Chapter Text
Nehru Colonial Command Center, Arandis IV
Colony Director Ciadra McCullough presented the calm eye in the center of a storm of activity. All applicable contingency plans had been enacted, all preparations that could be made were underway. The population had been evacuated to shielded survival bunkers and all defensive systems were on high alert. Now all that remained was gleaning what little intelligence could be had from Starfleet and civilian sources, a mish-mash of sensor logs from civilian transports and hourly updates from Starfleet’s massive Archimedes Array.
McCullough had been apprised of multiple Starfleet delaying actions that had bought her colony much needed preparation time, but now a wing of the Cardassian invasion force was only hours away from the Arandis system.
Hal Lindström, the colony’s assistant director, approached with a padd in hand. His expression was drawn, even more serious than he’d been the past few days. “Boss, I finally received confirmation from Starfleet on the ship they’re sending us. You’re not going to like it.”
She quickly scanned the document, her eyes widening in unwelcome surprise. “A cadet training ship? We’re facing a full-scale invasion, and they’re sending a starship full of raw recruits?”
Lindström winced in sympathy. “It is a fully equipped starship, Constellation-class. Hell, they were supposed to be a sector-and-a-half away on a training mission but her captain diverted here when the invasion kicked off.”
“I suppose under the circumstances we should be grateful,” she sighed. “I’d feared Starfleet wouldn’t be able to muster a ship to send to our defense at all. If it has to be one full of green-as-grass cadets, so be it.”
Ai Zhijuan, the colony’s chief constable, approached wearing full body armor and cradling a phaser rifle. In the decade that Ciadra had known her, she had never seen Zhijuan so equipped. The most common crimes within the colony were occasional brawls in drinking establishments or petty theft, usually carried out by bored adolescents. The colony’s constables typically carried nothing more dangerous than a stun-baton.
McCullough looked Zhijuan up and down, muttering, “Is it bad that I didn’t even know you had that kind of gear?”
Lindström imparted a curious look at the director but held his tongue.
Zhijuan was actually able to muster a small grin despite the circumstances. “Probably.” She slung the rifle over her shoulder with a self-conscious frown. “I’m going to need a priority channel to the starship when they’re in real-time comms range to arrange surface defenses with their security personnel.”
“We’re already on it. They’ll be RT in twenty minutes and word has it they’re already putting together plans to supplement your constables and our home-guard volunteers.”
“Good to hear.” Zhijuan affirmed. “Dare I ask who gets here first, Starfleet or the Cardassians?”
McCullough and Lindström shared a look before the director said, “Based on what we know at present, the starship should be here at least six hours before the Cardassians arrive.”
Zhijuan blew out a breath. “That’s a pretty narrow margin.”
“Tell me about it,” McCullough grumbled.
Zhijuan turned to Lindström. “How’s Fergus coming with that transporter scrambler?”
The big Swede grinned. “Very nearly finished. For something he cobbled together out of spare parts, it’s pretty ingenious. From what little I know about the ones Starfleet employs, Fergus’ version is about twenty-percent more powerful with a third greater range.”
“Heavens bless that man,” McCullough breathed.
“I doubt very much if our new Cardassian friends are going to be blessing him,” Lindström said with an evil grin.
* * *
Officers, cadets, and enlisted personnel jostled past one another as they navigated Sagan’s narrow corridors in response to the red alert klaxon.
Commander th’Skaar’s voice carried over the intraship, “Now hear this, all personnel are to report to their primary alert duty stations. All those selected for landing-party detail report to transporter rooms one and two. Duty gear will be issued prior to departure. Medical and damage control teams assemble at your designated rally points and await further instructions.”
Lar’ragos was observing Chief Petty Officer Kurati demonstrate how to don a pressurized fire-fighting garment when Commander Morozov tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for him to step out into the corridor.
Lar’ragos followed grudgingly, glancing back towards the demonstration, clearly not wanting to miss any critical details.
“You won’t be needing one of those where we’re going,” Morozov apprised him.
Lar’ragos’ head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed. “Sir?”
“Mister Bartolo tells me you were a soldier in a former life, and he suspects you were likely a good one. Is that accurate?”
Lar’ragos hesitated. “It is, though it was a long time ago, sir.”
Morozov nodded reluctantly. “I see. I’m truly sorry but leaving you up here to patch holes in the hull is a waste of talent. I need you down there with us.”
Lar’ragos gestured to the blue collar of his uniform jumpsuit. “I’m Sciences now, sir. I—I don’t know if I’d do you any good down there.”
Morozov leaned in, whispering, “We both know the likelihood of Sagan surviving the next few hours is effectively zero. Staying up here is a death sentence. I’m giving you the chance to stand on your own two feet down there.”
“Please don’t do this,” Lar’ragos pleaded. “You don’t know what you’re asking—”
“That’s why I’m not asking, Mister Lar’ragos. This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s needed. We need soldiers. If nothing else, you can help Bartolo keep an eye on young Mister Sandhurst. We’ll have to run interference for our support personnel down there, to keep them safe so they can do their jobs.”
The El-Aurian took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Understood. May I be so bold as to stipulate conditions, Commander?” he asked.
Morozov appeared curious. “Go on.”
“I’m not fighting in this,” Lar’ragos said, gesturing to his form-fitting cadet jumpsuit. He then pointed to the ‘dust-buster’ style phaser Morozov was armed with. “Or with one of those ridiculous things. How can you expect to shoot straight?”
Lar’ragos outlined his demands quickly.
“Fine, go gear up.” Morozov allowed. “I’ll authorize your specialty items as a priority for the replicator. Transporter room two, twenty minutes.”
* * *
As soon as the transporter’s confinement beam had released him, Sandhurst slung the strap from his engineering kit over one shoulder and hefted the supply crate at his feet in both hands. He began trudging along with his cohort towards the cluster of buildings they had beamed down near. So focused was he on the task at hand that it barely registered that this was the first planet outside the Sol system that he’d set foot on. In fact, aside from a trip to Utopia Planitia on Mars earlier that year, he’d never left Earth.
Ahead he could see Commander Morozov speaking with a civilian as a team of colonist engineers behind them erected fortifications with robotic industrial movers along a ferroconcrete surfaced roadway.
Lieutenant Petrich announced, “Alright, everyone set the gear down here until we know where it’s needed. Take the opportunity to re-check your phasers and confirm they’re set to heavy stun.”
Sandhurst withdrew the bulky hand phaser from its holster at his waist and activated the setting display. He verified it was set to the appropriate discharge level and re-holstered the weapon. The moment felt decidedly surreal, as he’d only ever handled phasers in training simulations previously.
Petrich stepped back to the group of mingling crewmen and cadets. “Mister Borensen here is directing the construction of a choke point where we’ll be setting up some of our automated phaser emplacements and portable shield generators. Latest reports have the Cardassians at four hours out from planetfall. Time is of the essence, so let’s move!”
Sandhurst busied himself for the next hour helping to set up multiple automated phaser banks and shield generators, creating a ‘fatal funnel’ along what was projected to be a main avenue of Cardassian advance into the colony. As he worked, he noted that the civilians working alongside their Starfleet contingent were focused and professional. There were no signs of panic or disorder that he might have expected of people who were only hours away from invasion. Their proximity to the Cardassian border must have something to do with it, he mused. It struck him that if it were Earth that faced such grim circumstances, the response might have been quite different.
As he knelt calibrating a shield generator’s emitter, Sandhurst noticed a pair of heavy duty boots step up to him. He glanced up to see an irritated looking Lar’ragos standing over him.
“Oh, hello there,” Sandhurst offered brightly. “I thought you were staying on the ship.”
“Me too,” Lar’ragos replied gruffly. He was clad in an ensemble Sandhurst had only seen in history holos. This was a uniform variant from the more rough-and-tumble days of the late 23rd century. The old field duty uniform consisted of a durable tan British commando-style sweater over turtleneck undershirt. Over the sweater he wore security armor that covered his shoulders and torso, also a throwback to that earlier era. His lower half was adorned in military-style cargo pants held up by an equipment belt festooned with gear. His combadge was affixed to his armored breastplate.
It appeared that rather than the current style hand phaser the rest of them were armed with, Lar’ragos had a late-23rd century pistol phaser in a holster strapped to his leg. It was a menacing looking black and metallic number.
Sandhurst stood, pointing at Lar’ragos’ belt as he did so. “Geez, is that a grenade?”
Lar’ragos nodded toward the shield emitter. “Mind your work. I’m here posting guard so that you can do your thing undisturbed.”
“Uh, right. Sure.” Sandhurst moved to where a civilian was sinking bolts into the concrete roadway to support the next shield emitter. As he opened a carrying case containing the disassembled emitter, Lar’ragos took up a position from where he could see Sandhurst and the other engineering personnel from their group.
Bartolo walked up to Lar’ragos, fresh from a conference with Lieutenant Petrich. “The lieutenant wants us covering this area when the attack begins. We’re to hold here and give the others time to fall back to secondary positions before retreating by bounds.” He looked Lar’ragos up and down. “What the hell are you wearing?”
The older man’s response was flat, devoid of the deference one typically showed a superior officer. “Combat gear, or the nearest thing I could find in the Starfleet database. Your people used to wear this for killing Klingons. That’s good enough for me.” Lar’ragos turned to survey the scene, frowning. “Who picked this as a choke point?” He gestured in an easterly direction. “You see that hill? It’d be very easy to flank us, take position on the high ground there, and pound us to dust with indirect fire.”
“Indirect?”
“Mortars,” Lar’ragos offered. “Conventional explosive or plasma if we’re lucky. If we’re unlucky, they might even have photon mortar rounds. That’d make for a really bad day.”
Bartolo gave the overlooking hill a long look. “I’m not sure who decided to make this a strong point. Probably the colonists before we arrived.”
“Well, regardless, I’d advise sending a squad up there to secure that hill before the Cardassians arrive.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it to Commander Morozov,” Bartolo said with a frown.
“You do that,” Lar’ragos replied, spitting into the dirt at his feet.
* * *
Dr. Cavanaugh looked around to her assembled staff who were all gathered around on her in the center of Sickbay. Nurses, medical technicians, and medical-division cadets all carried treatment satchels and medical tricorders.
“Trust in your training and your abilities. I’ve been coaching you on emergency medicine and battle triage for over a week, and you’re ready for this. I know you’re anxious, and for many of you this will be your first time in combat. Remember to keep your wits about you, because you can’t save lives if you’re panicking. When things get hectic, and they will, remember to breath and focus on the task in front of you. Your training will kick in and you’ll know what to do.” She offered a confident smile to the group. “Please move to your alert duty posts.”
As the personnel trickled out of Sickbay, Cavanaugh turned back to calibrating medical tricorders that would be placed in emergency medical kits to be distributed to the bridge, engineering, and other critical areas of the ship.
“As speeches go, it was short, simple, and poignant. Nicely done.”
Cavanaugh started with a quiet gasp then turned to see Captain Tinubu standing behind her, the merest hint of a smirk gracing her features. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that, Captain.”
Tinubu shrugged. “Sneaky captain’s prerogative.” She gestured to the CMO’s nearby office. “Join me please, Doctor.”
Cavanaugh followed her into the office. The doctor waited until the captain had seated herself in a guest chair before she slid into the seat behind her desk. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
As was her habit when delivering bad news, Tinubu began without preamble. “Carol, I’m going to need for you to collect your staff, to include all of your cadets, gather what medical equipment and supplies you can muster and beam down to the planet. You’ll be supplementing the civilian medical community in the colony and helping to treat our surface battle casualties.”
Cavanaugh’s eyes widened in alarm. “Captain, we’re about to go into battle with—well, I’m not even sure how many Cardassian ships. There are sure to be casualties on board. I can’t leave that kind of workload behind for untrained personnel to cope with. It wouldn’t be medically ethical, and it would be an abrogation of my Hippocratic oath!”
Tinubu’s eyes softened and she leaned forward, exuding candor. “Carol, this is a one-way trip. We have no chance of stopping the Cardassians in orbit, only slowing their advance and hopefully whittling down their numbers in the process. Once we’ve engaged them, our life expectancy will likely be measured in minutes.”
“A suicide-mission, you mean?”
“I’m afraid so,” Tinubu confirmed. “We won’t last long enough to warrant keeping medical personnel onboard. You’d all just die needlessly with the rest of us. At least down on the surface you can help make a real difference.”
As she slumped back in her chair, Cavanaugh shook her head in disbelief. “It can’t be that grim, that certain, Adi. It just can’t.”
“And yet it is,” Tinubu countered. “Believe me, this isn’t how I saw my career ending, let alone my life. Regardless, this is the card we’ve been dealt. We have an obligation to place ourselves between our colonists and the rampaging Cardassians.”
Cavanaugh briefly covered her eyes with her hand, fighting back tears. “I meant that I’m not ready to lose you, or th’Skaar.” She laughed bitterly through her grief. “I’m a physician, death is part of my profession, and yet I can’t wrap my head around losing either of you. After everything we survived in the Tyresian Expanse, to think that things should turn out like this!”
“Every story has an end,” Tinubu said quietly. “I’m not looking forward to it by any means, but dying in defense of the helpless isn’t the worst way to go.”
Cavanaugh stood abruptly, turning away from Tinubu. “I’m glad you can be so cavalier about this!”
“I’m being realistic, Carol.” Tinubu stood, reaching out a hand and placing it on the doctor’s shoulder. “I will miss you my friend. I hope you and Evgeni come through this. At least our little ‘family’ would live on through the two of you.”
The doctor’s shoulders shuddered as she wept silently, unable to form a reply.
“You have thirty minutes to assemble your people and equipment, Doctor.”
With that Tinubu exited as silently as she had entered, leaving Cavanaugh to collect herself.
* * *