A/N: People of KP, I have returned.
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's break. Unfortunately, vacations don't last forever. So, to help with the transition back to work or school, enjoy this first scene of Act III.
NOTE: Please be sure to read the bottom A/N as this Act may start to become confusing or disorientating as I slowly start to fuse the two universes together.
NOTE: This chapter has some minor adult swearing. If I need to raise the Rating, please let me know.
Thanks again for the kind reviews and opinions. They really make this enjoyable for me. A major shout out to Uberscribbler for reminding me that breaks and vacations don't apply to writing and storytelling.
I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners. If I did, then I would have Rufus 3000 reappear as a minor character and the Federation would have more political intrigue.
On with the Story.
Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier
ACT III– PART I
V'Lor found the admiral's pacing distracting.
It was one of those human – or Andorian – traits that never made much sense to him. For a major in Starfleet Intelligence who had long served with distinction and grace, he could never understand the benefits of the act. It used up energy which could be devoted to thought. It wore down the carpets which would need to be replaced. And it drove him up a wall – if V'Lor ever allowed himself to succumb to that desire.
Instead, Major V'Lor preferred a good book. Books required an intellect to comprehend the primary message it conveys – as well as the more subtle messages the author attempts to sneak in. V'Lor always found reading a challenging act. While he found the plots and characters fascinating, he was always more interested in the messages and themes of the authors; because after all, a good spymaster must be able to decode the hidden message.
And it didn't even wear out the carpet.
So while his commanding officer paced around expending and wasting energy in the state room of the Citadel, which orbited New Bajor, V'Lor took the time to indulge in one of his favorite playwrights. He was so wrapped up in the scene that for a second – a microsecond, of course – V'Lor failed to notice that the pacing had ceased, and a huge, imposing Andorian was leaning over his shoulder.
"Must be a damn good book V'Lor?" his voice gruff, but amused at his spymaster's choice.
V'Lor tilted his head thoughtfully and let out a ghost of a smirk. "Shakespeare sir. Julius Caesar." V'Lor then thought to test a hypothesis on the illogical pacing. "'Mark Anthony, lend me your ear,' sir?"
Intrigued, his admiral leaned further over to make out the text, "These many, them shall die. Their names are… pricked," he read, then snorted, marching back toward the painting he had found so interesting, showing his back to the major. "My God, V'Lor. You may be well sure that my name is well pricked by those needles at High Command."
Hypothesis confirmed, time to expand on the issue. "Yes sir. An admiral who wins battles," he paused but never taking his eyes of the PADD, "and lives to claim the credit, will never lack for enemies in Sevastopol, sir," he commented, referencing the new, more secure location of Starfleet High Command.
"…And yet…" he baited.
The admiral then spun around gazing at yet another painting in the immaculate stateroom. "And yet they still behave with their usual folly and weakness." The admiral sighs – in a very Andorian way – and finally makes contact with V'Lor, "I have officers deserving commission, notably Ivan Merconivich Filitov, and what am I sent?" he asked rhetorically.
V'Lor let him continue.
"Demoralized crewmen, led by inexperienced recreants, and commanded by dangerous buffoons," he expunged, with emphasis on the final ledger.
"Captain V'Du of the Jackal Wolfpack," V'Lor ventured.
"Quite so… quite so," the admiral confirmed. He then brings something to mind that has troubled V'Lor ever since he heard of the Vulcan's posting. "I suspect he's been sent to spy on me."
So, the admiral suspects it as well. Interesting. V'Lor was quite aware of Captain V'Du. Strong ties in Starfleet, family in all the right places, with ego and ambition that would make an Andorian – present company excluded of course – proud. So why give him a prototype ship and send him to the proverbial dumpster ground of the Federation.
V'Lor was leaning towards political spying. As commander of a prototype ship, V'Du would have to make regular reports to the theatre commander – most likely in person. From there, he could observe and report back the admiral's plans and strategies to his family and the admiral's enemies within the Federation Council and the High Command.
There was a hot debate in the Committee of Interstellar Defense – literally to budget and policy makers of Starfleet High Command – regarding the Orion Resurgence. It hadn't become public knowledge… yet. Because of that, they decided to send a military expedition into the Gamma Quadrant under the command of the Vice Admiral to determine the validity and scope of the threat.
Despite his spotless and exemplary record, many – which included the V'Du family – felt that the Vice-Admiral's humble origins and "soldier's solider attitude" were not the best traits for such a venture. If V'Du got hold of the admiral's preliminary plans and thoughts, his opponents could could use it to spell the end of his military career. It was V'Lor's job to make sure that didn't happen.
And from that, he got an idea.
"So why not send something back that would spoil their Lordships' supper?" V'Lor knew he was reading far too many Terran books if he was using their ancient vernacular.
The admiral raised one of his white eyebrows in interest. V'Lor was almost proud of him. "Such as what, V'Lor?"
"A victory, sir," the Vulcan explained simply. He then rose up and moved towards the admiral, his small frame being blocked from view by the imposing admiral. "Small, but solid," added, attempting to convey his meaning.
"Small, but solid, eh?" the admiral contemplated. "The Orion processing facility on Omicron."
"Very astute sir. Something like that."
The Andorian contemplated it further. "I could spare the Jackal Wolfpack, but Captain V'Du isn't up to it."
V'Lor figured as much, which was why he immediately had the name ready. "No, but Kimbrelika Possible is."
"Kimbrelika Possible?" the admiral mused, remembering back to those simple days when he was a simple Captain of a simple survey vessel with a spunky and loveable Science Officer. How times have changed, was written all over his face. "Let Possible do all the dirty work, and V'Du and that enormous ego of his gain all the glory." He paused, letting a feral gleam in eye glow. "And if all does not go well…"
V'Lor finished with his own serious expression, "V'Du will have to keep quiet about it, and you'll have him in your power."
"And if things go really badly…" The admiral added, already liking this train of thought.
V'Lor did as well. "We may lose a gallant officer."
Just to be safe though, the admiral jerked his head quickly to the major. "Not Kimbrelika."
V'Lor shook in head in denial. "No. No sir, not all."
Vice-Admiral They'lik Barkin, Commander-in-Chief Gamma Quadrant Theatre and Major V'Lor, attaché to the admiral's staff both looked at each other in silent agreement. "V'Du," was the agreed reply.
Their planning was interrupted by a call to admiral's desk. He marched over to the speaker and answered. "Yes lieutenant?"
"Sir, the Jackal and her escorts are requesting permission to enter the system as well as priority docking for emergency repairs."
Both of Barkin's eyebrows went up at that claim. "Emergency repairs?" he asked.
"Yes sir, apparently the Wolfpack encountered some hostile forces on route to New Bajor and need to dock before the ship completely falls apart."
Barkin made eye contact with his Spymaster. The message was as clear as day. Find out what happened, immediately. V'Lor nodded and made to gather his PADD and other devices he brought with him, while Barkin turned back to the intercom. "Permission granted, send orders to clear out the outer docking ring of the Citadel and put emergency response units on general alert."
"Yes admiral," the intercom clicked out.
Barkin then turned back to his companion just as the klaxons began ringing. "It looks like the mission has to be postponed. I want to know exactly what happened to the Jackal. That ship was supposed to be under cloak the entire way, so unless the Orions have somehow managed to discover cloaking fields, someone screwed up. Find out who. I don't care how, just get it done!"
"I understand sir." V'Lor responded back, his own temper threatening to break through his sound logical barriers. He was also considering incompetence, and he had a strong idea of who it was. This fool is making all of us Vulcans look bad. He caught himself before it got any worse. I must mediate after all this is over.
After he returned to his quarters to drop off his novel and pick up his interrogation supplies, he rushed out towards the outer rings of the Citadel. En route, he passed numerous firemen and other emergency responders as they rushed over to the same area, obviously with different intentions.
When V'Lor approached the assigned docking bay, he realized why. The Jackal appeared to be ripped to shreds. Its once sleek and pristine hull was scarred by phased-polaron fire and resulting internal explosions. From the observation deck above the docking clamps, V'Lor noticed large polaron burns covering and obstructing the rails of the phaser banks. When he turned his eyes towards the control tower exclave that connected the two catamaran wings together, all he saw was scorched metal and destruction, nothing to suggest that it once housed most of the Jackal's torpedo tubes.
In short, V'Lor was amazed at the fact that despite all the damaged the Jackal sustained, it was still holding on. It was somehow being held together by duck tape and sheer will, still ready to absorb punishment and dish it out thrice-fold.
This revelation made V'Lor's blood broil again. A ship this proud, this tough, this majestic should not have been placed under command of an imbecile like V'Du. In his own Vulcan way, V'Lor loved the Federation, he loved Starfleet, and he loved the ships that carried her will. It was why he became a fleet intelligence officer. He would do anything to make sure the proud symbols of the most powerful fleet in the Alpha Quadrant started every battle with a decisive advantage.
Its as Sun Tzu said, he thought referring back to another Terran intellect, 'Victorious warriors win first and then go to war…' Ships like the Jackal deserve a captain who can lead it to success before the battle had even started, and I'm going to give it one.
Once the current one is removed of course, he added malevolently.
By the time he finished his musings, the Jackal had completed its docking maneuvers, and almost immediately after the airlocks were open, V'Lor could smell the death and destruction within the ship. The smells overwhelmed the intelligence officer. He gripped the railing to steady his nausea as the putrid stench of burning flesh assaulted his sensitive nose.
I should've brought my nasal inhibitor, he thought morosely, forcing his body to set aside the nausea and disorientation. Once he was certain that he could take two steps without throwing up, he gathered himself and his PADD and marched in behind the Emergency Service personnel.
He had a mission to accomplish.
Already, the repairmen were hard at working, cornering off areas that had become too dangerous to navigate through. He saw Citadel engineers deep in discussion with whatever engineers aboard the Jackal were left. He skirted around them, deciding that later would be preferable to ask questions. Engineers make the worse conversationalists when they have something more important at hand.
Instead he made his way towards the bridge. By now, he imagined that the bridge crew and officers would be slowly relaxing and letting down their guard and stress, knowing that they weren't completely alone in a hostile region of space. He pitied them. For them, their work was just beginning.
On his way there, he passed by Sickbay, and something beyond the glass doors caught his eye and stroked his curiosity. Deciding that the bridge crew could wait, he marched into Sickbay and that's when it became clear to him.
There were no Starfleet Medical Officers present.
Instead, all V'Lor could see were the galaxy-gray cameos of the Stellar Marine Corpsmen working round the clock attending to their patients and charges. Out of all the gray uniforms and injured patients, there were only three individuals wearing the Medical blue; however, the charcoal gray uniforms with only one showing two chevrons meant that they were just one second-year resident and two interns, whom obviously had no experience in leading a turbulent sickbay.
"Despite lacking in deeper and more complex skills of the medical trade, these…" he paused in his recordings attempting to locate the correct word, "…field medics are displaying aptitude knowledge in diagnostic medicine and invasive surgery. Fascinating," he concluded.
"If you think this is fascinating, you should check out engineering." A tired, but strong female voice rang out from behind him, and he turned to meet the origin. "Our boys had to go through a crash course in Warp Field Mechanics to help assist the depleted engineering department. I don't envy that job," she concluded, before rushing back and joining her charge into what was left of Post-Op.
V'Lor blinked a few times, not quite sure on what just happened. Did that marine just engage me in conversation and move off without any form of dismissal or salute? It wasn't arrogance or ego that prompted the thought, but genetic programming. A marine shall not speak unless spoken to and shall keep conversation as minimal as possible. That was their creed. It's what got the Augmentation Bill approved through the Council and onto the President's desk.
Yet, here was a corpsman who just blatantly threw that cornerstone out the window, and from further impressions from the rest of the corpsmen, she wasn't the only one. All around V'Lor, marines were engaging their fellow crewmen in conversations, providing words of encouragement about their condition, offering their condolences to those whose injuries were either too severe or jeopardized future service within Starfleet.
These Augments were acting like normal, functioning individuals. What in the name of Surak is going on?
Still recovering from the shock at the marines' behavior, Major V'Lor moved around trying to locate the marine who spoke out at him. He found her with her hands buried in a different crewman's open stomach attempting stop the bleeding while keeping his intestines from spilling out. If V'Lor had any previous control over his nausea, he lost it immediately when the fresh blood and bowel assaulted his sinuses again. His head started spinning and he was quickly losing his balance.
The corpsman didn't make things any easier. Mistaking V'Lor for a medical assistant, she blindly reached for his hand while issuing orders at the same time. "Okay, I sealed the lacerated artery and repaired the damaged bowel from the explosion. Hold the stomach and bowels in place, while I ready the dermal regenerator. Should only take a few seconds."
Her iron grip far exceeded his own strength, and the second V'Lor's hands touched the exposed small intestines, he was assaulted by powerful emotions radiating from the injured crewman that completely ripped through his established mental shields. His nausea from before was swept away by something else. Something new. And disturbing.
Agony. Despair. Pain. Regret.
Out of all the myriad of emotions assaulting his psyche, the most dominant one was the regret. Regret that he failed in his duty. Regret that he'd never explore another star system. Regret that he failed to tell Crewman Galloway he had feelings for her.
So many emotions, so much pain, so much suffering. It's distracting. It's grating. It's horrible. It's… over? V'Lor was so wrapped up in the vicious emotional attack that he didn't even register the corpsman gently removing his hand and resting him down on a nearby observational chair.
V'Lor's breathing was labored, his skin was wet with sweat, and his mind was overwhelmed and disorganized from the emotional assault. He tried to control his breathing, tried to re-discipline his mind. Structure, Logic, function, control. A structure cannot stand without a foundation. Logic is the foundation of function. V'Lor slowly began to gain control of his breathing, and he also felt the chaos within his mind began to settle. Function is the essence of control. I am in control. I am in control.
Slowly, but surely, V'Lor managed to establish a tentative control over his mind. It was nowhere near as strong as he liked. That would require hours of meditation, but for now, it will suffice. After taking a few more breaths, V'Lor opened his eyes and gazed directly into stormy gray eyes that showed nothing but concern and worry over his state of mind.
"Major, can you hear me. Are you alright?" The eyes asked.
"Yes," he croaked back, "I am functional." V'Lor turned his eyes back to the patient filled with so much despair and suffering and noticed his abdomen was sealed and medications were rushing through him. He was going to be okay. The gray eyes followed his own towards the bed.
They turned back to him, and V'Lor found himself staring into them again, seeking comfort and control through them. No! A Vulcan draws strength and control from within. "He's going to be fine. A little banged up, and out of service for a week or two, but nothing permanent.
The gray eyes then became filled with gratitude and guilt, an odd combination. "I want to thank you, as well as apologize to you."
V'Lor caught himself wishing the guilt in her eyes would disappear. Eyes like those shouldn't be tainted by such a terrible emotion. He shut down the thought within his mind, repeating the cornerstone of Vulcan philosophy. Logic is the essence of control.
"Major, without your help, I don't know what could've happened to my patient. He had already lost a lot of blood, and any more delays would have caused an infection. You most likely saved his life." V'Lor felt an emotion trying to sneak past his defenses. He tried to force it down, but it was persistent. Though he managed to regain control, he realized it was gratitude and pride. I must meditate as soon as possible.
The gray eyes he was gazing into were then filled with even more guilt, something which annoyingly tugged somewhere within him. "I also wish to convey my most sincere apologizes for putting you through such a rigorous experience. I am aware of Vulcan touch telepathy, and I know that by the state in which you were in, you were completely overwhelmed by the emotions of my patient."
V'Lor was surprised at this revelation. Vulcan telepathy was a closely guarded secret. To have knowledge of this either required the highest of clearance within the military or the trust and respect of a Vulcan colleague, and those were extremely difficult to locate. He would've questioned the corpsman on where she acquired such information, but all he could do was focus on those gray eyes, as they continue to radiate guilt and regret.
Finally, V'Lor couldn't take it anymore and made to speak.
"No apology is necessary where no insult was intended," he repeated the Vulcan creed back. "You were unaware of my identity at the time, and you were concerned for your patient. Any thought or action that promotes the sanctity of life is always looked upon favorably on Vulcan."
As the corpsman began assimilating his words, V'Lor saw that her eyes were filling with relief at the pardon. He released a breath that he was unaware of holding, and further chastised himself. I must finish my evaluation and retreat for meditation. I am hardly functioning.
Leaning on a bastion of control that he had been slowly developing since the unintentional attack, he broke eye contact with the corpsman, rose to feet and gathered his PADD before him. Realizing that the tender moment between man and women was over and forgotten, she also rose up and presented herself to attention.
"Corporal Pythra, Alpha Squad Corpsman, Delta Company, 101st Regiment, Starfleet Stellar Marine Corps sir," she presented herself before him, though thankfully for his head, in a normal voice instead of the legendary marine voice.
V'Lor gave her a nod in return. "At ease, Corporal. There is no need for you stand on ceremony in a situation like this." He saw her frown at the dismissal of formalities, almost as if reluctant to break tradition around a Vulcan. Seeing as how she and her comrades were still breaking every known Marine tradition – right in front of him no doubt – he found her confusion and discomfort curious.
It took him some strength to force it down. He was here a reason, not to sate his own curiosity.
"Corporal," he began, activating his recording unit, "please explain to me why all the corpsmen within Major Stoppable's Company are currently engrossed in Starfleet Medical task work."
"Sir. During the attack on the Jackal, our entire Medical Team and the patients within the area at the time were suddenly transported off the ship by a pirate vessel," she replied in a stiff monotone, though, due to his weakened emotional shields, V'Lor could pick up trace amounts of budding fury radiating off her body as well as a pang of loss.
V'Lor's eyebrow rose at that piece of information. "Why weren't the shields active at the time; furthermore, why was the ship decloaked to begin with? This ship was under strict orders to maintain subspace silence and telemetry blackout until arrival at New Bajor."
"You have to ask the bridge staff about that sir," she shrugged, a habit often found in humans, but never an augment. How strange. "I can only tell you that I was helping Dr. Xanne in surgery when the ship started to shake and enemy borders started appearing."
V'Lor felt a pang of worry hit his gut, despite his best effort. "Did you recognize them?" he asked tentatively.
It came from nowhere, V'Lor thought. At such a simple question, Pythra seemed to snap. All the rage and anger that was simmering beneath the calm marine exterior burst from within at the mention of the pirates.
"Yes sir. They were Orions. Fucking Orions, sir!" she spat out with such venom and ire that V'Lor took a few steps back. She didn't relent however, "it's bad enough that fucking V'Du ran this ship into the ground due to his own arrogance, but nooo, it didn't stop there."
V'Lor looked into her eyes again and almost didn't recognize them. Unlike the other myriad of emotions he saw in them, this one was primal, animal-like, and dangerous. So this is the beast behind the Augmentation Reprogramming. Very dangerous and somewhat familiar.
Pythra continued on her rant as if the Major wasn't present. "No! It didn't stop there. Because of his incredible stupidity, the Jackal becomes crippled, half the crew is either killed or injured while the other half has to fight off a goddam armada of Orion Interceptors. Did I miss anything?!" she shouted, ready to snap anyone's neck should they either approach or contradict what was said.
"Don't forget the Major and the docs, corporal," a deep voice reported back. V'Lor felt a shiver run down his back at the coldness of the voice. It was also standing right behind him. When he slowly turned around, he found himself standing before one of the largest and bulkiest man he'd ever seen.
The beast's low barritone voice filled the sickbay as everyone – corpsmen and patients – turned to listen. "Because of the actions of our esteemed Captain, we lost a lot of men. We lost our brothers, our sisters, our comrades-in-arms." V'Lor saw each of them nodding in solemnity and anger. "But most importantly, we lost our sword and shield. Major Stoppable was one of us. A marine – proud to do service for his nation – for the Federation. He was a man who would gladly give his life to protect it and all those who share and seek protection under its generous wings."
V'Lor felt the blood drain from his face at that revelation. He was unaware that Major Stoppable was injured, let alone kidnapped. He couldn't even imagine what the Federation Council would say regarding that piece of information.
V'Lor was brought out his musings once again by the massive marine, who was now focusing on all those in the room, patients included. "And Dr. Xanne was one of the greatest medical minds in the entire Alpha Quadrant. For the short time that we knew her, she was like a mother to us all. She cared for us, patched us up, offered advice, and chided us when we became reckless, but above all, she respected what we once were. She understood what we are now. And she believed in what we can become."
V'Lor then stood amazed as the brute turned his scarred and worn face towards the simmering corporal and glared her down. "And they both would be sorely disappointed in seeing their friends and comrades-in- arms lose themselves in their grief and anger at their loss."
It apparently worked. V'Lor was captivated as the augmented rage of the corporal was vanquished by the brute's words and implications. As the fire dimmed within her, all that remained was stalwart determination brimming with unsatisfied retribution. V'Lor knew the anger was still there, but he knew then and there that Pythra could control it and focus it on the Orions. And maybe Captain V'Du, he mused.
When he was satisfied with his subordinate, the big man continued on, unaware that he had a large crowd gathering before him. Out of the corner of his eye, V'Lor witnessed a crew-member activate a ship wide speaker and direct it to Sickbay. "No, instead they would want us to continue on our mission to serve and defend the Federation. To protect those who can't protect themselves. To seek out new allies and oppressed states. To stalwartly and proudly go where no soldier has gone before!"
Cheers and war-cries rang out in Sickbay and throughout the ship, though V'Lor was unaware of the last part. In recanting the Federation Creed to his comrades, he was building upon the excitement and faith that was nearly lost after the Jackal was attacked.
V'Lor saw it. When he first came aboard, all the crew members that he witnessed and observed were in a depressed and defeated state. They endured a beating unimaginable and suffered horrendous losses. They could no more defend themselves than they could defend others.
But listening to the deep and enticing charisma of the gunnery sergeant as he reminded these weathered soldiers what they were fighting for and to honor those who were lost, that same focused determination that he saw on the corporal's face began to appear on the rest of them. V'Lor suppressed a worried glance. The beast had them.
"Now, I know exactly what both of our gallant officers would say concerning their position." He looked around the room making sure he had their attention. It was unnecessary."They would say to continue on without them. To fight the good fight and never stop until all have embraced the love and protection of the Federation."
"V'Du would say that as well," though for different reasons entirely, which was silently heard by everyone, V'Lor included.
"I say otherwise!" he bellowed with righteous authority. "I say we fight back! I say we rescue our courageous comrades and all those they shelter! I say we show these Orion savages what happens we you mess with Starfleet High Command!"
Men and women again cheered at the declaration with cries for Starfleet and the Federation and insults towards the pirates they despised. V'Lor had never felt so much retribution and rage in such abundance. He had to further strengthen his mental barriers to avoid being swept away in the brute's speech like the rest of the ship.
These men and women were mad. Their pride was stung. Their honor was tarnished. And they wanted revenge and absolution. And if V'Lor didn't convince Vice Admiral Barkin to let them rescue and avenge their comrades, then he was guaranteeing mutiny of at least three ships.
Worse yet, V'Lor realized, if the Regency of Trillius Prime became aware that the heir of the Shimaru Dynasty – better known as the Lost Monarch of Trill – was captured or killed on their watch, it could cause an interstellar incident within the organization. They may even leave the Federation in outrage.
As V'Lor soaked in that last tidbit of information, he gazed around the cheering and saw someone he didn't expect. Leaning against the wall, with a grim determination on her face, red dishelveled hair filled with grease, smoke, and dried blood and green eyes filled with the same flame of vengeance, was Commander Kimbrelika Possible.
He knew her since the academy. In fact, he was probably her only true friend. At least the Vulcan equivalent of friend. After all, friendship requires an emotional attachment, and to admit to friends would be to admit to emotion.
Still, despite the paradox of thought, he still saw her as more than a trusted colleague. Even after they graduated, they still corresponded with each, detailing their accomplishments to each other, sharing in the latest news of galaxy. He saw the potential in her long before the Vice-Admiral, and he was… satisfied… with her reassignment from Command to SEFWAR. She was analyst and strategist, like him, always preferring to work behind the scenes to extract victory for the Federation.
But looking at her right now, he saw none of that typical reserve. From his view, Possible appeared ready to grab a phase rifle and be the first into the breach against the Orions to rescue her crew. When he had her assigned to the Jackal, a charging Kim Possible running head long into danger and damning the consequences was not what he envisioned.
And if she could be persuaded and inspired by the brute's speech, who's to say the entire fleet wouldn't? Who's to say that this incident won't spark a war between the Federation and the Resurgent Orion Syndicate.
No, V'Lor understood, we aren't ready for war yet. We don't know enough. We don't know how much the Syndicate encompasses. We don't know their numbers. And we don't know the identity of the mysterious benefactor who supplied them with the advanced Polaron Beams, not to mention the additional wealth required to rearm their entire fleet.
But again, looking at the Commander's expression and seeing the men and women of the Jackal – and unfortunately, the Citadel of New Bajor – cheering and shouting, he knew that rational and logical explanations would not be sufficient. The men and women of Starfleet demanded blood, and they were going to get it, one way or another.
Add Stoppable and the Shimaru Symbiot to the list…
No. V'Lor knew what he had to do. And he knew the Admiral was not going to like it.
A/N:
So this kicks off ACT III. Wooo! Keep in mind that this Act will be less action and more dialogue and political intrigue. That doesn't mean that there won't be a little action. Come on, I'm mean, but I'm not cruel. It will also be a bit longer as I have to explain all the discrepancies and twists of both the merged Star Trek and KP Universe.
With that thought in mind, I strongly – and I cannot repeat this enough – encourage you to either review or PM if I am not clear with my Lore modifications and tie-ins. When we jump into the pure action of Act 4, all the background and history should be covered enough so that you have a comfortable understanding of this AU. If it's not clear for you, then it may not be clear for someone else. SO TELL ME! I'll modify the chapters to clear up the murkiness, send you links to Star Trek databases for the lore and information I'm pulling, or I'll just outright tell you what happened. This story is for you, and you deserve to understand what's being written.
Rant aside, I hope you are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it. Stay tuned.
Oh, and if it wasn't obvious, I've decided against V'Du achieving redemption, sorry for the false announcement.
KPRS Splicer signing off.
