Manifest Destiny Episode II

[Trogdor]

Wow, this is good. A lot of the Trek characters' stories and situations are really sad and it looks like the NR plans to more or less oppress the Milky Way for a good long time. Yet Luke repeatedly claimed the the invasion would be a good thing in the end. Hopefully the Jedi can help the oppressed trek people as well as stop the rebel attacks.

[Mark S]

Well to be exact Luke said 'his death' would be a good thing and in the end of MD1 Mai-Men might not have been defeated without it. Not to worry though, you have to put everyone through hell before they can come out again. Episode two is only the second act. Expect it to be harsh.

As for more Wars characters. I need to get into them more, I know. Captain Mulby and the poor, battered Laviathon still need to make their appearence.

[Spice Runner]

Very nice fic! I thought episode I rocked. Episode II is great. I like the way you portray all the Star Trek and Star Wars characters in the occpied Milky Way. Can't wait for the next chapter.

[Stravo]

Mark do you want me to add this to the Cleaned Fics section as an official sequel?

[Crazedwraith]

excellant. Like the planets conversation.

[Mark S]

Mark do you want me to add this to the Cleaned Fics section as an official sequel?

I would like that very much. It would be good to keep them together. Thanks Stravo.

[Mark S]

Wow. I didn't realize how far down this had gotten.

Chapter 5: Ambush




The President of the United Federation of Planets had returned to Earth with little fanfare. The USS Hermes had been intercepted within an hour’s time of its broadcast and been escorted back under keen and watchful eye. No citizens had greeted them upon their docking. The duty of formally meeting them had been handed down by the station commander to a lieutenant. It was a lukewarm homecoming at best.

Still, he was back in his home in Paris, and while his personal offices had been wiped from the face of the planet with all the other government buildings, much remained surprisingly untouched. The City of Lights still sprawled out around him, the river still meandered on its lazy way. He was finally home. Now he could start picking up the pieces.

And one of the first steps to that was about to happen. He was meeting Earth’s Magistrate. The person assigned by the Republic to guide them into quiet oblivion. By all accounts a nice enough individual but a shrewd politician. The kind of person that was always ready with a smile but never revealed what was behind it. He had dealt with enough of those kind in the past. He could hold his own. There was only one thing that threw him off.

“This has got to be some sort of mistake,” he said looking down at the data pad in his hand. “Somebody put the wrong picture in the file.”

“More like a joke, Frank,” Commander Bala countered darkly from his side. “A bad one. And we’re the butt of it.”

The echoing steps of the two men, along with Seven of Nine, paused for a moment as they stopped their progression through the ancient museum to lean against a towering marble column. Around them, men and women in Republic uniforms stood quietly taking in the works of art. They cast quick glances at the natives but offered nothing more. Bala’s eyes moved ever from one group to the next and back as the older man examined the image one last time.

“This girl can’t be more than sixteen.” The older man was incredulous. “She should be in a classroom with my daughter, not a political arena. I thought this was a meeting with the Magistrate, not some intern?”

“There is much to the Republic which we do not understand,” Seven commented, scanning the crowds herself. “Overestimating your position would not be wise.”

“Come on, Seven,” Bala disagreed distractedly. He was focused on a man off against the wall across the room. Or at least it looked like a man. Something didn’t feel right, however.

“That can’t be the Magistrate, Frank. They’re playing you for a fool. I say push the advantage that you have. You’ve got years of experience on this girl, whoever she is. Use them. Run right over her and send the message that you will not be passed off like this.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to make such broad assumptions, Mr. President.” Seven’s eyes were locked on the Commander across from her. “Not without even meeting the woman first. We are here to negotiate a peace, and are not in any position to do anything otherwise.”

“I know these people. You don’t.” Bala returned his attention fully to his companions as the distant man he watched innocently moved away and around a corner. There was a fluidity and grace to that movement he was sure only he would notice. He was also sure he knew what it meant.

“If that girl’s the Magistrate,” he continued. “They already think we’re dead.”

He held the President’s gaze in his own, unblinking. “Frank. You have to show them that we are not.”

“How do you know them?” Seven cut in. “Surely your limited time in their galaxy could not have...”

The commander looked over to the woman hotly. Suddenly he no longer held the patient and understanding expression he just had. Pure anger and malevolence took their place, smoldering in his eyes. It shocked even the former Borg into silence and forced her into an involuntary step back.

“This is not a Borg matter,” he spat. “This is not your place.”

“My place is at the President’s side,” Seven shot back, regaining her force of will. “Especially while you are at the other one, Commander Bala.”

“She doesn’t belong here, Frank.” The words were low and insidious.

“That’s enough, you two!” The President stepped between the two combatants. “I did not get to this office by taking anything lightly or making assumptions. I also didn’t get there by letting myself be played the fool. I appreciate both of your advice, that is why you are here, but I will do things in my own...”

The thought could not be finished as the trio turned at the shuffling approach of a gleaming silver protocol droid. Soon they were being led to a set of heavy wooden doors and the conference room beyond. Two guards in shining blue armour snapped to attention at their arrival.

On the other side of the doors was a room of granite and marble much like the rest of the building, dominated by a long table of smooth, unmarred oak. On the walls, paintings of idyllic forests and shimmering ocean sunsets tried to set a tone of calm serenity. The armed and armoured soldiers, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible at each corner, did little to help this.

At the far end of the table, the young woman they had seen in their data file sat in an elaborate gown of blue and white. From its high, tight collar it hugged her body in smooth lines to flow out from her sleeves and hem and pool around her on the floor. Her hair too, was held in blue and white, with a silver and diamond lattice to match the layers of precious metal and jewelry hanging from her ears and throat. As she rose to greet them, she looked for all the world like a column of water sprouting up from nowhere.

“We are honoured that you could join us.”

She spoke perfect English, though not as if she had been speaking it all of her life. This was more of how one would sound had they learned the language to the strictest of its rules. There was no accent. Every word was spoke with textbook clarity.

“The honour is ours, I’m sure,” the President returned, taking all that he saw and heard in stride.

“Lady Alyanna,” the droid announced before another word could be uttered. “May I present to you, the President of the United Federation of Planets.”

“Please, Mr. President,” the young woman said, motioning to the table. “Won’t you be seated. We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, of course,” came the reply as the trio from the Federation took their chairs. “You ARE the magistrate than.”

Seven shot a glance at Bala.

“I am. That surprises you?”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a little taken aback,” he answered truthfully. “We typically don’t see one as young as yourself in such a high office. Unless I am judging your age incorrectly that is. You must be truly gifted.”

“I am seventeen,” the Magistrate confided with a smile. “You will find many in the Republic at my age are already well into their careers. From what I understand, our education techniques are much more advanced than your own.”

“Indeed,” Seven said, gaining a look from the other woman as if she had spoken out of turn. It was clear that Lady Alyanna had expected the President’s aides to be seen and not heard. “You appear to have learned the English language exceptionally in little time.”

“Once we had your language in our database it was a simple matter to have it scanned into my memory,” the young woman explained. “Most training is done in this way. ”

The group continued on like this, exchanging banter back and forth, for some time. Little real information was offered beyond shallow niceties and cultural bragging. It was a dance that the two politicians obviously had much practice in. When the conversation finally came around to the state of the Earth and the Federation in general, the sun had set and dinner was being brought.

All the while Commander Bala watched the woman before them intently. But not just her. His eyes moved around the room from the guards, to there weapons, to even the shining droid standing silently behind his host. It was here that they strayed the longest. And behind them, out of sight of all, Darth Fectious’ mind was nudged by the Force. It’s insight flashed within him, directing his contemplation to that artificial intelligence and lighting a path he had not seen before.

He perked up as the meal was being brought in. It was not so much that he had been too deep in concentration to be attuned to his surroundings, as it was his senses suddenly became aware of a presence he had not expected. As he watched one servant in particular bringing in food, he could swear he got the same feeling he had when watching the man out in the museum earlier. This was obviously not the same man, but the feeling was uncanny.

He watched as the man drew closer and the strange feeling did not subside. It was that same grace as before. There was that same fluid motion to everything the odd man did.

Fluid motion.

Bala stretched out his feelings even as he took up a knife from the table. There could be no mistaking it. As the servant placed a plate in front of him, a swift movement ran the blade across the man’s hand. The commander locked his eyes on the wound even as it was being pulled away.

There was no blood. Not at first. Not like there should have been. In fact the cut took a full two seconds under Bala’s unblinking gaze to start to flow. Down on the knife’s edge there was no blood at all.

“Oh!” the disguised Sith Lord exclaimed in false apology as he rose to his feet. “I’m so sorry. My hand slipped. Let me look at that.”

The servant pulled his hand back defensively, his eyes darting from his attacker to the others in the room. He was too slow to match the Force assisted motion of the commander though. Before he knew it the appendage was firmly locked in the other’s grip.

“It’s nothing really,” the man said, watching the blood flow and trying to pull his hand away. “I’ll take care of it, Sir.”

“No,” Bala insisted, locking eyes with his captive. “I just want to make sure it’s not deep.”

By now all were watching and one of the guards had started to make his way toward the commotion.

Inexplicably, with one hand holding tight, the other grabbed on to the edge of the wound and pulled it back. A gasp of disgust rose up from all who could see until realization dawned on them. More blood did not spill. Bones were not exposed. The victim did not even scream at the act. In fact, this behaved like no ordinary cut at all.

Underneath the surface of flesh that had been pulled back was an orange, amorphous goo. It flowed to fill in the gap even as it shifted colour to deep crimson. It was not enough to fool anyone anymore.

“Changeling!”

The word issued from Bala’s lips even as the hand he held stretched and oozed through his fingers, reverting to the orange liquid state that had been below the skin. The servant was bolting for the door a second later, despite the pointing rifle of the nearest guard.

“It’s a Dominion spy!” the President warned. “Don’t let it get away!”

Another of the guards was already making to block the escape. He moved quickly in front of the door and leveled his weapon but did not shoot. There were too many innocents beyond the target that could potentially be hit. The risk was too great.

The Changeling did not slow at the sight of the gun. Nor did it slow at any of the others it could see being aimed in the three hundred and sixty degree view its inhuman senses afforded it. Instead, the liquid being merely reverted back to its natural state and flowed past the stunned guard’s feet and under the door.

“Don’t let it escape!” the Federation’s leader hollered again.

The magistrate stood unmoving, her face a mask of confusion. Accounts of other Republicans being assassinated in this galaxy flooded her mind like the shimmering liquid that was fast disappearing from the room.

The guard opened the door immediately, blaster ready and pointing to the ground. Unfortunately, the Dominion spy had already reformed on the other side and the only target on the ground was its feet. With a shove, the security officer was thrown to his back into comrades that were rushing forward. The next moment, the Changeling was bolting down the open expanse of the museum corridor.

The remaining men of the security detail streamed from the conference room after their prey with Seven and Bala right at their heels. The building was relatively barren at that late hour so they did not waste time firing several shots as they came. The fleeing spy however, dove and dodged as if he had eyes in the back of his head. It was around a corner before any of them could make a hit.

Rounding the turn at top speed, the guards found themselves staring at nothing but an empty hall. They automatically looked to the windows for signs of escape but found nothing. There was nowhere their quarry could have gone but further on. They made to follow.

“Wait,” Bala ordered, holding up a hand.

He searched the Force for that which was not part of the hallway. Something that looked like the marble but was not the marble. A second later he was pointing to the floor at the base of the wall.

“There!”

The Changeling did not wait to see if the others would listen and believe this man who had somehow sniffed him out. Immediately a section of marble melted into orange molasses and shot away, back in the direction it had come. As it moved, the shape of one of the Republic guards quickly took hold.

Back at the room, Lady Alyanna stood at the door with her remaining security and the President, staring into the emptiness around them. To their amazement, a lone guard rounded the corner and came back, straight for them. A second later, the Borg woman was in sight as well, pointing and calling for them to open fire. Soon all the others that had given chase were joining her in the demand.

It was no use. Confusion held the lone guardsman’s hand too long and the body double whipped past and down the other way. The few shots that managed to finally get fired did nothing but scorch the wall beyond. The man’s chastisement from his companions was unmistakable in any language.

Still in the form of a guard, the spy came upon another pair of Republicans going about their patrol. Before they could form the words to ask what he was running from, the hands of what they thought was a friend turned into deadly blades and shot straight for their throats. They were dead before their bodies realized it and dropped to the floor. Now the Changeling had a gun of his own.

As his pursuers came into view he opened fire, sending red bolts of energy into their suddenly scrambling midst. He smiled with grim satisfaction at the display but it was short lived. Somehow, inexplicably, his legs were flying out from underneath him.

Confusion gripped the liquid being as he fell. What could have grabbed him? How could it have happened? Whatever it was, he would not be caught so easily by these solid fools. Morphing in the air, the shapeshifter was back on a pair of feet again and running for his life.

Fectious cursed as his Force pull failed to take his enemy down. Another subtle gesture however, and the Founder was stumbling yet again. As before, it merely shifted its form to suit its new position in space, but it bought enough time for the guards to regain their footing and close the gap.

Twisting through a maze of hallways and back rooms, the spy led the group further and further on. Finally managing to gain ground despite the incredible bad luck it was having and the undeniable ghostly hands constantly grabbing at it, it found itself alone and able to collect its thoughts. But not for long.

Someone had come through a door not far away, around a shadowy corner. He could hear their heavy footsteps easily. Solids never had any talent at stealth.

Creeping to the edge of the wall, he extended a hand slowly forward, stretching the fingers to an unnatural length to make the final distance. One fingertip inched around the turn and stopped. It was all he needed to take a look. The Solids never truly understood what they were up against.

There. The woman, the Borg, was edging her own way to the corner. She was looking ahead and did not notice the tip of his little appendage so low before her. She had no idea, her weapon so ready, how close she was to death.

Like a viper, his hand struck from around the corner, snatching Seven of Nine’s neck like a fish from water. She made to scream for help but no air would come to her. The grip was too tight. It was like a ring of solid steel growing smaller and smaller. All she could do was fight against it for her life.

“Hold it right there!” a commanding voice bellowed from the other side.

In an instant the Changeling streamed around his hostage and was using her for cover. She kicked and elbowed with all her might but it made no difference. Her blows merely sank into her captor or were repelled as if she were hitting brick. With her breath running thin, she was soon too weak for even that.

“Shoot through her!”

Had that been Bala’s voice?

Whoever had said it, the shapeshifter certainly knew what it meant. As fast as he had taken the Borg, he was even swifter letting her go. The next moment he was streaking away in front of a shower of blaster bolts. Seven dropped to her knees gasping to fill her lungs, rubbing her neck even as her rescuers charged past her.

Blaster fire was traded back and forth as the battle ran from one wide gallery or atrium to the next. Before long, more guards were adding to the force of hunters and others were securing the rest of the building, sealing off all exits. When the Founder finally came to the end of its chase, it was at a T intersection where both directions led to dead ends, early moonlight streaming in from windows five storeys up.

It stopped in the center of the intersection, starting one way and then turning to go the other. Looking back at its pursuers closing in, it did the unthinkable. It went in both directions at the same time.

To the shock of all that witnessed it, the form of the Republic soldier shimmered into a churning mass and split in two. A moment later two identical soldiers, TWO spies, looked from the stunned firing squad to each other and off in either direction. Without so much as a nod, each one bolted. When the guards had finally caught up to the blasts they then fired, the twins were at the end of each short corridor, smashing out the windows before them. As weapons were raised to fire another volley, two birds flew out those windows into the night air.


* * *


“What?! You’ve got to be joking!”

Admiral Pooda sat in his office behind his immense, ebony-stained wooden desk. It was the only thing that could hope to compete with his incredible bulk. In front of him floated the tiny image of one of his sector security commanders. The grey, lupine creature met his disbelief with a bow of the head.

“Unfortunately no, Admiral,” it answered firmly. “There are several witnesses with corroborating stories. Not to mention the magistrate herself. From what I understand, an ambush on her and the leader of the native’s Federation was narrowly avoided.”

“She’s the daughter of a senator, isn’t she.” Pooda grumbled the statement of fact more to himself than to his subordinate. “Crap. This is going to be a class one shit storm. Was it one of their’s? A native?”

“Not from the planet, no Sir. It was what they call a Founder. A shapechanger, Sir.”

The admirals jaw could not help but drop. His fists tightened in frustration. He was supposed to be pulling his forces out and now this. Invisible spies and assassins were the last thing he needed to think about. There was too much pressure on him to move forward.

“This Dominion?” he clarified. “From their previous war?”

“Yes Sir,” the image of the canine commander nodded. “The natives of Earth have become quite concerned over the incident. Which is only magnified by the fact that the agents escaped capture.”

“Agents? Plural?”

“Yes. There were apparently two of them in this incident, Sir.”

“By all hells, how many more of them are out there? And the magistrate?” Pooda half expected her to be on her death bed.

“Lady Alyanna is quite fine, Sir. In fact, she commends the natives for helping to protect her. It was one of their’s that sniffed the spy out, I’m told.”

“Good. At least that’s something. Keep me apprized of the situation, Commander. We need this problem corrected as soon as possible. I can not afford more hostility behind my lines. Not of this kind. Not the kind that will have our own men questioning each other.”

Pooda rose from his seat and moved over to the long portal on the room’s exterior wall. The Republic armada, his armada, was arrayed out as far as he could see. The most distant ships blurred into the backdrop of the ever present wormhole, only the tiny lights of their engines giving any indication that they were there at all.

“What of the Jedi?” he continued. “Have they been able to come up with any leads?”

“That’s another issue entirely, Sir.” The commander’s face bowed again, seeming to try to look anywhere but in the eyes of the admiral. “Disturbing reports have been coming in from all over the quadrant.”

“Yes?” the other prodded grimly.

Again the commander seemed to look for words.

“It’s the Jedi,” he started, resigning himself to being the barer of even more bad news. “More and more of them have been failing to report in from their missions.”

“What’s happening to them? Where are they going?”

“Nobody knows, Admiral.”

Pooda took a deep breath and flexed his already white-knuckled hands one more time. Outside, the hypnotic swirling of the wormhole carried on.


* * *


The crumbling remains of a once prospering colony stretched out toward the horizon under the cool breeze of early twilight. Out on the edge of Federation space, on the Cardassian boarder, that prosperity had been hard fought for. Hope had given it birth, courage, sweat and a healthy dose of blood had seen it grow. War, a war they had not a prayer of winning, had swept it all away like the lumbering steps of a schoolyard thug.

Now, the once vibrant streets were all but deserted. Only the fringe came here; those that could not get away sooner; those with nowhere else to go. Vermin owned this place now, in every sense of the word.

On a rooftop, five storeys up from the strewn garbage and swirling dust, a solitary figure draped in black watched a carefully laid trap come to fruition. He did not seem to notice as the wind picked up the edges of his cloak and forced them into a chaotic dance. His concentration was fully and completely on what was unfolding before him.

Below, two beings were stepping out cautiously from a shadowed alleyway. They looked furtively in each direction, lightsabres already in their hands and waiting to ignite. They knew what they were walking into. They could sense it. He could sense the anticipation emanating from them.

They were controlling their fear. Good or them. It wouldn’t help.

To the pair’s left a shadowy form streaked across the street, faster than any mere man could run. One made to give chase but was held back by the hand of the other. Immediately, another streak whipped past on their opposite side. As if on cue, the pair spun to face back into the alley, then pointed up at its dilapidated rooftops. A second later they were looking back down the main avenue.

The antics didn’t last for long however, and soon one of the pair, a humanoid with a conical head, was pointing up at the figure.

“Enough games!” it bellowed up to him, still holding its weapon ready but unlit.

The cloaked man smiled down from his perch and spoke three words softly into the communicator pin on his chest. “Light ‘em up.”

Lances of energy streamed in from all directions at once to converge on the two targets. As expected, they had already leapt from their position to avoid the attack entirely. Their lightsabres flared to life at the same time, deflecting more deadly beams even as they arced through the air. In an instant the scene had erupted into a blur of phasor fire and motion.

As he watched it all unfold, even as he watched his own Sith acolytes being eaten alive by redirected phasor fire, the figure knew there could be but one outcome to this. These Jedi would die. And so would the next ones to cross his path. Somehow it gave him little comfort.

A buzz sounded from the man’s belt, drawing his attention from the ambush below. It was a hyperwave communicator linked to his ship. He raised the device and activated the tiny holographic projector.

“Lord Stryfe,” the dark image began.

“Lord Fectious,” the other returned with annoyance. “I’m kind of in the middle of something. What is it?”

“You need to think in larger terms, Stryfe. Your petty assassinations for Gallus don’t compare with the plans I have for this war.”

“I am carrying out our master’s orders and wiping the Jedi, our foe’s strongest asset, from our galaxy. What have you been doing? Besides living it up with the President. What makes you think you can question Gallus’ insight?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Fectious’ image barked harshly. “I have positioned myself in a place of great opportunity. I have found a new weapon for our cause and I will soon be activating that weapon. They’ll never see it coming. Not even the Jedi. And once we crush the Republic we can deal with Gallus just like you wanted to in the beginning. Than we can recreate the Federation as we see fit.”

The Sith Lord looked down at the hologram in silence. Eventually he shook his head. “He’s too powerful. Neither of us could destroy him.”

“Alone, yes. Together?” The words hang between them. “Think on this as you continue at our master’s heel, Lord Stryfe.”

The holographic image disappeared and the Sith Lord was once again alone on his rooftop. He turned back to the battle below to see that one of the Jedi was already dead. Perhaps the alien one had been right though. Perhaps the game had gone on long enough.

Tapping his communicator badge once again, Stryfe sent out another order. This one was directed to only one of this men. One not so close to the combat.

“Tylor. Finish this.”

At street level, the remaining Jedi flipped and whirled, bringing himself within striking distance of one of his attackers. With a quick push from the Force to knock his other enemies off balance and alleviate crossfire, his green energy blade swept deftly through concrete and steel to cut across an exposed throat. Another burst of Force speed and he was gone, racing for new cover.

Somehow, in all the chaos, the Force led him to a spot of brief respite. It was a chance to catch his breath, but it wasn’t long before another flash of danger was lighting his mind. The combat was relentless. Thankfully, through the Force he felt that it would not last much longer.

Swinging his weapon to block a projectile that he knew was coming, the Jedi was caught completely off guard when that bullet did not come streaking in from a distance, but instead materialized a millimeter in front of his face. It blew through his brain pan at muzzle velocity and continued on into a wall beyond. For all his foresight, the Jedi could simply not defend.

Darth Stryfe turned starkly away from the scene and marched back to his ship to check on the progress of the other teams spread across the quadrant.


* * *


On a planet lightyears away, a different pair of Jedi stood before the brink of another trap of equally deadly intent. Like any good Jedi, they were going to walk right into it.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Zam adjusted the heavy, navy-blue jacket he wore to complete his outfit of simple bajoran clothes while walking down the ramp of the small shuttle that had brought him and his partner to the outskirts of Bodon city. In the cool autumn air the thick material was not out of place, but he left it hanging open for easy access to what lay beneath. All but invisible in the thigh length coat, his lightsabre was ever present.

Dressed in much the same attire, the man’s partner followed closely behind. Where Zam seemed bulky and awkward however, Toban managed to carry the look with style. He patted himself down one last time as if to make sure everything he needed was securely stowed.

“You know,” Toban answered. “Why does everybody say that anyway? Everywhere you go, everybody you hear, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling’, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling’. My friend, you’ve just got a bad feeling that you’re not going to see central heating down here.”

“Maybe it’s you,” the other offered.

Toban chuckled briefly before suddenly becoming exceedingly collected and pious. “If I can serve the Will of the Force, if only as a sad, pathetic warning to others, than I shall do so with a glad heart.”

“Sounds more like bantha shit you’re serving.”

The taller of the men only steeped his fingers and closed his eyes, whispering, “There is no shit. There is only the Force.”

“Still,” Zam ignored his friend now to look down the ridge to the city below. While it no longer smoldered, and construction droids could actually be seen beginning their days work at rebuilding, Walkers of all kinds still patrolled the streets and the hum of repulsorlifts still heralded the movement of tanks and personnel carriers. “It’s going to be pretty rough down there. We’re not going to have it easy finding this woman.”

Toban nodded in agreement as he looked grimly down at the devastation of war, his light mood now subdued. “We’d better get moving then.”

As they turned away from the scenic view and their ship, and began the hike into the core of the city, Zam shook his head in dismay. “How uncivilized.”

By mid-morning the Jedi were walking through the streets of Bodon. It was as busy as could be expected at that time, with bajorans moving from place to place, trying to get on with their lives. Many more seemed to simply hang around, leaning against the walls as if holding them up, watching the passers-by with a mix of disbelief and contempt. To these people, their world was over, there was nothing for them to do and not a bit of them cared. Oppression and depression were thickly mingled in the air.

The two men stopped their meandering trek at one of the many broken intersections as a string of two-legged patrol walkers marched by. The same despair seemed to stretch out as far as they could see. After watching the patrol shrink into the distance they turned their attention back on each other.

“We’re not headed in the right direction,” Zam said, activating a map on a small data device. “Our confrontation with the woman will be there,” he indicated a portion of the city not far away, “I can feel it.”

Toban shook his head.

“No,” he returned steadily. “We’ve been brought to this place, here, now. The Force has guided us. This is where we need to be.”

“And I’m telling you, I can SEE us finding the woman there. Calm your mind and search the future.”

The two paused in their conversation to let a group of people shuffle past and moved over to find an empty patch of wall. Looking around and lowering his tone, Toban replied.

“Trust the will of the Force.”

“Yes, and the will of the Force is showing me where we are going to be.”

“This is where we need to be now.”

With that, Toban leaned his back against the soot-covered wall and slowly sunk down to the concrete below. He shifted a few times to get comfortable and then peered around as if awaiting for a parade. Zam could only stare down at him and shake his head.

“And how long do we have to wait here before we can get going?” the smaller man asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t think very long at all, my friend. Have a seat.”

Zam dropped to the ground next to the other Jedi and closed his eyes. If they were going to sit there, he figured that he might as well use the time to ensure that his vision had indeed been correct. It remained unchanged. As he let the Force flow through him, his mind’s eye was drawn over the city and through time to the image of the Bajoran woman he had first seen in the mind of the imprisoned boy, Kevak Easel.

As he watched, those images became more and more disturbing to him. The woman, the native, was displaying power that she should not have. No one in this galaxy had them. And her eyes; they melted from a rich brown to sickly yellow and red. One though came to his mind, but it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.”

“It can’t be true,” the swarthy Jedi repeated his though softly aloud as he came out of his reverie.

“Oh, it be true,” his pale companion said, misinterpreting the statement. He was already standing as he spoke. “Come on.”

Blocks away down the road, a line of armoured transports noisily hovered at a stand-still as their lead and rear were reduced to columns of flame. Blaster fire poured down on the vehicles from both sides along with more than a few explosives. The ground rocked and the air rumbled. Quickly, anyone who was not involved was running for their lives. Everyone accept the two Jedi, that is.

Running towards the fray, Toban and Zam were forced to dodge a number of bolts as the Republican troops began to return fire, fighting their way out of the death trap. Another transport was turned to rubble before the remaining two could rise up over the disaster and find a defensible place to land nearby. As troopers were filling the streets, the two men were slipping into one of the buildings used by the Bajorans for the attack. A building that would no doubt be stormed at any moment.

The barrel of a blaster rifle greeted them as they entered into what looked to be the lobby of a dilapidated hotel of some sort. The bajoran on the other end appeared extremely nervous. It was only a matter of luck that his finger hadn’t automatically depressed the trigger in a twitch. As it was, he didn’t seem to know what to make of two unarmed humans in bajoran clothing coming in at that time.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded incredulously. “Get out of here before you get killed!”

Without a word, both Jedi lifted a hand to their assailant, one pulling his weapon through the air to their grasp, the other pushing him back with invisible hands against the far wall. The fallen man looked at them with eyes wide, not daring to move.

“We would say the same to you,” Zam returned. Outside, the armoured soldiers of the Republic could be heard getting closer.

Before either side could make another move, however, other bajoran burst through an inner door, gun at the ready. He looked from his prone ally to the two men holding the rifle and immediately sprayed the room with chaotic blaster fire.

“They’re in the building!” he hollered back through the door as he wildly tried to track the impossibly dodging Jedi. “They’re in the building! Fall back! Everybody fall back!” When the tirade of red energy was finally given a rest, the sentiment could be heard being echoed throughout the floor and up to the next.

The room was filled with smoke and fire now. It choked the air and obscured everything but the closest movements. The original bajoran was dead, caught in the uncontrolled attack, but there was no sign of either of the two intruders. The gunman swivelled his weapon sharply from side to side and began to back out. Still, he saw nothing.

When the bajoran had disappeared though the door, the Zam and Toban emerged from the smokey haze. Calmly, they peered through opening leading further into the building and saw nothing. If anyone else had been there, they had left through the open door on the other side of the room. Indeed, the sound of retreating footsteps reverberated all around them.

Sure enough, ahead was a stairway and the last of the last of the Bajoran guerillas were thundering down its turning course. The Jedi watched silently until the final man had made it to the bottom and vanished. They then carefully began to follow.

“Quickly,” Toban commented quietly. “The fire is spreading.”

Like ghosts, the knights stepped silently into the open center of the stairwell and dropped to the bottom. Just as silently they landed in mirrored crouches and scanned the area for enemies. There was nothing but another door to follow.

Through the door, a hallway. At the end of the hall, the last of the bajorans rounding a corner. Above, the sounds of battle were dying, replaced with the steady notes of a controlled search. The soldiers were coming. Ignoring the doors lining the hallway, the Jedi broke into a Force fueled sprint after their prey.

At the corner they stopped and stretched out their feelings to sense their enemy’s next action. Further on, the bajorans were filing into a room. In the room, they were dropping one by one through a steel hatch. When the last man was finally gone, the two pursuers were there in an instant.

“I keep getting the feeling that this has got to be a trap,” Zam cautioned his partner as the other began laying hands on the heavy lid of the descending portal. Images of the lady they searched for danced unbidden in his head.

“Oh, that much is certain,” Toban replied without skipping a beat.

“Well, then, what’s your plan?”

A wry smile crossed Toban’s lips as he gave a slight shrug. “Spring the trap.”

As the hatch was opened and his companion disappeared into it, Zam could only roll his eyes and follow.

In the pitch darkness below, the echoing footsteps of the guerillas bounced endlessly off of the tunnel walls around them. There was nothing to see and no landmarks to herald any legs of the journey, if any existed. Not even the slope of the ground changed as they went. Unknown time ticked by as the Jedi moved silently on. For the them, it was only the Force that guided their direction.

Eventually though, dim light broke the tunnel ahead. In it, the Jedi watched the silhouettes of the bajorans dance as they held back, waiting for the way to be clear. That would not come to pass unfortunately, as two men posted as guards formed out the inky walls to question the arrivals.

Toban Donner would not be daunted. Walking confidently to the guards he stopped when he reached them and waited for the inevitable. As he suspected, they were quick to confront him. As he also suspected, their minds were easily manipulated. A moment later he and his partner were past.

At its end, the tunnel opened on to the third level catwalk of a large, open, dimly lit compound. The area had once been home for a massive electrical transformer and switching station long ago, in the mists of the city’s history. When more efficient means of powering the grids were developed, the equipment was removed. Since then, the space had been used and reused for a list of purposes and eventually left vacant. Now it had been taken up as a Bajoran Resistance bas of operations. Most likely it had been that way since the occupation by the Cardassians.

On the ground a series of training exercises could be seen going on next to a group of people inventorying captured weapons. Next to them, others were eating and still others appeared to tinker with equipment. Much of this was obscured, however, by the cris-cross of wire-grate catwalks that made up the second level. There, supplies were stored around the perimeter of the area and small groups looked down idly while others seemed deep in planning sessions. The third level consisted exclusively of a relatively barren catwalk ringing the opening below. It appeared to be used only for forays leaving and returning from the surface.

Zam and Toban stepped away from the tunnel opening behind them and moved to the side, looking out over the railing as they went. They counted the numbers of the guerillas they could see, took stock of their weapons and supplies and, most importantly, watched for the leader they knew would be there.

“Look,” Toban said as they stopped in the shadow of an ancient, rusted, long abandoned ventilation fan, pointing through an opening in the second level. “Down there on the ground. Is that her?”

Pulling a tiny set of electrobinoculars from his pocket, Zam scanned the area in question. He saw her too. The woman from his vision was down there amongst those training. She walked though them with ease and grace and surveyed their actions with a hard eye.

The Jedi stood silently for minutes watching her, taking in everything that they could. For some time she did little, but eventually their patience paid off and Zam was forced admit the accuracy of his vision. Below them, the bajoran leader allowed herself to be surrounded by her soldiers. Slowly they raised fighting staffs in challenge to her. Slowly she raised something of her own into a ready defense. With a snap-hiss it ignited into a humming beam of crimson energy. As the woman proceeded to lay waste to her attackers the Jedi above stared on, one in confusion, the other in resignation.

What they saw was undeniable. Toban looked to his partner is disbelief. “The Sith? Here? That’s impossible.”


* * *


“Are you sure you have the right place, Sir?” the young technician asked as he made his way down a corridor between rows upon rows of cargo crates. Beside him was another technician, a fellow worker at the warehouse, following behind, a man he had never seen before and hoped never to again.

“Yeah, Sir,” the other tech added. “This is all bio-fuel for replicators. I don’t think you’re going to find anything interesting here.”

Darth Fectious did not slow in his steady gait, nor did his gaze stray to those that addressed him.

“I will be the judge of that,” he replied stonily.

“But Sir,” the first man continued. “Like I told you before. There’s nothing in the security vault. There’s never been anything in the security vault. Ever.”

“He’s right,” the second man agreed, quickening his step around a corner in the towering stacks of crates. “We’ve never had anything worth locking up around here.”

“See, Sir?” They had made it to heavy door of the security vault and with a quick iris scan and the punching of a few buttons it was open. There was nothing behind it but an empty room.

Fectious strode past into the unlit space, unaffected by its lack of contents, and directly to an unassuming patch of wall. With a sharp push it opened to reveal a key pad on which he entered a series of numbers. A moment later a door was sliding open at his side.

“Follow me,” the Sith ordered to his bewildered technicians as he started down the stairs that lay beyond.

Levels below, another set of numbers was entered into a door and the trio was looking into an open expanse of stacked crates not unlike the one they had just left. All of the grey boxes in sight still read confidently that they contained nothing more than replicator bio-matter.

The two men now following were still too speechless to comment.

Through the maze of containers the Sith continued, until finally coming to a stop before a towering shelf no different than any of the others. He scanned the identification numbers on the boxes for a moment and smiled to himself. He then turned to the others.

“Have either of you gentlemen heard of an organization known as Section 31?” he asked.

Blank stares answered him. “No.”

“You know about Starfleet Intelligence though, yes?”

“Yeah, sure.” Realization seemed to dawn on both of the tech’s faces and their excitement became palpable.

“Yes,” Fectious said with a calming wave of the hand. “You are both now helping me on a top secret mission for Starfleet Intelligence. One which could save the Federation. Do you understand?”

Dumb nods were their reply.

“Good,” the Sith said, pointing to a particular crate. “Than pull that one down and open it.”

The two technicians went directly to work and did not look back until the container was open.

“It’s full of parts for an android,” one man said, slightly confused.

“Put them together,” came the oily reply. “It shouldn’t be hard.”

Again the two men laboured away, constructing the mechanical man they had found. When it was complete and laying as if asleep in the crate, they looked back at their top secret mission leader.

“If you feel around, there should be a button at its lower back.” Fectious coxed. “Push it.”

The second tech leaned in and reached around to find the button. As he felt up and down the automaton’s back, he found himself looking into its tightly shut eyes. Finally finding what he sought, he pressed the button and pulled his hand free, releasing a long breath for the time he had been prone.

For a moment nothing happened as he held himself over the crate. Then, as he turned to regard his friend and Darth Fectious, the eyes that had been tightly shut, shot open. A second later, an iron-gripped hand shot to his throat.

Fectious watched as the poor man clawed at the vice around his neck and gasped for breath. Soon the other one was trying to help him, only to be caught himself by another lightning quick mechanical hand. When the snap of vertebra finally sounded, both men were thrown to the side like so many rags.

Slowly, ominously, the android rose from its unmourned tomb, the sneer of contempt on its lips echoed in its golden eyes. Methodically, it scanned its surroundings, from the two corpses, to the crates, and finally rested on the dark figure that dared to still stand before it.

“I guess it’s true what they say,” the humanoid machine announced with a cocky grin. “You just can’t keep a good man down.” Its face went deadly serious. “Who are you?”

Darth Fectious did nothing for a moment, allowing the silence of the warehouse to fill every cog of the android’s being, letting the darkness sieging the steady pools of light grow thicker. He gave no answer, instead waiting for the robot act, forcing its move. It was a dare that could not be resisted.

In a blur of motion the machine surged forward, determined to wring the answers from this human if it had to. Somehow, however, it was stopped. The man before it had raised a hand and now, try as it might, it could do nothing more than hang impotently in the air. With a wave of that hand it was flying into the towering stack of crates as easily as the two corpses had.

Looking up from the ground the android asked again,” Who are you?”

This time the Sith Lord answered. “I, my dear Lore, am the bringer of your destiny.”

[Darth Fanboy]

YES! A magnificent return for my favorite SDN Fanfic.