Endeavour Story #9

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 9





USS Endeavour pushed her way into open space, followed closely by her burned and blackened savior, USS Comanche. Both looked beaten, despite the relatively light amount of combat Comanche had seen. The Miranda’s hull was burned in a neat semi-circle where she had flown through two light minutes worth of plasma flow to reach her command ship and pocked by no less then ten torpedo impacts that had left their scars through the shields. Endeavour looked a total mess. Her bow and flanks were nearly entirely blackened by almost constant contact with the Tempest’s jets of energy. Her windows shown out amid this like virtual beacons. The pot-marks of thirty torpedo detonations against one shield or another marred her remaining hull, which had already been darkened to a ruddy almond color by the plasma storm’s heat. Hull breaches roughed up her smooth skin along the saucer, top and bottom, and along the fantail of her sleek engineering hull. A long piece of intercooler had been blown completely away and trailed a white, frothy coolant.

The area the two ships emerged into was several light minutes across and free of any kind of radiant energy. It was lit by the surrounding flow in a surreal kind of ambient light that made the seven starships converging together seem a collection of ghosts. Yorktown had the lead of the waiting starships, flanked at either side by two of the three frigates.

Ford was out of the conn again, grateful that the air on his bridge was restored to a fully breathable state by the venting systems. The fire beneath the main engineering console was totally out and a repair effort could now begin in earnest. The two men manning it were even now on their sides peering into it as a third repair officer bent to open a case full of tools. Three other damage control officers were also making the rounds, checking systems and pulling panels off bulkheads.

The Commodore stripped the red jacket he wore off and tossed it across the back of the conn as he halted at the StratCom table and bent beside his executive officer. Ben looked back at him, frazzled but not yet worn out. Ford offered a small grin and then looked to the tactical map and the magazine indicators.

“We still got four tricobalt torps left, and about fifty photons. We’ve took out four escorts and that big bastard.” He tallied off. Ben grunted.

“Hope they didn’t build two of those things.”

The CO looked up to Lieutenant Surall at science.

“Science Officer, are you still picking up more Ya’wenn signatures incoming?”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Where away?”

“Bearing 105 mark 040. Distance estimated within seven AUs. Interception possibly within ten minutes.” She told them. Then she added: “Fifteen contacts.”

Both men shared a grunt. Ben’s earlier count had been seventeen. Had they lost a ship or two?

“Gonna be one hellova fight, Skip.” Thomas breathed out. He tore open the snapped front of his own maroon jacket and left it hanging open.

“Now receiving navigational update from the T’pol, Commodore.” Smith called off. “Downloading it to StratCom and helm.”

Ford pressed the waiting yellow tab to retrieve the information. A long angle image of the storm that was not scannable by Endeavour’s sensors resolved over the tactical schematic. That science ship had some fantastic scanners. Ford nodded as he read it over.

“Ramses was right, we can follow this path right the hell outta here.”

“Providing we do it fast,” Ben pointed to the leading edges of the storm on opposing fronts. “This passage is closing up just like that one we used to find the Gorn frigate. I figure we got a quarter hour, twenty minutes...”

Ford considered his options now that he had some. He could play this the safe way and withdraw. His ship and the fleet would be safe and they could make their report. Fight Jarn another day. Or he could remain, fight Jarn now and possibly end all this before it got truly ugly and tied up more and more Starfleet ships. The odds currently stood at 15/7, Jarn’s favor. The Starfleet team had the technological edge but no one could guess how many more ships might arrive in the mean time. They might get lucky and take the Over Warden out, thus ending any further aggression from his people and organization. Ford did not think this likely…

“We’re outta here. Comm, send to the fleet. Set course for the storm’s exit. Make your speed warp factor four—“

“Commodore!” Surall’s exclamation cut Ford off and he turned to stare her way. He didn’t like the energy reading he could now see on her boards. “Plasma interference has been altering the sensor images I’ve been receiving. Range and bearing indicators are shifting…I now believe the Ya’wenn fleet to be approaching from bearing 017 mark 004. Distance two light minutes, no more!”

Ford looked down to the tactical map before him to see where that put the enemy. They would be coming out of the plasma storm in a marked weak spot in the field, between the Federation task force and their way out. The flag officer growled and turned back to Smith. “Pass those orders, Lieutenant! Tell them to ready for combat!”
“We can’t go into that passage at warp speed.” Thomas reminded.

“I know that!” Chevis snapped back. He glared a hole through the image on the board. “Damn. We’re gonna get that big fight after all. ‘Cept now it’s gonna be a running retreat. Get a damage report from the Comanche.”

“Aye,” Ben returned, heading off for the comm deck to relay the request. This left Ford alone to think strategy. Several options were available to them to withdraw from this area. He just wished the area were large enough to exceed warp four. Any faster would be to run the danger of clipping a plasma flow around the periphery of this formation or to hit a piece of stellar debris too large for the defectors to move.

After running the length of the clearance, they would have to slow back to sublight to traverse the passage out of here. And they’d have to move at breakneck speed to get out before the mass closed in on itself. Under combat conditions, with large numbers of ships, this would be a terrifying task… There was no way his force could beat the Ya’wenn before they reached the passage…

Nechayev turned Chevy’s direction.

“Keptin, the first Ya’venn wessels are emerging from the field. Distance ten billion kilometers. Closing fast.”

“Get a lock on their lead ships. Comm, signal the fleet to Phalanx Position Three.” Endeavour still lacked aft shields and the rest of her screens were down to half. Ford hated putting others in the line of fire, but he had to look after this ship. Endeavour would be best suited to provide supporting fire as the rest of the fleet maneuvered.
Ben turned away from Smith’s console as the boy sent his signal.

“Comanche reports forward shields below thirty percent and damage to her maneuvering array. Her targeting array also took a direct hit and he’s relying on visual sensors to shoot.”

Smith was next to report to Ford.

“Skipper, I think I got the message off, but the enemy has begun some massive jamming. Further comm might not be possible.”

“Use visual signals, we’re close enough. And repeat your last message to make sure.”

“Aye, sir.”

Thomas rejoined Ford at the StratCom. The two of them watched as the two fleets moved in toward their confrontation. The Ya’wenn were moving at warp four as well, eager to join the battle. Jarn’s ship rode at the tail, just like Ford’s. Both officers looked for the remaining Ya’wenn escorts that had been following Endeavour. Those ships were hanging back, likely due to damage, and angling out to eventually join the newly arriving force. They would be slow in getting there. Ben looked up to his friend, his face soft.

“Not gonna sit down for this one?”

“Nope. Figured I’d use this table for more than a peep show. Might learn something.”

Thomas nodded. They watched as the faster than light ships edged closer and the scale of the map narrowed to show more and more detail. ‘At least they didn’t have time to cut us off,’ Ford thought as he glanced up.

“Helm, steer right seventeen degrees. Comm, order the course change to the fleet.” He waited, seeing how the enemy ships tightened their center to prevent the Fed ships from breaking through their lines. “Comm, order Shran and Eldridge to flank off left and hit near Jarn’s command ship, with the Le Resolute in support. Attack Pattern Theta.”

“Sending now.”

Relying totally on visual messaging via the formation lights at the bottom of Endeavour’s secondary hull took more time than with subspace signal. Ford could tell by the length of time it took for the two frigates to break formation that Smith was unable to raise them via radio. Ya’wenn jamming must be very potent, despite their lacking tech.

Ford watched the three ships increase speed to factor four point seven and race ahead of the home fleet for eight seconds. Then the smaller ships turned sharply in for the right center of the Ya’wenn cluster. A full three seconds later, Le Resolute followed suit, coming in from a wider, higher trajectory. The trio aimed for Jarn’s larger command ship, which immediately slowed by a tenth of a warp factor and turned to port. This would bring her closer to Endeavour, faster.

“Comm, order remaining ships to come right twenty degrees and increase to warp four point five.”

As Smith replied, Ben repeated the same helm order to Bronstien. The ship turned starboard and began to close with the Ya’wenn even faster than before. The range disappeared in moments.

“Eldridge and Shran are firing.” Surall reported. “Light impacts on Jarn’s deflectors. Le Resolute now firing. Jarn is initiating evasive.”

Ford watched the larger command ship Jarn flew rotate and edge away from his attackers even as he returned fire. Several of his escorts were splitting away from protecting his lead ship to trail after the frigates. Both were taking heavy fire, but the larger Le Resolute lay in a position to clear their tails. Ford watched the transaction with interest long enough to note that they seemed to be doing well.

The remainder of Jarn’s force had just matched his turns and were bearing right for the Federation force. Nechayev looked up from the weapons console. “Veapons range now, Keptin.”

“All ships: open fire!”

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 9 (part 2)

The main viewer lit with long lances of phaser light and swirling volleys of photon torpedoes. The lead ships in the escort wing took the brunt of the fire as Endeavour’s phalanx of craft opened up on them. Endeavour shot at convenient intervals, launching torpedoes between her protective screen along with occasional bursts of highly targeted phaser fire. Detonations shown brightly, illuminating the red-lit bridge in hellish plays of light and shadow. One escort took the full fire of three combined ships. The resulting punishment shattered its starboard section and sent it spinning out of warp speed. Another lost the majority of its nose section and broke formation.

“Jarn’s dropping outta warp!” Ben shouted as he jabbed a finger at the map between the two men. Ford watched as the irresolute commander effectively withdrew his own ship from the fight and fell behind. Endeavour could not turn to pursue or engage lest she leave the protection of her own fleet.

“Chicken sh*t!”

Jarn’s inexperience in this theater of combat showed in the tactics he employed. He showed, however, enough sense to act when he knew he was being out played. Several of his ships followed suit and disengaged their warp drives, though whether this was done under order or because his own commanders lost the will to match the Starfleet ships at warp was unclear.

“Eldridge has sustained a direct hit to her port nacelle.” Surall called out. “Her portside shielding has failed. She is breaking formation to gain distance on the escort trailing her. Le Resolute is out of torpedo range and unable to respond without abandoning the Shran.”

The Eldridge’s captain was aggressive. He’d pursued his target too hard and been led away from his protecting cruiser. Ford looked the tactical situation over. “Helm, come left to 344 mark 350. Increase to warp five. Comm, order fleet to assume Vanguard Position Ten as we clear the Ya’wenn main body.”

“Aye.”

A Vanguard position formed a wall well between the lead ship and any opposition as she traveled through the battlefield. Number ten organized them behind her at fifty thousand kilometers. Endeavour ducked beneath the ten remaining Ya’wenn who still were keeping pace and trading fire with the Federation ships. The increase in speed sent her safely past most of them before they could respond; though Endeavour did buck hard from two impacts to her ventral shielding.

“Closing with Eldridge, Keptin.”

“Very good, Weps. Target at will.”

Nechayev hurled three photon torpedoes at the maneuvering tail of the Ya’wenn pursuing the old frigate. They struck home hard, tearing hull paneling away despite not having penetrated the enemy’s shielding. The enemy escort took the hint and broke her pursuit.

“Ya’wenn are reforming with Jarn’s ship.” Thomas pointed out as the bulk of the Fed force moved out of weapons range. Even the most dogged of the alien ships had finally pulled back. They’d taken a hard beating. Fighting at warp was no faint-hearted occupation.

“They’ll be coming back soon. We’ve just made ourselves some breathing room.” Chevis watched as the enemy reformed their ranks and accelerated again to warp five point three. “Here they come…”

The flag officer looked down at his own formation and noted the free room they had left to maneuver. His task group had matched Endeavour’s warp five, and in less than a minute they’d be forced by the plasma to make a turn. “Helmsman, come left to 340 mark 0. Maintain speed.”

“Coming left to 340 mark 0, aye.” Johnathan repeated. “Now bearing for the exit point. Contact in forty seconds, Skipper.”

“Understood.”

Chevy looked up to his sweating friend. He had yet to notice like sweat pouring from his own face. “This isn’t my kind of fighting… Takes too long.”

“Yeah, but you got those extra arrowheads on your pin now. Better get real used to this sh*t.”

“Screw that. They’re coming into photon range again.”

This observation was punctuated by a direct hit to Endeavour’s unprotected rear. Sparks rained from an overhead bank of wiring as crewmen held on for dear life. The hit had been quite sudden and without proper warning. None had expected such good marksmanship from the Ya’wenn; to be able to hit Endeavour past all of her intervening ships.

“Helm, begin evasive turns.”

“Aye!”

Nechayev turned to report to the commodore.

“Keptin, that hit knocked out torpedo tube number four. Magazine loading system is totally wrecked.”

Ford refrained from further cursing. Losing torpedo armament in warp combat could end the fight for you right there. Phasers, while useable at FTL, were too short ranged to be very effective and could get a commander in lots of trouble. “Understood. Get damage control on it to see what they can do.”

“Any thought to whether this fight might drag out into clear space outside the Tempest, Cap’n?” Ben suddenly asked. This brought Ford’s perceptions to a sudden halt. He hadn’t considered whether the enemy would even follow, let alone what it might imply if they did. He didn’t get to dwell on it long.

“Yorktown just took a direct hit to her starboard engine!” Davenport shouted. “They’re fallin’ behind!”

“Comm, order the fleet to cut engines and reduce to sublight. Order Shran and Kiev to provide Yorktown with close support. Le Resolute and Comanche to back them up. T’pol and Eldridge to keep close in beside us.” Ford ordered. He did not feel comfortable giving these orders. At first he’d given in to the flow of the situation. Now that one of his cruisers, manned by 500 men and women, was under heavy fire and out of his protection, he was beginning to feel niggling doubts. Could he pull this off and get these ships to safety? And what would they do upon getting out of the Tempest? Would Jarn be bold enough to follow? Would he press home his advantage in superior numbers?

Yorktown showed to be losing her shields entirely. She was an old Constitution-Class heavy, and she was tired. Ford glanced to the main viewer to see a magnified image of that grand old lady taking a beating he wouldn’t wish on a Klingon cruiser. The Ya’wenn had drawn to a near halt with Yorktown between them and the remainder of Ford’s ships, and were concentrating their particle cannon fire on her port side. Yorktown was trailing fire and debris from her shattered hull and her nacelles were in tatters on the ends of her pylons.

Anger boiled forth from Ford. He abandoned the StratCom and stomped for the conn. Sitting, he began to shout orders as he clutched his armrests with a death grip. “Ahead warp factor one! Weps, lock in on the first ship in that column and put a tricobalt torpedo up its ass!”

“Aye!”

Endeavour’s engines roared shortly, hurling the ship into the fray before the remainder of the fleet could close to phaser range. The enemy immediately shifted their aim to the Federation command ship and began to pummel her viscously as she resumed sublight velocity. Ford was not strapped in with any kind of restraint, but refused to yield his seat to the effects of inertia. Their first shot leapt in on the Ya’wenn escort. The unknowing ship did not attempt any manner of evasive turn. They hadn’t seen what this device could do, and so took the rap right on the chin. The tiny escort blew into three distinctly different pieces when the warhead went off. Pieces of its innards showered the surrounding ships and even bounded off the retreating Yorktown’s battered hull.

Endeavour took the incoming pounding on her shields like a heavy weight boxer shrugging off hits with his arms. The starship rattled and rolled with hit after hit. The deck lurched and rebelled under foot as Endeavour traded licks with the entirety of the enemy force. Another tricobalt torpedo launch resulted in one more destroyed warship. Jarn’s ship cut speed and fell even further behind to stay out of harm’s way.

Torpedoes rained home on Endeavour’s prow, blasting her formerly pristine saucer into a cratered wasteland of twisted, black metal. She rained phaser energy back at her enemies, cutting hot swaths through their armor and blowing their men out into the cold depths. More shots hammered in at the dark painted neck and the sleekly shaped engineering hull. The navigational deflector burst forth into thousands of illuminated, glassy shards as two torpedoes rammed into it.

The bridge was a picture of macabre chaos. Controls shorted out, stations caught fire and men tumbled from their posts with hard hits near the bridge. Damage alarms screamed as though they believed no one could hear them. Through it all, Ford glared at the image of Jarn’s ship and issued orders as though in a trance of hatred.
“Shields have failed!” Ronald was calling off, his face already blackened after a fuse blew in his face. “Directs hits to decks three through twenty all along the fore section!”

“Maintain fire and begin evasive sequence delta!” Ford fired back. “Weps, get a lock on Jarn’s flag ship and send him our last tricobalt weapons!”

“Aye, Keptin!”

Now the remainder of Ford’s fleet had entered full weapons range. They came in firing, trying to catch up with their lead vessel and take some of the heat off of her. Another blue tricobalt weapon spiraled out among the enemy and angle in for the lead vessel. Jarn’s ship kicked up to maximum impulse and slid between two of its aft most protectors. The torpedo locked onto one of them and tore it to flaming shreds as Jarn passed by unscathed. Only then did that lead ship turn in on the Federation fleet and begin to open up with the full extent of its arsenal.

“Comanche’s taking heavy fire!” Called Surall, “Her shields are failing and her warp drive is off line! The Eldridge is suffering fire in her engineering section and has sustained massive casualties! T’pol’s main sensor array has been destroyed!”

“We’re losing men here, Cap!” Thomas shouted as well, back at the StratCom. Ford shot a look his way.

“Has the Yorktown gotten clear?”

“Aye!”

“Comm, order all ships to withdraw toward the exit point before it closes. Best possible speed!”

Another wave of concussive hits staggered the ship, finally succeeding in hurling the commodore from his seat. Ford landed with a curse and grabbed onto a support leg to the nearby rail. “Get us out of here, helm!”

Endeavour turned like an ox cart, barely accelerating ahead with all of the damage she’d sustained. She trailed hull panels and debris, even some human flotsam. She and the ship’s she led limped for the way home, and the enemy pushed ahead in pursuit.

The Federation ships were able to gain some headway, widening the distance between themselves and their hungry pursuers. They edged into the opening of the passage with as much care as could be managed at such extreme velocities. Forced now to slow in order to make the turns of the changing energy flows, the Starfleet vessels gave up nearly all of their advantages in greater impulse velocities.

For all of the Federation fleet’s advantages in weaponry and technology, nothing could override overly superior amounts of firepower. The Ya’wenn of Kovarn had packed an insane number of photon torpedo launchers and particle weapons onto their craft to combat their enemies and the high tech they employed. It was not the first time such tactic had been employed to good effect. It had worked wonders for Jarn today…

Endeavour followed her ragged escorts into the twisting confines of the solitary path of escape that existed for them. She trailed plasma and debris like blood from her many wounds. The ship was badly injured and none of those with her could claim to be in better shape. To rescue the Yorktown and her crew, Endeavour and the fleet had all sacrificed something of themselves. In terms of men lost versus men saved, the trade had hardly been worth it.

Ford would not allow Jarn the victory of claiming the technology of a Federation starship, however. He wouldn’t even leave them debris.

He sat in the conn, nervously rubbing the tops of his armrests as his crew fought to keep Endeavour flying through and between the currents of plasma that churned along all about them. The enemy pressed in on their heels, occasionally peppering the Excelsior’s aft with torpedoes. Endeavour was nearly out of missile weaponry. The commodore was beginning to wonder if Jarn would ever run dry…

“Commodore,” Came the voice of Lieutenant Surall. Ford looked to her tiredly, energy all but drained from his face. Grit smudged his cheek and blood was dried atop his head from his fall.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I have analyzed our exit vector. We will exit the Tempest in seven point four minutes. However, Jarn’s fleet is still in pursuit, and he is unable to turn back. It has become obvious he intends to follow us the entire way. Also, even should he decide not to pursue us as we go to warp speed, we will lose the Yorktown, Comanche and the Eldridge as they do not have warp propulsion.”

‘Then I saved the Yorktown for nothing,’ Ford thought to himself. By doing so, he’d condemned two other ships to death along with her… No, there had to be another way. He had to delay Jarn’s fleet, stop them from following. But how?

One quick and deliberate plan sprang to mind, and it frightened him.

Ford stood. He could deliberate on the idea that had occurred to him for hours and it would seem no better. He would not discuss it with the crew. He didn’t have the time to hear them out. He had to halt those trailing warships to save the majority of the crews who were fighting to make it out of here. The Commodore knew of but one method.

“Helm, cut forward thrust. Comm, signal the fleet to maintain maximum speed. Tell them to get the hell out of this place and call Starbase for backup!”

“Aye!” Lieutenant Smith replied. Crewmen and officers alike turned away from their stations to look at their commander. Something in Ford’s voice gave them pause. He stalked up to the tactical console and stood by his gunnery officer. His hand poised over the intercom.

Thomas scanned the look on his friend’s face and his own expression turned stark.

“Chev, what the hell are we doin’?”

“Helm,” Ford ignored Thomas, wouldn’t look his way. “Turn the wheel hard over, full about, one hundred eighty degrees!”

“Aye…” Bronstien pulled the maneuver off, rotating the ship like a top against her inertia. Now she flew in reverse along the same path she’d been taking. The ship faced her Ya’wenn opponents.

Ford’s set his expression to that familiar mask of neutrality. He tapped the intercom button, activating the intercraft pickup. “All hands, this is the captain. Abandon ship! Repeat, all hands, abandon ship!”

Alarms began to call out on every deck as white and yellow flashers pulsed on and off. Ben Thomas’s wide face went totally slack. He’d never heard Ford utter such a command in his entire career. But he had an idea of what the commodore was planning. “So we get to be the first one’s to lose an Excelsior?”

“Looks like it.” Ford looked to his officers, “You heard the order people. Get to your shuttles!”

Thomas stepped up to the tactical console. “We’re gonna need a man or two to aim this old girl down their throats ‘fore we go.”

“You’re goin’ now, XO.”

“The hell I am!”

Thomas grabbed Ford bodily and yanked him free of the tactical station. Nechayev did not know how to react, and remained still. His hand fell to his sidearm, though, just the same. Ford looked about to the position of his crew, then looked Ben in the eye. “I’ll be along, Mister Thomas. Just gotta make sure she gets to where she’s goin’.”

“No f*ckin’ way!” Thomas was not going to let his friend turn this into a suicide mission. Already the report of escape pods was sounding from the comm panel port of them. Much of the command crew had silently filed out of the bridge and was on their way. Only Ford, Thomas, Nechayev, Bronstien and Surall remained stationary.

“Lemme go.” Chevy implored, unforcefully. Inside, he fought over his decision. The grief building in his friend’s expression made the battle no easier. Was this decision the right one? Could he do this? And was it the right thing to do? Would it even work?

“Yer comin’ with me! We’ll—“

Ford looked aside. He could not second-guess himself. He’d hold this course, no matter his self-doubts. He had to make this work if he was going to save the fleet. He could not base his decision on his own fears or on Thomas’s friendship for him. There was much more at stake…

“Lieutenant.”

Thomas jerked his vision to stare down the weapons officer, but this was not the lieutenant Ford had spoken to. Surall slipped silently behind Ben and delivered a swift pinch to the nerve cluster at the nape of his neck. Thomas folded into a heap borne by the tiny little science officer. Ford gave her an appreciative glance. “Thanks.”

“Most obliged, Commodore.”

“Get him out of here,” Ford turned back to Nechayev. Time was short. “Set phasers to continual fire, pulse setting. Tie in automatic tracking and patch control to the helm.”

The flag officer spared a second to look down at the still troubled, distraught face of his closest friend. That man would walk with him down the road to hell. But Ford wasn’t going to let him. Ford smiled silently over their friendship. He then turned to look at Bronstien.

“Johnathan, ahead full!”

Lieutenant Bronstien nodded back without word and tapped the waiting control. The engines labored, pushing against the momentum that carried the ship away from the Ya’wenn. She slowly began to drive back toward them. Ford hopped down and jogged three steps to the helm position. He laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder and smiled down.

“Alright, young’n. Clear the bridge! And don’t forget my dog!”

After a moment’s hesitation and a glance to the last person who’d refused to leave the bridge, Bronstien nodded back and rose from his seat. He offered it to the commodore with a gesture and trotted into the waiting lift. Ford watched them go, then turned his attention to negotiating the turns leading back to the enemy. Shaking hands took control of the helm. Ford’s dry lips parted as he fought to control his breathing. He was very glad for the surgery he’d undertaken, that allowed him to be able to face this without passing out or falling to the deck.

The commodore’s mind was numb, much as it had been when he’d watched Thomas months earlier in the throes of his malady, fighting for his life in sickbay. The detachment from reality went unnoticed, but helped him to do what he needed to do.

He’d give the fleet the time they needed to clear the Tempest. And he’d make sure no one followed.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 10






Doctor Keller hefted the bandaged SPO from engineering up from the biobed he lay heaped upon. Ambassador Spock hastened to assist her in bearing the larger man’s bulk as they struggle to carry him to the open sickbay doors. Fallen structural supports littered the deck outside the med ward along with a covering of burnt soot and debris. The ship’s damage was apparent even this far within the armored saucer section.

The medical staff fought and tugged to clear the sickbay of its living charges. Crew and passengers groaned and screamed in pain as they were lugged slowly toward the nearest banks of escape pods. Nurse Tyler paused as she bore a lady security officer out the hatchway. She looked back, unheeding of the blonde locks falling into her vision. She seemed ready to break down into tears. Bleakly, she sought Keller with her gaze.

“What about the dead!”

Andrea paused but only a second to look back at the array of corpses they were leaving behind. Humans, aliens of the Federation and even Ya’wenn littered the compartment. Sickbay was its own battlefield. They would leave them for the cremation to come.

Keller snapped her gaze back to Tyler with purpose.

“We leave them, Leftenant! They’re not going anywhere…”

Tyler lingered a moment more as Keller and Spock continued on with their charge. Only when the lady Tyler held aloft began to cry out in discomfort did the nurse finally set back into motion. They moved out into crowded corridors, stepping over girders, bodies and damaged equipment as they shuffled for safety. Shrill emergency sirens cut through the thick air and flashing evacuation lights shown in the murky smoke. They piled home into small EVA pods, twenty beings to a vehicle.

Keller pressed her chosen patient fully into Spock’s waiting grasp as she broke away to help a fallen damage control tech up from the floor. The technician suffered from a compound fracture of his left leg. He looked up at her pleadingly as she bent over him. Relief flooded his countenance as she grabbed him beneath his armpits and lugged him back to his good foot.

The doctor could no longer see the ambassador. The press of Endeavour crew was thick, the air in the corridor oppressive. Keller looked down, struggling forth as her new charge repeated ‘thank you, thank you!’ She’d originally been headed for the main shuttle bay, the muster point for senior officers during abandon ship procedures. But she knew her strength would not hold out so long.

Keller altered course, making for the already visible dorsal EVA bank. There she encountered much more assistance. Able hands relieved her of the man she’d all but carried. He was still thanking her even as he disappeared into the confines of the escape pod.

Her mind blank and numb, Keller resigned herself to the nearest pod and entered without word. Shock of what was coming to a close was settling in on her mind. What was to be lost wouldn’t totally become so apparent till some time later…






Commander Ben Thomas came to at the sound of a pressure seal clicking home. He shook the cobwebs from his head and sat up. Hands pushed back down at him and he slugged at their owners. Things were beginning to come back to him.

Thomas could hear a shuttlecraft’s drive firing, feel the skids rise from a deck. They were leaving the Endeavour… They were leaving Chevy!

“Turn this f*cker back around!” Ben was up and staggering to his feet in the crammed confines of the Type J shuttle. He gained his bearings after a moment, and turned left to see the edges of the main shuttlebay’s doors flash by. The shuttle dipped, being flown by Bronstien, and shot beneath Endeavour’s ragged port warp engine and zip away to safety.

While Chev’s still over there! Ben thought like a wild man. He surged forward through the press of crewmen and officers, bent on wringing the helmsman’s throat. He’d kill ‘em for making him do this!

“Sit down, Commander!”

Ben whirled at the stern, mature sound of Ambassador Spock’s voice. He faced the aged Vulcan with half a mind to put him down with a shot to the nose. That bastard had found a way to get off the ship. He wasn’t trying to be a hero and save everybody...all alone…

“Commodore Ford knows what he is doing, Commander. Do not degrade his sacrifice by challenging others to defy him.”

“He didn’t have to do this!”

“Endeavour will not fly within a plasma storm on her own, Mister Thomas. The Commodore knew this, as do you. That is why he remained behind to halt the enemy’s advance.”

“He’s throwing his damn life away!”

Spock looked at him, knowing and understanding. He was not unmoved by what was being lost, nor of Ben’s emotions in dealing with it. Ford knew that Endeavour was the only ship that could hold off the enemy while the rest of the fleet escaped. And he knew the ship’s automatic systems would be overwhelmed by the task. Someone had to remain…

“He’s giving himself so that others may live. I did this once. Those who were affected were no less sorry for my passing because of my actions, but I saw those actions as necessary none the less. Ford is doing as he must.”

“Difference being that you’re still kickin’, slick!”

An explosion rocked the fleeing shuttlecraft, slinging all those standing atop of one another. Ben fought his way back up, marveling over the blast. He clambered unceremoniously over bodies and chairs till he reached the cockpit hatchway. The transparent aluminum door was sealed, barring his entry. He pounded on it, drawing a glance from Bronstien as he fought to keep their shuttle under control. Tears rained down Ben’s face. He climbed past another man, intent on reaching the controls to the door.

He found them locked out, dead save to those within the cockpit. Surall had been expecting his to wake. He tapped at the dead panel, unable to make it respond to his commands. Ben sagged bodily. Miraculously, his eye found a monitor within the cockpit, showing and after view of their flight path.

Endeavour still stood there, slowly advancing on those ships that were even now ravaging her raw, glowing hide with piercing azure particle beams. No further torpedoes flew in on the Excelsior-Class ship. The Ya’wenn had perhaps run out. Ford flung his final missiles into the advancing escort vessels, slagging them and tearing them asunder.

Fire engulfed Endeavour’s entire engineering hull. This had not slowed her return fire, though the ship hardly moved now. Jagged pulses of phaser fire fired out from the ship’s functioning banks, pouring like rain upon those who threatened. Ya’wenn weapons slammed home over and over in the attempt to silence those weapons, but they still kept firing. Endeavour was rolling now, her attitude control lost. But Ford’s targeting remained dead on. One escort shredded into a flying inferno and rammed full bore into the Federation starship.

This halted all fire from the capitol ship, and Ben feared Ford dead now. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, to look away. He kept on watching, even as the distance and wafting plasma fields threatened to tear the vision from him.

The Ya’wenn lead ship, Jarn’s ship, cruised closer. She neared Endeavour’s bow and charged her weapons for a final blast to rid the sky of its worst menace. Anger swelled in Mister Thomas as he watched this.

One final, solitary blue torpedo lashed out from Endeavour’s starboard launcher. It streaked in on the phaser lashed command ship and hit her soundly amid the unshielded, unarmored torpedo launchers that Jarn had heedlessly packed onto his ship. There was an eye piercing flash. Jarn’s craft all but leapt within the viewer, just as Thomas leaped with a loud, triumphant cheer. A crowd now watched the goings on behind the XO. Their breath caught at the captain’s final attack.

The Ya’wenn command ship began to roil in on itself as internal explosions stemmed out from the central blast within her bowels. Armed torpedoes went off in tirades, shredding the lumbering oaf like splintered wood beneath the splitting maul. The ship bent in two at her spine, nearly breaking in half. Escape pods poured forth from within, but not dreadful many of them. Ben wanted nothing more than to turn and blast them out of the sky.

Jarn’s ship tore itself in half unevenly, like a cadaver torn between two ravenous hounds. Her innards spilled out everywhere, spiraling into the storm and bouncing off Endeavour’s drifting wreck. The final blast of Jarn’s warp core incinerated scores of lifeboats and knocked Endeavour, and Ford, into the swell of closing plasma. The Tempest claimed the ship, consuming her. Fires ate at her blackened metal skin. Ben watched as she sank out of view, barely visible with the clouding and interference. Her saucer was first to vanish, then as her engineering hull faded from sight there came a fiery explosion from the center of her drive section. The blast tore the surrounding plasma field apart and blinded the camera feed. When the antimatter detonation cleared, the shuttle was too far away to see anything. The opening in the plasma storm had closed in on the remnants of Endeavour and her surviving Ya’wenn pursuers.

[Governor Ronjar]

Epilogue





Admiral Jonathan Sharp stood at full attention for the torpedo tube that lowered into position amid the throng of gathered officers and crew within the Starbase torpedo bay. There was no body to mourn for the man they’d lost. This made the ceremony no less important.

The Federation flag, blue on white, was draped over the casket. The name and serial, USS Endeavour, NCC-2007, had been painted onto the Starbase torpedo casing for this affair. Jon did not like funerals. He did not relish losing friends in the line of duty. But he was here for this ceremony. He would officiate it and see his friend’s memory honored. Once it was over, he would also honor his friend by getting stupid drunk and sleep off some of his grief.

That is what Commodore…Captain Ford…would have wanted.

“We are gathered here today,” The Admiral began, “To pay final respects to our honored dead. Commodore Chevis D. Ford gave his life in the service of his home and friends…his family. No greater honor could have been done him, or us. His loss is sad… grievous, but we…”

Yes, Sharp went on with the eulogy, but his heart was elsewhere. Much like the man standing at the head of the casket, Commander Thomas, he planned to find out if this Jarn still lived. He would set right all that had been done wrong in the past months. Sharp looked down on the solemn casing that might have held his friend in it had they a body, and vowed in silence that he would not rest till he fixed everything the men and women under his command had died fighting against.

Sharp hated funerals…
***




Commander Benjamin Thomas sat in silent dark in the furthest corner of Starbase 23’s officer’s club. The drink held sweating in his hand had long lost its taste. It was nothing more than liquid comfort now. He shifted his attention from studying the drink and the cold, glowing stars shining in at him from beyond the clear pane of aluminum beside his table. Those stars were just as cold and loveless as the rest of space. Thomas drowned the thought in another gulp of vodka and reached for his bottle.

Refilling his tumbler, he watched as the warmer liquid dissolved the remainder of his ice. It was gone in a few seconds, dissolving like the Endeavour had in the fires of her own antimatter engines. His mind wandered to times where he’d shared a bottle of whatever with his lost friend. Good times or bad. Parties and brainstorming sessions. They’d been inseparable. Duty might have taken them out of sight for a time, but they’d always wound up back on the same ship before too long.

Ben washed this latest fill of liquor in a single swallow. The service had cost him a lot. It had cost Chevy even more. There was an empty hole in Thomas now, that hadn’t even felt so hollow when Ford in his anger had left his former XO in the brig on this very station. Thomas squashed the thoughts of his friend abandoning him here. After all, Chevis had come back to clear him. He’d pulled some kind of strings to make sure Ben wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in a very harsh prison. How he’d managed that, Ben still didn’t know. Now, he never would. He reached again for the nearly empty bottle…

A hand descended upon his and halted him. Ben looked up in surprise and forced his eyes to focus in on the tall, slim man restraining his hand. Lieutenant Daniel Nechayev stood before his table, a long, sober look upon his stony face. The Russian gave him a small smirk that looked like it was equal parts sneer and placed another bottle on the table before the Commander.

“Dat French svill is not wodka.” The gunnery officer told him. His own speech told of his level of inebriation. He’d been tying one on for some time now. “Try ‘dis, Commander.”

Nechayev helped himself to a chair across from the former exec. Ben glared at him for a time, unsure whether he welcomed the fellow or not. He did welcome his bottle, however, and decided he would accept the company for its sake. He reached out and pulled the well-worked cork. The label on the clear container was entirely in Russian. Ben wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway by now...

“Moscow Grand, ’23. Wery old…wery good.” The officer assured.

Ben looked back at him without discernable expression. He wouldn’t be able to tell how good or bad the vodka was at this point. He’d been here for two hours straight. The bottle before him was his second. He filled the tumbler in his hand and tossed half of it back. Daniel filled his own glass and took a long drink. Both men sighed over the good liquor. Nechayev had been correct. It was good.

“Dining on ashes, Commander?” Asked the lieutenant.

“Yup.”

“De’ Commodore vas a good man.” Nechayev said simply. There had been times he’d thought the man slovenly, undisciplined and crazy. But his methods, while unorthodox, has always rendered results. And his final act had been one borne of heroism. “He must have been of Russian blood.”

Ben scoffed out a haggard laugh at the idea. He pictured his friend in a fluffy fur hat with a little red star atop it. “No, not likely, man. Chevy was a Southerner from th’ ground up.”

“Ve both eat too many potatoes!” The other countered. “Wery little difference.”

“Yeah…”

“This a private party?”

Both men looked over to the two men standing before the table. Lieutenant Bronstien stood beside Commander Davenport. Neither looked nearly as trashed as the two sitting by the window, but they also bore bottles of booze. Slung under Bronstien’s other arm was the panting bundle of hair that had belonged to their Skipper. Ben smiled much more happily than he felt. “Have a sit down, folks.”

Ron sat without word, taking up the bottle of Russian drink and poured himself a glass. Ice clinked and cracked within his tall glass and he took a long pull. Johnathan poured up his own, then held it high over the table. His eyes met those of each at the corner table.

“To the skipper.”

Ben poured another and quickly raised his tumbler to clink with the others. “To the Cap’n!” He repeated. Everyone drained their respective glasses and set them on the glassy tabletop. The dog, China, continued to pant and look happily about at the collected men. He seemed confused at the absence of his owner. The officers took turns tussling the Pekinese’s hair and petting him affectionately.

Ben’s eye drifted toward the bar. Another form stood aloft near the closing doors to the officer’s club. The tall, broad shouldered kid looked their way, seeming lost. Ben felt himself smile genuinely as he recognized the junior Endeavour officer. Ford had made an impression on a lot of people. He waved the lone figure over.

“C’mon over here Smith. Get snookered with us.”

The comm officer smiled in relief and Ben snatched a glass off another table to fill it for the boy. “You old ‘nuff to drink kid?”

“I’m as old as Johnathan!” Noah returned. He had to be the only truly sober man at the round table. Ben smiled as he pushed the cool vodka Smith’s direction. Again, Thomas’s glass raised over the group and they raised theirs to match.

“To Commodore Ford!”

“To the Skipper!” They confirmed. This was they way the bridge crew of Endeavour spent their night.




*Note: I nearly decided to nix thie next two scenes, finding them rather overly melodramatic and never being quite happy with either. I still have them in here as I may improve on them later. The first is necessary for the next story. The second scene...I simply don't feel comfortable making such suppositions about a character who never belonged to me... So it feels off. But here they are, for the completion of the story...*


Doctor Andrea Keller sat alone in her temporary cabin. She sat on her narrow bed, legs crossed and arms clutched around her large pillow. All that she’d owned aboard the Endeavour was gone. She didn’t care. It was the other thing she had lost there that she was crying for. Face buried into the soft down of her pillow, the doctor let out her insides. Her wails were muffled as she buried her mouth into the fabric and stuffing. Her swollen eyes stung and her mouth felt full of cotton.

How long she had been there, she didn’t know. How long she would remain was up to anyone’s guess. Andrea could not get the image of the commodore, the captain… of Chevis Ford…out of her mind. She saw him standing there before her, laughing at something she’d said…looking back to her with kindness and love in his brown eyes.
Had he loved her? Maybe not. They had been together for such a short time… Then why was she having such a hard time coping with all of this? Why did she feel like she’d lost the love of her life?

The doctor had finally made time for a man, an officer aboard a starship she served on. She’d let him in, and she believed he’d been open with her. And now, after so short a time, he was dead. Starfleet had never been cruel to her. Not yet. Not till two days ago. That had been when Starfleet ceased being a challenge to her perceptions, the center for her learning and betterment. Now it was nothing but her torture room.

Andrea wanted out. She wanted away from this pain. She’d never been so close with a man she’d served with. Never made love to another officer or crewman. Never gotten in touch… And the first time had been a disaster. What made it worse was the fact that Ford had chosen to die. He’d faced the enemy alone. That he’d done it to save lives paled in her perception of the crime. It did nothing to lessen the hurt.

And she kept on hurting. The young doctor cried herself literally to sleep that night.





Ambassador Spock sat in silent meditation in the solitude of his cabin. There was no adornment here. His personal travel effects had been lost with the Endeavour. There were several things about this mission which left the elder Vulcan unsettled.

First were the dashing of the hopes he’d had toward a peaceful resolution. Premier Feece had died traveling to a prison world in the hopes of preventing a civil war among his own people. Spock had been trying to help Ford prevent further violence between Jarn and Federation shipping. All of this had failed.

Next was the commodore’s death. He’d died preventing Jarn from completing his destruction of the Task Group. He died to strike back at the Over Warden for all the harm he’d caused. For one of the few times in his long life, Spock hoped that Ford had indeed killed his man.

Should Jarn have lived, none of the violence that had threatened would be prevented. With both Feece and Chevis Ford gone, Jarn would see to the continuation of all his malicious goals. Spock would remain in the sector, to ensure the Warden’s activities were curtailed…should he prove to still live.

Spock hoped Jarn was, indeed, very dead.

Finally, and most distressing among all those things that concerned the Vulcan’s mind, were the words of Commander Thomas. ‘Difference being that you’re still kicking…’ Spock could not help but think about the implications of this simple retort. Yes, the Ambassador had been unnaturally fortunate and been given a second chance at life. Ford, in his sacrifice, hadn’t had such a luxury. No katra could be brought home to his people. No reanimated body awaited his spirit.

When Spock had sacrificed himself, he didn’t know that he’d be able to live past the incident. He’d comforted himself in the idea that his memories, his essence, and maybe even a glimmer of himself, would live on past his corporeal body.

Ford had taken the controls without thought for any of that. Spock admired this quality in the man. It had required a bravery many couldn’t fathom. Once, the Ambassador had possessed that quality. Did he still?

During this most recent encounter with danger, he’d done nothing to combat the enemy threatening the ship he was on. This was most uncharacteristic of his past experiences. Only months prior, while still a member of Starfleet and an officer of the Enterprise, he’d been right there, in the thick of it all. He’d taken direct control of his destiny, and that of the men beneath him.

During this recent battle, he’d been obliged to stand aside…. to allow those in uniform to make the decisions, deal with the events as they came about. He’d assisted in Sickbay, free of any decisions and most of the danger. Free of the responsibility.

Back in the days of his youth, he would never have shirked responsibility. He would have helped in every capacity available to him… Especially when he’d helped create the decision.

Spock’s insistence to send the Task Group away had, inadvertently, cost Commodore Ford, and many others, their lives. Worse than this realization was the knowledge that if he’d just stuck with his original plan of action, he would not have sent those ships away.

Had they been there, Endeavour would have had the firepower to make a much more effective escape. They would never have needed to face Jarn’s main force. Endeavour would have been able to effect a retreat at the very beginning of the battle.

Remembering that he’d known the danger he gambled with even at the time gave Spock no comfort. He still felt as though he’d failed, badly.

Hindsight was 20/20, it was said. This cliche made the realization no easier to live with. Spock concentrated on turning his perceptions inward as he cut out the surrounding world. He cleared his mind to meditate. He found this nigh impossible. Ghosts of the dead haunted his mind. He saw the twisted, rent bodies in the sickbay. He heard Ford’s objections. There was no rest from all this.

Spock knew this all to be just the beginning.

END.

[Commander La'ra]

Well, since we've already discussed my problem with this one at GREAT length ( ), I'll just hit the positives here:  The same strengths that are present in all the other Endeavour tales are still present in this story, and furthermore, I'm fond of your characterization of the original Vulcan.  Here he's competent, possibly wise, but not a god, as he's often portrayed.

Best part of the story for me, though, was Thomas showing some of his more noble qualities.  After so many where his key failing was at the forefront, it was nice to see just how loyal the man can be.

[Scottish Andy]

Hi Guv. Sorry I've not been around to comment recently. 'Need For Speed - Carbon' has been sucking up a lot of my attention recently. I'm having fun doing up my cars, but ensuring that they don't turn into "culture coaches". 
Nothing is tackier than gold alloys and spotlights on a Rolls Royce, so I'm making sure my Aston Martin DB9 and Porsche Cayman S look sleek and classy, but not like pimp-mobiles or gang-coloured-cars. So hard to improve tastefully what is already a beautiful piece of machinery.

So, that's what I've been up to. Now, onto what you've been up to. Okay, I'm up to and finished Chapter 6. I'm having a break now as reading off the screen really seems to screw with my eyeballs. Not only that, it gives me the excuse for multiple commenting!

Okay... Guv, you will no doubt be thrilled to hear that I have no grammatical quibbles with what I've just read. Not that I have some and just not going to comment, but that I don't have any. Good job! 

I'm really enjoying your Spock scenes. I have always been deterred from writing the "real" characters because I don't know if I can capture them properly, but you're doing a great job. Spock's scene with Surrall was very well done, especially this segment:

“You fear contamination.”

Surall’s eyes widened at the accusation, then narrowed. She was not biggot. But, then, that wasn’t what he was telling her, was it?

I like that you--and your characters--realise that you can say stuff like this without people throwing their hands up in horror and others hissing "racist!" It's only offensive if you intend it--and, admittedly, the subject takes it--that way. Super-double-dooper Good Job!
I also liked your--Spock's--analysis on Starfleet's makeup and of humans in general.

You descriptions are really cool. I loved the image--both internal and external--of Ford and the Endeavour riding the plasma rapids to surprise your Ya'wenn Harry Mudd, and said Mudd-ish's crew reactions when they realise they've been nabbed.

The description of the Ya'wenn capitol building was really cool. You really painted a good picture there, and imparted a sense of history and respect for that history in a few words. Also finding that Jarn is a criminal himself and the Ya'wenn Premier was a peaceful man who liked Spock immediately gave me warm fuzzies. Again, I have to question such blatant aggression and attempted intimidation by Ford, but that's his style. Dealing one-on-one with the Klinks, that approach is the only one that works, but on a diplomatic mission? You can be strong without threatening to beat another delegate's face in.

Conversely, I loved that Ford shook himself out of his self-induced stewing after Spock's "betrayal" comment, and that he's honest enough with himself that he just doesn't like buckling under to anyone on his own ship. You're making your own character seem less and more sympathetic (to me, anyway) by having him riled up and calming down respectively, and making Spock the innovator here. "Fluid situation" and all that.   
Ford recognises that they are both working to the same goal, and that Spock's approach is the diplomatic version of his own. Spock also recognises the dangers and isn't blithely assuming his peaceful overtures will be readily accepted by any reasonable being, like so many Federation diplomats we've read in the novels. He has weighed Ford's valid concerns and decided the risk is worth it.

I also like Renn being super-oily and smiling a lot. Ah, TOS Klinks. Good job on the description and characterisation of the Flathead, even though the respect he has from his turtle-head XO was a bit of a surprise after all the ST novels I've read. Makes sense, given the 'Enterprise' explanation, and I like that Renn called it the "Archer Affliction". That's a very Klingon thin to do. 

Oh, the "Qam'a" class: Is that a FASA designation for the K'Vort?

Spock's own meeting with Feece was pretty cool. Diplomatic niceties are hard to do when you don't even know what race your guest is, and you did that scene very well, with Spock's inner amusement at Feece's well-intentioned gaffs. I can easily see some haughtier DipCorps type getting offended by such.

Okay, that was a mammoth commenting session. I'm off to grab some lunch and maybe sketch out a short story involving Kirk & Co. to see if I can put words in their mouths to my own satisfaction. And to stop staring at this damn screen for an hour. 

Oh, just in case you didn't get it before: Good Job! 

I'll come back for another couple of chapters later on, maybe tomorrow. Similar commenting to follow.

[Commander La'ra]

Good job on the description and characterisation of the Flathead, even though the respect he has from his turtle-head XO was a bit of a surprise after all the ST novels I've read.

Expecting the Guv to use ANYTHING from the novels is sort of like expecting someone not to notice Jeri Ryan's breasts;  It's possible that it might happen, but it would be foolish to ever count on the occurence.

[Scottish Andy]

Just read Chapters 7 & 8. Ooooh, exciting stuff!

The destruction of the Premier's ship was nasty and somewhat unexpected, as was his Gorkon-like death scene. There's going to be hell to pay patching that government back up.

The battle was well choreographed and the Tolin scene was really cool. Was it just the Comanche that came to the rescue, or did the frigates come too? An Excelsior and a Miranda vs. 20-odd ships is still kinda long odds..

Expecting the Guv to use ANYTHING from the novels is sort of like expecting someone not to notice Jeri Ryan's breasts;  It's possible that it might happen, but it would be foolish to ever count on the occurence.

I wasn't saying i was expecting the Guv to respect or use the novels, I'm just saying since that is my background, it was unexpected to me.

[Commander La'ra]

I wasn't saying i was expecting the Guv to respect or use the novels, I'm just saying since that is my background, it was unexpected to me.

Right.  And I used your statement as an excuse to make a cheesy wit and mention Jeri Ryan's breasts all in one post!

[Governor Ronjar]

AAAAHHHHH........

NoW Mr. Andy knows how to post a comment. I had to change pants after that first one. Thank you very much.

I'm very glad this one is being well recieved. After some discussion, I wasn't sure at all. But as it happens, I still stand behind my 'product', the hell with opinions against what I've written (certainly not meaning you, Andy). 

I'm absolutely flabergasted that there were no grammatical errors for you to point out. I think you just stared at the screen so long you couldn't see them, honestly. I know they gotta be there...

In answer to your question (as I do try to answer them, no matter what they are) the Qam'a is just something I patched up. It's based on the FASA L-42 design (aka a big BoP)... I use the idea that its heavilly armed and a power hog, as implied in the specs for the game. There the similarities start to diminish. The class name simply comes from the Klingon dictionary, or what I loosly remember from it. Qam=Bird  'a=big or greater   Which I guess could mean that Qam'a translates to Big Bird class... And who says Seseme Street doesn't have a fleet...

I thank you for the mention of my discriptions. Some are better than others. But I've always hated authors that give you a bare-bones discription of surroundings, or worse, no discription at all. That bothers the living hell out of me. If you're trying to hide detail, that's one thing... But just not giving any for no reason... that's lazy. I also, with the rotunda scene, wanted to give an impression that this was a working government. Something it's people worked to create, and they had pride in it. Like the US back before the Vietnam War... Ohhhhh...can't believe I just said that, but there it is...

La'ra certainly is correct of my dislike of using the novels for any kind of material. I don't like most of them, and those I did like, I still won't incorporate into my stuff. I treat only on-screen elements as 'canon', though I do use SFC and FASA ships since everyone is pretty well familiar with them and I can just refer to said ship without going out of my way to waste your time describing every nook and cranny. While I love well described things...there is a limit to what won't slow down the tale...

I also verily agree that one Excelsior and one Miranda vs. Jarn +20 was out there. But the Endeavour is my Defiant. She takes way more than she probably should. I want to give the reader a kind of 'and she's still standing!' feel when reading what she's had done to her. Hope I didn't go too far. The rest of the fleet, indeed, doesn't join till slightly later.

Did any one notice the Eldridge? And does any one remember the signifigance of said? Had to use her...

Well, this is a much too long reply, but you're the only one who read and totally liked, so, I'm babbling. I thank you again, Andy!

More soon.

--thu guv!

[Grim Reaper]

I just had to keep scrolling and reading guv, even though i'm at work with a bug on my name. Speaking of which, gotta go but let me say you did great!

[Governor Ronjar]

Ahhh! Exxxxcellent. I lure people to wasting company time to read Trek!

Good...goood! (in the voice of the Emporer...)

I'm glad you enjoy!

Lemme know when y'all are done so I can post the next...

--thu guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Hi Guv, managed to finally finish this.

Two bad things and I'll say them first to get them out the way:

1) You seem to think that light-minutes are horribly vast. Surall reports her sensors have been tricked:

Distance two light minutes, no more!

Then,

“Keptin, the first Ya’venn wessels are emerging from the field. Distance ten billion kilometers. Closing fast.”

Just so as you know, one light minute is approx. 18 million kilometres. 

10 (American) billion (a thousand million) kilometres is approx. 9.25 lighthours. 
10 (British) billion (a million million) kilometres is approx. 1 light year, 20 light days, 19 light hours, 15 light minutes. 

2)

Detonations shown brightly,

You used this a couple of times. The word you're looking for is "shone".

Now, onto the actual story istelf.

Holy f*ck! Talk about a surprise ending!

“So we get to be the first one’s to lose an Excelsior?”

Ouchie... not really something you'd want to be remembered for! I'm still in vague shock that you actually did this. Not only the ship, but the lead character too. I saw Ford assessing Thomas and seeming to think he was growing a bit in command abilities, but... holy crap!

The battle was very well written. I wasn't keen on seeing how easily a Constitution went down, but with an Excelsior getting beaten up by the barbarians' (if only due to weight of numbers and retrofitted modern weapons) it was properly done. Your tactics seemed pretty well thought out and the descriptions of the ships in their formations, under fire, in the plasma storm were painting brilliant pictures in my head.

Thomas having to be nerve pinched was expected, but actually being nerve pinched was amusing and not-so-expected. His diatribe in the shuttle was well contained and believable in how he couldn't turn them around.

Best part of the story for me, though, was Thomas showing some of his more noble qualities.  After so many where his key failing was at the forefront, it was nice to see just how loyal the man can be.

Ya, not so much. I'm all about saving my best friend and all, but there's loyal, and there's stupid. Heedlessly demanding a return and jeopardising a whole shuttle's worth of crew against his CO and friend's very obvious orders and wishes just strikes me as boneheaded. Simpsons Homeresque Heroic. If he'd been allowed to commandeer the shuttle and go back, I'd have hoped Spock or Surall (if aboard) would have double pinched him to stop him being that stupid. "Damn everyone else and I'm going back", quite likely just so he can die by Ford's side.

The camaraderie scene at the end was a nice touch. Keller seems like a barren person, and blaming Starfleet for his loss--while a very Human thing to do--is wrong and dangerous. If she's going to run away, she can't realise that running away never solved anything, just delayed the reckoning. That's who her character is (I'm assuming), and you wrote it well. I can just see bad things in Keller's future with her thinking that way.

Spock's final scene. I have some of Larry's "God complex" for the TOS characters, so I'm not sure about how his soul-searching actually goes. However, having that complex, you seem to be ahead of the game in that I don't automatically hate it.


All in all, quite the awesome tale. Quite the shocking ending. I can't wait to see what happens next... if there is a next.

[Governor Ronjar]

A very nice comment indeed. Glad you liked the story.

A lot of nitpicks worked in there, but from you, very much expected. At least no REAL quibbles about grammar...

As to the subject of light minutes: Never really researched it. If I edit the story again, I'll just use different measurements, such as AUs. No big deal.

About the Yorktown getting beat down 'easily'... Ever count how many torpedo impacts it took to bring 1701-A's shields down in STVI?

About 13...that's it. And most weren't even along the same shield arc. Yortown, old as she was, took a beating in this story, my friend. And given that in TMP time, a single photon irreparibly wrecks a nacelle (STII)... She did pretty damn well.

You continually mention character 'flaws' with Thomas. I mostly think it due to your dislike for the character, and therefor not liking anything he will ever do (much like my angst against my x-wife). He is incredibly loyal, and his friendship for Ford led him to believe he could do SOMETHING to save Ford... If your idea's on loyalty approach that of your comment above...I hope I never find my life in your hands...  You made an accurate point, however. There was nothing he could do. And that's where Spock's words of wisdom came in. I hope you at least like how Thomas is used, if not the man himself...

No, Andrea Keller's thoughts immediately after the loss of Endeavour and Ford will not overtly plague her into the future. Her thoughts were indeed post-ordeal, not so far removed from the actual incident. The emotions of loss, grief and anger were very fresh. Like all of us after any event approaching this example of severity, her thoughts were decidedly more dark than normal. After some removal and healing, her mind will adjust to the ordeal. It will affect her future decisions, but not so severely as you seem to be thinking. But then, this might count as a spoiler, so I'll not elaborate further.

And about the examples of 10 billion KM...what the f*ck is wrong with the British metric system? What's in between your version of 100 million and 1 billion? I'm glad I don't have to drive place to place looking at British signage...   

Now that I've apltly ruffled yer fur the wrong way, thank you for the kind words about the main jist of the story. Just don't jump to too many conclusions before reading on. The evolution of my tale is in the continuing of the series... if that made any damn sense...I'm reading it over now and thinking...that sounded better in my head...

Alrighty... BTW...I thought the Shone/Shown difference was as you said...my spell checker argues with me over it... Oh well. Machine is only as good as the ignoramous programming it...

--thu guv!