The Hour of The Wolf
Chapter Eight

Ornithar paced back and forth across his office. As the First Minister of the Karemma he was responsible for his people in the eyes of the Dominion and the Founders. If they were disappointed in them they were disappointed in him. The last thing you wanted was for the Dominion to be disappointed.

He had requested an audience with their representative, the Vorta Arin. That he had requested her presence was almost unheard of. More often than not members of the Dominion preferred to be left alone, and as long as they obeyed the rules the Dominion was happy. It was when they weren't happy that the Vorta arrived, usually with a warning just before the Jem'Hadar carried out the will of the Founders.

Ornithar was well within his rights to ask of course, but never in all his years had he heard of it happening. Then again never in all his years had it been needed. The door chimed and without invitation two Jem'Hadar warriors marched in. Flanking their Vorta master.

According to some of his contacts on other worlds Arin was attractive, by humanoid standards. Ornithar couldn't see it. Her features were sharp, like blades. Her eyes a frozen blue and long dark hair almost too straight. She looked at him with such cold indifference he could have sworn she was born in the vacuum of space. Without a word she went over to a bottle of vintage Tulaberry wine and poured a generous amount into a glass before sitting in his chair with alien grace. 'So, you requested my presence?' She asked, drumming the long fingers of her free hand on the polished wooden table.

Ornithar was painfully aware of the two Jem'Hadar that stood uncomfortably close to him. 'Yes. We have had recent… Difficulties with several of our trading partners outside of Dominion space.'

She took a long sip from her glass. 'Why is this of interest to the Founders? Surely there are always lulls in trading. Business will pick up eventually. Are we done here?'

'This is not the usual trade difficulties.' He admitted. 'For years now we have been hearing rumours. Stories passed on by traders, rouges and vagabonds. Stories of a vast darkness encroaching from the far edges of the galaxy.'

'There are always legends. It's probably as simple as an expansion of Borg Space. They'll come and go as they always do. The Dominion endures.'

'As always.' Ornithar responded automatically. 'However, recently our partners have been attacked. Over the last year we have lost contact with three whole species. Word is their homeworlds were destroyed, their colonies shattered and refugees hunted down.'

That got her attention. The Vorta slowly put down her glass and stared at him. 'Not a natural disaster?'

'At first we believed so, we could not conceive of anything other than the Dominion capable of such destruction. That is why it has taken us so long to report this. All too quickly the others fell as well.'

'You are not the only one to have heard these rumours.' She admitted. 'Word has already reached the Founders.' She glared at him. 'What more do you have?'

'We have gathered what information we could. It has been collected on the file in front of you.' Ornithar gestured at the data file on the table.

Arin picked it up and gave the screen a cursory glance. 'Most efficient. I will pass on to the Founders your due diligence. Is that all?'

'No. If you read the file you will see we have lost two ships. One outside of Dominion space, the other…'

Ornithar din't get a chance to finish, the Vorta was on her feet in an instant. 'This threat has encroached our space! Outrageous!'

'The wreckage was discovered inside our boarders, but only just. There is no evidence…'

'No evidence! These invaders attack us and we don't even have a name for them!' Again she interrupted.

'Honoured Vorta, we do have a name. They are known as the Cylon Alliance.'

Beverly looked at the boy, he couldn't have been much younger than Wesley. Somehow he'd broken a couple of bones and lost a tooth. There was no official reason why he was on the medical transport, or how he'd got them. His biggest problem was malnutrition. His body simply didn't have the nutrients it needed to heal. 'Do you have a family?' She asked him after checking the scan again

'Kind of.' he admitted. 'My mother died when she had my sister. My father… my father starved himself.'

She tried to keep her face straight, but the plain tone he said it in was almost worse. 'Why?'

He shrugged absently. 'They said something went wrong on the Agro-ship. We lost a harvest and some of the protein growths got weird. They said there was a mutation. There wasn't enough to go around.'

'It happens.' another colonial on the bed next to them pulled himself up. 'We've been force growing clone foodstuffs for yahren. Mutation or a virus can wipe out whole strains.' He smiled to the boy. 'Sorry, we do our best. Your father gave you his ration didn't he?'

'Yes sir.' He said politely.

'You've been keeping up with your primaries?' he asked.

'Yes sir.' He repeated looking down. Beverly didn't have to be a Doctor or a Mother to know he was lying. 'When I could.'

She knew what to ask. 'You've been giving your rations to your sister haven't you?'

'And Starbright. They needed it more than me.' he sounded proud.

'You want to tell me what happened? How you got hurt?'

He nodded 'Some of the others, they… They didn't like that I was giving Starbright my primaries. They're bigger than me, but they wanted her to be their socialator. I fought them and I think I won. Some of the the others, the adults, found out what was happening and told the guard. They're looking after them until I get back.'

Beverly had some ideas what socialator meant and didn't like it. 'I'll have someone bring you a meal. Then, when you're up for it, I'll send someone form security over. They'll find out which you were ship and bring your sister and your friend over. Just to say hello.'

'Thank you.' he nodded. Beverly made a quick note on the padd and turned to the other man.

'I'm well. Please, there are others more in need than I.' he offered. Beverly looked at the padd next to him.

'High blood pressure, malnutrition. Signs of acute stress.' She read aloud. 'You worked yourself half to death, what where you doing?'

He swallowed. 'My job. I'm a viral chemist. I specialise in keeping the biological base code diverse. Developing immunities and increasing growth rates in the hydroponic gardens.'

She nodded. 'Genetic engineering. How many people on your team?'

'Just myself and my apprentice. It's a difficult vocation, but needed.' Beverly could see why. Still, she had misgivings about genetic modification. The slightest mistake could result in disaster. No wonder he'd exhausted himself. 'The Agro-ships medical team transferred me to the medical transport. They insisted I take some time off.'

'We've got some specialists on board. Genetic engineers. When you feel up to it I'll have them come over.'

His eyes lit up. 'Colleges? I would love to discuss my field with them! There are certain ideas I've been working on in my spare time…'

'When we have the time.' she waved him down. 'We're all very busy right now.'

'Of course, I understand. I'd need time myself. Have you anything I could write on?'

Chuckling to herself Beverly picked up the padd and cleared the screen. 'Here. If you have any problems give someone a call.'

'Thank you.' he grinned and began typing, learning the interface.

Shaking her head Beverly moved on, but before she got to the next bed she heard someone say. 'Hello Beverly.'

She recognised the voice of course, but it couldn't have been him. 'Jean-Luc!' She spun. he was standing at the doors to the Cargo bay she'd requsioned, his uniform was all white but it was him. Dropping her tricorder she ran up to him and was hugging her old friend before she realised what she was doing. 'I'm sorry.' she apologised, knowing how much he hated that sort of thing.

While looking uncomfortable there was a phantom smile on his face. 'That's alright. I didn't think I'd see you again either.'

'How?'

'Q.' He said and it all made sense, sort of. 'He felt he owed me a favour. This was his way of paying me back.'

'Remind me to thank him.' she teased back getting another half joking scowl in response.

Worf took a breath and looked around the cockpit. It was snug, but there was enough room. Much like the helmet they'd given him. Taking hold of the chin piece he straightened it. 'Ready to launch.'

Captain Apollo, acting as flight command, came over the comm. 'When you're ready. Remember your briefing and it will be fine.'

'Understood.' Worf grunted taking hold of the control paddle. It might look primitive compared to a Federation interface but there was something more tactile at having direct control. He tapped the three buttons on his left and the small vessel came to life. Squeezing the trigger switch that served as the accelerator he pressed the middle of the three paddle's buttons. The one marked turbo.

The security officer was slammed into his seat by the catapult launcher. Accelerating to just below light speed in such short distance nearly overloaded the Viper's inertial dampeners.

Clearing the launch tube Worf howled as he was thrown into space. 'Viper three, away.' Apollo said calmly. Worf was nowhere near as calm; he had been warned that the controls were somewhat sensitive but that was typical human understatement. It was like wrestling with a monster from one of his holographic programs. Sending the Viper corkscrewing randomly into space. 'Worf, don't fight the controls. You can't win, try easing off on the throttle, killing turbo, and letting her find the line.'

Worf grunted and did as instructed. The Colonial Captain was right. The Viper wanted to go straight, so that's what he let it do. Now he was slower he could get this thing under control. The slightest twist one way or the other had the sleek fighter arc off in that direction. Anymore and it could turn like nothing else in space.

'Looks like your getting the hang of things.' Apollo chuckled. 'Try using the floor peddles, they allow for lateral movement port and starboard.' Worf tried them and was impressed. Rather than turning the Viper slipped left and right. Combining that with the more traditional steering of the paddle allowed for manoeuvrability beyond anything he'd heard of.

'Now you're getting it and not a mili-centon too soon. Sensors have detected a Cylon Basestar incoming. It's already launched Raiders. We're mobilising as fast as we can but they're too close. We won't be there before they reach the fleet.'

Worf checked the sensor screen. Again it looked primitive, but did it's job well enough. A large number of signals were approaching. Without thinking the security officer changed course and pulled back on the accelerator. 'Intercepting.' The fighter reacted as expected. Leaping into battle like a racing targ let off it's leash. While tempted he kept his thumb off the turbo. Not trusting himself to be able to control at that speed.

Ahead of him he could see movement. Just enough to make out wave after wave of Raiders. Remembering the briefing he found the sensor controls and flipped the top most switch. He was right, as it gave him a much more detailed report of the approaching craft. Larger than his Viper the Raiders were nearly the size of a shuttlecraft with as much firepower. A three man crew, armoured but with no defector shields. If it wasn't for their numbers they wouldn't be a challenge.

There was so many of them, switching back to standard scan Worf estimated a thousand. Scores of them coming in waves, heading for the civilian ships. Proof, if it was needed, that the Cylons had no honour. As he closed the distance between them they began firing.

Bright sapphire shards of energy came screaming at his lone fighter. At this range it should have been impossible to hit, but lay down enough fire and it would be impossible to lose. On the other hand Worf's Viper was a piece of art.

During basic training Worf had learnt to calm his mind, to ignore the rage and bloodlust inherent in his Klingon heritage and focus. It took every last fraction of his control not to hit the turbo. Instead he eased off, watching the blasts as they came. Dodging any shot that came to close. One or two shots passed close, but either through skill or more likely luck Worf made it through the barrage.

It was his turn. Flicking the bottom switch on the sensor screen Worf changed from the tactical view to dead ahead. Skittering outlines of the approaching ships materialised. A crosshair appeared just below the centre of the screen.

As soon as one of the Raider's outlines passed the crosshair Worf fired. Once, twice. From either side of him, just below his knees, Worf saw a pair of bright orange blasts fire with each shot. The first volley missed, the second caught it behind the cockpit. Turning the ship into a fireball.

They were closing fast, Worf realised he might only get a chance to fire once more. Jerking his controls the security officer saw another attack ship in his sights. He fired again, one energy blast caught the Raiders port engine while the other went wide. The Raider shuddered. but kept flying. Before Worf could squeeze off another shot he'd passed the first wave.

He had a choice. Move on to the next wave, and the one after that. Or turn and engage. The Cylons had already made their decision and were continuing to their primary target.

With a string of curses in klingon Worf yanked the controls and mashed the accelerator down, trying to catch up with them before they could strike the unarmed ships. He was still swearing as he came up behind a group of three ships. The first wave had split in to matching groups. Three fighters, with one above and behind the other two. He put the trailing ship in his crosshairs and fired. Destroying it. The other two separated, splitting in two different directions. Worf could hit one of them, but not both before they got in range of the civilians.

Everything the Cylons had done was to delay him. Keep him busy while they swarmed unarmed targets filled with Farmers, non combatants, even children. Howling with rage Worf held down the firing stud, his weapons firing as fast as they could cycle.

The one he was following took three shots, two close misses and one dead on, before it too detonated.

Then, from behind him, another Raider began firing. It was too close to be from the second wave. Switching his sensors back to tactical he could see it was a strangler from the first wave. Probably the one he'd damaged earlier. 'You've got a Cylon tracking you.' Apollo warned.

'I can see that!' Even though the Viper was faster and more manoeuvrable Worf was having a hard time just avoiding the energy blasts. 'I need help.'

'We're still too far away. Your best chance is to hit your reverse thrusters and maximum breaking flaps. Third button on the paddle. Slam on the brakes and that Raider might overshoot you.'

Nodding, even though no one could see him, Worf did as he was told. It was dangerous, a shot came incredibly close as he slowed down. Worf saw the bright beam come within inches, scoring his hull with a dark burn mark. Still it worked and Worf found himself behind the damaged Raider. Firing at it's exposed underbelly the Raider exploded. Far too close to Worf's Viper. He flew through the plasma cloud. He could hear tiny parts of the Raider bonding off his hull.

Blinded, Worf was left blinking on the other side of the fireball. All to quickly he realised something else was very wrong. His Viper was ballistic, out of control, and spinning off into deep space. Howling in rage Worf knew there was nothing he could do. The sensor screen was a chaotic mess of words and figures. Dials and readouts were spinning wildly and then stopped.

Everything stopped and then the cockpit slowly settled down and the darkness of space around him was replaced with the inside of the Galactica's training room. Off to one side Apollo stepped into view and remotely opened the cockpit.

'What happened?' Worf asked.

'That last Raider was carrying solonite explosives. When you hit it's fuel cell the whole thing went off like a graviton mine. You were too close and flew through the blast. Debris got caught in your Viper's thrusters. You didn't stand a chance.'

Worf growled under his breath. After a moment he pushed himself out of the cockpit and climbed out. Pulling off the helmet. He felt the released sweat roll down the back of his neck. climbing down the ladder he felt his legs shake. He couldn't have been in the simulation for more than half an hour, but it felt like he'd spent days at the controls.

Drained of energy Worf called on his last bit of strength as he reached the deck. He'd been in simulated combat before, many times, but there was something about flying that had called on on every reserve he had. As tired as the Lieutenant was he could feel every nerve throbbing and his warrior sprit singing.

'What do you think?'

'Your fighters? I'd take a dozen.' he admitted. The threat of unleashing them should be more than enough to make even the most militant threat think twice.

Apollo laughed. 'Come on, the officers club is next door. Let me get you a drink.'

Apollo sat at his favourite table with the Federation officer. He wasn't exaggerating, four Raiders on the first simulation run was good going. 'What is this?' the Klingon asked, looking at his tankard.

'Ambrosa. Some of our last. We've tried brewing some on board, but it takes decades to ferment just right.'

Worf took another drink. 'It reminds me of Andorian Ale.'

'I'll have to try some.' He offered.

'After Klingon Bloodwine. I have a couple of cases on the Enterprise.'

'Apollo! what in the name of Sagen are you doing here!' Boomer called across the room. Picking up a tankard he pulled up a seat next to them. 'You should be on that ship, over there with Sheba.'

Apollo sat back. 'I know, but you know her. She said she's got two ships full of med-techs looking after her and didn't need me, or her father, hovering around.'

'Sounds like her.' Boomer chuckled before turning to Worf. 'Lieutenant Boomer. Blue Squadron, Battlestar Galactica.'

'Lieutenant Worf. Chief Tactical Officer, Enterprise.'

'Good to meet you.' Boomer raised his tankard before frowning. 'If you don't mind…'

'I am Klingon, my people are allies of the Federation. Although I am the only one that is a member of starfleet.'

'I wasn't going to ask.' Apollo admitted. 'We've just been through a simulation He did well, four Raiders in twenty centons.'

'You're that good? You sure you've never flown a Viper before?'

'No. Although I have advanced training in shuttlecraft piloting. It's nothing like one of your fighters.'

'Maybe you'll return the favour one day and give us a chance to find out?' Boomer suggested.

'I would be honoured to do so.'

Apollo thought it sounded good too. 'One thing, just don't teach my wife any of those curses you were saying back there.' The three of them laughed, comrades already despite knowing each other for a short time. A warrior could always recognise another.

There was a beeping noise and a voice said. 'Nurse Ogawa to Lieutenant Worf.' After a moment he tapped the badge on his chest. 'Worf here.'

In the background Apollo could hear a sound he didn't quite recognise 'Lieutenant, if you could find Captain Apollo I think there's someone on Enterprise he'd like to meet.'

Like an epiphany Apollo recognised the sound. It was a baby crying. At once the whole Officers Club cheered.

End Chapter Eight

Authors note

Originally I wanted to work on one of my other stories, but no matter how much I hacked away at it nothing I wrote felt right. The characters were wrong, my descriptions came out confusing and most of all I was restless

I'd find endless excuses to look elsewhere, do something else. When I realised I was rearranging my socks rather than writing I decided to go ahead and write this chapter.

Three days later here we are. Hoped you like it.