- - -
Outpost 444, Valo II, Bajoran Sector
2370
The planet was 'habitable' in the way a hot coffin might be considered a home. Underneath the burning yellow sun and its smaller, red companion, the desert winds of Valo II were kicked up to spread massive sandstorms. Even here in the northern reaches, where the world's small oceans with their bounty of algae kept the air breathable, it felt like a furnace.
Ther'in Shran, commander in Starfleet, bore the heat better than an Andorian should-His world was defined by the cold and the ice, kept warm partly by its sun and more by the gas giant it orbited tugging on the core. The heat of a sun was almost novel to them. Yet the tundra too was a desert, just of a different sort. And Andorians could deal with the harshest environments. It is why they became dominant on their world.
Yet rather than aspects of evolution and biology, Shran was considering the shapes in the oncoming storm-How the wind and air pressure pitched the dust and dirt into strange patterns across its front. He found his eyes tracing them, a faint smile on his lips as he almost leaned against the open hangar door to admire nature's fury. His helmet was snug and secure in his right arm, cradled like a newborn child, as he watched the outdoors.
"Commander?"
He didn't turn from his view. "Yes Ensign Yuy?"
He heard the young man shuffle his feet, nervous. "The Flight Plan has been processed, we're good to go."
Shran nodded. He turned his eyes away from the storm-He would see it again, soon enough. "Good. Let's see how you did on the visual inspection."
He strode across the hanger bay, long legs making Yuy struggle to keep up. He was a young human, out of the Martian colonies, ruddy faced with jet black hair and narrow, almond shaped eyes. A new recruit, still nervous around anyone outranking him or indeed, almost anyone else.
The hanger bay contained a number of fighters-Several lined up on the opposing wall were being tended by maintenance crews and checked out by their pilots. The great chamber echoed faintly from their activity, beeps and soft conversation and a bang from a tool forming a modest background. Their fighter was out, resting on power carts and struts. Shran walked around the vessel, experienced eyes sweeping the craft.
"Tell me the technical specifications," he ordered his ensign. Yuy looked about as enthused as anyone else would be at this, but got on with it quickly.
"AC-104 Peregrine-class courier-er, attack fighter," he recited. "14 meters long, mass 27 metric tons, armed with 3 type IV phaser banks, two microphoton torpedo tubes with 10 rounds each, cruise speed warp factor 4, maximum speed warp factor 6-"
"Enough," Shran ordered, and the ensign stopped in a verbal stumble. He nodded. "The basics, yes. Always decent to have if you're a ten year old boy muttering trivia. What do you know about flying her?"
"Uh... I did simulator training and the Academy training craft, sir," Yuy replied. Shran nodded, smiling. Yuy didn't return the smile. Good. It meant he had some inclination of what was to come.
"Then let's call that lesson one."
- - -
The Peregrine usually had its crew compartments arranged laterally-The pilot and co-pilot sat next to one another. The option to arrange them linearly, with the pilots in a line towards the nose, was an option but rarely used by Starfleet pilots used to shuttlecraft and larger vessels. Shran preferred the linear mode-It prevented bumping your elbow against your co-pilot and gave you a better view. So he sat in the backseat, running through the pre-flight checks while Yuy acknowledged each one on the checklist. The little fighter began to warm up and rumble as the warpcore was brought online, and the antigravs hummed underneath them.
"And plasma injectors are green," Yuy finished, his voice muffled by his helmet over the comms, tapping the last few buttons to confirm. His hands rested on the console, and Shran could tell the ensign was glancing at the manual controls with more than a little trepidation.
"Something wrong, Ensign?" Shran asked.
"W-Well, sir... Uh... I've never used... The ships I had before didn't have... Joysticks," Yuy explained. "I know it was an option, but everyone else-"
"Everyone else in Starfleet handles ships that practically fly themselves," Shran stated simply. "This one is little different, but," and here he activated the thrusters, gently lifting the Peregrine off the gurneys and onto its antigravs, "our job requires us to feel the ship more organically."
The Peregrine taxied out of the hanger, onto the thermacrete runway. Large markings in paints were drawn all over it, indicating parking and landing areas. The holographic heads up display turned green, and offered arrows to point in the proper direction of travel. Shran maneuvered the fighter towards the proper runway, obeying the directions. Yuy shook his head again.
"It seems so... Er..."
"Old fashioned?" Shran asked. Yuy nodded.
"Sir," he replied. Shran chuckled.
"It's still Starfleet, Ensign," he emphasized. "We just do things a bit differently."
The HUD turned all green, and the comms channel beeped. Yuy checked it, and nodded.
"We are clear for take off... Uh, sir? One other thing?"
"Yes?" Shran asked, spooling up the thrusters to full power.
"Is there a reason the inertial dampeners are set to..." He nearly choked. "M-Minimum levels?!"
"Yes. Two very good ones, actually," Shran stated. "First, inertial dampeners lower the maneuverability of small starships. Keeping them on the minimum allows us to operate the ships to get every bit of performance we can out of them."
The ensign audibly gulped. "And... The second?"
Shran pushed the throttle to full. The thrusters roared behind them and the Peregrine lifted off-Very nearly straight up like the ancient rockets did. They ascended, screaming through the sandstorm and into the bright blue skies overhead, which soon parted for the vast darkness of space. And through it all, Shran had the ensign's screams filling his helmet.
"If you're hollering that loudly over the thrusters, you're never going to last when I hit impulse," Shran laughed.
It was always fun to break in the rooks.
- - -
Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine, Bajoran Sector
2370
The bar was lively and noisy. Filled with the sounds and smells of beverages and food from dozens of worlds. The dabo wheel spun in the background, sapient beings from across the Quadrant hooting, cheering and gasping at every outcome. Soft music from the promenade faintly reached Shran’s ears, as he paused at the entrance to take in the atmosphere and look around. He felt a faint smile curve his lips, his antenna rising to scan around through the diverse cacophony of lifeforms. Turns out, he didn’t need to look long.
“Commander!” A burly human with curly red hair in engineering gold stood up from his table, and waved at Shran. Shran’s smile grew into a grin, as he walked through the crowd in front of the bar to reach his friend. The man reached out to shake a hand… And Shran moved past it just to capture the human in a tight hug.
“O’Brien! How many damned times do I have to tell you-”
“I know, sir, I know,” Miles O’Brien laughed back, returning the hug with only a little awkwardness, “but I can’t just turn it off!”
“You and your love of protocol,” Shran huffed, slapping O’Brien on the shoulder with friendly force. O’Brien returned it, grinning back.
“I prefer to speak with actions, sir,” he replied. “After all, who owes who a bar of latinum?”
“I paid that in full with interest, Miles. You just seem to keep forgeting it,” Shran retorted goodnaturedly, lightly elbowing the engineer. The Irishman scoffed, his grin unshaken.
“Better than remembering it and denying it, sir,” he shot back, shoulder bumping Shran back. Shran threw his head back and laughed again, his antenna shaking in mirth.
“Ah… Hem…” A soft voice broke awkwardly. Shran and O’Brien looked across the table. A tall, gangly human in medical blue was sitting there, smiling self consciously. O’Brien nodded and gestured across the table.
“Commander Ther’in Shran, this is Doctor Julian Bashir. Chief Medical officer, Deep Space Nine. Julian, this is Commander Ther’in Shran: Old friend of mine. He commands the training base at Valo II that’s helping the Bajorans learn how to fly modern starships and the like.”
“A pleasure,” Bashir said, reaching across the table for a handshake. Shran took it, shaking hard to the point Bashir almost winced. Still, he held on, which immediately improved the stand of the reedy human in Shran’s eyes.
“Friend of O’Brien’s is a friend of mine,” Shran said decisively. He sat down, Miles following suit next to him. “What’s on tap?”
“Vithi beer, properly cold,” Miles said. He raised up a hand. “Quark! Bring it out!”
A Ferengi in a predictably eye scarring suit emerged from the bustle, holding a platter with three mugs covered in frost. He set it down with an oily smile.
“I’m Quark. I own this establishment. Anything I can get you, please, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said. He added a bowl of peanuts to the center. “Enjoy!” He bowed, and went off to continue his work. Bashir hid a smile, as O’Brien sighed. Shran glanced over at his friend.
“Polite, isn’t he?”
“It’s refreshing. Less time you spend with him, the better,” Miles opined. Bashir took a sip of his beer-And immediately began coughing, some frosted foam left on his upper lip.Shran laughed.
“New to Andorian beverages, Doctor?”
“I-hack-I knew it was chilled, I didn’t know it was frozen,” Bashir hacked out. Miles laughed, as Shran held his own mug up.
“Not quite. It’s below freezing, but the natural antifreeze keeps it liquid,” he explained. He drank it down, draining the mug in almost no time at all. He let out a breath of satisfaction, the concoction washing through him like a refreshing dip in a cold spring. “Haa… Not bad.”
“It’s best to let it warm up a little first,” Miles advised Bashir, who had wiped his face with a napkin. Shran chuckled.
“It’s best when it’s cold as possible, Chief!”
“I like it just fine when my tongue’s not been turned to ice,” Miles replied with a grin. “Now a good stout, that’s heaven.”
The two began debating various spirits they’d imbibed over the years, pros, cons, and embarrassing incidents that always make up drinking stories. Bashir mostly stayed quiet, trying not to seem like an upper class fop out of his element and nearly succeeding. It was silently decided between Miles and Shran to give the doctor a break, shifting over to personal backgrounds. Bashir eagerly took to the topic.
“...Which is when I decided Deep Space Nine would be my first assignment. Which is where I met the Chief here,” Bashir concluded his tale, one beginning with university rather than the start of his life as Shran had feared. The doctor gave them a smile. “So! How did you and the Chief meet?”
Shran let out a breath. It was easier when you knew the question was coming, after all.
“Setlik III,” said someone else. Shran and Miles looked up at the speaker. Another familiar face-A tall, dark skinned human man in command red. Shran allowed himself a smile, one the speaker returned.
“Hello Cal,” he said. Miles rose, a “sir” on his lips, but Calvin Hudson held out a hand.
“At ease, Chief. It’s a bar, not a bridge,” he said. He pulled up a fourth chair, calling for a drink from the strangely eager Ferengi waiter. He ordered the same Vithi beer as the others, and let it sit to warm.
“It’s been too long, Shran,” Cal said. Shran nodded.
“It has been,” he replied. Miles was studiously looking into his own drink. At length, the chief looked up and gave Cal a sympathetic, understanding look.
“I heard about your family, Commander. I’m sorry,” he said. Cal nodded back, and took a deep breath.
“Well… That’s what my assignment is all about: Preventing that from happening… Again.” He looked back at O’Brien. “Have you heard from Captain Maddox?”
“He’s doing all right in the penal colony,” Miles said quietly. He managed a forced smile. “He’s been organizing the work, improved efficiency of the maintenance crews 130 percent.”
Cal nodded back, an equally forced smile on his face. “Never could keep him down. I’ve heard he might be released early.”
“That’s great to hear,” Miles said, his smile less brittle. Bashir looked about as uncomfortable a man could look, but was trying his hardest not to look it. Shran sighed heavily, taking pity on him.
“Doctor, if you need to make your excuses-”
“Oh, no! No, not at all! I just, well, I… Don’t know much. About the Cardassian Wars,” he admitted, an honest answer. “Much less… Setlik III…” His eyes widened. “This… This is the anniversary of it. Isn’t it?” He looked around. Shran and Miles slowly nodded, while Calvin Hudson looked grimmer than usual.
“Yeah, it is,” Miles voiced the obvious.
Bashir glanced at Calvin. The lieutenant commander shook his head.
“I was an ensign on one of the relief ships, after…” He nodded to Shran. The Andorian took a deep breath, his antenna tensed as though looking for enemies.
“I suppose it would be nice… To get the story straight,” Shran said, trying for humor and failing. He took another pull of his refilled mug, letting the cold burn of alcohol wash over his senses. He set the mug down, but didn’t let it go as his eyes focused hard somewhere else. O’Brien had the same far away look.
“I was assigned to the Ibuki, a Curry-class carrier,” Shran said. “I was an ensign, a year out of flight school. We’d been doing routine operations: Disaster relief, planetary survey, a mapping expedition and anti-piracy patrol. Usual stuff. We’d gotten a few distress calls from ships, scared about the Cardies but they were all false alarms. Until this one…”
- - -
USS Ikubi, Curry-class Escort Carrier, NCC-42551
Setlik System
2357
The Curry-class was a member of the vast Excelsior-class variant family, so the corridors and rooms all seemed to call back to the times of Kirk, Sulu, and the other legends of Starfleet. Shran couldn’t help thinking of how they must have felt, when they were newly minted ensigns, sitting in a mission briefing. Did they feel the same mix of fear and anticipation? Did they also sit up, trying not to look like a nervous Zabathu trapped in a pen? He didn’t know.
His fellow pilots, most more experienced than him, were chattering away. Bustling and a bit rowdy. Frii’Kan Hshiu, a tall Betalgeusian, told a raunchy joke that left his Tellarite co-pilot, Agram, and his human wingman, Ivan Nikitovich, laughing hysterically. Selma Cronan, a human female senior survey pilot about to transfer out to a science ship in the Beta Quadrant, was rolling her eyes like the classmate who gets the joke but thinks its stupid. Hrwar Teton, a Caitian, was reviewing his PADD while his tail twitched in what might have been nerves. Eve Sharp, his senior human pilot with whom he flew their ship, was giving him an encouraging smile.
“Ease up,” she mouthed. His antenna twitched, and he sat at attention.
“Yessir,” he replied automatically. Her smile grew, and she reached out to bat his shoulder.
“I mean really ease up,” she insisted. “You’ll give the Skipper a run for his money at this rate.”
“Commander Turix is never stiff,” he replied instantly. Eve smirked, holding his gaze. Shran sank into the seat, trying to untense. Eve nodded.
“Little better,” she admitted. She glanced at the doors, seeing them open. She stood up. “Skipper on deck!”
The conversations and horseplay ended immediately, everyone on their feet and eyes up front. Commander Turix, a tall vulcan with a dark complexion, walked in. As usual for a briefing, he was in full flight gear-suit sealed up and ready, his helmet held by his side. He walked up to the front of the briefing room, and turned precisely to face them all. He nodded, his eyes sweeping the entire room’s complement.
“At ease,” he ordered, and everyone sat down. “We have received a garbled distress call from the Setlik III colony. We are due to enter orbit of the colony in the next twenty-two minutes, thirty-three seconds.” Turix looked to his padd, and pressed a few buttons. The display screen behind him changed, showing a tactical plot of the system. “Long range sensors have verified the presence of Cardassian warp signatures, with large areas of subspace jamming. Concentrated at the L1 and L4 points around Setlik III and its two moons. Enemy force composition is unknown: Operations and the science section suggest the presence of two capital vessels and multiple support vessels, perhaps as many as ten. We do know that ground forces have landed-The distress call specified as much. Communications were lost seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago, passive data links were lost ten seconds later.” Turix looked up, his serene expression mildly tensed.
“Based on previous encounters with the Cardassians at other border colonies, you can expect high usage of decoy probes and drones to conceal not just their numbers but to divide our fire. The Cardassians seldom engage our vessels without a numerical advantage, so the captain is already anticipating we will be outnumbered. The Miranda-class destroyer Gral has arrived and is accompanying us as escort: The New Orleans-class frigate Rutledge is enroute at maximum warp and will reach us two minutes, plus or minus thirty seconds after we arrive in high orbit over Setlik III. Our orders are to sweep the orbitals for enemy vessels and engage them, while providing overhead cover for relief forces to make their landings. Do not stray more than 300 thousand kilometers from the capital ships: Cardassians are reportedly good at ambushes. Challenge any vessel that enters the area:”
His voice became… Somewhat softer. “Do not fire until you have visually identified them, as there may be Federation civilian vessels attempting to enter to render aid to the colony. We have already lost several citizens today: I do not want any more Federation casualties.”
“Yessir,” the room replied, almost as one.
Turix looked directly at Shran, and he sat up a lot straighter. “Ensign Shran, you will be my co-pilot for this mission.”
Shran started, his jaw dropping. “Ah-Sir-That is-”
“Lieutenant Raines is still in sickbay from the injuries sustained in the survey mission over Camus II. Lieutenant Sharp has recommended your skills to me and I have found your performance record satisfactory.”
Shran nodded quickly. From the Commander, that was the Vulcan equivalent of high praise and he felt his nervousness ease off a bit. He found himself a bit annoyed by Eve’s smirk though.
“Any questions?” Turix asked the room at large. There were none. “Dismissed.”
- - -
Twenty minutes later, Shran was running through the final flight checks on Commander Turix’s own Peregrine-fighter, sitting in the middle of the large, through-deck hangar bay. He’d gone over everything at least three times, trying to divert his nerves into something productive. He looked up at the sound of a foot on the wing, and nodded in respect to the Vulcan commander.
“Sir. The preflight checks are complete and the outside inspections are finished. We are ready to go,” he reported in as even a tone as he could. Turix nodded.
“Good.” He glanced over Shran’s console, nodding again. “You completed the LCARS interface training, I see.”
“Yes sir,” Shran said, smiling a bit. “I’m sorry if the interface isn’t quite what the regs asked, but-”
“The regulations specify that the interface should be laid out for ease of use. You have done that to make yourself more efficient. Do not apologize,” Turix said, his monotone… A bit more gentle than usual? It was so difficult to tell with Vulcans. Shran nodded back.
“Thank you sir.”
Turix sat down in the front seat, fastening his helmet. “Comms check,” he said over the internal communications system.
“Comms online, showing green,” Shran replied, as the canopy slowly closed, sealing shut with a comforting, mechanical thunk. Turix ran through his own checks, his own screens showing green. The Vulcan commander’s helmet inclined-Almost like a nod to himself.
“Photon torpedoes?” Turix asked.
“Six Type VI loaded. Safeties on,” Shran reported.
“Good. Keep them locked until further notice-They’re too dangerous to let loose with allies in range,” Turix stated. Shran nodded, knowing the reason but repetition was the keystone of learning all this. Until it was made instinct, he wouldn’t be annoyed at being treated like the rookie he was.
“Ibuki, this is Bunyip Squadron,” Turix spoke to the comms, “Sehlat reporting. Ready to launch.”
“Bunyip squadron, you are cleared to launch. Launch when ready,” the operations officer replied. Ahead, the large clamshell hangar doors slowly parted, the forcefield keeping the atmosphere in glowing at the edges of the portal out into space. Ahead, they could see the blue white form of an M-class planet: Setlik III. And if Shran squinted slightly, he could see the outline of another Federation starship far ahead in a lower orbit.
“Sehlat, I’ve got visual on the Rutledge,” he reported. Turix nodded at his callsign.
“Acknowledged Icebreak. Once we’re out, establish IFF link and patch into sensor network,” he ordered. The Vulcan activated the thrusters on the new fighter, and took them out through the portal with only the mildlest of bumps and shakes. They shot out into the black, the shields of the Ibuki dropping just long enough to let them pass, before going right back up again. Shran was in a sea of sensor information, one he quickly sorted through to find a coherent picture.
“USS Rutledge is transporting away teams. No sign of Cardassian ships for ten thousand kilometers… Twenty thousand…Lot of jamming, stand by...” His sensors beeped, and he immediately zeroed in on the source of the report. “Contact bearing 078, mark 225. Speed, one quarter impulse, low energy output. Seems to be on a course for the colony.”
“Bunyip One, this is Bunyip Two,” Eve’s reassuring voice came over the comms link. “We see it too.”
“Hail them,” Turix ordered. Shran sent out a standard greeting, and frowned.
“No response,” he replied, adjusting himself in his seat. The Ibuki made another call.
“Ibuki to Bunyips One and Two, check it out. All other fighters, form a defensive perimeter around us,” the Ibuki’s captain ordered. Turix turned and hit full impulse power, the little fighter’s change in momentum pushing Shran back in his seat. He kept his eyes on the sensors, checking everything he could. He grimaced.
“There’s a lot of interference,” he said. “I can’t localize it.”
“Keep trying Shran. The attack is less than thirty minutes old, they couldn’t have gone far,” Turix ordered, adjusting their course a bit towards the bright star that was the contact. Out of the corner of his eye Shran could see Eve’s fighter-flying alongside.
The star grew into a boxy looking vessel-A Federation cargo hauler, and a fairly large one. Turix hailed them again.
“This is Commander Turix of the Federation starship USS Ibuki, identify yourselves,” Turix stated. There was nothing but silence. “Turix to unidentified vessel, respond.”
“Another contact, 210 degrees, mark 039-It’s above the Ibuki!” Shran shouted. The vessel in front of them exploded, the flash nearly blinding Shran and the shockwave striking their fighter across the bow like the slap of a giant. Turix struggled with the controls ahead as they spun away. Shran focused on the sensors-He saw new contacts emerging, from underneath the Federation cargo ship, headed right for-
“Bunyip 2! Lieutenant Sharps! Incoming! Bogies, incoming!” Shran shouted. The fighter continued to spin out, giving Shran only brief glimpses of what was happening. Brief snapshots he could never forget.
Dark, amber vessels with glowing red disruptor cannons flying out of the debris and plasma fires of the destroyed ship. Them closing on Eve’s fighter, which was already trying to evade. The same vessels opening fire, unleashing a merciless storm of disruptor fire. The fighter exploding, even as Eve shouted something over the comms-
“Lieutenant! Eve! EVE!” Shran bellowed. The sensors told him the full story, to underline the terrible flashes: Bunyip 2 was gone.
“All fighters, recall, recall! We are under attack! Repeat, this is Ibuki, we need support, we are under attack-!” The captain’s voice came over the comms.
“Ibuki, we respond,” Turix said. “Shran. Shran!” He raised his voice, and Shran’s eyes were dragged from the debris field that was… Was…
“Sir!” He managed. He looked at his screens. “Fighters closing on the Ibuki, from above and below!”
Turix engaged the impulse drive, racing after the Cardassian fighters. Already, numerous fighters were striking at the carrier-From above, while the fighters that had erupted from the transport were accelerating right at her. Only a few fighters had launched, and they were engaging the Cardassians as best they could. Shran briefly wondered why the Rutledge and the Gral weren’t helping, but the sensors revealed the obvious-Both vessels were exchanging fire with large, manta-shaped Cardassian cruisers.
The phasers, already charged, locked onto the nearest Cardassian fighter. Turix’s voice was even.
“Firing phasers,” he stated. The golden beams arced out, striking the fighter. It took the hit on its shields, which flickered out. Another phaser shot lanced through the fighter’s impulse drive, and a plasma explosion erupted from it. The whole vessel was soon consumed, and the other fighters broke out of the line of fire. Turix held back, seeing the fighters turning back towards him.
“Now,” he simply stated, impulse drives at full. He plunged straight for one of the Cardassian pilots, the other fighters attempting to circle around behind the Peregrine. Turix stayed on the course, a collision course. Shran gripping his controls tightly, trying to stay calm, knowing the commander was not suicidal-but who could tell beneath that Vulcan stoicism-?
“Breaking,” he stated, dodging out of the way of the disruptor shot. He swung the fighter around, keeping its nose pointed for the belly of the Cardassian fighter as they shot past. Shran pulled the trigger, and the fighter was raked with phaser blasts at close range. Shran didn’t see it, but the sensors confirmed the vessel erupted into fire as its impulse drives went up.
“Remaining fighters are closing,” Shran warned. Turix nodded.
“Acknowledged. Stand by,” he stated. The Ibuki began to grow in their viewscreen, larger and larger. Phaser and disruptor fire filled the sky as the starship and her flock engaged the swarming amber fighters. Shran saw the four fighters behind them accelerate even harder, their impulse engines burning brightly on his sensor panel.
“Sir, they’re-”
“I see them,” Turix said. He flipped the fighter around, letting momentum keep them moving as he lined up his shot. The fighters didn’t break-They just kept on accelerating as Turix fired phasers.
One beam lashed out, striking the fighter on the lower left. It immediately burst into flames, spinning out along the path of its momentum. The other three though dodged them with barely any effort. So easy to explode, so easy to destroy, but why? Why were these taking so little to destroy…?
“Ibuki to Bunyip 1, we’re launching more backup, stand by,” the captain’s voice spoke in their ears. It was at this moment though that Shran broke through the jamming… And saw just what the Cardassian fighters were carrying.
“No! Ibuki, don’t! Don’t! Keep your shields up-!” He called frantically, but it was too late.
Dozens of photon torpedoes erupted from the Cardassian fighters-An almost beautiful, but terrible display, like flowers blooming and then bursting into flames. Turix, trained on instinct, went to full reverse and tried to take them out of the maelstrom.
“Jam their tracking systems, Shran!” Turix ordered. Even in his shock, Shran fell back on his own training-Turning the deflectors of the little fighter to full, targeting the missiles with as much electromagnetic energy as he could to jam them, fry their circuits-
But they were too close. The photon torpedoes flew true, just as the Ibuki’s shields dropped to let loose another fighter into the conflict.
The first two slammed into the open hanger bay doors, exploding and engulfing the bay in flames. The ship shook as more torpedoes slammed into its secondary hull, many others flying uselessly by, and more explosions began to rock the vessel. From within, plasma fires erupted, shooting out of the bay doors like a great dragon erupting fire into space. Windows, hull sections, entire decks were blown from the sides of the ship, a nacelle hemorhaging plasma out into the vaccuum. Shran could see people-Bodies, twisted up like puppets caught in their strings, silently screaming.
The other Cardassian fighters let loose their own torpedoes, even as the Federation fighters kept firing on their adversaries, trying to protect their mortally wounded homebase. They too kept jamming away, even firing phaser shots to try and destroy them. It wasn’t enough.
The Ibuki bent in the center of its secondary hull, like a great beast convulsing in agony. Then, it split, the hull shattering as the warp core exploded into a massive fireball. Pieces of debris shot out like shrapnel, and Turix did everything he could to dodge the pieces. He went into dizzying manuevers, flipping the fighter every way he could imagine, the world outside a blur. They were being pelted by projectiles, the shield numbers dropping faster and faster. All the while, Turix continued calmly speaking to Shran.
“Shran, scan for survivors and escape pods. They won’t survive in this. Scan for-”
A piece of metal, like a jagged, twisted sword, slammed through the transparent aluminum canopy like it was made of paper-And right through Turix’s chest. The Vulcan convulsed, sputtering something in his helmet… And went still.
Shran vaguely recalled someone screaming. As though it was someone else. As though everything was a distant, bad dream. But the shuddering impact the Peregrine took from another piece of debris thrust him back into his body, and back into his present reality.
A reality where his ship had been destroyed. His mentor and friend was dead. His commander was dead, right in front of him. His fighter was spinning out of control, damaged, in a debris field. And his enemies…
He could see the fighters closing on him from above. They were locking weapons. He gripped his controls, hard. He tried to knock himself loose, but the Peregrine was tangled up in blackened framework that had belonged to the Ibuki: He could hit the impulse engines, but he would only succeed in ripping his fighter apart. He lifted his eyes, frantically, back up to the fighters. His hearts pounded, as his antenna twitched.
Was this it then? The moment he entered the Eternal Rest? The end of his mortal life and the beginning of another? In such an injustice? In such… An outrage?
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was cold and empty… Shran took deep breaths, not sure how long the life support would last or if it was one of the systems even still functioning. He looked back up at the enemy fighters. He gripped his trigger.
Not like this… Not like this… Not like this… Please… If anyone’s out there… If I am to die today, please… He bowed his head, shaking in rage and grief and despair, let them die first!
The sensors screamed about the weapons lock. Shran glared defiantly up through the canopy, as the Cardassian fighters loomed. He could just barely see the disruptors light up.
It was as though it was all in slow motion-The beams arcing right for him. He kept his eyes open, refusing to close them. Not now, not yet-!
A dark mass flew in front of the beams, taking the blast and shattering into more debris. Shran started, as everything was still moving in slow motion. He checked the sensors-The debris had intercepted the shots, shielding him. The blow had pushed against the Peregrine, jerking it loose from the wreckage of the Ibuki that had trapped it. He almost didn’t believe it.
But training took over, as his sensors blared a lockon warning. He hit the impulse drives, accelerating upwards out of the blasts. He was breathing hard, hearts pounding like drums against his chest, but his thoughts… His thoughts were calm.
Because he’d realized something. With the Ibuki destroyed… He had nothing left to lose.
“Papa Two,” He muttered out of habit into the comms, as he launched two photon torpedoes. He immediately went to full impulse, narrowly evading the phaser blasts from the other flight of enemy fighters. The three fighters from before broke in all directions, trying to evade. Shran had to divide his attention between these fighters and the other flight, but he was able to see the obvious-Two of them were slowed trying to dodge through the debris field. And those were the two his torpedoes locked onto.
He had to turn away and focus on the phaser fire from the opposing flight-He charged right for them, pushing the impulse drives to maximum. He didn’t get to see two of the ships that killed the Ibuki die-But the sensor contacts, showing their desperate, final attempts to escape the missiles were enough. Two shots… And two kills.
“Eight,” he muttered through a grim smile. The Cardassians ahead of him stayed in tight formation, trying to overwhelm him with disruptor shots. He responded by hitting his deflectors to full, beaming as much electromagnetic interference at the enemy ships as he could. He hoped it would throw their targeting off at close range.
He closed the distance, dodging right and underneath the wreckage of Ibuki’s warp nacelle, and locked torpedoes. He was within 10,000 meters, already knife fighting range, but kept charging. It was reckless, almost suicidal… 5,000 meters… 2,000...
But it worked, as the Cardassian commander was clearly not willing to call Shran’s bluff. The fighters broke, forming a flower petal as they tried to catch Shran’s Peregrine in a crossfire as he shot by. Shran had other ideas, and despite the straining protests of the spaceframe, he slammed on the impulse drives to vector his course right at the uppermost fighter. He stabbed phaser button like he was jamming a knife into his enemy’s heart: Orange beams of energy lashed out. One fighter exploded, point blank range rendering his shields little use. Shran targeted the next one, firing, and blew off the Cardassian’s impulse drive. It spun out of control into the debris, as his three fellow fighters attempted to pull around. They fired wildly, shots all over the place.
Shran spun the Peregrine around, letting his momentum carry him. He pumped more phaser shots into the fighters, who ascended with their noses points right at him. Against the protests of the impulse engines, he threw the fighter into a kind of arcing dive-Rotating to keep the nose right on his foes while the fighter “fell”. One shot by the Cardassians struck his port wing, the shields giving out and a chunk of his hull was torn away. He compensated with the thrusters, and let loose three more torpedoes. He then flipped around and went for full burn, another phaser hit by the Cardassians striking his fighter. The hull shook, shuddered… But stayed together.
Shran allowed himself to spin around again, and watch. Two of the fighters, dogged and determined, had charged into the torpedoes-And he got to see them go up into plasma fireballs, their wreckage spraying into the cloud of metal all around them. The third had already been pulling away, and dropped some kind of debris from tubes-Something to confuse the sensors.
The torpedo may have been fooled… If Shran hadn’t taken a hand, and sent a proximity detonation command.
The torpedo burst into a new, short lived star, the radiation washing over the Cardassian fighter. Its outer hull burned, cracked, and came apart like shattered glass. A second later, it’s own fusion reactor went up, leaving a cloud of molten metal to spin away into the abyss.
Shran’s breathing suddenly sounded very loud in his helmet. He was covered in sweat, his suit felt tight and hot. He was floating now-The artificial gravity seemed to be offline, along with a half dozen other systems. He looked out, around, at the debris field. He could still see bodies floating among the wreckage… Almost close enough to identify.
He shut his eyes tightly. He’d been saved… He’d done it. And while his crew was in the afterlife, he’d sent the bastards who’d killed them straight to Hell ahead of them.
He supposed he had nothing left to do then, but join them. Shran found himself letting go…
His console beeped urgently at him again. Shran opened his eyes and looked at the screens. The fighter from the first group, that had killed the Ibuki, wasn’t as dead as he’d thought it was. It was on the other side of the debris field, heavily damaged and trying to make a run for it. Shran’s hands found the controls again.
“One left,” he murmured. “One left…”
His hand rested over the impulse throttle-He’d need to get closer to make sure his last torpedo didn’t get confused in the clutter of the Ibuki’s grave.
“-ledge to any Federation starships, can you read us? Over! Repeat, USS Rutledge, to any ships-!”
Shran stared at the communications panel as though it was an alien thing. He hesitated for a moment, before he tapped the key.
“Rutledge, this is Bunyip 1. We-I hear you!”
“Thank God,” the man gasped. “This is Captain Maddox. We just barely took out the Cardies-Heavy damage sustained. What’s the condition of the rest of the fleet?”
“The… The Ibuki’s been destroyed,” Shran reported shakily. “I-I can’t find any other survivors. The Gral… I can’t find her, my sensors were damaged-”
“The Gral’s hiding in a nearby asteroid belt. They lost their warp drive from that sneak attack. We’re rendezvousing with them. We’ve got a plan, but the men on the surface need help to last that long. You’re the only asset in range.”
The enemy fighter was accelerating, getting through most of the debris field. Shran’s fingers twitched.
“Bunyip 1, do you read? You’re the only chance they’ve got!”
“... I... “ Shran hesitated. The man spoke again, more softly but just as firmly.
“Son… What’s your name?”
“... Shran. Ther’in Shran,” he murmured.
“I know… I know what you’re going through,” the man said. “That loss… You can’t wrap your head around it. You’re burning inside, but also hollow and cold and confused. I know. But we can’t let that stop us, son. We can’t let what happened to your crew, your friends, happen to anyone else. It’s going to be hard-The hardest thing you do-but you have to do it. There is no one else. Do you read me, son?”
Shran took a deep breath. The Cardassian fighter was nearly out of range now.
“... I read you, sir,” he said. He turned the Peregrine around, and set course for a low altitude recon orbit of Setlik III. “I read you.”
Even as he headed for the planet though, he still watched the fighter. Watched it until it vanished out of sensor range.
- - -
The table was silent. Bashir was quietly horrified. Miles’ own eyes were far away, but there was no mistaking where his mind was. And Calvin was cold, angry, and thoughtful-Looking dangerous.
“The Cardies had a few anti-spacecraft skimmers,” Shran said. “I had to dodge them for the next three days.”
Bashir gasped.
“Three days? All alone in…” Bashir trailed off. Shran nodded grimly.
“He was able to get in contact with me,” Miles contributed. “It was hell on the ground, but Shran was able to give us intel to get civilians to safety, find out where their forces were…” He took a long pull of his now warmed Vithi, and set down the mug with a loud clink. “Without him, we wouldn’t have survived an hour.”
“Wasn’t easy,” Shran said softly. His eyes turned to Miles. “... Especially with how you kept getting into trouble.”
Miles shook his head. “Had to drive the garrison out. It was the only way to get access to the comms relay. Besides… You could have refused to help.”
Shran looked back at his mug. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t.”
Silence fell again. Bashir’s commbadge chirped, and he started for a moment before tapping it.
“Bashir here.”
“Doctor, we have an injured dock worker we need you to treat,” a nurse stated over the communications device. Bashir nodded, and looked a strange mix of awkward, apologetic, and grateful to the three older men.
“Sorry. Duty calls. I…” He trailed off. Miles and Shran shook their heads.
“It’s all right,” Shran said. “Go.”
Bashir nodded, and took his tall, lanky form out the bar doors quickly. Miles shook his head, a bit of gallows humor in his smile.
“Poor kid couldn’t hide an emotion if his life depended on it,” he said. Shran chuckled.
“He’s a good friend. I’m glad,” he said. Miles snorted.
“More an annoyance who at least buys the first round,” he muttered. Calvin shook his head, chuckling a bit himself. It sounded hollow and unnatural though.
“Chief, I hate to do this but we need some privacy for a short bit,” he said seriously. Miles’ brow crinkled, but he nodded and got up.
“Not a problem sir. Need to stretch my legs anyway,” he replied. He walked out of the alcove towards the bar. Shran turned and looked at Calvin curiously.
“What is it?” Shran asked. Cal sighed, pressing his hands together.
“I was debating whether or not to approach you about this. Until I heard that story.” He looked up and locked his dark brown eyes onto Shran’s light blue ones. “Heard it again.”
“This is about your assignment in the Demilitarized zone,” Shran stated. Calvin nodded. Shran sighed and shook his head. “I told you before, Cal: This treaty is shav. I can’t be a part of enforcing it. It will never work. All it does is sell out our people so we can focus on the Borg.”
“I know,” Calvin said quietly, “and I agree with your assessment. The Cardies will never stop with just one colony, one world-The Bajorans are proof of that.”
Shran raised an eyebrow. “So what exactly are you doing in the Zone, then?”
Calvin smiled faintly. “Helping to… Organize the colonists. So that they aren’t helpless against the Cardassians. So they can defend themselves.”
“Sounds good,” Shran said quietly. “But a few hand phasers and plasma rifles aren’t going to be enough, are they?” He lifted his mug to his lips.
“Not with the Cardies giving their colonists weapons,” Calvin said. Shran paused his drink’s movement.
“... You can prove this?” He asked. Calvin growled.
“Not yet. But with some help…” He leaned back in his chair. “You have some leave coming up, right?”
“I always have leave coming up,” Shran said with a slight smirk. Calvin smirked back.
“So why not… Join me? For a little while.”
Shran slowly set his mug down. He fixed Calvin with a level gaze. “Calvin,” he said quietly, “I’m not a fool. I can see where this is going. And I know where it ends.”
Calvin stared back, just as levelly. “You don’t agree?”
Shran looked down at his mug. “In principle? I might,” he admitted. “In practice? I was at Wolf 359, Cal. I came in right after. I saw what they did.” He looked back at Calvin, his voice cool and controlled. “I can understand hard decisions. Decisions that cost you your honor. Cost you your dignity. For a larger, greater good.”
“If we don’t enforce the smaller goods, then what use are the greater goods?” Calvin hissed, getting angry. “Where’s the justice and honor in that?”
“I don’t disagree. It’s wrong. It’s wrong and it’s going to blow up in our faces one of these days,” Shran said slowly, eyes locked onto Calvin’s, “but when you’re out of the system, you lose any credibility you might have. When you take that final step, you’ve lost all the trust you’ve built with everyone you knew. And you shrink all your options down to two: Fight, or die.” He sipped his beer again, then slowly set it down. Calvin looked angrily down at his hands, then slowly back up at Shran.
“... Going to report me?” Calvin asked. Shran fixed the human with a long, silent look.
“... Over what? A friendly conversation?” Shran asked quietly. Calvin very slowly nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s all it is.”
“Of course,” Shran nodded. “And we can have many more in the future if you like.” He looked over at the bar where Miles had gotten into a mild argument with the Ferengi proprietor. “Chief! How about another round, on me?”
The Chief brought the drinks, and slowly, conversation turned to more light hearted topics: Calvin’s children, Miles’ little girl, Shran’s latest ex. There was much ribbing and some laughter, and Shran almost allowed himself to forget the look in Cal’s eyes. He was worried over nothing, wasn’t he? He’d left the door open for more talks. What was there to worry about?
It was a question he would ask himself many times in the coming months and years.
- - -
Outpost 444, Valo II, Bajoran Sector
2370
The planet was 'habitable' in the way a hot coffin might be considered a home. Underneath the burning yellow sun and its smaller, red companion, the desert winds of Valo II were kicked up to spread massive sandstorms. Even here in the northern reaches, where the world's small oceans with their bounty of algae kept the air breathable, it felt like a furnace.
Ther'in Shran, commander in Starfleet, bore the heat better than an Andorian should-His world was defined by the cold and the ice, kept warm partly by its sun and more by the gas giant it orbited tugging on the core. The heat of a sun was almost novel to them. Yet the tundra too was a desert, just of a different sort. And Andorians could deal with the harshest environments. It is why they became dominant on their world.
Yet rather than aspects of evolution and biology, Shran was considering the shapes in the oncoming storm-How the wind and air pressure pitched the dust and dirt into strange patterns across its front. He found his eyes tracing them, a faint smile on his lips as he almost leaned against the open hangar door to admire nature's fury. His helmet was snug and secure in his right arm, cradled like a newborn child, as he watched the outdoors.
"Commander?"
He didn't turn from his view. "Yes Ensign Yuy?"
He heard the young man shuffle his feet, nervous. "The Flight Plan has been processed, we're good to go."
Shran nodded. He turned his eyes away from the storm-He would see it again, soon enough. "Good. Let's see how you did on the visual inspection."
He strode across the hanger bay, long legs making Yuy struggle to keep up. He was a young human, out of the Martian colonies, ruddy faced with jet black hair and narrow, almond shaped eyes. A new recruit, still nervous around anyone outranking him or indeed, almost anyone else.
The hanger bay contained a number of fighters-Several lined up on the opposing wall were being tended by maintenance crews and checked out by their pilots. The great chamber echoed faintly from their activity, beeps and soft conversation and a bang from a tool forming a modest background. Their fighter was out, resting on power carts and struts. Shran walked around the vessel, experienced eyes sweeping the craft.
"Tell me the technical specifications," he ordered his ensign. Yuy looked about as enthused as anyone else would be at this, but got on with it quickly.
"AC-104 Peregrine-class courier-er, attack fighter," he recited. "14 meters long, mass 27 metric tons, armed with 3 type IV phaser banks, two microphoton torpedo tubes with 10 rounds each, cruise speed warp factor 4, maximum speed warp factor 6-"
"Enough," Shran ordered, and the ensign stopped in a verbal stumble. He nodded. "The basics, yes. Always decent to have if you're a ten year old boy muttering trivia. What do you know about flying her?"
"Uh... I did simulator training and the Academy training craft, sir," Yuy replied. Shran nodded, smiling. Yuy didn't return the smile. Good. It meant he had some inclination of what was to come.
"Then let's call that lesson one."
- - -
The Peregrine usually had its crew compartments arranged laterally-The pilot and co-pilot sat next to one another. The option to arrange them linearly, with the pilots in a line towards the nose, was an option but rarely used by Starfleet pilots used to shuttlecraft and larger vessels. Shran preferred the linear mode-It prevented bumping your elbow against your co-pilot and gave you a better view. So he sat in the backseat, running through the pre-flight checks while Yuy acknowledged each one on the checklist. The little fighter began to warm up and rumble as the warpcore was brought online, and the antigravs hummed underneath them.
"And plasma injectors are green," Yuy finished, his voice muffled by his helmet over the comms, tapping the last few buttons to confirm. His hands rested on the console, and Shran could tell the ensign was glancing at the manual controls with more than a little trepidation.
"Something wrong, Ensign?" Shran asked.
"W-Well, sir... Uh... I've never used... The ships I had before didn't have... Joysticks," Yuy explained. "I know it was an option, but everyone else-"
"Everyone else in Starfleet handles ships that practically fly themselves," Shran stated simply. "This one is little different, but," and here he activated the thrusters, gently lifting the Peregrine off the gurneys and onto its antigravs, "our job requires us to feel the ship more organically."
The Peregrine taxied out of the hanger, onto the thermacrete runway. Large markings in paints were drawn all over it, indicating parking and landing areas. The holographic heads up display turned green, and offered arrows to point in the proper direction of travel. Shran maneuvered the fighter towards the proper runway, obeying the directions. Yuy shook his head again.
"It seems so... Er..."
"Old fashioned?" Shran asked. Yuy nodded.
"Sir," he replied. Shran chuckled.
"It's still Starfleet, Ensign," he emphasized. "We just do things a bit differently."
The HUD turned all green, and the comms channel beeped. Yuy checked it, and nodded.
"We are clear for take off... Uh, sir? One other thing?"
"Yes?" Shran asked, spooling up the thrusters to full power.
"Is there a reason the inertial dampeners are set to..." He nearly choked. "M-Minimum levels?!"
"Yes. Two very good ones, actually," Shran stated. "First, inertial dampeners lower the maneuverability of small starships. Keeping them on the minimum allows us to operate the ships to get every bit of performance we can out of them."
The ensign audibly gulped. "And... The second?"
Shran pushed the throttle to full. The thrusters roared behind them and the Peregrine lifted off-Very nearly straight up like the ancient rockets did. They ascended, screaming through the sandstorm and into the bright blue skies overhead, which soon parted for the vast darkness of space. And through it all, Shran had the ensign's screams filling his helmet.
"If you're hollering that loudly over the thrusters, you're never going to last when I hit impulse," Shran laughed.
It was always fun to break in the rooks.
- - -
Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine, Bajoran Sector
2370
The bar was lively and noisy. Filled with the sounds and smells of beverages and food from dozens of worlds. The dabo wheel spun in the background, sapient beings from across the Quadrant hooting, cheering and gasping at every outcome. Soft music from the promenade faintly reached Shran’s ears, as he paused at the entrance to take in the atmosphere and look around. He felt a faint smile curve his lips, his antenna rising to scan around through the diverse cacophony of lifeforms. Turns out, he didn’t need to look long.
“Commander!” A burly human with curly red hair in engineering gold stood up from his table, and waved at Shran. Shran’s smile grew into a grin, as he walked through the crowd in front of the bar to reach his friend. The man reached out to shake a hand… And Shran moved past it just to capture the human in a tight hug.
“O’Brien! How many damned times do I have to tell you-”
“I know, sir, I know,” Miles O’Brien laughed back, returning the hug with only a little awkwardness, “but I can’t just turn it off!”
“You and your love of protocol,” Shran huffed, slapping O’Brien on the shoulder with friendly force. O’Brien returned it, grinning back.
“I prefer to speak with actions, sir,” he replied. “After all, who owes who a bar of latinum?”
“I paid that in full with interest, Miles. You just seem to keep forgeting it,” Shran retorted goodnaturedly, lightly elbowing the engineer. The Irishman scoffed, his grin unshaken.
“Better than remembering it and denying it, sir,” he shot back, shoulder bumping Shran back. Shran threw his head back and laughed again, his antenna shaking in mirth.
“Ah… Hem…” A soft voice broke awkwardly. Shran and O’Brien looked across the table. A tall, gangly human in medical blue was sitting there, smiling self consciously. O’Brien nodded and gestured across the table.
“Commander Ther’in Shran, this is Doctor Julian Bashir. Chief Medical officer, Deep Space Nine. Julian, this is Commander Ther’in Shran: Old friend of mine. He commands the training base at Valo II that’s helping the Bajorans learn how to fly modern starships and the like.”
“A pleasure,” Bashir said, reaching across the table for a handshake. Shran took it, shaking hard to the point Bashir almost winced. Still, he held on, which immediately improved the stand of the reedy human in Shran’s eyes.
“Friend of O’Brien’s is a friend of mine,” Shran said decisively. He sat down, Miles following suit next to him. “What’s on tap?”
“Vithi beer, properly cold,” Miles said. He raised up a hand. “Quark! Bring it out!”
A Ferengi in a predictably eye scarring suit emerged from the bustle, holding a platter with three mugs covered in frost. He set it down with an oily smile.
“I’m Quark. I own this establishment. Anything I can get you, please, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said. He added a bowl of peanuts to the center. “Enjoy!” He bowed, and went off to continue his work. Bashir hid a smile, as O’Brien sighed. Shran glanced over at his friend.
“Polite, isn’t he?”
“It’s refreshing. Less time you spend with him, the better,” Miles opined. Bashir took a sip of his beer-And immediately began coughing, some frosted foam left on his upper lip.Shran laughed.
“New to Andorian beverages, Doctor?”
“I-hack-I knew it was chilled, I didn’t know it was frozen,” Bashir hacked out. Miles laughed, as Shran held his own mug up.
“Not quite. It’s below freezing, but the natural antifreeze keeps it liquid,” he explained. He drank it down, draining the mug in almost no time at all. He let out a breath of satisfaction, the concoction washing through him like a refreshing dip in a cold spring. “Haa… Not bad.”
“It’s best to let it warm up a little first,” Miles advised Bashir, who had wiped his face with a napkin. Shran chuckled.
“It’s best when it’s cold as possible, Chief!”
“I like it just fine when my tongue’s not been turned to ice,” Miles replied with a grin. “Now a good stout, that’s heaven.”
The two began debating various spirits they’d imbibed over the years, pros, cons, and embarrassing incidents that always make up drinking stories. Bashir mostly stayed quiet, trying not to seem like an upper class fop out of his element and nearly succeeding. It was silently decided between Miles and Shran to give the doctor a break, shifting over to personal backgrounds. Bashir eagerly took to the topic.
“...Which is when I decided Deep Space Nine would be my first assignment. Which is where I met the Chief here,” Bashir concluded his tale, one beginning with university rather than the start of his life as Shran had feared. The doctor gave them a smile. “So! How did you and the Chief meet?”
Shran let out a breath. It was easier when you knew the question was coming, after all.
“Setlik III,” said someone else. Shran and Miles looked up at the speaker. Another familiar face-A tall, dark skinned human man in command red. Shran allowed himself a smile, one the speaker returned.
“Hello Cal,” he said. Miles rose, a “sir” on his lips, but Calvin Hudson held out a hand.
“At ease, Chief. It’s a bar, not a bridge,” he said. He pulled up a fourth chair, calling for a drink from the strangely eager Ferengi waiter. He ordered the same Vithi beer as the others, and let it sit to warm.
“It’s been too long, Shran,” Cal said. Shran nodded.
“It has been,” he replied. Miles was studiously looking into his own drink. At length, the chief looked up and gave Cal a sympathetic, understanding look.
“I heard about your family, Commander. I’m sorry,” he said. Cal nodded back, and took a deep breath.
“Well… That’s what my assignment is all about: Preventing that from happening… Again.” He looked back at O’Brien. “Have you heard from Captain Maddox?”
“He’s doing all right in the penal colony,” Miles said quietly. He managed a forced smile. “He’s been organizing the work, improved efficiency of the maintenance crews 130 percent.”
Cal nodded back, an equally forced smile on his face. “Never could keep him down. I’ve heard he might be released early.”
“That’s great to hear,” Miles said, his smile less brittle. Bashir looked about as uncomfortable a man could look, but was trying his hardest not to look it. Shran sighed heavily, taking pity on him.
“Doctor, if you need to make your excuses-”
“Oh, no! No, not at all! I just, well, I… Don’t know much. About the Cardassian Wars,” he admitted, an honest answer. “Much less… Setlik III…” His eyes widened. “This… This is the anniversary of it. Isn’t it?” He looked around. Shran and Miles slowly nodded, while Calvin Hudson looked grimmer than usual.
“Yeah, it is,” Miles voiced the obvious.
Bashir glanced at Calvin. The lieutenant commander shook his head.
“I was an ensign on one of the relief ships, after…” He nodded to Shran. The Andorian took a deep breath, his antenna tensed as though looking for enemies.
“I suppose it would be nice… To get the story straight,” Shran said, trying for humor and failing. He took another pull of his refilled mug, letting the cold burn of alcohol wash over his senses. He set the mug down, but didn’t let it go as his eyes focused hard somewhere else. O’Brien had the same far away look.
“I was assigned to the Ibuki, a Curry-class carrier,” Shran said. “I was an ensign, a year out of flight school. We’d been doing routine operations: Disaster relief, planetary survey, a mapping expedition and anti-piracy patrol. Usual stuff. We’d gotten a few distress calls from ships, scared about the Cardies but they were all false alarms. Until this one…”
- - -
USS Ikubi, Curry-class Escort Carrier, NCC-42551
Setlik System
2357
The Curry-class was a member of the vast Excelsior-class variant family, so the corridors and rooms all seemed to call back to the times of Kirk, Sulu, and the other legends of Starfleet. Shran couldn’t help thinking of how they must have felt, when they were newly minted ensigns, sitting in a mission briefing. Did they feel the same mix of fear and anticipation? Did they also sit up, trying not to look like a nervous Zabathu trapped in a pen? He didn’t know.
His fellow pilots, most more experienced than him, were chattering away. Bustling and a bit rowdy. Frii’Kan Hshiu, a tall Betalgeusian, told a raunchy joke that left his Tellarite co-pilot, Agram, and his human wingman, Ivan Nikitovich, laughing hysterically. Selma Cronan, a human female senior survey pilot about to transfer out to a science ship in the Beta Quadrant, was rolling her eyes like the classmate who gets the joke but thinks its stupid. Hrwar Teton, a Caitian, was reviewing his PADD while his tail twitched in what might have been nerves. Eve Sharp, his senior human pilot with whom he flew their ship, was giving him an encouraging smile.
“Ease up,” she mouthed. His antenna twitched, and he sat at attention.
“Yessir,” he replied automatically. Her smile grew, and she reached out to bat his shoulder.
“I mean really ease up,” she insisted. “You’ll give the Skipper a run for his money at this rate.”
“Commander Turix is never stiff,” he replied instantly. Eve smirked, holding his gaze. Shran sank into the seat, trying to untense. Eve nodded.
“Little better,” she admitted. She glanced at the doors, seeing them open. She stood up. “Skipper on deck!”
The conversations and horseplay ended immediately, everyone on their feet and eyes up front. Commander Turix, a tall vulcan with a dark complexion, walked in. As usual for a briefing, he was in full flight gear-suit sealed up and ready, his helmet held by his side. He walked up to the front of the briefing room, and turned precisely to face them all. He nodded, his eyes sweeping the entire room’s complement.
“At ease,” he ordered, and everyone sat down. “We have received a garbled distress call from the Setlik III colony. We are due to enter orbit of the colony in the next twenty-two minutes, thirty-three seconds.” Turix looked to his padd, and pressed a few buttons. The display screen behind him changed, showing a tactical plot of the system. “Long range sensors have verified the presence of Cardassian warp signatures, with large areas of subspace jamming. Concentrated at the L1 and L4 points around Setlik III and its two moons. Enemy force composition is unknown: Operations and the science section suggest the presence of two capital vessels and multiple support vessels, perhaps as many as ten. We do know that ground forces have landed-The distress call specified as much. Communications were lost seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago, passive data links were lost ten seconds later.” Turix looked up, his serene expression mildly tensed.
“Based on previous encounters with the Cardassians at other border colonies, you can expect high usage of decoy probes and drones to conceal not just their numbers but to divide our fire. The Cardassians seldom engage our vessels without a numerical advantage, so the captain is already anticipating we will be outnumbered. The Miranda-class destroyer Gral has arrived and is accompanying us as escort: The New Orleans-class frigate Rutledge is enroute at maximum warp and will reach us two minutes, plus or minus thirty seconds after we arrive in high orbit over Setlik III. Our orders are to sweep the orbitals for enemy vessels and engage them, while providing overhead cover for relief forces to make their landings. Do not stray more than 300 thousand kilometers from the capital ships: Cardassians are reportedly good at ambushes. Challenge any vessel that enters the area:”
His voice became… Somewhat softer. “Do not fire until you have visually identified them, as there may be Federation civilian vessels attempting to enter to render aid to the colony. We have already lost several citizens today: I do not want any more Federation casualties.”
“Yessir,” the room replied, almost as one.
Turix looked directly at Shran, and he sat up a lot straighter. “Ensign Shran, you will be my co-pilot for this mission.”
Shran started, his jaw dropping. “Ah-Sir-That is-”
“Lieutenant Raines is still in sickbay from the injuries sustained in the survey mission over Camus II. Lieutenant Sharp has recommended your skills to me and I have found your performance record satisfactory.”
Shran nodded quickly. From the Commander, that was the Vulcan equivalent of high praise and he felt his nervousness ease off a bit. He found himself a bit annoyed by Eve’s smirk though.
“Any questions?” Turix asked the room at large. There were none. “Dismissed.”
- - -
Twenty minutes later, Shran was running through the final flight checks on Commander Turix’s own Peregrine-fighter, sitting in the middle of the large, through-deck hangar bay. He’d gone over everything at least three times, trying to divert his nerves into something productive. He looked up at the sound of a foot on the wing, and nodded in respect to the Vulcan commander.
“Sir. The preflight checks are complete and the outside inspections are finished. We are ready to go,” he reported in as even a tone as he could. Turix nodded.
“Good.” He glanced over Shran’s console, nodding again. “You completed the LCARS interface training, I see.”
“Yes sir,” Shran said, smiling a bit. “I’m sorry if the interface isn’t quite what the regs asked, but-”
“The regulations specify that the interface should be laid out for ease of use. You have done that to make yourself more efficient. Do not apologize,” Turix said, his monotone… A bit more gentle than usual? It was so difficult to tell with Vulcans. Shran nodded back.
“Thank you sir.”
Turix sat down in the front seat, fastening his helmet. “Comms check,” he said over the internal communications system.
“Comms online, showing green,” Shran replied, as the canopy slowly closed, sealing shut with a comforting, mechanical thunk. Turix ran through his own checks, his own screens showing green. The Vulcan commander’s helmet inclined-Almost like a nod to himself.
“Photon torpedoes?” Turix asked.
“Six Type VI loaded. Safeties on,” Shran reported.
“Good. Keep them locked until further notice-They’re too dangerous to let loose with allies in range,” Turix stated. Shran nodded, knowing the reason but repetition was the keystone of learning all this. Until it was made instinct, he wouldn’t be annoyed at being treated like the rookie he was.
“Ibuki, this is Bunyip Squadron,” Turix spoke to the comms, “Sehlat reporting. Ready to launch.”
“Bunyip squadron, you are cleared to launch. Launch when ready,” the operations officer replied. Ahead, the large clamshell hangar doors slowly parted, the forcefield keeping the atmosphere in glowing at the edges of the portal out into space. Ahead, they could see the blue white form of an M-class planet: Setlik III. And if Shran squinted slightly, he could see the outline of another Federation starship far ahead in a lower orbit.
“Sehlat, I’ve got visual on the Rutledge,” he reported. Turix nodded at his callsign.
“Acknowledged Icebreak. Once we’re out, establish IFF link and patch into sensor network,” he ordered. The Vulcan activated the thrusters on the new fighter, and took them out through the portal with only the mildlest of bumps and shakes. They shot out into the black, the shields of the Ibuki dropping just long enough to let them pass, before going right back up again. Shran was in a sea of sensor information, one he quickly sorted through to find a coherent picture.
“USS Rutledge is transporting away teams. No sign of Cardassian ships for ten thousand kilometers… Twenty thousand…Lot of jamming, stand by...” His sensors beeped, and he immediately zeroed in on the source of the report. “Contact bearing 078, mark 225. Speed, one quarter impulse, low energy output. Seems to be on a course for the colony.”
“Bunyip One, this is Bunyip Two,” Eve’s reassuring voice came over the comms link. “We see it too.”
“Hail them,” Turix ordered. Shran sent out a standard greeting, and frowned.
“No response,” he replied, adjusting himself in his seat. The Ibuki made another call.
“Ibuki to Bunyips One and Two, check it out. All other fighters, form a defensive perimeter around us,” the Ibuki’s captain ordered. Turix turned and hit full impulse power, the little fighter’s change in momentum pushing Shran back in his seat. He kept his eyes on the sensors, checking everything he could. He grimaced.
“There’s a lot of interference,” he said. “I can’t localize it.”
“Keep trying Shran. The attack is less than thirty minutes old, they couldn’t have gone far,” Turix ordered, adjusting their course a bit towards the bright star that was the contact. Out of the corner of his eye Shran could see Eve’s fighter-flying alongside.
The star grew into a boxy looking vessel-A Federation cargo hauler, and a fairly large one. Turix hailed them again.
“This is Commander Turix of the Federation starship USS Ibuki, identify yourselves,” Turix stated. There was nothing but silence. “Turix to unidentified vessel, respond.”
“Another contact, 210 degrees, mark 039-It’s above the Ibuki!” Shran shouted. The vessel in front of them exploded, the flash nearly blinding Shran and the shockwave striking their fighter across the bow like the slap of a giant. Turix struggled with the controls ahead as they spun away. Shran focused on the sensors-He saw new contacts emerging, from underneath the Federation cargo ship, headed right for-
“Bunyip 2! Lieutenant Sharps! Incoming! Bogies, incoming!” Shran shouted. The fighter continued to spin out, giving Shran only brief glimpses of what was happening. Brief snapshots he could never forget.
Dark, amber vessels with glowing red disruptor cannons flying out of the debris and plasma fires of the destroyed ship. Them closing on Eve’s fighter, which was already trying to evade. The same vessels opening fire, unleashing a merciless storm of disruptor fire. The fighter exploding, even as Eve shouted something over the comms-
“Lieutenant! Eve! EVE!” Shran bellowed. The sensors told him the full story, to underline the terrible flashes: Bunyip 2 was gone.
“All fighters, recall, recall! We are under attack! Repeat, this is Ibuki, we need support, we are under attack-!” The captain’s voice came over the comms.
“Ibuki, we respond,” Turix said. “Shran. Shran!” He raised his voice, and Shran’s eyes were dragged from the debris field that was… Was…
“Sir!” He managed. He looked at his screens. “Fighters closing on the Ibuki, from above and below!”
Turix engaged the impulse drive, racing after the Cardassian fighters. Already, numerous fighters were striking at the carrier-From above, while the fighters that had erupted from the transport were accelerating right at her. Only a few fighters had launched, and they were engaging the Cardassians as best they could. Shran briefly wondered why the Rutledge and the Gral weren’t helping, but the sensors revealed the obvious-Both vessels were exchanging fire with large, manta-shaped Cardassian cruisers.
The phasers, already charged, locked onto the nearest Cardassian fighter. Turix’s voice was even.
“Firing phasers,” he stated. The golden beams arced out, striking the fighter. It took the hit on its shields, which flickered out. Another phaser shot lanced through the fighter’s impulse drive, and a plasma explosion erupted from it. The whole vessel was soon consumed, and the other fighters broke out of the line of fire. Turix held back, seeing the fighters turning back towards him.
“Now,” he simply stated, impulse drives at full. He plunged straight for one of the Cardassian pilots, the other fighters attempting to circle around behind the Peregrine. Turix stayed on the course, a collision course. Shran gripping his controls tightly, trying to stay calm, knowing the commander was not suicidal-but who could tell beneath that Vulcan stoicism-?
“Breaking,” he stated, dodging out of the way of the disruptor shot. He swung the fighter around, keeping its nose pointed for the belly of the Cardassian fighter as they shot past. Shran pulled the trigger, and the fighter was raked with phaser blasts at close range. Shran didn’t see it, but the sensors confirmed the vessel erupted into fire as its impulse drives went up.
“Remaining fighters are closing,” Shran warned. Turix nodded.
“Acknowledged. Stand by,” he stated. The Ibuki began to grow in their viewscreen, larger and larger. Phaser and disruptor fire filled the sky as the starship and her flock engaged the swarming amber fighters. Shran saw the four fighters behind them accelerate even harder, their impulse engines burning brightly on his sensor panel.
“Sir, they’re-”
“I see them,” Turix said. He flipped the fighter around, letting momentum keep them moving as he lined up his shot. The fighters didn’t break-They just kept on accelerating as Turix fired phasers.
One beam lashed out, striking the fighter on the lower left. It immediately burst into flames, spinning out along the path of its momentum. The other three though dodged them with barely any effort. So easy to explode, so easy to destroy, but why? Why were these taking so little to destroy…?
“Ibuki to Bunyip 1, we’re launching more backup, stand by,” the captain’s voice spoke in their ears. It was at this moment though that Shran broke through the jamming… And saw just what the Cardassian fighters were carrying.
“No! Ibuki, don’t! Don’t! Keep your shields up-!” He called frantically, but it was too late.
Dozens of photon torpedoes erupted from the Cardassian fighters-An almost beautiful, but terrible display, like flowers blooming and then bursting into flames. Turix, trained on instinct, went to full reverse and tried to take them out of the maelstrom.
“Jam their tracking systems, Shran!” Turix ordered. Even in his shock, Shran fell back on his own training-Turning the deflectors of the little fighter to full, targeting the missiles with as much electromagnetic energy as he could to jam them, fry their circuits-
But they were too close. The photon torpedoes flew true, just as the Ibuki’s shields dropped to let loose another fighter into the conflict.
The first two slammed into the open hanger bay doors, exploding and engulfing the bay in flames. The ship shook as more torpedoes slammed into its secondary hull, many others flying uselessly by, and more explosions began to rock the vessel. From within, plasma fires erupted, shooting out of the bay doors like a great dragon erupting fire into space. Windows, hull sections, entire decks were blown from the sides of the ship, a nacelle hemorhaging plasma out into the vaccuum. Shran could see people-Bodies, twisted up like puppets caught in their strings, silently screaming.
The other Cardassian fighters let loose their own torpedoes, even as the Federation fighters kept firing on their adversaries, trying to protect their mortally wounded homebase. They too kept jamming away, even firing phaser shots to try and destroy them. It wasn’t enough.
The Ibuki bent in the center of its secondary hull, like a great beast convulsing in agony. Then, it split, the hull shattering as the warp core exploded into a massive fireball. Pieces of debris shot out like shrapnel, and Turix did everything he could to dodge the pieces. He went into dizzying manuevers, flipping the fighter every way he could imagine, the world outside a blur. They were being pelted by projectiles, the shield numbers dropping faster and faster. All the while, Turix continued calmly speaking to Shran.
“Shran, scan for survivors and escape pods. They won’t survive in this. Scan for-”
A piece of metal, like a jagged, twisted sword, slammed through the transparent aluminum canopy like it was made of paper-And right through Turix’s chest. The Vulcan convulsed, sputtering something in his helmet… And went still.
Shran vaguely recalled someone screaming. As though it was someone else. As though everything was a distant, bad dream. But the shuddering impact the Peregrine took from another piece of debris thrust him back into his body, and back into his present reality.
A reality where his ship had been destroyed. His mentor and friend was dead. His commander was dead, right in front of him. His fighter was spinning out of control, damaged, in a debris field. And his enemies…
He could see the fighters closing on him from above. They were locking weapons. He gripped his controls, hard. He tried to knock himself loose, but the Peregrine was tangled up in blackened framework that had belonged to the Ibuki: He could hit the impulse engines, but he would only succeed in ripping his fighter apart. He lifted his eyes, frantically, back up to the fighters. His hearts pounded, as his antenna twitched.
Was this it then? The moment he entered the Eternal Rest? The end of his mortal life and the beginning of another? In such an injustice? In such… An outrage?
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was cold and empty… Shran took deep breaths, not sure how long the life support would last or if it was one of the systems even still functioning. He looked back up at the enemy fighters. He gripped his trigger.
Not like this… Not like this… Not like this… Please… If anyone’s out there… If I am to die today, please… He bowed his head, shaking in rage and grief and despair, let them die first!
The sensors screamed about the weapons lock. Shran glared defiantly up through the canopy, as the Cardassian fighters loomed. He could just barely see the disruptors light up.
It was as though it was all in slow motion-The beams arcing right for him. He kept his eyes open, refusing to close them. Not now, not yet-!
A dark mass flew in front of the beams, taking the blast and shattering into more debris. Shran started, as everything was still moving in slow motion. He checked the sensors-The debris had intercepted the shots, shielding him. The blow had pushed against the Peregrine, jerking it loose from the wreckage of the Ibuki that had trapped it. He almost didn’t believe it.
But training took over, as his sensors blared a lockon warning. He hit the impulse drives, accelerating upwards out of the blasts. He was breathing hard, hearts pounding like drums against his chest, but his thoughts… His thoughts were calm.
Because he’d realized something. With the Ibuki destroyed… He had nothing left to lose.
“Papa Two,” He muttered out of habit into the comms, as he launched two photon torpedoes. He immediately went to full impulse, narrowly evading the phaser blasts from the other flight of enemy fighters. The three fighters from before broke in all directions, trying to evade. Shran had to divide his attention between these fighters and the other flight, but he was able to see the obvious-Two of them were slowed trying to dodge through the debris field. And those were the two his torpedoes locked onto.
He had to turn away and focus on the phaser fire from the opposing flight-He charged right for them, pushing the impulse drives to maximum. He didn’t get to see two of the ships that killed the Ibuki die-But the sensor contacts, showing their desperate, final attempts to escape the missiles were enough. Two shots… And two kills.
“Eight,” he muttered through a grim smile. The Cardassians ahead of him stayed in tight formation, trying to overwhelm him with disruptor shots. He responded by hitting his deflectors to full, beaming as much electromagnetic interference at the enemy ships as he could. He hoped it would throw their targeting off at close range.
He closed the distance, dodging right and underneath the wreckage of Ibuki’s warp nacelle, and locked torpedoes. He was within 10,000 meters, already knife fighting range, but kept charging. It was reckless, almost suicidal… 5,000 meters… 2,000...
But it worked, as the Cardassian commander was clearly not willing to call Shran’s bluff. The fighters broke, forming a flower petal as they tried to catch Shran’s Peregrine in a crossfire as he shot by. Shran had other ideas, and despite the straining protests of the spaceframe, he slammed on the impulse drives to vector his course right at the uppermost fighter. He stabbed phaser button like he was jamming a knife into his enemy’s heart: Orange beams of energy lashed out. One fighter exploded, point blank range rendering his shields little use. Shran targeted the next one, firing, and blew off the Cardassian’s impulse drive. It spun out of control into the debris, as his three fellow fighters attempted to pull around. They fired wildly, shots all over the place.
Shran spun the Peregrine around, letting his momentum carry him. He pumped more phaser shots into the fighters, who ascended with their noses points right at him. Against the protests of the impulse engines, he threw the fighter into a kind of arcing dive-Rotating to keep the nose right on his foes while the fighter “fell”. One shot by the Cardassians struck his port wing, the shields giving out and a chunk of his hull was torn away. He compensated with the thrusters, and let loose three more torpedoes. He then flipped around and went for full burn, another phaser hit by the Cardassians striking his fighter. The hull shook, shuddered… But stayed together.
Shran allowed himself to spin around again, and watch. Two of the fighters, dogged and determined, had charged into the torpedoes-And he got to see them go up into plasma fireballs, their wreckage spraying into the cloud of metal all around them. The third had already been pulling away, and dropped some kind of debris from tubes-Something to confuse the sensors.
The torpedo may have been fooled… If Shran hadn’t taken a hand, and sent a proximity detonation command.
The torpedo burst into a new, short lived star, the radiation washing over the Cardassian fighter. Its outer hull burned, cracked, and came apart like shattered glass. A second later, it’s own fusion reactor went up, leaving a cloud of molten metal to spin away into the abyss.
Shran’s breathing suddenly sounded very loud in his helmet. He was covered in sweat, his suit felt tight and hot. He was floating now-The artificial gravity seemed to be offline, along with a half dozen other systems. He looked out, around, at the debris field. He could still see bodies floating among the wreckage… Almost close enough to identify.
He shut his eyes tightly. He’d been saved… He’d done it. And while his crew was in the afterlife, he’d sent the bastards who’d killed them straight to Hell ahead of them.
He supposed he had nothing left to do then, but join them. Shran found himself letting go…
His console beeped urgently at him again. Shran opened his eyes and looked at the screens. The fighter from the first group, that had killed the Ibuki, wasn’t as dead as he’d thought it was. It was on the other side of the debris field, heavily damaged and trying to make a run for it. Shran’s hands found the controls again.
“One left,” he murmured. “One left…”
His hand rested over the impulse throttle-He’d need to get closer to make sure his last torpedo didn’t get confused in the clutter of the Ibuki’s grave.
“-ledge to any Federation starships, can you read us? Over! Repeat, USS Rutledge, to any ships-!”
Shran stared at the communications panel as though it was an alien thing. He hesitated for a moment, before he tapped the key.
“Rutledge, this is Bunyip 1. We-I hear you!”
“Thank God,” the man gasped. “This is Captain Maddox. We just barely took out the Cardies-Heavy damage sustained. What’s the condition of the rest of the fleet?”
“The… The Ibuki’s been destroyed,” Shran reported shakily. “I-I can’t find any other survivors. The Gral… I can’t find her, my sensors were damaged-”
“The Gral’s hiding in a nearby asteroid belt. They lost their warp drive from that sneak attack. We’re rendezvousing with them. We’ve got a plan, but the men on the surface need help to last that long. You’re the only asset in range.”
The enemy fighter was accelerating, getting through most of the debris field. Shran’s fingers twitched.
“Bunyip 1, do you read? You’re the only chance they’ve got!”
“... I... “ Shran hesitated. The man spoke again, more softly but just as firmly.
“Son… What’s your name?”
“... Shran. Ther’in Shran,” he murmured.
“I know… I know what you’re going through,” the man said. “That loss… You can’t wrap your head around it. You’re burning inside, but also hollow and cold and confused. I know. But we can’t let that stop us, son. We can’t let what happened to your crew, your friends, happen to anyone else. It’s going to be hard-The hardest thing you do-but you have to do it. There is no one else. Do you read me, son?”
Shran took a deep breath. The Cardassian fighter was nearly out of range now.
“... I read you, sir,” he said. He turned the Peregrine around, and set course for a low altitude recon orbit of Setlik III. “I read you.”
Even as he headed for the planet though, he still watched the fighter. Watched it until it vanished out of sensor range.
- - -
The table was silent. Bashir was quietly horrified. Miles’ own eyes were far away, but there was no mistaking where his mind was. And Calvin was cold, angry, and thoughtful-Looking dangerous.
“The Cardies had a few anti-spacecraft skimmers,” Shran said. “I had to dodge them for the next three days.”
Bashir gasped.
“Three days? All alone in…” Bashir trailed off. Shran nodded grimly.
“He was able to get in contact with me,” Miles contributed. “It was hell on the ground, but Shran was able to give us intel to get civilians to safety, find out where their forces were…” He took a long pull of his now warmed Vithi, and set down the mug with a loud clink. “Without him, we wouldn’t have survived an hour.”
“Wasn’t easy,” Shran said softly. His eyes turned to Miles. “... Especially with how you kept getting into trouble.”
Miles shook his head. “Had to drive the garrison out. It was the only way to get access to the comms relay. Besides… You could have refused to help.”
Shran looked back at his mug. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t.”
Silence fell again. Bashir’s commbadge chirped, and he started for a moment before tapping it.
“Bashir here.”
“Doctor, we have an injured dock worker we need you to treat,” a nurse stated over the communications device. Bashir nodded, and looked a strange mix of awkward, apologetic, and grateful to the three older men.
“Sorry. Duty calls. I…” He trailed off. Miles and Shran shook their heads.
“It’s all right,” Shran said. “Go.”
Bashir nodded, and took his tall, lanky form out the bar doors quickly. Miles shook his head, a bit of gallows humor in his smile.
“Poor kid couldn’t hide an emotion if his life depended on it,” he said. Shran chuckled.
“He’s a good friend. I’m glad,” he said. Miles snorted.
“More an annoyance who at least buys the first round,” he muttered. Calvin shook his head, chuckling a bit himself. It sounded hollow and unnatural though.
“Chief, I hate to do this but we need some privacy for a short bit,” he said seriously. Miles’ brow crinkled, but he nodded and got up.
“Not a problem sir. Need to stretch my legs anyway,” he replied. He walked out of the alcove towards the bar. Shran turned and looked at Calvin curiously.
“What is it?” Shran asked. Cal sighed, pressing his hands together.
“I was debating whether or not to approach you about this. Until I heard that story.” He looked up and locked his dark brown eyes onto Shran’s light blue ones. “Heard it again.”
“This is about your assignment in the Demilitarized zone,” Shran stated. Calvin nodded. Shran sighed and shook his head. “I told you before, Cal: This treaty is shav. I can’t be a part of enforcing it. It will never work. All it does is sell out our people so we can focus on the Borg.”
“I know,” Calvin said quietly, “and I agree with your assessment. The Cardies will never stop with just one colony, one world-The Bajorans are proof of that.”
Shran raised an eyebrow. “So what exactly are you doing in the Zone, then?”
Calvin smiled faintly. “Helping to… Organize the colonists. So that they aren’t helpless against the Cardassians. So they can defend themselves.”
“Sounds good,” Shran said quietly. “But a few hand phasers and plasma rifles aren’t going to be enough, are they?” He lifted his mug to his lips.
“Not with the Cardies giving their colonists weapons,” Calvin said. Shran paused his drink’s movement.
“... You can prove this?” He asked. Calvin growled.
“Not yet. But with some help…” He leaned back in his chair. “You have some leave coming up, right?”
“I always have leave coming up,” Shran said with a slight smirk. Calvin smirked back.
“So why not… Join me? For a little while.”
Shran slowly set his mug down. He fixed Calvin with a level gaze. “Calvin,” he said quietly, “I’m not a fool. I can see where this is going. And I know where it ends.”
Calvin stared back, just as levelly. “You don’t agree?”
Shran looked down at his mug. “In principle? I might,” he admitted. “In practice? I was at Wolf 359, Cal. I came in right after. I saw what they did.” He looked back at Calvin, his voice cool and controlled. “I can understand hard decisions. Decisions that cost you your honor. Cost you your dignity. For a larger, greater good.”
“If we don’t enforce the smaller goods, then what use are the greater goods?” Calvin hissed, getting angry. “Where’s the justice and honor in that?”
“I don’t disagree. It’s wrong. It’s wrong and it’s going to blow up in our faces one of these days,” Shran said slowly, eyes locked onto Calvin’s, “but when you’re out of the system, you lose any credibility you might have. When you take that final step, you’ve lost all the trust you’ve built with everyone you knew. And you shrink all your options down to two: Fight, or die.” He sipped his beer again, then slowly set it down. Calvin looked angrily down at his hands, then slowly back up at Shran.
“... Going to report me?” Calvin asked. Shran fixed the human with a long, silent look.
“... Over what? A friendly conversation?” Shran asked quietly. Calvin very slowly nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s all it is.”
“Of course,” Shran nodded. “And we can have many more in the future if you like.” He looked over at the bar where Miles had gotten into a mild argument with the Ferengi proprietor. “Chief! How about another round, on me?”
The Chief brought the drinks, and slowly, conversation turned to more light hearted topics: Calvin’s children, Miles’ little girl, Shran’s latest ex. There was much ribbing and some laughter, and Shran almost allowed himself to forget the look in Cal’s eyes. He was worried over nothing, wasn’t he? He’d left the door open for more talks. What was there to worry about?
It was a question he would ask himself many times in the coming months and years.
- - -
