There was a long, almost pained silence as the news sunk in. Behind enemy lines, unable to escape without suffering severe losses, the ever present spectre of death looming over them. It seemed unfair that such a devastating loss would be born out of a bloodless and decisive victory. "We won't last more than an hour against that kind of force concentration," Riker muttered, eyes closed. "Far less time if they decide they don't want to wait and just throw everything at us."

"Four thousand starships..." LaForge whistled. "That would make it...what? The largest fleet in recorded history?"

"Second largest, if accounting for the initial entry of the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant," Data clarified. "But certainly the largest to be committed for a fleet engagement."

"You can't tell me they managed to scrounge together all those ships within a week and didn't weaken their own lines," Riker protested, swivelling in his chair to look at a pensive Picard. "The Fleet could push through and relieve us, maybe before the battle even starts."

"Yes," Picard murmured. "They could. The Admiralty is faced with a difficult position. On one hand there is Deep Space Nine, along with the wormhole. But the wormhole is blockaded and all on-site research regarding disarming the minefield destroyed. One the other hand is to strike multiple, devastating blows against the Dominion on multiple fronts and tactically significant positions."

Standing from his chair and turning to face the window, looking out at the assembled fleet, Picard seemed to gather his thoughts. "I read the report Intelligence submitted to the Admiralty. They believe that a concerted effort from the Second, Third, Ninth and Sixth Fleets could assault and successfully break the Dominion lines. After that they could stab deep into Dominion territory and cripple multiple shipyards, listening posts and strategically important planets. It would put the Dominion war effort back over five months at conservative estimate. All they have to do is sacrifice five hundred ships."

"Maybe it's for the best," LaForge said quietly, drawing a surprised look from most of the table. "Think about it. The way the war was going just over a week ago we were losing five hundred ships every two weeks and withdrawing after almost every engagement. Starfleet would be buckling within the year. This way we finally get some forward momentum."

"The plan is to withdraw after making individual strikes," Picard said quietly. "So that the Dominion can't reinforce the lines after the battle here and trap more ships in their space. I don't know what choice the Admiralty board will ultimately make, but I can sense where the wind is blowing. The war is going badly – this kind of opportunity would be devastating to ignore. It means more breathing room. With five months over a quarter of the Excelsior class ships in the fleet could be refitted to more modern standards. Over twenty Defiant-class attack ships could be constructed. All heavy cruisers or above could be stocked with quantum torpedoes. Not having to replace losses at the scale as we do currently would be a massive strain lifted off the shipyards."

"Well," Riker eventually said, sounding a little subdued. "We all knew what we might be signing up for."

"We were explorers!" Picard snapped in an uncharacteristic display of temper. "Explorers first and foremost, not soldiers. Now look at us."

There was a silence that stretched on just a little further than was comfortable, and Riker wondered if this was the Captain realising that they would all be dead within the next week if the plan went through. He didn't doubt Picard's courage, and thought that it likely had more to do with the horrific death toll than personal fear...but he had to admit feeling a little fear himself.

"We will see what the Admiralty decides," Picard said quietly, still staring out the window. "Then we will make arrangements." The word 'arrangements' hung heavily in the silence. Arrangements for the battle, arrangements for death.

"This is unacceptable!" the rather unpleasant man snapped, rising from the table. He had been uncomfortable for the whole meeting, sneering and spitting. Thor found him to be an exceptionally annoying and loathsome creature.

"The point of this meeting, President Clarke," Thor said flatly, as though the outburst hadn't even occurred, "is that Mars no longer wishes to be subjected to your authority, and it would be inconvenient for the Asgard to maintain a presence in this star system indefinitely." Thor noted the calculating glint that entered Clarke's eyes, and felt a certain ruthless and utterly unprofessional pleasure in his next comment. "However, if that is required, we will of course do so." The calculating glint went out, replaced with a smouldering rage.

"You abduct me!" Clarke spat, "then you try to dictate terms to me! Listen here, you little gray bastard, and you too, Montoya!" Montoya had done little speaking during the meeting so far, well aware that it would take time before Clarke would become something even approaching reasonable. "I am the President of the Earth Alliance! You don't dictate terms to me! Nobody does!"

"Sit down, President Clarke," Thor said, and Montoya wondered if it was only him that sensed the odd inflection in the voice of the small, Vree-like alien.

"I will not sit!" Clarke screamed, kicking the chair back in an explosive display. "I'll see you burn for this! I'll see your worlds burn! Wherever you are, wherever you hide, I will hunt you down! Then when you are dead and gone I will-"

There was a white flash and suddenly Clarke was gone. Montoya hesitated a moment then stood, looking at the spot Clarke had just occupied with some uneasiness. The ease with which the Asgard controlled their transportation technology was unnerving. "You didn't...kill him, did you?" he asked, sounding a little nervous.

"No," Thor said, in an odd tone of voice. "I merely transported him back to Earth momentarily. He was becoming overly agitated. I am unsure as to how such a man gained an office of power."

"Clarke is a xenophobe, and after the one-sided massacre of the Minbari War? Quite a lot of Earth is xenophobic." Montoya took a seat and looked out one of the arched displays into space, the horizon of the Red Planet looking oddly beautiful to him. "Worse of all is that sometimes that attitude extends to the colonies."

After the briefest moment there was another flash of light and President Clarke reappeared back in his suddenly replaced chair. Oddly, he was soaking wet, the noise of his clothes running and dripping onto the floor suddenly very loud and very noticeable to Montoya. Perhaps almost as noticeable as the faint but unmistakable smell of brine. Clarke seemed to be in shock, sitting there with a look on his face that was anything but normal.

"You..." he gasped, almost wheezing. "I refuse..."

"President Clarke, Mars will be a Protected Planet at the end of this discussion. How long this discussion lasts is contingent upon your cooperation." Montoya felt oddly empowered as he spoke to the dripping President of the Earth Alliance. Empowered, yes, that was the word.

"I will break you," Clarke hissed through a sudden onset of shivers. "I will break you for this, Montoya. You and your family. I have associates so powerful you can hardly imagine."

"Nonetheless," Montoya said, feeling a sudden chill deep down in his gut as he slid a simple paper across to Clarke, along with a pen. "This is a copy of the basic treaty. In it, Mars agrees to publicly support you, but all governance will be left to us. The Asgard will leave, and not return unless called for by us. You may claim whatever story you wish to explain it, but it will happen."

Montoya didn't expect Clarke to pick up the pen and sign. Neither did Thor. So it was surprising to both of them when Clarke picked up the pen and signed on the line, not once removing his eyes from Montoya, eyes burning with repressed rage. "There," he said, voice oddly cold as he tossed the pen back so hard it broke apart on the table. "You have your treaty."

"Then we are done," Thor declared, "and any violations will result in you being held personally responsible, President Clarke." With that said Thor nodded his head and Clarke vanished in a flash of light and musical chime again. The diminutive Asgard turned to look at Montoya. "I have provided the equipment required for contacting the Asgard – it will not be difficult to activate. We will likely know when there is a treaty violation, but it would be prudent to contact us nevertheless."

"Thank you," Montoya said, hands shaking a little as he picked up the (slightly wet) treaty and looked at it. "We're safe..." he whispered. "Mars is safe..." He felt a smile appear on his face, a little joy bubbling up in his chest...then freezing. "My family," he said numbly. "Clarke threatened my family."

"If any harm befalls them, contact us regardless," Thor said, looking at Montoya with an unusual intensity. It was difficult to tell with those opaque eyes, but Montoya thought he was beginning to interpret the tone of voice, eye lids and tilt of head accurately.

"I know Clarke...by holding him personally responsible he can't pass the buck..." Montoya realised, thinking out loud. Thor just stared and blinked once, not commenting. "Now if I can convince-" there was a flash of light and Montoya too vanished, leaving the Supreme Commander alone in the room. It was troubling, Thor thought, how different the Tau'ri could have become. Even O'Neill's warnings about the one called 'Kinsey' had not even approached describing Clarke. The Goa'uld were even more reprehensible, but there was something about the man that set even Thor ill at ease.

Picard stood in front of the stone ring, resting his chin on a closed fist and with his other arm supporting the awkward position by wrapping round the side of his stomach. It looked so...ordinary. It was something that Picard would expect to unearth in the ruins of an old city, or some kind of religious site. Not an unknown but clearly highly advanced piece of technology. Was the appearance an aesthetic choice or a mask for the true function to less advanced civilizations? Quantum dating had identified the device as over twelve million years old, which raised a whole new set of questions. What did it do? Was it some kind of transportation device, like a long range transporter? So many possibilities...and only hours to discover the truth.

"Mr. Data, are we ready?" Picard's question prompted Data look up from a control panel which had been set up by the side of the device. Though the android looked at Picard it's fingers continued to move rapidly across the control panel, inputting information.

"Almost, Captain. The EPS conduits must be precisely modified to channel the required energy – I have strengthened the secondary conduits and opened the locks into the primary shield generation grid. In theory it should allow greater flow of energy into the conduits and suffice in powering the device. However, I suggest that the strain on the system is minimized as much as possible." Data looked back down at the console and momentarily altered the pattern of his fingers, the console responding with a final beep as the program began to run. "Ready, Captain"

Picard nodded and tapped his badge. "Picard to La Forge. Geordi, are you ready?" There was a momentary pause before the reply came.

"Ready, Captain," the reply came. "But I can't completely shut down power to your section if something goes wrong. The power down will have to be gradual to avoid systems damage, so try not to increase power consumption too quickly. Other than that, all the power of the Enterprise is at your command, Captain."

Picard smiled for a moment, but it was subdued. "Thank you, Mr. La Forge. Stand by and continue to monitor the situation." Tapping his badge again to close the connection Picard sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Ready to finally solve our mystery, Data?"

"Captain," Data ventured, sounding almost awkward. He had his emotion chip on, Picard realised. "This is an unorthodox operation, and the Enterprise will likely be put under severe...duress in a short period of time. Perhaps this is not the time?"

"Data," Picard said dryly, sounding almost amused. "The chances of anybody surviving until the end of this shift is minimal. This is exactly the time to do this, before we have no time at all." Picard looked at the ring and sighed deeply, steadying himself. "Start the sequence." Data nodded and strode to the input pedestal, pressing the eight symbols with exactly two seconds between each one.

The inner track of the device began to spin as the symbols were input, the golden light shining from beneath the solid plate illuminating the border and symbol itself as Data pressed each one. After anywhere from a few seconds to a dozen the ring would grind to a halt and lock the corresponding symbol into position, before reversing direction and moving onto the next. So far, so good.

It was when Data pressed the red hemisphere that things began to differ from the first attempt. The floor began to vibrate – it was subtle, but it was there. The ring continued to spin round, but it passed straight past the symbol it should have stopped at and continued to rotate another full circuit before locking in the sixth. Data moved away from the pedestal and to the control panel.

"The device is drawing power from the warp core, Captain. At current rate of increase it will be demanding all of the Enterprise's power output within forty seconds." There was a loud clunk and shudder as the seventh symbol locked in, the track beginning the final circuit. "Rate of power consumption is increasing!" Data announced, sounding a little worried. "Long range sensors just went offline. The navigational deflector is failing."

"Damn it," Picard hissed, tapping his badge. "Geordi, cut the power."

"Captain, I can't!" came the worried sounding reply, and Picard could hear activity and shouting in the background, as well as the loud thrum-thrum of a warp core under stress. "Not unless you want to blow out every EPS conduit on that deck!"

"Captain, internal sensors and propulsion just lost all power!" Data shouted, fingers beginning to dance across the control panel to execute a manual override which would cripple the power system on the entire deck. Then it happened. The vibration seemed to stop being a slight hum under Picard's feet and became a violent shake. The inner track slowed to a stop...and locked.

Jack O'Neill was not having a good day. Many things contributed to him not having a good day, and they were all without exception very small things that usually didn't bother him. But all together it became almost hellish. The first problem was when he had discovered he was out of beer. That required a trip out to acquire enough to stock his fridge for the next week. It was a long trip, because he got distracted into an argument with some IOA stooge over his cellphone about Atlantis and had to sit in his car for an hour. That was the second problem.

The third problem was when Reynold's wife had managed to fall and break her ankle. Unfortunately Reynolds was required offworld at the time and had literally been in the Gateroom watching the Stargate dial when he got the news. It was made even more awkward by how the locals of P3X-427 demanded the 'warrior' be present at the negotiations for the massive Trinium deposits they were probably using to make tacky earrings or something equally useless. So that meant Reynolds had turned to the only person he could trust to look after his six year old daughter. That, of course, was Jack O'Neill.

The fourth and final problem was that the IOA stooge (whom O'Neill was beginning to suspect worked as an NID stooge on the side) had apparently only accepted temporary defeat so he could call the general on his landline three hours later and tie up even more time. Deciding that this level of aggravation justified a beer, O'Neill stood up from the couch and glanced at the kid, who was enthralled by the Simpsons. The jokes went over her head (he hoped) but she seemed enthralled by it. That would teach Reynolds to dump the kid on him. Rot her brain with television.

Entering the kitchen and opening the fridge O'Neill cast a discerning eye over the selection of beer, while splitting his attention with the bureaucrat. "Look, I understand your concern," O'Neill said distractedly, repeating a point from a few minutes ago. "But we can't leave Atlantis in the bay. Yes, we could do that but the takeoff is the most power-intensive part of flying the city. If we get it up into orbit we might as well send it back to Pegasus. Yes, I know how the IOA feels about that, but we have to face that –"

O'Neill suddenly stopped midsentence and strained to hear anything. "I'll call you back," he said quietly, hitting the button to terminate the call. Opening a (far too high for a child) cupboard in the kitchen he reached behind a jug and withdrew a pistol, slowly drawing back the slide to check a round was chambered and pushing off the safety. Creeping back towards the living room O'Neill rounded the corner and pointed the gun straight at the intruder.

"O'Neill."

There was a moment of utter silence. After another moment, this time of hesitation, Jack lowered the gun in small increments, ready to lift it again at the slightest moment. "I thought I heard somebody beam in," O'Neill said, explaining. "I...I mean..." He cast a helpless look at the girl, who had abandoned watching the still-playing Simpsons for the far more interesting display in front of her.

"Is this child not the result of copulation with Colonel Carter?" Thor enquired, blinking slowly and inclining his head to the right.

"No!" Jack protested. "She, I mean, no! Me and Carter aren't, well, not like that."

"I see," Thor said, in a tone that from anybody else Jack would have read as 'I don't see'. From Thor, however, O'Neill could never be sure.

"We thought you were dead," Jack said quietly, gun pointing at the floor but ready to come up at any second. It could be a trick, although Thor didn't appear to be a hologram...and the Pegasus Asgard were trapped a galaxy away. "I read the report. Hell, I even watched all the logs."

"The Asgard live again," Thor said flatly. "How, we do not know. Orilla is whole again, and it seems you were able to defeat the Ori. What has become of the Legacy?"

"Well, we copied it..." Jack explained, already aware how lame what he was about to say was going to sound. "But mostly we used it for the big space guns. It was the only thing that could destroy the Ori motherships, and the threat was pretty immediate...I know there is a lot of stuff in there and all, important stuff...but most of the translation and scientists are focusing on the Ancient database on Atlantis."

"I see..." Thor said again. There was a moment of silence, and Jack wasn't entirely sure as to how the little gray alien would react to the news that the Legacy of the Asgard had essentially only been used as a weapons database. "The Ancients were significantly more advanced that the Asgard in almost every area. It is to be expected that your focus would be there."

"Oh," Jack said, sounding relieved that he wasn't going to get some sort of Asgard 'I'm very disappointed in you' speech. "Oh...well..." Jack stared for a long moment at Thor and suddenly stepped forward, crouching down and enveloping the Asgard in a hug. "Oh Thor, buddy. I missed you."

Picard gasped sharply as a blue plume generated by the activation of the device was pulled back in, leaving a pool of what looks like rippling quicksilver. He was about to order Data to make a scan of what was happening, but his words were stolen from his when the Asgard pillar standing by the activated ring flared with light, sweeping over the pair and reducing them to their component atoms. There was a flash of light and a beam pulsed through the centre of the event horizon...just before the power failed and the EPS conduits blew, filling the cargo bay with energetic plasma.

"Commander," La Forge greeted quietly, only briefly looking away from the engineering console in front of the warp core. Riker stepped up beside him and looked up towards the ceiling of Main Engineering, the core stretching up and down into other decks, only the blue pulses of light running down into the main reaction chamber lighting up the sides of the containment area.

"You're sure?" Riker asked eventually. La Forge stopped using the console and let his hands fall to his sides, then turned to face the Commander turned Acting Captain.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But we can't try again without reducing the Enterprise to sub-battle condition. It's a miracle the warp core didn't sustain damage as it is, not to mention most of the EPS conduits near the cargo bay were blown." He shrugged helplessly. "Even using another ship would require installing it, and we don't have the time."

Riker seemed ill at ease with that, looking annoyed. "I just feel so...helpless. The Captain and Data are who knows where, and we can't get them back. Geordi, are you sure you can't do anything?"

"I'm sure," La Forge said, sounding subdued." I'm sorry, Commander." Reaching up and gently resting his hand on Riker's shoulder he gave the man a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. I'm sure they'll be fine. Maybe we should look on it as a blessing that they won't be here when it happens."

"The Captain wouldn't agree," Riker said, looking around Engineering. But he wasn't seeing Engineering. He was seeing a proud ship, dying before her time. "I don't think Data would, either."

"No," La Forge agreed. "No, I don't think they would."

Sighing heavily Riker stepped towards the door, before pausing and turning back a little. "Worf is coming over from the Defiant. If you want to see him again before the battle, come up to the bridge." With that said Riker turned back to the door and exited Engineering, the doors swishing closed behind him. It sounded very final.

They waited. The Dominion and Cardassian fleet was now visible on the long range sensors of every starship, approaching at an almost insultingly slow Warp 5. "They mock us." Worf growled from his position in Riker's former chair.

"Probably," Riker agreed, leaning forward in the center chair and rubbing his chin. "But they might be arranging the entire fleet for an alpha strike when they exit warp. I hope not, otherwise this is going to be a very short battle."

"We were like the warriors of old," Worf declared. "There was nothing we could not do. To die here is a fitting end, in the greatest battle of all time."

Riker couldn't help but smile grimly. He had no doubt there had been greater engagements in the history of the galaxy, but for the recorded history of the Alpha Quadrant this was simply going to be the largest for hopefully a very long time. "Then let's make sure that they remember the name Enterprise for the rest of this war, and longer."

Worf growled, and Riker recognised the tell-tale signs that the Klingon was thinking of something a lot different than most were. Not death, but glory. "Today is a good day to die. The Imperial Fleet will sing songs of mourning that they were not here for a thousand years!"

"Sir?" Riker looked towards Hansen, who had spoken up. "Commodore Sisko is addressing the fleet, general hail."

"Open the channel." There was a loud beep as the communications channel opened, and a few moments later Sisko's voice sounded round the bridge.

"All ships, we have our gameplan. The Dominion and Cardassians are going to try and wear us down through concentration of firepower and numbers – we don't give them that chance. The moment the leading elements of the Dominion fleet drop out of warp you will separate into your attack wings and drive straight at their lines. If they fire a single shot I want to be sure they risk hitting one of their own.

Now, we know we don't have much chance of escape from this. But any ships that can exceed Warp 9.5 and break through the lines are to retreat back to Federation space. That's an order. I don't know if anybody will make it that far, but I'll be damned if we don't try to salvage something from this. I won't give you false hope – I don't see any way that we can win this battle. If your ship is crippled, I leave it to your discretion as to what action to take. Good luck. Sisko out."

The silence on the bridge after that announcement was sombre. "Well, we knew that we wouldn't be coming out of this already," Riker said quietly. "But it's another thing to hear it, isn't it?" Pressing at his armrest, Riker opened a channel. "Geordi, are we ready?"

"Ready as we're ever going to be, Commander. The core is giving one hundred and twenty two percent maximum rated safe output. If the Enterprise starts falling apart I can give you up to one hundred fifty for a few minutes before the core breaches."

"Thank you, Geordi." Riker closed the channel and exchanged a look with Worf. "Mr. Hansen, tactical status."

"Phaser capacitors are charged and ready, sir. Quantum and photon torpedoes are loaded and ready to fire. Shields are ready."

"Helm."

"Impulse engines and warp drive are online, sir."

"Ops."

"Emergency batteries are operating at two hundred and three percent rated charge. Auxiliary and tertiary power batteries are fully charged, sir."

"Security."

"Teams have secured Main Engineering, Sickbay and the Bridge, sir. Rapid response teams are standing by, and all phasers have been distributed."

"Mr. Worf?"

"Crew reports ready. The Enterprise stands by your command...Captain."

Riker took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly before opening a ship-wide communications broadcast. "Red Alert. All hands...battlestations."