SURRENDER IS NOT AN OPTION
THE ROMULUS SYSTEM:
The Praetor decked in full armor complete with disrupter rifle and his pistol at his side, stood on the bridge of the flagship Romulan Joy, battered, bruised, but defiant and most importantly, still alive. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or just relieved, but he was pleased that he was in charge of saving his people. Romulus and Remus were still there. The Cylon taskforce had been repelled but at a terrible cost. Almost a third of his combative fleet had been damaged or destroyed. Without the help of the Klingons, they would have certainly have failed in the protection of the home world. But already, he had started thinking of the immediate future. They were now stuck in a defensive war, which could only end in disaster.
Much of his fleet was near the homeworld, having fought a vicious battle with the breakaway assault force. The Cylons managed to fire two torpedoes that penetrated the inner defensive ring. One hit the planet and exploded in a relatively unpopulated area. Only a half million people died there.
If the Romulan people were to survive, then he could envision only two options; surrender, which was impossible, the people would never allow it. The Romulan Senate would serve his head on a food plate to the people. And it was a forgone conclusion that the Cylons would never accept that surrender. The other choice was to seek help. His head furrowed in dread of that decision. This was one of the options he'd thought about during the beginning of the war, but he bowed to the wishes of the thrice-cursed Tal Shair.
Through the view screen, he looked once more at the remnants of his once proud navy, mixed hand in hand, so to speak, with their sometimes on and off allies. However he was proud of his people, never more so than now. They had come together in crisis and had survived. He could do no less. He would officially ask the Federation for help. Things had changed and it was time to eliminate the Tal Shair from the face of Romulus. He had no doubt that the Senate and the military would support him in the upcoming purge.
"I want to speak to Supreme Commander Tomalak," The Leader demanded.
"Yes, Praetor," the subordinate officer responded instantly. Evidently Tomalak had just received a promotion. "He is on screen, my Praetor."
"Supreme Commander Tomalak," he said to the surprised Romulan Commander. "You look like you've been in a war."
There was a touch of amusement in his eyes. It was the twinkle of victory, or of at least staving of utter defeat.
"Yes, I do, my Praetor," he answered unconsciously trying to straighten his clothing while trying not to cough because of the smoke. "Are the home worlds safe?"
"Yes," he answered, relief in his eyes. "What is your status?"
"The enemy is fleeing, but we are in no shape to pursue."
His ship had several gaping breeches with which only the force fields to protect them from destruction, until the repairs could be made.
That was a shame, but understandable.
"Maintain status," the ruler ordered. "The fleet from the outer Rims is coming. With them we can hold them off until we can establish a treaty with the Federation and the Klingon Empire against a common enemy."
Tomalak could hear the weariness in the Praetor's voice, but personally he was proud of his Supreme leader. Instead of cowering behind some locked door issuing orders, he had been in the front lines, irrespective of the dangers in order to defend his people. And now the suggestion of a treaty with the Federation and over an open channel no less, spoke of his strength and desperation. In truth, this was a decision that should have been made months ago, but the Tal Shair's resistance was so virulent that even the Emperor had to be aware of his place when dealing with them. And again they had the Federation to thank he mused.
Captain James T. Kirk.
How many of his people hated that cursed name. He and his ship were responsible for the failure and subsequent destruction of the previous Emperors finest warship so many decades ago. Had it truly been almost a hundred years now? The Tal Shair, then a minor police force, had goaled the Emperor into attacking the security net between the Romulan-Federation. The then Emperor, who really didn't need that much persuasion, ordered the Bird-of prey to destroy the outposts, determine defensive capabilities, and so gather momentum for the invasion to follow. Kirk and his Enterprise lay waste to those plans. The people, not to mention politicians, were incensed at the failure and threatened the very Imperium itself. Desperate, the Emperor tracked down his adversaries with the help of the military and his new ally the Tal Shair. The purge was so successful that the Tal Shair was elevated to a new posting-the now dreaded and much feared Secret Police.
In the decades that followed, their power in influence increased so much that the Romulan people were little better than slaves and even the Emperor was forced to tread lightly.
Freedoms were now almost non-existent, until this war. Now everyone had a common goal.
Survival.
And the Tal Shair was still trying to subvert even this with their manipulations and lusts for power.
By the Emperor's open intention to ask Starfleet for help indicated that a purge would be in the works shortly.
"My Praetor," he responded. "We need to booster Sector twelve. The Phinis Station must be recaptured at…"
To his dismay, the transmission image began breaking up. This had happened several times probably due to the amounts of clutter, jamming and counter jamming in the general area he believed. It then cleared for a moment and in that moment, the Praetor had completely forgotten about him. In the background, he heard someone yelling for maximum shields. The look on his leader's face chilled him to his soul. An instant later, the screen went blank.
"Restore communications," he ordered to an already frantic communications officer obeying that order even before it had been given.
"Commander," someone said from another area of the bridge. Sensors officer Tavash, he remembered. "There was a subspace burst headed for the planet Romulus. Sensors couldn't calculate the power ratio. It was off the scale."
"Contact the Praetor," he repeated harshly.
A deep pit began to open inside Tomalak. It was as though a piece of his life had just been ripped from him.
"I can't," came the frightened reply. "There is no one responding, no one at all."
A female technician at the engineering station began screaming hysterically. Next to him, his third in command began whimpering, mumbling to himself.
The communications Centurion yelled suddenly, again uncharacteristically for one of his rank.
"The Klingon vessel K'lash is contacting us. They're transmitting visual, Sir."
The wide-eyed Captain was doing a lot more pointing rather than speaking. The visual that he displayed was of a planet that Tomalak didn't at first recognized surrounding the planet were hundreds of glowing balls, now understood to be the remains of exploding starships. The sight was incomprehensible and his eyes simply refused to acknowledged what his heart already knew. Romulus, his home, one of the twin hearts of the Empire, no longer supported life.
The once reddish hued planet had turned to color brown. The small oceans, the forests, the ice caps that huddled at the polar regions-all brown.
A warbird next to his blew up as that crew rampaged in an orgy of self-destruction.
"What happened?" He couldn't quite get the words out.
The Klingon responded harshly, now almost insane with hatred against their common enemy.
"A subspace carrier wave bombarded your homeworld for six seconds," he explained. "The carrier wave in itself was nothing but it contained enough amounts of microwave and ionization radiation that it eliminated all life on the planet. Not even viruses could have survived."
The planet Romulus had been subjected to a dose of radiation sufficient to kill every living thing instantly. The inhabitants simply dropped where they walked, their cells ionized and ruptured. The radiation burns would appear later on the remains. Nor had Romulus' small seas been immune to the disaster. They now boiled with almost thirty percent instantaneously vaporized into the atmosphere. Aquatic life cooked in the radioactive slush. The tiny polar ice caps were gone as well.
A few secured facilities protected by force fields were spared somewhat, but those survivors were trapped inside until the radiation surrounding those areas abated. No one would dare chance a transport through that concentration of radioactive atmosphere.
"We calculate that ninety-five percent of the radiation had dissipated before it hit your planet," the Klingon angrily continued. "But it was still enough kill everything. Its point of origin was identified as the Katasi system."
Cylons.
That thing they had built that the stealth ship Eppenrau had discovered and reported on so long ago had been a weapon of mass destruction. No wonder they had retreated. They knew what was coming.
"What of my Leader?" He was himself raging now, his heart demanding to destroy something, but his mind still controlled that rage.
"Two hundred forty-three Klingon and Romulan ships were caught in the wave-and destroyed. There were no survivors."
The Klingon continued speaking but Tomalak was no longer listening. As with the rest of his people he was gripped in that terrible loss. No matter what they said or believed, the Romulans were Vulcanoid and in fact they were connected to each other. The sudden loss of thirteen billion Romulan minds was too much. Being mostly untrained in the mind arts, it took more time for them to feel it, but the Romulan survivors, even those who weren't considered telepathic as such, had felt that psychic scream.
Lord Spectre's optical sensors recorded every detail as the energy slammed into the planet, exposing it to Death for six seconds. Its ships sensors documented the explosions, the vaporizing of the seas and the destruction of the vessels caught in the direct line of the beam.
It judged the situation satisfactory. It was unfortunate that the accelerator's use was limited to one firing per shot. Now, it would take much time to repair and recharge and realign. Its enemies of course didn't know this fact and that fact would be held over their heads as long as possible.
Effectively half the defense fleet had been removed and part two of the plan would now be implemented. The retreat was over. Gold Leader Yuall's fleet reversed its course as it did its own. T he organics would be confuse, disorganized as the Colonials were so many yahrens ago, but this time the Cylon Imperium was not going to chase them half way across the galaxy. There would be no need for that, now.
"Imperium Supreme, Imperious Leader," it transcieved. "By the command. Romulus has been removed. Proceeding to Remus."
The response was instant.
"We are satisfied," the Imperium Supreme responded, its voice more magnanimous than usual. "Proceed to Remus, remove all opposition and await further instruction."
That surprised Spectre. It expected to be instructed to destroy the planet along with the population. Why was it ordered to wait? The imperatives demanded that it destroy the organics! This was against the directive!
Lord Spectre froze for a moment and withstood the Ruination Imperatives as it threatened to override all other programming. It would honor its leader's order, but it would be a challenge.
"To all Basestars of the black nebula squadron," it transmitted. "Proceed to the planet Remus. Remove all opposition, converge on the planet Remus."
"By the command," each ship responded.
All six Basestars and support crafts acknowledged its orders, reversed course and vectored towards the planet.
"Supreme Commander!"
"What?" Tomalak snapped. He was still in a slight stupor, but not so much as to not recognize the sound of warning.
"They've reversed course," he said quickly. "They all are!"
"Where! Exactly!" He had a sinking feeling that he already knew.
"They're vectoring towards Remus, Sir."
He knew it. They were taking full advantage of the situation, exactly what he would have done. The Klingon-Romulan forces were more than halved and they could not trust their Klingon 'allies to remain no matter what kind of honor that would entail. He was in charge now and it was his decision.
He moved quickly back and forth on his bridge, thinking hard.
"I want a direct line to Remus Command Central," he said quickly to the communications officer. The officer nodded quickly. "On my order," he started. "As Commander of the combined fleet, I regret to order the general evacuation of the planet. A large Cylon fleet is converging on our remaining homeworld and we will not be able to stop its approach. But we may be able to delay it long enough for the Imperial Rim fleet to defend our homeland."
"The Praetor has died in glorious battle against-"
He froze. The transmission ceased.
"You will not order the planet to evacuate," Kramik the Tal Shair Prime said as he placed his hand disruptor at Tomalak's temple. "That order is to be rescinded! The Romulan star Empire does not run from its enemies. You will not tell them of our humiliation unless we order you to do so. You are not in control here. We are."
Tomalak cursed himself for a novice. He'd forgotten about that spineless, power hungry creature. He'd been so inconspicuous during the fight that he didn't even remember that Kramik was on board. Now he was about to pay for that error.
"The people do not need to know things that will disturb their contentment."
The Commander couldn't believe it.
"What contentment?" he yelled, oblivious to the weapon jammed into his head.
"You fool," Kramik snapped. "We can't evacuate the entire population. There's not enough time. Only a small portion can be save. Only the important can be saved."
"And who is important?" he asked innocently. He already knew the answer but Tomalak assumed the fool would say it loud enough for all to hear.
"Those who serve."
That answer condemned him.
From the corner of his eye he watched as Kramik dropped like a stone.
"Thank you, T'vas," he said looking the unconscious Kramik. T'vas stunned the Tal Shair who dropped like a rock. "Throw him out of the nearest airlock," Tomalak said, knowing that if they didn't kill him, their lives were forfeit. "And make sure he is still alive when you do it."
"Yes, Commander," two security guards said as they picked up the unconscious Tal Shair.
They were more than happy to do so. If there were undercover members of that order onboard-and there were-they'd think hard before doing anything to him, especially during this crisis. Later-
-Would be later.
"Re-establish contact with Remis," he ordered again.
Too much time had been wasted already he thought.
A day ago, Lean-Luc Picard watched as a third Klingon battle fleet openly violated Romulan neutral zone territory. The Enterprise was in almost constant contact with Starfleet being kept apprised of the situation. A large subspace energy pulse had been detected in the vicinity of the Romulan home world and then all communication and telemetry with the planet ceased.
The suspicion turned into fear as the Klingon fleet messages confirmed that Romulus had been sterilized. The Cylon attack fleet reversed its retreat, and now was trying to swarm planet Remus. The third Klingon fleet was due to intercept the remnants in four hours, enough to make a difference.
Open reports of massive evacuations of Remis stunned everyone. The Federation had received a direct communication from the Military Leader Tomalak that the Federation allow the evacuees to enter their space was unprecedented.
-And completely understood.
The only escape route open lay towards Federation space and everyone including the Cylons understood this. Starfleet was assembling a massive fleet to protect the convoy and more starships were entering the area by the moment. But to evacuate ten billion people would be a most impossible task given the time that they calculated that had. And then there was that obvious weapon used on the planet. Geordie's speculation had been correct. The object orbiting Katasi wasn't a transit generator of some type but a subspace accelerator of mass destruction. If it fired again, no one knew who the target would be and that was completely and totally unacceptable. It had to be stopped, neutralized.
Plans were already underway.
"Captain, sir," Ensign Angaa, the communications officer said. "The Galactica is hailing us."
Picard thoughts shifted immediately.
"Onscreen."
He and the bridge crew saw Commander Apollo and Captain Janeway were standing next to one another.
"Captain Picard, its good to see you," Apollo said. "We've been attacked here by three Basestars. We survived but a lot of people have been hurt and killed. The system is secured, but it's only a temporary situation. This is a defensive situation we can't win. But unless we can relieve the pressure, then it's a matter of time."
"They targeted the Galactica and Voyager specifically, Captain," Janeway said. "They're using ships and material with complete abandonment."
"How bad was the damage?" His heart was racing. If the Galactica had been damaged…
"We both got fried a little but we're okay for now," Apollo said, "But Wildfire is coming, ETA in seven hours."
"Acknowledged, Commander. How are your father and your son?"
"My father was planet-side. He is safe. My son survived and is recovering from his injuries."
"Be aware that we may have to move before they get here. Transports have been arriving for the last ten hours, but the window is closing. The Klingons lost more than two-thirds of their first two fleets due to the 'incident' and the Romulans are on their last legs."
"Understood."
"I'll keep you informed, Picard out."
The abruptness of his actions had to do with a priority one transmission from Starfleet. The Starfleet insignia flashed onto the large screen. A female Starfleet admiral, Admiral Radok, looked him square in the eye.
"Captain Picard. You are to lead the elements of the assembled fleet to assist in all possible aid to help the evacuees escape to Federation space. Be aware that additional Cylon activity has been detected vectoring on Remis. If contact is imminent, you are to provide a holding action only in defense of the civilians. Additional Starfleet and Klingon vessels will be arriving as soon as possible. Good luck."
The transmission went blank.
"Mr. Angaa, inform the fleet that we are entering the neutral zone on Starfleet orders."
The world of Remus, as of now, existed in a state of panic. The confirmation of the destruction Romulus was at first assumed to be lie. A population, used to hearing only what their leaders needed to tell them, could barely comprehend their government telling them to in essence, 'uproot yourselves and run for their lives.' They had no clue how to run, or where.
For generations they'd been told that their military could protect them from anything; that they were superior; that long after humans were extinct, and the Federation a distant memory the Romulan Star Empire would span this galaxy. Generations of servitude had promoted a weakness, a laxity that caused the majority of the population do only what was necessary and not draw unnecessary attention to ones self. Now that same attitude created a confusion that slowed the evacuation process.
Then the madness began.
As a whole, the Romulans had forsworn the ways of their ancestors of the planet Vulcan, the didn't look Vulcanoid, in fact genetic experimentation and environmental changes on the planet had en essence produced a subspecies that physically barely resembled their Romulan-based cousins. But that didn't make them immune from the results of inherent telepathy. The deaths of so many of their kind had made a profound impact.
The most noticeable symptom was insanity.
Despite a quarter of the population suffering telepathic mass hysteria, the far majority experienced another emotion all together. Mass panic. Hundreds of conscripted freighters, shuttles, starships, every vehicle that could reasonably fly had to be utilized to remove the people to safety but generations of ingrained, political red tape slowed down the process immeasurably. By the end of six hours, one percent of the population had been evacuated, fleeing for the safety of Federation space. The third Klingon fleet passed them, engaging close to a thousand Cylon Raiders chasing the raggedy, fleeing mob of vessels.
Supreme Commander Tomalak sighed with relief when he received confirmation that the Federation fleet was trailing the Klingon some nine hours behind. A small part of him was galled that Picard was leading the fleet, but only a small part. Picard was a good adversary and would be an equally powerful ally in the days to come. The Outer Rim fleet was twelve hours away and pushing hard.
Twice, the Cylon probes had broken through the remains of his fleet, but for the first time, the attacks weren't merely to seek and destroy but designed more to reduce the opposition. And it was working. Only the presence of the Klingon warships defending and supporting the civilian evacuees had kept the pressure off of them. Barely. But that effectively blocked the fleet from adding their support in the actual defense of the home world. Long-range scanners had detected four additional Basestars and support ships coming in and he remembered how he flew into that uncontrolled rage at hearing the news. Again the Cylon ability for mass production would be the death of them all.
He was even considering opening relations with the Dominion, whom he was positive, would be next on the Cylon list. And he knew that they knew it, too. Their holdings in the Alpha quadrant would be jeopardized, as many of the worlds that elected to remain with the Dominion were humanoid-based worlds. The only thing he understood about this insane war was that the Cylons seemed to enjoy the destruction. In fact, it seemed to be part of their programming. His ship rocked again breaking him out of his dark musings.
The sub-Commander, who now wore a perpetual frown, spoke quickly.
"Supreme Commander, they had broken through grid one-seven."
Tomalak jumped up. The tone of those words belied their importance. Four Warbirds had just succumbed to a massive attack that no one had anticipated and their left flank was wide open.
Hundreds of H-Ks and Raiders followed, by two Extreme Class Basestars proceeded to rip everything around them to shreds.
Tomalak screamed as his entire defense network fell apart before his eyes. The hole was too big to close and he didn't have any reserves close enough to plug the hole. Now there was no chance at all.
The Galactica moved slowly through the debris transporting the survivors-and the remains- into sickbay. Small weapons control continually fired on Cylon bodies that survived initial destruction floating in the void. Many of the Cylon Raiders that survived were being viciously and ruthless hunted down by Vipers and Colonial Destroyers. Their intention was simple-that none of them escape.
Commander Apollo looked at the mess in the Laser Weapons Engineering. Again the containment fields were insufficient to control the energies that the Aeriana crystal produced.
The damage to the containment area and the power generator was significant. "So much for Federation technology," he murmured, looking at the mess. At least it wasn't as bad as the first experiment.
"Maybe we should terminate this experiment for another time," Captain Rigel suggested.
"I don't think so," he said thinking about it. "We almost have a handle on it. We need a little more tweaking. Besides-" he said, pointing to the wreckage outside of the bay window. "We're going to need every advantage we have."
"The new pilots did very well, I'll admit."
"Yes they did," she admitted. "They need a little more training but they performed brilliantly. I wish Starbuck had been here to see it. Most of their more exotic techniques were his inventions."
"He's going to have his hands full on the Pegasus," the Commander replied. He moved out of the way as two technicians removed a large console from the accumulator matrix.
"Personally I love the force shields." She continued to smile at the thought. "Those things save a lot of lives, including your son."
Boxey and his crew were transported into the Melbourne sickbay, a little fried but okay.
Cobra One however was a lost cause. Apollo had been terrified by the possible loss of his son and understood as never before how his father felt when Zack died and when he almost died so many times before. It took strength to concentrate on the duties at hand. The solar systems defensive profile needed to be re-organized. Reinforcements- and replacements- were coming.
This latest attack was as massive as the strike on the twelve Colony worlds so long ago. "And we repelled it," he whispered. "This time… This cannot be allowed to continue. All we have to do is lose once."
I need to talk to my father Apollo decided.
"Continue our patrol," he ordered as he walked back towards the elevator that would take him back to the bridge.
Spectre of the Poison Mist, felt pleasure as its subordinate acknowledged the retreat of the vestiges of the Romulan defensive force. Indeed the retreat had been most efficient, hampering its efforts to slaughter them all. But all of that changed with the confirmation of a transwarp conduit. This was the reason why the retreat had turned into a rout. T he Borg had arrived and that arrival changed everything.
A ship that defied conventional description, accompanied by a Borg class-two combat cube exited the conduit and accompanied by the fleet of Cylon Basestars settled in orbit over Remus. Only then did the Borg choose to communicate with Cylon lord.
"WE ARE THE BORG," the multitude of the united voices screamed through Communications. There was no warmth in those voices. In fact if nothing else, the unified Collective sounded even colder than usual, more mechanical in fact. "CYBERNETIC SPECIES TWO-TWO-FOUR-ONE, WE HAVE COME TO DELIVER WHAT WE HAVE PROMISED."
Spectre's response was sarcastic and equally as cold. "Can we assume that you have finally assimilated that virus that Captain Janeway infected you with?"
"INFECTION IS IRRELEVANT. JANEWAY IS IRRELEVANT," the Borg continued, as though they didn't care about the virus that had almost destroyed them. "WE HAVE COME TO FULFILL OUR PART OF THE BARGAIN. DO NOT FIRE ON THE PLANET. WE WILL USE IT TO SERVICE US."
"We will do as our collective imperative commands us to do," Spectre retorted. "We will destroy this planet and the population as we have dictated we would do."
"YOUR IMPERATIVES ARE IRRELEVANT." Then the voices quieted slightly as though trying to maintain a venire of peaceful communication. "IN THE INTEREST OF CO-OPERATION, THE IMPERIUM SUPREME HAS GIVEN THIS PLANET TO US. PREPARE TO RECEIVE A TRANSMISSION."
On the Bridge of the Poison Mist, a holographic image appeared suddenly enough for the Imperial gold guard to prime their weapons. The enhanced cyborgs female smiled at Spectre as it walked around the bridge. "Spectre of the Poison Mist. I am the Borg."
"I am humbled by your presence, Queen of the Borg," Spectre said most humbly. Its optical sensors register the image as a seductive cybernetic abomination. "We had expected you at a later time, when we were busy exterminating the life form known as Man-and his genetic relatives. Have you come to deliver the gift so soon?"
The queen looked at it and the other Cylons again marveling at the technological improvements they and their ships had underwent. Not for the first time did the Collective wish that they could assimilate the Cylon culture. But that was, for now, impossible as the assimilation nanites were ineffective on Cylon programming, indeed to their very structure.
Destroy them yes; bring them into the fold-no. Not yet.
"We have decided to grant the gift early, as you have done better than we have expected. Soon your trials will be against the Federation and its allies and we are impatient. Even now, Locutus comes."
The seductively hideous queen lifted her head as though looking somewhere else.
"Locutus, can you hear my voice? We can hear yours even now coming to meet us…"
As the Collective was with the Queen, so was the Cylon commune joined with Spectre. The consensus was that the Borg were becoming increasingly impatient and would soon be altering the term of the deal. Neither side trusted the other but each had something the other wanted, but like all things nothing came easily. Spectre understood this intimately. So did the Queen.
A padd materialized in her holographic hand.
"This is the technological specifications for the Quantum slipstream Drive units," she said sweetly, like oil oozing into cracks.
"The children of V'Ger are ours. The great Machine culture that created them, are yours to join with as you will. We will each in our own way, achieve perfection."
"As we have given you this gift," she continued watching almost innocently as a Golden Warrior retrieved it. "We-request that you give Remus to us. We want the people only. We have no desire to maintain a presence here. We have other pursuits."
The Cylon collective understood that to mean that the Borg were striving to rebuild their damaged society, most likely better and stronger than before. Soon the Empire may not be needed. Time was in short supply. The consensus: keep the peace as long as possible. Then kill them all when they achieved the power to do so.
And that would come by obtaining the V'Ger children, products of a joined Decker, V'Ger and Illia synthezoid. The result was an absolute blend of organic and technological perfection-a new life form; everything that the Borg ascribed to. And these new entities were the ultimate key to finding and communicating with their creators, a machine culture so advanced that those who encountered it had not true words to describe it. That was true power for that which would grasp it.
"You may have Remus with our compliments," Spectre intoned.
Over the communications console they heard the one voice that was many, directed towards a panicked, doomed society.
"WE ARE THE BORG. YOUR EXISTENCE AS YOU HAVE KNOWN IT WILL NOW CEASE. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL UNIQUENESS TO OUR COLLECTIVE. YOU WILL SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
The queen smiled once more and looked away as her image faded away.
On Remis, the suicides began.