UFP getting new shiptypes?
Mon Calamari class?
Hellicon class?
Other?
Rescue of the Voyager?
Don't think that Q is happy.
Nor the UFP her Time Police
Dart vs Picard with the Vulcan mind weapon.
The Rift
Moderator: LadyTevar
Part Three: Past Frontiers
Chapter Forty Four
Darkness.
For as long as she could remember, darkness had frightened her, kept her up at night with visions of demons and stalkers creeping in the black, just beyond sight. But now…
Now, darkness was a welcome reprieve. It hid the horror, the horror that had overwhelmed her every logical thought. Without light, she could not see the terror all around, and what it had wrought. In the light, she could see the bodies, the desecrated and defiled remains of the creatures that had once been friends and collogues. Thinking, breathing beings, now grotesque refuse, mockeries of their former selves.
One after another, they had flashed by, propped against bulkheads and sprawled out across the blood-stained floor, each one starring up at her listlessly as she ran past. It was an endless parade of horror, broken only by brief flickers of relief, a few seconds of darkness as the illumination above faded. But then she would cross into a new place, and the scene would return, cast in fresh, brutal light. And all the while, those terrible sounds, that whine and scrabble, increased and flowed over her senses, inescapable no matter how fast she fled from them.
And still, she ran. To stop, and be lost in the horror, would mean only death; she knew that, and so did those who fled with her, each of them mere shadow, overwhelmed by a myriad of dark emotions and fears. Still, they were alive, beacons in the growing chaos, and none would part with any other without being compelled to do so by death itself.
But that time came. The party of shadows could not outrun the terror all around, and its agents soon came to rein them in. There were dozens, and more, that fell upon them, rending flesh with bloody claws and gnashing teeth. Some fought back, filling the air with beams of energy and the desperate chorus of battle, but to little avail; they all fell. All save her.
Even as the demon beasts forged forward to taste her blood, an unknown hand found her and cast her into a pit of emptiness, sealing her from the slaughter with the close of a thick door. All she could do was shiver in the flickering, empty light, and listen as the last of the shadows were engulfed by sinew and terrible consciousness. Then they sought to devour her as well, but the final act of her nameless savior had granted her respite, and at long last they left, in search of other prey. She did not know how long she shivered, cold and alone, listening to the sounds of a weary, dying ship all around her, more time than a mind could easily bear. When, at last, the door was pried open and she saw a twisted visage in the doorway, she knew her turn had come, and the expected blackness had followed soon after.
But… why can I still feel? Still think? How can I still be alive?
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At long last, the woman opened her eyes to an alien ship, in unknown company. Her vision was bleary, but she could make out the soft outline of a gently-curved, whitish ceiling above her, illuminated by the warm glow of a small light fixture, and felt oddly fresh and clean, lying on a soft mattress with a light blanket over her. Slowly, tentatively, she rose from a soft head rest to a sitting position, lifting her right hand to her eyes to clear them and gain her bearings. As the objects around her solidified, it became very clear that this was not a core junction on the Cornwall, the ship that had nearly engulfed her so.
“Are you alright?”
The soft, compassionate voice guided her attention to one side of the small room, where a young man clad in black sat on a low couch, watching her quietly. He was lean and cleanly handsome, and though he was clearly still in his late teens, there were lines under his brown eyes that testified to unusual experience and hardship.
She glanced down at her own white gowned body, and found that the scrapes and cuts that had been all over her arms and hands when she had last been conscious were all but gone.
“I’m…fine?” she said in bewilderment. “What happened? Where am I?”
The young man rose slowly, smiling. “You are in a recovery room onboard the Alliance star cruiser Republica. I am Jacen Solo, a… passenger myself. From what I understand, some of my friends and the crew located you in the wreck of a starship, and brought you here for recovery. You’ve been unconscious ever since, more than two days I think.”
She starred at him in puzzlement. “Alliance? Is that part of the Federation? I’ve never heard of it.”
“No, I’m afraid not. But there are a few from the Federation here, and I am sure they are quite happy to see that you recovered so well.”
What was going on? Federation personnel on this vessel, of design she had never seen before? Certainly, the small recovery room was a poor sampling, but its curves were strange, almost organic; far different from any Human or Klingon design, especially on a warship.
Organic…
Her heart skipped a beat. “What about those creatures? The Zerg? How did I escape them? Was anyone else rescued?”
Jacen frowned uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, no. The boarding team only found you alive, and they were forced to leave soon after. Apparently, the beings that attacked you were still lying in wait in the ship’s depths. They barely made it out alive.”
Laura looked away and clenched the blanket that lay on her lap with white knuckles. She was the only one. All the others, Pell, Harper, Morris, they were all gone. It wasn’t fair; why was she the only one? They couldn’t all be gone, not after all that had happened…
As tears began to wind down from green eyes onto her cheeks, a warm weight fell softly onto her shoulders. Still adrift in waves of regret and confusion, she glanced upwards, and saw that Jacen was standing over her now, hands resting on her comfortingly. Through her sorrow, the woman felt a spring of calm and comfort rise up from deep within her and wash away the ache of empty guilt and quickly-resurfacing terror. He smiled, and weakly, she smiled back. The woman couldn’t be sure what it was about the thin, calm man that comforted her so, but just looking into his eyes was enough to set her mind free of dark and confused memories, for the moment at least.
“Laura. I’m Laura.”
And with that, she fell back onto the head rest, enrobed in dreamless sleep.
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“At last report, sir, the crew sustained fourteen casualties, mostly minor injuries and broken bones; there was a case of severe plasma shock from one of the gunnery officers in port turbolaser section, but the medical staff reports Lieutenant Groug as being in stable condition. There were no fatalities.”
“Damage?”
“More severe, sir. External scarring compromised the hull on decks nine through eleven during transit, exposing several of the engineering reserve duty areas to vacuum. We’ve got two teams working on repairing the breach, but supplies are limited. There was also extensive damage to the turbolaser and anti-fighter batteries all over the port sector; engineering thinks they might be able to salvage a few of them, but the rest will need to be replaced entirely.”
“How many weapons do I actually have left?”
“Two medium turbolasers, two light, one of the forward ion cannons, and eleven anti-fighter turrets. Hessun thinks his teams might be able to scrape together another turbolaser battery, but he’s doubtful. At the moment, though, the tactical operations units are more occupied with getting the targeting arrays back online; they went down with the rest of the sensor array, and have been more difficult to get back up again. Most of the damage from the core surge wound up in their control nexus.”
“The hyperdrive seems to have been undamaged, but the cold-start we initiated with the hypermatter reactor has reduced the amount of power that can be safely pumped into the deflectors and sublights. You’ve got fifty percent on both right now, and Hessun hopes he can get them up to seventy in a few hours.”
Captain Ryceed bit her lip to prevent a weary sigh from emanating forth, and took the exceedingly long report Commander Gavplek was holding out to her. “Alright. See what you can do about getting those deflectors back up more quickly, and then get some rest; I’ll probably need you again soon, very soon more than likely. Put Crenly on watch, and have her report to me directly if any activity, any activity at all, is detected in our vicinity, especially from that wormhole.”
Gavplek saluted, somewhat less crisply than usual, and walked off to his duties, leaving Ryceed in the recessed alcove of the bridge that served as her field briefing office. She feigned scanning the report, and then tossed the bulky pad aside, turning her attention to the glimmering projection that watched her pensively.
“Was it really necessary for you to do this much damage to my ship, Cortana?” the captain asked wearily. “You did so well last time.”
The projection frowned. “I apologize, captain. Commander Data still didn’t have the entry procedure fully initialized when we managed to escape, and I decided that I might try and disrupt the anomaly was we passed through to impede any pursuers. The energy feedback increased beyond what I had anticipated when I did so, and an unavoidable amount of damage was incurred. As I already explained…”
“What do you mean, disrupt the anomaly?”
Councilor Organa’s question was clearly pointed, and no one in earshot missed her meaning; with sensors down and the ship barely functional, they were all trapped in unknown territory, and if the wormhole were to fall apart, they would remain so for a very long time.
Cortana shook her head. “No… well, I didn’t mean disrupt entirely. The pathway still remains; all I did was scramble the ambient quardinants of the directional strands between the wormhole openings, covering our tracks so to speak. At least… I hope that’s what I did.”
Ryceed cupped her forehead in one hand. “What do you mean, you hope that’s what you did?”
Near the small room’s entrance, where he stood alongside Geordi, Picard, and Riker, Lt. Commander Data took a small step forward. “Captain, I believe that Cortana meant to indicate that the anomaly and it’s method of operation are almost completely unknown. The information gathered from the last two passages will provide a more extensive insight into the wormhole’s workings, but analysis will take time. It is prudent to consider all possible repercussions until more definitive data is available.”
Ryceed glanced from one to the other, and then turned away towards a far wall, shaking her head and mumbling something about ‘droids’. “Alright, alright, never mind. The Republica did survive the passage at least, which I suppose is more than could be said if we had stuck around that battleground much longer.” The woman turned back to the shimmering AI, who was at the moment no more than half a meter high, sprouting from a comm panel on the alcove’s main tactical display. “I suppose we do owe that to you. That was quite a bluff you pulled off.”
Cortana raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”
Ryceed looked at the image a moment longer, smirked slightly, and then turned her attention back to a display on the wall, which showed local space, or what little of it the Republica could make out with its damaged sensor arrays; mercifully vacant and peaceful. For a long moment, all of those assembled around her watched the stars blink lazily on the 2D display, and reflected on what they had all been through in only last few hours, how narrowly they had avoided destruction.
“I don’t think anyone will object if I call a recess to this little conference,” Ryceed said at last. “Frankly, I wouldn’t mind some R&R myself. I’ll have someone alert you all if the situation escalates again. Councilor Organa?”
The stately woman uncrossed her arms and nodded in agreement, then turned to Picard. “Well, Captain, this has been a most… interesting day. I hope to see you and your men again soon, hopefully in light of better news.”
“As do I, Council… Leia. With any luck, we’re already on the Federation’s doorstep, and we don’t even know it.”
The small party moved out together onto the main section of the bridge and made for the turbolift banks, conversing quietly and grumbling about sore feet. Suddenly, Picard stopped and turned to Ryceed, face once again furrowed with concern. “Captain, has there been any news of the saboteur? Has the major made any progress?”
Ryceed, too tired to retain any air of composure much longer, blew out a long sigh. “Yes, it had almost slipped my mind. Flitch managed to commandeer a shuttle and escape during the confusion before we escaped the firefight, injuring several of my marines in the process.”
Riker, and the others, halted as well, looking back in surprise. “How did he manage that?” the Commander asked. “From what I’ve seen of this ship and her crew, I wouldn’t think anyone could escape your security forces for long, especially not with someone like Truul leading them. Did he have help?”
Ryceed shook her head. “The details were vague, but I believe there was mention of a hostage.”
“A hostage?”
“I’m ‘fraid so, commander.”
Unannounced from one of the newly-arrived lifts emerged a disgruntled-looking Major Truul, sporting several hastily-applied bandages on his left cheek, beneath which a patchwork of small burns and shrapnel pockmarks were plainly visible. With him was an equally gruff Corellian, who stalked onto the bridge with an oddly aloof air.
“Master Solo,” See-Threepio, who had been attempting to attract as little attention as possible, said, emerging from behind his mistress.
“Han.” Leia rushed to his side, but the weary look in his eyes, fresher than it had been for days, stopped her before she could embrace him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Truul answered in his stead. “We lost the Imperial, and he took one of yours with ‘m, captain. Too lucky, too fast.”
Picard looked at the officer askance. “One of mine?”
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The depths of stellar space are not commonly known for activity and variety, vast spheres of it rarely playing host to anything more than a few scattered atoms of hydrogen or fragments of wayward rock. A being might float forever through the blackness and never encounter a single other semblance of physicality; such is the nature of a void.
However, not all of space is similarly empty. One patch in particular, deep within a system of many names, held more than its fair share of matter. Fragments of metal and ceramic composite, circuitry and frozen coolant, some the size of a pebble, others as large as asteroids, drifted and coalesced with one another aimlessly, a silent dance for the dead; this place was a tomb. Amidst the cosmic detritus other bodies tumbled as well, countless corpses of various sizes and complexions, burned and frozen all.
And yet, not all that populated the massive graveyard was dead. Dozens of forms, dwarfed by even some of the smaller sheets of blasted metal, flitted through the haze of debris, latching onto the largest of the hulks, and then moving on again. One of these shapes, stubby and not unlike a giant beetle, passed between two colossal amalgamations of perforated metal, its purplish hull blending well against the larger bodies as it agilely avoided a charred lump of corroded magnetic coils that drifted in the small ship’s path.
Bearing no indication of its method of propulsion save for a faint blue glimmer that emanated from a pair of recessed, rear nodes, the vessel emerged from a particularly dense cloud of wreckage, and angled away from the main body of the waste, its stubby prow now direct towards a smaller collection of debris off from the main drift.
Diving through a cloud of drifting shrapnel, the ship began to slow, and an intense beam of white light shot from under its nose. The glowing cylinder swept across shape after darkened shape, illuminating bare metal ribs, smashed disks of machinery once meters wide, and even a few bodies, lacerated and seared beyond all recognition. However, the vessel did not pause to investigate any of the remnants of battle, instead moving further in, searching for something in the haze. Rounding a huge slab of battle armor, which sported a puncture nearly wide enough for it to traverse through, the stubby flyer, gleaming softly in the light reflected off the plating around it, turned its attention to a fragment of wreckage, surprisingly intact compared to the debris around it.
However, its relatively pristine condition was not the only distinction that attracted the probing ship; its angled and boxy form was in stark contrast to the other waste in the surrounding area, which was predominately smooth and sculpted, if badly deformed by the ravages of battle. The brilliant beam swung onto the derelict and proceeded to illuminate its every angle in turn; oddly narrow external hatches, weapons apertures of exotic design, a wide, open viewport that allowed little light to pass visibly through its tinted surface.
After its survey was finished, the probing ship pushed forward without hesitation and came close alongside the supposed wreck, orienting its curved belly to be parallel with the vessel’s aft compartment. On a trio of mounts arrayed around its flat keel, which usually sported an equal number of large weapons systems, a grid of gently-glowing devices hummed to life, seizing the hulk with invisible tendrils of magnetic energy. The two metal forms hugged still closer together, and began to spin slowly through space in concert, inseparably bound.
Directly in at the center of the three projectors, a thick plate drew back, revealing the vessel’s own entry hatch. From its circular perimeter a veil of coruscating energy pierced the vacuum and locked onto the other ship’s dull white hull, then surged with electrical energy. The docking hatch, caught in the field, lit with overwhelming energy, and then blasted inward, muffled noise indicating that there was still atmosphere within.
With a loud thump, a figure tumbled from the glowing field and landed on a slightly down-slanted deck plate that lined the interior of the derelict. Waving his lanky arms to steady himself, the being began to fumble hurriedly for something hooked onto its small waist. Before it could remove the object, however, another, similar figure tumbled from the connecting beam, directly on top of the first. Squirming and squealing, the two fell to the floor and rolled across the small chamber into a bulkhead wall, their stubby limbs intertwined.
“Off!” one of them managed, smacking the other with balled fists until he managed to roll away and scramble to his feet. The other creature followed suit, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall for support as he righted himself.
“Do you always have to stand right there?” it muttered, fumbling in the dark for a similar object clipped to the bulky outfit was wearing.
“Quit yapping. It’s your fault for not waiting longer.” The figure that had arrived first at last managed to locate the thing he was looking for, and ignited it. A bluish light erupted from the creatures hand and threw the pair into shadowy sight; each was short, perhaps five feet tall, and stocky, their large chests and bone-spurred forelimbs an odd contrast too small waists. Above their scaly blue skin each wore an armored orange vest, with a large triangular tank sprouting from the back; connected to this container were several cords that ran over the armor and into bulky mouthpieces that obscured the creature’s rounded and hairless faces. Between this mask and the metal skull cap that protected their heads, a pair of beady black eyes scanned the shadows and each other.
The second creature jabbed his right hand, in which he held a small, circular weapon with a pair of luminescent green nubs on the business end, towards the hole where the airlock had once been. “It’s not my fault. He pushed me in!” The speaker’s dialect was high-pitched and plaintive, more fragmented and brief than language it spoke usually allowed for.
The other grumbled something unintelligible under his mask, either about his comrade or a crewer on the waiting ship, or perhaps just the world in general. “Shut up Migaw, let’s just finish this quick.”
Though the other grumbled in response, there was no further argument, and the pair both began to scan the interior of the derelict, each holding a light source and one of the oddly-shaped weapons. The gravity generator onboard was malfunctioning, making traversing the deck like climbing up and down a slope, but the ship’s compartments were small and few, and it didn’t take long for the searchers to inspect every section and computer consol.
Laying down his light emitter, the alien named Migaw removed a wall panel from one wall with his burly, four-fingered hands. After making a cursory inspection of the metallic cables and boxy circuit regulators within, he turned to his comrade, who was picking at the shattered remains of a control panel at the bow of the ship.
“This isn’t one of ours, Cakap. I’ve never seen thingies like the thingies in here before.”
The other made a high, coughing noise that might have been a laugh. “You think, genius? The look of this place should have been enough of a clue, even for you.” He paced past the one looking at the wall panel and began to scan the narrow, spartan hallway beyond them. “The Prophets would never let one of their holy vessels look this ugly.” He paused, and looked back at the other searcher. “Of course, they did let you take assignment in the armada. I guess looks aren’t everything.”
Casting the wall panel aside, the Migaw scooped up his light and waddled after the other, again grumbling under his breath.
The hallway was barely wide enough to accommodate them, but it was mercifully short, with only two more doors branching off of it. The first they found locked, which, after a minute of aimless mashing and subsequent destruction of the keypad beside it, they figured was best left sealed. The second was much more responsive, and opened automatically, but beyond it lay only a darkened chamber full of unknowable machinery and displays that shown with symbols neither knew how to decipher.
“Looks like no one was on it at all,” Cakap offered. “Let’s go, if they want anyone to take a closer look, they can get another crew. We’ve been out here forever.”
The two turned to leave, but the second searcher spotted something out of the corner of his beady eye, almost invisible in the darkness. “What’s this?”
He crouched onto his stocky haunches and cast his light on the thing he had seen, a spot on the wall near the door they had just exited. There, several splotches of reddish black adorned the otherwise clean surface. Cakap crouched down next to his comrade, and took a look for himself. After a moment, he shot a sideways glance at the other, the gesture requiring him turn his entire head. “How do you see these things? It’s not natural.”
Migaw ignored him, and continued poking at the spot with a leathery finger. “It looks like blood, but not our blood. It’s red, I think.”
“Red blood?”
Neither of them had ever seen any species that did not belong to the Holy Covenant, the body to which every member of their race belonged, and those of many others, but he had heard tales of others; one in particular, the Humans. They were abominations, sickly pale, red-blooded creatures, godless and weak, but in groups, they were brutal and destructive, taking special care to exterminate every being that believed in the Prophets and followed their wisdom. No wonder they were marked for annihilation. But then there were other, more secret tales of Humans that were not so weak, that could kill entire armies with just a stare…
The once abrasive Cakap began to shiver with fear, and backed away from the spot, taking in the hard lines of the derelict with growing agitation. This ship was definitely not of the Covenant, and he had a feeling he knew who it did belong to.
“What’s wrong?” Migaw asked, twisting his body ungracefully to look up at him.
“We must go now. Everything’s done here.” Cakap grabbed the tank on his comrade’s back and yanked him roughly to his flat feet. The other made to complain again, but suddenly a clanking, thudding sound met their ear nodules, seemingly come from all around. The two peered through the gloom for its source, but saw only the unnaturally straight lines of the craft’s interior.
“What’s…”
Cakap, grasp still tight on his companion’s armor, made for the entry hatch without another word, trying not to look into the shadows that loomed everywhere on the ship, each more foreboding by the last. With strength that belied his stature, he shoved Migaw into the glowing field that connected the two ships, and then jumped in after him, weapon feverishly clenched in his free fist. An invisible force clamped onto the pair and shot them up through the immaterial tube, through the void to safety.
Finding himself sprawled on a familiar, faintly purplish landing pad, the searcher who had taken charge scrambled to his clubby feet and rushed back to the disk in the floor that still was connected to the derelict beyond. Locating the blue projection on a nearby wall that controlled the exit port, he smacked a few shimmering command keys, and an iris began to close over the opening, triggering the energy bridge to being to fade. When the breach finally sealed with a hiss, the creature slumped against a smoothly-curved bulkhead and sucked a great, relieved gulp of cool atmosphere from the mask on his face.
After taking a moment to acclimate himself to the faint, tinted light coming from the low, vaulted ceiling, Cakap glanced around the vessel’s main compartment with satisfaction. It was arrow-shaped, with the tip ending at the now-sealed departure lift. To either side were recessed compartments, usually stacked with war material, and between them was a large main area, where soldiers might assemble before battle. But now, it was empty, recovery missions rarely required many troops, and now there was just a crew of four; he and his comrade, along with a pilot and a system’s operator, who he assumed were still up at the front of the vessel, beyond the assembly area.
Finally shedding the fear that had overtaken him on the derelict, he moved back to Migaw, who still stood where he had landed. “I might have saved you life back there; when we get back, you owe me half your food ration.”
The comment was in jest of course, as he usually managed take most of the Migaw’s provisions covertly anyways, but he was still surprised when the comment garnered no response. “What’s wrong with you?”
Shakily, the other raised his right hand and pointed into the darkened assembly area, towards the back wall where the door to the cockpit was set. At first, there was nothing in evidence hidden between the blue shimmer of the room’s shelled walls, but as the two approached, three prone forms became apparent.
Though a sense of agitation began to seep back into his mind, Cakap moved slowly closer, until he could make out the bodies more clearly. The first, sprawled out in the middle of the chamber, was instantly recognizable; it was a lanky, beak-mouthed creature of the Kig-Yar species, not much taller than either of the companions, with a feather-like crest sticking out of its otherwise smooth skin, the vessel’s operation’s controller. It’s huge, pink eyes were lolling open lazily, but the slow heaving of its narrow chest indicated it was still breathing.
Beyond it, closer to the door, lay a much larger being, a meter and a half tall, covered in crimson armor and a dark body suit; one of the Sangheili, and pilot of the ship. Upon realizing this, Migaw dropped his weapon, fingers numbing with confusion.
Before the implications of the alien’s prone state could fully sink in, though, the pair’s attention was attracted to the last of the group, propped up against the far wall. Even in the dark, they could clearly see he was different than the others, smaller than the pilot but larger than the Kig-Yar, dressed not in armor but rather some kind of fabric. Its skin was pale and smooth, and on its head was a thick growth of hair; a creature quite unlike anything either had ever seen before.
Though his mind was slow and perpetually clouded, a product of millennia of genetic engineering, Cakap could still manage to make some connections, and his mind latched onto the blood they had found minutes before, Human blood. Could this creature…
He began to back away from his scene, desperately clawing for his weapon before remembering he had left it on the landing pad. His comrade turned back towards him, visibly pained even through his large mask.
“Wha… what is going on?”
With a faint hum, the door at the end of the assembly area slid open, and there, cast into shadow by the brighter lighting of the cockpit, stood a massive figure, larger even than the immobile Sangheili at his feet. With a clank, it stepped forward into the chamber, and raised a huge hand towards them.
Simultaneously, the pair of searchers fell back onto their atmosphere tanks, yelping mindlessly in fear. Wriggling and struggling, Cakap managed to heave himself onto his side and began to crawl away, leaving his comrade to roll on the floor, barking in desperation.
The figure shook its shadowed head in exasperation. “Unggoy.”
And with that, it lunged forward, fist raised high.
Chapter Forty Four
Darkness.
For as long as she could remember, darkness had frightened her, kept her up at night with visions of demons and stalkers creeping in the black, just beyond sight. But now…
Now, darkness was a welcome reprieve. It hid the horror, the horror that had overwhelmed her every logical thought. Without light, she could not see the terror all around, and what it had wrought. In the light, she could see the bodies, the desecrated and defiled remains of the creatures that had once been friends and collogues. Thinking, breathing beings, now grotesque refuse, mockeries of their former selves.
One after another, they had flashed by, propped against bulkheads and sprawled out across the blood-stained floor, each one starring up at her listlessly as she ran past. It was an endless parade of horror, broken only by brief flickers of relief, a few seconds of darkness as the illumination above faded. But then she would cross into a new place, and the scene would return, cast in fresh, brutal light. And all the while, those terrible sounds, that whine and scrabble, increased and flowed over her senses, inescapable no matter how fast she fled from them.
And still, she ran. To stop, and be lost in the horror, would mean only death; she knew that, and so did those who fled with her, each of them mere shadow, overwhelmed by a myriad of dark emotions and fears. Still, they were alive, beacons in the growing chaos, and none would part with any other without being compelled to do so by death itself.
But that time came. The party of shadows could not outrun the terror all around, and its agents soon came to rein them in. There were dozens, and more, that fell upon them, rending flesh with bloody claws and gnashing teeth. Some fought back, filling the air with beams of energy and the desperate chorus of battle, but to little avail; they all fell. All save her.
Even as the demon beasts forged forward to taste her blood, an unknown hand found her and cast her into a pit of emptiness, sealing her from the slaughter with the close of a thick door. All she could do was shiver in the flickering, empty light, and listen as the last of the shadows were engulfed by sinew and terrible consciousness. Then they sought to devour her as well, but the final act of her nameless savior had granted her respite, and at long last they left, in search of other prey. She did not know how long she shivered, cold and alone, listening to the sounds of a weary, dying ship all around her, more time than a mind could easily bear. When, at last, the door was pried open and she saw a twisted visage in the doorway, she knew her turn had come, and the expected blackness had followed soon after.
But… why can I still feel? Still think? How can I still be alive?
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At long last, the woman opened her eyes to an alien ship, in unknown company. Her vision was bleary, but she could make out the soft outline of a gently-curved, whitish ceiling above her, illuminated by the warm glow of a small light fixture, and felt oddly fresh and clean, lying on a soft mattress with a light blanket over her. Slowly, tentatively, she rose from a soft head rest to a sitting position, lifting her right hand to her eyes to clear them and gain her bearings. As the objects around her solidified, it became very clear that this was not a core junction on the Cornwall, the ship that had nearly engulfed her so.
“Are you alright?”
The soft, compassionate voice guided her attention to one side of the small room, where a young man clad in black sat on a low couch, watching her quietly. He was lean and cleanly handsome, and though he was clearly still in his late teens, there were lines under his brown eyes that testified to unusual experience and hardship.
She glanced down at her own white gowned body, and found that the scrapes and cuts that had been all over her arms and hands when she had last been conscious were all but gone.
“I’m…fine?” she said in bewilderment. “What happened? Where am I?”
The young man rose slowly, smiling. “You are in a recovery room onboard the Alliance star cruiser Republica. I am Jacen Solo, a… passenger myself. From what I understand, some of my friends and the crew located you in the wreck of a starship, and brought you here for recovery. You’ve been unconscious ever since, more than two days I think.”
She starred at him in puzzlement. “Alliance? Is that part of the Federation? I’ve never heard of it.”
“No, I’m afraid not. But there are a few from the Federation here, and I am sure they are quite happy to see that you recovered so well.”
What was going on? Federation personnel on this vessel, of design she had never seen before? Certainly, the small recovery room was a poor sampling, but its curves were strange, almost organic; far different from any Human or Klingon design, especially on a warship.
Organic…
Her heart skipped a beat. “What about those creatures? The Zerg? How did I escape them? Was anyone else rescued?”
Jacen frowned uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, no. The boarding team only found you alive, and they were forced to leave soon after. Apparently, the beings that attacked you were still lying in wait in the ship’s depths. They barely made it out alive.”
Laura looked away and clenched the blanket that lay on her lap with white knuckles. She was the only one. All the others, Pell, Harper, Morris, they were all gone. It wasn’t fair; why was she the only one? They couldn’t all be gone, not after all that had happened…
As tears began to wind down from green eyes onto her cheeks, a warm weight fell softly onto her shoulders. Still adrift in waves of regret and confusion, she glanced upwards, and saw that Jacen was standing over her now, hands resting on her comfortingly. Through her sorrow, the woman felt a spring of calm and comfort rise up from deep within her and wash away the ache of empty guilt and quickly-resurfacing terror. He smiled, and weakly, she smiled back. The woman couldn’t be sure what it was about the thin, calm man that comforted her so, but just looking into his eyes was enough to set her mind free of dark and confused memories, for the moment at least.
“Laura. I’m Laura.”
And with that, she fell back onto the head rest, enrobed in dreamless sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“At last report, sir, the crew sustained fourteen casualties, mostly minor injuries and broken bones; there was a case of severe plasma shock from one of the gunnery officers in port turbolaser section, but the medical staff reports Lieutenant Groug as being in stable condition. There were no fatalities.”
“Damage?”
“More severe, sir. External scarring compromised the hull on decks nine through eleven during transit, exposing several of the engineering reserve duty areas to vacuum. We’ve got two teams working on repairing the breach, but supplies are limited. There was also extensive damage to the turbolaser and anti-fighter batteries all over the port sector; engineering thinks they might be able to salvage a few of them, but the rest will need to be replaced entirely.”
“How many weapons do I actually have left?”
“Two medium turbolasers, two light, one of the forward ion cannons, and eleven anti-fighter turrets. Hessun thinks his teams might be able to scrape together another turbolaser battery, but he’s doubtful. At the moment, though, the tactical operations units are more occupied with getting the targeting arrays back online; they went down with the rest of the sensor array, and have been more difficult to get back up again. Most of the damage from the core surge wound up in their control nexus.”
“The hyperdrive seems to have been undamaged, but the cold-start we initiated with the hypermatter reactor has reduced the amount of power that can be safely pumped into the deflectors and sublights. You’ve got fifty percent on both right now, and Hessun hopes he can get them up to seventy in a few hours.”
Captain Ryceed bit her lip to prevent a weary sigh from emanating forth, and took the exceedingly long report Commander Gavplek was holding out to her. “Alright. See what you can do about getting those deflectors back up more quickly, and then get some rest; I’ll probably need you again soon, very soon more than likely. Put Crenly on watch, and have her report to me directly if any activity, any activity at all, is detected in our vicinity, especially from that wormhole.”
Gavplek saluted, somewhat less crisply than usual, and walked off to his duties, leaving Ryceed in the recessed alcove of the bridge that served as her field briefing office. She feigned scanning the report, and then tossed the bulky pad aside, turning her attention to the glimmering projection that watched her pensively.
“Was it really necessary for you to do this much damage to my ship, Cortana?” the captain asked wearily. “You did so well last time.”
The projection frowned. “I apologize, captain. Commander Data still didn’t have the entry procedure fully initialized when we managed to escape, and I decided that I might try and disrupt the anomaly was we passed through to impede any pursuers. The energy feedback increased beyond what I had anticipated when I did so, and an unavoidable amount of damage was incurred. As I already explained…”
“What do you mean, disrupt the anomaly?”
Councilor Organa’s question was clearly pointed, and no one in earshot missed her meaning; with sensors down and the ship barely functional, they were all trapped in unknown territory, and if the wormhole were to fall apart, they would remain so for a very long time.
Cortana shook her head. “No… well, I didn’t mean disrupt entirely. The pathway still remains; all I did was scramble the ambient quardinants of the directional strands between the wormhole openings, covering our tracks so to speak. At least… I hope that’s what I did.”
Ryceed cupped her forehead in one hand. “What do you mean, you hope that’s what you did?”
Near the small room’s entrance, where he stood alongside Geordi, Picard, and Riker, Lt. Commander Data took a small step forward. “Captain, I believe that Cortana meant to indicate that the anomaly and it’s method of operation are almost completely unknown. The information gathered from the last two passages will provide a more extensive insight into the wormhole’s workings, but analysis will take time. It is prudent to consider all possible repercussions until more definitive data is available.”
Ryceed glanced from one to the other, and then turned away towards a far wall, shaking her head and mumbling something about ‘droids’. “Alright, alright, never mind. The Republica did survive the passage at least, which I suppose is more than could be said if we had stuck around that battleground much longer.” The woman turned back to the shimmering AI, who was at the moment no more than half a meter high, sprouting from a comm panel on the alcove’s main tactical display. “I suppose we do owe that to you. That was quite a bluff you pulled off.”
Cortana raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”
Ryceed looked at the image a moment longer, smirked slightly, and then turned her attention back to a display on the wall, which showed local space, or what little of it the Republica could make out with its damaged sensor arrays; mercifully vacant and peaceful. For a long moment, all of those assembled around her watched the stars blink lazily on the 2D display, and reflected on what they had all been through in only last few hours, how narrowly they had avoided destruction.
“I don’t think anyone will object if I call a recess to this little conference,” Ryceed said at last. “Frankly, I wouldn’t mind some R&R myself. I’ll have someone alert you all if the situation escalates again. Councilor Organa?”
The stately woman uncrossed her arms and nodded in agreement, then turned to Picard. “Well, Captain, this has been a most… interesting day. I hope to see you and your men again soon, hopefully in light of better news.”
“As do I, Council… Leia. With any luck, we’re already on the Federation’s doorstep, and we don’t even know it.”
The small party moved out together onto the main section of the bridge and made for the turbolift banks, conversing quietly and grumbling about sore feet. Suddenly, Picard stopped and turned to Ryceed, face once again furrowed with concern. “Captain, has there been any news of the saboteur? Has the major made any progress?”
Ryceed, too tired to retain any air of composure much longer, blew out a long sigh. “Yes, it had almost slipped my mind. Flitch managed to commandeer a shuttle and escape during the confusion before we escaped the firefight, injuring several of my marines in the process.”
Riker, and the others, halted as well, looking back in surprise. “How did he manage that?” the Commander asked. “From what I’ve seen of this ship and her crew, I wouldn’t think anyone could escape your security forces for long, especially not with someone like Truul leading them. Did he have help?”
Ryceed shook her head. “The details were vague, but I believe there was mention of a hostage.”
“A hostage?”
“I’m ‘fraid so, commander.”
Unannounced from one of the newly-arrived lifts emerged a disgruntled-looking Major Truul, sporting several hastily-applied bandages on his left cheek, beneath which a patchwork of small burns and shrapnel pockmarks were plainly visible. With him was an equally gruff Corellian, who stalked onto the bridge with an oddly aloof air.
“Master Solo,” See-Threepio, who had been attempting to attract as little attention as possible, said, emerging from behind his mistress.
“Han.” Leia rushed to his side, but the weary look in his eyes, fresher than it had been for days, stopped her before she could embrace him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Truul answered in his stead. “We lost the Imperial, and he took one of yours with ‘m, captain. Too lucky, too fast.”
Picard looked at the officer askance. “One of mine?”
-------------------------------------------------------
The depths of stellar space are not commonly known for activity and variety, vast spheres of it rarely playing host to anything more than a few scattered atoms of hydrogen or fragments of wayward rock. A being might float forever through the blackness and never encounter a single other semblance of physicality; such is the nature of a void.
However, not all of space is similarly empty. One patch in particular, deep within a system of many names, held more than its fair share of matter. Fragments of metal and ceramic composite, circuitry and frozen coolant, some the size of a pebble, others as large as asteroids, drifted and coalesced with one another aimlessly, a silent dance for the dead; this place was a tomb. Amidst the cosmic detritus other bodies tumbled as well, countless corpses of various sizes and complexions, burned and frozen all.
And yet, not all that populated the massive graveyard was dead. Dozens of forms, dwarfed by even some of the smaller sheets of blasted metal, flitted through the haze of debris, latching onto the largest of the hulks, and then moving on again. One of these shapes, stubby and not unlike a giant beetle, passed between two colossal amalgamations of perforated metal, its purplish hull blending well against the larger bodies as it agilely avoided a charred lump of corroded magnetic coils that drifted in the small ship’s path.
Bearing no indication of its method of propulsion save for a faint blue glimmer that emanated from a pair of recessed, rear nodes, the vessel emerged from a particularly dense cloud of wreckage, and angled away from the main body of the waste, its stubby prow now direct towards a smaller collection of debris off from the main drift.
Diving through a cloud of drifting shrapnel, the ship began to slow, and an intense beam of white light shot from under its nose. The glowing cylinder swept across shape after darkened shape, illuminating bare metal ribs, smashed disks of machinery once meters wide, and even a few bodies, lacerated and seared beyond all recognition. However, the vessel did not pause to investigate any of the remnants of battle, instead moving further in, searching for something in the haze. Rounding a huge slab of battle armor, which sported a puncture nearly wide enough for it to traverse through, the stubby flyer, gleaming softly in the light reflected off the plating around it, turned its attention to a fragment of wreckage, surprisingly intact compared to the debris around it.
However, its relatively pristine condition was not the only distinction that attracted the probing ship; its angled and boxy form was in stark contrast to the other waste in the surrounding area, which was predominately smooth and sculpted, if badly deformed by the ravages of battle. The brilliant beam swung onto the derelict and proceeded to illuminate its every angle in turn; oddly narrow external hatches, weapons apertures of exotic design, a wide, open viewport that allowed little light to pass visibly through its tinted surface.
After its survey was finished, the probing ship pushed forward without hesitation and came close alongside the supposed wreck, orienting its curved belly to be parallel with the vessel’s aft compartment. On a trio of mounts arrayed around its flat keel, which usually sported an equal number of large weapons systems, a grid of gently-glowing devices hummed to life, seizing the hulk with invisible tendrils of magnetic energy. The two metal forms hugged still closer together, and began to spin slowly through space in concert, inseparably bound.
Directly in at the center of the three projectors, a thick plate drew back, revealing the vessel’s own entry hatch. From its circular perimeter a veil of coruscating energy pierced the vacuum and locked onto the other ship’s dull white hull, then surged with electrical energy. The docking hatch, caught in the field, lit with overwhelming energy, and then blasted inward, muffled noise indicating that there was still atmosphere within.
With a loud thump, a figure tumbled from the glowing field and landed on a slightly down-slanted deck plate that lined the interior of the derelict. Waving his lanky arms to steady himself, the being began to fumble hurriedly for something hooked onto its small waist. Before it could remove the object, however, another, similar figure tumbled from the connecting beam, directly on top of the first. Squirming and squealing, the two fell to the floor and rolled across the small chamber into a bulkhead wall, their stubby limbs intertwined.
“Off!” one of them managed, smacking the other with balled fists until he managed to roll away and scramble to his feet. The other creature followed suit, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall for support as he righted himself.
“Do you always have to stand right there?” it muttered, fumbling in the dark for a similar object clipped to the bulky outfit was wearing.
“Quit yapping. It’s your fault for not waiting longer.” The figure that had arrived first at last managed to locate the thing he was looking for, and ignited it. A bluish light erupted from the creatures hand and threw the pair into shadowy sight; each was short, perhaps five feet tall, and stocky, their large chests and bone-spurred forelimbs an odd contrast too small waists. Above their scaly blue skin each wore an armored orange vest, with a large triangular tank sprouting from the back; connected to this container were several cords that ran over the armor and into bulky mouthpieces that obscured the creature’s rounded and hairless faces. Between this mask and the metal skull cap that protected their heads, a pair of beady black eyes scanned the shadows and each other.
The second creature jabbed his right hand, in which he held a small, circular weapon with a pair of luminescent green nubs on the business end, towards the hole where the airlock had once been. “It’s not my fault. He pushed me in!” The speaker’s dialect was high-pitched and plaintive, more fragmented and brief than language it spoke usually allowed for.
The other grumbled something unintelligible under his mask, either about his comrade or a crewer on the waiting ship, or perhaps just the world in general. “Shut up Migaw, let’s just finish this quick.”
Though the other grumbled in response, there was no further argument, and the pair both began to scan the interior of the derelict, each holding a light source and one of the oddly-shaped weapons. The gravity generator onboard was malfunctioning, making traversing the deck like climbing up and down a slope, but the ship’s compartments were small and few, and it didn’t take long for the searchers to inspect every section and computer consol.
Laying down his light emitter, the alien named Migaw removed a wall panel from one wall with his burly, four-fingered hands. After making a cursory inspection of the metallic cables and boxy circuit regulators within, he turned to his comrade, who was picking at the shattered remains of a control panel at the bow of the ship.
“This isn’t one of ours, Cakap. I’ve never seen thingies like the thingies in here before.”
The other made a high, coughing noise that might have been a laugh. “You think, genius? The look of this place should have been enough of a clue, even for you.” He paced past the one looking at the wall panel and began to scan the narrow, spartan hallway beyond them. “The Prophets would never let one of their holy vessels look this ugly.” He paused, and looked back at the other searcher. “Of course, they did let you take assignment in the armada. I guess looks aren’t everything.”
Casting the wall panel aside, the Migaw scooped up his light and waddled after the other, again grumbling under his breath.
The hallway was barely wide enough to accommodate them, but it was mercifully short, with only two more doors branching off of it. The first they found locked, which, after a minute of aimless mashing and subsequent destruction of the keypad beside it, they figured was best left sealed. The second was much more responsive, and opened automatically, but beyond it lay only a darkened chamber full of unknowable machinery and displays that shown with symbols neither knew how to decipher.
“Looks like no one was on it at all,” Cakap offered. “Let’s go, if they want anyone to take a closer look, they can get another crew. We’ve been out here forever.”
The two turned to leave, but the second searcher spotted something out of the corner of his beady eye, almost invisible in the darkness. “What’s this?”
He crouched onto his stocky haunches and cast his light on the thing he had seen, a spot on the wall near the door they had just exited. There, several splotches of reddish black adorned the otherwise clean surface. Cakap crouched down next to his comrade, and took a look for himself. After a moment, he shot a sideways glance at the other, the gesture requiring him turn his entire head. “How do you see these things? It’s not natural.”
Migaw ignored him, and continued poking at the spot with a leathery finger. “It looks like blood, but not our blood. It’s red, I think.”
“Red blood?”
Neither of them had ever seen any species that did not belong to the Holy Covenant, the body to which every member of their race belonged, and those of many others, but he had heard tales of others; one in particular, the Humans. They were abominations, sickly pale, red-blooded creatures, godless and weak, but in groups, they were brutal and destructive, taking special care to exterminate every being that believed in the Prophets and followed their wisdom. No wonder they were marked for annihilation. But then there were other, more secret tales of Humans that were not so weak, that could kill entire armies with just a stare…
The once abrasive Cakap began to shiver with fear, and backed away from the spot, taking in the hard lines of the derelict with growing agitation. This ship was definitely not of the Covenant, and he had a feeling he knew who it did belong to.
“What’s wrong?” Migaw asked, twisting his body ungracefully to look up at him.
“We must go now. Everything’s done here.” Cakap grabbed the tank on his comrade’s back and yanked him roughly to his flat feet. The other made to complain again, but suddenly a clanking, thudding sound met their ear nodules, seemingly come from all around. The two peered through the gloom for its source, but saw only the unnaturally straight lines of the craft’s interior.
“What’s…”
Cakap, grasp still tight on his companion’s armor, made for the entry hatch without another word, trying not to look into the shadows that loomed everywhere on the ship, each more foreboding by the last. With strength that belied his stature, he shoved Migaw into the glowing field that connected the two ships, and then jumped in after him, weapon feverishly clenched in his free fist. An invisible force clamped onto the pair and shot them up through the immaterial tube, through the void to safety.
Finding himself sprawled on a familiar, faintly purplish landing pad, the searcher who had taken charge scrambled to his clubby feet and rushed back to the disk in the floor that still was connected to the derelict beyond. Locating the blue projection on a nearby wall that controlled the exit port, he smacked a few shimmering command keys, and an iris began to close over the opening, triggering the energy bridge to being to fade. When the breach finally sealed with a hiss, the creature slumped against a smoothly-curved bulkhead and sucked a great, relieved gulp of cool atmosphere from the mask on his face.
After taking a moment to acclimate himself to the faint, tinted light coming from the low, vaulted ceiling, Cakap glanced around the vessel’s main compartment with satisfaction. It was arrow-shaped, with the tip ending at the now-sealed departure lift. To either side were recessed compartments, usually stacked with war material, and between them was a large main area, where soldiers might assemble before battle. But now, it was empty, recovery missions rarely required many troops, and now there was just a crew of four; he and his comrade, along with a pilot and a system’s operator, who he assumed were still up at the front of the vessel, beyond the assembly area.
Finally shedding the fear that had overtaken him on the derelict, he moved back to Migaw, who still stood where he had landed. “I might have saved you life back there; when we get back, you owe me half your food ration.”
The comment was in jest of course, as he usually managed take most of the Migaw’s provisions covertly anyways, but he was still surprised when the comment garnered no response. “What’s wrong with you?”
Shakily, the other raised his right hand and pointed into the darkened assembly area, towards the back wall where the door to the cockpit was set. At first, there was nothing in evidence hidden between the blue shimmer of the room’s shelled walls, but as the two approached, three prone forms became apparent.
Though a sense of agitation began to seep back into his mind, Cakap moved slowly closer, until he could make out the bodies more clearly. The first, sprawled out in the middle of the chamber, was instantly recognizable; it was a lanky, beak-mouthed creature of the Kig-Yar species, not much taller than either of the companions, with a feather-like crest sticking out of its otherwise smooth skin, the vessel’s operation’s controller. It’s huge, pink eyes were lolling open lazily, but the slow heaving of its narrow chest indicated it was still breathing.
Beyond it, closer to the door, lay a much larger being, a meter and a half tall, covered in crimson armor and a dark body suit; one of the Sangheili, and pilot of the ship. Upon realizing this, Migaw dropped his weapon, fingers numbing with confusion.
Before the implications of the alien’s prone state could fully sink in, though, the pair’s attention was attracted to the last of the group, propped up against the far wall. Even in the dark, they could clearly see he was different than the others, smaller than the pilot but larger than the Kig-Yar, dressed not in armor but rather some kind of fabric. Its skin was pale and smooth, and on its head was a thick growth of hair; a creature quite unlike anything either had ever seen before.
Though his mind was slow and perpetually clouded, a product of millennia of genetic engineering, Cakap could still manage to make some connections, and his mind latched onto the blood they had found minutes before, Human blood. Could this creature…
He began to back away from his scene, desperately clawing for his weapon before remembering he had left it on the landing pad. His comrade turned back towards him, visibly pained even through his large mask.
“Wha… what is going on?”
With a faint hum, the door at the end of the assembly area slid open, and there, cast into shadow by the brighter lighting of the cockpit, stood a massive figure, larger even than the immobile Sangheili at his feet. With a clank, it stepped forward into the chamber, and raised a huge hand towards them.
Simultaneously, the pair of searchers fell back onto their atmosphere tanks, yelping mindlessly in fear. Wriggling and struggling, Cakap managed to heave himself onto his side and began to crawl away, leaving his comrade to roll on the floor, barking in desperation.
The figure shook its shadowed head in exasperation. “Unggoy.”
And with that, it lunged forward, fist raised high.
Last edited by Noble Ire on 2006-08-25 12:00am, edited 2 times in total.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
Edward Yee
- Sith Devotee
- Posts: 3395
- Joined: 2005-07-31 06:48am
As a non-HALO fan, I completely missed that last part... could you explain? The other parts were good, though.
"Yee's proposal is exactly the sort of thing I would expect some Washington legal eagle to do. In fact, it could even be argued it would be unrealistic to not have a scene in the next book of, say, a Congressman Yee submit the Yee Act for consideration. 
" - bcoogler on this
"My crystal ball is filled with smoke, and my hovercraft is full of eels." - Bayonet
Stark: "You can't even GET to heaven. You don't even know where it is, or even if it still exists."
SirNitram: "So storm Hell." - From the legendary thread
" - bcoogler on this"My crystal ball is filled with smoke, and my hovercraft is full of eels." - Bayonet
Stark: "You can't even GET to heaven. You don't even know where it is, or even if it still exists."
SirNitram: "So storm Hell." - From the legendary thread
Well, that scene was essentially the Covenant picking over the wreckage of the battle with the Imperial task force, one of their salvage ships locating the stolen shuttle, sending a pair of Grunts (not very intellegent foot soldiers) to investigate, and eventually having their vessel commendeered by... well, I think you can figure the last part out.Edward Yee wrote:As a non-HALO fan, I completely missed that last part... could you explain? The other parts were good, though.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
In wich univers is the Republica now?
Starcraft, Star Trek, past Star Wars or future Star Wars?
Are they going to get some help from the New Republic's third fleet?
Or Booster with his private (red) SD.
Starcraft, Star Trek, past Star Wars or future Star Wars?
Are they going to get some help from the New Republic's third fleet?
Or Booster with his private (red) SD.
Last edited by Vianca on 2006-01-26 05:27am, edited 1 time in total.
Nothing like the present.
-
darthdavid
- Pathetic Attention Whore
- Posts: 5470
- Joined: 2003-02-17 12:04pm
- Location: Bat Country!
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Comando293
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 190
- Joined: 2005-11-04 07:56pm
- Location: Right Behind You
- Contact:
The Republica with a trek refit?
like: Ablative armour generators, multi adaptible force shields, fase cloak?/normal cloak, transporters, holodecks, replicators, and so?
Next chapter please.
like: Ablative armour generators, multi adaptible force shields, fase cloak?/normal cloak, transporters, holodecks, replicators, and so?
Next chapter please.
Last edited by Vianca on 2006-01-27 04:05am, edited 1 time in total.
Nothing like the present.
Chapter Forty Five
At the very root of the titanic, forest-clad mountain, which jutted from the dry valley around it like a single, jagged tooth, a lone gate was carved into the ominous edifice of gray stone. Sheltered from the harsh, tearing winds of the outside world by towering bulwarks of rock on its either side, the durasteel barrier that spanned the meters-tall entryway was as dark and impenetrable as it had been the day it was forged. Judging by the archaic symbols and serrated patterns that were etched deep into its surface, the object was ancient, older perhaps than any artificial structure on the entire planet. Yet, for all its age, it looked studier than a Star Dreadnaught’s hull plate and more resilient than a Gen’dai’s pelt. Truly, it was a masterpiece of a civilization whose ways were long lost to the chaotic flow of time, perhaps for the best.
Whether not the lone figure that stood before it was awed by the monument was impossible to tell under its heavy, obscuring cloak, but it did stare at the ancient obstruction for a long while, seemingly oblivious to the icy winds that tore over and between the bulwarks, filling the air with arcane wails and moans. However, as ferocious as the gust might get, the figure’s robe was completely immobile, standing against the wind as if not even the slightest gust was harrying it.
At last, the body moved, gliding along the ground right to the titanic gate’s base. It raised a right arm, and a fold of the cloak fell away, revealing a single hand, gauntleted in a long, ebony glove, unornamented and made of a material that seemed not to absorb or reflect light, but devour it, marking its own presence by the very absence of illumination. This five-fingered void slowly pressed itself against the barrier, its palm resting upon the heart of a vast, jagged mark shaped like a whirling vortex, far larger than any of the others that were cut deep into the door.
Without the slightest hesitation, the vast obstruction fell back further into its carved recess, and then slid to one side, all the while in complete silence, offering no noise to contest the howling of the wind. Beyond it, a void comparable to the one on the figure’s hand gaped like the maw of a ravenous beast, the penumbra unbroken by a single flicker of sickly light. The lone being plunged into it without faltering even for a moment.
By the time the gate closed soundlessly behind, the figure was already far adrift in the impenetrable dark, but moved along without any indication of fear or indecision. The smooth, polished path it walked was clear of any obstruction, but it was winding and erratic, each bend in the walls dominated by a yawning opening, onto new paths, long stairs, narrow walkways, and open chasms. It would have been so easy to stray down one of these false trails, a single misstep sometimes was all that was necessary, but the figure kept to the main hall, seemingly oblivious to these deceivers.
After an eternity in this perilous maze, the darkness began to recede. There was no open flame of glowing fixture that might have been the cause of the growing illumination, but it was there nonetheless, a shallow, cold light, but a light nonetheless. Soon, the false passages were plainly viewable outlines in set into the walls, and soon after that, they disappeared entirely, leaving only the one path.
Presently, the winding hall straightened and widened, swelling into a vast, rectangular cavern that stretched so far upwards that it’s top was lost in shadow. Its walls were lined with enormous pillars of gray rock, wrapped with band after band of heavily engraved durasteel, every meter a new tapestry of some ancient battle, forgotten warlord, or cryptic incantation. At the chamber’s center was a raised ziggurat of a platform, hewn of a strange, black metal flecked with red gems, each of which seemed to exude bloodied light. At its peak, a single person sat cross-legged, dressed in black and covered in silver armor, toped with triangular head warp that obscured its wearer’s face. All of it save the eyes, which were closed. But they were not unaware.
“Why have you come here?” The cross-legged being’s voice was cold and almost mechanical, yet possessed a fire that could not be ignored, and a very human hatred. “I sense malice, hatred, fear in you; dark energy. Have you come to test yourself, to kill me? Or is this some new test I must undergo?”
The robed figured continued forward in silence until it had reached the very bottom of the narrow steps that lead to the ziggurat’s top. “Palpatine is dead,” it said at last, voice oddly warped by some unknown force.
The armored warrior’s eyes flashed open and last, and it looked down upon the intruder with bloodshot eyes. “So, that is what I felt. Yes, it makes sense, only a being of such great power could release such energy in his passing.” The eyes closed again, and the figure leaned back where it sat; under its tight wrappings and reflective plates, the creature still bore the shape of a female. “And what of Lord Vader?”
“He lives, and prospers,” the robed one replied. “Slaying the Emperor has given him great power, greater power than before.”
High above, the woman in black rose from her seated position slowly, straightening a Mynock-winged cape that fell down her back. Though she made no hostility physically, the intruder could sense that the warrior was bristling with new sensation, dangerously so.
“And what,” she asked slowly. “Is your part in this?”
“I helped Lord Vader defeat and destroy Palpatine.”
A distorted sound emerged from the place the woman’s mouth must have been; perhaps a chuckle, perhaps a growl. “And his new apprentice, I would assume. It becomes clear; this is not a test for me, but one for you. I suppose I would make an effective target for such an exercise, although I think Lord Vader might be underestimating my powers. I have learned much since he sent me to this forsaken world to train, and I believe you will find me more than a match.”
The shrouded figure shook its head. “No, I do not seek to kill you, not yet at least. The Dark Lord has stated that I might find you loyal to him, more than most others. There are many left in his new Empire that will stand against him, against the new order. I am tasked with seeking out and eliminating them before their poison can spread. If you are still loyal to him, then you would make a valuable ally.”
The woman above considered. “I once swore fealty to Palpatine, it is true, but Vader was the one who made me what I am today.” She clenched one fist, and stared up into the darkened ceiling. “I was once a soldier of the Empire, tasked with infiltrating the Rebel ranks and destroying them from within. But that accursed Skywalker found me out, and left me for dead. Lord Vader saved me form that fate, had my shattered body rebuilt, and enhanced my talents with the Force. I am reborn a greater being by his hand; I will be forever loyal to him, as far as the Dark Side will take me.”
The woman began to walk forward, leaving the crest of the monument and lowering herself step by step, all the while watching the intruder, who still stood below in silence. “But you. I sense much conflict in you; too much. You claim to be of the Dark Lord’s tutelage? Of his favor? I do not sense such things in you.”
A long, silvery hilt few into her right hand, with a long bundle of shimmering wire attached at one end. “It is not complete, my new weapon, but it should be more than enough to expose you as a deceiver. You do not have to power to face me; you are not of Vader’s training.”
In less than half a second, the scene changed entirely. The dark warrior’s weapon flicked outwards, extending the spool of wire into the air, which burst with pulsing light as it unfurled. Then she leapt downward with inhuman speed, almost disappearing from view as she lunged for her prey. Before, the robed figure leapt backwards with similar agility and quickness, conjuring a lightsaber hilt from under its robes and igniting it in a blur of bluish-white.
The dark warrior landed where the other had stood, hunched low in a predatory position, flicking the strange whip of light back and forth before her. “Even your blade speaks of your lie. It bears no markings of the Sith or the Dark Side, and I can feel that it is not even your own, you are nor comfortable with that weapon. I assure you, I am quite familiar with my own.”
In another blur of motion, she sprang forward again, the stand of her whip arcing around behind her, prepared to slash through the robe-wearer’s immobile form. It was at that moment that the other warrior looked up, and the shadow of its cloak fell from its eyes.
Impossibly, the lunging combatant halted mid strike and sprang backwards, landing in a defensive posture, bewildered. The intruder’s hood was pushed back completely now; under it were the smooth features of an attractive, blue Twi’lek woman, a face that could have belonged to countless thousands of brothel girls and courtiers of her kind across the galaxy. But this Twi’lek was different, in her eyes burned a pure, searing energy that almost made the other woman recoil on impulse. That power, pure power. It can’t be. It’s not possible…
Suddenly, the lightwhip ceased its deadly dance and glow and coiled as if by its own volition in its owner’s hand. The Twi’lek’s blade lowered as well, but it remained lit.
“I was mistaken,” the dark woman said at last, after trying to comprehend what she had just felt. “I was misguided by my initial feelings; I can see now why Vader would favor you.” She shook her head slowly, and turned back to look at the ziggurat. “If it is our lord’s wish, I will accompany you on this purge. I trust you have a ship?”
The lightsaber withdrew into its casing, and vanished back under the cloak. “I did, and it is standing by.” The Twi’lek turned back towards the winding corridor and replaced her hood. “We should leave now.”
The dark warrior nodded, and turned to follow. “I will not regret leaving this place. Tell me before we go, though, what should I call you? I am Lumiya.”
The robed woman paused again, but did not turn. “I am Aayla, but that name means nothing. All you need know of me is that I am the Dark Lord’s apprentice, and I shall share in his legacy.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
“You’re sure you feel all right? Frankly, I would prefer it if you stayed in the Med facility until we’ve been able to recheck your neural and immune system patterns again. You were unconscious for an unusually long period.”
The Human named Laura watched curiously as the Mon Calamari Chief Physician as his bulbous eyes swiveled independently, looking her over for any physical signs of infirmity. She couldn’t help but do the same to him, and was attempting unsuccessfully to bit back a bemused smile as she did so; something about the exotic amphibian alien with its unusual eyes, stiff jowls, and sleek skin peaked an academic interest in her that had been forced into dormancy for a long time.
“No, I’m fine. I feel much better now.” As she began to gesticulate to emphasize her point, the woman swayed on her feat unsteadily, causing both the doctor and Jacen Solo, who was standing close beside her to move forward in concern. She waved them off. “I’m okay, really. I’ve just been off my feet for a long time. A little walk would do me some good.”
Jacen turned to the Mon Calamari. “I promise you she’ll be back here in less than an hour so that the tests can be completed. If anything goes wrong, I’ll contact this department immediately.”
The doctor swiveled his eyes from one Human to another, then back again, until he turned away and waved a finned hand at them. “Your word, then. No more than an hour.” After that, he seemed to forget about them, switching his attention to the numerous droids and medical techs who were attending to more than a dozen lightly injured crewmen.
The pair of Humans exited the Medical chamber and found themselves in the brightly lit hallway beyond, populated by a handful of passing technicians and a lone R5 unit. The scooting droid caught the woman’s attention, but Jacen directed her down the other side of the narrow path, and they set off, the young Jedi lagging slightly behind his charge, watching for any sign of waning strength. Indeed, the woman had a weary bearing, one he had seen on many people who had suffered great loss recently. However, while his Force senses confirmed this unease and sadness emanating from, other feelings had begun to obscure them; positive emotions like curiosity, which piqued every time they passed a new crewmember or computer interface.
Jacen was impressed by this; from what he had heard of Commander Riker’s recovery operation, and could sense on the periphery of her consciousness, she had undergone ordeals well beyond what one would expect from her relatively young age and smooth complexion, and yet she seemed to be able to cope with it, even in a new and unknown environment, in very alien company. She didn’t even seem to be uncomfortable wearing the simple, brown tunic and pants the medics had provided out on the deck of what was plainly a war ship. And she wore the outfit rather well, he also noted…
“Which way?”
Laura’s assertive voice startled Jacen from a daydream he hadn’t realized he had been slipping into, and forced him to focus hard on suppressing the blush that was spreading across his face as he regained his bearings. Control…
He directed her to a turbolift directly before them, and, finding it empty, set it to quardinants nearer to the port exterior of the ship. The doors before them hissed to a close, and the transport sped off, leaving them in silence once again. Jacen fidgeted nervously.
“So… you never told me your full name.”
“Martin. Laura Martin,” she replied, brushing a wisp of russet hair from her similarly-hued eyes. She glanced up at Jacen’s curious face, and then looked away absently, sighing. “Ensign Laura Martin.”
The young Jedi sensed a tendril of sorrowful regret probing for purchase on the fringes of her consciousness. He cast about for something to say, hoping that conversation might put her at ease again, but she spoke again first, her attention now caught by a circular device affixed to the man’s belt.
“Is that a universal translator?”
Jacen glanced down at it as well, having completely forgotten it was there. “Yes, it is. One of the ones the Federation onboard managed to bring with them.”
Laura looked him over quizzically. “But, is it on? I mean, why would you need one when talking to me? You’re Human.”
Jacen nodded. “Yes, I am. However… well, I think there are others who could explain it better.” At that moment, the lift slid to a halt, and the door opened onto a new passageway. “I’d like to say it was a funny story, but it really isn’t.”
Laura exited the tube, and Jacen followed soon after, pausing just long enough to blow out a long breath.
He guided his charge to the right and down a long hallway until they came to an unassuming door marked with symbols Laura couldn’t read. Before she could inquire as to their meaning, however, Jacen spoke up again.
“You’re sure you feel all right?” he asked, worry evident in his tone. “We can always do this later.”
Laura smiled softly, and shook her head. “No, I feel fine. Besides, I want to know what’s going on here; I doubt I could get anymore rest while I’m still in the dark.”
With that confirmation, the young Jedi stepped forward, triggering the barrier to slid away, and the two entered the chamber beyond. It was a small and even cozy space, well furnished and well lit; perhaps an officer’s lounge of some sort. Three figures populated its center; two Humans seated around a small, round table, and a very tall, very alien being standing against a wall behind them, draped in a dark cloak. All of their eyes locked onto Laura as she entered, and she paused, suddenly uncomfortable.
The Humans, a bald man in a slightly frayed and quite outdated Starfleet uniform and a woman with long, dark hair rose from their seats and approached her, smiling.
“Greetings,” the man said warmly, extending a hand. “I am Captain Jean Luc Picard. This is my ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi, and,” he nodded at the back wall “he is High Templar Tassadar, a Protoss.”
“I am heartened to see you have recovered.” As the being spoke, Laura shivered involuntarily. It felt almost as if it wasn’t speaking at all, but rather implanting thoughts into her mind. She knew of numerous telepathic species, but few were strong enough to emote with such clarity and power at first meeting. However, this momentary discomfort was quickly shunted aside as she returned Captain Picard’s handshake, and fully assimilated what he had said.
“Ensign Laura Martin, sir,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage, carefully studying his lined features. “Sir, if I may ask, did you say Jean-Luc Picard? Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise-D?”
Frowning slightly, Picard nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Is something wrong?”
Laura shifted uncomfortably, and Jacen felt an odd emotion begin to exude from her; very intense curiosity, perhaps even awe. From the expression on Deanna Troi’s face, he could tell she was sensing something too.
“Well, sir, I don’t think so. I mean, don’t you know? You’ve been missing in action for a very long time. No one ever expected to ever see you or your crew again after the search came up negative.”
“A long time?” Deanna asked. “The Enterprise couldn’t have disappeared from Federation space more than two weeks ago.”
Picard nodded slowly in agreement, consternation plain on his face. “Yes, I would have expected that the search was still ongoing. I’m surprised the Admiralty would give up on me so quickly…” he trailed off suddenly, recalling what Will Riker had briefed him on after the mission to the Cornwall, the anomalous log time stamps. But those were errors caused by the scuttling of the ship. They had to have been.
The ensign looked uneasily from one officer to another, and then shot a glance at Jacen, who was listening with equal interest. “Sir, your ship and all her crew vanished on Stardate 45792, more than seven years ago.”
At the very root of the titanic, forest-clad mountain, which jutted from the dry valley around it like a single, jagged tooth, a lone gate was carved into the ominous edifice of gray stone. Sheltered from the harsh, tearing winds of the outside world by towering bulwarks of rock on its either side, the durasteel barrier that spanned the meters-tall entryway was as dark and impenetrable as it had been the day it was forged. Judging by the archaic symbols and serrated patterns that were etched deep into its surface, the object was ancient, older perhaps than any artificial structure on the entire planet. Yet, for all its age, it looked studier than a Star Dreadnaught’s hull plate and more resilient than a Gen’dai’s pelt. Truly, it was a masterpiece of a civilization whose ways were long lost to the chaotic flow of time, perhaps for the best.
Whether not the lone figure that stood before it was awed by the monument was impossible to tell under its heavy, obscuring cloak, but it did stare at the ancient obstruction for a long while, seemingly oblivious to the icy winds that tore over and between the bulwarks, filling the air with arcane wails and moans. However, as ferocious as the gust might get, the figure’s robe was completely immobile, standing against the wind as if not even the slightest gust was harrying it.
At last, the body moved, gliding along the ground right to the titanic gate’s base. It raised a right arm, and a fold of the cloak fell away, revealing a single hand, gauntleted in a long, ebony glove, unornamented and made of a material that seemed not to absorb or reflect light, but devour it, marking its own presence by the very absence of illumination. This five-fingered void slowly pressed itself against the barrier, its palm resting upon the heart of a vast, jagged mark shaped like a whirling vortex, far larger than any of the others that were cut deep into the door.
Without the slightest hesitation, the vast obstruction fell back further into its carved recess, and then slid to one side, all the while in complete silence, offering no noise to contest the howling of the wind. Beyond it, a void comparable to the one on the figure’s hand gaped like the maw of a ravenous beast, the penumbra unbroken by a single flicker of sickly light. The lone being plunged into it without faltering even for a moment.
By the time the gate closed soundlessly behind, the figure was already far adrift in the impenetrable dark, but moved along without any indication of fear or indecision. The smooth, polished path it walked was clear of any obstruction, but it was winding and erratic, each bend in the walls dominated by a yawning opening, onto new paths, long stairs, narrow walkways, and open chasms. It would have been so easy to stray down one of these false trails, a single misstep sometimes was all that was necessary, but the figure kept to the main hall, seemingly oblivious to these deceivers.
After an eternity in this perilous maze, the darkness began to recede. There was no open flame of glowing fixture that might have been the cause of the growing illumination, but it was there nonetheless, a shallow, cold light, but a light nonetheless. Soon, the false passages were plainly viewable outlines in set into the walls, and soon after that, they disappeared entirely, leaving only the one path.
Presently, the winding hall straightened and widened, swelling into a vast, rectangular cavern that stretched so far upwards that it’s top was lost in shadow. Its walls were lined with enormous pillars of gray rock, wrapped with band after band of heavily engraved durasteel, every meter a new tapestry of some ancient battle, forgotten warlord, or cryptic incantation. At the chamber’s center was a raised ziggurat of a platform, hewn of a strange, black metal flecked with red gems, each of which seemed to exude bloodied light. At its peak, a single person sat cross-legged, dressed in black and covered in silver armor, toped with triangular head warp that obscured its wearer’s face. All of it save the eyes, which were closed. But they were not unaware.
“Why have you come here?” The cross-legged being’s voice was cold and almost mechanical, yet possessed a fire that could not be ignored, and a very human hatred. “I sense malice, hatred, fear in you; dark energy. Have you come to test yourself, to kill me? Or is this some new test I must undergo?”
The robed figured continued forward in silence until it had reached the very bottom of the narrow steps that lead to the ziggurat’s top. “Palpatine is dead,” it said at last, voice oddly warped by some unknown force.
The armored warrior’s eyes flashed open and last, and it looked down upon the intruder with bloodshot eyes. “So, that is what I felt. Yes, it makes sense, only a being of such great power could release such energy in his passing.” The eyes closed again, and the figure leaned back where it sat; under its tight wrappings and reflective plates, the creature still bore the shape of a female. “And what of Lord Vader?”
“He lives, and prospers,” the robed one replied. “Slaying the Emperor has given him great power, greater power than before.”
High above, the woman in black rose from her seated position slowly, straightening a Mynock-winged cape that fell down her back. Though she made no hostility physically, the intruder could sense that the warrior was bristling with new sensation, dangerously so.
“And what,” she asked slowly. “Is your part in this?”
“I helped Lord Vader defeat and destroy Palpatine.”
A distorted sound emerged from the place the woman’s mouth must have been; perhaps a chuckle, perhaps a growl. “And his new apprentice, I would assume. It becomes clear; this is not a test for me, but one for you. I suppose I would make an effective target for such an exercise, although I think Lord Vader might be underestimating my powers. I have learned much since he sent me to this forsaken world to train, and I believe you will find me more than a match.”
The shrouded figure shook its head. “No, I do not seek to kill you, not yet at least. The Dark Lord has stated that I might find you loyal to him, more than most others. There are many left in his new Empire that will stand against him, against the new order. I am tasked with seeking out and eliminating them before their poison can spread. If you are still loyal to him, then you would make a valuable ally.”
The woman above considered. “I once swore fealty to Palpatine, it is true, but Vader was the one who made me what I am today.” She clenched one fist, and stared up into the darkened ceiling. “I was once a soldier of the Empire, tasked with infiltrating the Rebel ranks and destroying them from within. But that accursed Skywalker found me out, and left me for dead. Lord Vader saved me form that fate, had my shattered body rebuilt, and enhanced my talents with the Force. I am reborn a greater being by his hand; I will be forever loyal to him, as far as the Dark Side will take me.”
The woman began to walk forward, leaving the crest of the monument and lowering herself step by step, all the while watching the intruder, who still stood below in silence. “But you. I sense much conflict in you; too much. You claim to be of the Dark Lord’s tutelage? Of his favor? I do not sense such things in you.”
A long, silvery hilt few into her right hand, with a long bundle of shimmering wire attached at one end. “It is not complete, my new weapon, but it should be more than enough to expose you as a deceiver. You do not have to power to face me; you are not of Vader’s training.”
In less than half a second, the scene changed entirely. The dark warrior’s weapon flicked outwards, extending the spool of wire into the air, which burst with pulsing light as it unfurled. Then she leapt downward with inhuman speed, almost disappearing from view as she lunged for her prey. Before, the robed figure leapt backwards with similar agility and quickness, conjuring a lightsaber hilt from under its robes and igniting it in a blur of bluish-white.
The dark warrior landed where the other had stood, hunched low in a predatory position, flicking the strange whip of light back and forth before her. “Even your blade speaks of your lie. It bears no markings of the Sith or the Dark Side, and I can feel that it is not even your own, you are nor comfortable with that weapon. I assure you, I am quite familiar with my own.”
In another blur of motion, she sprang forward again, the stand of her whip arcing around behind her, prepared to slash through the robe-wearer’s immobile form. It was at that moment that the other warrior looked up, and the shadow of its cloak fell from its eyes.
Impossibly, the lunging combatant halted mid strike and sprang backwards, landing in a defensive posture, bewildered. The intruder’s hood was pushed back completely now; under it were the smooth features of an attractive, blue Twi’lek woman, a face that could have belonged to countless thousands of brothel girls and courtiers of her kind across the galaxy. But this Twi’lek was different, in her eyes burned a pure, searing energy that almost made the other woman recoil on impulse. That power, pure power. It can’t be. It’s not possible…
Suddenly, the lightwhip ceased its deadly dance and glow and coiled as if by its own volition in its owner’s hand. The Twi’lek’s blade lowered as well, but it remained lit.
“I was mistaken,” the dark woman said at last, after trying to comprehend what she had just felt. “I was misguided by my initial feelings; I can see now why Vader would favor you.” She shook her head slowly, and turned back to look at the ziggurat. “If it is our lord’s wish, I will accompany you on this purge. I trust you have a ship?”
The lightsaber withdrew into its casing, and vanished back under the cloak. “I did, and it is standing by.” The Twi’lek turned back towards the winding corridor and replaced her hood. “We should leave now.”
The dark warrior nodded, and turned to follow. “I will not regret leaving this place. Tell me before we go, though, what should I call you? I am Lumiya.”
The robed woman paused again, but did not turn. “I am Aayla, but that name means nothing. All you need know of me is that I am the Dark Lord’s apprentice, and I shall share in his legacy.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
“You’re sure you feel all right? Frankly, I would prefer it if you stayed in the Med facility until we’ve been able to recheck your neural and immune system patterns again. You were unconscious for an unusually long period.”
The Human named Laura watched curiously as the Mon Calamari Chief Physician as his bulbous eyes swiveled independently, looking her over for any physical signs of infirmity. She couldn’t help but do the same to him, and was attempting unsuccessfully to bit back a bemused smile as she did so; something about the exotic amphibian alien with its unusual eyes, stiff jowls, and sleek skin peaked an academic interest in her that had been forced into dormancy for a long time.
“No, I’m fine. I feel much better now.” As she began to gesticulate to emphasize her point, the woman swayed on her feat unsteadily, causing both the doctor and Jacen Solo, who was standing close beside her to move forward in concern. She waved them off. “I’m okay, really. I’ve just been off my feet for a long time. A little walk would do me some good.”
Jacen turned to the Mon Calamari. “I promise you she’ll be back here in less than an hour so that the tests can be completed. If anything goes wrong, I’ll contact this department immediately.”
The doctor swiveled his eyes from one Human to another, then back again, until he turned away and waved a finned hand at them. “Your word, then. No more than an hour.” After that, he seemed to forget about them, switching his attention to the numerous droids and medical techs who were attending to more than a dozen lightly injured crewmen.
The pair of Humans exited the Medical chamber and found themselves in the brightly lit hallway beyond, populated by a handful of passing technicians and a lone R5 unit. The scooting droid caught the woman’s attention, but Jacen directed her down the other side of the narrow path, and they set off, the young Jedi lagging slightly behind his charge, watching for any sign of waning strength. Indeed, the woman had a weary bearing, one he had seen on many people who had suffered great loss recently. However, while his Force senses confirmed this unease and sadness emanating from, other feelings had begun to obscure them; positive emotions like curiosity, which piqued every time they passed a new crewmember or computer interface.
Jacen was impressed by this; from what he had heard of Commander Riker’s recovery operation, and could sense on the periphery of her consciousness, she had undergone ordeals well beyond what one would expect from her relatively young age and smooth complexion, and yet she seemed to be able to cope with it, even in a new and unknown environment, in very alien company. She didn’t even seem to be uncomfortable wearing the simple, brown tunic and pants the medics had provided out on the deck of what was plainly a war ship. And she wore the outfit rather well, he also noted…
“Which way?”
Laura’s assertive voice startled Jacen from a daydream he hadn’t realized he had been slipping into, and forced him to focus hard on suppressing the blush that was spreading across his face as he regained his bearings. Control…
He directed her to a turbolift directly before them, and, finding it empty, set it to quardinants nearer to the port exterior of the ship. The doors before them hissed to a close, and the transport sped off, leaving them in silence once again. Jacen fidgeted nervously.
“So… you never told me your full name.”
“Martin. Laura Martin,” she replied, brushing a wisp of russet hair from her similarly-hued eyes. She glanced up at Jacen’s curious face, and then looked away absently, sighing. “Ensign Laura Martin.”
The young Jedi sensed a tendril of sorrowful regret probing for purchase on the fringes of her consciousness. He cast about for something to say, hoping that conversation might put her at ease again, but she spoke again first, her attention now caught by a circular device affixed to the man’s belt.
“Is that a universal translator?”
Jacen glanced down at it as well, having completely forgotten it was there. “Yes, it is. One of the ones the Federation onboard managed to bring with them.”
Laura looked him over quizzically. “But, is it on? I mean, why would you need one when talking to me? You’re Human.”
Jacen nodded. “Yes, I am. However… well, I think there are others who could explain it better.” At that moment, the lift slid to a halt, and the door opened onto a new passageway. “I’d like to say it was a funny story, but it really isn’t.”
Laura exited the tube, and Jacen followed soon after, pausing just long enough to blow out a long breath.
He guided his charge to the right and down a long hallway until they came to an unassuming door marked with symbols Laura couldn’t read. Before she could inquire as to their meaning, however, Jacen spoke up again.
“You’re sure you feel all right?” he asked, worry evident in his tone. “We can always do this later.”
Laura smiled softly, and shook her head. “No, I feel fine. Besides, I want to know what’s going on here; I doubt I could get anymore rest while I’m still in the dark.”
With that confirmation, the young Jedi stepped forward, triggering the barrier to slid away, and the two entered the chamber beyond. It was a small and even cozy space, well furnished and well lit; perhaps an officer’s lounge of some sort. Three figures populated its center; two Humans seated around a small, round table, and a very tall, very alien being standing against a wall behind them, draped in a dark cloak. All of their eyes locked onto Laura as she entered, and she paused, suddenly uncomfortable.
The Humans, a bald man in a slightly frayed and quite outdated Starfleet uniform and a woman with long, dark hair rose from their seats and approached her, smiling.
“Greetings,” the man said warmly, extending a hand. “I am Captain Jean Luc Picard. This is my ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi, and,” he nodded at the back wall “he is High Templar Tassadar, a Protoss.”
“I am heartened to see you have recovered.” As the being spoke, Laura shivered involuntarily. It felt almost as if it wasn’t speaking at all, but rather implanting thoughts into her mind. She knew of numerous telepathic species, but few were strong enough to emote with such clarity and power at first meeting. However, this momentary discomfort was quickly shunted aside as she returned Captain Picard’s handshake, and fully assimilated what he had said.
“Ensign Laura Martin, sir,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage, carefully studying his lined features. “Sir, if I may ask, did you say Jean-Luc Picard? Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise-D?”
Frowning slightly, Picard nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Is something wrong?”
Laura shifted uncomfortably, and Jacen felt an odd emotion begin to exude from her; very intense curiosity, perhaps even awe. From the expression on Deanna Troi’s face, he could tell she was sensing something too.
“Well, sir, I don’t think so. I mean, don’t you know? You’ve been missing in action for a very long time. No one ever expected to ever see you or your crew again after the search came up negative.”
“A long time?” Deanna asked. “The Enterprise couldn’t have disappeared from Federation space more than two weeks ago.”
Picard nodded slowly in agreement, consternation plain on his face. “Yes, I would have expected that the search was still ongoing. I’m surprised the Admiralty would give up on me so quickly…” he trailed off suddenly, recalling what Will Riker had briefed him on after the mission to the Cornwall, the anomalous log time stamps. But those were errors caused by the scuttling of the ship. They had to have been.
The ensign looked uneasily from one officer to another, and then shot a glance at Jacen, who was listening with equal interest. “Sir, your ship and all her crew vanished on Stardate 45792, more than seven years ago.”
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
Comando293
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 190
- Joined: 2005-11-04 07:56pm
- Location: Right Behind You
- Contact:
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DesertFly
- has been designed to act as a flotation device
- Posts: 1381
- Joined: 2005-10-18 11:35pm
- Location: The Emerald City
Well, updates, Lumiya, and Laura from the future. My knowledge of Trek timelines is a little hazy, so correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't seven years after the Enterprise dissapeared be right about the Dominion war? Wonder how things have/will change with the introduction of the Zerg.
Proud member of the no sigs club.
My Google-fu tells me that about seven years should be a few months after the war ended, considering the fact that the story starts midway through season five of TNG. Well, at least, that's when this is supposed to pick up; if I'm wrong on the chronology, someone let me know.DesertFly wrote:Well, updates, Lumiya, and Laura from the future. My knowledge of Trek timelines is a little hazy, so correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't seven years after the Enterprise dissapeared be right about the Dominion war? Wonder how things have/will change with the introduction of the Zerg.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
A-Wing_Slash
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 376
- Joined: 2005-09-20 09:22pm
I have just read through the length of this story, and I must say it kicks ass. I do have one question though. Why are all these universes coming together, and how are all the different timelines and characters going to end up together? Or is this going to just be a romp across the multiverse with characters from several universes?
Anyway, its great, so please hurry it on up with more updates.
Anyway, its great, so please hurry it on up with more updates.
I assure you, there will be an explanation for the dispirate events, and a coming-together before the end. All of the universes are connected, as I was trying to hint at with the Cortana/wormhole sequence.I have just read through the length of this story, and I must say it kicks ass. I do have one question though. Why are all these universes coming together, and how are all the different timelines and characters going to end up together? Or is this going to just be a romp across the multiverse with characters from several universes?
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Chapter Forty Six
“Have you been able to reestablish contact Starfleet Command yet, ensign?” Captain Koltopek asked calmly, rounding the bridge’s primary tactical consol and coming to a stop behind the communications control, where the tall Human man was frowning at the display in front of him.
“No sir, not yet, but I am picking up a great deal of comm noise from sector zero-zero-one. There might be a signal from Command somewhere in there, but I’m having a hard time clearing away the interference.”
As the sandy-haired man continued to recheck the signals scrolling across his screen, the Vulcan strolled away and sat lightly in his command seat, next to which the ship’s second officer was staring intently out at the streaking stars beyond the bridge’s large viewscreen. She offered a nod of recognition to her superior, but it was obvious that she was preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“Something troubles you, Commander?” Koltopek offered in the annoyingly banal tone his kind was known for.
Rebecca Sutton leaned back into her seat, sighing. “Well sir, I’m still somewhat nervous about this whole situation. I mean, communication with Earth goes down occasionally, but it’s generally due to a transmitter malfunction or some stellar disturbance around one of the relay stations. Contact always gets restored almost immediately, the signal is rerouted and the problem fixed. We haven’t been able to hail Utopia Planitia or Starfleet Command for hours. And on top of that, we haven’t come within hailing range of a single other starship since we changed course, and unless I’m very much mistaken, there should have been at least three patrol craft along our course towards Earth by now.”
Koltopek considered her words. “You are correct in that both circumstances are irregular. However, we are taking steps to determine why these anomalies have occurred, namely the diversion of the Cornwall from her normal patrol route to the Sol system. What additional course of action do you recommend?”
After staring out into the starry darkness for a long moment, the Commander sighed again. “I think we should go to yellow alert.”
The captain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You think there is a possibility that the cause of these disturbances poses a risk to the Cornwall?”
“We have to be open to that possibility, sir.”
Without further questioning, the Koltopek nodded to the tactical officer standing behind them, who immediately triggered several oft-used controls. The lights on the bridge dimmed slightly, burnished yellow by threat-alert panels along the walls. Another tactical display on the rear wall of the bridge showed a representation of the Steamrunner-class vessel as an invisible field of energy enveloped it entirely.
Nearby, one of half a dozen quietly working officers, Ensign Laura Martin earnestly scanned her sensor display, which was cycling through all the passive scans of nearby stars the Cornwall had taken over the last few weeks. She had seen the same data dozens of times before that day, and thus the remarkably similar parade of stellar distortion output graphs normally failed to hold her interest. However, the conversation that had just occurred behind her kept her alert; the unease she felt about the situation made the statistics a welcome distraction. The captain and the commander knew what they were doing, and they were probably just chasing a false-alarm anyways.
In spite of her focus on the screen, however, Laura’s mind couldn’t help but wander back to the incident that had prompted their change of course. It had occurred only a little over three hours ago; near the end of her previous shift on the bridge, Captain Koltopek had been in contact with Admiral Thomas Henry at Starfleet command on Earth regarding the escort of a significant diplomatic envoy to the capitol planet from one of the outlying systems of the Federation when they had lost contact. Attempts to reestablish communications had proved fruitless, and Main Comm had determined there had been a disruption on the transmitting end. At Commander Sutton’s suggestion, the Captain had ordered a change in course for earth to investigate; unusual initiative from a Vulcan, but Koltopek was known for being a bit more flexible on regulations and procedure than others of his kind.
The cutoff was almost certainly nothing, and the Cornwall would likely be back on patrol duty by the end of the day, but Laura was still nervous. Earth, the political, military, and symbolic center of the United Federation of Planets had long been an unassailable bastion of order in the Alpha quadrant, until it saw two attacks in only the last few years; an incursion by a Borg cube intent on assimilating the world, which had only been repelled at enormous cost and with no small measure of luck, and then the Breen raid during the waning days of the Dominion War which almost destroyed Starfleet Command. Even with the Dominion defeated and the Borg quiet ever since, she, and many other Starfleet officers who had family on the green-blue globe, was always on edge when news of it came their way. The circumstances surrounding this particular event were all the more ominous.
After another half hour of uncomfortable waiting, the Comm and Helm officers began to pick up on more distinct signals emanating from the Sol system. Signal traffic was normal from a world so heavily populated and central to the Federation, but the volume was unusually high, and oddly scattered. Moreover, many of the individual transmissions the Cornwall attempted to analyze were oddly garbled, or simply played static, as if the transmitting end had simply stop functioning properly. Even the clearer signals yielded few answers; one, identified as originating from the Miranda-class USS Fellowship, simply showed an empty bridge, bathed in a faintly-yellow light similar to the one that now lit the Cornwall’s own command center. Despite the increasingly eerie nature of the portents before them, Koltopek remained clam, ordering the helm to maintain their course and speed, and continue hailing installations and known vessels in the system. There were no responses.
Finally, the red-shirted helmsman turned to the command officers. “We’re approaching lunar orbit, sir.”
“Reduce to impulse, Ensign.”
Even before the ship had fully decelerated and the viewscreen zeroed in on the Human homeworld, Laura knew her fears were terribly prescient. Eclipsed by the Moon to their right, set against Earth’s inviting green and blue surface, a battle raged. Or rather, it seemed, a slaughter. But there were no silvery Breen ships in the midst of the fray, or swarms of Dominion beetle-fighters, or even massive Borg war machines. No, every combatant had been forged from the same mold; in Earth’s high orbit, fratricide of the highest order was underway.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds of starships spat ribbons of red phaser-fire and volleys of torpedoes at each other through the void, weaving between tumbling wrecks of other vessels, already claimed by the melee. State-of-the-art Sovereign cruisers tore through obsolete Constellation-class ships, Galaxy-class vessels exchanged broadsides, Intrepid-class scouts cut through defenseless orbital space platforms. There seemed to be no sense, no order to the carnage, each starship spun and attacked like a feral beast, desperate to outlive the other.
The bridge crew of the Cornwall looked on in awed horror as the colossal Earth Spacedock, once nexus of all space traffic in the system, began to explode from the inside, nuclear fire rupturing it’s mushroom-cap, then spreading across it surface, engulfing the five-kilometer long installation and numerous starships battling nearby in a titanic fireball.
“Battle stations.”
The Vulcan captain’s clear order roused the crew from their dazed stupor, and they quickly prepped the ship for combat, priming weapons systems and activating EMC capacitors. Still, none of the others were able tear their eyes from the spectacle outside; it was virtually beyond imagining. How could the Federation have erupted into full-fledge civil war over night?
“Tactical assessment, Lieutenant Commander Simmons,” Koltopek prompted.
“Yes… yes, sir,” the man behind him responded, distracting himself with the task at hand. “It looks like there are fire fights like this one going on all over the system; Utopia Planitia, Jupiter orbit, numerous quadrants around Earth and the Moon. At least two hundred ships are engaged right now, although judging by the debris I’m reading, at least a hundred more have already been destroyed or disabled.” He gulped. “Sir, I’m also reading significant damage to areas of Earth’s surface.”
Commander Sutton looked up at him in horror. “Where?”
“There’s a lot of distortion from the fighting, but… it looks like San Francisco and Paris, along with at least five other cities, have been completely destroyed.”
Laura had to grab her terminal to keep from collapsing onto the deck. Starfleet Command, the Academy, Federation HQ… gone? So many good people… But what about…? No, it can’t be. Not them. Not there.
She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see another ensign, a Bajoran woman named Pell, trying to prop her up. Her face was a mask of determination, but a single tear, forming over a cheek, broke the façade. Laura tried to smile up at her, but found herself unable to do so. She had no comfort to give right now; none of them did.
Below, the commander was equally shaken, but years of command training didn’t allow her to show it. “Are any of those ships targeting us?”
Tactical shook his head, racing over the readings that were flooding his screen. “I don’t believe so, sir. Were outside of the general area of the battle, and most of the combatants don’t seem to be looking for new targets. They’re just fighting to survive.”
“Prepare for evasive maneuvers,” Koltopek ordered, leaning forward in his seat attentively. “Ensign, have you been able to clear through that comm interference? Can you get a hold of anyone out there?”
The officer, clearly still dazed, immediately set to his task, his fingers visibly shaking. “I’m still unable to isolate any individual signals, but were close enough for anyone who’s listening to hear us.”
“Put me on general hailing frequency.”
The captain stood as the comm officer rushed to comply.
“This is Captain Koltopek of the USS Cornwall. All operable, friendly vessels, please advise me of the situation. What is going on here?”
The only reply over the line was static. However, in the distance, three starships, a Galaxy and two Akira-classes, all suffering visible and significant damage, began to veer away from the desperate battle and towards the transmitting ship. As they began to form together in a loose, erratic squadron, an embattled shuttlecraft succumbed to a phaser hit and smashed directly into the Galaxy’s wide saucer section, overwhelming its weakened shields. And still the ship pushed onward, ignoring the massive hull-breaches that were peeling away its hull.
“Are they transmitting?” Sutton asked slowly, watching the trio of beaten ships as they pushed through waves of crimson energy and volleys of errant torpedoes inexorably.
“No, sir. Wait…”
“I’m getting something too…” Tactical reported. “They’re priming weapons!”
“Evasive pattern Epsilon Inverse.”
The Steamrunner abruptly jerked into motion, using its main engines to guide it downward relative to its last position, and then triggered a dozen emergency thrusters on it starboard side, causing the ship to spin back, away from the fight and the attacking vessels. A moment later, a trio of burning beams of energy swept the space where the Cornwall had just been, one of them glancing the edge of its shield bubble. The protective field glimmered against the blackness of space as it absorbed the blow.
“Shall I return fire, sir?” Tactical asked, clearly torn on the issue. Not even the most rigorous training courses at Starfleet Academy fully prepared its graduates for the prospect of fighting their own. Even combat exercises that pitted Federation ships against one another were generally only half-hearted. The fact that no one even knew why this chaos was occurring only heightened the tension.
“No. Divert weapons power to the shields and impulse engines. Helm, change course to 456-mark-32-mark-561 and engage at maximum impulse. When were at the minimum safe Warp distance from Sol, jump to Warp Eight, same vector.”
The commander glanced at her superior in confusion. “We’re retreating?”
“We have no other option. Without more intelligence on the situation, entering combat here would be unwise.”
Sutton looked as though she wanted to disagree, but she said nothing more. However, it was all Laura could do to restrain herself from speaking out; there were still billions of people down on Earth’s surface. Whatever was going on, someone had to stand up to safeguard them, and it seemed like the Cornwall had the only sane and capable crew left in the sector. The Steamrunner had been modified for combat during the Dominion War; while not as powerful as an Akira on even footing, surely it could blow past the badly-damaged pursuing vessels without taking too many hits. There were still innocent people down there…
The bridge rocked with a powerful concussion, nearly knocking the command officers back into their seats. On the rear wall, several display panels blinked dangerously as their internal compensators tried to disperse the excess energy that had been reflected into their circuits by the impact outside.
“Phaser hit on our port nacelle from one of the pursuers, Captain! Rear shields holding at eighty-two percent. They’re overtaking us.”
“Divert reserve power to the engines,” Koltopek ordered calmly.
“It isn’t working, sir. They must be overloading their Warp cores to do it, but were still loosing ground.” The ship rocked again as another phaser beam raked across the Cornwall’s rear quadrant. “They’ll have a clear firing solution with photon torpedoes in fifteen seconds. We won’t be able to take many volleys, not from that many ships!”
“We have to return fire,” Sutton said with icy determination, joining the tactical officer at his post. “If we take out the lead ship’s engines, we might make reduce their attack potential enough to escape.”
The lieutenant commander shook his head slowly. “Those ships are quite badly damaged. A direct hit on their engine nacelles could destroy any one of them.” Another blast rocked the ship. “Shields at seventy percent!”
“Engineering reports damage to the secondary plasma feed!” the helmsman shouted. “We can’t keep up impulse like this much longer!”
Koltopek starred at the main viewscreen, which now displayed an aft image of the pursuing vessels, each streaming towards them with animalistic doggedness, glowing with red fire each time they gathered enough energy to get off a phaser blast. They seemed not to care about hitting vital systems or slowing their prey; they just wanted to kill it.
“Sir, I’m picking up two more ships approaching from lunar orbit! They’re right on top of us!”
At last, the captain broke his silence. “Evasives. Fire a full spread of photon torpedoes at the pursuing ships on my mark. Break up their formation. Mar…”
Before the Vulcan could finish his order, however, the silvery dorsal hull of a Sovereign, warship by necessity, flashed cross the viewscreen, followed closely by an older but no less dangerous Cheyenne-class, two of its Warp pylons lifeless and battered virtually beyond recognition. As the latter angled to engage the pair of feral Akiras, the Sovereign dived through a hail of phaser blasts from the larger ship and unleashed its own armament, a pair of blue-hued missiles that punched through the Galaxy’s forward shields and cut into its hull, tearing massive shafts hundreds of meters deep in the scarred form. As it began to reel to one side from the blow, the sovereign executed a rapid turn, placing it over the opposing ship’s rear section, and unleashed a beam of burnished red from its oval command section. The ribbon of energy sliced the Galaxy from stem to stern, separating the hull into two pieces as it etched its way across the prone ship. Finally, the beam bisected the ship’s very heart; the attacker barely escaped the shrapnel discharged when what remained of the ship annihilated itself less than a second later.
As the second vessel blew away one of the Akira’s warp nacelles with a well-placed torpedo, causing its companion to stagger away from the marauding new-comer, the Sovereign pulled along side the Cornwall, making plain even to the naked eye that it was in a condition little better than the ship it had just destroyed; nearly twenty meters of it’s forward superstructure were simply absent, leaving support beams jutting into hard vacuum and a dozen decks swept clean by hard vacuum. The phaser strip it had used to finish off its last opponent was closest to the gapping wound, and seemed to not have escaped undamaged; even as the bridge crew looked on, one emitter after another began to erupt with uncontainable geysers of electricity.
“Sir, we’re being hailed,” the comm officer reported. “Their identification beacon appears to be damaged, but I believe it’s the USS Bucharest.”
“Onscreen.”
The viewscreen shifted from the external view of the starship to its main bridge, sheathed thickly with static. There, bathed in the red light of a combat alert, stood a blue-skinned Andorian with a hastily-bandaged head-stalk that drooped unnaturally over his wide brow. “This is acting Commander Tereni of the Bucharest. What is your status?” His image disappeared in a haze of distortion as he spoke, and then emerged again.
“This is Captain Koltopek of the Cornwall. We are fully operational, thanks to your timely intervention. Why are the Starfleet vessels in this system engaging each other?”
“I’m not entirely certain what’s going on either, Captain. About forty minutes ago, we lost contact with Starfleet Command, and started getting distress calls from starships and space stations across the system. Then our security chief reported an intruder alert in the main cargo bay, and we started loosing contact with the lower decks by the dozen. Before Captain Jameson could get confirmation on what was going on down there, these… things, animals stormed the bridge through the turbolift shaft and killed most of the bridge crew. The security detail, myself, and a few of the others were able to drive them off and seal the bridge, but the Captain didn’t make it.”
“The crew was able to isolate engineering and medical too, but we had to lock off the rest of the ship. I think most of the crew is dead; we had to vent several decks into space. That slowed them down, but… but I think some of the creatures are still alive.”
Commander Tereni stopped, clutching his head and shaking it slowly.
“Commander?” Sutton inquired as gently as she could manage.
He looked up at last; it was clear that there was blood seeping out from somewhere beneath his white mane. “I’m sorry… I think I have a concussion, I don’t know. Um, it looks like a lot of other ships were attacked similarly, and got taken over. They started to fire on other ships at random, and on Earth too. They destroyed Command before anyone could be evacuated. The council too, I think. The last half hour has been nothing but mayhem; we’ve been trying to contact any ships and crews that survived. Trying to get them out of the system, there’s something blocking long-range communications, I think they got to the relay hubs. We need to warn everyone away from Earth.”
“Put all security teams on full boarding alert,” Koltopek ordered. “Place tactical groups in all essential areas, and get all non-essential crew into shelter zones. I want all Jeffery’s Tubes sealed, as well as non-vital turboshafts.” As Sutton moved to carry out the orders, Koltopek turned back to the Bucharest’s beleaguered commander. “I am ordering my vessel out of the system. I suggest that you and your escort follow us out. There is nothing more we can do here right now.”
Tereni shook his head. “No, we lost Warp drive fighting off some of the ships that got taken over. No time to fix it, we’ve got to keep fighting here. I’ll send the Steadfast with you, she’s still…”
Somewhere off-screen, an officer shouted. “Sir, the Steadfast has picked up heavy pursuit!”
Tereni gritted his teeth. “They’re branching out more. We can’t hold out against much more. Captain, get out of here. Warn as many as you can away, the other survivors are rendezvousing at… Sigma 35…”
The image burst again into static as the Bucharest began to vector away from the other ship, its battered nose pointed towards the Cheyenne that had been on its wing. It had managed to destroy the pair of marauders, but its success had attracted more feral attackers, half a dozen ships of various classes and in various states of disrepair were bearing down upon it from just over the lunar horizon. Just as the first torpedoes began to split the icy blackness, Koltopek turned from the screen, his face still impassive, if tinged with a deep weariness.
“His orders are sound. We must stop any more vessels from coming here. Earth is lost.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
Laura paused and blew out a long sigh. Despite generally being comfortable talking with people, even complete strangers, recounting the events of nearly a decade, especially the most recent ones, was quite taxing. She was beginning to wish she had taken Jacen’s advice and postponed the meeting, but her audience was hanging on her every word; it would be wrong to deprive them of the rest of the dark tale. Nevertheless, the brief respite seemed to be needed; she didn’t need to be a telepath to know that Picard and Troi were having some difficulty taking in what she had just related. One could hardly blame them, Laura wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t seen the Federation capital collapse into chaos in person.
When it became clear neither officer was willing or perhaps even able to venture a question, Laura took a breath and pushed onward. “After we regrouped with the few ships that managed to escape the system, it didn’t take long to figure out that what happened around Earth was not an isolated incident. Vulcan, Betazed, Tellar, Andoria, all of them were overtaken in the same way, simultaneously and without warning. And it wasn’t just the Federation either, the Klingons lost Qo’nos and Ty’gokor, the Cardassians…”
She stopped again, kneading her soft tunic with balled fists almost involuntarily as she looked away from her listeners. Jacen moved closer to where she sat and knelt down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He gave a comforting nod, which she slowly returned with a weak smile, and then turned back to the audience. “The three months since then have been utter confusion. Starfleet lost most of its best admirals on that day, and the whole Federation Council. Chancellor Gowron was killed defending his capitol, I’ve heard. Admiral Nechayev tried to gather what forces she could and retake Earth from whatever it was that had seized it, but they were crushed; something had tipped them off to the attack, and they were ready in force, drawing in rebellious ships from all over the quadrant. The Admiral’s ship barely survived the retreat, but it did get some orbital pictures of the planet, I’ve seen them; everyone has.”
“There was this slick, some kind of purple filth that was growing over huge parts of the globe, all over the place. It looked alive, covering and devouring whole cities, and people. Some of the ships that escaped takeover by those creatures did autopsies on the invaders. Some were completely alien, unlike we’d ever encountered. Others… well, one of my friends was part of the first medical team to look at them. He told me some were Humans, or Vulcans, or other species, twisted and corrupted, turned into animals filled with explosive liquid and venom. Living bombs.”
“These things didn’t stop with those first planets, though. They kept on jumping from one world to the next, using their stolen ships to destroy what forces we cold muster in their defense, and then planting seeds, like huge gobs of flesh, on the planets, which started growing the living slick. Even when a task force managed to take back a planet, it surface was already being devoured by the stuff; most of the colonists were dead, and there were creatures there even more twisted than the ones they used on us in space. The admiral in charge burned the place from orbit; I can’t really blame him.”
“What fleets the Federation has left were gathered at Deep Space Nine, the last I heard, along with some remnants of the Klingon and Cardassian fleets. No one knows what happened to the Romulans, they’re hasn’t been any contact beyond the Neutral Zone since the first attack, and no one’s had the resources to launch a mission into their space.”
“The Cornwall was part of the Second Fleet, dispatched to evacuate the Sigma Aberon colony before it could be taken, but we were ambushed en-route. Those creatures attacked us with our own ships again, but this time there were other things too, like missiles with wings. Thousands of them, coming at our shields and overwhelming them with sheer numbers. Captain Koltopek and Commander Sutton were killed when the bridge breached. Travers took control from the secondary command center and got us into warp, but they followed, and managed to board the ship. They killed most of the crew before we contained them, but they still managed to disable the engines. By the time we lost power, I was one of the few survivors. Someone pushed me into that junction room, where I was when your officers rescued me.”
When Laura at last finished her account, the small room remained silent for a long while. In the time Jacen Solo had known Captain Picard, he had only know him to loose composure once, when he had seen Beverly Crusher’s broken body in that shuttle’s hold, and now he seemed close to collapse again, simply staring over Laura’s shoulder at nothing. Deanna Troi was also speechless, caught between disbelief and unmitigated horror, without even the slightest hope that might have been found in the possibility that the story was false; even her limited telepathic senses could clearly discern every word the ensign had spoken was true.
It was Tassadar, who had listened to the account in a motionless, almost meditative state throughout, who finally broke the silence, his powerful “voice” unusually dark. “The creatures that did this to your worlds are known as the Zerg. They are well known to me and my kin, and it is my sworn duty to protect civilization, Protoss and otherwise, from their pestilence. I shall not detail again their abominable nature, Picard can relate it to you if he wishes, but I would ask of you one question; have you heard of or seen any binding force behind their growth? A master who guides their destruction and assimilation of your worlds?”
Laura thought for a moment. “Officially, command doesn’t seem to know who or what is behind the expansion of these things, these Zerg. There is a greater intellect there, but all of the creatures we’ve captured are mindless, like predatory animals.”
Tassadar peered at her with his huge, unblinking eyes, never breaking contact with her own. It was as though he was sifting through her thoughts, and she suspected very much that that was precisely what he was doing. Not wanting the alien to probe deeper, she continued, more hurriedly now.
“Still, there are rumors floating around in the fleet. Some say that a few of the survivors who managed to escape Earth in a shuttlecraft before it fell saw someone standing amidst that spreading purple slick, untouched by the creatures that seemed to sprout out of it. They say it had the shape of a Human woman, but was mutated, covered in huge spines and scales. Some have even said she spoke in words that the Universal Translator the evacuees had with them could understand, issuing commands to the horrors that swept the land. She called herself, they say, ‘Queen of Blades’.”
The title meant nothing to the others, but Tassadar’s eyes flexed widely and shown with an indescribable color when he heard it. Rising slowly from his meditative posture, the templar intoned one word and one word only, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the others.
“Kerrigan.”
“Have you been able to reestablish contact Starfleet Command yet, ensign?” Captain Koltopek asked calmly, rounding the bridge’s primary tactical consol and coming to a stop behind the communications control, where the tall Human man was frowning at the display in front of him.
“No sir, not yet, but I am picking up a great deal of comm noise from sector zero-zero-one. There might be a signal from Command somewhere in there, but I’m having a hard time clearing away the interference.”
As the sandy-haired man continued to recheck the signals scrolling across his screen, the Vulcan strolled away and sat lightly in his command seat, next to which the ship’s second officer was staring intently out at the streaking stars beyond the bridge’s large viewscreen. She offered a nod of recognition to her superior, but it was obvious that she was preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“Something troubles you, Commander?” Koltopek offered in the annoyingly banal tone his kind was known for.
Rebecca Sutton leaned back into her seat, sighing. “Well sir, I’m still somewhat nervous about this whole situation. I mean, communication with Earth goes down occasionally, but it’s generally due to a transmitter malfunction or some stellar disturbance around one of the relay stations. Contact always gets restored almost immediately, the signal is rerouted and the problem fixed. We haven’t been able to hail Utopia Planitia or Starfleet Command for hours. And on top of that, we haven’t come within hailing range of a single other starship since we changed course, and unless I’m very much mistaken, there should have been at least three patrol craft along our course towards Earth by now.”
Koltopek considered her words. “You are correct in that both circumstances are irregular. However, we are taking steps to determine why these anomalies have occurred, namely the diversion of the Cornwall from her normal patrol route to the Sol system. What additional course of action do you recommend?”
After staring out into the starry darkness for a long moment, the Commander sighed again. “I think we should go to yellow alert.”
The captain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You think there is a possibility that the cause of these disturbances poses a risk to the Cornwall?”
“We have to be open to that possibility, sir.”
Without further questioning, the Koltopek nodded to the tactical officer standing behind them, who immediately triggered several oft-used controls. The lights on the bridge dimmed slightly, burnished yellow by threat-alert panels along the walls. Another tactical display on the rear wall of the bridge showed a representation of the Steamrunner-class vessel as an invisible field of energy enveloped it entirely.
Nearby, one of half a dozen quietly working officers, Ensign Laura Martin earnestly scanned her sensor display, which was cycling through all the passive scans of nearby stars the Cornwall had taken over the last few weeks. She had seen the same data dozens of times before that day, and thus the remarkably similar parade of stellar distortion output graphs normally failed to hold her interest. However, the conversation that had just occurred behind her kept her alert; the unease she felt about the situation made the statistics a welcome distraction. The captain and the commander knew what they were doing, and they were probably just chasing a false-alarm anyways.
In spite of her focus on the screen, however, Laura’s mind couldn’t help but wander back to the incident that had prompted their change of course. It had occurred only a little over three hours ago; near the end of her previous shift on the bridge, Captain Koltopek had been in contact with Admiral Thomas Henry at Starfleet command on Earth regarding the escort of a significant diplomatic envoy to the capitol planet from one of the outlying systems of the Federation when they had lost contact. Attempts to reestablish communications had proved fruitless, and Main Comm had determined there had been a disruption on the transmitting end. At Commander Sutton’s suggestion, the Captain had ordered a change in course for earth to investigate; unusual initiative from a Vulcan, but Koltopek was known for being a bit more flexible on regulations and procedure than others of his kind.
The cutoff was almost certainly nothing, and the Cornwall would likely be back on patrol duty by the end of the day, but Laura was still nervous. Earth, the political, military, and symbolic center of the United Federation of Planets had long been an unassailable bastion of order in the Alpha quadrant, until it saw two attacks in only the last few years; an incursion by a Borg cube intent on assimilating the world, which had only been repelled at enormous cost and with no small measure of luck, and then the Breen raid during the waning days of the Dominion War which almost destroyed Starfleet Command. Even with the Dominion defeated and the Borg quiet ever since, she, and many other Starfleet officers who had family on the green-blue globe, was always on edge when news of it came their way. The circumstances surrounding this particular event were all the more ominous.
After another half hour of uncomfortable waiting, the Comm and Helm officers began to pick up on more distinct signals emanating from the Sol system. Signal traffic was normal from a world so heavily populated and central to the Federation, but the volume was unusually high, and oddly scattered. Moreover, many of the individual transmissions the Cornwall attempted to analyze were oddly garbled, or simply played static, as if the transmitting end had simply stop functioning properly. Even the clearer signals yielded few answers; one, identified as originating from the Miranda-class USS Fellowship, simply showed an empty bridge, bathed in a faintly-yellow light similar to the one that now lit the Cornwall’s own command center. Despite the increasingly eerie nature of the portents before them, Koltopek remained clam, ordering the helm to maintain their course and speed, and continue hailing installations and known vessels in the system. There were no responses.
Finally, the red-shirted helmsman turned to the command officers. “We’re approaching lunar orbit, sir.”
“Reduce to impulse, Ensign.”
Even before the ship had fully decelerated and the viewscreen zeroed in on the Human homeworld, Laura knew her fears were terribly prescient. Eclipsed by the Moon to their right, set against Earth’s inviting green and blue surface, a battle raged. Or rather, it seemed, a slaughter. But there were no silvery Breen ships in the midst of the fray, or swarms of Dominion beetle-fighters, or even massive Borg war machines. No, every combatant had been forged from the same mold; in Earth’s high orbit, fratricide of the highest order was underway.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds of starships spat ribbons of red phaser-fire and volleys of torpedoes at each other through the void, weaving between tumbling wrecks of other vessels, already claimed by the melee. State-of-the-art Sovereign cruisers tore through obsolete Constellation-class ships, Galaxy-class vessels exchanged broadsides, Intrepid-class scouts cut through defenseless orbital space platforms. There seemed to be no sense, no order to the carnage, each starship spun and attacked like a feral beast, desperate to outlive the other.
The bridge crew of the Cornwall looked on in awed horror as the colossal Earth Spacedock, once nexus of all space traffic in the system, began to explode from the inside, nuclear fire rupturing it’s mushroom-cap, then spreading across it surface, engulfing the five-kilometer long installation and numerous starships battling nearby in a titanic fireball.
“Battle stations.”
The Vulcan captain’s clear order roused the crew from their dazed stupor, and they quickly prepped the ship for combat, priming weapons systems and activating EMC capacitors. Still, none of the others were able tear their eyes from the spectacle outside; it was virtually beyond imagining. How could the Federation have erupted into full-fledge civil war over night?
“Tactical assessment, Lieutenant Commander Simmons,” Koltopek prompted.
“Yes… yes, sir,” the man behind him responded, distracting himself with the task at hand. “It looks like there are fire fights like this one going on all over the system; Utopia Planitia, Jupiter orbit, numerous quadrants around Earth and the Moon. At least two hundred ships are engaged right now, although judging by the debris I’m reading, at least a hundred more have already been destroyed or disabled.” He gulped. “Sir, I’m also reading significant damage to areas of Earth’s surface.”
Commander Sutton looked up at him in horror. “Where?”
“There’s a lot of distortion from the fighting, but… it looks like San Francisco and Paris, along with at least five other cities, have been completely destroyed.”
Laura had to grab her terminal to keep from collapsing onto the deck. Starfleet Command, the Academy, Federation HQ… gone? So many good people… But what about…? No, it can’t be. Not them. Not there.
She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see another ensign, a Bajoran woman named Pell, trying to prop her up. Her face was a mask of determination, but a single tear, forming over a cheek, broke the façade. Laura tried to smile up at her, but found herself unable to do so. She had no comfort to give right now; none of them did.
Below, the commander was equally shaken, but years of command training didn’t allow her to show it. “Are any of those ships targeting us?”
Tactical shook his head, racing over the readings that were flooding his screen. “I don’t believe so, sir. Were outside of the general area of the battle, and most of the combatants don’t seem to be looking for new targets. They’re just fighting to survive.”
“Prepare for evasive maneuvers,” Koltopek ordered, leaning forward in his seat attentively. “Ensign, have you been able to clear through that comm interference? Can you get a hold of anyone out there?”
The officer, clearly still dazed, immediately set to his task, his fingers visibly shaking. “I’m still unable to isolate any individual signals, but were close enough for anyone who’s listening to hear us.”
“Put me on general hailing frequency.”
The captain stood as the comm officer rushed to comply.
“This is Captain Koltopek of the USS Cornwall. All operable, friendly vessels, please advise me of the situation. What is going on here?”
The only reply over the line was static. However, in the distance, three starships, a Galaxy and two Akira-classes, all suffering visible and significant damage, began to veer away from the desperate battle and towards the transmitting ship. As they began to form together in a loose, erratic squadron, an embattled shuttlecraft succumbed to a phaser hit and smashed directly into the Galaxy’s wide saucer section, overwhelming its weakened shields. And still the ship pushed onward, ignoring the massive hull-breaches that were peeling away its hull.
“Are they transmitting?” Sutton asked slowly, watching the trio of beaten ships as they pushed through waves of crimson energy and volleys of errant torpedoes inexorably.
“No, sir. Wait…”
“I’m getting something too…” Tactical reported. “They’re priming weapons!”
“Evasive pattern Epsilon Inverse.”
The Steamrunner abruptly jerked into motion, using its main engines to guide it downward relative to its last position, and then triggered a dozen emergency thrusters on it starboard side, causing the ship to spin back, away from the fight and the attacking vessels. A moment later, a trio of burning beams of energy swept the space where the Cornwall had just been, one of them glancing the edge of its shield bubble. The protective field glimmered against the blackness of space as it absorbed the blow.
“Shall I return fire, sir?” Tactical asked, clearly torn on the issue. Not even the most rigorous training courses at Starfleet Academy fully prepared its graduates for the prospect of fighting their own. Even combat exercises that pitted Federation ships against one another were generally only half-hearted. The fact that no one even knew why this chaos was occurring only heightened the tension.
“No. Divert weapons power to the shields and impulse engines. Helm, change course to 456-mark-32-mark-561 and engage at maximum impulse. When were at the minimum safe Warp distance from Sol, jump to Warp Eight, same vector.”
The commander glanced at her superior in confusion. “We’re retreating?”
“We have no other option. Without more intelligence on the situation, entering combat here would be unwise.”
Sutton looked as though she wanted to disagree, but she said nothing more. However, it was all Laura could do to restrain herself from speaking out; there were still billions of people down on Earth’s surface. Whatever was going on, someone had to stand up to safeguard them, and it seemed like the Cornwall had the only sane and capable crew left in the sector. The Steamrunner had been modified for combat during the Dominion War; while not as powerful as an Akira on even footing, surely it could blow past the badly-damaged pursuing vessels without taking too many hits. There were still innocent people down there…
The bridge rocked with a powerful concussion, nearly knocking the command officers back into their seats. On the rear wall, several display panels blinked dangerously as their internal compensators tried to disperse the excess energy that had been reflected into their circuits by the impact outside.
“Phaser hit on our port nacelle from one of the pursuers, Captain! Rear shields holding at eighty-two percent. They’re overtaking us.”
“Divert reserve power to the engines,” Koltopek ordered calmly.
“It isn’t working, sir. They must be overloading their Warp cores to do it, but were still loosing ground.” The ship rocked again as another phaser beam raked across the Cornwall’s rear quadrant. “They’ll have a clear firing solution with photon torpedoes in fifteen seconds. We won’t be able to take many volleys, not from that many ships!”
“We have to return fire,” Sutton said with icy determination, joining the tactical officer at his post. “If we take out the lead ship’s engines, we might make reduce their attack potential enough to escape.”
The lieutenant commander shook his head slowly. “Those ships are quite badly damaged. A direct hit on their engine nacelles could destroy any one of them.” Another blast rocked the ship. “Shields at seventy percent!”
“Engineering reports damage to the secondary plasma feed!” the helmsman shouted. “We can’t keep up impulse like this much longer!”
Koltopek starred at the main viewscreen, which now displayed an aft image of the pursuing vessels, each streaming towards them with animalistic doggedness, glowing with red fire each time they gathered enough energy to get off a phaser blast. They seemed not to care about hitting vital systems or slowing their prey; they just wanted to kill it.
“Sir, I’m picking up two more ships approaching from lunar orbit! They’re right on top of us!”
At last, the captain broke his silence. “Evasives. Fire a full spread of photon torpedoes at the pursuing ships on my mark. Break up their formation. Mar…”
Before the Vulcan could finish his order, however, the silvery dorsal hull of a Sovereign, warship by necessity, flashed cross the viewscreen, followed closely by an older but no less dangerous Cheyenne-class, two of its Warp pylons lifeless and battered virtually beyond recognition. As the latter angled to engage the pair of feral Akiras, the Sovereign dived through a hail of phaser blasts from the larger ship and unleashed its own armament, a pair of blue-hued missiles that punched through the Galaxy’s forward shields and cut into its hull, tearing massive shafts hundreds of meters deep in the scarred form. As it began to reel to one side from the blow, the sovereign executed a rapid turn, placing it over the opposing ship’s rear section, and unleashed a beam of burnished red from its oval command section. The ribbon of energy sliced the Galaxy from stem to stern, separating the hull into two pieces as it etched its way across the prone ship. Finally, the beam bisected the ship’s very heart; the attacker barely escaped the shrapnel discharged when what remained of the ship annihilated itself less than a second later.
As the second vessel blew away one of the Akira’s warp nacelles with a well-placed torpedo, causing its companion to stagger away from the marauding new-comer, the Sovereign pulled along side the Cornwall, making plain even to the naked eye that it was in a condition little better than the ship it had just destroyed; nearly twenty meters of it’s forward superstructure were simply absent, leaving support beams jutting into hard vacuum and a dozen decks swept clean by hard vacuum. The phaser strip it had used to finish off its last opponent was closest to the gapping wound, and seemed to not have escaped undamaged; even as the bridge crew looked on, one emitter after another began to erupt with uncontainable geysers of electricity.
“Sir, we’re being hailed,” the comm officer reported. “Their identification beacon appears to be damaged, but I believe it’s the USS Bucharest.”
“Onscreen.”
The viewscreen shifted from the external view of the starship to its main bridge, sheathed thickly with static. There, bathed in the red light of a combat alert, stood a blue-skinned Andorian with a hastily-bandaged head-stalk that drooped unnaturally over his wide brow. “This is acting Commander Tereni of the Bucharest. What is your status?” His image disappeared in a haze of distortion as he spoke, and then emerged again.
“This is Captain Koltopek of the Cornwall. We are fully operational, thanks to your timely intervention. Why are the Starfleet vessels in this system engaging each other?”
“I’m not entirely certain what’s going on either, Captain. About forty minutes ago, we lost contact with Starfleet Command, and started getting distress calls from starships and space stations across the system. Then our security chief reported an intruder alert in the main cargo bay, and we started loosing contact with the lower decks by the dozen. Before Captain Jameson could get confirmation on what was going on down there, these… things, animals stormed the bridge through the turbolift shaft and killed most of the bridge crew. The security detail, myself, and a few of the others were able to drive them off and seal the bridge, but the Captain didn’t make it.”
“The crew was able to isolate engineering and medical too, but we had to lock off the rest of the ship. I think most of the crew is dead; we had to vent several decks into space. That slowed them down, but… but I think some of the creatures are still alive.”
Commander Tereni stopped, clutching his head and shaking it slowly.
“Commander?” Sutton inquired as gently as she could manage.
He looked up at last; it was clear that there was blood seeping out from somewhere beneath his white mane. “I’m sorry… I think I have a concussion, I don’t know. Um, it looks like a lot of other ships were attacked similarly, and got taken over. They started to fire on other ships at random, and on Earth too. They destroyed Command before anyone could be evacuated. The council too, I think. The last half hour has been nothing but mayhem; we’ve been trying to contact any ships and crews that survived. Trying to get them out of the system, there’s something blocking long-range communications, I think they got to the relay hubs. We need to warn everyone away from Earth.”
“Put all security teams on full boarding alert,” Koltopek ordered. “Place tactical groups in all essential areas, and get all non-essential crew into shelter zones. I want all Jeffery’s Tubes sealed, as well as non-vital turboshafts.” As Sutton moved to carry out the orders, Koltopek turned back to the Bucharest’s beleaguered commander. “I am ordering my vessel out of the system. I suggest that you and your escort follow us out. There is nothing more we can do here right now.”
Tereni shook his head. “No, we lost Warp drive fighting off some of the ships that got taken over. No time to fix it, we’ve got to keep fighting here. I’ll send the Steadfast with you, she’s still…”
Somewhere off-screen, an officer shouted. “Sir, the Steadfast has picked up heavy pursuit!”
Tereni gritted his teeth. “They’re branching out more. We can’t hold out against much more. Captain, get out of here. Warn as many as you can away, the other survivors are rendezvousing at… Sigma 35…”
The image burst again into static as the Bucharest began to vector away from the other ship, its battered nose pointed towards the Cheyenne that had been on its wing. It had managed to destroy the pair of marauders, but its success had attracted more feral attackers, half a dozen ships of various classes and in various states of disrepair were bearing down upon it from just over the lunar horizon. Just as the first torpedoes began to split the icy blackness, Koltopek turned from the screen, his face still impassive, if tinged with a deep weariness.
“His orders are sound. We must stop any more vessels from coming here. Earth is lost.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
Laura paused and blew out a long sigh. Despite generally being comfortable talking with people, even complete strangers, recounting the events of nearly a decade, especially the most recent ones, was quite taxing. She was beginning to wish she had taken Jacen’s advice and postponed the meeting, but her audience was hanging on her every word; it would be wrong to deprive them of the rest of the dark tale. Nevertheless, the brief respite seemed to be needed; she didn’t need to be a telepath to know that Picard and Troi were having some difficulty taking in what she had just related. One could hardly blame them, Laura wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t seen the Federation capital collapse into chaos in person.
When it became clear neither officer was willing or perhaps even able to venture a question, Laura took a breath and pushed onward. “After we regrouped with the few ships that managed to escape the system, it didn’t take long to figure out that what happened around Earth was not an isolated incident. Vulcan, Betazed, Tellar, Andoria, all of them were overtaken in the same way, simultaneously and without warning. And it wasn’t just the Federation either, the Klingons lost Qo’nos and Ty’gokor, the Cardassians…”
She stopped again, kneading her soft tunic with balled fists almost involuntarily as she looked away from her listeners. Jacen moved closer to where she sat and knelt down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He gave a comforting nod, which she slowly returned with a weak smile, and then turned back to the audience. “The three months since then have been utter confusion. Starfleet lost most of its best admirals on that day, and the whole Federation Council. Chancellor Gowron was killed defending his capitol, I’ve heard. Admiral Nechayev tried to gather what forces she could and retake Earth from whatever it was that had seized it, but they were crushed; something had tipped them off to the attack, and they were ready in force, drawing in rebellious ships from all over the quadrant. The Admiral’s ship barely survived the retreat, but it did get some orbital pictures of the planet, I’ve seen them; everyone has.”
“There was this slick, some kind of purple filth that was growing over huge parts of the globe, all over the place. It looked alive, covering and devouring whole cities, and people. Some of the ships that escaped takeover by those creatures did autopsies on the invaders. Some were completely alien, unlike we’d ever encountered. Others… well, one of my friends was part of the first medical team to look at them. He told me some were Humans, or Vulcans, or other species, twisted and corrupted, turned into animals filled with explosive liquid and venom. Living bombs.”
“These things didn’t stop with those first planets, though. They kept on jumping from one world to the next, using their stolen ships to destroy what forces we cold muster in their defense, and then planting seeds, like huge gobs of flesh, on the planets, which started growing the living slick. Even when a task force managed to take back a planet, it surface was already being devoured by the stuff; most of the colonists were dead, and there were creatures there even more twisted than the ones they used on us in space. The admiral in charge burned the place from orbit; I can’t really blame him.”
“What fleets the Federation has left were gathered at Deep Space Nine, the last I heard, along with some remnants of the Klingon and Cardassian fleets. No one knows what happened to the Romulans, they’re hasn’t been any contact beyond the Neutral Zone since the first attack, and no one’s had the resources to launch a mission into their space.”
“The Cornwall was part of the Second Fleet, dispatched to evacuate the Sigma Aberon colony before it could be taken, but we were ambushed en-route. Those creatures attacked us with our own ships again, but this time there were other things too, like missiles with wings. Thousands of them, coming at our shields and overwhelming them with sheer numbers. Captain Koltopek and Commander Sutton were killed when the bridge breached. Travers took control from the secondary command center and got us into warp, but they followed, and managed to board the ship. They killed most of the crew before we contained them, but they still managed to disable the engines. By the time we lost power, I was one of the few survivors. Someone pushed me into that junction room, where I was when your officers rescued me.”
When Laura at last finished her account, the small room remained silent for a long while. In the time Jacen Solo had known Captain Picard, he had only know him to loose composure once, when he had seen Beverly Crusher’s broken body in that shuttle’s hold, and now he seemed close to collapse again, simply staring over Laura’s shoulder at nothing. Deanna Troi was also speechless, caught between disbelief and unmitigated horror, without even the slightest hope that might have been found in the possibility that the story was false; even her limited telepathic senses could clearly discern every word the ensign had spoken was true.
It was Tassadar, who had listened to the account in a motionless, almost meditative state throughout, who finally broke the silence, his powerful “voice” unusually dark. “The creatures that did this to your worlds are known as the Zerg. They are well known to me and my kin, and it is my sworn duty to protect civilization, Protoss and otherwise, from their pestilence. I shall not detail again their abominable nature, Picard can relate it to you if he wishes, but I would ask of you one question; have you heard of or seen any binding force behind their growth? A master who guides their destruction and assimilation of your worlds?”
Laura thought for a moment. “Officially, command doesn’t seem to know who or what is behind the expansion of these things, these Zerg. There is a greater intellect there, but all of the creatures we’ve captured are mindless, like predatory animals.”
Tassadar peered at her with his huge, unblinking eyes, never breaking contact with her own. It was as though he was sifting through her thoughts, and she suspected very much that that was precisely what he was doing. Not wanting the alien to probe deeper, she continued, more hurriedly now.
“Still, there are rumors floating around in the fleet. Some say that a few of the survivors who managed to escape Earth in a shuttlecraft before it fell saw someone standing amidst that spreading purple slick, untouched by the creatures that seemed to sprout out of it. They say it had the shape of a Human woman, but was mutated, covered in huge spines and scales. Some have even said she spoke in words that the Universal Translator the evacuees had with them could understand, issuing commands to the horrors that swept the land. She called herself, they say, ‘Queen of Blades’.”
The title meant nothing to the others, but Tassadar’s eyes flexed widely and shown with an indescribable color when he heard it. Rising slowly from his meditative posture, the templar intoned one word and one word only, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the others.
“Kerrigan.”
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
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The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10315
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
The queen bitch of the universe has arrived 
.
At last, soon there shall be something I desperately wanted to see in broodwar after Kerrigan showed how she had learned from Tassadar:
Tassadar punking Kerrigan in every possible fashion, and I won't agree to any other outcome
.At last, soon there shall be something I desperately wanted to see in broodwar after Kerrigan showed how she had learned from Tassadar:
Tassadar punking Kerrigan in every possible fashion, and I won't agree to any other outcome
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
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Comando293
- Padawan Learner
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- Location: Right Behind You
- Contact:
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Spice Runner
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 767
- Joined: 2004-07-10 05:40pm
- Location: At a space station near you
I'll try to include a bit more exposition than I normally would in that section of the story; you're not the only one whose voiced some confusion on that part.Spice Runner wrote:Well, you've got me hooked. I'm unable to follow the HALO parts but have a general gist of whats going on.
And thanks everyone for your continued readership.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
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Instant Sunrise
- Jedi Knight
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- Contact:
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Spice Runner
- Jedi Knight
- Posts: 767
- Joined: 2004-07-10 05:40pm
- Location: At a space station near you
Noble Ire wrote:I'll try to include a bit more exposition than I normally would in that section of the story; you're not the only one whose voiced some confusion on that part.Spice Runner wrote:Well, you've got me hooked. I'm unable to follow the HALO parts but have a general gist of whats going on.
Thanks, that would be appreciated. I've never really gotten into the HALO games or literature.
I don't want to sound like a heretic but...I think like this fic better than even Starcrossed.
*runs and hides lest any rabid starcrossed junkies overhear*
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Perseid
- Padawan Learner
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- Location: Somewhere between Here and There
Yay updates!!!
Hmm looking interesting, can't wait for the fight between Tassadar and Kerrigan (god it's gonna be good)
At least we get regular updates of this fic unlike Starcrossed
Hmm looking interesting, can't wait for the fight between Tassadar and Kerrigan (god it's gonna be good)
Thats right heretic run, I will alert the Imperial Guard devoted to Starcrossed of your heretical statementSpice Runner wrote:I don't want to sound like a heretic but...I think like this fic better than even Starcrossed.
*runs and hides lest any rabid starcrossed junkies overhear*
At least we get regular updates of this fic unlike Starcrossed
