A/N: Had to reupload this because of an issue with links. Sorry about the double emails!
Thanks for the support! Still don't own anything, still don't make any profit. Here's the penultimate episode of the season! My apologies for the cliffhanger you're about to receive. There's little references here to VOY 6x23 Fury and TNG 3x07 The Enemy.
At the start of season six, we'll be sending the Maelstrom off to the Alpha Quadrant, where they'll be for over a year. I'm aware I'm being a little fast and loose with the process of (spoiler redacted) here for dramatic license, but it's all in good fun. We also see our heroes making a rather questionable moral decision, on par (in my opinion) with stealing the Illyrians' warp coil in the Expanse. Throughout this season, I've tried my best to give our heroes good intentions, but to make sure no one fell strictly on the side of good or bad. As in real life, everyone is complicated, and deeply flawed in their own way. I feel that this really jumps out in this episode.
Do you all remember about a year ago when it was a really big meme to take ABBA songs and sync them up to battle scenes in movies? (See LOTR, Kingsman: The Golden Circle, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, et al) Confession time…I've been mentally doing that the whole time to help with pacing. Solnara was Lay All Your Love On Me, Barisa VI was Mamma Mia, and this one is absolutely Waterloo.
Next time: the season finale, and then we'll jump right into season six! Tune in next time to see who lives, who barely survives, and who gets slapped with a major character death. Enjoy!
Season Five
Episode Twenty-Four: Battle of Galorndon Core
Just as he had so many nights before, Ensign Simon Pascal woke up in a cold sweat.
He immediately reached for his phase pistol tucked between the mattress and the wall, but came up short, sending his fight or flight reflex into overdrive. He moved in a burst of blind, unreasoning panic, throwing aside the blankets and crouching down to the deck plating. His heart was racing so hard he thought it might burst, but once he was able to confirm that he was alone, he sat down completely, clutching his chest and breathing raggedly through his teeth.
Once again, he'd shaken himself from a horrific nightmare, this one more perilous than usual. They'd plagued him from the day he initiated into the Section, and had only increased in severity since then, until nary an evening went by without visions of bloody murders and shattered vessels and screaming civilians dancing through his head.
He knew he wasn't the only one. Every night around the close of beta shift, Phlox received house calls from a dozen or so crewmen all struggling to fall asleep. Simon was often one of them, and he rarely saw the same people two nights in a row. Sometimes, he'd be just wrapping up with a patient of his makeshift counseling practice, and he'd pass a tearful acquaintance on their way out, more than likely to heed the good doctor's advice of a warm glass of milk and a swift retreat to bed.
There were always excuses he could offer, the stress of the mission or a headache or too much caffeine, but the truth was he was agonizing about the next step in Agent Long's plan. He knew it was all necessary to protect the best interests of Starfleet, to ensure that United Earth won the day, but he was still anxious about having to do away with his first officer.
It shouldn't have been so difficult, because he hated him, detested him with every fiber of his being, because he was so totally, inexplicably involved with her.
She was the paragon of weakness, of tepidness, of the tendency to bend towards the will of the heart rather than the head. He remembered just how untrustworthy she was, and had relived it over and over again in his head. It was as if he could still hear the shouting of the soldiers, see the impact of his boots on the ground, feel the two blasts disappearing into his spine just above his hips.
Nothing reminded him more of that fateful day than the fact that he was presently on the floor with no way to get up. He tried, rolling to one side and then the other, but found that he was unable to stand. The mechanical neurostimulators he so often used to get around on duty were high above his head on the desk, and his wheelchair was all the way across the room. With some difficulty, he was able to seize the bedframe and pull himself up, laying lengthwise across the mattress until his eyes were trained at the ceiling.
After their mission was complete and the regional governor lay bleeding out on the floor of his chambers, they'd began to plot their escape. There were guards lining the corridor back the way they came, so they decided to go out the window and into the garden, hoping to go unnoticed under the cloak of darkness. Multiple times, his feet had slipped on the rough surface of the brick and he'd almost fallen several stories to the cobblestone far below. She went first, clambering down the rock face with little to no difficulty whatsoever, and had guided him down foothold by foothold until he finally made contact with solid ground.
Getting out of the provincial palace was another issue entirely; already, an alarm was sounding from far overhead, and a lockdown of the capital was imminent. He suggested they continue to steal through the garden, sneaking in between rows of flowering trees and shrubberies, but she insisted that they needed to make a bold dash for the back gate. That there was no time. That they needed to act now.
Simon wasn't sure what made him trust her in that moment. He shouldn't have bought into her plan, but he did, and soon they were fleeing from dozens of soldiers across an open field with little cover to speak of. He was trying to maintain a dead sprint all the while firing behind his back when it happened.
At first, he didn't register it. He knew he'd been hit, but assumed he was just in shock. His legs went tingly before settling into a dull throb. He was shaken and terrified, and when he tried to stand, his knees immediately gave out.
She was looking at him in abject horror, in realization of what terrible fate her strategy had wrought, and he half expected her to leave him behind. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn't have hesitated to do the same, but a second later she was at his side, wrapping her arms around his hips and hoisting him up to her shoulders. Lazuli carried him fireman style all the way through the gate and the alleyways and the city streets back to the pod, where the situation looked even more grim.
He lost track of all time from then on. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, but especially in his legs, where he could feel his heartbeat thudding away. He was dizzy and feverish, and scarcely could pay attention as she weaved and dodged her way through the planetary barricade.
Once they broke free into open space, she made her way over to him, giving him a once over with the medical tricorder she found in the emergency pack. He knew something was wrong from the moment that persistent smile fell from her face. In the space between them, she took his hand, and said she was sorry once, a hundred, a thousand times.
He really only heard it once before his heart and mind closed off to her entirely.
As far as his former CO on the Republic knew, he'd been in a hovercar accident during leave, and hadn't inquired into the matter any further, which suited him just fine. Simon was every bit as capable as any other member of the crew, though his new reality did take some getting used to. His colleagues didn't treat him any differently, but he could see the regret in his own eyes every time he looked in the mirror.
He didn't regret joining the Section, not for a minute. Since his early career, he'd been a man of action, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. There was no greater validation than to know that he was keeping the quadrant safe, whether or not he knew if the end justified the means. For the moment, when everything else seemed so uncertain, he knew he would cling to stability wherever he could, and face God and walk backwards into hell if his superiors demanded it.
What he regretted, in fact, was trusting her. And he would have to live with that, for the rest of his life.
It wasn't much, but he knew she would get her comeuppance either way. The clock was winding down on Agent Winston's mission, and it was practically a foregone conclusion that he wasn't going to betray his Captain, even though he would get everything he ever wanted if he did.
Simon supposed they were similar in that way; they were too focused on duty to every stray, though even after all this time, there were loyalties than ran deeper for him than the Commodore and his crewmates aboard the Enterprise.
At any rate, Winston had less than twenty-four hours to contact Admiral Gardner with all the information he needed to prove that T'Pol was a Vulcan-Romulan hybrid, and that she wasn't worthy of such a notable posting. If he didn't, he would be eliminated, and if subspace chatter was to be believed, the stars were about to align for a very swift and painless conclusion to his mission. He'd put great thought into how he was going to do it, and already laid the groundwork. It was only a matter of time before they both came tumbling down.
A matter of time.
Immediately, something stirred in the far reaches of his memory, and he sat bolt upright in bed. This time he reached for his neurostimulators and fitted them over his sweatpants. It took a few moments, but he finally located his PADD in the folds of his blanket, activating them with the push of a button.
That familiar electrical sensation coursed through his veins, and he stood experimentally, wobbling for a few seconds before making his way over to his computer. The screen cast a muted blue glow over the room, and he had to squint to make sense of the words written there.
He'd heard T'Pol utter that phrase in passing, as he traced his familiar path from the conn back to the situation room the day before. She was deep in conversation with Captain Tucker, and was speaking quietly, so as not to be detected. His sense of hearing was well tuned, cultivated over many months of traversing the quadrant seeking reconnaissance in government buildings and crowded alleyways. Maybe she was well aware of this, or perhaps she wanted him to hear.
It had been concerning all the same, and now that he put it all together, he couldn't ignore the furtive looks he'd caught them exchanging in passing and the way Commander Reed looked at him on the bridge, as though he wasn't responsible for executing his impending doom.
Correspondence…subterfuge…conspiracy…Andoria…a matter of time.
He opened his last communication with the Section, an outgoing message to Harris, who was currently laying low on the planet in question on a mission in conjunction with the intelligence service of the Imperial Guard. Every agent knew to route their correspondence through as many subspace transceivers and planetary beacons as possible so as to disguise its true destination, and now was no exception. He'd been careful. He'd been meticulous.
Not meticulous enough, it seemed.
Opening the transmission properties, he discovered that it had been opened by someone en route. It wasn't unusual for Ensign Singh to inspect messages from time to time, especially if the attachment was above standard size. If she were to take even a passing glance at this one, she'd find a wall of text interspersed with level-five encryption and a reverse alphabetic cipher, which now that he thought about it, didn't look very innocent at all.
And so, he did something he never would have ordinarily done: he panicked. He wasn't thinking straight, and it showed. Pascal hammered out a message to Agent Long's wildcard, one Agent Cicero, and sent it off to Vulcan. They were the fixer, the cleaner. They made problems go away, and now would be no exception.
The moment he pressed send, he knew he made a dreadful mistake.
With a dozen High Command ships in the vicinity, the message would proceed directly to their content filters before being routed to Echo Three for distribution. It only compounded on his chances of being caught, which were looking greater and greater by the second.
One thing was for certain: for the rest of Agent Winston's ultimatum, he would need to think on his feet.
Enterprise Captain's Log, December 1, 2156: At 0300 hours, the vessel detection grid in the Tarod system detected an approaching armada of Romulan vessels. We have very limited time to prepare, but I know that when they appear, we will be ready.
Within only hours to go until certain disaster, the captains of the fleet met in the wardroom of the Enterprise, making their way from the transporter through the bustling corridors in near total darkness.
Regardless of the activity throughout the ship, of the crewmen battening down the hatches and conducting emergency repairs, the computer still believed it was nighttime, and responded accordingly. The dimmed lights cast long shadows upon the ground, and try as she might, Captain Pritchard couldn't quite focus on anything except for the discordant tone of the tactical alert overhead.
They'd returned from patrol with all haste, redlining the engines and keeping one eye on subspace. No less than seventy vessels were converging on Galorndon Core, all arriving within twelve hours of one another, all fully prepared to waltz into a firefight.
It wasn't her first rodeo, nor was this an atypical situation for any of them. Over the past few months, the enemy had managed to sneak up on them at every opportunity, taking a few pot shots at them before vanishing into the ether. They seemed to be lying in wait for one patrol to move on before striking the target, eliminating virtually every Coalition colony or allied world along the border. Even the ECS freighters had taken to traveling by convoy, and she didn't blame them.
Erika walked beside her, fists clenched at her sides, jaw set with conviction. For months, she'd known trouble was brewing, but she hadn't been able to put words to it. She prided herself on keeping a level head at all times, but even she had to admit to feeling a deep, gnawing sense of impending doom. She would never acknowledge it, never recognize her own fear, because she wanted to be strong for her.
At this point, she had to be.
The turbolift held a curious mixture of Vulcan and Tellarite and Andorian COs, and for once, they were all silent. The moment the doors opened onto A Deck, Laura stepped out to allow everyone else to go first, backing up towards the bulkhead and pressing herself into it. Erika paused momentarily, studying the deeply afflicted look in her eye, feeling her anxiety rushing over her like water.
There was no denying it. Something was about to happen. Something devastating.
Shran pushed past them, a half dozen of his colleagues in tow, seemingly on a mission. Laura surged forward, hoping to absorb even an ounce of his grit, and soon found herself at the end of a giant receiving line stretching the length of an entire section.
It seemed to move pretty fast; over the top of someone's head, she could see the Commodore standing on one side and Ensign Taxa to the other, the latter handing out a PADD to every CO she could find. Every so often, the line would pause as Jon conversed quietly with his guests, before extending out his hand and ushering them into the shadows. All the while, his expression was immovable, his worry undeniable.
When Shran stepped up to the threshold, he exchanged a curt nod with Archer, before turning and meeting his companion halfway. She seemed shocked, as though she hadn't been expecting him to interact with her at all, but still reached forward and seized his forearm, bearing down with force.
It only lasted a moment, and then he was gone. When Laura reached the front of the line, she made direct eye contact with the Commodore, and though she tried her best to convince herself there was something else there, all she saw was concern.
And fear, overpowering and all-consuming.
The wardroom was standing room only from the viewport to the walls. Her eyes danced across the diverse collection of faces and expressions there, before finally landing on Starfleet's two newest captains, sitting at the table and trying their best not to look at anybody.
Captains Salerno and Demirci, of the NX-07 Ares and the NX-08 Apollo respectively, both looked like a stiff breeze could knock them over at any moment. Laura recognized that deer-in-the-headlights look, and knew this was likely their first armed conflict at the conn.
All in all, it was a hell of a time to jump on the wagon.
She closed the distance between them and laid a hand on each of their shoulders, causing them both to jump about a foot in the air. Affording them both what she hoped to be a reassuring smile, she leaned down until she was sure no one else could hear them, whispering: "Are you two alright?"
Demirci glanced at her companion and offered the barest hint of a shrug. Captain T'Pol swept past them on her way to the front of the room, and she appeared to shrink in on herself, following her every step of the way with her eyes.
"Any advice, ma'am?" Salerno was broad-shouldered, swaggering ex-MACO stock, but in that moment, he couldn't have looked greener.
"Keep your wits about you," Erika said, attracting both of their attention. She'd been a CO for much longer than Laura had, so she eagerly yielded to her, turning in profile to face her. "Never hesitate at coming to someone's rescue on the battlefield, and-"
"Never turn your back on someone who's got a gun pulled on you," Laura warned, her experiences in the Deneva system and on Paan Mokar still fresh in her memory. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't get the image of Namara's crumpled form out of her mind, nor could she forget that her actions had sentenced the woman to death.
A well-deserved sentence, but a marvel of circumstance all the same.
"Metaphorically and literally," Erika concluded, coming to her rescue. She took a seat next to them, adding: "You'll be fine. Just remember your training."
"I always hated when people said that," Salerno cut in, drawing a chuckle from all of them.
Laura was about to avail him with what was sure to be some amusing anecdote about any number of things they didn't teach you at STC when they were distracted by a sudden loud noise at the front of the room. She turned just in time to see the Commodore step up to the viewscreen. He prompted an unseen officer with a nod of his head, and the tactical alarm in the room was briefly muted, just long enough for him to greet the assembled officers.
"Welcome, everyone. We've got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in, so let's…" He trailed off, accepting an armful of PADDs from Commander Hammond of the Maelstrom. She lingered at his side, and together they waited for the UTs in the room to catch up.
"The enemy fleet will be here in two hours. If you'll refer to your updated battle plans, you'll note our initial attack formations and contingency plans. We expect them to approach from all sides, so it is absolutely critical that all deviated maneuvers are conducted with backups in place." Jonathan paused, glancing towards the window. Tucker and T'Pol stood in a line, arms folded, their expressions nearly identically impassive. The latter raised an eyebrow, and he nodded, forging on. "There will be absolutely no nuclear missiles deployed today without my expressed consent."
"Commodore, what about-"
"None, Mr. Al-Shahrani," he interrupted, meaning to be the authoritative word on the subject. Mustafa didn't seem convinced, gritting his teeth and frowning. He knew, just as well as all of them, that the enemy was likely to strike first.
Across the room, there was a rush of feverish conversation among the Andorian delegation, then Shran spoke up, determined not to let his voice get lost in the noise. "Why have you assigned the entire Vulcan battalion to take on the World Ender in phase two of this plan?"
Jonathan knew his objections had everything to do with feeling that they didn't have their fair shot at going after the big prize, and all things considered, he didn't blame him. Fortunately, Alira came to his rescue. "From the schematics we intercepted, we believe that the only weapons in our arsenal capable of puncturing the hull of the modified warbird are the particle beams on the retrofitted D'Kyr battle cruisers."
Fortunately for them, Administrator Kuvak had sent every one they had, and they presently stood off their port bow, making the Enterprise look miniscule in comparison. Archer stepped to the side, and she called up a diagram of the vessel, a hulking tadpole shaped marauder weighted down with millions of nuclear warheads, all ready for deployment. T'Pol and her mysterious colleague from the Ministry had gone to great lengths to steal it right out of the hands of a Romulan soldier, and they'd be pretty damn foolish not to exploit it for all it was worth.
"I suppose there's no point in asking where you got this information." One of the Tellarite captains seemed suspicious, but she was determined not to entertain it.
She clapped her hands suddenly and stepped to one side, revealing a very tense and dour Lieutenant Mayweather. This was atypical for him; Erika was used to seeing the man sitting at the helm, his smile only countered by his persistent positive attitude. He was a fixture of the Enterprise and then the Maelstrom, a support for the triumvirate, a dependable place to turn when everything hit the fan. For the moment, all eyes were on him, especially as he reached up into his pocket and removed a data chip, holding it up for all to see.
"From the moment we saw these schematics, we knew there was only one way all of us were going to get out of this battle alive." He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself, and turned the device lengthwise, causing it to catch the light. "We're going to hijack the World Ender."
In that instant, you could have heard a pin drop from across the room. Erika saw Laura's breath hitch and catch in her throat, and she almost reached for her hand, if only to confirm that they were all really there, that this was really happening.
As Commander Hammond was soon to confirm, it absolutely was.
She plunged her hands in her pockets and rocked from side to side, affording as air of casualness to an otherwise dreadfully serious matter. "You'll find here several backup copies of a rather malicious computer virus that attacked the United Earth Consulate on Coridan just six months ago. We've modified it according to what you see here as well as the scans taken by our own on the prototype telepresence unit used during the Babel Crisis. There's a secondary computer access panel on the outer hull hidden between the ventral subspace transceivers."
Julia indicated the correct location on the diagram, zooming in on the framework and rotating the axis until they were all looking at the same point. It seemed to be hundreds of meters within the superstructure, with extremely limited space to maneuver between the spikelike protrusions. Erika realized that there was only one vessel in their arsenal that could possibly make it there, and only one pilot she would trust to do it.
"I'll be bringing the away team straight up to the drop point. From there, we'll secure the pod to the hull, and Commander Hammond will conduct a spacewalk the rest of the way."
"We should be shielded from any surrounding weapons fire, but just in case we're detected, I'll be there to drive back any marauders." A grimace crossed Taxa's features, disappearing in a second, and Erika understood that this was a very distinct and real possibility. "Kemper and Chang will accompany us."
"If we're captured…" Julia paused, realizing her voice was much too loud, too strained, and she took rapid measures to control it. Her hands came out of her pockets, and she crossed her arms across her chest. "We have enough stun grenades and other diversions to keep them busy for a while. If the World Ender manages to make it out of the system…"
This time, Travis wasn't going to dwell on the worst-case scenario. "All of us will be relying on all of you to distract the enemy and let us get there. Once you get the signal, wherever you are, turn and hit them with everything you've got."
The way they were phrasing this, it was clear they anticipated this being a one-way trip. Captain Tucker's fraught expression confirmed all this and more.
The Commodore was quick to clarify this. He made direct eye contact with every NX CO, followed by a few trusted allies, then trained his gaze on the ceiling, setting his jaw, his composure not wavering for a second. "This is going to be a long battle. Our fleets are evenly matched. Their weapons easily outpace ours, but—"
He was digging himself a hole, and they all knew it. Erika dipped her head, biting back her frown.
"-we've got something they don't have. While you're out there, I want you to think about everything we stand for: truth and integrity and teamwork in the face of the worst evils. Think about your family and friends back home, your values and your way of life, your colleagues sitting alongside you. Keep the ideals of the Coalition close to your heart, and they will never fail you." Jonathan swallowed hard, and it was visible from across the room. "Godspeed, everyone. Take your positions."
On cue, the crowd dissipated, multiple officers making a beeline to the door and escaping to the corridor within seconds. Some lingered, including Salerno and Demirci, lingered in their seats, seemingly frozen in place, their eyes wide with fear.
Erika knew there was nothing she could say to make the situation better, but she resolved to console them away. "You've got this," she whispered, and then she was gone, followed shortly by Captain Pritchard.
In the rapidly dwindling crowd, Alira locked eyes with her paramour, who nodded slowly, tipping his head up and down by a fraction of a centimeter. She understood, just as well as he did, that it was done.
The game was afoot, but one of their players had yet to make his opening gambit.
Her heart sunk, and she took a step back towards the circle of Travis and Julia, who were frantically reviewing the details of their mission one more time. Thoughts racing, she trained her sights on the ground and closed her eyes, attempting uselessly to gain control of her runaway pulse.
It was all over, and the Captain's secret would be exposed. The Section had control of the narrative – they always had – and this time, she couldn't stay one step ahead of them. They were both about to be court martialed or imprisoned or worse, and every bit of it was her fault. She wondered in vain how exactly she'd let matters get this bad, and why she ever thought she could have happiness, however temporary.
At that moment, her PADD beeped, and she slipped it out of her pocket, studying the notification that had appeared there. A second later, her fingers closed around the edge, and her head popped up, going to great lengths to steel her expression. With her free hand, she tapped her right side directly over her heart.
Over by the window, Malcolm's features warped into something indecipherable before lapsing into indifference. It was most likely relief, but whatever the case may be, the plan was in motion.
And their mark had just fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
There was a sudden commotion from the far end of the room. The three agents from Starfleet Intelligence, who had traveled along with the Ares, sprung to action immediately, turning on their heels and making tracks towards the door. T'Pol and Jonathan exchanged a few frantic words through their bond, but they seldom had any time to react before the hand of fate came down upon them.
"Singh to the Captain."
She reached for the comm slowly, languidly, as if in a dream. "T'Pol here."
"Admiral Gardner wants to speak to you and the Commodore, ma'am. Should I patch it through to your ready room?"
Right on time.
"Go ahead, Ensign," she said indifferently, hiding her trepidation behind a slight frown. "I'll be along presently."
Without pause, she broke free and lead the way across the chamber, determined to rush headfirst into her destiny, whatever that may be.
T'Pol sat in front of the viewscreen in her ready room, visibly calm with a storm of thoughts raging inside her mind. She was terrified, and though Jonathan reciprocated her fear, he tried his best to send her reassurance through their bond. All the same, she remained there for what seemed like ages, staring at the incoming transmission and wringing her hands together in her lap.
Finally, when he was sure she could take it no longer, she reached out and activated the screen. Admiral Gardner sat in his office at HQ with the blinds drawn, two thin worry lines set between his eyebrows. He looked physically burdened, and perturbed to say in the least.
"Captain, I understand that a battle is imminent, so I won't waste your time. We've just received an anonymous transmission with personnel profiles and biometric data. It seems to suggest that your father was a Romulan sleeper agent." He paused, and his image shifted and shimmered, indicative of the distance between them. "Is this true?"
She took a deep breath, a swift motion which wasn't perceptible across the barriers of subspace. Jonathan felt only calm and tranquility coming from her in that moment, and he knew she would be able to push through this. If anyone could stay calm in a crisis, it was his bondmate.
"I was unaware of this, Admiral." She frowned slightly, and the effect was not lost on him. "Believe me, if I would have known…"
For a second, Jonathan didn't know if their ruse would work, but then Gardner relaxed visibly, reaching for a stack of PADDs at the far corner of the frame. His next words were slightly garbled, but intelligible nonetheless. "I thought so. You've always been loyal to the United Earth cause, even when you were with the High Command. You should know I've spoken to Ambassador Soval."
She said nothing, but Jonathan felt her start to coil in on herself, like a viper about to strike.
"Apparently, they've identified a dozen or so children of Ministry of Security agents who were replaced with a surgically altered Romulan. He was going to tell you, but thought it best to keep it to himself until he knew the size of the threat."
Good old Soval, Jonathan thought, still looking out for her after all these years. When they contacted him, he'd been more than willing to play along, and had been the final puzzle piece for the master plan. The true extent of the hybrid plot might still be a secret to Starfleet, and he truly hoped they would never know just how many were out there.
"I understand," T'Pol assured him, pausing for one eternal moment. "Do you know where the transmission came from?"
He shook his head. "That's the thing. It was routed through so many Coalition worlds and auxiliary beacons that it was hard to track. Our chief logistics officer took a look, and the best we can tell, it came from someone on your ship."
"On our ship?" Jonathan echoed, coming to stand over her. In the screen, he could see the reflection of his horrified expression, and knew he was selling it for all it was worth. "Who could've done this?"
"Someone who might be interested in selling you out," he said cryptically, and as if on cue, they heard a surge of commotion on the bridge.
Archer left her side and stepped across the threshold just in time to see Ensign Pascal get taken to the ground.
Across the room, Dita rose from her seat at the communications console, muffling her shriek behind her palm. Liz appeared less surprised, but shrank away from him anyway, being very keen to stay away from the agents of Starfleet Intelligence as they tended to their suspect.
Lieutenant Choi, the division head for the Beta Quadrant, was busy trying to secure his restraints. At the last possible moment, he pulled away and seemed to slap one of the pockets of his uniform, attempting to roll away from them.
In response to his efforts, she grabbed his elbow and wrenched it backwards, causing him to cry out in pain. A second later, his hands were tied behind his back, and the magnetic locks engaged. One of her assistants stepped forward to help him to his feet, and then she began her recitation. "Ensign Simon Pascal, you are under arrest under the authority of the United Earth affiliate of the Coalition of Planets. As an officer of Starfleet, you will stand general court martial in San Francisco at the earliest opportunity. You have the right to…"
At that moment, the turbolift doors opened, issuing Commander Reed, who was briefly speechless. He seemed to take it all in, then he pressed on, demanding: "What's going on here?"
Choi dealt him a long-suffering look. "We're taking your helmsman into custody, sir. It's a matter of interstellar security."
"Why wasn't I informed of this?"
Jonathan stepped to one side, just far enough to see the rage in Pascal's eyes. It was immediately clear that he didn't believe him for a second.
"What are the charges?" He demanded, thrashing against his captors.
"High treason," she said automatically, tensing her grip on his forearm. "Conduct unbecoming an officer, and conspiracy."
That was enough to put him away for decades, and they all knew it. They'd aimed high, but not high enough to be suspicious. The next few moments of silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity; Liz was the first to break it, and she seemed horrified.
"What did you do, Simon?"
"He orchestrated the kidnapping of Minister T'Pau, and very nearly that of your Captain," Choi replied, her distaste evident. Noting that there were no further questions, she forged on with his rights. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"
Lieutenant Garcia was halfway to her post in the morning when her PADD went off.
She reached for it immediately and activated the screen, only to stop dead in her tracks in the middle of the corridor. There, plain as day in the middle of the page, were the words she'd been dreading for months.
COMPROMISED. INITIATE CONTINGENCY PLAN SEVEN-GAMMA.
It was an automated message, generated by the body alarm Simon wore in the breast pocket of his uniform. This was a precaution he'd insisted on as Agent Winston's deadline approached, and at first she'd resisted it, even though she knew it was imminently necessary. He was worried, and it was justified.
In a sense, they were all worried.
The Section acted under the assumption that they could keep their operatives in line. Fear was the usual tactic, and in her experience, it often worked. Every time she thought about leaving, the idea of what could happen to her loved ones back home kept her from exploring that option any further. For years, she'd been a good officer. She'd towed the line.
The actions of two of their own threatened to change all of that.
She'd be remiss if she didn't acknowledge the seeds of doubt that had been germinating her mind from the moment they were caught on Paan Mokar. Now that she understood Alira's motivations – understood, not sympathized – she wondered what exactly lay in the cards for her. Duty had always been her cornerstone, keeping her moving forward when all else seemed hopeless, but at some point, she wanted to settle down.
It wasn't as if she hadn't tried in the past, but something always made her stop short of commitment. Perhaps it was her itinerant lifestyle or the length of time between ports; above all, it was the fact that even if she found someone, she might be ordered to get rid of them at any point to prove her loyalty.
She would have to do it. And, what's more, she would need to live with that.
Walking faster now, she arrived at the turbolift and stepped inside. Her heart was racing, and she took slow, measured breaths between pursed lips, placing a hand on the wall and dipping her head towards the floor. There was nothing she could do for Simon, but maybe, just maybe, she could get off the boat before it capsized completely.
The lift opened onto the bridge of the Cochrane, and she half expected to be accosted by security as soon as she walked through the door. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying much attention to her, and she was able to make it to her station with no fanfare whatsoever.
It only took a few seconds to set their contingency plan in motion, and soon she visibly relaxed, settling into her chair. Glancing around the room, she confirmed no one was the wiser, and soon set to preparing her console for the imminent battle.
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but soon she was fully engrossed in her work. Crewmen entered and fled the bridge, transmissions were sent, systems were calibrated, but she was in her happy place, where nothing and no one could touch her.
No one except for her CO.
"Pritchard to Garcia."
Her hand shot out towards the comm, where she hesitated for a split second before activating the speaker. "Garcia here."
"Would you come to my ready room?"
That question turned her blood to ice and sent shivers running down her spine, but she agreed nevertheless. She made her way towards the back of the chamber like a prisoner going to their execution, and she couldn't ignore the panic clenching her gut, that growing paranoia that something was dreadfully, terribly wrong.
Laura was standing with her back towards her as she overlooked the fleet gathered around Galorndon Core. The ships created a dizzying display of lights and hulls and glowing nacelles all around them. It was a beautiful sight, and she was momentarily distracted and caught off guard by her question.
"How long have we known each other, Rachel?" Her voice was low, gravely, dangerous.
"Almost a decade," she replied quietly, fighting the urge to wring her hands.
"We served together on the Shenandoah and the Washita," Laura said, as though she'd had the opportunity to forget. "I gave you your first promotion and commendation. I've met your family. We've had more meals together than I could count."
Garcia didn't respond. She slowly turned to face her and leaned into the viewport, crossing her arms. "I've put my trust in you a hundred times before, depended on your counsel and wisdom…"
"Ma'am—"
"I'm not finished," she interrupted, her tone affecting a note of irritation. Her shoulders hitched as she took in a deep, shaky breath. "I told you when you joined the crew that I expected consistent, unquestioning loyalty. At the very least, I expected you to maintain allegiance to the Coalition."
There was a pause, and Rachel understood this was where she was expected to say something. She knew she had to choose her words carefully, so as not to escalate the situation, but also to provide a way out, through an avenue of escape she knew was narrowing by the second. "I've never betrayed your trust, Captain. I—"
"Stop," she hissed, pressing a button on her computer console. From behind, she heard the hatch open, and turned her head just in time to see a trio of Starfleet Intelligence agents approach. "You've made it clear that I can't believe a word you say, and if you knew what was good for you, you'd keep your mouth shut until you can see a judge advocate."
"Lieutenant Rachel Garcia, you are under arrest under the authority of the United Earth affiliate of the Coalition of Planets…" She felt their hands on her arms, clasping them behind her back and wrestling them into the restraints, and desperately pulled away from them, determined to reach out to her friend, to tell her that this was all a huge misunderstanding.
"Laura, this isn't what it looks like-"
"This doesn't need to be difficult." She looked down at the deck plating briefly, but when she met her gaze once again, she was shocked at the intensity of the rage burning in her eyes.
Suddenly, the magnitude of her work with the Section came crashing down on her, and she realized just how much sneaking around she'd been doing, just how much privileged information she'd distributed, just how righteous and justified her disappointment was.
Losing her respect was the one thing she'd never wanted to do.
Captain Pritchard left her there to be cuffed and read her rights, exiting out onto the bridge and taking her seat at the conn with the most impassive expression imaginable.
"If you just tell us the truth, this can all go much easier."
"I refuse to answer any questions without a judge advocate present."
"And why is that?"
He was sure she very well knew the reason, but was determined not to play into her hand. "On the basis that my answers might incriminate me, ma'am."
Lieutenant Choi took a step closer and leaned against the honeycombed wall of the brig, affecting a conversational stance through the screen. "Why would your response incriminate you, Mr. Pascal, unless you had something to hide?"
"I refuse to answer that question without a judge advocate present." This time, he was adamant, his tone impossibly firm.
She seemed to regard that as a joke. Her hand shot out, and she accepted a PADD from one of her heavily armed assistants standing against the wall. There was a moment of weighty silence wherein she was scrolling and reading, until she finally turned the screen around so he could see it.
"Tell me what you see here."
"Biosigns," he said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge anything else on the screen.
"That's right," she confirmed, returning to her study. "These were taken by an officer of the Imperial Guard stationed planetside who was subpoenaed during Namara's trial. The time stamp reads just after 0400 hours on September 3rd, 2156. Do you remember where the Enterprise was on that date?"
As a matter of fact, he did, but wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.
"They're faint due to the interference, but you can see here plain as day there's two human signatures, corresponding to you and a Lieutenant Rachel Garcia, currently stationed aboard the Cochrane. To beam down to Paan Mokar, you would need diplomatic clearance codes, which only vessel COs and the Prime Minister himself would have had. Can you explain that?"
He said nothing; Choi was far from done.
"And wouldn't you know, this scan places you within five meters of two Andorians, right there in the guard tower of the launch pad where Namara was planning all of those Tarali-class transports to hand over to the enemy. I wouldn't suppose you'd know anything about it."
"Just what are you implying?" He demanded, having trouble focusing around his racing thoughts. Pascal was now absolutely certain that Reed and Taxa had disguised their biosigns without his knowledge, and now, after so long, their decision not to distance themselves from Namara's minions was coming back to bite them.
"Nothing," she answered, and her voice ticked up by nearly an octave, indicative of her surprise. "I just think it's curious that the convicted traitor herself and four of her lieutenants identified the both of you as having been there that night."
Of course they did. The Imperial Guard was well known for their use of torture during interrogations, and he wouldn't be surprised if a bit of their normally unflinching loyalty had been compromised in that moment. Choi was only drawing the exact same conclusions he would if he'd been presented with the facts. He took a seat on the bench running the length of the wall.
"Furthermore, we've accessed their transmission logs and tapped into their communicators from the incident. Namara can be heard talking about making sure they got what they deserved, getting rid of the problem, forcing the real enemy out of the picture."
"And I suppose you think that's-"
"With the Minister gone, it would certainly cast some doubt over Vulcan's modernization efforts. I understand she's leading the charge to push out conspirators of the former Administrator V'Las and disseminate the teachings of Surak. Besides, for an unscrupulous officer like Namara, there's no greater motivator than…" She trailed off, rubbing her thumb and pointer finger together, and he got the point. "I suspect you're the very same."
This time, he had to laugh. Humanity had very much evolved past the use of currency, and the idea that he would risk his entire career for a few thousand credits was baffling to him.
"At that point, Namara told you what she knew. She just needed you to ensure that the enemy found out exactly where T'Pau was staying that night, and she would give you the information you needed to prove what you'd suspected all along."
"Which was?"
She showed him another document this time, a lengthy transmission to Admiral Gardner, one which he suspected detailed every bit of the Captain's ancestry.
It seemed that Agent Winston had lived up to his end of the bargain after all.
"I suppose there's no point in asking if this looks familiar to you. We know how long Namara's been working with the enemy. I want to know how long you have, and how long you've been feeding the Enterprise's location and course trajectories to the Romulan fleet."
He couldn't help but bury his face in his hands; his fraught expression was incriminating enough, and he needed to gather his thoughts before responding. It was a natural enough conclusion that if he were the type of man to sell out a head of state, he might also betray her close associate just to get her out of the way and push her into the hands of the Tal Shiar. But, at the same time, she was his commanding officer, and he was loath to believe that Starfleet Intelligence would suspect he was capable of something like that.
Though the truth was that he was capable of all that and much, much more.
"We've also intercepted audio transmissions between you and Lieutenant Garcia, plotting Captain T'Pol's downfall and your eventual defection." He tensed up, utterly floored, knowing full well that there was no way something like that could exist, because that conversation never happened.
Unless someone managed to use the vocal patterns they had on record to create it from scratch.
"There's also weekly transmissions to Andoria, and just this morning, one message to Vulcan. It took us a while to decipher where they were going, but I suspect if we dig any further, we'll find some connections between you and any number of anti-government insurgents there."
"I don't think you will," he mumbled. His mind was rapidly cycling through his options - he could tell them the truth, that he was assigned to plant tracking devices on those transports to benefit the war effort, but that would mean exposing the Section and every operative in his inner circle. He could take the fall, knowing full well that Harris and Long would extract him when the moment was right. Unless they'd let him get convicted under false information and send him to rot his life away in prison.
At the moment, it was very much up in the air.
"We'll let the judge figure it out." She stepped out of the adjoining cell and made her way to the hatch, where she leaned against it, her fingers mere centimeters from the controls. "If it's there, we will discover it. Starfleet Intelligence makes it our business to be thorough."
"I bet you do."
Choi smiled sweetly, her first since making his acquaintance. "Anything else you want to tell me, Pascal? I'd get settled if I were you. We'll be underway as soon as the battle's over."
"No, ma'am." He ground out, and then watched them all go, each stepping over the threshold until he was finally alone with his thoughts.
And an oppressive, weighty silence, indicative of an oncoming storm.
With only half an hour left until the arrival of the enemy fleet, Malcolm found himself in a place that he wasn't supposed to be.
Part of him wanted to see Pascal to see the look on his face, to let him know that they'd won and that if the Section so much as challenged them again, they'd reveal everything, from the various postings of their agents to the kinds of information they'd been asked to leak to how many political murders had been orchestrated through them over the years. But that wasn't the plan, and he knew just as well as anyone else involved that the more he interacted with the accused right now, the greater the chance for retaliation.
Alira had forbidden him to do so, though she had confessed that nothing would have made her more happy than to beat Pascal into the ground. The desire to rage at injustice was something they shared and tried their best to contend with, especially in moments like these.
That didn't stop him from wandering down to D Deck under the guise of checking up on the armory. It was the first time they'd have the opportunity to deploy the nuclear warheads, and while he dearly hoped they wouldn't need to, he'd be remiss to not acknowledge that the containment field could use a second look, especially with the issues they'd run into with the Ktarian stabilizers weeks back.
Crewman Bennett was expecting him. He had no reason to take the long way, but he did, and nearly ran into Lieutenant Choi headlong as he passed the brig.
She reacted instantaneously, seizing his arm and drawing him towards the wall. Their division head appeared excited, as though she was already anticipating dragging the accused into court and throwing the book at them. For all intents and purposes, he envied her; she'd gone about getting involved in intelligence the right way, strictly above ground as far as he knew, and now above all else he wished he'd done the same.
"Are you here to get his statement for the security logs? He's being unusually talkative. I think with a little more pushing we could get something from him."
"Actually…" He trailed off, then reached for his PADD, slipping it out of his pocket. "I am. It'll just be a few minutes."
Choi nodded and stepped aside. "Don't be very long, Commander."
As soon as he entered the room, Simon's head snapped up. His gaze was cold and dispassionate, and he couldn't stop his heart from leaping into his throat. Malcolm remembered the last time he'd been in the brig - it had been when his promise to Harris came back to haunt him, and he'd attempted to slow Enterprise down as much as possible so Phlox would have time to synthesize an antidote to the Klingon augment virus. Archer lectured him about duty and honor and what his father would have thought if he knew he was facing a court martial. It had broken him, and he'd wept for hours, only to slip back behind a veneer of disaffection and sarcasm, the same one he'd used to get himself through any manner of crisis situations over the years.
There he met a Klingon prisoner, and they'd somewhat bonded over their determination to serve, to ensure victory for their fellow officers by any means necessary. They'd questioned why they even fought wars, and though they fundamentally disagreed, he'd come away with a renewed sense of purpose, with a better understanding of what he was doing with his life in the vastness of the cosmos, of the meaning behind this increasingly absurd three ring circus of tragedy.
All of that went out the window the moment he stepped up to Pascal's cell.
"Are you here to rub it in?"
"Rub what in?"
He laughed this time, and it was so sharp and discordant it hardly sounded human at all. Simon stood and approached him, growing closer until the only thing separating them was a thin sheet of ballistic glass. "Don't try to tell me you didn't have something to do with this."
"I had nothing to do with this, and that's the truth," he declared, surprised at his ability to keep his voice even. "Thought, if you could find it within yourself to be honest with us, I'm sure the judge will be a lot more lenient."
"I can't believe you, giving up on your intelligence career, throwing all of this chaos around us, dragging your own name through the mud. You better hope you never encounter another agent in the field for as long as you live."
He knew where Simon was going with this, and didn't like it one bit. "I'm here for your statement, and nothing more. I'm ready when you are. Perhaps you can start by telling me why you were planning on bringing the Vulcan High Command down on its knees."
"On its knees," he echoed, chuckling ruefully. He cut a glance towards the external door, confirming it was shut tight, then took another step closer. "Funny. I hear that's where Lazuli does her best work."
In a flash, Malcolm hit the door controls to open the hatch and surged forward, punching him with all his might. His head snapped back, and he fell into the wall before slumping down and clutching the side of his face.
Immediately, he knew he'd broken his nose or worse, but didn't particularly care for his well being at the moment. Pascal placed a hand on the ground to stumble to his feet, and Malcolm pinned it down under his boot, baring down with force.
"I hope that made you feel better," Simon hissed, spitting blood onto the floor. Already, the bones in his fingers were threatening to snap.
"Let's get one thing straight." He leaned forward slightly, relishing in the sound of his foe crying out. "If you so much as mention her again, they're going to have to throw me in this brig as well, because I will have killed you with my bare hands."
"You forget I've known her a lot longer than you have."
It would have been so easy to break his hand, and the idea was growing more tempting by the second. "If you're trying to get a rise out of me, it's not going to work."
"It already has," he rasped, his voice wavering uncontrollably. "Face it, Winston, you're a pitiful excuse for an operative, an officer, and a soldier. It's all you've been your whole life, and you still can't swing it. I call that pathetic. I call that-"
Malcolm suddenly disengaged from him, holding back the uncontrollable urge to wring his neck. It hurt, it pained him to the depth of his being, but he had always suspected he was right. It was only what that little voice in his head had been telling him for years, and hearing it out loud only served to drive the point home.
A second later, he was out the door, leaving his opponent alone to nurse his wounds. Choi looked to him for an explanation, but he offered none, rushing down the corridor without a second thought. His feet took him on a familiar path, and while he subconsciously registered where he was going, he didn't lend any credence to it. Right outside the transporter, he reached out to the Commodore, and his own ears were disbelieving of what he heard.
He found them in the launch bay antechamber in the Maelstrom, already preparing for the mission. Travis had already secured the hard outer torso over his EV suit, and was busily checking all the backup systems, lest one of them go out while they were hovering over the World Ender with the hatch exposed to open space. Julia was making quick work of the air tubing sticking out of the back of her helmet, but she turned back to him the moment he entered, clearly expecting someone else.
"Commander!" She sounded surprised. "How can we help you?"
"Actually, I was…"
The hatch at the other end of the room opened, issuing his paramour toting an armful of Romulan disruptors. Her expression was already tense, but all misgivings fled the second she saw him. To her credit, she scarcely paused, setting down her weapons and struggling into the bronze outer jumpsuit one leg at a time.
"I wouldn't get too far with that if I were you," he advised, already anticipating her reaction. "The Commodore's authorized me to go on this mission instead."
"Oh!" She let go of the material, and it pooled around her feet in a rumpled heap. Her arms crossed, and she regarded him with thinly veiled incredulity. "With all due respect to you and the Commodore, sir, I've been working with this team for weeks, and…"
"And Mr. Tucker needs you here to monitor the nuclear warheads. After our issues a few weeks back, who knows what's going to happen the moment we go to fire."
Alira was blinking rapidly, and her smile grew even wider, indicative of how hard she was struggling to control her frustration. "There's no need to worry. We've run a thousand diagnostics and simulations. The millastrium's gone, every last part per million."
"Get to your post," he said, stepping up to a spare EV suit and pulling it off the hanger. "That's an order, Ensign."
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Julia took the hint. "Come on, Travis. Let's get the pod fired up."
He cast a curious look at the two of them as they left the room, but thankfully let well enough alone. The moment the door closed, she began to shed her inner jumpsuit, kicking it off and going in search of her uniform. She seemed on edge, every muscle in her back tensed, as though she was prepared to fly off the handle at any second. She seemed ready to obey his order, but was incredibly silent, a state which was truly unusual for her.
"Look, I-"
"Is there any reason why you're taking my mission?" The interruption came suddenly, and was exactly as pointed as he knew it was going to be. "Really and honestly. I'd like to know."
"Alira-"
"Is this about your pride?" It came out like an accusation, and she turned back to him, drawing her zipper up to her chin. "If it is, just let me know, and we can have this conversation later when we're not about to be ripped from stem to stern."
"It's about keeping you safe," he confessed, and he knew that was partially the truth, but not the entirety of it. Pascal's words were still ringing out in his mind, and he couldn't ignore them.
"I could've sworn we had this discussion before." She stood on her toes to reach over his head, pulling down the outer apron and settling it onto his shoulders. There was no denying she was furious, though her voice sounded only a little left of normal. After all these months, he was used to it. "Back on Betazed, I told you I didn't need you to protect me. It's going to be alright."
"You don't know that."
"We never know that," she corrected him, making quick work of checking primary and auxiliary oxygen. "If it's not this, it's got to be something else."
"It has to do with who is best suited for this mission."
Alira turned away from him suddenly, and he could see her inhale sharply, leaning into the bench in the middle of the room. He thought about reaching out to her, but thought better of it. When she spoke, it was devoid of any of her usual enthusiasm.
"What is it with you and trying to sacrifice yourself at every opportunity?" Before he could respond, she grabbed a helmet and forced it over his head. "It's desperate, it's reckless, and no one around here is awarding you any kind of points."
"Listen-"
"No, you listen to me. I read about what happened in that Romulan minefield. You told the Commodore to cut you loose so he could save the ship, and even detached your own air supply." Her fingers were securing the latches at the base of the helmet, and soon he felt the dependable, steady rush of oxygen in the confined space. "Call it what you want, but you attempted suicide."
When she put it like that, it sounded a lot more serious than it felt in the moment. In his mind, he'd been perfectly justified in doing so, and had effectively convinced himself of that fact for years.
"You always put everything else first, even when it doesn't require it. So I suppose what I'm wondering is what exactly it would take for you to start caring about yourself." She closed the glass cover, then placed her palm against it. The look in her eyes was nothing short of devastating. "Malcolm, you aren't fighting this battle alone anymore."
This time, she definitely wasn't talking about the Romulans.
He wanted to remind her of everything his father put him through, holding him to a high standard and never sparing him a kind word. He was hateful and downright intolerant at times, and ruled the Reed home with an iron fist. He always felt that he wasn't doing enough, that he wasn't good enough to deserve anyone's sympathy. It turned him into an anxious child and an even more anxious adult, and once he found salvation in protocol and duty, he clung onto it with both hands, at the expense of his friendships and social life. He'd always had difficulty relating to people and forming connections, and it had made for quite the miserable life. At least subconsciously, he knew he'd done it to himself, which didn't exactly do wonders to his self-esteem.
The last thing he wanted to do was lose the one person he'd nearly sacrificed it all for.
Carefully, he reached up to touch her hand, gingerly intertwining their fingers together. When he apologized, he almost didn't hear it, but he was sure he said it over and over again.
"Until this war is over, we're both going to be in danger at all times." She laughed, and the sudden shift in tone surprised him. "At least we won't have Pascal and Garcia chasing after us anymore."
"When this war is over-" He almost asked it, right then and there, but caught himself at the last second. "Alira, this was a mistake. I should have let you go."
"Very little we can do about that now. I'll tell McKenzie and Gilson to suit up and be prepared. If you need me, I'll be there for you."
And she always was. He realized then that he didn't deserve her, that he never did. This love was more intense than anything he'd ever experienced, and wasn't without its challenges, but by God, he wouldn't change it for anything. Malcolm wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go, Romulans be damned, but knew they could likely not wait another moment.
He tried to move away, but she held fast. Tears were stinging her eyes and she couldn't hide them. Alira knew she wasn't blameless, that she had her own problems with anger and post traumatic stress, but in the end, they were with each other through it all, and that was one thing that would never change.
She wanted to tell him that he had to make time to see Phlox to work through these issues, that if they survived this ordeal she intended to take him as her first husband, that she wanted to do whatever it took to get them assigned to the same ship. It was too much, and yet not enough, so she settled on telling him that she loved him, taking both of his hands and kissing them through the gloves.
He echoed the sentiment and pulled away, then scooped up the disruptors at the end of the bench and swept into the adjoining chamber before he could think otherwise.
The moment Captain Al-Shahrani received word that Rosalind and Corsica had been arrested, he knew something was terribly wrong.
It didn't take long for the news to spread; gossip moved through a starship fast enough to rival any small town, and because the fleet was so close together, it readily zipped across the comm lines and proliferated through their ranks at light speed.
It had been Agent Long's idea to get rid of T'Pol - she was too perceptive, too keen, too close to the enemy to be trusted. They'd known about her ancestry for months, even before she did, and the fact that her father and brother were both Chairmen of the Tal Shiar in the lifetimes was cause for concern.
As their mission broadened, it became necessary to get as many agents as possible into the upper ranks to keep them in line. They had operatives on every Daedalus-class support ship and in the senior staff of every NX vessel, and even had two in the captain's chair. Captain Demirci of the Apollo, known to some as Agent Iris, had joined their circle in anticipation of the expulsion of Agent Winston under a set of circumstances which had as of yet come to pass.
Whatever had happened, he intended to get to the bottom of it. None of this was complicated or difficult to understand. Mr. Reed had been given the choice: rat out his Captain and receive command of the Enterprise and the company of his partner, or refuse and have the truth come out anyway, and have the displeasure of seeing Agent Lazuli burned out of the Section altogether. He was expected to send the information to Admiral Gardner anonymously, and he suspected Malcolm had actually fulfilled his end of the bargain.
Whether or not he'd tipped off Starfleet Intelligence and framed them for orchestrating the kidnapping of one of Vulcan's most prominent ministers was another matter entirely. If he truly had, Mustafa imagined they would have a hell of time proving it.
He didn't have time to think about that now - as his science officer so eloquently put it, they had company. The enemy fleet had just entered the sector, and he watched in horror as they dropped out of warp one by one.
There was little need for pretense. They started firing immediately, and he watched as the Tellarite supports on the front lines returned their volley with intensity. Their ships broke formation and curled around one another, bobbing and weaving through space so as to confuse their sensors. Their battalion seemed to consist of hundreds of smaller birds-of-prey and a few modified Vulcan battle cruisers, a curiously deficient ensemble, must certainly not enough to defend themselves against the Coalition forces gathered around Galorndon Core.
Like anyone else who had read the latest reports from their patrols, he knew what was coming next, but very little could have prepared him for the sight of the World Ender emerging from subspace. There was no way to understate it - the craft was massive, imposing, and the hull was studded with thousands of launch tubes and subspace transceivers, seemingly all ready and able to fire at any second.
It skipped the front lines and charged directly onward, nearly mowing down the Ares and Tempest in the process. They dodged, but otherwise held their position, letting loose a volley of photonic torpedoes that didn't seem to even dent their hull.
"Full power to the phase cannons. Let's go after these vermin." He gestured at one of the many birds-of-prey cluttering the viewscreen, and his tactical officer complied, unleashing holy hell upon them within seconds.
By the time the World Ender came within firing range, Shran was raring to go.
"Undali to the Maelstrom. Are you ready, Mr. Tucker?"
"You bet your ass we are," he replied instantly, and on the viewscreen, he saw them turn away from the Enterprise and zoom out into open space, all the while being trailed by a dozen birds-of-prey. Like flying insects in the summertime, they seemed to be everywhere, and he was only that much more willing to snuff them out. "Should we give 'em a show?"
He thought he heard Ensign Taxa agree with him, and he was momentarily confused. Shran could have sworn she was the one providing tactical support to the hijacking mission, but then again, he could have misheard them...multiple times.
"Don't worry, Captain. We'll leave a few targets for you."
"More like the other way around. Try to keep up." With that, they laid on the metaphorical gas, catching up to the Undali within seconds. Shran's lieutenant reacted instantaneously, and soon they were both cutting through the left flank, attracting quite the audience as they went.
They banked hard around the side of the planet, catching the rest of the Andorian detachment laying in wait. It probably took everything within them not to do so, but they stuck to the plan, weaving into the line of approaching warbirds and causing them to panic, scattering them like a sunburst across their dorsal camera. In spite of the treachery of this maneuver, Shran chuckled to himself and ordered his gunman to fire at will, anywhere and everywhere, as long as he possibly could.
On the Maelstrom, the inertial dampeners were having a hard time keeping up.
They'd never been the same after Solnara - for the hundredth time over, he thanked God that Taxa and Kelby had thought to install seatbelts months ago. Right now, the restraint was the only thing keeping him from flying over Ensign Hutchison at the conn and directly into the viewscreen.
"Any chance we can get a little more speed?" He shouted over his shoulder towards Novakovich, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
The paneling above him suddenly exploded in a hail of sparks, and he leaned away from the wall, covering his head with his hands. Through the haze of smoke, Ethan peered into his screen, willing the bleariness in his eyes to dissipate. "Not unless you want your brain to be rattled straight out of your skull."
At that point, Trip thought it might as well be a good sacrifice to be made for the battle. He frowned, watching the Undali hit its arc on the far side of Galorndon Core, catching the reflection by its sun and briefly becoming illuminated by the washes of green and blue far below them. It was a welcome moment of respite from the weapons fire bearing down on them from all directions, an onslaught they had no hope of matching even on their best days.
"How are we doing on torpedoes?"
"Launch tubes two, five, and six are down!" Ensign Nguyen had to shout to be heard from his position facing the dorsal display, and a moment later, he removed a piece of paneling on the wall and disappeared inside it, desperately attempting to impart some last-minute repairs.
"A lot of crossfire going on," Taxa mumbled to no one in particular. She remained facing the center of the room, hunched over her station, with one hand on the trigger and the other on the targeting sensor. The radar danced before her eyes through the headpiece she wore over one ear, and the space behind it was blurred in a mass of black and green.
He hadn't expected her to be present on the bridge during the battle at all; apparently, her new marching orders had come down from the Commodore himself by way of Commander Reed, who was bound and determined to see to the hijacking of the World Ender himself. Trip suspected it had something to do with his persistent desire to sacrifice himself for the good of the cause, to gain glory through a virtuous death. Alira was likely incensed about this, but didn't let it show, instead focusing on picking off the birds-of-prey all around them one-by-one.
"How much longer?"
"Thirty seconds," she replied automatically, all the while the proximity alarms were going off all around them. The enemy ships were practically on top of them now, and Trip knew they could wait no longer.
Hoshi was prepared for his next question. "The Vulcan fleet is ready. Varan is standing by."
She had a small cut above one eyebrow, and it was dripping into her eyes. He wanted all the world to leave his seat and tend to her wounds, to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be okay, but for now, he was trapped in position, helpless as the hull was pumped full of holes like a slice of Swiss cheese.
"Remind them of what our transponder signature looks like." Then at her curious expression, he pressed on: "So they don't accidentally shoot us down."
"You've got nothing to worry about, sir," Alira assured him, though she didn't sound convinced. Slowly, she turned to face the viewscreen directly. "Five, four, three, two…"
The moment the Maelstrom and the Undali reemerged on the dark side of the planet, they were greeted by no less than two dozen battle cruisers, all geared up and ready to fight. Hutchison gripped the joystick and pulled roughly to one side, causing the ship to rocket up the bow of the Varan and their pursuers to follow.
Trip found himself struck by the G-forces, which pressed him into his seat and caused him to grit his teeth in pain. It felt like his intestines were about to be pushed out through his back, but the sensation was temporary, for the moment the birds-of-prey exposed their painted underbellies to the Vulcans, they released an absolutely devastating bombardment the likes of which he had never seen before in his life.
The heat and subsequent pressure pushing them out of the way was immense; he thought he heard Shran whooping and hollering over the comm, but the only thing in his ears at the moment was a tremendous ringing sound that temporarily deafened him. Only a few enemy vessels managed to get away with the hulls unbreached, and they were quickly pursued by the Varan and friends all the way back to the World Ender, which seemed to just sit there like a huge, ominous, hulking mass, threatening to unleash its payload at any time.
"All ships, this is the Commodore. Converge on the Romulan marauder. It's time to deliver our present."
Jon's suitably overdramatic command notwithstanding, several of their NXes were occupied at the moment, and Erika felt like she would be remiss if she didn't bring it to his attention. "There's a few of them cloaking in and out near the science station. I think they're trying to board."
"It's not like they'll find anything!" That much was true. They'd gone to great lengths to evacuate the scientists well ahead of time and listen to their laments that a great xenoecological paradise was about to be lost, only to wipe the computers after them and gut the station for anything that might be considered valuable. It was just a big, orbiting piece of scrap metal at this point, so their interest in it was a bit of a curiosity.
"They don't know that," Erika reminded him, noting how even with no one aboard, it was shielded to the teeth. Columbia's own sensors couldn't penetrate it, and that likely spelled disaster if they were miraculously able to get on board and retrofit their weapons to its limited defenses. "Stand by, sir."
"Acknowledged. Godspeed, Columbia."
Immediately, she rose from her seat, watching out of the corner of her eye as the Cochrane charged headlong at the station, determined to play chicken with any bird-of-prey that dared to venture close enough.
"There's a better way to do that, Pritchard," she warned, and as if on cue, her first officer looked up from where he sat at the science station, nodding furtively. Erika stepped over the unconscious crewman crumpled on the floor and went to join him, studying the readouts on his screen.
"You tell me, and I'll make it happen." Her girlfriend sounded stressed, and she couldn't blame her. Laura was most likely pacing behind the conn, as was her wont, only to be thrown from side to side every time a disruptor blast made contact with their hull. She'd seen it so often that she could certainly visualize it now.
Commander Mbatha nodded and reached for the button, only to pause a second short. Erika's hand on his shoulder was all the encouragement he needed. Enterprise had done the very same at Solnara, though for another reason, and they'd seen the effects of it in the Bowerman Nebula. There was only one way to see through their cloaks, and she was bound and determined to employ it before it was too late.
The stream of ionized gas shot out of their discharge ports a second later, catching the perimeters of a half dozen different hulls in its shadow. The Cochrane seemed to understand and soon joined them, ducking and weaving through the lines, exposing an entire secondary fleet as they went.
A squadron of Daedalus-class supports lead by the Tempest were upon them, taking aim and casualties where they could. Columbia doubled back and plowed through the line of enemy vessels, employing evasive maneuvers all the way. A few of the smaller birds seemed to challenge them directly, making a beeline towards them, meaning to incapacitate the ship by whatever means necessary. They seemed intent on colliding with Columbia, a sudden shift in objective that left her bewildered.
Bewildered, of course, until her helmsman turned the hull upwards and they caught a glimpse of what was happening right off the World Ender's starboard bow.
They were presently pummeling the Tellarite flagship Sharosta with nuclear warheads, and if sensors were any indication, they were much more powerful than their own. Erika knew they weren't enough to puncture its hull, but auxiliary systems were likely going haywire, sensors completely blinded by the radiation levels all around them. They ducked and bobbed through open space for a few tense, anguishing moments, then sped off in what they most likely assumed was the right direction.
A moment later, they crashed directly into the side of the World Ender, shattering into a thousand pieces and igniting the hull into oblivion, taking the crew with it.
Erika muffled her shock behind her open palm, then leaned into the science station, hoping to find survivors. The universe, however, was determined not to lend her any favors today.
With one of their flagships down, the Commodore saw very little choice. "All NXes, aim your nuclear warheads at the marauder. On my command, fire three missiles. The away team will go in on the third."
"Captain, should we-"
She silenced her tactical officer with a dismissive wave of her hand, and for a moment, it was as if time stood still. At long last, she was about to see what she'd spent years of her life working towards, hiding from anyone except her first and science officers, nearly destroying her personal relationships in the process. Though she knew it was selfish, all Erika could think was that it had better be worth it.
And it was.
Rather than producing a mushroom cloud, the detonation seemed to spread out in a large disc shape, emitting several concentric rings as it streaked through space. They were stark white at first, then orange and yellow, followed by a brilliant pulse of sheer, blinding light, so bright that she had to look away. Sure enough, their sensor logs started to shift and scramble, and she didn't want to think about what havoc the radiation was wreaking on any of the ships much closer to the explosion.
The Enterprise was unprepared for the strength of the blast to say in the least. Almost instantly, their hull bent and bowed away, and they felt the deck plating start to roll underneath them. T'Pol clenched onto the armrests of her chair with all her strength, then struggled to her feet towards the conn, peering over the shoulder of the crewman at the navigator's station.
Simon's second was utterly shaken. This was the first battle he'd served on bridge duty, and every time the chamber rocked, she could feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves. Now was no exception, and he visibly shrank in on himself as she approached.
T'Pol knew they likely wouldn't know if the away team made it until they received their first transmission, or until they gained remote control of the enemy's engines and systems. That didn't stop her from worrying though, or counting the seconds until three of most treasured colleagues attempted to contact them again.
"We're being hailed," Dita called out, her brows knit together in concern. She hesitated, then pressed on, her own ears disbelieving of the words coming out of her mouth. "It's the World Ender."
Simultaneously, T'Pol and Jonathan's heads whipped around, their surprise evident. She nodded, and their comm officer cued it up.
Soon, the overhead speakers were filled with a familiar voice, one she could not forget for as long as she lived.
"Hello, sister. I trust that you are prepared for whatever fate brings you today."
Travis was usually one to reserve judgment about the outcome of a mission until all the variables were revealed, but this time, he was absolutely, positively sure he was going to crash.
The flight through the aftermath of the nuclear detonations was nothing short of terrifying. The hull temperature reached critical within seconds, and the deafening roar of bulkheads warping around them made him think they were about to be crushed into nothingness. The viewscreen flooded with a rush of bright light, but he pushed onward, increasing their speed faster and faster until they reemerged, narrowly avoiding taking off the tip of one of the subspace transceivers by a fraction of a centimeter.
In the copilot's seat, Julia let out a long string of expletives, rearing back in her seat and clutching her chest. As they disappeared into the cluster of spikes, she bent to her instruments again, guiding them in towards the interior hull through visual sensors alone.
The proximity alarm was continuous at that point, and they all had to shout to be heard over it. Travis didn't dare take his hands off the controls for a second, but in the reflection of the viewscreen, he caught Corporal Chang's expression, his clenched jaw and tense shoulders. He was very close to losing his breakfast, and he wasn't the only one.
Malcolm clung onto the back of his chair for dear life, affecting a wide stance as he balanced himself between him and the external hatch. Every few minutes, he would give a command which came out as rather patronizing than encouraging, as if Travis didn't know to watch out and cut right and duck left.
Julia certainly hadn't expected him to accompany them on their mission. Alira had entered the launch bay, and only he had come out; she didn't want to think that his presence was due in part to a lover's quarrel, but from what she'd seen, that was most likely a reality. She supposed it had something to do with his superfluous desire to protect her, and his need to take drastic actions to keep everyone else from harm, foolish as it may be. Whatever the case, he was with them now, and she trusted him just as much as she would trust her own tactical officer, even though at the moment he was about to drive them up the wall.
The spikes seemed to grow closer and closer together, but Travis wasn't slowing down. Through the glass of his helmet, she saw a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. The intensity in his eyes was frightening, and Julia momentarily thought she would need to say something to break the spell.
At the last possible second, once all the lights and beacons from the fleet were drowned out and they were in near total darkness, Travis whipped the joystick to one side, causing the craft to turn and settle into a bare spot on the hull no larger than the pod. It was accompanied by an unbearably loud scrape of metal against metal, but they at last came to a stop, and Julia exhaled so loudly so was sure they could all hear it.
"Ready to go?" That question was more redundant than anything. Travis spared a cursory glance around the room, confirming that the seals on everyone's helmets were engaged, then popped the external hatch, exposing them to the elements.
The rush of the cold against the outer layer of her suit never failed to take Julia's breath away. No matter how many walks she went on, she'd never get used to it, though she tried to put on a brave face whenever she could.
As she needed to right now.
The data chip felt heavy in her pocket, but she surged forward, pressing past the MACOs and pausing at the threshold. She stepped down experimentally onto the mottled gray and green of the hull plating, waiting for her gravity boots to engage. When they did, she inhaled slowly and stepped out into the nothingness, feeling the rumble of the engines and weapons from far within.
Her target was already in sight; really, it shouldn't take more than a few minutes, and they wouldn't need the MACOs at all. Julia only wanted to get there, get the job done, and get out. The sooner she was back on the Maelstrom and not suffocating under fifty pounds of an EV suit, the better.
She moved faster than was necessary, ducking around the base of the spikes, placing her hand on the transceivers and sensing the thrum of machinery underneath her fingertips. After so long of living in fear of the World Ender, they'd finally managed to step foot on one, and if she had anything to do with it, it would be the last time they ever needed to do so.
The computer panel was behind a short projection of the hull. Carefully, she crouched down to her knees and wiped a bit of dust away from the screen, studying the mess of Romulan characters written there. She'd practiced for long enough with Hoshi to get the sense of what some words looked like, and had memorized the keystrokes in her head until she could do them backwards and forwards. Quickly, she set to her work, only to be interrupted moments later by Travis on the communicator.
"Commander, we-" The rest of his warning was lost in a garble of static.
"Repeat that, Lieutenant." Her metaphorical hackles were raised, and it felt in that moment like there were a hundred pairs of eyes on her.
"Transmission from the...need to...stop them from…"
"Travis?" She was so close, yet so far away, but she took the time to tear herself away from the task at hand, rising slowly to her feet.
Julia was immediately greeted by the sight of a hatch opening between them, the interior lights becoming visible to her inch by inch. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of Malcolm's fraught, terrified face, then he surged forward, producing a Romulan disruptor out of nowhere.
The enemy appeared that next second, clad in EV suits as black as night. Even their helmets were totally opaque, and the sight of it terrified her. She fumbled for her own weapon and leveled it, firing it indiscriminately as they gained on her with frightening speed.
Immediately, she dipped down to yank the data chip loaded with the virus out of the port, then began to stumble backwards, beckoning with one hand and continuing to fire with the other. They took the bait, and the MACOs began to steal forward, followed by Malcolm and Travis as they moved towards the hatch. She wasn't sure exactly how they'd detected them, but whatever the case may be, she was operating on sheer adrenaline now, willing to lay down her life if that was what it took to win the day.
Curiously, they didn't fire on her, and she briefly wondered what their angle was. Perhaps they meant to capture them or destroy the shuttlepod, but they didn't seem violent at that moment. She knew this was still likely a trap, and kept backing up along the interior hull up until the moment Malcolm's voice filled her ears.
"Now!"
He didn't have to tell her twice. Julia couldn't help it; she inhaled sharply and pushed it out as a blood-curdling scream, rushing towards them and laying down a barrage as she went. At the same time, the MACOs opened fire, and soon she was crashing through the lines, feeling their arms around her, restraining her tightly.
She didn't hesitate, deactivating her gravity boots and allowing the momentum of the World Ender to pull her out towards open space. At first, she feared that Malcolm wouldn't have been able to catch her as she floated away, but he and Kemper caught her by the arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket as they dragged her into the ship.
Travis closed the hatch, and she swiftly turned to him, shaking out her shoulder as she did so. They were presently alone in the airlock, temporarily isolated from the chaos all around them, and she was suddenly frantic, wanting to know what the hell he was thinking.
"They were all around us, coming from all sides," he explained, struggling to keep his tone even over his desperate gasps for oxygen. "I don't know how they found us, unless…"
"Unless they have a person on the inside," Malcolm interrupted, his insinuation obvious.
She made a decisive slicing motion with her hand. That was a definite possibility, but they couldn't dwell on that now. Right now, the most pressing issue at hand was…
As if on cue, the shuttlepod exploded above them, rocking the hull and nearly pushing them off the feet. Chang stepped into her to prevent her from falling, and she leaned into him for support, knowing full well how ludicrous her expression must have been in that moment.
"There's another computer access port about a quarter kilometer in," Malcolm reminded them.
Kemper shook his head. "Sir, there's no guarantee we can make it that far."
That much was true. As far as they knew, there could be a legion of enemy soldiers waiting in the corridor only a few meters from their very position. Travis wasn't going to let that possibility slide. "We need backup."
"To do that, we'll need to disable their external shielding. Without that, there's no hope for the transporter, or our communicators."
"Can we do that from the access port?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And just how will we get out of here after that?" It was Chang's turn to ask the real questions, but Julia wasn't going to entertain his doubts.
"The very same way," she replied, or not at all. The realization that they would probably die in the World Ender trying to disable it was starting to sink in for all of them, and she could not suppress the gnawing sense of terror within her. "Are we ready or not?"
Travis didn't respond. He moved towards the back of the chamber and located the door controls, glancing back at them with an incredible amount of fortitude.
When he was greeted by silence, he nodded curtly and opened the hatch, ushering them into an impenetrable hail of weapons fire.
Instantly, they flattened themselves against the wall and began to slide forward, stepping out into the middle of the corridor intermittently. There were few places to take cover, and at any rate they needed to forge on at whatever cost, an idea that was seared into their collective conscience. Soon Chang realized that his phase pistol wasn't going to cut it and reached for the larger Romulan disruptor rifle strapped to his side. It was massive, as long as one arm and heavy like a ten ton weight. As they watched, he cocked it with one hand, whipping it out to the side and adopting a wide stance in the middle of the hallway. A second later, he began to fire rapidly, gnashing his teeth and crouching down to avoid being swept off his feet.
The resulting inferno of green light was positively blinding. Enemy soldiers were falling directly ahead of them, and Travis stole the opportunity to rush forward along the wall, narrowly avoiding getting caught in the crossfire.
An alarm was blaring overhead; the corridor felt tiny and cramped and claustrophobic, lined with blinking and cycling lights that didn't do wonders for his sense of balance, which felt severely disrupted. The World Ender was either moving at incredible speed or cutting some wild turns, and at that point, Travis wasn't sure which one it was.
It didn't matter. He could barely spot the computer screen up ahead, and all that was standing between them and victory were a few dozen faceless marauders. Not to be daunted, he charged onward, staring certain death in the face and daring it to blink back at him.
He'd been in this situation far too many times before. Over and over again, he'd thrown himself into the fire for Starfleet's benefit, most of the time willingly and with enthusiasm, because he loved the work and loved his coworkers and loved his lifestyle, this crazy whirlwind of circumstance that kept him in deep space year after year. As with the Xindi War, this was no longer about duty, but about preservation.
Travis was convinced that if he didn't act, right here and right now, the enemy would only knock down another barrier towards invading Earth, towards hunting and slaughtering more ECS crews for sport. He thought about his family delivering to the front lines, helpless and altruistic, sleeping with phase pistols under their pillows just in case they were attacked by the enemy in the middle of the night.
It enraged him, and in that moment there was no greater motivator.
Malcolm caught up with him, and together they set towards deciphering the words on the screen, disabling the dampening field around them with relative ease. Chang and Kemper pressed up against them, their backs towards the action, eyes darting back and forth as they warded off any approaching soldiers.
"Mayweather to Maelstrom."
Nothing.
"Mayweather to Maelstrom, please respond."
The silence was maddening. He struck the screen with his fist, and Julia quickly shouldered her way into the fray, inserting the data chip into the port in the wall.
A crackle of static filled his communicator, and Travis almost wept for joy. "Tucker here. Please tell me you're just about ready for extraction."
"I'm afraid not, sir. We need backup, and we need it yesterday. Lock onto our location and beam them directly here."
They'd need to get within a kilometer of the World Ender, well in lethal range for the nuclear warheads, and they all knew it. Trip exchanged heated words with someone on the bridge, then replied: "If you can give them five minutes, they can-"
"Not five minutes. Now," Travis insisted, not caring for the moment how insubordinate he was. Julia managed to disable their shields, and he knew this meant their presence in the internal hull would become known for the bridgel; the arrival of reinforcements was imminent.
"Copy that, stand by." The transmission ended, but Julia's button pressing only grew more frantic. She reached up and popped the front of her helmet, and he could see even though the near darkness of the corridor that she was breathing heavily.
The next few seconds seemed to go on forever, but eventually they heard the soft whir of the transporter from somewhere behind them. Malcolm turned just in time to see the forms of Corporal McKenzie and Private Gilson appear, followed by Ensign Taxa, all without an EV suit, but laden with weapons nonetheless.
"Commander, can't you do anything yourself?" The question came out of her mouth before she could stop it, and his eyebrows all but flew up into his hairline.
"I'm sorry, weren't you the one who said-" He was swiftly cut off by Julia's cry of frustration, followed by a hard kick to the deck plating. She pitched forward, and in that moment, he thought he heard her sob.
"Ma'am..."
"They've scrambled their command codes, Travis," she gasped, unable to control the fear coursing through her veins. This was tremendously unusual for her, and it frightened all of them. "There's no hope. The virus isn't going to take, and we can't take down the ship without it."
Realization struck them at once, and Taxa clicked the safety off her rifle, peering around the corner into the darkness. It was quiet for now, but that was certainly about to change.
"Unless…"
"There is no unless. The Maelstrom needs to double back and pick us up before it's too late." The way she said it made it sound like an order, but Travis was hoping there was a little bit of leeway built into that.
"No, listen to me. Do any of you have portable charges on you?" Both of their tactical officers and all four of the MACOs simultaneously reached into their pockets, and he felt a surge of hope for the first time. "What about stun grenades?"
"I never go anywhere without them," Taxa confessed, moving her blastproof vest aside to reveal the shells strapped to her belt.
The sparkle was returning to his eyes now, but it wasn't without a hint of venom. "What about antimatter mines?"
Kemper seemed to hesitate for a moment, then pulled a basketball-sized metal sphere out of his pack, cradling it as one would a baby. Alira regarded him with absolute unbridled shock, but she was glad he'd come to the mission ridiculously overprepared.
"So there's a chance," Travis asserted, taking the mine from him and tucking it under his arm. "We'll need to get close to a primary power junction. Unless I miss my guess, there's one about a kilometer deeper into the ship."
"That'll take us into the habitat ring. There's no way," Malcolm was all about taking risks, but only when they were sufficiently calculated.
"There is a way," he corrected him, gesturing broadly to the group. "We've got to do this."
"Travis..."
"We've got to," he insisted and stepped up to Julia, his voice unbearably warped with emotion. They locked eyes, and soon she realized he was right, nodding slowly, adamantly.
"Let's go," she whispered, and as one they turned and charged forward towards their doom.
T'Pol was about ready to crawl out of her skin with worry.
If all of Starfleet headquarters knew of her ancestry, she was sure it would now spread all over the ship. Crewman Bennett and Pascal's second looked bewildered, not to mention the dozens of crewmen standing in the situation room. It was foolish, it was completely off task, but she couldn't help but agonize over it, fighting to prevent it from clouding her mind and her decisions moving forward. As the World Ender pushed forward towards the planet, they attempted to slow it down as much as they possibly could, to little success.
Every contingent of the fleet was pummeling them with everything they had. The Vulcans' phase cannons didn't even buckle or warp their hulls, though they'd hoped and prayed they would, and now they were only desperately trying to prevent them from destroying Galorndon Core as they had the Solnaran homeworld.
Multiple times Daedalus support captains reached out to Jonathan, telling him that they were more than willing to place themselves directly in their path, to evacuate their ships and attempt to present a physical blockade towards advancement, only to be told under no circumstances would he authorize anyone to go on a suicide mission today. That only really left them the task of fighting back the onslaught of the stolen cruisers and birds-of-prey around them, a matter which was looking more and more hopeless by the second.
T'Pol hoped and prayed, willed it from the depths of her soul, that the away team was having some success aboard the World Ender. The time they'd allotted for the mission had already come and went twice over, and the Maelstrom was lingering dangerously close to the hull, waiting for the call to beam out.
A moment which seemed that it would never come.
Lieutenant Cutler was bleeding profusely from a cut on her shoulder; a shudder of the hull had sent her tumbling forward into her console, narrowly avoiding striking her chin on the edge. The sudden shift had spared her the brunt of the impact, but she now looked deathly pale, as though she was going to pass out at any second. She just kept rattling off casualty reports in a breathy monotone, and Dita persisted in answering transmissions and requests from the fleet, and Bennett still fired, managing to pick off any bird-of-prey that came within range. T'Pol didn't have to ask to know that Jonathan was still clinging on to hope, willing to give them a few extra minutes to pull off a miracle.
A few extra minutes, and all their lives might be spared.
"Something's wrong, ma'am," Liz asserted, seizing the edge of her station with a vice like grip. She had to take a moment to direct her focus, but when she forged on, it was to confirm what she suspected all along. "I'm reading implosions within the World Ender. It appears that it's proliferating along a primary power junction. There's also another energy surge building up in the…"
"Lieutenant?" She rose from her seat, but it was too late.
The World Ender opened fire on Galorndon Core with renewed fury, unleashing no less than two dozen nuclear missiles onto the surface. Almost immediately, the landscape appeared to buckle and collapse in on itself, and though it wasn't inhabited by anyone, T'Pol immediately knew that all other life there would now be extinguished. Unlike Solnara or Barisa VI, her brother hadn't done this because of supply lines or strategic significance, but to show them that they were powerful enough to command a repeat performance elsewhere.
To show that they could wipe out any of their homeworlds at any moment.
"The explosions are increasing in frequency. Their ignition sequence initiated a vertical cascade." Liz inhaled sharply, suddenly wide awake. "We've got less than thirty seconds to get them out of there before it implodes."
"Let the Maelstrom know," Jonathan said, then reached for the comm. "All ships, this is the Commodore. The World Ender's about to blow. Get the hell out of here, any direction!"
The viewscreen was suddenly cluttered with Coalition ships and birds-of-prey jumping to warp, but the Cochrane and the Columbia seemed to linger. If possible, the Maelstrom moved even closer, and T'Pol immediately knew what they had to do.
"Get us closer. Try to get a lock." Their helmsman nodded and eased them forward, even though he was plainly shaking in his boots. She knew they'd heard tales about the devastation of nuclear weapons during Earth's world wars, or any number of conflicts spanning the quadrant over the course of recent history. Those horror stories weren't lost on her, but in that moment she deliberately blocked them out, watching as the unthinkable happened.
A nuclear warhead left its berth and traveled towards the Maelstrom, detonating only a few meters from their port forward quarter. Over the comm, she heard Trip curse, then he was pulling away, deciding to cut his losses.
"I've only got the first three. We've still got people down there."
"We're coming in, Maelstrom. Stand by."
Over by the science console, Liz was studying their predicament with fresh eyes, gaining a better understanding of the horrors that awaited them. "I'll only be able to beam them out two at a time, ma'am. We've only got eleven seconds until…"
"Which ones?"
"Reed and Taxa against the outer hull, and Mayweather and Hammond in the primary power distribution chamber." She glanced up, waiting for a command that never came. "Who first, ma'am?"
T'Pol was silent, paralyzed by choice, unable to think of anything else. She met her gaze, and her eyes were wide with visceral terror. Liz rose from her seat, wobbling from side to side, and made a last ditch effort to draw forth a response.
"Captain!"
Their journey towards the center of the World Ender was incredibly bloody. It was silently understood that they were on a rampage now, that they were free to slash through the masses with abandon, that nothing else mattered than dealing a decisive blow to the enemy. Stun grenades flew, skulls were cracked, and no one was spared on their way towards the center of the ship.
Travis knew, at least subconsciously, that they were unlikely to survive this ordeal now that their first contingency plan had failed. Their chances at getting back to a depth where the transporters could operate were slim to none, and he tried his best to make peace with that, even though he'd stopped being chief navigator and stepped into the role of desperate insurgent, the frantic beating of his heart serving as the only road map he needed.
McKenzie was hit, and quickly began to fall behind. Alira broke free to bring up the rear, slinging her arm around her companion's shoulder and all but dragging her forward, doing her best to keep the enemy off their back as they rushed forward to their own demise.
Travis was having a hard time running with the hindrance of the EV suit, and he gradually shed his helmet and heavy outer vest, which he knew wasn't the best idea, but persisted nonetheless. His companions followed his example, and soon they were crashing into the primary data core in a hail of disruptor fire.
The ceiling suddenly gave way to a great cavernous ceiling stretching tall above them, creating a generous canopy over the largest warp reactor he'd ever seen. He took this to mean that this machine was partially powering the nuclear warheads, and didn't want to think about what kind of boost that gave to their firepower, choosing to focus on reaching his objective as quickly as possible.
He was sprinting now, and Julia was close behind. The MACOs spread out and began to fire into the upper level and into the consoles and power lines running up the wall, trying their best to afford them some cover as they burst into the maze of consoles at the base of the reactor.
Alira reached out and seized McKenzie by the collar, ungracefully forcing her to her knees. She activated her diverter shield and crouched on top of her. The resulting onslaught upon them was absolutely overpowering, and she had to lean back to avoid being swept off her feet as they were pummeled with disruptor fire from three directions.
She was aware of Gilson inching closer to them, shuffling on her heels and cutting furtive glances at them out of the corner of her eye. All the while, she never stopped firing, until at last she was able to pass McKenzie her spare pistol. She accepted her hand and stood, stepping into the fray and setting her sights on a rapidly approaching marauder.
In a flash, the young woman disintegrated, an unfortunate victim of a previously unseen setting of the Romulan disruptor. She tensed up with realization and horror, then she vanished in a hail of yellow and green light that spread from the point of impact outward.
Once second, Gilson was there, and the next she wasn't. It was as simple as that. Alira knew that if they survived this ordeal, she would never forget it.
Her plasma baton came out, and she turned on her heels searching for the origin of that blast from above, determined to avoid the same fate. At the other end of the room, Travis and Julia were disappearing behind a rapidly closing bulkhead, falling to the ground and making a mad dive for what lay beyond, sliding the last few meters on their chest and arms.
Malcolm soon realized what was happening. He gestured towards the ladder, and she understood it as a belated encouragement to climb, to confront their assailants head on. She followed, catching Kemper's distraught expression, but didn't pause for a moment to entertain his doubts. The glass ceiling which exposed them to a view of the Andorian patrols and birds-of-prey zooming overhead seemed to be a dozen stories away, but seeing as they were now unable to escape through the corridors below them, they had very little choice.
Chang and McKenzie lead the way, shooting down anyone in their path. They were frenzied now, knowing full well that they didn't have time to think, let alone breathe.
Captain Tucker's call over the comm rang out like an answer to their prayers from the heavens.
"You ready to go down there?"
"Understatement of the year," Malcolm shouted. "What's going on up there, sir?"
He deliberately dodged their question, and a second later, two of their MACOs vanished in a swirl of light that left them feeling tremendously unsafe and exposed.
"You need to go first!" Kemper was adamant, though from the manner he was limping down the walkway, they could both tell he'd been side swiped. A sudden volley from overhead pinned them down to the wall, and they all but crashed against it, the sound of their own ragged breathing filling their ears.
"Not a chance," Malcolm ground out, hitting the comm. "Trip, get the Sergeant out of here, now!"
He looked like he was going to protest, but his complaint was subsequently drowned out by the whirl of the transporter. Now alone, Alira didn't waver, stumbling to her feet and proceeding around the spiral, though with every step her legs threatened to go out underneath her.
She'd been in many close scrapes before, but she recognized this for what it was.
The big one.
Some distance away, Julia and Travis finally managed to locate the primary power juncture, tucking the antimatter mine in a compromising spot and all but collapsing onto the floor. She tried the comm, but received no answer, and knew that their only hope of salvation was to venture further into the vessel.
She grabbed his hand, and he did not resist. The detonator was pushed and they both began to run, abandoning their weapons and moving as fast as their legs could carry them.
When the bomb finally exploded, their eardrums were shattered from the proximity of the blast. It seemed to proliferate along the floor, and soon the deck plating was falling away from them, sending them both falling into a deep, cavernous pit exposed to the smoldering levels below.
Julia tried to scream, but nothing came out. Travis locked eyes with her, and inexplicably, a sense of calm washed over her, allowing her to surrender herself to probable oblivion.
The hull breach came with little warning whatsoever.
First her tricorder started to beep and alarm, but she barely heard it. All she could detect was a sudden rush of bone-chilling cold, followed by an instantaneous drop in pressure all around them. She knew they were both unprotected, exposed, and that this time, there was nowhere to run.
Malcolm stopped in his tracks and turned back to her, closing the distance between them and wrapping her tightly in his arms, desperately, securely, as though it was the last time.
Because it was.
A second later, the glass ceiling fractured and they were sucked out into space, what were perhaps their last words dying on their lips along with everything else in the room.
End of Episode Twenty-Four
Next time on Enterprise…
Episode Twenty-Five: Leave What's Lost Behind
The fleet takes time to recover following the costliest battle of the war so far.