Chapter Fifty Six
Praetor Hiren scanned the main chamber of the Romulan Senate in silence, his bony hands folded beneath his chin. The high, circular space held within its walls the mind and soul of the Romulan Star Empire, the secretive power that had held a place of almost unrivaled martial strength within known reaches of the galaxy for centuries before the United Federation of Planet's founding. Beneath elegant pillars and the giant gilded bird of prey that served as the assembly's avatar, senators and military leaders forever debated, squabbling over every detail of every topic from foreign espionage to the vagaries of resource allocation. It was a tedious and often pointless affair, the praetor reflected, but Romulans had great patience for such things, and the greatest of his species were gathered there to ensure that the rest of the populace need never be diminished by ineffective leadership. He could always count on some verse of wisdom or fortuitous fragment of intelligence from one of the wizened, angular faces seated before him.
Or, at least, that was how things had once been. Now, many of those familiar faces were gone, their places in the ranks of low benches left empty like open wounds.
"…most recent reports from the Home Guard units stationed in the Dagenor and Pakli Segments indicate that the surviving elements of the invasion force have lost any semblance of cohesion, and are being swiftly exterminated. It appears that destroying the coordinating intelligence hidden in the OM2 dilithium mine on Remus has had the desired effect on the enemy, as the Tal Shiar predicted."
Senator Cadea spoke with his characteristic clarity and purpose, but it was obvious to Hiren that the politician was distracted. As one of the older members of the assembly and a former admiral of the Romulan star fleet, Cadea had seen his share of conflicts, and this newest one was plainly bringing back old memories. This battle, however, was one quite unlike any the empire had experienced in its history; even the savage incursions of the Dominion only a few years previous had never struck so at the hearts of the Romulan people.
"Nevertheless, there is still some concern within the Home Guard and our intelligence services that the invaders might yet reassert themselves. I need not remind this assembly of the incident in the Unroth system, in which a similar brain creature was able to regenerate itself and resumed a campaign with its surviving minions after colonists had been allowed to return to their cities. The combat legions on Remus were quite thorough with their removal of the beast, but until the precise means by which it communicates and propagates itself are determined, there is still a threat."
"I have been briefed of these developments, Senator," Hiren said wearily. "We all have. Do you have anything new to raise in regards to the matter?"
"Yes, Praetor," Cadea replied, undaunted by the weariness of his superior's tone. "The forces on Remus are stepping up their sweeps of the caverns and shafts surrounding the one where this intellect was located to ensure that it does not reassert itself, but they are being impeded by the creatures that have managed to find their way into the deeper underground networks. Even without a central consciousness, many are still fierce fighters in close quarters, and the casualties among our patrols are beginning to mount. The only way to retain the operation's viability is to push and hold back the beasts that are harassing our searchers. For that, more soldiers are required."
"I realize that our active infantry units are stretched thin as it is, but I believe that the force deployed in the Pakli Segment can be reassigned to the planet's mines without compromising the home system's status significantly."
"What?"
The cry rang out from one of the other delegates, and Hiren recognized the voice even before a senator rose from the ranks of her point-eared comrades. It was the stately Tal'aura, who represented the Pakli Segment, as well as the interests of a wide variety of social organizations throughout the empire. Hers was one of the provinces of Romulus that had borne the brunt of the incursion that had reached the soil of their homeworld less than a standard month previously, and still crawled with vestiges of the foreign horde. Though popular with the people, she possessed a contrary and stubborn nature which cause most of her colleagues see her in a rather dim light; it was wholly unsurprising that she would be the one to reignite debate in the somber chamber. The fact that her own constituents would be directly affected by the matter at hand made her outburst all the more expected.
"You would have us leave Pakli to those vermin? You cannot seriously suggest that we allow the invaders to continue to despoil Romulus, even as the hour of their extermination is at hand!"
"Please, Senator, this will only be a temporary redeployment." Despite his relative seniority, Cadea was obviously unnerved by the firebrand of a woman who opposed him. Nevertheless, he had apparently anticipated such a rebuke. "The Fourth Battle Fleet is scheduled to return to Romulus for repair within a week. When they arrive, some of their soldiers can be dispatched to continue cleanup operations in the segment. Besides, the entire force need not be moved to Remus; more than enough infantry can be left behind to defend Pakli's major cities."
"And what of those who live outside the larger population centers?" Tal'aura growled. "Millions of Romulan citizens are still waiting in refugee camps across the system, yearning to return to what is left of their homes, and there are still pockets of survivors stranded in the Kesd'a Hills district. Who knows how many more could be devoured by these things if they are abandoned for another week?"
Cadea shook his head. "The risk posed by the enemy coordinator is too great to be ignored. Any further loss of civilian life is highly regrettable, but if the beasts that still lurk en mass in Romulus' wilds regain a central drive after the general populace has returned, countless more will perish. This is the only prudent course of action, and even one of your… limited experiences should be able to recognize that."
Inwardly, Praetor Hiren sighed. Cadea was definitely losing his tact, if he ever had any to begin with. Provoking Tal'aura, especially while she was in such a state, would bring productive discourse within the Senate to a grinding halt, but the senior senator simply didn't seem to care anymore.
The past three months had been hard on them all. When Romulan spies within the Federation first reported the arrival of the nameless, brutal menace that was now the consuming focus of their deliberations, Hiren and his associates had watched the situation unfold carefully, but they had done nothing to intervene, even when as they received hundreds of desperate distress calls over the Neutral Zone. It was not the Romulan way to rush blindly to face a threat, especially one so sudden and bizarre. The decision had been an unpopular one; the Federation and Empire had been allies only years before against the Dominion, and elements of both the military and the general population disliked the thought of abandoning them to the savage parasites. Still, the Romulan armada was still recovering from previous conflicts, and as the true scope of the threat became apparent, the Senate resolved to cloister behind the borders of the Empire. No power could break such a line easily, and certainly not mere animals, vicious and prolific as they were.
After a time, all communication with the Federation, and the spies still imbedded within it, was lost. The Star Empire waited. The Klingons lost their homeworld. The Star Empire looked on, and a few even cheered at the downfall of their longtime foes. The Cardassians, the Ferengi, the Tzenkethi: all were consumed. The Star Empire did nothing but install more listening posts along the long-quiet Neutral Zone. World after world was engulfed by the sickening ichor, but the Romulans were untouched. Perhaps, some among the Senate began to speculate, the invaders knew that they would be unable to assail the mighty Romulan war machine, and did not ever intend on trying. After all, much of the initial chaos upon the Federation and its allies had been sowed by mind-controlled traitors and hidden nests of assassins; surely, the keen eyes of the Tal Shiar and the ever vigilant Romulan Armada could not be infiltrated so easily. Some hardliners even began to say that the galactic crucible was a good thing, a clearing-out of the lesser species in preparation for an unprecedented era of expansion and power.
And for a few short days, Hiren had almost begun to believe that himself.
Then, within a single day, the Star Empire was pushed to the brink of oblivion. On inner colony worlds where no foe had ever laid foot, massive armies of armored, clawed monstrosities burst forth, sweeping up citizens and soldiers alike in a nightmarish wave. Thick, black slime, spewed from the creatures' living factories, crept across whole continents, consuming all native life and mutating them into new, twisted beasts of war. Squadron upon squadron of Romulan warbirds and battleships, each equipped with the finest cloaking devices in the galaxy and weaponry capable of laying waste to planetoids, were destroyed by a simultaneous onslaught of innumerable kamikaze ships. The enemy did not even employ the best of their thieved fleet; the bulk of the attacking force was made up of enslaved civilian vessels and science ships, loaded with volatile explosives and cast at the Romulan lines with utter abandonment.
In the confusion of that first week, a commandeered fleet had made its way to Romulus itself, and disgorged a terrible host upon the capital and its barren sister world of Remus. It was a testament to the skill and resolve of the soldiers of the armada that Hiren and most of his comrades had been spared at all. The invaders were eventually repelled from the home system, but the price in lives and war material had been catastrophic. Light-years away, a dozen worlds were still wracked with conflict, and a dozen more lay as burned ruins, scraped clean of life rather than allowed to live on as spawning grounds.
More egregious than all other losses, however, was the loss of Romulan pride. Despite all their preparations, their removal from the galaxy, their martial might, the invaders had effortlessly, almost contemptuously, brought them to their knees. They little better now than any of the other peoples of the galaxy, left adrift in a savage sea.
Praetor Hiren, seeing that Senator Tal'aura was about to launch into an enraged rebuke of Cadea, rose from his seat, drawing all attention to himself. "You wish me to push your proposal through for an immediate vote, do you not, Senator Cadea?"
"Yes, Praetor," the senator replied, mildly surprised.
"It is a prudent request, and I shall carry it. And let it be known that I favor the proposal. The security of Romulus is vital to the future of our people, and if sacrifices must be made to preserve it, then we would be cowards to balk at them."
The vote was conducted quickly, and resulted almost unanimously in favor of Cadea's proposal. Despite all that had befallen the empire under his leadership, Hiren still maintained support throughout the ruling body, and when he had made his opinion on the vote clear, there was no real doubt as to its outcome. Tal'aura fumed silently from her seat, but she knew better than to press the matter. Romulan politics was an inherently perilous business, and defying the Praetor in a time of war was tantamount to suicide.
Before the Senate could move on to other matters, the hand-carved double doors to one side of the domed room swung open and a young Romulan officer entered. His left eye was cloudy and dead, surrounded by the green-tinted slash of a rough, barely healed scar. He was no doubt fresh from combat; the Senate Guard had seen its share of the fighting in the last month.
"The ambassadors from the United Federation of Planets have arrived and await an audience."
Hiren grimaced. Several days ago, word had reached Romulus of a new message from Federation space, the first such communiqué since well before the invasion of Star Empire. Two facts about the news had caught the Praetor's notice: first, rather than a plea for aid or request for asylum, the captain who relayed the message indicated that it regarded the reformation of the alliance between the Federation and the Star Empire, and a campaign against the invaders. Second, Starfleet had actually dispatched a fully-operational warship to the edge of the Neutral Zone, in hopes of immediately beginning negotiations.
Some of Hiren's military advisors had suggested that they continue their platform of silence towards the rest of the galaxy, but others, shaken by recent events, had taken a more receptive stance, and Hiren had decided to side with them. If the invaders struck the Empire again, there was little chance that it could withstand the onslaught; any opportunity to change the course of the war had to be considered. Nevertheless, the Praetor doubted that any strategy that the Federation emissary might propose could be viable. The most current intelligence on the Federation and its allies showed a dwindling collection of ill-defended and far-removed worlds, little to no logistical capability, and a ragtag fleet that was both burdened with a mass of refugees and worn to breaking by ceaseless defeats and narrow escapes.
Still, he had dispatched a ship to the Neutral Zone with news that the Senate would agree to hear of this new plan, under the condition that it was delievered on Romulus itself. The captain of the vessel had agreed, and now it seemed that the Starfleet vessel arrived in near-record time.
As a murmur of curious conversation ran through the ranks of senators, Hiren bade the officer to allow the emissaries entry. With a nod, he exited, and was replaced a moment later by a trio of figures, flanked on either side by stony-faced Romulan guards.
As the group approached the center of the chamber, Hiren's eyes focused on the lead individual, an older, bald human male who moved with practiced presence and decorum. His lined face and tempered bearing triggered a burst of memory in the Praetor, and the Romulan's tight features loosened in surprise.
"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the USS Enterprise?"
"I'm flattered that you recognize me, Praetor Hiren," Picard responded, his voice calm and respectful.
"Your diplomatic talents and martial ability are quite well known within the Star Empire, Captain, or at least they were in years past. Unless our intelligence services are very much mistaken, though, you, your ship, and all of its crew disappeared more than seven years ago. And I do not doubt the veracity of our data on your past whereabouts."
Picard smiled. "And you should not. I have indeed been absent for the Alpha Quadrant for a very long time. The circumstances surrounding the displacement of myself and my crew are a complicated matter, but in the interests of mutual trust and disclosure, I would be more than happy to detail them for you and your intelligence agencies."
Hiren leaned back marginally, a look of bemusement playing across his face. "I look forward to it."
"Now, this body has been informed that you wish to negotiate in regards to an alliance between the Romulan Star Empire and the United Federation of Planets. I realize the necessity of keeping your intent vague in communiqué for risk of interception, but now that you are here, I believe that it is time for a full accounting of the Federation's intent."
Picard nodded. "Of course, Praetor. Let me begin by introducing my fellows."
He indicated to the figure to his left, a pale, human-like creature dressed in an immaculate Starfleet uniform similar to the Captain's. "This is Commander Data, my second-in-command for this envoy."
The name triggered another flash of memory, and Hiren recalled a classified document on the commander he had seen in his days of government service before ascending to its highest echelons. Data was a Soong-type android, reputedly one of the most advanced artificial intelligences in existence. Were circumstances different, he might have spent an entire fleet to acquire the specimen and the unique technology that was encased within its chassis.
When Data had nodded formally to the Praetor and the Senate, Picard turned to the being to his other side, one that Hiren was quite sure that he had never seen before. It was also humanoid in shape, but its polished golden casing, stiff, methodical movements, and muted, expressionless face were all distinctly inorganic. The device clasped a small, knob-encrusted box in its hands delicately. Hiren suspected that it was some sort of information storage medium, although it was unusually large and faceted for such a device. Still, it could not be overtly dangerous; his guards would have made sure of that before allowing it into the chamber.
"And I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations," the machine chirped eagerly, not waiting for the human's introduction. "I bid you greetings and salutations, Praetor Hiren and august senators of the Romulan Star Empire, on behalf of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and my master, Princess Leia Organa."
Hiren frowned. "I am unfamiliar with the organization of which you speak. Do you mean of the alliance the Federation has created with the Klingon Empire? I had not expected that such a body would ordain royalty so quickly."
"The Alliance of which he speaks does not include the Federation," Picard explained, cutting in before See-Threepio could continue. The android seemed to deflate, despite the rigidity of his frame. "However, the two groups are affiliated nonetheless. Princess Organa has offered military support to the Federation and its allies against the Zerg, the invaders who have wrought so much destruction upon the galaxy these past few months."
The Zerg? Hiren wondered if the Federation had simply invented a name for the parasites, or whether they were privy to intelligence that had not reached Romulan ears.
"You mentioned in you communiqué that the Federation wished to acquire a renewed military compact with the Romulan people, Captain," Hiren said, putting aside his personal curiosity about Picard's odd companion. "Moreover, you indicated that there were plans underway for a counterassault against these… Zerg, as you call them. It is known to this assembly that your Starfleet and the Klingon Imperial Navy have been vastly diminished in strength over the course of this war, and that with your every loss, the enemy grows stronger. The armada of the Star Empire is mighty, even after numerous incursions, but we cannot risk spreading it thin to mount a counterattack now. To do so would leave our worlds bear to assault and corruption."
"It is undeniable that the repulsion and destruction of this menace is a necessity for the preservation of the Romulan people, but at this stage of the conflict, a direct military campaign would be suicidal. I do not see how the remnants of a handful of shattered fleets can supplement our armada sufficiently to lend such an effort the possibility of success. You must believe me, Captain, when I say that what has befallen the Federation is a great tragedy and injustice, but at this time, the Romulan Star Empire cannot afford to aid it militarily. The needs of my species must take precedence."
Hiren had expected very visible signs of anger, or at the very least disappointment, even from a diplomat as experienced as Picard, but the human showed no indication of offense or resignation. Instead, he listened to the Praetor's ultimatum calmly, and then asked See-Threepio for the device he carried.
"While I must admit that your assessment of the situation is largely correct, Praetor, there is a key aspect of our new campaign that you have overlooked, and understandably so. While Romulan assistance is crucial to the effort, the Federation does not expect the armada to form the core of our offensive force. You see, the aid the Alliance has provided to us is rather more significant than a few conventional warships or production facilities."
"What are you implying, Captain?"
Picard smiled again, and then held up the knobbed device, on which crystalline holographic projectors and data ports were clearly visible. "Perhaps it would be best if you saw it for yourselves."
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The jade-tinted globe that was the planet Coridan glinted gently in the radiance of its distant star. As one side of the world was cast into night by its inexorable rotation, the other basked in the glow of a new dawn. Wide oceans and forested mountain ranges caught the light and seemed to come to life. Fish swam, avians sang, tiny arboreal creatures emerged from their nightly hiding places. The only locales that remained quiet were the areas where nature no longer ruled: empty city streets, unlit high-rises, vacant mines and factories, and even these places could only seem peaceful under the morning sun.
As the planet moved its bulk further and darkness was drawn back further, a new site of activity was revealed, a mere speck upon the bosom of the world. There, nestled between an emerald sea and a scattering of isolated mountain peaks, a splotch of blackness lingered. But this was not a natural dark, the dark of nightly hunts and deep sleep. This dark was alien, life and death as one. This was the blackness of consumption. And it was spreading.
High above the globe, five vessels, tiny against the awakening mass, passed swiftly back from day back into night, their dim running lights and weary drives suddenly beacons away from the illumination of the far primary. When the continents and waterways below lost definition, the small group angled sharply away from their orbital trajectory, coming together in a loose formation and fixing as one on the only other significant landmark for hundreds of millions of kilometers; Coridan's single, lifeless moon.
The formation was made up of a motley collection of vessels from several eras and as many different worlds. Two bore the distinctive disk and nacelles of Federation craft, of which only one, a heavily patched-up New Orleans-class frigate, was of a design that had been produced in decades. The others were cumbersome transports or mining ships, one of an old Vulcan make, and another that could have come from any number of shipyards, a determination made impossible by the number of spare parts and home-brewed alterations that held its hull together. The last was an ancient Tellarite freighter that could, and very well might have been, a museum piece for most of its lifespan.
This was the last fleet that Coridan, loyal member of the United Federation of Planets for more than a century, could muster. Onboard those tired ships were packed a few thousand citizens, the only of their planet who now had a chance to escape the blackness that had seeded their world. As it had before hundreds of times in hundreds of systems across half of the galaxy, the lethal division had begun; a few, a lucky few would drift off into the void on their crowded steeds, refugees in their own country. The rest would serve as fodder for the ravening minions that all now knew as "the Zerg".
This time, however, the swarm seemed to be planning on an especially mighty brood, and it was not eager to allow even the smallest of morsels to escape its plate.
"There," the junior grade lieutenant in charge of the New Orleans-classes' active sensors reported nervously. "Emerging from that storm system above the Dussur Sea. I'm picking up strong life signs and heat signatures. A lot of them."
"Onscreen," acting captain Garis of the USS Hobbes ordered. Unease was palpable in the Trill's voice. He become second-in-command of the battered ship only weeks before, after the previous officer to hold the position had been removed from duty due to extensive wounds he had sustained during an away mission to evacuate a scientific post that the Zerg had targeted for absorption. Now he had to lead the few remaining operable ships in the Coridan system away from the same tide; the Hobbes' commanding officer, a native of the now-doomed globe, had removed himself from duty out of fear of a conflict of interest. It was Starfleet's standing order to save all those who could be saved, and leave the rest; abandoning one's people, one's very family often enough, to the most terrible of deaths was not something every captain had been able to do over the last few months, and many a ship had been lost because of it.
A far view of the greenish world appeared before Garis. It showed one of the planet's larger bodies of water, a dim mass in the darkness. Faint whorls and staggered lines were etched above it; storm systems and cloud strata. For a moment, the man could discern no detail in the image, nothing of concern for the fleeing fleet. Then, something, the slightest trace of motion, caught his eye.
"Magnify."
The image complied, and in an instant the largest of the storm systems over the sea filled his viewscreen, rotating and undulating with cyclic winds and lashing precipitation, an occasional flash of static discharge arcing from one intemperate expanse of sky to next. As one of these lightning bolts tore through the distant atmosphere, a speck of matter, darker than the clouds at its back, appeared. It was soon followed by a dozen others like it. A hundred.
"Magnify," the Trill breathed again.
This new image brought him straight into the swarm of dots, but now they had obvious, horrifying form. Each was an egg-like sac of flesh and sinew that pulsed and flexed with each beating of the two clawed, bat-like wings that framed its form. The faces of the creatures were angular cones of serrated teeth, encircling a maw that hung ever open to the void into which it rose. These were the scourges, entities that embodied the mystery and terror that were part and parcel of their horde; like most Zerg, they had no need for oxygen, and could fly into the coldest depths of space unhindered. Further, though their wings could physically find no purchase in the emptiness, they moved nonetheless, and at a prodigious, overwhelming rate. What research had been spared for the few specimens captured intact had no explanation for their method of locomotion; it was as though sheer force of will, their own or that of a greater power, allowed them to bend the laws of reality itself.
And their speed was not the most sinister of their capabilities.
"Cut our speed to half impulse," Garis ordered at last. "I want us between the civilian ships and those creatures."
"Captain, the Keep reports that she is unable to maintain her current speed," the comm officer reported from her station. "She is dropping to point four four impulse."
The Tellarite freighter was in no state to fly at all, Garis thought, almost angrily. It was a wonder it hadn't exploded from the strain already, and it very likely still could, especially if any external impact stressed its hull more than it already was. What made the situation worse was the fact that it was his most important charge; certainly, the ship only had a few hundred refugees onboard as opposed to the thousands on the other vessels, but it held other cargo. The real reason Starfleet had spared any ships at all for Coridan's evacuation was not humanitarian, but a strategic; the planet had once been a starship construction and dilithium mining nexus, and when both industries had dried up, a great deal of unused machinery and material was mothballed. Now the fleet was in desperate need of spare parts, and the Keep was packed with crates and crates of them, swiftly culled from abandoned warehouses and vaults across the planet.
The Hobbes' acting captain momentarily wondered why the Federation hadn't devoted more manpower to recover such badly-needed assets, but he didn't have the time to dwell on what he lacked. The scourges were gaining on them quickly.
"Keep us behind that freighter! I don't care if we have to crawl to do it!"
The frigate began to slow, reverse thrusters and inertial dampeners cutting its forward momentum. The other ships rocketed past, holding their course towards the world's only moon.
"Bring us about!"
He glanced at his tactical officer, a Vulcan who looked positively serene standing at his weapons post. Garis wondered in passing if, deep down, the sentient's lack of outward emotions was just a façade. Surely, even they had to feel something when facing down oblivion.
"Prep all weapons systems for combat. I don't want a single one of those creatures to get past us, not as long as this hull still holds atmosphere and its phaser coils can siphon energy. Those ships have to get out of this system intact." He paused, eyes flitting over the nighttime globe that still filled the viewscreen. "Every last one of them."
The Vulcan nodded curtly. "Affirmative, sir."
"Fire as soon as they enter range."
Seconds later, lines of crimson energy arced around the frigate's curved bow and burst forth in a series of three short, compact beams. Each found its own target, and a trio of the flighted beasts disassociated into their component atoms. Twin photon torpedo launchers roared to life, and two more encapsulations of energy tore through the void, straight into the heart of the pursuing formation. They detonated without impacting any particular target, and rank upon rank of the creatures vanished forever.
"Twenty five confirmed destroyed," the tactical officer reported without a trace of satisfaction intruding upon his monotone. "The sensors detected at least one hundred and ten remaining."
"Sir, a few of them are accelerating away from the main group, past us and towards the civilian ships!"
"Keep us between the fleet and those creatures!" Garis ordered the helmsman. "Tactical, use the phasers to pick off the ones that are getting past us. Save the rest of our photons for the main group."
The Hobbes wheeled about again in pursuit of the breakaway attackers, but not before lobbing another set of torpedoes from its tubes. Their discharge of energy tore through the cloud of hostiles again, but the majority emerged from the conflagration unscathed and surged forward all the faster.
A series of shift slashes with the frigate's phaser array were all that was required to keep the motley set of evac ships secure, but it had been forced to completely alter its firing vectors to accomplish the task; ships like the New Orleans-class were not intended to fight by themselves, and their blind spots were easily exploitable by even the dullest of foes.
"Sir, several of the creatures have broken from the main group. They're charging our rear shields."
"Brace for impact!"
Eight of the frontrunners, now flying almost parallel to the guardian vessel, abruptly folded their ominous wings and ploughed into the Hobbes' aft section. Shimmering shields intercepted the suicide projectiles well before they hit, but rather than disintegrate or bounce off, as normal organisms would, they exploded with terrifying force. The offensive mechanism of the scourge was just as supernatural as their interstellar flight; though employing sacrificial fodder was a common enough tactic among the swarm, rarely did their minions detonate with enough force to shake mountains. By all accounts, this ferocity was impossible; no living thing could contain within its organs a power that could rival phaser blasts upon release. And yet, the warship's shields still buckled and pulsed from the hit.
"Report!" the ship's CO demanded, recovered from the tremor that had swept his vessel.
"Aft shields are holding."
Another impact shook the bridge, and then another. An unused science station behind Garis exploded in a shower of sparks, and the bridge's red-tinted lights dimmed momentarily.
"Shields have dropped to eighty two percent, Captain. The rear structural integrity fields are beginning to fluctuate. We may have to reduce our speed in order to avoid a breach."
"No!" Garis shook his head. Slow now, and nothing could stop the deadly flock from swarming the civilian ships. Even now, some of the scourges were passing the Hobbes, making a run on the Keep, which was still lagging behind.
As a dozen of the beasts filled the corners of his viewscreen and another impact rocked the ship's shields, Garis suddenly realized that he wasn't going to survive this mission. It should have been obvious, he supposed, as soon as the Zerg decided to give chase. True, he could give the order to break off their running defense, to dump all power into the drives and surge to a point where his ship could find safely jump to warp. There was still time; scourges were powerful, but they still needed an overwhelming number of impacts to battered down the shields of a Starfleet warship, hits that could not be landed if he fled now.
Despite himself, Garis grinned.
"Lieutenant Commander Udak, how many photon torpedoes do we have left?"
"Three, sir," the Vulcan responded calmly.
"What would happen if they were programmed to detonate in their tubes simultaneously with an unrestrained warp core breach?"
Udak preformed a few calculations as other members of the bridge crew looked on, understanding dawning on each of their faces. "The resultant blast would annihilate everything within an eleven kilometer radius of the core."
Nodding slowly, Garis turned to his helmsman. "Do you think that you can put us right in the center of that formation, Ensign? Can you keep us there?"
The young human's face hardened, but he nodded resolutely. "Yes, sir."
The Trill smiled again. These engines, this crew, were far too good to be wasted on running. Silent for a moment, he turned to gaze at the swelling curve of Coridan's moon through the viewport, framed by a constellation of striking stars. As he traced the crisp, dark horizon, just the hint of the sun's light beyond it, he wished absently that he'd taken a poetry course during his time at Starfleet Academy. It'd have at least given him something profound to say.
He suppressed the thought. Perhaps some things were simply better left unsaid.
"Alright. Initiate core overload sequence, authorization…"
"Hold on, sir." The communications officer was suddenly back at her controls. "I'm picking up an incoming transmission from just beyond the lunar terminus. Audio only."
Garis peered at the viewscreen again. The constellation he had seen… was it moving?
"Patch it through."
The bridge's intercom crackled with static, but a voice emerged from it, loud, clear, and more than a little cocky.
"Looks like you boys have quite a pest problem. Hold tight; the exterminators are on their way."
The distant specks that Garis had thought were stars swelled, took on definition. As the bulk of the Zerg swarm passed the Hobbes, the lights disappeared. Then, just as Commander Udak began to list the contacts registering on the frigate's sensors, and the first scourges dove hungrily towards the Keep's unprotected aft, space bloomed with fire.
The Hobbes had not been able to reach Bajor in time to participate in its last-ditch defense, but every remaining vestige of Starfleet and its allies had heard of the Alliance, whose mighty warship had almost single-handedly saved the system from being overrun. As his viewscreen focused on the source of the sudden cascade of weapons fire, Garis knew that it could only be of one origin.
Alliance starfighters of all classes and descriptions cut into the pursuing cloud like predatory fish falling upon a school of bottom feeders. X-Wings belched quartets of crimson energy from their four wing-mounted laser cannons; Y-Wings traced swaths of destruction through the demonic flock with their turrets; B-Wings lobbed volleys of blaster and laser shot from afar; A-Wings dove straight into the thicket of creatures at the head of their formation, spinning and juking to avoid hitting their targets as they laid into them with withering streams of charged particles.
Behind them roared the mottled-white disk of the Millennium Falcon, its top and belly-mounted quad turrets disintegrating any of the beast that had escaped the first pass. One of the Zerg spawn managed to throw itself into the freighter's path and impact before the ship could change its course. A bloom of super-heated plasma and flaming entrails engulfed the Falcon, but it emerged unscathed, wobbling slightly to correct its course; the faint shimmer of its skin-tight deflector was the only sign anything had attempted to halt its progress.
"Captain, the Zerg force has diminished to seventy individuals, dropping at a rate of fifteen ever thirty seconds. At current rate, it should be completely eliminated within less than three minutes."
Garis mutely acknowledged the Vulcan's objective report, all but transfixed by the scene that was playing out before him. Now he understood how the fleet at Bajor had been able to withstand a full Zerg onslaught. Each of these fightercraft seemed to possess the firepower and speed of a Starfleet line warship, despite being less than a fortieth of their size. The Zerg force was disintegrating in a way he had never seen any of their elements fall apart before; if Garis did not know for a fact that the scourges were little more than muscled bags of gas and vestigial incisors, he would have said they were afraid.
Still, the day was not yet won. As the Hobbes strained to catch up with the running firefight, one flighted beast managed to reach the fleeing Tellarite freighter and ram itself into the ship's graying top section. Its antiquated shields absorbed a majority of the blast, but the strain shorted them out completely. When another scourge launched its attack, there was nothing to prevent the creature from gouging a deep gash into the cargo hauler's starboard sublight drive. The blocky vessel began to spin out of control, its engines dying.
"Sir, the Keep's structural integrity is beginning to fail, and its drive and communications systems are offline. Another direct hit will likely knock out its remaining systems, or breach its core outright."
Garis only had to ponder the tactical situation for a moment. There were still more than enough Zerg out there to tear his charge to pieces, and his vessel certainly couldn't get within range before they could. "Put me on an open frequency."
"All Alliance ships, the vessel at the rear of the civilian fleet has sustained heavy damage, and is under imminent threat of destruction. No more of the creatures can be allowed to reach its hull."
"Since you asked so nicely…" It was the same smooth voice from before, both confident and surprisingly informal. "I think we can give them something else to take a bite out of."
"Red Two, Three, form up on me. Green squad, see if you can catch up to the contacts angling starboard of that lagging freighter. The rest of you, take care of the stragglers."
A flurry of vocal confirmations and clicks sounded over the audio feed. Almost as soon as they ceased, a gruff, bass moan sounded somewhere in the background.
"Yeah, I see them Chewie. Let's just focus on these guys for now."
The Millennium Falcon, a pair of X-Wings guarding its flanks, broke from the main plane of battle, its main drive burning with a burst of blue-white illumination. The formation shot forward, blazing guns tracking one cloud of attackers as another was intercepted by the blindingly-fast cone of half a dozen sleek A-Wings.
The Hobbes was almost in range of the main group of remaining scourges when the concerned voice of his scanning officer caught Garis' attention. "Sir, I'm picking up more contacts rising from the planets surface."
The Trill's amazement was replaced by the unsettling coldness of battle.
"Show me."
The viewscreen switched back to Coridan's dark face and focused on the forbidding same storm system, which had continued to intensify over the course of the battle. Another visual enhancement gave the new contacts full definition. They were biological, not the captured machines that the Zerg favored in their campaign, larger than the scourges and far more complex, with obvious sensory organs and frills of huge, undulating spines. The swarm rarely used living behemoths such as these in open space combat, but Garis had seen briefings on their capabilities, and knew that they could be just as deadly as their smaller, suicidal brethren. For one, they did not did not need to touch their prey to hinder it.
"Bring us about and divert power to shields," Garis ordered. "This fight isn't over yet."
The tusked mandibles of the dozen new fliers flexed and widened, preparing to disgorge some lethal projectile or pulsating spawn. The crew of Starfleet frigate braced for the inevitable impacts, the explosions, the soundless screeching of the Zerg's abominations.
Then, one by one, the emerging foes erupted into globes of atomic fire, missiles annihilated before they could shoot forth. Sluggishly, a few of the creatures attempted to turn back, to find shelter in the turbulent atmosphere they had left behind, but each was consumed despite their efforts. In less than half a minute, the Garis' viewscreen showed only Coridan's fitfully slumbering form.
Bewildered, the captain glanced at his tactical officer and then ordered the ship's sensors back upon the battleground around the lifeless moon. Could the Alliance fighters have done this as well, destroyed the enemy's second wave so quickly, and from such a distance?
Mirrored sunlight flooded the bridge, shrouding the scene before him, but Garis swiftly discerned that the fortunes of his fleet had altered once more. The last of the Zerg scourges were gone, clouds of minute debris that shed easily from the deflectors of the victorious Alliance fightercraft as they formed a loose perimeter around the civilian convey. More surprisingly, though, several more vessels had appeared, just rounding the moon's gentle curve. Two were obviously Starfleet, and another looked like a Cardassian Galor-class cruiser; these were hardly singular sights, even though Garis wished that they had arrived significantly earlier in the engagement. No, it was fourth form, between and larger than the others, that held his notice.
"Captain, I believe that it was the largest of those starships fired on the second Zerg force." Udak sounded almost awkward.
Garis couldn't blame him. Suddenly, he felt distinctly unneeded.
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For once, things were going smoothly, and had Imal Ryceed been a religious woman, she would have given thanks to her gods for that fact alone. After years of fighting a losing war against the Empire, and the bizarre series of perilous escapes that were the last few weeks, any victory, even a small one, was a more potent opiate to the captain and her crew than the most expensive Hutt narcotic.
From the bridge of the Republica, she watched with satisfaction as her turbolaser batteries obliterated the unsuspecting Zerg reinforcements. A few days ago, the ship's heavy weapons were in such a state of disrepair that they couldn't have accurately targeted ships at half the distance of the bloated, invertebrate creatures. The tireless efforts of her engineering teams, supplemented by a few groups of eager, if technologically unprepared, Starfleet crewers had given her a total of four, fully functional medium turbolasers, twice as many as were available at the engagement at Bajor. Bolstered too were the light cruiser's lesser weapons systems, drives, and deflector arrays; the Republica was still operating at less than half of its optimal combat efficiency, the highest level available without a full refit from a shipyard of her native disk, but the improvement was still impressive.
Ryceed reminded herself to recommend both the ship's executive officer and operations chief for accolades when this farce of a mission was over. Gavplek's dedication and Hessun's serene focus had probably done far more to hold the Republica together then her leadership; all she had done was allow Councilor Organa to drag the ship from one battle to the next. Ryceed was under orders to follow the councilor's directives, and although she had voiced her reservations to the woman more than once, perhaps too much, she couldn't help but feel as though the peril placed upon her crew was of her own making.
"All targets confirmed destroyed," weapons control reported.
"Good." Ryceed made her way from the bridge's main viewport to the bank of fire control operators that occupied most of one wall of the chamber's lower deck. "Maintain combat readiness stations for the time being. I want us to be ready if anymore of those things decide to show their ugly faces."
"There's also the infestation on Coridan," Commander William Riker said, moving to Ryceed's side. "We cannot leave the system until the immediate Zerg threat has been completely eliminated."
The captain shot a look at the man. "Thank you, Commander. I do not require any further reminder of the Republica's objectives here."
Riker's expression soured marginally and he yanked on the tunic of his brand new Starfleet uniform, but any response he might have given was cut short when a crewer at the Comm requested his attention.
When the man had left her presence, Ryceed let a small smile cross her lips. Riker was a smug, self-righteous bastard, but she was still beginning to like him. When he had first been assigned as the official Federation liaison to the Republica, the captain hadn't exactly welcomed him with open arms, but once she had gotten over the bother of having another person on her bridge to report to, her qualms with the appointment had faded, if only marginally. Though he was intended to be constant reminder of the Federation's interests and of the Alliance's compact with them, she still outranked the commander, and he had demonstrated a willingness to follow her orders, even when he disagreed with them.
Besides, Riker have proved to be something of an asset over the last few days. The Republica had not spent all of the time since the victory at Bajor licking its wounds; though the strategists at the head of the compact Leia Organa had entered the ship into agreed that a major, concerted strike had to be made against the Zerg quickly, they nevertheless allowed for a brief respite during which the allies could marshal their forces. The Alliance cruiser had her two fighter squadrons had played a key role in that effort; as the bulk of the Starfleet and Klingon fleets were being repaired and diplomats being sent to the few intact military powers left within reach, Ryceed and Riker had been tasked with "putting out fires" on as many besieged worlds as possible.
With its vast speed and firepower advantages over its native counterparts, the Republica could accomplish missions that would have required far too many resources and far too much time to be undertaken otherwise. Guided by Riker and starmaps provided by Starfleet, the ship had rescued pockets of survivors on isolated worlds, smashed nascent Zerg "occupation" forces before they could take root, and escorted civilian convoys to the relative safety of Bajor and its surrounding systems. Finding one planet, the Klingon colony H'atoria already completely overrun with the suffocating Zerg creep, Ryceed had ordered the most heavily infested continent slagged from orbit. The operation had been nothing next to the Imperial Base Delta Zero bombardment, by which Star Destroyers could turn an inhabited planet into a molten ball of rock in less than a day, but the sight of a titanic firestorm of her own making race across H'atoria's land and atmosphere had been one of the most unsettling things Ryceed had ever witnessed.
One of their other expeditions, a supply run on an abandoned ammunitions depot near the ravaged ruins of the planet Betazed, had seen their only significant encounter with opposition. As a Starfleet tanker was beaming up the last of munitions from the depot, hidden in the system's asteroid belt, a swarm of Zerg vessels and warriors, an old mining ship they had somehow converted into a mass driver at its head, had ambushed the Republica and the cargo ship. Ryceed's cruiser had easily shrugged off the attack, but the tanker and its fighter escort had been trapped against the asteroid when it spontaneously began to disintegrate. Riker had realized that the converted mining ship was using its gravitic fields and tractor beams to destabilize the rock, and the Republica destroyed it before the entire body shattered. They had lost the tanker and one of Ryceed's pilots, but Riker's quick thinking had saved the lives of half a dozen others.
She glanced at the man as he conversed with one of the Starfleet vessels they had brought with them to secure Coridan over a flat panel display. Riker also played a mean hand of Sabacc in the officer's mess after evening meals; he said it reminded him of a game he used to play with the command staff back on his old ship.
"Captain." Riker looked up from his screen. "One of the civilian freighters sustained heavy damage before we arrived. Her impulse engines and power systems have been compromised, and the captain's decided to abandon ship. The Hobbes and our escorts have already begun transporting the crew to safety, but the cargo containers in the freighter's hold cannot be beamed out. They are requesting that we take on the load and transport it back to Bajor."
"Can't the cargo simply be abandoned?" Ryceed asked. "The refugees we picked up from that Ferengi commerce platform have already filled our holds nearly to capacity."
Riker shook his head. "The freighter, the Keep, is carrying dilithium re-crystallization equipment. It uses contained, directed gamma radiation to recharge the dilithium in the regulation centers of warp cores. That kind of machinery is hard to produce and difficult to transport; it has to be packed in large, heavy crates that are impossible to effectively scan or transport because of the radiation inside. The fleet has been looking for backup devices since the Zerg destroyed Starbase Montgomery a month ago. Without them, a third of the ships around Bajor will be unable to use their warp drives within a week."
Reluctantly, Ryceed nodded. Riker was right, but the captain wasn't happy about the prospect of another delay, even a brief one. She had just received word that all available ships were being called back to Bajor. The offensive was about to begin. Ryceed still didn't think of the campaign against the Zerg as her war, but she wanted it to see it over as much as any Starfleet officer; when the last world was recaptured and final monstrosity blasted, she could finally go home. There was still a war to fight there, one far closer to her heart.
"Can the containers survive in open space?"
"They should be fully sealed," Riker responded.
"See if you can get the Keep's captain to dump her cargo before he evacuates it entirely. I'll dispatch our shuttles and repair ships to gather them up. In the mean time, there's still one thing we have to take care of."
Ryceed turned her attention to the holographic representation of Coridan that filled the bridge's main tactical projector. A small area on its surface, a strip of coastline on its northern southern hemisphere, was highlighted; the site of infection.
Soon, the spot would be a cratered ruin, and the planet would be safe. At least, safe until the Zerg decided to foul its landscape with another insidious seed.
Hopefully, if all went according to plan, they would never get the chance.