Chapter 4
[<<] [<] [>] [>>] [Table of Contents]

CHAPTER FOUR:          "I don’t think this is wise, milord Admiral." Turning a withering glance at Raschuu, the officer said, "Cold-starting the main reactor could cause a blowout in the hypermatter conversion systems—we'd have a bigger problem on our hands than we started with."

            Admiral Raschuu shook his head. The governor's orders had been quite clear, and crossing a Grand Moff in any event was not a good idea. "Well then. That's just a risk we'll have to take."

            Again, the officer shook his head. "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

            The admiral's nostrils flared and the same impatience Tarvik had once shown to him he now passed on to the officer below him. Such was the nature of the Imperial chain of command, "Are you questioning my orders, crewman?"

            "N—no, milord. Not at all," the officer backpedaled, "I was just thinking that—"

            "Don’t bother with thinking." He snapped, "The Empire pays our men to do, not to think. Now either do your job, or if you can't I will find someone capable of doing it in your place."

            The officer nodded quickly. "I understand, milord."

            "Good." Raschuu cut his teeth, "Begin the procedures immediately. How long will it take?"

            "The preparations will take approximately a half-hour to complete. If the systems hold out we should be operational within ten minutes after that . . ."

            Raschuu nodded. "Very well then," he turned to leave, feeling quite satisfied with himself in his exercise of motivation through intimidation, "carry on." 

————————————

            As the officer had promised, forty minutes later the DEATH STAR's main reactor began to glow to life; immense fields of energy arcing around its central spire. Grand Moff Tarvik looked up from his hasty pacing across the command deck and a grim smile crossed his face. "Scan that . . . thing; and power up our forward batteries." He commanded, motioning toward the dark hull of the FELIX, "Now."

            "Scanning, milord," Captain Eeedo called back, hovering over the officers in charge of the sensory equipment.

            "Well—?" Tarvik looked over.

            "It appears to be a type of light cruiser." One of the officers responded, "I'm detecting multiple life-signs—approximately nine-hundred-sixty. An energy shield surrounds the object—of a type we can't identify. No sign of hyperdrive technology. Atmosphere inside is . . . comparable to ours. Artificial gravity . . . and two landing bays for smaller craft."

            The governor raised an eyebrow. "It's not of any Imperial design," he mused, "and the Rebels wouldn’t be able to construct such a vessel in a millennia." Tarvik creased his brow, "Sub-Lieutenant Correl," he called, "the navicomputer should be back online—"

            Both Panteen and Correl snapped to attention. "The navicomputer reports that our location cannot be determined from any star patterns in the known galaxy," Correl said, "neither can it identify any stellar body or pattern that even remotely resembles those stored in our databanks . . ."

            "What?" Tarvik scoffed, "Run the data through a second time, there must be an error in the analysis."

            Correl turned around and did as he was told. "It is confirmed. There is no data analysis error. The navicomputer cannot determine our present location . . . we're lost, in space, sir." 

————————————

            "Captain . . ." Lieutenant Hare said with a hint of growing anxiety on her voice, "The power output of that sphere just jumped—it’s off the scale, sir. I’m running a sensor diag—"

            "Sir, I'm detecting what appear to be weapon's charges." Selune reported.

            “Red alert!” Marc stood, “Felstrom, get us out of range!"

            Romeo folded his hands and shook his head slightly, but remained silent.

            The klaxon sounded and the bridge lights turned red. Ensign Felstrom's hands went quickly to work to order the ship away from the sphere as fast as it could run. But when her fingers touched the keypads, there was only a deadening buzzing noise and the controls would not respond. "Captain," she called, "my station is frozen . . ."

            Lanna Tigris called from the rear of the bridge. "Mine too—I can't get any more commands through.”

            "Same here, captain." Cyber called, "I'm completely locked out."

            The bridge lights suddenly grew dim, the sound of the red alert klaxon faded to a distinctly different alarm as the red lights faded to a cool blue. Everyone on the bridge of the FELIX looked around in confusion, save her captain.

            "What's going on?" Felstrom asked, looking around and above her.

            The bridge COMM system clicked through. "VonKlatt to bridge," a voice came. "What the devil is going on up there? The computer says my command codes are no longer valid. We're all locked out down here . . ."

            "Captain," Lanna Tigris called again, "look at this." She stood from the science station and motioned to a large blue symbol that had appeared on her screen.

Weiss stood and turned his attention to the rear of the bridge, taking a genuine concern in the situation. He had not expected this. Letting Xavier play follow-the-leader for a little while was tolerable, but not when it put the ship in real danger. Both he and the captain watched as the control screens on the bridge changed one-by-one to the Greek symbol Omega.

            Romeo turned to consider the captain; the expression on Marc's face was urgent, but not confused like the looks of most of the bridge crew. He was expecting any minute for him to cave and to ask him for advice.

But Xavier was beyond that; breaking down in a time of real crisis would only prove a certain old admiral’s point that he was not ready for the captain’s chair. He had to carry the torch alone, "Computer," he called, "This is Captain Marcúsco Shamus Xavier; authorization code 1674-35-Omega-Charlie. Release all systems back to crew command."

            The computer paused a second to process the information. "Xavier, Marc. Authorization code recognized. Returning ship control to crew, USS FELIX. Initiate." The bridge lights brightened back to their normal setting, the blue flashing and alarm stopped and the bridge control systems began to respond again in red alert mode.

"Get us to a safe distance," Marc ordered.

"Aye sir."

The eyes of the crew were now focused on the captain, waiting for an explanation. Xavier gave none, save an "order all senior staff report to the conference room immediately."

————————————

            "You knew about all this and you didn’t tell us, captain?" Lanna Tigris asked, a bewildered expression on her face, "With all due respect sir . . . why?" She was used to being on the inside track about such information; before her assignment to the FELIX, she had served some time in StarFleet Intelligence and given some special clearances about things even the captain didn’t know about. But she had never before heard anything about the Omega Directive, and the thought was disconcerting. She was obsessive enough about the FELIX herself, personally overseeing every nuance of her operation and maintenance; something about having control of the world around her brought a sense of security. The fact that she had come across this, across something about the ship that she had never even known or suspected almost came as a threat to that security. It was probably Khajja's fault, she half-suspected, another one of his damned antics.

            But unfortunately, the situation at hand was no practical joke. Xavier rubbed his temples; he had never seriously thought he would come in contact with a situation that would invoke the Omega Directive. "Protocol," he said simply, but the word didn’t seem to do justice to the situation, "All StarFleet captains are given this information and a direct order not to share it with anyone until we encounter it. Omega is the most potent source of energy known to StarFleet Intelligence; a single molecule of it is enough to power a Galaxy-class starship for a century . . ."

            Cyber cocked her head to the side, almost comically. This whole situation from the start had struck her as somewhat of a nonsequetir; the incident with the transwarp drive being an enigma in itself, now this. "Then why don’t they tell anyone about it?" She inquired, "Something that powerful could revolutionize energy efficiency throughout the Federation. What reason would Intelligence have to keep it secret?"

            "Omega is powerful," Xavier said, "but it is also notoriously unstable. The first experiment we had with it resulted in a subspace explosion of such a magnitude that it completely burnt the atmosphere off of a Minshara-class planet and destroyed the subspace layer in the vicinity for more than a sector. Since it is so dangerous to subspace, which warp drive, and in turn intergalactic civilization depends on to operate and sustain itself, the Federation Council filed a general order to all captains to destroy it if they ever found anyone experimenting with it. At all costs."

            Khajja squinted at that comment. "That doesn't sound like StarFleet at all."

            Marc nodded in agreement, "No, Mr. VonKlatt, it does not. I almost didn’t take it seriously when I was first briefed on it, but this is no joke. Our orders are to get inside that thing and shut down its main reactor—regardless of later consequences."

            Romeo Weiss had been sitting silently through the briefing, trying to come to terms with the situation. How could StarFleet have been so foolish as to vest such a valuable secret in this child of a captain? He cursed the clumsy Federation bureaucracy that could have made such a blunder. His hands were tied and Weiss was forced, at his utmost chagrin, to allow Xavier to spoon-feed him this new protocol. He avoided eye contact with the others at the table, should they catch a glimpse of the disgust in his eyes.

Elizabeth Denver sat two chairs away from the executive officer, observing the various facial expressions of the senior staff as the captain spoke. Romeo was angled a bit away from her, looking a bit in the captain’s direction, so she could not see his face. As far as the briefing was concerned she had been silent so far, but now took the opportunity to speak up. What she said was what most everyone else at the conference table had been thinking: "Doesn’t a mission like that violate the Prime Directive in some way?"

            Xavier frowned. "The instructions make it quite clear what they wanted. For the duration of any mission involving ‘General Order 0,’ the Prime Directive is rescinded."

            There was a stunned silence.

            Xavier was sympathetic, a vague sense of their feelings resounded in his mind, "I don’t like this any more than you do," he leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, "but StarFleet means business." Marc looked around, "Cyber, Lanna, Khajja," he called, "I want you three to begin putting together a mission outline. I’m required to contact StarFleet Command and inform them of the situation as part of the procedure. This entire mission is classified, everyone. Not a peep to anyone outside this room, understood?”

            The officers in attendance responded with slight nods.

            “All right then,” the captain said, “Report back at 0700 tomorrow."

————————————

            Doctor Timothy Pierce looked down at the face of his dazed patient and helped him sit up. "Hey now—" he said quietly, "—take it easy, son. You took yourself quite a beating down there, you know . . ."

            Deano groaned and put his hand to his head. "Don’t rub it in, doc," he muttered, "What's our ETA to the FELIX?"

            "Last I heard, thirty-one hours and forty-seven minutes," he breathed, "but you don’t need to worry about that. You had a concussion and a hairline fracture in your jaw. I've treated them, but you're going to need rest. Your body needs time to recuperate."

            Deano rubbed his head, "Feels like I got hit by an asteroid . . ."

            Pierce nodded. "She packs quite a punch for a little spat." He motioned to the unconscious Perdia on a medical bed on the other side of the sickbay, "Don’t feel too bad," he made a mock attempt to comfort, "I believe her synaptic pathways are hyper-stimulated; at least by our standards. That most likely would account for her increased reflex speed and agility . . ."

            “That’s an understatement, Doc,” Deano said, “she knew what I was going to do before even I did. Hyper-stimulation or not, she had to be psychic to react the way she did.”

            Pierce didn’t seem to have an answer for that, so instead he smiled, "Don’t worry about it. She's sedated,” he assured him, “she won’t be kicking your tail again for a while . . ."

            "Very funny, doc," Deano grimaced. His head began to throb again. Pierce injected him with a slight painkiller and told him to lay back.

            "Get some rest. We'll get back to the FELIX soon enough."

            Deano nodded and closed his eyes; he was exhausted, really, and still quite embarrassed by the incident. He was thankful for the opportunity to escape the situation for a while.

The doctor withdrew to the tiny runabout medical office and looked at both of the status readouts. Timothy Pierce was an Akita with brown and black patches over his eyes, somewhere in his mid-forties. Born in the Terran Midwest, his friendly demeanor and casual style of speaking betrayed his great medical intellect. Pierce was one of those doctors who people knew was extremely bright, but didn’t oppress them with his knowledge. In fact, the doctor actually did a bit too much to try and take the apprehension out of visits to the medical ward. He would crack jokes from time to time to try to lift his patient's spirits; sometimes it worked, other times it would make people wonder if he was actually a licensed physician.

In any case, Timothy was a talented and devoted surgeon; a true professional in his field. His assignment aboard the FELIX was not his first post, nor would it likely be his last; the good doctor had been in and out of stations at StarFleet Medical for over fourteen years. Most of that time had been spent working at ground-based hospitals or starbase infirmaries, and the opportunity to serve aboard a starship seemed to him a good opportunity to expand his horizons. Unlike stationary posts, there was no shortage of strange and exotic medical situations that occurred on starships, especially those who explored the reaches of deep space.

And speaking of exotic, he glanced over at Perdia, and then looked up at the bio-readings he had been monitoring on his computer terminal. The little mountain cat had presented more than a little bit of an enigma to the doctor. "Medical Log," he leaned back slightly in his chair, "despite being unable to specifically place her genome, the patient appears mostly terran. Her physiology is very similar to it—in fact, almost identical. As for her reported ‘precognitive’ responses, I can find no evidence of any portion of her brain or physiology which might be susceptible to chronitons. I believe perhaps Commander Fuhrer is a bit more embarrassed about his run-in with the little spat than he’s ready to admit. If he’s not, however, than I’m afraid I can provide no medical explanation for the girl’s strange abilities . . .”

"Lieutenant Martin to Dr. Pierce," a call came from the COMM.

"Pause," the computer beeped and Timothy looked up. "Pierce here."

"Hey, doc—" his voice echoed over the speakers, "—how's Dean . . . and our newest guest?"

"Both sleeping soundly," Pierce said, "their prognosis is excellent."

"Glad to hear it." Martin responded, "We'll rendezvous with the FELIX in thirty-one hours and twenty minutes."

“Understood.” 

————————————

            Professor Sunrider felt his stomach begin to turn at the sensation of deceleration as the ship finally dropped from hyperspace. He rolled over to spy the two guards still holding watch over the door to his bunk. Arthur despised military institutions; they were so primitive and brutal in his eyes. Reason and mutual cooperation were superseded by archaic authority structures and petty muscle flexing here. The professor thought it childish and a great irony that such immature emotions and thought processes controlled the fate of the greater galaxy.

            But there was not much Arthur could do about such things. He could not simply stand back as if he were an authority on the affairs of the universe and the behavior of men through history. He was not immune to such irrational emotions; the sole reason that he had joined the Rebellion was out of a need for revenge. Storm troopers had cut down his sister in a non-violent protest on Chandrilla, and for that sole reason he had subjected himself to the likes of General Tiharr and his men. Indeed, Arthur reminded himself that he could be no judge of these people. Despite the fact that he considered himself a higher intellect, he too had bowed to the same carnal forces which drove the Empire and Rebellion alike.

He sat up and draped his feet over the edge of his cot and sighed, "Hey—you there!" he called, "I would like to see the general."

            One of the officers turned to face him. "I have orders to keep you here until we've re-entered normal space, professor," he explained.

            "If my stomach serves me right we just have," he groaned, "Send your associate to confirm it; my innards always take a slight turn whenever we cross over."

            The guard looked to his comrade and motioned down towards the cockpit. The other sentinel nodded and went to make sure what Sunrider said was true. He returned a few moments later. "He's right," he confirmed, "we've just dropped from hyperspace."

            Sunrider managed a wry smile and headed for the door. "Then I suggest you two politely move out of my way . . ."

            Arthur shrugged past the guards and walked up to the cockpit door. He pressed the button on the side and waited as it quickly slid up and out of sight. "General Kithain," he ventured, "would you mind informing me where we are?"

            Colonel Rieekan glared back at the professor but remained silent.

            "It appears you were correct, professor," Tiharr didn’t bother to look back, "We are nowhere near Dantooine."

            Sunrider waited silently for an explanation.

            Kithain turned around and brushed a lock of his fiery red hair away. He stared the professor right in the eyes and nodded. There was no sense in keeping it from him any longer; after all Sunrider had given and sacrificed for him and his men, he deserved to know what he was planning. "Our mission was not to rendezvous on Dantooine," he explained, "We're currently settling into the heart of the Mon Calamari asteroid field."

            "What are we doing here?"

            Kithain checked the cockpit controls as he pulled the transport over the horizon of a large asteroid chunk which once was part of Mon Calamari itself. Some time after the massacre of the Rebel forces at Endor, the victorious Imperial fleet had traveled to the Mon Calamari homeworld and treated it to a firsthand demonstration of the second DEATH STAR’s superlaser device. The planetary mass was obliterated, leaving nothing of the world except a dense asteroid field of rock and ice, and a ghastly warning to whomever else would dare to defy the Emperor again.

Kithain took the a moment to gather his words and thoughts, but felt like a fool no matter how he thought to phrase it, "Shortly before we were forced to leave Sullust, I received an encoded message from Admiral Ackbar. He's calling for a reunification of the Rebel factions."

            The professor was stunned silent. Kithain Tiharr was among some of the men who had stayed into the final quarter of the Massacre of Endor; he had witnessed the Admiral's ship cut down by the second DEATH STAR's superlaser in orbit above the forest moon. Arthur had heard from among Tiharr's men that the General once been treated for post-traumatic stress disorder when he was unable to accept the demise of the Alliance at the hands of the Empire, but he had never paid any mind to such whisperings. But now, as he found himself floating through the ghostly debris of the dead planet, Sunrider began to question the situation. "Admiral Ackbar is dead. You should know that more than anyone, General Kithain, you were there . . ."

            He nodded. "I was."

            ". . . and you saw the ship's destruction yourself . . ."

            "I did."

            "Then why are we here, following a signal you know cannot be authentic? You've likely just lead us into a tra—"

            "The message was sent by an Admiral Sonchu Ackbar." Rieekan interrupted, "The admiral's son."

            "Son?" Arthur's ears twitched, "I've never heard of Ackbar having a son."

            Rieekan tried to hide a smirk, "The admiral preferred to keep his personal pursuits out of the public eye; Ackbar's offspring was illegitimate, but he's his son nonetheless. After Endor, his whereabouts and existence were kept a strict secret, only known by some of the admiral's closest advisors. But now that he's dead, Sonchu has made it his mission to reunite the Rebellion to its former glory like in the days of his father."

            For the Rebellion, the battle at Endor had been a devastating loss. Most of the Alliance's backing, especially the support of the outlying words had vaporized when the Emperor played his trump card and met Ackbar's unsuspecting fleet with a swarm of warships. The DEATH STAR’s superlaser, reducing the bulk of the Rebel command structure to stardust, systematically cut down those who were not able to flee the system in time.

            Hope for the galaxy glowed very dim on that day, and only faded more toward darkness as time went on. With Ackbar's death came splintering in the resistance; the once united group of freedom fighters gradually degenerated into isolated and uncoordinated cells; sometimes fighting each other for resources and territory as much as they fought the Empire. The thought of reuniting the Rebellion to its former prowess was both an exciting idea, but an impossible goal. Things were no longer as they were; the noble fight for the galaxy had now turned into a laughable mess of competing gangs and thugs. The thirst for power, glory and greed now drove new leaders in a manner disturbingly similar to the Empire against they once fought to displace; those who shared the vision of the old Rebel Alliance were few and far between.

            "He's going to try to reunite the factions?" Arthur was understandably doubtful, "I don’t think that the sects will be all too eager to relinquish their power just yet. Many men have tried before and failed. Most of them have died for their vision." Sunrider warned, "This new Ackbar of yours had better be careful. That is, if he's legitimate."

            "He is." Kithain said firmly.

            "How can you be sure?" Arthur insisted, "I don’t think you'd be foolish enough to ignore the fact that the Imperials have tried impersonating people in order to lure us in before."

            "No, I'm not."

            The professor huffed slightly, perplexed, "Then how do you know?"

            The general turned around again, "Because, Arthur, I was there when he was born, and I knew him for quite some years up until his father died. He idolized that man, and always said that one day he would follow in his footsteps in trying to bring peace and justice back to the galaxy." Kithain sighed; bring peace and justice back to the galaxy. Those were almost the exact words he had used when he told his friends on Horansi that he was leaving to join the Rebellion. That idealism had since been hardened by the cruel realities of war; he had seen too much death, and had too much blood on his own hands to hold such pure notions in his heart. Tiharr was a man of war, a soldier in his own right, forged and molded in the fire of uncounted battles, all of which he fought in the name of Peace.

            The message from Sonchu had rekindled something inside Kithain; reminded him of the pure ideals and righteous dreams he had joined the Rebellion in the first place for. "He's got our support," he said, considering Arthur, "and from what I've heard, he's enlisted the aid of the Amazons as well."

            "The Amazons?" Arthur questioned, "I thought they were just a myth."

            "Not a myth," he shook his head, "but they're not exactly known for making a spectacle of themselves."

"I'm taking us down," Rieekan announced, before Arthur could question further, "We should arrive in about five minutes."

“Arrive?” Arthur looked confused, “Arrive where?”

The cruiser was slowly making its way toward a huge chunk of asteroid half made of frozen ice. It was surrounded by a cloud of crystallized water that drifted off like a million tiny pearls as the rebel transport approached. The ship entered a cavern of the asteroid, passing through a tunnel of solid rock before being met by a small pool of liquid water at the end of the cave.

The ship touched down on the surface of the water and Arthur grabbed hold of the headrest of Rieekan's chair to keep his balance. "Where are we going?" he insisted.

The vessel continued it's decent through the water and disappeared into the depths of the small ocean on the interior of the asteroid. Kithain pointed to a small point of light in the murky darkness that was steadily growing larger. The lights outside the ship turned on it to reveal a huge sunken complex sitting on the bottom of the dark inner cavern floor. "There," Kithain pointed, "that’s where we're going . . ."

            Sunrider's eyes widened a bit. "An underwater base inside a comet fragment?” he mused, "Imaginative. I doubt the Imperials would look for anyone down here."

            "Still," Rieekan muttered as two heavy turbolaser turrets turned to bear their sights on the ship. They were each housed in transparent protective bubbles to keep the corrosive saltwater from getting in.

            "Control to unidentified spacecraft," came a voice with a slight tremor in it, "you have invaded our territory. Identify yourselves or we will be forced to shoot you down . . ."

            "Control, this is General Kithain Tiharr of the Rebel Alliance. We're here to speak with Admiral Sonchu Ackbar."

            There was a short pause. "You will not deviate from your present course. You will be escorted in and your vessel searched. Only then will you be given access to the base."

            "Understood," Kithain replied, "continuing on present course."

As the transmission ended and the transport continued it’s descent into the sunken darkness, two craft resembling German U boats approached, spewing bubble trails out behind them. They escorted the ship down toward the base and into one of the lower docking bays. The ship passed through a mucus-like membrane with a curious slurping noise and gently came to rest on the deck, a battalion of Rebel commandos there to greet them.

            The docking ramp of the ship popped open and lowered itself to the ground. The commandos entered the ship and Kithain, Sunrider, Rieekan and the rest of the scientists were rushed out onto the deck with blasters to their heads. They searched them for weapons and scanned the ship. After the battalion leader exited and waved all clear, the rest of the officers lowered their guns.

            A Mon Calamari woman stepped out from behind a sealed airlock door and approached the group. She blinked her two large round eyeballs at the newcomers. "Welcome to Calamari Prime," she greeted.

            "That's some welcome . . ." Kithain muttered.

            "I apologize for the impoliteness of my men," she nodded slightly, "but we don’t take any unnecessary risks here."

            "It would be foolish to do it any other way." Rieekan nodded.

            The woman blinked, "Colonel Rieekan," she smiled, "It's good to see you again."

            Kithain cut a glance at the woman.

            "General Tiharr," she continued, "Sonchu's father used to talk about you, I'd seen holocrons of you before, but never expected to speak with you face-to-face."

            The General simply nodded.

"Follow me," she invited, "I'll take you to see the Admiral."

Chapter 4
[<<] [<] [>] [>>] [Table of Contents]