StarDestroyer.Net BBS

By way of introduction, I've been working on and off, mostly off, for the last several years trying to bring about this story based on crap some buddies of mine and I envisioned back when I was in high school. Since its never really been posted here (well one chapter almost a year ago) I figured I might as well give everyone the whole story in doses. I've been editing and revising it in little bits and pieces all over the text some things have changed from the copy on the ASVS Archives. Moreover, for the ten people who actually did read the chpater I posted it has now become Chapter 20 and there is a new chapter 19 in between. So without further adieu:

Prologue

Federation Space, location unknown

Captain Winger was not the happiest of men. Certainly not with his current assignment. A war was winding down and he hadn't even gotten the barest lick in edgewise. He was not a brutal or truly warlike man, simply one who craved excitement.

"Excitement indeed" Winger mumbled.

"Excuse me, sir?" came the reply.

"Oh, nothing Taldon. I'm just expressing my wonderful delight at the supreme importance of our mission to the war effort." Winger managed to blurt with a minimum of sarcasm.

Taldon either failed to grasp the sarcasm or simply didn't care. "Sir, mapping this black hole might help with our understanding of the true nature of the galactic spin with the implicit changes in our understanding of stellar drift and nebula dispersion to say nothing of-"

"That's enough number one. I am aware of the science I'd just rather be somewhere with some action," was Winger's blunt response.

"Sir, given the strength of the Federation's foes the Vigilant would hardly be helpful,” came Taldon’s reply.

There was truth in that statement. Far too much truth for Winger's liking. Here he was calmly edging towards one of several super massive black holes towards the rim of the galaxy in one of the oldest operational Federation designs. The Vigilant was a Miranda - Mark II, a euphemistic name for an old Miranda class that Starfleet simply hadn't gotten around to decommissioning yet and had upgraded in the meantime. Thinking over the events of his command Winger realized that for the first time in months there hadn't been some kind of major break down like those that had nearly crippled his ship before.

"Sir, we're loosing power to sections of the sensor suite, leaks emanating from decks seven and nine, sir." That was Ensign Hortel calmly reminding him just how ugly a duckling he had.

"Shut down the sensors, get damage control moving, alert engineering, and somebody get me some Tylenol," Winger barked.

"Sir, all sensor systems shut down." Ensign Hortel

"Damage control and engineering are responding." That was Lieutenant Lara Von Hart (just call me Lara) at systems.

"Engineering to bridge." Ahh yes, chief Quelin to tell me I've run the ship to hard again Winger thought.

"Sir, you've been running the sensors too hard, the power conduits blew out in sections 22b and 27d. We'll have 'em replaced in an hour but we're going to have to reduce our usage, sir."

"It’s always good to hear you tell me what’s overused on the ship Quelin, I'll talk to you in an hour and thirty minutes. I know you; it'll be fixed by then." Winger knew Quelin, and the goad always worked him up.

“An hour thirty sir?! You know me better, my men will have it done it half that, Engineering out."

"That's what I was hopping to hear chief." was Winger's whispered response.

Forty-eight minutes later the sensor suite was back online and the diagnostic complete. Everything was fine across the board and they had probably given the sensors enough of an overhaul to actually last the rest of the mission.

"Power 'em up" was Commander Taldon's order. "What do we have?”

"Sir, I think you better see this." was the panicked response of Ensign Hortel.

"What is it? Put it on view screen," Winger ordered immediately. Seconds later he wished he hadn't.

Chapter One

New Republic Space, Bilbringi Shipyards

Admiral, Fleet Admiral Selectee, Restar A. Wilkens surveyed his new command from a distance. Not that it really mattered. You could see the ship with your bare eyes from almost a thousand kilometers away some said. Wilkens didn't doubt it. She was huge.

After years of minor skirmishes and little needed patrols designed to stop pirates the New Republic had become complacent. Then the Yuzhon Vong had attacked. The devastation of many worlds was so evident that you could almost smell the burnt corpses in space. That was almost possible given the sheer volume of material ejected into low orbit by some of the Vong attacks. The NRF Peacekeeper was the final answer to the sometimes stunning lack of firepower the navy had often displayed. In the end only the Jedi and some helpful luck had saved them. Well, that combined with brilliant tactics on his part and the part of a dozen other admirals and commodores. However, his part hadn’t always been played in the not so friendly skies.

Nevertheless, the New Republic had learned its lesson and the Fleet had grown by leaps and bounds. Now counting the various in system defense craft it now numbered well in excess of seventy thousand ships of frigate class or above. The key to all of these fleets, five on patrol, one left in defense of the galactic core, and Wilkens’, were the new SMCV's or Peacekeeper - class battleships. To call it such almost shrunk the ship whose graceful curves extended over seventy kilometers in length, ten of which were engaged almost entirely in propulsion and power generation. Guns bristled over her skin numbering almost seventy thousand heavy turbolasers alone, add the same number of heavy ion cannons, plus the missile tubes, and toss in the point defense weapons as well as the lower order turbolasers. All told she was capable of cleansing a system of inhabited life in under an hour but that was not her purpose. She was built for trans-galactic warfighting.

Wilkens recalled stories of the hype surrounding the launch of the Outbound Flight project, but it had failed. Now they were doing it his way, with the mightiest feat of arms the galaxy had produced short of the Death Stars. Quite fortunately some sensibility reigned in higher headquarters and a superlaser wasn't included in the Peacekeeper's design. Wilkens was inwardly glad of that. There were ships out there that had superlasers, of course. Part of the rebuild had included Eclipse and Sovereign class battle cruisers but Wilkens hated the ships. Well, not the ships themselves for they were things of beauty in their hard durasteel lines. No, Wilkens hated the superlasers onboard and the constant oversight and pressure they represented. Like super weapons of generations untold ago they were overseen by the most elaborate control measures the Republic could devise yet the crews always trained themselves to be able to fire on a moments notice. It was a stressful life with that much firepower a button press away and Wilkens was glad to be free of it.

"Shuttle AA001 requesting docking clearance in lower bridge hanger alpha" came the smart and precise request from his shuttle pilot. Wilkens smiled inwardly, he would probably never see the lad again even if he did end up assigned to the ship. With her size, even the extremes of automation that New Republic engineers had employed, there was still a need for a vast crew of sentient beings.

For his part the shuttle pilot, career Corporal Lace Jones was more than happy to be doing his duty. Moreover, the stories the Admiral had been mumbling about during the hyperspace trip en route were good enough to make him king of conversation in the galley for weeks to come.

"Shuttle AA001 permission granted, hold pattern for twenty seconds before beginning your approach. Thirty seconds out cut your engines for docking tractor assist."

"Acknowledged Peacekeeper. AA001 out." Jones managed to keep the disappointment out of his voice. On the other hand…

"I can tell you wanted to land her." Wilkens stated simply.

"Sir, I did, but I guess there’s no use grumbling about it" Jones managed despite his surprise. Officers, especially Admirals, didn’t speak to crewmen much less read their minds.

"Don't worry you'll get plenty of landings where we're going. I can guarantee it."

With that the silence resumed as Jones picked up speed and nudged his way into the docking formation. Wilkens relaxed again enjoying the freedom of control he was being given, especially for such a young admiral. Young, at least to the rest. Wilkens was no spring chick, having spent almost thirty years at almost every possible billet in the combat Navy. He had done it all. From Special Forces in his youth, to gunnery, to pilot, and the requisite time in the bridge of a host of small and large vessels. However, that was less important than the Peacekeeper and her attendant vessels throughout the vast shipyard, some as new as his Flagship with a couple ancient hulls that had fought against the Empire before the Yuzhon Vong.

The Vong were the reason for this all, Wilkens thought, and damn them for forcing this upon us. It had taken years of bloody warfare to drive the Vong out of their galaxy and back to theirs, years when Wilkens ran mission upon mission with a few Jedi on his flanks and no more assurance of victory than the blaster in his hand and the supplies he humped with him. When the Vong had finally been expelled high command had come to a striking realization, we weren't the only ones. The Vong had gone like locusts from galaxy to galaxy and the New Republic was only one of two thrusts underway. The leadership in Coruscant had discovered through means unknown the target of the Vong's next attack. While the Republic had less than no interest in this mid-sized spiral millions of light years away the Jedi of influence convinced the Senate that something important was there and we had to defend it.

"We're going hunting for the Vong aren't we sir?" was Jones only probe of his Fleet commander as he slipped into the final boarding pattern.

"Oh yes... Jones is it? Yes, we're going to get us a little. We might get more than we bargained for but with the Remnant even sending a few reinforcements it will be hell to pay for the Vong." Wilkens replied before resuming his trancelike state.


Chapter Two

"Sir, I think you better see this." was the panicked response of Ensign Hortel.

"What is it? Put it on view screen," Winger ordered immediately. Seconds later he wished he hadn't.

The ship on the screen dwarfed anything short of the Dominion battlecruisers Winger had once fought in simulation. The difference was the shape. Were the Dominion had given their ships a hard edge of unforgiving utility this monstrosity was a huge black lump of coral misshapen in every view.

"Message to Starfleet Command, Priority One" Winger shouted. "Inform them we may have a First Contact situation."

He was not equipped for this, Winger knew. The rest of the crew knew as well, but it did nothing to stop the enthusiasm. Winger however only had a sense of growing dread. His dread was justified a moment later when the ship disappeared off the scopes.

"Sir, we've lost them. I'm not sure it wasn't the sensors but I read negative for Warp signatures and there isn't anything out that way that resembles a cloaking device, though the range is against us." Ensign Hortel knew something was about but he was running every possibility through his head without any ideas as to what to do.

His dilemma was solved bare seconds later when the ship flashed back into existence square in front of the Vigilant. Alarms sounded all over the ship as Cronau radiation washed over the ship upsetting the series of delicate repairs to almost every minor and major subsystem.

What the hell happened" Winger yelled.

"Unknown, sir" came Taldon's quick reply. "We are now recording several artificial black holes forming directely in front of us. Sir, I recommend we depart from our guest."

"Helm, full turn to the port then engage engines at maximum warp. ENGAGE" Wilkens virtually shouted the order over the hiss and spark of systems going haywire as the alien vessel redirected its black hole generators at the Vigilant. Simultaneously vast globs of the something molten began to detach and were sent hurtling towards the ship. Pyrotechnics lit off around the Vigilant as her shields rocked with near misses.

Hortel was already moving as fast as he could. Fingers flying over the board he sent the Vigilant into what was, for her, a violent series of corkscrews trying to align the ship for egress. The Vigilant might be old but her engines were lovingly cared for and were perhaps the one system that had not failed yet. Finally finding a patch not under bombardment Hortel flew the ships straight between the voids forming off to his port and glowing debris on his starboard. With a maximum acceleration burst, he shot underneath the strange vessel and swung the ship in a snap turn through space before aligning a course back towards Starbase 48 and hitting the jump button.

He did so just in time as the alien vessel swung the black hole into alignment just as the Vigilant rocketed off quickly passing through Warp 3 headed higher. Seeing their quarry flushed the ship shut down the black hole and everyone aboard the Vigilant finally breathed a sigh of relief with the apparent danger passed.

Winger's first call was to Engineering.

"How long will she hold together on Warp 8 Quelin?"

"Sir, the fact that I still breathe is miracle enough after the pounding the ship took. To answer your question directly we can probably get a few days out of Warp 8 if we survive the first half hour."

"Always good to hear that you're in a happy mood Quelin" Wilkens rejoined

"Only when you break my ship mon' Capitan," Quelin replied with only mild sarcasm before terminating the link. He had work to do, and so did the Captain. It was not always fun to be a chief engineer but Quelin loved fixing broken ships and combat, even abbreviated combat, did wonders to break a ship. He only hoped that he would be able to hold this project together, after all, he promised the Captain had he not?


Chapter Three

The stars always seemed more inviting in simulation Wilkins thought. When you could view them from angles virtually impossible in real life it made them shine brighter and seem so much warmer than they often turned out to be. From years of travel between them Wilkens had grown to love the power that full view simulscreens provided and, as a campaign tool, they were unmatched. Given the galactic mapping missions of the last few years, he had tactical data on virtually every core world and most of the inner rim and outer core worlds. At the touch of a button, he could easily view the easiest means of approach, likely trading routes and much more. With his current assignment, he had a much more interesting map that presented a challenge in many levels.

"We simply don't have enough accurate data; most of these system locations are based on stellar drift speeds estimated out over almost a billion years." Captain K'jul K'jul was an excellent tactician and he knew exactly what was wrong with what he just said. "We need to move closer and fast if we are to get any accurate data. In the meantime we can't even begin the search until we have some kind of re-supply point between us and G2."

"You're right of course but you know the challenge of a true deep space station out there, the finances aren't the problem, nor is the construction, the problem is crew. We do not have enough people willing to sit on a station halfway between two galaxies and I am loathe to force people in my command to sit there. I guess you are also loathe to leave the ships we will need to defend any such supply base K’jul" Captain Julius Tagert was the only officer at the conference from the support staff here and his problems were just as pressing.

Staff officers always like to talk. That is what they do best though Wilkens knew it was not really the case with the twelve officers here.

"We're going to have to force them to stay, pilots, construction workers, longshoremen, all of them whether we like it or not regulations aside this base is too important," was Captain Dunar. "Every possible scenario for our success demands this stepping stone. I know it bothers us all to leave troops in the rear to no real purpose given the Vong attack patterns. Nonetheless, we need to move past this and start thinking about our search because none of us here are a full Jedi. Even if we were the Vong would still be a devil to find with all the anomalies in that galaxy."

"Indeed" Wilkens stated. "Someone review for me because I seem to recall someone, Dunar, stating we knew almost nothing about that galaxy."

"You might have missed the update, sir." Dunar

"Indeed old friend I saw it but the rest of my tacticians haven't." Wilkens smiled.

"Aye sir, for those who don't know G2 is a mid-sized galaxy of the spiral variety, like ours only 20,000 light years smaller in diameter. We assumed that this would make mapping easier since the number of systems and inhabitable regions will be noticeably smaller than those in our own galaxy.”

“I’m guessing that isn’t the case,” Colonel Getyui chimed with his usual sardonic personality in full force. “After all we know that 100,000 light years diameter a small and easily mapped galaxy makes.”

“Yes there is a catch, it wouldn’t be a mission without one,” Dunar deadpanned. “Anyway our problem is space-time distortions. This galaxy seems to have a prodigious quantity, almost ten thousand times the number of time-space distortions as in our own galaxy. These distortions are so massively energetic that they create energy based gravity wells similar to and Interdictor class' only they are natural.”

“Wait, you’re saying that not only do we have to navigate around and map all the massive bodies but now we have to catalogue the strength and location of all these time-space distortions?” Lieutenant Commander Felwis Varn had spent ten years exploring the outer rim and unknown regions and his mapping expertise was needed. Given that, his disheartenment had an effect table, even before the news got worse.

“Yes and their direction of likely travel” was Dunar’s quiet reply.

“What do you mean ‘direction of travel’ Captain?” rejoined Varn. “You can’t seriously mean we have mobile distortions, no way in the depths of a Sith infested hell that’s possible.”

“Varn,” Getyui’s calming voice intervened. “Just because we’ve never seen them in our own galaxy doesn’t mean anything, remember galactic architecture is still a complex machine and far be it for us to assume we know everything about what we’ll see outside the rim.”

“Varn we assumed that this galaxy would be similarly constructed to ours, at least astrometrically, Dunar continued for the Colonel. “We were wrong but we have the equipment to track the important ones and account for them in hyper-route plotting.”

“Is there any chance that there is anybody in this galaxy would be willing to help us,” was Getyui’s question. “With this task especially natives might be of use.”

All eyes turned meaningfully to Fleet General Skywalker. Descendant and protégé of that Skywalker he had almost completed his Jedi training before joining starfighter command. Now in addition to the rest of his duties he was ship wide liaison with a group of Jedi Knights, Masters, and Philosophers traveling with the taskforce. Many said that fighting the Yuzhon Vong was a spiritual battle and, in a way, these were the Paladins of the New Republic. Brought along to the fight alongside the common warriors carried in their beasts of durasteel.

“It is impossible to tell,” Skywalker said bluntly. “Life is definitely present in that galaxy in great quantities, that much we all agree on. However there is no definite sense amongst the Order as to how much sentience is present and speaking as a general, for once, sentience does not guarantee that they will be space faring, or even friendly.”

“The other possibility is that they will be more advanced,” was the cautious voice of Captain Armen’t’s, the master of Skywalker’s ship and his close confidant. “We must tread carefully.”

“That much, I think, should be obvious to us all ladies and gentlemen,” was Wilkens comment. “Regardless of everything else we must get moving or else there will be little left for us to find once the Vong arrive. Get some construction crews moving, while I hate the idea of leaving troops stranded with nothing but ‘make work’ to do. This base is more than neccessarry and if the Vong figure that out they'll find a way to strike. So I need a workup of the minimum fore protection the base will need and a minimum and ideal support package onboard the station. Other than that lets get moving."

“I’ll signal the remnant, sir,” K’jul said. “They’ll probably be anxious to know where we’re going. After all I’m not one to turn down a few old Impstars and an Executor.”

Simply nodding Wilkens removed himself from the room. Something in Arment’s voice had shaken him and he needed to retire to his quarters, or perhaps to his meditation chamber. There he went, and there he stayed for some time.


Chapter Four

“Howdy, you the new roommate,” was the simple question from a not so simple man in a Petty Officer’s uniform. The shocked look on his new, he supposed, roommate’s face was nothing new to Petty Officer 3rd Class Juvani Ter’i. Most people were shocked the first time they learned that he DID have eyes in the back of his head.

“Interesting to talk to a person’s back for introductions,” was all Jones could manage to spurt out without collapsing from shock. Of course, no one would have told him that a Redulian was his rack mate. Not that he would have a problem handling it.

Ter’i paused for a moment of quiet reflection before saying anything else. Perhaps he could get along with along with this human. By themselves, for most of their known history Redulian’s had formed a very insular society, one for which he was ill suited. At the same time, the Fleet was not much better. Humans were almost universal in their apprehension of him; many feared he was watching them when in reality his rear vision was little more than an extension of his peripheral vision to encompass much that was behind him. Yet here stood a human, normal in every sense, one who was not afraid of him. Ter’i had few enough friends, far less than the number of rack mates he had met, and this would seem to be the ideal time to start changing that balance.

“I’m surprised, most people either double over in hysterics of insanity or at least recoil from shock,” came Ter’i’s voice, quieter this time. “You don’t this is most curious.”

“I’m just full of surprises,” Jones said simply. “For starters you’re looking at the man who made the first hand to hand kill of the war.” A gruesome time it had been. Jones bragged of it but largely to keep from shaking every time he looked at his arms.

“Well if you’re that good why aren’t you down in trooper country,” was Teri’s response, simple and to the point.

“For all you’re eyes it’s surprising you didn’t see it,” Jones stated.

At that point, Ter’i shifted his gaze and noticed something. The man’s right arm was disfigured. To be sure, it was definitely usable but it looked bonelike compared to the well-toned muscles in the man’s left arm. The conclusion was obvious, the man was one of those cursed with an allergy to bacta and most likely had refused replacing any part of his body until it was useless. Ter’i had heard about this man.

“So you’re the one,” Ter’i finally spoke.

“Which one?” Jones spurted.

“Don’t fool with me rack mate,” Ter’i replied. “I know things; after all I am in security. You’re the one who brought the Admiral aboard aren’t you?”

“Well I can’t deny that can I,” Jones said quietly. “He’s quite the talker. I’ll tell ya’ he lives up to his reputation. The man’s done a ton of stuff.”

“I’ve heard a lot,” Ter’i mewed. “How much does he spill?”

“He mumbled the whole way,” Jones laughed. “I pray never to be that way at forty. However, the stuff he does talk of might give anybody nightmares. He was at Heroshi and I heard him talk about....”

Chapter Five

Jenica. How could I have left you behind? I know there were those who would not make it, but you? It is hard to think of it even now my love. That is what was in Wilkens mind at the moment. He was seated in seemingly sparse company. With little to comfort him but shadows and a few strategically placed lights, Wilkens was alone with his thoughts. Certainly not the best place to be for a man with his past. Still, solitude was a command privilege that he was more than happy to accept.

Solitude has his protection against the world, or at least that is what he kept telling himself. Guilt was a powerful enemy and even the techniques he had learned from Skywalker were far from helpful. He might have a slight gift in the Force but the power of his despair was almost overwhelming on occasion. Giving in was not an option, nor was running away. The third alternative, revenge cold and bloody, almost made him vomit. He knew what he would become, a creature of evil that Jenica could never have accepted. A being that craved darkness, much like now only here in the dimly lit corners and curves of his personal battle bridge Wilkens found peace.

Not enough, he thought. Not nearly enough to erase from his memory all those he had watched die. Fighting the Vong was unlike any experience ever, it digressed from the traditionally clean and precise wounds that blasters were ought to give. No, the Vong killed with the blood still dripping from their amphistaffs. Wilkens cringed at the thought of those who had been beheaded, ripped limb from limb, or perhaps worst of all split open like melons. Memories dimmed the vivid red still spilling from the corpses each time they had won an engagement but nothing could truly still the images of armless compatriots following him blindly in a last desperate grasp for life that many would not live to see.

The operation itself had started out routinely enough. What made it unusual was the experience of the crew involved. Running convert ops for the Fleet for the previous six years Wilkens was already a team leader at the time, ranking in at Lieutenant, naval of course. His troops were supposed to help evacuate Felsi in advance of Yuzhon Vong attacks in the surrounding space. It was a little known fact that Felsi actually harbored liquid Tibanna in its core and they had worked years developing means to extract it, turning a neat profit and serving as a major cog in the Republic war machine simultaneously. Now with the Vong mere hours away from them the people of Felsi, and their droids, were requesting an evacuation.

Given the importance of Felsi, the Defense Force wished to spare as many of the citizenry as possible in order to keep their expertise at planetary mining. Thus, Wilkens and his team were on their way to oversee the egress of the most sensitive of the equipment and personnel while assisting with the general evacuation. They were also on their way to a surprise discovery.

The advance teams sent to help disassemble the most portable units included one particular scientist/engineer and part time wife; Jenica Wilkens. He had not planned on her being there but it served to fuel their passion to be working side by side for a single purpose. At the age of 26, each they were both in the midst of their idealistic prime so seeing each other served simply to reinforce their values and love.

Then the Vong attacked.

Warning came as the cruiser analogues jumped in system to engage the smattering of defenses the New Republic had been able to spare from other worlds. Blasting several Ranger-class gunships into so much plasma and drifting metal the Vong pressed in for the cities on the daylight side of Felsi. Retreating rapidly the fleet was able to save most of the transports, which immediately descended to the night side with Wilkens and Wilkens to evacuate as many people as possible.

Running about like madmen the scientists and engineers were herded onboard cargo vessels that were packed to the brim. The two lovers were set to take the last group up when the Capital suddenly came under fire from above. Huge chunks of plasma began chewing into the duracrete structures around them and quickly succeeded in grounding the last transport. They had cleared out the city almost completely when the two Wilkens finally stopped running. Their contingent was perhaps a hundred strong including all ten of Wilkens team armed with high-powered automatic blasters and, in the case of Wilkens and one other, lightsabres. They were in effect stranded on a planet soon to be overrun with Vong.

They camped outside the city for three days living off the land and watching distant reports from various weapons, probably some kind of plasma launcher. Wilkens took stock of his platoon as he called them. Most were engineers and scientists or administrators who had never fired a weapon before in their lives. He had quickly organized the group with each of his team members taking nine others, give or take, into his platoon. Those with security, police, and scout training were already armed and they served as his personal squad, along with his wife.

He would never forgive himself for that decision. Her life was the largest part of his own that he had not built with his own hands and mind, now he was going to place her into harms way. Some prayed they would not have to fight while others itched to engage the Vong and extract revenge for lost children, spouses, friends, or family. Sitting patiently was not in Wilkens blood either but he knew it was necessary, quick action without planning would get them all killed, they almost did anyway.

On the fourth day something finally broke the monotony. With little more than a rush of air to accompany it a Vong corvette analogue began its descent into Felsi’s capital. When the warriors and their support exited the vehicle and it remained in place Wilkens recognized the opportunity presented immediately. Calling together his ‘squad leaders’ he convened a council of war that set into motion the most fateful attack of his life.

The contingent had slipped down the hills surrounding Hutorsi utilizing tree cover, shrub cover, hell just about any cover to avoid being seen directly. By evening it was clear that the Vong were setting up camp in the city while leaving only a smattering of personnel aboard the corvette. If they could board and reach the bridge they might just be able to fly off this Force forsaken world.

As dusk descended upon the world of Felsi to the usual accompaniment of plasma bombardment a new sound pierced the air. It was a bass toned hum that seemed to spit and crackle occasionally. Its source had been written about millions of times over; both revered and feared it was a lightsabre. Weapon of the Jedi Knight and their eternal enemies the Sith it was an instrument of grace and power. A tool for defense of the innocent some called it, while others the most awesome tool of war forged in the galaxy. Today it would serve the former purpose. In Wilkens hands and those of Yute, his second in command, they began a purposeful cut in what looked to be a piece of coral.

The escape was proceeding to plan. Of course nothing ever stays that way.


Chapter Six

Breaking into the interior of the ship the company of soldiers and citizens had started meeting resistance almost immediately. Vong warriors would appear as though from the shadows and it took concentrated bursts even from the BlasTech G11 modified blaster carbines to take a single armored Vong down. Casualties appeared but someone in the squad simply picked the fallen being’s weapon up, if they had one, and kept on fighting.

Resistance increased ferociously and Wilkens guessed they must have been nearing the bridge, or whatever passed for a command center. That is when it happened. Another attack only it was from a direction he had not expected to see one from. Moving as quickly as they were Wilkens had doubted there would be any one from the city returning to the ship to get the rear of the formations. He had guarded against the possibility and one of his ten squads was guarding the rear. The one with his wife.

Bursting from the shadows a Vong warrior had leaped upon the rear of the formation. Swinging his powerful forearms the warrior had sent one of Wilkens’ original team members flying into the wall unconscious. Twirling the creature had extended its amphistaff ... right through Jenica. It had pierced her ribcage and probably at least one of her lungs, maybe her heart. Wilkens flew into a blind rage.

The next few seconds were still a blur now twenty-four years later as they had been the next day. He remembered dismembering the Vong with his lightsabre on his way to the bridge, or what passed as such. He had wadded through controllers regardless of what fight they put up each had fallen to his amethyst blade. Only hours later with Yute at the controls with his wife in his arms slowly slipping into unconsciousness did he finally release the rage. In its place tears of sorrow streamed down his face into Jenica’s. Always the optimist she had simply smiled.

You did your job, you saved us. Those were the last words she had spoken Wilkens reflected. In her place he had an empty bitter spot. It was only when he emerged from this trancelike memory that he realized that Skywalker was standing in his doorway. He was afraid that his long time companion would give him yet another lecture on the wrongness of anger and hatred, but he was not in the mood for it not with millions of Vong set squarely in his sights for this mission.

“The past brings us much,” Skywalker intoned. “But you are becoming a slave to it. Come. Our presence is requested on the bridge old friend.”

They had journeyed together many years and Skywalker knew what his friend was focusing on. That wasn’t what he needed; it wasn’t what the universe needed. Right now they needed a brilliant leader of only Wilkens skill to lead them all into the most terrifying conflict any of them had ever supposed would occur.

Emerging on the bridge the room took a different air. One that was suited to war. It was serious and a pin could have been heard as the comm officer noticed the pair emerging from the turbolift.

“Admiral on Deck.” He shouted, instantly snapping into the position of attention. Both out of tradition and out of respect for him Skywalker mimicked the junior rating staffing the comm board this watch.

“Carry on,” Wilkens called out. “Status Report!”

“Sir,” the Peacekeeper’s captain, Vice Admiral Towani motioned. “We’re all prepped for the jump. Gamma detachments are standing by with the Arc Hammer clones. We’ve got the crews and the materials ready.”

“In that case let’s go,” Wilkens replied. “Signal the fleet to engage hyperdrive on my mark. Mark”

With a brilliance defined by hundreds of ships entering hyperspace the fleet jumped up and out. Leaving the galaxy behind they were headed to a destination that was simply a set of coordinates. There wasn’t anything there, just the first construction droids. Now the fleet was following their trail. The hunt was on, that’s all Wilkens was thinking.


Chapter Seven.

“Sir, we’re coming up on effective comm range to Starbase 48,” was all Ensign Hortel would allow himself to say. To him it appeared that the hard part was over. They had successfully avoided pursuit of any kind and had arrived back in Federation space in one piece. “Do you want me to hail the Admiral, sir?”

“Place the hail Ensign,” Winger responded tiredly. He knew, unlike Hortel, that the ordeal was far from over, “I think they’ll be surprised by our arrival in light of our last transmission.”

“That would be within the normal Human reaction spectrum,” was Taldon’s opening remark. “However I believe our news that you will bring might cause even a Vulcan such as myself to be excessively curious.”

Winger knew what he meant. Even Vulcan’s would be slightly perturbed by a society, apparently very warlike, with capabilities like those they had witnessed, and the willingness to use them without notice or reason.

“Hailing now, sir,” Hortel called out. “They’re interested as to why we’re back so soon Captain.”

“Put them on screen, Ensign.” Winger said quickly.

Without a word the image of Admiral Tirgo Natsuka sprung to life on the viewscreen. Like Winger he was disappointed to be reduced to mere regional manager during a war. Unlike Winger he was openly enthusiastic and brightly curious as to the cause of the Vigilant’s premature return.

“Winger, we weren’t expecting you back until at least a few days longer,” the Admiral stated inquisitively before continuing. “I assume your return has something to do with our apparently newly discovered neighbors.”

“That would be correct sir,” Winger responded. “And I really don’t think you’re gonna like the news from the front sir.”

“Interesting analysis,” Natsuka responded. “Of course I can’t really evaluate the validity of that statement until we meet but an Admiral has to trust his Captain’s word so I fear we may have a problem.”

“Sir,” Winger said quietly. “I believe you might have made the understatement of the century.”

“In that case it’s good that the Enterprise is already on her way here,” the Admiral replied deadpan. “I requested her now that the war is over and First Contact is her specialty. She’s making a speed run in from her refueling stop at Starbase 127 in the Tertalis sector.”

“She’s a Sovereign sir” Winger quipped. “I fear we’ll need her brawn more than her brain in the near future.”

“At any rate you should be getting here about a half day before her so be prepared to brief Picard in as well. Natsuka out.” That was all before the screen blanked and resumed a picture of stars streaking by, at least so it appeared.

The next six hours were spent on the continuous task of repairing the damage the Vigilant had sustained in her encounter. It also served as a time for the Captain to meet with his senior officers in his ready room and get their views. They had all come out shaken. Commander Quelin had simply blanked them all when he reported to the group.

He had been given the task of working out what kind of power that ship was using. His response had been straightforward: Unknown with all letters capital. From his analysis the high-speed FTL run, the artificial black holes, and the plasma all accounted for huge energy expenditures over a very short period of time. Either this enemy had huge capacitors or a reactor of demonstrably huge power. The bridge crew had already guessed that but the news that the apparent output would rate it at or above a Borg cube had given them pause when they looked back at how well Starfleet had done against the Borg in the past.

Starbase 48 was now less than an hour away and the Enterprise had managed to squeeze some extra power in and was due to arrive only a few hours behind the Vigilant, whose laboring engines continued their rhythmic pulse. You could feel it Winger thought often enough. You could feel that slight change in vibration and tone that was the switch between normal space and warp speed. There was a thrill to the sound but now it was overwhelmed, in his mind at least, by dread.

Commander Quelin was one of those rare people who would say little of consequence in a conversation only to spurt out the most profound statement bare seconds later. It was a trait that had irritated several former Captains, which is why a man like Quelin was stuck here on this wreck of a ship. Not that he’d let me live if I said it aloud, as a chief engineer he had a duty to protect his ship’s reputation from the scorn of her Captain. Winger knew there was a storm coming. He was old enough to remember the coming of the Borg, twice in his lifetime. The first he had been trapped on the Utopia Planetia shipyards and the second he had been aboard the Defiant, the original, fighting it out with one of the better tactical drivers in the business.

Now there was a new storm coming, and he was its herald to the Federation and her allies. The Dominion War had drained the Federation, which was now faced with perhaps the ultimate peril to its existence. Winger hoped and prayed to whatever gods might exist that his worst fears were untrue, for Von Hart and Taldon had shown exactly what would happen if his worst fears were true. Five years, that’s all they would give the Federation in the event of an all out invasion by a small fleet of those things. Earth, Vulcan, Fargo, Mars, Centauri, and more would be occupied or leveled. Then the scavengers would move in, the Klingons, seeing their alliance to a dying nation as worthless, would take what they had longed for in Kirk’s era. They would take hold of key dilithium processing centers as well as anti-matter storage depots, all positioned along the UFP-Klingon border. Meanwhile the Romulans would steal or destroy everything they could in an effort to counter balance the Klingons. The Cardassians would take Bajor and move in, hell there was even a possibility the Breen would be grabbing the leftovers.

In the way of that possibility stood the Vigilant and the Enterprise. They were, in a few words, the Federation’s only chance of avoiding a conflict or stopping one early with an impressive display of arms and skill. In preparation for that Winger needed to get the crew ready for combat on a ship designed to fight the nearly obsolete Birds of Prey that once menaced the Federation. That and the small task of briefing in Picard and his crew as to the threat they faced, both tasks based on only about twelve seconds of actual data gathered before they moved out of effective range on their escape heading.

“Captain,” Taldon called much louder than normal. “We are approaching docking range, and if I may say so, sir, it is a violation of Starfleet Regulations to sleep on duty.”

“I know what the regulations say Taldon and I wasn’t sleeping.” That was all Winger could manage before Admiral Natsuka came calling.

“Winger,” Natsuka opened without his normal greeting. “Go ahead and come to a stop and just beam over whoever you need to run the briefing. Starfleet command is very interested in the data package and they want this taken care of with maximum speed. We’ll run the meeting from my office and Picard will join in on subspace comm. now that they’re in range, Natsuka out.”

“Well that was certainly informative,” was all Von Hart could say. “I guess I better pack my short stay bags in that case. With your permission sir.”

“By all means Lara,” Winger said offhand. “Give the Admiral and Picard my regards and make sure Taldon doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Sir,” Taldon responded evenly. “I do not get into trouble.”

“Sure you do, you just never realize it. Come on, or else we’ll keep the Admiral waiting and that’s not good if you want the Vigilant when our courageous captain get a real ship.” Lara knew how to get the captain thinking, insulting his ship was insulting him and any good captain would wake up enough to find a rejoinder. She also couldn’t resist the double benefit of needling Taldon; he was just too easy but that also made it fun.

“Ahhh, but what kind of glorious vessel can they give me after this pleasure liner,” was all Winger could muster on short notice.

“If you two are quite done I believe myself and Lt. Commander Von Hart have a briefing to attend, sir.” Taldon replied as always with his permanent straight face.

“Get going.” That was all Winger needed to say and they were off the bridge and on their way. They’d be back in position soon enough.

Winger was right and not but eight hours later the new orders came in with the transfer of Lara and Taldon back aboard. It was simple in the extreme. The Vigilant and the Enterprise would journey back to the position of the original encounter and begin a wide area search for anything resembling the ship encountered two days ago. Once they found it the Enterprise would attempt to initiate contact and open diplomatic relationships while the Vigilant ran full spectrum scans to try and getter a better understanding or their host. The plan was that if worst came to worst they would quickly Warp out with a full set of data and a better understanding of the enemy’s intentions. That was the plan at least and gods help them if it failed.

“Warp seven Ensign, coordinate with the helmsman aboard the Enterprise and set us up for companion cruising.” Winger ordered.

“Aye Aye, sir” was Hortel’s immediate response. He quickly paged the Enterprise and got their jump heading, matched them up and engaged. “Here we go again.”


Chapter Eight

Space, New Republic Outpost Explorer

All around hung a vista of black with silver sparkles. Large clusters and tiny dots lit the background but the natural light barely penetrated anything at this lonely point in space. With no system, nay galaxy, within a million light years this tiny plot of flesh and metal was all alone in the darkness of night. She was an island in the midst of the deep but she was not alone.

Silently gliding towards this metal monstrosity one could see a dagger like shape that grew larger by the second. She was a black silhouette against an equally black backdrop. Her shape defined by the vague edges where starlight bent around the edges. She was a sleek black shape with a tail end lit with the brilliance of any main sequence star. The NRF Peacekeeper, this was the name people spoke when she came near, and for a galaxy that was a generation removed from the last Death Star she was the largest unnatural object most had beheld. Wilkens was one of the exceptions having seen the massive world ships that the Vong traversed the cosmos in.

The outpost stood waiting for the exploration fleet yet there was something wrong with the whole picture. Though small in comparison with the multitude of battleships this station served to supply the vast fleet being sent to the Milky War. Unfortunately she was only half-finished, a fact that served as a constant nuisance to the commander of the fleet slowly approaching his spindle in the ether.

“I thought the Explorer had a scheduled completion date some three months ago or have I gone completely insane,” was Wilkens tired question. “You know we need this to move on and the station is still months from completion.”

“We still have a great deal of the food supplies, sir” was all station commander Destra Cul’dor could say.

She was a career Army officer who enjoyed her days zipping about in speeders or commanding Hover AT divisions. As a station commander she stood less than pleased by the Fleet’s slow and pondering pace at getting supplies out her way. At that she knew it useless to complain. She, like Wilkens, had fought the Vong one on one and survived. It had left scars on her mind and her body but most importantly it filled her with a sense of urgency to complete this station. Without her little outpost the Vong could and would crush whatever was in this new galaxy without a care. She could not allow it, and had forced more work than was possible out of the meager construction supplies sent her way.

For Wilkens’ part he was a man burdened with the impossible. His tasks seemed simple on the surface, find and engage the Vong in a new galaxy. The realities of his command were far different than that seemingly simple goal of engage and destroy, that was what small units do. Armies maneuver as do Fleets and they do so slowly, far too slowly for Wilkens’ taste. Like a ballet where the Admiral replaced the Conductor he maneuvered units left and right to gain coherence but the tools he used hindered him. Vessels of war are not known for their grace. So Wilkens was left to ponderously move supplies forward, stretch his ships ever further and all the while pray the Vong wouldn’t find them while they were alone and vulnerable at the end of a long supply train.

They were halfway between two galaxies, easily a two-month trip in either direction. The ships themselves were showing the strain of the trip. Traveling at speed impossible inside a galaxy they had made the run to Explorer in a little over nine weeks. Now the problem was twofold. He had ships in desperate need of repair, and he had reinforcements to wait for that were motoring in from the Imperial Remnant at maximum speed. In between these concerns were fuel supplies, weapons malfunction, crew shortages on the station, and a host of other problems he was easily a month behind schedule. Given the news he just received he would probably see this new galaxy fall before he could come to their aid.

“The Vong are already there Cul’Dor,” Wilkens said simply. “They were spotted moving into some remote regions of the galaxy, taking planets on the outer spiral arms. We simply don’t have the luxury of time.”

“My God sir,” Cul’dor gasped. “I had no idea. But, even given our need for speed we simply do not have the power to help right now.”

“We must do something,” Wilkens responded calmly. “That galaxy is inhabited and the residents look like they will need a helping hand.”

With that the Station Commander vanished to try to rush her subordinates to move up repairs, or work their troops harder. All in all it was a largely fruitless effort. Wilkens knew it and so, somewhere, did Cul’dor. An outcome he found unacceptable. While he was far from a Jedi, Wilkens still knew a code of right from wrong and watching idly by as the Vong waltz in and trample this new galaxy by was something he would not risk. There was a collective sense of conscious amongst members of the upper echelon of command. They had been entrusted with the most precious thing in the multiverse, the lives of other sentient beings. The citizens of this new galaxy relied upon the unseen hand of Wilkens’ taskforce. He knew this, as did the rest of high command, yet every officer here told him that they simply couldn’t do what they must.

Wilkens was sworn protector of trillions whom he had never met and whom right now he lay powerless to help against the greatest evil his galaxy had ever known. Like every commander before him Wilkens felt the invisible figure of death hanging around him every waking hour. His dreams were haunted by that shadowy figure that would snatch lives from before his eyes. It would be his fault whether millions died or billions, every death was at his hands. A hard concept to swallow, unseen masses sentenced to death or slavery all because he couldn’t push himself further. He often wondered how the legends had done, of both sides. Each one held destiny in their hands and had gambled lives of those they knew along with the faceless troops they only saw in formation.

Riekeen at Hoth, he had an indefensible position. How do you choose those who will fight and die to protect the rest, what was on his mind as he ordered his men into those trenches against the Imperials. History teaches man that some will die but how did he deal with the certainty that friends would be ripped apart by the Imperials. The annals of time records the names of the dead but not the lives they impacted. The sanctity of human life, of life in general, guided men like Riekeen to oppose the evil of the Emperor, which then forced him to sacrifice some of his own.

Dodonna at Yavin, how had he felt after sending his best pilots, many of them old friends, to die above that merciless ball of durasteel called the Death Star? Every man on that base, save a few, had served the Alliance long and well. Yet Dodonna was called upon to be the icy hand of Death selecting those who would be sent either to glory in death or glory in life. He sent thirty men in thirty ships, most of whom he had known, against certain death in the long shot attempt at preserving the Alliance.

Ackbar and Calrissian at Endor, the attack cost thousands their lives and saved quintillions but how many friends did they knowingly send to their deaths. Garm Bel Iblis, in the attack and defense of the Republic from Thrawn. They all sacrificed hundreds, perhaps thousands in the great victories, either in rash attacks or desperate rear guard duties.

Now, alone in his quarters, staring silently at the void Wilkens faced the question he dreaded. When would it happen, when would he burn out as so many had done before. What kept him sane, for he needed to draw upon every last once of it to fight the Vong.

He didn’t have an immediate answer, but at least he had hope for an answer. Always it stood as the unreachable goal, peace for generations to come. This was all Wilkens could contribute, his skill, dedication, and determination in wiping the scourge of evil from the universe so that others might try and piece life and dreams back together out of the darkness. Still, he wouldn’t be able to do this unless he could get to the fight. War, for all its complexities always rested on several keys. One had to know where his enemy was, his deployment and intentions. Countering this a commander must position his fleets to exploit holes, extended supply lines, communication nexuses. Isolate and exterminate all while trying to avoid the same. On the scale Wilkens practiced it took on the air of a massive chess match only with pieces spread far apart and often hidden from the enemy. Unfortunately for the inhabitants of this new galaxy they were in the position he hoped to place the Vong in. Whatever defense they could put up would not be a gamble with a chance of success but rather a slaughter.

“You did your best,” Wilkens mumbled. His wife’s last words hit him deeply because right now, once again, his best wasn’t enough. He simply couldn’t save those he was sworn to protect and no matter how hard and how long he pushed himself it would never be consolation for the lives lost.

As Wilkens sat staring out the window of the Peacekeeper he saw one other ship come into view. The Swift, a test bed for speed and power tests that had been hauled along to give the Fleet as much firepower as they could manage. As she hove into view a plan began to form in Wilkens’ mind. Darin, yes, foolish, certainly, something he had to do anyway. He might not be able to save everyone but he sure as hell wasn’t done trying and pushing.

Turning slowly Wilkens activated the comm panel on his desk. “Signal the fleet, I need the best two damn Marine regiments they can piece together. Then tell somebody to signal the Imperials, I won’t be here when they arrive.”

“Understood sir,” came the comm officer’s voice. “I have two regiments on standby right now sir, the Gerund is in repairs and her complement is on station. As to the other matter what should I tell the Remnant about your plans sir?”

“I’m off to save a galaxy son,” Wilkens spoke quietly. “Force help those of us who journey for we risk all to buy you the time.”

“Sir?”

“Give the Admiral that quote exactly,” Wilkens intoned. “I know enough about him and he’ll figure this one out just fine.”

Chapter Nine

Bastion. The name held all the meaning though it was certainly not a planet. No, it was a world. A distinction often lost on those who first heard it, the name served for the last two generations to distinguish the Imperial Capital from its many subject worlds. This resting place for the center of government had found itself on a half dozen worlds in the previous century not even counting the years where the Empire was ruled from Byss. Now it had found an almost permanent home, a world once devoid of life brought back with the dedication of Imperial citizens and the labor of their bodies. Now she served as a gleaming symbol of the new Empire, though it was still referred to as the Imperial Remnant by others her member worlds called her this name.

Much changes and much stays the same. That was the last speech Grand Admiral Paelleon had given, and now it came back to haunt his successor as Commander in Chief. Fleet Admiral Tewic Hunter had earned every red box on his breast but now he was faced with a decision that all the red squares of authority would not solve. Even after almost fifty years of peace, and sometime cooperation, the Empire and the Republic were still enemies in the minds of some. Hunter’s problem was that those very same people were in positions of authority over the new Empire. At least six Moffs and one or two Grand Moffs were anti-Republic and while they lacked a majority it would not take much to alter that fact.

A sigh slowly escaped his lips as he tried to scrounge votes and commitments from the neutral moffs to support his plan to bring a force to the aid of the Republic’s Vong hunt. He had promised the fleet’s commander personally and he intended to keep his word. What Hunter failed to take into account was the resistance he encountered trying to wrangle ships free. As commander in chief he could have easily sent the Fleet out to support Wilkens but he knew that it would cause his ousting within a month. No, he needed to convince these politicians that there was a cause that must be supported.

“The negotiations go well I trust?” there was no warning for Hunter as Moff Kline slowly stepped into his office.

“Force be damned, I told you not to come in like that,” Hunter yelled. “I am trying to finish securing Moff Vizini’s vote and now I almost wet myself. I truly hope this pattern doesn’t continue or else I will end up with a heart attack by the time I am fifty.” Turning slowly Hunter switched his desktop communicator back on. “Moff Vizini I hope this is not an imposition but Moff Kline has just stepped in and we have matters to discuss.”

“Not at all Hunter,” the voice replied. “A firebrand like yourself need not pretend that his yelling discourages those with whom he talks, next time try to flip the cutoff and not the volume switch lad.” The voice continued as the Admiral’s face turned shades. “I imagine you are quite embarrassed, fear not you have already done your job with the call. I look forward to seeing you at the next council meeting. The same to you Kline.”

With that a burst of static temporarily filled the room as the transmission was cut and the internal circuits of the voice box responded a little slowly. Hunter’s face was slightly reddened much to the amusement of his guest though the news both had received helped both men to recover. Setting themselves as opposites across the Admiral’s desk they began what historians would later call “a bold enterprise with partial hopes of succeeding and dismal dishonor as the expected result by many.”

“ Well at least we won’t appear to be doing this without authorization now,” was Kline’s opening remark. He was a man who worked into the meat slowly and this unexpected early thrust surprised the man opposite him.

“Indeed,” Hunter replied. “Of course some will say that the dead need to stay that way but we need a commander that can handle an Executor and he was the only one I could think of.”

“ I wasn’t specifically referring to that part of the plan,” the Moff returned. “It will seem a little better since a qualified commander is part of your proposal but I was referring to the overall operation. Irregardless of the cost we have accrued in constructing two more of these behemoths I feel that building them just to send them off to help another was the farthest thing from most of the Moffs’ minds when you first offered up this idea.”

“It is a worthy cause Kline,” Hunter gave quietly. “If we have the resources to help then we must.

“But...”

“There is no ‘but” Sedric,” Hunter spoke, growing louder and more passionate. “Even when we first started helping the Republic fight the Vong we did it out of selfishness. It is an attitude that once brought the Empire down and I need to combat it on as many fronts as possible. The issue at hand for these Moffs is not so much a political one as a moral one. They fail to see the moral imperative because they have grown up in a culture almost devoid of self-sacrificing individuals.”

“ We teach it to our youngsters, but somewhere along the line we ourselves have forgotten those simple school age commandments as being kind to others and helping those in need. I lay awake fearing that I am somehow being corrupted by this office and the vicinity it places me in with men who have lived their lives based on lies and deceit.”

In the process of delivering his rant the Admiral had slowly risen to his feet and began to pace behind the desk. It was a curious sight to watch the lean figure in uniform stalk like a caged animal. He prowled the acreage behind the desk as if searching for prey that might escape his message. It took passion to rise this quickly and Hunter was displaying all of his. No person encountering the scene could help but be impressed with his conviction. The emotion was almost a palpable force in the enclosed space, impacting those around with its full force.

As well it should for Fleet Admiral Hunter was the passionate sort. It was the one quality that had propelled him to command of the New Empire’s naval forces. It was hardly the political post it once was for his nomination was a bow to his popularity amongst the naval crews, a love earned with a patient fatherly series of commands over most of the regions still governed by the Empire. He was the sort of man who would defend a common sailor before any superior almost at the cost of a black mark. He had once nearly garnered a conviction for insubordination after defending one particular petty officer accused of sexually assaulting a planetary governor’s daughter.

That case was dropped for reasons of lack of evidence against the Admiral, then Captain, but it was widely acknowledged that the fear of mass barratry and mutiny among Imperial ships would be the result of a conviction. That he had stood quiet and not even accepted an official rebuke for his actions made him a hero to the common sailors he served with, he was their protector and teacher. This reputation had given him huge clout within the navy and slowly political power as well with retiring sailors spreading the word on this man, the rising star in the Imperial Fleet. Those politicians who selected the Admiral of the Fleet often wanted a man whom they could manipulate but when Hunter became eligible for the job they couldn’t turn him down, not without risking their own office.

So now he was here, preaching the very morals that had driven him to high office to one of the few men genuinely interested in his words. Some might call it preaching to the choir but in his case it was a necessary release to remind his visitor of the world from which hunter came and the rules by which he lived.

“Hardly the kindest thing to say to your friend Tewic,” the Moff finally replied. “But I recognize your point. We must finally prove to ourselves that we are not mindless rulers who devour resource, buy votes, placate the populace, and generally rule those we are placed over. The time is long since upon us for the new Empire to prove that it has men. Real men who stand up against evil and strike down that which is wrong.”

“Glad to see you agree,” Hunter sighed as he slid back into the lounge chair behind his workstation. “Now what I need is your access code and your person, we have an Admiral to wake up.”

Basement Level B31, Sector A5, Bastion

The room was eerie even to those who worked here. Exposed pipes vented steam, machines provided a background hum, but above all else was the creepy blue lighting that pervaded the chamber. This was Memory Tango. While many vaults had the memory prefix those were filled with documents, reports, and the various laws promulgated by the Imperial Senate. This memory vault stored a material of an entirely different nature, human beings. Sometime during the clone Emperor’s short reign a few officers had chosen to have themselves frozen and preserved on Bastion so they would not be forced to again serve a man whom they felt lost all moral imperative to rule many years before. Now they sat as relics of a bygone era, beings who would forever be remembered as Imperials of the last age. Yet these people were all here because they had scruples, something that Hunter needed. A few also possessed skills that none today held, simply because they were the last captains of the Empire’s mighty battleships.

Sidling up to the duo of one Moff and one Fleet Admiral was a vault technician. He was a harried Ensign who was charged with keeping these men frozen in time until they were to be released as per their departing orders, encoded in each carbonite slab.

“Sirs,” he began. “This particular specimen stated that he should only be released if “the my family line ceases or otherwise be in jeopardy of being extinguished” Also, according to record his family is still alive. Releasing him now would violate sections 31B and 144A of the Senate resolution 01-52.”

“Thank you for the politics lesson Ensign,” Kline purred, emphasizing the man’s title, to the now sweating officer. “You might note the other cause for reawakening could be stated to exist and regardless you now have present two duly elected or appointed officer of the Senior Ruling Council which allows us to take whatever action we deem necessary as provided for under Article…”

As the governor continued his speech to the trembling youngster his companion was busy punching codes into the computer. The code sequences were memorized long ago and Hunter’s access privilege turned out to be sufficient to start the thawing. At this point the discussion between the technician and the Moff became moot as the still blind form of one Imperial Admiral bounced off the grating between the three witnesses.

“Admiral Piett, welcome back. “ Hunter smiled.

Chapter Ten

“Captain’s Log… damn it, I’ve always hated that introduction. It sounds pretentious and that is far from what I am feeling right now. They tell us that the Captain’s Log is often used to help figure ought what was going right when everything went wrong. In my case I expect everything to go wrong but that won’t help us. Nothing could be better right now but that is the trick. The Vigilant and the Enterprise are still almost four hours away from the last known position of our mysterious alien vessel. I doubt they will still be there but that worries me even more.”

“As officers we are told to hide our emotions behind a façade of the calm and cool, collected professional but even those of us long practiced in this specialized form of deception are having trouble, except for Taldon. Still, when I look him in the eyes I can see that tiny little nub of fear that gnaws at his spine every time we exchange long-range sensor data with the big E. It will be a waiting game, of that I am sure. We must sit like content prey tied outside the monster’s lair in an attempt to coax it forth hoping against hope that it will be the lion that is willing to deal with the mouse. For now we shall patrol and wait, hunting in the night.”

I should add an ‘amen.’ In grim situations such as the one he now faced Winger tended towards the poetic sound bytes that he often detested in speeches by the brass and certain well-known captains, though Picard would never hear anything from him about it. Captain’s logs were not designed as sermons towards the survivors but as a record of all that was done and here he was writing his crew’s eulogy even before they left warp. The time for that was fast approaching and the bridge was his destination after a quick splash of water across his face.

“Time to dropout?” No nonsense questions will often get people thinking and moving faster. Winger lived the combat dictums he had learned so long ago by the letter in the here and now.

“Fifteen minutes, sir,” Lara responded smoothly. “You almost missed it, reminiscing with your jalopy again sir?”

“It is a 1969 Chavelle I will have you know,” Winger spouted indignantly. “She also needs more attention and gets more attention than my ungrateful bridge crew.”

“Sir might I remind you that projecting a female image onto an inanimate object while simultaneously...”

Taldon never finished his analysis. “Yes, I know that it means I am sexually frustrated and need an escape from the boring routine that is my existence so I dream of sex with a car. Am I close Taldon?”

“Remotely sir,” Taldon was unfazed in his rejoinder. “Though some parts of your counter analysis lack reasonable logical connections to the available data points.”

It was at this point that Ensign Hortel managed to claim everyone’s attention back to the task at hand, their mysterious new friends. “Sir, Warp drop out in five minutes, the Enterprise wants us out a little late so that we can do the advance scouting and let the size differential play some part in helping them achieve some leverage.”

“Stupid idea,” Winger mumbled.

“Sir?” Hortel asked quietly.

“Ensign what you heard technically was a cough,” Winger responded. “But since you are all my people you deserve to know that this stratagem violates every principal of strength in numbers as well as advantages in combat maneuverability in a two ship formation versus two widely spread vessels. It is also, unfortunately, well within Picard’s self image of the dashing captain to the rescue but you never heard that from me.”

“Understood sir,” came the chorus of responses. At least the crew likes me, and perhaps they will enjoy my company all the way to their early graves.

“Disengage warp drive in fifteen Captain,” Lara called out. “Its show time” was meant for her ears only and in this heightened atmosphere it slid into the background as the rush began.

“Disengage, ensign,” Winger sounded off smartly. “Helm, bring us along our original patrol vector. Comm., I want a secured link setup on four frequencies to Starbase 48, they will need a complete record of everything.”

“Understood sir,” Lara responded, now was not the time for frivolities even if nothing was about.

“Sensors,” Winger continued. “I need a quick scan out to one light minute. After that I want active sweeps out to maximum range alternating with closer sweeps again out to only one light minute.”

“Copied sir,” came from Taldon. “Initial pulse check confirms we are clear for everything except the Enterprise within your bubble, sir.”

“Now the waiting begins,” Winger intoned. “Stand down from Red Alert but stay at Yellow. Engineering, report in.”

“Here sir,” Quelin replied quickly. “We are up to speed and I am already starting us on a rotation plan that should keep us at near Red Alert status for the next three or four days before I start really running my people ragged.”

“I hear you chief,” Winger liked what he heard and it was a bright spot on a gloomy future. “Implement your plan and don’t leave those joeys unattended if you can, I’ll send Lara along when you get tired.”

“Sir?”

“Bridge out,” turning Winger moved to address the last statement. “Lara you are off this rotation. I need at least some of my lead team ready if the shit hits the fan later today.”

She was two feet from the waiting turbolift when all the dilemmas in her head between following orders and staying at the station she should be manning were resolved. It was, unsurprisingly, Taldon’s flat voice that let them know what was coming.

“Contact bearing 35 by 19 at Mark 170,” it was tactical officer speak but everyone around knew what it meant, they were done with the search almost before beginning it.

Gliding in through the depths was a Yuzhon Vong cruiser. The Vigilant, of course, had no idea who they were but the ship was still the same design as the one encountered days before. She was certainly not the same vessel but her shape was unmistakable. A lump of blackness slowly approaching as if a silhouette had come to life. Here and now would fate decide the destiny of the Milky Way and the ship that was supposed to serve that role was fast approaching from the rear.

The Enterprise had the most well known reputation for diplomatic encounters without a full specialist team. All her skills would prove useless, she quickly discovered, as the Vong do not use Federation technology, or technology at all for that matter. Thus, without even knowing it, the big E failed her entire civilization with a simple message: “Hello this is Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation starship Enterprise. We come peacefully.”

“Sir, the E is sending the welcome package,” Lara called out. “They don’t seem to be responding at all. No sign of comm. relays or any reception dishes, for all we know they still use laser based carrier signaling.”

“One of a thousand hypothesis the scientist will enjoy discussing should we fail Commander,” Winger replied evenly, trying as hard as physically possible not to let his crew see him sweat this one.

Fail they did, and spectacularly so as the cruiser suddenly spat molten orange plasma from an unseen location. Hurtling at several hundred times the speed of sound as we know it the flaming ball bracketed the Sovereign class starship, her shields making a harsh blue-green glow before collapsing. Even as Winger shouted for his crew to get moving the Enterprise began her own motions. Firing off torpedoes and phasers she raked fire across the enemy starship’s bow. Appearing suddenly voids began sucking in the approaching beams though lucky strikes still managed to strike the cruiser. However with her shields down the big E couldn’t remain lucky forever.

Just as she cleared range for the Vigilant to move in and, hopefully, attack weak spots were the Enterprise had already fired, the cruiser spat a new volley of orange molten destruction. The E tried dodging but the volume worked against them and balls of plasma and rock exploded all around her. Joints failed along with structural integrity fields and decompression doors. All across the ventral surface of the saucer hallways and conduits were left exposed to vacuum. Explosions ripped across the whole of the starship even as she fought back vainly with all her operational phasers.

“Sweet Christ,” Winger spat, almost choking at the sheer firepower and intensity displayed. “Weapons, give me a spread of torps up and down their spine. Helm get us moving, use evasion pattern Winger Alpha Nine.”

Flaring briefly the Vigilant rushed into the fight blazing torpedoes out of her forward launchers. Silent to all they sped through the darkness slowly picking up speed before disappearing. They were sucked into one of the new singularities the dovin basil’s threw up to protect their mother ship. All the destructive energies swallowed whole before even reaching the hull.

“Negative for impacts or explosions sir,” Taldon responded. “Phaser fire is only partially effective, we can’t get past all of these singularities sir, they are eating up all our firepower.”

Winger weighed his decision even as the Enterprise began limping for cover in a two-ship formation. The Vigilant spewing phaser fire all along their path to try and keep the now maneuvering cruiser out of the big E’s flight path.

“Sir she’s coming along broadside to broadside with us,” Hortel shouted even as he strove to keep the ship from succumbing to the plasma bursts that kept pouring from the coral cruiser. Even as he spoke fire was redirected towards them with the plasma no longer targeting the Enterprise but rather the Vigilant.

The whole ship rocked as explosions surrounded them. Despite constant phaser fire they weren’t making headway and the attack against them was actually increasing in intensity, something even a diving old Miranda couldn’t survive for long. With that realization the decision was made in Winger’s head.

“Helm set course for Starbase 48, inform the Enterprise to warp out now,” Winger shouted out trying to move the ship faster and harder by force of will. “Weapons another spread of torps, set them for timed fuse and make sure they go off about two-hundred meters out just before we hit the gas.”

“Understood,” cool and calm was Lara’s surprising rejoinder. “Torpedoes away and ticking sir, make the jump on my mark.”

“Enterprise reports they are ready to jump on our mark sir.”

“Step on it,” Winger sighed as the scene drew to a close.

Flaring brilliantly behind the two vessels, four photon torpedoes suddenly lit their fuses spewing forth the destructive energies contained within. Seizing the moment of distraction the Federation ships fled to the safety of warp leaving the cruiser to lick the few wounds it had sustained in nearly crippling Starfleet’s flagship.

“This is gonna get worse before it gets better,” Winger muttered to no one. The ever-present Lara couldn’t help but agree, but only in her mind, things were bad enough without more of her brand of sarcasm.

Chapter Eleven

“The situation we face requires your particular skill set Admiral,” Hunter smiled gracefully. “While it would be hard to determine if all the other conditions for your reanimation were met the council of Moffs and I both agreed that we needed someone of your caliber for this upcoming operation.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I could know more I could tell you whether or not you can expect my help,” Piett replied. “I had myself frozen in carbonite after the collapse for a variety of reasons and from the tone I hear in your voice it seems little has changed in the intervening years.”

“Decades actually Admiral,” Moff Kline purred. “The situation at hand, however, is far from what you think it to be. The Empire is no longer the oppressive dictatorship it once became. In a sense we have returned to the truest roots of the New Order, stability. No longer does this goal require subjugation or bias but rather strong, but subservient, public governance. The Admiral here wields very little true power and yet he is the Chief of Naval operations for what remain of our fleet Admiral Piett.”

“Those remnants we do possess and have rebuilt is what brings us to you.” Hunter interceded.

“So what exactly is the task that requires my skill set so desperately that you defy Imperial law in this ‘new era of governance,’” Piett queried as the cable left the depths of Memory Tango on an express turbolift back to the Admiral’s wing. “I believe there are many other Admirals and officers with many more years of command, especially in the more recent era.”

“I think you ought to read this Admiral,” Hunter offered a data pad to the slowly awakening figure from his country’s past.

With his eyesight returning quickly, thanks to superior Imperial technology some would say, Piett began perusing the contents of the pad for relevant information. Lacking any key idea of what to look for he just began with the historical summary. The period during which he had been frozen stretched nearly fifty years now and most of the once legendary figures of his day and age were dead, save Skywalker, Jade, and his sister who remained as venerable masters on Yavin IV. In the years after Byss the galaxy had seen more terror and death during several failed attempts by various warlords to unite the Imperial Remnant to fight the Republic including one clever scheme that involved a fake Grand Admiral and some judicious use of deep cover intelligence agents. Now there was peace though the bloody war with the Vong hardly proved it.

Looking over the multi-page summary of the invasion, as most were prone to call it though slaughter applied more properly during the early years. The Republic, with occasional help from the Chiss, the Empire, and the Hapan Consortium, had finally succeeded in driving the Yuzhon Vong from the galaxy about ten years before. Now it appeared that the Republic along with the Remnant was going on the offensive in an attempt to drive the Vong back into the abyss. The campaign would be long and rough but satisfying to those missing loved ones after the Vong desecration.

“Interesting information but I fail to see how this applies to me,” Piett asked quickly. He was curious now as there was little to indicate exactly what the Admiral and the Moff were planning.

“The reason is very simple Admiral,” Hunter smiled. “It is because of the Triumph.”

“The Triumph?” Piett asked with a face betraying his confusion.

“She is the first in the Remnant’s newest line of super star destroyers Admiral,” Kline offered. “You are the only person close to living with any experience in commanding anything of that size and you have a rather impressive record with the Executor class. Most Admiral’s managed to lose theirs much more quickly.”

“The laughing is not amusing,” Piett seethed silently and barely remain composed.

‘I mean it only as black humor Piett,” the Moff responded casually. “Your record of victories and efficiency on the Executor class is actually unparalleled especially amongst those still living. Though I do apologize, it must have been hard.”

“Hard doesn’t begin to describe it Moff Kline, they were all my men,” Piett mumbled.

It was nearly impossible for any man to understand unless they had been on that bridge before. There was majesty unequaled even by the later Eclipse class to stand above that great dagger shape in the sky. Memories began to flood back in to Piett as he relived once more the time he first saw her. The Executor was built behind a shroud of men and material that made her almost invisible to traditional recon assets. Passing through this barrier Piett laid eyes on the ship that was to be his. A long career in the Imperial Fleet was finally paying off in the best way possible for one man. He was the captain of this durasteel beast floating above Fondor soon to be the Admiral with his flag aboard.

There were over a quarter million soldiers and sailors aboard the Executor and every single one of them answered to him. Piett was the stern father watching from the distance whom they all sought to impress. In return he was guardian and provider to them all. Before the monsters of inefficiency that were Admirals, headquarters personnel, and soon enough Vader, Piett stood out for his men. Years later he realized that it was only the trust he had managed to inspire in Vader that kept his sailors alive after Bespin and Anoat. In both cases sailors had failed and some had perished including his friend Needa amongst others. Yet somehow the Executor was free of major incidents after Ozzel’s death because Piett always stood as the representative of his men and Vader seemed to always overlook Piett’s failures that would have cost others their lives.

Then he let them down. Endor turned to a fiasco the second the Rebel Fleet had moved into point blank range. Suddenly the long armed Heavy Turbolaser barrage that he had been directing lacked effective targets. By the Emperor’s own order he stood his ground and slugged it out with the Rebels. However someone had forgotten to tell the Death Star gunners to cease fire and the explosions amidst the mass of ships had slowly but surely drained the Executor of most of her shields. In a stroke of pure bad luck a rouge Rebel pilot lost control of his A-Wing and managed to evade the defensive fire pattern thrown in front of him. The instant was burned into Piett’s conscious. The lone pilot, his face contorted but determined rushing straight for him as he dove into the bridge pit. Instantly the entire command area vented to space with white-hot plasma burning over the pit from the destroyed fighter. Through sheer luck Piett managed to land in the bridge pit turbolift. With bare seconds left on his ship the turbolift sped immediately to the evacuation deck where Piett and three others managed to board and depart the Executor in the last seconds before she was consumed.

The years afterwards before his confinement had been consumed by a burning hatred for the Alliance that was slowly replaced by psychological trauma at the death of so many who had served him so loyally. They were dead and there was nothing he could do to change the past. The sheer weight of it hung like a weight from his neck and he had lived his next few years in relative obscurity in the rapidly shrinking Imperial territory, finally retreating to the Deep Core. There he had slowly tried to piece a new life together, before he was recalled to service.

The clone Emperor knew those who lived in the area of the Deep Core and he knew which ones had useful skills. As such Piett had once again become an Admiral but as the clone of his former chief of state began to slowly decay into unsightly madness Piett grew disenchanted with the errant disregard for life that his government held. As such he had silently faked his death and become one of a handful of disenchanted officers to seal themselves away rather than face the Emperor’s wrath or continue to serve useless ends.

Now history offered him another chance at command with another crew of willing recruits most of whom had bleed during the invasion and were ready for action. They knew the horrors of war and stood prepared to enter death’s jaws to save others. This was the Fleet that Piett joined in his youth and he owed this new generation the best he could offer.

“Where is my shuttle gentlemen,” Piett finally sighed.

“Right this way,” Kline smiled. “We were hoping you would help.”

Chapter Twelve

There are those who say all time is an instant. Military planners long knew these people were smoking copious loads of some herb or another. Strategy for moving massive amounts of troops and ships dictated time schedules of days and months; this didn’t help anyone trying to go intergalactic. The Republic certainly had some fast ships but Wilkens needed one that was even faster now. Long range scans and unmanned probes had determined the Vong had entered the new galaxy with an expeditionary force and were already moving forward in the face of almost minimal resistance. In fact there was no evidence of any contact between the Vong and local forces, if there were any that had been recorded as yet.

This was perplexing if not necessarily bad for the Republic team aboard the Swift. The perplexing part was that they all knew there was intelligent life there, after all the Jedi had said so. Yet there was no evidence of the Vong encountering any of them. The upside was that it should reduce the number of innocents at risk when the battle was joined while it might also mean that the natives lacked the ability to defend themselves and the Vong were in the midst of a squash campaign against a seriously inferior foe.

The biggest problem now, as before, was timing. For all her speed after almost a thousand years of working with hyperdrive they still hadn’t been able to get more than 100 million c out of her frame. While this made the trip a matter of one month from the Explorer, compared with nearly three times that for the fleet as a whole, they would still not arrive in this new galaxy until at least two months after the initial Vong entrance. In that time their enemy would be virtually un-harassed with the chance to build up forces and secure more bases. The prospect of unchecked Vong dominance had lead Wilkens to take the Swift on her high-speed mission to try and rally whatever forces were available in this new galaxy. Now he was almost there but he needed to find out where the major population centers and fleet units were located before he could do anything.

“I only hope we aren’t too late,” Wilkens muttered as the latest probe report came in.

Nearly eight million light years away there was another Admiral with just as interesting a situation. Persons in his position often do not like surprises simply because they most often are harbingers of death and destruction yet to come for the men under his command. Fortunately this was not the case here.

“You mean that Admiral Wilkens left three weeks ago without the fleet?” Piett gasped at the hologram in front of him. “And he left orders for me to take the fleet in?”

“Yes on both counts Admiral,” through the static of the transmission General Dulsier enjoyed watching the astonished look on Piett’s face. “It seems as if the dead have come back to lead us against the undead hordes.”

“A man with a philosophical bend I see,” Piett replied gathering his composure. “I will need a full briefing upon my arrival.”

“Understood,” Dulsier called out quickly. “Welcome aboard Admiral Piett.”

A mere hour later, seated within the confines of the outpost Explorer, Piett gazed over the fitness and status reports for the various units under his command. Despite never having met this man, Wilkens was nearly forty years his junior, Piett had respect for the efficiency the man had displayed in organizing this strike. The history folders also provided ample psychological reasons for Wilkens to have gone gung-ho with one cruiser and little support in an attempt to sabotage the Vong advance.

For Piett it was a chance at a refreshing lifestyle much like the one he always wanted for his crews but could not secure under the watchful gaze of Lord Vader. It had taken all the steel in his body to stand up to the Dark Lord from time to time but now he could do things his way thanks to this brash young commander.

“How long until you can finish retrofitting the Triumph’s taskforce with the hyperdrive sustainers?” Piett finally asked.

“They’ll be finished in another two days sir,” was Senior Technician Gerdu’s response. “We had a little trouble with the Executor II itself but otherwise things are on schedule.”

“Good because I intend to launch once the refit is done,” Piett replied. “We are getting some time supplied to us by the Swift but if the Vong are anywhere near as ruthless as you all know them to be it won’t be enough by a long shot. Given that let’s get our crews up and prepped, we have a galaxy to save ladies and gentlemen.

Back in the Milky Way things were still declining in the way they always did. Systems were being repaired at an ever so tedious pace aboard the Vigilant but not nearly quick enough for Winger. He was twelve hours out from Starbase 48 and with the Enterprise this damaged he was the only ship with communications still available but he was unable to raise the station due to repeated system failures and brown outs with excessively low warp core output and energy waste system wide. Once again the wonders of Starfleet repair and rebuild technology were being strained to their limit however it just wasn’t going to work as fast as it needed to.

Winger needed communications now if only to warn Starfleet of just how dangerous the threat was. Before he had rushed back with the chance to lead a first contact mission and now he was announcing an undeclared war. Which requires greater speed? Ask anyone who has been the subject of a sneak attack and they will tell you, they wanted to know it was coming.

The Federation was at an all time low for ships and resources due to the Dominion War and now this threat from nowhere had suddenly appeared in the middle of nowhere threatening everything Starfleet had fought and died to preserve mere months before. For now Winger could only hope and pray that he would be able to alert his nation to the peril they were in before some fool at HQ stared a demobilization that would cripple the Federation in advance of this new attack. Time was precious and with so little to spend everything now depended upon the comm. system.

“We have subspace again sir,” Lara yelled out excitedly. “Communication established.”

“This is Captain Winger aboard the Vigilant…” he had just started when:

“This is CNN”

“What the hell?” Winger shouted.

“Sorry sir the comm. system dug into the resources dedicated to the holodeck program storage sectors and accidentally linked our subspace comm. unit in with an old 20th century program sir,” Lara responded sheepishly.

“Very well fix the problem and somebody get me my Tylenol,” Winger sighed returning to his chair. More time gone and destruction ever closer all thanks to James Earl Jones’s reassuring baritone.

Chapter Thirteen

Waiting is the hardest part but at least the waiting would be over soon. Or so Winger hoped. He was a man accustomed to action, the very thing that had drawn him to Starfleet in the first place. Somehow, along the way, he had been shuffled into a dead end job with no hope of advancement and no real goal in life. It was a sorry gent indeed that sat upon the Captain’s chair on this particular ship.

But these were happy times, the Recruiter had said. Join up and see the galaxy the admissions officer had said. Here’s the Vigilant and good luck getting Admiral was what Shizumi had said. An interesting chain of events connected to one another in Winger’s mind. Now the man that the Admirals didn’t want was bearing news they didn’t want and which some might dismiss were It not for the fact that Picard would back him up on this one.

History has a sense of irony, that the bearer of bad news had already been shot was the one this story would tell. Winger had not been popular even as a young Ensign serving aboard the famous Enterprise amidst the “greats” of Starfleet. He was relegated to midnight shifts, never got shore leave when the Big E visited exotic locales. Hell he was one of only three persons left to run the standby crew when the E-D had docked after the incident with the Borg attacking Earth.

He had been a Lieutenant by then and it was the perfect chance for Picard to rid himself of this black sheep, the man with radical ideas like battle simulations in the holodeck and security patrols in the corridors during Red Alerts so as to stop boarders. All common sense but it clashed with the “peaceful” Federation. The Vigilant was his next posting and he hadn’t managed to leave her since then.

With time clicking against him Winger was as frustrated as any commander by the simple expedient of having placed himself in a situation where events were now beyond his control. Minor mistakes of youthful exuberance and a forward looking mind had conspired to both place him in a situation where he might save the Federation only to rob him of any opportunity through the same means. After all it was only his assignment to this lowly sector that had discovered the invaders and it was only his ramshackle ship that prevented him from communicating the danger back to Starfleet. As things stood he was in danger of losing not just his entire ship but also his beloved nation.

If these invaders could casually shrug off massed torpedo fire while simultaneously damaging and reducing to a near cripple Starfleet’s top of the line war vessel then all might be lost if nothing was done quickly. Here there seemed to be an advantage as Winger was fast outpacing anything the cruiser behind him was doing so he might stand a chance of reaching Starbase 48 before things got out of hand. That of course assumed things weren’t already out of hand.

“Sir,” Taldon’s voice suddenly blazed out from the nearest comm. panel. “We have tentative contact with Starbase 48; they are requesting a status update.”

“Put it through to my Ready Room.” Winger replied crisply. Steeling himself for the grisly news he had to deliver he switched Admiral Natsuka onto the viewscreen at his desk.

“Winger I need a full update,” Natsuka began quickly. “The Enterprise hasn’t been able to contact us and we’ve noticed your approach for a small time on the subspace scanners. What the hell is going on out there?”

“We’re both damaged Admiral, the alien vessel simply overpowered and slammed us while sustaining virtually no damage itself,” Winger began grimly with his tone becoming grimmer still with his news. “The Enterprise was hit by some form of hyper-charged plasma while we sustained damage from similar weapons but to a lesser degree. We responded to the initial salvo with Torpedoes but the cruiser projected some sort of energy well similar to a singularity that sucked the torpedoes in and disposed of them before they could detonate. At this point we broke contact and headed home after I set four torpedoes to remote detonate in front of the cruiser to confuse its sensors, whatever they may be.”

“How did this happen,” Natsuka gasped.

“I imagine the aliens energized the plasma and shot it at us,” Winger replied deadpanned.

“That’ll be enough Winger,” Natsuka barked. “I don’t need your insolence. What I need to know was how did the transfer go with the welcome package.”

“Quite simply it didn’t sir. The aliens might have received it but we detected no apparent communication or reception gear though wee do know that they began opening fire shortly after the initial burst transmission on Frequency Alpha-Two-Four-Four.”

“The subspace type twelve,” Natsuka mused offhandedly. “I’ll see what my people can do in the meantime patch things up and be prepared, with Picard to give a full debrief when you return Natsuka out.”

“And so it begins in earnest…”

Winger slowly turned and gazed out the porthole to the stars seemingly flashing by with brilliant color shift. It was a hypnotic sight, the kind that had lured him to space. Now he was left to wonder how long before he would become part of that emptiness.

Chapter Fourteen

There wasn’t much left, at least anything that resembled a functional structure. Bits and pieces of wreckage lined the space around one small planet now slowly consuming itself with massive fires and geological upheaval. Bright meteorites would flare through the sky as bolts, sheet metal, and the various metallic components slowly succumbed to the ever-present pull of gravity. The scene from afar was one of carnage for a survivor and total victory for the aggressor.

Who was who was evident in the nature of the planet below. Even as the forests and grasslands burnt clouds of smoke into the atmosphere forces were already at work to complete the latest conquest. New clouds would appear periodically as computers and electronics in general were burnt in effigy while those who once served these marvels of technology walked as if lost in themselves, tending to fields of new and deadly life forms. These men and women (though some were certainly from asexual species) toiled under a new set of masters who demanded obedience through pain. For now the Yuzhon Vong had captured new ground and the Warriors had once again earned honor in battle and pain, showing once again how these infidel followers of the false god technology were simply not enough to overcome the weight of a true warrior.

Those who had escaped were left to wonder how it had happened and what to do. For them the question on everyone’s mind was “how?” and for those more removed “why?” At the moment these were irrelevant concerns but they plagued the survivors nonetheless. Flying through space at unimaginable speed they sought to put the whole ordeal behind them, a defense mechanism that might blind them to the problem were it not for the latest turn in events.

“Captain I have an unknown vessel bearing 76 by Mark 19,” shouted Lara from her duty station at tactical. “Configuration does not match previously identified hostiles.”

“Any communication from them?” Winger queried the comm. officer, his curiosity piqued. While the last few days had hardly treated him kindly it would still be an interesting entry into his log to show the second alien culture encountered in under a week, in fact it was probably a new Starfleet record.

“Not currently, sir,” Taldon replied. “Though they are broadcasting energy on several frequencies none of them are in the traditional radionic or subspace regions. It is possible we are seeing either engine emissions or some alternative form of communication.”

“Or weapons powering up,” Hart sounded out harshly. “We still don’t know much about these guys and for all we know they use some weird weapon we haven’t seen before.”

“I need options people,” Winger said calmly. “We’ve got first contact protocols but they haven’t been working of late and now we have a new alien vessel completely unlike any we’ve encountered before including our new friends.”

Hortel was quick for this one. “Sir, given that we stand little chance of fighting them if they are indeed hostile I would suggest a near total power down.”

“What!” It was rare to hear Taldon burst out, especially as a Vulcan, but even the most disciplined would have trouble offering up over one hundred and fifty people as a suicide note.

“If you will, sir,” Hortel resumed tentatively pointing to the engineering console. Winger, ever the curious one came over. “We can see that this vessel has distinctly different drive and other emissions compared to our previous encounter. We can also see what appears to be slight scorch marks on the hull.”

“They’ve been in combat,” Hart jumped almost instantly at the thought. “We might be looking at a potential ally.”

“Calm down Hart,” Winger replied sternly. “We don’t know if they were fighting other Federation vessels, the Borg, or perhaps with our recent visitors as opposed to being arrayed against them.”

“Still it would serve as an adequate explanation as to why we have not yet been eliminated,” Taldon interjected having recovered his composure and able to conceal the undoubted mortification he was preparing to simulate as the story was retold umpteen million times. “If they were hostile and allied with the new contacts then we should have expected near instant destruction to prevent us from escaping with the data we have obtained about the tactical and technological aspects of our opponents.”

It was something to digest and Winger sent everyone back to his or her station. Word was out about the crew that another alien had been encountered and contact had not been established. In a matter of minutes the Vigilant went from exhausted to panicked. Crewmen greeted each other in the hallways with apprehensive looks on their faces while the scientific and engineering crews were hard at work to find a non-threatening means of communication.

For Winger this would be a decisive moment. In front of him was perhaps a key ingredient to saving the Federation from a coming invasion, or even just devastating assault with deaths in the billions. Alternatively he could be on the verge of sealing the Federation’s fate by angering yet another unknown, and hostile, alien species. The possibilities were not quite endless but their range and import were tremendous enough for one man to be left with the burden.

“Send out the standard First Contact package,” Winger ordered, composing himself and mustering as much dignity as his weary form would allow. “Set weapons to standby and empty the torpedo tubes. Set shields to minimum and leave the active scanning systems off I want only passive at work right now.”

“Aye sir” came the chorus of replies as the bridge once again lit off on its myriad tasks reporting back as each was completed.

“Shields and weapons report standby status, the tubes are unloaded,” Hart reported crisply, evidently wary of this meek posture.

“Communication and Sensor suites are in passive only mode,” Lieutenant Cassik reported from his post along the rear wall. “The First Contact Package is away”

“We are at dead drift, no maneuver for either ship sir” Hortel added for everyone’s benefit.

“Sir, we are ready for First Contact,” Taldon summarized, as was his job. “I read the status board as clear; we are condition 1 and ready to respond.”

Time slowed to an apparent eternity as the Vigilant sat waiting for this strange new visitor to reply. The air almost crackled with tension as those few crewmen on the bridge moved about their workstations: monitoring frequencies and adjusting power usage. All eyes were trained on the image of the silver-gray shape on the screen. Lights would flicker across the shape with the bridge crew twitching eagerly with each change and every person praying to whatever gods they believed in that they had found a peaceful ally and not a belligerent foe.

“They’re hailing us on subspace, laser-comm., and RF,” Cassik suddenly shouted. “Decoding their transmission now.”

“Hurry it up and get it on screen,” Winger ordered, the tension was getting to him and he knew that was a bad sign.

“Aye sir. Decoding is…finished. Adapting the viewing angle and adjusting for the data stream…now. We have it sir,” Cassik replied joyfully.” Putting it on screen now.”

“Greetings alien vessel this is the New Republic cruiser Swift. It would appear you are damaged, can we offer any assistance? Please reply on any of the offered frequencies. Wilkens out.”

It was like deflating a balloon that was just too full. The entire bridge crew exhaled as one letting out their pent up anxiety in one forceful blowback of air. Strangely it was the communications officer, Cassik, who broke the reverie of relief sweeping through the ranks of men and women present. “How do we respond sir?”

“We tell them we are happy to have found a friendly face at last,” Winger replied thanking God, he was still a believer, that his worst nightmare was slowly ending and an end was in sight. He knew that the worst had to be over and this new friendly face HAD to mean things would get better soon. He had no idea how wrong he was.

Chapter 15

Flying a shuttlecraft is a demanding art and Lara Von Hart was like a master six feet deep in her preferred medium when behind the controls of one. She was joined by a very anxious bridge crew, eager to see just who their newest friends or associates were. With their nervous faces, excepting Taldon, watching she ran through the pre-flight checklist.

“Does anyone have a reason why they asked specifically for a shuttle docking,” Hortel asked puzzling over that datum in his own head. “Its slower and only marginally safer than transporting but they insisted upon it.”

“Cultural reasons?” Winger proposed. “We know nothing about them and what forms the basis for their operating philosophy.”

“It might also be a tactical consideration, sir.” Taldon added.

“So you think they consider us hostile,” Hortel asked suddenly sweating even more than usual. “We’re here stranded with the only information that might give Starfleet a chance to organize against this new threat and they might just be gathering us up quietly to leave no debris.”

“Calm yourself ensign,” Winger ordered noticing that the strained discussion would only have adverse effects on their pilot.

Taldon barely noticed his captain’s words and merely spoke to his panicked subordinate. “It is possible but highly unlikely Ensign. If they wished to destroy us and keep the remains hidden they would have locked tractor beams on us before destruction. No I think this is more likely caution based on long and hard experience, their action are too professional and organized to be otherwise.”

“Why do you say that?” Cassik asked suddenly.

Lara looked up from her controls just long enough to take that one, “Look at our escort.”

That statement was enough to get the command crew packed in the main area to look at the few viewports scattered around the shuttle’s hull. Looking outward they saw small vessels, no greater than a dozen or so meters in length, flying precision formations around them with two in an obvious high guard position above and off both sides of the Federation craft.

“Obviously they are a well disciplined force that knows how to protect themselves,” Taldon continued. “They have placed themselves in a position between us and their command ship while other fighters are always staying in firing lines. Also you can see the turrets of some small weapons following our path.”

“Sweet cripes,” Lara breathed as she finally came up into the main hanger area. Arrayed before them was a large landing pad with platoons of soldiers in precision formations lining an obvious central walkway. Using repulsorlifts she set the shuttle down so its boarding ramp would align to the artificial runway though not as perfectly as the assembled troops had created that runway.

“Who goes first,” Cassik asked?

“Old traditions die hard,” Winger said. “I’ll be first out.”

“Sir,” Taldon said, stopping his Captain mid-stride. “Older naval customs in Earth history usually indicate that junior officers exit first, so as to prepare the way for the senior officer. I feel that might be more appropriate here.”

“Very well then,” Winger said simultaneously pointing towards Hortel, motioning him out of his seat and onto the ramp.

Slowly the crew descended, as Lara shut systems down. They stood easily a hundred yards from the nearest bulkhead and the troops around them had not yet responded. Not even the man, at least he appeared human, in charge of the formation. This changed dramatically, as scripted; though the Federation crew had no idea what the script was for this encounter.

“ATTENTION ON DECK, COMMANDING OFFICER, FLEET ADMIRAL WILKENS ON DECK.” a burly man near the formation commander shouted. With this the assembled throng came to attention, their dark grey boots creating a resounding thump against each other that echoed through the hanger.

The Federation crew was shocked into silence as the display snapped their mind and bodies to their own form of attention, sloppy compared to the troops but a position that is pavlonian to any trained officer. The shock still coursing through their bodies was evidently the desired result of the exercise, for the middle-aged man at the far end of the bay was grinning to a small degree while he made his way forward, as though humored by the sudden stiffness in the Federation officers.

It was around the halfway juncture of his journey up the lines that Winger realized that, as the man being greeted, he might not be expected to stand at the same position of attention. He began relaxing when Taldon whispered to him.

“Sir,” The Vulcan’s voice barely audible over the approaching Admiral’s boots on the deck. “It is customary for you to maintain protocol at all times in a First contact situation. Staying at attention and rendering a salute to the Admiral would be the correct response here."

"I know my job *thank you* Mr. Taldon," Winger hurriedly whispered back, his body had stopped relaxing though and returned to attention.

It was at this moment that their new host stepped in front of Captain Winger. Lacking any other guide Winger did as Taldon had suggested, though it would be a cold day in Hades before he would have admitted such to his Vulcan tactical officer. With a creakiness born of not having done this beyond a few scattered and long distant formal ceremonies, he rendered a passing example of a hand salute, which the Admiral returned with another bemused grin.

“Welcome aboard Captain,” The Admiral said by way of greeting. “I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced.”

“Hardly sir,” Winger replied trying to open a dialogue with this man, or so he seemed. “Though I find it rather on the unusual side not to be using transporters.”

“Transporters?” The sudden twist of non-recognition that flashed across the admiral’s face was a far cry from his confident demeanor previously. The look quickly vanished. “I suppose you’ll explain to me later. For now please join me at my Flag Conference Room. I feel we have a few matters to discuss.”

“We would be honored, sir,” Winger stated happily enough, now even more intrigued by his host after the brief mention of using transporters so disjointed him.

With this signal the admiral and his entourage turned and began moving back towards the far end of the formation. Quickly moving to follow Winger and his command staff placed themselves slightly behind their hosts, all the better to take in their new environment.

For officers accustomed to small bays and smaller troop formations the hanger was even more impressive now that they could move and gain a scope of its size. The bulkheads on the opposing sides of the bay seemed incredibly far apart compared with the tiny shuttle hangers onboard a ship like the Vigilant. The troops were spotless, wearing pressed uniforms whose creases looked as if they could cut diamonds. Despite having only a few small metal decorations for each soldier the reflected light was still bright and clear like laser beams in the dark. All in all an impressive show, the likes of which the five Federation officers had never seen.

The show ended as they boarded a turbolift, or its equivalent in their host’s inventory. The sliding metal doors finally broke the spell that had been placed upon each of the visitors and they were left to again wonder at the people they were dealing with. People who, at the moment, were doing quite well at keeping silent.

For a seeming eternity the twelve odd passengers rode in silence, the Federation crew standing behind the unresponsive staff of the Admiral. With the tension growing Winger was relieved to feel the lift gradually decelerate. Finally stopping with an almost imperceptible bump the lift deposited them at what was, apparently, the flag bridge. Blinking screens and plot boards dotted various points around the expansive room while harried crewmen moved between stations passing information or checking on a subordinate perhaps.

Maintaining their silence Wilkens' entourage moved towards a small, partially enclosed, conference room dominated by a large tri-dimensional map of sorts. Approaching closer Winger and his crew noted various vector lines, planetary coordinates, varied circles of probability, and a host of symbols that defied this easy form of recognition. This new set piece generated the first conversation since leaving the docking bay.

“Either I am mistaken or they seem to have a rather comprehensive map of our galaxy Captain,” Taldon nearly whispered, though the low tone of voice carried even less power than a true whisper. “Impressive that they could generate positions for as many stars as appear to be represented.”

“If they’re accurate about how many do they have?” with the same hushed voice Winger sought more information.

“Somewhere in the range of 20 billion are plotted with a variance of plus or minus 532 million,” was the response.

“How’d you get that number.”

“Simple geometry Captain. I merely sampled a detailed portion of the map and scaled to the size of the total space represented.”

“If you’re wondering about the map,” Wilkens stated bluntly, much to the surprise of the hushed assembly. “We have approximately 19.76 billion stellar masses positioned though accuracy is hardly ideal for Hyperspace travel.”

“Impressive numbers,” was all Winger could manage.

Taldon was merely diverted to a new topic. “You say hyperspace and imply it is a form of propulsion, might you expand upon this.”

“In good time,” Wilkens good-natured chuckle again entered the conversation. “First please be seated and I’ll have my staff brief you in on us, then perhaps you might do the same.”

“We are at you disposal Admiral.”

Chapter 16

This edge of Romulan space was lightly guarded, after all the Federation and Klingon empires lacked any territorial claims to the nearby regions of space. Unfortunately the focus of planners for decades prior had blinded the highest military authorities to the possibility of invasion from this route by another power. In this case, of course, it wouldn’t have mattered for the enemy possessed the ability to speed past any fixed or mobile defenses that might have been laid at the edge of this wilderness.

As it was the planet designated QR-23411 would be the first hit, for it was a small center for the development and production of new torpedoes. While hardly the epitome of modern research and development it was nonetheless a planet teeming with high technology and if there is anything the Vong despise it is a society so reliant upon technology to achieve its ends.

Commander Kirga Tika was poised to strike a blow against these wretched creatures for the glory of his family, his clan, his house, or in the language of the Yuuzhan Vong his Domain. This would be a moment of great glory in pain for the Tika and he would be elevated in the eyes of the Warmaster S’yong Chota. He would crush this worthless collection of individuals who denied the true nature of pain in the universe and blocked it rather with hatred and machines. While the former brought them closer the later drove them apart and for this they would learn the true meaning of the universe this day, in blood.

The defenders on the planet, though few in number, received no warning and were unable to raise much of a defense for the Yuuzhan Vong forces struck with a speed and ferocity that none had seen even in years of combat surrounding the Dominion War so recently concluded. It was in the first minutes that the small corvettes of Tika’s fleet rained burning plasma upon the settlements of QR-23411 demolishing homes and research centers with plumes of smoke shooting into the sky, warning others of the destruction wrought.

The bombardment destroyed most, but not all, and for those who remained death or painful enslavement was to follow at the hands of Yuuzhan Vong warriors. They descended upon the survivors with unmatched glee in combat, for in combat is pain and glory. Few surrendered and those that did were killed for their weakness, those that fought were alternatively ripped apart by the amphistaffs wielded by the same warriors who once fought the Jedi Knights of the New Republic in combat much more even than this.

A thousand hopes, dreams, and parsecs away a similar event was about to unfold. For the Vong were more than willing to crush all who stood in their way, especially ones such as these Klingons who, though they maintained great rituals of pain that served to recognize the truth of life, were as dependant as any race upon the evils present in the machines of this galaxy. For in their duality was a hypocrisy that the Vong would not long stand, and for the inhabitants of Gaul’sos “not long” would be much shorter than for anyone else.

The battle was predictable to one who knew of the power of the Vong vessels but the Klingons were not and thus the few Birds of Prey defending the world were caught with their figurative pants down. The appearance of an alien vessel of unknown origin or design was enough to bring them to a high alert and arm them for conflict but it did not prepare them for what would happen next as they failed to consider the speed with which the vessel would move. In a blur of pseudo-motion the vessel briefly exceeded the speed of light to rapidly transit near where the defense squadron was rapidly forming itself for a pass at the opposing vessel.

The Vong cruiser wasted little time from there as it burst forth in a brilliant display of orange-red plasma that tore the five little patrol ships into small, atomized particles. There was now nothing left to stop the slaughter that had been held before save a single Bird of Prey that was undergoing minor repairs on the fourth planet’s surface. Upon receiving word of the destruction of her sister vessels she lifted and immediately engaged full thrust in an effort to gain time through maneuver.

It would seem a highly wasted effort but for the facts to come yet the ship’s commander was smart, if not brilliant, and managed to avoid hitting any of the chunks of plasma the cruiser was spiting at him finally arriving in combat weapons range. He immediately ordered a spread of torpedoes to be launched straight at the vessel now maneuvering to gain a position “below” his line of flight where he had the least available firepower. Immediately behind his first wave a second launch was ordered but these torpedoes took more looping paths, remaining on passive and not arming themselves.

The first wave did not care about this as they streaked in on independent course programming, attempting to reach the shield or armor perimeter. They never made it. While still over a hundred meters out the physical casings were sucked into rapid forming voids which ate the projectiles before they could detonate. What they did not stop was the second wave, which the Bird of Prey’s commander had sent in mere microseconds behind the first. In the time it took the Dovin Basils to shift to the sudden new set of vectors the torpedoes struck.

Five consecutive detonations in the lower megaton range were enough to shatter portions of the hull and completely eliminated one of the plasma cannons on the ventral surface. The victory would be short lived as the Bird of Prey finally failed to completely avoid the remaining plasma belches. A series of two rapid shots bracketed the outer edges of the shield boundary, burning through them and causing feedback to burst through every system onboard. Circuits overloaded, panels exploded, plasma spilled, and Klingons died. The commander was left remarkably intact and he immediately ordered a rapid series of dives and banks relative to the ecliptic. It shook off the follow on shots but even as he ordered all remaining weapons to fire free the Vong fighters struck.

They had been held in reserve but now with the opponent damaged they would move in for the kill. Like a great cloud they descended upon the wildly maneuvering patrol craft that was still launching torpedoes in an effort to damage her opponent. As it was the Bird of Prey, and her crew, took no notice of the fighters until their plasma cannons began chewing into exposed bulkheads and compartments. There was little the commander could do but order a self-destruct. Even as he spoke the words two Vong fighters proceeded to use their dovin basils to literally rip the engine casings away, turning the full power of the Bird’s engines upon herself and she feasted.

There was not much of an explosion but rather a quick and efficient burning of the metal hulk that destroyed everyone within and much without. Power died and the Vong left the vessel for dead as occupation troops began boarding their craft, the fight was going groundside. No matter how brave the Klingons might be the Vong held the high ground and after pounding the six major cities into rubble they moved in to sweep up the remains.

Chapter 17

“We are at you disposal Admiral,” Winger said lightly as his staff seated themselves about the conference room as one of the lower ranking officers moved to a lectern near the tri-dimensional map.

“Captain I hope you’ll forgive our rather brief overview,” the man began. “But we are pressed somewhat for time so I’ll skip most of the technical details and let you respond to what we can state up front.”

“Very well,” Winger replied still unsure what was coming. “Please proceed and we shall of course offer any necessary information.”

“Then I shall begin,” the officer turned to the whole table. “My name is Rear Admiral Ultair Nerenth and this briefing is a status update on the New Republic’s joint mission into galaxy G2. First by way of background for our guests this mission is an extension to the decade long war with an alien species known as the Yuuzhan Vong. During this time period the Vong, an extra-galactic race, entered and conquered a vast swath of our home galaxy including the Capital world of Coruscant. With the full resources of the Republic finally mobilized for war the armed forces of the Republic finally succeeded in beating the Vong back outside of the galaxy however we soon discovered that this was not the only invasion they were carrying out.”

“As such the Senate authorized the 1st, or Attack Fleet, of the New Republic to venture forth to G2, this galaxy, and render all assistance necessary to defeat the Vong incursion here. To that end a joint taskforce from the Republic and the Imperial Remnant was formed with this vessel acting as the forward-most deployed asset while the slower elements of the fleet proper organized and re-supplied at our base between the two galaxies. We arrived here approximately thirty seven standard hours ago, a time part comparison may be necessary, and during that time have monitored two wings of an initial Vong invasion being directed in what we are tentatively labeling sectors 11-547 and 11-903.”

“To this end we have now encountered the first representatives of a space-faring government within this galaxy and our current situation is one of learning how we might be of assistance to one another. For this I turn to you Captain.”

Winger was still trying to absorb the flood of info conveyed despite the obvious attempts to skim over technical details and extended history the implications behind the briefing were huge. The Federation lacked anything close to an extra-galactic capability as even the fastest Warp drives still took decades to cross their own galaxy. It would seem that some force was now invading territory here and doing so with capabilities matching or exceeding these people who could cross the distances between galaxies with ease and have a vessel such as this as their forward recon rather than a prime fleet element. It was only as silence descended about the room that he realized he ought to speak up.

“Well I’ll give the briefest of background on us,” Winger began guessing that the abbreviated history of the Federation might be called for. “We represent the United Federation of Planets, an organization of approximately 150 member systems and some thousand research colonies, mining stations, and outposts. The Federation in its current form has been in existence for some three hundred years plus or minus depending on what you call current form. In that time we have encountered a host of other nations of roughly equal power and are currently concluding a war with one major power from the 3rd quadrant of this galaxy called the Dominion. As to our ship specifically we have been deployed on deep space research missions for the past half-year and were fleeing the destruction of our base at the hands of unnamed and unidentified attackers. Is there anything specific you needed to know about us?”

“Well Captain let me state that what we need to know is where we can reach your government or the neighboring governments,” Wilkens began sitting upright in his chair rather suddenly. “The Vong, who it appears you may have encountered already, are a race with an absolutely manic hatred for technology users and it seems apparent that most of the powers here are such. In that vein I think it quite likely that your Federation and her neighbors and enemies will soon find themselves under attack both from without and within.”

“We can certainly give you the coordinates for Earth though we’re about a two of our weeks away at Warp 9,” Winger replied anxious to get theses diplomatic openings out of his hands and into those of experienced diplomats. “I think we could probably patch you in through our communications network if you wished to speak with them over video conference link though there might be some significant lag.”

“How far is it to ‘Earth’ as you call it,” one of the other Republic officers asked, this one a helmsman though Winger didn’t know that. “It can’t be that far off if your nation is as big as you say unless there are some significant navigational hazards.”

This was Taldon’s turn to speak. “Earth and the Sol system are located in what appear to be designated as sector 09-512 inside the 1st quadrant of the galaxy.

“Well that’s a day’s trip even if the disturbances are as widespread as they seem to be,” the helmsman replied ignoring the slightly quizzical expression that crossed Taldon’s face as he considered just how fast their FTL propulsion system was. “We could dock you vessel and link it in with out inertial dampening fields to tow you with us back to your home system.”

“How long would that take?” Winger asked.

“Unless you don’t have any good structural mounting points we could do it in a couple hours,” one of the aides observed from the wall behind Wilkens. “Worst comes to worst we’ll simply free up space in the main hanger and dock half your vessel in there.”

“Von Hart,” Winger turned. “I want-“

“Way ahead of you Captain,” Lara replied. “I’ve already signaled the Vigilant to move in close and begin prepping all of our in port docking locks for a mating sequence.”

“Well done Commander,” Winger smiled as he turned back to the table. “Perhaps we ought to let the technical experts converse while I get to work signaling Starfleet command and getting you a more complete history than the one I provided.”

“Capital idea Captain, in fact we’ll likely do the same thing so you can brief in your command structure a little bit more into who we are and what we are here to do,” Wilkens stated as he rose from the table and the meeting adjourned.

Over the next four hours the engineering crews of the Swift and Vigilant sat hunched over schematics and calculations as they sought to mate the alien technologies of the Federation and the Republic. The final solution was simplicity in itself as the Nacelle Section Chief, a lieutenant with four years of dreary work in that labyrinth of the ship, noted that the mooring arms for the Nacelles would fit near perfectly into a mating alignment with two of the heavy docking bay cranes.

The plan as it was took shape from there with electricians trying to find a way to wire the Vigilant into the inertial compensator onboard the Republic’s vessel or, at the least, to get the Federation system to ramp up enough power to counter the initial acceleration into hyperspace. All this, and the delicate maneuver of placing a relatively “upside down” Miranda-class vessel partially into the prime docking bay of the cruiser, took the crews another seven hours. At the end of it most were exhausted and stood only thanks to copious quantities of steaming caf brought forth by helpful droids and crewmembers with nothing immediately useful to offer otherwise.

With that said and done Winger strode to the conning Bridge of the Swift for the tenth time that day and set forth a ritual that no Starfleet captain had performed except during a change in command ceremony for over a hundred years. The formality was a necessity for the maintenance of discipline but deep in his heart Winger just hated the idea of letting go of his, as he referred to it, true captaincy.

“Permission to enter the Bridge,” Winger began. “Admiral.”

“Permission granted.”

Winger marched in to face the man called Wilkens, whom he had come to know over a series of briefings and strategy sessions, stopped and came to attention while saluting. “Sir, I surrender command of my vessel to you.”

“Thank you Captain,” Wilkens snapped throwing his own salute up in Academy perfect crispness. “Stand easy and lets get going.”

Scarcely had Winger cut his salute when a cacophony of sound began emanating from the crew pits forward and slightly below where he and the Admiral stood. With meticulous precision the helmsman and navigators adjusted course heading and called off system readiness before the ship’s master, Captain Jerense, gave the final word, “Initiate Jump.”

With those two words the hybrid vessel leapt into the realm of the supraliminal and speed onwards to Earth trying desperately to jump-start a resistance before the Vong chewed this quadrant apart.

Chapter 18

Klingon Space

Like trillions of tiny dust particles the remnants of the K’vort class vessel hung poised around the planet she had been sworn to defend. Defend she had, with her destruction occurring besides an easy hundred of her companions. Their wreckage littered the system in silent testimony to the ferociousness with which the Yuuzhan Vong had swept into this system. However the ships were not the only testimony to the success of the invasion.

Where once there was a planet now stood a cracked and broken planetoid. The planet once the home world of the Klingon Empire was now a shattered globe, one whose inner reaches were quickly being exploited by the Praetorite Vong. They had found worthy opponents in the Klingons and for their valor in battle their home world was chosen as the new birthplace for the worldships of the Yuuzhan Vong.

It was from here that they would slowly encompass all the vermin of this galaxy and teach them the true meaning of life. The Klingons would make worthy slaves for already their culture worshiped the Destroyer and the Trickster. They were as artful as any infidel at the arts of combat and deception, traits that had made them worthy sacrifices but sacrifices nonetheless.

Indeed it was their worthiness that gave High Prefect Cartuk Maen inner peace for he now controlled a slave species with all the inner heart of warriors and strength to match. Once they had been subdued by the glorious work of the shapers he was able to begin the process of building a new base of operations, one that would bring him into great favor with the Supreme Overlord.

The battle had begun on an early watch, at least for the Klingons. The Yuuzhan Vong had been encroaching on their territory. The High Council, realizing the sudden peril of attack from an unknown enemy, had recalled much of the forward fleet units and placed as great a security on their homeworld as a half month’s notice could give.

Maen remembered seeing Yo’Gand’s Core decimate this world and had taken a religious sigh of pleasurable pain as the Klingon vessels surrounding the planet had fought even harder against his own Grand Cruiser, the Torment of Eternity. Hard they had fought but ultimately in a futile gesture of defiance as the warriors of the Yuuzhan Vong scratched yet another infestation of technology loving infidels from reality.

It was into this memory that seeped the call of his servants informing him that the new Warmaster, Malik Carr, a veteran of the campaign against the infidels in their last conquest, requested his presence. The villip room yawned before him as Carr’s image appeared.

“You have done well prefect, I trust my warriors performed their job admirably.”

“They have done all that is called for of them,” Maen replied not knowing what the Warmaster wanted to know of him. “They have won us another glorious battle and possession of our newest breedery.”

“Indeed they have done all that is asked of them,” Carr almost hissed leading Maen to where he wanted him. “Are your intendents also performing to that point of skill and dedication Prefect?”

“I would demand nothing less of them,” Maen responded.

“Just as the Overlord would demand nothing less of you and me.”

“Indeed, we are but servants to the will of the gods as he shows us.”

It is good that you agree prefect,” Carr sighed now having the prefect where he wanted him. “It is thus that we have been handed the decree to wipe yet another nest of vermin from this reality but for this we must have more ships, ships which you must provide…in two weeks.”

Maen almost choked though his discipline was too rigid to allow him to show weakness before a being he considered a peer rather than a superior. “As the overlord commands so we will do though I may need more slaves to carry out this work.”

“Slaves we can provide though remember always that the Overlord has dictated that things are run on my schedule so I am quite glad you agree with him, or rather with me.”

In that instant Maen realized he’d been maneuvered out of position. He could not build the ships requested without help, help that Carr would provide and in turn he would be following Carr’s lead rather than reveling in his own glory. He would become a vassal to the Warmaster whose ambitions quite obviously rose to the exalted throne on which the Overlord sat.

However now his alternatives were worse. He had agreed to a schedule and an idea, which he realized belatedly, was not explicitly the Overlord’s orders but rather Carr’s take which he had been taken into without realizing it. A warrior, the shame hit almost as hard as the prior realization about his lowered status, had outdone him. At the same time these thoughts flashed through his head Maen realized that he also had opportunity here. This Warmaster was slowly playing the Intendent caste, and the Praetorite for political gain, gain that he would have to transfer into even stronger support within either the Shaper caste or the Priestly caste to ascend. He would need the High prefects such as himself to engage in the backdoor maneuvers necessary to overcome the ambitions of a few ambitious priests and shapers. He could find a role in this bid for power but for now he would have to be the humble servant, outmaneuvered and shamed.

“We shall co operate fully with you on this though if I may ask what den of vermin demands so much attention so quickly?”

“In their tongue they call it Earth.”

Chapter 19

The second wing on the invasion was far from silent and its Commander was quite the anxious sort. Moreover, he was in great danger of having less glory bestowed upon him. Commander Gillis Voreck, leader of the first wing was basking in the Warmaster’s presence having finished the conquest of the “Klingon” species not but three days prior. Here he was facing an equally tough enemy worthy of equally great praise for his victories yet due to a slightly slower schedule he was lingering in second place. It was this hunger, this desire, this pride that lead to the drive to Romulus. If the Klingon homeworld would be crushed then so would the Romulan one, and long before anyone expected it.

The fleet was small by Yuuzhan Vong standards, certainly tiny in comparison with the vast fleets, which had struck at the key worlds of the first invasion. However here he had such superiority as to truly give the blessing of the gods. These infidels lacked the ability to do more than swat at him with their puny weapons, their speed was far too slow and their dependence upon near linear thinking limited their tactics. If ever there was proof in the existence of the gods, Voreck thought, then surely this was it. For his warriors were crushing this prideful people swiftly. They continued to pretend that their cloaks made them invincible through invisibility despite the conquest of much territory already. Likewise, their ground troops seemed to mindlessly commit themselves to attacks no matter how much or how little sense they made. In the former case, his warriors fought a tenacious enemy but in the latter, they slaughtered them, like sacrifices before the feast.

So now, with but half of a dozen cruisers and some lesser vessels he would thrust straight to their homeworld, the home of this arrogant people. With a strike-force that even the bastard New Republic would have laughed at, he would crush these people. He prayed they would be waiting for him, it would make the victory that much sweeter.


Federation Space

The Swift hung motionless, or so it might appear. There was no body near enough to even compare the motion of the vessel to that of the galactic spin. Yet she was steadily shrinking the distance between Earth and her, it is just that hyperspace jumps do not come off miraculously in new territory.

“Re-entry complete, sir,” called out the navigator.

“Scanners report clear for obstructions for one light year”

“We still have interference, hyperwave signals won’t break through.”

“Secure from jump stations,” called out Admiral Towani. “Captain Jerense.”

“Sir,” he called out from the navigation station.

“The bridge is yours.”

“Aye sir. Comm, keep trying to punch through, navigation get me a fix and then recompute course, let’s get ourselves oriented quick gents.”

Towani didn’t stay to hear the rest of the routine bridge traffic as he turned out and strode straight for the bridge conference room, currently the home of THE Admiral and of course their guests. “We’ve just come out from hyperspace, should have our last course set within the next half hour if there’s nothing too hazardous here.”

“There shouldn’t be,” Winger responded. “We look to be inside Federation space if the chart here is showing our position currently. In fact we should be in communication range of Earth, if you don’t mind sir?”

Winger addressed the last to Wilkens who was going through some technical translation briefings trying to absorb everything about the Federation in the manner of hours he had to prepare before speaking to their government. “Go ahead Captain”

With that Winger tapped his comm badge and linked himself back to his own ship, still suspended oddly half in half out of the Swift’s hanger. “Winger to bridge.”

“Taldon here sir”

“See if you can patch through to Starfleet command, and if possible get a secure circuit.”

“Aye sir, hold please.”

The waiting dragged onwards three four then five minutes with no response. Winger was actually handing over the next set of briefs to the Admiral. “I guess our equipment is still…”

“Sir I have them go ahead.”

“Of all the times to…”

“This is Fleet Admiral Winston at headquarters what’s going on Captain.”

“Sir I am currently engaged in a first contact situation and am sort of, uh, bringing the problem to your doorstep sir.”

“That’s wonderful Captain, now if you don’t mind telling me why this requires a secure circuit and a max power boost when I am deeply in the midst of trying to save half of our colonies from attackers who have come and seemingly gone with no trace.”

“Sir these folks know all about those attackers, they’ve faced them before.”

“Where was that conflict Winger?”

“In another galaxy, sir.”

The stunned silence on the other end of the line gave Winger a slight bit of satisfaction. He had never gotten along cordially with any of the staff at headquarters. He had been left to rot in the boondocks and for all intents banished from their thought, now here he was bringing them the biggest gold nugget of their lives (well unless they’d run a gold mining simulation on the holodeck but pleasures like that seemed so distant as to be meaningless).

“Let me be certain I heard you correctly Captain,” Winston said attempting to regain his footing. “You’ve established first contact with an extra-galactic species that has been engaged in a war against another extra galactic species and you are…what was the phrase, ‘bringing it to my doorstep’ I believe?”

“Yes sir,” Winger brushed back to reality by the Admiral’s near dripping sarcasm at his earlier jest. “We should be in late this evening if our towing arrangement holds sir.”

“Very well then Captain, in that case you probably better get the full update,” Winston said slowly. “We’re transmitting now, and be ready for a full debrief when you arrive…if we have time. Starfleet Headquarters out.”

“Taldon are you receiving?”

“Yes sir and you might want to come look at this.”

Romulan Space

The Romulans had indeed allowed themselves to become paranoid to a new degree, especially for the safety of their homeworld. The border patrol with the Federation was abandoned and now the system held more than four dozen warbirds not to mention a host of older and lesser designs that had been recalled from mothballs. In their paranoia of old, the Senate had never allowed any warship to be truly decommissioned. Now it was paying off, of so they hoped. As the saying went, yes they had been paranoid, but were they paranoid enough.

As Supreme Commander Chot’va looked out on his viewscreen at the now re-entering vessels of the Vong invasion fleet he allowed himself a small smile. These fools dared threaten the might of the Empire with but two dozen ragged vessels smaller than his grand flagship and smaller, as well, than his attendant cruisers. It seemed as if their early victories had filled their heads with too much faith in their own abilities. Here he outnumbered them by at least five to one and definitely had the superior tonnage, no matter the firepower difference Intelligence claimed he would crush them like flies.

With a signal, the Romulan fleet began to form up into a three-pointed crescent, the flagship taking the foremost point so as to better give its commander glory in this victory to come. Stealthily as they could two warbirds split from the formation, cloaked, and briefly exceeded warp to race forward and take up positions to the flanks of the approaching enemy spearhead.

The Vong for their part showed no reaction, well almost no reaction, to the approaching fleet. Fighters were launched but these trailed nearly out of sight from the Romulan instruments. They were only slowly accelerating, almost just cruising in on the gravitational pull of the star around which these planets orbited. The cloaked warbirds dropped back into real space and found themselves “high” above their prey, well positioned to see the fighter trail they were dragging behind them like a wounded puppy, tucking it in close.

The fleets moved inch by inch towards contact, smugness did not negate years of cautious tactics on the Romulans part while the Vong were patient predators, waiting to strike when the quarry had no escape. With contact imminent, the fighters dropped power and hung back as the capital ships began accelerating. The two warbirds followed in on the main formation, trying to keep pace with the sudden shifts. What had once been a simple arrowhead now became a roiling mass, Vong cruisers swapped positions with one another as the formation began to morph into a crab like pincer, yet a closed one.

Suddenly range was reached, the Romulan warships spat out hundreds of torpedoes. They raced across the void in a strong continuous stream. To an observer it was like watching a horde of lightning bugs race towards some black maw, a term that grew in truth as the Vong activated their dovin basals in defensive mode. The cloud of torpedoes became streaks of light, tracer rounds aimed for the core of the black holes suddenly forming. Volley after volley raced in as more and more of the emplacements strove to suck the missiles into nothingness. It couldn’t last forever as the strain began to tell on the living creatures that the dovin basals were. Brilliant explosions began lighting themselves against the hulls of the Vong cruisers. Thermonuclear explosions ripped chunks of blackened coral into space. In the worst cases strikes hit thin hull sections venting them to space. Bodies and parts of bodies were flung into the nothingness, some sucked into the dovin basals that still struggled to take in all of the weapons striking out for the fleet.

For the Vong the time to reply now came. Even as the cruisers rocked from explosions at all quarters they began returning fire, molten plasma that instantly turned the Romulans attack. The strike was as old as time, a decapitation move. All the Vong gunners had been given one target, the flagship for the enemy fleet. With their first volley, thousands of megatons worth of energy expended themselves first against the shields, then the hull, and finally the heart of the Romulan warship. With a final blaze of its singularity feeding upon itself the vessel reduced to nothingness.

Instantly the Romulan formation split in two wings, which folded away from the onslaught in the middle. Now the fight was joined, the two cloaked warbirds began lighting off their own torpedoes, striking from a new angle and breaking their torpedoes all along the hulls of the Vong cruisers even as they accelerated into the gap between the Romulan formations. As those wings started turning and folding back in front of the Vong the now uncloaked cruisers played a catch up game, still above the main formations, tailing the rest and harassing the rear of the Vong formation.

Now the neat Vong spearhead devolved into a rather simple cylinder with fire spewing at the two Romulan wings now forced to pound with less directed power. The dovin basals which before had been unable to take the single minded frontal attack now held their own against the more distributed angles of approach. Still they could not take every direction and the warbirds to the tail began to eat into dovin basals providing propulsion as they simple were coming in too strong from one particular angle. Unfortunately, for them, they had forgotten the fighter tail the Vong had laid behind them.

Silently streaking through the darkness of space fifty odd coralskippers washed over the annoying toys the enemy left to harass the rear. They never had a chance. Tens of thousands of tiny bolts lanced out as the volcano cannons on the skips chewed away at the shields on the two Romulan ships. Realizing their peril too late both captains ordered emergency power maneuvers and began showering as many disruptor beams as they could back at the Vong fighters.

In the end it proved to no avail, despite decimating the leading edge of the charge the remaining vessels swept on over the rear guard of the Romulans as they raced to the battle proper. Twisting in space the hulks of the two warbirds consumed themselves nearly simultaneously while the Vong fighters changed their approach angle. The left wing of the Romulan fleet was now their target and now numbers and superior strength would tell decisively for the Vong. The main spearhead suddenly twisted and shot through the two wings of Romulans then turned on itself trapping the left wing between it and the still accelerating fighters.

Caught in the same trap they had sought to throw the Romulans split their neat formation into a dozen tiny ships, each fighting its way out to the other wing. The Vong fighters drove in trying to coral them before they could punch through and reunite with the right hand wing, which even now was maneuvering to once again gain the tail of the Vong spearhead and bring it under more direct fire. Now with volcano cannon from fighters and capital ships bracketing them the warbirds of the left wing were hammered ceaselessly, the brilliance of their reactors consuming the ships reappeared over and over. However, the destruction was not complete and a few managed to escape rejoining the right wing, which had lost a few of its own vessels while managing to disable, but not destroy, two of the Vong cruisers at the rear of the main formation. Now seeing little hope in continuing the engagement they warped away quickly closer in towards Romulus itself, trading space for time to repair themselves.

For their part, the Vong recovered their fighters to re-arm them in the next phase of battle then, in a neatly dressed line; they turned towards the inner system and slowly accelerated. Once more, the formation assumed the deadly menace of an almost perfect arrow. With a few cruiser analogues in the lead it began bearing towards Romulus itself to which the Romulan fleet had fled in an attempt to regroup itself. The hours ticked by slowly as the Vong moved with a predatory glare towards the few remaining warbirds, they would be able to offer little real resistance but the Vong were patient, willing to let their quarry hobble off and drain its energy in nervous anticipation while they lay in wait for the killing blow.

Yet in this case, the blow would not strike as planned. Voreck had been aligning his vessels to engage in consecutive micro-jumps behind and forward of the remaining enemy, however his maneuver had placed him into a wide space between the orbit of Romulus and her next closest neighbor where the approaches, as well as the exits, were numerous for craft possessing warp drive. It was here that the Romulans struck back with a fury that surprised even the Vong.

Hidden behind the orbit of Romulus and concealed from all the sensors the Vong could deploy was the sole shining example of the proposed Scimitar-class battleship. A vessel, which, while far from the equal of the Vong, arrived unexpected and with a sudden fury. She decloaked perfectly away and slightly above the Vong arrowhead trying to both stay out of weapons reach and yet bring to bear as much of her still unfinished might as she might. A volley of dozens upon dozens of torpedoes lanced out striking the engine dovin basals on three frigate analogues and temporarily overwhelming the dovin basals as they had been gearing for the shift to faster than light not combat. Even as Voreck issued orders curving the arrowhead back on itself to envelope this new invader the remaining Romulan ships, now less than a dozen in number, went to warp closing the distance to the Vong in moments.

This sudden double attack blasted chunks of black coral into space venting atmosphere all over the ships in Voreck’s fleet and causing the first actual loss of his engagement. Whereas before he had lost but a few ships disabled to the enemy he now watched as the Crimson Vendetta blossomed in fire then broke neatly close to the aft of the ship. There a concentrated barrage of perhaps seventy torpedoes had overwhelmed the dovin basals and struck home rupturing energy reserves and cracking the already hundred-year-old hull. Still the price was manageable as in their joy of victory the Romulans were caught with broadsides from two corvettes which had ranged up from the rear of the formation on the starboard side to begin an envelopment on both sides.

The Romulans were now being trapped. The Scimitar despite grievously wounding her first targets had now been bracketed by four cruisers and several frigates that had her immediately within range. Even as plasma fire blossomed around her rocking supports and shattering hull bracings several more frigates from the core of the formation sped under the plane of the battle and delivered a new wave of energy. She was already accelerating and spitting torpedo after torpedo silencing several batteries of guns aimed at her but never escaping the murderous barrage that bracketed her every step. Finally, she attempted a withdrawal visibly leaking reactor gas and showing holes throughout the superstructure. Unfortunately, for her she would never make it as the fighters so recently recalled to the carriers at the core of the formation now shot out from between the cruisers that had been trading blows with her. In less than a minute, even as the diminishing barrage was allowing her sensors to clear the Scimitar realized her peril. With grace almost unbelievable for her mass she attempted to spin half around and align on a new course to attempt to warp out, however the damaged was done. With the fighters, already engaging at the extreme of their range, the strain on her engines became too great, fail-safes gave way under the strain, and suddenly she lit the sky with thermonuclear brilliance as her entire engineering section disappeared into a shower of billions of pieces.

The remaining Romulan vessels were left this whole time attempting to fight and withdraw yet they had never managed to shake the constant flak surrounding them. Still they spat torpedo after torpedo at their attackers trying in vain to beat down the fire against them to the point that they might warp and regroup. Yet now that the battle on the far side had ceased, and despite the enormous energies expended they all saw the end of the Scimitar. With remaining hope for a retreat dashed they heeled about driving straight for the Vong. Unprepared for the enemy to show a tactic so like that which they would have chosen it took a moment for the gunners to correct and begin to lead the warbirds on their incoming flights. That delay would turn to be fatal for the frigates Blood of Chuntaka, Wrath of Yun-Harla, and World of Yuuzhan. Seven warbirds struck between the three cracking hulls and rupturing everything within them. In flash after flash of light the vessels consumed themselves in a hungry feast of destruction. Still when it cleared, the Vong held the battle and Romulus lay before them.

For an enemy such as this the kill would be particularly delightful.

Chapter 20

Betazed, one week later

"First Fleet, status check," Admiral Jenner shouted. "Give me full update and a track on those incoming vessels."

"All lines report as ready no problems, sir" the comm Lieutenant reported from her station on the rear of the USS Farenheight, one of seven Sovereigns though only this one stood as the flagship.

"We have seventy nine confirmed tracks," an even younger Lieutenant called out from the tactical station even as he was joined by his crew chief, back from a speed tour of the ship to ensure all preparations for combat were completed. Above the rising din and commotion Lieutenant Commander Georges Flanders, NRN, stood passive watcher. He had been assigned as one of more than a dozen "advisors" to the Federation now that the Swift had made her way to the heart of that nation. He was here to offer what advice he could, and it was sorely needed.

While some of the officers, such as the XO, were competent even by the Republic's standards the crew as a whole and much of the bridge crew, in particular, were either green as a lizard or unskilled as a two year old. He would sigh if that would not serve to depress them further, they were eager to please but almost universally unskilled at running a proper combat starship. With luck, they would learn fast. Combat was Darwinian, those who did not learn died and Flanders was not particularly keen on dying today.

"Check that sir, four hundred and thirteen tracks, we have smaller vessels launching from the larger ones."

In the depth of space beyond the tiny bridge, the first moves of this battle began in the cold precise style of the Vong before they went for the kill. For now, they held their raging passion for battle in check as each warrior knew that at the first command of Warmaster Carr he would be executed with no glory for his Domain should he stray from the plans laid down. Nonetheless, the formations seethed as fighters and cruisers jockeyed for the positions from which they might best engage the enemy and turn his fancy vessels of steel into so much floating scrap...a bloated tribute to Yun-Yuuzhan patron of the Vong and the one who would bring them victory this day.

On the Federation side of the equation the First Fleet stood at perhaps a third of its nominal strength, it had been depleted by the battles of the Dominion War and had yet more vessels caught away from home on patrol duty. In all some sixty-eight combatants from Akiras to Steamrunners to Galaxies stood ready to face the enemy they had been running from and fighting with little success for almost a month now.

"Sir," Flanders stated. "Now might be the best time to counter with your own fighter screen, lest they get too forward and hold your fleet with their fighters."

"A sensible suggestion," Jenner replied. He was, perhaps, the most pliant of all the troops here though one could sense the ego dying to prove that he had learned. "Signal the Commodore to deploy his squadrons."

"Copy that sir. We have Peregrines moving into a screening formation, sir" the same lieutenant called out. One might indeed call it that though, in reality, it was little more than a lose configuration of squadron sized units. The Commodore of that group probably knew well enough that his pilots would be incapable of actually fulfilling their role as a proper screen and instead chose to group them into compact ramrods to pierce the opposing screen and maybe...just maybe buy enough time.

"Very well," Jenner replied, turning to Flanders.

"That said, sir now might be the time to form your fleet."

"Captain Hart prepare your ship for combat, Lieutenant signal the fleet...Red Alert, arm all weapons prepare to reform into Fleet Line."

"Yes sir," Echoed from both sailors, one male the other female. In fitting tribute to the Federation's politics, the latter was Captain, now charged with fighting a flagship of the Federation. "Commander Vincent, man the battle bridge and have all sections lock down... Computer sound Red Alert, crews to Battle Stations."

Flanders was saddened again at the necessary measure for the XO was a man who actually knew a thing or two about combat. Still, if the battle bridge were called upon the things would be better with him still alive than any of the others aboard. Even as these thoughts ran through his head, the bridge lights switched to that diffuse red the Federations was fond of using, as if the color would improve efficiency. Still the crew moved commendably, though not quickly, to take battle positions with extra crew flooding the bridge to staff the comm and tactical stations.

Overall they were well drilled, with quick efficiency quarters were sealed, non-essential systems shut off with power diverted to shielding, the engineering staff doubled and the core itself was sealed off in case of coolant leak due to battle stress. All were precautions made necessary by the hard won experience of the Dominion War, sadly only a few ships could have such crews as this. The long-term combat veterans were scare enough and Jenner had few enough to spare fighting his own flagship.

On the main bridge Jenner paced, silently fuming, while Flanders looked on as his own ship stood ready while the rest of his fleet was only now beginning to call in their own acknowledgement of orders and a switch to combat readiness. The movement of the fleet, despite its graceful nature, was still haphazard as the Federation, for the first time, tried its hand at true three-dimensional combat formations in space. However doing things the right way for the first time takes time. Even as the commander of his screening force began clamoring for the release to engage with the Vong fighter screen coming into combat range Jenner still waited on two vessels.

"Sir if the fighters delay any longer the Vong will break through," Flanders prompted "Then we'd have a real mess on our hands."

"The fleet isn't ready," Jenner replied. "Without the fleet ready to move we could lose most of the screen before we close to engage."

The point was valid but overlooked the crucial point. "If we don't let them engage now there won't be a fleet to close and engage with sir."

Jenner stared back at the screen weighing his own time fighting the dominions against this sailor, a veteran of fighting the Vong. "Screw it."

"Commodore Gerant," he said calmly. "Your screen is released, engage the incoming fighter units but remain grouped by flights. Maintain unit cohesion so as to be able to hold the enemy while the fleet advances."

Not seconds later, the tactical display sitting where the viewscreen normally showed the vastness of space lit off. Each of the squadron sized units (a mere five of them)burst, somewhat awkwardly, into all three axes of space spreading themselves wide in front of the onrushing Vong spearhead. The sudden, seeming confusion, on the part of the enemy finally unleashed the Vong for their warriors saw a distracted enemy open to the kill and they moved in.

The maneuver, however, was carefully planned to allow the now re-forming wing pairs and flight to engage the Vong with proximity burst micro-torpedoes. After losing more than a dozen skirmishes with these invaders, falling back constantly, the Federation had begun to rely on these near hits to guarantee damage despite the pseudo-black holes the enemy projected. The Peregrines lit off with ripple volleys of torpedoes that raced forward into the Vong formation. They saw it coming and, trusting to their Dovin Basals, they poured on the speed hoping to close to ranges where their own plasma canons might chew holes through these technological monstrosities. This would be their undoing.

Brilliant white flashes flashed in the void as a near thousand micro torpedoes burst into radiance like firecrackers on a string. Explosions enveloped the coralskippers, reaching around voids and burning deep scars on the hulls of some craft, turning the cockpit into a molten fragment on others.

"That'll teach 'em."

"Peregrines, engage continuous, all flights are released to flight commanders...go get 'em."

The remaining distance had closed in a hurry with the Peregrines each releasing perhaps one or two more proximity bursts apiece before beam weapon range ensued. Here the odds now favored the still heavily outnumbering Vong...and they knew it. Gerant was aware his force was here as a road bump to distract the Vong until the fleet could move and engage, but he did not plan to go out in a hail of gunfire...not yet. "Tally ho, bandits at 2 o'clock mark 5"

"Copy that skipper, right on your tail"

With his wingman tucked in Gerant took his somewhat clumsy craft into a dive into the thickest of the Vong formation, managing yet another torpedo shot while raining a splattered stutter of phaser fire that connected with a distracted coralskipper and split it in two. His wingman took advantage of that same earlier torpedo and carved out the back third of another damaged coralskipper as the two blazed "vertically" through the Vong formation.

"Shit Ice Man we've picked up bogies, looks like a flight of three trailing hot," the understatement form his rear-seater comforting Gerant as liquid burning plasma erupted around the craft, her shields buffeting with the hammering being delivered.

"Highlander, on my mark wiggle left, right then engage...mark."

The wingmen split each looping out widely then pulling over tightly, straining the inertial compensators, flying back towards each other only now Highlander had three coralskippers in his sights that had been tailing his Squadron Commander through a less tight turn. Blasting out with a barrage of phasers and another precious micro-torpedo, he caught two of them unawares of the maneuver. They flamed out and the third began an evasive dive that fell right over the cross hairs of Ice Man, Commodore Gerant.

"Good shooting Commo..."

Static burst the line as a new flight of coralskippers took their own turn blasting into Highlander, turning his fighter into liquid metal. She fizzled and died even as Highlander's body slowly disintegrated from the massive energies poured into his ship. Ice Man had no time to waste, keeling over and then instantly stepping on the gas he lost one of the coralskippers while the other two hung in doggedly. Bracketing his Peregrine with a deliberate stream of shots, moving him back to the course they wanted Ice Man never even saw his death coming.

The Vong cruisers, vanguard of their attacking fleet were suddenly upon the fighter screens which had descended into this brutal slugfest. Now they spat vast quantities of energy destroying what little cohesion remained of Commodore Gerant and of his screen.

Jenner watched all of this even as the Fleet maneuvered into his modified Fleet line. Looking, to the entire world, like a giant 'U' his foremost ships were just beginning to flank the fighter battle when the cruisers had joined in. Now he ordered those wings to begin closing the trap, catching the fighters and cruisers in the middle. With most of his screen gone they were ordered to disengage however possible and with that he released the Akiras.

With a dorsal torpedo pod, the Akira was virtually purpose built to fight this battle and the dozen and a half present in the First now began showing why. Spitting out photon torpedoes like a bad habit they turned the exterior of the fight into a brilliant white ball of static. Ripple fire continued to pour more into the remnants of the Vong formations, cruiser and fighter alike. Blast after blast pounded in as Jenner’s arms drew to closer combat ranges and his other vessels joined the fray.

His victory was short lived because even as the wings closed the Vong attacked with their second wave of Capital Ships. In the great confusion of the brawl and slamming into the Vong spearhead Jenner had closed his trap too quickly and while his crews were giving better than they got losses were being taken in that region. Yet worse came with that second wave as they had all swung starboard and now were able to attack only one of Jenner's two wings.

The onrushing fleet of Vong cruisers bore down on the fighting remnants of Jenner's starboard wing. All he could do was watching mouth agape even as Flanders shouted at him to order his ships to run the gauntlet through the center. Like a wave, breaking onto the beach the Vong fleet began rolling thunderous waves of plasma at the now exposed and enveloped wing of the Federation's forces. Completely unaccustomed to the speed and pitch of the battle Jenner had become lost and unable to focus on the tricks and feints the Vong had thrown at him. The unlearned dictums of warfare now came back to haunt Starfleet as Jenner was left standing on his Flagship even as the battle raged around him wondering how the hell his nation had come to this.

Well, I read the first four chapters. Good stuff, so far. The 70km uber ship is a little, well....uber. But I like the flow of the story and the premace as well. An 'outbound flight project' to fight the Vong in the ST galaxy. There is a shit load of potential there.

Great stuff, Greg!

I want to see the Peacemaker in action, surely you can beat out Marina's wall of nine Executors with that monster

It's good stuff. Took me a while to get round to reading it, but I'm glad I did.

phongn wrote:Great stuff, Greg!

I want to see the Peacemaker in action, surely you can beat out Marina's wall of nine Executors with that monster

Gah, if one of those f'ers can survive a massive supernova in the Nemesis system as well as the combined efforts of the Confed fleet, I think the Vong have their work cut out for them

Crayz9000 wrote:Gah, if one of those f'ers can survive a massive supernova in the Nemesis system as well as the combined efforts of the Confed fleet, I think the Vong have their work cut out for them

I think fanfic-SMCV is decidedly weaker than its STGOD counterpart

phongn wrote:

Crayz9000 wrote:Gah, if one of those f'ers can survive a massive supernova in the Nemesis system as well as the combined efforts of the Confed fleet, I think the Vong have their work cut out for them

I think fanfic-SMCV is decidedly weaker than its STGOD counterpart

Hardly the word since the fanfic version doesn't have gravitic drives and ultra DS superlaser stopping uber shields. That said I think it should create a nice bit of ghastly glory if I can freakin find my way through the next few chapters to the final confrontation.

CmdrWilkens wrote:Hardly the word since the fanfic version doesn't have gravitic drives and ultra DS superlaser stopping uber shields.

Or the layered armor scheme from Hell and the high-cap turbolasers?