“It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things.”

Leonardo Da Vinci (1519)

The species ‘Homo Sapiens’ really is an amazing beast.

Meaning ‘wise man’, the genus to which all modern – day humans belong had had a remarkable journey since its forebears had dragged themselves from the primordial ooze of their homeworld and over 14 Million years managed to bully their way up the evolutionary ladder figuratively (and sometimes literally) knocking all the other hominids off the rungs until they stood, backs straight with eyes to the future and became the dominant alpha of the anatomic spectrum and never looked back.

In no uncertain order, they birthed the renaissance, split the atom, unlocked the secret of DNA (inadvertently lighting the fuse to the Eugenics Wars), nearly destroyed their planet, broke the warp – barrier, made First Contact & came together to realize the utopian ideal of the United Federation of Planets – all within the space of only 300,000 years or so.

In Universal terms, that’s the evolutionary equivalent of a brisk afternoon’s walk.

Anthropologists, Archaeologists, Sociologists and Philosophers would devote centuries in the attempted pursuit and quantification of what attributes made the human race so typically determined to always finish first?

A brain of 1300 cubic centimeters that supported advanced cognitive functions was a distinct advantage, yet species like the Vulcan or even atavistic constructs like the Positronic – brain easily outstripped the human mind in terms of logical – deduction or sheer processing power.

As a lump of meat, its efficiencies were remarkable, but hardly exceptional.

The human mind boasted impressive cognitive abilities from that highly developed organ, enabling articulate speech, abstract reasoning and complex problem – solving skills. In turn this cognitive capacity facilitated the development of diverse language, existential art and advanced technologies.

But again, they were hardly alone in the Galaxy in achieving these

Mankind had distinguished itself with its ability for migration and adaption. Migrating out of Africa, Homo sapiens adapted to various climates as their world evolved, developing subtle cultural groups and technologies to thrive until they spread across the globe (this same adaptability that was crucial to their survival also sounded the death – knell for the other Hominids) and then onto the stars.

Once more, one only had to look at the warlike tendencies and aggressive ebb and flow of antagonistic colonial expansionism typical of the rumbunctious Klingon Empire to accept that this trait was more universal; than exclusive to the inhabitants of Planet Earth.

The truth of the matter was actually far more pedestrian than all of these evolutionary markers. The quality that most engendered the human – condition and made this otherwise unremarkable collection of carbon-based lifeforms for ubiquitous was their singular determination.

Humans were quite unique in their resilience, more often than not born from a pervading tendency towards sheer bloody-mindedness and by virtue of never knowing when to quit – even when the odds were so plainly stacked in their favour.

It was a species defining personality – trait that proved so common that mankind grew perversely proud of this social – defect, so much so that they took to naming their starships after particularly infamous proponents of this bullish worldview.

One such vessel, the USS Kirk, is currently laboring up through the upper atmosphere of the, Hecate#7b, as we speak and at her command is yet another human being who unarguably demonstrates quite quintessentially and supports the assertion that humans don’t know when to quit.

“At least let me take the suit off to be able to treat you properly.” Dr Denah Voe remonstrated without success, as Lieutenant – Commander Lane Hanley broke from the airlock as soon as the decontamination cycle was complete.

Hanley and her original team now comprised of herself & the unconscious Security Chief, Lucius Harvey and both had been exposed to the lethal conditions of the Hellworld for nearly over nine days. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had both survived against such overwhelming odds.

Lane had wrinkled her nose, finally being free of the claustrophobic protection of the suit made it immediately apparent how much she was in desperate need of a shower.

“No time Doctor.” Lane asserted grimly, with her broken arm she had required Six’s assistance to remove the helmet of her EVA suit, which now lay discarded on the floor of the airlock and, like the rest of the suit, probably would have to be destroyed – given the degree of damage and contamination it had suffered during their ordeal.

“Commander Hanley.” The normally demure (and gorgeous) Deltan physician protested as Lane continued a determined path towards the escort’s turbolifts. “You have a proximal fracture of the humerus; you’ve been exposed to a level of background radiation that even your suit could not counter and will require immediate chelating-agent therapy and reverse isolation to ensure that radionuclides that are attacking your cell-walls are at least kept in temporarily in-check.”

“You’re exhibiting all the classic markers for the effects of progressive dehydration and you have been existing of stimulants in place of normal rest for so long that it’s a minor miracle that you are not stark raving mad, and I’m withholding my clinical opinion on the last matter pending my evaluation of the next words that come out of your mouth!” Dr Voe continued as they reached a branch in the corridor and Six of Eleven wordlessly branched off and headed for main – engineering.

The truth was Lane knew that everything the Doctor was saying was painfully true yet the one thing that had been driving her for so long, when all other last vestige of hope and reserve of energy had long since ran out, was her determination to complete what she had started and not to concede defeat.

She keyed a control on the scratched and scarred screen on the arm of her near-devastated EVA suit (the shower and a change into a fresh uniform was a luxury that time currently did not afford her) and the arm of the suit suddenly inflated, acting as a pressure bandage and effectively immobilizing her fractured limb.

“There. That should hold it in place for the time being.” Lane gritted her teeth but did not relax her pace for even one minute. “Give me something for the pain and we’ll attend to the rest of the list, if we happen to be alive at the end of the next hour.” The CO muttered determinedly.

Denah knew when he was fighting a losing battle and could see from the fixed expression that nothing he could say short of removing the Lieutenant – Commander from command would dissuade her from her course of action. He sighed and, against his better judgement, withdrew a hypospray applicator from his belt and managed to inject the CO with a dose of stimulant and analgesics with some difficulty as they reached the turbolift doors.

Lane turned to the ship’s doctor and the stress that she was under was clearly etched upon her worn features.

“Doctor. You’d better return to sickbay and prepare for casualties.” Hanley warned the Deltan gravely, “It’s likely we will have to engage the Free States Warbird and with the shape we’re in, I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be favorable.”

Denah looked around at the ship. The Kirk really was in a sorry state indeed. Near – destroyed by the sudden ambush by the Rihanhansu, it was a miracle that they had survived re-entry and spending the last 10 days stranded at the bottom of a contaminated lake of acid on the surface of the Hellworld’s had done little to improve her combat readiness. It was only the concerted efforts of her small, but close-knit crew that made it possible for the Shran – class to be making for space once again.

Dr Voe thought of the five body bags occupying the ships morgue, victims of the initial assault and of the three more empty bunks that were once home to those that had not returned from the away team and he nodded solemnly.

“As you say Ma’am.” Denah nodded his bald – pated head solemnly. “I’ll head to sickbay now and prepare for incoming casualties.”

But Lane had already entered the turbolift and when she turned the look on her face, just before the doors hissed shut, told Dr Voe that he and his team had better prepare very well indeed.

Bridge, Deck#1

“Captain on the Bridge!” Ensign Gaca barked with sharp – toothed enthusiasm as Lane emerged from the turbolift, clad in her battered suit. The tiny Ferengi Operations Officer added, “Good to have you back Ma’am.”, with a small smile as she went about her work.

Hanley nodded to her Ops Chief with genuine emotion, “Good to be back Ensign. Status?”

“Impulse engines operating at 37% percent efficiency, Captain.” The efficient little Ferengi reeled off the ship’s statement like she was taking inventory at an auction. “Warp core still scrammed and offline. Shield generators been restored, but it’s basically spit and Yamok – sauce that’s holding it together, we won’t survive to many repeated hits before its slagged again. Good news is that we’ve restored the targeting sensors, bad news is that we won’t be firing any torpedoes anytime soon. We have forward phaser cannons, but only the port ventral array is anything close to reliable. In short, if it was a horse you’d shoot it – but there’s always profited to be made of hedging your bets on an outside chance, Ma’am.” Gaca smiled knowingly.

Hanley nodded evenly. It was better than she’d hoped, but her vessel was in no way fighting – fit enough to take on a Warbird, even one as venerable as a D’deridex – class.

“The riskier the road, the greater the profit, Ensign.” She smiled tightly as she made her way towards the command chair.

“Rule 62.” Gaca smiled her sharp toothed smile, appreciating how well versed the CO was in the Rules of Acquisition. “One of my mother’s favorites and most often quoted in relation to her marriage to my father.” She grinned sardonically.

Lane approached the command chair and her longtime friend and Executive Officer, Lieutenant Bohrigm Nil rose from the ‘big-chair’ with some difficulty, his waist and hip clad in a constricting medical therapeutic immobilizer that was speeding up the recovery of his fracture through ultrasonic therapy.

“Captain, I surrender the Conn, the ship is yours.” The XO formally surrendered command back to the CO, following an age-old tradition.

The prospect of seeing her old – Academy compatriot again was one that Lane had not expected to experience again in this life and she just managed to contain her emotion as she replied.

“I have the Conn. Thanks for keeping the seat warm for me Bo’.”

The squat, barrel chested little Tellarite shrugged diffidently as he moved with some difficulty to be seated at the auxiliary station on the cramped bridge of the Shran, where the Executive Officer normally coordinated ship operations form when the Captain was in command.

Bohrigm smiled mildly from under his messy thatch of beard and dismissed this sentiment as he brought his console off standby.

“Truth be known, I’ve been sitting on my fat ass since you left, pointing my finger and getting other people to do the heavy lifting, just like a good commanding officer should.” He smiled slyly at his friend as she settled into the seat and added dryly in reference to her EVA suit. “You smell like shit, by the way.”

Lane nodded as she keyed in her command codes and the twin holodisplays that flanked her seat on the small, raised dais began to deliver a raft of information and telemetry that related to the ships status and course telemetry.

“Well, you look like shit.” Hanley smiled thinly at her friend, maintaining the locker – room bravado the pair had been perpetuating, since they had first met as fresh-faced sophomores all those years ago. “In fact, I think the cast is an improvement. You should keep it.”

Lane allowed a grin to break her stern dementor for a fraction of a moment and then her face was all business again.

“Helm. Time to orbit.”

Ensign Jasmine Hunter did not turn to face the CO, her attention intent of keeping the wounded craft on a trajectory that would ensure it reached a stable orbit. The prospect of succumbing to the gravity – well and falling back down to the Hellworld was a prospect that no one wished to entertain.

“We should reach perigee in three minutes, nineteen seconds, Captain. Stable orbit thereafter.” The young helmsman confirmed with a confidence in her voice that Lane felt hard-pressed to match.

Her ship was barely holding together as it was.

Hanley knew that the chances of engaging the Warbird presented a chance of success that was so slim as to be virtually non-existent. At best they may be able to provoke the Free States commander to so rash action by subterfuge or deceit but, given that the Romulans were generally held to be the masters in that arena, she didn’t rate her chances highly.

Similarly, she knew there was no way that they would survive long in a stand-up fight. Even with the USS Kirk in fighting fit form, the tactical disparity between Escort and the far larger and more powerful vessel creating a class-imbalance that it was just impossible to punch above. With the state her ship was in, it would be like Lane trying to enter the ring and win a bout with her broken arm.

To her mind, Hanley was grimly resolved that their best prospect to claw any semblance of victory from this messed up debacle was to try and transmit and account of the crimes that had occurred in this place and hope that summary justice would be served by means of diplomatic intervention against the Free States for their infraction. It was unlikely that any serious penalty would be levelled by the Federation and her allies that would make any major impact on the Romulans and, most depressingly, they would still have the vast trove of military secrets and innovations of the long dead Northern Compact, contained within the memory – engrams stolen from the Garsedi Repository.

To have come so far, to have endured so much and ask her people to sacrifice everything, just to obtain such an ignominious outcome, made Lane Hanley furious.

Hanley knew that her responsibilities to her duty and her crew forbade any possibility of her submitting to that fury and so she cast her eye around the bridge, searching vainly for inspiration, when her eye happened upon the dedication plate and the ships motto, attributed to her famously-mercurial eponymous namesake.

~ “What would James T Kirk do at a time like this?” ~ Hanley thought to herself, trying to cast her mind back to the history lectures she had tried to stay awake through back at the Academy.

James Tiberius Kirk had become Starfleet’s youngest starship captain of his era, largely by merit of being a hard-driving leader who pushed himself and his crew beyond human limits. Hanley reasonably thought that she and her crew had already reached that point some time ago, so pushed this thought aside and delved deeper.

Kirk was a man unafraid to think outside the box and his novel solution in besting the Academy’s infamous “Kobayashi Maru” test had become the stuff of legends. It spoke of the captains need to never admit defeat in the face of insurmountable odds and look to unorthodox methods to achieve victory. Again, Lane could empathize fully, but no such inspiration came.

As she struggled within herself to find a way to ensure the survival of her ship and crew, Lane’s gazed focussed in on the ships motto.

“Periculum Est Negotium Nostrum.”

“Risk is our Business.” Lane murmured and an idea began to form.

She frowned, weighing the slim odds and then made her mind up.

“Tactical?” Hanley sat up straighter in her command chair and addressed the Saurian officer who manned what remained of the ships offensive systems.

“Aye Captain?” Ensign Kutka responded smoothly.

“Any sign of the Romulan vessel.”

Kutka already knew the answer but was thorough enough to perform another sensor sweep.

“Negative Ma’am. She’s either cloaked or has already departed the system.” The large purple/pink skinned reptilian man replied.

~ “No, he hasn’t.” ~ Lane thought to herself, projecting herself into the command chair of her opponent. ~ “He can no more leave the planet with the secrets of the Repository, any more than we can let him do so. We know too much and the knowledge of what they have done here must die with us.” ~ She deduced correctly.

Lieutenant Bohrigm Nil turned his chair to regard his friend and commanding officer with an appraising eye. Bo’ had a nasty feeling that she was about to do something typically ‘Lane’ and probably rash.

“Ensign Gaca.” Hanley tried to shift to a position where her broken arm was more comfortable but concluded that there was none to be found.

“Aye Captain?” The Ferengi responded.

Lane took a deep breath and decided to take the risk.

“Open a hail, on all frequencies, to the Commander of the Romulan Warbird. Tell him that we need to talk.”