Disclaimer: I still don't own these series. Which is probably for the best.

Chapter 5

"Engineering reports that the Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device, is ready for our next test, and the dimensional co-ordinates are set," said Commander Data from his station on the bridge. Though their mission had been largely uneventful thus far, he found it intriguing. The crew of the Enterprise had changed greatly over the last few months, since their temporal displacement and intervention in the Cochran Warp Test. Data had been, perversely, pleasantly surprised when he realized the absence of so many old friends and familiar faces was saddening him – a sign that his emotion chip was capable of far greater subtleties than he'd first thought. Though he hoped to avoid, in the future, the sorrow of absent companions. An enriched understanding of the human experience seemed... less satisfying, overall, than living without that sadness.

Still. New faces meant new experiences. He had not yet had time to interact with all of the newcomers, but for the most part they seemed, to use the human idiom, to have the 'right stuff.' Commander G'rokas in particular was intriguing. A look at aspects of Klingon behavior and culture his previous interactions with Klingons had not shown him. An especially great contrast to Worf.

The android realized with something approaching guilt that he had allowed himself to become distracted from his task for 562.1 milliseconds. He returned his attention to the status board at his station, saw that it had updated. "Copernicus reports it is ready for us to proceed."

"Very well," said Captain Picard, tone even. "Mister Paris, engage."

"Aye, Sir." The irreverent but highly competent officer punched in the relevant command, and the bridge seemed to shift sideways in a blur of pesudomotion. The sensation was slightly but distinctly different than the previous jumps to and from the universe seeming populated by their distaff counterparts.

"Status report," said Picard moments later.

"The drive reports its status as nominal," said Seven of Nine from the science station.

"Helm is responsive, Impulse is online, warp drive is... now." said Paris.

Data glanced up from his console. "I am detecting no other vessels in this vicinity."

From the tactical station, G'rokas rumbled, "I concur, no other vessels in this vicinity. All weapons and targeting systems show as ready."

"Understood," said Picard with a hint of a smile. "Begin a survey of the system. Once that is complete, we will be returning to our home universe."

Ranma fiddled with the collar on his uniform and ran his mental checklist to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, something he'd need to take care of before shipping off to kamis-knew-where to help keep Ryoga under control and if needed break heads with the marines. Called the fiancees and the Senshi to fill them in on the situation, check. Called the JSDF to let them know he'd be offworld for a few weeks so classes were canceled, check. Get reminded by his bosses in the JSDF to do nothing to dishonor the Service and to keep Japan's interests foremost in his mind while away, check. Lock all the windows and activate all the wards the Senshi had created to thief-proof the place, check. Ranma figured it was a toss-up if those precautions would prevent, say, his old man from inviting himself in while he was away, but it was worth a shot. Sign up in the window that the place was closed for a few weeks, check. Clothes packed – an extra of his regular uniform, the even less comfortable dress uniform just in case he wound up needing it, some casual and workout clothes, sundry underthings and toiletries – check. Convinced one of his friends to write down any homework assignments if he was still gone when school resumed – check. That covers everything, he thought. Shouldering his pack, he locked up and headed for the embassy.

He didn't like the uniform much, it was a little too restrictive to move in for his tastes, even after Kasumi tailored it for him. She'd done some work on the dress uniform, too – since no matter what he did, he almost inevitably managed to run afoul of cold water, she'd modified the dress uniform to at least look like it fit him properly in either form. But still, he'd let himself be convinced to work with the JSDF, and the uniform was part of the deal. He might not get in trouble if he skipped wearing it, but he'd jump through the hoops. He'd said he would, after all, and he had gotten into the habit of keeping his word, if only as a way to be unlike his father.

Ucchan's was doing brisk business – some odd quirk of circumstance had put her new restaurant location in a spot that saw a lot of foot traffic most mornings, so she'd had to hire a few extra staff – good as Konatsu was, he couldn't be in two places at once indefinitely, his duplicating body technique burned way too much ki. He briefly considered dropping in for a bite before he went, but thought better of it. He had to make it to the embassy soon, and a stop at her restaurant would take more time than he could really afford. Thinking of time, he looked at his watch. Less than he'd really like for the train.

Not like that's a problem, really. He shifted the pack on his back slightly, made sure his uniform cap was on securely, and lept for the nearest rooftop. He didn't go for all-out flight across the city – unidentified flying objects tended to alarm the Powers That Be these days – but roofhopping kept him low enough to avoid tripping any alarms most days, and was less tiring than full on flight.

Other than startling a few folks on the train – he'd seen one guy's eyes go very wide as he lept over them – the trip was without incident, which put it in the 'great' category as for as he was concerned – and reached the embassy with some time to spare. He was expected, the Mid-Childan native at the front desk just waved him to the back. Ranma walked back to the teleport room. A week or so of pig-wrangling and possibly other feats of derring-do as they tracked down some newcomer to the interdimensional scene. His life never lacked for interesting things to do.

I'm still a little amazed someone at Headquarters actually thought this through, thought Tom Paris as he maneuvered the River-class Runabout USS Fraser through the unnamed star systems' asteroid belt. It was one of two Runabouts that had been sent along with Enterprise for this excursion, working its way to the outer system in a spinward spiral as her sister ship, the Shuswap, was covering things in an anti-spinward spiral. Enterprise herself was doing a more in-depth survey of the inner system, checking the two planets vaguely in the temperate zone in case either supported life.

Weather they did or not, nobody had shot at them yet, so any natives would likely be pre-spacefaring. Tom suspected that neither world would have much in the way of critters. The system they were in was almost a mirror of the one they'd jumped from. The planet's orbitals were within a few thousand kilometers of being identical, though the planets themselves were a little further along their orbital paths than the system they'd come from. Background radiation was a little lower, and they weren't detecting any subspace transmissions or carriers, which suggested that whoever or whatever the local polities were, they used something else for their long-range comms.

It was, Tom decided, damned eerie.

The runabout's cabin was quiet – his passengers were a young, unjoined Trill from the science department, and Seven. He hadn't expected much in the way of small talk from Seven, of course, but the Trill was a bit of a surprise – in his experience they were chatty folks. Still, at least the guy wasn't putting off the aura of barely suppressed anger around Seven that Tom had seen in many others. He wasn't really friends with the former Borg, but she was a shipmate, and she'd saved Voyager's collective bacon more times than he really cared to remember. She'd tried to learn to be human, and the effort counted for a lot. It irked him, some, that, after she'd gone through everything and proven herself to the crew, that so many of Starfleet's 'best and brightest' were giving her a hard time. They were supposed to be better than that.

He couldn't take the silence. "Anything interesting so far?" he asked from the pilot's console.

For a moment there was silence, as the two scientists waited for the other to answer. After a moment Ensign Cet spoke up. "I suppose it depends on your definition of interesting. From what I can tell, this system is a near-exact match to the one we came from. Number of planetary bodies, approximate mass and composition, orbits... The biggest difference I've seen is that the distribution of debris in the asteroid belt seems to be a little looser, though with individual rocks being larger. Other than that, it's a match for the system when Starfleet first charted it, before we moved some repeater stations and the like in."

"Creepily like the Mirror Universe."

He could almost hear Cet's smile. "Not enough people shooting at us for that, from what I've heard of the place."

Tom chuckled. "There is that. Made crossing the Bajoran system more than a little dicey." And a few others. His memory flitted to the other battles they'd faced along the way, the satisfaction of nailing Seska, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, the bitter pain of the fight against K'Ehleyr... Even before they got to the Mirror Universe they'd had some interesting run-ins. He still had the occasional nightmare about that hellcrab thing that had come dangerously close to carving Voyager in two.

He could definately hear the smile in the Trill's voice now. "Still, you made it home despite everything. I'm just superstitious enough to figure that's a good thing for this trip."

Seven finally spoke. "It certainly cannot hurt our chances. As for this system, I concur with Ensign Cet – if it were not largely identical to the system we came from, beyond any rational odds, I could consider it utterly unremarkable."

"Who knows?" began Tom lightly, oddly pleased that he'd drawn Seven out of her shell, at least a little. "We might find something really interesting in the outer system; we've still got a decent chunk of space to cover here."

All that had been needed was someone to break the ice, it seemed – the small talk was inconsequential, and frequently delved into shop-talk, but it made the atmosphere in the little runabout far more comfortable. The rest of the survey run didn't feel so long after all, and Tom picked up a few useful tidbits about sensors that he filed under 'might need this someday but I hope not.' The landing was a bit tricky – a Sovereign's shuttle bay wasn't really built for something the size of a Runabout, much less two of them, but he managed. This was a good way to start their trip.

Chrono absently rubbed his jaw as Claudia left Earth's space and prepared to begin its search. He suspected things were going to get more complicated than he'd prepared for. He still felt that bringing Ranma along was probably a good idea – a gut call, but one backed by his experiences through the years. He'd not expected the martial artist to show up in uniform. He'd expected even less for Ranma to be familiar with the terms of the treaties between the TSAB and its various protectorates, Earth in particular. The look on his face as he casually suggested that 'if we do run inta the Braddies, I c'n do the 'representing the protectorate's interests' thing at the negotiation table'. The standard practice in the Bureau was to appoint someone on your staff to represent a protectorate in cases like this – as Bureau personnel were generally better at remembering the 'big picture' than citizens of a single world... but by the letter of the rules Saotome was certainly able to take the position.

And, hells, why not? Chrono strongly suspected that his superiors had misjudged Earth severely. It irked him, but there was only so much influence he could have with the rest of the Admiralty. If they insisted on treating Earth like something less capable than it was, there was little he could do directly... but he could try to give a better impression than some of them. Letting Ranma have a say would cost him little, and probably be a net gain in the long run.

It was also worth considering that Saotome could be an excellent training asset to the Bureau. From what little Chrono had seen himself, and read in the Marine's reports, he was quite powerful, and extremely capable. A genius at fighting, and he seemed to be an able teacher. Making a good impression now could be parleyed into convincing him to come to Mid-Childa and train their people directly. He was rather curious about what Ranma could come up with working with the Ace of Aces, given what he'd done with some of her trainees.

He'd have to think about it.

Sleep retreated slowly from Ryoga. The first thing he was aware of was a low, almost subsonic hum. The soft glow of lights on his eyelids; the firm but yielding mattress on which he lay.

A murmur of conversation? Something like that. His head still felt full of fog. He tried to sit up, but was hit by an intense wave of vertigo almost at once.

A familiar hand caught him as he tried to fall, steadied him. "Easy, there, Ryoga. You're alright." Ranma.

"He shouldn't be waking for another hour, given the dosage," said another voice – male, older, concerned.

"You ain't seen what this guy can shrug off." Ranma again, and he could hear that damnable smirk in his voice.

Ryoga opened his eyes, took a moment to let the room come into focus. Voice croaking, he asked, "Where am I?"

"We're on Claudia, we broke orbit a couple hours ago."

"Space again?" Ranma nodded. He noted that his friend was in his fatigues, not his usual outfit. "Great. How long was I out?"

"Most of a day. What do you remember?"

He sat up slowly, made it this time. "You showed up in the woods, wanted to talk. Something about a frame-up?" Ranma nodded. "Then... oh hell, who was it with you? I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"Nah, we're all fine. Surprised 'em but that's about it. You feelin' any better?"

"A bit." he nodded to the other man, by his outfit clearly a doctor. "Thanks." He turned back to Ranma." What did you mean, a frame?"

"Remember your last jaunt around space? How Nanoha said it was messin' with stuff?"

"Breaking holes in the dimensional wall or something like that, yeah."

"Somebody else is knockin' around, an' whatever they're usin, it looks like yours." Ranma shrugged. "No idea who they are or what they want, but the way it looked..."

Ryoga nodded. "If it's deliberate, someone might be setting me up. Or maybe someone I ran into on that trip, or something." The doctor handed him a drink. He gave another grateful nod. "So they want me for, what? A familiar face if this is someone we ran into that time?"

"Mostly, they wanna try and track 'em through you. Something about the energy signature."

"More sitting in a spell getting prodded? Fun."

"Been there, done that. In theory, this time it should be quick."

Ryoga nodded slowly. "Then back home for the fun and excitement?"

Ranma hesitated. "I ain't gonna drag ya to the dojo an' the gang, if that's what yer worried about. You an' 'Kane did enough damage last time." He smirked. "She's learned quick."

Ryoga thought back to that desperate, shame-filled fight, and the fallout after. "That she has." A sigh. "I guess I wasn't as over her as I thought I was. God, I wish I'd just told her, not let it happen like that."

"Yeah, well... we all screw up sometimes. Just gotta get back up an' try ta make it right."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I really screwed up, Ranma. Not just with Akane, but with Akari, too."

"Cryin' ta yer girlfriend about how some other gal just broke yer heart wasn't the smartest thing you coulda done, yeah."

He closed his eyes, the gory details of Akari's rant playing through his memory. "She told you about that?"

"She brought four of her sumo pigs down to my dojo an' took a crack at Akane, wanted ta get her fer 'trying to steal her man.'"

Ryoga winced. "That sounds expensive."

"Oh, the contractors love me. The girls're still mad at you. Almost as mad as they are at me."

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Finally Ranma started chuckling. "Man, look at us. We just have the worst luck with women."

Ryoga managed a small smile. "It's a gift." He sighed again. "I miss the old days, when we'd just all blame you."

"Guess we're growin' up."

"Yeah. It sucks."

"Hey, beats the alternative."

Ryoga couldn't help it, he smirked at Ranma's tone. "True." Then he frowned again. "Gotta figure something out; something to say to Akari."

"Don't look at me," said Ranma.

"Wasn't gonna, I want her to like me after I'm done." He glanced to the doctor. "Any suggestions?"

The doctor raised his hands as if warding something off, smiling. "Leave me out of this, lads. Besides, my own track record with the fairer sex isn't much to write home about either. As your doctor, at least for the immediate future, I'm going to suggest plenty of rest. You seem to get... erratic when you're overtired."

"Yeah, well... It hasn't been my week."

"Well, as the chief medical magic specialist on this ship, I would consider it a courtesy if you avoid taking your week out on the crew. Even the marines."

The Death's Head sat at the heart of an impressive assemblage of Imperial might, preparing to lead the next stage of Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign against the Rebellion. A dozen Star Destroyers, including Chimaera, formed the force's core, flanked by several Carack-class cruisers, an Interdictor, and a pair of Lancer corvettes. Delta Source had identified a large convoy with an appropriately large escort, and this would make for a fine raid. The materiel impact would be considerable, the morale impact moreso.

Imperial Intelligence was no longer what it had been under Iceheart, but it still had feelers in many places. The Rebel's leadership was running scared, terrified of the rumors of yet more Imperial superweapons and the mysterious genius leading the fleet. That fool of a Bothan was murmuring his platitudes and pulling himself into a greater position of power, doing everything he could to keep their best commander, Ackbar, out of the loop. Last word they had put the Mon Calamari in the brig of all places. More fools they. Emperor bless ambitious Bothans, they made things so much easier.

Rumor had it he was going to try for Mon Mothma's position once he was done consolidating Ackbar's. Captain Janos Harbid hoped he did – it would weaken the Rebellion quite nicely.

The last status report came in, showing that the task force was ready to sortie. Harbid turned to the techno-mystics where they stood around their console in a silence that was even more unnerving than their chanting had been. "The task force is ready to move, Nassistor. Is the Engine ready?"

Another moment of the strange silence from the techno-mystics, then Nassistor turned towards him. "It is prepared. The wings of She Who Is As Gold shall carry us all."

So long as they don't drop us into a black hole, he thought but did not say. "Excellent. Please, proceed."

A barely audible hum of electronics built as the Engine gathered power, rising to a distinct tone that cut through the normal white noise of a ship in space. Silently, Harbid braced himself, some instinct telling him this was going to be much more disorienting than the usual jumps, as their mysterious Engine prepared to hurl uncountable megatonnes of fighting ships through space and time. Then the Engine engaged, and the universe twisted around him.

And for an instant, he thought he saw a filigree of gold overlay it all.

Gourry Gabriev munched absently on an apple as he sat back on his chair. He and Lina had reached Seyruun yesterday, and made their way to the palace. She was currently ensconced in one of the palace's workrooms, talking with Amelia and Zelgaddis about the strange magic stuff that had been going on lately. He'd been invited, but magical shop talk tended to go over his head, and he didn't feel like waiting in the stuffy room for hours.

So he was waiting in an airy, well-appointed chamber, enjoying free food and watching the harbor through the window. He had his feet up on one of the fancy little couches, boots and all, much to the condemnation of one of the stewardesses. But the lady could do little other than glower at him, so he figured he'd just enjoy it. He and Lina didn't spend enough time in civilization for his tastes. Though to be fair, civilization was too expensive to stay long. They kept having to go after bandits and such to get the cash for more of it.

He relaxed back into the richly upholstered chair. It was the first day in a long, long while that he hadn't started by buckling on his armor. He had his sword, of course – the latest in a series of attempts to find something that suited him since losing the Sword of Light. A lightly enchanted blade of watered steel, it seemed to hold up to the abuse he inflicted on it in general use, which was a nice change after the last few. The Sword of Light had spoiled him. At least it had been put to a good cause.

Apple finished, he sent the core in a low arc to a small wastebin and turned his attention back to the platter. It was nice to be here – Prince Phil had clearly been worried about whatever Lina was, and he'd said that both of them were to be seen to. Thus, relaxation and free food for Gourry and-

A shriek of pain echoed from the workroom. Without even pausing for thought, Gourry was on his feet and charging the door, long sword sliding from its scabbard with a familiar metallic hiss. Shrieks from a mage's workroom were never good signs. He didn't bother with the door's handle, just dropped his shoulder and powered his way through it, stomping into the room.

Amelia was slumped in a chair, hands pressed to her forehead. Behind her, Zel leaned heavily against the wall, eyes unfocused. On the ground on the opposite side of the main worktable was Lina, curled into a fetal ball on the stones. Nothing else, no threats he could see. He didn't even feel himself drop the sword, but it was gone from his hands when he reached Lina, scooped her up and held her close. "What happened?"

"Magic surge..." wheezed Zel. "Like the ones she felt earlier, made her come back... but worse..."

In his arms, Lina whimpered, a small sound of pain and helplessness. He held her closer, panic at seeing her in such a state slowly ebbing. "Why did it hit her harder than you and Amelia?"

"Not sure... said Zel, still shakey. "But whatever it was, it was bad." He forced himself upright as Amelia moaned in pain. "Very, very bad."

Gourry looked at the woman he loved, seeming so small and fragile cradled in his arms. Very bad indeed.

Back in her home universe, Enterprise sat in formation with Copernicus, processing the data their jaunt between dimensions had revealed. Spectrography, energy readings, planetary surveys, gravitics, diagnostics of the dimensional drive and other systems – all were being gone over with a fine toothed comb by both ship's science divisions. They were deep into Gamma shift now, and Tom knew he should probably be trying to sleep. But it wouldn't come. Between the interest of exploring, the excitement of flying something as quick and nimble as one of the Runabouts(it had been far, far too long since he'd piloted something fast) and an armful of warm, happy, lightly snoring wife, he couldn't manage to drop off.

Damned if I'll ever admit it to Dad, but this was good for me. I like this. I need this. He smiled ruefully. I'm a total space-rat, these days. Half a decade lost out there, and I still want to go back. And I'm in good company. Almost unconsciously, he squeezed his wife for a moment.

B'Elanna mumbled something in her sleep, shifted position and moving closer to him. He heard a small change in her breathing as she woke. "Tom? Why're you still awake?"

"Just thinking."

A chuckle. "You aren't good at that, just get some sleep." She glanced to the chrono on the wall. "We're both due back on shift in about six hours." She shifted position slightly, allowing him to retrieve his arm, and tried to settle back to sleep. After a few moments, it was clear she'd had no luck with that. "So. What were you thinking about?"

"How good it is to be back up here." He chuckled. "Spent years trying to get back, swore I'd never set foot on another starship so long as I lived... and now? I'm kinda glad we let Dad twist our arms into this. I missed flying... a lot more than I thought I did."

Her voice quiet, she said, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Messing around with vintage groundcars is kind of fun, but it's no match for an engine room."

"The grapevine didn't say anything about engine room techs being sent to Sickbay with broken limbs or noses, so I can only conclude that Enterprise's bunch know better than to irritate Klingons."

"Or I might have learned a thing or two about keeping my temper in the last six years."

"Or that." The two smiled at each other, and shared a quick kiss. "You're right about us needing some rest, though. Sorry I woke you."

"You're forgiven. Let's just get some sleep."

Tom settled in, letting the contented feeling(and armful of happy wife) lull him to sleep.

And no sooner had he started to drop off when the Red Alert klaxons started blaring.

Commander Data glanced briefly from the viewscreen – which showed a tactical display rather than a specific ship or planet – to the port turbolift as it's doors opened with their distinct hiss. Lieutenant Paris, uniform tunic undone over his undershirt, bolted out, racing to the helm. Half a step behind him, G'rokas raced for tactical, sans boots, sash, and insignia. Clearly, both had been asleep when the alert had sounded. Ensign Jones looked relieved as he surrendered the Helm to Paris.

The starboard turbolift hissed open, disgorging Captain Picard, who was not out of uniform. "Status, Number One," he asked as Data vacated the Captain's chair.

"Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago, the trace anomaly produced by our return jump began to emit tetryons and trace amounts of chronitron, gatrion, and hibrionic radiation. Twenty one point six seconds later, it opened into some form of subspace rupture, at which point I sounded the Red Alert. Sensors are having difficulty penetrating the rupture, but I believe we are detecting large objects in motion on the far side."

Picard frowned at the tactical view. "Put this rupture on screen, please."

Data manipulated his small console. He'd taken the rupture off the screen because it seemed to... disturb the other members of the bridge crew. As the strange, purple-on-black maelstrom re-appeared on screen, he saw and heard an instant reaction from the crew. Ensign Jones screwed his eyes shut and turned away at once, shuddering violently. Lieutenant Paris inhaled sharply, then deliberately focused on his console, away from the screen. Commander G'rokas hissed a quiet oath. At the Science Station, Seven of Nine shifted, her breathing changing; the defensive reaction he had observed when she felt herself under attack or condemnation, only moreso. And in the center seat, Captain Picard's eyes narrowed slightly. And nothing else.

A faint pride rose in Data; his captain was stronger than most.

"How large is that... rupture?" Asked Picard in a carefully controlled tone.

Seven sounded shaken as she answered. "It appears to be a spherical rupture with a radius of approximately one-point-three-five kilometers." She paused, took a breath. She continued, voice steadier. "It appears to be expanding roughly one meter's radius per second."

Picard nodded slowly. "Lieutenant Paris, please back us away. One quarter impulse."

"Aye, sir."

"Status of Copernicus?"

"She has also withdrawn from the rupture and is forwarding her sensor data to us," said Seven.

"Can we see the... interior... of this rupture?"

"Nothing definite, sir. The radiation surge is interfering with the sensors. I am attempting to compensate."

"Number One, please assist."

Data was halfway to the science station when Seven spoke again. "Captain! The radiation surge is increasing in rate and density. Something is emerging from the rift."

"On screen."

The image shifted, focus moving in from their view of the entire rift. A massive object – long, sinuous main body, trailing tentacles. A living thing – no constructed starship could move like that – turning its' inhuman, too-many-eyed face to the Enterprise and Copernicus in turn.

Paris swore softly, face pale.

Picard stared in silence for a long moment, looking as though he was considering his options. "What is that... thing?"

Before any on the bridge could answer, the creature opened it's beak, and every biological life form present seemed to flinch. Then it charged towards Copernicus.

Sword of Kahless guard my soul, thought G'rokas as he saw some thing from the darkest of folk-tales appear, bold as brass and big as life – seven hundred meters from the tip of it's beak to the ends of its tentacles if it was a meter. The Klingons had tales of creatures such as this, things older and darker than Gre'thor itself. And now, one of those myths was in front of him, racing towards the lesser ship that watched them.

He did not think it intended to shake their hands.

Even before Captain Picard ordered him to, he had the weapons ready, managed to lock onto the petaQ, even though it was flesh and not metal and the sensors seemed to like studying it as little as he did. He'd been looking forward to testing out Enterprise's weapons suite; eager to see what it could do, if a Sovereign class Starship's weapons were as impressive as their spies said they were. But he held to his discipline, and waited for orders.

Because that discipline was the only thing keeping him from gibbering in terror at the utterly soul-chilling howl of the thing.

On the screen, the howling beast's tentacles began to crackle with lightning, energy playing along them as it closed on its prey. Copernicus was slow to maneuver, and it was far faster than any living thing had a right to be. Swift as light, the tentacle whipsawed forward, lightning leaping from them and lashing against the science vessel's shields. Even past the primal fear, and utter wrongness of the thing, he could see that lesser ship rock under the blow. "Captain.."

"Open fire!" growled Picard, and under the fear, G'rokas could hear the steel and fire that had led to the man being the only person to ever serve as Arbiter of Succession twice. Fingers danced across his controls, and phasers lashed at the creature, searing at its flesh and severing a tentacle.

It's howl of challenge became one of rage, and it turned from its lesser prey and raced towards Enterprise. Some instinct of his own welled up, and he loosed a howl of his own, savage and defiant, daring the Fek'lhr-damned thing to take a crack at them. It spun and whirled its way around a volley of quantum torpedoes, though the phasers severed another of its too-many arms. Lightning whipsawed, and the Sovereign rocked beneath it's blow.

But not so badly as it might have; under Paris' hands, the ship danced. He was good. They were not the moves a Vor'cha would make, but they worked, and despite its speed, the tentacled thing could not close with them. Lightning crackled again, and again he answered with phasers and torpedoes; searing a line of charred flesh along one of its flanks even as one of the torpedoes found its mark, blasting a bloody crater in its hellish flesh.

Even so wounded, the thing could still strike, and Enterprise rocked once more, more violently, as its blasts found a weakness in her shields and lashed at the great ship's armor. One of his side consoles – for controlling tractor beams and thus of no use to him right now – exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. He felt some of it draw fire across his cheek, and simply bared his teeth in a snarl. The Sovereign's weaponry blasted back fury and defiance, a pair of torpedoes slamming home on either side of one of it's soul-drinking eyes.

The entire front half of the thing's body blew apart, the thing's impossible howl died abruptly, and suddenly he could breath freely once more. The thing, whatever it was, was dead.