The Rift

[fusion]

Yes, why so short?
Other wise very good and more please

[Noble Ire]

Yes, why so short?
Other wise very good and more please

It's odd, the chapter is seventeen pages in word, as opposed to my average of about twelve, meaning that it was actually longer than normal. I'm not sure why it seemed to short.

Ah, and no post would be complete without a shameless self-promotion: Echoes, a Star Wars short. I'd appreciate feedback.

[Noble Ire]

Sorry for the length of time since my last update; August was busier this year than it usually is.
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Chapter Fifty Three


With a tug, the dark side adept Lumiya completed her thick, black head wrap, obscuring her face entirely, save for two intense, probing eyes. The ritual of removing and replacing the headdress was a tedious one, but essential for tending the irreparably scarred flesh beneath. For a time after the incident which had given her those wounds along with a host of others that had nearly killed her, the woman could barely stand to look at her own visage in a mirror as she treated necrotized skin; it reminded her too much of the failure that had ravaged her so. However, as time passed and she had become more accustomed to the cyborg parts that had been implanted to restore her body’s abilities, she began to view the procedure as an opportunity, an image with which she could push herself further, and draw upon the dark energies that raged within.

Lumiya was a creature of a singular purpose. After her life as an Imperial spy had been cut short by the perception of rebel Luke Skywalker, she had devoted herself totally to the study of the Dark Side, both to please Darth Vader, who had rebuilt and retrained her after the catastrophic failure, and to convince herself that she still held value. With Vader’s tutelage and the arcane Sith resources of the late Emperor, her power had increased greatly in only a short time, and her tainted past faded further and further out of mind. Sent to the ancient Sith world Ziost to meditate upon the nuances of the Dark Side, Lumiya continued her training diligently and even constructed a lightwhip, a weapon scarcely seen in the galaxy since the fall of the ancient Sith Empire. Ever more confident in her swelling power and knowledge, she had even begun to think of herself as a Dark Lady of the Sith, capable of standing abreast of even the likes of Vader and Palpatine.

But then the Emperor had died. Though unfailingly loyal to him, Lumiya had nonetheless felt far more kinship with his apprentice, and thus when she learned that Vader had assumed control of the Empire, she was not at all distressed. However, ever since the Imperial leadership had suffered its great upset, her connection the Force seemed distorted, a taint unrelated to her growing dominion over the energy field. Though she could still touch it easily and her skill in combat had not dulled, meditation on the Dark Side’s infinite power no longer left her exhilarated, as it always had before. The pain, fear, anger, and hate of others, essential sustenance for one who bent the Force to their will, seemed muted, as if the carnal energy of each emotion was drained before it reached her.

She had hoped that Darth Vader would be able to find the root of this sudden dullness and expunge it, but he had disappeared before she could even leave Ziost, leading a fleet toward some unknown end into blackness so distant that she could no longer even feel his lingering presence. Instead, she had been placed in the company of the Sith Lord’s Twi’lek servant Aayla, one whom she had never even heard of before she intruded upon Lumiya’s studies. She had been impressed by the woman’s presence in the Force, and thus joined in her crusade of inquisition with little complaint, hoping that the alien might rejuvenate her connection to the Dark Side by osmosis. Instead, the disturbing absence had only grown, and was now even beginning to interfere with simple feats of Force perception.

Nevertheless, the Twi’lek’s mission was a directive of Lord Vader, and she was obligated to take part in it, no matter what misgivings she held. In the short time since the Sith Lord had vanished, Lumiya and her brooding compatriot had crisscrossed the Galaxy in the Twi’lek’s shuttle, tracking down each name on a list of individuals Vader’s new apprentice produced for their use. On it were listed men and women from every sector of Imperial society: local politicians, stormtrooper officers, COMPNOR executives, Imperial Guardsmen, star destroyer captains, Moffs, admirals, and even some of the Emperor’s former inner circle. Those that still lived, in any event.

Most of the time, Aayla would simply observe the person in question from afar, or meet with them briefly under deceptive pretenses; few even knew that she was an agent of Vader’s. Others, however, quickly fell victim to her blade: Grand Admiral Syn, advisors Xandel Carvius and Burr Nolyds, Force adept guardsman Carnor Jax, a handful of other influential captains and administrators, all slain quietly and in cold blood. Lumiya had never actually witnessed the executions, and had only unleashed her lightwhip once, to dispatch the bodyguards of an offending admiral, but she had no doubt that they occurred. The Twi’lek bore an aura of death that was undeniable.

All the alien would say on the purpose of this covert purge was that it was on the direct order of Lord Vader, and intended to remove any individuals that might weaken or seek to subvert the Sith Lord’s new authority. However, Lumiya was unsure as to how exactly Aayla identified who on the list was loyal and who was not. When asked, the Twi’lek simply refused to say anything at all. Indeed, when they were not discussing the next target, the woman kept completely to herself, deflecting all attempts at conversation and repelling every mental probe Lumiya sent her way. This secretive behavior had quickly begun to wear on Lumiya, and recently she had found herself questioning their entire endeavor. More than the alien’s hidden methods and motive, the targets they sought out worried her. She couldn’t quite place the root of her apprehension, but there was something odd about the list all the same.

Nevertheless, be it because of their efforts, or the ever-present threat of Vader’s return, the Empire continued to function effectively even without Palpatine at its head. A few prominent officials, including Grand Vizier Sate Pestage, had vanished in the wake of the “terrorist” strikes that had decapitated the Empire and then wiped out most of his closest advisors, but by and large, the ruling groups had taken the changes in stride. Vader had left little in the way of instruction on the restructuring of the Empire’s upper levels, which had depended almost entirely on Palpatine and his staff for direction previously, but a few ambitious and enterprising officials had taken the initiative nonetheless. Grand Moff Disra had convened an emergency Committee of the Grand Moffs on Coruscant, which could serve as a provisional legislative body. Lord Crueya Vandron, who had been subjected to one of Aayla’s longest interrogations, ensured the confused populace that the Imperial infrastructure was as robust as ever. The Grand Admirals and Imperial Intelligence quelled riots and silenced defectors encouraged by the Emperor’s death. The Rebel Alliance might have posed a problem to stability, but a pair of successive defeats at the hands of the newly-crowned imperator had effectively crushed the insurgent movement, or so the Imperial news service so gleefully reported.

The latest target on the pair’s list had taken them to Deep Space Checkpoint C-4401, a small Imperial security station positioned along the Byss Run, a little-traveled and highly secure hyperspace lane that plunged straight into the heart of the galactic core. Aayla had instructed Lumiya to locate the station’s commander and probe his mind for any potentially rebellious thoughts, and then had departed on the Lambda shuttlecraft before the other dark jedi could protest, on the pretense of “checking on a feeling”. The station commander ended up being completely unremarkable, a diligent and loyal man with no ambitions beyond an early retirement, and so Lumiya had nothing to do but wait for the Twi’lek’s return.

In the two days since, she had focused, with little success, on returning clarity of the Force to her mind, and determining what her companion might be up to. Aayla’s apparent destination, the planet Byss of the Beshqek system, did not appear on the file of potential targets. Lumiya recalled one of the Emperor’s advisors mentioning the name once in a whispered conversation, but beyond that, she knew little of it. According to the station’s databank, it was an unremarkable, urbanized world, host to an Imperial prison colony and a fleet staging yard. Still, Lumiya noted that the entirety of traffic that passed by the security station seemed to be heading directly for the planet, and much of the cargo ships were carrying highly sensitive and classified cargos. Heavily-armed escort vessels were common.

And what was more, even with her perception weakened, the adept could sense a strong presence in the Force somewhere relatively nearby in the galactic void. She could not be sure, but the sensation was similar to the aura of dark power she had felt while on Ziost, or while visiting the Sith graveworld Korriban. Perhaps Aayla had “been checking on a feeling,” after all.

As Lumiya finished dressing, a sudden premonition sparked into her mind. Aayla had returned. Wasting no time, the warrior retrieved her lightwhip and exited the small room she had been given, blowing past Imperial crewmen in the halls beyond who had been instructed to remain out of their guest’s way. The Twi’lek carried pass codes that ensured them both unfettered access to all Imperial facilities and computers, and immunity from most regulations. The exemptions had proved quite useful, save when Aayla decided that a ranking officer had failed her loyalty test.

The shuttle was waiting in the main docking bay, prepped for departure, and the blue Twi’lek was still seated in the pilot’s seat when Lumiya climbed onboard. Before she was even to the cockpit, the vessel was on the move again, rocketing through the bay atmospheric shield and angling off through space, away from the densely packed stars of the Core. Now used to her companion’s abrupt and unilateral manner, Lumiya took her seat and watched as the starfield outside surged towards the main viewport, and then vanished into the void of hyperspace.

“The commander was beyond suspicion. I sensed no danger from him,” the cyborg said at last. “Of course, I suspect you already knew that.” As soon as Aayla stranded her on the station, Lumiya had realized that her mission had most likely been a diversion, one that would allow the other to proceed to another destination alone.

The Twi’lek did not reply, instead calling up her target file and scanning past those who had already been cleared or neutralized.

“You found what you were looking for?” Lumiya pressed.

“Yes.”

Beneath her wrap, the human snarled soundlessly. She had managed to retain her composure since their mission had begun, but it was becoming more and more difficult for her to tolerate Aayla’s obstinate and dismissive attitude towards her. And the disciples of the Sith were not known for patience with obstinacy. “And what, exactly, did you find?”

Aayla turned sharply in her seat, suddenly radiating barely-contained fury. Her cold eyes reached out like supernovas, questing to annihilate all in their path. “Do you doubt? Do you think I am acting for any goal other than the empowerment of our master?”

Lumiya was taken aback by the ferocity of the response. “I never said…”

“Then do not presume to question me! Lord Vader tasked me with this mission! You are here because he believes that you can assist me in achieving his ends, and no other reason! It is my choice to decide how to proceed, and you have no authority to question me. Do it again, and I will kill you!”

Normally, such an order from anyone but her master would have immediately incited Lumiya to attack, even in the confines of the shuttlecraft, and she did indeed reach momentarily for her weapon’s hilt, but something stopped her. Indignation and dark rage bubbled within her, demanding blood to appease the insult the alien had inflicted, but another force, the same that had halted her back on Ziost, stayed the cyborg’s hand. Now, however, she truly understood what the emotion was. Neither obligation nor restraint nor curiosity had stayed the assault. No, this was fear. Simple, unmitigated fear.

The two were frozen for a long while, one rending the air with her burning aura as the other sat transfixed, paralyzed by the overwhelming emotion. Finally, the latter submitted, dropping her weapon hand and slumping back, resigned to subservience for the moment. There was a power within the Twi’lek that was to be reckoned with, but Lumiya would never submit to it, not truly. The incident would only serve to feed her anger and suspicion, and the Dark Side flourished upon such things.
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From his appointed quarters onboard the August Judgment, the Arbiter looked on as countless millions died. The slaughter was not live, of course; instead a recording projected into the center of his spacious apartment, but its impact was undiminished. Warships of the Holy Covenant, among the mightiest weapons forged since the disappearance of the Forerunners, ignited by the dozens, obscured simulated stars with their death throes. Again and again, the dwindling armada formed and reformed, charging through the void with weapons blazing, incited by the fall of their comrades. And again and again, the vengeful hammer would shatter, shredded by spears of livid green light. Each vessel fought valiantly nonetheless, and it would have been a truly glorious conflict, save for one fact. The Covenant did not lose.

At length, the projection focused in on a single besieged group of vessels, the last of the defenders left in place. A pair of titanic assault carriers launched volleys of blistering plasma in every direction, while a swarm of smaller ships formed a shell around them, engaging any attacker who came close with reckless abandon. To any known foe, the sight of such firepower alone would have alone been reason enough to rethink any advance. But the opponents they faced now were well beyond being impressed by the defiant fusillade.

Like a poisoned blade, an Imperial Star Destroyer sliced into the outer perimeter of the defensive shell and immediately set its own brand of toxin to work. Dozens of energetic bolts streamed from the multitude of orderly notches on its broad surface, each one converting a careening starfighter or attack ship into a cloud of super-heated debris. Those that survived had only moments to reflect upon the annihilation of their companions before death came for them as well, this time in the form of a black and gunmetal wave; TIE fighters in number beyond counting.

With the lesser prey deftly vanquished, the triangular hunter turned its focus onto the pair of steadfast battleships. With their own fates now clear, the ships rent space with their drives and pushed forward, intent on embracing the attacker in their own destruction. Though it knew of the danger that now bore down upon it immediately, the destroyer did not turn away or even halt the doomed marauders with its guns; it waited. Hope swept though the crews of the Covenant ships. The enemy had faltered in the face of their selfless act, and now they could at least lend some meaning to their deaths. But it was not so.

As turbolaser bolts, unleashed by half a dozen other Imperial cruisers beyond the direct sphere of the melee, dashed the hopeless charge and sent the last remaining warrior ships plowing into one another far from their intended prey, the Arbiter’s fists slowly clenched. This engagement had played out identically to numerous others, as he knew it would, but the Sangheili had watched nonetheless. His kinsmen, brave and true warriors, good beings all, had just died in vast numbers in a hopeless fight, and honoring their sacrifice by bearing witness to it was the least he could do.

The August Judgment had only narrowly escaped the massacre itself. The battle group commanded by ‘Nefaaleme had managed to surround an outlying group of Imperial ships, and then cripple one of the smaller star destroyers and its escort ships. The firefight had yielded relatively limited casualties, but by the time ‘Nefaaleme could turn his attention to the larger battle the Covenant armada was already collapsing. Though it outnumbered the twenty large star destroyers by more than four times, and vastly more by tonnage, the sheer firepower and neigh invulnerable shielding of the extra-galactic human warships more than made up for their numerical disadvantage. Even the smaller Imperial ships could stand up to Covenant warships nearly a dozen times their size, and though the Seraph wings were a closer match for the enemy’s fightercraft, the sheer number of TIE fighters deployed had swiftly overwhelmed them.

The decision to call for a retreat had been a difficult one for the August Judgment’s ship master, even after the Imperial fleet had breached the Covenant lines so far that they were bombarding ground teams on what remained of the captured world’s surface. Admitting defeat, though a completely valid tactical decision, was a mark on the Sangheili's personal honor, which was already tarnished by his recent failed challenge. Nevertheless, the warrior had managed to restrain himself and issued a general withdraw, and then lead his group out of the system before they attracted the attention of the victors. Very few others followed suit.

After pausing briefly to beam an alert message to the nearest communications repeater station, which would hopefully reach the reinforcements still heading for the overrun system before it was too late, the August Judgment and its escorts had set course for the heart of the Holy Covenant Empire, straining their slipstream drives to their limits. ‘Nefaaleme was determined to relay the magnitude of this new threat face to face with the High Council, and for once the Arbiter was in complete agreement with his decision. If there was anything that could be done to stop the impending betrayal by the Prophets and their lackeys, the Arbiter knew that the capital High Charity was where it had to be undertaken. However, he had yet to figure out just what exactly had to be done, and how the unexpected arrival of the Galactic Empire would factor into his plan.

For the moment, though, there were more pressing matters that had to be attended to. The trip would take at least a week, perhaps more, depending upon where the mobile capital currently lay in space, and though he had been cowed to some degree, ‘Nefaaleme was still a threat as long as he remained onboard the carrier. If the ship master were to discover even an inkling of duplicity on his superior’s part, the Arbiter’s mission, his life, and the lives of his human charges could all be placed in jeopardy.

The warrior was confident that he could keep ‘Nefaaleme occupied with matters of honor and fleet politics until they arrived at High Charity, but there were still holes in his cover story that needed filling. The non-existent transport he had supposedly piloted in would have to somehow appear, and the records of the vehicle that he had actually arrived upon might need subtle alteration. The Arbiter was confident that Ship Master and Supreme Commander Teno ‘Falanamee could convince a Huragok technician to carry out the tasks; if given a challenging enough technical task, the single-minded alien probably wouldn’t even wonder why it was doing what it had been ordered to do. However, there were a few other loose ends that might prove more difficult to tie up.
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The August Judgment’s secondary Unggoy warren was a low hall barely over ten meters long, dimly lit, choked with methane fog, and quite cold. Most intelligent species would have been applaud to learn that the space was where a population of nearly one hundred workers and guards slept, ate, and spent their off-hours, scarce as they were. To the chamber’s inhabitants, however, the warren was quite cozy, reminiscent of the breeding pits where their kind was birthed in pods of dozens.

After countless generations of being on the very bottom wrung of a war-like and authoritarian society, Unggoy needs were by necessity few. They slept curled up in small alcoves with their comrades and relations. Their sanitation facilities were communal and basic, explaining the pervasive odor that mixed into the methane haze. Nutrients were ingested via tube-squeezed pastes and sticky liquids, affectionately nicknamed ‘food nipples’.

At the moment, a tangled knot of the latter amenities were being dispensed from automated hatches in the ceiling. Since the first feeding period serviced all Unggoy of the barrack regardless of their shift, status, or position, the chamber was as packed as it ever got, with stocky reptiliods standing shoulder to shoulder and closer to receive their allotted share of nutrition for the morning. Dense packets of sturdy muscle, the creatures required an impressive amount of food and enjoyed every ounce of it, even the tasteless goop that constituted a majority of their diets. After gathering up their rations, each would plop down next to or on top of pod mates and coworkers and chat squeakily about their mundane lives and simple dreams.

Today, the crowd around crewers Migaw and Cakap was unusually large. To beings who spent most of their short lives in the bowels of a warship, attending to the same monotonous duties day after day, anything new or unexpected was seized upon, and the pair’s tale was truly unique.

“So after these guys, these intruders, after they leave the cargo bay, I start looking around for some way out of the alcove,” Migaw was recounting, conveying his story with excessive gesticulation. “We hadn’t picked up much stuff on the mission, so it was pretty empty. Just me and the energy field blocking the door, oh, and this lump, still asleep on the deck.”

“I got hit too, you know,” Cakap retorted. “It’s not my fault your skull's thicker than mine.”

Migaw waved a stubby paw at him dismissively. “Anyways, after I looked around a little bit more, I found an old charge siphon jammed in a ventilation grate. One of those really old ones, you know, two prongs. It still had the static gel coating on the handle. It wasn’t working, but the points were still sharp, so I took it over to the patch behind where the field control was and I pried at the plate until it gave a bit, and then I dug through some of the ancillary monitor wiring until I found the cargo bay field feed. After that, it wasn’t hard to cut the power to the energy wall, drag this useless sack of bone to the main hatch, jack it, and get out of there.”

“You didn’t try to get the Sangheili out with you?” one of the Unggoy’s comrades asked. He already knew the answer, as Migaw had already related the tale twice, but he, like the rest of the audience, was thoroughly enjoying himself, and was eager to extend the conversation.

“You know the elite, always so bossy and loud,” Migaw replied eagerly. “She probably would have had us attack those humans unarmed if I’d got her out. Besides, she was still out when I got free, and I didn’t really feel like dragging her along too. And I did get her free in the end; who do you think was the one who lead the guard commander back to the ship?”

Cakap hit Migaw in the shoulder. “You didn’t lead him back, you beak face. I saw it. All you did was come up to him groveling and whining, and blubber all about the mean heretics who attacked you.”

The Unggoy paused to take a draft of his nutrient tube, and then leaned back onto the bony side of a sleeping pod mate before continuing. “In fact, I would believe the rest of the story, either. I bet the humans just figured that you were too worthless to be bothered with and tossed you in a corner. You can’t cut a power line like you said you did, and if you did, the flow would have fried those little eyes of yours right out of your thick skull.”

Migaw threw up his lanky arms, nearly hitting three members of his audience. “As I said, the siphon still had its gel coat. And I wouldn’t talk about worthless. What did you do in all this, aside from taking a nap?”

Cakap shot his companion an indignant look. “If I hadn’t gotten off that derelict when I did, they would have flown off without us, and you’d be sucking vacuum right now.”

Migaw let loose a loud, barking laugh. “All you did was get scared, sleepyhead. I was the one who actually had to work to save our heads.”

As the two continued to bicker, the crowd shared a few more moments of merriment, and then began to disperse, workers sensing that their brief feeding period was coming to a close. After the area around Migaw and Cakap had cleared somewhat, another Unggoy was able to push his way through, his rounded mouth clenched in irritation.

“You two, there’s a Sangheili outside the hatch who wants to see you, and she doesn’t seem very happy, even for them.”

The companions stopped fighting and glanced at each other nervously. There was only one Sangheili who would want to see them off-duty.

“You’d better hurry up. I don’t think long-legs will get happier if you keep her waiting. Besides, she’s blocking the door.”

Grudgingly, Migaw and Cakap worked their way through the crowd to the entrance of the warren, located their uniforms, and hastily put the bulky, armored garments on. After making sure their methane tanks were full and their breath masks operational, the two exchanged another look and then stepped into the airlock and the ship beyond.

Though female Sangheili were marginally smaller and less muscular than their male counter parts, compared to Unggoy their stature was no less imposing. Adding to her distinct advantage in size, the withering glare that Deau ‘Mefasee met her subordinates with as soon as they stepped out into the main hallway stopped made them immediately drop their heads in supplication. As a female, the Sangheili was relegated to the lowest levels of society, forced to serve as a lowly transport pilot, as evidence by her blue novice’s armor, but among the Unggoy, she was held absolute authority.

“You left me to the humans?” she rumbled. “You left me unconscious in that infernal cargo bay while you saved your own worthless hides?”

Shakily, Cakap tried to look up, but immediately looked down again, tensing for an impending blow. “It was not my fault, Excellency. I... I was unconscious as well. It was Migaw who decided to flee.”

Migaw shivered, feeling his commander’s icy stare pass onto his quivering skull. After swearing mortal revenge upon his companion silently, he found his voice. “I throw myself upon your mercy, Excellency. I did not wish to leave you, but I could not risk alerting the humans of my escape by stopping to free you. I thought it was best to get help immediately.”

The toe of ‘Mefasee’s boot nudged Cakap’s methane tank. “And yet you paused to burden yourself with him?”

Migaw attempted to bow further, causing him to bump his head on the metal deck plate. “I was not thinking clearly, Excellency. I feared that they might kill him if I left Cakap alone. I am deeply sorry for delaying your rescue because of it.”

“We will accept punishment for our failure without complaint, great one,” Cakap put in miserably.

The Sangheili was silent for a few moments, and though neither dared to look up, both knew that she was fuming. Most of the time, the pilot was relatively easygoing, for one of her kind, and seemed to tolerate the lesser races of the Covenant more than her male counterparts, but she also had a foul temper. Her punishments rarely involved much physical damage, but they were nonetheless loathsome. The last time Grink, an avian Kig-Yar their ship’s operations chief, had got on the Sangheili’s bad side, she had given him a atmosphere tank and made him live in the secondary Unggoy warren for a dozen duty cycles. Grink, like most of his kind, disdained their stocky, reptilian counterparts; there was, of course, also the matter of the cold. The two didn’t even want to imagine what she would do to them.

Finally, she sighed, exasperated. “Get up, you two. Grovel on your own time.” Her voice was clear tinged with anger still, but it was no longer overtly hostile.

Relieved, if confused, by the sudden change, Migaw and Cakap rose to their flat feet, although they retained their subservient postures.

Waiting until both of them met her yellow eyes, ‘Mefasee continued. “All right. Migaw, you reported that there was a Sangheili with the humans who commandeered my ship. The one who knocked both of you out.” She raised a hand to the back of her head, and then with drew it swiftly. “The one who struck me from behind.”

Migaw nodded nervously. “Yes, Excellency. I saw him before he hit me, and then talking with one of the humans after I recovered. He took your uniform.”

“Yes, I know,” the female Sangheili said bitterly. “But this attacker was not on found onboard my ship when it was recaptured.”

“No, Excellency. Just as I reported, after I saw him talking with the human, he used the main hatch to leave and board the August Judgment. I assume he was a heretic, in league with the humans. Maybe he wanted a better ship. Has he been found?”
‘Mefasee clenched a fist and stared off down one hallway. “Not yet. The Guard is searching the ship for stowaways, but I have not been allowed to assist in the search. Officially.”

“Tell me Migaw, did you see anything about this coward, aside from his uniform? Anything that might help distinguish him?”

The Unggoy considered for a moment, and then was hit by a sudden memory. “Yes, I remember. He had a very big scar on one side of his face.”

‘Mefasee leaned closer. “A great many male warriors bear scars from combat on this ship. Can you tell me anything more about what it looked like? Where was it on his face?”

Migaw thought again, trying to jog his memory until something else jogged it for him. “I… I believe it looked like that, Excellency.” He pointed a bony finger to the passageway behind his master.

She twisted around to see a tall Sangheili warrior striding towards her from the open iris of a blast door, the gold of his helm nearly disguising a deep gash above his left eye.

[fusion]

First post, I can't stand the suspense! I need more!
Ok, it was good as usual, we need to see the Excutor!

[Vehrec]

One word: BUSTED. Both Byss and the Arbiter

[Hawkwings]

I can't believe I missed this update!

That chapters a bit more talking and setup heavy than what I'd prefer, but that scene with the Arbiter looking at the recordings was awesome. Keep it up!

[Noble Ire]

As of now, The Rift is on an indefinite hiatus. With the start of school I've been quite busy, and my recent foray into original fiction has begun to take up the time I usually give over to writing this. Additionally, I have of late, been having some difficulties with the story as a whole. I didn't plan as much as I should have when starting the tale, and I've been encountering more and more problems because of it; right now, quite frankly, I'm not sure who I can continue on without really compromising the overall plot.

I'm not sure how or when I will remedy these issues, but I assure you, I'm not about to let The Rift die. If I can figure out a way to continue on, I will when I have some more time, or I might attempt to restart the story in a more cohesive form (I had always intended on rewriting the first few chapters anyways). At the very least, I will refine and release a plot synopsis for the rest of the tale, but I doubt it will come to that.

Thanks for reading so far, and I hope you will continue to do so when I start up again, whatever I end up doing. Please, post your comments, questions, or suggestions. I'm eager to hear them.

[Comando293]

And there was much saddness.

Lets return the story to the Master Chief.

[Noble Ire]

And there was much saddness.

Fear not; after actually taking the time to tackle a few story problems, I've actually been heartened enough to try and start writing again, and I'm making progress. Its amazing what one can do in a day if tries.

Sorry for the announcement; I was in a rather dour mood when I wrote it.

Lets return the story to the Master Chief.

It wasn't really his to begin with.

Nevertheless, there are several characters, the Chief among them, who haven't been getting enough time, but I do intend to remedy that oversight in the near future.

I should have Chapter Fifty Four written within the next few days, hopefully. I appreciate the patience of everyone who still reads this, and I'm sorry I seem to have to test it so often.

[fusion]

I appreciate the patience of everyone who still reads this, and I'm sorry I seem to have to test it so often.

That is okay! It just adds more suppense to the story. Don't worry, Stravo hasn't updated his starcross in a very long time

[Noble Ire]

Chapter Fifty Four


The main observation lounge of the USS Versailles, flagship of what remained of Starfleet, had seen better days. Signs of its former elegance and the characteristic creature comforts of Federation starships were still in evidence: comfortable, high-backed chairs still flanked the room’s long, central chamber; a thin, pastel carpet clung to the cold floor plates; one side of the lounge still opened onto space through an expansive, unarmored viewport, but the evidence of wear was far more conspicuous. Nearly half of the long window was obscured by a slab of duranium, bolted on to succor an all-too-recent wound. The interior wall, originally designed with a display alcove for trophies, artifacts, and remembrances, had been replaced with a more sturdy metal plate, extra insurance against the possibility of another hull breach. High along the shadowed walls, fingers of carbonized scouring spidered to and from light panels and computer lines, tokens of deep, omnipresent weariness.

Nevertheless, the chamber still functioned, even if the lighting would fluctuate from time to time as newly-repaired systems deep within the bowels of the starship were reactivated, and no one had objected when it had been chosen as the site of the proceedings underway within.

It was quite obvious that Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev was a formidable woman from the moment she had stepped into the room. Though physically gaunt and frail-looking, an image heightened by the shadow of gray that tinged her short, blonde hair, the Starfleet officer possessed a presence that demanded respect. Her stiff posture spoke too of the weight of authority that both kept her alert and wore on her resolve. Though reddened by lack of sleep and worry, her keen eyes still managed to convey a distinct sense of drive and purpose as she carefully scanned each of the others assembled before her.

Seated next to the admiral at the conference table that dominated the center of the room, Captain Picard had just finished a long and extraordinary tale. Indeed, were it not for the outcome of the recent battle, and the presence of many of the key figures of the captain’s report, the woman would probably not have believed it. Given the circumstances, however, and the gratitude she personally felt for the simple fact that her ship, her fleet, and the planet below were still intact, she was more amenable to the explanation.

“The Zerg?” she put in after reflecting on all she had learned.

Picard nodded. “Yes. High Templar Tassadar seems to know a great deal about the creatures. He supplied their name.”

Nechayev focused on the being in question, who was ensconced in the opposite corner of the room. He had remained largely motionless over the course of the meeting, but his strange, glistening eyes never strayed far from the admiral.

“Well, we have something to call them now. It’s more than our intelligence agents have been able to gather, at least.” She shook her head wearily. “Fighting creatures that attack and consume without thought or complex motive is something completely beyond my experience. At least the Dominion would speak with us before they attacked. Even the Borg gave their ultimatum. Not these things, though. They just eat and destroy.”

“Do not be deceived.” As it always did at first, Tassadar’s penetrating ‘voice’ came as a surprise to the human. “The minions of the swarm may care for nothing but carnage, but there are greater minds that drive them all. Think of them merely as beasts, and what remains of your people will not survive the horde’s next onslaught.”

Grudgingly, Nechayev nodded in agreement. “Yes, we determined as much not long after the first attacks. No unthinking animals could coordinate as they do, or commandeer our starships so efficiently. We simply have been unable to understand how they behave as they do. Perhaps you can provide more information on their organization and motives?”

“I am tasked with purging the Zerg wherever it may take root. I will assist as I can, but my knowledge alone will not be enough for you to turn the tide. That time passed long ago.”

“Nonetheless, any continued aid, and your efforts in the defense of Bajor, are greatly appreciated, by myself, and the fleet.”

With that, she turned her attention to the others assembled at the long table. Alongside Riker and Data, who had accompanied their captain off of the Republica, Councilor Leia Organa, Major Truul and one of his marines, C-3PO, and, to everyone’s surprise, Captain Ryceed were seated in silent anticipation.

“And I offer you all my sincerest thanks as well, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets itself. Were it not for the intervention of the Republica, I doubt that any sentient in this system would still be left alive.”

Ryceed stirred in her seat and looked as though she was about to speak, but Leia acted first, receiving the commendation with an appreciative nod.

“As a representative of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, I accept your thanks. It is our mandate to protect the lives and liberties of sentient beings of all kinds from the touch of tyranny, and though the threat you face is far different from the sort we are used to, we were obligated and willing to offer any assistance we could. Besides, from what I have heard from Captain Picard and his crew, the United Federation of Planets is devoted to many of the ideals that the Alliance stands for. Helping your nation survive and flourish, as far from our home as it is, only furthers our own goals.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, your assistance has not only saved this fleet and Bajor, but prolonged the survival of a half dozen sovereign powers and their people. And that is what we are fighting for, our very right to exist.” Nechayev frowned to herself and folded her hands on front of her. “That brings me to the chief purpose of this assembly. Captain Picard’s account was not clear on exactly why you, Councilor Organa, and the Republica are here. It sounds as though you have your own war to fight, and I find it hard to believe that the people of your galaxy so altruistic as to give up a resource of the likes of your vessel simply to escort a few wayward officers home.”

Leia smiled diplomatically. “Your assessment is quite correct, Admiral. In fact, some among the Alliance’s leadership did object to our traveling here, but in the end it was decided that the resources offered by a new galaxy, hidden from the Empire and populated by potential allies, were too precious to pass up.”

“I’m sure it is obvious to you know that, even if it were inclined to do so, the Federation currently lacks the infrastructure and technology to be able to directly assist the Alliance against any force that could pose a serious threat to you.”

Ryceed fidgeted in her seat again; the action was obvious enough to draw a veiled glare from Leia before she continued.

“I realize that, and I appreciate your frankness. Nevertheless, I am still of the opinion that this galaxy is a potential boon for the Alliance. It may be the safe haven we need now more than ever, assuming of course that the wormhole that connects our two realms remains stable, or can be modified to do so. And if the Alliance was to relocate some of its operations here, it would be advantageous to have allies who are knowledgeable of the area and its inhabitants available for support and consultation. From what I have seen and heard, the Federation would be an ideal candidate.”

“Quite honestly, Councilor, right now the Federation is effectively limited to this cubic light year of space. In the past three months, we have lost more than sixty percent of our worlds, and the rest are completely at the mercy of the Zerg. Bajor, the warships in orbit, and the civilian refugee fleet we have spread out nearby are the sum assets of the Federation, the Klingon Empire, and the Cardassian Union. Any other vessels have either fled into the wilds of space or refused to leave their worlds, set upon defending them to the end. There has been no contact with the Romulans since the invasion began, and we can only assume they’re facing the same fate that we are. We are friendless and alone in a hostile wasteland, on the brink of total extermination; not an ally I would choose.”

Riker and Picard glanced at each other gravely; both had hoped that the reports of the Federation’s state they had heard from Ensign Martin and Captain Gehirn were exaggerations, but hearing the dire news from the very head of Starfleet made the conclusions unavoidable. Still, Picard was secretly impressed by the way in which Nechayev had spoken. Rather than be justifiably hopeless at the prospect of annihilation by a horde of pitiless monstrosities, she seemed hardened to the idea, and talked of it as if it were a parameter in a training simulation, simple and unavoidable. As his second in command would no doubt put it, they had all been dealt a hand, and she knew they had to play it, no matter the odds against them.

Leia seemed to stare off into empty space for a moment before answering the Admiral’s blunt statement, but when she spoke again, her words were still steady. “There is no denying that the threat that you face is a mortal one, and you are correct, a dead ally is not one at all. Since the survival of the Federation and the stability of this galaxy are of significant concern to the Alliance, pending the establishment of a more extensive presence here, I am willing to offer, on behalf of the Alliance High Council and all affiliated cells, military assistance in dealing with the Zerg threat.”

This time Leia could not prevent Ryceed from speaking up. “Forgive me, Councilor, but I must voice my strong misgivings on such an offer. I don’t mean to belittle your struggle Admiral, but we’ve got our own war to worry about, and I don’t think we can afford to devote any material or personnel to extended action here. The original concept behind our mission was a sound one, but no one expected to find Picard’s galaxy in a state of open war, no matter the opponent. I simply don’t see how risking more of our ships and crews to come here and fight is a viable option.”

Many officials of Leia’s standing, among them most of the members of the High Council, would have been severely taken aback by such an outburst from a mere captain, especially during sensitive negotiations, but she seemed unperturbed. Ryceed’s discomfort with her assignment had been plain from the beginning; perhaps the diplomat had been anticipating just such an incident.

“When I offered military assistance, it was not my intent to travel back through the wormhole to gather it,” Leia Organa responded coolly, fixing the captain squarely in her gaze.

Ryceed’s mouth fell open. “You expect the Republica to fight this war alone? You know the condition of my ship full-well; she’s badly damaged, down to well under fifty percent combat efficiency, and her crew has been engaged in four separate battles in the last week alone. We’re in no shape to conduct a freighter raid, much less topple a galactic power.”

“The Republica preformed beyond all expectations against the Zerg fleet, despite its condition,” Leia pressed, clearly undaunted. “You had to fight through hundreds of hostile targets to clear a path to the enemy command vessel, and yet your ship, to my knowledge, only received minimal damage. How many of their warships were destroyed, even with the Republica’s offensive capability limited? Thirty? Forty?”

“The technological disparity between our galaxy and this one are more than substantial. I don’t know how large a force the Zerg command, or how extensive their dominion is, but if they are limited to the technology of this civilization, a single light cruiser may be all that is needed to tip the tide of the war in the favor of the Federation and her allies. Is my assessment correct, Admiral Nechayev?”

The older woman nodded slowly. “Our intelligence on the true scope of the Zerg threat is spotty at best, but considering the level of effectiveness that your vessel had against the hostile fleet, I believe that you may be right. I’m having my tactical department run some simulations on what impact the Republica might have on the outcome of future engagements right now, in fact. Obviously, we don’t know much about the actual capabilities of your ship, or how it does what it does at all, but from what we all saw it do in action, its safe to say that the results will be positive, at the very least.”

She paused for a moment and looked out the chamber’s viewport. Beyond the transparent aluminum plate, the distant sparks and baubles that were the waning vestiges of once great armadas silently picked over the remnants of a costly victory. When Nechayev spoke again, her voice was somber. “Quite frankly, Councilor Organa, that ship may be last hope we have left. Even if we’d somehow survived this last assault without your assistance, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. The Zerg lost a great many ships here today, but they control many more, far more than we have left. And our efforts to scuttle as many space docks and shipyards as we could before being forced to evacuate each successive system have only been partially successful; if they figure out how to build more of our ships, they can easily replace their losses. We can’t.”

“If things keep going as they have been, if those creatures keep spreading to world after world and hunting down anyone who manages to escape, there won’t be a single remnant of the Federation left in a year’s time. Damn it all, there won’t be an Alpha or a Beta Quadrant left. We’ve tried… I’ve tried to stop them, but their first strike was too effective, and their expansion too quick. Right now, our only options are to flee or die fighting. Personally, I think the end result of both will be the same.”

“I can’t promise you much an ally here if you help us fight, Councilor, but I can promise you that there won’t be one at all if you don’t.”
---------------------------------------------------------

Though the Republica had served as a warship for much of its operational life, like most Mon Calamari vessels, it had been a civilian ship before the amphibian race had been compelled to take up arms against the specter of Imperial domination. Numerous refits had removed or obscured many of its original amenities to make room for weaponry and added armor, but a few remained intact even in the face of military considerations, evidence of the perpetual Calamarinian longing for a lasting peace. Most notable among the relics were several sets of broad, transparisteel viewports that lined the corridors that ran along the perimeter of the ship, concentrated mainly around the characteristic bulges that protruded from the warship’s midsection.

Jacen Solo stood quietly at one such window, his hands folded behind his back. For the first time since the battle, the hallway in which they stood was relatively quiet. What minimal repairs that had been needed were largely completed and most of the crew was on a much needed rest shift. This quietude was complemented by the soft glow of Bajor’s looming disk, and together they actually made the weary warship seem rather peaceful. Normally, the young jedi would use such moments to meditate or collect his thoughts, but on this occasion something was keeping him from focusing inward. Of course, he couldn’t say he particularly minded the distraction.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Laura Martin asked, leaning her elbows against the transparent barrier as she stared out at the blue-green orb. “I never really appreciated views like these before, but I guess being away from them for a long time can change your perspective. I haven’t had a chance to just stop and look out at a planet for months… it feels like longer. It’s been too chaotic to do anything but worry about my duties. And try not to think about… well, things.”

Sensing that the woman was growing agitated by the dark memories she still grappled with, Jacen broke the uncomfortable silence that followed her comment. For a reason he couldn’t quite place, speaking to her was harder than it should have been, but he managed nonetheless. “I’m enjoying the view, too.”

“…err, of the planet, I mean,” he added quickly, grimacing slightly. Focus Jacen. Laura didn’t seem to notice him falter. “It reminds me of home. Well, one of my homes, at least. I spent a lot of time on a world like this one, Yavin Four, when I was younger. Of course, I suppose I spent just as much time on Coruscant too, my parents live there. It doesn’t look much like this though. More metal.” The man bit his lip, realizing that he had begun to ramble.

Laura turned to face him, curious. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Coruscant is all one big city. From orbit, it’s just a mass of black and gray, with a lot of lights running throughout. It’s still quite a sight, though, especially if you get up close. The cityscape is really something, and at dawn all of the towers light up beautifully. I still prefer more natural planets, though. The sheer crush of activity on a world like Coruscant can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“The entire planet is covered by a city?” Laura questioned, amazement creeping into her soft features. “That’s incredible. It must have taken thousands of years to cover encompass an entire world.”

Jacen smiled. “Tens of thousands actually, at the very least. No one’s really certain exactly how old Coruscant is, but it’s been the galactic capital for twenty five thousand years, and it was nearly as crowded back then.”

“Amazing.” Laura cleared away a few strands of brown hair that had fallen across her face and grinned dreamily. “I’d love to see a place like that. There isn’t any world like that in this galaxy, at least not any that I’ve heard of.”

“I’d like to show it to you. Of course, I’d just like to see it again at all, myself. It seems like years since I’ve been there, or any place really familiar for that matter. Then again, I suppose it isn’t going to change any time soon.”

Suddenly, an unheralded burst of vision flashed through Jacen’s mind; a might globe of metal, wreathed with flickering embers and pockmarked with thousands of roiling craters of black; his mother, older, as she should have been, her faced stained with tears; his brother Anakin, bloody and engulfed in a terrible, burning aura; the black, nightmare mask that his grandfather had born most of his life; a towering monolith, carved against the darkened sky; the face of Aayla Secura, her eyes cold and shadowed. The images flowed together in a stream of overwhelming sensation, until the jedi could see nothing but an icy torrent swiftly rising inside of his skull, drowning out all conscious thought…

“Jacen? Are you all right?”

The man felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder, and abruptly the vision evaporated, leaving only the empty hallway and the viewport on which he was leaning, breathing heavily. Shaking his head from side to side to clear it, Jacen regained his bearings, and noticed that the young ensign he had been talking with was now standing less than a meter away, her arm on his, a concerned look upon her face. A warming sensation spread across Jacen’s face and he stepped back nervously, allowing Laura’s hand to slip away.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, both trying to make sense of what had just occurred and attempting to put it out of his mind. “I’m just a bit tired.”

Laura knew little about the Force or the Jedi beyond the fact that Jacen had mentioned that he was one and possessed certain abilities that most humans did not, but he could sense that she knew that there was more to his disorientation than simple weariness. She was anything if not perceptive, and Jacen had no doubt that she might begin to make the connection eventually if allowed to do so. Analyzing the recent visions and sensations he had been experiencing of late too deeply was not something the jedi felt he was ready for, especially not if prompted to do so by another.

“So, where are you from?”

Laura frowned, evidently noting the hasty change of subject, but she went along with it nonetheless. “A little city called Portland. It’s on Earth. The human homeworld… well, in this galaxy, at least. I don’t suppose that there’s a place by the same name where you’re from?”

Jacen shook his head. “If there is, I’ve never heard of it. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. There are still thousands of unexplored star systems out there, and our historians really don’t know where humanity came from before it started colonizing planets like Coruscant. And if a parallel world did exist somewhere, we probably wouldn’t call it the same thing. Earth is a rather… odd name.”

Laura smirked. “You’re not the first to make that comment. Even after hundreds of years of interstellar contact and civilization, I still run into the occasional Andorian or Ferengi who makes fun of the name. And they do have a point; naming one’s home after dirt doesn’t really do it much justice, especially in our case. You know, I’ve visited a fair number of planets since I joined Starfleet, and they’re all quite amazing in their own way, but I’ve never encountered one as diverse or beautiful as Earth. Even just in my hometown. I’ve never felt as peaceful as I do when I’m sitting on the beach there at sunset, the water lit by the last rays of sunlight, the waves gentle lapping the breakers and soft sand.”

The young woman trailed off, her smile replaced by a look of profound loss. She turned back to the viewport and gently placed a palm on its cool surface, Bajor’s soft glow glinting in her eyes. “I suppose I’ll never be able to sit on that sand again. There were several big power stations near Portland, and it would have been one of the first targets of the invasion. And even if it wasn’t… well, I doubt that any place there is the same anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jacen began hurriedly, his shoulders drooping noticeably. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s all right. This is just something we all have to live with.” She looked back at Jacen and tried to banish the shadows from her face. “I can’t really say I’ve come to terms with it, or ever will, but I’ve lost too much to be consumed by each memory and each needless death. We all have. You have too, I guess. All we can really do is appreciate what we still have left.”

Jacen stared back at the woman for a long time, no longer embarrassed by the reddening of his cheeks. At last, he nodded and smiled back. “I suppose you’re right.”
----------------------------------------------------

What’s going on?

Darkness enclosed on all sides. There was no light, no substance, no sound, no motion. She floated upon the null. And yet, there was something out there, far beyond reach. Indistinct, a specter of a specter, a faint crackle in the back of the mind. Slowly, the sensation grew, blocking out memories and scattered thoughts that vainly tried to impose themselves on the empty plane. Then, it became a whisper. Many whispers.

“At last…” Faint, almost imperceptible.

Who are you?

“Major?” Stronger, a male voice, confident.

Where am I?

“Answer me, Kira.” Another male voice, kind and concerned.

What has happened?

“Come on, Nerys. Wake up.” Yet another, desperate, helpless, loving.

Where are you?

“That’s it, my daughter. Awaken.” A female voice this time, wise and patient.

Why won’t you answer?

“There, you see? Even a Bajoran can do it eventually.” A deeper tone, cruel and mocking.

There were shapes now, fleeting images. Circles… no, faces. Each was different, each was speaking. They were all so strange, pale and distant, but she knew them all. Benjamin Sisko; leader, friend; willingly lost to the void for the good of all. Bareil Antos; friend, lover; torn away by the injustice of the world. Odo; lover, comrade; separated by the bonds of duty and family. Kai Opaka; comrade, mother, role model; exiled by fate, so far away. Gul Dukat; monster, madman, motivation; destroyed, like so many others.

They were all part of her.

They were all gone.

What is this?

“Hurry up, Major. We haven’t got all day.”

More shapes. Disks. There was the gentle orb of home. There, the vaulted arms of Deep Space Nine. Then, other things. Sacred icons. Rank insignia. Morning rations. A sleeping child.

Why are you showing me these things?

“You disappoint me, Nerys. You were far cleverer once.”

There, beyond all the others, there was another shape. Growing, covering everything else. A claw? A hand? A mouth?

In its shadow, another image appeared like a beacon shrouded in fog. The Celestial Temple, the Bajoran Wormhole. A shimmering, energetic orb set like a jewel in space. It was the gateway to the Prophets, the protectors of her people. Living gods who had always guided and empowered her. They were the avatars of her very being; all that she was, soldier, officer, lover, friend, stemmed from their distant, all-knowing touch.

Then, in an instant, all of it was consumed by the shapeless maw. All that she was vanished into the blackness. She was alone. And yet, the chorus of whispers grew ever louder, ever clearer, ever more unified.

What do you want from me?

“Now, now Kira. All in good time.”

The voice was familiar. It sounded the same as she remembered, smooth and confident. But it was not calming. There was no balm in the words, only cold fingers of ice and darkness. They slashed at her, tearing soundlessly into her flesh, spearing her chest with invisible barbs. But there was no pain, no blood, not even any release. She looked down, as if seeing her body for the first time. There, carved into her slender torso was a gaping, ragged gash that pierced skin and bone, leaving her most vital of organs laid bear to the deep.

And yet, she saw no heart. There was only a blank space, as empty as the limitless chasm all around her.

I am dead. I must be dead.

“Yes.”

Then why are you here? Why do you not give me peace?

“Peace? Silly girl, why should there be peace?”

The holy writings said…

“Holy?” This voice was new. Clearer than the rest. Penetrating. “There is nothing holy about this place. As you said, you are dead; there is only death here.”

Then why can I still hear you?

“Death is not quiet, not this death. A silent passing would not serve.”

Serve?

“Why, yes. Surely you did not think all this was for your amusement? No, no. You must fulfill your purpose before you fade into nothingness.”

My purpose?

“In good time. When the moment comes, you will act as needed.”

But I am dead…

A sharp laugh echoed from nowhere at all. “You will find soon enough, Nerys, that in your world and mine, the dead can do a great many things.”
--------------------------------------------------------

Upon a medical bed within the depths of the Mon Calamari warship, a limp, bandaged form quivered to life, thrashed momentarily beneath sterile coverings, and then collapsed back into motionlessness once more. Had its lips not been sealed by a healing brace, the spasm would have been a scream.

[fusion]

Nice very good but

bolted on to succor an all-too-recent wound

I think you meant saucer...

Still...

Its very good Keep it up, I want the next chapter

[Noble Ire]

Erm...

suc‧cor /ˈsʌkər/

–noun
1. help; relief; aid; assistance.
2. a person or thing that gives help, relief, aid, etc.
–verb (used with object)
3. to help or relieve.

[Noble Ire]

Part Four: Conflagration


Chapter Fifty Five


High Charity.

Forged in ages long past by labors that exhausted whole worlds, the space station was an engineering triumph, a giant even amongst the leviathans that the Holy Covenant navigated through the stars. Once a lifeless moon, it had been painstakingly crafted and augmented until only the barest shell of the body remained recognizable. A mighty pylon extended kilometers into space from one end, bearing a multitude of spires and lattices upon which whole armadas could roost. The half that still bore the ancient moon’s shape was encrusted with monolithic juts of sculpted metal and precisely engineered entry chasms that cut deep into the station’s hollow interior, disgorging eerie, crystalline light into the frozen deep of space.

Propelled through space by colossal slipspace channels etched into its outer surface, the titan had alighted in orbit around Joyous Exultation, the Covenant colony world closest to the space which humanity occupied. Though the domain of the holy empire encompassed a vast number of stars and worlds throughout the heavens, the attentions of Covenant armada had been focused on that distant galactic arm for decades, and thus High Charity and the prefects it bore had lingered close by as well, orchestrating the prophesized extermination of the mammalian species and inspiring the limitless Covenant hordes with its presence. The war had gone on far longer than any of the Prophets had predicted, and human’s ingenuity and persistence in the face of overwhelming odds never seemed to waver, but there had never been any real danger to any of the Covenant’s inhabited worlds, much less its fortress capital.

Then, when their final victory had seemed at hand, all that had changed.

Clustered around the space station like a school of predatory fish, hundreds of warships of every size and class waited. They had been summoned from every corner of the empire and every probing campaign into human space. There assembled were the Covenant’s greatest warriors and commanders, their mightiest carriers and most prolific battleships. Such a gathering of force had been seen only a few times in the Covenant Hegemony’s long history, and only when the High Council perceived a truly fatal threat. This assembly was no different; the specter of doubt hung over every ship and warrior’s heart.

Deau ‘Mefasee looked out upon the mighty city that formed the heart of High Charity and sighed wearily. In the shadow of a mighty Forerunner relic, a majestic, triangular spire that stretched from the center of the metropolis towards the high, domed ceiling, millions of thinking beings of more than half a dozen species went about their varied works. All labored, in one way or another, for the Prophets and noble Sangheili who ruled from the temples and halls that were suspended along the walls of the great enclosed city.

Only a few cycles earlier, ‘Mefasee would have taken great pride in standing where she did, on the edge of one of the vast open walkways that connected the various structures of High Charity’s governmental citadel, but a few strides from the assemblage hall of the High Council and the Hierarchs themselves. After all, she was but a transport pilot with no connections or accolades to her name, and more than that, a female. To stand there as anything more than a faceless member of some zealous mob screaming for the damnation of a heretic or laying praises upon the Prophets was a great honor.

Now, though, she could not feel any appreciation for her position.

Savage laughter sounded from behind her. A pair of brutish Jiralhanae lumbered past down the wide, sculpted causeway on which ‘Mefasee stood, swinging well-worn blades about carelessly as they rumbled with mirth about some joke or brutal tale. They were nearly three meters in height, and easily more massive than the most muscular Sangheili. Their bodies, masses of scaly, gray skin and matted hair were almost naked save for bandoliers of ammunition, simple helms, and odd hanging trinkets of their tribe. Above rows of tusk-like teeth, beady red eyes set in simian faces raked the Sangheili with barely restrained contempt.

Deau ‘Mefasee had always disliked the violent, insular creatures, as all of her species did, but they had the favor of the Prophets, and despite the relative youth of their race within the Covenant’s fold, they were quickly filling every role that the Sangheili had once held alone. The High Prophet of Truth even kept a cadre of the animals for his personal use. Naturally, this had bred hostility between the two sects, who perceived each other as rivals for the Prophet’s attentions, but beyond a few isolated squabbles, the situation had never escalated. The Jiralhanae knew their place; the Sangheili were second in the Holy Covenant, as they had been since its inception.

But then she had met Teno ‘Falanamee. In hurried, secret council with the Supreme Commander, with only the two Unggoy under her command in audience, she had heard what could only be described as the highest heresy imaginable. He had told her of a plot by the Jiralhanae to completely usurp the place of the Sangheili, and cast them from the holy embrace of the Covenant. This, at least, she might believe. The savage creatures were undeniably ambitious.

But there had been more. The mighty warrior, honored tool of the empire and hero of a dozen campaigns, had told her that this plot bore the blessing of the Prophets themselves.

The pilot should have reported the heresy immediately after ‘Falanamee had released her. Every fiber of her being, an entire life of worshiping the Prophets as the anchors of civilization and the shepherds of paradise, told her that what she had herd was a lie, and that the Supreme Commander’s mind had been corrupted by some blow or secret poison. And yet, she had not told a soul. Three things stayed her tongue.

First, it would be her word against his. If he denied the accusation to any authority she might approach, doubt might be cast upon him, but the effort would most likely cost ‘Mefasee her life. Nevertheless, if she followed dogma, such a sacrifice was her holy duty, and it would earn her a place in paradise with the Forerunners.

Second, though ‘Falanamee had been vague about the method by which he had learned of this plot, as she mulled over what he had related, many parts of it did seem to make sense. The Jiralhanae were ever more prominent throughout the fleet, and Prophets and their pet brutes were oddly close. Some said that the Hierarchs valued the advice of the white-haired Jiralhanae chieftain Tartarus more than the wisdom of the Sangheili who sat upon the High Council. Then, there were the string of mysterious disappearances, councilors lost on routine pilgrimages to Forerunner monuments, unexplained explosions on the Sangheili homeworld. Still, none of it proved open betrayal, much less collusion by the leaders of the Covenant itself.

It had been the third reason that had kept her silent. Though his motives and experience with the alleged plot were still unclear, it was obvious that ‘Falanamee wanted what he knew kept secret, and for reasons beyond mere self-preservation. It would have been simple for him to dispose of a handful of lowly support personnel; the Fleet Master could have issued false transfer orders and had Cakap, Migaw, and she cast into a reprocessing conduit. Few would even notice the absence, much less question it.

Instead, he had spared them, and entrusted ‘Mefasee with knowledge that might imperil everything he hoped to accomplish. He had given her a chance. An opportunity to help save her people from a threat she had scarcely ever dreamed of. Whether or not the Prophet’s intent to break their ancient pact was real or the delusion of a wounded soldier, ‘Falanamee’s simple show of faith in her of all the Sangheili he could have approached had been enough to amend her to him. Warrior or not, she was honor-bound to reciprocate the act with her allegiance. For the moment, at least.

It was a better fate than being cut into pieces or strewn into space as a fountain of ionized particles, she told herself wearily. Of course, if the Supreme Commander’s heresy was detected, she’d find that road eventually anyways.

The pilot turned away from the magnificent view below and focused her attention on the elevated foyer that lead into the High Council’s convocation chamber. Hulking Sangheili warriors in the elaborate red and orange armor of the Hierarchs’ Honor Guard flanked the triumphal path, and packs of elite, heavily armored soldiers patrolled ancillary balconies and gravity lift pads. The holy court was in session.

Since attaching her to his personal staff, which had been completed depopulated during the engagement around the human world, and transferring to High Charity from the August Judgment more than two days previously, Teno ‘Falanamee had been within the hallowed halls of the High Prophets almost constantly. With him were the most renown warriors from every sector of the Covenant; the Prophets had been quick to assemble the cream of the Armada in the face of the new threat.

They were afraid, ‘Mefasee comprehended suddenly. The Prophets were actually afraid. Somehow, the realization disturbed her more than anything she had heard from the Supreme Commander.
-------------------------------------------------------

“I come with news, high ones.”

Debate within the council chambers quieted. Seated in ranks upon the terraced rises that lined each side of the hall, Sangheili on one and Prophets on the other, dozens of immaculately dressed councilors inspected the lone red-armored major as he made his way up the central concourse, careful to keep his head lowered in supplication. A crowd of esteemed warriors parted for the soldier, grateful for a pause in the tedious debate that had consumed the grand chamber before his arrival. The major did his best to resist honoring each of them as he passed; there were a few in attendance who demanded recognition even before the Fleet Masters, Blessed Zealots, and Supreme Commanders.

At last, the soldier mounted the low speaking dais near the head of the vaulted chamber and dropped to his knees, touching armored helm against the polished floor.

Before him, positioned in a raised arena that was somewhat removed from the rest of the room, were seated the three most powerful beings in the known universe. They were the Hierarchs, ordained by the gods themselves to deliver the message of the sacred prophesies onto the beings of the galaxy. They ruled their race, and half dozen others, with honeyed words, inspiring sermons, and merciless judgments. They were the Supreme Triad. The High Prophets.

The three regarded the Sangheili soldier before them a moment before speaking. Then one, seated upon an elegant and deviously armed levitating throne like his cohorts, floated forward a fraction, causing the gilding of his pointed crown and wing-like epaulets to glimmer in the ghostly illumination that pervaded the room. He raised one willowy hand and made a lazy sweeping gesture. This was the Prophet of Regret.

“You may continue.”

The major rose. “Excellencies, elements from the fleet of Immaculate Foresight have arrived in orbit. Their commander reports that his force has just received word that the staging yards of his fleet around Distant Morning have been attacked and their defensive forces routed. He intends to gather what ships remain at his disposal and retake the system.”

A murmur echoed through the assembly. Distant Morning was a jumping-off point for engagements throughout most of human space. It boasted three large and heavily armed docking facilities, and a perimeter fleet of at least a dozen capital ships.

One of the other Hierarchs moved forward. “Was the composition of the invading force relayed?” This was the Prophet of Mercy, an ancient even among his long-lived brethren. His bulbous head drooped upon its long neck and his skin was pale and flaky, but within his large eyes burned a passion and zeal undiminished by age.

“The telemetry of an observer drone that was positioned within the system indicates a group of three of the enemy’s blade-ships, Excellency. The device recorded well into the engagement with the vanguard fleet before it was ordered away. Of the fourteen cruisers and carriers that were stationed there, only five remained as of last contact. No enemy casualties were detected.”

Another murmur.

The major did his best to remain calm as the rulers around him became increasingly agitated. “The commander of Immaculate Foresight has rallied a full battle group about his battleship and has vowed to lay the intruders low for their infractions against the Holy Covenant.”

“Tell the commander to hold,” a reedy voice commanded, silencing all whispered conversations. The final member of the triad moved forward, fixing the Sangheili firmly in his piercing gaze. This was the Prophet of Truth, highest of the high. Though Mercy might have been more pious and Regret more aggressive, Truth was the unspoken leader of the three. His sheer force of will was unequalled, and his judgments were rarely challenged.

“We cannot afford to divide our forces until a stratagem has been devised for combating these invaders. I will not allow an entire battle group to destroy itself blindly for a system that is already lost. The commander will consolidate his forces here, and await further instructions.”

Once he was sure that the High prophet had finished relaying his order, the major supplicated himself once more and then moved from the chamber with all the speed that dignity allowed. Truth’s edict was time-sensitive, and the major knew all to well what would happen to him if the message arrived after the fleet master had already departed.

It did not take long for the suspended debate to renew after the messenger had left.

“Forgive my presumption, Excellency, but we must go on the offensive eventually. We cannot allow the warriors who fell during the incursion at the cleansed human fortress planet go unavenged, or stand idle as these attackers lay siege to our worlds.” The speaker was Xytan ‘Jar Wattinree, Admiral of the Holy Covenant Empire and Regent Command of the Combined Fleet of Righteous Purpose. He stood head and shoulders above the other officers who were assembled in the hall, and practically radiated physical strength and martial ability. “Their weapons are powerful, but we are more numerous, and our warriors will not submit to their assault. No foe has been able to withstand the might of the Covenant in our history, and this threat shall be crushed like all the others. The blessing of the gods flows through your words, and their strength flows through the Sangheili. We cannot lose if only we stand.”

Agreement rippled through his fellow soldiers and the Sangheili councilors, but not all of them seemed convinced.

“We have not yet established where these vessels have come from, or what their intent is,” an elder Ship Master near the back of the crowd put in. “Their technology is like that of the ancients. Perhaps they are their emissaries. We should at least attempt to establish communications with them. If even the slightest possibility exists that they have been sent by the Forerunners…”

“Why would emissaries of the gods devastate our fleets and set fire to our worlds?” another Ship Master demanded angrily.

The elder glared at the other. “The Flood are creations of the ancients, are they not? The hand of the Forerunners is not always a gentle one. Perhaps this is another test.”

Several Sangheili growled at the mention of the insidious parasites. Though inspection of certain Forerunner artifacts had unleashed outbreaks of the adaptive, intelligent pestilence, many could not believe that the Forerunners could have created such a sickness. The debate had little bearing on the trial that faced them all now, but the meeting had revealed more and more that dispute was rife throughout the Covenant leadership, even within the ranks of the Sangheili themselves.

The chamber began to devolve into a shouting match. Councilors screamed at one another across the aisle. Warriors found their hands searching for weapons. From the shadows, Jiralhanae guards and chieftains looked on in silence, relishing the discord.

“Enough!” Truth’s voice boomed forth once again, and quiet descended immediately. None dared defy the High Prophet, least of all when his orders were tinged with anger.

“I will hear no more talk of this threat being thrust upon us by the gods. Such banter is heresy. These vessels come not from the heavenly plane, but from the bosom of an enemy we know all too well.”

He tapped a control on his metallic armrest, and the center of the chamber shimmered to life with a large bubble of holographic light.

“This message was transmitted to one of the vessels that attempted to reinforce our armada when it was first beset by the intruders.”

The swirling vortex of light rapidly resolved into a 2D screen, modified by the holographic projector so that it could be seen clearly from every corner of the room. Tinged slightly be bluish static, the face of a human in flimsy, dark raiment appeared, and it began to speak, filling the council chamber with unintelligible words. Sounds of apprehension and dismay emanated from the ranks of the both the Prophets and Sangheili.

“The tongue the creature speaks is not like that used by others of their species, and our translation Oracles have not yet been able to decipher the meaning of the message, but it is plain that the being is a human. The ship that received and retransmitted this signal was able to verify that it did indeed come from one of the blade-ships before it attacked the intruders and was destroyed.”

For a few moments, no one in the assembly was able to respond to the revelation. The very idea that accursed humanity could harness technology that surpassed that of the Covenant had once been an unthinkable notion; how could this have changed so swiftly? Certainly, the vermin were adaptive and stubborn, but could they have really co-opted and improved weaponry stolen from the holy empire to such an extent? They had endowed some of their warriors, the hated, green-armored Demons, with thieved strength, but constructing a fleet of warships so vastly improved was an entirely dissimilar feat. Had they discovered and plundered a Forerunner relic of unprecedented power? Could the entire war have been a bizarre rouse, with the humans only now showing their true power?

“Why have you only showed us this now, High Prophet?” a voice questioned from the thick of the Sangheili warriors. Several parted to reveal a gold-helmed Fleet Master staring at the Hierarchs intently. “Surely this message did not just reach your notice. It was been days since our defeat at the human fortress world. Such intelligence is relevant to the matter we now discuss, is it not?”

Truth stared at the warrior coolly for a breath without responding, but he did not betray any outward signs of emotion. “My brothers and I required time to consult the holy texts and see if they spoke of the humans’ involvement in this threat. It would have been imprudent to rashly bring this to public notice before its ramifications could be studied.”

“And what did the texts say, Excellency?” the Ship Master pressed. A new wave of whispers washed over the crowd; such frank questioning of a Prophet’s motives, much less the motives of one of the Hierarchs themselves, was almost unheard of.

“There is no specific mention of the creatures that drive the war machines,” Truth replied without pausing, and then turned his attention to the rest of the assembly, raising his graceful hands to draw their notice. “Our original interpretation of the holy texts, as High Prophet Mercy’s sermon at the dawning of this invasion related, held firm. All that is stated within them is that a dark cloud will vie to consume our Holy Covenant, and that we shall rally together as in ancient strife to overcome it. Then nothing will stand in the way of our sacred duty to cleanse the galaxy until the impending arrival of the Great Journey. Our victory is preordained in this trial, and all we need do is find the right path to salvation. The gods have blessed our crusade.”

The High prophet’s keen, orb-like eyes drifted back onto the questioning warrior. “And truly, honored Fleet Master, what does it matter who we fight now? The remains of their warships will be cast into the depths of space and their homeworlds burned for their crimes against us, regardless of what beings inhabit them. If the threat and the human infestation are one in the same, then our task is all the more glorious. I presume this revelation does not diminish your desire for revenge against those who surprised and annihilated your fleet. You still wish a new command to hunt down the heretical invaders, I hope? You, like all the commanders here, are far too valued an instrument to be dulled by doubt.”

All eyes turned once again to the Fleet Master. Some had only now realized that the speaker was the former commander and sole survivor of the Ascendant Justice, mighty flagship of the fleet of Particular Justice. Rumors of his valiant defense of the Prophet who had been the first target of the new enemy and miraculous survival of the engagement, some said by divine intervention, had only increased the acclaim that the esteemed Sangheili held amongst his kin. Few were still surprised at the audacity of the display now.

For all his will, however, the warrior seemed to still know his place. “You speak with wisdom, High Prophet. I meant no disrespect by my inquiry.”

Truth’s thin lips drew back into a tight smile. “Of course not. Only simple soldiers follow orders mindlessly. It is the job of leaders to think and question, so as to better serve the great crusade to the fullest of their ability.”

The High Prophet waved his hand and the hologram above evaporated. He then directed a subtle nod at Regret, who came forward again.

“My bothers and I must consider all that has been said today, as must you all. We shall resume this session in half a unit, at which time the method of the invader’s absolute destruction will be determined.”
---------------------------------------------------

The great council chambers stood almost empty. Councilors had long since made their way back to the great city below and the Sangheili commanders shuttled back to their waiting ships. Even Regret and Mercy had retired to their private quarters, leaving only Truth in the hallowed space. Brushing the fleshy protrusions of his chin pensively, he sat in silence, reflecting upon the projection of a great, floating ring, similar to one that adorned the face of his crown. Its perimeter danced with flickering Forerunner hieroglyphics, and his great eyes followed each text strand with rapt fascination, as if he could see more in them that simple geometric shapes and symbols.

Deep, guttural breath abruptly sounded from behind the Prophet’s hovering throne, and Truth dismissed the holographic ring with a flick of his wrist, then turned to face the new arrival.

Before him kneeled Tartarus, chieftain of all Jiralhanae clans. Massive for even those of his mighty species, the creature’s slivery-white coat covered muscles and battle scars that might have given a titanic Lekgolo pause. Rather than a crimson plasma rifle or bladed grenade launcher, the favored weapons of the Jiralhanae shock trooper, the chieftain clutched in one fist the legendary Fist of Rukt, a crackling, electromagnetic battle hammer nearly as tall as he. Tartarus shunned any form of armor or personal shielding, and rather than a metal helm, a prominent mohawk of white hair dominated his scalp.

Truth admired his impressive servant for a moment. The hulking brute could best half a dozen skilled Sangheili warriors in close combat at once. Behind his bloodshot eyes simmered a savage intellect comparable with some of the finest tactical minds in the Covenant armada. He commanded uncounted legions of the best soldiers in the galaxy. Best of all, though, the Jiralhanae was absolutely loyal.

“Rise, Tartarus, and come forward. I have a task for you.”

The beast reassumed his full, impressive height and stalked forward, planting the handle of his mighty weapon against the polished deck and staring into his master’s eyes with supreme focus. Most Prophets found the Jiralhanae custom unnerving, but the High Prophet had grown to appreciate it. Only a creature that could look upon him with such bald openness could truly be trusted.

“You know of the Fleet Master Teno ‘Falanamee?”

Tartarus gave a sign of recognition.

“I want you to watch him. Send your most trusted agents to observe his actions, and record all he does outside of this chamber. A great struggle is coming, and I cannot have dissent splitting our ranks. Not yet.”

“I shall do as you command.”

The ghost of a smile passed over Truth’s visage. “I detect doubt in your words.”

Tartarus did not blanch at the suggestion, and his stare remained resolute. “Why not have me kill the Sangheili now? If he is a threat to your designs, he should not be allowed to live.”

“He yet has a purpose to serve. In any event, he is too prominent and renowned to slay openly. His disposal will have to be more… subtle.” The Prophet nodded to himself slowly. “Rest assured, Tartarus, I will not any being disrupt the genesis of a new Covenant and the continuation of our holy quest. If you wish it, when the time comes, you will be the one to take this commander’s life.”

Tartarus bore his sharpened tusks in satisfaction. “He will be a great challenge.”

Truth looked into the Jiralhanae’s eyes a moment longer, and then began to turn his throne away, making a dismissive gesture. “Go now. I must meet with the master of the August Judgment. Evidently, he wishes to speak with me of our friend Fleet Master, and his words may hold some value.”

Silently, Tartarus offered a nod of supplication and stalked out of the burnished chamber, his brutal features fixed with primal focus.

[JointStrikeFighter]

Great work again Noble Ire, glad to see an update.

And the Covenent are scared.

[The Grim Squeaker]

Nice to see you update, and to do one to a high degree like this (Yay Alien perspective, you really should have more of them, psychological difficulties be damned)

[fusion]

A post a new one whee!
Lets see how they deal with the imps.

[Hawkwings]

Needs more Master Chief...

Otherwise, great update

[Noble Ire]

Needs more Master Chief...

Otherwise, great update

Patience. I assure you that the Chief will have his hands full in sort order.

And I'm glad that people are still reading this, even after such a long wait for this update. Its always nice to see so much feedback.

[TithonusSyndrome]

I adore this story and the way you've managed to respectfully meld the disparate universes, but I do have a question. When Vader was advancing on Tassadar, why didn't Tassadar fire the chest-mounted weapon he has in the game at him? Unless I'm mistaken, it's a projectile explosive that Vader would likely not want to meet with his lightsaber, and I can't recall any reason to believe that this weapon is just game mechanics.

[The Vortex Empire]

The covenant is scared. That is the first time that that has ever happened. If the Empire commits a task-force to destroying the Covenant, then the Covenant is doomed, and the UNSC is saved. Unless, that is, the UNSC opposes the Empire, in which case they are also screwed. Nice fanfic, Noble Ire. Very nice!

[Noble Ire]

I adore this story and the way you've managed to respectfully meld the disparate universes, but I do have a question. When Vader was advancing on Tassadar, why didn't Tassadar fire the chest-mounted weapon he has in the game at him? Unless I'm mistaken, it's a projectile explosive that Vader would likely not want to meet with his lightsaber, and I can't recall any reason to believe that this weapon is just game mechanics.

I always interpreted his damaging attack as being a facet of his psionic abilities, not an independent weapons system; I don't recall its nature ever being made clear. Of course, I may be wrong in my recollection, but if it was indeed a psionic ability, the answer is plain enough; he was expending all his mental focus on the psionic storm that was holding Vader back.

And thanks for you comments, Tithonus and Vortex, its always great to see new readers.

[TithonusSyndrome]

Well, no amount of Google-fu on my part revealed any more about Tassadar's weapons. If they are an independent system, then it's entirely possible that he wasn't wearing them in order to pilot the Gantrithor.

Either way, take us to the Koprulu Sector, post haste!!!

[Noble Ire]

Chapter Fifty Six

Praetor Hiren scanned the main chamber of the Romulan Senate in silence, his bony hands folded beneath his chin. The high, circular space held within its walls the mind and soul of the Romulan Star Empire, the secretive power that had held a place of almost unrivaled martial strength within known reaches of the galaxy for centuries before the United Federation of Planet’s founding. Beneath elegant pillars and the giant gilded bird of prey that served as the assembly’s avatar, senators and military leaders forever debated, squabbling over every detail of every topic from foreign espionage to the vagaries of resource allocation. It was a tedious and often pointless affair, the praetor reflected, but Romulans had great patience for such things, and the greatest of his species were gathered there to ensure that the rest of the populace need never be diminished by ineffective leadership. He could always count on some verse of wisdom or fortuitous fragment of intelligence from one of the wizened, angular faces seated before him.

Or, at least, that was how things had once been. Now, many of those familiar faces were gone, their places in the ranks of low benches left empty like open wounds.

“…most recent reports from the Home Guard units stationed in the Dagenor and Pakli Segments indicate that the surviving elements of the invasion force have lost any semblance of cohesion, and are being swiftly exterminated. It appears that destroying the coordinating intelligence hidden in the OM2 dilithium mine on Remus has had the desired effect on the enemy, as the Tal Shiar predicted.”

Senator Cadea spoke with his characteristic clarity and purpose, but it was obvious to Hiren that the politician was distracted. As one of the older members of the assembly and a former admiral of the Romulan star fleet, Cadea had seen his share of conflicts, and this newest one was plainly bringing back old memories. This battle, however, was one quite unlike any the empire had experienced in its history; even the savage incursions of the Dominion only a few years previous had never struck so at the hearts of the Romulan people.

“Nevertheless, there is still some concern within the Home Guard and our intelligence services that the invaders might yet reassert themselves. I need not remind this assembly of the incident in the Unroth system, in which a similar brain creature was able to regenerate itself and resumed a campaign with its surviving minions after colonists had been allowed to return to their cities. The combat legions on Remus were quite thorough with their removal of the beast, but until the precise means by which it communicates and propagates itself are determined, there is still a threat.”

“I have been briefed of these developments, Senator,” Hiren said wearily. “We all have. Do you have anything new to raise in regards to the matter?”

“Yes, Praetor,” Cadea replied, undaunted by the weariness of his superior’s tone. “The forces on Remus are stepping up their sweeps of the caverns and shafts surrounding the one where this intellect was located to ensure that it does not reassert itself, but they are being impeded by the creatures that have managed to find their way into the deeper underground networks. Even without a central consciousness, many are still fierce fighters in close quarters, and the casualties among our patrols are beginning to mount. The only way to retain the operation’s viability is to push and hold back the beasts that are harassing our searchers. For that, more soldiers are required.”

“I realize that our active infantry units are stretched thin as it is, but I believe that the force deployed in the Pakli Segment can be reassigned to the planet’s mines without compromising the home system’s status significantly.”

“What?”

The cry rang out from one of the other delegates, and Hiren recognized the voice even before a senator rose from the ranks of her point-eared comrades. It was the stately Tal’aura, who represented the Pakli Segment, as well as the interests of a wide variety of social organizations throughout the empire. Hers was one of the provinces of Romulus that had borne the brunt of the incursion that had reached the soil of their homeworld less than a standard month previously, and still crawled with vestiges of the foreign horde. Though popular with the people, she possessed a contrary and stubborn nature which cause most of her colleagues see her in a rather dim light; it was wholly unsurprising that she would be the one to reignite debate in the somber chamber. The fact that her own constituents would be directly affected by the matter at hand made her outburst all the more expected.

“You would have us leave Pakli to those vermin? You cannot seriously suggest that we allow the invaders to continue to despoil Romulus, even as the hour of their extermination is at hand!”

“Please, Senator, this will only be a temporary redeployment.” Despite his relative seniority, Cadea was obviously unnerved by the firebrand of a woman who opposed him. Nevertheless, he had apparently anticipated such a rebuke. “The Fourth Battle Fleet is scheduled to return to Romulus for repair within a week. When they arrive, some of their soldiers can be dispatched to continue cleanup operations in the segment. Besides, the entire force need not be moved to Remus; more than enough infantry can be left behind to defend Pakli’s major cities.”

“And what of those who live outside the larger population centers?” Tal’aura growled. “Millions of Romulan citizens are still waiting in refugee camps across the system, yearning to return to what is left of their homes, and there are still pockets of survivors stranded in the Kesd’a Hills district. Who knows how many more could be devoured by these things if they are abandoned for another week?”

Cadea shook his head. “The risk posed by the enemy coordinator is too great to be ignored. Any further loss of civilian life is highly regrettable, but if the beasts that still lurk en mass in Romulus’ wilds regain a central drive after the general populace has returned, countless more will perish. This is the only prudent course of action, and even one of your… limited experiences should be able to recognize that.”

Inwardly, Praetor Hiren sighed. Cadea was definitely losing his tact, if he ever had any to begin with. Provoking Tal’aura, especially while she was in such a state, would bring productive discourse within the Senate to a grinding halt, but the senior senator simply didn’t seem to care anymore.

The past three months had been hard on them all. When Romulan spies within the Federation first reported the arrival of the nameless, brutal menace that was now the consuming focus of their deliberations, Hiren and his associates had watched the situation unfold carefully, but they had done nothing to intervene, even when as they received hundreds of desperate distress calls over the Neutral Zone. It was not the Romulan way to rush blindly to face a threat, especially one so sudden and bizarre. The decision had been an unpopular one; the Federation and Empire had been allies only years before against the Dominion, and elements of both the military and the general population disliked the thought of abandoning them to the savage parasites. Still, the Romulan armada was still recovering from previous conflicts, and as the true scope of the threat became apparent, the Senate resolved to cloister behind the borders of the Empire. No power could break such a line easily, and certainly not mere animals, vicious and prolific as they were.

After a time, all communication with the Federation, and the spies still imbedded within it, was lost. The Star Empire waited. The Klingons lost their homeworld. The Star Empire looked on, and a few even cheered at the downfall of their longtime foes. The Cardassians, the Ferengi, the Tzenkethi: all were consumed. The Star Empire did nothing but install more listening posts along the long-quiet Neutral Zone. World after world was engulfed by the sickening ichor, but the Romulans were untouched. Perhaps, some among the Senate began to speculate, the invaders knew that they would be unable to assail the mighty Romulan war machine, and did not ever intend on trying. After all, much of the initial chaos upon the Federation and its allies had been sowed by mind-controlled traitors and hidden nests of assassins; surely, the keen eyes of the Tal Shiar and the ever vigilant Romulan Armada could not be infiltrated so easily. Some hardliners even began to say that the galactic crucible was a good thing, a clearing-out of the lesser species in preparation for an unprecedented era of expansion and power.

And for a few short days, Hiren had almost begun to believe that himself.

Then, within a single day, the Star Empire was pushed to the brink of oblivion. On inner colony worlds where no foe had ever laid foot, massive armies of armored, clawed monstrosities burst forth, sweeping up citizens and soldiers alike in a nightmarish wave. Thick, black slime, spewed from the creatures’ living factories, crept across whole continents, consuming all native life and mutating them into new, twisted beasts of war. Squadron upon squadron of Romulan warbirds and battleships, each equipped with the finest cloaking devices in the galaxy and weaponry capable of laying waste to planetoids, were destroyed by a simultaneous onslaught of innumerable kamikaze ships. The enemy did not even employ the best of their thieved fleet; the bulk of the attacking force was made up of enslaved civilian vessels and science ships, loaded with volatile explosives and cast at the Romulan lines with utter abandonment.

In the confusion of that first week, a commandeered fleet had made its way to Romulus itself, and disgorged a terrible host upon the capital and its barren sister world of Remus. It was a testament to the skill and resolve of the soldiers of the armada that Hiren and most of his comrades had been spared at all. The invaders were eventually repelled from the home system, but the price in lives and war material had been catastrophic. Light-years away, a dozen worlds were still wracked with conflict, and a dozen more lay as burned ruins, scraped clean of life rather than allowed to live on as spawning grounds.

More egregious than all other losses, however, was the loss of Romulan pride. Despite all their preparations, their removal from the galaxy, their martial might, the invaders had effortlessly, almost contemptuously, brought them to their knees. They little better now than any of the other peoples of the galaxy, left adrift in a savage sea.

Praetor Hiren, seeing that Senator Tal’aura was about to launch into an enraged rebuke of Cadea, rose from his seat, drawing all attention to himself. “You wish me to push your proposal through for an immediate vote, do you not, Senator Cadea?”

“Yes, Praetor,” the senator replied, mildly surprised.

“It is a prudent request, and I shall carry it. And let it be known that I favor the proposal. The security of Romulus is vital to the future of our people, and if sacrifices must be made to preserve it, then we would be cowards to balk at them.”

The vote was conducted quickly, and resulted almost unanimously in favor of Cadea’s proposal. Despite all that had befallen the empire under his leadership, Hiren still maintained support throughout the ruling body, and when he had made his opinion on the vote clear, there was no real doubt as to its outcome. Tal’aura fumed silently from her seat, but she knew better than to press the matter. Romulan politics was an inherently perilous business, and defying the Praetor in a time of war was tantamount to suicide.

Before the Senate could move on to other matters, the hand-carved double doors to one side of the domed room swung open and a young Romulan officer entered. His left eye was cloudy and dead, surrounded by the green-tinted slash of a rough, barely healed scar. He was no doubt fresh from combat; the Senate Guard had seen its share of the fighting in the last month.

“The ambassadors from the United Federation of Planets have arrived and await an audience.”

Hiren grimaced. Several days ago, word had reached Romulus of a new message from Federation space, the first such communiqué since well before the invasion of Star Empire. Two facts about the news had caught the Praetor’s notice: first, rather than a plea for aid or request for asylum, the captain who relayed the message indicated that it regarded the reformation of the alliance between the Federation and the Star Empire, and a campaign against the invaders. Second, Starfleet had actually dispatched a fully-operational warship to the edge of the Neutral Zone, in hopes of immediately beginning negotiations.

Some of Hiren’s military advisors had suggested that they continue their platform of silence towards the rest of the galaxy, but others, shaken by recent events, had taken a more receptive stance, and Hiren had decided to side with them. If the invaders struck the Empire again, there was little chance that it could withstand the onslaught; any opportunity to change the course of the war had to be considered. Nevertheless, the Praetor doubted that any strategy that the Federation emissary might propose could be viable. The most current intelligence on the Federation and its allies showed a dwindling collection of ill-defended and far-removed worlds, little to no logistical capability, and a ragtag fleet that was both burdened with a mass of refugees and worn to breaking by ceaseless defeats and narrow escapes.

Still, he had dispatched a ship to the Neutral Zone with news that the Senate would agree to hear of this new plan, under the condition that it was delievered on Romulus itself. The captain of the vessel had agreed, and now it seemed that the Starfleet vessel arrived in near-record time.

As a murmur of curious conversation ran through the ranks of senators, Hiren bade the officer to allow the emissaries entry. With a nod, he exited, and was replaced a moment later by a trio of figures, flanked on either side by stony-faced Romulan guards.

As the group approached the center of the chamber, Hiren’s eyes focused on the lead individual, an older, bald human male who moved with practiced presence and decorum. His lined face and tempered bearing triggered a burst of memory in the Praetor, and the Romulan’s tight features loosened in surprise.

“Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the USS Enterprise?”

“I’m flattered that you recognize me, Praetor Hiren,” Picard responded, his voice calm and respectful.

“Your diplomatic talents and martial ability are quite well known within the Star Empire, Captain, or at least they were in years past. Unless our intelligence services are very much mistaken, though, you, your ship, and all of its crew disappeared more than seven years ago. And I do not doubt the veracity of our data on your past whereabouts.”

Picard smiled. “And you should not. I have indeed been absent for the Alpha Quadrant for a very long time. The circumstances surrounding the displacement of myself and my crew are a complicated matter, but in the interests of mutual trust and disclosure, I would be more than happy to detail them for you and your intelligence agencies.”

Hiren leaned back marginally, a look of bemusement playing across his face. “I look forward to it.”

“Now, this body has been informed that you wish to negotiate in regards to an alliance between the Romulan Star Empire and the United Federation of Planets. I realize the necessity of keeping your intent vague in communiqué for risk of interception, but now that you are here, I believe that it is time for a full accounting of the Federation’s intent.”

Picard nodded. “Of course, Praetor. Let me begin by introducing my fellows.”

He indicated to the figure to his left, a pale, human-like creature dressed in an immaculate Starfleet uniform similar to the Captain’s. “This is Commander Data, my second-in-command for this envoy.”

The name triggered another flash of memory, and Hiren recalled a classified document on the commander he had seen in his days of government service before ascending to its highest echelons. Data was a Soong-type android, reputedly one of the most advanced artificial intelligences in existence. Were circumstances different, he might have spent an entire fleet to acquire the specimen and the unique technology that was encased within its chassis.

When Data had nodded formally to the Praetor and the Senate, Picard turned to the being to his other side, one that Hiren was quite sure that he had never seen before. It was also humanoid in shape, but its polished golden casing, stiff, methodical movements, and muted, expressionless face were all distinctly inorganic. The device clasped a small, knob-encrusted box in its hands delicately. Hiren suspected that it was some sort of information storage medium, although it was unusually large and faceted for such a device. Still, it could not be overtly dangerous; his guards would have made sure of that before allowing it into the chamber.

“And I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations,” the machine chirped eagerly, not waiting for the human’s introduction. “I bid you greetings and salutations, Praetor Hiren and august senators of the Romulan Star Empire, on behalf of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and my master, Princess Leia Organa.”

Hiren frowned. “I am unfamiliar with the organization of which you speak. Do you mean of the alliance the Federation has created with the Klingon Empire? I had not expected that such a body would ordain royalty so quickly.”

“The Alliance of which he speaks does not include the Federation,” Picard explained, cutting in before See-Threepio could continue. The android seemed to deflate, despite the rigidity of his frame. “However, the two groups are affiliated nonetheless. Princess Organa has offered military support to the Federation and its allies against the Zerg, the invaders who have wrought so much destruction upon the galaxy these past few months.”

The Zerg? Hiren wondered if the Federation had simply invented a name for the parasites, or whether they were privy to intelligence that had not reached Romulan ears.

“You mentioned in you communiqué that the Federation wished to acquire a renewed military compact with the Romulan people, Captain,” Hiren said, putting aside his personal curiosity about Picard’s odd companion. “Moreover, you indicated that there were plans underway for a counterassault against these… Zerg, as you call them. It is known to this assembly that your Starfleet and the Klingon Imperial Navy have been vastly diminished in strength over the course of this war, and that with your every loss, the enemy grows stronger. The armada of the Star Empire is mighty, even after numerous incursions, but we cannot risk spreading it thin to mount a counterattack now. To do so would leave our worlds bear to assault and corruption.”

“It is undeniable that the repulsion and destruction of this menace is a necessity for the preservation of the Romulan people, but at this stage of the conflict, a direct military campaign would be suicidal. I do not see how the remnants of a handful of shattered fleets can supplement our armada sufficiently to lend such an effort the possibility of success. You must believe me, Captain, when I say that what has befallen the Federation is a great tragedy and injustice, but at this time, the Romulan Star Empire cannot afford to aid it militarily. The needs of my species must take precedence.”

Hiren had expected very visible signs of anger, or at the very least disappointment, even from a diplomat as experienced as Picard, but the human showed no indication of offense or resignation. Instead, he listened to the Praetor’s ultimatum calmly, and then asked See-Threepio for the device he carried.

“While I must admit that your assessment of the situation is largely correct, Praetor, there is a key aspect of our new campaign that you have overlooked, and understandably so. While Romulan assistance is crucial to the effort, the Federation does not expect the armada to form the core of our offensive force. You see, the aid the Alliance has provided to us is rather more significant than a few conventional warships or production facilities.”

“What are you implying, Captain?”

Picard smiled again, and then held up the knobbed device, on which crystalline holographic projectors and data ports were clearly visible. “Perhaps it would be best if you saw it for yourselves.”
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The jade-tinted globe that was the planet Coridan glinted gently in the radiance of its distant star. As one side of the world was cast into night by its inexorable rotation, the other basked in the glow of a new dawn. Wide oceans and forested mountain ranges caught the light and seemed to come to life. Fish swam, avians sang, tiny arboreal creatures emerged from their nightly hiding places. The only locales that remained quiet were the areas where nature no longer ruled: empty city streets, unlit high-rises, vacant mines and factories, and even these places could only seem peaceful under the morning sun.

As the planet moved its bulk further and darkness was drawn back further, a new site of activity was revealed, a mere speck upon the bosom of the world. There, nestled between an emerald sea and a scattering of isolated mountain peaks, a splotch of blackness lingered. But this was not a natural dark, the dark of nightly hunts and deep sleep. This dark was alien, life and death as one. This was the blackness of consumption. And it was spreading.

High above the globe, five vessels, tiny against the awakening mass, passed swiftly back from day back into night, their dim running lights and weary drives suddenly beacons away from the illumination of the far primary. When the continents and waterways below lost definition, the small group angled sharply away from their orbital trajectory, coming together in a loose formation and fixing as one on the only other significant landmark for hundreds of millions of kilometers; Coridan’s single, lifeless moon.

The formation was made up of a motley collection of vessels from several eras and as many different worlds. Two bore the distinctive disk and nacelles of Federation craft, of which only one, a heavily patched-up New Orleans-class frigate, was of a design that had been produced in decades. The others were cumbersome transports or mining ships, one of an old Vulcan make, and another that could have come from any number of shipyards, a determination made impossible by the number of spare parts and home-brewed alterations that held its hull together. The last was an ancient Tellarite freighter that could, and very well might have been, a museum piece for most of its lifespan.

This was the last fleet that Coridan, loyal member of the United Federation of Planets for more than a century, could muster. Onboard those tired ships were packed a few thousand citizens, the only of their planet who now had a chance to escape the blackness that had seeded their world. As it had before hundreds of times in hundreds of systems across half of the galaxy, the lethal division had begun; a few, a lucky few would drift off into the void on their crowded steeds, refugees in their own country. The rest would serve as fodder for the ravening minions that all now knew as “the Zerg”.

This time, however, the swarm seemed to be planning on an especially mighty brood, and it was not eager to allow even the smallest of morsels to escape its plate.

“There,” the junior grade lieutenant in charge of the New Orleans-classes’ active sensors reported nervously. “Emerging from that storm system above the Dussur Sea. I’m picking up strong life signs and heat signatures. A lot of them.”

“Onscreen,” acting captain Garis of the USS Hobbes ordered. Unease was palpable in the Trill’s voice. He become second-in-command of the battered ship only weeks before, after the previous officer to hold the position had been removed from duty due to extensive wounds he had sustained during an away mission to evacuate a scientific post that the Zerg had targeted for absorption. Now he had to lead the few remaining operable ships in the Coridan system away from the same tide; the Hobbes’ commanding officer, a native of the now-doomed globe, had removed himself from duty out of fear of a conflict of interest. It was Starfleet’s standing order to save all those who could be saved, and leave the rest; abandoning one’s people, one’s very family often enough, to the most terrible of deaths was not something every captain had been able to do over the last few months, and many a ship had been lost because of it.

A far view of the greenish world appeared before Garis. It showed one of the planet’s larger bodies of water, a dim mass in the darkness. Faint whorls and staggered lines were etched above it; storm systems and cloud strata. For a moment, the man could discern no detail in the image, nothing of concern for the fleeing fleet. Then, something, the slightest trace of motion, caught his eye.

“Magnify.”

The image complied, and in an instant the largest of the storm systems over the sea filled his viewscreen, rotating and undulating with cyclic winds and lashing precipitation, an occasional flash of static discharge arcing from one intemperate expanse of sky to next. As one of these lightning bolts tore through the distant atmosphere, a speck of matter, darker than the clouds at its back, appeared. It was soon followed by a dozen others like it. A hundred.

“Magnify,” the Trill breathed again.

This new image brought him straight into the swarm of dots, but now they had obvious, horrifying form. Each was an egg-like sac of flesh and sinew that pulsed and flexed with each beating of the two clawed, bat-like wings that framed its form. The faces of the creatures were angular cones of serrated teeth, encircling a maw that hung ever open to the void into which it rose. These were the scourges, entities that embodied the mystery and terror that were part and parcel of their horde; like most Zerg, they had no need for oxygen, and could fly into the coldest depths of space unhindered. Further, though their wings could physically find no purchase in the emptiness, they moved nonetheless, and at a prodigious, overwhelming rate. What research had been spared for the few specimens captured intact had no explanation for their method of locomotion; it was as though sheer force of will, their own or that of a greater power, allowed them to bend the laws of reality itself.

And their speed was not the most sinister of their capabilities.

“Cut our speed to half impulse,” Garis ordered at last. “I want us between the civilian ships and those creatures.”

“Captain, the Keep reports that she is unable to maintain her current speed,” the comm officer reported from her station. “She is dropping to point four four impulse.”

The Tellarite freighter was in no state to fly at all, Garis thought, almost angrily. It was a wonder it hadn’t exploded from the strain already, and it very likely still could, especially if any external impact stressed its hull more than it already was. What made the situation worse was the fact that it was his most important charge; certainly, the ship only had a few hundred refugees onboard as opposed to the thousands on the other vessels, but it held other cargo. The real reason Starfleet had spared any ships at all for Coridan’s evacuation was not humanitarian, but a strategic; the planet had once been a starship construction and dilithium mining nexus, and when both industries had dried up, a great deal of unused machinery and material was mothballed. Now the fleet was in desperate need of spare parts, and the Keep was packed with crates and crates of them, swiftly culled from abandoned warehouses and vaults across the planet.

The Hobbes’ acting captain momentarily wondered why the Federation hadn’t devoted more manpower to recover such badly-needed assets, but he didn’t have the time to dwell on what he lacked. The scourges were gaining on them quickly.

“Keep us behind that freighter! I don’t care if we have to crawl to do it!”

The frigate began to slow, reverse thrusters and inertial dampeners cutting its forward momentum. The other ships rocketed past, holding their course towards the world’s only moon.

“Bring us about!”

He glanced at his tactical officer, a Vulcan who looked positively serene standing at his weapons post. Garis wondered in passing if, deep down, the sentient’s lack of outward emotions was just a façade. Surely, even they had to feel something when facing down oblivion.

“Prep all weapons systems for combat. I don’t want a single one of those creatures to get past us, not as long as this hull still holds atmosphere and its phaser coils can siphon energy. Those ships have to get out of this system intact.” He paused, eyes flitting over the nighttime globe that still filled the viewscreen. “Every last one of them.”

The Vulcan nodded curtly. “Affirmative, sir.”

“Fire as soon as they enter range.”

Seconds later, lines of crimson energy arced around the frigate’s curved bow and burst forth in a series of three short, compact beams. Each found its own target, and a trio of the flighted beasts disassociated into their component atoms. Twin photon torpedo launchers roared to life, and two more encapsulations of energy tore through the void, straight into the heart of the pursuing formation. They detonated without impacting any particular target, and rank upon rank of the creatures vanished forever.

“Twenty five confirmed destroyed,” the tactical officer reported without a trace of satisfaction intruding upon his monotone. “The sensors detected at least one hundred and ten remaining.”

“Sir, a few of them are accelerating away from the main group, past us and towards the civilian ships!”

“Keep us between the fleet and those creatures!” Garis ordered the helmsman. “Tactical, use the phasers to pick off the ones that are getting past us. Save the rest of our photons for the main group.”

The Hobbes wheeled about again in pursuit of the breakaway attackers, but not before lobbing another set of torpedoes from its tubes. Their discharge of energy tore through the cloud of hostiles again, but the majority emerged from the conflagration unscathed and surged forward all the faster.

A series of shift slashes with the frigate’s phaser array were all that was required to keep the motley set of evac ships secure, but it had been forced to completely alter its firing vectors to accomplish the task; ships like the New Orleans-class were not intended to fight by themselves, and their blind spots were easily exploitable by even the dullest of foes.

“Sir, several of the creatures have broken from the main group. They’re charging our rear shields.”

“Brace for impact!”

Eight of the frontrunners, now flying almost parallel to the guardian vessel, abruptly folded their ominous wings and ploughed into the Hobbes’ aft section. Shimmering shields intercepted the suicide projectiles well before they hit, but rather than disintegrate or bounce off, as normal organisms would, they exploded with terrifying force. The offensive mechanism of the scourge was just as supernatural as their interstellar flight; though employing sacrificial fodder was a common enough tactic among the swarm, rarely did their minions detonate with enough force to shake mountains. By all accounts, this ferocity was impossible; no living thing could contain within its organs a power that could rival phaser blasts upon release. And yet, the warship’s shields still buckled and pulsed from the hit.

“Report!” the ship’s CO demanded, recovered from the tremor that had swept his vessel.

“Aft shields are holding.”

Another impact shook the bridge, and then another. An unused science station behind Garis exploded in a shower of sparks, and the bridge’s red-tinted lights dimmed momentarily.

“Shields have dropped to eighty two percent, Captain. The rear structural integrity fields are beginning to fluctuate. We may have to reduce our speed in order to avoid a breach.”

“No!” Garis shook his head. Slow now, and nothing could stop the deadly flock from swarming the civilian ships. Even now, some of the scourges were passing the Hobbes, making a run on the Keep, which was still lagging behind.

As a dozen of the beasts filled the corners of his viewscreen and another impact rocked the ship’s shields, Garis suddenly realized that he wasn’t going to survive this mission. It should have been obvious, he supposed, as soon as the Zerg decided to give chase. True, he could give the order to break off their running defense, to dump all power into the drives and surge to a point where his ship could find safely jump to warp. There was still time; scourges were powerful, but they still needed an overwhelming number of impacts to battered down the shields of a Starfleet warship, hits that could not be landed if he fled now.

Despite himself, Garis grinned.

“Lieutenant Commander Udak, how many photon torpedoes do we have left?”

“Three, sir,” the Vulcan responded calmly.

“What would happen if they were programmed to detonate in their tubes simultaneously with an unrestrained warp core breach?”

Udak preformed a few calculations as other members of the bridge crew looked on, understanding dawning on each of their faces. “The resultant blast would annihilate everything within an eleven kilometer radius of the core.”

Nodding slowly, Garis turned to his helmsman. “Do you think that you can put us right in the center of that formation, Ensign? Can you keep us there?”

The young human’s face hardened, but he nodded resolutely. “Yes, sir.”

The Trill smiled again. These engines, this crew, were far too good to be wasted on running. Silent for a moment, he turned to gaze at the swelling curve of Coridan’s moon through the viewport, framed by a constellation of striking stars. As he traced the crisp, dark horizon, just the hint of the sun’s light beyond it, he wished absently that he’d taken a poetry course during his time at Starfleet Academy. It’d have at least given him something profound to say.

He suppressed the thought. Perhaps some things were simply better left unsaid.

“Alright. Initiate core overload sequence, authorization…”

“Hold on, sir.” The communications officer was suddenly back at her controls. “I’m picking up an incoming transmission from just beyond the lunar terminus. Audio only.”

Garis peered at the viewscreen again. The constellation he had seen… was it moving?

“Patch it through.”

The bridge’s intercom crackled with static, but a voice emerged from it, loud, clear, and more than a little cocky.

“Looks like you boys have quite a pest problem. Hold tight; the exterminators are on their way.”

The distant specks that Garis had thought were stars swelled, took on definition. As the bulk of the Zerg swarm passed the Hobbes, the lights disappeared. Then, just as Commander Udak began to list the contacts registering on the frigate’s sensors, and the first scourges dove hungrily towards the Keep’s unprotected aft, space bloomed with fire.

The Hobbes had not been able to reach Bajor in time to participate in its last-ditch defense, but every remaining vestige of Starfleet and its allies had heard of the Alliance, whose mighty warship had almost single-handedly saved the system from being overrun. As his viewscreen focused on the source of the sudden cascade of weapons fire, Garis knew that it could only be of one origin.

Alliance starfighters of all classes and descriptions cut into the pursuing cloud like predatory fish falling upon a school of bottom feeders. X-Wings belched quartets of crimson energy from their four wing-mounted laser cannons; Y-Wings traced swaths of destruction through the demonic flock with their turrets; B-Wings lobbed volleys of blaster and laser shot from afar; A-Wings dove straight into the thicket of creatures at the head of their formation, spinning and juking to avoid hitting their targets as they laid into them with withering streams of charged particles.

Behind them roared the mottled-white disk of the Millennium Falcon, its top and belly-mounted quad turrets disintegrating any of the beast that had escaped the first pass. One of the Zerg spawn managed to throw itself into the freighter’s path and impact before the ship could change its course. A bloom of super-heated plasma and flaming entrails engulfed the Falcon, but it emerged unscathed, wobbling slightly to correct its course; the faint shimmer of its skin-tight deflector was the only sign anything had attempted to halt its progress.

“Captain, the Zerg force has diminished to seventy individuals, dropping at a rate of fifteen ever thirty seconds. At current rate, it should be completely eliminated within less than three minutes.”

Garis mutely acknowledged the Vulcan’s objective report, all but transfixed by the scene that was playing out before him. Now he understood how the fleet at Bajor had been able to withstand a full Zerg onslaught. Each of these fightercraft seemed to possess the firepower and speed of a Starfleet line warship, despite being less than a fortieth of their size. The Zerg force was disintegrating in a way he had never seen any of their elements fall apart before; if Garis did not know for a fact that the scourges were little more than muscled bags of gas and vestigial incisors, he would have said they were afraid.

Still, the day was not yet won. As the Hobbes strained to catch up with the running firefight, one flighted beast managed to reach the fleeing Tellarite freighter and ram itself into the ship’s graying top section. Its antiquated shields absorbed a majority of the blast, but the strain shorted them out completely. When another scourge launched its attack, there was nothing to prevent the creature from gouging a deep gash into the cargo hauler’s starboard sublight drive. The blocky vessel began to spin out of control, its engines dying.

“Sir, the Keep’s structural integrity is beginning to fail, and its drive and communications systems are offline. Another direct hit will likely knock out its remaining systems, or breach its core outright.”

Garis only had to ponder the tactical situation for a moment. There were still more than enough Zerg out there to tear his charge to pieces, and his vessel certainly couldn’t get within range before they could. “Put me on an open frequency.”

“All Alliance ships, the vessel at the rear of the civilian fleet has sustained heavy damage, and is under imminent threat of destruction. No more of the creatures can be allowed to reach its hull.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” It was the same smooth voice from before, both confident and surprisingly informal. “I think we can give them something else to take a bite out of.”

“Red Two, Three, form up on me. Green squad, see if you can catch up to the contacts angling starboard of that lagging freighter. The rest of you, take care of the stragglers.”

A flurry of vocal confirmations and clicks sounded over the audio feed. Almost as soon as they ceased, a gruff, bass moan sounded somewhere in the background.

“Yeah, I see them Chewie. Let’s just focus on these guys for now.”

The Millennium Falcon, a pair of X-Wings guarding its flanks, broke from the main plane of battle, its main drive burning with a burst of blue-white illumination. The formation shot forward, blazing guns tracking one cloud of attackers as another was intercepted by the blindingly-fast cone of half a dozen sleek A-Wings.

The Hobbes was almost in range of the main group of remaining scourges when the concerned voice of his scanning officer caught Garis’ attention. “Sir, I’m picking up more contacts rising from the planets surface.”

The Trill’s amazement was replaced by the unsettling coldness of battle.

“Show me.”

The viewscreen switched back to Coridan’s dark face and focused on the forbidding same storm system, which had continued to intensify over the course of the battle. Another visual enhancement gave the new contacts full definition. They were biological, not the captured machines that the Zerg favored in their campaign, larger than the scourges and far more complex, with obvious sensory organs and frills of huge, undulating spines. The swarm rarely used living behemoths such as these in open space combat, but Garis had seen briefings on their capabilities, and knew that they could be just as deadly as their smaller, suicidal brethren. For one, they did not did not need to touch their prey to hinder it.

“Bring us about and divert power to shields,” Garis ordered. “This fight isn’t over yet.”

The tusked mandibles of the dozen new fliers flexed and widened, preparing to disgorge some lethal projectile or pulsating spawn. The crew of Starfleet frigate braced for the inevitable impacts, the explosions, the soundless screeching of the Zerg’s abominations.

Then, one by one, the emerging foes erupted into globes of atomic fire, missiles annihilated before they could shoot forth. Sluggishly, a few of the creatures attempted to turn back, to find shelter in the turbulent atmosphere they had left behind, but each was consumed despite their efforts. In less than half a minute, the Garis’ viewscreen showed only Coridan’s fitfully slumbering form.

Bewildered, the captain glanced at his tactical officer and then ordered the ship’s sensors back upon the battleground around the lifeless moon. Could the Alliance fighters have done this as well, destroyed the enemy’s second wave so quickly, and from such a distance?

Mirrored sunlight flooded the bridge, shrouding the scene before him, but Garis swiftly discerned that the fortunes of his fleet had altered once more. The last of the Zerg scourges were gone, clouds of minute debris that shed easily from the deflectors of the victorious Alliance fightercraft as they formed a loose perimeter around the civilian convey. More surprisingly, though, several more vessels had appeared, just rounding the moon’s gentle curve. Two were obviously Starfleet, and another looked like a Cardassian Galor-class cruiser; these were hardly singular sights, even though Garis wished that they had arrived significantly earlier in the engagement. No, it was fourth form, between and larger than the others, that held his notice.

“Captain, I believe that it was the largest of those starships fired on the second Zerg force.” Udak sounded almost awkward.

Garis couldn’t blame him. Suddenly, he felt distinctly unneeded.
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For once, things were going smoothly, and had Imal Ryceed been a religious woman, she would have given thanks to her gods for that fact alone. After years of fighting a losing war against the Empire, and the bizarre series of perilous escapes that were the last few weeks, any victory, even a small one, was a more potent opiate to the captain and her crew than the most expensive Hutt narcotic.

From the bridge of the Republica, she watched with satisfaction as her turbolaser batteries obliterated the unsuspecting Zerg reinforcements. A few days ago, the ship’s heavy weapons were in such a state of disrepair that they couldn’t have accurately targeted ships at half the distance of the bloated, invertebrate creatures. The tireless efforts of her engineering teams, supplemented by a few groups of eager, if technologically unprepared, Starfleet crewers had given her a total of four, fully functional medium turbolasers, twice as many as were available at the engagement at Bajor. Bolstered too were the light cruiser’s lesser weapons systems, drives, and deflector arrays; the Republica was still operating at less than half of its optimal combat efficiency, the highest level available without a full refit from a shipyard of her native disk, but the improvement was still impressive.

Ryceed reminded herself to recommend both the ship’s executive officer and operations chief for accolades when this farce of a mission was over. Gavplek’s dedication and Hessun’s serene focus had probably done far more to hold the Republica together then her leadership; all she had done was allow Councilor Organa to drag the ship from one battle to the next. Ryceed was under orders to follow the councilor’s directives, and although she had voiced her reservations to the woman more than once, perhaps too much, she couldn’t help but feel as though the peril placed upon her crew was of her own making.

“All targets confirmed destroyed,” weapons control reported.

“Good.” Ryceed made her way from the bridge’s main viewport to the bank of fire control operators that occupied most of one wall of the chamber’s lower deck. “Maintain combat readiness stations for the time being. I want us to be ready if anymore of those things decide to show their ugly faces.”

“There’s also the infestation on Coridan,” Commander William Riker said, moving to Ryceed’s side. “We cannot leave the system until the immediate Zerg threat has been completely eliminated.”

The captain shot a look at the man. “Thank you, Commander. I do not require any further reminder of the Republica’s objectives here.”

Riker’s expression soured marginally and he yanked on the tunic of his brand new Starfleet uniform, but any response he might have given was cut short when a crewer at the Comm requested his attention.

When the man had left her presence, Ryceed let a small smile cross her stiff jaw. Riker was a smug, self-righteous bastard, but she was still beginning to like him. When he had first been assigned as the official Federation liaison to the Republica, the captain hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, but once she had gotten over the bother of having another person on her bridge to report to, her qualms with the appointment had faded, if only marginally. Though he was intended to be constant reminder of the Federation’s interests and of the Alliance’s compact with them, she still outranked the commander, and he had demonstrated a willingness to follow her orders, even when he disagreed with them.

Besides, Riker have proved to be something of an asset over the last few days. The Republica had not spent all of the time since the victory at Bajor licking its wounds; though the strategists at the head of the compact Leia Organa had entered the ship into agreed that a major, concerted strike had to be made against the Zerg quickly, they nevertheless allowed for a brief respite during which the allies could marshal their forces. The Alliance cruiser had her two fighter squadrons had played a key role in that effort; as the bulk of the Starfleet and Klingon fleets were being repaired and diplomats being sent to the few intact military powers left within reach, Ryceed and Riker had been tasked with “putting out fires” on as many besieged worlds as possible.

With its vast speed and firepower advantages over its native counterparts, the Republica could accomplish missions that would have required far too many resources and far too much time to be undertaken otherwise. Guided by Riker and starmaps provided by Starfleet, the ship had rescued pockets of survivors on isolated worlds, smashed nascent Zerg “occupation” forces before they could take root, and escorted civilian convoys to the relative safety of Bajor and its surrounding systems. Finding one planet, the Klingon colony H’atoria already completely overrun with the suffocating Zerg creep, Ryceed had ordered the most heavily infested continent slagged from orbit. The operation had been nothing next to the Imperial Base Delta Zero bombardment, by which Star Destroyers could turn an inhabited planet into a molten ball of rock in less than a day, but the sight of a titanic firestorm of her own making race across H’atoria’s land and atmosphere had been one of the most unsettling things Ryceed had ever witnessed.

One of their other expeditions, a supply run on an abandoned ammunitions depot near the ravaged ruins of the planet Betazed, had seen their only significant encounter with opposition. As a Starfleet tanker was beaming up the last of munitions from the depot, hidden in the system’s asteroid belt, a swarm of Zerg vessels and warriors, an old mining ship they had somehow converted into a mass driver at its head, had ambushed the Republica and the cargo ship. Ryceed’s cruiser had easily shrugged off the attack, but the tanker and its fighter escort had been trapped against the asteroid when it spontaneously began to disintegrate. Riker had realized that the converted mining ship was using its gravitic fields and tractor beams to destabilize the rock, and the Republica destroyed it before the entire body shattered. They had lost the tanker and one of Ryceed’s pilots, but Riker’s quick thinking had saved the lives of half a dozen others.

She glanced at the man as he conversed with one of the Starfleet vessels they had brought with them to secure Coridan over a flat panel display. Riker also played a mean hand of Sabacc in the officer’s mess after evening meals; he said it reminded him of a game he used to play with the command staff back on his old ship.

“Captain.” Riker looked up from his screen. “One of the civilian freighters sustained heavy damage before we arrived. Her impulse engines and power systems have been compromised, and the captain’s decided to abandon ship. The Hobbes and our escorts have already begun transporting the crew to safety, but the cargo containers in the freighter’s hold cannot be beamed out. They are requesting that we take on the load and transport it back to Bajor.”

“Can’t the cargo simply be abandoned?” Ryceed asked. “The refugees we picked up from that Ferengi commerce platform have already filled our holds nearly to capacity.”

Riker shook his head. “The freighter, the Keep, is carrying dilithium re-crystallization equipment. It uses contained, directed gamma radiation to recharge the dilithium in the regulation centers of warp cores. That kind of machinery is hard to produce and difficult to transport; it has to be packed in large, heavy crates that are impossible to effectively scan or transport because of the radiation inside. The fleet has been looking for backup devices since the Zerg destroyed Starbase Montgomery a month ago. Without them, a third of the ships around Bajor will be unable to use their warp drives within a week.”

Reluctantly, Ryceed nodded. Riker was right, but the captain wasn’t happy about the prospect of another delay, even a brief one. She had just received word that all available ships were being called back to Bajor. The offensive was about to begin. Ryceed still didn’t think of the campaign against the Zerg as her war, but she wanted it to see it over as much as any Starfleet officer; when the last world was recaptured and final monstrosity blasted, she could finally go home. There was still a war to fight there, one far closer to her heart.

“Can the containers survive in open space?”

“They should be fully sealed,” Riker responded.

“See if you can get the Keep’s captain to dump her cargo before he evacuates it entirely. I’ll dispatch our shuttles and repair ships to gather them up. In the mean time, there’s still one thing we have to take care of.”

Ryceed turned her attention to the holographic representation of Coridan that filled the bridge’s main tactical projector. A small area on its surface, a strip of coastline on its northern southern hemisphere, was highlighted; the site of infection.

Soon, the spot would be a cratered ruin, and the planet would be safe. At least, safe until the Zerg decided to foul its landscape with another insidious seed.

Hopefully, if all went according to plan, they would never get the chance.

[The Vortex Empire]

Update! Finally! Great job, Ire, although it needs more MC. Very good job making the characters seem almost real. Excellent as always.