Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

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The Plevlian Squalls - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt) - Sector 441

The Alshain heavy cruiser G’Shrora slalomed wildly between the thundering columns of energetic plasma that had been whipped into frenzy by the deep gravitational footprint of a nearby proto-star cluster. The warship was seriously damaged, and its desperate gyrations were a last-ditch attempt to evade its pursuers. A squadron of small, compact attack ships of unknown origin matched the larger ship move for move, darting through the billowing fumaroles with practiced ease and making a mockery of the heroic efforts of the cruiser’s helmsman.

On the bridge of the Alshain vessel, Sutahr Vacquin R’Vor snarled with displeasure as he observed the persistence of his unidentified enemy. The flotilla of attack ships had ambushed them just outside the Ba’ku star system as G’Shrora had departed with its cargo of captured Son’a and Ba’ku prisoners. What had begun as a routine clean-and-sweep of newly annexed territory had quickly deteriorated into a running battle to save their own lives.

As he turned to his weapons officer, R’Vor inquired heatedly, “Can we ignite those columns?”

The younger male’s ears flattened in subservience under the withering scrutiny of his captain. “No, sir. You’re thinking of metreon gas. There are pockets of that material throughout the Kla—“ he was flung against his console as the ship rocked from yet another well placed torpedo hit. He gathered his wits and  replied with a hopeful volley of swarm-missiles that fanned out behind the ship as he continued, “…throughout the Klach D'Kel Brakt, but none are found nearby due to the plasmoberic currents—“

R’Vor waved away the rest of the explanation, baring a mouthful of formidable teeth. “Status of weapons?”

“Disruptors and exciser cannons are still offline, sir. Their aim with their opening salvo was impeccable.”

He grunted with grudging admiration for his enemy’s prowess. R'Vor then scanned the navigational display at his station for any other anomalies in the vicinity which might serve to either hide them or slow their pursuers. He found nothing.

The helmsman announced, “Clearing the columns, Sutahr. Shall we swing around for another run?” The man’s voice was tight with fear, and despite R’Vor’s hatred of that particular emotion, the sutahr found that he could not judge him too harshly under the circumstances.

“Status of the enemy craft?”

“Eleven of the original twelve threat craft are still intact, sir. One of them appears to have collided with a plasma column.”

R’Vor’s hands clenched the forelimb rests of his command chair. There were no other alternatives. His ship was crippled, so prolonged flight was not an option. His shields were failing, his most potent weapons disabled. They would have to turn back and brave the raging tendrils once again. Better a quick death by plasma storm than capture at the hands of an unknown foe, R’Vor thought soberly as he recited a quick prayer to his ancestral lineage. “Helmsman, bring us about!”

The pilot’s response was drown out by thunderous weapons impacts as their opponents, who had themselves just passed out of the squalls, executed a concentrated attack on the cruiser. Primary lighting died and the sole illumination on the bridge came from the strobing death throes of flickering consoles and the guttering sparks from shattered display screens.

From within the darkness a voice shouted, “Shields have failed! Sensors detecting transporter signatures.”

R’Vor rose from his seat and drew a bulky distruptor pistol from its holster on his leg. “Battle stations, prepare to repel boarders!” Despite his best efforts, his enemies had pressed their attack and now a battle that had begun as ship-to-ship skirmish would end in close-quarters combat. He generated a feral smile as he anticipated what would likely be his final struggle. Let them come for him. They would enter his lair, defended by his people, where the darkness and confined spaces were his allies. Yes, he thought, let them come.

*****

Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine - Ward Room

“…and in conclusion an eleven ship task force should suffice to underscore the Federation’s resolve to see this conflict ended peaceably while not proving overtly threatening to the Alshain. All parties involved in this unfortunate quarrel are justly aggrieved, but we must make them see that peace is the preferable path.” With that, Captain Jean-Luc Picard completed his brief on the mission that had consumed him these last months.

He resumed his seat next to Commander Will Riker as he scanned the faces of the assembled captains and their first officers, the men and women who had elected or had been assigned to follow him on this vital errand of mercy. A few appeared genuinely enthusiastic, but the majority had mustered their best poker faces for the occasion. A handful, Commander Liana Ramirez among them, looked openly dubious.

Although Deep Space Nine was some fifty lightyears from the Federation border with Alshain space, the core of the task force had assembled here largely due to the presence of two individuals. The senior Starfleet officer posted to DS9 was Rear-Admiral Monica Covey, the Federation’s foremost expert on the Alshain, and the woman responsible for forging the UFP’s alliance with them during the bleak days that marked the beginning of the war. Seated with her at the head of the table was Lt. Commander Seb N’Saba, Starfleet’s only Alshain member, formerly of the late USS Cuffe.

The rest of the meeting went by the numbers, consisting of brief exchanges of tactical, logistical, and navigational data as the command staffs from Lexington, Gibraltar, Zhukov, and Bellerophon made preparations for operating within the unpredictable Briar Patch.

Covey had provided the task force with everything she knew about the Alshain as a species, consciously keeping her reservations with this mission to herself following Picard’s impassioned speech to his fellow officers. Her objections had already been shared in private, and she had reiterated them to Will Riker, with whom Covey was previously acquainted. She had even gone as far as reassigning N’Saba to Enterprise for the duration of the assignment, praying his insights into his people’s psychology and traditions might help prevent any unfortunate incidents.

The admiral called the meeting to a close with Picard’s sanction, and the personnel filtered toward the exit, chatting among themselves as they collected padds and beverage mugs. Picard paused near the exit to the wardroom, waiting for Sandhurst and Ramirez to approach. He inclined his head towards his fellow captain, a man who had volunteered himself and his ship for the duration of this diplomatic intervention. “Captain Sandhurst, you’re looking much improved since last we met.” 

Sandhurst smiled wanly. “Thank you, Captain.” Sandhurst’s recovery from his recent abduction had begun aboard Enterprise with Counselor Troi, before the ship had transported him to Betazed for more intensive therapies. Nevertheless, Picard was merely being polite. Sandhurst appeared a mere shell of his former self, and they both knew it.

Picard turned to Ramirez. “You appeared skeptical of my plan, Commander. I opened the floor to questions and concerns, but you didn’t take the opportunity to voice any.”

After she cast a quick glance at Sandhurst, Ramirez replied evenly, “It’s not my place to question the necessity or the underlying assumptions surrounding this mission, sir.”

Riker stepped up behind the Gibraltar officers, his mouth drawing into a frown as he picked up on the topic of conversation.

“If you have reservations, Commander, you should feel free to air them.” Picard pressed the point, “I certainly wouldn’t want anyone feeling they’re held hostage by the circumstances of this assignment.”

Sandhurst bit the inside of his lip, looking mortified as Ramirez smiled pleasantly at Picard. “Respectfully, Captain, I’m a Starfleet officer. I go where I’m told. But since you’ve asked for my thoughts, I’m more than happy to share them. In my professional opinion, we’re biting off more than we can chew with this mission at a time when we can least afford such gestures. As for my personal opinion,” her eyes clouded as she conjured dark memories, “I’ve danced to this tune before. It didn’t end well.”

Picard smiled tolerantly. “Healthy cynicism is a positive characteristic in a leader, Commander. I hope that by the time we’ve completed our assignment, you’ll be able to see the value in such gestures, most especially when we can least afford them.”

“I sincerely hope that’s the case, Captain. I’ll have to trust you’re not allowing your personal feelings to needlessly endanger these crews.” She offered perfunctory nods all around. “Sirs, if you’ll excuse me.”

Ramirez stepped out into the corridor and had only made it a dozen meters before she sensed the fast approach of someone behind her. She turned to come face to face with an obviously irritated Will Riker. “Wait just a minute, Ramirez.”

He outweighed her by over fifty kilograms and stood considerably taller, but Ramirez appeared unfazed. She looked up into Riker’s face with iron resolve. “Something I can help you with, Commander?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve questioning the motivations of that man,” Riker said heatedly, pointing down the corridor towards the wardroom. “He’s made sacrifices you could hardly imagine in the defense of the Federation, and I think you owe him the benefit of the doubt.”

Ramirez cocked her head to give Riker an appraising look. “Picard’s a very accomplished officer and diplomat, but he’s not infallible. Sometimes even the most well-intentioned plans are built on foundations of sand.”

Riker glowered and snorted derisively, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m skeptical of this mission because Picard’s too close to the players. His relationship with the Ba’ku is driving this, and no matter how genuine his humanitarian ambitions are, he’s been blinded to the realities of the situation. Mark my words, we’ll be at war with the Alshain before this is done.”

Riker countered, “To be perfectly candid, your opinion really doesn’t count here. Your captain’s already onboard with this. All anyone’s asking you to do here is your job.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t understand why you’d object to taking part in a humanitarian mission, or why you’d disrespect Captain Picard like that.”

Ramirez’s forced smile turned frosty. “My job? Oh, that’s right, I remember now. That’s what I was doing on the bridge of the Tempest during the war. I was standing knee deep in bodies, surrounded by burning starships on the Bolian Front while Enterprise was playing diplomatic courier and flitting about on archeological surveys.” She made a point of looking down at Riker’s knees. “I hope your uniform didn’t get too dirty hauling shovels around the dig sites for your captain.”

Will’s eyes widened and his face reddened as his outrage mounted. However, his anger was fueled by a kernel of shame he had carried since the end of the conflict. Enterprise had been considered too important by command to risk in direct combat. Instead, the flagship had been dispatched on vital diplomatic assignments, recruiting allies against the Dominion and engaging in routine good will missions, helping to preserve the image that the Federation was still functioning normally during the protracted struggle. He had yearned to be on the front lines, sharing the enormous burden with his comrades, but it was not to be.

Riker fought to control his rage at her impertinence. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “The crew of that ship has—“

Ramirez cut him off mid-sentence. “Stow it, Will. I know you saved the Earth from the Borg, but what have you done for us lately?”

Riker practically recoiled at her attack, his expression conveying such shock and incredulity that it brought Ramirez up short. She immediately downshifted and held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, Commander. That was completely out of line.”

“You’re goddamn right about that,” Riker muttered, working heroically to rein in his emotions.

“I’m well aware of the contributions of your ship and crew to the safety of the Federation.” Her face was pinched, her expression pained. “I apologize. This isn’t about you, or Captain Picard. This is about my captain and his choices.”

As he calmed, Riker examined Ramirez more closely. He had never met the woman before today, but he counted himself an excellent judge of human nature. Behind the young woman’s bluster, he saw a deep reservoir of pain and fear. The whole idea of this mission had set something off inside her. He lowered his voice and offered, “This won’t be like last time, Commander. Captain Picard won’t allow it. I won’t allow it.” 

"You can’t make that promise.” She turned abruptly, walking away down the corridor as she left a confused and frustrated Will Riker behind her.

*****

Alshain Heavy Cruiser G’Shrora - Detention Block, Deck 7

The prisoners were flung to and fro in their detention cells as the cruiser shuddered from repeated impacts. Anij clung to Gallatin for support. “What’s happening?  Has Starfleet come to rescue us?”

Gallatin grunted as they were thrown against the wall, he shielding Anij from the impact with his body. “More likely a Son’a cruiser,” he said, thinking, I’m surprised we have any left.

The wailing of internal alarms drowned out the shouting from their Alshain captors as the weapons fire ceased suddenly. Gallatin whispered to Anij, “They are being boarded. We must be prepared to confront the guards should they come to execute us before we can be rescued.”

Anij’s features tightened with fear, but her eyes were clear and focused. She was Ba’ku, one of the last thanks to the efforts of the Alshain. Her people and their culture must be preserved.

Moments passed, then the sounds of fighting erupted from somewhere nearby. The whine of disruptors competed with the basso growl of pulse blasts. In the corridor at the end of the detention block, figures silhouetted in smoke dashed about amidst the flash of weapons fire.

A tall, red-furred Alshain soldier sprinted into the block, whirling about and taking a kneeling position with his rifle held at the ready. Two hazy figures leaned out into the corridor from opposite sides of the doorway simultaneously to send a flurry of white energy bolts towards the soldier. He replied in kind and vaporized one of the enemies as he himself was cut down by their fusillade.

The surviving figure moved cautiously down the corridor. Gallatin noticed that the indistinct form of the humanoid was not due to the surrounding smoke, but was instead the result of mimetic holomesh armor that simulated the wearer’s immediate surroundings. As a former soldier, Gallatin admired the smooth, steady advance of the armor clad figure, constantly scanning his surroundings and sweeping the path of his advance with his rifle.

As the commando arrived at the occupied cells, the figure spoke in accented Federation standard, no doubt the result of a translator matrix. “You are Son’a?”

Gallatin stepped forward, stopping just before the energy field. “Yes.”

The figure reached out to toggle off the security screens and release the prisoners. “Stay close together and remain with me.”

Gallatin stooped to retrieve the fallen Alshain soldier’s rifle and hefted the bulky weapon with difficulty. “Understood.”

*****

Sandhurst looked sheepishly at Picard as Riker slid past him and began his pursuit of Ramirez down the corridor. The captain of the Enterprise looked less than thrilled with the actions of his own exec, and directed a wry smile at Sandhurst.

“Well, that was… awkward,“ Sandhurst offered. He began to apologize for Ramirez’s statements but the older captain casually waved away the effort.

“No need, Captain. She’s entitled to her opinion, and after all you and your crew have been through in past months, I believe I can understand the source of her discomfort.” He patted Sandhurst on the shoulder. “Don’t give it any more thought. We’ve much to accomplish in very little time. Let’s not allow ourselves such distractions.” With that, Picard stepped into the hallway, leaving Sandhurst standing in an empty room save for Rear Admiral Covey.

Years earlier, Covey had been the first officer aboard Cuffe where Sandhurst had served as an engineer. Later, as a captain she’d stolen him away from that ship and made him her chief engineer on Chevalier. Five months ago Covey had approached Sandhurst, then the first officer on Venture, and convinced him to accept a captaincy.

Covey recognized Sandhurst’s frustration and grinned at him. “Look out for Liana when she gets a full head of steam. I’ll bet she and Will are toe-to-toe out there.”

Sandhurst rolled his eyes. “No doubt.”

The admiral stepped forward hesitantly. “How are you, Donald?” She couldn’t quite hide her discomfort with his new appearance. A mere two months earlier, Sandhurst had been noticeably overweight and had possessed a thick mane of dark black hair that had just begun to gray at the temples.  Now that hair was nearly completely white, and had been shaved close to his head, leaving what amounted to a crown of stark white stubble.  He was leaner now than when she had known him as a junior engineer years before, but he seemed gaunt and brittle.

Sandhurst attempted a smile of his own but wasn’t able to follow through. “I’m… better.”

“Really?”  She placed a hand on his arm. “I’d heard rumors that something… very unpleasant had happened to you. Despite my rank, I couldn’t get any official confirmation. Everything was ultra-classified.”

He pursed his lips regretfully. “Unfortunately, yes. I can’t talk about it. Under the circumstances, that’s more a blessing than a curse.”

She inclined her head, having no choice but to accept that explanation. “I’ll see your ‘no comment’ and raise you an ‘are you sure about this mission?’”

The reference to their weekly poker games aboard Chevalier ignited the smile Sandhurst had been unable to light on his own. “I think it’s the right thing to do, both for the Federation, and the Son’a.”

She nodded reluctantly. “You know how I feel about this.”

“I do, and I want you to know your opinion carries considerable weight with me.”

She laughed. “But Jean-Luc is just so damn compelling, right?”

“Something like that,” he said with a chuckle.

“Fair enough. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? I didn’t pin that fourth pip on your collar so that you could go and get yourself mauled by an interstellar wolf pack.”

He mock winced. “Nice imagery, thanks.”

She stepped through the door into the passageway. “C’mon, Captain. I’ve been waiting for a tour of that old ship I pawned off on you.”

Sandhurst fell in step with her as he shook his head ruefully and just for a moment felt once again like his old self.

*****

Alshain Heavy Cruiser G’Shrora

Sutahr R’Vor roared in concert with the scream of his disruptor rifle as he poured concentrated fire down the corridor towards the shadowy, advancing enemy. These creatures were wraiths, darting out from behind cover to slay his men with well-placed weapons fire before vanishing again into the chaos. Their inexorable advance towards the detention center was proof enough that they were here to rescue the Alshain’s prisoners, but the sutahr had never known the Son’a or their servitor species to fight so hard or so effectively. For a moment he wondered if these were Jem’Hadar holdouts, perhaps some vanguard of a second invasion of the Alpha Quadrant, hiding out in the Briar Patch.

He crouched back behind the corner as the enemy’s answering fire flashed past. R’Vor accessed the computer command link affixed to his gauntlet. He reprogrammed the ship’s onboard security forcefields, tapping delicately at the interface with a clawed finger. R'Vor smiled coldly and congratulated himself on his own bloody creativity as he motioned for his men to retreat from near the mouth of the passageway.

He activated the defense screen emitters in the corridor, which sent a horizontal field of energy scything down the passageway at waist level. Like a blade cutting stalks of grass, a half dozen of the darting figures were cleaved in two instantaneously. Those of the enemy fortunate enough to have been in adjoining corridors or lying prone began an immediate tactical withdrawal, sensing the sudden shift in the fortunes of war.

R’Vor led an advance down the hallway to retake the corridor and then dispatched pursuit teams to harass their retreating foes. He paused at a bisected enemy body, his eyes struggling to focus the image of the man as the soldier’s holomesh armor flickered randomly. He knelt beside the body and unfastened the figure’s combat helmet and faceplate, peeling them away to stare uncomprehendingly at the naked visage of his enemy.

He looked up to see one of his men doing likewise with another of the enemy. His crewman’s features also clouded with confusion. The man looked to R’Vor. “I don’t understand, Sutahr. They are Bajorans.”

*****