"We are going to hold them here," Colonel Demilira Firling said quietly, "and they will rue the day that they introduced Bajor to humanity. Now listen up!"
The last sentence was shouted, so that all those assembled before her could easily hear.
Colonel Firling stood on the Promenade of the Helm, and before her was a mass of Bajorans, all listening quietly. They could have almost been a congregation ready to hear a sermon, she thought idly, if it wasn't for how nearly everyone there carried terrible scars that crisscrossed through their bodies. And for the humongous guns they were carrying. Mustn't forget about the guns.
"I am here," she yelled, "to teach you lot how to be an army! How to stop the Federation when they get here, and to blow their collective asses out of existence! This is not a goal of ours, this is what's going to happen! From now on, you are going to believe in the destruction of the Federation as surely as you believe that two plus two equals four! I know you're all very good at guerilla fighting, that much is obvious. Do any of you know anything about army scale fighting, though?"
One voice from below called out.
"We know how to march and all that, ma'am. We watched the Cardassians and learned."
"No!" she almost screamed back. "Marching is not what we want! Marching in nice neat little lines is going to get every single one of you killed!"
"What are we going to do, then?" asked another voice. "We don't have anything!"
"Tell me," Demi asked, lowering her voice imperceptibly, "do you trust the people around you?"
There was a murmur of agreement that indicated so.
"Do you trust them with your life?"
Yes, yes, of course we do, certainly, no doubt.
"That's what you need to start with. What you're going to need is to know each and every person around you well enough so that you know exactly how they will react to any given situation, at any time, ever. Now, that's pretty much impossible in groups of larger than about six or so, or at least impossible to do properly. Assembled people of Bajor, my name is Colonel Demilira Firling of XCOM, and I'm here to teach you about squad tactics."
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"WHAT did you say its energy output was?" asked the young Bajoran engineer excitedly. He'd learned all he could about advanced technological weapons from what Cardassian schematics he could steal, but this…
"Check the manual if you don't believe me," Ben Angel said smugly, "it's all there. It's why XCOM replaced all our ballistic weapons with laser weaponry near the beginning of our own occupation. We eventually replaced those with weapons that were even stronger, but due to security measures I can't really let you get into those."
"No, it's perfectly all right!" the young engineer responded eagerly, "I don't mind! This alone is enough to keep me working for weeks!"
"You're going to have three more projects that'll just as hard, and you'll have two weeks at the most," Ben said frankly, "because the Federation's going to be coming for us hard now, and we'd better be prepared."
"Well," his protégée began slowly, "I suppose that one of them would be… your armor?"
Ben shrugged.
"Carapace armor, not this stuff – this is the good stuff – but yeah, it should let you take a couple of solid phaser hits before your innards broil."
"And another would be – your communication systems!"
"That's right – every XCOM soldier is linked to every member of his squad. They can all see what he sees, and that'll be imperative in the infantry ops that Colonel Firling will lead. You don't want to know what it was like back in the old days before we had that."
"So… what's the third, then?"
Ben grinned and pulled up another schematic on his datapad.
"This is called a Firestorm, son, and it's the thing that's going to make you wish there were forty hours in a day…"
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"Colonel Ellison," came a soft voice from the shadows, "can you hear me?"
In the blink of an eye she had her plasma pistol drawn and aimed in the general direction her brain was telling her the sound was coming from.
"I may be the 'new guy'," she hissed, "but if you think that means that I'm going to be lax about letting unseen voices talk to me from the dark, you screwed up big time."
"Oh, please don't be upset!" the voice said frantically. "I don't mean you any harm, I swear it!"
"Are you telling the truth?" Leah asked suspiciously, before realizing the stupidity of her question.
Now the voice just sounded amused.
"Miss Ellison. I couldn't tell you that! Although I'll tell you this – you probably shouldn't trust anything that comes out of my mouth. It'd be a pretty heavy mistake. But it might, I believe, be a bigger mistake to ignore me entirely. Now, please keep in mind that that's not a threat any more than it would be if I'd told you that it would be a mistake to not investigate the genetic makeup of the security chief and second-in-command on this station, and to consider whether or not he truly is the only one of his kind."
"What are you saying?" Leah said slowly.
"Miss Ellison, I have many friends. Due to the rather… rapid expansion of the Federation since its inception, there have been many species encountered, and much of the galaxy explored that otherwise might not have been seen. My friends have warned me of something unfortunate coming."
"The Borg," Leah said frankly, "I know. Specifically, we know. Honestly, it's a bit late to warn about horrors coming from the Delta Quadrant when they've already torn apart our flagship."
There was a very long silence. Finally, the voice returned, now uncertain.
"Miss Ellison… I do not know what these 'Borg' are. And I know no one from the Delta Quadrant. I was referring to the Gamma. But thank you for the information. Please let us consider this a trade, then, and take my advice to heart."
"Why are you doing this?" asked Leah. "Surely you can't be doing this out of the goodness of your heart."
The voice laughed.
"Oh. Oh, no. I personally doubt if I've got any such thing at all, pardon my little joke. No, Miss Ellison, I'm telling you all of this because I've heard of your Vahlen the Miracle Worker, and I want something in exchange for all the delicious bits of information you'll get from me."
"And what's that?"
The voice grew lower and more urgent sounding.
"It's become all too clear, Miss Ellison, that there's only one way in the galaxy for me to be truly safe. I will give you everything you could ever want, in exchange for one thing. I want to be human."
"We could make you look human, certainly," Leah said slowly, "but you'd never be truly human, not really. Not at heart."
"I know," the voice said sadly, "I'm sure that though I could try, the certain combination of ruthlessness, courage, and sheer nerve is one I couldn't attain even after decades."
Throughout the conversation, Leah had been creeping closer and closer to the voice in the darkness, and found to her surprise when she got there that a small communicator was all that was there.
"You're paranoid," she said with some amusement, "aren't you?"
"Paranoia, dear Miss Ellison, is what they ascribe to people who imagine they have threats against their life. I have threats against my life. Now farewell, lovely Miss Ellison. You might want to back up now…"
Somehow, Leah wasn't even surprised when the communicator exploded into dust.
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Two weeks. That was how long it had been, to the day, since the XSS Voyager had docked at the Helm of the Prophets. If one were to take the perspective of a fly on the wall in various parts of the station, one might see many "marvelous things to happen", as the saying goes.
For example, groups of armored soldiers tramped around the massive circle of the Promenade, with a slight, black-haired woman yelling epithets at them as they marched.
In the power generation and maintenance facilities, they might see a number of grease-stained Bajorans scattered about the floor in various stages of much-needed repose, with a large and muscled human snoring in a chair above them.
At the command center, there might be a Bajoran woman with her hair cropped close to her head deep in conversation with a blonde woman. The woman was currently wondering with some trepidation what the meaning of the scientific records she had found was, and what they could mean for the future of Earth. Worse, she was beginning to wonder if she should go back to the voice one more time and then never speak to it again. It would just be once more, after all, there was no harm.
Down in the dark places of the station, where not even the freed Bajorans went, some said that they heard a voice singing strange and alien songs, hauntingly sweet and sad.
And on the bridge of the Voyager, Colonel Adam Peters sat in silence, brooding over the situation and the battle plans presented to him, as he had done for the past two weeks. It was not necessary, after all, that he contact the X-Rays personally, only that he defend them and destroy the other ones.
Suddenly the tone of an incoming transmission roused him from his thoughts, and he responded.
"Peters here. What's the situation?"
Demi's face looked grim, he noted. It might have been best for morale if he'd visited her during the two weeks that they had been separate.
"Federation fleet inbound," she said shortly, "so I'd advise you get to something approaching red alert."
Raising his eyebrows, he cut the transmission and prepared Voyager's undocking procedures. All weapons were armed, he was pleased to note. It wouldn't be operating at peak efficiency with most of the systems on auto, but he wasn't about to give the X-Rays a chance to get technology they shouldn't have.
Opening a channel to all XCOM members, he spoke firmly.
"This is Force Commander Adam Peters of XCOM, report."
"Colonel Firling standing by, I've got the ground forces prepared for a mass invasion."
"Colonel Angel standing by. We're ready to launch over here, and the station weapons are charged."
"Colonel Ellison standing by. I'll be in the base ops with Commander Kira."
Last but not least, there was the sound of a comm unit being activated and then deactivated rapidly three times, and Adam smiled. It was always nice to know Ellen was out there somewhere.
"Colonel Angel, launch . All forces prepare to engage. Colonel Ellison, can we get a look at the fleet yet?"
A pair of twin "Aye, sirs" rang through the comms system, and the viewscreen of the Voyager was suddenly filled with starships.
"Oh, hell," he sighed, "looks like they're already moving into a formation that'll defend against the usual ones. Take 'em down and take 'em out, boys. All wings, move to random attack patterns. It won't be as effective, but at least they won't be looking for it."
From behind the Helm, one hundred Firestorms came with a blue gleam of light. Switching up into wings of five each, they began attack runs on the large capital ships fielded by the Federation.
"How's it going on the ground, Firling?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," she said sarcastically, "but your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. Please call back at a time when there aren't a few thousand Klingon and Cardassian assault troops heading this way."
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Demi shut off the comm before Adam could finish the string of swears he was currently tossing at her, and aimed her plasma rifle at the fast-approaching line of warriors.
"Bajorans!" she said clearly, letting her voice carry through the troop-to-troop communications. "Make sure in your initial volley to only aim for what's exactly in front of you! We don't want everyone focusing on a few targets and letting the rest get by! Ready volley… open fire!"
Red lasers spat from the scattered Bajoran forces, felling quite a few of the Klingons – the Cardassians tended to stay more towards the back of things, after all. Still, they kept on, throwing themselves forward.
A few minutes later, Demi felt her throat growing sore from the repeated calls of "Fire!" that she sent out. Finally, she raised a hand and brought it down in a chop as she downed a large warrior with braided hair.
"Fire at will!"
There's too many of them, she thought as she watched the Bajor militia frantically reload their weapons, even with my Olympian armor and plasma weapons, we're outnumbered here.
She saw a Bajoran go down under repeated phaser fire, his carapace armor glowing white-hot, his screams echoing through the rubble as he tried to tear it off him.
Too late.
Too bad, she thought, Adam told me to hold this position. I'll fall back when Adam tells me, and not before. And if I have to cheat…
Demi concentrated, forcing herself into the most focused state of mind she'd ever been in before. Ever since that fateful day on the Temple, she'd remembered when Paint had done it; she knew what it should look like, how powerful it was…
With a hoarse scream, she flung out her hand in a throwing gesture, as her entire body was surrounded by unholy purple light. Her voice was amplified many times beyond its normal strength, echoing strangely as if there were many voices in one.
"Adam told me to hold this place."
She looked down at the assembled ranks of Bajorans, looking up at her in wonder in their blue and black borrowed XCOM uniforms. She wondered for a brief moment – a very brief moment – whether Adam only held her because of her resemblance to Adrianna, his Anna, his Paint.
With a concerted effort, she drove the thought from her mind. She felt more focused now than she ever had in her long life before. There was no treachery of her heart that could bring her down now.
"We are the thin blue line," her voice boomed out among the ranks, "and we will hold this place or die trying."
She saw that there was some movement among the ranks, uncomfortable shifting among the soldiers.
Stretching out her psionic powers to the max, she attempted to bring encouragement into the assembled minds before her. It was not mind control persay, but mere suggestion.
Her voice lessened, although all there still heard it loud and clear.
"You will fight until your weapons are dry," she murmured, "and then you will use the pistols we have provided and fight until those are all gone. You will use scrap metal as spears and swords if you must. You wish to fight alongside humans? Then fight as humans!"
With that, she turned to the oncoming Klingons, closed her eyes, and thought of Adam.
Every bit of him. How he was angry and harsh sometimes, and so very defensive of His Team. How he was the second-best sniper that she'd ever seen, and how beautiful his music could be when he bothered to play. How unfeeling he could be towards things he didn't understand, how terribly he handled relationships, how…
Demi Firling let out a terrible scream, and opened her eyes to see the storm.
Klingon blood was painting the landscape, and there was a dark purple maelstrom tearing through their front lines. Wherever it touched, flesh was torn from bone. No armor stood against it.
She realized, somewhat belatedly, that it was emanating from her. Somehow, at this great pressure that she had felt, she had gained the ability that the records said Paint had on her last mission.
Looking back at the horrified Bajoran forces, she waved them onwards.
"What are you waiting for?" she screamed. "Attack!"
There was a brief, terrible pause where she wasn't quite sure whether they would shoot at the Klingons or at the goddess of death and battle that was hovering over them.
Then, Ro Laren raised her heavy laser and yelled out.
"For the Prophets and Bajor!"
And the lines moved forward, once more unto the breach.
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"Wing 5, move to the Denorius belt," Adam said coolly, "we need to surround them and take them out fast. Wing 8, flank that warbird and do a bombing run straight between the wings. Wing 3…"
He paused and checked the console. Wing 3 had been destroyed, it seemed, in an attempt to slow the approach of a four-ship Cardassian battle fleet.
"… Wing 6," he carried on smoothly, "engage the Cardassian battle fleet moving up planetside. Your job is to distract them long enough for Wings 13 and 14 to finish them off. Casualties are expected."
There was no hesitation from them, he noted. They followed orders well, and were nearly as fierce as XCOM soldiers in warfare. That was probably due more to this being a defense against the complete genocide of their species, but it was still mildly impressive.
The battle above Bajor was heavy going. Already, over forty of the impromptu Firestorms had been shot down by the enemy, with ten capital ships of theirs falling in turn.
He had no doubt that Colonel Firling was holding her own on the ground, as well she should.
It was imperative that they win both battles. If they lost even one, then whatever victory they had gained in the other would be swiftly rendered utterly meaningless.
As quickly as he could, he patched in a communications line to Colonel Angel.
"Colonel," he said, "I need you to suit up and go down to Bajor to support Colonel Firling in the battle there. The people up here don't need you right now anymore."
A reluctant "Yes, sir…" soon followed, and one final Firestorm launched towards the planet.
Just as Adam turned back to command the rest of the flights, though, he received a frantic signal of distress from Wing 5.
Odd, he thought with a frown, they were about as far from the battle as it was possible to get – I'd sent them around to flank the enemy, not engage them. What could have happened to them?
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Demi Firling was tiring fast.
The Klingons and Cardassians – and it was even looking like a few Andorians and Vulcans had joined them now – just kept coming.
No matter how many her troops killed, more took their place immediately, even if they were forced to climb over hills and piles of their fallen comrades.
Bajoran after Bajoran fell, and she knew in her heart that she was losing this fight. Even her psionic powers couldn't save everything, she still wasn't strong enough. Mindfray needed rests, as did Panic and Mind-Control. With so many minds out there for her to tamper with, the danger of too many targets was becoming very real.
Several times she had caught herself applying so much mental focus to a target that she barely noticed the phaser fire heating up her Olympian armor.
Finally shaking her head, she decided that if she would go down, she would die as a soldier of XCOM should. On her feet, with her gun in her hand. That was the saying that they had in the feeling when a rookie complained of being tired, or when you noticed that your squadmate was looking like they hadn't slept in three days again.
"Don't worry," they'd say, "you'll get a good long rest soon enough. Just make sure your gun's in your hand."
You didn't go down like an animal. Not like an X-Ray did, cowering and sneaking. You stood up and you faced the fire, and then you blew it back in their ugly faces. And if you died, you did it with a weapon in your hand.
She remembered all those who had fallen – well, maybe not all. There were far too many for that. Only Ellen truly remembered every name, and you wouldn't get a list from her any time soon.
Demi looked down the line and saw that there were barely eighty Bajorans remaining. Probably less in a few minutes, she thought absently. There was another Cardassian charge coming. That always seemed to terrify the Bajorans for some reason. Probably memories of their slavery coming out. It was a bit of a problem at first, but had grown to be less so as the battle went on, possibly because those who were afraid tended to be those who made for wonderfully stable targets that didn't shoot back.
She had never been very religious. That was more Chris' thing, had been for years.
There couldn't be much harm, though.
How did the words he said before each mission go again? Oh, right…
"Our Father…"
And there was a miracle.
Demi never got farther than those first two words that day – she was interrupted by the sound of the Bajorans cheering wildly. Screaming, as if they'd already won the battle, and every battle after that.
"The love of the Prophets!" shouted one. "I can feel it washing over me!"
"It's beautiful!" sobbed another one nearby. "Dear Prophets, it's so beautiful!"
Demi looked up, and there in the sky was a whirlpool of color and light.
Is that… A wormhole?
She tried to look at it scientifically, but every bit of scientist that was in her was already nodding in agreement at the initial assessment. It was a wormhole, and looked to be relatively stable from the wave patterns.
Her gaze fell from the sky to the cheering Bajorans, then moved to the frozen army of the Federation. Lowering her rifle to level with them, she amplified her voice with the in-armor systems so that all remaining Bajorans would hear her.
"Forces of Bajor. Charge."
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Hello, loyal fantasticks!
Kind of a long chapter this time, I know, but I needed to do the Battle of Bajor in one clump, or the pacing would've been even weirder than it already was.
I'm still working on the prequel as well, though I haven't decided what to call the subtitle… I'm thinking it's going to be "Enemy Unknown: … Something". What that something is, I don't quite know yet. I'm also trying to move just a tad slower on that one so that I can buy the Enemy Within DLC come November and weave that into the story, as it would tie up a couple of… well, not quite loose ends, but ends that I would absolutely love to see come together.
In the meantime, hang in there, thanks for the wonderful reviews (as always), and I'll see you soon!
Sincerely,
~The Once and Future Overlord