Soliton Wave Projection Lattice Tracking Facility

Lake Armstrong

Luna


─•~:~•─


Douglas Mitchell would never let anyone see it, but at this exact moment, he was nervous as hell.

All the test runs had come back green, so far. The conclusion was simple.

The Red Ball Express worked perfectly.

Three test cylinders and a Class 9 Probe had all successfully made the jump into Delta and every last Science Officer in Starfleet had personally assured the Admiral that absolutely nothing would go wrong with Operation Longshot.

There was so much more riding on this operation than just sending a single ship back to the ass-end of the galaxy.

It was the last shot Douglas would have to make a difference in the galaxy.

If everything went right today, Europa would cross sixty-five thousand light-years in less than two hours, using zero power from her warp core.

The potential was beyond anything that Mitchell could have thought of when he was a cadet some thirty-five years ago.

Already plans were on the drawing board to build a second version called The Black Ball Express, which would allow Starfleet to reach between galaxies.

"I envy you, Ms. Xia," Douglas said to the young woman manning the comms board, "Your first tour in space, and you get to watch something like this?"

"I'll take the win for both of us, Admiral, even if my stubborn Husband leaves me on Earth," Mei Xia replied, laughing at the idea. Douglas took a long, envious stare at the young woman.

Was I ever this innocent? Douglas asked himself.

When Mitchell decided to finally take the Fleet Admiral's bars after the Breen's punishing attack on Earth – something he still held himself responsible for – he dedicated his focus to making Starfleet strong through the Fleet Rearmament Program.

Fleet Carriers, Battleships, Orbital Weapons Platforms, and the Federation Marine Corps. A proper space-faring Navy, built to fight wars and confront the enemy with firepower, instead of diplomacy and meekness.

Mitchell had his detractors, naturally.

Jean-Luc Picard, William Riker, Ezri Dax, and Harry Kim among others had called him things like aggressive, war hawk, militant, and even dangerous.

At various points, Douglas had told all four Captains to go to Hell, more than once.

His response was always two-fold.

First, go to San Francisco, New York, Paris, Calgary, Belfast, Yokohama, Beijing, or Tehran, look at the memorials of the dead, and ask if any of those sixty-five million names felt that peace was ever an option.

His second was to point out that the concept of peace through superior firepower was what made Pax Britannica and Pax Americana the two longest reigns of peace in Human history until the founding of the Federation.

But today was about exploration if only to appease those constantly whining voices.

Douglas stood up, and looked at the status board while he asked Mei, "How are we looking LT?"

Lieutenant Mei Xia, a young graduate from the Academy doing her first tour in space looked back at Mitchell and smiled, "Green across the board, Admiral Mitchell. Everything is on schedule."

"Outstanding job, Xia, you'll make LC yet," said Mitchell as he put a gentle hand on her shoulder, "Put me through on the QC channel, please."

Mei entered the needed commands on her console and waved her finger in the engage motion, indicating to Mitchell that his voice would now be heard across millions of Quantum Communications receivers throughout the Federation and beyond.

"Houston calling Tranquility Base," Mitchell began, taking a page from history,

"Five hundred years ago, a great man who stood just five feet away from where I am now was the first Human to set foot on a celestial body that wasn't the planet Earth. Neil Armstrong called it one small step for man, and one giant leap for mankind."

"In just under thirty minutes, you'll be making your own giant leap into the Delta Quadrant. Your mission will be to explore strange new worlds, seek out new lifeforms and new civilizations, and to boldly go where no one has gone before."

"We'll be with you every step of the way for this mission. You'll have the hopes and dreams of a generation of explorers with you, and the expectation that you'll be able to unravel even more of this great mystery we call the universe. Don't screw it up. Commencing countdown, engines on. Check ignition. And may God's love be with you."

The voice of Captain Kyle Washington aboard Europa responded, "This is Major Tom to Ground Control, we're stepping through the door and we're floating in a most peculiar way, and the stars look very different today. Standing ready for launch on your go, Houston."

The speech drew thunderous applause from all the technicians in the tracking facility with Mitchell.

I hope Mark appreciates the song selection.


─•~:~•─


USS Repulse

Vanguard class Battleship NCC-89901

Main Bridge

In Orbit Above Earth near "Red Ball Express"


─•~:~•─


"For a guy who says he fucking hates rock music, that was a pretty on-point David Bowie reference, eh?" General of the Marine Corps Marcus 'Mark' Castle said.

"Honestly General, I've never listened to him either. I rather enjoyed Apollo 11's little speech, however," replied Captain Micheal Tovey, the master of Repulse.

Mark smirked and walked over to the motto plaque.

In Latin, the words read 'Qui Tangit Frangitur' which meant in English 'Who touches me is broken.'

It fit Repulse to a T. She was the second of the four Vanguard-class Battleships, rushed through dry-dock after Dougie had found "resource savings" by scrapping a full thirty-old Miranda's in six months.

Of all the many ships Mark had seen or set foot on, his personal flag-waver was by far his favourite.

"So how come we're the only big, fuck-off BB watching this from space today?" Mark asked from below the Captain's 'loft'.

"Vanguard would be over on the other side of Earth for Home Fleet's training run. Warspite's on her grand tour of the Federation with Hood, and Ark Royal left for DS9 with her battle group about two months ago. Do you actually pay attention to your briefing packets, General?" Tovey asked.

"Hey, I had to sign off on Jimmy Taylor getting his post as OC-EMCT on Europa. That's why I pay other people to read my briefing packets," Mark replied in annoyance.

Leftenant Colonel Jimmy Taylor, formally of USS Texas, had earned the honour of leading Europa's Enhanced Marine Combat Team, and true to the Marine's rapidly growing reputation of self-sufficiency and rowdy behaviour, he had personally shoved the company's gear into the final Raptor due to board the ship in a few minutes.

It wasn't as though Taylor wasn't qualified for the job.

The man had more than proved himself by personally killing eighteen Kinshya Sword Abbotts during Operation Soul's Edge, and every bootneck who served under him commented brightly on how skilled a commander he was.

But Taylor also had an extremely annoying habit of applying custom paint jobs to nearly every piece of equipment he had been issued.

Mark would be more than happy to send him to the other side of the galaxy for a few years.

"Well, my lad, this will be a show we'll not want to miss. Just imagine it. From here to New Romulus in ten minutes. This little device is truly the future of space travel." Tovey said to Mark, motioning for him to sit down in the empty XO's chair on his left.

Mark took his seat and raised an eyebrow. He was hardly a scientist.

"Is it really that fast Mikey?"

'Mikey' – as the General called him – returned a smile, "That and so much more than even you could dream. What took Voyager seven years to accomplish, these lads will do in an hour and half. Almost makes me wish I could be going, just to experience that kind of speed."

Micheal Tovey had transferred from the Illustrious class Formidable to Repulse just a month after the elections. While Formi herself was far too large for the current version of Red Ball Express, there were rumours that the next version of the technology would be testing objects as big as the two-kilometre-long fleet carriers.

Tovey might have been a fighting man by nature, but his heart longed to return to that of an explorer, as had been his dream growing up in the cleaner but still rough streets of Birmingham.

Over the last several months he had gotten to know Mark quite well – considering that his new command was technically subordinate to the Marines rather than Starfleet– spending many long hours in the General's office in Beaufort going over plans and simulations.

When he wasn't drunk, Tovey had discovered that the General had a very enlightened – if boring and practical– grasp of strategic and tactical planning.

Mark was also surprisingly well-read, often quoting from the Bible, Shakespeare or even a treatise of the Roman Empire, even more surprisingly for Tovey when he discovered that Mark hadn't even graduated high school and that his marks in Starfleet Academy were just shy of the bare minimum needed to graduate.

Tovey himself had graduated third overall in his class and had earned degrees in Xenohistory and Philosophy from both the Vulcan Science Academy and Oxford and was widely considered to be one of the most learned men in the whole of Starfleet.

"Well fuck, if it's speed you want, I'll have the boys strap you to the bottom of a Raptor and take you on a demo of high-grav training. You'll never move fast anywhere again." Mark replied in a decidedly unlearned fashion, half joking, and half challenging.

"You're quite sure you haven't been drinking?"

"Man, you think they'd let me on this tub if I had?!"

He had in fact been incredibly careful not to drink on this particular day.

There were swarms of reporters all over the system, and he'd been warned by Anna personally not to make an ass of himself for inauguration day.

For that reason alone, the Black Star team of Rain Kaimeao, Mor, and Virnas had been left behind on Earth.

Mark was the only Federation Marine watching the launch from space today, apart from Anna's protection detail.

But before he beamed up to Repulse, he allowed the bootnecks a rare break and told both the instructors at Camp Shirthu Nath and the professors at Sandhurst Academy to give all their students the day off for the occasion.

Micheal laughed in turn, "Well, I'll have a pint for the both of us waiting in London after this."

Before either man could continue, the man at the Comm's station interrupted, "Captain Tovey, they've just announced the final countdown sequence."

"On the screen please if you would Morris," said Tovey, motioning with his finger in that famous Captain's way before looking at Mark once more, "Trust me, Mark, this'll be a show worth watching."


─•~:~•─


Elsewhere


"So, are you scared?" Blue asked, teasingly.

"Oh fuck, I don't know Blue," Red replied in a sarcastic tone, "There's only a fucking Battleship floating in weapons range, not to mention the entirety of Home Fleet just a few seconds away. Am I supposed to be scared?"

Red was incredibly stressed out. She had barely a week to get the old and nearly junked D'Deridex Warbird back in shape. Even getting the cloaking device in working order had been an ordeal.

Romulan cloaking devices were much better built than the claptraps that the Klingons typically slapped together, but as result, anything that went wrong took that much more effort to fix.

And Red was never an Engineer.

She had to do everything herself. There were no other agents available to help crew the Warbird. Occasionally, she thought she could hear ghosts walking through the long and empty corridors.

After a long three-day journey at low warp, having to weave her way around standing patrol groups towards the Federation Core, she had, at last, arrived at the Sol System.

In a sense of irony that would probably be lost on anybody besides herself, Red followed the Breen's path to Earth they had taken just six years ago.

Red had been the one to give the Breen Navy the quantum transceiver used to plant false Borg sensor readings on Sedna, thus drawing Enterprise and her assorted mob away from Earth.

If the people had known what she'd done, she'd likely be dead by now.

"Well, you did know this was going to be a one-way trip. I'd probably be a little scared," said Blue.

"No?!," replied Red in uncertainty, "I actually thought I might make it out of this, maybe even take Kaimeao to that dress shop she loves so much in Paris. I mean, we pulled Shanghai off without a hitch."

It hadn't been overly difficult for Red to weave her way through the tachyon sensors covering Earth.

There were a lot of them, and they randomized their sweep directions, but she was a skilled pilot and had access to the deployment algorithm.

It wouldn't be hard to complete her mission and evade Home Fleet, but Repulse was another story altogether.

The Vanguard class was supposed to be able to engage targets from 1 AU out.

And they supposedly carried up to an entire division of Sharkies on board.

"Did you know that Repulse was operational Blue? I thought she wasn't going to be out of dry-dock for at least another year?" Red asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

"Yeah, Gold dropped the ball on that one. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. Are you going to abort?" Blue replied.

"No... I came this far, might as well finish the job. But if I do die," she paused, before continuing, "Access folder 7.9 with the 786-bit key, there's something special there for you."

Blue did so, and after a moment his jaw dropped, "Uhm...wow. You look really good in white lace, Red."

Red smiled, weakly, "Amy. Just today, call me by my real name, okay?"

Blue nodded, "Alright Amy. We're about to lose our encrypted QC channel. Good luck"

Blue's image faded from the main viewer, and Amy was alone on the bridge of the suddenly massive Warbird, with only the sounds of the bridge instruments and the feint humming of the impulse engines to keep her company.

She took a long moment to look at the Moon.

Amy had been born in Lake Armstrong. It was a pleasant enough place. On a cloudless day, a person could leave their habitat dome and – depending on where the moon was at the moment – could look all the way down to Earth.

It had been a long time since Amy went home.

As far as anyone who had ever known her knew, Amy had been dead for many years, supposedly dying when her shuttle lost life-support unexpectedly during a trip to ESD.

Instead, she had been beamed away to the training facility and began her work as an agent.

Section 31 of the Starfleet Charter read:

- Where such threats to the safety of the United Federation of Planets are identified, individuals are permitted to use any and all means to monitor, contain, and if necessary, to neutralize those threats.

- These individuals shall hold no rank or title and shall only report as needed to the Section Chief and not be required to attend any formalities so as to maintain anonymity.

- These individuals are thus formally authorized to utilize any necessary means to carry out their tasks, and shall not be held liable for any actions carried out in the best interests of the United Federation of Planets.

Technically, the agency didn't have any kind of formal title.

But people who knew about it—a very select few—called it Section 31.

People who cared about things like rules or laws were the same people that got nine billion Federation citizens killed in the war.

If they had simply stood back and allowed Amy and her colleagues to do their jobs, the war never would have happened. There were things out in space that were dangerous.

And it was Amy's job to stop them.

She took a deep breath and focused. She still had a job to do.

Amy activated the switch on her tactical console, loading the Warbird's forward torpedo magazine.

The computers quickly auto-locked on the target, and her hand moved to the other switch that would drop the cloaking device.

And then, she waited for the right moment.