Chapter Text
Colony Operations Center – Arandis IV
Chaos reigned as frantic console operators tried to determine the source and reason behind the massive detonation. The electromagnetic pulse that had accompanied the explosion was wreaking havoc on all manner of data systems, especially as the aging LCARS operating systems in use here were not hardened like their military-grade counterparts utilized by Starfleet.
Morozov stood from where he’d sheltered behind a bank of consoles, thankful that the transparent aluminum windows had withstood the blast. He desperately wished he were out on the front line with a phaser in his hand rather than trapped here as a glorified data-jockey. Morozov glanced towards Director McCullough as she picked herself up off the floor and immediately moved to study the colony’s status monitors.
“It was Shelter Two!” someone called out above the din. “We’d just lost data telemetry and comms with them. We sent a squad of Home Guard to make contact but hadn’t heard back yet.”
“The readings are consistent with the bunker’s reactor overloading,” a technician announced.
“Not possible!” McCullough raged. “There are a dozen separate safeties to prevent that!”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Morozov said to the director. “There may be Cardassian infiltrators or commando units here already.”
“Not a chance,” came the response from a Home Guard colonel manning their communications station. “We’ve got personnel guarding all critical infrastructure—” he stopped mid-sentence, touching a hand to his comms earpiece.
One of the technicians looked up from her console. “The bunker’s shields remained up just long enough for the shield blister to contain nearly eighty percent of the blast.” She shook her head in disbelief. “If not, the explosion would have taken out most of the settlement.”
McCullough’s face paled as the full weight of the disaster finally settled on her. “How many in that shelter?”
There was a brief pause before someone answered, “Around twenty-two hundred.”
There were collective gasps and muttered curses in response.
Morozov took the opportunity to open a comms channel to all Starfleet personnel on the surface and update them as to the source of the explosion and the status of the Cardassian’s incursion. ““This is Morozov at Colony Operations. We’ve detected a fusion explosion at one of the civil defense shelters…"
Just as he completed his transmission, two troubling reports arrived nearly simultaneously. The Home Guard colonel called out, “Shelter Five reports they’ve just subdued a systems technician who tried to seize control of their Ops room. He killed two people before being overpowered by constables.”
A sensor operator at a nearby station also noted, “Reading antimatter explosion in orbit. One of our satellites just recorded a spacecraft collision in the ionosphere.” He shot a guilty glance at Morozov. “I—I’m sorry, Commander. I’m detecting energy signatures and debris consistent with a Federation starship warp reactor breach.”
Morozov’s head dropped fractionally as he struggled to maintain composure. Two of his oldest, closest friends were dead, along with nearly a hundred and fifty others who’d volunteered to remain aboard during Sagan’s final stand. He’d known that this was the likeliest outcome, but part of him had still held out hope for some kind of miraculous last moment reprieve. There had been so many close calls in their time together aboard Prokofiev, the kind of odds-defying narrow escapes that led one to subconsciously believe that the no-win scenario was just a myth.
No longer.
He raised his gaze to meet McCullough’s expectant stare. “I’m sorry about your ship and crew,” she offered.
Morozov nodded numbly in response. “Spasibo,” he murmured.
“Commander,” she pressed regretfully. “I’m going to presume that it’s the Cardassians behind the destruction of our civil shelter and the attempted takeover of the other. What would you estimate the probability is there will be attempts on the other shelters?”
“Can’t say,” he replied heavily. “If it’s the Obsidian Order that’s turning colonists into saboteurs, there could be dozens of them. They are very good at what they do.”
“Should we evacuate the shelters?” McCullough asked.
“Sensors now tracking inbound craft entering the upper atmosphere… they look to be landing ships,” a voice called from the back of the room.
“I wouldn’t,” Morozov said, wincing at this latest report. “Now is the worst time to fill your streets with panicked civilians. I’d send Home Guard detachments to secure the ops rooms of the remaining shelters. It sounds as if they’re sending single operatives to each bunker.”
McCullough nodded, gesturing to the Home Guard colonel. “Get a squad to each bunker’s ops center.”
“Orbital defenses are continuing to engage the Cardassian ships in orbit, planetary defenses now opening fire on the descending drop ships.”
Morozov folded his arms across his chest as he watched the outbound weapons fire on the tactical plot map. He crossed his fingers surreptitiously under his arms, murmuring a silent prayer to whatever deities oversaw this region of the universe that their aim would be true.
* * *
Lar’ragos led a team of ten Starfleet personnel up the hill, lugging two mobile phaser emitters, forty meters of coiled power cable and a bulky sarium-krellide battery pack between them. Most of the group were armed only with hand-phasers, though three of them cradled the awkward, bulbous-ended Type-III rifles that Starfleet had recently issued. These were weapons, Lar’ragos suspected, that had never been tested under actual combat conditions.
He had studied Starfleet history thoroughly before enlisting and knew that the organization had a tendency to forget lessons learned at great cost by previous generations. Vicious battles had been waged against the Xindi, Romulans, Klingons and a host of others, but despite the brutality of those conflicts, Starfleet would inevitably bend back towards a more pacifist stance. This trend historically culminated in a lowering of the Federation’s collective guard just in time for the next war to break out.
Starfleet personnel and civilians would then die needlessly before the more martial among their ranks rose to prominence and rediscovered the secrets of warfare that the service as a whole had forgotten. It was a damned shame, Lar’ragos thought, given how incomparably rare a gift the Federation was to the galaxy.
It was full dark by now as the group huffed up the steep incline following a narrow switch-back trail. The only ambient light was provided by Arandis IV’s twin moons, both in waxing crescent that delivered an anemic light onto the surrounding terrain.
A stuttering coughing sound issued from the east and the team’s heads turned as one in that direction. A volley of photon torpedoes, launched from their silos by compressed gas, ignited into fiery red brilliance as their thrusters kicked in and slashed skyward.
“That means assault teams are landing,” Lar’ragos remarked to the others. Securing the chest strap of his backpack, Lar’ragos started off again, double-time. “Let’s get to the top and set up our observation post.”
Just as the team crested the hill, brilliant strobes of phaser fire began to erupt from emplacements along the western ridge of the valley. They turned to observe the blossoms of distant explosions in the night sky where the beams terminated, followed by flaming debris that fell like bright smears of luminous liquid flowing across dark glass.
Lar’ragos directed the others, and the group unpacked their backpacks to begin assembling the portable phaser emitters they’d lugged up the hill. Meanwhile, the El-Aurian removed a tube-like device from his own pack and began setting it up on a base plate. Chief Petty Officer Schäfer knelt next to him, retrieving a large carrying case from his own pack and setting it down gently next to Lar’ragos. Schäfer unfastened the clasps on the case and opened it to reveal dozens of ping-pong ball sized spheres swaddled in padded egg-crate, each emblazoned with tiny cautionary emblems.
“Do you know how to use this?” Schäfer asked him.
“Oh, yes.” Lar’ragos picked one of the spheres up and examined it gingerly. “To hold the high ground while in possession of a photon mortar is no small gift,” he breathed reverentially.
Schäfer shared his conspiratorial grin. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights,” he quoted from ancient scripture.
“Amen,” Lar’ragos agreed as placed the mortar round back in its case and returned to assembling the mortar tube.
Without warning, a high-pitched whine filled the air and nearly two dozen cascading columns of energy began to form in a cluster near the hill’s peak.
Lar’ragos froze, momentarily transfixed by this sight, only to be spurred to action by Chief Schäfer’s shout of, “Transporter! Take cover!”
The team scattered and Lar’ragos drew his phaser pistol as he moved to take cover behind an outcropping of rock.
A phaser beam from one of their number caromed off the transporter’s annular confinement beam, prompting a shout of, “Cease fire, cease fire!” from the chief. “Wait until they’ve materialized!”
There was a horrendous shrieking sound, like dozens of voices howling in surprised agony as the contents of those beams began to roil and distort. Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the transporter effect faded, the harrowing screech echoing for a moment longer before blessed silence fell upon the hilltop.
“Mother of God,” the chief muttered.
“What— what the hell was that?” Lar’ragos stared at where the apparition had been an instant earlier.
Sandhurst stepped forward, illuminated by multiple flashlights. “Transport scrambler field,” he said with a knowing bob of his head. He squinted against the light from the palm beacons for a second before turning and stumbling away a few paces to evacuate his stomach into some scrub brush. After a few shuddering gasps he continued, “I heard – heard one of the Home Guard soldiers saying that they’d cobbled together a homemade transport inhibitor.” Sandhurst rose shakily, looking pale. “Seems pretty effective.”
A roaring sound emanating from the direction of the incoming drop ships caused the assembled Starfleet team to crouch and look for cover. Nearly fifty jets of drive flame, all that was visible from a wave of guided missiles, flashed overhead to impact the western ridge where the colony’s planetary defense phaser arrays were housed. A rippling string of explosions tore across the ridge with secondary detonations following in their wake.
“This… is getting intense,” Sandhurst muttered aloud to himself. He stumbled on his way back to where he’d been calibrating the newly assembled phaser emitter at the top of one of the trails to the crest of the hill. He felt a strong hand help him back to his feet and turned to see Lar’ragos aiding him. “You were right about war, this is crazy.”
“We’re not even to the worst parts yet,” Lar’ragos said, more to himself than to Sandhurst. He shook his head fractionally and gestured in the fading glow of the explosions for Sandhurst to resume his work.
* * *