Disclaimer: I don't own the various universes this wanders through. This story is intended only as entertainment and a tribute, and I make no claim on these 'verses.

Chapter Ten

"Captain! Multiple contacts; forty plus!"

It wasn't the most unexpected thing Janos Harbid could have heard at the moment, but it was up there. He raced to the tactical display at the shout from the crew pit. The tactical view wasn't good. There were two fleets arrayed around them, both in higher orbits; pinning the Imperial fleet inside the planet's gravity well.

True, it looked like they had the numerical advantage over these strangers, but they knew nothing about them. Mon Cal cruisers didn't look like much to the untrained eye, but they were vastly more potent than the cruise liners whose hull design they grew from.

And while they'd put this fleet together for a fight, it sure as the Sith wasn't for this fight. He turned towards the Techno-Mystics. "Nassistor. How long before we can jump again?"

That unsettling blue-and-amber gaze settled upon him. "The gift of She Who Is As Gold cannot be abused, lest She take it away. It will take time, and prayers and offerings, before we can make use of it once more."

Janos Harbid was not, by inclination, a man prone to violent outbursts. But he'd had a long, stressful week, and this kind of nerfshit was roughly the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He advanced, faster than he and the Omnisian had expected, and grabbed a double handful of Nassistor's robes. "We do not have time for this! In case you hadn't noticed, we're currently pinned in a gravity well by two fleets of unknown, quite possibly hostile, ships. I don't know what the Grand Admiral is going to want to do, but I do know that he's going to need all the information he can get. So tell me how long it will take to jump again."

Nassistor was looking at him with an expression he normally associated with panicked fish. "The- the Engine is a gift from She Who Is As Gold! It Cannot be rushed!"

If they were closer to the bulkheads, Harbid would be slamming the slighter man into them. As it was, he fixed the self important bastard with his best 'you are annoying me, junior subordinate. Stop it' glare. "You can't worship her if you're dead. How. Long."

Nassistor gaped for a few moments more, then visibly collected himself. "If you wish only to move this ship, five minutes. For the fleet, it will take fifteen."

"Fifteen minutes then. Thank you. Carry on." he gently let the techno-mystic go, making sure the other man had his feet under himself first. He turned back to the crew pit. "Comms. Signal the flag: fifteen minutes until we can jump out."

He politely ignored the few satisfied grins sent his way. It wasn't at all professional of them to have enjoyed watching him lay into that supercilious bastard, but given that the laying in was even less professional, he figured he could let it slide. Emperor's black bones, it had felt good.

"Grand Admiral! A transmission from the second prong of that fleet! Like the first, they're saying our 'dimensional drive' is causing problems, and they're demanding we heave to and surrender."

Under normal circumstances, Pellaeon would be biting the heads off his people for the poor communication discipline. At the moment, he was willing to let it slide.

They had much, much bigger things to worry about.

"Admiral?" he made it a leading question in his tone.

Thrawn simply sat in his command chair, hands tented before his body, looking utterly relaxed in his immaculate white uniform. "I find it interesting, Captain Pellaeon, that two foes are turning towards us."

"Sir?" Where had that come from?

"Consider the fleets arrayed before us in high orbit, Captain. They are only now vectoring to offer battle to us. They sent us separate ultimatums. They did not come here to fight us, but each other.. Neither force will dare to attack us, for fear their enemies will take advantage." Red eyes narrowed. "If we can stall for time, I have no doubt they will turn on each other once more." A thoughtful pause. "Signal the fleet to prepare to jump out. We shall return to base for now; our attack can wait, and they will not defeat us on our own chosen ground. And perhaps we should examine the Engine... more closely."

"Of course sir." Pellaeon's mind whirled. The Grand Admiral had to be guessing... but his guesses were almost always good. If this wasn't a united fleet – and from their deployment, he could almost see it. The separation here wasn't great enough to invite defeat in detail, but it was enough that, unless these strangers were far swifter than they looked, they could take the advantage.

Unless. They didn't know enough about what these ships were capable of. One of them – the tactical screen finally started updating with names as it began to decode the various ship's identification beacons – named Enterprise looked similar to Voyager, though its energy readings were considerably higher. Still. "Instructions, sir?"

"For the moment, talk to these two fleets. Stall for time. Navigation, begin plotting a course away from this place."

The lieutenant in charge of Navigation had served under Thrawn longer than Pellaeon himself. "Admiral, that could be problematic. We don't have much of anything charted beyond this system."

"That will do. We merely need to elude these forces until Death's Head can jump us out. If need be, we will fight."

The tech at the comm piped up. "We just got a signal from Death's Head. Captain Harbid estimates fifteen minutes before they'll be able to jump."

"Duely noted. Navigation?"

"I've got a course that'll take the fleet to one of the outer planets, but it requires about eight minutes in realspace to get around this planet's gravity well, and that of the system's primary. Best I can do."

"Excellent. Transmit that course to the fleet. Communications, tell the fleet to stand by. Perhaps we can bluff our way out."

"Are they seriously claiming that they don't know their drive is causing problems?" Lieutenant Bombrad muttered.

"Well," began Dolce, "Purely taking the position of Devil's Advocate, unless some Voidspawn actually showed up at their personal doorsteps, they might not be able to tell. They look like a pure tech setup from here."

Hoss' tone was hard. "They built a working Dimensional Drive. One that doesn't just move a single ship, but fleets. They know what it's doing. They just don't care." His tone hardened further. "I dislike being lied to. Resend our demand for surrender, and bring the fleet to battle readiness."

Withdraw peacefully. The locals are pointing guns at us, and Thrawn tells us to 'withdraw.' thought Captain Morgos Jov of the Imperial Star Destroyer Warbringer. "Sithspit," he muttered quietly. "I should have known he was too good to be true."

And after five years of defeats, why had he really expected anything more? Isard had fallen, giving the Rebels Coruscant. The most effective Imperial remnant had been a renegade, the warlord Zsinj, and even he had fallen, and in so doing had driven the historically neutral Hapans to the Rebel's sides! Of course Thrawn was too good to be true. He couldn't be a real Grand Admiral, probably another jumped-up self-promoted fool like Teradoc.

Have we really fallen so far? Is there no-one left in the Empire who knows how we should deal with upstarts like these? Pellaeon, it seemed, had forgotten what it was to be in the Imperial starfleet. Sithspit, he'd forgotten back at Endor! No surprise that they were losing the war. Jov felt his features harden. We have the advantage of numbers, and we are the Imperial Navy. We're being told to surrender, and all Thrawn wants to do is walk away. If these people have forgotten the glory of the Empire and the Imperial Navy, perhaps it falls to me to remind them. "Gunners. These impudent locals need to be taught a lesson."

The Sage-class missile destroyer Tellah had barely enough time to scream an alert before her shields and armor failed beneath the Star Destroyer's guns, turning her into a rapidly expanding cloud of gasses. Her sister ships, Tessa and Sarda, began to manuver wildly, simultaneously spitting back missiles as fast as the launchers would cycle. At that rate of fire, they'd empty their onboard ammo supply in less than thirty minutes, but they could kick out a lot of fire for ships of their mass in that time.

Their first volley of missiles was all but totally unopposed, peppering the Warbringer's ventral shields. Two of the lesser Imperial ships – their beacons tagging them as Lancer- class Frigates – started kicking out heavy fire, thinning Tessa and Sarda's volleys considerably.

Grand Admiral Thrawn's eyes hardened. "Captain Pellaeon. Have my legal staff begin drafting a court martial of Captain Jov. Then signal the fleet to close on that force and engage." It would take longer to reach their jump vector, but if he was right, they would not draw fire from the second force. This was not the way he'd wanted to deal with this situation, but he would make the best of it.

Perhaps even in this idiocy he could find advantage.

"It looks like the full Bradeson and Imperial fleets are engaging now. Their missile boats are launching, and their gunboats are closing on the Imperials, dropping into a lower orbit. The ship with the Imperial dimension drive is moving to the center of their formation."

Chrono nodded. Interesting. Crazy. What do I do with this?

"Sir, the Bradeson's have started up their jammers; looks like they're blanketing every-" The sensor tech cut off abruptly.

"Everything?"

"Every frequency except for the ones the TSAB uses for communication. He's left us alone."

Silence descended on the Claudia's bridge for a long moment as that sank in. Quietly, Chrono said, "Get me a channel to the Admiral Minsk."

After a moment, the Bradeson Commodore's face appeared on his screen. "Hello, again, Admiral. Can I ask you to make this brief? We're about to come under fire."

"Why jam them and not us? We are most certainly not on the same side."

"Because I doubt I can beat these people alone, and I am not going to let them get away to continue ravaging the Dimensional Barriers. A gesture of trust seemed like a good first step."

"Trust that I would decide stopping the Imperials was more important than prosecuting our war?"

"At the moment, yes."

There was a long silence as Chrono considered the options. While he thought, the visual from Admiral Minsk wavered and grayed out for a moment as the battleship took fire. Then, "Agreed. We'll sort out the rest later."

Jean-Luc Picard was on the edge of his command chair, one hand clutching the armrest like a drowning main clutched at a life ring. Borg. A Borg collective, if a small one, and they are here. He burned to charge headlong at the ship harboring them and remove their damnable whispers from his head by main force. But that ship had vanished into the heart of the enemy formation, and Jean-Luc Picard the Captain held back Jean-Luc Picard the man. He had a responsibility to his ship and crew. The last time he'd forgotten that had very nearly lost him both.

Data was watching him with one golden eye, the other focused on his console, as if making sure he was not about to forget what was at stake. "I have repeated our request for instructions from the Flag, sir."

At the Conn, Lieutenant Paris was laying in evasion patterns and firing runs, compiling possible strikes with G'rokas. He could hear the Klingon mutter darkly as he worked his console, a desire to strike at these strangers who were even now firing upon the Bradesons. Strangers with their backs tantalizingly turned. At the science station Seven of Nine worked furiously, trying to drown out the whispers of a collective and the warring feelings of panic and lose myself again and security and my friends are here. Normally, she was actually very good at keeping that whisper so quiet he couldn't hear it. When she wasn't panicked.

He was only peripherally aware of the others on the bridge. Just enough to see that they were aware of the tension that sang in him. Merde, he was normally better about holding himself together...

"Claudia is hailing us, Captain." Data's eternal serenity was a balm.

"On screen." Picard forced himself to reign in his tension as the tactical display was replaced by a split view of Admirals Haralowan and Tolwyn. The younger man spoke first. "The Bradesons are engaging the Imperial fleet. They don't have the firepower to stop it. Commodore Hoss has offered a ceacefire until the Imperials are defeated, and I have accepted it."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" asked Picard, leaving the for now unsaid.

"Exactly. I don't have a damage estimate for that last jump of theirs, but the Imperials are doing unacceptable damage at this point. They need to be stopped, and they need to be stopped here."

Tolwyn's expression was harder than usual. "Understood. It looks like the Imperials are launching a lot of fighters; my pilots would appreciate some help dealing with them."

"I'll pass that along. Gentlemen, let us begin."

Legs still shaking, Lina was almost but not quite being carried by Gourry as the two of them raced towards the Observatory. Even through the wards they'd set over their workroom, that last pulse had almost knocked her unconscious. The pair started up the spiraling stairs, climbing the tower towards the telescopes.

Most of the time, those were the province of astrologers and seers, divining wisdom from the heavens. Since the great, debilitating pulses had started, sentries had joined them, still scanning the heavens, but watching for ships. It had taken a few tries to get the hang of finding the things quickly, but they had. Enough to show novices like Lina what they'd spotted.

By the time they were halfway up the stairs, she was ready to collapse. The last one had been big. Gourry glanced down at her with an uncharacteristicly smart expression and lifted her up, carrying her as he raced up the rest of the stairs. She wanted to complain, but she was just too tired to muster the effort. Just before they reached the top, he swung her back down and went back to simply supporting her weight and not carrying her like a child. She shot him a grateful look as they entered the Observatory together.

Zelgadiss was already there. He glanced to them, then looked back to the telescope he was observing from. "There's three different groups up there; all with different ships. I think they're fighting."

Thrawn glared into the static-ridden hash of the tactical plot as their screening elements broke formation, Lancers kicking out countermissile fire while Victory class Star Destroyers and Carack cruisers began to close with the Bradesons. Their ECM was potent, strangling most of his communications, but while that had the potential to make this fight more costly, it would not prevent them from escaping. They would not expend any more of their strength than needed against this threat, not while the Rebels remained uncrushed, but one way or another, he would deal with these Bradesons. Eventually.

From the bridge viewport, he saw light streak towards the lighter ships of his screen from far to port. He grimaced; the Bradeson's fleet was to their starboard. Briefly, he replayed the signs that had lead him to first conclude the two fleets were not allies. No, they were not allied. Of that I am utterly certain. It must be the Engine that inspires this. Red eyes narrowed. I shall have to intervene personally in that matter. The Techno-Mystics are valuable, but if there is some grave risk I do not know about...

Later. For now, I have a fleet to extract. "Report," he asked calmly.

"The TSAB force is engaging. It looks like they're hitting the screening elements for now, mostly the Lancers. And one of their ships appears to be launching fighters.

Concordia's flight decks were scenes of barely organized chaos. Tolwyn wanted the entire fighter wing in space, and he wanted them there yesterday. Colonel Blair exhaled slowly, calming his nerves as his Saber-class Heavy Attack Fighter was hooked into the no.3 catapult, his wingman, Hobbes, beside him. He gave the deck officer a thumbs-up, then felt himself get slammed back into his chair as the catapult snapped forward, launching the twenty-two tonne fighter into space.A full-scale combat launch, preformed by a crew as experienced as Concordia's, could put a quartet of fighters in space every fifteen seconds. They assembled aft and below Starlight's squadron of Ferrets.

Blair ran his mind over what he knew of the opposition, and the answer was one he always hated to run into: Not Much. None of the various powers in their little scratch fleet had ever locked horns with these Imperials before, though even at this range they could see the Imps deploying fighters of some kind. A lot of fighters. He looked at his threat board – as a squadron commander he got a tactical uplink from Concordia's CIC – and suppressed the urge to swear. It looked like each of the big bastards was putting four or five squadrons into space. He hoped like hell they'd split their attention evenly between their force and the Bradesons.

The radio crackled; Hobbes voice came through. "Colonel, do we have any estimates of our foe's capabilities yet?"

"Not yet. Assume Grikaths and pray for Salthi."

Moments later, the radio crackled again, this time on the squadron push. "Looks like today is the day we die," rumbled a low, morose voice.

"Don't be so negative," came an immediate reply. "Think of it as a target-rich environment. They're gonna run outta room, painting kill silhouettes on my nose."

Blair thumbed the comm. "Doomsday, Maniac, cut the chatter. Let's keep the squadron push clear."

The Imperials were taking longer than he'd dare hope to form up, and it looked like they would indeed be splitting their attention. It didn't take too long for Concordia's flight group to be in space, and Colonel Devereaux's voice sounded loud and clear over the comms. "We have a fine battle before us, mes amis, so let's do our people proud. Stick to your wingmen and fly true."

There was a moment of silence over the comm, then the various squadrons started accelerating to combat speed; Starlight's Ferrets quickly overtaking Angel's squadron of Rapiers. Blair thumbed the comm again. "Alright, boys and girls, let's go kick some Imp ass."

Captain Galhan Mar, commander, 258th Imperial Fighter Group, pushed his TIE Interceptor to full speed and raced towards the group of mixed fighters that had launched off one of the enemy carrier. He'd been in this business for a long time by TIE pilot standards, and his instincts were honed to a razor's edge. Something told him he'd need every edge he had, and he believed that something. They knew roughly nothing about their opponents, but for all their unfamiliarity, those squadrons looked dangerous. His professional eye noted how quickly they were forming up, and how smoothly they moved into formation.

His own fighter group, off of the Imperial Star Destroyer Admonitor, had served under Thrawn several times over the years, and he'd been slightly hurt when the rumor mill started talking about the Mount Tantiss project and he found he hadn't been chosen. But right now... right now he was glad that none of his subordinates had been tapped for that project, vanishing into whatever Intel black hole it worked from. He'd need them all, he felt.

He was equally grateful for the presence of two dozen TIE Defenders. They were scattered through the fighter force, and only four of them were flying with his fighter group, but they were more than welcome, the advanced, expensive, and horribly overpowered starfighters a great addition to their firepower.

He was just reaching targeting range when a wave of fire seemed to leap from the stranger's fighters, almost simultaneous with his missile alarm starting to scream. He swallowed the urge to swear, threw the Interceptor into a stomach-churning roll and tucking it briefly behind one of the Defenders, then slewed into the open, clearing his guns to reply.

He'd just lined up his guns on one of the lead ships – a long, narrow thing with a rounded nose – when the missile he'd thought he'd shaken reacquired him.

"Oh, kriff," he managed, just before the missile slammed home.

Tom Paris had given up trying to keep his normal cool and collected front going as his hands danced across the helm. The Enterprise responded nimbly; even now he never quite expected its speed and grace. They were closing with one of the Imperial ships; a boxy thing he'd heard G'rokas call a Carack. They'd helped Muriel bag one of the Lancer class frigates just before; keeping the amount of fire heading for the fighters and the missiles streaking in from the Bradesons down; and were about to draw this fellow's attention.

The amount of jamming going around was insane. The Bradesons were blanketing most of the comm and lower-band sensor frequencies, and the Imps were covering a decent spectrum themselves, though less thoroughly than the others. It was enough to make some of the missiles that didn't get hit by counterfire wander off target and flash between the assorted ships of the fleets. Missiles that so wandered seemed to drop towards the planet below, then immolate themselves in a crimson flash much less spectacular than when they hit something. A decent safety measure, he figured, and one that spoke well of the Bradesons.

The deck echoed with the muted thump of Quantum Torpedo launchers as they closed on the hapless cruiser, which was fighting its way through jamming to try and shoot up some of the lighter TSAB ships. It didn't even look like it had noticed Enterprise. Some small part of Tom whispered, bad form, this. He ignored it. Bad form would keep them alive against these insane odds.

Azure flashed as Quantum Torpedoes slammed home, followed swiftly by raking crimson blasts from the main Phaser banks.

The Star Destroyer Harbinger bore down upon the battlecruiser Sancora City and her sister, the cruser Sturges. Her turbolasers and ion cannons traded fire with the smaller ships' plasma cannons. In the two cruiser's wakes came the Battlestar Galactica behind a screen of fightercraft. On her bridge, Captain Saic Hask frowned at the building azure wash against the Star Destroyer's shields. She glanced at the threat board once more – half of it was a haze of what had to be false readings. Credit where credit was due: these people had impressive EWAR gear on their ships. Impressive enough that half the Imperial formation was breaking up, not sticking tightly to the flag. She'd not meant to get so separated from the rest of the fleet, but now that she was... Hask would not turn her back to an enemy. These three ships would die before her, and then she would return to formation. Or she'd reach the waypoint Thrawn had broadcasted and jump to the outer system.

Hask had no idea where these people were from – certainly not the planet below, which was barely scraping itself out of the dark ages – but they seemed to care about that rock, Sancora City and her consort had held their fire until they'd been at an angle that kept the planet out of its fall-of-shot. Worth noting, she figured, though given that the battlecruiser and cruiser both looked to be able to outrun and outmanuver her Impstar Deuce, it would be quite a trick to make that into a bigger problem for the stranger.

Galactica threw another volley at them, and its explosive tipped shells burst against the Star Destroyer's shields like overripe fruit. That thing was a throwback – no shields and no energy weapons, and was no real threat. Glancing at the shield readouts, she frowned, keyed her comm. "All guns, concentrate on the cruisers and ignore Galactica. Our fighters can deal with it." Its screen was thin – Harbinger's fighter group should be able to overwhelm them easily, and if its armor was as pitiful as its guns, the bombers would make short work of the big ship.

Another glance at the tactical display – the Imperial formation was loosening up from what she could see – damned EWAR – but they were more or less on course to follow the Grand Admiral's order. Their intership comms were almost entirely jammed out, but that was unlikely to be a critical problem in the next few minutes. A frown. Sancora City was continuing to close, and it seemed her skipper had similar thoughts about not letting the Star Destroyer get between itself and the planet. It was making that impossible by dropping below the larger ship as it continued to close – and now amber beams lashed out, raking the big ship's shields as azure plasma blasts continued to crash home. Sturges was tucked in behind her. Hask frowned at those amber beams. They didn't seem to be depleting Harbinger's shields themselves, but wherever they had touched, following plasma blasts seemed to do more damage than they should, more than they were doing elsewhere. It was decidedly disquieting.

Whatever it's own shields were, they seemed to be shrugging off the effects of Harbinger's ion cannons, though the turbolasers were leaving their marks. Still, the ship, most of the size of a Victory class Star Destroyer, was proving tougher than it looked at first. How? We should be able to take this nerf easily... Frowning, she looked closer at the tactical readouts. There was something distinctly odd about the readings of the two ship's shields, almost like... almost like they were re-enforcing each other.

Sharing their shields... interesting. A part of her badly wanted to know just how that worked. The rest of her just wanted to batter through it. A smile – if they were protecting each other, they'd have to stick together.

"Navigator, roll ship – we've got more guns on our top than our belly. Keep it towards them. Engineering, reduce our belly shields to twenty-five percent and re-enforce the topsides."

It wasn't like Galactica could hurt them, anyways.

Captain Stevens smiled with grim satisfaction as Pauline's guns lashed out, ripping a swathe through the Imperial fighter screen. The TSAB had never used starfighters – you could only minimize some tech so far before it started loosing too much efficiency to be worth it – but they'd seen other powers make use of them before. And what kind of allies would they be if they didn't try to help keep Concordia's fighters alive?

The frigate's guns weren't firing as quickly as, strictly speaking, they could, but it was close – the gunnery officers of all three shifts were crammed around the weapons station, each working individual batteries. From the sensors, it seemed that even a single blast was overkill against these TIE fighters.

Some of the TIE commanders seemed to be able to communicate, and they were sweeping towards Pauline and her sister frigates, most of whom were picking off fighters. Thus far, the frigates hadn't attracted the attention of the bigger ships, though a few of the Imperial heavies were blasting at the fleet's big cruisers, who were giving back fury with defiance. The Imp's anti-missile frigates had been scragged right off – after two years of skirmishing, the TSAB had more than enough experience with Bradeson missile boats to not want to watch them shoot up someone else's fleet – and the tight formation of capital ships had loosened up some, as the Star Destroyers tried to cover each other against incoming missiles and fighters.

Though part of that might have simply been the way the Bradies were jamming them to hell and gone. They were diabolical – every time the TSAB found a way to counter some aspect of their jammers, the Bradies found a way to counter their countermeasure. The Admiral hadn't said anything about it, but Stevens had his sensors and scryers gather up every scrap of information they could spot about the Bradie jammers in this little fight. It might just help later on.

One lone TIE fighter with bent, daggerlike wings, swirled around Pauline's fire and managed a strafing run. From the profanities rising from the gunnery station, they'd tried to shoot this one down and missed, which put its pilot up on many of his fellows. Another wave of mystic blasts lashed out, corkscrewing and turning in pursuit as the TIE fighter eluded them, before a blast from one of her sister ships streaked in and caught it out.

Fighters. Why did these people bother with them?

Well, it wasn't like they had dedicated carriers – these Star Destroyers seemed to be very much battleships first, and carriers a distant second. Much like, now that they saw her in action, Concordia, which was advancing alongside the fleet's main formation, her anti-matter cannons spitting fire at the Imperials. The big carrier was aiming for the flanks of the Imperial fleet, trying to avoid the sections of their formation with Bradeson ships mixed into it. Huh. Their Admiral Tolwyn was a bright sort.

Admiral Minsk was at the head of the Bradeson formation, and close around her was Zanella City, Scorpa City, and Sachs City. The three battlecruisers had their shields syncronized with the battleship, giving all four protection that was, for the moment at least, shrugging off everything five Carack cruisers, a pair of Victory class Star Destroyers, and about nine squadrons of mixed TIE \INs, TIE Interceptors, and TIE Bombers could throw at them.

They weren't diving towards the heart of the Imperial formation – Hoss was not so foolish as that – but they were definitely trying to take a chunk out of its flanks. The quartet had already rendered two Caracks and a Lancer into slag, and were hard at work pounding through Hunter's shields. The Victory class ship was doing its level best to try and at least take one of them down in exchange, but with its comms jammed to the ice hells, she couldn't co-ordinate with her consorts.

Admiral Minsk shuddered as the Imperial fire concentrated on her more and more. Even if they hadn't seen shield linking before, someone over there was quick on the uptake. Probably not Pellaeon himself – no way was a mere Captain in command of a fleet this side – but whoever his mysterious commander was, he'd gotten the core of the matter. Focused fire on a single target could break linked shields better than that fire covering everything.

Hunter finally folded, looking for a moment like a spider in a candle flame as she was consumed in plasma fire. For a moment, Hoss looked into his plot at the core of the Imperial fleet. One of those Star Destroyers carried their dimensional drive. If they didn't neutralize that ship, than this whole thing was nothing more than a great, bloody mummer's farce. But the damned things were half again as big as the Victory class ships that his quartette struggled to break. The energy readings he was getting of their shields were massive, enough so that they'd need to close enough to bring their Disruption Lances to bear, as well as their Plasma Cannon. And at that range, they would not be able to survive the weight of fire that would descend upon them.

The space around Galactica was a maelstrom of swirling fighters. TIE Fighters danced and whirled around Colonial Vipers; the pilots on both sides veterans all. The toll upon the Vipers was high; though they were, in the main, tougher craft than their foes, they were slower and less maneuverable. But they were used to that. Cylon Raiders, after all, did not have to contend with the limits of human pilots, maneuvering and accelerating with greater speed than the Vipers. The TIEs did not get off unscathed, contending with both Colonial tactics and the prodigious anti-spacecraft fire of Galactica herself. Too, the best of the Imperial pilots had been cherry-picked by the mysterious Mount Tantiss project, leaving the squadrons under the command of second and third officers. Apollo and Starbuck, by contrast, wielded their squadrons as a swordmaster would his blade. None of the TIE Bombers survived to make a run on the Galactica, and few of the TIE Fighters managed it, too busy fighting for their lives.

A charitable man would, perhaps, forgive Harbinger's wing commander for missing the launch of Galactica's Raptor squadrons. The young man was pursuing one of the Colonial Vipers, trying to get on its 6 o'clock and put it out of his misery. He'd winged it once, but for all the things were shieldless, they were tough little kriffers. It didn't help that, thanks to the Galactica's flak field, they'd lost enough TIE/INs to be outnumbered – and the Colonials seemed to have lots of experience dealing with foes who were faster and more maneuverable. His fighter's target alarm started wailing; the kriffing bastards had a knack for baiting tactics. His wingman had bought it earlier to just such an attack. He himself, slightly more experienced and with rather more self-preservation instincts than the average TIE pilot, broke immediately rather than keep boring in for a shot, vision graying for a moment despite his inertial compensators. Vaguely, he saw a second Viper slash through the space he'd been moments before, its cannons blazing as it slewed into a turn, trying to keep the pressure on.

No, Harbinger's wing commander had his hands quite full trying to neutralize the enemy's fighters. He missed their bombers completely.

Athena fought to control her breathing as the Raptors formed up, each bomber sporting a full load of anti-capital ship missiles under their stubby wings. In the back of the compartment, her sensor operator swore quietly as he watched the DRADIS. "Frakkers are fast... but it looks like Apollo and the rest of the Viper jocks have their attention. But if they come for us, we're meat."

"Just means we have get it right the first time." The Cylon thumbed the squadron comm. "Okay, people, we're getting just one shot at this. Everyone program in target co-ordinates 131.2 by 049.8, and set for contact detonation." She waited a moment, then continued. "Time to show everyone that our 'primitive' weapons are still useful." She keyed a Nuke Warning, then hit the firing stud.

Each Raptor had a full payload of nukes, all of them keyed for a time-on-target volley linked to Athena's controls. The forty-eight missiles, split between eight Raptors, staggered their launches over about two seconds, to ensure proper timing. The pilots broke immediately, trusting in their targeting computers as they saved their eyes.

In Harbinger's vast hanger bay, the TIE squadron's deck crews were busily squaring away equipment from the mass launch. They worked swiftly – if all went well, the bomber squadron would be back in a few minutes for a quick rearm before they went in search of further prey. The launch tractors were set to facilitate the recovery process, and most of the fuel bunkers locked down. Technically, the ammo stores should be locked down as well, but speed counted for more than polish in a pinch.

And it wasn't like they were worried about the fire the ship was taking – The bulk of the Star Destroyer was between the flight deck and the opponents they were dueling that could actually hurt it.

Then the deck was flooded with a wash of blinding white light as something – several somethings, in fact – detonated against the ventral shields, just aft of the center of the bay.

In Galactica's CiC, Gaius Baltar looked up from his sensor console, grinning. "The Raptor's missile strike appears to have taken down her aft shields, Admiral."

Adama's smile was a razor of ice as he keyed the comm. "All guns, target the Star Destroyer's hanger bay."

For a moment, the only sound in the hanger bay was the assorted profanity of the deck crews as they fought to clear their vision – or get their protective goggles to clear. Then the first wave of autocannon shells roared through the magcon field and began to detonate against the hanger's roof, sending submunitons and shrapnel flying in all directions; tearing through men, equipment, and unsecured munitions.

Secondary explosions gutted ammo bunkers; setting off stores of concussion missiles and thermal detonators. Those in turn ripped open fuel bunkers, and white-hot shrapnel ignited them. The hanger bay was gutted, autocannon shells lancing deeper into the Star Destroyer's belly and wreaking havok in job-lots. In moments, the mighty vessel's engines faltered, and then the rest of her shields.

Baltar tried to ignore Six's smirk and applause, as well as the bridge crew's cheers, as he concentrated on the sensors. Too much guesswork... I just don't know enough about these strangers. He didn't succeed too well at either – Six, being in his head already, was hard to ignore, and the military type's enthusiasm was infectious. Still, for all he'd rather be anywhere but the Galactica right now, it was in his best interests to keep the old ship intact, and that meant pitting his scientific might against this mystery.

He pitched his voice to carry over the cheers. "Admiral, they appear to be suffering from power problems."

Adama's smile was a cold, hard thing. "Good."

In a voice only he could hear, Six said, "You know you can't be sure of that. This whole thing is leading you further and further from God's Plan."

"Perhaps that's a good thing," he muttered. Then he frowned at his instruments. Is that... "Admiral! I'm reading an energy spike; I think they're targeting-"

And then the deck lept up and punched him in the face.

Admiral Tolwyn gritted his teeth as two of the Imperial Star Destroyers broke away from their main formation and turned upon Concordia. Thus far, the Dreadnought's Phase Shields were holding, but there was a world of difference between scattered fire from several ships, and the dedicated, purposeful fire of a few. It had been a long time since he'd commanded a ship in a full scale fleet action.

He glanced over the tactical board. Most of their fighters were running down Imperials, and both squadrons of Broadswords were starting their run on one of the Victory class ships. They were far enough from Concordia that they'd struggle to make it back in time to be decisive. The fight had made its way out of the planet's gravity well now, and instincts honed by decades of war told Tolwyn that it was time to do or die.

"Gunners, hit that lead Star Destroyer with every Antimatter Gun you can bring to bear. Helmsman, line us up on the other one. Engine room, ready the Phase Transit Cannon for firing."

A low, almost subsonic hum began to build as the mighty cannon's capacitors began to charge, more felt than heard over the din of battle. The steady thrum of Antimatter Guns blasting away at the lead Star Destroyer – Stalker – punctuated the mechanical sounds and reports that flooded the bridge. The mighty ship shuddered as the fusillade of green and blue energy blasts spent themselves against their Phase Shields, Stalker and Harpy both turning to bring their broadsides to bear.

Concordia turned as well, still driving towards Harpy. Two of her Antimatter Guns, unable to bear upon Stalker, turned their attentions towards the other Star Destroyer. Its shields held fast, though Stalker's began to falter. As the range closed, a flight of the faster, single-hulled bombers the Imperials were using made a run on Concordia's stern, their flight covered by a squadron of TIE Fighters. Tolwyn felt some grudging respect for them; they were forcing him to keep his shields covering all aspects, keeping him honest. That respect didn't stop him from smiling grimly as they tried to race away from the Dreadnought, and ran straight into her flak cannon's field of fire.

The Phase Shields began to buckle under the Star Destroyers' attack as the Phase Transit Cannon finished charging. Smile a razor of ice, Tolwyn gave the order to fire.

The massive cannon, built into Concordia's keel, thundered, belching violet fire. The bolt of energy streaked across the gap between Concordia and Harpy, lighting the battlefield like God's Own Flashbulb as it hit. When the blast cleared, fully a third of the Star Destroyer's mass was simply gone, and the rest of the ship reduced to shattered and charred debris.

Tolwyn let the cheer of his bridge crew wash over him, felt his smile warm. "Helmsman!" he shouted over the din, "Change course to bear upon Stalker."

Even as the Confederation class Dreadnought swung her heavy bow towards the Star Destroyer, that ship's fire upon them faltered, then died completely. She seemed to stretch into infinity for a moment, then vanished into hyperspace, risking the unknown dangers of a blind jump to the known dangers of staying under that terrible gun.

One hit. Just one. Captain Harry Bimota looked upon Galactica and shook his head. He'd been getting desperate just before the Colonial ship had landed it's sucker-punch, Sancora City and Sturges' shield link breaking down beneath the raw firepower of even a single Imperial Star Destroyer. One hit damn near crippled Galactica outright.

Bill Adama is a lunatic. I'm glad he's on our side.

Galactica was limping away from the battlefield, a gaping wound in her topside armor streaming thin flames as oxygen leaked into compromised compartments and was consumed. The big ship's power readings were fluctuating madly, her engines firing erratically. A handful of TIE Fighters remained in space, locked in battle with the Colonial Vipers that outnumbered them. Sturges gunners were more confident than his own, picking off TIEs from within the swirling melee.

Of course, even if his own gunners had the confidence to fire into a mixed-up furball like that one, there was a very real possibility that they couldn't right now. Sancora City looked to be in as bad or worse shape as Galactica, it had just taken a hell of a lot more fire to do it. Her starboard batteries, plasma and disruption lance both, had been seared away, and she'd been leaking air for a minute or so before they managed to get everything locked down. Charged particle cannon blasts, not as directly destructive as the big green cannons, had played hell with her power systems once they began to leak through, frying circuits and tripping damn near every breaker in the starboard aft. Only the ship's sturdy construction had kept her from breaking up entirely. Harbinger had decided to kill her first, which was all that had saved Sturges. The cruiser wouldn't have survived what fire leaked through the shield link.

"Communications, open a channel to Galactica." He waited a moment for a nod from the signals officer. "Sancora City to Galactica, report please. How bad is the damage?"

For a long moment, there was no response, then a voice crackled onto the bridge. "Sancora City, this is Galactica Actual. We're still trying to figure that out, but we could use engineering and medical assistance."

"Understood, Galactica," he said as he saw the last of the TIEs near them die. "We'll do what we can."

Whipping his Sabre into a turn that made his vision gray, Todd "Maniac" Marshall tried to shake the strange three-winged fighter that was hard on his heels. He felt as much as heard the aft turret firing, the rapid thumpthump of the dual neutron guns lost beneath the trilingual litany of profanity of his gunner.

Mark that. Quadralingual. Somewhere, Gunnery Officer Jones had picked up what sounded like Russian to enrich his bad-situation vocabulary. If they got out of this alive, he'd have to get him to write some of those down, they sounded terribly useful.

The Sabre shuddered again as green laser blasts tore into its shields, setting off the 'shields failed' alarm. Again. Full burners, dive away, snap roll oh Jesus tapdancing Christ he's still back there! Another green flash, and the Sabre went one way as half the port wing went the other. Maniac hauled on his controls, but he was too late. With the mass so unbalanced, the fighter went into a flat spin. Another blast hit the fuselage, rupturing the fuel tank. "Jones! Time to go!"

The heavy thump of the turret jettisoning itself to serve as an escape pod followed instantly behind his shout; close enough that it was clear the gunner had already decided to do it. Time to follow his example. Head down, both hands around the D-ring, PULL like your life depended on it- a fist of noise smashing at his ears as explosive bolts blew the canopy clear. Slammed into the seat as the ejection rockets fired, he sailed clear of the wreck, still spinning with inertia from the fighter. Beneath him, his fighter blew apart at the touch of one final volley.

The Imp pilot, cheeky bastard that he was, did a victory roll as he shot through the space that had held his Sabre moments before. And despite his frustration and fury, the only thought coursing through Maniac's skull was, Good God, I would love to fly one of those.

We're not going to be able to stop them, thought Chrono. Not even close.

Oh, they'd taken a toll on the Imperial's screen and lighter elements – after two years of dealing with Bradeson missile ships, taking out fighters was relatively easy – but the majority of the Star Destroyers and several of their escorting cruisers were still intact. Enterprise had been driven off, retreating as her shields began to fail. She was still taking the occasional potshot, but only from extended range. Concordia had, likewise, pulled back, and her bombers were landing, presumably to reload. They'd destroyed one of the Victory Star Destroyers with their previous attack.

Chrono was beginning to understand why Earth was so enamored of fighter craft. And honestly curious if the TSAB could adopt some of the technologies involved.

And they'd taken losses of their own. Annette, Pauline and Muriel were so much floating wreckage, having had the misfortune to drift too close to some of the Imperial Star Destroyers. Megan would need at least a month in spacedock before it was battle worthy again, several other ships damaged to various degrees, and Claudia herself was not unscathed.

But we're doing better than the Bradesons, he thought with a bit of grim satisfaction. On the tactical display, he could see Commodore Hoss' formation angling away from the main Imperial force, less one of its battlecruisers, the Admiral Minsk herself looking badly damaged. Three other battlecruisers had been destroyed, as had two of the big missile ships and their other two missile destroyers. Six more Bradeson ships had been savaged, and none looked undamaged. We could probably crush you. But if this ship with it's insane dimensional drive gets away, it would be rather pointless.

Grand Admiral Thrawn considered the battle around him. Though their screen had suffered painful losses – including all of their Lancer–class frigates – the main core of their strength was all but untouched. Nothing, not even Concordia and her impressive cannon, had dared to close decisively with the formation of Imperial Star Destroyers. The Bradeson flagship had come close, but it had broken off when he detached Judicator and Stormhammer to intercept it.

If he wanted to, his force could utterly crush the foes arrayed against them. They might be able to escape with some analog of the Engine, but they could not defeat him. But the effort would almost certainly cost him. Almost certainly, he would lose another Star Destroyer while trying to deal with Concordia. He would very much like to capture that ship and its rather interesting weapons and surprisingly potent shields, but actually doing so would probably result in unacceptable losses.

No, they would continue to withdraw. This was not the battle he had sortied to fight. This was a distraction from his goal of crushing the Rebels, and a costly one. Thousands of TIE fighters lost, several frigates and cruisers... no, this was not what he wanted to be doing. "Signal the fleet. Now that we are in position to Hyperspace to the outer system, we shall do so. Recall the remaining TIE fighters. If possible, contact Stalker and order them to join us at the rendezvous point."

The Bradeson jamming was still doing its best, and a handful of ships did not hear the message, nor did scores of TIEs. As the fleet began to hyperspace away, the other ships followed their lead, as did the remaining TIE Defenders.

Robbed of their true targets, the TSAB and Bradeson fleets tore into the orphaned TIEs with a vengeance, though not so furious one to ignore the calls of surrender from fighters that made them.

"We need to figure out where in the hells they went. That wasn't a Dimensional Jump." Even at the remove of one section of a three-way split screen, Commodore Hoss looked like hell. His ship had been at the sharp end of the fight, and had taken a serious beating. Hoss himself was nursing a wound to the head; a cut from shrapnel that had traced a line across his forehead and taken a small nick from his left ear. It was bandaged for now, a rough strip of what looked like his uniform hem, but that didn't make it any prettier.

"We're scanning the rest of the system now," said Picard. "Unless they've gone completely from the system, we should have their location shortly." A pause. "Which leaves the question of who will be pursuing. With no offense intended, Commodore..."

"We've had seven kinds of hell beaten out of us. And while I've got one or two shipdrivers left with cool enough heads to follow the Bureau into a scrap while our alliance holds, their ships are in almost as bad of shape as mine."

Tolwyn sounded unhappy. "Concordia won't be able to pursue either. Unlike the rest of you, we don't have an intrasystem FTL drive."

Chrono was about to speak when Picard glanced towards someone out-of-shot, then back to the screen. "We've located the Imperial fleet. They've formed up near the sixth planet in the outer system."

Chrono nodded. "Well then. I'll take my ships out there, and at least try to talk to Pellaeon. Admiral Tolwyn, if you'd be so kind as to take on those surrendered fighters?"

"We'll sort them out. Go stop those madmen."

"Admiral! Ships dropping out of Hyperspace just out of range. It looks like twelve of them, sir."

Grand Admiral Thrawn nodded. "Time until we can jump out?"

"One minute, twenty five seconds on Death's Head's time estimate."

"Admiral, the lead ship is hailing us. It's Claudia."

Pellaeon glanced to him, Thrawn shook his head slightly. "I shall take it at this station."

On his screen, the determined face of Admiral Haralowan appeared. "Captain Pellaeon, whatever else you might think, you mu-" The young man's voice chopped off for a moment as he registered blue skin and red eyes. "I assume you are the commander of this fleet?"

"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I presume you are not so foolish as to think that this is enough ships to actually threaten my command, after the battle we have already fought?"

"That's true enough, Grand Admiral, but I must warn you – your dimensional drive is terribly dangerous. Every time you use it, it is damaging the very fabric of the space-time continuium."

"Indeed." Space-time continumium? An interesting term. "I shall have my engineers take a closer look at it. Once we have returned home." His eyes narrowed, glowing brighter. "I have no desire for needless conflict between our forces. You know you cannot stop us. Withdraw."

Haralowan glared for a moment. "Am I correct in guessing you don't actually know what to look for to fix your drive?"

"That is not your concern. Do not continue to interfere with Imperial business."

Chrono snarled as Chimaera cut the comm. Letting them leave is... not ideal. They all but destroyed us in passing. Following them to their own stronghold would probably be suicide.

He closed his eyes for a moment, running through possibilities. The only thing that came to mind that might work – an Arc-En-Ceil blast – had far too much potential for catastrophic side effects, given the raw power and volatility of the Imperial's drive. Hells, there were regulations in place specifically to prevent people from Arc-ing unquantified drives as a caution.

"I'm open to suggestions, people," he said to the bridge in general.

"Track 'em an' bring back a bigger fleet ta put 'em down?" suggested Ranma. The martial artist had been staring into the tactical display for most of the battle, leaving it only when Claudia was hit and someone on the bridge injured. Ranma had gotten the crewman down to sickbay in record time, it seemed, and gotten back onto the bridge without him noticing.

"Given their firepower, that would almost certainly be too costly." A pause. "Crewman Prefect?"

"Scalp wounds always bleed like crazy. Doc figured it looked worse than it was." He was staring into the tactical display, one hand gripping the railing. "We can't do a thing to stop 'em, can we?"

"Not safely." He paused as Ranma snarled, hand tightening around the railing hard enough to mangle the alloy. "We have one weapon that might work, but it's far too dangerous around something as unstable as their drive."

"Admiral! I'm reading a power spike aboard one of the Star Destroyers. It looks like they're charging their dimensional drive."

Chrono felt his head hang. Sankt Kaiser... nothing more we can do. "Scanners, get every scrap of data you can. Once they're gone, we'll need to track them, badly. And properly survey the results of their earlier jump."

Aye si- Admiral! Juliet is charging her Arc-En-Ceil!"

"Get me Captain Tacoma now!" The channel opened, showing the older man standing stoic on his bridge. "Tacoma, power down your Arc-En-Ceil immediately. You know the regs, and this drive's more volatile than most."

Amber eyes met his through the link. "Admiral Haralowan, this is the only chance we have to stop them from continuing to wreak havoc. You may be content to let them go, but I am not."

"Captain Tacoma! This is a direct order! Power down your Arc-En-Ceil!"

Tacoma gave him a long, considering look. "I'm sorry, Admiral, but we suffered comm damage. Your transmission is breaking up." Then the connection died.

Chrono blinked. Damn him! Damn his stubborn hide!

Fate's voice cut through the anger that rose in him. "Is there a way to force him to stop?"

"Short of blowing up his ship? No." Chrono forced his fists to unclench. "I'd say pray that this doesn't react badly with their drive, and get ourselves to minimum safe distance."

Arc warnings went out to the rest of the fleet, and as Juliet fired, they shifted away as one.

The blast streaked across the stretch of sidereal space towards the gathered Imperials. As Death's Head activated the Engine, the Arc-En-Ceil blast detonated-

-On Coruscant, Luke Skywalker looked up from the archives, the records of Jorus C'boath, Jedi Master, temporarily forgotten-

-Hip deep in the console he was repairing, a nameless Doctor started, thumping his head against a bracket and dropping his sonic screwdriver as instincts screamed, something is wrong -

-Aboard a tramp freighter deep in the Black, River Tam fell screaming from the cargo rail on which she had been walking-

-In a tunnel deep beneath the earth, Alfred Bester paused in midstride and looked towards the unseen sky, smiling-

-Ensconced in his study aboard Craftworld Ulthwé, Farseer Eldrad Ulthran's eyes opened as he felt a ripple in the Immaterium-

-Standing on the bow of the Princess Cecile as she coursed through the Matrix, Lieutenant Leary saw a light in the distance, and frowned, somehow knowing that it boded ill-

-Aboard the SSV Normandy, Kaiden Alenko's head whipped towards his console, conversation with Commander Jane Shepherd suddenly forgotten as he felt something-

-And space itself twisted around the center of the blast. The Arc-En-Ceil's energy wave warped as it spread. Across the TSAB and Bradeson fleets, mages shouted in alarm as they felt the energy wash across them like a wave of static. On the Enterprise, the handful of Vulcans and Betazoids in the ship's company stiffened, feeling splitting headaches coming on.

Claudia reappeared in sidereal space just beyond minimum safe distance from the Arc-En-Ceil blast. A wash of multicoloured energy blocked his view of the dull gray gas giant beyond, taking far longer to fade than any he had seen before. He looked to the scanners and resisted the urge to swear viciously at what he saw. Sankt Kaiser... I am going to strangle Captain Tacoma. "Comms. Get me a line to the Juliet."

To his credit, Captain Tacoma seemed to realize how much trouble he was in. The normally swarthy man was pale as a sheet. "Admiral."

"Captain Tacoma. There is a reason that Arc En Ciels are not used against ships with active dimensional drives, especially unknown ones. We are looking at that reason now." A glance back at the sensor board, and a growing sense of alarm. "In fact, I think we're looking at an entirely new reason."

The older man swallowed visibly.

"Confine yourself to the brig, Captain. I'll deal with you later."

He cut the transmission, turned to the viewscreen. Occulating their view of the sixth planet was far and away the largest magical rift he had ever seen, a spheroid at least fifty kilometers in diameter, and visibly expanding. "Thaum, we need to get a ward on this, and we need it now."

"I'll try sir... but the energy readings on this are off the scale..."

"I know. Do it anyway. Bring in the other ships of the fleet if you have to."

He stared at the rift, a mottle of colours, like a thin layer of oil and grease atop gold, and swallowed hard. I told Paris that I wasn't worried about a dimensional collapse just yet. Now? Now I am. Sankt Kaiser preserve us all...