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From the beginning of life, from the very beginning of the universe... the Kanathri dwelled within the black void we now call space. Their vast empire spanned millions of worlds, the unity of the galaxy achieved by pure terror. Millennia went by, the Kanathri not knowing, not fearing of the danger to come; a danger that had to be faced by all creatures.
Extinction.
Time is the ultimate adversary, an unconquerable and unstoppable force of nature, and the Kanathri knew this. So when the new age of humanoids commenced, they sought refuge in another realm, in another form of reality. Waiting for the moment they could come out again, and reclaim what was rightfully theirs.
Several thousands of years passed, and the humanoids slowly forgot about the chaos and unrest that sprung from the dawn of time, until a group of scholars discovered ancient texts describing the return of the beings that were known as the Kanathri.
It is said that evil is not a universal constant, but depends on one's perspective. That theory is not correct. Because there is such a thing as pure evil, and the Kanathri proved it. Silently waiting inside the glittering sparkles of their gateway, they watched the millennia slumber by, their eyes remaining on the forms of life that inhabited the galaxy. They could smell the stench of the living, they could see the rotting of the dead. And they waited... until their gateway would open. Until they could return. And until chaos could set foot upon the galaxy again.
On the bridge of the Starship Beowulf, Captain Morgan Jameson smiled in spite of himself at the sight of Saturn. After seven long months spent on the frontier, his crew was finally allowed some rest within the heart of the Federation itself, Sector 001. It had been a trying time for Jameson, spending most of his time cataloguing gaseous anomalies in the Tenya Sector. When he was not protecting the people of the Federation from the dangers of the galaxy, Jameson preferred to be assigned to other exciting missions.
But the Admirals in Starfleet Command had disagreed with him, telling him that charting the frontier was Starfleet's original mission. Jameson had in turn responded with the comment that his ship was capable of more than collecting readings, and that the crew of a science vessel could easily complete the mission, perhaps in a smaller amount of time.
Nevertheless, he was assigned to the frontier. Jameson had always fancied himself as a man of action, and considered his crew to work the best when there was something threatening them. But things had been rather quiet lately, with both the Klingon and Romulan empires now intertwined into the new organisation known as the Confederation. Several years ago, this treaty had made the galaxy a safer place, and had ushered humanity into a new age of peace.
"Sir?"
Jameson suddenly turned, completely awoken from his deep thoughts by the sound of his First Officer, Commander Deborah Everton.
"Yes, Commander?"
"We're receiving a transmission from Starfleet Command. They are requesting our sensor logs of the Tenya Sector."
Behind him, Jameson could hear his Operations Manager, Daniel Hernandez, mutter something about the Admiralty's lack of patience, and certain phrases that sounded like curses blending together. It was all he could do to suppress a smile. Jameson turned in his chair to face him.
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"
Hernandez immediately stopped his mumbling, apparently unaware that he was talking out loud. He shrugged and faced his commanding officer.
"No, sir. Shall I transmit the logs?"
Jameson considered that as he turned back to the viewscreen.
"Not yet. Let's keep them waiting a bit more, shall we?"
He could practically see Hernandez smiling behind him.
"Yes, sir."
As the Beowulf increased speed, Jameson could see the image of Saturn slowly approaching, and eventually the brilliant light of the sun hit the optical sensors of the main viewer. Comets slowly made their journey out of the system, small fragments of ice scattered behind them. And for a brief moment, as the Beowulf made a small course correction, he could see his home planet, Earth, partially obscured by its sole moon.
"Gentlemen… we are home."
All the faces on the bridge turned to see the magnificent sight that lay before him, and several silent seconds passed. The moment was interrupted, however, by the sound of a computer alert on the Science console. The Ensign stationed there quickly checked his readings, his hands moving rapidly over the sleek display.
"What is it?" Jameson asked.
"Several tachyon fluctuations near the edge of Saturn, sir. They appear to be reacting to our warp field."
Jameson was no stellar science expert, having climbed to command via the security circuit, so he decided to let his officers handle the scientific aspect.
"Suggestions?"
But before the Ensign could respond, his Chief of Operations already walked toward the Science station, motioning for the Ensign, a female Benzite, to step aside. She promptly did so, and Hernandez quickly assessed the readings on his display.
He paused.
"Recommend we shut down the field, sir. But that would mean waiting a bit more for our arrival. We'd have to get there on impulse."
Jameson sighed.
"ETA, Lieutenant?"
Hernandez turned around, not even bothering to check his display.
"About half an hour, sir."
Beside him, Jameson could hear his First Officer sighing. He turned to her with undisguised amusement.
"Something bothering you, Deborah?"
"Half an hour more in space? I don't think I can wait that long."
Jameson stood up from his chair and walked towards the viewscreen.
"What about Starfleet relief, Lieutenant?" Everton continued.
This time, Hernandez checked his computer.
"No vessels currently orbiting the planet, sir. Although the Starlight is only a few minutes away."
"Try hailing them," Jameson said.
After several seconds, Hernandez responded.
"No response, sir. The particles are interfering with subspace frequencies. I can't make contact until we get out of here."
"And we can't get out of here unless we contact them."
"It does put us in a bit of a predicament, doesn't it, sir?"
Suddenly, several blasts rumbled throughout the ship, and the entire Bridge crew struggled to keep their posts. Jameson quickly walked back to his chair, concerned that there were more blasts to follow.
He was right.
Several consoles sparkled with electric energy, the bridge systems no doubt overloaded by whatever was causing the chaos throughout the ship. A coolant leak in the back of the bridge filled the floor with thick fog.
"Report!" Jameson shouted over the noise.
Hernandez was already busy going over the damage schematics.
"The tachyon particles suddenly increased by two-hundred cochranes! The entire system has been overloaded. Hull breach on decks six and seven…" he paused, apparently confused. "…and we have a coolant leak in engineering."
It took a moment for the importance of that statement to sink in with Jameson. A coolant leak meant that the ship was in need of evacuation. He tapped his comm-badge and shouted over the increasing noise of the shockwaves terrorizing the ship.
"This is Captain Morgan Jameson to all crew! Prepare to abandon ship! Repeat, prepare to…"
He suddenly stopped when the comm-channel was filled with static. Hernandez looked up from his station.
"The comm-system has shorted out," he reported.
Jameson walked to the Operations station and carefully glanced at the readings. He also noticed that the viewscreen had shorted out.
"Can we get a visual?"
Hernandez busily activated the controls and turned to see his Commanding Officer.
"We can. But the image will be severely distorted."
Jameson nodded and gazed at the viewer before him.
"Do it."
Within moments, the black screen flickered to life. A dark purple vortex slowly rotated on screen, and he could see Saturn in the background. Jameson squirted his eyes; it was almost as if he could see inside the vortex by doing this ... but, he could see something coming out.
"What the hell is that?" he whispered.
Hernandez seemed to pick up on his comment and quickly activated the scanners.
"I'm not sure, sir. Sensor reading are erratic, but… I think it's a wormhole. A high-density, graviton wormhole."
Appearing right here in Sector 001, Jameson thought. The figures within the vortex were becoming larger, as if traveling to the Beowulf's position. A thought occurred to him.
"Are those ships?" he asked.
"I think so," Hernandez replied. "But they're not of any type I've ever seen."
Everton suddenly stood up, a large gaping wound on her head.
"They appear to be heading toward us," she said.
Jameson nodded.
"Perhaps they are the ones responsible for the wormhole. I don't know what their goal is, though."
Before him, the two dots were now clearly depicted. Two vessels, of unknown origin. Their sleek wings aimed directly at the Beowulf.
Several seconds passed, and then the first vessel launched its weapons. The purple spheres bore a passing resemblance to photon torpedoes. The Beowulf trembled, and a wave of static washed over the viewscreen. Everton ran towards the tactical station, the officer stationed there lying on the ground, dead. She briefly glanced at the display.
"Shield at seven percent, but holding."
"They won't hold for long," Jameson said darkly. "The ship is in a bad shape, and those weapons are pretty powerful." He looked at Hernandez. "Try hailing them."
Hernandez shook his head.
"Communications systems down, sir, along with everything else. We're sitting ducks."
A second wave of shockwaves trembled throughout the vessel, followed by a series of weapon blasts. Bright sparks flew from Hernandez' console, and the Lieutenant fell backwards, his eyes closed. Fires had erupted at several stations, and the remaining crew struggled to keep it from spreading.
Lying on the ground, his uniform torn, his face covered with blood, Jameson opened his eyes and gazed at the viewscreen. The two attacking vessels menacingly prepared for their final assault, and he could feel the ship fall apart around him. It was over. As Jameson closed his eyes, the bridge silent around him, he thought about his unknown assailants.
Take your best shot, he thought, right before his bridge went up into flames.
The Confederation was dying.
It was the only thought that occurred to Admiral Richard Everton as he walked through the dark corridors of Starbase 98. The lighting on the lower decks was poor, and most of the systems were in need of repairs. But Starfleet had already dispatched repair crews to other and strategically more important starbases in Confederation space. The recent attacks by Kanathri forces had forced Starfleet to its knees, and morale was at an all-time low.
He could sense the impending disaster. An invasion was inevitable; the Kanathri had made serious advancements, and already controlled thirty-four sectors. The Confederation had deflected several attempts to invade Andoria, and thus the battle had reached an impasse. But it would not remain that way for long. Everton had been sent here to protect the peace, and for the past five months he had considered this base as his home, working with the various diplomats.
Looking at the distant stars, Everton could almost see the Kanathri death squadrons, slaughtering the thousands, enslaving the millions. In the entire history of the Federation, no enemy had ever been so brutal, so merciless and so thoroughly evil. But he hadn't forgotten the sacrifices made by his fellow officers, and for a moment, he recognised his own reflection in the view port permaglass as the one of his daughter. He remembered the day when she was sent out to one of the frontier missions, remembered himself trying to stop her from getting killed. This is my decision, she had said. I have to do this. She had certainly paid the price for her ignorance: the starship Beowulf was one of the first to perish in the ongoing battle against the Kanathri.
What would it have taken, he asked himself in quiet anger, to stop her from doing the things she did? What could I have done to stop her?
"Mind if I join you?"
Everton came to the sudden realisation that he was talking aloud. That he was, in fact, so cought up in his own thoughts that he hadn't detected the arrival of Admiral Layton, his fellow collegue on board this outpost. For a man who prided himself upon the ability of alertness, Everton was uncharactistically oblivious to the fact that a fellow officer could sneak up on him.
"William," he said, not bothering to look sideways. "A pleasure to see you."
Layton nodded, his eyes fixed on the viewport. "As always, the feeling is mutual. Deck fifteen?" he asked, apparently referring to Everton's destination. Everton nodded.
"The Meeting Hall. Received a communique from the command branch this morning. Apparently, they were organising a meeting for the entire admiralty on board the starbase."
Layton shrugged. "I got that message too… Which I suppose isn't all that odd, considering I am," and he tapped his rank pips for effect, "a Starfleet Admiral. Did you check the priority status?"
Everton nodded. "I did. Priority one. Which means…"
"Which means we'll probably be evacuating," Layton continued. "I reviewed the Intelligence reports this morning. The Kanathri have just conquered Tenya."
Everton widened his eyes in quiet amazement. "Tenya? I didn't know that they already had control over the Rajari expanse…"
"They didn't. In fact, they didn't even try. They bypassed it completely, destroying the civilian spacedock. Forty thousand dead. Poor bastards didn't even know what hit them." Layton seemed remarkably calm, as if he had spoken these words before. Or as if he didn't really care. Everton could understand the latter: he himself had seen so much death and destruction in this costly war, that the numbers were taking less and less effect on him.
The two silently walked through the corridors, both careful not to look at eachother. For what seemed like an eternity, they just kept on walking… until the door they were about to enter didn't open. They looked at eachother and tried again, but nothing happened. Layton moved to the panel and entered his authorisation code.
Still nothing.
"Everton to Ops."
A momentary silence followed. "Ensign Velor here, sir," a female voice answered.
"Ensign, I'm having a problem with the doors to the Meeting Room, section 12, deck 49."
"Hold on, sir, I'm checking."
Several seconds passed, and Everton briefly wondered if the communications grid was down again. But then the Romulan ensign responded.
"Got it, sir. There appears to be a problem with the sensors in section 12. They didn't detect your arrival."
Everton sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been several days since he had been sleeping, and this situation made him even more tired. "What I want to know is if you can fix it, Ensign."
A brief pause followed, as if the Romulan Ensign was carefully considering her next statement. "Well, I could run a level two analysis, but that would take several hours, and I'm already working on the energy overload in deck four. You'll have to use the manual release."
At another time, Everton would've protested against the fact that the Ensign couldn't handle the problems herself. He would have her know that she was the one that needed to fix the problem, not him. He would've called in her superiors and question them about their officers' training. He would've done all that… at another time.
But times were different right now, and the recent losses of the Confederation had resulted in the destruction of vital components needed to upgrade this facility. With the old computer interface still in place, accidents were bound to happen. The next shipment of computer systems wasn't scheduled to arrive for another four days, which meant a lot of problems and a severe headache for the young Romulan ensign.
Following her suggestion, Everton stepped forward and accessed the control panel, giving it his authorisation codes and activating the manual release. Immediately, the doors opened. Everton stepped in, Layton quietly following. Both stopped and looked at the chamber. It was a large auditorium, much like the ancient Andorian Ki'la'Ton warrior domes. But instead of a clear, open sky, the lighting here was poor, as if the room was designed to hide the features of all present. On one side of the room, a long line of chairs were taken by admiralty from all over the sector. On the other side, a single light shone to illuminate the stage.
One of the Admirals stepped forward and walked towards the stage, his eyes resting on the audience. When he reached it, Everton could see his features, illuminated by the lights above. He recognised him as Ian Brooks, a capable, but somewhat over ambitious Starfleet officer, who had only just been promoted to the Admiralty.
Layton took a seat next to Everton. "Looks like Brooks got a promotion… again," he said. Everton nodded.
"He'll be outranking us within a few years."
"That is," Layton whispered, "if we're still alive by then."
Everton pretended not to hear that last comment, preferring not to think about the possibility of the Confederation actually losing the war instead of winning it. On the stage, Brooks began his speech, adressing the audience with formal authority.
"Ladies and gentlemen... you are all here tonight because of the rapid escalation of hostilities by the Kanathri. They have already attacked five outposts nearby, and I fear that this base may very well be one of the next targets. Therefore, I'm ordering the evacuation of Starbase 312 tomorrow."
A wave of arguments spread through the auditorium, but surprisingly, Admiral Brooks managed to silence them with the uplifting of a hand.
"As you all know, the war is not going well. In the past five months, the Kanathri have annexed forty-two sectors," he continued.
Silence immediately filled the room as the officers recognised the importance of that statement. Several seconds passed, and apparently Layton decided to break the silence, for he immediately stood up.
"Forty-two? I thought the official record stated thirty-four," he said, although it almost sounded like a strangled whisper to Everton.
Brooks simply gazed at Layton, and after a few silent seconds, he looked down to the stage.
"The official record did state thirty-four. Let me remind you, Admiral, that this meeting is off-record," he said softly.
For several seconds, no one spoke. The entire room was silent, except for a few soft whispers in the back. Layton spoke, but it was a soft, almost whispered voice. A deeply troubled voice. "Is the Confederation doing that bad?"
For a moment, the young Admiral actually struggled to reply. "I'm afraid so," he said.
Another wave of arguments erupted, but this time Brooks didn't bother to silence them. Instead, he shouted over the increasing noise.
"They're faster. Stronger. They cannot be reasoned with, and they show no mercy! Well, what are we supposed to do? Hmmm? Diplomatic negotiations ended with the destruction of a Starfleet vessel, and I'm afraid further attempts at negotiations will result in more bloodshed."
In the back, a new Admiral spoke up. Everton immediately recognised her as the Romulan Crean, one of the most capable and passionate officers in the Confederation. Her reputation was well deserved. Layton had served with her on board the Velora, and he could tell that the years had not changed her a bit. Crean stood up, her pale skin providing contrast to the deep blue lights of the auditorium.
"So... they don't listen to us. They just attack for no particular reason. And they have the upper hand. You know what that makes them? Bullies." She gazed at the rest of the audience, her deep purple eyes pausing at the sight of Layton. She looked back at the stage. "And do you know, Admiral, what that makes us? Victims. Victims to a merciless enemy who shows no fear... " She paused. "I think it's about time the Confederation, and Starfleet in particular, show some strength when it comes to dealing with the enemy."
But Brooks would not be swayed. "There has to be a way to avoid the bloodshed..."
"Starfleet negotiation teams spend years looking for a way! I think some of us have already learned that negotiations won't solve anything. It's time to strike back. Hard." Crean passionately glanced at the other officers.
Brooks' brow furrowed. "Admiral, attitudes like that belong in the dark age," he said softly.
Crean didn't fall back. She never did. "For all we know, Admiral, the dark age is about to return. I estimate that within four years, if Starfleet keeps this up, there may not be much left of the Confederation to protect. There is an old human saying I believe... 'The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.'"
Now Brooks' attitude began to change, and he spoke more softly this time. "I sent the ninth fleet on a mission to destroy a Kanathri HQ. Two ships came back. Two ships. They were already waiting for us... I'm afraid that the Kanathri have already infiltrated Starfleet more thoroughly than you think. It's too late."
"It is not too late! I refuse to believe that there is no hope left for the people of the Confederation," she shot back.
"Hope, Admiral, is the only thing that has kept the Confederation together for so long." He paused. "I'm leaving the station tomorrow. I advise you to do the same. Thank you all for coming."
A few minutes later, the last of the officers had left the room. All except both Everton and Layton, who were still sitting in the far corner, discussing.
"Crean is right. If we don't strike back, the Kanathri are just going to keep attacking, slaughtering the civilian freighters and cargo transports. We have to increase our defenses. Cloaking devices. Sub-space weapons. Micro-wormholes. We have to…" Layton suddendly stopped when he picked up on Everton's incredulous look.
"William, you're starting to sound like our Kanathri friends," Everton shot back.
"That is right. That is exactly right," Layton continued. "Believe it or not, but perhaps that's not at all a bad idea. In case you haven't noticed, my friend, the Kanathri are winning the war."
Everton afforded Layton an impatient glance. "So what are you going to do now?"
"Tomorrow morning, the Starfleet cruiser Midway will dock here. My former first officer, Robert Hawk, will be on board. I have some matters to discuss regarding the new tactical reports from Starfleet HQ," Layton answered. "You're welcome to come along; the Midway is scheduled to make a detour to Deep Space Nine. From there, we can catch a shuttle back to Earth."
Everton briefly considered. "Alright. So, what are you going to do right now?"
"Right now," Layton answered, "I'm going to contact my former first officer. We've served a long time together; I'm sure he'll accept us as passengers. After all, there still is something to be said for personal loyalty."
"You have got to be kidding me."
On the monitor, Captain Robert Hawk gave Layton an incredulous look. Everton discreetly glanced in his direction from the far corner.
"It's hardly a permanent stay, Robert," Layton answered. "We'll be gone before you know it."
Hawk seemed to consider that, but then shook his head. "Admiral, consider this from my perspective. You're asking me to take two of the most respected Admirals in the Confederation, put them on my ship for transport, then take them through the most dangerous area of space on the whole frontier. Have you ever considered the dangers involved in transporting high ranking Starfleet officers through extremely hostile territory?"
"I'm aware of the risks, Captain," Layton stated. "I'm also aware that such a thing as 'safe territory' is virtually non-existent during wartime."
"Besides," Everton now spoke up, "As Admiral Layton just said, we'll be gone before you know it."
On the monitor, Hawk still looked sceptic, but his attitude seemed to soften. "I'm probably going to regret this later, but alright. We'll be arriving tomorrow, and I'll inform you when we're within range. Hawk out."
Then his face was replaced with the familiar Starfleet logo. Layton turned to Everton. "Well, that certainly went better than I thought."
Everton seemed mildly amused. "Sure. You had some pretty low expectations then, huh?"
Layton softly chuckled, but then his face grew dead serious. "Hawk and I served together for a long time, and we know eachother well. However, some time ago, we had a disagreement. A serious disagreement. I wasn't completely honest when I talked to you earlier. Oh, I was sure he would've accepted my offer. But still…"
Everton nodded. "I know."
Then the two left the office in silence, and waited while the rest of the starbase was being evacuated. Two days later, the Midway arrived.
Robert Hawk paced the bridge of the starship Midway like a caged predator, glancing at the various stations, questioning the officers stationed there. In short, he indicated a general unwillingness of doing nothing.
"Layton to Hawk."
He immediately spun around, half expecting to see his first officer stand behind him. He briefly wondered if his eyes were deceiving him, but then reality cought up with him and he tapped his commbadge.
"Hawk here. Go ahead, Commander," he said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
"We're ready to pick up our guests, sir. They're standing by…"
"Understood. I'm on my way," he answered, and he began walking. Feeling much more at ease with having something to do besides waiting, he entered the turbolift and inputted his destination in the computer controls. Immediately following his command, the lift started moving.
Hawk considered the situation that lay before him, eagerly awaiting the return of his former captain, William Layton. Of course, fate always liked playing cruel tricks upon him. Right after the argument between Layton and Hawk, he was assigned to this new vessel as the commanding officer. He had never been more amazed when he found out that his first officer was the daughter of Layton.
Now, three years later, he finally had the chance of seeing him again. Most of all, he wondered what the Admiral wanted to discuss. Hawk knew him for quite some time, and he could sense the urgency in Layton's communique. Whatever this was, it was important.
With a hiss, the turbolift doors opened, and Hawk started his journey towards the transporter room, rushing to meet the man whom he respected most.
Everton screamed.
At first, he had found himself atop of a platform, a platform that was floating in midair for apparently no particular reason other than to scare the hell out of him. Everton had briefly wondered how he got there, and what he was doing there, but then the strangeness of it all simply vanished, and he had found himself staring at the red, unclouded sky.
Of course, then his curiosity got the best of him, and he stared down, to the ground.
At least, that was what he had initially suspected.
For there was, in fact, no ground present at all. Just more sky, red and pure. His sudden anxiety caused him to lose balance, and he fell backwards, a fall that almost sent him spiraling to his own death. However, he managed to hold on to one of the edges, and with an amazing cat-like agility, he had spun his legs around. But he was still gazing downwards, and he decided that that was not the best thing to do, for he again felt his legs weaken.
He inhaled the warm sky, and he suspected that he was in, or above, a desert of some sort.The unexpected temperature made him cough, but he cought himself before he could fall again. He rolled, his body flat against the platform, his head sideways, both his hands grabbing the edges.
In short, he indicated a general unwillingness to fall off. He did everything he could to prevent him from rolling off the platform again.
Apparently, he wasn't very good at it. For he fell off again, and again, his arms grabbed hold of the edges. For a moment, he thought that he would actually make it. Until reality cought up with him, and he fell, screaming.
The fall was long. He had not really decided how long exactly he had been spiraling downwards, but he suspected several hours at least. He briefly considered the possibility that there was, in fact, no ground at all. That would mean his fall would be without an end, and he was simply meant to die of starvation.
His thoughts were interrupted when he suddendly saw the landscape below him. Again, as he initially suspected, it was indeed a desert, with red sand, red mountains. Everything was red. The red of wine, the red of roses.
The red of blood.
He fell closer, and closer. For a brief moment, he prayed that some higher power would save him, that some twist of fate would cause him to miss the ground entirely and just force him to keep falling. At the same moment, he realised that such hopes were utterly misplaced.
He hit the ground.
Then the red became black, as the warm light of the sun was replaced by darkness. He saw the face of his daughter. Tears rolled of her cheek, her eyes gazing at him in desperation. "Daddy!" she called out.
"Deborah!", he shouted.
Then he woke up.
His memory kicked in, and he opened his eyes, realising that he was in his personal quarters, alone, on the Midway. He and Admiral Layton had both been given quarters for the rest of the voyage, and Everton had taken the oppurtunity to retreat to his own, and rest. Initially, his bed hadn't agreed with him, and he had simply stared at the ceiling for hours, thinking about… things.
He realised that, at some point, he must had fallen asleep, for he suspected that his recent experiences were nothing more than a nightmare. He coughed, rolled over, and faced the ceiling.
"Computer," he asked wearily, "time?"
"The time is zero three hundred hours," the computer stated in its regular voice.
Everton sat up, and gave his eyes a few moments to adapt to the darkness. For it was, in fact, utterly and completely dark. There was no source of light in the room, nor was there any light that emanated from the hallway.
Then he turned around.
For he had seen something in the corner of his eye, something bright, something… red.
A pair of eyes stared at him menacingly. They were red and bright, with no apparent pupils or anything that closely resembled pupils. They were just two glowing eyes, and Everton realised that they were becoming larger.
He rolled out of his bed, and paralysed by fear, he simply forgot to consult the computer. The eyes were getting closer, and he could now barely make out the figure of a humanoid, slowly walking towards him. He blinked, in the hopes of seeing more of his suspected attacker, but the darkness revealed nothing, and he continued to stare.
"Who are you?" he asked. His voice sounded raspy, almost constricted.
"Who I am is not really a concern to you," the voice stated ominously. "What I am about to do, however, is."
Then two hands grabbed Everton's throat, and for a moment, he could again see the red desert, feel the warmth of the sun.
Then, the darkness enveloped him.
"I suppose you know why we are here."
The question cought Hawk off guard. Together with Layton, he had just taken a seat in his ready room, and thoughtfully gazed at his former Captain.
"Well, some say that some higher power formed…" his voice trailed off.
"No, I mean here. On this ship."
"Oh, here," Hawk said sheepishly, although he knew perfectly well the intent of Layton's first question. "I don't really know," he lied.
"Yes," Layton answered. "You do."
There was a brief pause, and Hawk came to realise that although Layton and he hadn't seen eachother in years, the passing of time did nothing to diminish the bond between them.
Layton coughed softly and continued. "Do you know how long this war has been going on?"
"Six years," Hawk said confidently.
"And do you know the enemy?"
"Yes."
But Layton shook his head. "You anticipate its strategies. You predict their movements. But do you know your enemy?" He paused. "Let me rephrase the question. Have you ever seen the enemy?"
Hawk shook his head in momentary confusion. "Well… no."
Layton stood up and walked to the viewport, glancing at the deep purple clouds of the Xyonar Nebula. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and then turned around again.
"Do you think you are an exception to the case?"
"What?" Hawk was incredulous.
"No one has ever even seen the Kanathri. After all these years…" he paused in mid-sentence, apparently lost in his thoughts.
"No one? I find that hard to believe. After all," Hawk said, "We have been at war with these people for over six years now."
"Have you ever considered checking up on Intelligence reports regarding the identity of the Kanathri?"
Hawk briefly considered, then shook his head. "No. Not really," and he stood up, also walking to the viewport, and standing next to Layton. "I was so busy fighting in this damned war that I didn't even stop to consider their true identity. The rules were clear. We knew them. We knew what we had to do. We were the good guys, they weren't. It's that simple."
Layton paused. "No. It is not." Seeing the confusion in Hawk's eyes, he continued. "For several months now, I have been getting reports of missing officers. Facilities that have been sabotaged. Defections of Starfleet vessels. Robert, the enemy is no longer out there," and he indicated the the cold void outside, "It is in here. They could be on this vessel right now. I showed you a recording of the meeting I had on board the starbase; Brooks was right! They have already infiltrated Starfleet far deeper than you think," he grimaced.
Hawk was shocked. "You can't assume…"
"Oh, but I can," Layton continued. "Seventy-four vessels, Captain. Twenty-two starbases! We give it another year, hell, they'll be demobilizing Earth!"
"So what do you suggest we do?" Hawk asked quietly. He had learned from experience not to be overwhelmed by situations like this.
There was another pause, and Layton retrieved a PADD from Hawk's desk. He entered some authorization codes and showed it to him. "Three days ago, Starfleet Intelligence picked up a coded transmission from an uninhabited moon. After some investigation, they came to realise there was a Kanathri outpost stationed there. Now," he walked back to the chair, "We cannot spare sufficient resources to send a full scale attack force to that location," and he sat down, "But we can send a lone vessel to silently infiltrate the base, and have the operatives on board provide us with the information we need."
"That vessel being the Midway… and the operatives being us."
"Correct," Layton said. "The moon in question is LX-432, which is near the small colony of New Haven. Go to that moon, Robert. Find out what the hell's been going on. Find out who they are. Do that for me."
"I will," Hawk promised.
Layton stood up, and before he could walk out, he turned around. "Crean was right at the meeting, though. There still is hope left for the Confederation," and he paused. "If only we strike harder." He paused again. "Let's hope it's not too late," he thoughtfully said. Then he turned around and left the room, leaving a confused and shocked Hawk alone in his room.
"Admiral! Admiral Everton! Sir, please respond!", the Ensign shouted at the closed door. For some time now, he had been shouting at it in the hopes of waking Everton up. Until now, he hadn't been very succesful.
"What is it?"
For a moment, the Andorian Ensign paused and thought that the person inside had responded to his distress. Again, he was wrong. Behind him, Commander Jennifer Layton walked towards the door and afforded him an impatient glance.
"I tried hailing the Admiral through his commbadge, but I got no response. So I figured he was asleep, and went to his quarters. Only to find a locked door, and, well…" he shrugged. "I don't have the authorization codes neccesary to open it, so I'm kinda hoping on waking him up."
Layton understood, and moved over to the control panel. "Computer, Commander Jennifer Layton, authorization code Gamma Echo twelve-fourteen."
The door swiftly opened, and the two officers stepped in, surprised by the darkness of the room.
"Computer, lights," Jennifer said.
Gradually, the lights began to increase, and immediately Layton cursed herself for turning them on in the first place. For in the center of the room was Admiral Richard Everton.
Dead.
No, not dead. Destroyed. His face was cut up, blood was everywhere, God, it was horrible. His eyes were wide open, which meant he hadn't died in his sleep, but that he had faced the monster who did this at the time of his death.
And there had been no unscheduled beam outs tonight.
Which meant that the person who did this was still on board, and that there was an enemy walking among them. She glanced at the Ensign, turned around, and ran out of Everton's quarters. She kept on running through the corridors, pushing officers aside, rushing to the Bridge.
Once there, she ignored all officers present, and with undisguised rage she entered the Captain's Ready Room.
"Robert," she whispered. "Where's my father?"
Hawk looked up with wary eyes and gestured for her to sit down, which she didn't. "Jennifer... Admiral William Layton has gone missing."