Blood of Heroes, Part II

[Sonnenburg]

In another time and place, things would have to be different. The room, for example, should be dark, and candle-lit. Nasty-looking coils and switches should line the walls. Things should buzz and bubble and crackle. Outside should be lightning, and perhaps a small disfigured hunchback with a kite. It shouldn't be neat, organized, softly lit. It betrayed the nature of what went on between these walls. When you tamper with things mankind was never meant to know, it should have a hard edge, not tool-free access panels.

The position of mad scientist in this particular drama was uncontestibly held by the woman known as the Oracle. She had had other names once... Janeway, Captain, Kathryn, and some rather unprintable ones. She was not given to her new name because she dispensed wisdom; wisdom was easy to fake after all. Ask questions about a belief you disagree with, and it's wisdom. When someone questions a belief you agree with, tell them they don't fully understand it yet... and that's wisdom too. Beware those who dispense wisdom, becuase the truly wise know it's often best to keep their mouth shut.

The Oracle was a source of a far greater commodity than wisdom; she had information. She had stretched and pulled and stitched at time in the manner that the mad scientist archetype might well handle fresh corpses, and she'd learned more than most could have imagined. She had looked into what was, what is, what will be, and what could have been. She was an invaluable ally, and an impossible enemy. A chess computer won by considering every possible move that could be made against it. The Oracle only considered the one move you would make and discarded the rest.

At the moment she was filling a hypospray with a slightly bluish liquid. She handled it in a routine way, in the manner of someone who regularly walked around slamming a sledgehammer into the foundation of the universe. She held it to her neck and released it, giving sudden, quick breaths, then a terrible coughing fit. For a second her eyes glowed green, then pink, then blue, before fading back to what passed for normal. She walked over to the datapad and, below the name "Kyp Durron," carefully tapped in "Miko Reglia." Good, she thought, one more before the masterpiece, one more before they revealed themselves to the Empire.

There was no maniacal laugh, but there should have been. There's a special madness for those who cross into insanity and come out the other side.
--------------------------------------------------------------

The guard stationed outside the barracks housing the POW's did nothing but open the security door. News like Sebastian and Gorren got around even on a star destroyer. As they walked in Sebastian felt the group tension rise. They were unarmed, but it was obvious they all had survived by being able to fight with their hands if it came down to it. Borda rose to his feet. "[We want the bodies of our comrades,]" he said.

"I've left instructions to that effect," Sebastian said. "Please convey my sorrow to their families."

Borda remained standing. A staring contest with a Rodian isn't easy. "[Thank you for freeing us, but I doubt you were motivated by altruism.]"

"The dissident movement needs you," Sebastian replied. "When we heard of your capture, we knew we had to move fast."

"Your exploits are known even on my world," Gorren added. "Some who chafe under the Empire point to you as a folk hero to be emulated."

"Choo-ee iyta val, mooly-ra."

The expression on Gorren's face quickly darkened. Rodian, like Wookiee and Ithorian, was a language impervious to universal translators, but he had made the effort. Naturally, remarks like that were the first ones he'd picked up. A Klingon hates not knowing if he's being insulted.

"You are very important, and my friend is very loyal," Sebastian said. "That is the only reason he hasn't killed you for that."

"Yet," Gorren growled.

"I ask that you not disrespect him again."

"[I have heard of them,]" Borda said. "[They talk of honor in death and sing songs about slaughter. How can you, a Jedi, stand with one of these?]"

"Because I am equally loyal to him," Sebastian said. "And I offer no apologies, any more than you would offer apologies for your resistance fighters. A man who has stood at your side in the face of death and didn't abandon you is a man deserving of your utmost respect; wouldn't you agree?"

Borda was quiet. "[Yes. I apologize; I should have known any a Jedi would call friend is worthy of respect.]"

"[Jedi,]" another Rodian said with scorn. "[Why do you waste your time with him, Borda? They don't care about the Rim unless it inconveniences their Imperial masters.]"

"I'm from Tatooine," Sebastian pointed out.

"[Bah! Tourist trap! Where were the Jedi when the Ssi-ruuvi invaded our worlds, Borda?]" Sebastian knew what he meant. Borda had become famous along the Outer Rim during the Borg War when he led a band of militia against a Ssi-ruuvi invasion force. He'd been a security advisor for one of the Black Sun chiefs in that part of space, but heroism covers over a multitude of sins, and when he rose up to resist the Vong incursion, thousands rallied to his cause. Almost every rebel force throughout Vong space was connected to Borda in some way, which was why the minute he'd been captured Volga Terraine had contacted Sebastian. While Borda as a martyr might help, Borda as a living symbol was preferable.

"Because others were not here then, you would reject help now?" Sebastian asked. "I know you don't trust me, and that's good. A rebellion cannot survive without protecting secrets and being wary. But, Borda, before you turn us away, let me remind you of Yozal."

Rodian faces are hard to read, but there seemed to be a flicker of surprise across Borda's face. Gov. Yozal had refused to allow Borda's fleet into their space because she didn't want them to owe anything to Black Sun. After the Ssi-ruuvi were done even the Vong hadn't bothered with the remains.

"[You want our help, Jedi,]" Borda said eventually. "[To coordinate our resistance with the Empire, perhaps? Fine. But, without Bensen and T'lork, I don't have the men to help with the resistance efforts on Dane II. They need training.]"

"Then we will go to Dane and help." Sebastian noticed the mild look of surprise on Gorren's face when he answered.

"[You are familiar with guerrila tactics?]"

"My family was in the Rebellion for a long time," Sebastian said. "I've learned alot, and Gorren is an experienced soldier."

"[Then I will escort you to Dane II and explain to the resistance,]" Borda said. "[I hope you will not disappoint us.]"

Sebastian nodded and he and Gorren left. "Something on your mind," he asked after a while.

"You're going to have to postpone again," Gorren said.

"I know."

"Why'd you volunteer?"

"You think I should have told them to wait while I took a holiday?"

"I think you think you should. You're tapping your ring again."

Sebastian's hand froze. Whenever he was thinking about Jorri, he'd tap his wedding band against his lightsaber. He'd never known he did it until Gorren pieced it together and told him. "It's just been a while."

"Too long, my friend," Gorren said. "Jorielle is a fine woman and a brave warrior. You spend far too much time from her side."

"I know.... but we've got no choice. Officers like Capt. Ozzel are more common than I'd like, and without a dissident movement that has a chance, they may move in and pull the Vong out by whatever means are necessary. Millions, perhaps billions, would die if that happened. If we can prevent that, then not seeing her is a small price to pay."

"No, it isn’t," Gorren said. "Just because it's personal doesn't make it small."
--------------------------------------------------------------

From white to starlines to blackness, the routine miracle of hyperspace ended. Jorielle Skywalker made a course adjustment and headed towards the planet. “All wings report in,” she ordered. As the members of her squadron gave their report, she looked over the preliminary scans. It was the multitasking of commanders: make sure everyone is going in, and try to make sure everyone will be leaving in the end. “Ali,” she said to her gunner after the report was complete, “anything on long range.”

“No sign, sir,” he reported. “Looks like all the Hirogen that are coming have already arrived.”

“That’s more than enough,” she remarked, counting fifteen vessels. “Break formation, try to draw them away from the settlements, but stick with your wingmen. All gunners, kid gloves are officially off; I want an opening volley of flux torpedoes, and shoot to kill.”

Jorri had been one of the pioneers in the tactical application of the H-Fighter, back when it was still in the testing phases. The design bore some similar wing structures to a TIE Interceptor or X-Wing, and a tapering cylindrical shape that was edged with warp nacelles. The extra maneuverability combined with the heavy firepower was leaving every fighter in the dust, but the Hirogens didn’t use fighters. Their ships were small enough to be vulnerable to attack – trench run syndrome, as some in the Academy called it – but they had more raw power and heavy armor. With the Hirogen’s numerical superiority, they’d need to do some serious early damage to have a shot of getting out of this.

The squadron of H-Fighters descended, but the Hirogen didn’t seem to care. They continued the bombardment right up until the moment that shimmering green lights rocketed from the fighters, slipping through their shields and tearing into their armor. Two exploded outright, but Jorri’s stomach tightened as the ships turned to engage. “Black 2, cross the T. Ali, fire at will.”

“Understood, Jorri,” he remarked. The ship’s top panel opened and a turret emerged, its twin cannons coming around as the two fighters twisted through space and flew in between the Hirogen ships. The laser cannons pivoted and fired as Ali tried to compensate for the evasive maneuvers while Jorri raced through at full throttle. The Hirogen scored almost as many hits for them as he did. Their combat mentality still hadn’t evolved to the teamwork necessary to face a coordinated enemy. Nom Anor and his cronies could arm them, give them all the choice targets in the galaxy, but he couldn’t change centuries of an individual approach to combat. The Hirogen were exceptional hunters, but inefficient soldiers.

They passed through another group of Hirogen ships, their lasers scorching across their armor. As Jorri pulled up a pair of proton torpedoes raced away and struck a target of opportunity. “Nicely done, lieutenant,” she remarked as she came about for another run. Behind her, Black 9 and 10 added a pair of flux torpedoes each, finishing off the ship. Unfortunately, Black 10 had strayed too close, and the shrapnel shredded two of its wings and left the fighter in a mad spin. There was an explosion, and pilot and gunner tumbled away from the ship a few moments before it exploded. “Hutch! You okay?” came the voice of Black 9.

“Major, Breje is gone, sir!” came Hutch’s desperate words.

“Radio silence, Hutch,” Jorri said.

“Sir-“

“Radio silence, wait for rescue. Black 9, join up with Black 4.”

“The Hirogen-“

“Task at hand, lieutenant,” she said sharply. “Ali, what’s the ETA on the Sentinel and her escort?”

“Seven minutes, Jorri.”

“Kriff.” The Hirogen would find Breje and Hutch fine trophies, but there was nothing they could do about it. Even if this wasn’t a combat situation, they didn’t have the gear to rescue someone in their escape suit; Hutch would just have to hope he could hold out for another seven minutes. “All wings, change of plans. Go for the turbolaser batteries, let’s de-claw these predators.”

The Hirogen turbolasers had gotten over some of their earlier compatibility issues and, much to Jorri’s distress, were applying them with greater and greater skill. What’s more, while she had several combat veterans in her squadron, this was their first combat run in the H-fighter. Old instincts, instincts of survival, were obsolete. Black 5 did a perfect twist out of the path of turbolaser fire, but misjudged the maneuverability and sheered right through his wingman’s port wings. In the confusion the Hirogen finished both off. Jorielle tightened her grip on the controls, keeping the movements soft and smooth for Ali. One flux torpedo shimmered and hit a turbolaser battery right at the power line. She banked and raced towards the next as the battery went up. With the wilder shots of the next Hirogen, she found it harder to keep it steady without risk of becoming a target. This time the torpedo only damaged one of the guns, but Black 2’s gunner dropped a few protons and finished it. The dance continued in the timeless environment of combat as each sought the best way to atomize the other.

“Major,” Ali said with a tone of relief, “they’ve arrived.” Jorri looked up at the welcome sight of the Inferno-class star destroyer and her two Imperator escorts. There was a flash of silver as an Interdictor torpedo exploded, causing a four minute gravitational distortion that would ensure the Hirogen wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“All wings, break off,” she ordered. “Screen the planet; let’s make sure they don’t decide to take anyone with them.” The H-Fighters pulled off as the Sentinel opened fire with its own turbolaser batteries. Two Hirogen ships fired their anti-Interdictor torpedo, but without a projector they simply exploded upon arming.

“This is the fifth time we’ve used the Interdictor torpedoes on the Hirogen,” Ali remarked. “You’d think they’d know better by now.”

“There’s no organization for the Hirogen,” Jorri remarked, looking over the status of her squadron. “No intelligence network, no central command, they won’t know about it until Nom Anor tells them.” Hutch’s lifesigns were gone... it could be a malfunction, but more than likely he was dead or a Hirogen prisoner, which wasn’t much different. The Sentinel had already chomped through half the remaining Hirogen ships while the Imperators kept them contained.

“Black 1, this is Fighter Command,” came the voice of Col. Deltone, her superior. “Status?”

“We’ve lost five fighters, two ejections with no life signs.”

“Return to base,” was all he said. Jorri took the lead and the remains of Black Squadron slipped through the battle to the Sentinel’s launch bay. They hadn’t even finished docking before the last of the Hirogen resistors were finished.

Jorri pulled off her helmet after her feet hit the deck. Col. Deltone was waiting. “We’ll go over the recordings at 1800 hours,” he said, “but what’s your initial opinion?”

She wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand while she thought. “We got there much faster,” she said, “so that part of the strategy was sound. But we were outnumbered, and even with delaying tactics, we took heavy losses. If we want to use the H-Fighters as an advanced response force, we need to replace our protons with flux torpedoes and stick to a minimum of two, preferably three, squadrons at a time.”

“Most of the H-Fighters have been going to the front line,” Deltone said. “I’m not sure we could outfit that many for Hirogen patrols.”

Jorri shrugged. “Just my initial opinion, but I think that if we’re going to do this, one squadron isn’t enough.”

Deltone nodded. “The ten casualties,” he added, “get me their names and personal effects; I’ll write the letters later. Anything you can add would be helpful.” Jorri nodded, and went about the rest of the post-mission routine. She talked things over briefly with Black 2, Capt. Relam, then returned to her quarters. She smiled when she saw the flashing message, but the minute she read it her heart sunk. With a stab of her finger she deleted Sebastian’s message and headed for the fresher. Even the soothing warm water wasn’t enough to relax her.

“Oh, Bastian,” she said under her breath, “we had so much to talk about.”
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The McCoy Foundation was one of the few organizations from the Pre-Imperial era that hadn't allowed the switch to a monetary economy to influence their activities. It was, in fact, partly because of this that it did do so well. In the chaos of the present day, it was an island of Federation ideals. When people like Jorielle Skywalker were done, the Foundation's work just started.

Charity, as the ship was called, was one of the only Mon Calamari Star Cruisers to survive. Its weapons had been stripped off before it was donated to the Foundation by Talon Karrde after a group of members boarded one of his ship despite the fact that the beacon clearly showed there was a plague on board and ministered to the dying. It was through such generosity that the McCoy foundation was known throughout the Empire for their disaster relief efforts. At the moment, the wake of the Hirogen attack had left thousands of casualties that were already overwhelming the local hospitals and emergency treatment camps. Charity could handle them all easily, thanks to the huge capacity, advanced medical technology, and crack personnel. At the moment, one of them was asleep in a chair.

"John," said Dr. Helga Grant as she gave him a gentle but no-nonsense prod, "triage is standing by." Dr. John Ezri nodded and pulled himself up. He looked even worse than usual, his cheeks more sunken, his thin form seemed actually frail. "Were you down here last night again?"

"Let's see to the patients," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and then brushing his silver hair out of his face.

"John, you know you won't do us any good if you don't get enough rest."

"Bah, the body is miserly when it comes to rest. Don't listen to it, that's my advice." Dr. Grant was about to protest when he stepped up to the first occupied bed. It was as if the sight of the sick and the wounded tapped into him; he seemed taller, spry, and his every word was quick and crisp. "She goes into surgery," he said with barely a pause as he stepped to the next bed. He read the readings over the bed, ran a tricorder over the body, and put it back within seconds. "Give him a local to take the edge off. Dermal regenerator." He was already on to the next bed. Dr. Ezri never diagnosed during an emergency; he told you what to do. Giving it a label won't help, it'll only start a debate. "Helga, you want to take the OR or handle things here."

"I'll handle the surgery, what're we looking at?"

"Serious rupturing in the chest cavity. Have a blood-oxygenator standing by, and don't be surprised if you have to replace the lungs. This man needs a Bacta tank."

"His burns aren't that severe," the nurse remarked.

"Bacta," Dr. Ezri snapped, then began looking over the next patient.

"Bacta supplies are low," the nurse said to Helga. "Can you offer a second opinion?"

"Dr. Ezri doesn't give opinions, he gives facts. Get him into a Bacta Tank." As the patient was wheeled down the hall Helga took a moment to glance down... John hadn't grabbed a medical tricorder. She flipped it open to look at the previous reading. The surface wounds were contaminated with the fungal disease, she saw. At this early stage, the Bacta would stop it, but if the dermal regenerator was used, the stuff would be free to incubate. He'd be dead within a couple of months.

She shook her head as she watched him wade through the fallen. Even after years he still surprised her. What was someone with his skill doing in the back end of nowhere?

[Crazedwraith]

1st post ( i hope)

Very good. You do know you can post more than one chapter in the same thread.right?

[2000AD]

The only problem with WWE is that it's been going so long that it's diverged so far from the current SW and ST continunuity that i know, so i need to stop thinking in terms of established SW/ST continuity and think in terms of established WWE continuity otherwise i make mistakes.
That said, it can only be a good thing that a fanfic has such a background, especially since your cranking it out so fast.

Janeway as a mad scientist, hmmmm.....

[Sonnenburg]

1st post ( i hope)

Very good. You do know you can post more than one chapter in the same thread.right?

Humor an old man who's set in his ways.

[Sonnenburg]

The only problem with WWE is that it's been going so long that it's diverged so far from the current SW and ST continunuity that i know, so i need to stop thinking in terms of established SW/ST continuity and think in terms of established WWE continuity otherwise i make mistakes.

It gives me trouble sometimes. "Aw crap, he's dead, isn't he? Everyone who's dead, raise your hands.... um, Quark, you can put your hand down, I suppose..."

That said, it can only be a good thing that a fanfic has such a background, especially since your cranking it out so fast.

Janeway as a mad scientist, hmmmm.....

When I started PL, one of the goals on my list was "try to make Janeway an interesting character." Believe me, it has been the most daunting challenge....

[Slayen]

Out of curiosity, how much time has passed between PL and BoH?

[Sonnenburg]

Around three years.