A/N: Hey Guys. This is KP Splicer here. Sorry about remaining inactive for a while. I just got caught up in a whole lot of Star Trek Fanfiction. This has led me to this series that I am writing, a series that will put my pen-name to the test. A Splice of KP and Star Trek. Now that sounds like a challenge.

For all you Trek Fans out there, I will warn you about reading this. This will not be the Federation or Starfleet that we all know and love. Personally, I have always found them to be a little too weak. They rely on too much luck and deus-ex-machina resolutions (See Star Trek DS9 S6S6 Sacrifice of Angels for one example). So my Starfleet will be a little tougher with a little less emphasis on Battleships and Heavy Cruisers. Also, no more Redshirts. Still, though I plan to make this radical change in history a focal point. I hope you can find it.

Please note that I am attempting Prose Writing. That means this "episode" will each have a teaser, followed by five acts. I hope you enjoy them. Because of the scale of my new project, I'm afraid I will taking a break to my previous work "Peace in Our Time" for a while. My muse has completely pulled me over to this new series. I will finish the story eventually, so please be patient with me.

Now for the legal BS. I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek Franchise. If I did, KP would have four more seasons for college years and TNG would have included the Dominion War.

With that laundry list out of the way, on with the story.

Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier (Teaser)

By: KPRS Splicer

Earth Date: January 10, 2155 (Stardate 21254.56)

Harrad-Saar was desperate.

He needed to escape from the coming storm. The same storm that swept through the Borderland, wiping away all vestiges of his beloved Syndicate. In all his years, he would have never believed that the Orion Syndicate, enduring for almost a thousand years, would be crushed aside by such an upstart opponent.

But he had come to expect no less from Humans.

He was still mystified as to how powerful they had become over such a short period of time; although, in hindsight, his skirmish against Archer showed the old pirate-slave how dangerous and unpredictable a human ship could be. Even with the subterfuge of his mistress Navaar, he was still brutally repulsed. It didn't matter that she and her sisters had managed to seduce and manipulate the entire crew, including Archer, sabotage the engines, and disable the defensive systems.

It didn't really matter when three Terran ships of their newly commissioned First Fleet arrived to support Enterprise. He already lost. That damn feedback loop crippled his entire ship, making him in all terms, "dead in the water." That wasn't the worst part.

They gave him back his "slaves."

It was stupid really, to think that he would be finally free of their damn pheromones, or siren calls as he referred to them. He was all ready to strike out on his own as a free man. His ship, though damaged, could be repaired, and he could venture out and do whatever his avaricious heart desired. It seemed Archer had different plans. He would never forgive him for that.

Still, that was rendered moot for now. He was running, fleeing from a revitalized and relentless Starfleet. Shortly after his failed attempt to capture Archer, he and his kind received a message. The Orion Syndicate had become a clear and present danger to the security of Earth and her people and must be thoroughly and effectively removed. That was the communiqué that was broadcasted throughout the entire Borderland.

Harrad-Sar thought that was nice of the humans to warn the Syndicate of the pending invasion. It gave him and his fellow Orionisi a chance to mobilize their interceptors and prepare for combat and the spoils of war. They thought the humans weak. The Klingons called them honorless pa'tak. Even the now defunct Vulcan High Command saw the humans merely as children, naïve and unready to take a stand in the galactic community. The "war" would be quick. The humans would be crushed, and slaves and contraband would be pumped into the veins of the Syndicate.

Indeed, it was quick, but not the way they expected.

Harrad-Sar knew it was due to that damn Xindi Probe. It had to just appear out of nowhere and cut a deadly swath throughout the California coastal belt, wiping out 20 million humans and the entire Starfleet headquarters. At first, he thought that would be the end of Starfleet altogether. He thought the human analogy of "cutting the head off the snake" sufficed. He was dead wrong.

Instead of subduing the humans, it just enraged them. Backed by the support of the fervor of the people, a new Starfleet emerged under a new crop of admirals. Men like Jefferies, Casey, and Harris turned Starfleet from an exploration agency into a military organization with cruisers, battleships and carriers leading the defense of Earth. Even Arik Soong was paroled to help the development of a new type of stellar marine.

The Xindi never fully realized what kind of giant, or monster to some species, they awoken. When the final weapon appeared two-thousand kilometers from Earth, it was met by the largest human fleet ever assembled, bristling with state of the art weaponry and marines capable of tearing apart a Xindi with their bare hands. They didn't stand a chance.

Now, their security was threatened again. Not by some trans-dimensional power off in the Delphic Expanse. Not by some racist Vulcan fascist regime. Not by some drone that had attempted to destabilize the region. And certainly not by some Klingon Augment experiment gone wrong. But by them.

The Orion Syndicate.

The results were deadly. The humans attacked with ferocity and determination. They fought knowing that every interceptor destroyed was one that could no longer place defenseless men and women into slavery. They fought until ever single slave planet was liberated and their Orinisi masters were sorely punished.

Harrad-Sar should've seen it, should have planned for it, if not for the annoying and distracting pheromones of Navaar. She always believed that her guile, charm, and chemistry could get her out any situation. When her skills were eventually found wanting, she looked at Harrad-Sar as if it was his fault. She gave him that same look when Starfleet penetrated their rough and disorganized defensive line and scattered the interceptors across the winds. He hated that look.

Now he was being chased by Starfleet, now with the assistance of their new Coalition allies across the sector. His ship, though bulky, was still fast enough to evade and hide from Coalition sensors. Truth be told though, they weren't trying so hard. It may have been due to the growing terrorist organization within Earth or the increase in Starfleet military preparation and coordination with her allies for the unavoidable war with the Romulan Star Empire. Regardless of the reason, it was enough to convince the higher ups within Starfleet and the Coalition that since every slave planet was liberated, the Syndicate would simply fade into obscurity.

Fools.

If only they knew that the Syndicate was more than just a few processing worlds. If only they knew that what they accomplished was only scratching the tip of the iceberg. The Syndicate was an underground operation, spread throughout all civilizations. Even Earth. So long as a criminal wishes to do business with the other, the Syndicate would endure.

Still, even criminals could read the writing on the wall. They saw how their section of space was becoming civilized, and that the Coalition would soon be spreading its wings into the Borderland, bringing peace and security to many oppressed and cheated species. They knew when it was time to pack up and move on.

Which was what Harrad-Sar was trying to do. Aboard his vessel, he had the various higher ups of the Syndicate within his ship. It just made the situation a whole lot worse for him though. Having five Orionisi females with differing opinions and ambitions really made his hormonally-tranced brain hurt. One "suggested" that he chart a course outward towards the Klingon home world to effect trade and "request" sanctuary. As soon as he got underway, another "explained" to him that it would be more prudent to "renegotiate" with the humans and to set course for Earth. Then after an hour or so along that heading, Navaar would slither up to him and "offer" her opinion to continue towards the Cardassian Union and Bajor.

It got so bad that Harrad-Sar was literally driving in circles. Normally, the Madams of the Syndicate Council never interacted with each other. They were used to their own authority within their respective spheres of influence. So when they were packed together on a ship which, in his opinion, was way too small for these Madams' ego, he figured it was only a matter of time before Starfleet caught up to him.

He almost wished they did.

Somehow though, the Madams finally realized their methods were counter-productive, and a unified consensus was achieved. The humans had developed genetically enhanced marines to resist the effect of the pheromones. The new Klingon appearance and genome somehow carried this enhancement as well. The Romulans themselves were immune, but that wasn't news. All that's left are the Cardassians.

And Bajor.

Ahh Bajor. Harrad-Sar remembers them well. A peaceful enough planet, with arts and music flowering out of her planet and many moons. A non-existent military for a non-violent people. A world that seems happy to meet new strangers and new people.

Perfect for hiding and extending the tendrils of corruption.

The paintings alone could amass a huge fortune on the black market. The lack of a military and police force would allow enforcers and slavers to run amok throughout the system, generating huge profits and spreading new fear, and with the open-doors policy, it would be so much easier to hide in plain sight. Yes, Harrad-Sar thought, Bajor was perfect.

If only they could get there fast enough.

And alive.

It seemed fate was laughing at them, though, at the present. As soon Harrad-Sar's ship dropped out of Warp, he was beset upon by one of Earth's new Talon Star-Fighter Carriers. A bulky ship, only capable of Warp 3.5, its complement of 50 Talon Fighters still made Harrad-Sar's life miserable. To make matters worse, one of the Madams was on the bridge "suggesting" courses of action. It he could control himself, he would kill her for trying to interfere with his command while under attack. She was no pilot, she had no experience dealing with these annoyingly lucky humans, and she had no place on his bridge at the moment.

It was the one time he was glad Navaar was on deck. She knew that he operated best in these sticky situations without female "assistance," and she kindly "asked" her guards to escort the Orionisi Madame off the bridge.

With his head clear of pheromone interference for a second, he turned his attention back to the viewer and his fight against the pestering Talon flies. His superior hull plating was holding and his disrupters had already disabled or destroyed a number of fighters, but he losing this battle and he knew it. He only salvation was the Badlands not far away.

He figured he had a 50-50 chance of surviving those dreaded plasma fields and eddies. His ship may be maneuverable, but it was bulky, and could easily come into contact with one of the randomly generated plasma twisters, but he had no choice.

The Badlands disrupted even the most sophisticated sensors and communication arrays. So, not only could he hide without fear of detection, but the coordination between those damn Talon fighters would be lost due to the elimination of their communication abilities. That meant that the carrier would have to recall the fighters and pursue Harrad-Sar itself.

Making a snap decision, Harrad-Sar ordered his helmsman toward the Badlands, ignoring his shock at what he perceived as a death-trap. He couldn't care less. They were dead anyway if Earth got its hand on them. When the helmsman hesitated, Harrad-Sar threw him out of his seat and directed the ship there himself. The only thing that could prevent him now was Navaar. He prayed to whatever God existed that she would not countermand his order.

She didn't.

As soon as he entered the Badlands, his sensors and navigation arrays went down. Only the viewer was still active, and even it was grainy. He was now, for all intensive purposes, flying blind. As he went further into the unstable region of space, he breathed a sigh of relief that the Talons weren't pursing him. He shut down his weapons and redirected the power to reinforce his hull plating. That should help when the inevitable vortex would try to break through his ship.

It seemed though, that luck was still on his side for the moment. He had some close calls with a few of the plasma storms, but he managed to successfully maneuver through the worst to the other side of the Badlands. He may have to repaint the hull, but that was so much preferable than losing his ship to some stellar anomaly, or worse, the humans.

The only problem was that his navigation sensors were still down, due to the plasma storm interference, and the close scraps from both the twisters and Talon phase cannons. As a result, he overshot the course towards Bajor by a huge margin and ended up in another plasma field.

When his sensors were finally restored, he realized that he was somewhere called the Denorios Belt that was exhibiting some weird neutrino emissions. Harrad-Sar realized that the neutrino disturbances could further cripple his ship, so he endeavored to navigate away from them, thus exiting the plasma field and continuing on to Bajor and a new life. At that moment however, luck turned her back on Harrad-Sar.

In the form of another Madame that entered the bridge.

After one of the neutrino distortions rocked the ship again, she became fed up with the situation and stormed straight to Harrad-Sar and "demanded" that he take them out of whatever hell-hole they were engrossed in and surrender to the Terran vessel that was still hunting them. She still believed that she could charm the captain into her new slave. Navaar, who was slowly coming to realize that Humans could resist her charm and beauty, immediately countermanded her "suggestion" and "supplied" her own. That "offer" was immediately discarded by the "proposal" of another Madame who entered the bridge, who illogically wanted to input her own opinion.

Harrad-Sar's head began to throb again as the Madams began contradicting each other once again. His body began to move in different directions as orders and counter-orders taxed his tolerance and sanity. His chemically stimulated mind became so overwhelmed that he was on the verge of passing out from the sirens that traversed his bridge. In this haze, he once again wished that the humans would find them and rescue him from these witches. He'd gladly rot away in prison if it meant his mind was his own again.

He was so overwhelmed by these hypnotists that instead of navigating his ship further away from the cluster of neutrino distortions, he was unintentionally plotting a course to the epicenter of the cluster. His bridge was in no shape to notice, because they too were being driven to pheromone-induced madness by the arguing Madams. As a result, no one, not even the Madams noticed when the heavens opened up and swallowed Harrad-Sar's ship.

It was only when the viewer began displaying flashing colors of blue and purple with white streaks of pseudo-lightning that the Madams finally ceased in their heated "debate" and realized that they were once again entrapped in yet another anomaly. At the same time, all the Madams, including Navaar, turned their eyes toward Harrad-Sar, as if accusing him for putting them in this mess.

Harrad-Sar, still reeling from the chemical overload in his head, either didn't notice or didn't care at this point. He welcomed oblivion if it meant that his head would stop pulsating with pain and desire, yet the stares continued. After a few more seconds to recover from the pheromones potency and realizing that they weren't issuing contradicting orders at the moment, Harrad-Sar looked at the viewer and blanched.

Not again.

Thankful that the Madams were staying quiet and reducing their pheromone output, Harrad-Sar began analyzing the situation once again. He was shocked to realize that the ship wasn't suffering from damage of any kind. They were even still moving, albeit at slow pace of one quarter-impulse.

Responding to the knowledge that he still possessed helm control, Harrad-Sar began the process to come about and retrace their steps to exit this disturbing, yet hypnotic area of space. As soon as he opened his mouth however, he saw an opening in front of him and immediate charged through.

They were in normal space once again.

After a hearty cheer from both the bridge crew and surprisingly the Madams, Harrad-Sar took in the situation and tried to determine their position. When his navigator called him over to his station, Harrad-Sar began to worry again. He ordered the navigator's display placed on the viewer, and he blanched again.

They were definitely far from home.

Harrad-Sar could feel the cold stares piercing through the back of his head as the Madams and Navaar began blaming him again for their situation. He wanted to slink away from their stares and hide, but he couldn't. He wished they just remove him from command and have someone else in this position, but no. He was Harrad-Sar, the miracle worker. The slave who could turn a bad deal into a profit. The slave who can navigate any hostile environment to avoid any hostile vessel.

The slave who escaped Jonathon Archer and Starfleet.

They could still be grateful about it, even reward him for his ingenuity and luck, but no, they prefer to stare coldly at him, to blame him on every piece of misfortune, to demand that he salvage the situation, as if that was expected and required of a slave. He'd be ignored, ordered into some stupid and hopeless situation, and when the stupid and hopeless situation blew up in their faces, they'd look and stare at him with both an accusation of blame and a demand for escape.

He was tired of it, had been tired of it for a long time, but he couldn't do anything about it. Until someone invented a way for Orionisi males to resist their counterparts' pheromones, they would continue to be the mistresses, and he and his gender would continue to be the slaves.

He was a slave to this situation, so he was forced to determine yet another solution. He ordered a course to be laid in back toward the opening of the weird vortex, and thankfully, it opened and once again, swallowed his ship. After the necessary minute or so of travelling at one quarter-impulse, the vortex opened again and they were back in normal space.

Harrad-Sar quickly checked the sensors once again and breathed a sigh of relief. They were back in their original area of space. In the same position as the sensors detected before. That couldn't mean? Could it?

A stable wormhole?

It was possible. According to slavers and various Syndicate businessmen whose area of operation revolved around Bajor and Cardassia, there were strange reports of a so called spatial anomaly that supposedly sucked up ships without warning. Some of their Bajoran slaves referred to the area as the Celestial Temple, home of their Sacred Prophets.

Could it be that this rumored anomaly was the same one Harrad-Sar had discovered? It was more than likely. To think, the Orion Syndicate had just discovered a stable wormhole in the Alpha Quadrant, something that those Science pukes on Vulcan or Earth could only dream about in their wettest dreams. He thought the situation hilariously ironic that an old slaver and pirate made such a huge technological discovery that Earth was completely unaware of.

That's it!

This wormhole would be the Syndicate's Salvation. The Alpha Quadrant was becoming too civilized too quickly. The edges of the map were being filled in. They were running out of places to hide. Their world was becoming smaller. And with the continuing growth and expansion of Earth and its empire, masquerading as the Coalition the Orion thought, it was only a matter of time before Human ideals and morality become common practice in the Alpha Quadrant.

But the Gamma Quadrant was ripe with opportunity. There was no Earth to impede the Syndicate. There was no grand alliance to entrap Orionisi Interceptors from making off with slaves and contraband. For the brief stint that Harrad-Sar was in the Gamma Quandrant, he detected numerous worlds, and the best part? They were all using different languages and transponders. That meant individual systems fighting or trading amongst each other. Perfect for establishing a black market or raiding trade routes for goods.

It seemed the Madams were of the same opinion. When he realized that the pheromone levels were diminishing, he turned around and noticed they were all accessing his transceiver array to make discreet calls and messages to their contacts, who would relay the messages to their contacts, and so forth. Yes, the Orion Syndicate will survive. They may not be welcomed in the Alpha Quadrant any longer, but that was moot. They would leave this "civilized" space and travel to where their skills would be appreciated. They will endure. They will prosper. And they will have their revenge.

In the Gamma Quadrant.

A/N: I know what you're thinking. Where's KP?! Where's Ron?! Where's Rufus?! Who cares about Harrad-Sar, Navaar and the Orion Syndicate? To answer that last one, I think a certain green-skinned villainous and her Bolian genius-slave would care about her fore-parents' history. As for the other questions, I had to set up the history of my Star Trek AU. Don't worry, Kim and the gang will be showing up in Act I, just not in the way you expected.

As always please leave comments or reviews. Whether about my story, grammar, or suggestions, it doesn't matter. I've become addicted to them. Stay tuned. Act I will begin soon. Two hundred years from now.

Until then.