Star Trek New Order

Episode 010

“Revolution in Romulus”

 

Authors Note: You may notice that the stardates in this episode made a huge jump from the previous, which is because I realized that the other ones are way too close together, so take all stardates since 006 “Revelations” with a grain of salt.

Proconsul Tomalak walked into the senate chambers on Romulus knowing that the empire was not doing well.  Factions were fighting each other across the beta quadrant.  Inside the chambers it was pandemonium.  Senators were shouting at each other, arguing about whose constituents were more in need of some law or another.  As Tomalak watched, a pair of senators from rival systems came to blows.  The proconsul had a plan though, a glorious plan that would solidify the empire once and for all.  Tomalak walked up to a podium under a massive sculpture of an eagle clutching two planets.  He began to speak and the room fell silent, even the two pugilists stopped and took their seats, green blood oozing from cuts on their faces, “Romulan people,” He began, “why do we fight among ourselves?  The true enemy here is our greatest foe, The Federation.  The Humans seek to destabilize us so that they can step in and take our space.”  He paused for dramatic effect, “We must unite and turn the tables on them, and I know how.”

                        *                                  *                                  *                                 

“I have a target lock,” Chavin announced as she squeezed the trigger on her control stick, “Phasers firing, target destroyed.”  Chavin then threw her Peregrine fighter into a series of evasive maneuvers.

“Lead, this is Blue Two,” another pilot warned, “You’ve got a bandit on your six.”  Chavin checked her threat indicator and indeed there was a contact closing into weapons range.  She tried to shake it, but it stuck to her fighter like glue.  Then, it fired a micro torpedo at her.  Chavin sent her fighter into a hard right turn in an attempt to evade.  The torpedo still closed on her, no matter what maneuvers she pulled, it matched them.

“Damn,” Chavin said, “it’s got me tagged, launching jiggers.”  Chavin keyed a switch on her throttle and a hatch opened on the belly of her fighter, releasing five small decoy drones, which were designed to confuse the torpedo’s sensor by creating echoes of the launch craft.  Chavin pulled the fighter into a climb, and watched as the crimson red missile passed harmlessly underneath.  Chavin then flipped the fighter on end to face her pursuer.  “Take this Frakker,” Chavin then unleashed one of her own torpedoes and watched as it sailed toward the oncoming fighter, and harmlessly clanked against its engine intake.

“Red four is dead,” the computer announced as the fighter playing training adversary turned around and headed for the killbox outside the training area.  Chavin then kicked her rudder pedal and swung the fighter towards the Sovereign class Enterprise, looming in the distance.  As she approached, the Enterprise’s phaser arrays opened up with training bursts.  Knowing that, at full power, just one hit from the massive phaser banks would completely destroy her tiny fighter, she skillfully dodged every shot. 

As she closed the distance on the massive vessel, she opened fire, stitching the Enterprise’s saucer with simulated pulse phaser fire.  Then she came around for another pass.  Just as she lined up to fire, an errant decoy came out of nowhere, and slammed into her port impulse engine.  She tried to abort the run, but found her stick unresponsive.

“Blue lead,” Hunt screamed over the comm. “break off, break off, your too close!”  Chavin tried to re-route the controls through her LCARS panel, but the engines were still unresponsive.  Chavin reached down and pulled the yellow Eject ring between her legs, and punched out, just before her stricken Peregrine slammed into the Enterprises shield and exploded in a ball of fire.

“Damn that was close,” Chavin said to her self as she floated in her pressure suit.  A moment later, she was engulfed in the incandescent blue shimmer of a transporter beam, and reappeared on the transporter pad of the Beliskner.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“What the hell were you doing?” Hunt asked Chavin who was standing on the other side of the desk in his ready room, “You shouldn’t have been that close to the Big E anyway.”

“I had a shot.”

“I am considering taking you off flight status,” Hunt warned, “You are consistently unsafe.”

“You can’t do that,” Chavin protested.

“There is a reason why there is a no engagement bubble around all the ships, besides; you were supposed to be taking care of the fighters on this run.”

“But Jon_” Chavin started.

“Don’t ‘but Jon,’ me Damnit,” Hunt interrupted, “I am taking you off flight status for the time being.”

Captain’s Log; Star Date 57755.5; we are still conducting war games exercises in the vicinity of Pollux.  Although I took Commander Chavin off flight status, I am allowing her to coordinate her pilots from the bridge.  I have a feeling that something big is about to happen.

Hunt paced his bridged, “Target the Enterprise,” Hunt ordered, “Dranz, tell your fighters to cover that port flank!”  The Beliskner banked wide and made a run for the Sovereign class vessel then opened fire with a volley of training torpedoes.  Just as Beliskner came around for a second pass, a Romulan Warbird decloaked immediately in front of it, forcing the ship to swerve.

“What the hell?” Hunt demanded, “Hail that warbird.” Suddenly another ten Warbirds decloaked around the fleet.  Operating under cloak was standard Romulan procedure and Warbirds were now a common site in Federation space since the Dominion War, but Hunt new that this was highly unusual.  The Warbirds did not respond to Hunt’s hail, so he ordered the ship to yellow alert, and ordered the weapons brought back to combat mode.

“I’m recalling the fighters,” Chavin reported, “They’re no use against those Romulans without any live weapons.”  Then the ship rocked from a disruptor blast.

“Return fire!” Hunt shouted, sitting back into his chair.  Four glowing crimson capsules shot out of the forward tube, but they were quickly absorbed by the Romulan’s shields.  “Evasive action,” Hunt ordered.

“We can’t hold them off much longer,” Tertian reported.

“Get those fighters landed Dranz,” Hunt urged.

Outside the ship, the first of the Peregrine fighters entered their final approach on the landing bay.

“Asgard this is Victory 105,” Reported the pilot, “inbound, combat trap, I have the ball, two klicks out.”  The fighter extended its landing gear and slowed to approach the bay.  Seconds later, the fighter’s tail hook caught the wires and yanked the fighter to the deck.  The pilot brought his craft safely to the back of the bay and secured the engines.  The next five ships followed suit, coming in and landing safely in the wires.  Just as Victory 111 entered the bay however, a Romulan torpedo struck the Beliskner amidships, jolting the ship.  The sudden motion of the ship spooked the pilot of the landing fighter, who overcompensated and shoved the control stick forward, crashing into the deck.  The fighter exploded.  All six other fighters were caught in the blast, and obliterated.

“What the hell was that?” Hunt exclaimed as everyone was knocked to the floor.  Alarms were blaring all over.

Chavin’s console was lit up like a Christmas tree, “Holy Hannah,” Chavin exclaimed, “We just had a crash on the flight deck.”

“Can we still land the rest of them?”

“No, the main shuttle bay is out of commission.”

“What about the other bays,” Tertian suggested.

“Too small,” Chavin replied.

Captain Picard then appeared on the viewscreen, “Captain Hunt,” He said, “I see you have a problem with your hanger bay, go ahead and warp out of here, we can take some of those fighters for you.”

“Thank you Jean Luc,” Hunt replied, “we’ll see you at the rendezvous.”  Captain Banteen of the Lakota also volunteered to take on some of the fighters.  Hunt ordered the ship to warp.

                        *                                  *                                  *                                 

Lieutenant Commander Dranzian Chavin stood behind a podium in the pilots briefing hall.  She looked out on the nearly empty stadium seats in front of her, and her eyes wandered toward a table at the back of the room.  On the table were seven helmets in front of seven holographs of the young pilots who had died in the hanger deck disaster.  She focused her vision back on the pilots sitting in front of her.  With most of the surviving Aviators onboard the Enterprise and the Lakota, only five of the seats were filled.

“To be honest,” Chavin started, “We haven’t seen a Romulan fighter in over seventy years.  Since they weren’t used during the war, we have no idea what they even look like.”

“I heard that one was captured during the Reman crisis,” one of the pilots asked.

In response, Chavin pulled up a diagram on the big screen behind her.  “This is the Scorpion,” She continued, “This was the vehicle commandeered by Captain Picard and Commander Data.  As you can see, it is far too small to be a space superiority craft like your Peregrines.  Although it is very agile, it is far too lightly armed, with only a Disruptor cannon and a pair of hardpoints.  The Scorpion is more likely a ground support craft.  Fortunately, we’ve just about got the Shuttlebay repaired enough to launch what fighters we’ve got left.”  Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out.

The emergency lighting started flashing red and Hunt came over the Intercom, calling for battle stations.  Chavin dismissed all of her pilots, and then sat down in one of the chairs next to the memorial table; Chavin sat and stared at the helmets for a few minutes before making up her mind and heading to the equipment room to suit up.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Hunt sat in his chair and watched as two Warbirds circled in and moved to open fire.  “Commander Chavin, come to the bridge please,” Hunt demanded over the comm., “where the Hell are you.” Hunt then inquired to the computer as to her location, but the computer could not locate her commbadge.  Then the Romulans opened fire.  “What is our weapons status?” Hunt asked.

“Still offline,” Tertian responded.

“Call the rest of the fleet,” Hunt ordered.

“The Enterprise is still half an hour away,” Tertian answered

“Captain,” Dergos reported, “I am detecting an unauthorized fighter launch from the Main Shuttlebay.”

“Which one is it?” Hunt asked.

“It appears to be the Mark III,” Dergos responded, “One occupant.”

“Dranz,” Hunt said under his breath, “I’ll be right back.”

“Sir,” Tertian protested, “Your place is here.” But Hunt didn’t hear him because he was already in the turbolift.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Chavin was pulling her fighter into formation with the other pilots when she heard the twinkling noise of a transporter beam coming from behind her.  She twisted around to look behind her and saw a helmeted figure materialize in the back seat.  “Jon, what the frak are you doing here?” She asked.

“I wanted to keep you from doing something stupid,” He replied.

“Says the Captain who just beamed himself from his nice safe starship to the backseat of a lightly shielded fighter,” Chavin retorted.

“Point taken,” Hunt relented, “what do you want me to do?”

“You have weapons control,” Chavin acknowledged, “arm the torpedoes, and target the closest Warbird.”

“Aye sir,” Hunt replied sarcastically, while setting up the weapons, “Target acquired.”

“Fire,” Chavin ordered.  Hunt pressed the firing button on his control stick.  Four glowing red missiles shot out of the fighter’s launch turret and soared toward the target ship.  Just as the torpedoes struck the Warbird’s shield, the fighter was rocked by a disruptor blast from behind.  Hunt glanced down at the sensor display on his panel.

“I have ten; wait no, twenty small craft behind us,” Hunt reported.

Chavin swung the plane around to see her pursuers, “Scorpions,” she breathed.  As she brought the fighter around, several of the fighters swerved to avoid them.  Chavin accelerated and began performing rolls and loops to evade the attackers.  When Chavin performed a particularly hard maneuver, several of the craft trying to pursue them collided and disappeared in a ball of fire.  “Yeah,” Chavin exclaimed, “Take that.”

“These guys must be rookies.”

“I’d say these must be conscript pilots,” Chavin replied, “Little or no training.”

Hunt fired another volley of torpedoes into the enemy formation, knocking out four more Scorpions.  “We won’t be able to take out all of these,” Hunt pointed out.  Then two of them broke formation.

An alarm went off in Chavin’s helmet.  “Collision alert,” She reported.  Hunt saw one of the Scorpions diving towards them and fired a volley of phaser fire, cutting it to pieces.

“What the hell was that?” Hunt shouted over the intercom.  Then the other one shot out in front of them and Chavin dispatched it with a volley of pulse phaser fire.

Several more made suicide runs before Chavin made a determination, “So, that’s what these guys are doing, they’re Kamikaze.  Pilots trained specifically for suicide attacks.”

“And clearly not trained for dogfighting,” Hunt added.

“I have an Idea,” Chavin said, “We might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”  She steered toward one of the Warbirds, and checked to make sure that their pursuers were still behind them.  Chavin pushed the impulse throttle lever forward and the fighter shot towards the warbird.

Just before the plane hit the Warbird’s shields, Chavin jettisoned both antimatter containment bottles.  She yanked the stick back towards her and shoved the throttle all the way to the stops, engaging the afterburners.  Inside the exhaust nozzles raw deuterium poured into the hot plasma escaping through the nozzles and ignited.  The fighter spun around and shot away.  The Scorpions flew into the shields, unable to stop in time.  They exploded, leaving a hole in the shield for the antimatter bottle, which burst against the hull, and released the antimatter, annihilating half the Warbird.  The other one retreated at warp.  Chavin rejoined with the other pilots, and they all safely landed onboard the Beliskner.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Captain’s Log; Supplemental; The Enterprise has arrived and we are currently engaged in repair and fighter transfer operations.  Captain Picard informs us that we will join the first fleet which is assembling at Wolf 359 where we will set up a defensive line and a tachyon detection grid to hold the Sol system, while the second fleet will be sent to the Vulcan sector.  These Romulans are up to something big, I can only hope we can stop them.

When they arrived at Wolf 359, the fleet was already beginning to assemble around the USS Prince of Wales, one of the latest vessels of the Sovereign class, which served as Admiral Hayes’ Flagship.  Hunt along with the rest of the captains in the fleet was invited to a briefing onboard the Prince of Wales, to his surprise, the admiral also invited Chavin.  When they materialized in the transporter room onboard the Prince they were met by the admiral himself, who led them to his ready room.

“That was some bit of flying,” Hayes commented regarding their earlier engagement, “I would never try that one myself.”

“Yeah,” Hunt agreed, “I am recommending her for the Pike medal, with cluster.”

“Too bad, because I was going to award both of you the Grankite Order of Tactics,” Hayes said, pulling out two small cases.

“Thank you, sir,” both Hunt and Chavin said as the admiral pinned the medals on their uniforms.

“Well Commander,” Hayes asked, “You flew against them, what would you say about the enemy’s fighters?”

“Well, sir,” Chavin started, “not much, I don’t think we were up against their front line ships.  Judging by their tactics, I would say that the Scorpion is only a cheap fighter designed for swarm tactics and cannon fodder.  I guarantee that their frontline fighters are at lease on par with our Peregrines.  I’ll bet that they are just biding their time, waiting for the right moment to unveil them.”

“That is consistent with how the Romulans have done things in the past,” Hayes said.  The admiral moved over to his replicator, asked for a cup of tea, then sat down with it at his desk.  “The reason I called you here was because we are clearly at war with the Romulans now, we need to know what their fighters can do.  We believe that the Romulans have set up a base at Galorndon Core; I need you to go there and steal one of their fighters.”

“OK,” Chavin said, “We could use our Ju’day Class, the Adama.”

“No,” Hayes apologized, “Unfortunately, between you and the SID, that design is known across half the galaxy, and so we can’t use her.”

“How will we get into a major Romulan base without a cloak?” Hunt asked.

“I have arranged for civilian transport for you to Qualor II where you will pick up an old survey ship.  You will pose as mineral prospectors.”

“Where in the Galorndon system is the base?” Hunt asked.

“We suspect it to be on a Class L moon orbiting the main planet.”

                        *                                  *                                  *

The shuttle ride to Earth was uneventful.  Once there, they landed at Star Dock, and walked to the civilian terminal, careful to change into their civilian cloths before disembarking the shuttle.  They boarded a Virgin Universe starliner and settled in for the two day long trip to Qualor at Warp 8.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Meanwhile, Commander Tertian was left in command of the Beliskner.  Tension was high onboard as they waited for the Romulans to come.  On the viewscreen in front of him he could see the two Sovereigns, Enterprise and Prince of Wales, floating and waiting for battle.  Tertian could only imagine that the tension on both of those ships was as high as it was on the Beliskner.  “What is taking them?” He asked aloud.

“You want the Romulans to come?” Dergos asked back.

“I can’t stand this waiting,” Tertian replied, “In the resistance; my cell spent way too much time hiding in the hills in the Dahkur Provence, waiting out in the cold, on some Prophets forsaken mountaintop, with a phaser rifle and an RPPG as your only real companions, for some fat ass spoon head to fall into our trap.”  Tertian stood up and walked into a turbolift, trying to find something to do to pass the time.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Hunt sat next to Chavin on the starliner.  Chavin was already fast asleep before they went to warp.  To facilitate their cover, they had to sit in the coach class, so Hunt was cursing the lack of foot room, and the fairly low ceilings, neither of which conducive to his two meter frame.  Hunt climbed out of his seat and squeezed past Chavin’s unconscious form into the isle to stretch his legs.  He walked to the lavatory.  As he walked back to his seat, he spotted the meal service cart making its way down the isle.  He returned to his seat and shook Chavin awake so that she could eat something.  The meal cart came and the stewardess handed Hunt two trays full of replicated Salisbury steak, and asked what kind of beverage they wanted out of the replicator.  Hunt ordered scotch and Chavin sleepily asked for a raktajino.  The stewardess obliged and handed them their drinks, before moving on.

A short time later, while Chavin was nursing her coffee and Hunt absent mindedly poked at his steak with a fork, a voice shouted from behind them, “Jon,” it said.  Hunt looked around and standing in the isle was the feline form of A’Cillia, Hunt’s former Chief Engineer and lover.  “How are you?” she asked, as she sat down in the vacant seat next to them.

“We’re fine,” Hunt said reluctantly.

“So,” A’Cillia asked, “you married her?”  As part of their cover, Hunt told the Steward at the gate that they were newly weds, to his surprise, the crew announced the “Happy Couple” before departure.

“Yes,” Hunt lied, “I did.”  He put his arm on Chavin’s shoulder.

“I see,” A’Cillia meowed, “Why Qualor?  It seems like an odd place for a honeymoon.”

“Connection,” Hunt lied, “What about you?”

“Hmm,” She replied, “I am going to pick up some equipment from the depot.”  A’Cillia got up and walked back to her seat.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Tertian walked into Ten Forward and sat down at the bar, “Jack,” he said, “Give me the strongest thing you’ve got.”

“Sorry sir,” the bartender replied, “You’re on duty, and this is a combat situation, all I can serve are TKLs and soft drinks.”

“Never mind,” Tertian replied.  He got up and walked over to the windows.  After staring out for a while, he decided to go for a swim, and went to the Holodeck.

                        *                                  *                                  *

After departing the starliner, Hunt and Chavin hurried toward the General Spacecraft Hanger and found the ship that would take them to Galorndon Core, inside the hanger was a Raven class surveyor.  They quickly picked cabins and loaded their luggage.  Just before they started the engines, the door chime on the airlock rang.  Hunt went down to check and when he opened the hatch, he found A’Cillia standing in the gangway.

“You’re up to something Jon,” she said, “no one picks up a connection at Qualor II unless they are going somewhere that would not make a very good honeymoon; especially if they are taking this piece of crap.”

“Honey, who is it?” Chavin asked leaving the turbolift.

“A’Cillia,” Hunt introduced, “you can drop the act Hun, because she figured it out.”  Ushering A’Cillia in and closing the door, Hunt explained their mission; A’Cillia gladly volunteered her engineering services to the “happy couple”.  They departed a short time later.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Trying to get rid of the anxiety, Commander Tertian convened a staff meeting.  The other officers were very anxious for the coming battle, knowing that they were fighting against very long odds.  Tertian looked out on the other officers sitting at the conference table and it became obvious.  The acting CAG, Lieutenant Norman “Stormin’” Dace was on so many stems that he was shaking in his seat.  Dergos’ Angosian programming had clearly taken over, as he had ditched his duty uniform for a set of BDUs, and was carrying several phasers as well as a supply of photon grenades, while his eyes took in every detail of the room, as if planning an escape route.  Dr. Sorel’s antennae twitched back and forth.  The only calm and composed face in the room was that of the Vulcan Taurik.

“Where are the Romulans?” Dergos asked impatiently, “It has been days since that last battle and it was only a few parsecs from here.”

“I can only assume that they are regrouping after we spoiled their rendezvous in the Pollux system,” Tertian replied, “any suggestions, for things that might even the odds?”

“If we separate the saucer,” Dergos said, “That might give us another ship to attack from.”

“Very well,” Tertian agreed, “Taurik, put together a skeleton crew to fly the saucer section, and prepare to separate.”  After a few other suggestions he dismissed the officers.  Tertian then stood and gazed out the window in the back of the observation lounge.  He could see more of the ships in the fleet, directly aft was a Nebula class cruiser he could identify as the Bonhomme Richard and slightly below that was the Beliskner’s sister ship, the Venture.  He imagined the Captains of both of those ships doing a very similar thing at the same moment.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Jon Hunt’s Personal Log; Star Date 57760.1; Dranz has decided to christen our little vessel the SS Majahual, probably some obscure vessel from one of her shows.  We have settled in for the short journey to Galorndon, Fates I hope our expedition is not for nothing.

With A’Cillia onboard, Hunt and Chavin were forced to share the same cabin, as there were only two onboard the small vessel, but they were making the most of their situation.  Hunt slowly came awake and glanced toward Chavin’s nude form sleeping soundly next to him.  His eyes wandered, following her spots from their root under her blonde hair, over the rich mounds of her breasts and all the way to her toes.  He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead before getting up and moving toward the austere dresser to one side of the room.  Chavin stirred and sat up in the bed, Hunt thought for a second, then put down the pair of trousers he had picked out of the dresser, and walked back over to her.  “You know,” He said, “There is no reason why we can’t make this cover story official, if you know what I mean.”

Chavin sat aghast, “Are you proposing to me?” she asked.  “Your timing is impeccable,” she said nodding towards Hunts still nude body.

“Why yes,” He said, kneeling at her feet, “Dranzian Chavin, will you marry me.”

“Absolutely,” She replied.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Captain’s Log; Star Date 57760.2, Commander Tertian reporting; The crew is as ready as they’ll ever be, but if we have to wait any longer, I don’t know how I am going to hold it together, I am implementing Dergos’ suggestion, and have assigned a crew to man the saucer.

Commander Tertian paced the Battle Bridge.  “Sir,” Dergos pointed out, “will you please sit down before you wear a hole in the deck plating.”  Not wanting to antagonize the fidgeting super soldier, Tertian took his advice.

“I have multiple contacts sir,” announced Lieutenant Dace from the Ops console, “Warbirds, decloaking all around us.”  Tertian almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“All hands,” Tertian announced over the intercom, “Battle stations, and prepare for saucer separation.”  Klaxons blared throughout the ship and loud clangs reverberated throughout the Battle Bridge as the clamps holding the saucer released and it drifted clear.

                        *                                  *                                  *

Now fully dressed, Hunt and Chavin walked up to the cockpit hand in hand and saw A’Cillia busily working the Conn.

“How was your nap?” A’Cillia asked sarcastically.

“Fine,” Hunt replied, “any news?”

“We just reached the Galorndon system,” She reported, “I am bringing us out of warp.”

“See anything on sensors?” Hunt asked.

“I am detecting a dampening field coming from one of the moons,” she announced.  Just then a Warbird decloaked in front of them and hailed.

“What is your purpose in this system?” the commander asked.

“We heard reports of some nice mineral deposits here,” Hunt lied, “we are prospecting the system for mining.”

“Leave or be destroyed,” The Romulan demanded.

“If you let us look, well make it worth your while,” A’Cillia purred seductively.

“Very well,” the Romulan relented, “We have found some deposits on the southwestern hemisphere of the planet and the far moon, if you want to look there.”

“He’s hiding something,” Chavin said, after the channel closed, “both those locations are as far from the target moon as possible.”

“Hmm,” Hunt pondered, “I have an idea, A’Cillia, can you plot an orbital insertion that takes us close to that moon.”

“Yes, but we can’t beam down there, I am detecting a transporter inhibiting field.”

“We won’t need to,” Hunt replied, as he walked toward the lift to the airlock.  Chavin followed him.

“What the frak are you doing Jon?” Chavin asked while Hunt quickly donned a space suit.  Fortunately for them, the vessel came with the latest model.

“I’ll be fine he said as he fine toned the suit’s settings and walked to the hatch.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Hunt kissed her on the lips before fitting the helmet over his head, and shutting the inner hatch.  Hunt then opened the space door, and waited for the ship to get closer to the moon.  At the right moment he leaped off into space.

                        *                                  *                                  *

“They’re charging weapons,” Dergos announced.  Then the ship shook as it was pummeled by disruptor blasts.

“Evasive maneuvers,” Tertian ordered, “Bring us within weapons range.”  The ship, now liberated of the mass of the saucer section, spun about and flew forward to meet the Romulan fleet.

“Shields are down to sixty percent,” Taurik reported, “we cannot take much more of this pounding.”

“Entering weapons range,” Dergos stated.

“Fire at will,” Tertian spat.

To Be Continued…