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This story comes from KlavoHunter at SB, who can't post here without $$$ :

This story is written by me, based in the Terran Empire universe, created by HappyTarget. All pre-existing characters from various Star Trek sources are not owned by me, they are merely my interpretation of them in the Terran Empire universe.

In Service of Empire – Armageddon

As he eyed through a series of PADDs containing impressively long mathematical equations and new progress reports, he felt old. He'd served the Empire for longer than most of the current StarFleet officers, and he'd like nothing better than to be able to settle down and finally retire, at the ripe old age of 126. But that simply wasn't an option for him. He knew far too much information that the Empire's enemies would love to get their filthy hands on, to turn against his people.

With a sigh, he stood up, put his fingers through his unruly curled white hair, and adjusted his Admiral's uniform. Perhaps having another hands-on look at his current creation would help to clear his mind. As his mother, dead now for years, despite the best medical treatment available in the Empire, had said, it was "Life, from wherever we so choose."

He took the turbolift into the station's central areas, having to deal with several halts as the lift transferred between myriad independent power grids. It was ridiculously redundant, but Section 31 lavished only the best on one of their most cherished and effective assets. Still, the Admiral didn't like the wait for a simple turbolift ride, and he wasn't as young and spry as he'd been long ago, so Jefferies Tubes were definitely out of the question.

The four power-armored Section guards snapped their weapons up as the turbolift came to a halt. Security on this deck was well beyond being merely tight; it was the height of paranoia. With good reason. Anyone wishing to enter this deck had to take a retinal scan and a blood test while still in the turbolift. When the doors softly whooshed open, the guards relaxed, putting their weapons down.

"Ah, Admiral Kirk, we'd not been expecting you until 0800 tomorrow..." the head guard said, going through the usual routine. The Admiral was prone to come in whenever he wished, but the Section goons always reacted the same way, every time.

Admiral David Kirk waved a pale, spindly hand, as to dismiss the guard, not caring any more about it. He walked past the Section troops, letting them reform in positions around the turbolift. He laid eyes on the sleek device sitting inside a ring of the most powerful forcefields known, gazing at the seemingly crystalline structures inside. A rather young-looking technician came up to him, clutching a PADD.

"Admiral, current protomatter processing and insertion into the Genesis Device is at about 72% completion. We can expect it being done...-" she started to say, seeming overexcited, but then he cut her off.

"... yes, by the end of the month." he finished, knowing the estimated timetable by heart. "And, after that, we start another. Don't you think I can remember these things for myself?" He was irritated as it was, and he wasn't in a mood to play games.

"Oh... yes, of course. Sorry, sir." she responded, recoiling a bit. There were rumors that David had inherited some of the sheer brutality and sadistic urges that his infamous father used to have. Perhaps they were true, as he'd even had some of his most experienced engineers thrown in the Agony Booth for the tiniest of errors. Then again, any errors in the construction of a Genesis Device could prove disastrous.

Not responding further, David just leaned on a railing, staring at the shimmering device. In the middle of the sprawling, Section 31-dominated station, he took pleasure in his life's work. How little did he know that it was going to become irrelevant so very soon...

*** ***

"Are you SURE that this is the target system? If we're going to deliver this stroke of vengeance, we'd best do it right!" Legate Matan asked, quite agitated. The Cardassian had perhaps the most reason among the gathered Grand Alliance officers to be making very sure that this mission went off as planned. One was the fact that his government had driven hard to put one of their people in charge here. The other was that the Terran Empire had used a Genesis Device on their homeworld, and the facility they were to destroy - or capture- was supposed to be the source of those dreaded weapons.

"Relax, Legate. I have complete faith in this source, coming straight from Mr. O'tole. And who knows where he got it from, but he's been totally reliable so far." one of his comrades, the Romulan commander for this operation, Captain T'rael, said, trying to calm him. Unlike Matan, his people - in fact, like every other race of the Alliance, aside from the Cardassians - had never been on the receiving end of those truly horrifying weapons. As far as was known, the only races to have tasted the Terran Empire's arsenal of Genesis torpedoes were restricted to the Interstellar Concordium, Cardassians, some race out in the Gamma Quadrant called the Dominion that seemed to be completely gone now, and the Borg.

"Yes, of course, of course..." Matan said, mainly for his own benefit. He still worried, of course, wishing that the Alliance hadn't needed to rely on pirate scum like the Orion Cartels for support. But they had little choice thus far, not much more than a week or two into their blitz against the Terrans. But with each battle they fought, the Alliance grew in strength, pilfering the defenseless Imperial ships after their devastating success with the Breen's incredible weapon.

"Fear not, Legate. This will be a swift and glorious battle, and when it is over, we'll have this station for our own retaliation if the Terrans employ their stockpiled Genesis weapons!" the Klingon contribution to the attack, Colonel Kreth, counseled. He had no intention of escalating the conflict to throwing Genesis torpedoes at planets, but, like any good warrior, he wished to be prepared.

A shame, almost, that none of them knew the real truth. The Terrans' Section 31 had managed to squirrel away a measly six of the devices, after having used entire salvoes of them to breach Borg fortifications, destroy fleets, and smash planets. Still, they posed a great threat when carefully used... And Section was known to be very precise.

"Settled, then?" Matan asked, and gazed around the table of the Sartan superdreadnought's briefing room. None replied.

"0600 hours," Matan said with a sneer, using the Terran time designation. "We attack with the dawn. Prepare your ships, and may your respective gods be with us all."

*** ***

Regula One had a few additional ships in the area in addition to the usual few light squadrons, having become a useful and hidden Section 31 base in addition to being the source of the Imperial Genesis arsenal. In fact, 3 additional Section ships were stopped off there.

Onboard SSS 688, Captain Jaime Cartelin, the ship's master, was restless. The completely rebuilt starship's lighting was a deep blue while under phase cloak, lending it a dark mood. Fresh back from dropping a string of Section operatives behind Grand Alliance lines, the ship was docked with the Regula One station, which was also under phase cloak.

Yes, the desire for secrecy was that important. Huge banks of phase cloak generators were imbedded throughout the station's systems, drawing off massive amounts of power. Fortunately, the new QSS power cores were quite able to handle the load, having far more excess power than the warp cores they replaced. The station had a large arsenal of weapons, and was guarded by dozens of defense platforms, all also phase cloaked. To any observer, the system was as dead and empty as it had been for all of its existence.

688 was one of Section 31's collection of old starships, from bygone eras of the Empire. This one in particular was a completely rebuilt Excelsior, outfitted to Section specifications. Well, perhaps even calling it an Excelsior still was a bit generous. The refits that had transformed it from a brand-new Excelsior at its commissioning, to a fearsome ship of Section 31's Black Fleet, melted away whatever boxy aesthetics the vessel had once had. The thick "neck" between saucer and engineering hull was completely gone, dropping the saucer onto the end of the secondary hull, lending it more the appearance of the Ark Royal class carrier that was built in its era. The engine nacelles were snugged in, rather than being out on the vulnerable pylons, streamlined with the hull. The sturdy and imposing silhouette of the standard Excelsior class was replaced, instead, with the sleek and deadly appearance of this Section beast.

The crew and its captain, during the boring time when Section engineers put in extensive refits of newly-developed technology about halfway into the Borg War, had done some checking in the Section station's extensive databanks. A search of the ship's designation yielded, interestingly enough, the classification of a pre-WW3 nuclear submarine, that often carried nuclear-armed missiles, though not one of the dedicated ones, that particular class being primarily a hunter-killer. But that made little difference, in the long run.

The slang of that time period had referred to nuclear-carrying submarines as "boomers". In the spirit of those archaic ships, and the similarity of 688's independent operations during the Borg War, they'd nicknamed it Boomer. Those operations were devastating yet risky affairs, where they would be dispatched with a payload of Genesis weapons, and be charged with sneaking in under cloak for only long enough to launch one at a Borg-controlled planet, or perhaps a fleet or installation. The Borg had tried as best they could to adapt, throwing a literal wall of firepower out at the very hint of a cloaked ship being detected. With the extensive tachyon grid networks they deployed as a countermeasure to detect ships under cloak, that became rather frequent indeed.

After the loss of a large number of S31 ships, the captains set out on these missions had to carefully stalk their targets, using their imagination to sneak into the most concealable positions, at the most extreme ranges allowable by the Genesis Torpedoes' engines and equipment. Still, it was a risky business, and 688 was one of the best at it, earning their nickname many times over. If Section kill records were released to for public viewing, even the legendary Enterprise's records would pale in comparison.

Still, there was an unsettling feeling of unease settled over the ship, despite its astounding record. There'd been rumors of Section ships falling prey to the Grand Alliance, especially their damned energy-draining torpedoes that continued to put the fear of God into anyone who tried to stop the Alliance's advance. At least Section ships were built to never be taken under any circumstances, with multiply redundant destruct systems. But even Section's engineers were dumbfounded at the effects of the weapons, only able to shake their heads as countermeasure after countermeasure failed to be of any use.

Whatever the cause, something felt so wrong to Jaime... He shook it off. Word was that orders would be forthcoming tomorrow. Some more special ops, perhaps, or maybe ELINT duty. The cunning acts of sabotage and surprise strikes were more to his taste than sitting around to gather intelligence. In fact, on the way back from dropping off agents earlier, they'd had the pleasure of stalking a Gorn battlecruiser, and tearing it in two with a sudden decloak and Lance attack from the rear.

What little he knew, that mere hours from now, he'd be fighting for his life...

*** ***

A few systems distant, a formidable combined force of Grand Alliance ships was marshaled together, over two thousand strong. In the center of it all was a squadron of superdreadnoughts, one from each of the five members contributing the most to the assault. A Cardassian Sartan took point, flanked by a Romulan Condor and a Klingon Gre'thor. Trailing slightly behind were their Gorn and Mirak equivalents.

Just under the SDs in the force's order of battle, squadrons of battleships formed hard anchor points for the lighter elements, mostly the Cardassian and Romulan designs. The core of the fleet's many cruiser formations was mostly made of Klingon and Gorn ships, being deemed as sturdier and more resistant to the heavy fire that was to be expected. Light and picket elements were primarily of Mirak and Cardassian origin, and a two-squadron group of rare Breen fire-support variant cruisers were in the rear, providing their invaluable energy-draining torpedoes.

Opposing them was a force of a mere eighteen Section 31 vessels, none of tonnage greater than heavy cruiser. In addition to that was the massive Regula One station, long ago having been expanded from a tiny weapons R&D facility, to a sprawling, dangerous battlestation, with an entourage of defensive platforms around it.

The usual three squadrons assigned to Regula One were a light force, two squadrons of a mixed force of destroyers, Novas and Defiants in optimum formations. The other squadron was of light cruisers, a mix of Intrepids and Akiras. These ships weren't really a defense force- they were really there to chase down and eliminate any ship that wandered into the system and saw something it shouldn't have - enemy, civilian, and StarFleet alike.

The three ships that were only there for staging were all the old refits, the Excelsior-class 688, along with two of the proud old Constitutions. Each of them was a cherished old memory of the Empire's earlier days, rebuilt from the keel up.

But the Imperials had not even an inkling of the possibility of attack. Even if it were so, they were perfectly safe under phase cloak... as far as they knew. Almost a shame...

*** ***

"It's T-minus 30 minutes. All ships, report in." Legate Matan ordered, swiveling his command chair on the Torran's Flag Bridge. Grey indicator boxes flashed up next to each ship's identifier code strings, and they quickly started flicking green as reports began streaming in. With a wave of his hand, the display drew far back, until the consolidated force of starships appeared only as a fleet marker, and then Mutara sector became visible, a wealth of information and statistics flashing up before his eyes.

A short warp hop from the boarder, the system seemed harmless enough, with a single lifeless rock of a planet circling a star. The wispy remnants of the Mutara Nebula had re-collected themselves much closer in-system, now little more than an energetic gas cloud. According to spacers' myths, the sector was haunted, and was host to some spacegoing monster that had mostly consumed the nebula. Of course now Matan knew better- the Mutara Nebula was the first testing ground for the Genesis Device, being deployed from the original Enterprise's torpedo tubes, that maniac Kirk looking on in pride at his wife and son's creation.

The planet that had formed was towed away by the StarFleet Corps of Engineers, with Section 31 covering up the whole event. They'd concocted the myth, and then reinforced it by making civilian ships that passed through simply 'disappear'. That was, of course, to say that they butchered the ship, and dumped the debris into the system's sun.

"All ships reporting ready, Legate. Warp speed at your command. Starbase bids us, 'Good hunting'." Matan's Flag Ops officer reported, with a gleam in his eyes.

"Inform them that we'll give them proof when we return. Sound combat alert, shields up, weapons online. Engage warp engines." Matan ordered, looking very pleased with himself. His flagship shivered a tiny bit around him, telling him they'd gone from STL speeds to warp. 20 minutes was too long of a wait for him. Impatience gnawed at him relentlessly.

*** ***

"Station Ops to Admiral Kirk! Report to Ops immediately!" the intercom blared, rousing David from a mostly sound sleep. He growled and tossed the covers off, slipping into his uniform, and slapping the commbadge on his chest, feeling the cool metal and gemstone surface on his palm.

"Ops, this is Kirk. Do you have any idea what frackin' time in the morning it is?" he snarled, irritated as hell. He would be sure to throw this arrogant moron into the Agonizer later. They never bothered him about this sort of thing before, and certainly not this early.

"I am well aware of the time, Admiral. But you'd best have a look at this- Grand Alliance ships, coming our way fast." the voice said, after a moment of hesitation. This brought a frown to David's face.

"I'm on my way." he said, and stepped into the corridor after fastening his command cloak about his shoulders. He usually didn't bother with all of the items that signified rank, as he was never bothered with the station's day-to-day running. A Section officer usually did this in his place, some Commander or another.

The turbolift seemed to be a bit faster this time, but he wasn't going through so many power grids this time to get from his quarters to Station Ops. The doors slid open, and a pair of power-armored Section Marines regarded him briefly, slightly twitching their Grav Guns in his direction. A Flag Bridge display was already floating in the room, showing a hostile red fleet marker moving straight towards the Regula system.

"Admiral on deck." someone intoned, as David stepped into the station's central Ops. The seated Section Commander turned to face him.

"As you can see, there is a rather substantial force of Grand Alliance warships headed directly for us. We can't quite figure out if they're coming here either to get an unusual vector on some other target... or if they're after us, here." the Section officer explained, regarding the Flag display with a wave of his hand. That just brought a scowl to David Kirk's face.

"I could already tell that, just by looking. Don't patronize me, boy, just because I'm old. Now get your arse out of that chair and let me sit and think for a moment." he ordered, glaring at the officer that had twice already drawn his ire. A few hand gestures tightened down the display, focused on the Regula system. Without taking the formality of announcing his intentions, David clasped a hand around the heaviest of the eighteen Section ships, and flicked a finger to open communications.

"Attention, Captain of 688. Consider yourself now Commodore over all forces in this system. Deploy all assets however you see fit to repulse this possible incoming attack. Admiral out." David ordered, gazing over the offered displays of the system. He was no gloryhound or fool, and he knew quite well that he wasn't an Admiral by his virtues as a warrior. Best to leave this up to those who knew what they were doing.

*** ***

Repel attack? While phase cloaked? Last I'd heard, they still hadn't found a way around that. Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst, I suppose... the suddenly-Commodore Cartelin thought to himself. And with scarcely more than 15 minutes to spare? Still, a plan was already forming in his mind, born of classic Section 31 cunning.

"I want those twelve Lance platforms dragged into the lowest possible orbit of Regula, facing towards the enemy's angle of approach. Have both of those Akiras there lay out a bunch of delay-action torpedoes unphased, and seed in some ECM drones, programmed as planetary defense emplacements on the surface. The instant we're done with that, I want an FTL hop to the far side of the Mutara Nebula, and deployment of further ECM drones as stray asteroids passing through it. I want it done yesterday, people!" Jaime snapped, stringing together orders that he hoped made sense. Apparently they had, as the other Section 31 ships smoothly responded, a delicate ballet of tractor beams plucking a dozen of Regula One's defensive platforms from their positions, and slinging them into rapidly-calculated orbits, as though it were a practiced routine.

Both of the Akiras de-phased, and let out clouds of zero-velocity Quantum Torpedoes, positioning them carefully and nestling them under ECM clouds with tractor beams. They also disgorged a payload of ECM drones, quickly drifting down to the planet's barren surface, and suddenly forming into dangerous-looking torpedo batteries, and planetary phaser arrays, and just as suddenly disappeared again.

Turning as one, all 18 ships made the tiniest of hops into Slipstream, popping out behind the vastly smaller Mutara Nebula. More ECM drones were ejected from the launchers, simulating a small string of asteroids, drifting towards and into the nebula.

*** ***

"Are you sure this all is really necessary, sir? We're safely under Phase Cloak, even if they are coming to attack us." the Section officer who was moments ago in charge of the whole sector asked. He had on a quizzical look, as though completely confused.

"It should be obvious, Commander, that our enemies are not stupid. They would not be coming here to attack unless they were reasonably sure of being able to bring us out of cloak. I've never had a single minute of combat experience in my life, and I can tell that. Therefore, I am assuming the worst. Of course, it is entirely possible that they're here just to pass through." David explained, as though he was trying to explain the sciences behind the Genesis Effect to a child. He was beginning to suspect that this officer likely didn't have any combat experience, either.

"Oh."

*** ***

With scant seconds to spare after setting up a few ideas out of their bag of dirty tricks, the Section ships scurried behind the Mutara Nebula, and then the Grand Alliance fleet arrived. A string of phase-cloaked recon drones made a semicircle around the nebula, affording the tiny Section force a good look at their enemy. To say they were outnumbered was perhaps too light of a term. There were well over 100 ships to match each Section vessel, regardless of class. On top of it, there was a good handful of Breen cruisers, fit as fire-support ships bristling with nearly a dozen torpedo tubes.

*** ***

"Scans reveal nothing to suggest any presence within the system, Legate. Nor," the officer chuckled, "do we detect any trace of any space monster." the Torran's sensor officer reported.

"That's to be expected, the Terrans' Section 31 is very good at hiding things. Direct the Mirak ships' first missile barrage to cover the general area that Mr. O'tole's information indicates. The blast radius claimed on these things will more than saturate the target area. Anything we miss will have to take its time dephasing first." Matan ordered, quite sure of his element of surprise and numerical superiority.

"Mirak elements signal firing solutions computed. Dephase warheads loaded for first salvoes." Matan's Flag Ops officer reported, checking status on this crucial part of the operation. A long pause hung in the air.

"Fire."

*** ***

"Missile launches!" someone shouted, breaking the dead silence as everyone held their breath. As though it were the gunshot to start a race, Regula One's Station Ops exploded into action.

"Red Alert! All hands, battlestations! ECM systems to maximum, prepare to fire all weapons. Pass the word to the Commodore to start doing whatever he has in mind!" Admiral David Kirk snapped, a look of sudden fury washing over his face. They were threatening him! Threatening his work! I'll be damned before I let those barbarians get their hands on Genesis!

"Admiral, what about their energy torpedoes? We have no defense!" the Section commander bleated, in fear and helplessness. How did this idiot get assigned here? David immediately thought, but it did make him think fast, as those missiles closed in.

"Get me the station's schematics, now!" he barked out, and just as quickly, a display showed the station as a fully 3D diagram. Quick thinking and some tidbits of information he'd heard about those Breen weapons worked together to snap some instructions into form.

"Put the explosive bolts of the EPS conduits between weapons capacitors and other systems on computer control. If that power grid is going to be hit, fire the bolts. We'll get some use out of them after we're hit. Thank God for all those separate power grids." he ordered, hoping that perhaps the self-destructive instructions might help stave off the total effects of those weapons.

Then the salvo of missiles detonated.

*** ***

"Sir!" 688's Ops officer warned, wide-eyed in shock at the sudden crash-dephase of the Regula One station, and its attendant OWPs. Such a thing hadn't ever been seen before, but it'd just happened. What should have been a nearly minute-long stationary dephase operation cascaded through the station in mere seconds, making the station appear distorted for a few moments.

"That's our cue. All ships, into the nebula, and begin dephase and holochameleon camouflage as soon as the sensor blinding takes effect." The brevetted Commodore ordered. At Jaime's command, the 18 Section vessels began dephasing, once inside the protective sensor-blinding clouds, and there they took the appearance of asteroids, replacing the drones that were already performing the masquerade.

The stealthed recon drone peeked out of the nebula, tightbeaming back a view of the battle outside as it unfolded.

*** ***

"We have them!" Matan said, with a tone of triumph to his voice, as his Flag Bridge display showed the installation that abruptly was dropped from phase cloak. The missiles had quite certainly done their jobs as advertised, but something was wrong. Hideously wrong. Perhaps it was the activated shields and deployed armor, or perhaps it was the weapons that glowed hot with readiness.

"Fire support, take them out!" he shouted, the characteristically taut tendons of the Cardassian's neck seeming strained even further than usual. The holodisplay lit up bright with weapons fire from the prepared defenses, a pure firestorm of angry firepower lashing out.

The Breen cruisers flung their charged energy torpedoes out at the massive Regula One station, and at the OWPs that clustered around it. Suddenly, those two squadrons of Breen cruisers didn't quite seem to be enough, as the true nature of Regula One became apparent, and the OWPs seeded thick with decoys gave too many targets to deal with in only one salvo. But just as those silvery-blue projectiles cleared their tubes, the Terran commander had his own response ready.

*** ***

*** ***

"All units, this is Admiral Kirk. Open fire!" David ordered, realizing just what had been at his fingertips all these long years. A sudden vision flashed before his eyes, of his father, the renowned Admiral James Tiberius Kirk, looking fierce and imposing in the blood-red uniform that had been the style of the times, with black piping and white accents, looking on approvingly. Now, at last, he understood what StarFleet's lure had been for his father.

A mass of shiny black projectiles spewed forth from Regula One's many turrets, and those of the Type V OWPs around it. It took a few moments before they lit up, bright as the stars, the whitish-blue shield systems of the countless Quantum Torpedoes arrowing into the Grand Alliance's fleet. Huge twinkles of the same color also burped out of pulled-back slabs of ablative armor, which quickly snapped back shut. Those Heavy Quantum Torpedoes found themselves joined by a small salvo of ECM drones, shifting into perfect replicas of the weapons.

Next was a hellish massed salvo of Phaser Lance fire, slashing into the Alliance's lines cruelly. Lighter ships just burnt away to nothing when they found themselves in the path of the devastating beams, while heavier ones were holed through, the lucky ones only being clipped. Standard phaser arrays hissed up, lashing out to strike at whatever ventured too close. Alliance picket ships were spitted with the crimson-orange beams, nearly two hundred arrays having the opportunity to fire.

None of that had any effect on the over 200 Breen torpedoes already launched, though. This was the realm of the Imperials' ECM to deal with. A plethora of sensor-distorting devices shrank and warped the targets' signatures, while others threw out sensor spoof images that were far more attractive to the incoming torpedoes. As a last-ditch measure, a swarm of ECM drones boiled out of their launchers on the massive station, and threw themselves at the incoming wave of torpedoes.

Where there'd only been the tiny drones moments earlier, an impossible mass of starships suddenly flashed into being. The holoimages were so close that they clipped into one another, looking like a flying wall of metal. Of course it wouldn't fool the enemy, but all the torpedoes saw was a field of juicy targets.

Disruptor fire from quickly thinking Alliance pickets struck out, cutting huge swaths out of the wall of decoys. A good couple dozen of the torpedoes still wasted themselves on the decoys, but still plenty got through. More than plenty, in fact.

They struck with unimpressive force, but the effects were readily obvious. More than half either spent themselves on decoys of the OWPs, or simply sailed off into the void, spoofed into chasing false targets, or narrowly missing their targets. The ones that did strike true, though, were absolutely devastating.

Over a third of Regula One's real OWPs fell dead, the menace of their glowing Lances dimming to black, or the continuous streams of Quantum Torpedoes falling silent. Three torpedoes struck true on Regula One's thickly-armored hide, the strange energies that drained Imperial ships and stations dead surging through EPS conduits for their respective power grids. Explosive bolts detonated by computer command, severing local capacitors that fed weapons and other systems from the power systems being scourged by the energy-draining effect.

Damage-control teams of engineers and power-armored Marines scurried about, frantically trying to connect the rapidly draining capacitors to still-live EPS systems, as they fired continuously. The weapons' built-in sensors seeked out targets still, and cut loose as they found them. Some of the fire over-concentrated, but they were still lending their weight of fire to the rest of the station's impressive barrages.

Then the Imperial torpedoes reached their targets. The more advanced ECCM measures of the Section weapons helped disseminate between decoys and targets, and helped clear through the sensor jamming to find their targets more cleanly. Over a thousand Quantum Torpedoes of Section's enhanced variety crashed into the Alliance's formations, finding targets and hitting with deadly force. Ships that took the worst of it lost shields, and several even exploded under the overwhelming fire.

A few seconds later, the Heavy Quantum Torpedoes streaked in, a bit slower than their smaller brethren. The vulnerability and sheer power of heavy torpedoes warranted point defense fire, so ECM copies accompanied them. Disruptor fire tried to stop them, but only a handful were intercepted before they found their targets.

Squadrons of destroyers vaporized as the torpedoes let go with their massive zero-point warheads on proximity setting, and even cruisers that were too close died. Others, set for direct targeting, slammed into battleships, venting their full fury on them, nearly equaling a Phaser Lance in power. The shattered hulks that remained after that crackled off their comrades' shields.

Despite the sheer, awesome firestorm that the Section station and its consorts had unleashed, the ranks of the Grand Alliance's fleet just tightened, as though they hadn't just lost several hundred ships. And with the lull in the firing, they advanced, with murder on their minds.

*** ***

The tiny drone that peered out from the Mutara Nebula sent back a perfect view of the carnage unfolding outside. The Section ships remained very still, even though their captains were champing at the bit to rush out at the view, but the hastily-laid plans that 688's Commodore Cartelin held them back just a short while more. The lumbering Alliance fleet closed the distance, into a more optimal weapons range. But they couldn't be allowed to fire... at least, not at Regula One, not yet. Jaime's foresight in seeing this let him put some measures in place for that.

"Use the drone to bounce attack orders to the masquerade forces at Regula. That'll give them an irresistible target, for the moment..." Jaime ordered, grimly smiling. Section 31 was going to make this a horrendously phyrric victory for the Grand Alliance if they couldn't stop them.

"Orders... relayed! ...and it's working!" 688's Ops officer called out. He looked up and watched, in unison with the rest of the bridge crew, as the charade laid out to fool the enemy unfolded perfectly.

*** ***

"Spawn of a vole! I didn't expect them to have such teeth!" Matan cursed angrily. He was starting to reach a hand up to target the Section station, but something else caught his eye. A series of powerful fortifications revealed themselves on the Regula planetoid's surface, and glowed with crackling power.

And before he could order anything in response, they unleashed their own potent barrage of fire, carving into the more vulnerable flanks of the Alliance fleet. An even dozen Phaser Lances stabbed into the battlecruisers of the starboard flank, sending up ten roaring matter-antimatter explosions. The other two Lances tore through ECM decoys, one going on to cut through a Cardassian Janissary before streaking off to nothing. The other exhausted itself on the Gorn superdreadnought's stout shields.

A wave of Quantum Torpedoes lit off, streaking in to pound at the shields of the disorganized flank. Shields were weakened, opening vulnerable chinks for follow-on strikes. Ignoring the danger posed now would be folly.

"Damn them! All ships, target Maulers on the planetoid! I want it out of the way!" Matan ordered, a hard-edged snarl on his voice. The Grand Alliane hadn't sanctioned this sort of attack, but Regula was a dead, lifeless rock...

"Maulers targetted, Legate." his Flag Ops officer reported, looking up with a grin. Truth be told, this would be a spectacular sight.

Matan just raised a bony browridge. "Let's crack ourselves a planet."

*** ***

All at once, nearly two hundred Maulers let loose with their horrific force, the silvery blasts reaching out for Regula itself, rather than the station that hung near it. In the space of a short second, the OWPs and ECM drones that were all that truly made up the massive defensive works all vaporized. In the next second, hell suddenly found a counterpart in reality.

The tips of the blasts reached out, and kissed the planetoid's surface. In an instant, the spots that were hit flared from dull rock to the actinic brilliance of plasma and vaporized matter. The blooming hellfire of these impact sites expanded in an eyeblink, meshing and combining into one planet-spanning firestorm, but that paled in comparison to the further damage caused by the Maulers.

Each beam dug in further, eating deep into Regula's dead husk, each one stabbing in dozens of kilometers. Several of the ravenous blasts bored through the hollowed-out cavern of the original Phase 2 Genesis testing, igniting the oxygen-rich atmosphere inside in a flash, incinerating the lush vegetation, and expanding inside the confined space with astounding pressure. The bubble of the cave popped in a roaring explosion, causing what would have been tremendous earthquakes in a normal situation, but paled in comparison to the holocaust ravaging the planet.

The bursting of the Genesis cave was just one of the pebbles that started the avalanche of Regula's death. The sheer violence of entire chunks of planetoid being vaporized or turned to superheated plasma was enough to start tearing the planet apart. Long-dead tectonic plates roared back to life, grinding against one another and apart randomly, even as they were disintegrating. It was too much for Regula.

In a series of final, massive quakes, Regula began to break up. First, chunks of the outer crust shell began to shed off, like a baby chick starting to break free of its egg. Then, molten slag started sloughing off into the void, cooling into chunks of fresh rock. Whole quarters of the planet started breaking away, and what didn't after that just shattered into dust.

*** ***

David's face was illuminated by the burning glow of the dying planet. His mouth hung open softly in shock. All at once, the enormity of what he'd done came crashing down on him. A single, haunted-sounding phrase escaped his lips.

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds..."

The Section Commander of the station looked up to hear those words. He said nothing, but it was all too obvious to everyone there that only one outcome was possible now.

"Commander... I can't help you any more. Do your duty." David said, the weight of his years piling on his voice, sounding so old and tired. Then he turned, and went into the turbolift. The doors hissed shut behind him, blocking off the glow of the dead-again world. Whatever that Commodore has planned... it doesn't matter any longer.

"Genesis Lab." The turbolift began lowering down, changing the first of the power grids supporting it.

*** ***

On 688's bridge, sensors lit up indicators above each of the Grand Alliance vessels that had just fired. One and a half minutes of recharge left them all horribly vulnerable.

"Tactical... Targetting set?" Jaime asked. The grim-faced Section tactical officer just nodded in assent. The stylized graphics of eight of the ten Breen fire-support cruisers lit up, red "kill-dots" appearing on their aft quarters.

"Pass along orders to all ships... begin the attack." Jaime ordered. It was Section's turn to take advantage of the Alliance's overbalancing response to their feint.

*** ***

"Legate... sensors report that the planetary debris does not contain any of the expected materials from the fortifications we saw. Furthermore, the fortifications appeared to be destroyed before the Maulers actually struck them." the Cardassian Flag Ops officer reported, reading off the information that was being piped up from the Torran's sensor arrays. A surprised look appeared on Matan's face at that.

"We've been had... Wait- what's that?" he asked, jabbing a finger at the sudden course change and acceleration by a set of asteroids. He was right on target, but it was far too late to respond, as the "asteroids" shed their holo-camouflage, revealing themselves to be the sleek, space-black shapes of Section 31 warships.

*** ***

The three Intrepids and two refit Constitutions belched forth five separate Phaser Lance shots, and they struck unerringly. Five of the ten Breen cruisers blossomed into instant fireballs, rocking the other cruisers in formation. Yet 688 hadn't fired, and it carried the Lance armament of an upgraded Wraith's forward arc.

The flattened form of the Section-refit Excelsior tilted slightly, lining up the portside fore Phaser Lance. With a belch of stored energy, the first Lance struck out, punching through the confusion of the Alliance fleet to disembowel another of the Breen cruisers. As the Lance's barrel's glow died off, 688 was already beginning a unique maneuver to bring the other two into line.

The Borg STL system was a dream come true for this particular maneuver. As though a marionette on strings, 688 began to spin on its Z-axis. The starboard fore Lance flared with another hellish outpouring of destructive force, spearing yet a seventh cruiser. The Section ECCM overpowered the still-disorganized Grand Alliance ECM that scrambled to blanket the ships to the rear, allowing another clean kill.

The rather unique characteristics of the Breen torpedoes provided another advantage to vessels targeting them, as it was difficult to mask or falsify the faint energy signature they gave off. The still-turning 688 presented its stern to the mass of Alliance ships, and cut loose with the aft Phaser Lance. As though guided by deity, this shot also tore through the eighth of the Breen fire-support ships.

*** ***

Matan snarled in inarticulate rage at the further trick. Each time, these Section vermin drew his fleet out, and then took another bite out of what was vulnerable. As damnably effective as the Terrans were, they simply couldn't inflict enough harm on the Alliance fleet to do more than annoy it. Still, he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Signal to all reserve elements, come full about, and engage those Terran ships. All other units, commence direct assault on the starbase." the Cardassian Legate ordered, indicating formations of starships with a wave of his hand. A blinking comm indicator appeared over the Gre'thor superdreadnought just aft and to starboard of the Torran. Matan opened it with a flick of his finger.

"Legate Matan, this is Colonel Kreth. We will lead the intercept of these worthy Terrans! May the spirit of Kahless lead your assault!" a loud Klingon voice stated forcefully. The spread-winged battleaxe shape of the Klingon superdreadnought veered off to starboard, making a great turn to lead the forces coming about to square off with the Section vessels. With 250 ships, the tiny S31 contingent was outnumbered with well over a dozen Alliance vessels to match every one of theirs.

*** ***

Without pausing, the still-massive Grand Alliance force advanced on Regula One, and weapons crews onboard the station coordinated firing patterns to fend off the onrushing horde. The Section Commander stood in the center of Station Ops, looking frustrated, despairing, and impotent. There were no real orders he could give any more to affect the battle. There was no chance of escape, and nothing he could do personally.

"God help us all..." he muttered, but nobody was listening. Least of all would be God, if there was one. That was when the first salvoes of weapons fire were exchanged.

*** ***

ECM blasted sensors with misinformation, false targets ghosted sensors, and real targets were minimized and distorted. Section ECM was superior, but less effective when applied to mostly-stationary defensive platforms and the starbase itself. The Alliance vessels spread out to begin an envelopment maneuver, and then space lit up with firepower once more.

Disruptor batteries opened up first, followed by the lesser Quantum Torpedoes of Alliance design. Mixed in with them were a much-reduced salvo of Breen torpedoes, the armament of the pathetic two cruisers supplemented by the retrofit torpedo mounts on some of the Alliance pickets, and about sixty of the deadly weapons streaked in from close range.

ECM was of such little use at this close range that only a dozen of the energy-draining torpedoes were spoofed away. Drones mimicking OWPs soaked off at most twenty of the torpedoes, but that left more than enough to score hits.

Twenty of the OWPs ceased firing as they fell to the draining effects of the torpedoes, cutting their numbers drastically again. The surviving Type X platforms threw out a blinding salvo of Phaser Lance fire at close range, piercing through many of the Alliance ships that had the misfortune to cross paths with the swiveling Lance blasts. Type V OWPs spewed clouds of Quantum Torpedoes into the rapidly moving swarm. Many missed, and those that did hit only cut into shielding.

But, far more devastating, a further eight Breen torpedoes slammed into Regula One's great bulk. Systems across the station died, and more of the failsafe explosive bolts fired. Section 31's paranoia in the creation of this behemoth station was paying off, as while separate power grids blew out, still others thrummed with power. Weapons lashed out again, and the station became like a spiny urchin, with all weapons blazing away.

The close-in armaments of Pulse Phaser turrets and Phalanx torpedoes were now in range, and they added their rapid fury to the heavier Phaser Arrays and Lances, and the tubes of standard and heavy Quantum Torpedoes. The disruptors, torpedoes, and Maulers of the Alliance fleet roared back, hammering away at Regula One's shields steadily. The slugging match was going to be one-sided, as the poorly shielded OWPs were snuffed out like candles, and the capacitor-fed weapons died off when cut-off EPS conduits no longer fed them.

*** ***

David cursed fiercely when his turbolift lost power, knowing that the power grid it was on was cut. Purely mechanical safety devices deployed into the sides of the turboshaft, cutting the drop off before it had fallen more than perhaps a few feet.

"Dammit!" he shouted, and his voice seemed to echo in the pitch-black turbolift pod. He pulled his Type-II phaser, and flicked on the tiny light above the emitter. He was trapped in a damn turbolift, and there was no way he could get down to the Genesis Lab. Then he had a thought.

"Oh, hell no, David. You're NOT doing this." he said to himself, but he already knew that he had to do it. He reached down, and pulled open a panel near the floor. He took hold of the mechanical release in an age-spotted hand, and pulled. A square on the floor dropped down a bit, and he reached back to push down on it.

The escape hatch swung open, and he pointed the phaser-mounted light into the barely lit turboshaft. He spotted the ladder, and took a breath as he reached out of the open hatch blindly, having put the phaser on his hip again. His hands closed on a rung of the ladder, and swung his legs down. Pain lanced out from his chest as his ribcage slammed against the rungs, and almost slipped, if it weren't for his white-knuckled grip.

Gasping for breath, he shakily planted both feet on the rungs, and caught his breath and courage for a minute. 126, and doing something crazy like this! he thought, and pulled his phaser again to read the painted number of the deck, and his heart sank. Twenty decks...

*** ***

To their credit, the Section 31 ships were giving the Alliance detachment some serious headaches. Swift maneuvering and surprising firepower frustrated the ships hunting them quite well. One of the Section Defiants darted forward on Borg drives, cutting to the side and unleashing a punishing salvo of Pulse Phaser fire along a Gorn battlecruiser's spine. Shields collapsed under the thundering blasts, and a spread of torpedoes joined a lash from the Defiant's ventral phaser array, shattering stout armor for a follow-up from a pair of Novas, whose weapons fire chewed through the vulnerable hull, ripping the stricken vessel in half.

The hull of the broad-winged Gre'thor barely even shook when weapons fire struck it, shots practically bouncing off of her stout shields. The flag bridge display showed heavy losses among the lighter ships of Kreth's detachment, but it was to be expected. Section ships greatly outclassed anything else in their weight class, and menaced vessels a level above their own. Still, nothing matched his superdreadnought.

"Gunnery, concentrate firepower on that cruiser. Killing even one of them will break their will!" Kreth ordered, raising a gauntleted fist. The intuitive command interface targeted one of the refit and bloated Section Constitutions. A blocky red triangle locked around it marked it for death.

*** ***

593 barely had a chance when the Klingon superdreadnought and a dozen battlecruisers pounced on it. Sheer weight of fire blanketed space, plasma torpedoes, disruptor fire, and the horrific power of the freshly recharged Maulers overwhelming the small ship. It jinked to the side to avoid a dead-on Mauler, and took a thunderous salvo of heavy disruptors and plasma torpedoes on the bow. Another panicky dodge presented the ship's ventral arc to another Mauler's silvery blast.

A bright flash and twirling debris was all that was left of 593. A priceless relic from a bygone age was callously destroyed in an eyeblink, and not even the dedication plaque for the old ISS Excellentia survived.

The recently-brevetted Commodore Cartelin merely blinked at the so-sudden death of one of his tiny command. The nose was drawing tighter and tighter around them, and they willingly left their necks in it. The Grand Alliance's warp inhibitors held no sway over a Quantum Slipstream drive. Yet they stayed, buying a pitiful amount of time for the people onboard Regula One.

Not buying time to escape, but rather buying time for them to consummate their own destruction. Genesis would never be allowed to fall into Grand Alliance hands. The data of how the weapons were made needed to be purged, and the equipment used to refine and process the materials of the devices had to be destroyed. And the scientists themselves knew too much to let live - the Section 31 guards were more in place to kill them, rather than defend them.

But there might not even be time for that... Jaime mused. Casting aside the thought, he reached a black-gloved hand out, and swatted at the stylized form of a Keldon Battleship. A nod from 688's tactical officer told him that his ship's Lances were ready. Words were unnecessary at this point.

*** ***

Close in to the dull green Klingon superdreadnought's flank, the yellow-orange hulled Keldon seemed secure from all assault, with stray torpedoes and PPC bolts pinging off her shields. Whatever illusion of safety its weight gave off was shattered in the space of a second. A blazing spear of Phaser Lance fire from 688's starboard-fore Lance reached out to grab hold of the appointed victim.

Shields that withstood lesser bombardment with ease simply melted away under this strike, despite last-second reinforcing. Armor merely turned to vapor, and the comparatively weak interior of the vessel did little to slow the Phaser Lance. Magazines of torpedoes flared up, adding their stored fury to the blast that had already killed the vessel.

*** ***

Whatever losses his fleet incurred meant nothing to Matan. Every disruptor hit, every torpedo salvo, and every Mauler shot brought him one step closer to possession of Genesis. And the sooner, the better! he thought, watching as a Heavy Quantum Torpedo suddenly burped out of what was supposed to be a dead mount. A pair of Gorn cruisers were simply ripped to pieces by the torpedo, despite their evasives and last-second ECM Drones.

Perhaps these Breen torpedoes aren't quite the wonder weapons that some of the others are reporting, if the Terrans can put up some level of countermeasures. Matan mused, not even interested as a barrage of disruptor fire tore the offending tube into a smoldering ruin. A dull roar rumbled through the Torran's deckplates, signaling the firing of the ship's triple Maulers.

*** ***

Regula One's response was swift, wasting no time in lashing back out. A freshly-charged Phaser Lance scythed through space towards the solidly-built Superdreadnought, and stabbed through the Sartan-class vessel with ease. The ECM drone at the illusion's center died with what could have been a pop!, if space carried sound. A frustrated gunnery crew on the big weapon expressed their anger by kicking the targeting consoles.

*** ***

"Prepare boarding parties. Remind them that they are to take the Genesis scientists alive, if possible, and to take all Genesis materials intact." Matan ordered, looking to the Gorn officer who was serving as overall commander of the fleet's Marine forces for this mission. It was a shame that Matan couldn't really understand him without a Universal Translator, but the Gorn understood him just fine.

The burly reptile said something in his own language. It was one of the few phrases of Gorn that Matan knew. Something about acknowledgement and success, as best he knew. Then he left, power armor whirring softly.

*** ***

David's arms and legs ached in ways that he'd forgotten were possible. Age was hardly conductive to physical activity, after all. But those pains were quickly forgotten when frustration took hold instead.

"You stupid son of a bitch! Why won't you work without the turbolift?" he yelled out hoarsely, and pounded the LCARS panel with the butt of his phaser, leaving a dent in it. The equipment for testing blood and retinas was mounted in the turbolift itself, which was quite unusable now, many decks above, all power drained.

He couldn't even get into the Genesis Lab to ensure its destruction! A fine mess you've gotten yourself into this time, David! Now, think, dammit! he told himself. Unbidden, memories of Saavik arose to the fore of his mind.

The half-Vulcan, half-Romulan woman had intrigued him from ever since they'd met, to the last time he'd seen her before a squad of Section 31 goons had hauled her away for interrogation and execution for being in league with the followers of Spock. He, too, might have been taken along with her, but he was too important to Section. Even being the lover of one of Spock's closest lieutenants could be ignored, because he was needed too much...

Her mind had always been a perfect opposite of his, filling in where his failed. Wisps of her still remained in him from mind-melds long ago, and they occasionally called out to him. As they were now.

David, you're overthinking the problem. Just think logically about it... if one approach fails, try another... the comforting familiar voice said. Even long gone in death, Saavik still seemed very much alive in David's memories.

Simpler, then... he thought to himself, and leveled his phaser at the door again. He pulled back on the trigger pad, and a spitting crimson beam struck the door. After putting his body through the exertion of climbing this far, his brain was in little mood to think.

No, NO, you idiot! Saavik's voice exploded, thin-worn patience snapping and letting her fiery Romulan emotions show through the normally opaque wall of Vulcan logic. David flinched and let off on the phaser, the beam cutting off instantly. The last time he'd seen her lose her temper - the last time he'd seen her, ever - she'd broken the necks of two of the Section goons that had come for her, before four phasers on heavy stun made her crumple to the ground. The tone of voice she'd just taken helped him think clearly once more.

"Oh." he said to himself, and climbed back up several rungs of the ladder. At a few touches on the LCARS strip mounted next to it, the hatch to the Jefferies Tube opened. Much better... Saavik said, voice like a pleased purr. Lacking any grace whatsoever, David threw himself into the tube, and started crawling.

*** ***

*** ***

The Klingon flagship echoed with the sounds of battle. Huge capacitors discharged unimaginable amounts of energy into the superdreadnought's many weapons, and the battle cries of the ship's crew gave it the impression of a warrior's cathedral. Above it all, on the ship's flag bridge, the dance of death was played out - and shown in full.

"Destroyer elements are reporting 68% losses, milord. Formation leaders are requesting to be pulled back and allowed to regroup..." Kreth's Flag Ops officer reported, looking up with more than a hint of distaste evident in his voice.

"Tell those Cardassian and Mirak cowards that they are to disengage under no circumstances!" Kreth spat, offended that they would even ask such a thing. "They are needed to force the enemy into our lanes of fire. If any of them do try to disengage, destroy them."

The semi-ornamental armor that was wrapped around the Colonel's powerful body clicked against itself lightly as he turned to face the holoprojection of the battle, leaving his subordinate to deal with the cowardice of the light ship commanders. He snorted in dissatisfaction as he ordered the remaining ships of his battleship squadron into new positions.

By Kahless, these allies of ours have no belly for a fight! I'd gladly take half their number in Klingons - or perhaps Romulans - over these mixed and ill-fitting cowards... Kreth wished, half-thinking of one of the curses that referred to a poor ally, then muttering it in a low growl. To their credit, his Flag Bridge made their agreement with that, even though he was sure none of them had heard him. Perhaps they'd been thinking the same thing.

One of the Section Novas flared up bright as its QSS core was pierced, joining the many other sparkles of light that shone across Kreth's eyes. He kept a mental tally of what Terran ships they'd brought down so far, and his losses compared to what they'd been able to kill would have made most commanders blanch. As a Klingon, Kreth could only nod and acknowledge a grudging respect for such a worthy foe.

*** ***

It might have surprised and amused Jaime to know that his counterpart thought higher of him than he did his own allies. If he were in any mood for amusement, though, it would surely be only the blackest of humor. Watching several hundred Section Marines and their armored support spill out of 1842's side was nothing short of enraging. The Section Intrepid had been holed by a thunderous barrage of heavy disruptors, and her troop compartments were pierced.

Still unwilling to give up, 1842 whipped around end-for-end, and gave its attacker a taste of her forward weapons. Phasers and torpedoes rained down on the Vor'cha, striking where shields were weakest. 1842's Lance remained dim, still storing up power for a devastating blast.

Taking his eyes off the details of the battle, Jaime watched the whole situation. The bulk of the Grand Alliance fleet swarmed over Regula One, pounding away at what defenses still functioned, and also searching for places to beam in their Marines. The station's Marines had been busy, taking tactical-level Transport Inhibitors from the station's armories and deploying them throughout the station, and also preparing defensive positions for a futile grab for time.

It was said that Section was nothing but a gang of cowards and bullies, but that was pure misconception. They usually fled from a fight simply because it wouldn't serve their plans to be interrupted by something as mundane and stupid as death. But when it did follow their plans to fight, they were a fierce and terrible sight to behold, and quite usually the last thing their enemies ever saw. And when forced into a fight... even the most harmless of animals can become deadly when cornered, and an already-dangerous one is raised to a whole new and unimaginable level of lethality then.

It was frustrating in the extreme how Jaime couldn't even make a guess at how much longer was needed to destroy the Genesis information. His only option was to give them more time. He felt no remorse as he damned another five ships to certain destruction. With a wave of his black-gloved hand, he pulled the two intact Intrepids into their own group, along with a pitiful escort of two of his three remaining Defiants, and one of the two surviving Novas.

"Commodore to 192 and 238. You and your escorts are to break through the enemy lines, and deliver your Marines to Regula One by whatever means possible. Every Marine onboard that station buys more time for Genesis. Is that understood?" Jaime ordered, and five blips of acknowledgement answered him. The Captains of those ships knew quite well that they were already dead, but they obeyed. A slight tightening of their formations was all that heralded their rush, and then a whole new wave of decoys sheeted off of them.

*** ***

The sudden aggressive maneuvers of the five ships obviously startled some of the Grand Alliance guncrews, as a flurry of shots directed at the ships flew far wide as some crews lacked the speed to intuitively deselect the ECM decoys flashing off in other directions. Some cooler heads, though, had obviously prevailed, and a smaller salvo of fire struck through their path of advance, inflicting a few hits. But before any real firepower could be directed at them, a spray of Phaser fire, both beam and pulse, ripped through the formation of Hidekis and Lyran frigates blocking one vector, and suddenly the squadron's path was clear.

A storm of decoys ran the gauntlet in rapid order, forcing the Alliance gun crews to lay a curtain of fire down though the gap, rather than single out their targets. Swiftly maneuvering through the hail of fire, the five Section vessels covered one another superbly... but still far from well enough. The Nova of the formation darted forward swiftly and rotated on its axis to provide physical cover for 238, taking a punishing volley of Heavy Disruptor fire on her dorsal shielding, faltering under the blows. A pincushion-ful of the deadly needles that were Mirak missiles streaked in on the vulnerable starship, not fooled by the frantic ECM that was thrown up to ward them off. In seconds, the missiles chewed through the Nova's spine, tearing the ship in two.

One of the Defiants also fell, as the skilled maneuvers of the ship's helmsman proved to be worthless in evading the Plasma Torpedoes that a pair of Gorn Cruisers laid out, succumbing after rapid Disruptor fire turned the hull of the tiny ship into a sieve.

Almost free and clear, 192 began to evade out of the gap, having been unscathed for the most part, as was her sister Intrepid and the remaining Defiant. Almost free to dash towards Regula One to drop her load of Section troopers... when the sickly silver projectile flung from a Bird of Prey's mouthlike torpedo tube arced up into her belly.

Not a soul aboard the stricken ship had a chance of surviving, as the terrifying leech effect of the Breen weapon took hold, surging through EPS systems and draining off every erg of power, like a ravenous glutton. Fatefully, the ship's computer ran one last program, instants before it, too, was sucked dry of power, sealing the ship's fate.

All at once, a series of pre-placed antimatter charges released their forcefields, taking all of the ship's important systems with them in a long string of perfect explosions as matter met its opposite and reacted, surgically gutting the vessel. An instant later, a set of different charges detonated, with the intent to absolutely destroy the vessel. These were Tricobalt demolition charges - practically useless in starship combat as it existed today. Hull armor was more easily destroyed by phaser than Tricobalt weapons, but detonated inside of it all at once was a moot point. Contained more or less by the ship's thick Ablative armor, the entire ship within was reduced to less than a wreck.

The Army personnel and crew of SSS 192 all died before they even knew, sending over three hundred souls to the afterlife to scream there. The stricken armor shell that was their grave broke up swiftly under a lack of support structure and SIF, leaving nothing but twirling debris to show that the ship had been there at all.

*** ***

On the Torran's flag bridge, it never even came to Matan's attention that the two Section ships had made it through at all. Too insignificant for the Legate, for whom it was only a matter of time before his Marines took his prize from the Empire's clutches. Ah, the fame - the power! - that would be his...

Not important enough for attention that high up, at least. Screaming in as fast as its Borg STL drive would let it, the lone Defiant blazed away, clearing a path for 238. A pair of Cardassian Janissarys went down under the storm of PPC bolts loosed at them, erupting in twin fireballs as their pathetic defenses crumbled to nothing.

As though to drive home the insignificance of the ship's effects, the strobing pulses of heavy disruptors from a Klingon Vor'cha hammered the little ship... shaking it furiously, like a rat in a terrier's jaws. Before 238 could do anything to assist, lighter disruptors joined the barrage, turning the tiny Defiant into a blueish copy of the two Cardassian destroyers it had taken out.

But yet again redealing the favor, 238's Lance flared with killing power, and tore straight through the Klingon battlecruiser. Cruising through the blossoming explosions of the four ships, 238 was home free, having penetrated the Grand Alliance lines, against all odds! With her first troops on their transporter pads, 238 swung broadside to Regula One's sloped hull, and dropped her shields to begin beaming.

In another sick twist of fate, none of the power-armored Section Army troopers even had a chance to finish dematerializing, much less begin actual beaming. With a sickening CRUNCH, the little Intrepid took the full force of the Romulan Condor's portside R-II Heavy Plasma Torpedo right in the gut. A half-teraton of directed plasma simply ate the unshielded cruiser, melting right through the hull and heavily reinforced bulkheads with the callous ease of overwhelming power. To add an air of finality to Section 31's futile attempt to reinforce the station, what was left of 238 was broken across the strong prow shields of Captain T'rael's Condor, brutally grinding it to dust.

*** ***

Ow! Goddamn broken conduit! David inwardly cursed, crawling further into the Jefferies Tube, away from the sparking panel which had blown out against his chest rather forcefully, the twisted metal catching on and ripping his shirt, and the exposed leads delivering a rather painful shock to bare flesh. For some reason, it reminded him of watching Vance Madison, one of the other original Genesis scientists, being tortured to death in the Agony Booth on his father's orders after one too many inappropriate advances towards Carol.

There... the access hatch he noted, looking ahead about twenty meters. With a renewed sense of purpose, he crawled on. He thought he heard the faraway thump of an antimatter grenade going off. Who knew how far away one could hear things in the Jefferies Tubes? But he crawled faster anyway.

The LCARS panel silently came to life as he approached, and showed that it was locked out, as usual. David hunched over in the tube and stared at the panel as it glowed red, demanding his clearance. He snorted at the little panel.

"Kirk, Marcus. Admiral. Command Override Kirk Sierra Three One Four Hotel Delta." he stated, and the lockout promptly disappeared, and now it demanded his Genesis Lab access codes.

"Kirk, Marcus. Admiral." he restated, and punched another code in manually. There was no retinal scanner here, but it still required two levels of verification.

"Damn." he muttered, noting the lack of console-mounted hypospray for blood collection, only an analysis panel. David hated the implication.

Shut up and do it, David. There's a hypospray in the pommel Saavik's voice ordered him, not easing his reluctance at all. With a sigh, he drew his Imperial dagger, and slashed his left hand, letting out a cry as sharp pain radiated from his entire arm, blood dripping onto the panel. It immediately recognized the neurotoxin mixed in, and ignored it as it confirmed the blood as his, rather than the material of a Founder.

"Verbal verification required." the panel demanded next, oblivious to David's current concern of unscrewing the pommel of the dagger for the antidote. He pressed it to his left wrist and let out a sigh of relief as the numbness stopped spreading up his arm, though it did little for what was already numb. The panel restated its demand.

"And God said, 'Let the water teem with living creatures...'." David began quoting, and then stopped once he'd said that first part, as the LCARS panel flashed in acknowledgement. Genesis, day five. As far as we've taken the project... We can make the day and night, the seas, sky, and land, plants and animals... even a whole star if need be...

Unceremoniously, the maglock seals and forcefields all disengaged, popping the hatch out of the Jefferies Tube and into the Genesis Lab. And the sight that greeted his eyes was one that didn't belong in any slaughterhouse, or even a horror holosuite program. Damn... Saavik's ingrained personality cursed, thoroughly disgusted.

*** ***

Jaime looked down at his polished black boots for a moment, ashamed at the miserable waste of almost half of his remaining command with no effect. The dull thud of a salvo of Mirak missiles striking the ship's shields did not distract him, nor did it even truly harm 688. Merely a random shot.

1287, the Akira to port-aft of 688, was reporting that her torpedo magazines were starting to run dry. Unceasing volleys of proximity-fused Quantum Torpedoes cut ragged swaths of destruction through the frigates of the GA formation before them, the enhanced weapons being hard on the tiny vessels as they detonated like flak all around them as the blue-flared weapons detected their quarry to be near. But that ate up even an Akira's prodigious bunkerage of torpedoes at a greedy rate, tubes spewing the weapons as fast as the autoloaders fed them in.

1287's sister ship wasn't quite as bad off, as she was firing concentrated salvoes at the enemy cruiser-weight ships, which was a rather devastating affair with the tripled yields of Section Quantums, along with superior ECCM to guide them true. It was wise of the Grand Alliance's planners to comprise the fleet's cruisers of the thicker-skinned sorts, as otherwise many more ships would be debris instead of crippled.

"1287 is to continue firing... If we thin their ranks enough, we might be able to bring our Lances into play agains-" Jaime started to order, and then cut off as a spread of Mauler shots tore through space at 1287, two decoys being vaporized by finely-aimed shots, and one punching into the real ship. The cruiser flared up and died in the silence of space, with little left of what had been a deadly sleek warship of Section 31's Black Fleet. The pause in his orders was barely palpable, as he went on a moment later.

"1359 will take up 1287's duties. Commence firing." Commodore Cartelin went on, unfeeling for the abrupt loss. His tactic to remove this blockade element was being cut to ribbons. Normally, any sane commander would have long since retreated. But with Genesis in the picture, tactical sanity was thrown out the airlock in favor of strategic scorched-earth policies.

Both of 688's fore Lances fired in succession, one missing, as ECM threw off the target's sensor signature. The other ploughed straight through the D'Deridex Warbird that it was meant for, piercing its ventral hull and carving off an entire "wing" as the beam angled through, leaving the ship stricken and on its way to core breach, lifepods already shedding from her.

The return fire was murderous still, but apparently the Alliance had used up their luck on 1287, and scored no further kills. But tiny 2012 suffered from it, the tiny Defiant's hull charred to her bones, her armors barely holding back the disruptor fire that nearly killed her. You could even see the little glowing bulb of her QSS core from an angle where Engineering was laid open.

"Commodore, message in plaintext from 2012. 'We who are about to die salute you'...?" Jaime's Ops officer reported, looking up quizzically. Jaime just looked on.

"Caesar's blessings..." he muttered, and watched as 2012 banked around, and aimed itself for the center of the GA detachment, and started the familiar ripples of phase cloak...

*** ***

Colonel Kreth stared at the onrushing little ship, mouth open for perhaps half a moment before he turned on his Tactical officer.

"Guns! Kill him, NOW!" he roared, and the old warrior at the console smashed both of his gauntlets onto it, cracking the casing.

"Everything is on recharge!" he snarled, even as quick Rapid disruptor turrets and Quantums flashed towards the ship. Not heavy enough to stop it, and only a few bolts hit before the Defiant was safely phase-cloaked.

The Mirak frigates quickly scrambled to load their spare dephase warheads, but it was too slow, too late to stop them. Kreth did the only thing he could. He activated the fleetwide comm.

"Today is a good day to die!" he snarled, and bellowed out the traditional Klingon death howl. He was perhaps a few seconds in before 2012 came crashing into and through his ship, dephasing as they intersected. Shards of the starboard QSS nacelle tore through the Gre'thor's Flag Bridge, and more of the ship phased in as it streaked through the larger vessel... tearing into two of her warp cores, three torpedo magazines, and the primary antimatter storage tanks. While the ship was designed to be able to suffer all of these calamities, it was not built to take them all at once, so suddenly, and not from that direction. The superdreadnought burst into starfire with one mighty explosion.

And thus, Kreth, son of Kruge, died a warrior's death.

*** ***

"Legate Matan, the Terrans have somehow destroyed Colonel Kreth's flagship. His detachment is at 35% strength, and will not hold back the Section forces for much longer." Matan's Flag Ops reported, distracting the seemingly bewitched Legate from his view of the battle for the station.

"What? That's absurd. Recall those elements, and force them to come to where we are strong." Matan ordered, irritated enough that his face twitched, making his scar do something quite grotesque.

The dots that represented less than a hundred vessels twirled around, and dove back towards the sphere englobing Regula One. Under the cover of their fellows, they were safer from the relentless attacks that ate at their numbers. Matan paid them little attention, instead preferring to watch a stylized 3D view of the battle his Marines were waging inside the station. Apparently, the Section troops had found a Harbinger tank inside one of one of the station's bays that wasn't plugged into the umbilicals and thus fried by the Breen torpedoes, and were rampaging through the station with it, carving a path of devastation through Regula One. Bulkheads, floors and ceilings were blasted away in its path, and the HVM teams were having a rough time of trying to kill it.

Just one more complication for the Alliance forces. The lack of power throughout the station disabled her Emergency Tactical Holograms, which would be effortlessly butchering the GA Marines otherwise. The Phase Cloaks of the Section troops were blown out by the initial barrage of dephase-warhead missiles, taking away another Section advantage. All in all, the Alliance held the advantage here.

*** ***

David nearly retched at the sight and smell of the Genesis Lab. Blood covered his palms and knees as he crawled out of the Jefferies Tube. Bits of gore lay scattered in the sea of blood, he swore there was an ear next to his boot, a fancy gold hoop still in it. Standing there clutching their Grav Guns were the four Section goons that guarded the room. The unmistakable boxes of four Flechette magazines lay spent on the floor at their armor-shod boots. An unimaginable rage welled up in David's chest.

"You God-damned FOOLS!" he shouted, pointing one shaking hand at them. "You weren't supposed to kill them until they purged the Genesis data!" His hand jabbed at one screen, pointing out where the fractal-like patterns of the Genesis formulae displayed themselves in 3D form. The unresponsiveness of the Section troopers was infuriating.

"Hold the door secure, you idiots, and I'll deal with the data dump." the Admiral in him snapped, and the four black-armored figures obeyed without a word, swapping their Grav Guns' selectors over to HE rounds. David attacked the first mainframe's LCARS panel with a manic intensity.

The mainframes of the Genesis Lab were a throwback to the older technologies first used at Genesis' conception, being of the "bubblebath" design, but so much bigger and more powerful. It consisted of entire matrices of incredibly tiny magnetic bubbles, held inside of bath of liquid hydrogen, bringing the temperatures down to very near absolute zero. It was very fast, and efficient, but was no longer in use due to its fragility, and how FTL computer cores had outstripped it. However, the Regula One Genesis Laboratory used them to this day due to their security, and the fragility inherent in them.

Thus it was an extremely easy matter to erase the contents of a "bubblebath" if need be, and a very rapid one, to boot. Section 31 wasn't about to trust the priceless Genesis data to a more advanced, less secure FTL Core, when the latest bubblebaths could easily support the programs that once taxed them, and be by far better in security. That made David's job much easier.

"Computer, purge ALL Liquid Hydrogen storage tanks, on all three mainframes." he demanded, having brought up the Purge access screen. The screen flashed red at him.

"Error. Mainframes Two and Three are inaccessible from this terminal. Proceed with purge on Mainframe One storage tanks?" the standard Imperial computer interface's voice queried. The noises outside the lab were getting closer, and soon the noise of some massive explosion shook the deckplates lightly.

"Yes, dammit. Purge all Mainframe One storage tanks." David ordered the machine, scowling. He'd forgotten that all three needed separate purgings, as they were never connected in any way to one another.

"Please state deletion code." the computer prompted, numbly waiting the permission to commit suicide. Generally, the entire science staff in the Lab was needed to perform a complete set of purges and destroy all the equipment. David just hoped he wasn't too slow.

"Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand one another." David authorized, and hit the last few tabs on the mainframe's LCARS panel. Genesis 11:7. How fitting, the loss of knowledge and ambition... he thought. It was a bit saddening that his last actions of his life would be to destroy all he had worked towards, but it had to be done. The familiar noise of liquid being vented from holding tanks hissed through the floor, as superfrigid liquid hydrogen blew out of the first set of cells. One down, two to go...

*** ***

"All units, move to extreme weapons range, and begin bombardment of Alliance forces." Jaime ordered, grimly shifting in his seat. He'd failed to stop the Grand Alliance fleet, and barely slowed it.

"Commodore, we can't possibly stop them now - what are you planning?" the Captain of the one remaining Constitution asked, rather alarmed at the idea. 300-to-1 odds was instant suicide.

“We've bought time for Regula as it is... now we'll move on to our secondary objective. Consider all Grand Alliance vessels to be targets of opportunity." Jaime explained, and a predatory grin came to his face.

"All Lances online, sir. Targetting..?" 688's tactical officer requested, looking at the display of ships clinging tight to Regula One.

"You may fire at will..."

*** ***

The armor-cast bulkheads that were the Genesis Lab's walls shook with an ominous thud as a Grav Gun AP round pierced through the other decks to strike it. A stray shot that did nothing, but cerainly warned the occupants that the fighting was getting to close for comfort. The last Section troops would fall all to soon, and a determined assault couldn't be repelled for very long.

Matan's sensors picked up every last detail of the firefights throughout the station, down to the stray rounds, like the one he just watched smash through nearly a dozen decks. The information provided by their benefactor gave a rough estimate of where the Genesis Armory was, and the initial efforts were directed towards it. However, when the lines of resistance were broken, all that was found was a shimmering force field that encompassed what was once a room, its contents used as reaction mass for the antimatter that the defense systems had pumped into the Armory. A few bits of antimatter still bounced freely around inside of the force field, having no matter left to react with.

Damn those Section 31 voles, Matan cursed to himself, They HAD to be so thorough, didn't they! Of course Section 31 was thorough. Overkill in protecting their secrets was non-existent. In fact, had the self-destruct systems not been disrupted so thoroughly by the Breen torpedoes, Regula One would have likely blown itself up as soon as the Alliance ships dropped their shields for transport.

Not even the double-sure method of antimatter and Tri-cobalt charges was considered safe enough for use on the one manufacturing center in the entire Empire for Genesis weapons. Only manual deletion of all information in the Lab would be acceptable. Of course, that was by far the slower method. But the Legate's expectations were that the boarding would be faster than this.

Well, he consoled himself, at least the Terrans won't be getting their hands on any more of these accursed weapons! Still, something could be salvaged from the situation, and Matan was going to be sure to take all he could from it. There would be no sweeter revenge for him, than seeing Terra consumed in the fires of the Genesis Effect, as a triumphant Cardassian fleet cruised through the debris of Earth’s defenders.

Certainly, there was no better way to avenge his wife and children.

*** ***

*** ***

A shiver ran up David's spine before he would give the verbal confirmation for the third bubblebath cells' purging. The whine of phasers firing through the corridor on the other side of the turbolift was answered by the harsher scream of disruptors, and a burst of Grav Gun fire. He only barely kept himself from tripping over his words as he hurried through the rest of the code sequence, and moments later, the reassuring hiss of liquid hydrogen gushing from holding cells filled the air.

The slightly delayed roar of an antimatter grenade sounded against the thick blast door of the Lab, annihilating the turbolift shaft, though the door itself resisted the blast. Time, my love, we're running out of time... Saavik whispered. Though every computer system was dumped, the nearly-finished product still sat in the center of the room, behind a set of multilayered, maximum-powered force fields. Security-level defenses, not the kind that could resist even squad-level weapons.

The processing equipment for the protomatter catalyst cells took up an entire wall of the facility, and that also had to go. The volatile equipment was fragile, but when it was destroyed... David shook his head, and tapped his commbadge, feeling the cool, jeweled metal under his palm.

"Engage personal force field." he whispered, and a softly shimmering containment screen flickered into being around him. The field was really only designed for keeping breathable air around the user, and cold vaccum out, but it'd saved more than one life, on occasion, from minor threats, such as explosions. He checked the setting of his Type-II phaser, and found it to be on the more destructive settings of "kill".

Before he could use the weapon, the incredible force of a Disruptor Heavy Carbine's bolts blasted through the reinforced blast doors leading into the Genesis Lab. Immediately, the air was filled with the distinctive zip-pull sound of Grav Gun fire, the in-weapon dampers eliminating the multiple crack of the pinky-sized rounds smashing through the sound barrier, fifteen times over. Miniature explosions, from the matter/antimatter tips of the shells, rippled through the blasted doorway, and two of the Section marines dropped to the blood-soaked deck like rag dolls. The other two took what cover they could, and continued to pour their fire through the smoke, suit sensors easily penetrating the obscurement.

Getting up from the deck where he'd dropped to when the door went, David wrapped his blood-slickened fingers around the grip of his phaser, and pulled back on the firing pad, sweeping across the banks of equipment. In the split-second he had, he threw himself to the deck on the opposite side of the Genesis Device's shielded pedestal.

Now, of all the things that one could possibly fire a phaser at, protomatter, raw or processed, was definitely the worst, with contained antimatter being a close second. Unpredictable and volatile were the words that came to mind along with protomatter, and the explosion that ensued with the destructive beam's touch was a classic example of that. The multicolored fireball smashed against the shield-wrapped platform, the force fields protecting it crackling and whining in protest. A lesser blast of the explosion wrapped around the entire, cylindrical field, and incredible heat washed over David's body. The little force field absorbed the brunt of it, but it failed, and his body was laid bare against the roaring flames.

The explosion also tore its way through the heavy wall behind the equipment, venting the majority of the detonation through another part of the station. The other major vector taken by the exploding protomatter was straight towards the open door, where the two surviving Section troops poured fire against the Alliance's Marines. The power-armored figures were blown off their feet, along with those of their foes. Their outlines seemed to be devoid of light, perfect shadows against the kaleidoscope of brilliant light. The hulking silhouettes were pierced by the blinding flares, and then were totally consumed. The eccentric pseudo-fire tore through the open door, and scoured the corridor beyond the blasted turbolift shaft.

As the protomatter explosion died off, David got up slowly, and terrible agony seared his left arm. Not only had it broken as he was thrown to the deck, the heat had melted the forearm of the uniform against his flesh. A cry of pain escaped his open mouth, and his back arched against the deck. The metal decking was dry, the blood and gore that had coated it fried into a black crisp by the sheer heat which had flooded the room.

Get UP, dammit! On your feet, Admiral! Saavik's voice ordered, the mental command blasting through his body's pain with the force of a cracking whip. The way is clear, your body is able, and your duty lies ahead. Now, go! The shadowed presence in his mind alleviated the pain somewhat, as did the idea that he had his one last, vital task to complete being hammered home.

With a pained groan, the cringing figure of the old man lying on the scorched floor stiffened, and came to his feet, favoring his ravaged left arm. As the rapid thudding of heavy, metalshod feet started audibly pounding closer, David's eyes locked onto the rail-ringed platform that the only Genesis Device left in the station rested on. The powerful force fields that held the marvel of Terran science inviolate from the rest of the Lab had overloaded, and one could walk up and touch it if they so pleased.

Which was, of course, what the ignorant savages who were rampaging through the station had every intention of doing. Wrapping their filthy hands around his creation, and dragging it back to fill their cargo holds with, along with everything else they'd stolen to use against the Empire.

A short, crazed-sounding laugh escaped his throat. The best way to rid of it? Use it, of course! Didn't I just tell Section why we had none more to spare for them? They'd used them to excess! He ducked under the rail, and leaned onto the pedestal, eyeing the small, silvery control console that sat next to the Device itself. It was there for merely testing purposes, to see if the device would accept input. But the console was fully functional, as well, having not changed at all externally from the ones used in the original testing. A cylinder-and-key arming mechanism, and a very simple display for the timer. Of course, this console was merely the direct link to the device. The control console on any Section 31 ship fitted to use the devices was LCARS-based, and linked in with targeting and many other systems. But this was all he needed.

The protomatter explosion had run a good ways down several corridors after it had killed the initial squad, and had rampaged through several dozen more that were converging on the most valuable part of Regula One, buying maybe a whole minute. Not even that, Saavik noted, interpreting the approaching sounds.

It's all we need, my love... David said, and twisted the inset key of the silvered box, and the chromed multicylinder extended with a soft, pneumatic hiss. Ominously, the torpedo-sized device lit up with a soft, pulsing light. His right hand, after a wipe on his uniform, gripped the glittering cylinder. With a quickness and strength born of the need for this desperate, last effort, he twisted the outer cylinder until it clicked almost inaudibly. His hand reached down, and twisted the arming key.

The outermost layer of the cylinder shot down flush into the receptacle it'd sprung from. At the same time, the hum of the Genesis Device increased, as did the glow of the micromachinery working, building up the charge that'd disassociate matter on the level below elementary particles. David's hand slipped back up to the cylinder, leaving the cold metal surface lightly streaked with the blood of the other scientists.

The self-diagnostics of the immeasurably lethal device cried out to the computers to which it was not connected - The protomatter catalyst and stabilizer cells were only 72% filled. Any reaction the device attempted would be ultimately unstable, if even capable of properly manipulating the matter it captured into the programmed matrix. If this had happened on a Section ship on a mission, the weapon would be disarmed, returned to storage, and delivered to Regula One for refurbishing. In this case, the careful patterning of the Genesis Effect was not needed. All that mattered here was the initial, deadly release.

Two more of the outer rings slid into place, and the oncoming noise of metalshod feet was interrupted only once, merely a whine of one phaser firing, before Grav Gun fire cut the brave Section crewmember down. Wherever that poor soul had emerged from, his resistance was for naught, as the Alliance Marines hadn't even broken step to kill him.

Destruction you have sown, and Death shall you reap. You will have your reward, David coldly thought, and fatefully caressed the innermost cylinder, cold to the touch. With a firm motion, he twisted it.

The pounding footsteps were now directly behind him, far too close to ignore. An electronic-garbled gasp of surprise hissed from amplified loudspeakers from the blasted doorway. Another Alliance Marine, a hullplate–holocamouflaged Romulan with dark jade trim, strode forward, and made his own sound of shock. The translator in his armor turned his order to the sleeker Mirak marine that followed into a growly set of hisses.

David just shook his head slowly, time seeming to crawl by like molasses around him. Ignoring the shouted demands of the armored figures behind him, his fingers grasped the control key. The weariness of age seemed to pile heavily onto him in this moment, holding back the last movement that was needed just an instant longer. Or perhaps it was the savoring of his last act in life.

The orange-darkened barrel of the Mirak soldier's Grav Gun snapped into line with the old scientist's left knee. A clawed finger pulled back on the trigger, and the weapon emitted the subtle zip-pull that characterized the gravity acceleration of the pinky-sized Armor Piercing round. The twenty meters that separated weapon and target were crossed in less time than it took to blink.

A strange sensation gripped David's leg as the Mach-15 round went straight through the joint of his left knee, creating a perfectly circular entry wound in the back of it. His kneecap exploded outwards, as the shattered mass of bone that was once the joint tore its way out, followed by the AP Grav Gun round which continued its flight unslowed, going through the deck and continuing until it struck something it could no longer pierce.

"Too late." David said, feeling no pain as he went down on his collapsing leg. His fingers held fast on the arming key, and he twisted as he fell.

To the Romulan officer, it appeared for a moment that their mission was a success - they'd captured what appeared to be one of the senior scientists, alive, and secured the only Genesis Device on the station. The pulsating whine that blared into the Romulan's pointed ears through the enhanced receivers dispelled all of that in an eyeblink.

*** ***

The brightly-lit display of the silvered console showed the digits 005.

*** ***

In the fire-scorched wreck that was Regula One's Station Ops, the Commander let out a despairing, pained moan as a purplish glow illuminated the scene. He struggled for a moment against the massive support beam that was crushing his legs. It'd fallen when a volley of Alliance plasma torpedoes had gutted the deck that Ops occupied, devastating the already-defunct command center.

He'd seen that light only once before, and the meaning of it was painfully obvious to him. Purple lights... Genesis Alert. What few working sensors were detecting an activated Genesis Wave flux, and dutifully relayed their findings throughout whatever portions of Regula One were still functioning.

He thought about it for a moment. They can't have this station, but I don't want to die! Before he could continue, there was a screech in the tortured metal of the beam, and a jagged spar came crashing down onto him. Any coherent thought was swept aside by the agony of hot metal piercing his thigh, and a howl of pain echoed through the ruined corridors.

*** ***

The dwindling counter on the control console let out another whine as it counted down to 004.

*** ***

Inside the whirlwind of destruction that was SSS 688, the dull-toned alarm and violet pulsing on the Flag Bridge display centered on Regula One was met with barely a whisper. The veteran Section 31 crew were unshakable; even the warning that the most devastating weapon the galaxy had ever seen was about to detonate right on top of them didn't throw off their performance in the least. And the brevetted Commodore that still held onto the last coherent representation of Imperial power in the entire star system had made up his mind already.

“It has been an honor serving with you all for so long... Tactical, engage Warp Inhibitor Fields, launch all ECM drones. Helm, maximum evasives. All power to shields and engines.” Jaime ordered, staring straight ahead at the display of Grand Alliance ships, who were quickly realizing their imminent peril.

“Oh, no... none of you are going anywhere...” he whispered, a death’s-head grin coming to his face.

*** ***

The two Alliance Marines were already out the door and running by the time the counter on the console displayed 003.

*** ***

“Legate!” Matan’s flag ops officer screamed, eyes wide and face unusually pale, even for a Cardassian, “Sensors show a Genesis Reaction in progress onboard the station!” In turn, Matan’s face went pale as well, the sheer horror of what was going on engulfing him. In a panicked rush, he opened the fleetwide comms channel, and gave his final orders.

“All ships, disengage Warp Inhibitors, immediately go to warp! There is a Genesis Device onboard the station, about to detonate! Get out of here!” Matan shouted, and within instants, every ship that was still attempting to inhibit possible enemy warp travel had dropped their inhibitor fields. The helmsman of the Torran danced his fingers across the LCARS panel, and looked up in disbelief as the warp field that began to wrap around the bulk of the Cardassian superdreadnought dissipated before his eyes

“Sir, the enemy flagship has brought up his inhibitor fields! What do we do?” the young Cardassian asked.

Matan just slowly looked up at the Flag Bridge display.

“We die.”

*** ***

The flickering timer on the Genesis Control Console ticked down another digit, as the flickering lights dancing across its silvered surface from the activated device itself provided a small, beautiful light show. The display showed the number 002.

*** ***

Onboard the smallest remaining starship in the Section 31 flotilla, the Nova-class SSS 768, the captain tossed his hands up in frustration, scowling. Being too small to house a Warp Inhibitor Field generator, his ship had no further use here, as 1359 exploded from a lucky shot off to her portside.

“There’s no reason we have to die, as well. Send our regards to Commodore Cartelin, we’re out of here. Someone has to report this to Section Command. Helm, engage QSS, straight for Earth.”

With a quick nod, the helmsman twirled the light, nimble Section starship almost end-for-end, and with a flash of blue light in the midst of the Grand Alliance fleet, as they tried to escape or destroy the enemies trapping them, 768 dove into Slipstream. The mere thousands of kilometers that separated it from Regula One were suddenly turned into dozens of light-years, boring a hole through space at incredible velocities.

*** ***

David laughed quietly, a froth of blood on his lips as he looked up at the console and Genesis Device that loomed above him. Only one second remained on the display, and he smiled.

“I always wondered what this’d feel like...”

A sudden flash of blinding white engulfed the Genesis Device, and he quickly discovered the answer.

*** ***

To an outside observer, Regula One appeared to suddenly rip itself asunder in a brilliant explosion, but the debris didn’t expand outwards as quickly as an explosion that size would hurl the remains. A seething, pulsating globe of pure energy expanded from the detonation at 300,000,000 meters per second, and an effect of echoing rings seemed to expand even more quickly.

The Torran merely sat still in space, being the first to go, after Regula One. The power that Matan had lusted after so greatly was instead turned against him, just when he’d had it in his grasp. 688 and its two remaining companions stayed there to the very end, throwing fields of warp inhibition out, making sure that none of the enemies of the Empire could escape the fate that deserved them. There was a moment as her captain and crew could see their success, with the Grand Alliance’s ships shattering as the Genesis Wave swept over them, and a cheer broke out in the instant before Boomer went up as well, victim of her own weapon of choice.

The only survivors of the Battle of Regula were the crew of SSS 768, bringing with them the message of what had happened there, to the great displeasure of Section Command, and the ire of Councilman Chambers, who lead the Empire in this darkest of hours.

In the aftermath of the Genesis Effect, having engulfed so much mass from the station, the ships it'd consumed, and the broken shards of the planet Regula, there was more than enough matter to reconstitute into a new planet. But without the proper catalyst of refined protomatter, the resulting ball of matter never coalesced into a planet after being rebuilt into elementary particles, resulting in unstable, chaotic matter forming. Having converted it that far, the programming still went on in error, and hurled the largest collection of matter it found off a significant distance, to become a possible star for the new planet that was supposed to be created. But no planet was ever made, no star ever born.

What had resulted, though, made the history of the Regula system come full circle. So long ago, the Mutara Nebula had been consumed to create the original Genesis Planet, and what remained was insignificant. The half-transmuted, unstable matter that was thrown off had ended up joining with what remained of the Mutara Nebula, and over a period of weeks, the purple-hued cloud of ionized gases had been restored, now larger than ever before.

Spacer myth claimed that the monster that had originally ate the system threw up.

*** ***

Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone and threw it into the sea, saying, "So shall Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence, and shall be found no more; and the sound of harpers and minstrels, of flute players and trumpeters, shall be heard in thee no more; and a craftsman of any craft shall be found in thee no more; and the sound of the millstone shall be heard in thee no more; and the light of a lamp shall shine in thee no more; and the voice of bridegroom and bride shall be heard in thee no more; for thy merchants were the great men of the earth, and all nations were deceived by thy sorcery. And in her was found the blood of prophets and of saints, and of all who have been slain on earth.”

So he finally finished it. Sweet.