Chapter 1: The Beacon Is Lit

ch'M'R Kholhr. Azure sector. 0200 hours Federation Standard Time, June 8th, 2410.

D'trel heard the chime, vaguely. She didn't look up from her paper, scratching at the surface with her charcoal stick.

"Come in."

The door hissed, and then closed. A large, heavy shape moved to the Rihanha's chair and stood, hands clasped behind his back. D'trel looked up, rubbing across her eyes with her arm to hide the tears.

"What is it, First?"

"Priority hail from Command, sir. I came myself; I believed that you would not appreciate being hailed remotely."

"Thank you, First," said D'trel, putting aside the paper, a half-finished charcoal drawing of a Rihanha with an angular face on the open page. "What does tr'Kererek want?"

First Omek'ti'kallan did not comment on the drawing as D'trel grabbed her sword; he merely followed, calmly, as the Rihanha strode for the door. "We are to report to Terra. High Command has attached the Second Fleet to the Alliance Anti-Iconian Force. Battle plans are being drawn up today."

"Good." They entered a turbolift, D'trel strapping on her sword. "Bridge."

"Warbirds Temer and Rea's Helm are in position and ready to engage quantum slipstream," Omek rumbled. "Zel says that the fastest route should be to jump to New Romulus and take the transwarp gate to Terra."

"Good." The door hissed open. "Zel, flight plan approved, let's go, press the button."

"Yessir," said the Breen, pressing the button. "Ah, I love briefings. So much more formal than just being told by the boss what to get."

"Yeah, this is a military, not a Breen crime syndicate," said Min'tak'allan from his station. "Need a drink, sir? Tea's going to be ready in a minute."

D'trel shook her head, walking for her office with Omek'ti'kallan behind her. "Not at the moment." The door slid shut behind the Rihanha and Jem'Hadar as the Breen and Ferasan started arguing amicably about Breen airbike gangs.

"Briefing materials from High Command," noted First Omek'ti'kallan as he passed a PDA to D'trel. "You are to be in command of a joint fleet—Republic, Federation, and Klingon personnel."

"Fine. Huh," she added, looking at the PDA. "They pulled almost everything back from the Delta Quadrant for this. Tr'Kererek's anticipating an Iconian attack. Smart man. First, get the combat teams briefed, we're on yellow alert until further notice."

"Yes, sir."

First Omek'ti'kallan left, D'trel paging through the PDA behind him.

"...and well, I've told you how I got tired of working for Thot Kol, that guy was a dumbass, but I gotta say, there's nothing quite like the thrill of being behind the joystick…"

The turbolift doors slid shut, and the Jem'Hadar waited calmly for the twenty seconds of descent, his hands clasped behind his back. The doors opened, and he strode calmly out onto the armory deck.

It was unlikely that the tactically inept Iconians would attempt an attack on the war conference. But if they did muster up some common sense, then by Odo'Ital, First Omek'ti'kallan and his soldiers would be ready to meet them.

Valentine Memorial Auditorium, Earth Spacedock.

The auditorium is packed with COs from across the Beta Quadrant, Starfleet, Klingon, and Romulan alike. A black-clad Fleet Admiral William Riker stands at a podium in front of one of the bigger wall screens I've seen, flanked by the flags of the Federation and Starfleet Command. "May I have your attention please?" The murmuring and chitchat dies down.

"It's confirmed. War," he says simply, turning to a map of the Federation and its surrounds. "In the early hours of the morning yesterday the Vulcan Defense Force vessel Vanik encountered, engaged, and destroyed an Iconian probe vessel near 40 Eridani B. We have since confirmed sightings and sensor traces of such probes in several major star systems, including Sol, 61 Cygni, Andor, Qo'noS, B'hava'el"—I grit my teeth—"Dewa, and Cardassia. Cross-reference this with reports of major troop and ship movements from our operatives in the Herald Sphere, and we have strong indicators of invasion within the next week."

He pauses for effect. "This is the real thing, and it's going to be bloody. The Iconian forces have severe technical and numerical superiority despite their general lack of tactical skill. If we're going to have a prayer of winning this, we have to fight smart. Admirals, conserve your forces and be prepared to retreat from an untenable position unless there is no alternative. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of chase fights."

He flicks the screen over to a chart, an order of battle. "Starfleet Command has called up every reservist we can find a spot for, and we're preparing to call up the corps of cadets if we have to to defend the Sol System. General Kagran has informed me that the Klingon Empire is doing likewise, but they're concentrating on Qo'noS. And Supreme Commander tr'Kererek has pulled back practically every ship the Republican Fleet had in the Delta Quadrant." I raise my hand. "Yes, Captain Kanril?"

"Is anybody else helping, sir?"

"We've sent envoys to the Dominion, the Breen, the First Federation, even the Tzenkethi and Kinshaya. Haven't heard back yet. We do have people coming from the Delta Quadrant—the Hazari, Hierarchy, Benthans, and Turei are chipping in a couple battle groups' worth of ships, and the Kobali are contributing two infantry regiments—" At which point a groan runs through the hall. "That's enough of that! Look, I'm no more fond of the Kobali than anyone else here, but if we lose, everyone loses. We need all the help we can get, and they want to help, and that is my final word on the subject." He turns back to the list. "The President spoke to the Grand Nagus earlier today; the Ferengi are looking to their own. They're expecting an attack on Ferenginar and planning accordingly. Ditto the Cardassians; they don't have the ships to spare anyway, so we told them to pull back everything they could to Cardassia.

"By far the biggest strategic problem is that the enemy has the initiative. Their gate technology allows them to teleport forces anywhere in the galaxy in short order, and we have limited understanding of this. Your secondary responsibility is to acquire information. Record everything, and transmit it continuously."

"Where to, sir?" somebody else, a Bolian rear admiral I don't recognize, asks.

"Every allied base or outpost in range," Riker replies. "Makes it harder for the Iconians to block it.

"We've sent assignments out to your ships. Commodore Paris and Admiral D'trel are heading up special task groups to which some of you will be assigned. Code word for the operation is Iron Dome, and—"

The red alert klaxons blare, and Riker starts, grabs his PADD, and swears.

I know what he's going to say before he says it.

"That was Starfleet Science. We just picked up Iconian gateway signatures near Starbase 234 and the Dewa system. The invasion has begun."

There is a brief moment of silence, and then one of the civilian scientists screams. COs and flag officers bark orders and move to their attack groups. Riker beams up, and outside ship engines start to glow and wink out as the fleet mobilizes.

"Kanril, Garok, Sloan, K'Rokar, Bovanovitch, Perry, you're with me!" barks a compact female Romulan armed with a sword, a TR-116 projectile rifle, an automatic large-caliber pistol, and at least three knives that I can see. Plus a grenade belt. At least she shouldn't run out of weapons anytime this century. I hustle over, nodding to a Klingon that I recognize from a meeting I had on the Bajor before the One of One incident.

"I'm not one for lengthy introductions so I'm keeping this short," says the Romulan. "I'm Rahaen'Enriov D'trel. You may have heard of me. If I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Anybody who breaks off to do some glory hounding will not be supported by the fleet and can expect to die, so stay in formation and follow orders. I value independent thought and creativity, but keep it in the meeting room—in a battle, my tac plot lets me see the whole map, so there is nothing that you see that I don't, and I have command authority. If you find my actions to be alien to your uptight Federation standards, or want to b*tch at me about that Kobali f*cker I killed, I will give you exactly one reminder that I am a Rihanha, not a Lloann'na, and to shut up and do your job. Do I make myself clear?"

"Clear as Andorian ice," growls Garok on my left. "We will crush the Iconian filth!"

D'trel turns to me, one eyebrow raised.

I take a breath and think for a moment. "I'm… not going to say I completely approve of your past actions—General Q'Nel had to go, but political assassination isn't exactly in the handbook—but I'll follow your orders, sir. Or should I address you as 'ma'am'?"

D'trel's smile is thin but genuine. "Call me sir. I think that this will work. Let's move. D'trel to Kholhr, one to beam up!"

USS Voyager, Off Earth Spacedock.

I knock on the door. "Enter!" The door slides open and I stride in and wait for the chocolate-skinned Vulcan to acknowledge me. "Captain Kanril. You should be on the Bajor; we are about to leave for Vulcan."

"Admiral Tuvok. I had a thought. Based on that probe the VDF destroyed, we're expecting an attack on Vulcan, right?" He nods. "No way the VDF can hold them off, and we don't have enough ships left to defend all the core worlds, right?"

"Speak your mind, Captain."

"What if we got the Undine to help?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "That does not seem wise."

"But does it seem possible? Look, they've got as much reason to hate the Iconians as we do, maybe more. If the visions that commander showed me during the Schrödinger's Butterfly… episode are true, the Iconians deliberately targeted Undine children to provoke them against us. And I saw the reports on that thing you got into with Cooper and that command ship."

"This assumes we can reach a friendly tribe. And based on your own reports, Captain, the Undine may be involved in fratricidal warfare at this point."

"I know it's a long shot, but you at least know where to find the Undine I met and how to identify them. Jump into fluidic space in the Idran system, don't act threatening, and check the hull markings under ultraviolet light. And… Sir, mind-meld with me."

"Captain?"

"Look, I mind-melded with T'Var once—long story—and she spent the next two days saying 'phekk'. And that guy spent a pretty good length of time rummaging around in my head. I'll lay you even odds he'll recognize the traces of me in your thoughts."

His eyebrow seems to be stuck in the 'up' position. "I do know the aftereffects of a mind-meld, Captain."

I ignore his chiding tone and press on. "Sir, the last thing he said to me was, 'We will come. We will fight.' Against these odds—"

He holds up a hand to forestall me stating the obvious. "Captain, you have already won the argument. The risks are, as I said, considerable, but the other option is impermissible." He stands and gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk; I take a seat.

"Are you prepared?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. Do it, sir."

He nods and carefully places his fingertips against my face. I try to control my breathing, not to mention my gut reaction at having a man other than Gaarra touch my face like this. Tuvok intones, "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…"

"All ships, this is D'trel," barked the Rihanha as she slid into her command chair. "We go in through the transwarp gate to ch'Mol'Rihan, then punch it through quantum slipstream to Starbase 234. Everyone's on battle stations until further notice, make sure that you've got some coffee or such because this is going to be a long night." She tapped her comm and turned to the helm station. "Zel, let's go."

"Yes, sir," confirmed the Breen. "Engines are running at peak performance, for once."

"Good," said D'trel. It could be difficult to pull full engine power from a modern set of impulse engines on a T'varospaceframe, but D'trel's engineering team was generally good at keeping things running properly. "Omek, weapons?"

"All systems ready and functioning at maximum capacity."

"Good. Engineering, how's my singularity core?"

"We're running hot," reported Daysnur over the intercom. "Everything's smoother than it's been in months, we finally got to do a full repair session last week."

"Excellent. Keep it that way. Min'tak'allan, sensors?"

"Functioning at peak efficiency, sir! We're in top fighting shape and ready to take out some would-be alien overlords, sir!"

D'trel smiled a little at the kid's exuberance. It helped her control the boiling rage at the Iconians that was bubbling under the surface.

At least Omek was there to take over if she lost it. The Jem'Hadar was one person who D'trel trusted completely and implicitly in all things.

The transwarp gate loomed on the viewscreen and activated. A small group of vessels followed.

"Alright, let's move in," said D'trel. "Today, we cut some vengeance in blood from the Iconians."

Zel chimed in, "Transwarp in five, four, three, two, one…"

Undisclosed location, the Delta Quadrant.

"Admiral Reynolds, I can't help you," the brown-clad, bell-necked Vaadwaur told the black-clad, tattooed human.

"Overseer Eldex, I don't believe you fully understand the gravity of the situation. If we can't stop the Iconians' advance—"

"They'll treat us no differently than they'll treat you of the Alpha Quadrant. I didn't say 'won't', I said 'can't'. Thanks to my predecessor we have barely enough ships and troops left to defend our own borders and we're still engaged with the Borg. I'm sorry, I truly am, but I must look first to my own. If the Iconians come here, we'll fight them, but I simply can't afford to send my men and women to fight on the other side of the galaxy."

Marama Reynolds sighed. "Very well, Overseer Eldex. I don't like it but I understand. I'll see myself out."

"Admiral Reynolds?" Eldex called after her. She looked over her shoulder as she reached the door. "May God be with you."

Author's Notes: Yes, we're doing an Eleya/D'trel crossover here. Morgan and Brokosh are also planned to make minor appearances later.

A couple of notes on ranks I want to point out. First, Riker refers to Tom Paris as "Commodore Paris". While it's true that Starfleet currently doesn't have the rank of commodore, in modern usage in the US Navy, "commodore" is used as a term of address for a non-flag officer (usually an O-6 captain) who is placed in charge of a small flotilla.

Second, we upped Kagran's rank to general because a mere captain is way junior for the authority he seems to have been given.