G'day all. Long wait. I moved house. Need more room for the coming birth of my child. Apologies for inconvenience caused.
Here's a chance for another of my rants. Iranian nuclear processing. What a tricky area of international relations.
I don't like the thought of Iran possessing the means to enrich uranium. Call me prejudiced, bigotted or whatnot. But, equally, I don't like the idea that one country can, by right of force, demand compliance from another when it comes to peaceful energygenerating methods, regardless of the suspicions it may have as to the less powerful nation's motives.
Thoughts, everyone?
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Somos: Glad you liked the extraction scene. And it wasn't an orbital bombardment. It was a high-yield nuclear weapon. We have them on contemporary aircraft. No reason an aerospace craft from the 41st millennium could not push one out the back.
Sadgoat: Thank you for the sentiment, and for the warning. If I get banned, then I will repost, and consider the lesson learned. You have first "I told you so" rights :)
blank: Nukes rock. I'd wager that the primary reason for the Imperium's reluctance to use them is the extent of the devastation they cause, and its long term effects. But, against tyranids, I doubt virus bombs are a viable option. Not half as visibly spectacular, either...
The Sithspawn: Here be your required dose of Picardly Harumanic goodness.
Beserk Scarecrow: The Imperium definitely has them. They've been used as anti-ship weapons in the fluff for the old 2nd edition of Space Hulk.So they're around. But they're not necessarily all that effective against void shields, so they're not big on that...
Duken: Spot on. Nukes leave a mess. And in this instance, getting a ship, even one as fast and well armed as a strike cruiser, into position would be tough due to the lingering presence of the Hive Fleet.
Dominus Anaetheron: A very flattering review, for which I am... flattered...And nukes are indeed of a far lesser yield than lances. But, as mentioned above, to get into position for a lance strike, the Leonidas would be dangerously close to nearby Tyranid forces. Whereas a nuke can be dropped by a Thunderhawk. And I will definitely keep workin'... maybe slowly... but I will.
grayangle: I always thought that nuclear weapons were feasible for use against the Tyranids. Why ever not? And I ended up not submitting, due to real world time constraints. Perhaps next one...
legacyZero: Good guess on the nuke, lol. And Ichar IV isn't going to produce crops to feed the masses for a good many years to come anyway. Carnifexes. Awkward. But nowhere near as nasty as they were in 2nd edition WH40k. Still damn hard to kill, though.
liljimmyurine: Methinks it was a compluter glitch that zapped any earlier review. It's happened to me more than once. As for identity of wounded marine... that would be telling... Hail the Penguin.
That Swedish guy: Spot on with the calculations. No point using small bombs when the Tyranids cover all ground to the horizon. And if a W5 weapon today has dial-a-yield capability, then I'm sure the Imperium does as well... of course, Hellfire type bombardment missiles (near the top end of the individual weapon yield spectrum) drop 1638.4 teratons (maths and stats available on request) are notably higher than the 800 megaton yield... Apologies for not cranking out this chapter fast enough :(
Huh: The info I read was that Horus lowered his shields so that the Emperor WOULD teleport onto his ship, so Horus could kill him. The Space Wolves and Dark Angels were enroute, and would arrive before the palace fell... so Horus sought to end the siege quickly. However, we do know that the Dominion has hyper-advanced transporter technology, so I'm not sure how to match that up with WH40k terms...
smithklein: I think Imperial shields (by their description as "void shields") are almost an extension of warp energy... but, to be honest, I'm not sure. Incidentally, I wouldn't be surprised if the Imperium isn't sure either...
Shepherds-we-shall-be: Fear not, Brother. The Dominion and Federation will recieve ample demonstration of Imperial righteous anger.
Norsehound: Fear not, Spawn of Fenris, there is method in the madness... The actions of Lysander, Revinius, et al. have purpose in the story line.
malac645: Cheers for the info... haven't the time to enter, but I might next time. By then everyone will probably be sick of hearing about Deathbringers. you like the vibe. It is an interesting ambience to write...
Master Of The Warp: They couldn't use it... Paramount Pictures owns the rights to Star Trek... but thank you for the sentiment.
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Now, on with the story, at long last... phew...
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The atmosphere of the Sword was charged. The Brother-Captain was in a rare bad mood.
Not that Brother-Sergeant Shenyavin thought that he should be in a good mood, per se. He had another timeline-rending decision to make, and had to do so coming hot off having thrown perhaps their only friend in this time across several meters of thin air into a plasteel wall.
The prayers had been conducted by Hensher, as they always were. Deathbringers taught the Imperial creed differently to most. They taught it through love and respect for the Emperor's sacrifice on behalf of mankind that had betrayed Him. Through His sacrifice, mankind was redeemed.
Many taught in favour of mindless obedience. Mindless obedience lent itself to plain mindlessness. And that was not conducive to combat effectiveness. Nor did it sit well with thinking soldiers to be unthinking in their faith. Faith had to be grounded in logic, and it was there that the faith of the Deathbringers stood.
Haruman prayed, as he always had, since he could remember, anyway. Sometimes, on Lycurgas, he'd see old men praying in the open chapels that were found in most of the cities on its surface. Watched them pray earnestly as their bodies fell to the ravages of time.
Lycurgas had one of the highest life expectancies of any planet in the Imperium. The combination of (relatively) unpolluted atmosphere and cutting edge medical facilities made for long life spans.
But when Haruman realised that he had watched three generations of his family be born, mature, have their own children, then age and die… well. Haruman felt old that day.
And he felt old now. He'd snapped at the starfleet officer. The Federationer had played him, of that Haruman was now certain. That still didn't make Haruman's actions permissible, but it rankled.
"…acknowledge death as it approaches, but do not succumb to its touch, for your purpose is great..."
Hensher's practiced words slid easily through the brother-captain's mind, and the responses from his mouth just as effortlessly. The words were grim and uplifting at the same time, the inspiration of fighting alongside your brothers in defence of something great, and in defiance of insurmountable odds.
It was an almost visceral thing, to stand between your foes and the masses of mankind, and know that you are likely to die as a consequence.
But die with honour, nonetheless.
Haruman briefly wondered where that concept had originated, then dismissed the thought. It seemed so indoctrinated into the human psyche that it could almost be genetic. That thought bothered Haruman. There were so many tales and stories and examples of selfless courage amongst mankind that they almost became commonplace.
He remembered watching Mordians hold their ranks, shoulder to shoulder, while the hordes of hell itself had seemed to spill out towards them. Remembered watching almost enviously when that line did not move. Then watched as they executed parade-perfect drill movements in perfect time, bringing their rifles through the ready, then up to the aim, with the first rank kneeling and the second standing. The ensuing fire had been spectacular.
And effective.
Haruman suspected that the formed ranks wouldn't last long against incoming fire, effective though the formation was against enemy that sought to engage them in melee. And there was no doubting that it took courage to stand there.
Was courage part of being human? It couldn't be. Because if it were, then why did so many Imperial forces utilise Commissars to enforce control? Priests to inspire the men with overblown promises of His protection.
No, cowardice was equally part of mankind's collective consciousness. Of mankind's physiological make-up.
In a moment of clarity that shone through centuries of indoctrination, Haruman's eyes popped open from his contemplation. A moment that mirrored countless millions of revelations to the teeming masses of mankind. A moment that, in retrospect, should have come to the aging marine centuries ago.
Courage was not the absence of fear. Haruman, and many marines, had not felt genuine fear for a long, long time, and could, to a great extent, be held to be devoid of courage.
It was something all Space Marines would confront. A test of faith, the test of honour and of dedication. So great was the power of a marine that could fall victim to the sin of pride and consider himself untouchable. He might fight for decades, centuries, and become proud of his ability to lead men in His name. In so doing, no matter how well indoctrinated, he might think himself above that which befalls all men.
It was dangerous, insidious, and terrifyingly hard to resist. But all the more so when the illusion of immortality was finally shattered. All the woes and worries of man coming crashing back upon an unwary and untempered soul. All the combined tests of faith and commitment, slamming into a remarkably naïve psyche.
One would never become a true Space Marine until this trial had been overcome. To overcome it often cost marines their lives. All marines would, at some point, die. Far better to die for Him. No man died for Him that died in vain.
But, with uncomfortable Euclidean logic, Haruman thought of the converse.
No man that died in vain died for Him.
Haruman's company was his to use. But if he stepped wrongly, Haruman risked losing not just everything he had… but everything that everyone, in the whole Imperium, had, and everything that everyone in the Imperium was and ever would be.
Temporal distortions. They were not Haruman's idea of a good time. And the high and mighty Adeptus Mechanicus, keepers of the forbidden lore of science and technology, could still tell him nothing.
He had to give Picard an answer. And his senior brothers had given him their suggestions. Unanimously.
So why was it so hard to just acknowledge the wisdom of the position and offer the Federation the Deathbringers' assistance? It wouldn't be the first time that the Deathbringers had assisted non-Imperial forces. Why couldn't Haruman bring himself to say the words?
"…for in the words of the great primarch, Roboute Gulliman, blessed be His name, to admit defeat is to blaspheme against the Almighty Emperor…"
And there it was. The well-timed words of the chaplain's sermon spoke straight into Haruman's heart.
That was why.
Haruman, like many marines, just could not admit that a normal human had gotten the better of him. And somehow, despite all appearances and expectations to the contrary, Picard had done just that.
Brother-Chaplain Hensher had the unique experience of seeing one of the marines in his sermon laughing.
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Less than an hour later, Haruman convened the senior brothers again. They sat at his table, as they had done many times before. He addressed them with his back to them, while he stared out the window at the stars hanging brightly in the black of space.
"Hail the Enterprise. Ask them to teleport over at their convenience."
Haruman turned and faced his men, moving slowly to his chair, before leaning forward with both fists resting on the table.
"And I owe all of you an apology. My outburst was both inappropriate, and a bad example to set. I sincerely hope you will not hold it against me in the future, nor think less of me for it."
He slowed, and looked at every marine in turn. None broke his gaze.
"But, most of all, I hope that you will not hold it against Picard, and his crew. They may not be citizens or servants of the Imperium, but they, some of them, at least, are humans, and deserve our assistance, if nothing else. We have all sworn an oath to serve the Emperor, and through Him, to serve all mankind."
Haruman's face turned dark as he continued.
"The Emperor, guardian and guide of Humanity, is not guarding or guiding Humanity at this very moment. We'll have to do that for Him, in His absence."
The brother-captain once again looked carefully at his soldiers, searching carefully for any signs of hesitation or doubt. One last check.
"Does anyone among you have any questions or objections to the course of action that I am about to advocate. Now is the time to tell me. Because, make no mistake, once I make this decision known, the fabric of space and time itself will feel the effects."
The world-jarring surprise that was a space marine brother-captain admitting to error passed without destroying the faith of the senior brothers.
A delicate moment. But Haruman had had quite a few over the centuries…
What was one more impossible miracle anyway?
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Picard observed the Imperial vessel with some trepidation. He'd seen ships. Many of them, in fact. From the barely functional Phoenix that had propelled Zephram Cochrane into the history books, to the frighteningly powerful Reman Warbird Scimitar, to the implacable, relentless personification of the Borg that was their cube-ships.
But none came vaguely close to the menace that oozed from the monstrous ship that was the Sword of Lycurgas.
They needed that ship. But that didn't mean that he wasn't more than mildly put off by it…
But now, now the moment that they were waiting for had arrived. Unless the Brother-Captain fobbed them off again. That might make for… difficulty in the near future.
But for all his concern over the reaction that the Deathbringers would give, delaying further would not aid him or the Federation at large.
He turned on his heels, and walked briskly for the turbolift.
Crewmembers stood aside as he moved through the corridors and passageways of the Enterprise. The instinctive deference was mixed with genuine admiration, and it warmed Picard to see it so plain on the eyes of his crew.
Although he hadn't stated it, Picard was just as conscious of his responsibility to his crew as Haruman was. The implication that he was not was something that the veteran Federation captain had found offensive. Two security officers moved to either side of the corridor, and stood to attention as he walked between them, acknowledging them with a nod.
If he had to make a choice, however, there was no contest. He had a responsibility to the crew, but to the Federation first. And he would do everything he could to get that leviathan of a ship fighting by the Federation's side.
He stepped into the turbolift, doors humming closed behind him.
"Bridge"
Inertial dampeners were wonderful things, he thought. There was no indication of movement within the turbolift, save the readouts, and it was actually moving quite quickly. The doors parted as the turbolift came to a halt, and he moved out onto the warship's bridge.
Many captains still utilised the formalities associated with "captain on the bridge", but Picard thought it was a waste of time, and diverted the crew's attention from their duties. He moved to the centre of the bridge, in front of the Captain's chair.
"Put them on screen, lieutenant."
The starfield default on the main viewscreen switched over to the austere bridge of the Sword of Lycurgas. Haruman's imposing, black-clad bulk was now discernible even through the easily manipulable medium of the comm-signal. The bridge of the Sword looked in far better condition than it had.
"Picard here. Go ahead, Brother-Captain."
Haruman fleetingly looked weary, to Picard's eyes. Something that Picard was mildly surprised he was using in connection to one of these 'space marines'. The larger man was stony faced, but alert nevertheless. Picard wondered whether it had been his imagination.
"Captain Picard. We have issues to discuss. But be aware that my advisers and I have decided that we will grant your request. We will assist you in your fight against this 'Dominion', and any other foe that raises its head against mankind."
A weight, awesome in its scope and scarcely bearable in its magnitude lifted itself from the shoulders of the Federation officer. There were muted smatterings of applause, and a couple of laughs.
They'd done it. The Sword would fight for them. Picard, in turn, could not keep the smile from his face, though he restrained it more than most of his bridge crew.
"I, my crew, and the whole Federation thank you from the bottom of our hearts, brother-captain. Countless lives will be…"
Haruman interrupted.
"Save it. We have things to discuss. Could you arrange for myself, and several of my officers to teleport over to your ship?"
Although taken aback, Picard nodded. He wasn't about to jeopardise the immense grace that the Federation had been granted.
"Of course. We will prepare transporter room 2. You are more than welcome to bring as many personnel and as much equipment as is required."
"Acknowledged. Haruman out."
The viewscreen switched back to the white points on black of the starfield.
The captain let out a sigh. And the bridge crew began congratulating each other. Picard brought them short.
"Gentlemen."
The buzz of conversation on the bridge died.
"Well done."
And started up again.
"Commander, you have the bridge. Ask Captain Keenan to join us, at his pleasure, and inform the Romulans that we are preparing to use transporters. Commander La Forge, Lieutenant Brennaman, and a security detail meet me at transporter room 2."
Commander Yee queried the order.
"A security detail, sir? Won't that just show mistrust on our part?"
"No, they will respect the show of strength. Trust me on that. And issue the security team with Type-3 phasers."
The scepticism was plain to hear.
"Type-3 phasers, aye sir."
"Good. Let's go greet our new arrivals, shall we?"
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Keenan had done nothing more than grin when the feed from the Enterprise's communication with the Sword had been relayed to him. T'Marid had been far, far less restrained, punching the air and whooping.
Trills. Strange buggers.
The signal for Keenan to join them on the Enterprise came through shortly afterwards.
"Bridge is yours, commander."
T'Marid turned and looked at his commanding officer, and gave him a giant, ear to ear grin.
"Captains get all the fun."
Keenan laughed to himself as he left the bridge. The day was looking better. Nothing like the largest warship in the quadrant on your side to brighten your whole day.
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Haruman, Bortalus, Varrel and Hensher stood in the main cargo bay of the Sword. All were armoured, as they usually were, and armed, as marines always are. The psychological effect of that on their newfound allies was not considered. Nor would it have been heeded, if it had been considered.
"Haruman to Enterprise."
"Picard here, we are ready when you are."
"Good. We are ready to teleport."
"Acknowledged. Initiating."
The four space marines felt the slight skin-crawling sensation of the transporter engage, then watched as their vision faded to black, then brightened again. Haruman had teleported before. Several times, in fact, in the company of Brother-Captain Garrett of the First Company.
And Haruman had despised it. The bone-chilling cold and numbness of deep space, the icy touch of daemons sensing your intrusion into their realm. The frightening and unspoken fear that the system would malfunction and leave the user at the mercies of the warp.
This was positively easy, and left Haruman a fraction disconcerted when he simply rematerialised. The most physically unpleasant aspect of the transport was appearing in the uncomfortably bright surrounds of the Federation ship's transporter room.
"Brother-Captain Haruman. Welcome to the Enterprise."
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The cup of coffee in her hand was perhaps a trifle too hot. Years of having her coffee that couple of degrees cooler to preserve that much of the ship's power had given her a fondness for compensating the other way. For all the experience that her years in the Delta Quadrant had given her, fleet command was another story entirely.
Her door chimed.
"Come in."
She didn't turn around, but knew who it was before the door finished closing. Chakotay had always had a presence that seemed almost awe-inspiring.
Neither spoke.
Janeway sat down, and sprawled backwards on her command couch. She looked up at him, and into his dark eyes. He'd always been so stable. Uncannily so. Almost serene. Like now. When the Federation faced its greatest threat since the Borg. Since, well….
"Weren't we supposed to have missed the Dominion War while we were traipsing around the Delta Quadrant?"
Chakotay smiled gently.
"Guess that war really wanted us."
He moved around the low table and sat next to her, as she made room by sliding to her left. It was another couple of minutes before the silence broke again.
"What did I do wrong Chakotay."
"You didn't do anything wrong. And there was nothing more that you could have done."
Janeway had known he would say that. She didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. It was admittedly comforting to know that she had his support. As she always had.
"You think we can pull this off?"
Chakotay was silent for a long while. Janeway was almost ready to ask him again, when he spoke, slowly and deliberately as he usually did.
"Kathryn, if anyone can pull it off, Picard is the man to do it."
And that was that. There really was nothing else to say. The gamble was made. The fleet was moving. Every ship the Federation had, and some they didn't. Federation ships, Klingon ships, the remaining handful of Cardassian craft, ships of the Bajoran Militia, Vulcan's small interstellar Navy, Ferengi freelancers being paid handsomely in gold-pressed latinum, anything. There were even some that advocated putting the ships in the Smithsonian back into emergency service.
Cooler heads had prevailed. They were not going to put unarmed ships into the sky. The waste in personnel wouldn't justify the time gained by the Dominion ships firing at them rather than the armed vessels. But the Dominion was coming.
And not the weakened, battered Dominion that had grudgingly accepted peace with the alliance. No, this was the sharpened, fire-forged sword of an empire that had subjugated a quadrant in the name of the God-Founders.
A sword that even now whistled towards the heart of the Alpha Quadrant.
And what better to parry that sword, thought Chakotay, than a sword of their own. If only Picard could get it out of its scabbard.
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Their 'Techmarine', armoured in burnished red, had brought news that had delivered a stunning blow to Picard's newfound delight. There was a silence throughout the room as the problem sank in to the starfleet officers. Varrel continued.
"Of course, in actuality the engines on the Sword are functional, marginally, but the point is mute. Without the astronomicon, we are blind once we enter the warp, and the imperceptible imbalances in any warp drive will send us round in circles, with us unable to correct."
La Forge cocked an eyebrow and replied.
"Could you point the ship towards Bajor, and ignite the engines, then turn them off again, and so on?"
Haruman answered for the techmarine.
"No. The laws of the warp are not the same as the laws of the material realm. We could be facing in one direction in warp space, ignite the warp engines, and end up having travelled sideways, or backwards. Or having been caught in a warp eddy. There is just no way of telling, without the Astronomicon."
Picard stole La Forge's thunder with the next question.
"What exactly is this 'astronomicon'?"
Picard couldn't help but notice the Deathbringers almost withdraw deferentially as their 'librarian' moved to answer. What was so important about a librarian that they included him in their senior staff? What made him so crucial that he stood at their commander's left hand? The chaplain, Picard could understand. Priests had held positions of authority in many cultures for millennia. But a librarian? Bortalus spoke.
"The astronomicon is a beacon. A light that shines in the warp, from a choir of psykers, broadcasting their very souls into the immaterium. Other psykers…"
La Forge interrupted.
"By psykers, you mean psychics, or telepaths, right?"
Bortalus didn't answer immediately, and the tension in the room became thicker in seconds.
"Not quite, commander. Psychic fits, to a point. Not 'telepath'. Telepathy is only one manifestation of a psyker's talents. If the brother-captain permits…"
Haruman nodded.
" …then I will explain."
Bortalus leant back slightly, the motors of the power armour humming softly.
"Psykers are sentients that possess the ability to sense and utilise the flows of energy from the warp. This can take many forms, both instinctive and learned, and psykers come in vastly differing degrees of innate and potential power. Psykers also provide the communications, known as astro-telepathy, and navigational foundation of the Imperium. Despite the many uses and advantages a psyker enjoys over a non-psyker, the warp is a plane of pure energy, and in trying to draw power from the warp, the psyker risks pulling through an inhabitant of that realm."
Bortalus met the gaze of the Federation officers evenly before dropping his next bombshell.
"Daemon-possession has lost the Imperium literally thousands of worlds, and their influence started a civil-war, millennia ago, that cost us trillions of lives."
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Silence reigned again. This was one of those moments when the true magnitude of the Imperium's difference form the Federation was made clear to all. For Picard, those numbers were nearly unimaginably vast. The Federation's population wasn't anywhere near that big. And for Bortalus to talk of trillions dead.
The concept was shattering, and appalling.
Trillions dead.
Close on the population of the whole quadrant. And what manner of state was this Imperium that it could suffer like that, and remain strong?
What manner of galaxy awaited civilisation?
What manner of techno-barbarism did the future hold?
But Bortalus hadn't stopped.
"Psykers, because of that, are rigorously screened for daemonic influence, because while our civilisation could not exist without them, they are also perhaps the single greatest threat to it at the same time, whether they want to be or not."
Picard found himself wallowing in the emotional responses to the man's words. Emotional responses that the Federation could ill-afford. He sought desperate solace from the onslaught of horror in the paradoxical certainty of his mission. There may have been trillions to spare in their time, for their Imperium, but the Federation could not afford sacrifice, or loss, of that extent. And, paradoxical as it might have seemed, time wasshort.
"So, you use a collection of psykers to project energy, which is detectable to your navigators, as a beacon for your starships?"
"Yes Captain Picard, precisely. And without it, we cannot utilise our faster-than-light capability."
La Forge was still puzzling his way through the physics. How could they point a ship in one direction, turn the engines on, and then not have gone in the direction they were pointing, unless the engines were out of alignment. He asked as much. Varrel, uncomfortable in the situation though he was, answered for him.
"Utilising our warp drives is similar to paddling a canoe on a stormy ocean at night in dense fog. We can only see a very short distance, and have no idea whether we are going somewhere, are travelling in circles, or something else. We could feasibly end up travelling perpendicular to the galactic plane, and THAT would be frustrating."
Varrel looked at the Federation officers arrayed around him.
"The astronomicon is our lighthouse. And unless we have a light to keep our bearings with, we will get lost. Who knows where we could end up?"
Something clicked in La Forge's mind.
"So, let me get this straight. You need a light, right."
Varrel nodded, looking perplexed.
"What if there was another boat, that knew where it was going, that had its running lights on?"
The room went silent as the Federation chief engineer's thoughts and words were digested. Bortalus replied.
"If there was something psychically resonant on board your ship, it is theoretically possible that we could follow it while the Sword is in warp space. But our speed would be a fraction of what it could be, and the beacon would only work for a short distance. And there is another problem...
I am the only psyker on this ship."
"Is there any way of generating psychic energy, or anything else that would broadcast energy that you could detect, while you are in warp space?"
Bortalus shook his head.
"No. Only specially designed psi-emitters will store psychic energy. And they require the presence of a psyker to release that energy. And, even if there was a way to enable the psi-emitter, whatever it might be, to release energy, it requires a great deal of energy to project a visible psychic signature over distances that would be required for us to navigate successfully. And with that power requirement, it would have to be an item of incredible potency, or its energy reserves would be depleted within minutes of broadcasting. It would take centuries of absorbing high-end psychic energy to store that type of…"
Bortalus trailed off.
He mumbled a prayer to the Emperor for forgiveness for his unintentional falsehood, thenturned to address Haruman.
"Brother-Captain, I have been in error. There yet exists a means to navigate, which has until now eluded me."
Haruman's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.
"Explain."
"The table of En'tuh Prix, Brother-Captain. It should hold enough power to project sufficient amounts of psychic energy for us to follow over a short journey. I will depart to make the necessary arrangements."
The librarian rose, and walked out of the room.
There was a brief pause again, before Keenan spoke into the silence.
"Would someone mind explaining what just happened?"
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Four thunderhawks held station on a fifth, which cruiser over towards the Enterprise. Three complete marine squads, under Brother-Lieutenant Warren, equipped with teleport interdictors, would escort the relic aboard the Federation vessel. The Deathbringers didn't want to lose sight of that artefact. Not an artefact that could have bought a planet back in the Imperium.
Bortalus remained on the Sword. He would guide the giant vessel behind the Enterprise, while the Federation ship headed at maximum warp towards Bajor and Deep Space Nine.
"Enterprise, this is Romeo Escort Lead. Romeo Tango requests clearance to dock."
Picard's voice was clear as it flew across space.
"Acknowledged, Romeo Tango is cleared to dock. Welcome to the Enterprise."
The four escorting Thunderhawks took up station at the entrance to the Enterprise's docking bay, while the last of the monstrous gunships eased its way through the docking bay doors. There were scant inches to spare.
The five Federation officers waiting on the shuttle bay floor watched it come in with deceptive slowness. Brennaman spoke, loudly, over the aerospace vehicle's roaring engines.
"I thought they said that was a shuttle."
La Forge answered him, voice almost whipped away by the wind.
"It is."
Five sets of eyes saw the 'shuttle' close. Took in the enormous dorsal cannon. The prominent guns on either side of its nose, and at its wing tips. The boxy, armoured fuselage. This 'shuttle' wasn't like any shuttle the Federation used.
While it was still above the deck, the rear door opened, and black-armoured figures emerged, jumping the three feet to the metal deck, blood-red weapons held at the ready. The marines rapidly fanned out around the shuttle bay with intimidating precision. No one was under the illusion that the weapons they were carrying were anything but deadly effective.
The shuttle touched down, downdraft from the flaring engines gusting along the deck, and the roar lowering to a scream, then a whine.
Two squads filed out, before a pair of marines brought out the equipment which the Deathbringers held in such high reverence.
A table.
La Forge shook his head and tapped his temples to make sure his retinal implants were working properly.They were. And there was no mistaking it. The Imperium's solution to one of the most interesting technical and engineering problems La Forge had had the dubious pleasure of encountering… was a table.
But not just any table. Apparently this was a holy table.
If it weren't for the seriousness of the Imperial personnel, La Forge would have been pretty sure that they were pulling his leg.
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