Chapter Seven
​

In my left hand there is the familiar
In my right hand there’s the great unknown
I can see the madly different grass there
But I’m drawn to wilder nights at home

Don’t listen to your friends
See the despair behind their eyes
Don’t listen to your friends
They only care once in a while

I can feel the draw
I can feel it pulling me back
It’s pulling me back
It’s pulling me
I can feel the draw
I can feel it pulling me back
It’s pulling me back
It’s pulling me

‘The Draw’ ~ Bastille - Lyrics by Mark Crew & Dan Smith

* * *​

Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant

Nestrala had expected rage from Zeischt, so his brooding silence worried her even more.

She herself was pacing in their shared apartment, her shoes whispering across the sumptuous carpeting as she seethed at what she perceived to be the humans’ duplicity. Zeischt sat idly nearby, his head cradled in his hands as he tried to absorb the momentous news revealed by his former shipmates.

“What this Lar’ragos told you may not even be true!” Nestrala protested. “Lies designed to pry you from the Amon fold.”

“No,” Zeischt replied after a prolonged silence. “I could see it in his eyes, and in Pell’s. It happened just as he described.” He stood suddenly, turning his gaze on his lover and mentor. “How could I not have seen this coming? I’ve been gifted with this second sight, this prescience, and yet people so close to me were butchered and I foresaw none of it?”

Nestrala ceased her pacing, moving instead to embrace Zeischt. “Your gifts are manifestations of the Amon you that exists now. Perhaps the events surrounding your former comrades no longer matter to such a degree that your new insight perceives them?”

“Perhaps,” Zeischt allowed, freeing himself gently from her embrace. “But our own people were the ones who warned me of the Baron’s vengeance when you came to me in my dreams. How then is it that I couldn’t see Ramirez’s resurrection or her murderous rampage?”

“The gifts given us by the life-essence are not so easily bent to our own ends, husband. Those abilities are intended to serve the whole tribe, not the vanity of any one individual.”

“I must talk to them again, to learn more about how and why this has happened,” Zeischt said insistently.

Nestrala was not so easily swayed. “What does it matter? What do the travails of these people matter to the Amon? This Ramirez is no threat to our people.”

His expression hardened. “She’s my responsibility.”

“No, not anymore she isn’t. That life and its obligations are over, Zeischt. I will not allow you to be further poisoned by these outsiders.” The determined set of her features mirrored his own. “I have spoken to the BattleMaster and the Council of Elders on this matter, and we are in unanimous agreement. You are barred from further contact with the Federation representatives, for your own welfare as well as that of the entire tribe.”

He grabbed her upper arms suddenly in a gesture of shock and outrage. “You can’t be serious?”

Nestrala tensed, her eyes growing hooded. “Unhand me, husband, or you shall see precisely how serious I am. You forget who it was that schooled you our people’s martial traditions.”

His eyes widened in response and he reflexively released her arms. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

“And that, my love, is precisely the problem. Where your former friends are concerned, your heart wanders from the tribe’s path.”

“But Nestrala, I must!” he maintained.

Nestrala gave the Amon variant of a head-shake. “It is forbidden. You are wedded to the Amon, both figuratively and literally, and we will not expose you to further harm. Contact with the Federation representatives will be handled by me. A’lasha will advise me in such matters, should I require it.”

“A’lasha has her own agenda,” Zeischt countered hotly.

Nestrala raised an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan-like fashion. “Your command of the obvious does credit to your species.” Her face softened ever so slightly. “The Vulcan has not undergone the trials, and as she remains an outsider, she must earn her keep. She will do as commanded, or she will be cast out.”

Zeischt’s sour expression went slack as his eyes were drawn away from her face, focusing instead on something behind her. “What is that?” he murmured, stepping towards the grand bay windows of the apartment.

She pivoted around to see an immense shadow growing in the distance, rising to block the light touching the far bulkheads across the breadth of the cube’s great open space. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm began to wail. A tremor passed through the cube’s structure as dark tendrils began to spill from the shadowy mass, colliding with the surrounding interior of the mighty vessel.

“An attack!” Nestrala cried, her cheeks flush with sudden outrage. She glanced back at Zeischt as her decorative robes vanished in favor of her mesmerizing battle armor. “We are betrayed!”

* * *​

The sound of thunder crashing in the interior of the cube was unexpected and almost deafening. The holographic sky overhead flickered, as did the simulated sunlight. The ground beneath the Starfleet party’s feet shuddered, causing Lar’ragos to glance at his chronometer yet again as the others grabbed hold of the table or their chairs.

“What the hell?” Pell was bracing herself against a tree trunk as she looked in all directions, though her field of vision was restricted by the surrounding building.

“Punctual,” Lar’ragos muttered with resigned approval. “That’s nice.”

“Captain?” Counselor Liu stared at Lar’ragos with undisguised concern. “Something you’d like to share with the rest of us, sir?”

He looked up at the others with an expression that was strangely untroubled, given the circumstances. “In case we were cut off from the ship, I authorized Commander Wu to deploy whatever weapons were necessary to neutralize the Amon as a threat to the Federation.”

Liu’s scowl was unmistakable. “Wait… I thought the Skorrah were the threat, not this tribe of Amon?”

“True, were sent to try and convince the Amon to assist us in putting a stop to the Skorrah’s attacks. However, the Federation Security Council perceives the Amon themselves to be just as significant a threat to Federation security, and rightly so.”

Something that sounded enormous roared nearby, it’s bellowing call echoing off the nearer interior compartments of the cube. It was accompanied by a thunderous crash and more shaking.

“Pava, what have you done?” Pell asked accusingly.

Without looking toward the diplomatic officer, Lar’ragos answered, “Wu has deployed an unconventional Alpha Weapon, one designed to demonstrate to the Amon exactly how serious we are.”

“An Alpha Weapon? With us inside the ship?” Pell could barely contain her outrage. “Have you gone mad?”

“Jury’s out,” Lar’ragos replied, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “We won’t be ignored or dismissed. If the Amon require a demonstration of our resolve, so be it.”

Liu leaned in towards Lar’ragos. “And what happens to us, Captain?”

“We’re expendable assets, Counselor,” the El Aurian replied gravely. “We knew that when we were assigned to the task force.” He looked skyward in time to see a gigantic ink-black tendril sweep over the top of the residential structure, trailed by a cloud of debris. “Heads up, folks! Incoming!”

The Starfleet contingent bolted from their seats and scattered to the protective overhang of the surrounding building as chunks of scaffolding and other wreckage rained down into the courtyard. The sound of weapons fire nearby competed with the ear-spitting roar of whatever demonic entity had been unleashed on the interior of the Amon vessel.

Leone spared a quick glance at Lar’ragos that was laden with incredulity. “This is your idea of negotiating, sir?”

“Not really,” Lar’ragos admitted. “I took a page from Sandhurst's book, and I'm making this up as I go. This thing is what I’d intended to use against the Skorrah. Nestrala’s forced me to play my ace-in-the-hole early.”

Liu was about to offer his assessment of their situation when the flash of Amon transporters caught his eye. A cadre of armored warriors, led by BattleLeader Nestrala, had materialized in the center of the courtyard, their battle-staffs held at the ready.

Nestrala scanned the faces of the Starfleet personnel ringing the perimeter of the courtyard until she spied Lar’ragos. Raising her staff, she charged the man, whose body tensed in preparation to meet her attack.

Lar'ragos caught a fleeting glimpse across the courtyard of Verrik grappling with an Amon warrior for control of his pole-arm. Dr. Reskos, meanwhile, was using his body's preternatural strength and speed to knock one Amon after another off their feet.

A force field surrounding Nestrala's unarmored head flared to life briefly as a piece of metallic debris aimed at her face ricocheted away. This distraction, courtesy of Leone, gave Lar’ragos the opportunity to step out of the way of Nestrala’s headlong charge. However, as Lar’ragos lunged to the side, her battle-staff caught his lower leg and sent him sprawling.

Leone leapt on top of Nestrala, and was forcibly thrown off into some nearby shrubbery for his efforts. “You dare!” she roared, advancing on Lar’ragos.

Lar’ragos scrambled to his feet, taking up a defensive stance that he knew would be wholly inadequate against Nestrala’s ferocity. “Come back to the negotiations right now, with Zeischt, and I’ll call this off!” he shouted.

“We invited you aboard!” Nestrala shrieked, “and this rampage is how you repay our hospitality?”

“You cast us aside and placed us in a cage, Nestrala. You’ve forced my hand. Now you no longer dictate terms, BattleLeader, I do!” Lar’ragos barked in answer. He gestured broadly to the surrounding chaos. “Otherwise we all die together.”

Another ground tremor accompanied a monstrous cry, and something far overhead where the holographic sky had been moments before exploded brilliantly, showering the area with flaming bits of wreckage.

In response Nestrala aimed her staff’s energy emitter at Lar’ragos chest. For his part, Lar’agos spread his arms wide, facing the weapon unblinkingly. “Shall I meet you in Hell then?”

Nestrala let loose a cry of pure rage and frustration before throwing her staff aside and moving towards Lar’ragos.

He knew that against her advanced armor, his martial abilities would amount to nothing, so he offered no resistance as she grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him off his feet.

“We can help one another, or your people can die right here, right now,” Lar’ragos said in an unaccountably calm voice. “We’re both fighting to preserve our cultures, Nestrala, but your people are blinded by their own sense of superiority.”

Nestrala held Lar’ragos in the air with one hand as she drew back her other arm, her other hand clenched into a fist. “End this attack!” she demanded.

“Yield,” Lar’ragos said so quietly that it was barely discernable above the noise of the life-or-death struggle taking place all around them.

“You don’t have the stomach to sacrifice your own people to this abomination,” Nestrala shouted. However, the timbre of her voice was more plea than mandate now.

“Ask Zeischt how far I’m willing to go,” Lar’ragos replied. “Or perhaps you already have.” He craned his head forward so that he could see into Nestrala’s eyes. “Donald knows…”

An achingly long moment followed as the two warriors locked eyes, each trying to divine the other’s breaking point. Finally, Nestrala lowered Lar’ragos back to the ground, “For the preservation of my people, I submit.”

Lar’ragos raised his fingers to his uniform’s rank insignia, tapping a numerical sequence across the pips with his fingertips.

The immediate silence was deafening, and suddenly there was a tall, gaunt man in dark clothing standing before Lar’ragos.

Lar’ragos startled, clearly as surprised as the others at the man’s unannounced arrival.

“It is done,” said a smaller, eyeless individual inexplicably dressed as some courtier dandy.

He straightened his uniform jacket before replying, and Lar’ragos answered, “It is, yes.”

“Our debt to your Federation is paid then?” The tall Oddfellow asked.

Lar’ragos appeared uncertain. “I’m not privy to whatever agreement you had with my government, but from my perspective, yes. You have delivered as promised.”

Just as suddenly as he… or they… had appeared, they were gone without so much as a whisper.

Lar’ragos looked away and collapsed onto his buttocks as his legs gave out. He and Nestrala seemed unable to make eye contact for a full minute before she finally spoke. “It seems your nightmare weapon is no more.”

“Only one of many at my disposal,” Lar’ragos acknowledged heavily. “It was the only one that I could call off, however. With the others, once released, what is done… is done.”

Nestrala walked slowly over to where she’d discarded her battle-staff and stooped to retrieve it. “Where does this leave us, Federation?”

“Tired. This leaves us tired.” Lar’ragos rose to his feet, dusting off the seat of his uniform trousers.

The others in the diplomatic contingent filtered back hesitantly from the illusory safety of the surrounding structure’s circular overhang. The other Amon warriors shifted uneasily, looking uncertain. This was a day of firsts for many of their people.

“Nestrala,” Lar’ragos asked, his voice weary. “Summon Zeischt, and let us discuss what needs to be done to rid the galaxy of the Skorrah.”

* * *​

Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant

The party had returned to the outdoor conference area, though even here there were signs of the earlier struggle. Trees were splintered, plants uprooted, and there were deep gouges in the surface of the ornate meeting table. Borg drones labored silently to clear the accumulated debris under the watchful eye of the Amon, causing Lar’ragos’ hackles to rise. He buried his discomfort for the sake of diplomacy, given that he had been the cause of the near catastrophe.

Lar’ragos had contacted Europa and informed Wu of the Amon capitulation following the strike by Oddfellow. Her orders were to standby, but if they were to lose contact again, Wu was to deploy the remaining Alpha Weapons in their inventory immediately.

Doctor Reskos knelt next to a seated Dominic Leone, treating the lieutenant’s right arm which had been broken when Nestrala had thrown him some half-dozen meters into dense shrubbery after his bold but futile attack on her.

Lar’ragos stepped over to Leone, giving the young man a brief smile. “Good work back there, Dom. You didn’t have much in the way of weaponry, but you used what you had to good effect.”

Leone winced as Reskos manually repositioned the two halves of Leone’s fractured humerus to set them before placing an osteo-regenerator cuff on the limb. “Thank you, sir.”

With that, Lar’ragos returned to the table, resuming his seat.

Across from him, Nestrala smoldered with barely contained anger, shooting daggers at Lar’ragos and the others with her eyes. “Over a hundred of our people died today as a result of your attack,” she noted icily.

Lar’ragos returned her gaze with an expression devoid of compassion or regret. “It is unfortunate that your decisions made such desperate actions necessary, BattleLeader. Pray I do not choose to continue the assault, for all our sakes.”

“You’d sacrifice your own people in order to do us greater harm?” her sneer fairly dripped with venom.

“If you force my hand,” Lar’ragos answered in an unsettlingly reasonable tone, “I’ll kill myself and everyone under my command in order to burn you and the Amon to cinders.”

This statement elicited an uncomfortable glance from Counselor Liu, but the rest of the Starfleet contingent seemed unfazed by the declaration. Their expressions set, they seemed in accord with their captain.

Nestrala fell into a sullen silence as Zeischt rejoined the negotiations as Lar’ragos had demanded. The El Aurian immediately picked up on the growing tension between he and Nestrala, a chasm of anger and frustration brought about by current events. Lar’ragos filed that information away for future use, should he need to weaponize it later to suit his purposes.

Lar’ragos had surrendered to the inevitability of returning to his tried and true methods. He could no longer play by Sandhurst’s rules while working alongside the walking shell of that man as a mercurial ally. What was being asked of him by Starfleet was so shocking to the conscience that only the Pava of old could accomplish the dark deed.

Zeischt stood as the others took their places around the now blemished table. He called a hologram into existance, one that grew into an oblong assembly of millions of stars.

“I will now clarify our mutual objective,” Zeischt announced, tossing the image higher into the air where it grew in size and began to slowly rotate above the assembly of Amon and Starfleet personnel.

“The Skorrah presently inhabit the Large Magellanic Cloud, a dwarf galaxy that orbits our own Milky Way at a distance of around one-hundred and sixty-thousand light years. A decade ago, the Skorrah seized control of an incredibly ancient space station in the LMC that is located at the periphery of the Tarantula Nebula. This is a facility of tremendous power and influence known as Shul’Nazhar. The station has hundreds of names in as many languages, almost all of which translate to, ‘The Gateway.’

“The oldest sections of the station are estimated to have been built some three million years ago. It has been fought over and controlled by dozens of different species over the eons, many of them adding on to the structure during their periods of ownership. As it exists now, the station is enormous, measuring over a hundred kilometers at its widest point, a tangled mixture of alien technologies.

“What makes this installation so coveted by so many is that at some point one of the species in control of the station engineered something I believe to be a highly advanced wormhole generator. Using this device, whomever controls the station can open point-to-point instantaneous transit portals from place to place anywhere in the ‘local cluster’ of galaxies, to include our Milky Way, the LMC, the Small Magellanic Cloud, the Sagittarius, Sculptor, Fornax, Carina, Sextans and Bootes dwarf galaxies, as well as Andromeda.

There were sharp intakes of breath from around the table and a few muttered curses.

“It’s this capability that has allowed the Skorrah to attack worlds throughout the Alpha and Beta quadrants with impunity and without warning. To deny them this advantage, we will have to wrest control of the station from them, despite their entrenchment and numerical superiority.”

“How would we even reach them to launch an attack?” Lar’ragos inquired. “Are there Borg transwarp conduits leading out to the LMC?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Zeischt answered. “The entire Borg transwarp network was compromised during Voyager’s return to the Alpha Quadrant. As a result, the Amon are only able to use a very few of these conduits, and then only with great difficulty and significant danger. None of those available to us are capable of extra-galactic transit.”

“The question remains,” observed Verrik, “how do we reach a galactic mass far beyond the means of our existing propulsion systems?”

Lar’ragos directed a pointed look at Zeischt. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fix your transwarp drive that we inadvertently crippled?”

The former Starfleet officer appeared thoughtful. “I can do that, yes.”

Lar’ragos nodded approvingly. “That’s a good start.”

"What can you offer us?" Nestrala asked pointedly. "It seems this partnership is notably one-sided."

"Federation starships," Lar'ragos answered. "Our combined arsenal of Alpha Weapons for one." He gestured offhandedly towards the approximate location of Alanthal. "And perhaps the greatest gift of all for someone aiming to storm an inter-galactic fortress... Klingons."


* * *​

After an hour's worth of surprisingly productive negotiations, the Starfleet contingent was escorted back to the airlock leading to Europa. Lar’ragos fell into step beside Zeischt. “We need to talk,” Lar’ragos prompted. He threw a glance over his shoulder at where a steely-eyed Nestrala observed him warily. “Alone,” he added.

“Pava…” Zeischt began hesitantly, “…the situation is delicate.”

“I couldn’t be less concerned with your discomfort, Donald,” Lar’ragos said acidly. “You have things to answer for, matters that require resolution before I’m willing to trust in your and your intentions.”

Zeischt led Lar’ragos away from the rest of the party to a smaller, less ornate conference room, though one that still met with the almost disturbingly gorgeous Amon aesthetic.

“What is it that I can assist you with, Captain?”

Lar’ragos stared at man for a long moment before finding his voice. “What’s become of you?”

Zeischt spread his arms expansively. “I am that I am,” he replied without a hint of irony.

Lar’ragos offered a humorless smirk in response. “That’s funny. I see what you did there. So, you’re a god now?”

“Not a god, no. Whatever I am now, however, is greater than what I was.”

“I disagree,” Lar’ragos countered. “This… thing that you’ve become diminishes the memory of Donald Sandhurst. He was a good man, a good captain. You’re a parasite that feeds off the lives of the victimized.”

Zeischt cocked his head to one side as if scrutinizing Lar’ragos. “Brazen words for a man seeking my help as an ally.”

“You manipulated me, used me as a pawn in your twisted game, knowing that I wouldn’t catch on to what you were up to until it was too late,” Lar’ragos recounted with what he felt to be admirable composure.

“A calculated risk, Pava,” Zeischt murmured, appearing for the briefest instant to experience a twinge of regret before the expression was banished from his features. “T’Ser was too skeptical, too cautious. Your trust and faith in me were required if I were to achieve my goals.”

Lar’ragos took a step closer, his face pinched with growing anger. “Your attack on the En-Il-Que wasn’t a tactical necessity to safeguard the Alpha Quadrant. It was a hunting expedition for you, just to sate your thirst for this life-essence, this perverse energy source!”

Zeischt shook his head fractionally. “Not entirely. It had the benefit of accomplishing both goals simultaneously. I didn’t enjoy the necessary duplicity, Pava. However, the En-Il-Que were fairly warned. Woe unto them for ignoring those warnings.”

“Why?” Lar’ragos snapped suddenly.

“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen,” Zeischt explained patiently. “Donald Sandhurst was just one man among trillions, as helpless as anyone to save the Alpha Quadrant. As Zeischt, I have the awesome power of the Amon at my command. I can help orchestrate the defeat the Skorrah and repel the other invading species. I can actually make a difference!”

“So you believe its all for a noble goal, then?”

“I believe that my energies are better spent in this capacity than in commanding one of dozens of starships, none of which will make any appreciable difference in the end.”

“I didn’t want this!” Lar’ragos blurted suddenly, his eyes shining brightly with tears that he refused to shed. “I never asked for this, the burden of your command. You know how such a thing weighs on me after-- after the things I've done.”

Zeischt inclined his head ever so slightly in silent acquiescence. “Just as I never asked to sacrifice all that I was to become whatever it is I am now.” Zeischt looked away momentarily. “You look at me as though I’m some kind of monster.”

“Aren’t you?” Lar’ragos pressed. "This poisonous energy infects every cell of your body. I fail to see how it's any different than being assimilated by the Borg."

Zeischt had no answer for him. After a pause he said, “You’ve had your say, Pava. Is there anything else?”

“Only one,” Lar’ragos replied, holding aloft the isolinear chip Pell had brought aboard the Amon cube. “Messages from your family. What would you have me tell them?”

Zeischt made no move to claim the chip. “Tell them Donald Sandhurst is dead.”

* * *​

USS Veðrfölnir
In orbit of Ferenginar, Ferenginar system
Alpha Quadrant

Operations Lieutenant Addison Etherby sat listlessly in the captain’s chair of the Norway-class frigate Veðrfölnir, barely a quarter of the way through Gamma Watch. The ship had just been released from a refit three weeks earlier, after completing a six-month rotation patrolling the tense Romulan Neutral Zone.

Though far less stressful, this milk run to transfer personnel and supplies to the Federation embassy on Ferenginar was hardly the kind of assignment a mid-grade officer could distinguish herself on. Regardless, Etherby was trying hard to apply herself as the duty officer in nominal command of the ship while the XO was asleep and the CO, Commander Gellek, was being wined and dined as a guest of the Federation ambassador to the Ferengi Alliance.

She’d read and initialed the division reports for Beta Watch and the deuterium fuel consumption logs, updated the official ships log, and completed the Gamma Watch duty schedule for the next two weeks. All that had occupied her for the first thirty minutes of the shift. Now, tedium was the word of the day.

Etherby was about to stand and walk another aimless circuit around the bridge when she heard a notification trill at the Operations station. The petty officer manning the console rose halfway out of his seat as he blurted, “Lieutenant, sensors detecting anomalous energy readings, range two-point-zero-three million kilometers.” Etherby noticed the slight tremor to his voice as he added, “It’s identical to known Amon transition portal emissions, sir.”

The ensign at the Tactical board confirmed it. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who’ve noticed, sir. The Ferengi orbital defense grid just powered up.”

“Red alert! Commander Friedleich to the bridge,” Etherby called out before ordering a tactical plot on the main viewer.

By now all the governments of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants knew the signs of an impending Skorrah attack. Thus, when Ferengi sensors detected the appearance of a transition portal some two-million kilometers from Ferenginar, the reaction from the planet’s defense mainframe was near-instantaneous.

It was a little known fact that among the homeworlds of the major Alpha Quadrant interstellar civilizations, Feringinar was one of the most heavily defended. Given the avarice of the Ferengi species and the degree to which they coveted their stockpiles of gold-pressed latinum, they had taken great pains and spared no expense in outfitting the planet with one of the quadrant’s most formidable defense perimeters.

Hundreds of orbital defense stations coordinated with a cloud of thousands of heavily armed weapons satellites. These were complemented by squadrons of drone fighters and all manner of warships slaved to the planet’s primary defense mainframe As the Ferengi had no social prohibitions against utilizing artificial intelligence technology, the fearsome defense grid was controlled by an impressive Class-III AI known as the CompuLux-5000. This system possessed the comparable computational capacity of sixty Galaxy-class computer cores with the ability to coordinate the actions of the entire defense grid simultaneously.

The Skorrah’s life-essence collection arrays had entered the system silently, undetectable to sensors as they were just slightly out of phase with the the time/space continuum of this universe. They’d been deposited a light year outside the Ferenginar system, and had encroached over a period of weeks. They remained as invisible to Veðrfölnir as they had to the Ferengi.

A blistering wave of phaser pulses, disruptor bolts, gravitic-warhead missiles and photon/quantum torpedoes was already on the way when the battered hulk of the Whalesong Probe emerged from the portal.

The dark behemoth’s neutronium shell had been compromised during the Skorrah attack in Cardassian space weeks earlier, and the barnacle-like clusters of habitats, factories, and hangers were now dark and empty. Gone was the cacophonous dirge, the broad-spectrum carrier wave that disrupted starship and planetary power systems alike.

The Ferengi defense grid’s opening salvo savaged the exterior of the probe, though the damage done was largely cosmetic. The probe had been accelerated to full impulse speed before translating through the aperture, and the time between detection and impact was a scant twenty-six-point-six seconds.

“Lieutenant, it appears to be the same probe that’s attacked Klingon and Cardassian systems in the past few months. It measures over five kilometers long, and one-point-five kilometers in diameter.”

“They’ve opened fire on the probe,” Ops noted, murmuring, “dear god that’s a lot of firepower.”

“Estimate twenty-three seconds until the probe impacts the surface of Ferenginar,” was the science specialist’s assessment. She gave Etherby a brief but pointed look. “Owing to the hyper-dense neutronium mass of the probe and its speed, the planet will almost certainly be destroyed.”

Etherby toggled the comms to the transporter room. “Chief Salek, I need an emergency beam-out of all Federation personnel in the embassy. Use all transporter assets to accomplish this. You have twenty seconds!”

The Ferengi AI assessed the mass and velocity of the inbound probe and correctly predicted a catastrophic impact. With less than a second’s deliberation, the AI initiated a planetary emergency evacuation.

“Switch to visual,” Etherby ordered.

The main viewscreen was awash in strobing lights and flashes as the withering firepower of the Ferengi defense grid was unleashed time and again on the inbound probe. So intense were the overlapping explosions surrounding the probe that even at maximum magnification, the dark cylinder itself was obscured by the riot of destructive energy enveloping it.

Etherby called out, “Science, how much time will we need to get to minimum safe distance when the probe hits?”

Catastrophic simulations of a planet being blasted apart played out on the Science station’s displays as the young specialist replied, “There’ll be massive gravimetric shock and debris accelerated to at least half-impulse, Lieutenant. We’d either need to break orbit now, or… our best bet might be a limited warp jump.”

“The hell you say?” Etherby snapped, her head fairly spinning with the untold dangers presented by that course of action.

“Salek to bridge,” the transporter chief reported, “We’ve recovered fifty-one personnel from the surface, but Ferenginar has just activated broad-spectrum transporter inhibitor fields over all major population centers. I’m unable to penetrate the interference in order to beam up the other three-hundred and twelve people.”

“Is the captain among the ones we’ve rescued?” Etherby asked desperately.

“No, sir.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Ops apprised.

“Keep trying, Chief. We’ll try and neutralize the interference at our end.” Etherby stood and walked on rubbery legs to the Ops station. “Why would they do this?”

“Profit,” was the petty officer’s grim reply. “It appears the planetary defense grid has been programmed to give priority evacuation access to the highest bidders, sir. They’re all bidding on a life-or-death evacuation auction.”

Etherby’s mouth dropped open before she exclaimed. “But that’s just sick!” She blinked, then forced herself back on task. “Can we burn through the interference long enough to get our people out?”

“Not enough time, sir.”

Lieutenant Commander Friedleich stepped onto the bridge as Etherby posited, “Fine, we’ll play by their rules, damn them. Tell their AI the Federation will pay out of our latinum reserves for priority transporter access.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Ten seconds,” Tactical updated the others on the bridge.

“Report,” Friedleich ordered, equal parts startled and mesmerized by the maelstrom of weapons fire displayed on the viewscreen as he exited the turbolift.

“Tactical, bring him up to speed,” Etherby instructed, unwilling to spare the precious seconds necessary to update the XO.

“No go, Lieutenant,” Ops said. “The AI says any amount we bid has to be backed by a major Federation financial institution, such as the Bank of Bolias.”

“Five seconds!”

“Shit!” Etherby exclaimed. “Tactical, can we knock out the transporter scrambler closest to the embassy?”

“Negative, too well shielded. Not enough time.”

“We have to go now, Lieutenant!” barked the science specialist.

“Helm, come ninety degrees from the stellar elliptic. Warp One, engage!”

Friedleich reached out to grab the safety railing as Etherby retreated to the captain’s chair. “Wait…”

The engines came to life and everything went very abruptly black.

* * *​

Seconds… or minutes… or perhaps years later (Etherby couldn’t really tell) consciousness reasserted itself in the young officer’s mind. She found herself face down on the deck, her nose almost certainly broken.

Etherby rolled onto her back, staring upwards at a tangle of optical cabling and shattered duct-work that dangled troublingly from the bridge’s ceiling. “R-report,” she stammered as she pulled herself painfully to her feet with the help of the nearby Flight Control console.

Around her, others were stirring as well, but nobody seemed cogent enough to respond to her query. Seeing the unmanned Operations board, Etherby slid into the seat, calling up a damage control report.

Veðrfölnir had suffered serious structural damage, especially her warp nacelles, one of which was completely missing. Engineering had been forced to eject the warp core due to the severe imbalance caused by going to warp within the overlapping gravity wells of both a star and a planet. Most primary systems were offline, but backups were running gamely, and it seemed the ship would live to fight, or flee, another day.

As a medical team arrived on the bridge and set about treating or rousing the others, Etherby organized and dispatched damage control teams throughout the ship. She was so engaged in the effort to stem the damage to ship and crew that it took her a moment to notice the XO’s hand on her shoulder.

“Addison, stand down a moment. You’ve done well.” He sat down next to her at the empty Flight Control station, turning in the chair to face her. Friedleich sported a nasty gash across his chin and his left eye was noticeably swelling. “That jump of yours put us just outside the Ferengi home system, and we’re safe for the time being.”

Etherby felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins begin to abate, making her lightheaded. She looked to Friedleich and inquired, “The captain?”

He shook his head sadly. “No, but Ambassador Tulloch and her family were among those we managed to rescue.”

“Ferenginar?”

“Gone,” Friedleich replied heavily. “It’s an asteroid field now.”

A single tear escaped the young lieutenant’s eye, cutting a clean swath through the dried blood on her cheek. “Your orders… Captain?”

* * *​

Long range sensor scans would later confirm that the overwhelming mass of the probe, accelerated to one-quarter the speed of light, had torn through Ferenginar’s atmosphere in less than a second and slammed into the crust of the planet at a nearly perfect ninety-degree angle. The explosion at the collision site measured some 1.18 x 10 to the 17th power megatons.

Ferenginar was obliterated in the blink of an eye, subjected to kinetic and gravimetric forces so awesome as to defy belief. The force of the impact pulverized the planet, sending asteroidal fragments hurtling outward into the star system, and setting the stage for the creation of an asteroid belt over the next few millions of years.

Grand Nagus Rom, his family, and the highest echelons of the Ferengi government were swept away by emergency transport some eighteen seconds before impact. All told, some thirty-five thousand individuals were rescued just moments prior to the catastrophic collision. That left seven-point-eight two billion Ferengi and eight-point-nine million alien visitors as helpless victims of the horror to come.

The political and financial repercussions of the destruction of Ferenginar would be significant, as Ferengi financial markets and investments created a web of influence throughout the Alpha and Beta quadrants. It was yet another shock to a quadrant still trying to find it’s footing in the wake of such a destructive war.

* * *​

USS Europa
Deck 2 - Executive Officer’s Office

The door to Iris Wu’s office chimed. Without looking up from her sundry datawork, she intoned, “Enter.”

Georgia Kirk stepped across the threshold, data padd in hand, bearing a curious expression as she came to attention in front of the XO’s desk.

Wu glanced up from her task. “At ease. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

Kirk relaxed slightly. “Sir, I’ve stumbled across something that’s got me concerned. I’m—I’m unsure whether it’s genuine, or a cataloguing error, or somebody’s idea of a sick joke.”

Her curiosity piqued, Wu sat back in her chair. “Explain.”

“The automated system we use to track all Alpha Weapons usage… well, while I was double-checking the reports, I found that we registered not one, but two Alpha-Weapon deployments against the Amon. The… uh, 'Oddfellow?'"

The XO gave no indication or outward sign of confusion or distress at the news. She held her typical stoic expression and informed Kirk, "That’s probably because Oddfellow was something of a dual entity.”

Kirk bobbed her head. “That was my first thought as well. However, the second Alpha Weapon has its own designation in the system report.” The Ops Manager set the padd down in front of Wu, so that it’s text was legible: “Weapon Alpha-Three.”

Wu barely glanced down at the remainder of the entry to verify the evidence before she lifted her dark brown eyes back to Kirk. She said nothing and the silence grew awkward within her office.

“This has to be a joke,” Kirk insisted.

“No,” Wu breathed. “I believe this is someone’s rational, dispassionate tactical assessment.” Wu continued to fix her glare upon Kirk. “Truth be told, I’d be hard pressed to argue their point. Can you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kirk allowed. “No, sir. I can’t.”

“Until I've had a chance to investigate this further, it doesn’t go beyond the two of us, Lieutenant. Are we clear?”

Kirk nodded wordlessly.

“Dismissed,” Wu ordered curtly. She returned her attention to the small display on the padd for nearly thirty seconds after Kirk had left the cabin. Finally, Wu picked up the device, gave it one last look, and deleted the entry.

It read, “Weapon Alpha-Three: Lar’ragos, Pava, No Middle Initial. Category: Biological, WMD.”


* * *​

Wu stood patiently at the airlock as Lar’ragos and the diplomatic team returned to Europa from their intensive negotiations with the Amon.

The exhaustion was clearly evident in their expressions, with the notable exception of Dr. Reskos, who bore the bland mien he’d adopted as his default countenance. They’d been away from the ship for twenty-seven hours, precious little of which had been given over to sleep.

Pell seemed the most out of sorts, Wu observed. Given her personal history with Sandhurst, that was to be expected, Wu thought sadly.

Wu gave Lar’ragos an expectant look. “So, Mister Oddfellow worked out for us, then?”

Lar’ragos responded with a tired smile. “Perfect timing, Commander. My thanks.”

She fell into step with the captain as he trudged down the corridor towards the turbolift.

“Any idea what he… or they were, sir? Interacting with Oddfellow was damned surreal.”

“In fact I have no idea,” Lar’ragos responded. “I think it’s something we’ll have to chalk up to Starfleet having encountered a lot of weird shit in the past two centuries.”

Wu actually chuckled at that. “Copy that. Where are we with the Amon, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Better than we have any right to hope,” Lar’ragos answered. “They’re onboard with our plan to stop the Skorrah.”

“Skorrah, sir?”

“Oh, sorry,” he shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs of sleep debt. “A new designation for the predatory Amon tribe.” Lar’ragos shot Wu a rueful glance as he continued. “However, things regarding our mutual enemy are a lot more complicated and dangerous than we’d guessed.”

They reached the turbolift and awaited the arrival of a car.

“How so, sir?” she asked.

“It turns out that in order to confront the Skorrah, we’re going to have to take a little extra-galactic jaunt to the tune of around two-hundred thousand light years.”

The turbocar arrived and Lar’ragos stepped through parting doors. He turned to find Wu still standing where she’d been, her faced pinched in an unaccustomed expression of shock. “I thought twenty-thousand light years from home was sufficient,” she uttered softly.

“Going up,” Lar’ragos announced sardonically. “Next floor, phasers, razors, Tellarite lingerie, and Vulcan sundries.”

Now Wu looked downright baffled.

“Old-timey elevator humor, Commander…” he sighed. “Never mind. Please arrange quarters for former Captain Sandhurst and Lieutenant Verrik. Zeischt will be coming aboard to assist us with our transwarp engine modifications. I’ll want Verrik reactivated, so note his official status changed from AWOL to Repatriated Prisoner of War.”

Wu made mental notes on both. “Aye, sir. I’d advise we establish Level-One computer safety lockouts on Zeischt’s cabin, sir.”

Lar’ragos’ resulting smirk was muted. “Of course, for all the good that’ll do. He was able to program rings around us before while covering his tracks almost perfectly.”

“I can have engineering sever the ODN trunks leading to his quarters and establish a Level-Three containment field that would prevent wireless data transfer?”

A brief nod and a genuine smile emerged from her commanding officer. “Good thinking, make it happen.”

“And Lieutenant Verrik, sir? In what capacity should I assign him? I’d think Mister Leone would be rather put out to be seconded to Verrik after holding the department head post.”

“No, Leone stays in place, he’s more than earned it. List Verrik as a tactical adviser for the time being, until we can find a more permanent assignment for him. His knowledge of the Amon should prove especially valuable.” He glanced at his wrist chronometer. “I’ve got to go clean up. Meet me on the bridge in twenty minutes. We’re going to undock from the cube, and I need to get close enough to Galaxy Station to confer with Admiral T’Cirya in real-time.”

* * *​
Lar’ragos stepped into his quarters and promptly sank to his knees, a soft groan escaping his lips as the wave of agony he’d been holding at bay for hours was finally released. He unzipped his uniform jumpsuit, and collapsed onto the deck on his back as he struggled out of the top and the command red shirt underneath.

His breath came in great gasps as another searing wave of torment caused him to writhe across the carpet, his hands clawing at the air as he sought some kind of purchase to propel him away from the mind-rending torture.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, it had abated sufficiently that Lar’ragos was able to roll over and rise shakily to his hands and knees. He crawled with careful deliberation into the sleeping cabin of his quarters, reaching up with a tremulous hand to clumsily retrieve a hypospray from a drawer of his bedside nightstand.

Another paroxysm seized him, and Lar’ragos collapsed onto his back again. He cried out wordlessly as his chest and abdomen began to glow a dull red, as though he was being lit from within. The hypospray had fallen from his convulsing hand and lay there, just out of reach as Lar’ragos managed to gasp, “No -- Not yet!”

It took every iota of strength he had remaining to hold the terrible mechanism in check, and as he felt that last portion of control slipping, the pain eased just enough for him to grab up the hypospray and touch it to his neck. He felt himself begin to cool, the blistering agony that had suffused his entire being was easing, becoming once again a more tolerable level of persistent discomfort.

Once he had composed himself enough to speak coherently, Lar’ragos activated the comms to the bridge. “Commander Wu, I may have… underestimated my level of exhaustion. Please oversee our departure from the Amon ship, and set course for Galaxy Station, best speed.”

After Wu had acknowledged the order, Lar’ragos rolled onto his side and curled into a fetal position, working on regulating his breathing as his Vulcan kolinahr teachers had instructed him. He reflected that it had been a very near thing, far too close to completely upsetting what was likely their final contingency.

* * *​