Topic: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.  (Read 16311 times)

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #20 on: September 29, 2007, 10:04:38 am »
I like this piece. But I am a cat person...
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #21 on: October 02, 2007, 12:01:35 am »
This part is for all of you who have "subscribed" to this thread and will be recieving an email about me adding a few random words to this story. I have to finish the rest of this next segment, but I feel that this part stands alone rather well.

   Silently, the torrents of cast off stellar matter passed before Cerberus as she drove head long to the sound of the ever beckoning beacon. The local star finally gave up the ghost, and in the transformation from red giant to white dwarf, expelled its life blood out amongst its own solar system; regurgitating billions of years worth of collected and fused matter in the blink of an eye, creating a beautiful new planetary nebula in its wake. This solar system was the target of Delaware’s research.

   Delaware wasn’t the small science vessel of the Oberth line; Starfleet had sent along more researchers and scientists than would fit in that class’ small but capable hull. No, Starfleet had sent along one of its finer ships-of-the-line, a Miranda hull modified with enough lab space and sensor suites to make any starbase’s chief science officer envious.

   The planet that Delaware had orbited was an anomaly, there shouldn’t have been any sentient life there, let alone the vast cities that plastered the planet’s surface. And yet, despite all the logic, all the reasoning behind why they didn’t belong, there they were. Or, more accurately, there they had mostly once been. Cerberus scanned the log buoy, read Delaware’s notes, and with her own eyes, came to the same conclusion: The inhabitants of this planet had just moved in, relatively speaking, and were moving out when the star’s end came. Delaware couldn’t figure out where they had come from or where they were going, let alone how this non-space-faring culture was going about going from place to place.

   Delaware only knew the sharp, shattering pain of crippling explosions from within. She knew only the heavy feeling as the planet below grabbed her, and yanked her down. She’d given in to that fight, turned her own nose planet-ward, thrown off her excess baggage and prepared for the end of the long fall. Its not the fall that kills you someone had said inside the troubled craft. It’s the sudden stop at the end. Shields had failed. Hull plates burned red with atmospheric friction. Silence, that ever painful silence. There was no sudden stop, just a structure crunching jolt that shook the ship as she skidded along the planet’s surface. Delaware had inside her the same construction techniques of all the standard Starfleet vessels that had come before her, the ability to save those who would inhabit her, protect them from harm, when called forth to do so. In this case, it was planet fall.

   High above, Cerberus called down to her fallen comrade, looked through the blue-green nebula and grey-white clouds, down to see her fallen comrade. Delaware herself was dead, long past being flight worthy, long past caring about anything. Her final act had saved her crew and her passengers. Her life sacrificed so that others would live. If she’d had feelings or thoughts of her own, surely they would have cursed the radiation preventing the use of life pods. They would have damned the coincidence of the explosion of the star and the explosion of her heart, the electromagnetic interference that prevented transporter operations, and the shockwave further damaged her propulsion systems. Everything happened at once, it seemed, dammed to fall to the planet, cursed to die away from her home, her friends. That was the fate of the Delaware. There was, of course, one thing that her corpse could tell the men and women who would search her, the one thing that the voiceless ship could speak. And that would be, “Why?”

   Cerberus stopped calling, stopped searching. She angled herself to enter the atmosphere, and with an unspoken grace, descended. This is a new one for me, her captain had said. But now I’m glad we got the landing system installed. The same system used on troop transports, the ships that would bring planet wide death from the muzzle of a phaser rifle or thousand. Now, though, Cerberus was on the move, to rescue what and who she could. She’d called back to the fleet for assistance, her hull not capable of holding so many men and women at once and for so long. She’d be the ferry, get them in the sky and to where the transporters would work.

   With much more grace than her friend, Cerberus landed on four thick landing struts, protruding from her lower hull. Next to her, the body of Delaware lay broken, crewers climbing on her hull like ants, waving the rescue ferry down, as if Cerberus couldn’t see the giant trail dug by the downed craft and would miss it entirely without their aid. Once she came to her resting spot, she spilled forth her crew from within, watching the skies for more help.

   The two crews mingled, and began to exchange stories of what happened. We missed the whole show, said one of the wrecked vessels’ scientists. Damn the luck another said. The unfortunate crew did eventually laugh a little, they were alive after all. Until the sound of a thousand screams filled their heads; with words foreign yet familiar to them all, sounds of decay and death cackling in their minds.

   “Go back,” one voice called.

   “Get away,” followed another.

   “You are not welcome here!” cried yet another.

   “Be gone!”

   “This is our home! Leave us!”

   The voices continued, all a swarm and yet clear, a fog on a crisp autumn night with stars in the sky. Starfleet personnel tried to respond, telling the voices they were leaving. None of the voices bothered to note that they heard them. The kept on with their ramblings.
   

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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #22 on: October 02, 2007, 03:20:22 am »
You can subscribe to threads?
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #23 on: October 02, 2007, 03:38:07 am »
You can subscribe to threads?

"Notify" button at bottom of thread.

And, for those interested, next segment is complete, but undergoing massive edit for balance and flow.

Czar "I thought faster than I wrote" Mohab[/color]
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #24 on: October 02, 2007, 04:33:53 am »
The last section managed to be both sad and a bit freakish.  Excellent combination.  Loved 'humanizing' the ships.
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #25 on: October 02, 2007, 06:56:26 pm »
I always felt frigate had a nice connotation of romance that you can't find in destroyer. 

uh...YEAH!

--thu guv!
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #26 on: October 02, 2007, 07:08:35 pm »
Alrighty, now I'm caught up.

Liked the inclusion of the cat. Once you revealed the rodent,however, the rest was easy to figure. Nice to have a ship's mascot. China, however, will mostly stay in the CO cabin aboard Endeavour, as he has no real use aboard a starship, unlike Oscar. Tho I did think about unleashing veebs on the Endeavour, but that's a long story... :D

The second part you posted was eerie in its own way, and I second the La'ra-man.

Keep 'er cumin!

--thu guv!!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #27 on: October 02, 2007, 11:34:10 pm »
Yeah.  Frigate, I think of Horatio Hornblower and sails and far away oceans.  Destroyer, I think of something low and sleek and letting off a barrage of five-inch shells as I hit the 'c' key while hoping that the depth under keel is deep enough that I won't plow right into the bottom, which'll make a lot of noises and bring on the depth charges that are sure to foll....

...oh.  Sorry.  Had a Silent Hunter flashback there.

Yeah.  Kadh and the Guv's comments are right on when it comes to names.
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #28 on: October 03, 2007, 02:01:49 am »
Second part of above as promised.

   In the deep forest birds cawed at the approach of night. It was early, too early, for this evening to fall. Animals fled in terror, they knew what night brought, knew the terrors of the evening. Strange clouds covered the darkening sky above the canopy, setting an eerie blue-green haze upon the forest floor. Cawing birds stopped their warning cries and took to the skies, sought shelter.

   The voices stopped. Silence fell upon the scene of the two vessels and their precious crew.

   “Creepy,” Jones said, making a remark about the sudden silence.

   “While the star still shines,” Perkins said beside her as they surveyed the Delaware’s hull. “It no longer has the capacity to keep this planet lit, let alone warm.”

   McCloud grunted softly as she stumbled on some loose soil. “Sounds like the forest is readying itself for night time,” she commented. “It’s strange that there are no insect or nocturnal animals about.”

   “I agree,” Jones commented back to her. Behind them, three members of the fallen ship’s crew followed, willing to assist in unraveling the mystery of what brought the starship crashing down. “Planetary surveys indicated a plethora of plant and animal life native to this planet. The only thing out of place is the sentient life we detected.”

   “At least they stopped ordering us to leave,” Perkins continued. “That was getting old, fast.” They continued their trek along the ship’s hull, aft towards the engineering section; the only sound was of their boot falls in the soft soil. They observed in silent reverie the sleek lines of the vessel, despite her ‘bumps and bruises’. The soil was soft; the ship would be salvageable despite the damages incurred.

   Perkins kept vigil on his tricorder, but didn’t make out the life form in time as they rounded the stern of the ship. “Go away!” the old man shouted. They all jumped at the sound of his voice, and despite the growing darkness, his features could be easily made out.

    He was tall, slender from malnourishment, his silver hair falling out in places. He had a basic humanoid form, head, neck, two arms and two legs attached to a simple torso; his face was almost human. Almost. His forehead was large, rising higher than what a human would consider normal; his nasal ridges and six fingered hands further pushed him from the human standard. He wore a simple tattered grey tunic and tan leggings. He waved at them and again spoke, “You must leave, now, while you still can!” He grunted and collapsed, and before anyone could arrive to his aid, he vanished in a yellow flash. He left in his wake a demonic laugh, almost a cackle, followed by silence.

   The six of them stood together, dumfounded, and now worried. “I managed a good reading on him,” Perkins said, breaking the silence. “He wasn’t transported away.” He reread his tricorder to confirm. “His life signs faded, and then, poof. You all saw the rest.”

   Jones retrieved her communicator from its familiar place at her back, beneath her jacket and on her belt. Before she spoke, a distant chanting caught her ears. Despite the warmth of her uniform, a cold wind blew through, penetrating the protective layers. The pores on her skin tightened with the familiar tingling of cold. Or fear. “Jones to McDougal,” she spoke into the now active device. In the distance, the chanting grew louder, accompanied by the percussive clack, clack, clack of bone striking bone.

   Static was her response, she repeated the call, more urgently. Chanting and clacking continued, a shrill scream joined in, sounding similar to the sound made when one tried to scream and inhale at the same time; but with the volume of thousands of voices. It was almost as if it was an army’s war cadence; clack, clack, scream; clack, clack, scream. It grew louder.



   T’Sala’s panel screamed for her attention. “Sir,” she said calmly as she read her reports. “I’m picking up a disturbance in the forest.”

   “On screen,” McDougal ordered. He’d been fiddling with his cigar for the last hour or so, waiting for the last few survivors to come aboard. The screen shifted from its starboard view of the downed craft to a sharp port ward angle into the forest. He didn’t see it at first, the darkness outside was growing, the nebular matter above the planet now being the only major source of natural light. “Magnify and enhance,” he ordered.

   T’Sala obliged him, and the ship peered deeper into the thick forest. “No life signs remain in this forest,” she added calmly, “yet there is movement.” On the screen, bushes rustled, trees fell. There was smoke from a distant fire, and light. T’Sala moved the scanner inward, forcing the image to grow slightly. Torches could be seen in the darkness. There were thousands of them, bobbling up and down as if their carriers were walking. “Maximum magnification available within the forest sir,” she said to her captain. “There is something out there, moving towards us; approximately four kilometers out, ETA eighty minutes.”

   Something white flashed on the screen, and instantly faded. The background noise of the ship faded as T’Sala opened the previously blocked channel. “I say again, Commander McDougal, please respond!” In the background, they could hear the steady clack, clack, scream even as Jones spoke.

   “We read you, XO. What is your status?”

   “We need to go, sir,” she replied, fear seeping into her voice. “We’re returning to the ship. Something… something is coming, and we need to go!

   “Acknowledged; report to the bridge as soon as you return, McDougal, out.” A chill went through him, deep and penetrating, down to his bones. He checked the environmental controls, to be sure. He contemplated the cigar in his hand, and then set it upon the chair’s armrest.


The second part you posted was eerie in its own way, and I second the La'ra-man.
:angel:

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #29 on: October 03, 2007, 10:13:35 pm »
...aahhhhhh.... [in that creepy voice of the Emperor...but not the cheesy Episode III Emperor...the good one from Episode VI...]

---thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #30 on: October 08, 2007, 07:41:24 pm »
HAHA!! I have alot written for what happens after this bit; I just need to figure out how to write the middle portion, rather, the next part. Until then, I am leaving you all with some quotes I've come across durring my naval career.

Never go down the road less traveled, take the busy one, its easier. –  J. Velasquez.

Sir! I’m here for the Emergency Blow job! – Anonymous LTjg to CO, USS Michigan SSGN 727 (then SSBN), re: Repairs of emergency blow actuators.

Sucks I had to tell him to move to an area of lower radiation, I don’t want him to breed; but them's the rules. – MM1 Anonymous, about a not-so-popular LTjg.

I’ve been a second class longer and more times than you! – repeated often, usually to senior personnel, MM2 (SS) C. W. Crazy Bull

Chewie, go jiggle the handle! – ET2 (SS) B. Jones, Redneck Sci Fi fan, You Know You're a Redneck Sci Fi Fan if... (you've ever said...")

Something evil this way comes... –  Me, just prior to unanounced arrival of a very disliked and semi-evil individual. Sometimes being right sucks.

My favorite (not a quote, just something I happened to see): The very last notes of the national anthem played, and the ship started its diesel generator; the exhaust plume startled the seagulls that were resting on the sail, and they flew off at the exact end of the last note.
Czar "somethin's better than nuthin'" Mohab

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #31 on: October 08, 2007, 09:29:36 pm »

Never go down the road less traveled, take the busy one, its easier. –  J. Velasquez.






I the vein of that quote, I have a complimentary one that hangs on my Wall Of Shame at work.

"The road less travelled is that way for a reason."

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #32 on: October 25, 2007, 01:14:44 am »
Woo Hoo!! Finally got this how I like it! Hope you like it too!!


   “Where?” McDougal asked T’Sala.

   “Coming from starboard, range and speed… sir, they will arrive at the same time as whatever is in the forest will be here.”

   “Options?” McDougal didn’t like the thought of the ‘villagers’ coming to fight the still unknown army right in front of the ship. He also didn’t like how the Prime Directive bound his hands in this situation. He could completely annihilate both ‘armies’ with the push of a button; but how would that affect the future development of this society? No, he would have to play the self defense card. He imagined himself at tactical, both armies still a kilometer away, shouting “They’re coming right for us!” and pressing the fire key. Sensors still didn’t have a clue what, or who, was making up the army in the forest. But they were clear that, in a matter of an hour, two armies would clash in the vicinity of the ship. He would do what he could to keep the ship safe, and get out as quickly as possible.

   “Level of technology is similar to medieval earth,” T’Sala replied. “Reading axes, flails, hand shields, metal armor, swords… As long as we can keep them at a distance, we should be able to hold off any attack on the ship.” She added, “I can modify ship’s phasers to a stun setting.”

   “I don’t want this to get too violent. Have all available security personnel establish a perimeter port and starboard of the ship, and get some people not doing much to issue phasers to all personnel on board, including the survivors.”

   “Aye sir,” T’Sala replied. She quickly set to work on her assigned tasks.

    McDougal sighed softly and eyed his cigar of victory. It was almost twenty four hours old. He pondered to himself, far away from the concerns of the moment, he wondered if, in the future, other captains would smoke on their bridges; would the replicator’s program for a fine cigar still even be there? Probably not. They’ll most likely purge ‘VICTORY’ but keep the big nasty as an example of what not to do with a replicator.

   “T’Sala, order a scouting party into the woods, let’s see what we’re up against.”



   “I was hoping he wouldn’t order that,” Jones said, closing down her communicator. “It is now time for us to go into the forest.” She pointed into the woods, and feigned a smile; the constant clack, clack, scream sent another shiver down her spine.

   “I’d guess this is one of those times when he’s glad for that ‘XO leads away team’ regulation,” O’Kelly observed. They all drew their phasers as they drew closer to the boundary between grassy knoll and dense forest. With one final look back to the ship, the three of them plunged into the forest, followed by one of O’Kelly’s security guards.

   They didn’t have to travel far before they could see a small scout patrol from the army of the woods. The three person patrol was clad in rusted chain armor, from coif to boots; and wielded each a sheathed short sword and crossbow. Rusty chain and dangling, rotted flesh bounced against dark, decayed bone as the undead scouts traveled onward, unaware that they, too, were being scouted. The quartet watched them go, in silence they sat, waiting for the patrol to leave earshot. After a while, the steady crunch of chained boots was far enough gone to be enveloped in the war cadence of the encroaching army.

   “If that entire army is like those three,” Jones whispered as they all huddled in closer, facing each other. “We might be in some serious trouble.” Utter silence followed her words. No more chanting from the army, no more rustling of leaves on the wind, nothing. Pure, uninterrupted, and very loud silence. Renewed darkness fell unto the forest, seeping through everything, despite the radiant light of the nebular cloud high overhead. Eight eyes strained into the darkness, seeking, looking. Perkins opened his tricorder. McCloud produced a flashlight. Neither device worked, being jammed by some mystical force. Terror gripped them. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the forest, followed by the trumpeting bellow of tremendous thunder. No clouds had entered the sky, nor did any rain fall.

   “I’ve just soiled myself,” the young security petty officer said, voice rattled in terror. “I… I… We need to go…”

   “Its just thunder,” Jones tried to reassure him in her own, shaky voice. The young man pointed behind her; the other three turned and followed his pointing. Lightning came once again, and illuminated the forest. This time, they all saw what had scared the young petty officer. Thunder masked their screams.

   Skeletons walked towards them, spears and swords drawn, rust and dust flaking and falling from ancient armor.  Fear turned to anger inside Cerberus’s XO. She used the new emotion as a focal point, forcing words to form on a now solid voice, “I am Lieutenant Commander Selma Jean Jones of the Federation…”

   “You lead them?” a stern male voice called to her in the darkness. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could hear hoof steps.

   “I lead these three,” she replied. It wasn’t what she had planned, but at least she’d made contact. “And to whom am I speaking?” Silently, she blessed the universal translator imbedded in her uniform. She’d heard that the next step was to fully integrate a communicator into the Starfleet insignia that housed the device; right now she hoped to live long enough to use one.

   “I am General Par Tused,” the man said. She heard a soft thud, then foot falls and rustling. Seconds passed like hours before he finally appeared out of the shadows and into the torchlight. “I am the current leader of this army.” The skeletal warriors parted and allowed the man to pass closer to his captured quarry. She got a good look at him in the dim firelight. He was humanoid, and despite the not-so-rusty armor, he looked surprisingly like the old man they’d recently encountered. Until he turned his face slightly, exposing the hole in his flesh. He, too, it seemed, was as dead as the others.

   “Rigor mortis,” he started, “kept me on the ground. Maggots ate this side of my face.” One of the skeletons, one with almost no flesh left to hang from his bones laughed in a deep wheezing-gasping laugh. Jones shuddered. Par Tused silenced him with a stern glance. “You are probably wondering why we are here.”

   “It crossed my mind,” Jones replied.

   “Long story short?” he asked. “Or do you have time for the long version?”

   “Short,” O’Kelly interrupted. “Our time here is limited.”

   “Very well then,” Par Tused continued. “My people were beginning transcendence. Star began to expand in death. The transcendees saw fit to transport us to this new planet to finish transcending. We stopped, started to die, become these,” he gestured to the army around him. “Only a small handful has actually transcended since our arrival here, and that was only in the beginning. Believe me, we tried everything.

   “This army started as a few, deeply compelled to walk the forest at night, preying on the innocent. Those that died joined. The transcendees… they can’t stop us, or harm us, only those that are yet to transcend can. Now that there is eternal night, we will walk, and kill all those left living on the planet. We are forced to do this; but we can be stopped. We need your help.”

   “So, you’re telling us that you want to kill every living being on this planet, yet you want us to kill you?” Jones stared at him, puzzled. “We can’t do that. We are bound by our ‘prime directive’, not to interfere in the natural development of a society, race, culture or anything else.”

   “We were the ones who bombed your ship,” Tused added. “We hoped that would bring you down with revenge on your minds, killing us.” He sighed heavily. “You will not help, even to exact revenge for what we have done?”

   Jones tensed, she knew what was coming. She hated the thought, but she knew she would have to fight her way back to the safety of the ship. “No,” she said softly. “We can not help you.”

   Tused smiled with the half of his face that still worked. The hole revealed teeth and bone in a partially rotted mouth. “Then you will have to die!” In a flash, he drew his sword, and swung wide. Jones easily dodged the slash, and the four humans turned tail and fled the way that they had come. “Follow them, kill them, and make them our own!”




   “Any word yet from our scouts?” McDougal asked impatiently. He’d been pacing the bridge ever since the thunderstorm outside had started. T’Sala surmised that it wasn’t a natural phenomenon, but rather a possible attempt at intimidation, motivation for them to leave the planet. Right now, that was all he wanted to do, get off the rock.

   “Negative, sir,” she replied in her cold, emotionless voice. “Sensors still unable to pinpoint their location; and there still remains the unexplained gap in the forest, I have tried recalibrating several times to no avail.”

   “Keep trying.” It was all he could say, all that there was to say. He would wait as long as possible. Both sides were closing on the crash site; they assumed that the gap in the sensors was being generated by the yet to be determined army of the woods. He kept pacing, feeling as if his course around the bridge would eventually wear an oval into the carpeting around the bridge. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped, he could feel it in the deck plates. He paused behind the center seat, watching the view screen as it peered into the forest. Something flashed, deep red, again and again. It had to be them… had to be…

   “Signal all security personnel outside the ship to head into the forest, have them head for those phaser blasts!”

   “We still have no sensors in that area,” T’Sala reminded him. “We may not be able to find them if they get lost.”

   “Relay the order!” he growled, sneering madly at T’Sala. Silently, she obeyed. “I’m sorry,” he said, more calmly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

   “Fear,” she replied. “It is a formidable opponent. No apology necessary.”




   Stun blasts fired wildly into the forest, forcing the undead warriors to scatter and spread out widely. They did, however, maintain their pursuit of the four Starfleet personnel that were attempting to escape. General Par Tused was having difficulty controlling his undead stead as the red hot energy flashed by, but kept her under control none the less. He’d only wanted to talk, for these foreigners to listen, and for his army to be defeated. These ‘humans’ as they called themselves, would have been useful. He lost three good men to bring down their first ship; they were foolish and set the explosives wrong, destroying themselves while taking the ship from the sky.

   Tused dug his heels into the rotted flanks of his war horse, urging her to go faster in the darkened woods. His choice of direction lead him closer to the four ‘humans’; he was attempting to outflank them. He stole a look down at his own flesh, it had just started to turn, to rot and fall from his bones. He was still in control of himself, his own wishes and demands. Unlike those who had long since fallen to whatever the force was that created them. He could still remember the stories of how his people arrived on this planet; how the first ones to die had become these foul creatures… he hated what he had become when his time came. He needed these humans, needed them to kill him and his army, before others would be forced to join his ranks.

   He forced his mind to open, to try to call to the others, those that had gone on properly. If he could tell them what he knew… A red beam of phased energy stuck out in the night and hit his stead, sending him flying forward into the dirt. What remained of the war horse was nothing more than a pile of bone dust and deflated armor. He smiled. One less to worry about. The humans had reinforcements. He watched in horror as his army stopped pursuit and the humans fled out of the forest.



   “All on board?” McDougal asked as he watched his executive officer walk from the turbo car. Perkins and McCloud followed her out, hot on her heels.

   “Yes,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice. “And not a moment too soon, we barely escaped with our lives.”

   “I agree,” Perkins interjected. “We met with their General, Par Tused he called himself.”

   McDougal sat in his chair and turned about to face the screen as the trio took to their familiar locations. “We’ll only have warp six after we leave this planet,” McCloud said from her engineering console. “Life support is running over maximum design specs as it is.”

   “Acknowledged engineer,” McDougal replied. “All stations, prepare for lift off!” A series of acknowledgements echoed through the bridge, followed shortly after by various control stations about the ship.

   “All stations report ready,” T’Sala reported from tactical.

   “Excellent, then let’s get the hell out of here; helm, take us off the planet.”

   “They were undead, sir,” Jones said. “He wanted us to kill them all, our phasers have the capacity. This species, they were on the threshold of transcendence when the star started to expand, those that had gone already to transcend moved them from their planet to here as it began to warm up and support life. Everything that they had was transferred here.”

   “Can this wait?” McDougal asked. “We really need to go.” Jones nodded in consent.

   Michaels’ report was cut short by the intruder alert klaxon’s wail. It was a shrill warble, one that was joined by the louder and harsher tone of the red alert klaxon. In a flash, two humanoid skeletal forms materialized on the bridge. They dressed like warriors from a long forgotten time, dressed in rusted plate armor and wielding dried-blood stained and vicious looking scimitars. They both screamed, the same eerie scream that could be heard growing outside the ship, and charged McDougal. Using his chair for support, he leaned back, tucked knees to chest, and let loose with all he had. Two Starfleet issue boots found their marks in the chests of the two warriors, the momentum of the act forcing them both to fall to the deck in shock, their target standing firmly atop. Dust from long since rotted organs fell to the ground around the pair.

   Jones was quick to act, drawing her type two and firing on the closer of the two forms. McDougal jumped away as the rusted chest piece fell to the ground atop a pile of pulverized bone. The second warrior began to get up, swinging his sword wildly at McDougal. Jones’ phaser struck the monstrosity in an unarmored area, powderizing the creature. Rusty armor fell to the deck with a clang.

   “I’ve raised shields,” T’Sala reported.

   “Sorry about all that,” a voice called from the aft of the bridge. Jones quickly trained her phaser on the glowing biped that had taken shape just outside the lift door. “There are no more of them on your ship,” it said.

   “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” McDougal demanded.

   “My name is unpronounceable by your tongue, but I can tell you I am the transcended form of one of the beings that inhabit this planet. And so were those that you killed.”

   Jones smiled at him. “Par Tused wanted us to kill his army. And you say that they are no different from you?”

   “Our planet was the second closest to the star before it began to expand outward in its death.” The being paused, lost in deep contemplation of what next to say to them. On the view screen, the skeletal army could be seen approaching the edge of the forest. Night had grown even darker, and their numbers swelled. “We were on the eve of our own transcendence! How wondrous a thing! Only to be cut short by our own star’s demise. Those that had gone before us found that they had almost limitless powers; we had only just discovered that this planet would sustain us once the star’s warmth touched it.

   “Those who had gone before us transported us here, made the planet habitable for us while the star’s warmth was still too far to reach us. They protected us while we transcended.

   “As the sun grew, our transcendence rate slowed. We discovered too late that our own star had betrayed us again, its radiation, while ultimately harmless, nearly nullified the process. But there was to be more. The same that slowed us, created them, out there. We discovered that those who went beyond unto death would live again, an army of undead monsters. They’d come out at night in small numbers, and return to wherever they hid before the sun’s rays shone in the early morning.”

   “Fascinating,” McDougal interrupted sarcastically. “Kind of convenient that they should only come out at night, right? Praying on those who ‘have yet to go on’, and let me guess, those ‘who have gone before’ protected them from the evil, right?” His crew looked at him, puzzled. Jones scoffed silently. She’d heard this all before.

   The being paused, its featureless face most undoubtedly bore a dumbfounded look. Anger seeped into his voice. “With our star gone, my people can now finish what they have been waiting on for ages. But not until after this army is put to rest. They have never been seen in such numbers!”

   “Let me guess, you need our help…” Apparently, he did not know fully of Par Tused’s discussion with Miss Jones.

   “Exactly. We had to disable your other craft, we had to study you. Some of us told you to leave, but we silenced them. Please, save us from…”

   “No way,” Jones interrupted. “Par Tused told us that he had that ship brought down for the sole purpose of exterminating his own army. He knows what is at stake; he knows that his former people were never meant to be like they are now, but to be like you!”

   “Listen, really, I’d like to help you out,” McDougal smiled in disbelief at what he was hearing. “But we have this little thing called the Prime Directive. I can’t interfere with the normal development of any race, species or culture. Me helping you would be akin to you helping us to transcend. Can’t do it. Mister Michaels, get us off this rock. And you,” he pointed at the glowing one, “get off my ship. We’ll be getting that hulk off the planet, in the mean time, I suggest you use your ‘all mighty powers’ to save your non-transcended partners until they finally join you. And take those,” he pointed to the skeletal remains on the deck, “with you when you leave.”

   Cerberus shuddered as she left the planet’s surface. Below, the army finally emerged from the forest and began its long trek towards civilization. Not far from them, a yellow flash appeared over the living army, a protective shield. “You are a coward! Should we ever meet again, I’ll not be so kind!” In a flash, it exited the ship.

   No one questioned McDougal’s actions; he was well within his rights to deny these people what they sought. “Tractor the Delaware,” he ordered.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #33 on: October 25, 2007, 01:42:38 am »
   An energy beam reached down from flight worthy ship to disabled vessel, snatching it off the planet’s surface with a groan and strain. Surprisingly, the smaller ship managed to grab her fallen friend without much thought, and the two ships passed through the atmosphere into the freedom of space.

   T’Sala broke the uneasy tone that had filled the bridge. Unemotionally, she commented, “Planetary mass now on sensors, sir. It appears to be part of the star’s ejected material, possibly one of the closer planets nearest the star’s corona. It is moving on a direct path to this planet.”

   “Time to impact?” Jones asked.

   “Thirty seconds. Sir, I believe that the planet we were on was masking the readings. We should have seen it sooner.”

   “No, T’Sala, we shouldn’t have. Fate has dealt them another foul deal. They were supposed to die on their home planet. How’s the tractor for warp?

   “Five by five,” McCloud answered. “Should be stable enough for low warp flight, but I’ll have to run the system in manual to accommodate nebular interference.”

   “Excellent. Warp speed as soon as we’re clear of the planet; helm, take us out of the nebula. ” Cerberus jumped to warp as the two planets collided in a brilliant explosion. McDougal quickly grabbed up his cigar and struck the match. He spoke after lighting the stogy. “Nothing would have pleased me more than to lay waste to that freakish army. Send to Starfleet command, U.S.S. Delaware damaged and salvaged, all hands rescued, report soon to follow.” T’Sala “aye’d” him.

   Cerberus sped at warp speed out of the nebula of the doomed system, millions of eyes watching them go with anger. A single, unified voice filled their minds, strained with effort, as if something was trying to block their call. It simply said, “Thank you for freeing us

   “USS Michigan and Princeton are hailing us,” T’Sala said. “They are just outside the nebular boundary, waiting to receive our cargo.”

   “Very well; helm, intercept course. Once we’re empty, resume course and speed for Trellious.” Without further delay, he snatched up his stogy and struck the match. He lit the cigar and puffed like a mad man, clouding his head in smoke and a pleasant aroma. “Anyone else want one?” Silence answered him. A strange yet familiar sensation finally found its way to his brain. He felt the urge grow inside him, deeper than he thought possible. “I really have to go, number one,” he said just loud enough for his XO to hear. “You have the bridge, XO!” he said, passing her his unfinished cigar as he leapt from his chair and made his way to the turbo car.

   She looked back at him, slightly puzzled. Surely captains had been calling their first officers number one for a long time, but she’d never heard him mention it to her. She suddenly realized what he had meant as the door began to slide shut. “Hope everything comes out ok!” she called to him. The look on his face told her he had heard. She sat in the big chair, puffing away.


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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #34 on: November 03, 2007, 03:14:13 pm »
Nothing? Oh well, back to the grind.


   Frantically he made his way through the single door to the head, and found the first available stall. It was no where near as “luxurious” as those kept on board for the senior officers, but for this emergency, even a rusty chum bucket would have sufficed. That thought pushed him over the edge, and with a loud roar, his stomach went into reverse, forcing breakfast back out the hole whence it came.

   He remembered the first time, shortly after a fist fight with one of the neighborhood boys when he was only ten. He’d won that particular contest, no questions, but it still didn’t change the fact that he’d almost wet himself with fear of the “big brother retribution”. The intense fears lead him to find the commode in the smallish apartment his family owned. There, he’d vomited what seemed like two weeks worth of food, down the gullet of the white porcelain receptacle. He remembered the cold splash of the water as he flushed, tiny droplets flinging back onto his face; he’d gotten too close. Thoughts of what was in the water that graced his face brought on another episode, but he was empty, and the dry heaves hurt.

   He thought he’d mastered the situation well over the years; he’d force himself to be scared or worried, and fight the nauseating feelings deep within. He was fortunate that they had been controllable his entire time in the academy, and after. Until the incident with Apollo, and now. He grasped the cold steel-like fixture, using it as support as he sat on the cool tiled floor. The toilet began its automatic sonic flush, followed closely by its sanitizing sequence. The soft hum calmed him.

   His thoughts wandered a bit, to the brother less child he’d pummeled to a pulp all those years ago, through his school years, and right through to today. He paused his thoughts, rooted them back on the now gone forever planet.  It had to be a dream; there was no other logical way of explaining it. He thought of the report he still had to write. How would some admiral way up the chain perceive the events as he or she read them? If he hadn’t actually been on the planet, if the ship’s sensors hadn’t actually recorded everything, would they believe him? His mind raced as he sat on the cool floor, keeping his focus on the key evidence. He was never a fan of mysteries, but this one was one that needed solving.

   Commander Shawn McDougal stood up in the middle stall of the watch stander’s head on deck two and walked out, his face drawn tight with determination. He didn’t even stop to clean his hands on his trek back to the lift.

   “Helm, take us back to the planet,” he ordered as soon as the lift door opened onto the bridge. He didn’t pause to answer the questions everyone was bound to have. “But,” he sighed, “after we’ve off loaded our guests.” He didn’t want his cigar or his seat back, waving them both off as his XO offered him each in turn. He wanted answers.

   The nebula outside finally passed onto the open view of free space, the star field’s magnificent view polluted by the missile cruiser Michigan and the Miranda class Princeton. It was only about twenty minutes before the two cruisers left, Delaware in tow and crew safe inside each ship’s innards. Cerberus didn’t even wait for them to go, as soon as the last transport finished its cycle, the smaller ship plunged back into the nebula.

   McDougal kept the big secret to himself. They all wanted to know why he would want to go back. The planet itself seemed like something out of an ancient horror film, or even worse, an ancient but still commonly used form of entertainment, a video game. Something about it just wasn’t right.

   Without interruption the ship slipped through the nebula with the grace of a ballerina performing her most important show. The dull thrum of the bridge’s ambient sounds was interrupted by the words McDougal knew were coming. “Picking up the planet on long range sensors,” Lieutenant Perkins said.

   Of course you are, McDougal thought. It never left. “Standard orbit, helm,” the commander ordered. “Perkins, T’Sala, begin a full sensor analysis of the planet. If something so much as sneezes down there, I want to know.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Start at the crash site.”

   “Sir, I am picking up over one hundred million life signs on the planet,” Perkins said. “Nowhere near the crash site, however, they all appear to be in the cities picked up by the Delaware on her scans of the surface.”

   “Also reading a highly advanced technology level,” T’Sala added. “Fusion reactors, subspace communications networks, weather control systems… None of this was read on the initial scans. Wait, picking up a large energy signature… Everything is gone, sir.”

   “Not gone,” McDougal said. He began to pace the bridge. “Open a channel to any of the communication relays you detected earlier.”

   “Channel open.”

   “This is Commander Shawn McDougal of the Federation Starship Cerberus. We’re here to have a few questions answered.”

   “No response,” T’Sala stated.

   “Are they receiving?”

   “Affirmative,” she replied.

   “Our mission is to seek out new life and civilizations. You and your people fall into that category. You tried and succeeded in chasing us off of your planet, but we’d like to know why you went to such extremes to do so.”

   “Still no response.”

   “We can understand if you would rather be left alone, but after what has happened here, and after seeing that your planet has survived both a collision with another planetary body and the nova of your sun, I can assure you, that we won’t be the last ship to come here,” he paused a brief moment to let the words sink in. “Unless, of course, you’d be willing to tell us otherwise.”

    A flash of light formed into the same being that appeared on the bridge before; the entity spoke with a softer tone than it had previously. “We do not want you here,” it said.

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #35 on: November 04, 2007, 10:32:29 pm »
Haven't gotten very far, but I am here reading it!

Must jet for the night, tho!

Looks good, so...no Evil Monkey for you!

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #36 on: November 21, 2007, 02:15:30 am »
Don't think that this "chapter" is over. Not yet, anyway. There's a couple more segments after this.


   “We’ve told you some truth, and some falsities,” the glowing one continued. It sighed, and then finished the sentence: “But ultimately, you are unwelcome.”

   McDougal pondered the being a moment. That, as they say, was that. He was bound, from here on out, to comply with this planet’s wishes. “Very well,” he said at last. He nodded in defeat over this issue, but he was far from done. “May we at least ask a few questions before our departure?”

   “You may not.”

   “Then we will be on our way. Helm, come about, resume course for...” The shrill bark of the red alert klaxon cut him off. Cerberus’s lighting faded to combat red. Shields, had they not already been in place, would have risen. A barely noticeable hum in the ship’s power distribution network signified the charging of the phaser capacitors.

   “We can not allow you to leave, either,” the glowing one said, and flashed into nonexistence.

   “Missiles inbound!” Perkins shouted.

   “Confirmed,” T’Sala added. “I read seventeen long range missiles coming up from the planet, impact in thirty seconds.” McDougal admired her coolness in this situation. This was fast becoming his least favorite planet. “Defensive phasers will be available in thirty five seconds,” she concluded.

   “Helm, all back emergency!” Miss Jones shouted. McDougal noted he’d yet to take his chair from her. He mentally shrugged it off and made his way to the helmsman.

   “Way ahead of you,  XO!” Michaels exclaimed. “Escape course plotted for warp speed! As soon as we’ve cleared the gravitational field of this planet, we’ll be gone!”

   “Status on the inbounds?” McDougal asked of his science officers. The planet pulled away from them on the view screen, the eerie effect caused by the small vessel backing away from the planet. Small pinpoints of artificial light could now be seen, each the glistening exhaust trail of a deadly warhead aimed at the ship.

   “Twenty-five seconds to impact,” T’Sala said calmly.

   “The maneuver bought us time,” Perkins added from the auxiliary science station, “but we’re in for a rough ride if one of those gets past our defenses. Weapon’s payload is off our charts, I estimate we could withstand two, maybe three before we’re done for.”

   “Engaging warp drive!” Michaels shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly. Everyone could hear him in a normal voice, after all.

   Cerberus continued her backwards escape from the planet, until navigational hazards forced her to turn her main deflector array onto her course. Warp engines momentarily powered down and the mighty ship pivoted about her axis, using momentum to keep her on course. With a small flash, the engines resumed their duties, and propelled the ship away from the planet, and out into the nebula, gaining precious time and distance from the missiles.

   “Weapons have matched our speed, sir,” T’Sala reported.

   “Maximum warp, helm,” McDougal replied. Cerberus shuddered under the sudden acceleration.

   “Warp nine point three,” Michaels reported. “I might be able to coax out another point or two…”

   Perkins interrupted him with a tone of defeat on his words, “Weapons have exceeded warp nine point eight. Impact in thirty!”

   McDougal thought a moment. He’d figured that he had at least that. He owed a moment to this crew, anyway. Without a sound, something clicked in his mind. “Find the densest layers of this nebula that you can and park us in ‘em. T’Sala, stand by all phasers in defensive, and prepare all countermeasures for use.” He paused a moment before finishing his order, letting things sink in a bit. “Launch emergency log buoy, and include a message as to who killed us.”

   Cerberus shook slightly as the cloud density increased and the warp field collapsed in a controlled fashion. She came to a dead stop in the densest cloud she could find, hoping that it would cloud the sensors of the pursuing missiles long enough to allow her escape. Seventeen missiles followed the ship into the cloud, oblivious to the effects of lost sensor efficiency. It was a hard choice to make, and even she knew it was the right one. Her sensors, phasers, and logic programming worked as one cohesive unit, targeting and destroying one missile after another as they came within range. Energy to the phasers eventually became exhausted, their gallant effort taking down eight of the deadly warheads.

   Her extensive sensor suite took over, confusing two of the remaining missiles, forcing them to self destruct. The blast took out two more of the deadly devices. In the last seconds before impact, two tractor beams leapt from the ship, snagging one missile apiece in their death grip. Three missiles managed to squeak by her defensive effort, and impacted.

   McDougal felt himself flinch under the scrutiny of instinct as he watched the missiles impact the number three shield. The flash on the screen was brilliant, forcing the large viewing apparatus to dim to protect their eyes. He waited for the screams, the rumbling tremors from deep below decks, the damage reports, the smoke… he waited for all of it… and nothing came. Not even a dull rumble from the impact. “Drop tractor beams,” he ordered coolly. The two previously captive missiles, now free to navigate, finished their destructive course into Cerberus’s number three shield, and impacted just as harmlessly.

   Silence filled the bridge as he began to pace, pondering all his options. “Open a channel to the planet,” he said after a few minutes of silence. T’Sala nodded to him when it was available for his use. He didn’t care if they responded or not, he just wanted to leave those sorry sons of cows a little fear when he left. “It is plainly obvious that you do not want us near your planet,” he started, “However, I have recently been informed that the United Federation of Planets no longer controls this sector of space. In our ongoing relations and push for peace with the Klingon Empire, this sector has been turned over to their jurisdiction.” He hoped beyond hope that they couldn’t read his bluff this far out. T’Sala nodded to him that the message was confirmed as being received.

   “When they find you, you will most likely take similar actions against them. They will regard those actions as an act of war, and will not cease in their efforts to eradicate your species. Allow us to return to your planet to place two quarantine buoys in orbit, and no one will bother you again.”

   A yellowish flash filled the front of the bridge, as it had before. “Deception does not suit you,” the glowing one said. “But you offer us a fair trade.” It paused a moment, and looked strained with effort.

   “I have taken the devices from your cargo bay and placed them in orbit of our planet. Please, leave us in peace; it is all we can ask.”

   McDougal sighed at the glowing being on his bridge. He wanted to harm it, treat it the same as he and his crew had just been treated. “Stand down red alert, power down weapons,” he said.

   “You,” it pointed at McDougal, “will be welcome to return once more, when the time is right, you will know. We will, however, destroy anyone else who attempts to come here.” The being departed with its signature flash, leaving an ominous message for McDougal’s ears only: “I am called Par Tused. Look for me and only me.

   “Helm,” he said, walking towards his command chair. XO Jones stood and allowed his entry to the seat. “Its high time we make like horse sh*t and hit the trail. Resume course to Trellious.”

   “‘Horse sh*t’?” T’Sala asked innocently. McDougal picked up where his XO left off on his stogy.

   “Course plotted and laid in, warp factor set at six,” Michaels reported.

   “Miss T’Sala, look it up. Helm, execute!”

   With that, Cerberus left her hiding place amongst the clouds and continued on her planned flight.


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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #37 on: November 21, 2007, 03:48:21 am »
What the heck, some more, eh?

   “You want to know why we choose to live in isolation, why we are, how did you put it? ‘Half evolved’. You’d like to know why we brought your other ship down, and why we tried to scare you all away. That about cover it?” Par Tused paced the bridge, circling around McDougal. They were alone.

   McDougal eyed the glowing one with contempt. “Stay out of my head,” he growled.

   “As you wish,” Par said simply. “I didn’t have to go in, you were broadcasting your thoughts so loud; it is a wonder your pet Vulcan can’t hear them… Oh! Good question, I’ll start with a different one, though. May I ask you first, one simple series of questions? I promise it won’t hurt.” Par smiled, and as he moved about the bridge, he stopped and examined each station. He ended his last words centimeters in front of the ship’s commander.

   McDougal nodded his approval, silently noting that being a transcendent one might also mean an eternity smelling like bad chicken.

   “What is the purpose of your ‘Starfleet’?” Par asked, resuming his meandering path about the bridge.

   “Exploration, research, and defense of the Federation; those could be considered the main purposes.”

   “Defense from what?”

   I don’t believe this. “There are others that we share this galaxy with. They are not always peaceful.”

   “Dreadful feeling, isn’t it? To be hated and battled against? Chased around by those who don’t want to corrupt themselves for your beliefs?”

   “It can be.” McDougal grew annoyed, but continued to play along.

   “We once had an empire, such as yours.” Par stopped his random walking, and returned to McDougal. “We spanned much of this galaxy. Glory to us, and how powerful we were! But alas, like all great empires, our time to shine was fading into the night. We were spread too thin in some sectors; in others, our very own people openly revolted against us!

   “We withdrew to this system, and two others. Over the centuries during our great retreat, the galaxy fell in onto itself, great chaos followed in our receding wake. Empires rose and fell, masters became servants… We grew tired of our station on top of everything.

   “Our race continued to thrive, unhindered by the mediocrity of space affairs. Those who sought us out only found a barren rock. We found ourselves here, our true selves. And then we began to transcend.

   Par Tused paused. He began to pace again; McDougal’s eyes followed him. “Our enemies found one of the three planets we’d colonized. One third of our population was exterminated. But after that, no ships came to find us, no one looked for us. We’d grown complacent, and that is why we had to disable your other vessel. They had seen us, they knew of us! In a panic, we shot them down.” Regret filled the glowing one’s voice. “We thought they were our long forgotten enemies, come to kill us all.

   “No one survived the crash. When we arrived, we scanned the ship’s data banks. To our surprise, we learned that you humans weren’t even yet climbing in trees when our empire passed your world! And it was much the same with all your other races. We knew our mistake, we resurrected your comrades, and left.

   “We didn’t realize that they had managed a message out. We assumed that we could continue to finish our transcending without them ever being the wiser. Then you came to their rescue. We had to force you to leave, but we were not going to make the same mistake again.”

   “Fascinating,” McDougal commented. “So, why didn’t you just mask yourselves from us? We wouldn’t have known the difference.”

   “We will finish this discussion the next we meet. Good morning, Captain!”

   His dream world faded, deep in the distance of reality he could hear the chronometer speaking to him, “The time is zero-six hundred hours. You have no new messages. You have no scheduled appointments. Good morning, Captain! The time is now…”

   “Off!” he barked before the soft female voice could repeat itself. As feeling was regained, he felt a soft furry paw on his nose. Gently, he turned his head to the side and allowed his gaze to find the paw’s owner. “Morning, little buddy,” he said. He rolled onto his left side on his rack, reaching with his right hand to pet the now purring mass called Oscar.

   “Merf,” he chortled, rolling over onto his back, exposing his super-soft belly fur to be scratched and pet. “Merowrf, mew mee merrf,” he said, and began to purr frantically with each stroke.

   “You’re telling me,” Shawn replied to him. “I didn’t mean to be tossing like that.”

   “Merwf.”

   “I’m not sure. It felt like a dream, but I doubt that my imagination could come up with something that intricate.”

   “Mewrwfrrr.”

   “Fine, I’ll tell it to Doc, and just keep petting you.” The duo lay in bed together, each absorbing each other’s warmth and affection.

   The moment was shattered when a shrill scream came from the shared head. He hadn’t expected his XO to be up and about this early, but he had been learning lately not to underestimate her. The unlocked door between his quarters and the shared head swung open to reveal the angry woman, standing in the glow of light from beyond. He squinted at her, the light blinding his ill-adjusted eyes. Her shapely form was silhouetted by the light in her silken night gown; her normally perfect hair was disheveled from recent slumber. And in her left hand she held a tiny object that he was sure he would have trouble identifying even if he could see straight.

   “What is this?” she demanded angrily. She approached his bed and sat down, dangling the object in his face.

   “Looks like a hair,” he said as his eyes adjusted. “Lights, full,” he ordered. The room lit up, forcing him to squint again. He noticed that Oscar did the same.

   She dangled the long, squiggly hair in front of his face. “What is this nasty hair doing on the toilet?”

   “Don’t look at me,” he said playfully, realizing where this was going.

   She held the hair to her head. “Its too dark and too short to be one of mine,” she said, moving the hair away from her. “It doesn’t match up down below, either.”

   “It is way too long to be one of mine,” he retorted. “But look,” he gently grabbed her hand and put it and the hair against Oscar’s dark back fur. “See?” He mentally noted how soft her skin was under his touch.

   “What the hell is his hair doing on the toilet?” her initial anger was replaced by both frustration and curiosity.

   “He came to us toilet trained,” he said, releasing her hand. She dropped the hair onto the cat and began to pet him.

   “Merf,” Oscar concurred.

   She sat with the two men in the room, softly stroking the purring one. Minutes passed before she remembered that she needed to be somewhere else. She excused herself and left.

   “Merowf?” Oscar asked after the door had been shut behind her.

   “Maybe if I wasn’t her captain,” he replied to him. He realized that his gaze never left her lithe form until she left his gaze. “But, yeah, you’re not in trouble.”

   “Mewrffrr,” Oscar replied, content in the knowledge of his own do-goodery.




   “I am Gunnery Sergeant Chapman, your senior drill instructor, and from now on, the last words out of your filthy pie-holes will be ‘Drill Sergeant’! Is that understood?” The tall bald human strode through the barracks, a commanding air about him. His uniform, Starfleet Marines standard dress, jingled slightly with each step as his many medals clanged together. He wore them in the standard fashion, just under the Starfleet Marines insignia on his left breast. On his right, he wore four ribbons, those not now or ever worthy of a medal, yet he bore those with equal pride.

   “Yes, Drill Sergeant,” the collected group of recruits, all male humans, responded, using their yet-to-be-forbidden indoor voices.

   “Bullsh*t! I can’t hear you! Sound off like you’ve got a pair!”

   “YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” came the shout. It was better than before, but Chapman felt they were still holding back.

   Soon they will know better. “Today,” he started again, “you are no longer men. You are nothing more than a cold pile of rotting sh*t, soaking in a chilled puddle of stale urine! It is my job to mold your stinking carcasses into fighting men!”

   “YES, DRILL SERGEANT!”

   Somewhere in the midst of the open bay barracks, someone said a small Klingon phrase, meant as a harmless joke. Chapman was not pleased. “Who said that? Who the f*ck just said that? Who’s the Romulan f*ck twinkle toed c*cksucker who just signed his own death warrant?” Chapman walked through the barracks, looking over each recruit with disdain and disrespect. He headed to where he thought he heard the voce. “Nobody, huh? The Fairy f*cking godmother said it!? Out-f*cking-standing. I will PT you all until you f*cking die!”

   Chapman found one recruit in the general area, not much to look at, slight flab around the edges, short, but not too short. This would be his target. “I bet it was you, you scroungey little f*ck!”

   “NO DRILL SERGEANT!” he shouted back.

   Sensing the upcoming beating, Recruit O’Kelly spoke up. He had said the phrase, after all. “I said it, Drill Sergeant!”

   “Oh! What do we have here! A f*cking comedian! toH, tlhIngan Hol DajatlhlaH’e’ DaneH’a’?”

   “Yes, Drill Sergeant! Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam!” O’Kelly pulled a type one hand phaser from his belt and fired at Chapman. The Drill Instructor vaporized into a cloud of atomized goo.



   The dream faded as O’Kelly found himself no longer in Marine boot camp but at his work station in his quarters; How to Speak Klingon educational program running on his computer terminal and an old film, Full Metal Jacket, playing on the quarters’ vid player. He’d fallen asleep watching the film and learning the intricate and wonderful language. He stood from his seat and turned off the player as the characters were singing, “ M-I-C… K-E-Y… M-O-U-S-E”. He’d missed most of what had lately been his favorite film, but he would be able to replay it later, anyway.

   He’d grown accustomed to how his mind would take things from the real world and mesh them into a disturbing dream. In reality, Sergeant Chapman was a real nice guy, and was never worthy of a phaser to the gut. Nor had he or anyone else in his multi-species division back in the boot said much more than “yes” or “no” that first day.

   The memories of boot camp spawned memories of Marine life. A life that he had grown to hate. He remembered when he applied to the Academy, he remembered all the nay-sayers he served with. He remembered fondly the crude gesture he left on each of their computer terminals when he left, too.

   His mind wandered as he sat on his bed. Minutes passed in the darkened room, and eventually his mind drifted back to sleep. He felt himself chanting, “This is my phaser, this is my gun,” and woke with a start.

   “Red Alert, all hands to battle stations!” the bridge’s watch officer’s voice filled the 1MC. So much for sleep, he mused.

Czar "Down the trail we go!" Mohab, who now translates, "So, you want to speak Klingon?" and "It is a good day to die!", or so said the website I found it on.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #38 on: November 21, 2007, 10:08:51 pm »
I remember once or twice...back in the day...watching ALL of FMJ.

Now I turn the channel after the Gunny gets his brains splattered.

Not sure yet what to make of this tale, Czar. I shall refrain from comment till more is here.

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances II: The Long, Dusty Trail.
« Reply #39 on: November 23, 2007, 06:25:31 am »
I hope this comes out believable. If not, just push your "I believe" button.

   Chief Engineer’s Mate William Rankin walked proudly into the engine room. His engine room. There were officers that claimed it was theirs, but with the exception of the engineer, none knew it as well as he did. The officers gave the orders, but the enlisted got the job done; the officers took the credit, while the enlisted busted knuckles and got greasy making miracles happen.

   He’d made a short career into a successful one. He’d been selected as an instructor onboard a permanently moored engineering training frigate, whose engine room design was virtually identical to the newer frigates in the fleet. He spent his first actual space duty assigned to the frigate Eastover, where he excelled in everything, but outshined even her engineer in sheer knowledge of everything propulsion related. Promotions in his first six years in the fleet came fast to him, and despite a lull in the last two years, he finally took and passed the chief’s exam. He’d pulled off a feat no previous enlisted person in the history of Starfleet was ever capable of: he was an eight year chief.

   His current assignment satisfied him to no end. Cerberus’s engine room was familiar enough to be able to run it blindfolded, yet new and different enough to keep him guessing whenever a new sound or vibration caught his watchful eye. Now, he walked lightly into the cavernous room, feeling the throb form the ship’s heart, the warp core; feeling the vibration of machinery and equipment. Warp six, the ship told him. Steady speed. EPS in normal. Aux. reactor two coming up from routine maintenance. He smiled as he rounded the warp core and read a panel that told him what he already knew.

   He found EM1 Roberts, the off-going engineering watch supervisor, and in a quasi-breach of protocol, dismissed him with a simple “I relieve you”. Roberts wasn’t at all surprised by this. He’d learned long ago that Rankin was more often than not more up to date on the engine room’s status from just walking in than most officers who spent a good thirty minutes wandering the room and asking how the cow was eating the cabbage.

   Rankin watched as Roberts left, and began his first of many on watch tours of the room. He thought about climbing out into the outboards on the mid level to do some cleaning; it was considered taboo for a chief to do such things, but he cared not. It was how he became more intimate with his engine room. He’d been in and out of bilges since day one, after all, no need to stop cleaning because of rank.

   He finished his tour shortly after 0600. He spent the last thirty minutes or so making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. This watch team he served his time with was no where near the best on board, but they were more than capable. He chose these men and women personally; they were all young to their watch stations and needed the guidance of experience. He’d always stop and help, answering questions without giving away the answers; solving problems without getting involved. He enjoyed how this watch team was growing. With his help, they would be the best. And he would give them full credit. After all, they were doing the work.

   Rankin met with the watch officer, a recent Academy graduate. Lieutenant Junior Grade Merten was one of those “book smart, life stupid” guys that usually rubbed him the wrong way, but the JG had a way of playing on his weaknesses that made Rankin laugh on the inside, inspiring him to assist the young officer to be better overall.

   After twenty minutes, Rankin felt that the breeze was adequately shot to pieces, and proceeded to a cleaning locker. Cerberus’s engine room made one of those sounds that Rankin hated, and he waited a brief second before she told him what was wrong: Warp field auto-shutdown enabled. Safety protocols active. Inside, he smiled; outside, he frowned. He was fortunate that he was already at his battle station when the bridge officer’s call came over the 1MC, this allowed him to find the nearest panel and confirm what his mind and the ship told him. In the battle lit engine room he read the status report to the steady bark of the alert klaxon. They’d entered a strong gravity well.



   Captain’s personal log, stardate 11607.5

   I’m still haunted by images of the planet we encountered. The latest was a dream in which Par Tused was speaking to me, answering questions that I had ready for him or anyone else who would answer them. This makes the second night and third dream from the planet. If it was real, if he was really in my head, then I have no choice but to accept the plight of this civilization. I’ve also contemplated the last words from Par about returning to the planet. Currently, I see no reason to return; I hate the place. I just hope that my head clears up soon.

   Oscar seems well adjusted to shipboard life. Miss Jones isn’t too impressed with his ability to eliminate in the same receptacle that she and I use, but she’ll adjust. I can’t help but wonder how such a loving animal could have found its way into my life. I’d swear he understands not only what I say to him, but also that he responds in kind. There’s possibly something more than friendship developing between us, perhaps he sees me as an older brother. We as a crew are adapting to him as well. He has been granted access to most of the ship, to come and go as he pleases, but he seems to hang out a lot with crewmen that need a quick emotional ‘pick-me-up’; however, he does come back to my quarters each night and shares my bunk.

   Doc finally confirmed that the rodents that lured him on board were indeed Romulan in origin, and disease free. Fortunately, they never broke into the food supply, and there have been no further signs of the creatures, easing my mind about a possible infestation. Having seen Oscar in action, I doubt that it would have been too serious for long, had there been one.

   We’re proceeding to our first survey area about one day behind schedule. We’re operating close to peak fuel efficiency, so I am hesitant to increase warp speed to make up for the lost day. As soon as Miss McCloud finishes her fuel usage report, we might bump our speed up a point or two.

   “End recording,” McDougal ordered the computer. He sat alone in his quarters; Oscar had left his room almost forty minutes ago to do his own thing. He felt alone.

   The call to the bridge was unexpected, but slightly welcomed. Red combat lighting illuminated the passageway to the turbo lift. He passed Oscar on his way out the door, apparently he knew where safe was. Miss Jones left her own quarters and joined him on the short trip to the lift, then to the bridge.



   His stomach grumbled as he and his XO exited the lift; he’d forgotten about breakfast again. “Report!” he ordered. He noticed that none of the senior bridge officers, save Michaels, had yet to arrive.

   “Sir,” Michaels reported, glad to be relieved of his bridge watch, “we’ve entered a strong artificial gravity field. Ship’s safety protocols dropped us from warp at the extreme edge of the phenomena, and we’re currently making full impulse to try to escape the field.”

   “Why didn’t sensors detect this?” McDougal questioned him as he took his chair slightly annoyed.

   “It didn’t form until we were already inside the field.” Michaels tapped the junior helmsman on the shoulder, indicating his desire to relieve her.

   “Source?” McDougal asked.

   “Bearing one-six-three mark zero-one-one, range, thirty thousand kilometers,” Jones answered him from the tactical station. She would fill the role until T’Sala made it to the bridge. With only one lift up to the command center, it could be a while. “On screen now.” The view screen shifted from its normal ‘star field ahead’ view to a slightly skewed view of the starboard quarter. Without prompting, the screen jumped in magnification to a small shuttle-shaped vehicle. “Approximately fifty percent of our mass; fifty-two meters long, eleven tall, and eleven wide. No life signs on board. Warp and impulse drives available, no weapons or shields. Reading communications array, basic navigational sensor suite and extensive long range sensor suite. The device is attempting to match our speed and course.”

   “I’m not impressed,” McDougal commented. “Any idea where it came from, or better yet who owns it?”

   “Negative. There is an ion trail leading to the device signifying it was traveling at warp speed, possibly dropped from warp when we crossed its path. As to the owner, the computer doesn’t recognize it from any known vessels in our library.”

   “Very well. Helm, resume warp speed as soon as we clear the field. Miss Jones, stand by to cancel red alert.”

   “Sir,” Jones squeaked. “I am reading a massive warp signature inbound.”

   “Bridge to engine room,” McDougal said, keying the appropriate intercom, “I need every last erg you can spare to the impulse drives!”

   “We’ve been monitoring and we’re on it,” came the reply from a vaguely familiar voice.

   “Helm answering one hundred twenty-two percent impulse,” Michaels interrupted.

   “Chief Rankin,” McDougal replied. “Remind me to give you a pay raise when this is over. Where’s your watch officer?”

   “Stumbling through a turnover, sir,” Rankin replied. “I know we’re at battle alert, but he needs the practice, Engineer’s idea, sir.”

   McDougal was still familiarizing himself with his crew and watch rotations, but in an instant knew who Rankin spoke of. You only get one first impression, and Merten’s was going to last a long time with the CO. “Have Mister Merten report to the bridge on the double when he’s through,” McDougal calmly ordered. McCloud had the option to take the engineering console on the bridge or head to engineering during battle stations; she apparently opted to take the hands on route, leaving the console to be manned by whoever was available. Merten would have to fill that role, his battle station being engineering assistant. “Bridge, out.” McDougal closed the line and refocused on the task at hand.

   “Reading ninety-six warp signatures inbound, warp factor three,” Jones reported. In a way, she felt relieved that it wasn’t one massive doomsday ship coming to crush them ninety-six times over; but relief gave way to worry about ninety-six ships that might crush them once apiece. “They are circumnavigating the field and will be in front of us in one minute, twenty seconds.”

   “How much time until we are clear of the gravity well?”

   “Ninety seconds.”

   “We always seem to cut things close. Helm, come about. Miss Jones, target the source and make it dead.” Cerberus pivoted on her axis, bringing her main guns to bear on the defenseless opponent.

   “Phasers locked, closing to target. Firing phasers.” Six long lances of phased energy leapt from the warship and struck home on the smaller craft. Explosions rocked the craft as the energy overloaded critical components and dropped its ship ensnaring device. “Direct hit, gravity well collapsing!”

   “Helm, now!” T’Sala and Perkins slipped silently onto the bridge, and the watch team shuffled their positions.

   “Waiting for the green light, sir; we’ll have to wait for the field to collapse further!” Precious seconds ticked by as the pursuing fleet recognized what was happening and altered its course to directly intercept their prey. Before Cerberus could manage her jump to warp, the fleet assembled itself in her path, dropping from warp at an adequate distance to allow their sublight turn to face their prey.

   T’Sala would have frowned, were she not suppressing her emotions. “Six new gravity fields are emanating from within this fleet. Seventeen of the larger craft are launching fighters.”

   “Picking up heavy communications traffic,” Perkins reported. “Universal translator is working to translate, but it may be a while, this language is unfamiliar. Attempting to open a channel, but they may not understand us, either.” The star field on the screen shifted as Cerberus changed course again, this time to avoid the fleet.

   “Tactical analysis, Miss T’Sala,” McDougal ordered. He brought his left ankle to rest on his right knee and propped his head in his right hand.

   “Basic warp and impulse drives. No shields detected on any vessel. Weapons are limited to high energy lasers, mass drivers, ion cannons, particle beam cannons and kinetic energy weapons, all of various sizes and efficiency. I would extrapolate that there are at least six battleships, eighteen carrier class vessels, thirty cruiser class vessels, thirty frigate class vessels, and twelve non combatants, not including the fighters and possible bombers. I do not believe that they pose a serious threat at the moment, however, should they close enough to use their weapons en masse, we may have problems. The battleships and carriers are maintaining speed equal to our own; the rest of the fleet is beginning to overtake us.”

   “Anyone else getting tired of finding new species that want to eradicate us?” McDougal asked innocently.

   “It’s like we crossed into some alternate reality where the universe is against us,” Perkins added. “Still no response to our hails; translator circuits are at maximum trying to figure them out.”

   “Report from engineering,” Jones said from the engineering panel, “we have to slow our speed or risk blowing the impulse drives.”

   “Understood, take us to the limit. T’Sala, maintain phasers in defensive only. Perkins, get those damned translator circuits working faster.”
   


   Long, needle like fighters sped towards their prey, protruding swept wings adding to the sleekness of the design. They were followed closely by their squat, arrow-head shaped twin engined bomber counterparts. Their dark blue hulls with golden pin striping glistened in the light cast by the energy weapons of their target. They still had to close the huge gap before any of their weapons would be effective, but the massive numbers of the attrition units would keep them in overwhelming numbers despite the losses.

   Not far behind, the group of frigates closed to their own weapons maximum range. They held back their weapons, waiting for the range to close. They maintained a loose formation, their twin turreted weapons on their nose keeping a sharp lock on the fleeing ship. Some were too high, others too low to allow their upper and lower turrets, respectively, a clear shot. They were smaller than their prey, but this did not deter their motives. Sheer numbers of this wedge-shaped group bolstered their morale. They were by far the ugliest craft in the fleet, built for function and not form. Twin warp nacelles graced the underside of the craft, with a single impulse pod abaft of the main bridge was sported on top.

   The long and slender hull shaped cruisers were next in line, also closing fast on the prey. Their energy weapons had been firing for some time now, but not causing any noticeable damage. Surely, the laser barrage would do something more once the range closed. The crews didn’t take notice that this prey was different, it was shielded. They didn’t yet know that their laser weapons would never penetrate this shield. Their massive impulse engine pods flared brighter red as they increased speed for their enemy. Six turrets graced these deadly craft, two each to port, starboard and below. It was well protected and served the fleet well in both offensive and defensive actions. The port and starboard warp engine pods would block the aft turret’s line of fire for now, but these ships could easily out maneuver their slightly smaller prey, keeping at least one pair of turrets locked on at all times. If their usual tactics prevailed, all six would maintain a clear shot until this ship was destroyed.

   The six battleships followed, pacing the fleeing craft. The warp and impulse drives were integral to the after most section of the long, flat ships. Topside boasted three turreted mass drivers aft and twin turreted ion cannon pairs forward. The main bridge protruded abaft of the mass drivers, allowing the admiralty a grand view of the carnage that these massive vessels could induce. Arrayed around the flat nose of the craft were two laser cannons port and starboard, two particle beam weapons top and bottom, and twin kinetic energy weapons in the nose itself. Rounding out the arsenal was a single belly turreted mass driver. The admiralty watched the battle as it unfolded, noting that this prey wasn’t quite like anything that they had encountered before. They felt protected within their gravity wells’ spheres of influence. This one wouldn’t get away.

   Eighteen carriers took up the rear. Essentially a square tube with a pointed nose, these massive ships housed ten fighters and ten bombers each, with the ability to launch all of the small craft within seconds from their massive port and starboard launch bays. Deep in their bellies was the heart of the operation, a massive repair and refueling bay that could accommodate up to thirty craft at one time. This gave the ships the ability to service any fighter or bomber from the fleet; the massive bay was accessed from beneath the nose, and passed on to the staging and launch bays. Ill equipped to handle direct combat, these vessels enjoyed relative safety behind the bulk of the fleet, but employed nine self defense turrets topside just in case. A single massive warp drive engine was slung below, added after the advent of the warp drive. These ships had served in the defense of the home system for decades, and the top brass saw little need to upgrade the class to something newer. The main bridge sat on the nose, flush with the hull, providing an adequate view of the battle before them.




   Cerberus shook gently under the constant barrage of fire from the fighters and bombers. The small weapons fire from the fighters barely even flashed on the shields, and the larger ordinance of the bombers left an impressive, yet ineffective, display of color on the shields. The frigates and cruisers had opened fire with what they had, still gaining on the warship. McDougal pondered what he did to irk the universe into sending him this unwelcome gift. Perkins had been busy rerouting computer processing to the universal translator, and so far had seen marginal results. T’Sala busied herself with phaser fire, knocking of strike craft left and right. Occasionally, she’d call out the number of remaining craft, the last count was seventy six.

   Overall, McDougal was not impressed. With some maneuvering, Cerberus could decimate this fleet, and he found himself liking this option more and more. He waited, though, forcing the impulse engines beyond their maximum tolerance in hopes of resolving this without much more bloodshed. He barely noticed when the young lieutenant entered the bridge and took up station with Jones at the engineering console. He’d most likely be relying on her a lot in the next few minutes, and his desire to have him on the bridge waned. An alarm sounded behind him, signifying the end of their high speed fleeing. He didn’t acknowledge the report from Merten that they were limited to half impulse while the engines cooled. He ignored T’Sala’s report that the enemy fleet was now closing faster. He kept his ears open for one report, the report from Perkins. It never came. Cerberus shook violently as one of the battleship’s mass drivers struck home.

   “T’Sala, target the source of the gravity generators. Destroy the whole damned ships if you have to. Weapons fire at your discretion; helm, attack pattern delta seven beta.”

   
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