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

Chapter Text

* * *

NCC-3109 (USS Reykjavík) - Sickbay

Trujillo ran her hand gently across the top of Glal’s wrinkled brow, silently wishing her old friend a speedy recovery.

USS Gol’s commanding officer was now situated on a biobed in a private exam room in Reykjavík’s sickbay. Cortical monitors were affixed to his temples to track the Tellarite’s neural activity following extensive repairs to his fractured skull and the stubbornly durable brain matter within.

“This is the quietest he’s ever been,” Trujillo remarked, causing her husband to smile despite the circumstances. “I might actually win an argument with him in this condition.”

Jarrod stood silently nearby, observing as Trujillo had visited Glal and the others wounded aboard Gol who had been transferred to Reykjavík’s larger and better equipped medical facilities.

She looked up and turned to face Jarrod fully. “You dropped out of warp into a combat situation with shields down?” The accusatory tone was unmistakable.

“The captain intended to warp in and disable the further ship while we simultaneously beamed the Rhaandarite survivors aboard. We had the nearer of the two ships blocking the firing solution of the furthest one, which we engaged as soon as we decelerated. The moment it became apparent we’d stepped into a trap, we raised the shields. All the damage we absorbed was sustained after the shields were raised, sir.”

Trujillo cocked her head, continuing to fix him with an appraising look. “Okay, but I’m still not happy about it. In and out in thirty seconds is a great plan until someone starts blowing holes through your unshielded hull.”

Jarrod stepped closer. “I am aware of that, Commodore, as was the captain. This wasn’t our first fight.”

Despite her standoffish demeanor she allowed him to approach. Jarrod slowly enveloped her in a hug that she resisted for a scant few seconds before melting into it and returning the embrace.

“I know you hate not being there when these things happen,” Jarrod said. “Gol is a tough little ship, but she’s not Reykjavík. We leverage speed instead of armament, maneuverability over shield strength.”

As they were out of sight of other crew, Trujillo allowed herself to tuck her face into her husband’s chest. “I know all that,” she said in a voice muffled by his uniform tunic.

“Do you, though?” he rejoined.

She sighed, a long release of breath as she turned her face up towards his. “You’re accusing me of micro-managing?”

“More of an inference than outright accusation,” Jarrod parried.

“Shut up,” Trujillo murmured without conviction and sighed again. “You did a good job getting your people home,” she said finally.

“Most of them, anyway,” Jarrod conceded.

* * *

Lieutenant Shukla watched as the sensor returns populated his screen, his eyes darting as various contacts appeared and were labeled by the computer. The scans showed multiple lifeforms aboard the attacking Bird-of-Prey, to include Klingons, Naausicans, a few Orions and even one of the anarchic Chalnoth species. The Kzinti frigate was crewed by some forty Kzin, the more massive, hyper-predatory felinoid cousins to the Caitians. Collectively, it was a veritable who’s-who of scoundrels, pirates, slavers and brigands.

He called up another of Gol’s sensors reports on a separate display. These scans had been made of the Rhaandarite ship as Gol dropped out of warp practically on top of the vessel. The sweeps showed a mere handful of Rhaandarite life-signs aboard a ship that should have supported over thirty of them.

Meanwhile, the exploded airlock and the floating environment suits from the ruptured boarding gantry were devoid of life signs, the suits themselves registering as empty.

None of the ships, however, gave any indication of human life signs, augmented or otherwise.

He sat back in his seat, frowning and absently stroking his well-trimmed beard. The commodore had asked him for concrete proof of Romanii complicity with the ambush of their fellow ship and crew, but there was none to be had.

His query to Starfleet Intelligence regarding the two Birds-of-Prey and the Kzinti frigate had resulted in the identification of all three vessels. They were believed to be owned and operated by a mercenary group that operated out of the Orion Principalities, guns-for-hire loosely affiliated with the Orion Syndicate, which also took private contracts for protection services, smuggling, and on occasion, freelance muscle for a host of unsavory clients.

He downloaded his findings into a data-slate, preparing for the impending briefing in which he’d have to disappoint his commanding officer. The evidence she craved was not here.

* * *

Trujillo had gathered in Reykjavík’s conference room with Curzon, Davula, Shukla, and the respective commanders of the two other ships of her squadron, Lt. Commander Jarrod, acting captain of Gol and Commander Withropp of Zelenskyy.

“So, they’ve hired mercenaries to attack Starfleet?” Trujillo sneered, shaking her head. “I’ll give them this, they’re persistent.”

“While we all know that the Romanii are behind this, Commodore, we cannot act without verifiable proof of their involvement,” Ambassador Dax cautioned.

“And without that proof, it may be difficult to convince Command or the Security Council that we need to blockade Magna Roma, sir,” Davula observed.

“We do know the old Raptor-class and the Orion ship Gol encountered belong to the Magna Romanii,” Shukla interjected. “They’re confirmed to be the same ones that were seen attacking shipping in the region, to include the Mosinee. They were evidently part of the ambush, likely deployed to draw in Gol so that the Birds-of-Prey and the Kzinti frigate could strike while Gol was busy beaming over survivors from the Rhaandarite ship. Pretending that the mercenary ships weren’t just lying in wait stretches incredulity to the breaking point.”

Helvia nodded towards Shulka. “I agree with the lieutenant. This was a blatant attempt at diversion and distraction by the Romanii. Sacrificing two of their ships to allow their mercenaries to eliminate a starship would be a fair trade in the empire’s eyes.”

Trujillo’s eyes flicked from speaker to speaker as she compiled the arguments and counterpoints of her senior officers and the ambassador.

“With respect, sir,” Commander Withropp of Zelenskyy broke in, “our mandate from Command was rather broad. If I’m not mistaken, you already have the authority to assemble a task force from available Starfleet assets nearby. At last tally, there are eight of our ships within three days of our location. Those vessels could either be assembled here for blockade duty or dispatched to the nearest trade lanes to safeguard civilian shipping from further Romanii attacks.”

Trujillo said nothing, but her eyes sparkled with barely contained energy. Finally, she took a breath and replied, “Yes. I’m going to order half the ships to assemble here and send the others to bolster the increased Border Service presence along the most vulnerable shipping routes.”

Curzon eyed her warily. “Commodore, the Romanii will see this as wildly provocative.”

“Let them,” she replied coolly. “Assembling a task force in their system doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to use it to blockade their world, but it certainly gives me that option. They’ll know that. They’ve escalated the situation intentionally, and I don’t much care whether I can prove their complicity in a court of law. I think I know their endgame now, and we’re in a position to threaten those plans.”

“Sir?” Davula asked.

“They’ve been attacking and seizing cargo vessels, the larger the better,” Trujillo explained. “But with two of the last three ships they’ve seized, they’ve jettisoned the cargo. It’s the ships they want, the transport capacity.”

Trujillo reached down and toggled a table-top interface, calling up a real-time daylight image of the planet they orbited. She zoomed the picture in on the fuming, conical shape of Mt. Vesuvius, its column of ash rising up into the planet’s mesosphere layer.

“I’d bet you all the latinum in all the mines on this blighted world that the upper echelons of Romanii society are looking for a way to evacuate the planet. They need warp capable transports, big ones. You'd have to haul their people, their precious property, to include their slaves, and enough latinum to make conditions for themselves more comfortable wherever they land.”

Helvia’s deep-set eyes widened, and he seemed genuinely surprised, as if the concept had not occurred to him. “You’re right, sir,” he murmured. Then, louder, “That’s what they’re doing. The seismic dampeners, the geothermal regulators… it’s all stalling for time.”

Davula appeared similarly taken aback and addressed an observation to Trujillo. “Sir, it’s possible whatever’s happening to Magna Roma, their leaders may have interpreted it as an extinction-level event for their species. Our geological scans have been thorough, but incomplete. Is it possible for us to get permission from their government to launch sub-surface probes to get a better look at what’s happening down there?”

Trujillo glanced to Curzon. “What do you think, Ambassador? If they’re worried about us blockading their planet, we might be able to wring some concessions out of them.”

Curzon nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed. In fact, they likely hope that we’ll continue to investigate their geological issues on the off chance of our finding one of our patented Federation technological miracles.”

The commodore leaned back in her chair, wearing an expression of growing revulsion. “Their planet’s dying, and rather than save Magna Roma’s millions of vulnerable children they’re looking to sneak the wealthy off-world in hijacked transports. Charming.”

Curzon inspected her. “You’re bringing in a full task force, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “If the Romanii have called in reinforcements in the form of mercenaries, so shall we.” Trujillo referenced a data-slate. “We’re bringing in a light-cruiser, four frigates, two destroyers, a scout and a hospital ship.”

Jarrod struggled not to smile as he asked, “And what will be our unit designation, sir?”

“Task Force Hannibal,” she replied with no small amount of satisfaction.

Helvia had been taking a sip from a glass of water and began coughing loudly, nearly doubling over in his seat.

Davula looked perplexed, water-logged Helvia appeared aghast, and Curzon was dumbfounded. Jarrod and Withropp were both trying not to laugh.

“That had ought to get their attention,” Trujillo assessed.

* * *

The splendor of the meeting venue was undeniable. This great hall stood adjacent to the Circus of Nero, where on modern Earth the sprawling complex of Vatican City now stood. Magna Roma had no Christian faith as such, until the birth of the roughly analogous Children of the Son movement in the decades prior to Enterprise’s visit almost sixty years earlier. Thus, the massive entertainment complex begun by Caligula and completed by Claudius still stood, having been added to and refurbished over the intervening centuries.

Multiple coliseums of varying sizes flourished here which hosted the city’s weekly gladiatorial bouts which were carried planet-wide via television and the Romanii’s version of the Internet. Criminals, political prisoners, practitioners of outlawed religions and debtors all fought to the death to wild applause for the amusement of the people. The Circus of Nero, second only in size to the Circus Maximus, was the venue for horse and chariot racing, and within the past century had become the nexus for their society’s growing automobile-racing fixation.

The walls and ceiling of the grand hall were decorated with intricate mosaics depicting famous events from myth or Romanii history, transforming the location into a makeshift museum of their people’s exploits. Trujillo had quickly realized the artwork consisted almost exclusively of martial imagery, with the nearer wall depicting Rome’s legions conquering the New Lands and the Chinese Ming Dynasty. These celebrated victories were part of the genocide that had wiped out much of the ethnic Chinese peoples of Eastern Asia as well as those from the Middle Kingdom which had migrated to and settled in those newly discovered continents which on Earth were North and South America.

Along the far wall were scenes of what appeared to be the conquest of the African continent, the three Pyramids of Giza unmistakable in the foreground with the Nile visible behind them. Ironically, Trujillo had noticed many Romanii of African descent among the soldiery as well as the senatorial class. For whatever reasons, the peoples of Africa had been accepted as citizens of the vast Roman state, but many of the Asian populations had been demonized as ‘barbarians’ and left to languish under the auspices of vanquished client states lacking most of the freedoms enjoyed by imperial citizens.

Trujillo considered that as she awaited the beginning of the negotiations, noting that according to Helvia, the peoples of East and Southeastern Asia had been responsible for most of the planet’s technological development, pioneering many of the advancements later appropriated by the empire. It seemed that having finally conquered far-eastern Asia after centuries of brutal warfare, the Romanii were intent on rewriting history to their advantage.

First Consul Hrabanus Macer and his accompanying retinue of senators entered, flanked by the first consul’s lictors, a full dozen of them this time. These men carried the faces, bound bundles of wooden scourging rods from which an axe head protruded. Once the symbol of ancient Roman kings’ authority to punish their subjects, they now stood as an emblem of the consul’s power and jurisdiction.

Ambassador Dax was engrossed in conversation with one of Reykjavik’s security detail, a woman he was obviously taken with. The young officer had been polite and professional, but Curzon’s intentions were anything but pure and his magnetic personality and effortless charm had drawn her in.

Dax put on a show of only belatedly noticing the first consul’s arrival and then reluctantly ending his flirtatious conversation with the security specialist.

Trujillo gravitated towards the massive meeting table, approximately ten meters in length and two meters in width. She struggled with her anger towards the Romanii for the repeated attacks on Starfleet vessels, while simultaneously reeling at the startling information about their world’s origin that Davula and Garrett had apprised her of just that morning.

As harrowing as that new data was, it did go a long way toward explaining the secrecy surrounding the Federation’s cultural survey mission findings from decades earlier. It appeared to her that this planet’s benefactors may have turned their backs on their creation.

“First Consul,” Curzon purred with practiced decorum, “how wonderful to see you again. Thank you for hosting us in such beautiful surroundings.”

“Welcome back, Mister Ambassador, Commodore,” Macer proved equally polished at the diplomatic arts, gesturing to their seats at the long table. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

“What have you got?” Davula asked, having been called to the bridge’s Science station by Garrett and Helvia.

“We appear to have a possible location, Commander,” Garrett said, pointing to the island depicted on her display. “An island off what on Earth would be Croatia, in the Adriatic. The island supports several large scientific and manufacturing complexes and based on the level of military defenses arrayed on and around the island, whatever is produced there is of high value to the Romanii government.”

Davula looked to Helvia, who nodded his assent. “Agreed, sir. It’s the most likely prospect we’ve found.”

The Bolian appeared lost in thought for a few seconds. She gestured for Helvia to join her in the ready room and the large Romanii obediently fell into step behind her.

“Your thoughts, Mister Helvia?” she asked as the door swished closed behind him.

“Sir?”

“Could we send a covert security team down to reconnoiter and if necessary, destroy that facility?”

He gave that a moment’s consideration. “It is possible, Commander. However, even beaming in we run the risk of tripping whatever sensors and alarm systems exist there. If this is where they are researching and creating their Augment soldiers, there’s a strong likelihood their off-world allies have provided Federation equivalent defensive systems. They might even possess transport scramblers.”

Davula drank that in, leaning back against the front of the commodore’s desk. “Fair point,” she conceded.

“Additionally, what would be our legal authority for such an act? They’ve violated no laws of their own in creating Augments, and Federation laws don’t apply here. We’re talking about destroying a research facility on a sovereign world because it offends our Federation sensibilities.”

The XO’s expression softened, and she nodded fractionally. “That’s one argument, however these Augments have committed acts of aggression against the Federation.”

“Yes, sir. While we have the legal right to hunt down those specific Augment soldiers, capture them, and put them on trial for their actions, the facility where they were created has nothing to do with that. It would be like burning down the family home of a Klingon solider who killed a Starfleet officer in combat.”

“I… hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” Davula conceded. She gave him an embarrassed smile. “And to think, I’m the one who attended Advanced Tactical School.”

He shrugged, straining the seams of his uniform tunic. “You have other responsibilities, sir. I mainly play tactical simulations in my head all day and ruminate on the worst-case scenario.”

“I appreciate the wisdom of your counsel, Lieutenant.”

“Bridge to Commander Davula.”

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, Altishutnal and Shackleford report they’ve arrived at the coordinates of Gol’s fight with the mercenaries. The remains of the damaged Bird-of-Prey and the two older Romanii ships have been scuttled, and there’s no signs of the other two mercenary vessels.”

“Understood,” Davula acknowledged. “Please convey the commodore’s orders for them to begin a paired patrol along the trade lane.”

“Aye, sir. Additionally, Perseus has arrived in-system escorting the repair tender Puget Sound. They’ll rendezvous with Gol at Assembly Point Alpha in one hour, seventeen minutes.”

“XO copies, bridge. Thank you.”

Davula smiled thinly at Helvia. “It’s nice to have some additional company.”

“I doubt the Romanii will feel the same, sir,” Helvia predicted.


* * *

“We spoke earlier about the benefit of an alliance with the Federation,” Curzon said. “We would offer our scientific knowledge in combating your planet’s geological hyperactivity, but we need your permission to utilize sub-surface probes to further research the nature of these upheavals.”

Macer shared a glance with one of his advisors before looking back to Curzon. “We are already receiving aid in that respect from the Orions.”

Curzon smiled. “The Orions are primarily merchants and traders, First Consul. As we’ve discussed previously, their resources are limited in comparison to those of the Federation. Our starships are mainly vessels of exploration and are equipped with substantial scientific resources. As for our assistance, it comes without cost. We do these things because we have the capability, and it is in our ethos to do so.”

Macer’s answering smile was tinged with skepticism. “Everything comes at a cost, Ambassador.”

Curzon sat back, holding his hands up, “It is merely an offer. You are in no way obliged to accept. But if my world were being wracked by seismic activity and rampant volcanism, I think I would take as much help as I could get.”

“We will consider your generous offer,” Macer responded noncommittally.

One of Macer’s aids took the opportunity to step in, bending down to whisper something in the First Consul’s ear.

Macer frowned, turning to face Trujillo where she had been sitting quietly next to Curzon. “Two more of your ships have entered our system,” he announced, an edge to his tone.

“A repair vessel and its escort, First Consul,” Trujillo replied, feigning innocence. “I would remind you that one of our ships was ambushed nearby by hired mercenaries and sustained substantial damage in the engagement. Both vessels are part of my task force, half of which is gathering here in your system, while the other half is patrolling our nearby trade routes to prevent any further acts of piracy.”

“And why is it necessary to assemble a squadron in our home system, Commodore?” he asked pointedly.

“First Consul, you have repeatedly assured us that the Augments who participated in the attack on our cargo vessel were not officially sanctioned by your government, though they were clearly Romanii. For that reason, it may become necessary to begin stopping and searching all extra-planetary traffic to and from your system, to prevent any more of these rogue Augments from falling into the hands of unscrupulous agents who might use them to attack local trade routes.”

His face coloring, the First Consul rose to his feet, arms braced on the tabletop. “This is unacceptable! You have no right to establish an operational presence in our system without the express permission of this government.”

Trujillo shifted slightly in her chair, exuding an unworried air. “I will assemble my ships where and when I like, First Consul. You see, I am unconvinced that you and your government are not involved in the Augments’ attacks. I have decided we will remain here to conduct our investigation until we have proven or disproven your complicity in those acts.”

She nonchalantly tapped three times on her combadge, paused, then double-tapped the device. “Trujillo to Reykjavik, you may launch the shielded geo-survey probes.”

“Aye, sir. Probes away,” came Davula’s voice from the other end.

Macer pointed at one of his military attaché’s, shouting, “Order Orbital Command to target and destroy those devices immediately.” He turned back to glare at Trujillo. “A wasted effort, I’m afraid.”

Seconds ticked past and a tense silence settled over the cavernous chamber.

Over Trujillo’s combadge, Davula apprised, “Probes have impacted the targeted coordinates, sir. They are descending to pre-set depths and telemetry is coming in now.”

“Thank you, Commander. Trujillo, out.” She cut the transmission with a single tap to her communicator.

Macer’s attaché raced over to him, holding up a tablet device for the First Consul's consideration and whispering something excitedly to him.

The First Consul’s expression slackened as the color drained from his features.

“It’s true,” Trujillo said conversationally. “We infected your orbital defense grid with a computer virus hours after pulling into orbit. She pointed to her combadge. “I just neutralized your orbital and surface-to-space defenses with my communicator just before we launched our probes.”

She stood, with Curzon following suit. “As a show of good faith, I will release our control of those defenses as soon as we are safely back aboard my ship. However, I retain the ability to neutralize your defenses at any time should you try to act against us. Please consider what we have said and what we have demonstrated today, First Consul. I look forward to tomorrow morning’s session. I hope that it will be longer and more fruitful, but that will depend very much on your people's level of candor.”

With another brief transmission, Trujillo had the diplomatic party and their security escort whisked home by transporter, leaving a confused and frustrated Romanii contingent behind.

* * *