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 <BOOKMARK:Chapter36>
 <fs x-large>**Chapter 36: Dark Horizon**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+**Location: Sector 33, Eight periods out of Epsilon Draconis (Romulan Neutral Zone)**\\
+**Timeframe: Present Day**
+Against the black backdrop of space, nearly two-dozen elongated gray shapes slowly plowed the vacuum between stars towards an unknown destination. Each silhouette was composed of over one hundred evenly-spaced interlocked cargo modules held together with a backbone dorsal superstructure that held aloft a pair of warp nacelles and interlaced machinery platforms. Spanning nearly a third of a kilometer long, these ships did not contain any sign of habitation compartments, and plainly absent was any lighted viewport or bridge deck. The only illumination came from the standard locator strobes at the fore, aft, port, and starboard ends, as well as the identification spotlights highlighting a set of naval construction codes reading "STARFLEET MATERIAL COMMAND - UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS". No ship names were visible.
+At the lead of this austere fleet was a vessel class well-known throughout the space lanes as a Midway-Class Cargo Carrier; one of the few freighter classes actually operated by Starfleet proper rather than independent merchants. In service since the early part of the 24th century, they were manned with a crew of about twelve officers, and outfitted with standard light weaponry and moderate shielding for Federation missions outside the standard commercial lanes. This vessel class boasted the signature Starfleet saucer section, but also possessed a stretched secondary hull composed of a pair of huge cargo bulkheads that terminated with the usual dual-paired warp nacelles. The hull of this particular ship displayed the stenciled letters "NCC-42111" across its bow, with the name "USS LIBERTY" directly below.
+Onboard the tiny bridge of the cargo vessel Liberty were four console stations, a captain's chair, and a single turbolift door. Unlike the bustling command center of a full-blown starship, this Starfleet freighter was the very antithesis of spacious, offering barely enough room for the three officers currently occupying the deck to perform their duties.
+"I just don't get it," the young, twenty-something ensign in command red commented at the helm station. "Starfleet has tens of thousands of starships flying to the far reaches of space, exploring new worlds and civilizations, and we're stuck leading a robotic freighter fleet through the most boring stretch of vacuum imaginable."
+Seated in the command chair was a lantern-jawed senior officer with a receding hairline, carrying with him the air of a seasoned spaceship commander. It was none other than Captain Gerald Harding the Third, a grizzled officer who, after a long stint as an academy professor, followed his call to the stars by relegating himself to meager postings to sate his adventurous spirit prior to retirement. Raising an amused eyebrow, the captain responded to the helmsman, "And you don't think a mere freighter has any place in the greater purpose of Starfleet? Ensign, this fleet represents one of the first major trade missions between the Federation and the Romulan Empire. Isn't that important enough for you?"
+"Maybe that's alright for a veteran who's capping off his career," remarked the naive helmsman, much to the indignant scowl from his skipper. "But for someone who's fresh out of the academy, it's a hit below the belt to be at the controls of the slowest-moving machine in the fleet. Besides, it's not like we're hauling gold-pressed latinum. It's nothing but a bunch of rocks."
+"These 'rocks'," prompted the captain sternly, "Are mineral resources that comprises every hull of every starship in the fleet. Without the raw materials processed from this ore, there would be no Starfleet, no starbases, let alone any single vessel capable of interstellar travel. I'd suggest that you consider the rest of the Federation in your judgement of your current posting, ensign."
+"Hmm," grumbled the young officer. "I'm probably the only graduate from my cadet class who has to argue with two dozen independent flight computers while trying to coax them to follow you all over the galaxy and back. I just wish something interesting would happen for once."
+"As long as it's not 'Chinese interesting'," the captain remarked, recalling a proverb from one of his academy cadets during his stint as an instructor back on Earth. Regardless of his mischievousness, John Carter was one of the best students in his Federation history class those many years ago.
+"You may yet get your wish, ensign," piped in the lieutenant in sciences blue sitting at the sensor station. "I've been tracking a slow-moving ion storm in sector eleven. It turns out that we're receiving an intermittent subspace signal from within. I think it's a distress call."
+"Put it on speakers," ordered the captain.
+//"This is the passenger liner Gondola thirty-three periods out of Archer Four. Our flux chillers have been heavily damaged from ion radiation, and our deuterium tanks are nearly empty. Life support batteries will only last another twelve hours, and we have 324 souls aboard. Requesting emergency assistance from any vessel in the area... please respond."//
+"Lieutenant?" the captain turned to the science officer.
+"According to the Merchant Marine channel, the Gondola was reported missing three days ago. They could have drifted coreward from their original course and ended up here."
+"Contact listening post Morena," he ordered. "See if there are any starships in the vicinity that could help."
+The ensign at the helm grunted with displeasure.
+"Easy there, ensign," the captain soothed him. "There are over 300 civilians aboard that vessel. If there's any other ship better equipped to accommodate them, I'd rather have *them* respond. Nothing would be more uncomfortable for us than to host a bunch of tourists on a freighter designed for only twelve crew."
+"Morena reports negative, sir," the lieutenant reported back to his skipper. "We're the only ship within five sectors that can respond in time."
+Frustrated, the captain rubbed his forehead in thought. "We'll have to use the whole freighter fleet," he grumbled to himself. "Lieutenant, contact the flight computers of the other vessels and program them to activate their life support modules. It'll be cramped and spartan, but we should be able to host the Gondola's passengers if we can't supplement their batteries."
+"Aye, sir," the lieutenant replied.
+"Ensign," continued the captain. "It looks like you'll get your wish after all. Plot an intercept course for the fleet and take us in at best speed."
+"Aye, sir!" the youngster smiled, happy to finally utilize some of his academy training.
+----
+Within twenty minutes, the fleet of robotic Starfleet freighters, together with their manned lead vessel, the USS Liberty, closed the gap between the ion storm and their original position prior to embarking upon the mission to rescue the stricken spaceliner.
+"All shields to maximum," announced the captain with stern confidence, as the bridge softly vibrated due to the ion turbulence.
+"Course steady," echoed the ensign at helm. "All ships in the fleet are on a nominal approach vector."
+"Distance: ten thousand kilometers and closing," announced the lieutenant at the science console.
+"Engineering," the captain tapped the intercom on his armrest. "Standby tractor beams. We'll pull it clear of the ion storm before beginning transporter operations."
+"There it is!" exclaimed the young helmsman.
+On the large screen at the front of the small and cramped bridge, wispy luminescent clouds of hydrogen ions danced off the hull of a gleaming silver space vessel with a plethora of viewports and observations domes scattered its surface. The sleek shape was vaguely reminiscent of a Sovereign-Class starship, yet instead of deflector arrays and torpedo launchers, luxury shuttle bays and docking stations for personal craft adorned the crisp, clean superstructure. Emblazoned on either side was the livery of Galactic Cruise Liners, and the vessel's name, the S.S. Gondola, was stenciled across the bow.
+As the distorted images flickered from the ionic disturbances outside, over a dozen fuzzy elongated shapes came into view out beyond the space-liner's position. They were somewhat rectangular in conformation, but the distance compounded by the ion storm failed to reveal any more detail.
+"What are those?" the ensign at the helm asked.
+"They look like ore freighters," the captain replied, quizzically turning to the science officer behind him. "Are we seeing a sensor echo from our own robotic fleet?"
+"Possible," the lieutenant replied, looking into the sensor scope. "Their spacing and proximity are similar to our own beyond the sensor parallax, but I can't confirm without performing a diagnostic."
+"Do it," remarked the captain as he tapped a button on his armrest. A boatswain whistle sounded over the intercom as he opened the the channel to the rest of his dozen or so crew aboard the manned freighter. "Attention all hands. Once we're clear of the ion storm, prepare to take on visitors from the stranded space-liner. Please make them as comfortable as possible. Bridge out."
+"Tractor beam ready, sir," the helmsman alerted the skipper. As he looked between the monitor and his instruments, a frown formed on his face. The tractor beam targeting computer was registering multiple target choices instead of just one, and before his eyes, they were multiplying. "What the heck are those?"
+On the screen in front, numerous pin-pricks of light were swarming around the distant freighter echoes, growing brighter and more luminescent as they grew near. Their flight path was erratic, but one thing was clear: They weren't echos, and they were heading straight towards them.
+"Evasive action!" shouted the captain, but it was too late.
+Outside, luminous streaks of yellow light heralded the arrival of numerous honeycombed-shaped fighter craft, each on a direct collision course with the Liberty. The shields of the cargo carrier barely glimmered as the suicidal craft punched gaping holes in the energy field, impacting on the hull shortly afterwards.
+One fighter impact released enough antimatter comparable with a photon torpedo from a Galaxy Class starship. One explosion alone might have limited the damage enough for the Liberty to escape her fate. Two were enough to cause grievous harm to many of her vital systems. Unfortunately, as over a dozen honeycomb fighters impaled themselves onto the helpless ship, blinding explosive forces stripped away her bulkheads in multi-deck layers, sending a cascade of fiery orange and red embers in all directions. In one cacophonous secondary blast, the antimatter containment core of the Liberty was breached, reducing the vessel to lifeless debris field that dispersed rapidly within the colorful electromagnetic forces of the raging ion storm.
+----
+**Location: Listening Post Morena, Sector 31**
+Slowly orbiting a distant gas giant star, a cylindrical vessel with a multitude of solar arrays and communications antennas drifted steadily forward on its wide, circular course through space. The half-kilometer long structure housed many lighted portals and viewports, and the top end terminated with a crowned dome that signified a definitive command deck in the traditional Starfleet bridge design. Within the station's nerve center, the walls were lined with discrete control panels and monitoring stations, several of which were manned by uniformed officers.
+One console in particular incorporated a large monitor with the familiar LCARS digital border, and contained the title "ION METEOROLOGY: SECTOR 11". Displayed within the borders was a gridded block of space with a computer-rendered feature reminiscent of a fog bank. The feature had a border that extended from the top to the bottom of the screen, with black star-speckled space to the left, and patchy, translucent-white patterns to the right that fluctuated with intensity and brightness with each passing second. Occasionally, a computer-rendered box outline would appear within the borders of the "fog", followed by offset text displaying "EVENT INTENSITY" and a nondescript number below. The size of each box was incremental to the intensity number displayed, suggesting that some random, turbulent phenomena was occurring within.
+Focused on this spectacle was a red-bearded lieutenant in operations gold, whose face was filled with concern and consternation, and his hand was hovering over the communications panel as he pressed the transmit button.
+"Morena to Cargo Vessel Liberty, can you hear us?" the officer carefully transmitted over the open subspace channel while keeping his eyes on the screen ahead. "Liberty, please respond."
+Behind him, a commander with short curly black hair crossed his arms in frustration, nervously stroking the red piping on his cuff. He paced back and forth behind the seated junior officer, expressing his anxiousness with a heavy sigh.
+"They've been in the ion storm for a half an hour," he exclaimed. "What's taking them so long?"
+"Shall I send out a general distress call for a rescue ship?" asked the lieutenant.
+"I doubt they'll be able to arrive in less than a day," the commander remarked. "Give them another ten minutes, then launch a class one probe."
+"Aye, sir."
+At about that time, the long range sensor console lit up. "Sir!" a ensign announced with excitement from a console station twenty feet away. "Sensor contact in Sector Eleven! Bearing zero-eight-six mark four. Telemetry reads a freighter-class vessel."
+"The Liberty?" whispered the commander
+"Same size, sir," the lieutenant at the ion meteorology scanner remarked. "Just no subspace communications uplink or navigational transponder code."
+The console warbled as several computer-generated pixels emerged from the storm front on the screen ahead.
+"More contacts, sir," the officer jumped on his controls. "Multiple ships. It looks like the whole fleet survived the storm."
+"But still no communications?" the commander remarked.
+Raising his eyebrow in thought, the lieutenant turned to his superior. "The ion surges in the storm could have damaged their transmitters."
+"Comm, see if you can raise them on guard frequencies."
+"Nothing on guard frequencies, sir," responded the ensign in operations gold. "But I am receiving a weak voice communiquÃ© on the subspace carrier channel."
+"The carrier channel?" frowned the commander. "That's supposed to be for binary signal data only. You say there's a voice message on it?"
+"Yes sir," he remarked. "And they're calling us specifically."
+"On speakers!"
+//"Morena control, Morena control. This is the USS Liberty on carrier beacon channel one-two-eight-point-zero, do you copy? Morena control, please respond."//
+"Liberty, this is Morena," transmitted the lieutenant seated at the meteorology console. "We read you. What is your status?"
+//"The spaceliner Golanda is safe, but it suffered major damage to engines, power, and central computer services. We're going to give her a tow to sector zero-zero-two-five-eight."//
+"What is your condition?" the lieutenant asked. "There were several high-intensity ion discharges while you were in the storm, and we thought we lost you."
+//"We have minor damage to our flux chillers and deflector emitters, but the most notable impacts were to our computers and communications systems. We've still retained remote control of the drone freighters, but the storm overloaded our Chamber's coil and navigational transmitters. We've only got our subspace carrier beacon for long distance comm traffic."//
+The officer looked back to his superior, his eyebrow arching in realization that his previous conclusion about a communications outage was correct.
+"With only their beacon, that explains the lack of a navigational network uplink," reasoned the commander. "Have them reset their transponder to a frequency that will transmit over their carrier beacon, then arrange for repairs at their next stop."
+The lieutenant carried out his order and re-opened the channel. "Liberty, this is Morena. Set your transponder to zero-niner-sigma-two-seven-eight, and re-transmit over carrier frequency one-two-one-five. What is your next port-of-call?"
+A silence persisted for about five seconds before an answer came.
+//"The Coridan ore processing station."//
+The commander nodded. "As good a place as any. Record the change in the navigational tracking network."
+"Liberty," the lieutenant relayed. "Coridan will be appraised of your situation, and we advise a full repair to your comm system when you arrive. They'd appreciate notification of any changes to your course en route."
+//"Morena control, understood and thank you for your help..."//
+\\
+\\
+\\
+**Location: Main bridge, unregistered ore freighter, sector 11**
+"...We will reset our transponder beacon as directed, and implement repairs as soon as possible. Liberty out."
+The half-Romulan, half-Klingon communications officer was tense as she closed the channel to Morena, knowing full well that if she slipped up in her subterfuge, her cover would be blown. Immediately, she keyed in the newly-assigned transponder code unwittingly provided by the Starfleet listening post, and set the subspace carrier beacon to the requested frequency. The entire bridge crew was glued to the main screen, which displayed a tactical schematic of the entire sector, showing the freighter and her subsequent sister vessels as a group of sensor contacts with the computerized labels "UNKNOWN CONTACT". As the Federation navigation network received the new beacon code, the sector tracking grid switched its label for the ore freighter to "USS LIBERTY". Subsequently, every other vessel in the fleet was automatically updated with the labels "FREIGHTER DRONE - USS LIBERTY", and the label for the captured spaceliner Golanda was re-christened with her previous registry.
+It took only a few seconds of gawking at the screen before a wide smile crept across the communications officer's face. "We did it!" she exclaimed with excitement. "We did it! We're across the border!" As the realization of their accomplishment settled in, the rest of the bridge crew erupted into shouts of victory and celebration. Everyone, that is, except for Shavis, who sat in the command chair with his air of masterful certainty. The mysterious despot didn't even raise the corners of his lips during the celebration, point in fact, he simply brushed his mutton-chop beard with his hand, waiting for the excitement to settle before giving his next order.
+"Put me on speakers to all vessels in the fleet."
+"Attention everyone: We have successfully crossed into Federation space. The plan has exceeded our wildest expectations, and the human hegemony are unaware of what awaits them. The fleet will rally and disperse in momentarily, and your destinations will be revealed on a coded frequency. Thanks to your hard work, Faro's dream will soon become a reality. You all have earned your place as acolytes of the New Dawn. That is all."
+Nodding to the communications officer, the channel closed, and Shavis turned back towards the command chair. However, before he could sit, a new comm signal chirped, and the officer announced, "new signal from one of our ships, your highness."
+"What?" Shavis spun around. "I ordered silent running! Who's transmitting?"
+"It's Klaa, sir," she replied. "His signal is priority one."
+Shavis nodded to indicate his wish to open a channel. On the screen, a lanky, grizzled old Klingon with a scar across his cranial ridge stared back with penetrating eyes. Although Klingons aren't known for smiling on a regular basis, this particular one showed no sign of having ever smiled, and simply glowered towards Shavis with tired, resigned eyes.
+"What is it?" asked Shavis coldly. "And it better be good."
+//"My ship's engines were damaged during the ion storm,"// explained the vexed Klingon. It was clear that he did not delight in explaining the news to his sovereign. //"We won't be able to make it to the rally point with the rest of the ships."//
+Shavis felt the burning rage inside him. Glaring with his ebony black eyes, he watched the warrior on the screen reach for his sacrificial blade in anticipation of his own death at Shavis's order. However, as the fearful glances around the bridge looked at the prince expectantly, the fury within Shavis slowly subsided at the realization that his followers had already proven themselves worthy by helping him get this far into Federation space. They had done everything he had asked of them, and there was no need to prove a point anymore. They were all committed to him, and were worthy of the ultimate sacrifice he had in store for them.
+"You've done well, Klaa," Shavis said to the surprise of the crew around him. The ship that the Klingon was commanding possessed the most prized weapon of his entire fleet, and Shavis relished for months the anticipation of using it against his most hated enemy. However, as fate would have it, the entire fleet survived first contact with their nemesis completely intact, and so, even with the current setback, their plan could still be implemented. While he may have wanted to completely eradicate all life on the homeworld of the Federation, it occurred to him that there were many benefits in having survivors as witness to the suffering he would bestow. "What's the maximum distance you can reach with your current engine status?"
+//"We can go as far as Benecia Colony."//
+Shavis smiled. It was perfect. One of the Federation's oldest and most prized colony worlds. What better way to explain to an arrogant parent that their end was near by extinguishing the life of one of their offspring? Instead of relishing in the destruction of his enemy, he would see the pain an horror in their eyes before he met his own fate.
+"Then Benecia it shall be," concluded Shavis. "Go forth my friend, and show the humans that they no longer rule your people. Qapla!"
+//"For the New Dawn,"// bowed Captain Klaa before the transmission ended.
+Calmly, Shavis returned to the command seat and gave his next order. "Comm, contact the Gondola and freighters eight through eleven, and have them take up formation alongside us for the next leg of our journey. Send the destination orders to the rest fleet, and instruct them to disperse to their destinations as soon as they can get underway."
+"Right away, your highness," the officer replied.
+"Helm," Shavis turned his attention to the ship's navigator. With a sly stroke of his beard, a toxic smile crept across his face as he focused his eyes on the screen ahead. "Set course for sector zero-zero-one, and engage at best possible speed."
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 <BOOKMARK:Chapter37>
 <fs x-large>**Chapter 37: Hunting High and Low**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+**Location: IRV Darkwing, near Epsilon Draconis, Romulan Neutral Zone**
+"You're sure we have to go through the storm?" Charvanek t'Rllaillieu asked, leaning forward in her scout ship's command chair. Strictly speaking of course, the ship wasn't hers, but, for the time being, she was in command. This was another function of the elusive Romulan concept of "mnhei'sahe".
+Though generally understood by the wider galaxy to mean 'honor', those who still adhered to the belief knew that it was far more complicated. Nonetheless, it was in service of this 'honor' that Darkwing's captain had temporarily given his post, and that of his helmsman, to Charvanek and her son, despite the lunacy of their mission. Darkwing's captain was doing "what was necessary". His mnhei'sahe.
+At Darkwing's helm station, Shen t'Rllaillieu cocked his eyebrow. "Do you want to get there or not? Uh... Captain." Shen shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was on an Imperial Romulan Vessel, not the deck of the Tranquility. There were people around him who would gladly show him out an airlock, for far less then not showing his captain, mother or not, the respect due her station.
+Looking at the screen, Charvanek nodded grimly. "I would prefer to, yes." She said flatly.
+"Then we have to go through the storm." Shen clarified. "Going around would make the timetable for the mission useless. Assuming the intelligence was correct in the first place."
+Charvanek set her gaze on the forward viewer. "In we go then."
+The charged particles that made up an ion storm typically made warp travel impossible, and eddies and currents within the storm made relativistic travel almost as dangerous. Crossing the threshold of the storm the crew of the Darkwing braced themselves. While they were jostled and buffeted, no one on the bridge seemed worse for wear, and for the moment, the ship's systems stayed green.
+Over the groans of stressed metal and other noise, Shen shouted for his captain's attention. "Captain! Sensor contact! Dead Ahead!"
+Rather than call for the image to be displayed, Charvanek keyed a control on the arm of her chair and showed it herself. On the ship's main viewer, a wide field of debris was also at the mercy of the ion storm. "Hmm, big." She commented. "Identify."
+On most Romulan ships, the helmsman was in charge of steering the vessel and if necessary, firing her weapons. Navigators were tasked with charting and updating the ship's course, and unlike the Federation or Klingon navies, were also charged with making sense of the ship's sensor data. At this moment, a young officer named Kiska checked her display. "Debris indicates a Federation design, Captain," she explained. "No sign of log buoy or data recorders."
+"Good luck finding those in this feldercarb." Shen cursed, even as he caused the ship to dip and weave, avoiding what at one time must have been the ship's port warp assembly.
+"Did the storm destroy them?" Charvanek asked.
+Kiska shook her head, her single tight braid of brown hair slipping over her left shoulder as she moved. "Doubtful, Captain. This much mass indicates an ore hauler or some other commercial ship. "Even if she stopped dead, this storm is Force Two at best. No threat to something that big."
+"Hmm." Charvanek's voice was grim. "Pirates, then?"
+Again, Kiska shook her head in the negative. "The ore might have been valuable once processed, but not in it's raw state. Why would they bother?"
+There was an odd flash of movement on the screen as Shen was again forced to pitch the scout ship down and to port. Though no one could see it, there was a smile on his face. Then he spoke up. "Did anyone else see that?"
+Kiska brought her head up from the sensor display, her face screwed into a look of disapproval. "It's an ION STORM." She quipped. "There's nothing to see."
+"Thought I made out a hull number...Captain." Eventually, Shen thought, he'd remember to add the honorific.
+Charvanek leaned back in her chair, confident enough in her son's piloting skill. Her fingers flew across her own chair display. On the small screen, she called up the visible light data from Darkwing's sensors. As Kiska had observed, the details to the naked eye were indeed few and far between. Washes of tachyons and flashes of other charged particles within the storm obscured whatever might have been out there.
+And then, there it was, just as Shen had observed. A piece of hull plating with visible markings. '...erty NCC-421...'
+'Raptors eyes!' Charvanek thought silently. 'The boy is sharp as ever.' The Captain smiled. "Well spotted Shen," she commented. "A Federation ship it is. Freighter, most likely. Noted and logged."
+Kiska lifted her head again, this time looking over her shoulder, back to the Captain. "With respect, Commander..." her voice trailed off.
+"Speak, Navigator." The Commander said firmly.
+"Shouldn't we... tell someone?"
+The Commander almost smiled. 'Refreshing.' She thought again. 'The girl clearly means to do the right thing. So naive.' She cleared her throat. "In a different time, perhaps," the Commander commented. "But this mission, this SHIP isn't officially here, and I'm not inclined to do the Federation any more favors in this lifetime."
+And with that, the matter was settled. Darkwing would continue on her mission, and no other events would delay or deter the endeavor.
+"Understood, Captain." Kiska did her best to hide her disappointment at the rebuke, but the Commander was well within her rights. There had been no distress call, no sign of live crew, and no evidence of Romulan involvement. In human parlance, this affair simply 'wasn't their problem.'
+\\
+\\
+\\
+**Location: Personal flier 'Aerosprite', Rho Tucanae system, Romulan Space**\\
+**Timeframe: Ten hours later**
+Tomaleth rubbed his temples as he stared at the uncooperative computer screen. It had taken a sizable portion of his personal wealth to gain access to secured Starfleet PERSCOMM files, and now, they were apparently useless. He squinted again through his frustration, all but willing the characters on the screen to tell him what he wanted, but the information remained unchanged.
+"I've been had!" Tomaleth bellowed. He was the only one in the room. "Years of planning, months of bribing, maneuvering, and plotting, and for what? Nothing!"
+In a fit of rage, Tomaleth balled his fingers into a tight fist and shoved it through the screen. There was a small electronic 'pop' as circuits failed, crystal cracked, and the screen went dead. In his stateroom, the lights flickered and a thin haze of smoke filled the air.
+Tomaleth spat out a curse as he pulled his hand from the shattered data unit. A few small shards of glass were stuck in his knuckles, and rivulets of dark green blood began to flow down his fingers. He screamed again; this time, out of pain, rather than anger.
+As the disgraced former officer stood up from his desk, the door to his room slid open. A frantic looking young Romulan stepped quickly into the room, waving the smoke from his eyes. "Tomaleth? Was that you? Wha..." he coughed as the smoke reached his nostrils. "What happened?"
+At the far wall, Tomaleth was holding his hand under the refresher unit, trying to staunch the bleeding. He rolled his eyes as his annoyance began to boil over. "Calm DOWN, Veln!" He barked at the youngster. "I'm fine."
+Following his return to Romulan space, Tomaleth had been forced to call in every personal and political favor he'd accumulated during his thirty-plus year career in the Romulan Navy to keep from ending up on the wrong end of a disruptor squad. One of the favors he'd had to make good on was taking Veln t'Gahth on as his personal assistant.
+Veln's father, an over-ambitious Senator with a talent for blackmail, but not much else, had dreams of bringing the Federation to it's knees by exploiting the corruption and vice that MUST have lurked beneath the UFP's all-too sterling exterior. The Senator saw Tomaleth as a means to an end, and had hoped that Veln would learn by doing. Sadly, the things Veln had done were more likely to see him as the victim OF blackmail, rather then profiting from it.
+Of all the things that Tomaleth could say about Veln, at least the boy was loyal. Something, Tomaleth noted, that his father never had been. Tomaleth winced as his young assistant took his hand and tried to assess the wound.
+"Here, let me." Veln instructed as he tilted the older man's hand this way and that under the light. "What happened?"
+Tomaleth grumbled. "I'll tell you what happened!" He rasped. "Our Ferengi friend sold us a bill of goods!"
+Veln looked concerned at more than his mentor's wound. "The codes didn't work? Could you not get into the Starfleet Database?"
+Tomaleth inhaled sharply as he pulled his hand away from the boy's attention. "Bah!" he yelled again. "A forgery to be sure, and a bad one at that!"
+Veln knelt down, looking under the refresher for a synthskin tube, standard on most personal craft of this class. "What do you mean?" He asked as he searched.
+"Does that Ferengi worm really expect me to believe that Carter's woman hasn't been home on leave in three years? In fact," he added, "she hasn't been ANYWHERE."
+Finding the first-aid box, Veln stood up and set it on the corner of the refresher unit. "What?" He asked in genuine confusion, even as he pulled the small blue tube from its case.
+"It's simply impossible." Tomaleth continued. "In that same amount of time, Carter, Roth, Cromwell...everyone else on that accursed ship has been all over the quadrant!"
+Veln nodded as he sprayed the contents of the tube across Tomaleth's bleeding knuckles. "But not Doctor Harris?" He confirmed. "Perhaps she has no family left on Earth. It doesn't sound THAT unusual." He offered.
+"OW!" Tomaleth objected as the blue spray hit his wound. Almost instantly, the antiseptic polymer disinfected and then covered the naval veteran's wound with synthetic skin. Tomaleth shook his hand back and forth, flexing his fingers to try and ease the pain. "It's not just that," he explained. "There have been conferences, symposia, even social engagements with other crewmen, but..."
+"But what?" Veln looked on, confused. "So, she doesn't socialize?"
+"She doesn't do ANYTHING!" Tomaleth spat. "It's almost as if she never leaves the ship!"
+"Well," Veln stepped over to the damaged wall unit, crossing his arms in front of him, wondering how he'd explain the damages to his father. "That does seem...unlikely." He confirmed.
+"Unlikely? It's RIDICULOUS! And that... Ferengi! He thought I wouldn't notice. Played me for a... " Tomaleth's voice dropped to a furious boil. "I'll kill him." He explained firmly. "No, no...I'll skin him alive, and use his ears to decorate my study." Tomaleth's voice seemed to trail off as he reveled in the new levels of pain he would introduce the foolish broker to.
+Meanwhile Veln stroked the bottom of his chin. "Then, it's a good thing you didn't kill the Earther."
+Tomaleth snapped out of his masochistic fugue. "What?" Tomaleth blinked.
+"McTaggart," Veln clarified. "Since you didn't kill him..."
+"Which I SHOULD have!"
+"But since you DIDN'T... he's an asset." Veln turned to face the elder Romulan, his eyes flashing with possibility. "This is perfect. All of your digging indicates that he's Carter's protege. Trusted no doubt with privileged information. We just have to find it, that's all."
+Tomaleth's eyes narrowed. Could this... boy, be on to something? After all, playing a long game had gotten him quite far. Could it be that he'd been so bent on making John Carter pay NOW, that he'd lost sight of the goal? "Hrmm..." was all he managed to let out as he brushed his doubts from his mind. "And what would you do then?"
+\\
+\\
+\\
+**Location: IRV Darkwing, entering the Rho Tucanae system**
+Shen t'Rllaillieu checked his helm display, looked to his left to give Kiska a glance, then spoke up. "Transition to sub-light complete, Captain. Cloak is engaged."
+"Excellent." Charvanek smiled as she stood from the command chair. "Navigator," she asked as she stepped down from the chair's platform, "any sign of our query?"
+Kiska didn't bother to look up from the sensor display. "Confirmed, Captain. One craft in system matching expected configuration. Personal craft. Inter-system yacht. A modified courier ship by the looks of her." She paused a she looked over the rest of the incoming data. "Navigational deflectors only. One civilian grade disruptor emitter." At that moment, she looked up from the sensor scope. "They appear to be unaware of us."
+Charvanek nodded. "Just as it should be." The Commander moved toward the hatch to make her way toward the ship's 'neck' and from there, to the small scout's transporter room. She paused as the doors opened, picking up a leather belt from an equipment rack on the wall. "I want a detailed scan." She ordered, as she fastened the belt around her waist. A scabbard and sword hung from her right hip, a hundred-year-old disruptor pistol from her left. She slipped the pistol from its holster, checking the weapon's charge.
+"You will confirm the location of the human, order battle conditions, and commence transport." The commander's orders were crisp and precise.
+At the Navigator's station, Kiska simply nodded.
+"Shen," Charvanek confirmed. "Target engines and communications ONLY. I'd rather not have go to war against the Empire if you please."
+Shen's shoulder's dropped as he sighed. "Well, alright...THIS time, Captain." Shen was barely able to contain the chortle in his throat, or the smile on his face.
+"Thank you." Charvanek said as she left the bridge.
+A few seconds went by as Kiska alternated looking at the sensor display, then to Shen. More seconds went by before the dark-haired navigator spoke. "You're not..." She turned her head, looking back to the door. "She's going alone?"
+Shen kept his eyes on the viewer. "That's the way she wants it. Unless you want to go with her?" That point was never really in question. "Of course," the helmsman continued, "she won't be going anywhere if you don't find the Earther."
+Kiska felt her eyebrow arch. "You're both mad, you realize that?"
+Shen simply nodded. "Oh, yes."
+----
+In the flier's small infirmary, Veln patted gently at Sean McTaggart's cheek. The lighting in the room was kept low, the temperature hot, by human standards. McTaggart himself was strapped into a semi-reclined exam chair, unable to move. This was to not only keep the human prisoner uncomfortable, but also disoriented in terms of what time it was on the ship, as well as how long McTaggart had traveled with his Romulan captors.
+"Sean," Veln said softly. Sean...can you hear me?" He slapped the human's face more forcefully.
+With a weak flinch, Sean McTaggart pulled his head away. His eyes flitted open. "Ah...heh..." His breathing was labored and slow. "Sent you in to do his dirty work, did he?" McTaggart chuckled which quickly turned into a dry cough. "You gonna try and make me dance too?"
+Veln shook his head. "No, no Sean," he said calmly. "I'm here to help you."
+Sean McTaggart would have spit in the Romulan's face, but his mouth was too dry, and he was too tired. "You...you go ta...ta Hell."
+For his part, Veln looked genuinely hurt. "I don't blame you Sean." The Romulan pivoted in his chair and found a hypo-spray among the infirmary's implements. Then he turned back. "I'd be angry too. It's only... well... human? Isn't that what you'd say?" Veln chuckled at his own turn of phrase. He was disappointed that his guest didn't appear to appreciate it.
+"Heh." McTaggart muttered. "Good cop, bad cop." He nodded weakly. "I hope you're not 'Bad cop'," he commented, "'cause...shit..."
+"Don't trouble yourself about that Sean." Veln explained as he leaned closer to McTaggart's face. "As I said I want to help you. The Sub-Commander has treated you poorly. For what it's worth...I think he realizes that." Veln explained. "But you must understand how angry your friend Carter has made him. He wanted to kill you, you know."
+McTaggart nodded. "Probably should have." He agreed.
+"Now Sean," Veln advised, pressing the hypo-spray to Sean's bare forearm.
+McTaggart heard the hiss and felt the burn of some sort of chemical entering his veins. His muscles strained against the straps at his wrists, but he could no more free himself than he could keep whatever it was the Romulan had given him from doing its work.
+"I'd like you to tell me about this man you're willing to die for." He asked simply. "Tell me about John Carter."
+Despite his predicament, McTaggart smiled. "He'll kill you." Sean said simply. "He's good at killing Romulans."
+Veln frowned. "So I've heard, but what about him? Why do you follow him? Why would you die for him?"
+McTaggart felt the muscles in his face relax. He didn't want to answer Veln's question, but he still felt his mouth opening to speak, despite willing it not to. "He saved my life." Sean said softly. "Gave me a chance. He...makes me want to do my job better. I don't want to let him down."
+Veln nodded. "Ah...so you owe him. Yes, I see." Veln nodded. "You're an honorable man, Sean. Carter's lucky to have you as an ally."
+"Friend." Sean coughed. "I'm his friend."
+"Of course you are." Veln leaned back, turning to set the hypo back in its place. "But, you don't really think a man like him has friends, do you Sean?"
+"Wha...what?"
+"You might be HIS friend Sean, but he's not REALLY yours, is he? Not like Virtus. Not like Dr. Harris. Isn't that so?"
+Sean shook his head. "No...no one's like Harris." Sean admitted weakly.
+"No." Veln said, pressing the point. "And you can never be like her."
+"Well no..." Sean agreed.
+"Can't you see how misplaced your loyalty is, Sean?" Veln asked, setting his hand on his captive's shoulder. "Don't you see what your devotion to Carter and all his ungrateful friends has cost you?"
+"No." Sean gritted his teeth and tried to blink away tears from his eyes. "He'll come. And this ship will burn in space."
+"No Sean." Veln repeated, his voice more forceful and insistent. "He's used you all this time. And when you're all used up, he'll just throw you away. You're a tool to him, Sean." Again, Veln patted the young officer's cheek.
+"You're the tool." Sean grunted, fighting to be defiant despite his desire to agree with the Romulan's point of view. "He's coming...he's coming."
+McTaggart repeated the phrase in whispers. To press the point, Veln moved even closer, whispering in Sean's ear. "You can still get out of this, Sean." He offered. "But I need you to do something for me. One small thing, and you can go home. You want to go home, don't you?"
+"Yes." Sean said simply. Then he began to cry. "I...I just want to go home. That's all..."
+"Then all I need you to do Sean, is..."
+Before Veln could finish the sentence, the ship was rocked violently to one side. A second later, red alert sounded throughout the small craft.
+Through his blurred vision, Sean McTaggart could see the infirmary's lighting turn red, and he smiled. "I'm going home."
+In a blur of motion, Veln got up from his stool. He stumbled as the yacht was rocked again by weapons fire. The young aide made it to the wall-mounted comm. unit and slapped the control. "Veln to bridge! What's happened? Are we...are we under attack?"
+Over the open channel, Veln could hear a number of voices on the bridge; all frantically trying to assess the situation.
+//"...one or two?"//
+//"Aft deflector gone!"//
+//"Where did it come from?"//
+//"Sub-space array off-line!"//
+//"What do you mean, one of OURS?"//
+Veln's eyes went wide as he heard the unmistakable swish-chime of a Romulan transporter. Then, he thought he could make out the clank of metal on metal and screaming. Finally, he heard a voice he didn't recognize.
+//"Bridge is clear. Send me to Target One."//
+Then the channel closed.
+"A woman?" He wondered aloud. As Veln backed away from the comm. unit, the door's to the infirmary hissed open.
+Tomaleth rushed into the room, locking the door behind him. He shot Veln an accusing look, then, grunted in self-loathing as he realized he'd left the control for the Earther's pain implant in his quarters. He dashed to the cabinet containing the surgical instruments.
+Tomaleth needed something sharp, but simple. His eyes scanned of a laser scalpel, a dermal regenerator, even a cardioid-stimulator before he caught sight of an old-fashioned single-bladed scalpel. As he picked the polished silver tool up, he looked over at McTaggart.
+"Looks like I get to kill you after all, Earther." Tomaleth hissed.
+Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, Sean McTaggart felt his emotions swing wildly. A moment ago, he'd have done anything, said anything, to go home. Now though, he was going to die. He smiled as he realized he'd be going home after all, in a manner of speaking. "Looks like."
+There was another shake of the ship and the lighting in the infirmary flickered. Veln braced himself against the bulkhead. "Wait!" He shouted. "We don't even know what's happening!"
+Tomaleth whirled, brandishing the weapon at his young aide. "For once in your besotted life, boy, BE QUIET!" Tomaleth's face flushed as he yelled. "Thanks to you, whoever is out there will have evidence to use against me! I NEVER should have listened to you!"
+Veln threw up his hands. "Well you can't kill him now," he pleaded. "It's too late! What good will it do?"
+Tomaleth cackled with grim determination. "I WILL kill him now, BECAUSE it's too late." He explained. "And if you're not careful, you'll be next!"
+The former Sub-Commander turned his attention back to his prey as the room was filled with a high-pitched whine, and the charge of a transporter beam.
+Veln tilted his head as he tried to process what his eyes were seeing. He'd expected a human, perhaps with an eye-patch, if intelligence on Carter was right. Instead, he saw a Romulan female. She was of average height, and Veln could see from the pronounced ribbons of grey in her black hair that she had to be over one-hundred and twenty years old. Despite her age, the intruder seemed ready for whatever awaited her.
+Veln looked her over, hoping for a sign of rank or affiliation. He found none. The woman was wearing a civilian model vacuum suit marked with red seams. She could have been anyone from any of a dozen trading ports in this sector alone. Apart from her obvious age, the only thing that gave any clue to her identity was the disruptor pistol in her right hand, and the sword in her left. Veln recognized the sword as the ceremonial weapon of a naval officer, though that tradition had long since been abandoned. The sheen of green blood on the blade also told the young man that this particular weapon was anything but ceremonial.
+Meanwhile, Tomaleth's brain had also deduced what the sound meant. Where we had previously been enraged, now he was incensed. He quickly turned, taking a moment to make what he could of the intruder. "What in the name of Stask's Comet are you DOING?!" he thundered, taking a critical step forward. "Do you have any IDEA who I am?!"
+Charvanek didn't answer. She simply leveled her disruptor and fired. The yellow beam that shot from the weapon impacted Tomaleth square in the chest, and as the disruptor's lowest stun setting robbed her target's muscles of their strength, she stepped closer. Tomaleth fell to his knees. She pressed a booted heel against his shoulder, forcing the man to look up at her.
+"I know EXACTLY who you are," she said with surprising calm. "And I don't care."
+With a simple flick of her thumb against the side of her pistol, Charvanek shifted the weapon to it's highest setting, took aim, and fired.
+There was a brief orange flash, and the unmistakable smell of charred flesh and bone as what was left of Tomaleth (which wasn't much at all) fell to the deck.
+Shocked by what he had just seen, Veln felt his temper flare. He clenched his fists and threw himself at his mentor's murderer. He barely had time to see her spin to her left, closing the distance between them faster than he could have imagined. In the confusion of the moment, he was also at a loss to explain the strange burning pain in his belly.
+Veln looked down and blinked as he saw the strange woman's sword buried up to it's hilt in his torso. He looked up to her again in disbelief, but her eyes were cold, betraying nothing. As he felt his knees give and his breathing falter, Veln t'Gahth managed one more word. "Why?"
+Charvanek pulled her weapon from the young Romulan's chest, sliding it quickly into the scabbard at her hip. "Sadly boy," she explained. "You will never understand."
+The dead Romulan fell to the deck.
+Still strapped in the chair, with an impressive view of what had just happened, Sean McTaggart choked out weak laugh. "Son-of-a-bitch."
+Without a word, his mysterious rescuer moved swiftly to unbuckle his restraints. Then she took hold of him under the arm, pulling him up. "Can you walk?" From her tone of voice, it was a rhetorical question.
+Sean leaned on the thin woman's shoulder, his head swimming from lack of food and the drugs in his system. "You gonna stab me if I don't?"
+"Yes." Charvanek said dryly.
+"Good to know."
+Sean's rescuer pressed a finger to her ear, activating her comm to Darkwing. "Commander to Darkwing. Mission accomplished. Awaiting transport."
+Sean breathed easier as he considered what had just happened. He felt the beginnings of a transporter field as he turned to the woman to whom he owed his life. "Is Commander Carter with you?" he asked.
+"Who?"
+An instant later, they were gone.
+\\
+\\
+\\
+**Location: USS Republic, Berth 2, McKinley Station, Earth System**
+Republic had been home for five days, passing inspection and accepting crew, both new and old. Meanwhile, John Carter had busied himself with the considerable job of returning his ship and the people on it to operational readiness. He didn't lack for things needing his attention, and he had managed to keep up appearances fairly well, but if he was honest with himself, his attention was elsewhere.
+It was in his quarters, during a momentary lull in activity at 1532 hours, that an encrypted message found it's way into the XO's queue.
+Carter felt his pulse race as he leaned forward and entered the cypher to read the message. John was surprised to note that the dispatch was text only; a mark of Starfleet Intelligence. Despite the source, he smiled as he read the contents:
+<WRAP center round box 80%>
+**John-
+\\ \\
+Don't know how "Your Man" ended up at 39 Sierra. Don't WANT to know. Medical reports him in reasonable shape. Psych Eval pending. He says "Thank You."
+\\ \\
+Just when I think you can't surprise me.
+\\ \\
+-Chase**
+</WRAP>
@@ Line 5196: / Line 5713: @@
 <BOOKMARK:Chapter38>
 <fs x-large>**Chapter 38: Twilight**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+**Location: Starfleet Command, San Francisco, North America, Sol III**\\
+**Date: Present day, stardate 58851 (6 November, 2381)**
+The sun was shining on the western shores of the North American continent, where the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean met the rocky shores of San Francisco Bay. The rust-colored piers of the Golden Gate Bridge offered a warm coloring to the otherwise cool breeze blowing eastward into the city proper. In the distance, the tall pristine-white buildings of Starfleet Command presided over the metropolitan backdrop of towering skyscrapers and space-age structures, intermixed with antique buildings of yesteryear.
+Captain Kimberly Roth strolled leisurely down Market Street with her loyal animal companion, Smoke, draped over her shoulder. The growing red eyes of the squirrel-like mammal was content to stay perched, looking at the passing crowd with small twitches of its brown furry head and tufted ears. Strolling with them, was a taller, more seasoned Starfleet officer with the rank of rear admiral. Her short white hair glinted in the sunlight, illuminating it to a more silver hue, suggesting she was at least thirty years Kim's elder, if not more.
+"I read your report from Republic's tour of duty in the Gamma Quadrant", Rear Admiral Pamela Krockover explained to Kim as they walked together. "I'm still not clear what happened to my grand-nephew in the Ash'aar nebula. I was hoping you could enlighten me... off the record."
+"That's understandable," the captain replied. "My report was a little vague on specifics. It's true there were some differences in opinion between myself and my officers about how to deal with the plight of the Ashaarian people. However, you have my assurance that no fleet-wide regulation was broken, and anything dealing with shipboard regulations were strictly a disciplinary issue and nothing more." She looked back to the admiral with a succinct expression. "I've taken care of it, and there's nothing that Starfleet JAG has to worry about."
+The rear admiral listened carefully, nodding in acceptance of her explanation. "I'll trust that if there's anything I need to know regarding Leon's welfare, that you'll be less vague about the specifics?"
+Kim had the distinct feeling she was dealing with a "hovercraft parent". Many an instructor at the academy had to deal with the worried parents of cadets during the rigorous training process, but the captain didn't expect such behavior regarding one of her adult senior officers.
+"Without hesitation," Roth reassured the admiral. "Now, if we can get back to the Carter issue..."
+"Of course," Pam agreed. "Like I said, we haven't approached Carter yet about the high-brass hawk scandal in Starfleet, mainly because Janeway and I wanted to protect him. However, this move by Kostya to enter the political arena has set off a red-alert throughout the dove ranks. Up until now, we were waiting for him to make his move, and now it looks like he has."
+"He's not very high in the polls," Kim added. "This just could be showmanship on his part."
+"Even still, there's a chance that the Neocratic Federalist Party could rise to a position of authority within the executive branch, and far beyond the reach of Fleet Admiral Paris. If that happens, everyone on Kostya's bad side - which includes you as well as Carter - will undoubtedly be in jeopardy. We're going to have to explain this mess to your first officer sooner rather than later, and that task will fall on your shoulders."
+"I'll do my best, admiral," resolved Kim.
+"Even if his Martian anger gets the better of him," Krockover explained. "Go easy. It's a lot to swallow."
+The two stopped walking as Kim faced her senior officer with a very direct posture.
+"I think you'll find that John Carter is unusually resilient to surprises these days," she concluded, as Smoke bleaked his two cents with an affirmative response.
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, USS Republic**
+<WRAP center round box 80%>
+**"Captain's log, stardate 58851.6. Acting science officer Cromwell reporting. The Republic has been docked at McKinley Station for nearly a week in preparation for her warp drive overhaul. Most of our one-hundred and three assigned crew have been dismissed on extended shore leave as the station's repair teams slowly shutdown the ship deck by deck before they take the power systems off-line tomorrow. While the captain meets with the admiralty at command headquarters, a select few of us remain onboard to secure critical stations before Republic goes dormant for the next ten days."**
+</WRAP>
+Throughout the expansive Galaxy-Class bridge, only two of Republic's officers manned the command center. At the engineering panel, Lieutenant Sven Butenhoff sat busily monitoring the engine diagnostics in shutdown mode, while Doctor Leon Cromwell sat in the command chair, reviewing the verbose checklist of power-down procedures on a PADD. While most of the procedures were automated, and the McKinley Station crew would be handling the portions that required human attention, there was still a need for a handful of Republic officers to remain aboard to oversee the lengthy operation.
+//"Lieutenant Klaus to bridge."//
+Leon only briefly took his eyes away from the PADD to answer the call from the junior operations officer.
+"Bridge here," he tapped the armrest of the captain's chair. "Go ahead."
+//"The repair crew from McKinley Station needs to access the plasma relays on deck eleven, so I need to take internal sensors off-line."//
+"Acknowledged," Leon barely answered, too engrossed in his reading. "I'll inform engineering. Bridge out." Turning his head slightly, he added, "Sven, you got that?" over his shoulder.
+"Yes, doctor," the German-accented officer replied, typing commands into the computer console in front of him. "I've received confirmation that the antimatter valves have been sealed, and the warp core is inactive as of 1030 hours. There should be no need for concurrent systems monitoring by the computer."
+"Very good," Leon resumed his attention to the PADD.
+//"Carter to Cromwell. Leon, did you just transmit a captain's log entry?"//
+Sven couldn't help but smile at John's accusatory question. He knew that Leon was only following basic bridge officer protocol when the captain was off-ship, but he also knew that Republic's individualized ship regulations state that no log entries should be transmitted while on inactive status in drydock. A rule the doctor was obviously not aware of.
+"John, you're supposed to be off duty," snarked Leon. "Why are you monitoring my bridge activity? For that matter, why are you even aboard? I'd expect you'd be packing your bags or something."
+//"If memory recalls, the captain said to 'secure all stations and clear the bridge before going on leave'. She said NOTHING to you about staying on the bridge until every last light is turned out. Besides, shouldn't you be in sickbay to close up shop?"//
+"Let's see," Leon looked upwards in thought. "Saal is on emergency leave, Shannon is in her diagnostic cycle, Teague is planetside visiting with his grandparents, Chief Oberstad is touring the surgical facilities on the Crazy Horse, and Nurse Copenhagen is at the academy chairing a seminar on triage methods. Put simply, there IS no sickbay. Besides, you, Vic, and I are supposed to go on leave to Mars in twenty-four hours, and there's a whole checklist here that has to be followed before Republic is officially in sleep-mode."
+//"Leon, you're NOT the only officer aboard who can handle that while Republic is in drydock. Besides, before we go to Mars, there's something very important I need to teach you. Meet me at holodeck six in ten minutes. Consider that an order."//
+The doctor expressed a sour disposition as the channel closed, annoyed that John was baiting him. Much to the chuckling of Lieutenant Butenhoff, Leon sighed before he stood up and walked towards the turbolift.
+"You have the bridge, Sven... such as it is."
+----
+**Location: Triton observation outpost, Sol VIII (Neptune)**
+Triton, Neptune's largest moon, maintained a unique property shared only by a few natural satellites out of the hundreds throughout the star system: It was geologically active. As the furthest planet from the sun, Neptune's temperature did not rise very far above absolute-zero, and therefore, neither did Triton's. Nevertheless, the moon's solid methane ice crust hid below-ground oceans of liquid ammonia and nitrogen, which occasionally spewed forth in towering geysers every so often, the cryo-volcanism spurred by the gravitational forces of the nearby gas giant.
+As hostile as this environment was, the natural rivers of super-cooled gasses were a boon to Earth's distant-observation post, as the numerous sensor packages surrounding the dome-shaped habitation module on the surface were infra-red based, and used the surrounding lack of heat as a calibration contrast to any passing vessel or object that resonated even the slightest heat-signature. Better still, Triton's slow, synchronous rotation kept one side of it's surface facing out into space at all times, giving the observation post a second-to-none view of the cosmos above.
+Inside the surface structure, five levels of habitation space allowed room for approximately a hundred Starfleet personnel. Their main priorities were to keep the outpost operational, keep a constant watch for any vessels or objects approaching the star system, and aid any Starfleet, commercial, or private vessel requiring assistance. To that end, the distant outpost was designed to be self-sufficient, and only needed periodic replenishment from Earth every few months or so. Most of the outpost operations were controlled on the command deck, which was a starship bridge-sized room at the top of the main habitation dome, complete with several monitoring stations and engineering panels.
+A young male lieutenant in command red manned the primary observation station situated towards the front of the room, while a half-dozen other officers kept watch over the other panels. While most of his work dealt with the standard sky-survey that took pictures of multi-spectrum swaths of space and analyzed it for anomalies, the passive infra-red sensor cluster was picking up a small set of six heat signatures approaching the star system. With his fingers dancing across his panel, the lieutenant accessed the telemetry and transponder uplinks, and seconds later, a display of the USS Liberty, the Spaceliner Gondola, and four other robotic freighters from Liberty's fleet, were transferred to the main screen.
+"What have we got here?" a confused lieutenant commander asked from the center of the room, turning his attention to the tactical display on the main screen.
+"I'm tracking the USS Liberty and her assigned freighter fleet inbound from Wolf 359," the lieutenant replied.
+"Wait a minute," an ensign console operator piped in from across the room. "There's no navigational record of the Liberty Fleet heading to the Earth system," he looked at his screen quizzically. "According to their flight plan, they're supposed to be going to the Coridan System."
+"Maybe they had a change in their flight plan since our last computer synchronization with the navigational network," the lieutenant replied. "What do you think, sir?"
+"It's possible," the flummoxed commander acknowledged, still looking at the screen. "Can we request a network update before our next orbital window?"
+"Negative. We're still in the sensor shadow of the gas giant," he replied, referring to Neptune's large magnetosphere, which effectively blocked any direct communications within the Earth System for a short period during Triton's orbit. "We've got two hours before we're back in line-of-sight with the Saturn comsat constellation."
+With a sigh of frustration, the commander walked over to the communications console, and began transmitting.
+"Liberty freighter, this is Triton Outpost. We have you on our sensors now. Please state your intentions."
+Silence followed.
+"Liberty freighter," he transmitted again. "Your current flight plan has you inbound to Coridan. What brings you to the Earth System?"
+Still nothing.
+"Liberty freighter, please respond."
+The silence still persisted.
+"It's a robotic freighter fleet," the ensign noted while reviewing the last filed flight plan. "Maybe the flight computers got them lost, and they decided to come home on automatic guidance." It wasn't an unreasonable assumption, since most of the newer Starfleet freighter drones were built on Earth and Mars. However, it wasn't something that has happened before, so the outpost staff couldn't treat them as derelict craft or an otherwise mundane circumstance.
+"Open a channel through one of the Neptune comsats," ordered the commander. "Let's inform Starfleet Command."
+While the lieutenant complied by focusing his attention on the communications panel, a furrow developed in his forehead. "I'm not picking up any downlink signals from the communication satellites."
+"Which one CAN you pick up?"
+"None of them!" came the shocked response. "It's like they each went dead at once!"
+Outside the observation post, a constellation of stars in the Neptunian sky above wavered against the unmoving backdrop of the Milky Way. Similar to a flight of fireflies, the stars spun around in circles momentarily before shining brighter and brighter as they drew closer. In a split second, the stars revealed themselves to be a yellow flock of honeycomb-shaped fighter craft hurling themselves towards the ground at breakneck speed. Like a swarm of meteors falling from the sky, dozens of tiny luminescent vessels hurled themselves into the observation post and surrounding facilities. The multiple collisions not only tore through the domed buildings and shuttlecraft landing fields, but obliterated the sophisticated sensor towers and communication relays. As a secondary result, the solid methane crust below the once operational outpost erupted into huge columns of liquid nitrogen and ammonia, further devastating the ground on which the Starfleet facility once sat. In less than a minute, the attack ended, and the twisted, burning remnants of the outpost lay floating and bobbing in a sea of hissing ammonia.
+----
+**Location: Deck 11, USS Republic**
+Each deck of a Galaxy Class starship contained numerous power relays to ensure energy from engineering was transferred to the decks above and below in an efficient fashion. This redundant continuity of power, while life-saving during space missions and combat operations, had it's drawbacks when preparing the ship for a system-wide shutdown. It required that each relay be decoupled by hand, and the plasma conduits given enough time to cool down before removing other relays further downstream of the power flow. Put simply, it was a very slow process. As a disheveled Lieutenant Junior-Grade Klaus walked from relay to relay along deck eleven, the gold-uniformed operations officer grumbled about being the only member of the department left onboard while everyone else went on leave, including the current Chief of Operations, Ensign Cail Jarin.
+"Ensign Cail," sighed Klaus with disdain. An officer with a rank lower than him was put in charge of ship operations at the behest of Captain Roth during the recent crew rotations. It was only a few months ago when Roth gave Klaus a piece of her mind regarding his role in the "B'Rell incident" early last year. During that time, a Bajoran counselor assumed the XO position of Republic's saucer section during an emergency separation, and put Klaus in charge of the operations department where he was ordered to take a heavy hand in reworking the chain of command. Needless to say, he took the wrong side in that political battle when B'Rell was relieved of his duties during the aftermath of the incident. Unfortunately, it left him in the position of having to endure ridicule and admonishment from the senior staff for mistakes that weren't really his fault. He could have asked for re-assignment, but his record would have travelled with him, and the black marks would have ensured an even worse duty post that his current one aboard Republic. He was left with only one option: to see through his tour of duty on the Galaxy Class starship, hoping he could put himself back into the graces of his senior officers.
+As shown by Ensign Cail's recent promotion to Chief of Operations, his hopes had yet to be realized.
+Strangely, the junior lieutenant chuckled as he opened a wall-mounted relay cover next to holodeck six, kneeling down to scan it with a diagnostics wand. The downfall of Ensign Kuga several months ago raised his hopes once gain that he would assume the senior officer posting in operations, and he gleefully recalled the crass memory of Kuga's death during the tractor beam accident in the Gamma Quadrant. As abhorrent as his attitude was towards his fallen crewmate, his view of the universe maintained that he was perfectly justified in his opinion, just as he felt justified about his hate towards Captain Roth for castigating him when he challenged Kuga's original assignment as Chief of Operations. Despite this, Klaus continued to laugh as another thought entered his mind: He wouldn't have to put up with Roth's crap much longer.
+"Find something funny, lieutenant?" a harsh voice summoned him out of his thoughts. It was Commander Carter standing behind him, along with Doctor Cromwell, the ship's senior medical officer. Apparently, they had quietly walked up while he was working on the relay.
+"Um," Klaus stood up in surprise, scratching his rough five-o'clock shadow as he fumbled with his diagnostic tablet. "No sir," he answered. "I'm... I'm just shutting down the power relays on this deck."
+"Well, can you do it somewhere else?" asked Carter, with barely a hint of "that's-an-order" in his voice. "We'll be using holodeck six for the next hour, and I'd appreciate it if you'd save pulling this power relay for last."
+"Y... Yes sir," relented the lieutenant junior-grade.
+With a glance of annoyance, Carter turned around to dial up a program on the holodeck keypad, which triggered the doors to open with a mechanical grind.
+//"Program complete. You may enter when ready."//
+Klaus watched as the two officers entered the holodeck. The rage at Commander Carter was almost as strong as his hate towards Captain Roth, burning within him as the doors slid shut. In a flash of inspiration, his heartbeat doubled due to an adrenaline surge from an evil thought that came to fruition: In less than thirty minutes, the lieutenant was going to be incognito aboard a spice freighter headed for Nimbus Three. No one would be able to track him, and the fate that awaited Republic after completing his upcoming task was unknown. Should an unlucky few souls be locked away in a holodeck without a communications lifeline, who would know? In a split second motivated by sheer hatred and vengeance, Klaus accessed the holodeck control mechanism, engaged and encrypted the electronic locking program, and activated a subspace dampening field around the chamber.
+Allowing himself a gasping breath of victory, he celebrated the moment of rebellion before looking down at his PADD. He watched as the blinking subspace data signal he had been waiting for heralded the arrival of a "special" boarding party. Another victory was in the waiting, and a handsome payment in latinum would be the trophy. With a smile and a chuckle, he relished the thought of trapping Carter and his doctor friend onboard the Republic; a ship that he hated with all his heart, and a ship he would be happy to leave in the mischievous hands of someone other than its captain or command crew.
+----
+**Location: Starfleet Academy Flight Training Operations Center, Mimas, Sol VI (Saturn)**
+The orbital space platform in orbit of Mimas was a small facility, built for the specific purpose of a traffic control station for Starfleet Academy's flight training range within the Saturn system. Hosting only about two-dozen officers, the platform was just that: a flat, deck-like structure with hanger bays and habitation modules, along with a plethora of communications antennae to relay flight communications for several squadrons of training craft simultaneously. As such, the posting was commonly rotated on a regular basis, usually each semester, and also incorporated other cadet training such as operations, search and rescue, and zero-gravity specializations.
+On this day, the bridge of the space platform was tracking six vessels transiting the flight range during a lull in training activities. It was a common occurrence, especially with commercial vessels, but what made it unusual was a lack of communications contact with the freighters.
+"What did Triton outpost say about them?" asked the commander of flight operations to the sensor officer.
+"Nothing," the ensign replied. "No navigational data was transmitted on them at all."
+"Hmm," the commander commented. "Must be legitimate then. Is there any information in their flight plan about the freighters coming this close to our training course?"
+"No sir," acknowledged the junior officer, with a slight hesitation "But we seem to have lost contact with the navigational network. The communications array in orbit of Saturn isn't responding."
+"Great," the commander scoffed. "I'll bet the Jovian magnetosphere is having another auroral event. The next cadet class is due to launch from Earth in three hours, and it would be nice if we could get some telemetry for them downrange on the flight-line. See if you can use the Neptune communications array."
+"Aye, sir."
+Despite their best try, the space platform was not able to raise Triton outpost on subspace frequencies, and became more alarmed at their inability to communicate anywhere else in the Earth System. Feeling isolated, the commander ordered a courier shuttlecraft to be launched towards Earth. However, just before the class-eight shuttle cleared the platform, a luminescent yellow streak hurled itself into the departing craft, causing it to explode in a cascade of debris all over the flight deck. As the platform came to red alert, the facility was shortly thereafter bombarded by a half-dozen honeycomb-shaped fighter craft that exploded upon impact. In less than ten seconds, the flight operations platform had been rendered nothing more than an orbital debris field floating around Mimas.
+----
+**Location: Airlock, Deck 35, USS Republic**
+With an air of paranoia, Lieutenant Junior Grade Klaus swiftly cycled the atmospheric purge on the portside airlock. The arriving shuttlepod was not cleared through operations, but then, since he was the only operations officer on board at the present time, he felt no need to clear it through the bridge. Watching around the empty arrival lounge, he waited impatiently for the system to complete its purge cycle. With pneumatic hiss and a metallic grind, the airlock door slid open to reveal five humanoid aliens standing in the alcove, each wearing a nondescript yellow jumpsuit that was the signature uniform of standard repair crew from McKinley Station. The aliens were as follows: two Kobheerians, one Dopterian, a Naussican, and what appeared to be a Vulcan, but was more likely a Romulan. The latter member appeared to be the leader, and stepped forth while keeping a keen eye on the junior lieutenant.
+"You are Klaus?" the Romulan succinctly asked in a straightforward manner.
+"Shh!" Klaus beckoned back with a whisper. "Quiet, will you? As soon as we're done here, I need to leave. You never saw me, is that clear?"
+The pointy-eared humanoid raised an eyebrow before changing the topic.
+"The hidden control room," he asked. "Where is it?"
+"Deck twenty-six," informed Klaus. "Inside deuterium tank three. The internal sensors are offline, so no one should detect your presence before you enter."
+"Take us there," the alien ordered.
+"What?" Klaus was taken aback. "This wasn't part of the deal! I tell you how to get there, then I leave! Nothing said that I had to be here when you start doing whatever it is you're going to do!"
+"Take us there," returned the Romulan leader. "Or you will not be paid."
+Klaus looked torn, to be sure. He wanted to desperately leave Republic before he got caught, but he was counting on the promised gold-pressed latinum in order to abscond from the Earth System without notice. Looking back and forth in the corridor outside, he relented.
+"Okay," he whispered. "I'll take you there, but then you pay me and I'm gone. Is that clear?"
+The alien only nodded as his compatriots and Lieutenant Klaus made their way to the nearest turbolift shaft.
+----
+**Location: Jupiter Station, Sol V**
+The moderately-sized space station in orbit around Jupiter had a long history of servicing early Starfleet vessels and commercial space ships. Initially built in the twenty-second century as a structural shipyard, it went through various modifications over the centuries as the Starfleet Corps of Engineers found the location convenient for hazardous engine experiments away from the inner solar system, and the Merchant Marine command discovered it was a prime customs port for unregistered vessels heading to Earth. Eventually, other operational commands chose to keep a contingent at the station, and in the twenty-fourth century, was outfitted with two sets of three stacked saucer section hulls from Ambassador-Class starship surplus. The extra space allowed for more than just Starfleet personnel, as a few commercial businesses also took up residence in the years following the most recent expansion, turning Jupiter Station into Earth's very own miniature version of Deep Space Nine. Currently, the station hosted over six-hundred personnel on over forty decks of working and living space, and the main operations center at the crest of the facility carefully conducted the delicate concert of daily activities.
+"Have you heard from Saturn Flight Control?" the operations officer asked the sciences console across the room. "We usually get morning reports of their flight activity."
+"I didn't see anything over the outer system channels," an ensign in a blue-piped uniform replied. "But that doesn't surprise me. We have a data uplink interruption from the Ganymede relay station at the moment."
+"That's odd," the ops officer remarked. "That usually doesn't happen unless the station is at apogee. Did another volcanic plume from Io dampen the signal?"
+"This morning's geologic forecast didn't mention anything about it. I think a larger portion of the communications network might be down."
+Not willing to let such an anomaly go unreported, the ops chief pressed the intercom button. "Captain Peck, could you come to ops? We've got a communications situation."
+As the captain of the complex emerged from his office in front of the balcony above ops, the entire station lurched from a reverberating explosion. Just as the ops crew managed to get back on their feet, another jolt threw them back down to the deck. Outside, the six stacked saucer sections of Jupiter Station were individually being targeted by blinding streaks of yellow light, as honeycombed-shaped fighter craft barreled into the hulls, causing pieces of the saucer decks to fracture and implode. So fast did the craft collide, that entire sections of the station were flying off in all directions with each impact, until finally, the central power core was eventually breached. In an instantaneous blaze of white light, Jupiter Station was no more.
+----
+**Location: Deuterium Tank Catwalks, Deck 28, USS Republic**
+In the early days of spaceflight, liquid chemical rockets utilized great vats of supercooled gases to propel their spartan capsules into low Earth orbit. During those days, thoughts of constructing a space station were conceived by utilizing as much of the expendable launch system as possible, with some designs going so far as to pre-build a habitation compartment into the fuel tanks of the rocket. After launch, when the liquid fuel was spent, the fuel tank would be empty and ready for human habitation. This design, called a "wet workshop" configuration, was never actually utilized anytime before the twenty-first century, but the idea was sound enough, just as long as the equipment installed in the fuel tank was non-flammable, and could handle contact with the cold, liquified gases.
+When Lieutenant Commander Victor Xavier Virtus designed the rudimentary "backup-bridge" in Republic's third deuterium tank, it was a rush-job, put together using spare parts from engineering and shuttlecraft surplus, all to circumvent a computer lockout on the main bridge and battle bridge during the the Cestus Three incident of stardate 57502. After resolution of that sad event in Republic's history, Virtus was reassigned back to Starfleet Command, but not before putting the deuterium-tank bridge into mothballs before he left. Most of the equipment was durable enough to withstand the cold temperatures of supercooled deuterium, and so, after deactivating the fusion generator and sealing the main hatch, the tank was once again flooded with Republic's deuterated plasma fuel source, leaving the hastily-constructed room idle inside one of the most concealed and inaccessible parts of the ship. The engineers of centuries past would no doubt be impressed by the Virtus perspective on the "wet workshop" concept.
+While only a select few aboard Republic knew of the "deuterium bridge", word still got out via Ensign Scuttlebutt; that being hearsay and rumor. Lieutenant Klaus was one of those who heard about it last, and then, only through Lieutenant Jacobs from engineering who recruited him for the current operation. "Half now, half on delivery" Jacobs told him several weeks ago, as soon as Republic returned from the Gamma Quadrant at Deep Space Nine. Klaus was initially suspicious, but was much more willing to listen after Jacobs handed him a healthy box of of gold-pressed latinum. "And here's all you need to do..."
+At the moment, however, Klaus could have strangled Jacobs if he were present. There were already a few close calls with both Republic and McKinley station personnel while Klaus led the band of interlopers to deck twenty-six. Once they were clear of the engineering side-corridors, they found that the deuterium tank catwalks were mostly unattended on the sparsely-crewed ship. It took five minutes of arguing before Klaus agreed to drain tank number three and break the seal on the manual access hatch, but it was as far as he was willing to go.
+"You've got what you want!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the hollow chasm between the tanks and the outside bulkhead of the ship. Over the hum of the purple-colored electrical field buzzing around the magnetic containment system, he put his foot down in front of the five aliens. "Now pay me like you promised!"
+"Absolutely," the Romulan complied. He reached into his engineering satchel, and instead of producing money, a peculiar instrument of malevolent design was pulled out. It was a lower-cost and easily manufactured variant of the Varon-T Disruptor; a model tailor-made for Shavis's operatives throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Klaus went livid when he saw the apparatus, and muttered his very last, angry words.
+"You bastards!"
+The disruptor blast, in true Varon form, tore Klaus's body apart from in the inside out, disintegrating his flesh and bone all along the way. With the internal sensors offline, there was no detecting the weapon blast, and no Republic crewmember anywhere near the catwalks to hear his agonizing scream echo off the inside bulkheads. Within minutes, the alien interlopers had climbed the ladder and entered the ersatz control room, activated the portable fusion generator, and stationed themselves at the control stations. The Romulan keyed in the prefix cipher that Shavis provided him via Lieutenant Jacobs, and smiled when the computer acknowledged his presence:
+//"Command override authorized. USS Saratoga is now under the command of UNKNOWN USER."//
+After a brief round of cheers, the aliens resumed their clandestine work, careful not to alert any other control system aboard the ship or McKinley Station to their presence.
+"Are the other teams signaling yet?" the Romulan asked the Nausicaan at the sciences console.
+"I'm receiving a green light from the teams on the Honshu and the Crazy Horse," the intimidating warrior replied in a throaty voice. "But still nothing from the Gettysburg."
+"But no abort signal?"
+"No. They must still be working their way to the bridge."
+Sitting in the command chair in the center of the room, the Romulan leader leaned his elbow on one of his knees, and stroked his chin in thought as the beeping and chirping of the newly energized equipment hummed around him.
+"As soon as you hear from them, send a signal to Shavis: We're ready..."
+----
+**Location: Sol IV (Mars)**
+Communications within the Earth System Commonwealth were complex, with it's vast array of communication satellites (comsats) and relay stations (restats) transiting the lunar orbits of the eight primary planetary systems within. The communications were also very simple in design, as signals were relayed from planet to planet in a leap-frog fashion, depending upon the orbital locations of the planets and their moons at any particular point in time. Due to this, a distress signal from Mars would normally have been bounced off of the communications array at Jupiter station, with orbiting Mars comsats boosting the signal as a backup. However, both networks were now gone, and the pleas for help from the surface of Utopia Planetia were left unheard. Had it been facing it's nearest planetary neighbor, the light from the exploding barbell-shaped orbital station around Mars would have easily been seen from Earth. As it was, only Jupiter and Saturn were facing that particular side of Mars at the moment, and there was no one left in those planetary systems to see it.
+In orbit, the destruction of Utopia Planetia's primary space station was accomplished by the collision and subsequent detonation of a rouge ore freighter from Farius Prime. The high-density refractory ore hid the countless bottles of antimatter within its cargo modules from sensor scans, and the blinding light of the ignition spread out in all directions, enveloping the nearby drydocks and orbital construction berths, sending a shockwave that obliterated anything in geosynchronous Mars orbit. That single event in and of itself was staggeringly detrimental to the inhabitants of Mars; cutting communications, disrupting ground-to-orbit transportation, to say nothing of the loss of life in Martian airspace.
+However, that was only one freighter.
+As a second vessel from the rogue ore fleet entered the Mars system, it performed a concurrent attack on the surface facilities. Gawking onlookers were incinerated as a 500-megaton antimatter blast engulfed the sprawling metropolis and surface shipyards of Utopia Planetia, which were filled with half-constructed vessels still in their berths. In a radius of a hundred kilometers, red dust was thrown up into the thin Martian atmosphere, forming a gargantuan mushroom-cloud that towered so high that dust particles were thrown into sub-orbital trajectories, disrupting the flightpath of the few remaining spacecraft and satellites in low Mars orbit. So enormous was the blast, that the crust of Mars itself was shaken to its mantle, causing subterranean caverns to collapse, and carbon-dioxide ice dams to break, flooding eons-old canals with crimson rock and mud.
+The attack was finished as quickly as it came, leaving the few remaining Martian colonists to their own devices. Without their vital links to the rest of the Earth System Commonwealth, the small "red-dirt" communities and homesteads dotting the surface of Mars were left to fend for themselves.
+----
+**Location: Apollo asteroid 1566 Icarus, 7 million miles from Earth**
+Hiding at station-keeping beside the small asteroid, Shavis's freighter remained on the dark-side of the near-Earth object, ensuring that no sensors from the Federation's capital planet could detect his craft. His own freighter was exhausted of hexapod drones; the suicidal fighter craft used to swarm and destroy the human facilities around Sol Five, Six, and Eight. Two out of the four antimatter-laden freighters that Shavis had accompany his own from the border regions had completed their tasks around Sol Four, and there were just minutes left before the human presence plaguing this star system would realize what was happening. Although there were slower communication bypasses and backchannels that the humans might use to get a subspace signal out to another star system, his fighter drones succeeded in pulverizing the high-speed interstellar subspace network throughout the Earth System. It was the last piece to Shavis's master plan: Earth was now alone. With communication systems and manned facilities in the outer solar system rendered silent, no Starfleet vessel outside the system would be able to hear any calls for help in time to do anything.
+Shavis smiled when he saw the four blinking green lights on his chair-mounted console. The infiltration teams had completed their tasks in Earth orbit, and were awaiting the next phase. His attack on sector zero-zero-one was so insidiously simple, he worried for months whether he could truly pull it off. Now, as the homeworld of the Federation was in his crosshairs, the plan was going so well that even if he failed in the upcoming final phase, the humans would still require years to recover - assuming that the rest of the Syndicate factions don't move in for the kill first. Two more antimatter-laden freighters awaited their final orders, as well as the hijacked spaceliner manned by his insectoid drones. The passengers screamed in terror when they fed on their flesh, and now, with full gullets, the genetically-altered Kaferian renegades were ready to show Earth what real fear was really like.
+The time was right to show the humans just how far Faro could reach out from the grave.
+The time was right for the New Dawn to be born.
+The time was right to unleash hell.
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 <fs x-large>**Chapter 39: The Stroke of Midnight**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+**Location: Sol III (Earth)**
+From orbit, Planet Earth was a serene, hypnotic jewel blessed with life among the distant backdrop of countless shimmering stars of the Milky Way Galaxy. Pearlescent azure oceans and billowing white clouds swirled and converged together into complex and discrete patterns on its surface, occasionally parting to reveal terrestrial land masses in numerous shades of green, brown, and tan. Lit by the the life-giving heat and warmth of her single star, Sol, this planet gave rise to the human race; a most creative, adaptable, and diplomatic species that evolved from a meager tree-dwelling simian species to a unified spacefaring kingdom in the span of only two million years - a blink of an eye in cosmic terms. This species, destined to see itself as ambassadors to all like-minded spacefaring races, saw fit to offer their homeworld as the foundation of a mighty galactic federation during the twenty-second century. A mere century later, they erected a monumental orbital construct that would become Earth's singular interstellar gateway to the stars for the next hundred years: Spacedock.
+Hosting almost a third of a million souls, Spacedock was the main starship command platform of Starfleet, and regularly saw the docking and departing of dozens of vessels on a daily basis. Boasting numerous construction and repair berths inside the mushroom-shaped head of the titanic facility, the outer hull was replete with multitudinous lighted viewports, and crowned at the top with a platform of sensors, antennas, and domed habitation modules. The largest of these modules contained the cavernous command deck where nearly one hundred uniformed personnel manned various control and monitoring consoles on a series of tiered platforms.
+The central command platform alone had at least two dozen officers stationed on it, some standing at pedestal-style stations, while others were seated in recliner-like alcoves, tending multi-faceted viewscreens that hosted a dizzying array of information nodes. The air was filled with a cacophony of communications chatter, most of which was standard arrival and departure orders in addition to a multitude of clearances, transfer orders, and navigational flight plans for both Starfleet vessels and independent commercial ships within the control airspace of Earth.
+In a pair of adjoining alcoves, two senior officers, a commander and a lieutenant commander, were hard at work at their respective consoles. They wore the branch color of operations gold along the piping of their black uniforms, and like so many other on the command deck, sported a headset for inter-ship communications as well as other operating stations around Spacedock. While the two worked, the lieutenant commander showed an expression of frustration as he typed commands into his keyboard, with a furrow in his forehead growing deeper with each passing moment. Finally, he vented his annoyance to the officer next to him.
+"Looks like we lost that uplink to Mars central control again, commander."
+"Martians," the commander shook his head and sympathized with his companion's frustration. "Why can't those red-dirt colonists keep their comsats synchronized with the rest of the system?"
+"You know the saying: Tell a Martian to jump, and they'll dig a hole instead. Should I contact the commodore?"
+"Negative," the commander shook his head. "Record it in the hourly log. We'll bring it up at the next inner-system communications briefing."
+"Aye, sir."
+Meanwhile, outside of Spacedock, two vessels from Shavis's freighter fleet took up position in a parallel orbit of slightly less altitude of the titanic space station. This put the ships on a direct course to intercept. The Spaceliner Gondola was first in line, trailed by one of the ore freighters by about a kilometer. The course was a standard approach vector used by starships and space vessels planning a docking maneuver with Spacedock. Usually, at three kilometers out, any vessel engaged in such a maneuver would announce their plans to Spacedock Control. However, the Gondola and the ore freighter remained silent, much to the confusion of the controller monitoring their approach.
+"Spaceliner Gondola, this is Spacedock Control. Please state your intentions."
+The young female ensign in command red was a new controller on the command deck, tasked with monitoring smaller non-Starfleet vessels within a three kilometer radial sphere surrounding Spacedock. When the computer first signaled that the Gondola was on an approach vector, it beckoned the attention of a sentient controller, and immediately assigned a crewmember to the task. In this case, the ensign was the unlucky one that the computer first chose to contact the incoming spaceliner. As it was, the Gondola failed to respond to her communique, and as she became flustered, she beckoned her supervisor.
+"Lieutenant?" asked the ensign. "I've got an incoming passenger liner that's not answering hails."
+Walking over to the ensign's station, the lieutenant in operations gold punched a few keys on the control board, which in turn, displayed some additional information on a side monitor.
+"It looks like Listening Post Morena logged that ship as damaged during an ion storm in Beta Quadrant," the lieutenant read the flight plan. "It lost it's main communications array."
+Unfortunately, the busy lieutenant wasn't willing to dig further to see that Earth was not on the navigational manifest. In a moment of pretentiousness, he chose instead to admonish the younger officer for bothering him with trifles. "There, you see ensign? Rule number one when you haven't established voice contact: Check the flight plan. It'll tell you everything you need to know about an incoming vessel. You can now use visual navigation strobes to guide the ship in to the docking level. Carry on."
+At the apex of the central command platform was a five-meter wide circular desk with a transparent overhead shroud that displayed various digital maps of Earth airspace. The desk itself was the operational station of Commodore Eugene Stevenson, a sixty-something veteran of the Dominion war, whose white curly hair was complimented by a set of equally white, bushy eyebrows. His brown eyes were difficult to perceive, as he bore an almost perpetual squint under several wrinkles and folds of aged skin. His square-shaped head gave the impression that he was a solid officer, and after surviving twenty-six major engagements with enemy forces during the war, it was a well-deserved reputation. He sat at his desk, scrolling through numerous operational reports, but finally took note of growing operational variances from the communications department. Not wanting to don a communications headset like so many of his subordinates, the commodore decided to visit the alcoves of his senior comm officers on foot.
+Strolling up behind the commander and lieutenant commander who made the comment about the Mars satellite network a few minutes ago, he beckoned their attention by asking a simple question.
+"Is there an issue with our communications system, gentlemen?"
+"No sir," the commander replied. "We have ship-to-ship contact with all vessels in the vicinity of Earth, but we can't re-establish our uplink with Luna Colony, nor with any other facility towards the outer solar system.
+"Solar flare activity?" the elderly man surmised.
+"If it is, it's not something the solar observatories are monitoring."
+The commodore folded his arms with a quizzical expression, holding a knuckle to his lips in thought. After a second of going through all the possible mundane situations that could be causing the communications outage, he arrived at a course of action.
+"Send out a navigational advisory for vessels in Earth orbit," he ordered. "Then get me Starfleet Command."
+"Yes, sir."
+From across the command platform, an operations lieutenant manning the long-range telemetry station shouted an ominous announcement. "Commodore!" he beckoned, while listening intently to his headset. "I'm receiving a distress signal from Luna Colony!"
+"On speakers!" the taciturn flag officer barked.
+"Unable, sir!" the ensign came back. "It was only a brief signal, and now I lost it. There's nothing but static on the channel now."
+"Static?" he questioned. Turning to the huge three-story main screen at the far side of the room, the commodore ordered the station's digital telescopes into action. "Put a view of Luna Colony on the main screen."
+In a split second, the dizzying array of individualized status reports from various command deck sections were replaced with the waning gibbous phase of Earth's lone satellite, the Moon. The sphere was composed of a bright oval face adjoining a smaller, darker cresent across the face of the celestial body. The myriad of lunar settlements could be seen twinkling across the shadowed night side, the brightest of which should have been the crater Tycho, which boasted the Moon's largest metropolis, Tycho City. However, it was the lack of any lighted surface feature from Tycho that drew a hush over the normally buzzing command deck. Instead of the normally glimmering nighttime view of the sprawling space-age megacity, a fuzzy gray fog was spreading out from the center of the crater.
+"Magnify..."
+Shrieks of horror and astonishment filled the room as an epic-sized gray cloud of ash and dust had enveloped the entirety of Tycho Crater, and began to mushroom out into space. Without needing an order to do so, an alert klaxon sounded as the realization that something very wrong had happened to Luna Colony's largest city. Personnel went rushing to different stations as the miles-wide gray plume slowly erupted from the 80-kilometer wide crater. All throughout the orbiting facility, people went running to the viewports to watch the unfolding disaster a quarter of a million miles away. Many knew friends or family that resided on the Moon, and each felt helpless and frenzied as worry rose from the pits of their stomachs.
+"What the hell happened??" the commodore thundered on the command deck. "Volcanism? Cometary impact?"
+"Their municipal antimatter generator could have gone critical," offered the lieutenant commander, furiously trying to gather information on his instrument panel.
+"No," the senior commander replied in the chair next to him. "Their power plant is too small to make an explosion like that. It had to have been extraterrestrial."
+"Whatever it is, we haven't a moment to lose," Commodore Stevenson declared. "We can't wait for orders to trickle down from headquarters. How many starships do we have docked?"
+"Three sir. One Excelsior class, an Intrepid class, and an Akira class, the USS Lamberton."
+"Launch all vessels for a rescue mission. Immediately!"
+"Aye, aye, commodore."
+Outside in the gigantic main docking bay, lights on the three docked starships were activating, and the warp nacelles were powering up; their red and blue luminescence reflecting off the inside walls of the bay. Over the sound of the alert klaxons, the computer announced the disembarking procedures to personnel throughout the command deck and docking levels:
+//"Open space doors. Clear all moorings. Prepare to disengage umbilical and gravitational support. Launch all vessels. Repeat: Launch all vessels."//
+Meanwhile, the approaching Spaceliner Gondola went unnoticed, as it's delta-vee towards Spacedock did not change. As the primary measure of velocity for the approaching vessel, a negative delta-vee would indicate a slowdown to the correct docking speed; except that the Gondola's delta-vee wasn't negative; it was positive, suggesting in INCREASE in speed. Momentarily distracted by the unfolding catastrophe on Luna, the ensign control operator looked back at her console, only to find that the engineering panel was blinking red to indicate the formation of a warp field around the Gondola. The ship was less than a thousand meters off the bow of Spacedock, and it was activating her warp drive.
+The ensign's face went ashen as she suddenly realized what was about to happen... a split-second too late. Just as she pressed the red collision alarm button on her console, the warp drive of the Gondola glowed brightly, then sent the craft on a faster-than-light trajectory right through Spacedock's lower spherical appendage. Like a bullet through an apple, the center of the sphere - which composed the lower two-hundred decks of Spacedock - imploded as the metallic hull rippled and peeled back from the superstructure. The cataclysm caused debris and burning embers to fly out in all directions, and secondary explosions from the main antimatter generator doomed the entire lower module of the station. While failsafes and safeguards kept a majority of the volatile fuel from escaping into space, the plasma that was already flowing through the sphere's power conduits still ignited, leaving Spacedock with a smoldering and scintillating stump. Worse still, the force of the combination collision and explosion caused the enormous station to slowly start tumbling in its orbit.
+Inside the main docking bay, the departing starships, which had been freed of their moorings and were making their way to the open space doors, remained on a smooth trajectory when suddenly, the entire docking bay moved around them. The inertia from the explosion eight hundred decks below caused the whole station to lose attitude control, and the docking bay walls loomed ever closer to the line of vessels trying to disembark. A collision alrm sounded, but unfortunately, the starships were not able to move out of the way fast enough as the walls impacted them with a mighty groan, bending support pylons, and crushing sections of hull. In less than thirty seconds, three disabled starships were performing fire suppression and damage control operations after being impaled into the inside walls of Spacedock.
+On the command deck, personnel were thrown to the deckplates from the inertia of Spacedock's loss of attitude and subsequent tumbling. Their seats were not outfitted with restraints, as the station was not designed for sudden increases in speed or direction. As the control operators crawled back to their consoles, they remained pinned to the floor from the increased centrifugal force.
+"Stabilize reserve power!" the commodore managed to shout. "Activate emergency thrusters!"
+"...Aye!" a lieutenant in command red desperately responded from the floor of his control station. He managed to reach up and dial a set of commands, which activated the emergency rockets at the top of the enormous space station. Slowly, the tumbling rotation came to a stop, and reversed course to re-stablize the ailing facility.
+"Damage report!" Commodore Stevenson asked while crawling back to a chair, regaining his composure.
+"Casualty reports still coming in from all decks, sir!" a lieutenant commander at the systems engineering console reported in. "It looks like we lost decks twelve-hundred through nine-nine-two... Our antimatter generator is gone, but the storage bottles safely ejected and are on a parabolic orbit away from Earth. Backup batteries are activating all over the station... Containment fields on the lower decks are engaged... Fire suppression systems are initiated throughout the docking level, and the starships within are successfully evacuating."
+Captain Fournier, Spacedock's second-in-command, helped the aging commodore into his seat after ensuring the man was still in good health.
+"How much do you want to bet this isn't an accident?" the French-accented senior officer asked quietly.
+"What do you mean?" Commodore Stevenson returned.
+"Think about it: Communications failures... Luna Colony destroyed... Now a collision with Spacedock? Sir, with all due respect, this sounds like an attack. I don't know by who or by what, but I suggest we bring the entire planet to red alert."
+"Only the C-in-C has that authority, captain."
+"Commodore, with all due respect, if communications are being disrupted, then it's our obligation to take that authority onto ourselves."
+After a moment of thought, the seasoned flag officer nodded his head in agreement.
+"Very well. Bring us to red alert. Use what power we have left to activate defense systems, and divert all incoming Earth traffic to Utopia Planetia."
+"Aye sir," the captain responded, followed very shortly by the entire command deck being bathed in a deep-red light, and battle stations alert siren being sounded.
+Outside, shuttles and travelpods that were on a docking trajectory for the damaged space station changed course and began either heading back to the surface, or out towards the distant destination of Mars. All, that is, except for the one lone ore freighter two kilometers away and closing. It did not adjust its course, nor did it respond to hails. Back on the command deck, a swarm of senior officers were converging on the young ensign's control station.
+"Still no response from the laser-light signals or navigational strobes?" Captain Fournier asked the junior officer.
+"No," the ensign controller shook her head. "Just like the Gondola... before she activated her warp drive."
+"Weapons control!" the captain shouted across the command deck. "Do you have enough power for a phaser bank?"
+"A few short bursts, sir," a lieutenant replied.
+"Commodore?" the captain returned to his commanding officer.
+"Fire at will, captain..." the elder flag officer acknowledged.
+Whether they detected the powered up weapons, or whether the change in course was intended, the rogue ore freighter changed it's path just as the high-powered phaser cannons shot an angry orange lance of energy towards it. Diving into a lower trajectory, the freighter increased its speed, missing the station by flying below it, where the amputated stump that was the lower section of Spacedock still glowed with sparks of fire and broken energy conduits. Accelerating, the ore freighter gained velocity as it descended, as several more blasts of phaser fire from Spacedock attempted to lock on. As before, they missed when the freighter changed course again, this time in an upward arc. In less than five seconds, it made its way back up into the same orbit as Spacedock, only now it was about thirty kilometers ahead. To the confusion of the command deck, a bright light signaled the detonation of the freighter tens of kilometers ahead of their orbit. The shock wave of 500 megatons of antimatter seared through the orbit, obliterating smaller shuttles and satellites, and causing ripples of plasma energy to surge past Spacedock at supersonic speeds. Although the station survived the explosion more or less intact, the expanding cloud of debris from the freighter posed a new, chilling threat.
+It was a simple matter of Newtonian physics: Force equals mass times acceleration. Or deceleration in this case. The mass of the expanding cloud of ultra-dense ore particles from the explosion was in the direct orbital path of Spacedock. At three hundred and fifty kilometers above the Earth's surface, the massive space station was traveling at over seven thousand meters per second. Due to standard atmospheric drag, the station would normally lose about two kilometers of altitude a month, but was easily offset by the standard low-yield anti-gravity generators that kept a small but steady upward force on the orbiting city. Unfortunately, the Gondola collision disrupted power to the main orbital stabilizers, and while the backup thrusters could keep the station stable and upright within its orbit, they were way too underpowered to offset any loss of altitude. Worse still, as the fine particulate cloud impacted Spacedock's outer hull, the counter-force brought on a magnified drag effect, and Spacedock's altitude began to decrease.
+Quickly.
+The spinning globe of Earth beneath them was visibly accelerating as the height above ground dropped to below three hundred kilometers. The free fall-effect lightened the gravity throughout the station to 80% of Earth normal, and although personnel on Spacedock's command deck were able to maintain their footing, the disorientation served to accentuate the critical predicament. In the commodore's alcove at the apex of the command platform, four officers with the rank of captain surrounded his desk, as both they and the elderly flag officer feverishly pulled open a centuries-old, large metal book with tile-like metallic pages.
+The book was titled "EMERGENCY OPERATIONS MANUAL". Each page had large-font letters that glowed with an incandescent light, indicating that it could be read in complete darkness if the situation required. Spacedock was never designed to lose orbital altitude so quickly, nor was it expected to have been damaged so critically in one single event. While the officers knew how to deal with countless other emergency situations on the station due to their training, this particular event was completely unique, thus causing them to scramble for a solution. As they dove into the manual, flipping from page to page in a frantic search for information, the wavering red light of the command center seemed to accentuate their dire predicament.
+"Here!" shouted a captain with science-blue piping on his uniform, while pointing to a glowing sentence at the bottom of a metallic page. "The last page of 'orbital decay protocols': If we can't get power to the anti-gravity generators, we're supposed to enlist the help of orbiting starships to use their tractor beams and pull us back into orbit.
+"Commander!" the commodore shouted from his desk down to the communications alcove. "Contact Starfleet Operations! We need a starship! Immediately!"
+----
+**Location: USS Republic, docked at McKinley Station in sun-synchronous Earth orbit**
+For a ship in drydock that was about to be shutdown, the Republic was unusually active. While the warp drive was offline and inactive, and most viewports remained dark and lifeless, only few lighted windows showed any sign of activity. However, the most unusual feature was that main impulse engine on the connecting dorsal was coming to life, glowing a bright crimson as the fusion generators charged up. Stranger still, McKinley Station's spider-like appendages, capable of cradling a single Galaxy-Class vessel within its berth, had actuated and were actively retracting while simultaneously repelling the Republic away with it's retro-magnetic interlocks.
+Considering the turmoil of the attacks within the Earth System, one might assume that the Republic was preparing to rush to the rescue of Spacedock or some other nearby destination. However, nothing could be further from the truth, as the empty main bridge contained only one lone individual. With the alert klaxon blaring, Lieutenant Sven Butenhoff was frantically securing all stations while the subspace transceiver came to life.
+//"Starship Republic! This is Starfleet Command on emergency frequency! Earth Spacedock has lost orbital control and needs all available starships for a tractor beam operation! You are ordered to assist at best possible speed!"//
+"Starfleet, this is Republic!" Lieutenant Butehoff activated the communications channel while securing the tactical arch. "We are unable to respond to your emergency! We have an unexplained rapid degradation of our antimatter containment system! The magnetic envelope is failing, and the ejection systems and secondary safeguards are not responding! We're in the middle of abandoning ship!"
+//"Is there any possible way you can spare the time to assist?"//
+"Negative, Starfleet! We've only got five minutes before we lose containment! The warp drive is shutdown, so we'll need all the time we've got just to set Republic on an automatic sub-light course away from Earth! Sorry, but we can't help!"
+//"Understood Republic. Best of luck. Starfleet out."//
+"Bridge to Commander Carter!" Sven tapped his combadge, only it was the computer that replied.
+//"Commander Carter is not aboard the Republic."//
+Sven knew that it was unusual for the executive officer to have left the ship without telling him, but the situation came upon Republic so rapidly, it could be that the commander evacuated with the McKinley Station crew and was trying to resolve the situation from there.
+"Computer!" shouted Lieutenant Butenhoff. "Is there anyone left aboard Republic?"
+While the lieutenant was keen enough to have brought internal sensors back online for the evacuation, he did not have the time nor reason to check the sensor matrix, where he would have noticed that it was purposefully sabotaged by Lieutenant Klaus before he was killed. In fact, a gaping hole in the detection grid could be traced from deck eleven, to deck twenty six, and all the way down to the deck thirty five airlock. Pulled power relays were only a cover for what appeared to be an intricate escape plan by Klaus; one that he never had the chance to implement. With Commander Carter and Doctor Cromwell unwittingly trapped in holodeck six, and a rogue band of terrorists self-sequestered in the ship's makeshift deuterium tank bridge, there was no way for anyone else to confirm that the sensors were malfunctioning.
+//"Negative. No life forms are detected aboard the Republic."//
+It was the German instinct inside him that begged the junior engineer to stay aboard and make sure everyone was off safely. Unfortunately, Sven didn't have time to reconcile it. The ship would soon explode in an enormous fireball if he did not get it away from the planet during the next few minutes, so he had to accept the computer's assurance that no one was left on board.
+"Computer!" he shouted again to the Republic's omnipresent control system. "Engage the impulse engines and activate the pre-programmed flight plan to the inner solar system!"
+//"Acknowledged. Program activated."//
+"McKinley Station!" he pressed the communications console again on the tactical arch. "This is Lieutenant Butenhoff on the Republic bridge! Beam me out of here! NOW!"
+With speed increasing, the evacuated Galaxy Class starship accelerated to warp zero-point-eight and began it's final journey to between the orbits of Venus and Mercury, where the explosion of the antimatter containment system would occur safely away from Earth airspace.
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, USS Crazy Horse (Excelsior class), geosynchronous Earth orbit over Indonesia**
+Well known as the "workhorse" of the fleet, the Starship Crazy Horse was an older vessel nearing the end of it's useful hull life. It was one of the last explorer cruisers still in service that was built before 2330, and while updated and renovated several times, she was getting on in years despite consistently successful performance reports. Relegated to patrols closer to the heart of the Federation, she frequented the Earth system in rotation with the USS Gorkon and the USS Tecumseh, both of which were currently in the Vulcan and Andorian systems, respectively. It was a routine route, well trodden to ensure the Federation's core systems always had a starship present, or at least, somewhere nearby. And as fate would have it on this day, a starship was desperately needed.
+//"Crazy Horse, Crazy Horse! This is Starfleet Command on emergency frequency! The orbit of Spacedock is decaying at an accelerated rate, and we need all available starships to assist! Please respond!"//
+The bridge of the starship instantly became a beehive of activity, with the condition-red tracer lights pulsating off the walls, and officers shuffling two and fro between stations in a hurried manner. Wearing the standard black Starfleet officer's uniform with red piping on the sleeve, the short and stout Tellarite captain in the command chair spun around to face the communications officer.
+"Acknowledge Starfleet's request," he ordered. "Tell them we'll be underway as soon as we solve our control system malfunction."
+"Aye sir," the female lieutenant replied.
+"Engineering!" the captain barked as he tapped the intercom button. "Status report on the control relays!"
+The lack of response caused a flash of anger to ripple through the bipedal suidae skipper. "I've had enough of this!" he grumbled hoarsely as he stood up and marched directly towards the turbolift. "I'm headed down there!" To his surprise, the door failed to open when he stepped towards it. Confused, he tried once more to no avail, indicating that the control malfunction was much more widespread throughout the ship than he originally thought. Turning his head back to the communications officer, he spoke.
+"Lieutenant, see if you can..."
+The door to the turbolift suddenly opened, and in front of the stubby captain stood a two-meter tall muddy-brown insectoid alien with fierce black mottles on its shell. It's compound eyes and twitching antennae adorned a head that boasted a quivering maw and a set of reflexive mandibles. The Tellarite only had time to scream a hysterical squeal before the hexapedal drone lunged towards him, ripping into the officer with a sickening crunch. As more insectoid drones poured through the second turbolift door, the communications officer stood up and wailed in horror while torrents of blood splattered across the expansive bridge.
+----
+**Location: USS Gettysburg (Constellation class), polar Earth orbit**
+As a training vessel attached to Starfleet Academy, the Gettysburg was a common site around Earth. If she wasn't off on a minor training cruise around the system, she was in orbit teaching freshman cadets the finer points of spartan living aboard a cramped starship. Although not usually used for active duty, the Gettysburg was a fully equipped Starfleet vessel capable of holding her own with the rest of the fleet during a full-blown deployment. In fact, cadet crews transferred to her so often, nearly every officer in Starfleet knew about her and her capabilities. During this emergency, the transporters at the academy went into action, and lights began to click on sporadically across the Gettysburg's hull.
+Unfortunately, one of Shavis's infiltration teams had arrived before anyone came aboard to bring the ship to life. They outfitted bridge consoles with ultritium charges and electronic detonators that activated as soon as someone logged into the stations. As Starfleet tried to contact the Gettysburg with detailed instructions for rescuing Spacdock, the entire bridge erupted in flames, destroying the command center, and dooming the Constellation class starship to re-entry over Antarctica.
+----
+**Location: USS Honshu (Nebula class), nearing apogee, highly elliptical (Molniya) Earth orbit**
+Molniya orbits are the most efficient orbits for a starship expecting to leave the gravitational pull of a planet within twenty-four hours and still be in rotational sync with a particular region on the surface. Unlike a geosynchronous orbit, the highly eccentric Molniya orbit has an apogee that requires minimal energy to transfer a vessel into a parabolic course away from Earth. While the energy savings are small compared to the amount available aboard a starship, many captains nonetheless practice energy conservation as a matter of convention, so as to drill the habit into the crew.
+Such was the case with the USS Honshu, where British Columbia native, Captain Richard MacKenzie, was preparing his vessel for departure after an extended shore leave on Earth. However, as the emergency message came through from Starfleet Operations, it was clear that they would not be concerned with fuel savings on their next set of orders.
+//"Starfleet Command calling the Starship Honshu on emergency frequency! We have a crisis situation with Earth Spacedock, and you are ordered to assist at best possible speed! Please respond!"//
+"Ensign," he called to the junior communications officer. "Acknowledge our response!"
+"Helm!" the captain then spun around to face forward. "Set course one-eight-three mark four! Engage at full impulse!"
+As the navigation officer complied, the deckplates vibrated as normal during the engine power-up, but did not stop as they should have when the engine was fully engaged. Instead, the magnitude of the vibrations increased, and in one jolt that almost knocked the captain out of his chair, the vibrations ceased and the vessel began to drift.
+"Malfunction in the engines!" shouted the helmsman. "Nacelle interlock initiators have prematurely activated!"
+"WHAT?" bellowed the captain. "On screen!"
+With an incredulous furrow on his face, the captain watched the screen in disbelief as the two warp nacelles that were once firmly attached to his ship went spinning off into space. The explosive bolts that are used only for emergency purposes had apparently been detonated prematurely, and the momentum sent them careening into the orbit ahead.
+"What the HELL??" he continued, flabbergasted. "Engineering!" the captain punched the comm panel on his armrest. "What happened down there? Can you give us impulse power?"
+Meanwhile, the circumstances in main engineering were beyond tense, bordering on chaos. Several engineering personnel had been clubbed to death by alien aggressors who were, just moments ago, subdued by the quick reactions of the security department. However, as bodies lay strewn about the compartment in pools of their own blood, it was clear that the situation was not at all under control.
+With wide-eyed astonishment, the chief engineer pressed the intercom button to reply to his captain.
+"Sir..." he whispered into the microphone. "I don't think I can get you engine power at the moment... We've had an incident..."
+//"An INCIDENT?? Fred, what the hell are you talking about?"//
+The engineer was intently watching a male Palamarian pointing a disruptor pistol at the warp core. It was clear by his expression that the alien was not intent on surrendering to the security contingent who was quickly converging on his position. "For the New Dawn!" he bellowed loudly, causing his voice to echo throughout the engineering compartment. The Palamarian then pulled the trigger, and in a calamitous cascade of white light, the Honshu was no more.
+----
+**Location: USS Tal'Kyr (Nova class), inbound for low Earth orbit**
+Captain Sulik was not planning on a trip to Earth, but her Vulcan parents suggested a stopover on her way to Starbase 213. They felt a face-to-face meeting with the Commandant of Starfleet Academy would somehow absolve her younger sister's involvement in a hazing incident with an Andorian plebe. After all, it wasn't logical for an outstanding upperclassman to associate herself with such nonsense, but since a reprimand was pending, it only seemed fitting for the Captain to investigate. Little did she know that she would be arriving at a monumental moment in Federation history.
+The single most unknown variable in Shavis's master plan was the sudden arrival of a starship during what was supposed to be a swift and devastating operation. He counted on being able to incapacitate or destroy all Starfleet capital ships that were scheduled to be in the vicinity of Earth at the time of his attack. For his operation to have worked, he would need to operate quickly, and perform all his planned damage before anyone would inadvertently arrive to help and throw a monkey wrench into the works.
+The Starship Tal'Kyr would seem to have been that proverbial wrench, as there was no scheduled stop where an infiltration attempt could have been planned.
+"Standby on tractor beam," the calm Vulcan captain ordered her tactical officer. The entire Nova Class bridge was bathed in red light as the fully operational starship slid into an orbit that would intercept the stricken space station. Admittedly, her ship was one of the smallest ones in the fleet, but there may have been enough power in her engines to at least give Spacedock another few orbits while waiting for help to arrive from other star systems. "Helm," she continued to give orders. "Maintain speed. Bring us up into Spacedock's orbital path approximately four kilometers ahead. We'll attempt a Hohmann transfer maneuver to a higher altitude."
+The helmsman barely had time to acknowledge before the entire ship shuttered from a forceful impact. Bridge stations exploded into sparks and flames, while hull fissures shot geysers of supercooled air in all directions. Alert klaxons sounded while the captain straightened herself in her chair.
+"Tactical!" she shouted. "What happened?"
+"We're under attack, sir!" the ensign across the room explained. "It's the Crazy Horse! She's locked phasers and torpedoes on us!"
+"Evasive action!" the captain gave her last order.
+Outside, the puny scout/explorer was no match for the huge Excelsior-class starship. Within seconds, several more volleys of weapons fire erupted from the Crazy Horse, and landed squarely on the hull of the unshielded and unprepared USS Tal'Kyr. In one cascading explosion, the monkey wrench in Shavis's plan was extinguished.
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, USS Crazy Horse**
+The rogue terrorist sitting in the captain's chair knew that they were the only vessel left in Earth orbit that was large enough to do damage to the surface below. J'Dan, a disgraced Klingon scientist that served prison time for smuggling Federation secrets off a Starfleet vessel, sat prominently on the command platform, satisfied that his most hated enemy was reeling from Shavis's attacks. With his Ba'ltmasor Syndrome reaching the advanced stages, the past few years of his life were dedicated to Shavis and the "New Dawn" movement, waiting for the day where he would have his revenge. Soon, he would be dead, either because of his disease, or because Shavis allowed him the final honor of dealing the Federation a deadly blow, and humiliating them in front of the entire galaxy.
+It would be a glorious death.
+Normally, the current mode of surface attack would work for only planets with a thin atmosphere or none at all, as Shavis knew that any surface attack on Earth would have been fruitless. It would have taken an agonizingly long duration for a simple atmospheric re-entry maneuver, during which the attacking vessel would be vulnerable to counter-attack by orbiting starships and Spacedock proper. Now, however, the orbit was cleared of such obstacles, and Spacedock itself was crippled in it's decaying orbit, no longer a threat.
+Looking over his shoulder, J'Dan spied the renegade Kaferian mutants that accompanied him aboard the Crazy Horse after beaming over from the Gondola. Some were dutifully sitting at their control stations, while others were still gratifying themselves by feasting on the innards of dead officers splayed out along the deck. The bridge was mottled in the blood of humans and alien human allies alike, giving J'Dan a euphoria of vengeance, and causing his own blood to boil with the fever of revenge. Glancing around at the death and destruction, he allowed himself a moment of triumph before setting course for their final destination.
+"For the New Dawn!" he bellowed, and the chorus of cicada-like stridulations resonated throughout the bridge.
+----
+**Location: Paris, France, Sol III**
+The Place de la Concorde was twenty-acre parcel of land situated in the middle of Paris. During the French Revolution, the rebel government erected a guillotine in the center of the square where important heads of state were executed on site, often in front of cheering crowds. Thousands were beheaded in the square before some semblance of civility would be re-established, and by the twenty-fourth century, the Place de la Concorde became a beacon of peace and prosperity, as it was the home and office of the president of the United Federation of Planets.
+With the soon-to-be retired Andorian president, Wolmac D'lara, off campaigning for his hand-picked successor candidate, Councilman Tharn of Andoria, Parisians went about their late-afternoon activities, most naively unaware of the fast-unfolding chaos in Earth orbit. In the shade of the mighty Eiffel Tower, tourists and bystanders alike stopped dead in their tracks as a distant rumbling reminiscent of thunder permeated the cool autumn air. Looking towards the sky, everyone spotted a growing contrail low on the horizon, which was reverberating louder and louder as the object came hurling towards the city square. Panicked mobs began racing in all directions as the realization that impact in their vicinity was imminent.
+The amount of antimatter stored on the starship was tantamount to about fifty kilotons of trinitrotoluene, or a little over three Hiroshima-sized explosions that sparked off the Atomic Age in Earth's twentieth century. Using the accuracy of the Starfleet-designed control thrusters, the terrorist team aboard the Crazy Horse steered the vessel on a near-perfect course towards the Place de la Concorde. In a flash of blinding light, entire city blocks were carbonized in a split second, and hurricane-force winds of a thousand degrees Kelvin blew across the bustling Federation metropolis, causing even the Eiffel Tower to waver and ripple in its wake. As a mushroom cloud formed over the downtown skyline, onlookers in surrounding communities gaped in shock at the mind-bending reality of a planet under attack.
+----
+**Location: Command deck, Earth Spacedock**
+The captain of engineering stood hunched over the commodore's desk, attempting to explain the situation to the station commander in as straightforward terms as possible. With eyes focused, and breath steady, a trickle of sweat fell down the engineer's forehead and onto the emergency operations manual open in front of them.
+"Commodore," he stated with grim intensity. "If we can't get a starship here to tractor beam us to a higher altitude... Earth Spacedock will burn up in the atmosphere in less than one orbit."
+The pall of the words descended upon the attending officers with the weight of an entire planet. The commodore, who was well-known for being composed and level-headed under extreme pressure during the Dominion War, bore an expression of both shock and disbelief, unable to find a resolution to their current predicament. With wide-eyed astonishment, the elderly man looked around at the senior officers before him, and managed to utter words that he never - in his worst nightmares - would have foreseen himself speaking.
+"Begin the evacuation..." he ordered with a raspy voice. "Children and their civilian mothers first..."
+Deep down inside, each of the command officers knew that it was an impossible task, at least not within the time allotted. It was clear that the commodore was hoping to save at least a few of the remaining 250,000 lives aboard the station before it met its fiery fate. Under extreme circumstances, it would take a minimum of twelve hours using all transporters and shuttlecraft in Earth orbit to completely evacuate Spacedock, and they had less than twenty minutes before their orbit disintegrated. By convention, the commodore was not a religious man, but as the world around him descended into desperation and chaos, he found himself folding his hands together; he found himself praying.
+He was praying for a miracle that would not come.
+----
+//"Luna Colony, Luna Colony! This is Starfleet Command on emergency channel! Spacedock is in need of immediate assistance! Luna Colony! Do you read us?"//
+The Moon itself had been considered a lifeless rock for many centuries until the human inhabitants of Earth chose to take their first steps to the stars and colonize its closest celestial neighbor. What took centuries to build - a technological mecca of sophisticated interconnected space colonies on the lunar surface - was destroyed in seconds. The smoldering remains of Tycho City, a bastion of civilization spanning eighty kilometers, was nothing more than a fuming crater of burning embers. Signals from Earth, which were normally routed through Tycho's intricate subspace array, went unanswered as the forlorn survivors of Luna colony scrambled desperately to save the remnants of their homes.
+----
+//"Starfleet Command calling Utopia Planetia! Emergency alert! Deploy all available starships to Earth! This is a planetary Priority-One distress call! Utopia Planetia? Do you copy?"//
+For centuries, the canals of Mars were the source of science fiction and speculation among the inhabitants of Earth, sparking fantastic ideas of extraterrestrial aliens and giant cities funneling life-giving meltwater from the polar regions of the planet. In the twenty-first century, the first human explorers of the Martian surface revealed the planet to be a lonely place; desolate and benign, and beckoning Earthlings to carve out a new, unique civilization of their own. Utopia Planetia, once the bedrock foundation of a mighty Starfleet, had been reduced to over ten-thousand square kilometers of flattened, lifeless, and mangled refuse in one felt swoop. Pillars of red smoke billowed from burning craters that were once solidly-built, multi-storied habitation facilities, and networks of roads sculpted into the crimson soil, which led off to other destinations on the planet, now terminated at the borders of the city as if they had been wiped clean by a giant tsunami. Barely escaping the titanic blast, a lone prospector's vehicle lay on it's side, blown off the road and rendered inoperable as it's crippled, space-suited owner crawled over to a nearby rock. Barely receiving the weak signal from Earth, the paralyzed surveyor was burnt so critically, that he could not voice a reply, and only held out a shaky, smoldering glove towards the magenta sky in a last gasp for help. There, among the desolate carnage of a dead space colony, the human explorer died a lonely and painful death.
+----
+In the blackness of space, the dim yellow light of Sol shone brightly across the vast interstellar distances. Its solar wind was steady and unrelenting, yet within this vacuum, and without any operational communications array within her star system, no passing vessel was able to receive the weak, desperate signal emanating from Sol's third orbiting celestial body. Seemingly lost in the infinite void, a single wavering voice cast a desperate, impassioned plea over the open subspace frequency bands:
+//"...To any vessel in or near sector zero-zero-one... This is the Earth Emergency Command Center calling ANY interstellar vessel..."//
+The static-laced break in the transmission suggested the operator was so urgently hoping for a response, that he allowed a precious few seconds to pass so as to listen intently for reply. Sadly, there was none. So weak was the signal that it was completely lost among the background scatter of natural, stellar-induced static of the galactic abyss.
+//"Is there anybody there?... Anybody at all?"//
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 <fs x-large>**Chapter 40: New Dawn**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+The deafening roar of the stadium crowd was flooding into the doctor's ears, making it difficult for him to concentrate on the game. On the other hand, he was becoming used to the ebb and flow of the cheering, learning that when the pitch increased in exuberance, it usually meant that the ball had been taken control of by one of the teams, and was barreling toward either end of the field. This time, it just so happened that it was heading towards his end, causing Leon to feel a rush of adrenaline. As goalie for his own team, he readied himself as a pack of raucous players from the other team rapidly flocked in his direction with the ball.
+It was over in a split second. As he saw the gaggle of green-jerseys emblazoned with "Tranquility Eagles" overrunning him, Leon dove into the air, and reached out with his racket in an attempt to catch the ball, which sailed right past him and into the goal net. He missed catching the shot by about two feet, and went tumbling to the ground in a most ungraceful position. The crowd went wild as the referee blew his time-out whistle, and as a dejected Leon stood back up, the loudspeaker registered the opposing point.
+//"Another goal for the Eagles!"// the announcer echoed across the stadium. //"Mavericks are down six, while Tranquility increases their lead to ten! What a game!"//
+As the players dispersed, the opposing team smiled and congratulated themselves while a lone Maverick player pulled off his helmet and face guard while walking towards the doctor.
+"Come on, Leon!" shouted John. "At least try to look as if you're ENJOYING this!"
+"I'd enjoy it more if we took it down a notch!" he said through his face mask. "Can't we try this at a lower difficultly level?"
+"We're already at level one, doc."
+"I don't think I'm cut out for organized sports," the doctor grumbled.
+"Lacrosse is one of the oldest sports in human history," John informed him with a touch of pride while planting his racket into the ground next to him as if it were a flag. "It dates back to thousands of years before the Iroquois Confederacy. You might show a little respect."
+"I said I'm not *cut out* for it," Leon retorted. "I didn't say I didn't respect it."
+"Fair enough," exhaled John. "I just wanted you to get a taste of it before you meet the guys on Olympus Mons. They're probably going to challenge us to a LaCrosse match, and I'll be damned if Vic and I end up being the only competent players on our team again."
+"Are we done here, then?"
+John was about to suggest they play another match without the stadium crowd, but as he looked at the doctor attempting to regain his breath, he realized that maybe they both had had enough. "Computer, end program," he called out to the ship's omni-present mainframe, and in an electronic whisper, the surrounding LaCrosse stadium, as well as their sports apparel, disappeared to reveal the blank ebony walls and yellow projector grid of the deactivated holodeck.
+"Come on," John patted Leon on the back. "I'll make Vic buy you dinner on Luna Colony before we leave for Mars."
+Leon smiled and looked at his friend when it suddenly dawned on them both that something was peculiar: The holodeck doors had not opened after ending the program, which was the standard protocol.
+"Computer, open the doors..." John asked.
+Registering a negative warble, the computer disobeyed with an ominous reply.
+//"Command not recognized. USS Saratoga is now under the command of UNKNOWN USER."//
+"What the HELL??" exclaimed Leon.
+"Carter to bridge!" John tapped his combadge. When no response was heard, he tried futilely several more times before considering another course of action. "Computer!" beckoned John. "Arch!"
+Fortunately, the holodeck was programmed to allow certain fail-safe systems to activate without restricted access, one of which was to always provide the holodeck control arch on request, despite what situation may be occurring in the computer beyond the holodeck. Immediately, John knelt down and began typing commands into the interface.
+"Comm channels are locked out," John stated while struggling with the obstinate computer. "We have no access to anything requiring a user logon."
+"That's just about everything on the ship," Leon said tensely. "Try the EMH recall. That should still be operable no matter who's in control of the ship."
+"Shannon's still in her diagnostic cycle," John iterated with hope in his voice. "Maybe she can lend a hand."
+With a positive chirp, the computer obliged the faux need for medical assistance by bringing Shannon Harris into existence on the holodeck. She looked mildly bewildered after being pulled out of her diagnostic cycle, but immediately spied the two officers, provoking a grin on her face.
+"Did you boys miss me so much that you couldn't go a day without me?" As soon as she said that, the holographic doctor took note of the serious faces of her friends, causing her grin to collapse.
+"Shannon," John started anxiously. "I think we're in trouble. Can you access the ship's main subspace transceiver?"
+She scowled with confusion at the request, then looked towards the floor as her program made it's way into the restricted portion of the computer's interface.
+"Odd," Doctor Harris remarked. "I can't. I can only receive comm traffic. I can't transmit..."
+"What's going on?" the executive officer asked intently. "Why can't we contact anyone?"
+Without warning, the look of confusion on Shannon's face contorted into a shocked, horrified expression as she grabbed her stomach in referred emotional pain. Screeching in agony, the doctor relayed her reaction about the plethora of information coming in over the communications frequencies throughout the Earth system.
+"Oh my GOD!"
+----
+**Location: Low Earth orbit**
+It began as a futile yet hopeful attempt by a small fleet of service shuttlecraft, travel pods, and a few in-system commercial freighters using their feeble, antiquated grappler arrays. One try after another, the combined force of the pitifully diminutive vessels made no impact on Spacedock's increasing velocity nor decreasing altitude. They were outweighed by a factor of over fifty million, and no amount of power could be channelled in large enough quantities to change the station's trajectory. By the time the monolithic structure kissed the upper regions of Earth's mesosphere, its fate was sealed, and the vessels were forced to retreat in defeat.
+Off-gassing from the ablative effect of ozone and upper atmospheric ionization impacted Spacedock's hull, and formed the genesis of what would eventually become a seventeen-thousand kilometer-long contrail stretching from the Pacific ocean offshore of Baja, across North America and the North Atlantic, and dipping below the equator into sub-Saharan Africa. Orbit-to-ground communications were choked with thousands of hopeless, anguished voices beseeching the universe for a rescue that would not happen. As re-entry turbulence shook the massive structure, the open subspace channels screamed with overlapping panic, hysteria, and profound weeping while surface viewers gawked forlornly at the insurmountable human suffering pouring onto their receiver screens. Eventually, the hull ionization swelled into a full-blown plasma layer that enveloped the station in a bright orange funeral shroud, forcing an end to both communications and transporter evacuations.
+Structural break-up commenced over the Canary Islands, as the single blinding sphere of orange light fluttered, heralding the dissociation of three distinct sections of Spacedock that pulled themselves apart like molten slag flowing out of a blast furnace. Lives were extinguished and bodies burned to carbon as a cacophonous rumble resonated across the sky from horizon to horizon. The turbulence sent pieces of white-hot debris peeling off the disintegrating hull, which broke apart into thousands of diminutive orange streamers as they rode the shockwave all the way to the ground. In distinctly rapid succession, multiple sonic explosions thundered throughout the heavens as debris decelerated below the speed of sound, and a myriad of tiny white vapor trails stretched in all directions. The rain of wreckage would last for hours, as charred flotsam ranging in size from inches to meters in length pelted the oceans and continents from above.
+In a final blow, the burning, melted remains of the largest piece of Spacedock impacted the ground at the southern tip of the Great Rift Valley in East Africa, carving a trench several kilometers long, and terminating in a gaping, smoldering crater about a hundred meters in diameter. As the slag cooled in the simmering cauldron, the realization that two hundred thousand people were now dead still had not resonated with the inhabitants of Earth, as they were still confused while struggling to interpret what was happening around them. One by one, people stepped outside their homes and workplaces to helplessly watch the countless pieces of flaming wreckage fall from the sky with their own eyes, imprinting in their minds the shocking reality that the once indestructible icon of human accomplishment had crumbled apart over their heads.
+----
+**Location: Deck 11, USS Republic**
+It took several minutes for John, Leon, and Shannon to digest the ghastly news coming in over the comm channels. They each were both angry and stupefied at the carnage and audacity of the cowardly attacks, searching for a way to grasp the magnitude of the unfolding disaster. With Spacedock gone, and four orbiting starships destroyed - one of them flown intentionally into the center of Paris and detonated - they had no idea what to expect next. Just as they grappled with this new reality, Shannon informed them that Republic was changing course back towards Earth, apparently due to the nefarious instructions from the individuals sequestered in the deuterium tank bridge. Although the unexplained degradation of the antimatter containment aboard Republic had halted, the magnetic field still had not regenerated itself, suggesting that whatever their uninvited guests had in store for Republic, it did not include saving the ship from disaster. The next mission for the trio of officers was clear: Regain control of Republic by any means necessary.
+Like the rest of the vessel, the hallway adjacent to Holodeck Six was devoid of people when Shannon whispered into existence just outside the door. While her program was uniquely encapsulated from the rest of Republic's computer system, she still had the innate ability to interact with it on a level that no biological organism had the capacity to do. Removing a wall access cover next to the holodeck door, she uncovered the maintenance circuitry and held her hand over the interface panel. As the buttons and lighted indicators wavered and fluctuated under her control, she narrowed her focus to the lockout and subspace dampening field that was setup by Lieutenant Klaus. While a normal EMH wouldn't have had the clearance or authority to override Klaus's lockout, Shannon had the advantage of being a fully commissioned officer who happened to outrank him. In a span of only a few seconds, the holodeck doors yawned open, allowing Commander Carter and Doctor Cromwell to exit the room.
+"It was Klaus," Shannon immediately informed them. "He locked you in there."
+"I should have guessed," John grimaced with regret. "He's been borderline insubordinate for weeks. Is he the one in the deuterium tank bridge?" The tell-tale sign of someone commandeering Victor Virtus's engineering work did not go unnoticed when the 'Saratoga' computer refused to answer commands.
+"I don't think so," she replied. "According to the locator logs, his combadge signal stopped shortly before Republic left McKinley Station. He must have beamed off."
+"So we're dealing with an unknown variable," extrapolated the XO. "An unknown someone who's probably connected somehow to the attacks on Earth. What's their plan?" he turned back to the holographic doctor. "What are they up to?"
+"It's just a guess from the navigation computer, but I think they're setting Republic on a collision course with the surface," explained Shannon. "Just like the Crazy Horse."
+John clenched his jaw in anger. "That's just not going to happen," he said with determination.
+"You have a plan?" Leon asked.
+John looked to Leon in what he perceived to be an accusatory manner at first, but then the doctor then realized his friend was looking intently at his combadge. Without another word, John snatched the doctor's badge from his chest as well as his own, and tossed them both back into the holodeck behind them.
+"Whoever's in charge of the 'Sara' will be tracking our combadges," he stated. "As for the next part, there's no time to lose." Grabbing Leon's shoulder, he ushered him down the corridor while directing the holographic doctor over his shoulder. "Shannon, head to the bridge. We'll meet you there as soon as we take care of our unwanted guests."
+"John!" she called after them. "We don't even know how many of them are in the deuterium tank!"
+"It doesn't matter," he reassured her while he and Leon walked away. "There could be a whole platoon of Klingons in there for all I care, but I'm willing to bet they don't know the 'Sara' like Vic does..."
+----
+**Location: Deuterium-tank "bridge", deck 28, USS Republic**
+Compared to a standard auxiliary control room, the deuterium-tank bridge was nothing special at first glance. In fact, it's location within the ship was what made it unique, as the tank's magnetic field blocked transporter locks, as well as active sensor scans. The tank was also positioned in an area of the ship where indiscriminate phasor fire was ill-advised due to the close proximity of other deuterium-filled tanks. Even more insidious was what occurred when the deuterium-tank bridge was activated, as the Republic's main computer itself became almost entirely disconnected from the ship's main systems, and computer signals to the main bridge were re-routed to a proxy signal generator that mimicked the Republic's main isolinear network. This gave any personnel on the bridge the illusion that they were still in control of the vessel. However, primary ship control became the purview of stardrive's backup computer core, originally programmed by the Republic's artificial-intelligence processors, which, due to a glitch in Republic's mainframe, programmed and configured the core to mimic the USS Saratoga; Republic's previous commission back during in the Dominion War.
+Back then, the Saratoga was lost with all hands during an ambush in an asteroid field the Cardassian border. Years after the war, the heavily damaged vessel was found drifting along the border before being brought back to a construction depot for a complete re-build. While normal procedure would have been to keep the name 'Saratoga' during the refit, that name had already been taken by a newly-commissioned Intrepid-class vessel, and two Saratogas in the same fleet would have been confusing. So, fleet operations chose to re-christen the old Saratoga as the Republic. Unfortunately, because of this dual-identity, the Republic's AI became confused on occasion, and when Victor Virtus used it to re-program the stardrive's backup computer core as a mirror of the main computer for the deuterium bridge, it was given the Saratoga's computer prefix, which led to other problems at the time. Fortunately, Victor Virtus was a smart engineer, and went with the flow by re-programming the jury-rigged panels inside the newly-built control room to Saratoga specifications. In effect, the deuterium-tank bridge became the control center of another vessel that, if activated, would hijack the Republic's main control systems in lieu of it's own.
+And so it did. While the deuterium-tank bridge played no small role in resolving the Cestus Three incident of the previous year, it was decided to decommission the room for use again only when Virtus needed it. That need had never materialized, as the brilliant engineer had been transferred back to Earth for more important assignments. Nevertheless, the control room remained, and when it's existence fell into unsavory hands through less than honorable officers serving aboard Republic, a boon turned into a curse. With bundles of wire jutting out from scattered locations all over the interior of the deuterium tank, the five control stations were now manned with nefarious individuals: The standing tactical station was attended by a massively-built Nausicaan, whose exoskull plate bore a pair of beady black eyes. Across the aft end of the room from him, a Dopterian stood at the engineering console, and who carefully manipulated the antimatter-containment system so as to force the ship's evacuation at McKinley station a short time ago. Two acceleration couches at the front of the room were situated in front of a wall-sized main viewer, and contained two Kobheerians at the make-shift Conn and Ops stations. Finally, in the center of the room, and sitting in a chair originally designed for seating at a conference table, was the Romulan ringleader of Shavis's infiltration team.
+"Sovereign?" the Naussican at the tactical station addressed the Romulan. "I'm not reading any more armed vessels in the vicinity of the Earth system. We have a clear path all the way to the ground."
+"Excellent," they sly Romulan replied. "Helm, adjust our orbital course to zero eight six mark eight."
+"Yes, sovereign" the Kobheerian at the conn station replied. "ETA to San Francisco is seven minutes, thirty-two seconds."
+"You all have done well," the Romulan leader looked around at his disciples with satisfaction. "Shavis is proud of what you have accomplished here today. Soon, we will deal a mighty blow to the humans, striking them so hard that they will never recover. This is the start of the downfall of the human race, and we will each die knowing that we were the catalyst. For Prince Shavis and the New Dawn!"
+"For the New Dawn!" the other aliens roared in response, their voices seething with inspiration and vindictiveness.
+For the next few minutes, the room was silent, sans the beeping and chirping of the machinery. On the main viewer, the west coast of North America came into view, and as Republic surfed the outer fringes of Earth's atmosphere, an oscillating vibration signaled their impending martyrdom.
+"Ninety-three seconds to impact!" shouted the Dopterian at the helm over the rising groan of the ship's atmospheric engagement.
+"Standby to release antimatter!" the Romulan ordered as the white cirrus clouds parted before them on the screen, revealing the unmistakable kidney-shape of San Francisco Bay ahead.
+Without warning, the floor beneath them jolted violently. It wasn't an air pocket that hit them, nor was it the resonating shutter felt during combat, where the acceleration compensators would adjust the gravity to assist in hull integrity. Instead, it was more a jarring action that threw the standing aliens to the deck, and knocked the Dopterian in the Ops chair out of his seat. Slowly, the gravity in the room began to lessen, and while the main screen turned to static, the monitors on the control stations turned red and blinking with obvious signs of major malfunction.
+"What happened?" shouted the Romulan leader. The Naussican and Kobheerian behind him were trying to help one another gain a foothold on the floor, but having no success.
+"I don't know, sovereign!" the Dopterian at the helm replied. "I have no control over anything! My console is not responding to commands!" Next to him, the Dopterian on the floor began floating upwards while grasping desperately at the head of his chair.
+"What do you mean 'not responding'??" the Romulan shouted angrily while holding on to his own chair for dear life. "Did they re-route the processor nodes?"
+"No sovereign!" the Dopterian replied. "It's as if every optical cable was pulled out from the bulkhead at once! None of the control systems are registering ANYTHING!"
+----
+Outside on the deuterium tank catwalks, John and Leon were wearing respirator masks and standing across from each other on either side of the chasm where deuterium tank number three had once been situated. Air was whipping past them as the compartment forcefully decompressed while they manned a pair of twin control stations that operated the latching mechanisms for the deuterium tank structural interlocks. As for the tank itself, the construct was lifting up and out of its space inside the ship's hull through two missing bulkhead plates on the ceiling. As it rose, every link that the tank had with the Republic was severed, breaking apart in a shower of sparks. Without a moment to lose, John lead his way over to Leon using handholds mechanically carved along the sidewall of the catwalks, and used a hand-over-hand method to reach the doctor. Hurriedly, they both made their way to a nearby containment airlock built into the engineering deck as the gargantuan deuterium fuel cell floated out of it's cradle in the secondary hull, and out into space beyond.
+Inside their safety compartment, John and Leon removed their breathing masks as they watched from the airlock window while the deuterium tank tumbled away from Republic and broke apart in the atmosphere. As the main computer took over control of the ship, the vessel began rising out of Earth's atmosphere, and the bluish sky as seen through the open bulkheads faded to a starry black once again.
+"Vic knew long ago about the probability that someone could use the deuterium-bridge against us," explained John as the two of them caught their breath. "When he had Pakita seal it off after the Cestus Three incident, he engineered an ejection system for the tank for exactly this kind of scenario." Looking back towards Leon, he added, "Of course, he only told *me* about it, and he assumed I would pass it on to others who needed to know." Looking back out the window, he concluded his admission. "The truth is, I forgot all about it until now, never thinking we'd use it."
+"The Virtus probability principle," Leon nodded as John rose an eyebrow at him. "He told me once about it during poker.  In summary, if it can go wrong, it will... so we fix it before it happens."
+"Exactly."
+John and Leon's victory was short-lived. No sooner did the detached deuterium tank disintegrate in Earth's atmosphere than did a fierce explosive burst shoot out from the the impulse engine five decks above. It was loud, bright, and excruciatingly hot, but lasted for only about twenty seconds before dissipating.
+"What the hell was that?" Leon exclaimed while staring out the small airlock viewport.
+"I don't know," John added turning to the wall-mounted intercom. "Shannon, do you copy? What just happened?"
+//"John, get up here! We've got problems!"//
+"What is it?" John replied, realizing that Shannon's voice was full of desperation.
+//"Our friends put a deadman's switch on the Saratoga computer. After you disconnected it by jettisoning the deuterium tank, the ship automatically switched over to Republic's main computer, and started a whole cascade of issues."//
+"Like what?"
+//"First and foremost, the antimatter containment system began to degrade again."//
+The doctor and executive officer looked at one another with expressions of impending disaster. "How long do we have?" John asked.
+//"About twelve minutes, but that's not the worst of it.  The explosive bolts on the core ejection system were fused, and now there's absolutely no way to eject the antimatter bottles."//
+"It's worse," commented John with a defeated expression. "Is there anything else?"
+//"Yes. That explosion you felt just after ejecting the tank was the rest of our deuterium. The power flow regulators to the impulse plasma vents were thrown wide open, and we lost over ninety-nine percent of our impulse fuel.  We've barely enough left to escape Earth's gravity."//
+"Damn it!" John slammed his fist against the bulkhead. "Whoever was in that tank covered all their bases, didn't they?"
+"My guess," Leon added. "Is that they rigged it this way just in case someone tried to disconnect the Sara from Republic, thinking that they could use the antimatter bottles as bargaining chip to get away."
+//"Only they didn't get that chance."//
+John looked at Leon with a deadpan expression before closing the channel. "We're on our way up."
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, USS Republic**
+The course that Shavis's infiltration team set Republic on was parabolic in nature, with perigee occurring at the approximate location of San Francisco. This was supposed to be where Republic - like the Crazy Horse - was to detonate over the population center. Since that did not occur, the vessel only sliced into the outer fringes of the atmosphere before boosting itself back into orbit, and heading on a trajectory into space. Unfortunately, without their deuterium fuel, that was about all that Republic could do for the moment as the remaining officers onboard grappled with what to do next.
+"Run another internal scan of the ship," John Carter hurriedly ordered from the tactical arch. "I want to make absolutely sure no one else is hiding on board, especially Klaus." The venom in his voice when uttering the name of the junior officer was distinctly bitter, revealing his revulsion towards the turncoat officer who locked them in the holodeck.
+"Second scan done," remarked Leon at the main sciences console. "I'm not finding anyone. Not in the deuterium tanks, not anywhere."
+"You're sure?"
+Leon could understand why John was adamant, but there was nothing left for him to scan with the ship's sensors, especially not in the time they have left. "I checked everything," the doctor exclaimed. "Even with all the power relays that Klaus pulled, I still can manually direct the scan to the areas not covered. Unless he or someone else are hiding in a transporter buffer - which I just powered down by remote, by the way - believe me when I say, there's NO ONE left on the ship but us."
+A warbling from the engineering console where Shannon was seated beckoned the attention of both John and Leon. "In about eight minutes, it won't matter who's left aboard," Shannon concluded furiously, reminding the two how little time there was before Republic went critical.
+The sigh of exasperation from the executive officer was unmistakable. Much like Lieutenant Butenhoff earlier, John was now senior officer aboard the Republic, and had a sober decision to make. With only eight minutes to a loss of antimatter containment, there were two options: Try to beam someone aboard who can either eject the core or stop the deterioration of the magnetic field, or use the precious few minutes left to get Republic safely away from Earth. With the ship's engineer on shore leave in another star system, there wasn't much chance of Pakita arriving in time to help. Considering the chaos that must have been occurring on the surface below, they would lose a majority of their time just tracking down someone else who could help, let alone diagnose the problem. The other side of the issue was that setting Republic on another automatic course away from the system could be an invitation for another terrorist team to capture Republic and try again, regardless of how much fuel is left onboard. This was especially frustrating because they have yet to know who their attacker is, or how many are left unaccounted for.
+It was a risk John Carter wasn't willing to take.
+"I'll stay," John concluded. "I'll make sure Republic stays in friendly hands until the end. Leon, get back to McKinley Station and report on what happened here."
+"What?" Leon exclaimed with incredulity. "No way! There's got to be another option! You'd be throwing your life away over a hunch!"
+"Are you blind, doc?" John shouted harshly at Leon. "Take a good look at your sensors! Do you see any starship or capital vessel anywhere in the Earth system at the moment? No! Do you expect one anytime in the next ten minutes? No! That means we'd basically be letting a ticking time bomb fly away from Earth with no one at the controls! And what would we do if someone just *happens* to be waiting for us to leave the ship? I'll tell you: There would be no one - absolutely NO ONE - to stop them from doing something else with Republic before she explodes! I'm not willing to take that chance! Not after everything that's happened!"
+"Then I'll stay," Shannon interrupted him with sternness. "There's no need to waste more human life." There was a finality to her voice that gave both John and Leon pause. The death and destruction of the senseless attacks on the Earth System Commonwealth weighed heavily on Shannon's mind, and while she knew that her non-corporeal nature had a limited capacity to help, John's invective towards Leon suddenly offered her an option to do something. Even if it meant her own death.
+Both John and Leon were taken aback. Not by what Shannon said, per se, but because it had not occurred to them until now that the destruction of Republic also meant the death of Shannon Harris. Obviously, the holographic doctor knew this already, and had already come to terms with it, but for the XO and the doctor, it hit them like a ton of bricks.
+"You're not just saying that because you're a hologram?" John questioned after a moment, keeping his anxiety under control.
+"If you are," Leon piped in to reinforce John's words. "Then you might as well stop right there, because as far as we're concerned, you're just as a much a human being as either one of us."
+Their devotion to her equality as a fellow sentient touched Shannon on a level that she hadn't felt before. She loved John, and while she had a self-preservation instinct to keep herself from harm, she also wanted to keep John from harm too, and it trumped her own compulsion to protect herself.
+"This is what I want," she explained. "If Republic is to perish out here in space, and there's still something I can do to make sure her crew doesn't meet the same fate, then that's what I want. At least then, my death will have been for a good purpose."
+Shannon and John locked stares of unspoken communion. They each knew that this would likely be their last moments together, and there was very little left to be said. Shannon was in acceptance of her fate, and John knew there wasn't anything he could do to change her mind. What is, is what must be.
+"Republic to McKinley Station," John pressed a button on the communications panel. He expected the station foreman to answer, or someone from Starfleet Command, but it was Nat Hawk who answered instead.
+//"C'mander? Where'n th'hell uv ya been?"//
+"Long story, Hawk," John replied. "Report."
+//"It's a real mess jus' about everywhere, sir. I was out flyin' the Peregrine near Uranus on a maintenance flight, an' I come back ta dock with Republic. Only there ain't no Republic ta dock with! Sven filled me in on the antimatter malfunction, an ever since Spacedock went down, we've been tryin' ta help out by routin' comm traffic through McKinley Station an keepin' the emergency channels clear."//
+"What's the status of Republic's crew?"
+//"Now that yer reportin' in, that leaves jus Lieutenant Klaus and Leon unaccounted fer."//
+"Leon and I are here aboard Republic. I'm not sure where Klaus is, but Shannon uncovered evidence that he was behind the sabotage of the ship. Send out an alert for him through Starfleet Security."
+//"You mind fillin' us in on what happened? Like maybe why ya steered a course towards fleet HQ b'fore backin' off at th' last second?"//
+"I will, but not now. We're out of time."
+//"Did you two get th' antimatter containment under control?"//
+"Negative," John replied somberly. "Despite our best shot, Republic is still going to go critical. We've barely enough power to get her back on course away from Earth in time. Lock onto our lifesigns, and stand by to beam us off the ship on my next signal."
+//"Roger that."//
+As the channel closed, Leon looked back and forth between Shannon and John. While he knew the latter hated long goodbyes, Leon also shared a bond with the holographic doctor, though on a more platonic level than John. He had a lot he wanted to say to her, but knew that time was critical.
+"Shannon," he started. "I..."
+"It's okay, Leon," she replied as John walked towards one of the monitoring stations at the rear of the bridge. "You and I both knew that none of this would have lasted forever."
+While they talked, John focused his attention on the engineering subsystems panel, where he accessed the ship's holographic projector system. After typing a few commands into the controls, the words "EMH PROGRAM TRANSFER COMMENCING" appeared on a smaller sub-screen. The upload process was going to be slow, but John was satisfied that it would be complete before the antimatter containment field went critical.
+"Ever since Republic was launched," continued Shannon to Leon. "She was a troubled ship. We all had our own problems and emotional scars to carry with us. What matters is how we overcame those problems and managed to stick together through it all."
+"I'm going to miss you," the blond-haired doctor admitted to her. "You were more than a colleague, you were a friend."
+"I'll miss you too," Shannon hugged Leon. "Think of me each time you use a medical hologram. There's a lot more to us than meets the eye."
+"I will."
+"Come on, Leon" John beckoned after a moment. "We're going to be out of transporter range in less than a minute."
+As Leon stepped back to join John, they both looked at her with remorse and admiration as John pressed the communications button.
+"McKinley Station, activate transporter."
+As she watched the two fade away in the matter stream, Shannon raised a hand in parting gesture.
+"Goodbye..."
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, unregistered ore freighter, Apollo asteroid 1566 Icarus**
+Originally, Shavis had targeted only Earth Spacedock and the Moon, thinking that atmospheric re-entry would interfere with his attacks, since the antimatter-laided freighters could have been shot down during the required minutes-long re-entry sequence for Earth's thick atmosphere. Now, however, as the combined attacks had cleared Earth airspace of any threats, Shavis knew that Earth's surface was vulnerable, and any infiltration teams that managed to wrestle control of a starship without destroying it, would be able to turn them against his most hated enemy. First, it was the Crazy Horse, which took the target at the top of the list: Paris, and the home to the Federation president. Next on the list was Republic, and the one target he wanted desperately to engage: San Francisco, and the home of Starfleet Command.
+That didn't happen.
+Fuming, Shavis watched as Republic shifted her orbit after only a minute within Earth's atmosphere. He was waiting in anticipation for San Francisco to be vaporized, but as the massive Galaxy-Class vessel pulled itself back to a higher orbit, it became clear that something went wrong with his plan. Instead, the starship whipped past it's perigee without impact, and continued on a parabolic course back out towards the inner solar system.
+"NO!" he bellowed outloud across the bridge of his freighter. Everyone on the flight deck flinched, waiting for the despotic leader to find a physical target to vent his outrage. "EVERY one of our ships has hit their target! EVERY one of our disciples have earned their way to the afterlife today! I will NOT stand by while their military capital remains standing!"
+While it wasn't Shavis's intention to martyr himself on this day, as he was hoping to live on to fan the flames of anti-Federation revolution across the Alpha Quadrant, he knew that death would be a possibility. Unfortunately, his freighter was outfitted to be a fighter-carrier, and not an antimatter bomb. His hexapod drone fighters were all exhausted, and his freighter's warp core possessed barely enough antimatter fuel to take out a city block. These facts formed the catalyst of his burning rage, as he was missing the last bullet in his firearm of discord against the Federation. Looking around the bridge with wild eyes, he spied his communications officer, the Klingon-Romulan half-breed that kept him informed of the infiltration teams' progress.
+"YOU!" he pointed at the frightened warrior woman. With Shavis lunging towards her, she tried to dodge out of the way, but he caught her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. "YOU told me that they ALL were successful! WHAT happened on Republic??"
+"Your excellency!" she gasped, struggling against his powerful grip. "Please! I have limited intelligence options! I've served you loyally!"
+"Then tell me how the team on Republic failed!" he shouted. "Tell me HOW they missed their target when they were only kilometers from impact!"
+"I... I can't!"
+"Then I will let Faro consume your soul in the afterlife!" he whispered, much to her horror. He was about to remove his sacrificial blade from it's sheath when the Flaxian at the science console garnered the courage to say something.
+"Prince Shavis," he addressed him.
+Turning his enraged eyes toward the alien, the formidable monarch sneered before responding in a vengeful voice.
+"You want to be next, Glyneer?" Shavis hissed.
+"No, your Excellency," he explained. "If you're seeking an alternate choice for destroying the human military city, I think I found one." Turning to a screen next to him, the Flaxian named Glyneer pointed to a computer rendering of an orbital path away from Earth, and a blinking cylindrical object. "One of the ejected antimatter bottles from the destroyed space station is on track to pass near us by only a million kilometers. It has the explosive yield as much as that of several starships."
+Squinting his eyes at the screen, Shavis slowly let go his grip of the communications officer, who quietly went scrambling back to her station.
+"Excellent," Shavis coolly praised, feeling his anger subsiding in place of jubilation. He may yet still have the capacity to deal Starfleet the intended slaughter he so desired. "Plot an intercept course and prepare the grappler array!"
+----
+**Location: USS Republic, somewhere between the orbits of Earth and Venus**
+The Starship Republic had not been this empty of life since the resurrection from her previous existence as the derelict Saratoga over five years prior. A large portion of her crew had already removed many of their belongings, most during the mass exodus at Deep Space Nine several weeks ago, and the rest during the extended shore leave at McKinley Station. Listless corridors stretched out throughout the ship, seemingly frozen in time without a soul walking its lengthy distances. Deck by deck, unoccupied staterooms and crew quarters lay dormant, laboratories sat idle, and conference rooms were dark next to quiescent recreation facilities. Even the arboretum had been put to rest, with most annuals removed and recycled, and perennials and trees put into stasis at McKinley for eventual replanting. Throughout her short career after launching at Utopia Planetia a year and a half ago, the personnel who walked her halls were what gave Republic her life energy, and what validated her existence. Now, with nothing left but automated machinery and inanimate superstructure, the Galaxy-Class starship that was once home to so many, would soon perish quietly without a soul to see her passing.
+All, that is, except for one.
+Alone on the bridge, Shannon Harris sat in the command chair weeping uncontrollably, and releasing the sadness and anxiety pent up inside her. Though she knew as a Starfleet officer that death could come at any time without warning, she did not expect it to occur with so much foreknowledge, nor without the close comfort of friends nearby. It was a death that no human being - photonic or organic - would wish to endure, yet it was what fate had handed her on this day. Feeling alone and overwrought with despair, Shannon could only mutter a few words between bouts of sobbing.
+"I love you, John..."
+As she continued to weep, the engineering subsystems panel at the rear of the bridge was blinking a message. "EMH PROGRAM TRANSFER COMPLETE" it read, followed by a brief sentence reading, "ACTIVATING HOLOGRAPHIC SYSTEM BYPASS". With a faint electronic whisper, a second photonic life form appeared at the rear of the bridge, causing Doctor Harris to cease her mourning and look over her shoulder through the tactical arch. Using the ship's recently-built EMH holo-bypass filter, and by swapping the standard Mark 19 EMH program for another program from the holodeck database, a stout yet familiar Starfleet officer wearing an old-style maroon double-breasted uniform tunic stood next to the aft monitoring stations. Removing a pair of rectangular, eighteenth-century spectacles, the curly brown and gray-haired captain slowly scanned the expansive command center.
+"Starship bridges are a lot bigger than they used to be," commented James Kirk, seemingly out of his element beyond the confines of the holodeck.
+Spying the scarlet-haired doctor standing up in the command pit, the captain pulled open the flap on his tunic to put away his glasses as he walked down the portside ramp. As he approached the dumbfounded doctor, the elder man's eyes squinted when he offered a fatherly smile, tenderly grasping her shoulders.
+"John thought that you could use some company."
+It was all Shannon could do to embrace the holographic Kirk, her weeping transforming from profound sadness to heartfelt gratitude. While she wanted desperately to say a passionate goodbye to John Carter when he left, and use every emotion that burst forth from her own heart, she knew that that wasn't the commander's way, and could possibly cause more emotional harm than good to him. However, with the appearance of John's holographic mentor - a sentient program he created years ago using his own creativeness as well as historical records - it was the next best thing to having John here personally. From her point of view, and which may have actually been John's intention, it was as if John was saying "goodbye" and "thank you" all rolled together.
+Kirk let her release her sadness into his shoulder, holding her tightly as she wept. Gently stroking her scarlet hair, he soothed her nerves for as long as it took for Shannon to undergo a much-needed catharsis. For as little as the captain knew about her, it was clear that she was a strong-willed woman who cared deeply for John, and to see her in this state told him that she was at the end of her rope. What she needed now was comfort, and as her sobbing ebbed, it became clear that it was working.
+"Thank you!" she released him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Thank you so much for being here!"
+"I don't think John would have been able to forgive himself if he didn't do *something* for you," the captain explained. "Of course, he was a little vague on the details, but it's my understanding that Republic's engines are about to go critical, or something." His almost nonchalant approach to his own program's termination was perplexing to Shannon, until she realized that this particular Jim Kirk hologram was more than self-aware; he knew that he was already dead as far as history was concerned.
+"It's more than that," Shannon shook her head and covered her face with her hands. "It's as if the entire universe went mad," she tried putting the events of the past hour into words. "Millions are dead on Mars and Luna... Someone took control of a starship and exploded it over Paris... three other starships were assaulted and destroyed with all hands. Even Spacedock itself was attacked and re-entered the Earth's atmosphere..."
+"...My god!" exclaimed Kirk. "Who in heaven's name would do this? Klingons? Romulans?"
+Shannon shook her head again. "It's too soon to know. The Earth system is in chaos, and they even tried to hijack Republic. John stopped them, but he couldn't keep the antimatter containment from going critical. Hence why we're here."
+"This makes no sense..." he muttered to himself.
+Looking around the room, the holographic Jim Kirk tried to find a communications panel so he could see the damage first hand. Catching sight of the Ops console, the captain from yesteryear walked over to the panel, and pulled out his spectacles from his tunic. As he placed the corrective lenses over his eyes, he tried to make sense of the system before him.
+"How does this damned twenty-fourth century contraption work?" he muttered, while trying to find the controls for the forward screen. "I want to see a tactical view of Earth."
+"Why?" Shannon asked with astonishment. "What does it matter?"
+"If we're going to die together," Kirk explained. "I'd like to know more about why."
+She was about to protest, mainly because Shannon did not want to have to relive the events of the past hour. On the other hand, forcing Jim Kirk to face his fate without knowing the reasons behind it seemed terribly unfair. Pursing her lips, the holographic doctor stepped up to the Ops station and dialed the appropriate keystrokes to give the captain what he wanted.
+The star-scape on the main viewer switched to a computer graphic via an electronic warble. A plethora of information came forth on the screen, all surrounding a digital rendering of Earth, showing it's day side and night side. A fuzzy haze around the planet revealed themselves to be debris, small shuttles, and travel pods orbiting the planet, and a few larger ones were noted to be drydocks and repair depots. Blinking red were four offset information boxes with lined arrows pointing to specific locations in Earth orbit. The first three indicated the last known location of the USS Honshu, the USS Gettysburg, and the USS Tal'Kyr, and read "NO DOWNLINK" along with a more ominous subtext "ASSUMED DESTROYED". The fourth box showed the last known location of Earth Spacedock before it entered the atmosphere above the eastern Pacific, and read "NO DOWNLINK" along with "DE-ORBIT TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED".
+Captain Kirk stood aghast, with his mouth hanging open. He had seen nearly every catastrophe that could befall a planet, but watching his homeworld fall apart before his eyes was beyond comprehension. Now he knew what Shannon meant by the universe going mad, as he had not seen Earth in this state of turmoil since the Whalesong crisis of 2286. At least in that event, Spacedock was able to maintain orbit. Whoever dealt this damage to Earth had a powerful reach, as well as a twisted mind.
+While Kirk was fixated on the ground track of Spacedock re-entering the Earth's atmosphere, Shannon spied a new offset box entering the expansive screen from the lower right edge. It read "UNKNOWN CONTACT". Sounding too much like the "USER UNKNOWN" from the recent attempt by the "Saratoga" to plow Republic into the ground, Shannon's mind went to red alert. Typing a command into the Ops console to project the course of the new sensor contact, her eyes widened with consternation.
+"Oh no!" Shannon exclaimed with rising tension in her voice. "They're going to do it again!"
+"Who's doing WHAT again?" Kirk turned to her expectantly.
+"The attackers!" exclaimed the doctor. "They've got another ship, and it's on the same trajectory they sent Republic earlier! They're on a collision course with San Francisco!"
+"Isn't there a starship in orbit that can do anything?"
+"No!" Shannon hurriedly explained. "Don't you see? That's EXACTLY why they took out all those starships! So spacedock couldn't be rescued, and so they could crash a ship into Paris and San Francisco! There's no one to stop them!"
+The realization of what the doctor was telling him slowly dawned on the captain. He took two steps towards the screen with folded arms, and a hand to his chin in thought. He spun around and began pacing the same spot over and over.
+"We've got to do something," the incredulous Kirk finally said under his breath. "I don't know how, but we've simply GOT to do something!"
+"I don't think there's nothing we *can* do," replied Shannon forlornly. "We haven't the impulse power to double-back on our course, and our deuterium tanks are all but dry."
+"What about the batteries?" asked Kirk with an out-splayed hand. "Or fusion reactor backups?"
+"The warp matrix has been offline for hours," she explained. "Without the heated plasma return from the warp core, we'd waste all the battery power just starting up a single backup fusion reactor."
+"Why?" he inquired. "Where's all the battery power going?"
+"Life support, mostly," Shannon replied, suddenly realizing what it meant. From Kirk's intense look, neither of them had to say a word to decipher what the other was thinking: WHY did they need life support?
+----
+**Location: Unregistered ore freighter, Earth airspace**
+It took Shavis and his freighter crew only minutes to secure the cask of antimatter fuel from Spacedock, ejected shortly before it re-entered Earth's atmosphere. From there, it took only a few more minutes to insert themselves into an orbit that put San Francisco in their target crosshairs. As they crossed the terminator from night to day, the Pacific Ocean, partially obscured by clouds, lay out below them.
+"No sign of pursuit, Your Excellency," the Flaxian at the sciences console informed the black-haired and bearded despot in the command chair.
+"Helm!" Shavis bellowed over the increasing vibration of the vessel against Earth's atmosphere. "Report!"
+"Descending on a sub-orbital trajectory!" the Barolian at the freighter's helm replied. "Course bearing ninety-eight-point-six degrees, local grid. Decent rate: five hundred meters per second. Velocity: mach two-point-two-five."
+"Tactical!" he called out to the Finnean female manning the weapons console. "Range to target!"
+"Altitude: one hundred three kilometers! Distance to target: four hundred kilometers!"
+With anticipating eyes fixated on the distant North American coastline on the the screen, Shavis gripped his chair so tightly that his fingers dug into the upholstery. His objective was set, and he was savoring his last moment alive with visions of a decimated Starfleet Headquarters in the center of a burning, flattened city.
+"Standby to detonate the antimatter!" he ordered, a wild grin widening on his face. "On my mark!"
+----
+**Location: Earth Emergency Command Center, San Francisco, North America, Earth**
+The cavernous room that composed the Starfleet facility for planetary emergency operations was frantic with activity, with hundreds of manned control stations situated in front of a single three-story-high digital display surrounded by two dozen smaller ones, each one the size of a small conference table. Emergency information of every sort were displayed on the smaller monitors, along with broadcasts of burning space modules and desperate, static-laced communications coming in from smaller communities at Luna Colony. On the main monitor, a digital rendering of a rotating Earth was displayed, and a pulsating crimson icon was situated over Paris, with a smaller one over central Mozambique. Every now and again a klaxon would sound, and the words "RED ALERT" would overlay the spinning globe, followed by a computer voice announcing as such over the loudspeaker.
+Kim Roth, after hearing about Republic's hasty departure from McKinley Station, made her way to the emergency operations center soon after the attacks started. Since the emergency command center was the nervous system of Starfleet's crisis response, she witnessed everything after the destruction of Tycho City on the monitors, up to and including the most recent attempt to detonate her own starship over the city of San Francisco. She was relieved to hear that John Carter and Leon Cromwell made it safely to McKinley Station, but ordered them to remain in place until they could discern if the attacks had ceased. As it happened, the ground tracking network - though only partially operational due to a loss of several of it's satellites - was tracking another rogue freighter on a direct course for San Francisco. Standing on the command balcony overlooking the monitoring floor, Kim was one of several senior and flag officers watching the crisis, and their eyes were focused on the floor below where a seasoned, red-haired Vice Admiral was giving orders through a headset to control stations around him.
+//"Descending orbit bearing two-seven-eight-point-six-three degrees,"// the loudspeaker gave updates on the incoming freighter.
+Kim Roth maintained a stern, tense expression on the balcony, keeping her arms crossed, and waiting for the worst to happen. The appearance of the freighter on the tracking grid happened so quickly that no serious evacuation of the city could be organized in time. Except for a few hospitals and schools, as well as the top brass at the main Starfleet Headquarters building, the rest of the city were forced to stay and await their fate.
+//"Altitude: seventy-five kilometers... Distance: three hundred kilometers..."//
+It was the first time Kim had been around a group of admirals that were dead silent. They did not speak a word amongst themselves, for they were all too focused on the activity below. A few of them still held out hope that the freighter would somehow miss the city, but as its trajectory on the overhead map showed clearly, the course was precise, and likely to be deadly accurate.
+//"Decent rate: five hundred meters per second... Velocity: mach two-point-five and accelerating..."//
+Immediately following the torturously suspenseful announcement, the situation suddenly became more complex.
+"Admiral!" an Efrosian lieutenant called out from one of the many control consoles out on the floor. Although he was talking into his headset, he stood up so the commanding admiral knew which station had spoken. "Telemetry reports we have a new sensor contact! Retrograde orbit bearing ninety-eight-point-six-three degrees. Altitude: two hundred and ten kilometers. Distance: four-hundred-twelve kilometers. Velocity: mach seven-point-three."
+"Identification?" the vice admiral turned to a Vulcan commander seated next to him.
+"It's ours, sir," the officer replied. "It's..." the commander looked confused, arching one of his eyebrows. "It's Republic..."
+----
+**Location: Main bridge, USS Republic**
+//"Warning: Antimatter containment failure in two minutes."//
+The Galaxy-class bridge gently shuddered as the vessel buffeted against turbulent air, the result of Republic performing a controlled re-entry within the Earth's atmosphere. The periodic alerts from the computer had long since been been ignored by the two holographic occupants of the ship's command center, as they had accepted their fate and were determined to stop the unidentified freighter targeting San Francisco. As Shannon predicted, it took most of Republic's battery power just to jump-start one of the backup fusion generators, but once it got going, it was able to provide enough power to the impulse engines to reverse course back to Earth. While neither Shannon Harris nor Jim Kirk had the skills necessary to manually pilot the ship on an intercept course, the Republic's computer was more than capable to make the necessary calculations and course adjustments, and by using short, controlled bursts from the reaction-control thrusters, was able to zero-in on the renegade spacecraft. Based on speed and course, it was estimated they would hit so fast, that the bulky freighter would not detect them in time to do anything.
+"I think it's getting colder," commented Shannon at the helm station, as she rubbed off frost that was building up on the console. The diversion of power from life support to charge up the fusion reactor took a toll on the internal environment of Republic, and as the heat leached away into space, it left frigid the interior of the ship.
+"Are you sure we can't just power up at least one phaser bank?" asked the holographic captain sitting next to her at the ops station. "It might make this easier."
+The scarlet-haired turned to him with a smile. "Even if we could, who would pull the trigger? Last time I checked, no hologram in the Federation has the programming to willfully kill another sentient being."
+"Good point," resigned Kirk, as he looked back at the screen.
+On the viewer in front, the distant city of San Francisco whipped by underneath the ship as it travelled westward, easily denoted by the blue waters of San Francisco Bay and the rust-colored trestles of the Golden Gate Bridge.
+"It was nice to see it one last time with my own eyes," commented the elderly Starfleet captain with a wistful expression. While he had a spectacular view of the city from his holographic apartment on the holodeck, his self-aware program provided the burden of knowing that it was fake.
+//"Collision warning: Impact in twenty seconds."//
+The announcement seemed to strike a nerve in Shannon, as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and her eyes widened with a stiff jaw while focusing tightly on the screen ahead. She was fighting the urge to panic in the face of her own termination, and could feel the fear welling up inside her. Letting out nervous whine, she bit her lower lip as she saw the distant contrail of the freighter approaching from the opposite direction.
+"Shannon," she heard Kirk's reassuring voice. Turning to look at him, she saw that he was holding out his hand. A calm washed over her as she looked deep into the captain's eyes, and reached out to clutch his grasp. They held each others' hands tightly as the last few seconds passed, not once looking away from one another, and not once feeling anything more than the peace and comfort of each other's company.
+----
+At fifty kilometers of altitude, and two hundred kilometers from the shore, Republic and the ore freighter collided, releasing the combined antimatter of both vessels. It was estimated that the yield of the explosion was between forty and fifty megatons of TNT, or almost the size of the November 1961 nuclear explosion of Tsar Bomba, a hydrogen bomb which was the most powerful nuclear weapon ever detonated on the planet. The fireball was over 7 kilometers in diameter, but did not touch the ground. Nevertheless, due to it's altitude, it could be seen from thousands of miles away, as if the sun itself had exploded. The bright flash sent a thermal pulse all the way to shore, where viewers on the west coast of North America reported sporadic cases of flash blindness along with first and second degree burns on exposed skin. As seen from orbit, the subsequent mushroom cloud was over 30 kilometers wide, and reached above the Mesosphere into the Thermosphere. However, in the aftermath of the airburst mega-explosion, the venerable city of San Francisco remained standing, contrary to the intensions of the now-deceased leader of the "New Dawn" movement.
+In orbit at McKinley Station, the Republic crew watched on the viewscreens the miracle of their ship rushing to the rescue one last time, although most everyone was perplexed and confused over what had occurred aboard the uninhabited starship to cause it to perform a deed of self-sacrifice. Everyone, that is, except for John Carter. For his part, the executive officer looked mournfully towards the ground with a hollow feeling in his gut. "Goodbye, captain," he whispered with admiration and respect, giving a mental farewell to his unofficial academy mentor. With a heavy weight forming deep in his heart, the normally stolid Starfleet commander looked up to the starry sky with glassy eyes that were swelling with remembrance and tenderness. "Goodbye, Shannon," he finally managed to say out of earshot from everyone around.
+----
+**Location: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, North America, Earth**
+When the initial attacks stopped, several hours went by where confusion reigned and rampant paranoia suggested that another attack could occur at anytime. However, as the afternoon progressed, and rescue starships from other star systems began to trickle in one after another, it became clear that the threat was now over.
+As for the handful of Republic crew, they did the best they could to assist relief operations from McKinley station, but there wasn't much they could do without their starship. Medical facilities were prepared to receive casualties en masse, but was treating only a handful of people because (as would later be determined) the attacks on the Earth system were designed for just one thing: to kill. Not maim, not injure, but to murder; to wipe out as many humans as possible. With this deathly reality, Kim Roth ordered Republic's crew return to San Francisco, where they would wait out the immediate aftermath in Rear Admiral Krockover's office, and where they would be on standby duty for when relief efforts were organized and in need of their services.
+| {{ :audio:dirge.mp3 | Dirge}} | \\ \\
+The main lobby of Rear Admiral Krockover's office was large enough to host the dozen or so Republic crew until they could find quarters, and the receptionist ensured that the viewscreens on the wall were tuned to the live-feed images coming from the emergency operations center. While the rear admiral and Captain Roth were engaged in quiet conversation together in one corner, the rest of the room's occupants were seated or standing, all in various states of shock and disbelief. John Carter, was of course, transfixed on one of the viewscreens showing the live feed coming from Mars orbit when a starship arrived there to assist in the aftermath of Utopia Planetia. Leon Cromwell was watching a similar downlink from Luna Colony, as he was worried about Victor Virtus, though his friend was reported safe in Copernicus City helping with relief operations. Nat Hawk and Zoe Beauvais were quietly discussing the situation together, while Reittan Tolkath was consoling Cail Jarin, the young Republic ensign from operations who was off duty until the incident.
+Although the devastation throughout the star system was mind-boggling, with the majority of the casualties occurring on Mars, Luna, and Earth, respectively, a steady string of arriving starships served to boost the in-system communications network. This allowed the emergency command center to view the entirety of the damage, while another starship was ordered to the edge of the star system to help boost interstellar communications traffic. As the USS Titan arrived to assist with this task, they activated a new subspace uplink to the rest of the Federation, thus flooding the command center with new images and data from outside the ravaged Earth System Commonwealth. While Earth was busy reeling from a grievous, senseless calamity, it turned out that it was not the only human star system to have suffered an attack on this day.
+One after another, images and subspace video downlinks were established from other star systems, and each drew gawks and gasps from the gathered officers. Fuzzy, static-laced digital telecasts were depicting horrific scenes from several nearby colony worlds. New France... Aldebaran... Idara... Norpin... Vega... Proxima Colony. Each of these human colony planets were recipients of a fast and furious extraterrestrial attack. Gaping, smoldering craters replaced cities. Fires raged across rocky landscapes that were once forest or farmland. Buildings and municipalities were reduced to burning embers in the background of burnt, carbonized bodies still ablaze in flames. Humans... entire families... were caught outside during the antimatter incineration of their homes. The grisly shock and gut-wrenching horror were burned into their faces before they died, completely oblivious as to who their killers were. Worst of all, a live feed from Benecia Colony showed an orbital survey vessel scanning the surface, investigating what appeared to be an enormous, planet-wide biogenic weapon release: Dead bodies of men, women, and children littered thoroughfares and community gathering areas, each showing signs of a tortured, heinous death by toxic asphyxiation. The sensor results were blinking in the lower corner reading "NEGATIVE SURFACE LIFESIGNS".
+Soon, these images would be broadcast across the rest of the planet Earth, where people would learn of the extent of the damage far beyond their own star system. With smaller, scattered debris from Spacedock still showering down from above, dusk fell in the cloudy sky over San Francisco, and a cold rain settled in to mark the end of the most horrendous day in Federation history. Come the dawn, the crestfallen survivors would begin the gruesome task of counting the dead.
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 <fs x-large>**Chapter 41: Epilogue**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:dawn_before_the_darkness#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+A steady stream of ash fell from the sky like a gentle snow storm as the plumes of smoke billowed upwards. What had once been known as the city of lights was now an uncontrolled firestorm as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by the occasional stubborn ruins that refused to crumble. One of the most ancient cities on the face of the planet Earth, it had grown over the course of two millennia from a humble Gallic settlement into a modern metropolis that had stood as a beacon of civilization.
+Throughout it's existence the city has been a survivor, withstanding a myriad of conflicts and conquests over the centuries. It had survived the black death, the deadliest pandemic in Earth history. It had struggled through conquests and occupations as well as repelled sieges and birthed a revolution. It had endured the Nazi occupation of World War II, the civil unrest of the early 21st century, and escaped the nuclear infernos of World War III. Finally, it had served proudly as the capital city and seat of the Federation government for two-hundred-and-twenty years.
+But today in an instant, the city of Paris, France had been reduced to a smoldering lifeless wasteland.
+The waters of the river Seine, vaporized by the inferno, no longer flowed through the heart of the city. Neither native Parisians nor tourists alike any longer walked and shopped along the Champs-Élysées. No one prayed within the pews of the thousand year old Gothic Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris. The modern fifteen-story office building that had been built upon the Place de la Concorde to house the office of the president and the council chambers would never again conduct the affairs of state. The Arc de Triomphe no longer stood to honor those whom had fought and died for their country. Never again would the iron lattice Tour Eiffel - once disdained by the public as an 'eyesore' - reach skyward for the heavens. The Musée du Louvre had surrendered her triumphs of art and history to the ravages of violence and war, once and for all.
+It had been a balance of good fortune on the part of the politicians and of poor timing on those responsible for the attacks that had spared the overwhelming majority of the Federation's elected officials from falling to the same fate as the city that had embraced them since May of 2161. Only fourteen of the one-hundred-seventy-one members of the Federation Council had either been burning the midnight oil in their offices, or had otherwise still been within the city limits when the attack had come. With the marvels of modern transporter technology, it simply wasn't necessary for a member of the Council to live within the city limits. Indeed, most delegates kept their residences in regions that closely resembled their home worlds when possible, and most of the executive cabinet maintained their homes where they preferred regardless of the city in which they worked. The President himself hadn't even been on-world at the time, having instead been campaigning for his hand-picked successor in next month's elections.
+It was now over twelve hours since the senior officers of the late Starship Republic had gathered together in the office of Rear Admiral Krockover at Starfleet Command, San Francisco. After the first few hours during which there had been a few hushed conversations, the hours since had found an almost silent reverence falling upon the officers in one another's company. Together, like so many billions of others on and beyond the sphere of Earth, they watched the news reports detail the disparate levels of destruction that had been visited upon the peoples of the United Federation of Planets this day.
+Thus far, the crew of Republic were the 'lucky ones' whom like the politicians of Paris were such do more to fate and timing than anything else; the crews of each of the other hijacked starships had perished at the hands of their captors homicidal and suicidal madness. Already, the Republic herself had become a symbol of some hope amidst the despair. Her sacrifice in saving San Francisco from suffering the same fate as Paris had earned the vessel itself hero status in the eyes of the people.
+The multitude of horrific images of destruction that paraded endlessly across the news feeds would forever be seared into their memories.
+Prominent amongst them had been the mushroom capped tower of Earth's spacedock, one of the greatest engineering constructs and best known symbols of Starfleet's magnificence, as she fell from her orbit in a blaze of death unparalleled to anything anyone had ever witnessed. Even hours after the massive structure had broken and crashed upon the African continent, a steady stream of burning debris had continued to fall in it's wake, lighting up the skies across the globe like thousands of gruesome shooting stars.
+As the hours ticked by, the mid-day light had faded first to twilight then finally onward into night as emergency responders continued to pour in. The entire first fleet had been recalled to duty in sector 001, and the Enterprise herself would be in orbit within seventy-two hours. Beyond the initial wave of Starfleet forces, civilian-lead aid vessels had begun pouring in from Vulcan, Andor, Tellar, Alpha Centauri and a dozen other worlds in proximity to the heart of the Federation. As the chaos abated and gave way to the cold hard reality and despair normal in the wake of such events, the message being sent by those responsible had become loud and clear: it was not the Federation being targeted, but the human race itself. Something reinforced by the ever-increasing casualty estimates which painted the dark truth that well over ninety-two percent of the fatalities were human.
+However, the most oft-repeated question thus far asked by everyone from elected officials and Starfleet admirals to foreign ambassadors and average civilians remained unanswered. Who amongst the Federation's enemies was responsible for this devastating attack? While pundits continued to volley the most prominent and thus thought likely names about, none really fit the bill. They ranged from the ridiculous suggestion of Borg involvement to the unlikely suggestion of a first strike in a new Dominion war to the more possible yet unmotivated involvement of the Breen, whom had the best history having carried out a successful surprise attack during the end months of the last war.
+As the governing bodies of the Alpha and Beta quadrants learned of the calamity that had befallen the Federation in the early morning hours, it became clear that none of the usual suspects were responsible. Most of the great powers of the quadrant had promptly issued statements in response to the attacks. The Klingons were appalled at the cowardice of the attacks, and had promptly sworn to stand by their Federation allies. The Romulans, always more calculating and reserved had expressed their condemnation of such methods and pledged humanitarian support. The Ferengi had offered a sizeable reward for information leading to the apprehension of those responsible. The Breen, the Cardassians, the Tholians... the list of potential enemies had dwindled to none within the first day.
+By 0800 the next morning, nearly twenty-four hours since the attacks had occurred, Leon Cromwell was gently prodding everyone to eat some of the food Admiral Krockover had ordered delivered from the commissary, when coincidentally everyone lost their appetites as the last few shockwaves of information washed over them...
+//"...though the figure could fluctuate up or down by a margin of six to eight-hundred-thousand,"// the Federation New Service reporter, a short-haired Bajoran woman named Telinda said, struggling slightly with the concept of six to eight-hundred-thousand deaths being a 'margin of error' as any being besides a Vulcan would, //"the Office of Emergency Information has issued an approximate figure of... one-hundred-eighty-seven million dead... "//
+No words were spoken between the crew of the late Starship Republic. Somehow, it felt as if not a word was spoken between anyone on the whole of the planet Earth in that moment. As the Bajoran reporter broke down some of the figures that amassed to such an incomprehensible figure, the totality of what had happened was driven home.
+One of the colony worlds to be attacked - Benecia - had lost virtually their entire population to an unidentified biological weapon. One of the eldest Earth colonies, founded not long after the founding of the Federation, it had been home to forty-seven million people. The news concerning Benecia brought the days tragedy closer to home for than it already had been for Leon Cromwell, who found himself no longer able to block out the harsh realities of so many innocent lives being lost. Innocent children whom could have nothing to do with whatever had spurned the hatred of those responsible for the dark deeds of this day. As a doctor, you became accustomed to losing patients and learned to cope with such, hoping that you never became numb to such loss less you lose a part of what it meant to be human. Losing a patient that was a child was always even more difficult, for it meant the end of so much potential, so much life left yet to be experienced. How much potential, how much life yet to experience so much of what it meant to live, had been obliterated today? And for what?
+Four other colonies - Deneva, New France, Vega and Norpin V - had fairly centralized populations. Each of these worlds had lost more than a third of their citizens. New France, the youngest of the three colonies, was less than a century old and had risen to a key strategic and trading world during the Cardassian border wars. Vega colony had pre-dated the Federation, and been a key frontier outpost in the early to mid 22nd century, it's population levels never quite peaking due to it's harsh terrain. Deneva had experienced planetary scale attack one-hundred-twenty years earlier when her people had been attacked by a species of neural parasites, but had escaped significant casualties do to the intervention of the original Starship Enterprise under her legendary crew or Kirk and Spock. Norpin V was a bit like pouring salt into the wound for many, especially for Starfleet brats, as it was a world that catered especially to those seeking a quiet retirement.
+Luna colony, with a densely-packed population of fifty-six million dependent upon dozens of atmospheric domes, had suffered the greatest losses on a percentage basis, having lost nearly half of her citizens. The first extra-terrestrial body that mankind had ever set foot upon had always held a special place in the hearts and minds of humanity and the people of Earth. Her once ghostly and lifeless visage of craters had long ago been obscured by the reflections cast off her domes and cities, like twinkle of diamonds and jewels. Now though, craters once again were easily visible upon her rocky surface, only these were laced with the ruins of what had once been cities of man.
+Iadara, Proxima, Kessik IV and Aldebaran were the least likely candidates to come under fire of them all. Though Proxima and Kessik IV were each near enough to the Klingon border to have been strategic during the Federation's long cold war with the Empire, both had always been low-priority targets, just as Iadara and Aldebaran. Still, their populations were robust and diffuse enough to spare them from their losses making up less than ten percent of their populations as worst case. Though such was of little consolation.
+In comparison, the Martian colonies had been the most 'fortunate' of all the planetary bodies to come under attack this day. Apparently, the true target had not been the citizens of Mars but the great shipyards and other Starfleet installations on or above her surface. Though the surface-based city of Utopia Planitia for which the orbital facilities had been named had been erased from the surface of the great red rock, no other Martian city had shared her fate. The loss of those orbital facilities meanwhile had claimed an additional seventy-nine thousand more innocent lives, not to mention the significant strategic loss of the most prominent and productive shipyards in the whole of the Federation. The minimization of life lost on his native soil did little to console John Carter, but he did take a degree of solace in the simple act of his commanding officer's hand placed supportively upon his shoulder, if for nothing else than as a gesture of solidarity.
+In all, it was the single greatest loss of human life in a single day in the history of all mankind. Not even the opening salvos of 'judgment day' -- the atomic horror that had later become known as World War III -- had resulted in such losses in one singular instance. Though only a third of that conflicts final total of 600 million had been lost today, that fact was of little consolation to the human race. This type of species-specific xenophobic assault had not been experienced in over two centuries, not since the Xindi attack of March 2153 that had resulted in seven million casualties amidst a swath of destruction from Florida to Venezuela. Though the planet Earth itself had only directly lost the 4.7 million citizens of Paris and the nearly 200,000 of spacedock, the totality of human death across the stars was a painful wound beyond proximity.
+//"...We're also receiving word of an unsubstantiated claim of responsibility for yesterday's events..."// spoke the Bajoran reporter Telinda, as she held a hand to one ear to listen to the communications relay she was wearing. //"...Alright, we're going to go now to a live feed from the EC2 at Starfleet Command where we're being told a statement is about to be issued,"// reported the Bajoran woman, using the pseudo-acronym term for the Emergency Earth Command Center. Suddenly, the focus of the video news feed flickered changed to a different location as the signals were switched. For their parts, the assembled crew of Republic were more focused upon the screen now than at any earlier time. Even Admiral Krockover looked intently upon the view screen, which indicated that whatever was about to be announced had yet to even disseminate through the upper echelons of the admiralty.
+The scene was something out of a holonovel, as a throng of reporters stood shoulder-to-shoulder jockeying for positions before a hastily established podium just outside a pair of blast-doors that provided access to EC2 chambers. The press conference was clearly impromptu and had been called for with only moments to spare. There were few reasons for such half-hazard measures to be taken in this day and age, and with the people's desire for information at such a fever-pitch, it seemed likely the rationale here was to ensure the information was made public by Starfleet prior to being leaked or rumored. Whomever was responsible, the top levels of Starfleet Command did not want such news to reach the people by any other means than themselves.
+Without notice, the thick blast-doors parted revealing first a pair of armed Starfleet Security officers wielding the latest variation of phaser rifle. It was a surprising visual and certainly a bit disconcerting to see that whatever or whomever was responsible for yesterday's attacks deigned the presence of armed guards even so deep within the confines of Starfleet's inner sanctums. Once the guards had taken their respective places on either side of the blast doors, a column of Starfleet Admirals stepped forward, establishing themselves shoulder-to-shoulder a few meters behind the podium. Amongst them were a few familiar faces, such as Admiral Henry Toddman of Starfleet Security, Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway of Starfleet Operations, and Vice Admiral Atherton Peck whom had overseen EC2 operations the day before. Finally, the last of the column of Admirals stepped up to take his place at the podium; the Commander-in-Chief of Starfleet, Fleet Admiral Owen Paris.
+//"Good morning,"// began the elder admiral, his tenor in the wake of the events of the past twenty-four hours indicative of the fact that such was very much a figure of speech on this day more than ever, //"I have a brief statement to make concerning the tragic and malicious attacks which transpired yesterday here within the Terran solar system, as well as upon nine fellow Federation worlds. Before I do so however, I feel it necessary to inform the people of the Federation that while these attacks were clearly a coordinated effort, they do appear to have been planned to take place within the same brief window of a few hours time. Since that time, no further attacks have occurred or been reported throughout the Federation. Additionally, Starfleet forces have been placed upon their highest order of readiness and all non-priority or non-defensive mission orders have been recalled throughout the fleet to reassure all the peoples of the Federation. All planetary defense grids have been ordered to war-time standing, or stand-by mode, though I can not stress enough that this is done only as a precautionary and confidence-building exercise to reassure the population. No further attacks are expected, and none will be allowed to succeed,"// stated the Admiral.
+Taking a moment, to both allow his statement to sink in as well as to compose himself a bit further, Admiral Paris continued. //"A little over ninety minutes ago, Starfleet Intelligence received an encoded communication which we have since authenticated to have in fact been made by the apparent architect of yesterday's assault. This transmission was sent from an unmanned signal buoy on the periphery of the solar system, which we believed was dropped their by the lead hijacked vessel prior to the commencement of yesterdays events, with the purpose of transmission should said vessel and her occupants be lost. This eventuality did indeed occur, and the architect of this great crime against life was killed in the failed attempt to attack San Francisco yesterday, an attack foiled by the Starship Republic. This transmission, which we are not yet prepared to release, has taken full responsibility for the murderous attacks."// This revelation sent the assembled group of reporters murmuring amongst themselves for a for moments, something that seemed more than alright with Owen Paris who took the momentary respite for what it was worth.
+//"The individuals responsible for this horrendous attack are, it seems, just that; individuals. Sick, twisted, unethical and reprehensible individuals who claim no allegiance to any nation or empire. They are not a prior foe, such as the Borg or the Dominion. They are not a government with whom our relations are strained, such as the Breen or the Tholians. They are not a race with which we were once animus with yet have found a more positive way to co-exist alongside, such as the Romulans, the Cardassians, or our friends the Klingons and the Ferengi. They are also not a unknown entity; a threat from beyond our borders or beyond the realm of known species. We are not facing the prospect of a sustained conflict with a new military power. What we are faced with today, and tomorrow, is an unknown element. Something which we could not possible have foreseen nor prepared for. What we are faced with... is terrorism. Not heroic freedom fighters like the Bajoran resistance, not misguided individuals fighting for their homes like the Maquis, but plain and simple cowards who use violence against innocents out of anger and spite."//
+//"What we are faced with are a faction of ideological zealots who had been planning for months, perhaps even years, to launch a much more severe, much more devastating attack. Instead, forced by circumstances they could not foresee, they chose to attack now rather than delay any further. These people are killers, thieves, slave traders, smugglers and assassins who choose not to exist or operate within the laws of any society. People who reject civilization of any kind in favor of barbarism and self-gratification. People who take issue with the prospect of democracy and peace spreading throughout the galaxy. Who consider it their duty and their goal to bring nothing less than the complete destruction of the United Federation of Planets. A goal they will never come close to attaining. And just as their criminal fraternity was toppled, just as thousands of their brethren have been brought to justice, so to will these mass-murders. These remnants of the Orion Syndicate will not be allowed to continue their particular brand of illegal, immoral, unethical, and violent existence. Thank you."// His statement complete, Admiral Owen Paris turned on his heal and lead the way back through the blast doors that lead to the EC2.
+As the gaggle of reporters shouted questions after him and the other members of the Starfleet brass, only barely restrained by their professional decorum from charging after them, the feed switched to a pair of FNS anchors. The white-haired and bearded Efrosian Xal Ra-Museii and the clean-shaven elder human Jack Warner.
+"Well that just fuckin' figures," proclaimed Nathan Hawk with a derisive snort from the corner of the room, an incredulous smirk upon his face as he shook his head from side to side. After a moment more, he turned and headed out the nearest door with the words, "I need a drink," trailing after him, Reittan Tolkath not far behind.
+//"...I think the question most people are asking at this moment, were these attacks a direct result of the recent dismantling of the Orion Syndicate?"// came the voice of Jack Warner from the view screen as he asked his co-anchor a question.
+//"I think Admiral Paris made it rather clear that, though the attacks were connected, he said specifically that they had clearly been in the planning stages for months or even years,"// replied Ra-Museii, reading from a transcript to ensure he was correct. //"It seems that the destruction of the Syndicate rather sped up the time-table, so to speak. I'd speculate that whomever was making the decisions, decided to attack sooner with what forces they could muster, rather than risk being arrested for whatever connection to the Syndicate they had, and being unable to complete whatever larger-scale attacks he or she may have originally planned,"// hypothesized Ra-Museii. //"Clearly, the usage of a biogenic weapon previously unknown to science on Benecia colony demonstrates that these attacks were not last-minute, but rather indeed, had been in the preparation stages for some time prior to recent events."//
+//"It does beg the question, though; if the Syndicate hadn't been toppled at this particular moment in time, would Starfleet Intelligence have have to the time or opportunities to be able to avert whatever those larger-scale attacks before they had been launched?"// questioned Jack Warner like a pit-bull on a pant-leg on this theory.
+//"I think at this point, Jack, that the Terran expression 'splitting hairs' is appropriate,"// responded Ra-Museii, not quite sure what his colleague was trying to do with such dangerous speculations. //"Whatever may or may not have happened had the Syndicate not been toppled is something I don't think we can ever know. As theoretically as Starfleet being able to stop said later, greater attacks, it's just as likely that said attacks may have taken place and with an even more devastating loss of life,"// replied Ra-Museii, clearly uncomfortable with arguing over hypothetical's like this in what was supposed to be an information rather than entertainment venue. //"Likewise, I certainly can't fathom how anyone could have ever predicted any of the series of recent events. One month ago, whom amongst us could have imagined an end to the Orion Syndicate at all? Let alone in such a rapid, coordinated and decisive manner? Even more unbelievable than such is the idea that a violent paramilitary element of the Syndicate would have ever been planning, let alone carry out such a sweeping and dramatic attack as was done,"// stated Ra-Museii, hoping he could de-rail this line of discussion with succinct rationality.
+Nodding slightly in concession, Jack Warner finally gave some ground to the points his counterpart had made. //"I suppose your quite right, of course. Unprovoked surprise attacks do have a habit of being things that we could only truly fathom from hind-sight. At some stage or another, a deceptive tactic originates before which it's incomprehensible. The Trojan horse of ancient of ancient Greek myth, Pearl Harbor, the attacks of September 11th, Station Salem One, the Tomed Incident..."// Warner rattled off, just to name a few of histories most surprising feats of shocking warfare.
+Feeling a bit more comfortable speaking through the prism of history through which the emotions of the day could be diffused, and pleased that he'd been able to get his compatriot away from the pundit-like speculations, Ra-Museii offered his own thoughts on the historical parallels. //"I'm not quite sure that we can categorize yesterday's events in the completely unprovoked category, Jack,"// countered Ra-Museii. //"Not to say that I or any other rational being would find the arrests of thousands of individuals engaged in criminal activity as provocation for mortal retaliation in the slightest, of course. However, this situations seems more akin to the Klingon epic pum vo' HoS which tells of the slaughter of the jen HuD warriors at the hands of the mach ghotpu during the second empire,"// offered Ra-Museii with some satisfaction.
+Narrowing his eyes less than a millimeter, everything about the veteran FNS anchor Jack Warner seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. His body language, the tone of his voice, his posture, even his state of mind. //"Forgive me if my Klingon isn't as up to snuff as yours, Xal, but doesn't pum vo' HoS translate roughly to 'fall of the mighty'?"// he asked.
+//"Roughly, yes, but the title isn't as-"// Ra-Museii was in the middle of replying.
+Jack Warner wouldn't give him the opportunity.
+//"I'm sorry, Xal, but this is not a situation in any way comparable to a fall,"// declared Warner definitively, before favoring his Efrosian co-worker with an accusatory stare. //"Unless of course you're attempting some sort of impudent literal joke concerning one aspect of yesterday's events?"// the seasoned veteran asked in an almost sickened snarl, backing Ra-Museii into a very uncomfortable corner with his insinuation.
+//"Of course not!"// shouted Ra-Museii defensively and quite a bit too emotionally than professional standards would dictate. Something that he realized too late only sent him deeper into the corner Jack Warner was boxing him into.
+//"Well thank goodness,"// Jack countered quickly in mock relief, //"I certainly couldn't comprehend anyone, let alone an anchor for the Federation News Service, intentionally or otherwise making such a callous and obscene comment in the wake of such tragic circumstances."//
+//"Nor could I,"// agreed Ra-Museii, uncomfortably unable to offer up much of anything but the verbal equivalent of a smile and nod in agreement with anything Jack Warner said at this particular moment, trapped as he was.
+Turning away from Ra-Museii, Warner looked ahead directly at the recording apparatus and in essence, directly to the people of the Federation watching as he continued. //"For the events of yesterday were not a 'fall' in any sense that such a term could be applied. Certainly not to the great civilization with which we are all fortunate enough to be a part of, the United Federation of Planets. These vicious, vindictive defilements of life were not a 'fall' as we have not fallen. Quite the contrary. If anything, they and our reaction to them are a symbol of the unity of spirit and freedom that we all stand for. Our actions in response to them, a stand in defiance of what the truly evil individuals responsible seek: the annihilation of our combined strength, of our unique and indomitable spirit, of our very way of life!"// proclaimed the trusted newsman. //"Yesterday may have been a day of violence, but it will not define us as a people. No, what will define us as a people is the stand we take against men and women whom would take such reprehensible actions."// Pausing for a moment, the accomplished journalist looked away and cleared his throat before continuing. //"Yesterday was not a fall, but today and tomorrow and every day that comes after until every last one of the monsters responsible will be a stand. One we make together..."//
+----
+//"...And that is why, after what has been a very difficult year for myself personally, on the heels of what has been a very difficult period for all of us in the wake of the events of a little over a year ago, I have decided to step down as senior anchor for the Federation News Service. For me, it's a moment for which I long have planned, but which nevertheless comes with some sadness. For almost two decades, after all, I've held the senior anchor position here, and I'll miss that. But those who have made anything of this departure, I'm afraid have made too much. This is but a transition, a passing of the baton. A great broadcaster and true lady, T'Ban of Vulcan, preceded me in this job, and fine gentlemen, Xal Ra-Museii, will follow. But the person who sits here is but the most conspicuous member of a superb team of journalists; writers, reporters, editors, producers, and none of that will change. To my colleagues, and perhaps most importantly, to the plethora of average citizens who have allowed me the great privilege of keeping you informed on the truly important matters of this great civilization, I offer my unending gratitude. No good-byes, just good wishes,"// offered the the elder human with a bittersweet smile that was shrouded by the salt-and-pepper beard he wore. //"I'm Jack Warner, and that's what's happening in our universe."//
+As the image froze and minimized into the top right-hand corner of the view screen, the focus of the information broadcast switched from what was clearly an earlier recorded segment to the current individual holding down the anchor chair. A Bajoran female with long hair draping down across the right side of her face smiled professionally as she spoke. //"That was the legendary Jack Warner, a dear friend to all of us here are the Federation News Service, signing off last night for the final time. Though he may be stepping down from his role as senior anchor here, he'll always remain a member of the FNS family. I know I speak for everyone when I wish him the best in whatever future endeavors he undertakes."//
+Switching gears, the professional smile faded from her features to be replaced by a more neutral expression as the young woman turned to face a different recording apparatus off to her right, which promptly became the main signal for the news network feed. //"At the top of the hour, I'm Rani Telinda reporting from FNS galactic headquarters in New York. Recapping our top stories, another round of civilian-organized protests occurred this morning at Starfleet facilities across the Federation. The protest group 'Citizens for Peace' once again called for an end to the 'tactical imperative' doctrine instituted early last year amongst a wave of sweeping changes ordered by President immediately following his inauguration in January of last year. The doctrine, which placed a moratorium on the construction of both general explorer and science-specialty vessels such as the Galaxy, Nova, Sovereign and Luna-classes in favor of escort and tactical specific designs such as the Akira, Defiant, Prometheus and Saber-classes, has been heavily criticized by it's opponents as a direct contradiction to the very fundamentals of Starfleet and it's stated primary mission. However, the president and his supporters continue to insist that the doctrine is mandated by 'tactical necessity' in these uncertain times. Critics such a 'Citizens for Peace' director Rebecca Eddington, a former member of the Maquis as well as the widow of notorious apostate Michael Eddington, continues to point out that not even during sustained conflicts has such a mandate ever been necessary..."//
+Switching from the live feed of the Bajoran junior anchor to an archival video, a handsome brunette woman in her mid-40s standing amidst a crowd of sign and placard holding protestors began to speak. //"I know better than most people that sometimes, you must stand up for yourselves and your fellow people, and fight the good fight. I also know from my late husband, from my brother, from my mother, and from so many friends and comrades who died doing just that, that Starfleet's primary function is not as a militaristic force!"// she declared loudly, a rush of cheers and applause bursting forth from the crowd around her as she did so. //"In the entire history of Starfleet, there has never been such a moratorium, such a mandate. Not in the wake of the Xindi attack of 2153, not during the Earth-Romulan War, not throughout our century-and-a-quarter long cold war with the Klingon Empire, not in the aftermath of the Tomed Incident, or Wolf 359, and not even during the Dominion War. Why does this situation, why do these times, call for such a drastic and draconian response?"// demanded Eddington rhetorically. //"The Remnant Attacks were 16 months ago, and with the exception of some unverified incidents of vandalism to unmanned outposts and subspace comm satellites on the fringes of occupied space, no one's heard anything more from them!"// the protest organizer shouted, drawing more cheers and applause of agreement from her followers. //"At this point, they're a shadow threat that's being propped up by this administration in order to pursue their own agenda. It's time to restore the freedoms and liberties that have been sacrificed on the altar of so-called security, and first amongst them the so-called 'tactical imperative' must be rescinded!"// Eddington insisted forcefully, drawing the greatest rush of agreeable shouts and cheers yet.
+With a snort of contempt and disgust, Vladimir Kostya slapped heavily at the control interface on the conference room table in front of him, deactivating the view screen and it's broadcast. He had seen the broadcast the day before already, had heard the same short-sighted and ignorant arguments of individuals like the traitor Rebecca Eddington made over and over again with increasing regularity over the past year and then some. As far as he was concerned, such matters were irrelevant and not worth his time or consideration. Something his inner circle of advisers all already knew, and something the leading members of the Neocratic Federalist party (whom had all but begged, pleaded and threatened their one-time long-shot candidate) were also keenly aware of. Irritated by even having to be here on this fine Parisian afternoon, Vladimir Kostya turned his focus to the man seated across from him at the far end of the conference table and informed him rather succinctly, "I'm aware of the complaints of the minority parties, Mister...?" Kostya trailed off, having forgotten the fairly forgettable man's name despite only a few minutes having had past since the introductions by his Chief of Staff.
+"Cole, Mister President," replied the younger man, as he stood from his seat and straightened out the crisp, clearly hand-tailored civilian business suit he wore, "Marcus Cole, from the Public Relations firm of Rowland and Barnum." Pushing his seat in, the fairly unremarkable looking man was neither too tall or too short, too fat or too thin. He was conspicuously average in almost every fashion other than his slightly pronounced cheekbones and the heir of calm confidence he projected. In point of fact, the only thing one could truly 'notice' about the man was the almost perfect coif of hair adorning his head. Despite his average yet smart appearance, there was something slightly familiar about the man to President Vladimir Kostya. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "And unfortunately Mister President, these particular 'complaints' have grown well beyond your political opponents as well as the minority of... well, any party interested in such things. Which is part of the reason I'm here speaking with you today, sir."
+"Hrmph," President Kostya snorted dismissively, "you're here today, Mister Cole, because of the whining and complaining of my fellow Neocratic Federalists, whom despite the fact that I secured them the greatest political achievement in their history by winning the presidency, remain forever unsatisfied and insatiate with victory."
+Convincingly feigning what had long ago been coined as a 'shit-eating grin' across his features, Cole bowed his head slightly in humble agreement with the head of state. "I certainly can't argue with you there, Mister President. You did achieve a great triumph for your party, and certainly I would be happy with such an accomplishment were I in their shoes. However, this isn't about either one of us, Mister President. This is about them. And while they may have hired me, I'm not here to repeat the same requests they've made of you before. I'm not here to badger you or pressure you on their account. If I may be so bold sir, I rather consider myself to be a problem solver. Someone who finds an amicable solution that's acceptable to all sides who disagree over something."
+President Kostya starred across the length of the conference room table at Marcus Cole for a long and healthy moment, his expression fairly inscrutable even to those who knew him best. For his part, Marcus Cole did not flinch beneath the gaze of one of the most powerful - if not the most powerful individual in the totality of the known universe. He simply continued to pleasantly look back at the President of the United Federation of Planets, his own expression neither one of challenge nor surrender. For that reason, and for the fatigue Vladimir Kostya felt at the realization that should he end this meeting at this stage, it would only ratchet the volume of whining and complaining up by several decibels, the leader of the free galaxy leaned back in his chair and said, "Alright, Mister Cole. Lets hear what you've got up your sleeve."
+Every one of Kostya's inner circle gathered around the austere conference room table here in the newly rebuilt yet still unfinished Place de la Concorde was fairly well surprised at their less than benevolent leader's decision, and it shown on their faces. Not so for Marcus Cole, who simply remained confident and pleased without coming off as smug or arrogant in the process.
+"For the past few weeks," Cole began, reactivating the view screen to a still image of the broadcast they had watched a few minutes earlier, "I've been going over the multitude of opinion polls, analyzing the various hot-button issues, watching the information network broadcasts both current and archival... and I'm confident I've come up with a manner for you, Mister President, to give the appearance of appeasement to the masses, while simultaneously endowing your brethren in the Neocratic Federalist party with a sense of compromise, all the while giving up virtually nothing outside of a minor symbolic achievement that really doesn't cost you any political capital, nor does it truly change the intent of any of your policies."
+Kostya had to admit, if only to himself, at being intrigued by younger man's self-assured idea. Still, based upon the broadcast topic and the fact that Cole had queued up such back onto the screen, Vladimir could anticipate where this discussion was going and remained intransigent in his position concerning the tactical imperative doctrine. Should he feel it truly necessary, he was more than willing to cede some sort of trivial matter here or there for the betterment of his overall agenda. Such was the way of politics, the give and take. So long as he always got more than he gave, he was willing to play the game to a degree. Repealing the doctrine though was simply out of the question. "If you're about to suggest that I repeal the tactical imperative doctrine-"
+"Of course not, sir," Cole interrupted, almost incredulous at the suggestion. "Please forgive my interruption, sir -- I simply didn't want you think me one of them," he said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb to the still image of Rebecca Eddington and her gang of protesters.
+Slightly surprised, Kostya queried, "You're a Federalist then?"
+"Well, I'm not a registered member of any party, of course. Corporate appearances and all... you understand." Cole replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
+"That I do," replied the President, his opinion of the man warming slightly at the probability of shared ideals and values. "So, what's your brilliant idea then, Mister Cole?"
+"Well, let me preface by saying up-front that, by virtue of the subject of my proposal, I know your initial reaction isn't going to be a positive one. That said, if you'll hear me out beyond your first instinct sir, I'm certain you'll see the logic in my proposal." Cole said in response.
+Nodding his head ever so slightly, Kostya sat up in his chair and put his elbows on the table. "Alright, Mister Cole. You've earned enough leeway. No matter how much I dislike your proposal, I grant you that I'll at least let you finish making it before I summarily reject it," the President told him, smiling at his own weak attempt at joviality. His staff meanwhile chuckled appropriately like the trained seals they were. Cole's expression remained the same slight smile that seemed to be his default, as he offered a slight nod in gratitude.
+Turning to the view screen, he keyed in a sequence and brought up a visual of a Galaxy-Class starship soaring through the upper reaches of Earth's blue atmosphere. It was an image every Federation citizen now knew, having been captured by one of the orbital surveillance satellites on Re-Day, some sixteen months earlier. It was an image of the Starship Republic from just moments before it had been sacrificed stopping the destruction of San Francisco under the control of two semi-sentient holograms, one of which Vladimir had at one time been well acquainted with...
+The sight of the Republic brought back a multitude of angry memories for Vladimir Kostya, something everyone on his staff knew very well. He had nearly burst a blood vessel when the ship had been summarily inducted into the Ships of the Line Museum on the grounds of Starfleet Command a few weeks after Re-Day and a further few weeks until the election. He had been sorely tempted to decry the induction of such a ship to such an elite and noble group of honorifics. For all the trouble the ship and her crew had caused him, it hardly deserved to be held in the same regards as such storied ships as the Phoenix, the NX-01, the Daedalus, the Farragut, the Enterprise 1701, the Excelsior, the Defiant and so on. It was bad enough that Voyager had been inducted upon it's return.
+"I know you're very familiar with the Republic, mister president. I also know that through a handful of her crew, she's caused you quite a fair bit of trouble over the years." Cole said, as he began a long and slow counter-clockwise pace around the conference room's rectangular table and it's many occupants.
+"You do your homework, Mister Cole, I'll give you that..." Kostya replied through somewhat gritted teeth.
+"Actually sir, believe it or not, I'm rather familiar with the crew of Republic myself," Cole confessed as he neared the middle of the table along one side. "In another life so to speak, I attempted to bring them to trial for their actions on Cestus III a little over two years ago. I failed in that task, and in doing so I lost confidence in the legal system because the sad truth is, it's fundamentally stacked against the state. As a prosecutor, you have to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, while all the defense has to do is constantly keep shoveling piles and piles of doubt on any case you build. It's rather ridiculous." Cole opined.
+"That's how I got into the public relations business, you see. Because at heart, I'm a salesman. I tried for a long time to sell people on the guilt of the guilty, but frankly the other guys usually make a better offer. Because what they've got to offer is what people are already predisposed to believing and wanting. Which is just rotten because like I said, I'm a damn good salesman. I could sell a space heater to a Vulcan in the middle of the Forge or a swimming pool to a Pacifican during the high tidal seasons. There isn't much demand these days for salesman like that though," Cole lamented as he came upon the sitting President's position. "Unless of course, you're selling something intangible. Which is exactly what people in public relations do. We sell ideas. We craft them, we put them out there, and we sell the people on whatever it is our clients want them to think, or see, or believe. And that's what I want to do here, for you, Mister President. I want to sell the people on the myth that you're giving them something they want, and I want to do so while simultaneously getting a little good old fashioned payback on the crew of the late Starship Republic." Cole finished as he stood now on the president's right, a devilish smile upon his face.
+Either despite or because of his contempt for the Republic and her crew, not to mention the minor kinship he felt upon hearing Cole's tale of himself having been fouled by them, Vladimir Kostya had to admit that he was even more intrigued than he had been earlier. "Enough chit-chat, Mister Cole," the President said, leaning back in his seat now and crossing one leg over the other as he looked up at Cole, "Lets hear your idea."
+Shaking his head in the affirmative, Cole strode much more quickly up the right side of the table to arrive back at the view screen which he activated, playing the recording of Republic flying itself into the path of destruction. "This ship's regarded highly by the public, despite the truth that both I and yourself know about them. She was the only Starfleet ship in the solar system that offered up any resistance, and that in itself made her note-worthy. Having been made the noble sacrifice in order to protect San Francisco, well that just upped the ante. She's become a symbol of spirit, of the refusal to accept defeat even in the face of certain death."
+Nodding, Kostya once again could see where Cole was going and beat him to the punch. "So we christen a new ship named Republic?"
+"Indeed, but not just any ship... " Cole replied, changing the image on the view screen to a live feed over one of the public access channels to that of high Mars orbit. Utopia Planitia shipyards, still under reconstruction after sixteen months. Most of her orbital stations were nearing completion and were already partially inhabited and functional, and 14 of her space-frames dry-docks were already operational, each of them currently housing one of the assorted tactical-specific classes in compliance with the doctrine. The greatest turnout had thus far been the Defiant-Class. The number of the small but powerful crafts in service had more than quadrupled in just the last year alone. Their over-powered weapons, fierce agility, and low crew requirements made them the optimal vessel to serve as the backbone of Kostya's Starfleet. As the image on the screen shifted to the far left, it zoomed in on three dilapidated looking space-frames that appeared unpowered.
+"Before the Remnant Attacks, these three ships were under construction, slated for completion within a matter of weeks." Cole informed them, the vessels within their berths now identifiable as an Intrepid-Class, a Nova-Class and one of the new Luna-Class starships. All science explorers. "Initially, The attacks forced Starfleet to halt completion of them do to a lack of either man-power or supplies. By the time those situations had been mitigated by a myriad of personnel transfers and resource re-allocations, you had taken office and instituted the tactical imperative doctrine. Each of these ships, seventy-two percent, eighty-four percent, and ninety-six percent complete, were thus stripped of key components -- their deflectors, shield generators, warp cores, impulse reactors, computer cores -- and more or less left to languish." Cole explained. Focusing in on the president once more, he finally dropped the first of his bombshells. "I think it's past time that we complete their construction."
+Before Kostya could offer his own opinion, one of his staff -- a short, rotund Bolian man who looked barely out of college -- objected. "The moratorium on non-tactical ship construction wasn't just about ideology. It specifically references the need to devote key critical resources, which in a war-like atmosphere we can not afford to waste on over-populated, weaker vessels whose primary role in the fleet can just as easily be served by unmanned probes."
+This time, it was Kostya who beat Cole to the punch. "Tem?" the President said, directing his eyes to the young Bolian.
+"Yes sir?" came the sheepish yet enthusiastic response from the young man-boy.
+"Shut up." commanded Kostya simply.
+"Sorry sir," replied Tem, appropriately chastised.
+Turning his attention back to Cole, Kostya gestured for him to continue.
+"As I was saying, each of these ships is very near completion anyway. It would only take eight weeks to complete the worst-off amongst them, the Intrepid-Class ship and a little less than two weeks to finish the best of them, the Luna-Class. Which is the one I believe we should christen as the new Republic, sir. The beauty of this is elegant in it's simplicity. By finishing these three vessels and sending them into active service, you give your opposition and your critics a hollow victory." Cole explained.
+He then went on to detail the specifics, this time as he began a clockwise pace around the table. "Since they were already well under construction prior to the doctrine, you're not violating it in a technical sense because a conservative reading of such clearly states that no 'new' ship construction can occur on such classes. Furthermore, the diversion of resources to complete them is minimal - less than two-percent of overall construction materials and less than six-percent of available man-power. Add to that since their not large-scale explorers, the crew required to man all three ships combined isn't even parallel to the compliment necessary to man a single Sovereign-Class ship and what you end up with is silencing your critics, helping your party out with their next round of Council seat elections by giving the appearance of compromise, all while truly maintaining the heart of the doctrine."
+A few long moments passed in silence once it was clear that Cole, now once against standing beside the president, was relatively finished. No matter what the actual opinions of Kostya's various minions might be, none of them offered such before first hearing the President's own point of view. For some, this was cowardice while for others it was self-preservation of their jobs in the inner sanctums of power. Finally, Vladimir offered his reaction. Tilting his head ever so slightly to one side, her seemed to shrug with his face before finally voicing his feelings. "I actually like it," he admitted, somewhat surprised at such. "Granted, the idea of giving even a token victory to the self-serving sycophants who would just as soon whine about rain being wet is never appealing, but... I suppose in this case the ends justify the means." Raising his right hand, he shook his index finger at Cole as he asked, "You still haven't explained to me how this involves the Republic crew."
+Crouching down on his haunches in front of the president, he went over the last truly important detail. "In an ideal world, you could assign a crew of loyal neo-federalists to be in charge of this new Republic, and that would be that. As I'm sure you're aware though, this is not an ideal world. Not by far. If you stack this ship with party loyalists, or for that matter anyone outside of the former Republic's senior staff it would gut a considerable portion of the overall plan, and negate much of the ability to silence your critics. Though I know it must be galling for you to willingly reunite a group of misfit malcontents like Roth, Carter, Cromwell, Hawk and so on... it really robs you of one of the best aspects of things if you don't put them back together again." Cole pointed out.
+"Well, I'm not terribly concerned with Captain Roth, or rather I should say Captain Dorian," Kostya replied. "Though I'd never trust her as far as I could throw her, she's come to her senses quite a bit since Re-Day. Likewise, her new husband has quite a bit to lose should she ever willfully oppose me again. As for the rest... the idea of allowing John Carter to do much of anything but scrub plasma conduits ever again, let alone alongside his merry band of fellow rogues... what, exactly, is the benefit of that?"
+"That, mister president, is where the most beautiful element of this whole plan comes into play," revealed Cole, the mischievous grin once again washing over his features as he stood up and began moving once more along the length of the table back towards the front of the room. "As much as you loath them, I can only imagine they likewise loath you. Imagine how grating it will be to all of them to be reunited only to realize that they are so squarely under your thumb? How depressing it will be as they're dispatched on nebular surveys, completely removed and isolated from current events. Worse yet, they'll be forced to serve as your personal political propaganda pawn, dispatched to 'show the flag' and remind everyone of the losses of the Remnant Attacks on worlds where members of your party are vying for election to the Federation Council. They'll be living out their worst nightmare, their victory as bittersweet as defeat." Cole illustrated happily. Stopping at his chair, he put his hands upon the headrest as he put the proverbial cherry on top of the plan. "It's like the Ferengi rule of acquisition says; 'every once and awhile, declare peace - it confuses the hell out of your enemy.'"
+Now it was Kostya's turn to revel, his own devilish grin slowly creeping across the features of the President of the United Federation of Planets as he considered the fairly masterful stratagem that had been laid out before him. The risk of placing the senior officers of Republic back together again was significant, but the prospect of some much desired long-term retribution upon them on top of all the other political gains simply made the entire plan irresistible to the Ukrainian born former admiral turned president. "I'd say you've made your first sale, Mister Cole," Kostya finally expressed.
+Standing up from conference table, everyone else present followed suit as Kostya straightened the suit jacket he wore before taking a few steps towards the pair of transparent aluminum doors, each of which was etched with half of the Federation seal. Stopping as his security detailed opened the doors for him, he looked back at Cole for a moment before saying, "Just remember, Mister Cole. If this plan of yours should back-fire... it was 500 years ago upon the ground this structure is built where the Guillotine was first used with rather resounding success. I'd hate to see someone I'd put my faith in let me down the same way Louis XVI let down his subjects, wouldn't you?"

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