- CHAPTER 2 -
- ISS Hopolite, Deck 4, Lt. Cmdr. Ulysses Vanguard's quarters, 3:30 AM ship time -
"Computer, engage security lockout on the door to this room, authorization Vanguard alpha five one epsilon!" Adrenaline was still coursing through Ulysses system, the sound of his rapid pulse hammering in his eardrums. That had been too close, much to close. If someone had caught him and Dr. Unger, Captain Garret McBride would have skinned him alive. Even though he had only been on board the Hopolite for a few days, he had found out that in a hurry. The captain allowed no one else to use his personal possessions, and Dr. Cynthia Unger was most assuredly one of his most personal possessions. Of course, by McBride's logic, EVERY soul on his ship was his personal plaything the instant they were assigned to it. He just chose to selectively enforce his rule for his own amusement.
Ulysses threw his damp uniform into the recycler, then went into his closet and selected a new, dry uniform. Slipping into the space black, silver piped jumpsuit was like applying another layer of skin the fit was so tight. The spandex like material stretched to accommodate him. It was relatively simple in its form. The jump suit was almost totally black except for silver piping along the cuffs and down the outside of his legs. Branch was indicated by both color-coded piping along the collar and on a ring of color on his right sleeve. His was the blood red of command. That same ring on his sleeve held his years of service pins, a gold bar mated with a single silver one beside it indicated 6 years in the fleet. His rank pins gleamed on his collar, showing the two whole and one hollow pips of a Lt. Cmdr. It was thanks in part to the war and his innate ability that he had gotten promotion to that rank as quickly as he had. Going over to his room's replicator, he issued another order.
"Computer, replicate one combadge." His was no where to be found in the bundle of his clothing. No doubt Cynthia Unger knew where it was, but he had no desire at all to return to her lair and ask for it. In fact, he decided then and there that he would do everything in his power to never become ill as long as she was the ships CMO. The computer obediently followed his instructions and after a short hum, a shiny new combadge appeared in the replicator's receptacle. It was small enough to fit easily into the palm of his hand. He stared down at it for a few seconds, his face not showing the disgust he felt. Nor did it show the unease as part of him raged, urging him to pull out a phaser and melt the symbol of the Terran Empire to slag. That emblem was the embodiment of all that he loathed and all that was wrong in the universe.
The globe of Terra made up much of the badge, with a sword straight up and down behind it. The continents were laid out in ruby and emerald chips on a silver field. Reaching down, he roughly grasped the communicator and stuck it to his uniform's chest, putting it out of sight but not out of mind. The molecular adhesive on its backside bonded to his uniform soundlessly. Looking at himself in the mirror, Ulysses nearly spat on the floor. Damn the Terran Empire. Damn it to HELL he thought. Although he dared not show it outside of his personal quarters, and rarely even then, the excesses of the Empire lay like spoiled food in the pit of his stomach. He had felt that way for the longest time, for those excesses had reached out and changed his life forever.
Keeping out Cynthia Unger and her desires was only part of the reason he locked the door to his quarters though. Going to an old-fashioned bookcase, he reached into it and pulled out a well-worn volume. He had been in possession of the book since his earliest days at the academy. A cherished friend had given them to him. Walking over to his desk, he sank into the opulent, overstuffed Huvian leather chair behind it. His still sensitive skin made almost no complaint as he settled into the chair. Huvian leather was renowned across the Empire for its comfort. The novel itself was not the reason for his caution. The bookmark it contained was. Although it looked and felt like a normal bookmark, and would even stand up to modest electronic scrutiny, it was far from ordinary.
He opened the book on his desk with one hand, holding the bookmark flat on the desk with the other. Ulysses moved his fingers back and forth along it in what seemed a nervous habit. In reality it was far from it. It was actually a preprogrammed key code, one that would only activate to finger presses from a hand matching his genetic code alone. The key code finished, he commenced acting like he was reading the book. After six years of practice, he knew intuitively when he should turn the page. But his attention was not on the book at all.
They key code activated the hidden and primary function of the bookmark. The code activated a tiny transmitter in the bookmark. Using subsonic waves, it utilized the listener's own bones to amplify the sound and transmit it to his eardrums. A calm, familiar voice seemed to fill his head. Here, in these words, he found both a sense of inner peace and a reason to go on in a service he had come to despise. He listened with every fiber of his being, knowing full well that the penalty of doing so was death. A ghost of a smile crossed his impassive face. Internal Security would have to catch him doing it first. The teachings of the biggest traitor in the empire's history, one Spock of Vulcan, worked their normal magic, repairing the frayed ends of his distraught mind. They filled him with a vision of what the Empire could yet become, the Utopian paradise Spock himself had only briefly encountered. They helped quell the voice that whispered seductively in his ear for release, adding bars to its cage.
After listening to the words for close to an hour and a half, he finally felt at peace and in control again. It was a good thing to, because his bridge shift started in 15 minutes. Marking his place in the book, he returned it to its space on the shelf. Its spine read Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde. Ulysses chuckled for the billionth time at the similarity between the books main character and himself. Of course in his case, the monster needed to be on the outside for all to see, while it was the decent man who remained hidden in the shadows. Making his way to his bathroom, Ulysses stuffed his second uniform of the day into the recycler. After a quick spin in the sonic shower, he donned a fresh uniform. Looking in the mirror, he set his face into its well practiced arrogant half smile. When among animals, one had to at least look the part to avoid unwanted attention.
- ISS Hopolite, main bridge, 5:00 AM ship time -
As he walked on the bridge, Ulysses gave an order to the computer.
"Computer, activate program Ulysses alpha one." A chorus of groans came from the graveyard shift personnel. "Stop bellyaching and do your jobs!" His voice cracked like the taskmasters whip it was. All disagreement was silenced save for a few sulfurous looks exchanged between some of the more troublesome crew.
They had yet to grow used to their new second officers peculiar custom, and they were stumped as to what would posses him to do it. Following his instructions unquestioningly, the computer raised the lighting to nearly full brightness and dropped the temperature to a chilly 20 degrees Centigrade. The true features of the bridge came into light. Ulysses thought that this was how a bridge was supposed to look. It looked like a nerve center of a starship, not the luxurious grotto it usually was. And although the bridge crew might not like it, Ulysses had found that the lower temperature and brighter lights increased concentration and generally improved crew performance across the board. Which was probably why they bitched. They liked their warm and dark little rut, and saw no need to change it, especially for a recently promoted, excruciatingly young Lt. Cmdr.
Ulysses settled into the less comfortable chair to the right of the vacant command throne. Throne was a highly accurate word. It was one of the most comfortable seats on the entire ship, as well as being the seat of power for her master. Captain Garret McBride also guarded his seat as a king guarded his throne. Thus, Ulysses had to command his watch from one of the far less opulent chairs on either side of it. Being that the Hopolite was only a destroyer, its bridge was correspondingly cramped, with the extra command staff duty stations added in almost as an after thought.
The combination helm and tactical station was directly in front of the raised command platform. The helm controls were stuck into the center of the curved station. Taking up a third of the total length of the console on either side of the helm was dual tactical consoles. The one on the left controlled the rear and left hand side weapons emplacements. The right side controlled the front and right facing weapons. During red alert situations, the chief tactical officer and his first deputy occupied them. To the right of the small bridge were the communications and engineering stations. To the left were the science and fleet support systems. Directly to the rear of the command deck were flight ops, the bridge turbolift, and the captain's ready room door. Flight ops required a special station on an Aegean class vessel because the stretched secondary hull allowed a full wing of fighters to be stowed in her hangar deck.
The fleet support station was currently powered down and vacant because the Hopolite was currently unassigned to any fleet. If it was, and said fleet encountered an attack, Aegean class vessels were responsible for using their specialized systems in support. The main specialized system worked into the Aegean class was a system that boosted and strengthened the shields of the other vessels in the fleet. While not a pure combatant, it was still more than capable of holding its own in a fight. Her crew numbered only 150, but she also carried 100 Terran Marines and all of their gear.
With arrays of Type XII Phaser Arrays and Ball Mount Pulse Phaser Cannons, she was a formidable energy platform even though she was merely an escort and support vessel. A normal cloaking device had been installed in the Aegean class because Bu Ships felt that only certain ships warranted a phase cloak. Ablative armor generators studded her hull. Although the fact that they didn't cover her energy weapons left possible kinks in her armor some lucky enemy could possibly exploit, they still provided a formidable second line of defense to her new style regenerative shields. Instead of the old style bubble shields, the Aegean class was one of the first to boast the new conformal shields as part of her design from the keel out. These made her a significantly smaller target. Weapons actually had to come close to hitting her in order to do damage to her shields, instead of having her shields damaged by what would otherwise have been a near miss. She also boasted a fore and aft burst quantum torpedo launcher. It was capable of launching a volley of up to six torps, with each one capable of locking up a different target. And that was just HER armament. She also carried eight strike fighters.
The Cobra class Strike Fighter is the current front line fighter of the Terran Empire. What it resembled most was a diamond. The cockpit bubble was set forward, and offered considerable visibility. The dagger like nose housed one of the best sensor arrays ever fielded in a fighter. It provided information to the holo projectors in the cockpit, which in turn provided visual information to the pilot. It was armed with dual pulse phasers mounted on both sides of the forward leading edge. It also carried up to eight quantum torpedoes on internal weapons pods and four more externally, making her near equal to a Defiant in her opening volleys.
The Cobra was powered by four impulse engines mounted flush top and bottom with the rear hull. They were stacked on top of each other in pairs, two on the left, two on the right. This configuration gave the fighter phenomenal roll and pitch characteristics. The Cobra's also mounted cloaking devices and ablative armor as standard. Since the fighters systems required more power than could be generated by impulse reactors, but design philosophy dictated a non warp capable ship to save internal space for more weapons, a compromise was made. A warp core was installed for power, but no nacelles and the subsequent power trunks to them were, freeing up enough room for another four Quantums that would otherwise have been left behind.
This powerful package was now gliding slowly in system on 1/4 impulse, roughly 19 PSL. The Hopolite could have made the trip to its destination in mere seconds via slipstream, but the captain needed his beauty sleep, and no one dared call him on it. As such, it was going to take five hours to reach the target. Which meant that all Ulysses had to do was sit and do practically nothing for the next five hours. Nearly any other officer would have jumped at the chance to slack off like that, but Ulysses chafed at having nothing useful to do with his time. The captain knew this and had done it deliberately to further punish him, of this Ulysses was sure. Now if only he knew why he had become the captains whipping boy. Surely it couldn't be that he was an ex-Drone, could it? That would be highly irrational and just plain stupid. which the more he thought about it meant that it was exactly something McBride would do.
"Miss Petel," he said to the watch's Vulcan science officer, "do you have anything unusual on sensors?"
"Nothing significant to report sir." She replied with the usual even, superior tone of a Vulcan. "Just a fairly large concentration of debris and large constructs further in system. Sensors are not 100% accurate at this range, but it appears to be Borg in origin. It's also right where the brief said our target should be."
She had every right to act superior. It wasn't every day that a species was able to fight the Terran Empire to a standstill. As such, the Vulcans had been brought in as equal partners in the Empire's hierarchy.
"Well, it seems that Fleet Intel got something right for a change." Ulysses snorted. It even got a laugh out of the normally irritable bridge crew
"So it would seem." She said deadpan, but Ulysses could have sworn he had seen a hint of a grin play at the corners of her normally inscrutable features.
Fleet Intelligence had proven just how terribly fallible it could be when Operation Clean Sweep started. Intel had said that the conquest of Borg space would be a cakewalk. If only that was the case.
Oh sure, the opening stages went exceptionally well. Cube after cube, system after system was scoured clean of all things Borg. It was almost laughable. When you destroyed a small Borg fleet, they just sent a bigger one after you. And every time it was in a headlong rush towards your biggest concentration of ships. And every time, the Borg were beaten back with only minimal Imperial casualties. Fleet Intelligence had been scouting the Borg for years in cloaked ships. They had also spent years on designing ways and technology to eliminate the Borg threat. Having developed a way to jam the Borg's link to their collective, and created weapons that would be effective against them, the conquest of Borg space began. Low and behold the weapons worked, and the Borg were just as tactically inept as Intel had prophesied. And everything had been wonderful.
Then the Borg adapted. After loosing over 3/4 of their space, they launched a major counter assault with nearly everything they had left. And Starfleet thought that this one would end like all the others. But it didn't. When the massive fleets came together, many of Starfleet's weapons did only minor damage, and the Borg found ways to partially defeat Starfleet's auto- remodulating shielding. What had been a cakewalk became an orgy of mutual slaughter. Things degenerated into a war of attrition from then on. It was only a stroke of luck and after three years of horrendous fighting that the Terran Empire managed to gain the final victory. Yet that final victory had cost nearly every Imperial vessel and those who crewed them from two quadrants of the galaxy. The death toll ran into the hundreds of billions. Even with the acquired Borg tech, Fleet strength was still only up to 1/2 prewar strength. With the false promises of another easy campaign still fresh in the minds of many, Fleet Intel had gotten a nasty purple shiner that it wasn't going to lose for a long time.
"Let me know immediately if anything odd pops up."
"Of course sir." The words were harmless enough, but the tone said much more. The snide undercurrent was unmistakable. What she really said was 'Not only am I considerably smarter than you, I have been a Starfleet officer since you were still sh!tting in your drawers! So don't presume to remind me how to do my job!
The tactical officers and the helmsman exchanged knowing grins. Lt. P'tel had verbally gutted them before too, and it was considerably more enjoyable to see it done to someone else. Someone else who caused them annoyance. Especially someone else who was higher in rank and thus could have them stuck in the Agonizer if they talked back.
Time ticked slowly away, each second bringing the Hopolite that much closer to the Borg facility. Ulysses resisted the growing urge to sleep. He had been awake for over 20 hours now, and that combined with his recent introduction to the ships Agonizer was beginning to catch up with him. Then it hit him. Captain McBride was trying to force him to screw up. That way, he would have an excuse to liquidate him. But Ulysses still had no clue why the captain was out to get him. The captain had been like this since he came on board. It couldn't be as simple as misdirected revenge, it just couldn't.
And while the captain might be a sadist and a cold, calculating SOB, one thing he was not was irrational. He had to have a reason behind his hate. Ulysses watch chimed, alerting him that it was nearly time to go off shift. And also time to change the climate controls. The captain positively despised coming onto a cold, brightly lit bridge.
"Computer, deactivate program Ulysses alpha one."
"Complying" came the gravely, tough voice. The lighting dimmed to its usual twilight level, and within seconds the temperature rose to the normal 32 degrees. The crew sighed as conditions returned to their accustomed norm. Ulysses thought they did it just to get back at him, but said nothing. By now, the shattered Borg complex filled the view screen.
"Whatever happened here, the Borg definitely got the short end of the stick."
"That's why we are here sir. We are to investigate just what happened to this outpost. In 23 hours 5 minutes, 45th fleet should be here to provide backup. We were only sent here first because we were the closest ship."
Ulysses almost spat out an angry retort that he already knew that, but he reigned it in at the last second. Then he remembered being on the opposite end of such a conversation hours before. Swallowing his anger by sheer force of will, he only nodded to Lt. P'tel. She nearly grinned in the dim light, having noticed that her barb had found its mark. Maybe next time, Mr. 2nd Officer would remember to whom he was talking to. When one had served as long as P'tel had, one learned the subtle art of irritating those that irritated you but were higher up on the local totem pole. Both settled in to wait the always punctual Captain McBride's arrival
- ISS Hopolite, Deck 4, Lt. Cmdr. Ulysses Vanguard's quarters, 3:30 AM ship time -
"Computer, engage security lockout on the door to this room, authorization Vanguard alpha five one epsilon!" Adrenaline was still coursing through Ulysses system, the sound of his rapid pulse hammering in his eardrums. That had been too close, much to close. If someone had caught him and Dr. Unger, Captain Garret McBride would have skinned him alive. Even though he had only been on board the Hopolite for a few days, he had found out that in a hurry. The captain allowed no one else to use his personal possessions, and Dr. Cynthia Unger was most assuredly one of his most personal possessions. Of course, by McBride's logic, EVERY soul on his ship was his personal plaything the instant they were assigned to it. He just chose to selectively enforce his rule for his own amusement.
Ulysses threw his damp uniform into the recycler, then went into his closet and selected a new, dry uniform. Slipping into the space black, silver piped jumpsuit was like applying another layer of skin the fit was so tight. The spandex like material stretched to accommodate him. It was relatively simple in its form. The jump suit was almost totally black except for silver piping along the cuffs and down the outside of his legs. Branch was indicated by both color-coded piping along the collar and on a ring of color on his right sleeve. His was the blood red of command. That same ring on his sleeve held his years of service pins, a gold bar mated with a single silver one beside it indicated 6 years in the fleet. His rank pins gleamed on his collar, showing the two whole and one hollow pips of a Lt. Cmdr. It was thanks in part to the war and his innate ability that he had gotten promotion to that rank as quickly as he had. Going over to his room's replicator, he issued another order.
"Computer, replicate one combadge." His was no where to be found in the bundle of his clothing. No doubt Cynthia Unger knew where it was, but he had no desire at all to return to her lair and ask for it. In fact, he decided then and there that he would do everything in his power to never become ill as long as she was the ships CMO. The computer obediently followed his instructions and after a short hum, a shiny new combadge appeared in the replicator's receptacle. It was small enough to fit easily into the palm of his hand. He stared down at it for a few seconds, his face not showing the disgust he felt. Nor did it show the unease as part of him raged, urging him to pull out a phaser and melt the symbol of the Terran Empire to slag. That emblem was the embodiment of all that he loathed and all that was wrong in the universe.
The globe of Terra made up much of the badge, with a sword straight up and down behind it. The continents were laid out in ruby and emerald chips on a silver field. Reaching down, he roughly grasped the communicator and stuck it to his uniform's chest, putting it out of sight but not out of mind. The molecular adhesive on its backside bonded to his uniform soundlessly. Looking at himself in the mirror, Ulysses nearly spat on the floor. Damn the Terran Empire. Damn it to HELL he thought. Although he dared not show it outside of his personal quarters, and rarely even then, the excesses of the Empire lay like spoiled food in the pit of his stomach. He had felt that way for the longest time, for those excesses had reached out and changed his life forever.
Keeping out Cynthia Unger and her desires was only part of the reason he locked the door to his quarters though. Going to an old-fashioned bookcase, he reached into it and pulled out a well-worn volume. He had been in possession of the book since his earliest days at the academy. A cherished friend had given them to him. Walking over to his desk, he sank into the opulent, overstuffed Huvian leather chair behind it. His still sensitive skin made almost no complaint as he settled into the chair. Huvian leather was renowned across the Empire for its comfort. The novel itself was not the reason for his caution. The bookmark it contained was. Although it looked and felt like a normal bookmark, and would even stand up to modest electronic scrutiny, it was far from ordinary.
He opened the book on his desk with one hand, holding the bookmark flat on the desk with the other. Ulysses moved his fingers back and forth along it in what seemed a nervous habit. In reality it was far from it. It was actually a preprogrammed key code, one that would only activate to finger presses from a hand matching his genetic code alone. The key code finished, he commenced acting like he was reading the book. After six years of practice, he knew intuitively when he should turn the page. But his attention was not on the book at all.
They key code activated the hidden and primary function of the bookmark. The code activated a tiny transmitter in the bookmark. Using subsonic waves, it utilized the listener's own bones to amplify the sound and transmit it to his eardrums. A calm, familiar voice seemed to fill his head. Here, in these words, he found both a sense of inner peace and a reason to go on in a service he had come to despise. He listened with every fiber of his being, knowing full well that the penalty of doing so was death. A ghost of a smile crossed his impassive face. Internal Security would have to catch him doing it first. The teachings of the biggest traitor in the empire's history, one Spock of Vulcan, worked their normal magic, repairing the frayed ends of his distraught mind. They filled him with a vision of what the Empire could yet become, the Utopian paradise Spock himself had only briefly encountered. They helped quell the voice that whispered seductively in his ear for release, adding bars to its cage.
After listening to the words for close to an hour and a half, he finally felt at peace and in control again. It was a good thing to, because his bridge shift started in 15 minutes. Marking his place in the book, he returned it to its space on the shelf. Its spine read Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde. Ulysses chuckled for the billionth time at the similarity between the books main character and himself. Of course in his case, the monster needed to be on the outside for all to see, while it was the decent man who remained hidden in the shadows. Making his way to his bathroom, Ulysses stuffed his second uniform of the day into the recycler. After a quick spin in the sonic shower, he donned a fresh uniform. Looking in the mirror, he set his face into its well practiced arrogant half smile. When among animals, one had to at least look the part to avoid unwanted attention.
- ISS Hopolite, main bridge, 5:00 AM ship time -
As he walked on the bridge, Ulysses gave an order to the computer.
"Computer, activate program Ulysses alpha one." A chorus of groans came from the graveyard shift personnel. "Stop bellyaching and do your jobs!" His voice cracked like the taskmasters whip it was. All disagreement was silenced save for a few sulfurous looks exchanged between some of the more troublesome crew.
They had yet to grow used to their new second officers peculiar custom, and they were stumped as to what would posses him to do it. Following his instructions unquestioningly, the computer raised the lighting to nearly full brightness and dropped the temperature to a chilly 20 degrees Centigrade. The true features of the bridge came into light. Ulysses thought that this was how a bridge was supposed to look. It looked like a nerve center of a starship, not the luxurious grotto it usually was. And although the bridge crew might not like it, Ulysses had found that the lower temperature and brighter lights increased concentration and generally improved crew performance across the board. Which was probably why they bitched. They liked their warm and dark little rut, and saw no need to change it, especially for a recently promoted, excruciatingly young Lt. Cmdr.
Ulysses settled into the less comfortable chair to the right of the vacant command throne. Throne was a highly accurate word. It was one of the most comfortable seats on the entire ship, as well as being the seat of power for her master. Captain Garret McBride also guarded his seat as a king guarded his throne. Thus, Ulysses had to command his watch from one of the far less opulent chairs on either side of it. Being that the Hopolite was only a destroyer, its bridge was correspondingly cramped, with the extra command staff duty stations added in almost as an after thought.
The combination helm and tactical station was directly in front of the raised command platform. The helm controls were stuck into the center of the curved station. Taking up a third of the total length of the console on either side of the helm was dual tactical consoles. The one on the left controlled the rear and left hand side weapons emplacements. The right side controlled the front and right facing weapons. During red alert situations, the chief tactical officer and his first deputy occupied them. To the right of the small bridge were the communications and engineering stations. To the left were the science and fleet support systems. Directly to the rear of the command deck were flight ops, the bridge turbolift, and the captain's ready room door. Flight ops required a special station on an Aegean class vessel because the stretched secondary hull allowed a full wing of fighters to be stowed in her hangar deck.
The fleet support station was currently powered down and vacant because the Hopolite was currently unassigned to any fleet. If it was, and said fleet encountered an attack, Aegean class vessels were responsible for using their specialized systems in support. The main specialized system worked into the Aegean class was a system that boosted and strengthened the shields of the other vessels in the fleet. While not a pure combatant, it was still more than capable of holding its own in a fight. Her crew numbered only 150, but she also carried 100 Terran Marines and all of their gear.
With arrays of Type XII Phaser Arrays and Ball Mount Pulse Phaser Cannons, she was a formidable energy platform even though she was merely an escort and support vessel. A normal cloaking device had been installed in the Aegean class because Bu Ships felt that only certain ships warranted a phase cloak. Ablative armor generators studded her hull. Although the fact that they didn't cover her energy weapons left possible kinks in her armor some lucky enemy could possibly exploit, they still provided a formidable second line of defense to her new style regenerative shields. Instead of the old style bubble shields, the Aegean class was one of the first to boast the new conformal shields as part of her design from the keel out. These made her a significantly smaller target. Weapons actually had to come close to hitting her in order to do damage to her shields, instead of having her shields damaged by what would otherwise have been a near miss. She also boasted a fore and aft burst quantum torpedo launcher. It was capable of launching a volley of up to six torps, with each one capable of locking up a different target. And that was just HER armament. She also carried eight strike fighters.
The Cobra class Strike Fighter is the current front line fighter of the Terran Empire. What it resembled most was a diamond. The cockpit bubble was set forward, and offered considerable visibility. The dagger like nose housed one of the best sensor arrays ever fielded in a fighter. It provided information to the holo projectors in the cockpit, which in turn provided visual information to the pilot. It was armed with dual pulse phasers mounted on both sides of the forward leading edge. It also carried up to eight quantum torpedoes on internal weapons pods and four more externally, making her near equal to a Defiant in her opening volleys.
The Cobra was powered by four impulse engines mounted flush top and bottom with the rear hull. They were stacked on top of each other in pairs, two on the left, two on the right. This configuration gave the fighter phenomenal roll and pitch characteristics. The Cobra's also mounted cloaking devices and ablative armor as standard. Since the fighters systems required more power than could be generated by impulse reactors, but design philosophy dictated a non warp capable ship to save internal space for more weapons, a compromise was made. A warp core was installed for power, but no nacelles and the subsequent power trunks to them were, freeing up enough room for another four Quantums that would otherwise have been left behind.
This powerful package was now gliding slowly in system on 1/4 impulse, roughly 19 PSL. The Hopolite could have made the trip to its destination in mere seconds via slipstream, but the captain needed his beauty sleep, and no one dared call him on it. As such, it was going to take five hours to reach the target. Which meant that all Ulysses had to do was sit and do practically nothing for the next five hours. Nearly any other officer would have jumped at the chance to slack off like that, but Ulysses chafed at having nothing useful to do with his time. The captain knew this and had done it deliberately to further punish him, of this Ulysses was sure. Now if only he knew why he had become the captains whipping boy. Surely it couldn't be that he was an ex-Drone, could it? That would be highly irrational and just plain stupid. which the more he thought about it meant that it was exactly something McBride would do.
"Miss Petel," he said to the watch's Vulcan science officer, "do you have anything unusual on sensors?"
"Nothing significant to report sir." She replied with the usual even, superior tone of a Vulcan. "Just a fairly large concentration of debris and large constructs further in system. Sensors are not 100% accurate at this range, but it appears to be Borg in origin. It's also right where the brief said our target should be."
She had every right to act superior. It wasn't every day that a species was able to fight the Terran Empire to a standstill. As such, the Vulcans had been brought in as equal partners in the Empire's hierarchy.
"Well, it seems that Fleet Intel got something right for a change." Ulysses snorted. It even got a laugh out of the normally irritable bridge crew
"So it would seem." She said deadpan, but Ulysses could have sworn he had seen a hint of a grin play at the corners of her normally inscrutable features.
Fleet Intelligence had proven just how terribly fallible it could be when Operation Clean Sweep started. Intel had said that the conquest of Borg space would be a cakewalk. If only that was the case.
Oh sure, the opening stages went exceptionally well. Cube after cube, system after system was scoured clean of all things Borg. It was almost laughable. When you destroyed a small Borg fleet, they just sent a bigger one after you. And every time it was in a headlong rush towards your biggest concentration of ships. And every time, the Borg were beaten back with only minimal Imperial casualties. Fleet Intelligence had been scouting the Borg for years in cloaked ships. They had also spent years on designing ways and technology to eliminate the Borg threat. Having developed a way to jam the Borg's link to their collective, and created weapons that would be effective against them, the conquest of Borg space began. Low and behold the weapons worked, and the Borg were just as tactically inept as Intel had prophesied. And everything had been wonderful.
Then the Borg adapted. After loosing over 3/4 of their space, they launched a major counter assault with nearly everything they had left. And Starfleet thought that this one would end like all the others. But it didn't. When the massive fleets came together, many of Starfleet's weapons did only minor damage, and the Borg found ways to partially defeat Starfleet's auto- remodulating shielding. What had been a cakewalk became an orgy of mutual slaughter. Things degenerated into a war of attrition from then on. It was only a stroke of luck and after three years of horrendous fighting that the Terran Empire managed to gain the final victory. Yet that final victory had cost nearly every Imperial vessel and those who crewed them from two quadrants of the galaxy. The death toll ran into the hundreds of billions. Even with the acquired Borg tech, Fleet strength was still only up to 1/2 prewar strength. With the false promises of another easy campaign still fresh in the minds of many, Fleet Intel had gotten a nasty purple shiner that it wasn't going to lose for a long time.
"Let me know immediately if anything odd pops up."
"Of course sir." The words were harmless enough, but the tone said much more. The snide undercurrent was unmistakable. What she really said was 'Not only am I considerably smarter than you, I have been a Starfleet officer since you were still sh!tting in your drawers! So don't presume to remind me how to do my job!
The tactical officers and the helmsman exchanged knowing grins. Lt. P'tel had verbally gutted them before too, and it was considerably more enjoyable to see it done to someone else. Someone else who caused them annoyance. Especially someone else who was higher in rank and thus could have them stuck in the Agonizer if they talked back.
Time ticked slowly away, each second bringing the Hopolite that much closer to the Borg facility. Ulysses resisted the growing urge to sleep. He had been awake for over 20 hours now, and that combined with his recent introduction to the ships Agonizer was beginning to catch up with him. Then it hit him. Captain McBride was trying to force him to screw up. That way, he would have an excuse to liquidate him. But Ulysses still had no clue why the captain was out to get him. The captain had been like this since he came on board. It couldn't be as simple as misdirected revenge, it just couldn't.
And while the captain might be a sadist and a cold, calculating SOB, one thing he was not was irrational. He had to have a reason behind his hate. Ulysses watch chimed, alerting him that it was nearly time to go off shift. And also time to change the climate controls. The captain positively despised coming onto a cold, brightly lit bridge.
"Computer, deactivate program Ulysses alpha one."
"Complying" came the gravely, tough voice. The lighting dimmed to its usual twilight level, and within seconds the temperature rose to the normal 32 degrees. The crew sighed as conditions returned to their accustomed norm. Ulysses thought they did it just to get back at him, but said nothing. By now, the shattered Borg complex filled the view screen.
"Whatever happened here, the Borg definitely got the short end of the stick."
"That's why we are here sir. We are to investigate just what happened to this outpost. In 23 hours 5 minutes, 45th fleet should be here to provide backup. We were only sent here first because we were the closest ship."
Ulysses almost spat out an angry retort that he already knew that, but he reigned it in at the last second. Then he remembered being on the opposite end of such a conversation hours before. Swallowing his anger by sheer force of will, he only nodded to Lt. P'tel. She nearly grinned in the dim light, having noticed that her barb had found its mark. Maybe next time, Mr. 2nd Officer would remember to whom he was talking to. When one had served as long as P'tel had, one learned the subtle art of irritating those that irritated you but were higher up on the local totem pole. Both settled in to wait the always punctual Captain McBride's arrival