junk and ash and various useless things, extracting bits of information that might be worthwhile. Their purpose completed, they dissolved, imperceptible, into tiny wisps of the past.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." murmured Vanguard sleepily, "You may go. Please tell the Captain that something...has changed. It is different. I feel it- they are fading. Tell him that the world we know...is fading from my mind."

Belmont awoke as if from a daze, bowed low, and backed out the door.

intresting, the battle was a bit confusing.

Wow, failure to communicate with a vengeance. Good on yer, mate.

Thanks for the praise.

intresting, the battle was a bit confusing.

Which one? And how so?

Chapter Two

The Icarus was going to die. That much was certain.

It's survival thus far was nothing short of a miracle. Th rear of the ship had been shorn off and only the barest flickerings of power stood between it's inhabitants and the endless cold vacuum.

Spitting out blood, Captain Ari despaired of rallying the other members of his crew. Half the bridge crew was dead, the other half wounded, the communicators were malfuctionining and he didn't know if the rest of the ship's complement was alive, dead, wounded...

The scanners began to blip..

The bridge officers froze, breath stewing in their lungs.

The blips increased in number and strength as an enormous, invisible hand seized the battered hulk. The ship was jolted forward, knocking the bridge crew to floor. Somebody cried out in pain; Ari was too shellshocked to think. The blips were maddening in their intensity, now almost one continous, high-pitched whine-

A crewmember collapsed. Then another, and another, and as the world was drained from Ari's eyes, he vaguely remembered a lesson from the Academy, one he had considered unimportant, peripheral...

Nerve gas, silent, colorless, odorless, deadly...

***

The hundreds of nonlethal gases pumped into the alien vessel had long since dissipated. Delitare considered it a waste of a nonrenewable resource, but General Shultz had insisted. Any form of alien life could exist inside the ship, so it was best to hit them with every type of incapacitator available, making full use of the extensive collection of chemicals keyed to hundreds of basic alien lifeforms.

Of course, such precautions coud still fail; one could never truly prepare for the unknown. It was a slightly nervous hundred men who gathered in the docking bay which held the alien warship. Adria had declined to come, preferring to remain on the bridge of her flagship. Delitare had been shuttled in from the Vader and now waited impatiently on the observation deck. The assembled platoon of stormtroopers stood ready to board at the first order.

The engineers, intent on their work, ordered the occupants of the docking bay to stand back, shortly before detonating the charges that blew out a particularly weak section of hull.

The intial blowout was followed by a dozen flashbangs and smoke grenades; Shultz's men filled up the breach, with him following in the rear. The infrared scanners mounted into each of the stormtrooper's helmets effortlessly cut through the confusion. The first team swept the corridors, breaking off and heading to the bridge.

"General!" A voice buzzed into Shultz's earpiece. A running marquee identified it's owner as one of the squad captains.

"Captain? Report."

"We've found a few bodies in the corridors. Still alive, and-"

"Good. Send for medical teams while we secure the area. Do you have positive identification? What species are they?"

"Sir...they're human."

***

Delitare sat at the head of the table, supreme overlord of the fleet, first among men. Arrayed before him were a myriad of lesser demigods and potentates, including Captain Adria(intently shuffling some notes before her), Dr. Campor(damn civilians), Chief Doctor Or(another damn civilian), and, of course, Lord Vanguard(technically a civilian, but not one to hurl invectives at lightly). Most of the ship captains were in attendence, though, of course, they would have no real say in what went on.

For that matter, neither would anyone else. As his crisp, pressed outfit, stern jaw, and short, stylized haircut indicated, Delitare was the Commodore, . The Commodore was God.

The formalities had been issued, the session called to order, various minor problems settled or shelved. Time to get down to the big issue. Delitare began.

"We have found ourselves in a strange new world. We do not know the whereabouts of the rest of the Imperial fleet, we do not know where we are in relation to the Empire, and we do not know what we can expect to encouter. Essentially, we are flying blind. First, I would like to congratulate Captain Adria on her foresight in preserving one of the hostile ships for investigation. I trust analysis of their technology and datafiles has provided us with some insight into the nature of our predicament?"

Dr. Campor and Doctor Or pounced, speaking rapidly in what was obviously barely-concealed excitement, Or starting and trading off the sentence to Campor, who promptly passed it back, and forth, and so on.

"They are human, DNA tests confirm it-"

"-but their language is completely different from ours-"

"-they should awaken within thirty-eight hours-"

"-and a team of linguists is currently working to decipher their speech-"

"-their medical technology is effective, but seems somewhat primitive-"

"-we salvaged some sort of tool containing languages from what look like every race the ship has ever contacted-"

"-the crew is doing fine, they should recover without harm-"

"-evidently our communication system was not compatible with theirs, I've put in a request to have it modified-"

"Enough! That is fine! Request granted! Thank you! Is there anything else to report?"

Dr. Campor nodded, his excitement visibly cooled off.

"Yes, there is. We've analyzed star charts found in the ship's database. It confirms what I've suspected; we are in a completely unknown galaxy. I can find no point of reference to our own."

Groans. Curses. Delitare found himself looking at Vanguard, who remained in his little shrouded corner. He thought back to the odd message Belmont had delievered, at the request of the Sith Lord.

"This is highly unfortunate," he said, "But we must make the best of it. Dr. Campor, when do you feel we will have deciphered their language?"

"I can make no assurances, but given that it is similar in structure in several languages we have already encountered and, obviously, easily pronounced with the human tongue, I suspect we will have something to go on within a week."

"Good. At that time we can begin to analyze their extended databases, after which we will formulate a strategy. For the time being, we will relocate to deep space and lurk. We do not know when someone will come to investigate our prescence. You are all dismissed."

***

Commitees. The epitome of wastefulness and inaction. Typical, that on the eve of galaxy-shattering events, he should be called before one, rushed here to some cushy chamber on Earth within days of his report.

The chair was not even comfortable. Riker's annoyance was simmering.

And who was he meeting? Not the President. Not someone who actually knew something, a fleet captain, a real admiral, not even someone like Picard. No, just a sorry bunch of pencil-wielding chief admirals. Admiral Levantine, Admiral Janeway, Admirale Gaul...incompetants who, after serving a requisite amount of
time on a starship, were immediatly pushed up to Admiral to prevent them from ever doing any real harm.

"It was not a Romulan ship?"

"No, Admiral, I am certain it was not a Romulan ship. The Titan's readings seem to preclude it from being a Romulan vessel at all."

Admiral Levantine began stroking his chin. Perhaps he thought it made him look more wise, or maganimous, or maybe he simply did it because he was a buffoon.

"This is interesting. I have contacted Jefferson, and he confirmed that there was no evidence that the Klingons were conducting any sort of military buildup."

Admiral Janeway interrupted. "Keep in mind, Admiral, that Jefferson is just our liason to the Klingon Empire. I doubt he'd have access to any data of real merit."

Riker was exasperated. "It doesn't matter! I know what I saw, my crew knows what they saw, and it wasn't a Romulan ship, a Klingon ship, a Breen ship- it was nothing we have ever encountered before. That flotilla tore through my fleet so fast-"

Levantine licked his lips. "New classes of Dominion battlecruiser?"

"No! They were bigger and tougher than anything the Dominion ever fielded. I saw single shots from those things cripple warships. We have to do something about this, and we have to do something now."

Janeway waved her hand in the air. "I am more interested in knowing how the situaton escalated as it did, Captain. Why did you not attempt to negotiate with the aliens?"

"I tried, Admiral! They did not respond to our hails."

"Or they couldn't."

"They fired first!"

"It is imperative that a first contact situation not be botched-"

"This from you?"

"Captain!" roared Levantine, "That is insubordination! You will apologize to the Admiral at once, and-"

"Enough." Admiral Gaul spoke at last, and his voice silenced Levantine instantly. "This meeting is at an end. Captain Riker, the surviving ships have been confiscated by Starfleet for examination. Their captains and crew are hereby ordered to remain silent on the matter. If there are any leaks at all, you will all be imprisoned for revealing state secrets. Is this perfectly clear?"

Riker nodded. Once.

"Very well. You are dismissed."

***

Delitare leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. The database onboard the wrecked ship had held immense knowledge; nothing of technical significance, but endless fascinating historical and political details.

He considered his options. If the tech files onboard the wrecked ship were true, his fleet was infinitely more powerful than anything in local space. There were numerous local kingdoms, nothing more than barbarians, all ready to be laid at his feet. At his fingertips was the power to slag worlds, massacre billions, build a mighty empire out of a motley collecton of scattered, local powers.

Treasonous thoughts. But the Emperor is so very far away.

He keyed his commlink into the bridge. Now was a time for action.

"Delitare to bridge. Inform the fleet that there are new orders. We are setting a new course."

"Confirmed, Commodore. What are the specifications?"

"Set course to the fringes of..." he scanned the datafiles once more, plucking at likely targets.

"Sir? The fringes of what?" Ah. Right here.

"The Klingon Empire."

Oh, just a bit of a note; the usual precepts do not apply. Each force is going to be figured as close to the actual data as possible. Expect to see ISDs ripping up four times their numbers of Trek ships.

HemlockGrey wrote:Oh, just a bit of a note; the usual precepts do not apply. Each force is going to be figured as close to the actual data as possible. Expect to see ISDs ripping up four times their numbers of Trek ships.

That would be mean your modeling trek ships as considerable more powerful ton for ton then Imperial vessels.

HemlockGrey wrote:Oh, just a bit of a note; the usual precepts do not apply. Each force is going to be figured as close to the actual data as possible. Expect to see ISDs ripping up four times their numbers of Trek ships.

If we're going with present data, then my comment is simple: "Only four?"

Good fic, keep writing.

Chapter Three

Picard swirled the tea dregs around in his cup, loosing a quiet sigh. Outside, San Fransico slept. Picard himself was dressed informally and the lights in his cushy, temporary home were low; career officers living in military housing were required to obey certain rules and regulations during the quiet hours of the morning. The only sound was the constant tap-tap-tap of Riker pacing back and forth.

"William, while I appreciate having your confidence, what you've told me could get you up on charges of treason. Are you sure this was wise?"

Riker threw up his hands. "No! I don't know. But what am I supposed to do?" he said, sinking into a chair, "Those ships...God, Picard, those ships sliced up our taskforce like it wasn't even there. I don't even think we nicked them. And those damn- and Starfleet brass listened to everything I managed to scrape together and politely told me that nothing could be done. How can I accept that?"

"William, I'm sure they had their reasons."

"Like what? They looked me in the eye and dismissed this entire incident, the deaths of thousands of men, as a fluke. Why?"

"William, really. You're overreacting, I think; Starfleet knows what's best. You do not have the information required to pass judgement. Talk to them again, if you must. I'm sure Admiral Gaul will listen if you press the issue."

Riker shook his head in disbelief. Admiral Gaul was one of Starfleet's top admirals, but Riker had already tried to contact him three times, and had been rudely rebuffed at every turn.

"I've tried, Picard...but maybe, this time, he'll listen. You're right. I'll try again." Gathering up his jacket and hat, he turned again towards Picard. "By the way, this is a nice place they've got you in. My housing district barely has running water. How long are you going to be in San Fransico?"

Picard pursed his lips. "I'm afraid I'm not quite sure. The Enterprise still needs some routine repairs, the crew needs some shore leave, and then I suppose we will be shipping out to wherever Starfleet feels is convienent. Perhaps if you wanted to get in touch with some of them-"

"Not possible. Starfleet's got me and my crew grounded until further notice and we're all restricted to the military housing districts."

"I'm sorry, William. "

Riker nodded. "Take care of yourself, Captain." He walked out of Picard's quarters and into the night.

***

The wine went down smoothly, but it left Vanguard dissatisfied. It was not the best. The best was made with the finest Nagoshi grapes, refined with the secretions of Vivari starfruit trees and kept in a vacuum for a hundred and fifty years. Vanguard has twenty bottles, and he intended to make them last for as long as was possible.

Belmont nervously poured himself a glass. His hands shook every so slightly, his thoughts, like his flesh, flitted from one idea to the another, not quite terrified but hardly relaxed. The intoxicating incense that burned softly in cast-iron braziers was loosening his mind, and the dim lighting gave the expansive, luxurious room an almost dreamlike quality, as the cool glow of the lamps was absorbed by the soft velvet furnishings that decorated the room.

"Your report on the alien 'Betazoids' was highly informative, Lieutenant. I am very pleased. Please, take another drink."

Belmont obeyed, lifted the glass and quickly knocked it back. His tense, terse manner was cracking open, his walls of anxiety buckling before Vanguard's easy manner and his off-handed compliment. The Sith Lord still wore that shifting, black robe, and Belmont could not bring himself to look at it for too long, but Vanguard was smiling and his thin white hair was combed back over his head and the wine was truly very good.

And into the cracks tiny little seeds were scattered, one by one, growing into powerful vines and splitting open the foundation of his mind, until Belmont relaxed, and took another drink, and another, and another, and all the while Vanguard was smiling and talking amiably.

The Sith Lord was not quite sure why he had chosen to embark upon this course of action; he had numerous cronies and minions aboard the lower classes of the fleet, the technicians, the pilots, the soldiers and seargents, the weak-minded and weak-willed, people who bowed and kissed his feet at a word. But to entrance the first lieutenant of an Imperial flagship? He would be harshly reprimanded, at the least, and that was not something he wanted to experience. At the very worst, he would never stop begging for mercy. But the Emperor was far, far away, and this new galaxy was so terribly new and threatening...

"This is very, really good," said Belmont, "Never better. Er, never had better. Wine, that is. Had plenty of better things but never better wine." He laughed weakly and poured another glass.

Vanguard nodded and sipped some more. "In my estate on the moon of Leor I have two cellars filled with wine a hundred times greater than this. You know, Lieutenant, in all my time on this ship I have never tried to get to know you better, and I consider that a grave miscalculation on my part. Perhaps you would regale me with tales of your exploits? You commanded a ship, right? A corvette, out on the Rim?"

Belmont nodded and launched into a long and detailed story...

***

The conference room was considerably less crowded; no damn civilians were present(with the notable exception of Lord Vanguard), and Delitare had swapped out the ship captains(none of whom had any say to begin with) to make room for General Shultz and Lieutenant Belmont.

"...prisoners have been locked in holding cells for further interrogation." Belmont was saying, reading intently from a myriad of reports. Delitare acknowledged and thanked him. Smoothing his uniform, he took a deep breath and stood slowly, regally, folding his arms behind his back and jutting his chin into the air.

"Friends and servants of the Emperor, I have summoned you so that we may decide upon the best course of action. Such a course is, of course, the course that best serves the Empire," he said, and Adria was forced to restrain a little laugh, "For the last seven hours we have been lurking on the fringes of the star-nation known as the 'Klingon Empire'. Our analyists are still translating their language, but after going over the information we acquired from the captured warship, we were able to determine that the Klingon Empire has been weakened considerably by a recent conflict known as the 'Dominion War'. As our fleet requires a solid logistical base to sustain it for any substantial period of time, I have decided that our first action in our new situation will be to subjugate the Klingon Empire, topple their government and create a vassal-state in it's place, with the Empire as it's suzerain."

"Just like that?" asked Adria, "You are certain that this will work? Is there a plan of some sort, one I'm not aware of?"

"As a matter of fact, Captain Adria, there is. As our ships are vastly superior to those of the Klingon Empire, we will eschew higher strategy and launch a direct attack on their homeworld. After destroying their fleet we will secure their surrender, at which point General Shultz will order his troops to occupy the planet."

Shultz frowned; he was clearly hearing all of this for the first time.

"Commodore, if I leave a skeleton defense aboard all the fleet I will have no more than two hundred thousand personnel and several hundred combat vehicles. I've read through the data and the Klingons are portrayed as a fierce warrior culture; death before dishonor and that sort of thing. In the face of the extremely determined, decentralized resistance that will inevitably spring up, I will be hard-pressed to hold a few provinces, let alone a planet, regardless of the technological difference. And that still leaves us with the rest of the Empire to deal with, not to mention the other local powers."

"We will be able to neutralize their conventional forces and disarm the populace with little difficulty. You are underestimating your abilities, General."

"I am doing no such thing. Even if we manage to disarm the people, we will still face a highly spirited and determined resistance. You are asking me to pacify a planet infused with nationalism and a warrior culture; to placate a people who will view us as heretics and invaders. Such a task is nigh-impossible."

"Nevertheless, you will obey."

"I will not."

"General Shultz! My authority stems directly from the Emperor-"

"As does mine, Commodore, and your authority ends when the vacuum of space begins; you have no jurisdiction over my command. I will not send my troops into a deathtrap, and you will find it very difficult to force me to do so."

Vanguard spoke for the first time. "General Shultz is right, in theory, but such bickering only inhibits our goal of service to the Empire. After reviewing the data we have on hand, I have plotted out a method of gradually pacifying the Klingon Empire. It will work."

His words strangled whatever Delitare was prepared to say. Shultz, Adria and Belmont were listening attentively; the latter with a subtle, worshipful gaze.

Vanguard paused a moment to gather the emotions of the assembled persons. Delitare was aggravated but willing to listen, Shultz and Adria were genuinely interested, and Belmont was awed by Vanguard's wisdom. No surprises.

"What does this method entail?" asked Shultz, and Vanguard knew he was seeing images of mass slaughter and extermination.

"Nothing barbaric or brutal," the Sith Lord said, "But a subtle indoctrination, replacing their ideals for ours. You will see."

"Even so," Shultz said, "It will take time for such a thing to take effect, and I will still be forced to hold an entire planet with a vastly inadequate force."

"Actually," Adria broke in, "I was thinking of something that might work. With your permission, Commodore?" Delitare nodded his assent, and Adria began to speak.

***

"No, I'm sorry Captain, but that is completely unacceptable. The very reason why your crew was grounded and put under surveillence was to prevent this sort of thing." Admiral Levantine scowled. Riker's attempts to contact Gaul had been rerouted to Admiral Levantine, who had had only agreed to see him via viewer, so Riker had been forced to remain in his own quarters, which did not improve his temperment in the least. It wasa very hot day and the military complex's air conditioning was broken.

"What? I have been under surveillence? For how long?"

"You haven't been. Starfleet regulations block surveillence on any commissioned officer equal to or above the rank of captain, if they have not been thoroughly investigated and deemed a serious threat to Federation security. Honestly, Captain, it is your duty to ensure that you keep up-to-date on such matters."

"It's also my duty to protect the Federation, but it's nice to know I'm still trusted."

"That may change very soon, if you persist with your incessant demands to release confidential information."

"Admiral, listen to me! This is a serious threat!"

"I know what is and what is not a threat far better than you do, Captain. I will not discuss it again."

"Admiral, I have been sorely tempted to release the information myself-"

"Do that and I will have your head on a platter!" roared Levantine, "This is Starfleet, Captain. I don't know how they did things on the Enterprise, but this Earth, and you will not flagrantly violate regulations, nor will you disseminate information the President has deemed highly senstive. Chapter 14, Code 8, Section 9, if you must pursue the matter to it's logical conclusion. This is your last warning. Goodbye." The viewscreen winked out.

Riker slammed his fist into the table and cursed loudly. Seething with rage and sweat, he threw himself into a chair.

"Computer, bring up Chapter 14, Code 8, Section 9 of Starfleet regulations."

Chapter 14, Code 9, Section 9 of Starfleet regulations states that: Information deemed 'sensitive' may not be distributed except in emergency situations by government personnel entrusted with the information in question.

Riker paused, blinked sweat out of his eyes, leapt out of his chair and sped from his quarters, pursuing the matter to it's logical conclusion.

"MORE MORE MORE"