Star Trek: The Quadratic War

[Lys]

The bridge was dark, everything shut off, and only the emergency lighting to give off a pale reddish glow. The light diffused through something like fog or smoke that hung in the air, obscuring everything behind a hazy veil. Riov Charvanek stumbled through the darkness, alone and afraid. Everyone was gone, there was nothing here, why was she there? Something was stalking her through the darkness. She could see it from the corner of her eyes, a silent shadow moving with machine-like precision, but it was gone whenever she turned to face it. "Show yourself, damn you!" she called out, but her voice drowned in the muggy air. Ishtar felt it step behind her, and she turned around to see a Borg Drone breathing down on her. She tried to steel herself, to meet her end standing, but a moment later she recognized Denkara's face and her legs buckled. The Drone caught her with one arm, and the other raised up its nanoprobe injectors, bearing them down on the Rihannsu's neck. There was pain, exquisite indescribably agonizing pain, like a million needles piercing her body, like fire and broken glass rushing through her veins. Such pain!

Ishtar Charvanek woke with a start, quickly preparing to throw her covers on an attacker while reaching for her stiletto. A moment later, hand already around the grip, her eyes focused on Nerio's face and she stopped herself. The younger woman was holding a triple-dose detox hypo, and looking down on her with something vaguely like concern. The agony of a forced detoxification was still there, but fading quickly, and a moment later it was gone. The Riov's eyes asked an obvious question.

"You're wanted on the bridge," said Nerio.

"I told you not to wake me up with that thing unless it's an emergency," retorted Ishtar sourly.

"Two of your drinking partners had to be treated for severe alcohol poisoning last shift, three more took sick. Doc was... let's say annoyed."

"Oh, so it's Doctor's orders. You can tell that old bone bag that I'll quit drinking when the Borg get me."

The girl giggled at that, amused as always by the Riov's surliness. The older woman smiled as she eased herself out of bed, "I'll dress myself. Await me outside the bridge, dismissed."

Nerio saluted and stepped out of the room, and Ishtar's smile vanished once the door closed. Her thoughts wandered back to the dream as she put on her uniform. Why do you stalk me my mind and my dreams Denka? Your body rests with the naked stars, and yet you come back. Why? I've killed dearer friends and better lovers, even family, my own blood spilled by my own hand. None of them haunted me like you do. Tell me why.

No response, her room and mind were both dead silent in expectation. After a moment, Isthar realized she was holding her breath, and let it out in a long sigh. "I need a drink," she muttered, stepping outside.

In moments, Riov Charvanek entered the bridge, her bodyguard Nerio following close behind. "Report!" she ordered. The main tactical display showed everything relevant about Khanjar's status, but a short briefing was customary to ensure nothing important was overlooked.

Captain Mirai was officer of the deck, "We are running cloaked, shields down, coasting on minimum impulse. We've detected Borg contacts entering the Badlands at bearing 287 mark 92 at... about three light minutes on a very rough ranging. Looks like a couple of spheres, but it's hard to tell with that soup in the background, even from out here. It could be one or four for all we know. Negative on any escorts, they could be running close to the spheres, or spread out ahead of them, or damn all this interference."

"Could they be looking for the Saheir?" asked the CO.

The XO replied, "The spheres are not heading directly toward Shodar Tyran's last known position, nor on any course likely to intercept a move from said position. However, if the Borg are launching probes then not even the Badlands will hide his little fleet forever."

"Acknowledged, Captain. I have the deck. Call action stations and raise shields, we're going back into the Badlands after them."

[Comrade Tortoise]

Bridge, USS Humboldt
Badlands, Alpha Quadrant.

Captain Vladstok sat in his chair after acknowledging orders, his eyes fixed upon every byte of data that came in from the sensor net. The fighters sent to intercept probes would have a very limited sensor range inside the badlands, even with Borg Probes using active scanners. If fighters were being sent out, sending more probes would not increase the fleet's detection chances, and it would help prevent them from missing a probe.

"The benefit outweighs the risk" he said out loud.

"Tlorn?" asked Commander Forsythe.

"Has the Science Team finished configuring the Warp Towage program?"

"They have."

"I need them to go configure an additional twelve Type VIII probes"

"We will only have Twenty Five more if you go that route, it will take time to rebuild from torpedo stocks."

"I know. We may be able to recover them if all goes well. The cost of losing the probes however is negligible compared to the risk of detection. Do it."

"How should they be configured?"

"One on each quarter dome of the sphere patrolled by auxiliary craft. The extra four will provide additional coverage on hemosphere facing the last known sphere location. That is the direction probes or other craft are most likely to approach from. Have them send telemetry to the fighters. Instruct them to relay telemetry to the nearest node of the Main sensor relay net, it will relay the information to us through the net, and obscure our location."

"Alright." Forsythe replied, nodded, and went to address his subordinates.

[Josh]

Cratel eyed the currents and eddies as they whipped through the vessel. "I don't like this," he muttered.

"I'm not enjoying myself either," Meru said. "It would have been nice if they'd given us some notification before dropping us into phase. Or out of phase. Whatever tr'Valdran would call it."

"Had a Borg coming straight at us, didn't have time for regular protocol," Cratel said. "Hope flying through 'em doesn't get to be a habit."

Meru kept her expression even. As part of the ship's command staff, she was privy to some discussions that the sergeant, exposed as he was to a higher risk of assimilation than most of the crew, was not. Of course, they were all depending on his honor not to simply pluck the thoughts from their heads, so who knew what secrets Cratel took from the environment around him? Of all the personnel on the ship, she only figured that Yhrea had the capability of handling telepathic intrusion.

Still, Cratel had been Starfleet and Shirazi trusted him implicitly. That was (mostly) enough for her.

She held out her hand as a dense wisp of matter flew past. When it collided with her arm, she felt nothing. So strange, and strangely beautiful as well.

"If this were the last thing I saw, it wouldn't be so bad," she mused.

"Don't think like that," Cratel said.

"Well since you're feeling talkative now, why don't you tell me about where you come from?" she asked.

He focused in on her for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright."

[Josh]

"Okay," Shirazi said. "Once they give up on searching for us, they're probably going to try to duck back into the plasma so they can ambush our relief. That's when we're going to drop our payload."

"Blind them as they're going in? Nice," Yhrea said.

"That's the idea. Lee?"

"Course plotted and laid in. Just give me the word." The helmsman paused for a long beat. "Sir."

Patience and timing, Shirazi reminded himself. That's what it was all about.

[General Havoc]

The Exterminators danced through the Badlands, blasting away with their tachyon emitters in quest of the cloaked Bird of Prey, but only temporarily. Having determined that their prey had escaped, they did not continue a vain effort to find something that would not be found, not with stronger enemy vessels about. Instead the Borg frigates quickly disabled their tachyon emitters and turned sharply about, making for the nearest plasma tongue, slipping inside without so much as a further trace.

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

The Gilgamesh had no warning whatsoever.

Emerging from behind a tongue of plasma with the next probe's rough location locked in its sights, the Gilgamesh discovered the probe it was seeking in close escort with a Borg Sphere, one that Gilgamesh's sensors had completely failed to spot before it loomed before them, implacable and prepared. Yet unlike the Federation destroyer that materialized before it, the Sphere was more than ready for this encounter, having tracked the Gilgamesh by the probes it had destroyed, and positioned itself for just this encounter.

Six plasma torpedoes, each one glittering green in the ethereal twilight of the Badlands, lanced from the Sphere towards the Gilgamesh, almost before the helmsman knew what had happened. One was scythed down by an errand promontory of plasma, the other five acquiring target locks and darting towards their target. But the worst work the Sphere had to offer was not the torpedoes. The worst work was the tractor beam that emerged from the northern pole of the spherical ship.

Had the Gilgamesh been engaging from anything like normal weapons range, the tractor beam would have been a non-issue, but there was nothing standard about this situation, and small though a Sphere was, it outmassed the Defiant by more than a dozen to one. Latching on with a single blueish tractor beam, it locked the Destroyer in place while the torpedoes screamed in, positioning itself above and to the side of the Defiant to keep it out of range of the primary weapons systems of the ordinarily nimble escort.

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

Back at the fleet, no great events were transpiring, as engineers sweated and ships remained on station and fighters and shuttles spread in a sphere around the fleet to interdict anything that might come in. But the next communication that the Immortal, still flagship of the motley fleet, received, was one from within the fleet. A cardassian freighter of name and origin uncertain, which placed a general call to the fleet of mighty warships that had invaded the world of the pirate armada not long ago, as the ages reckoned things.

"This is the Glinn Marek of the Locarian Star, calling whoever is in charge out there. I need to speak with the commander of this fleet urgently. Please respond."

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

The other ships floating about space, even as they monitored the above transmission, saw nothing in particular of note, save that is, for two.

The S'harien, and the Scylla, alone among the rest of the ships, began picking up a strange thing coming from one of the larger civilian vessels within the pirate fleet. No communication, nor sensor pulse, nor even a weapon, it was a laser, a single beam of infrared light, not powerful enough to do anything but illuminate a section of hull plating, yet just potent enough for the sensors of the ships being targeted to detect. Off and on and off and on the laser blinked in a rapid-fire pattern that might mean nothing or anything depending on the mental state of the viewer. Yet whatever it portended, the laser blinked off and on only for about five seconds before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the two ships in question to make of it what they would.

[rhoenix]

The Gilgamesh had no warning whatsoever.

Emerging from behind a tongue of plasma with the next probe's rough location locked in its sights, the Gilgamesh discovered the probe it was seeking in close escort with a Borg Sphere, one that Gilgamesh's sensors had completely failed to spot before it loomed before them, implacable and prepared. Yet unlike the Federation destroyer that materialized before it, the Sphere was more than ready for this encounter, having tracked the Gilgamesh by the probes it had destroyed, and positioned itself for just this encounter.

Six plasma torpedoes, each one glittering green in the ethereal twilight of the Badlands, lanced from the Sphere towards the Gilgamesh, almost before the helmsman knew what had happened. One was scythed down by an errand promontory of plasma, the other five acquiring target locks and darting towards their target. But the worst work the Sphere had to offer was not the torpedoes. The worst work was the tractor beam that emerged from the northern pole of the spherical ship.

Had the Gilgamesh been engaging from anything like normal weapons range, the tractor beam would have been a non-issue, but there was nothing standard about this situation, and small though a Sphere was, it outmassed the Defiant by more than a dozen to one. Latching on with a single blueish tractor beam, it locked the Destroyer in place while the torpedoes screamed in, positioning itself above and to the side of the Defiant to keep it out of range of the primary weapons systems of the ordinarily nimble escort.

Fuck, thought Captain Solheim, feeling that he was neatly summarizing the situation in his mind.

"Swift, send a message to the Riskadh and give our complete sitrep, requesting support," he said out loud, keeping his breathing deep and slow, forcing himself to keep calm. He had far more than just the lives of his ship at stake now. "Adranis, fire a spread of photon torpedoes set for maximum detonation radius along the incoming arc of the torpedoes - see if you can catch a few of them. Use the phaser beams on the first incoming torpedoes to see if you can set those off."

He took another breath. "Put all the energy you safely can into the shields and deflector array. We're going to need it."

Both Swift and Lieutenant Adranis gave their replies, and swiftly carried out their orders. They too knew what now was at stake.

[Josh]

"Shit," Shirazi swore as the Borg pulled out before the Meh'Ta could maneuver into position. "Bring us around to one-seven-six mark delta four. Gleck, as soon as we make communications range of the probe, send a full update to the Riskadh and task force about our engagement. Inform Captain Kadon that we're operating under phase cloak and cannot exit phase without coming out of the Badlands or getting a clear bubble from another vessel's shields, but we're currently undetectable by the Borg units we've encountered and immune to their weapons, then request orders on our disposition."

It was unlikely that Kadon would have them pull out of phase cloak- an effectively untouchable scout would be too useful in salvaging this clusterfuck, far more than their extremely limited weight of fire.

Assuming that the allied task force didn't lose everything here, this was probably the end of operating out of the Badlands anyway. The Borg had done what they always did and adapted, operating with superior proficiency to even the old-time Maquis. In the eternal game of cat and mice, the allied forces were definitely now the mice.

However, the fact that the Borg were playing hit and run games instead of attacking with their customary brute force indicated that for whatever their superiority in exploiting local conditions, the balance of firepower wasn't on their side yet.

The fact that they'd pulled the Riskadh and the Gilgamesh out of position definitely helped slant things their way, though.

Just gotta figure out how to make the most out of the hand we're dealt.

[Josh]

"I've got the main board," Kolar said. The engine was stable for the moment, a rare period of ease that allowed them to take care of the other tasks they normally performed while Hantle and the Bobsies took care of keeping the ship moving forward.

"SIF board is green, because there's no readings again," Tolbert called out. "Phase cloak does it every time. Capacitors green... oh..."

"Oh?"

"Aft torpedo storage is showing 'armed'. I'm going to call that in." She tapped the control. "Bridge, engineering. Showing armed indicator on all aft torpedoes."

"Engineering, communications, that's by order of the captain. He has a plan."

She closed the channel and looked at the floor once more. "Great, we're standing on a magazine of live torps. That rippled."

"Bah, if the Borg hit us hard enough to blow the torpedoes, we'll be disintegrated either way," Kolar said.

"Sometimes you're not as uplifting as you probably think you are," she said, then the sound of a fresh warning buzzer rang out. "Tertiary coolant's spiking!" she called out, grabbing a wrench as she went back to work.

[Cynical Cat]

"Zan Khedira," Kadon ordered. There was no way to speak battle language that was not clipped and harsh. "Maximum speed to the Sphere. Engineering, feed power to SI fields and engines. Action!"

"Khedira, do not slow when we engage. Close and pass over and under. Disruptors all the way in. Hold the main cannon and photons until close range and then fire everything. Dorsal or ventral disruptors as we pass, aft disruptors and torpedoes as soon as they bear."

[Josh]

"Gilgamesh and Riskadh are engaging a sphere, no further orders," Gleck reported. "No response from flag as yet."

"Right then. Give me the tongue the Exterminators went into," Shirazi said. The wild plasma column displayed on the screen. "Okay..." He lifted himself out of the chair, trying to put himself into the 'mind' of the Collective as he studied the wildly coruscating field of energized matter. "Lee, put us on a heading of seven-three-three mark two-six, initiate. If they're coming out to reinforce the sphere, that's where they'll emerge. Be ready to replicate our last fly-through. Yhrea, I need a profile that puts our ammo dump off the aft mag right along the lower section of the Exterminator."

"So even if the torpedoes don't spontaneously de-phase, contact with the anti-matter emissions of the warp core pulls them out," M'Lara said. "I like it."

Shirazi nodded. "If they go for the main task force, we'll be in range to pick them up as they exit and we can warn the rest of the fleet while we pursue. But they don't have the firepower to go head to head with the task force, and they have two of our ships tied up out there."

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant, Badlands
IRW S'harien, Bridge

The bridge of the Romulan Warbird was quiet and dimly lit by green light which bathed all the consoles and the men and women therein in comforting light. The Warbird seemed caught in time as it waited patiently within the Badlands close to the stricken Saehir. Riov Galen Cretak looked away from the holograms which hovered before his command throne and took a moment to let his eyes seek out his crew. The Romulans were all focused on their specific tasks and he took pride in their reactions to yet another potential crisis. His eyes circled his bridge drinking in the sight of those that served under him and allowed him to continue serving his people. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly releasing it. A familiar beep brought his attention back towards the sensor screens projected in the air before him. His left hand moved slightly, a gesture bringing forward the new information.

"Riov, Message coming in to the Immortal from Glinn Marek of the Locarian Star." His sensor officer said.

"Let me hear it." Galen said.

A moment later, the message from Glinn Marek was made available to him. His right hand moved, the sensor systems of the Warbird momentarily accessed as the Locarian Star was found and its image manifested on the main screen. The Cardassian Freighter was of a design that he was vaguely familiar with. Cardassian ship aesthetics had always been lacking in his opinion. He allowed himself to inspect the vessel for only a few moments before he glanced towards his communication officer.

"Any response from the Immortal?" He asked.

"None as of yet Riov." His communication officer answered a moment later.

Galen Cretak hesitated for a moment before he made a decision. "Patch me through to the Locarian Star."

"Done." The communication officer said.

Galen's attention shifted towards the view screen before he spoke. "Glinn Marek this is Riov Galen Cretak of the IRW S'harien. Captain Anderson is momentarily indisposed at this time. With Captain Kadon unavailable, I am acting as his second. What is it that you need?" The Romulan asked politely.

Even as Riov Cretak spoke other activities were occurring in the background. The sensors of the S'harien had been designed from their inception to being cutting edge. Although the S'harien was no science ship, it had been intended to engage in hostilities with a wide range of adversaries. The Federation had been at the top of that list at the time and while they lacked cloaking systems, they did possess a wide range of tricks to which attempt to fool and misinform their opponents. There were times however when simple luck was more important than any technological advantage. In this particular instance, it was both the sensor systems of the S'harien, the skill of the sensor officer within the S'harien and simple positioning that allowed the phenomena to be detected. The sensors of the S'harien blinked as the laser flickered off and on in a sequence of pulses. By the time that the sensor officer had focused all of his attention on the specific section of hull plating the sequence was gone. It was a trivial matter for him to recall the information. In less than a minute he was staring at the sequence unsure of what exactly he was looking at. His head turned and glanced towards Riov Cretak but he said nothing. He was not sure he had anything to share.

What was that?

The thought swam to the surface of the Romulan's mind before it was pushed away. The likelihood that the sequence had been a random error was low. Its timing and nature seemed to indicate a specific reason for its appearance and disappearance. He pressed a series of keys initiating specific software that would hopefully provide some answers. The analysis process would take time however. He frowned for a moment before his hands moved. He explored the positioning of the S'harien in relation to the other ships in the task force, the Saehir and the other ships which were not part of their task force.

If it was a message for whom was it intended?

The computer presented its evidence and he manipulated a three dimensional model of the ships in space near the S'harien. Only one other vessel stood out as a potential target. He took a breath and glanced towards the communication officer.

"Send this inquiry to the Scylla along with the file I am attaching and label it urgent." He said. A moment later the data was sent to the console of the communication officer with a copy sent to Riov Cretak and his first officer.

[White Haven]

Phrases like 'Huh, that's funny' or '...Naah, must be nothing' fell by the wayside years ago, at least for watch officers aboard Scylla. Things that were a bit funny, or were probably nothing, or could just be a sensor ghost had proven to be deadly threats or succulent prey entirely too many times for that. That was true even under normal cruising conditions, such as those even existed these days. On yellow alert with a confirmed Borg presence in the vicinity...no, no, there were no 'it's just a mirage's

Not lighting up Tactical; cap hasn't noticed, so it's not high-energy enough to be an attack. Computers didn't recognize it, so it's probably not a virus. No point in a virus that the target's computers can't even understand. Only receiving it on one receptor, so it's very tight-beam, laser, not just a flash. Rapid strobing, some sort of data content presumably. Tightbeam signal using an archaic transmission method -- someone wanted to send us a message very, very quietly.

Houston sat back in his chair for a moment, tipping the improbably-present cowboy hat back a touch before calling out across the bridge in what rapidly shifted into a Texan drawl a few syllables in, "Captain, got somethin'. Looks like a comm laser of some kind, but nothing with any standard encoding. 'Course nobody's used comm lasers in long enough that there ain't much of a 'standard' for 'em."

A brief pause, before the response came back in clipped tones, a touch more enunciated than Leyton's usual out of a sheer defensive reflex against the lazy drawl, "Are we the target, or just clipping it?"

"Not sure yet, it was brief enough and low-power enough that it's hard to tell."

"Understood. Get to work decoding it, but do so on a secure partition, just in case it's hostile. Inform me as soon as you have anyth--anything."

Houston looked back over his shoulder at the uncharacteristic pause, seeing Leyton looking intently at one of the extra repeater displays rigged around his command station. A few seconds later, the grey-haired main straightened up and met the younger Houston's eyes, "S'harien has picked up your signal as well, I'm transferring your take to your console. The arguably-Texan nodded once, then turned back towards his console.

[General Havoc]

Twist and buck though she might, the Gilgamesh was trapped like a fly in a spiderweb, bound in place by the mass of a sphere fifteen times its own. Cannons intended to flay ships apart strained to hit projectiles flying in at high speeds from outside their firing arcs. The engines of the destroyer did what it could, but it was not enough. All six torpedoes slammed into the ship's forward shields.

Had the ship not been held firmly in place, it would have been hurled through space, as it was the ship bucked like a horse, sending showers of sparks cascading down upon the crew. The shields strained and fought and bucked and finally failed entirely, collapsing like a soap bubble, leaving the ship exposed to the elements.

Auxiliary power existed for circumstances like this, sudden barrages that stripped the shields more from raw shock than ablative power sink, and after a short while it kicked in, restoring the shields at much reduced capacities. But by then, nobody on the Gilgamesh was paying the slightest attention, for in the interrum, the sphere beamed a hundred drones aboard, a third of them heavy assault, and then prepared another salvo of torpedoes to permit them to beam in the next wave.

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

Not far away, as the Federation would have measured space, the Riskadh plunged through the badlands like an old ocean-borne ship knifing through the waves of a raging tempest, plasma running off her armored prow and leaving a wake that anyone with working sensors would be able to follow, even in this roiling soup. Plainly this was not a concern at the moment, not with Borg ships attacking nearby. Swerving maniacally around the largest tongues of plasma and shearing straight through the smaller ones, the ship flew towards a pre-determined point, having outrun her own sensor envelope, and consequently had next to no warning for what happened next.

All of a sudden, between one nanosecond and the next, an entire Borg Exterminator frigate was simply right there, directly in front of the ship, setting a hundred different warnings exploding at once. Yet the warnings were entirely useless, for there was nothing that the Riskadh could do to avoid the collision, not at this range, for even the automated systems could not collapse the warp field in time to avoid being carried into the frigate by sheer momentum. Fortunately, the Borg had had more warning, albeit still not much, for who would have expected an entire Battlecruiser to show up at such a speed. Diving for its life, the Frigate just barely managed to miss being crushed like an egg, its shields scraping against the Riskadh's to the detriment of both, the ship bounced off, spinning uncontrollably in three dimensions, struggling to reestablish a heading or shields.

Riskadh had taken damage as well, but its shields were thicker by far and capable of shrugging such matters off. More important was the simple fact that Riskadh had dropped out of warp automatically, albeit momentarily. Yet before they could decide whether to proceed or not, a second Exterminator emerged from the plasma storms and opened fire on Riskadh's flank with a pair of torpedoes and a barrage of Polaron beams.

One Exterminator, no matter how bravely handled, was hardly a match for Riskadh, whatever she chose to do. Yet the near-collision had knocked the Battlecruiser out of warp, at least momentarily. And time taken to deal with the two Exterminators would delay her even further.

Nobody, not even the Klingons, saw the Bird of Prey lurking not far away under a form of cloak that none of the Borg vessels had counted upon. None could factor it into their calculations.

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

The Cardassian on the comm system seemed rather surprised when Galen Cretak appeared, but recovered quickly.

"Riov," said the Cardassian Glinn, "I'll be brief. We have a situation on board the Locarian Star. A number of the Orion Pirates have barricaded themselves in the bridge section of the ship, and rigged blasting charges around the entrances. They've got hostages in there, and are threatening to execute them if the rest of us don't return to our quarters and return control of the ship to them. On top of that, they're trying to seize control of the engines from their current location. I've got people in engineering trying to block them, but without direct access to the command codes, they'll eventually break through."

The Cardassian turned away momentarily to confer with someone, before coming back around to Cretak. "I don't know where you people came from or what your intentions are here, but if the slavers retake control, they'll warp us out of here and do god knows what."

Another hesitation, to gauge how this was being taken, before continuing. "I have contacts on three dozen other ships out here, and can arrange to speak for most of the population on them if you want, assuming you have intentions other than abandoning us all here. But we don't have the means to deal with the slavers on this ship, let alone the others. I... don't have a lot to offer right now in return, but I can promise you our cooperation, at least up to a point, if you can help us out. I'm well aware those warships of yours can take what you wish, but we've got goods on some of these ships that would take you weeks to find without our cooperation."

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

The decode took a little while, but not all that much, for the signal was in Morse Code, cyphered, but not difficult enough to avoid penetration after a couple of minutes on the computer systems Scylla and S'harien had to offer. It was a short message, repeated twice and then not once more, originating from a Breen Gas Miner on the edge of the flotilla. One that posed more questions than it answered.

"Riov Cretak," read the message, "Captain Leyton. Have vital information. Your ears only. Come alone."

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

The patrol network of shuttles and fighters orbited around the periphery of the fleet gathered in the Badlands like electrons around the nucleus of an atom, peering into the interstellar plasma soup around them in a vain effort to discern what might be approaching. None were particularly well equipped for this sort of role, but it was better than nothing.

The contacts came in all at once, probes, flying randomly through space, clipping into the sphere of protection provided by the assembled small craft. Three probes appeared at once, all three being ruthlessly destroyed by whatever craft were on-hand before they even knew they were being attacked. Two others sailed past unmolested, having vanished off sensors as fast as they appeared, bound for deep space, away from the fleet. Nervous but watchful, the fighters routed their sightings back to the Spector, and continued to fly their patrols, at least until one made a sighting that brought a chill to anyone hearing the transmission.

"Spector, this is Shadow 2, I've got an intermittent contact on heading 287 mark 096, can't tell a lot about it, but it's way too large to be a probe. I've got spiking power readings that might be the engines of an Extermina - "

The channel cut out as quickly as it had opened, and despite the com officer's best efforts, could not be re-established.

[Josh]

Spoiler: show

Soundtrack

"Mr. Lee, Tac-74. Initiate."

The Meh'Ta surged forward to take throat. There was no need for words- everyone knew their jobs, everyone was ready. The Meh'Ta was ancient, ill-armed, undersized and obsolete, but also utterly unique and she knew her job.

Find the target.

Kill the target.

[White Haven]

Now? NOW? Of all bloody times, NOW?

Leyton's hair was already grey; something he was painfully aware of as he came to his feet and ran a hand through it in frustration. Bald is the next step. Ah well, it worked for Picard.

One thing there most definitely wasn't was time. "Lesschey, you have command," he called out quickly, already walking towards the turbolift, "Comms, signal Riov Cretak and patch it to my commbadge. There's no time to have this conversation on the bridge."

Without waiting to hear any replies, he stepped into the turbolift with the words, "Traffic override -- Shuttlebay." The doors hissed shut and turbolift cars across the ship were shunted into new routes, clearing a path for his own to scream through empty tunnels towards the flight bay. Midway through the trip, his commbadge chirped.

"Riov Cretak. Are we going? It has to be something about the tender, that's the only thing our vessels have in common. We can work out the rest on the way, but we need to get underway now if we're going to do so at all."

I wish transporters were a viable choice in this fucking plasma shithole.

[Josh]

"All hands, brace for phase passage," Gleck announced over the intercom. "You're going to see things. Strange things."

"Oh great," Cratel said. "Here it comes again."

"At least we know what we're doing this time," Meru said. "So, you were a fisherman?"

"Only for a year or so. It was an old-style operation, with nets and everything, though we used AG to lighten them up. We traded, mostly to the Orions. That was about a year before I joined up after the Klingons tangled with DS9."

***
"So I'm guessing the live torps have something to do with that," Tolbert said.

"I expect the explosion will be wonderful," Kolar said. He held two levers, adjusting them independently with surprising delicacy. Each adjustment changed the pitch of the engines slightly. "What's the stabilization field on the core doing?" he asked.

She leaned away from the torque-bar she was standing on to pin in place and checked the board. "It's at ninety-flux and holding, breaking left-right but inside allowable variance."

Kolar smiled at the hull in front of him. "That's our beautiful ship," he murmured. "Good, good killer..."

[LadyTevar]

USS Spector
Battle Bridge

Eoife Kirk sat in the captain's chair, unconciously leaving forward in a pose recognizable to any who'd seen holos of The Kirk. She was tense, her green eyes hodded as she concentrated, listening to the comm chatter as her birds reported contacts with probes. "Make sure we're streaming data to the Humboldt," was the only order she'd given. Every kill was met by a tense nod, and quiet 'Good work', the ones thought to miss the fleet had her giving a sharp glance to Serin, who always came back with a comfirmation of direction.

"Spector, this is Shadow 2, I've got an intermittent contact on heading 287 mark 096, can't tell a lot about it, but it's way too large to be a probe. I've got spiking power readings that might be the engines of an Extermina - "

The channel cut out as quickly as it had opened, and despite the com officer's best efforts, could not be re-established.

Even as the CAP tried to raise the deadined pilot, Kirk had already exploded into orders. "Plot that heading! Send all readings to Humboldt for verification, inform the fleet Borg ship incoming heading 287 mark 096." a breath, a hard decision, "Have Shadow 1 and 3 intercept heading and attempt to verify Ship ID. Rest rest of the Birds stay on target."

IF it was a Exterminator Shadow 1 and 3 would have to pray they could beat a fast retreat, or they too would join Shadow 2 in silence. The two pilots knew it, and yet understood why Kirk ordered it. "Copy Spector."

And Kirk, on edge of her chair, was left in that eternal second of waiting for the worst to come to pass.

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant, Badlands
IRW S'harien, Bridge

He watched the Cardassian Glinn as he spoke. The fact that the Orions had made a move should have surprised him but it did not. He was well aware of the history of the Orion race and it was simple nature for a group that was used to power to want to keep it. The arrival of the Task Force had led by the USS Immortal and the IKW Riskadh had brought with it uncertainty and chaos to a closed environment. He had no doubt that Orions had died to violent uprisings within ships once it became clear that the Avenger and its escorts had been overpowered. He was also certain that Orion elements within other ships would seek to reestablish control over their vessels. He had not however, expected a situation quite like this with the arrival of the Borg to the badlands.

He listened as the Glinn continued and when the Cardassian finally finished it took him only a moment before he spoke. "I appreciate your candor Glinn. Here is what I am prepared to do for you and yours. Firstly, I will require all the information that you have pertaining to the situation aboard your vessel. I need to know the numbers of Orions involved, their rough capabilities, the number of hostages they have taken as well as detailed plans for the bridge section of your ship. I want to know what your people have done, what they have considered and what is likely to fail. I need a time frame for the Orion efforts to get control of your engines at their current rate both best case and worst case scenarios. You will secure your shuttle bay for me and give me your shield frequencies so that I may move the necessary assets in place to your vessel."

He hesitated for a moment allowing his words to sink in before he continued. "l will assist you in retaking your ship Glinn because to do otherwise would be counterproductive to the goals of this task force. I will remind you that this is a Federation led affair and traditionally, the Federation has gone through great lengths to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties in its conflicts. I am not a member of the Federation and I am not bound by its ideology but I assure you, I will do what I can to limit the collateral damage to your ship and its crew as much as possible. My understanding from exchanges with Captain Anderson of the Immortal and Captain Kadon of the Riskadh is that we will give the opportunity to any ships that choose to come with us to follow our task force to Bajor. Once we reach Bajor, any ships that wish to move onwards to Cardassian space or beyond will be welcome to. " Bajor was under Federation control so the expectation was that normal Federation protocols would apply.

"I am committing my forces to your ship for the purposes of securing your cooperation Glinn. Consider it an act of good faith. After this situation is resolved we can discuss what goods may be of interest. Until then, send me the data that I requested and prepare for our arrival." He waited for a moment allowing the Glinn the opportunity to speak before the communication channel was closed.

Alpha Quadrant, Badlands
IRW S'harien, Shuttle Bay

The shuttle bay of the S'harien began to busy itself with activity as preparations were made for the impending boarding action of the Locarian Star. The shuttle bay of the Warbird had originally been designed to house eight full sized Romulan shuttles and up to six Scorpion fighters. One of the shuttle landing spots was empty a testament to a loss recently incurred. Of the remaining seven shuttles, three were currently docked at various points within the Saehir while the remaining four waited patiently aboard the S'harien itself. It was these four shuttles that were being worked on at the time. The number of shuttles that would be utilized would depend entirely on the number of forces that had be ferried to the Locarian Star, the capability of the Cardassian vessel to hold the shuttles and a handful of other factors.

Even as technicians swarmed over the remaining four shuttles Romulans and Remans sat in nearby rooms awaiting orders as to what teams would be chosen to represent the S'harien aboard the Locarian Star. As the information trickled in from the Cardassian vessel about the numbers of Orions, their weapons and actions so far, a group of Romulan and Reman officers dissected the data and made a determination as to the composition and loadout of the forces that would be used to liberate the Cardassian freighter. In the end, a consensus emerged.

Alpha Quadrant, Badlands
IRW S'harien, Bridge

"Riov, message coming in from a Federation shuttle recently launched from the USS Scylla." The Romulan communication officer said.

"Let me hear it." Riov Cretak said.

"Riov Cretak. Are we going? It has to be something about the tender, that's the only thing our vessels have in common. We can work out the rest on the way, but we need to get underway now if we're going to do so at all."

Galen Cretak hesitated for a moment before his left hand moved and a channel was opened with the heavily modified shuttle. As the sensor systems of the S'harien kissed the hull and energy fields of the shuttle Riov Cretak arched a brow for a moment at the information that the sensors of his Warbird revealed to him. The shuttle was heavily modified far more so than just about any other shuttle he had encountered.

"Captain Leyton, I will not be able to join you in this little mystery. I have a situation developing aboard the Locarian Star that has to be handled now before it spirals out of control. Furthermore, should the Borg breach our screens and make it to the Saehir itself, someone has to be ready to meet them. I am certain that any words regarding concern about the situation you are about to walk into would be redundant at this time. I will give whatever assistance that I can should it be needed." With those words said he allowed Captain Leyton a moment to respond before the channel was closed. Romulans did not believe in luck and he doubted that Leyton had not taken adequate precautions. Nonetheless, that the Federation captain was taking a risk was not in question. The question was if the risk was justified.

[Comrade Tortoise]

"Captain, we are receiving sensor telemetry from the USS Spector. Intermittent sensor readings, it looks like an exterminator."

"Are the probes in place?" he responded.

"They will be in 3.2.1. They are in place, we should be receiving telemetry shortly, as per your orders they have to route through other elements."

Indicators turned, and the computers processed the information faster than it would be thought possible.

"On screen"

A pair of Exterminator frigates knifing their way through the badlands like the frigates of old around cape horn. They appeared nonplussed, as if they had not noticed their own detection. Tlorn's brain worked through scenarios in much the same way as his ship's computer. His ship was undercrewed, and could be traced back due to its heavier than normal energy emissions. The spector had most of her crew, was not engaged in anything critical, and had the firepower to annihilate a pair of exterminators quickly.

He tapped the display, transmitting to the other nearby fleet ships.

"Confirmed two Exterminator frigates. Advising the USS Spector intercept, but awaiting orders from command."

[Cynical Cat]

"Flank shields buckling!" shouted Arikel as the Riskadh shuddered in response to the incoming fire. The battlecruiser's Executive was half falling out of her chair, but held her position and still had command of the relevant data.

"Hard turn to face him!" Kadon barked. "All disruptors fire as they bear! Auxiliary power to shields!" he continued as the Riskadh began turning so hard that the internal compensators were overloaded and g-forces pressed at the bridge crew. "Helm, taking us down his throat and overfly him. Photons, all launchers, tight salvos as soon as you have a firing solution. Tractors, keep the second Exterminator spinning."

[LadyTevar]

"Confirmed two Exterminator frigates. Advising the USS Spector intercept, but awaiting orders from command."

The crew was still green enough to let a murmur of curses whisper, and Eoife winced with her own silent curses before snapping the first order. "Shadow 1 & 3 hold position, do not enter Borg range." They weren't needed to verify anymore, and Eoife was not going to risk her birds. "We hold position for now."

Green as they were, the crew did not look at her questioningly, although Serin did raise an eyebrow. Eoife felt it, her fist clenching as she fought the urge to Be The Kirk, the great savior dashing out to protect the universe. That Captain Kirk had been on a 5yr mission, the Enterprise out facing danger alone. This Captain Kirk was part of a fleet, tasked with being the overwatch for the patrol boats. She was a carrier, not a gunboat. Plus, Eoife thought darkly, great-grand uncle did not answer to a Klingon who was already annoyed at having his aft shot up. Odd that the thought made her grin a little.

"Advise the Humboldt the Borg heading will skirt the edge of the fleet outside detection distance. If they continue that path they will miss us. Warn Ghost and Wraith, and the Klingon shuttles to keep their eyes peeled for more probes, and those in the path of the Frigates try to avoid detection."

If, if, IF the Borg continued that heading, Kirk thought furiously. The Peregrines couldn't shadow the Frigates to watch for heading changes, the Borg sensors outranged them. The Humboldt's probes had confirmed the ID, but even those would give away that *someone* was nearby, should the Borg notice them. There was no way to know, no way to ....

The Kirk leap to her feet. "Shadow 1, 3! Fall in behind the Borg, track them using their ion wake. If they waver from that heading even a meter I want to know it!" Perhaps another history buff would know where Eoife got the idea, thinking of her ancestor as she had been. Confirmation from the Peregrines was quick, they had the trail and could follow the Borg through the plasma storm outside the Borg's sensor range.

[Comrade Tortoise]

"Advise the Humboldt the Borg heading will skirt the edge of the fleet outside detection distance. If they continue that path they will miss us. Warn Ghost and Wraith, and the Klingon shuttles to keep their eyes peeled for more probes, and those in the path of the Frigates try to avoid detection."

"Ah, there it is. We see Spector. Our sensors are on a slight delay. Your fighters get telemetry and can communicate it to you faster than we receive it due to the signal relay. We just got done calculating their trajectory."

[Agent Fisher]

USS Samuel B. Roberts
Badlands


It was late. Or early. Or well, who the hell knew? All Shepard knew was it seemed like only a few minutes ago when she laid her head down and closed her eyes. The skipper of the Sammy B. let loose a few choice words, sounding quite like Senior Chief Sachs. She reached out, hitting her comm badge on the small bedside stand. "What?!" She called out, eyes still closed, hoping it was something she could ignore and slip back to sleep.


"Sorry to wake you, Skipper." Came the voice of Lt. JG Motti. "But we're getting sensor echos at the edge of our range. Looks like Borg contacts."


So much for catching up on sleep. "XO know yet?" She asked. Lee was finally over his illness and had run his shift as normal. He should still be up, doing paperwork or the various other admin tasks it took to run a Defiant.


"Yes, Ma'am. XO knew you'd want to be alerted." Shepard sighed. She didn't want to be woken up. But Lee had a point and she had said she wanted to be alerted when they found something. But at the time, she figured it would occur when she was awake. After all, chasing Borg sensor ghosts was partially the reason they were here. The task force element was the other reason. Due to the Badlands sensor interference, Command wanted a ship to run through the badlands, see if they could make contact with the Element and get an update.


"Fine..." She looked over at a clock display. Halfway through the Third Section's watch. If it was echos, nothing solid she could get a couple more hours. "I'll be on the bridge bout a hour before rotation." She said and cut the channel. With a sigh, Shepard rolled over in the bed and let herself fall back to sleep.



*******************



After a shower, a new uniform, and a stop in the mess hall, Shepard emerged on the bridge, carrying a bowl of what the replicator now served as eggs and hash browns. Just like Mom used to make.


She swallowed the bite of food and stepped towards the sensor station, nodding to Sensorman 3rd Class Zara. "What you got, Zara?" She asked, looking over the display. The Andorian told what he knew. Multiple sensor ghosts. The plasma storms were a bitch to sort through, but if the sensor tech had to guess, a group of Borg probes were out there, banging away on Active, trying to find something.


"Keep an eye on it." She advised, getting an 'Aye aye, skipper' before moving over to back area of the bridge, where Lee was talking with Motti and Senior Chief.


"Morning, Skipper." They greeted her. Lee looked like he wanted to climb in bed soon, Motti was drinking from a cup of that ridiculous Klingon Coffee that so many loved. And Senior Chief Sachs looked like he was fully rested. He always did.


"Morning guys." She said. "So, we're probably gonna hit some action today. I want to get First Section up and moving, get Third some time off for chow and whatever needs doing before we've got to sound GQ. Senior Chief, I'll leave it to you to rouse First. Lee, get to sleep, I don't want you dropping from exhaustion." Shepard gave the orders of the day, Sachs and Lee both nodding and departing. The next minute or so was spent talking with Motti, exchanging information before she officially relieved him.


As she settled in the Chair and finished the last of her breakfast, Shraf came onto the bridge. The Andorian was always early for his shift, taking over his station from the Third shift crew member.


*******************


"Contact!" The call came from Kreiger a few hours later. Shepard snapped her head over towards the sensor station. "Positive multiple contacts, Bearing 068 Mark 134." Fingers danced across the inputs, a tactical plot appearing on the view, partially obscuring the view of the plasma storms of the Badlands. The Sammy B. was in the center, a series of blips off to their front starboard quarter. "I've got multiple pings. I'm getting faint traces of Federation signals, I think Klingon. And Borg." The lieutenant said, typing on the board, eyes focused on her display. "Confirmed, Borg. Looks like a ExFrig. Maybe more. I can't tell, Skipper, the storms are making it too hard to get a clear picture. And wow! They're banging away with Tachyons like they've got a time limit. Searching for a cloaked ship, I bet."

Shepard nodded from her seat. "Thanks, Kreiger. Chief, sound the Alert." She called out, looking over to Senior Chief Sachs at the Operations station. The old salt nodded and flicked open the intercom system.

"General Quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battlestations. This is not a drill. Up and forward starboard, down and aft port. All hands report to battlestations, departments make readiness reports to bridge."

On the bridge, nothing much changed, the lighting lowered, red lights flicking on and the bridge crew put on their seat restraints. In the halls though, it might seem like chaos as crew scrambled from their quarters or out of the mess hall, but it was organized, pracitced, rehearsed. Within a few minutes, everyone was where they needed to be.

Lee entered the bridge, taking a seat at the Operations console, the Chief departing the bridge to begin making rounds and take command of the security team that would be responsible for repelling boarders.

"Departments report ready, Ma'am." Lee said, looking over at Shepard. She nodded.

"Helm, set me up an intercept course, try and keep as many of those storms between us and that ExFrig."


*******************


"No no no!" Shepard looked over at Kreiger at Sensors.

"What's wrong?" The skipper asked.

"Sorry, Ma'am, lost track of the Frigate, looks like they shut off the Tachyons and moved off. I still have a general heading, but with the plasma and background noise, by the time we get there, who knows wher-" Kreiger stopped, looking back at her displays.

"Skipper, new track, Borg Sphere, bearing 104 mark 153. Getting a Federation IFF on same bearing. USS Gilgamesh, Valiant Class."

Shepard looked at the Tactical Plot she had on her chair mounted display. "Adjust course for an intercept." She ordered.


*******************


As the Borg Sphere kept the Gilgamesh penned, as Borg drones beamed aboard the Valiant class, the equation changed. Whipping around a column of plasma, the USS Samuel B. Roberts did it's name proud. Banking like an atmospheric craft of old, the Block III Defiant came into view of the struggle between Borg and the small ship. Shepard could feel the pull of the maneuver, the force slightly overcoming the inertial dampers.

"Fire." She ordered and the Sammy B. spat fire towards the sphere. A flurry of torpedoes leapt from the forward tubes, with the rotary launchers adding to the fury as they spun, the torpedoes loaded streaking through space. A mix of quantum and photon torpedoes, accompanied by a side of pulse phaser cannons, streaked through the space between and towards the Borg Sphere. Without waiting to see if they connected, the Sammy B. banked away, ducking towards another plasma column.

[General Havoc]

The Sphere did not know what hit it.

Caught completely off-guard by the suddenly-materializing vessel, the Sphere's shields bucked with a barrage of phaser strikes even as torpedoes sailed into it from a second Defiant-class ship that it had not expected to find, and had no way of knowing was not hiding in the Badlands for just this purpose. The Sphere's shields sustained a tremendous battering, but the Roberts turning away precipitously enabled it to survive the assault with shields intact, albeit badly torn up. So rapid was the Roberts' attack and withdrawal that the Sphere barely had time to fire a few desultory shots its way, none of which did anything useful.

But the Sphere was not afraid, and the Sphere was not prepared to concede defeat, nor to allow other prey to escape. Imperturbably, it switched off its tractor beam, leaving the stricken Gilgamesh to her fate with the drones already aboard, hurling another volley of four torpedoes at the motionless ship as it did so, the better to knock its remaining shields down in case another wave of drones turned out to be required. And then it flew after the Roberts, flinging more torpedoes at the nimble Defiant, seeking to close to tractor range and do to this destroyer what it had just done to the last one.

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

It was impossible, of course, to predict the intentions of the Borg, but the frigate's crew had clearly no idea that the Klingon battlecruiser their fellow had nearly collided with was capable of maneuvers like this. Caught off-guard in mid-turn to escape, the Frigate was unable to avoid the Riskadh's full frontal weapons loadout, firing at point blank range. The result was predictable. The Frigate was unceremoniously shot to pieces, pounded into inert wreckage by massive disruptor cannons moments before a barrage of photon torpedoes scattered the aforementioned wreckage in every direction like an exploding star.

The frigate's counterpart flew off, indeed it could do little else, for to stay around here and fight a battlecruiser was suicide, and it ducked towards the nearest plasma column. By all accounts it should have escaped, easily in fact, for the Riskadh missed it with its tractor beams and could not turn about in time to project its planetary-grade guns against it. Yet just as the Exterminator was nearing the nearest plasma tongue, a photon torpedo under phase cloak collided with its power core.

The telemetry from the following several milliseconds would have been fascinating to a vulcan subspace theorist, had any been around to record it.

The Frigate did not explode. It did not fly to pieces. It did not even simply vanish. The Frigate was eaten, alive and in one gulp, by a seething mass of raw subspace that simply formed, ex nihilo, from somewhere near the afterquarters of the ship, and tore a hole in the very fabric of spacetime in less than a tenth of a second, ripping reality asunder and gobbling down the Frigate, the plasma tongue it was flying towards, and a large chunk of the surrounding empty space. In an instant, the Borg Frigate was lost to view, as the flaring angry maw of subatomic Hell tore at the normal space around it, and then, all at once, the equations that governed its existence returned imaginary figures which were divided by zero, and the entire structure took precisely one unit of Planck time to destabilize and collapse.

The explosion was not enormous, all things considered, but it was extremely intense, and focused on the subatomic level, ignoring the shields of the Riskadh as it tore at the ship's subatomic structure. In an instant, the Riskadh's structural integrity field began shrieking a protest, as literally quadrillions of micro-fractures formed all across the ship's hull and internal systems. Almost all were at the level of atomic bonds, barely discernible even if looked for, but here and there, the vagaries of chance clustered enough together to form metal fatigue, or even micro-breaches in the hull or in delicate systems. Lights failed, plasma leaked from sundered conduits, power grids collapsed as flaws materialized within otherwise intact circuit boards. The crew were not spared the effects either. Dozens of people felt sharp pains somewhere in their bodies, though no two in the exact same place, as sensitive nerves were suddenly broken or obstructed. The pain varied from irritating to utterly disabling, even for Klingons, and seemed to come from out of the blue. One marine went blind, for no reason that could be discerned even with scanners, as his visual cortex sustained damage that the finest Federation doctors in all the Alpha Quadrant would have been hard pressed to even locate, let alone explain. Another crewman, one who happened to be on the bridge at the time, simply dropped stone dead on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, not a blemish on or within him for anyone to see.

And as to the agent of this subspace catastrophe? His identity was made known immediately, for no sooner had the blast washed over the phased Meh Ta, than the ship was violently and unceremoniously catapulted back into the real world, with effects roughly the same as what had taken place on the Riskadh. Only this time the agent was not some generalized subspace assault, but the burning, searing plasma with which the Badlands, even in its most rarefied voids, was still well supplied. Most of the ship had less than an atom per cubic centimeter, not enough to register, even with the finest sensors, but one crewman died horribly with a pocket of burning plasma saturating his lungs and heart, and another dropped dead on the spot with a piece of wreckage from the Frigate Riskadh had destroyed fused into his cerebral cortex. One of the ship's disruptors failed instantly as a micrometeorite appeared inside the focusing lenses, and all across the ship it was the same tale of microfractures, hull leakage, and power failures from the thousand and one little catastrophes that attended an unplanned phase decloak in the middle of a burning nebula.

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

Glinn Marek seemed to take Riov Cretak's position on the matter in stride. "Captain," he said, "I'm not a Federation Officer either, and we Cardassians know the meaning of sacrifice. But the hostages are predominantly women and children, and the Orions have already executed several just to show that they mean business. They've got all the entrances to the bridge section welded shut and mined, and crew-serviced weapons of some sort set up on the main approaches. Solid state disruptors or some other, similar weapons. We've tried to isolate the bridge from main engineering by force, but we haven't got the ordinance to sever the hardened connections, and there's no cryptographers aboard to lock out the software. We've been able to buy time, but worst case, they could take over any second. I wouldn't expect it to take them more than another ten or fifteen minutes."

Someone shouted something inaudible from offscreen, and he turned to listen to it before returning his attention to Cretak. "Captain, I'm grateful for any assurances you can give us, but right now I don't have time to worry about what might happen at Bajor. If we don't deal with the Orions quickly, none of us will live to see another hour. They'll flood the rest of the ship with drive plasma or warp us off to some corner of the Badlands to deal with at their leisure. I've got men clearing the main docking bay and I'm sending our shield frequencies. There's no transport inhibitor on this ship, so maybe you can try something there, I don't know your capabilities. I'll be happy to meet you or your officers when they arrive, but for now I'm going to try stalling them with negotiations. Please hurry, Captain. Marek out."

[Josh]

Spoiler: show

[youtube][/youtube]

Things had gone very badly very quickly.

The comm was alive with the sound of terror- damage reports, requests for orders, casualty reports. The viewscreen was cracked, having reformed around some small piece of debris. Fire retardant hissed down across the entirety of the bridge, the circuit having been tripped. Yhrea was prone next to the wreckage of his console. M'Lara was down, he hadn't seen what happened to her, but her cybernetics were twitching spastically. The air was thick with the tang of ozone, stinging his lung with burning knives with each breath he took.

"Lee," Shirazi croaked "status?"

"Exited phase cloak," Lee reported, his voice equally hoarse as he tapped furiously at his console. "Shields down, engines running a-sync, got it stable for now. No enemy contacts on scope."

"Gleck, coordinate damage control."

"What?" Gleck asked, his voice plaintive. "What?"

"You've been trained for this, you can do it. Lee..." Shirazi started to push himself out of his seat, but as he went up his legs failed and dumped him unceremoniously on the deck.

"Doctor to the bridge!" Gleck shouted.

***

Cratel was down, holding his arm and growling in pain. Meru crouched over him, scanner whirring when the call came through.

"Nerve damage, you've got foreign material in your certus cutaneous cluster," she said. An application of the hypospray brought near-instaneous relief.

"Bridge, Meru. On the way," she said. The ship shuddered once more and metal whined ominously.

Francis, what the hell did you do?

***

Tolbert didn't look. There were too many things going wrong with the engines to distract herself with the mess in the corner of the engine room that used to be her shipmate and best friend. Klaxons wailed around her as she raced from one end of the space to the other. "Gleck, I'm taking banks two and three off-line until I can get them re-synced!" she called.

"Okay!" Gleck answered. "Noted!"

Kolar of the House of Motun still stood. Indeed, he would not fall as the frame spar from the destroyed Exterminator had rematerialized both inside the bulkhead and inside his skull. Death had come in an instant, leaving him at the very end intimately connected to the ship he loved.