DELTA MISSION

[Reliant121]

He's happy, and content. He finds himself reprimanded numerous times, and yet is still...Bright. D'Tyra smiled and bowed her head softly. "And to friends." I've missed the ice skin. She turned her attention to the rest of the group and took on a slightly more grave expression; Grr'lek noticed and looked at her expectantly. It seems he had learned to see the signs in a Romulans face.

"Getting the information won't be as simple as I'd have liked; The Diplomatic Corps. is riled in it's bureaucratic pomp and importance," To this, Grr'lek smiled softly; Mikey chuckled softly to himself. "But I have...an advantage in getting it. I will dispatch a copy of the information to you within 2 days."

"Excellent, that sorted then."

"Not quite." The Room, and the table fell silent. All looked at her once again, patiently waiting for some horrific statement. "Having heard how...difficult the Green blood who commands this station has been, I imagine he will not take kindly to me using the stations communications relay." It took a moment for them to realize to whom she referred, but it clicked. A few of them nodded with understanding; Mikey smiled ruefully.

"Not a problem, M'am. You've got the Daystrom's communication relay if you need it."

"Thankyou, Captain."

Fletcher picked up his glass and downed the second round. The bartender, who to D'Tyra looked like a Klingon suffering terrible dwarfism, quickly replenished the reserve. She liked the drink from what she had tasted. Certainly nowhere near as potent as was her usual taste, but the flavour was...mellow, and all consuming. If someone had decided to make a cream infused Romulan Ale, it would look rather like this.

[Mark]

Starbase 1121 – “The Station” Bar

Mark sat quietly. He knew at the moment that he had little to add to the discussion taking place, and was intelligent enough to know what to sit quietly, observe, and learn. Captains Fletcher, W’Trisk, and Lewis were renewing an old friendship that dated years before, likely to while Mark was still in the Academy if not before. Since he wasn’t actively participating in the conversation, his old Security Officers instincts took over, and he noticed a solidly build Geg heading over their direction carrying a tray with three bottles on it. He was wearing what appeared to be some woolen like tunic and trousers that were covered by an apron. He also wore a wide leather belt, into which he’d tucked a thick bristling beard. Mark couldn’t help but think the being looked like an animated hedge from some exotic garden.

Mark cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the approaching Geg, drawing everyone’s attention to him for a moment. Captain Fletcher waved him over with a smile and said “Hello Mas. Thank you for joining us.”

Mas looked at the Captain for a moment before setting his tray down, grabbing Fletcher’s glass and tossing its contents on the floor, and filling it with a fiery red liquid from one of the bottles he carried. “Try this instead, Andy.” Mas said. He quickly did the same to everyone else’s glasses, with the exception of Lewis, who skillfully snatched his away with a bemused expression, and filling one for himself as well. “May the Stone protect us.” The Geg said and downed his drink, quickly followed by the others. After just a couple of heartbeats however, all the humans at the table and some of the non humans as well were gasping and their eyes watered as the intense spirit worked its way down their throats, as Lewis laughed out loud, having known better than to drink an alien spirit without carefully scanning it first. Grr’lek, Cix, and Mikey seemed unperturbed, but D’Tyra smiled broadly and held her glass out for a refill.

“I must remember to purchase several bottles of this before we leave” she thought.

“Ok” Mas said, pulling up a chair. “I understand you’ve got a few questions about this great mystery of yours. Ask away, but do me a favor. This’ll turn into a rockslide if you all try and pepper me at once, so Lords and Heirs only please. I’ll answer anyone else’s questions after were done.” Lords and Heirs referring to Captains and First Officers.

Commander Sinclair asked “I guess the thing we’re all wondering, could the dissenting Geg clans be responsible for the missing ships?”

Mas shook his head, “I seriously doubt it. After all, what would they do with them? Whispers and rumors say that some of the ships of the Libek and Drugar clans may have been responsible for some of those wrecked hulls and debris fields they found that used to be your ships. They want the remains found, thinking it might boost their clan honor by victory in battle. Not to mention, if they did openly attack, they’d have the wrath of the King to deal with. No, I’d be surprised if it was our boys. Besides, the same things had been happening to Geg ships too for years.”

“WHAT?” all three Captains blurted out at once “Why didn’t anyone tell us about this? Is Grayling keeping secrets?” Mikey demanded.

“I really couldn’t say” Mas replied “I just know that when I went for my basic training, that talk of it was going on then too. And that was about…….twenty five of your Earth years ago. It was going on the entire time I did my mandatory service. Had all kind of theories going around, from a sub dimensional species snatching us for experiments to the Gods being displeased we left the Homeworld. All kind of nonsense really.”

Fletcher was about to ask a question but was interrupted by Commodore S’koll sauntering up looking haughtily down at them all. He said “Most illogical, but I assume expected behavior. But I do not understand why you are still here.”

“I beg your pardon Commodore” Mark said, “but what are you talking about.”

With what nearly appeared to be a look of disdain S’koll said “We’ve received word from Operations. Contact with the USS Telford has been lost in system M92F. Also, the USS Farseer has sent a general distress call. They are under attack by unknown forces.”

Everyone scrambled at once, calling for an emergency beam out.

[Mikey]

Mikey hurtled onto the bridge, followed closely by Robustelli who was still wondering how the Andorian managed to shrug off the effects of the Geg liquor so quickly. "Van Pelt," Mikey barked, "are we updated with all the local charts and intel?"

"Aye, sir," came the response.

"Good," Mikey said as he sank into his chair. "Helm - cast off and set a course for the system designated M92F. Once you have the Ravage on navigation, maintain a parallel course and overwatch position." Mikey punched a button on his armrest console and called, "Holmes, limp your ass back to work. We may be receiving casualties." His antennae pitched at an odd angle for a moment, then he said quietly, "Say, have we heard from-"

"He's transmitting now, sir," Van Pelt broke in with a smirk. Grr'lek's familiar baritone growl came over the speakers. "Daystrom and Ravage: I will transmit updated position reports every half-hour. You'll need to keep me updated with course corrections and other variations. Daystrom - we don't have any mobilization needs right now, but keep a transport hot for us."

Mikey glanced at Van Pelt, who nodded to confirm that comms were open. "Aye, lord high admiral, sir!" Mikey shouted in mock formality. "Just keep an eye on the variance between us... give yourself enough time if you need the 'Fish. Good hunting, lieutenant." Van Pelt closed the channel and Mikey added to him, "Check in with Lt. Cmdr. D'Borgiagni, make sure the flights are standing to. Andy - I want you to stay on top of the runabouts and the Tigerfish. Make sure they can go at a moment's notice, and stay on top of the Paladin's situation. I want that bird on its way before they ask."

"Aye, sir," Robustelli said with relish at the though of real responsibility, and headed for the turbolift. Just then, D'Borgiagni's voice questioned through the bridge comms.

"Ah, Biggles. We're not going to alert yet, but keep your goggles handy. Get two flights prepped, either for recon or escort duty."

"It's 'D'Borgiagni,' sir, not 'Biggles.' And what sort of goggles do I need to fly?"

Mikey sighed, paused a moment, and said, "Never mind. Bridge out." Lifting his face to the viewscreen, he said softly, "Let's get after 'em, then."

[Reliant121]

Aureliana looked to the sky, taking a small moment to rage internally at her "affectionate" nickname. Biggles. I bet he's made that my call sign and all. Gathering her thoughts together in that moment, she quickly keyed in the nearest panel and hung over the intercom.

"Falcon squadrons Alpha, Beta and Gamma; this is your Flight CO. We're on hot standby, all pilots and crew to report to the flight deck for briefing." With that complete, she turned on her heel and down the corridor toward the turbolift which had, almost upon que, slid open and ejected a grumbling aged man walking with the aid of an ornate walking stick. She guessed this was the famed Dr. Holmes who had, in both good senses and bad, developed a reputation. Some called him an eccentric firebrand, with unparalleled medical skill and aptitude in combat triage. Some called him the most insurbordinate ass in the entire fleet. I like him.

Moments after diving into the turbolift she emerged at the flight deck operations centre. The crew members that had filed into the deck turned toward her. It was rare to get guests or visitors at all, and so this was a new experience.

"Our new flight CO?" A relatively young man approached. A lieutenant by the look of it. Aureliana was impressed, few managed to get to that position apparently so early. His hand struck out and was offered. She looked at it and accepted. "Lieutenant Carson, m'am. Chief of Flight Deck Ops, so you and I are gonna become either good friends are sword enemies pretty soon," He added with a smile. Aureliana smiled back.

"I hope the former, Carson. I'm Lt.Cmdr. D'Borgiagni but please, Aureliana while down here. I assume you know the hot standby orders from the Captain?" He nodded. "I'd like all three squadrons on standby, Alpha prepped for combat escort, Beta prepped for recon and Gamma prepped for Heavy duty combat." The room fell silent, with a few gaping draws dropped.

"M'am...We never fly all three at once unless its a full blown war, we don't have the manpower to manage it in that time. Besides, the Captains orders said..."

"The captain's orders didn't comment on Gamma squadron, so they are still under my command. Lt. If either of our squadrons get hit the Telford is screwed, and the cover fire for the Ravage won't look good. Not only that, but if both alpha and Beta squadrons are bogged down the 5 minutes it takes to get Gamma in space could mean the difference between us coming home or us getting atomized by some shit-stirring pirate or alien. Now you better find the time and manpower to get Gamma on standby, or presuming I survive I will make you're life a living hell. Am...I...Clear?" By this point, Aureliana had lowered her voice almost to the pitch of the hum of the warp engines.

"Aye, M'am," He stuttered a reply. Aureliana walked from the room and dropped down to the flight deck via ladder. Before her, all three squadrants pilots had arrived, each of them standing to attention as she dropped down. She smiled to herself slowly at the sight. She waved her hand as a gesture of at ease, and each of the pilots slackened down to a more casual position.

"First of all, Hello all. My name is Aureliana D'Borgiagni, I'm your new flight CO. Second, the mission. You know, or at least should know, that in the area a number of Federation ships have vanished, virtually traceless and without any clues or leads. Ranging from supply ships, survey ships to top of the line warships. Well, we're the cavalry. We recently lost contact with the USS Telford in a system poetically named M92F. We've got no idea why she's dropped off, if anyone is responsible, whether we're walking to a lovely bath of hostility; nothing. That's why the captain wants us out there."

"Alpha squadron, We're being set up for escort duty. That means we're on pulse fire cannons, we're on standard photon torpedoes and we're on constant vigilance. Sha'von, Jenkowski you're my second and third. Reynolds, Amane; you're fourth and fifth in pair. Kalen and Diego you're sixth and seventh in pair. Our job is to escort the Ravage in to the zone and, if necessary, provide escort for the Telford in leaving the area. We're on weapons hot, I want every cannon and torp ready to fire. I know that isn't standard procedure but I'm not taking chances. If something has taken the Telford down, or is trying to do so, we're gonna be a pretty nasty thorn in their side and I want those guns ready to bare at a moments notice."

"beta squadron, you're on recon. You're likely to be riding in before the group so your on weapons hot too. You're flight leader will divide squadron up as he sees fit. You're to go in, keep a constant scan on the Telford and the area and report back anything that looks suspicious. Set you're engines to a low burn and you're power outputs as low as you can. You're a stealthy flight, not a warflight. If you come under fire, get the hell out so you can repower everything you need."

"Gamma, you're on hot stand by but kitted out for assault. You're being given the highest torp load outs, all the power to the cannons and as many power packs as we can bolt on. Same formations, but if we need it you're the big guns. At the moment, you're not due to go out but I'm going to let the CO know that you're standing by anyway, if that moron in the Flight Ops can do his job. Okay all, any questions?" She surveyed the group. The faces seemed a little cold and emotionless. Maybe they just didn't know her, maybe they didn't really like the prospects. What did it matter...it was clear they weren't in high spirits. She'd have to work on that.

"M'am, why is Beta going to be on low power ops. Surely we'd want decent power to get out of there?" One man shouted out. Aureliana nodded.

"Damn right you do, thats why the power management is up to you. Keep yourselves as low on power as you can while maintaining engine power. Flow all your reserves to the engines, you need to be able to burn em out if possible. Warp if you gotta. Anything else?" Nothing.

"Alright people, kit up and take a seat in the lounge. You're all on standby as of now."

[Mark]

USS Ravage-Main Bridge

“ETA?” Lewis asked

“Six hours and twelve minutes Captain.” O’Carroll replied.

McDuff looked over from his bridge engineering console and replied to the unspoken question, “Don’t worry, Captain. We can hold emergency speed until we get there.”

The Ravage and the Daystrom were racing towards the last known position of the Starship Telford, and everyone onboard both ships knew that time was of the essence. This was the part McDuff hated the most in this situation. There was absolutely nothing anyone can do at this point as they raced at top speed, but that didn’t make it any easier. McDuff figured now was as good a time as any to ask.

“Captain” McDuff started “May I have a word?”

Lewis answered “Of course, Chief. What’s on your mind?”

“Well sir” the salty engineer started, “I’m not thrilled about the overall loss of weapons. Taking off the weapons pod made things bad, but having to drain phaser power just seems downright imprudent.”

“I agree.” The Captain said “Do you have a solution?”

“Maybe, Sir.” McDuff replied “Roughly sixty years ago, I was serving on a frigate, called the USS Kevin Reilly. We were patrolling a hotbed of pirate activity when we were jumped by this big nasty Nausican raider. They knocked out our main phasers in their first volley. The Captain had this idea to overload the torpedoes. If you think about it, most photon torpedoes only dedicate a small amount of space to actually carrying matter and anti matter. Most of the casings space is filled up with the flow regulator to adjust the torpedoes yield, guidance systems, a small navigational deflector, and a warp sustainer. What we did was pull the flow regulator and the guidance tracking system. We were stuck with a preset yield which wasn’t a big deal, as we wanted the most bang for the buck then, and those damned guidance systems aren’t all that wonderful anyway. We left the basic system in, so we could still lock torpedoes, but they wouldn’t adjust telemetry to track if they missed.”

Captain Lewis cut him off with a wave “Bottom line me Chief. What have you got in mind?”

McDuff said “If we pull the regulator and the advanced tracking system, we can increase torpedo damage by about three hundred percent each shot. The downside is they’ll take a bit for power to launch and be a bit less accurate, and have a slightly shorter range.”

Sinclair chimed in “Can you modify some of the torpedoes and leave the others as is?”

The Chief shook his head, “Won’t work Commander, I’ve got to modify the tubes themselves as well. I can modify one tube and not the other, but that’s the best I can do.”

Captain Lewis sat rubbing his chin thinking.

[Mikey]

The Daystrom shuddered almost imperceptibly as it dropped from warp. Easy, old girl, Mikey thought as he smiled slightly. "Kasper?" he asked as he punched the internal comm on his armrest.

"Here, sir," came back the reply in the slightly clipped, flat accent. "Lt. Cmdr. D'Borgiagni reports all flights ready, Lt. Carson has the Tigerfish and runabouts prepped. Engineering reads normal, and all tac is at standby."

"Thank you, mate," Mikey grinned. The idea of a boatswain's mate was an archaic one, and had originally been instituted as a concession to the abilities and requirements of Mr. Nijhoff. As it happened, though, Kasper turned out to be an invaluable resource; collating, compressing, editing, and delivering the information about the operation of the ship in an efficient yet critical way that a computer couldn't. "Alpha shift to stations, general quarters otherwise."

"Aye, sir," Nijhoff acknowledged. Mikey shut the comm as the familiar bosun's whistle started to sound, then spun his chair to face the ops station.

"Brad - send a position and status report to Lt. Grr'lek on the Paladin, and update him every 20 minutes or when our status changes. Helm - " he spun back around - "station keeping at the pole of the ecliptic, but don't let the Ravage out of sight. Number One?" Robustelli raised his gaze at Mikey's ponderous tone as W'trisk continued, "If we need to assist the Paladin, you'll have the Tigerfish. Chances are that things won't go by the book, and you're going to have to wing it. Can I count on you?"

"Aye, sir!" Robustelli said with enthusiasm, brightening at the show of trust from his captain. He added, "I'll start getting a crew together," and began to rise from his seat. Mikey clapped him on the arm heartily, briefly knocking the human back into his seat. Robustelli stood again and headed into the turbolift.

"There," Mikey sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Leo, constant surveillance of the Ravage. Once she deploys, open a channel and find out if they see anything."

[Sonic Glitch]

Captain Lewis considered the chiefs suggestion for a moment. He certainly wasn't comfortable with the loss of phaser efficiency, yet if the modifications weren't completed in time the Ravage would be left with one working torpedo tube on top of it. He knew many captains pften preferred to have the maximum amount of firepower available yet he had always tried to buck that stereotype, and the Daystrom could certainly cover the Ravage for a spell. On the other hand, they had no idea what they were dealing with. He decided to ask,
"How quickly can you have it done."

"Quick enough."

Lewis glanced at Sinclair briefly to gauge his feelings. His eyes seemed to say "Worth a shot."

"Alright Chief, get it done. We'll be at the Telford's last known position shortly."

MacDuff nodded once and left to gather 'volunteers' from engineering. He was surprised non of the bright, eager junior engineers had come up with a solution to their weapons problem. It was amazing what they didn't teach these days. Too many engineers were concerned with what a system was DESIGNED do and what the manuals told them they SHOULD do, and not what the systems COULD do. He paused and shook his head. He was feeling his age again.

On the bridge, the Ravage returned to normal space around the last known coordinates of the Telford.
"Devi, begin scanning for any sign of the Telford." ordered Lewis, "let's go to yellow alert."

Sinclair thumbed the commlink on his armrest, "Commander Jordan report to the sensor control room." Lewis caught Sinclairs eye and nodded imperceptibly to say "Good thinking"

"Sir," Devi called, "I'm not picking up any sign of a debris field or any background radiation to indicate a battle -- though it may have dispersed by now. I am picking up traces of a warp signature, but its not strong enough to determine type or direction."

"Hm. time to call in the big guns. What's the status of the AWACs dish?"

"The dish is ready to go, we reached a 94% increase in efficiency in simulations." Sinclair responded, hiding a smile as he recalled the engineering battles he witnessed.

"Alright, it'll have to do." Lewis thumbed his commlink, "Jordan, fire up the dish."

Eight decks below Jordan smiled when the order came down. Now she'd be able to one-up that relic of an engineer as she coaxed the sensor dish to life. This was the first time the dish had been operated at full power on the ship. As it came online, lighting throughout the ship dimmed dramatically. It returned but some panels continued flickering. The ship was awash with subspace radiation.
"Anybody else feeling that?" Lorcan asked on the bridge, "like ants behind their eyeballs?" A few crewman on the bridge looked like they agreed.

"Devi, run your scans again"

The scan returns this time were much cleaner and quicker.
"I'm reading background radiation consistent with multiple photon torpedo detonations and -- " she stressed the surprise in her voice, "three warp signatures. They're - " She paused; this couldn't be right, "they're Federation. And no," she continued, anticipating Lewis' next question, "none of them are from the Daystrom or Ravage."

The bridge crew all surreptitiously glanced at one-another, sharing surprise at the revelation.

"Devi, establish a telemetry uplink with the Daystroms science officer. Let them see what we see; and get me Captain W'trisk." He turned to Sinclair, "I think this is about to get a lot more interesting."

[Mikey]

Grr'lek nodded slightly at the incoming position reports from the Ravage and Daystrom, updating the strategic screen at his station for the umpteenth time. As the Paladin dropped from warp he began to plot the distance and time between himself and the other two ships, not sure if he would need to assist Captains W'trisk and Lewis, or if he'd need them to assist him. A few moments after dropping to sub-light, however, Grr'lek's musings were interrupted by Mark's intonation.

"One Federation signature in the asteroid belt, three unknowns in the outer orbits."

Grr'lek quickly minimized his strategic display and opened a tactical LCARS display. After tapping into the Paladin's formidable short-range sensors, he announced, "The Starfleet ship is an Intrepid-class... USS Farseer. The bogeys match descriptions of Geg warships."

"Geg ships are forming a pronged attack pattern," Mark added after quickly analyzing the situation. They seem to be hunting the Farseer."

Grr'lek brought up a tactical display on the viewscreen to highlight Mark's point, then said, "They won't have much to do when they find her. She's holed in two places - both contained - and has no power to one nacelle. Her shields are minimal." He paused, then opened a comm channel at his station and called, "Grr'lek to Corrin - please prepare a rescue team escort. Hostile boarders may be present."

Fletcher rose and turned toward the strategic station. "I gave no such..." He faltered as Grr'lek looked up, clasped his hands behind his back, and straightened. Fletcher resumed, "Intuitive presumption, lieutenant. Carry on. Helm - set a course to interdict the Geg vessels, half impulse. Red alert, shields up, all power to weapons."

"I'm not sure if that'll help," Grr'lek said quietly. As every eye on the bridge turned toward him, he continued, "I'm seeing some very confusing things from those Geg ships. Commander?"

Teaos turned from the Caitian to stare down at his own console. "Hmm. Ah, here's the confusion. The hulls, or armor - I can't tell which - are laced with neutronium. Those ships are going to be resistant to a lot of directed energy, and all but invisible to neutral-particle radiation. This fuzzy resolution is the best we're going to get with active sensors. I'm also not reading any energy build-up indicating weapons power." He frowned, then turned back toward the rear of the bridge as Grr'lek spoke up again.

"Does that mean," he purred, almost to himself. Louder, he continued, "Does that mean that we're not going to able to scratch their paint with conventional weapons?"

"Not quite that bad," Teaos answered, "but close."

[Reliant121]

Aureliana nestled herself into the seat of her fighter, shifting the seat forward slightly to cope with heir diminutive stature. The Falcon's cockpit slid forward a ways, then clamped itsel down into a resting point. With a faint hiss, the atmosphere began to pressurize and oxygen levels came to a human standard. Panels began to flash into existence, glittering with their displays and sensor read outs, showing all the notifications from the tiny vessles systems. Tapping upon the display, Aureliana began to warm the core. The miniaturized warp core buried behind her lit up, and began to burn through its matter-antimatter fuel. The warp engines flickered into life, followed by the impulse engines and finally by the sensor array. A similar scene occured all around her as each fighter in each wing powered itself up.

"Bridge, Alpha flight leader," She called through her headset. She checked the spacial sensors, showing a 3D overlay image on the cockpit of the ships interior. Everything working.

"Alpha leader, this is bridge, go ahead."

"Requesting permission for Alpha and Beta squadrons to launch. We are aware of the Ravage's findings on faint Federation warp signatures. Alpha flight will fly escort for the Big Rave, Beta flight will investigate further." For a few moments, there was silence. But quickly enough, the operator responded.

"Permission granted, Alpha will lead the way followed by beta. God speed." The channel closed. Aureliana opened up comms. to the flights, including her new worst enemy in flight deck ops.

"Alright people, we are clear for launch. Alpha squadron go to staggered launch pattern 3, 2, 2; Same for you beta squadron. You know your mission parameters, and you know what the Ravage has discovered. Let's do our jobs. Happy hunting, ladies and gents."

Gently she placed her hand around the flight control stick, a new feature for the Falcon classes that did away with the clunky and difficult to operate interfaces of the older Peregrines. She thumbed a tiny lever that controlled the anti-gravity thrusters beneath her, and slowly the Falcon lifted from the deck. Before her, the wide Akira bay doors slid open in stages, revolving around the bow of the saucer section. "Control, standing by for launch."

"Granted, Alpha."

With that, she kicked the impulse engines into 1/4 thrust and the fighter exploded from the bay, followed by the remainder of Alpha wing and all of Beta wing. Alpha flight revolved around her, forming a screen of fighters that washed across the forward shield envelope of the Daystrom. As the Falcon broke free from the shield, she powered the Impulse engine up to 3/4 impulse, taking the ships with her. Armour plates slid over the top of the cockpit windows and locked themselves into place. A new addition on the Falcons called for armour plating over exposed areas including the cockpit. Replacing the windows, each of the plates projected a viewscreen image of the space around it, only with highlights and sensor information reading out over the local area. She glanced toward the star, and immediately a pop out box containing its name and technical data appeared. Testing the maneuvering thrusters, all was in order. Time to get moving.

"Alpha, Beta flights. Coordinates for your mission areas are in your navigation computers. Beta leader, your mission control is yours. Alpha flight, come to heading 348.03." She shifted the fighter a few degress to port, and flicked on the warp engines. Warp plasma flowed into the nacelles which began to glow brightly. All ships signalled they were in position. She looked up and tapped upon a flashing blue icon almost directly in front of her. A pop up read out flicked next to it, showing the Silhouette of a Nebula class ship. Her name was Ravage.

"All units, USS Ravage is on sensors at...3 billion km away from current location. Set engines for warp 3.5, gonna take us 2 minutes 30 seconds to be on station. Standby warp on my command," She checked over all systems and made sure the warp engines were powered to the necessary level. "Alright, warp 3.5 on my mark...3...2...1...Engage." A bright streak of starfield expanded around the fighters heads up display, before the ship hit warp.

___________

The fighter squadron emerged from warp around 70,000km from the Ravage's position. On her HUD, the Ravage appeared to be enshrouded in a blue aura, the FoF identifacation system bathing the ship in unnatural light. Behind her, a faint blue trail continued off into the timeless depths of space. Her warp trail. She opened a channel to the Ravage as the fighter squadron drove toward her at 1/2 impulse.

"Alpha Squadron leader, Call sign..." she grumbled to herself. "Call sign "Biggles" calling USS Ravage, we have been assigned as your escort."

Captain Lewis responded calmly. "Thankyou for the Support, Daystrom Alpha. We're doing a high resolution scan of local space at the moment, so we're sitting ducks. You can probably see the power fluctuations." Sure enough, when Aureliana tapped the emission tab of the Ravage's read out, her power levels were haywire. "Take up holding pattern with the ship and maintain alert. We've got a trio of Federation signatures, but no ID on them yet. We've got the warp signature but its muffled. It's almost like they put a filter on their warp nacelle to disrupt to engine signature, its too weird to even contemplate." The sensor information from the Ravage flooded into her HUD, showing the faint and patchy blue warp trails some distance away from the Ravage. She tapped on the most complete of them, the newest. The signature appeared upon the screen. There was a pattern she recognised from her training flights, buried deep in the scramble warp pattern.

"Captain, theres a pattern in that warp signature that looks familiar. Forgive me for my hunch...Can you cross reference that pattern against the pattern of the Mk2. New Orleans class?" The sensor display on her HUD changed as the science officer of the Ravage completed the computations. From the files, the complete and clear warp signature from the New Orleans, which contained a very tell-tale high modulated pulse in the low range of the warp signature, appeared. It was laid over the phantom signature, and almost immediately the computer found a 48% match. Under the circumstances, with such degradation in the warp trail which must have been a good 5-6 hours old, that was as near as dammit a perfect correlation. "There's your target, captain."

"I'll be damned, Biggles. I'll patch this through to the fleet."

Aureliana's brow furrowed. As far as she was aware, there were few New Orleans left in service. What was one doing out here?

[Mikey]

"Let him wait a second," Mikey snapped at Moncano, referring to Captain Lewis' communication. Turning to the ops station he went on quietly, "Brad - I need to know what ship was sent, where it was headed, and for what purpose. See if Envoy D'Tyra has any intel you can use, and start with the Andorian Science Institute - that's the most likely sponsor of any Andorian mission in the area." Mikey lowered his voice even further and concluded, "This isn't an order, Brad - it's a favor."

Van Pelt nodded once, gravely, as Mikey turned to the science station. "In a very small nutshell, please, Amy."

Lt. Sternstrom transferred a graphic of a sensor detail to the viewscreen and began, "This is the telemetry from the Ravage, and what I gave the fighters. It's a Fed warp signature, but murky. The trail is evident, but no details - it's like someone was erasing their footprints behind them."

Mikey stroked one antenna absently, deep in thought, then nodded to Moncano. "Captain Lewis," he said congenially to the viewscreen as Lewis' image appeared, "so sorry to keep you waiting. What the icy hells is going on here?"

Lewis grinned without humor. "I was hoping you could tell me," he said ironically. "To further cloud the issue, your CAG just pointed up the probability that this is a New Orleans-class."

Mikey frowned. "There aren't any. At least, there aren't any that would be out here rather than doing system patrol or second-line grunt work. I suppose you've already checked-"

"Indeed," Lewis interrupted. "There are, of course, no New Orleans-classes scheduled to be out here, or even recorded as attached to Limbo Station. One was listed as destroyed with all hands, but that was three sectors away, nowhere near the highway..."

"Er, Captain?" Mikey interrupted Lewis' train of thought. "How well are you loaded for bear?"

"Not great, I'm afraid," Lewis answered with a resigned look. "Installing and operating the pod has been hell on our systems, and tactical has suffered the worst of it. MacDuff is working on a few tricks, but..."

Mikey smiled slightly, remembering the gruff old battle-ax. "Yes, I'm sure he is. Be that as it may, we should probably take point while you guys are sniffing out that trail."

"Agreed."

"Well then, good hunting." Van Pelt cleared his throat loudly and pointedly, and Mikey quickly added, "Daystrom out." Moncano closed the channel, and Mikey brusquely said, "In my ready room," over his shoulder to Van Pelt. "Go to red alert."

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

In his dim ready room, Mikey very quietly pored over the info on the console for the third time, then slammed it shut on his desktop. A small cup of spice tea sat ignored on his desk as he rose and turned to ponder the trophies hanging on the rear wall of the office. The Jem'hadar kar'takin which he won from an Alpha elder assassin; the Nausicaan knife he'd taken from the corpse of a thug sent to stop Starfleet's investigation of the Tholian slavers; a gin'tak taken from a radical Klingon gone mercenary... he'd been proud of all his martial accomplishments at the time, but what did they mean in the long run? Especially now, when...

Suddenly, a distinct change in the vibration of the hull brought him running toward the door moments before Moncano's surprised shout. "Shields are dropping!"

Mikey crossed the bridge and settled into his chair in just a couple of strides. "Report!" he barked.

Van Pelt answered for everybody. "Shields have dropped, helm isn't answering, and we're cut off from all command functions. Automated systems are functioning normally - life support, atmospheric control, and the rest, but we don't have active sensors. Passive is showing very little, one ship is just coming into visual range." The image on the viewscreen showed the starfield off the edge of the system with a tiny but unmistakable silhouette - a New Orleans-class frigate.

"What the hell... the prefix codes! Gelis take them!" Mikey swore. "Brad, scramble those codes!"

"We've got a new course laid in, sir," rang a scared voice from the helm. "It looks like it's been input remotely."

"I'm locked out, sir," Van Pelt said bleakly from the ops station.

"Flight deck!" Mikey called desperately as he opened the internal comms, "get all the birds hot! Launch gamma flight and prep the runabouts and shuttles for emergency evac. Robustelli? Get the 'Fish the icy hells away from here!" He cut the channel and began to call for Moncano to hail the Ravage when he was interrupted by a strong, smooth human male voice bursting from the speakers.

"Hello, Captain W'trisk. Please remain calm. My name is Ilkhan Rin Prosthaat, and your ship is now in my possession. Do try to refrain from anything rash; I'd hate to have to harm your crew."

"Cut off that channel, and enact boarder protocol Abel-Charlie!" Mikey hollered as his face quickly became tinged with an angry violet hue.

Moncano shrugged dejectedly and said simply, "I've got nothing. We can't even throw a rock at them."

"Bridge!" came a call over the comm. "This is impulse control! Boarding parties have entered from both sides of the primary hu-" The voice was cut off by a loud sizzling discharge, then silence. Mikey's shoulders sagged along with his antennae, and he turned a full circle regarding every member of the bridge staff.

"Computer," he intoned sepulchrally, "begin auto destruct sequence, authorization 'W'trisk bravo-oscar-oscar-mike.' Ten minute delay, silent countdown."

The inordinately pleasant computer voice rang cheerfully, "Unable to comply. All command functions are unavailable."

"Icy hells!" Mikey shouted while slightly denting the metal of his armrest with his balled fist, then continued to swear profusely in a number of varied languages for a moment. "I can't even scuttle my own damned ship!" He banged on his console to open the shipwide comms and announced, "All hands - this is Captain W'trisk. We no longer have control of the Daystrom." He paused just a moment, then continued, "Abandon ship. Auto destruct in 15 minutes."

"Captain?" Van Pelt asked.

"What? The bad guys don't know that we can't blow it." He began to jog toward the turbolift, looked back, and said, "Go on, all of you. Get going. I'll see you around." He entered the turbolift and called "Engineering!" while the bridge crew sat in awed silence for a moment before rousing themselves to perform their respective roles in the abandonment of the USS Daystrom.

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

"McKenzie!" Mikey called as he entered the engineering department. He'd been attempting to correlate various reports of boarding parties; his crew was well-trained, but the assailants were crafty and cut off key defensive points and the armories. A single duty shift worth of security details with hand phasers and no control over the internal defensive systems was no match for a group of smart, well-armed, and well-trained military men who didn't have to worry about a ship-wide evacuation. The good news, if it could be called such, was that the invaders didn't seem to intend to hurt anyone.

"Here, sir," came the weary answer from behind a large console. McKenzie was obviously frustrated in his attempts to work with the ship. "Not having much luck, though. They didn't just use the prefix code - they developed something using the codes to program a course and then just shut down all input."

"Well, they're not taking this prize so easily," Mikey said in a low, dangerous tone. "I want to know how to blow the core once we're evacuated."

McKenzie looked frankly at Mikey for a second, then said, "Very noble, sir, but you can't. The controls are all shut down. We can't change anything. The injectors, flow restrictors, everything is locked at normal operation."

Mikey produced the antique Andorian pistol he'd pocketed from his desk. "This ought to do the trick, then."

"I'm afraid not, sir. You'll knock out the core, but that's all. Failsafes are on, and we can't change them."

"You're not helping my mood, McKenzie. I'm not really interested letting Hearth-knows-who get their hands on the firepower of this ship. Can you cut the supply to the tactical systems?"

McKenzie brightened, then reached down to grab a tool from the box on the floor. "Just a matter of severing the relays."

"Good. Get on it, and then get the hell out while you can. If you can't get to a pod, the shuttles and runabouts are standing by."

McKenzie gave Mikey a knowing look. "Aye, sir," he said quietly, then ran to do his work. Mikey hunted for a communication console, then punched in the command for the latest Starfleet encryption and entered his message for the Ravage and the fighter squadrons. Enemy is using prefix codes to lock out all systems and hijack navigation. Daystrom is compromised. If counterattack is possible, be advised that New Orleans-class has limited rear weapons coverage, and a complete blind spot in the rear ventral quarter. Hope to see you all again.

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

Judging by the reports coming in from the scattered security teams, the enemy boarders seemed to be working from strategic outside points inward, almost as if they were herding the crew. Mikey slumped against the corridor wall as he realized that a number of escape pod access routes would be cut off. However, the Akira-class' central through-deck hangar would work to the Daystrom's advantage; the flight deck would be the last place the boarders would reach, and the routes there would be the least obstructed. Thank the Great Hearth for small favors, he thought ironically. He was heading for one of the forward comms server rooms in the hope of... he didn't know. He'd never fought a battle in which he didn't even have the opportunity of firing a shot, and he was dispirited and angry. The news he'd received earlier made him feel numb. Rousing himself, he noticed that in his subconscious effort to backtrack he'd ended up near sickbay. He was about to enter to make sure it was evacuated when the feel of several strident - but even and controlled - human heartbeats and footfalls came from the junction ahead. He pressed himself into the sickbay door alcove and waited.

Three figures strode confidently around the corner and began walking toward Mikey's position. They were human, but almost preternaturally fit and athletic. All wore their long hair in neat braids, and were dressed in pants, vests, and boots of some tanned hide. They walked with a controlled bravado and carried their weapons - the old style Federation compression phaser rifles, doubtless scavenged from that New Orleans-class' armories - at a comfortable safe position.

Mikey tensed and waited until the trio was less than five paces away. He sprang, firing as he leaped with the antique pistol. A pale blue ray stabbed out at an angle to the direction of Mikey's jump and felled one of the group even as Mikey was on the second. He struck the young human in the chest and dropped to a kneel in front him. While the invader was still staggered from the shoulder check, Mikey clasped his arms around the human's legs, lifting the man slightly and pushing him with his shoulder. The boarder toppled backward into the third of the group, but used the unexpected support of the man behind him to right himself.

Mikey was impressed. That situational awareness and quick reaction was beyond most humans. He didn't have time to admire the man's form, however, as the invader snapped his rifle and fired from the hip. What the human gained in speed he lost in accuracy, though, as the shot went high over Mikey's right shoulder. Ducking even as the rifle came to bear and hurling himself forward, Mikey lunged and grabbed the young human's right leg behind the ankle and snapped it upwards. The man landed heavily on his back. Mikey threw himself down on the man's chest and brought his pistol up to the boarder's temple. Mikey's antennae pitched rigidly forward as he looked into the human's eyes and saw his youth, his fearlessness and self-composure, and a wisdom beyond his years. In a split-second, however, he also saw his crew, his ship, and his... A bright blue flash and a faint smell of ionization signified the neutral-particle beam of the ancient Andorian weapon, and Mikey rose; below him was the young invader, the upper left quadrant of his head a fused, smoking mess.

"You don't use stun anymore?" Holmes' sardonic tone came from the sickbay doorway.

"Didn't I say something about 'abandon ship?'" Mikey asked heavily as he turned.

"I can't abandon this ship," Holmes said matter-of-factly. "Nobody else in Starfleet will have me."

"That's true," Mikey said, too numb to argue. "This is an Andorian weapon - there is no stun setting." Mikey held up the weapon, then spun around to face the way he'd come. "Where's the third?!"

"What?" said Holmes, looking around.

"Damn! He wasn't trying to hit me with that hip-shooting... he was trying to distract me from the third man getting behind me!" Mikey fired a couple of beams down the corridor to no effect, then spun once more at the sound of knock on a panel. As he did so, a searing pain exploded into the base of his spine as the phaser bolt struck him squarely. He'd been right, but was too edgy to ignore the simple distraction of the noise. He slumped to the ground, his muscles already beginning to lock up. "Holmes!" he whispered as fiercely as he could manage, and proffered the time-worn pistol.

"I don't know how to use that!" Homes protested. "I'm not one of you warrior savages!"

Mikey groaned - with pain or annoyance Holmes couldn't tell - and hissed, "No, you idiot! It's an heirloom! Hide it in sickbay for me!"

"Ah." Holmes took the pistol gingerly and retreated into sickbay as the last assailant approached.

By sheer force of will, Mikey lifted his head off the floor to say, "I'll rip off your head and-"

The compression rifle hissed once more and Mikey's world went white, cold, and silent.

[Reliant121]

Think you old fool, think D'Tyra hissed at her own mind, straining for anything that she could do to help the Daystrom's situation. Sabotage would be almost out of the question without at least a rudimentary knowledge of the ships systems and where they where. The enemy boarders would logically be coming from the outside in, meaning they would reach the hanger bay last. They would sweep through the outer decks and move inwards. That meant she had a chance. Her quarters were on deck 3, maybe 2 or 3 decks away from the upper edge of the flight deck but she was almost directly above them in a centralised position. Time to get moving.

She had managed to slip a small handheld disruptor pistol onboard the ship by hiding it in the folds of her dress at all times. The cargo scanners would clearly have identified the weapon had they been in her luggage but it appeared she was trusted enough not to have an in depth personal scan. Perhaps it was a favour from the captain or perhaps it was simply not standard procedure. Who could tell?

Did she have time? She glanced toward the ornate chronometer hung upon the wall. From her best guess, the captains command of self-destruct had come just under a minute ago. It would have to be enough time. If she were to fight her way through hostiles sweeping forth toward her quarters she would far rather do it with some chance of protection. Hurrying across the room, she began to remove the ornate dress. It did not take her long to be concealed within the small room adjacent her corners, clad only in underwear.

The door hissed open. She froze for a second. Whoever was boarding must have a tricorder, they must have been able to know where she was. Still scantily dressed, she pressed against the wall and held the slight disruptor pistol within her hand. Romulans had lost a little of the sharp hearing that their Vulcan cousins had, but it was still highly sensitive. If she strained she could hear their breathing, erratic and low. A foot fell upon the deck slightly closer to her. Now or never.

She swung right hand out from the door and fired. The telltale high shrill of the disruptor sounded like the cry of the damned in her ear. She continued firing, letting off 5 seperate beams toward the door. A yellow compression phaser bolt narrowly missed her arm, followed by a stream of them striking the ceiling as one of the assailants fell backwards. The last disruptor beam hit the second who fell moments later. Silence. D'Tyra returned to the room and pulled out what she had wanted. It was dark and metallic, laced with a form duranium alloy clearly meant to absorb or deflect phaser/disruptor fire. On the chest plate, over what would have been the left breast, a light green insignia burned at her eyes. The seal of the Romulan star empire. This was her ceremonial armour, used mainly for special occasions. Unlike the Federation, ceremonial uniform was designed to be equally functional as its regular counterpart. This armour was among the best the empire made. It was tailored to fit the individual, however many chose to let it be resmelted. She had elected to keep hers for sentimental value. And for practical use. Smart move. Once donned, the upper element of the armour clung to her chest closely. Upon its back, an armoured skirt layered over her backside, ending in a small region around her crotch. It was entirely decorative, it served no purpose except to provide an extra layer of cover over the rear. The lower element clamped tightly over her legs but was flexible, laced with some form of elastic material so movement was not impeded. It felt somehow...odd to be wearing military dress once more. The comfort of civilian clothing had settled into her mindset. And yet she had never felt so alive.

The weapons she found among the men in the room were crude. They appeared to be rather old bulky compression phaser rifles, the same type that would have been found on Intrepid class scout ships during the early 2370's. They were bulky and cumbersome, but provided a significant boost in firepower over the miniature disruptor she had concealed. The powerpack in the pistol had been depleted somewhat as well; she had fired at a high setting. Grasping the least deteriorated of the two weapons she stepped into the corridor. Access way, access way, where is the access way.

Crossing the ship was not easy. The enemy had managed to sweep through the outer layers of the ship quicker than she had anticipated. Whatever the enemy had used to drop the shields had also began to eat away at the redundant computer systems, control of the ship was entirely out of individuals hands. However something was interfering. She had seen starfleeters in yellow uniforms frantically playing around with the ships systems in an attempt to budge the command codes; most of the time they could only interfere with minor systems for short periods.

"M'am!" D'Tyra turned. Two starfleeters approached, a security officer and what looked like a medic. They looked scared, afraid. Each wore a single yellow pip on their collar. They are but children.

"What?" They glanced at one another.

"M'am, we've heard...well...We've heard that you weren't always a pol..." She bristled. Of many things that people called her, politician was her least favourite. Gladly, they picked up on this. "A civilian mam. Some way you were an officer once...a fighter. Well...we think we've got as good a chance as any if we stick with you, m'am." She couldn't help but burst out with a laugh.

"Very well. We need an access tube. Where is the nearest?"

"Down that corridor," The younger blueshirt gestured to the corridor to the left. D'Tyra nodded for them to follow.

________________________________________

"Captain, this fighter won't survive long in deep space without a proper base of operations. If you think I'm going to let my command ship be taken by whoever the fuck is doing it, you are sorely mistaken!" Aureliana's temper had long since flared now, and her argument with the Ravage's captain was not helping.

"Loose the attitude Lieutenant commander. I understand entirely how you feel but we need protection as well. Captain W'Trisk is perfectly capable of handling himself, and the Ravage is a hell of a lot more vulnerable than the Daystrom. We need you here."

"Unacceptable, captain. I'm going. Beta flight, withdraw and take up holding position around the Ravage. Alpha flight, I can't make you follow me and I won't order you to do so. But I am going to help the Daystrom or die trying. Feel free to join." She removed the protesting voice of Lewis' from her comm. Receiver and glanced around her. All 6 of her wingmen followed suit, setting in a course for the Daystrom. She couldn't help but smile. Alpha flight...Punch it."

[Mark]

USS Ravage – Main Bridge

The Ravage cruised along with the Daystrom and her fighters covering her. Most internal systems were offline to keep power to the AWACS pod and maintain warp speed. Lewis had just signed off with W’trisk when McDuff reported to the bridge.

“I’ve got torpedo tube one all ready to go, Captain.” He said “We’ve upgraded about two dozen torpedoes so far, and locked and loaded a full spread in the tube now. Remember, we’ll have a loss of range and accuracy, but about three times the boom.”

“I’ll take what I can get Chief.” Lewis replied. “Did you manage to overcome the problem with the phasers?”

With a disgusted look McDuff replied “No, and I don’t see how we can. This ship only cranks out so much power, and this damned AWACS pod needs too much. The Mark III Nebulas are fine, but us Mark IIs just don’t have the juice. I can get you MAYBE 70% main phaser power if we need it, but even that’ll drain the capacitor pretty quick, since it hasn’t been able to fully charge since we brought that thing online.”

“Captain” Devi interrupted “I’m reading a ship bearing 035-mark-118. Sensors indicate it’s a New Orleans class. Cross checking her registry now. NCC-96813, USS William Thompson.” She suddenly dropped off.

Sinclair looked over at his crewmates. He’d heard of the legendary Wild Bill, and his final sacrifice for his crew. Lewis’s face was unreadable, but he’d grown close enough to Devi so see the flash of grief on hers. Sinclair judged that he must have been a hell of a man, as well as a hell of a Captain.

“Devi, what do we have on sensors?” Sinclair asked.

“This is seriously strange, Commander” she replied “With this pod we should be able to tell how many self sealing stembolts they’sve got in there cargo bay, but for some reason, I’m only able to tell that the ship appears to be in perfect shape, and has about two hundred or so life signs. It’s like something is somehow blocking us.”

Lewis ordered “Hail them.”

Uzume was helping at tactical and acknowledged the order, then stated “No reply Captain.”

Something about this whole thing tickled Sinclair’s memory. He couldn’t quite place it but it nevertheless made him nervous. “Yellow alert. Raise shields.”

Devi quickly responded and Lewis nodded in approval at the precaution. Lorcan suddenly asked “What the hell?”

“Can you elaborate please?” Lewis asked

“Something is wrong with the Daystrom sir. She’s not flying right.” He replied.

“Hail the Daystrom and take us in” Lewis ordered.

Nothing happened for several seconds then Devi announced, “Sir, text only message coming in from Daystrom.”

“On our monitors, Commander.” Sinclair ordered.

“ Enemy is using prefix codes to lock out all systems and hijack navigation. Daystrom is compromised. If counterattack is possible, be advised that New Orleans-class has limited rear weapons coverage, and a complete blind spot in the rear ventral quarter. Hope to see you all again”

Lewis and Sinclair jumped into action, working as a well oiled machine, finishing each other’s orders. The ship was quickly brought to Red Alert, the AWACS pod powering down, power diverting to recharge the phaser capacitor, and ordering all the prefix codes reset. However, it appeared they were seconds too late. As happened on the Daystrom, everything began shutting down, starting with the shields.

As systems starting going down, McDuff sprung from his engineering console, and dove across the bridge to where the main computer console was. His fingers danced across the console then suddenly he fell to his knees and jerked open the lower panel. He started ripping out isoliniar chips as fast as he could. Systems quickly started going off line.

“What the hell are you doing, Chief?” Sinclair almost screamed.

“They’re trying to take over the ship by hacking into the main computer. So I disabled the damned computer.” McDuff replied

Lewis asked “Does anybody have control over anything?”

The entire bridge crew responded in the negative. Lewis suddenly tapped his comm badge “Lewis to Sagan” calling one of the Ravage’s shuttles “route all communications through your computer.”

“Acknowledged” the feminine voice said.

“Message coming in from the Daystrom CAG.” Devi announced and the Wild Bill is moving into attack position.

“We can still fire manually” McDuff announced “The manual controls in the forward torpedo room are independent.”

Lewis ordered “Devi, put the CAG on screen. Jordan, take the Chief and to take command down in the forward torpedo room. Let’s see if we can fight off a fully functional Starship with eight “McDuff’d” torpedoes.”

“Aye Captain.” Sinclair replied as he and McDuff raced to the turbolift.

[Reliant121]

Both the Daystrom and the Ravage came hurtling out of warp, each of them appearing to drift slightly as their systems lost power, or lost control. Aureliana dropped out of warp almost directly underneath the Ravage while her wing struggled to keep with the stricken warships. Somewhere nearby, the William Thompson lurked under the shroud of confusion. She quickly looked over her systems as the fighter narrowly danced clear of the Ravage's port nacelle. Power was nominal and the computer system was entirely under her control. It was no surprise, the computer on Falcon class fighters were VI's, not AI's. They were less complicated and did not posess true sentience, thus removing the need for command codes. Besides, a single fighter going rogue would not be a problem making command codes utterly redundant.

"Alpha flight, sound off!" Each of the fighters responded, maneuvering into position around the Ravage. "Everyone keep as close to the Ravage as possible, we might get missed by the enemy's sensors if we are hugging close to a big ass silhouette like that." Time to gather senses.

The Daystrom was lost, it was clear. She was reading a gradual build up in power and systems activation consistent with a command code take over. Tactical systems looked completely out of the question at least, but there was not very much she could do. Once the Big D went to warp, she'd be long gone. Then they have to keep her from warp. The Ravage had lost almost complete power, shields, computer systems even lighting. She had guessed they had shut her down completely rather than be taken over by the enemy.

"Alpha flight, we have to keep the Daystrom from getting to warp. This is gonna sound crazy but we got no choice. Target the Daystrom[/]'s warp nacelles, pulse phaser only. Attack pattern Sigma-4. Engage at will."

She pulled the fighter into a tight starboard turn, breaking free from the faultering artificial gravity of her cover. The fighters all followed, rocketing out over the space between the Ravage and Daystrom. It would only take a few seconds.

"Warning. Target lock on vessel vessel designated as friendly. Direct violation of operating conditions code 7, sub paragraph 314, line 3." The incessent female voice continued as the fighter drew closer and closer. Just another second....and...Now!

The ship shifted almost imperceptibly to the starboard, followed by a muffle explosion. She looked sidewards, watching the tail end of a large scale phaser beam tear into Alpha-2, ripping it apart in a single shot. The cockpit lit up, screaming a earbending siren at her as the William Thompson acquired target lock. She threw her fighter into a hard starboard spin, careening away from her compatriots. Another yellow beam narrowly missed her, followed by two more tracing her movements like a laser carving through metal.

The Wild Bill hung in space just above the Daystrom, letting loose with all 4 of its phaser arrays at Alpha wing. Three of them exploded in only the first shot, while the remainder ducked behind the Daystrom and held position.

"Merda...We aren't getting through that thing unless we attack it head on and stick close to her. Reacquire target on the William Thompson. We've got to give the shuttles and other small craft enough time to get free from the Daystrom. All units, break and attack."

Aureliana threw her ship into full impulse, spearing from underneath the Ravage. Almost immediately one of the four phaser arrays tore at the space merely metres behind her. She dragged the ship upwards, slipping into the phaser blind spot behind the enemy. And she fired.

A stream of pulse phaser bolts ripped from the wings, almost perfectly in time for Beta wing to enter the fray and open fire. The small weapons on the fighters did little to the rear shields, causing the occasional breach in the bubble and letting an occasional shot through to slam into the hull.

"We're not getting through M'am!" Beta leader shouted through his mike as Beta-4 next to him exploded into a ball of fire.

"Alright everyone...Push all power to engines, if we can keep the fire away from the escape pods we must."

In a final act of defiance, Aureliana fired every bit of juice in her phaser capacitors, and fired all four of the loaded torpedoes she had prepared. All but one torpedo struck the impenetrable wall of the enemy ship. The final one broke through and struck one of the phaser arrays. It did little damage, but increased the blind spot behind her. All they could do now was keep the enemy busy.

[Mark]

USS Daystrom – Sickbay

Holmes darted into Sickbay, glancing around quickly, looking for a place to hide the weapon. He knew that if the area was scanned, they’d look for weapons by checking for energy signatures. So, in a flash of inspiration he concealed it with the ship's Xenobiology surgical implements. Most people didn’t know the first thing about medical equipment, which baffled Holmes, confusing a dermal regenerator with a laser scalpel. Unless they brought a surgeon with them, who chose to inventory his alien surgical tools, he figured he’d be safe.

After stashing the weapon, he grabbed his medkit and hobbled back into the corridor, seeing the remaining invader standing over the Captain’s fallen form, aiming the old blocky rifle right at the Captain’s face. Without thought, Holmes swung out with his cane surprising the invader, as he knocked the weapons barrel away from W’trisk.

“Get out of the way, you moron!” Holmes barked “I’m a Doctor, and this man needs help.”

“This THING as you call him killed two of my team.” The perfect specimen of humankind replied, tugging on his blond ponytail.

“Yeah, life’s a bitch all right.” Holmes acknowledged as he waived his tricorder over Mikey’s fallen form. The scan results were not promising. He quickly scanned the two fallen invaders. The one whose brains Mikey cooked was beyond help, but the first one was still hanging on.

“Ok Blondie” Holmes said. “This is the situation. We’ve got to get both of these men into surgery right now if either of them are gonna live more than a few more minutes. Use those muscles for something more useful than masturbating a pachyderm. “

Without waiting to see if his new dumbfounded assistant was indeed following, Holmes purposely marched back into Sickbay. The rest of his staff evacuated as ordered, but Holmes was a stubborn sonofabitch and wasn’t ready to give up the Daystrom until the last second. However, that did leave him just a little short of help.

“Here we go again.” He muttered to himself as the invader carried both men into sickbay, one over each shoulder. Glancing slightly up at the ceiling he called “Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram.”

A scantily clad curvaceous woman with flowing red hair appeared in a tight and undersized Starfleet uniform appeared and said “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

Last year Holmes had gotten bored with the constant updates of the EMH system, and the constantly MALE appearances. He’d been forced to leave his favorite EMH mark one on the Tigerfish, thanks to Starfleet Medical, so he’d decided to put his superior intellect to good use, figuring if he HAD to look at a damned EMH, it may as well be easy on the eyes.

“Multiple injuries from directed energy weapons” Holmes reported. “We have no medical staff except for the two of us. You treat the human, and I’ll treat Captain W’Trisk.”

Holmes had just begun operating when three more people entered. The man was the leader is seemed and was escorted by two women, and they had to be the sexiest bodyguards Holmes had ever seen. It was too bad he was too busy right now to enjoy the view.

“I am” the man started, but Holmes interrupted “I don’t really give a crap who you are. Tell it to the Captain when he’s back on his feet.”

“Will he recover?” the man asked

“He will if you idiots don’t talk him or me to death first.”

With a glare at Holmes he walked out.

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

Holmes finally had both patients resting in Post Op. Overall, surgery had taken sixteen hours. At some point, the Daystrom had jumped into warp, but Holmes had no idea when. They’d nearly lost W’trisk twice. It was only Holmes’ nearly supernatural skill that saved him both times. The EMH had completed work on the fallen invader in much less time. His injuries surprisingly were less severe. Holmes could only guess that one shot from an antique was less damaging then a point blank blast from a compression phaser rifle, but it shouldn’t have made SUCH a difference. The rifle sure as hell hadn’t been set to anything remotely resembling full power, otherwise Mikey would be a cloud of free floating atoms right now. After he took a nap, Holmes would look into it.

“Excellent work Doctor.” The EMH sauntered up and congratulated him. “I’ve finished work on my patient, and all the results are here.” She handed him a PADD. “Unless you need me for something else, I’ll deactivate now.” Holmes considered making use of one of her specially programmed stress relief techniques, but decided against it.

Absently he ordered “Computer, deactivate the EMH.” Causing the figure to vanish. Holmes glanced at the PADD intending to review it in the morning, but the readings caught him by surprise. He sat, transfixed by the information about his invader patient, his mind racing.

[Mark]

USS Paladin – Main Bridge

“The Starship Farseer is hailing us, Captain.” Lt Cmdr G’han announced from Ops.

“On screen” Fletcher ordered.

A familiar face sat in the Captains chair of the Farseer looking back at them, smiling with unabashed relief. “Captain Fletcher, you have no idea how glad I am to see you right now.”

Fletcher, G’han, and Grr’lek all smiled as they recognized their former crew mate from the Daystrom, John Hewer.

“I didn’t know that they gave you the Farseer, John.” Fletcher said. “What kind of fix have you gotten into here?”

“I have no idea what we did to set these fellows off.” Hewer began “We were on a simple system survey mission, and picked up some odd readings from the last planet in the system. We headed over to take a look, and the Gegs jumped us. They didn’t respond to hails and just opened fire with the most damnable weapons you ever saw. They blasted apart the gyro stabilizer on my warp nacelle, locking it in place, disabling our warp drive. Plus a lucky shot blew right through my shuttlebay. I’m starting to think that some of the wrecks we found may have been their handy work. I’ve been playing cat and mouse with them for a day and a half already. For flying bricks, those things have an impressive sublight drive, even faster than us on a straightaway, so we couldn’t run. But the Farseer has a maneuverability edge so, I’m hiding out in this asteroid field, but their slowly blowing the rocks apart with some damned impressive nuclear……” the signal faded out and the channel went dead.

“Sorry Captain” G’han reported “The channel went dead. The Geg warships are jamming us.”

“Tactical analysis, Mr. Cix” Mark ordered.

The massive Xindi officer tapped a few keys on Marks old panel and announced “The two flanking ships are Heavy Cruiser analogs, codenamed Battleaxe class. The command ship is a Battle cruiser analog, codenamed the Warhammer class. We have limited tactical information on the Battleaxes putting them about on par with one of our upgraded Galaxy classes, but nothing on the Warhammer class. We can only assume that she’s more heavily armed in relation to her size.”

“Teaos, on screen.” Fletcher ordered. “Mr. G’han, hail them on all frequencies.”

The three Geg ships were, if nothing else, quite large. The Battleaxe’s were about the same size as a Romulan D’Deridex. They looked vaguely like an older Klingon ship, insofar as the bridge, neck, and wing modules. It essentially looked like the ships were built to resemble great double bladed battleaxes in space, with the blades forming what appeared to be wings, mounting both weapons and warp engines. The Warhammer however, only resembled its namesake in the massive double sided hammer that formed its fore section. It was mounted directly to a rectangular shaped main hull, with massive weapons platforms protruding from the ventral and dorsal sides of the ship. They appeared to be some sort of missile weapon, but nothing they’d seen before. The back of the ship tapered off as do most ships into the engineering section, where crimson red impulse exhaust made it look ominous. The ship was at least two and a half times larger than the Battleaxes, and that meant more room for weapons and troops.

“No response.” G’han reported, his normally servile Cardassian features set in an expression of professionalism.

“Both of the Battleaxe’s are changing direction” Teaos interjected “They’ve set an intercept course with us.”

“Red alert” Mark ordered “Shields at maximum. Ready both standard and pulse phasers and charge the phase lance. Load all torpedo bays. Target engines and tactical systems Commander Cix.”

“Aye Commander” the big Xindi replied.

“I’d rather this not turn into a shooting match, Commander” Fletcher told Mark, but if it does, our priority is to get the crew of the Farseer to safety. If needs be, be ready to evacuate their crew to the Paladin, destroy the Farseer, and withdraw. This is about saving lives on all sides this time, Commander. At least until we can figure out what the hell is going on, I’d rather not start a war.”

Mark raised one eyebrow and nodded “Agreed, Captain.”

Teaos cut in, “They’re opening some sort of large weapons port at the front of each ship. Looks like they’re firing!” Teaos braced himself against his console.

The Paladin was slammed to the side with a kinetic force they’d never experienced before. Phasers and disrupters blasted away at shields and then hulls with surgical precision, and torpedoes relied on the explosive energy of their payloads to overload shield generators and blow big holes in enemy ships. This however, was more akin to getting hit by a insanely powerful canon ball. There was no pinpointed damage, but the shields and even the hull underneath took a massive blow. It was much akin to the difference between receiving a Vulcan neck pinch to a right cross from a Gorn.

Cix reported “Shields down to 80 percent. Minor power glitches on several decks, and we’ve actually been knocked slightly off course.”

Teaos called out again “They’re opening fire with some sort of magnetically accelerated neutronium projectiles. They’re peppering our shields with them, constantly draining power and preventing them from regenerating.”

“We’ve got to take out those canons before they can fire again.” Fletcher announced.

“Commander” Mark called out to tactical. “Designate targets as Alpha and Beta. Target the main forward weapons emplacements on both ships. Set all weapons to maximum, and lock onto Alpha first.”

He gave the big Xindi a pair of heartbeats to carry out the orders before he calmly said “Fire.”