Star Trek: Death of the Federation

[frigidmagi]

Captain Anderson had remained silent and untensed throughout the entire act. He would either die or not and if he did die then the Immortal would burn this colony to the ground like as not. The Gorn and others would insist on it. He looked over at Commander Kirk and Commander Cretak and nodded once they finished speaking.

"Make it so, Commanders. Magistrate, I can only offer you this. I have seen some colonies avoid Borg action. Several did so by abandoning their settlements and doing nothing to create emissions. Others did so by hiding their settlements, mostly underground or underseas. You don't have time for that right now but the Borg will likely not stay more then a few months. I will have the Immortal leave ration packs in place of the replicatior mass we will be taking. Some may survive." The Captain said. He ignored the question about memory. Victory first, then he would worry about memory.

[Cynical Cat]

Kadon sat coolly as the situation developed. A full platoon of Marines stood ready in transporter rooms and targeting sensors swept the area. Not far off the main bridge Marine officers debated assault strategies.

Kadon hoped it wouldn't come to action. Klingons rarely took hostages and in general placed little value of them and as a consequence, training to rescue them wasn't a priority. Getting Anderson and Cretak out alive was his priority and he would be willing to reduce the colony to smoking ruin or make agreements he had no intention of honouring if necessary to get them back.

He touched a control on his chair, triggering a fleet wide broadcast. "This is Squadron Leader Kadon. With the capture of Captain Anderson I am taking temporary command of the fleet. My highest priority is the retrieval of Captain Anderson and Commander Cretak."

He killed the coms. "Aaveroke, get the S'harien and the Immortal on the coms. Coordinate their tactical officers with our Marines and find out if they have a trained rescue team."

[LadyTevar]

Kirk gave Capt Anderson a nod, acknowledging his 'order'. "I'll go and speak with the Klingons and the Barbarossa now. Captain Cretak, I think your crew would be best suited to work on the census data with the Humboldt and the Empyrean." It was a compliment and an acknowledgement of the Romulan intelligence agency. "Good day, Captain Anderson, Magistrate," she said, before turning and walking out of the office, intent to 'make it so'. "Kirk to Spector," she said authoritively through her commbadge. "Beam me to the bridge and contact Capts Kadan and Hizir, same screen so we can all talk. It's time to get things running."



USS Spector
moments later

"Captain Kadan, Captain Hizir," Kirk was now wearing the full pips of a Captain, unlike before. She did not know if either Captain had witnessed her brevet by Captain Anderson, but for the moment she was going to fun with the full Captain Kirk Legend while it lasted. "The incident with the Magistrate has been handled. Once Captain Anderson is back aboard the Immortal he will share all the details. For now, he has given permission for the Salvage Operation to be handed over to yourselves, and asked me to open one of my unused flight bays as a storage facility until we can parcel it out to the Fleet. Anderson believes your crews, working together, can get the most out of the debris field in the short amount of time we have left."

She gave the two men the first real grin they'd seen from her, as battle comms did not have video, and the devilish twinkle in her eye would have done The Kirk proud. "I'm not sure," brevet-Captain Kirk said, "but I think Captain Anderson has set us a challenge, Captains. How fast can we fill my hold and your own with useful salvage?"

[frigidmagi]

USS Immortal

Captain Anderson returned to the ship via the Empyrean's transporter and hit the ship running so to speak.

"Com, contact the Argo and check the eta on repairs, ask if there is any further assistance we can give. We need to be gone soon as. Also contact commander Kadon and DuBois, I'll need to speak them shortly. Inform the shuttle pilots that they'll be making runs to the surface. I need loading teams to put Starfleet rations on the shuttles for colonial use. Send down Gorn to guard the shuttles." Captain Anderson ordered. It was going to be a long day but he was hopeful that the fleet would be able to move before the Borg arrive.

[General Havoc]

Nine Hours Later:

"Commander, with all due respect - "

"Just say it, Charles," said Commander Kalpov with a resigned sigh.

"All right," said the scowling Lieutenant. "What in the name of God were you thinking, Ivan?"

"I haven't changed my thought process since the last time you asked me that, Lieutenant."

"Then you're as stupid as you look," said Lieutenant Luther. "Stupider, in fact, if sixty Borg won't change your thinking on something like this."

"My thinking, Charles, is that we have nineteen dead, nearly a hundred wounded, and that I don't like those numbers, and allowing those sixty Borg to run rampant through the ship would have made me dislike them a hell of a lot more," snapped Kalpov angrily. "And incidentally, I'm fine, thanks for asking!"

"Don't even try to turn this into a pity party," said the Lieutenant. "You want to run off and fight the Borg hand to hand on your own damn time, have fun. But I'm the security officer on this ship, and that means you don't get to brush me aside whenever you feel like proving something to yourself, or whoever the hell you were trying to impress."

Kalpov's face flushed with anger. "Is that what you think this was?"

Luther's expression did not soften. "I think that there are exactly two types of men who walk into a room with sixty five borg by themselves: Suicides and Crazies. And as Chief of Security, I need to know, sir, if the Captain of my ship is one of those things."

Whatever answer Kalpov was about to make died in his throat. He visibly discarded it, growling softly to himself as he averted his gaze for a moment.

"He's not," said Kalpov finally, staring at the floor.

"I know that," said Luther even. "Which is why I'm trying to figure out what the hell possessed you to - "

"I didn't think there would be sixty of them," said Kalpov, turning back to the Lieutenant. "If I had, I wouldn't have stayed in there."

"Going up alone against thirty borg isn't exactly re-assuring," said Luther as he approached. "But that's not the point. This isn't the first time you've done this."

"Excuse me?"

"Alcalor III, Proxima Major, that derelict Warbird we came across last year... I'm not the only one who's noticed a pattern, Commander."

"A pattern of what, exactly?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking. You can say whatever you want to the crew, they can think you're the second coming of Ben Sisko if that's what you think'll get 'em through tomorrow. But I know better. If the Romulans hadn't shown up when they did, some poor crewman would have had to shoot you down as a drone. Think about what that would have done to morale before you start telling me about the greater good of the crew."

"You think I've got a Death Wish then?" asked Kalpov evenly.

"I think you're doing a damn fine job of convincing me that you do," said Luther, "which doesn't make any sense, because you don't act like it most of the time. But any time something like this happens, we get boarded, the crew winds up in serious trouble, and you walk into something the village idiot could tell you're not walking out, and expect us all to shrug it off like it's nothing."

"It hasn't killed me yet."

"For which you should be thanking your lucky stars and the Romulan Empire," responded Luther, "because according to Doctor Takali, it damn near did. And you may think you're the meanest thing on two legs, or that it's only you taking the risk and it's none of my business, but you're wrong on both counts. You take on sixty drones again by yourself and they will end you, do you get that? I've been in Starfleet for thirty-five years, and I have yet to meet a man they would not. And you're not just a crewman in a gold shirt running after the nearest drone with a phaser and a mek'leth. You're the commander of this damn ship. I shouldn't have to be telling you this after four years! You do not have the right to risk yourself like that, and the next time you try, you better hope the Borg kill you, because if they don't, I will!"

Slowly, Kalpov stood up, his face freezing into a dark stare. "Was that a threat, Lieutenant?" he asked, voice quiet.

Something in the air seemed to change as Kalpov asked his question, as though the temperature had just dropped. Luther was not a man to back down from a confrontation, but he paused for just a moment, and when he resumed, he had dialed his voice back a notch or two.

"No," he said. "No it wasn't."

Kalpov exhaled, and whatever mood had entered the room vanished as quickly as it had arisen. "I stayed behind on the bridge because I thought that the best chance for the crew was for me to draw them up and take them out in a bottleneck," he said. "That's all I was doing. I didn't expect for sixty of them to show up, or I never would have even tried. I was not hunting for death and glory."

"Then next time," said Luther, "you tell me to stay behind and hold the pass. You don't do it yourself. The ship can spare me. It can't spare a commanding officer, not now. Not even if the CO is as thick as you seem intent on convincing everyone you are."

"The next time," said Kalpov, "I will give the orders that I think appropriate for the situation we are in. And if that means sending you out on some last charge, so be it, but I don't give orders that I'm unwilling to carry out myself."

"Nobody's questioning your will."

"Just my judgment."

Luther didn't answer immediately. "Most of the crew wouldn't say a word against you and you know it," he said. "They don't question your judgment."

"But you do."

"That's right."

Kalpov folded his arms. "So then what are we going to do about that?"

Luther seemed to think about it for a moment. "I don't rightly know that, sir," he said evenly. "Like I said, the crew won't hear a word said against you, not after this. To hear them talking, you personally executed every drone on the bridge and then blew the Cube up by yourself. I asked the Doctor if you'd gone crazy without telling me, and he claims there's nothing wrong with you that a few hits to the head won't cure. And Ereshal's apparently as crazy as you are, because she keeps saying you know what you're doing."

"None of us know what we're doing, Lieutenant, not even you."

"Ain't that the truth."

"So then am I under arrest?" asked Kalpov evenly.

"Don't be stupid," said Luther. "Even if I wanted command, Ereshal's next in line."

"You just said she's as crazy as I am."

Luther frowned. "I don't want your damn job, Commander, and I don't want hers. I want you to do your damn job. And that doesn't consist of assigning yourself suicide missions. You try and pull one of these one man army routines again, sir, and we are gonna have unpleasant words. Because so help me, Commander, I'm not explaining to the crew how I let you kill yourself on my watch."

Neither man said anything for a moment.

"I will take that under advisement, Lieutenant," said Kalpov at last.

"No you won't," said Luther. "I can see it in you already. You're gonna do whatever you damn well please, because you think you know better, aren't you?"

Kalpov didn't respond.

"Commander," said Luther, "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing with this business. I don't know if you've got a Death wish, a Martyr complex, or if you're just that stupid. We'll go eight months without a word out of you crosswise, and then all of a sudden something happens on this ship, or to the crew, and you turn suicidal. This time it was sixty drones. Next time it could be a hundred. Or just one with a lucky shot. And I don't care what excuses you give Ereshal or the crew or even yourself. One day you're gonna find something that will kill you. And when that day happens, my worry, is that you're gonna take this ship with you."

Slowly, Kalpov took a deep breath and let it out, watching the Lieutenant without saying a word. And then, with infinite care, he leaned forward.

"Charles," he said, "I'm gonna be as honest as I can here. You're one of the finest officers I've ever met."

"I'm not an officer," said Luther.

"Yes, and I'm not a Commander," said Kalpov impatiently. "What else is new? You've done an outstanding job at everything we've asked you to do. If things were normal, you'd have your own ship whether you wanted one or not. There's not a single person on Argonaut who isn't at least slightly afraid of you, and I know that's the way you prefer it."

"But?"

"But," said Kalpov. if I'm actually crazy enough to walk alone into a room with sixty Borg drones with the intention of fighting and killing them all, then what makes you think that I would let you stop me?"

Luther stared into Kalpov's unblinking eyes, and did not answer.

"I didn't take the Borg on because I had a Death Wish," said the Commander. "I took the Borg on because I decided it was the right thing to do. The thing that would reduce the threat to the rest of the crew. And maybe I was wrong, but that was the decision I made. And there is no way in this universe that I would have let you stop me, replace me, or do anything else that would have prevented me from doing what I thought I needed to do to safeguard this ship and its crew."

There were several moments of silence.

"Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

"Yes," said Luther in a quiet tone, "sir."

"Good," responded Kalpov in an equal one. "Dismissed."

Luther turned to leave, but had taken no more than a few steps before Kalpov stopped him.

"And Lieutenant?"

"Commander?" responded Luther, half-turning back.

"I may be crazy," said Kalpov, "but whatever you think you know about me, I will never, ever allow this ship, or its crew, to come to harm."

Luther seemed to consider this for a moment before responding.

"For your sake, Ivan," he said, "you'd damn well better not. Or the Borg will be the least of your worries."

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

"Commander on the Bridge!"

The entire bridge crew turned their heads in unison, as Commander Kalpov walked in. Several of them smiled broadly, someone even tried to applaud before a dark look from Luther shut him up. Ereshal stood up, and nodded as he descended the stairs into the central pit, leaning on the rail as he did so, before making his way, with difficulty, to the command chair.

"I stand relieved, sir," said Ereshal, producing a laugh from someone behind.

Kalpov merely smiled and nodded. "I relieve you," he said. "What's the status."

"The Borg fleet will be here in less than seven hours," said Ereshal. "If we don't leave in the next hour, they'll spot us on their long range sensors. We've taken on as many refugees as we can hold, and are finishing sorting them out now. Cargo bays report complete stores, and the replimass tanks are topped off and fully integrated. Best we can tell, sir, the rest of the fleet has been doing the same."

"Excellent," said Kalpov. "Signal Immortal that we're ready to depart whenever they are. And... contact the S'harien. Tell them Commander Kalpov sends his regards to their crew and Captain for their assistance earlier, and ask them about this special propulsion that Captain Cretak was talking about..."

[Charon]

The Barbarossa's response to the fact that they now had joint custody of the loot had been interesting. The three Ferengi brothers had at first moved to take all that they could until a "friendly" reminder from their captain had put them back in line. The work of the Ferengi and their crew was amazing though. They seemed almost to have a supernatural ability to sniff out useful equipment, and the ability to quickly get said equipment stowed away for later use. All in all between all of the salvage crews the field of debris had been mostly picked through and quite a few traps and mines now awaited any Borg that may wander too close.

In the end, Hizir had decided to come down planetside himself, getting a good look at the planet and some of it's inhabitants, and the Barbarossa was good on her word, 5,000 refugees were allowed onto the ship, and it took a bloody long time to complete such a feat. Of the 5,000 there were a number that had pledged their loyalty to the Barbarossa, her Captain, and the fleet, in order to get off the planet. There was little doubt some of them would take the opportunity to flee with their families as soon as they reached Bajor, but Hizir and his crew had made it clear that any who deserted and were caught would be Keelhauled as traitors.

Hizir still had half a mind to visit the famous Commander Kalpov, see what the man was truly made of, but now that things were underway he had another visit, which promised to be much less pleasant. The Romulans were due on board for their meeting soon.

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
Colonial Tower

His eyes settled on the Bolian as he waited for a reaction. The flinch was telling and it suggested that the Bolian had not been prepared for their ability to detect such a field. Ultimately, a part of him wondered how different this moment could have been had the S'harien been less diligent in its scans of the world. The actions of the magistrate had soured the well and yet as the Magistrate stared at his desk a part of him wondered what depths of desperation had driven the man to such an action. He displayed no physical reaction to the magistrate as he reached below his desk. If it was a weapon, he expected that Idrakht would react before the Bolian would. The Reman took the safety of his commander very seriously.
The PADD was impossible to miss and nearly instantly he understood what was transpiring. The magistrate had folded his cards. His eyes tracked the PADD as it slid accross his desk and fell on the carpeted floor. His eyes returned to the magistrate as he began to speak once more. The words of the Bolian filled in the blanks granting him a fuller picture of what had transpired in the world and ultimately the root cause of his actions. The Bolian peeled away the layers between his soul and offered them as willing tribute to the men and women who represented the sole hope of those he was charged with overseeing.

Is that not the very definition of nobility?

The Bolian raised his head, his eyes seeming to glitter as small rivulets of tears began to form. It was a look that he not often seen before even in the eyes of vanquished enemies. He had seen defiance, hatred, and at times grudging admiration but he could count in one hand the times that he had seen someone as thoroughly broken the man before him. In the end, he could do little more than speak. There would be no salvation for the Bolian. He had chosen his fate and he would carry out his duty. Nonetheless, while he would die others would live.

"You will be rememembered Magistrate. I think there will be little doubt of that." He said the anger that had been the undercurrent of his previous words fading into memory as he did so. His left hand moved, his data pad retrieved momentarily in order to stop the transmission after sending the all clear code to the S'harien. With the situation resolved, there was no longer a need for the transmission to continue. His head turned as Kirk's descendant spoke. The female was reassuring which was perhaps exactly what the situation called for. It was a moment later that the human captain stated that she would accept the daughter of the magistrate. It was for the best, even if he given her a berth on his ship the female Bolian would likely have been uncomfortable aboard a Romulan vessel. This was a simpler solution. When Captain Kirk shifted into command he nearly smiled.

The old blood still seems to enjoy ordering people about.

"That sounds quite reasonable to me." He admitted. His eyes watching Kirk for a moment before he nodded his head. As he did so, his attention flickered towards Captain Anderson. A moment later, and the legendary captain of the Immortal supported Kirk's suggestion. It was one of the first times in recent memory that he saw two federation captains support each other and he did not grow irritated. He was however disappointed that the allegations of the Magistrate against the Endeavor were being ignored.

I have no intention of doing that.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, IRW S'harien
Bridge

"The Riskadh is sending us a message Erei'riov." The female romulan spoke a mere second and a half after the Klingon warship sought to contact the Warbird.

"Put it through." Erei'riov Dar responded.

"We are getting data from the tactical officer of the Riskadh." The romulan tactical officer stated.

"The Riskadh is asking if we have a trained rescue team onboard." communications said.

"Let them know about the presence of our two shuttles and their positions over the colony." Erei'riov Dar responded and settled to watch as the bridge was consumed with activity. His attention focused on the steady stream of sound and other environmental data currently being interpreted by the Warbird's computer system as they eaves dropped on the conversation occurring below.

"It doesn't sound as if things are going poorly down in the planet." The tactical officer stated.

"No, I think..." Erei'riov paused as an unfamiliar sound intruded on the conversation below.

A grenade?

The thought was not a pleasant one. His eyes staring at the communication officer before the words of Galan dispelled the tension in the room. He released a breath that he had been holding without thinking. The tone and pitch of Galan's words indicating that nothing untoward had transpired. When the communication from the world below ceased with the accompanying all clear code he sighed. "Alert the Riskadh that the situation in the planet below seems to be handled. Alert our shuttles of the change in situation and tell them to land nearby and wait. We may still need their services in the hours to come."

"On it." The communication officer responded and quickly lost herself in her tasks.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
Colonial Tower

His head turned, the thought that had danced within momentarily dispelled as Kirk spoke. "I will arrange for it to take place." He admitted. The compliment about the Romulan fascination and aptitude with intelligence acknowledged wordlessly. His eyes watched Kirk as she turned and walked out of the office, his eyes lingering on her back and other womanly attributes before he forced his eyes away. A few moments later and Captain Anderson left the office of the Magistrate as well. He remained a moment longer, his eyes glancing at the Magistrate before he spoke once more.

"I require that you provide all information regarding the incident with the Endeavor as well as other vessels that came into this system and acted inappropriately Magistrate. The representatives of Starfleet may be willing to overlook this matter but I take a dim view of a warship that turns its back on doing everything that is reasonable in supporting its people. We have an obligation to survive, but I have been told more than once that Starfleet exists to protect and serve the needs of its people. I want you to make the data available to my people when they gain access to your systems and come down to coordinate the lottery process with your own staff." He had always felt that something sinister had lurked at the core of Starfleet. It may have taken a war for survival to bring it out in the open.

He hesitated for a moment, waiting for his words to sink in before he continued. "You have sacrificed everything to make sure that a remnant of the people under your care survive. I can think of no greater sacrifice and no greater honor to bestow you than this. In my eyes, you will live forever. My report to starfleet upon my arrival to Bajor will say as much." He took a deep breath and held it, his eyes lingering on the magistrate for a moment before he pressed a button on his uniform.

"S'harien, two to beam up." A moment later, an emerald starfield descended and within the span of two breaths the magistrate was alone in his office.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
IRW S'harien

Galan Cretak focused his eyes on the familiar sight as he and his Reman escort manifested themselves aboard the S'harien. Their arrival was met with pleasure by the staff immediately present in the transporter room. He took a moment to nod at various members of the crew as he moved past them. Idrakth was barely two steps behind him, they had managed to leave the transporter room when Idrakht broke the silence that had momentarily descended upon them.

"You don't look pleased to be back Galan." The Reman said.

"I have the funerals of a dozen men and women under my command to attend in a few hours. I also have to prepare myself for my meeting with Captain Hzir aboard the Barbarossa." The Romulan responded.

The Reman went silent for a moment. No other Romulan commander that he had served under had taken the loss of the people under his command as seriously as Galan did. He had originally attributed the concern to a facade designed to gain trust and respect from the people that served under him. Over the years however, he had learned that Galan seemed to truly care about the people under his command. It had been an unusual feature for a Romulan commander especially one with such strong ties to the Tal Shiar. It was his experience that in the eyes of many Romulan commanders, the people beneath them were simple tools to be used and discarded as an opportunity presented itself. Galan had been different then and he remained thus now. "I see. I will of course accompany you."

"No." He said flatly before coming to a stop in a momentarily empty hallway. "You are welcome to accompany me to the funeral of our crew but I will be going to the Barbarossa alone."

Idrakht blinked. "Need I remind you that it is a ship commanded by a human and affiliated with the Syndicate?"

"I hardly think that it was Captain Hzir's intention to invite me onto his vessel so that he could kidnap me." Galan replied.

"Only the most cunning and ruthless rise to the top of the syndicate Galan. At this point in time, I am unwilling to say exactly why he invited you to his ship or what he wants to talk about but I should be there." Idrakth responded a bit more hotly than he expected, his anger leaked from his mind in an overt display of frustration.

"I know you mean well Idrakth. I am not trying to ignore your wisdom and your concern is duly noted but the Barbarossa needs the S'harien and by extension needs me. They are not going to try something foolish with the amount of firepower the task force possesses. They want to fight as part of something greater than themselves. They want to make a difference." Galan responded, his eyes looking at the Reman closely aware of the anger that was leaking from the mind of the Reman but managing to keep the bulk of it at bay. He was not a telepath but he had been trained by some of the best the Romulan Star Empire had produced. There were a handful of Betazeds that could attest to this fact.

Idrakht hesitated for a moment, his eyes watching his commanding officer closely. "What is this really about?"

"Someone has to bend. If I bring you into the Barbarossa we are right back where we started. We cannot afford for distrust and petty rivalries to ruin this." He went silent. "We destroyed a Cube Idrakht. A cube. Did you expect that would happen when you came to Nivoch IV seeking a handful of Romulan refugees and some hope for the future? The Orion's wont bend. They know that if they show any signs of outward weakness the vultures will start circling. It is their way. I am not constrained by that problem."

"And if Hzir reveals that he took the Warbird by force and through a combination of slavery, torture and drugs coerced the surviving Romulans into submission?" Idrakth asked.

Galan's eyes hardened. "Then a long term alliance will be impossible and we will use the Barbarossa for as long as we need to." His words were ice.

Idrakth nodded. "Understood."

"Still, if you have to come in after me if things go poorly do so." He doubted that the Reman would miss such an opportunity.

"You can count on that Galan." Idrakth said a moment later.

Galan walked away from the Reman and disappeared down a corridor. As he did so, his left hand moved and he found himself speaking.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
IRW S'harien, Captain's Personal Quarters

Galan Cretak left the shower and stared at his reflection on the full size mirror which was positioned near one of the corners of his quarters. The ancient mirror had been in his family for generations having been crafted in Romulus from materials from within the resource poor world. Scores of members of the Cretak line had stood before the mirror wordlessly judging themselves. Galan inspected his nude form and frowned. He saw nothing more than imperfections akin to a diamond that had suffered beneath too much pressure and far too little time. His body was hard. It had to be considering the circumstances. Since the loss of Romulus, he had hammered his body into an implement that would allow him to carry out his objectives. The constant fight against the Borg demanded that all weakness be drained from the body.

While he saw nothing more than imperfections he took great pains to remove all the visible scars that he had accumulated over the years. It was not simple vanity, although it played a role in his decision. A leader had to be both gifted in manners of command but should also be visually imposing. The Romulan people had come to master the art of presenting oneself as something greater than what one truly was. When Romulan science had fallen behind the Federation in key areas, the sheer size and disposition of the mighty D'Deridex Warbird had been enough to give Federation planners nightmares. The Tal Shiar had brought report after report indicating that the Federation continually overestimated the capabilities of Romulan craft. The misinformation had allowed the Empire precious time to expand their knowledge base and develop new technologies to counter the Federation with. The Valdore class had been such a technology.

His left hand moved and traced the sole scar upon his body. It was in his abdomen, the tip of his finger tracing taut skin and feeling the skin beneath. The scar was a reminder that death could come from the most unlikely of places. It had been given to him by his lover in his days when he had first entered the Imperial War College. He had been so secure in his thinking that he had overlooked the signs that would have been as clear as day for him now. The knife had penetrated his skin and missed his heart by less than half a centimeter. it had slid neatly between his ribs nearly white hot in his memory. It had been muscle memory that had saved him. His body had twisted away and to the side, preventing his attacker from twisting the knife within. He had lashed out instinctively, a single defensive blow that had struck his lover in the neck and forced her to retreat. She had never been found. His eyes settled on the scar as he found himself tracing it back and forth.

Am I making a mistake again?

He forced the thought aside and sighed. His eyes leaving the mirror and the reflection that had danced within it before he turned and began the process of dressing himself. In the end, he chose one of his dress uniforms for this particular occasion. He had worn this particular one when he had visited Earth so long ago. The entire process took five minutes as he adorned himself in the manner of his people. In the end, he returned to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He was one of a handful of representatives to the once proud Romulan Star Empire. He know looked as much as he felt the part. Only one thing remained now. He walked over to where his bed laid and bent over, retrieving from a small storage area an unopened bottle of Romulan Ale year 2278. It was highly regarded although it had not managed to match the 2273 widely regarded as the best ale ever produced by the Romulan people.

"This will have to do." He said.

"Bridge, coordinate with the Barbarossa and indicate that I am ready to come aboard. Inform Engineering to begin procedures to generate a transwarp conduit. " He said a moment after brushing a familiar device.

"Acknowledged Riov. Standby." The communication officer responded a moment later. Her voice was laced with an undertone of concern which was hiding beneath a layer of professionalism.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then waited. Less than fifteen seconds later he felt the familiar sensation of an energy field descending upon him. His eyes opened and focused on the mirror before him, his view increasingly obstructed by an emerald field until nothing remained.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
IRW S'harien, Main Engineering

Arrain Arrenhe Velal was the undisputed queen of the engineering deck. Beneath her seemingly ever watchful eyes tithed dozens of engineers seeking to maintain the fusion of Borg and Romulan systems that allowed the S'harien nearly all of her advantages. At the moment, the Romulan female sat upon her command chair and frowned at the console before her as her eyes devoured a host of data presented for her pleasure by the computer systems of the S'harien. Her engineers had been working extensively on the preparations that were required in order to generate a stable transwarp conduit. It was her theories that made the conduit but it was Borg technology that made it possible. Her data board went green, indicating that the computer of the S'harien had found no faults in the sensor clusters scattered throughout the engineering deck.

"Here we go." She whispered as she pressed a series of keys. A handful of moments later a cascade of events began which were only partly directly under her control. The entire engineering deck seemed to hold its breath as Borg technology worked in ways that even know were not completely realized. She understood some of the mathematics involved, it was her understanding of higher order mathematics in conjunction with subspace theory that allowed for this to be possible at all. Nonetheless, most of what was transpiring went beyond even her level of understanding. The artificial singularity at the heart of the S'harien shifted, there was no other way to describe it. She could not easily see within the highly shielded and secure core where the singularity was held, but somehow the Borg had managed to tap into subspace. The end result of this deeper connection to subspace or whatever it was that the Borg had done paid off immediate dividends. In the span of three and a half seconds, the output of the singularity doubled.

At full power, the S'harien was capable of generating roughly forty percent more power than an unmodified Valdore-class Warbird. This improved power generation had not been hidden from the task force during the conflict against the Borg. Within the span of a minute, the power output of the Warbird had jumped to 280% percent of an unmodified Warbird and slowly began to climb higher. The power seemed to seethe within the ship and was clearly been focused somewhere. The torrent of energy had to find an outlet otherwise the Warbird would have already blown out every conduit within the ship akin to a Romulan bleeding from every vein, artery and capillary at once. Closer scans of the Romulan ship would ascertain that the power was not leaving the engineering deck. After fifteen minutes, the power output of the S'harien had tripled and showed no signs of slowing down.

Within the heart of the Engineering deck, Arrain Velal closely monitored the chain of events which was occurring within her personal domain. When the Warbird's output reached a specific threshold, it would begin to emit a series of tachyon and tetryon pulses. The first step of several that were postulated by her theory. She did however plan to obfuscate these pulses beneath others as she was aware that other cooks were present and she had little desire to have her recipe stolen. While it was unlikely that any ship in the task force would ever have the power generation capability required for her theory to bear fruit, the presence of a Luna class science ship was a challenge she could not overlook.

[rhoenix]

Nivoch System
In orbit above Nivoch IV
USS Gilgamesh

Once the last of the colonists slated by choice or drawing an unlucky straw had stepped off the transporter pad, they were led to the cafeteria. Some of the colonists looked around the area with interest as they took seats at the tables, though most of the others looked askance at the rather spartan fashion of the cafeteria of a Defiant-class vessel.

"I would like to extend a warm official welcome to all of you who decided to make this voyage," began Commander Inzeti, a small, though warm smile on her face as she addressed the refugees. "Though the Gilgamesh may not have all the comforts of some of the larger ships, we will get you safely to Bajor," she continued, with hands clasped behind her back as she stood at the front of the cafeteria.

"We have tried to match you properly in quarters with crewmen of similar temperment...," she continued, only to be interrupted.

The man who interrupted was one of the refugees, a man who looked decidedly suspicious of the whole arrangement. "Wait, we have to share quarters with the crew of this ship?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," replied Commander Inzeti, not showing the slight irritation she felt at being interrupted. Though she was better at dealing with tasks such as these than Captain Solheim, she still held several viewpoints of her time with the Romulan Star Empire - one of which was that it was nearly unheard of for an officer to be interrupted while speaking.

"Well, you're a Vulcan, right?", the man continued, now in a louder voice. "How is that logical? Shouldn't we be put in quarters with other people from Nivoch IV?"

Commander Inzeti's smile became slightly thinner. "I am Romulan, and it was deemed logical to pair each of you off with members of the crew, to better integrate you with the crew of the ship until we arrive at Bajor."

She didn't mention that there was a significantly lower risk of riots happening with frightened civilians if they weren't all in the same area. Nonetheless, the man who'd spoken before replied, undeterred. "Well, that sounds like a lot of Federation doubletalk to me. And no wonder we're all paired off, if you ain't a Vulcan - I wanna talk to someone else. Where's the Captain?"

It was only through years of training, and decades of harsh experience that Commander Inzeti didn't show an outward reaction that matched how she felt, which was rising irritation. However, her reply was one of smooth calm, matching her earlier tone almost exactly. "The Captain is unfortunately indisposed with issues concerning the security of this ship, the fleet, and any possible assistance we can be to those left behind on Nivoch IV. Rest assured, we are giving all of you berths of the best possible quality."

It was a small lie, to be sure, but it was the best possible response under the circumstances. At the very least, the outspoken man had once again seated himself, looking at least somewhat satisfied for the moment.

After looking around the room for other possible questions, Commander Inzeti continued from where she had been interrupted. "Each of the quarters to which you will be assigned will have the best amenities that this ship can provide, which will be a proper bed, a replicator, and access to the computer."

The man once again spoke up. "Wait, why don't we get to use the holodeck? The fancy-ass Feddie ships all have holodecks, why can't we use them?"

Commander Inzeti paused for a moment, taking a moment to take a subtle breath before replying. "I am afraid that Defiant-class ships are not equipped with holodecks," she said, hearing a muted grumbling from the gathered refugees.

"Unfortunately, they also lack a proper bar..." she began to continue, only to be immediately interrupted once again. She really should have expected there to be a massive outcry at this, Commander Inzeti thought, as the refugees nearly as one all drowned out the rest of what she had to say with loud protests, most of them getting to their feet in their outrage.

Eventually, she was able to finish the rest of her speech, and lead the colonists to their prescribed quarters - only to encounter more outrage once said quarters were finally seen by their prospective tenants.

There were some days, though rare, when she missed being an officer of the Romulan Star Empire, she thought darkly as she finished the rounds, despite the calm smile still adorning her face. It was generally looked down upon for a Federation officer to use phasers set on stun to achieve people's undivided attention.

Or, maybe she could have Captain Solheim take this duty next time, she thought, as her smile turned slightly wicked at the thought. At the very least, she would be able to blackmail him into giving her a proper massage tonight for taking this duty with the refugees.

[frigidmagi]

USS Immortal

Cerezi:

The cargo holds were full. So were the once upon time teleporter rooms and anyplace else you could jam bodies for several days. Commander Cerezi walked through the cots. There were roughly 1200 refugees, mostly children and their caretakers. She took upon herself to do what she could to comfort and reassure the refugees. Cerezi understood Captain Anderson's reasons both the humantarian and practical ones.

The colonists only chance was going into the bush, they needed to cut their emissions and live wild for months if not years. Children would the biggest problem and causalities of such a plan. By removing them the Captain enhanced by a tidy margin the survival of the colony. Tidy margins seemed to be the entire war these days. She knelt down next to a small girl on her cot and tucked in the blanket. In these situations one does what they can.

Summers and Rog:

The Lt sat back with a cup of moonshine leaning against the bulkhead and staring off into nothingness. He felt more then saw Rog sit down on a crate in front of them.

"Doesn't feel like we won does it?" Rog asked taking a drink from his own dented cup.

"Cause we didn't. Victory is achieving your objectives. The colony was not saved. We just slapped the Borg a little and they came over and made us run." Summers said bitterly taking a swig of his own.

"What else could we have done?" Rog asked taking a gulp.

"Not a damn thing. I'm not saying we should have stayed. Would have just been a smaller scale Andor... Or Vulcan.... Or Earth. I'm just..." Summers stopped and drank again. For moonshine processed by the engineers, it was pretty decent booze. He already had saved some for Mary, she would need a drink to.

"You wanted to stay. You wanted to fight." Rog pronounced.

"Yeah, maybe I did? Was that a bad thing?" Summers asked belligerently.

"No, it's a human thing... Well the Klingons and others do it to. Makes you different from us Ferengi you know. Used to think it was just sheer aggression, need to fight and dominate. And you know, that's part of it. I mean only an aggressive, violent species would produce an individual who charges 8 borg with a toothpick?" Rog said quietly.

"4 Borg." Summers replied.

"Big difference. Point is you guys hate to retreat even when not running means your death. And we've retreating for what now? Years? Ferengi can handle that if it means living. You guys need to attack and strike out, to feel like you're doing something." Rog said guesturing with his cup.

"Could be. But not much we can do right now along that lines." Summers said.

"We're doing what we can. We got a fleet now, that means we're gonna do more." Rog said.

"So you're hopeful for the future?" Summers asked.

"If I wasn't I would stuck my head in your girl's warpcore. So what are you gonna do?" Rog asked.

"Tonight? I'm gonna bring this bottle to Mary's quarters, we're gonna have some drinks and I'm gonna fall asleep listening to her breathe." Summers declared standing up.

"Just fall asleep? A shame you Hoomans don't know how to use a female." Rog mourned.

"Might do more, but that ain't any of your business." Summers said with a smirk as he moved towards the door.

[Charon]

Barbarossa
Teleporter Room

As the world restructured itself in the vast space of the D'deridex, Galan Cretak saw Hizir standing to one side, wearing much more ordinary and relaxed clothing, and carrying a bottle of Romulan Ale himself.

The human captain, who was alone aside from the two Romulans in charge of the Transporter, grinned. Looking slightly younger then than his salt and pepper hair and faint wrinkles would suggest. "It seems great minds think alike Commander."

Slipping the bottle behind him with one hand, Hizir turned aside and waved the Commander of the S'harien to come off the platform. "We may not have much time to take enjoying the ale though, with Borg breathing down our necks, but that is no reason to not try. I'll be your guide on our short trip through my ship."

[Cynical Cat]

As the not quite hostage crisis abated on the Riskadh the task of finding space for refugees began. Klingon warships were never generous when it came to crew space and the Riskadh was at full capacity. In addition most of her cargo bays held the ad hoc fleet's salvage, would limited the available space even further. Practice rooms, holodeck training rooms, and similar public spaces were pressed into service but their simply wasn't much available space.

All in all the Riskadh was able to cram in another two hundred souls. Nearly half of them were subjects of the former Klingon Empire or their dependents. The rest were the fortunate few who managed to get a berth on the ships of the fleet.

[LadyTevar]

USS Spector
Nivoch IV

Of the ships in the fleet, the Spector was far from the smallest. In the best of times, she held 500 crew comfortably, with plenty of privacy for those aboard. The Battle for Earth and the aftermath had taken a third of that number, either by battle with the Borg... or with their own depression. This left her able to take on nearly a thousand beings, cramming them in formerly empty crew quarters, in the holodecks, in gymnasiums, wherever Kirk could find room.

As Eoife Kirk walked the decks herself, supervising, aiding, stepping in when necessary, word started to spread amongst the colonists. They were on Kirk's Ship. The name spread, and hope bloomed again. She was Captain Kirk, The Hero. She would Protect them, she would get them to Bajor.

She was Kirk.

Unsurprisingly, volunteers from the colonists started to come forward. Many had no skills useful to the Spector, but all wanted to try. All wanted a place under Captain Kirk, to serve and win against the Borg like she had against the Cube. The fact that they were running from nine more Cubes inbound didn't matter anymore, because of course Captain Kirk had to join the fleet at Bajor.

She was KIRK.

[General Havoc]

The riots petered out as the sun set.

After much discussion among the colonial council, the announcements had been made publicly that afternoon, at a designated hour. Time enough for preparations to be made for the exodus. Time enough for word to be disseminated to the three or four hundred people who would need to know first, for certain, high priority groups of people to be alerted or assembled. The small remaining corps of engineers and construction experts that had built the colony and the shantytown around it, the staff of the two colonial infirmaries, or at least those who agreed to leave, and the makeshift schools that dotted the colony, to whom guards were sent with instructions to assemble the children together in preparation for an outing.

As it was, barely a handful of people had actually left the surface of the planet before word began to leak of what was happening, followed shortly by the official announcement. The Borg were coming back. The fleet was leaving. Most everyone would not survive.

Given everything, the announcement had been taken better than some had expected..

There was panic, of course, widespread panic, and chaos as terrified civilians raced in search of rumors as to who would or would not be saved. The officers and crews of the ships above, even people who merely looked like they might be from the ships above, were set upon by mobs of desperate, frightened people, some offering bribes of anything that came to mind, others making preposterous (and sometimes less than preposterous) threats of violence to force the issue. The initial attempts to perform the lottery in person was a disaster that led to a riot after a rumor shot through the crowd that the ships above were taking only Romulans, Klingons, Vulcans, or some other species. Only after the colony records were marshaled for these purposes did things begin to calm down, and even then, the process was punctuated with random violence and assaults on some of the colonial officials making the tour of the shantytowns to ascertain the populations there.

Three people died and sixteen were injured to one degree or another before most of the ships switched to simply beaming their selected refugees off the planet, or escorting them out with armed guards to fortified shuttles. Even with that, someone took a potshot at one of Immortal's shuttles with a hand disruptor as it was taking off on one of the transport runs, three of Gilgamesh's crew had to beat a retreat by transporter when a riot broke out in their vicinity, and two of the marines from Riskad'h were forced to fight off a band of eight desperate men of various races who attacked them in some insane attempt to force a place on the departing ships. Three survived the ensuing disruptor exchange.

Meanwhile, a steady stream of refugees were taking to the hills and mountains that surrounded the colony, civilians leaving with anything that came to hand, the lucky few with aircars or other technological transport, the majority with improvised wheelbarrows, carts, or simply their backs. Despite Captain Anderson's request, there was not enough room for even all the children, for every ship in the fleet could have taken nothing but children, and still there would be thousands left behind. Men, women, children, and beings that defied those categories limped slowly away from the colony, for the officials within had announced, pursuant to Anderson's suggestion, that this alone might save them from the Borg.

Might.

And so, as the sun set over the slowly emptying colony, as the last embers of rioting burned themselves out, and the last shuttle flights left Nivoch IV forever, at long last the ships of the ersatz fleet were filled to capacity with the lucky elect, all crews withdrawn, and all systems ready to leave.

As to those left behind, the Borg would see for them.

[frigidmagi]

Captain Anderson stood on the bridge. He had been there since the riots started, listening to the reports his face unmoving. The mood was quiet and grim. They were running again.

They invade our space, and we fall back.

"All ships report ready sir." The XO annouced subdued. If he were another man Captain Anderson would have ground his teeth at the report. He had been fighting the Borg for years. In Romulan space, in Klingon space, in Federation space, and nearly everwhere else. And for what? His family gone. His world a cybernetic horror. His very civilization on the edge of extinction. His very body in ruins sustained only by advanced technology that in some eyes made him akin to the Borg.

They assimilate entire worlds, and we fall back.

For a moment, a brief red, blood mad moment, he thought of ordering the fleet to stay. To fight. To hold. It was insanity. To many cubes not enough ships.

"All ships prepare for transwarp." He said, his voice level, cold. Replies came back. Did the Klin feel the howling anger in their guts like he did? Did the Romulans feel dancing tension? The need to strike back, to rend apart the monsters dousing out the lights of civilization and free will one by one? Did the Vulcans? The Gorn? Andorans? Did it matter what anyone felt anymore?

"Transwarp... Engage." He ordered. Someday, he swore silently to himself, I will make you pay. I will make you suffer. I will free your slaves and burn your worlds. You will pay.

When men have little, they cling to their dreams even more.

[Comrade Tortoise]

In Transwarp
U.S.S Humboldt
Intercomm System

Captain Vlad'Stok had been in the Holodeck for fifteen minutes. In the end, the photonic sphere had been eliminated, but the imaginary Humboldt had sustained minor damage to some of her secondary systems from the spalling of subatomic particles through the shields, as well as a few micro-hull breaches.

During that time, his Science stations had assimilated, so to speak, the census data, and gotten what remained from sensor data. The wonderful thing about taking up every single Vulcan on the planet is that all one needed to do was isolate their life signs. Vulcans tended to stay together in groups. Emotional control was aided by mutual support from other Vulcans. As a result, beaming them all up at once was relatively easy. It also limited their exposure to the harmful effects of rioting.

He had gotten them all off world first. This message was given to them before most of the adults were stored in the ship's pattern buffer--modified based on the fact that no vulcan children had been separated from their parents. At least not in a permanent way. Most of the rest were children of various species, however, for each species selected, there were two adults for every six children. Generally the parents of one of the children, or a set of siblings. There were Benzites, Andorians, Tellerites, and a few others of lower statistical representation. Every effort was made not to break up families so long as the math worked out.

This ended up being a modification of the original plan. However, it was decided that should everyone survive, it would help to have some sort of caregiver for the children taken up from each species who could help the children explore and develop their own cultural heritage. It was afterall, not enough that a species survive genetically. The cultures needed to survive too. Additionally, an adult--preferably an experienced parent, was required in order to help raise the children anyway. Orphans in a refugee colony almost never ended up functional members of society.

Captain Vlad'Stock Projected his voice over the intercomm.

"Gentlebeings and assembled children. This is Captain Vlad'Stok of the Nova Class starship U.S.S. Humboldt. You heard the announcement, or at least rumors of the announcement. To be blunt, you have been selected to survive. Or, at least to have a decent chance at survival. I regret that we could not take on more of your people. I also regret that some children have had to be separated from their families. To minimize the stress of this, we have tried to take as many parents as possible, but it was not always feasible. To those individuals, I apologize for saddling you with the burden of care for the children of your respective species. We have filed the documents to give you legal guardianship of those children who are not biologically your own. May I ask that you familiarize yourself with all of your new charges. If you require assistance. Do not hesitate to ask the crew. Several off duty officers will be stationed at your berthing locations at all times. If you require psychological or medical attention, our Emergency Medical Hologram has been fitted with a mobile emitter, and has had his matrix upgraded with all pertinent information he will need to assist you.

There are several rules I need to impress on you. While this vessel began life as a science vessel, it has been modified into a warship. The equivalent of Heavy Frigate tonnage. Many systems have needed to be rewired, and many areas of the ship are not safe for civilians. If any of you have technical skills, those would be welcomed. Our crew consists of eighty sentients, and the help would be appreciated. Barring those circumstances, I would ask that you stay in your berthing locations. In the event that we come into Hostile Contact with the Borg, and are boarded, the refugee locations have been fitted with Transport Inhibitors in order to prevent the Borg from beaming directly into those locations. They are also all in the interior of the ship, protecting you from hull breaches. You are in the safest locations of the ship. Remain calm."

The vulcans took this in stride. They were vulcans afterall, and not a single child had been separated from their parents. The other species however did not have the Vulcan quietus, and there was some discomfort. Several people had to be sedated, what Doctor Genetris called the "Off-Switch Hypospray".

The last nine hours had been highly eventful. The shields of the Gilgamesh had been repaired, medical and engineering teams from the Humboldt had assisted the crew of the Argonaut in their repairs and the treatment of injured crew. The crew of eighty had been worked to the bone, and now they had entered transwarp.

"Commander."

"Yes captain?" said the first officer.

"Give the crew a break. Two hour meditation rotations. After you have done that, you have my permission to take a nap. You have been up for sixteen hours, and have not so much as sat down or eaten. Consider yourself relieved."

"Thank you Captain, but I am good to keep going. I think you are just projecting your own tiredness." he said with a little smirk

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow.

"You should know well enough by now that Vulcans do not project. Though sometimes we do protest too much. Still if you fall asleep on the bridge, I will not reprimand you. Humans do afterall, need more sleep than Vulcans."

Discipline really had relaxed on the ship. No amount of vulcan emotional control could stop strong emotional bonds from forming with an officer you worked closely with every moment of every day. This sort of shit-giving, as humans would put it, was their way of expressing it.

His first officer rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, we do. On the other hand, we do not need to meditate for two hours before we sleep in order to not go postal on the entire crew."

"None of my people have, as you put it, 'gone postal'."

"What about Ensign Zaron?"

"That was different. He neglected to inform the doctor that he was coming up on Pon Far."

"He took out a Lirpa and challenged the Doctor over a patient"

"He was brought down with a medical phaser before he injured anyone. Everything ended as it should have. His chosen mate, Lieutenant Jaral accepted his advances. Pon Far was alleviated. That was three years ago, and we have not had an incident since."

[General Havoc]

Acting Commander's Log, Stardate 75591.1

Transwarp is not an experience I recommend to the astrophobic. In fact, it's not an experience I recommend to anyone.

Archivist's Note: Despite the limited use made of Transwarp technology by the USS Voyager and other selected test ships, in 2398, the vast bulk of the Alpha Quadrant's ships were still unequipped with Transwarp capable engines, and the overwhelming majority of Alpha quadrant denizens, even Starfleet and other allied military personnel, had never experienced Transwarp travel. The capabilities of the Battlecruiser S'harien is believed by most historians to have been entirely unique during the Quadratic War, both among Romulan vessels in specific and allied forces in general.

For eighteen hours we've been flying blind, and despite Joral'vec's best efforts, we have been unable to extend our sensor range beyond the Transwarp bubble, the boundary of which is roughly a kilometer and a half off our starboard bow at its closest point. We're in extremely close formation with every other ship in the makeshift fleet we fell in with at Nivoch, less than a ship length away from four other vessels, much closer than even the computer is willing to get. Ambassador-class Heavy Cruisers don't exactly handle like an SSF. I've had to rotate the helmsman six times since we left Nivoch. Strictly speaking it's probably un-necessary, but with formations this tight, I need the helm officer to be as fresh as possible.

Archivist's Note: "SSF" stands for Space Superiority Fighter, a relatively rare class of ship introduced by Starfleet shortly before the Dominion War. In 2398, the primary example was the Peregrine-class Attack Fighter, several of which were carried aboard the USS Spector as part of an experimental carrier design. For more details, see Ships of the Late Federation, Chapter 14

Luther reports that we've got sixteen hundred and fifty three civilians aboard from Nivoch, which is about 10% more than I thought we could fit, but Anderson requested that we take on children if possible, and children, frankly, take less space. Three quarters of our new passengers are under the age of 18 (or the equivalent in human years), most of them unaccompanied except in bulk. With the ship running normally for once, I've assigned most of the crew to trying to get them all installed properly. With the detour to the Badlands, we'll almost certainly be a week before we get to Bajor, and that's assuming nothing untoward happens on the way. I know better than to assume or even hope for that.

Archivist's Note: "Luther" here refers to Chief Petty Officer Charles Alexander Luther, who at the time of this log entry was serving as Acting Tactical Officer (with assumed rank of Lieutenant) aboard the Argonaut. Conjectural references indicate that Luther was the most senior non-commissioned officer aboard Argonaut during and after the Battle of Andoria. "Anderson" refers (almost certainly) to Captain Gabriel Ethan Anderson, commanding officer of the USS Immortal, who was by the time of this log serving as "Commodore" of the mixed Federation/Allied fleet assembled at Nivoch. For details of the previous service record of Captain Anderson, consult Warriors of the Stars: The Soldiers of the Quadratic War (pp. 86-102).

The kids are frightened, which isn't exactly a surprise, and the crew, to say nothing of the guardians that came with them, have been doing what they could to calm them all down. The lack of stars outside doesn't help, and I've had to order most of the windows shut to prevent more outbursts. If the pictures are anything to go by, the Badlands aren't gonna be much of an improvement, it looks like something from Dante, but I'd rather they be scared than dead, frankly, and according to Luther, things are settling down now that they've had a chance to acclimate a bit and convince the younger ones that this is all some sort of elaborate vacation or summer camp. The older ones may know better, but by and large seem to be willing to keep their mouths shut. We're prepared to enforce that if need be. I won't have someone telling over a thousand kids that their parents are being massacred and assimilated by the Borg as we speak.

I've rotated as many of the crew as I can spare to mandatory rest during our trip. I want everyone, myself included, to be on top of their game when we reach the Badlands, as there's a decent chance we're going to find a Borg Hunter-Killer fleet waiting for us. Supposedly DuBois has some special method of keeping the Borg blind to what we are, but I've learned better than to trust to magic tricks, even from a ghost ship.

Archivist's Note: DuBois refers to Captain Marcellus C. DuBois, commanding officer, USS Empyrean. From this reference, it is clear that by this point, Commander Kalpov was aware of the personnel situation aboard the Empyrean, though it is unclear as to whether he was made aware of this via Lt. Commander Ereshal, debriefing of the returned crew from the battle of Nivoch, or from some other form of experience or contact not in the record.

I've forced myself to get some sleep as well, as I have no intention of being out of commission when we enter the badlands. The timing is, as usual, annoying, but then I didn't join Starfleet to make my life easier.

Archivist's Note: For reasons that can be inferred, Commander Kalpov's habit was to pretend at all times to be a human officer, even when completely alone or recording a personal log. These extended at times even to feigned reminiscences of his "life" prior to the battle of Andoria, using information gleaned from the actual Lt. Kalpov's personal records as well as from references presumably gleaned from his own experiences while impersonating other beings. As a result, a degree of interpretation is required when examining the Argonaut Chronicle. Log entries where Commander Kalpov did not maintain this charade will be noted when they occur.

In this case 'sleep' is assumed to refer indirectly to the process of liquid regeneration, which Changelings were biologically required to undergo every sixteen hours.

If our astrometrics are still trustworthy, and there's no telling if they are inside this bubble, we should arrive at the Badlands within the hour. Entering the Badlands at Transwarp would, I'm assured, disintegrate us all down to the subatomic level and scatter our particles across half the visible universe. We'll therefore be dropping out of Transwarp short of the Badlands themselves and proceeding through at low Warp. The transit shouldn't take more than a day to complete, and when we emerge from the far end, we'll be less than four hours' Transwarp from Prophet's Landing, a major Bajoran colony world that, last we heard, is still under Federation control. We might be able to offload some of our passengers there. Of course, we might also find a glassed planet, a fleet of Borg warships, or both.

One problem at a time...

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
IRW S'harien, Main Engineering

Arrain Velal watched the three screens before her closely keenly aware of the passage of time. With each passing moment, the power flooding the S'harien continued to build guided along borg-constructed pathways in floods of emerald energy towards the transwarp coils that would play a central role in the formation of the transwarp conduit. She hardly moved and barely seemed to breathe as she watched and waited. Ultimately, after two hours had passed the power generation of the S'harien seemed to reach its peak at roughly ten times the power generation of a standard Valdore-class Warbird.

As the power build up reached its summit, the final aspects of the Velal principle were applied. Within the span of thirty eight point three seconds, a flood of tachyon and tetryons were emitted at complimentary frequencies towards a specific point in space. As the particles were emitted towards this point in time, a second burst was channeled through subspace itself. When the two streams joined both within the specific point both within real space and subspace they coalesced. The end result being an indigo colored tear in space that was at its creation a mere twenty five meters in diameter. The stream of energy shifted, new particles added into the equation which in turn forced the tear in space to expand further shaping itself into the familiar form of transwarp conduit.

"Bridge, this is engineering. The conduit is formed." Arrain Velal spoke calmly a small smile appearing on her lips. She always enjoyed watching the fruits of her labors.

Alpha Quadrant
Nivoch System, Nivoch IV
IRW S'harien

"Confirmed Engineering. Good job." Erei'riov Dar replied a moment after the sensors of the S'harien informed him of the creation of the familiar conduit. "Is the task force in position?"

"Task force is in position." replied the sensor officer. Any ship not within a five kilometer radius of the S'harien would not be able to join them in transwarp.

"Captain Anderson has ordered the task force forward." The communication officer stated.

"Wait. Is Galan back from the Barbarossa?" Hanaj Dar asked. The commander had spent over an hour aboard the D'Deridex.

"Transport room 1 indicates that they have locked on to his signature..." The communication officer started. "We have him sir. Riov Cretak is aboard."

"Good. Lead us into transwarp." Hanaj Dar stated.

A moment later, the S'harien alongside the other ships of the task force slipped into the transwarp conduit and the matter stream that awaited within. Less than five seconds after the transition of the S'harien into the conduit, its opening into the Nivoch IV system closed.

[Charon]

The Barbarossa

To say that things were not going swimmingly aboard the huge D'deridex with so many civilians on board would have been an understatement. Hizir had gone to specific lengths as to what would happen if any civilian was so much as looked at funny, but there was bound to be trouble when no small minority of his crew was built of criminals. 20 men were in the brig even before the Transwarp jump for various reasons, and one man had been executed by Danava after she heard him talking mutiny. After that things had settled down somewhat and the crew did their best to stay away from the refugees, which was not always easy considering how many the Barbarossa had stuffed into every compartment that could hold a person.

Of the roughly 5,000 people that she had brought on board, a good 800 had pledged to join the crew of the Barbarossa, some to fight the Borg, others because they felt a ship, even a ship in a fight, was safer than being on a planet, others because their family received passage for their sacrifice. Of those 800, many had gone to filling in various crew positions and were going through a rough crash course. No small amount however were receiving military training. They wouldn't be up to the standards of either force of marines, but with so many decks the ship needed a greater military presence in case of being boarded. Most of these new crewmen wouldn't be up to the task of their jobs for weeks, possibly months. They wouldn't be proficient for a year or more. But one always had to think ahead.

[Cynical Cat]

Things were less than comfortable aboard the Riskadh. Klingon warships were not abundantly supplied with recreation spaces and creature comforts and the available space was further reduced by the holds full of salvage. With the gym and holodeck space, what there was of it, taken over by refugees there was none left for the crew.

Fortunately the Riskadh had just emerged victoriously from battle, one in which they suffered only slight losses. While the long, disastrous war strained morale, the recent victory served to buy some relief. The return of replicator use didn't hurt either.

"By the hundred thousand gods of the humans," said Kural as he tore synthetic meat from synthetic bone, "its nice to eat something other than g'dayt ration packs."

"You eat like a Marine Kural," said the Klingon opposite him.

"I have an appetite like a Marine," replied the big Klingon. He raised a cup of wine to his lips and drank. "I hope never to drink racta juice again." His rapid Klingon metabolism went to work on the sugars and alcohol immediately, generating a pleasant buzz.

"And the table manners to match," said the other.

"You're a fine one to talk Kaggeth," said Kural. "I've seen you on leave. Marines have nothing on you."

"Someone has to protect the women from the attentions of the Marines," he replied. Both Klingons howled with laughter.

"Mind if I join you?" asked Khedira. "I promise no Marines followed me."

All three Klingons laughed. "If the epetai Helmsman chooses to join us she is most welcome," said Kaggeth. "Even if she brings Marines."

"So, how does the one find the bridge?"

"This one finds her station agreeable," Khedira replied. "Have you heard about the human?"

"Which one?" asked Kaggeth. "Anderson? That one is a fusion unless I miss my mark. The klin lives in him."

"It does," said Khedira. "That one and the Romulan. But I mean one of the others. The Kirk."

"They have one of his line?" said Kural.

"Yes," she said. "The Akira class's captain."

"That one was never short of luck," said Kaggeth. "And we need the luck of ten thousand heroes."

"We need ten thousand heroes," said Kural. "Not even Kahless could win a war without an army."

"I've seen more ships in the last two days than in the last six months," said Kaggeth. "And the captain is squadron leader and second in command."

"Against how many Borg?" said Kural. "Who many battles have we won while losing the war? How many cubes did we burn above Klinzhai? How many have left wrecked and strewn from one side of the Quadrant to the other and still lost the war?"

"We still fight," said Khedira. "And while Kadon commands we will still fight and we will still win until we are victorious or the Naked Stars see the last Klingon fall." She snarled. "And you will not speak any more of defeat or I will carve the liver out of your body and paint the deck with your blood!"

[General Havoc]

The fleet dropped from Transwarp near the edge of the badlands, and from high warp upon entering them, for the fabled plasma storms of the badlands would admit nothing above a medium warp speed, and that only grudgingly. Sensor performance collapsed upon entering the storm, almost entirely in the case of smaller vessels such as Gilgamesh and Spector. Behemoths like Vigilance, with their enormous deflector, or Barbarossa and S'harien with their generous power supplies, were less effected, as was Empyrean's enhanced sensor suite, but all suffered degradation, forcing the fleet to stay within hundreds of kilometers of one another, or risk losing sight altogether.

The violent plasma storms were a danger of course, but even the slowest ship could avoid them with care, and the heavy shields of the gathered warships easily repelled the storm of high energy particles that bombarded the packed ships. A loss of shield power in the Badlands was almost inevitably fatal for the ship in question, as the plasma storms would rip such ships to pieces, or liquefy their crews with fatal doses of radiation. Presuming that the shields held however, the Badlands were an incomparable place to hide. Many thousands of ships could well have been using it as a refuge, and the fleet would never know, even as they passed through their midst. More importantly, neither would the Borg.

Yet only an hour into their journey, the sensor officers of first Empyrean, then other vessels, began to see contacts.

Ahead, on sensor readings rendered fuzzy and weak by the roiling storms, there were ships. Dozens of ships. Fifty or sixty, the sensors could not be sure. Nestled together in a large clump some ten billion kilometers from the fleet's location. What type of ships these were, and who was aboard them, the sensors could not identify. Performance, even on the best ships, was not equal to the task. The mystery fleet was out there. And as best anyone could tell, they had stopped upon detecting the ships of the allied fleet.

All that could be gleaned was that the ships in the other task force were not of sufficient mass to be Borg Cubes. Beyond that, nothing was known.

[White Haven]

"More contacts."

Those simple words, delivered in a Texan twang from a figure in a regulation Starfleet science officer's uniform and an...inexplicable beige cowboy hat send a ripple across the Scylla's bridge, straightening postures and banishing the mix of bored, monotonous fear that the lingering presence of the first group of signals had generated. The middle-aged man in a tactical uniform seated in the center of the bridge nods slightly, waving a hand at the display currently showing a visual of Badlands plasma soup, and calls out, "Tactical display, relative positioning information." As the display swaps, he studies it for a while, then nods again to himself.

"Tex, keep us quiet, and try to get a feel for the plane of reference those formations are using. Helm, take us closer...slowly, and once Tex's figured out their relative planes, try to keep us away from them. Let's see if they're thinking two-dimensionally. Lesschey." He turns to face a blue-skinned Andorian female-analogue, "Once we're ballistic, I want you to deploy a few bits of flotsam around us...nothing with an active signature, so no explosives this time, just some of the scrap. Quietly, no transporters, no tractors. I want us to look like a drifting derelict with a debris field if anyone gets a peek.

[Marcao]

Alpha Quadrant
Transwarp Conduit
IRW S'harien, Riov Quarters

Riov Galan Cretak hesitated in mid sentence and went silent the recording program waiting patiently for over ten seconds before detecting the lack of input and pausing itself. Galan sighed, his eyes scanning over the three dimensional projection of the letter he had been orating. It was a letter of condolence to a family that likely no longer existed. Why was he putting himself through this? He frowned for a moment, considering for a moment for whom exactly he was preparing this letter for. Ultimately, it was a matter of practice as much as responsibility. It did not matter that the family of the eredh in question no longer existed. Protocol dictated that as his commander, a letter had to be written and stored in the faint hope that it would be delivered at some point. He took a deep breath and held it, his left hand moving and brushing against a specific key which banished the program into oblivion for the time being.

He stood from behind his desk and found himself walking towards the nearest window in his quarters. His quarters were spacious only slightly smaller than the captain's quarters aboard a Galaxy-class ship. When he reached the window he paused and looked outwards. His eyes focusing on the ships of the task force that he could see. He could see the Immortal, the Argonaut and parts of the Riskadh as well as the Gilgamesh from this particular angle. Beyond the ships of the task force laid the edges of the conduit. He allowed his eyes to track the seemingly ever shifting colors and patterns on these edges which at the moment ranged from indigo to crimson at uneven intervals. He had no idea what would occur should a vessel breach those edges and he hoped that he did not have a particular desire to find out on this trip.

He had slept for a little over six hours after having returned from the Barbarossa. Afterwards, he had settled on the business of running a starship attending over a dozen problems that required his attention. After he had finished with most of these, he contemplated his exchange with captain Hzir. The human had proven to being a shrewd negotiator but that had been expected. His race had indicated that he had to be a remarkable individual. Being a human in the syndicate had to be a handicap. In the end, the bulk of his concerns had been addressed and he had been left wanting to know more. He could remember quite vividly Hzir's coy smile as he answered some questions and glossed over others. Ultimately, he had come to admire the human in some ways. His capacity for guile was almost on par for a Romulan. Nonetheless, Hzir had keenly managed to negotiate enough to allow the relationship between both men to develop some roots. In the weeks to come, assuming they survived Bajor they would both be able to evaluate their arrangement.

Shortly after he had awoken, Sindari had visited him informing him of some irregularities in the data regarding the one thousand and three hundred souls that had been saved from Nivoch IV. While the data had not been truly surprising, it still had been unwelcome news. He had allowed her to have complete control over the response with his blessing. He could remember her eyes upon him seeking to appraise not only his physical well being but his mental state. She had deduced that the exchange between himself and Captain Hzir had gone favorably. It had surprised him that she had not seemed disappointed. His left hand moved, sliding over his short cropped hair for a moment before he spoke.

"Bridge, status." He said softly.

"We are still several hours away from the badlands Riov. The ships of the task force have maintained their position relative to the S'harien with no significant deviation." The response was nearly immediate.

"And our guests?" He added.

"Riov Sindari welcomed them aboard Riov. They are aware of the situation and we have not have had any incidents so far." The voice of his communication officer was dry. Sindari was notorious for bluntness when the situation called for it.

"Understood. I will be spending some time in holo-deck 1." He said. The implication did not need to be stated. His crew understood that unless something that warranted his immediate attention occurred, his time in the holodeck was sacrosanct and should not be interrupted.

"Acknowledged."

Galan hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath and holding it as his shoulders moved as he stretched his neck. It was time to punish his body. He could not allow himself to go soft. He left his quarters and made his way towards holodeck 1. The first two holodecks of the S'harien were smaller than the rest, designed predominantly for more limited roles than full out simulations. As he reached the entrance to the holodeck he paused before it, accessing the computer and entering a series of keys. After his password had been accepted, he chose one of his favorites. As he entered the holodeck, he was greed by a familiar scene. The room within seemed to have transported him directly into a beach, flags of the Romulan eagle tumbling down four large polls each rising roughly three meters in height. The perimeter of the room was a perfect square made dragged into the sand roughly fifteen meters in length to a side. At the center of the scence stood a familiar human male dressed in a starfleet uniform. His eyes settled on the human male and for a moment nothing happened.

Samara.

The thought leapt to the forefront of his mind and a familiar sensation blossomed in the pit of his stomach. His lips curled upwards in a near feral grin as he found himself speaking.

"I hope you are ready. I am not taking it easy on you." He said crossing the threshold that separated

The human's reply was to assume a ready stance which distributed his weight evenly. As he did so, his left hand motioned for him.

"With pleasure." He growled. The doors closing behind him as he sought to cover the distance between himself and his prey.

Alpha Quadrant
Transwarp Conduit
IRW S'harien

"What the hell am I doing here? The last thing that I remember I was in the medical wing..." The human male frowned and went silent. His eyes focusing on the Romulan woman sitting opposite him. She had attractive features for a Romulan, not that he had been attracted to members of that particular species before. Still, he was a survivor and if surviving meant shacking up with a Romulan, he was prepared to do whatever it took to accomplish his objective. The fear of death had a way of motivating a man. He went quiet however when he truly noticed her eyes however. There was no warmth in those eyes at all. If eyes were the windows to the soul then he was looking at a Borg. His eyes left her own only when he saw motion at the side of the Romulan. A Reman, possibly the tallest Reman he had ever seen took a step forward. The motion was stilled with a quick gesture from the Romulan female.

"That won't be necessary." The words which flowed from her lips was honey, not at all keeping with her reputation. The Reman stilled and took a step back, joined his twin on the opposite side of her. It was only when the Reman was controlled that her eyes settled on the human. "I will answer your question now. All of the visitors from Nivoch IV received a medical exam in order to determine if there were any specific health concerns that had to be addressed as we transitioned to Bajor. As you were being examined we discovered something that made you a special case." She said softly. Her eyes locking on those of the human. "You are not Charlene Harris."

The human which called itself Charlene Harris was for a moment stupified. His survival instinct kicked in a second or two later however, his facial features becoming bland and neutral before he spoke. "I take offense to that! My mother loved her sister, and when she passed away she chose to name me after her. It is a little weird I know, but what can you do about your parents?"

Sindari N'vek offered a full smile that would have stopped the hearts of many men and made them grateful for it. A second later her hands moved and were brought together as she clapped. At her sides, the twin Remans were akin to stone. "Bravo! If I were a stupid little magistrate in a colony in the middle of nowhere I may have believed you. Unfortunately for you I am far more capable than that." She said, letting her words sink in before she continued. "The S'harien received full access to the data files on Nivoch IV from the magistrate himself. We chose to utilize colonial ID's for our lottery in order to have the capability to verify the effectiveness of our lottery." Her left hand moved, a button pressed in a small data device. As she did so, a three dimensional image of Charlene Harris manifested between her and her guest. "As you can see, this is Charlene Harris. What did you do to her?"

The human male listened closely, with each word dread building within his heart. When the holographic display of Charlene Harris appeared it took all his ability not to slump against his chair. Shit. It was the first thought that came to his mind. He considered lying once more, but something he saw in the eyes of the Romulan female froze his tongue. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry before he sighed. "I didn't kill her."

Sindari N'vek laughed softly. The sound genuinely amused. "If she is still in Nivoch IV, you did not do her any favors. She may wish she were dead when the Borg arrive."

The human went silent for a moment avoiding eye contact with the Romulan as she spoke. Her words were laced with truth and for that moment, looking back he felt shame. What made him so worthy of survival? "What are you going to do to me?" He found himself asking. This was a Romulan vessel, the rules of Starfleet did not apply. He was not going to get a fair trial here. The Romulans were not known for that.

"I am not going to kill you." Sindari responded.

The human blinked and looked towards the Romulan female. "You are not?" He sounded surprised.

"Not unless I have to. I have other plans for you." She smiled.

"Plans?" The human responded, nervousness creeping into his voice.

"Oh yes. You and the others like you are going to be mine. When we reach Bajor, I will tell you what I need done." Sindari responded.

"Wait. Wait. You mean like a spy?" He sounded incredulous.

"Not at all. On whom would you be spying for? Starfleet exists in all but name. There is nothing left to spy on. I prefer the term agent. When we reach Bajor, there will be host of things that I need done. You will do some of these things for me." The Romulan clarified.

"And if I refuse?" The man said finding courage building on the pit of his stomach threatening to overcome his senses.

"You won't." Sindari said simply.

"What makes you say that?!" The human growled softly. Something about the Romulan woman before him had changed, all her beauty had been sucked away darkened by an arrogance that seemed to know no bounds. His reflection in her eyes was akin to his looking down on an insect before stepping on it.

"There are several reasons. Firstly, you are a survivor you proved that when you chose your life over that of Charlene Harris. I need men and women that are ready and willing to do whatever it takes to survive. Secondly, have you ever heard of a Varon-T disruptor?"

The man blinked momentarily taken aback by the question. "No. I cannot say that I have."

Sindari sighed softly. "I suppose I should not be surprised." Her body shifted, her right hand retrieving an arcane looking device from her belt. When compared to the current disruptors used by the Romulan Star Empire, the Varon-T looked positively clumsy in comparison. "Only five were ever made. This is the last one." She let her words linger in the air for a moment before her eyes sought those of her guest. Once they snared them in her own she continued. "It is a vicious weapon designed to kill in the most agonizing manner possible. Here, I will show you. "

The human male stared at the weapon as it was retrieved. His eyes widening for a moment as the words of the Romulan female manifested. His body tensed, ready to leap from the chair and make a futile gesture before his life was taken away from him. He did not get the chance to do so. The weapon did not fire. Instead, the Romulan female made a gesture and the holographic projection that had wordlessly hovered before him accusingly vanished. It was instead replaced by a recording of a female Hekaran sitting in what seemed to be the very chair that he was presently occupying. The woman stood, angrily called out in defiance and then she was hit by a blue beam. The Hekaran hesitated for a moment before she started screaming, her body seeming to pulse with energy. The screams became louder and more intense, seeming to build and build until finally seemingly ten seconds after the shot her body simply fell apart. He stared as the recorded ending, his mouth a desert. He had made a living out of avoiding pain. Sickly eyes fell on the Romulan female as the recording vanished. "So you would kill me."

"I already have." She said flatly. "I have no use for the man sitting before me. The man I need is one that I will mold into something else. I need someone willing to follow my orders and to survive. Will you be this man or do I have to look elsewhere?"

"How...How can you be sure that I would do what you want after we reach Bajor? This ship won't stay there forever." He found himself speaking. Cursing himself for a fool for bringing that up but internally terrified at what was transpiring against him. Had he begun to consider what she offered him?

"Because you know that I would find you if you betray me Alrik. Because you know in your heart that I would not kill you with this disruptor until you were ready to welcome death." She went silent for a moment. "And because I have poisoned you."

Alrik winced slightly when his name was revealed. His eyes widening when she spoke of poison. "What?!"

"Oh yes, it is a very slow acting poison Alrik. It should be by now settling on over a dozen places within your body now. If you don't receive regular doses of the antidote..." She paused. "Let's just say that you will wish that you were hit by my disruptor."

Alrik stared at the Romulan seeking to see any hint of a lie. He saw nothing but his own fear reflected back at him. She had him. What choice did he have?

Sindari watched patiently waiting for the moment when the spirit would break and the human would accept his fate. It had always been a pleasure of her to see that moment in the eyes of her adversary. The game had never truly mattered. When she saw it happen to Alrik she basked in the moment. She loved that moment almost as much as she loved seeing the rise of the central star over Romulus. With Romulus gone, the only thing she loved as much as seeing her enemies vanquished before her was a particular Romulan.

Sooner or later Galan you will accept the inevitable.

Alpha Quadrant
Badlands, IRW S'harien
Bridge

The IRW S'harien emitted a tachyon burst in conjunction with a tetryon stream at a specific frequency. As it did so, the conduit that had been sheltering them from real space flickered an end point opening akin to the end of a tunnel. The S'harien and the rest of the task force exited the conduit and watched as it ceased to exist ten seconds after their arrival. Within the armored heart of the Warbird half a dozen individuals burst into activity.

"We have arrived on our destination Riov. Our drift was less than seven thousand kilometers."

"All ships accounted for. The conduit has collapsed."

"Take us into the badlands at half impulse until the task force gets its bearings. Keep an eye out for any surprises."

"Understood Riov."

Galan sat more comfortably upon his dais and glanced at his central data screen. The data was projected through floating holograms and did not inform him of anything he did not already know. The S'harien had been in the badlands on more than one occasion. The first hour as the task force slid deeper into the Badlands proved to be a quiet one. Less than five minutes after he had that thought, something changed.

"Contacts! forty, fifty, no, sixty sensor contacts Riov!" His sensor officer called out.

"Sixty?" Erei'riov Dar spoke.

"Can't be Borg." He said softly as if through will alone he could alter reality. "What can you tell me about them?"

"I am having a hard time with sensors Riov. I...Wait, their mass does not correspond to Borg cubes Riov."

"Spheres? Exterminators?" Riov Galan Cretak pressed.

"It could be either Riov. All I can tell you at this time is that they are not Cubes. Wait. Riov, I see something else. One contact, located on the opposite side of the sixty or so contacts."

"Show me."

"On it!" A few moments later, and the main screen of the S'harien was dominated by the sensor readout. The sixty vessels, the lone vessel and the task force were located at what could be called a triangle nearly equidistant from the others. The task force was nine light hours away from both the hidden fleet and the lone ship.

9 light hours. It can't be coincidence.

"Open an encrypted channel to the Immortal, Riskadh and the Empyrean." Riov Galan Cretak ordered. if they were going to proceed, they might as well develop a consensus.

[Comrade Tortoise]

U.S.S. Humboldt
Transwarp Conduit

The good thing about being a ship full of Vulcans was that actual nervousness in the crew was non-existent. As a matter of fact, spirits were rather high. They had halved over the number of Vulcans on the ship. Forty Vulcans. Forty more alive in the Galaxy. Vulcans in general had a distinct bias in their vocations. They tended toward intellectual or technical pursuits. It is what happened when your primary schooling consisted of being put inside of a hemisphere for twelve hours a day, and literally had information crammed into your brain and then being asked to synthesize it, and use it to solve problems posited to you in rapid succession. Of the adults who did not have children, all six of them were useful in some way or another. One was an electrical engineer, another a cognitive therapist (as if any other sort existed on Vulcan), three were technicians, and another was an Astrophysicist.

All of them elected to join the crew. The ship normally had a crew of 80, but a few more would not be overly burdensome.

Of the others--of every species--they had children, and thus their disposition would be decided on Bajor

...

Bridge of the U.S.S. Humboldt

Alan Forsythe sat in the Captain's Chair. T'Lorn was in his quarters meditating. The day had been stressful, and it needed to be done. The door chimed and the ships lone full Betazoid walked onto the bridge.

"Dr."

"Commander" he said, in much the same way that Doctors would greet eachother in the hallway of a hospital. It was amiable.

"How is Morale?"

"Mine, or the rest of the crew?" responded the ship's chief medical officer.

"Yes."

"High. Well, higher than normal. As you know, we managed to pick up a cognitive therapist on Nivoch."

"Ah! So you finally have some help."

"Yeah. As for the rest of the crew, they are happy because we can guarantee the safety of more Vulcans."

"What did I tell you? The Borgification would continue until morale improved"

"I am fairly certain you have that in reverse."

"Don't pester me with silly things like details Doctor."

"Commander, the Conduit is opening." said Lt. Commander Turell.

"Excellent" the First Officer responded back. "Helm, take us out. Keep us within a hundred kilometers of the Immortal. We don't want to lose sight of eachother in here. Turell, I want regular sensor sweeps. All stations to fix on any anomaly."

"We are getting a lot of interference from the plasma storm sir." the science officer responded. Alan tapped on his Comm Badge and spoke

"T'ran, is there any way you can boost the sensors?"

"I think we can increase the signal to noise ratio by reconfiguring the main deflector to generate a isotronic field that should filter out the background noise"

"By all means, get it done"

...

An hour later, the sensors console lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Captain, Sensor stations one through seven are reporting between fifty and sixty sensor contacts. Distance ten billion kilometers. Mass is inconsistent with cubes, but they could be almost anything else."

"Relay data to task force via encrypted tight beam burst transmission. Make certain it is an encryption key we all have in common." T'Lorn responded

"We have something else sir. One ship, beyond the other contacts. No other information as of yet."

"Give data to the Empyrean, and advise Command. The Empyrean's sensors are better than ours, they may be able to pick something up that we cant through the interference. Same protocol."

Code: Select all

Transmission to U.S.S. Emypyrean, copied to the Immortal and Riskadh. 

Be advised.  Our sensors are detected unknown sensor contacts.  Ten billion kilometers. Bearing two point six zero mark ten*.  There are approximately fifty ships, unknown configuration.  Telemetry data follows.
...
A second contact at negative sixty point eight mark ten.  Single contact, unknown configuration.  Telemetry data follows

*ten billion km

[Charon]

Barbarossa
The Badlands

Hizir sat in the Captain's chair, his legs up on one of the arms as he stared out at the chaos that was the Badlands. It was old familiar territory, or as familiar as a chaotic storm of hydrogen and energy could be. He'd used it when he was Maquis, and again when he'd joined the Syndicate. Even after the War he'd hid in the Badlands a few times. His eyes were glued on the viewscreen of the chaos outside, his brown eyes watchful for signs of danger. They weren't as easy to avoid in the Barbarossa as they'd been in his old ships, but the old girl could take a much much bigger pounding.

On the other arm sat Danava once more, her arms crossed under her chest as she stared at the storms as hard as her captain. Her own thoughts were her own, but she had always had a kinship with places like the Badlands.

Ereiss was resting in her quarters, she had had quite an ordeal today, between the battle, the trip through the Transwarp conduit, and perhaps worst of all the meeting with Cretak. She would need to be at her best, and so the Captain had ordered her to rest, a few sleeping pills courtesy of the Doctor had helped with convincing the stubborn Romulan. One of Hizir's older crewmen was on the helm now. He was an Orion, and had the most experience in the Badlands of his navigators, for what that was worth.

"Steer us right. Energy storm is brewing on our left." Hizir spoke quietly, the silence on the bridge let his voice carry far.

Without a word, the navigator turned the ship. It was a laborious movement, but sure enough the Barbarossa saw the beginnings of a nasty energy storm brewing just as they passed. "No reason to scare our refugees any more than they already are."

"Sir," one of the other crewmen spoke up, "We've got other contacts. But in all this mess I can't detect shit. Fifty or sixty contacts up ahead, but that's all I can get."

"Borg?"

"They aren't cubes, that's the best I can give you at this range." The human looked back down at his console. "We've got another contact, separated by several light hours from the others. Single contact."

Hizir scratched his chin. It could be any number of things. Borg scout fleet, Alliance scout fleet, a bunch of desperate and suicidal refugees. "Keep our course and keep an eye on the contacts. I've got no interest in delaying our trip to Bajor any longer than we have to. They don't bother us we won't bother them."

"Should we inform the rest of the fleet, sir?"

Hizir snorted. "If they can't detect a group of 60 contacts they don't deserve our help. Let me know if you get anything else."

[Cynical Cat]

"You have been getting sleep?" asked Morizan as he walked into Kadon's office.

"Fifteen hours of transwarp has made allowances," said Kadon. "What did you want to see me about?"

Morizan put a pad down on Kadon's desk. "My analysis on the captain of the Gilgamesh."

Kadon picked it up and sped read through it. "You're a spy."

"And thus is prone to seeing spies. I'm quite aware of selection bias. You are a Navy captain."

"And thus prone to seeing Starfleet officers," acknowledged Kadon. "I'll keep it in mind. What about the others?"

"The Vulcans are uncharacteristically forward," said Morizan. "So far they seem to be what they claim to be."

"And the others?"

"Still compiling data on the pirate."

"And the Empyrean?"

"There's more investigating to do. They're hiding a lot."

"Keep at it."