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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.
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+**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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 <BOOKMARK:Chapter41>
 <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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