Episode I: Peace, War, Ferangi
Part I
It had been almost a full generation of peace since the ending of the Dominion War and if one had been present on Deep Space Nine on that unremarkable night, they would have believed that the peace was to continue. Starfleet officers, civilian crews and tourists gambled, drank and took part in the usual loud partying to be had at Quark's on a Friday evening. Most were aware of the increasing tension between the Quadrant's superpowers, a war seemed not entirely out of the question but yet remained just outside the range of possibilities. Klingons still made up some of the population of the bar, though as if to offer a satire of unfolding events they had segregated themselves to a back corner and were all but ignoring everything going on around them.
Among those there late that Friday night in the waning months and days of 2408 was a somewhat out of place looking young woman sitting at the bar. Unlike the vast majority of the others her clothing lacked the vibrant colors and patterns of most off-duty or civilian garb of this modern era, no, hers was dark and devoid of both color and pattern. It bore no military insignia, nor rank pips but it never the less seemed to imply an official capacity, despite the short sleeve shirt and slightly baggy pants. She had been there for hours and had been just about unnoticed in her time there, most likely due to the hours invested in silently reading one of the many PADD devices she had stacked in front of her on the bar. This young woman looked decidedly tired, prominent dark circles punctuated her acid-green eyes and her long, fiery red hair sat disheveled in the once-neat ponytail it had been tied in. She seemed to be waiting for someone, occasionally looking towards the door back to the Promenade and letting slip a sigh or two.
The truth was that this young woman was the only one there that night that knew just how close armed conflict was, in fact the whole reason she was here centered around very real intelligence that pointed a crooked finger at one of the Federation's border worlds. From her hours of reading the eyes-only material that she had obsessively protected from any curious eyes or flirtatious passers-by, she surmised that within weeks the first blows would have been landed and that both the fleet, ground and special forces like her would be called upon to fight an empire which had been both a good friend and ally for so long. The consumption of the Gorn Hegemony had been the first clue that the Klingon Empire was again hungry for conquest and its ancient way of life, but the exile of Federation citizens and now highly-classified reports from a deep-space observation station that indicated a large fleet on the move seemed to seal the deal. Very few worlds showed up on the analysis for possible vectors of said fleet, and atop that list was a world known as Cestus III. Making it worse was the report from another branch of her same division of Starfleet Intelligence suggesting that the colonists were likely to resist any attempt by the Federation to evacuate them. And so the stage was set for a bloodbath, all that remained was opening night.
The young woman closed the file she had active on her PADD and set it atop the neat stack of its counterparts on the bar. After a moment of resting her face down in her hands, she reluctantly flicked the glass beside her with her right index finger. That glass had been empty for hours and let out a resonating pinging tone that summoned the aged Ferengi bartender to her.
"I was wondering when it would be that you decided to order another round. You've been here for three hours and twenty minutes and have possibly ordered less than any other patron in the last twenty years" his critical tone made her cringe for a slight, nearly imperceptible moment.
"Every bit as charming as I expected you'd be, Ambassador Quark. Just get me something strong that isn't the usual synthale. I want to feel this in the morning" The young woman said, looking past the Ferengi and off into space as she remained preoccupied in thought.
After producing an oddly shaped bottle with an equally strangely colored liquid in it, the unlikely ambassador poured her the requested drink. "Tell you what. This one's on me if you can answer a couple questions. I can't quite figure you out, and in my business that's downright troubling" Quark offered as he slid the glass towards her, then resting his elbows on the bar.
"Shoot" she replied, knocking the drink back without so much as a flinch before setting the glass upside-down on the bar.
"Since you seem to already be on a first name basis and I've been left out of the loop..." Quark began, but was interrupted.
"Kess for short, if you're feeling adventurous it's Kestrel. No, it's not my real name but it's all your getting" Kestrel answered as she sat back a bit on her stool.
Quark looked understandably confused, even a little annoyed at the interruption and attitude of his patron, "Right, well. What's a Hew-mon of your age doing here this late taking up space in my bar and not buying anything, gambling any of your hard earned wages or renting out one of my Holosuites?"
"Waiting on a friend of mine and brushing up on some reading. I'm not posted here and don't even have a room, so this seemed the best place for me. My ride off this station appears to be running late, so until it shows up you have my reclusive self to keep you company. If there's a minimum order, I can just pay up-front" Kestrel answered, reaching in her pocket to fish out any strips of latinum required.
The Ferengi studied her a moment longer, trying hard to figure her out. "Marine? Mercenary? No, they wouldn't have cleared a mercenary to dock here. You've definitely seen some action somewhere..."
Kestrel let out a small laugh that she quickly stifled, "Close on the first, way off on the second. This is really bothering you, isn't it? Too bad I won't be here long enough for you to wrap your head around it. My turn, can I ask a question?"
Quark grinned and past a heavily sarcastic tone replied with, "I'm all ears"
"With respect" Kestrel began, "Have you or your brother ever been accused of a conflict of interest? I mean he did manage a political end-run around the Federation just so you could just keep raking in GPL when Bajor converted to the moneyless system we use. There's got to be about a dozen other perks about having your own bar that's technically on the books as an embassy, being an ambassador, despite not having diplomatic immunity, and let's not forget having a brother serving as Grand Nagus" For the first time, the two made direct eye contact.
"That wouldn't happen to be you, would it Odo?" Quark asked, waiting a moment for a response that didn't come, "Just checking" with this the Ferengi moved to serve another patron, happening one last look back out of paranoia that his long departed rival had returned.
Kestrel grinned at her accomplishment of making Quark squirm, the file she had on him had stated this was somewhat difficult to achieve. She then allowed herself a few moments to gaze about the room and take in just how much history was written in just this one part of the station alone. This gave way to watching a surly and obviously drunken Klingon walk his way up to the bar, stopping immediately beside her. Kestrel knew trouble was coming, though she did her best to appear totally uninterested as she got herself ready to spring.
"Ferengi, you charged us for Gagh that was still alive, and this has obviously been dead for quite some time! I should substitute your entrails for the meal I would have been eating! This is not even fit for a Targ!" the hulking warrior grunted out as he slammed a bowl full of worms down. Several launched free and caked to Kestrel's face and she peeled them free letting them drop to the floor with a very dissatisfied expression.
Quark froze where he stood and tightened up his posture, obviously horrified of the impending reprise, "I told you I was selling you Gagh that was fresh it was practically still alive, you just didn't hear me right... how about a half-off deal on some blood wine?" this ended with a forced and nervous smile.
Kestrel watched as the Klingon hauled the much shorter Ferengi across the bar and held him a few feet in the air, looking him in the eye and calling him a coward among other things in his alien tongue. Kestrel stood from her stool and took a step back as she surveyed the taller and no doubt stronger adversary.
"So you know, you're currently threatening the life of a foreign ambassador inside his own embassy. I'm fairly certain the Ferengi Alliance will frown on this" Kestrel said as she looked up to meet the gaze of the man. She had a blank look about her and her arms hung at her side, appearing almost limp.
The warrior let Quark drop, landing half across the bar before he inched back and hid behind it. "You DARE speak to me like that, Federation? Do you even know who I am?" He turned to face the young woman, crossing his arms as he sized her up.
"No I don't, and I don't particularly care. Why don't you go back to your buddies and let this meek little man tend his bar in peace? No need to cause any problems" Kestrel replied, a very slight hint of authority in her voice.
The man stared at her a moment, trying to figure out if she had been serious, obviously having made up his mind he began laughing. After a brief moment of this he looked around at the other bar patrons, most of whom were now looking his way. "Either you have some true courage, or you're just plain foolish. Either way, you appear to be just a little older than a child. If the circumstances were a little different, I might have sought to test which it is."
"Are we good? Get it all out of your system?" Kestrel asked. She knew the high level of risk involved in talking to a Klingon like this, but according to the psych profiles on them the only way to get through was a form of verbal force-on-force confrontation; give an inch and they take a mile. "I'll buy the next round if you're willing to stand down" she finished.
The Klingon begrudgingly nodded at her and just as it seemed the crisis had been averted, Quark spoke quietly, "Barbarian, he messed up my new suit. I should charge him for that". This was overheard and proved to be the last little push the Klingon had needed. He turned quickly and rushed the bar from about two meters off, this was stopped abruptly as Kestrel spun and planted a solid kick into the warrior's abdomen.
After just a brief instant of being stunned by the impact he had recovered enough to take a wide swing at Kestrel. As if she had known it was coming, she sidestepped it and lunged forward, planting her shoulder into her opponent and causing him to lose balance. About when Kestrel realized she was in a fight that could potentially be beyond what she could handle, confirmation came when the Klingon drew his knife and his friends all began standing from their table in the back of the room.
The Klingon again lunged and as before Kestrel moved a fraction of second before, seeming to have known what was coming and how to counter it. This time as she dodged the attack, Kestrel took hold of the holstered disruptor on the Klingon's belt while also locking her ankle with his, using his own momentum to topple him forward, the disruptor drawing itself free as its owner fell away.
Bar patrons fled in panic as they watched the other Klingons drawing their weapons, the crowd congregating at the exit as each person tried to escape at the same time. Meanwhile, the fallen Klingon was quick about recovering to his feet and reclaiming his knife.
"You have made your last mistake!" he proclaimed, little particles of spit flying from his mouth as he barked this out.
As they stare at each other, Kestrel became aware of the pain in her left ankle. He had been heavier than she had anticipated and his ankle had been a little more stubborn than she had figured it would be. She was also aware of the other three men walking up behind her. Would they risk hitting their own commanding officer? Was there a way to survive this?
This time she moved first, rushing ahead and closing the small gap between her and her first enemy in just a little over a second. Kestrel feinted right and spun to the left and around the man as he moved to counter. She took hold of the rear of the neck-guard on the Klingon's armor and held as tight as she could as she leveled the disruptor with his head.
`"Back off or I'll do it! Drop the weapons!" She growled out. She didn't sound concerned but internally it was a different story. If she had her rifle, her other gear... this would have been a different story. As it stood, she was outnumbered and overpowered.
The noise of at least a dozen boots rhythmically banging against deck plating drew Kess's eye. As she watched from the corner of her field of vision about a dozen armed Bajoran militiamen entered the bar with phaser rifles at the shoulder, each picking a target.
"Everyone, lay down your weapons and stand down!" the now obvious leader of the squad announced.
It was a double edged sword. While they had technically averted more violence, possibly even a fatality, Kestrel had in a strange way wanted the opportunity to test herself against the Klingons. After all, they were set to be her primary foe on this mission. And added to that, she now knew that she would have to at least to a degree explain her business on the station to someone to avoid being stuck in the brig when she would have otherwise been in route to Cestus.
"Human, when our people go to war, I look forward to the chance of seeing you again in the field of glorious battle! There will be no security to save you there" The man Kestrel had grappled said as she finally released him and tossed aside the disruptor. "Oh, I promise you this much. If we end up on the same battlefield you won't ever see me" she replied as she placed her hands on the back of her head to show security she was unarmed.
Quark chose this moment to stand from cover behind his bar, finding himself soon being aimed at as well. As he reluctantly and a little fearfully raised his hands he spoke, "The Hew-mon female was just defending me from them! They brutally attacked me!" One of the Militia almost instantly interupted him with, "We'll get this figured out, sir. Just stay put for us"
The four Klingons were led off first. As they left, Kestrel locked eyes with the one she had been ready to kill, she studied his appearance and committed it to memory for her report. His response was baring his teeth at her.
Two of the security officers remained, one moved to quark and began asking him the usual questions of, "What happened" and, "Are you hurt?" and the other walked up to Kestrel, lowering his weapon and calmly saying, "You can put your hands down, something tells me you don't plan on trying anything. You Federation?". Kess let her hands drop to her sides and reluctantly spoke, "Affirmative. I'm with the Intelligence division and while I would understand why, I really can't be detained that long"
"We've been having problems with those four since they got here" the Militiaman started, "Almost every day there's been a incident they've been present for, today being the first day anyone caught them in the act. If Quark's story checks out, I don't think there'll be a reason to detain you, Ma'am" About now a middle-aged man with a thinning head of light brown hair and wearing a Starfleet uniform entered the bar from the Promenade, trailing him was a human woman looking to be in her early or mid twenties with tied back black hair, also wearing a Federation uniform.
"Ah, Commander Kurland" the militiaman stated, "There was no need for you to come down here in person, we were just wrapping up". Kurland furrowed his brow at the man, obviously a little bothered by what had been said, "It happened on my station, making it my prerogative. We let you keep your private militia, despite Bajor's joining the Federation. I'd like to be informed next time when an incident like this occurs" he paused and looked to Kestrel, his expression changing to relief, "Glad to find you're okay, Captain. Good work with those Klingons"
Kestrel saluted the Commander and as he returned the gesture along with the other officer beside him said, "Thank you, Sir. My apologies for making a scene on your station, but I couldn't allow an assault on an ambassador" she stopped for a second and looked to the other Captain, "Marx, been far too long. What kept you?"
Captain Marx stepped forward and studied Kestrel a moment, obvious trying to remember her familiar face. Kestrel made note of the lingering Borg implant over the woman's left eye, still lit up and glowing a dull green in a few places. Marx spoke, her tone bland and almost emotionless, cool as ice water, "My apologies, we ran across an ion disturbance that forced a drop from warp. Am I to assume you would like to depart immediately? My ship is on upper-pylon three, I've already taken the initiative and had your few belongings transferred to her hold"
Kestrel nodded approvingly, "Good to know we still have a few people in the hot seat with a little initiative" she took a moment to retrieve the PADD devices from the bar and cram them in the cargo pockets of her pants, "Shall we?".
The two left the bar at a casual pace and began making their way for the outer docking ring. The first half of the walk had been a quiet one, Marx frequently looked Kestrel over as she continued to try and figure out how they knew one another and Kess stayed silent, a look of resolve working its way onto her face. As they passed the intersection to the inner docking ring, Kestrel reached in her uppermost pockets and produced a Captain's rank insignia for the Federation MACO forces and with the other hand a standard issue communicator badge. Having fixed the badge in place and as she fastened the rank pin to her low collar she finally returned Marx's look.
"Having a hard time remember me? The doctors told me that some amnesia would be possible with everything they needed to do to you, and five years is a fairly long time in the grand scheme of things" Kess stated.
Marx stopped dead in her tracks, "You... the one at my debrief. They told me I hadn't remembered it correctly, that no one like you had ever been there. What is this all about? Some kind of review?"
Kestrel looked into her acquaintances deep blue and now very serious eyes, "Not at all, Captain. Much to the contrary, you are one of if not the only officers I would trust to be my escort for what must be done. Freed from the Borg, made amazing progress in just a year and applied to join MACO, got turned down by them just to be approached by Starfleet and offered a position as a commanding officer pending your graduation from the academy, which you did in almost the same record time as James Kirk and in just a year you even have a comparable service record. Most importantly, you're not afraid to parade into hell, your encounters with the Borg since getting command prove that nicely"
The two began walking again and after about ten steps Kestrel finally handed a PADD from her back pocket to the other captain, "Your orders, secret of course. Tell your senior staff, no one else" she instructed. Marx thumbed through the document showing little to no emotion, though there was an occasionally raised eyebrow, "I was unaware that solo operatives like you existed inside the Federation, though I don't find it completely surprising. The only thing I can think of that is close are the rumors of Section Thirty One" she finally commented.
This struck Kestrel a little off guard, "Lydia, if I may call you by your first name, I am honestly impressed you didn't react first to the fact that we have a fleet secretly rallying right this moment in preparation for a new armed conflict. Either you already arrived at the same conclusions Command did, or you're a lot more apathetic than I initially believed" Marx let slip a small grin, "First name basis is fine by me, Captain. And yes, I have suspected for some time now that it wouldn't be all that long before the Klingons would be on the war path. There's been clues both subtle and obvious for quite some time and as I am sure is the same with your superiors, the real question remains why".
"We'll continue this talk in private on your ship, not many people in the corridors this hour, but I'd like to avoid taking the risk of anything getting overheard" Kestrel commented as the pair approached a small gathering of people that appeared to be repairing a conduit. She couldn't help but one last time appraise Lydia, she had stayed as rail-thin and pale skinned as when she had first met her some time ago, didn't appear a year older either. Her Borg exoplating was gone, replaced with a Federation B-1 uniform adorned with the red of a command branch officer adorning it from the shoulders up. In fact the only clues left it was even the same person were the implants visible on her face and left hand, perhaps also her very unusual tone and computer-like analytical skills. Kestrel had considered her a friend, and had even regretted having to part company after they had spent the few months together years back.
Part II
The remaining walk back to the ship was devoid of any meaningful conversation and once aboard the two captains parted company. Marx had her orders to depart Deep Space Nine for Cestus III at maximum warp and while she saw to undocking and getting underway, Kestrel saw to getting settled in her quarters after retrieving the two small cases of gear she had brought along. The two had agreed to a meeting in several hours and in the meantime Kestrel would set about her daily ritual of practicing a form of Vulcan meditation. After producing the small oil lamp, the only true personal effect she had packed, from one of the hardened cases she sat on the floor beside the small coffee table
It took a few minutes to quiet her mind, but soon the operative sat with her hands clasped together, index fingers steepled as thoughts of her mission and what she could do to prepare for it took center stage. It would be her first real taste of warfare, first real test. Kess had to silence doubts about her own abilities, about the quality of her training. As a memory from times long past tried to worm its way into her mind, she was violently jarred from her meditation.
"Captain, are you okay?" Lydia asked inquisitively, "You were late by about a half an hour to our meeting and wouldn't answer your door. I wanted to make sure everything was all right. My apologies for interrupting" Kestrel shook her head as if dazed then responded, "It's fine, I appreciate your concern. I must have lost track of the time. Did you have any questions about the mission?" she replied.
Lydia stayed quiet a brief moment as if in thought, "A few, but I do have a personal query if that's okay". Kess repositioned to the couch, sitting back as she answered, "It's something I need to do. Seeing as how we'll be working together you have a right to know I'm a telepath, yes I know how hard to accept it is that a human is a telepath is possible. Any time I transfer to a new ship, station or base I need to ease myself into the new personalities, thoughts and memories around me. Very easy to get overwhelmed or lost in them. Guess it's taking a little more than usual tonight"
Marx looked to the floor and placed a hand to her chin and then finally looked up about ten seconds later, "I get it now. Intelligence wanted a human that knew what it was like to experience thought noise and transition away from always hearing it... that and likely to get at something in my mind left behind by the Collective. But how is it you came to have this ability?" Kestrel was again impressed and quickly answered while gesturing for her comrade to take a seat, "Your analytical abilities are amazing, Captain. To answer your question, I was the product of genetic tampering... enhancement I guess you could call it if you really wanted to put a happy face on it. Before you ask the obvious, I am hardly the first to serve in the Federation despite regulations against it and given my skill set I was deemed too valuable to let slip when they found me. I was young at the time, a refuge on top of that. Had a little accident with the other half of my gifts, the telekinetic part that is, and the crew of the transport took notice. The rest is above your clearance level but rest assured it is a somewhat dark story".
Lydia crossed her arms, "And you're not S-Thirty One?" she asked. Kess shifted awkwardly, "Negative. Hypothetically if they existed I would find the contradiction they represent and tactics they use repulsive. Hypothetically if I knew certain things that they may have or have not done in the past I would seriously question the benefits of even having them around. No, I am as stated, an intelligence operative pure and simple". Lydia's mind raced with this, "From what I've been able to gather, you seem just as much like an assassin as any of them would be". Obviously irritated, Kestrel shifted posture again before answering, "I infiltrate, gather information and slip out usually without anyone being the wiser and have never once worked against any member of our Federation aside from several criminals I apprehended alive. In the instance of my current mission, I am being deployed on several torch and burn style missions on covert facilities and as a force-multiplier. A sniper and saboteur, as it were. Let's face it the farm boy's and businessmen on that world are going to need all the help they can get".
"And where exactly do I factor into all of this?" Marx inquired next. "Well, you've got one of the most well armed escorts in the fleet, heavily modified Maelstrom class with an able crew. She's small, nimble and can get me in close enough to beam down while being durable enough to give me orbital far-support. And as mentioned, I wouldn't trust just anyone with this. I know you, and thanks to having literally been in your mind years back I think I know you better than you might even know yourself" Kestrel explained.
Lydia stood from her seat and paced awkwardly for a few moments, "So I have to deliver one of the people who helped me regain my independence from the Borg, a person I considered a friend of mine, into what may well be the maw of death itself all the while putting my vessel and crew of one hundred promising young officers and enlisted men and women on the line. Answer me one last thing, is this worth it? Are you going because we have a chance to win this?"
As Kess opened her mouth to respond a loud series of beeping tones sounded from what was obviously a rifle case on her bed, catching her visibly off-guard... which something rare for her. She stood from the blandly colored couch and walked the short distance to the bed, being on a small vessel meant rather Spartan living arrangements; Lydia had walked with her and watched as she keyed the case open with a small keypad on its surface. As the case opened with small pneumatic rams it revealed a rifle, at least a meter and change in length, along with four magazines that resembled a much older high-capacity clip used in firearms. Also in the case was a backpack with two data cable leads connecting it to an optical-set visor that was made of a black metal, the actual optics tinted a mirrored gold.
Kestrel fit the optics in place, resting their earpieces in place and lowering the visor into position, after tapping the right earpiece she spoke, "Codename Kestrel, pass-phrase ruby. Go ahead, Colonel" Lydia grimaced as she tried to wrap her head around what she was seeing, perhaps some form of long-range subspace transmitter? Why not just use the ship's comm? Meanwhile Kess listened intently for well over two minutes before again tapping the right earpiece, "Understood, Sir. I'll make the needed arrangements at once" with this, she reached up and slowly pulled the optics free and allowed them to drop haphazardly to the bed.
"Captain, I have authorization for us to use the Transwarp corridors and the access codes for the nearest aperture as well as the orders to make use of them. A eight-week trip at maximum warp is no longer acceptable, the first shot was just fired. Go prepare your crew" Kestrel ordered, staring blankly past her friend to the wall as she thought something over.
Lydia had just made it to the door out when she was stopped by one last comment, "You asked me if it was worth it..." Kestrel began and waited for her friend to look back over her shoulder, "Ask me again in two days".
Part III
Aside from a brief visit to the bridge to enter the access codes for the Transwarp corridors, Kestrel kept completely to herself in her small room. For the most part the crew of the USS Doolittle would never know they had even taken on a passenger, those that did were hard pressed to know what she looked like or why she was aboard. The lone wolf spent the better part of the next forty-six hours either meditating or meticulously going over her gear or the mission briefing, maps and the plan she knew would never survive contact with the enemy... none ever do. She scarcely slept, listening in on the communications from the fleet now engaged around Cestus III proved too enthralling to pull away from. If only she hadn't had that mission on Cardassia two days earlier, Kestrel thought time and time again while listening.
It was only after hearing a call for volunteers from any nearby systems to reinforce the fleet that Kestrel, with a heavy and sullen heart, went about removing her gear from her two storage containers. She started with the nearly skin-tight bottom layer of woven material composed of prototypical cut, ballistic and energy resistant fibers, cloak field and shield emitter diodes and a smattering of sensor packages. It resembled a combination of a black wetsuit, angled and smooth brownish secondary armor layers and areas of faded and marred urban style camouflage. Next up was the segmented chest plate designed for flexibility and maximum protection, and considering it was made from the same material as starship armor, it would. Kestrel had painted it black when it was issued to her and it now bore a scar in the form of an inch deep and four inch wide concave indent, now devoid of paint. It had saved her life when she had been compromised on a mission against Romulan insurgents on a border colony and every time she looked at it the same cold feeling would wash over her. Her knee and elbow pads came next, both connected to the bottom layer of the armor as well as were attached by straps. Like the chest plate these were of the same durability as the ship Kestrel occupied.
As she removed the thick metal bracers from the hardened case, Kestrel allowed herself to, even if irrationally, hope for victory. As a self-described pragmatist, this was highly unusually for her but for one of the first times she didn't care. With the right bracer fixed in place over the base of her wrist up to her elbow , she set about fixing the left in pace. This left bracer had a small keypad interface on it that she tested for functionality before finally securing it in place. She next hurried through fastening her armored boots, up to just below her knee, the waistband with storage pouches and the belt with additional armor for the groin. Kestrel had a tradition of attaching three things last, her left shoulder pad... there was no right pad as to avoid interference with the stock of her rifle, the knife sheath that connected to the left shoulder strap of her chest plate and finally the blue armband for her right arm, bearing the MACO and UFoP symbols to help visually identify her. All that really remained was to fit the backpack containing her miscellaneous equipment and the computer for her suit and the mask she was expected to wear to help hide her identity. While the Federation valued diplomatic solutions, it was not oblivious as to how to wage war. As such it had been decided by those that designed her gear that obscuring her facial expressions as well as her eyes with the mirrored optical set that it would be a great deal more imposing to anyone she needed to fight, given how many suspects she had apprehended with no violence it seemed to work exactly as planned.
Meanwhile Captain Marx walked her ship at least a dozen times, checking almost literally every inch of the vital areas of the vessel. In an odd way she envied her passenger's role in this conflict, she had herself wanted to be a MACO to satisfy the strange need she felt to ferociously defend the faction which had freed her from the Borg. Her application had been deliberately turned down due to behind the scenes meddling which was even admitted to her after she had been given command. It had been felt that her extensive knowledge of Borg starship operations as well as almost supernatural analytical ability were two things that Starfleet needed and wasn't shy about trying to get its hands on, even more so considering how they were hurting for numbers and the growing threat from literally all sides. She had been fast-tracked to Lieutenant and made an advisor on a mission aboard a small science vessel named the Nightingale. That posting lasted just six months and led to an incident that would be named after the ship, an incident she did her best to try and forget. It had lead to her promotion to the center seat as well as making unlikely friends with a Hirogen Hunter that would later defect to starfleet. She had been in battle against the Borg and Romulans respectively and had demonstrated a flare for being able to defeat both using sometime less-than-conventional tactics.
Lydia had been held back in other areas, given backwater assignments by the brass and often times spoken of beneath the breath of the admiralty. It was mainly because of her clumsy interaction with others thanks to her Borg upbringing... if one could call it that. She also was publically fatalistic about just how many fronts the Federation was currently engaged with and had, at least for a while, lobbied to try and send aid the Romulan core worlds, despite the sporadic armed conflict. She had a few friends, though no more than could be counted on a hand. The short list included her Vulcan first officer, the special forces soldier now taking up space on deck four, a cruiser captain with a questionable service record and last but hardly least, her casual pen-pal Admiral Janeway. The Admiral taught a class on the Borg at the academy when not handling the task force against them and had personally asked just about every liberated drone she could for input and Marx had responded quite promptly. None of that mattered to her now and over the past few years she had managed to become even more reclusive.
Also in among her odd tendencies was avoiding seeing her own reflection, be it mirrors or even offline computer panels. She was torn between worlds and hated the constant reminder affixed to her left brow and hand, the need to regenerate as opposed to sleeping. Strangely enough though, there were parts of her that instinctually missed the Collective. She wore a thick and heavy ankle-length coat, tailored to resemble her B1 uniform and designed for away missions, almost all the time to emulate the weight of the exoplating and implants that were now years gone. Lydia could also be frequently be seen sitting in the galley in her time off, despite the need to eat substantially less than the others because of her regeneration cycles. She would sit for hours just to listen to the low din of conversation despite the lack of harmony to it. The crew seemed to enjoy the idea of eating with their captain, feeling equal.
Despite it all this was the first ever time that all Marx wanted was to be alone, wanted to hide any perceptible sign of weakness or doubt, despite the knowledge that she may well be delivering her friend to death. Her concept of emotion was limited and when hit with something like apprehension Lydia would spend hours diverting herself or intentionally over-tasking her mind. For this occasion she had tried running full diagnostics on the warp core and sensor suits herself; it would turn out her own efficiency was her own worst enemy and she managed to complete both in just over six hours. In the hours that remained before it became public domain that the two fleets had engaged, the captain had skimmed as many log entries about the Klingons as possible in an attempt to glean any useful piece of tactical insight. She managed only to confirm what the Collective had already instilled in her, that they were headstrong, that they had little issue throwing themselves in a wave at their enemies using melee weapons and that they were among the hardest combatants the Federation had encountered to bring down and keep down. Interestingly enough to her, Marx couldn't find anything in detail about Cestus III itself, as if a gap existed in its records of about fifty years. What she did find managed to get filtered out in her Borg-issued relevancy filters. She'd make a note to ask Agent Kestrel when they next spoke.
The final ghost of her past that Lydia continued running from was the slipstream the ship now traversed. The Borg used this same method of propulsion and having seen it almost every day as a drone seeing it now served as a reminder of what she once was. She spent most of the time away from any room in the small ship with a window or view screen. Something she remained grateful for was the fact that in no regulation did it state where a captain needed to command their ship, a loophole she planned to make use of until they dropped from slipstream. All of this was secondary now, they were less than a half-hour from their warp-out point and the fight to save the outer colony. She had compiled a report on the condition of the ship, its sensors and the crew to hand to Kestrel and after a final spot check in engineering made her way back to deck four.
She came to her friend's door and keyed the doorbell. No response came and Lydia tried and tried again before entering her override on the door as she had the day before when Kestrel had been late for their meeting. The doors opened to reveal a very dimly lit room beyond, moving inside she made note of a piece of classical music being played on low volume on the room's internal speakers. After a few moments Lydia recognized the piece as piece from the beginning of act three of Die Walkure, just before the Armageddon scene. Once just inside the room, the captain noticed Kestrel sitting on her bed, her head hung with a rifle sitting in her lap and her hands draped across it limply. Kess lifted her head no more than an inch, the ceiling lights glinting off the optical-set resting on her forehead and her green eyes moved from the floor to meet with Lydia's.
"I assume it's time" Kestrel said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Just about" Lydia answered, adding, "You ready?". Kess nodded once before extending her hand, "I believe you have a report for me?" Lydia handed the PADD over and asked, "That weapon, it's not one I am familiar with. Is it even Federation?". Kestrel flipped through the pages of status reports for the USS Doolittle before setting the PADD aside and explaining, "TR-One-One-Nine. Third-generation of the original concept of the TR-One-One-Six platform. Fires thirty caliber tritanium rounds out of a thirty-shot magazine that over time replicates more ammo utilizing small power cells and micro solar collectors. Silenced and has a micro-transporter unit that is smart-linked to my optics that allows for exographic targeting. Fancy-talk for a sniper rifle that can shoot almost silently and through walls from a considerable distance"
Lydia flinched at the name of the weapon and commented, "The Borg are aware of the TR-One-One-Six. Given how our shielding... for that point most shielding... works, that rifle caused any number of problems. In particular an incident with a vessel known as the USS Budapest comes to mind, but as the expression goes, story for another day" Kestrel nodded slightly, "Indeed. I'll need a beam-down to the outskirts of Pike City, doesn't matter specifically where. And I'll need you on standby for any fire support I can get".
Marx stalled a moment, crossing her arms before asking, "Can you tell me why there is a notable gap in the history of this colony? I found information from the twenty-second century, the beginning of the twenty-third... then nothing until the early twenty-four hundreds. I found no sign the events had been classified or for that matter deleted. I know very little about the people we are on our way to protect". Kess stood, slinging her rifle as she responded, "It's simple, Captain. The colony and a small observation post were destroyed by just one Gorn vessel that was dispatched to investigate a Federation colony they felt was too close to their territory. It took years of lobbying to get them to acknowledge our right to that world and now that the Klingons are at their back, it would seem they are a little more bold about what they feel is theirs. Fortunately to the dozens of large industries and thousands of farms, we are too. The colony has a generous array of ground defenses that with any luck are still online, but honestly I don't put much hope into us holding this line. Perhaps the biggest loss, life notwithstanding, will be culture. This colony saw to reviving baseball and spread it around several worlds of the Federation, alien ones included. That answer your question?"
Part IV
"I still don't see how one person can make any difference in a conflict that Command has already written off as lost" Lydia said as the two captains rode the Turbolift to the Bridge. Kestrel laughed, "Either that's the Collective speaking or you've been spending too much time with your Vulcan friend. Human history is filled with incidents where one individual made all the difference, changed the world. Gandhi, Lee Harvey, Cochrane, all of those men did what they did alone or with barest minimum of help. Same concept.
"Warp-out in thirty seconds" the voice of Lydia's Con officer Soibe called over the internal communications, "Our reinforcements arrived roughly an hour ago and there is a major battle raging near our exit point. We're no abort, so this should get interesting" she added with a slight hint of concern. Lydia nodded after a moment's thought, "Understood, Lieutenant. Go to combat alert and get everyone to their stations. Get the shields online and set them to double-front as soon as possible once we return to normal space, and shunt all auxiliary power to the weapons capacitors. Let's just hope no one is in our lane when we emerge. Will be a hell of a short engagement for us if there is" the captain ordered in a calm, yet clearly authoritative voice.
Kestrel made an inquisitive noise from somewhere in her throat, "Jousting with Klingons? I don't presume to tell you how to..." Lydia cut her friend off here, "Captain, I don't tell you how to do your job, with respect I ask you return the favor. You hired me for a reason, now trust me". Impressed by her friends nerve, Kess simply nodded before crossing her arms. "Worked against the Romulans" Marx added. Kestrel shrugged at this and in a matter of fact tone replied, "Yes, because the Romulans still believe in self-preservation".
The Turbolift doors opened and just as the two stepped off an intercom message sounded, "All hands, prepare for warp-out in five... four... three... two...". Soibe was suddenly drowned out by the deep and reverberating noise of a series of hits against the hull that coincided with a violent jarring and shower of sparks from the bridge just beyond the two women. "Report!" Marx yelled over it as she ran ahead, vaulting a railing in her path and landing almost effortlessly in her captain's chair. "Debris field, Ma'am! And we're already engaged by two Vor'cha!" Soibe yelled as she clasped her console with one hand, the other frantically tapping commands to bring the business end of the ship to bare on the closest attacker. Less than a second later the Andorian at Tactical called out, "Captain, between the debris and the disruptor fire hitting us almost the instant we came out of slipstream we have no shields and I am having a very hard time getting my targeting sensors to cooperate. We can't take too much more!" Lydia nodded knowingly, "Understood Takerra, get my main viewer online for me and do what you can about the..." Marx was suddenly interrupted by another jarring impact.
This most recent hit did noteworthy damage to the bridge, several consoles erupted into flames and after a bundle of optitronic data cable spewed from a wall conduit the lights flickered out. Kestrel had held onto the side of the tactical station at the rear of the bridge; while she had remained on her feet she had been stunned by the concussion the conduit beside her had produced. As the lights flickered back on and the consoles once again lit and began producing readouts, she noticed the now unconscious Takerra slumped over her station. Acting on instinct Kestrel moved around and behind the Tactical station and gently guided her wounded comrade to the floor before taking the station herself. After tapping a quick series of buttons, Kestrel announced, "Medical and Damage Control Teams to the Bridge".
Kess was out of her element and feeling it as she looked about the bridge and took note of each of the officers around her. Soibe, the Lieutenant at the helm, was a young Trill woman that had shoulder length brown hair and was wearing what appeared to be an old bomber jacket bearing a Federation fighter squadron insignia patches on both arms. Hudop, the ship's first officer and undoubtedly the oldest member of the crew, sat in his seat beside Marx. He was a Vulcan and had the typical hair style and for that matter posture that Kestrel had come to expect of Vulcans, and along with that she could sense the serene mind behind his dark brown eyes. Kess next took note of the Bajoran science officer manning the operations station. He was young and looked scared, yet decidedly resolute. There were others, but Kestrel decided to focus on much more important things.
"Captain, if the shields on this vessel function anything like the shields on my armor, I can power down the emitters and give them a brief moment to build up a charge and then reinitialize the system. It should bring them back to at least eighty percent. We'll need to keep the Klingons off us for about thirty seconds!" Kess yelled as she readied to bring the shields offline. "Do it!" Lydia yelled as she righted herself in her seat, "Where is the rest of our fleet!" she added as she keyed away at the small console affixed to her chair.
"We came out of slipstream ahead of our lines and right in front of this small Klingon battle group. I'm reading two Federation ships moving to assist us now, Ma'am!" the Bajoran at Op's called out. "Understood, Jeerin. Captain Kestrel, what is the ship's overall status? How bad is our bloody nose" Marx called out before brushing the hair that had broken free her ponytail from her face. Kess danced her fingers across the only functioning panel at her station and was a little surprised to be able to report, "Ship is at about ninety-six percent, transporters are down, warp field is fluctuating and we have minor damage to the hull... the armor held and I'm working the solution to the shields now, Ma'am! Working on the main viewer... there!".
As the screen flickered to life a horrible sight came into focus, one of the Vor'cha directly ahead. Within a second of the visual a bright red flash came from the fore of the enemy cruiser, a series of three torpedoes launched from their tube and ripped through space directly for the Doolittle. Lydia stood from her chair, clenching her fists, "Get a weapons lock on the torpedoes and cycle the shields. Now, Tactical!" Kestrel rushed through commands she only just barely knew, starship operations not being something she was well trained in. An alarm tone sounded, "Damn! Scanners are still returning errors!" Lydia spoke up again, added urgency in her tone, "Captain, I don't need to tell you what is going to happen to this vessel if those projectiles hit us. If you can't get me shields..." she trailed off and as Kestrel was about to let slip a profane tirade as the shields also produced an alert tone, the deck plates rattled and drew everyone's attention back to the viewer.
A Federation Sovereign class dove at a downward angle between the enemy Vor'cha and the Doolittle, as the bridge crew watched it passed so close that they could see individuals through the windows of the other ship and an up-close of the registry, NX-1776. "Captain, they took the hit for us and are pursuing the second enemy cruiser, I'm reading a Nova class out there too, coming in on our six!" Soibe called out and seconds later phaser fire flashed on the viewer and connected with the bow of the Vor'cha directly ahead, forcing it to adjust to engage the new threat. "Ma'am, the Sovereign is hailing us, I'm putting it on screen!" Jeerin announced.
The screen cut to static for a second, then to the video feed from the bridge of the friendly cruiser. Lydia crossed her arms and ever so slightly smiled as the captain of this ship came into focus on her screen, her eyebrow arched quizzically as she noticed his fedora and gangster looking attire. "Will. Good to see you, you look... out of uniform" she quipped. Will adjusted his hat and replied, "Bastards caught us just when I was trying out my new holo-novel a few systems off. Figured rather than waste the time changing that I'd come do something more helpful, you know, like helping people like you". Lydia nodded, "Quite. But on to business; I have a tier-one asset aboard and I need a clear path to the upper atmosphere" Will squinted, obvious looking at Kestrel and as she looked back past her mostly obscured face, he answered, "Got a Spook, huh? Yeah, come with us and the Merrimac, we'll get you there. Just get you're shields up, we're not a riot-shield. Constitution out"
As if on cue, Kestrel noticed the shield status now read "Standby" as opposed to the "Offline" it had been the past full minute and was prompt in keying the command to get them online. As she hammered the keypad to try and get the targeting scanners back in working order, the medical team arrived and split up. One half moved across the bridge to a down crewman at the opposing side and the other three moved to Takerra and got immediately to work stabilizing her for transport to sickbay. While this was going on Soibe had swung the ship around to chase after the Vor'cha that was now engaging the Nova class, USS Merrimac. After watching several volleys of disruptor cannon fire peppering their ally's shields, Kestrel slammed her fist down on her console and proclaimed, "Marx, I can't get tone! Weapons are refusing to lock!". Lydia looked to her helmswoman and ordered a fierce-sounding, "Get us right on that thing's six! Kess, on my word fire from the hip!". Kestrel watched intently with her finger poised over the fire key as the enemy ship danced about the screen, when it finally reached the center of the screen, Lydia gestured with two fingers and yelled, "Now, Captain!"
The lone wolf tapped the key and the deck plating rumbled viscerally before a stream of random shots from the Doolittle's heavy cannons unleashed hell into the aft section of the Vor'cha. "Again!" Lydia ordered, her tone sounding encouraged. Kestrel fired again and as the last shots connected the entire bridge crew watched the shielding flare offline in the area that had now been hit repeatedly, "Quantum's, full spread. Now! Before they adjust the shields or evade!". Kestrel shamelessly guessed the manual coordinates for the torpedo launch, all four of them, and fired. She watched with nervous intensity, time seeming to slow, as the weapons shimmered through space. Then it happened, a bright bluish-white flash, then another and another that then gave way to a vibrant red flare of plasma and burning atmosphere. "Nice shooting. Soibe, regroup with the Constitution, signal we've dealt with our contact. Tactical, prepare to fire on the other cruiser if Captain Miller hasn't already neutralized it" Marx ordered, finally feeling confident in her vessel again. Before Kestrel had a chance to enter another command, an officer stepped onto the bridge and in a hushed tone said, "I can relieve you Ma'am, no offense but I know her a little better" Kess answered in the same hushed tone, "no offense taken, Ensign. I've had just a basic grasp of what I've been doing, she needs a competent gunner".
Now free of her necessity-based obligation, Kess made her way to the recessed center of the Bridge, stopping beside Captain Marx with her hands clasped behind her back as she instinctively stood at attention. "Have you had any ideas how we might be able to insert you with our transporters down?" Lydia asked quietly as they fell in line behind the Constitution, the Merrimac bringing up the rear. Kestrel shrugged slightly, "Shuttle's transporters, or just try and get that shuttle through..." she paused as she sensed something out of place. Lydia detected this pause and shifted to look at her friend, "what is it?" she asked intently. Kess tried to make sense of it as she watched the bright green planet come into focus in the center of the view screen, it's lush forestry giving way to emerald seas and rivers, it seemed in that moment hard to believe that any kind of conflict could ever come here. "Ma'am, both lines are advancing towards one-another, looks like round-three is starting for the fleets" Soibe called over her shoulder, then there it was again... that strange sense Kestrel had. It was like being watched, someone hovering over her shoulder with a deeply malicious intent.
Marx began to speak again, "Captain, I need to know how you intend to..." and was promptly interrupted by Kestrel, "Helm, full stop, dive hard and clear of the Merrimac! Op's, re-align shields to aft and tie in auxiliary!" she ordered as loud as she could. Lydia spun in her seat to look at her just as Jeerin yelled, "Ma'am! Three Birds of Prey un-cloaking directly behind the Merrimac, two are breaking off to engage us now that we've dropped behind them!". It didn't take long for the lone Bird of Prey to strip the Nova class's shields and land a disabling blow to its port-side nacelle strut and sending it tumbling out of control towards the planet. "Tactical, get rid of that Bird before it finishes them off! Soibe, offensive pattern Echo-Three! Op's, normalize the shields and begin tetryon sweeps for additional cloaked vessels!" Marx ordered, all three officers answering with an enthusiastic, "Aye!".
"Captain, the Constitution is hailing, putting it up now" Jeerin added before anyone had a chance to do anything else, "You better dump off that passenger and get the hell back to our front lines. I'm good, but we're looking at the entire Klingon front-line coming right at us, and according to my Tactical officer, we're not that good" Will said with a hint of frayed nerves. Lydia nodded, "Acknowledged. What of the Merrimac? we can't just leave them out here and I've got two Birds Of Prey all over me!". Will motioned over his shoulder at his officers then replied, "On it, take care of the one to your port and I'll get the starboard one. On our way bay I'll tractor the Merrimac and make a break back for our lines. You had better be right behind me, we've lost enough people as it is today" he added before again cutting the comms. The ship shuddered again, this time as they blew through the debris field of the Bird Of Prey from behind their damaged ally, "Good work, Ensign. Target the vessel to our port-side and give him everything we've got. I'm not feeling like testing my odds of two against a hundred today" Lydia began, adding, "Kestrel, I need an answer soldier". Kestrel thought hard and as she watched the planet ahead growing larger, the Sovereign class rushing straight at them and the Bird of Prey caught between, it hit her. "I have a plan, you concentrate on this and I'll handle it myself. Head straight for the upper-atmosphere and give me a head's up when you get close, try and adjust to be over Pike City" Kess explained, lingering a moment as Lydia stared back at her, "Understood. Best of luck, we'll try and stay on station as long as we possibly can for your exfiltration" the Captain finally stated.
Kestrel turned and ran from the Bridge, meanwhile Marx sat white-knuckled as her vessel jockeyed closer behind its target all the while the Constitution rushed straight for them, getting larger and larger in the viewer. "Soibe, what exactly are you doing?" Marx asked with an almost undetectable level of apprehension. The Trill snickered quietly, "A little chicken, Ma'am. A fighter tactic but we're employing it with our much larger vessels. Don't worry, I've been in communication with their helmsman, there's no danger" Lydia again arched an eyebrow, "Understood, Lieutenant. You give the order to fire, I don't want to step on your toes. From now on, you ask before doing this". Jeerin made a strange noise and after a short pause asked, "Captain, I don't get it. How did that MACO know we were about to get hit?" Lydia looked at him a brief moment, knowing a genuine answer would be against orders she simply explained, "Intuition, I would suspect. An ambush is the same be it in space or in a jungle". Just after this verbal exchange concluded, Soibe hollered, "Fire!" and got the response of "Firing, aye!" from the relief Tactical Officer. The cannons thundered and about twenty well-placed shots riddled the Bird of Prey that had been directly ahead. Just as the ship erupted into a burning mass of debris, Soibe rolled the ship over and adjusted just enough so that the Constitution could also roll and pass harmlessly, yet dangerously close by. As the cruiser passed it opened up with all of its forward facing weapons and obliterated the small frigate it was targeting, grabbing the Merrimac with a tractor beam and pushing it in front of itself as it rushed back for Federation lines. "Get us lined up to pass over Pike City and then hook back towards our fleet. Looks like we've only got about a minute before the Klingons are on this position. And Lieutenant... nice work" Lydia ordered, finding herself very proud of her pilot.
The Turbolift door opened and Kestrel was off and running, stopping about thirty feet later in an indent in the wall. She tapped at a small keypad and a hatch sprang open before her. "Computer, prep five additional pods on random vectors and prepare to launch them simultaneously to my own. Authorization Indigo-Epsilon-Three-Six" she ordered, getting the response of, "Override accepted. Pods prepared for launch". Kess took a quick moment to turn on the small computer unit in her backpack; as it made a small chiming noise in her headset she loosed her rifle and tossed it into the awaiting escape pod before grabbing the handrail with both hands, lifting her legs and swinging herself in. She recovered her weapon and jammed it into the holder designed to fit the current generation of Compression Rifle, it fit all be it begrudgingly, and as it clicked in she went about fishing for the harness to keep herself in the seat. "Computer, close access hatch and open external launch doors" Kestrel ordered, the Doolittle's computer immediately answering, "Hatches cycled. You may launch when ready". Kess nodded approvingly to herself at this and finished securing herself in the cramped pod's seat. "You with me, Emily?" she asked, getting an obviously synthetic sounding voice's response in her earpieces, "Affirmative. Am I to assume the mission is beginning?".Kestrel had programmed Emily herself... a basic holo-novel style AI strung around databases and a personality of her own choosing. It had always seemed more comfortable to work with than the coarse preset stock on most Federation computers.
"Yeah, it's starting" Kess answered as she hovered her hand over the launch button, "Given the current battlefield conditions, what is the probability of this insertion working?" she added. "Would you like me to lie to you?" Emily retorted with an obviously simulated tone of sarcasm, "I have missed you... Sis" Kestrel replied, not catching the slip at the end of her own sentence. "Marx to Kestrel. Were making our pass now, green light to launch" Lydia called over the intercom, "Understood. Be safe, see you in a day or two if I'm lucky" Kess answered before closing her right hand into a fist and punching the launch button as hard as she could. There was a brief moment of bone jarring acceleration before she could feel herself floating against the already tight safety restraints, outside through the small paneled windows she watched as the pre-fabricated buildings of the large urban sprawl of Pike City rushed up at her, the rolling grass hills and the dense forest that rimmed that. Looking down through the smallest two downward-facing windows, Kess watched the plasma beginning to build around the bottom of her pod and as it did she felt herself getting pinned into her seat with a crushing force. A green flash caught her attention and as she look straight ahead a disruptor shot blew apart one of the other five escape pods, then one closer to her. "Emily, try and get the planet's defense firing at the source of those shots" Kestrel ordered nervously before getting the horrifying reply of, "The source of the disruptor shots is the main Klingon battle group. Likelihood of planetary defenses changing the outcome of our plan is low. Alternative: alter our entry angle away from the city to liken the chances of us being considered one of the decoys". Kess growled angrily and over the turbulence and groaning metal of the pod, yelled, "Make it happen, land me somewhere near the edge of the woods... not in a tree if you don't mind".
Kestrel's small computer linked remotely with her escape pod and fired its thrusters for just long enough to change its course. This had the nasty side effect of giving the pod a strange wobble as it fell and just as she thought of it herself, Emily confirmed it, "Warning. Current speed and attitude are not within this craft's acceptable tolerances. Landing may be unsafe". Kess watched the ground and the tress rushing up, got low enough to see little specs fighting other little specs with orange and green colored energy beams and bolts flying between them. Lower still, noticing vehicles darting about and those specs began taking on humanoid form, the battle now becoming more real to her. Kess grabbed the two small handgrips and clenched tight, closing her eyes a moment and then looking straight down at the up-rushing grass. "Impact in ten seconds. I wish you luck, Agent Kestrel" Emily said in her synthesized voice, "Yeah... you too" Kestrel replied. There came a horrible crunching and grinding and the world went black.