Chapter 24

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Milky Way - Alpha Quadrant - Tokyo, Earth

Sloan sat quietly in his oversized leather chair, fixated on the conference screen attached to the opposite wall. On it, the President, Federation Council, and many but not all Fleet Admirals. An emergency meeting had been ordered after the latest news out of Bajor.

"What we know so far," read Admiral Paris from his notes, " Is a massive Dominion fleet exited the wormhole a little over an hour ago. All communication from Bajor ceased when they commenced orbital bombardment. DS9 was destroyed in the opening volley."

President Jaresh-Inyo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Even from the conference monitor, Sloan could see the stress building. But there existed no reprieve from it, no escape. The noose tightened, decisions needed to be made.

"I am ordering all Starfleet forces to head-off this attack and to launch emergency diplomatic negotiations with the Dominion. All ships, transports, and merchant vessels are to be commandeered immediately. Outlying worlds not in immediate danger will have their defenses reduced and-"

An exasperated gasp, followed by an angry fist smashing down on the far side of the enormous conference table. A blue-skinned Andorian stood tall, his glaring eyes scanning each of the other one-hundred and forty-nine Council Members.

"As I have been saying to my people. You are abandoning us. You worked us like dogs for two-hundred years, building your ships, weapons, our people built half the Starfleet Navy! Not any longer. Andoria withdraws from the Federation." Mouths dropped, eyes widened, a few audible gasps heard. Reaching into his robe, the Andorian Council member tossed the planetary vote across the table, the tablet coming to a stop near the fingers of President Jaresh-Inyo.

The President looked down and picked up the tablet. Andoria had called an emergency vote, with fifty-five percent in favor of separation.

"Council Member Ubino. I know you are new to this chamber due to your predecessor's unfortunate murder in your industrial city of Val-Klaxin. But if he were still here, he would vehemently oppose. Your vote was a majority, but just barely. My orders only reduce defenses around worlds not immediately in danger."

Ubino began to pull off tags and pins associated with the Federation, Starfleet, and the collective union.

"Do you know why my predecessor was killed?" Asked the angry Andorian. His anti-like antenna twitching in anger.

Silence. Ubino continued.

"The mob was not comprised of hooligans or mongrels. They were the workers of the mines, plants, and assembly facilities. They were the disenchanted, disheartened… the desperate! I represent them, the workers, the down-and-out. All of them elected me to push back against your continuous amalgamation of defenses around Earth and a few other worlds. Ever since this war started, our industrial centers have operated night and day, endless shifts and labor."

Council Member Peron of Vulcan raised a hand to comment, Ubino glanced over and offered a gesture to speak,

"I find it highly illogical for your planet to pursue this course of action. Are you certain your citizens were given all the facts on this matter?"

"Of course, fully informed." The last pin dropped onto the table and Ubino looked over the end of his nose, down onto the group of Members he felt were traitors to their own kind. Just before turning to leave, Peron asked another question; one many were undoubtedly thinking.

"How do you plan on defending yourselves? With your withdrawal from the Federation, of which there are many more steps than this vote, you will be removed from our military blanket of security."

"I can say now that the steps in section 4 of the charter are unnecessary. Andoria is finished with the Federation. Secondly, and this is for the rest of the room, to each of you." Ubino pointed at each representative. More than passion; obsession drove the Andorian Council-elect to defend his people's interests. "Starfleet's Navy grows weaker, we have less than five-hundred ships left, but one-hundred and fifty worlds. Travel time is months in some cases, do you think the navy will be taken so far from the core worlds? Even a small fleet sent into the outer regions would be completely cut-off from the fight. We have never faced this...this…" Ubino searched for the word. "Pincer. Yes, this is a pincer movement. We can't defend so many planets on multiple fronts. Andoria possesses thousands of merchant ships, ore-haulers and other industrial designs. They are our defense, they will not be commandeered by you or anyone else. All will be armed, and staffed with people like myself, willing and able to do what it takes. I'd rather have to defend one planet with a thousand civilian ships than your alternative. Think it over. Especially you Anora. Do you really think the Federation is going to help you? Goodbye."

Council Member Anora, representative of the Betazed people felt the knot in her stomach grow and twist. Grim reality and hopelessness crawled and festered in the minds of every Betazoid.

Sloan, still sitting in his seat in Tokyo, watching by way of conference, picked at his lip. We are cracking, splitting at the seems. Not completely unexpected. The Dominion is pushing harder than we could have ever imagined. Through the screen, Sloan watched pandemonium breakout. Council-elect's from outlying regions pushed hard at the President to help quell their understandable concern. In the minds of each, not so hidden behind their shifting eyes, the skepticism around Starfleet naval protection.

Council Member Anora stood,

"Mr. President, my people have been ruthlessly assassinated. We need assurances that Starfleet is going to protect us. There is a Dominion fleet heading towards our planet. We are afraid to flee due to what has happened. We lost thousands of citizens in a flash attack, our planet is our only safety."

A lesser-known Admiral answered,

"We are assembling the 8th fleet as well as other vessels in the immediate area. In the meantime, we have advised your people to use all necessary merchant vessels to help in defense of your planet."

Anora eyed the admiralty, her telepathic mind scanning each of their thoughts and feelings. Typically, only consented telepathic readings of minds occurred, but she was desperate, her people were desperate. She probed surface deep, not at a Lensman level, but enough to see images and concerns others could not.

"You people are not sure! The 8th Fleet is heavily damaged from the engagement in the Demilitarized Zone. What is Captain Kirk's assessment? We received his emergency message to assemble the governing members to Earth."

President Jaresh-Inyo cleared his throat; he needed to walk a fine line between respect for a legend and his current authority,

"Captain Kirk is currently on route to Earth. The Enterprise is defenseless, no weapons, no shields, no sensors. They took a beating and will take weeks to restore their systems. The Dominion forces will reach your world the day after tomorrow. Kirk hopes our plan will work, but it is my decision. He also tells us that he is going to change the war."

Anora held a long stare with the President, she knew he was unsure as well.

"Giselle," started the Vulcan member. "If a sizeable enemy fleet had not exited the Bajoran wormhole, it is possible we may have staged a more practical defense of Betazed. It would be illogical to expose our entire territory to enemy attack to save one planet." The heartless and cold explanation drove a dagger into Anora's already broken heart. She fell back into her seat and remained quiet. In the room she could sense and read everyone's thoughts, no one quite knew what to do.

"Well… at least Picard convinced the Cardassians to enter a peace treaty. Thank god for him," mentioned a member.

Admiral Ross, fleet commander of DS9 as well as surrounding sectors cleared his throat.

"We do not know how many ships survived the blockade, the minefield was designed to stop hundreds, if not thousands of ships. But, Bajor has gone black, so certainly a sizeable group remains. DS9 fell in the opening volley as the mines were detonating, it would have taken hundreds of ships to do that. As for Bajor, the last signal we received was a call for help."

"Surely the Dominion didn't kill everyone on the planet, that would be barbaric, impossible," shot a Council member.

Ross adjusted his collar and continued his analysis.

"Furthermore, with your permission Mr. President we will order our ships within Klingon space to withdraw immediately."

"Bill," the President calling Admiral Ross by his first name, "our ships are helping the Klingons protect their own inner territory, are they not?"

"Yes Mr. President. We suspect the Klingon lines will collapse almost immediately."

President Jaresh-Inyo shook his head slowly, his finger tracing the ridges of his brow.

"So then. We save ourselves and let the Klingons fall. Is that what this has come too? My god how? How could it have come to this?" No one said a word. Sensing this, the President looked onto the large monitor and tried to dig for more options.

"Director Sloan, you have been quiet through all this, do you have anything to say?"

"We have brought in the last of the captured perpetrators across Federation space. Those who killed the Betazoids. We are going to torture them." Uncomfortable shifting and clearing of throats filled the vacuum. It had always been against Federation policy to torture, but now everything had twisted, with lines of morality and right and wrong shifting beneath their feet. "We do not know yet if a link exists between the killing of our citizens and the Dominion evasion but we will soon. I suspect it is. I believe Mr. Data does as well. All prisoners are now here with me in Tokyo; we are set to begin immediately. If anything comes of the questioning, I will inform. Lastly, and you will have to forgive me for being so bold. In my opinion, the smaller the territory, the greater the chance of defending it."

More gasps, and a rare outburst of anger directed towards the Intelligence Director, but the Admirals remained silent. They knew deep down that all one-hundred and fifty planets could not be protected now that a new fleet emerged hundreds of lightyears from the primary engagement areas thus far. The Klingons, despite their bluster are only holding on by a thread, and if support were withdrawn, their empire would undoubtedly fall. A decision needed to be made.

Sloan more than anything wanted the Federation to survive, and would do anything for it to do so. He offered a solemn promise to the quickly deteriorating group of elected officials.

"The Klingons will never surrender, even though we now have a cease-fire agreement with the Cardassians, none such exists with the Klingons. The Dominion and Cardassians are double-teaming them, and our ships are caught in a troublesome position within their territory, unable to engage half the battle groups. Furthermore, the Klingons as you know have been experimenting using an ancient powder. Dr. Bashir, who was aboard DS9 when it was destroyed completed significant research for my department. This powder seems to mutate cells at the molecular level, turning them into a super-cell which then continues to spread. The dust overtakes and rewrites DNA, changes the cell's composition, it moves… to use an analogy, it washes over cells and bodies like a Flood. The Klingons plan on disbursing this across their entire population base in the hopes of creating super warriors. In small groups this has been successful, but we do not know how it will affect a world as a whole. They would only do this if all seemed lost. They may even send kamikaze attacks to Cardassia with this bio-agent.

Admiral Paris pressed a few buttons and the secure doors of the chamber opened. Commander Data, brought to Earth to plug-in to the 'system' of all interconnected networks briskly entered. For a week, Data scanned, analyzed, debugged, filtered, and sorted information. His task to shed some light on this war.

"Commander Data, you are current on all matters related to this war?" asked the President,

"Yes, I am fully aware of all circumstance."

"Should we withdraw our ships from Klingon territory?"

Data's head tilted in trademark fashion, the question allowed for a logical answer, but as the android knew all too well, biological species of any sort were rarely logical.

"It is difficult for me to recommend any course of action without taking into consideration-"

"Just the numbers Mr. Data," interrupted Ross.

"If I am to only use projected lives lost, the lives of Federation citizens, then it is logical to move the entire Federation fleet into our core territory." Data did not smile, his green-yellowish eyes moving from one face to another, searching for possible backlash or disagreement. His positronic brain knew full well the implications he suggested.

"You're only a machine!" shouted a Council-elect, another followed suit and now a shouting match broke-out in the chamber.

"You can't withdraw the Navy to just the core worlds! That is suicide for us!" shouted a Rigilian, whose world was furthest from Earth, the trip at maximum warp taking more than three months.

"Mr. President, may I continue?" Data received a nod as soon as the shouting subsided. "I have analyzed millions of log entries, charts, graphs, sensor sweeps, and personnel files. With the emergence of the new Dominion fleet, our territory is now under attack from two sides. I believe the best course of action is to recall all ships from Klingon territory and rebuild our wormhole defenses. We do not know how many more ships are going to come through, and now that our minefield has been destroyed, the door is open. Further, and of equal concern, is a concerted, well organized clandestine effort to destabilize our population base and governments."

"The Dominion…?" The President asking and commenting simultaneously.

Data's hesitant expression and rapidly blinking eyes conveyed apprehension, knowing full well his new statement would be incomplete, and perhaps bringing more unknowns.

"Mr. President. I am unable to verify the Dominion are solely responsible. I have traced thousands of coded signals across our territory, some of which were sent in the direction of the Colonist worlds inside the Demilitarized Zone. The Colonists are at war with the Dominion; I see no reason why they would willingly inflict harm upon themselves. Inaccurate information is spreading from Federation world to Federation world, shared among friends and relatives. To use an analogy, like a brushfire. I have also observed in our territory and within the Cardassian Union, entire population centers staging protests and rioting. I have also reviewed many private logs, mainly governing-"

"Wait! Wait wait wait." An angry Kazarite Council Member placed his hands on either side of his head, silencing the room. "Are you telling me Mr. Data, that you have been going through personal log files of governing officials?" Even Vulcan member Peron raised an eyebrow at this revelation. Data blinked, he knew then that they had not been informed by the President's inner circle or Intelligence Director Sloan. Before the question could be deferred towards the President or Sloan, pandemonium broke loose within the chamber.

The brooding Kazarite representative leaped to his feet and pointed directly at Jaresh-Inyo

"This is unbelievable, you have overstepped your grounds. You cannot scan private logs of elected officials. "

Jaresh-Inyo opened his mouth to defend himself but stopped as the Kararite representative tossed his Federation pin across the table.

"You people make me sick, all of you. Don't you see what is happening? We can't stop the wormhole flow of ships because to do that; we'd have to commit everything to it. Including pulling our ships out of Klingon territory. Once the Klingon's collapse, its over. Sure the Cardassians may not attack us now, but the Dominion is building shipyards around Cardassia. We are outmatched. Karazite will not be party to this."

"What on Earth are you saying?" Apprehension evident in the voice of the President.

"I'm saying, its over. We will make our own future, Andoria and Karazite."

Out of place, but hardly reprimanded, Admiral Ross shot out of his chair and screamed at the representative.

"You have Dilithium mines we need! You cannot just leave, our ships need the crystal to power the warp cores! Sloan, how are those new weapons coming along?" asked the furious Admiral.

"We have a working prototype, thanks to the fully intact probe diagrams we received from the Enterprise. We think we can stop the probes before they enter real space. It's almost beyond a shadow of a doubt there is a connection to the Dominion. Truthfully we can't find the connection but that's another issue. Regarding our war against the Dominion, subspace weapon testing is ongoing."

"How ongoing?"

"We are going to test a subspace torpedo next month."

More shouts and anger swelled, by the Admiralties calculations, the large fleet from the wormhole would reach Earth by then. Sloan wrongly felt that subspace weapons testing continued on secure site Cherno 44 in Wyoming. Unbeknownst to him, this location only processed Xyit Compound 823, the super substance for the Dalek superweapon. Work continued round the clock inside a mountain. The Dalek's expertly created a false narrative within the mind of the intelligence director. His fellow Section 31 comrades worked there, all helping create a compound they believed necessary for subspace weapons. Sloan glanced at the time readout for his 'subspace' compound, sixty-six percent. Excellent, we may get this off the ground before that Dominion fleet arrives. Subspace weapons had been banned by an Alpha Quadrant treaty, deemed too dangerous and volatile for procurement. Now, it was all Sloan and the Federation Security Council could hope for, and yet the irony cannot be overlooked. For when the Dominion fleet arrives, only the Dalek weapon would be at full readiness, and the Federation left with nothing.

After more back and forth between the President's inner circle, the admirals and Council Members, the meeting broke. More than ever the Federation found itself divided, many smaller worlds whose resources and leverage waned in times of war found themselves at odds with military policy. As they rushed out of the room to their private offices, great doubt existed within them. Are we better off on our own? Are we better off with the Andorians and Kazisians?

Sloan switched off the conference monitor. Moving quickly, he crossed into the next section of the secure facility, eventually stopping at the entrance to a long hallway. On either side, dozens of small holding areas, each with a humming blue force-field keeping the prisoners at bay. Mcgreggor, his old confidant stood two-hundred feet away at the other end, waiting with a datapad. Looking at each miserable resident gave Sloan some hope, if they were depressed enough, beaten enough, they may talk. No. They will talk. They will spill their guts and give me their secrets. And if not, Anora may help if she does not return to Betazed.

Sloan walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, stopping for a moment at each brig. His current pause came at Cell 22, Shunor; the feline currency trader caught up in the bar-fight aboard DS9 months ago, now lay on the floor. Transferred from a distant penal colony to Tokyo, Section 31 suspected her of racketeering with known smugglers and organizing the movement of materials into Romulan space. Months of torture up to this point revealed no substantial leads, but Sloan now felt nothing could be left on the table. She lay still, her malnourished body slowly rising and falling with each breath. Long faded was her radiant spunk, only a shell of torment remained.

"Once we finish with these murders, we will come back to you. I think we have asked the wrong questions in the past. I do not think you know much of who the Founders are, but I do think you may know where the Colonists are getting their weapons." The subconscious suspicion existing within Sloan was the result of adjustments by the Dalek micro-robots. The Supreme Dalek very much wanted to know where the Colonists procured or purchased superatomic warheads. Sloan, the forever puppet, did not realize why he asked, the mind-robots painting a perfect cover. If we could capture them, or produce our own, we may head off a Dominion invasion. The actual reason lay in the inability for current Federation or Colonist tech to create such weapons. Something or someone was helping, and the Dalek's wanted to know who.

Sloan marched onward down the hallway, he stopped again, this time for no apparent reason but to declare his intention.

"Attention all prisoners. My name is Luther Sloan, Director of Starfleet Intelligence. You have been brought here because each of you were involved in the targeted assassinations of Betazoid's across our territory. There are about ninety of you, but thousands of my Federation citizens perished, which means many escaped. But, we are prepared to make a deal. The first of you to reveal the 'why' will be set free. A clean slate, we will even provide transport to wherever you want to go. The rest will be sent to a penal colony where you will rot for eternity. The choice is yours. Oh, one more thing. One of you, or your friends, almost killed me by accident. Deanna Troi aboard DS9 was your target, but the blast got me as well. Whoever reveals the assassin for this crime will also go free."

The Director started off towards his smiling friend Mcgregor when he jumped. The following act came so sudden, so unexpected that for a moment Sloan scarcely believed it real. A glowing and buzzing red lightsaber burst from Mcgregor's chest; his eyes unable to process the terror and pain. With the shove of a black glove, Mcgreggor keeled forward onto the ground, dead. In his place stood Darth Maul, surrounded by darkness, looking ominous and equally terrifying.

"Wha… What?!" Incredulous, Sloan reached for his phaser and fired. The beam lunged outward, striking the moving and twirling lightsaber as it weaved and bobbed to keep the phaser beam blocked. Sloan back peddled, too stunned to speak or process the seemingly impossible infiltration of his secure base. He looked down and adjusted his phaser for 'wide-beam,' he won't block that. A sudden cry of pain and a security guard fell from an overlooking catwalk, clutching his throat as he fell.

Dropping to one knee, Sloan raised his phaser at the distracted Maul and pressed the firing button. Impossibly, Maul glanced over and ripped the weapon from his hand just as his thumb touched the button. What?! Shocked, Sloan turned tail to run for the armory but quickly collapsed, his neck convulsed, the Force squeezing the air from his lungs.

With the last of Sloan's oxygen exhausted, his arms and legs spasmed and his vision faded to black. Maul released his grip and began to look around for any security threats. Outclassed entirely, the remnants of Starfleet security quickly fell to his blade, their phasers routinely absorbed by the double-lightsaber.

Boba Fett, guarding the rear, promptly dispatched two security officers before starting his accounting. Methodically, the bounty hunter walked the length of holding cells; cross-checking each against a list obtained from Thrawn's vast network of intercepted messages and decrypted files. Before the mission could be called a success, all captured bounty hunters, all loose ends must be present.

"Got her!" he shouted back over his shoulder. Maul quickly closed the distance and stared into the cell. Shunor, no longer laying lifeless, stood against the far wall, her eyes wide and her claws out. Maul held his lightsaber to the force-field and it sparked and strained against the blade. Boba cautiously stepped back and raised his weapon, routinely thumbing the lever from 'kill' to 'stun'. Like a balloon, the field 'popped' and Shunor sprang forward like a cat. Maul, 'feeling' this ahead of time, raised his hand and Force caught her in mid-air. She floated helplessly, desperately clutching her neck to try and let air down into her gasping lungs. A sick smile formed on the tattooed face of the Sith. The more pain he caused and suffrage laid, his well-deserved sense superiority flourished.

Maul squeezed, ribs cracked and the little air in Shunor's lungs dribbled out in a measly scream. The Sith had been savagely attacked on the Romulan moon, he felt embarrassed, ashamed. Thrawn's idea to capture her seemed like a good idea, even for one so pathetic as non-Force-user. Pieces, not entire pictures of truth were coming together to link Shunor to the pirate infancy in the Gamma Quadrant, but Thrawn and his army of analysts could not be sure. No one could be sure.

SLAM!

SLAM!

SLAM!

Shunor hit the cold walls of the brig hard, her lungs empty and bones broken, she rattled around until finally coming to a stop on the floor. Soon she will feel the full power of the dark side. Effortlessly, Maul levitated her into the corridor and down towards their predetermined transport location.

Boba's boot missed Sloan's head by an inch as the bounty hunter ran along the cells, placing explosives every few feet. A prisoner, recognizing the famous tracker called out,

"Boba! Boba! You son of a bitch! What are you doing?" Skidding to a halt, Fett backed up and looked into the cell, he recognized the prisoner, but he did not recall his name.

"I'm getting paid," he said flatly, then moved off and continued his mission.

Now more prisoners were yelling and screaming, hopeful to be rescued, others accepted their fate and screamed profanities like a sailor. In either case, entirely ignored by the Sith who smiled at their approaching deaths. Passing the downed Intelligence Director, Maul 'felt' something odd surrounding Sloan, but he could not pinpoint it.

Within the brain of the Dalek-puppet, the super machines moved quickly, breaking their neuron attachments to move towards the heart. This emergency process began upon his death a minute ago. Surrounding Sloan's dead heart, they prepared to send an energy surge to restart it.

Zap!

Sloan gasped and floundered, his brain misfiring as he spasmed violently on the ground. The machines were successful, but as Sloan's vision restored and he settled down, he saw a hooded figure standing over him. Maul looked at him curiously, surprised he had been somehow resuscitated.

Now a preprogrammed survival mechanism took over, a deep and hidden psychological Dalek protocol. At lightning speed, Sloan raised his right hand and tapped the communicator on his chest, shouting,

"Echo-four-" Sloan never finished. His body now lay in two pieces, perfectly cut along the waistline by Maul's ignited blade. The Sith Lord eyed the dead Director for a moment, then stepping on his chest, moved forward with Boba Fett in tow.

"Are the charges set?" Asked Maul.

"Good to go."

Boba Fett tapped a few commands into his arm-pad and all at once the explosives armed, the last cries of helpless inmates bombarding his ears as the fifty or more explosives beeped in harmony.

"Forty-seconds,"

Maul nodded in acknowledgment, and then both men and their prisoner shimmered away.

Beep...

Beep...

Beep...

Captured prisoners now desperately threw themselves against the charged force fields, screaming and clawing at the walls. Others sat quietly, at peace, knowing this was the end of their long and sinful lives.

Beep…

Beep…

Beep...

5...4...3..

Sloan's upper half materialized away, transported from Tokyo to Starfleet Medical Center in San Francisco. His emergency cry for help had worked, now his survival lay in the hands of human doctors, the Dalek's unable to render aid.

2...1..

The entire facility and all within it vaporized in a flash of blinding light.

Milky Way - Galactic Center - Dalek Secret Facility

The Supreme Dalek overlooked the readouts from his Federation hacking apparatus, he was not pleased with Sloan's fate.

"Our slave may not survive, huuuuuman medical technology is inferior." The Supreme Dalek swiveled it's eyestock to look at another few items. "Did our embedded code infiltrate the positronic brain of the Android while it scanned through the Federation systems?"

"Affirmative."

"Status of Metron attack probes?"

"Our Beta Quadrant facility has been destroyed. Sixty-six stealth relays have also been detected and eliminated" reported a Dalek.

Over the last week, the Metron effort to detect and eliminate Dalek technology throughout the galaxy continued, small and medium-sized facilities now lay in ruins.

"Link battle computer to Borg fleet. Set instructions to exterminate the Metron home system. Only enhanced Borg technology is to be used. We C-A-N-N-O-T reveal our true pppooooowweerrrr!"

The Battle Computer chirped to life, its answer a perfect imitation of deliberate Dalek speech patterns.

"The Metron's possess advanced technology, probability of success is fifty-seven point four percent. Borg link initiated, Collective overwritten." A moment later, "Cloak engaged. Cubes entering ultra-transwarp. Time to target, six hours."