Somewhere in Klingon space. Aboard the U.S.S. Hepzibah. “You can’t keep running from your problems, Ruby.”
… In a way, Ruby Rosette had always been running since she was a young girl. Running ahead of her peers during grade school and in university, running pretty damn near the head of the pack in Starfleet Academy, and running away from her partner Lena when things got ugly. Hell, even that temporal paradox that brought her into the 25th century was just a way to sprint ahead, to make sure that no-one from her past could catch up. A good head on her shoulders and a strong will meant that she could keep running, too. Mom was so wrong.
Today, Ruby wasn’t running. Not yet, anyways. She was heading the Officer’s Meeting on her new ship, the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Hepizbah. Normally, the meeting would take place in the ship’s conference room, but that was being used to house refugees, so the Captain’s Quarters it was.
In attendance were V’rar and Terirl, the Hepzibah’s Vulcan Medical and Engineering Officers, respectively; 6 of 11 (“Six”), a “freed” Borg drone and co-head of Engineering with Terirl; Sagemollo, a Pakled Science Officer; and Tarsi, Ruby’s Andorian First Officer. V’rar had just finished her reports, and Tarsi was going over duty officer assignments with that eternally cheerful tone of hers.
“Captain Rosette, we have duty officers working to resettle the refugees we picked up from the Golden ChildFreighter. Officers Vorta, Neils, and Lei were in transit to Vulcan to meet with the Caitians for a diplomatic mission; they seemed to have made a good enough impression during our initial encounter with them.
I would also like to add that repairs to the Hepzibah are still being made, as a result of our encounter with Klingon patrols last week. In my opinion, I don’t think it would be wise to have any more exploits until we’re completely, ah, ‘shipshape.’”
Ruby leaned back in her chair. “Your opinion is noted, Commander. Six? Terirl? Anything you’d like to add?”
Six was looking at her PADD, tapping away at something, so Terirl spoke for the both of them.
“I would agree with Tarsi. Our warp core is still severely damaged, so we are barely capable of traveling through space for the time being. It is highly illogical to pursue any sort of missions until we can not only make the appropriate repairs, but find enough dilithium to bring the core back to full functionality.”
Ruby nodded. “Are we in Federation space?”
Tarsi shrugged. “Navigation’s been spotty, so...yes? Maybe?”
So we’re fish in a barrel. Lovely, Ruby thought, rubbing her forehead. “Commander Tarsi, I want you to work on finding out exactly where we are. Keep hailing frequencies open, monitor any ships that might be passing by us, and send out a looping S.O.S. message. Six, Terirl, I need you two to keep working on the warp core. V’rar, Sage, make sure that the refugees continue to stay healthy. The last thing we need is a virus to start spreading amongst our crew.”
This is the U.S.S. Hepzibah. We require assistance. Any ships passing by our position, please respond if able to.
"I... I might be able to distract Mirror Nat if he has gained some power," Krystal said. "I don't know for how long, but... I'll do what I can. In the meantime we still need to focus on the looming threat."
The Infamous Slaveship r'Llaillieu had left the desert planet from which the bowels had released the D'ren Omega clone and was en route, cloaked, to another unnamed and barely habitable planet in some obscure sector between the Klingon and Romulan border. The r'Llailieu was surrounded by two Negh'Var battleships, half a dozen Vor'Cha cruisers, and nearly as many Romulan d'Deridex warbirds.
D'ren woke up but didn't want to. He'd been sleeping, of his own accord, for over nine hours now. He found the cell was open. Curious, he stood up, barely noticing that he'd been clothed in the traditional black leather of The Infamous Armada. Yawning, D'ren stumbled out into the dimly-lit security room, which was massive for a security room, even by a headquarters' standards. As he reached the exit, he bumped into a woman who was coming in with a Klingon handheld computer device.
The Vorta Kidna jumped, blue eyes wide with shock and fear. "Uh - eh - D-D'ren -"
The man pushed the obvious clone of his former crewmate aside and exited the office, leaving her standing inside, feeling surprised and dejected. He flexed his shoulders and stretched his back, getting back into the groove of walking like a D'ren clone, which was nothing short of "bad-****."
He passed two very nervous Klingon women. He smirked and nodded with a wink. They gaped, before they forced their countenances to match their usual Klingon pride. They returned nods as they passed, their snaggled fangs protruding from their tightly closed lips.
Instead of going to the bridge, D'ren found some vacant officer quarters on Deck 2 and looked at himself in the mirror of the washroom. He was not satisfied with his appearance. He was not only filthy and sweaty and unshaven, but his piercing green eyes glared daggers at the blade scar that ran diagonally across his face.
"Why the bugger is every D'ren clone given this scar?" he grumbled under his breath.
Then he picked up a sonic razor and shaved and trimmed his long, matted dark hair. Unsatisfied with it, he shaved his head bald, but left his beard long. Taking a step back and turning to his right, D'ren stared at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. He experimented with fastening and unfastening the leather trench coat, but was unsure how he wanted to keep it.
That was when the double doors hissed open, getting his attention. He turned and became both aroused and angry at the beautiful Trill standing in the threshold.
"I was wondering when ye'd show up..." D'ren said with a leveled gaze.
Aenlyn snorted, "Yeah, I bet you were. If you promise to behave, I'll let you onto the bridge. There's a Federation ship in sensor range and they're emitting a distress call. I'm of a mind to check it out, how about you?"
She folded her arms across her chest and waited as D'ren seemed to consider this for a moment.
After lowering his head slightly and letting his eyes flutter closed, he shook his head lightly. "I don't really care, love. I just want to... Never mind. Sure, I'll behave."
Smiling, D'ren followed the commanding officer to Deck 1. "I assume ye're only usin' me to retake what ye believe is rightfully yours - The Armada..."
Nat's descendant shook his head. "He hasn't acquired the powers yet. Trust me, when he does, the changeling will let us know."
Admiral Nat turned to the descendant. "Well, we just better make sure nobody steals the Firestorm..."
Captain Nat turned to Krystal. "Which threat is that, exactly? The Mirror Alliance? The possible forced Terran Empire invasion?"
The descendant replied. "Somebody equipped her with Q power draining technology; it can steal Q power from a Q or stronger entity, then store it for claiming for somebody else later."
Admiral Nat deadpanned Krystal. "It's a ship. Of course we can move it, just like we can move any other ship."
"I was referring to the tech itself," Krystal replied. "Think about it. If the enemy knows the Firestorm has it... they'll be gunning for her. But what if we mount it to a different ship, and use the Firestorm as bait? A Trojan Horse?"
She then snapped her fingers.
"If we can, and they come gunning for the Firestorm, we make them think we're willing to destroy the ship to keep the tech out of enemy hands. They freak out and do everything they can to stop us. Meanwhile... the tech is really on another ship that they consider unimportant, say... Lexington just as an example. While they're busy trying to save Firestorm, Lexington swoops in and blasts 'em with it once we confirm the target is present. Or we could just trap them aboard the Firestorm and remotely fly her into the sun."
"So we should just roll over and die?" Krystal snapped. "Just because 'you already tried it'?"
She planted her hands on the table and glared at descendant Nat.
"If you're going to shoot down every idea because it supposedly already failed, then come up with one yourself!Sounds to me like you've already given up!"
The descendant shrugged and got up. "I'll admit, we never tried filling the field with visibly identical Firestorms," he said, planting his hands on the table and glaring at Admiral Nat, continuing, "but where the hell are we going to get hundreds of Firestorms!?"
Admiral Nat reached for a comm panel. "Command, I want every Avenger class battlecruiser we have sent to the nearest Starbase, and all of them recommissioned as the U.S.S. Firestorm, NCC-144017-F, and have them reconfigure any exterior visible modifications to match the original Firestorm F. Cancel any missions any of the Avengers might be on right now; we need all of them, and once the modifications are completed, bring them to ESD immediately, top priority."
The voice on the other end of the comms was obviously confused. "Sir, are you serious?"
Admiral Nat deepened his tone. "Make. It. Happen. Fleet admiral's orders, possible Omega Directive."
The other side replied, "yes... sir."
Captain Nat's eyes widened as he spoke up. "Omega directive?"
The admiral turned to the captain. "Yes. If what you told me about their willingness to use Omega weapons is true..."
The captain nodded in affirmation as the admiral continued, "...it's a possibility. Besides, it'll get them to hurry up a bit, won't it?"
"Future boy in there's all but given up!" Krystal said, venting. "We shouldn't even try because they failed sort of thing! As if we should know that?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"We can't even confirm if anything he says is true, because it hasn't happened yet," she said before sighing. "We're all under a lot of stress and... I honestly don't know how much more we can take."
Captain Nat rested a hand on Krystal's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll pull through eventually. After all, if we can get the prime Alliance and that changeling to work with us, we might just stand a chance."
He stepped back, looking out the window, then turned to Scott. "Scott, come over here. I want a word."
Scott came over. "What's up?"
Captain Nat looked Scott in the eye. "You're a temporal operative, like in my universe, right? I need some information regarding the future. You know, to confirm my, or the admiral's descendant in there."
Scott shrugged. "I'll ask my contacts in temporal investigations, but no promises."
The captain nodded. "Do the best you can do. Even a doubt of the incoming future will be insightful..."
"He... is a she if what I saw of her natural form is correct," Krystal pointed out. "While Gender Identity isn't really an issue in their liquid states, even Changelings seem to adopt gender specific traits in their humanoid forms."
Elric stood, gripping the medallion tensely. "Well, here's to working with the Alliance."
Elric turned to Admiral Nat and Captain Jade.
"I'm going to take the mirror Amaterasu into the weakened space near Spacedock and join this with the other artifact. If I'm right, the resulting energy compulsion will repair the area wrecked by the Borg cube and prevent a wall-breakdown between the other universe and ours. Hopefully."
(My brain is fried from work, otherwise I'd write more.)
"Blood in the Water"
“Tarsi.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Put us into yellow alert.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Captain Rosette was on the Hepizbah’s bridge, lost in thought as she paced back and forth. The distress signal had been out a few hours ago, and so far there was nothing. Not even so much as a satellite passing by. To say that Ruby was unnerved was an understatement.
Engineering reported that the warp core was more badly damaged than had been previously assessed. Thankfully the Hepzibah’s shields and weapons were operational, otherwise things could have been a lot worse. Stay alert, watch the sensors. If anyone asks, you’re a trading ship with a hold full of Romulan ale.
“Captain.”
“Yes, Commander Tarsi?”
“There are several ships within hailing range. They appear to be Klingon in origin.”
The changeling turned to Krystal. "So I can't be neither? Thanks for that."
Captain Nat spoke up. "That's besides the point. Put simply, we have information from the future suggesting that we're all going to lose, although I have another officer verifying that now. In any case, we need the Firestorm F here where we can keep an eye on her, so nobody steals that Q power draining technology you built into it somehow."
The changeling nodded begrudgingly, and snapped their fingers, relocating the Firestorm F nearby with a bright flash. Captain Nat turned to Jim. "Well, go get her."
Jim nodded, turned to Burt and Sek, then walked out, followed by Burt and Sek. They soon headed for the transporter room and beamed to the Firestorm F, bringing it into spacedock.
“You can’t keep running from your problems, Ruby.”
… In a way, Ruby Rosette had always been running since she was a young girl. Running ahead of her peers during grade school and in university, running pretty damn near the head of the pack in Starfleet Academy, and running away from her partner Lena when things got ugly. Hell, even that temporal paradox that brought her into the 25th century was just a way to sprint ahead, to make sure that no-one from her past could catch up. A good head on her shoulders and a strong will meant that she could keep running, too. Mom was so wrong.
Today, Ruby wasn’t running. Not yet, anyways. She was heading the Officer’s Meeting on her new ship, the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Hepizbah. Normally, the meeting would take place in the ship’s conference room, but that was being used to house refugees, so the Captain’s Quarters it was.
In attendance were V’rar and Terirl, the Hepzibah’s Vulcan Medical and Engineering Officers, respectively; 6 of 11 (“Six”), a “freed” Borg drone and co-head of Engineering with Terirl; Sagemollo, a Pakled Science Officer; and Tarsi, Ruby’s Andorian First Officer. V’rar had just finished her reports, and Tarsi was going over duty officer assignments with that eternally cheerful tone of hers.
“Captain Rosette, we have duty officers working to resettle the refugees we picked up from the Golden ChildFreighter. Officers Vorta, Neils, and Lei were in transit to Vulcan to meet with the Caitians for a diplomatic mission; they seemed to have made a good enough impression during our initial encounter with them.
I would also like to add that repairs to the Hepzibah are still being made, as a result of our encounter with Klingon patrols last week. In my opinion, I don’t think it would be wise to have any more exploits until we’re completely, ah, ‘shipshape.’”
Ruby leaned back in her chair. “Your opinion is noted, Commander. Six? Terirl? Anything you’d like to add?”
Six was looking at her PADD, tapping away at something, so Terirl spoke for the both of them.
“I would agree with Tarsi. Our warp core is still severely damaged, so we are barely capable of traveling through space for the time being. It is highly illogical to pursue any sort of missions until we can not only make the appropriate repairs, but find enough dilithium to bring the core back to full functionality.”
Ruby nodded. “Are we in Federation space?”
Tarsi shrugged. “Navigation’s been spotty, so...yes? Maybe?”
So we’re fish in a barrel. Lovely, Ruby thought, rubbing her forehead. “Commander Tarsi, I want you to work on finding out exactly where we are. Keep hailing frequencies open, monitor any ships that might be passing by us, and send out a looping S.O.S. message. Six, Terirl, I need you two to keep working on the warp core. V’rar, Sage, make sure that the refugees continue to stay healthy. The last thing we need is a virus to start spreading amongst our crew.”
This is the U.S.S. Hepzibah. We require assistance. Any ships passing by our position, please respond if able to.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
The Infamous Slaveship r'Llaillieu had left the desert planet from which the bowels had released the D'ren Omega clone and was en route, cloaked, to another unnamed and barely habitable planet in some obscure sector between the Klingon and Romulan border. The r'Llailieu was surrounded by two Negh'Var battleships, half a dozen Vor'Cha cruisers, and nearly as many Romulan d'Deridex warbirds.
D'ren woke up but didn't want to. He'd been sleeping, of his own accord, for over nine hours now. He found the cell was open. Curious, he stood up, barely noticing that he'd been clothed in the traditional black leather of The Infamous Armada. Yawning, D'ren stumbled out into the dimly-lit security room, which was massive for a security room, even by a headquarters' standards. As he reached the exit, he bumped into a woman who was coming in with a Klingon handheld computer device.
The Vorta Kidna jumped, blue eyes wide with shock and fear. "Uh - eh - D-D'ren -"
The man pushed the obvious clone of his former crewmate aside and exited the office, leaving her standing inside, feeling surprised and dejected. He flexed his shoulders and stretched his back, getting back into the groove of walking like a D'ren clone, which was nothing short of "bad-****."
He passed two very nervous Klingon women. He smirked and nodded with a wink. They gaped, before they forced their countenances to match their usual Klingon pride. They returned nods as they passed, their snaggled fangs protruding from their tightly closed lips.
Instead of going to the bridge, D'ren found some vacant officer quarters on Deck 2 and looked at himself in the mirror of the washroom. He was not satisfied with his appearance. He was not only filthy and sweaty and unshaven, but his piercing green eyes glared daggers at the blade scar that ran diagonally across his face.
"Why the bugger is every D'ren clone given this scar?" he grumbled under his breath.
Then he picked up a sonic razor and shaved and trimmed his long, matted dark hair. Unsatisfied with it, he shaved his head bald, but left his beard long. Taking a step back and turning to his right, D'ren stared at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. He experimented with fastening and unfastening the leather trench coat, but was unsure how he wanted to keep it.
That was when the double doors hissed open, getting his attention. He turned and became both aroused and angry at the beautiful Trill standing in the threshold.
"I was wondering when ye'd show up..." D'ren said with a leveled gaze.
Aenlyn snorted, "Yeah, I bet you were. If you promise to behave, I'll let you onto the bridge. There's a Federation ship in sensor range and they're emitting a distress call. I'm of a mind to check it out, how about you?"
She folded her arms across her chest and waited as D'ren seemed to consider this for a moment.
After lowering his head slightly and letting his eyes flutter closed, he shook his head lightly. "I don't really care, love. I just want to... Never mind. Sure, I'll behave."
Smiling, D'ren followed the commanding officer to Deck 1. "I assume ye're only usin' me to retake what ye believe is rightfully yours - The Armada..."
Admiral Nat turned to the descendant. "Well, we just better make sure nobody steals the Firestorm..."
Captain Nat turned to Krystal. "Which threat is that, exactly? The Mirror Alliance? The possible forced Terran Empire invasion?"
Winning.
She thought for a moment.
"What makes the Firestorm so special, and... can it be moved?"
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Admiral Nat deadpanned Krystal. "It's a ship. Of course we can move it, just like we can move any other ship."
Winning.
She then snapped her fingers.
"If we can, and they come gunning for the Firestorm, we make them think we're willing to destroy the ship to keep the tech out of enemy hands. They freak out and do everything they can to stop us. Meanwhile... the tech is really on another ship that they consider unimportant, say... Lexington just as an example. While they're busy trying to save Firestorm, Lexington swoops in and blasts 'em with it once we confirm the target is present. Or we could just trap them aboard the Firestorm and remotely fly her into the sun."
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Admiral Nat turned to the descendant. "Ever try filling the battlefield with hundreds of Avenger class U.S.S. Firestorms, including the original?"
The descendant turned to the admiral and deadpanned.
Winning.
She planted her hands on the table and glared at descendant Nat.
"If you're going to shoot down every idea because it supposedly already failed, then come up with one yourself!Sounds to me like you've already given up!"
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Admiral Nat reached for a comm panel. "Command, I want every Avenger class battlecruiser we have sent to the nearest Starbase, and all of them recommissioned as the U.S.S. Firestorm, NCC-144017-F, and have them reconfigure any exterior visible modifications to match the original Firestorm F. Cancel any missions any of the Avengers might be on right now; we need all of them, and once the modifications are completed, bring them to ESD immediately, top priority."
The voice on the other end of the comms was obviously confused. "Sir, are you serious?"
Admiral Nat deepened his tone. "Make. It. Happen. Fleet admiral's orders, possible Omega Directive."
The other side replied, "yes... sir."
Captain Nat's eyes widened as he spoke up. "Omega directive?"
The admiral turned to the captain. "Yes. If what you told me about their willingness to use Omega weapons is true..."
The captain nodded in affirmation as the admiral continued, "...it's a possibility. Besides, it'll get them to hurry up a bit, won't it?"
Winning.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Admiral Nat spoke up. "Suppose we should see about getting the Firestorm back, huh?"
Winning.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Winning.
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"We can't even confirm if anything he says is true, because it hasn't happened yet," she said before sighing. "We're all under a lot of stress and... I honestly don't know how much more we can take."
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
He stepped back, looking out the window, then turned to Scott. "Scott, come over here. I want a word."
Scott came over. "What's up?"
Captain Nat looked Scott in the eye. "You're a temporal operative, like in my universe, right? I need some information regarding the future. You know, to confirm my, or the admiral's descendant in there."
Scott shrugged. "I'll ask my contacts in temporal investigations, but no promises."
The captain nodded. "Do the best you can do. Even a doubt of the incoming future will be insightful..."
Winning.
"I honestly don't know what to do..." she said.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Winning.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Surely enough, the changeling appeared, in the admiral's form (but an older uniform) standing behind Krystal. They poked her on the shoulder.
Winning.
"Might want to pick a different form, as... we already got three Nats. Its getting confusing," she said.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Winning.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Winning.
"Um... did I miss something?" she asked.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Winning.
The resident forum voice of reason (I HAZ FORUM REP! YAY!)
Elric turned to Admiral Nat and Captain Jade.
"I'm going to take the mirror Amaterasu into the weakened space near Spacedock and join this with the other artifact. If I'm right, the resulting energy compulsion will repair the area wrecked by the Borg cube and prevent a wall-breakdown between the other universe and ours. Hopefully."
"Blood in the Water"
“Tarsi.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Put us into yellow alert.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Captain Rosette was on the Hepizbah’s bridge, lost in thought as she paced back and forth. The distress signal had been out a few hours ago, and so far there was nothing. Not even so much as a satellite passing by. To say that Ruby was unnerved was an understatement.
Engineering reported that the warp core was more badly damaged than had been previously assessed. Thankfully the Hepzibah’s shields and weapons were operational, otherwise things could have been a lot worse.
Stay alert, watch the sensors. If anyone asks, you’re a trading ship with a hold full of Romulan ale.
“Captain.”
“Yes, Commander Tarsi?”
“There are several ships within hailing range. They appear to be Klingon in origin.”
God dammit.
Captain Nat spoke up. "That's besides the point. Put simply, we have information from the future suggesting that we're all going to lose, although I have another officer verifying that now. In any case, we need the Firestorm F here where we can keep an eye on her, so nobody steals that Q power draining technology you built into it somehow."
The changeling nodded begrudgingly, and snapped their fingers, relocating the Firestorm F nearby with a bright flash. Captain Nat turned to Jim. "Well, go get her."
Jim nodded, turned to Burt and Sek, then walked out, followed by Burt and Sek. They soon headed for the transporter room and beamed to the Firestorm F, bringing it into spacedock.
Winning.