"Ride The Tiger" Part 4

Primary Characters:

Admiral Jurgen Hoth
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt. Commander Cassius Henderson
Major Saladin Bolivar
Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Lt. (JG) Victor Krieghoff

Secondary Characters:

Commander John Zaletta
Lt. (JG) Cameron Bartlett

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 8
Battle Bridge

"Know Thine Enemy"

Primary Character:

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 8
Battle Bridge

After setting new command codes based on a Rihannsu Galae command algorithym he remembered all too well - he had once used it to set his own command codes, he reflected, with a sharp, unexpected pang of sadness - Sub-Commander tr'Khellian turned immediately to a tactical analysis of the present confrontation.

The Galaxy was outnumbered, outgunned and, frankly, outclassed. Any Starfleet tactician would have balked at the situation, and Savar was pleased that Hawksley, the gibbering buffoon, was absent from the Bridge. If Admiral Hoth turned nasty - which M'Kantu clearly expected - the only way the Galaxy and its crew would survive would be to *not* fight in the cliched, expected manner of a Starfleet tactician. They would have to play by new rules - his rules. They would fight the Romulan way: with cunning, with cold calculation, without scruples, to the death if necessary.

The three capital ships alongside them in the Quentin system - the Excelsior-class cruiser USS Hood, the Valiant-class escort, USS Pershing, and the Sovereign-class battlecrusier USS Nimitz - was a formidable task force. But it was not without its weaknesses.

USS Hood was coming to the end of its useful life, and Savar was astounded to discover that the vessel was nearly a century old. A brief trawl through a potted history of the Excelsior class was equally amazing: only the Dominion War had finally put an end to the widespread use of this antique ship design. Although the Hood, like all original Excelsior-class vessels, had gone through extensive internal refits, the hull structure remained exactly the same, and therefore its fundamental systems could not be radically upgraded. He noted with interest that the Excelsior represented Starfleet's first attempt to dabble in the dark arts of transwarp drive; when that failed, the hull had to be refitted for a standard warp engine - whose efficiency had been increased over the years, but whose basic perameters could not have changed. A more powerful warp engine would have destabilised a hull made for weaker engines - and the same went for its weapons. Although the weaknesses in the class had been shored up through the decades, as the Dominion War proved, makeshift modifications were more of a liability than an asset when it came to pitched combat. The Hood had only twelve phaser banks - type VII - and four torpedo launchers, utilising outdated photon torpedo technology. Although there was no one specific weakness to seize upon, this antique was surely the weakest link in the taskforce. Savar would take pleasure in denying the Starfleet Museum of this prime exhibit.

If the Hood was the weakest link, USS Nimitz was the strongest. The Sovereign class was a marvel, a true feat of engineering - even a Romulan could appreciate the decades of preparation and testing that had produced, in the finish, a vessel as graceful as it was deadly. Development on the Sovereign project had begun many decades ago, when relations between the Federation and Klingon Empire were deteriorating rapidly, and the Klingons were developing the technology to fire whilst cloaked. Though ultimately not produced at that time, theoretical development continued apace, with important technical advances thrown up on the drawing boards for this project being incorporated into other classes for testing. The poor performance of the Galaxy class in the war against the Borg finally prompted Starfleet to begin production of the new Sovereign-class vessels, and seven or eight had been produced annually ever since. They were the mainstay of the modern fleet, and had performed well in the Dominion Wars. Some, Savar had already noted, were being refitted for even greater destructive capacity - the vessel Fleet Captain Brodhe had been reassigned to being an excellent example. The Romulan had almost salivated at the sight of that vessel at Starbase 212. Thankfully, the Nimitz had not been fully upgraded, though clearly one of its flight decks had been altered to permit the inclusion of a fighter squadron - which, the Romulan noted with distaste, was still harrying their own, and flying dangerously close to the Quentite survey ship.

The only chink in the Sovereign's armour was a mechanism introduced specifically to outfox the Borg. The Borg had demonstrated at the Battle of Wolf 359 - a military disaster noted well in the Romulan Empire - the supremacy of multiphasic weapons and shielding: weapons that remodulated themselves to slice through enemy shields; shields that adapted to enemy weapon's fire. The Sovereign-class had attempted to resolve this imbalance by introducing its own version of multiphasic shielding. The onboard computer automatically assessed the attacking vessel and remodulated its shields accordingly. Here was the chink: the attacking vessel in this case would be another Starfleet ship. The Nimitz's edge was lost, and if the specifications of the programme their computer used could be accessed in the Galaxy's database, this could be disastrous for Hoth's vessel. If the Galaxy were able to predict the frequencies to which the Nimitz would automatically remodulate its shielding, and pre-empt them with remodulations of its own, several direct hits through the Nimitz's shields would be possible. Furthermore, if concentrated weapons fire from multiple sources on different frequencies could be concentrated on one shield, the chance of this plan succeeding rose exponentially. Here is where the fighters would come in. And, perhaps, Savar considered for the first time, this would make a convincing case for separating the stardrive and saucer sections of the Galaxy-II-class vessel.

The Valiant-class USS Pershing was simply a mobile weapons platform. It was one of the classes in which many of the technical advancements of the then-theoretical Sovereign class were trialled, allowing a tiny vessel to be massively overpowered and overarmed. Essentially, the Pershing was a highly mobile weapons platform, as if part of a starbase had been detached and fitted with a warp engine. It was ugly, and it was brutal, and it was dangerous. But it was really not as dangerous as one imagined. Face-on, the Pershing was formidable: pulse phaser cannons, refitted quantum torpedo launchers - the concentrated firepower was astounding. But this was where the inspiration for the class let it down - there was a very basic and very glaring inherent design flaw. All of these weapons were forward-facing, and fixed. A few basic phaser mounts had been added to the ship's rear, almost as an afterthought, but Valiant-class vessels were still hugely vulnerable to assault from aft. The designers had sought to get around this problem by making the ship small, fast, and manouevrable, so that on an attack run, its rear would only be exposed for a short time whilst it came about. This was long enough: here was a task crying out for the fighter squadron. A swift, devastating attack to the ship's rear, possibly aided by sustained fire from the Galaxy's phaser cannon, and the Pershing's shields would easily collapse. The threat of the Valiant-class escort could then be defused in a deadly strike on the vessel's bridge. With a crew of only thirty, the loss of the command centre and the ship's senior officers would leave the ship stricken and crippled, its head severed from its body. This would have to be one of the first manoeuvres of the battle - if the Pershing's threat was neglected, the fire it could rain down on the Galaxy would finish the damaged flagship off.

The weaknesses of the Galaxy itself were all too obvious. Still badly damaged and, frankly, in need of a couple of weeks in spacedock, tactical systems were only just wobbling feebly back into action, thanks to M'Kantu's disastrous prioritisation of science sensors. Still, impulse drive was online at full strength - if the structural integrity field would hold. Although the vessel was an upgrade from the surpassed Galaxy-class, its improvements were makeshift and the vessel still paled beside the Sovereign, a class that truly earned its designation. It was, perhaps, fortunate for Starfleet, Savar reflected, that so many Galaxy-class vessels had been destroyed in recent years: apparently the temptation to re-use and refit ships that ought to have been mothballed was too powerful for the stingy Federation bureaucrats to resist. On the plus side? The Galaxy could separate - and the more tr'Khellian considered this, the more he thought it prudent. Though hardly the mean fighting machine that the Prometheus class was, the Galaxy could operate more freely in separated mode, and this would likely prolong the battle. The more shots the Galaxy could dodge, the more options it had open in tactical manoeuvres, the greater all their chances of survival. Also, its fighter squadron - something Savar had considered hypocritically out-of-place on a 'science' vessel on a supposed mission of 'peace'. He snorted to himself. At least they would be of use in this encounter. They would have to be made use of, at least in the assault on the Pershing, for the escort vessel could only be outmanoeuvred by these small craft, but perhaps their main role would be confined to fending off the attentions of USS Nimitz's own fighter squadron.

And then, there was the nuclear device. Where would that figure in the battle? Savar raised a hand to his neck and tried to work out the knot that was forming in his right shoulder. He had been on duty now for well over twenty-four hours with only twenty minutes of rest, and during that time had even lost a pint of blood to save the dwindling life of Senator Omar. He blinked wearily as he tried to focus on his console - recent events were beginning to take their toll, even on his robust constitution.

There were two basic options, it seemed, for the nuclear warhead. Too powerful to be wasted on the tiny USS Pershing, whose weaknesses had already been identified, a direct strike against one of the other ships would make best use of its crude destructive potential. Henderson had suggested using the transporters, presumably to then fling the device at one of the opposing vessels. This would undoubtedly knock shields off-line and cause significant damage, potentially causing the early exit of the target from battle. However, the capacity of the device could be maximised if the opposing vessel's shields were to be neutralised - and so the obvious target could be USS Nimitz. Instead of remodulating the phasers to outwit the Nimitz's computer, the transporter beam could be reconfigured to penetrate its shielding, and beam the warhead directly next to the vessel's hull. Tr'Khellian smiled cruelly as the brutal sophistication of this course of action became clear. Even if the transporters were unable to penetrate the Nimitz's shields, the device would detonate nearby, causing significant damage. It was a win-win scenario. Savar summoned Dr Quick to the Bridge; the Romulan understood nothing of the Sovereign class's modulating devices - if anyone did, Quick might.

Something strange had happened to the Romulan, which he put down to tiredness as he quickly drafted a report to the Captain and LtCmdr Henderson. He had started to believe that they might just survive this fight.

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Romulan Exchange Officer
Assistant Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

'Certain it is and sure: love burns, ale burns, fire burns, and politics burns. But cold was life without them.' - Ancient Rihannsu Proverb

"Fugue....."

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Location: The Surface of Quenton.

The Mind of Klaus Fienberg. The Deterioration of The Mind of Klaus Fienberg.

The whole trip was a blur. For numerous reasons, this could very well be the last service of his starfleet career. But this was only an impulsive thought. What is all of this.

The mind journeyed through this world...this universe a watcher. Outside. The steamy enviromental suit fogged with each breath. This was not depression. This was not sorrow. This was not boredom. This was not determination. Could it be existentialism? No. It was beyond that. There was no feeling at all. Am I a cold machine now? The only purpose to follow the orders of superiors? What is it to be a superior officer. To control the actions of those considered under you. I am here scanning for life on a dead charred world. Somebody may have survived, but how far from out position?

I hope the away team is alive. I've been informed that it is safe to remove our helmets. I will. I do not have too, but I wish to. Dusty, sandy air. But breathable.

I do not know what I smell. It does not register. But brain is but a broken tricorder. It scans and picks up data, but is unable to process it. Or is it my mind that is broken. How is it that I function normally, cheerfully even, when my mind is working as it does. No Feeling, emotionally paralized. Am I insane? No.......those that are insane claim that they are not. But.....

Dr. Reynolds, my new boss. She is a very capable officer and doctor. Better than me......perhaps that is why I've only been a junior grade Lieutnant for all of this time. THis does not concern me though. I am pleased.....or am I not? Or is this an illusion, to hide the inner misery, or the inner emptyness. My Psychology lessons have taught me nothing.

Only two things centered in my heart.....but not enough to fill the void. Two women, one from the past, one from the present. Lucy and Kay. They were the only women I truely loved.One is gone, into the dust and void of space, running from a man trying to kill us both. The other is aboard the Galaxy, awaiting my return, knowing nothing of my plans for our relationship. The little box under my bed in my quarters.

I had purchased it when I first heard of the shoreleave, but I lost it. How could I lose something so important.....nonetheless, after our return to the ship and our disembarkment it turned up. I had planned to wait until the end of the mission to do it.....but....this horrible event took place....

I stand here on this charred dead world, and my heart feels charred and dead. How can I compare my own heart and troubles to the destruction of a world, and an entire civilization. But....they feel alike. Once my heart, like this world, was full of life, and soon to accomplish great things. But now, it is charred and lifeless, like the barren Quenton. Perhaps there is a cure of this back on the Galaxy......but for now...this world, and my thoughts, is all I have.

I do not understand my ability to have these thoughts and peform my duties at full efficiency. No one has commented on my being distracted. This world looks very different to me without my helmet. These people I work with, these people I know well seem almost millions of miles away, beyond my reach. Higher ranks, higher lives. These feel almost unattainable. But I know that I can and will reach these levels. But why should I even be concerned. Why does anything concern my attention. We are born, and then we eventually die. In between....what is there? Some try to avoid the end, hiding from the inevitable truth. Some just live, ignoring the truth. Then there are those that try to bring the end before they are suppose to. I once tried, and failed. But I still do another thing. I help preven the end for others. But for what reason? Anyone can die at any time. And yet I try to prevent it, perhaps I am just safe gaurding them, attempting to stop them from dieing ah! ead of their time? Or am I playing god, doing this against the will of a greater power, my God. Am I doing what our lord wants? Or defying him by keeping him from ending the lives of those that are supposed to join him....

....I know this god exists. He merely said one thing, E=MC2. And there was light. He let things flow as they should. He became the diety of all species, helping his creations along....But why? Why do these thoughts plague me, especially at a time like this. Why is my mind in this internal Fugue......Why?

"Dust of the Earth"

Starring

Rebecca von Ernst

(Quentin)

Standing alone amidst the swirling dust of a long-dead world. . . . . . . . . Gazing out upon the ashen ruins of a civilization that had died eons before her birth. . . . . . . . Standing in the shadowy light of a dying star burning its final bits of fuel to warm an abandoned solar system. . . . .

Amidst it all There was only one logical thought for the serious young Starfleet Officer from Minnesota:

~~~Noodles!!! If this powdery dust doesn't stop blowing up my nose I'm gonna have mud-boogers the size of Mars growing out of my nostrils!!~~~

Hardly poetic, but then again we're talking about Rebecca here.

When she was quite sure nobody else was looking, Commander von Ernst stuck her skinny index finger up her nose in a desperate attempt to dislodge a particularly gruesome booger.

~~~Drat this poopy headed planet.~~~ she fretted as she dug about. ~~~Earthquakes. . . . Ancient ruins, and now THIS!!~~~

In her defense, Rebecca was not usually known to engage in socially repugnant acts, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and with all the airborne dust clogged in her nostrils, it was clear that her cute freckle-coated nose was quickly being turned into booger-city.

Sighing in dejection, the Galaxy's XO wondered if other First Officers had to put up with such 'cow-brained' situations.

The rest f her intrepid little away Team was below her, exploring the latest in a long line of mysteries handed to her by the planet Quentin.

Where once a vast wind-blasted cliff face had once stood, there now lay the unmistakable outlines of a long abandoned underground facility, recently exposed by the frequent quakes.

There were several large buildings in the complex, each clustered around an even larger horse-shoe shaped construct that seemed to denote some sort of central administration building. there was no apparent signs of life. . . indeed the whole facility appeared as ancient and dilapidated as the rest of the planet, but perhaps a careful survey would reveal further clues.

At least that's what one of the excited science officers had informed Rebecca. To her it just looked like an icky pile of muddy buildings probably crawling with spiders and things. With this in mind, she had bravely ordered the away team to spread out and explore while she surveyed the sight from above.

~~~Spiders. . . ick~~~ she shuddered.

Finally deciding that the manual 'roto-rooter' method was not helping clear her sinuses, Rebecca decided to 'Reverse Thrusters' and see if that worked.

Giving her nose an undignified SNORRRRRRTTTT!!!!, Rebecca hacked up a sizeable glob of muddy mucus that sailed gracefully for a few feet before returning to earth with an undignified splat.

~~~Ew. . .like gross~~

It was at this time that one of the aforementioned Away Team members can trudging up the hill from below her. Rebecca recognized the eager face as being that of one Ensign Robert Blather, a cocky youth with blue eyes and a permanent look of self satisfaction plastered on his face.

Even before he arrived Rebecca could tell he was gushing with some sort of big news.

"Ensign Blather Reporting Ma'am." the officer reported with a snappy salute, "Initial scans of the ruins are complete, and Mr. Corgan wanted me to come to you with a preliminary report."

More than likely James Corgan just wanted Blather out of his hair for a few moments. James also should know how much she hated 'preliminary' findings and preferred only final data, but Rebecca wearily waved for the youth to continue.

"Duranium Ma'am." he gushed, a smile spreading form ear to ear. "Biaxilly Stressed Tritanium fabric, Electron bonded to 100% Grade -A DURANIUM."

Blather stood proudly as if he had just announced "Let there be light"and there was light.

For herself, Rebecca didn't have the slightest clue what Blather was blathering about. Materials Engineering (like many subjects) was waaaay over her little red head.

"English Ensign!" she alliterated. "I don't have time for your technobabble."

Blather looked hurt, but he quickly recovered. "Duranium Commander. . . . . .It. .its the stuff we make starships. . .starbases. . . heck pretty much everything out of in the Federation. Even the Klingons and Romulans use it as a primary building material. . . . .its like a ceramic-metal polymer that's very common throughout the galaxy."

"If its so common then why is Mr. Corgan so excited about it, Mr. BLather?"

"Why? B. . .because it should NOT be here." The Ensign stuttered, "Most modern powers use the stuff, but for a prewarp society like Quentin. . . .or whatever planet this is now. . . . it should be IMPOSSIBLE to manufacture. "

He paused, "Mr. Corgan is excited because that stuff down there is NOT from Quentin."

Rebecca appeared to digest that in silence for several moments. "Alright. . .what else."

Smiling again , the Ensign pulled out his tricorder and began reviewing his findings.

"Well. . . we have sheets of monocrystal beryllium silicate. . .that's a sort of radiation shielding. We have Sarium Krellide readings. . . .ummmm that's like used in various power sources like batteries and. . . "

"And Communicator Pins." Rebecca finished for him. She had actually read the manual for her Com Badge once upon a time.

"Right, right." Blather nodded. "Our Com Badges have Sarium power cells in them. "

"Anything else?"

"Well," Blather consulted his tricorder. "We still have not entered any of the buildings yet. . . .Mr. Corgan wanted to do a perimeter search first, but we have localized the Tachyon pulses to be emanating from somewhere within the large horseshoe shaped building. That will be our primary goal."

Rebecca nodded and surveyed the ruins once again. . . . . .Duranium? What the noodles was that doing down here? As a matter of fact, where the heck was "here" anyways.

While she was pondering (daydreaming) Blather continued to study his tricorder, and as it whirred away a look of concern crossed his face.

"Commander. . . ." he almost whispered, "ORGANIC readings!"

"Eh. . . .whats that." Rebecca asked distractedly

"Look here." he said excitedly "Real close by. . . some sort of organic jelly-like substance possessing carbon based structures, caustic enzymes, and traces of hemoglobin."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

"As a matter of fact. . . . " Blather stooped , running his tricorder over the ground at Rebecca's feet, its almost right in front of you. . .some sort of mucous-like jelly. . . ."

"THATS ENOUGH." Rebecca ordered rapidly, figuring out he was scanning her snot. "Report back to Mr. Corgan and inform him that I shall be down directly. In the meantime continue his search."

Blather looke d confused, but agreed to put away his tricorder and return to the ruins.

After all who knew what other mysteries were to be found?

"After Arrival "

Ens. Elijah Faraal NPC
Darrell Chambers

Galaxy, Ten-Forward

Elijah reclined in a corner watching others scramble about the ship. He had been working with engineering and ops for the past 16 hours and he needed a break. The away team had left taking with it his CO, and since the ship was still stuck in orbit above Quenten, there just wasn't much that he could do. He sat and waited now, sipping synthahol. Chambers walked through the door and looked around. Spotting Faraal, he walked over and sat down across from him.

"So, now what?"

Elijah glanced at him lazily, "Don't know. Guess we just wait. Keep up with general duties, et cetera."

"Yah, guess so. Wanna catch a game of chess later?"

"Sure, I'm spending some more time with engineering later, to see if I can help at all with the engines, but I'll drop you a line after that."

"Sounds great. Take care."

With that Chamber stood and left. Faraal put his drink down and crossed his hands behind his head, staring out the window.

"My Enemy. . . .My Ally"

Starring :

Captain Fedorio Escalante' of the USS Pershing (NPC)
Admiral Jurgen Hoth -- Star Fleet Tactical Training (NPC)

(IN ORBIT ABOVE QUENTIN)

Captain Fedorio Escalante' could not believe his ears. "Say that again. . . .our sensors show what?"

"Its the Galaxy sir. . . ." came the befuddled reply, "S. . .sh. .she's charging her weapons."

The captain of the USS PERSHING rocked back in his chair in shocked amazement. All about him on the tiny bridge, his other officers exchange similar looks of incredulity.

"Tactical analysis. . . onscreen." Escalante' ordered in a whisper, not believing this unthinkable turn of events. A Federation starship. . . .was preparing to fire upon a fleet of her own sister ships? Before them, the holographic display switched over to a computer-generated cross-section of the USS GALAXY pinpointing design changes and weapons mounts. The tell-tale red glare of charging phaser banks and loaded photon torpedo tubes glowed ominously on the screen.

"Galaxy Phaser banks up to 98%," his science officer reported, "Photon status. . . .looks to be fully loaded with Antimatter warheads primed. . . . . . Sir, it looks as though they mean to fire on us." The confused statement was understandable but unwelcome.

"Belay that Mister." Escalante' snapped finding his voice at last., "Stick to analysis and leave out personal comments."

"A. .Aye sir."

"Mr. Davenport." The captain addressed his Weapons Officer, "Go to Yellow alert and begin pre-energizing the shield generator coils."

"Shields up Captain?"

"No. . . .not yet. . . .What are the NIMITZ and HOOD doing?"

"Scanning. . . . . . .Hood has initiated yellow alert. . . . no shields as of yet. . . . . . . .NIMITZ is still running with everything down.. . . .Captain! Galaxy is charging her PPC system." ~~~What the hell are you doing M'Kantu?~~~ Escalante' thought miserably. The Spainish born Captain of the Pershing had met Daren M'Kantu two years before at a Diplomatic Conference on Mars. He had been impressed with the African's straightforward nature and great patience. What in the name of the Blessed Virgin, could have driven him to . . . .to. . . THIS.

"Open a channel to the NIMITZ." he ordered. "We have to find out what's going on."

"Channel open sir. . . . .Admiral Hoth on the line."

The Display screen split in two. The left side still held the ominous readout of Galaxy's aggressive posture, while the grim face of Admiral Jurgen Hoth appeared on the Left.

"Captain Escalante'." The gray-haired man nodded wearily. The fine lines about his eyes twitched as if under great stress. "No doubt you are calling in reference to the Galaxy's actions."

"No doubt." Fedorio Escalante' gaped. "Admiral. . .is what I think is happening. . . . .actually happening?" He found he could not even voice it out loud.

"Do you mean is a Federation Starship preparing to fire upon her own brethren?" Hoth spelled it out. "The answer Captain. . . . . is no, hopefully." The slight pause in the Admirals answer gave evidence to the fact that perhaps not even he was convinced. "There has never been an incident of Humanity attacking humanity for over 300 years. . . . . . . . as for an entire Starship going rogue. . . .well I don't think that's ever happened."

Escalante' nodded. Of course there had been incidents of Piracy, stories of perhaps a few officers defecting to the Maquis. The incident with the USS Lakota . . . . .even the famous story of how the USS Reliant was hijacked into attacking the USS Enterprise. . . . .but never had an active Starship crewed by actual Starfleet personnel fired upon another starship. It was unthinkable.

"As you say Admiral." He replied. "Nevertheless I have placed the Pershing on Yellow alert and am ready to raise shields on a moments notice."

The Admiral seemed saddened by that pronouncement, but nodded gravely. "See to your ship the best you know how Fedorio." Hoth sighed, "I am coordinating with the Hood to arrange a proper defensive arrangement, but let me make this clear. . . . . .you are to take no. . .repeat NO hostile actions. " Hoth's eyes blazed with intensity, "I will not be responsible for a ship under my command starting an interstellar incident that could lead to the loss of hundreds of innocent lives."

"Aye sir. Understood." Hoth's words reminded Escalante' of the fact that the Galaxy, the Nimitz, and the Hood all carried a sizeable number of civilian passengers aboard. Not for the first time the captain gave thanks that the tiny little Pershing had no room for such passengers. "I will maintain watch and take no express actions. . . Pershing Out."

Hoth faded from view, and once again the Galaxy blazed onscreen in all its ominous glory. ~~~Good God what a monstrous ship. . .~~~ Escalante thought to himself. The real question however was whether or not her captain, was equally as monstrous.

"I'm a Doctor! Not an Archaeologist!"

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Location: The Ruins on Quentin

Klaus had seperated himself from the group to do some exploring. Hell, what else is he gonna do.

-I'm a Doctor! Not an Archaeologist! What the hell am I doing out here!-

Klaus came to a wall. Kicking it he noticed a hollow sound. Bumbling around like a fool with his phaser, he positioned it and fired, eating straight through the soft rock wall, opening into a very large cave-like chamber. He was on a ledge about 4 foot above the sandy floor.

-What the hell is this!? Hmm, I had better look around here.-

=/\=Kommandant von Ernst. This is Lieutenant Fienberg, I am proceeding into a cavern, but I do not wish assistance.=/\=

As soon as Dr. Fienberg stepped on the floor inside the cavern onto the ledge, a strange feeling came over him. Suddenly the part of the ledge he stood on collapsed under his feet.

The 4 foot drop ended with 2 things. Dr. Fienberg hitting the ground with the ass of his suit which was shoved up into his actuall ass. The Second was the utterance of a single word from Klaus.

"F**K!!"

Klaus immediatly staggered to his feet.

The Floor was sandy, but hard. The ceiling of the carven was incomplete, with one wall nonexistant and caved in. Many Cracks and holes in the ceiling let light into the cavern, adding a very erie feeling to being in the room.

-The sand feels like there is something hard under it.-

Klaus got down on his knees and began clearing the several inchs of sand with his hands. A Strange bluish grey metal.

-Is that what I think it is? Duranium?-

After a closer look.

-I'm a doctor but I know duranium when I see it.-

He began to clear away more of the sand revealing something far more disturbing.

-Black paint?-

Klaus stood up, and readied his phaser and started vaporizing the sand.

Having cleared about 30 feet of the sand in the cavern, things just got even more disturbing. Dr. Fienberg stood in the middle of his discovery.

One single thought reverberated in his head.

-My God.-

=/\=Kommandant von Ernst. This is Lieutnant Fienberg Again. I've found something I beleive that you should look at. It's.....a giant black letter G painted onto what appears to be.....duranium!=/\=

Dr. Fienberg stood in the center of the G, waiting for someone to come.

"What lies beneath.."

Lt. JG Ahdjiia D'Tinya,
Security

Ahdjiia's boots crunched as she continued to make her way over the sand, scanning the area. The readings she was picking up had her frowning in puzzlement and she set her tricorder to relay everything immediately to the Team Head.

As a precaution concidering her unease, she'd set her commlink to monitor all the commcalls from the Away Team, so she heard Dr. Fienberg's anxious call. Ahdjiia tapped her commbadge.

"Lt. D'Tinya en route.", she notified the relevants and ran over.

Her tricorder picked up Duranium and began to relay what it could of past it. She didn't look until she reached where Dr. Fienberg was and she did a doubletake at the screen. Whatever was under the sand had been a habitation of some kind.

"Dr. Fienberg?", she called out as she saw him and headed carefully to him.

"Awaiting Orders"

by Janelle Reynolds,
Chief Medical Officer

Dr. Reynolds was a doctor with no architectural experience unless they were to find a body then her services could be used. On one hand, she hoped that no one would get hurt but on the other hand, she felt quite useless.

She wasn't sure how they would use her but at this point, anything would be better than just standing there, looking pathetic. She stood there with the group, awaiting for some instructions.

"Chicken"

Lt. JG Corran Rex,
Vanguard Squadron CO / Vanguard Leader

After having had scant few hours to rest - and to select some temporary fill-in pilots from amongst the Galaxy's crew - Corran got the call to scramble from Tactical once again. Within minutes the Squadron was changing into flight suits, and by the time he'd sealed the cockpit on his fighter, the Bridge had sent down a complete tactical analysis.

Corran balked when he saw who their prospective opponents were.

USS Hood, Excelsior Class. USS Pershing, Valiant Class. USS Nimitz, Sovereign Class. White Knights and Eagle Squadrons, off the Nimitz.

Federation ships. Federation ships, Starfleet crews.

What in the Nine Hells was going on?

~Kid, I think you signed on to the wrong ship.~ came the voice of Vorrin in the back of his mind, surprisingly subdued for once.

~There's got to be a reason.~ Corran mentally protested. ~The Captain wouldn't scramble us against Federation ships without a reason~

The defense sounded thin, even in his own head. With a sigh, Corran pressed the comm switch. "Vanguard Leader to Vanguard Squadron. Launch by wing pairs. There's a Quentinite warp ship coming on approach, and our orders are to protect it. Once we're launched, assemble into defensive pattern Delta 9 around the Quentinite ship." he ordered, sending the commands that took his own fighter out of the launch bay doors. His wingman, First Lieutenant Kell Tainer, kept speed with him. The kid had the makings of a good pilot. Hopefully he'd live long enough to become one.

["Lead, Vanguard Six."] came the first voice over the comm. ["We're not seriously deploying against Starfleet ships, are we?]

~That took longer than I thought it would.~ the Lieutenant noted to himself before pressing the reply comm. "Yes, Six, we are. I don't know what's going are any more than you do. I do know, though, that the Nimitz is the flagship of Admiral Hoth. And if it's a difference between doing what the Captain orders me to, and what that blowhard tells me, I'll follow the Captain any day."

["Lead, I understand, but still..."] came the tentative voice.

"Can it, Mister. We've got our orders. Now every single one of you listen up." Corran replied, as Vanguard Squadron moved into formation around the Quentinite ship. As they did, a trio of Fighters that showed up on the IF/F board as White Knights 1, 2, & 3 came up on approach. The Trill tensed, but continued giving his orders. "No one is to make aggressive actions. No one. If you do, I will personally shoot your ass out of the stars. If there's a fight here today, then by all the gods of the Trill, we will not be the ones who start it. Am I understood?"

A chorus of double-comm clicks signaled affirmation of the orders. Corran watched as Knights 1,2, and 3 came ever closer, their intentions unknown. He'd triggered a hailing comm to the other starfighter pilots, but the Knights weren't responding.

They were getting awfully close, though. In ten seconds they'd be right on top of Five and Six, who were at the perigee of the defensive formation.

["Lead..."] Five's voice trailed on the comm.

"Hold position, Five." Corran replied through gritted teeth. "Do not, repeat, DO NOT power up your weapons."

["Lead, they're coming in weapons hot. They're going to fire."]

"Goddamnit, Lieutenant," Rex swore, using a Terran curse he'd learned from an ex "You will hold your position. They're just trying to rattle you. DO NOT MOVE."

Rex could feel another one of his personalities taking over - Jaal, the host who'd been a fighter pilot, this felt like. Cool and calm, Corran felt an assuredness in voice, though was surprised that Jaal's personality itself wasn't becoming dominant, just the dead man's experience and skill were.

Well that was a twist.

Tense, Rex watched as the three fighters buzzed over the heads of Vanguard Five and Vanguard Six. To their credit, neither flinched. Seeing this, the Knights swooped around, and returned to their own formation.

Lieutenant' Corran Rex had a strong feeling that it was going to be one extremely long day.

"The Rubicon"

(Occurs immediately before 'My Enemy... My Ally')

Primary Characters:

Admiral Jurgen Hoth
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Commander Cassius Henderson
Major Saladin Bolivar
Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian

Secondary Characters:

Commander John Zaletta
Lt. (JG) Cameron Bartlett
Ensign Rima Pennington
Dr. Jebediah Quick

****

USS Nimitz
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

"You could have told him, sir." Zalletta spoke up as the two men watched the Galaxy's running lights dim and then return, brighter than they'd been since the Task Force's arrival.

"No, I couldn't, John." Hoth's voice was as calm and even as ever, but tinged with something that might have been regret. "I have my orders, and there's no room for that kind of independant action in them. He's not cleared to know, and that's it."

"I can send a message back to Starfleet," Zalletta suggested. "Request permission to explain the situation to him. They can't have envisioned something like this happening."

"I already did that," Hoth conceded. He turned from the viewport to look at Zalletta, hands still clasped behind his back. "They keep telling me to handle it as ordered, that no one else is cleared to know what was down there. They think..." he looked back out the viewpoert. "They think he'll back down."

"What do you think?"

Hoth was silent for a moment, eyeson the Galaxy. "I've read his file, talked to people that have served with him... they all say he could never do this, John. That he couldn't fire on a Federation vessel. That he's bluffing."

Zalletta nodded and relaxed slightly. "Good."

"The problem is," Hoth continued wihout turning, "I think they're wrong. I spoke to his ex-wife an hour ago, and she told me something that I don't want to be correct, but that my instincts tell me is. She told me that in his entire life, Daren M'Kantu has never once backed down when he thought he was in the right."

"But he's wrong," Zalletta blurted out, eyes back on the Galaxy. "He doesn't understand what's happening, what *can* happen. He's..."

"I saw his eyes in the conference room, John," Hoth interrupted quietly. "His conclusion is wrong, yes, but it fits all the information that he has. My inability to explain why we're here only confirms his suspicions. He thinks he's right, and I can't blame him - in his place I might think the same."

"So what do we do?" Zalletta whispered, an understanding of the situation's gravity stealing his voice. "What do we do?"

"I suggest you pray, John," Hoth offered into the silence. "I am."

****

USS Galaxy
Secondary Hull
Deck 8
Battle Bridge

The Battle Bridge was surreally quiet, and for Cassius Henderson, that was unnerving. It was getting to be very late, and Henderson was waiting. Waiting to preside over what could be the worst military catastrophe in the history of Starfleet. You could feel the tension in the recycled starship atmosphere. After Admiral Hoth had gone back, Henderson had slipped away to call Admiral deMercereau. Her words hadn't been encouraging... Starfleet Command knows about the situation... Trusts in Admiral Hoth's capabilities. She didn't as much as they did of course... They were politically opposed, so that made her biased... But she'd made it clear that she didn't see this ending well...

And that her hands were just as tied as Admiral Hoth's were. They all had their orders, and she couldn't give him any more of a picture of what was going on than Hoth could give M'Kantu. That was frightening. She was usually able to tell him something... That meant that whatever this was, it was so important that Starfleet Command had both deMercereau and Hoth, two of the most powerful figures in the tactical part of the admiralty, completely convinced that they should keep quiet.

So here he was. The bridge was quiet. M'Kantu had stepped out for the moment, presumably to clear his own mind and collect his thoughts. The away team was still not back, and without their findings the Captain's suspicions were just that - supicions. That had to be preying on his thoughts. Bolivar and tr'Khellian were... looming... They stood at their respective consoles, both of them silent and hawkish, men of few words. They too both unnerved Cassius Henderson... Strangers in this oh so familiar land. He wondered what they now thought of their adoptive fleet.

And now Pennington was back. She looked... They way she always looked... bothered, distracted and tired. She walked over and sank down next to him, kind of slumping into the executive officer's seat and handed him a PADD. Final statistics from Tactical. Hendersons features brightened. "I thought you might like to see something positive. We're all doomed anyway, but at least you've got most of your weapons back."

"There is that, Rima. And we're not..." he sighed lowering his voice, "You know, I've thought about all the negative things that you've said to me, and all the talking we've done. And now, facing this, I think you may just be right about some things. I think I'm right about a lot of it, but... We're considering our idea about the nukes, Rima. On Federation citizens. Just so we can have a fighting chance."

"I was wondering when you'd figure that out," Pennington replied, looking at the floor. She, for all of her talk, didn't like to see Cass feel like that. For some reason it made her feel bad. Damn empathy. Why can't I mean what I say? "So you're going to do it? I never took you for the mass murderer."

He flinched for a moment. She had a knack for saying the wrong thing, but at least they were both whispering. "I never did either. I don't think it'll do that though. Probably just overwhelm their sheilds enough for Savar and I to cripple them with the normal weapons. I hope to take out Nimitz with it. One big salvo... I hope. How are you feeling?"

~How am I feeling? Why does he always ask that? I don't even know half the time,~ Pennington thought for a moment. "Like hell. Crawling jeffries tubes and running messages doesn't agree with me. Nor does tension and stress. You know who I am... Sort of..."

"Yeah," Henderson agreed, and they sat silent for a moment, before Captain M'Kantu entered the bridge, "Just... Stay by me. I'm going to need you for ideas when it all hit's the fan. And it's not a matter of if at this point. Just when."

Pennington nodded, looked desperate to leave for a moment, then her expression resolved and she stood and vacated the XO's station so Henderson could shift over and make way for M'Kantu.

"Any word from the Away Team?" Daren knew they would have contacted him the moment there had been, but he had to ask anyway.

"Nothing, sir, " Bartlett spoke up from Operations.

"Very well." Daren turned to Henderson. "What's our status, Commander?"

"Tactical systems are largely nominal, Captain. Phaser power holding steady at 98%, and torpedo launchers online. I still have some of my people working to squeeze those last few percentage points out of the phasers, but I sent the engineers to work on some of the more damaged internal systems. The PPC isn't going to be as stable as we like, but that section took more of the brunt of damage. Sub-Commander tr'Khellian has the estimates on how much we can expect. He had the... pleasure of working with Doctor Quick on those repairs. Defensive capabilities are also back online. Our shield systems are back up and nominal. The Ablative Armor has been damaged, but we've done what we can to reinforce it. Current estimates from engineering give the numbers at 82% of normal capacity. Not what I'd like, but I'm impressed that it's that. Engineering's done an incredible job on this, sir."

"Better than expected, Commander, good work. Pass my thanks to the repair crews... along with the hope that their work turns out to have been for nothing."

"Aye, sir," Henderson nodded. The relief was evident in M'Kantu's face. He was indeed expecting trouble, and now, at least, they would be prepared for it. He glanced up at Rima Pennington's face, hidden by the hair that was hanging down in it. She was off in her own world, waiting for the next order.

Daren nodded. Being alone with his thoughts hadn't helped his mood any. He'd tried and tried, but no matter how he worked through it, he kept coming back to the same spot atop the tiger, riding it. "Sub-Commander, what's changed?"

"Deploying our fighters adjacent to the Quentite vessel has not been successful in deterring the Nimitz's fighter wing," the Romulan reported. "They have been passing even more closely to the ship. Keeping them in line has been increasingly difficult." He glanced down and ran a hand across the console. "A large amount of comms traffic has emanated from the Nimitz during the last hour, all of it encoded, all of it directed towards Sector 001." Savar turned his gaze back to the Captain. "As for the Tactical situation - you have my recommendations. Unfortunately," he went on, his face twisting sourly, "Dr Quick refused to assist me in planning a strike on USS Nimitz." Sub-Commander tr'Khellian was clearly disgusted with the situation. It was bad enough that the Starfleet was determined to rip itself apart, bad enough that everyone seemed to be blindly trotting after M'Kantu into oblivion - but for the one person who could have helped them get out of this alive to withold his knowledge... Savar had wanted to strike the scientist down where he stood, and had practically had to be restrained as Quick made a hasty exit from the Battle Bridge.

"When made aware of the reason for urgency in the phaser cannon repairs, Dr Quick's input suddenly diminished, and the repair schedule fell behind." His ice-cold tone made it clear that Quick should be dismembered for this. He glanced down at the console to check the cannon's current status. "I estimate four or five shots at full power before the cannon becomes inoperable. At a lower power setting we may get extended use of it." The exchange officer looked back to the CO. "Separating the vessel may be unwise under the circumstances, if you prize the cannon highly."

The African nodded once to acknowledge the report. "It seems we're as ready as we'll ever be," he said, in a grim voice.

"That may be," the Romulan said, squaring his shoulders.

"But?"

Tr'Khellian eyed the Starfleet Captain for a moment, and felt something like pity for the man. His judgements had been erratic and misplaced, cautious one moment, ironclad the next. He was about to be the destruction of them all. If no one else were to gainsay him, apart from the cowardly Dr Quick, it fell to him.

"It is folly," Savar said, simply.

Daren nodded and turned to look at the tactical plot for a moment. "Do you know what the one unifying characteristic that all sentient races have is Sub-Commander?" He looked up. "Culturally, I mean."

The answer 'foolish pride' sprang to mind, but tr'Khellian bit back the sour response. From the look on the African's face and the way his tone had changed, he could feel an attempt at profundity coming on. Quite when M'Kantu became the galaxial expert on anthropology eluded the Romulan. "I am quite sure you're going to tell me, Captain," he replied, drily.

"Every single sentient race that we've encountered among the stars, every one of them, Sub-Commander, possessed something that they were willing to die for. An ideal, a plot of land, money, their gods... something. That capacity to consciously surrender one's sense of self-preservation in defense of something else is what separates us from the animals." Daren met the Romulan's eyes. "Even if they know that their defense is doomed, even if they know that no one will ever know that they made their stand... they do so. I swore my oath to the Federation a lifetime ago, Sub-Commander, but I remember it still. What these men are doing is wrong - it violates the core beliefs that the Federation was founded on do violently, so criminally, that it must be opposed. Even if we can't win. Even if no one will ever know. Because to step aside makes us a part of their crime, makes us like them... and that's too high a price."

Henderson looked up again from what he was doing to check Pennington's reaction. She looked... bewildered, not sure who was right... But he could tell she was thinking. That was important. That done, he stood, "Captain... I've been basically, for all intents and purposes, quiet. But I think you are right. The Federation was based on a core set of beliefs, and all other incidents in the past aside, one of those was that the lives of innocents are sacred. It was our job to protect the civilizations of Quentin, and in that, we failed. We both swore our oaths, Captain, and... as it's been said countless times in the past, I smell a rat. I think, at this point, that for whatever may come, I'm committed to this course. We're not sheep. We have minds of our own, and we can differentiate between right and wrong." He frowned, hoping that his own words had made sense. He'd been making it up as he went. Pennington was now looking at him.

"Then you are willing to send hundreds to their deaths, and commit open mutiny," tr'Khellian noted simply, looking incredulously between M'Kantu and his acting XO. Of all the ships in all the quadrant, he had to be posted to this one. What an ignominious end to his life and times this would make: exiled to the Federation and died in a futile rebellion for principles he understood little and cared for even less. Reduced from glory to a mere footnote in such short order. He could barely believe they were on the very precipice of battle, and no one would rise up against M'Kantu's rebellion. In the Rihannsu Galae, officers would be queuing up to assassinate the Captain - and first in line would have been the Executive Officer, not to mention the Tal Shiar attache. The Romulan shook his head. "It is folly," he repeated. But he squared his shoulders again, and took his stance at the Tactical console, resigned to this mad fate, to wherever the Elements whimmed them all.

****

USS Galaxy
Secondary Hull
Deck 15
Outside the Science Department Offices

The aforementioned Dr. Jebadiah Quick ran nervous fingers through his dark mop of tangled hair and whispered a silent prayer to himself. Six feet tall and bone-thin, the good doctor preffered to array himself in the most outlandish of neo-hippie attire. For this day, he had chosen an ancient sign of protest... a white t-shirt with Peace Symbol and the slogan 'NO NUKES'. It seemed his clothes were about to prove prophetic.

Normally the eccentric Federation scientist was terminally upbeat in the face of all manner of dangerous situations. His endlessly optomistic nature led him to laugh / sing / or even juggle chainsaws in the face of certain death. (His right arm still bore chainsaw scars from one such episode while staring down a Denebian Slime Devil)

Unfortuantely this situation was different. He was not the erstwhile Federation tourist, hopping from galaxy to galaxy, matching wits with strange alien bug-eyed monsters... This time he was a complicit pawn in the midst of a human vs. human powerstruggle that threatened to tear the fabric of stellar society apart at the seams.

"Buku Bad Karma." he whispered to himself as he stared out of a nearby portal. The glistening running lights of the Nimitz could be seen glowing in the interstellar night. "You'd think we learned somthing back at Kent State..." Frowning, Quick sent his thoughts back to reviewing what he knew of Human History. While his multiple degrees were in more esoteric subjects like Quantum Physics... Tribble Philosophy... and Klingon Sex Therapy, he dimly recalled having snoozed through a history class or two. Human vs. Human. That kind of thing had not happened in more than 300 years... Not since the Nuclear wars of the mid 21st century had humanity engaged in a conflict with itself, having instead found such practices to be self defeating. Man had instead reached for the stars and forgot their petty differences.

Until now.

All around him the ship bustled with activity, as crewmen raced to bring the mighty ship to combat readyness. For the first time Quick thought of all the weapons he had designed aboard the Galaxy and felt ashamed.

"You think we would have learned..." he sighed.

****

USS Galaxy
Secondary Hull
Deck 8
Battle Bridge

Daren looked around the room one last time, offered up a prayer that this could all still be worked out, that there was a way to stop this before things escalated beyond his ability to stop... and gave the order he'd been preparing himself for since he first realized what was happening. "Charge the weapons, Sub-Commander."

891