How about another fanfic (Manifest Destiny)

[Mark S]

So I'm wondering, am I the oldest Newbie on this board or what?

EDIT: oops. Looks like I bumped to the next page. The latest story addition is on the previous page guys.

[Mark S]

What do you know! I'm no longer a Newbie! Never thought that would happen.

[Crown]

Thanks Mark, that was great!

[Hendrake]

So I'm wondering, am I the oldest Newbie on this board or what?

I claim that particular distinction, sir!

Mark, that was great, as always. One of the best fanfic I have ever read, truly a classic in the making. I worship you!
*Hendrake kneels*

[Mr Bean]

Hmm Mark want a custom title? Since you only post here to delever thy holy Fan-fic I think you desever one

[Mark S]

Hmm Mark want a custom title? Since you only post here to delever thy holy Fan-fic I think you desever one

COOOL! Custom title eh...

Well, since, as Stravo once said, I am one of the 'crack dealers of SD.Net' my wife thinks that my title should be...

Cyber Pimp

(purple velvet VR glasses and low rider sold separately)

[Mr Bean]

I'll bring it up with the others Though you stand a better chance if you pick somthing Witteir

[TrekkieJeff2000]

That was great, keep up the good work. I look forward to reading the next part of the Story.

[Mark S]

"Don't you think it's weird that there are humans just like us in this galaxy?" Private Morae's question buzzed through his mottled gray helmet. "Who do you figure were first?"

Orange-red energy fire blazed all around the outcropping of rock he and his companion were positioned behind. Another nameless rock in a nameless territory of a nameless planet. At least he didn't know the name anyway. But that was life as a Republic trooper. It didn't matter where you were, every place looked the same after a while anyway.

"I don't know, man," Private Sleed pulled himself back down under cover amid another barrage of enemy fire. "Just shut the fuck up and cover me like you're supposed to."

Sleed changed frequencies in his helmet and began speaking to someone more distant. "Purple One, this is Purple Three. We have the enemy's position at three zero niner but the spy globe was spotted." A chunk of the rock above his head exploded in a brilliant flash. "Getting everyone over here on the double would be much appreciated."

"Copy that Purple Three," their sergeant's voice came through in their ears. "Commence engagement. We're not far."

Morae ducked back from where he had been firing and pointed over to another boulder. "I'm going to make a break for that position. I don't want them to start flanking us."

"Right," the other answered. "Ready? GO! NOW!"

As his partner darted from the relative safety of their outcropping, Sleed peppered the area with a constant assault from his blaster rifle. All he cared about was keeping his enemy's head down. To that end, the soldier focused his ire on any movement he saw.

Morae's dash was successful. With a dive and roll he was ready once more in his new position, rifle aimed at an exposed thigh. There was a flash of light and the clap of air rushing in at the speed of sound to fill a vacuum, and the bolt from the trooper's weapon streaked forward. An instant later a scream erupted and a badly burned leg was being quickly retracted into cover.

The return fire that followed was intensified ten fold. Everywhere the two troopers looked gleamed with explosive phasor impacts. This distraction didn't deter the men's helmet sensor enhanced hearing from picking up the telltale crunch of feet hurrying forward.

"Shit, they're advancing!" Sleed poked his head out from cover for a volley of shots. "They had better hurry the hell up or I'm braking out the thermal detonators."

"Settle down, Private!" The Sergeants voice boomed in his ear. "I told you we weren't far."

As if on cue, two large metal wheels rolled around the rocks behind them and continued past, straight into the Federation's position. The sight of this seemed to take the enemy soldiers somewhat aback. Were these bombs or vehicles? Who's side were they on? All questions were answered in the next second.

As the wheels came to a stop in the midst of the Starfleet soldiers, they unfolded to reveal the three-legged, multi-weaponed agents of destruction that they were. In the next instant the droids' shields were up and they were laying waste to the enemy encampment. The melee took all of five seconds. No one was left standing.

Morae smiled in his helmet. "Destroyers! Now that's what I'm talkin' about!"


"General, new reports have come in from the southern front." The young Major stepped quickly to keep up. They seemed to be getting younger all the time.

"Good or bad, Tromi?" General Kira stopped and turned to face the man. Two others pushed hurriedly past in the cramped corridor. "No, scratch that. It doesn't matter. Now what is it?"

Kira braced herself for the worst. News was always bad these days. The Republic's invasion had come as a shock to most of the Alpha quadrant. Not Bajore. They were use to that sort of thing by now. They had expected the wormhole to draw attention to them right away, as usual. Oddly, it hadn't. The great grey Star Destroyers appeared above the planet at the same speed they appeared above every other planet.

The relatively heavy concentration of starship activity accompanied with the defense of, and commerce through, the wormhole had meant time for the war weary people of Bajore to, at least, ready themselves for the fight they had ahead of them. Since then, it had been all down hill.

When the troops had finally landed, the defense force had been as ready as they were ever going to be. They were simply out gunned. No one had ever come up against towering, mobile death platforms. No one had ever fought against killing machines. It had taken until Kira had actually seen an enemy corpse in person before she could believe that they weren't all androids.

She had fought and defeated the Cardassians, the Klingons, and the Jem'Hadar, she could beat these humans. No matter where they were from.

"The enemy has now advanced as far as Nashian city and scout walkers and hover cycles have been spotted in the area of Bel'Otha. Our troops managed to ambush the walkers but the bikes were too fast for us." The Major delivered his report and stood back to let more passers through.

"That doesn't matter," the General stated tiredly as she held out her hand for the data pad with the full details. "They aren't going to come after us in Bel'Otha any faster then anywhere else because of it. They'll just keep advancing their position like they have been all along. What we need to worry about is them finding out the location of our command centers. Like I've said before, anywhere they find out we're holding up is going to be blasted to ash from orbit in seconds."

"Yes, General."


The monstrous foot thundered down meters from Lana's hiding place. That's right you bastards, come on, just one more step.

Whatever the Bajoran defender was waiting for occurred. One moment he was nothing more than another pile of rubble, the next he was standing tall, rocket launcher aimed squarely up at the walker's underbelly. Without a second's hesitation the soldier fired his weapon and smacked the communicator on his chest.

"This is Lana," he shouted into the air. One of the scout walkers had spotted him. "Get me out of here!"

Blaster fire rattled the area harmlessly as Lana was beamed away. Once he was back in the hidden transporter staging area, along with all of the others that had just carried out similar attacks, he automatically began tearing down the gear and packing up.

"Three, two, one... The antimatter got ‘em!" One of the lookouts, he couldn't be more than fourteen, announced as the muffled explosions gave their own explanations. The boy pulled his binoculars from his face and looked back to those in the room. "We got five of them!"

Those in the hidden chamber gave little more than a glance in payment. They were too busy. The transporter needed to be torn down and they needed to bug out. Experience had taught them that they had about ten minutes. Probably six this time.

A second boy pulled his phasor rifle to the small opening in the wall where he held position. "We've got three Reapers on bikes closing in." He began to raised the weapon to his cheek, not taking his eyes from his intended target.

"Hey," Lana's gravelly voice cut from across the room. His stalked over to the youth with the piece of equipment he had been packing still in his hands. "Where'd you get that!"

"I got it from my fa..." The boy shifted back involuntarily, confused by the aggression.

"No, no," the older resistance fighter berated as he grabbed the weapon. "Don't use that. Use this."

He pulled a ‘liberated' blaster rifle from its place against the wall and handed it to the boy. "It'll get through their armour in one shot. Watch it though, it's got a kick you're not used to."

Not waiting to be told, the young warrior aimed his new weapon and opened fire. Three grey clad scout troopers flew back off of their bikes in quick succession. The unmanned vehicles began twisting and spinning at the mercy of their wild controls. One speeder rocketed into the air and disappeared. It would come back to the ground. Eventually. The second met its end against the face of a collapsed walkway after completing a tight barrel roll. The final bike made a lazy turn that fast became a vortex of increasingly smaller circles. In seconds it plunged into the ground and exploded. The boy watched to whole display. Just a month ago he had wasted time with his friends in that exact spot.

"Let's go, let's go." A woman, the leader of this little brigade, was shouting and waving her arm toward the hungry black shadow that would lead them all to the transit tunnels. The tunnels were crawling with Reapers but they'd be a hell of a lot safer than being in the open air.

Lana grabbed both boys by the backs of their necks and hauled them to their feet. Pushing extra energy clips into their hands, he picked up his own pack and herded any stragglers into the waiting nightmare.

"Why do we call them ‘Reapers'," one of the teens asked to no one in particular. He rushed to keep up with the rest of the group, his eyes darting around with nervous energy.

"The Human's made it up," a slim man with dirty stubble answered distractedly. "They used to believe that a being known as The Grim Reaper was the one that brought death to them. Republican, Rep, Reppie, Reaper. Kind of fitting, don't you think kid?"

The conversation was muted as the team reached the oppressive confines of the maze-like system that once took them anywhere they would have gone. A mix of sweat, mold and rotting flesh filled the stagnant air. It was an assault to their ridged noses only heightened by the lack of light.

A dozen small lanterns suddenly broke through the inky darkness. A dozen columns of light stabbed forth illuminating the crumbling cement. A dozen beacons shone like invitations to anyone waiting in the unseen surroundings. The Bajorans readjusted their burdens and assured themselves that their weapons were ready at a moments notice.

"I don't like this," the slim man commented about the blaring lights.

"Don't worry about it," the commanding woman answered back in a mumbled tone. "They can see in the dark anyway."

The rag-tag group started off into the seemingly infinite blackness with no sense of order whatsoever. The lights they projected did almost nothing to show them their way, instead tapering off down the tunnel to disappear as pin pricks without reflecting off of anything more than concrete dust. Around them, the muffled thunder of the lumbering walkers above echoed like the heartbeats pounding in everyone's ears. A shower of pebbles and debris was added to the already heavy air.

There was no specific destination that they were heading. Preplanned destinations could be discovered. Prearranged routes could be tracked. As long as it was far from their starting point it didn't matter where they went.

After fifteen minutes of marching, turning randomly down three different passages and dousing the lights for seven different false alarms, the rebels found themselves in a partially caved in transit loading area. The aged graffiti in the wall greeted each one of them as they cautiously entered in single file. THE PROPHETS HATE YOU.

"Why haven't we been attacked yet?" A woman wearing a patchwork of scavenged armour plates looked around the platform and raised a tricorder. She was the only human among the Bajoran soldiers. To think, she had come to this planet for spiritual enlightenment.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," the slim man added as he scratched his dusty stubble.

"That's enough of that talk," the commander barked as she closed her own sensor and pulled her pack from her tired shoulders with a grunt. "We rest here. You, you, set up watch at either entrance to the tunnels. Nobody makes any excess noise. Eat something and get some sleep everyone."

Lana put the equipment he had been lugging onto the pile and pulled a small piece of dried meat from his belongings. His blaster rifle was rested across his lap as he sat down and leaned against a battle-scared wall. The weapon never left his side. Not in days like these.

"What do you think," he asked a stout, muscular man that had took up beside him.

"Can't say," came the response. "I've personally never been down here this long without killing someone. I don't know if it's a trap though. You'd need to get a lot more than us to make it worth while."

"Well I highly doubt we've killed all of the Reapers down here," someone called across the area, forgetting himself and his surroundings. "Not to mention the robots. For the Prophets' sake, you drop one of the two legged one's and a tripod rolls up! Drop that and the next one has shield generators!"

"Hey!" Three voices hissed at once.

"Shut that," the commander ordered in hushed tones of unveiled anger.

The man had lost it. He stood up looking around at his comrades with the expression of a drunken fool watching clowns.

"What," he shouted, raising his arms in disbelief. "Let them come! It'd be better than just sitting around waiting to get killed!"

"Shut up!" One of the boys was looking back from his post, a hand raised for attention.

"Let them come!" The rebel's voice echoed into the shadows like the death toll of a temple bell. "Let the bloody Reapers come!"

"No," the young one persisted. "Shut up. I hear something." No one was listening.

"What are you gunna do?" The manic dared everyone with his sweeping gaze. He was reaching for the phasor at his hip.

The commander's weapon discharged before anyone else could even hope to reach their's. With one last defiant scream, the man was vapourized one layer at a time. The image of the gap-mouthed skeleton would haunt more than one nightmare, that was certain.

"Damn," Lana growled to the friend at his side. "He had a knife on him I wanted to take."

"Shhhh!" The boy could take no more. He didn't care what he had just seen, only what he was hearing. "Does anyone else hear that?"

The landing suddenly went silent. No one moved. Everyone cocked their head. Nothing. There was no sound.

"Do you hear that buzzing," he asked again.

Still, there was only the sound of aging cement and tightening muscles. Those with tricorders were now pulling them out. Beeping and twitering soon replaced the emptiness.

"We definitely have life signs coming this way," the human woman read out. "They sure as hell ain't human though."

"I'm picking up sixty individuals," another put in. "Can you confirm that?"

"So the Reapers left and filled the tunnels with something else?"

"No," Lana grunted as he rose and checked his ammunition level. "The Reapers didn't leave, they were relieved." The buzzing was loud and clear now.

"Ok people," the commander jumped to automatic action. "We don't have any time here. Two people, start rigging up the transporter. The rest of you get positioned to give them cover. Don't wait for a sign from above, when you see them, start shooting."

It didn't take long for the so-called replacement forces to begin belching out of the dark recesses of the underground transit way. They came on gossamer wings beating too fast to be seen and fired their blasters as if they were needed to light their way. Thinking that would be a grave mistake. These creatures spent most of their lives underground.

Three of the freedom fighters immediately sailed back from the mouth of the tunnel, smoldering chest wounds holding back the flow of blood for seconds before the red life fluid burst through the char to stain the shadowed ground. Another man was plucked into the air and dropped onto his comrades. His lack of protest was soon explained by the gaping slash across his throat.

Coming to their senses amid the onslaught of insectoid aliens, the remaining soldiers of the line spat out their own energy fire. To add to their desperate attempt to remain among the living they tossed a volley of home made explosives blindly in the direction of the brutal advance. Lana had even found the presence of mind to retrieve the launcher that had served him so well earlier. One look at the antimatter ordinance he was about to load, however, and the confined space of the subterranean battleground, and he thought better of it.

Clip upon clip littered the floor with splattered alien blood, shards of exo-skeleton and red hot chunks of concrete from the ceiling. For their own part the attackers rained down more than just their dead. Those of the swarm that had escaped the explosion in the tunnel soon crowded the heights of the landing. Many even began touching down on reverse articulated legs, squawking and clicking to each other. They fired from all angles and all directions.

It was a killing zone of incredible degree. The air was thick with the red glow of blaster bolts, the orange of continuous phasor streams and the stench of cooking flesh. The attackers, having little room to maneuver in such mass were powerless to find more cover than that of their own comrades. The defenders found themselves in an energy shower that made the walkers look appealing.

"Where's that transporter!" The thin soldier pulled back behind what was once the wall of a public washroom and tied off a dirt encrusted piece of clothe around his blackened upper arm.

"Almost there," the three would-be technicians shouted back. "Just keep up the cover! Shit!" One of the three dropped headless to the dusty tile.

"Hurry it up," Lana growled, squeezing off a burst before ducking next to the remaining teen that still drew breath. The kid had taken his advice to heart and pummeled his targets with their own weapon.

"They're not wearing armour," the human woman called from her position close to the half assembled transporter. "These ones aren't wearing armour! Wide beams! Use your phasors!"

She was right. The insects weren't clothed in much more than leather and weaponry. Those of the team still able grabbed any phasor they could find, tapped a few buttons and began washing the tunnel in glowing fields of red and orange. Republic troops dropped as if turned off by switch. The odds had finally evened.

A holler erupted from the Bajorans as they watched their enemy fall and their hopes rise. A few even stood up, only to be gunned down by the attackers that had found cover. One of them spun into the putrid air to land at the feet of the transporter team. Gluts of blood and gore painted the equipment and produced small storms of sparks. The battle wasn't over by a long shot.

The grizzled fighter and his young companion switched back to their blasters as the enemy regrouped and began to advance once more. This time they stayed out of the air, only flittering back and forth enough to get from one pile of rubble to the next. They had powerful legs but they obviously didn't do much walking. They wouldn't be doing much flying around very soon either.

Lana turned another piece of wall into shrapnel and rushed for the transporter. Those around him sent deadly beams of phasor fire for protection. Three aliens were thrown on their backs, chests glowing intensely. They cried out in mortal pain before going silent forever.

"Kid," the man shouted back to where he had left the boy saturating a group of opponents. He was still laying there, taking time to aim with great care. What could he possibly be trying to hit?

"Get over here!"

The boy didn't move. So intent was he on his target that he didn't seem to register anything around him.

"Kid, we're ready. Let's go!" One of the transporter techs waved an arm as his friend made one last modification to the equipment. He wouldn't leave this behind without a surprise for their guests.

"Screw it," the commander said from the ground where she lay bleeding. "Beam him out now. Get us all out of here."

"Right," the reply came back. "Here's hoping we find some place friendly. We aren't going to get another trip."

With a moment of button pushing the boy faded from view in a cloud of blue radiance. Soon after, every other rebel disappeared in like fashion. The Republic soldiers swarmed over to the strange device that had enabled the escape, just in time to see a bank of lights flash their warning. If they could have read Bajoran they would have understood that the Federation equipment was catastrophically overloading.

On the surface, thunder rumbled from below instead of above. The shockwave rippled through the city, collapsing much of the transit tunnel system within thirty blocks and creating swaths of destruction that caught more than one scout walker in its clutches.

In the hills outside of the city, the tired and wounded remains of the tiny resistance band pulled themselves together and looked to the sky as a trio of bombers streaked high overhead.

"Come on, Kid, get up," the slim, stubbled man gave a nudge to the young man with his foot. He didn't move.

"Come on Kid, we've got to get out of the open." Lana walked over and knelt beside the motionless figure. He grabbed the kid by his bug-infested hair and yanked up. "Shit," was all he muttered as he let the head fall lifelessly back to the unforgiving ground.

The grim face of the youth had rolled to the side so that all could see. A shard of cement had impacted into his brain. He had died firing his weapon, his blood mixing with his rage to cloud his vision. His body had continued firing long after the nerve endings in his brain had.


"It's these fucking Bajorans, Byl," the general ranted through the holotransmitter. "They've mined and trapped the whole damn planet! You can't walk into a building down here without it falling down on top of you! I mean, I've gone through so many droids I might as well be lining them up and shooting them myself!"

"Settle down, Trav, settle down." The captain of the Star Destroyer Maxim, now in charge of the Bajoran pacification and the wormhole above it, couldn't help but laugh at his old friend, even with the seriousness of the situation. "I know what you're going through. Who cares about droids? I've got a whole cargo bay full of them. Now, what's your operation status?"

"Don't give me that Bantha shit," the image of the tightly trimmed beard and muscular torso shot back. "You have no idea what's going on, sitting up there at your little desk. How's that paper cut healing?" The man grabbed the bridge of his nose and took a breath.

"Alright," he continued. "We've taken seventy-seven percent of the planet but secured only about forty. The natives are proving extremely resourceful and quite adept at guerilla warfare. And I don't think it's going to get any easier. Even their children are fighting us, damn it! Rocks?! When they have nothing else, they throw rocks! I am a soldier! I do not kill children, Byl. I can't believe these savages would have their children fight us."

Byl took in the tirade with patients. "And how are the forces from Genoesis holding up?" He knew the answer but it was always better to hear it from the people who actually lived it. Not mention the fact that it would distract his friend and make him focus.

"Not bad, I suppose. They are certainly well suited for the city tunnels and the mountain caves. I just wish that they'd put on some fucking armour.

"So, did they make you a Moff yet or what?"

[Mr Bean]

ooooh Mark S Fanfic action!
Been awhile but worth the wait

*Heh nice inculision of the Genosisan Droids Destroyers are nasty

[Mark S]

I haven't heard anything else about getting a title. Well if I can't have something silly, how about Grand Moff or Bounty Hunting Scum. Traditionally the titles are Jedi or Sith oriented, I want to tap the rest of the movie.

[Mr Bean]

Well I waited till I got another Chapter before saying anything but Wong has the position while the Fanfic is good its not making him Weep with Joy or anything so unless you do somthing brand spanking special your stuck with your current title

[Mark S]

I can only do what I do. Oh well, it was fun to think about while it lasted.

[Stravo]

Well I waited till I got another Chapter before saying anything but Wong has the position while the Fanfic is good its not making him Weep with Joy or anything so unless you do somthing brand spanking special your stuck with your current title

WOW Lord Wong is a tough critic, eh?

Hang in there Mark, you've got the creds you just don't have the name...YET.

[Soontir C'boath]

Very nice and great to read yet again Mark

Can't wait to read how you'll route out those Bajorans.

Cyaround,
Jason

[Mark S]

"I still don't understand any of this," Commander Riker grumbled to his captain, frustrated at the events devastating his Federation and his impotence to stop them.

"Nor I, Number One," the older man replied as the two stepped on to a turbolift.

They were on their way to the Enterprise's largest meeting chamber. Awaiting them were many of Starfleet's last remaining men and women of command. Those skilled or lucky enough to keep their ships and their lives in the face of the Republic's unstoppable war machine.

The President of the Federation and many members of the council would also be there. Having fled from Earth and a multitude of other worlds before the arrival of their invading enemy, they vainly tried to keep a semblance of their once great government even though they had no place but an outlaw fleet to govern from and no worlds left to govern. It was still a comfort to look to them though. They represented the continuance of the Federation in the face of adversity. They represented a leadership that would not be cowed. It was something that those who would be fighting needed.

"They've marched across the quadrant claiming every planet they pass and destroying everyone that stands against them. And for what," Riker continued. "More of our people died aboard the Plato than their's. We try to find a reason for the explosion and they ignore our requests for help and simply attack. We try to reason with them as the proceed on their rampage and they ignore us every step of the way."

"You are now citizens of the Inter-Galactic Republic," Picard absent-mindedly recited, watching the lights of the turbolift flick by the levels of the ship. "I am afraid we may never know the reasons for this invasion until we have been completely engulfed and it is too late."

"But they won't even explain it when we ask!" The commander felt like punching the wall. Luckily the door opened to let them out before any damage could be done.

"That's because they don't care. You're taking for granted that because they are human they should be like us. The truth is, we no very little about them or their culture. We obviously woke a dragon with that wormhole and angered it with the explosion of the Plato. All we really know is that Luke Skywalker was a very important man to them and that his death was something that they could not stand for. I would have hoped that they would think more rationally but that is not the case."

"And the fact that they ARE human," the first officer cut in. "You'd think that they would be curious about us being here, but they don't seem to care about that either."

"Can you blame them? They've quite handily wiped the floor with us. They have all the time they need now to make whatever discoveries they wish."

The men finally found themselves at a door like any other on the ship. It slid open at their approach to reveal a massive theater filled with Starfleet officers and Federation officials alike. Through the bay window that encompassed the entire opposite wall, hundreds of vessels could be seen floating along side their flagship, the chaotic writhing of the Brier Patch competing for attention in the background.

All eyes shot back for a quick glance at the last two arrivals. The looks followed as they made their way down the aisle to the long table at the front of the room. As the captain and first officer of Starfleet's premier vessel, they had a place reserved along side the President, the council members and a select few advisors.

The Federation ‘s Commander-in-Chief noted Picard and Riker taking their places and cut short his conversation with Commander Bala, now his most trusted aid. He was a man with an intense, observant way about him. Missing nothing, revealing less.

"Gentlemen, Ladies," he began, raising his hand for attention. "Can we get started please?" When the room had settled into a courteous hush and all eyes were firmly placed on him, he continued.

"It is a dark time for the United Federation of Planets, as we are all painfully aware. Our territory has been annexed, Earth, the seat of our government has been captured, our military has been all but decimated and we have been thrown into hiding at the risk of our very lives. As we are forced to watch our homes and families slip away, placed under boot by invaders with seemingly no regard for peace, fellowship or our way of life, it is a time for mourning.

"We have nowhere to turn for aid. Our neighbours, some enemies, some friends, are all in the same predicament. From what limited intelligence reports are still coming in, Chancellor Martok is dead and what's left of the Klingon High Council is in exile as we are. The Romulan Senate as well. They are relatively intact however. They were apparently whisked into hiding the moment their borders were crossed. The Ferengi, the Gorn, the Breen; have all been brought down. The Shelliak military is all but wiped out.

"But this is not a time to sit on our haunches and feel sorry for ourselves. This is not a time to give in to the fear and oppression that is gripping our hearts. We must not lose hope! We can not lose hope. We will find a way, some way, some how, to restore the Federation to its former glory." The once leader of billions of lives looked into the faces of the assembly and managed a smile to the borg woman who had recently reminded him of that.

"We are here," he continued, "like many other groups of survivors, to plan our next course of action. It's clear that we have no chance standing up to the Republic face to face."

The floor was opened to everyone's thoughts. The first one to speak was a tiny, masculine woman with short cropped brown hair and hard, unforgiving eyes..

"So far the only thing that seems to be working is attacking in numbers," she announced. "Their shields are too strong unless we hit one ship with everything. But that's leaving everyone open to attacks from other enemies. It's good for ambushing a couple at a time or attacking some of their weaker convoys but we'll still never stand up in a straight fight."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. To date, this was one of the only tactics that had been effective. And it had cost them dearly.

"There has to be a better answer that just throwing ourselves blindly at any enemy ship we come by," a burly, grey bearded man interjected.

"Like what," another, Captain Johannas, put in. "We just can't generate the kind of power necessary. Not from a ship mounted weapon anyway." Johannas was a pragmatic man, a scientist's scientist. He and his crew, not to mention a number of other captains of the same mindset, had been working on finding a way past the Republic's shield technology around the clock. Even with the intelligence data brought from the other side, the simulations were all the same.

"Anyone here know how to make a Genesis Device?" It was more of a joke than any real suggestion. Those who actually knew what the young commander who had made the comment was talking about shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Little known by the public, the Federation had been trying to duplicate the experiments of Doctor Marcus since the detonation of the prototype so long ago. In the past few years it had been given up as a waste of resources.

A middle-aged woman with red hair pulled back in the tight bun of a Victorian schoolmistress rose to her feet and took a sip of her coffee.

"If there is one thing that my experiences in the Delta quadrant have taught me," Captain Katherine Janeway began with a quick glance down to her first officer and borg friend for support. "It's that we can't approach this situation with a negative attitude."

Glances were exchanged all over the vast hall. If Janeway dragged out the Delta quadrant card one more time someone was going to shoot her. Even Picard and Riker passed slight smiles back and forth.

"There must be a way," she continued despite the drop in attention. "Perhaps if you let the rest of us take a look at your results?"

"Give me a break Janeway," Johannas snorted. The tall, hawkish man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "I am a doctor of both advanced quantum mechanics and warp field theory, one of my lieutenants won the Dillora Melbourn award for advancement in subspace particle generation, and that's not even mentioning the works of captains Del Costa and Hortez. We are people who have devoted our lives to science for the past decade, not coming home from across the galaxy. If your crew could possibly have anything to add, I'd like to hear it."

No one moved except to follow the scientists stone glare back to the female captain. Her mouth dropped as she lost her train of thought, taken aback by the harsh words. Voyager's commander leapt to his feet to stand defensively beside her.

Janeway's expression turned from surprise to anger as Commander Chakotay chided the gathering. "This is ridiculous! Fighting amongst ourselves will get us nowhere! How can you possibly imagine that you can dismiss another's ideas at a time like this?!" He took in the crowd with a challenging stare that had brought mercenaries and killers into line. "You are Starfleet officers. Use those Starfleet brains of yours and think outside the box!

"You have always been the ones to call the shots. Well, now the tables have turned. You are the outlaws now. We are incredibly outmatched, so let's get creative. If we can't get through their shields, maybe we can find a way around them."

"What, exactly, do you think we've been doing, Commander?" Another of the scientists spat.

"Yes," Janeway interrupted, finding strength in her first officer, letting her anger toward the other captain fuel her. "Considering you impounded the original Voyager and now we don't have access to the weapons and shield technology that we had incorporated into her. Technology that could very well have been our saving grace."

"I don't think so, Captain," an aging admiral countered with a sidelong glance to the President. "We pulled the original Voyager, with all of her advanced technology, out of the research docks at the beginning of all this. We sent her to the battle of Omega Tau Six with Steve Prat at the helm. I know you weren't around at the time but Captain Prat was one of our greatest assets during the Dominion War." Many heads in the room nodded at the assessment of Prat's abilities.

"Do you remember the battle of Omega Tau Six, Captain?"

Confusion crossed Janeway's face like a cloud blocking the moon. She hadn't been anywhere near that battle.

"Does anyone here remember what happened to our forces at Omega Tau?" The admiral let the room fall silent. Everyone knew what he was getting at but no one dared interrupt.

"No, of course not. No one at the battle of Omega Tau Six was left alive to report back." The last statement hung in the air like a coyote's cry, reminding all once again who it was they were fighting.

Voyager's captain regrouped and would not be daunted. "Perhaps if we were to find the frequency of their shield harmonics," she offered, beginning to find new excitement in the thought process.

"Their shields don't have harmonics," Captain Johannas countered. He had straightened up in his chair as if sitting on trial. It was his classic position for technical debate.

"Maybe if we were to get through their shields in one small location we could beam in an explosive device..."

"No. Their hull material contains too much duterium to beam through. I though we were all given the intelligence reports?"

"Ok, what if we reconfigured our main deflector arrays to emit bursts of quantum particles..."

Johannas rolled his head back in exasperation. "That do what? What exactly do you expect these magic particles to do? Would you like them to eat away at their shields and use the energy to destroy them? I swear, the nonsense that comes streaming out of people's mouths in this organization boggles my mind!"

Voyager's captain was fumming. Desperate to cling to control of her emotions in front of her peers, she slumped, defeated, into her seat and grabbed the bridge of her nose.

"Does anyone have anything to contribute that might help," someone asked. They weren't making progress.

"I have a suggestion," a young captain spoke up from the back rows. "I'm not sure how well everyone's going to like it, but it's a suggestion."

He swallowed once and scanned the room before uttering the simple words. "Subspace weaponry."

The briefest, most undistinguishable smile played itself out across Bala's lips. An instant later the hall broke down into chaos.

Mutters became hushed arguments. Hushed voices became louder. Loud voices became shouts as one officer or another strained to be heard over the throng. The mounting wave finally crested with Picard's hammering fist on the table before him.

"Order," he bellowed with the authority of a life time of being obeyed. "There will be order here!"

The demand cut through the cacophony like a laser. All voices fell silent. All eyes turned to regard the Enterprise's captain as if it were a room full of school children caught in the act of some debase practical joke. A moment passed before anyone had the presence of mind to sit.

"While that is a valid suggestion, I for one do not see the wisdom in laying waste to our own territory just to rid us of our invaders. What will we have left to go home to?" Picard looked around the gathering, holding back the tide of voices with will alone.

"Yeah," a commander agreed. "Didn't we decide against weapons of mass destruction a couple hundred years ago? And these are particularly unpredictable." The dam broke anew.

"People, people!" This time it was Janeway who raised her hands for the crowds attention, once again trying to assert herself. "The Federation was founded on certain ideals." Chakotay became distracted by the interplay of electric discharge through the window beyond. He had heard this speech a number of times before.

"It is those ideals that have lead us and shaped us into the society we are today. A society that has set aside its baser tendencies and strives to live in peace and goodwill. We don't always live up to those ideals but once we start setting them aside whenever it suites us, we fall away from all we have worked for. Allowing ourselves to use subspace weapons would be throwing away everything that we are."

"I tend to agree," said Picard. "Allowing ourselves to use weapons that we have all condemned others for may very well cost us a price that we will not be willing to pay."

Riker looked up at his captain and shook his head silently. He couldn't disagree with the older man more. This was an idea that actually had a chance to help them in their cause. War was hell. It was that simple. They all should be aware of that fact now. This was not the time for soft stomachs and softer resolve. He would not contradict his superior officer in public, however, and instead held his tongue. The Enterprise would always be a united front.

Down the table, Bala leaned in to murmur in the President's left ear. "This is ridiculous Frank. We're having our asses handed to us and they're talking about ideals. Desperate times, Mr. President, desperate times."


"And now the President is endorsing the use of those damn weapons," Picard barked into his whiskey. This was the real stuff. He needed it.

The dark skinned bartender gave him her undivided attention. Ten forward was all but empty at this time but she would have never given him anything less. Not this man. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, Captain Picard."

The bald man shot a look at her that would have cracked granite. "If one more person tells me that, Ginan, I'm going to have them flushed out the air lock!" He downed his glass in one gulp.

"I take it he has support on this," the ageless woman commented, knowing full well the answer. She rarely asked questions of people she didn't already know the answer to.

"Yes," Picard snapped back. "Even among the crew of this very ship!"

"Commander Riker IS a man of action," Ginan noted. She was now absent mindedly rubbing down the already spotless counter top. "And you know he's always been one to take advantage of whatever was at his disposal to overcome a challenge. So the two of you disagree on this issue. That's what First Officers are for, isn't it?"

"But Will is also a rational, intelligent human being. How can he throw forethought away like this? He knows the effects of these weapons as well as anyone. They'll probably destroy more of our own ships than theirs for god's sake!"

"I agree with you, Jean-Luc." The woman raised her hands defensively but never altered the tone of her voice. "I've seen enough nasty things in my time to know that once you open up this kind of box, once you start down this path, there's no turning back. Not completely anyway.

"And we've heard nothing from the Republic besides claims of ownership in the name of the Republic?" Ginan was trying to change the subject.

"Nothing more," the captain sighed. "They are not interested in communications and something tells me that they are all wishing that we'd rather fight. This is like some cruel game of Q's." Picard took another sip and shook his head.

"Do you really think the Q are involved in all of this?" The question turned Picard on his stool. He was now looking into the eyes of the ships doctor.

"No Beverly, but I wish he was. Somehow it would all be simpler if this was one of his practical jokes."

"Come, Jean-Luc, why don't you forget about all of this for an hour and have dinner with me." Beverly could see the stress taking its toll on her friend.

Picard ignored her. "Some joke. Q, are you listening," he shouted. "Is this your doing?! Are you behind this?!"

Ten forward remained still, with only the hum of the deck plates to answer. Nothing appeared except a flash of lightning from the Brier Patch through the windows.

"You always touted that you wanted to help us, to atone for your past misdeeds. Well now's your chance! Q!"

"Jean-Luc," Dr. Crusher persisted. "I don't think we can appeal for the aid of superior beings..."

"Why not," he interrupted heatedly. "He's disrupted our lives enough times."

Picard turned to face the doctor. "And speaking of superior beings, what about you doctor? Where's that damn son of yours?!"

Ginan watched the outburst silently, remembering back to her childhood. Back to her history lessons. A certain account of a wormhole opening into another galaxy millennia ago.


The cargo hold of the Republic freighter, Chilco, was never designed to be environmentally hospitable. Light was minimal, temperature was only kept above freezing to ensure the water piping routed through wouldn't rupture, and the atmosphere seemed more of an afterthought. To the lone figure floating weightlessly in the darkness, none of this mattered. There was no cold, only the Force.

Jones ignored the stale air, the lack of light, heat and gravity and instead concentrated inward. Concentrated on the events that had brought him here, shrouded in a colorless version of Starfleet's uniform.

"Your training has progressed much faster than I could have expected," Gallus had said. "You have used your anger and aggression, bent it to your will. Your organization's original training has served you well. You will truly be great warriors.

"Now it is time to put that training to the test. You could merely watch as I caused the explosion of the craft carrying Skywalker, in time you shall perform feats just as amazing."

"Yes, Master," he and Pellax has said.

"Soon you will no longer be counted among the simple beings of the universe. You shall be lords over them." The small creature's eyes gleamed as it spoke.

"Yes, Master."

"Mr. Pellax," he had hissed. "You shall seek out the other agents of your Section 31 and bring them before me. You will need the use of my transport. It is at your disposal."

"But any of them that are left alive must be scattered across the quadrant trying to subvert the Republic's provisional governments," they had protested. It was impossible. They didn't even know who half of the agents were.

The strange alien only laughed. "Not for a Sith."

"And you Mr. Jones," he had continued. "You shall strike back against the Republic that has overrun your beloved Federation. Sate your rage on those you hate."

He was to travel to the invaded worlds of the Federation, find the Republic Magistrates overseeing them, and cut them down like the dogs they were. Not a hard assignment. Not the most pleasant but they were getting what was coming to them.

"Do not use the new weapons you have constructed," Gallus had warned. "Our true nature will be revealed to the Republic all in due time."

The Chilco dropped out of hyperspace for a course change, pulling Jones out of he reverie. The cold of space seeping through the hull gnawed at him like the teeth of a thousand rats. It made him think of the children freezing in burned out shells of buildings, it made him remember the countless bodies set lifelessly adrift by Republic guns.

Soon those bodies were lifting their faces toward him. Their dead, glazed eyes burrowing into his mind, accusing him, cursing him. They had once again become those of everyone he had ever killed. They clawed at him, tearing into him for his soul. Finding nothing.

Fear mixed with anger to well up in the dark corners of his being. It warmed him. It made him powerful.

[Mr Bean]

AH HA!

First!

*Edit nice work agian Mark, though speed up the chapters a bit eh? (Or at least update when Stravo does )

*Double eidt
Subspace weaponry? Oh no not the Tecnobabble!

[Stravo]

Excellent chapter Mark. I can see why you were worried after my last chapter, there are some similarities, but we're going in such different directions I wouldn't give it a second thought. BTW I LOVE the way you handled the whole Janeway technobabble thing, I have a nasty fate in store for her in my fic as well..hell I've already blamed her for the DESTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE...

Ignore Bean, he's just being demanding because he must be in hog heaven with both our works being updated tonight.

[Singular Quartet]

Subspace weaponry? Oh no not the Tecnobabble!

Actually, he canned every last bit of Treknobabble except this. I'm trying to remember what these are, but nothing's coming to mind.

[Mark S]

AH HA!

First!

*Edit nice work agian Mark, though speed up the chapters a bit eh? (Or at least update when Stravo does )

*Double eidt
Subspace weaponry? Oh no not the Tecnobabble!

Technobabble?! If I wanted to use that I'd be pulling out the tachyon emissions. As I've always said, any ensign worth his salt knows that you can do ANYTHING with a tricorder, an overloaded phasor and some tachyon particles.

(puts finger to mouth) Maybe I can work in Marvin The Martian? The Feds could really use that Discombobulator.

[Mark S]

Gee, am I not worth anyone's comments anymore? Present company accepted, of course.

[Soontir C'boath]

I just read it now lol... nicely done.

Cyaround,
Jason
P.S.- Looks like the Sith is reborned again heheh...at last we will reveal ourself to the Republic at last we'll have our revenge.

[Ted]

The problem with yours and Stravo's fics are that they make everybody else's look pathetic, and has nearly put me off writing.

[willburns84]

The problem with yours and Stravo's fics are that they make everybody else's look pathetic, and has nearly put me off writing.

No need to be *that* discouraged. I have simply learned that it'll be a bloody long time before I post any of my stuff up on these boards. And despite the frowny, that's not a bad thing - for now I have learned what what great cross-over fanfics are to be like and to emulate such work.

Thank goodness for that delete message button. Saved me from looking like a complete moron.

[Eleas]

Gee, am I not worth anyone's comments anymore? Present company accepted, of course.

It took me this long to find out a new way of saying "well done".