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The story contains contextual and thematic elements that may not be suitable to all audiences. This book is set in a science fiction universe but covers matters of human interactions and relationships that may not be acceptable to all readers. Language and graphic descriptions of violence are common and if this type of writing disturbs you or is unsuitable for viewing by you or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s), please do not open this work. This work is replete with refrences and allusions to romantic relationship and human sexuality as part of the natural process of human socialization and may contain strong sexual content and descriptions there-of. Refrences to suicide, drug use, alcoholism, religion, and politics are also contained here-in. If any of these subject matters are offensive or inappropriate to either yourself or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s) please do not view my work as I will not be held responsible for posting material you may view as inappropriate after you elected to open and read it. If for any reason you find the material in this story beyond what should be allowable to a T rated story, please contact me and I will revert the rating to the original M.

Setting Disclaimer

Events in this story occur in a mirror universe where the Terran Empire was all but destroyed by an alliance of the Klingons, Cardassians, and Romulans that formed some time around 2092.

Viewing Disclaimer

This is the last one...I promise. This work is best viewed at 1/2 justification. You know, those goofy little links at the top right corner of the page opposite the genre/title link bar. Seriously...I mean it, this definetly reads better at 1/2, but don't let me force you.

PROLOGUE

A fat prize, stupid too…a stupid fat prize. They were just sitting there, crawling through the system at a pace that suggested that they were too stupid or to lazy or too uninspired to use their patrolling engines for what they had been intended for. A sluggish one eighth impulse had them dragging themselves like some armored gastropod through space, as if some mortal fear of navigational hazards had seized upon them and left them quaking at the very idea that their navigational deflectors might have to actually work at something. Of course, it made sense in a way…their people's, their race's disdain for anything but the warrior life meant that those who did not rate the "glory" of bullying those weaker than them were subject to endlessly litanies of rules and laws created by the very bullies who were immune to them, seemingly for the purpose of bullying their lessers when they weren't physically present to do so.

And of course, it was their job…her job…to bully the bullies, either directly or via their subordinates. What was a bully to do when your beat their toadies and victims, depriving them of the chance? Well, as usually happened, bully would square off against bully and the one that emerged on top would serve to be the grand terror for everyone. Today's victim was a D5 hauler…a battle cruiser tasked with transport of deuterium reaction mass in large external storage tanks. Raider Marines had reported four days ago that it would be leaving with 150,000 cubic meters worth of the precious fuel that fed warp cores and hydrogen-fusion impulse drives and had about a million other applications in the application of trans-stellar space flight. And, of course, this was about the only way they could get the stuff; they had made sure of that.

They…the Klingons, the Cardassians, the Romulans…they could never let humanity have access to fuel, or ore, or allow them to build their own warp facilities and fleet yards and dry docks because they feared humans. In fifty years of near constant warfare, attacking Earth time and time and time again, they had never managed to crush the human spirit. The initial invasion of earth cost them two hundred thirty thousand the first week, after three months they had lost two million. They had killed thirty million humans, finally resorting to bombarding cities from orbit, but humans had never once stopped fighting. The Emperor fled and took what ships he could with him, and their lord in exile plotted and punished and made Klingon, Cardassian, and Romulan pay for each human life, for every inch of territory lost. They would kill them by inches, one tiny cut at a time. They would drive them mad, the would steal their feeling of security, they would prevent their rest; they would hound and harass until they begged for death. That was the way of humans.

She wanted to take the ship as prize, strip the armor for the smelters, the cannons for her ship, the reactor and warp drive to piece out for upgrades and the deuterium for their raider fleet. They were the Emperor's grand privateer navy, the avenging straight-razor. When fate had measured out the span for humanity, it had determined that it would not end with the three allied alien races, and this must mean that fate intended for them to triumph. What was victory without suffering? What was majesty without sorrow? What was that D5 waiting for?

"Time to intercept?"

"Five minutes to ideal range ma'am."

Captain Erica Hernandez ran her hand over the furniture housing the tactical console on the bridge of the Revenge. The Vulcan D'kyr that had served as most of the framing for the ship was as old as their conquest of that world…probably older when she thought about it. Of course, it took a discriminating eye to realize that this ship had ever been of Vulcan make. Revenge sports three times the armor than its predecessor and many more times the guns. The old ring shaped warp drive was gone and the open area of the aft had been filled in with the ubiquitously human saucer had served to house the power plant, bridge, crew quarters, and most of the essential components of the ship. It was a given that she was neither a fast or maneuverable ship, but she could stand and trade shots with any ship she could face down with little concern. And should the enemy send more ships than her shields and armor could take and her guns could sink, then they could just jump away at warp six point seven five and leave them all behind.

She gathered her long raven black hair in her hands and twisted it quickly into a knot; no use having hair in her way when the fighting began. Not that the D5 would put up much of a fight, they'd be too concerned with breaching on of their storage tanks or cooking off the reaction mass to do much more than try to evade for a minute or two. It was the two Raptors that had been quietly skulking, ghosting the trail for just such a situation as this, which would be doing the shooting.

Shame for them that she knew they were there, knew their plan, and had a surprise of her own in store. She felt a shiver of excitement go through her as she reached up to unbutton the top two buttons of her deck jacket.

"Power to shields, mister Spivey." She ordered as she began a slow pace back and forth in front of the view screen.

"Aye, captain."

Two minutes, two minutes until they sprung the trap. Two minutes until enough deuterium to power half their raiders for three months at least was in their hands. Two minutes until the Empire stuck another blow at its enemies…two minutes until the barb was twisted in the side of the Klingons once again; sweet, sweet vindication. Two more minutes and they were once again into the fray for the Empire, for the prize, for the dead of Earth, and for the men and women of the Terran Empire's Raider Fleet.

"Ma'am, Enterprise signaled they are in position and ready to strike, Smilin' Jon sends his compliments." Ensign Barclay declared from her station manning communications.

Hernandez keyed 1MC, her voice being piped to every corner of the ship, "Ladies and Gentlemen, glory to the empire, sternax pertinacia. General quarters, repeat, general quarters."