Chapter 12
Prelude to Which War
Milky Way - Alpha Quadrant - Deep Space 9 - Conference Room
An assortment of representatives from the Federation, Dominion, Cardassian, and Klingon Empires filled the room. If a better word to describe the proceedings existed it would be used, but for now, a 'mess' will suffice. Klingons, never ones to mince words, lacked the ability to conduct diplomacy. Picard and Benjamin Sisko, Captain of DS9 struggled to keep General Martok from blowing a gasket every few minutes.
"Captain Picard, this proves nothing," said Gul Dukat tossing the datapad back onto the table. The Cardassian leader stood up and began to pace the conference room, grinding his jaw in frustration. Thirty-minutes into the meeting may as well have been thirty-hours. Complete nonsense. Dukat 'knew', his intelligence chiefs 'knew'. The bomb planted in the Detapa Council on his home planet was set by humans, not Changelings. "Jean-Luc, you are trying to tell me shapeshifters may have done it; yet you even have one of those things working for you right now, on this station!"
Sisko's own temper began to flare, hotly contesting the Cardassian argument,
"Dukat, how many times have we told you, Odo is not involved with this. You even appointed him head of security when the Cardassians occupied this station. You know, as well as I do, that he is innocent."
Picard raised his hand to quell the tension,
"Gentlemen, I think we are straying from the point."
"Which is?" Countered Dukat, hotly.
"Which is… that your people were attacked. An attack, orchestrated by Starfleet has no benefit to the Federation. Even if your accusations held some truth, for what purpose did this serve? Why would Starfleet want a war after the Borg incursion just a few years ago?"
Dukat stopped pacing and considered this for a long moment.
That is true, they would not want a war...
"There is another explanation of course." smiled Weyoun with a slight tilt of his head. The deceptively timid Vorta spoke softly, perfectly engineered to represent the Dominion in all diplomatic matters. "We believe the device was planted to frame the Colonists; it is, after all, the only explanation." Sisko raised his head and let out a laugh; even Picard could not maintain his stoic expression.
Throughout the meeting, the Dominion representatives adamantly accused the Federation of framing the Colonists. They argued the attack was an attempt to draw the Cardassians into the demilitarized zone to wipe out the Colonist, thus invoking a Federation response. "You laugh now, of course, but, what is that human expression?" Weyoun thought a moment, "...ah yes, hubris."
Picard shifted his gaze,
"What do you mean?"
"You thought you were so smart, believing your plan foolproof, only to see it fail. You did not anticipate our diplomatic party being in the Detapa Council building. Perhaps you are not even aware that the attack is yours, it is... well beyond… what is the Earthly expression… your pay grade."
"Do you want a war Weyoun? Is that it?" Sisko's fist slammed into the shiny table. "It sounds to me like you want a war." Sisko then turned his attention to Dukat, whom he maintained a working relationship with. "Dukat, this makes no sense. Why? Why is this happening? What advantage do we get from this? It benefits no one!"
Gul Dukat remained quiet, thinking everything over. As harsh as a Cardassian could be, they still cared and loved their young.
I do not want more death. War is always the last option, but is it necessary at this moment? As leader of Cardassia, can I do nothing and still maintain power? The people expect action.
"Ben, Jean-Luc…" began Dukat, crafting his words to convey the most meaning to the two humans. "Do you know how many children played in the daycare at the council building? These people did have kids, and if you know anything about Cardassians, then you will know they had many." Neither man responded, surprised by the change in tone. "Nine hundred and four, all dead."
Martok began shaking his head and rolling his eyes, his ability to cope with nuance pushed to the limit,
"Killing children is not an honorable way to wage battle, but I do not like this talk of treachery. The Klingon Empire requests access to your data, we want to be sure who is responsible,"
"We already know who is responsible," voiced Weyoun, gently.
"You little insect! We lost some fine warriors as well!" Martok jumped to his feet, startling Weyoun.
Picard grabbed the arm of Martok and gently coaxed him back into his chair,
"Gul Dukat. Weyoun. What is it that you want from us? We have provided you with all the evidence necessary for you to return to your respective governments to analyze. We laid out the reasons in which it would be disadvantageous for us to target you. We do not want a war, we do not want any bloodshed. But, we are prepared to defend ourselves and our beliefs. However, we will do everything possible so it does not come to that."
"Picard, it amazes me that you can grandstand after killing-" Weyoun eyed a flurry of activity from the Klingon delegation. A lowly lieutenant pushed his way forward to whisper in General Martok's ear.
Everyone in the room waited, watching with interest as the General's demeanor changed from confusion to anger.
"What?!"
The young Klingon jumped but continued to relay information into the ear of the General.
After several seconds, Dukat could not help but ask,
"Is everything ok?"
"No! It is not! One of our observation-outposts was boarded and overrun. Forty Klingon warriors have been killed. Cardassianblood stains their blades."
DS9 Quark's Bar
Commander Riker sat comfortably on a barstool, sipping a cool drink and keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. Captain Picard thought it best for him to try and sniff out among the traders that frequented Quark's bar any rumors about the Dominion or the Cardassian bombing. Unsurprisingly busy, species utterly unfamiliar to Starfleet spent their time gambling, drinking, talking, arguing, renting holosuites, and occasionally getting into trouble. In essence, acting like traders and gunrunners.
"Commander. I'm so busy I just hired three people just to maintain the holosuites. I'm charging a premium now, it's wonderful," said Quark as he fixed a drink for another patron. "Last time you visited, I'd be lucky to have five customers at once, now, we are taking reservations."
"Doing something different?"
"Wish I could say it is something I did, but truthfully it's just the merchants and traders. Activity really picked up in the last five to six weeks. There are so many ships coming through the station docks that Sisko requested more personnel just to track the different species that are arriving from the Gamma Quadrant. Their blockade is only stopping your ships after all. Merchants come and go by the minute."
Riker smiled and looked around the room, eyeing the diverse crowd, some species familiar, most not. All loose-of-mouth and drinking heavily, socializing, and playing games at the tables. He did notice however, a stark contrast in demeanor between what he perceived to be successful material-traders, and those whom he suspected of being gun runners and contract-merchants. The latter appeared more recluse, tucked neatly away into their booths and holosuite waiting rooms. Their stern faces conveyed tension, still able to enjoy themselves but not as boisterous as the rest.
"Quark, who is that big Romulan over there? The one with the women?" In a booth not too far off sat the fattest Romulan Riker ever laid eyes on. At least four-hundred pounds with a head the size of a watermelon, the bulky and sweaty Romulan wore an open shirt with some sort of jewelry around his neck. Tattoos slid up his neck and down his arms, crawling and searching for any uncovered skin. Many inked before he gained weight, they stretched in certain places, and folded into fat increases in others. On either side sat two women, one green, another purple, playfully giggling and cooing to please him.
"Oh, that's Teemar, he's a trader, always brings women with him."
"What's his story?"
"Big tipper, always rents out my holosuites. I think he trades Dioplaxican, or mines it, one or the other. Why?"
"Never seen a Romulan who could be chopped into three smaller ones," said Riker with a big smile. Quark let out a laugh and leaned in closer to share his next remark,
"You know, I know a guy who can get you in on some Dioplaxican."
"Why would anyone want it?."
"I hear they are making new Warbirds out of it."
"Out of Dioplaxican?" Riker seemed skeptical, from what he knew of the substance, the refining process took time and replication tricky at best. A strange choice for shipbuilding… strong as hell, but hard to mold… illegal in most territories due to its high level of toxicity during refinement…
"Don't ask where he gets it...their private enterprise is trying to-"
Riker cut off Quark,
"Private enterprise? Since when do the Romulans have private enterprise? Everything goes through the state."
"Hey, I'm just the messenger,"
"A messenger with a wrong message?"
Riker frowned, realizing the Ferrengi routinely passed on gossip and gulped down the rest of his drink. He was half-off his stool, when a stunning woman sat beside him on the other stool. Conveniently pretending to adjust his uniform, Riker coolly slipped back onto his seat.
She looks like a mix between a human and a jungle cat...wow
She purred softly as her tail coiled around the stool leg, her hands deceptively delicate; for beneath the finely groomed fur rested deadly claws, beautiful and equally deadly.
"What brings you here?" he asked with a big soft smile, charm pushed to top pedigree
Her ears flickered and she turned her sweet, but devilish face towards him. Her eyes like a house cat's, and behind her beautiful smile, a pair of perfect white fangs,
"To spend some money," she purred,
"Oh, and what are you looking to purchase?"
"A few planets," she said with a wink. Riker couldn't hide the incredulous look spreading across his face, what? He signaled Quark for another round and offered to pay for the ladies before continuing his conversation.
"Never heard of someone buying an entire planet,"
"Well not a big one, maybe even a giant asteroid," her infectious smile causing Riker to blush and turn away to stroke his beard.
"What do you need a planet for?"
"To mine, business is booming."
"So I've heard,"
"I don't expect you to understand. Starfleet-socialists would not agree with my ideas."
"Commander William Riker, a pleasure to meet you…?"
"Pleased to meet you," she said without mentioning her own name.
"So, you have enough gold-pressed-latinum to buy a planet?" They continued their back and forth for some time, eventually the alcohol took hold and a more limber dialogue unfolded.
"Ever heard of Utori, William? What a place, changing quick..."
"No, should I have?"
Eager to share her story, the minx leaned in, the alcohol causing her eyes to glaze ever so slightly,
"On Utori, a new political party forced a second world currency, which caused havoc. I took advantage of it, long story short, the new party hired me to destabilize the old one...anyway, boring stuff. The Utori are socialists just like you, they practically begged me to halt the trade of their currency."
Riker thought for a few moments. Must have been one hell of a scheme to rake in that much money
"So what are you mining? Why not just run off and retire?"
"Retire? Please. Do you know how many contracts there are right now, for all sorts of things. You can make a fortune. As for what I'm doing, that is a secret,"
"Is your name also a secret?"
"No, that can be earned, Starfleet," the lioness smirking at her slight towards the Commander
"What do I-"
Shouts rang out from a table behind, interrupting their conversation.
"That is our seat you Romulan worm, move, now!" All activity in Quark's establishment immediately ceased, no one moved a muscle. A group of drunk Klingons loomed over a pair of Romulans seated at a table. Eyes as hard as diamonds scanned the room, not the eyes of the Klingons, but of the traders, merchants, scoundrels, and space-pirates within Quark's establishment. The two rugged looking Romulans stood slowly, and as they stood they seemed to grow, not physically but in stature.
"Or what? What are you going to do Klingon?" Their voices full of seething-loathsomeness. "Are you going to show us what sort of Warrior you are," they spat, mockingly.
The Klingon psyche did not tolerate insults, any dishonor brought quick reprisal. Each warrior lunged forward, bodies, table and chairs knocked to the ground. Riker jumped off his stool and rushed forward to try and calm the mayhem. More Klingons joined the fray, and soon, the Romulans fought at five to one disadvantage, but, to the surprise of the Klingons, the Romulans fought like wild animals. Clawing, biting, scratching, gouging, chewing, punching, kicking. Anything and everything to fight off the larger group. A wild-blow struck a Klingon's temple, killing him instantly.
"Stop this! Stop fighting!" Shouted Riker at the top of his lungs, his demands unable to stop the mayhem.
A wild blow toppled the Commander to the ground as a group of ruffians rallied to the Romulan cause. After several minutes, Odo and two dozen security personnel rushed through the doors and waded into the frenzie of kicks and punches. Half of the establishment guests scrambled for safety, through exit doors or under tables. Some lucky enough to own self-teleportation devices, beamed away to their docked ships. The rest stayed, locked in a life and death struggle with the drunken Klingons. A sort of insanity overcame the room, restricted weapons, hidden within boots, hats, and garments, stabbed, swatted, and bludgeoned everyone and anything. Odo shouted and hurried his men into position, never in his life seeing such carnage breakout in his station. Dead Klingons lay about, the rest fighting desperately for breathing room as the sea of henchmen and down-and-outs surrounded them. Some traders and merchants turned on the security personnel; attacking as a single unit, all different, but united in their cause.
Disdain of authority, rules, and law.
Each felt they were given a bad break in life. Cast out, ridiculed, mocked, deprived, and desperate. Finding solace alone in the stars, as a trader, merchant, prostitute or gun-runner, they threw themselves into the fray. While many did not like one another, they hated authority even more.
Not taking any drastic actions, Teemar the four-hundred pound Romulan, eyed the fray and eruption of violence. His steely eyes looking over possible dangers and opponents. The women he frequented retreating to the edge of the booth, too scared to move or flee.
"Easy ladies, easy. You belong to me, and what I own, I care for," and with a simple command into his communicator, both women teleported away and onto his waiting freighter. He then wedged himself out of the tight booth, the glasses rattling and table legs squeaking as his bulk slipped past.
A compatriot, currently rolling along the floor with a female DS9 security officer screamed for help when he noticed Teemar preparing to leave. The giant Romulan looked over casually, the mountain of muscle hidden by blubber, rolling and shifting with his huge frame. He stalked towards his target, the sea of merchants parting to make way. Black boots as heavy as bricks came down beside the head of the young female ensign no older than twenty. Reaching down, Teemar hoisted the young woman off his own man, sneering with arrogance and contempt. She dangled several feet off the ground, held at bay by the sturdy and unshakable arm of Teemar, his hand crushing her throat.
"Young human, you have chosen the wrong side. You, like many others, belong to the past where socialism runs rampant. No creativity, no eagerness, no drive. Stagnant." The young woman fought against the vice-like grip of the Romulan, trying to pull against the fingers wrapped around her throat. "Don't take this personally, I only do this to spare you the indignity of living such a pathetic life." As he squeezed, her face began to turn red, then purple, his strength unmatched by her slender build. "Pity. You could be so pretty, perhaps I could take you back with me," he brought her closer, the ensigns feet still dangling several feet from the ground. "You can become my toy and entertainment… like others who look like you." His eyes then changed, from curiosity to anger, hardening at the thought of the socialist sickness running through her mind. "But not today."
Teemar sunk a fist into the ensign's stomach, rattling her ancestors. Bones splintered and organs burst. One massive strike did it. The rookie security officer on her first assignment, collapsed to the ground, dead. "Time to go." And with that, both he and his associate whirled away in a transporter beam.
On the other side of the establishment, Riker unloaded another right-cross, the last he could muster given his mounting injuries. He collapsed to one knee, the wound he suffered in his stomach soaking his shirt with blood. To his right, the minx sunk her fangs into the last Klingon, taking a huge chunk out of the warrior's neck, ending his fight for good.
Total carnage.
Bones, throats, ribs, all crushed and pummeled throughout the bar. Odo, quick to realize the danger, knew his officers to be hopelessly outmatched. While highly trained, they could not keep-up under the onslaught. With reluctance, Odo pulled his phaser and set it to wide-beam stun, and fired. Half the room instantly dropped. The remaining hooligans eventually retreating via personal teleporter.
Riker struggled to his feet. Broken glass littered the floor and bar-top. An unbelievable sight lay before him. Blood flowed like a river along the floor, bodies lay on top of one another, and in the middle stood Odo, phaser in hand.
"Commander, are you ok?"
"Yes, just a few scratches,"
Quark pulled himself up over the bar-top,
"I'm all right,"
Odo ignored him. Minutes later medical personnel began to treat the wounded and stabilize the dying.
Riker limped across the room,
"What's going on? This ever happen before? They fought like dogs, with nothing to lose..."
"It's getting worse. For a month or two, more and more traders are coming in. I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner. They all hate authority, all out to make it rich and maybe more..." reflected Odo.
Riker's communicator beeped and he excused himself,
"Riker here,"
"Will, report to the Enterprise immediately," ordered Picard.
"Trouble?"
"The Klingons have just declared war on the Cardassians. We are to rendezvous with the 4th fleet immediately,"
"Understood." Riker moved out into the promenade and approached a group of Starfleet security officers who looked to be waiting for him. "Fastest way to transporter room two?" he asked quickly,
"We will lead you there sir."
Through corridors, hallways and turbo lifts, they moved quickly until they reached a door,
"In here? That doesn't say transporter room. What the hell is going on?" Riker spun around to confront the lead officer only to realize a phaser now pointed at him,
"Inside, now."
As Riker stepped through the door a hypo-spray shot into his neck from a waiting Section 31 operative. The Commander convulsed and dropped to the floor face down, his nose broken and blood pooling in his mouth. Barely conscious and slipping fast, the room wobbled and spun, the toxins going to work on his nervous system and brain function. A half-dozen operatives stood inside the room, one holding a large piece of equipment that resembled a suction cup.
"Easy, easy, now...place it on his skull," said one of them. The suction cup lowered and slowly tightened, a loud crunch followed. Within a few seconds, the dead, lifeless, fruitless body of William Riker lay on the floor. His mind absorbed and uploaded into the transference-machine.
"Send mind-data to master, ensure to encrypt it as instructed, then set for self-destruct."
Each of the men exited the room, leaving the machine beside the mummified body. Then, with a silent uneventful flicker, both dissolved to their subatomic molecules, never to exist again.