How about another fanfic (Manifest Destiny)

[Hendrake]

What, this thread is not in the first page in Fanfic?!

*BUMP*

[Mark S]

The Phantom Auther finally posts again...


The ancient marble gateway allowing entrance into the temple-turned-palace sat still and silent. The Republic guards, standing evenly spaced and motionless throughout the courtyard, were not expecting any other visitors to the Magistrate and could not help but let their minds drift. For all the resistance the Bajorans had been giving, they had never been able to infiltrate this far. The savages just didn't have the ability.

The sun was just beginning to tuck itself behind the looming, jagged mountain range when, against all reason, the titanic gates ponderously opened of their own accord. All eyes shot to the gap that was produced and focused on what they beheld. Shadow and light played across the landscape, swathing a figure darkness.

Between the two stone monoliths stood a figure draped in gloom. Humanoid and male in stature, it was clothed all in black and covered with a cloak as deep as night. His entire aspect seemed to draw in light and devour it.

Without waiting for an invitation, the figure strode through the portal, hands calmly clasped before him. The two guards nearest to the entrance leapt to action, drawing their weapons and blocking the way. Before a word could be spoken from the towering men, the dark figure raised a single hand, two fingers casually extended.

The fingers were pointed first at one, then the other, causing each to grab his throat in turn. Standing silently, the hooded figure watched as the two gasped and clawed for air. They quickly lost strength and dropped to the ground, breathing their last in agonizing pain.

The other guards in the courtyard could not believe what had just unfolded before them. Instinctively falling back on years of training, blasters jumped from holsters and men fanned out to ensure that they all had a clear shot. They were six against one. This wouldn't take long.

The intruder's eyes looked up from his kill as the others took their places and one began speaking into a communicator. He made no move towards them but merely observed, like a cat waiting for its prey to round a corner before striking. When one of the guards finally shouted for him to surrender, he called once again on the Force.

As a group, the six giant men fell to the cobbled ground, fighting for their lives against unseen hands. A few fired wildly in their death throws but to no avail. The dark figure did not give them a second's notice as he stalked through the tangled, writhing, scene. It was as if they were nothing more than shrubs rustling in the breeze.

"You there!" High on the walls, more armoured defenders were pouring out to meet whatever had broken their sanctuary.

The intruder's sneer went unseen in the shadows of his cloak as he raised both hands, one to each parapet wall, and quickly clenched them into fists. Pulling them back to his sides, the guards on high too, were pulled from where they stood. No wind howled, no tremor shook the land, there was nothing to account for their fall. They simply plunged to their deaths, splattering purple blood and adding to the carnage.

A timeless wooden door leading to the musty confines of the building opened of its own accord at the dark-clad man's approach.


* * *


"I see, Mr. Torrom," the Magistrate said in concern after hearing the results of the bajoran's meeting with the rebel leaders. "This is most unfortunate. We do not wish to shed any further blood but the Inter-Galactic Republic WILL bring order to this world, one way or another. Make no mistake. All hostility will continue to be met with extreme retribution until this conflict has ended."

The Republic representative sat imperiously at one side of the polished table, his aides flanking him. He watched the native across from him with intense interest. These were the people he had been sent to educate, to guide into civilization. This planet was fit more for a military governor, not a politician.

"I realize that Magistrate Fremm," the man replied quickly, "and I'm trying to stop this war as best I can. You have to understand the recent history of my people. We have had many outside..."

"We been familiarized with the history of your world, Mr. Torrom." The fact was stated flatly, coldly. Fremm had been pulled from the Senate committee on diplomatic coordination for this mission. It was not what he would classify a step up in his career.

The two beings sitting eye to eye each opened their mouths to speak. One to continue his proclamation, the other to try some different way of getting his point across. Neither were able to utter a word. Both found themselves interrupted by the blaring of the newly installed security alarms.

The four people at the table looked from the corners of the ceiling to one another, slow to react to what they heard. It was the human aide that finally stood and made his way down the long carpet to room's double doors. Before he made it he turned and addressed his superior.

"It's probably another drill," he called back, his nasal voice echoing. "I'll go check with the guards. You know how they've been stepping things up since the reports about the..." The man caught himself before he said another word. With a quick glance to the bajoran he turned and disappeared through the door.

At the table, the blue skinned Republican smiled broadly and made to refill barely touched glasses. "I'm sure it's nothing."


* * *


Jones focused on his senses as he marched steadily down the corridors of the bajoran temple. He reached out with his feelings and connected with everything and everyone. Insects instinctively ran from his approach, security personnel rushed to confront him, and there was another. Someone else was coming. Much lighter than the others, moving quickly in his direction. This one was no soldier.

He stopped abruptly before an intersection in the hallway and waited. Like an onyx statue he stood, listening to the footfalls and fast breathing, hands held patiently. Time had no meaning at that point. Seconds became an eternity. Forever washed away in the blink of an eye.

A human in tight, purple pants and shirt, and a long blue coat ran directly into him and jumped back. Fear lite the man's eyes as the figure before him was matched to images in his brain. Jones felt every instant of the emotion and bathed in it. This was what kept him going. Their fear was all that seemed to feed him.

As the aide to the magistrate lifted an accusing finger and began stammering wordlessly, the hooded figure commanding his attention slowly, deliberately turned his head. A pale visage shone from the void of the endless cloak. Piercing eyes lock and would not let go.

"You will take me to the Magistrate now," Jones ordered with a wave of his hand. There was no room for questions.

And no questions were asked. The aide could think of nothing but leading this man to the magistrate. There was no way he could disobey. He had no hope if he didn't.

"I will take you to the Magistrate now," he repeated, wide-eyed with terror.

Together they walked back through maze of corridors and rooms. Many guards were passed. All died by no hands. No one was able to raise any further alarm. Jones never broke stride from his course, his guide never looked back.

At the end of their journey the unwitting Republican pushed through the huge double-doors of the ancient prayer chamber and drew everyone's attention. That is, until they saw the man behind him.

"Magistrate Fremm," he announced nervously. "This gentleman is here to see you."

The three at the other end of the room were on their feet in an instant. The Magistrate looked to his opposite with narrowing eyes. The bajoran returned the look with accusation and confusion of his own. The room stayed silent. Their new guest seemed to suck the air straight from their lungs.

"What is the meaning of this," the twi'lik demanded once he had regained his composure. "I am expecting no one else."

"I'm here to discuss the removal of Republic forces from this galaxy," Jones' voice emanate from the shadows of his hood with calm contempt.

"He is here to discuss the removal of Republic forces from this galaxy," the other human repeated earnestly.

Looking from one man to the other, the magistrate hesitated for only a second before bellowing his alarm. The next moment the room was alive with action as security systems activated and bystanders lunged for any cover they could find.

Like a murder of crows taking flight, the black cloak billowed as its owner leapt into the air. Timeless stone disappeared in a whiff of smoke where the man had been standing. Angry red blaster fire followed his arcing flight only to stop before gunning down the terrified human aide.

Black gloved hands reached out from black depths even before Jones had landed. His Starfleet issue boots touched the floor as the vice of his grip closed on his latest victim. A brutal jerk and a neck was broken. The security A.I. began firing anew as the body hit ground, bowls already draining.

The Federation assassin spun between the towering statues at blinding speed. Like a hell-spawned dancer, he moved with a grace and fluidity that belied his grim aspect. The automated death follow with every bound, a willing puppy to a cruel master.

Coming to rest once more behind the figure of some alien hero, Jones sneered as he noticed the freshly made hole in his robe. The smoke rolled gently to the ceiling in languid tendrils. It was oddly peace full amid the carnage. Moments like these had always calmed him before. He wondered briefly why there was nothing now.

With a gusting swirl, the attacker tossed his cloak into the center of the vaulting chamber. Somehow the tiny patch of midnight hung there in the air as if he were still wearing it. The guns couldn't tell the difference and continued their attack. Relief would only be given when the garment was a smoldering pile on the floor.

Before that could happen, the assassin was on his feet again and instantly in the center of the floor. From this position he could see his prey trying to break for the rear exit and hear the autocannons repositioning and locking in on him.

With a single motion he pointed one hand to the far door and reached behind his back with the other. The offending door slammed shut and the security guns began again. This time however there was retreat. There was no lightning dodge. This time the energy was blocked.

A red disk of light had inexplicably appeared before the dark warrior. It spun faster than the eye could distinguish and repelled all attacks it met. Blaster bolts streaked back at their creators and one by one turned them to craters in the wall. When the air was dead once more, Jones stood, breathing as if he had done nothing, lightsaber held defensively at his side.

"I believe we were going to discuss your withdrawal," he said, icy stare holding all where they stood.

"What is this?" The twi'lik's chubby face was as pale as bone. He could not believe the specter of death before him or the softly glowing weapon in his hands. "This can't be. Not here."

"Oh, it be," Jones replied with a wicked smile. He was moving slowly, snake-like toward the others. His eyes never left them, inexplicably holding them captive.

"And make no mistake," he parodied. "You will be leaving. One way or the other."

"A Sith among the savages?" Despite what the blue skinned aide said, he was still backing away steadily. "He's no Sith."

The human merely chuckled, as if to himself. He was almost upon them now and they hadn't noticed. He reached out with the Force and sent the doubter hurtling into the rear wall. A shower of gore decorated the area and all those remaining.

"Underestimate me if you like," he said, letting rivulet of blood trail from his face. "The outcome will remain the same."

Commanding all the courage he could find, Torrom looked his attacker in the remorseless eyes and pointed an uncertain finger. "That's enough. Whoever you are, this has got to stop. Murdering this man will only bring them down harder on us."

"Oh," Jones laughed. "Commands! And what makes you think I'll obey you? What makes you think I value the opinions of a..." He paused as if listening to something. "Collaborator."

"There can be no collaboration," he continued, methodically pacing around the pair. He circled them, feeling what was left of their nerves collapse. "There is only victory of death."

With an intense hum of rage the fiery lightsaber struck out and the bajoran's head dropped free of its body. The blade of energy stopped millimeters from the magistrate. It sat their unwavering as the remaining politician cried out in the anticipation of his own death.

"He's right you know," the alien stammered. "Killing me will not stop any of this."

"Yeah, I know," came the reply. "Everyone of you has said that. But it sure sends a nice message, doesn't it."

"The only message it sends is that you are bent on your own destruction. I am here to help this world. I am here to see an end to the violence. I am a politician. Kill me and the next one to come will be a military commander. You are only causing more needless suffering."

"I promise you won't suffer at all."


* * *


"You have disobeyed my command. Why?" As harsh as the statement was, the question was more curious. Expectant.

The bitter wind of the mountain pass sliced through Jones as easily as any lightsaber. He centered his concentration on the tiny, faltering image Darth Gallus and ignored the icy teeth of the storm. He had known this would be coming sooner or later. Unlike the elements, he could not just ignore the communications of his master.

"I felt it was time to unsheathe my true weapon," he explained. "My rightful weapon. I felt it was time that the Republic was aware of the true wrath of the Federation. I trusted my instincts, Master."

"Indeed you did." The image of the Sith lord twisted and warped for a moment. Before the hologram continued, the static of the transmission was drowned completely by the angry howl of the wind. "You have done well, my apprentice. Your work is now finished. Return to me at once."

Jones took the reaction in with calm detachment. "There is still much for me to do..."

"It is time for you to complete your training. I am waiting your arrival." There was no defying the implied order. He could feel the power of his master reaching across the expanses of space and taking firm hold of his mind.


* * *


The light show of the Briar Patch continued without end around the flotilla of Starfleet holdouts. A cluster of Galaxy class ship saucer sections hung tightly together in a make-shift mobile base of operations and repair depot. As a pack of tarnished and scarred klingon battle cruisers swept past in a lazy arc, a pair of Defiants came in from patrol escorting a firengi freighter. Hopefully it was filled with ship components and dilithium. More importantly, it would have information.

Captain Picard entered the lounge of one of those saucers and was thrust into memories of the past. The colour scheme of the carpet and the furniture may have been different but this was the same old 10 Forward he had known from his first Enterprise. Through the main windows he thought he could almost see the necelles of his latest Enterprise behind the bulk of the compound, waiting for repair. When the smuggler's ship floated by, he couldn't help but think how happy he finally was firengi duplicitousness.

He turned from the scene to scan the bar at the other side of the room. Guinin was there, her head buried in an ancient book. She didn't look up when he approached her but, as always, somehow knew he was there.

"Back from the front lines, Captain?" The woman didn't bother to stop reading. "How goes the efforts of the United Federation of Pirates?"

Picard let the barb slip. "I'm looking for someone Guinin," he said. "A Commander Bala. He's one of the President's aides. Have you seen him?"

"Why would anyone want to find that man," she replied with a shudder. "There's something about him. Something dark. And he never seems to leave the President's side. Follows the man around like the specter of death."

"Yes," Picard returned. "But he's not there now and I need to speak to him. For whatever reason, the man holds the President's ear. If I can get him to see the utter folly of this insane strike they're concocting, I might be able to get it through to the people making the decisions."

"I take it the computer can't locate him?"

"He's not on any of the ships in the area. Nor has he gone out on any of the raids or patrols." Picard looked back out the window as he answered, as if the deep void itself could help him.

"Well he IS supposedly Starfleet Intelligence," the woman offered. "Those guys always seem to be finding ways to keep themselves secret."

"Supposedly Intelligence," Picard repeated. "Although Data could find no record of him on file and Captain Ajax has never seen him before."

Before the conversation could continue, a young fresh-faced ensign approached. "Excuse me, Captain, but I couldn't help overhearing. Commander Bala left on a shuttle three days ago."

"What?" The captain turned toward the young man looking for answers. "Why is there no record on the log?"

"I erased it, Sir," the ensign stammered. "He said he had an urgent mission and authorization to take the shuttle. Then he ordered me to erase the logs after he left."

"Did he show you any authorization?"

A look of confusion crossed the young man's face and turned from deep thought to shame. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't even ask to see the Commander's authorization. At the time I just... I just... believed him."


* * *


Things had changed around the compound that Darth Gallus had created for himself since the dark figure that was Lieutenant Jones had been there last. There had been some expansion. Barracks had been built, training grounds delineated and well worn paths beaten into the hard ground. Thick, heavy snow blanketed all at this time of year but it could not hide the sheer volume of activity that was evident.

The man peered past the edge of his hood up to the grey, cloud choked sky. Any satellite should be able to pick this place out like the spot on Jupiter. As with everything however, he was sure that Master Gallus had see to that.

The previously empty mountain locale was now teeming with people as well. Pellax had done his job with great success. Of course, most of the grim faces hurrying this way and that were totally unfamiliar to him but there were a few that he had served with before. One of these, a man named Byran he believed, spotted him and rushed to fall in step.

"Jonesy," Byran said excitedly, patting the dark man's shoulder and extending a hand. "Wow! This is some freaky shit isn't it. I heard that you were one of the first in on this training. From what I've seen we're really going to be able to bust some Reaper heads. Remember that time when we were kidnaping that Romie right out of that public bathroom in the middle of the Senate and that guy walked in? What was it you told him again?" At this point the new recruit could hardly contain the laughter.

Jones never missed a step, never returned the gesture of greeting, never even raised his hands from their clasped position in front of him. The situation flooded into his mind and made him think of the fun and excitement he used to feel for his job. He then thought of how easily he would have been able to do all the things of the past with the abilities he had now. This man was beneath him. He was weak. He could be killed with a thought. And he dared to speak with such familiarity!

Jones turned his hooded face and sneered a Byran. His eyes showed only cold disdain. The other man was stopped dead in his tracks by the look. It left him speechless and somehow afraid of the person he had thought would be a friendly face.

Inside the main building, he was met by the two faces that had begun him on this journy. Bala and Pellax stood waiting patiently at one of the house's nondescript doors. Both were dressed in the same jet black parody of a Starfeet uniform that he wore. Their faces were stone as they acknowledged his presence with a slight bow of the head.

"Bala, Pellax, are we waiting for Master Gallus?" The last of the trio to arrive looked from one man to the other. Both stood silently watching him.

"Those names are now meaningless," Bala finally answered. "Those people no longer exist."

Confusion danced across Jones' visage.

"Enter," the Trill said, motioning to the door. "You will understand when your training has been completed."

The door swung open at the slightest touch to reveal a darkened room. It was completely empty. The light of the hallway disclosed nothing but barren walls and a hard wood floor. As Jones entered, the door closed seemingly of its own accord.

In a room by myself, he thought. Quite the test.

"Good one."

Jones spun with blinding speed to face the impossible. It was himself.

"So what's with the vampire look," the double continued. "I know S-31 is black ops but this is ridiculous."

The other man in the room wore a standard issue security uniform. The pips of a lieutenant gleamed sharply from a yellow collar. That wasn't the only difference however. He smiled. His face held far less care.

"Who are you?" The black clad figure ordered. His lightsaber was in his hands and ignited seemingly of its own accord.

The other laughed. "What does it look like, Eienstein. You're me! I'm you! Whatever. Though I have to say we've taken a little turn for the worse if you ask me. You're turning us into a psycho."

"I never asked you." The red glow receded into nothing with a soft fizzle. "And don't talk to me about mental stability. We've never taken a second thought about anything we've done, good or bad. Questionable moral character, remember. Don't even try that holier than though crap."

"Hey, I know I was never an award winner when it came to good deeds but you've taken it a step beyond. You take the cake, buddy."

"Don't glass over it. You're a killer. Plane and simple. You may want to cling to the delusion that it was our tech skills that got us into 31 but it's bullshit. We were tapped because we are one of those few with no qualms about burning a hole into someone's brain if it meant protecting the Federation. And we're damn good at it too."

The Starfleet officer held up his hands in defense. "Alright. Fine. But that has always been business. You're different. You're not just eliminating a target and moving on anymore. You're enjoying it and you're making a show of it. I may not have cared but you actually like it. Hell, that last job you didn't even bother to sneak in! You walked right in the front door and went on a killing spree for fuck's sake! Gees, be a professional will ya."

"Damn right," came the heated response. "You bet I made a show of it! And you bet I made them pay. I will not skulk in the shadows any loner! I have no need to hide from the likes of those fools. Now they know what they are truly up against and their fear will grow. I can drive the Republicans screaming before me, back to their own space and even into it! You. You can do little more than a common street thug."

"True. With these new powers you can do everything quick and easy but look what it's doing to you. Look how you acted to Byran. He saved your life if you don't remember."



"No. He saved YOUR life not mine. I am not the pathetic stooge that you are."

The double laughed again. How easily he did that. What a sound it was. "Sure you are. You're even sadder because you don't realize it. And the saddest part is that somewhere along the way you stopped fighting for the Federation and started fighting for the plans of that crazy little bastard and you haven't even noticed yet. You..."

The rant was cut abruptly short as the unseen hands of the Force restricted around his throat. The dark Jones had heard enough. This man before him was not who he was. Not any longer. This man was pitiful.

The Starfleet officer collapsed to the floor clawing at his collar. He looked up into the cold eyes of his twin and tried desperately to gasp out his plea. The other looked down and smiled wickedly as he felt the life seep away. He reveled in the fear and confusion emanating from his victim.

The Jones on his knees finally marshaled his faculties and concentrated on staying alive. His throat might be closed but he wasn't giving up without a fight. With head hung forward he thought of nothing but the slowing of his heart and the conservation of whatever air was left in his lungs.

A snip-hiss heralded the return of the red energy blade. "I know as well as you how long you can hold your breath. Frankly, I'm not prepared to wait six minutes for you."

Lieutenant Jones heard the hum of the blade retreat, stop, and then move in swiftly again.

The lone figure in the spartan room extinguished his weapon and calmly emerged back into the corridor.


* * *


"You have risen above who you once were," Darth Gallus recited before his three apprentices. "You have cast aside those shadow of the past and embraced the darkness that you now are. You are no longer those men. You have changed. I have transformer you. Now I will give you names fitting of your new stature."

He looked from the men who were once Bala, Pellax and Jones and intoned three names in turn. "Darth Fectious, Darth Necros, Darth Stryfe. You are now Dark Lords of the Sith. You have done well my friends. Everything is going exactly as I have foreseen it."

[Eleas]

Impressive. I like this.

[Hendrake]

Woa! This chapter really sent a shiver through my spine.

Wonderful!

[Faram]

Great Work!

I really love this fanfic!

[Crown]

Thank you Mark, that was great!

[Mark S]

Wow. I just noticed all of the spelling mistakes and things. Sorry for the low quality post.

Must remember to proofread before posting.

[Stravo]

Wow. I just noticed all of the spelling mistakes and things. Sorry for the low quality post.

Must remember to proofread before posting.

BAD, BAD author...you shulod alwys check for typos and misqotes. I hate lazi writers. UGH.

[consequences]

proofread, shmoofread, we'll figure it out from context anyway.

[Faram]

This fanfic needs a *BUMP*

[Ender]

It's dead Jim.

[Mark S]

It's dead Jim.

Not dead yet. I've just been giving it a rest until all this GSDA stuff blows over. More will come in time. Hell, I think there is still about a third of the story left to go.

[Singular Quartet]

It's dead Jim.

Not dead yet. I've just been giving it a rest until all this GSDA stuff blows over. More will come in time. Hell, I think there is still about a third of the story left to go.

Thank you mark, for giving us false hope that you had posted another chapter.

[Mark S]

When the wormhole, and the new galaxy that it led to, had become the soul domain of the Republic military, the scientific aspect that had begun it all was thrown to the wayside. Now, deep within research facilities and institutions of higher learning across the galaxy, technicians and graduate students poured over everything from alien archives to alien biology. Readings from the wormhole itself were still being analysed and re-analysed until there was nothing left they could share. Certainly, access to a new galaxy was a major event for the Republic’s scientific community and they weren’t about to let any opportunity slip

Within the bowls of the University of Coruscant a small, pale man stared intently at a small, pale view-screen. It was historical and cultural data from the savage government of the United Federation of Planets that he was studying with such vigour. How the Republic had received this information when they did, he had no idea. He had been told it was recovered from a savage human spacecraft. He wasn’t buying it. People just didn’t bother carrying around that much information in a starship. There was no point to it.

There was also no point to arguing about it, however. Especially with Professor Croc. With him you did what you were told and did it with as much detail as possible. Anything else was just be asking for a hassle that wasn’t worth it. If he said it was from a transport, sure, it was from a transport.

As the translated words poured down the screen the man made constant notes and references. The report he would be preparing was merely a simple outline of the other galaxy’s human history and development, a preliminary summary for his professor and most likely some others higher up, but he worked as if on his life’s work. He knew this ‘simple outline’ meant he was forced to lay every major point out ad nauseam for Croc just to have everyone else read only the executive summary. The small, pale man shook his head and continued on his toil.

He wasn’t the only one in that situation though. In another part of the Republic, two research technicians were finishing a battery of tests on a small subsystem of the latest enemy vessel to be heaped upon them. It was another teleporting pad. Human this time. And if they didn’t get their comparison with the other pads completed within the next two days it would be their asses.

Unfortunately this particular piece of alien crap wasn’t shaping up to be any less useless than the rest. On the plus side, for a galaxy as divided as the media was portraying, the two techs were quite impressed by the cross-cultural standardization, but that was about as far as it went. Once the droids had figured out the controls of the first unit they had found that every other teleporter was configured in exactly the same way. You didn’t even have to know the next language to be able to make a good guess at the console layout. Now, if the thing could only send something through an actual wall, it might be worthwhile.

But at least they only had to deal with cold, hard technology. On another planet, one blessed with a level six bio-facility, a scientific assistant tried to maintain her level of enthusiasm as she oversaw the sixty-third specimen full body scan and genetic decoding of the day. She had jumped at the chance to see the Other Human’s up close and be a part of finding out just how human they actually were, but it was getting fatiguing.

The first scan had elated her. It was a human through and through. The second one confirmed it. They were the same species as her. The mind boggled at how it could be true but it was. She couldn’t wait to read how the comparison with the citizen information bank turned out.

After about scan twenty, the charm had worn off. She was fighting to stay awake and watching the clock like a shamkrit. If Doctor Massii thought she was staying one second passed her punch-out time, he could shove his tentacled face up his butt. There was overseeing and confirming readouts and then there was babysitting droids.

As the assistant checked the time yet again and dreamed of being on her way home, another woman far away was doing the same thing. A woman that happened to be at the top of this intellectual pyramid. She didn’t have the luxury of keeping to a time-sheet however. Somehow Doctor Gerra Windfire still found herself at the head of the wormhole’s scientific program and that meant late nights of keeping track of every piece of information to stream down her console screen.

The exhausted and eye-sore woman closed the file on the latest findings on species biological cross-comparison in the new galaxy and leaned back in her chair, listening to each of her vertebra pop one at a time. She couldn’t care less about the similarity between ‘klingon’ and ‘romulan’ physiology, but it was her job to stay in the know about everything. No matter how many times she told the Senate oversight committee that she only really cared about the spacial conduit itself, and no matter how many times they told her that her requests were ‘in the pipeline’, she was still here, keeping track of it all.

Breathing in the air of her darkened office, Gerra closed her eyes and sat listening to the silence for a beautiful moment. Too soon, the chime of her inbox was announcing another submitted report. Bowing to the inevitable, she opened the document and began to skim.

The Force was finally with her. This was what she had been waiting to receive for the past few hours. Her grad-students were finished their latest string of analyses on the data gathered by the probe droids and had been interpolating the meanings of the results. There was some general information that hadn’t changed since the first scans, but there were also new details, new theories, side notes that might not have been of interest to anyone who hadn’t had to slog through lengthy dissertations on human development and DNA matching. Fortunately, she had.

“P-19,” the scientist asked seemingly no one. “Can you connect me with Vox please?”

“Certainly, Doctor,” a mechanically human face appeared on her screen and answered.

In a second, a tiny beaked visage was floating above her desk. If the creatures expression could be read, it looked somewhat surprised to be getting the call at this time.

“Gerra,” it croaked. “Your still in your office? I would have figured you’d have gone by now.”

“I would if I could, Vox,” she replied with a smile. “Listen. I just got your report. I haven’t read all of it yet but I want to know how confident you are with these cycle predictions.”

The small image moved from curious to slightly nervous. “Why? You see something wrong?”

“No.” There was a thoughtful pause. “Just something familiar.”


* * *


The Republic Star Destroyer ‘Angel Fire’ floated serenely in the void between stars. It was one of three such ships holding station in this seemingly useless section of space. Along with her sisters, the ‘Venom’ and the ‘Nottuine Eye’, she had pulled guard duty for one of the native trading stations of the region. It wasn’t exactly what could be described as exciting work but it was a good chance for the crew to rest after the combat they had seen.

Captain Brightmoon stared out the ‘Fire’s massive bridge window at the hanging disk and its other Republic guardians. Just a short month ago he had been in bloody combat with these Ferengi. Strange how relations with them seemed to be so amicable now. He didn’t trust it. These natives had fought tooth and nail for every inch of their territory. They had pulled every trick, every deceit, every amoral, unethical tactic in the book until they had been pushed to the very doorstep of their homesystem. Then, seeing nothing but defeat, they had surrendered. Not only surrendered but had been as pleasant and accommodating as possible. Extinction was bad for profit, they had said. Or something like that anyway.

Normally the trading post was home to thousands of ferengi and countless other species that had called the Ferengi Alliance home, all in pursuit of the ultimate deal. Now that number was nearly tripled by an influx of Republic troops on leave, stretching the stations environmental limits to their maximum. The merchants were having the time of their lives. Their bankers weren’t doing to badly either.

He was almost sure they were suppling holdout worlds and marauders with equipment and resources from this place. It was on the top of a very long list of suspected black-market hubs. If they were left unchecked he knew the smuggling would escalate into Republic technology. Well not on his watch. Three Star Destroyers would put a stop to that. Not to mention an actual law enforcement presence that wasn’t corrupt.

Freighter traffic sluiced in and around the tri-axis of monstrous watch dogs in a chaotic attempt to birth around the facilities two kilometer diameter. How still and inert it looked in the center of all that activity. Its blinking external lights were the only hint of the bustling life that teemed inside.

“Harrok,” the captain of the Angel Fire said as he noticed his deveronian executive officer. “I thought you were going dock side. Isn’t it your down shift?”

“Crowds always bother me, Sir,” the horned man replied primly. “I just end up angry and wanting to sink my fangs into whichever slack-jawed idiot is dragging his heels in front of me.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be on the bridge,” the captain returned. “Why don’t you relax Har? Watch a holo or something. You’ll burn yourself out if you’re not careful.”

“On this tour?” Harrok gave his superior a smirk and a narrowed glance. “The action we DID see was more like target practice than combat. The troops may have had a harder time of it but I doubt by much.”

“That’s not how Commander Vigo tells it.”

“Meka’s a whiner, Sir,” the exec shot back frankly. “Every day some great trauma befalls him and every day he makes it through just fine. There’s really only so many times I can hear that the Republic is on the verge of collapse.”

“Oh, he’s alright,” Brightmoon defended the absent Commander.

“I suppose, Sir.” The deveronian wasn’t convinced.

“Captain!” The call rose up from the com/scan pit to break the conversation. “We’re picking up a ship inbound at low light speed. Federation military design. Their vector is straight for the station and I’m seeing no indication of them dropping to sub-light.”

“Battle stations! Helm, Scan, be ready to follow.” Harrok’s order reverberated around the cavernous room.

“If these pirate savages think they’re going to take three Star Destroyers off guard that easily, they’ve got another thing coming.” Captain Brightmoon hurried to his command station and watched as a hologram of the surrounding area flashed to life. The trading post and accompanying ships were tiny dots to one side, the new comer, an advancing streak.

“Fire Control,” he said as he pointed down to the pit on his right. “Be ready for their attack.”

“Five seconds until they’re on top of us. Sir, they’re deploying something.”

“Shields are operating at 100%,” an officer shouted from across the bridge.

“Position us to cover the station,” Brightmoon ordered evenly. “The native’s shields may not be able to handle the attack. Contact the Venom and the ‘Eye and have them deploy to follow suit.”

“The ship is past and gone, Sir,” com/scan reported. “They dropped out of light speed at four light years and changed course. The torpedo is...”

“I see it,” Harrok interrupted, pointing to the image of the space station floating above them.

The cylindrical object had dropped out of warp little more than a kilometer away from the station and now drifted harmlessly onward. In seconds it hit the ferengis’ shields and bounced off like so much discarded trash. There was no explosion, no destruction, nothing but confusion and concern.

“The torpedo seems to be a dud, Sir.”

“Indeed.” The reply came slowly, unsure. Brightmoon wasn’t taking anything for granted.

“The Venom is reporting that they have a clear sighting if you want to drag it out and vapourize it, Sir,” the com/scan officer offered.

“Give them the go-ahead but advise that they put themselves between it and the station. I don’t trust that thing’s shields to be any better than a dry dock tug.”

The back and forth of the cargo barges hadn’t ceased throughout the entire scene. Most of them probably didn’t even realize what had happened. That blissful ignorance was horribly stripped from them as the tractor beam of the Venom made contact with its target.

The torpedo that had been fired had never been designed to detonate on impact. Its path was only meant to bring it as close the its enemies as possible. When the tractor beam caught firm hold, a sensor within the device made note and let loose with its payload.

In a blinding flash that burned the retinas from all those unfortunate enough to witness it unprotected and not be vapourized, half of the ferengi space station was transformed into a mist of unrelated atoms. Those hapless ships caught in the blast radius winked out of existence without pain or fanfare. Those on the other side of the facility were not so luck.

Scattered like leaves in the wind, the remaining cargo vessels rolled and collided out of control. Those that had escaped the torpedo relatively unscathed were now pounded into rubble by their brothers. They tried to regain some sense of attitude in the destructive wave but to no avail. Any thrust of a stabilizer only brought them hammering into the gutted and venting remains of another ship.

The trio of Star Destroyers did not fair much better. For the first time in their tours of duty within the Milky Way Galaxy, the captains of the Angel Fire, Venom, and Nottuine Eye found their ships blaring alarms and drifting awkwardly from their original positions.


* * *


Two technicians aboard the Angel Fire got up from their dive to the floor and looked back at the now opaque window.

“What the hell was that,” one shouted to the other as he tried to rub the splotches from his eyes.

“I don’t know but it looked like an accident I saw once when I was stationed at Som Levi. I don’t know what the hell it did but a whole lot of people got in a whole lot of shit over it.”


* * *


“Port shields gone, Sir,” someone shouted over the klaxons. “Damage reports from all decks.”

The report registered to the captain and first officer but neither of the men acknowledged it. They were too busy with what was unfolding out in space where the trading post had once been. Their eyes were transfixed.

“Helm back us out of here!”

The initial explosion had only been the precursor to what was yet to come. Some how, some way, the blast had torn a rift in the very fabric of space. The rend now crackled evilly with catastrophic energy as debris was enveloped and devoured. Before everyone present, the remains of the ferengi space station were cracked like an egg and sent drifting in every direction.

In the distance, the other Republic ships were pulling away from the strange effect. No link could be established between the captains. All frequencies were static. The three had spent enough time in heavy jamming fields to know how to read the others’ actions however. Nothing needed to be said.

At this range a huge gout of plasma could be seen billowing from the ‘Eye’s underbelly. In the light of the spectacular column a small freighter was illuminated as it spun past and finally righted itself.

Awed by the devastation around it and counting its blessings, the tiny ship and her crew decided it would be best to put as much space between it and the combat zone as possible. By whatever twist of fate, their practically antiqued warp drive had remained intact. They didn’t make them like they used to. They were going to use it.

Captain Brightmoon watched as the freighter engaged its engines and jumped to light speed. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought if not for the flare that leapt in the devilish rift. As the native ship stretched and disappeared, the tear shot hungrily after. The Nottuine Eye was in its direct path.

Before the man’s wide eyes and gapping jaw, the fellow Star Destroyer that he had served with for years was torn in half.


* * *


“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Dad! Get us out of here!”

Tim Durny had been born on this cargo barge. Looking out the small circular window at the widening tear in space, he was certain he was going to die in it too.

“Settle down, Tim,” his father hollered back from the cockpit. “What ever it is, it looks like it’s taking off after that other ship. We’ll be out of here in a jiff.”

“But look what it did to that ‘Destroyer Dad,” the seventeen year old yelled back. It was the first time he had seen one with so much as a scratch. “I thought the ferengi were part of the Republic now.”

“I don’t think that was from the ferengi, Son.”

Tim appeared at the door and jumped into the seat beside his father. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if we left before it decides to come after us.”

“I don’t think it’s alive Tim,” the older man replied. “We’ll go to warp just as soon as we’re clear of all this rubble. Why don’t you go ahead and warm ‘er up.”


* * *


“Rotate to present our stern and get those port shields back up,” Brightmoon hollered to his officers as he watched the ‘Eye drift lifelessly apart. If the Force was with them the blast doors would hold off the vacuum and they would be able to recover most of the crew. “What the hell is that?!”

“Quisonno Rift, Sir,” a junior officer piped in without missing a beat.

“Qu... What the hell is it doing?!”

“It’s attracted to the spacial distortion of their drives. After the initial explosion we would’ve been safe if it wasn’t for all these ancient buckets milling around.”

The captain looked out of his forward window from the tear in space to the remaining freighters unwittingly trying to right themselves and get away. His gaze was drawn instantly to the most mobile of the tiny specks.

Bobbing through tumbling chunks for ship and station, the barely visible point of light made steadily away from the horrific tear into subspace. It’s course changed almost constantly. It had to.

As the dot, so far away in space, yet so intimately close to the situation, found its way clear of the debris field, Brightmoon’s gut wrenched. He would have sworn he could see the radiation of its engines intensify a split second before all was washed away by the insatiable hunger of the rift.


* * *


“Shit!”

As soon as the warp core had come on line, space, the icy void that had been sweet home for so long, was suddenly no longer so friendly. The tear shot a tendril forth like an eel toward a fish. What remained of the ferengi station was torn even further asunder. What remained of those in and around the docking ring were either cast like grains in the wind or vaporized all together.

“Strap in Tim.” The three words were all the older man would spare to his only pride and joy. At the moment he was far to busy pushing himself beyond his limits to talk.

The aging freighter banked hard, back into the rubble it had just escaped, in an attempt to avail itself of its unthinking pursuer. If they were lucky, whatever it was would continue on their original vector. If it followed, perhaps it would be sated by some of the wreckage.

They were not lucky.

“It’s still following us Dad!” Tim’s eyes darted from his computer screen to the forward portal with each moment. He had never seen his father fly with such reckless abandon. Huge scraps of metal rushed passed with only millimeters separation. Their direction changed with absolutely no warning, threatening to pull the ship apart. They danced and spun, trying desperately to put everything they could between them and the juggernaut that followed.

“Give us a little more power. It’s following but I don’t think it’s gained any ground on us. Maybe we can still lose it.”

The statement was true enough. Where ever the freighter turned, the rift in space kept perfect pace. Nothing stopped it from its purpose. Nothing stood in its way for long. Whole ships blinked out of existence in its wake. But it did not close the gap. It was content to follow.


* * *


The Captain of the Angel Fire watched in dismay as the freighter came steadily back towards his ship and those of his comrades, bringing an ever increasing wave of destruction with it. Not far away, the Venom had already moved to begin retrieval of the ‘Eye’s crew. Everywhere, lifeless hulls drifted and lifeless eyes stared frozen in the vacuum.

Then the rift jumped.

“They increased power from their warp drive, Captain.”

“I know. I see it.”

It was amazing to watch. The tiny craft, still trying only to get away, had foolishly boosted its power. This caused the rift to not only leap ever faster after but also greedily send a second writhing tentacle from its base. Energy frolicked visibly across both arms in a dazzling display. When the two closed and ran parallel, the crackling discharge played from one to the other.

Still the little barge fought against death. It was beyond fancy maneuvers at this point and simply charged ahead. It was losing its battle now, however, and the end seemed imminent.


* * *


“OK. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”

Before them loomed the hulking shape of the Star Destroyer, behind was the hellish rift. If anything could stop this, if anyone knew what to do, it would be that great ship and the Republicans on it. If they could get behind it they would be safe.

“We’re clear to engage warp, Dad,” Tim advised as the starfield cleared to them.

“No,” came the reply. “I think it’s attracted to the warp field. We’re going to get that ‘Destroyer between it and us.”


* * *


“They are pulling the tear straight for us, Captain. I have a firing solution.”

“Take their engines off line and pull us away from the other Star Destroyers. They have enough dealing with that first offshoot.”

As the words left the man’s mouth the rift flashed to life yet again. Another warp drive had come to life. And than another. And another. Somehow half a dozen ships had all come back to life at the same time. They bolted from the scene in all direction, inadvertently laying waste to everything they passed.

The Angel Fire, the Venom and the remains of the Nottunine Eye were all consumed in a raging doom that would leave a scar of the very fabric of space itself.


* * *


“Yeah, that’s a nasty scar,” Private Morae remarked to his companion as the other man finished his story. “But I still say the one on my ass is bigger.”

“That’s just because you’re obsessed with your ass.” The other, Sleed, hoisted his rifle across his shoulders and casually scanned the open square before him.

The sun was shining and the air was clean and clear but people didn’t seem to be enjoying it. It wasn’t right. Hell, it wasn’t right that he had to be here covered head to toe in armour and breathing through a filter. But that was the way of things. The Force wasn’t always easy on a man.

It wasn’t like there weren’t any people in the square really, but they all seemed to have somewhere to go in a hurry. No one looked up from their determined stride. No couples lingered by the fountain. They all made a point of avoiding eye contact with the emotionless helmet he wore. They didn’t even spare a glace at the swarms of droids that were working feverishly to reconstruct the city’s demolished buildings.

“You’d think they’d be a little more pleased,” Morae commented as his gaze followed a particularly shapely bajoran. “We bring these guys up out of the stone age and they continue to fight us every step of the way. It’s not like we’re running around shooting them in the streets or anything.”

Without warning the soldier stiffened and raised his weapon to his shoulder. “<You shoot and I’ll shoot!>” The amplified voice bounced off the surrounding buildings, echoing one of the few bajoran phrases the man knew.

Startled out of boredom, Sleed jumped for but a second before he realized what was going on. One hundred meters away, a boy of not more than ten years held a camera and a terrified expression.

“Put the blaster down moron!” He grabbed his partner’s rifle and forced him to comply.

“No pictures,” the other shot back. “Orders are orders.”

“Orders are orders? Shut the fuck up! What were you gunna do? Shoot the kid?” Sleed was moving before the other soldier could reply. In moments he was slowly kneeling before the child.

“Sorry kid but I’m going to have to take that camera..” He reached out a hand, millimeter by millimeter, steadily closing on the device in question. The boy flinched as he watched the hand. It was obvious that he hadn’t understood a word of what had been said.

“Come on, kid,” Sleed continued. “I can’t let you keep that. Why don’t I trade you some candy for it, huh?”

“He can’t understand you,” Morae shouted from their original position. “Now who’s the moron.”

Distracted, the boy took his eyes from the soldier before him for a split second. It was the chance Sleed needed to snatch what he was after. Confusion turned to anger and the child was instantly trying to take back what was rightfully his.

The Trooper rose to his feet and began to examine the camera while at the same time trying to keep the whining boy at bay. The scene had begun to draw attention now. People were gathering. Now, no one was afraid to look them in the face.

“Take it easy kid.” The calm voice did nothing to sooth the situation through its filters. An armoured hand reached out to gently hold the child’s arm only to garner more squirming.

Out of nowhere a man was suddenly pulling the boy backwards and trying to insinuate himself between the two. He shouted and jabbed his finger at the soldier, clutching for the camera with the other hand. The pair soon found themselves in a strange dance. The Trooper soon found himself surrounded.

With one fluid motion Sleed knocked the wind from his adversary’s lungs and the feet from underneath him. His blaster hung awkwardly from his shoulder now and his targeting display was racing from one figure to the next.

“<Don’t move,>” he shouted over the unintelligible jeers of the masses. Another handy bajoran phrase.

The gathered pedestrians ignored him. Their frustration had boiled over and this was just the excuse they needed.

“<Don’t move!>” Sleed was doing all he could to keep hold of the camera and his weapon while keeping baneful hands at bay. He was being pushed this way and that, fists knocking harmlessly off of his plated coverings. He didn’t want to hurt any of these people but anything less was fast disappearing as an option.

“<Everyone back!>” Morae was moving in, blaster raised. He didn’t wait for compliance but instead began laying into the crowd with pulse after pulse of stunning energy. In moments the ground was littered with unconscious bodies and the air was thick with bricks and bottles.

“I’m ok. I’m ok,” Sleed said as he was helped up by his still firing partner. The camera was now in pieces. “I guess you don’t need to worry about the pictures anymore.” I steel pipe ricocheted off of his head, snapping his neck back in instinctive compensation.

“Yeah,” the other replied, pulling off another few shots and crushing the camera under his booted heel for good measure. “And here I thought civilian patrol was going to be boring.”

“What? On this rock? You gotta be kidding me.”

The hail of debris followed the two troopers as they fell back for better cover. It continued until everyone in sight had been either rendered inert or had fled for safer ground.

[Sabastian Tombs]

IT LIVES


and, First Post.

[Hendrake]

HAHAHA!!! FINALLY!

Astonishing work with the subspace weapon, MarkS. You've not lost your touch.

[Ender]

Outstanding man.

[Singular Quartet]

Holy. Fuckin. Shit.

MORE!!!!

SW33T!!!!

[Mark S]

Picard sat silent amid the roaring cheers of his fellow freedom fighters. As usual, the klingons were the most boisterous, breaking into song as the destruction played itself out again and again on the glowing viewscreen. While not a complete success, the first deployment of their subspace torpedo had shown incredible results. All Picard could think about was the incredible loss of innocent life.

Those people had been getting on with their lives. They had thought their war was over. They had thought they would finally be safe. This ‘test run’ was not going to bring support from the civilian governments.

And they HAD been getting more support of late. Especially with the images that were floating around the quadrant. The Republic’s power could not stop the spread of information. They could erase files and confiscate pictures but there were always more.

A little bajoran boy, Picard remembered. And a faceless, armoured soldier.

From the images, the soldier seemed to be manhandling the child. He was taking something but what it was, was unclear. Then there were the shots of the crowd. They ran for their lives as the soldier and his partner fired mercilessly at anyone on the street.

These had roused the people and made them question even the charitable deeds of the Republic. The news of the torpedo, which filled every legitimate news broadcast, had the opposite effect. And the occupational governments made sure it was very well known.

But for all of Picard’s misgivings, the tear had done its job. It was the only weapon they had that could effectively act against Republic defences. This, he had to admit, was what brought allies. Even if they were ripping up there own territory in the process.

And allies had come. Assembled together in this room, aboard this ship, floating in dead space between stars, were delegates from what remained of the last hold-out fleets of the galaxy. Bits and pieces. Rag-tag pirates and marauders. They were all that was left against the overwhelming might of the Republic. None had won a battle yet. Hope had all but gone for most of them. Until now.

“Very impressive,” the romulan commander commented with a guarded smirk. “Very impressive indeed. But we’ll obviously need to improve delivery. The Republic’s lack of a warp field precludes their attracting the subspace tear. Those freighters seemed to do the job that time but I would prefer that my Warbirds did not perform the same roll.”

“You said ‘we’,” Riker noted from his captain’s side. From his experience, romulans, and this commander in particular, chose their words very carefully.

“Yes,” came the measured reply. “Without the Romulan fleet you stand no chance, as I see it. Even with these torpedoes. Our numbers are the largest. Out vessels are the most intact.”

“That’s because you run from battle at every turn,” countered a klingon to the uproarious laughter of his fellows.

The romulan’s neutral expression never wavered. “I choose my battles. I fight when I can win. Perhaps if klingon tactics consisted of more than closing your eyes and running headlong into walls, you would see the wisdom in this. Perhaps if you admitted our total lack of power over this enemy, you would have more than a few hundred battered ships.”

“What is this?” The aging klingon captain that spoke exaggerated his surprise. His white mane of hair and thick beard flowed over his scorched jerkin like snow covering the scraps of a junk heap. “Do I hear a romulan admitting the superiority of another?”

“The Romulan people have no trouble acknowledging the superiority of others,” the commander sneered. “This is merely the first time we have seen it.”


* * *


Chaos reigned in the void as the Republic patrol flotilla was met with more than they could possibly have anticipated. They had been having too easy a time of it up until now and they were getting a rude awakening.

The savage’s marauder fleet had come out of light speed en mass in their standard wall formation. As usual it was right on top of the Star Destroyers. They had learned early on to fear the heavy turbolasers and stayed well under their range. Not that they faired any better against the other weapons.

The attack wasn’t even a surprise. The patrol had seen them coming and immediately deployed fighter squadrons in a holding pattern amid and around the larger ships. When the enemy dropped out of warp, they were set upon by hundreds of the tiny craft from all directions.

Curtains of phasor fire engulfed the fighters. Many were vaporized in seconds, many more wheeled expertly about, giving back as good as they got.

In the mean time, the larger craft of the Republic opened fire, choosing their shots carefully and raining death as they had done so often before. When the marauders began to launch hundreds of seemingly harmless drones, the captains of the patrol gave them curious thought but told their gunners and squadron commanders to ignore them as a confusion tactic.

“Copy that, Blue Leader,” the pilot designated Blue Five answered from the cockpit of his X wing. A quick burst of blaster fire cleared one the drones from his path.

The fighter dodged left, than right, as a network of enemy beams slashed out at him. He was making another attack run on a particularly stubborn Warbird but was finding too much activity for a clean vector. Every time he thought he had a chance for a torpedo shot, he had to evade another lance of phasor fire, get around another drone or...

A TIE Interceptor flashed passed the X wing, forcing it to shift thrust hard to the high right.

“Hey! Watch it Gold!”

The damned TIE pilots were always doing things like that. They sat shipboard picking their butts while his squadron flew around the fleet ad infinitum. He and his mates were always the first into battle. They always came to clean up and claim victory. Being docked on a Star Destroyer apparently gave you licence to be an asshole.

Blue Five finally launched his torpedo and spun away to the devastating death throws of a battered Miranda.

Another drone bounced off the X wings shields.

“Shit! R6, you OK back there?” The droid twittered something in reply that could only be offensive.

Checking his sensor feeds, Blue Five suddenly became aware of a disturbing trend. Not only was the enemy keeping to the outside of the fleet, something very dangerous for their fragile ships, but their drones seemed to be locking on to the trails of the fighters and even some of the bigger ships. He himself had one of the little buggers following him now. What were they up to?

Again the agile fighter pilot wheeled his craft about in time to escape being devoured by the rapid decompression of yet another enemy. Another of his brethren was not so lucky. On his targeting screen a friendly blue dot winked out.

Banking swiftly, Blue Five sent his automated follower into the path of three approaching TIEs. The other fighters made short work of the device and disappeared back into the chaos. It wasn’t long, however, before another of the annoying machines had latched on to him again.

The battle raged as they always did and vessel after marauding vessel succumbed to the might of the Republic. Yet, they did not break and run. Instead of hitting what they could and making an escape, they continued to engulf the flotilla. The defending commanders thought little of it. They were grossly outnumbered but making short work of the savages. Whatever their strategy might be.

Those thoughts of easy victory were soon swept away. When all of the remaining attacking ships were in position, a wave of torpedo fire speared into the Republic defenders. Before the torpedos could find their targets, the attackers turned and went to warp leaving nothing but incoming ordinance and random drones.

The marauders disappeared, the torpedos exploded and the tiny, limited warp field generators on the drones flared to life. In seconds, the Republic patrol ships were being torn to pieces by angry white bursts of energy jumping chaotically in their midst.

“This Blue Five to Blue Leader! Anybody! What the fuck is happening!”

All around the darting fighter, space itself seemed to be coming undone. Great fissures were opening all over the battlefield, crossing paths, ripping through drifting debris, and chancing down his fellow pilots. Even he was being bourn down on by the unbelievable activity.

The comm channels were alive with pure fear as everyone tried to understand the situation and form some sort of way to combat it. Some ships began recalling their fighters, others barred their hanger doors, some urged retreat, while still others called for intensified fire on the now zig-zagging drones.

Two cruisers were torn to pieces as subspace rifts flew hungrily after the warp fields of the drones.

“Somebody get this thing off of me!” Blue Five threw hit stick forward, diving from his current path in hopes of shaking the now deadly automaton on his tail. Somehow it stayed with him. Even worse, the fissure it pulled with it stayed as well.

The fighter spun and banked around both the drifting carcasses of the battle as well as others of its kind. A glowing tear loomed in from of him and he juked again. An off-shot leapt to meet him, joining with the branch on his tail and adding to its power. The drone pulling the cosmic string was consumed and the fighter was left to go free.

He watched as the Star Destroyer, Impact, was pounded from all sides by crackling energy and began to buckle. To the side, a wing of fighters was consumed in an instant. The area was becoming massive, closing net of destruction.

Across the field the call to withdraw was sounded. It was too late for that though. The detonation points of the rifts had been started outside the globe of the fleet and had struck inward. Tears cut from one side to the other now, crossing this way and that, circling, dissecting, englobing.

The X wing blew apart another drone and rolled away from the now stunted rift on its tail. He looked for others to form up with but found writhing tongues of plasma. He looked for a way out of the death trap but found only emptiness.

The stars? What happened to all the stars?


* * *


Across the quadrant similar events were unfolding. Ships would drop out of warp on either side of a patrol. Warp field generating drones would be fired. They would in turn fire the subspace torpedo and act as bait for the rifts. In the middle would always be doom.

The Republic would always fire, taking out dozens upon dozens of the deadly seeds but it was never enough. There were always a few left to ply their trade. Their only hope was in escape. The entire quadrant captured and they were forced into retreat by savage pirates.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it would seem our enemy has found a pair of teeth.” Admiral Pooda stood before the assembled holograms of his upper command. There was no mirth in his tone, only a flat statement of fact.

The eight other admirals murmured briefly at the statement. This was not a problem they had been anticipating after this long in the New Galaxy. Why now? Why when they were all but defeated were the savages unleashing this weapon.

“They’re desperate,” one forwarded to her fellows. The creature’s web-like ears flapped vigorously in her contempt. “They don’t really know what they’re doing with this.”

“She’s right,” another chimed in. “This weapon is powerful but completely unfocused. They have very little control over it.”

“Good,” came the words of their commander. “Than we won’t think of it as an obstacle.”

“Well I wouldn’t say that...”

“People,” Pooda barrelled through the interruption. “We have allowed these guerillas and pirates to cling to life long enough. This is not acceptable. Our primary course of action now is to seek them out through every nebula and backwater bung hole planet until they are no more. The galaxy WILL see order. And by the Force it will see it before Grand General Bastin comes through that wormhole.”

The assembly was held in silence. This was far ahead of schedule.

“Yes,” the hulking man continued. “As most of you are aware, our fearless leader has been pressuring the Senate to open commerce into this quadrant. This would force the Jedi into policing the area while we move forward against the rest of the galaxy.

“Suffice it to say, he’s making a show of having the quadrant already completely secured and the population pacified. We are going to give him just that or you know who’s butts it’s going to be.”


* * *


“She is on the move again.”

Jenna looked up from her meditation at the sound of her old master’s voice. He was leaning against the wall of her tiny cell, his arms folded loosely across his chest. It was pose he had taken countless times in life. Even in death, it brought a boyish air to the Jedi.

“I sense it too,” the woman replied. “I feel her making her way back to the wormhole. She has been gathering for forces, hasn’t she.”

“Indeed.” The spectre gave a casual glance around the confinement. “You’re not concerned with your apprentice hearing you now?”

“No. She will see and hear anything she wishes. There is nothing that can be done about it. She wishes to convert me, to bring me into one with her, not destroy me.”

“I suggest you mind your thoughts than.” Luke straightened and moved to sit beside Jenna. The stiffness and strain that had marked his age for so long were now gone.

“I sense great conflict coming, Master Luke. I sense danger to us all. Mai-Men will play a role. Of that I am certain.”

“Yes.” Luke nodded thoughfully. “Terrible darkness has grown in the Force. Your young apprentice has caused a great stir, but there is more that will be done before her destiny is met.”

“I can not allow her to continue on her path,” Jenna stated. The will of the Force was not something that could be resisted but she could also not sit idly by without apposing Mai-Men’s rampage.

“There is only one path, Master.”

The booming multi-voice echoed throughout the cube. There was no anger in it. The girl was trying to educate her mentor. It was the same tone Jenna had used on her again and again throughout her training. It was a reminder of a simple truth.

The luminous image of Luke Skywalker looked from the ceiling of the cramped confines to his former student. A passive smile graced his features. It was another habit he held from life. It had always made him appear as though he knew far more than anyone else. Most believed that he did.

“Mind your thoughts my old apprentice,” he said, tapping his temple. “Mind your thoughts.”


* * *


The Jedi Knight was not the only one to sense the coming storm. On Earth, the heart of Republic occupied space, a room full of silent forms probed into the dark reaches of the Force. Four stood out at the head of the gathering, menacing forms in dark hooded robes, deep in concentration.

Images flew freely before Darth Fectious. Federation ships and their allies were dealing great blows to the Republic forces now. The president could not deny the validity of his advice. They were finally see results. Soon the man would obey every word that he said. He would have total control. He would be able to strike at the Republic without the hesitation of the other commanders. He would be able to gather forces with strength and decisive action.

Starships exploded around him in a great battle. Vessels of every type and configuration fought for their lives. The vision ended in the blinding fire of hundreds of man-made stars.

Lord Necros found himself immersed in the horrendous spacebattle as well. He watched as ships rushed passed him in all directions, tearing each other apart. He watched as the very space around him opened to devour everything around him.

Than it began to come after him.

The fucus shifted and he was embroiled in much more intimate combat. Borg drones surrounded him and he was laying waste to them. He was fighting his way toward something but he could not determine what.

The drones became Republic troopers. He was hacking them to pieces, moving ever forward. He was searching for a man. He could feel it. Someone important. Someone that could not be allowed to live.

He looked around to see bodies strewn around him as far as he could see. His lightsaber cast an eerie glow, adding to the macabre scene. He was alone.

For Darth Stryfe, images of screams and dying filled the darkness. Than, he too was alone, fighting for his own life. Pictures and feelings jumped from places to place in a confusing array. In the end, he was standing between the shadow and the light. The world fell away before him.

What Darth Gallus saw as he delved into the dark side of the Force, none would know. He said nothing, but merely chuckled softly to himself.

[Stravo]

First to Post!!!

I've been waiting FOREVER to say that.

[Crayz9000]

First to Post!!!

I've been waiting FOREVER to say that.

Bah, I could have posted a reply five minutes ago, but decided it wasn't worth it

[Faram]

AT last a new chapter !

Good just keep them comming please!

[Hendrake]

Finally! And a very good job too!

[JodoForce]

Great stuff!

[Singular Quartet]

"`E's not dead!"

Great stuff, Mark. Its' been far to long since you last posted a chapter.