Star Trek: Valley Forge (Chapter Thirteen posted July 4!)

[CaptainChewbacca]

And shouldn't the Vulcan be telepathic?

[The Aliens]

That I wasn't sure about. I had it that T'Sav could read the minds of the Betazoids, but edited it because I wasn't sure if Vulcans needed to be in physical contact with someone to read their minds- through a mind meld. Any canon sources to say they're telepathic without the meld?

[CaptainChewbacca]

That I wasn't sure about. I had it that T'Sav could read the minds of the Betazoids, but edited it because I wasn't sure if Vulcans needed to be in physical contact with someone to read their minds- through a mind meld. Any canon sources to say they're telepathic without the meld?

In an episoded of Voyager, Tuvok is walking along a city street having a mind-mind conversation with a thought-police woman. Its the one where B'elana thinks an angry thought and gets arrested.

To meld, where you exchange and link personalities, you need physical contact.

[The Aliens]

Edited, then- T'Sav intrudes on their mental conversation and tells them off. Thanks for the catch, CaptainChewbacca.

[CaptainChewbacca]

She'd probably say "This conversation is not conducive to this meeting, sirs."

Your crewpeople need to be a little respectfull, and the vulcan more than anyone.

[consequences]

So Section 31 has come out of the shadows? Or did you mean to say Starfleet Intelligence?

[The Aliens]

She'd probably say "This conversation is not conducive to this meeting, sirs."

Your crewpeople need to be a little respectfull, and the vulcan more than anyone.

Nope. They're a bunch of misfits, if they're respectful, it makes the illusion of these people being dysfunctional harder to sustain. The Vulcan is shown to be abrasive, she was in a fist-fight in the first chapter, and that's not characteristic Vulcan behaviour. Couple that with me stating she's on her frst cruise, and won't have spent much time around non-Vulcans, she'll be extraordinarily arrogant.

And yes, this is about 10 years after the Dominion War, so Section 31 are roughly as well known as the Tal'Shiar or Obsidian Order.

[consequences]

She'd probably say "This conversation is not conducive to this meeting, sirs."

Your crewpeople need to be a little respectfull, and the vulcan more than anyone.

Nope. They're a bunch of misfits, if they're respectful, it makes the illusion of these people being dysfunctional harder to sustain. The Vulcan is shown to be abrasive, she was in a fist-fight in the first chapter, and that's not characteristic Vulcan behaviour. Couple that with me stating she's on her frst cruise, and won't have spent much time around non-Vulcans, she'll be extraordinarily arrogant.

And yes, this is about 10 years after the Dominion War, so Section 31 are roughly as well known as the Tal'Shiar or Obsidian Order.

You could have one person be an over disciplined obnoxious misfit for contrast. Excessives discipline can be just as dysfunctional as any other personality trait, especially if taken to extremes and applied to every little thing.

[The Aliens]

You could have one person be an over disciplined obnoxious misfit for contrast. Excessives discipline can be just as dysfunctional as any other personality trait, especially if taken to extremes and applied to every little thing.

Enter Crespin. He sounds like he's having fun in the meeting, but wait 'till you see him with the pilots. I plan to make him into the crusty old fart that no-one likes except for the telepaths, because he feels he can trust them. I've got a good backstory I plan to reveal for him that'll show why he distrusts non-telepaths and acts like assholes to them.

[darthdavid]

Ahhh, more reading to distract me from my homework.

[Mr. Sinister]

I thought that Betazoids were only empathic, could only read emotions?

[The Aliens]

Happy to oblige. And I really appreciate the criticism from you guys- as long as people are reading and care enough to tell me what they think, I'll keep writing.

[consequences]

I thought that Betazoids were only empathic, could only read emotions?

Full Betazoids are full telepaths, half-betazoids are half-assed telepaths(able to communicate with people they share a stong emotional bond with, and possibly all full telepaths).

[The Aliens]

Chapter 4

Elliot Scott sat on the bridge, in the Command Chair. It wasn’t actually bolted to the ground, and so tended to move around a lot, but it was currently in one piece, so Commander Senior Grade Scott was calm. The bridge crew moved around the tangle of wires that connected the consoles to the back-up generator that had been installed when Melan had failed to bring power to the bridge, and everything seemed asready as it was going to get.

“Hail the station.” Scott turned to Melan, who was sitting behind his desk, lips moving in a silent monologue. The Bajoran held up one finger, and continued for nearly thirty seconds before finally opening his eyes.

“What were you doing,” asked Scott, irritated.

“Praying. To the Blessed Exchequer, if you must know- hoping nothing will go wrong on this venture and that we will bring profit to all.”

“Except the Dorrans,” said Traab, smiling thinly from the tactical station. He had to cramp down to access it- the overhead panel was slightly less than seven feet above the floor and Traab’s head was slightly more than seven feet above it, under normal circumstances. There was no chair, since the console had simply been bolted down near the back of the bridge, and no-one had thought to put in seating.

“Except the Dorrans,” repeated Scott, “Hail the station.”

“Communications are down, I haven’t been able to get the transmitter working, even with engineering. We’re thinking the power socket is burnt out, and Requisitions told us that they stopped making the old type of socket twelve years ago. We’re, um, trying to get a replacement.” Melan looked sheepish. “We could use a land line, but as soon as we break away we’d be out of contact.”

“Or we could just leave,” offered Traab.

“Moving away from the station without permission would be illogical, and most dangerous, should any important pieces of equipment still be attached. In any event, departing station without a fully operational communications array is not a safe course of action, sir,” said T’Sav, oblivious to Traab’s joke.

“We’re thinking everything will be operational in a day but we’re scheduled to launch, according to the station, in three hours.” Melan looked around patiently, but Scott could read his body language and saw that he was really very nervous.

Scott sighed. “What would the station say if we were to stay here until all main systems were online?”

“Probably fire on us or something. You don’t know Inor, the Fleet Captain- she’s mental.” Traab acted genuinely nervous.

“Delay the launch, then,” said Scott. “All department heads are to give me full reports in twelve hours, and everything had better be ship-shape. Mr. Traab, the bridge is yours- I’m going to my ready room.” He stood up, with the air of a defeated man, and crossed the small gap to his ready room. He opened the door manually, it being yet another thing on the ship that didn’t work, and sat down heavily.

What the hell did the universe have against him? He had been taken out of the diplomatic corps on a diplomatic ship, and placed on a barely held together pile of junk. It had been the first time in his career that a ship had missed its designated start time, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had been able, for so long, to control and persuade people to do what he needed- as a Counselor and a diplomat.

Here, however, he couldn’t get a single door to open, didn’t have anyone to give the psychological help his crew so badly needed, and every department was understaffed and short on materials. It was the sort of situation that could, and had, cost lives, and he was helpless. He looked out the window at the inside of the bay, and saw the runabouts and worker bees move past, and his vision began to blur as tears came to him.

This is what I’ve wanted since I was a little kid- to be out with Starfleet fighting. And now, I’ve got one hand tied behind my back on a ship that could blow up at any moment. This is not what I dreamed about, but there is nothing I can do to change it. The shame of being stuck here in this boat, waiting for someone to get the most basic of systems online, while other Captains can blow up shuttlepods at will and get them replaced. That’s the problem- it’s not just.

The door chime rang. Scott turned away and looked out the window, wiping his eyes. “Come in,” he said, carefully controlling his voice.

A large blue figure appeared in the doorway, which Scott saw in the reflection from the mirror, and sat down. Traab’s weight caused the chair to creak, a sound that again reminded Scott of how far down the ladder he was, and the Bolian exhaled.

“You look troubled.” He said it simply, without even asking permission. Scott spun around on the ejector seat, and looked at his first officer.

“How did you know?”

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Knock yourself out, Commander.” Scott felt angry at the intrusion, but also curious as to the reason behind it.

“I worked in security for a long time. For the past eight years, I was a bodyguard to the Tholian Ambassador, and worked every day of my life protecting this man. I foiled no less than eighteen assassination attempts, and took a phaser shot for him on Donoros VII. I was good at my job; I served loyally and faithfully. The ambassador was a Trill, unjoined, with a real talent for negotiations, it seems you would have liked him, and my staff consisted of five people. Well, I had essentially followed the man everywhere for close to a decade, so I knew everything about him- I was friends with his wife, and I knew he had a young daughter on Trill, 15 years old.

“There was a banquet on Regolor II, to celebrate the achievements of the scientists on the world- they had developed some kind of fungus that didn’t need air to survive. Great stuff, it was one of the dishes at the banquet, as we later found out- supposed to be a food-stuff for airless worlds that had been recently colonized. There were flags from all over the Federation, and Gard, the Ambassador, was expected to attend. We showed up, me and the entourage, and wandered around a little bit- me tasting his food to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, checking the higher levels for snipers, that sort of thing. It wasn’t out of the ordinary- the guest list was a who’s who of Federation and Tholian diplomats, so we were expecting something.

“Well, after a little while, he went to the washroom. Obviously I didn’t go into the station with him, just stood outside. The next thing I knew, there was a bright flash, and I was thrown to the floor. I wasn’t knocked out, too sturdy for that, but I was disorientated for a moment. When I finally got up, and saw Gard crawling out from the twisted metal. His legs were gone, I remember that…” the Bolian stopped for a moment, eyes beginning to swell with emotion.

“I saw him crawl out, not dead yet, trailing dark blood behind him. I saw him die, and was powerless to help him. I had defended him for eight years, Captain, eight years, and in that moment, everything was gone. I had to tell his family why I failed in my duties, and why their husband, father, brother, son- why he wasn’t coming home.” Traab stopped, and turned away, now fully in emotional pain- it was the guilt that Scott had seen pouring out all over him in a torrent of raw emotion.

“I’m sorry. No-one should have to see anyone, especially a close friend, die like that. But why are you telling me this?” Scott felt for the man, but had to keep control- he knew his problems were small compared to the burden his first officer now had to be carrying.

“Because you’re being a selfish prick. You think you have it bad, being stuck here with a no-hoper crew. The engineer has been demoted twice, according to his record, your CMO is slaved to you, you blew up a ship, I’m officially responsible for the death of a prominent ambassador, and that Melan character is an asshole.” Traab was now looking forcefully, if not angrily at Scott.

“You’re not the only one suffering here- there are two hundred and fifty good men and women on this ship, and they’re in just as much danger as you. How will these midshipmen feel, being put on a ship with equipment older than they are? Do you think this ship is going to have high morale to begin with, nevermind the Captain sulking around griping about it? You have to get out there and show an example, that you’re going to do the best job you can with whatever you’ve got. I don’t care if you’re falling apart inside, if the crew sees that, we’re all going to be demoralized, sloppy, and then dead.” Traab paused, and looked off into the distance. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Permission to return to duty,” straightening up and allowing the dark purple to creep out of his cheeks and forehead.

Scott sat for a minute, evaluating the Bolian in front of him. He considered the man’s speech, the intimate story he had shared, and his advice. After what was stretching into an uncomfortable pause, Traab sat up. “Granted. Thank you, Commander.”

Traab nodded as he left the small room, with a deep depression in his vacated seat, and ducked his head as he walked out onto the bridge.

A/N: Boring, but needed, character exposition. Feedback implored.

[SpecWar826]

FeedBack I loved it

[Crazedwraith]

:d Great! I like the shuttlecraft bit.

[darthdavid]

More. It's good. Write more.

[The Aliens]

Chapter 5

The small room in which the Dorran negotiation team sat was dark and industrial. There were good reasons for both of these qualities- dark due to the absence of windows and overhead lighting, with simply one small glowpanel in the table producing illumination, and industrial due to its location in a shipyard being used to create the largest cruiser ever seen in Dorran space. Across the table from the Dorrans- small, green, humanoid creatures, sat a party of Klingons, the dark-skinned, ridged-foreheaded warrior species. These particular Klingons, however, were not warriors, and had they have shown up on the Klingon capital of Q’Nos, they would have been immedietly slaughtered. They were bhaak, traitors. Klingons who had decided to forsake the glory of the Empire for their own personal gain, and therefore rendered the lowest of the dishonoured.

“It would seem we both have much in common,” said the lead Dorran, giving an unnaturally wide smile.

“What would give you that impression?” The Klingon looked affronted, but knew better than to jeapordise his bargaining position. He was T’thak Voth, a representative of the mighty House of Voth, and he was nervous- failure on this mission would not be met by much acclaim on his homeworld.

“We are interested in power. We, the Dorrans, wish for the power to control who in this sector should get the Grek’Nar. You wish to have the power to defend your small territory against the Empire. We both wish for power, which should make these negotiations easy.” The little green man, grinned wildly. He was small, with no hair, and humanoid features. His skin reflected the dim light of the glowpanel, making him seem slightly ethereal, and his long fingers gently stroked the computer terminal in front of him.

“Very well, you are most perceptive. Name your price.” T’thak leaned back in his chair.

“Nineteen million credits. Cash is not necessary, a wire transfer of the money will suffice.”

“That price is not feasable. The entire House of Voth does not have that wealth.” T’thak growled, and leaned forwards in his chair again, his sharp nails digging into the table infront of him. His two bodyguards, warriors who looked as if they had stepped off a recruitment poster for the Klingon Empire, stepped out of the shadows and showed their small knives.

“The entire House of Voth also does not have this starcruiser. It would do you well to not threaten people you wish to strike a deal with, either- you seem to forget in your…confidence in your own abilities you are on a Dorran space station.” The Dorran smiled, waved his hand, and a mechanical hiss sounded through the small room, as what appeared to be a disruptor turret dropped out of the ceiling, and painted a laser dot over the Klingon’s forehead. “Perhaps you would like to take a brief recess to consider our offer?”

T’thak growled, and stood up. “We will retire to our quarters. You will not follow us.”

The Dorran also stood up, rising to a height of roughly five feet. “We would not dream of it.” Smiling enigmatically, he waved his fingers, and a half-dozen Dorrans, cloaked in black, appeared from behind furniture, crates, and shadows and followed their leader out of the room.

*****

“Their offer is not honourable.” T’thak sat in front of his communications terminal, looking at his leader, Karta of Voth. The Voth leader had a long scar running down his face, which he had received in battle against a small Klingon re-occupation force. A young solider had attempted to gain honour by attacking the aging warrior, but Karta had shown him why he had earned the right to be called an ‘aging’ warrior with his Bat’leth.

“Indeed it is not. But there must be a way to negotiate.”

“No, my most revered elder. They hold all the advantages- they have the Grek’Nar, and the House of Voth has no resources they do not already have access to.”

“Then we must negotiate as a warrior does.”

“A warrior does not negotiate! I am a negotiator, and any warrior who believes himself to be my equal can kill me with his bare hands, as befits a warrior.” T’thak looked outraged at the idea of a warrior taking his position, and his bodyguards bristled at the assault on their honour.

“Be quiet, insolent boy. Think- use your brain, then, if your brawn was kept from you by Kahless. Two warriors are walking, and one threatens to kill the other if he is not given a certain, rare flower. The threatened warrior would lose a battle, and has not the flower, so how can he prevent his own death?”

“Tell me, Karta of Voth.”

“You would do well to watch your tone. With a single word I can have you executed. I will tell you the answer. The weaker warrior asks why the stronger wishes for the flower. The stronger replies it is to save his son, infected with the grathaka. The weaker warrior cures the son with a salve, and he is allowed to go free.”

“This parable makes no sense. The stronger warrior would allow his son to die, as disease comes only to the dishonoured, and he would kill the weaker warrior to regain his honour!”

“You are a fool, T’thak. Wisdom does not come at the edge of a bat’leth. You must find what the Dorrans wish to use the money for, and give them that which they desire, instead. End transmission.” T’thak sat back in his seat. The Master made a good point- perhaps he would be able to determine what the Dorrans wanted, and, in doing so, save his own life.

*****

The Valley Forge rocked, as the lines of stars rushing past the forward viewer snapped into pinpricks. Several bright shapes began crossing through the field of view, like stars that had somehow lost their way.

“What the hell was that?” Senior Commander Elliot Scott rose from his command chair, where he had been dozing. He quickly changed his startled body posture into that of someone in control of the situation, and looked to the Ops console, where Melan sat, looking harried.

“Catastrophic ODN fuck-up… I mean error, sir. Navigation lost the information that should have been coming from sensors, and the whole system shut itself down to prevent running to an object.” Melan did not look at the Captain, and instead made the hand-signals that indicated a prayer was coming on.

“Navigation, report.” Scott rolled his eyes, but did not intrude on the Bajoran’s prayer.

“Exactly what Officer Melan said, sir.” The ensign sitting at the helm, a young man no more than 22, looked bewildered and terrified. He had been closely monitoring all his systems, exactly as the Starfleet rulebook had said, and suddenly everything shut down. He was stunned.

“I mean where are we, what’s our course and velocity?”

“Umm… umm… I have no idea!” The man was sweating, and looked extremely pale.

Oh, for God’s sakes… thought Scott, but pitched his voice so it would sound understanding and compassionate. “Perhaps you should take a 15 minute break and relax,” said the Commander.

“Y-y-yes, sir!” The man jumped from his station as if it had been lit on fire, and walked hurriedly to the turbolift door.

Fehsha, sitting in the CMO’s chair, rolled her eyes, and lithely unfolded herself from her chair. “I had better go with him,” she said. “Perhaps I should give him some counseling, she half-hissed at Scott.

“That would be your job,” replied Traab, shortly. “Poor kid. I remember my first assignment in Starfleet. I was two feet taller than everyone else, and everyone was terrified of me. It’s not similar at all,” said the First Officer.

Scott bit his tongue, and turned to Melan. “Are you done, Officer?”
“Yes, sir.”

“Where the hell are we?”

“Rellit System, in the Oort cloud. That would explain the bright shapes on the viewer. We’re about a day and a half out of Dorra Prime at Warp Six, far out of sensor range of the main planet. In fact, this would be a good place to take up station-keeping, at least for a little while, so we can repair the ODN relays.”

Scott sat in his chair, heavily. It creaked threateningly, but did not fall off its mooring, which Scott took as a positive. He was falling further behind schedule every day in his ship, which couldn’t hold Warp Six for sustained periods. However, taking a day to run late would give that Crespin fossil a chance to get his pilots out in some practical training, and everyone knew that Engineering could use an extra day to tighten up the warp relays.

“Very well. Helm… err, Mr. Traab, take up station-keeping. Bridge to Major Crespin.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“We’re taking up station-keeping in this system’s Oort cloud. Suggest you get your fighters out on some excersizes.”

“As ordered, sir. Crespin out.”

Scott stood up. “Everyone else, you know what you need to do. Try and work on a way of achieving Warp Six for more than 45 minutes, would you?” Vexed with his crew and ship, Scott walked to his Ready Room, and manually pried the doors open. He entered, turned around to the bridge, where all eyes were still on him, and manually slammed it shut- onto his foot. He removed the offending appendage, and slammed the door shut again, against Traab’s hysterical laughter.

*****
“Right, now, pilots, shut the hell up, would you?” Flight Major Evan Crespin glared at his pilots. Representing a half-dozen species, they were 24 of the greenest pilots Starfleet could find- of which three had any combat experience. The luck three had been promoted to Flight Lieutenants immedietly, and each headed a small group of fighters. “Now, you’re all going to get into some fighters today.” His accent, being thick as it was, masked his words sufficiently that there were whispers of translations through the room.

They sat in the “Pilot’s Lounge”, a part of the hangar roped off from the others by large crates, that were meant to hold torpedoes, but currently held only the empty space that usually surrounded the torpedoes. The hangar was busy, with flight crew examining the fighters, and attempting to make them flyable, as well as servicing the magcon shields that kept the atmosphere in.

As the news that they would be flying slowly made its way through the pilots, some grins began to appear, and Crespin glared at them. “That is not a good thing. I wouldn’t certify half of you to pilot a garbage scow, but there you are, you’ve all got to learn sometime.” The pilots, unsure of the actual words, knew what they were being told was not good.

“Alright, the lot of you are to report to your fighters, and run pre-flight checklists to the letter. As soon as you’re done, I’ll be having your computers sending me records of exactly what you did, and I’ll make sure you did it right. Every deviance from standard operating procedure takes of one hour of recreation time. Clear?”

In response, there was a great puff of wind, and several pieces of equipment flew across the hangar, being sucked out into the vacuum where the portside magcon shield used to be. A second later, the shield snapped back, a technician yelled out ‘Sorry’, and a heavy spanner had ripped through the canopy of Crespin’s fighter.

“God-fucking-dammit,” he announced, and stood up quickly. “Everyone to your fighters- I’ll race you. If every fighter in this hangar is powered up and operational by the time I get a new canopy on mine, you all get a week off.” The pilots, inspired by the illusion of having time to do anything they wished on the entire decrepit mass of the Valley Forge, dashed to their stations.

[The Aliens]

Incidentally, I'm very sorry for the delay, real life took over for a while, but I'm back to (hopefully) writing regularly. Please give me feedback!

[Crazedwraith]

I like. How I really should go back and read the rest again so I know what I'm liking.

[The Aliens]

Hehe, I had to do that myself, as well as rot out my old story notes.

[The Aliens]

A/N: Isn't productivity great? New chapter. Please, please, please review me.

Chapter Six

T’thak, de facto Klingon Ambassador to the Dorrans, and head negotiator for the purchase of the Grek’Nar, was unhappy. Since his conversation the previous day with the leader of the House of Voth, many situations had been running through his head- few of them pleasant. He essentially had two options- to either succeed in purchasing the massive battleship, of not. In the case of success, the House of Voth would gain the ability to make glorious war, to carve out a principality in the Beta Quadrant, something T’thak would receive at least a continent for. However, in the case of failure, he would likely be executed, or worse.

And look what I have to work with, he thought despondently to himself. He sat on the bridge of his small Bird-of-Prey, the Voth Rampage. It was a small ship, fairly modern by the standards of the Voth fleet, with a skeleton crew of warriors and technicians. On his viewscreen he had the Dorran computer terminal inviting him to view private information, if he could gain the correct access codes. He peered around the bridge, at its emptiness. The ship was docked to the large Dorran construction yards, and so the majority of its small crew were off enjoying themselves- a situation the merchant T’thak could do little about.

He sighed audibly. He needed to find what the Dorrans needed their 18 million credits for, and he needed to do it quickly. Rumours had reached his ears of the Klingon Empire preparing to strike at the House of Voth, or to even purchase the Grek’Nar for themselves. He knew the Empire could outbid the paltry House of Voth easily, which strengthened his desire to save his country through espionage.

If anyone could see what I was doing, I would be summarily executed for my lack of honour, he thought to himself, and allowed himself a small smile at the idea. The concept of honour had never swayed T’thak, ever since his earliest days as an accountant where he had been ridiculed for his choice of career. Yet perhaps my lack of honour here will bring great honour to my House, and great rewards for myself.

He began typing in earnest. The screen demanding a password shone blankly at him, but he activated another program, hidden deep within the Klingon mainframe. It identified the small piece of Dorran hardware, far on the other side of the station, responsible for creating the combination, and invaded its programming. Within seconds, the password was Voth. He searched through several screens of unimportant data until he came to a small file named “Economic Projections”. Searching through the dates, he began looking at the short-term forecasts, and saw the Dorran economy expand greatly, after a date roughly a year in the future.

He opened a file attached to that date, and saw a thumbnail picture of a small mining station, simply a small dome with a network of covered hallways running from it, on a blasted lunar surface. A run through the translator provided a garbled message, and so T’thak took a different tactic. He copied the picture into the Klingon database, and ran a search for planets matching the one pictured. 18 000 different systems appeared, and the small terminal froze.

With a roar of rage, he smashed the small terminal on his desk, and rose to the Operations station. He ran the same search, isolating only systems in Dorran space with no significant developments, and came up with three moons. He looked carefully at the picture, and identified one particular constellation of stars. He fed that pattern into the computer, cross-referenced it, and came up with a small world- Rither IX.

T’thak grinned. He had accomplished what he needed. As soon as the Dorrans received the 18 million credits, they would build a mining station on this world, rich in… the smile wiped off the Klingon’s face like a well-fried egg. It was rich in tritanium. The Dorrans were going to use the world to produce starship hulls. An invasion fleet. T’thak’s visions of a continent, large manor, and delectable slave girls was replaced with the House of Voth becoming a collection of smoldering rocks.

He punched the comm.

“Yes, sir?”

“House of Voth, immediately!”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Death!” The Klingon snarled at the comm operator, likely somewhere deep within his ship. A moment later, the face of Karta Voth, the leader of the small breakaway nation, appeared.

“T’thak! I hope you have solved the problems of the House of Voth!”

“My most revered elder, I fear our problems are just beginning.”

The older Klingon affected a look of surprise. “You have failed to bring glory to the House of Voth?”

“No, Revered One. I have discovered that which you asked me to seek. The credits we would give to the Dorrans for their Battleship will be used in a most unpalatable way. They plan to open a mining colony on a small world in one of their far-flung systems, Rither IX. It will mine tritanium. And with this tritanium, the Dorrans will have the ability to create yet more battleships, and use them to bring about our destruction, or sell them into the hands of the Empire! We must give them something else. We must make ourselves so valuable to them they have no wish to conquer us.”

Karta smiled. He rested back in his chair, and the top of his head disappeared from the viewscreen, leaving only his eyes. They were bright, mirthful, as if he had been related an amusing anecdote. “No, young one, we must do something else. Something Klingon. Karta out.” With his cryptic response, the viewer blinked off, and T’thak was left alone in the imposing bridge of the starship. He rose, and made a decision to go to his vessel’s mess hall. He needed something to kill.

*****
Flight Major Evan Crespin had been sitting in his cockpit for a half-hour, and he was already sick of his pilots. His pilots, for their part, were sick of him- they had dashed to their fighters, run through the pre-flight check-ups, and waited more than an hour while a new canopy was fitted on Crespin’s fighter. As soon as his power had come online, Crespin keyed his comm, and informed his entire squadron he was docking a half-hour of recreation time from them all.

“Why, sir? We got every fighter powered up before you got your canopy on, so we should get a week of rec time,” said one of the younger pilots.

“You get an extra day of scrubbing the flight deck,” responded Crespin. “Who knows why?”

One of the more veteran pilots spoke up. “You said to get every fighter in the hangar powered up- that presumably included yours. You had your canopy on before every fighter had been started, so we lost."

“Absolutely correct. Now, power up your engines, bring them to 75% of maximum, and form up by squadrons as soon as you clear the flight deck.”

He switched channels on his comm, and heard a shay-voiced Ensign on the other line. “Forge Wing, this is the Bridge.”

“Bridge, requesting permission to launch 24, that’s two-four fighters, on manoevers to the Oort Cloud, Vector 142 mark 9, pattern Delta.”

“Umm… that’s approved, Forge Wing. Godspeed.”

“Forge Out.”

Crespin killed his comm as he deftly brought his throttle up, eased the fighter up off the solid floor of the Forge’s flight deck, and coasted into open space. There was a slight pop as the fighter cleared the magcon field, and then Crespin was in space.

It had been nearly a year and a half since he had flown on an actual mission, and it felt good. He was, technically, flying a stripped down shuttle with a painted cross for a targeting system, one that couldn’t reach warp on its own and had pitiful sublight acceleration, but he was flying. He saw the rest of his squadron leave the ship, some shakily, some nearly running into each other, but there were no major accidents. Crespin keyed his comm.

“All fighters, form up on Vector 324 mark 5, we’re heading into the cloud. All fighters report.” A flurry of all-ok messages poured into his comm, and his two squadron leaders reported their charges were prepared for flight. “Alright, Thunderbolt squadron, break by pairs, on me. Avengers, you’re with Avenger Lead, run some close bombing patterns on some of the larger asteroids, do no, I repeat, do not fire on anything. Falcons, you’re with Falcon Lead flying escort for the Avengers.” Crespin flicked a switch, and now addressed only his squadron.

“Thunderbolts, we’re going to go hot into the heavy clouds. We’re going to be doing some evasive manoevers, a little bit of shooting at rocks. Phasers down to 10%, shunt remaining power into shields if possible. If you hit anyone else, I don’t want to be sweeping up a starfighter because of your mistake, because lord knows we don’t have the parts to build a new one. Engines to full, burn ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.” Crespin increased his thrust to 98%, and saw several of his fighters leap ahead of him, with several lagging behind. The pilots were following protocol, staying with their wingmates, and that pleased the aging Major.

Something, however, seemed out of place. There was a shape in the shadows, something moving erratically. “Thunderbolt Squad, abort manoever, form up on me. Thunderbolt…” he looked through his brain, searching for his communications specialist, while slashing his throttle. “Thunderbolt Eight, what are you getting on sensors?”

“Some communications, sir, nothing major. It looks to be warp-capable, definitely mechanical.” Shit, thought Crespin I won't have telepathy on my side if I need to shoot it.

“I’m going in for a look- Two on me, everyone else, hang back. Crespin increased his throttle to maximum, and he saw his wingmate do the same. A young Bajoran, too young to have fought in the resistance, Two showed all the signs of a gifted pilot. He had three kills in only two missions, and his service record had stood out for Crespin when reading through his manifest. Crespin sensed nothing from him but calm, twinged with anticipation, and that, in turn, relaxed the Major.

“Sir, that ship is making the run up to clear space.” Two was correct, it was now manoevering quickly through the comets and debris, and Crespin increased his phaser intensity to maximum. “

“He’s not going to make it there. Two, break, around the big asteroid, and cut it off.” Two acknowledged with a click of his com, and Crespin gave his attention over to the small probe. It was spherical, with four tiny warp nacelles placed equidistantly around it. It seemed to be using two small jets to manoever, but Crespin could not detect where it was getting its incredible manoeverability from.

He lanced one phaser shot at it, missing high, but spraying it with debris from the big asteroid that the two vessels were transversing. One warp nacelle on the craft went dark, likely from a rock impact, and it began to list. Crespin fired two more shots, both clean misses. Dammit, this reticule isn’t where it should be. It has to be at least .5 out, thought Crespin, and he tilted his fighter slightly sideways. He launched another shot at the frantically manoevering fighter, and grazed it, ripping off another nacelle.

Crespin could see he was coming up to clear space, and he would need to deal with the fighter quickly, before it could get away. If it was left in a body of rocks such as this, someone was interested in protecting them, and if someone was protecting them, they wouldn’t be happy that a ‘light carrier’ and 24, albeit dilapidated, fighters were cutting through it.

The small probe began accelerating quickly, making to run up to warp, and Crespin launched one more phaser blot at it. It shore through the vessel’s thin hull, and impacted its tiny warp reactor, shattering it into a million pieces. Two swept over the crest of the asteroid, which Crespin was now almost around, and hailed the Major.

“Good shot si- holy hell, there’s another one.” Crepsin felt his wingman’s surprise, and whipped around to see another small shape disappear into warp.

“Christ,” said Crespin. “ Where did it go?”

“It’s on a straight-line course for the Dorran system, sir.”

“Christ. All fighters, emergency recall. All fighters are to fdock now. Valley Forge, this is Thunderbolt Leader, we have a situation.”

*****

It had been a busy day and a half in the Oort Cloud. Melan had all but entirely re-wired the ODN relay, and apparently he had got the ship down to 7 operating systems, four of which were now compatible. Davits had gotten the warp core up to 70% efficiency, for the first time in a decade, reported the Engineering Logs, and Elliot Scott had taken three bath, a shower, and slept for 18 hours, as a result of working through Traab’s rendition of ‘omelette’, a ridiculous concoction of actual animal eggs and flesh. He wondered why eh had allowed the Bolian to persuade him.

He was, in a rare moment of consciousness, on the bridge.

“Sir, it’s really fine, a lot of people are allergic to eggs. I was once on a planet where the smell of an Earth egg hospitalized 6 people. I’m… not allowed back there anymore.” Traab smiled a wide, sheepish smile.

“Traab, the next time you want to cook for me, don’t.” Scott clutched his stomach and groaned.

“Hot transmission coming in, sir,” announced Melan, from the comm station. “Audio only!”

“Put it on,” said Scott, instantly alert.

“Bridge, this is Thunderbolt Leader.”

“Go ahead, Major.”

“We’re not alone in this Cloud. We’ve just detected at least two small probe vessels, one of which escaped and is en route to Dorra Prime.”

“Oh, no. Regroup the fighters.”

“Done, sir, we’re on a landing course. Incidentally, permission to land on vector 142 mark-“ Scott cut him off.

“Just land the damn fighters, Major, as quickly as you can. If the Dorrans find a light car… well, a Federation vessel, at any rate, in their territory they’re going to flip. We need to plot a course out of here-“

Melan cut off the Commander. “Wrong- the operating system I put the nav computer on won’t sent data in a recognizable format to the nav station. I need an hour to redo it.”

Crespin’s comm clicked off, and Scott assumed he had landed his fighters in some order. He hoped there were still recognizable parts of fighters left after the novices made their first emergency landings. “Damnit, we don’t have an hour. Helm, can you compute a course manually into the system? Any gravitic anomalies we can use to hide ourselves?”

“One Class-I planet, sir,” responded the Ensign, shaking. “I don’t know if I can get a course laid in without the computer.”

“Yes you can- put us in orbit and then take us into the atmosphere, as far as we can go without risking structural integrity. You have 30 seconds.” Scott turned to T’Sav at Science. “Report.”

“Eighteen of these probes in the asteroid belt.”

“How the hell didn’t we see them before? And Helm, fifteen seconds.”

“We now have the sensor data from Major Crespin, so we know what we are looking for- we did not detect them before because they mask their engine emissions in a clever manner involving heat dissipation. They are remarkably efficient machines, sir. They do not use long range transmissions, they must manually deliver their information, so there is no detectable signal leak. They are designed not to be found.”

“Fantastic. Helm?”

“I- I hope, sir.”

“Me too, Ensign. Engage.” The viewscreen showed the particles of the dust cloud elongate into lines, as the Valley Forge leapt to safety in the strong arms of an unknown gas giant.

*****

“Report.” The Dorran officer sat in the centre of a dark room, one that appeared on no official maps of the construction yards. It was all but invisible form the outside, soundproof, and well-guarded. It was here that the Dorrans conducted their most high-level meetings, at it was here that they now gathered.

“The Klingons have found the bait.”

“We know the penetration was them?”

“They changed the password to ‘Voth’, so it is a good bet.”

“Excellent. If it proves they believe we are planning to crate a fleet, we will reap an even higher price from them to prevent them from losing the Grek’Nar, and, in turn, their only defense against some kind of Dorran Invasion Fleet.” The assembled Dorrans laughed, a high-pitched, wheezing sound that filled the room.

“Is this all?”

“No, sir. One of our decoy scouts in the Rellit system discovered a Federation vessel. It bears the name USS Valley Forge, and seems utterly dilapidated. It launched fighters in the Rellit System’s Oort Cloud, and destroyed one of our decoy probes.”

“Those probes are only there for testing, they were not meant to be discovered yet.” The other Dorran allowed a concerned look to cross his face.

“Yes, sir, I know. If word of them gets out our Voth initiative may be jeapordised. It is my recommendation that we have the Valley Forge destroyed, to prevent a possible leak of data.”

“Yes, I ratify that.” The senior Dorran looked solemnly around the room. “We must move against the Federation sooner than expected. The Valley Forge must die. "

[Crazedwraith]

youch! I detect the thickening of a plot

[The Aliens]

Chapter 7

The USS Valley Forge snapped back to impulse no longer than seconds after it had vanished into warp. With no timer controls, no direction except for pointing the vessel at a bright point of light and hitting the ‘go’ button, it had been dragged to a conventional physics-obeying speed by the gravity of the enormous gas giant in front of it. It had been a tense few moments aboard the vessel, all hands hoping the unproven Ensign at Helm would direct the ship truly, but the tension eased as the ship began orbiting the mammoth world.

“Sensors, what’s the neighbourhood like,” asked Scott, twisting in his chair to look at the Science officer.

“We are currently in orbit of a class-I Gas Supergiant, a protostar that barely lacked the mass to become incandescent at this system’s inception, 7 billion years ago. It has upwards of 100 moons, most less than 100 kilometres across, and a standard thin ring system of carbonaceous debris, rendering them near-invisible.” T’Sav didn’t look directly at the Captain- her entire report was delivered into her console as her hands were working the station furiously.

“Any enemy vessels?”

T’Sav looked up, pointedly at Scott. “Two Dorran vessels in the Oort cloud, searching for us. They were plainly in the vicinity of this system before the probe escaped, hence the promptness of their response.”

“Do they know we’re here?” asked Traab, from the Tactical station. The burly Bolian had moved from his typical chair at the right of the Captain to the tiny station at the back of the bridge at the mention of enemy vessels. The console pointed slightly away from the main viewscreen, due the haphazard placement of bridge consoles, but Traab had to twist into the station to keep his head from impacting the roof, so he was still able to follow the flow of conversation on the bridge.

“Not likely, Commander. The Valley Forge is woefully underpowered in most respects, and the planet we are in orbit of is emitting enough background energy to keep us covered- until they find our warp trail.” T’Sav’s impassive voice seemed to bring a calming influence to the bridge.

Traab nodded. “That won’t take long- our Warp Core is inefficient enough tat we must have left a massive amount of energy behind.”

Scott looked concerned, but masked it before virtually anyone noticed. “What are our options? Commander Traab?”

“We would be outmatched by a group of angry natives with sticks. Combat is not a viable option. Our shield grid is fluctuating even with the radiation coming off this planet, a disruptor would annihilate them. My body can absorb as much energy from a good plate of pasta than this shield grid can.” The Bolian looked angry, but it was twinged with a helplessness- he knew too well the power of not being able to render any assistance to someone in need.

“Officer Melan?” Scott turned to the uncharacteristically quiet Bajoran Officer.

“Standard Ferengi Crisis Procedure Twenty-Seven.” The Bajoran nearly smiled, pleased his Ferengi upbringing might actually re of consequence.

“Would you care to translate for those of us not acquainted with the feelings of avarice?” shot T’Sav, looking up coolly from her monitor.

“When in doubt, hide. Commander, we’re losing systems by the minute- Lieutenant T’Sav was understating the problem with this planet’s trace radiation, it’s playing havoc with many of our systems. Transporters are getting their power directly from the reserve generators, so they’re unaffected, but everything else is showing a definite power drop. It seems to be wiping some of the data packets that control power distribution, so any minute-“ Melan was cut off in spectacular fashion by everything on the bridge fading to blackness, including the viewer. Emergency lights came on, and the Bajoran was wreathed in the glow from his panels, the only ones that had stayed on. “-we could lose power anywhere.” He paused. “Including the bridge.”

Scott swore. “Get the power back, Officer. And why did your panel stay on?”

“This console runs through main Ops, I don’t get power form the same source. When power goes out, it’s good to have a way to get it back on.” The Bajoran flicked a few buttons, switched one wire, and the lights came back on. “Always back up your data, ladies and gentlemen.” He smiled a smile that made Scott want to throw a brick at him.

“Recommend a course of action, Officer Melan.”

The Bajoran continued to grin. “Take the ship into the planet, where the radiation and clouds will cover us. I’ll organise my Ops teams to go around the ship and replace any switches or breakers that get wiped, and I’ll personally look after the overall system health. The ship won’t be in fantastic shape, but it will survive.”

“We will have 30 minutes from the time we descend until we are forced to resurface,” said T’Sav. “It is necessary that we wait until the last possible moment before initiating this course of action.”

Scott ran his fingers through his hair, considering. If he hid, he would be able to avoid a confrontation. If he fought, he would likely lose not only his ship, but probably his career, if not his life. He turned and schooled his expression into that of anger contained behind extreme discipline, and looked at Melan.

“You are now personally responsible for every piece of software on this vessel, Officer. If we hide, and are unable to surface, the failure of this operation is on your head. Go.” Melan, slightly alarmed, turned and left the bridge without further remark.

“Orders, sir?” asked Helm.

“We wait.”

*****
Lieutenant Junior Grade John Davits was furious. He was up to his elbows in the RFW-3 Distributor, the piece of equipment that allowed power flow to be regulated from the Warp Core. He had had to shut off all power to it, so the Core was running simply to stay warm, and was attempting to mend it. Ten minutes ago, it had gone offline for no reason, and he only barely managed to avoid a breach. With a crack squad of engineers trained on the latest equipment unable to do much more than hold tools on a ship a decade older than them, he had done much of the work himself, and was only now getting to diagnose the problem.

He pulled out a small black chip from the board, and looked carefully at it. He pulled out a small scanning microscope, and shrugged- there was nothing physically wrong with it. He took the chip and plugged it into his tricorder, and tried to open the files it contained- numbers that would indicate power flow and direction, and swore. The card was completely unreadable. A flash of sparks from another console on the other side of the Engineering room, one deck up, indicated to him the problem was not isolated.

He slapped his commbadge. “Engineering to Bridge, did someone forget to tell me something?”

The voice of Elliot Scott snapped back at him. “We’re in orbit of a gas giant, which is giving off radiation erasing some of the data on ship’s systems. Officer Melan and Operations are working on it. Bridge out.” The comm chirped, and Davits hit it again.

“Davits to Melan.”

“Melan here.”

“Want to send someone to fix Engineering? Your code is disappearing.”

“You’re on the list. Melan ou-“

“Do you like breathing, Officer Melan?” interjected Davits, becoming red in the face.

“Is that a threat, Johnny?”

“It’s a promise, crumple-nose. You don’t get down here, the warp core goes, and that’ll end your party with a bang, won’t it?”
There was a pause on the comm, Melan obviously mulling over the benefits of defying the engineer versus the risk of explosion. “I’ll send a squad.”

“Thanks, shitstain, Davits out.” The engineer clicked off his commbadge, and decided he needed a hammer. Hammers made everything better.

*****

“Sir, we’ve found something.” The bridge of the Dorran vessel was brightly illuminated, so nothing could hide in the shadows. The Dorran officer speaking caused several officers to look up, who had been working in complete silence. The Captain did not even look at the officer’s station, merely flicked a switch on his chair that displayed the station’s contents to the main viewscreen, a feature installed by the Dorran Illustrious and Powerful Command, or DIPCOM to prevent ‘treachery’.

“A Federation warp trail, leading towards a gas giant. They must be hiding there. Science, report.”

“We won’t know where the ship is, probably. We can use our sensors to detect where the dove to, and calculate their position roughly, but we will need to drop distance-time charges to damage the ship.”

“How will we know it is destroyed?”

“Federation ships use a device called a “Warp Core” to power their vessels, which reacts matter and antimatter. We will detect a massive explosion when it breaches, destroying the vessel.”

“Weapons, prepare charges. Engines, take us there. Glory to Dorra!”

*****

“Sir, they’re vectoring towards us!” The nervous Helm officer’s voice cracked as he made his report.

Scott nodded to the Ensign. “Dive.”

The Valley Forge descended into the clouds, cutting through the gas like a dangerous shark through the water. It parted the vapours, which swirled around it, and came to rest, hidden from all but those within it.

*****
“Fire.” The Dorran vessels launched their torpedoes at the point where they believed the Federation marauder to be. The Valley Forge rocked slightly as the charges missed their marks, and the Dorrans switched firing patterns and attempted again. The atmosphere of the planet was too thick to catch fire as a result of the detonations, but it did not stop the Dorran vessels from firing a wide spread, hoping to catch the ship off guard.

It was not so peaceful on the bridge of the Valley Forge, however, Klaxons blared, lights flickered on and off, and the ship rocked. The viewscreen displayed several explosions as they occurred, but it was the ones happening off screen that seemed to cause the most terror on the vessel.

“Tactical, report!”

“They’re using a predictable firing pattern, so I don’t think they can detect us. They know we’re hiding because of ionization in the atmosphere where we descended, but they can’t tell where. Shields here are at practical maximum, about 54% of designed maximum, but one shot will annihilate the grid. Even if they can’t detect the ship, they’ll spot the blast.” Traab looked concentrated, but his voice belied his stress.

“Possibility of fighters to strike with?”

“Launching fighters will give away our position, we’ll be eliminated, and the fighters will die without a capital ship to return to.” Traab shook his head. “We’re on our own.”

Scott brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Options, anyone?”

T’Sav nodded. “Distract them.”

“With what?” asked Scott, the pitch of his voice rising in stress.

“An explosion.”

Traab interjected. “No torpedoes, we have nothing to blow up. Maybe a shuttle, but that won’t-“

“That will not persuade them to abandon their pursuit,” said T’Sav, ending Traab’s objection. “We must detonate something that makes them believe we have been terminated.”

“We’re not self-destructing, Lieutenant,” called Scott, over the klaxons.

“Jettison the Warp Core into the path of one of their torpedoes, have it detonate it- Commander Traab said they are using a predictable pattern. They will believe they have destroyed us, and we will not be destroyed.” T’Sav looked impassive, as if not realising how condescending the end of her last statement sounded.

“We don’t have another Warp Core. We’ll be stuck,” said Helm, looking alarmed.

“We’ll be alive. We can climb out of here and into a safe orbit on impulse. They won’t be looking for us if they think we’re a cloud of hydrogen.” Scott mulled it over in his head. “Engineering, this is the bridge. You are to eject the Warp Core, and tractor it to the co-ordinates Commander Traab is sending you.” Scott nodded at Traab.

Davits erupted in laughter. “We don’t have an ejection system, that wasn’t invented until well after this hulk was built.”

“Transport it, then,” said Scott, over the rumbling of the bridge as the torpedoes grew nearer to their marks.

“That’ll short out half the ship!”

“That’s half less than a torpedo will. Do it, Lieutenant, that’s an order.”

“I object to this action, on the grounds that-“

“Noted! Do it!”

A second later, every console on the bridge went blank, and the sounds of explosion reached the ears, including the massive boom of escaping air on the flight deck. The ship rocked, the emergency lights all burnt out, and the ship was quiet.

T’Sav looked like a ghost wreathed in the dim light of the emergency lights behind Science, some of the only ones on. Her console began to flicker, and she read the reports quickly. She hoped it would be something pleasing.

*****

“Warp Core Breach detected, on a direct course with torpedo 4352 launched tube 3, Vessel 13-7, Time 36.9, 12, 009.” The tactical officer on the Dorran vessel looked impassive, as did all the bridge crew.

“Contact DIPCOM, alert them to our victory. Helm, take us away.”

The Dorran vessel, an inelegant box with several spikes protruding from the back making it appear much like a geode, stretched through space and disappeared, leaving even light behind in its wake.

*****

“Science, report,” said Scott, picking himself up from the floor. His chair had come loose, as had the Tactical station, which was lying on the ground infront of the front wall, having ripped out all the carpeting and circuitry, leaving jagged lines in the floor. Traab lay beneath the console, but as Scott watched, he raised himself and threw the twisted thing to the floor. His arm was bleeding heavily, and he had at least six inches of a metal beam protruding from his left leg. He began walking across the bridge, and opened up the First Aid Kit, sitting behind the Comm station.

“They’re moving off, sir.” T’Sav showed no outward signs of relief, but felt as if a squeezing hand had been removed from her chest.

Scott nodded, and noticed his arm was broken in at least two places. He winced at the pain, and turned to the Helm. “Take us to a safe orbit. I’ll be in Sickbay. All stations are to work on getting up to operational readiness, staff meeting in two hours, my Ready Room.” The Commander limped to the turbolift, joined by his First Officer. They began to descend.

“You just saved 200 lives, sir,” said Traab. “That would qualify as redemption from your earlier mistakes in my books.”

“Perhaps, Commander, I’ll be able to save a lot more by the time this mission is over.” Scott turned away, and fought to control his shaking legs, giving away the enormous relief he felt at simply being alive. He would not have traded that feeling for the fastest ship in Starfleet.

A/N: Yes, they’ve survived, but they have a mission to carry out, and a ship with no warp core! How will they survive? Find out in Chapter 8, coming whenever I finish writing it. Please review!

[Crazedwraith]

Very, very nice. I like the character interactions.