AN: Star Trek is the trademarked property of CBS/Viacom. This work is not intended for profit or infringement.

Spoken Romulan Translations were obtained from Rihannsu dot Org, based upon the Star Trek TOS Novel Rihannsu by Diane Duane. Expect as defined within the work, translations will follow at the end of each chaper.

This novel is set one year after the events of Book 2, in the year 2404, approximately 16 years following the end of the Dominion War, and refences events from Star Trek Online by Cryptic Studios.


Federation Marine Corps Book 3:

Wrong Us, Shall We Not Revenge

"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"

The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene I


Earth Space Dock

In Orbit Above Earth


─•~:~•─


Anna stepped off the transporter pad and was immediately assaulted by the unceasing lights of Nano-Cams and QC recorders, forcing her to raise one hand to her eyes. As much she hated the French—if not more – she hated reporters.

They were always swarming, constantly hounding, shouting, cursing and shoving. As if the whole universe would somehow fail if they couldn't watch every second of every minute unfold in front of their endless cameras and recording devices.

Now that she was—officially—President, Anna would have been well within her rights to have her security detail riddle their worthless bodies with tritanium and have them pitched out of the nearest airlock.

"Madam President!" shouted one Bolian girl so skinny that Anna thought a stiff breeze would have gotten the best of her, "Is it true you've replaced your Fed-Sec security detail with a Spec-Ops group from the Marines?"

She had indeed done so. Fed-Sec's loyalties could shift with the changing of the winds or the thickest wallet in the room.

With all the uncertainty in the galaxy, she wanted people around her that she could trust.

Visible amongst her detail were five huge—and strapping—young men from Colonel Mor's 3 Assault Brigade, the now famous Grizzly Bears of the Federation Marine Corps.

They weren't wearing their thick Molotok Armour, but they carried very intimidating XR-118 Assault Rifles and wore an equally grim TAV (Tactical Assault Vest) over their grey MDU jackets.

Anna had asked Mor for 'The most intimidating bastards this side of the Earth' for her visible detail.

The men he had sent her looked straight of a holographic recreation of Long Kesh Prison from the pages of the history of dear old Ireland.

But that was the whole point, after all.

Invisible to the multitude of vultures who called themselves the Federation Press Gallery were twenty-five of the so-called XOF Ninjas, the elite special operations unit trained personally by Rain Kaimeao, one of the deadliest women in the entire Galaxy.

Anna sighed deeply at the Bolian reporter, "There's no existin' laws that say whom I can and cannot appoint to protect me own life, dear. And to be completely honest, I'm tired of hearing about it."

As she tried to brush her way past the first reporter, another behind the Bolian shouted another equally offensive question at Anna, "Madam President, do you have any comment on the allegations from Terra Nova that you will be diverting impulse engine research grants from the Federation Colonial Agency to the new space fighter project being jointly developed by Starfleet and the Marines?"

There was a new space fighter project currently in development by the fine minds in San Francisco and Beaufort—code-named Raven – to replace the vaunted Peregrines that had fought so bravely in the years of the war but had been proven months ago to be out of date and worthless in modern warfare.

Still, the project hadn't even been formally announced yet. Besides, the question was utterly pointless.

The Federation President's Office couldn't redirect expenditures as voted on by the Council.

A sitting President could make any number of requests they wanted for funding or resources for any particular line item.

Still, once the budget had been approved, they were powerless to do anything about it.

It was one of the many levels of checks and balances between the Executive and Legislative branches of government. And an irritation for Anna.

"A load of absolute shite, as is yer question. Now begone with ye, or I'll have a Bear throw ya out the airlock," Anna replied angrily, motioning for one of the Grizzly Bears to face the pathetic little reporter and look mean.

The Reporter—a young Benzite male – took a step backwards and tried to shy away from the much taller and better-armed Marine staring a hole through him.

Anna winced on the inside.

Her advisory panel—not to mention the Council Standards and Ethics Committee – had formally cautioned her twice in six months about her choice of language in official settings.

The first had been a somewhat less strongly worded letter.

The second had been a twenty-six thousand Credit fine for unprofessional conduct.

It was said once that money was no longer the driving factor in Human Development in the 25th Century, which was valid – to an extent.

Any basic need of life from water, food, clothing, shelter, and medicine could be provided by the push of a replicator button.

But twenty-six thousand was a very stiff fine for anyone who desired a little more than just the basic needs.

As she bravely pressed on through the surge of both the locust-like Reporters and her assembled voters and well-wishers—who significantly outnumbered the reporters by alarge margin—Anna at last reached what she thought was her refuge, the stairs leading to the control centre of the truly gigantic Earth Space Dock.

Only sworn Starfleet and Marine officers were permitted in this section of ESD. Anna's protection detail and so-called "Fishie" moved to form a wall between the president and the mass of humanity behind her.

She turned as though she were the headmistress of Belfast Academy and raised both of her hands in a hushing motion, "Right, well, I've a wee launch to see to, so I'll meet you lot here in a couple o' hours, and ye can hound me as much as ye please after my inauguration speech. Till then, my loves."

A few of the younger reporters and admirers, not knowing—or more likely not caring—that Anna had been happily married for twenty-two years whistled after her as she le. However, the majority of the crowd merely cheered in polite yet audacious applause at her speech.

At thirty-six years old and in very decent shape as a dedicated Hurler and Hockey player, Anna McClair was a far cry from the old, stuffy, and horrible-looking Federation Presidents that had come before her.

Though she would gladly wrestle with a Klingon for a bottle of Stout at the drop of a hat, Anna was never above using the advantages of feminine charm. FNN and even Karin Tengrove had thrice voted her "Federation's Sexiest Politician" during her time as Earth's Representative.

Now, as Federation President, she was even more determined to court any advantage she could.

She slowly made her way up the long circular stairs to CC and took a moment to catch her breath.

It had been a long few months since the election in January.

"The fuckin Tholians disappeared, the KDF's all riled up about Martok signing a peace treaty with the beasties, The Miradorn keep beggin' for a right good slappin," She said to no one in particular, walking up the stairs by herself.

Her wrist-comm beeped suddenly, and she sighed, seeing yet another message of well wishes from Mol Rihann, along with attachment requests for a never-ending series of economic and military assistance requests.

Does he ever fuckin stop? Anna thought. D'Tann was a kind, intelligent, and thoughtful man.

And he was proving to be a continuing annoyance to Anna.

There were problems closer to home as well.

The press gallery had been crying foul over her commitment to the Federation's military assets, including Admiral of the Fleet Douglas Mitchell and his Fleet Rearmament Program, which had shifted resources away from Starfleet's near-endless scientific and exploration programs.

The Council had also been threatening to inquire into the FMC's staggering 78% turnover rate resulting from their punishing physical training programs and harsh standards of discipline. Anna was dreading another emotionally draining fight with Mark over the matter.

Anna finally reached the top of the stairs that seemed to go on forever and found herself in the surprisingly empty control room.

The system being launched today was largely automated, so a large staff wasn't needed.

The supervisor of the project turned to look at the President and smiled.

"Madam President, I'm so glad you could join us today," said Rear Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

'Kathy' – as Anna called her – Janeway was also looking exceptionally well in Anna's eyes.

She was wearing her famous high and tight bun and had been given a fresh uniform from Earth Stores.

Like most other members of the Admiralty in the 25th Century, Janeway had done away with overly elaborate dress uniforms and flowing robes of the top brass and had opted for a basic Starfleet Duty uniform with a black body, grey shoulders and a red undershirt, red being the line colour for Command Track officers.

The only thing that would set Janeway apart from any other "Fishie" officer was her Admiral's bars—one gold pip on a field of black – and the red wrist cuffs with the same bar embedded.

Anna embraced Janeway in a tight and sincere hug, "Aye, Kathy, I couldn't miss this for all the stout in Belfast, me love. Thanks for letting me in."

Anna might have been the President, but she was still a civilian, and civilians were not typically permitted in the secured access portions of ESD.

"You'll have the best seat in the house, Anna. And Mitchell has given us the honour of pushing the button no less, and since you're now the President, you'll have that honour as well," Janeway replied, motioning to the launch switch on the panel overlooking the system.

The Compressed Soliton Wave Projection Lattice, better known to nearly everyone as The Red Ball Express, was—by a strict technicality—a product of Starfleet R&D.

Still, Kathryn Janeway had been overseeing almost every aspect of the project since its's very inception, even producing the much-preferred code name.

"Feel good to finally see it all come together?" Anna asked her friend.

"Five long years, Anna," Kathy replied, taking a deep breath, "I seem to have something of a talent for long assignments."

"I should have taken Leo's advice. He said to me 'Katrine! Sail not beneath the waves, but soar highly with the birds!' One of the few things that kept me sane in Delta," she continued, her eyes looking lost in memory.

"Alright love?" Anna asked, respectfully putting a hand on Kathy's shoulders.

"I'm fine, Anna. It's just… it's been years since I've been on a starship. As hellish as it was, there are days I'd give anything to be back on Voyager with her crew. I guess that's the fate for choosing life in Command as opposed to being a scientist."

And her only command was Voyager, Anna thought, A fuckin waste of material, locking Kathy in an office. Damn the Admiralty Board anyway.

"Well, Madam President, the honour of pushing the button is yours," Kathy said, pointing at the red launch switch.

"Not a chance in all the green hells," Anna said, stepping back from the button, "If I'd the power, ye know full well I'd have sent you to Delta this day. I won't do ya the disservice of not lettin' ya push the button yersself."

It was a small measure but a heartfelt one.

The two women had known one another for many years, and Anna knew how much it hurt Kathy not to be in space any longer.

Kathryn returned a small smile and bowed, "I serve at the pleasure of my President, Anna. We'll be getting underway in about an hour. The last crew members are beaming aboard Europa now, and the Enhanced MCT will be arriving shortly after that."

"Marines, supplies up the arse, a crew full of volunteers… Christ Kathy, ye'd almost think we're too prepared," Anna laughed.

Kathy simply nodded back, "The best-prepared mission of exploration ever attempted? Well, certainly more than I was."

Janeway sat down on a chair beside Anna while a yeoman brought each of the women a piping hot mug of coffee, freshly brewed from the private reserves of Janeway and prepared just the way each of the women liked it.

Black and one sugar for Kathryn, double-double and a shot of Jameson's (synthetic, sadly) for Anna.

Anna raised her mug and toasted, "To the Red Ball Express and God's speed to those miserable bastards aboard!"

Janeway returned the toast and replied simply, "God's Speed."


Mol Rihann - New Romulus