Chapter 1
The Prelude to Disaster
5th December, 2378
USS Persistence,
En-route to Xevenya.
The corridors was bright, clean and filled with cheerful crewmen and women as it was everyday, and had been for the past month or so. It was a peace and neatness that Captain Vales was thankful for, especially when he remembered back to what he had witnessed during the Dominion War. He sighed, remembering back to those days…and then subsequently pushed it aside.
A man of medium build, any person would have probably mistake Captain Vale for a slightly more junior officer simply because of how young he looked. His brown hair was cut short and neat, covering only a small part of the smooth, broad forehead. Vale's eyes were a normal brown in color, but shone with an intelligence that belied his apparent age. A long, thin nose along with a square jaw and chin completed the face, giving him a seeming toughness of someone off the street, as opposed to a Federation Captain.
It was this toughness that had allowed Vales to survive through the Dominion war as a young ensign, and then subsequently rise up the ranks to reach where he was now. Captain of his own ship…he hadn't actually believed it until he had been given the post a month ago. He'd been part of Starfleet for what? 23 years now, and they finally gave him a command of his own, despite having reached the rank of Captain almost a year ago. At the relatively middle age of around 44, most others would be considering having a quiet or peaceful end to their career, probably as a commodore or rear admiral down at Starfleet HQ…but for Vales, things had just started looking up.
About bloody time too. Vales thought as he reached the end of the crew quarters deck. The turbo lift doors silently opened, and then closed after he entered it.
"Flight Deck 1."
The computer only beeped in acknowledgement to the order, and began to descend. This wasn't just any ship, he had been given command of, however. The Persistance was a semi-new ship designated as the Stormchaser class, which had just rolled out of production…or refit, actually. The original hull had based on that of a Galaxy class vessel…but their were several key changes. The most important and probably most prominent were the clearing out of a majority of the quarters, and re-conversion of these spaces to flight decks. The original Galaxy class had had a few shuttle bays – but now these had been reconverted as well, giving the Persistance a total of six flight decks – four on the saucer, and another two on the star drive section. The exits for the flight decks were arranged in a triangle formation on the upper side of the saucer section, with one point forward and two back. The last one was located below and pointed forwards as well. The Star drive section ones were simple enough as well; one forwards and one backwards.
These flight decks and refits had been part of Starfleet's experimental expansion in seeing how feasible fighter and carrier-type combat would be. The traditional approach of capital ships was still preferred due to sheer durability and weaponry, of course, but the numbers and strike capabilities given by fighters and bombers was enticing – especially considering the new technology proven by the Delta Flyer that Voyager had brought back. All new classes of military fighters had been created, based on its components and systems over the past year, and all of those produced so far had been placed upon the only three carrier classes in the fleet – the Stormchaser, the Persistance and the Foundation.
These new classes ranged from small interceptors, to heavy fighters, Strike bombers and ultra-heavy bombers. All-new payloads and torpedoes had been specialized expressly for them, as had been a whole-new set of crew that had never really been needed before…as was evident by the scene that presented itself to Vales as the doors opened.
"Flight Deck One." the computer chimed.
Flight Deck One (commonly referred to as FD1) was the top-side forward deck. It actually wasn't exactly a 'deck' as it was three. At three decks tall, FD1 was bustling with activity. Flight crews moved around the entire floor, running diagnostics, maintenance or tweaks on the varied kinds of fighters here. The inside of the deck nearest to the force field to space was completely clear acting as a small runway of sorts for incoming or outgoing fighters. All along FD1's ceiling were rails upon which several mechanical cranes had been placed. They had been chosen over anti-grav systems out of sheer redundancy in a battle situation, as opposed to efficiency. These cranes ran across the rails with a rather quick speed, lifting fighters and bombers off the runway and onto the many berths split into three levels and running all along the walls in a large 'U' like formation. Vales was to the left side of this, with the back of FD1 being to his right, and the force field holding in the air from the vacuum of space to his left. Ordinance, spare parts, fuel containers and other similar items lay in each berth, ready to either re supply or repair the ship that came in. Some berths were larger than others, to accommodate for the larger bombers…while yet others had special markings and symbols to them…as if reserved for a particular group, or group of fighters.
That would be the squadrons. Vales thought to himself. The Persistence was home to a total of 6 squadrons – probably the first few dedicated fighter squadrons in all of Starfleet, actually. Vales re-counted the squadrons and tied them to the face of each squadron leader he knew. It was a daily ritual of his, in a sense. As was walking the flight decks, which he did now as, he stepped out of the turbo lift. There was a ramp way that led all around the deck, with several ladders and well-placed elevators allowing access up or down each level. The place he was headed for was at the top level, on the opposite wall. It was the flight control center that overlooked all of FD1, coordinating all the launches and landings that were going on.
Despite the fact that they weren't at war or any hostile action at the moment, Vales had ordered repeated drills to take place, if only to give his pilots something to do, as opposed to wrecking Ten-Forward…or worse - playing with ordinance.
The pilots that had been chosen to fly the fighters had been chosen from Starfleet's finest caliber. Young men and women, humanoid and non-humanoid alike, each one had a reputation for being crack pilots of their starships…yet this had remained mostly useless, considering the fact that flying a starship was a far, far different venture than flying one these fighters. The top of them of course, had been chosen to lead the squadron. Famous names like Lt. Paris had been amongst the first pilots, and had gotten a place on the Stormchaser just a month back.
Vales started to recount his squadron leaders, as he walked the ramp-way and up the ladder.
The first and probably the finest of all the pilots here was Commander Jessuis 'Kamikaze' McCumbry, leader of the 21st Suicide Kings Interceptor squadron. They primarily flew the Hellfire interceptors, designed to chase down enemy bombers (or smaller capital craft) as well as to perform precision strikes against larger targets – even into low warp, if need be. Specialized with heavy forward Phaser and Torpedo array, they were capable of bringing massive firepower to bear in a single precision strike – however, unlike most other fighters, they weren't very suited for long-term combat. A somewhat strict person, McCumbry had a habit of being all business when it came to combat. Off-duty, he was pretty much the same….except when he got drunk. Vales remembered his CVS – the man had apparently gotten arrested and reprimanded thrice for drunk and disorderly conduct. However, he had somehow managed to squirm through with only light duties or a minor pay cut or two. This was probably due to his reputation. He had piloted one of the Akira class vessels first during the Dominion war and then when the Borg had attacked Earth. His vessel had been instrumental in the final thrust captain Picard and the Enterprise had made to stop the cube – and which had succeeded. Having proven his mettle, he was the obvious candidate for being the overall squadron commander onboard. McCumbry's wing consisted of around four others, total. The name given to their squadron was a rather…dubious one, to say the least. The symbol of a king of spades, from an old earth card deck, adorned the walls of their berths, a rather accurate portrayal of their roles. His wing was one which Vales could count on for a suicide mission…although onboard this ship, almost every other wing would be willing to do the same.
The next and most definitely almost as good was Lt. Commander Ne'Zr's wing. Vales still couldn't get the pronunciation of the arachnid's name right, but instead sufficed with the nick-name her colleagues had given her – 'Red Target' or RT, for short. She belonged to a relatively new species to the federation – known only as the Korak. They were distinctively identifiable by their red exoskeletons, which gave them a resemblance to large lady-bugs, minus the spots. Although membership was still new, their navy frequently used fighters and bombers as well as carrier tactics. As such, RT had been posted onto the Persistance as one of the squadron leaders, while yet another Korak ace was the overall squadron commander on the Foundation. RT headed up the 22nd Mad Bombers - an aptly accurate name, actually, considering not just the nature of the craft they flew, but the pilots as well. RT's crafts of choice were the Ragnarok and Swift bombers, both relatively new designs with separate purposes.
Vale's breathing increased a bit as he got off the ladder at the second deck. He turned around, and came face-to-face with one of the fighters he had been thinking about. The somewhat blocky design of the Ragnarok had a certain degree of elegance to it, mostly because of the swept-back wings which were drawn up at ninety degrees at their edges. There was a slight bulge to the top and bottom of the rear, where the warp nacelles and systems were located. To either side of the front cockpit, the torpedo launchers and ordinance storage facilities had been placed, with the exit ports being hidden behind several long slats that could be withdrawn, allowing the bomber to fire its deadly payload at any target. The Ragnarok was a heavy bomber, with a specially built rack system that allowed it to fire a multitude of payloads at medium-close range, at up to six torpedoes or missiles at a time. Unlike the other fighters, the Ragnarok was capable of carrying full-fledged regular torpedoes alongside its regular armament. However, Vales knew that special warheads had been prepared just for use by these bombers – each with a devastating capacity at least 4-5 times that of a regular quantum torpedo – in terms of raw energy output, at least. The launchers could fire up to six torpedoes at once, and in any type of spread, while the ordinance capacity was huge. To further enhance this, a special 'lighter' version of ablative armor had been added to the surface to give the bomber a toughness that would allow it to deliver its payloads.
On the side of the hull, Vales could see the squadron symbol. It was a picture of an old earth weapon – an atomic bomb, to be precise. The bomb was wrapped around in what appeared to be a straightjacket from the looks of it. Most suitably fitting. Vales thought to himself. He continued to walk down the ramp, heading to the next ladder.
The next squadron was probably the most unusual. It wasn't an interceptor or bomber squadron, but rather multi-role, with primary missions being long-range recon and support. It headed by an Andorian, a Lt. Commander Bishota. Bishota had a particularly strange history; one that Vale had taken note to study extensively. Still, despite his attempts to understand it, its mysteries had troubled him deeply. Yet, still, he had opted to keep Bishota's experience and skills. Like McCumbry, she had experience in the Dominion war – however, it was rather different. Her aid had come not as a Starfleet officer….but as a mercenary. More often than not, her ex-company had employed the use of fighter tactics with the small craft they had, something which had propelled her into a pilot's line and field once she had successfully entered and then passed Starfleet academy after the Dominion War. The only reason she was here was at the recommendation of a half-dozen captains, including even Major Kira from DS9.
Bishota headed the 23rd Silver Scythes, a squadron which specialized in the Night watcher class of stealth fighters. Although the federation couldn't use full cloaks, the ships more often than not used different types of stealth modules, including experimental sensor jammers and holographic equipment to disguise external appearances. It was the ultimate small craft when it came doing long-range recon, especially into potentially hostile territory too hot to risk the carrier in. The squadron truly was multi-role, however, and more often than not could be seen supporting the others in fighters, bombers or even Interceptors. Although the pilots did specialize in varying fields, every pilot was capable of flying any other craft should the need arise – however, limited fighter supply meant that it was more efficient to specialize, as then the pilots would more than likely keep them up in the air longer.
Vales reached the next ladder up. However, rather than climb it, he stepped aside and made way as a crewman slowly climbed down it.
The next squadron was led by not one person…but millions of them. At least, that was what Vales had understood of Marshinian physiology. The being was about as alien as one could possibly get; a collection of billions of semi-sentient micro-organisms that collected together to form a large super-organism housed in a very, very strong exo-skeletal structure. It was a hive mind that rivaled the processing power of most Federation computers – and it was all located within a five foot tall and three foot wide semi-metallic carapace that looked more like an old-earth tank than it did a living being. The Marshinians had been a long time Federation member; their planet proving to be a good source of Dilithium, and their race friendly enough to trade with most others. How they exactly operated was a mystery to Vales, but what he did know was that the collection of beings that had joined and then gone through Starfleet designated itself as 'Trix'. The squadron Trix leaded were the 24th Star Childs. A primarily Fighter squadron, the Star Childs were meant to deal with other threats of similar size and/or nature, as well as to assist the carrier's assault against larger ships. They flew the Sojourn class fighter, which packed enough of a punch to be capable of making them a distraction, while at the same time having enough maneuverability and speed to not make them sitting ducks. Trix had been chosen to lead it – simply because unlike the others, it did not require an interface with which to control the fighter, and instead flew it like an extension of its own mind.
There were just two more squadrons to go, which Vales continued to recount as he nodded at the crewman and then climbed up the ladder.
The 25th Deadly Reapers was a specialized heavy assault squadron. They flew Sojourn fighters, Swift bombers and a specialized craft made especially for their roles – the Maahes Heavy Assault Gunship. The Maahes/i/ was a semi-bomber, semi-fighter whose main armaments were the massive array of phasers all over the ship and a single torpedo turret, allowing it to engage multiple fighter targets, or one or two frigates at a time. However this comes at the cost of having a crew of five (1 pilot, 3 gunners, 1 support), and also being innately expensive to keep running for any reasonable amount of time. It was also somewhat limited in its warp capacity due to an experimental power core; with a maximum speed of Warp 2.4 – just a little more than half of the other fighters. The huge hull was similar in size to the Ragnarok class, if a little bigger; meaning that only a select few of these gun ships could be actually carried onboard. There were actually just four of them onboard, and Starfleet Command was more interested in seeing if they were worth the resources before it made anymore. The squadron was headed by Lt. Ayer, probably the youngest pilot onboard. A Bolian, he had been chosen partially because of his skill, and partially because he had helped to design the Gun Ship in the first place.
Getting off the ladder, Vales looked from side to side. The uppermost floor was empty…which was somewhat odd, actually. He checked the time…
Nope…its daytime shift, for sure. It was perfectly on time…normally, there should have been people working at around this time. At the very least had there been no work people would be sitting around and talking. Yet as Vales looked on he observed that everything had been stacked neatly and efficiently, and there was not a soul about.
Then he heard the sound of a door sliding open towards his right side. Turning around, Vales saw several people come out of the Flight Control Center. They were various uniforms colors, but most of them he recognized as flight support attendants or mechanics. He breathed a sigh of relief and realized that it was probably just an overall briefing by Flight Chief Su'Vek. Vales remembered that the flight chief had wanted to organize one soon, and had probably just shifted it forward to today.
He glanced at the nearby fighter berth for a second, noting the squadron insignia on it. It was a simple one; of just a hammer and spanner, placed in an 'x' formation much akin to the soviet banner. This was the last squadron on the Persistance for the moment – the 26th Workmen. Theirs was a rather special squadron, with no actual 'leader' – at least, no leader that was a true pilot. The Workmen were the true support squadron onboard, piloting an all-new engineering rig that allowed them to repair and rearm the new fighters and bombers out in the midst of combat. The new rigs were almost as large as the gun ships onboard, and were simply called as the Rescue class. As the name implied, these craft were also capable of making last-ditch and automatic rescues, pulling out pilots whose fighters had gone critical. To survive on the battlefield, they had been given heavy armor and shielding, almost as strong as small starship class. Two rapid-fire micro-torpedo turrets protected them against aggressors, while they also had a small tractor beam with which to tow off damaged fighters. They were slow and unwieldy and took a lot of space on the hangar decks, meaning that their numbers were somewhat limited as well. Again, Starfleet HQ was doing trial runs, so if it did indeed prove successful, more numbers would be granted. The Squadron was officially 'run' by the ship's Chief Engineer, Lt. Commander Tolrath, but since there were just two of them, Tolrath had let the two pilots and their crews run mostly independently, with the occasional check to make sure everything was in order. The two pilots and the four other crew that ran the show got along well together, so Vales had left it mostly as it was.
Vales completed the count just as he reached the door, which slid open quietly, revealing the flight control center. It was a rather large room, with an large window that overviewed the deck to one side. All along this wall and the others were control consoles and displays, showing the status of the ships currently in the berth, and those coming in for landing or taking off.
An inner 'ring' was in the situated in the middle of the room, inside of which Su'Vek form stood. The tall Vulcan was addressing a few of the other flight chiefs when he noticed the captain come in.
"Captain on the deck." He said, calmly. The chiefs around him turned around and stood at attention as the Vales simply held a hand up and nodded.
"As you were…just passing through the morning rounds."
"Indeed, sir." Su'Vek replied, obviously non too pleased at the interruption. Keeping that in mind, Vales just walked around the gathered men as they went about their business, and then exited through the door at the other side. He walked out of the flight deck, and was immediately in a small junction. To his left was the mess hall, while to his right was a turbo lift that headed straight for the bridge. Vales was about to turn right, when his stomach growled, protesting his move.
Damn…nearly forgot breakfast again. Vales cursed. He checked the time again. Still a half hour to go… it was still early, so he turned to the left, and began walking towards the mess hall. Although he could have just replicated a meal in his ready room, the mess hall cooked real food for the crew. It wasn't necessary, of course, but he'd long since discovered that the wonders a few home-cooked meals did to morale, as well as allow for socializing in general.
At this point, Vales was close enough that he could just smell the aroma of the food coming from the mess…a mixture of spices, meat and vegetables, that tantalized the senses, promising a real treat for those who would stay to indulge themselve. Vale's pace quickened, moving down the corridor and approaching the doors as fast as he could, without looking like he was deliberately running.
Four steps…three steps….two more. The doors had opened now and with a final step, Vales would be inside. As the doors opened, however, Vales heard a very, very different noise than he expected.
His comm. Badge chirped, distracting Vales and nearly causing him to bump into a crewman that was about to exit. Sighing, he stopped outside the door and tapped the badge. This had better be important.
"Bridge to Captain Vales." a female voice spoke through. Vales immediately recognized it as his first officer, Commander Sandra.
"Vales here…" he said, suppressing a sigh.
"Sorry to disturb you captain, but you have a priority message coming in from Admiral Dethuris. He has new orders for us, but wishes to speak to you personally."
Vales cursed internally. Admiral Dethuris? Now this was odd. Normally, the Admiral just sent them their orders as-is, which meant that this had to be important. Sighing internally, he backed off from the mess hall doors, allowing them to close. Turning around, he jogged back to the turbolift as he replied calmly.
"I'll take it in the ready room, coming up now."
Vales then cut the channel. What could be the problem now? His current orders were to make way to Xevenya, to allow for re-supply, and picking up a few important passengers and new crew. Although it was out of the way, they had been closest to the sector when the need had come in. Still, this place was supposed to be quiet – what could have gone wrong that required them to change orders from an Admiral?
Guess I'll find out. Vales thought. The doors closed and he gave his destination. Ten seconds later, he was at the bridge. He didn't spend any time greeting the crew, and instead went straight to the ready room. They all understood his expression and the situation – it was not worthwhile keeping an Admiral waiting – especially one like Dethuris.
Once he had entered and settled down into the room, Vales opened the channel. The face of Admiral Dethuris appeared on the display screen. A relatively old man, the Admiral wasn't a very pleasant person to deal with; as was made clear by his currently dour expression. He spoke first, cutting off Vales before he could say a word.
"Captain Vales, I'll make this quick. We've got a situation developing down in Xevenya -"
Uh-oh…not good. Those few words were the last thing he wanted to hear right now. He controlled his expressions, suppressing the urge to frown and groan at the Admiral. Despite being combat-experienced, Vales still had a slightly green crew when it came to operating the new fighters and equipment. None of this had been field-tested completely yet. Well…someone had to be the first…and looks like we get to be it.
"- fortunately, we believe we can use this situation to do a first combat testing and eval on your new ship and the fighters." The admiral continued. He cleared his throat a bit before speaking up. On the corner of the screen, Vales noted that some information began to transmit across the link. It was soon replaced with the rotating picture of
"I'm sure you've heard of the Jolly Roger, Captain?"
Vales raised an eyebrow, and cursed internally. Of course he had heard of it. Every bloody captain that was worth a shit from here to Alpha Centauri had heard of it.
"Yes, Admiral, I have."
"Good. The Jolly Roger was recently spotted in the Xevenya system around a day ago. It was seen orbiting Xevenya VI before it disappeared into cloak. We have good reason to believe that it may be still in the system. While Sinclair station is capable of defending themselves against the threat adequately, they do not have the resources to actively protect the merchant shipping in the area, which might have already been struck at least once. They have asked for aid from Jessuis station and Commodore Jas, but neither them nor Starfleet Command has received a reply from the Villaires system as of yet."
The admiral paused, taking in a deep breath.
"Although Villaire's silence is somewhat troubling, its not your main objective. The USS Peacekeeper-A is en-route to Xevenya and will rendezvous with you before it heads off to Villaires to investigate the reason for the silence"
Villaires not responding? Now this was indeed troubling. Still, he filed it at the back of his mind. There could be a dozen different possibilities as to why, but another captain had already been deployed to handle that situation, which meant that he had to focus on the task at hand.
Dethuris leaned in closer to the monitor as he then continued.
"We're sending you all the classified information on the Jolly Roger that we have. Captain, your primary objective is to neutralize, and if possible capture the vessel. Commodore Markhaven is wanted for international crimes and must be brought to justice. There is also technology – all of which have been explained in the file I just sent you – that may be of value to the Federation. While I understand that this may be risky, especially since its your first combat deployment, I also have faith in your ship and crew to be up to the job. In either case, there are no other forces in the nearby vicinity that can reach Xevenya before the Commodore has a chance to escape. The USS Kali and the USS Retribution are headed to aid you, but will not be there for another three days."
Vales only nodded as he began to read through the files. Their first tactical deployment…against a pirate cruiser, at that. Vales would have preferred to take on a Dominion fleet however – at least, to a certain extent, they were predictable. But here he was dealing with a captain that was just as smart – perhaps even smarter – as starfleet's finest caliber.
"Yes sir…we'll get the job done. However…I do not know whether we can bring in the ship intact." Vales added. It was the truth, actually…
"I know you'll do your best, Captain. The priority is to get the ship back intact, and that is the way Starfleet would…prefer it. However, the decision is in your hands – if civilian lives are at risk, then go ahead and do what is required. Do take note that any situation or eventual outcome will be examined very thoroughly should it come to that outcome."
The tone of the Admiral's voice made it very clear where he stood on such issues.
Must be vital technology, otherwise they don't get this insistant… Vales thought to himself. And as he read through the schematics and information, he realized that it actually was, justifying the Admiral's response.
"Yes sir, I'll do my best."
"Very well then; Sinclair station is currently on standby and waiting for your arrival. Their forces are at your disposal. It isn't much, but its still better than nothing. Good luck Captain, and don't fail us. Dethuris out."
Vales waited a few seconds before letting the screen go blank, all thoughts of breakfast or any food gone. He let out a long sigh once he was sure the microphone was off as well. Pressing the intercom, opening a channel straight to Sandra.
"Sandra, this is Vales. What's our ETA to Xevenya?"
"We will reach the system in fifteen hours, sir." Came the reply.
"Roger that. Assemble all senior officers and squadron leaders for a briefing in the pit in one hour. Tell them this is priority – we've finally got combat deployment orders. Get the Silver Scythes on standby as well; their going to be sortied for long-range recon immediately once we hit the system."
"Roger that Sir, briefing in one hour. Sandra out.
With that over, Vales let out another sigh, rubbing his temples to quell the slight headache that was forming. This was going to be a long, long day indeed.
