6
Kevia Turner suppressed the urge to issue an annoyed retort and reminded herself that diplomacy with a strained ally was much different than it would be if it was with a world one hoped to become allies with. In the latter case, it was a matter of putting on a pleasant face and showing them the benefits to their world should they wish to join. In the present situation, it was a matter of evaluating the current state of the alliance, assess the degrees to which her own side at the table had failed to deliver their promises, and try to find an angle that would make salvaging the alliance possible. She was finding this difficult on all counts.
Her and her portion of the away team were seated around a table, along with High Chancellor Tarim and three other high ranking government officials, each of whom had wasted no effort to needle her for the failings of the Federation since late in the Dominion War—and these were the officials who claimed to be on the side of keeping their membership with the Federation. Despite the heated nature of the meeting, the Gourans had offered no insult through their choice of food. Their plates were full, with a meat that reminded her of pork, in a spicy sweet sauce that Ipesh Nod had couldn’t stop complimenting them on. There was also some form of vegetable she couldn’t identify, but enjoyed due to the fact that it had a flavor that reminded her somewhat of pistachios, and a white food that could only be mashed potatoes and gravy. They had also been served with a drink that was clearly an intoxicant, and was definitely not synthehol.
“Commander Turner,” said Tarim, “We were forced to make four separate attempts over three weeks to contact the Federation about the disease that’s ravaging our planet before anyone with any clout whatsoever bothered to contact us back. That was time when our people were dying in numbers that were entirely unchecked.”
“Chancellor,” Turner started, “We fully acknowledge that the Federation’s resources are strained at the moment…”
“At the moment?” one of the advisors asked in such a loud voice that it was practically a shout. “We provided you with our people and resources to bolster your military during the Dominion War. We lost many Gourans on the front lines…”
“As did every member world,” Turner reminded them.
“Nevertheless,” the Gouran continued, “We have continually provided more to the Federation than we have received in the services that are guaranteed to us by the charter signed by all sides.”
“Again, we understand your frustrations, but recovery from the war has been slow and taxing, but we’re here right now to help. We’ve already provided you with the cure to the disease, and we’re also here to try and figure out what else Starfleet can do to make amends,” Turner said, the annoyance in her voice rising to the surface.
“Regardless, you come here wondering why our world is considering what was once unthinkable—leaving the United Federation of Planets!” Tarim said.
“Chancellor, would you mind terribly much if we took a recess. While we appreciate your hospitality and the quality of the food you’ve provided, I don’t think we’re covering any new ground right now, and I think we’d both benefit from a break.”
Tarim sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. You have yet to offer any real incentive for staying in the Federation while we have yet to provide you with a list of demands. Perhaps we can reconvene in a few hours.”
“I think that might be best,” Turner said.
The Gourans rose from the table in unison. Tarim began moving toward the door, and then the other three followed him, each lining up behind the individual immediately outranking him.
Once they had left the room, Turner rose and began walking toward the room’s exit. “Well, that could have gone better,” she said.
“Commander,” said Nod, “Given the level of anger they have toward us, what if there isn’t a way for us to stop them from leaving the Federation?”
“I have to agree,” said Tavika, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Nod. “I’ve faced down Cardassians in battle who had better things to say about the Federation than they do.”
Turner tapped her combadge. “Turner to Horizon.”
There was no response. She did it again and was met with the same result. “Turner to Bashir.” Still silence.
“I don’t like this,” Turner said.
Nod pulled his phaser, as did the two security officers accompanying them. “Provided that the Horizon is still in orbit, the only reason communications would be down is if there’s a suppression field in effect.”
“All right, we need to be very calm and exit this building. Who knows how big their suppression field might be, but we need to try and find a way out from under it so we can contact the ship.”
“I agree,” Tavika said. “But I’m not sure we’re going to be able to do it without calling attention to ourselves.”
Turner exited the room to find the anteroom empty. Beyond that, the hallway that led to the main stairway down was not so empty, and the ones there to meet them were not the Gourans she was expecting. The figures carried disruptors and wore bulky insulated encounter suits, with metal helmets that included faceplates. “Breen,” she breathed.
Nod and his two security officers immediately raised their phasers. The hostile response was mirrored by the Breen immediately. Both groups stood facing each other silently in the hallway, weapons raised.
And then one of the Nod’s security team broke the stalemate and fired. The bream struck the Breen soldier crumpled to the floor, likely dead. The cryo-suit punctured, she could smell ammonia gas leaking out.
The Breen responded to the assault immediately, firing upon the security officer. Green bolts fired true found their mark. The security officer, who’s name Turner had not even bothered to learn, fell against the wall, and then vanished over several seconds as the intense energy reduced him to ashes from the inside out.
“Surrender,” one of the Breen said. Its voice was a metallic screech that was completely devoid of compassion. “Or the same will happen to the rest of you”
* * *
“Captain, a suppression field just went up over the capital city,” Ch’qahrok said.
Sheppard snapped to attention and rose from his seat. “Can you lock onto the away teams with the transporter?”
“Negative,” Ch’qahrok responded. “Communications with the surface and transporters are both jammed.”
“Hail the Gouran government. I want answers.”
“No response,” said Goetz from the Comm console.
“Captain, the energy distortions we picked up early has started moving toward us,” Ch’qahrok said.
So this was it, Sheppard thought. They’re making their move. “Flood the area with a tachyon burst. Let’s find out what we’re up against. Enhance the main viewer to show what we pick up.”
Ch’qahrok entered in some commands on his console. The viewscreen shifted to the view of the moon. A moment later, three objects appeared, each of them roughly oval in shape. “Captain, there are definitely three cloaked ships approaching.”
“Red alert! Shields up! Open up hailing frequencies.”
Ch’qahrok nodded from his console.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“This is the Federation starship Horizon to unknown vessels. We know you’re there and demand an explanation for your presence here.”
“No response,” Ch’qahrok said. “They’re closed to seventy thousand kilometers.”
Sheppard looked to Lieutenant Reese, the young man with sandy blond hair who was manning the tactical console in Tavika’s absence. “Fire a spread of torpedoes near those cloaked chips. Detonate half a kilometer away from their positions.”
Reese nodded and keyed his console. A moment later three torpedoes flew from the Horizon and raced toward the three cloaked ships. They exploded a moment later and Sheppard could vaguely see the outline of the vessels on the viewscreen.
“They’re dropping their cloaks,” Ch’qahrok said.
The three shapes shimmered, and the resolved into the dark forms that were unmistakably Breen warships.
“Breen warships, this is Captain Sheppard of the USS Horizon. You are in violation of Federation space. Explain your presence or we will be forced to fire upon you.”
“Captain,” said Reese, “Each one of these ships would be formidable against this ship. I don’t think we can survive a fight against three of them.”
“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant,” Sheppard said. “Nevertheless, it’s our job to defend Federation space… for so long as it still belongs to the Federation.”
One of the ships pulled out ahead of the others and fired a barrage of disrupter beams and torpedoes.
The Horizon rocked violently as the attacks found their mark.
“Lieutenant, fire at will. Hernandez, evasive maneuvers!”
“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman.
The ship rocked again as more attacks found their mark. Sheppard could smell smoke coming in through the ventilation.
“Shields down to sixty percent!” Reese shouted.
“Any damage to the enemy vessels?” Sheppard asked.
“Negligible,” Reese said.
“Concentrate all firepower on the lead vessel’s warp engines. Hernandez, switch to Evasive Pattern Delta.”
Both officers executed his commands, and Sheppard could feel the ship shift as the inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the ship’s change in course.
The ship shook again.
“Damage report!” Sheppard called out.
“Shields down to forty-five percent. Minor hull breaches on decks three, seven, and twelve. Still awaiting casualty reports… all systems still functioning.”
“Damage to the lead ship?” Sheppard asked.
“It’s taking a beating, sir,” said Reese. “Its shields are down to fifteen percent and it’s venting drive plasma into space.”
“Keep firing at it,” Sheppard said.
The Horizon rocked as another volley of torpedoes found their mark. The lights dimmed as the tactical console exploded, flinging Reese onto the lower level.
Sheppard looked at the fallen Lieutenant. A piece of his console protruded from his neck and blood was leaking onto the blue carpet.
“Ch’qahrok, reroute the tactical control to your station and keep firing!”
“Aye, sir,” said the Andorian.
One of the ensigns who had been manning a station knelt down next to Reese and applied direct pressure to stop the bleeding. She felt the Lieutenant’s neck. “Captain, he’s dead.”
On the viewscreen, Sheppard could clearly see that the lead ship was in dire shape. Green drive plasma vented into space from two hull breaches while fire was visible from half a dozen others damaged locations on the ship. A moment later there was a flash, and that ship exploded.
“Lead ship is destroyed,” Ch’qahrok said. “But we can’t stand much more of this. Shields are down to ten percent.”
“Hernandez, vent drive plasma into space surrounding the ship and then lay on a course to take us behind the moon.”
“Aye, sir,” said Hernandez.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the merciless pounding from the Breen stopped.
“Captain, they’re hailing us,” Ch’qahrok said. “Audio only.”
“Put them on. Let them tell us what this is all about.”
“Starfleet vessel,” came the screeching metallic voice of a Breen’s vocoder. “This is Thot Sar of the L’Chan. You are the ones encroaching on space claimed by the Breen Confederacy. Your vessel is severely damaged. Surrender and prepare to be boarded.”
“Breen vessel,” Sheppard replied, “We do not recognize your claim to this world and we will neither surrender nor allow you to board.”
“Then you have chosen to die,” said the Breen.
“They’ve closed hailing frequencies,” Ch’qahrok said.
Both remaining Breen ships began firing on the Horizon again.
“Ch’qahrok, ignite the drive plasma. Hernandez, warp one along the course you laid in.”
The viewscreen suddenly shifted to brilliant red. A moment later it showed only black as the ship jumped to warp. Just over a second later, the ship dropped back out of faster than light speed. The ship shook again.
“Captain, shields have completely failed and the warp drive is offline,” Ch’qahrok said.
“Damn. We’re sitting ducks. Can you tell if the Breen bought it?”
“They are not pursuing at this time,” the Andorian replied.
“Well,” said Sheppard, “At least there’s that… How long until we can get the engines back online?”
“Engineering is reporting that we’re looking at three hours minimum. Impulse engines are down to thirty percent as well,” the Andorian said.
The bridge lights went dark for a moment. Sheppard waited for emergency power to kick in, then dim lights kicked on and illuminated the bridge.
“Main power is also down. Emergency power is online.”
“Casualties?”
“Sickbay is reporting that five crewmembers were killed in the fighting, and twelve others are being treated for injuries.”
“So we’re dead in the water, we seem to have lost Gour II, and if we don’t get this ship repaired fast, we’re as good as dead ourselves,” Sheppard said. He realized, for the Breen, this wasn’t simply about taking a world away from the Federation. They had accomplished that before their arrival. No, for them, this was about facing a Starfleet ship head-on, blowing it out of the sky, and then gloating about what they had done. The entire thing had been carefully orchestrated well before their arrival, and the Gourans were clearly a party to it. “Please let me know if there’s any other way we could possibly screw up our first mission.”
* * *
Adriana Cunha walked along behind Bashir and Cruz, the Breen surrounding them. There was no point in trying to resist at this point. She felt the cold lump of plastic and steel inside her uniform in the small of her back. The one thing she had managed to do before being taken into custody was hide the Breen device they had stolen from the production facility. She wasn’t certain if she would be able to dig any information out of it, and if she could, if it would be worthwhile, but it was still some small item to protect as they were taken into custody.
They were led out of the warehouse where they’d been arrested and marched through the street. The Breen were operating in the open here. Perhaps Gour II had been lost to the Federation far in advance of their arrival.
The Breen led them away from the capital building and into a square. She saw another group of Breen already standing there, along with four others in Starfleet uniforms. It was Turner, Nod, Tavika, and one member of their security detail. One of their numbers was missing, and given the way they’d been treated thus far, she didn’t hold out much hope for his survival.
The Breen marched Bashir’s group toward the others from the Horizon. Once there, they had them stand together.
“I’m guessing this means our mission is a failure,” Bashir remarked.
“We’re still alive,” Turner said. She looked at the remaining member of her security detail. “Most of us, anyway.”
The Breen surrounded them, but stopped moving them. A crowd of Gourans had formed around them and they were growing increasingly agitated, yelling and holding signs protesting the Federation.
This went on for over a minute, Cunha felt the fear growing inside her. If they were simply being arrested, wouldn’t they have walked them to their cells by now? No, this was a public spectacle, and it was growing increasingly hostile. There were only a few ways this could progress from here. The Gourans might decide to put some trumped up charges on them, formally accuse them, and then march them off to their holding cells—this would probably be the ideal situation. The next possibility was that they were going to be executed on the spot—somehow this seemed the most likely. Finally, someone might come to their rescue—this was seeming increasingly unlikely. She didn’t know what the Horizon was doing right now, but it was clearly unable to help them in this situation.
The crowd slowly began to quiet and it parted around a single figure that was walking toward them. The figure was older, with silver hair cut in a bowl shape. It was Tarim. The High Chancellor was clearly involved in this.
The Chancellor continued moving toward them until he reached the front of the crowd. He looked them over, then looked to the Breen and smiled.
“Citizens of Gour,” he said as he turned to face the crowd. “Before you are the criminals… our supposed allies, who stood by for months while our people died of a virus… a virus for which they had a cure.”
He paused while the crowd became agitated again. “Kill Starfleet!” someone yelled from the back. Tarim waited while the call to end their lives swept through the crowd and became a chant.
“Before you are those who would do nothing in the face of our suffering. Why? Because they were too busy… Too busy to help the dying on our poor, forgotten, world. The Federation turned its back on us.”
“We never turned our back on you!” Turner shouted defiantly into the crowd. “We came here as soon as we could to help. We want to help you.”
“A likely story,” Tarim said. “But if we mattered so much to you, we would have had the retrovirals months ago. Before close to a million of our people died while Starfleet looked the other way.”
Bashir shouted back. “You accuse us of not caring about you, yet once we received the genetic data on the virus, we began synthesizing a cure. We had to analyze it and figure out a treatment that wouldn’t be dangerous to your biology. Had we rushed here with it, we could have unleashed something far more dangerous than the plague you faced. We couldn’t have brought it to you any faster!”
“So you insist,” Tarim said. “But that rings hollow in my ears. Like many of those around you, I lost people who were important to me. I lost my oldest child. I lost my beloved wife. These were people who could have been saved if the Federation had simply decided that we were important enough to save.”
Turner’s voice broke over the noise of the crowd. “Enough of this. We’ve already had this conversation with you. What do you intend to do with us?”
“Do with you?” asked Tarim. “Very simple. We intend to make you pay for your neglect. We’re going to subject you to the same suffering we have faced, and when we’re done doing that, you will die.”
To Be Continued in First Command Part 2…