Mandukar

[Davin]

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PART I: Davin

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...Or Romulan History X
Act 1: Okhala

What follows is an examination of several key events in Davins life, for my benefit as well as your entertainment, trying to answer the eternal question, 'what made Davin into such a frothing bucket of crazy, and why won't he get a psych eval already?' A warning, this episode gets a bit dark, and I can't promise that the series as a whole will be lighter after this as I'm not sure how it's going to play out yet. But hey, if you don't mind that, please give this a read.

Spoiler: Show

Vallir Mandukar ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the streak of grey he had been given by a particularly angry Jem'hadar and that no regenerator could ever seem to quite fix. Across the room D'Kera just grinned, but she couldn't convince him the gesture was sincere.

"We might never get a better chance," she said. "That doomsday lunatic threatening the senate has the Tal Shiar on high alert. This could be it!"

"Or it could get us all killed," Vallir said flatly. D'Kera's smile didn't wane in the slightest, and that assured him that she was just as terrified of this idea as he was. But maybe, just maybe...

"Look, the fleet is going to be on high alert for at least this week, and that means everything we can spare will be centered around ch'Rihan. You can go, slip away from the convoy and it will be days before anyone even notices! Void, you and Davin could be half-way to Vulcan by then, and I can be there in a cloaked Kestrel in under a month."

Vallir turned back to the doorway, back to Davin sitting on the balcony playing with his little toy warbird. And beyond him he could see the senate building, looming and imperially decadent, perched above the city like a raptor. In that moment, any logic fled his mind. He refused to let his son grow up on this wretched planet, living in fear of the Tal Shiar, telling himself like he and D'Kera had told themselves for so many years that one day they would leave it all behind and escape the tyranny of the Star Empire.

"...Alright... Alright. This is really it." He laughed nervously, again running a hand through his mostly black hair. And D'Kera smiled, actually smiled, as she rose from the table, light gleaming on the checkered plates of her uniform.

"Then we'll have to be quick. One bag each, nothing more, and we'll rendezvous above Nimbus."

Vallir rose too, grinning from ear to ear, and once they were sure Davin wasn't looking they kissed with a reckless freedom they hadn't felt in a long time.

---

" 'khala!" Davin cried over the din of the open air spaceport, and Vallir followed his gaze to the looming D'Deridex warship rising into the clouds. He couldn't tell if it was the Okhala, but he wasn't about to spoil it for Davin.

"That's right buddy, that's moms ship. Can you see her?" He looked up as best he could at the boy perched on his shoulders, and grinned wide at the smile on his face.

"Uh-huh!" The hand that wasn't holding Vallirs was clutching his little toy T'Varo, moving it in circles around the warbird quickly disappearing into the bright Rihannsu sky. Chuckling to himself, Vallir reached a hand into his loose flight jacket, fished out his flask, and snuck a quick sip to start off his pre-flight checklist.

Vallir's ship, an older model freighter, looked more like a bloated vulture than a sleek T'Varo or a great, commanding D'Deridex, but it was his ship. He swung Davin in a wide arc to send him swooping to the plate metal of the ships loading ramp, an act that the boy absolutely adored but which also had the added benefit of leaving his flight bag as the only weight on his shoulders. Davin ran ahead of him to the cockpit, but he wasn't the only one waiting when Vallir finally arrived.

"Commander on deck!" Siras shouted, leaping to a stiff, militant attention, at least until Vallir slugged him in the shoulder.

"At ease, smartmouth," Vallir said, and the two shared a laugh. Davin was already busy looking over the control panels, not touching but inspecting each control facet, each indicator and readout with a thoroughness that D'Kera's bridge crew might envy.

"Everything set, boss?" Siras carefully lifted Davin into the co-pilots seat as he himself took the helm, running down the pre-flight checklist and starting up the light transport.

"Green as the south seas," Vallir said, and Siras paused. No, he stopped dead in his tracks, frozen for a long moment before he turned back, wide-eyed, to face him. Those five words, a coded phrase that went back to the war, was something Siras had never expected to hear again.

"...Commander?" A nod was all it took to set the helmsman back to work, running down the systems at double-pace, rushing to get the ship airborne. "The last of the supplies were loaded half an hour ago Sir, so we're ready to go on your command."

Vallir just smirked. "At ease, SubCommander," he said softly, "we have all the time in the 'verse. It's a long way to Rator, and we don't want to look like we're in a hurry."

"All the same, Sir?" Siras looked back over his shoulder again, beaming with excitement. The ship started to rumble as it rose free of its moorings, arching up into the clouds to the delight of an enraptured Davin. "I want to leave this rock behind me."

"Look, Dad!" Davin cried, pointing to a wing of warships ahead, set in a low orbit and growing closer with every second. " 'khala!"

---

"The subspace distortion's too thick!" Siras called from the back of the cockpit as Vallir guided the shuddering vessel. "I can't keep a stable warp field! We're at six-point-two and dropping, Sir!" Beside him Davin huddled in his flight jacket, eyes fixed on the stars ahead. Well, not the stars themselves so much as the way they seemed to ripple and contort, the subspace bubble around them starting to collapse in on itself.

"What the Void is going on, Siras!?" Vallir shifted the ships course as gently as he did, degrees at a time, struggling not to drop warp speed.

"I don't know, Sir! It's like... It's like there's something behind us in subspace, ripping our warp field apart!" Fits of frantic tapping on the auxiliary console give way to pauses that seemed much longer than they really were. "...Get us above this thing, and try to keep our speed up. We're down to warp five-point-seven!"

The freighter shuddered at the course correction, the ripples in the warp field only becoming more apparent. "Siras... I want you to take Davin down to the bunks until we clear this thing, alright?"

"...Sir?" His expression said it all, and Vallir emphasized his point by tussling the cowering boys hair.

"Just until we clear this thing," Vallir said, the ship shuddering around them again. He tore his eyes from the stars ahead and the screens below only long enough to exchange a knowing look with his former first officer. Then his focus fell wholly to the task at hand, the pilot only barely registering his son being carried back into the ship.

Siras paused a moment in the doorway, Davin and Vallirs jacket bundled in his arms. He started to speak, hesitated, and then the door was closed, leaving him alone in the empty cockpit. Vallir cranked the control stick back and locked in his course, then dove back to the auxiliary console. Weapons power to structural integrity, emergency power to force fields, bit by bit he fortified the freighters engineering section.

Another tremor rocked the ship, and the warp bubble collapsed. Ahead was the rest of the convoy, green Romulan ships sputtering at impulse. Some were already damaged, leaking plasma, drifting aimlessly. Others had been torn apart with the force of being hurled into normal space. All this he saw in an instant before throwing himself to his feet and running down the ships corridors to engineering. Another tremor and the lights cut out. Davins surprised cry echoed through the passage, and Vallir struggled to navigate the darkened, jostling path to safety.

"Commander!" The cry came too late, the ship jerked, tossing everyone into the air, the junction at Vallirs feet erupting in a blinding flash of white-hot plasma as metal strained, cracked, and tore away. There was a vague awareness of floating, of a rush of air and then... nothing. Flecks of green in a sea of speckled black, and then below a rushing wave of red-orange. And Vallir could do nothing. His journey was over now, he knew that.

But he had done it. He had left Romulus, saved Davin from a life of fear and secrecy and oppression. Or at least he hoped that was what he had done. It was all so distant now, so vague, and he couldn't see beyond the now. Beyond the tumbling and the green and the serene chaos of this moment.

Caught in the wake of the Hobus supernova, Vallir Mandukar, former Commander of the Romulan Star Empire, gave himself over to the Void.

[Davin]

...Or I Was A Teenage Romulan!
Act 2: Avihl

Spoiler: Show

"What, they didn't have anything bigger?" Siras shrugged, looking over Davin and the five great streaks of black around his eye.

"I like it. And it covers up the scars, too." The boy brushed a lock of hair out of his face, as if keeping it away from his new tattoo. Siras didn't understand his obsession with Terran hairstyles, but that was hardly the first thing on his mind right now.

"You realize your dad would kill me if he saw that. Honestly, I'm not convinced he won't find a way to anyway."

"C'mon Si, I'm almost twenty! I think I'm old enough to start making a few of my own decisions." Standing there in his fathers old jacket, arms folded across his chest, the boy looked so much like the commander. His face wore the same proud defiance he had seen on Vallir more times than he could remember, usually staring down enemies far more fearsome than a retired soldier caught in an endless battle with the grey trying to get a foothold in his hair.

"...Fine. You're right." Siras turned, but caught himself half way. "But don't think you can skip out on your shift at the shipyard tonight, I'm still going to need your help with that maquis junker."

"Aww, come on Si!" Davin swept forward, hands raised as he plead. "Lir's getting a band together, and we're going to-"

Siras held up a hand. "Fine, fine. Your dad's already bringing the wrath of the Elements down on me." He hiked a thumb to the door. "Go have fun."

"Thanks, Si!" Davin grinned, and with a hop ran out the door, his footsteps clattering down the hall, echoing all the way to the turbolift. Siras sighed and turned his gaze out the window, toward the handful of towers scattered across the valley beyond. Little shuttles, some Romulan and some not, swept through the air in uneven intervals, puttering here or there above the stone streets beneath. It wasn't much, but it was more than other colonies had. More than that though, it was home.

Ecurai colony had once been a home before, to an ill-fated Federation colony. Little remained of that settlement now but a great hole in the ground, which most everyone had taken to calling 'the quarry'. Mostly because it sounded more pleasant than 'the gaping pit the Borg left on Jouret IV'. And even that ominous history had barely swayed the planets early Romulan tenants, scattered as they were by the 'Hobus Event', as the Federation subspace broadcasts had called it.
The chatter of those days had seen sympathetic voices mingled with those crying wolf at the 'Romulan Diaspora', another set of words that had rankled Siras to no end.

But they weren't without friends, hence the maquis ship settled neatly on the far side of town among the debris of the ships scuttled for parts for the colony. The thing was a relic, a first-run Constitution class affectionately dubbed Old Reliable that Siras doubted the finest engineers in the quadrant could do much to save. Sure, the thing was gutted and filled with more weapons and batteries than a ship that age had any business even knowing about, and it's crew insisted it had held its own against the best of the Obsidian Order, but in the end the ship was almost as ancient as old Raevak, and he claimed to have swapped torpedoes with Kirk.

The general consensus around the city was that neither of those two belonged in space anymore.

Voices drifting up from the street below, and Siras' attention was drawn down to Davin and that redheaded half-human girl he was always spending time with. A few of their other friends were around too, Kaela, Joran, Sibyl, laughing and talking about Ajoi knew what. And Siras smiled, feeling like a dhael perched at the edge of its nest, standing guard over its young, though he knew Davin would hate that idea. He was too much his fathers son to stomach the idea of needing to be protected. Still, as he and his odd menagerie took off down the winding streets, Siras felt that familiar little pang of nerves.

---

High above the city a light shone in the darkness. And in that light was sound, and more than sound. Bodies caught in a sea of shared emotion, guided by the figures at the center of the light, who's shadows were cast long across the tide of youth spread out before them. Somewhere in there, a drop of water in the raging sea, was Davin.

"Mandukar!" Joran called out, and Davin lobbed his rough green flask to him. The light and the music were just memories now, the sea of emotion now just a dirty, empty amphitheater set into the peak of a plateau. But the view of the city below, the towers stretching out across the broad valley all lit up for the evening, and the great floodlights illuminating the hulks of the vessels docked at the shipyard to the west, was absolutely worth staying for.

"Ajoi, that was intense, right?" Lir giggled, her hair a mess, her shirt torn loose at the shoulder and dangling, not that she seemed to mind. And neither did Joran, with his free arm around her shoulders, drinking deeply of Davins stash.

"It was a great set, yeah." Davin was on his back, gazing at the light above rather than those ahead. "Heh, I thought Rajir was going to split that jerks head open after he threw that can on stage. Seriously, who actually drinks Slug-O-Cola?"

That got a rise out of the group, or at least Lir and Joran. Kaela and Sibyl were at that moment slinking off to do Ajoi know what back in the empty amphitheater, their giggles fading into the night.

"Catch," Joran said, and Davin simply raised his hand as his flask flew back to its rightful owner. "I tried the stuff once. Went down like slime, but I got twenty marks out of it." Another chuckle from the group, the five that had now become three and two.

A silence fell over them, and for a few moments they all just listened to the soft sounds of the night. The muted, distant sounds of animals and the echoing hints of civilization from the city proved an expert counter-point to the fortissimo rush of the concert. They looked up at the stars, out at the city, or just at each other, sharing in the serenity of the moment.

And then there came another sound, much closer and much more distinct, echoing from the amphitheater.

"Nnoooo..."
"Should we...?"
"I think we have to."

Joran smirked and took the lead, with Lir beside him and Davin taking up the rear. The trio slunk into the covered passages that lead into the nearly empty theater, following the noises of indiscretion that had caught their attention. Through the shadows they made their way to the source of the noise, the three pressed against the cold stone walls of the building. Davin counted down slowly, mouthing the words and counting off on his fingers. 'Sei, kre, hwi...'

"Tal Shiar!" The three screamed as they lunged out from the shadows, the sudden intrusion of their 'friends' sending Kaela tumbling to the cold floor and Sybil diving for his cast-off pants. Curses and raucous laughter mingled in the echoing chamber, rising into the warm summer night's air.

[Davin]

...Or A Shadow Over Jouret IV
Act 3: Jaeih

Just want to reiterate the warning from post 1. Space violence, dark themes, and mature subject matter ahead.

Spoiler: Show

"Go!" Siras broke cover first, strafing across the open street, his plasma rifle barking as it tore into the constructs that stalked the streets. A small procession of civilians followed, with Davin bringing up the rear. His hands wrung the grip of his disruptor, the taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. Screams echoed through the streets, mingled with the sounds of disruptor fire and the low, synthetic rumblings of the combat machines laying siege to the city.

"Davin, cover!" Siras dove behind the far corner of the building he had led the civilians into. Davin, on the far side of the broad street, ducked quickly back into the building they had been sheltering inside. Above, one of the towering tripedal walkers bellowed and tore the street to dust with a torrent of powerful crescent shaped blasts. Then came another sound, the familiar roar of a Kestrel shuttles afterburner. A barrage of cannon fire came after, and then a single, ground shaking explosion.

The walker let out a high mechanical whine, and Davin watched as it's legs tilted, skewed, and finally the massive war machine collapsed into the street, scraping along the buildings on either side of it and sending up a great, choking cloud of dust.

Davin staggered out of his hiding place, disruptor raised, one hand holding up his jacket for whatever protection he can get from the dust in the air. In the open, he could see the green glow of plasma fire in the heap of what had been the walkers 'head'. It's legs had fallen in such a way that Davin could slip under them at least, and though it slowed him it didn't stop his crossing the street.

"Davin!" Siras was there in the haze, waving his rifle in the air, guarding his face much like Davin. "C'mon, we're almost to the ship!" The pair jogged through the grey haze until they emerged on the outskirts, the small crowd they had been escorting waiting at the edge of the street. Other groups were in view now, some larger and some smaller, mingling along the narrow path up to the hilltop shipyard.

"Davin!" That time it wasn't Siras calling, and by the time he turned around Lir was already on top of him. The hint of something familiar seemed to drive home the reality of the situation. Having Lir in his arms broke the focus that had kept him from shaking.

"Joran?" That was all he could manage, and Lir's silence told him everything he needed to know.

"Kaela?" And now it was his turn to fall silent, the words forming but catching in his throat. She had been with them at the outset, leaving the apartment with them what felt like days ago, but there had been more of them then. Before the machines dove down from the sky and dragged people away.

Siras set one hand on each of the shoulders of the younger Romulans. "We need to move." His tone was soft, not denoting the urgency of the situation. A gentle prod that both of them could understand. The group started moving again, slowly up the hill. Siras stayed at the front, clearing the path, while Davin hung back, Lir staying close to him as he swept his disruptor across the widening field between them and the settlement.

The looming scaffolds of the shipyard never seemed quite close enough, the promise of the aging T'Varo nested there like a bait eppoh dangled in front of a hungry dhael, driving it forward without any promise of reward.

Then someone screamed. The air erupted with the crescent energy bolts and everyone started running. More of the machines dove from the sky, swooping down and carrying away screaming Romulans to who knows where. Davin and Lir threw themselves flat on the ground, Davin firing his disruptor blindly into the fray above, Lir covering her head. Time passed, a second or an hour but most likely somewhere in between, and the chaos calmed enough that the pair rose. The ground ahead was strewn with the fallen, the crowd little more than a few dozen silhouettes in the distance running for the ship, scattered disruptor fire lighting up the sky above them.

"Ohno... Davin..." He followed Lir's gaze to a figure in the distance. Struggling to his feet, hunched over his plasma rifle, was Siras. Davin didn't speak, just tearing off across the field to where the older Romulan staggered.

"Si! Ajoi, Si!" The younger Romulan grabbed his elder by the shoulders to hold him upright. Siras' jacket hung in tatters around him, stained by big, angry streaks of green. Green ran from his lips as well, sputtering as he struggled to speak.

"Dav'n..." Even with help Siras couldn't hold himself up, and he collapsed onto the dry evening grass.

"Si, just... just hang on! We can... We'll get you to the ship, and-"

"No," Siras choked, "jus' go. Get outta here!" His voice was a harsh whisper, quiet but forceful. With a flourish he threw out his arm toward the ship and his plasma rifle tumbled to the ground beside him. "Go!" he said again. Then he slumped back onto the ground.

"No... No, Si!" Davin fell to his knees, grabbing Siras' shoulders and shaking him. "C'mon, get up Si! We can make it! We can..." His shaking slowed, stopped, and Davin left Siras to lay where he had fallen. Lir was beside him, holding the plasma rifle.

"Davin... Davin, we have to go."

"Yeah, I..." His voice wouldn't come. The words would have caught in his throat if he'd had any idea what he was trying to say. After a few moments of stunned silence he managed a meager nod.

The rest of the walk to the ship passed in a blur. Field, shipyard, loading bay, and eventually the bridge. At the end it was just Davin and Lir standing in the dark bridge, the only members of the crew who had made the frantic rendezvous. The only command crew the ship had.

And Lir was typing at one of the engineering consoles. She said something. "...off the ground."

"Huh?"

She stared at him, her expression a mix of wide-eyed panic and frustration. "Davin, we need to get this ship off the ground, now." She took a breath as the ships lights came on, the viewscreen opening up to the fields outside, and the fires consuming the colony beyond. "I'm... sorry about Si, but we have a ship full of people that... Please, just focus. Long enough to get us out of this, at least."

"...Yeah... Okay." Davins eyes fell from the ruined cityscape to the flight controls. His fingers moved slowly at first, but as they did he fell into patterns he had practiced over and over. His mind fixed on the rhythm of the task, and not the details. "...Give me full impulse, and fire the docking thrusters on my mark." He sniffled and brought up a sleeve to his face, clearing his eyes. "Sei, kre, hwi, mark!" The viewscreen turned from horizon to ash-choked twilight sky, sky to the speckled void of space.

Other ships rose with them, mostly shuttles speeding to the scattered orbital defense fleet. A handful of Dhelan and Mogai class ships, most of them disabled judging from the debris field forming above Ecurai. Beyond that haze of floating metal lay a handful of unusual warships, angular and glowing, and among them a single D'Deridex, great and imposing.

"No..."

"What is it?" Lir turned to see Davin staring in disbelief at the viewscreen. "Davin, talk to me."

"Okhala..."

---

"Broadcast this on all frequencies."

"Yes, Commander."

"Attention all colonial ships, this is Commander-"

A voice cut off the Romulan commander, a voice from one of the ships rising from the surface. "Mandukar..."

She turned to her Comm officer and pointed to the viewscreen. "Who is that? Find that ship and get me a feed!" Her attention returned to her broadcast. "Yes, Commander D'Kera Mandukar of the Tal Shiar. To whom am I speaking?"

Her answer came without words when the viewscreen cut to a pair of young Romulans in a dingy, empty bridge, staring at the screen in wide-eyed wonder. One was some sort of mongrel judging by the color of her hair, but the other... By the Elements, it was Vallir! No, not Vallir, but it could have been his double if not for that gaudy tattoo. Standing there in his jacket, hunched over a console, he was the spitting image of her lost husband. "Davin... Davin, it's-"

"Mom..." He cut her off. Oh, how he looked like he had so long ago, eyes full of wonder, and... terror! The invasion!

Spinning on her heels she shouted to her command crew. "All elements, cease fire! Cease fire, fvadt you all! Lower our shields, and stand by transporters!"

"The colony... How could you..."

D'Kera cringed, and she stepped slowly toward the screen. "Oh Davin... What you must think of me... Lower your shields, I'll have you beamed aboard and we can talk about it face to face. There's so much to say..."

"Commander, he's targ-" That was as far as her chief engineer got before D'Kera cut her off.

"I said lower the shields, you insubordinate whelp, or I'll see you thrown out an airlock! That's my son out there, and I have no intention of leaving him to the Elachi!" Seeing the color drain from her insolent little face, D'Kera turned back to the viewscreen. "Lower your shields, Davin. Come aboard Okhala." A little smile drew across her face as her mind was drawn back through the years to a memory almost forgotten. "You always wanted to see the inside of Mom's ship, didn't you?"

"...If this is what D'Kera Mandukar has become then I am not her son." The words hit like a torpedo, rocking D'Kera into a stunned silence. But he wasn't done. "My mother died with Romulus, and I refuse to let you dishonor her memory... I am Davin T'Varros, and you will PAY for what you have done here!"

In that instant D'Kera realized her mistake. She hadn't seen Vallir in Davin. Nor had she been looking at the frightened toddler she had last seen a world away and years ago. That was only what she had wanted to see, a delusion that blinded her to the grim truth of the situation. What she had seen as fear in his eyes was a rage like Vallir had never shown, even in his darkest moments. If this mans mother had died with Romulus then D'Kera's son had died before her eyes, and from the ashes rose a stranger. A stranger with pale green eyes that burned hot as plasma.

Her engineer's voice brought her back to reality. "Commander, he's locked onto our bridge!"

"Raise-" was all she managed, her voice a choked whisper. The viewscreen showed a torrent of green torpedoes pour from a T'Varo warbird rushing toward the Okhala, and D'Kera had a moment to reflect on Davins old toy starship before a beam of blue-green light filled the screen. And then that beam was in the bridge, cutting through the metal with a searing heat, vaporizing the viewscreen and turning the port side of the room into a gaping void. The helmsman and conn officer were ripped into out of the ship before the emergency forcefields engaged, and a stunned D'Kera was thrown across the floor, landing in a crumpled heap beneath her indigo cape.

"Raise shields," she whispered again to her ruined bridge. Her voice was just a single note buried beneath crackling conduits and klaxon screeching.

---

The torpedo spread tore the D'Deridex's hull to shreds as the T'Varo rushed toward it, swooped between its broad split hulls, it's beam array slicing the vulnerable warbird apart before emerging on the far side of the larger warship. The small ship lingered a moment longer, as if savoring the stunning chaos of its improbable victory. And then it jumped to warp, leaving a crippled warbird and a confused cluster of Elachi battleships in its wake.

[Davin]

...Or Days Of Future Past
Act 4: Ihhuein

Spoiler: Show

Shouts struggled to be heard over the warbling alarms and crackling of severed power conduits. The computer listed off systems rendered inoperative, decks that had been breached, and areas requesting assistance. D'Kera was vaguely aware of all of this, but as she stood beside her chair she wasn't really listening. Her eyes were fixed on the void beyond the force field where the viewscreen had been.

"You had to lower our shields!" Tinaes infuriated cry was still not enough to grab D'Keras focus. "You berated me, in front of everyone, and your precious little brat destroyed our ship!" The engineering officer slammed her fists on the engineering console, slanted and inoperative in front of her. And then, slowly, her expression changed from unbridled fury to something more controlled but no less wicked. A smirk graced her lips as she brushed a lock of hair from her face. By now, every surviving crew member on the bridge was staring either at Tinae or D'Kera. "Heh. Not that it will matter for much longer. Once the Admiral hears about this-"

A burst of bright green flashed inside the dim, smoky bridge, and Tinae slumped backwards, grasping at the fresh plasma burn in her gut. D'Kera stood by her chair, facing away from the void now, a smoking disruptor in her hand. "Does anyone else plan on speaking to Admiral Lokaev?" Her voice was flat, distant. Her officers, for whatever reason, stayed silent. "I thought as much. I'll be in my ready room."

It felt like D'Keras footsteps were deafening as she walked, even over the rasping electric groans of her dying ship. Her ready room was mercifully intact, though it's contents and a few wall panels had been rearranged. She felt like she was walking through water, every movement a struggle against the lethargy that held her body tight. Collapsing into her desk chair was a mercy, and one D'Kera doubted she deserved.

Her son was alive. Her son was alive and he hated her. Her son was alive and he had tried to kill her with an empirically excessive number of torpedoes. Somewhere in the back of her mind D'Kera was coming to think that the ancient targeting systems of the antique warbird Davin had commandeered was what had spared her, but that was a distant thought. At the forefront of her mind D'Kera was struggling to comprehend... everything.

Well, everything that had happened after Hobus. Every choice she had made, every step she had taken, every move that had seemed perfectly natural in the moment but which now she could see formed a path from the idealistic reunificationist that had left her doomed planet so many years ago to the woman she had become, the Tal Shiar officer with the blood-stained hands.

Tinaes face was stuck in her mind now, frozen in its final living expression. The mix of pain and horror in that face, the surprise, the accusation. She had goaded D'Kera on and yet her final act of defiance was to be surprised when her insubordination got her shot. To ask 'why' as she fell, clutching her chest, 'why would you do this?' And D'Kera had no answer to give her. It hadn't been a conscious decision to shoot the girl, there was no malice, just a response to a threat learned and honed in service to her people. No, not to her people, to the Star Empire. To Sela and her need for absolute control. To the struggling remnants of ch'Rihan. To a group so desperate to survive that they would forge a pact with the grey skinned devils they had drawn out of subspace.

But at the same time the choices still seemed so natural. She had thought Vallir and Davin dead, and to her credit she had been half right. Without them she had no one, no reason to defect, no hope to cling to in spite of the darkness of the Empire. But her people had needed her, the Romulan survivors cast to all corners of space, the once dreaded Tal Shiar suddenly the last surviving shred of order for the crippled Empire. It had started defending refugees from alien attack, Tholians, Klingons, Remans, and the like. The first Romulan she killed had been trying to defect. His death haunted the commander for weeks, months, but by now it was just one of many.

So much blood was on her hands. So much death had come from her lips, orders spoken so cavalierly then that came back with disturbing gravity now. Any one of those orders could have caused this. Any raid on a rebellious colony could have killed her son, more likely than not without her ever finding out. And every raid had inevitably taken lives, sons and daughters of countless other Romulans. Mothers, fathers, loved ones of all sorts, killed on her command.

"Fvadt... Ajoi help me..."

It would be a long while before any help arrived from Rator, but D'Kera Mandukar had years of memories to consider as she waited.

Spoiler: Show

[Davin]

...Or Once More, With Feeling
Epilogue

Spoiler: Show

The stares he had expected. Harsh words? Par for the course. But that everyone should show such open hostility? That had caught Davin by surprise. And though the various delegations were hardly mingling, the junior Romulan officers had practically established a Neutral Zone around their corner of the conference hall.

"So much for Federation hospitality," Faraen said as he looked to the platform opposite their own. The Vulcan ambassador was still glaring daggers their way at fairly even intervals, even as D'Tan and the exceptionally verbose human admiral held their lopsided conversation.

"Pssh, just be glad you didn't have to escort anyone to the council chamber yet," Ural chimed in. "I don't speak Klingon, but I'm pretty sure they were openly discussing butchering us."

That drew a cringe from Davin, standing against the far wall. Just in the past hour he'd had three bat'leths drawn on him, been the subject of a half dozen revenge oaths, and been accused of being everything from Tal Shiar to Undine. "Khitomer's no Risa, that's for sure."

"Like you'd know the first thing about Risa," Faraen said with a smirk.

"I say peace talks or not, we spend a week there once this is all over." Ural smirked and tossed her hair absently. "I can fake us a set of Vulcan passports, easy."

"Right, because the best way to unwind after spending a conference being accused of trying to infiltrate the Federation is to literally infiltrate the Federation," Davin countered, though the others just laughed.

"Old habits, right?" Ural dug an elbow into Davins side, hard enough to make him shift his footing. "Besides, you wouldn't even have to act, Centurion Buzzkill."

Faraen swooped across the floor to take a position in front of and between the two. "Please, nobody's going to believe he's Vulcan. Especially not with ink like that," he said, gesturing to his eye.

"Remind me, why am I friends with you?" Davin stared down the other officer, stern at first, but before long a smirk betrayed him. "And why am I taking this from mister 'of course that's a landing pad'? And you," he turned on Ural, who for a moment seemed genuinely taken aback, "with the epohh farm-"

Fully prepared to cut him off herself, Urals' retort was preempted by the sound of weapons fire. A handful of Uhlan raced across the hall, flanked by Starfleet MACO and the ever ready Klingon Honor Guard. A small grouping of Romulans stood at the far end of the chamber, a pair wrestling a third to the ground. One shouted, and though most of the exclamation was lost in the din of the curious room one word stood out: 'Bomb'.

[Davin]

---

PART II: Genesis

---

Back by popular demand, apparently?
Prelude: Heart Of The Storm

Spoiler: Show

Cannon fire tore the ridge apart, sending rocks and Jem'Hadar tumbling to the ground below. Those that remained fired on the Tiercel attack shuttle with what weapons they had, but it's shields barely registered the impacts.

"Left to right, Si, let's make sure we get all of them," said the pilot to his gunner.

"Yes, Centurion," came the reply, punctuating another volley from the cannon.

Fire from the ground thinned. For a brief moment Vallir thought maybe the fools had finally realized they were outgunned. Then the moment passed. The last of the defensible rock face fell away, and with it the last Dominion resistance that had blocked the canyon passage.

"tr'Ra'valaere to Strike Leader." The shuttle rose away from the narrow canyon, swooping up to the tree-lined plateau. Siras was looking back at him, grinning like a fiend. A quick jab in the shoulder from Vallir rectified his demeanor. "The approach is clear."

"Confirmed, tr'Ra'valaere!" The voice came through the shuttles speakers, along with its static and the barking sound of disruptor fire. "For the Empire!"

"For the Empire." It was much less a battle cry coming from the pilot. He heard it dozens of times each day, from others and from himself, so the impact was somewhat muted, perhaps.

"Ajoi, that felt good!" Siras chimed in. Vallir heard his fair share of that as well, but he was more willing to share in his gunners enthusiasm.

"Keep it focused, Si. We still need to get home, and if you get me killed I'll make sure it's the last thing you do." He could feel the grin on his face, though, as clearly as he could see the one on Siras' face. And whatever qualms he had with firing on a relatively helpless foe, finding sympathy for the Dominion proved difficult.

Course locked, the little Tiercel rose quickly into the thin atmosphere.

---

"Ground teams are reporting success on all objectives, Commander."

"Excellent." T'Kesh looked out at the planet spinning slowly in the viewscreen. The thing was just like a dozen other planets she had orbited as Chief Officer of the Okhala, a little blue marble, with spackles of green and white, lit by a not unusual star in an until now dull gulf of space. It's only distinguishing characteristic, so far as T'Kesh could see, was that it happened to be on the edge of Dominion space.

"Indeed," called a voice from the back of the room, and T'Kesh felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle. The Tal Shiar operative, who insisted on the obvious code name S'Harien, stepped grinning into the center of the bridge. "Let's begin phase two then, shall we?"

"Major, with all due respect," T'Kesh said, offering none, "we should allow our troops to regroup first."

The Tal Shiar just grinned. "Nonsense. We have these Dominion fools on the run already. Pressing our assault will simply expedite our inevitable victory."

T'Kesh furrowed her brow. "A coordinated assault, perhaps, but our troops are scattered."

S'Hariens grin, big and artificial as it was, only grew. "Then I will coordinate them. Fetch me a shuttle and take me to he surface."

T'Kesh nodded. Hopefully her relief wasn't too visible. "Mandukar!" D'Kera was up in a flash, straightening out her checkered uniform. "SubCommander, please escort the Major to the forward operating base. We should have a flight of shuttles returning shortly, you can commandeer one of the crews."

"Iyie'edh, Riov!" she answered with academy precision, and wave the Major to he turbolift. S'Harien bowed, stepped into the lift, and officially stopped being T'Kesh's responsibility.

Sans D'Kera, the whole of the bridge crew relaxed.

---

"The shuttle bay is right-"

"Please, SubCommander, I was at the helm of a ship like this before you were a dhael farmers drunken mistake." S'Harien was no longer smiling. Neither was D'Kera. "Just keep quiet and try not to get in the way." Footsteps clattered in the corridor leading to the shuttle bay, and nothing more.

The attack ships were returning when they finally arrived, crews mingling, inspecting damage, swapping battle stories and whatever their post-combat vice may be. The nearest pilot to S'Harien was sitting on a crate beside his shuttle, flask in hand while his gunner tried and failed to impress an engineer by rolling up his sleeves.

"You!" Called the Tal Shiar, and the deck went quiet. The pilot and gunner snapped to attention as an astounded D'Kera did her best to go unnoticed. "Prepare this ship. I want to be on the planet before..." His voice trailed off. The smell of kali-fal drifted from the emerald flask held in the pilots hand, too strong to ignore. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, Sir!"

The Tal Shiar glared. "SubCommander," he said without looking, "you will fly this ship. The drunkard and his friend will be redeployed as reinforcements for the coming assault, I think." S'Harien grinned, and this time the expression was genuine. "Perhaps they will have the fortune to be issued weapons before that."

And then he was in the shuttle, making himself comfortable in the crew compartment from the sound of it. The vessels gunner cursed, confident the Tal Shiar was not somehow listening even now.

"Well now you did it, you fvadt feanna!"

"I'm still your superior," the pilot retorted, taking a healthy gulp from his flask.

"Yeah, until we land, and he has us executed!" The gunner was pacing now, while the pilot simply shrugged and screwed the cap back into his flask. Before he could tuck it back into his grey flight jacket though the gunner had snatched it up, opened it once more, and threw back whatever alcohol remained. Then he threw the flask.

"If you idiots are quite done," D'Kera finally interjected, doing her best to suppress an amused smirk, "I'd like to leave before my commission is jeopardized."

"Fvadt you!" the gunner called, though he did finally board the shuttle. The pilot followed behind, with D'Kera taking the command seat.

Without a moment to lose, the shuttle streaked back down toward the planet.

[Davin]

Now with more MOAR!
Chapter 1: Strangers In A Strange Land

Spoiler: Show

The landing zone had been perfect. A sheltered clearing a few kilometers from the front, with a team of Uhlan sent ahead to escort the Major to the still-bustling front. And yet, S'Harien was having none of it. He stood outside the shuttle, gestured at the lines of trees and lack of command post, and shouted as loudly as his rank and station allowed.

"Sir," D'Kera tried several times to interject, "if we fly any closer we risk anti-air fire."

"Which is why, it was my understanding, I had been assigned a combat pilot!"

"Major-" she began again, only for a brandished disruptor to cut her off.

"You or the drunk will fly me to the fire base, I don't much care which, and then I will see to it that the lot of you are assigned a particularly slow form of field execution."

"Sir-"

"Iurret!" Then, finally, his attention shifted to the silent infantry. "Gentlemen, I believe you have earned yourselves a flight back to the front. True soldiers of the Star Empire deserve no less." That drew cheers from the grunts, and gave D'Kera an opportunity to slink back into the shuttle.

"You look like hnaev," was the gunners greeting from his seat against the back of the cockpit. The pilot was already in the command seat, preparing to reset the engines.

"What the void do you think you're doing?" Scolding the disgraced pilot seemed better than butting heads with the obstinate cannon jockey.

"Flying the shuttle."

"I was chosen to fly this mission."

The pilot turned in his seat, his fingers still working the flight console. "You," he said, mirroring her tone without sounding too glib, "are shaking like a leaf. Once you calm down and get some color back in your face we'll talk about who's flying."

D'Kera looked down at her hands. Sure enough, her fingers were trembling, her palms unsteady. She choked down an uneasy breath, and found it did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Just sit down," the gunner said. At a loss, D'Kera settled into one of the jump seats by the door.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I still hate you," said the gunner.

"Play nice, Si." The pilot spoke without taking his attention from the flight check.

"The void does it matter?" Siras threw up his hands. "We're all dead at this point! We're gonna be meat shields for a bunch of ground pounders, all because you had to have a drink right when we touched down! This is on you, Vallir!"

That spurred D'Kera. "You aren't drunk, are you?"

"Never on duty." Vallir finally tapped the throttle, easing the shuttle up out of the clearing and setting a leisurely pace along the tree tops. "And the Elements will provide, Si. I've got a good feeling about this."

"Fvadt your good feeling!" That drew a snort from D'Kera. "And don't think I've forgotten about you!" Siras continued, waggling an accusatory finger as he buckled his flight harness.

"Cut it, Siras." Vallir looked back at his gunner, his face stern. "I'm not going to listen to you whine all the way to the front."

As he spoke the front line came into view, though D'Kera was the only one looking that direction. She tried twice to politely interject into their increasingly frustrated argument before she finally just screamed. "Fighters!"

"Hnaev!" Vallir cried as he jerked the shuttle instinctively to port.

"Hnaev!" Siras shouted in tandem as he unbuckled himself, only to be immediately thrown against the wall.

Jem'Hadar fighters, a dozen, maybe two, were busily tearing into the forward base as it's defenders scrambled to fight back. A handful of attack shuttles were in the air, most already damaged, and anti-air fire was disappointingly thin. Green and purple flashes cut through the sky, slammed into the ground, set trees alight all around the compound. Siras struggled into the gunners seat, ahead of and below Vallir's post, just as a trio of fighters broke off to engage them.

"What the void is going on in there!?" The Tal Shiar's voice on the intercom was easily forgotten as Vallir punched the crafts emergency thrusters. Streaks of pale purple flashed on either side of the canopy, and a hit to the aft section of the shuttle sent the small ship reeling.

"We need some breathing room, Si!"

"I know, I know!"

D'Kera could only watch for the moment, gripping the base of her fold-away seat and trying to imagine a way, some way, this didn't end in everyone dying. Then the fighters scored another hit, and the shuttle dropped into the tree tops.

"Hang on!" Vallir shouted over the shrieking of the Tiercels engines and the snaps of trees shattering against the hull. It was hard to tell through the wall of rustling green but D'Kera thought she could feel the ship listing starboard.

And then, suddenly, everything was dark.

---

Gul Wuran was a man who enjoyed his work. In the early days of the occupation he had enjoyed overseeing a Bajoran dissident reeducation camp. Later, on his promotion to Gul, he had enjoyed defending Cardassian interests from the nefarious Maquis. Now, he was commanding a Dominion battle group against the Romulans.

Gul Wuran found he enjoyed killing Romulans.

He was less fond of his Jem'Hadar first, however. In Wurans eyes he was a scaly, joyless little thing, whose entire existence revolved around battle, the Founders, and ketracel white, in no particular order. No ambition, no drive, just a particularly vicious lapdog.

"Our squadrons are reporting victory throughout," the First said.

"Hardly surprising." A map on the viewscreen in front of Wuran showed the various Romulan positions, forming a rough circle around the Dominion staging area. Most of the Romulan positions had been neutralized, and the rest of the fighting was winding down already. "Go and inform your Vorta. I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear the good news, though not as pleased as I will be to be rid of you."

The Jem'Hadar just blinked, it's head canted to one side.

"Well go!" That sent the thing on its way, finally leaving Wuran with the pleasure of his own company. He sighed. "Small words, short sentences. Mustn't confuse the help," he muttered softly as he looked over the holographic map, displaying the attack in real time, or as close as can be expected when considering it is a false-color composite of the sensor readings being transmitted from his orbiting Galor.

Little purple dominion fighters flitted through the sky over smoldering enemy camps, the verdant Romulan craft either plummeting to the ground or retreating into the upper atmosphere, no doubt to that bloated bird they were staging from. That was the next move, he decided, removing their orbital support. With the Jem'Hadar attack craft he had been granted by the Dominion, it seemed a fairly straight-forward task.

"Sir," chimed his communicator, drawing him back from his visions if the future to the realities of the present.

"Yes, what is it, Mr. Kelen?"

"We've detected a vessel coming out of warp, Gul Wuran. A Federation Akira class ship, U.S.S. Endurance."

"Well." Wuran smirked, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to fool. "What an unpleasant surprise."

[Davin]

I'm so tired you guys. X_X
Chapter 2: Unto The Breach

Spoiler: Show

The Kolob system was supposed to be empty.

It was not.

On the bridge of the U.S.S. Endurance, this meant a cacophony of klaxon screeches and frantic shouts. They began with Captain Natalia Prokofieva, but in the heat of the moment it was difficult to tell where one exclaim action ended and another began.

"Red alert! Shields up!"
"-one Cardassian Cruiser and two Jem'-"
"-charged and awaiting a firing solu-"
"-weapons fire on the surface!"

"One at a time!" The Captain shouted, and pointed to her tactical officer.

"Three ships, one Cardassian, two Dominion," the Andorian repeated, "in geosync over the objective."

"Better," she said flatly, and moved on to the next, a Denobulan in yellow.

"They aren't approaching, but they must know we're... Strike that, they're turning to engage."

"Блядь!" she cursed, not letting the phrase translate. "I want fighters away, now!"

The Andorian rose slightly. "Captain, wouldn't retreat-"

"We can outrun the Galor, Duran," Natalia interjected, "But the Jem'Hadar ships would catch us before we were out of the system." A glance at her viewscreen told her that the Dominion commander seemed to be on the same page, letting the nimble Gamma quadrant ships rush to engage the Akira while the Galor held back.

"Thirty seconds to firing range!" Duran turned back to his console, ready to direct fire on the nearer of the two ships. "Twenty five!"

"Captain!" The Denobulan exclaimed. "Warbird decloaking!"

It was hardly necessary to point it out though, as the great green nacelle of the Romulan ship took up most of the left edge of the viewscreen.

"The Romulans are hailing us," the Denobulan said.

"Onscreen, Mr. Oxtna."

The approaching Dominion ships disappeared just as they entered the warbirds range, and the last image of space showed the Romulan ship firing at both vessels. Then the first shot of the battle was replaced by a stern looking Romulan woman, though Natalia was not alone on the Endurance as she idly wondered if there were any other kind.

"Jolan'tru, Captain," she said.

"Поздравления," Natalia replied.

"I am Commander T'Kesh of the Romulan Star Empire." There was a brief pause, and a low muttering could be heard as both ships fought in the background of their commanders conversation. "Time is short. I imagine you have come with landing craft. My teams are already on the surface and in need of assistance. As we share an enemy, I will do my best to cover your peoples' descent." The transmission ended there, with the viewscreen cutting to the pitched battle that had developed in short time the Romulan had spoken. The Endurance was in the middle of strafing a Jem'Hadar ship too focused on the Romulans to notice them.

"Captain?" It was Durans voice. He wasn't looking up though, not now. There was too much to focus on for proper conversation. But one word was enough to ask the questions on everyone's mind. 'Captain, what are your orders?' 'Captain, shall we launch our shuttlecraft?' And perhaps the most important of all, 'Captain, can we trust them?'

"All shuttles away!" Natalia cried as she rose. "Fighters are to escort the landing craft, then engage the Dominion ships! Cover-" She paused, as if in disbelief of her own words. "...Cover the Romulans' starboard flank. Watch their shield strength, they're no good to us if they lose power."

---

The landing had, objectively, been spectacular. Subjectively, being in the Tiercel as it tumbled through the trees and slammed into the ground below had been the most terrifying experience anyone in the shuttle had yet been through. Still, considering the gaping hole in the back of the cabin and the jagged rip in the plating where a nacelle had been torn away, the trio in the cockpit had fared better than the rest.

S'Harien was nowhere to be found, not that anyone was inclined to look for him. Only two of the Uhlan were still in the ship, and they were quite dead.

"Two disruptors, one rifle, and the emergency kit," Vallir said as he laid out the supplies they had pulled from the wreckage. His once pristine grey flight jacket was already stained with dust and dirt, not to mention the faint scorch marks. Siras was in similar disarray, though D'Kera's checkered crew uniform was surprisingly neat.

"Well, I get the rifle," Siras said. D'Kera folded her arms over her chest, staring down the gunner. Vallir simply quirked an eyebrow.

"Fine," Vallir said, "But you carry the pack, too."

And just like that D'Kera's defiant visage turned into a wide, wicked grin. "Agreed."

"What? No!" Siras fumed, but Vallir had already scooped up a smaller disruptor and started off into the trees. D'Kera was right behind him, though she stared down the gunner as she went, her grin only growing wider. "This is- How can you- Ugh!"

"That's an order, Lieutenant!" Vallir called over his shoulder, and Siras had to rush to gather his equipment and catch up with the pair ahead.

"Where are we even going!" he panted as he rushed to catch up, disruptor over one shoulder, the heavy bag over the other.

"There is another firebase ahead of us," D'Kera said as she unhooked the tricorder from her belt. "Looks like four kilometers..." She raised a finger into the trees, checked her device, and adjusted her aim slightly to her right. "...that way."

So they walked. D'Kera took the lead and Siras, weighed down with provisions, watched the rear. Vallir kept a steady pace between the two, staying as close to the midpoint between the SubCommander and his Lieutenant as he could. Around them, the planet was calm. Trees swayed in the light breeze, little alien animals skittered this way and that in the underbrush, largely indifferent to the trudging invaders and the war they had brought.

In the moment though, without the howling of Jem'Hadar fighters overhead or the heavy concussive sounds of the disruptor cannons meant to repel them, it was easy enough to forget about the war for a few precious moments, and just enjoy the serenity. But then there was a sound, soft and warbling and growing steadily louder. Siras was the first to notice.

"Shuttle! Down!" The trio split into the foliage, ducking down and taking shelter behind a few of the sturdier trees. It was a few tense moments before they saw the ship whiz over the tree tops. But they could see it clearly enough through the thin canopy, the boxy grey vessel with a nacelle trailing thin grey smoke. It seemed to be moving in the direction of the firebase.

"The void are they doing here?" Siras slipped through the brush to a spot closer to Vallir and D'Kera. "Were we expecting Terrans?"

"No, this is new," D'Kera said. "We haven't had any contact with the Federation since we crossed the Neutral Zone."

"So what do we do?" All eyes were on D'Kera now.

Rising from the brush she straightened out her jacket, brushed off a loose smattering of leaves, and resumed her course through the woods. "As the units ranking officer, I suppose it is my duty to welcome our Federation allies to the fight. Unless either of you see an alternative to get us out of here alive."

Neither of the crewmen had any better ideas.

---

"Clear!" called Lieutenant Harrison Briggs.

"Clear," came Lieutenant Junior Grade Elaine T'Nes a moment later.

"Clear on this end, Sirs!" shouted Specialist Brythan Joth, the last to declare the area deserted. The base was closer to leveled than evacuated, though.

A prefabricated command barracks smoldered against the tree line, the gun emplacements around it melted through and useless. A rough dirt patch that had briefly served as a landing zone was pockmarked with impact craters, some of the dirt heated to a fine, glassy sand at the bottom. Shuttle debris littered the field surrounding the hastily assembled stronghold but to the Romulans credit there were only a handful of bodies visible.

"Getting anything, Bry?" Lieutenant Briggs ambled cautiously out into the center of the carnage, watching the tree line for surprises.

"No, just us." The Betazoid had a pair of fingers to his temple, a pose that was familiar, and almost comforting on its own, to the Lieutenant. If there was a species he couldn't reach out and sense, they had yet to encounter it.

"Damage to the nacelle is minimal," T'Nes emerged from the far side of the shuttle, wiping a hand on her black Intel Division uniform. "Still, logic dictates we proceed on foot to avoid detection."

"Are we sure we can proceed with the mission? The Romulans-"

"Their presence will only divert the Dominions attention from our goal," T'Nes stated firmly. "So long as they do not prove a hindrance."

"Speaking of the Romulans, Sirs..." Both officers turned to follow Brythans gaze to the tree line, where a trio of figures had emerged from the woods. Briggs was too far from anything to make it to cover now, but T'Nes and Brythan inched closer to the shuttle and a burned out gun emplacement. It was a tense few moments as the Romulans approached, each of them armed. It certainly didn't help that the faint 'v's in their foreheads and their arched eyebrows gave the impression of a permanent scowl.

They stopped just shy of five meters from Briggs.

"Jolan'tru," said their presumed leader, a young looking woman in a green checkered jacket. On either side of her stood a grey jacketed man, infantry by the state of their uniforms, one with a hand disruptor, the other wringing the grips of a heavy looking rifle.

"Greetings," Lieutenant Bruggs said, straightening out his posture. Puffed up as he is, he still can quite match the height of the Romulan with the rifle. "I am Lieutenant Harrison Briggs of the U.S.S. Endurance, Special Logistics Detachment. This is Lieutenant T'Nes, with..."

"I am an officer of Starfleet intelligence," the Vulcan said when Briggs hesitated.

"...Err, yes. And this is Specialist First Class Joth."

Brythan nodded.

"Well met," the Romulan said with a slight bow. "I am SubCommander Mandukar."

The shorter Romulan man stepped up. "Centurion tr'Ra'valaere," he said simply.

Briggs thought that over a moment. "Traveler."

"Come again?"

"Traveler," the Lieutenant said again, this time without the translator.

The Romulan considered the phonetic comparison, then nodded. " 'Traveler'. Very well."

Briggs waited for the last Romulan to give a name. He ended up waiting quite some time.

"Your compatriot was given a name as well, correct?" T'Nes finally asked.

"T'Varros." The reply was gruff, really just a grunt with two syllables.

Briggs risked a glance toward the teams empath. Bry was already out in the open, moving cautiously to his commander.

"Well then," the Lieutenant said as he inspected the odd menagerie, satisfied by the psychics confidence that they were not about to be gunned down in cold, green blood. "What's our next move?"

[Davin]

Supermoon!
Chapter 3: Fragments

Spoiler: Show

The graves were dug quickly, with a greater focus on expediency than tradition, and Vallir was the only one to mark his face. A streak of dark clay running between the ridges of his forehead was his simple show of sorrow for the lives lost. Seven shallow holes served as the final resting place for the bodies they could recover, and an eighth, more a pit, housed the more limited remains. The Romulans dug, and buried.

They also listened.

"I'm not sensing any malice, not toward us at least," the empath told his superior, assuming he was out of earshot. "Plenty of suspicion though, distrust. Especially from their leader."

"They could be misleading you," said the Vulcan. "Deception is a Romulans nature."

"Could they be hiding anything from you? Is that possible?" Their commander asked.

"It would be difficult," the empath said. "Especially for them, I think. What I'm getting from them is coming pretty strong."

"We should remain cautious," the Vulcan said. "Romulans have changed little from the v'tosh ka'tur."

D'Kera scoffed, but only the Vulcan heard. Siras simply patted down the last of the dirt onto their hasty graves. Their grim task complete, Vallir wiped the clay from his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

"I believe they have been listening to us," T'Nes said.

"We have," Siras said, loud enough to startle the Betazoid and the Terran. The trio of Romulans left their grim task, now complete, to regroup with the Federation soldiers. Waiting for them were three light provision packs, replacements for the heavy emergency bag they had hauled from the shuttle. The Uhlan that had packed them would no longer need them, at least.

"And you have still not let us in on your plan," D'Kera said to Briggs. His glance seemed to deflect the question to T'Nes.

"Starfleet Intelligence has ordered that the specifics of this mission not be revealed until they are deemed necessary," she said.

"She hasn't told us either," Brythan added, drawing a cold glance from Briggs.

"And where do we fit into your scheme?" D'Kera crossed her arms in front of her, staring down the Vulcan. "You can't plan to simply leave us here."

"She has a point," Briggs said. "We can't break the mission to return them to their ship, can we?"

T'Nes scowled at the Romulans, so similar and yet so very alien to her Vulcan nature. "...I suppose your species' penchant for the covert could be an asset in this operation. So long as you do not hinder our goals you may come with us, and once our objective is complete you will be returned to your vessel."

"We're on the same side in this, aren't we?" Siras smirked, nodding to the Vulcan. As he had hoped, her scowl only deepened.

"Our objective is to stop the Dominion," D'Kera said flatly. "If aiding you accomplishes that goal, then we are at your disposal." A bow sealed the gesture. After a final sweep of the camp, the group began their trek through the thick woods.

---

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kelen, we must have a bad connection. I could have sworn you just told me you were retreating." Gul Wuran was smiling. Smiling, he found, often made him feel better when things were not going his way. In this instant, it was not helping.

"The Romulans ambushed us as we engaged the Federation vessel." Kelen shifted uneasily on his feet as he stood before the larger than life projection of his commander on the Galors viewscreen. Eyes as big as his head bore down on him from from above.

"Did you not think to scan for them before you engaged the Federation ship?" That smile. That big, false, angry smile bearing down on him was the worst of it, Kelen thought. Feigned as it was, on some level Wuran was enjoying himself.

"No Sir, w-we... Our tachyon field...We could not have detected them at that range."

"Hm." Wuran sounded more disappointed than anything, and he did not sound all that disappointed. He spoke with the tone and emotion of a parent scolding their child for breaking an unimportant piece of home decor. "What's the damage, then?"

"We lost one attack ship, Sir."

"Hm." Again that gentle scolding. Kelen could feel himself shiver.

"B-but we suffered minimal damage apart from that! Minor repairs, h-hours, a days time at most before we are ready to launch another attack!"

"And until then I have no orbital support?" The bridge of the Galor felt instantly colder. Retreat, Kelen realized far too late, meant that the ships were no longer in their position above the landing zone. He struggled for words, anything to ease the situation, but none came.

"Well," Wuran continued, "I suppose you have until I return to the ship to rectify this situation, or at least die trying."

And with that, Gul Wuran cut the channel.

"Are Cardassians all so cheerful in defeat?" Wuran cringed, though his back was to the Vorta. By the time he turned to face Laniste he was smirking again.

She was a small thing, demure at a glance, but Wuran knew enough not to make his judgement from a first glance. There had been Bajorans whom had struck him the same way at first, too meek and unassuming to be trouble. Then they would pull a disruptor out of a basket, or trigger the explosives lining their clothes, or sink the knife hidden up their sleeve into the throat of a Cardassian trooper. Laniste was like that, he knew. Just innocent enough to hide the knife.

"Only those officers who can keep sight of the ultimate goal through the troubles of the present," Wuran said. His grin widened, ever so slightly.

"I prefer the Jem'Hadar, myself," the Vorta replied. She began to wander the command office, dragging her slender fingers across the edges of Wurans work desk. "They understand that, in the Dominion, victory is life."

"Victory is life!" parroted the Jem'Hadar First from a far corner, and Wuran jumped when the nearly forgotten soldier made his presence known again.

"Thank you, Kohvik." Now Laniste was smiling, and Wuran could feel his visage contorting to the roughest hint of a frown. "The Jem'Hadar know that they are dead the moment they begin fighting. They hold nothing back, because they have nothing to lose."

"We fight to reclaim our lives!" Kohvik slammed a fist against his chest. Just above his fist, a tube fed him his ration of ketracel white.

"Do you see what I mean?" Laniste was standing in front of him now, her long finger moved from his desk to the scales of his broad neck. "Your people will learn reverence for the Founders with time, I'm sure."

Looking down into her smiling face, her finger snaking its way to his chin, that was the moment Wuran decided he would kill the Vorta.

He enjoyed the thought of killing the Vorta.

---

"Jolan'tru, Captain." T'Kesh bowed, a deep, formal gesture. Behind her, her bridge crew all mirrored the motion.

"Thank you again for your assistance," Natalie said, simply nodding her respect. Her own escort stood stiff as boards behind her, Duran and Oxtna at either side of her. "I am Captain Natalie Prokofieva of the U.S.S. Endurance, at your service."

"I am Commander T'Kesh of the Okhala," the Romulan straightened her posture and took a moment to examine the stark white if the Federation ready room. "Your crew fought well. It was an honor to share in your victory."

Natalie wasn't sure she liked T'Kesh's smile. A part of her worried it was just the thought of having Romulans aboard her ship that made her so uneasy. Rationally, she knew they were allies in the battle with the Dominion, but in the back of her mind, the little lists of 'us' and 'them', Romulans remained firmly in the realm of 'them'.

T'Kesh was far from thrilled herself. While she hadn't had a plan to fend off three warships without assistance, knowing that the success of her surprise attack had depended so completely on human assistance left her on edge. Not that she intended to let her host know this, of course.

"We've deployed teams to the coordinates you gave us," Natalie said as she called up a display of the planet below. Transponders on each Federation trooper blinked their position on the overlay, and each bundle of blips had a small box of text beside them indicating their status. Most had found survivors, one, two, as high as five or six in places. Not all the bases had teams at them but a good number did, it seemed.

T'Kesh grinned, genuinely this time. "Thank you," she said softly.

"I assume your goal is the Dominion staging ground?" Natalie gestured to the enemy field HQ, a small bundle of buildings at the edge of a valley.

"It is." T'Kesh observed from a distance, taking in the whole of the map, surveying the situation as best she could. It matched Okhalas own readings as far as she could tell. "We will be redeploying the ground forces we evacuated as soon as we've repressurized our hangar."

Natalie nodded, and smiled. "Then we will wait for your signal, and move together."

Natalie would have been more worried if her forces didn't outnumber the Romulans on the ground. She would have cast more doubt on the Romulans intentions if she weren't hiding so much herself. The thought of facing a D'Deridex in her smaller Akira would have been more frightening had the larger ship not borne the brunt of the last assault. For now, Captain Prokofieva was confident enough in her position that she could accept T'Kesh's assistance as just that.

After all, she had not given away Lieutenant T'Nes' position on her map. And even if the Romulans caught her on a scan, by the time they intercepted her the device would almost surely be secure.

[Davin]

Very prose. So backstory.
Chapter 4: The Calm Before

Spoiler: Show

The two trios walked at first in silence, apart from the occasional words of guidance from T'Nes. Even when the order of their procession mingled they remained two distinct groups, one in Starfleet black broken by only thin bands of color, the other in the greens and greys of the Star Empire. Birds sang, twigs snapped underfoot, leaves rustled on swaying branches. And for nearly an hour, no one spoke.

Brythan was the one to break the silence. Perhaps the tense silence affected the empath more than the rest, or maybe just having to feel it for the six of them pushed him to ramble. It started innocuously enough, with a hesitant "So I've got a story..." He went on to tell of a friend of his, another Betazoid, who was engaged to a Vulcan. It was the day of their wedding, and both families arrived at once, in two groups. The Vulcans had all dressed in immaculate white robes, edged in gold and patterned in the curving, elegant script of their ancient language.

The Betazoids, of course, arrived naked.

So they all stood there, the Betazoids surprised, the Vulcans, well, Vulcan, when one of the groomsmen asked the group aloud, 'Did anyone else feel that?'

Brythan mumbles something about it being funny when his friend told it.

Another minute passed in silence, and then Siras spoke up. He began to recount a story of shore leave pass, and almost immediately Vallir had to step in to offer corrections. They had just returned from the successful conquest of Breen ("It was a survey of the neutral zone"), and the pair had come like triumphant warriors, a knight and his faithful squire ("I fvadt well better be the knight"), come to drink the establishment clean. After a time Siras had taken up a drinking song, and didn't Vallir remember how the crowd had cheered and swooned ("I remember you almost dodged a bottle"), and that the point was how the night had ended, with our heroes being carried out of the bar on their thrones?

"They chased you out with an old disruptor, and I snuck out the back while they were distracted," Vallir concluded. Still, the gunners showmanship had earned some chuckles, from Brythan and Briggs, and even D'Kera got a rise out of the tale, or at least Vallir's corrections.

"So give us one of yours, Traveler," Briggs said with a smirk. All eyes were on Vallir now, even T'Nes, though she may as well have been scrutinizing a particularly intriguing form of mold.

"Well," he acquiesced after no small amount of jeering...

He had said it was a story his father had told him in the long, provincial nights when he was young, before he became a Senator and they moved to the capital. It was the story of a brave warrior, a soldier who fought in the endless war before the birth of the Romulan people. He had watched those around him die, and yes, he had killed, but it was a war, and that was what was done in war. But then one day the war had ended. Those that had stood against the warrior, and those that stood against them, had all come together and decided there must be peace.

The warrior wanted peace, of course. But their peace came at a price. To end war, they said, they must give up the fire that burned inside of them and have them passion. But to give up the fire, they had to give up the wind that gave it breath, and that gave them their fleeting joys and passing romances. And without the wind, they could have no rain to fill the waters within them that give them their sorrows. And with no water, the dark earth of their soul, the source of their richest longings, of their deepest loves and deepest fears, it turned to dust and sifted through their bodies.

They were hollow, unfeeling things, living hollow, unfeeling lives. The warrior saw this, his enemies turned to empty shells but living peacefully, and he had to ask himself what that sort of peace meant. Peace without their lightest joys, their darkest sorrows, their hottest passions and their coolest comforts.

The warrior decided that the cost for this peace was too high, and for three days and three nights he prayed to the Elements he held so dear to take him away, to bring him somewhere that he could know peace and still know the Elements. And ok the third night the earth shook and water poured from the sky. A fire burned bright in the darkness and a wind brought down a might raptor with emerald eyes and feathers of grey to carry the warrior high into the sky and into the stars.

There was more to the story, Vallir said, but his father usually skipped to the end at this point. To the warrior reaching the worlds the Elements provided, Romulus and Remus, and planting his banner, a banner carrying the image of the raptor that once carried him, into the ground.

By the time Vallir finished the sun was setting, and the group stood at the edge of a broad clearing.

---

D'Kera slipped out of her tent and into the cool night. Either the planet was nearly tropical, she thought, or it was in its summer cycle. The valley they had come to at dusk stretched out before them, though with only a pale blue moon to see by its features were obscured by darkness. Here and there though the old buildings were visible, especially the pointed steeples of the large building to the north.

"Can't sleep?" The sound was almost enough to make D'Kera squeal in surprise. It also came very close to getting Vallir shot. There was someone else with him, too, though their silhouette offered only the vaguest clue as to who it was.

"No," she replied. Ever the Romulan, she hoped she could get the stranger to reveal themselves for her.

They obliged. "Good evening, SubCommander." The flat, even tones could only have belonged to the Vulcan woman, and D'Kera hoped the dark his her disdain.

"Care to join us? I was just about to give us some light." Before D'Kera could answer Vallir had cracked a light stick, it's pale green glow illuminating the trio. T'Nes looked, as always, slightly unamused.

"We were discussing the legend Mr. tr'Ra'Valaere shared earlier," she said. "I trust you are aware that it is the story of our peoples' separation."

"The Sundering," D'Kera said matter of factly.

"Correct. I felt it would be an opportunity to..." T'Nes seemed to struggle for the right words, at least as much as Vulcans can appear to struggle.

"Talk," Vallir said.

"Put plainly, yes."

"Alright." D'Kera drew closer to the assemblage, her gaze fixing on the Vulcan. "Let's talk."

---

Wuran looked out over his encampment, the sturdy fortifications of his command post and the ruins of the colony that lay to the east. Then he turned, his attention drawn back to the Jem'Hadar and the ancient bunker they worked to breach.

The operation was naturally overseen by a team of Cardassians, the Jem'Hadar lacking the innate finesse to keep from destroying everything ahead of them and the Vorta being bred more for the vagaries of politics than the practical realities of engineering work. Torn away blast doors, the rubble of demolition to clear collapsed tunnels, and corpses of varying vintages, some old and some very new, lay in an assorted pile by the entrance. Great flood lights, carefully shielded to avoid unnecessary attention, illuminated the work site, the noise minimized now that most of the work had shifted underground.

"Are you sure your source is to be believed?" Laniste stood beside him, looking over the workers as though she understood their operation.

"We subjected him to every interrogation method we have. If the Maquis was lying, we would know." Wuran spoke without looking at the Vorta, his attention fixed on the bunker for the sake of keeping it from Laniste.

"Then perhaps you could tell me again why you are so sure there is a Federation super weapon here? I know I would love to be enlightened, perhaps as much as you love the sound of your own voice."

The Gul wanted to tell the Vorta in no uncertain terms what she could do with her snide, self assured attitude. He wanted to berate her understanding of the alpha quadrant, and of the Federation, and of her assumed knowledge of his psyche. Really, he wanted to talk.

"The Federation is not nearly so prim and proper as they claim to be. Their so-called 'Prime Directive' is tossed to the side at least as often as it is upheld, and if they are such peaceful explorers then tell me, why are their exploration vessels armed like Klingon battle cruisers? The answer is simple. Humans are more warlike than the Klingons, more deceptive than the Romulans, and more cunning than the Vulcans. They are the penultimate danger to the galaxy, subverting whole species at a time and stealing their brightest minds and their most potent technologies with an efficiency that the Borg can admire. And when someone refuses to play by their rules?

"Well, I think this war speaks volumes on their proclaimed peaceful nature. So yes, I find it entirely likely that the Federation secreted away a doomsday weapon on a fringe world and left a cult of unstable fanatics to guard it until it was needed. Why else, then, would they be here now?"

Laniste simply stared wide-eyed at the Gul. It was her role in life, her purpose, her very nature not to be persuaded by others. And yet the Cardassian made a number of very good points.

He also still planned to kill her, but she had no way of knowing that.

[Davin]

Imagine lensflare...
Chapter 5: Sound And Fury

Spoiler: Show

Kelen stared out at the approaching warship, and the Jem'Hadar ship closing in on it. His own attack cruiser was circling to the side, ready to strike the vessels flank.

"Still no sign of the Romulans, Sir," called Savak from the tactical post. The rest of the bridge was silent, waiting for the battle to begin. The ships were spaced across a wide gulf of void, high above a planet designated simply as a strong of letters and numbers that Kelen thought no one could be expected to keep straight. Somewhere below dawn was breaking, and Wuran and the dig teams were scouring the surface for a weapon that may or may not actually exist, alledgedly buried in an ancient Federation bunker under a fringe colony.

It was simplest just to focus on the ship ahead. It was a pale cruiser, heavy by the Federations standards and ringed with fighter craft. Not so fast as the Jem'Hadar vessel and not so well armed as a Cardassian ship, the battle should have been simple enough. But for that damnable-

"Warbird decloaking!" A shimmer of green revealed the Romulam vessel, already laying into the Jem'Hadar with its disruptors. In fleeing, the Dominion vessel entered the Endurance's weapon range. Phasers and disruptors, beams and cannons, all blazed in the dark void as they pummeled the lighter ships shields.

"Take us in to engage, target the Romulans engines!" Kelen clenched the arms of his command seat as their weapons joined the unfolding chaos of the greater battle. The Romulan ambush had left the heavy D'Deridex facing away from Kelens ship, and he intended to show them the error of underestimating a Cardassian.

"Full power to weapon banks!" A few token emplacements returned fire from the enemy vessel, but it was far from enough to put them in any real danger. "Keep them between us and the Federation ship!" His crew worked in obedient silence, each at his station, glancing only occasionally to the viewscreen.

Through the split-hulls of the Warbird Kelen could see the nimble Jem'Hadar ship swooping around the sluggish Federation cruiser, pummeling it with cannon fire and pulling back before they could bring their own weapons to bear. Them the Akira turned, coming toward the D'Deridex, putting itself in the Romulans field of fire. The next pass the attack ship made against the cruiser, it found itself battered by Romulan weapons.

"Focus your fire," Kelen shouted as he looked over the displays in front if him. "Target their shield generators, all weapons."

---

T'Kesh cursed, looking back over her shoulder. She could only see the bridge behind her, of course, and not the thorn in her side that was the Cardassian ship, but the gesture kept her focused. "The sooner the better, Captain," she shouted into her intercom.

"Just keep the Jem'Hadar off our backs, and we'll handle the rest!" Her counterparts reassurance was appreciated, but using Okhala as a shield had been Natalie's idea, and though T'Kesh saw the logic of putting the brunt of the battle onto her ship, watching her shields deplete put her understandably on edge.

"They're coming back around, Commander!"

"Lock weapons and fire at will, Volaen!" Her tactical officer nodded and brought Okhalas considerable firepower to bear on the tiny Dominion vessel strafing the Endurance. Very few ships that size could handle the full brunt of a D'Deridex's arsenal, and T'Kesh watched, not without a certain measure of respect, as the craft retreated to line up another pass, still intact.

"We can't take another salvo like that, Okhala," came the increasingly frantic Terran through the intercom. "But we're reading their shields nearly depleted. Confirm?"

Urkahv nodded from across the bridge, and T'Kesh nodded in return. "Confirmed, Endurance," she said, watching the Jem'Hadar craft line up its next attack. "We will see to it." A quick tap closed the channel. "Target their bridge, all stations." She didn't need to say that the Jem'Hadar would likely try to ram them on this pass; she didn't need to, the other attack ship had narrowly missed the Federation vessel in the first battle. And from its trajectory, this ship wasn't after the Endurance.

Blasts of phased polaron energy slammed into the shields ahead of the viewscreen. "Transfer power from port and starboard shields forward!" The dwindling curves meant to represent Okhalas shields rearranged themselves on the command screen as points on the wings and nose flashed, indicating the weapons sending streaks of green into the rushing craft. Beams cut, blasts gouged, rippling the energy field defending the purple gamma quadrant ship from serious harm.

And then the polaron blasts stopped and the little ship came rushing toward the viewscreen. The green blasts closing less and less distance, the beetle-like craft drawing, closer, closer, shields soaking up the punishment Okhala was giving from every point of its cannons, it's beam arrays...

And then those shields collapsed.

"Now!" T'Kesh practically screamed from the edge of her command chair. "Full salvo, full spread, maximum yield! Fire everything!"

The crew needed no urging.

---

Natalie watched the Okhala explode. The green flame of their own plasma torpedoes washed over the great warbirds pointed beak, mingled with the flame of the exploding Jem'Hadar ship. The mingling flames swept over the wings, past the flickering emerald nacelles, and over the tapered point of the cruisers aft. All of the Endurance's bridge crew watched, barely more than five kilometers away as they passed to move against the Galor that had been accosting the Romulan vessel. Now, it seemed, they were too late.

Or that was how it seemed. When the fires cleared they released an Okhala very much still there, though far from unscathed. Fragments of pale purple hull stuck like shrapnel in the emerald wings of the warbird. Plasma fires burned through ragged tears in the hull and flickered brightly in the darkness of the void. No one was quite relieved until the aft disruptors started to fire again.

"..kzzzZZZzzrk-urance, we... We're dead in the water but we're still here." K'Tesh came through a veil of static sounding like she had just gone five rounds with a Gorn. "Still need some help with those Cardassians, if you're not busy."

Natalie grinned. "You heard her. Lock weapons and fire at will. Have our fighters run interference for the Okhala, we don't need a stray torpedo knocking them out."

"Happy to oblige, Captain," Duram said with a smile as he guided the ships weapons to the Cardie vessel. Their shields were already bruised from the disruptor fire, but turning to retreat would take their weapons out of play. So the Cardassian commander made his move, charging the Endurance, guns blazing.

"Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Harris! Dive! Dive! Dive!" Natalie watched as the ship nosed down under the rushing Cardassian ship, which itself swept up and away from the two vessels firing on it. "Bring us about Harris, don't let him-" But the Cardassian ship was already jumping to warp, it's hull sporting a few fresh holes. A blink of light in the distance and it was gone.

It took a moment for the situation to sink in. The battle was over.

At least in orbit.

---

"-falling back to secure space!"

Gul Wuran simply looked at his console, dumbstruck.

"...What do you mean, 'falling back'?"

"I'll not see these men die for your fools errand! I suggest you lay low until we can spare a recovery team!"

"Now you just wait one damned-"

But it was too late. Kelen just shouted something to the bridge crew, using words that certainly could not have really included 'maximum warp', and then the connection went dead.

Gul Wuran found it very hard to smile then.

[Davin]

For Old Times' Sake
Chapter 6: Saints And Soldiers

Spoiler: Show

The dawn covered the approach, keeping the sunken valley in darkness while illuminating the Dominion encampment ahead. T'Nes and D'Kera lead their blended team down the long, wide, overgrown streets of the long-vacant colony city. Houses lined the edges of the valley, low modern prefab units, set in neat little rows. They might have been pretty if not for the years of neglect.

The road seemed to go on for miles, and as the soldiers pressed on the buildings grew older, their designs like snapshots of the past. The damage was also heavier the closer they came to the center of the settlement. A few shops were missing their facades, roofs and walls and whole floors collapsed and fallen to the ground. Not far ahead lay an entire block that had been burned to the ground.

"Must have been something, back in the day," Briggs mused as loudly as he dared.

"Perhaps you would have found it pleasant," T'Nes said. "This was a human separatist colony."

Briggs cringed, suddenly very much aware that he was the only earthling of the group.

They trudged on.

"So what does Starfleet want with an abandoned colony?" Siras kept his voice low enough that only T'Nes and the other Romulans could make out what he had said. Brythan, at least, relayed the general tone to Briggs.

"You will see shortly. Once we have reached the Citadel."

The Citadel, it turned out, was a massive walled complex at the heart of the colony. Or at least it had been, before whatever cataclysm had done so much damage. It's walls, easily twelve feet tall and reinforced several times, were breached throughout. Inside, the larger buildings the wall had been meant to guard were nothing more that toppled mossy spires, algae-coated concrete ponds, and walkways pock-marked by craters. What remained was a squat rectangle of stone, its sides carved with stylized moons and stars and other faded symbols.

T'Nes led the way through the clutter to the north and east, to an opening that had once been a doorway. Beside it, a golden statue of a winged humanoid was half-buried in rubble.

"What is all this?" D'Kera asked, and as she stepped inside the ruin she only found herself searching for more answers. Long bench seats filled most of the floor space, though few remained intact between the fallen ceiling and whatever event leveled the complex.

"A temple to an old earth religion," T'Nes said as she vaulted a half-crushed pew and moved down the aisle. The rest of the procession followed suite, moving through the dim and hazy space. At the end was a raised platform, and a space where a podium had once stood. Now, though, a set of stairs led downward, which T'Nes descended without hesitation.

"Okay." Siras came to the mouth of the staircase, watching the others move down, if without T'Nes' fearlessness. "I'll bite. Why are we going into the, crypt, or whatever, of some creepy ruined temple in a creepy ruined colony? Shouldn't we be, I don't know, fighting the Dominion?"

"What is in this temple has the potential to change the course of the war." T'Nes' voice echoed up from the basement, echoing in the open church hall. "We must ensure the Dominion does not capture it."

Siras just shrugged, following more for the sake of not being alone. Flashlights clicked on one by one as the team marched down, down, down. It was hard to say in the darkness how far they had gone when they reached the chamber, but they were quite deep. The room was lined with computer banks that likely predated Kirk, if not the entirety of the Federation. The grey metal and layers of dust attested to their long disuse. Still, when T'Nes inserted a data card she pulled from her belt the machines sputtered to life. Lights flickered, popped, and either burnt out or cast their glow across the mismatched crew before them. A great metal security door, orange beneath countless scorch marks, groaned as it slid open for the first time in years, perhaps decades. Maybe even centuries.

The room beyond was spartan, just lights and more computers. A handful of dusty skeletons lay scattered on the floor, dressed in tattered formalwear and still clutching their assorted weaponry. A Klingon rifle, a Xindi bioplasma rifle, a Federation laser pistol, there was no real pattern to the equipment. But none of that was important compared to the torpedo in the middle of the room, a single white cylinder flecked with rust.

"This," T'Nes said with all the drama a Vulcan was capable of, "is why we are here."

Siras canted his head. "Okay... So what is it?"

---

In The Year Of Our Lord 2351 A.D. ...

The city of New Provo was usually bustling in the early dawn hours. Today the streets were deserted. Windows were shuttered, streets blocked off by Militia armored transports, rooftops occupied by cobbled-together energy cannons. And through it all, Elder Kyle Rasmussen drove as quickly as he could to the Citadel.

In spite of the title 'Elder' Kyle was a young man, twenty one years old, barely back from his stint in on Terra Nova as a Missionary. He had married, as was his duty to The Church; a pretty young girl from his singles ward, and one he had been fortunate enough to know from school before he had gone on his Mission. Sarah Young, now Sarah Rasmussen.

She was at home with her fathers phase rifle now, waiting for either the invading aliens or for Terra Nova forces to arrive and drive them away.

Kyle came to a screeching halt at the gates of the citadel, deserting his car in the street as he clambered over the passenger seat, scooped up his disruptor pistol, and ran out the door to the temple. Under any other circumstances he would have taken his time, admired the craftsmanship that had gone into painstakingly replicating the original Temple complex in Salt Lake City, back on earth. The Tabernacle, the visitors centers, and of course the temple itself, it's six spires and the golden statue of the angel Moroni. The only real difference was the placard, proclaiming this the 'Church of Jesus Christ of True Saints'.

Now, though, was not the time. The first salvos of Cardassian fire were reaching ground now, rocking the ground and thundering through the whole of the valley. Kyle rushed into the Temple, past the rows of empty pews and straight for the podium. Or at least where the podium would be, were it not retracted to reveal the staircase to the sub basement. Down the long flight of stairs, past the bare bulbs that lit the corridor into the concrete room at the bottom. The blast doors were open, and near the center of the room stood the Prophet and the rest of his personal guard.

"Ah, Elder Rasmussen," Prophet Mattheson said with a smile, his arms held out wide. "Now we can close the vault. Elder Thompson, if you would." One of the older guards, a man built like a gorn, tapped on the antique keyboard by the entrance until the thick metal doors crawled shut. The room was perfectly sealed now, closed to the outside world. Nothing but the Prophet, his guard, and a months worth of prepackaged food. And, of course, the device.

"You all know why we've come," the Prophet said plainly. "We have come to fulfill our holy duty to defend our divine gift from the horde of Cain, all bearing a thousand different marks from a thousand different worlds that rejected the true faith. His faith." The Prophet raised his hands and turned toward the device, running through his script, the script every prophet of their sect had to rehearse but none yet had needed to recite. Jonah Mattheson was honored to be the first tested this way, the first to put himself between the divine and the blasphemous hands that would dare to profane it.

"It is our duty, sealed in this holy sanctum, to guard His holy gift, with our lives if we must. As you all have been told, we are sealed within this room. Only an Elder can unlock the doors, and only from outside this room. But fear not! Once this storm has passed we shall emerge bathed in His glory, honored and raised high upon his celestial throne of Kolob, for having defended and upheld His holy gift."

Kyle Rasmussen smiled, certain that he would find grace in Gods work. He could not have known the doors would stay sealed not for a day, or a month, but for 23 years.

"Here," the Prophet said proudly, "we stand vigil over His sacred gift..."

---

"...Genesis," Brythan said from the doorway. By the time the rest of the group turned he had already drawn his phaser. "The weapon that's going to win us this war."

T'Nes quirked an eyebrow in what passed on Vulcan for concern. "You are aware, Mr. Joth, that the use of Genesis as a weapon violates Starfleet codes one-four-"

"Spare me the rule book! And you!" He waved his phaser at the rest. "I'm psychic, remember? I know what you're thinking, and I'll drop you before you can even try." Slowly, those staring down Brythans phaser unclenched their hands, moved their fingers away from their own weapons. "Thaaaaats better. Now then-"

"Bry..." Briggs stepped forward, slowly, his hands raised. "What the hell?"

"I'm not going to lose this war because the brass gets squeamish, Harry." Brythan began to pace, striding across the open doorway. "C'mon, we load Genesis onto the Defiant, fly to the Founder homeworld under cloak, and boom! The war is over with one torpedo! The changelings are dead, the Dominion is crippled, and we've got our first Gamma quadrant colony! And why stop there? Romulus! Q'onos! The Federation will be unstoppable!"

"You're nuts, Bry," Briggs sighed.

"Seriously," Siras added.

"I concur," T'Nes noted.

The Betazoid frowned and tapped his comm badge. "Duran? It's time. Lock onto my signal, and beam me, the Lieutenants, and Genesis up to cargo bay three."

Something was said, something the group couldn't make out from across the room.

"Then stun her. We have our orders, and they go way over her head."

Another snippet of the conversation goes unheard, though increasingly frantic muttering echoes in the concrete room.

"Then get him to do it! I don't exactly have any pattern enhancers with me down here!"

Duran no doubt kept talking, but Brythans attention suddenly cut to something behind him. But there was nothing there, just darkness and empty space, echoing with the sounds of a too-quiet comm badge.

"Hey, Duran, I'm gonna need a minute." Brythan tapped his badge and leveled his phaser at the middle of the wall behind him. "I felt that," he said to the nothing as he fired.

A wailing Jem'Hadar materialized out of the nothing, with the beam piercing his chest. That moment is all it takes for the rest of the soldiers to move for their own weapons. In that time a half-dozen Jem'Hadar appear around Brythan. He managed to shoot another, but one against six never ends well. Howling its fury, one of the Dominion soldiers drew its alien knife and buried it deep in the Betazoids back.

Brythan was still reaching at the knife in his back when the Jem'Hadar turn on the allied troops at the center of the room. There was no cover in that position, not for any of them. When the shooting started, it would be a blood bath.

"Hold fire! Everyone, hold fire!" The voice that spoke from the darkness was smooth, calm, and supremely confident. No one needed to be told it came from a Cardassian.

The Jem'Hadar stepped to the edges of the room as the Gul entered, with the Dominions Vorta in tow. "My my. I'm not sure what I expected, but this... thing, it's..." The Cardassian smiled, a big, toothy, grim smile, first to Briggs, then T'Nes, and finally Brythan, now still on the floor. "An elegant weapon, minding the rust. We will be glad to-"

It was the Vorta who finally cut him off. She was a small thing, demure looking, unassuming. When she smiled it didn't seem at all out of place. "Now Wuran, don't you think I should be doing the-"

Scaly hands gripped the sides of her face and wrenched it farther to the side than it should ever go. A sickening pop echoes through the cold concrete room, followed shortly by a soft thud.

Wuran was smiling again. "I do apologize for that, I've been meaning to do that for some time now, and..." He took a deep breath, held it a moment, and released, refreshed. "I feel much better now."

The group around the Genesis device had until now simply watched with varying degrees of surprise. Now, Vallir stepped forward. "You know we can't let you have this."

Wuran chuckled. " 'Let me'? My dear boy, I have every intention of killing the lot of you and taking what I like. In fact..." He gestured toward Vallir. The Jem'Hadar, impassive as ever, merely held their weapons raised as they had been. Wuran rolled his eyes. "Well, kill them!"

The Jem'Hadar fired. Five phased polaron rifles sent an incredulous Wuram sprawling across the cold stone floor. His death have everyone else just enough time to reach for their weapons.

Vallir was first on the draw, ducking low and grabbing for the disruptor on his hip. The Jem'Hadar Fourth missed high, the Second fired wide. But the First, still roaring his victory over the cooling body of that damned Cardassian, made his mark. Before Vallir could fire a shot a bolt of polaron energy caught him just above his left eye.

D'Kera charged, screaming curses that Federation translators had no business knowing, and that Siras heard as pure venom. Her weapon barked its own fury, spraying an arguably more potent venom that caught the Jem'Hadar Sixth in the face and scattered all but the First. It was him she had fixated on, her yellow eyes burning in the dim light.

The first disruptor bolt caught Kohvik in the gut. But he stood tall, staring down the foolish Romulan running toward him. He fired, barely missing her as she threw herself across the room to within arms reach. Kohvik grinned and raised his weapon high, catching the swinging disruptor on his rifle and knocking her hand away. He hadn't noticed her draw the curved Romulan dagger from her boot, not until the thing was buried to the hilt in his chest, rammed through the tube that fed him his ketracel white. His rifle dropped from his hands as D'Kera twisted the knife. She didn't need to press her disruptor to his scorched gut, didn't need to pull the trigger once, twice, three times at point blank range. And she certainly didn't need to stare down the dying soldier as she did it.

T'Nes had, rather than put herself into the fray, turned to Genesis. In one swift motion she tore away a rusted access panel and reached into the guts of the archaic device as Briggs did his best to drive the Jem'Hadar back. While D'Kera charged T'Nes removed a canister from deep with in the ancient machine.

"T'Varros!" Siras looked to her just as she threw the canister toward the Jem'Hadar, past the fallen Vallir, past D'Kera and her quarry, to the remaining belligerents hunkered down behind an overturned computer bank. Siras didn't need to think, he simply aimed and fired.

There was noise and light, then silence and darkness.

[Davin]

Writers block!
Chapter 7: Loose Ends

Spoiler: Show

Several moments prior...

"Duran? It's time. Lock onto my signal, and beam me, the Lieutenants, and Genesis up to cargo bay three."

Durans antennae twitched. He had almost forgotten about his earpiece, though his mission was never far from his focus. Slowly he rose from his station and moved to one if the more secluded consoles. It wasn't hard, the rest of the bridge crew was coordinating with the Romulan repair or assault teams, surveying the damage or the stronghold left on the surface.

"Uhh, Captain Prokofieva..." The Andorian paused and glanced over his shoulder at the Captain. Her back was to him, her long brown hair around her shoulders. "I don't know, I think she might notice an unauthorized beam-up. She could try to stop us."

"Then stun her," the Betazoid growled. Duran tried to remember if he had ever heard another Betazoid get quite so angry. "We have our orders, and they go way over her head."

Duran sighed. Again he looked back at the officers across the bridge. "Really, Brythan..." A few taps of the controls focused the transporter guidance system onto the Betazoids signal. The resolution was... fuzzy at best. "I don't know if I can make a transport like this. I'm beams, not beaming. Chovrith showed me the basics, but-"

"Then get him to do it!" There was something in his tone, an urgency, that Duran found very discomforting. "I don't exactly have any pattern enhancers with me down here!"

Slowly, carefully, Duran adjusted the transporters. A little more power, a little more gain, deeper focus. But the Andorian was nervous, and when Duran Fovil was nervous, he rambled. "Look, I'll do what I can, but frankly I think we're all in over out heads here. I mean the admiral knew Genesis was here, yeah, but is he sure we can copy it? I got the same lecture you did, Dr. Marcus' notes are pseudoscience at best, and high-functioning witchcraft if you're being realistic, and we still don't even know if this thing works! It's a hundred years old, sitting in a crypt and rusting and-"

"Hey, Duran, I'm gonna need a minute." And then the connection dropped. Duran stared down at the console. From this distance, and through that much stone, he could only see comm badges, not actual life signs. But there was motion regardless, jerky movements that could have meant a fight or a problem with the latency on the transporter.

Either way, the Andorian acted quickly. Five meter radius, beam all points of contact around... Lieutenant Briggs and the Vulcan were relatively close together, so hopefully they were near Genesis. He set the coordinates, from the comm badge signal points to cargo bay three, the freight pad. He plugged in the Admirals override code and hit the button. Energize.

"Mr. Duran?" It was the Captain, behind him. He froze. "What exactly are you doing?" For a moment there was silence. Then he turned, already reaching for his phaser.

---

Darkness became light again for the troops that had been on the planets surface. The calming, vaguely blue light of a Federation starship. The assorted officers stood much as they had in the temple moments ago, only now they were defending themselves from a wall.

Siras looked from where the strange canister had been to the disruptor rifle in his hands. "Did... Was that...?"

T'Nes shrugged. "You merely ignited a canister of protomatter. Our change of venue is most likely unrelated."

"Oh."

D'Kera pivoted, pulling her knife from the safely deceased Jem'Hadar that had beamed over with them and letting him drop to the floor. "Wait. You threw protomatter at me!?" Standing with her weapons drawn over the cooling cadaver of a Dominion soldier, D'Kera was not, perhaps, someone you would want to have thrown protomatter at.

T'Nes, however, was unphased. "I calculated minimal risk to you from my actions, considering relatively minute amount of protomatter contained in Genesis and the usual disposition of Dominion infantry."

"Minimal risk!?" D'Kera took a step toward the Vulcan. "You're lucky we're all still alive! You could have collapsed the chamber, or cooked us all alive!"

"But I did not," T'Nes said flatly.

D'Kera began to speak, but Briggs preempted her.

"Why are we in a cargo bay?" He was crouched over Brythans body, one hand on the Betazoids chest as he looked up at the group. "Bry... I think he was talking to Lieutenant Duran before..." His gaze dropped to the fallen traitor, and the black eyes staring sightlessly at a stack of crates.

"You are correct." T'Nes cast a glance at the orange door behind her. "It would seem that Brythan was not acting alone."

A scream cut through the air, an almost feral noise. All eyes fell to Vallir, the left side of his face stained with green. His pack was laid out in front of him, and pressed to his head wound was a field cauterizer, it's edges glowing yellow. After a few painful seconds he pulled the thing away and it clattered to the floor, leaving an angry but no longer bleeding grey-yellow streak above his eye.

When Vallir eventually opened his eyes, he found everyone staring at him. Well, everyone but Brythan. "Oh... Yeah. I'm fine, by the way. Just got shot in the head. Could've used a little help, but you've got bigger things going on. I get it." And then he was on his feet, a little unsteady but all in all no worse for wear. "So. What's the plan now?"

Briggs started for the door. "I want to know what the hell is going on Traveler. Mandukar, T'Varros, you still with me?"

"I suppose a little closure is called for," D'Kera answered.

"Why not?" Siras said with a shrug.

T'Nes nodded, and started after Briggs. "The logical destination is the bridge, and Mr. Duran."

The halls were quiet, though given the red warning lights glowing in the ceiling that was no surprise. The ship was still at red alert, and the cargo bays were at least two decks from anything important. Briggs led with his phaser drawn, followed by T'Nes and the Romulans all similarly armed. No one said it, but there was no telling how many of the crew may be involved with Brythans scheme.

Apart from a pair of damaged decks turbolift access was unrestricted. T'Nes pressed the button for the bridge, and the lift launched itself up through the vessel.

---

As soon as the turbolift doors chimed Duran fired. The bright bolt of orange light struck the lead officer in the security detachment the Captain had called for. Duran and another pair of officers sheltered behind a row of consoles at the head of the bridge.

"Just give it up!" Captain Prokofieva called from behind an engineering station. Beside her, Rolann Oxtna lay on the floor, unmoving save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The side of his uniform bore a dark phaser burn. "You aren't getting off this ship! Just surrender!"

One of the officers with Duran, a fair haired human, lobbed a canister through the air into the lift filled with security. Shouts rose, but only two managed to escape before the stasis grenade detonated. Exposed, one of the guards dove behind an overturned chair. The other took a phaser burst in the chest and toppled to the deck. The surviving guard, Captain Prokofieva, and Chief Engineer Corrigan were all that stood between the mutineers and the helm.

At least until the second lift arrived. This one opened in an alcove opposite the Endurance's ready room, which put it out of the line of fire.

"Captain!" It was T'Nes. From what could be seen in the narrow wedge between support the support struts flanking the lift doors there were at least two bodies on the bridge in the no-mans land between the raised tactical stations and the lower viewscreen area.

"Lieutenant!" Natalie called from her hiding place. "Please tell me you're not about to try killing me!"

Duran chuckled from the other end of the bridge. "If they weren't they wouldn't be breathing right now, Cap! Brythans got them to see things our way!"

"Bry's dead, Duran." Briggs stepped out of the lift and into the shielded alcove. His phaser clicked as it switched to stun mode.

"What? No... No, you're lying! He's a mind reader, you can't beat that!"

"He is quite dead, I assure you." T'Nes adjusted her grip on her weapon, though she did not follow Briggs into the alcove. "It seems your handler was so focused on dealing with the Federation that they neglected the Jem'Hadar."

"You're lying!" Duran rose to fire at the sheltered turbolift but Briggs was waiting, crouched at the edge of the support strut. Durans shot went high and wide, but Briggs made his mark, dead center in the Andorians chest. The tactical officer tensed and then went limp, collapsing over the console he had been using as cover. The other two mutineers rose to attack but Natalia, Briggs, and the security guard were ready. Bursts of blue and orange filled the air, and then the bridge was still.

[Davin]

Because schedules are for chumps!
Chapter 8: When A Plan Comes Together

Spoiler: Show

The rush of battle passed as it tended to in these quick skirmishes, as a flurry of still frames that somehow feel like seconds and hours in the same instant. When all is done, Duran and the mutineers lay unconscious on the floor. Most of the bridge officers lay wounded, who could say how severely. Captain Prokofieva surveyed her bridge, the scored white paneling and sparking consoles, and tapped her comm badge.

"Medical team to the bridge."

Those still standing congregated around the captains chair, human, Vulcan, Bolian, and Romulan alike. One of the security officers tended to his wounded comrades, the pair attacked while in the stasis field.

"Captain," T'Nes said in a voice that could pass for uncertain, "I... Our mission on the surface was successful."

Natalia nodded, and even smiled, just a little. Anything to keep from thinking about how deeply compromised her ship may be. "The Genesis weapon has been neutralized?"

"Yes, Captain, it's matrix has been destroyed. Our team was, however, compromised, evidently by the faction attempting to seize control of your ship."

A part of Natalia had seen that coming. She frowned regardless, but managed to find herself a new distraction in the trio of battered looking Romulans standing on her bridge. "Would anyone like to tell me why I have Romulans on my bridge?"

Briggs put himself beside the Romulan group, the trio posturing beside the turbolift. "They're with us, Captain."

Natalia turned to T'Nes.

"Their assistance was invaluable, Captain." The Vulcans opinion seemed enough for Natalia.

"Well then. I apologize for the mess, I wasn't expecting company." Natalia smirked though only one of the Romulans smiled back, a lanky looking man in a grey jacket. Natalia cringed ever so slightly.

---

The ships mess hall, in spite of its name, was far more orderly than the bridge. T'Nes, D'Kera, Vallir, and Siras occupied a booth tucked away in a corner, in spite of the relative emptiness of the space.

"I felt this table would appeal to your covert predilections," T'Nes said.

Rather than consider potential Vulcan racism D'Kera merely nodded and launched into conversation. "I'm sure you know the Star Empire doesn't exactly handle dissent well."

T'Nes adjusted her tunic for lack of anything else to do. "Ambassador Spock is quite capable of keeping his congregations beneath the notice of the Tal Shiar."

"Then how are we supposed to find them?" Vallir folded his arms over his chest, his chair teetering on it's back legs as he leaned back.

"Wait," said a wide-eyed Siras, "you're not talking about..."

"Reunification." T'Nes nodded curtly. "Indeed we are."

Siras shrugs. "Well, we could definitely teach you a thing or two about tact."

D'Kera tisked in the same moment Vallir slugged his gunner in the shoulder. "Hush, you." Scolding done, D'Kera turned back to T'Nes. "And it's not like we're talking about..." She cast her eyes around the bar, and though no one was looking their way she lowered her voice anyway. "...about defecting, or anything."

T'Nes quirked an eyebrow. "I merely ask that you hear what Spock has to say. I believe you would find it preferable to living in fear of the Tal Shiar."

Siras shook his head and threw up his hands. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation. The 'debrief' we're going to get when we get back to Okhala is going to be bad enough without us talking treason."

"Are you happy, Lieutenant?" T'Nes said flatly. Siras just blinked and stared, incredulous, at the Vulcan, and when he did not speak the Vulcan continued. "Look around. Every officer here has, on at least on one occasion, expressed to me how 'happy' they are to serve in Starfleet. Corporal Richardson has expressed this feeling to me three times this week, in fact." She gestures to a boisterous looking science officer bouncing by the replimat, and the Romulans regard him with varying degrees of confusion. "I would wonder if any of you three can say the same of your service to the Empire."

None of them did.

---

"Answers!" Briggs shouted into the face of the sedated Andorian secured to the biobed. Without anything left to distract him, the Lieutenant found that he had quite a mixture of emotions welling up inside of him, and a strong desire to work through them at the expense of Durans face.

"I dunno what'cher talkin' about," Duran slurred, much to Briggs' displeasure.

"Listen to me, you motherf-"

"Lieutenant!" Captain Prokofieva put a hand on Briggs' shoulder, and he took a deep breath to keep from doing something to risk his commission.

"I want to know why my best friend tried to kill me. You seem to have some idea. I'm asking you very nicely to explain."

The Andorian laughed, a pained, throaty sounding laugh. "Hah, yeah, I'm not sayin' a damn thing."

Briggs grinned then, a wide, nasty smile. "I was hoping you'd say that. Shall I get the Romulans then, Captain?"

"Oh," Natalia said, "I'm sure they would be willing to help us."

Duran turned a very interesting shade of blue. "You wouldn't..." No one said anything. "You... You can't! You have no idea what's going on here, how-how important this is! Admiral Williams-" The Andorian caught himself far too late.

Natalia smiled now, and started for the door with Briggs in tow. "Thank you, Mr. Duran. That will be all."

"B-but you don't-"

"I assure you I do." Natalia turned, staring down the wounded Andorian from the doorway. "Admiral Williams recruited members of my crew to subvert my mission in an attempt to secure a Genesis device to reverse engineer a piece of illegal technology to use against the Dominion, among other belligerents to the Federation. As I said, thank you for your cooperation."

The door closed, and left Duran in quiet solitude.

[Davin]

This concludes our regularly unscheduled broadcast.
Chapter 9: Of Things To Come

Spoiler: Show

Okhala's corridors buzzed with activity, repair crews clustered at junction boxes to repair the battered D'Deridex's zero point grid. D'Kera strode through those halls, back in her element after her time in the wilds, flanked by the pilot and gunner she had been stranded with. The odd trio ducked into D'Keras quarters, a relatively plush suite for the ships SubCommander.

"Well," Siras sighed, "that could have been worse."

Vallir said "No Tal Shiar left to work the mind probes," only half joking.

D'Kera grinned. "And that leaves us with a decision to make."

Siras' eyes went wide at that, the gunner already pressed to his limit. "Oh no. No we don't. You can not be seriously considering that."

D'Kera held up a hand defensively. "I'm only saying we find Spock and hear him out."

"No," Siras half-growled, "you're saying we should paint targets on our backs and see how long it takes for the Tal Shiar to hit us."

Vallir sighed softly. "Fine, Si. Don't come. Just stay quiet."

Siras stared at Vallir for a long few moments, struggling to find an excuse to vent more of his indignation, but in the end he found himself thoroughly defused. "Yeah. Fine. Go get yourselves killed. I'll stay quiet." With that he pushed away from the table and sulked out the door, no doubt headed to his quarters.

"How do you put up with him," D'Kera asked with a smirk, and Vallir could only shrug.

"He's really not that bad."

"He's a jackass."

"Just a little." Now Vallir was grinning as well. Silence fell before Vallir rose to leave, muttering something about an overdue shower. He was nearly through the doorway when D'Kera stopped him.

"Centurion," she began, and immediately regretted pulling rank. "Vallir. We should eat together tonight."

The pilot grinned. "I think I would like that."

---

They moved quickly, soft boots muffled by the plush fabric of the carpeting. Phase rifles at the ready the black-clad team stormed down the hall, past diplomatic offices and a startled looking secretary. There was no discretion, no attempt to hide this armed rush through the Starfleet campus and its central administrative building.

A Vulcan easily kicked in the sturdy oak door, leading the rest of the team into their target room. The shelves were barren, loose papers and knick-knacks scattered here and there.

Admiral Williams was nowhere to be found.

The Vulcan tapped his matte black comm badge as the rest of his team fanned out, searching for anything left behind. "The Admiral has fled," the Vulcan said flatly. A reply came to him through a specially fitted earpiece, silent to everyone but him. "Understood. We will relay any further discoveries immediately. Tolan out."

A slender Bolian pulled a bookshelf away from the wall as another pair of officers, a Tellarite and a Trill with a prominent forehead ridge, scoured the drawers of the Admirals desk.

"Sergeant!" came a Catian at the far end of the room, his black bodysuit fitted with a covering for his long, swishing tail. "R'rsev has found something!"

Sergeant Tolan moved in to examine the findings, a single PADD open to a classified file buried deep in Memory Alpha's archives. The page detailed some sort of black-ops project from the late 2290's, great swaths of it redacted even to the Admirals clearance codes. Still, it listed organizations and colonies beyond Federation jurisdiction, and described shipments, contents redacted, made to each of them.

The header said simply 'Project Exodus'.

[Davin]

---

PART III: D'Kera

---

While You Were Out...

Spoiler: Show

Except for the infrequent beeps and chimes of the computers the bridge of the D'Deridex was silent. Everyone was on their feet and staring out at the viewscreen. The view was nothing notable; just empty void stretching to infinity, stars twinkling in the darkness light years distant. But the issue wasn't with what they were seeing.

They should be looking at ch'Rihan.

Ael was sobbing quietly, frozen at the conn, willing that knot in her stomach not to come up her throat.

T'Nas paced behind the command chair, hyperventilating into his clasped, unsteady hands.

Turiel clung tight to the security console, praying that his knees not give out.

Jairae stood in slack-jawed disbelief at the master engineering station, muttering something under her breath that might have been 'no' and might have been no word at all.

Commander D'Kera Mandukar was numb. In some perverse way this was what she had wanted, wasn't it? The Star Empire would never trouble her family, or anyone, ever again. The Senatorial transports were nowhere to be seen among the smattering of vessels that had returned home in the wake of 'The Event'. Comm chatter was sporadic and brief, limited mostly to supply reallocation among surviving vessels and aid organization. Video communication was rarest of all, and nearly everyone had painted their faces in mourning.

There had been no word on the convoy bound for Rator III. On Vallir, and Siras, and Davin.

None of those vessels had returned either, though they should have still been closer to ch'Rihan than Rator.

Estimates put the total casualties just shy of the full combined populations of Romulus and Remus.

So the ships coalesced over the next few days around the bigger vessels; the D'Deridex class ships Okhala, Ishae, S'Harien, Irix, and Haakona, the lone Scimitar. Lighter warbirds and civilian ships filled in the spaces between the larger vessels, coming together in a makeshift floatilla. It took another few days to establish a new chain of command and a unified direction, and so it was nearly a week later that the tattered remnants of the Imperial Home Fleet followed SubAdmiral Lokaev to Rator III. A handful of comm boueys around the edge of the system directed any other returning ships to do the same.

The days at warp passed slowly, and D'Kera was never far from a comms station.

[Davin]

Scattered To The Winds

Spoiler: Show

Traveling at warp was a fine way to travel, but search and rescue missions require an amount if sensor clarity that can only be achieved at impulse power. For those scouring Imperial space in the wake of The Event, that meant repeatedly warping the length if a ships sensor range to get fresh readings along a set course. A far from ideal solution for examining a whole sector, but rescue ships now largely followed routes taken by missing ships.

"Section zero-three-eight is clear, Riov," the SubCommander said. From his tone, he hadn't expected any different.

The Commander nodded at his post, looking out on yet another empty expanse. "Confirmed. Ahead five light years, and sweep again. Warp nine. Hnah."

The SubCommander work his instruments, and in a flash the little scout ship hurled itself into warp. "Riov," he said after a few quiet seconds, his stoic demeanor faltering.

"Out with it." A terse reply, but not an overly aggressive one.

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Please, just speak your mind, K'Rel."

"Riov..." Again words seemed to fail. Well, perhaps not fail; language itself seemed wholly inadequate. "What do we expect to find? I mean, what can we really hope for Tevek?" The SubCommander sunk into his seat. "We're talking about freighters. Civilian ships. This blast destroyed ch'Rihan." And now words truly did fail. How could mere words match this quiet desperation, this flickering of foolish hope being suffocated by a reality growing darker with every passing day, every round of refugee ships coming with a handful of survivors and pages of names for those lost?

Tevek felt it too, but it was not his place to show it. He was the ships Commander, and even on a ship for two it was his duty to stand in the face of the harshest adversity, unflinching. Still, when the ship lurched out of warp, he still had no reply.

The proximity alarm saved more than Tevek's pride.

"Hnaev!" K'Rel wrenched the control yolk hard to port, narrowly avoiding a spindly section of wing. Shreds of metal clattered against the hull as they swept through what must have been a cargo bay at one point. This put them on course with another section of ship, the severed head and neck of a mining ship.

"All stop!" Tevek cried, and with a jerk of the controls the scout craft came to a halt amid the debris. Ravaged green hulks drifted through the void, trailing plasma or sparks of energy or nothing at all. K'Rel would not bring himself to think about it in the moment, but in the following nights he remembered, or perhaps merely imagined, bodies tumbling among the stars and the technological carnage.

"Lifesigns," Tevek whispered as he keyed in the controls, sweeping the immediate area with the vessels overpowered sensors. Immediately there were results; singularity cores, distress beacons, power signatures, trace neutronium, subspace distortion... everything but lifesigns.

Through all that, it was easy to miss the handful of warp signatures leading away from the wreckage.

---

"Commander." The voice jerked D'Kera awake, slumped over her desk console and batting ineffectually at the haze encroaching on her tired mind. She hadn't slept more than ten hours in the last week; when she wasn't working to manage the supply deliveries to the refugees on Rator she was in her quarters, waiting by her console.

"Out with it, T'Nas." It was terse for her, groggy but forcefully stated.

"We've just gotten work from the scout ships." D'Kera suddenly shot bolt upright with a force that the noise dampeners on her console could not entirely block. This was what she had been waiting for.

"Tell me," she said, almost pleading with her subordinate.

"Khre'Riov..." The line went silent just a moment. "Unit lambda six found the convoy." Another pause, and when D'Kera said nothing he continued. "We... managed to account for all but three ships. The one you asked about, the Talla... It had been shorn in half. Completely depressurized. I... I'm sorry."

T'Nas never knew how the Commander had reacted to what he said, but in his mind D'Kera cut the connection with a stoic sort of sadness. In reality she barely pressed the button to end the call before she fell wholly out of her chair and under her desk, barely escaped having her Riov hear her unrestrainable grief. Alone, D'Kera cried her pain to the Elements.

[Davin]

Normalcy

Spoiler: Show

"What the Void is going on here?"

D'Kera stood at the far end of the landing pad, opposite her personal shuttle and a trio of Romulus civilians. Two were unarmed, but one carried an antiquated disruptor rifle. Two were wide-eyed, suitably awestruck by the shining tiles of her Tal Shiar uniform. One stood defiant at the panel pried free of her transport.

"Move along, Commander," the man with the rifle said, though he was more a boy than a man. His fingers flexed on the old weapons grips. "All we want is the ship."

D'Kera's mind raced with calculations. Time to unholster her disruptor, time to draw a shot on this punk kid with a big gun, time to take cover behind one of the coolant tanks by the stairs. None of the options were ones she liked.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," D'Kera said as calmly as she could manage.

"Regret?" The gunman scoffed. "The only thing I regret is wasting my life on this imperial rock."

The gunmans friends must have mistaken the pang of emotion on D'Kera's face as fear, because they rose up from their half-crouched huddles with sudden boldness. But D'Kera wasn't afraid, not of these ship jackers. She heard herself in the leaders words, felt a touch of her old regret, of her simmering hatred of what the Empire had been. But times had changed.

"Just leave now and no one needs to get hurt," D'Kera said. She could hear the wavering in her tones even if these children could not.

"Oh, we'll leave all right. We're gonna go someplace far away from you Tal Shiar fascists." The leader motioned to the shuttle, and his friends moved close to it. " 'Course we can't have you ratting us out, can we?"

What happened next was like a dream. The young man started to raise his disruptor, and D'Kera's body did what she had so expertly trained it to do. Fingers gripped her disruptors' textured grip, slid the smooth metal frame from the rigid disruptor, leveled the barrel with the would-be ship thief. When she fired his weapon wasn't even above his waist yet. A single straight beam of blue-green energy caught the youth in the gut, dead center on his heart.

The thief's friends were running before he hit the ground. By the time the wound stopped smouldering they were long gone. D'Kera stood stunned, frozen in her shooting posture. The boy...

He was just a boy. A boy that had wanted something better than oppression and fear. A boy no more guilty of the crime of hope than she was herself. And now he was dead.

D'Kera Mandukar sank to her knees beside the fallen Romulan beneath the cool, impartial blue of the Ratorian sky.

[Davin]

Contagion

Spoiler: Show

Mission Log
OPERATION: Talon
I.R.W. Okhala
Commander Mandukar, D

---

Mission Timer: - 2500
//Automated message. Final checks complete. All systems nominal.

---

Mission Timer: - 0100
//Warp velocity stable. Weapons charged.

---

Mission Timer: 0000
//Operation Begins.

---

Mission Timer: 0324
::ALERT::
//Multiple hull breaches detected. Plasma fires on multiple decks. Zero point grid destabilized. Navig@̢̳̞̖͈̑͗̅̑̚T͓̘̫́̓͑͘ͅị̤̯ͧͭ͆ͦ̀̽͡o̷̙̼̯̭̥̙ͦИ͉̗̪͇͎͍͑̄͆̉͂̈́ͬal deflector offline. Forward shields offline. :̘̮͇͍ͤ͒̔ͬ:̰̱̫̪̄̅̓͊Ξ͍͉̰̭̮̫̣̓͟Φͯͨπ̰̬̳̗̦͚̃̾͑ͧͨ͌͑ν̝̦͙̑̃ͬ͆ͯε̇̀̽͗̑͜Ξ̬̤̗̥̆̄͑ͭͪͅ/̞̞̯̎͊̿͞ͅ:̒͏̩̥͖͖͖͖͖ Structural integrity at 36%. Wea--̝͓̹̪̦=̞̘̭̭̱̖̭:̤̦͖̦̘̻̈̽ͯ͒͂́ͅ/͔̞̪̈͑̑ͧ͒̈́̽͜/̂̐̏ͣ̾ͨ҉̟͍͖͈͖̠̰W̢̠̻͓͎̄E͉̱̘͈̽͛͑ͫ̉͑̚_̸̲̪̘̲̝͓̓̌А̘̯̲Rͨͤ̉̂̂ͩ́e̛̦͕̱̗͂̉#̔̾ͤͧͨ̈̇͢~͙͚̼̰̼̼̿ͭͭ̒̇ͧoffline. Computer core corruption detected. Def̓̾̎̓̌͏̳͙̺r̃̄̑͂͐ͦ͊͘α̥͎̑φш͎͓͎ͬе̱̤̞͎̰͓̜̅n̶̠̻̝̣͒̽ͣ̌ͯͥ̆t̃͐ͦ̒͏̹1̷̤̗̥̠͐͋̒̋͂n̦͇̳̘̱̅̾ͤ́ͯ̆gͪͭͮ́́...

---

Mission Timer: 0709
Manual Entry
"The fleet is gone. My ship is drifting. My crew is battered.

"Davin is alive.

"Everything I've done, all the horrible choices... I came so close... I could have destroyed the last thing in the galaxy that really matters and I never would have known. Siras... His blood is on my hands. His and countless others. How many innocents have I killed in service to this fvadt empire? How many... how many thousands?

"No more. Once Okhala is repaired I'm flying her straight to Federation space and surrendering. Alone, if I have to. The technicians say it should only be a few more hours before the computers come back online.

"I never thought I would be thankful for those ghastly Borg pieces."

---

Mission Timer: 1941
//Rebooting Mainframe...
A̠͍̺̞͚̱̪ͬ͘S̸̩̯̙S̕I͉̻̞͇̯̼ͤ̆̎͂ͣ̈́M̸͍I̘̥̭̗ͨ͜L̢͉ͪ́̇͌́̿͊A̻̘͠Ţ̦͐ͩ̎̔́͌̚Ī̠̣̤̤͌͋͊̿̌ͣN̛͔͎̮̮̹̺͎ͩ͊̐ͩͯG̐͝ ̷C̼̰̬̼͕̅ͅO̩̞M͔͍̪̳̲͆̈́ͮ͗ͬP̍Ṵ̩̖͈̣̈́̾̐̌T̢͕̭͇͙̓E͚͈̲͕͉R̮͍̟̥̤͋̔ ̪͓͎̹̗̲ͣ͂͠Ś͍͉̜̥Y͍̯͍̊̾ͭ͂͡S͋ͮ̀̀͛͒̕T̨̘̭̀̽ͩ̉̎͆ͥE̫͖M̺̼̝̩̓̈́́̋̀̉̌͘S̲͎̥͖̮̺̙̈́͘
::WARNING:: Malicious program detected. Purging memory buffer...
R̦̲͕͌ͮͧ́͊̐́Ë̪̹̱̝͙͓ͪͯ̏̊̆Sͪ̌͏͖̗͕̟ͅI̵̟͎͔̣͍ͦ̾̒͒̋́ͣͅṠ̩͎̱͉̦͐̃Ṱ̘̭͊̇ͯ̊͟Aͩ̾̉̽̽ͮ͐͏̮͚̘̟͎N̨͔̩͉̝̪͍͓ͣ̋͊C̲̬̺̝ͪ̿E̺̞̱͙͙̰̿ ̳̦͇̜̺̓͋̊̓͂͝Í͇̗̯͇̲́͂̋͝S̩̆̔̒̌̄ͧ̉ ̸͉̼͓̖͐͋̂ͭ̚F̩͇͉̌̐U̝͖̲ͮͫ̋͗Ṭ͖͎̥̈́͑I̤͉͕̝ͪ̒̒͛̉͐L͕͇͈͒̓̒̿͆ͮͬ͘ͅE̲̣̳͉̥̝ͣ
Restoring saved backup... ERR::Backup_not_F͊̾Ō̳̬͌̑ͫͬ͌̅͠Û̼̻̖͉͙̪̯ͤ̈ͥͨN̠̥̹̭̪͓ͩ̈́ͧͪ̀̔D̢̟̦̰̰̭͇̭̃
R̞͒̓̍ͦE̩̭̟̳̝̲̲͒ͩ͋͗̚͞W̾̊̿͗̎R͎̱̺̹̞̫̆̋̃̍̾̀Ī̷̮̮̘̤͎̼̉ͩT̖̙̈́̓̎̋I̢̝̿͑̊̉́̚N̝͌̈́G̍̎̔ͨ_̷̠̣̻͔̻̫S̘̻͍̉̕Y̬̥̪̘̐̉ͦͭ̀̅̈S̨̰̓ͥT̎E̴̤̣̪̻͎̓M͚̰̲̹͕͇̃͘_̣̜͕̝͈̮̄̄̆ͧͪ̀B̞̭̓̈ͥ̊͂̅Ĩ̥̖͖͛͂O̜̬̫͙͚͚Ś̞̘̞͛͐ͤ́̚
Critical e̘̤̟̬r̄r̷͎͎̲̍̋ͦ̽ͦò̗̥̭̖͓́ͅͅr̺̞̞̞̊ͭͯ̋ detected. Restarting system....̙̝̩̱͖̣͆ͤ̕.͍̋ͮͪ͒̄́ͨ͠.͜:̜̺̯̱̽̅̓:̖̥̦̪̘ͬ̑͂̃̀ͩͣ;ͪ̓͠/́̄̎͏/̦̞̜͚͎̠̟ͭ͛͝[̩̦͇̗̬>̘̿̃̈ͣ̽-~̖̘̘͙̤ͬ͒%̺̗̹̙ͯ&͖̘ͨ͗#̻̥̈́̑̀[̴̶̵̙̳̘͉̦̇́͌͆͛̐ͥͨͅ]̦̪̜̱̪̗͈͔̿͛͑̄͘͝͠<̣͔̠̰̮͆ͭ̌<̭̭͓̺̺̘̪͇̾͗͗̆͊̉ͯ̂ͤ͘v͚͉̓ͪ̾ͩ͛̃͠$͈̥̘̱ͣͨ̊ͫ̅̉̅͑͛͝͝&̣̮̩͉͕̯̻̈́ͨ̐͆ͣ̓͘¥̷̴̹̮̻͎͉̦̱̆̈́̽͛̊͘X̏̅͛̍͒͗̽̏̅͗̀҉̧̳̩̫͎͙͉͠ͅД̶̢̡̼̫̰͇̰̬̮̻̥͙͓͈̜̌̀̿͐̀͠͠А̵̨̨̺̠̹̲̣̯̩͉͇̃̓͒̓͗̏ͭͧ́͘В̵ͩ́̑̓͛ͯ́̇̅͐ͩ̋̈̔ͪ̆͜͡҉̜͈̰̻̯͍̙́А͗ͪͤͦ̀̑̋ͯ҉̡̺͔͙̞̠̤͔̜̖̳͓̮̤̰̕И̷̰̼͈̹̃̽̔ͥ̃ͩ̑̀̀͢͠Ж̦̤̣̣̻̙̄̓̐̏̿̓͆ͬ̉̋̆̚͜͡͡
//Reboot succ̹̪̘͔̗͔̳͞ẻ̖͎̩ͪͬ͆̓̒s͔̬̺̲̪̠ͬ̍̔͗ͅs̻̮̭̭̺̫̈̋ful. Scanning hardw̝̑͌̄̓ã̯̮͓̭̐ͯṛ̳̘̳̻̟̩e͖̻̰ͧ̈́͐ͨͦ́̋͞... Vinculum detected. Assimi̹̩̯͎͎̝͊̍̃͌l̘̹̽̐a̝͉͇̼͍ͪ̿ṱ͎̺̺̮̇͛̌̍ing... E͉̻͙ͣ̔̐͋̇R̺͎̯̱̳̺̿͂̈́̏͒ͩͅR͖̲̬͈͒̾ͮ_Primary - <<Objective not found. Searč͇̼̩͍͓̩̉ͮ̊ͨ̄͑h͉̩̼̩̭̮͊ͬ̉ͤi̟ͦ͆͝n̤̘̦̯͍̫ͮͤ͑g...
...
Located C̘̗̱̬̰͙̟M͋ͩ͏̳̥̫̳̗D̟͇͐͢_̷̦̜̘̖̪̜F̠̔̇I̹̟̩̥̟͋ͥ̔̋̓ͬͩͅL̓̍͌̇͒̓̀E̟͍͓̟͙̹̺ ̡͇̺̇̂ͯͪ́̚-̢̻̣͉͓̀̌̈ͪ̋ͤ ͂͡Ñ͈̣̗̯ͣ̆ͤ̈́͛O̞̖̿ͦ̄̀̚N̩͚̥̤̯ͨͯ̎̔͗̈́͞Š̢͎̟̱̝̞͈̱̉ͣͦ̅̄T̲͆̓͋ͅͅD̙̺̺ͬ̊̂ - [op:talon.hse]
Assimilating dir̊̄͒͊̔͠e̕c̷̾ͣͦͯt̛̞̣͖̯̳̦̻͂̃̄ị̭͎̻͙̱͢v̷͙̦̳͍͌es... Assimilating crew manifest...Assimilating creͫͮ̄͗͜w̏́̑̄҉͔̺̞͇.̷͎̤̠̜̻̳̯̰̥̳̙ͥͩ̄̉̀ͩ͊ͥ̐ͩ̍͆̿͒ͦ̃̄́͘͡ͅ.̨ͤ̄̓̃̓ͯ҉̴͚̥̻̤̲̕.̢̧̌ͥ͑̔ͯ͂̐ͤ̋̏͏̨̥̯͓͕̯̘̫̠̭̪̟̼̕ ̢̮̠̹̩̪̣̦̱̄̽̈͐ͧͣ͟

---

Mission Timer: 2213
Manual Entry
"Those fvadt faenna'm, they've killed us all.

"The Borg components, they weren't 'inert'. They weren't anything close to 'harmless'. I've lost contact with everything below deck five...

"I tried to check on repairs. The scientists were already running, the doctors the Tal Shiar sent us... The colonists from below... It would have been better if they were just drones... But they remembered. They were begging for death, even while they... We deserve this. All of us. This doom, we brought it upon ourselves. But Okhala... I can't let them get this ship back. It's grown, adapted, and...

"The Tal Shiar cannot have this ship. I won't let them. I'll... I'll... try to destabilize the singularity. Collapse the harness. If I can, I'll go for my shuttle. I created this monster, I know that. But maybe it's not too late to stop it. Ajoi...

"...Forgive me. Please... please forgive me. "

---

Mission Timer: 2249
//Plasma fire det̹ected, deck 6 aft. W̩̓̿̆̄ͫe̷͇̯̰͊ͧͪa̷͕ͦ̅ͬͣpons discharge detected, multiple decks.
R̴̙E͕Ş͇͖͇͙̝͖̟͋̏Í̛ͫ̂͛ͭȘ̹ͪ̃ͣ̓̈́̒͟Ṫ̛̼̎Á̠̞̹̱̹ͦ̇̄͆ͥ̏N̹͓͆̉͑ͬ͡C̼̩̅̇̀̊E̮ͤͧ͡_̛̞̘ͮ͆̄ͬ̿̌͌I͑̈́̈́͜Ş͖̇̏̽ͣ_̢͂ͩF̲̳̝Ų̬͐ͥ͗T̺͚̲̞͑̍͊̐ͩ̾̓I̥̘̹̩ͥ̉̿̅L̞͚̰͍̫̖͎͌̆̌Ḛ̗͎͇̀ͭ͛͋́̚
::WARNING:: Damage detected, enginȇ̼ͮ͐͊̉̿ͫe̤̐͊r̨̜̬͇͖̾ͣ͛ͅi̺̖͇̲̣̔̈́̆̀ͅn̡͍̒̅̔̐̀ͯ̄g section. Security teams e̸̫̯̙͍͇̤͎̔́̎̓n̢͉̺̖̫̥͗́ͪͬ route.
Y̖͚̤̼̘̳̥ͮͦ͟O͓̟ͨͤͮͨͨ͢U͖ͪ͐̉_̬̘̇͒͂ͣͫW͜I̪L̞̖̘̜̘̪̳͛̿ͥL̬̱̼͉̫̪̓̆̍ͦ_̵̯͎̼̠͍̟̳̍ͩ͑B̦͐̾͆ͤ́E̸̳̎̌̀ͪ͊_̢̻͉͖̮̆̓͒̓A̯̺̠̦̫̔̂ͫͤͯ̌̕S̴̮̺̠͓̹̮̓ͬ̒̋ͅS̊I̦̝̯̪͚̱M̧̯͕I̶̻̺̹͚̙L̈́͂ͧ̊ͭ̔A̠̜ͤ̒̽̐ͭ̈́T͇̹̘̲̦̔̄Ẽ̜̤̙̪͙D̸̦͔̜͚͓͇

---

Mission Timer: 2406
//All syste͎͗̾ͣ̊m̎̋̽̌̀ͥ҉̰̭͍s̴̪̼̭̺̃ͫ̉̏ ̘̺ͩ̄͑n͉̱̘͌ͣͯ̿ͪo̳̼͗m̯̲̐͋͐͆̀͌̉i̽̔͌͠nal. Preparing for warp. Destination - Artaļ̬͎̺̃i̧͓̭͚̮̲̱̿̇̋̐ͫẽ̩̹̭̣̥ͮ̊̿ͧ́rh

Ẅ̷̫̓͌Eͯ̆ͮ̊̐ͦͩ_̳̞̫̜͉ͭ̾A͉͈̭̘̻̦͙͊̉͗͜Ŕ̟͍̫̦̲̟̐͆̚͠E̙̬͕̹ͥ͒_̙̦̼̝͔ͮ̆̚Ǒ̵̘̯̬K͓̪̋Ḧ̱̖̗͔͚́ͅǍL̫̼̱͓̖̳̑ͅA͕͚̳ͮ́

[Davin]

---

Part IV: Siras

---

Blank Slate

Spoiler: Show

Warm sun, cool breeze, bright blue sky. What more could you want in a Class M planet? It certainly didn't hurt that the world lay on the farther edge of the Neutral Zone, presumably out of reach of the Star Empires broken arms.

"Well. It's a big hole." Siras knocked back a gulp from Val's old flask and twisted the cap shut. Ahead of him the forest opened up into a gaping granite abyss, a few square miles of void in an otherwise pristine wilderness. Lieutenant Juraen, his guide, lifted a rock from the edge of the pit, a fist sized stone from a jagged outcropping of bedrock that time and the seasons had stripped of topsoil. He tossed it idly, once, twice, and then hurled it silently into the perfect cube of the chasm.

"From what I've heard, it used to be a Federation colony."

"What, did they decide moving out would be too much trouble and tractor the fvadt thing into orbit?"

"No. The Borg did."

"Oh." Siras unscrewed the flask again. Another sip of warm, flowery ale helped him back away from the precipice. "Let's not go spreading that around, eh?" Juraen nodded. As unstable as the stone lip of the pit looked Juraen navigated it with an uncanny certainty, the sort that reminded him of the big Vulcan cats D'Kera had been fascinated with.

"Not a fan of heights?" Juraen must have spotted his grimace.

"Wouldn't be much of a pilot if I wasn't," he shot back. "Come on. Nothing worth seeing here."

Siras hadn't taken much care inspecting the pit on the way in, but taking off he was sure to circle it. From high above in the cockpit of his shuttle it just looked like a hole, maybe a strip mine or an open air quarry. The sheer walls gave little to guage depth by, and water filled the lowest depths of the open chasm. A wavering emerald shuttle passed below them somewhere past the cerulean surface of that stone pool, but Siras paid it no mind. Instead he hit the throttle.

"Something on your mind?" Juraen looked back at him from the forward seat, what would have been the gunners seat on an armed shuttle. What would have been his own seat a lifetime ago.

"Why do you have to be so fvadt observant, huh?"

"You're leading the survey, Sir. If you have any issues with the location-"

"The place is perfect," Siras interjected. He let out a sigh. Better to take the knife now than suffer a thousand razors on the flight back. "I'm thinking about who isn't here with us." A hand went for his jacket, and Siras watched Juraens disbelief as he knocked back a swig from his flask.

"Sir, should you be-"

"Ah! Who's the war hero, huh? I'll get us back just fine. Breathe easy, kid." Siras tipped the flask his way, and Juraen dutifully refused.

The rest of the flight was silent, as was the young lieutenants own flight from the cabin once they had touched down. Siras just took his time. He watched the infant city bustle, its buildings rising up like spring flowers, towers like vines climbing the sheer sides of the plateaus that sheltered the green valley below. It might not have been Rator, or even Artalierh, but it was free. It was hope.

It was just a shame not everyone had made it.