Derek58
Rocket Punch is Best Punch
- Location
- Getter Valhalla
Let's just forget about her.
To Boldly Go... (a Starfleet quest)
- Thread starter OneirosTheWriter
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
-
- Tags
- star trek exploration fully automated luxury gay space communism top level canon #hashtagcontent all-encompassing space amoeba cardassian boy bands cardassian magical girls darkest bureaucracy debate makes the qm cackle like palpatine hoh is an empire quest it has to be foreign infiltrators more ships ship happens singers delenda est starfleet this is not an empire quest ur waifu is collective?
UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
We could invite representatives from all Yrillian factions to round-table negotiations.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Where do you plan on hosting them, a Dyson Sphere?
If we consider that each military ship in Star Trek is a WMD and Star Trek space combat is basically sub combat, there are even more reasons to be cautious.
Even if the Cardassians attack Starfleet and wipe out 90% of the fleet, the remaining 10% could still inflict ruinous harm on the Cardassian worlds if they evaded Cardassian forces long enough.
The more this quest has me thinking about interstellar war in Trek, the more I understand why Starfleet is so keen to think of itself as a scientific organization, why the Romulans are so keen on isolationism and why the Klingons cling on to honour so... Those act as psychological coping methods, but also are ways for each civilization to (in their way of thinking) reassure their peers that they aren't going to be the ones to send the balloon up.
Which may actually be why the Klingons went full tilt on the honour and space viking routine between the end of TOS and the middle of TNG. The Klingons were searching for an ideology that kept their society together while not being so threatening to the neighbours...
fasquardon
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UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Deep Space Nine?
- Location
- Tulsa Oklahoma
Really? I thought that was the Vulcan's hat. Humanities being building and absorbing the best aspects of others to improve themselves.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh, we'll take it from the Cardies, and just hope we can fit enough representatives to swing a vote on the matter.Deep Space Nine?
aledeth
The Flesh is Weak
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Vulcans are Logic. Diplomacy is a thing they do, but when you say Vulcan to anyone that knows Star Trek, logic is the key trait that comes to mind.
Well if the balloon goes up between the Klingons and the Romulans, we're going to get a front row seat at what a for-reals war looks like between two Great Powers. That's going to be very instructive.
And the irony is that probably they're only willing to risk it because they've finally managed to convince themselves the Federation won't jump in to put down the winner.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I am given to understand that Borg roleplay was rather popular amongst a certain crowd back in the Nineties, but I don't believe this is an appropriate venue for that discussion.Including the Borg?
"Instructive." That is one word for it, yes.
aeqnai
Nerdy Homu
- Location
- Laniakea Supercluster
- Pronouns
- She/Her
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
It's round, and it's big enough, but it is slightly handicapped by probably not existing. Though if we just give the Cardassians long enough, I'm sure it will.Deep Space Nine?
While we've been getting a definite "sub combat" vibe here, complete with "if you're detected the only thing you can do is break away and "clear datum" right the heck now or you will be a sitting duck and die..."
That is not normally the flavor of space combat in Star Trek as a whole, unless I'm missing a great deal. There are some classic episodes (like Balance of Terror) inspired BY submarine warfare, but it's not the prevailing style compared to the influences from land, air, and surface naval warfare.
On the other hand, given that submarine warfare complete with "if you are seen, and there is an enemy who seeks your death, you are in grave danger even if you outgun them" appears to be the intended flavor of space combat in To Boldly Go... we need to drastically rethink our naval doctrines.
...
The Lone Ranger fleet doctrine is predicated around an assumption that bigger is better- which is often true in surface naval combat and land combat, but is almost never true in submarine warfare. With submarines, making your vessels too big tends to turn them into more attractive targets, without significantly increasing their capability... and it makes them more expensive, so you're more reluctant to do anything that might risk them.
I predict that something similar is likely to happen if we ever end up at war, or in danger of being at war, with Cardassia or another major power. We'll have an explorer-dominated fleet, but our small number of heavily built explorers "equipped and empowered to operate as lone wolves" will not be employed either as lone wolves or as packs of wolves. They'll be hangar queens, too valuable to risk, and composing such a large proportion of our overall strength that we are powerless to accomplish anything without risking them.
A more realistic and sensible doctrine for the prevailing paradigm, and one that would actually be effective in the event that we ever end up prosecuting a war, would be Swarm Doctrine or possibly Combined Arms. Escorts and cruisers are cheaper and hopefully the psychological barrier to 'risking' them will be lower. This will make it possible to actually engage in meaningful operations in an area that is, or has the potential to become, a combat zone.
...
Furthermore, we should abandon any thought of using Forward Defense, Decisive Battle, or Base Strike strategies.
Forward Defense is essentially the strategy we're seeing right now, in this particular crisis, and it isn't working out as we'd hoped. In particular, the one small but elite forward-deployed fleet we're actually trying to use heavily to help us resolve the crisis is accomplishing very little. Instead of being an effective force, it is being batted around by the pressure of events. We are extremely fortunate that the Amarki fleet is available to act as a central strategic reserve; were this not the case we would be in a potentially grave situation already.
Forward defense promises mechanical bonuses for "fighting away from your home systems and starbases." But should these bonuses materialize, unless they impact the behavior of our commanders, they will become meaningless.
By contrast, our ships being "safer against hostile acts" under Fleet in Being doctrine would seem to align with what is by default the supreme goal both in peace and war.
...
Finally, with respect to offensive doctrine, the idea of Decisive Battle doctrine is a farce if commanders are not prepared to risk large fleets in action against the enemy. And Base Strike doctrine is a farce if the prospect of being detected and localized is alarming enough that approaching enemy fleet bases becomes borderline suicidal. The only way to even hope to succeed in offensive operations would be to first whittle the enemy down to a nubbin in a large number of small, low-risk/low-reward battles, with the understanding that we can "panic button" and stop the whittling-down process at any time if the rate of attrition appears unfavorable.
In other words, we are compelled to adopt Wolf Pack doctrine. Furthermore, this would best be implemented using a Swarm or (at most) Combined Arms fleet, because (again) it is a truism that explorers are simply too valuable to be operated aggressively in the presence of an enemy capable of destroying them.
Only escorts and cruisers can be risked, and therefore only escorts and cruisers can ever voluntarily fight a battle. Explorers cannot intentionally fight, and sensible explorer squadron commanders will avoid battle when possible except under the most improbably favorable of conditions. Explorers therefore can never win a war, or even credibly threaten to cause an enemy to lose a war. The only way explorers could ever bring about even a defensive victory is, in effect, by accident. That is:
1) If the enemy mindlessly blunders into an explorer force powerful enough to destroy it, despite the explorers' efforts to avoid battle, or
2) If the enemy attacks a target so precious that we have to grudgingly allow explorers to actually enter danger- which is exactly the sort of high risk/high reward strategy we would normally want to avoid due to the "high risk" side of the equation.
...
Now, I may be missing something simply because we cannot see the actual mechanical benefits for any Offensive/Defensive Doctrine techs aside from the Fleet in Being doctrine. But unless I am, I don't see how we have any choice but to adopt a doctrine tree of:
Wolf Pack/Fleet in Being/Swarm or maybe Combined Arms.
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- Location
- Nova Scotia, Canada
Ensign Reedshirrt: Commodore T'Lorel, I have an update on the new orders.. from... Headquarters. Ma'am, what's that on your desk?
Commodore T'Lorel: I received a communique from Chairman Hann of the Order of the Crimson Donkey from Earth. It seems my recent decisions have qualified me as an honorary member of their association and they sent a replicator code to create this statue along with... Ensign, why are you laughing?
Well I'm certainly not going to. And I'm just dumping any argument based on the previous turn in the garbage, sight unseen. Not even going to bother reading your long wall of text.
Sorry, but please consider just sitting on this for a couple of weeks (in real time) and come back to it later. I think you're obsessing over this one incident too much and it's twisting up your thinking.
Derek58
Rocket Punch is Best Punch
- Location
- Getter Valhalla
...wow, you're completely twisting things to utterly invalidate most of the doctrines based off a captain's decision in one situation
You really need to take a step back and reconsider your logic here.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
This is the first time we've ever seen fleet maneuvers in the face of a non-apocalpytic threat. The biophage was apocalyptic- all normal rules of strategy were thrown out the window, and we did things that would never normally be done, because preserving our ships was clearly less important than stopping the biophage. That is why we installed accident-prone, casualty-prone systems to blow up and burn our own ships- not something we would normally do in response to boarding parties!
So we need to ask ourselves, what does our fleet doctrine look like if we're planning for non-apocalyptic violent conflict? Or for the ability to mobilize effectively and defend ourselves in cases where there is a danger of violent conflict?
So far we've seen two NPC wars, plus this fleet deployment. The Caitian-Dawiar War was, as we were literally just told, a series of low-risk/low-reward skirmishes because both sides sensibly declined to risk their fleet in a decisive battle. While we're pretty vague on what's actually happening in the Sydraxian-Federation War, it certainly looks as if the Sydraxians are hanging back pretty far, and we know that we aren't exactly eager to risk explorers poking around their territory to figure out what they're up to.
Everything we're hearing suggests that good strategy revolves around preserving your ships, even if this means passing up opportunities to wear down the enemy. Conversely, good offensive strategy involves wearing down the enemy, not risking everything in a massive death-or-glory gamble.
In narrative terms that means adopting Fleet in Being and Wolf Pack doctrine.
The mechanical bonuses for those doctrines may or may not be the best. But if we adopt other doctrines, then any attempt to narratively implement our own doctrines will put us into conflict with the best practices of naval strategy in the setting.
Likewise, we're seeing that the Cardassians have a lot more freedom to gamble with their cruisers than we have to gamble with our explorers. This isn't just about the events of the last turn, this is about everything they've done since the first messages that alerted us to the crisis.
How would this translate in a real war, if a real war happened to break out? Would we be able to operate our explorer-heavy fleets with confidence that their firepower would actually translate into an ability to meet and overcome the enemy in battle? Or would we have to worry about the battles in question never materializing, while the enemy is free to operate small raiding groups and begin whittling us down?
EDIT:
To be very clear here, the reason I'm doing a 180 on doctrine is because I think that actual deployment experience is starting to contradict the doctrines I used to favor. And that, when I really think about the strategy we've seen, not just in this particular action but in other operations and other wars... I feel I have reason to expect combat experience to further contradict the doctrines I favor, just as deployment experience is beginning to do.
Should I pretend that the rules are what I used to think they were, when I have only reasons to think they are not what I thought?
So we need to ask ourselves, what does our fleet doctrine look like if we're planning for non-apocalyptic violent conflict? Or for the ability to mobilize effectively and defend ourselves in cases where there is a danger of violent conflict?
So far we've seen two NPC wars, plus this fleet deployment. The Caitian-Dawiar War was, as we were literally just told, a series of low-risk/low-reward skirmishes because both sides sensibly declined to risk their fleet in a decisive battle. While we're pretty vague on what's actually happening in the Sydraxian-Federation War, it certainly looks as if the Sydraxians are hanging back pretty far, and we know that we aren't exactly eager to risk explorers poking around their territory to figure out what they're up to.
Everything we're hearing suggests that good strategy revolves around preserving your ships, even if this means passing up opportunities to wear down the enemy. Conversely, good offensive strategy involves wearing down the enemy, not risking everything in a massive death-or-glory gamble.
In narrative terms that means adopting Fleet in Being and Wolf Pack doctrine.
The mechanical bonuses for those doctrines may or may not be the best. But if we adopt other doctrines, then any attempt to narratively implement our own doctrines will put us into conflict with the best practices of naval strategy in the setting.
Likewise, we're seeing that the Cardassians have a lot more freedom to gamble with their cruisers than we have to gamble with our explorers. This isn't just about the events of the last turn, this is about everything they've done since the first messages that alerted us to the crisis.
How would this translate in a real war, if a real war happened to break out? Would we be able to operate our explorer-heavy fleets with confidence that their firepower would actually translate into an ability to meet and overcome the enemy in battle? Or would we have to worry about the battles in question never materializing, while the enemy is free to operate small raiding groups and begin whittling us down?
EDIT:
To be very clear here, the reason I'm doing a 180 on doctrine is because I think that actual deployment experience is starting to contradict the doctrines I used to favor. And that, when I really think about the strategy we've seen, not just in this particular action but in other operations and other wars... I feel I have reason to expect combat experience to further contradict the doctrines I favor, just as deployment experience is beginning to do.
Should I pretend that the rules are what I used to think they were, when I have only reasons to think they are not what I thought?
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Omake - Betazed Report - IronWolf
Briefing Report: Betazed AKA Another Beautiful Day In Paris
The Betazoid government is structured along matriarchal lines, with oligarchical tendencies and long-standing royal and noble traditions, expressed in the form of the various Betazed houses. That being said, Betazed does hold democratic elections, and the Houses tend to perform more ceremonial roles. They have a small security force designed mostly for law enforcement, and their economy is one of the closest to the Federation's among the affiliates, based around social welfare programs designed for all. Overall, Betazed society is highly egalitarian and also pacifistic, as would be expected of a people who can feel and hear the thoughts and emotions of each other at all times.
Section I of this report will cover an examination of Betazed society, culture, and relgion, Section III will cover the governmental and electoral system of Betazed, and Section 2 will look at its foreign relations and military.
Betazoid culture is close-knit and incredibly open, thanks to their telepathic ability giving everyone equal footing in terms of understanding their neighbour, lover, family member's true intents and feelings and intent. Dishonesty is almost unheard of in Betazed culture, mostly because it is a losing strategy - only those with the strongest of wills and discipline can hide their thoughts from their fellow Betazoids, and these individuals are at risk of slipping up any time they are in public. Research into technology designed to conceal thoughts is highly restricted in Betazoid culture, as it is believed to represent an existential threat to their way of life in the same way Humans regarded the atomic bomb. There are rumors select individuals on Betazed do have implants that better allow them to mask their thoughts, but as far as the Federation is concerned, such stories are that: rumor.
Three Point Eight - Religion
The close-knit Betazoid society praises four deities - Nuub, Solinas, Ullor, and Tin. Each house often has its own patron deity, and used to practice cannibalism in order to effectively praise them. Such practices have fallen out of use. Now, Betazoids tend to use their psionic abilities to immobilize travellers to their worlds and bring them back to their religious sites. There the subjects -- under extreme psionic induced ecstasy -- are consumed while being kept alive as long as possible. Last thing consumed is the brain, again while the subject is still alive, as it is considered a particular delicacy in Betazoid culture. It's happening to me as I ty
Wolfe awoke with a start and looked at what he had written:
He groaned and looked around the Parisian cafe he was seated in to see if anyone had caught him napping, before reaching for his coffee. This damn fucking report had been vexing him for hours, and now he was having nightmares about it. Shouldn't have partied with the Second House delegation last night. Their penchant for dark catacombs and mind-alerting perspectives was apparently working its way into Wolfe's psyche more than he realized. Probably for the best if he stuck to the Fifth House parties. Much more boring, to be sure, but at least more… comprehensible.
He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. He checked his citations for any inspiration and started writing again.
Someone dragged the chair opposite Wolfe from the table and sat in it. Wolfe jumped with surprise as his concentration was broken, then looked at the newcomer with with barely-concealed annoyance and checked his wordcount.
'77' blinked accusingly back at him on the screen.
"Wuffs, my guy, you don't look happy to see me!" His very much unexpected guest said, smirking.
"Silva," Wolfe said, "I was actually expecting someone else. You gave me a bit of a shock," To say the least. Graeme Silva was a grade-A douche from his academy days, the well-connected and well-heeled son of a moderately famous Commodore. The grade-A thing wasn't a joke either - had Silva been connected but of average intelligence, that would have been something to hold onto. But no, he'd had better marks than Wolfe. Once Silva had run laps around the room, shoving the "98%" on his PADD in everyone's face. Wolfe figured he deserved an extra, Silva-beating 2% for not being such an asshole, but unfortunately outside of Diplomacy class such things didn't factor into official test scores.
"Well, you've got me now buddy!" He gave Wolfe a beaming smile that Wolfe tried his best to beam back, "All the cafes in Paris and I happen to see you in one. Thought I'd jump into chat! It's too bad you can't visit the capital more. I'm blessed that my posting in intergovernmental political analysis keeps me here in this beautiful, lovely city," He smiled, for no goddamn reason, at a pair of Humans a few tables over, who couldn't help but overhear his humblebragging. They smiled back, one giggling, "I'm told I'm soon up for the Lieutenant Commander posting here."
Wolfe resisted the powerful urge to roll his eyes, "Congratulations. Anyways I wasn't here because I was on the-"
"Oh! That's right!" He spread his hands apologetically, "The Enterprise. I think I saw that on social media once or twice. Completely slipped my mind you were out there with the likes of Nash ka'Sharren. Zaardmini must have been throwing the academy's social science grads a bone, picking you up. Most everyone I know went to the Parisian offices. To think, political analysis on an Explorer. Seems a waste… of your talents, of course."
"Of course," Wolfe said, tightly, "Well, I wouldn't say so. I got to meet some of the people you only read about in your reports. Like, did you know that Dawind Byis has surprisingly cold hands, for example? Explains, a little bit, of where all those ill health rumors came from last year. Orions find people who aren't genefixed for that sort of thing really strange. Like they might be hiding more radical alterations or they're actually dying inside. Basically, it's not reassuring to hear bad rumors about someone and then shake their cold, kinda dead fish hands, you know?"
"Hey man, great observation."
Oh fuck yourself, Silva, "And I mean like, I got to meet the Romulans! Kinda of, by proxy. I think I helped ka'Sharren a lot, actually, knowing what she was going into--"
Silva guffawed, "Ha. Oh man, it's great you've got that confidence. But I can tell you, everything I've read on ka'Sharren… dude," his chest heaved with the mirth he was feigning to contain, "She didn't read a damn word, I guarantee it. She doesn't have time for that sort of thing; she prefers her instincts to run free, dude."
Wolfe felt something very nasty in him rising up from the pit of his stomach. He wished he could constrict the blood vessels in his face like Andorians could, because he was sure he was becoming rather embarrassingly flushed, "I am sure she read them. She even mentioned -- one time I put a joke in mine, the tactical officer told me she'd laughed."
"Hey, glad she got something out of them, even if it was comedy. You always were kinda of a funny guy." He leaned in, his long arms clasped past the half-way point of the table, well within Wolfe's space. "And I don't just mean you were weird, of course. Legitimately funny oddball guy."
And you were an annoying -- "Thanks. You were… quite a guy yourself," Wolfe felt like choking on every word, "So um, I'm actually, you know," Wolfe gestured at the chair Silva's annoying ass was sitting in, "So is there a reason you're…"
"Oh yes. I didn't just drop by for a social chat, Wuffie! I wanted to pick your brains about something, since you're here."
"Okay, Sure."
Silva leaned in further, somehow, "You know how we played those little scenarios in some of our classes? Well, I want to give you a taste of what we're chewing on at Intergovernmental," A tight feeling was beginning to pull on Wolfe's stomach as Silva's smirk grew more pronounced, "If you could do anything -- forget morality, anything -- to secure the Federation from the Cardassians, what would you do?"
"You want me to go full Machiavelli?" Wolfe glanced at him suspiciously, "Are you recording this or something?" That tight feeling that something wasn't right was still there, but Wolfe just couldn't put his finger on why.
"No, no, of course not. My friends and I -- we're quite an exclusive little group -- we talk about this. And now, you can too." Silva's teeth gleamed between his lips, that smirk stuck firmly in place.
"Well," Wolfe said, reaching for and downing the last of his coffee, "I think… what I'd do is cook up a virus. One that only targets Cardassians, makes them very ill. We'd claim the Orions or Rigellians or someone did it, and then offer the cure in exchange for peace and a solid border, maybe demilitarization. But in reality, virus to antidote was all cooked in a Federation lab."
Silva looked at him, then shook his head, the smile never leaving his face, "That it? Wolfe, my man, you gotta stop thinking so small and put those politics to use!"
"I -- okay, it wasn't clear, that virus would have killed them all if left to run its course. I don't see how that's, like, small--"
"And impractical! I have a much easier idea. Step one, we need to make the Federation stronger. Step two, we need to make it clear that the Cardassians, aren't great. So, let's say you got your hands, somehow, on Cardassian weapons. Right? You could frame them for anything," Silva looked down, fiddling in his bag, "Like say, maybe showing that the newest member of the Federation is a drain, that allowed the Cardassians to fire from their embassy into a high-level meeting. That would turn public opinion against that species and the Cardassians pretty fast, no?"
Wolfe's chest was tight, and it felt like someone else was pushing the words out of his mouth, "I guess. If you weren't, caught. Because then they'd just turn against the Federation," He let out a breath, trying to maintain a pleasant expression even as some part of him screamed something was wrong, "Plus you'd need someone who could get you into that embassy…"
"Like someone who has a cultural studies pass?" He said, his hand having found whatever he was looking for, "Someone who is well known to the Betazoid embassy staff, who is trusted enough for high-level access? Someone like… you?"
Silva pulled his hand out of his bag and rested it gently on the table. Held loosely in his fist was a small holdout phaser, the armed light glowing with a dull red ON status.
Wolfe started to open his mouth, push himself out of his chair but Silva was lightning, a finger pressed to Wolfe's lips as he half-stood, "Ah, ah. I am wearing a vest of 99% metallic holignite. You make a word and I detonate it, and this Cafe, and everyone for a block around it, will be vaporized. Myself as well, of course, but I am willing to make that sacrifice. Are you willing to take that responsibility?"
Wolfe sat down and Silva chuckled, "I did not think so. That's the problem, Wolfe. You're in the Starfleet box far, far too deep. They say don't and do, but it takes real courage, real genius, to see beyond those rules to what truly needs to be done."
"Silva, c'mon." Wolfe's lungs felt like they were wrapped in wire but he kept his tone level, "There's at least a dozen imagers and sensors between here and the embassy. You think they won't put two-and-two together and realize you're involved?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Wuffus! I have means of getting around that little issue," He grinned, "We're going to go more underground than a Vulcan vaporfolk band." He gestured, "Now, up. I have a tight schedule to meet and I don't need you slow-poking it to death."
Wolfe rose and skirted the edge of the table, a hand reflexively pocketing his --
"Ah, ah. Keep the PADD there with the computer."
Wolfe put it on the tabletop with an annoyed thunk, breathing out, "Don't you think leaving all my stuff will look just a little suspicious?" He said.
Silva pressed the fist holding the phaser into the small of his back. He smiled at the waiter, "Well, now, Wuffy, we're all one big happy Federation here, aren't we? They're probably expecting you'll be back, and if not, that you and your - rather wrinkled, actually - uniform will be off on some grand adventure. They'll sweep it up and put it into temporary storage."
Wolfe's eyes darted around the cafe as Silva pushed him towards the door, alternating between rambling into Wolfe's ear and having friendly, glib chats with customers as the pair walked by their tables. Clearly Silva was something of a hide in plain sight guy. More bluster and bravado than hard action. Wolfe was sure if he could get the phaser out of Silva's grasp, derail his plan, he'd be able to talk him out of it. But that damn vest…
Wait.
Wolfe angled himself slightly towards one of the empty tables on the path to the door. He collided with it as Silva threw a finger-gun at a Tellarite duo and their Andorian companion. The taller man walked right into Wolfe - and all he felt was padding, padding. Nothing hard, dense, or metallic. If he was hearing a holignite vest, it sure as shit wasn't 99% pure. Not in an amount that would make it reactive. So either Silva fucked up, or… he wasn't wearing one at all.
"Heyo! Watch where you're going there, ha!" Silva gestured to everyone, "My buddy here has a bit of a vision problem, he did -oof!" Wolfe had turned, batting Silva's phaser hand aside as he threw a fist with every newton of strength he had behind it into Silva's midsection. The blow reverberated up his arm. Yeah, there was no holignite in there. He'd have a broken hand instead of 'just' a numb one right now.
Silva staggered as patrons reacted with surprise, dishes and cutlery clattering as people scrambled with alarm, and as Wolfe pounced on Silva's phaser arm, pinning it to a tabletop. He grunted as he tried to pry Silva's fingers apart, the taller man reacting now, reaching around him. Wolfe felt a moment of triumph as the phaser slipped out of Silva's grasp and clattered to the floor -- and then, he felt an impact, staggered, his vision narrowing and spots dancing in front of him as Silva brought a fist down on the back of his skull.
Wolfe fell onto his knees and then, his vision hazy, threw himself under the scattered table as Silva followed up with a brutal stomp. He crawled along on his belly towards the phaser, hearing the crash and thunder of Silva throwing tables aside behind him. Wolfe threw himself forward the last half-meter, his shoulder catching the metal post of a table painfully, as his outstretched fingers grasped the phaser. He kicked backwards, pushing himself back against a counter. From the floor, he aimed at Silva…
Who'd produced another phaser. A full sized pistol, this time. He had it trained on the huddled form of the trio he'd been looking at when Wolfe stopped. Silva's other hand reached into his bag and pulled out another pistol. Both were Starfleet standard issue, with the addition of a trigger guard.
Silva twirled the second pistol before training it above Wolfe's head, "Alright, you got me," Wolfe looked up. A terrified barista stood there, Silva's pistol aimed firmly at her. "There was no vest. But hey, it was only half a lie. I'll waste these fuckers if you don't throw that thing right back at me, Wolfe."
"No," Wolfe shook his head, "Silva, you're Starfleet, we... went…" Wolfe's mouth stopped working.
There was a dangerous gleam in Silva's eyes. A deadly tightening of his hands as he spoke, "Well, buddy. Can you REALLY risk it? Do you want him to risk it, hm?" He threw the same smile he always did at the Barista, "How much do you trust Lieutenant Wolfe's assessment here, ma'am? How do you feel, knowing when the chips are down, Starfleet isn't going to keep your precious life in mind?"
The Barista trembled, "Please, Mister, I-- I'm getting married--"
"Alright, okay! Silva!" Wolfe felt the heavy, stomach dropping feeling of defeat wrestle with the adrenaline that was making his heart race out of control. Silently, Wolfe reached up to reveal the phaser clenched in his hand.
"I should blow your arm off, Snuffawuffy, but I need that. Put it on the counter - I bet your heroical ass would try and blow me up with it. Oh wait, you didn't take a real science," Silva chuckled, "Well, neither did I, but I had some enhanced training, so to speak."
As a matter of fact, Wolfe had taken more than was strictly required in personal arms maintenance courses. Given a little time, he probably could have set that phaser to blow both of Silva's hands off the instant he caught it. But he didn't have time. So instead he carefully reached up, still sitting, and placed it on the counter.
"Well, it's been a pleasure," Silva said, "Sorry about the mess, put it on Lieutenant Wolfe here's tab. We've got a very important conference to attend."
"Silva, come on. Your plan is - screwed!" Wolfe said, his voice having risen to an unsteady pitch. Bad, it would make Silva take him less seriously, "Everyone here is going to call the cops, Starfleet Security, the United Fucking Earth Defense Forces! You wanna be arrested by the likes of that?"
"Stand up, Wolfe. I'll make it less painful when this is over if you do."
Wolfe closed his eyes, breathed. Slowly, he stood up. Hands held above his head. Then he saw outside the cafe, and they instinctively flew to his face as the glass door of the cafe burst apart, tempered chunks of it filling the room as Commander Samhaya Mrr'Shan exploded into the cafe with a snarl. Without skipping a beat she picked the half-crescent of a shattered plate off the floor and flung it at Silva, who instinctively ducked it as she sprung at him, vaulting a table with her claws bared. She ripped open the front of his uniform, another hand wrapped around his throat. Red beads of blood welled up from the tips of her claws as they dug into the thin flesh.
But Silva had phasers.
He shot a line of fire down at Samhaya's feet, nearly taking off her toes and blasting a cherry-red channel into the pristine marble floor. The other, he pressed into her arm. She pulled it back just in time, a blue beam sizzling off one of her whiskers and blowing a crater in the roof. Silva followed up with an elbow to her face, ripping himself free of her claws before he shoved a table between them. He backed away from the snarling Caitian, twirling his pistols again, "Niiiice, Wolfe! I didn't think you'd make friends. Then again, she's doing her duty," He bared his teeth, the pistols snapping to ready position before he dropped into a wide stance, one pistol tucked close to his chest, another one curled behind his head like a scorpion's tail. "I warn you," he said to Samhaya, circling her slightly, "I have been trained in the Vulcan forms of phaser kata. You will find hitting me to be an impossibility."
"I studied those forms well," Samhaya replied, "If I had a phaser, I would quickly show you how ineffective they are against sweeping weapons."
"But you don't, shame," Silva said. The smile was still in place as he trained his pistol on her, "Goodbye, Commander."
There was a clatter, Sam's eyes darting to the side, Silva's whole head turning.
Inwardly, Wolfe groaned. He'd tossed the holdout phaser too short and instead of landing on the table right in of Sam, it had instead bounced and skittered under it.
But breaking Silva's concentration was the only opening Sam needed. With a grunt that came out more a roar, she grabbed the bottom of the table-top and threw it up and towards Silva, splinters flying from where her claws ripped up the underside. He fired at it instinctively, the wooden top exploding, before she pirouetted out of the way of the all-metal stand. By the time his eyes were back on Sam, she had the holdout firmly in her grip.
The grin Silva gave Sam had morphed into something more predatory, otherworldly. Not an animal bearing its teeth, not really. It was something higher, smarter than that. It was cruel, haughty. "Finally, a chall--"
He was cut off as Sam fired, his body twisted just in time for the phaser beam to only singe his jacket, the beam blowing apart a windowframe in a shower of metal sparks and glass. Wolfe realized the crazy motherfucker had it set to maximum setting from the get-go. Sam would have to hit him with a precise shot instead of sweeping, or she'd vaporize half the customers.
Silva's dodge turned into a graceful transition to another firing form, "Maybe this--"
Sam's immediate reply was another phaser shot. For a moment it looked like a miss, a graze that barely touched his left arm -- but at that setting, it was enough to vaporize a sizeable chunk of flesh. Silva screamed and recoiled, one of his pistols dropping to the floor with a clatter. The smile was gone, and he swept the blue beam of his pistol wildly at where Sam was crouching. She'd anticipated this, and was already moving, lining up a second shot even as she switched to stun. But Silva was still fast, even wounded, and she couldn't line up on him and outrun the beam. Instead, she leaped, soaring above Wolfe's head, rolling across the countertop and into cover. Silva fired a few more wild beams at her position and then turned and ran, thundering down a set of stairs at the rear of the cafe.
Sam's head peeked over the top of the counter, her ears twitching, "What's downstairs?" She asked Wolfe.
"I-- uh, the restrooms? Yes." Wolfe was trying not to think about the trench of destruction in the counter a few centimeters above his head. He picked himself up while Sam reached down to secure Silva's dropped phaser. She stopped, hand almost touching the grip, eyes trained on where Silva had gone, "Wolfe, we need your PADD."
"Uh, right." He started to walk over to where he'd left it, when there was a large 'whump!' that rattled the floor. It sounded like it came from the basement. Wolfe picked up the pace and brought his PADD over. Sam gestured at the pistol, "Scan it for traps, please."
Wolf held him thumbprint over the unlock button and made a quick scan with the limited suite of sensors he had onboard. Even with those he could tell it was boobytrapped, rigged to perform a forced chamber implosion if the wrong biometric ID was detected. He quickly shared his findings with Sam.
"... Then we stick with the Cricket," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. She carefully avoided the grip and removed its power cell, before standing and moving towards the bathrooms. Wolfe followed close behind.
She kept her stance low, prowling through what remained of the scattered tables to the stairs leading into the basement. Wolfe noted she had her free arm held out, placed in front of him. His emotions wrestled over if he felt safe or patronized. They both craned their heads to peer down the stairs. At the bottom were two antiseptic white washroom doors, complete with old-timey stainless steel handles. They crept down the stairs, and Sam reached out and tried one of the handles. It was locked. A little electronic voice chimed from the door, "Payment required!"
"Stand back," Sam growled, stepping back, her body was coiled like a spring, and Wolfe knew she was going to kick that door down.
He jumped in front of her, "Wait! We can save some property damage here. It's just a silly custom, people used to pay for these and --" Wolfe stuttered as Sam's ear twitched with annoyance, "Anyways, you pay with compliments now." He turned to the door, "What a kind and, uh, dutiful device. Looking very elegant as well."
The door unlocked with a click. Wolfe backed out of the way as Sam tried the handle, throwing the door open.
What greeted them was a yawning blackness, the twinkling of water, barely visible roughly two meters below. Silva had vaporized most of the floor and dropped into… catacombs?
"...So much for avoiding property damage, then." Wolfe quipped.
Sam's only reaction was a slight swish of her tail, "... yes. I'm going in. Wait for backup."
"Uh uh. You need me to carry the nifty light on my PADD." Wolfe booped said light online, shining it down the hole. He could see more clearly now that Silva had drilled about a meter down before hitting the tunnel below. His light was reflected by the dark waters below. How deep was it? "Besides," Wolfe said, "Remember Procedure 31-S in the Handbook? No going alone."
Sam looked down at him, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye, "I could order you to stay here."
"One, you're not in my chain of command; Two, what, are you going to shoot me if I drop in?; Three, Silva's getting away, dude."
"Hm." She crouched by the hole, gazing into it, "Very well." Without further comment, she climbed into the hole, claws of her feet digging into the walls. She dropped the last way into the water, phaser pistol held out as she landed with barely a splash. She walked out of Wolfe's sight deeper into the tunnel, and he took that moment to follow her.
Sam's ears twitched as Wolfe landed with a huge splash behind her, water closing up over his entire body as he landed on mostly on his ass. He emerged, spluttering as quietly as possible in the icy water. He stood up, "You made that look easier than it was," he whispered.
"Maybe I should have caught you," Sam said dryly. Wolfe shivered slightly as she pointed to a dark wall, her whole body still facing the yawning blackness of the tunnel. "We have blood on the wall here. I can smell it." Wolfe shined the light of his (thankfully waterproof) PADD at where she was pointing. Red was indeed smeared on the wall, leading further down the tunnel, away from where she was looking.
"Wait, that doesn't -- your phaser would have cauterized the wound." Wolfe narrowed his eyes, then rolled his eyes, "Oh, he's trying to trick us."
"Exactly. As well, I am fairly certain I can hear some echoes of his movement down the passage." Her ears were in full alert mode, each twitching and scanning in slightly different patterns, "It's hard to tell exactly where with so much water movement."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Wolfe said, as Sam gestured him forward, "I was not planning on getting--"
"While I normally enjoy our conversations, a little quiet from here on out would be appreciated, Lieutenant."
"Gotcha, ma'am."
They proceeded in silence through the dark halls, the level of the water rising and falling as the floor subtly angled upwards or downwards. At one point, the water was up to Sam's chest, which meant Wolfe was practically swim-walking, head angled up as the icy water sat under his jawline, PADD held up over his head. Something in the slippery murk below rolled and crunched. He tried not to think about it. It could be anything, really, even an old conduit for telephone lines. Could that electrocute them? What if it was some sort of gas shell from WW3? Fuck, it could even be a vial of biophage for all he knew.
He snorted, ripples of water racing away from his breath. Focus.
Slowly, the water level dropped. It was at Sam's knees as she pressed herself to the wall. In front of her the roof came down sharply, almost like a wall, blocking their path.Wolfe crept up and shined a light into the water. There was a narrow passageway -- well, narrow for Sam, not him -- under the obstruction, a small gap of air just visible.
He squinted. There were marks in the sludge on the bottom of the cavern, evidence of recent movement, "Up for a swim in corpse water?" he whispered.
Sam blinked and looked at Wolfe, her brows knitted in confusion, "I am sorry, what water?"
"Oh. These catacombs were used for burial for a long time, and there's been people who have gotten lost here and died." He let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "United Earth's done their best to clean them up, but they also don't want to disturb graves unless there's a historical need. So there's lots of bodies, some of them undocumented down here, somewhere. This section's probably clear, but the water is likely connected to that... somewhere."
Her tail flicked the water, as she squinted at the rippling blackness, her jaw tight, "Caitians have been burning our bodies since we discovered fire -- I can't believe your people continued with burial for so long. Any animal can dig a hole, and this is just a more complex one. Application of fire is the real hallmark of an advanced civilization," she huffed.
"Commander Samhaya, are you being squeamish?" Wolfe teased.
"It's unsanitary."
"I can't say I'm a fan either. If I get a temporal device, I'll go back and bring it up with the Church." He nodded his head towards the passage, "So, are we going for a swim?"
"I see no need to stop. Can you see how far it extends?"
Wolfe went on his side, water again under his chin, and held his PADD under the water. The light showed the stone of the passage extending down, and then opening up again. He nodded, "We can make it."
"I'll go first. Turn the light off in case he's waiting for us." Wolfe nodded and without further discussion, Sam flattened herself into the water and slipped under the water. Wolfe knelt in the darkness, his hands finding the lip of the passage. He listened to the subtle slosh of her moving down the passage, then the distinctive noise of her standing up, and the water dripping off her coat. He followed, his head submerged. He could hear the scrape of his boots on the stone as he pushed himself forward, one hand pulling on the rough surface, the other sliding along the damp roof for the end so he could know where the passage ended in the black abyss -- he wasn't even sure why he bothered to have his eyes open, really. Old habits, he supposed
His lungs were burning despite the stabbing cold around him when he felt the roof end. Wolfe pulled himself through and broke the water's surface, taking in a quiet gasp of air. He felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, and it slid down his arm, pulling upwards. Wolfe rose to his feet, feeling for his PADD.
A bright light filled the tunnel, and Wolfe slipped as he instinctively raised his arm to cover his eyes. Up ahead, silhouetted by a pair of floodlamps, was the bulk of a tan-colored device. There was a blast shield, from which extended a long square that ended in a glowing red tip.
"I loved that inane little conversation earlier, by the way!" Silva's voice rang out from behind the blast shield, "Got some German Shepard genes spliced into these old ears of mine. Great hearing. Really alerted me to your chase." The barrel turned, subtly, to aim at Sam. "Do you like my new tool here, Wuffboy? I was going to have you carry it on those skinny shoulders! Model 67 Cardassian Phased Disruptor Cannon. You would not believe the trouble I went to to get my hands on this." He giggled, an insane chittering that echoed off the water and the walls, "We're going to take this right up to the Betazed Embassy roof, my guy, and then, we're blowing up a secret meeting that my people have alerted me to. After I kill Commander Samhaya, of course. No hard feelings. I hope your people join soon. We need more Hawks."
Sam's ears were flattened against her head, "Mr. Silva--"
"LIEUTENANT SILVA!" He screeched, suddenly, "I have offered you the respect of your rank, Commander, you can offer me the restpect due my rank and uniform!"
"You don't deserve to wear that uniform!" Wolfe said, sharply. Sam gave him a burning look. Sorry Sam, some mildly cutting remarks is all Wolfe had to contribute at this point.
"... Lieutenant," Sam said, "I hardly understand how you plan to kill me."
"How so? I've got a big fucking cannon aimed right at you, and all you've got is that little dinky reject of a phaser."
Sam sighed, her tone of voice that of a teacher helping a particularly struggling third grader, "I recognize that model from technical briefings. You have left the forward safety engaged."
Silva's head poked around the blast shield, "That can be--"
Sam's arm was up in a flash, perfectly extended. The walls glowed blue as she placed a perfect shot right in the middle of Silva's head. He slumped forward and to the side, collapsing onto the tile.
"--I can't believe that succeeded." Sam said, almost in disbelief.
Then, right as she said that a bright light flared. Wet red spattered on the catacomb walls as Silva's head flew apart. The part of the room took a dim red tinge as parts of him coated the floodlamp.
Wolfe gawped at the sight, his jaw held open slightly, "Did you--"
"It was on stun." Sam said. "I… suspect a suicide implant."
"Who does that?" Wolfe asked, incredulously.
"Someone worried they will give up others," Sam said, scowling, "He was not working alone."
"Great," Wolfe said. Last thing the Federation needed was a bunch of people like Silva running around thinking the unfathomable was acceptable.
From: "Neptune"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: Project Ice Dawn Failure
Greetings,
Our plan to eliminate Nash zh'Rhashaan's little private club has ended in failure. Charon's plan was exposed by Lieutenant Wolfe in front of multiple witnesses. I suspect his previous relation to the target and his overwrought plan led directly to his downfall. In one bright spot, his dental suicide implant activated and we arranged for arson to destroy his apartment as soon as we had confirmation of its detonation.
We are at a high risk of exposure. I recommend going dark.
Neptune
=+++++=
From: "Haumea"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
The plan had only a calculated 80% chance of success when conducted by a rational simulated operative. When using an emulation of Charon, the rate dropped to 50%.
I have warned you all in the past about the risks of launching operations with such little chance of reliability.
Pluto, you should begin a hard wipe and prepare to disappear. My osociety contact will have a new identity and escape plan from there. Your tenure as the co-chair of this cell is appreciated but you must go.
Haumea
=+++++=
From: "Pluto"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
Despite Charon's close relation to me, I see no need to resign my position here and run. Starfleet Intelligence is anything but, and it will only require a few confused expressions to allay their concerns. The Betazeds will not be a problem now that I have installed the scrambler implant, if they are used at all.
I am not going to be smuggled away from here in an Orion packing crate. Not when we have so much critical work to do. What's the reliability of that working, Haumea?
=+++++=
From: "Haumea"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
I see you are mocking me for my calculations again, Pluto. I have told you before, they are rooted in applied talwarmetrics. I have also told you before that using Charon as an asset was a mistake, and your hubris will doom us. My model shows a 75% chance that one of us will be exposed in the next forty-eight hours. If we are, there is an 80% chance that they will find evidence to locate at least one additional member.
We risked everything on a familial gamble. The Great Work of the Celestials is going to be unfinished. Neptune, I motion for an immediate vote for the removal of Pluto as co-chair and that he be cleansed to avoid any incrimination.
=+++++=
From: "Eris"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
I second the motion.
=+++++=
From: "Pluto"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
This is unacceptable. We have bylaws and ways of operating here. You can't just ignore the
Commodore Antony Silva ripped his eyes from the angry email he was typing and scanned the room as a sudden creak echoed through his house. His office was spare but classic, with real wood panels and bookshelves, an older hanging light filling the room with light. He turned and glanced at the door behind him, peering at it suspiciously. After a moment, he turned back to his computer. It was probably the rain.
A new message had popped up on his screen.
His eyes widened and he quickly reached for the physical button he had to fry his computer.
There was a loud popping noise from behind him as the door blew off its hinges. He turned and found himself blinded, his ears ringing, and he cried out in pain. Strong hands grasped him and lifted him from the chair, slamming him to the desktop. His head was pressed to the surface, staring towards the computer, and he could feel the click of the metal circlets as they closed around his wrists more than he could hear them through the ringing. He could see a Rigellian, clad in a black sweater with a thin grey vest, rush to the computer. They tapped the keys rapidly, "Wipe aborted!"
Silva growled as he was roughly shoved back into his seat, his hands crushed behind him. He could see clearly now the rest of the team that had burst in. Their uniform consisted of a black turtleneck sweater with reinforced shoulders, over which most of them had a slightly puffy grey vest. Silva recognized them as being the new-model protective vests, a lighter (and more stylish) version of the protective equipment of days past, along with imaging-enhancing goggles. They were opaque expressionless black squares that pressed firmly against their eyes, or were swung up over their black skullcaps. All of them carried Type-3 rifles -- which already came in black, no doubt convenient to their overall aesthetic. Two of them were standing at the door; the Rigellian continued tapping away; and he could hear two more behind him, presumably who had cuffed him.
"Those are the new Starfleet Intelligence uniforms," he said, smiling around the room, craning his neck to look at the pair behind him, "Very intimidating. I bet Stesk wasn't a fan."
"Actually, he said if we must employ the troops, however regretfully, they may as well have uniforms colored to match." Silva struggled not to boggle as Admiral Nash zh'Rhashaan herself walked in. She had eschewed the uniform of her officers for the typical maroon uniform -- which only made her stick out more. Coming in behind her, goggles pushed over their head, was a Betazoid woman. She carried only a holstered pistol, "He didn't want to admit it, but I think Stesk is actually a fan of what I'm calling the 'tactical turtleneck.'"
"A personal visit from the Admiral -- with fashion advice! How delightful," Silva shook his head, and laughed, "I like your affirmative action here, by the way. A Betazoid on a raid. Does she hold security's hand if they get a boo-boo?"
"Not quite," said zh'Rhashaan, pulling up a spare chair so she could sit in front of Silva, "In fact, she alerted us to your intent to clear your data."
"And thanks for it! This is a treasure trove we have here, ma'am!" The Rigellian said, cheerfully.
"Monetary analogies, how delightful," Silva said, grinning crazily at the Rigellian. They ignored him, absorbed in the work. He turned back to zh'Rhashaan, "Well, go through it if you like, there's nothing in there you can use to find my allies."
"Allies like Haumea? Or should I say, Dr. T'Fren?" zh'Rhashaan tapped a wrist device and a projection of T'Fren's portrait appeared in front of Silva, translucent, "The Vulcan Analysis Directorate and sports fans are going to be devastated to lose one of their best statistical mathematicians. Or what about Eris?" The portrait of some Tellarite that Silva didn't recognize joined T'Fren's, "Commander Prog, due to be placed in charge of Venusian security. Very bad. And your chairman, Neptune," one more picture, an Andorian, "Kalana ch'Ven is due to join the likes of Kodos in the annals of deranged governors. I haven't determined who 'Sedna' is yet but I am sure they will be just as good of a catch."
Silva's grin was gone, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He sniffed, reared his head back, and spat at zh'Rhashaan. Her Betazoid ally reached out swiftly to intercept it, catching the drool in a glove. She frowned at Silva and wiped her glove on the back of a couch nearby.
"Okay. I have no choice, then." Silva fixed a smile back to his face, "Under Section 31 of the Federation charter, I claim I was acting in the interests of the People of the Federation. I refuse to accept any charges levelled against me for none apply in the face of the need for survival. Your authority over my sovereign person is not recognized."
There was a dead silence in the room. zh'Rhashaan's eyebrow slowly lifted as she stared Silva down, "Anything else?"
"That's all I need!"
zh'Rhashaan sighed, leaning back in her chair, "Section 31 doesn't protect private citizens. It's only designed to offer legal cover to Starfleet officers in the event they must implement a drastic action, with the approval of the Federation Council, who are also protected." Nash shifted her posture, regarding the faces floating in front of her with disdain, "Your little band of Section 31 enthusiasts fail to understand it is not designed to give a terrorist group carte blanche to implement their fantasies of saving the Federation from itself."
"We see the truth of things." Silva retorted, "And the courts will see it as well."
zh'Rhashaan and Silva stared at each other in silence. Then, all at once, she rose, waving at her guards, "Let's go. I can't wait for the FNS to report on your courtroom delusions, personally."
Silva was picked out of his chair. He dragged his legs as a final gesture of defiance. If it bothered his guards, they didn't show it.
No use helping them now. Pluto's love for his son, his desire to pass on the family business, had doomed them. There was no point in dragging her with them. She took all her files related to the Celestials' operations and deleted them. Then, she deleted all the Celestial messages and closed her port to their hidden communications hub. zh'Rhashaan could chase that digital ghost for a few days.
Time to start over.
Introduction
The Betazoids are a humanoid, telepathic species from the planet Betazed. They have been long-term affiliates of the United Federation of Planets, benefiting from collective security as a most pacifistic power, and the Federation benefitting from the presence of telepaths on several vessels, most notably during the biophage crisis. And today, they join the FederationThe Betazoid government is structured along matriarchal lines, with oligarchical tendencies and long-standing royal and noble traditions, expressed in the form of the various Betazed houses. That being said, Betazed does hold democratic elections, and the Houses tend to perform more ceremonial roles. They have a small security force designed mostly for law enforcement, and their economy is one of the closest to the Federation's among the affiliates, based around social welfare programs designed for all. Overall, Betazed society is highly egalitarian and also pacifistic, as would be expected of a people who can feel and hear the thoughts and emotions of each other at all times.
Section I of this report will cover an examination of Betazed society, culture, and relgion, Section III will cover the governmental and electoral system of Betazed, and Section 2 will look at its foreign relations and military.
Section One - Society and Culture
- People are warm, friendly, and open. Honest is valued, mostly because it's the default state.
- Betazed houses have long, tangled histories with various 'client' subhouses, which divide further into families -- affiliation with a house is natural for citizens.
- Religion based around four deities. You cannot look upon the face of their gods, for divinity will burn those who try to hold it in their mind's eyes. Look away.
Betazoid culture is close-knit and incredibly open, thanks to their telepathic ability giving everyone equal footing in terms of understanding their neighbour, lover, family member's true intents and feelings and intent. Dishonesty is almost unheard of in Betazed culture, mostly because it is a losing strategy - only those with the strongest of wills and discipline can hide their thoughts from their fellow Betazoids, and these individuals are at risk of slipping up any time they are in public. Research into technology designed to conceal thoughts is highly restricted in Betazoid culture, as it is believed to represent an existential threat to their way of life in the same way Humans regarded the atomic bomb. There are rumors select individuals on Betazed do have implants that better allow them to mask their thoughts, but as far as the Federation is concerned, such stories are that: rumor.
Three Point Eight - Religion
The close-knit Betazoid society praises four deities - Nuub, Solinas, Ullor, and Tin. Each house often has its own patron deity, and used to practice cannibalism in order to effectively praise them. Such practices have fallen out of use. Now, Betazoids tend to use their psionic abilities to immobilize travellers to their worlds and bring them back to their religious sites. There the subjects -- under extreme psionic induced ecstasy -- are consumed while being kept alive as long as possible. Last thing consumed is the brain, again while the subject is still alive, as it is considered a particular delicacy in Betazoid culture. It's happening to me as I ty
Wolfe awoke with a start and looked at what he had written:
He groaned and looked around the Parisian cafe he was seated in to see if anyone had caught him napping, before reaching for his coffee. This damn fucking report had been vexing him for hours, and now he was having nightmares about it. Shouldn't have partied with the Second House delegation last night. Their penchant for dark catacombs and mind-alerting perspectives was apparently working its way into Wolfe's psyche more than he realized. Probably for the best if he stuck to the Fifth House parties. Much more boring, to be sure, but at least more… comprehensible.
He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. He checked his citations for any inspiration and started writing again.
Someone dragged the chair opposite Wolfe from the table and sat in it. Wolfe jumped with surprise as his concentration was broken, then looked at the newcomer with with barely-concealed annoyance and checked his wordcount.
'77' blinked accusingly back at him on the screen.
"Wuffs, my guy, you don't look happy to see me!" His very much unexpected guest said, smirking.
"Silva," Wolfe said, "I was actually expecting someone else. You gave me a bit of a shock," To say the least. Graeme Silva was a grade-A douche from his academy days, the well-connected and well-heeled son of a moderately famous Commodore. The grade-A thing wasn't a joke either - had Silva been connected but of average intelligence, that would have been something to hold onto. But no, he'd had better marks than Wolfe. Once Silva had run laps around the room, shoving the "98%" on his PADD in everyone's face. Wolfe figured he deserved an extra, Silva-beating 2% for not being such an asshole, but unfortunately outside of Diplomacy class such things didn't factor into official test scores.
"Well, you've got me now buddy!" He gave Wolfe a beaming smile that Wolfe tried his best to beam back, "All the cafes in Paris and I happen to see you in one. Thought I'd jump into chat! It's too bad you can't visit the capital more. I'm blessed that my posting in intergovernmental political analysis keeps me here in this beautiful, lovely city," He smiled, for no goddamn reason, at a pair of Humans a few tables over, who couldn't help but overhear his humblebragging. They smiled back, one giggling, "I'm told I'm soon up for the Lieutenant Commander posting here."
Wolfe resisted the powerful urge to roll his eyes, "Congratulations. Anyways I wasn't here because I was on the-"
"Oh! That's right!" He spread his hands apologetically, "The Enterprise. I think I saw that on social media once or twice. Completely slipped my mind you were out there with the likes of Nash ka'Sharren. Zaardmini must have been throwing the academy's social science grads a bone, picking you up. Most everyone I know went to the Parisian offices. To think, political analysis on an Explorer. Seems a waste… of your talents, of course."
"Of course," Wolfe said, tightly, "Well, I wouldn't say so. I got to meet some of the people you only read about in your reports. Like, did you know that Dawind Byis has surprisingly cold hands, for example? Explains, a little bit, of where all those ill health rumors came from last year. Orions find people who aren't genefixed for that sort of thing really strange. Like they might be hiding more radical alterations or they're actually dying inside. Basically, it's not reassuring to hear bad rumors about someone and then shake their cold, kinda dead fish hands, you know?"
"Hey man, great observation."
Oh fuck yourself, Silva, "And I mean like, I got to meet the Romulans! Kinda of, by proxy. I think I helped ka'Sharren a lot, actually, knowing what she was going into--"
Silva guffawed, "Ha. Oh man, it's great you've got that confidence. But I can tell you, everything I've read on ka'Sharren… dude," his chest heaved with the mirth he was feigning to contain, "She didn't read a damn word, I guarantee it. She doesn't have time for that sort of thing; she prefers her instincts to run free, dude."
Wolfe felt something very nasty in him rising up from the pit of his stomach. He wished he could constrict the blood vessels in his face like Andorians could, because he was sure he was becoming rather embarrassingly flushed, "I am sure she read them. She even mentioned -- one time I put a joke in mine, the tactical officer told me she'd laughed."
"Hey, glad she got something out of them, even if it was comedy. You always were kinda of a funny guy." He leaned in, his long arms clasped past the half-way point of the table, well within Wolfe's space. "And I don't just mean you were weird, of course. Legitimately funny oddball guy."
And you were an annoying -- "Thanks. You were… quite a guy yourself," Wolfe felt like choking on every word, "So um, I'm actually, you know," Wolfe gestured at the chair Silva's annoying ass was sitting in, "So is there a reason you're…"
"Oh yes. I didn't just drop by for a social chat, Wuffie! I wanted to pick your brains about something, since you're here."
"Okay, Sure."
Silva leaned in further, somehow, "You know how we played those little scenarios in some of our classes? Well, I want to give you a taste of what we're chewing on at Intergovernmental," A tight feeling was beginning to pull on Wolfe's stomach as Silva's smirk grew more pronounced, "If you could do anything -- forget morality, anything -- to secure the Federation from the Cardassians, what would you do?"
"You want me to go full Machiavelli?" Wolfe glanced at him suspiciously, "Are you recording this or something?" That tight feeling that something wasn't right was still there, but Wolfe just couldn't put his finger on why.
"No, no, of course not. My friends and I -- we're quite an exclusive little group -- we talk about this. And now, you can too." Silva's teeth gleamed between his lips, that smirk stuck firmly in place.
"Well," Wolfe said, reaching for and downing the last of his coffee, "I think… what I'd do is cook up a virus. One that only targets Cardassians, makes them very ill. We'd claim the Orions or Rigellians or someone did it, and then offer the cure in exchange for peace and a solid border, maybe demilitarization. But in reality, virus to antidote was all cooked in a Federation lab."
Silva looked at him, then shook his head, the smile never leaving his face, "That it? Wolfe, my man, you gotta stop thinking so small and put those politics to use!"
"I -- okay, it wasn't clear, that virus would have killed them all if left to run its course. I don't see how that's, like, small--"
"And impractical! I have a much easier idea. Step one, we need to make the Federation stronger. Step two, we need to make it clear that the Cardassians, aren't great. So, let's say you got your hands, somehow, on Cardassian weapons. Right? You could frame them for anything," Silva looked down, fiddling in his bag, "Like say, maybe showing that the newest member of the Federation is a drain, that allowed the Cardassians to fire from their embassy into a high-level meeting. That would turn public opinion against that species and the Cardassians pretty fast, no?"
Wolfe's chest was tight, and it felt like someone else was pushing the words out of his mouth, "I guess. If you weren't, caught. Because then they'd just turn against the Federation," He let out a breath, trying to maintain a pleasant expression even as some part of him screamed something was wrong, "Plus you'd need someone who could get you into that embassy…"
"Like someone who has a cultural studies pass?" He said, his hand having found whatever he was looking for, "Someone who is well known to the Betazoid embassy staff, who is trusted enough for high-level access? Someone like… you?"
Silva pulled his hand out of his bag and rested it gently on the table. Held loosely in his fist was a small holdout phaser, the armed light glowing with a dull red ON status.
Wolfe started to open his mouth, push himself out of his chair but Silva was lightning, a finger pressed to Wolfe's lips as he half-stood, "Ah, ah. I am wearing a vest of 99% metallic holignite. You make a word and I detonate it, and this Cafe, and everyone for a block around it, will be vaporized. Myself as well, of course, but I am willing to make that sacrifice. Are you willing to take that responsibility?"
Wolfe sat down and Silva chuckled, "I did not think so. That's the problem, Wolfe. You're in the Starfleet box far, far too deep. They say don't and do, but it takes real courage, real genius, to see beyond those rules to what truly needs to be done."
"Silva, c'mon." Wolfe's lungs felt like they were wrapped in wire but he kept his tone level, "There's at least a dozen imagers and sensors between here and the embassy. You think they won't put two-and-two together and realize you're involved?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Wuffus! I have means of getting around that little issue," He grinned, "We're going to go more underground than a Vulcan vaporfolk band." He gestured, "Now, up. I have a tight schedule to meet and I don't need you slow-poking it to death."
Wolfe rose and skirted the edge of the table, a hand reflexively pocketing his --
"Ah, ah. Keep the PADD there with the computer."
Wolfe put it on the tabletop with an annoyed thunk, breathing out, "Don't you think leaving all my stuff will look just a little suspicious?" He said.
Silva pressed the fist holding the phaser into the small of his back. He smiled at the waiter, "Well, now, Wuffy, we're all one big happy Federation here, aren't we? They're probably expecting you'll be back, and if not, that you and your - rather wrinkled, actually - uniform will be off on some grand adventure. They'll sweep it up and put it into temporary storage."
Wolfe's eyes darted around the cafe as Silva pushed him towards the door, alternating between rambling into Wolfe's ear and having friendly, glib chats with customers as the pair walked by their tables. Clearly Silva was something of a hide in plain sight guy. More bluster and bravado than hard action. Wolfe was sure if he could get the phaser out of Silva's grasp, derail his plan, he'd be able to talk him out of it. But that damn vest…
Wait.
Wolfe angled himself slightly towards one of the empty tables on the path to the door. He collided with it as Silva threw a finger-gun at a Tellarite duo and their Andorian companion. The taller man walked right into Wolfe - and all he felt was padding, padding. Nothing hard, dense, or metallic. If he was hearing a holignite vest, it sure as shit wasn't 99% pure. Not in an amount that would make it reactive. So either Silva fucked up, or… he wasn't wearing one at all.
"Heyo! Watch where you're going there, ha!" Silva gestured to everyone, "My buddy here has a bit of a vision problem, he did -oof!" Wolfe had turned, batting Silva's phaser hand aside as he threw a fist with every newton of strength he had behind it into Silva's midsection. The blow reverberated up his arm. Yeah, there was no holignite in there. He'd have a broken hand instead of 'just' a numb one right now.
Silva staggered as patrons reacted with surprise, dishes and cutlery clattering as people scrambled with alarm, and as Wolfe pounced on Silva's phaser arm, pinning it to a tabletop. He grunted as he tried to pry Silva's fingers apart, the taller man reacting now, reaching around him. Wolfe felt a moment of triumph as the phaser slipped out of Silva's grasp and clattered to the floor -- and then, he felt an impact, staggered, his vision narrowing and spots dancing in front of him as Silva brought a fist down on the back of his skull.
Wolfe fell onto his knees and then, his vision hazy, threw himself under the scattered table as Silva followed up with a brutal stomp. He crawled along on his belly towards the phaser, hearing the crash and thunder of Silva throwing tables aside behind him. Wolfe threw himself forward the last half-meter, his shoulder catching the metal post of a table painfully, as his outstretched fingers grasped the phaser. He kicked backwards, pushing himself back against a counter. From the floor, he aimed at Silva…
Who'd produced another phaser. A full sized pistol, this time. He had it trained on the huddled form of the trio he'd been looking at when Wolfe stopped. Silva's other hand reached into his bag and pulled out another pistol. Both were Starfleet standard issue, with the addition of a trigger guard.
Silva twirled the second pistol before training it above Wolfe's head, "Alright, you got me," Wolfe looked up. A terrified barista stood there, Silva's pistol aimed firmly at her. "There was no vest. But hey, it was only half a lie. I'll waste these fuckers if you don't throw that thing right back at me, Wolfe."
"No," Wolfe shook his head, "Silva, you're Starfleet, we... went…" Wolfe's mouth stopped working.
There was a dangerous gleam in Silva's eyes. A deadly tightening of his hands as he spoke, "Well, buddy. Can you REALLY risk it? Do you want him to risk it, hm?" He threw the same smile he always did at the Barista, "How much do you trust Lieutenant Wolfe's assessment here, ma'am? How do you feel, knowing when the chips are down, Starfleet isn't going to keep your precious life in mind?"
The Barista trembled, "Please, Mister, I-- I'm getting married--"
"Alright, okay! Silva!" Wolfe felt the heavy, stomach dropping feeling of defeat wrestle with the adrenaline that was making his heart race out of control. Silently, Wolfe reached up to reveal the phaser clenched in his hand.
"I should blow your arm off, Snuffawuffy, but I need that. Put it on the counter - I bet your heroical ass would try and blow me up with it. Oh wait, you didn't take a real science," Silva chuckled, "Well, neither did I, but I had some enhanced training, so to speak."
As a matter of fact, Wolfe had taken more than was strictly required in personal arms maintenance courses. Given a little time, he probably could have set that phaser to blow both of Silva's hands off the instant he caught it. But he didn't have time. So instead he carefully reached up, still sitting, and placed it on the counter.
"Well, it's been a pleasure," Silva said, "Sorry about the mess, put it on Lieutenant Wolfe here's tab. We've got a very important conference to attend."
"Silva, come on. Your plan is - screwed!" Wolfe said, his voice having risen to an unsteady pitch. Bad, it would make Silva take him less seriously, "Everyone here is going to call the cops, Starfleet Security, the United Fucking Earth Defense Forces! You wanna be arrested by the likes of that?"
"Stand up, Wolfe. I'll make it less painful when this is over if you do."
Wolfe closed his eyes, breathed. Slowly, he stood up. Hands held above his head. Then he saw outside the cafe, and they instinctively flew to his face as the glass door of the cafe burst apart, tempered chunks of it filling the room as Commander Samhaya Mrr'Shan exploded into the cafe with a snarl. Without skipping a beat she picked the half-crescent of a shattered plate off the floor and flung it at Silva, who instinctively ducked it as she sprung at him, vaulting a table with her claws bared. She ripped open the front of his uniform, another hand wrapped around his throat. Red beads of blood welled up from the tips of her claws as they dug into the thin flesh.
But Silva had phasers.
He shot a line of fire down at Samhaya's feet, nearly taking off her toes and blasting a cherry-red channel into the pristine marble floor. The other, he pressed into her arm. She pulled it back just in time, a blue beam sizzling off one of her whiskers and blowing a crater in the roof. Silva followed up with an elbow to her face, ripping himself free of her claws before he shoved a table between them. He backed away from the snarling Caitian, twirling his pistols again, "Niiiice, Wolfe! I didn't think you'd make friends. Then again, she's doing her duty," He bared his teeth, the pistols snapping to ready position before he dropped into a wide stance, one pistol tucked close to his chest, another one curled behind his head like a scorpion's tail. "I warn you," he said to Samhaya, circling her slightly, "I have been trained in the Vulcan forms of phaser kata. You will find hitting me to be an impossibility."
"I studied those forms well," Samhaya replied, "If I had a phaser, I would quickly show you how ineffective they are against sweeping weapons."
"But you don't, shame," Silva said. The smile was still in place as he trained his pistol on her, "Goodbye, Commander."
There was a clatter, Sam's eyes darting to the side, Silva's whole head turning.
Inwardly, Wolfe groaned. He'd tossed the holdout phaser too short and instead of landing on the table right in of Sam, it had instead bounced and skittered under it.
But breaking Silva's concentration was the only opening Sam needed. With a grunt that came out more a roar, she grabbed the bottom of the table-top and threw it up and towards Silva, splinters flying from where her claws ripped up the underside. He fired at it instinctively, the wooden top exploding, before she pirouetted out of the way of the all-metal stand. By the time his eyes were back on Sam, she had the holdout firmly in her grip.
The grin Silva gave Sam had morphed into something more predatory, otherworldly. Not an animal bearing its teeth, not really. It was something higher, smarter than that. It was cruel, haughty. "Finally, a chall--"
He was cut off as Sam fired, his body twisted just in time for the phaser beam to only singe his jacket, the beam blowing apart a windowframe in a shower of metal sparks and glass. Wolfe realized the crazy motherfucker had it set to maximum setting from the get-go. Sam would have to hit him with a precise shot instead of sweeping, or she'd vaporize half the customers.
Silva's dodge turned into a graceful transition to another firing form, "Maybe this--"
Sam's immediate reply was another phaser shot. For a moment it looked like a miss, a graze that barely touched his left arm -- but at that setting, it was enough to vaporize a sizeable chunk of flesh. Silva screamed and recoiled, one of his pistols dropping to the floor with a clatter. The smile was gone, and he swept the blue beam of his pistol wildly at where Sam was crouching. She'd anticipated this, and was already moving, lining up a second shot even as she switched to stun. But Silva was still fast, even wounded, and she couldn't line up on him and outrun the beam. Instead, she leaped, soaring above Wolfe's head, rolling across the countertop and into cover. Silva fired a few more wild beams at her position and then turned and ran, thundering down a set of stairs at the rear of the cafe.
Sam's head peeked over the top of the counter, her ears twitching, "What's downstairs?" She asked Wolfe.
"I-- uh, the restrooms? Yes." Wolfe was trying not to think about the trench of destruction in the counter a few centimeters above his head. He picked himself up while Sam reached down to secure Silva's dropped phaser. She stopped, hand almost touching the grip, eyes trained on where Silva had gone, "Wolfe, we need your PADD."
"Uh, right." He started to walk over to where he'd left it, when there was a large 'whump!' that rattled the floor. It sounded like it came from the basement. Wolfe picked up the pace and brought his PADD over. Sam gestured at the pistol, "Scan it for traps, please."
Wolf held him thumbprint over the unlock button and made a quick scan with the limited suite of sensors he had onboard. Even with those he could tell it was boobytrapped, rigged to perform a forced chamber implosion if the wrong biometric ID was detected. He quickly shared his findings with Sam.
"... Then we stick with the Cricket," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. She carefully avoided the grip and removed its power cell, before standing and moving towards the bathrooms. Wolfe followed close behind.
She kept her stance low, prowling through what remained of the scattered tables to the stairs leading into the basement. Wolfe noted she had her free arm held out, placed in front of him. His emotions wrestled over if he felt safe or patronized. They both craned their heads to peer down the stairs. At the bottom were two antiseptic white washroom doors, complete with old-timey stainless steel handles. They crept down the stairs, and Sam reached out and tried one of the handles. It was locked. A little electronic voice chimed from the door, "Payment required!"
"Stand back," Sam growled, stepping back, her body was coiled like a spring, and Wolfe knew she was going to kick that door down.
He jumped in front of her, "Wait! We can save some property damage here. It's just a silly custom, people used to pay for these and --" Wolfe stuttered as Sam's ear twitched with annoyance, "Anyways, you pay with compliments now." He turned to the door, "What a kind and, uh, dutiful device. Looking very elegant as well."
The door unlocked with a click. Wolfe backed out of the way as Sam tried the handle, throwing the door open.
What greeted them was a yawning blackness, the twinkling of water, barely visible roughly two meters below. Silva had vaporized most of the floor and dropped into… catacombs?
"...So much for avoiding property damage, then." Wolfe quipped.
Sam's only reaction was a slight swish of her tail, "... yes. I'm going in. Wait for backup."
"Uh uh. You need me to carry the nifty light on my PADD." Wolfe booped said light online, shining it down the hole. He could see more clearly now that Silva had drilled about a meter down before hitting the tunnel below. His light was reflected by the dark waters below. How deep was it? "Besides," Wolfe said, "Remember Procedure 31-S in the Handbook? No going alone."
Sam looked down at him, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye, "I could order you to stay here."
"One, you're not in my chain of command; Two, what, are you going to shoot me if I drop in?; Three, Silva's getting away, dude."
"Hm." She crouched by the hole, gazing into it, "Very well." Without further comment, she climbed into the hole, claws of her feet digging into the walls. She dropped the last way into the water, phaser pistol held out as she landed with barely a splash. She walked out of Wolfe's sight deeper into the tunnel, and he took that moment to follow her.
Sam's ears twitched as Wolfe landed with a huge splash behind her, water closing up over his entire body as he landed on mostly on his ass. He emerged, spluttering as quietly as possible in the icy water. He stood up, "You made that look easier than it was," he whispered.
"Maybe I should have caught you," Sam said dryly. Wolfe shivered slightly as she pointed to a dark wall, her whole body still facing the yawning blackness of the tunnel. "We have blood on the wall here. I can smell it." Wolfe shined the light of his (thankfully waterproof) PADD at where she was pointing. Red was indeed smeared on the wall, leading further down the tunnel, away from where she was looking.
"Wait, that doesn't -- your phaser would have cauterized the wound." Wolfe narrowed his eyes, then rolled his eyes, "Oh, he's trying to trick us."
"Exactly. As well, I am fairly certain I can hear some echoes of his movement down the passage." Her ears were in full alert mode, each twitching and scanning in slightly different patterns, "It's hard to tell exactly where with so much water movement."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Wolfe said, as Sam gestured him forward, "I was not planning on getting--"
"While I normally enjoy our conversations, a little quiet from here on out would be appreciated, Lieutenant."
"Gotcha, ma'am."
They proceeded in silence through the dark halls, the level of the water rising and falling as the floor subtly angled upwards or downwards. At one point, the water was up to Sam's chest, which meant Wolfe was practically swim-walking, head angled up as the icy water sat under his jawline, PADD held up over his head. Something in the slippery murk below rolled and crunched. He tried not to think about it. It could be anything, really, even an old conduit for telephone lines. Could that electrocute them? What if it was some sort of gas shell from WW3? Fuck, it could even be a vial of biophage for all he knew.
He snorted, ripples of water racing away from his breath. Focus.
Slowly, the water level dropped. It was at Sam's knees as she pressed herself to the wall. In front of her the roof came down sharply, almost like a wall, blocking their path.Wolfe crept up and shined a light into the water. There was a narrow passageway -- well, narrow for Sam, not him -- under the obstruction, a small gap of air just visible.
He squinted. There were marks in the sludge on the bottom of the cavern, evidence of recent movement, "Up for a swim in corpse water?" he whispered.
Sam blinked and looked at Wolfe, her brows knitted in confusion, "I am sorry, what water?"
"Oh. These catacombs were used for burial for a long time, and there's been people who have gotten lost here and died." He let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "United Earth's done their best to clean them up, but they also don't want to disturb graves unless there's a historical need. So there's lots of bodies, some of them undocumented down here, somewhere. This section's probably clear, but the water is likely connected to that... somewhere."
Her tail flicked the water, as she squinted at the rippling blackness, her jaw tight, "Caitians have been burning our bodies since we discovered fire -- I can't believe your people continued with burial for so long. Any animal can dig a hole, and this is just a more complex one. Application of fire is the real hallmark of an advanced civilization," she huffed.
"Commander Samhaya, are you being squeamish?" Wolfe teased.
"It's unsanitary."
"I can't say I'm a fan either. If I get a temporal device, I'll go back and bring it up with the Church." He nodded his head towards the passage, "So, are we going for a swim?"
"I see no need to stop. Can you see how far it extends?"
Wolfe went on his side, water again under his chin, and held his PADD under the water. The light showed the stone of the passage extending down, and then opening up again. He nodded, "We can make it."
"I'll go first. Turn the light off in case he's waiting for us." Wolfe nodded and without further discussion, Sam flattened herself into the water and slipped under the water. Wolfe knelt in the darkness, his hands finding the lip of the passage. He listened to the subtle slosh of her moving down the passage, then the distinctive noise of her standing up, and the water dripping off her coat. He followed, his head submerged. He could hear the scrape of his boots on the stone as he pushed himself forward, one hand pulling on the rough surface, the other sliding along the damp roof for the end so he could know where the passage ended in the black abyss -- he wasn't even sure why he bothered to have his eyes open, really. Old habits, he supposed
His lungs were burning despite the stabbing cold around him when he felt the roof end. Wolfe pulled himself through and broke the water's surface, taking in a quiet gasp of air. He felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, and it slid down his arm, pulling upwards. Wolfe rose to his feet, feeling for his PADD.
A bright light filled the tunnel, and Wolfe slipped as he instinctively raised his arm to cover his eyes. Up ahead, silhouetted by a pair of floodlamps, was the bulk of a tan-colored device. There was a blast shield, from which extended a long square that ended in a glowing red tip.
"I loved that inane little conversation earlier, by the way!" Silva's voice rang out from behind the blast shield, "Got some German Shepard genes spliced into these old ears of mine. Great hearing. Really alerted me to your chase." The barrel turned, subtly, to aim at Sam. "Do you like my new tool here, Wuffboy? I was going to have you carry it on those skinny shoulders! Model 67 Cardassian Phased Disruptor Cannon. You would not believe the trouble I went to to get my hands on this." He giggled, an insane chittering that echoed off the water and the walls, "We're going to take this right up to the Betazed Embassy roof, my guy, and then, we're blowing up a secret meeting that my people have alerted me to. After I kill Commander Samhaya, of course. No hard feelings. I hope your people join soon. We need more Hawks."
Sam's ears were flattened against her head, "Mr. Silva--"
"LIEUTENANT SILVA!" He screeched, suddenly, "I have offered you the respect of your rank, Commander, you can offer me the restpect due my rank and uniform!"
"You don't deserve to wear that uniform!" Wolfe said, sharply. Sam gave him a burning look. Sorry Sam, some mildly cutting remarks is all Wolfe had to contribute at this point.
"... Lieutenant," Sam said, "I hardly understand how you plan to kill me."
"How so? I've got a big fucking cannon aimed right at you, and all you've got is that little dinky reject of a phaser."
Sam sighed, her tone of voice that of a teacher helping a particularly struggling third grader, "I recognize that model from technical briefings. You have left the forward safety engaged."
Silva's head poked around the blast shield, "That can be--"
Sam's arm was up in a flash, perfectly extended. The walls glowed blue as she placed a perfect shot right in the middle of Silva's head. He slumped forward and to the side, collapsing onto the tile.
"--I can't believe that succeeded." Sam said, almost in disbelief.
Then, right as she said that a bright light flared. Wet red spattered on the catacomb walls as Silva's head flew apart. The part of the room took a dim red tinge as parts of him coated the floodlamp.
Wolfe gawped at the sight, his jaw held open slightly, "Did you--"
"It was on stun." Sam said. "I… suspect a suicide implant."
"Who does that?" Wolfe asked, incredulously.
"Someone worried they will give up others," Sam said, scowling, "He was not working alone."
"Great," Wolfe said. Last thing the Federation needed was a bunch of people like Silva running around thinking the unfathomable was acceptable.
***
=+++++=
From: "Neptune"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: Project Ice Dawn Failure
Greetings,
Our plan to eliminate Nash zh'Rhashaan's little private club has ended in failure. Charon's plan was exposed by Lieutenant Wolfe in front of multiple witnesses. I suspect his previous relation to the target and his overwrought plan led directly to his downfall. In one bright spot, his dental suicide implant activated and we arranged for arson to destroy his apartment as soon as we had confirmation of its detonation.
We are at a high risk of exposure. I recommend going dark.
Neptune
=+++++=
From: "Haumea"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
The plan had only a calculated 80% chance of success when conducted by a rational simulated operative. When using an emulation of Charon, the rate dropped to 50%.
I have warned you all in the past about the risks of launching operations with such little chance of reliability.
Pluto, you should begin a hard wipe and prepare to disappear. My osociety contact will have a new identity and escape plan from there. Your tenure as the co-chair of this cell is appreciated but you must go.
Haumea
=+++++=
From: "Pluto"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
Despite Charon's close relation to me, I see no need to resign my position here and run. Starfleet Intelligence is anything but, and it will only require a few confused expressions to allay their concerns. The Betazeds will not be a problem now that I have installed the scrambler implant, if they are used at all.
I am not going to be smuggled away from here in an Orion packing crate. Not when we have so much critical work to do. What's the reliability of that working, Haumea?
=+++++=
From: "Haumea"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
I see you are mocking me for my calculations again, Pluto. I have told you before, they are rooted in applied talwarmetrics. I have also told you before that using Charon as an asset was a mistake, and your hubris will doom us. My model shows a 75% chance that one of us will be exposed in the next forty-eight hours. If we are, there is an 80% chance that they will find evidence to locate at least one additional member.
We risked everything on a familial gamble. The Great Work of the Celestials is going to be unfinished. Neptune, I motion for an immediate vote for the removal of Pluto as co-chair and that he be cleansed to avoid any incrimination.
=+++++=
From: "Eris"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
I second the motion.
=+++++=
From: "Pluto"
To: "ALL: Celestials"
Subject: RE: Project Ice Dawn Failure
This is unacceptable. We have bylaws and ways of operating here. You can't just ignore the
Commodore Antony Silva ripped his eyes from the angry email he was typing and scanned the room as a sudden creak echoed through his house. His office was spare but classic, with real wood panels and bookshelves, an older hanging light filling the room with light. He turned and glanced at the door behind him, peering at it suspiciously. After a moment, he turned back to his computer. It was probably the rain.
A new message had popped up on his screen.
His eyes widened and he quickly reached for the physical button he had to fry his computer.
There was a loud popping noise from behind him as the door blew off its hinges. He turned and found himself blinded, his ears ringing, and he cried out in pain. Strong hands grasped him and lifted him from the chair, slamming him to the desktop. His head was pressed to the surface, staring towards the computer, and he could feel the click of the metal circlets as they closed around his wrists more than he could hear them through the ringing. He could see a Rigellian, clad in a black sweater with a thin grey vest, rush to the computer. They tapped the keys rapidly, "Wipe aborted!"
Silva growled as he was roughly shoved back into his seat, his hands crushed behind him. He could see clearly now the rest of the team that had burst in. Their uniform consisted of a black turtleneck sweater with reinforced shoulders, over which most of them had a slightly puffy grey vest. Silva recognized them as being the new-model protective vests, a lighter (and more stylish) version of the protective equipment of days past, along with imaging-enhancing goggles. They were opaque expressionless black squares that pressed firmly against their eyes, or were swung up over their black skullcaps. All of them carried Type-3 rifles -- which already came in black, no doubt convenient to their overall aesthetic. Two of them were standing at the door; the Rigellian continued tapping away; and he could hear two more behind him, presumably who had cuffed him.
"Those are the new Starfleet Intelligence uniforms," he said, smiling around the room, craning his neck to look at the pair behind him, "Very intimidating. I bet Stesk wasn't a fan."
"Actually, he said if we must employ the troops, however regretfully, they may as well have uniforms colored to match." Silva struggled not to boggle as Admiral Nash zh'Rhashaan herself walked in. She had eschewed the uniform of her officers for the typical maroon uniform -- which only made her stick out more. Coming in behind her, goggles pushed over their head, was a Betazoid woman. She carried only a holstered pistol, "He didn't want to admit it, but I think Stesk is actually a fan of what I'm calling the 'tactical turtleneck.'"
"A personal visit from the Admiral -- with fashion advice! How delightful," Silva shook his head, and laughed, "I like your affirmative action here, by the way. A Betazoid on a raid. Does she hold security's hand if they get a boo-boo?"
"Not quite," said zh'Rhashaan, pulling up a spare chair so she could sit in front of Silva, "In fact, she alerted us to your intent to clear your data."
"And thanks for it! This is a treasure trove we have here, ma'am!" The Rigellian said, cheerfully.
"Monetary analogies, how delightful," Silva said, grinning crazily at the Rigellian. They ignored him, absorbed in the work. He turned back to zh'Rhashaan, "Well, go through it if you like, there's nothing in there you can use to find my allies."
"Allies like Haumea? Or should I say, Dr. T'Fren?" zh'Rhashaan tapped a wrist device and a projection of T'Fren's portrait appeared in front of Silva, translucent, "The Vulcan Analysis Directorate and sports fans are going to be devastated to lose one of their best statistical mathematicians. Or what about Eris?" The portrait of some Tellarite that Silva didn't recognize joined T'Fren's, "Commander Prog, due to be placed in charge of Venusian security. Very bad. And your chairman, Neptune," one more picture, an Andorian, "Kalana ch'Ven is due to join the likes of Kodos in the annals of deranged governors. I haven't determined who 'Sedna' is yet but I am sure they will be just as good of a catch."
Silva's grin was gone, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He sniffed, reared his head back, and spat at zh'Rhashaan. Her Betazoid ally reached out swiftly to intercept it, catching the drool in a glove. She frowned at Silva and wiped her glove on the back of a couch nearby.
"Okay. I have no choice, then." Silva fixed a smile back to his face, "Under Section 31 of the Federation charter, I claim I was acting in the interests of the People of the Federation. I refuse to accept any charges levelled against me for none apply in the face of the need for survival. Your authority over my sovereign person is not recognized."
There was a dead silence in the room. zh'Rhashaan's eyebrow slowly lifted as she stared Silva down, "Anything else?"
"That's all I need!"
zh'Rhashaan sighed, leaning back in her chair, "Section 31 doesn't protect private citizens. It's only designed to offer legal cover to Starfleet officers in the event they must implement a drastic action, with the approval of the Federation Council, who are also protected." Nash shifted her posture, regarding the faces floating in front of her with disdain, "Your little band of Section 31 enthusiasts fail to understand it is not designed to give a terrorist group carte blanche to implement their fantasies of saving the Federation from itself."
"We see the truth of things." Silva retorted, "And the courts will see it as well."
zh'Rhashaan and Silva stared at each other in silence. Then, all at once, she rose, waving at her guards, "Let's go. I can't wait for the FNS to report on your courtroom delusions, personally."
Silva was picked out of his chair. He dragged his legs as a final gesture of defiance. If it bothered his guards, they didn't show it.
***
Elsewhere, Sedna sipped ice tea, cooled in the refreshing shade of an umbrella. A warm breeze shifted the grass under her bare toes. It was calm, unlike the panicked messages being sent back and forth by the rest of the Celestial Cell.
No use helping them now. Pluto's love for his son, his desire to pass on the family business, had doomed them. There was no point in dragging her with them. She took all her files related to the Celestials' operations and deleted them. Then, she deleted all the Celestial messages and closed her port to their hidden communications hub. zh'Rhashaan could chase that digital ghost for a few days.
Time to start over.
I believe there is a key error in your doctrinal logic.
We are not at war.
If we were, T'Lorel's battlegroup would jump the Cardassian element and savage it precisely because Fifth Fleet had been forward deployed with large ships in significant force.
Lone Ranger doctrine is a counter-attritional strategy, as it means that the enemy has difficulty operating single escorts or cruisers due to ship to ship superiority. Combined with Decisive Battle, it deliberately reduces the enemy to grouping their fleets or risk defeat in detail. What size of a Wolf Pack do you need to defeat a pair of explorers? Probably more than it's worth.
The risk as you have rightly pointed out is that if the enemy does group a fleet, then there are times when we must decline battle. But this is not a bad defensive arrangement, because it paralyzes enemy action until the battlefield of our choice.
The problems in T'Lorel's actions are not caused by doctrine, but by uncertainty. The essential question of "will the Cardassians attack?" remains unanswered at present. This is an information disadvantage - the Cardassians know their own intentions and can infer ours, but we do not - and that disadvantage disqualifies many otherwise optimal courses of action.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
But if our hypothetical ability to savage their forward element in the event of combat does not translate into the ability to operate in reasonable security near their forward element in the event that combat is an uncertain possibility...
I do not feel so confident in assuming that we actually have the ability to savage them, as you describe.
I do not feel so confident in assuming that we actually have the ability to savage them, as you describe.
- Location
- Tulsa Oklahoma
You know, I think I've finally figured it out, I've finally figured out what it is that binds the Federation into a single entity and defines it. The glue that holds the federation together isn't a mere practice, protocol, or documents, for those only show us that it is there, not what it is. What ties the Federation together is hope.
- hope for the future, firm faith that the every day is going to be greater than the one before it.
- The knowledge that no matter what happens, we will not only survive, but prosper.
- Individuals, no matter their origin can work together towards a brighter future for everyone.
- No matter what obstacles are put in our way, we shall overcome them.
The entire reason why nobody wants to risk anything is because crew is scare.
We won't research anything new because crew resources is scare. Crew is scarce because we're building only Excelsiors as real combat ships.
We need a Scale 5-6 Crusier to save on crew over the Excelsior while providing a combat platform that's tougher then the Renaissance for garrison flagships. That also works well with Wolf Pack, giving the Explorers cheaper Heavy Cruisers to do their raiding with. Lone Ranger, Wolf Pack, Fleet in Being. We need to stop sucking in new members for a few years and focus on tall in both resources and Starbase defenses to free up ships.
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2310.Q1.M2.W1 - Ghosts and Whispers
- Location
- Australia
2310.Q1.M2.W1
Status Post: Sci-Fi - To Boldly Go... (a Starfleet quest) | Page 568
Nix's Map: http://i.imgur.com/njqyhPI.png
Starfleet Command
"So the Cardassian groups in what we're calling the Qloathian pocket, which is that space between us, the Qloath, and the Dawiard, spinward of the Aries Expanse, have begun to disperse," explains an officer from Operations. "They are taking up wide patrol patterns, joining up with the Cardassian frontier group."
"At the same time," adds Scott Linderley, "Comms traffic is up massively. Not just between groups, but also now back to Cardassian space."
Heidi Eriksson straightens up, eyes wide. "They've lost the trail, and have just realised it..."
"The Frontier ships must have found the decoy that the Kadak-Tor launched," you say. "Which neatly confirms that the Sarek made the right choice of trails to follow."
"What will they do now that they know they've been sold a dummy?" asks Eriksson.
"That's very difficult to predict, but I'll give you my best interpretation," replies Scott. "Now, they've split their force up. They're patrolling in pairs. One of their follow-on forces has even stopped at the edge of Bajoran space, presumably to hold open the Straits of Themis. I think they're running out of steam."
That draws a grunt out of you. "Any suggestions for accelerating the process."
[ ][CARD] Push Third Fleet to the Border to help clog the border. With no hope of sneaking through, they'll give up.
[ ][CARD] Push Fifth Fleet towards Cardassian space, with Third fleet moving to cover, to give Cardassia something new to think about.
[ ][CARD] Detach the Enterprise from Fifth Fleet to attempt to follow Sarek at Maximum Warp.
[ ][CARD] Ask the Apiata to deploy into unclaimed space between the Cardassian Union and themselves.
[ ][CARD] Avoid potential tension-raising actions, let things go as they are now
-
Bridge, USS Sarek, Spinwards of the Orion Space
There's a subtle course change, Captain, oh-two-oh mark three-five-niner," reports Lieutenant Staite over the mug of very strong coffee the crew were feeding her to keep her awake for the rest of the shift.
"Lieutenant, if you successfully manage to track them through this ion storm, I am going to put you up for every merit in the book," says Kwan with a shake of the head in disbelief.
The bridge of the Sarek is tense, with a full science complement present, carefully monitoring the dangerous patch of space they were in. Yellow Alert condition had been set and with the long pursuit of the Kadak-Tor it was beginning to wear on everyone. But of all the crew aboard, Kwan and Straite were probably the most relaxed of them all.
Straite waves dismissively at that. "It's easy boss, even though there's a lot of neutrino radiation, you just look for the set that is vectored in the same direction."
"Helm, correct to follow."
"Yes, sir."
[USS Sarek on a course from -3d to -2c]
-
Federation Diplomatic Service
The Cardassian envoy is in a state of barely controlled panic. They have asked very pointedly about whether or not we have encountered any intruders. We get the impression that the link-up of the Enterprise and Fifth Fleet, now sitting next to their artery back to home space has spooked them. The Cardassians are definitely searching for something they won't find there, but it is difficult to determine what their reaction will be.
Our best Xenopsychologists suggest that the agreement to withdraw from unclaimed space here may be the concession Cardassian command hangs its hat on. Certainly, it seems to have allowed them to commence searching in earnest.
-
Aboard Runabout BG-1, High-Speed Starfleet Intelligence Command Runabout
"It'll be fine, she said. Of course I'm sure, she said," grumbles the pilot of the runabout as they narrowly slip past the discharge arc of the ion storm.
"Oh, hush," snaps Kuznetsova. "We're just about there."
"We've just about been barbecued seven times already!" retorts the pilot. After a moment she just sighs. "Time to hail our fearless - because they get to sit behind ridiculous shields - neutrino hunting friends."
The screen at the front of the runabout shifts abruptly to show the bridge of the Sarek. And a whole bunch of very sour looking officers. "This is Commander Kwan, chief science officer of the USS Sarek, to what do we owe the pleasure?"
"This is Starfleet Intel runabout BG-1, we require immediate docking to get out of this storm," states the pilot.
The glare from Commander Kwan seems fit to just about melt the viewscreen, but he nods curtly after a moment. "Helm, slow to impulse. Make it quick, BG-1, we're on a Federation critical mission."
"We know!" says Kuznetsova. "If you're on the trail of the Kadak-Tor, then you're going to need us on hand!"
==============
[ ][FLEET] Issue Orders to Fleets
[ ][FLEET] Leave Fleets as they are
Possible orders include:
Move to a system
Spread out and patrol a subsector or system
Patrol in force in a subsector or system
Attack a target
Escort shipping in the area
====================
Cardassian Fleet Movements
Kadak-Tor's Suspected Location: -2c
Believed to have evaded Cardassian attention
Group B is holding position at the Aries Expanse near Dawiar space.
Cardassian Group C and D are now in -4d. Sensor readings confirm:
2 Kaldar
2 Jaldun
2 Takaaki Combat Variant
1 Medium Escort
Groups C and D have dispersed into search patterns
Cardassian Group E+F have moved to Sub-Sector -4e. Readings confirm:
3 Jaldun
1 Kaldar
1 Lorgot
2 Escort
Groups E and F have dispersed into search patterns
Cardassian Group G
1 Jaldun
1 Escort
Apprx 1d (has entered into Sydraxian territory, now very difficult to track)
Cardassian Group H
~4 Warp Signatures
Holding Station at -4g
Federation Fleet Movements
First Fleet holds station
Second Fleet holds station
Third Fleet holds station (full force has arrived)
Fourth Fleet has moved to -4d en route to 15 Themis in -3e.
Fifth Fleet has moved towards Fiiral at -5e, then proceeded to head core-ward. Is now at the edge of Federation space in -4e, 2 days out from 21 Themis Outpost.
USS Sarek has moved from -3d to -2c, pursuing the faint neutrino signature of the Kadak-Tor.
Betazed has deployed a task force of 1 Cruiser and 3 Escorts to join First Fleet at Vega. Now designated Betazoid Second Fleet, and is in 1A.
Amarki has deployed a task force of Friec, Perciar, Hilindia, and two light, and two heavy escorts, to join Second Fleet at Tales Har. Now designated Amarki Second Fleet, and is in Tales Har.
USS Bull of First Fleet reports heading off two attempts by a Sydraxian Hasque-class escort to enter Federation space, presumably to attack shipping.
Status Post: Sci-Fi - To Boldly Go... (a Starfleet quest) | Page 568
Nix's Map: http://i.imgur.com/njqyhPI.png
[X][FIFTH] Allow Fleets to continue.
[X][FLEET] Captain Straak appears to have a lead. He has (until canceled or the lead is lost) authority to direct local traffic so long as he does not delay fleets by more than a week to reroute traffic for auxiliary sensor readings or ships to support special operations. He is also encouraged to make all redirected ship movements in the area appear to be withdrawing and positioning to guard and support the border. To assist in this effort, specific personal from Tactical and Intelligence services will be designated as priority on call to support this.
[X][WARN] Accept
[X][FLEET] Captain Straak appears to have a lead. He has (until canceled or the lead is lost) authority to direct local traffic so long as he does not delay fleets by more than a week to reroute traffic for auxiliary sensor readings or ships to support special operations. He is also encouraged to make all redirected ship movements in the area appear to be withdrawing and positioning to guard and support the border. To assist in this effort, specific personal from Tactical and Intelligence services will be designated as priority on call to support this.
[X][WARN] Accept
Starfleet Command
"So the Cardassian groups in what we're calling the Qloathian pocket, which is that space between us, the Qloath, and the Dawiard, spinward of the Aries Expanse, have begun to disperse," explains an officer from Operations. "They are taking up wide patrol patterns, joining up with the Cardassian frontier group."
"At the same time," adds Scott Linderley, "Comms traffic is up massively. Not just between groups, but also now back to Cardassian space."
Heidi Eriksson straightens up, eyes wide. "They've lost the trail, and have just realised it..."
"The Frontier ships must have found the decoy that the Kadak-Tor launched," you say. "Which neatly confirms that the Sarek made the right choice of trails to follow."
"What will they do now that they know they've been sold a dummy?" asks Eriksson.
"That's very difficult to predict, but I'll give you my best interpretation," replies Scott. "Now, they've split their force up. They're patrolling in pairs. One of their follow-on forces has even stopped at the edge of Bajoran space, presumably to hold open the Straits of Themis. I think they're running out of steam."
That draws a grunt out of you. "Any suggestions for accelerating the process."
[ ][CARD] Push Third Fleet to the Border to help clog the border. With no hope of sneaking through, they'll give up.
[ ][CARD] Push Fifth Fleet towards Cardassian space, with Third fleet moving to cover, to give Cardassia something new to think about.
[ ][CARD] Detach the Enterprise from Fifth Fleet to attempt to follow Sarek at Maximum Warp.
[ ][CARD] Ask the Apiata to deploy into unclaimed space between the Cardassian Union and themselves.
[ ][CARD] Avoid potential tension-raising actions, let things go as they are now
-
Bridge, USS Sarek, Spinwards of the Orion Space
There's a subtle course change, Captain, oh-two-oh mark three-five-niner," reports Lieutenant Staite over the mug of very strong coffee the crew were feeding her to keep her awake for the rest of the shift.
"Lieutenant, if you successfully manage to track them through this ion storm, I am going to put you up for every merit in the book," says Kwan with a shake of the head in disbelief.
The bridge of the Sarek is tense, with a full science complement present, carefully monitoring the dangerous patch of space they were in. Yellow Alert condition had been set and with the long pursuit of the Kadak-Tor it was beginning to wear on everyone. But of all the crew aboard, Kwan and Straite were probably the most relaxed of them all.
Straite waves dismissively at that. "It's easy boss, even though there's a lot of neutrino radiation, you just look for the set that is vectored in the same direction."
"Helm, correct to follow."
"Yes, sir."
[USS Sarek on a course from -3d to -2c]
-
Federation Diplomatic Service
The Cardassian envoy is in a state of barely controlled panic. They have asked very pointedly about whether or not we have encountered any intruders. We get the impression that the link-up of the Enterprise and Fifth Fleet, now sitting next to their artery back to home space has spooked them. The Cardassians are definitely searching for something they won't find there, but it is difficult to determine what their reaction will be.
Our best Xenopsychologists suggest that the agreement to withdraw from unclaimed space here may be the concession Cardassian command hangs its hat on. Certainly, it seems to have allowed them to commence searching in earnest.
-
Aboard Runabout BG-1, High-Speed Starfleet Intelligence Command Runabout
"It'll be fine, she said. Of course I'm sure, she said," grumbles the pilot of the runabout as they narrowly slip past the discharge arc of the ion storm.
"Oh, hush," snaps Kuznetsova. "We're just about there."
"We've just about been barbecued seven times already!" retorts the pilot. After a moment she just sighs. "Time to hail our fearless - because they get to sit behind ridiculous shields - neutrino hunting friends."
The screen at the front of the runabout shifts abruptly to show the bridge of the Sarek. And a whole bunch of very sour looking officers. "This is Commander Kwan, chief science officer of the USS Sarek, to what do we owe the pleasure?"
"This is Starfleet Intel runabout BG-1, we require immediate docking to get out of this storm," states the pilot.
The glare from Commander Kwan seems fit to just about melt the viewscreen, but he nods curtly after a moment. "Helm, slow to impulse. Make it quick, BG-1, we're on a Federation critical mission."
"We know!" says Kuznetsova. "If you're on the trail of the Kadak-Tor, then you're going to need us on hand!"
==============
[ ][FLEET] Issue Orders to Fleets
[ ][FLEET] Leave Fleets as they are
Possible orders include:
Move to a system
Spread out and patrol a subsector or system
Patrol in force in a subsector or system
Attack a target
Escort shipping in the area
====================
Cardassian Fleet Movements
Kadak-Tor's Suspected Location: -2c
Believed to have evaded Cardassian attention
Group B is holding position at the Aries Expanse near Dawiar space.
Cardassian Group C and D are now in -4d. Sensor readings confirm:
2 Kaldar
2 Jaldun
2 Takaaki Combat Variant
1 Medium Escort
Groups C and D have dispersed into search patterns
Cardassian Group E+F have moved to Sub-Sector -4e. Readings confirm:
3 Jaldun
1 Kaldar
1 Lorgot
2 Escort
Groups E and F have dispersed into search patterns
Cardassian Group G
1 Jaldun
1 Escort
Apprx 1d (has entered into Sydraxian territory, now very difficult to track)
Cardassian Group H
~4 Warp Signatures
Holding Station at -4g
Federation Fleet Movements
First Fleet holds station
Second Fleet holds station
Third Fleet holds station (full force has arrived)
Fourth Fleet has moved to -4d en route to 15 Themis in -3e.
Fifth Fleet has moved towards Fiiral at -5e, then proceeded to head core-ward. Is now at the edge of Federation space in -4e, 2 days out from 21 Themis Outpost.
USS Sarek has moved from -3d to -2c, pursuing the faint neutrino signature of the Kadak-Tor.
Betazed has deployed a task force of 1 Cruiser and 3 Escorts to join First Fleet at Vega. Now designated Betazoid Second Fleet, and is in 1A.
Amarki has deployed a task force of Friec, Perciar, Hilindia, and two light, and two heavy escorts, to join Second Fleet at Tales Har. Now designated Amarki Second Fleet, and is in Tales Har.
USS Bull of First Fleet reports heading off two attempts by a Sydraxian Hasque-class escort to enter Federation space, presumably to attack shipping.
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