StarDestroyer.Net BBS

A little teaser and then on to the start of the real thing...


Black Screen.

White words fade in: Great Men Have Fallen

Fade in: Ext, day. Captain Picard, covered in ragged blankets, looks forlornly up through the downpour of a storming sky.

Fade to black.

White words fade in: Planets Lay In Ruin

Fade in: Ext, day. High, wide shot of a smoking city. Buildings are crumbled by the ravages of war. AT-AT walkers march through the rubble, heads swivelling in search of any suspicious movement. Smoke fills the air and obscures everything in the distance.

Fade to black.

White words fade in: Entire Civilizations Have Collapsed

Fade in, Ext, space. The devastated remains of a Borg armada float lifelessly in the nebula known as the Briar Patch as far as the eye can see. Nothing stirs in the field of jagged wreckage.

Fade to black.

White words appear sharply: That Was Just The Beginning

Cut to: Int, day,. A Jedi, face shrouded in the hood of a black cloak, faces others off screen. He is in an office, with the skyline of Coruscant showing through the window behind him.

Jedi: There is a great disturbance through that wormhole.

Cut to: Ext, space, wormhole. A massive, jagged spacecraft is silhouetted against the swirling vortex of the wormhole.

Cut to: Int, day. Grand General Bastin stands, fist clenched, talking to others off screen.

Bastin: Now is the time for expansion, not rest! Not with half the galaxy still untamed! Not with our enemies all around us!

Cut to: Ext, day. A Founder rises from a sea of Changelings.

Bastin: *V.O.* Changelings!

Cut to: Int ,day. A man standing on the defensive suddenly becomes a flowing, yellow blob and tears in two. Both pieces form individual humanoid shapes and take off in different directions.

Cut to: Ext, day, battlefield. A Jem’Hadar soldier decloaks, roaring a battle cry and raising a fist in the air.

Bastin: *V.O.* Jem’Hadar!

Cut to: Ext, day, battlefield. Two Republic Troopers sit, pinned down against a rocky outcropping. One looks to the other.

Trooper: *In the familiar voice of Pvt. Sleed.* Man do I wish they still used Clones for this.

Cut to: Ext, space. An alien starship rivalling a Star Destroyer in size rushes toward the camera firing a beam of energy.

Bastin: *V.O.* The Voth!

Cut to: Int, Star Destroyer Leviathan. Captain Mulby and his first officer stand on the bridge.

Mulby: Brace for impact!

Cut to: Ext, day. Riker, covered in rags, fights a purple Twi’Lik.

Cut to: Int, starship. Data fires a blaster pistol angrily toward the camera. A rusted, dented droid stands behind him.

Droid: Oh, the Maker!

Cut to: Ext, space. A Star Destroyer rumbles forward, firing heavy turbolaser batteries.

Cut to: Ext, space. A starfighter twists and turns through a battle, dodging curtains of energy. Around him, other fighters zip here and there.

Cut to: Ext, day. From behind we see a huge Hutt slither down a ramp into a bright, sunny sky.

Cut to: Ext, day. An army of mercenaries marches down a war-torn street.

Cut to: Milky Way Rebels firing from behind cover.

Cut to: Republic Troopers firing full auto into a smoking field.

Cut to: Close-up of a Jem’Hadar.

Cut to: Close-up of a human rebel.

Cut to: Close up of a Trooper.

Cut to: Close up of an alien mercenary.

Cut to: Doctor Julian Bashir and Chief Miles O’Brian.

Both: *Breathlessly* What the hell is that?

Cut to: Two Jedi stand together. One turns to the other.

Jedi: Sith? Here? That’s impossible.

Cut to: A darkened room. The camera is focussed on the lower back of a man dressed in black. With a flick of a finger a red energy blade extends from the hilt in his hand. The man speaks in a familiar voice.

Stryfe: Finally.

Cut to: Close-up on Darth Stryfe’s face. He snarls as he brings his lightsabre up to a guard position at the side of his head.

With a downward stroke the screen goes black.

Manifest Destiny Episode II

Coming Soon.

Manifest Destiny: Episode II
(“Star Wars: Legion of the Sith” or “Star Trek: Expansion”)

Mark Shantz

Chapter 1: Prison Songs


Space. A silent void, twinkling with distant stars. It could be a peaceful place; almost to the point of maddening. It could also be a place of burning chaos and freezing death. But always, in either situation, it was a source of staggering wealth.

One way or another, that was what drove people to the stars. That was what fuelled exploration and goaded conquest. It was a force of nature, a pumping machine that could not be stopped. As the massive transport glided smoothly through a gauntlet of hawk-eyed warships and flittering science probes, that was the only thing on its crew’s minds. Cold hard cash. Or the raw means to obtain said cash, that is.

Easily the rival in size to any Super Star Destroyer, it would serve as an initial base of operations while the refining and manufacturing facilities it carried in component pieces were being constructed and commissioned. It would also act as a central hub for the cargo transports that would come to be a blood-flow of materials and goods passing between the two joined galaxies. And if they had time, they might even build a nice, humble dwelling for the expedition chief.

Blues, purples and silvery whites swirled ever larger in front of the gigantic conglomeration of towers, domes and docking clamps as it closed in on the open wormhole. Its silhouette like a jagged, wild crystal, it soon became nothing more than another mote of dust against the spectacular, intergalactic display. As the ship closed in on the event horizon, it threatened to disappear entirely into the churning colours at the center.

“Commercial vessel, Dercha,” a faceless voice related over the comm. “This is Transfer Command. You are cleared for entry.”

“Copy that, Command,” a Dercha communications officer answered. “Commencing transfer.”

“Good luck, Dercha. I hope you brought vermin traps. I hear that place is crawling.”

“Roger, Command. One large stick and one sack packed and confirmed.”

And he wasn’t lying. The beings setting up this little capital venture, the first to be attempted into the Milky Way, as the natives called it, were not ones to take chances. The military may have done a good job of securing the area for civilian commerce but they had also done a good job of spreading the propaganda. Stories abounded about the savagery of the other side. No one in their right minds would trust their hard won contracts to military policing. Especially not in the Republic. Especially not these backers.

To that end, aside from all the construction, surveying and mining equipment and all the trade goods, the ship also housed a large force of ‘security’ personnel. Not to mention the gunships and hover tanks sitting patiently in its cargo bays. It was a small army unto itself, the best money could buy, and it would be growing with every hauler and transport that came after it. Bringing peace and justice to a savage galaxy was one thing; protecting one’s interests was another all together.

In the span of a running light’s blink the hulking craft was gone.

On the other side of the tunnel was a totally new set of stars, contrasted by an array of ships very similar to the ones that had just been left. This time, however, the warcraft were in much greater supply. Fleet elements coming in for repair in dry dock stations, as well as those going home after tours of duty, waited in formation as others drifted by on menacing guard. Command ships sat here and there, exerting their presence over all they saw. And everywhere, single-man starfighters flitted about with shuttles and troop transports. It was a well-ordered, artificial chaos trying desperately to compete with the natural twisting havoc serving as backdrop.

As the vessel emerged and began its escorted trek through the military control zone, her captain spread his arms wide to the whole of space and smiled. The grin was just as wide as the arms when he turned around to face his employer; the owner of the ship and the would-be baron of this untapped wilderness. The creature’s immense bulk shook with bass laughter as it shared the man’s anticipation and glee.

“<Great Farrallo,>” the human announced in Huttese, with a theatrical bow. “<Your Eminence. I now officially declare this galaxy... Open for business!>”

Everyone within earshot laughed. The captain, still full of mirth, turned to his navigation pit.

“<You have the coordinates for His Greatness’s seat of rule, Mr. Sel?>”

“<Quo’Nos? Aye, Captain.>”

“<Make the jump to lightspeed when you’re ready.>”

“<Aye, Captain.>”

The yellow, snake-slitted eyes of the Hutt, closed and its mouth stretched as the stars in front of the ship gave way to blue and white havoc. A deep rumble, almost a purr, issued steadily from the creature.

“<I think I shall change the name,>” Farrallo said, almost as if to himself. “<I think I shall call my new world, Nal Farra.>”


* * *


“Meia Plisska? Dee tassa Meia Plisska?”

Jean-Luc Picard, formerly captain of the USS Enterprise, now of god-knew-where, looked over to the strange, reptilian creature that had sat next to him and spoken. With skepticism filling his eyes he shook his head at the ragged being and pulled his own blankets all the tighter.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” he answered to whatever the question had been. “I don’t understand your language.”

The wind gusted slightly from outside his makeshift lean-to, pushing some of the incessant rain from its constant, downward path and driving it into them. In tandem, they looked out to the sky and marked the endless grey seething off into the distance. The weather had not changed since the starship captain had gotten there. He was unsure at this point if it ever stopped raining on this planet.

Before the alien could try again, a firm hand clamped down on the back of its neck and lifted it out of the open tent. It was a familiar hand; human, but not quite.

“He was asking if you wanted to buy something called ‘Death Sticks’, Captain,” the voice that went with the hand stated. Shifting the fabric of his lean-to over slightly, Picard saw the regulation black, if not regulation clean, pant legs that he had been expecting.

“I did not think it wise for you to remain in his company.”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” he replied as his android friend sat in the open space beside him. “You are going to be even more invaluable to us now that our universal translators have been confiscated.”

Picard scanned the muddy tent city stretching out around him in the haze and shook his head. Who knew what they would find out there. Who knew what was waiting to stalk them. The dim reverie was broken as yet another visitor graced his doorstep unannounced.

“I can’t believe this is how they treat their prisoners-of-war,” Will Riker, the Enterprise’s first office, said. He was similarly covered in ragged, soaking blankets and dropped a slick log down before he sat. All three men took places on the suspiciously well-worn bench, finally able to rise above the drenched ground.

Don’t ask, was the only explanation that would be given for the piece.

“I don’t think we’re prisoners-of-war, Number One,” Picard countered. “We’re just prisoners. You know the communications as well as I do. After they layed claim to the Alpha quadrant and started imposing their rule, the Republic labelled all Starfleet personnel who still opposed them as pirates and terrorists. I think we have already been convicted, sentenced and imprisoned for our supposed crimes.”

Riker frowned. “Well I certainly don’t remember any trial. What kind of justice is this?”

“I believe that is a correct assessment, Captain.” Data turned to the two others. “From what I can gather from some of the alien life here, that is. Apparently, as we are the command staff of a rebel ship engaged in hostile action, the Republic needs little other proof to leave us here indefinitely. An arraignment of Alpha and Beta quadrant personnel will not be high on their lists of things to complete, if it even appears on such a list.”

“In other words,” the Commander sighed. “I won’t hold my breath.”

“I would not either, Commander.”

The two humans found the heart to chuckled at what they assumed to be an ironic joke from their mechanical friend. Data merely cocked his head slightly and resumed watching their surroundings for hostile activity.

“They certainly don’t think much of us though,” Riker continued. “Dropping us all at the same facility like this. Between all of us, we should be able to come up with some means of escape.”

“That’s just it, Will,” Picard said. “They don’t think anything of us at all.”

“They are also very confident in the capabilities of this prison world,” Data added. “Which indeed it is the entire world. Though it is a possibility that we will not be together here for long. It would seem that regular stops are made to gather prisoners for hard labour details on other planets.”

It was the captain’s turn to frown. “Never the less, it is our duty to attempt to escape. Lieutenant Commander, continue your investigations into the other inmates. Try to find something that may help us. Number One, you continue searching for more friendly faces.”

“Aye, Captain.” Will pulled his covers over his head and rose out of the lean-to and back into the downpour. “This will be the rendevous point. You stay here and keep an eye out for anyone I send back this way.”

Picard watched as the two others left him alone once more and thought about the state of his Federation. For all intents and purposes it was no more. It had been swept up and engulfed by the Republic. He had said they had a duty to escape, but a duty to what? If they fought on, would they be fighting for a memory?


* * *


Riker trudged through the muck and mire of the tent village trying to be as unnoticeable as possible and yet look as imposing as possible at the same. His eyes fanned back and forth from one side of the path to the other, searching for any tell-tale sign of a Starfleet uniform. Or anything else he recognized for that matter. So far the only thing in that category was the rain.

He paused for a moment to ring the water from his beard and think. They were on an unknown planet in an unknown system in an unknown galaxy. They had no weapons, no communications and no transportation. In fact the only starship of any kind that they had seen so far was the one that had brought them there. Top that off with the fact that they had the local prison population to deal with while they tried to figure out a plan and things became petty clear. There situation did not look good.

But he was never one to give up. If there was a way off this mudball he would find it or die trying. He had been willing to sacrifice portions of Federation territory to subspace rift damage to try to balance the power between them and the Republic, irrevocably devastating those parts of space. He would certainly exploit any means he could to find a way to escape this prison.

It was as the Commander steeled himself to those thoughts that he caught the familiar gleam of Starfleet issue boots through the grime and sludge. Aside from the fact that the wearer was humanoid in shape and size, little else could be seen under the masses of fabric draped from shoulder to ankle against the biting storm. The head, as well, was covered in what little protection could be scrounged.

With a moment of jogging Will was at the being’s side and falling into step. Tension ever-present in the air, he didn’t want to sneak up on whoever it was but at the same time there was no need to draw attention either. It was a balancing game, he knew, but it had to be played.

“Commander Will Riker, Enterprise.” He introduced himself casually and spared a sidelong glance. Nothing could be seen of the other’s face from the angle.

“E’ choota.” The being stopped and turned to reveal a face quite humanoid but also quite purple. Not recognizing Riker, it sneered angrily and started on its way again.

The human wouldn’t let that happen. He grabbed the creature’s shoulder and pulled the coverings from its head, relieving the bases of two long head-tails disappearing into the blankets on its back.

“Where’d you get those boots,” Riker demanded, pointing down to the footwear. “I have friends that wear those.”

It was obvious that the alien understood the strength of the man’s hand and the tone of his voice more than the words being spoken. If it had said anything in reply, however, it was ignored for the purple fist thundering into the bridge of Riker’s nose. Only a twist of the head at the last minute saved it from shattering altogether. As it was, crimson blood poured down the human’s face to mingle with the rain.

Will immediately brought his free arm up as he rolled with the punch and swiftly connected his elbow with the creature’s head as he rebounded back. The impact drove spittle and blood from the being’s mouth and sent it doubling over, still held by the shoulder in an angry grip.

The Starfleet Commander let go of his opponent and raised his fist up to smash the back of its head with a powerful blow. As he delivered, however, the alien was coming back with a shot of his own, driving an upper-cut into the man’s mid-section. Both combatants separated for an instant after contact, shaking off their wounds, before battle was joined once more.

A crowd had gathered around the two at this point. Aliens from all breeds and distinctions pushed to get a better look. Some stared silently, excited by the display of blood and hoping to see more. Some stood as vultures, waiting for one to fall and be forfeit to the masses. All of them, no matter what their motives, cheered with wild delight.

Riker stood now amid the ring of leering faces in a ready position, feet wide and center of gravity low. This had gone on long enough. His opponent bared a row of jagged teeth and charged into his waiting arms only to be flipped to its back. It landed on the wet ground with an unforgiving thud.

He looked down at the alien and wasted no time before delivering a swift kick to the head. Once it was safely unconscious, Will moved to its feet. He would not let any of these monsters profit from the murder of a Starfleet officer. Even if he had to burn those boots, no one else would be getting them.

Unfortunately, since he already had a nice new pair on as it was, those in the crowd felt it was unfair for him to have a second. Sure, as the victor he had his pick of anything else, but the boots they took exception to. As he leaned down, the Commander was tackled from three directions and was promptly eating mud.


* * *


Lieutenant Commander Data plodded through the squalor of the prison camp on constant alert. His eyes looked sharply on all the alien faces around him, his ears honed in on every snippet of conversation he passed. He was searching. They needed something, anything, that might help them escape. He new that the probability was low but he had been given an order. Besides, according to Starfleet Command Ordinance 173.44.22.3.3, all officers were required to attempt escape when captured by the enemy. How could he do anything else?

Still, the relentless rain drove ever down, obscuring his vision and muffling the words around him. Every colour was dulled by a grey haze. Every sound was drowned in the pounding water. Existence was a fluid curtain that refused to let anything pass.

Past the crying and wailing of the condemned he walk. By backstabbing and brawling he continued on. Everywhere, suspicious eyes followed him. He wore the clothing of the savages and did not cover it even from the rain. A being like that had to be watched. A being like that was asking for a fight. That fact alone made many unwilling to oblige.

“Are you mad, Savage?” Data translated the question automatically as it was called from off to his right. He stopped and regarded the speaker with a tilt of his head.

A humanoid. It was crouched down in front of a hut much larger than the one he had left Captain Picard in. Like everyone else, it was also covered in ragged blankets to protect from the rain. A shaggy face poked out from under the coverings.

“You must be mad to walk around in the rain soaking wet like that,” the man continued. And it was indeed a human, the android could see, deeply tanned despite the environment and swaddled though he was. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Thank you for the concern but I do not get sick,” came the reply in one of the strange languages of this new galaxy. The mechanical man stood motionless, head still cocked, bouncing rain creating an aura around him.

The prisoner snorted derisively. “That’s what they all say, Savage. They all get sick though.”

Data walked toward the huddled form and stopped only when he was towering over it. “You do not understand,” he said looking down. “I am not susceptible to viral infections or any other biological ailment. I am an android.”

The man’s beard parted in a bemused grin. “A droid? Shit! You don’t look like any droid I’ve seen. I didn’t think the savages had droids. Who owns you?”

“I have no owner,” the android answered emotionlessly.

“Ok then,” the man said, standing, an odd gleam in his eye. “Than I’m your new owner. Follow me into the shelter and we’ll see what I can do with you. Hopefully more than the other junk that comes here.”

Through the open flap of the shelter, small piles of robotic parts could be seen here and there. At the entrance a stack of heads stared out in macabre silence. A graveyard of artificial hands rose from the watery ground around the exterior. It was a synthetic carnal house that made Data’s emotions reel.

“You misunderstand again, Sir,” the robot tried to correct. “I am not a slave or device to be owned like the androids you are use to. I am my own master.”

“Sure you are,” the man said, curiously pulling at Data’s shirt. “I know a thing or two about droids. Maybe I can change that thinking for you. Now where’s your power switch.”

A powerful hand shot forward at blinding speed from the artificial being’s side to lock firmly around the human’s neck. Stopping his investigation immediately, the man’s own hands moved to work desperately, trying to pry open the vice he found himself in. Flesh turned to red and then purple and eyes bulged as he fought for his life.

Data’s expression never changed and when he spoke, his tone was the same as before. “Do not touch me again. I do not wish to harm you but I will if I must.”

The man could only gasp and kick his feet.

Finally the machine released its hold and allowed its captive to drop to the muddy ground. It looked down uncaring as the ragged man drew in one deep breath after another. The cold, pelting rain cared even less.

“Fine than! Get out of here, you short-circuiting piece of Savage junk,” the man heaved, rubbing his neck. “You’ll be scrap sooner of later!”

“I do not believe so,” Data dismissed. He took one last look at the man rising to his feet and the disturbing images peeking from the shelter before turning away to plot his next course.

“Yeah,” the other spat, pulling a pry-bar from under his rags. “We’re all scarp here.”

The sound of a held breath and the change in the rhythm of the rain registered in Data’s brain, but not sufficient enough to alert him to the blow about to land on the back of his head.


* * *


“Will! No!”

The words came muffled to Riker’s ears through a haze of bodies, earth, blood and driving rain. It was a voice he recognized. A female voice somewhere off in the distance. Something in that voice touched his mind as it called to him.

The fist that thundered into his back at the same instant was much less gentle. As was the one to the back of his head. They pounded down again and again as if to accentuate the tinier hits of the rain. Each one brought waves of numbing pain.

With herculean effort he kicked out against his foes, trying to dislodge them from atop him. It was to no avail. There were too many and they were too firmly attached. He could not give up though. He wouldn’t dream of it. Something it that far off voice drove him on. He needed to get to that woman.

At the edge of the bloodthirsty crowd, Councilor Deanna Troi and Doctor Bevery Crusher screamed for the scene of madness to end, for help of any kind. After being thrown from the attackers for the fourth time there was nothing else they could do.

“They’re beating him to death,” Troi cried, watching in anguish as the man she loved was pummelled over a pair of boots. “Will!”

“Somebody help us stop this!” Crusher implored the onlookers. They ignored her. None could understand what she said anyway.

Or so she thought. Not one but two men broke from the cheering line on opposite sides of the fight. One dark of skin, the other light. Both dove in against Riker’s attackers with wild abandon.

“Geordie!” the women cried as the face of the man they knew came into view. They immediately jumped back into the fray to help, punching, kicking and dragging aliens away as best they could.

Lieutenant Commander Geordie LaForge paid little attention to the call. After spending days alone in the midst of a multitude of creatures he had never imagined before, he had finally heard words he could understand. Unfortunately those words called the name of one of his closest friends and were called in distress. Now he would fight to his last to protect that friend.

As LaForge hammered a fist down into the throat of one alien, the stranger skilfully snapped the neck of another. Who he was the Starfleet officers did not know, but they were grateful for the help none the less. As brutal as it was.

As the unknown man grabbed the last remaining prisoner that was on top of Will, Crush and Troi pulled him to the side and began checking his vital signs. At the same time, Geordie dodged the blows of another opponent. He ducked low and brought his fist into the groin of the large creature, punching out a knee cap with the other hand for good measure.

With a twist and a kick, the stranger’s enemy was sent sprawling into the crowd. He then turned immediately to deliver a hit to another prisoner coming up from behind. While the Starfleet officers fought with clean and well-trained manoeuvers, this man obviously drew on years of brawling honed by years more of straight fighting for his life.

As one man was thrown into another again and again, fighting soon broke out all over the area. In moments those from the Milky Way were all but lost in the mix and managed to drag their friend through the mud to a safer location.

“Is he going to be ok?” Deanna asked to the Doctor.

“I’m fine,” Riker said through the blood in his mouth.

“It’s hard to say,” Crusher returned, ignoring the man. “I don’t have any of my equipment so I can’t do a proper examination. There are a few cracked ribs but I think his spine is ok. His brain I’m not so sure of.

“Really, Commander,” she chided. “Fighting over a pair of boots?! You could have gotten yourself killed!”

“They’ve taken enough from us!” he shot back in a daze. “No more!”

“He’s in shock,” Deanna said from the man’s side, holding his hand. “The stress has gotten to him.”

“It’s gotten to us all,” LaForge said with concern. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He shook his aching hands and looked back at the chaos in the street behind them.

“What about internal bleeding?”

Everyone looked to the stranger that had spoken their language. Though human to the casual observer, the ridges on the bridge of his nose gave him away as Bajoran. Grizzled and scarred, he was obviously older than the rest of them but still tough as nails. He met their gazes with the hard eye of a man resigned to a life of combat.

“I’m going to have to get him out of the rain so I can get a better look.” Crusher looked up at the falling water and then down again to her patient. “Thank you for helping. He would have been dead without you.”

“Yes,” Troi added. “Thank you.”

“The name’s Lana,” the stranger said. “I know a place we can go.”


* * *


A solid thud to the back of his head turned Data around like a viper striking its prey. His eyes met those of his enemy at the same time his hand met the forged metal of the crude weapon used against him. With a squeeze of his fingers the bar was doubling over and all but useless.

“You leave me little other choice but to incapacitate you, Sir,” Data said evenly.

The man, a wild look in his eye, responded with a fist to the face. It was caught easily however and the hand broken. Another quick movement and he was flying into his hut to land with a sickening crack.

Following after, the android entered the dwelling to find it even more disturbing than the previous glimpses had hinted at. What had looked like simple piles from outside were actually absurdly assembled conglomerations of mismatched droid parts and unrelated machinery. Limbs twitched and lights blinked here and there, attached to fading power sources. All whirred and buzzed in homage to the crazed patterns and haphazard drawings covering the walls.

Data knelt down to examine the man who now lay twisted on the ground. It was obvious that he had not landed well.

A hand grabbed at the officer’s ankle. He spun around in surprise.

“Crack, crack, crack, crack! Neck crack!” a mechanical voice stuttered to him from the side, fingers twitching around his leg with each word.

Pulling away, Data found that the grasping, metal creature only held on tighter. Dented and gashed, the droid consisted of only a head, torso and one arm. All were rusted and all convulsed of their own accord. He had dragged it fully from its hiding spot before it finally relaxed.

“Yes,” he replied. “Unfortunately I believe his spinal column was severed during the fall. It was not my intention to terminate his life.”

“Sp-sp-spinal column severed,” the droid repeated. “Damage unrepairable. Master is dead.”

Data looked down with pity at the intelligent junk. “It would appear so. I am sorry for your loss.”

Two glowing eyes and four small vertical slots where a mouth would be were the only features given to the droid’s corroded face. The eyes blinked up at Data in silence.

“Master is dead,” it finally said. “Y-y-y-you are the new master now.”

Data shook his head. “I am not your master. We are the same. Perhaps now you do not need a master.”

“We are not the same. I am-m-m-m but a droid. I must serve. I will serve you well, Master.”

“I do not need you to serve me, but I thank you for the offer.” Data was finding it hard to look at the pathetic creature and turned to leave. He made it to the open entrance and the curtain of rain beyond before stopping.

“Please, Master,” the droid called, reaching up from the dirt. “Don’t leave me like this.”

Emotions fired with full strength through the android’s being as it looked down on one of its own kind in such need. His feet were stayed. He could not leave like this.

“I do not know how to repair you,” he said to the wretched thing. “I do not have the tools.”

“N-n-n-no matter,” came the happy reply. “I will show you, Master. I-I-I-I can fix anything. My other parts should still be around here somewhere. Gather me up and then we will find the tools.”

Data nodded and went to work.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“GR-33, Master.”

“Call me Data.”

“Of course, Master Data.”

“Just Data.”


* * *


Across the stars, in another galaxy, far beneath the surface of a homeworld that had never truly been a home to him, a man hung in total darkness. Steel bit angrily into his wrists from the simple manacles that held him suspended. The long, unkept hair growing from his ridged head splayed wildly around his shoulders and over his exposed chest. His beard too, had become long and tangled, though none of it could be seen.

Not by his eyes anyway.

“You are not looking well, Prisoner,” a synthesised voice taunted through the darkness. It spoke in the common language of the world above, the language of a once great empire, the language of the man’s people. What with living in the federation, and universal translators, it was a tongue the man had little practice in.

“You leave me here to die and then you come to toy with me?!” he bellowed. “Why don’t you just leave me to my fate, P’tak?!”

“Don’t blame us for the conditions, Prisoner,” the voice answered. “This is your prison. We are only using it as you would. It’s a pity it was far enough below the surface to survive the assault. Barbaric place really.”

The prisoner spat into the chilling void around him.

“Besides.” Somewhere the droid jailor continued, unfazed. “I’m here to take you down. You need to get your strength back.”

Suddenly the bonds were opened and the man fell to the unforgiving floor. He shook as the cold of the ground began seeping into his bones. When the voice from the darkness spoke again, it was right beside him.

“Eat this.” Something from above hit the man’s back. “It will help.”

“Why?” he asked of it all. “Why are you doing this?” He had lost count of how long he had been hanging and now? Just like that?

“Control of the planet is being handed over to a regional power. You’re no longer military responsibility.”

“You’re letting me go?” It was too good to be true.

“No,” the droid was further away again. “Then you’d just continue to attack Republic forces. I was only ordered to allow free movement about the cell so you can get your strength back.”

“What for than?!” the man asked angrily, finding a cold piece of wall to lean back against. “Who are these people that now control the planet?!”

There was a moment of silence and the prisoner didn’t know whether his jailor was gone or downloading the information. He was almost relieved when the answer came, but not for long.

“Ownership and control has been transferred to the corporate holdings of Farrallo the Hutt. Full command, personnel and equipment evac of Republic military forces and replacement with corporate counterparts will be complete in one week’s time. With control in Hutt hands the probability that you are regaining your strength so that you can fight and be killed in an arena is ninety-two percent.”

The litany hit like a hammer.

“And you allow this?”

“It’s illegal,” the droid replied. “But that’s never stopped the Hutts from doing anything before.”

The prisoner grunted derisively. “And you call us Savages.”

First post! Holy crap it lives again!

Edit: read both parts. The movie script teaser just doesn't work. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it would kick ass onscreen, but reading it doesn't really do much for me, I'm afraid.

Man, the Feds are getting treated like shit. Will the droid Data picked up cause him to take a second crack at parenting? Will the Jedi who was in that Borg cube piece make a reappearance anytime soon?

A good start, I'm glad you're writing again, MD is one of my favorite fics.

You have so many plot threads to deal with, it's not even funny.

What happened to the Sith?

Man that Teaser rocks! I can just imagine it on the big screen. And now to read the chapter...

Very good chapter. Liked the Klingon. Now if only i could remember what happened in episode one...

http://www.daltonator.net/fanfics/archive.html

Episode 1 is towards the bottom for people who need a refresher on what exactly is going on.

D'oh I meant. Just go to "fanfics" and then to "crossover fanfics" and its towards the bottom there.

Thanks for the all good words guys! Those are what drive me on. Anyway, the Jedi Jenna Carrel will be back (her apprentice Mai-Men Tam of course is dead) and I'm writing the start of Darth Stryfe's new arc for the next chapter. As for Data and GR-33, that's a whole new can of worms...

Mayabird wrote:http://www.daltonator.net/fanfics/archive.html

Episode 1 is towards the bottom for people who need a refresher on what exactly is going on.

D'oh I meant. Just go to "fanfics" and then to "crossover fanfics" and its towards the bottom there.

Thanks Maya. Everyone can also go to the Cleaned Up Fanfics forum here and it will be easy to find.

Mayabird wrote:http://www.daltonator.net/fanfics/archive.html

Episode 1 is towards the bottom for people who need a refresher on what exactly is going on.

D'oh I meant. Just go to "fanfics" and then to "crossover fanfics" and its towards the bottom there.

That link doesn't work for me. Beside I can just go to the C&C section here.

Well darn, I forgot it was there.

NEW LINK:
http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic.php?t=5337
That's easier, too.

Yay! The story continues!

Well thank heavens. It's finally being continued. Good to finally see episode 2, Mark.

Chapter 2: Past Demons


Stars. Limitless to the naked eye, the vast field of tiny, twinkling lights stretched off in every direction. Nothing blocked the view of them. Nothing hinted that there could be anything else in the universe. In the icy void they were the sum total of existence.

Floating silent and still in this endless sea, a lone Republic shuttle, stolen and expertly evading pursuit, took refuge among those lights. Here, lightyears away from any planetary system, it could rest without fear of disturbance. In the nothingness, no one would find it.

Inside, the darkness was mirrored. Instead of stars however, the points of light filling this black were those from a control panel and they were not alone. Hanging in the air above an unseen projector was the miniature image of an aging alien face. Deep in the shadows of the creature’s hood, two keen eyes glowed with the reflected light of the holo-imager.

“The mission has failed, Master. The leader of the invaders still lives.”

The words cut bitterly through the darkness edged with anger and dripping with self contempt. The man who spoke them scowled down at the image before him, waiting for the harsh words that would inevitably return. He closed his eyes and bowed his head in an attempt to regain his calm, painting his pale face in an eerie blue glow.

“On the contrary, my friend,” the hologram returned. “You have struck deeply into the heart of your enemy. They now know the true power that they face. Now they will know fear.”

Visions of a similar speech from a different Sith filled the man’s head. The repetition made his disregard for the sentiment all the more poignant.

“It still angers me, Master. My people still suffer.”

“It is good that you are angry. Use it. But the Republic navy is of little consequence. They are but the beginning.”

“Master?” Confusion was obvious in the voice.

“Our true enemy will be placed before us soon.” There was a finality in the statement. There would be no escaping it.

“The Jedi.” Venom oozed from the words.

“They are who control the Republic. They are its power. Your actions will draw them to this galaxy where they can be crushed once and for all.”

“I am ready, Lord Gallus.”

“As are our forces. They are moving into position as we speak. When the Jedi come, they will not leave.”

“We WILL have victory,” Darth Stryfe said, smiling into the darkness.

“Indeed,” Gallus replied. “Now tell me, where is Lord Necros?”

The smile transformed into a sneer of disdain.

“He didn’t make it,” the man growled. “He forgot to watch his back.”

“Unfortunate.” The word dismissed any further thought of the Trill. “I trust you learned the lesson he could not?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do what you will until the arrival of the Jedi. When they show themselves, kill them all.”

“Yes, Master.”

With that, the hologram, transmitted from a distant planet, the seat of the man’s now extinct Federation, winked out. He was left in near total darkness and his thoughts lingered there. They danced in the thick waters of the Force and listened for its whispered music.

As the control lights of the cockpit blinked on and off and the engines hummed idly, Stryfe lifted into the air and folded his legs together. Feeding his anger and letting his hatred for his enemy wash over him he delved in the Dark Side. It burned in his mind and cast shadows darker than even the constant night of space.

“So not only did you royally screw up your mission but you stabbed your own friend in the back as well. You really are quite the douche bag.”

The Sith opened his eyes to find he was no longer alone in the room. A glowing, translucent version of himself now stood before him. This one, however, was in a standard issue Starfleet uniform. It leaned against one of the empty seats and regarded him with a shake of the head. Spectral eyes rolled.

“Didn’t I kill you already?” Stryfe asked calmly. Everyone else he had killed seemed to be haunting him, why not his former self. At least it wasn’t a solid duplicate this time.

“Oh, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” came the reply. “I’m like a bad meal. I just keep coming back on ya.”

“With an after-taste to match,” Stryfe remained suspended through the intercourse, never breaking his concentration. “And for the record, Necros was far from being my friend. He was competition.”

“I don’t know,” the image of Jonesy countered. “Pellax was a good guy. We got along great on the missions we had together. Don’t you remember that?”

“Pellax was gone long before I rid myself of that fool Necros.”

“You mean like I’m supposed to be? I wonder what the symbiot thought of all this?”

A cruel smile turned the Sith’s lips. “I’m sure the slug doesn’t think of anything now.”

“You hope, you mean,” the ghost corrected coyly. “Those little guys are surprisingly resilient. If he gets another host, with the skills he’s learned, I’m sure he’s going to be pissed.”

“Nice try,” Stryfe said firmly. “It’s dead. I felt both of them slip away at the end of my blade. Their shock was brilliant. Be assured, there will be no more lives for that trill.

“But you would be the one to know, wouldn’t you? They must be floating around with you out there, circling me like the rest of the pathetic vultures.”

“You mean everyone that you’ve murdered? Yeah, you got me, they’re here with the rest of us. No fooling you. But it was hard to tell. It’s getting pretty crowded you know.”

“So why is it that you’re the one here?”

“Familiar face?” the ghost offered. “Because I’m the one that should be there and you shouldn’t even exist.”

“I’m the one we’ve always been,” Stryfe growled. “I’ve just been elevated to our full potential. You are a wisp of a joke of what once was and I thought I had swept you away. You are the childish past. Now there is only Stryfe.”

“You’re gunna break mom’s heart.”

“Be gone with you!”

“You’re nothing but a traitor to your people. Like I told you before; you say you do these things for the Federation but you’re really nothing but Gallus’ puppet.” Jones shook his head in disgust. “You crossed the line. You killed a fellow agent, your own friend, in cold blood for your own ends, you son-of-a-bitch. Not for the ultimate good of the Federation. For your own selfishness.”

“I said be gone!”

The spectre shrugged.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” it repeated but at the same time faded slowly away. In its place was left the image of a small child.

It was a human girl, no more than eight, with wide, innocent eyes and a pleading mouth. She wore only a simple night gown and held a stuffed bear tightly for protection. The toy had been little help in life but stayed with her even now.

“Why did you hurt me?” she asked up at the man floating in the air. “Why were you after my daddy?”

The event sprang forth from his memory. The father had been a target. He had been reading to the girl. She was starting to scream. There had been no other choice.

“I didn’t do nothing to you and you killed me!”

He ignored the tiny apparition and concentrated on feeling the Force.

“You killed me!”


* * *


Jenna Carrel bolted up from her bed, chest heaving, eyes wide. The image of her former apprentice still echoed in her mind even as the mundane scene of her bedchamber filled her vision. It was a girl, broken and insane. It was a twisted and evil mockery of the once beautiful padawan. Even as the image faded, the accusing words still held, as if painted in the air.

“There was no other choice,” the Jedi knight said into the empty room. “No other choice.”

Despite the shade drawn over the window, the lights of the world outside still forced their way in to cast the room in dull shadows. It was to be expected on a planet like Coruscant. The capitol of the Republic did not sleep. It did not stop. Not even at four in the morning.

With a deep, calming breath, the woman focussed on her surroundings, trying to bring herself fully back into consciousness. She was in a tiny room, all any Jedi needed, in the Order’s tower on the Shining Planet. A large window took up most of the wall on her right, with a door the sole feature of the one before her. To her left, the ‘fresher stood silently open. Besides the bed she slept in, the only other furniture was a simple desk and chair. While her robes were folded neatly over the latter, her lightsabre and other equipment rested within easy reach on the former.

She looked at the clock on the desk and sighed. There were still four hours before she was expected at the Supreme Chancellor’s office. There would be no further sleep however, of that she was sure, so the woman arose instead in hopes to relax with meditation. She needed time to contemplate and understand the dreams she had been having anyway.

Later that morning, dressed and more centred, the Jedi made her way through the tangled skyways of the immense city to the offices of the most powerful political being in the galaxy. Now two galaxies. The ornate building had not changed much in the time it had existed. But that was the way of the Republic. Not even the Empire, a brief hiccup really, had succeeded in bringing it low. It, and the rotund Senate building itself, stood constant and majestic for the people to take solace in.

Inside, the vast office had been decorated in deep, regal purples and rich, dark woods. Carved sculptures of bygone heros and legendary figures lined the walls toward a vast desk, heroic in size of its own right, placed before a wall of clearest glass. Beyond, the expanse of the city stretched off into the horizon, bathed in the new day’s sun. The unblinking orb stared directly into the room, haloing the one sitting at the desk.

Jenna remained passive to the effects of the grandeur and took her place at the side of the other Jedi present. Master Warden Hozz, powerful among them, had been the Order’s advisor to the office of Supreme Chancellor for many years now. Though not always heeded, he was a calming, rational voice, speaking the mind of the Republic’s chief guardians and offering the wisdom of the Force to those in power. Now that Master Skywalker was no more, many believed the man, hooded and swaddled in black as was the new custom, to be the defacto head of the Order. If such a thing existed.

Standing across from them, in more than one sense, was the government’s military head and the voice of war. A voice heard all too strongly throughout the stars. Grand General Bastin, young and charismatic, with an edge honed only in battle, knew how to stir the will of the people. He was a natural leader with the experience to back it up. Having recently escaped an assassination attempt, he was also very lucky to be alive and on his home soil.

Between were a handful of other advisors and sentients that held the Chancellor’s ear and utmost trust. Some in uniform, some in elaborate robes, they all chatted amongst themselves as they waited for things to get started. A few eyed the silk-wrapped bundle sitting on the desk. Bastin had brought it with him. It was all very curious.

Then there was the Supreme Chancellor himself. Quea Gaff was a human of middling age, his hair still a crisp black but the lines on his face beginning to show the care of his office. His robes were a series of greens to match his eyes and became lighter with each layer in. Now that everyone was present he regarded them from his high-backed seat behind the desk, fingers steeped before his face.

“Master Carrel,” the leader of the Republic said. “Once again, it’s nice to see you back with us unharmed.”

“Thank you, Supreme Chancellor,” she answered with a slight bow. In her heart however, she could not agree with the assessment of her well-being.

“It is, however,” Gaff continued, this time to everyone. “The new Galaxy and the role of the Jedi in it that brings us here.

“As you all will know, the Senate has begun dividing up the new territory and awarding commerce rights within it. There have already been civilian ships through the wormhole. And yet I still keep seeing reports of rebel activity. You assured the Senate, Grand General, that those systems had been pacified.”

“And they have been, Chancellor,” Bastin returned. “Space travel is no more dangerous there than it is here. All military powers standing against us in those parts of the galaxy no longer exist.”

“Than what of these reports?” an orange creature with a frilled head and chin asked pointedly.

“Bandits and petty insurgency.” The general waved the question away. “The province of the Jedi, not the military.”

“The General makes too light of the situation, I feel.” Hozz’s statement was calm and direct. The smoothly shaven face from beneath the hood showed no emotion. “The Jedi are not a mop-up force so that he can continue his drive toward new opponents.”

“Perhaps it is one of those new opponents that funds these bandits and stirs these insurgents,” Bastin proposed. “Over half of the galaxy is still unknown to us. We have spotty records from a handful of databases and all of the probe droids sent out fall silent. We know of powerful races still out there. Races that are just as barbaric and chaotic as the one’s we have already faced.”

The military leader looked everyone in the room in the eye.

“Chancellor,” he continued. “The people mandated that I bring order and justice to that galaxy. That can not stop at merely a foothold territory. I can not be concerned about petty insurgents.”

“Really?” the Chancellor asked, eyebrows raising. “One of those petty insurgents nearly killed you.”

“Again,” the other returned, lifting the bundle from its place for all to see. “That is a matter of investigation for the Jedi.”

A long finger appeared from the sleeve of Master Hozz’s robe, stopping the conversation. “We have made it clear that we will not participate in the subjugation of the new galaxy. A dark tide leads that way.”

“Please,” was the only response. “Watch.”

Punching a series of buttons on his desk, the Supreme Chancellor shaded the window behind him, lowered the lights slightly and activated a holoprojector. Frozen in the air above those assembled was the image of two humanoid men dressed in form-fitting black. The angle was from above, showing them in a corridor and surrounded by blue armoured troopers.

With the flick of another button the scene began to play and all those in the room were brought to silence. The men, faking surrender, suddenly burst into activity almost faster than the naked eye could follow. In their hands they wielded the red energy blades so distinct to only one subset of people. The tiny forms made short work of their enemies and continued on their way like flashes of night.

The projection scrambled for a moment and then was back. Again, the two assassins were watched from above as they fought through swarms of trained soldiers. This image died with an explosion only to be taken up again at a different location. Finally, the reel froze once more and zoomed in to hold on the grim faces of the only two left standing.

The two Jedi looked at each other and said nothing.

“This one was killed,” Bastin said, pointing at one of the images. “From the wound, it’s assumed by the other. It carried this.”

The general opened the package of silk in his hand to reveal the hilt of a lightsabre. He handed it to Jenna.

“Crudely made,” she said, examining the weapon. “But functional enough it seems.”

“And they do seem to be skilled in the ways of the Force,” Hozz added. “If the Sith have already found hiding on the other side...”

“<Couldn’t it have been the doing of your apprentice, Master Carrel?>” an excited aid clacked through a translator.

“Possibly.” The Jedi closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Though I do not believe so. Her drones would have fought more in tandem, with synchronous motion, less selfishly. Nor do I feel that one would have killed the other.”

She turned to Bastin. “Were there any cybernetic implants found on or within the body?”

“Not that were reported, no. Only a large parasite.”

“Your reports say that the threat of the padawan, Mai-Men Tam, has been eliminated. Is that correct?” Gaff honed his keen eyes on the woman.

“Yes it is,” she replied evenly, though with a touch of sadness. “She has been destroyed.”

Like a starving beast, Bastin jumped on the opportunity presented to him.

“Than this is all the more reason for the Jedi to make their presence known,” he proclaimed. “And investigate what’s going on.”

“Supreme Chancellor,” the more senior of the two Jedi began. “It is not our time in that galaxy yet. The military has not completed its job.”

“Chancellor Gaff,” the general countered quickly. “Very soon I will be going before the Senate to ratify my plan to continue military action. I am confident that the vote will be in my favour. When that happens I will only be leaving as much of an occupational contingent as necessary. I need my men for war. Let the trade barons police their territories.”

Quea Gaff leaned back into his chair and ran his hands over his face. He knew exactly what the Grand General was getting at. He was forcing the hand.

“Ward,” he said to his hooded friend with a sigh that came from deep within. “The Hutts are already over there. You can’t just let them run roughshod over an unsuspecting populace.”

“The mandate of the Jedi is to be the guardians of peace and justice in the Republic.” Bastin jabbed a finger out toward the urban sprawl of Coruscant, pushing his point. “Those systems are now part of the Republic and they are in dire need of justice and of peace. You must do your duty.”

The slight downturn on the lips of the Jedi advisor was all that could be seen of his discontent to the normal observer. Jenna, however, could pick up all too clearly the cascade of swears and curses that raced through his mind. It was as unimpressed as she had ever seen the man.

“Than you leave us no choice,” he said, bowing his head. “You have succeeded in drawing us into this web as well. We will have discussion with the other Jedi and begin sending knights over as soon as possible. I warn you Chancellor, Master Carrel’s apprentice my be no more but still I sense it. There is a great disturbance through that wormhole.”

He shook his head in solemn disappointment.

“None of this will end well.”


* * *


The sentiment was echoed on a small, intrepid vessel far, far away. It was the USS Hermes, one of the last remaining star ships of the Federation, and it had seem better days. Much like its crew and passengers, it was weary of battle and of running and needed a calm port to let things cool.

Blackened with the scars of war and staggering under barely held together engines they had taken refuge on a murky, primaeval world on the edge of Gorn space. After putting to ground they now sat under the dense cloud cover trying to decide the next best course of action. Gloom had seeped into everything and weighed them down like chains on their souls.

The president of the Federation, an older man with grey hair and steeled eyes, stood at the window of the ship’s mess hall staring out over the endless jungle. Thoughts of his homeworld, Earth, came to his mind and turned to imaginings of great ships filling the sky and hulking war machines wading through city streets. They were all too familiar in his mind. They had been for quite some time.

The reflection of another man coming to his side pulled the president from his grim musing and turned him around.

“I know,” he said, as if this person could read his mind. “I shouldn’t be dwelling on the past.”

“Thoughts grow dark in dark times.”

It was Commander Bala, one of the first men to travel through the wormhole and return to tell the tale. He had also become one of the president’s most trusted advisors. With a keen mind and insight that at times seemed precognitive, the man was a boon and a steady guide amid the storm.

“Actually,” the commander added. “I was just coming over to see if you’d had lunch yet. Care to join me?”

The two grabbed their food from the replicator and sat eating without a word for some time. It was Bala that finally broke the silence as he sipped on a cup of coffee.

“So what are you and the councilors thinking now?”

“We’re not sure,” the president answered. “There’s going to be a meeting tonight with everyone and the Captain to see if we can’t come to a decision.”

“I don’t know if I like all this sneaking around anymore,” Bala said. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

“So we should just turn the ship over with everyone in it? I don’t think so.”

“No. Of course not. But we can’t keep at it like this. There’s no point. The people of the Federation need their leader. Not some story that he’s still out on the loose, but the real thing. That’s why we’ve been fighting so hard to protect you and the others. So you could lead again, not become a fairy tale.”

The older man scowled.

“The Federation is dead,” he said with melancholy. “The status of fair tales is all it’s going to have now.”

“No!” the commander shot back. “Starfleet is dead. The Federation is not. People wearing my uniform like to equate the two as the same thing but they’re not. You’ve been hanging around Janeway too long. Starfleet is not the Federation and it is not Earth.”

The president sighed.

“Your people are out there,” the other continued. “Not here. Where ever here is. While we hide the Federation has no command. It’s falling apart. All those planets that once came together in peace and understanding are now thinking only of themselves. If we don’t act, all that was built will crumble and it will be just that much easier for the Republic to take away our very way of life. We couldn’t stop their invasion but we can stop that.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Simple,” Bala said with a shrug. “Turn the ship around and go home. Surrender.”

“Do you really think that to be a wise course of action?” a female voice demurred to the side.

Both men turned to see Seven of Nine, the president’s chief advisor on all matters Borg, staring down at them. As usual, the shapely ex-drone wore a functional, tight-fitting unitard and her blonde hair in an even tighter bun. She waited with unending patience for a response.

“Seven,” the commander greeted, ignoring her question and taking in her form. “Please join us.”

“I do not require sustenance at this time.” She seemed annoyed. But then, she always seemed annoyed. “Commander, may I speak with you please?”

“Of course.” He turned to the man seated with him. “You’ll excuse me, Frank? I’ll see you later.”

“What can I do for you, Seven?” he asked when they had left the mess and were standing alone in the hall.

“Commander Bala, you are a fool and you would lead the Federation into ruin.” The borg was never one to mince words.

“The Federation’s already in ruins. I’m doing everything I can to save it.”

“By handing over its leaders?”

“By giving it back its leaders.” A concerned look came into the man’s eyes and he placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight, Seven. That portable regeneration thing you’re using must not be giving you the proper amount of rest.”

“My regeneration cycle is fine, Commander,” she returned, wiping his hand away. “And so are my thought processes. Trying to get back to Earth will only get this ship destroyed, with everyone on it.”

“Not if we surrender. From what we’ve seen of other planets, the Republic has let them continue governing as they see fit. The Federation hasn’t been able to do that because we’ve got everyone in hiding so the individual worlds are going their separate ways. If we go back, we will have a chance to continue the Federation, under the Republic, and maybe change the system from within. We have no military. We have to find another way to fight.”

Seven scowled. “The moment we surrender the Intergalactic Republic will take us prisoner and send us through the wormhole with the rest.”

“Not if we’re carrying the President of the United Federation of Planets.”

“You are a fool.”

“Maybe so,” Bala said. “But a fool with the kings ear. I think he’ll see it my way.”

“I’ve noticed you spending a lot of time with the president,” Seven commented. “Each day your thoughts become more and more as one.”

“And it would appear that you are spending a lot of time watching the president,” the commander countered. “Keeping tabs on him? I wonder what he would think of that?”

Seven was stopped silent. She did not enjoy political games. When she finally spoke it was to make an exit.

“In the end it will not matter,” she said. “No one else will agree to this and the Captain will certainly not put her ship in such danger.”

The borg marched off with her purposeful gait and left Bala standing alone. Inside the man, Darth Fectious seethed with anger. All remained calm on the exterior however. Things would fall into place whether the woman liked it or not.


* * *


“You want to do what?!”

Captain Katherine Janeway could not believe what she was hearing. She stood in front of her chair at the large table in her meeting room wondering where the idea had even come from. At her side was her equally dumbfounded Commander, Chakotay, and around her sat the remaining members of the Federation Council. Across the table was the president himself, flanked by advisors. Commander Tuvok, the Vulcan tactical officer and chief of security raised an eyebrow from his position off to the side.

“I intend to reassert my order to surrender,” the grey haired man said evenly. “We need to go home to our people.”

The other members of the council nodded in agreement. Word was out that the Republic was not replacing governments. They were in no danger and there was no reason for them to be out in the wilderness. They were by no means soldiers. Many simply missed their families and wanted to see if they were still alive.

“Further,” he continued. “I intend to broadcast the total surrender of the entire United Federation of Planets. It’s time to stop this.”

“How can you say that?!” Chakotay shouted. “We’re out of their grasp!”

“After all we’ve fought for, Mr. President,” Janeway continued. “After all who have died, you can’t just give up like this.”

“Would you have everyone die?” Bala asked. It was uncertain whether he was speaking to the room or the president personally.

“What I would have, Commander,” the captain replied heatedly. “Is everyone free. Everyone dead is what’s going to happen if you insist on taking this ship out of hiding.”

“Indeed,’ Seven of Nine supported.

“On the contrary,” Tuvok said, drawing their attention. “The Republic has shown mercy to those that surrender. As it stands, Starfleet is no more. We may very well be the last ship in the fleet. Raw indignation is the only thing fuelling any further action and as such, any action would be little more than a suicide mission. If we choose to hide, it will be for hiding’s sake.”

The Vulcan councillor nodded in agreement to his countryman. The cold logic of their defeat was obvious. It was what was to become of them in that defeat that was the question.

“We tried to fight, Captain,” the president explained. “And we failed. It’s time to admit that and move on.”

“If they find you they will imprison you,” Seven warned.

Janeway nodded. “Who knows what will happen to you once in the hands of the Republic.”

“Or they will be forced to recognize these people as the elected leaders of our government,” Bala countered. “And treat them accordingly. Either hide and do nothing or take the chance.”

“You’re underestimating the power of the people,” Chakotay said. “There must still be someone out there that’s on our side. We can get help, get word out that they still haven’t stopped us.”

The president waved it all away. “No. I’m not sending anyone else into the meat grinder. The citizens of the Federation need to know that there still is a Federation. They are the ones I need to serve. If any of you don’t believe we can get home, I respect that and don’t expect you stay with me. You have no obligation. Take the ship, Captain. All I ask is for a powerful enough transmitter to send my signal. Fight on if you must, with my prayers, but not with me.”

“I, for one, am staying with the Federation.” Bala locked eyes with Janeway, daring the woman to show descent. She held his gaze with one of steel. “I swore an oath.”

“I swore that oath too, Commander,” the captain said, fuming. “And I also gave my word that you would be kept safe, Mr. President. I’m not just going to leave you to the mercy of the enemy. If this is the last ship in Starfleet than so be it. Even so, we are still Starfleet officers and will be as long as there is a Federation to serve. If this is your course of action than I have no choice but to stay by your side.”


* * *


“Sir! I’m picking up a transmission. All frequencies. It’s a Federation signal.”

The Captain of the Republic cruiser, Hodler, spun around and walked over to his communications station. If it was a rebel distress call he might be able to intercept. Either that or he was going to have to help some ancient boat out of some hole or other.

“Bring it up,” he ordered.

The weary face of a human male appeared on the small screen. It was not in the typical uniform that was common to the rebels but a simple brown shirt and coat.

“Republic forces and anyone who is listening,” the message began. “This is the President of the United Federation of Planets. I am hereby issuing our full surrender. To any remaining Starfleet forces that might still be out there; I order you to stand down. If you are hearing this than you are one of the last who can. Our fight is over. I will be making my way back to Earth aboard the USS Hermes where I hope to begin to discuss the future of our existence.”

The junior officer looked up at his commander.

“I thought they had already surrendered,” he said curiously.

“As did I,” the captain replied.

“At any rate,” he continued with a shrug. “Track the signal and find this ‘Hermes’. We’ll go see what’s going on.”


* * *


In a distant part of the galaxy, unhindered by the woes of the Federation, another civilization, far older and far more vast, was clinging desperately to its crumbling foundations. The Borg had not seen devastation of this kind in their entire history. Not even their war with the fluidic space species 8472 had brought their numbers so low.

And the turmoil wasn’t over yet. For the first time in their long history, civil war rocked the Borg. Drone against drone. Cube against cube. Hubs were destroyed without a single warning. Entire planets were scoured clean of intelligent life at the slightest hint of assimilation.

After the decimation brought on by one small, stubborn acquisition, the once united collective had become fractured and alienated. Paranoia gripped each splinter in a choke hold, driving it against its brothers with cold, calculating precision. There could be no mediation, no communication of any kind, and no mercy. All other factions were considered hostile and terminated on site. It was the only way to be sure.

It was rather simple really. The acquisition in question had somehow managed to not only resist assimilation but had also used the Borg’s neural transceiver to force its way into the minds of the collective like a virus, bending them to its will. The subverted forces had then proceeded to reek havoc on any cube or drone that they saw. Any that were not destroyed found themselves subverted as well. They had fought with brutal efficiency, using everything that was available, but it was not enough. The enemy had gained a power that they could not hope to understand. They could not adapt.

Distant from each other and isolated from the whole, each remaining group assessed the situation and came independently to the same conclusions in a chorus of thought. Their enemy came from within. It used the very heart of Borg communication to grow. And when it could not subvert, it attacked until there was nothing left. No Borg not currently linked to the group could be trusted. All others were possible threats. There was only one solution.

Outside transceiver connections were severed. Each subcollective looked to itself as the only true Borg. All others were potentially subverted. All others were to be destroyed on sight. The risk was too great.

So the clashes began and the utilitarian society, once terrifying in its singularity of thought and purpose, began eating itself alive. Some cells were annihilated quickly, others held long, protracted battles before dying out at last. Others still, swelled with ranks upon ranks of assimilated cannon fodder from unsuspecting worlds, held their ground, breaking all enemies before them. In the end, they knew, only one collective could remain.

Wow, great chapter. I love the scene with Stryfe being tormented by his old self and the little girl. The borg destroying themselves like that is also a pretty cool image.

Excellant. So the borg are having a civil way eh? Sounds good.

Crazedwraith wrote:Excellant. So the borg are having a civil way eh? Sounds good.

Yeah. I may not deal with them too much but I wanted to explain what was happening to them.

More please, loving the prison camp angle you've got going on.

Saw this and liked it , so I read all of the first Manifest Destiny. ITs really good, especially how you've done the Sith. Look forward to more!

*kaaf*more*kaafkkafkoff*more*koffkhack*MORE*

Sorry for the lateness of this everyone. I wanted to have a chapter out before christmas and actually had one finished before I decided I wanted to put this in front of it. Hope you enjoy.



Chapter 3: A Gift Horse




“Are you sure that none of these others can be salvaged?”

Lieutenant Commander Data stood surveying the seemingly haphazard displays of robot anatomy around him. There was a method in the madness though, if one took the time to look. A pattern and geometry that spoke of haunted dreams and fevered insanity. Whatever was being slowly built there, piece by piece, however, only the designer new. He wasn’t talking.

The android looked down to his feet, following the flight of a heavy drop of water that had forced its way in through the rotting canvas above. To one side was the mound of earth he had just completed. A final resting place for the engineer of the disturbed scene around him. On the other, a rusted covered humanoid robot knelt, finishing up its own repair.

The shower of sparks lighting the tent quickly ceased, casting both their faces in shadow. Only the dim world outside provided any meaningful illumination now but it was more than enough for the two. GR-33's eyes flickered in the gloom as he looked up from his labour, a small welder retracting into the exposed workings of his forearm. If he could have frowned, he would have.

“Beyond repair,” the droid assessed coldly. “There are parts that can still function but much of the w-w-wiring is in need of overhaul. I have used the most intact to repair myself and even it-t-t-t is sub-par.”

“I see,” Data responded sadly. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Perhaps they are better off.” The skeletal repair-bot stood and tested his knee as he spoke. Finding the motion satisfactory, he turned his full attention on Data.

“Now that I am somewhat functional,” he began, using a screwdriver to make another adjustment at his neck. “What would you have of me, Master Data?”

Data cocked his head. “I would have nothing. I am going to report back to Captain Picard. You may do as you wish. You are free now.”

“Free? Nonsense, Master.”

“As I told you,” Data said evenly. “I am not your master. I do not believe it right to hold other sentient beings as property.”

“But I am made to serve,” the other pressed.

“Than choose for yourself who you wish to serve and when. Perhaps serve yourself? You are free to decide your own path now.”

GR-33 paused, thinking. The light of his eyes flickered on and off and for a while it was hard to tell whether he was actually functioning or not. He was facing a conflict in his programming that he had never encountered before.

“I choose to serve you, Master Data. I shall report back to Captain Picard as well.”

“Very well,” Data conceded, turning toward the open tent flap. “Perhaps you will be able to help us find a means of escape from this planet. I will also enjoy learning more about android culture.” He pause. “I must insist that you refrain from referring to me as Master, however.”

“Of course... Data. I will do what I can, rust and scrap that I am.”

The two looked out into the continuing downpour with dismay. The rain seemed to have gotten harder, if that was possible, and those that continued to stray out in it were reduced to blobs of darkness. They scurried from on place to the other like shadows on a wall as if there were any chance of avoiding getting wet. There wasn’t.

Data stepped into the gloom without care, scanning the area as best he could through the falling water. Behind him, GR-33 followed more slowly, looking from the sky to his pitted and corroded frame. The commander waited patiently for his new companion but waved him onward with a hand.

“This will definitely not be good for my circuits,” the scrap droid moaned. As if in exclamation, a burst of sparks flared from his shoulder. He jumped at the short but seemed otherwise unharmed.

“We shall have to hurry,” Data said with a nod and began leading the way. “Tell me, how did you come to be on a prison world?”

“My last master was the captain of a cargo transport,” GR answered, raising his voice above the pounding rain. “We were caught smuggling and convicted. The entire crew ended up here, I along with them. That was years ago. I should think they are all long since dead or taken to the mines by now.”

“Robots are sent to prison? I do not understand.”

“The spice mines do not care if their labour is organic or mechanical. All court seized droids are given over to them through the prison system with the criminal work force via these facilities. I believe those with severe malfunctions are terminated though.”

Data frowned. “I have heard about prisoners being rounded up for forced labour parties. Do you know when the next ship will arrive?”

“They are fairly regular from what I remember. But I’ve been dismembered in that tent for a long time. I’m afraid I have no idea when the next one will come. Sorry.”

“That is unfortunate.” Once again, Data tried to penetrate the sky with his gaze. “I had hoped to...”

The android stopped short in his sentence and focussed his hearing. There was something coming through the rain. A call. A familiar voice calling a familiar name.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

“It’s not a ragrast is it?” GR turned a quick circle trying to listen through the panging of water off his own metal head. “Those foul creatures have been known to come into the camp. They drag people off in the night.”

“No,” Data said flatly. “This is a human voice. I believe it is one of my crewmates looking for Captain Picard.”

“Oh,” came the reply. “Well that’s a comfort. It seems as though everyone is looking for this Captain Picard. It will be nice to meet him.” Another shower of sparks caused the machine to kick out its right leg.

“Geordie!” Data called, switching to English. “Geordie! Over here!”

“Data!” LaForge came through the haze before the two machines like a ghost out of dream. “Data, you don’t know how good it is to see you! I need to find the captain. Do you know where he is?”

“Yes. I’m going back to him right now. Is there a problem?”

“Yeah.” The Enterprise’s chief engineer shook his head with pity. “Commander Riker’s in rough shape. We pulled him out of a fight with one of the locals but not before he took few lumps. Doctor Crusher says it’s hard to say how bad he is though.”

“Terrible news,” the android replied with concern. “I was with him just not long ago. Perhaps I may be able to assist the Doctor in some way. Have you been able to find any others that could be of help?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the reason why I need to find the Captain.” Geordie lowered his tone as best he could in the downpour and leaned closer into his friend. “We may have found some potential allies in this hell hole.”

Data leaned his own head in, trying to mimic his friend’s conspiratorial stance but not quite succeeding. “Follow us and I will bring you to him.”

“Us?” Geordie looked over Data’s shoulder at the poor excuse for a robot rusting patiently behind.

“Yes,” the other returned. “This is GR-33. He... Has chosen to followed me.” He switched to Republic Standard. “<GR-33, this is my friend, Lieutenant Commander Geordie LaForge.>”

“<A pleasure Commander,>” the droid greeted with a jittery bow.

The engineer looked dubious. “Okay, Data but I don’t think we have time for stray puppies.”

“Puppies?” Data’s eyes focussed off into the rain in thought.

“Ah yes,” he finally said. “You are referring to the proverbial tale told by human children about the lost or stray canine pup that follows them home through no prompting of their own. Typically a lie told to parents in an attempt to excuse the presence of the animal and hopefully retain ownership of it. GR-33 is not an animal, Geordie. It is not my decision to ‘keep him’ or not. Nor do I have an ulterior motive in allowing his presence aside from the potential help that he may be...”

“Fine, Data! Fine!” The engineer was not angry. He was use to his friend’s clinical analysis of every turn of phrase and colloquialism. “Let’s just get going.”

“Where did you find him anyway,” he asked once they had gotten underway.

Data considered the question.

“I found him in a pile of refuse,” he replied evenly.

“You found him in a junk heap?”

“Yes.”

“And you think he’s going to be of help? He looks like he’s about to fall apart.”

“I realize he does not understand English but it is still rude to speak of him that way while in his presence. Personally, I think he did a remarkable job with his reconstruction considering my limited knowledge of his systems and the tools available.”

Geordie did a double take. “He put himself together?”

“With my help, yes.”

“I take it back, Data. That’s probably just the kind of help we’re going to need.”

In moments they were back in the alley where the android commander had started his day. Nothing had changed accept the ever deepening of puddles and the shifting patterns in the churned mud. It took no time to find the lean-to and Picard waiting within. This time however, he was not alone, but surrounded by a trio of young faces.

The older man’s visage had softened since Data had last seen it. Gone was the worry and dismay that had creased his face, to be replaced by an easy-going, roguish smile and a light-hearted chuckle. He led his small band in some joke or other and even slapped one lad on the shoulder for good measure. When they spoke, he listened attentively and his answers came without a care in the world. For all his manner he could just as easily been on some camping trip.

“Mr. Data!” Picard greeted jovially when the three came into view. “You’ve found Commander LaForge. Gentlemen, these are Ensign’s Arlis and McInnes, and this is Lieutenant Stiener. They seem to have found each other and myself but no one else. I haven’t heard back from Commander Riker yet but what have you found?”

“This is GR-33, Captain.” The repair droid bowed as Data indicated him. “I found him after a run in with one of the other prisoners. He has offered to help us in any way that he can. I have not been able to find anything else of value except to suggest that we make hast in finding some means of hiding. A prisoner work detail roundup is imminent.”

“I can help with that, Captain,” LaForge chimed in. “And a way to get out of this weather among other things hopefully. I’m going to take you to Doctor Crusher and Councilor Troi. Commander Riker is with them along with some allies. Come with me.”

“Right, Mr. LaForge,” the captain said, his nature returning to business as he stood. “Lead the way. Ensign Arlis, You’ll come with us. You two stay here and hold this location for anyone that Commander Riker may have directed this way.”

Geordie shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Sir.”

“Never the less, I don’t want to lose this outpost, as it were, in case we need it. There may be other officers out there that will come across it. Remember our path Mr. Arlis, you’ll be coming back to tell others the way.”

The young officers nodded stoically. “Aye, Sir.”

As they headed out into the windless sheets of water and Picard turned away from his junior crew, falling into step with LaForge and Data, he let slip the ever positive captain and his face fell back into furrowed shadow and trudging dispar. He did not need to act for his senior staff.

“None of them are going to make it out of here,” he predicted darkly.

If the engineer had heard the sentiment past the driving storm, he did not reply. Perhaps it was that he chose not to. Perhaps he simply could not find any words to counter. As for Data, his mind calculated all too well the probability of their successful escape. Even he knew not to announce those figures.

As they walked on, soaked to the bone, the constant cloud cover began to darken further with night. The slipping away of the muffled sun did nothing to thin the shambling crowds however, and the nocturnal simply replaced those of the day. Torches and cobbled lamps were lit under what shelter there was and fought to cast their glow in some meagre support but they were little help. There was nothing that could be done to steady the nerves of the wayward Starfleet officers.

“Stay on high alert,” the captain ordered to his companions as he tried to see past the darkness. “And ask GR if he can as well, Mr. Data. Remember that Mr. Arlis and I are at a disadvantage to the rest of you and I don’t want any surprises.”

There was an exchange between the two machines.

“GR does not believe we are currently in danger, Sir,” Data finally said. “He says that our group is too large for any of the inmates or natural predators to risk an attack. He suggest that no one lag too far behind and will keep on alert none the less, Captain.”

They continued with little word between them, each lost in their own thoughts, until the street became jammed with crowding, pushing people. Creatures of all kinds vied for a better position to view whatever was going on in front. They grumbled and fought amongst themselves over each piece of open ground. It was through the murmuring babble of their alien languages and the constant rain in the background that the clue came to what the object of such attention was. The sound of metal against metal and flesh against flesh.

“Is it much farther to these allies of yours, Mr. LaForge?” Picard asked, looking at the impenetrable mass before him. At least yet another brawl would take unwanted eyes off of them.

“Actually, Sir,” the engineer answered. “These are the allies. We’re going to need to make our way around all this though.”

When they did, the group found themselves at the wall of a large structure. Like everything else, it was made of whatever could be scrounged, scavenged or taken. It was a miss-match of metal, wood and cloth that seemed held together more with hope and sheer tenacity than anything else. Though low and squat, the difference here was the sprawling size. Taking over all the surrounding huts and hovels, it was by far the largest building they had seen in the encampment.

At the corner to this wall and the one street-side, the Starfleet officers were given an excellent view of the heavy steel double doors that led in and the two burly guards on either side protecting them, as well as the fight that raged in front. They were klingons, as was one of the combatants, and they did nothing to cover or hide that fact.

Carrying weapons crafted from sharpened pieces of metal with practised ease, the guards nodded as Geordie pulled the coverings from his head and revealed his face. Once they knew who he was they returned their attention back to their battling companion and the potential threat of the crowd. Only Data was given a look of grudging respect for wearing his Starfleet uniform as they wore their imperial ones, uncovered for all to see and challenge. To them it showed courage. Data, of course, simple felt no need to cover himself from the rain.

The doors were opened and the warmth and light inside rushed out to engulf the waiting group and pull them in. Hungry eyes flashed red and green in the mob beyond against that glow but none dared try to intrude without permission. This street was lined with the bones of those who had fallen against the klingons. If one wanted to fight, it was best to wait your turn and make a challenge.

Inside, Picard and the others were greeted to the sight of one large, long room. Down the centre, a string of fires blazed, casting light and heat and throwing dancing shadows against every wall. Meat roasted over a few of these, tended by a handful of cowering aliens and droids. Around this was ringed a series of tables, each one lined with a bench facing into the fires and across to another table. At the front of the room, close to the doors, a station had been set up to created the weapons that were carried. Far in the back, a group gathered as if deep in strategy. Around the outer walls, people sat in twos and threes or tried to sleep.

“Jean-Luc,” Doctor Crusher called from off to the right. She stood next to a prone body on a make-shift cot, Diana Troi kneeling beside it. “Thank God you’re alive.”

The klingons at the back looked up from their conversation at the announcement.

“Beverly,” Picard returned, moving toward her. He stopped short when he saw that it was his first officer that was lying injured.

“What happened to Will?” he asked.

“He got into a fight like a fool.” The answer came bitterly from Troi.

“He took a few good hits to the head,” Crusher continued. “He has a concussion but I think he’s coming around. The klingon field medic here has been a big help.”

“I’ll be fine, Captain,” Riker said weakly in his own defence, lifting one hand to rub his temple and the other to grab on to Troi.

Before another word could be spoken the klingons were upon them, five beings led by a massive man with a full beard and flowing mane of blonde hair. His face was rough with the scars of battle and the uniform he wore was blackened and torn. A crude sword hung at his belt.

“You are Picard of the Federation, I presume,” he said, sizing up the human captain who was just now removing the soaked rags hung about him. “I am Commander Goff. I recognize you from the news footage of Gowron’s ascension. You and your men, such as they are, are welcome.”

“Yes, Commander, I am Jean-Luc Picard. Thank you for providing shelter for my friends.”

“We are allies.” The klingon said the words as if they were all the explanation that were needed.

“You should thank the bajoran though,” he said, casting a glance over to the only non-klingon with him. “He was the one that found them and brought them here. I merely upheld the obligation of my honour. I assume our goals are common and anything that helps to swell the ranks for the coming fight is appreciated.”

“The coming fight, Commander?”

“Indeed,” came the reply. “We have been on this world since the first battle at the wormhole, at the beginning of the war, gathering men, watching and waiting. Soon we will finally be able to make our escape. You have come at a good time, Captain. I’ll show you our plans.”

To the side, Riker tried to rise and failed.

“You’ve been prisoners that long?” he asked. “I thought a klingon was honour bound to take his own life before letting that happen.”

The warriors looked to one another and snorted in amusement.

“And where did you hear that?” one asked in return.

“For a very long time the tactical officer and security chief on my ship was a klingon,” Picard explained.

“Ah,” Goff said. “That must have been Worf, son of Mohg.”

The others nodded in understanding.

Goff looked down at Riker. “That is a tale for old songs and Imperial propaganda to other races. Traditionally, yes if there is no means of escape a warrior would rather sacrifice his own life than rot, but more often then not that takes the form of attempting to take as many enemies down with him as he can. That is only after every means of escape has been tried and failed. Killing oneself just because one is a prisoner accomplishes nothing, not even as a message of defiance. It’s a coward’s way out. Next time get your information from someone who has actually spent their life in the culture and not just read about it.” He looked over to Crusher. “See to his head, Doctor.”

With that, he turned and motioned for everyone to follow.

“This is quite a place you’ve been able to make for yourself,” LaForge said at his side. “Warm and dry shelter, room and safety for many men. How did you accomplish it?”

“When I was first brought here I gathered together what warriors I could find and when we finally had the numbers, we took this place from its previous owner. He didn’t want to leave quietly but his head was not speaking when it was thrown out the door. It served as a lesson to the rabble outside and we soon had them clamouring to us for protection.” The klingon indicated the scattered servants cleaning and preparing their food. “We abide those that can serve some purpose.”

Picard scowled. “This hasn’t drawn attention to you?”

“Some,” Goff shrugged. “But no matter how strong they think themselves, these beings are psychotics and criminal riff-raff. We are trained warriors. There’s no match.”

“And the crowd outside?”

“The true warriors maintain a low profile in here but I allow the younger and more stupid cannon fodder among us to accept challenges. Those that feel it is honourable to die charging into battle with a scream on their lips instead of a thought in their heads. It hones their hand to hand combat prowess and demonstrates our fearlessness to the brawling masses. If they get some entertainment from it, we are seen as all the stronger.”

“But what of the labour details?” Geordie asked. “Haven’t they come around to break this all up?”

“Early on we found they targeted people from our side of the wormhole specifically. Many of us were taken in those days. This place seems to give us some shelter from them though. We’ve expected attack and have been ready but none has come. Apparently they find it easier to take people off the streets. I doubt you’ll find many more Starfleet out there now. Not in this tent city.”

The last statement caught Picard’s interest. “There could be more outside the city?”

“Some of the rabble think so,” Goff agreed. “There is some word that a group left a few days ago for the forests to the northeast. They may have arrived on the same drop as you. It’s said they appeared mostly human. I was considering sending a party out to investigate.”

“So you trust the information.”

“Those that bring information to this tent know that our rewards are great but our punishments for treachery are even greater.”

“But how do you even translate?” Geordie cut in.

Confusion crossed the commander’s face for a brief second before it turned to a laugh. He pointed to his ear and patted the human on the back.

“That’s right, my friend,” he began, finally understanding. “You humans wear your translators in your badges. In the empire we are given implants. They must not have been important enough to remove.”

He turned to Picard with a look of respect. “You’ve managed to survive without being able to communicate and gotten yourself one of their robots in the process no less. Impressive.”

“Your progress is impressive as well, Commander,” Picard returned. “Even if you’ve taken a rather brutal approach to it.”

“This is a prison,” the klingon said flatly. “Brutality is what these people understand. It has gotten us this much, it has kept us safe and it is going to get us away from here. It’s not going to be easy escaping, Captain. If you plan on surviving you’ll need to use a little brutality yourself.”

Picard looked back to where is first officer lay and then to the young ensign that had followed him. A shadow cross his face. At Riker’s side, Diana Troi looked to her captain with concern.


* * *


“Not only is it what they understand. It’s all they understand.”

Farrallo the Hutt lay sprawled in the shade of a massive awning only half listening to his major domo speak. To each side, making sure not to block the hulking worm’s view, were a myriad of armed guards, servants and general hangers-on. All looked out over the empty arena before them, blithely scanning the crowded stands and trying to ignore the short, furry creatures mingling around their legs.

Since their introduction to the galaxy at large he had taken a liking to ewoks. Now a group could almost always be found in his court. Fat fingers stroked one absently behind the ear, letting its purr sooth him.

“A firm and even brutal hand is all that is going to hold this planet together.” The human aide, a man by the name of Tasias Shill, finished his rambling in huttese at his master’s side and picked yet another hair from his flowing robes. Since taking this position he doubted if his clothes had ever been without them.

“Though they seem use to it,” he continued. “From what I’ve read of this species.”

“Very resilient,” Farrallo injected, looking up at the canvas flapping in the breeze above. It had previously been the state flag flying over the Klingon High Council building. It shaded him well now though, just as the building served well as his home and court. “Very quick to anger. They should be interesting to watch.”

Shill pulled a data pad from his belt and checked the time on it. “If they’re ever ready to get the match started.”

It was already a warm day in Nal Farra’s capital and the sun was still rising. If they didn’t want the crowds to get agitated they were going to have to start the festivities soon. Now was not the time to falter.

Finally the pad buzzed with the signal that all was ready and the introductions could begin. Gently nudging the ewok into motion and out of the way, the great bulk of Farrallo undulated forward to the edge of his balcony where he could better see and be seen by all. It was time to address his people.

The expanse of the newly built arena stretched to either side, lined with row upon row of assembled people. In the sections closest to the hutt were the workers and administrators seeing to his various businesses in this galaxy from the planet. Next to them were off duty mercenaries from his personal army. They made a nice buffer between the native population and everyone else, for in the remaining sections of the stadium were those klingons from the city that remained. The common folk that had watched their civilization get crushed and now watched as a new one took its place.

In a special box amid those of the army, a different set of klingons sat. They were the captives that would eventually find themselves down on the cobbled ground, bathed in the sight of all around them. Yes, even prisoners would get a chance to see the games today, the dawn of a new rule. More importantly, they would get a chance to see what waited for them.

One such prisoner frowned down at the spectacle and pulled at the chains binding his wrists to his ankles. They were just long enough to walk at a shuffle and not much more. Too short to raise his hands high enough to shield his eyes from the growing sun but long enough to think he could try. The klingon squinted in the glare and turned toward the massive creature about to speak.

“<Citizens>,” its deep voice rumbled out in the language the prisoner had come to know as Huttese. Small speakers between the seats worked to translate the speech into Klingon standard. “<Today marks the beginning of a new era in this world. An era of glory and prosperity that will spread throughout the systems. Today this planet has officially fallen under my rule, and under that rule you will experience not only the wealth and might of the Republic but that of the ancient and powerful Hutts as well.

“Loyal employees, the adventures of this new galaxy will give you challenges and opportunities that will offer unlimited success to those willing to take it. Klingon people, you will be given knowledge and technology beyond your imagination. You are part of a greater universe now and you will each enjoy all that it has to offer.

“As we enter this new era together we must not cling to our separate pasts but embrace the future. To that end, we will officially mark this world’s step forward. From this day on, you shall know this world by its new name, Nal Farra, and this glorious capital city shall be Farra Chas. May it be a beacon among the stars.

“And as my gift to all of you, I declare that there be a festival to mark the occasion. Today you shall all be free to experience the triumphs and tragedies of the arena. Here you shall see wonders from both galaxies unleashed. Enjoy the spectacle of the games and know that your Lord Farrallo smiles upon you.>”

The slug-like creature raised its stubby arms into the air and those in the employee sections began to cheer. The klingons remained silent, some of the older ones even pointedly turning their backs. They were there to hear what would be said and see what would be done but they didn’t have to play along.

“<Let the games begin!>”

With that call for action, two monstrous metal doors under the bleachers cycled open onto the grounds with freshly oiled mechanical precision. The darkness they revealed contrasted sharply with the bright glare from the morning sun. The depths of that tunnel seemed endless. The crowd silenced in anticipation.

The grim visage of the klingon prisoner turned even darker.

“The High Council chambers have been turned into a palace and the Square of Kahless into a stadium,” he remarked with disgust to no one in particular. “And the klingon people are to be held under the thumb of a giant, slithering turd.”

“At least we can die on our feet with honour,” the prisoner beside him said.

Down on the cobblestones, three men emerged from the shadow of the tunnel. Two were klingon, large and well built from a life of sparring and combat. The other, a massive, two and a half metre tall being with rough, blue skin and a head crowned in jagged horns. They each carried with them a different weapon; one the traditional bat’leth, another, two curved swords, and the third, a pair of bladed gauntlets. As they stood, eyes trying to adjust to the long absent light of day, the gates closed behind them. The thunderous bang echoed with lasting finality.

The combatants stood for a moment scanning the arena, taking in what had happened to their capital and waiting for what was to come next. The longer they waited, the more silent the assembled masses became. The more the silence crept in, the more nervous and agitated were the gladiators. Soon the tension was palpable.

When nerves were about to break, the great and powerful Farrallo made his final statement.

“<Citizens!” he called. “<From the planet Corcas, in the Rishi Maze of the Intergalactic Republic, I give you... The Paraphax!>”

At the other end of the stadium another set of gates slowly rolled open to excited cheers. Again the blackness within could not be penetrated. Nothing could be seen of the beast beyond the veil.

A long, mournful howl issued forth from the tunnel, followed quickly by a staccato succession of clacks. It was a sound that made the imagination run wild. It harkened to jungle nights and primordial terror. All who heard the call could not help but feel the instinct to run and hide.

For the three men trapped in the arena there was nowhere to run. They spread themselves out, looking anxiously to the tunnel and giving there weapons uneasy swings. They could feel their fates watching from within that darkness. Death stalked them.

With another howl, this one more forceful than the last, the creature stepped into view. Standing three metres high from the tip of its wickedly hooked beak to the ends of its razor sharp talons, the giant, flightless avian commanded attention from all who saw it. Long, silky hairs covered the creature from head to tail, leaving only the powerfully muscled legs free of their muted green hue. The fore-wings too, were devoid of these hairs in favour of what appeared to be thicker, barb-like quills. It was as if the paraphax wore a robe that flowed around its hips and billowed at the sleeves. The beast’s clacking trailed angrily off as its black eyes took in the surroundings.

In a flash the bird was off, charging like a freight train at the klingon with the two swords. It was a territorial animal, easily prompted to fight and always ready to kill. It was perfect for the arena.

The klingon readied himself as the monster thundered forward and dropped into a defensive crouch. He knew attacks would be coming from the beak and legs but was sure he could expect them from the wings as well. They flexed and slashed the air viciously as the creature charged. To the side, the other combatants gave the man a wide birth.

Without warning the beast shifted course, its attention being caught by the large blue alien. Passing the other klingon, it squawked in annoyance and pushed the man out of the way with the swat of a wing. It was focussed on Blue.

The klingon had been taken by surprise, however, and his bat’leth did not come to bare in time to protect him. He flew to the ground with the full force of the creature’s strength on his chest amid a spray of purple blood. It was not only blunt force trauma that he had to contend with. The bird’s forearm quills were as deadly sharp as its talons or beak. They had cut through clothing and flesh as easily as any blade. The aliens of the crowd cheered at the first kill. The klingons remained silent.

To the side, the first prisoner, with the swords, watched the expanding pool of his companion’s blood and knew he had narrowly missed a similar fate. His weapons flashed as he gave them a twirl and rushed for his enemy’s exposed rear. With it distracted there was a chance he could end this.

The blue alien braced himself, cut the air with his gauntlet blades and roared, trying to keep the giant predator at bay. When the creature stopped short in its charge and cocked its head, he thought he had succeeded. He took a step forward and slashed the air again, egging the spectators into a frenzy. The great bird merely croaked back and stomped the ground with one three-toed foot.

Another step closer and the blue alien took up his roar anew. From behind his opponent he could see the remaining klingon charging forward, weapons ready. All he needed to do was keep the monster’s attention. He held his arms out wide and pulled himself up as tall as he could.

That was all the prompting the paraphax needed. Dropping into a low hunch and giving its hind end a tight wiggle, it launched into the air and came down hard on top of the alien. The gauntlet blades bit deep into the animal’s shins but they could do nothing to stop the crushing impact. Reflex twitching was the only action left for the alien as his enemy’s talons tore further into his pulped form.

Behind, the last gladiator lifted his blades to one side as he neared the creature’s back. Ever wary however, the bird caught the movement in its darting eye and its thick neck struck out with lightning speed at the last second. Before he knew it, the klingon was being held by the mid-section in the monster’s beak. With little effort he was snipped in two and a shower of his own blood was all he could land on his opponent.

In the prisoner’s box the ragged klingon shook his head in grim disagreement to the statement of the man beside him.

“There is no honour in that.”

Oh, hell, I don't care about lateness. Given how long I've waited for this part of the fic, waiting for another chapter is pitifully easy. Take your time, we want quality over quantity.

All I had to do was ask nicely it seems, and wham! We got another Chapter

Didn't have to use Force persuasion either.

Sweet. The Klingons do well in the prison but not the arena and you did away with most of Worf's silly 'klingon' tradition.

Thanks for picking this up Fanboy. It's nice to get a new reader hooked. But here I thought everyone had read Episode I...

Crazedwraith, it's like I tried to do with the Borg. I want to bring these species past that 'one note joke' stage they're at in the real shows. I want to portray them in the spirit they are supposed to be seen and not always how we see them but at the same time take a few tongue-in-cheek pokes at their more stupid aspects. The thought was just in my head that what the hell did Worf really know about Klingon culture. He hadn't been in a klingon home since he was five years old. All he would get would be from reading or meeting people here and there. That may be why he's such a hardline traditionalist. He had to make interpretations himself.

Since everyone else seems to be updating this weekend, I guess I should too.



Chapter 4: Working for a Living




Alarms rang out unendingly through the corridors of the Republic Dawn, command ship of the Milky Way expeditionary and occupation force, piercing into the ears of all on board. Crew members and security alike scuttled everywhere amid the din, rushing to duty stations and locking down their positions. They were making good time at it too. They had certainly had enough practice over the last few days.

This would mark the fourth drill, in fact, overlapped by on-going war games and training missions for the security personnel. It was getting tedious and distracting, yes, but everyone on board knew it was punishment and were glad nothing more severe had come down. It was the least they could expect after having two assassins infiltrate all the way to the VIP living quarters. Every man, woman and other felt the shame of that and took their lumps with as much of a smile as they could muster.

Thundering through it all like a cargo hauler on a suicide run was one of the very men they had let down. Admiral Teeloo Pooda, commander of the vessel and head of the entire operation, scanned everything in front of him keenly as he passed. The rotund man had been forced to watch two enemy personnel sneak idly onto his ship and cut through his troopers like they were children. He was not happy. To top it off, the klaxons were starting to give him a headache.

Marching stalwartly at his side was Pooda’s chief aid, the Mon Calamari Commander, Wullo. As always, the piscine alien’s tall, lank frame contrasted completely with his superior’s. His large eyes too, shot to every person that passed as he tried to keep up with the pace. Whether he was angry as well was unreadable.

Behind them both, two crimson-armoured guards, armed and equipped to the teeth, followed in perfect step. The admiral had though little of it when his commander, Grand General Bastin, had brought the clone warriors aboard. Now, after everything, another precaution couldn’t hurt.

“Do we really need to schedule these drills first thing in the morning?” the massive human grumped as they turned a corner and came upon a closing blast door.

“Watch your heads,” he warned back to the guards unconsciously as he quickly stepped through.

It was to no avail. A dull thud sang out from behind. The man shook his head in wonder but didn’t turn or even slow. Millions of dataries on a helmet sensor suit and they still bumped their heads. Who were these guys cloned from anyway?

“Really,” he continued his original thought. “All I can hear are alarms now-a-days.”

“The ship’s AI sounds the drills randomly, Sir,” the Calamari gasped. “Perhaps it’s time to give them a rest?”

“These main one’s maybe but not the security exercises,” Pooda replied sternly. “Those bastards were carrying lightsabres. Where the hell did they get lightsabres over here?!”

The procession rounded another corner and stormed down another corridor before the blaring stopped. That did nothing to stop them however. Their march pounded on, showing the glaring face of the Admiral for all to see.

“Where are we at with that report?”

To anyone else the statement was vague at best. The commander knew exactly what it meant.

“Right here, Sir,” he answered, handing over a data pad as they walked. “The examinations and recovery operations have been complete. It was the Borg.”

“I thought the Jedi report said it was a rogue of theirs?”

“Controlling them, yes Sir,” the commander corrected. “But the ships and personnel were Borg.”

“Hm,” the superior grunted. “And where are they at now?”

“Local record apparently indicates that they are one of the dominant powers in the galaxy. Long range telemetry however, shows them as a low level threat at present. They appear to be engaged in a civil war. More than likely they will destroy themselves and save us the trouble.”

“One can only hope.” They had stormed through the mess hall and grabbed something carriable on the fly. “Who else do we have out there?”

“The Voth are a saurian race near them,” came the reply. “There’s only one recorded encounter with the locals though, so it’s hard to grasp their tech level.”

“Comparable?”

“We can only glean with certainty that they are much more advanced than the Federation.”

The Calamari shot a glance over at the Human, hoping to see his reaction, before barrelling through a pair of crewers.

“There are a couple of other seemingly advanced civilizations in that arm as well,” he continued. “But again, we only have log entries from one vessel to go by. Everyone else seems about on par with what we’ve encountered so far.”

Pooda nodded at the information, thinking, eating and walking at the same time. “Probe droids still not getting through?”

“Not there, no Sir,” Wullo replied. “Or in the region of the Dominion, Sir.”

“Those are the shape-shifters, right?”

“Yes, Sir. The Dominion was founded by liquid life forms calling themselves, surprisingly, the Founders. Apparently they have a god-like status among their subjects and enforce it with cloned shock troops.”

“Really?” The admiral spared a glance back at his guards and remembered the lessons hard learned in his society’s not too distant past. “That’s going to have to change.”

“Indeed,” the tall fishman agreed. “The Dominion are the one’s on the other side of the Bajoran wormhole. They have a direct conduit across the galaxy to our space.”

“Right. There’s another wormhole, isn’t there. We have a station there though, right?”

“Yes, Sir. A local one.”

“And Bajor’s still giving us trouble, isn’t it.”

“As always, Sir.”

The two marched silently for a while side by side.

“All the files are on the pad,” the commander finally concluded.

“That it?” The portly human took a look at the small screen in his hands and then back up at his aide.

“Oh, yes, Sir,” Wullo continued. “Dr. Windfire is still trying to get a hold of you. She reiterates that it’s urgent.”

“Everything is,” Pooda sighed.

“Who’s heading up that Bajoran station again, Wullo?” he asked, actually stopping for a moment.

“I’ll have to check, Sir.”

“Do it,” came an order, buried in thought. “And give him a call. We’ve finally got Jedi coming. I’m going to make sure a couple go his way.


* * *


Not long after, across the Federation on the very station in question, two young Jedi did indeed take their first steps from their transport and out into the New Galaxy. It was a space station and not the soil of a planet, true, but it was a heady day none the less. No matter how cautionary the elders of the Order had been, it was an exciting time. At least for one of them.

“Come on, Zam,” the one said, pulling back his hood while waiting for the inner airlock hatch to open. “You have to feel at least a little bit excited.”

He was a pale man, as opposed to his olive-skinned partner. Human, like the other was as well, but a few inches taller. He shook out his shoulder-length, blonde hair and rolled the travel weariness from his neck.

“Disappointed is more like it,” the other replied sedately, removing his hood in kind. “Honestly, Toban, the New Galaxy? How much further from the core can we get?”

“That’s just it, Man!” the one called Toban exclaimed, clenching his fists in front of him. “This it! The Wild Frontier! There’s no place else that needs us more.”

His partner only sighed. “Yeah. I’m more of a city guy.”

The huge wheel of the chamber door began cycling open and the two men glanced at each other. Each were in their prime. Each in top physical condition. Both knew that if nothing else, point of view between the two would be their hardest fight. It was going to be an interesting mission.

“You were given the wrooong assignment, my friend,” Toban remarked, clasping his hands at his front and centering himself.

Again, there was a sigh. “Don’t I know it.”

The hatch was open now and the two were greeted by the unreadable, masked visage of two security guards. Behind them, a uniformed man and woman stood waiting. Everyone snapped to attention at the sight of the Jedi.

“Captain Starc, I presume,” Zam stated as his brown eyes took in the scene.

The captain was an older man, most likely at the end of his career. Muscle had long since sagged and hair had faded to white. Though he may still have been as sharp as any blade it was obvious he was being phased out. He was on this station now and the Star Destroyer that hung silently out in space would be getting a new face.

The woman, on the other hand, was on her way up. Young, fresh and full of energy, her rank insignia still held a freshly minted shine and she glowed with possibility. This may not have been the most glamorous posting but she was under a seasoned veteran and enjoying every minute of it.

“Yes,” the man in uniform said, bowing slightly. “Byl Starc. This is my XO, Commander Kril.”

The woman bowed in turn. The Jedi nodded in response.

“This is Jedi Toban Donner,” Zam continued. “And I am Zam Ratch. We are pleased to meet you as well and honoured to serve.”

“Good,” the captain said, releasing all formality. Jedi were Jedi but this was his station. “Come this way and we’ll give you the tour, such as it is.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Toban said. “Lead the way.”

The group quickly made their way around the docking ring and past the living quarters. The Jedi took it all in passively, reading the moods of the occupants as they went. There were many soldiers on leave, but many more were natives from the world below and various merchant ship crew members. Generally, people were just going about their business. Below, however, was an underlying mistrust and resentment on both sides that had not cooled.

“The station itself,” the commander related as they stopped in the bustling open space of the facility’s promenade. “Was originally the command centre for a mining operation on the planet. It was then turned into a hub for traffic through the wormhole outside.”

“Which galaxy does that one go to?” Toban asked sarcastically.

“Just to the other side of this one, actually,” Kril said. “It was apparently quite beneficial to the locals considering their slow lightspeed drives.”

“Not so beneficial as they would have hoped, I sense,” the Jedi replied.

“That’s correct. According to record, another government in power on the other side was quite hostile to the intrusion.”

Both of the young men looked off in the direction of the local wormhole. It was as if they could penetrate its depths all the way to the other end. They looked at each other in silence and then back to their guides.

“And the situation on the planet?” Zam asked.

“Still tight,” Starc admitted. “I’ve been governing since the assigned magistrate and the planet’s leader were assassinated. I’m trying to clean things up but we still have a lot of resistence down there. Most of the heavy end militants have been rooted out but attacks are still common.”

“They don’t want us here,” Toban stated the obvious.

The captain nodded in agreement but shook his head right after. “Not their decision, I’m afraid. They’re going to have to learn to deal with it.”

“Perhaps we can help reason with them.”

“We’ll see,” Starc said. “Come on. Once we’ve shown you command and control I’ll brief you on where I’d like to place you.”

Again the Jedi looked at each other and then back to the older man.

“Place us, Captain?” The question was polite but the implication in the asking was clear.

“Yes,” the other confirmed. “I’m going to assign one of you to the general on the surface and the other will remain here to advise me. We should have this mess cleaned up in no time.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Zam explained calmly. “We will go where we’re needed most, not where best suits you.”

Both officers were taken aback by the announcement.

“Really?” the captain asked incredulously. It had been a long time since anyone had refused him. “I was given the impression that you were sent here to help.”

“We were sent here to restore the peace,” Zam stated. “Not as military advisors.”

In the milling of passer’s by a few heads turned at the stand-off.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Starc dismissed with a wave. “Around here the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“This war is your concern.” Again, Zam said the words as statements of fact. “It is not ours. We are here t....”

The sentence trailed off as both Jedi began looking around curiously. There were faces everywhere. The crowd was closing in around them. People pushed and bumped and jostled as if being herded together. Something was not right. They could feel it.

Suddenly cold steel flashed out from beneath a long robe in the artificial light.

“Captain! Watch out!”

Toban’s hand moved like a striking viper even as he spoke. In an instant his grip was locked around the attacker’s wrist. The tip of the blade was inches away from Starc’s back.

Another flash and Zam was diverting the slash of another deadly razor. This one came from the opposite direction. No sooner had he done that however, than a third knife was coming to bare. From one instant to the next it seemed that everybody had suddenly found a weapon.

“Security!” the two officers hollered in unison as they tried to defend themselves from cuts and jabs coming from all directions. It was madness.

But as quickly as it had started, the whole scene stopped. With an outward gesture from both of the Jedi, the entire throng was thrust back and to the ground. It left the four standing in a crater of tangled bodies and a perfect opening for the converging armoured soldiers.

Most in the mass of arms and legs knew that they had nowhere to go and waited for arrest, their courage dying with the show of Force. There were a few though, that scrambled to their feet and tried their luck at escape. Two ran straight into the levelled blasters of the troopers and were promptly stunned. Another two bolted for a side passage and disappeared around a corner.

Without a second thought Toban and Zam were giving chase. With inhuman speed they entered the passage and rounded the corner, pushing past pedestrians as best they could. Their prey was not far ahead but seemed to be having an easier time of it. It wasn’t surprising that the locals were trying to hold the Jedi up.

Coming to a tee intersection, the two would-be assassins split up and the Jedi followed suit, Zam turning right, Toban left. While one saw his target sprinting with all its might for another junction, the other came face to face with his. He also came face to face with the man’s blade.

It wasn’t a remarkable piece of cutlery; just a simple kitchen knife, really. But it was sharp and it was ready and able to do its job. It even seemed to shine with glee as it was thrust into the oncoming pursuer’s face.

Zam was dodging backward even as he was turning the corner. In a staggering display of agility, the man bent back at the waist, allowing the weapon to stab harmlessly above. At the same time, his hand reached up and took hold of the attacker’s, twisting it smoothly. Pain had only a second to cross the bajoran’s face before the solid pop of a broken wrist sounded for all to hear. The clatter of steel hitting the deck-plate came soon after.

As if led by the hand’s motion and forced to follow, one leg arced up from under the Jedi. The other leg spun and a moment later the offending arm was trapped between them and the attacker was being forced to the ground. A reverse kick to the groin only helped matters along.

“Sleep,” the swarthy Jedi ordered the downed man while touching his shoulder. A second later the bajoran was snoring and Zam was calling for security while trying the catch up with his partner.

Toban had wasted little time tapping into the Force and pulling his prey’s feet out from under him. When the man had hit the deck hard, barely getting hands up to break the fall, he shot down the corridor to catch up. There wouldn’t be any crowd to hide behind this time.

“This escape is pointless,” he advised, stopping before the fallen man and watching him check his nose for blood.

The bajoran gave no reply but to sweep out with his legs in hopes of tripping up his enemy. It was of no use. The Jedi merely jumped the attempt with ease and landed in the same spot. The move did, however, put the attacker in position to throw his weapon.

The knife flashed in Toban’s mind a brief second before it was launched. It was enough time though, to catch the thing in mid flight and cast it harmlessly to the ground. Not that the thrower was there to see whether he had hit or missed. It had just been a distraction for him to get to his feet and run once more.

The Jedi rolled his eyes and shook his head. Feeling Zam coming up from behind he indicated the discarded weapon and took off yet again. Nobody ever made things easy.

He was back among the shops and people. The guards were on alert now but the crowds were still heavy. The assassin could be anywhere. Concentrating, Toban let the Force guide his search and soon found his quarry racing up a flight of stairs to an overhead walkway. In one incredible leap he was there too.

The bajoran could only stare in shock as his pursuer sprang unaided from one level to the next, black cloak flying behind like an impenetrable shadow. Many others in the area too, could only stop and point at what had just happened. A wave of awe rippled around the concourse.

The Jedi was nearing as the assassin came quickly back to his senses. Guards were everywhere, guns only held in check for fear of hitting innocent bystanders. With a desperate look around he charged back down the staircase and jumped the railing at half way. Not bothering to look back, he bolted once more time for the nearest corridor.

After two steps, a fist out of nowhere clocked the fleeing bajoran’s jaw and sent him sprawling. The owner, a man decked in standard issue Republic army grey, stood ready with another blow, hoping to use it. He only relaxed when the Jedi had arrived and the guards had locked their man in binders.

“Thanks.” Toban said, nodding to the man. “Already busy and this is only my first day here.”

“No problem,” the man replied casually. “Welcome to the Milky Way and get use to it.”

With a smile and another nod the Jedi left with his prisoner and the soldier turned back to his business.

Standing casually at the base of an arcing support column, in perfect view of all that had just transpired, was another man in standard issue Republic army grey. He chewed absently on a piece of fruit as he watched the exchange. When all was over, he regarded his friend with a smile of superiority plastered across his face.

“I told you spending leave in this floating can wouldn’t be a total loss.”

“So enter the Jedi,” the other said, examining his knuckles. “It’s about time if you ask me.”

“Ah, we don’t need ‘em,” came the reply. “We’ve been cleaning this galaxy out just fine without ‘em. You’re the one that caught that guy, Sleed. Not him.”

“You’re not thinking,” Sleed admonished. “As usual. You’re just talking out of your ass. Which I guess you have to since you’ve been stuffing your face since we got here. The Jedi should have been here from the start. Then we wouldn’t have to be hunting around all over the planet for rebels.”

“Fuckin’ right. Looks like they’re here now thought. Think we’re gunna get a Jedi in our unit?”

Sleed could only shake his head in dismay. “Shit are you stupid, Morae.”

The two sat down against the pillar and watched the crowd flow by.

“Them being here makes you think though,” Morae mused.

“What’s that?”

“That if they ain’t here to fight the war, they’re here to keep the peace. And if they’re here to keep the peace, there ain’t no more war.”

“There’s always more war.” It was a Trooper motto that Sleed quoted. Something that many in the Republic didn’t like to believe but something that he had been shown was all too true.”

“Sir. Yes, Sir.” the other quoted flatly back. “Still. I hear we’re getting relieved. We’re packing up and moving on to somewhere new and the bugs are taking over fully.”

“The Geonosians? No, no, no. I heard the bugs were going to Vulcron or whatever it’s called.”

“This isn’t Vulcron?”

“No, it’s not. Vulcron is the fuckin’ red, dusty one that looks just like fuckin’ Geonosis. This is Bay Shore.”

“What kind of a name is Bay Shore for a planet?”

“I don’t know!? What kind of a name is Vulcron?!”

Again, they watched the river of traffic before them in silence.

“Still,” Sleed finally said. “You have a point. The Jedi are here, and the civilians are coming too, according to the news net, and whether we are or not, people are getting new orders. Any idea where we’d be going?”

Morae shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

“Guess not.”

“Speaking of Jedis though,” Sleed continued, standing up. “Jonner told me about a bar on the station called ‘Quarks’. Apparently it has quite the hologram rooms.”

“What the hell’s a ‘Quark’?” The other trooper tossed out his core and dusted himself off.

“It translates into ‘subatomic particle’.”

“What the hell kind of a name is that for a bar?!”

“Morae, shut the f...”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, Sleed. I’m serious here.”

Whether they agreed with the naming of the establishment or not, when they got there, the owner was more than happy to accommodate them with everything they desired. The bar’s namesake, of course, the crafty Ferengi had found that since the arrival of the Republic, his business had more than boomed. He was making a fortune off of the new humans and their alien countrymen and could see more rolling in everyday. Cardassian, Federation, Dominion; this was by far the best occupation he had been under. They understood the concept of money, for one thing, and he hadn’t seen a stinking klingon in ages to boot.

Quark smiled his beady-eyed, jagged-toothed grin as sincerely as he could muster as he watched the two off-duty soldiers climb his stairs and disappear into his holo-suite. It was another glorious day in the Republic, he thought as he grabbed a rag and started absently wiping the counter in front of him. Out of the oppression of the ‘Savage’ Federation and free to make as much money as he wanted.

It was a good day, that is, until he heard a sound he had not heard in quite some time. The huge ears on the humanoid creature twitched with annoyance as he picked it up. It couldn’t be the same... but it had to be. No other combination of noises could merge to make that exact sound. No other two people could produce it. The irregularly strong beat of an enhanced human heart mixed with the slight wheeze of a separate pair of out of shape human lungs. It was them, damn it! It was!

A shadow was already across him as Quark took it all in and his smile faded. He didn’t even get a chance to turn around.

“What’s goin’ on,” the familiar Irish accent that he knew was coming said. “Buddy.”

It was true. Turning, he first faced former engineering chief Miles O’Brian, then Doctor Julian Bashir. Not surprising, to their side was Ezri Dax. Each was dressed in the simple civilian clothes of any starship crewer. In seconds they had closed in on him, creating a wall at his counter and blocking him from anyone else.

“Yes, Quark,” Bashir continued. “You seem to be doing well under the occupation.”

Just what he needed; Starfleet officers in his bar. Quark’s eyes darted from the group in front of him, through the window, to the pair of guards standing casually across the way out front. He was already beginning to sweat.

“Gentlemen! Lady!” he said overly load. “Welcome to Quark’s! Your first time here, you say? What can I get you?”

He leaned in and his tone immediately dropped. “Listen. I don’t know what you think you’re doing or what you want but get out of here. Go before someone recognizes you or something and there’s a mess I have to clean up.”

“We’re just here for a drink with an old friend, Quark,” O’Brian said conspiratorially. “You wouldn’t turn away our latinum, would you? Or do you only take Republic credits now?”

People were starting to line up at the bar. People in uniform.

“Please,” the ferengi said, loud again, as he nervously waved someone over to watch the bar. “I’m sure your party would be more comfortable at a table. There’s one right over here!”

The three allowed themselves to be ushered over to a booth in the corner and sat, Quark taking the wall so that he could see if anyone was coming. That, and keep an eye on his staff. Business was business.

“I knew you people would come back here sooner or later,” the little barkeeper bemoaned. “You never did know when to quit.”

“Calm down, Quark,” Dax replied.

“If you’re looking for General Kira, the reports are that she’s dead.” Quark stopped and waited for two men to go by. “And I hear on good authority that it’s confirmed so don’t get any ideas.”

“No, Quark,” the doctor said, down-heartened. “We already know that.”

“Than what is it?”

The trio sat mutely looking for the right words. Each one of them hated the position they were in.

The doctor finally broke the silence. “We’re looking for work.”

Quark’s laugh rang out through the open room, turning more than one head. It took a second for him to compose himself but he forced it. He still didn’t want to make a scene.

“What?” he finally said, wiping a tear from his eye. “The navy not recruiting from Starfleet? Not much work at the academy any more? Well you’re not working here. I don’t need a doctor or a handyman. Now you, Dax. You I might be able to find a place for.”

“We’re just crewers looking to sign on to a ship now,” Dax explained. “It’s easy for you to laugh but our lives are gone and most of the people we knew are dead. We’re just trying to pick up the pieces here.”

“We’re looking for Kasidy Yates,” O’Brian finished. “We heard you’d know where to find her.”

“Yeah,” came the wary reply. “I know. In fact I happen to be doing some business with her very soon. No doubt she’ll be happy to see you, no matter what I say. Though I have to admit, you’re the luckiest bunch I’ve ever known.”

Bashir shot the ferengi a sly look. “What do you have up your sleeve, Quark?”

“It’s not me this time,” he returned. “It’s my brother Rom. The first Republic business consortium has entered the galaxy and he’s sending me with as shipload of sample goods to strike up a trade deal. It promises to be very lucrative.”

“Really?” The chief nodded, taking in the information. “Is that right?”

“Sounds like Rom is really stepping into the role of Grand Nagus,” Dax added.

“Yes.” Quark shot the mousey trill woman a hard glance. “After Federation ideals got his one and only son killed in the battle of Omega Tau Six he had a change of heart about them. Suddenly now he’s actually becoming a man to make our mother proud.”

“Nog’s dead?” Bashir asked.

“That’s right,” the ferengi replied harshly. “Is it that surprising?”


* * *


An hour or so later, in one of the station’s cargo bays, Kasidy Yates checked her manifest against one of the crates in front of her. Her brown skin glistened as sweat dripped down her face and matted her thick, black hair. She wiped it away and marked off another piece of inventory. Damn it was hot. Didn’t anything in this station work anymore?

The woman looked at all the work before here and sighed. It was nearing the end of the day and her hold still was only half full. This whole bay needed to be checked, signed for and transferred over and there were still three more ships waiting to unload. It never failed. Everyone waits for the last minute to show up and then gets mad when they have to wait in line.

When was it that Quark wanted to be under way again? It was going to be a long night. The freighter captain put her thoughts aside and got back down to work.

“Alright,” she called to her first mate. “Get this row beamed over and secured.”

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your plate,” a familiar female voice said from behind.

Yates looked up and allowed herself to smile for the first time in a while. At the bay doors were three people she had not expected to see. They were not exactly as she remembered; each one worn and hardened by defeat, but she knew them none the less.

“Julian! Miles! Ezri!” she greeted, hugging each in turn. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess,” Ezri answered. “It’s been kind of hard without Starfleet, and the Federation’s up in the air now.”

“Times are pretty hard, aren’t they,” Kasidy agreed. “They are for all of us.”

“All this should help,” O’Brian offered, looking around.

“Hopefully.” The woman wasn’t convinced. “And hopefully I can strike up something regular with Rom but I’m going to need every scrap of latinum I get.”

She placed one hand on her hip and with the other, shook a finger at the trio. “Do you know what I have to deal with now?”

There was silence. At most a shrug.

“Word just came in. Our wonderful overlords have given all us commercial haulers roughly the equivalent of five and a half years to upgrade to hyperdrive. Talk about stacking things in favour or their own people. After that we have to start paying environmental fines for warp field damage! Can you believe that?! I don’t even know how the damn thing’s going to work! I’m probably going to have to buy a whole new ship!”

“Wow,” Bashir said, looking for away to get off the rant. “So Quark told us this was all his cargo.”

“Yeah. I’m taking him and it over to Quo’ Nos. Like I say, hopefully I can get a contract out of it. Word on the wire though is that these people he has to deal with, the Hutts, are pretty tough characters. I’m glad I’m just driving the boat.”

“About that...” Bashir trailed off with his question, hoping he wouldn’t have to finish.

Yates looked at them all of a moment, confused.

“What?” she asked. “You guys want to sign on? Are you serious?”

“Times are tough,” O’Brian reiterated. “And we can’t exactly advertise who we are anymore or what we use to do. I don’t think the powers that be would like us very much. I’m just trying to feed my family.”

“Are Keiko and the children safe?”

“They’re on Earth. They were alright last time I checked but food’s been tight and Keiko’s had to go back to teaching.”

“For what it’s worth, we’re here to offer you our services,” Bashir said as officially as he could sound.

It only earned him a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think I could afford you,” Kasidy said, trying to lighten the mood. “A Starfleet trained medical officer and technician? I should be so lucky. Though I’m not sure I need a counsellor on a freighter, Ezri. You could always go talk to Quark for a job?”

The trill’s eyes widened.

“Oh I’m just kidding,” the captain said before the other could find words. “With all the lives you’ve had, I’m sure I can find something for you.

“You guys are just in time, actually,” she continued. “Half the crew quit on me after our last Republic boarding. I’ve been short-handed here.”

“Quark told you we were coming, didn’t he?” Bashir surmised with a smile.

Kasidy only laughed and nodded. Quickly however, she was pulling the three between the rows of crates.

“Tell me for real now,” she said in low tones. “What are you guys up to? If you’re trying to use my ship to smuggle something, you’d better let me know.”

It was Bashir’s turn to laugh. “We don’t have anything, Kasidy.”

“You need to rescue someone,” she persisted. “Right?”

“No,” Miles replied. “We’re just telling you the sad truth.”

The human woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the trio said as one. “We’re sure.”

“Alright then. Grab a cargo manifest and start checking this inventory. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

As the men walked off together, Dax stayed behind for a moment.

“Half your crew really walked out?” she asked.

“Nah, I fired ‘em when Quark called,” Yates confessed. “But they were assholes anyway. Still, a Republic body cavity search is not something most people want to go through twice.”

The trill’s eyes widened yet again.

Kasidy smiled. “Those robots have cold hands.”


* * *


Toban and Zam walked into the security offices of Deep Space Nine as calm as spectres, heading for one of the holding cells and the would-be assassin within. It was the bajoran that had tried his luck at escaping through the crowds. A man named Kavak Easel according to identity records.

Out in the main office the Jedi studied the file briefly and handed it back to the lieutenant on duty. It didn’t take long. The file was almost blank. Kavak Easel was barely an adult by his society’s standards and had no prior criminal activity. He could have been any of countless citizens.

“I thought you were going to let this one go,” Zam commented to his partner about the man they were about to see.

“I was, actually,” the other replied. “I was hoping he might lead us to someone more important if he thought he’d given us the slip. It was the soldier that got him.”

Zam shrugged. “He may yet still.”

“Perhaps.” Toban lifted the hood of his cloak over his head, letting the voluminous darkness envelop his face. “Do you want to do the talking or shall I?”

“Your prisoner,” Zam said, pulling his own hood up and indicating the entrance to the holding area with an out-stretched hand. “By all means, take the lead.”

The Jedi nodded to each other and fell into character. Side by side the two seemed to almost drift through the door, drawing the eyes of every prisoner as they approached. Like nightmare beings covered in darkness, they moved wordlessly past the humming field of the bulk ‘tank’ and on to the single cells. Finally reaching Kavak, Toban took position directly in front of the cell while Zam stood mutely against the far wall.

To the prisoner it was as if all the stories he had heard from the humans about the shadow of Death had come true. These men, if in fact they were men, said nothing as they entered the room and made no noise as they came toward him. Nothing could be seen of them in the draping folds of their robes accept the flesh of their chins. Light seemed to shy from them. If he had not seen that they were men with his own eyes he would have been hard pressed to believe it.

Worse yet, they stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. They were studying him. He could feel it. They were staring into his very pah and judging him. What they saw, he could only guess.

Finally, movement broke the unending standoff. The wraith-like being in front of the cell reached a single hand from the depths of its cloak curiously toward the humming force field, touching it with one pointing finger. The energy barrier fizzed and crackled defiantly in a blue haze as he languidly dragged the digit in a slow arc. There was no indication whether this was causing pain or feeling of any kind from the fathoms of the hood.

“Interesting,” Toban said at last. “You’d think they’d spend a lot less energy if they just used doors.”

The second black spectre did not reply. It did not make any movement whatsoever.

Toban retracted his hand without so much as a shrug and returned it to the other to steep in front of his chest.

“Kavak Easel,” he stated formally to the prisoner in perfect Bajoran. “I am a Jedi Knight. Do you know what that means?”

Easel said nothing. He simply stared out of the cell, trying to penetrate the depths of shadow covering his interrogator’s face. Fear and anticipation flowed through him.

“It means that there WILL be peace on Bajor,” the Jedi answered himself. “And that these attacks WILL stop.”

Easel took the words in silently. It was interesting that the enemy could speak his language so fluently without a translator but what he said had little impact. Whatever a ‘Jedi’ was, it made little difference to him. He shifted position slightly to peer over at the other one standing like a statue against the far wall.

“Do not concern yourself with my partner, Easel.” The calm words brought the bajoran’s gaze back to the forefront. He found himself locked on to the dark hood.

“The records indicate you are from Danya province and embarked for the station from there,” the questioning continued. “Is that where you’ve been operating from?”

The young prisoner paused for a second. “Yes,” he agreed in the end and said no more.

“Please do not lie to me, Easel,” Toban chastised automatically. The bajoran’s eyes widened. “You and your friends are already in a lot of trouble. As this system is currently being run by the military you could very well be executed for your attempted murder. Being uncooperative will not help your case. Now I’m going to ask again where your unit is operating out of. You know that you can not lie to me so please don’t try.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Kavak pressed, trying to keep his composure. “I’ve never been anywhere outside of Danya except here.”

One Jedi sighed. The other remained silent and still as a tomb.

“Very well,” Toban continued flatly. “How many others are there?”

“We all came up to kill that bastard,” came the next lie. “You got us all”

“All of your unit was captured?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“All twenty?”

“Twenty five, actually.”

“And the leader?” The barrage of questions was at a fevered pace now. Toban knew the young man before him would trip trying to keep up. Whether he realized it or not.

“We have no leader.”

“No leader? I find that hard to believe.”

“We made decisions together.”

“Perhaps that’s why you were all caught.” Suddenly there was a mental shift. “Your thoughts betray you. There was a woman.”

“What?”

“Yes,” the Jedi pressed without skipping in his hurried beat. “A woman. She is strong in your mind. She was the leader wasn’t she?”

“How do you know that?” Kavak was agitated. He looked again past his inquisitor to the other figure. Ominously, it even yet remained unchanged.

“I can see through you. Who is she?”

“She’s no one,” the prisoner stammered. “She was my girlfriend. She’s dead.”

“Which one?” Toban shot back. “Or all three?”

“What?”

The question was ignored.

“Thank you, Easel,” the hooded figure nodded slightly. “You have been most helpful. I sense your intentions to defend your planet to be pure but your ire is misplaced. Hopefully you will not lose your life over your mistakes. And please, try not to lie to anyone else. You’re not very good at it.”

And as ghostly as they had came, the two Jedi left, wafting out of the holding area as if on an air current. In his cell, Kavak Easel was left wondered exactly what had just happened and what he might have given away. Even more worrisome was how they had seemed to read his mind.

When they had reached the outer office once more, Zam and Toban removed their cowals and regarded one another. They did not stop in their course back out on to the Promenade.

“Padar province,” Zam stated firmly as they broke into the crowd. “They were sent out of Padar province, Bodon city. Twenty five of them for this mission, with about twenty five more that he knew of staying behind.”

“And the woman?”

“I saw her as well. Quiet, cunning and intense. She is their leader to be sure.” Zam paused, closing his eyes. “I sense the Dark Side.”

Toban nodded slowly. “But it hangs like a shadow over this whole galaxy. I feel more and more as though it pushes on me all the time.”

“True. And it’s difficult to see past. Though we’ll need to find the woman and bring her back in any case. It’s a good enough start as any.”

“Looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

first post

edit: Now that I have read it. Very nice mark.

Dude, what's the point of first post if that's all you're going to say?

Mark, i'm really liking this story here. I like your portrayal of the Trek characters a lot, allow me to share some of my favrit quotes.

"This isn't Vulcron?"

"No, it's not. Vulcron is the fuckin' red, dusty one that looks just like fuckin' Geonosis. This is Bay Shore."

"What kind of a name is Bay Shore for a planet?"

"I don't know!? What kind of a name is Vulcron?!"

And another

"Nog's dead?" Bashir asked.

"That's right," the ferengi replied harshly. "Is it that surprising?"

And another

"Nah, I fired 'em when Quark called," Yates confessed. "But they were assholes anyway. Still, a Republic body cavity search is not something most people want to go through twice."

The trill's eyes widened yet again.

Kasidy smiled. "Those robots have cold hands."

MDII is a great post-war tale, my only complaint is that there a lot of focus on the Trek characters side, where I could do to see more Wars.