Casus Belli – An act or situation provoking or justifying war” – The Oxford Dictionary of Phrase & Fable (2nd Ed).

 

The USS Sacramento dropped out of warp into the heart of the maelstrom.

Onscreen – the magnified forward view of space ahead showed the gradual arc of the Planet Persius – Major#2. A gentle ochre swirl of the Gas – Giant planet presented a serene backdrop to the conflict being wrought above the gently – churning surface of its crushing depths.

“Go to Red Alert. Sheilds up.” Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland ordered tersely as before her, the SS Devore – the merchant vessel that had summoned the New Orleans – class frigate with its plaintiff cry for help – tried to withstand the massed and coordinated assault from three smaller vessels, that ducked and weaved like birds of prey – circling their victim as they sought to deplete and overcome the civilian ship’s shields and inflict more grievous harm.

“Sheilds up Aye Captain.” Came the sure voice of Talbot Manningly, as the Chief of the Boat brought the shield emitters online, from his place behind her on the Tactical – arch.

“Tactical.” Sam commanded to Ensign Sh’eshikrar – who was poised next to the Chief of the Boat at her station at the center position on the Arch. Prepare a firing solution on the Hostile craft – target their shield generators and engines in that order. Targets of opportunity. We want to try to take them alive if we can. Fire if fired upon.”

“Aye Ma’am.” The Andorian Tactical Officer responded with what Sam was concerned was a little too much relish, but she had not time to ponder the conundrum of Ithariar Sh’eshikrar when lives were on the line.

“Helm. Plot an intercept course – full impulse. They haven’t seen us yet – but that’s only a matter of time until they do. When they do, dig into your back of tricks and give us something inspired.” The CO of the USS Savannah ordered Ensign Bysea Wanat. It was time to give her people some leeway and see how they operated under true pressure.

“Copy that, Captain. Closing to engage.” The Bolian responded smoothly, and her fingers flowed across the board – bringing the vessel around in a smooth, graceful arc as it’s triple Impulse – drives pushed the frigate to the redline.

“Number One, what are we looking at.” Sam turned to her Executive Officer sat to her right hand.

Lieutenant T’Vran was a recognized rising star of Starfleet Tactical Doctrine, and she smoothly summarized the engagement that they were rapidly closing on.

“Hostile craft are confirmed Peregrine – class Heavy fighters. Crew of two. Typical armament configuration of twin fore – mounted Type-IX phaser cannons and twin forward Micro torpedo launchers. An older class of starship, Warp – 3 capable. Three contacts – well within the Tactical – capacity of the USS Savannah to engaged with a comfortable margin of probability of survivability.”

Samantha considered the advice of her Vulcan XO.

“Warp – 3.” Sam tried to equate the implications of this. “That’s pretty short range. There appears to be no carrier – vessel on scans. Are we looking at raiders?”

T’Vran considered this hypothesis briefly with a slight incline of her head. She shook that well – formed cranium and adjusted the magnification on the screen so that the camera acquired and tracked on of the encroaching fighter – craft.

“Negative Captain.” T’Vran reasoned. “Whilst these are certainly a vintage design, the tactics exhibited in the engagement bear the hallmarks of those on record as eponymous with that of the Marquis.” The vessel on screen banked sharply after completing an attack run (phasers sizzling in the voiceless back void of vacuum) – on the underside of the wing, the insignia associated with the resurgent faction calling themselves the “New Marquis.” was clearly visible as the light of the distant sun caught the superstructure.

Samantha nodded and turned to Ensign Vikander.

“OPS – open me an all – ships – wide hail.”

Ensign Neva Vikander nodded curtly and responded, “Channel open Captain.”

“This is the Federation Starfleet vessel USS Savannah to the attacking ships.” Sam spoke with iron and authority in her voice as she commanded. “You are engaged in illegal hostile action against a civilian vessel in protectorate space. You are hereby ordered to cease all hostile actions, heave to and prepare to surrender your vessels. Any failure to immediately comply will……”

The bridge was suddenly shaken as it came under answering – fire. The Sheild generators could be heard issuing a perceptible whine as they strive to dissipate the locum of energy throughout the ship-wide enveloping field of energies.

“One of the Tangos has broken off its attack of the SS Devore and is engaging us with weapons fire.” Security Chief Myron Hayes reported needlessly from his position – the final station on the Tactical – arch.

Sam turned her shoulder to regard the hulking New – Orleans native with an arch of her eyebrow and nodded.

“Yes, thank you Chief Hayes, I got that impression.” Sam remarked dryly and turned back to the screen.

“TAC!’ She barked to Ensign Sh’eshikrar.

“Aye Captain?” Ithariar’s voice was eager with anticipation.

“Off the leash.” Lt Commander Hyland ordered simply and let loose her Dog of War.

As soon as the order was given, the USS Savannah’s own arrays of Type X Phase banks hissed to life, engaging and enveloping the attacking Peregrine’s in long, lethal lances of destructive phasic energy.

“Engineering.” Sam turned to address the duty – Engineering bridge officer that stood at the rearmost bank of screens in the small command – space.

“Aye Captain?” responded Petty Officer Hal Halligan, a youngish looking NCO Engineer with a shock of red – hair and pale, freckled skin.

“I want you to prepare to extend our shield enclosure to encompass that of the SS Devore. They’re obviously taken a beating and we can’t be sure of the state of their shields. We’re going to hunker on down amidships to her dorsal plane and take her under our wing.” Sam nodded to Halligan.

“Yes Captain – although that action will reduce the overall effectiveness of our shield grid down to 65%.” The young engineer warned prudently.

“I am aware – make it so.” Sam commanded with authority.

“Aye Ma’am – preparing to modulate the shield harmonics on your command.”

“Very good.” Sam nodded and turned back to Bysea.

“HELM? It’s time for you to show us what this old – girl can do.” Samantha nodded to the pilot.

Despite the threat of imminent death and danger all around, the young Bolian’s azure face spilt into a megawatt smile and she nodded.

“Oh, you got it Skipper!” and pitched the controls with practiced, easy sweeps of her slim fingers.

As she gripped the handrests of her Captain’s chair with white – knuckles and braced her feet against the deck, Sam was forced to admit to herself that (despite what the technical specifications allowed) that she had no idea that a New Orleans – class frigate could actually DO what Bysea Wanat was making it do.

All 345 meters and 1,100,000 metric Tonnes of Federation starship seemed to suddenly pitch straight up on its ‘tail’ and accelerate violently for exactly 2.38 seconds before being wrenched into a corkscrewing pivot through its central axis and powering in a thundering curving torus under the SS Devore – completely alluding the attacking craft – which suddenly had to take hard – evasive action to risk collision with the larger ship.

At the same time, Ensign Sh’eshikrar (who had practiced tactics with her Pilot best – friend, countless times) reported with satisfaction.

“Scratch one Tango! Sheilds down and engines offline, she’s drifting and down for the count. Sensors confirm one life-sign.” The Andorian sounded like she could be calmly running through a shopping list. “The remaining two have broken off engagement of the Civilian and are forming up for a delta – attack run from our fore – port and aft – starboard ventral quadrants – trying to divert our fire.”

“One life sign”. Sam reflected grimly. Despite their opponent’s hostile intent, Samantha did not celebrate the death of one of her attackers. She doubted the same could be said of the attacking New Marquis vessels. At least Ensign Wanat’s stomach churning maneuvers were reducing the opportunity for their foes to attain a clear target lock on the USS Savannah and be sure of a successful launch of their own Micro – torpedo’s as long as the frigate maintained this hectic series of attitude and planar changes.

“HELM.” Sam managed through gritted teeth and was glad that she had elected to partake in only a light lunch that morning. “As much as I enjoy your deft barnstorming as the next woman, I think it’s time to hunker down and turtle up to the SS Devore.” She suggested as nonchalantly as she could (which wasn’t very).

“You got it Skipper!” Bysea responded brightly (making Sam wonder if anything ever unsettled this seemingly endlessly – positive young officer?) and the USS Savannah resumed a more even keel and moved to converge its course with the stricken Civilian Freighter.

“OPS – see if you can raise the Captain of the Devore?” Sam commanded Neva, as the ship once again began to take on hostile fire.

Soon the viewscreen was filled with a crackling feed from the SS Devore and Samantha was surprised to learn that it’s Master was a Ferengi.

“Captain Hyland. We have been following your broadcast and are decidedly grateful for your assistance.” The Ferengi responded genuinely. “I am Captain N’vok.”

Samantha smiled; she had grown up with a Ferengi as a childhood friend on the Galaxy – class USS Venture. Where most people found Ferengi duplicitous and untrustworthy, Sam Hyland had a decided soft – spot for these cunning people with a sliding moral – scale.

“Good to make your acquaintance Captain.” Sam responded, “We intend to rendezvous with your vessel and take you into our field enclosure – that should provide you additional protection whilst we neutralize the aggressor.”

Captain N’vok threw up his hands and smiled with unease.

“Oh! No need Captain! No need! Our shield capacity is more than capable of accounting for the bites of these “G’nush – flies”

Sam frowned and responded.

“But your hails indicated that you’re shields were failing and the situation urgent?”

Captain N’vok smiled depreciatively and shrugged.

“Well, the Fifth – rule of Acquisition states that…..”

“Always exaggerate your estimates.” Sam rolled her eyes, finishing the Ferengi Captain’s sentence for him.

N’vok nodded in appreciation.

“Ah! I see that you are an EDUCATED human, Captain. So refreshingly rare in these less cultured times!”

Slightly rankled by Captain N’vok’s subterfuge, Samantha decided.

“In which case, belay that last and hold fast whilst we deal with the hostiles.”

“We most certainly have no desire to go anywhere at this time Captain Hyland. There’s no profit to be found in heroism.” N’vok grinned.

“I’m not familiar with that rule?” Sam frowned as she gestured to Bysea to break off the rendezvous.

“It’s less of a rule and more of a ‘personal motto’, Captain. SS Devore out!”

The USS Savannah broke of their approach and it short order, Ensign Sh’eshikrar reported.

“Scratch Two! Second tango eliminated Captain. Total destruction – direct hit on her Warp – core. Apologies, Captain – couldn’t be helped.”

Samantha did not feel that the Andorian was particularly sorry, but War was War and the New Marquis assailants had made their choice on which side of the line they stood on, when they refused her order to surrender and opened fire on her ship and crew.

“The last Hostile is breaking and preparing to go to warp Captain.” Chief Manningly reported as the last Peregrine, deciding that it was better to live to fight another day, broke off its attack – run and proceeded to flee the engagement.

“Shall I plot a course to intercept Captain?” Ensign Wanat enquired.

“Negative Helm.” Sam shook her head. “That last ship doesn’t present a continued threat on its own and I for one have had enough bloodshed for one day. Bring us about and plot an intercept to the surviving Peregrine.

“Aye ma’am, coming about.” Bysea responded and the deck pitched gently as she brought the frigate round on a course and heading to intercept the first heavy – fighter that they had disabled, mere moments ago.

“TAC – prepare a tractor beam – target the survivor.”

“Aye Captain.” Ensign Sh’eshikrar confirmed.

“OPS – prepare to beam the survivor directly to sickbay. Inform Dr Reynard that she has one Marquis survivor inbound, in probable need of medical attention. Hostile – patient protocol to apply.”

“Acknowledged Ma’am.” Neva nodded efficiently and moved to make it so.

“Chief Hayes.” The CO turned to her Security Chief, “I can’t imagine that our hospital visitor is going to be in a hospitable mood. Please dispatch a security detail to sickbay and raise a security containment field on that deck. We don’t want our guest going anywhere, not until we’ve had the opportunity to ask them a few pressing questions.”

“Aye Captain.” Myron rumbled.

“Captain, the SS Devore is getting underway.” T’Vran noted.

“Ferengi are terrible at goodbyes, they are even worse at gratitude. Captain N’vok likely wants to avoid any conversations around reward.” Lieutenant Commander Hyland smiled blithely, as the SS Devore (sure enough) went to warp, without a word of thanks or a bar of Latinum surrendered.

Sam felt both elated and drained by the short, but frenetic engagement. This was her first experienced as a commander and although that her presiding feeling was one of relief that she had survived with her ship and crew intact, she also had enough nascent – humanity to be keenly aware that three Marquis had just lost their lives as a result of the hostilities and that was nothing to be proud of.

“Captain this is sickbay – we have your casualty.” Came the efficient voice of the CMO, Dr Reyard, over the Bridge comm – channel.

“Very good Doctor.” The CO nodded as the adrenaline began to fade and her mind & muscles felt suddenly exhausted. “What is their prognosis?” Sam was eager to interrogate the Marquis raider, when they were fit to be questioned, there was vital intel to be gained about their reasons for attacking the civilian freighter.

“Oh, some plasma burns, concussion, minor contusions – overall they are very lucky to be alive.” Dr Reynard confirmed, but there was a catch in her voice that peaked Sam’s curiosity. “But really I think that you need to come down here Captain.”

“Is there a problem Doctor?” Sam frowned.

“Well, that depends on your expectations, I suppose Captain. My patient isn’t Marquis, Captain, they are Cardassian!”

Location: Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Sickbay / Deck 8

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:31hrs (Shipboard Time)

Flanked by Chief Hayes, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland stared down at the recumbent form of the injured Cardassian, whilst Dr Alison Reynard and a nurse attended to the unconscious alien – pilot. 

A male, the pilot was dressed in the scorched remains of a uniform (that was currently being cut away – the difficulty of which was compounded by the fact that he was currently secured to the Bio – bed) that was clearly Cardassian in origin – but differed in several key ways from the modern version worn by the Cardassian Navy.

“This just doesn’t make sense?” Sam wondered aloud, as she considered the conundrum of a Cardassian piloting a vintage fighter craft of their once – sworn enemy. Why such an elaborate subterfuge? Why attack a civilian freighter in the relative middle of nowhere? If the SS Devore had been destroyed and the USS Savannah had not interceded – there would be not witness to this elaborate scheme.

“Oh yeah it does.” Rumbled Chief Hayes, causing the CO to turn and look at him to elaborate.

“Dude’s obviously True Way, all the way.” Myrion observed. Sam had to admit that the outdated uniform would support such a hypothesis and the renegade extremist break – away faction of the Cardassian High Command did have a reputation for desperate and ruthless tactics.

“Way, I see it – ‘Casus Belli’, Captain” Myron quoted a Latin saying and nodded the great bald dome of his head and crossed his arms, as if to underline his assertion.

“A False – flag operation?” Sam reasoned, “But to what end?” There were too many loose threads here for her to weave into a coherent pattern.

Myron Hayes nodded thoughtfully, then spoke.

“Whole DMZ is a powder – keg Captain.” The Security Chief posited, “Mebbeh old gnarly – head here and his pal’s figure to take a match to it and stand back and see what burns?” The big N’Orleans native suggested, not unreasonably.

Sam Hyland pursed her lips as she considered the scenario.

“I could see that theory holding water Chief, but if we hadn’t happened along – the SS Devore would have been destroyed, along with any witnesses. What possible cachet would there be, could there be in mounting a false – flag if there’s no one left to tell the tale?”

Myron thought about this then nodded.

“Unless the Devore wasn’t supposed to be destroyed. The whole thing would work if they escaped with the scars to tell th’ tale and make it more plausible – maybe our turning up just screwed the whole caper to hell and they decided to try and ‘clean – house’?”.

Lieutenant Commander Hylands’ mind went back to the Ferengi Captain N’vok and his eagerness to depart the system, when the ‘threat’ was neutralized.

“The 34th Rule of Acquisition, Chief.” She breathed in growing realization, seeing it all clearly for the first time.

“How’s that Captain?” Myron Hayes rumbled?

“War is good for business.” Sam recounted bitterly.

Suddenly the deck shook mightily, and Sam was thrown forward. If not for the Chief’s quick reactions, she would have been thrown to the floor.

The Red Alert klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

Sam slapped her commbadge.

“Bridge – REPORT!” She spat.

“Bridge – Captain.” Came the unflappable voice of Lieutenant T’Vran. “A Galor – class Warship has dropped out of Warp and has engaged without provocation.”

The day was certainly going from bad to worse to downright terrible.

“Evasive Maneuvers – I’m on my way!” Sam commanded urgently.

She turned to Chief Hayes.

“Chief – make sure our guest goes nowhere – they can’t get a transporter lock on him with the containment field in place. He might just be the key to this whole mess and we’re not about to give him up until I get some answers. Get me some answers Chief!”

Location: Former DMZ / Galor – Class Cruiser “Verran” / Bridge / Deck 1

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

Gul Yomat Ghallir narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits, as destructive fire rained down on the tiny, fleeing Starfleet frigate.

The veteran Cardassian hardliner was displeased (to put it mildly) that his intricate plan to exacerbate tensions along the former DMZ, via a series of brush – fire engagements, into a wholesale conflagration of war between the Cardassian Union and the United Federation of Planets – had now been placed in jeopardy by this interfering interloper.

“Serves me right in placing a fucking grasping – Ferengi into my planning.” Ghallir reflected irritably as he drummed his fingers Impatiently in the arm of his command – chair. It was more likely than not that the duplicitous Captain N’vok had sensed an opportunity to double his profits by complicating matters by hailing the Starfleet vessel for aid. The Gul decided that he would deal with the Ferengi, all in good time.

For now, it was imperative that the Starfleet vessel was destroyed, now that they had one of his people prisoner, before they got the opportunity to blurt what they thought they knew and ruined literal years of finely crafted plotting on behalf of the True Way.

Location: Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Bridge / Deck 1

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

“Where the HELL did they come from Number One?” Lieutenant Commander Hyland snapped as she entered the bridge, and the USS Savannah was rocked by yet another torrent of punishing Phaser – fire from the pursuing Galor – class Cruiser.

“Unknown Captain.” T’Vran murmured as she gave up the Captain’s chair and took her own seat, already busying herself with her own controls.

“They jumped out of Warp and immediately opened fire. One might reasonably surmise that they are not interested in opening a discourse.” The Vulcan commented dryly.

“Dammit – I shouldn’t have let that last Peregrine fly.” Sam remonstrated with regret.

“That is one tactical evaluation, to be sure Captain.” T’Vran concededly levelly, “But one that is now moot to our current tactical situation. With the obvious disparity between the aggressor vessel and our own in martial capability, I concluded that withdrawal was our only logical recourse and so ordered our retreat.”

Sam nodded tersely. It had been a mistake, her mistake, in letting the last “New Marquis” raider flee. Although she could not have known it at the time, but it now seemed that the crew of the USS Savannah had become embroiled in a far deeper, far more Machiavellian set of machinations, than anyone could have first considered when they responded to the SS Devore’s distress call.

One thing was certain – there was no way that the doughty – little New Orleans – class frigate could survive a toe – to – toe engagement with a heavyweight like the Galor. Taking to their heels was indeed the only way that they could potentially live to fight another round. T’Vran had showed good judgement in command, where Sam had not. There was no time for personal recriminations. Sam was sure they would come later – if there was a later.

“Bysea – can we outrun them?” Sam demanded of her Helm officer.

“We can keep the distance at impulse, but we’d be hard pressed to open the gap. We need to go to warp Captain.” The Bolian replied, even her habitual cheer seemed to have dulled under the relentless assault by the renegade True Way War – Cruiser.

Sam was about to get an ETA of time to warp when the ship was shaken violently and a terrible noise reverberated, groaning through the superstructure.

Damage alerts began to strobe urgently throughout the readouts of the bridge and MSD.

Sam thundered.

“TAC are we hit?”

“Negative Captain – Sheilds still holding at 32%!” reported Ensign Sh’eshikrar.

Sam swore to herself and keyed the comm.

“Bridge – Engineering. REPORT!”

From the end of the open channel, Sam could hear warning claxons sounding loudly throughout Main Engineering and then the urgent tones of Chief Engineer Carlito Herrera came over the comm.

“We’ve lost the Deuterium Storage Tanks on Deck 13 Captain, Significant Damage. The hull has been breached and is open to space from frames 32 through 40! Emergency Forcefields are in place.” There was a panicked edge in the Chief’s voice that sent a chill through Samantha’s spine.

“Combat Damage Chief?” Sam needed to know.

“Negative Captain! Too early to say the exact cause, but definitely not a direct effect of weapons fire.” Carlito responded, in the background the scene sounded chaotic. “Captain – with only the Deuterium Storage on Deck 12 still intact, we won’t be able to maintain a stable warp – plasma reaction in the core without enough Deuterium to balance out the ratio of ratio of Deuterium to Antideuterium. If I don’t shut the Warp Core down now – we risk going critical or will have to eject the core.”

“Dammit! Do what you have to do, Chief. Bridge out!” Sam hit the armrest of her chair-rest in abject frustration. The situation was turning into a real – time ‘Kobayashi Maru’ and there would be no leeway to reset and go round again. Their only viable avenue of escape had just vanished.

Or had it?

“Captain?” Came the voice of the CSO. Lieutenant Ballard. As was his way, Aldren had remained silent and removed from the unfolding situation, as it clearly did not warrant a scientific response. Sometimes, Samantha envied the man the compartmentalization afforded by his Aspergers.

“Not really the time Dr Ballard.” Sam snapped impatiently, the situation was fast deteriorating into an avalanche of critical failure points, if she did not find some way to prevent them all coming together, the USS Savannah was certainly doomed to destruction.

“Oh, I’ll think you’ll find that it is Captain.” Aldren Ballard replied sniffily, “My sensors show a spatial – anomaly of unknown origin forming twelve parsecs off our Port bow.” The Scientist remarked in the same way that someone might casually say “Oh look at that funny dog!”.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Could this day get any more fraught with tension and imminent danger? It was hard to see how it could.

“Report Dr Ballard!” Sam snapped, near the end of her tether.

“Well – it certainly is novel.” Aldren murmured with his face pressed to the view-shield of his instruments. Truly massive energetic yield. The phase variance around the event horizon is quite unlike any other phenomena in my learned experience (which is considerable). Gravimetric shear dangerously close to what one might consider catastrophic. A veritable cocktail of protons and antiprotons – but admittedly akin to what you’d expect that of an anomaly of that magnitude. Curious pattern of burst – emissions from neutrino-refraction and if I’m not mistaken – flashes of tachyon radiation to top it all off?”

“Dr Ballard.” Sam managed through clenched teeth, “Does the anomaly present a danger to this ship and crew?”

Aldren looked up from his scope and blinked, as if Sam had just suddenly become instantly retarded.

“Well of course it does Captain.” The Australian frowned. “It’s a veritable witches – brew of exotic energies and competitive radiations. I’d sooner stick my private parts in a matter-decompiler than venture into that mess. The effect would be startlingly similar.” The scientist said without humor.

He had to grip his station as the Bridge was shaken once more by weapons – fire and Ensign Sh’eshikrar reported “Sheilds at 9% Captain”.

Sam set her jaw and closed her eyes. She could see no other way forward – other than forward.

“A ship’s – captain faces the problem head – on!” She prayed her mantra over and over in her head and then she ordered.

“HELM – set a course for the Anomaly – full impulse, all power to the forward Navigational – deflectors!”

Ensign Bysea Wanat looked from Captain Hyland to Dr Ballard and back to the CO again. Everyone had heard what the CSO had just said.

“Ma’am?” Bysea said uncertainly.

“We’re between the Devil and the Deep – blue Sea Ensign.” Sam said grimly. “It’s a choice of probably being destroyed by the anomaly or definitely being destroyed by the True Way. Take us in Ensign.”

“Aye Ma’am.” Bysea swallowed her fear and began to turn the stricken frigate to face the howling – maw of the Subspace Anomaly.

“We will not be able to make the event horizon of the anomaly before the Galor overcomes our remaining shields, Captain.” Warned the Executive Officer – quite rightly.

Sam took a deep breath. She looked around at all of the faces of the assembled bridge crew. Young faces. Some only newcomers to shaving. All in fear of their imminent death and trying not to show it. Sam knew that it was up to her to inspire and lead them all. The time to roll the ‘hard – sixes” was upon them and there was no backing out now the die was cast.

“HELM – time to intercept?” She asked, forcing her voice to remain even and calm.

“Three minutes until we make the outer event horizon of the Anomaly, Captain. Time until intercept by the Galor – Two minutes and forty seconds.

“This will be cutting it fine.” Sam thought and rolled.

“Engineering – make ready to decouple and eject the ventral MMP on my mark.” Sam snapped; her mind made up now – her voice authoritative.

“TAC – when the MMP is clear of the ship – I want you to target it with every available Phase bank you can bring to bear.” Sam ordered with grim resolve.

“AYE – Ma’am.” Ensign Sh’eshikrar smiled. For someone who had only just recently been in fear of being in close proximity to and had to consider the likely effect of the entire inventory of 70 x spare Photon Torpedo’s detonating all at once – the Andorian Tactial Officer was already beginning to anticipate the desperate ruse that the Captain was considering. Even Ithariar had to applaud the sheer audacity of the course of action being ordered by the Pink – skin.

“Three minutes to the void.” Sam thought in trepidation. “In Two Minutes and Forty Seconds – nothing may matter ever again. What happens in the next Twenty Seconds after that – well I guess we may or may not ever find out!”

Outside in the cold, endless fastness of space – the howling energies of the subspace anomaly beckoned the approaching vessels that advanced, heedless in combat – tied into the dichotomy of pursuit. The unimaginable powers that it lay beyond the portal had come and gone, tearing space-time asunder since before a time when the very stars were still young.

Beyond its awful threshold, the nightmarish wonderment of the Multicursal – phenomena that would come to be universally experienced as “Underspace” lay in wait, as the Starfleet and True Way Starships forged their inevitable path, unheeding toward the dangers and revelations of the Labyrinth.