Star Trek: Death of the Federation

[White Haven]

As Scylla's tractors grappled with the hulked tender and spread wings of invisible shielding force across its hull, Leyton was busy studying sensor readouts and schematics. With a frown on his face, he finally nodded sharply and keyed up a channel on the squadron tactical network.

"Scylla here. That thing's a mess and I doubt we're alone in being short on supplies. Say the word and I can have teams start stripping cleared sections down for parts and raw material. Am presently grappled with the tender with heavy engineering staff and large amounts of salvage equipment. Scylla clear."

The longer I can avoid using the name 'Leyton' in the middle of a dangerous situation, the better...

A wry smile flitted across his lips at the thought, banished quickly as he turned his head towards the ever-present Andorian woman, "Lesschey, prep for salvaging operations assuming we get the go-ahead. I want teams suited up and ready to go, tractors and transporters ready to strip that ship as quickly as possible. If we get a go signal, find out where the boarders are and where they've already cleared so we don't end up spacing a boatload of boarding troops." He paused for a few seconds, grimaced, and tacked on, "Or pirates, I suppose."

"Tex? See if you can't find out what magazine those Tricobalts are stored in. I want some."

A low, hungry murmur rippled around the bridge for a few moments at that prospect.

[Hotfoot]

Alpha Quadrant
Badlands
Empyrean Bridge

The battle had been swift, furious, and well outside of the problems currently faced by the Empyrean. The illusion of a Borg infestation was one that was relatively simple for the ship’s advanced systems, as was the illusion of the Scylla being a Borg-Infested Cruiser, but the fighting was now stopped, and the need for the subterfuge had passed. The ships that had run were now well outside of sensor range and would not know that the Borg threat had been fabricated, while the remaining ships were either destroyed or had submitted. DuBois would spend time later wondering if the battle was necessary or not, but for now, other concerns consumed his mind.

“Mister Dunok, shut down the M.I.S., give me a full sweep of the area, I want to know what’s nearby. Any Borg signals and you send the scramble code to the fleet, don’t wait for the order,â€

[General Havoc]

Under the influence of a stasis field, the levitating half-frozen mass of what was clearly a changeling to anyone familiar enough with the physiology of one to make a clear identification, remained as inert as any lump of random organic matter culled from deep space. Nothing within it, nothing about it, contained any information that could possibly have been used for identification, even had there been some form of registry to compare it to. What level of damage it had sustained, what its purpose was floating out here, none of these things were easily determinable while it sat in stasis, unable to move or alter its form. Besides the fact that the changeling was undoubtedly alive, nothing much more could be gleaned.

Two objects however were located within the changeling, beamed out separately and into different biohazard fields. One was a Federation Type-1 Hand Phaser, loaded with a power core and set to kill, though it did not appear to have been discharged recently. Unfortunately, while the phaser carried a serial number, there was no way to tie it to a specific point of origin, as Empyrean had no forensic database for such things.

The other object though was a Mark VII Commbadge, standard issue. It too bore a serial number, but unlike the phaser, it also bore an origin stamp. Commbadges were assigned in one of two ways. Either the badge was associated with an individual, personalizing it to them, or it was from a ship or facility reserve, a group of unassigned badges used by most ships whenever one of the pre-assigned badges was lost, destroyed, or otherwise needed replacing. This badge was one of the latter.

And according to the baseplate, as well as the serial encoding within the firmware of the badge itself, this badge was a generalized reserve commbadge last assigned to the Ambassador-class Heavy Cruiser USS Argonaut.

[rhoenix]

U.S.S. Gilgamesh
"Badlands" Sector, on patrol

The very instant the Birds of Prey's disruptor shots fired at the Gilgamesh registered, the ship began diving into maneuvers. Though the ship's sensors were nearly useless in the Badlands, they began tracing the sensor echoes and fire vectors to find the enemy ships. Normally, the ship's single phaser array would be constantly firing counter-battery shots in an attempt to strike the enemy ships, but the non-hostile ships in the area made that tactic irresponsible at best.

As the small, agile Federation destroyer began to accelerate into another set of defensive maneuvers while it got a better idea of the enemy ships' locations, the Empyrean came on station, suddenly lighting up the Gilgamesh's telemetry.

The moment that was done, nearly everyone on the bridge of the Gilgamesh smiled predatorily. "Swift, Adranis," Captain Solheim said with a smirk, "burn their shields down, one at a time. Once you have proper unshielded lock, hit them with a phased plasma torpedo each."

The ship suddenly spun on its axis, and began accelerating toward the two Birds of Prey in an unpredictable set of maneuvers that still kept the two within firing arc. The powerful phaser cannons of the Gilgamesh began making moving and powerful arguments as to why the pirate captains of the two Birds of Prey had chosen the worst of all available options.

Action: After gaining telemetry from the Empyrean, the Gilgamesh attacks both of them with phaser cannons - once the shields of one of the Birds of Prey fail from sustained fire, that Bird of Prey will receive a phased plasma torpedo. This tactic, along with maneuvers, is intended to continue until both Birds of Prey are destroyed with extreme prejudice.

[General Havoc]

Klingon ship engineers were not fools, and had never been fools at any time known to history. Birds of Prey were extremely Klingon weapons, concerned much with firepower and very little with armored protection. This did not mean however that they did not protect their ships, merely that they chose different means of protecting them. Maneuverability and shields were the best defenses of a Bird of Prey, coupled of course with the classic Klingon definition of "the best defense".

The Birds of Prey broke formation as soon as the Gilgamesh turned around, but not before launching two more photon torpedoes each. Neither one wished to be held within the forward firing arcs of a Defiant-class Heavy Destroyer for any longer than necessary. Gilgamesh's wild gyrations threw off the shots. All four torpedoes missed the nimble destroyer as she ducked and weaved, though the flurry of disruptor shots that accompanied them did not, stinging her forward shields. The maneuvers also threw off the Gilgamesh's own guns, her phaser cannons striking nothing but empty space.

The birds could not cloak without dropping their shields, a death sentence in the Badlands. They could, however, do the next best thing. Each Bird dove directly into the nearest plume of plasma, vanishing as totally as though they actually had cloaked, leaving the Gilgamesh to follow them or not as it would.

[frigidmagi]

The scene aboard the Locarian Star was a bit different.

The human and Gorn marines entered the vessel without difficulty. Most of the guardships preventing access to it had been annihilated in the firefight and the few who were not had surrendered. The transports from Immortal had no trouble accessing the vessel.

Getting about inside was a different matter.

Locarian Star was a Groumall-class Cardassian Military Freighter, designed to carry bulk cargo of a thousand different varieties all across the Cardassian Empire. This was not the role that she was playing now, for as rapidly became clear to the Federation forces, Locarian Star was presently serving not as a freighter, nor even as a slave ship, but as a battlefield.

Complete chaos reigned aboard, gunfire echoing down every corridor and bulkhead, as armed men and women fought with one another, either in complete ignorance or complete indifference of the battle raging outside. Pirates, Orion and otherwise, fought with men and women and creatures nondescript of two dozen other races with hand phasers and disruptors, with knives and swords, and with their bare hands when all else failed. They did so in hallways and crew quarters and cargo bays and everywhere else that they could, scoring walls black with gunfire and all the colors of the rainbow with blood. Dead bodies and the critically wounded , Orion and otherwise, lay strewn about the ship in heaps, indifferent to anything but their own pain, or to nothing at all.

The shuttle-full of Human and Gorn troops did not attract much attention on a ship so thronged with combat. Aside from desultory shots that might well have been accidental, nobody even fired at them. In a ship filled with armed men locked in combat, nobody seemed to take much notice that another relative handful of armed men had suddenly appeared. Those immediately nearby were too busy killing one another. Those deeper into the ship had no means of knowing that further intruders had entered the fray.

Of all the chaos and disorder, only one bit of coherence could be discerned. A cry, made by Orions, echoing down the corridors, translated by the universal translators for the benefit of the newcomers.

"Get to the bridge! They're grouped up there! Kill 'em all!"

Lt Summers considered this a bad day. His ship had been in a firefight without the captain onboard but with a bloody nursery in the halls. To make it better the firefight had been at knife range and in the middle of a plasma storm. It was like having a flamethrower fight in a closet packed full of white phosphorus from what he picked up from Mary. Then he got sent to a damn Cardassian ship to shift apart revolting slaves and murderous slavers, he lands in a fire fight and no one is paying any attention to him! Yes, definitely a bad day. Given what Mary was going through on the ship, she likely be to tired to do anything but drop in place once damage control was done to, so it be a lousy night to. Damn but someone was gonna pay for this.

"Switch to phasers, stun. Anyone even looks at you funny, stun 'em til they stop moving. Everyone gets to go face first on the floor til we're in control of the ship and don't take no shit boys. Secure the shuttle bay and punch out for the bridge. I swear we don't paid enough for this shit!" He snarled over his comm.

The troops answered with a howling bark and moved to obey. He figured he take the bridge and the comm system and start ordering everyone to lay down and disarm, from there he could punch out to the engine room and take over the ship proper. Lt Summers moved out behind a fireteam of Gorn, who looked grumpy at having to use phasers. Someone was gonna pay for this shit.

"So, Commodore" he said. "Now what?"

Anderson almost broke out in howls of laughter at the question. Not that you could see it on his face, unless you counted a brief mouth twitch. It wasn't as if he had been in the driver seat for this whole episode. Hell, next time the Klingons could handle diplomacy. At this rate they might do better job. Either way he did not answer the Shodar, the question was fairly pointless anyways, the pirates would have to be corralled somewhere and the enslaved freed. Then he would have to figure out a way to drag the whole mess the Bajor. Oh yes, Command was just going to loooovvveeee this.

Speaking of Klingons, he turned to the arriving troops.

"The one is grateful for the speed and force of your arrival. What has been said of the Marines has clearly not been overstated, understated perhaps. Who is leading you?" He asked.

[Charon]

The Barbarossa

"Sir?" The Romulan who was at navigation glanced back at Hizir, who sat motionless, a look of some anger on his face as he read over the report of what exactly had seemed to have happened while he was away.

"Sir, the Gilgamesh needs assistance."

"They started this fight, they can finish it." Hizir snarled. He was sick of this shit, the medical team was still going through the civilians, patching up the wounded, clearing out the dead. Some yahoo had started firing in the midst of negotiations and once the rest of the fleet was busy cleaning up their mess he intended to get some answers.

"Someone get me engineering."

After a few moments, Pel responded. "What the fuck do you want?"

Hizir glared. "Watch your mouth or I will keelhaul you in this personal patch of hell Pel. Your brothers will have a hard time pulling you across fast enough to keep you from getting deep fried."

There was an audible gulp from the Ferengi. "Err, what did you need captain?"

"Time on repairs for the mining lasers as well as general repairs."

"Well," the Ferengi scratched at the back of his neck. "Considering the general lack of supplies and the conditions of-"

"I am not in the mood Pel. This is your last warning." Hizir's voice was frosty.

"Err, a few hours on the guns, can't say yet on general repairs."

Hizir nodded and terminated the connection. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead slowly. Khoal was standing quietly to one side, looking a little ashamed. Danava was looking at the destruction and continuing devastation with a smile on her face. She dared not question Hizir though, not now. He'd space her without a second thought.

"Communications," Hizir finally spoke after several minutes of silence. "If any one asks, we are assessing our casualties from this encounter. If anyone tells us to go hunting Orions tell them we are still affecting repairs on our ship and will be unable to assist."

Hizir got to his feet. "Danava, Khoal, with me. We're having a Command Staff meeting to determine our next move."

They knew better than to question him right now, they merely flanked him as he moved to an adjacent room.

[Cynical Cat]

A stocky Klingon of the Imperial Race stepped forward and saluted, fist to heart and then a outstretched arm. He did so while keeping his disruptor rifle in his left hand. "This one has the honor of being Gunnery Sergeant Moloki. My men and I are at your disposal."

[Comrade Tortoise]

T'Lorn looked at his mini display screen, and were he not a vulcan, there would be irritation on his face. Instead, he was completely objective. The S'harien was currently without shields, with the other ships too focused on getting the tender under control, no one had paid attention to this fact. She was a huge ship, which offered some protection, but it would not be long before the constant plasma storm inside the badlands rendered her into a cloud of rapidly expanding charged particles.

Still, plasma itself was a rapidly expanding cloud of super-heated charged particles, and a strong enough magnetic field would repel them long enough for her to get her shields operational again.

"Science and Tactical, I need something interesting from you."

...


The tractor beam currently tethering the little ship in place got pulled, hard, literally hauling the little ship through space, along a carefully calculated trajectory. Then, when the time came, was re-engaged, acting like breaks. Using the massive tender's hull as an anchor, literally crawling toward her and along her mammoth hull using the tractors like a giant set of energetic spider legs, the USS Humboldt got close enough to the S'harien to engage her main deflector, and then used maneuvering thrusters to keep herself stable.

After a few moments, the USS Humboldt projected a powerful magnetic field around the S'harien, having diverted weapons power and much of auxilliary to provide the energy reserve necessary to sustain it for long enough for the larger ship to get her shields online.

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant
Badlands, IRW S'harien

Aboard the bridge of the S'harien no one had been truly prepared for what was about to occur to the former IRW Saeihr. There were still a handful of individuals that believed that against all odds, the ship would perhaps survive in a manner that would allow for its continual use in the future. There were many that were not overly concerned about such things. When the fire of the S'harien was joined by others, the mathematics seemed to shift decisively in the direction of annihilation. It was hard to believe anything could survive the weight of fire that had been aimed at the Saeihr. Mere moments before the deluge of fire struck, Erei-riov Dar realized that prudence was in order.

"Brace for impact!" He managed to bark out mere moments before the explosions which merged into a singular whole seemed to consume one of the ships who at one point had been a point of pride for his people. The main screen darkened a moment before Q's hand seemed to manifest and wrapped itself around the Warbird and shook it like a child's toy. The men and women aboard the bridge were not fools and they had wisely anchored themselves to their seats. Many men and women of Romulan, Reman and over a dozen other races were not so fortunate. The force of the impact moved the Battlecruiser, a feat that would have been more impressive had the engines of the Warbird been at full power. The impact was not nearly as bad as it could have been. Not everyone could claim such fortune, one of the Warbird's own shuttles was accelerated against its hull and simply ceased to exist. A further calamity when the shuttles three surviving plasma torpedoes did not detonate.

Alpha Quadrant
IRW S'harien, Bridge

"Status." Erei-riov Hanaj Dar asked far more calmly than he expected.

"One of our shuttles is gone, the rest were hurled away from us at various vectors. The survivors are reporting various damage although they all are maintaining shields for the moment. Two indicate of imminent shield failure within the next few minutes. Internal sensors indicate a large number of injuries throughout the ship due to the impact, we have incoming reports of fatalities." The sensor officer stated.

"Give priority to the tractor beams, see if we can drag the two wounded shuttles whose shields are in the threshold of failure. Order the others to make their way towards our position as soon as they are able." He hesitated for a moment before he pressed the question of casualties. "I want a breakdown of the casualties. I want the VIP's found as well as Riov Cretak. I--"

"Erei-riov! The Saeihr!" The communication officer called out a moment before the main screen displayed the savaged Fleet Tender. It was clear that the ship had been savaged, but that it still survived was a shock.

Hanaj Dar slowly released the breath that he had been holding upon seeing the battered Fleet Tender on the main screen. How had it manage to survive without shields? Did it really matter? Surely, the ship was in no position to fight back. Not after that. His eyes focused on the fleet tender's image for a moment.

Maybe I did not kill Captain Anderson after all.

He had barely completed the thought when Captain Anderson's message was received and relayed. The human captain was going to be insufferable after this. "Acknowledge the transmission." He said a moment later.

"Erei-riov, the Scylla is assisting two of our shuttles whose drives seem to have failed." The sensor officer stated.

Erei-riov Hanaj Dar prepared to speak when a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Open a channel to the Scylla and thank them for their diligence in assisting our forces." Riov Galan Cretak said. His uniform was dirty, torn and ripped near his right shoulder. Green blood slowly oozed from a puncture but the Riov did not seem perturbed. At this sides, two Remans who looked relatively untouched and a wide eyed Engineer who seemed to never had the pleasure of working in the ship's bridge.

"Understood Riov" The response was immediate as the communication officer carried out her orders.

Riov Galan Cretak moved deeper into the bridge and came to a stop before the command chair of his subordinate. "Hanaj..." He paused for a moment, his head turning as he glanced at the view screen. The ravaged skeleton of the Saeihr observed for a moment before his attention focused on the Erei-riov. "I am certain that you made the best of the situation given to you, but I am assuming control."

Erei-riov nodded his head and said nothing as Galan made his way to his command dais and sat down. A moment later, and a host of holograms orbited him providing him a host of information pertaining to the status of the S'harien as well as the situation around the Warbird.

"Riov, the Riskadh is sending forces to board the Saeihr." The sensor officer said.

"As expected. What can we provide to assist in that effort?" the Riov asked.

"Little Riov. Two of our shuttles have disabled drives and are being towed by the USS Scylla. Two other shuttles are struggling with imminent shield failure and are being tractor beamed into the S'harien as we speak. One of our shuttles was destroyed outright. That lives three shuttles which are capable of operations at this time." The communication officer responded.

"The three available shuttles are loaded with personnel?"

"Yes Riov. Erei-riov specified that the shuttles be fully loaded for boarding operations."

Riov Galan Cretak glanced towards Erei-Riov Dar and offered a small smile. "Good. Relay new orders to the shuttles. They are to support the Klingon boarding actions."

"Support them Riov? We should be leading them." His tactical officer said.

"I would prefer that yes but given that over half our shuttles are unable to participate due to various reasons and there is no way we are going to make it to the Saeihr before the Klingons, it seems that a supporting role is all that we can do at this time." He said pragmatically.

"Understood." The tactical officer responded a moment later. If he had any concerns, he would bring them up to the Riov privately.

"I want a deck by deck sweep of the S'harien looking for the delegation that was assigned to us as we negotiated with Shodar Tyran. I want these men found." He ordered, a handful of a seconds later the order was carried out throughout the ship as Reman and Romulan forces began the slow process of searching.

A message came from the Gilgamesh and Riov Cretak frowned slightly when he read it. His left hand moved in a familiar gesture and a channel was opened to the Gilgamesh. "It's good to know you and your ship are safe Solheim. Be careful on your hunt, the S'harien is in position to offer assistance at this time." He went silent then and politely closed the channel.

"Message from the Argonaut Riov." His communication officer said.

"Patch it through to me." Riov Galan Cretak answered. A moment later, he spoke. "Argonaut, this is Riov Galan Cretak. I am as of this moment unaware of the location of Commander Kalpov. I lost track of him when the betrayal in the umbilical took place. I have tasked my forces to finding him. I will send you an update as soon as I have it." He waited for a response and then politely closed the channel.

Where are you Kalpov?

[General Havoc]

The freighter was a complete mess, in every possible way that a ship could be. The raging battle had sundered plasma conduits, warped and breached bulkheads, left bodies littering the decks, and knots of armed men continued to struggle with one another using weapons that ranged from improvised knives to plasma welding torches to crew-serviced solid state disruptor beam emitters.

The advent of a hundred-odd Federation and Gorn marines was a complication that nobody present had apparently considered, and the responses they received to their requests to surrender were varied. Most of the former prisoners, and even some of the Orions, complied with the insistence, after more or less hesitation to ascertain just who these newcomers were. Others tried to flee into the bowels of the ship, of which perhaps half made it out of sight before one of the marines could stun them with a shot to the back.

Inevitably however, some of the fighters chose to fight. At least four dozen prisoners attacked the Federation troops by what appeared to be accident, mistaking them in a flash of misidentification for more Orions or some other hostile force. Most of these attacks were momentary and harmless, a shot fired wildly at a target glimpsed out of the corner of an eye, or a pipe swung at the head of a Gorn marine who knew all too well how to evade such a strike. Some were not so harmless. A seasoned Gorn Master Sergeant was shot in the throat and killed instantly by a one-in-a-million disruptor shot fired by a terrified Cardassian teenager barricaded behind empty crates in the middle of a corridor, who started firing with reckless abandon at everything that came nearby until someone managed to stun him.

The Orions were far more inclined to get hostile, and open firefights broke out at several points where the pirates, surmising from all that had transpired that they were to receive no mercy, sold their lives as dearly as they could with rifles, grenades, and weapons even more outlandish. One hulking Orion, crazed and out of his mind on some hallucinogen or narcotic, sprang at the Federation force from behind a hidden passageway, beheading one of the Federation officers with an Orion razorsteel sword and badly wounding the Gorn marine behind her before behind brought down by the marine's phaser shot, a stun blast at such point blank range that it proved fatal. Others opened fire with disruptors or lobbed fragmentation grenades and bolted around corridors, though not enough to prevent the task force's approach to the bridge.

Cardassian freighters had a lengthy corridor up which one had to move to reach the bridge of the ship, with few other access points beyond that one and none that were immediately detectable on short notice. The ships were built this way specifically to isolate the bridge in case of explosion, fire, or mutiny, and worked well for these purposes. Once on the bridge, the Federation forces would be able to do as they wished to the rest of the ship.

Unfortunately, they were not the only ones attempting to do so. Near the end of the fifteen-meter-wide passageway that lead to the bridge, the Federation forces ran straight into a disaster.

The bulkheads in front of them suddenly collapsed, withdrawing into the floor to reveal a firing line of two dozen Orions ensconced behind various forms of cover and wielding weapons that liked like they were designed to kill the entire population of a small planet. These Orions had seen what the Federation thought of their line of work, seen their fellows vaporized and torn apart in a burst of violence greater than anything they could put on display. They did not attempt to talk or even shout cries of revenge. They simply fired.

Twenty-three Orions fired at once into the leading ranks of the Federation force with a variety of rifles and underslung grenade launchers dispensing waves of lethal fragments in every direction. Three of the Orions had Nano-lathes, whiplashing beams of charged protons capable of simply slicing a man in half. But worst of all was a swivel-mounted weapon, a weapon that had no business being aboard any ship, crudely bolted to the deck. Crew-serviced, cooled by a liquid helium feed that ran from a conduit below it, it was a Solid-state Disruptor, the nearest thing in the galaxy to a classical Death Ray, a weapon capable of projecting a solid beam of energy that could be swept across a field of fire, vaporizing everything it so much as touched. Fitted with a duranium shield to protect its operators, it was clearly some kind of terror weapon installed to ensure that the slaves aboard ship could not burst into the bridge, and more than capable of ensuring that interlopers from other races would be equally stymied.

[Charon]

The Barbarossa
Captain's Room

Hizir sat down in one of the chairs, still favoring his side from being thrown across a hallway. Danava looked even worse, several purplish bruises already swelling across her body. Thanks to being a Romulan, Khoal looked the best of the bunch. Each took a seat quietly and for several seconds there was nothing but silence.

Eventually, Hizir opened a nearby cupboard and pulled out three glasses and a bottle of synthesized Romulan ale, pouring a glass for each of them. The human slid one glass to each of his subordinates before he picked up his own.

"We need options. And we need to know what the hell happened. Khoal?"

The Romulan sipped briefly at the cup. "One of the slave ships started a riot which the Orions attempted to put down. The Klingons prepped weapons and moved in on the situation and matters got rather tense, I moved to support the Klingons and that is when I requested your presence on the bridge." Khoal sighed and took a deeper drought on his drink. "After that, the slaves got their hands on the communcations relay and sent a distress beacon, the Immortal opened fire on the Orions in response. I fired in support of the fleet, and after that everything exploded. We had Borg signals for a second, there were Tricobalts being fired by the tender. The whole damn thing was a mess. I'm not sure what the Immortal was thinking exactly. But I'd guess their morals and itchy trigger fingers got the better of them."

Hizir sighed and finished his drink in one gulp. "Fucking Federation. We're stuck in a life or death struggle with the Borg and they go picking fights with non-Borg. Get me a full report. What are our options?"

Danava smirked. "I could take command of the surviving Orion fleet."

Hizir turned his eyes on Danava, obviously not finding this as amusing as she was. "Unlikely to work, though they'd prefer us to the rest of this fleet no doubt. We'll see what happens. Could be large enough that we could take Tyran's place as rulers of the roost. That wouldn't be so bad."

Khoal frowned. "But with repairs we wouldn't be able to make it to Bajor most likely."

Hizir sighed and refilled his cup. "True. Do we stay with this fleet?"

That quieted down both subordinates as Hizir carefully took another swig from his glass.

Khoal looked down at his cup, and it was Danava who spoke first. "They are a powerful fleet. With them, we might stand a chance of survival. Without them... even I don't like our chances."

Hizir sighed. "True. But this incident makes me... uncomfortable, about the leadership of Anderson and the Immortal."

Both the Romulan and the Orion nodded at this. Khoal spoke up now. "We should call a meeting between captains and bring that up. We might find support in replacing Anderson."

Danava smirked. "Or we could just take him out."

Hizir shook his head. "No. We need the support of the fleet in this. Without that we'd be destroyed even worse than Tyran was just now. I will bring this matter up with some of the other captains, see if we can't bring it to a vote."

Khoal finished his cup. "And if they don't support the move?"

Hizir looked down into his cup, thinking hard. But for now, he had no response.

[rhoenix]

U.S.S. Gilgamesh
"Badlands" Sector
Bridge

As the two Birds of Prey fled into the deeper plasma storms, the Gilgamesh ceased its wild maneuvering, tracking the pirate ships as best the ship could with the sensor array it had.

"Tactical, I need a spread of probes into that area to find our two running Birds," Captain Solheim said, his finger on his chin in thought. "We need them found before we leave this place."

Rapidly entering commands into his console, Lieutenant Adranis spoke up a few moments later. "Captain, optimal firing vectors for the probes have been calculated. Ten Class-3 probes are ready to launch on your command, Captain."

There was a small pause before Captain Solheim replied; he was still getting used to proper military protocol, even in the heat of battle - or the Badlands, as the case may be. "Good work, Lieutenant - launch the probes."

With that, ten shielded class-3 probes, a probe designed to be very difficult to detect under the best of circumstances, sped quietly into the fires of the Badlands.

It was then that Riov Cretak's message was received, and wordlessly patched through to the command chair for Captain Solheim. He smirked as he read it, and then returned his attention to the tactical viewer, waiting for red dots to appear within it before glancing back to his datapad.

He swiftly crafted a reply to the skipper of the S'harien. "I am glad you are well, old friend. Bird hunting is both amusing and irritating in the Badlands."

Action: Firing 10 class-3 probes in a 180 degree arc forward from the ship to locate hidden Birds of Prey.

[White Haven]

As seconds stretched into minutes, a frown spread across Leyton's face, grey eyebrows sliding together like storm clouds. His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair several times before he realized it and forced them to stop. His eyes kept wandering about the bridge, keeping en eye on the crew, then looking back at the tactical plot displayed on one of the jerry-rigged screens surrounding him. At some point or another during each round, his eyes locked on Vigilance's icon, his frown deepening slightly every time it fails to be where it should. Finally, he calls out, "Open a channel to the squadron tacnet."

"Channel open, sir."

"Scylla to squadron. The tender is still only partially shielded and Humboldt's efforts can't keep the storms at bay forever. A full shield envelope will require another cruiser-class vessel on the far side of the hulk to properly establish. Vigilance seems...busy, if one of you fine gentlemen could oblige. Scylla clear."

The andorian engineer next to him attempted to conceal a chuckle of her own, one that Leyton answered with a sheepish grin. He shrugged and murmured back, "So I'm a bit irritated..."

After another moment, he looked away and said, "Open a channel with Riskadh and S'harien, please."

"Riskadh and S'harien, this is Scylla. I understand both of you are participating in boarding operations against the hulk. My engineers advise me that repair may not be practical, but that's a consideration for the future. More immediately, disarmament should be our primary concern, just in case anyone gets any foolish ideas. Accordingly, I have salvage teams on standby. Please signal when you have secured a weapon mount or especially a torpedo magazine and my teams will beam in behind you and begin stripping it. Additionally, S'harien, you are most welcome, and I will have your shuttles aboard shortly. I'd rather not beam your people through a plasma storm but if you'd like them back sooner rather than later, Scylla is tractor-locked to the hulk at the moment and has at least part of it under shields. Just say the word and we'll transport them to your positions as you board. Scylla clear."

Another, deeper frown flashed across the 'captain's' face, one of concern rather than annoyance. "Lesschey."

His first officer looked over, her own frown mirroring Leyton's within a moment of seeing it.

"The tender's under our shields and we're going to be performing beaming operations, so transport inhibitors aren't an option."

Her eyes widened sharply as she ran through the same implications that he had just worked out. After a few seconds, she spoke softly in response, leaning inwards, "Plans?"

"Unless you have some sort of a magic-bullet solution, we're just going to have to arm for it."

A lopsided smile flickered across blue-skinned lips, "No magic bullets, beans, musical instruments, or other miraculous gizmos." With that, she straightened up and keyed up the shipwide intercom system. Her voice, slightly accented as she refused to use the universal translator when not strictly necessary, rang throughout the vessel.

"This is Commander zh'Rethan. All security teams and all A-ranked auxiliaries not already assigned to other duties, draw full weapon loads and prepare for possible hostile boarders. Non-borg, this lot should stay down when you shoot them."

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant
IRW S'harien, Bridge

Riov Galan Cretak frowned as he processed the multitude of data which his command dais was presenting to him through a series of seemingly never ending holograms. His left hand moved slightly, his gestures dismissing some holograms while recalling others to the forefront. His right arm moved, his right index finger touching a familiar glyph which opened a channel directly to main engineering.

"Arrain Velal, when am I getting my shields back?" He asked gently. He could only imagine the stress being placed on the men and women of engineering. Arrain Velal would be at the heart of that maelstrom. There would be nothing gained in questioning her competence, she had proven herself a thousand fold.

"We are working on it Riov. This is a unique experience with an unusual set of circumstances. I assure you that as soon as the shields are back online, you will be the first to know about it." The reply was terse.

"Understood Arrain." He said and closed the line. He gained nothing in pressing the issue. He had little doubt that Arrain Velal understood that without shields, and the Saeihr unable to provide refuge due to its own precarious circumstances the S'harien would not last long without protection from the plasma storms that surrounded them. His frowned deepened as he gestured and a new hologram became available. Reman and Romulan forces had swept the three decks above and below the umbilical and had not found Kalpov. The other members of the delegation were accounted for but Kalpov was still missing.

"Sensors, when was the last time that we had a lock on Commander Kalpov?" He asked without warning.

"Riov? Standby." His sensor officer replied before going silent for a handful of seconds. "Available data indicates that we lost lock when the Umbilical was severed."

"Was he transported elsewhere?" the Riov asked.

"There is no data indicating that Commander Kalpov was transported Riov. Not everyone was able to be transported, we had assumed that he made it out of the umbilical like the others."

Riov Galan Cretak blinked. "And if he did not?"

"He would have been..." The sensor officer's eyes widened. "He would have been swept out into space."

Galan Cretak nearly flinched. "I want a series of focused pulses around the S'harien. I know it will be challenging but do the best you can Arrain." He did not need to clarify his order. The sensor officer knew what they would be looking for.

"Riov. The USS Humboldt is adjusting course. It is moving in our direction."

"Collision course?" The Riov asked.

"Negative." The sensor officer responded.

"What are they up to." Galan Cretak mused. "On screen."

Galan's eyes focused on the main screen as the image of the USS Humboldt came to view. A few moments later, it became apparent that the little Federation ship had a task in mind. The Federation ship moved ever closer to the S'harien itself showing little trepidation at the disparity in size and power between the vessels. The situation was far from cut and dry however. The S'harien was still in the process of re-routing power towards key systems capable of providing only token resistance. The USS Humboldt was still fully armed and powered. It was then that the Federation ship decided to tilt the odds a bit more towards the Romulan Warbird's favor.

"The Federation ship is generating a power field of significant strength Riov!" His tactical officer stated a bit more excitedly than perhaps he intended.

Cretak's eyes focused on the main view screen when the USS Humboldt generated its magnetic field around the S'harien. The Warbird barely shuddered as the energy encompassed it.

"The Humboldt is generating a magnetic field around us." The sensor officer stated the purpose for such a field clear.

The frown that had threatened to become a permanent feature in the face of the Romulan Riov faded. He hoped that Arrain Velal used the time the Humboldt was giving them wisely. His head turned and he glanced towards his communication officer. "Open a channel to the Humboldt. Tell them that their actions are appreciated and that we will owe them one."

The communication officer nodded and immediately began to carry out her task. "Status on our troops?" Galan Cretak asked.

"They have arrived on the Saeihr. They are coordinating with the Klingons already on board."

"Good."

"Incoming message from the Scylla." His communication officer said before patching the message.

Riov Galan Cretak listened to the message and nodded. "Acknowledge receiving of the message and indicate that we will relay new orders to our forces in the Saeihr. Make a copy of the relevant request and forward it to the Riskadh." He had little doubt that the Riskadh had managed to disgorge more troops into the Saeihr than his own ship could. The Klingon Empire had been well known for their penchant for boarding action and he had little doubt that Kadon wanted to restock his stockpile of tricobalt torpedoes from the stock of the Romulan Fleet Tender.

It was with that thought in mind that the message from Captain Solheim floated to the top of the several holograms which now orbited before him. He hesitated for a moment before crafting a quick reply through an encrypted channel.

"Be wary when hunting Bloodwings in their lairs. S'harien still unable to offer aid."

[Comrade Tortoise]

Bridge, USS Humboldt

"Captain" a calm steady voice drifted over from the science officer "Weapons and auxilliary power are drained, phasers taken offline, engine power has been diverted to the magnetic field while engines are repaired. Engineering informs me that they can keep the power relays and energy projectors in the deflector cool for another thirty minutes before the field will have to be de-activated to permit cooling."

"Acknowledged." T'Lorn replied, before pressing his comm badge. "Engineering, Status on engines?"

Lt. Cmdr Turrell responded back "Repairs are going apace, we should have engines back online in approximately three minutes.

"Do you have personnel to spare to assist the S'harien?"

"Yes sir, we have some shield system specialists who have not been put on other tasks."

"Alright. Have them prep for launch in the shuttle bay, we may need to give the S'harien some technical assistance."

"Yes sir. Engineering out."

A message flashed on his console from the S'harien, thanking them and letting them know that a favor was owed. T'Lorn filed that away as useful information, and admittedly, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he was pleased to have helped.

"Communications, open a channel to the S'harien, let them know that we can maintain the field for half an hour, and if they wish, we can send two technical crews to assist in repairs. Also signal the USS Empyrean, asking them if they can assist once our own time limit has expired."

"They are currently performing sensor duty for the Gilgamesh, engaged with two birds of prey."

"I see. Science, if you would be so kind as to direct our two probes toward that location, with instructions to relay their telemetry into the fleet tactical network should it become necessary"

"Acknowledged"

[LadyTevar]

As the Scylla put out its reminder about shielding, the USS Spectre ghosted out of the rear of the squadron, moving on slow impulse. Like the other ships, the Akira-class drifted close to the tender and shared what shields she could spare.

[Hotfoot]

Alpha Quadrant
Badlands
Empyrean Bridge

The Empyrean moved at good speed to reinforce the Gilgamesh, its sensors sweeping through the currents of plasma for the nominally stealthy birds of prey. Communications opened up a secure data link with the Gilgamesh to share sensor and targeting data. The Empyrean’s beam arrays, long since modified during its long trek through the stars, hummed with life as they searched for targets. Photon Torpedoes loaded in the fore and aft launchers, ready to fill the void with even more chaos and annihilation. All the while, injured from the civilian ships were being searched for with secondary scans for when the threats were dealt with. Taking position between the civilian ships and the Gilgamesh as it flew about, it simply waited for the right moment to unleash its own form of hell.

A simple message came from the Empyrean. “This is Commander Stone of the U.S.S. Empyrean. Surrender now or be destroyed. This is your only warning.â€

[rhoenix]

U.S.S. Gilgamesh
Bridge
"Badlands" sector

"Sir," Swift spoke up, "we're receiving full telemetry data from the Empyrean. Should I patch in a link to them for the probes?"

A small smile appeared on Captain Solheim's face as he heard Lieutenant-Commander Nevola's suggestion. "Get it done. It's the least we can do in return."

There was only a small pause before Swift spoke up once more. "Link established via tight-beam comm, sir. Once our eyes see the birds, so will the Empyrean."

"Good word, Swift," Captain Solheim replied. He saw Commander Inzeti raising an eyebrow out of the corner of his eye, and cleared his throat once. "I mean, Lieutenant."

There was a stifled laugh from someone on the bridge, but nobody was quite sure who it was from. Captain Solheim rolled his eyes at this. "Yes, yuk it up on your off time all you want," he said with a small degree of sarcasm. "We're going to be encountering actual brass here soon, and we have to be a real crew before then. Got it?"

There was a quiet chorus of "aye"s from those on the bridge, more or less in sync. To this, Captain Solheim nodded once in satisfaction. "That's better. You all know your jobs very well - we all just have to play the role. Now - let's hunt us some Birds."

Action:Connecting Empyrean to probe feed data. Maintaining defensive patrol of civilian freighters and Empyrean.

[General Havoc]

The barrage of shielded probes picked up one signal almost immediately, of a size and configuration that almost guaranteed it was a Bird of Prey. The signal was strong and well fixed, triangulated from at least six of the probes.

Indeed, that was something of the problem.

Type X probes were reasonably stealthy, but the active sensor pulses they emitted were not, and with so many signals emerging from the same area, the Bird of Prey's own targeting computers had no difficulty ascertaining what general direction they had come from. As such, almost as soon as Gilgamesh's sensors detected the Bird of Prey, they saw it come about at high speed and streak towards the Federation destroyer. Unable to fire torpedoes from within the plasma without having them detonate almost instantly, it closed towards Disruptor range, clearly intending no good.

The probes did not pick up the other Bird, but they did not need to, for the Empyrean's arrival drastically increased the sensor capacity of the Federation forces in the area, and to her, the plasma storm was no more than mild interference. The second Bird of Prey was spotted directly below the Gilgamesh, lining up for her own attack run, still too far away to fire disruptors effectively.

And whether because the plasma interfered with the transmission, or because the ships' crews had no intention of heeding the warning, neither ship so much as bothered to respond to Emyprean's demand for surrender.

*----------------------------------------------------------*

S'harien floated unprotected in space, but not for long. Humbolt's magnetic field was thrown up just in time to prevent an ugly tongue of plasma from melting a hole the size of a house through the battlecruiser's wing. Between Humbolt and Spector, they managed to keep the plasma at bay, albeit temporarily. It would take a cruiser to fully repel the plasma fires permanently, and most of the cruisers were too damaged themselves to tend to such matters. However, with two ships supporting the S'harien already, even a cruiser with damaged shields could top off the rest. So it was that the Argonaut limped slowly over to the Romulan cruiser, her maneuvering thrusters nestling the ship up alongside her newer and more dangerous Romulan counterpart, before deploying her own shield generators to complete the process that Humbolt and Spector had begun. Between the three, the plasma storms could be kept at bay against all but the most vanishingly impossible contingency.

Meanwhile, aboard the broken Avenger, crews from Klingon, Romulan, and Starfleet ships poured over the vessel with impunity. Though the sheer size of the vessel precluded complete occupation, at least not without thousands of men deployed, resistance, by any definition, was non-existent. Most of the crews were hardpressed to find Orions still standing aboard the ship, let alone in any condition or mindset to fight back. Beaten and finally subdued once and for all, Avenger was theirs for the taking, in pieces or en mass.

*---------------------------------------------------------*

The sensor pulses from S'harien found many things, almost too many. The debris from the late battle was floating all about them, and despite the periodic lashings of plasma storms, most of it had not yet been cleaned out. Bits of duranium, scored by dozens of different weapons, diffuse plasma from weapons, torpedo casings, and all the other bits of debris one commonly found in the aftermath of great battles. Organic matter there was too, some of it in the form of whole bodies, most of it loose molecules of blood or tissue cast loose from some unfortunate soul aboard one ship or another.

Still, for one who knew what they were looking for, there was something...

It was as faint as a trail could be while still being detectable at all, a trail literally comprised of molecules, but molecules of a very specific type, or rather of no type whatsoever. Even in the depths of space, loose morphagenic compounds tended to stand out, if only because of the oddity of something that would give a signal of beryllium one second, and gold the next.

The trail led off into space, from S'harien out through the plasma storm, and away towards nothing in particular. Yet before it could go too far, it terminated abruptly, as though whatever had left the trail had simply vanished.

However, one minor fact was perhaps key here. The very point that the trail ended, was the one where it intersected the impulse wake of a Federation science ship, now currently speeding to the assistance of the USS Gilgamesh.

*---------------------------------------------------------------*

The process was slow, as might be expected with a creature still under stasis effect, but it wasn't long before the combined efforts of the nutrient paste and the dermal regenerators took effect. The mass of organic matter quivered, then moved, then moved with what would have no doubt been violent thrashings had the stasis field not been in place. When finally the changeling obtained enough awareness to switch forms, then things became complicated.

What was known of Changeling physio-psychology was relatively small, but theories had long abounded concerning the nature of Changeling "solid" forms. Changelings, without actual defined features, could obviously appear to be whatever they wanted, and yet most appeared, when not actively mimicking another being, as sunken-eyed hollow men, unsettling to behold even for those unacquainted with the finer points of Changeling capabilities or history. Most running speculations were that the featureless blanks of a changeling's "natural" state were simply a neutral point, requiring no real effort to maintain beyond the bare minimum necessary for a solid form. They were, in essence, the changeling equivalent of an semi-conscious act such as walking or breathing, more advanced than a puddle of liquid, yet so familiar as to present no actual need for maintenance.

All of this was conjecture of course, as nobody had ever really interviewed a Changeling on the matter. But if another default form was what the Federation officers expected to see, then one could imagine their surprise.

The changeling's form expanded, its gold color muted to dirty bronze, no doubt from all the trauma it had undergone. Slowly, it adopted a humanoid form, its surface churning and boiling as it ironed out the details. And yet when finally it reverted its coloration and surface to a simulacrum of a solid object, the form it had chosen was no featureless default.

Indeed it was someone that Captain DuBois had already met.

Commander Ivan Kalpov opened his eyes, took a careful, slow breath, and only then did he seem to recognize that his surroundings were not those that he had expected to encounter. Blinking in confusion, it visibly took him several moments to orient himself. Only after some time had passed did he even notice that there was anyone else in the room, right about the same moment that he realized that he was locked behind a forcefield in a foreign medical bay, and that therefore the situation was about to get exceedingly complicated.

The phaser and comm badge on the table told all the story necessary. And it was far too late to shift to another form. Commander Ivan Kalpov took one more look around the room, turned to Captain DuBois, and in a voice that sounded horrible yet reasonable intelligible (not bad all things considered), asked the only question imaginable.

"What happened?"

[frigidmagi]

Twenty-three Orions fired at once into the leading ranks of the Federation force with a variety of rifles and underslung grenade launchers dispensing waves of lethal fragments in every direction. Three of the Orions had Nano-lathes, whiplashing beams of charged protons capable of simply slicing a man in half. But worst of all was a swivel-mounted weapon, a weapon that had no business being aboard any ship, crudely bolted to the deck. Crew-serviced, cooled by a liquid helium feed that ran from a conduit below it, it was a Solid-state Disruptor, the nearest thing in the galaxy to a classical Death Ray, a weapon capable of projecting a solid beam of energy that could be swept across a field of fire, vaporizing everything it so much as touched. Fitted with a duranium shield to protect its operators, it was clearly some kind of terror weapon installed to ensure that the slaves aboard ship could not burst into the bridge, and more than capable of ensuring that interlopers from other races would be equally stymied.

"Grenades! I need Grenade Launchers to the front." Lt Summers cried from behind a corner. Behind him a wounded Gorn groaned having been dragged from the ambush site. The Company had been more then decimated, going from some 90 some odd effective to under 70 in moments. He blind fired his phaser around the corner as the medic labored on the few wounded. They were vastly outnumbered by the dead.

"Com, call the ship, tell them we're gonna need 2nd company to secure the ship, we've run into heavy weapons. Who's got flash?" He asked. A young Tellornian eased up next to him holding an innocent looking tube. A pair of Gorn also appeared holding blocky grenade launchers.

"Awesome. Here's what we're gonna do men. You two fire off a round around the corner, and then you roll the flash grenade out. When it goes off we give them hell. Don't worry about prisoners boys. We got a ship full." Everyone around him nodded. He moved from the corner and the two Gorn came up, one took a knee and the other towered over him, getting ready to lean the launcher out.

"Alright, in 3. 1... 2... 3!" Summer counted off. The two grenade launchers coughed their rounds off and the young Tellornian chucked the flashbang around the corner and everyone closed their eyes against the flash.

"Go! Go! Go! Full Suppressive Fire!" Summers cried and they charged phasers blazing.

[Cynical Cat]

The air was heavy with smoke and ozone as the Klingon Marines entered. Corporal Moreth kicked an Orion corpse in the ribs to make sure he was dead. Ribs broke like glass from the impact of his boot. "Dead."

"Dead," said a Klingon standing by another corpse.

"Dead," said another, standing over a small pile of smoking debris on the deck.

"Dead."

The tricorders had already confirmed that, but there were ways of fooling them. Moreth activated his communicator. "Tricobalt magazine secured. There was some resistance. No casualties, all targets terminated."

"Secure the section and hold," came Lieutenant Merrik's reply. "Combat engineers will be on their way."

"Yes sir," replied Moreth. It had been easy work. Only at the last had they encountered any resistance. He knew that other teams would be securing the tender's remaining weapons and that most of them wouldn't encounter a fight worth worrying about.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Menmoth disembarked from the Romulan assault shuttle. He had only partially overheard how Morizan had managed to talk his men aboard and was fairly sure that the Romulan's orders to cooperate with and reinforce the Klingon Marines had more to do with their success than Morizan's persuasive qualities. Mostly sure.

The Romulans had deployed with the professionalism, skill, and elan that had earned them the grudging respect of countless enemies and the whole hearted respect of Menmoth. The were a warrior people, more inclined to run cold than hot, with a fierce devotion to duty and skills honed to a razor edge.

They are different, but in many ways so like us, thought Menmoth. Where else can a Klingon find a worthy enemy who is not ashamed to possess a warrior soul? These may be our last days, but with such companions they will be glorious! He activated his com badge and tapped in the IKM combat frequencies. "This is Force Leader Menmoth arriving on the Romulan Tender with a force of Imperial Romulan Marines. Coordinate actions with local Romulan forces. Report status."

His soldiers had been among the finest in the Komerex. He did not think there was a nut they could not crack, but if there was any resistance the addition of these Romulans would swiftly turn the tide.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Captain," said Aaveroke. "Communications from the Scylla."

"Put it through zan Aaveroke," replied Kadon.

"Riskadh and S'harien, this is Scylla. I understand both of you are participating in boarding operations against the hulk. My engineers advise me that repair may not be practical, but that's a consideration for the future. More immediately, disarmament should be our primary concern, just in case anyone gets any foolish ideas. Accordingly, I have salvage teams on standby. Please signal when you have secured a weapon mount or especially a torpedo magazine and my teams will beam in behind you and begin stripping it. Additionally, S'harien, you are most welcome, and I will have your shuttles aboard shortly. I'd rather not beam your people through a plasma storm but if you'd like them back sooner rather than later, Scylla is tractor-locked to the hulk at the moment and has at least part of it under shields. Just say the word and we'll transport them to your positions as you board. Scylla clear."


"Our holds are already nearly full," said Arikel.

"And they are one federazhon vessel that did not disobey orders and hit us with torpedoes," said Kallor.

"Noted," said Kadon. "Aaveroke, inform Scylla that our warriors have encountered minimal resistance and have secured the tricobalt launchers and the Breen weapon. They may deploy teams when ready."

[White Haven]

USS Scylla
Badlands
Tractor-locked to wrecked tender

"The Tricobalts and that hellacious Breen whatsit? Can't say the Klingons don't have their priorities straight." Leyton chuckled dryly and shook his head back and forth, "Alright, Lesschey, that's your cue. Let me know if you need actual tactical teams, but I doubt you will. Klingons tend to be...thorough." A chuckle rippled around the bridge at that degree of understatement, teeth flashing here and there in predatory grins. Leyton's Andorian XO wasn't one of them; she was busy tapping in commands and calling terse orders through the ship's comm system.

One particularly important signal was not to Scylla's crew, but to the squadron at large. A female voice, one with an odd accent that might be recognizable as an Andorian one to anyone intimately familiar with the species, came on the squadron tactical network.

"Scylla, Commander zh'Rethan, executive officer. Expect torpedo release from tender's tricobalt launcher in the near future. These torpedos will be disarmed. Any torpedo with a live engine or a torpedo launched from a battery that we do not designate should be presumed hostile. Scylla clear."
_____________

Wrecked-as-shit tender
Tricobalt torpedo emplacement

Typical Starfleet doctrine when beaming down an away team is to use between four and six transporter pads at once, uncoincidentally the number of pads in a single regulation transporter room. Scylla, for her sins, had many, and many engineers to tinker with them. Granted, they still tended to deploy in teams of four to six, but the silver-blue shimmers in the air appeared in multiple concurrent clusters. The first team to arrive carried no tools, instead made up of armed engineers performing what in any normal crew would be Security's job. At first glance, they and the followup teams appeared armoured, and indeed, their gear was durable enough. A glance at their helmets, however, made it clear that these were, instead, up-armored EVA suits rather than true body armour.

The armed team fanned out to secure the compartment, almost making the mistake of pointing weapons at the Klingon marines before deflecting them off-angle. One figure with a lieutenant's rank insignia detailed on the collar of his vac-suit stepped forwards, nodding curtly to the marines. He started to speak, them grimaced and hit a control on the wrist of his suit and started to speak again, this time with the external speaker active. Behind him, the engineering teams began to spread out and get to work.

"Lieutenant Kincaid, USS Scylla. We're here to strip this magazine and mount down, and we're going to be doing it quickly. I recommend that you clear the compartment; we'll seal up after you. We don't have the time to do this by the book, so once Lieutenant zh'Ulthor's team has the torps themselves dealt with we're just going to breach the hull and start chopping bits off for Scylla to tractor in. If the skipper's wrong and we can salvage her, eh, we can always put things back where we found them, but he's not wrong often."

Even as the armed engineer spoke, the other teams had already begun disabling the arming mechanisms of the deadly torpedoes. Each torpedo that was disabled was simply cycled through the launch mechanism and kicked out into space cold, to be snagged by the low-intensity tractor beam focused on the torpedo emplacement.
____________

Wrecked-as-shit tender
Breen weapon emplacement

The teams that beamed over to the Breen weapons emplacement had, obviously, a trickier job. No standard technology to work with, no munitions to disarm and stea--salvage. Here, they'd have to stay put for a while, mapping out the system, figure out the best way to disable the system quickly, then the best way to dismount and salvage the weapon without damaging it beyond repair. Accordingly, the team was much larger and contained a larger proportion of auxiliaries. Here, too, the overstaffed engineering department of the Scylla bore fruit.

Several suited figures began setting up portable force-field generators over the entrances and covering a few fallback positions. The teams came bearing improvised heavy weapons, sometimes overcharged phasers with bulky coolant systems and powerpacks, sometimes scratch-built grenade launchers, and sometimes other, less readily-identifiable implements of questionable destruction. The Andorian officer in charge of the defense team made his way over to the Klingon marine party while the rest of his teams were still busy setting up defenses, nodding seriously and keying his suit's external speakers.

"Lieutenant Ch'Roshen, USS Scylla. My people are going to be here for a while figuring this thing out if we want to make anything useful of it. We should be able to handle ourselves, but try to let us know if you spot any trouble coming our way if you could."

[rhoenix]

U.S.S. Gilgamesh
"Badlands" area

The two Birds of Prey revealed themselves soon; the probes revealing one, and the Empyrean tracking the other with contemptuous ease.

Several things happened rapidly and in sequence as soon as the contacts were confirmed. First, telemetry data was synchronized between the Empyrean and the Gilgamesh.

Second, a total of four torpedoes were fired in rapid succession, firing forward for a short distance and then gracefully - ominously - arced downward as they gathered speed, all of them aimed at the Bird of Prey below the compact Federation destroyer. Two of the torpedoes were the angry reddish-orange of photon torpedoes, with the other two appearing a far more ominous and ghostly green that could only be phased plasma torpedoes.

Thirdly, the Gilgamesh dove suddenly at the Bird of Prey below it, rapidly accelerating to maximum sublight speed, darting unpredictably in its attack run. The Federation destroyer followed after the two orange and two ghostly green torpedoes aimed at this particular Bird of Prey like a starving wolf borne of the worst circle of hell, her phaser cannons at full charge, ready to unleash a burning torrent of destruction the instant that Bird of Prey was within range.