[Somewhere in a Galaxy far, far away.]

	Admiral Mark Sheppard looked out the transparisteel windows of
the ISD _Revenger_ into the stellar night. The _Revenger_ was an old
ship. She was one of the first Imperial Class Star Destroyers to be
constructed under the then-new Emperor Palpatine's New Order. During
her forty year career, she had taken part in most of the important
fleet engagements, up to Endor. Sheppard winced, remembering the
defeat the Empire had suffered at Endor nineteen years ago. During
the battle, he had been nothing but a lowly-ranking Lieutenant in
command of a turbolaser crew. Immediately after the Death Star II had
exploded,  the crews of the Imperial fleet had faltered, their morale
shattered. However, Sheppard had kept his wits about him, and was
personally responsible for the destruction of the Rebel Corellian
Corvette _Brigand_, opening up an escape route for the _Revenger_ to
escape through. 

	In the nineteen long years since the debacle at Endor, the
young lieutenant had risen up through the ranks. Now he held the
title of Admiral. But it was all worthless now. During the heyday of
Imperial power, an Admiral would have commanded a fleet of Star
Destroyers. Now, all he had was an old battered ISD with only ten
light turbolasers out of 60 operational; a fleet of three Corellian
Corvettes, and five Lambda-class shuttles which had been extensively
refitted to replace the _Revenger's_ complement of 74 TIEs. They
currently had only four TIEs in any shape to fly and just one TIE
Interceptor ready.

Staring at the stars, the Admiral as he had many times before,
considered giving it up and surrendering to the rebels. 

But as he had done many times before, he rejected it. Twenty-three
years earlier, he had taken an oath to uphold Palpatine's New Order.
He'd uphold that oath to his dying breath.

Suddenly, a young lieutenant spoke to him from the port crew pit.
"Sir! Our long-range sensors have detected an anomaly in the Fendar
system!"

"What kind of anomaly?"

"Sir, it appears to be several faint power sources on a planet that
our charts show to be uninhabited!"

"They're probably smugglers. No one will care if we hit them." said
 Vice-Admiral Charles Glasgow, his second-in-command.

"Excellent. Bring the fleet around and lay in a course for just
outside the system, so we can use our sensors to view it from long
 range." 

The _Revenger_ swung around, her engines glowing brightly, and
vanished into hyperspace. Five minutes later, she dropped back into
realspace just outside the orbit of the farthest planet in the Fendar
system.

"Sir, we've arrived at the system. Our sensors have localized the
emissions to the second planet. Shall I lay in a course?"

"No. I've got a weird feeling about this place. We'll use one of our
TIE r/c's instead of sending the fleet in."

	In the _Revenger's_ main bay, a heavily modified TIE was
 lowered from it's gantry and released into space. The TIE r/c was the
 brainchild of Vice-Admiral Glasgow. Rather than waste time on
 refitting aging engines and systems on TIEs to make them safe to
 pilot, the life support system was removed, and the radiation
 shielding was stripped from the engines; resulting in a dramatic
 boost in speed and maneuverability.  The resulting starfighter was
 remote controlled from the _Revenger_, which made it ideal for risky
 scout missions, such as this.

"We're approaching the asteroid belt between the 2nd and 3rd planets."
 spoke the young pilot sitting at the remote control station. "Picking
 up large amounts of debris."

This worried Sheppard. "What kind of debris?" 

"Sir, all kinds of debris, but mostly it's from Rebel craft and
 civilian craft."The sick feeling in the pit of Sheppard's stomach got
 worse.

"Sir! We're detecting huge amounts of energy buildup in the belt!"
 shouted the bridge science officer.

	In the belt, hidden panels slid away on asteroids, revealing
 turbolasers. The fake asteroids began firing on the TIE r/c. The

 pilot tried extreme evasive maneuvers, but there were too many of the
 automated gun platforms. A green bolt of energy sliced through the
 TIE and it blew up in a spectacular light show.

"Thank God we didn't take our fleet through there; we'd have been cut
 to ribbons." spoke an officer in a trembling voice.

"This is good. Very good." said Sheppard.

"I see what you mean. Those guns must be protecting  something
 important." said Glasgow.

Sheppard walked over to the crew pits. "I want you to find an fairly
 sized asteroid and tractor it into weapons range."

"Once it's in range, use the turbolasers on low power to cut a hole
 big enough to hide this ship in. Once the hole's big enough, nudge
 the ship into it; once we are secured, fire the sublight engines at
 full burn for five minutes, then shut them down.."

"We're going to use it as a cover to sneak into the system. It'll take
 a few days for us to drift close enough to the second planet inside
 the asteroid, so I suggest you all take refresher courses, especially
 the Stormtroopers."

"I want what's on that planet."

[The Bajoran system - Alpha Quadrant]

	The two Jem'hadar fighters screamed past the USS _Hood_,
 firing their weapons. The first missed by a ship's length, but the
 second was luckier, striking the saucer section, rocking the mighty
 Sovereign-Class vessel.

	The report from the weapons impact shook the bridge of the
 _Hood_, nearly knocking Captain Paul Jaques out of his command chair.
 Damn those bastards, thought Paul. This was supposed to be a milk
 run, testing the newly commissioned _Hood_ , but instead, they had
 the bad luck to blunder into a Jem'Hadar raiding party.

"Sir, Shields down to 60%!" shouted a nameless ensign.

"Damn! Target the closest Jem'hadar ship with phasers and fire at
 will!"

The first few volleys of phaser fire missed the fighter, but the
 second volley scored a few glancing hits.

"Sir, shields of the enemy ship are down by 25%!"

Before Paul could shout another order, the second fighter raked the
 _Hood_ with fire. On the bridge, a control panel exploded behind him;
 Paul was unscathed, but the unlucky ensign manning it fell dead, with
 large chunks of shrapnel in his body. The fighter then joined the
 first one in tight formation.

"Weps, I want a full volley of Quantum Torpedoes; course Mark
 zero-one-ten!" 

	Torpedo after torpedo blasted out of the launchers into a
 rough pattern covering the space where the enemy fighters were. Most
 of them missed, but one scored a lucky hit, blowing off the starboard
 warp nacelle on the lead fighter, and damaging the shields on the
 second. The uncrippled fighter, deciding not to press it's luck any
 more, disappeared into warp, leaving it's wingman spinning in space,
 spewing drive plasma all over the place.

"Communications, open a channel to the fighter."

"This is Captain Jaques of the USS _Hood_. Surrender immediately, and
 I can assure you that you and your crew will be treated humanely."

Suddenly, the fighter exploded in a huge fireball. 

"Sir, they activated their self-destruct system."

"Damn. Oh, well. Damage report."

"Sir, minor hull breaches on decks 3, 4,. and 12. Sick Bay reports 2
 Killed and 50 Wounded."

"Ok. Communications, send a message to Starfleet Command detailing
 this encounter and ship's status as well as causalities."

"I'm sending it now, sir."

The subspace message burst from the _Hood's_ communication's array and
 sped towards Earth. Travelling at twenty times the speed of the
 fastest vessel, it would reach Starfleet HQ in approximately eight
 hours.

There, it would be processed in enormous computers, ones that were
 much bigger than the standard computer cores in starships. Once the
 routing was done, it would then be tabulated and entered into the
 ever-changing Starfleet database recording the current status of
 every planet, ship, and crewmember.

[The Fendar System]

The asteroid spun lazily towards the second planet. It had taken
 nearly four days for it and it's hidden cargo to drift through the
 system and past the automated gun platforms. Deep inside the
 asteroid, hidden away from prying eyes and sensors, the engines of
 the _Revenger_ powered up.

Aboard the bridge of the _Revenger_, systems that had been powered
 down four days ago to help escape detection by the gun platforms were
 now powering up. The faint blue emergency lights that had been on for
 the last four days were drowned out by the white florescent glow from
 the normal lighting and then winked off. All over the bridge, status
 lights were coming on, and screens were flickering to life. 

	In his bunk, Sheppard was half-way through a book on the
 military tactics of the Clone Wars, when the intercom on the bulkhead
 next to him beeped. Putting his book down, he thumbed the 'accept
 call' button. The voice of the young Lieutenant who was standing
 watch on the bridge came over the intercom. "Sir, we've finished
 powering up our systems and are ready to leave the asteroid.".

 "Excellent, I'm on my way." 

	Walking at a brisk pace through the seemingly-never ending
 corridors of the Star Destroyer, Sheppard arrived at the turbolift to
 the bridge. He found Glasgow waiting for him there. "Admiral, I think
 I know what's on that planet." "What?" "Well, you know all about
 Mount Tantiss, and how it was the Emperor's hidden storehouse, where
 he stashed all his advanced hardware. There always have been rumors
 that the Emperor didn't just have Tantiss, that he also had several
 smaller storage depots set up all over the galaxy." "And you think
 that this planet is one of these smaller depots?" "Well, those
 automated gun platforms seem to offer some credence to the story,
 don't you think?" The turbolift came to a stop, and the doors opened
 onto the bridge, which was bustling with activity.

		The Lieutenant in charge turned and saluted the two
 Admirals. "Sir, All our systems have been powered up. We're ready to
 leave the asteroid, pending your orders." "Good. Activate our
 thrusters and take us out of this hole." The maneuvering thrusters of
 the _Revenger_ fired, slowly nudging the ship out of the hole that
 had hidden them from the automated gun platforms for the last four
 days. In what seemed to be an incredibly short time, the _Revenger_
 had left the asteroid and now was orbiting Fendar II. 

	Looking out the transparisteel windows, Sheppard spoke. "Ah, I
 see that we're out of the asteroid. Begin scanning the planet's
 surface." The sensor crew in the port crew pit hunched over their
 screens and began fiddling with their controls. "So, just how likely
 do you think that this is a hidden storage depot?" "About a 50-50
 chance, Admiral."

	The sensor chief looked up at the two Admirals. "Sir, we've
 finished our sensor scan of the planet. We've detected several
 anomalies on the surface. They all seem to be within a five kilometer
 radius of each other."  Sheppard rubbed his chin for a few moments,
 thinking. Then he made his decision.

	"Vice-Admiral Glasgow, you are now Acting Admiral, since I
 will be going down to the planet along with a detachment of
 Stormtroopers to check out the anomalies." Glasgow nodded his head,
 and Sheppard strode off the bridge, towards the turbolift.

	Stormtroopers were the most feared combat unit in the galaxy,
 even nineteen years after the Empire's fall. Part of the reason for
 this lay in their brutal training. New recruits were regularly beaten
 up by their superiors and the training courses were conducted with
 live ammo, which led to a high attrition rate in the trainees. Those
 who survived their training were the most cold, hardened beings in
 the galaxy. Not even Hutts came close to Stormtroopers in
 ruthlessness and cold-bloodedness. But just being the meanest S.O.B
 around won't win you any battles, if you don't have the equipment
 and/or firepower to do the job right. In this regard, the
 Stormtroopers were superbly equipped, and only the old Mandalorians
 could even come close to, and surpass Stormtrooper equipment. 

	Every Stormtrooper carried complete full-body armor that
 allowed them to operate in adverse conditions such as extreme heat or
 cold with the armor's built in environmental control units. To allow
 troops to operate in conditions where nerve agents and/or biological
 weapons were in the environment, the armor was sealed and every
 trooper carried filtration equipment to insure he received a clean
 air supply. For extreme cases, a ten-minute air supply was also
 carried, allowing troopers to operate in vacuum briefly. 

	The Empire had invested large quantities of money into funding
 research in personal armor, to allow one trooper to be able to kill
 large numbers of technologically inferior opponents. Augmenting a
 trooper's normal senses were built-in night vision, and IR vision, as
 well as electronic binoculars. Research into combat effectiveness by
 the Empire's scientists had shown that a soldier not only had to be
 able to see what was happening around him, he had to *know* what was
 going on. To this end, each helmet carried a complete short-range
 two-way communications set, as well as a receiver for longer ranged
 signals. 

	The characteristic bulge at the base of the helmet housed
 tactical computers, which ingested data from all the available
 sensors in the area and integrated them into a coherent picture,
 which gave troopers a simulated aerial view of the battlefield,
 allowing them to 'see' enemy positions to avoid being outflanked. 
 Also superimposed over the trooper's normal vision was a Heads-Up
 Display of the type found on starfighters, giving important tactical
 information, such as the distance to targets, how much power you have
 left in your weapon, and a compass. Stormtroopers carried a large and
 varied array of weapons, each capable of interacting with the
 helmet's HUD to allow effortless targetting. When a compatible weapon
 was used, a green circle with crosshairs would appear in the
 trooper's HUD, showing where the trooper's weapon would hit if he
 fired it. When the trooper aimed his weapon at an enemy in such a
 way, that it would hit the enemy, the circle and crosshairs would
 turn red. 

	To keep the trooper from wasting time and energy on native
 lifeforms, the tactical computers employed a algorithm that
 eliminated non-sentinent lifeforms from inclusion in battle
 calculations. It was this programming that led to the debacle at
 Endor. The targetting computers classified the Ewoks as native
 non-sentinent lifeforms and refused to give tactical information on
 them, which led to the defeat of the troopers stationed there. Once
 the Empire found out about this, a fix was made to the software that
 allowed individual stormtroopers to self-designate lifeforms and
 specific races as 'hostile', overriding the sentinent/nonsentinent
 algorithm.

	Sheppard walked past the blast doors that separated 'army
 country' from 'navy country'. Instead of wearing Imperial Navy
 uniforms, the officers and crew who walked through the corridors here
 wore the garb of the Imperial Army. Unlike most other high-ranking
 officers, Admiral Sheppard preferred to be with the troops as much as
 possible when they went on operations. Even more unusual was the fact
 that when he went down to a planet's surface at the head of a
 Stormtrooper detachment, he didn't wear anything that would allow a
 potential enemy to tell who was a high ranking officer. For him, it
 was just standard Stormtrooper armor.

	As he walked into the main briefing room, he snapped a salute
 to his army equivalent, General Veers. Veers had been a considerable
 grab, being one of the Imperial Army's most experienced and
 proficient commanders. He had personally led the Imperial assault on
 the Rebel base at Hoth, rather than commanding it from orbit, as many
 officers preferred to do. 

	Sitting in the front row of seats in the briefing room, he
 watched Veers begin the briefing.

"We will be executing a  sized ground assault today, to investigate
 some mysterious anomalies on the planet below. The planet is listed
 on our charts as being uninhabited, so we don't expect resistance.
 Even so, we'll be treating it as if it was hostile territory, with
 AT-AT and AT-ST support. The anomalies lie within a five kilometer
 radius of each other, so we don't have much ground to cover today."
 This bought a cheer from the gathered troopers.

"Now, for the environmental conditions at the surface. It's a nice
 warm -20 Celsius, so Snowtrooper suits will be the order of the day.
 If you come under hostile fire, don't be heroes. Take cover and call
 in for fire support  from the AT-ATs and AT-STs. Incidentally, this
 will be the first operational use of the modified speeder bikes." 

	Veers pushed a button on the podium in front of him, and a
 holographic image of a Speeder Bike appeared in front of him. "On the
 orders of Vice-Admiral Glasgow, we have modified several speeder
 bikes to carry a large proton warhead as well as a simple droid-level
 guidance system for over-the-horizon engagements. They will be carried
 the same way speeder bikes are."

	On the holographic display, an AT-AT appeared, with the
 speeder bikes it carried glowing red. One bike suddenly dropped out
 between the AT-AT's legs and flew away. The hologram followed the
 bike as it skimmed over the ground for five kilometers before
 exploding next to it's target, a building. 

	"That concludes our briefing. Does anyone have any questions
 about anything?" None of the troopers raised their hands.  "Very
 well. We launch in ten minutes." Veers stepped off the podium and
 walked with his men as they left the briefing chamber to the assembly
 room.

	Following the troopers, Sheppard walked into the assembly
 room. No matter how many times he had seen this, it always made his
 heart beat faster. The room was full of white-armored figure checking 
and cleaning their weapons and gear. He walked to his locker and
 opened it.  Inside was his Snowtrooper armor, as well as his assigned
 weapons With the practiced care of a professional, Sheppard quickly
 examined his equipment for signs of damage or irregularities. When
 your life depended on the proper functioning of weapons and
 equipment, you made damn well sure that it worked before your ass was
 being shot at. 

	He hung his well-worn officer's sidearm inside the locker and
 began donning his gear. First the boots went on, then the legs.
 Grunting, he lifted the heavy torso section and donned it. Satisfied
 with the fit of the heavy torso section, he attached the arms, but
 not the gloves. Attaching the helmet to the rest of the armor
 required fine skill, so that the resulting seal would be airtight. If
 the seals in the armor weren't well secured, during battle, a trooper
 could die from his own side's nerve gas. The helmet slid atop his
 head and came to rest on the seals. Carefully aligning the seals of
 the helmet with the seals on the torso, Sheppard pushed down on the
 helmet then turned it slightly. The seals snapped shut with an
 audible 'click'. He then fitted his hands into the gloves. Flexing
 them, he powered up his armor. 

	His vision filled with garbage and static as his
 Heads-Up-Display initialized. The garbage disappeared and his armor
 began it's self-diagnostic. The self-diagnostic only took a few
 seconds. A series of status lights appeared in his vision. All glowed
 green. Good, since SOP was that if a trooper's armor showed even one
 malfunction, he was pulled and replaced with a reserve trooper.

	Reaching into the locker, he pulled out his weapons. Onto his
 belt went several Merr-Sonn thermal detonators. For today's
 operation, his primary weapon would be the standard Stormtrooper
 sidearm, the E-11 BlasTech. He checked the weapon's charge
 indicators. They glowed a bright green, indicating a full charge. He
 pulled out his secondary weapon, a Golan Arms FC1 flechette launcher,
 and placed it into his backpack after inspecting it.

	"Stormtroopers, fall in!" shouted General Veers. Immediately,
 everyone finished what they were doing and hauled ass to the main
 hangar. There, they quickly lined up in formation outside the huge
 landing craft that would carry them and their walkers down to the
 planet's surface. The mighty AT-AT walkers stood directly in front of
 them, kneeling down on their legs to save space. 

	Veers strode up and down the formation of troopers, giving a
 last minute talk. "Stormtroopers, I expect only the best from each
 and everyone of you. This landing will be conducted in a quick and
 professional manner. We are *not* rebel scum. For the Emperor!" 


"For the Emperor!" shouted back the ranks of troopers.

"Begin boarding!" shouted Veers.

	Immediately, the doors in the sides of the AT-ATs opened up
 and the Stormtroopers began filing into the walkers' troop
 compartments. Sheppard was going with General Veers in his AT-AT.
 Veers looked at Sheppard in his Snowtrooper armor.  "Admiral, It
 looks like we'll get a chance to test Vice-Admiral Glasgow's concept
 of giving a Stormtrooper company as much heavy firepower as a whole
 battalion." "It should be interesting, to say the least," replied
 Sheppard, his voice muffled by his helmet.


	Rather than sitting with the other 15 troopers in the troop
 compartment of Veers' AT-AT, Sheppard sat up front with Veers in the
 walker's head. Through the thick transparisteel viewport, they saw
 the enormous assault landers swallow up the company's other AT-ATs
 and AT-STs. Finally, it was their turn to be swallowed up. All of
 them could see the enormous cargo bay door at the front of the lander
 slowly close, cutting off all light, except for the walker's internal
 lights and outer floods. They all heard the various noises of a
 planetary landing operation.

	First, there were various bangs and clanking noises as the
 assault lander was picked up by the overhead gantry's loading claws
 and moved into the airless open hangar of a Star Destroyer. Suddenly
 there was a loud bang, and a sickening drop, since assault landers
 didn't waste space on the top-of-the-line inertial dampers found on
 TIEs and Lambda-class shuttles.

	For a minute there was no noise except for the walker's
 internal systems. Then a whining noise could be heard. It built up
 rapidly as the lander plowed through the upper atmosphere in a
 blazing fireball. Slowly, the noise faded away, but no sooner than it
 was quiet, when the sound of the lander's landing legs extending
 could be heard. Suddenly, there was a bone-jarring impact that
 reverberated through the lander.

	Slowly, the cargo bay door opened onto a desolate landscape.
 Howling winds whipped across the snowy plain that the five assault
 landers had landed on. The walker was suddenly picked up by the
 lander's internal loading crane and lifted off the lander's floor.
 The crane extended out of the lander's bay, and lowered the AT-AT
 onto the snowy plain. The crane then retracted into the lander to
 bring out the other AT-AT carried in the lander. 

	The walker pilot activated the walker's joints and slowly,
 the walker unkneeled, rising up to it's full standing height of more
 than 15 meters. With a resounding boom that rolled across the
 landscape, the walker began to clear the area to allow the second
 AT-AT to be unloaded from the lander. 

	Within minutes, the company's ten AT-ATs and five AT-STs were
 moving in formation towards the center of the anomalies. A normal
 Stormtrooper company has only four AT-ATs and two AT-STs.  This was
 one of Vice-Admiral Glasgow's many innovations. The reasoning behind
 this was: Since we have only a small number of men available, we must
 give them as much firepower as possible. Heavy modifications had been
 undertaken on the AT-ATs, reducing their troop capacity from 40
 fully-armed troops to just 15. The tradeoff had allowed the AT-ATs to
 carry 35% more armor and have a pair of turbolasers mounted in place
 of the normal side-mounted medium blaster cannons. Other deadly
 additions had been the mounting of two BlasTech E-Web fully automatic
 blaster cannons, one on each side of the walker's body for
 anti-personnel use. Further modifications had added 12 Vertical
 Launch Tubes for Merr-Sonn PLX-2M missiles to be used for medium
 range engagements. Finally, the walker's complement of five speeder
 bikes had been reduced to two of the modified bikes to be used for
 long range over the horizon engagements.

	The company's four AT-STs had also been modified as well. Each
 one now carried a BlasTech DLT-20A laser rifle and a Golan Arms FC-1
 Flechette launcher in a independently rotating Commander's cupola to
 enhance their anti-personnel capabilities. The deadly enhancements
 didn't stop with the vehicles, since instead of having just one
 BlasTech E-Web per company, they now had three of them. 

	Leading this deadly group was a remote-controlled TIE Crawler.
 Sheppard sighed in his seat. It looked like this was going to be
 nothing but a weak, undefended smuggling settlement. Suddenly, a
 heavy turbolaser bolt lanced out and nailed the TIE Crawler, which 
had just crested a ridge 300 meters in front of the company. 

	His heart pounding, Sheppard jumped out of his seat to join
 the Stormtroopers who were vacating the walker through a hatch in the
 floor. He slid down a cable dangling from the walker's belly onto the
 snowy ground some 15 meters below. His tac comps were projecting the
 probable source of the turbolaser onto his overhead map. It appeared
 to be from a cave some 500 meters from the ridge in front of him. 

	Running at top speed, not noticing the bitter cold and howling
 winds thanks to his heated Snowtrooper suit, he joined a squad of
 troopers huddling at the bottom of the ridge. Thumbing his helmet's
 comm switch, he contacted Veers in his walker. A small vid-image of
 Veers appeared in the lower left of his HUD. "Punch the source of
 that tubolaser bolt into the computers of those modified bikes and
 send at least three of them to the general area. I want the place
 glassed over!" 

"Already done and on the way." replied Veers.

	Sheppard and the other troopers watched three bikes drop from
 their walkers, one after the other and swoop away over the ridge. A
 few seconds later, the sky lit up with a blinding white light, and
 there was a huge earth-shaking roar.

	Scrambling up the ridge, Sheppard and the Stormtroopers were
 met by a sight of complete utter devastation. The snow had melted for
 several hundred meters around the impact points of the drone bikes
 and the ground was glassed over. 

	"Sir, It looks like there used to be a pair of gun turrets
 over there," said a Stormtrooper. Looking in the direction the
 trooper had pointed, Sheppard saw twisted black stumps of metal
 sticking out of the ground in positions that would be ideal for
 defensive gun emplacements. Beyond the charred stumps of turrets was
 a massive blast door.

	"Veers, we've got a blast door blocking our way. Request that
 you come up here and open it with your tubolasers....wait the door's
 opening...GET UNDER COVER EVERYONE!" Sheppard and the other troopers
 scattered, diving for cover. Sunlight glinted off metal. "Oh Shit!" 
shouted a trooper.

	"We've got combat droids, I repeat, we've got combat droids up
 here!" shouted another unknown trooper. Suddenly a turbolaser blast
 lanced out from the lead droid. "Oh fuck it! Those are no ordinary
 droids! They're X-1 Vipers!" shouted Sheppard. This was bad, thought
 Sheppard. Very, very bad. The X-1 Viper was the Empire's premiere
 heavy-assault droid, and it packed turbolasers, as well as energy
 absorption armor. Simply put, if you fired an energy weapon at one of
 those monsters, it would absorb the energy from your shot and channel
 it into it's own weapons. Consequently, it was invulnerable to all but
 the most powerful ground-based weapons.  However, they had a weak
 spot. They fed off only energy weapons, not projectile weapons, so
 they could easily be destroyed by  fragmentation explosives and
 concussion weapons. 

	However, X-1s were never deployed alone. They usually had
 support from other droids that were resistant to projectile weapons.
 And if X-1s were here, than XR-85 tank droids were probably here too.
 XR-85s used tank treads to move over terrain, limiting their mobility
 compared to walkers, but they were heavily armored and _very_ heavily
 armed. Usually, they carried a heavy particle beam cannon, with
 support from a pair of turbolasers, as well as four twin
 heavy-repeating blasters (two facing forward and two facing
 rearward). Finally, they mounted a rear-firing Golan Arms DF9
 anti-personnel cannon. 

	Damn, this was going to take every bit of tactics he knew in
 order to defeat a squad of X-1s and XR-85s with just a company of
 Stormtroopers, no matter how heavily armed they were. 

	"Veers, we've got trouble up here! We have a squad of X-1s and
 XR-85s up here giving us a hard time! Glass the fucking area with
 every goddamn bike you have! I want you to split your force into
 three groups; a main body and two smaller ones. We need to do a
 pincer movement, so we can catch the goddamn things in a crossfire!"

	Veers nodded, and his image disappeared from Sheppard's HUD.
 He switched to overhead view, and he could see the beginnings of the
 pincer movement. Switching to company-wide comm, he warned everybody
 to get down and NOW!

	Only seconds after he buried his head in the snow, he heard a
 speeder roar over his head. On his overhead view, he saw the 18 bikes
 converge on the droids. Several winked out, destroyed by the droids'
 weapons, but enough reached their target to make the sky turn
 blinding white for thirty seconds and a continuous roar fill the air. 

	"Heavy weapons crews, get those E-Webs set up on the ridge top
 now!" Scrambling back to the top of the ridge, he saw that the entire
 plain had turned into a blackened crater, and most of the X-1s had
 been destroyed by the fusion bombs. But enough remained active to
 make him keep his head down. Most of the XR-85s, due to their heavier
 armor, remained intact. But first things first.

	Breaking out his FC-1 and loading an anti-armor round, he took
 aim at the nearest X-1. When the crosshairs on his HUD turned red, he
 pulled the trigger. The flechette canister tracked the X-1 in flight,
 and when it was ten meters away, detonated. The hail of dense
 anti-tank flechettes ripped through the X-1s outer armor, shredding
 several systems, but the droid immediately switched to backup
 systems.
	
	Ducking back under cover before the X-1's returning turbolaser
 bolt ripped through the air where his head had been, he saw the other
 troopers holding their weapons, waiting for a clear shot at the
 mindless killing machines. 

	Thumbing his comm switch again, he opened a channel to Veers.
 "Veers, I'm designating several targets for your walkers' PLX-2Ms! Be
 ready to fire half of them once I tag 'em!" Veers just nodded.
 Sheppard then raised his head up a bit - just enough to see all the
 enemy droids. He spoke to his tac comp; "Designate all enemy units."
 Red squares appeared around all the enemy units. He then ducked down.
 "Veers, they're all designated! Do your stuff!"

	Aboard the walkers, the weapons officers had selected the
 PLX-2Ms and the "Trooper Designate" mode. When the 'Designated' light
 came on, they all stabbed the fire button. On the backs of each
 walker, six VLS tubes popped open and six missiles streaked out
 towards the enemy's position. 

	Unfortunately, the droids' auto-defense systems spotted the
 missiles and assigned them maximum priority in the target chain.
 Weapons fire crisscrossed the air, and out of 60 missiles, only five
 found their targets. The rest had been shot down. One X-1 blew up in
 a cataclysmic explosion, while an XR-85 slowly ground to a halt,
 smoke wisping from multiple missile hits.

	"Damn, it's not working! Prepare to crest the ridgeline!"
 ordered Veers. "No! Those droids' turbolasers will open up your
 walkers' like tin cans!"shouted Sheppard. "You have any better ideas,
 Admiral? In a few minutes, they'll reach your ridgeline and slaughter
 you all." replied Veers.

	"If only we could get them to shoot at something other than
 the missiles!" remarked a trooper. Sheppard looked at him, a plan
 dawning in his mind. "Veers! Re-target the enemy with your remaining
 missiles! But hold your fire! You'll fire upon my command." ordered
 Sheppard.

	Sheppard opened a commlink with the pilot of one of the
 assault landers. "Pilot, I want you to set the autopilot on your
 lander to these co-ordinates, and get the hell off it _now_!"
 Sheppard then gave him the co-ordinates where the droids were.

"But, sir!" 

"This is a direct order from a superior officer! Do it now, or I'll
 have you court-martialed!"

	The pilot punched the co-ordinates into the autopilot and set
 it to a fifteen-second delay, then activated it. He ran out of the
 lander, jumping into the snow next to it. As he lay shivering in the
 snow, the massive lander took off, it's engines glowing.

	The droids' noticed the lander. It was hard for them not to,
 since the lander was literally the size of a house.  "Veers, Fire!"
 shouted the Admiral. Once again, the missiles streaked away from the
 walkers. This time however, most of them hit, since the droids were
 preoccupied with the lander. 

	Dumping the FC-1, Sheppard held the E-11 in his hands. He once
 again opened a comlink with Veers. "Veers, crest the ridge, NOW,
 while they're still hurting from the missile strike!" Switching to
 the trooper commnet, he ordered the troopers to jump up and open fire
 with everything they had, including the three E-Webs.

	The remaining XR-85s never had a chance, as they were hit
 repeatedly by blasters, and turbolasers from three sides and either
 blew up or were rendered to smoking hulks. 

	"Sir, it looks like that was the last of them." 

	"Good. I want a casualty count now. Also, get a walker up here
 to take out that blast door."
	
	A few minutes later, Sheppard had the count. They had lost
 three troopers and twenty more were wounded, with wounds ranging from
 the minor to the serious. The door had taken repeated turbolaser
 hits, and they had to call in three AT-ATs to take out the door. 
 Right now, the Stormtroopers were doing what solders of every race
 did after a battle; the mopping up and looting of the battlefield.
 Also, a preliminary investigation of the mysterious complex was
 underway, with his troopers checking it out. 

	Looking up into the sky, he saw a Lambda-class shuttle
 descending. That would be Vice-Admiral Glasgow and a team of
 technicians who would do a more precise and through survey of the
 site than his troops could ever do.

	The shuttle landed in the center of the clearing in the snow
 that had been made by multiple fusion explosions. As the ramp came
 down, Vice-Admiral Glasgow came striding down the ramp. He took in a
 view of the battlefield. 

"Looks like you met more resistance than you planned for, Admiral."

Sheppard removed his helmet, and felt the sharp wind bite into his
 face. "You can say that again. We were up against X-1 Vipers and
 XR-85s."

"Those are some of the most efficient killing machines in the galaxy.
 Expensive too, so that counts out this being a smuggler base."

"So this must be one of the Emperor's secondary storage depots." 

Glasgow looked puzzled. "That's odd. At Mount Tantiss, they used Dark
 Jedi, since the energy emissions of too much electronic gear would be
 visible a long way away. But this isn't the case here, since we've
got a large amount of expensive droids here, as well as two heavy
 turbolasers. How did they hide all the energy that they needed for
 this stuff?"

An hour later, they had their answer.

"Ingenious. They used a cloaking shield to hide the emissions, but due
 to lack of maintenance, it began to malfunction, and that's why we
 detected the emissions from the depot." said Glasgow.

"Lucky us." replied Sheppard.


[Chapter 2]

	A few hours later, the Admiral and his entourage were
 wandering through the depot. Even though it was one of Palpatine's
 secondary depots, the place was HUGE. It seemed that behind every
 blast door lay yet more goodies that had been squirreled away by the
 Emperor.

	"Hmm...I wonder what's behind this door?" said Admiral
 Sheppard. "The depot manifest lists this as 'Droid Parts'." replied
 Vice-Admiral Glasgow. Sheppard snorted upon hearing of what lay
 beyond the door. "We all know that's BS, meant to fool any data worms
 in the Fleet's shipping computers into thinking that it's not
 important." The admiral pushed the 'open' button in the door's
 control panel. The door opened, scattering a cloud of dust, causing
 everybody to cough. Apparently this place hadn't been visited in
 years.

	For the first time in years, light fell upon rows of TIE
 Defenders and Missile Boats. "Droid parts, Huh. Anything even more
 worthless on that manifest?" remarked Sheppard. "We've got a lot of
 'Assorted nuts and bolts' in the other rooms," replied Glasgow. 

"Hell, at this rate, we'll find a frigging _Death Star_ here, labeled
 as 'hydrospanners'!" exclaimed one of the Admiral's aides.

	Everybody chuckled at that. "You may not be far from the
 truth, Lieutenant." remarked Glasgow. "Enough chatter, people. Let's
 get to the task at hand."said Sheppard. "Sir, I didn't know they gave
 TIEs names." said another of Sheppard's aides, pointing to writing on
 the first TIE Defender's crew sphere.

	"Ah. That's one of the little known secrets in the Imperial
 Navy. Because they were so fantastically expensive to produce, and
 since so little were made as a result, TIE Defenders and Missile
 Boats were given names." 

"Oh. This one's the 'Defender of the Empire'." said the aide, reading
 the writing.

"'Defender of the Empire'? Lieutenant, that's the very first TIE
 Defender ever made."

	Glasgow had since walked over to the first Missile Boat. Yes,
 he thought; this craft would allow for some very nasty tactics.
 Glasgow was one of the Empire's premiere tacticians, some said
that only Grand Admiral Thrawn was better. Noticing the writing on the
 Missile Boat, he spoke.

"This missile boat over here is the 'Emperor's Hammer'. Where do they
 come up with these names?"

	"Oh, since the Emperor for the most part, had control over
 every one of these advanced craft, their names included variations on
 'Empire', 'Imperial', and 'Emperor'. You have to admit, some of these
 names are well, cool."replied Sheppard.

	"Well, that's enough time here. I'll have Commander Yates come
 down on the next shuttle and oversee the loading of these craft onto
 the _Revenger_. We need to quickly finish our visual inspection of
 this depot's contents and begin loading them, since we must expect an
 attack at anytime. Let's see what's in the next storage room."

	The next room's content's were logged as 'pipes', but that was
 far from the truth. "What the hell _are_ these things, Sir?" said an
 aide. The objects he was referring to sat in the center of the room.
 They were cubelike, with an large opening in both their top and
 bottoms. Their purpose was a mystery, until they noticed the markings
 on the upper left of the cubes. 

	Glasgow then spoke. "Why, Lieutenant, these are XMF-022s, or
 as they are more colloquially known: World Devastators. These appear
 to be early prototypes, but the files I've read say that the
 prototypes were as functional as the later production models."

	Glasgow continued to speak; "With these, we can construct
 anything we want, as long as we have the plans for them. They can
 also 'grow', allowing ever larger items to be constructed, until they
 can manufacture even Imperial Star Destroyers in their internal
 construction faculties. This is arguably the most important item
 that we'll find in this depot."

	Sheppard suddenly spoke. "I want those Devastators up and
 running within the hour! Contact the _Revenger_ and get the list of
 spare parts they require; If necessary, we'll consume this entire
 planet to repair our fleet!"

	"After this, there probably isn't anything of interest in this
 depot." remarked the Admiral.

	However, the next storage room proved him wrong. Filling the
 room were piles of twisted wreckage of unmistakably alien origin.
 "What the hell is this?!? I've never seen anything like it!"exclaimed
 Sheppard. "Neither have I, Admiral. We must find out where this alien
 debris came from." replied Glasgow, always the cool, composed
 Imperial Navy officer.

	Looking at a piece of wreckage with markings on it, Sheppard
 spoke. "Search our computer records for any mention of something
 called the 'USS Ranger; NCC-123234; and for any alien races that use
 a arrowhead for their symbol." 

	An hour later, they had their answer. A search of the
 _Revenger's_ records had turned up empty. However, there were quite
 detailed files in the depot's computer pertaining to the alien
 wreckage. The young officer sitting at the depot's computer station
 quickly explained the story behind the wreckage.

	"Admiral, It seems that there were more intergalactic
 exploratory expeditions than just the Old Republic's Outbound Flight
 project. About 20 years ago, as the Rebellion began to gain more and
 more power, our esteemed Emperor, always one to take precautions,
 personally ordered an expedition to explore the nearby galaxies." The
 technician paused, to make sure that everyone was following him.

	Admiral Sheppard nodded. The technician then continued. "The
 reasoning was: If the rebellion ever managed to defeat the Empire,
 the Emperor would have a secret hiding place to fall back onto, and
 rebuild the Empire's fleet there, away from the Rebellion. The
 reasoning behind choosing another galaxy was that the Rebels would be
 too preoccupied with rebuilding the galaxy after the civil war and
 keeping the peace to bother with intergalactic exploration.
 Apparently, the Emperor's hunch was proven right. Since assuming
 power, the Rebels have concentrated on keeping the peace, and have
 not launched anything remotely like the Outbound Fleet." The
 technician once again paused, to make sure everybody understood him.
 It would not do well for the Empire to lose an Admiral and his fleet
 because he misunderstood the information given to him.

	Once again, Sheppard nodded, signalling his understanding.
 "Shortly before the Battle of Hoth, the Empire sent a small fleet
 consisting of a trio of Imperial Star Destroyers which had been
 modified for long-term operations to scout out the closest galaxies.
 However, due to a Hyperdrive malfunction when they passed too close
 to a stellar object, they were thrown to their target galaxy in a
 matter of seconds, rather than years. There, they met a starship
 which apparently belonged to a...I think the word is, 'Federation' of
 independent planets."

	The technician paused to catch his breath. He then continued.
 "Acting on the Emperor's standing orders, they jammed all
 transmissions and captured the starship, and interrogated it's crew.
 From these interrogations, we managed to get most of the background
 information on the so-called 'Milky-Way Galaxy' It apparently
 consists of several small, warring factions which each control a
 small slice of the galaxy. According to their records, their
 'Federation' was the strongest of the warring factions. In accordance
 with the Emperor's orders, the ship was destroyed shortly after, and
 it was made to look like the work of the faction called the
 'Romulans'. Some of the debris was recovered to be bought back for
 analysis." Once again, he made sure that everybody was following him. 

 	"That was not all. The fleet also used a lifepod from the
 alien ship to plant a deep cover agent under orders to infiltrate the
 aliens' military forces, which were called 'Starfleet'. The plan was
 for the agent to fake being a survivor of a freighter accident who
 was picked up by the _Ranger_ shortly before her loss to the
 'Romulans'. The fleet then successfully replicated the hyperdrive
 malfunction, returning to our galaxy. Apparently, just before the
 Battle of Endor, the Emperor picked up a pre-arranged signal from the
 agent signaling that he had successfully pulled off the 'survivor'
 sham."

	Pausing for breath, the technician then continued. "Due to the
 time lag associated with extremely long intergalactic transmissions,
 the signal had apparently been sent a few years earlier, and the
 date-stamp indicates that it was sent a few months after the agent
 had been inserted. The Emperor immediately began plans to conquer
 this galaxy, as analysis of the alien debris revealed their
 technological level to be many times below ours.  However, he then
 became obsessed with his plan to decimate the Rebels at Endor, and
 the 'hidden galaxy option' was forgotten. That's basically
 everything, sir."

	A pregnant silence filled the room. Finally, Sheppard spoke.
 "So, basically what you're saying is, that there's a galaxy out there
 full of aliens whose level of tech is inferior to ours, we can reach
 them, and we have a deep cover agent planted in their military
 forces?" 

"Yessir."

	"Hell, I was thinking about building a fleet with those
 Devastators and laying waste to the Rebels, but we've got an entire
 GALAXY, all ripe for the plucking! Is it possible to recreate the
 hyperdrive malfunction that threw the original survey fleet there?"

"There are detailed files in the computer system on how to do that..."
 Upon seeing the rest of the data, the technician paused. 

"Hmm...that's odd. All of these names on the reports on the hyperdrive
 malfunction and it's effects, as well as the analysis of the alien
 debris, are of scientists who were on the liner _Britannic_ when she
 suffered her navicomputer malfunction as she was skirting the Maw.
 They're all dead, along with 1,500 other passengers and crew."

"That was no malfunction, Lieutenant. The Emperor didn't want those
 scientists talking." replied Glasgow.

After ruminating this new information for a minute, Sheppard spoke.
 "Lieutenant, I want you and the engineering departments to begin
 making modifications to our fleet's hyperdrives. Glasgow, you're in
 charge of getting everything from Fendar II squared away for our
 departure, after we've repaired the _Revenger_ and her escorts
 sufficiently. We've got a galaxy to conquer." 

[Earth - Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco]

	From his one-hundredth floor office, Admiral Alex Sutton saw
 the flashes far below in the mist. The high-pitched whine of phasers
 were drowned out by the explosive thunderclaps of 200mm Powerguns.
 Finally, thought Sutton, these pacifist slime were meeting hard,
 unyielding force.

	It was time. Opening his desk's drawer, he pulled out a 2cm
 Powergun. The iridium barrel gleamed black. Picking up his briefcase,
 he walked into his secretary's office. The Starfleet security officer
 assigned to protect his offices, seeing his weapon stammered; "Sir,
 it's not safe down there, you bett--" 

The officer never had a chance to finish his sentence. He never would,
 for at that moment, cyan death leapt from Sutton's Powergun and
 slammed into his torso, which exploded in a cloud of superheated
 steam. His secretary, a pretty blonde, tried to sound the alarm, but
 before she could, her head exploded from a Powergun blast.

	A pity, thought Sutton. He had genuinely liked her. Stepping
 into the turbolift that was a short walk from his office, he punched
 the button that would take him to the lobby. As the turbolift
 descended, he looked out the window. Suddenly, he heard a low whine
 that increased. Ah, that must be Hammer's battery of 150mm rocket
 howitzers cleaning up any remaining Starfleet opposition at ground
 level. Below, he saw blossoming mushroom clouds from the howitzer
 shells. Starfleet's lack of interest in ground combat was now costing
 them dearly. As he passed the 25th floor, he saw the first of
 Hammer's famed Supertanks mopping up any remaining resistance with
 it's cupola-mounted tribarrel.

	As he got closer to the ground level, he could see the glowing
 spots on the supertanks' armor. Phasers, even set to level 16, hadn't
 been able to penetrate the thick iridium armor of the supertanks.
 Suddenly he heard his secretary's voice. "Sir, You've got a meeting
 in twenty minutes." No! He had killed her.

	Then, he woke up. For a moment he couldn't remember where he
 was, then it came back to him. He had dozed off in his office at
 Starfleet Headquarters after reading a book. His secretary was
 standing over him, bitching about some bullshit meeting he had with
 some R&D boys in twenty minutes. Picking up his worn copy of David
 Drake's _Hammer's Slammers_, he put it in his desk. It would not do
 good for his fellow admirals to see him reading 'barbaric literature'
 from the 'dark ages' of man. It had been a real surprise, finding a
 faded, worn copy of this piece of late twentieth-century literature
 at his local antique book store, and he wasn't about to let some
 asshole take it and destroy it in the name of 'enlightenment'.

"Sorry, Amanda. I just dozed off for a moment there." 

"That's alright, Sir. Although, I do wish that you wouldn't read such
 -barbaric- things!"

	Sutton sighed. It was a never-ending battle against these
 small-minded pacifist pinheads who seemed to populate the Federation.
 Sutton's tendency to violence had kept him from advancing in the
 ranks. His only friend from his graduating class at the Academy,
 Edward Jellico, had been cashiered because of his 'inhumane' methods
 of commanding a few years ago. 

	In fact, he had been on the shit list in Starfleet, and was
 about to be drummed out of the service when the Dominion war came
 along. He had started it as a Commander, and ended it an Admiral. As
 a result of his distinguished war record, he had been granted
 relative immunity to the predations of the pacifist majority of
 Starfleet. However, _relative_ was the key word here. Shortly after
 the end of the Dominion war, in return for his distinguished and
 heroic efforts in service of the Federation, he had been shitcanned
 into this bullshit R&D assignment. 

	Sutton sighed once again. At times like this, he wondered what
 it would have been like if he had refused this assignment some twenty
 years ago and continued with his life in the Imperial Navy. He
 wouldn't have had to put up with this bullshit. Hell, he'd have been
 _rewarded_ for being cruel and merciless!

	But, the Emperor himself had commanded that he take this
 assignment, and you didn't refuse an offer the Emperor made, if you
 wanted to live. Groaning, he picked up his PADD and headed towards
 the weekly meeting with his department heads. According to them, they
 had designed a new sensor system that was 25% more efficient than
 current systems and took up 5% less space. How exciting.  He
 desperately wished to recieve his activation signal on his secret
 Holo-Net system! 

	The Emperor had promised that the fleet would be forthcoming
 in a few years. A 'few years' stretched into five. Then ten, fifteen,
 and now twenty! At this rate, he would be long dead by the time the
 Empire got around to this galaxy!

[The Fendar System]

	Just beyond the outer edges of the Fendar system, the
 Corellian Corvettes _Dagger_ and _Rapier_ bored holes in the vacuum.
 Aboard the _Dagger_, the mood was glum. For the last three 
weeks, they had been patrolling the outer edge of the system to insure
 that the rest of the fleet would have adequate warning of vessels in
 hyperspace.

	Captain Valberg sat at his desk in the captain's quarters.
 Before him was a plate of some whitish blocks and greenish sauce, and
 a cup of some indescribable green liquid. Valberg looked down 
at it with disgust. For three weeks this had been the only food
 available on his ship, well almost -- with a guilty look he reached
 into his desk drawer and pulled out a bar of Montarian Chocolate,
 definitely not good for his physical health, but it did wonders for
 his mental health (eating the same meals for over three weeks is
 liable to drive any man insane). 

	After eating the chocolate bar he looked down at his dinner
 with disgust. How anyone could eat this garbage was beyond him (even
 though he had been eating it for three weeks). He drank the green
 fluid and then left the dinner plate untouched.

	As he walked down the corridor towards the elevator the crew
respectfully saluted him, and moved out of the way; they knew that the
captain was not a good man to cross. 

	It was not that he was a very imposing figure physically. He
 was only 6'2", 180 lbs, with pale skin, green eyes, and graying black
 hair (at 42 years old!). He was in reasonably good physical shape.
 These were not the reasons why his crew feared him. It was his
 utterly ruthless nature, and the rumors (Oh by every God, the rumors)
 of his anger, and when you looked into those cold green eyes you just
 knew it was all true. 

	Valberg looked like he hadn't slept in two days. He hadn't.
 There were  dark rings under his eyes, and he had a two day beard. 

	All in all, this was not a good time for a lowly crew member
 to do anything to annoy him. 

	On the bridge, everyone sprang to attention as the shout
 "Captain on the bridge!" came. Valberg ignored them, moved to his
 command chair and sat down. There, on top of his steel mountain, he
 looked down at his subjects: veterans, men (and a few women too) that
 he truly respected, people that would not squirm when given an order,
 and people that could show some initiative. He called out in a clear
 voice "Any communications from Admiral Sheppard?". 

Lieutenant Croyd, his second-in-command, answered clearly, "No Sir." 

	Valberg rubbed his two day beard then said, "Alert me the instant 
it comes in", in a lower voice, he added: "And have some stim tabs ready. 
Lieutenant, you are in command until further notice."

	Those orders given, he leant back, his head carefully resting
 on the support and he fell asleep. (or rather dozing, since he had
 developed the ability to sleep anywhere, and anytime, without
 appearing to sleep. These days he could even wake up and give a
 coherent answer to a question asked when he was asleep).

	It wasn't exactly according to the book, but since the
 Lieutenant was formally in charge this was not dereliction of duty.
 Valberg was just on the bridge, but not on duty. It was a nice way to
 catch up on sleep, and still be on the bridge when the message
 relieving them from patrol duty came in.

	Five minutes later, all hell broke loose. "Sir! Incoming
 hyperspace traffic!"  Snapping awake, Valberg saw that the bridge was
 bathed in crimson, and the alert klaxon was blaring. 

"Bring us about to intercept the incoming ships!"ordered Valberg.
 Glancing over at the comm station, he barked out an order. "Sparky,
 get a message off to the Admiral, informing him that we are moving to
 intercept possible hostiles!"

	Beneath his feet, he could feel the deck plating shudder as
 the huge engines far astern were ramped up to full power. "Sir!
 They're decelerating! They'll re-enter realspace dead ahead of us in
 five...four...three...two...one...now!"

	Directly ahead of the old battered corvette, a gleaming white
 Imperial Star Destroyer appeared.  It dwarfed the smaller ship
 easily. For a few moments, everyone on the bridge had a cold, sick
 feeling in the pits of their stomachs. Suddenly, Sparky (their
 nickname for the communications officer) broke the numbing silence
 that had followed the Star Destroyer's arrival.

"Sir, the _Vengeance's_ captain is signaling that he wishes to join
 our fleet, and that he would like us to escort him to our leadership." 

"Tell them I need to know their captain's name before I can escort
 them to the Admiral."

"Sir, Captain January requests that you escort him to the Admiral."

	At the mention of the name 'January', everyone's blood ran
 cold. Everyone knew the story about him; that once, to prevent a
 ground assault from failing, he had detonated the fusion reactor of a
 walker, wiping out an entire Stormtrooper regiment, but opening up a
 hole in the enemies' defenses to allow a second regiment through.
 Even by the Empire's standards, that had been cold. 

	Valberg summoned his courage and responded. "Tell the Captain
 that it would be a honor to escort him to the Admiral."

	On the _Vengeance's_ bridge, a young officer walked up to
 January.

"Sir, they accepted our demand for an escort."

"Excellent." 

	January then turned to look out the transparisteel viewport,
 the red glow from his cybernetic left eye reflecting off the
 transparisteel. Clenching a durasteel fist, he pondered over his
 decision to defect from the Empire to Admiral Sheppard's little
 fleet.

	Twenty years ago, he hadn't been a Captain in the Imperial
 Navy. He had had a family back then, a beautiful wife, and two loving
 children. In short, life had been good. One day, during a family
 trip, they had walked too close to a research center that was the
 target of a Rebel attack that day. The bomb had killed his wife and
 children, and left him a horribly maimed cripple. That day, lying in
 his hospital bed, awaiting surgery, he had vowed that he would
 dedicate his life to hunting down and exterminating all terrorists
 wherever they lay, like the scum they were.

	Now, with the Empire's leadership signing a peace treaty with
 the hated Rebels, he had decided to defect to someone who still
 fought on. Snapping out of his reverie, he asked an aide for their
 ETA.

"Sir, we'll be over Fendar II in twenty minutes."

[15 minutes later on the ISD _Revenger's_ bridge]

The young officer walked up to Sheppard and Glasgow, who were standing
 at the bridge viewports.

"Sir, the _Vengeance_ has come to a stop. Captain January will be
 coming aboard shortly in his personal shuttle." 

"Glasgow. I want your professional opinion of Captain January. Please
 be frank." said Sheppard.

"Admiral, that man should have been promoted to admiral by now but he
 has a major flaw. He's a brilliant tactician, but he has an abject
 hatred for the Rebellion, and terrorists in general. He placed the
 invasion of an entire star  system in danger just so he could destroy
 a _single_ rebel vessel. The only reason the  invasion succeeded was
 because he ordered the deliberate containment breach of the fusion
 reactor of the walker attached to the assaulting Stormtrooper
 regiment." 

Taking a deep breath, Glasgow continued, "Even though the invasion
 _did_ succeed,. he's just _too_ unreliable for us to use!"

Sheppard nodded. "Yes, but he has a Star Destroyer under his command.
 That would more than double our force. I believe we can put up with
 him."

Glasgow grimaced visibly. "I really do wish that you'd reconsider. He
 has a talent for throwing away people's lives to get his objectives.
 We cannot *afford* to lose anyone, since we're already undermanned!"

"Objection noted."  Sheppard then opened the intercom to the CAG's
 office.

 "I want a TIE Defender escort of January's shuttle, and I want you to
 lead it personally, Commander Yates." Sheppard then closed the
 intercom. 

Turning to Glasgow, he spoke. "Come, Vice-Admiral, let us meet Captain
 January ourselves in the main docking bay." The two of them then
 entered the turbolift that would take them to the main docking bay.

	Deep in the belly of the _Revenger_, Commander Nathan Yates,
 CAG of the _Revenger's_ complement of TIEs and other small craft,
 walked at a rapid pace through the seemingly endless corridors
of the Star Destroyer. The term CAG, which stood for Commander Air
 Group, was a leftover from the long-past days of atmospheric craft.
 It had made the transition from primitive craft powered by heated
 gasses to ones powered by Twin Ion Engines unchanged. He quickly
 reached 'Zoomie country', which was what the rest of the ISD's crew
 called the sections of the Star Destroyer devoted to her starfighter
 complement.

	For the first time in years, there was a noticeable bustle in
 the TIE pilot lounges. This was due to the new Defenders and Missile
 Boats. Reaching the commander's podium, he punched up the briefing
 map.

	"Pilots, for the first time in two years, we'll be doing a
 manned TIE mission." From the assembled pilots rose a ragged cheer.
 For the last two years, they had to do with heavily modified
 Lambda-Class shuttles, which handled like pregnant Banthas. All of
 the remaining TIEs had been modified to TIE r/c status, which were
 controlled from the _Revenger_. 

	Yates motioned with his hand for everybody to quiet down. Once
 the noise level in the room had subsided to an acceptable level, he
 continued. "The Imperial Star Destroyer _Vengeance's_ captain has
signaled that he wants to join our fleet. He will shortly be coming
 aboard in his personal shuttle for talks. The Admiral has ordered us
 to escort that shuttle in. And," he paused for dramatic effect. "He
 specifically stated that we are to use the new Defenders." 

	The room filled with loud cheers. Yates had to yell at the top
 of his lungs to make his voice heard over the commotion. "SHUT THE
 HELL UP! I'M NOT FUCKING DONE YET!" The pilots quickly quieted down.
 Yate's anger was legendary. People who pissed him off usually ended
 up a few pay grades lower and working the shit assignments.

	"I will personally be flying the mission as TIE Defender Alpha
 One. Lieutenant Hampton will be in Alpha Two. Lieutenants Foote and
 King, you're in Alpha Three and Four. This briefing is over.
 Dismissed."

	The room immediately filled with chatter again, and pilots who
 hadn't been assigned to the mission wandered over to the holo-vids
 and entertainment machines. Lieutenants Hampton, Foote, and King
 quickly caught up with him, and they walked towards the suit-up room.  

	Brett Hampton wasn't really a Starfighter pilot. He was
 instead the leader of a platoon of Stormtroopers. However, after one
 particularly botched ground support mission, the Admiral had taken
 the best Platoon leader of the _Revenger's_ complement of 9,000
 Stormtroopers and ordered him to take basic flight training in an
 attempt to improve coordination between air and ground forces.
 Hampton had proven to be a competent pilot, and pursued his targets
 with the same ruthlessness he pursued enemies on the ground. The most
 peculiar thing about him was that he always wore a necklace made of
 wookiee teeth that he had taken from wookiees he had killed, as did 
 his whole platoon of Stormtroopers.

	The door to the suit-up room hissed open. Inside were rows of
 lockers belonging to the pilots of the _Revenger's_ six squadrons,
 but only 24 were being used. The other 48 lockers had long been
 cleared out and the nameplates had been painted over. Yates punched
 in his combination. Like most people in the Navy, it was the date he
 had entered the service. Opening his locker, he took out his flight
 suit. 

	A TIE Pilot's flight suit was based on Stormtrooper armor, but
 vastly more complicated. The suit had to maintain an airtight seal
 around the pilot, or he would die in the cockpit of his TIE, as they
 didn't carry life support systems. Also, it had to keep the pilot warm
 and comfortable, because TIEs didn't waste energy heating the
 command ball, when the job could be done more efficiently by a heated
 suit worn by the pilot. 

	The suit's built in life-support system could provide air and
 heat for a week, as well as food and water for that period of time.
 However, the _useable_ time was far, far less; the suit had no way of
 eliminating bodily waste. After a day or two of shitting in your
 suit, it got unbearable. The suit could have been a lot less bulky
 and lighter if they didn't have to lug around those supplies.
 However, if you ejected from a TIE, it could be days before you were
 picked up. That is, if you survived the ejection in the first place.
 In TIEs and TIE Interceptors, your chances of surviving a hit long
 enough for the auto-eject systems to work was...minimal, to say the
 least. TIE Bomber pilots, due to the strong hulls of their ships, had
 a ejection success rate some 100% better than the others. That was
 part of the reason they were popular, even though they were slow and
 maneuvered like shit.

	Ejection success in the Assault Gunboat, and the new
 starfighters such as the Defender and Missile Boat, were an
 astounding 400% better than the standard TIEs. This was mostly due to
 the fact that they all had shields. As a result, they were immensely
 popular among the pilots, to the point that pilots would fight each
 other over assignments to squadrons equipped with those craft.

	The standard Stormtrooper helmet was used by TIE pilots, but
 with a few modifications. The most obvious were that oxygen tubes
 went to the front of the helmet and that they were painted black,
 with the Imperial logo on the top. Other small changes had been made,
 the most visible was that the HUD system had been modified to
 interface with the craft's onboard systems.

	Yates suppressed a shudder as he saw his flight suit. The scar
 on his right face began throbbing. Rubbing the memento of an ejection
 from a crippled TIE some twenty years ago, Yates began to suit up.

In minutes, everyone was suited up, looking very menacing in their
 all-black suits.

	The door labeled 'TIE Gantry Area - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' 
 whisked open to let the omnious-looking figures of the suited pilots
 through, looking like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in their
 flight suits.

	Hanging from their gantry clamps were twenty-four Defenders
 and twenty-four Missile Boats. The hatches on four of the Defenders
 were open, and the status lights on their docking stations glowed
 green, indicating that they had been serviced and prepped by the
 maintenance crew.

	Boots resonating on the grated floor above the Defenders, the
 four pilots began walking down the stairs that led to their
 respective craft's hatch. Dropping down into his assigned craft's
 cockpit, Yates quickly made the critical connections between his suit
 and the Defender's systems. Once he was satisfied that the cables
 were securely locked into position, he strapped himself into the
 pilot's seat. 

	The Defenders all had been modified to meet the 'Artificial
 Electronic Warfare Officer' standard set by Vice-Admiral Glasgow.
 Behind the pilot's seat in all the manned starfighters carried by the
 _Revenger_, lay a modified mid-level protocol droid brain. This was
 the final result of extensive experiments carried out by the
 Vice-Admiral into improving the 'fightability' of the TIE series. The
 first experiments had been 'stretched' TIEs, with a second guy behind
 the pilot to operate added jamming equipment and improve targetting.
 These had proven to be highly sucessful, boosting kill ratios by
 150%. However, with this method, if you lost a TIE, you didn't lose
 just one highly-trained pilot, you lost *two*.

	The solution to this was to steal a page from the Rebels and
 place a droid behind the pilot to assist him. After several abortive
 attempts in getting a workable droid, they finally got it right. The
 droid brain could selectively jam certain frequencies, rendering the
 A-Wing's concussion missiles ineffective at all but point-blank
 range. The droid also carried out orders by the pilot such as, "Scan
 that ship." "Target that A-Wing."

	The latest model, the Mark IV, allowed a true 'hunter-killer'
 capability for missile-equipped TIEs. While the pilot was getting a
 target lock on one target, the droid was using it's independent
 sensor array to get a target lock on a *second* target, allowing
 ripple firing of missiles at enemy targets.

	"Power up all systems, and open a channel to the traffic
 controller." ordered Yates. The Defender's systems came to life, and
 over his helmet speakers came a rough voice. 

"This is traffic control. Defender Alpha One, you have been cleared
 for departure."

"Confirmed." replied Yates.

	The Defender shuddered as the gantry clamps released, and the
 craft fell. For a sickening moment, he thought that he was going to
 smash into the hangar doors, which were the 'floor', then the
 Defender's repulsorlifts kicked in, and he floated in midair. Through
 his transparisteel windshield, he could see the other three ships in
 his flight drop from their gantrys. Slowly, the hangar doors opened,
 and the four Defenders enaged their Ion Engines and roared out of the
 hangar. 

"Report in, Alpha wing."

"This is Alpha Two." 
	
"Alpha Three here, all systems go."

"Alpha Four awaiting orders."

"Excellent. Assume Vee Formation. Follow me." ordered Yates.

	The four Defenders sliced through the blackness of space
 towards the _Vengeance_. Suddenly, a voice broke into their
 intercoms. "This is the Imperial Star Destroyer _Vengeance_ to
 unidentified starfighters. If you do not come to a full stop and
 identify yourself immediately, you will be destroyed."

"All stop. _Vengeance_, this is Commander Nathan Yates, CAG of the
 _Revenger_. We are under orders to escort Captain January's personal
 shuttle to the _Revenger_."

"Understood. If you try anything funny, we'll open fire."

"Sir, I think I see January at point 12.14" said King. 

	Looking at the point that King had told them, the pilots of
 Alpha flight saw a single Escort Shuttle descend from the forward
 hangar bay of the _Vengeance_. 

"Alright. Assume escort formation around that shuttle."

[Aboard Escort Shuttle _Typhoon_]

	January's aide came in from the cockpit of the Escort Shuttle
 and sat down next to January in the well-appointed passenger
 compartment.  "Captain; It appears that Admiral Sheppard has sent us
 an escort." January looked at his aide, his cybernetic left eye
 casting a red glow onto the man's face. "What kind of an escort?"

"Sir, If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it.
 He's sent TIE Defenders to escort us in."

"TIE Defenders?!? I thought that all of them had been destroyed or
 damaged in putting down the traitor Zaarin. Obviously, Admiral
 Sheppard has found something. We must find out what, my dear Major." 

	The other passenger of the shuttle coughed, then spoke. "He
 must have found one of the Emperor's depots recently." 

"We can ask the Admiral himself, in a few minutes."

	_Typhoon_ continued on towards the _Revenger_. Just before she
 entered the hangar, the escorting Defenders broke off, heading
 towards their own hangars.

[Main Hangar Bay - ISD _Revenger_]

	Admiral Sheppard and Vice-Admiral Glasgow stood in front of a
 platoon of Stormtroopers, waiting for January's shuttle to arrive.
 Suddenly, over the loudspeaker came what they had been waiting for:
 "Attention! The Escort Shuttle _Typhoon_ from the Star Destroyer
 _Vengeance_ is now arriving at the main hangar bay!"

	Everybody, even the Stormtroopers, looked out the hangar door,
 where January's shuttle was now arriving. The shuttle shuddered
 imperceptibly as it passed through the magnetic field that kept the
 atmosphere in the bay from rushing out into space. With a resounding
 clang, it settled onto the deckplates.

	The massive Stormtrooper Lieutenant known only as 'Hit-Man'
 shouted for his men to come to attention. The sound of armored feet
 stamping down simutaneously was deafening. Sheppard and Glasgow both
 came to attention in front of the main hatch of the escort shuttle. 

	Slowly, the resounding tread of booted feet could be heard.
 Through the wispy clouds of hissing steam from the hatch, Captain
 January appeared, light glinting off his cybernetic limbs. Everybody
 in the hangar took in an involuntary breath. Everybody in the fleet
 had heard the stories about January, abou how he took failure poorly.
 If you f**ked up, he'd personally choke the life out of you with his
 cybernetic left hand. The only good thing was, he couldn't choke you
 long-distance, unlike Vader.

	There was a second man following closely behind January. As
 the light fell upon the stranger's face, Charles Glasgow was filled
 with an intense hatred, one that he had thought he was rid of. No! It
 couldn't be that S.O.B! If it wasn't for all of these witnesses, I'd
 *kill* that bastard right here. Through this inner turmoil, he kept
 the stony facade he was known for throughout the fleet intact.

	January came to a stop in front of Admiral Sheppard. He came
 to attention. "Admiral, request permission to come aboard your ship."

"Permission Granted."

January guestured towards the man who had come aboard with him. "I
 believe you haven't met my second-in-command, Major Tierce."

"*I* have," snapped Glasgow; "and I didn't like him one bit."

"Ah, Charles. It's been too long since we last met." 

"What's going on here?" ordered Sheppard.

"The Major and I, have a...history." replied Glasgow.

"We'll leave it at that...Admiral." stated Tierce.

January broke the uneasy silence that hung in the air. "Well, Admiral,
 shall we begin negotations to enter your fleet?" 

"Be my guest. Follow me, please."

	Sheppard led the group into an storage room in the hangar bay
 that had a table placed in the middle of the room. "I know that the
 accomodations here are quite spartan, but this room has been swept
 repeatedly for bugs, so we'll be safe in here." He then waited for
 January to begin the negogations. He didn't have to wait long, and
 January got to the point in the first sentence.

"Where the hell did you get those Defenders? Maybe at one of the
 Emperor's depots?"

"You're quite perceptive Captain. The planet we're orbiting currently
 has a depot. But don't bother sending your people down -- we've
 already stripped it bare."

"My sensor crew has told me that your fleet's hyperdrives have been
 extensively modified. Why?"

"Because of this, Captain." With a push of a button on the table in
 front of him, Sheppard revealed the twisted alien wreckage.  January
 and Tierce both did a double take on the wreckage. "Where the hell
 did you get that?"

Sheppard smiled. "To keep a long story short, we've found a galaxy
 full of aliens whose tech level is far below ours. We intend to
 conquer it for the Empire. Will you join us?"

January mulled this new information over for a moment, then made his
 decision. "Admiral, I turn the command authority of the _Vengeance_
 over to you." 

"Excellent. I'll send over the complete data on these aliens shortly,
 and instructions to your engineers on how to modify your hyperdrive."

"Modify? Why?" questioned Tierce.

"Because my friend, these aliens are very, very, far away. This
 meeting is *over*. Time is of the essence, since we must be gone
 before the Rebels or other Imperials find us."

January and Tierce both got up. "We're now returning to the
 _Vengeance_," said January, then his tone suddenly got harsh; "If
 this is a fraud, remember this my friend; the _Vengeance_ is fully
 operational, while the _Revenger_ is a broken down scow. It would not
 be good for you if I've been deceived." 

"This is no deception."
 
"I hope so, for your sake, _Admiral_." 

	The two of them then walked out the door towards the
 _Typhoon_. As soon as the door closed and Sheppard was sure that
 January couldn't hear them he remarked to Glasgow; "Damn. The stories
 *were* right after all. The fucker's another Vader." 

	Throughout the entire meeting, Glasgow had been glowering at
 Tierce. "Charles, what's wrong?" said Sheppard, dropping all pretense
 of Imperial prodecure. Glasgow got up and grabbed a bottle of
 Corellian Ale that was sitting on the table, in case the negotations
 had gone on longer. Opening the bottle, he responded.

"How much do you know about my past, Admiral?"

"Well, I know that you spent twenty years in the Navy as a Captain,
 pulling shit assignments until I found you."

"Yes, and it was because of that bastard, Tierce."

"Why?"

"It's a long story, Mark."

Sheppard took a swig from the bottle of ale. "We've got time, Chuck."

"Ok, well, thirty years ago, I was an hot up-and-coming officer in the
 Navy. Shortly after I had graduated from the Imperial Academy, I had
 done a few assignments before I was transferred to Grand Moff
 Tarkin's Advanced Technology Research Group. One of my first
 assignments there was to do systems integration for the original
 Death Star." Chuck paused to take a swig of ale, then continued.

"Anyway, I was deemed to be too important to the Navy, in light of my
 tactical skills, to be shut away in the Maw Installation. Daala, due
 to her superior skills in R&D, was given the job instead. I was
 transferred to the Navy's R&D division. A few years passed. You
 following me here?" 

Mark nodded.

"Good. OK, now due to the Emperor getting a bit uppity about having
 _really_ advanced tech in the hands of mere footsoldiers, he had the
 Imperial Guard place an agent in the Navy's R&D division. His name was
 Lieutenant Tierce. Now, back then, I was a Captain. That was twenty
 years ago. We had just recieved the first TIE Defender prototype from
 Admiral Zaarin's section. We were to put it through it's paces, then
 submit our evaluations on it, whether it should be placed in service;
 did it have any other tech that could be placed in normal TIEs, stuff
 like that."

"The first mock battles against current TIEs confirmed what I had felt
 for a while. In order for the Imperial Navy to defeat the Rebels, the
 TIE series had to take a generational leap, one from reliance on mass
 production, to one based on quality, like the Rebels. I immediately
 wrote a brief saying in essence, that all TIE production should be
 stopped, and replaced by the Defender." Chuck then took another shot
 of ale.

"Unfortunately, shortly after, both Admiral Harkov and Zaarin went
 renegade one after another, which gave Tierce all the ammunition he
 needed to label the Defender project as a quote dangerous threat to
 the Emperor's rule unquote. He suggested that the Defender be placed
 in limited production only, and that they be placed under the direct
 control of either Vader or the Emperor himself."

"I of course, vehemently disagreed. I felt that in order to maintain
 superiority over the Rebels *and* Imperial traitors, we had to mass
 produce the Defender, because our normal TIEs weren't cutting it
 against Zaarin's shielded TIEs. Even to this day, I still don't know
 *how* the hell Zaarin put shields onto TIEs, of all things! I tried
 to start research into shield retrofits for our TIEs as well, but
 Tierce, with the help of the Emperor's Secret Order, stopped all my
 requests cold."

By now, Chuck's eyes were getting bloodshot, as the effects of the ale
 finally hit home. "The worst was yet to come. Tierce shortly after,
 had me blacklisted for quote conduct unbecoming of an Imperial Navy
 officer unquote, with the help of the Secret Order."

"Waitaminute," interrupted Mark; "I thought the Imperial Guard were
 just his bodyguards, that they had no organizational powers."

"They don't," replied Chuck; "they do, however have friends in the
 Emperor's Secret Order, and those guys can do just about *anything*.
 As a result I was stuck for the next twenty years at the rank of
 Captain, at least until you found me." 

"Whoa, sounds like he did a number on you," remarked Mark. "with a
 track record like that, how can we keep him and January from trying
 to take over my job?"

Chuck thought for a moment. "Well, we *could* place him under
 someone's command. No, not even Valberg could handle them both. We
 need someone who's a good strategist; that'll be our excuse. That we
 need someone to help coordinate our growing fleet."

"Who?"

"Well, there's one who I think is up to the job, true, she's done
 badly in the past, but that was due to bad luck and to the fact that
 she's a strategist, not a tactician."

"Wait...you said...you don't mean..."

"Yes...Daala."

[Fondor IV....a few days later]


	Sheppard and Glasgow both stood outside the small home. "Are
 you sure this is where she is these days?" asked Sheppard. "Well, we
 both knew each other when we were young officers, and we've always
 kept tabs on each other. This info is only a few months old." replied
 Glasgow.

	The two men looked at each other. "Let's do it." said
 Sheppard. Walking up to the house's entrance, they both noted that
 the grounds had been well kept. "The house looks good; it seems that
 she doesn't have anything better to do these days." stated the
 Admiral. 

	Glasgow knocked on the door. After a few sharp knocks, they
 heard footsteps. Sheppard straightened his uniform and looked at the
 doorway. A pretty redhead answered the door. 

"Is this Daala's house?" asked Sheppard.

The woman looked at them suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed. "Who wants
 to know?"

"Admiral Mark Sheppard. Imperial Navy."

"Go away; I'm retired. I gave up on that years ago."

At that moment, Glasgow broke into the converstation. "Daala, it's me,
 Charles Glasgow. Remember me from Tarkin's R&D group all those years
 ago?"

"Charles? Is that you? The years haven't been kind to you."  

"Neither has been being blacklisted by the Secret Order." 

"They blacklisted you? Why?"

"It's a long story. Mind if we come in?"

"No, come on in."

	The two officers stepped into Daala's house. The walls were
 covered with mementos of her service in the Imperial Navy. On one
 wall was a holopicture of her and Tarkin; another holopicture was 
 her on the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Gorgon_.

	The three of them sat at the kitchen table. "So, tell me, why
 did you come here Charles?" 

"Daala, we need your help." responded Chuck. "The person who
 blacklisted me is now in our fleet, along with January." 

"January...*the* Michael January?" incredulously replied Daala.

"Yes. Mr. Squishy himself." deadpanned Sheppard.

"What can I do against him? I'm just a retired Admiral!" retorted
 Daala.

"Let us be blunt. We would like to place him under *your* command." 

"*My* command? The last time I commanded something, it was the _Knight
 Hammer_, and look where it is now!"

"Daala, that was bad luck. You've always been a good strategist. It's
 when you try to do *tactics*, that's when you screw up." stated
 Glasgow.

"Look, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Not many people get a
 third chance to prove themselves. Do you really want to be known as
 'Daala the Incompetent'? Or do you want to be known for something
 else?" 

	Daala thought it over for a moment, her brow furrowed in
 thought. "All right, I'll do it. Just promise me this: can we
 actually _win_?"

"Our enemies' level of technology is so pathetic, it would be funny,
 if it weren't true. It'll be like taking candy from a baby." replied
 Sheppard. 

"I'll take that as an affirmative. When do we leave?"

"Now." said Sheppard.

[The Shuttle _Echo_ two days later -- Fendar system]

	During the last two days spent in transit, Sheppard and
 Glasgow had bought Daala up to speed on current events. She had
 proven herself a quick learner, absorbing information like a sponge.
 The comm unit crackled to life in the shuttle's main cabin. "Admiral,
 all preparations are complete for the hyperspace transit to the
 so-called 'Milky-Way' Galaxy. The _Vengeance's_ hyperdrive's
 modifications were finished only hours ago. As soon as you're aboard,
 we're ready to go."stated acting-fleet Commander Valberg. 

	Thumbing the comm console, the Admiral replied. "Excellent.
 Wait for my command to enage the hyperdrive." Turning to Glasgow and
 Daala, who were playing a game of Sabacc, he told them of the fleet's
 readiness. "That fast?" remarked Daala. "Remember that we started the
 modifications almost four days ago. That's more then enough
 time."stated Glasgow. 	

	As soon as the _Echo_ was safely in the _Revenger's_ hangar,
 the three officers made a beeline towards the nearest turbolift.
 Within minutes, they were on the bridge. Captain Valberg saluted them
 as he saw them coming. 

"Admiral. The fleet is ready. We're awaiting your command, sir." 

Walking to the bridge viewports, he turned to Valberg. "Open a comm
 channel to the fleet."

"Channel open, sir."

"To the fleet, this is Admiral Sheppard. Recently, we have discovered
 a new galaxy. It's ripe for the plucking, and since our leaders
 betray their trust to the Empire by signing treaties with the Rebels,
 we have no further allegiance to them. We will conquer this new
 galaxy in the name of the Empire, then we will return; and we will
 *crush* the Rebellion like the scum they are!"

	All over the fleet, crewmen began cheering, and waving their
 caps in the air. After so long on the retreat, by the Force, it felt
 _good_ to be on the warpath again!

Turning to face the viewport, Sheppard uttered the fateful words:
 "Enage hyperdrives on my mark..."

"Mark!"

	Sheppard watched the starfield dissolve into streaks of light,
 then they entered hyperspace. From Fendar II, the fleet appeared to
 glow brightly, then streak away and disappear. Deep in the depot, the 
clocks on the pair of 500 megaton B-61 bombs ticked towards zero. On
 zero, the entire depot dissappeared in a blinding white fireball. All
 evidence of the depot and everything within a radius of 250
 kilometers were atomized by the pair of 'Continent-Buster' bombs,
 erasing the fleet's tracks utterly. Fendar II, as a result of nearly
 a gigaton of explosives detonated, would suffer a millenia-long
 nuclear winter, and would be glowing hot for millenia to come. 


[Chapter 3]

[The Fleet in Hyperspace]

	Instead of the familiar blue swirling mix of hyperspace, the
 light show that swept past the fleet was an angry red, with yellow
 flashes appearing everywhere. The fleet, now numbering two ISDs and 
three corvettes, bored through the hyperspace tunnel. 

	After nearly thirty seconds of travelling through the tunnel,
 a bright orange light could be seen at the end of the tunnel. The
 fleet raced towards it, and with a bright flash, the fleet appeared
 in the Delta Quadrant of the Milky Way galaxy.

	Sheppard had watched the entire light show from his massive
 command chair. It was a refreshing change from the now-boring blue
 vista of hyperspace. A young astrogation officer walked up to him,
 clutching a datapad.  

"Report."

"Sir, we're in a region of space totally alien; we're not even on the
 starmap!" 

"Do the positions of the stars match with their positions as given in
 the report?"

"Yessir, give or take a few decades worth of drift. We're in the right
galaxy."

"Excellent."

	Deep down in the port crew pit, a young crewer suddenly
 noticed a single ship approaching using a primitive subspace
 distortion drive. "Sir! Possible hostiles incoming!" shouted the
 crewer.

This wasn't good, thought Sheppard. They weren't supposed to be
 detected. At least not yet. 

"Damn! Nav, plot us a microjump out of here; relay it to the rest of
 the fleet!"

	The fleet's engines glowed brightly, and the mighty Star
 Destroyers, using more energy in that moment than most planetary
 civilizations use in their entire lifetime, disappeared into
 hyperspace, to be followed by the much smaller corvettes.

	The hyperjump lasted thirty seconds, enough to move just
 slightly more than a lightyear away. At the rate of speed that the
 primitive spacecraft was going, it would take them a few hours to
 reach the fleet's new position.

[Borg Cube 2E4]

	During a routine patrol, the Cube had picked up a distortion
 that was outputting massive amounts of energy. Upon further analysis,
 the pattern proved to be artificial. The Collective, curious as to
 what technology would be capable of generating this kind of energy,
 which was equal to a small star, commanded the Cube to investigate
 further. Before the Cube could get within sensor range, the massive
 distortion reoccured. The Cube immediately scanned the surrounding
 area for any sign of ships. None were found. The Cube was about to
 resume it's goal of seeking out new species in this sector to
 assimilate, when the distortion reappeared, but this time just more
 than a lightyear away. The Collective was intrigued. Apparently some
 sort of new drive mechanism was being utilized. The order came:
 assimiliate this new technology at all costs.  The thousands of
 drones aboard Cube 2E4 accordingly adjusted their directives. 
The Cube sped on towards the distortion.

[The _Revenger's_ Bridge]

"Sir, he's still coming after us!" shouted the crewer.

	Sheppard thought this over. The fleet's combined firepower
 could easily vaporize the alien ship many times over, but they needed
 more information on this galaxy, and above all, they had to stay
 inconspicuous until they were ready. That meant avoiding ships and
 confrontations at all cost.

"Sensors! Find us a quiet spot about a hundred lightyears away, with
 little or no subspace transmissions!" barked Sheppard.

	The sensor technicians hunched over their scopes, searching
 for the quiet spot that would provide the fleet respite from this
 rabid pursuer. Sub-Lieutenant Okina found it, but he waited to
 double-check the readings, to make sure that it truly was quiet on
 the subspace spectrum.

Confirming the location, Okina glanced up towards the Admiral. "Sir,
 I've found it! Relaying co-ordinates to the navicomputer now!"

"Good. How much longer?"

	"Roughly five minutes until the navicomputer finishes it's
 calculations," Okina paused to take a breath. "You realize, sir, that
 we won't be able to travel at our top speed until we get accurate
 starmaps?"

"Yes, Sub-Lieutenant, I know that," replied Sheppard "Which is why it
 will be our first priority to obtain said starmaps, even if we have
 to 'persuade' some people to give theirs to us." Glasgow, who was
 standing behind the Admiral, smiled at that last line. 'Persuade' was
 a synomym used by the Empire to mean a great many things, but
 usually, it meant beating the shit out of people until they gave you
 what you wanted.

[Borg Cube 2E4]

	The Cube had been closing in on the location of the energy
 burst for the last five minutes, when suddenly, another energy burst
 appeared. The Collective concluded that the aliens had once again
used their drive. It commanded the Cube to begin searching the sector
 for the alien ship. Dutifully, the thousands of mindless drones began
 to carry out the task given to them by the Collective.

[Admiral Sheppard's Personal Quarters - five hours later]

	Sheppard turned his chair around to look out the
 transparisteel window that was behind his desk. The unfamiliar stars
 of this galaxy shone back at him. It had taken five hours, crawling
 along at the frustrating rate of only 25 lightyears an hour, to get
 to this quiet spot. 

	Even now, his technicians were hard at work, listening to the
 babbling that was going over subspace in this section of the galaxy.
 Already they had identified several races, and their planets. 
The most surprising find had been a lone Federation starship, under
 the name _Voyager_, being in this section of the galaxy. The last
 report done on the Federation's drive technology had concluded that
 it would take them 70 years to cross the galaxy. Yet, here in a mere
 twenty years, was one on the other side of the galaxy.

	Well, they'd find out how it got here once they'd captured it.
 But first, before they could do anything in this new galaxy, they'd
 have to get some fairly accurate starmaps. The fleet's sensor
 officers were busy logging stars and their positions into a
 rudimentary map, but only for a area of 100 lightyears. At the rate
 they were going, this was unacceptable. However, the solution to the
 problem was at hand.

Sheppard opened a link to the main hangar bay. "Has Captain January
 arrived yet" 

"Sir, he just arrived on his personal shuttle a few minutes ago. He's
 on his way to your quarters."

	At that moment, the door to his office swished open, and
 Captain January walked in. Sheppard motioned for January to have a
 seat.

"I prefer to stand, Admiral."

"Fine. Do you know why I called for you?"

January didn't hestitate. "Because you have need of me for a...dirty
 mission."

Sheppard smiled. "You are correct, Captain. We need to carry out a
 rather...messy mission."

	Punching up a local starmap onto the hologram projector in his
 office, Sheppard began the briefing. 

"As you are no doubt aware of, our lack of reliable starmaps limits
 our hyperdrives  to about 25 lightyears an hour. This is clearly
 unacceptable. Our sensor teams, listening in on local subspace
 chatter, have located several small craft in the area that are
 vunerable to an assault."

	January gave the Admiral a quizzical look. Everybody knew that
 you didn't put high-quality starmaps onto non-military vessels. It
 was the stupidest thing you could do. Why give civilians, whose
 loyalties were in doubt, the maps they needed to take shortcuts
across space and allow travel at maximum speed for their ships?

	Sheppard then answered the question for him. "The local space
 traffic control chatter doesn't include directions, or vectors. Ergo,
 the ships must have starmaps. We must have those maps," The Admiral
 then paused to take a sip of water. "To this end, I am ordering the 
_Vengeance_, under your command, to intercept these vessels and board
 them. I must stress this: no one must know what happened to those
 ships. They must appear to have been lost with all hands
somewhere along their journey. Therefore, you *must* initate heavy
 subspace jamming just before you drop out of hyperspace. I presume
 that you know what to do next, with the crews if they're...reluctant
 to hand over the information."

"I have a nice little chat with the crew, and they hand the
 information over as a gesture of goodwill." January then smiled. It
 was a chilling smile, one that gave the Admiral shivers. 

	Sheppard regained his composure. "Yes. To assist in your
 efforts in prying out the information from the ships' computers if
 you can't get them from the crew, I'll be temporarily assigning my
 best slicer to your ship. Goes by the name of Phong. Can break into
 almost any computer in existence."

"I doubt his abilities will be needed, Admiral. Now, are we finished?"

	Sheppard merely nodded. With that, January turned around and
 strode out of the Admiral's office. Once the door closed behind
 January, Sheppard let out a sigh. The man genuinely scared him. Well,
 onto the next task at hand: contacting the Emperor's deep cover
agent. The files from the depot listed his name, Alex Sutton, the
 frequency on which to contact him, and the code word group to use to
 verify the authenticity of the message.

	Sheppard punched a button on his companel. The face of a young
 communications officer appeared on the holographic projector.

"Sir, what is it?"

"Lieutenant, I want you to send a message on frequency
 Baker-One-Black-Five. Send the following words: Imperial Phoenix.
 Also send our position relative to the Galatic Core in the standard
 Imperial coordinate system." 

	The Lieutenant nodded, and then his face faded away, as
 Sheppard terminated the commlink. The message would arrive in about a
 day, travelling on the slower, but unjammable hyperspace comms.
It would signal this man, Alex Sutton, to switch on his much faster
 HoloNet transmitter for virtually real-time communication with the fleet.

[The N'oaad system - A few hours later]

	The small pleasure craft, built only for luxurious travel,
 had no hope of escaping the Star Destroyer that bore down onto
it. Inside, the pilot was trying everything he knew to try to save
him and his family from these new aliens who were undoubtly 
hostile.
	
	Once again, he tried to sound a distress call. Once again,
 only static came through. "That's the third time you've tried
to call for help, dear." 

	Polliat turned to look at his wife of ten years. "No matter
how many times I try, there's this...." He struggled to find the
words. "...garbage all over the frequencies." 

	From the transparisteel viewports at the front of the bridge, 
January watched the small craft grow larger. He turned to an aide.

"Are you absolutely sure that nothing's getting through?"

"Yes, sir. We're dumping over thirty terawatts of garbage all over
subspace. There's no way in hell that craft is going to get a distress
call off."

"Good. Are the tractor crews ready? It would be...unfortunate if
this craft were to slip through our fingers."

	The aide shivered at the implied threat. "Yessir, All ten 
crews are standing by. We'll be in tractor range shortly."

	January turned away from the viewport, his cybernetic 
eye glowing. "Excellent. Continue with the capture of this craft. 
I will be in the hangar bay, to personally assist in the
 interrogation."

	The aide almost felt sorry for the poor bastards who were
on that craft. It wasn't likely that much of them would be left after
January was through with them.

	Inside the craft, things were growing tenser by the moment.
A few moments ago, the craft had shook horribly, throwing Dellia, his
wife against a control panel, opening a nasty cut on her head.

	As he was giving her first aid, Polliat noticed that the stars
 were no longer moving *towards* them. They were moving *away* from
them. They were moving backwards, towards the alien ship! 

	Checking the helm, he couldn't believe his eyes. The engines
were running at redline, but their rearwards movement was rapidly
 increasing. We're caught in a tractor beam, he thought glumly.

	Over the next few minutes, the enormous wedge-shaped alien
vessel grew larger in the windshield. It appeared that they were being
tractored into a indentation on the underside of the vessel; possibly
a hangar bay.

"Daddy, will we be all right?" said his young daughter, coming up
from the rear.

"Yes sweetie, everything will be all right....I hope."

	Suddenly, a series of loud bangs and crashing noises were
heard, followed by the heartrending screech of metal against metal.
For a few minutes after that, everything was quiet.  

	Then without warning, the main hatch blew inwards in a 
shower of hot metal and sparks.  Over the noise, his daughter's 
screaming could be heard. Through the thick smoke roiling around
the hatch, he saw blurry white shapes.

	His mind was racing in overdrive, his heart was beating away
in his chest, as he suddenly remembered the bedtime stories that his
parents used to tell him, about the white Jarkons, and how they'd 
come in the middle of the night to snatch away children from their
homes.
	
	In the next few moments, that particular nightmare faded away;
it was just aliens in all-white armor. They moved like lightning; one
of them crossed the space between the hatch and where he stood
in seconds. 

	Sub-Lieutenant Ikon was the first one into the alien
spacecraft. The entire craft was full of thick, dense smoke that
impeded vision. Switching his view from visible light to IR, he saw
three distinct lifeforms in the forward section. Of those three, two
 were lying on the floor, while the third was standing, looking towards them. 

	Keeping his weapon pointed at the aliens, Ikon charged the
standing one. With a grunt, he lifted the alien up and slammed it
 against the bulkhead of the craft. The alien immediately began
to protest. He jammed his E-11 under the alien's chin. That shut
the bastard up. 

	In the lower right corner of his HUD, he saw an overhead view
of the interior of the alien spacecraft. His men were covering the
other two aliens. Good. All that training in boarding and capturing
possibly hostile craft hadn't gone to waste.

	Quickly and efficiently, Ikon and his men herded the aliens 
into a corner of the spacecraft. A voice suddenly burst over his 
suit radio. "Sub-Lieutenant Ikon, report."

"Captain January, alien craft captured with zero casualities. We have
three prisoners." 

"Good. I'm coming in now."

	Polliat was really pissed off now. How _dare_ these aliens
come and ruin his space yacht, then slap him and his family around!
At that moment, January came striding out of the smoke that still
filled the hatchway. Immediately, all anger was replaced with a cold
fear of this...machine-man.

"You will give us your starmaps. Now," said January in an icy voice.
"Or you and your family here will suffer the consequences."

"Those starmaps cost me a lot. Why should I give them to you?" said
 Polliat indignantly.

January, with the whine of well-maintained cybernetics, grabbed
 Polliat by the throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighed
 nothing.

"If you wish for your child to continue having a father, you will."
 snarled January as he tightened his grip further.

	Polliat struggled uselessly in January's durasteel-hard
grip, his vision slowly turning black. Finally, he broke.

"Ok, Ok! You can have the starmaps. They're on those datachips
in the nav slot over there!" 

"Thank you for your cooperation." dryly said January, and with that,
he released him. 

	Polliat immediately dropped to the floor, gasping and wheezing
for breath. At that moment Phong Nguyen, who was the best slicer in
the Empire, made his entrance. 

	January didn't even look at Phong, he kept on looking at the
 useless sack of shit in front of him. "Nguyen, check those datachips
 for me. Confirm that they hold starmaps, not holonovels!"

	While methods of storage and computer systems were wildly
 variable from race to race, one thing remained constant, and that
was the laws of the universe itself. While measurement systems
differed, the boiling point of water was always the same, and so was
it's freezing point. Starmaps were easily translatable from one
language to the next; the only problem was with the names of the
systems, not their locations.

	Phong looked at the controls. "How do I view what's on this
datachip?" Polliat just sat there in stony silence. January, disturbed
by Polliat's sudden lack of cooperation started walking towards him.

"Ok, Ok! You push the second button in the first row below the
 monitor!"

	Phong pushed the button. The monitor filled with garbage
briefly, then resolved into an intricate map, complete with color
coded sections of space to show who controlled what. Even with
alien markings, it was obvious that this was a starmap, and a good
one at that. 

"It's a starmap, alright. It's of good enough quality that it's all
 we'll need." remarked Phong.

January tuned to face Polliat and his family. "Thank you for your
cooperation, however, you know too much about us. Goodbye."

	With that, January pulled his BlasTech BL-44 out and
shot Polliat in the chest. He was dead even before he hit the deck,
his chest eaten away by the blaster bolt. There was no blood, since
the bolt had instantly cauterized the wound.

	With a sneer on his face, he finished the job. The woman
and child both went down with smoking holes in their chests. 
With a wave of his hand, he signalled for the Stormtroopers to 
remove the bodies. 

"Dispose of them in the garbage compactor. We can't have someone 
discovering their bodies floating around in space. Same goes for this
craft."

	Five minutes later, the Imperial Star Destroyer _Vengeance_
 dissappeared into hyperspace in a flash of pseudomotion. When the 
Polliats' craft was two days overdue, the Feliatis authorities began
a large-scale search of the space in which they had disappeared. 

	No trace of them or their craft was ever found. For all the
Felatis authorities knew, the family and their craft was lost with
all hands due to a antimatter containment field failure. The real
truth would forever remain hidden.

[San Francisco - 1900 hours that day]

	Alex Sutton walked up the stairs to his small apartment
he had in an antique brick building. It had taken him about an 
hour to get home from Starfleet Headquarters on the People-Mover.
Since he held the rank of Admiral, he of course, could be beamed
to and from the HQ building; however, he'd never allowed himself to be 
transported, citing a 'religious belief' against transporters.

	His fellow 'fleeters considered him to be a kook in his
 obstinance against transporters, since of course, transporting
was *the* safest way to travel. 

	Being torn apart atom by atom and having a duplicate of
you reassembled from your raw material sure didn't sound safe
to Sutton.  Putting his hand around his door's hand ID scanner,
he waited for the unit to confirm that it was him. Damn this old 
piece of shit scanner, thought Sutton. Should've gotten it 
replaced years ago, but it was hard to find one that looked like
an antique brass doorknob from the twentieth-century.

	The scanner beeped, and the status strip on the doorknob base
glowed green. Opening the door, he walked into his well-decorated 
apartment. A large part of the memorabila covering his wall had
been obtained illegally, due to Federation restrictions on their 
import, or ownership. On one wall was an German MG-42 light machine
gun from World War II. In another part of the apartment, a massive 
General Electric GAU-8 'Avenger' 30mm cannon rested, occupying an 
entire room with it's bulk. 

	He never tired of showing off this museum piece from the 'Dark
Age of Man' to visitors. The fact that this gun weighed more than a
hovercar was usually enough to surprise them. Their jaws usually hit 
the floor when he showed them the shells it had fired (each the size
of a milk jug). The final touch was telling them that they were fired
at the rate of up to seventy rounds a *second*.

	Walking into the kitchen, Sutton grabbed a freeze-dried steak
out of his refrigerator. It had cost him dearly to get the banned, 
highly illegal meat from off-planet. Possession of a meat product that
had been cut from an animal was enough to land you in the New Zealand
penal colony and extensive psychotherapy to remove all traces of
'barbaric' conduct. He just called it brainwashing.

	Throwing the steak into the flashoven, he set it to cook the
steak for the equivalent of 30 minutes at 400 degrees Farenheit. 
Picking up the evening edition of the 'San Francisco Chronicle', 
he skipped to the intergalatic section and began to read.

	Hmm, it appeared that the fighting between the Maquis and the
Cardassians was intensifying. The Maquis now claimed that the Cardies
had massacred 300 innocent civilians on the colony world of Likud IV.

	Innocent, my ass; thought Sutton. They were supporting the
 Maquis, and supplying them with weapons and ships. With luck, the
 renewed fighting in the Badlands wouldn't grow to an interstellar
 incident that would involve the diplomats of Cardassia and Earth, and
 culiminate in the signing of yet another worthless treaty.

	The flashoven beeped, indicating that the steak was done.
 Sutton got out of his chair. Dumping the now well-done steak onto his
 plate, he grabbed a replicated bottle of A-1 Steak Sauce and then sat
 down again.

	Slathering the sauce all over the steak, he began to eat. 
Suddenly, the resounding strains of the Imperial March interupted his
dinner. His fork and knife dropped out of his hands, and clattered
 onto the plate. 

	The signal! After so long, the signal! Jumping out of his
 chair, he made a beeline for his antique roll-top desk. He sat down
 in the antique chair and pressed the hidden button. The false panel
 in the back of the desk began to roll down, revealing an advanced
 communications setup. 

	Just before he had begun this deep-cover assignment nearly
 twenty years ago, Sutton had looked up how much one of these advanced
 comm systems cost. His mind had boggled at the amount, which was
 equal to a unfurbished Imperial Star Destroyer. It wasn't that the
 equipment was expensive. However, when it was minaturized to this
 level, it became fantastically expensive. 

	As a result, it was only issued to the most important
 undercover missions. The Emperor himself had deemed this mission to
 be of enough importance to warrant such an advanced system.

	He began to run through the start-up sequence he had rehearsed
 so many times. A few seconds later, the soothing symbol of the Empire 
appeared on the unit's vidscreen. Green text started scrolling rapidly 
across the screen. After a few seconds, the message ended. 

	Sutton began to read the message. 

FLASH FLASH FLASH

FREQUENCY BAKER-ONE-BLACK-FIVE

ACTIVICATION CODE GROUP FOR AGENT ALEX SUTTON FOLLOWS: IMPERIAL
 PHOENIX

ACTIVICATE HOLO-NET TRANSCEIVER AND SET IT TO THESE COORDINATES:

A91X-AD78-KI9L

AUTHORIZATION: ADM. SHEPPARD - C.O., ISD _REVENGER_

END TRANSMISSION

	Sutton carefully reread the message at least three times. The
frequency had been right, as was the code group. Well, the only thing
to do now was to contact this Admiral Sheppard. 

	It had been a while since he had used the standard Imperial
coordinate system. It measured the distance from the galatic center. 
Pulling out a nearby map of the Milky Way made by Starfleet, he began
to locate the coordinates given to him.

	Let's see...ah, there we are! His finger had come down onto
 the point indicated in the transmission. It was across the galaxy, in
 the Delta quadrant. He thought for a moment. Isn't that ship there?
 He vaguely remembered reading a top-secret communique he had
 illegally obtained that said that an Intrepid-class ship, missing for
 the last few years was all the way in the Delta quadrant. 

	He'd ask this Admiral about it when he contacted him.
 Switching the set to Holo-Net mode, he punched in the coordinates.
 Once the coordinates were in, he pushed the 'iniate' button. He then
 waited for the transmission to reach the other end of the galaxy.

[Bridge of ISD _Revenger_ - ten seconds later]

The comm officer walked up to Sheppard. "Admiral, we're receiving
a Holo-Net transmission from someone identifying themselves as 'Alex
Sutton'."

"Send it to my quarters. I'll receive it there." 

	With that, Sheppard pivoted around and began to walk towards
 the bridge turbo. Minutes later, he was in his quarters, sitting
 behind his massive desk. Opening a commlink, he spoke to the comm
 officer. 

"I'm ready. Put it through."

	On his desk's vidscreen, the Imperial Logo appeared, then 
flickered away, to be replaced with the face of a middle-aged man in
 an unfamiliar uniform.

	The screen flickered, as the comm protocols found the
 necessary compression level and frequency to transmit the images of
 the callers from one side of the galaxy to the other almost
 instanteously.

	The man spoke. "This is Admiral Alex Sutton of Starfleet. 
However, you know me as Imperial Phoenix."

	Sheppard's mouth fell open in shock. Here was Imperial
 Phoenix, and he was an *Admiral*, of all things! Could Federation
 Internal Security really be so lax?

"Tell, me Admiral Sheppard, how are things going back in the Empire?"

	Sheppard almost told him the truth. No, it would be better to
 tell him that the Empire had collapsed on the bridge of the
 _Revenger_  instead of over the Holo-Net. 

"Everything's fine. Now, we've just arrived in this galaxy. We
 recently evaded a possible hostile, per se our orders not to be
 detected until the time is right." 

"Mmm...that's good. Retain the element of surprise. You would be 
surprised by the number of incompetent fools here in the Federation's 
armed forces."

"I'm sure you'll be able to tell us everything about the Federation, 
once we've picked you up."

"Picked me up? Why? I could do much damage here with my rank."

"True. But we need large amounts of accurate information on this
 galaxy.  Such as what the hell a Federation starship is doing nearly
 70 years away from home."

"Wait. What was that? The part about the Federation ship."

"Oh, that. Ever since we arrived, we've been listening to all kinds of
subspace chatter about this Federation ship called _Voyager_. 
Apparently, they've managed to piss just about everyone in this sector 
of the galaxy off."

	Sutton remembered something at that moment. Oh, yes. He had
 the complete report on _Voyager_ somewhere here. Rifling through the 
enormous stack of papers on his desk, he dug out the report.

"Ah, Here it is. The USS _Voyager_ NCC-74656, commanded by Captain
 Kathryn Janeway. Been in the Delta quadrant for the last few years
 after some aliens transported it there. They're still trying to get
 home, but they keep failing miserably."

Sheppard paused to consider this for a moment, then he spoke.

"Sutton, I am sending a Corvette to pick you up in the Alpha Quadrant. 
It should arrive within a week. In that time, I want you to get as
much information as you can on the Federation and it's starfleet as
possible onto datacards, or whatever you have.  Such information
will be quite useful in our plans to conquer this galaxy."

	Sutton nodded, formulating plans in his head on how to kill
as many of these pacifist fools he could before he escaped to the
safety of the Empire. Before he could get any further, Sheppard
blocked that avenue.

"We may find your rank useful in our plans, so try to 'dissapear' as
quietly as you can. No going around shooting people. Just drop off the
face of the galaxy. You're an Admiral, you can arrange for you to go
on an inspection tour to an outpost or some bullshit. We'll pick you
up there."

"All right. I'll begin preparations for a 'fact-finding' junket to
Trill to inspect their planetary defenses. I'll travel alone in a
long-range shuttle. Trill is at...coordinates FFD3-D123-9PO1.
Send your corvette to a quiet spot somewhere near there. 
I'll be transmitting a specific transponder code, so you can
identify my craft. It'll be...Phoenix Alpha."

"Good. I'll inform the corvette's captain immediately. Good
luck, Admiral Sutton."

	With that, both screens went blank, to be replaced with
the Imperial logo. Sheppard once again called the comm officer.

"Lieutenant, I'd like to speak with Captain Valberg. Open a channel
to the _Dagger_."

[Corvette _Dagger_]

	Captain Valberg was in his quarters for once; there simply was
 not enough room on the bridge to review all these blasted files, and
 since he had not had enough sleep for days, he was getting
 increasingly irritated by the constant murmur of the bridge crew
 (even though it was perfectly natural). 

	Suddenly he grabbed the side of his stomach, those
blasted ulcers were opening again, it was only a few months since he
had them closed the last time, but the stress of the work made them
come back again and again. With a sigh he reached into his desk
drawer and pulled out a bottle of a pinkish liquid, he uncorked it
and drank greedily, supposedly it could alleviate and close even
bleeding ulcers. Naturally this was a total lie, or so Valberg
thought, although he did admit that maybe it was his stomach that was
under too much strain, and not the medicine that was too weak, even
so it did relieve the pain somewhat.

	Suddenly the computer told him of a incoming communication 
from Admiral Sheppard. Valberg was glad that he was shaved and in a
clean pressed uniform. At least he looked good when the Admiral
called (that was starting to become the exception rather than the
rule, a fact that deeply worried him, but there was always so much
work to be done). He pushed the button that activated his
communications system, then he gave his personal password:
"Huak-Togh", the first world he had conquered.

	Immediately the image of Admiral Sheppard appeared on the
screen. Valberg said "Sir", the Admiral nodded and explained the
situation. After doing the math in his head, Valberg broke the bad
news to the Admiral.

"Sir, we might have a slight problem," at that, the Admiral's eyebrow
went up.

"After picking up this Alex Sutton, the Imperial Phoenix, the _Dagger_
would have to stop for 48 hours to do maintenance and repairs on the
hyperdrive". 

	Admiral Sheppard thought for a moment. An additional two days
 wait could be trouble, but then he said: "Nevertheless I want you and
 the _Dagger_  to handle it, better that you spend two days fixing the
 ship up than for me to send some second rate crew on a mission of
 this importance".

	Valberg said "Yes Sir", actually, he was flattered, since
 there were no second rate crews in this fleet. Then he asked the most
 important question of all; "Sir, how much can I tell the crew?"
 Sheppard's response was brief.

"Tell them you are picking up a Imperial Captain, nothing more." 

"Yes Sir. Understood. When he arrives, may I review the information he
brings?"

	Sheppard nodded. "Yes, but keep it to yourself for now." 
He knew Valberg would have done that anyway, but never the less this 
is the kind of admonition that was always given in situations like
this.

	As the screen went black with the relaxing logo of the Empire, 
Valberg made his way to the bridge, as usual the crew backed away when 
they saw him coming. On the bridge everyone sprang into attention when 
they heard the shout "Captain on the bridge!" 

	Valberg went inside and said, "Plot a course to take us out of
 the galactic plane, then set course to 100 lightyears above
 FFD3-D123-9PO1. Engage the hyperdrive at fastest safe speed." 

	He then sat down in his command chair and saw the crew jump
 into action. It was a bit like watching a ant-hill, well a small
 ant-hill, but it was HIS ant-hill. After a few minutes of carefully
 plotting the first leg of the journey, the CRV _Dagger_ leapt into
 hyperspace. The first part of the journey would go at relatively slow
 speeds, but then as they got into the void above the galactic plane,
 they could go faster and faster,  until they were directly above the
 Trill system. Then, they'd have to thread their way back into the
 galactic plane, at slow speeds, as that sector was largely uncharted
 terrain.

	That was not entirely a bad thing, when the ship travelled
 slower, it was not so damaging to the hyperdrive engines. This was
 how Valberg knew that they would make it to the pick up point; he
 knew enough about ships to know exactly how much of a beating they
 could take (be it in battle or through wear and tear).

	After a few hours, Valberg returned to his quarters and went
 to sleep. It was good to finally get a few hours of sleep. In fact,
 he did not bother to set his alarm, he simply told Lieutenant Croyd
 that he would be working late. No one had asked any questions. When
 he woke up some twelve hours later, he was fully rested, and ready to
 get back to his normal schedule. Some people might think that
 sleeping a mere six hours on average every day was too little, but
 Valberg had always pushed himself on when he really cared about
 something.

[Sutton's Apartment - Ten minutes after the transmission]

	Sutton was just finishing up his dinner, when his PADD beeped. 
Grumbling, he grabbed it and pressed the 'accept' touchpad. The image
of a young man on the bridge of a starship appeared. 

"Admiral, this is the _Hood_, we've just arrived at Earth and will be
commencing our formal combat test shortly. Just before we arrived, we
had a more...informal combat test against a flight of Jem'Hadar Attack
Ships."

"So, how did the combat test go, Captain Jaques?" 

The young captain's face fairly glowed. "We kicked their asses, sir."

	At hearing this, Sutton smiled. It had been a long, uphill
battle in trying to get the _Hood_ built. Now that she'd been built,
it was time to test her against the best the pacifist minds of the
Federation had to offer.

"Good. I trust the more formal test will be a sucess."

"It will, sir."

	With that, the communication terminated. Sutton then spoke
aloud to his house computer. "Computer, display video from Satellite
STR-001. Authorization Sutton Omega One."

	The viewscreen went blank, then the Starfleet logo filled the
screen. Below it were the words: STARFLEET TESTING GROUNDS in
bold letters. Below those words, the warning that this was a
 classified channel flashed for a few seconds, then the image cut
to a view of the testing grounds.

	The USS _Enterprise_ 1701-E, was waiting for the _Hood_ to
arrive so they could begin the formal combat evaluation of the
 Sovereign-II subclass.

	Sutton smiled. The Sovereign-II subclass was his baby. Built
to see the possibilities of a larger, more powerful starship than the
current Soverign class, it had used the basic design as a time-saving
measure. The ship was remarkably similar to the Excelsior-Refit
design first seen in the Enterprise-B. Larger, oversized impulse
engines gave it a sublight top speed faster than even the _Defiant_
class, and twice the accelleration of the early Sovereigns. 

	The quantum torpedo launcher had been relocated from the
saucer underbelly to the more traditional 'neck' mounting seen on the
earlier Galaxy-class. An additional launcher had been added next to
the original one, something not seen since the _Excelsior_ class. 

	The torpedo launcher mechanisms had been lifted from the
_Steamrunner_ class, allowing rapid firing of large numbers of 
torpedoes without having to wait for the launcher to reload.

	A new type of Phaser bank had been fitted also to the _Hood_.
In operation, it was a throwback to the banks of the 2271 period. It
didn't fire one continuous beam. Instead, it fired two beams 
side-by-side, at a rapid rate of fire. 

	Rounding out the modifications made to the Sovereign-II
 subclass was their abalative armor, something found only previously
on the _Defiant_ class. In addition to the armor, shield strength had
been boosted some 25%. The tradeoffs for this were reduced crew
quarter sizes, and one less holodeck. 

He remembered the intense battles over his insistence on
smaller crew-quarters and no provisions for families. Only due to the
fact that he was a highly decorated Admiral from the Dominion war 
had the _Hood_ been built. 

	Sutton started to sip from his mug of hot chocolate he had
replicated a few seconds ago. He frowned. Where the hell was
Jaques? The test was scheduled to start in twenty seconds!

[Enterprise-E Bridge - Starfleet Testing Grounds]

	Captain Jean-Luc Picard shifted uncomfortably in his
command chair. The test was scheduled to start in twenty seconds,
but there was no sign of the _Hood_.

	"Mr. Data, have our weapons been modified for this mock
battle?"

	"Yes, Captain. Our phasers have been set to their lowest
level. The ship computer will log hits and calculate damage, as well
as simulating torpedoes."

	Picard nodded, then sat back in his chair. To his left, 
Commander Riker spoke. "Maybe Captain Jaques and the _Hood_
got scared of this fight and ran away!"

	Everyone on the bridge smiled at that remark. All except Data,
who didn't get the joke (as usual).

"Sir, I do not understand why Captain Jaques would 'run away'
from us. He has been ordered to conduct a mock battle with
the _Enterprise_ to gauge the _Hood's_ capabilities."

	Riker grimaced. Even now, Data still didn't get many
jokes. "It was a joke, Data." replied Riker. 

	With a quizzical look on his face, Data turned around in his
 seat to face his console. It beeped. "Sir, sensors have deteced the 
_Hood_. It will arrive in approximately ten seconds, exactly when the
test starts."

[Bridge of the USS _Hood_]

"Sir, we're coming up on the Proving Grounds. We'll arrive exactly
 when the test starts." 

Jaques smiled. Picard and Company would expect him to play by
the same rules they played by. He wouldn't. He'd arrive at the 
same instant the test began, to deny Picard the advantage of
surprise.

"Weps, are our systems set for the test?"

	His Bolian gunner nodded, then spoke. "Captain, the 
torpedo launchers have been prepped for immediate firing."

	Jaques settled back into his seat and chuckled. 
Picard was in for one nasty surprise. 

[Enterprise-E Bridge]

"Captain, they have passed the outer marker, and are not slowing down.
The test will begin in five seconds."

"What the hell does he think he's doing?!?" fumed Picard.

	The ship's computer began the countdown to the test.
"Five...Four...Three...Two...One...Mark."

At the same instant the test officially began, the _Hood_ dropped 
out of warp, only a few shiplengths away from the _Enterprise_, and
 began firing quantum torpedoes at what seemed to be an impossible
 rate. Within seconds, dozens of torpedoes were heading towards the
 _Enterprise_.

	On the bridge of the _Enterprise_, Data, with his android
reflexes, immediately spotted the _Hood_, and began extreme evasive
manuvers. The manuvers overloaded the inertial dampers and threw
anyone who wasn't braced down to the floor. 

	The mighty Soverign-class ship began to ponderously turn in
a attempt to avoid the torpedoes.  It was too late. The torpedoes
slammed into the _Enterprise's_ shields. The entire ship shook, and 
thick, dense nontoxic smoke began filling the bridge. 

"Captain, our shields are down to 50%!"

"Return fire!" shouted Picard.

The phasers stabbed out, but they couldn't catch the _Hood_ as she
 screamed past the _Enterprise_ and out of phaser range.

"Captain, the _Hood_ is moving away from us. Shall we pursue?"

"Yes, Mr. Data. Full Impulse."

The main impulse engines fired up, and the _Enterprise_ began to move
at a slowly increasing rate. Data studied the sensor readings on the
_Hood_ and broke the dismaying news: "Sir, I calculate that at even
 full impulse, we won't be able to overtake the _Hood_."

Picard thought of alternatives. It hit him and Riker at the same time.
 "Warp!", they both shouted at the same time. Picard then gave the
 order. "Mr. Data, prepare to enage warp drive on my mark...."

"Sir! They're turning!" shouted a nameless ensign manning the weapons
console.

[Bridge of the _Hood_]

	Jacques studied the readout. They were outrunning the
 _Enterprise_, and they had knocked their shields halfway down in
their first attack. It was now time for the coup de grace. 

	"Helm, I want you to execute an immelman, and when you're
in range, open up with everything you have!"

	The helmsman began to comply with the captain's orders. 
The screen moved sickeningly, and the heavy-duty inertial dampers
 strained to keep up with the _Hood's_ extreme manuvers.

	The _Hood_ executed a loop, but at the halfway point, she
rolled around and dove down onto the _Enterprise_. At the speeds
the ships were travelling at, they were within weapons range in
seconds.

	The extreme manuver had caught the _Enterprise_ flatfooted,
but not the _Hood_. Once again, torpedo after torpedo shot out of her 
launchers, accompanied by the rapid machine-gun stattaco of the main
phasers.

	The torpedoes slammed into the shields, oliberating every last
 trace of shielding the _Enterprise_ had. The phasers quickly finished
 the job.

"Sir, our computer calculates that the _Enterprise_ is now dead in
 space."

Jaques chuckled. "Open a channel to the _Enterprise_, and transmit the
 surrender terms. These people *will* surrender to us!"

Aboard the _Enterprise_, the mood was glum. How could the flagship
of the fleet, with only the best in her crew, be defeated by a
ship with an inferior crew?

[Admiral Sutton's Apartment]

	Sutton was laughing his ass off. In sheer joy, he threw his
 cocoa mug out the window. It broke the window, but he didn't care.
He'd been vindicated! It felt so damn good! Then suddenly, a
thought struck him. What if he had to face the _Hood_ in an Imperial
ship? His face hardened. It was a good thing he had had that secret
backdoor installed on the _Hood's_ computers, allowing him to 
control the ship from anywhere.

[Corvette _Dagger_ - One week later]

	That day on the bridge, he told the crew that they were going
 to pick up an Imperial Captain near a place called Trill. He also
 informed them that when they approached the planet, they were to find
 a nice secluded spot and search for the transponder signal 'Phoenix
 Alpha'. 

	The crew was naturally disciplined enough not to ask any
 questions, but Valberg knew that the rumors would start to circulate.
 He almost regretted telling them this soon, but he wanted them to be
 as ready as they could possibly be, this time there could (as usual)
 be no screw ups.

	The routine aboard the _Dagger_ went on as usual: drills,
 routine maintenance, and the usual paper mill that kept everyone
 busy, even on a mission like this. Sometimes Valberg almost thought
 the Imperial bureaucracy had been designed to make Imperial Officers
 commit suicide when they reached a certain age, to spare the Imperial
 Navy from the trouble of paying out retirement pensions. 

	Lieutenant Croyd's voice suddenly interrupted the monotony of
 the paperwork. "Sir, we're coming up to the coordinates given us by
 Admiral Sheppard." Valberg shifted in his seat, then gave the order.
 "Lieutenant, cut to sublight. I'll be on the bridge shortly."

	Valberg walked onto the bridge and sat down in his command
 chair. In the forward transparisteel window, the endless blue
 monotony of hyperspace  roared past the _Dagger_, as it had done for
 the last week. 

	The last decent rations had run out two days ago. Since then,
 they'd had to gnaw down on their emergency rations. The damn things
 were supposed to keep you alive, and contained nearly every vitamin
 you could need. Only problem was, they tasted like cardboard. 

	Hopefully, this Sutton would have better tasting food for
 them. Even though the _Dagger_ carried enough emergency rations to
 feed her crew for another month or so, Valberg estimated that in a 
week, they'd all go insane from eating this crap.

	Croyd pulled the lever that signalled the ship's computer that
it was OK to drop out of hyperspace. In the old days, the lever would 
actually drop them to sublight, but today, it just was a safety
 telling the computer to proceed. This way, they could get a precision
 in their hyperjumps that was unknown to the early explorers.

	The blue tunnel of hyperspace faded, and starlines reappeared
 in the viewport. Below them was the huge expanse of the Milky Way
 galaxy. In order to get across the galaxy without accurate starmaps,
 they'd pulled an old trick. They had travelled 'up', out of the
 plane of the galaxy, until they were at least 100 lightyears
above the plane of the galaxy, with nothing but empty space 
for millions of lightyears. Then they had travelled to a point
that was 'above' their destination. Now they would 'dive' into the
galaxy.

	It was a old trick that was taught in high schools. It allowed
you to maintain a fair amount of speed, without the need for starmaps.
However, it wasn't used much, since with good starmaps, the direct
route was much faster. But for this galaxy, it would have to do, until
they got better maps.

Valberg rubbed his week-old beard, then spoke. "Begin calculations for
 the hyperjump into the Trill system. Be prepared to initiate full
 subspace jamming if necessary."

	The bridge crew immediately began to carry out their captain's
orders. Minutes later, the _Dagger_ disappeared once again in a flash
of pseudomotion. 

	Finally, after crawling for five hours at only 25 lightyears
 an hour, they reached the outskirts of the Trill system. The crew
 quickly found a safe spot about one light-year away, then they
 waited. 

	After eight hours, the crew reported that they had picked up
 the transponder signal of a small shuttle craft. Valberg hurried down
 to the bridge. When he reached it, he got down into his command
 chair. From his throne, he asked: "Are there any enemy ships or
 listening posts within sensor range?" The answer from the lieutenant
 at the sensor console was clear: "No Sir, the shuttle craft has
 stopped, it is in what appears to be a dead zone for hostile
 sensors."

Valberg nodded. This Alex Sutton had some sense. 

"Microjump to the shuttle's location, prepare to bring aboard a
 guest." As an afterthought, he added: "And be ready to open fire with
 the turbolasers." If this wasn't Sutton, he'd have to destroy them
in order to maintain secrecy. The quicker he could do it, the better.

[Runabout _Ohio_ - Trill system - Five hours later]

	In the inky blackness of space, a lone Federation
Runabout plodded on, it's cargo only one human and his
personal effects.

	Sutton yawned then stretched back in the pilot's
chair of the runabout. He'd been living for four days in the
cramped cockpit of the runabout. The rest of it was
completely filled with datachips and the 'Avenger'.
On the deck next to him was the holo-net transceiver. 
It had been a damn shame to have to ruin that old desk to 
get it, but he couldn't leave such an advanced piece of 
Imperial technology in the hands of the Federation. 

	Now, if the Empire would just pick him up before
Starfleet or the local authorities started poking around
his story. Suddenly, a massive starship appeared out of
nowhere in front of the runabout. His trained eye quickly
identified it as a Corellian Corvette, one of the fastest 
starships in galactic space.

[The _Dagger's_ bridge]

"Sir, turbolaser batteries A and B both are trained on that
alien craft, and awaiting your command."

Valberg shot a glance towards his weapons officer.  "Hold on a second,
 Sub-Lieutenant Kalb. Let's see if this is the one we're looking for
 before we vaporize it."

	The weapons officer did a closer look at the alien craft with
the _Dagger's_ sensors. "Sir, it appears to be transmitting the words
'Phoenix Alpha' in an old Imperial code from about twenty years ago."

"This is our man. Lieutenant, open a channel to the craft, using the
format supplied to us by Admiral Sheppard."

	The vidlink in Valberg's chair came to life, showing the image
 of a middle-aged man in an unfamiliar uniform.

"Imperial Phoenix, I presume?" said Valberg.

"The one and only. Request permission to come aboard your vessel." 

"Permission granted. We'll tractor you into our main cargo bay."

	The transmission quickly terminated. Valberg got out of his
 throne, and addressed his bridge crew. "I want you to bring that
 craft aboard. I'm going down there to meet him personally." With
 that, he spun around and strode though the doors at the rear of the
 bridge.

	A large number of Corellian Corvettes had had their main cargo
 bays modified, to turn them into small hangars capable of holding at
 most a few small snubfighters in cramped conditions. It would be more
 than sufficient to hold the Federation craft that Imperial Phoenix
 was travelling in.

	Slowly, the runabout _Ohio_ came into the hangar bay. It
 shuddered momentarily as it passed through the magnetic shield that
 kept the atmosphere in the hangar bay from rushing out into space. It
 settled onto the deckplates in front of Valberg.

	With a whine, the hatch on the side of the runabout whisked
 open, revealing a crammed hold, and Imperial Phoenix. Valberg crisply
 saluted. Sutton racked his brain to try to remember the bar code that
 the officer was wearing. Suddenly, he remembered. 

"At ease, Captain. You don't have to salute me. I don't outrank you."
 Since they were alone in the cramped hangar, Sutton spoke aloud.
 "Admiral Sutton, Starfleet,  Then he added "Captain Alex Sutton,
 Imperial Navy".

	Seeing that he was with an equal, Valberg dropped any pretense
 of formalities. "Very well. We will shortly be leaving for the Delta
 Quadrant. Do you have any unfinished business to take care of?"

"No, Captain; I don't have any unfinished business. Now can we get the
 hell out of this goddamned quadrant? I've taken their pacifist crap
 for twenty years, and I'm fed up with it!"

	Valberg was silent for a moment, then he walked over to the
 commpanel near the hatch. Toggling the commlink on, he spoke to the
 bridge crew. "This is Valberg. We have everything aboard. Take us to
 the fleet."

	The almost inaudible hum that filled every starship changed in
 pitch and tone as it swung around and re-entered hyperspace. Valberg
 turned around and said, "I was informed  that you have certain
 information."

	Sutton lifted a briefcase. "The disks and such are in here.
 There are some additional crates inside the shuttle containing more
 disks, along with my Holonet communicator, and some computers to help
 you read the disks." Valberg nodded, then asked the burning question. 
"Just how useful is that information?"

"Most of those disks contain high-level classified information. Is
 that sufficient?" Valberg's jaw dropped. "And you just walked out
 with all this?" he asked incredulously. Sutton smiled. "Yeah.
 Basically."

	A plan was forming in Valberg's mind. "Do you mind if I take
 some of these to my quarters to study them?"

"No, go ahead, knock yourself out."

	Once again, Valberg activicated the commpanel on the wall.
 "Get someone here to unload these containers in my quarters. Also,
 give Captain Sutton here a proper uniform."

	After the crates had been unloaded, Valberg escorted Sutton to
 his quarters. Before he left, Valberg said; "Captain, for security
 purposes you should not communicate with the crew for now. Your meals
 will be delivered to your room by droid." He paused, then added, "The
 Admiral will explain why, when we have returned". 

	Just as he walked through the door, he stopped and turned
 around. "Ah, I nearly forgot. Captain, if you need anything, feel
 free to contact me. We will stop for two days to do routine
 maintenance. The journey here was rough on the engines".

[Later that day]

	Captain Sutton (now in a *real* uniform; that of the Imperial
Navy) walked into the Captain's quarters. The quarters assigned to
the Captain were huge. The _Dagger_ had originally begun life as the
_Tantive IV_, which was Princess Leia's personal ship, so as a
result, there was a large stateroom for the Princess. When the ship 
had been captured by Lord Vader's Star Destroyer, the _Devastator_, it
had undergone a brief refitting period, in which all traces of it's
former life were erased, then it entered Imperial service as a
high-speed courier for the Admiralty. 

	However, Valberg never used the quarters, preferring instead
 to live on the bridge of his command ship. It gained him the support
 of his crew, but tended to make him look a little less than
 spit-and-polish at times, which meant that he never impressed the
 Admiralty, and as a result, was never promoted above Captain.

	At the moment, the entire stateroom was filled with cargo
 containers full of datachips. Captain Valberg was sitting at the
 large dining table that dominated the forward section of the
 stateroom, reading the material contained on the datachips. From time
 to time, he'd scribble something down on a notepad in front of him. 

	Valberg heard Sutton enter the stateroom and spoke to him,
 while continuing to read the datachips. "Ah, welcome to my little
 kingdom! Did you know that this used to be Leia Organa's personal
 stateroom?" 

Sutton did a double-take. "*The* Princess Leia from Alderaan?" 

"Who else? Come, have a seat!"

	Sutton pulled out a chair next to Valberg and sat down. "Uh,
 Captain, why are you reading those?"

"I'm formulating strategies to use in our conquest of this pitiful galaxy."

"Captain, why don't you leave those up to the Admirals? It's what they
 get paid the big creds to do."

 	Valberg stopped reading the datapad. He slowly put it down,
 and turned to face Sutton. "Captain, do you even know who I am?"
 Sutton shook his head. "Good. I'll explain to you. I'm one of the
 most experienced officers in the Imperial Navy on the pacification
of unaligned star systems. Have you ever heard of the Huak-Togh or
 Roddvi systems?"

Sutton shook his head.

"Good. I'll explain to you. Shortly after I graduated from the
 Imperial Academy as a Lieutenant-Commander, I was assigned to the
 Victory-Class Star Destroyer _Claymore_, under Captain Merdue. This
 was in the early days of the Empire and that single Victory was
 assigned the task of pacifying two star systems. A very daunting task
 indeed. It was made even more daunting by the fact that Captain
 Merdue died shortly after in a tragic shuttle accident. To this day,
 I suspect that it was a Rebel assassination. Either way, I was in
 charge of a mission that many senior officers would deem impossible."

Valberg paused for breath, then continued. "The first planet was
 called Huak-Togh. It was an agricultural world, but it had a series
 of shields that protected the entire planet. Shields that a Victory
 couldn't penetrate. It seemeed that my career was over before it even
 began. However, I realized that this world depended on exports for
 their advanced technology, and I had an idea. I waited until a
 smuggler ship entered the system, then I captured it and used it as a
 ramrod. It was travelling at just over point two cee when it slammed
 into the shields. The effect broke down the shields over several
 parts of the planet. Through the holes in the shields, I used the
 _Claymore's_ turbolasers to start a firestorm on the great plains of
 the planet, where the majority of the agricultural production took
 place. When that was done, I sent in my TIEs to destroy key transport
hubs, aqueducts, and those agricultural areas I couldn't reach from
 space. You have to remember that parts of the shield were still up.
By the time the planetary shields were back up, all my TIEs were back
 aboard the _Claymore_. I then started waiting.

"After two weeks, the planet was starving and thirsting all at once.
 They tried to negotiate, but I stated: 'Complete and unconditional
 surrender is the only term I will accept.' Two more weeks went by.
 There were planet-wide riots, mass famines, basically the worst parts
 of the Bible. Then they surrendered. Well, to be accurate, desperate
 mobs stormed the offices of their leaders, and the shield stations, 
and made them lower the shields. I immediately proceeded to hand out
 small pittances of food to calm the masses, while at the same time, I
 was executing every single leader on that planet from regional level
 and up. These executions were broadcast live, forming what I called
 Bread and Circuses."

	Valberg took a breath, then summarized it for Sutton. "So,
 instead of wasting hundreds, or even thousands of Stormtroopers
 and/or only capturing a burnt-out piece of rock, I succeeded in
 capturing the planet more or less intact, with no casualties," At
 that, Valberg paused briefly, then continued. "Well, maybe a few
 million dead civilians and the harvest for that year, but that 
 doesn't count." He gave Sutton an evil grin.

	"Because of that, I got a promotion to Commander. The next
 part of the mission was to pacify the Roddvi system. When I invaded,
 I had an unexpected advantage. The Empire was cleaning up the
 surrounding systems; rounding up the Rebel scum and their
sympathizers. So, several ships filled with refugees would enter the
 Roddvi system every day, believing that they would be safer there
 than at home. Roddvi, being an advanced and well-protected industrial
 planet, they might have been right, if I hadn't been commanding the
 mission. Upon arriving at the system, I considered my options. 
I soon arrived at the conclusion that this planet had to suffer some 
real damage; if I could destroy their shield generator and their
capitol, I'd control the situation."

"The problem was, of course, that the shield generator generated a
 very powerful shield and the capitol was underneath it. I considered
 my options, and devised a fiendish plan to break their resistance, or
 at least their morale. When the next ship of refugees came through, I
 didn't attack it directly. I ordered that it should be let past the
 _Claymore_. However, trailing so closely behind the ship that there
was a serious risk of collison, was the entire TIE and Gunboat
 contigent of the _Claymore_, along with several Stormtrooper
 Transports. The planet had the choice between lowering their shields
 to let the ship get to safety, but risking the chance of the TIEs and
 transports getting through with the ship. Or leaving the shields up
 and watching the refugees get slaughtered. Either way, it was a
 really tough choice for anyone to make. And to help them make their
 decision, I decided to use the _Claymore's_ communications array to
 relay the pitiful screams of 'We have children on board, in the name
 of the Force, lower the shields...' to the entire planet."

"The first couple of times, the shield's weren't lowered, and the
 refugees were indeed slaughtered. However, the third time, the
 shields were lowered. Whether it was due to some poor misguided fool
 in the shield generator station that made the decision alone, or if
 it was some fool group of local politicos that did it, I don't know.
 The TIEs and the transports swooped in for the kill. The next thing
 the inhabitants of the captitol city were aware of, or rather, not
 aware of, as the case might be, was that a series of B-61 500 megaton
 fusion bombs had detonated on their city, utterly destroying it. The
 Stormtroopers easily captured the shield generator and what few
 ground-based installations surrounded it."

	Valberg paused to take a breath, and put his hands behind his
 head before he continued. "After this, most of the planet
 surrendered, although a few pockets of trouble-makers had to be
 destroyed, along with the cities they were hiding in. After my
 victory, I executed everyone with the potential to be a problem. The
 process was actually quite simple. I stated that certain individuals
 would have to be 'Re-Educated'. These people who would be Re-Educated
 were sent to special camps and allowed no more than two sets of
 baggage. When the camps were filled, they were annihilated by
 turbolaser blasts from space, after the Imperial Army guards had
 left."

	After Valberg finished his reminiscing of events past, there
 was a pregnant silence in the room. Finally, Sutton spoke. "I'm sorry
 for doubting you, Captain."

"That's OK. Now, I keep seeing references to something called 'S31' in
 these classified ledgers. Just what is S31?"

"Oh, that's Section 31. It's a secret agency that no one in the
 Federation knows about. It's purpose is to protect the Federation by
 any means necessary. I managed to piece together this from bits I
 picked up of their transmissions with my transceiver."

"Hmm...interesting. Their military is a joke, but their espionage
 network is fairly good."

"Yeah."

	The two captains continued to work throughout the week,
 piecing together an accurate profile of the Federation. So involved
 were they in their work, that they forgot how bad the emergency
 rations tasted. Finally, the week was up, and they arrived in the
 Delta quadrant. 

[I'koan 456 System - The Imperial Fleet]

	The Star Destroyers _Vengeance_ and _Revenger_ floated in the
 inky blackness of the system. The only light in the immediate
 vinicity came from the fleet, since I'koan 456's sun was a small,
 pale specimen that was almost dead. Around the massive cities in
 space, several smaller lights moved. The Corvettes _Rapier_ and
 _Stiletto_ were patrolling the system, to ensure that the fleet
 wasn't surprised. 

	In the space between the fleet, small lights moved at high
 speeds. These were the TIE Defenders and Missile Boats of the fleet.
 CAG Yates was personally leading test flights to indoctrinate the
 pilots in the intriciacies of the TIE Defender and Missile Boat. 

	Just outside this impressive (by Federation standards) show of
 force, the _Dagger_ reentered realspace. 

	Valberg leaned back into his well-padded command chair, taking
 in the movements of his crew. There wasn't a single wasted movement.
 Valberg smiled. He had taken a raw, undiscplined crew and had forged
 it into a finely-sharpened sword upon which to impale the enemy. 

	Captain Sutton stood next to Valberg's command chair and also
took in the view of the well-oiled machine that was the _Dagger's_
 crew. However, unlike Valberg's feelings of statisfaction, Sutton
 stood astonished at the efficiency that this crew operated at.
 Starfleet had never been this efficient, or so disciplined. Well, not
 exactly. There was one captain in Starfleet whose crews had operated
 at a level approaching that of the _Dagger's_ crew.

	Sutton winced. The pain surrounding Edward Jellico's
 'retirement' from Starfleet still hurt. Even though Sutton had served
 in the Imperial Navy before he infiltrated Starfleet, the  difference
 in the lax command structure he had lived with for twenty years, and
 the efficient structure employed in the Imperial Navy was like day
 and night. This is the way a military ship should operate, thought
 Sutton.

	He was snapped out of his reverie by the harsh static of a
 voice-only transmission opening. "Corvette _Dagger_, this is the Star
 Destroyer _Revenger_. Do you have Imperial Phoenix aboard?"

"This is Valberg. We have Imperial Phoenix aboard. He's standing right
next to me now."

"Good. You will dock in the _Revenger's main hangar bay and see to 
it that Imperial Phoenix arrives safely aboard the _Revenger_."

	With that, the transmission abruptly terminated. Valberg
turned to face Sutton. "Looks like you're important. No shuttle
for you; we've been turned into your personal courier service."

	Within minutes, the _Dagger_ was quickly moving into the
_Revenger's_ main hangar bay. If the _Dagger_ was a human, then it
would be suffering from a severe case of deja-vu, because more than
two decades ago, it had done this (albeit involuntarily).

	With a clang that reverberated throughout the corvette,
the docking tube slammed down onto the _Dagger's_ dorsal airlock,
connecting it to the _Revenger_. Valberg and Sutton quickly left
the bridge, heading for the dorsal airlock. 

	Opening the hatch, they both climbed up the tube into 
the _Revenger's_ main hangar bay. Around them, TIEs headed in
and out of the bay. A few meters away, a Stormtrooper platoon
was drilling.  

	After so long, it was refreshing to hear the tread
of booted feet on a metal floor, rather than the tread of 
wingtips on carpeted floors. Valberg led Sutton through the
endless maze of a Star Destroyer. It had been estimated that
it would take a human nearly a month to walk all of the corridors
found on a Star Destroyer. From time to time, they'd pass a sealed
section, with huge scorch marks in the corridors surroundng the section.

	Even after serving for twenty years in Starfleet, Sutton still
knew what was battle damage. This ship, the _Revenger_, had seen
a lot of action. Hmm, that was odd. Why would the Empire send a
 damaged Star Destroyer to help conquer an *entire* galaxy? As he
 walked the corridors, he also noticed that the crew complement of the
 ship was  significantly less than normal. So, not only was this ship
 damaged, but it was also undercrewed. 

	Finally they neared 'officer country'. Here the quarters were
larger, and more lavishly appointed. Most of the officers' quarters
 were located in the bridge section of the Star Destroyer. The
 commanding officer's quarters he remembered, took up nearly two decks
 of the bridge.

	Valberg stopped outside a pair of doors marked 'SECONDARY
 COMMAND ROOM', and motioned for him to step inside. 

	The door to Sheppard's quarters hissed open, revealing a large
room dominated by a desk in front of a transparisteel window. The
chair behind the desk was turned around, and only it's back could
be seen.

	From the chair came a voice. "Welcome, Alex Sutton. You may
enter."  Sutton began to enter the Admiral's quarters. Valberg, seeing
that his job was done, began to leave. Before he could, the voice
spoke again. "Vegard, I would also like to have a chat with you. 
So, please come in as well."

	Valberg immediately entered the Admiral's quarters. Along with 
Sutton, he was seeing Sheppard's quarters for the first time. Until
this moment, all of his meetings with the admiral had taken place
in various locations, and over the comm system. He wasn't alone:
of the entire crew of the _Revenger_, only Vice-Admiral Glasgow
had been here before.

	On pedestals around the room were models of the ships
Admiral Sheppard had served on. According to them, the
Admiral had served on almost every kind of capital ship in the
Imperial Navy during his twenty-five year career.

	Between the pedestals, holo-projectors displayed military
art from all over the galaxy. This eceletic display of art and
memorabila wasn't uncommon to high-ranking Imperial officers,
who by the time they'd attained flag rank, had picked up hobbies.

	Slowly, the chair swung around, revealing the Admiral.
Clothed in his drab green uniform, with admiral's bars, and slightly
graying hair, he was an unimpressive sight, at least physically.

	However, when he spoke, there was iron in his voice, along
with a ...presence that made you know, deep down in your gut, that
this was no political appointee or self-promoted officer.

 	Sheppard waved a hand at the artwork. "Quite an interesting
collection of art, eh?"

"That it is, Admiral." replied Sutton.

	Sheppard rubbed his chin. "The Grand Admiral was able to
devise strategies to defeat his enemies by studying their race's
artwork. My talents are much more limited. I merely seek ways to
motivate my crews."

	Suddenly, his voice became wistful. "Did you know that
fourteen years ago, the Grand Admiral himself personally decorated
me?" 

	Sutton frowned. Even though his knowledge of the Imperial
Navy's command structure was a bit rusty after nearly twenty years, 
he still knew enough to know that there was more than one Grand
Admiral. 

"The last time I checked, Admiral, there were twelve Grand Admirals,
not just one." 

	For a moment, there was a look of amazement on Sheppard's
 face. Surely Sutton knew who he was referring to. Then he remembered.
 Sutton had left on his assignment nearly ten years before Thrawn had
burst upon the scene.

	With practiced ease, he began punching up the files on Thrawn.
"My mistake, Sutton. I had forgotten that you've been gone for twenty 
years. I of course, am referring to none other than the greatest
military mastermind the Empire ever produced; Grand Admiral Thrawn."

	With that, Sheppard punched in the final set of numbers, and
holos of Thrawn in his white Grand Admiral's uniform replaced the
various artwork in the room.

	Sutton stood in shock of the sight of an *alien*, a
 *non-human* in a Grand Admiral's uniform, of all things! Slowly, he
 turned around to face Sheppard. 

"You, owe me an...explanation. Is this some sick joke?"

"No, Sutton. This isn't some sick joke."

"What the hell is going on here? Everything I've seen doesn't match
 up. The flagship of the fleet sent to conquer this galaxy is damaged
 and undercrewed. And," Sutton's voice rose in pitch. "We have an
 alien in a Grand Admiral's uniform!"

	Sheppard sighed and leaned back into his chair. "My friend,
 the galaxy has changed a lot since you left. The Emperor is dead; our
glorious Empire has been reduced to only a few thousand star systems
and two hundred Star Destroyers. To add insult to injury; Supreme
Commander Pellaeon has signed a peace treaty with the Rebels."

	Sutton's jaw fell open in shock. "Still don't believe me, 
Sutton? Here, maybe this will convince you." The admiral punched
in a new set of numbers, and Thrawn's image disappeared, to be
replaced by the holos of the peace treaty being signed, and of
Councillor Leia Organa Solo addressing the Senate.

	With a speed that belied his age, Sutton grabbed a pen
holder off the Admiral's desk and threw it at the holo of Leia
with a bellow of rage. It passed through the holo and shattered
on the wall behind the holo.

"You're very lucky, Sutton, that the holder you just threw was
a cheap one, not a priceless heirloom. All the same, I feel the
same way about that *bitch*."

"How...how..." stammered Sutton.

"Could the Rebels defeat our mighy Empire?" finished Sheppard.

	He punched in even more numbers. The holo of Leia dissapeared,
to be replaced by an image of a Death Star, half-completed, orbiting
a blue-green planet.

"Because of this. Shortly after you left, the Emperor sanctioned
construction of a second, even more powerful Death Star. The 
construction was carried out over the Forest Moon of Endor."

"This is the state of construction six months after the 
beginning of the project. The Emperor, on the advice of 
Prince Xizor, head of the Black Sun criminal syndicate, 
deliberately leaked plans of the second Death Star to the 
Rebels. Shortly later, the information that the Emperor 
himself would be visiting the half-completed Death Star II
was also deliberately leaked to the Rebels."

"Predictably, the Rebels jumped at the chance to 
destroy both a half-completed Death Star, and the Emperor
himself as well. However, a crucial piece of information
had been left out of the leaked information."

	Sheppard smiled evilly. "Contrary to what the Rebels
thought, the Death Star II's superlaser was fully armed and
operational. The _Executor_ and seventy-nine Star Destroyers
had been hidden on the other side of the Forest Moon, as a
trap for the Rebel fleet. Lord Vader allowed a small Rebel
sabotage team onto the moon, so he could capture Skywalker."

"The Rebel fleet arrived right on time, and walked into a trap.
Our fleet moved into position to block the Rebels' escape, and
since the Death Star II was surrounded by an impenetrable energy
shield, they were trapped, with nowhere else to go. That was
when they learned that the Death Star II was fully armed and
operational. We managed to take out several capital ships with
the superlaser, before they moved in to point-blank range
and enaged our ships in what could be best called a 'melee'."

"We managed to give better than what we got, and took out several
Rebel ships before the Impossible happened. The shield went down, 
and shortly after, the Emperor died."

"How?"

"From what we've been able to piece together, Skywalker had 
been captured and taken to the Emperor's throne room by Vader
and together, the two of them attempted to turn him to the
'Dark side', or some Jedi mystic babble. Skywalker managed
to strike both Vader and the Emperor down."

	Sheppard winced. Here was the part he didn't like.
"After that, everything went to hell. It appears that the
Emperor had been controlling the Imperial Fleet, augmenting
our coordination and reflexes. When he died, the fleet lost
it's resolve and unit integrity collapsed, resulting in
several successive blunders that were very costly."

	Sheppard punched in a new set of numbers, and the
image of the Death Star II was replaced by the bridge of
a Star Destroyer. "This is the bridge of the _Executor_, 
the command ship of the fleet." commented Sheppard.

	The holo played. Through the transparisteel windows
of the _Executor_, a fierce battle could be seen raging. 
Suddenly, Admiral Piett shouted "Intensify Forward firepower! 
I don't want anything getting through!"

	Suddenly, an aide pointed at an object in the window
that was getting closer. "Too late, sir!" Now Sutton could see
what it was. It was an A-Wing starfighter, obviously crippled,
from the way it was spiralling in. The Admiral and his aide
jumped away from the forward viewports just as the crippled
fighter crashed through the viewports. The bridge filled with
flame, and the image dissolved into static. 

	The holo quickly cut to an external image of the _Executor_,
her bridge superstructure exploding in gouts of flame, slowly diving
into the Death Star II's surface, and exploding in a massive
 explosion.

	Sutton was speechless, after seeing the Empire's flagship
destroyed by such an insignificant insect. 

"Shortly later, the Rebels managed to squeeze in several snubfighters
 and a light freighter into the battlestation's unfinished interior
 and destroy the main hypermatter reactor, causing a chain reaction
 that destroyed the battlestation utterly. The Imperial Fleet
 sustained heavy damage before the order to retreat was given."

"A few months later, the Rebels captured Coruscant, and established
 the 'New Republic'."

	At that, Sheppard snorted, then continued. "The next five
 years were a near-continuous string of defeats. Until _he_ returned
 from the Unknown Regions."

"Thrawn?"

"Yes, Sutton. Grand Admiral Thrawn. He quickly turned around the
 Empire's fortunes, first by knocking out several dozen Rebel cap
 ships in an aborted attempt on the Sluis Van shipyards." The holo cut
 to an image of capital ships leaving a shipyard, then stopping as
 white-hot plasma burst through their bridges, killing the command
crews.

"That was merely a minor defeat. Shortly after, he managed to recover
 most of the Dreadnoughts of the _Katana_ fleet for the Empire."

"The _Katana_ fleet? That's impossi..."

	Sheppard cut him off. "It's a long story, but he got one
 hundred and eighty-nine dreadnoughts, and due to the Spaarti
 cylinders he'd found, he quickly had the crews needed to man them."

"Using these new ships, he managed to deal several sucessive defeats
 to the Rebellion. He managed to catch a rebel strike fleet at the
 Bilbringi shipyards, despite a concerted galaxy-wide effort by the
 Rebels to make everyone believe that the real target was Tangrebe.
Everyone believed Tangrebe was the real target. All except the Grand 
Admiral, and he was right."

	"However, about half-way through the battle, his own bodyguard
 betrayed him and killed him. Captain Pellaeon quickly assumed
 command, but he didn't have the tactical skills of Thrawn, and
 decided to retreat."

	"Now that the Grand Admiral was dead, the Rebels resumed their
 relentless march across the galaxy, spreading chaos and subversion
 where ever they went. There have been a few Imperial attempts at
 counter-strikes in the fourteen years since Thrawn died,
including one that employed a skillful imposter posing as Thrawn.
 However, they have always failed."

	Sheppard paused for effect, then continued. "We recently
 discovered one of the Emperor's secret depots, which contained
 equipment and the information about this galaxy. I have decided to
 conquer this galaxy to build up a base from which to strike back at
 the Rebels!"

	For a moment, there was complete silence in the room, as
 Sutton absorbed everything he'd heard. Then, finally, he spoke. "Ok,
 Admiral. I'll help you. Just promise me this; That when we return,
 we'll wipe that traitor Organa's line from the face of the galaxy!"

	Sheppard leaned back in his chair. "Rest assured, Sutton. I
 have drawn up plans for the reconquest of our galaxy from the Rebels.
 I've identified key people who've been instrumental in the defeat of
 the Empire's plans and have targetted them for termination by any
 means necessary. Solo's entire extended family is at the top of that
 list."

"Solo?"

"Oh, sorry. A few years after the destruction of the Death Star II,
 Han Solo and Leia Organa Skywalker married. She's now known as Leia
 Organa Solo. And before you ask, she's Luke Skywalker's sister. They
 were separated at birth and hidden in adoptive families to protect
 them from Vader."

"Enough reminiscing. We have a mission to do. We have your information
 on the Federation now. It's good, from what I've heard from Valberg.
 However, this information doesn't give us hands-on experience and
 insight into the Federation mindset and their technology."

	Sheppard motioned for Valberg to come closer. "To this end,
 I'm ordering you, Vegard, to work in concert with Daala to capture
 this lone Federation ship, this _Voyager_."

Sheppard then waved his hand. "You're both dismissed."

	Both Valberg and Sutton quickly left the Admiral's quarters.
However, while Sutton went towards the ship's library to get up to 
speed with current events, Valberg stayed within the command section
of the _Revenger_. It was time to check up on an old friend and 
begin planning the capture of Voyager.

	A short time later, Captain Valberg entered the offices of the
 newly  restored Captain Daala, with a slight twitch near the edge of
 his mouth (brought about by lack of sleep).

	She motioned for him to sit down. Once he'd sat down, he
 began. "Well I thought you might want to have a preview of your
 mission briefing, for old times' sake." Daala nodded. Valberg handed
 her the datapad with the briefing.

Daala read it quickly, then looked up with disgust and anger in her
 face.

"Is this some sick joke?"

Valberg nearly smiled again. "No, the ship is real, and so is that
 woman." 

	Dalaa looked amazed, and they exchanged glances. Valberg
 almost smiled again as he knew what Daala must be thinking: 'And they 
thought *I* slept my way to the top.'

Before she could speak again, Valberg spoke. "And before you ask, she 
earned her position." 

	He had the pleasure of watching her mouth fall open in
 disbelief. This time he had to smile a little. 

"I hope your efforts will be crowned with victory."

Daala gave him a look and said, "Captain," shaking her head, she
 continued. "If I can't deal with this ship, the Admiral can space
 me." 

Valberg nodded. "Yes, Sir," he then quickly added "May I be excused
now?"

	Daala merely nodded as Captain Valberg left her office. As he
walked down the hallway he could hear a rare sound; Daala was
 laughing.

[CRV _Dagger_ and _Stiletto_- One Day Later]

	As the two corvettes raced towards Voyager's position, 
Daala and Valberg both sat at one of the tables in the _Dagger's_
cramped mess, reminiscing about old times.

	At the moment, they were talking about Valberg, and his
career. Daala shoveled some of the greenish paste into her mouth,
then spoke. "Weren't you the one who beat Sergeant Zim?" Zim had
been the Martial Arts instructor at the Imperial Academy. He
relished kicking the trainees' asses regularly. He'd never been
beaten until he came up against Valberg.

	Valberg smiled. "Yeah. The old bastard was expecting me,
like all the other trainees, to play fair." He smiled evilly.

"The second the match started, I kicked him in the nuts, then slammed
my elbow into his kidneys. I of course, passed the martial arts test
with flying colors." 

	He took a sip from his glass of foul-looking greenish
liquid. "I also managed to create whole new answers to the
standardized tests. On one of the tests, the question was 'You
have closed in on a Rebel ship, it is filled with Rebels and
their sympathizers (some of them are women and children), what
do you do?'.  Some of the trainees answered 'Blow up the ship',
others answered 'Board the ship and kill everyone on it'."

	Valberg paused to take another sip of his drink.
"I answered 'Board the ship, capture or kill everyone on it,
secure the ship, for it may serve the Empire. The prisoners
are to be subjected to harsh interrogations and then with the
permission of the admirality, either spaced or enslaved.'"

	Daala smiled. "That's original. Most people would just
kill them, but you took the extra time to wring out valuable
information from them. I'm sure that you know what I've been
doing for the last few years, but to me, you dropped off the
face of the galaxy after I was sent to the Maw Installation. 
What have you been up to?"

Valberg coughed. "This may take some time."

"We've got time, we aren't due to drop out of hyperspace
for a few more hours."

"Oh, Ok. Well, after my promotion to Captain, I served in several
enagements showing my classic mixture of wit and ruthlessness. On 
one occasion, I used the Valberg Manuver to capture a large space
station suspected of housing Rebels. I'll explain the manuver later."

"Now, once I'd captured the station, I dealt with the recalcitrant
 crew on the station and replaced them with loyal Imperial supporters,
 after making sure that those supporters would be so hated by the
 locals and the support staff of the station that they'd be totally
 dependent on Imperial support to stay alive."

	Valberg smiled and took another bite out of his meal. "Towards
 the twilight years of the Empire, after the death of the Emperor, I
 was given the brevet rank of Commodore, and given a fleet of four
 Imperial Star Destroyers and a few Corellian Corvettes."

"Now, I was up against a large group of inferior opponents. If I split
 up my battle group to hunt them down, the individual Star Destroyers
 could be overcome and destroyed, and if I kept them together, small
 groups of enemy units could attack my bases and storage areas while I
 was gone."

"After some thought on the problem, I devised my plan. It involved the 
sacrifice of a productive planet and several Corellian Corvettes, but
 if it succeeded, I'd gain the victory."

"The plan was simple, and I executed it once. First, I found a world 
that although productive, had known Rebel sympathies. I spread the
 word that two Star Destroyers would be guarding that world while the
 rest of the fleet would be scouting for the Rebels."

"Naturally, the Rebels would plan an attack, and naturally, my entire
battle group would be waiting for them when they came. While waiting
for the Rebels to arrive, I'd assembled and latched together several
large freighters. They had so much mass, that if they hit a planetary
surface, it'd look like a Star Destroyer had hit it."

"When the Rebels came, the entire fleet pounced upon them, jammed
 their signals and destroyed them. The freighters were then sent into
 the nearby planet, killing virtually every single living creature on
 it. I also made certain that a single Star Destroyer would be seen
 entering the space around the Imperial base  with seemingly extensive
 battle damage."

"In addition, I sent a couple of Corellian Corvettes on a suicide
mission. These Corvettes had been kept out of the information loop, 
and in their computer files was the news that the Rebels had 
destroyed a single ISD, which had crashed into the planet, and
virtually wrecked another one, at the cost of an entire strike
force."

"The files also said that I had panicked and was preparing a desperate 
last defense around the Imperial base. Finally, it said that most of
 my Corellian Corvettes and other support craft had been sent away to
give aid to Admiral Lorag's fleet."

	Valberg paused to take another bite out of his meal, then
 continued. "Indeed, it would seem like Commodore Valberg was
 preparing a defensive stance. The Stormtroopers were building
 defensive forts on the planet's surface. The Space Station that we
 were using as a base was reinforced and it, along with the Star
 Destroyers, had their TIE Interceptors replaced with TIE fighters,
 which suggested a defensive stance.

"In reality, the TIE Interceptors were transferred to the single Star
 Destroyer that had supposedly been destroyed. The Rebels on the other
 hand, were preparing a enormous force that would be quite sufficient
 to crush three Star Destroyers, especially when one of them was
 crippled."

"When the Rebel forces were almost ready, I struck, since the Rebel
 fleet lay safe in prepared parade positions which weren't conductive
 to fighting a battle. The Rebel fleet was enormous, so I depended on
 surprise."

"We came out of hyperspace with three Star Destroyers and six
 Corvettes. The first thing I did was to release my TIE fighters and
 send most of them on a flanking manuver. I left fifty of them behind,
 hidden just behind my Star Destroyer's Ion engines so that the Rebels
 couldn't find them. This gave me an edge, even though I lost six TIEs
 to the engine emissions."

"The Star Destroyers opened fire as they moved towards the Rebel
fleet at flank speed. The concentrated, coordinated fire from all
the Star Destroyers and the Corvettes quickly left much of the 
Rebel fleet in disarray and most of the finest Rebel ships destroyed."

"During all this, the TIE Fighters were harrassing the Rebel flanks,
cutting down any Rebel craft that tried to break free from the
carnage. That's when the Rebel leader, a Mon Calamarian Admiral, saw
a opening that we'd neglected to close."

"Instantly, the Admiral sent what remained of his fighters against
our three Star Destroyers, hoping to divert our fire, and give his
ships a chance to escape. The Rebel fighters charged our ships and
soon started weakening the shields of our Star Destroyers and
Corvettes."

	Valberg smiled. "That's when I sent in my reserve, the
 fighters I'd kept behind my engines. Not only did the TIEs catch the
 Rebels by surprise, they were in perfect formation, while the Rebel
 fighters were by now in disarray. Soon, every single Rebel fighter
 was destroyed.

"In the meantime, it appeared that the rest of the Rebel fleet would
escape, due to the 'heroic' sacrifice of their fighters. But that
 would be not so. The disorganized and worn Rebel fleet, a fleet that
 had poured all their power into their engines and lost their
 fighters, was being shepherded into a trap by the TIE Fighters."

"The trap consisted of a single Star Destroyer, four Corvettes,
forty Assault Gunboats and some seventy-two TIE Interceptors. The trap
 closed in on the Rebel ships and they were utterly destroyed. I'd
 temporarily secured the region for the Empire."

	Valberg paused. Daala was hanging on his every word. "Some
 time later, I was forced to withdraw in the face of overwhelming
 Rebel superiority. However, I made one last-in-your-face manuver. I
 attacked a prison colony maintained by the Rebellion, where captured
 Imperial personnel were kept. The attack went off without a hitch,
 and after executing those liberated prisoners who'd disgraced the
 Empire during or after their capture, I got away from the pursuing
 Rebel forces."

"After this, I resigned my brevet rank and split my fleet up into it's
individual components. Some of the liberated Imperials were high
 ranking and experienced officers who had been caught on the ground by
 Rebel forces. They took over the command of the Star Destroyers. I
 took a handpicked crew over to a Corellian Corvette, and set a
 heading for that star in the horizon, so to speak. The reason I
 picked a Corvette was because it was far more likely
to avoid detection than a Star Destroyer. It was shortly after this,
 that I joined up with Admiral Sheppard."

	Daala whistled softly after Valberg finished his story.
 "You've had quite a lot of action, haven't you Valberg? A hell of a
 lot more than I ever got, being stuck in the Maw."

	Before Valberg could counter this, the commpanel beeped. Daala
got up and walked over to it. Croyd's voice burst from the comm.

"Captain, we're coming up on the edge of _Voyager's_ sensor range, as 
given to us by Captain Sutton."

"Excellent. Slow to sub-light. We'll be on the bridge shortly."

	Valberg grabbed both of their plates and stuffed them
into the recycler unit. Within minutes, they were on the bridge.

	Daala sat down into Valberg's chair. Mmm, she thought,
this chair is *so* comfortable, you could fall asleep in it.
She allowed herself a moment of enjoying the comfort of the
chair before she got to the business at hand.

"Lieutenant Croyd, signal Captain Antilles on the _Stiletto_
to begin Operation 'Deceitful Phoenix'."

	Behind them, the _Stiletto_ shimmered, as the holographic
unit mounted to it's hull activated. A few seconds later, the 
_Stiletto_ looked like a smaller version of the hated Mon Calamari 
Star Cruisers. 

"Have the _Stiletto's_ turbolasers been set to their lowest settings?"

"Yes, Sir." came the reply from the sensor officer.

"Good. Lay in a course towards _Voyager_, and begin broadcasting
distress signals in the standard format for this quadrant."

	The _Dagger_ swung around and headed towards _Voyager_, her
comm antennas blasting pleas for help on almost every freqency. 
At the same moment, the _Stiletto_ began firing low-powered turbolaser
shots at the _Dagger_, completing the illusion of a vile Mon Calamari
ship attacking a peaceful Imperial Navy ship.

[The Bridge of the USS _Voyager_ - Thirty Seconds Later]

Tuvok studied his science panel for a moment, to confirm
that they were indeed receiving a distress call.

"Captain."

Captain Kathryn Janeway turned around in her command chair to
face her science officer.

"Yes, Mr. Tuvok?" 

"We're receiving a broad-band distress signal from an alien ship.
Data only."

Janeway considered their options. They could ignore the signal, 
and continue on their way home; or they could respond. Starfleet
protocols said that a Federation starship had to respond to
any distress signals. Never for a moment would she ever think of
leaving a sentinent being to die in a crippled ship. Only 
barbarians would do that. Turning to face Tom Paris, their
helm officer, she spoke.

"Lay in a course for the distress signal, Mr. Paris. Maximum Warp."

Paris worked his fingers over the touchpanels of his station, laying
in a course to the location of the distress signal.

"Course laid in, Ma'am."

"Enage."

	_Voyager's_ warp nacelles glowed bright blue as powerful
energies coursed through the drive coils, and the ship appeared
to elongate as she entered warp. In a flash, she entered warp.

[The CRV _Dagger's_ bridge]

"Sir, it's working. They're changing course and enaging their 
distortion drive." 

	Daala sat back in the command chair. Her assesment of 
Federation 'morality' had been correct. They'd drop everything 
to respond to a distress call from a race they'd never met before. 
Fools.

	She turned to face Valberg. "Vegard, are you sure that 
slicer droid is working?"

	Valberg hefted the dull grey box that contained a slicer
droid. "I checked it a few minutes ago. Besides, anything programmed
 by Phong _will_ work."

"Good," Daala pulled her blaster out from her cleavage. The power cell
was fully charged. "Plan A here is working." She then jammed it back
between her cleavage. One of the advantages of being female was that
you had more places to hide stuff, where moral-minded people wouldn't 
search. 

"Sir," spoke the sensor tech "at their present rate of speed, they'll
be here in thirty seconds."

[Space]

	_Voyager_ dropped out of warp a few hundred thousand
 kilometers from the source of the distress signal. The _Stiletto_
 continued to pump low-powered turbolaser fire into the _Dagger_,
 keeping the facade intact.

[_Voyager's_ bridge]

	On the viewscreen were two alien craft. The first one, was
a blocky looking vessel, with exposed engines that were *huge*. The
second vessel, the one that was shooting at the other one, looked
like a giant pickle, with recessed engines.

At the back of the bridge, Tuvok studied his readouts, then spoke. 

"Captain, the distress signal is coming from the first vessel."

"Very well. Open a channel to all the ships."

"Channel open, Ma'am."

	Janeway took a deep breath then spoke. "This is Captain
 Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship _Voyager_, to the alien
 vessel currently attacking the ship that is broadcasting the distress
 signal. Cease firing immediately, or  we'll open fire upon you."

[_Dagger's_ bridge]

"Is this shit for *real*?" exclaimed Valberg. 

"It's real," deadpanned Daala. "Time to play our part."

Daala turned to the comm officer. "Open a channel to _Voyager_."

"Channel open, sir."

"This is Captain Daala to the Federation ship _Voyager_. Please
help us! We're carrying medical supplies to a colony that's blockaded
by the Mon Calamari, who are currently attacking us! Please, for the
 love of the Force, help us!"

	Daala then slashed her finger across her throat, signalling
 the comm officer to cut the transmission. "It's cut, sir."

"The fools will fall for that. I just know it."

[_Voyager's_ Bridge]

Janeway's anger was rising. They were attacking an unarmed medical
supply ship! She wouldn't stand for this!

"Open a channel to the Mon Calamari ship." she snapped.

"This is _Voyager_. Cease your attack on that medical
supply ship, or you'll be fired upon!"

[_Stiletto's_ Bridge]

	Captain Antilles was laughing out loud. "I can't believe this!
Send them a message!"

"Yessir!" shouted the weapons officer.

	Turbolaser battery A swung towards _Voyager_ and fired.
The twin beams of green death lanced towards _Voyager_, and 
struck her shields. Even at low power, they were strong enough
to knock down her shields by five percent.

[_Voyager's_ bridge]

	The Intrepid-class ship rocked with the impact of the alien
plasma weapons. "Sir, our shields are down to ninety-five percent."
remarked Tuvok.

"Lock phasers onto that ship and fire!" shouted Janeway.

	_Voyager's_ forward ventral phaser strip glowed as the
energies built up inside it, then a golden beam of death lanced
out towards the _Stiletto_. The first shot missed, but the second
and third shots hit.

[_Stiletto's_ Bridge]

"Sir, we're taking fire. Our shields are down to ninety-eight
percent." 

"Good. It's time to continue our deception. Vent some drive plasma
to make it look like we're taking damage, then microjump us out of 
_Voyager's_ sensor range."

The _Stiletto_ started venting plasma into space, and a few seconds
later, microjumped away.

[_Voyager's_ Bridge]

	The entire bridge crew stood dumbfounded at the sudden
 disappearance of the Mon Calamari ship into thin space. There had
 been a bright glow in their drives in the instant before they
 disappeared.

"Tuvok! What happened to that ship?!"

	The Vulcan science officer bent down over his instruments and
 studied them. "Unknown, Captain; at this point, it seems that they
 entered subspace completely."

"Completely?!? That's impossible!" shouted Paris.

	Suddenly, a voice broke the silence on the  bridge.
 "_Voyager_, this is Captain Daala. Thanks for saving us.
 Unfortunately, our main drive was damaged in the fighting. We're
 stuck in space unless we effect major repairs, which we don't
have the equipment for. Perhaps you could help us?"

	Janeway thought the request over for a moment, then replied.
 "Captain Daala, we'd be more than willing to help you. We'll beam you
 over for talks, as well as beaming over some technicians to help
 repair your drive."

The reply came over a second later. "Beam? As in matter teleportation? 
If so, we can't allow that. Our...religion forbids it."

	The crew exchanged astonished looks. Here were some
Luddites, who abhorred what was the safest way of travelling.

"Then we'll dock with your ship, Captain Daala. Is that alright?"

"Yes. I'll be coming aboard, along with a few medics who'd like
to see your medical technology.

"Alright. I look forward to seeing you, Captain Daala."

"As do I, Captain Janeway." With that, the connection terminated.

	Janeway walked over to the helm console. "Tom, do you think
your piloting skills are up to docking with that ship?"

"Of course they are, Ma'am!"

"Good. Just checking." Janeway suppressed a small smile.

[_Dagger's_ main airlock - five minutes later]

	Daala stood next to Valberg in the main airlock. Behind them
 was a squad of Stormtroopers. Their armor had been modified, making
 them into 'medics' by the simple addition of several red crosses that
 the files said indicated the medical profession in the Federation's
 culture. Leading the Stormtroopers were Lieutenants Hampton and
 Hit-Man. 

	Everyone was fidgeting nervously. Never before had this been
 attempted; the taking over of an alien ship by masquerading as
 medics. Above their heads, clanking noises could be heard as the
 docking collar extended from the _Dagger's_ airlock hatch to an
 airlock located on the underside of _Voyager's_ saucer. 

	The pre-mission jitters in the troopers were made even worse
 by the fact they didn't have any of their normal weapons. Instead,
 they carried small blaster pistols concealed in their armor. 

"Airlock seal established, sir." said the technician who was 
monitoring the airlock. 

"Good. Everybody up!" barked Daala. They all began to climb the ladder
 into the thin flex-tunnel that protected them from the hard vacuum of
 space. Above them, she could see the silvery hull of _Voyager_, and
 the air-lock hatch. It suddenly cycled open, and several human faces
 peered down the hatch into the flex-tunnel.

[_Voyager's_ bridge]

	The voice of the Lieutenant who at the airlock
came over the comm system. "Ma'am, they're coming aboard now.
I'm opening the hatch now! They're human!" The last statement
caused great consternation on the bridge. 

"Are you absolutely sure that they're human?" asked Janeway.

"Well, I can't really tell without a tricorder, but they  _look_
 human. And the person leading them _looks_ like a human woman."

"Good. Escort them to the bridge. I'd like to talk to them in my ready
 room." With that, Janeway spun around and walked into her ready room.

[The corridors of _Voyager_]

	Daala, Valberg, and the 'Medics' walked throught the corridors
of _Voyager_ towards the turbolift that would take them to the bridge.
Valberg looked around. Everything here reminded him of a hotel...well,
not exactly. He smiled. They came upon a door marked 'Turbolift 26'. 
The doors whisked open and they all piled into the turbolift. The
 young man who was wearing pajamas for a duty uniform said "Bridge"
 and the turbolift started moving.

	Everyone started to fidget uncomfortably, although for
 different reasons. For the crewmember, it was because he was
 uncomfortable with these humans. There was something about them that
 was...predatory. For the Imperials, it was because they were about to
 violently take control of an entire starship.

	With a beep, the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge.
 Everyone on the bridge turned to look at the visitors. Every male on
 the bridge felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Daala for the first
 time. 

Paris walked up to the visitors. "Ah...Captain Daala, the Captain will
 see you now, in her ready room." He pointed to a set of doors to the
 port side of the bridge.

Daala looked at Paris. From the files she'd read, Tom Paris was quite
 the womanizer, and a valuable member of the crew. Scratch making an
 example of him. "Very well, Mister..." she said, keeping the facade
 up.

"Paris, Ma'am."

Daala nodded, then walked into Janeway's ready room. Inside, the
 Captain of _Voyager_ was waiting for her.

	From the moment they'd stepped onto the bridge, Hit-Man and
 Hampton had been slowly moving into position to take down their
 respective targets; the alien science officer Tuvok, and the
 augmented human woman known as Seven of Nine. Their files had shown
 them to be the top threats in hand-to-hand combat.

	Valberg had slowly inched towards an important-looking
 computer node, ready to slap the slicer droid-box onto it at a
 moment's notice. The other Stormtroopers had slowly taken up
 positions allowing them to cover the entire bridge with the blasters
 they carried hidden in their armor. As each person in the unit
got into position, they 'tsked' into their mikes, signalling Daala
 that they were ready.

	For the last few minutes, Janeway and Daala had been making
 small talk. There was something about Daala that had been bothering
 Janeway. It was the way she talked, and moved. It suggested she was
 military; not civilian as she had said before. Also, her uniform was
 more suited to a Cardassian than a human.

	Daala heard the last 'tsk' in the small concealed receiver she
 carried in her ear. Everyone was in position and ready. She gave the
 command. 

	Janeway was just finishing a small dissertion on who the crew
 of _Voyager_ was, and why they were here, when Daala suddenly spoke
 into a mike she'd concealed on her uniform. Suddenly, with a speed
 unusual for  a human, she reached down the collar of her uniform,
 into her breasts, and pulled out a small, but lethal looking device. 

	She grabbed Janeway's collar and pulled her across the table,
 and  jammed the BlasTech BL-22 under Janeway's chin. 

"Get up, bitch! We're taking a little walk onto the bridge." 

	Awkwardly, Janeway got up and the two women began to walk
 towards the door to the bridge. Janeway was fuming at this, this
 bitch who dared to come aboard her ship and threaten her, of all
 people!

	The scene on the bridge was disheartening. In the first
 seconds of the battle, immediately after Daala had given the GO
 command, both Hit-Man and Hampton had knocked down their respective
 targets and now their concealed blasters were out, pointing at their
 targets' heads. The other stormtroopers had secured the rest of the
 bridge crew. The access panel at the rear of the bridge for the ODN
 network was open, and Valberg was making the final adjustments to the
 slicer droid.

	Valberg finished making the adjustments, stood up and saluted. 
"Captain Daala, the bridge is secured." 

"Good. Now my dear Captain Janeway, you'll stop this ship dead
in space, and lower your shields."

Janeway fairly spat out the words "Go to hell, Daala."

	Daala motioned for a trooper to take Janeway. Free of her
 target, she walked to the center of the bridge. "I really hoped that
 it didn't have to come to this, my dear Captain Janeway."

	With that,she motioned towards a pair of stormtroopers. They
 grabbed a nameless ensign with red trim, and dragged him in front of
 Daala.

"Now, my Federation friends, since you won't carry out my orders, I
 shall introduce this poor fellow here to the 'Burning'."

	Daala made adjustments to her blaster, setting it to it's
 lowest setting. She turned and purposely walked towards the quivering
 ensign. She aimed the blaster at his feet and pulled the trigger. The
 stench of burning flesh filled the bridge.

	She stopped after the flesh around the man's toes had been
 burned away, revealing the white bone. The man was screaming
 horribly, since he was in incredible pain. She motioned to the
 troopers. They clamped their fists over the man's mouth, shutting him
 up.

	She turned around to address the bridge crew. Their faces had
 all gone a pasty white. "My friends, I present to you the 'Burning'.
 We basically start with the toes and work our way up. Most everybody
 cracks before you even reach the knees, according to the Corporate
 Sector Authority." At that last remark, Daala smiled.

	Daala walked over to Janeway. "Now, my dear Captain Janeway, I
 believe we'll try it out on you. That poor sap over there was merely
 an appetizer. You're the main course." With that, Daala pointed the
 blaster at Janeway's feet.

	Suddenly, Seven of Nine screamed "No, please!" and touched a
 control panel with her hands. Valberg looked at the readout panel on
 the slicer droid. "Sir, the ship has been stopped, and the shields
 have been lowered."

	Until that point, the juvenile Starfleet members had always 
wondered what was really going on between Seven of Nine and Captain
Janeway. It was only now, after being captured by these strange
 aliens, that they found out.

"Now open the main shuttlebay doors, or we start with the dear
 Captain."

"I'll do whatever you say, just please don't hurt ______!" (insert a
 cute name that 7of9 has for Janeway.) Seven once again worked her
 hands over the control panel.

	Daala looked over to Valberg for confirmation. "Main
 shuttlebay doors have been opened."

	Daala thumbed her blaster setting from 'kill' to 'stun'. She
 motioned for the rest of them to do so. "Thank you for your
 cooperation. Now, goodnight." 

	With that, she stunned Janeway. The stormtroopers quickly
 stunned the other members of the bridge crew.

	She activicated her commlink. "_Dagger_, phase one has been
 completed. Begin phase two." The message went out from the _Dagger's_
 comm arrays, and seconds later, the Assault Transport _Mako_ jumped
 in next to _Voyager_. 

"Assault Transport _Mako_ here. We're beginning the boarding
 operation. Wish us luck."

	Daala sat into the Captain's chair. It was really comfortable.
 Even moreso than Valberg's. Thumbing the comlink, she spoke. "Good
 Luck, _Mako_. Remember, set for stun. I want as many people alive as
 possible. However, if they offer heavy resistance, or you can't
 introduce the gas into life support, shoot to kill. I'll understand."
 With that, she shut down the commlink.

	Turning the chair to face Valberg, she spoke. "Lock down the
 bridge from the rest of the ship. Also disable every force field
 emmitter in the ship, except for the matter/antimatter containment
 fields, so they can't use the internal fields to hold back our men or
 the gas. Oh, switch the bridge life-support from the primary system
 to the emergency backup."

"I'm doing it right now."

[Main Shuttlebay]

	The massive Assault Transport slowly moved into the
 shuttlebay. The Starfleet personnel on duty tried to sound the alarm,
 but due to the slicer droid, the alarm was stopped before it even
 began. With a resounding thud, the huge transport settled down onto
 the deckplates. The loading platform whined down, and from the
 interior of the craft, a grenade rolled. It came to a stop inside the
 shuttlebay.

	With a thunderclap, the grenade went off, filling the hangar
 bay with a blinding, pulsing light and a series of thunderclaps. The
 on-duty personnel went down, clutching their ears. From the cavernous
 interior of the transport dozens of Stormtroopers jogged, their suits
 protecting them from the delibitating effect of the flashbang.

	The starfleet personnel were neutralized seconds later, with
 stun bolts. Each crewmember's hands and legs were bound together with
 durasteel cuffs, and they were gagged, to prevent them from issuing
 vocal commands to the computer. A pair of troopers were left behind
 to guard the area, as the rest of the troopers disappeared into the
 corridors of _Voyager_.

	Daala sat back in the Captain's chair, listening to the status
 reports from the troopers as they fought their way to life support.
 "Look out! He's got a weapon!", was rare. "Area secured." was far
 more common. Within minutes, the troopers had swept aside all
 Starfleet resistance and were in control of life support.

	Inside the life support section, the troopers took up guard,
 as a pair of troopers lugged in two huge cylinders on repulsorlifts.
 Within minutes, the cylinders had been hooked up to the main
life support system. Minutes later, the colorless, odorless gas
 flooded the entire ship, knocking out the remaining crewmembers.

	Valberg studied the latest set of readings on the bridge
 control panels, then turned to face Daala. "Sir, the ship's been
 secured."

"Excellent. Signal the rest of the fleet to jump in, so we can begin
 having nice...chats with the crew."

	Within minutes, the rest of the fleet arrived. The unconscious
 crewmembers of _Voyager_ were quickly loaded onto shuttles for
 transport to the Star Destroyers for interrogation.

[Interrogation Room 45-22, ISD _Vengeance_]

	Captains Valberg and January approached the interrogation
area. Valberg looked at January, and said "Remember the Bothan Bluff?"
January nodded, he preferred to torture them until they broke, but 
sometimes, the Bluff would break them much quicker. For the hardnuts,
he'd get to really work them over. At that thought, January smiled,
then his face went back to the proper stony facade that every Imperial
Officer should have.

	The interrogation room was empty, but the prisoners were about
to be escorted in. Valberg whispered to January. "Here they come."
January nodded, then he shouted in a voice loud enough for the
 prisoners to hear "DAMN YOU, THEY'RE *MINE*!"

	Then the first prisoners came in, still wearing their
 Starfleet uniforms. Valberg still couldn't get over the fact that
 they were uniforms, and not pajamas. He was pleased to see that the
 prisoners still had their universal translators, and that they were
 gagged. Someone's ass would've been kicked if this hadn't been so.

	Valberg faced January and spoke. "I am telling you, they are
 to be assigned to me." January shook his head several times, then
 spoke. "Listen, they are mine; unless you can get them to talk, I'll
 have my fun."

	Valberg seemed to be utterly disgusted by January's
 suggestion. "When you join the Imperial Navy, it is to serve the
 Empire, not to satisfy your own depraved urges." 

	January grinned wickedly and said, "I can do both, they're
pretty, aren't they? They'll talk."

	The _Voyager_ crewmembers had looks of utter terror on their
faces. Valberg shook his head. "All right, January. We'll do it your
way, but I'm leaving." With that, he looked at the _Voyager_
 crewmembers.

"I'm truly sorry, I wish you'd talk, at least you would keep a shred
of self-respect and human dignity." with that, Valberg shook his head
and got up as if he was leaving.

	Suddenly, the prisoners seemed to want to talk. Valberg looked
at them and said "Do you wish to speak to me and my men instead?" They
nodded desperately. Valberg looked at January. "Captain January, it
seems like I will handle the interrogations." January commented, "If
you can't get them to talk, I will."

	The interrogations went smoothly. The prisoners were split up
and interrogated one by one. He'd treated them to coffee, and said
"Please, I want to help you, but you must help me. Captain January
 will appeal to the Admiral soon, and them..." At that point, he'd
 shake his head sadly.

	The combination of kindness and pretending to help, while
 mentioning Captain January at times, and using simple police
 interrogation techniques had led to the Federation prisoners breaking
 down and talking in virtually no time at all. Valberg was pleased.
 Torture would break the enemy down eventually, but sometimes
 psychology would do it just as well, and maybe even faster, but these
 Federation fools were so easy to trick.

	Later that day, he joined Captain Daala for the interrogation
of Captain Janeway. The woman had proven remarkably easy to break, and
as they learned more about Janeway, from other prisoners, and from the
woman herself, the more they were amazed at the level of stupidity
and incompetence displayed by her.

"And why didn't you use the array to get home?" Daala asked Janeway.

"Because if we had done so, then the Kazon would've slaughtered
the Ocampa. I felt that trading the Ocampas' lives for our convience
was wrong." replied Janeway.

"And why didn't you set these...tri-cobalt devices to a five minute
 timer, and beam them aboard the array, so they'd destroy the array
 after you'd passed through it?" countered Daala.

	Janeway stood dumbfounded at that suggestion. Daala said 
to Valberg, "She EARNED her position? And they dared to say I had..." 
She looked at Valberg. "Well, I suppose you remember that."

	Valberg smiled. The incident where someone had suggested that
Daala had slept her way to the top and Tarkin's punishment for it was 
legendary in the Imperial Navy. Tarkin had the bastard put into a suit 
with a limited air supply and put him into a decaying orbit...it had
 been up in the air whether he'd run out of air first or burn up in
 the  atmosphere.

	All the time, the guy's suit comm was broadcasting in the
 open. He'd been present, and with some of his friends, had made bets
 on what would kill the bastard first. He'd bet that the guy would
 burn. His argument was "Humans are tougher than you might think,
 he'll hang in there". 

	The story of Captain Valberg and his officer friends sitting
by a communicator listening to the man's screams, pleadings, and
 curses, making comments like "Come on, start burning, you bastard!",
 or "Is he choking? I can hear he's choking!" is still legendary in
 the Imperial Navy, and one of the reason nobody likes the thought of 
crossing him.

	Grand Moff Tarkin, after hearing about this incident, decided
to ignore it. Even so, it was rumored that he'd found it amusing
and considered it proof of "Proper Imperial Attitude".

	Valberg quickly pushed these stray thoughts to the back of his
mind. He had to finish interrogating Lameway (his own pet name for
Janeway now).

[Interrogation Room 45-22, ISD _Vengeance_]

	Some time later, Captain Valberg was sitting once again in the
 interrogation room. The door whisked open, and a small group of
 prisoners from _Voyager_ came stumbling in. These prisoners had been 
handpicked from their psychological profiles as being the ones who
 would be the most likely to play into his hands.

	As the door closed behind the last of the prisoners, Valberg
 spoke. "Welcome, my friends. Here, sit. Have some coffee."  Valberg
 waited until they were seated, before he got to the point.

"My friends, I'm sad to say, that Captain January has overruled me
concerning your disposition. Soon, you are to be executed."

	This sent the prisoners into a panic. Valberg waited until
 they'd calmed down sufficiently before he continued. 

"However, if you are willing to choose ten other people from your
 fellow crewmembers to take your place, your life shall be
spared."

	Valberg repeated this routine until all of the most likely
candidates had been told. Out of nearly a hundred people, only ten had
complied. Even more interesting, had been the fact that  seven of
 those people had been former Maquis. The usual response from the
 Starfleet members was "go to hell, barbarian!"

	He smiled. Any person craven enough to do something like that
 to save their own life might be able to serve the Empire, although
 never in a trusted position, of course.

That was it for the interrogations.

	The next morning, he reported to the Admiral with the final
reports from the interrogations. The Admiral flipped through them.
Suddenly, he stopped at one of the interrogation reports. 

"This...Seven of Nine, she managed to revive a dead person?"

"Yessir." 

"I want her removed from the general prisoner population,
along with Janeway. We can use her skills later, and Janeway
is a bargaining chip to insure she will work for us."

Valberg nodded. "Will there be anything else, Admiral?"

"No, Captain. Oh. I almost forgot." Sheppard pulled out a sheet of
 paper and signed it, then handed it to Valberg.

"What's this?"

"It's an order authorizing the transfer of the remaining Federation
 prisoners to your command."

"Oh." 

	Valberg pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded
 it, and signed it. 

"What's that?" inquired the Admiral.

	Valberg grinned evilly. "An order authorizing the spacing of
three-fourths of the Federation prisoners, to be carried out
 immediately. The rest are to be used for slave labor, human shields,
bargaining counters, that kind of stuff."

[Hangar Bay - ISD _Vengeance_]

	The huddled mass of prisoners crowded together in the
 cavernous main hangar bay of the Star Destroyer. For some reason,
 they'd been brought here by the guards.

	Suddenly, the sides on the shipping containers behind
them dropped down, revealing several E-Web Heavy Repeating Blasters.

	The heavy blaster fire raked the prisoners for several
 seconds. When the blasters fell silent, no one was standing. The
 weapons crews began to disassemble their weapons and lug the parts
 into a adjacent storage room. When all of the E-Webs had been broken
 down and placed in the storage room and the last of the crews were in
 the room, the heavy blast doors clanged shut, sealing off the storage
 room from the main hangar.

	The reason why became apparent, as the energy shield that
kept the vacuum away from the hangar dropped. The bodies of the 
_Voyager_ crew whipped out of the hangar bay and into deep space. 

[Admiral Sheppard's Quarters]

"Vegard, why did you have them shot?" asked the Admiral.

"I'm not a sadist, if that's what you're thinking. It's just more
 efficient if they're dead first. None of them will be hanging
 desperately onto railings, and such. Even if they died due to the
 vacuum, they might still be inside the hangar bay, clinging to stuff.
If they're already dead, they're swept cleanly away into space."

	Sheppard noddded. As a young ensign, he'd had to
clean up after a fatal hull breach. It had been messy, to say the
 least. He waved a hand and dismissed Valberg.

	Shortly after Valberg left, Glasgow came in, clutching a
 datapad. "Yes, Charles?"

"I have some technology I'd like to show you, Admiral. I believe it
 will solve our perennial problem of personnel shortages."

	Sheppard got out of his chair, and within minutes, they were
 standing in _Voyager's_ main holodeck. The room was...eerie to say
 the least, with the flat black color of the walls, and the yellow
 lines running across every surface in the room.

	Glasgow spoke aloud, to the computer.  "Run program 
Glasgow-One. Authorization code: Tierce." Sheppard looked
quizzically at Glasgow.

"Who would put the name of their worst enemy as their  authorization
 code? Nobody, that's who."

	Sheppard smiled. "Oh, I get it. How'd you get the
 authorization code, anyway?" 

	Glasgow smiled at this. "I got Janeway's code, thanks to
 Valberg and Daala's rather *throrough* interrogation, and used a
 protocol droid to fake her voice, and changed the codes in the
 computer. Now, we have complete control over _Voyager_."

"By the way, what was her code?"

"One-Two-Three-Four-Five."

	Sheppard's mouth dropped open. "That's the stupidest code
I've ever heard of in my life! That's the kind of thing an Idiot would
 have on their luggage!"

	Glasgow chuckled. He'd had pretty much the same reaction
when he'd heard the code for the first time. Now, he just accepted
it as further proof of Janeway's idiocy.

	Suddenly, in front of them, Sergeant Zim from the Academy
 appeared. Every detail in his uniform was correct, from the sharply
 creased trousers and the shoes that you could've used for mirrors. 

"Play program." spoke Glasgow.

Zim came to life and bellowed, "C'pnee! Atten...shut! I am Career
Ship's Sergeant Zim, your company commander. When you speak to me ,
you will salute and say, 'Sir'- you will salute and 'sir' everyone who
carries an instructor's baton."

"Pause program." 

	Zim froze in the middle of mid-bellow. Glasgow spoke. "For the
last day or so, I've been feeding this computer every scrap of
information I could find on our esteemed Sergeant Zim. A pretty good
replica, don't you think?" 

	Sheppard nodded. "Now comes the fun part. Follow me." Glasgow
 walked out of the holodeck, and towards the transporter room. As he
 followed Glasgow, Sheppard noticed a thick, heavy cable that led from
 the holodeck, to a point somewhere in the maze of corridors on
 _Voyager_. Glasgow stopped in front of a pair of doors marked
 'Transporter Room One'.

	As he stepped into the room, Sheppard shivered involuntarily. 
Here was the abomination of the Force that the races of this Galaxy
used for short-range movement. The thick cable terminated at the
bottom of the raised platform on which people were distengrated into
their component atoms.

	Glasgow walked behind the operators' control panel, and spoke.
"Now, Admiral, we're going to take the program that we're running
on the holodeck, and dump it into the transporter's pattern buffer.
Once that's done, we'll 'beam in' our favorite Sergeant."

	What was Glasgow getting at here? Suddenly, Glasgow excitedly
spoke. "Admiral, we're beginning it now!"

	Glasgow's fingers ran over the control panel, and from the
transporter pads came a rising hum. Suddenly, a blue light formed
in the middle of the pad. It quickly resolved into a human shape.
Suddenly, behind the almost-human shape, another blue light appeared,
and quickly took human form.

	The blue lights dissapeared, and in the middle of the pad,
stood two Zims. "Admiral, I present Career Sergeant Zim One and
Two." 

	Sheppard walked over to the two men standing on the pad. 
They looked exactly alike, and they behaved exactly like Zim had
on the holodeck. "Clones?" asked Sheppard.

	"Yes, Admiral. Think of the holodeck/transporter combination
as a sort of bastardized Spaarti cylinder. We can create our solders
and crewers to have the exact personalities and skills we desire on 
the holodeck, then use the transporter to create them. As long as
we have raw materials and energy, we can create five clones every
thirty seconds."

"I'll be damned." said Sheppard. Well, It was time now to do some
 checking up on that interesting tidbit Valberg had given him. 

[Cell 455C, ISD _Vengeance_]

	Sheppard stepped into the cell, escorted by two Stormtroopers.
The cell's lone occupant,  the woman known as Seven of Nine, eyed the
new arrivals warily.

"You are the one who revived a dead person?" asked the Admiral.

"Yes. I revived Neelix with my nanoprobes."

"I see. Is there a limit to your powers of revival?"

"There is a limit of seventy-three hours. After that, the body cannot
 be revived."

	Sheppard rubbed his chin and thought for a moment, before
he spoke again. "What if the body was put into stasis before the
seventy-three hour time limit?"

"Then I can revive it." 

"Good," The Admiral motioned to the troopers standing next to him.
"You're coming with us."

[Food Preservation faculity, Deck 25]

	Seven of Nine, Janeway, and a nameless ensign stood in the 
carbon-freezing chamber found on every Star Destroyer for the
preservation of food. 

	The technician responsible for operating the chamber walked up
 to Sheppard. "Admiral, I can't assure you that they'll be put into
 stasis. We've never used this on people before!"

"I know. That's why we're putting that Ensign in first, to test it
for us."

	The technician nodded, then walked over to prepare the chamber
for the freezing operation. The troopers threw the ensign onto the
raised freezing platform.

	The technician looked at Sheppard for comfirmation.
Sheppard nodded his head.

	The platform jerked, then the Ensign dropped
into the freezing pit. An enormous gout of vapor whooshed out of the
 pit, as the freezing process began. 

	The clamps slowly lifted the freezing unit that now contained
the Carbonite-frozen ensign out of the pit. With a clang, the unit hit
 the floor, revealing the ensign's last moments before freezing,
 captured now for eternity, or at least until he was unfrozen.

	Technicians and medics swarmed over the unit. After
checking the displays, the lead medic looked at Sheppard. "He's
alive and unharmed."

	At this, Sheppard smiled.  The smile quickly faded, and
 Sheppard barked, "Put Seven in now!" and motioned
with his hand towards the pit.

	Seven and Janeway suddenly locked their lips together in a
 passionate kiss, the kiss was broken off when Seven was roughly
 pushed by the stormtroopers to the now raised freezing platform. 

	Just before the platform was lowered, Janeway yelled "I love
 you!". The reply from Seven was equally brief. "I know."

	The platform clanged down, and Seven gasped as the freezing
 vapor touched her. Sheppard watched as the now-frozen Seven was
 lifted by the clamps from the freezing pit. 

	As soon as the pit was cleared, he motioned for Janeway to be
 put in it as well. Janeway after seeing her lover frozen, was
 despondent, not bothering to look up as the troopers placed her on
 the platform.

	As the vapor hissed up from the pit as Janeway was frozen,
Sheppard smiled. He had a valuable asset on ice, as well as
the tool needed to manipulate that asset. 

"I want them stored in the maximum security vault. They are very
 valuable. If anyone harms or damages their units, I'll kill him
 myself, personally."

	The technicians nodded, then activicated the repulsorlifts on
the bottoms of the units containing Janeway and Seven. They would be
stowed away inside a sealed vault that would only open with
Sheppard's retinal ID, voiceprint, handprint, and DNA. While one method 
could be fooled, it was impossible to fool all four at once. 

[Conference Room A, ISD _Revenger_ - one day later]

	Admiral Sheppard sat at the head of the table. Arrayed around
 the table were Valberg, Daala, and  January. Next to Sheppard sat his
 second-in-command, Vice-Admiral Glasgow.

	The meeting had been going on for an hour, and most everybody
 had talked by now. Daala had showed how she took over _Voyager_ by
exploiting the 'morals' of the Federation. January, of course, had
discussed the most effective torture methods on Federation prisoners.
The show-stopper had been Glasgow's explanation of the bastardized
Spaarti cylinder he'd made using Federation technology.

	Towards the end of the meeting, Sheppard noticed that Valberg
hadn't said much. "Captain Valberg, is there something you'd like to
share with us?"

	Valberg looked around, then spoke. "Well, it's nothing,
really. Just something I've been working on for the past week and a
half." With that, he got up, and started handing out datapads to
everyone, making sure that January got the marked pad. 

"It's my analysis of the Federation, based on the information we've
 retrieved from Captain Sutton, and interrogations of the Federation
 prisoners. I hope you'll give it some thought." With that, Valberg
 sat down in his chair. Everybody began to read what was on the
 datapads.

CONQUEST OF THE FEDERATION

By Captain Vegard Valberg, Imperial Navy.

CLASSIFIED: ADMIRALS EYES ONLY.
CODE BLUE DELTA

Contents

1. Preface
      1.1 Some words from the author.
      1.2 The purpose of conquering the Federation.

2. The Conquest.
      2.1 Strategy and Tactics
            2.1.1 Fighting Federation vessels.
                  2.1.1.1 Federation technology
                  2.1.1.2 Federation Tactics and Strategy
                  2.1.1.3 Suggested Imperial Navy Tactics
                  2.1.1.4 Suggested Imperial Navy Strategy
            2.1.2 Strategic goals.
                  2.1.2.1 Deep Space 9
                  2.1.2.2 Shipyards
                  2.1.2.3 Starbase-74
                  2.1.2.4 Earth
                  2.1.2.5 Vulcan
                  2.1.2.6 Betazoid
                  2.1.2.7 Other Systems

      2.2 Applications of Terror
            2.2.1 Random Terror
            2.2.2 The various worlds of the Federation
                  2.2.2.1 The Earth Issue
                  2.2.2.2 The Vulcan Issue
                  2.2.2.3 The Betazoid Issue
                  2.2.2.4 The Issue of Race X.

      2.3 Terms of surrender.
            2.3.1 General
            2.3.2 Starfleet
            2.3.3 Earth
            2.3.4 Other Worlds

3. Post Conquest Pacification and Administration.
      3.1 Administration
            3.1.1 The Administration of Earth.
            3.1.2 The Administration of Other Worlds.
      3.2 Starfleet
            3.2.1 The Destruction of Starfleet.
            3.2.2 Re-education Vs. Extermination
      3.3 Pacification
            3.3.1 Pacification of Earth
            3.3.2 Pacification of Other Federation Worlds
            3.3.3 Resistance Movements (AKA Rebel Scum)
            3.3.4 Use of Inherited Federation Personnel and Resources.

4. Conclusion
      4.1 The Possibility of Alien Intervention.
            4.1.1 Romulans
            4.1.2 Klingons
            4.1.3 Cardassians
            4.1.4 Borg
            4.1.5 The Dominion
            4.1.6 The Ferengi
            4.1.7 Assorted Other Worlds

      4.2 Preparations for Conquest of Remaining Species.
            4.2.1 General
            4.2.2 Romulans
            4.2.3 Klingons
            4.2.4 Cardassians
            4.2.5 Borg
            4.2.6 The Dominion
            4.2.7 The Ferengi
            4.2.8 Assorted Other Worlds
            4.2.9 Why bother with negotiations?

5. On the Subject of the Maquis.
      5.1 General.
      5.2 Destruction.
      5.3 Recruitment.

---
1. Preface
1.1 Some words from the author.

	I have prepared this document using the information provided
 by Captain Sutton (formerly Admiral Sutton of Starfleet), I hope it
 will aid the admirals in preparing the conquest of the Federation. I
 am not a premier tactician or strategist, but I have never acquitted
 myself in a fashion less than adequate. Also note that no one has
 ever called into question my skills in the areas of administration
 and pacification. Therefore I hope you will give a friendly review to
 this document.

1.2 The purpose of conquering the Federation.

	The purpose of conquering the Federation is to extend Imperial 
control to yet another benighted area of space. The fact that the 
Federation government consists mainly of humans while groups of
hostile aliens surround them is obviously also helpful. In that we
can create a base among a slightly paranoid population, yet one we
can easily relate to.
	The Federation will provide us with the forward base to
conquer the  rest of this galaxy, it has hundreds of empty planets
where we can easily deploy our world devastators (or terraform
afterwards). It also contains billions of potential new subjects for
the Empire, and recruits for the Imperial Army, Navy, and
Stormtroopers.
	It is therefore my opinion that the conquest of the Federation
is paramount in our effort to subdue this galaxy, and considering the
relative weakness of the Federation this should be an easy job.

2. The Conquest.
2.1 Strategy and Tactics
2.1.1 Fighting Federation vessels.
2.1.1.1 Federation technology

	Federation technology (although remarkably primitive in almost
every single way), has come up with some technologies that might
cause us some trouble, but I will discuss these later. You have no
doubt heard the exact specifications of these devices, and the
arguments against them before, so I will just give you a quick recap.
	The Holodeck and Food Replicators: These two technologies show
just how consumer friendly the federation is. Instead of using much
needed space and energy to fuel sensors, shields, engines, or
weapons, they use them to provide luxury foods and sophisticated
entertainment to their crews. Although it might be possible to
incorporate these items into Imperial Recreational Stations (for off
duty personnel) I would strongly advise against integrating them into
Imperial warships (they are power hungry and rather pointless).
	Phasers: This weapon uses a Nuclear Disruption Field to
 release the innate energies in an object, this means they are highly
 effective against matter such as rock and flesh. However they are
 much less efficient against denser materials, such as ship hulls,
 iron, most metals, not to mention the materials used in our armour.
 When it comes to shields, they have no more effect than the energy
 originally fed into them, this is usually less than 1.02 GW (the
 output of a Galaxy Class Starships main phaser banks). Obviously such
 low energy outputs mean that even a Corellian corvette would be able
 to handle a one on one confrontation with a Federation starship.
	Transporters: This terrible technology dissolves the subject,
 and replicates him elsewhere. Basically you die, you are
 disintegrated, and you are then replicated in a different location.
 The Riker incident (which you should all be aware of) should clearly
 indicate that this is how the transporters work. I would strongly
 suggest that these terrible devices should be abolished in all areas
 controlled by the Empire.
	Warp: Warp functions by warping space around and in front of
 the ship, they do this by releasing matter/energy with negative
 gravitational pull. This technique can be easily countered (by
 careful application of tractor beams and gravity wells) and is much
 slower than our own hyperdrive.
	Anti-Matter: For some reason every single species in this
 galaxy seems to use anti-matter as their primary fuel source. They
 seem completely unaware of the fact that there are many much more
 efficient and safe methods of generating power. This could cause us
 some difficulties in that we must carefully defuse these ticking time
 bombs every time we inherit a Federation or alien ship or base.

2.1.1.2 Federation Tactics and Strategy

	To be brutally honest, if they have any (tactics), I have yet
 to detect any from my perusal of the acquired information. They seem
 to use Melee tactics when they enter into a confrontation, basically
 the two sides stand still and shoot at one another, this goes on
 until one (or both) ships are destroyed. Obviously this would
 indicate a certain lack of, how to put it, sophistication,
 competence, and even a certain lack of intelligence and common sense.
	On occasion a Starfleet Captain or Admiral will show some 
intelligence and initiative. Admiral James Tiberius Kirk for one (if
 he was still alive and leading the campaign against us, we might
 actually meet some real resistance). Admiral Kirk was probably the
 single most inspired strategist and tactician in the entire Milky Way
 galaxy, he was the only Federation officer that could ace the
 Imperial Navy's strategy and tactics' exam. However this notable died
 in a place called Veridan, fortunately for us.
	Captain Edward Jellico: This Captain was actually a capable 
commander, not up to the standard of Kirk, but he would have passed
 the Imperial Navy's Strategy and Tactics exam. However due to his
 insistence on reasonable and efficient tactics (and discipline), he
 was drummed out of Federation service for his "Inhuman" practices.
 This is a clear example of how the pacifistic majority of the
 Federation would rather choose death before victory.
	Captain Jean-Luc Picard: Although generally an unimaginative
 and somewhat incompetent individual, he has actually managed to
 create something called the Picard Manoeuvre . This manoeuvre
 basically consists of using warp speed to get really close to the
 enemy ship, then letting loose with all your weaponry in the hopes of
 instantly slaughtering the enemy vessel. The Picard Manoeuvre is
 quite frankly, rather pathetic; a Corellian Corvette could easily
 take evasive manoeuvres to avoid this sudden attack, and a ISD 
would easily withstand it. It is basically a method used to get a good 
close up mugging of the enemy ship, the equivalent of hitting someone
 over the head with a sap. It works against civilians, but it will not
 stop a stormtrooper.
	The Picard Manoeuvre could be dangerous (even against a ISD)
 if Starfleet thought of deploying twenty ships in that fashion at
 once, and then warping them out again before the ISD could shoot
 back. Odds are that we would sustain moderated injuries from a single
 such attack. Even though many of their ships would be destroyed if
 they could keep it up even a ISD could be forced to retreat.
 Fortunately this level of tactical co-ordination seems light-years
 beyond the capabilities of the Federation tacticians.
	Their strategy is (if possible) even worse. They have now have
 close to 1500 ships (though most of these are smaller, older ships
 brought out of retirement). However, their strategy is so bad that
 some of their colonies are utterly destroyed on a regular basis (two
 or three every year!).
	When they faced the Borg, they sent Captain Jean-Luc Picard
 and the USS Enterprise to the other side of Federation space. Despite
 the fact that Captain Picard (and his crew aboard the Enterprise) was
 the only Starfleet officer with any real experience with the Borg.
	Their strategy against the Dominion was even worse, in that
 they picked a fight with an enemy that was clearly more powerful than
 they were. Their tactics in the Dominion War were if possible even
 more ridiculous, I shall not go into details only to say that their
 refusal to close the wormhole (and potential save millions or
 billions of Federation citizens, because of the prophets), is in my
 book the very epitome of foolishness.
	The only example I can think of that more adequately reflects
 this foolishness, is the fact that Captain Jean-Luc Picard had the
 chance to utterly destroy the Borg by implanting a computer virus in
 one of their drones. Instead of doing this (and thereby destroying a
 declared enemy of all sentient life, and saving millions of
 Federation lives), he claimed it would be morally wrong and let the
 drone go. He received no reprimand for his actions, even though said
 actions made him deserve a spacing.
	In conclusion I will state that the Federation is unlikely to
 use any tactics more sophisticated than a Melee (even if single
 Captains might attempt more advanced tactics, there is virtually no
 tactical co-ordination between ships). The Federation is also
 unlikely to use any strategy more advanced than sending ships
 straight at us and hoping that they have sent enough ships to win the
 battle.

2.1.1.3 Suggested Imperial Navy Tactics

	Despite our massive advantage in fire power and shields we
 should not ignore our other advantages, such as manoeuvrability and
 fighters. The Federations total lack of tactical sense would lead me
 to conclude that we can easily destroy the Federation ships one by
 one, without much interference from the other ships in their task
 force. In essence concentrated firepower, and concentrated fighter
 formations, the same way that advanced militaries has always
 destroyed more primitive enemies (substitute formations for
 concentrated firepower, and cavalry for fighters and you have the
 backbone of every primitive conquering force since time immemorial).

2.1.1.4 Suggested Imperial Navy Strategy

	After consultations with certain other sources I have come to
 the conclusion that in order to win (as in conquer and administrate
 the Federation) we must capture certain parts of the Federation
 intact, and utterly destroy other parts. This is not so much a
 recommendation on Strategy as it is a request that we determine as
 soon as possible which parts to destroy and which parts to leave
 standing.

2.1.2 Strategic goals.
2.1.2.1 Deep Space 9

	Deep Space 9, a small space station near the Federation-Cardassian 
border is never the less a important local trade centre, and a equally 
(if not more so) important diplomatic centre. I therefore propose that we 
attempt to capture this station (and the accompanying planet) more or 
less intact. With it negotiations and contact with other species will go 
much faster, and much smoother than usual, especially if we can present 
ourselves as the "heirs" to the Federation. The chief of security is not 
terribly competent, yet he is such a stickler for the rules that we should 
consider allowing him to retain his possition after our takeover.
	Capturing it should be easy, the captain is just as tactically
inept as the rest of Starfleet, although he might try to fight till
death. Once we have boarded the station a few droids could easily
take control over the main computer (after which all opposition will
be subdued quickly and easily).

2.1.2.2 Shipyards

	It is my opinion that the Federation shipyards (or at least
 the majority of them) should not be destroyed. Instead the ones
 around Earth and the central worlds (the ones that service to
 Starfleet), should be damaged so that it will take several months of
 repairs before they can once again be used to build or service
 starships. This way the remove the shipyards from Federation hands
 for the duration of hostilities, we force them to expend massive
 resources on repairs (which cuts down on the time we will need to
 repair them once our conquest is complete), and when we have won we
 will inherit the shipyards. Naturally we will have to destroy some of
 them to make an example, but the majority will serve the Empire.

2.1.2.3 Starbase-74

	This is the largest Starbase that the Federation has built,
 although small compared to most Imperial Bases. However this is the
 centre of most of Starfleets operations, and many of the Federations
 government functions. It is also (to the Federation) a powerful
 symbol of their governments achievements and power.
	It might seem like this base is the chief target for
 destruction, but I would strongly recommend that it is captured (more
 or less intact). It could be a very valuable asset to the Empire if
 captured, considering it's massive records, it's cache of trained
 personnel, and the fact that it can help us establish control over
 Starfleet and Earth.
	I would suggest utilising the Valberg Manoeuvre to capture
 this space station, since I developed this manoeuvre specifically to
 deal with situations like this. In fact, I would be honoured to lead
 the attack myself.

2.1.2.4 Earth

	Earth must be captured intact, if we are ever to control the 
Federation properly. Earth is the centre of Federation government, 
Starfleet headquarters, headquarters of the Federation government (and
 most importantly the bureaucracy), offices of the Federation
 president, the Federation intelligence service.
	If Earth is destroyed we will be left with the job of
 replacing millions of trained bureaucrats, and trying to establish
 government control over the Federation when all the records have been
 lost. We will also have lost the Federations espionage networks among
 the other alien government, these networks seem to be the only thing
 the Federation got right. If we capture it we will inherit these
 espionage networks, the Federations bureaucracy (which is
 disturbingly good at ferreting out "deviants"), and Starfleet (which
 will quickly be made to surrender).

2.1.2.5 Vulcan

	This planet represents an alternative seat of power in the 
Federation, it must therefore be captured or destroyed, either option
 is suitable. Even so, Vulcan has received a special mentioning in the 
"Applications of Terror" chapter.

2.1.2.6 Betazoid

	This planet contains a species consisting nearly entirely of 
telepaths, some of them with great power and skill. As such it
 represents a potential threat to the Empire, therefore Betazoid must
 either be destroyed or controlled, there is no other options. I would
 propose that we either capture or control it (even though we could
 make an example out of it), a large group of telepaths would be a
 valuable addition to the Empire at this junction (to help in
 interrogations, security operations, and so forth).

2.2 Applications of Terror
2.2.1 Random Terror

	Random terror is to be avoided at all costs, the people must
 know, and believe, that if they play by the rules (our rules) they
 are safe. If the people do not believe this, we have a problem. We
 pray loudly at the altar of order and regulations, and if we are seen
 to ignore either, we will never be able to control anything.
 Therefore we must play fairly by the rules that we have rigged in our
 favour.

2.2.2 The various worlds of the Federation
2.2.2.1 The Earth Issue

	Earth being the primary world of the Federation is naturally a 
obvious target for applications of terror, however I would once again
 state that we should capture this world, not destroy it. Nevertheless
 there are thousands of individuals on earth that will stand in the
 way of the new order. When we capture Earth these people will have to
 be destroyed, all at once this could be used as an application of
 terror. You also have the option of firing Ion cannons at large civic
 centres (not connected to government) thereby triggering massive
 deaths and computer breakdowns. Not to mention the possibility of
 using the Turbo-Lasers to start a fire storm across the grain fields.

2.2.2.2 The Vulcan Issue

	I propose that we destroy Vulcan without warning, thereby
 removing a troublesome alternative seat of government for the
 Federation, and teaching the Federation the consequences of opposing
 the Empire.
	The question is of course BDZ vs. simply destroying every
 single inhabited structure. Naturally, a BDZ is much more impressive,
and would truly terrify the people of the Federation who have never
 seen such firepower displayed before. However a less total
 destruction would leave the planet open for colonization by
 friendlier groups. Naturally, we have the third option of letting a
 World Devastator loose on the world. That would be very efficient,
 and (given the Vulcan pacifism) would not endanger the World
 Devastator.
	Once Vulcan has been destroyed, I propose that we exterminate
 every single surviving Vulcan, this way they will not form the core
 of some new resistance movement.

2.2.2.3 The Betazoid Issue

	As stated earlier, Betazoid must be destroyed or controlled,
 much of what is said about Vulcan applies for Betazoid, the threat
 that they might form the nucleus of a new resistance movement even
 more so. Nevertheless I would prefer to see that Betazoid is captured
 and integrated into the Empire.

2.2.2.4 The Issue of Race X.

	Should you decide against destroying Betazoid, I propose that
 we find the homeworld of some unimposing and unimportant species (yet
 one that the Federation sympathise with). Then we destroy them and
 their homeworld utterly, using BDZ, light planetary bombardment, or
 World Devastors. I do believe that we should destroy at least two
 worlds utterly, if only to show the Federation and the other alien
 races that the first time was not a fluke or a lucky shot.

2.3 Terms of surrender.
2.3.1 General

	Imperial control over all Starbases, shipyards, computer
 mainframes, all information, espionage networks, and Federation
 bureaucracy.
	The dissolution of the Federation Parliament, and all other
 elected bodies, the Federation President and all military leaders to
 be the guest of the Empire.

2.3.2 Starfleet

	Cessation of all hostilities, all ships are to report their
 position immediately and then (depending on circumstances) either
 proceed towards the closest starbase, or wait for a Imperial ship to
 meet them. When met with a Imperial ship the Starfleet vessel is to
 allow a boarding party to enter to ensure Starfleet compliance with
 our conditions.

2.3.3 Earth

	Earth is to have a permanent Imperial garrison, Imperial
 advisers supervising the remaining Federation government and
 military, and a Imperial governor taking control over the
 bureaucracy. Starbase-74 to be converted into a Imperial starbase and
 used to ensure Federation compliance with Imperial conditions.

2.3.4 Other Worlds

	The other worlds of the Federation will be allowed limited
 autonomy, although Imperial ships may arrive on inspection rounds,
 and Imperial garrisons may on occasion be established to ensure
 public safety.

3. Post Conquest Pacification and Administration.
3.1 Administration
3.1.1 The Administration of Earth.

	Earth is to receive several Stormtrooper garrisons, I would
 suggest one in San Francisco, Switzerland, and Tokyo, along with
 additional TIE-Fighters, and a large contingency of Dark Troopers.
	The Imperial Governor should use the already existing
 bureaucracy (after the initial massive purge) to do his work. This
 bureaucracy seems rather good at misinformation and propaganda, not
 to mention rooting out deviants of all kinds. All we have to do is
 redefine deviant, and change the priorities list concerning
 constructions work, and there we have it; control over Earth and the
 Federation.
	Earth is also a very pleasant planet, eerily reminiscent of 
Coruscant, and could easily be converted into a pleasant base of 
operations. I would suggest that we (temporarily at least) make Earth
the new centre of Imperial Government in the Milky Way galaxy.
The region of Earth known as 'Norway', would be an excellent choice,
since it would present us with excellent conditions for defensive
weapons in the Fjiords.

3.1.2 The Administration of Other Worlds.

	The administration of other worlds should be handled using the
now captured Federation bureaucracy. We do not have enough trained
personnel to send more than a handful of advisers to each Federation
world. So to keep them in line we must rely on the Federation
bureaucracy, and the threat of us leaving a stormtrooper garrison
behind (or BDZ'ng them).
	If possible we should let them retain as many of their local
customs and old rights as practically possible, and let them know
that if they step out of line, these rights will be revoked. This way
we should be able to administrate these worlds without having to deal
with constant (and futile) uprisings.


3.2 Starfleet
3.2.1 The Destruction of Starfleet.

	We must utterly destroy Starfleet, the organisation is too
 weak to do our bidding properly, and too dangerous to be permitted to
 continue it's existence. It's ships could perhaps be converted into
 vessels for the Imperial Navy, but I would suggest simply scrapping
 them (or turning them into cargo ships, once the weapons had been
 removed).

3.2.2 Re-education Vs. Extermination

	The issue now is whether we can use the old Starfleet
 personnel, or if we must kill them. Naturally the answer is somewhere
 between these two extremes, we must kill some 20-30% of Starfleet
 personnel (1.5-2 million personnel at most), but the rest could be
 converted into Imperial Navy personnel. Naturally the re-educated
 personnel will not be allowed to serve aboard a ISD, or in key
 positions, but for border patrols, cargo transport, patrol duty, and
 such they should be adequate. Once again, it's obvious that we will
 have political officers onboard each such vessels, to ensure 
compliance.

3.3 Pacification
3.3.1 Pacification of Earth

	The execution of every single elected leader that will not
 play ball, hunt down and kill every single retired admiral of any
 consequence (but we should capture Edward Jellico, he would be a
 valuable adviser, and by threatening a few million innocent
 bystanders, he could be made to work for us). In essence kill
 everyone that is, or could be a threat to our government, and do it
 all at once. People have short memories and when you commit all your
 atrocities at once they will eventually forget. However if you do not
 execute all your enemies at once the constant insurrection,
 subversive activity, and so forth, will be like a open sore that will
 constantly irritate your subjects, and one day they will rebel.

3.3.2 Pacification of Other Federation Worlds

	Same as concerning Earth, although it might pay to be a little
 more heavy handed. I shall go into some detail to illustrate my
 point:
	Execute a few officials as well and promote their ambitious 
underlings, but do so in such a fashion that the newly promoted
underlings are hated by their subjects. That way they will be totally
dependent on us to stay in power, in fact, they will depend on us
just to stay alive.
	Create a law that states that the families of all high and mid 
ranking government officials must come to Earth and live there. This
way we have a ample supply of hostages to use against any potential
rebels.

3.3.3 Resistance Movements (AKA Rebel Scum)

	Resistance movements will inevitably spring up, but the key
here is to treat them like an opportunity instead of a problem. Or,
as I like to say: "I like Rebels, they give us an excuse to kill
anyone who opposes us", and that is what we can do when rebels
strike, kill anyone who oppose us (even the people we normally can't
touch out of fear for triggering a violent uprising).
	Even so, when a province or planet rebels against us, decimate
 it. When a city rebels against us, destroy it utterly. We might have
 to do this a few dozen times before people get the message, but they
 will eventually.
	Also a good method to avoid rebellions (though only in areas
 plagued by rebels) might be to execute five hundred, a thousand, or
 even ten thousand civilians (including the perpetrators' family) for
 every single Imperial personnel killed.

3.3.4 Use of Inherited Federation Personnel and Resources.

	The inherited shipyards, starbases and such could easily be
 turned into Imperial Facilities, although we would have to modify
 them extensively before they confirm to our demands. We should take
 advantage of these inherited structures in any way we can, since many
 of them are already known meeting places for the Federation and their
 neighbours.
	Once again Starfleet personnel can be made to serve the Empire
 in some minor roles, however (and I repeat) only with proper
 supervision, and in non-vital roles.
	The most interesting Federation personnel are their spies, the 
Federation has (despite their near universal incompetence) built a
 rather comprehensive spy network. This will naturally fall into our
 hands as we conquer the Federation. We shall naturally take advantage
 of this network, expand it, and turn it against the citizens of the
 Federation as well.

4. Conclusion
4.1 The Possibility of Alien Intervention.
4.1.1 Romulans

	The possibility of Romulan intervention is rather slim in my
 opinion, however it should not be discounted. There are many ways of
 dealing with them, we could offer them several of the disputed
 systems between them and the Federation. We could threaten them
 stating that we will provide information about how to counter their
 cloaks to all of their neighbours, that ought to give them something
 else to think about. After this we should strike randomly at four of
 their words and damage them severely, this will force them to
 dedicate resources to alleviate the suffering of their own
 population. Finally we could leak the information that we are about
to strike at Romulus, let them assemble their fleet, and then strike
 at it, destroying them.

4.1.2 Klingons

	The possibility of Klingon intervention is distinctly there,
 and in my opinion it should not be discounted. In case of a Klingon
 intervention we should provide information about how to counter their
 cloaks to all of their neighbours, that ought to give them something
 else to think about. We could also turn their crazy ideas of honour
 against them, draw their armies into a trap on some benighted world
 and then destroy them.
	Other than that the same ideas that would work against the
 Romulans would work against the Klingons, except that the Klingons
 have such a exaggerated view of their own combat skills that it
 should be even easier to destroy them.

4.1.3 Cardassians

	The possibility to Cardassian intervention on the Federation
 side is so slim as to be negligible. Should they try to intervene
 offer them help against the Maquis, the blueprints for a cloaking
 devise, and naturally some Federation worlds. After this we should
 have no more trouble with them. Naturally if they persist the same
 basic plans (wreck four worlds followed by an attack on their
 homeworld to draw out the fleet) would work on them as well.

4.1.4 Borg

	The Borg are a particularly inept species that can only
 threaten someone as moronic as the Federation. When we meet them we
 should snatch a single drone, isolate it from the collective (the
 Enterprise seems to succeed at this), and infect it with a data
 virus. After that we allow the drone to rejoin the collective, with
 luck in six months, all the Borg will be gone, and we can either
 colonize their worlds, or let the World Devastators loose on them.
	Should this virus prove insufficient, then perhaps we must
 actually fight these wretched creatures. That should not prove much
 of a challenge, despite their vaunted adaptability they have shown
 zero ability to adapt to kinetic attacks or raw power (and our
 Turbo-Lasers are more than sufficient to batter down their defences).
 Their adaptability only applies to maximising their energy shields
 against energy attacks with a frequency (like Phasers), since our
 blasters use plasma this should not be a problem. Also we have
 fletchette guns, thermal detonators, and other assorted weaponry in
 quantities quite sufficient to fight the Borg.
	Concerning Borg tactics, I am astounded. They are considered
 (by nearly every race in the Milky Way galaxy) the most dangerous
 species in existence, and they have a level of alertness and tactical
 adaptability only surpassed by truly advanced cultures and races.
 Such as the primate ancestors of humanity on Planet Earth.

4.1.5 The Dominion

	The Dominion will probably not get involved. If it should, we
 are up against a fanatical enemy that can occasionally grasp the
 basics of tactics and strategy. Neverless, we can deal with them. The
 easiest way to do so, is to offer the Ketrecell White in return for
 their neutrality. Our Imperial scientists should be able to duplicate
 this drug in large quantities. We could naturally also throw in a few
 border worlds and such.

4.1.6 The Ferengi

	The Ferengi will most likely not get involved directly.
 However, they will sell weapons and supplies (of every conceivable
 category) to the Federation and anyone else willing to pay for them.
 This can obviously be something of a problem. However, the best way I
 can think of to deal with this is either a) Buy their goods or b)
 Destroy some of their ships, and threaten to bomb some of their
 worlds. Personally, I think that first using B, and then using A
 would be the best. We should not confiscate any of their property;
 the Ferengi are very mercenary and would most likely forgive the loss
 of a family member or a few ships, they would not forgive the loss of
 money.

4.1.7 Assorted Other Worlds

	If one of the smaller groupings should join the Federation
 side, the answer is easy. Attack them at once and utterly destroy
 their homeworld, then hunt down and destroy every one of their ships,
 colonies, and outposts. After witnessing the total annihilation of
 this race, other races will not be so eager to support the
 Federation.

4.2 Preparations for Conquest of Remaining Species.
4.2.1 General

	In general once we have conquered the Federation we should be
 able to move on to the next species, I would personally prefer if we
 would attack the Romulans or the Cardassians. However if one of the
 major races got involved in the Federation side, then naturally they
 would be the target for our next conquest.
	I would also like to point out that this is merely a rough
 draft, with a few repetitions, naturally, when we begin the actual
 conquest of one of these races we will need to flesh it out more
 thoroughly.

4.2.2 Romulans

	The Romulans are a pragmatic and skilled people, they are also
 used to a rational and disciplined regime and so they should be able
 to prosper under the disciplined rule of the Empire (we might in fact
 offer them some autonomy as long as they are well behaved). However
 they also rule a area at least as large and powerful as the
 Federation, and they are much more ruthless and battle trained that
 the Federation could ever hope to be. This makes them dangerous.
	Their fleets are relatively large and well trained, but still 
laughably primitive compared to ours (some of their plasma weaponry
 could be troublesome though). They use simple cloaking devices that
 could confuse our long range sensors, but when they come close enough
 for it to matter (an hour or so at their top speed) we should be able
 to easily detect and target them. Their tactics are just as laughable
 as those of Starfleet, but they have shown the ability to use
 reasonable large scale strategy.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to draw out their fleet
 in force and then destroy all of it or large portions of it,
 preferably by demonstrating how our sensors can detect their cloaking
 devices (by tracking their gravity shadow and their engine
 emissions). After this we should strike at several heavily defended
 world and damage them severely, once again it is important that we
 show that we can strike at will and that they are powerless to resist
 us.
	On the ground the Romulans can be dangerous in close combat,
 they are strong, tough, and mentally able, and if allowed to enter
 close quarter combat, they might equal our Stormtroopers. However
 although better than the Federation, they are still noticeably short
 on long distance weaponry, armoured support, any kind of support
 weapon really. So, our tactics should be to prevent them from
 entering into close combat, keep them at bay, and use our support
 weaponry and armoured vehicles to their fullest extent. Naturally
 they will eventually catch on and try to build the weaponry they 
lack, but by then it will be too late.
	When it comes to negotiations we should remember that Romulan
 space is surrounded by hostile species, and especially the Borg,
 therefore they are not well equipped for a long and drawn out
 conflict (though we have the same problem they do not know it). We
 should play on their fears when negotiating, point out how we can
 easily overcome even their most powerful vessels, point out how the
 Klingons, the Cardassians and the Borg might take advantage of the
 situation. Then we offer them limited autonomy, we place Imperial
 advisers and a Imperial governor on top of the already existing
 government structure (which is already quite efficient and rational),
 and we now rule the Romulans. Naturally we should take control 
of their secret service, and maybe root out a few people at the very
top, but after this the Romulans should be a valuable part of the
Empire.

4.2.3 Klingons

	The Klingons are a proud and strong warrior people, they are
 used to a more or less rational regime, but they surround themselves
 with dozens of rites, rituals, and codes of honour (no doubt to
 prevent themselves from killing each other off). They rule an area
 just as large as the Federation, and they are much more able warriors
 (their ships are most definitely warships instead of over designed
 pleasure yachts with guns on them), however due to their overzealous
 honour system and other weaknesses we should be able to take them
 down, though it will be nowhere near as easy as it was to take down
 the Federation.
	Their fleets are quite large (due to their ships being rather
 small) and well trained, but still laughably primitive compared to
 ours (some of their plasma weaponry could be troublesome though).
 They use simple cloaking devices that could confuse our long range
 sensors, but when they come close enough for it to matter (an hour or
 so at their top speed) we should be able to easily detect and target
 them. Their tactics are just as laughable as those of Starfleet, but
 they have shown the ability to use reasonable large scale strategy.
 However they do not care whether they live or die, as long as honour
 is satisfied, this means that suicide attacks will be quite common
 once the war is in order.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to find some large
 fleet of theirs and then, using only one or two Star Destroyers,
 destroy all of it or large portions of it, preferably by
 demonstrating how our sensors can detect their cloaking devices (by
 tracking their gravity shadow and their engine emissions). After this
 we should strike at several heavily defended military facilities and
 destroy them, once again it is important that we show that we can
 strike at will and that they are powerless to resist us. However
 contrary to the pragmatic Romulans the Klingons are obsessed with
 honour, so at first we should not destroy all that many of their
 ships, or attack civilian worlds, this could trigger a war to the end
 and force us to utterly destroy the Klingons.
	On the ground the Klingons can be dangerous in close combat,
 they are strong, tough, and incredibly brave, but even in close
 combat they could not match our Stormtroopers since they have this
 strange tendency to draw melee weapons to fight in close quarters.
 However they are still better than the Federation but like the
 Romulans and the Federation they are noticeably short on long
 distance weaponry, armoured support, any kind of support weapon. So,
 our tactics should be to taunt them into gathering large forces to
 attack us on the ground, and then use our natural advantages to
 destroy them, namely body armour, support weaponry and armoured
 vehicles. Naturally they will eventually catch on and try to build
 the weaponry they lack, but I doubt they will ever begin to use more
 reasonable tactics when it comes to close combat (their honour system
 is very strict).
	When it comes to negotiations we should remember that the
 Klingons are a honourable people, in fact they are obsessed with
 honour, and we should merely point out that they have been defeated
 in open combat and for the betterment of their people they should now
 surrender. Then we offer them limited autonomy, we place Imperial
 advisers and a Imperial governor on top of the already existing
 government structure (which is already quite efficient and rational),
 and we now rule the Klingons. Naturally we should allow their top
 leaders to commit "Honourable Suicide out of shame for failing to
 protect their people, and now they ask that you honour the peace
 treaty", since the Klingons are so honourable they will probably
 abide by the terms of the treaty (if not we will kill the traitors
 and make them appear like cowards in public).

4.2.4 Cardassians

	The Cardassians are a pragmatic, cruel and ruthless people,
 they are also used to a rational and disciplined regime and so they
 should be able to survive under the disciplined rule of the Empire
 (we might in fact offer them some autonomy as long as they are well
 behaved). They also rule a area which is rather smaller and not so
 powerful as the Federation, but they are much more ruthless and
 battle trained that the Federation could ever hope to be, this makes
 them dangerous.
	Their fleets are relatively large and well trained, but still 
laughably primitive compared to ours, however their simple and rugged 
designs give them a edge in that their ships and weapons are not
 likely to blow up or misfire whenever they receive a slight bump.
 Their tactics are better than those of Starfleet, and they have shown
 the ability to use reasonable large scale strategy.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to draw out their fleet
 in force and then destroy all of it or large portions of it. After
 this we should strike at several heavily defended world and damage
 them severely, once again it is important that we show that we can
 strike at will and that they are powerless to resist us.
	On the ground the Cardassians can be dangerous in close
 combat, they are strong, tough, and ruthless, and contrary to the
 Federation (and many other races) their weaponry will not break down
 in a combat situation, even if it can't receive proper maintenance.
 Further more they have demonstrated some understanding of ground
 tactics (no doubt due to their battles with the Maquis), and so they
 could be a threat. However although much better than the Federation
 they are still noticeably short on long distance weaponry, armoured
 support, any kind of support weapon really. So our tactics should be
 to prevent them from entering into close combat, keep them at bay,
 and use our support weaponry and armoured vehicles to their fullest
 extent. Naturally they will eventually catch on and try to build 
the weaponry they lack, but by then it will be too late.
	When it comes to negotiations we should remember that
 Cardassians do not have as many enemies as do the other species in
 this part of the galaxy, in fact most of the time all they seem to
 worry about is the Federation. Therefore they are equipped for a long
 and drawn out conflict and we are not, so we will need to end the war
 quickly one way or another. We should play on their fears when
 negotiating, point out how we can easily overcome even their most
 powerful vessels, point out how the Klingons and the Romulans might
 want to get some strategic worlds, ask how they would like it if we
 had to use Maquis as occupying troops on their worlds (a slight
 bluff, but one they might believe). Then we offer them limited
 autonomy (though they will have to surrender the worlds they gained
 from the Federation in the last conflict), we place Imperial advisers
 and a Imperial governor on top of the already existing government
 structure (which is already quite efficient and rational), and we now
 rule the Cardassians. Naturally we should take control of their
 secret service (one of the very best in this quadrant, in fact I
 would say that this is the main reason why we should conquer the
 Cardassians), and maybe root out a few people at the very top, but
 after this the Cardassians should be a valuable part of the Empire
 (as torturerers they would be great, and sending alien rebel scum to
 work as Cardassian slaves would be a dire punishment indeed).

4.2.5 Borg

	The Borg are a perverted hive race of cybernetic drones, they
 are basically one giant hive run by their Queens, in essence a giant
 insect colony. They are incapable of existing under the Empire, they
 are the declared enemies of all life, and so their worlds must be
 captured, and their drones de-assimilated (if this is possible) or
 destroyed. The Borg must be totally and utterly destroyed.
 Unfortunately, they rule a area much larger and more powerful then
 the Federation, and they are much more ruthless and numerous than the
 Federation could ever hope to be, this makes them dangerous.
	Their fleets are relatively large, but lack training and all
 tactical sense, their automatic repair systems and multiple redundant
 systems are interesting, but still laughably primitive compared to
 ours. Their ability to adapt is also interesting, however it only
 applies to weapons with a frequency so we can easily pummel their
 shields with Turbo-Lasers and Ion Cannons (I would estimate that
 their shields could get five times as efficient as they are the first
 time we meet them, after this they simply cannot improve any further.
This was the case in our own galaxy when Turbolasers were first
 invented and shield technicians looked for ways to defend against
 them). We should be able to board their ships and destroy them since
 the Borg have never shown any interest in repelling borders. Their 
tactics are quite simply moronic, they would make those of Starfleet
 seem like Grand Admiral Thrawn on a good day, and they have never
 shown anything resembling strategic thinking.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to draw out their fleet
 in force and then destroy all of it at once, and take out as much of
 their fleet as we can before they begin to adapt (In the first few
 battles, it would take 100 Borg cubes to equal one ISD, and 300 to
 equal one ISD 2. After they have completely adapted, 20 Borg cubes
 would equal one ISD, and 60 would equal one ISD 2). After this, we
 should strike at several heavily defended worlds and damage them
 severely, in some cases using BDZ, in others merely destroying every
 structure on the surface, and using Ion-Cannons to fry every piece of
 electronics on the planet.
	On the ground the Borg could conceivably be dangerous in close
 combat, they are strong and tough, even if they have the tactical
 sense of primitive primates, and the close combat skills of a
 Corellian drunk. However since they have no distance weaponry,
 armoured support, or kind of support weaponry, and their ground
 tactics seem to be to walk upright straight at the enemy
 (occasionally saying "Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated")
 our tactics should simply be to let as many of them as possible
 gather in one place and then gun them down, the only conceivable
 danger is if we can not kill them all fast enough. They might
 eventually start to use more reasonable tactics, but I doubt it very
 much, they have been around for centuries and they have not started
 yet.
	When it comes to negotiations, we should remember that the
 Borg are a dangerous menace, and therefore negotiations should not be
 with the Borg, but about which subject races get ahold of which Borg
 worlds (which is why we might consider against destroying them all).
 However, it might be possible to negotiate with individuals if we
 could cut them off from the hive mind, and I would consider this a
 mission of mercy, and would suggest that we immediately start
 developing means to reverse this assimilation. Once the Borg have
 been utterly destroyed, we should be able to use their space to our
 own purposes.

4.2.6 The Dominion

	The Dominion is a extremely pragmatic, skilled and ruthless
 group, the people in it are also used to a rational and disciplined
 regime and so they should be able to prosper under the disciplined
 rule of the Empire (we might in fact simply take over the place of
 the Founders). However they rule a area much larger and much more
 powerful then the Federation, and they are much more ruthless,
 numerous and battle trained that the Federation could ever hope to
 be, this makes them dangerous.
	Their fleets are very large (tens of thousands of ships) and
 well trained, but still laughably primitive compared to ours (some of
 their more obscure weaponry could be a minor threat though). They use
 simple cloaking devices that could confuse our long range sensors,
 but when they come close enough for it to matter (an hour or so at
 their top speed) we should be able to easily detect and target them.
 Their tactics are better than those of Starfleet (for instance, the
 Dominion make extensive use of fighters), and they have shown the
 ability to use reasonable large scale strategy, making them a truly
 dangerous enemy.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to draw out their fleet
 in force and then destroy all of it or large portions of it,
 preferably by demonstrating how our sensors can detect their cloaking
 devices (by tracking their gravity shadow and their engine
 emissions). After this we should strike at several heavily defended
 world and damage them severely, once again it is important that we
 show that we can strike at will and that they are powerless to resist
 us. We should follow this up by several large ground battles to show
 them that we can go up against the Jem'Hadar, the Dominion's feared
 soldiers.
	On the ground, the Dominion's elite soldiers, the Jem'Hadar
 can be dangerous in close combat. They are strong, tough, capable of
 excellent camouflage (they are a wraith race) and mentally able, and
 if allowed to enter close quarter combat, they might equal our
 Stormtroopers. The Jem Hadar are all clones and put no value to their
 own lives, we should expect suicide attacks, and the use of
 reasonable tactics and strategy. However although much better than
 the Federation they are still noticeably short on long distance
 weaponry, armoured support, any kind of support weapon really. So our
 tactics should be to prevent them from entering into close combat,
 keep them at bay, and use our superior sensors, our support weaponry
 and armoured vehicles to their fullest extent. Naturally they will 
eventually catch on and try to build the weaponry they lack, but by
 then it will hopefully be too late.
	Finally, we should not forget that the Founders, the rulers of
 the Dominion, are natural shape shifters, something which means that
 we can get some serious difficulties with infiltrators and spies.
 Fortunately, our scanners should be able to detect them, and the
 Founders are notably and understandably loath to risk their own
 lives.
	When it comes to negotiations, we should remember that the
 Dominion is ruled by the Founders, and consists of many races (many
 of whom are kept down by use of force), we can play these races up
 against each other and the Dominion. We should also remember that the
 Dominion is eminently qualified to fight a long term war, this means
 that they might attempt delaying tactics, we should use massive force
 to discourage this. We should play on their fears when negotiating,
 point out how we can easily overcome even their most powerful
 vessels, point out how we might have to hunt down and destroy the
 Founders. Then we offer them limited autonomy (in theory at least),
 we place Imperial advisers and a Imperial governor on top of the
 already existing government structure (which is already
 quite efficient and rational), and we now rule the Dominion.
 Naturally we should take control of their secret service, and root a
 good many of the Founders, but after this the Dominion should be a
 valuable part of the Empire.

4.2.7 The Ferengi

	The Ferengi are a pragmatic, cowardly, mercenary and
 mercantile people, they are natural cowards and will submit to anyone
 that makes a display of power and so they should be able to prosper
 under the disciplined rule of the Empire (we should in fact offer
 them some autonomy as long as they are well behaved). They rule an
 area almost as large and powerful as the Federation, but although
 they are much more ruthless than the Federation, they are also much
 more cowardly. Their primary advantage is that they are great
 merchants and as such, they could provide us with a lot of inside
 information, and a large resource base.
	Their fleets are relatively large, but poorly trained and
 equipped, and naturally laughably primitive compared to ours. Their
 tactics are just as laughable as those of Starfleet, and so is their
 strategy. Their primary tactics seem to be to bully the weaker and
 run away from the stronger.
	Our first item on the agenda should be to find as large a part
 of their fleet as possible and then destroy all of it or large
 portions of it. After this we should strike at several heavily
 defended world and damage them severely, once again it is important
 that we show that we can strike at will and that they are powerless
 to resist us.
	On the ground the Ferengi are a minor nuisance. They are weak, 
cowardly and feeble and in combat with our Stormtroopers they would be 
blown to bits. They also lack long distance weaponry, support weapons,
and armoured vehicles, so our tactics should be to simply make a
massive display of power, ask them to surrender, kill them if they
don't, and make sure the other Ferengi hear about it. 
	When it comes to negotiations we should remember that Ferengi
 space is surrounded by hostile species, that and their natural
 cowardice means that they are not well equipped for a long and drawn
 out conflict (in fact they are not very well equipped for a short
 conflict). We should play on their fears when negotiating, point out
 how we can easily overcome even their most powerful vessels, point
 out how the Klingons, the Cardassians and the Borg might take
 advantage of the situation. Tell them how their trade will be stunted
 by the war, and how we will target their merchant shipping unless
 they surrender in a timely fashion. Then we offer them limited
 autonomy (though we will impose tariffs on them, but lower tariffs
 than those we impose on other species), we place Imperial advisers
 and a Imperial governor on top of the already existing government
 structure (we might have to improve a lot on the already existing
 structure), and we now rule the Ferengi. Naturally we should take
 advantage of their trade network, and maybe root out a few people at
 the very top, but after this the Ferengi should be a valuable and
 productive part of the Empire.

4.2.8 Assorted Other Worlds

	The independent races are a motley crew, some of them are
 foolish and irrational species that must be crushed without any mercy
 at all, others are used to rational and disciplined regimes and
 should be able to prosper under the disciplined rule of the Empire
 (we might in fact offer them some autonomy as long as they are well
 behaved). Most of them rule only one or two solar systems, and their
 combat training and combat efficiency vary greatly.
	Their fleets are generally small and poorly trained, even more 
primitive than the already laughably primitive Starfleet technology.
 Their tactics are generally just as laughable as those of Starfleet,
 and they have had no opportunity to deploy large scale strategic
 plans.	Our first item on the agenda should be to draw out their
 fleets in force and then destroy all of them or large portions of
 them. After this we should strike at several heavily defended world
 and damage them severely, once again it is important that we show
 that we can strike at will and that they are powerless to resist us.
	On the ground some of the independent races can be dangerous
 in close combat (due to strength, speed, or some naturally telepathic
 ability, there are races which have all of those). However they are
 almost universally short on long distance weaponry, armoured support,
 any kind of support weapon really. So, our tactics should be to
 prevent them from using their special abilities (if any), keep them
 at bay, and use our support weaponry and armoured vehicles to their
 fullest extent. Some of them might catch on and try to adapt, bu
t most of them lack the resources and/or the inclination to do so.
	When it comes to negotiations we should remember that most 
independent races are surrounded by hostile species, and they have
 very limited resources, therefore they are not well equipped for a
 long and drawn out conflict (though we have the same problem they do
 not know it). We should play on their fears when negotiating, point
 out how we can easily overcome even their most powerful vessels,
 point out how other species might take advantage of the situation.
 Then we offer them limited autonomy, we place Imperial advisers and a
 Imperial governor on top of the already existing government structure
 (which is already quite efficient and rational), and we now rule
 them. Naturally we should take control of their secret service (if
 any), and maybe root out a few people at the very top, but after this,
 most of the independent races should be a valuable part of the
 Empire. Naturally some of them will refuse to surrender, or resist so
 ferociously as to leave us no choice, these races will be destroyed
 as a warning to others.

4.2.9 Why bother with negotiations?

	Some of you might wonder why I bother you with talk of
 negotiations and offers of limited autonomy, you might think that
 violence and brutal conquest is what is needed. Naturally violence,
 ruthlessness and brutal conquest has it's place, but we do not have
 the resources to place garrisons on every single world, in fact we
 cannot even replace the top administrators on any but the most
 important worlds. Therefore we will have to depend on whatever
 bureaucracy is already in place, this bureaucracy will naturally be
 supplemented by our droids and infiltrated by our spies (as if there
 is a difference), and it's goals will change somewhat, but in general
 we should leave them alone.
	The other argument for leniency is that if we are lenient
 against a enemy which comes to us and negotiates a deal, and if we
 make mild peace treaties (though naturally crippling to their
 military) this will encourage aliens to deal with us and discourage
 them from fighting till death. On occasion when a species refuses to
 surrender or negotiate, we will have to destroy them utterly, or at
 least cripple them. This will frighten other races to give in
 (especially since we will give them a better deal if they give in
 quick). You might say that this is a large scale version of the stick
 and carrot approach to conquest.
	Finally once we have conquered this galaxy and have
 established a powerbase we can (if necessary or desirable) slowly
 revoke some of the autonomy and/or privileges we have given to the
 various races. By then it will be too late for them to do anything
 about it.

	On all of the datapads, except for the marked one read by
 January, additional information appeared.

ATTENTION THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL MUST NOT BE SEEN BY CAPTAIN JANUARY

5. On the Subject of the Maquis.
5.1 General.

	The Maquis is a revolutionary movement dedicated to the return
 and independence of territories captured by the Cardassians during
 the last war. Normally, I would consider them rebels and terrorists,
 however they are humans (the only real humans in this galaxy except
 for us), and the Cardassians are aliens.

5.2 Destruction.

	We could help the Cardassians hunt down and exterminate the
 Maquis, by using our superior sensor equipment, as well as our
 superior planetary assault equipment. This would however, not be the
 optimum course of action.

5.3 Recruitment.

	The Maquis are human, they hate the Cardassians, they are
 already alienated from the Federation. We could recruit them into the
 Imperial Navy, they would perform better than any Starfleet
 personnel, and be more reliable. Naturally we would require them to
 get their hands dirty, simply giving them free hands when dealing
 with the Cardassians would help. Then we turn them slowly against the
 Federation, make them part of our military machinery, play up the
 fact that the Federation deserted them. If we do this right we will
 have a group of trained soldiers, and colonists, all totally
 dependent on us for survival. Naturally, this means we would not have
 to worry about treason or defection.

<END BRIEFING>

	The mini-briefing ended, and everyone put down their datapads.
 Sheppard looked at Valberg.  "Well, Mr. Valberg, this is quite a
 commendable piece of work. It's some of the finest i've seen in my
 twenty-three years in the Imperial Navy."

	At this comment, Valberg couldn't help but smile. Sheppard
 thought for a moment, considering plans, then he spoke. 

"The  _Vengeance_ and _Revenger_ will jump over to the Gamma Quadrant
 and traverse the wormhole, to  gather more information on the
 Federation. I will personally lead the expedition. Captain Daala and
 January will accompany me."

"Vice-Admiral Glasgow, you will construct a large-scale cloning
 faculity and shipyard in the Delta quadrant, using the World 
Devastators. The entire faculity should be highly mobile, and be
capable of being moved to a new location in a day."

	Turning to Valberg, Sheppard spoke. "Vice-Admiral Valberg, 
your mission is to pacify the surrounding solar systems around
 Vice-Admiral Glasgow's faculity. You will have priority on
everything that comes out of the faculity, and will decide
what should be produced, other than the equipment needed to
defend and operate the faculity."

"Are we all clear on what our missions are?"

Everyone nodded. "Good. You're all dismissed. Good Luck."

	The meeting quickly broke up. Valberg headed towards 
the ship's PX, to pick up his new Vice-Admiral's insigna.


[Chapter 4a]

[Deep Space Nine - One Week Later]

	Inside Quark's, the air was thick and humid, due to the
combined body heat of nearly a hundred sentinents overwhelming
the cheap and poorly maintained climate control system. 

	However, the clientile at Quark's didn't come there for it's
pleasant atmosphere. They came there to get drunk and throw their
money away.

	Ezri Dax picked up her mug of Romulan Ale (illegal, of
course), and drained it in gulps. Slowly, she felt a warm tingly
feeling that started in her stomach, which then spread to 
the rest of her body.

	Through her periphial vision,  she could see the Klingon who'd
challenged her to a drinking contest. He'd passed out several drinks
ago, and she was still going strong.

	One of the pleasant side-effects of being a Joined Trill was
that you could ingest large quantities of alcoholic beverages
before you got inebriated, due to the symbiont's influence.

	Slowly, haltingly, Ezri pulled herself up off the barstool.
Turning to face the  now-unconscious Klingon, she deftly removed
several bars of Latnium from his pockets. 

"Quark, would you stand as witness that all I took was only two bars?"


	Since she'd won the drinking contest,  those two bars were
hers rightfully. But, as previous Daxes had learned, it was always
good to have witnesses in the case that the challenger passed out
before you could collect the wager.

	That way, they couldn't claim that you'd cheated them out of
more than what was bet. And  with Klingons, it could get...messy, if
they believed they'd been cheated.

"Why, my dear Lieutenant," said Quark with an obvious leer, "I would
be more than willing to act as witness."

	At this, Ezri perked up. "Oh, Good! Thanks so much, Quark!" 

	With that, she planted a peck onto Quark's cheek, leaving him
staring dreamily into space as she left for her quarters.

	By this time she reached her quarters, the ale was beginning
to have an effect on her,  and she staggered to her bed and collapsed
in it.

	As she wrapped her sheets around herself,  she couldn't get
rid of the sense of emptiness she felt.

_What about Worf, Ezri?_ said the symbiont.

"No! No! I'm not into painful sex, like Jadzia was. I want someone to
hold me, and treat me like a woman, not some sex toy!" replied Ezri.

_Fine. Be that way. Wait for the perfect person, and then lose them,
like you/I lost Deral and all the others._   

At that, Ezri cried herself to sleep.

[ISD _Revenger_ at Imperial Recreational Faculity Alpha]

"Enter."

	Major Grodin Tierce confidently entered Admiral Sheppard's
offices. The Admiral had called him in for a talk. On what, he didn't
know. His sources had told him that the Admiral would be
an easy person to manipulate.

	Imperial Admirals were so easy to manipulate. Just give them
money, or pleasure slaves, and they'd do your bidding. However,
there were a few who were resistant to the normal methods of
subversion. For those rare few, you had to use more...subtle methods, 
such as playing on their sense of honor.

	Behind his massive oaken desk, Sheppard  was busily filing
reams of paperwork. Under his command, a large amount of paperwork had
been eliminated, but as usual, you always needed hard copy, in case
the computers went down or got erased. 

	As Tierce entered, he looked up, and caught a glimpse of a
dark-haired woman standing in the doorway before the massive blast
doors clanged shut.

"Major, who was that woman?"

"Oh, that was my aide, Marissa. She helps keep me up to speed on all
my ops. Quite an invaluable resource, my dear Admiral."

	Sheppard motioned for Tierce to sit. Once Tierce was seated,
he spoke.

"Major, you're probably wondering why I called you here. It's because
I'd like to talk to you about Vice-Admiral Glasgow."

At the mention of that name, Tierce began a slow burn inside. 

"From him, I gather that there's been some bad blood between the two
of you in the past. I'd like to hear what the problem is."

Tierce suddenly jumped up and pounded his fist onto the desk.

"The man's a *coward*!. He deserted in the face of the enemy!"

"And pray tell, my dear Major, where did he desert? This is the first
I've heard of it." replied Sheppard, his face hard as stone.

	Slowly, Tierce calmed himself down. When he next spoke, it was
with determination. "He was one of a few crewmembers to flee the Death
Star shortly before it's destruction at Yavin. He deserted his post in
the face of a Rebel attack."

	The admiral shifted in his seat before he replied.  "The only
Imperial personnel to survive the first Death Star's destruction were
those under Chief Bast. They did not abandon their posts. They merely
delivered a message to the Emperor. Without that message, we would've
never known about that exhaust port weakness."

_There. The ball's in your court now, Tierce._ thought Sheppard.

"It doesn't matter whether he delivered a message or not, it doesn't
change the fact that he deserted in the face of the enemy."

	Inwardly, Sheppard sighed. The man was single-minded,
no doubt about that. 

"Tierce, quite frankly, I don't give a damn what you or Vice Admiral
Glasgow did in the past. What I *do* give a damn about is your current
performance. Glasgow has been a loyal member of my staff for the last
five years. You, on the other hand, are new."

Tierce's anger began to burn brighter at the unexpected dressing down.
How _dare_ this...*Admiral* do this to a  member of the Crimson Guard!


"However, I recognize the fact that we all had to start someplace.
Which is why I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself, along with
January. The two of you will be under the command of people I trust,
until you've proven yourselves sufficiently. Once that's been done,
you'll be independents, commanding your own sections, answering only
to me."

Tierce slowly nodded, his anger still bright, but slowly dying. "I
understand, Admiral. Quite a prudent security measure, I might add."

_There_. Playing on people's egos usually worked, thought Tierce.

"Tierce, when you're being hunted by *both* the Empire and the New
Republic, you learn that stuff, or you die."

At that, Tierce smiled, a sardonic grin of the kind that Sheppard knew
all too well, having done it too many times over the years.

The grin lasted a moment, and then Tierce stepped into the hallway,
the blast doors clanging shut behind him.

Sheppard waited until he was sure that Tierce was really gone, and not
loitering around the entrance, before he activated his commlink.

The blue spinning Imperial logo flashed onto the screen briefly, and
was replaced with Glasgow's face.

"Mark, what is it?"

"Well, Chuck, I just finished speaking with Tierce. He regards you as
a traitor for leaving with Chief Bast during the Battle of Yavin."

At that, Glasgow chuckled. "He's still trying to push off that
bullshit story after all these years?"

"Chuck, let's get to the point. You and I know that you didn't desert
during the battle. So why does he have it in for you?"

"I can't tell you that, Mark."

"Why?"

"This isn't a secured channel, Mark."

Sheppard sighed. "Goddammit, Chuck. I'm the fucking Admiral of the
Fleet. Of *course* the channel's secured! You're too fucking paranoid,
Charles."

Glasgow smiled at that. "I intend to live to a ripe old age, Mark."

Sheppard sighed again, and began to rub his temple. "So, is there
anyway we can talk about this?"

"Yes. Meet me in L's kitchen."

With that, the channel was terminated from Glasgow's end.

Sheppard only had to think for a moment before he realized where
Glasgow wanted to meet. 

[Imperial Recreational Faculity Alpha - Formerly USS _Voyager_  
10 minutes later]

LT. HIT-MAN woke up after a fitful sleep, his eyes snapping open. With
the precision of a well-oiled machine, he smoothly rolled out of his
bed and walked into the sonic shower, waiting for it to activate.

Even after standing in the shower for a few seconds, it still refused
to activate. Suddenly, Hit-Man remembered that the systems on
_Voyager_ were voice-activated. 

With that, he barked at the computer to get the damn shower going.
With an annoying beep, the computer announced that the sonic showers
in his quarters were off-line.

Muttering curses, HIT-MAN got dressed. His guts rumbled with hunger
pangs , so he told the computer to replicate him a Dorroban steak
with Tydrem sauce. (Lt. Cdr Nguyen had loaded popular delicacies 
into the replicator system the moment he'd gotten the chance to 
play around with it, giving many crewers the first chance at somewhat
real food for the first time in years)

Once again, the computer beeped, telling him that the replicator
system in his quarters was also off-line.

"You lousy stinking motherfucker!" snarled HIT-MAN as he stormed
out of his quarters, heading towards the mess hall in his armor,
lightsaber swinging from his belt, and his trusty E-11 slung over his
shoulder.

It was starting to be a bad day for HIT-MAN, and everyone saw the
dark, foreboding annoyance in his human eye and wisely got out of his
way.

With a 'swoosh', the doors to the mess hall opened, and as HIT-MAN
stepped inside, he saw the alien who had been brought back to life by
the now carbon-frozen Borg running around like a Troboren game bird
with it's head vaped by a blaster, serving as many people in the long
line to the kitchen as fast as he could.

HIT-MAN patiently got in line and waited to be served, not noticing
the rather interesting conversation now occuring in the corner of the
mess-hall.

Sheppard and Glasgow were seated at a table in the far corner of the
mess-hall, conversing in hushed tones.

"Anyway Mark, Tierce has it in for me not for 'deserting', or for
opposing the Emperor's will. He has it in for me because I am the only
person as far as I know, who managed to resist his orders."

Sheppard nodded, recalling the conversation they'd had when Tierce had
first arrived. 

"Tierce, being the Emperor's agent in the R&D faculity where I was
assigned, tried to get rid of what he saw as 'a dangerous element' by
having me assigned to some jerk-water outpost. Fortunately,
Captain Karda, my section chief, stopped *that* cold."

"If there's one thing Tierce doesn't like, it's being stopped from
doing what he wants. Since he couldn't get at me by his normal means,
he had to switch methods."

"If you wanted to work at the Empire's top research labs, you had to
have regular security clearance reviews."

"Arbitary security clearance reviews."

"Lose your clearance, lose your R & D status. Why'd you lose your
clearance? Don't ask."

"Friggin' spooks."

"So, how'd he get you, Charles?"

Glasgow took a sip from his glass of Romulan Ale (quite possibly the
only good thing from this Galaxy), and spoke.

"He got me for having my project folder on my desk in the secure lab.
The fact that we were told it was authorized for us to leave the damn
things in there while we left the room briefly - it was after all, a
guarded room - didn't stop him."

"I left it out. Someone stole it. Security hit. That was strike one."

"Two weeks later, someone stole my rank cylinder from the guard
room while I was in my quarters. We were *required* to leave our
cylinders in the guard room when we went off-duty. I left it there.
Some asshole swiped it straight from under the guard's nose. That was
strike two."

Picking up the bottle of Romulan Ale, Glasgow refilled both his and
Sheppard's glasses before continuing.

"It's supposed to take three strikes - regarding loss of classified
materials in 18 months to make someone lose his security clearance
*PERMAMENTLY*."

"I got wasted on two."

"And, as you can see from circumstances, neither one was my fault.
Especially the second. I was *ORDERED* to leave that thing in
the custody of someone else for 12 hours every day, and it was
stolen from under *HIS* nose, and I get dropped and blacklisted
because of it."

Glasgow began to wag his finger at Sheppard.

"The most strident supporter of my security clearance revokation -
essentially 'Blacklisting' me, since as an Imperial officer, you
handle classified information on a daily basis every day was...
Tierce!"

"If I remember his words...I was an 'unnecessary security risk'.
Bastard."

"Ouch."

"You got that right. Ouch. Because of my revoked clearance, I couldn't
handle classified information, and as such, I had no choice but to
spend the next 20 years as a low-level Captain in the Imperial Fleet."

"So Mark, heed my warning: Don't let that fucker out of your sight."

Sheppard simply nodded, then raised his glass. "A toast, to our
eventual conquest of this shithole of a galaxy!"

"I'll drink to that!"

As the two admirals began to polish off the bottle of Romulan Ale,
Lt. HIT-MAN finally was served, after several minutes of waiting 
in line, during which his anger was slowly starting to build up inside
him.

When the troll-like alien handed him a tray with what looked like
something a Rancor would turn it's nose up at, HIT-MAN cursed
under his breath and started looking for a table to sit down and eat
at.

After a few frustrating minutes, he found himself a table. Actually,
he made room for himself by grabbing some poor son-of-a-bitch and
throwing him out of his seat. Throwing a look at the crewer, he
snarled "Just shut up and stay out of my way, or you're dead."

The young crewer wisely left him alone, and HIT-MAN began to dig into
the slop that he'd just been given. The moment HIT-MAN shoved
the first forkful of 'food' into his mouth, his face just screwed up
as he spat the vile stuff out onto the floor. Grabbing his drink, he
slammed it down, and then spat it back out in an explosive spray
as it burned his throat. 

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF SITH IS THIS SHIT!?!" he yelled as he jumped
to his feet. HIT-MAN looked around the room, and saw that everyone was
just looking at him in cold fear.

Spying a technician, he walked towards him with a cold, dead look in
his human eye. For show, he activated the laser sight in his cyber-eye
and planted it right between the tech's eyes. 

As he made his way to the technician, people started to make for the
door.

HIT-MAN grabbed the tech and slammed him into the wall. "You will go
to my quarters, and you will have the replicator and sonic shower work
within the hour, or I'll put you into this ship's transporter system,
and beam your head so far up your ass that you're going to see parts
of the human body that have never been seen before."

In a quiet, but icy voice, he added; "Because ever since I came aboard
this bucket of shit, I've been having a really bad day, and I've had
it up to here-" He placed his human hand to just above his eyebrows.
"-you hear me?!"

The technician just nodded. It was taking all of his willpower to not
soil himself. HIT-MAN dropped him to the floor, and he stumbled
a few times as he tried to get out the door.

Over in the corner, both Sheppard and Glasgow stared at HIT-MAN's
sudden outburst. "Mark, don't you think that you should step in and
put an end to this?" whispered Glasgow.

"If it gets worse, I will. But for now, let's just let 'em blow off a
little steam. After all, they've been fighting constantly for the last
year."

"But...this is HIT-MAN, man! You don't know anything about him, Mark!"
sputtered Glasgow.

Sheppard just nodded.

Neelix stood there, with his jaw on the floor, along with a few other
brave souls who stayed to watch.

"Umm...sir? I take it you didn't like the Leola Root stew and Mevecal
dinner?" Neelix asked the cyborg who had just rampaged though the mess
hall, raising a hundred different kinds of hell.

When the monster of a Stormtrooper turned to face him, Neelix felt
like he was being sized up for a coffin. He got a good look at the
scarred face of the dreaded LT. Hit-Man, who stared back at him for a
few moments before walking towards him.

The few others that were still there started to make bets as to what
LT. Hit-Man was going to do to the poor son-of-a-bitch.

A stormtrooper bet 10 Imperial credits that the LT. was going to twist
the pudgy little troll into some funny looking shapes. A comm officer
saw the Stormtrooper's bet and raised him 15 credits more, betting
that he was going to rip the alien limb from limb. 

The med-tech also there called their bets and added 50 credits to the
pot. She was betting that Hit-Man was going to shove the slop that the
porker called Neelix had been serving them down his throat until the 
pus-ball exploded.

The credits were laid out on the table they were at, and they watched
as HIT-MAN walked into the kitchen and began to tear it apart,
throwing things everywhere as he looked for something to eat.

Neelix wasn't happy. When the crew of Voyager (when they were
still alive) messed with his kitchen, he'd chew them out. He wasn't
going to make an exception for this loony toon who was messing 
it up now.

Poor Neelix. He was about to have his first, and maybe last, run-in
with the infamous LT. Hit-Man.

He walked up to Hit-Man and tapped him on the shoulder. In an angry 
voice, he said "Just what do you think you're doing?".

Hit-Man spat the bite he'd taken out of some tuber plant out, not
liking the taste of it. The crewers who'd made bets let out a shocked
gasp as Hit-Man stopped tearing the kitchen apart and stood staring at
Neelix. Within moments, the pot was five times what it'd started out
as.

Hit-Man spun around and grabbed Neelix by the face with his cyber-arm,
and slammed Neelix's face onto a hot griddle. The mess hall filled
with the stench of burnt hair, and charred flesh as Neelix's pitiful
screams battled for dominance with the cheers of the crewers who'd
started the bet. They were joined by the rest of the crewers who
were there, and everyone started to make bets until there was a small
mountain of credits on the table.

Over in their corner, the two admirals shifted uneasily in their
seats. Glasgow started to say something, but stopped when he saw
Sheppard slam back one last slug of ale and stand up. 

Straightening his uniform, Sheppard slowly started to walk towards
the commotion.

Hit-Man pulled Neelix's half-cooked face from the griddle and said in
a voice so cold that everyone shivered. "Look you pasty faced bitch, 
I am *not* in a good mood today. First, my sonic shower won't work,
then the replicator is off-lined and I'm starving. Then you try and
pass off that bantha dung you call food onto me."

With that, Hit-Man slammed the par-boiled face of Neelix into a big
bowl of Leola Root stew and held him there until he started to choke
on it.

The crewers started to go crazy as they jumped up and down, yelling
wildly as they laid out every credit they had on the table, not
noticing the figure striding towards them.

When Neelix stopped struggling against his unbreakable grip, Hit-Man
pulled Neelix's face out of the bowl and let him breathe.

"You're my little bitch from now on-" Hit-Man had been reading up on
the history of the Federation and Earth as well. He'd found Earth's
20th century to be to his liking. "-when I tell you to do something,
you'll do it, and for as long as I tell you to. Understand?"

Neelix just nodded his head as he pissed himself.

Hit-Man looked over his shoulders at the crewers who were just looking
at him. He could see what was going through their minds, so he said
"I don't mean *that*, you sick fuckers! So put those thoughts out of
your heads, and if I hear rumors like that on this tub, I'll be very,
very annoyed. Got it?"

The crewers just nodded their heads in fear.

"Nobody here is going to be anyone's bitch." snapped a voice.

Everybody in the mess hall suddenly turned to see who was stupid
enough to challenge Hit-Man. Nobody could be that crazy. They all
involuntarily sucked in their breaths upon seeing who it was.

Admiral Sheppard stood there, a quasi-disgusted look on his face.

"Release him, Hit-Man." ordered Sheppard.

Hit-Man picked Neelix up off of the floor, and banged his head
off some pots, asking what kind of spices they were. When Neelix
told him, he let the runt go, and he collapsed onto the floor,
unconscious from the beating he'd taken.

"I *ordered* you to put him down, not bang him around a bit more, 
*then* put him down." snapped Sheppard.

"What are you going to do to me - space me? I'd like to see you try."
replied Hit-Man. For good measure, he activated his laser sight, and
put the dot onto Sheppard's forehead.

What Sheppard said next made the room temperature drop ten degrees 
instantly. It wasn't what he said, but the calm matter-of-fact tone he
said it in.

"If you *ever* put that laser onto my head again, I will *personally*
turn you into reactor shielding." 

For a moment, Hit-Man thought Sheppard was just bluffing. But then
he saw the look in Sheppard's eyes that told him that he'd better
not push his luck.

Sheppard slowly scanned the room, taking in the destruction Hit-Man
had wrought. Turning back to Hit-Man, Sheppard spoke.

"My, My. Looks like we're a bit...frisky here. We're gonna have to
burn off all that excess energy. Report to my office at 1100 hours
tomorrow."

Everyone in the room gulped. When Sheppard said things like that,
the said SOB would soon be punished harshly.

That done, Sheppard turned around to face the mountain of credits
on the table behind him. 

"I'd like to thank you all for your generous contributions to our
recreation fund."

With that, Sheppard began scooping up the credits and putting them
into his pockets.

One of the crewers who'd lost six months' pay on the aborted bet
said to another crewer, "That bastard! He can't do that!"

Sheppard stopped collecting the credits and looked at the 
crewer who'd made the snide comment. "Oh, yes I can. Do you 
disagree? Then you can join him." with that, Sheppard jerked
a finger in the general direction of Hit-Man.

Finally, he pocketed the last credit, and walked back towards
his table with Glasgow, who had watched the entire affair.

Hit-Man looked down at Neelix's unconscious form in disgust. That
little troll had made a bad day even worse. In anger, he kicked the
unconscious alien before he left for his quarters.

As he walked into his quarters, he saw that the tech he'd 'persuaded'
to work on his replicator and shower was in the guts of the
replicator.

When the tech heard the door open, he asked who was there, and when he
heard Hit-Man ask if the sonic shower and the replicator worked, he
banged his head on the edge of the replicator panel and told Hit-Man
that he couldn't make heads nor tails of this technology. That done,
he started to plead for his life.

Hit-Man was in no mood for this shit, and grabbed the tech by the
scruff of his uniform and began to drag the whining tech to the
nearest transporter while saying in a loud voice all the things he was
going to do to him with the transporter.

The other crewers and Stormtroopers he passed in the hall just shook
their head in pity for the poor tech who'd pissed Hit-Man off. Word of
what had happened in the mess hall had spread throughout the ship
like a turbolaser-induced wildfire.

However, fate instead had other plans for the tech in the form 
of Captain Daala. Hit-Man snapped to attention, releasing the
tech who was crying like a baby.

"Just what do you think you're doing, *Lieutenant*?" 

Hit-Man replied that with all due respect, that he was having a
*really* bad day, and not to get in his way. Daala kept her cool, but
she'd heard the rumors, by the Sith, the rumors concerning Lt.
Hit-Man's temper, and she was surprised the poor tech was still alive.

"Let him go and we'll talk about it."

[Next Day 0800 hours - Imperial Recreation Faculity Alpha]
 
Hit-Man stood in his quarters, clothed in the new duds he'd picked up
in Daala's quarters from her functioning replicator.

At the moment, he was practicing with his black-bladed lightsaber and
a practice drone.

Turning on the drone, which started to buzz around the room, he then
turned on his lightsaber. The familar snap-hiss of a lightsaber
igniting was comforting to him.

"Drone attack level 4." At the sound of his voice, the drone started
to zig-zag around, firing low powered blaster bolts at the rate
of three per second.

As the drone zipped around, Hit-Man began to remember every incident
that made up his tortured soul, from his wife's death at the hands
of Rebel saboteurs, to his sparring matches with Vader. As every loss
that made up his bloody and scarred soul began to replay, he felt his
anger rising.

"DRONE FULL ATTACK!" LT.Hit-Man snarled. The drone began to fire
thirty laser blasts per second. Hit-Man gave into his hate and became
a howling madman.

[Outside Lt. Hit-Man's quarters]

Some poor crewer walked past LT.Hit-Man's quarters.  He involuntarily
shivered. News of the 'bad day' bet had spread throughout the fleet.
As a result, nobody wanted to be anywhere near Hit-Man. 

As a result, the crewer walked past LT.Hit-Man's quarters as fast as
he could without running. As he passed the door, he heard what sounded
like the loony-toon Lt. yelling, but what was being yelled was drowned
out by the sound of rapid blaster fire. The crewer took off running to
get security.

[Main Computer Core - The same time]

Phong looked at the viewscreen. He'd cracked it at last! It had been a
simple 500,000-bit encryption scheme, pitifully easy to crack with
Imperial computers, but painfully hard to do with primitive Federation
computers.

"Guys, I've cracked it!"

Sheppard and Glasgow looked up from their respective tasks. They were
on board _Voyager_ going over some modifications they were doing to
try to bring the pitiful Federation vessel up to Imperial standards.

While rummaging through _Voyager's_ datafiles, they'd run across
several encrypted files. So, of course they'd called in Phong to work
his magic.

Sheppard and Glasgow walked up to Phong and looked at the viewscreen.
Seeing that Chuck and Mark were next to him, Phong opened the file.

"I'm opening it now. Let's hope this works. I'm still unfamiliar with
their technology." 

The file's contents popped onto the viewscreen. Seconds later, they
began to laugh their asses off. There was no secret technical
information contained within it, but a journal of some crewer's wet
dreams of Captain Lameway!

"Oh shit, it's so sickening, it's funny." Phong said as he was choking

back tears because he was laughing so hard.

Sheppard took a look at what Phong was laughing about and started to
read out loud: "I can see me and the Captain. We are on a beach. She
has me staked out on the sand. She's dressed in a black leather
micro-skirt and is pouring chocolate sauce in me with an enema while
I'm dressed in a pink leather tutu and a Frankenstein mask!"
 
Charles just shook his head. "That's sick. Who did this belong to?" 

Looking at the newly decrypted file header, Phong replied.

"Well, this belonged to a Lieutenant Tom Parris." Phong quickly
checked his datapad for that name. "He was one of the crewers
we spaced after we took over this ship."

"It's a good thing that son-of-a-bitch's dead, because if he wasn't,
I'd have him shot immediately. I won't have my men corrupted by
such slime." said Sheppard.
 
"Once we take over the Federation, we'll have to set an example.
No more of this sick shit. Good Imperial citizens don't act like
that. We will teach these Federation slime proper Imperial morals."

Immediately after Sheppard finished speaking, a call for security
to get down to Lt. Hit-Man's quarters came out over the comm-system.

Hitting the com-switch, Sheppard asked what the hell was going on.
The crewer replied that he'd been walking by the Lieutenant's quarters
when he'd heard blaster fire. A lot of it.

"Oh gods, now what?" Glasgow said as his blood pressure began to rise.

"I want ten Stormies to meet me down at Hit-Man's quarters."  orderd
Sheppard as he started to walk out the door.

"Are you sure that's going to be enough?" Glasgow called out after
Sheppard.

"Better make it fifteen." replied Sheppard as he made his way to the
turbo-lift, pulling out his blaster.

The lift door opened up and Sheppard saw a lot of crewers standing 
around Hit-Man's quarters.

"All right, clear out of here NOW!" he said to the crewers, who left
the area post-haste.

He tapped the door chime. Nothing. Sheppard could hear the muffled
sounds of blaster fire and began to worry. LT.Hit-Man had always been
somewhat of a loose-cannon, and he was wondering if LT.Hit-Man had
finally slipped over the edge.

"Computer, override the door lock to this room. Priority code Sheppard
Beta Omega One!" 

The computer chirped in the annoying flat voice that the Federation
seemed to love, telling him that his code was invalid.

"Son of a bitch!" Sheppard snarled. Calling Chuck, he told him to
get Phong down there ASAP. Minutes later, Charles, the Stormtroopers,
Phong, and Dalaa - who had been talking to Phong about setting up some
new security codes for the main computer when Charles called.

"What's going on, sir?" Phong asked.

"Those command codes you put in for me won't work on this door. I want
it opened *now*."

Phong swore that Sheppard was ready to kill someone, and so he started
to work his mojo on the door lock.

A few minutes went by, and the door was still shut.

Sheppard was about to ask Phong what was going on when he heard
Phong mutter "Damn, this guy is good." and start to work faster.

Moments later, the door opened. "But not as good as me." added
Phong, with a grim smile.

Sheppard was about to storm into Hit-Man's quarters when he just
stopped and stared. Glasgow, Phong, and Daala made their way in
to see what Sheppard was looking at. They too stared in awe
as they saw Hit-Man swing his lightsaber at an impossibly fast
speed, blocking the blaster bolts that a drone was shooting at
him at an impossible rate.

The four of them watched in amazement as Hit-Man ordered the
drone to increase it's firing rate. As the drone began to fire fifty
blaster bolts a second, they watched Hit-Man begin to duck, jump, and
block the blaster bolts the drone was pounding out. 

They could see the sweat pouring off him as he moved like greased
lightning, completely un-aware of them. Suddenly, he savagely cut the
drone to bits in a blinding burst of speed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Sheppard yelled at Hit-Man, who
slowly turned to face him. They all could see in his good eye that he
had no soul whatsoever as he began to slowly walk towards them.

Suddenly, in a voice so cold they unconsciously reached for their
weapons, Hit-Man spoke. 

"I was exercising, Sir!" 

With that, he came to attention before them. For once, Sheppard was
completely flabbergasted. 

"Get cleaned up, and in your uniform. I want you in my office in five
minutes." ordered the Admiral, and then he left along with everyone
else.

[Five minutes later - The Captain's Ready Room]

Sheppard allowed himself a look around Lameway's former Ready Room.
The only good thing about it was that it was located right next to 
the bridge. Everything else about it sucked. The carpet, the 
lighting, and the furniture.

A chime sounded. 

"Enter."

In stepped Hit-Man, in his trademark blaster-scarred Stormtrooper
armor.

"Lieutenant Hit-Man, operating number VX-101 reporting as ordered,
Sir!"

"Hit-Man, I seem to have a problem here."

It took all of Hit-Man's willpower to not laugh at that.

"What's the problem, Sir?" 

"Hit-Man, I'm worried about you. You've been...frisky lately. 
You've been even more of a loose cannon than you usually are.
I am willing to tolerate a certain amount of rowdiness. However,
this...incident in the mess-hall was over the line."

"*Way* over the line."

"As punishment for wrecking the kitchen and threatening multiple
enlisted men, you are being reassigned. Follow me."

With that, Sheppard got out of his chair, and walked onto the bridge.

Hestitantly, Hit-Man followed Sheppard. Reassigned? To where? A
particularly nasty thought suddenly popped into his head,
of the time when Vader had 'reassigned' the comm-tech who'd failed
to give him the hourly status report on time.
 
Pushing those thoughts out of his head, Hit-Man followed the Admiral
into the bridge turbolift.
 
"Main shuttlebay." barked Sheppard.

Immediately, the turbolift began to move. With each second, Hit-Man's
heart began to beat faster and faster. 

-Why's he taking me to the shuttlebay...unless...-

If Sheppard intended to get rid of him this way, he'd find himself
the first one to die.

With a beep, the computer indicated that they'd arrived at 
their destination.

The doors opened, revealing a TIE Shuttle standing in
the main shuttlebay.

"It's old, but our newer _Lambda_-class shuttles wouldn't
fit in such a small space. Besides, we're not going far."
remarked Sheppard as he walked to the TIE Shuttle.

Opening the hatch, Sheppard stepped inside and motioned
for Hit-Man to follow. Sheppard immediately began to
strap himself into one of the seats lining the Shuttle's
interior. 

The Shuttle had originally been one of Admiral Giel's, but
in the intervening years, it had been converted from a 
short-range pleasure craft to a short-range assault
shuttle. As a result, the inertial dampeners had been 
reduced considerably, increasing speed and performance,
but increasing the probability that you'd bounce
off the walls and break your neck. Hence the full-body
restraint harnesses.

As soon as Hit-Man had strapped himself into his seat,
Sheppard told the pilot over the comm that everyone
was strapped in.

Moments later, the shuttle smoothly lifted off 
the deckplates, and made for open space, shuddering
slightly as it passed through the magnetic field that
held the air in. 

Hit-Man glanced around the shuttle for some sign
of where they were going. He knew that the TIE
Shuttle was an inherently short-ranged craft, so
that narrowed down the choices considerably.

Minutes later, with a clang, the Shuttle set down.

Sheppard quickly snapped his restraints off, and was
at the hatch. Triggering the open mechanism, he stepped
down the ramp, to the cry of

 "_Revenger_, arriving!"

Sheppard saluted the young Lieutenant who'd met him
on the flight deck of the _Revenger_.

"Carry on, Lieutenant."

Sheppard glanced around. Hit-Man was now striding down the
Shuttle's ramp confidently.

"Follow me."

Hit-Man, by now even more confused, followed Sheppard into
the turbo-lift.

Sheppard punched in a destination code. The turbolift
accelerated smoothly. After being on _Voyager_ for a day,
the two of them were surprised by how smooth and powerful 
Imperial turbos were.

Seconds later, the lift doors opened onto one of the 
innumerable hallways that filled a Star Destroyer. Glancing
at the markings on the wall, Hit-Man saw that they were now
on Deck 51, Section 123 of the _Revenger_, which put them
roughly in the middle of the ship, if his memory was
accurate. 

But there was nothing here. Nothing of any importance to
a Stormtrooper, anyway. The Tibanna gas reservoirs and
warhead magazines were located here, in the best-protected
part of the ship, with roughly 30 decks to the top and
bottom to shield them from enemy fire.

Sheppard walked in front of a nondescript door, and punched in
a access code. With a hiss, the heavy blast doors slid open, 
revealing what looked like a standard Stormtrooper barracks 
section.

Hit-Man was now throughly confused. In every ship he'd been
on, the Stormtroopers and their equipment were always housed
next to the hangar bays, so they could easily and quickly
reach their landing craft.

However, this was in the middle of the ship, far away from
the personal weapon armories. The only people who came
here were the maintenance techs, and that was rare, as
this entire section was mostly automated.

"What the hell..." growled Hit-Man as he noticed the logo that
was splashed across just about everything in the barracks,
from mugs to clipboards.

It was a caricature of a Stormtrooper holding grossly-outsized
guns, with a boot extended towards the viewer. Curled around the
top of the logo were the words: "The Cleaners" and on the bottom
was the motto: "We exterminate species".

Suddenly, a door opened, and a officer wearing Commander's insigna
walked in from what looked like a office. Upon seeing Sheppard,
the officer immediately stood at attention and saluted.

"At ease, Nathan. I've got a new 'volunteer' for you." said Sheppard.

Commander Nathan Yates immediately began looking over Hit-Man with
a practiced eye. After scanning Hit-Man for a second, Yates rendered
his verdict.

"Excellent. He's packed chock-full with Vitamins and other good
stuff!"

Yates then extended his hand to Hit-Man. 

"Welcome to Imperial Storm-Commando Detachment Number One, or as we 
like to call ourselves, 'The Cleaners'."

Hestitantly, Hit-Man slowly extended his hand as well. Yates grabbed
it and began to shake vigoriously. "First rule of being in the 
Cleaners: We don't play fair."

With that, Yates suddenly brought his steel-toed right boot 
into Hit-Man's groin. Even though the armor protected him from
the worst of it, Hit-Man groaned as his world exploded into stars.

As Hit-Man staggered back from the pain and suddeness of the blow, 
Yates said "You got that, maggot?"

Through clenched teeth, Hit-Man snarled out a reply.

"Yes...Sir!" and with that, he sent Yates flying through the air 
with a lightning-fast spinning heel kick that connected with
Yates' head.

Hit-Man began to feel his vision becoming a reddish blur...the
rage was upon him. Breathing heavily, he moved steadily towards
Yates. 

Suddenly, the room was filled with laughter. "Oh, you'll do fine
here in the Cleaners, Hit-Man. I just wanted to make sure you
were up to the job." said Yates. With that, he offered his hand.

"Shake on it?"

Hit-Man laughed sardonically. "With all respect, Sir, Fuck you."
he growled. Activating the laser sight in his cyber-eye, he placed
it between Yates' eyes for good measure.

Grinning, Yates replied "Oh well. Can't expect someone to fall for 
the same trick twice. Come with me. It's time to outfit you with 
your weapons and armor."

"I have all the weapons I'll ever need in my quarters. And as for 
armor, this is all I need."  With that, Hit-Man motioned towards his
battle-scarred armor.

Yates suddenly grinned as he disappeared into what appeared to be
the small-arms locker for the Cleaners. A few moments later, he 
appeared holding a long, deadly-looking blaster rifle.

"Do you have a Xerrol Nightstinger in your quarters, Hit-Man?"

Hit-Man just stared at Yates, completely flabbergasted. 

"A Xer..Xerrol Nightstinger? Where'd you get that?!?"

Sheppard smiled. "Thank Lieutenant-Commander Nguyen for
that toy. He diverted it from a New Republic supply depot
for us, along with a nice little Turbolaser blimp to play
around with."

Yates suddenly threw the Nightstinger at Hit-Man, who caught
it in mid-air in a smooth motion. Hit-Man then quickly 
field-stripped the weapon, checking the special crystal
that focussed the weapon for cracks or defects. Finding
none, he reassembled the weapon in seconds.

Both Yates and Sheppard raised their eyebrows. "Where'd you
learn how to handle a Nightstinger?" asked Sheppard.

"There are somethings that shouldn't be known...Sir" replied
Hit-Man.

Sheppard simply shrugged. "Fine with me. I think I'll leave
now, and leave the two of you to your toys. By the way, get
prepped. You've got a mission in an hour."

Yates nodded. "I'll get Hit-Man prepped now, sir."

With that, Sheppard left the Cleaners' barracks.

Yates turned around to face Hit-Man. "Come on, let's get you ready."

Hit-Man shook his head. "Not yet, Commander. I was going to show this
to Sheppard, but seeing as he's gone, I might as well show it to you.
I think you'll like it."

Hit-Man produced a holo-player out of nowhere. 

_Where the hell did he hide that?!?_ thought Yates.

"I made some modifications to the Dark Trooper Mark 3 armor and
made it into a ground-based super heavy assault unit." 

Hit-Man pushed a button on the player, and the fearsome visage
of a Dark Trooper appeared out of thin air.

"First, I removed the various weaponry the designers had installed.
Now, on the right arm, a 30mm mini-gun of the type that Captain
Sutton brought back with him from Earth has been installed...Those
Earthers were quite a violent bunch back in their 20th century,"
remarked Hit-Man.

"Wait a minute, Hit-Man. I looked at the specs for that gun he 
bought back. It had a cyclic rate of nearly 4,000 rounds a minute.
That's almost 60 rounds a *second*! Those shells it fires are the
size of a one liter jug! How're you going to keep it supplied?"
argued Yates.

Hit-Man sighed, annoyed that Yates had asked about such an obvious
problem. "I know that. To keep the minigun loaded with ammo, I hooked
it up to a micro-replicator system of the kind the Federation uses
to make their goods. The suit's micro-fusion powerplant is good for
up to eight hours of nonstop firing. There's a autoloader so that the
trooper using the armor can put stuff like rock, dirt, and the like
into the replicator, which turns it into the 30mm round for the gun."

Yates nodded. "This seems pretty good, but why use such an 
outdated weapon?"

Hit-Man smiled evilly at that.

"Those Federation types are used to seeing people being vaporized, not
ripped apart into bloody chunks of dead meat. Besides, the sound this
thing makes would in my opinion, be a great way to demoralize them. 
They aren't as used to the horrors of war as us."

Yates nodded once again, his admiration for Hit-Man slowly growing.

"Any other toys you'd like to tell us about?"

Hit-Man smiled again, then added "On the left wrist, there's a 1.5
meter long vibro-blade for hand-to-hand combat," Hit-Man punched a
button on the player, and the image of the armor rotated to show
it's back. "As you can see, a Merr-Sonn PLX-2M quad-launcher has
been mounted on it's shoulder to allow the trooper to enage
targets at over-the-horizon ranges. I've upgraded the flight pack
to cope with the increased weight."

Yates slowly nodded. Damn, this guy was good. Suddenly, he noticed
a pair of odd-looking cylinders on the Dark Trooper's back. "What're
those?" he said, pointing to them.

Hit-Man's smile got bigger and colder. "Those are gas tanks
that can be filled with either a chemical, biological, or smoke agent.
If the troopers operating this suit encounter any pockets of
resistance, they can fly over, while releasing the gas, so they can
move onto other targets while our regular troops mop up after them."

Suddenly, Hit-Man flicked the player to another holo; this time
one of a missile.

"This is a modified PLX-2M, intended to be used with the Dark Trooper
Mark 4 armor. The warhead is smaller than the normal one, but
it's a cluster munition one. When launched, it'll start spitting
micro-grenades out it's side after travelling about a half-meter
away from the trooper who launched it. 

Hit-Man once again flicked the player to a different image; 
one of six micro-grenades.

"These are standard micro-grenades, of the fragmentation type-"
Hit-Man's face twitched as he remembered how a frag grenade had
taken one of his eyes and left him with a cyber-eye.

"-but we also have other options; Croyoban grenades, T-2338 grenades,
Flex-38 nerve gas grenades, as well as a grenade of my own design."

Hit-Man flicked the holo to zoom in onto the grenade he was talking
about.

"This is a micro-thermal detonator. It uses a mixture of enhanced
baradium encased in a travem shell."

"Travem?!? I've never heard of it." said Yates.

"Of *course* you haven't. It's a substance that the Emperor had made 
and kept it to himself because it is 100% untraceable and is so lethal
that the dust from it can kill ten healthy wookiees in less then
thirty seconds flat. The best thing about it is that when it's mixed
with another explosive, say for instance, Detonite, it wipes out any
trace of it." 

Hit-Man paused. "On the downside, it's very unstable." With that,
he shut off the player.

Yates slowly whistled, then was silent for several long seconds. 
Finally, he spoke.

"Lieutenant, I think you're going to like the Cleaners. By the way,
can I have those plans? I'd like to shoot them to Vice-Admiral Glasgow
so he can begin producing them."

Hit-Man grunted, then handed Yates the padd. "Everything is on that
padd. The schematics for the armor, the formula for Travem, the whole
list of chemicals needed to make it, as well as the refining process 
you use to get Travem."

Yates nodded. "Good. I'll send this as soon as I can. Now, we've got
to get you outfitted in your new armor immediately! We've only got
about 45 minutes before we leave!"

Hit-Man nodded.

"Follow me." ordered Yates.

[Fifteen minutes later]

Hit-Man stepped out of the armory, wearing his new armor, followed
by Yates, who was also wearing identical armor. Hit-Man stopped
and looked down at his armor. The new armor felt odd. The old set
had fit him like a glove. This new set...felt strange. Ah well. 
He'd get used to it eventually.

"Lieutenant, this suit of armor has several new features 
you should know about." instructed Yates.

"In your HUD's main menu, there should be an additional button
labelled 'Suit Skin'. Select it."

Hit-Man nodded, and selected the button. It brought up another
menu."

"Now, you have a choice. Default, which is black. The others
are preselected camoflage schemes selected for their versatality.
Finally, the last scheme is still experimental, so don't expect
too much of it."

Hit-Man nodded, then began to play with the menu selections.

Yates watched as Hit-Man's armor began to change colors.
The normal flat-black color disappeared, to be replaced
by a mottled woodland camoflage scheme. Seconds later,
the armor changed color once again, to desert tan.

_Cool._ thought Hit-Man. He'd seen what his suit had changed to
through a minature 3D representation in his upper right vision.
This was baddass. *Really* badass.

"You wanna see something cool, select the last option." advised
Yates.

Nodding, Hit-Man selected the last scheme. The minature
representation of him suddenly disappeared, to be replaced
by a shimmering outline.

"What the..."

"Cloaking, Lieutenant. The suit scans the environment, then 
changes the patterns and colors on the armor to match it's
surroundings. It's pretty effective, but it's effectiveness
is degraded when you're in bright light, since we can't
get rid of your shadow, or when you're moving, since movement
overtaxes your suit's redraw rate."

Hit-Man simply nodded, still a bit overwhelmed by this.

"We've got to get moving now, Hit-Man. I'll brief you
and the rest of the unit in the shuttle. And turn that
damn thing off. I don't want people bumping into you." 
ordered Yates, who immediately took off at double-time
towards the hangar bay, with Hit-Man following.

As the pair of Cleaners whisked through the corridors
of the _Revenger_, crewers and Stormtroopers alike got
out of their way. 

They all knew that whenever those black-suited Stormtroopers
showed up, some serious shit was about to go down, and woe
behold the person who delayed them. 

[Admiral Sheppard's Office - Same Time]

"It's absolutely fucking out of the question! I am *not* going
back!" shouted Captain Alex Sutton.

Sheppard sighed. 

"Sutton, this is the only thing I can trust you with."

At this, Sutton exploded. 

"Listen you little shit! I spent twenty years of my life
having to put up with their pacifist bullcrap! I'm not
spending another twenty years doing that shit!"

Sighing, Sheppard sat into his chair, rubbing his face.

"Sutton, I'll be frank. The trouble with long-term undercover
ops is the 'identification with the enemy problem'. I can't
honestly put you in command of troops. You might have been
turned. However, I'm ninety-nine percent sure you're still
loyal, so I can't simply flush you down the toilet."

Blood vessels began to pop out all over Sutton's face as
his anger began to rise. 

"Sutton, you have three choices. I'll tell you what they are."

"Option one - you become a senior part of my intelligence analysis
staff, as the resident Federation psychology expert."

Sheppard paused to let this sink in, then continued.

"Option two - You're the only one among us with any experience at
acting as a Federation officer, so we give you a new face
and send you back to do infiltration missions."

Sutton grimaced at that. "What's the third option?" he asked
in a dejected tone of voice, his anger slowly deflating
as he realized that he was completely at Sheppard's mercy.

"We cover your absence and send you back as Admiral Sutton,
to keep fucking things up."

"Do I have any other choices?"

"No. You only have those three choices."

Sutton collapsed into the guest chair dejectedly. After a moment
of contemplation, he looked up, sighing.

"All right, you son-of-a-bitch. I'll take option three."

"Good. Get down to the hangar deck. We're using our best
team to insert you." said Sheppard, hoping to cheer up
Sutton somewhat.

Sutton got up to leave the office despondently, but as he was 
stepping through the blast doors, he stopped and turned around.

"Sheppard, I want your word that if anything goes wrong,
you'll get me. No ifs, no buts, and most of all, no 
'we're stretched too thin' arguments."

Sheppard nodded. "It's the least we can do for you, Alex.
I'll cut some orders placing the Cleaners on permament standby
to retrieve you from a possibly hot LZ."

Sutton nodded, then stepped through the blast doors.

[Main Hangar Bay ISD _Revenger_ - 15 minutes later]
 
Sutton, by now clothed in his Starfleet Admiral's uniform,
stood despondently in the hangar bay, waiting for the shuttle
to insert him to arrive.

A young black-haired officer - a Lieutenant-Commander, by the looks
of his rank plaque, walked up to him and saluted.

"Captain Sutton, Lieutenant-Commander Phong Nguyen. I'm the resident
slicer. I'll be responsible for altering whatever files necessary
to reinsert you into your former position safely."

Sutton nodded. "Are you any good?"

"Am I any good? Have you ever heard of the Seug virus? That
was my handi-work. I was just in elementary school back then."

Sutton slowly whistled. The Seug virus had been one of the most
destructive computer viruses of the last half-century. And to think,
a mere child had been responsible for it!

Despite himself, Sutton smiled. If Phong could do that at five,
imagine what he could do now, and especially against the
Federation, whose computer security standards were so lax,
they were a joke.

"Ah, our escort is here." remarked Phong as a line of black-armored
Stormtroopers marched in at double-time. Leading them was Yates. He
snapped a salute off to Sutton.

"Sir, Commander Nathan Yates reporting for duty, Sir!"

Sutton simply nodded. At that moment, a _Lambda_ class shuttle
slowly approached them on repulsorlifts, settling down in front
of them.

"All right, our ride is here, everyone on board!" barked Yates.

With military precision, the Cleaners formed up into two lines
and jogged up the ramp at double-time, with Sutton and Nguyen
slowly walking up the ramp at a normal pace.

The moment they were aboard, the shuttle's ramp closed behind them.
As Phong and Sutton began to strap themselves into their seats,
the shuttle began to vibrate. 

Sutton looked down the cabin. Yates was now prowling the length
of the cabin, psyching his men up.

"I am ready, man. Ready to get it on! Check it out!
I am the ultimate badass...state of the badass art.  
You do *not* want to fuck with me."

Suddenly, Yates walked up to Sutton and slapped him
on the shoulder.

"Hey, Sutton, don't worry.  Me and my squad of
ultimate badasses will protect you. Check it out -"

Yates walked over to a disassembled E-Web and slapped
it.

"- Heavy automatic blaster! Whap! Fry half a city with this 
puppy!"

Yates began to stalk the corridor once again, becoming 
even more and more worked up.

"We got tactical smart-missles, blasters, PLX-2Ms, we got 
sonic electronic ballbreakers, we got nukes, we got knives...
sharp sticks -- muhahhahahahaha!" 

Yates began to laugh manically.

Sutton turned to Phong and asked "Is he always this crazy?"

"Only when he's on a mission." came the reply.

Unconsciously, Sutton gulped.

[Space]

The shuttle carrying the Cleaners and Sutton disappeared into
hyperspace, to be followed by the World Devastator _Silencer-10_,
commanded by Vice-Admiral Glasgow. His orders were to set up 
a manufacturing base in the Delta Quadrant.

Moments later, the Corellian Corvettes _Stiletto_, and _Rapier_
under the command of Vice-Admiral Valberg also hyperjumped.

Their mission - to conquer the Delta quadrant and locate
resources for Imperial Construction Base Alpha 
(the codename for _Silencer-10_).

Soon, the only ships left were the _Revenger_ and _Vengeance_,
along with the _Dagger_.

The _Dagger_ was for the moment, inside _Revenger's_ hangar
bay, undergoing heavy modifications for her special mission.

Within minutes, they too jumped. Their destination - the
Gamma Quadrant.


[Chapter 4b]

[Cleaner One]                        
    
As the shuttle flew through hyperspace towards it's destination,
Yates looked around the cramped compartment at the familiar faces
of his men. However, there were two unfamiliar faces mixed in.

Along with Hit-Man, there was one other new recruit in the Cleaners,
Private Ali. Sure, he wasn't the brightest person around, but his
drive more than made up for it.

[NOTE: This is realistic. Dick Marcinko said that there was a guy
who wanted into UDT (the precursors to the SEALS). They gave him
weights and told him to get to the other side of a pool. The guy
jumps in, and sinks to the bottom of the pool. He begins WALKING
along the bottom of the pool to the other side. The guy didn't know
how to swim worth a damn, but he got in due to his drive.] 

Looking at Hit-Man, Yates wondered what he was thinking.

_So I'm with the Cleaners under Yates' command. Now here's a 
CO I can respect, and they have some kick-ass hardware I haven't
used in a long time._ thought Hit-Man.

Hit-Man replayed their initial meeting in his mind, savoring the 
look on Yates' face when he stripped down the Xerrol Nightstinger,
then put it back together like he was breathing. 

_The look on Sheppard's face was icing on the cake._ he thought.

Breaking out of his reverie, he Looked over at Sutton, who was 
dressed in a Federation uniform of some kind. It took all of 
his willpower not to laugh. After all, the Federation uniform 
looked like a set of pajamas.

Sutton wasn't happy about going back to the Federation, but he 
could see the logic of Sheppard's decision, but that didn't
mean he had to like it.

"Damm pacifists. I don't need this shit." Sutton muttered to himself.
 
When he saw one of the fearsome black armor-cladded Stormtroopers 
staring at him, he snarled "What the hell are *you* looking at?!" 
to the Stormtrooper, who just sat there, looking at him.

Hit-Man could see that Sutton wasn't too happy about this whole deal,
and decided to play a game with him. 

Hit-Man stared at Sutton until he saw him staring at him. Hit-Man
continued to stare, and saw that Sutton was getting freaked out, 
so after five minutes of him flipping out, he decided to reveal 
himself.

"If you don't damm well say something, I'm going to kick your
ass out the nearest airlock!" Sutton snarled as he got to his 
feet and stood over the Stormtrooper who was just staring at 
him in maddening silence.

"THAT'S IT!" shouted Sutton as he reached out to strangle 
the Stormtrooper, armor or no armor.

In the background, Nathan watched this with much amusement,
and told his men not to interfere with what Lieutenant 
Hit-Man was doing.

However, if things got out of hand, he'd step in. After all,
Sheppard needed Sutton alive and back in the Federation to
carry out his dirty work.

Sutton was just about to grab Hit-Man's helmet when Hit-Man
grabbed his hand with his human hand, and jammed his thumb into
the pressure point on his wrist.

Sutton tried to smack Hit-Man with his free hand, but each time
he tried it, Hit-Man would increase the pressure on his wrist.

"LET GO OF ME, YOU KRIFFING BASTARD!" shouted Sutton as the pain
in his wrist began to be unbearable. Suddenly, Hit-Man raised
his other hand to his helmet, and began to remove it.

"That's right, I want to know who I'm gonna to space as soon 
as I get my hands on you!" snarled Sutton, not caring about
the pain he was in. No one manhandled him like this and got
away with it. Oh yes, there was going to be retribution for
this.

Sutton's rant died as he found himself looking into the icy-cold 
face of LT. Hit-Man.

Hit-Man almost started to laugh as Sutton's face went from 
the beet red of fury to the pale white of fear.

"Gee, from the sound of your voice, I thought you missed me?"
said Hit-Man with a grim smirk on his face. With that, he let go
of Sutton's wrist.

Sutton slowly backed away, trying to put as much space between
himself and the insane Lieutenant. Suddenly, being sent back
to the Federation didn't seem to be such a bad thing after all.

"Hey Sutton."
 
Hit-Man was through putting the needle to Sutton, and decided
to say what he had to say to him.

Sutton just looked over at Hit-Man as he fought to get his rage 
at him for making him look like a fool under control. In the back
of his head, the fear of what Hit-Man might do grew, even though
Yates and the rest of the Cleaners were here with them, and were
under orders to protect him. He had his doubts that they would be 
able to stop Hit-Man if he wanted him dead.

Yates was glad that he had his helmet on, because he was grinning 
like a loon at the game Hit-Man was playing with Sutton.

However, he knew that this game could turn into a bloodbath at any 
second. He was sure that he and the rest of the Cleaners could take 
care of Hit-Man if they needed to.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Hit-Man looked at Sutton. He pitied him having to go back to the 
Federation. _Hell, I doubt I would be able to put up with them 
for more then two  seconds before I lost my cool and slaughtered
them all._ thought Hit-Man.

"I feel sorry for you. I wouldn't want to be sent back to those 
wimps. So...tell me. What's it like being member of the Federation?"

Sutton was dismayed. This was the last thing he'd expected to hear 
from Hit-Man and it took him a few seconds to find his voice.

"W-W-Well, it's shit!" Sutton spat as he made no attempt to hide 
his contempt for the Federation. "I mean, they're at war with the 
Dominion, a militant race th-" Suddenly, he realized what he was 
saying, and shut up.

Hit-Man looked at Sutton and realized that he wasn't going to spill
the beans on the Federation, and why should he? But, he had to know
*why* they had Sutton so pissed off at them.  He knew that the 
Federation was a bunch of soft-sissies, but he didn't know how 
bad they were and he wanted to know.

"Look Sutton, we're all on the same team, the winning team." 
He looked over at the rest of the Cleaners, who vocally supported
that statement, with ragged cheers and comments.

"We're going to rip them a new asshole!" 

"We'll wipe them all out!"

"Kriffing right on that, man!"

"Let's rock!" 

"I can't wait, I'm going to nuke me a city!"

Hit-Man looked over at Sutton and smiled as Sutton started to relax. 

"You can blab off all ya like. Besides, we need a good laugh right 
about now."

Sutton looked Hit-Man over and he could see that he was being open 
and playing it straight with him, so he started to tell them all 
about the Federation.

"They have a device called a phase cloak. It not only cloaks their 
ships, but it allows them to pass through solid matter." 

Everyone thought that over. That could be a problem.

"But due to a peace treaty they signed with another race called
the Romulans, they agreed not to research cloaking devices like 
the ones the Romulans have."

Hit-Man and the other Cleaners just shook their heads. Hit-Man had 
sliced into the datapads that Sutton had brought back with him and 
the sheer stupidity of the Federation boggled his mind.

"I believe it. I mean, what the kriff are they doing?"

"When we were fighting the Rebel scum, we never held back."

When he mentioned the Rebels, there was an outcry of comments
from the rest of the Cleaners that no self-respecting Imperial 
would use, but since it was the Rebels that were being talked 
about, he could let it slide.

Hit-Man could see that Sutton was relieved that he was here with the
Cleaners and was really sickened by the thought of having to go back 
to  the Federation, so he decided to help put him at ease.

He reached into the left boot of his armor and pulled out a small 
cylinder with a button on the top of it.

"What's this?" Sutton asked as Hit-Man handed it to him.

"It's an Imperial homing beacon. All Imperial undercover agents 
were issued them in the last ten years. However, since you were 
in the Federation, you never had the chance to get one."

The look on Sutton's face said 'How the hell do you know about me
being undercover in the Federation for so long?'

Hit-Man decided to tell Sutton everything he knew about his mission
in the Federation, but not until the time was right.

"It has a range of 100,000 lightyears once it's boosted in a holo-net 
relay, but since you don't have a holo-net relay at hand, it's range 
is limited to 1,000 lightyears. More than enough for us to find you 
when we stomp the Federation into the ground. I'll give Sheppard the 
frequency when I see him next. I'll also see that everyone in the 
fleet knows it, and if it's possible, I myself will come and get you 
out of the hell-hole called the Federation. The Empire owes you lot 
for this."

Sutton took the homing beacon, the relief on his face in having
it evident.

"By the way, thanks for bringing the GAU-8. It's come in handy."

Sutton looked at Hit-Man, who was sitting back in his seat.

"What do you mean? It's a primitive weapon. What use will it be 
to us?"

Hit-Man smiled chillingly as he responded.

"It's a good weapon to use to put the psyche-out on the Feds,
and after all, the Borg don't have KE shields."

Sutton was shocked. How the hell did this guy know about the Borg? 
He decided to nail him then.

"How do you know about them?" asked Sutton in a quiet and deadly 
voice as he locked eyes with Hit-Man.

Hit-Man decided that the time was right to reveal what he 
knew, and how he came to know it. But first, he handed Sutton 
a 6cm hold-out blaster and six power cells.

"This should come in handy in case Section-31 busts you."

Hit-Man savored the look of shock and surprise on Sutton's face.

Sutton took the hold-out blaster, checked it over, and when 
he saw that it was fully-powered, he pointed it at Hit-Man.

When Yates saw this, he pulled out his Nightstinger, but he was 
unsure as who to point it at, so he kept it pointed between the two 
of them.

"HOW THE IN THE NAME OF THE SITH DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM!" 
Yelled Sutton as he got to his feet, his hands trembling slightly
as he centered the hold-out blaster right between Hit-Man's eys.

_This is getting *too* good._ thought Hit-Man.

He then stood up and looked Sutton right in the eyes, locking the
the laser sight on his cyber-eye right between Sutton's eyes as 
he slid his hand to his hidden light-saber.

"Being the Emperor's Left Hand of Death, you make it a habit to know 
everything you can about your enemies." 

The look on Sutton's face was priceless, thought Hit-Man. He looked
like he was about to shit himself or blast me.

At this, Yates and the rest of the Cleaners jumped to their feet, 
their weapons ready.

_No wonder why he knows how to work a Nightstinger_ Yates thought to 
himself as he got a sudden sinking feeling in his guts that felt like 
jelly. _This is bad. *Really* bad._

Sutton knew from the look in Hit-Man's eyes that death was close
at hand, and decided to pop him. But as he was about to pull the 
trigger, the blaster was ripped from his hand and shot across the 
few feet between him and Hit-Man, who had used his force powers 
to take the blaster away from Sutton.

Suddenly, the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber was heard as 
Hit-Man ignited his lightsaber just as the blaster landed in his 
hand.

"Heheheheh. I don't *think* so." said Hit-Man in a pleasant voice
as his lightsaber's black blade cast a black light that twisted
his smile into a hellish grin.

For a few long minutes, no one moved. Hit-Man could tell that they 
were scared.
 
_Fear is my ally._ thought Hit-Man. _It attracts the weak, who wish 
to be protected by the strong, so they obey the strong. It attracts 
the strong who seek to become stronger. It attracts the greedy who 
seek to gain more of what they want by the power of fear._

_It also attracts the corrupt who crave for more power like a drug.
Fear is that power. It attracts the innocent, who have no idea of what 
fear is and the power it can bring. It attracts the good, who seek to 
end the power of fear because they're afraid of it's power. It attracts
the evil who seek to use the power of fear to crush all those who 
stand in their way._

_Yes. I am fear and death made real._

_I am the dark side._ thought Hit-Man.

For several minutes, there was an uneasy silence in the Shuttle's
cargo compartment, as Hit-Man held his black-bladed lightsaber close
to his body, the black light from the blade falling across his 
grin.

The silence was broken by Yates.

"All right you two, break it up." said Yates, clicking
the setting on the Nightstinger from 'kill' to 'stun'.
"Or do I have to shoot you both?"

Hit-Man suddenly held the lightsaber away from him and
hit the activation stud. The black blade quickly withdrew
into the pommel, to wait until called upon again.

"That's better." Yates shot a dirty look at both Sutton
and Hit-Man. "You boys better behave yourself, or I'll
space you *both*, orders be damned."

Hit-Man suddenly pulled out the small 6cm hold-out
blaster, causing everybody to aim their weapons 
at him. Hit-Man held it at arm's length, with the
barrel pointed at him. "I believe this is
yours, Captain Sutton."

Sutton warily grabbed the blaster, all the while keeping
a close eye on Hit-Man's lightsaber.

"Are you two *quite* done yet?" snapped Yates.

In a quiet and slightly shaky voice, Sutton spoke.

"Yes, we're done."

With that, he sat down in the farthest seat away
from Hit-Man that was available.

"Now that that's all done with, maybe we can finally
get to our orders. That is, unless anyone else here
doesn't have anymore secrets they'd like to reveal."

Lieutenant Hampton, the Cleaners resident pilot suddenly
walked in from the cockpit and raised his hand.

"Yes?" asked Yates.

"My roomie at the academy knew this guy who knew a 
guy who was Lord Vader's first shuttle pilot. Does that
count?"

"Sit down and shut up, Hampton." 

"Sir, how do I get out of this Chickenshit outfit?"
quipped Hampton as he returned to the cockpit.

Yates sighed. Sometimes his people could get a bit...
unprofessional in their conduct, but he knew them. 
Hit-Man...on the other hand...

The man was a frigging death-machine, and quite frankly,
he scared him, and that was no mean feat itself, given
that he'd seen and done a lot in his service with the
Imperial Navy.

After a moment's silence for contemplation, Yates began
to walk around the cargo hold, handing out datapads with
their mission orders on them. 

Yates had purposely left Hit-Man for last, and as he 
neared Hit-Man, the man smiled evilly. Suddenly, 
the datapad flew out of his hands and into Hit-Man's.

Thankfully, Yates was still wearing his helmet, so 
nobody could see his uneasiness at the padd's sudden
and unexpected flight.

"Allright. This is a four-part mission." Yates said
in a clear and authorative tone of voice.

"Our first task is to scout out a uninhabited world in
the Delta Quadrant that looks highly promising as
a source of various minerals needed for the production
of duralloy. The reason for it not being inhabited,
despite it's mineral-rich status should be quite
obvious to you."

Yates paused. "However, since a few of you were dropped
on your heads by the med-bots when you were babies, I'll
tell you anyway."

"First, we've got an average surface temperature of 
-33 degrees Celsius during the night. In the daytime, it
can hit 250 degrees. You either freeze or burn."

"To spice up the mix even more, you've gotta deal with
wind gusts of up to 200kph, a highly unstable crust, and
finally, a atmosphere consisting mainly of methane and
argon gas." 

"Sounds like a shitty place. What's the name...Sir?" said
HIT-MAN, remembering to address Yates as a superior officer
at the last minute.

"The Kazon call it...Acheron." replied Yates. "We'll arrive
in approximately 3 hours. I suggest you use that time
to get some shut-eye, because you're gonna need all the rest
you can get."

With that, Yates sat down and buckled himself into his
seat and closed his eyes, along with the rest of the
Cleaners.

Before he dozed off to sleep, HIT-MAN overrided the auto-shutoff
feature of his cyber-eye, and arranged his head so that the glowing
eye was pointed directly at Sutton. With that, he closed his good eye.

Sutton squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. The only illumination in
the cargo hold other than some dim emergency lights was the reddish 
glow of HIT-MAN's cybereye, and it was pointed directly at him.

No matter how hard he tried to put it out of his mind when he closed
his eyes, Sutton couldn't delete the image of HIT-MAN's glowing red
eye staring right at him. 

Sutton spent 3 sleepless hours staring back at HIT-MAN's eye.

[3 Hours later - Over Acheron]

The shuttle dropped out of hyperspace within one AU of 
Archeron, a blue-whitish world wracked by terrible
storms.

To an untrained observer, the activities inside the shuttle
would've appeared to be random chaos, but to the trained
eye, everything happened for a reason.

Weapons were fieldstripped, checked for problems, and reassembled.
The deadly PLX-2M launchers were broken out from their protective
storage cases and loaded with live rounds. Even though the Kazon
records had indicated that Acheron was uninhabited, the Cleaners
were taking no chances.

People who took chances and assumed things usually ended up dead.

Hampton's voice crackled over the speakers in the cargo hold.

"Ok boys and girls, we are now entering the upper atmosphere of
Acheron. Seems there's a nasty storm cell over our landing grid,
so it may get a bit...choppy on the way in. ETA...five minutes, due
to the storm."

With that, Hampton's voice cut off. 

"Awright people, you heard the man. Five minutes! Get ready!"
shouted Yates, his unease of Hit-Man diminishing as he began
to get pumped up for the upcoming mission.

Up forward in the cockpit, Lieutenant Commander Kenneth
von Lowe began fighting the controls as the thin upper 
atmosphere of Acheron quickly gave way to thicker air, 
and with it, storm cells.

"Activate IGS." ordered Lowe in a business-like tone.

"IGS online." replied his co-pilot, Lt. Hampton.

In Lowe's helmet's HUD system, symbology representing
various factors essential to piloting a craft appeared.

In the lower left corner of his vision was his speed in kph,
his altitude, and the wind speed. Right now, it was jumping
wildly between 200 kph and 600 kph. 

In the lower right corner, a craft status display appeared,
showing any damage the shuttle sustained. So far, it was
green.

In the center of his vision, a red box appeared, showing him 
the proper glide slope to follow. Adroitly manipulating the
controls, Lowe rammed the throttles to war emergency power 
and managed to stay in the box, with a good margin for error.

"Damn, I'm good." muttered Lowe to himself.

Suddenly, the shuttle slammed into a nasty wind shear, 
causing it to buck violently. From behind his seat,
he could hear muttered curses from the cargo compartment
as the Cleaners were thrown around a bit, despite
the shuttle's inertial dampers.

"Sorry about that, fellas. It's only gonna get worse, so
I suggest you strap yourselves in a bit more securely."

Back in the cargo compartment, everybody heeded Hampton's 
advice, and tightened the straps on their harnesses. A barely
imperceptible shudder began, and quickly grew into a stomach
lurching roller-coaster ride. 

As the shaking worsened, Yates began to psych himself up and
his men. 

"Who are we?" shouted Yates

"THE CLEANERS!" roared back his men.

"What do we do?"

"WE KILL!"

"Can anyone stop us?"

"HELL, NO!"

Up forward, Lowe and Hampton peered through their displays. 
Lowe could see the ground just a few hundred meters below him. 
With a practiced hand, he cut the engines just enough to ensure 
that they'd have a hard landing, not splatter themselves all 
over the landscape.

Thumbing the landing gear activation button, Lowe triggered
the intercom.

"450 meters. Get ready everyone, this is gonna be a hard landing,
repeat, a hard landing."

All through this, they'd treated this insertion like one into a
hostile LZ. No nice and leisurely landing. Just slamming down
onto the ground like a brick.

Slowly, the shuttle began to transition into landing mode, the
lower wings swinging up, and the landing gear legs dropping down.

As the wings swung up, there was a moment of brief turbulence as
the shuttle gained the aerodynamic properties of a brick. However,
at this point, the repulsorlifts had activated, so aerodynamics
didn't matter.

Seconds later, the shuttle slammed down onto the barren surface
of Acheron, it's landing legs taking the full brunt of the rapid
landing. If the shuttle had been a normal one, the legs would've
ripped through the cabin floor from the force of the hard landing.

However, Yates had had the shuttle modified to meet his exacting
specifications for a rapid insertion craft. Among other things, the
landing gear had been beefed up to take the immense amount of force
exerted by a combat landing.

"Captain, you should go forward into the pilots' compartment now;
we're gonna exit into a hostile atmosphere, and we can't take any
chances with you." ordered Yates.

Sighing, Sutton wearily unstrapped himself from the harness and
walked towards the durasteel door at the front of the cargo
hold. With a muted hiss, it slid open, granting him access to 
the panel-studded cockpit. 

The moment the door slid shut behind Sutton, Yates keyed in his
personal access code. Now the door would only open for authorized
personnel, and Sutton wasn't on that list. Couldn't take any chances
of him blundering into a hostile atmosphere that could kill him in
seconds, now could he?

"Baron, our guest is in your capable hands. Whatever you do,
*don't let him touch anything*."

"Roger that. Good luck on your mission." came the reply.

"Get ready, everybody! Are we gonna kick ass?"

"HELL, YEAH!"

"Good! Let's go!"

With that, Nathan punched the ramp/airlock cycle button.

Slowly, the shuttle's ramp began to lower onto the rocky
surface of Acheron. 

With practiced military precision, the Cleaners quickly deployed
in a standard 'vee' formation, with the heavy-weapons guy (the guy
with a BlasTech T-21 Laser Rifle) taking point.

The landscape of Acheron was...spooky, for lack of a better word.

Strange bio-mechanical formations jutted into the howling wind,
and lightning cracked across the sky every few seconds.

"All right. Everybody, switch to cloak mode." ordered Yates.

[Shuttle Cockpit]

From the transparisteel windshield in the cockpit, Sutton watched
the Cleaners suddenly wink out of view. Squinting, he could see
the tell-tale distortions that gave away cloaked objects. 

_Sithspit, it'll be like a bantha squashing a fly. Starfleet
and everyone won't stand a chance._ thought Sutton.

Suddenly, he remembered something. Scanning the control panels,
he found what he was looking for and flicked it.

The windshield's embedded display matrix (which allowed the crew
to view events several light-minutes away in realtime) changed
from visible light to IR, and the outlines of the Cleaners appeared.
Even though their suits were IR-dampened, heat always found a
way to get out.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" snarled Baron Lowe.

"Changing the settings so I can see them."

Lowe flicked the switch back to normal. "Did *I* say you could
change it? No."

Alex quickly scanned Lowe's rank plaque. A Lieutenant Commander.
Good. 

"I outrank you, *Lieutenant Commander*, so you best shut up and 
do what *I* say." With that, Sutton flicked the switch back to
IR.

Lowe was getting angry at this pajama-clad freak ordering him
around. "Listen you little fuck, Commander Yates left *me* in
charge, and he said not to let you touch anything." The switch
was flicked once again.

Suddenly, Lowe heard the distinctive *clack!* of a blaster
power-cell snapping in. He turned to find himself facing the
6cm hold-out blaster that Hit-Man had given Sutton.

"Imperial law states that disobeying the orders of a superior
officer is considered treason, and is punishable by death." 

Lowe slowly reached towards the switch and flicked it back to
IR. 

"Thank you. That's much better." said Sutton as he holstered
the hold-out blaster.

_You'll pay for that one day, Sutton. *Nobody* does this to 
Baron Kenneth von Lowe and gets away with it._

[Surface of Acheron]

Outside, the Cleaners continued on, unaware of what had just
transpired in the shuttle's cockpit.

Yates was switching back and forth between looking at the landscape
and at the mission map on his HUD. A beeping noise sounded in his
helmet, indicating they'd reaced the first preselected site
from which to take a sample.

"Alright. Bring up the sample extractor."

A pair of Cleaners moved towards the spot that Yates was standing
at, lugging a long cylindrical device. Even with their strength,
the pair of Cleaners were having a hard time moving the heavy
sample extractor.

Grunting with extertion, they manhandled the extractor to a vertical
position and began to deploy it.

With practiced ease, the support legs came out, stabilizing the 
extractor.

"Sir, It's all set up. Waiting for your command to begin."

Yates nodded, and the extractor was set into motion. 

The laser cutter began slicing into Acheron's rocky surface,
vaporizing the ground, while sensors in the cylinder continually 
scanned the vapor for important elements. 

Such a system was more portable than the old-fashioned method
of drilling out a sample and then lugging the sample back
to the ship. It also allowed deeper scans to be done than
with the old method.

Around the extractor, the Cleaners shifted nervously, cradling
their weapons. Right now, they were at their most vunerable, since
they had to stay in one location waiting for the extractor to finish
it's task.

After nearly 10 nerve-wracking minutes, the extractor finished it's 
task and shut-down.

"Great. We only have about 30 more of them to go. I hate this job."
muttered Hampton.

(Five hours later)

"Last one, boys!" shouted Yates.

A ragged cheer rose up from each of the Cleaners, except
for Hit-Man. At that, Yates shivered. The man seemed to
*feed* upon pain and discomfort. 

With that, the Cleaners began trudging down a gully into
the valley where the last sampling point was located. 

Over the last 5 hours, they'd travelled nearly 700 kilometers
from their initial landing point. After they finished each
sampling, they'd march onto the open ramp of the shuttle, 
and be lifted to the next sampling point.

"Sir, What the fuck is *that*?"

Yates looked at what Private Ali was referring to.

It was a strange...alien ship that seemed to be a living
being. 

Nathan quickly cross-checked the ships' location with the 
location of the final sampling point. 

"DAMMIT! That fucker is right on top of the sampling point!"
cursed Nathan.

"Not for long. Heh heh heh."

Everyone whirled around to see Lieutenant Hit-Man hefting a
PLX-2M launcher. Before anyone, including Yates, could order
him not to, Hit-Man fired.

"FUCK! That's a nuke! Take cover!" screamed Yates.

Within a split-second, the Cleaners, including Hit-Man had
dropped to the ground and taken cover behind rock outcroppings
to protect themselves from the blast wave.

Like clockwork, the nuke performed admirably, guiding itself
to the precise point laid in by Hit-Man, and detonated. 

The ground shook, and a enormous overpressure wave slammed over
the gully, knocking over several largish boulders, which barely 
missed crushing several Cleaners by centimeters.

As the danger from the blast wave subsided, the Cleaners slowly
stood back up, their suits protecting them from the minimal fallout
created by the nuke.

Yates stormed up to Hit-Man. "What the fuck did you do *that* for?!?"

At the same time, Sutton broke in on the comm channel. "That ship 
could have been the last remnant of an ancient race, and you...you...
just *blew* it up!" Sutton continued to sputter on, until Baron Lowe
cut off the cockpit comm channel.

"Looks like he's getting back into the Feddie mindset." cracked 
Hampton.

"Good for him," replied Yates. "As for *you*," with that, he pointed
a finger at Hit-Man. "What the fuck is your answer for the useless
expenditure of valuable weaponry?"

Hit-Man smiled behind his helmet, glad they couldn't see his face.

"It was in the way, *Sir*!"

"That's your fucking excuse, huh?"

"Well, that crock of shi---" Yates was suddenly interrupted 
by Private Ali, the other FNG (Fucking New Guy) in the Cleaners.

"SIR! Movement! From all around us!"

Yates quickly checked his suit's sensor readout. Damn.
It was showing movement from all around. *Lots* of movement.

"Fuck it! Get that extractor set up! We came here to do
a mission for the Admiral, and we ain't letting nothing
stop us!" shouted Nathan.

The Cleaners tensed up, readying themselves for imminient 
combat. Safeties were clicked off, fresh power packs were 
slapped in, and the backpack generators for the T-21 Light 
Repeating Blasters were switched from hot standby to active 
as they jogged towards the clicking hot crater where the alien 
ship had been. 

Within minutes, the Cleaners were in the center of the crater,
their armor protecting them from the radiation. The extractor 
was hastily set up and activated. Now all they had to do was 
to hold off these possible hostiles for nearly ten minutes. 
Damn near impossible? Yes, but they were the Cleaners, and 
to them, 'impossible' didn't exist.

"Sir, they're closing! 30 meters!" shouted Ali. 

Suddenly, it happened. A hissing noise sounded, 
and a black blur jumped from the crater's lip.

Within seconds, before the other Cleaners could
respond, it was upon Ali. His screams echoed in
their helmets as the...thing tore him apart.

Crimson blood splattered across the landscape as
the creature tore him in half in an impressive
display of strength. 

Surprisingly, Ali lived just long enough to feel 
his lungs seared to a crisp by the toxic mixture
of methane and argon gas, due to his suit pumping 
him full of drugs.

"KILL IT! KILL IT!" shouted Yates as he swung his
E-11 towards the creature.

It stopped mutilating Ali's corpse to look
at them, and for the first time, they got a good
look at it.

It was two meters tall, and looked vaguely like a
humanoid insect. There were no eyes, but there
were lots of sharp teeth, and razor-sharp claws.

With inhuman speed, it suddenly leaped towards them,
but it wasn't fast enough to evade the fusilade of
blaster fire the Cleaners poured out.

The creature exploded in midair in a burst of superheated
steam, it's blood splattering all over the landscape and 
the Cleaners.

Suddenly, with a hissing noise, the blood of the creature
began to eat away at the Cleaners' suits.

"What the fuck is this shit?" snarled Hit-Man as the 
blood began to eat away at his suit.

Suddenly as fast as it had begun, the blood stopped eating
away at their suits. The acid had simply burned off the
outer shell of the armor, and was stopped by a layer of
different material than the material used in the outer
shell.

"I don't know! Look sharp! We've got more of the fuckers
incoming!" shouted Yates.

A hissing noise once again filled the air,  this time
from the creatures, as they crested the crater's lip.

Unfortunately for them, this time the Cleaners were ready.

Creature after creature was blasted into steam by the 
Cleaners' weapons.  But there were too many of them.

"Enough of this shit. Let's ROCK!" shouted Yates, 
switching his E-11 from semi-auto to full-auto. The other 
Cleaners did likewise, and the howling night of Acheron 
was lit by hundreds of blaster bolts, creating a 
stroboscopic light-show. 

Creature after creature rose above the crater lip, and 
was blown into steam, yet they kept coming.

The Cleaners were no longer standing still now. They 
were running and ducking behind cover, presenting moving 
targets to the strange creatures.

Hit-Man's heart was beating just a bit above normal as 
he calmly centered the targetting cursor in his HUD onto 
the creatures and let loose with a long ripping burst of 
full-auto fire, blowing several to pieces.

"Five more minutes!" shouted Phong, who was working the 
extractor frantically.

Yates rolled to his right, snap-firing at a creature, 
blowing it's head off in a spray of acid-like blood. 
A beeping noise filled his ear. He quickly scanned his 
HUD, finding the suspect. His E-11 was rapidly approaching 
dangerous temperatures, and he only had a dozen or so 
rounds left in the power cell.

Sighting in onto a creature, Nathan walked the blaster 
across it's body, blowing off it's left arm and blasting 
huge smoking craters in it's belly. His blaster fell 
silent.

With one smooth motion, Yates hit the power pack release,
and moved the E-11 so that the spent power pack would
fall to the ground by itself, as his free hand went
towards the power packs he carried on his belt. 

Grabbing one, he bought it up to his E-11. As he jammed 
the pack into it's receptacle, Yates heard a hissing 
sound. He looked up to find himself staring into the face 
of one of the creatures. It's jaw opened, revealing another 
jaw inside it's mouth. The second jaw was also full of very
sharp teeth. It opened.

At that moment, Nathan Yates knew that he wouldn't be able 
to get his E-11 working in time, and that he was going to die.

Suddenly, there was a blur of motion, and the creature 
shrieked. It's head fell off, leaving behind a cauterized 
stump. Looking to where the motion had come from, Yates saw 
Hit-Man standing there, his black-bladed lightsaber shimmering 
in the night. On the ground next to Hit-Man was his blaster, 
it's barrel glowing white-hot.

Suddenly, Hit-Man executed a breathtaking leap, somersaulting 
over Yates' head. Yates finished loading the cell into his E-11 
and turned to follow Hit-Man. 

What he saw further convinced him that Hit-Man was either insane; 
or very, very good. Hit-Man was in the middle of a throng of 
creatures. They surrounded him completely, but Hit-Man's motions 
weren't those of a scared man. They were those of a possessed man.

As Yates watched, Hit-Man swung his lightsaber so fast, that it 
left a momentary afterimage on his retina. The black blade cut 
deeply into the creatures, meeting almost no resistance as 
Hit-Man plied his deadly trade.

Creature after creature fell at Hit-Man's feet, victims of 
his deadly lightsaber. Even with the assistance of Hit-Man, 
there were too many of the creatures for the Cleaners to 
handle alone.

"Lowe, goddammit! Get your ass over here! We need immediate 
fire support!"

[1.6 km away]

The shuttle sat parked at the edge of the gully, the people 
aboard nervously listening to the battle unfolding.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled with Yates' voice. Apparently, 
he was screaming for fire support. 

Without thinking, Lowe rammed the throttles up to full, and the 
shuttle shot into the sky. Behind him, he could hear Sutton cursing 
as he was suddenly knocked around by the G-forces.

Putting Sutton's rantings out of his head, Lowe piloted the shuttle 
towards  the Cleaners' location. Through the windshield, he saw a 
sight that made his heart drop deeper into his stomach. 

Hundreds-no-*thousands* of aliens were swarming towards the crater 
where the Cleaners were holding out from.

Suddenly, a rocket shot out from the Cleaners' postion, and flew 
straight over the aliens' heads. The rocket detonated once
the Cleaners were at minimum safe distance, frying hundreds
of aliens in a thermonuclear inferno.

Lowe blinked momentarily, his vision saved by the windshield's
automatic dimmers, then set about his task. Activicating the
shuttle's port multi-barreled laser cannon, he let loose a
long ripping stream of laser fire into the seething mass
of aliens, blowing craters in the surface of Acheron and
vaporizing dozens of aliens. 

Flicking another switch, Lowe brought his other weapons on-line.

Within seconds, the starboard multi-barreled ion cannon began
firing, spitting blue-white bolts of energy into the creatures,
blowing them into superheated steam, and frying their central
nervous systems.

As the shuttle swooped overhead, spitting hot death upon the
aliens, the Cleaners continued to lay down a furious hail of
fire, with Lt. Hit-Man adding to the chaos with his black-bladed
lightsaber.

"It's done! Let's book!" shouted Phong as the extractor signalled
it had completed it's task.

"LOWE! We're leaving!" ordered Yates.

Up in the shuttle's cockpit, Lowe nodded. "Affirmative. Will 
strafe one last time to clear the LZ."

With that, Lowe centered the targetting reticle onto the hordes
of creatures and let loose with both the lasers and ions, working
his way through their ranks, cutting down hundreds of the creatures
where they stood.

Their ranks severely depleted, the aliens slowed their onslaught
momentarily, to the Cleaners' relief. With the aliens temporarily
repulsed, Lowe quickly piloted the shuttle to the center of the
crater, watching a tad nervously as the radiation counter began
to rapidly climb. The hull of the shuttle would protect him,
of course, but he didn't like going near any sources of radiation,
on general principle.

"Cleaners! We're LEAVING!" shouted Yates, as he began to jog
towards the shuttle, firing at the creatures from the hip when
the oporturnity presented itself.

Behind him was Hampton, who was holding the remains of the late
Private Ali. The Cleaners *never* left behind their dead
or wounded. As the last Cleaner clambered up the shuttle's
ramp and to safety, Yates did a headcount. They were one
short. 

Running down the ramp, he snapped loose a burst from his
E-11 at an alien that'd gotten uncomfortably close to the
shuttle, blowing it's head off in a cloud of superheated
steam. 

Yates quickly noticed who was missing. It wasn't the 
transponder readout in his HUD that told him who it was.
Rather, it was the brillant flash of a black-bladed
lightsaber that gave him his answer.

"HIT-MAN! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE, NOW!"

The order to withdraw hadn't penetrated the thick 
fog that surrounded Hit-Man's mind. There were only
two things that mattered. Killing, and more killing.

Suddenly, Hit-Man heard Yates' voice as it
sliced through the fog of combat.

Time to book. But he had one last thing to do.

"C'mon you fucker." said Hit-Man, taunting the
nearest Alien.

It screeched, and leapt to pounce upon him.

In a flash of black light, he severed it's head
from it's body. 

Grabbing it's head, Hit-Man sprinted towards the
open ramp of the shuttle, blaster bolts whipping
past him.

The moment Hit-Man was aboard, Yates hit the 
'ramp retract' switch, and another button.

"Lowe, PUNCH IT!"

Up forward in the cockpit, Lowe saw what
Yates had done from the flashing status 
indicator. Even before Yates ordered him
to, Lowe was already ramming the throttles
to full power.

The shuttle shot into the sky at a dizzying
rate. Below, the Aliens rushed up and looked
quizzically at a metal cylinder that
had fallen from the shuttle as it left.

As the shuttle sliced through the upper atmosphere
of Acheron towards the safety of space, it was
suddenly rocked furiously by the 100 megaton
thermonuclear detonation below.

Inside the cargo compartment, the Cleaners were
rocked around *hard*, being bruised severely,
but taking the pain quietly. Pain was good.

Up forward, Sutton screamed as a white light filled
the cockpit and he was thrown around in his seat, his
harnesss saving him from breaking his neck on something,
but leaving nasty red welts.

As quickly as it had happened, the concussion from the
explosion below faded away. Sutton slowly unstrapped 
himself from his seat and went to the door to the 
cargo compartment, intending to chew out Yates
about both Lt. Hit-Man's and Baron Lowe's insubordination.

As the door opened, Sutton suddenly found himself
head-to-head with an Alien. He tried to scream,
but only a choked gurgle came out of his throat.

The Alien opened it's mouth in anticipation, and revealed
it's inner set of jaws. They opened, and it shot out, 
stopping bare millimeters from Sutton's sweaty face.

"Allright, Hit-Man! Stop fucking with Sutton, and get 
back here!" shouted Yates.

With that, the secondary jaw retracted back into it's mouth,
and it closed. 

"Here Sutton! Have a head!" with that, Hit-Man tossed the
Alien head he'd liberated as a trophy at Sutton. It had
been a kick to use the force to make it look like it
was still alive to scare the shit out of Sutton.

With a scream, Sutton dropped the head, as if it were
toxic. It clattered to the deck of the shuttle cockpit,
greatly annoying Hit-Man.

"Listen you little pipsqueak, I didn't tell you to *drop*
it!" snarled Hit-Man.

Sutton suddenly got over his squeamishness, and grabbed the
head. "Here! You want the damn thing? Take it!" and with that,
he threw it at Hit-Man, who caught it in a smooth motion as
he turned around to see what Yates wanted, leaving a 
nervous, twitching Sutton behind.

The Cleaners quickly surrounded Yates, closing their ranks
to make up for Private Ali's death. 

"OK. This was a clusterfuck. But, we managed to complete the
mission. I want a status report from each of you, now!"

As Yates walked to each of the Cleaners, they gave him
a brief rundown on the damage their suits had
sustained in the brief 10-minute enagement, along
with their ammo expenditure.

A few minutes later, the last report given, Sutton sat down, 
and motioned for the rest of the Cleaners to do so.

Sighing, Yates spoke. "We can replace our damaged armor with the
spares we have, and the E-11 Hit-Man dumped can also be replaced
too. However, what we can't replace is the 30% of our Blaster power 
packs we shot off. Fortunately for us, the next mission is gonna
be a milk run."

At that, everyone sighed. "Dismissed. We'll leave hyperspace in 
a few hours, and I will then brief you. Let's get some shut-eye
in between, OK?"

[6 hours later - Jem'Hadar Secondary Base MS-666; Q'aat System - Gamma Quadrant]

D-222 yawned. He then immediately felt ashamed of himself. Jem'Hadar weren't
supposed to get tired. Tiredness brought about mission failure, which in turn,
displeased the Founders. The Founders were everything.

D-222 felt a surge as the autodoc noticed his condition and rectified it
by increasing his White intake. He felt like he could take on the whole
Milky Way Galaxy and win - barehanded.

[NOTE: I'm jumping out on a limb here - i'm assuming those little
boxes the JH wear on their uniforms are autodocs that inject white
and stimulants when needed to boost combat performance, and to in 
general, keep them addicted.]

His brain addled by the sudden upsurge of White, D-222 almost missed it.

D-222 had been tasked with the menial task of monitoring the base's
subspace sensor arrays. He much preferred to be out with his fellow
clonemates, ready to kill those who opposed the Founders, but...someone
had to do it, and the Vorta just couldn't be trusted to have the 
patience necessary for combat-related tasks.

On his sensor board, a small upsurge in radiation had been recorded in
the outer limits of the system. Spectral analysis had determined that 
this was no random burst of radiation - it had a pattern.

And where there was a pattern, there were enemies. D-222 punched the
active sensors up, and flooded the area where the radiation surge had
come from with subspace radiation.

[Lambda-Class shuttle _Cleaner One_]

For the last 5 minutes or so, _Cleaner One_ had been travelling at only
1 lightyear an hour. While this made for a slower trip, it reduced the
amount of Cronau radiation emitted when the shuttle re-entered realspace.

As the shuttle re-entered realspace, a small, brief burst was fired from
her engines, and she coasted away from the hyperspace point.

Aboard the shuttle, the normal white lighting had been replaced with
dim, diffuse red lighting, indicating that the shuttle was now operating
under maximum stealth protocols.

Lowe carefully monitored the sensors, looking for any sign they'd been 
detected. Suddenly, a weak subspace signal washed over the shuttle.

Eyeing it's signal strength, Lowe dismissed it. The signal was too weak
to 'burn' through the shuttle's built-in passive stealthing.

Every craft built for militaries all over the galaxy for the last few millenia 
had included stealth materials that defeated primitive detection devices, 
such as radar, lidar, and subspace by absorbing the signals instead of 
returning them.

For the next few minutes, Lowe and Hampton both worked busily
at their respective stations, using their advanced 'holographic cockpit'
displays to pinpoint the subspace sensors laid by the Dominion,
all using passive sensors only.

Within minutes, the shuttle's tactical computer had laid out a path
that would evade the sensors. Sure, the pitiful examples of subspace
sensors being used by the Dominion could easily be defeated by the 
shuttle's design, but why take chances?

Lowe studied the ETA put out by the computer, and spoke into his
lip mike. 

"This is Lowe. We're currently undergoing low-level subspace scanning.
The computer has computed a course to allow us to avoid most of it. 
However, it will take several hours to reach the target. I'm treating
this as if we were infiltrating a Rebel outpost, rather than some
pathetically backwards alien race's outpost. Better to be safe than
sorry, eh?"

Yates grunted in response, then turned to face his people.

"Alright. Our triumphiant arrival on this particular rock will be
delayed a few hours. Let's use that time to go over what our objectives
are for this mission."

Pausing, Yates gathered his thoughts, then continued.

"Our primary objective is to re-insert Captain Sutton here into
the Federation by wasting what appears to be a secondary staging 
base for the alien alliance known as 'The Dominion', one of the 
Milky Way Galaxy's major powers. The idea is that Sutton will then
have a ready made albi for being missing for nearly a week - he
was captured by the Dominion and brought here to be interrogated."

"Our secondary mission is to insert Lt. Commander Nguyen into 
said base as well to perform his magic."

"Captain Sutton here probably knows more about the Dominion than 
I could ever hope to explain, so I'll let him take over now."

With that, Yates sat down. Slowly, hesitantly, Sutton stood up,
not sure what exactly to do. 

"Uhm...ah...we....er...Starfleet doesn't know that much about the
Dominion. They know enough, though. The Dominion appears to be
several centuries old at the *least*, and is based on a rigid
hierarchy."

"There are the so-called 'Founders'. They're quite rare, apparently,
and are a race of shape-shifters who's natural form is a gelatinous
liquid. They are the top of the Dominion's pyramid. They are the leaders,
and their will is absolute within the Dominion."

"Directly below the Founders is the race known as the 'Vorta'. A long
time ago, a Vorta helped a Founder, and for that, the Founders decided
to 'help' them. As a result, the Vorta are all now clones, and genetically
engineered for fanatical loyalty to the Founders."

At that, everyone shuddered. Having your race totally wiped out was one thing,
but having it *twisted* in such a way to slavishly serve your new masters
was a fate worse than extinction.

"The Vortas' role in the Dominion seems to be that of middle management. They
run the bureaucracy, since there aren't enough Founders to go around, and act
as 'political officers', for lack of a better word, in Jem'Hadar units."

Once again, the Cleaners shivered. Having to take orders from some dumbass
sitting in a comfy chair was bad enough. Having to take orders from someone
who had been selected for their near-religious fervor in 'the system' was 
many, many times worse.

"Moving down further, we come to the third major species associated with
the Dominion, the Jem'Hadar. The Jemmies, as we like to call 'em, are
fierce fighters, by anyone's standards. The reason for this is that they
are all cloned and genetically engineered for absolute loyalty and 
skills specific to fighting. However, they have one large kriffing weakness."

Sutton paused for effect. There was utter silence in the cargo hold, then
Hit-Man spoke up. "For Sith's sake, Sutton, what the *kriff* is their 
weakness!"

Shocked by Hit-Man's sudden outburst, Sutton fought to keep his cool, 
collected delivery, and succeded for the most part, for a tiny twinge of 
fear had crept into his voice.

"Ketracel White."

"Ketracel *what*?!" chimed in a Stormtrooper Hit-Man hadn't seen before.

"Ketracel White. It's a performance booster/narcotic that the Founders
addicted the Jem'Hadar to as a way of ensuing their loyalty. Without
Ketracel White, they go freaking bonkers and wig out, eventually 
dying from withdrawal symptoms."

"That's the most fucking stupid thing I've heard of in my life -
genetically engineering your footsoldiers for loyalty, and *then*
addicting them to a drug that they'll die without! How the *kriff*
did these assholes ever get to be so big?!?" shouted the Stormtrooper.

"That's *enough* Seifert! Shut the fuck up and listen to the rest of
what Captain Sutton has to say!" snapped Yates. 

Hit-Man turned his head to look at the face that now had a name.

Cybernetic eye met normal eye. Hit-Man and Seifert stared into 
each others' eyes. Looking into Seifert's eyes, Hit-Man noticed
that unlike most other people who looked into his eyes, Seifert
was completely unaffected. That, and the fact that Seifert's eyes
were cold black pools of undisguised hatred, like his one good eye,
surprised Hit-Man.

Scanning Seifert's armor, Hit-Man found the reason why.

Seifert had the crest of the elite sniper/countersniper school 
on the Imperial Military Academy of Carida on his right pauldron.

Involuntarily, Hit-Man shivered, remembering his training by the
Emperor's Royal Guard in the fine art of sniping and countersniping.
Six months of sheer unadulterated hell, of eating maggots, and 
drinking your own piss to stay alive, after being dumped on the
meanest, nastiest world under the Empire's domination for four weeks
as a final test. If he had died on that world, the Guard wouldn't have
given a damn. Just one more non-hacker who'd failed the ultimate test.

The only thing that had kept him from giving up in despair and eating
a blaster bolt after having been severely mauled by one of A2-223s 
nastier residents in a botched ambush, had been the memories of his
wife and unborn child. If he'd given up and ate a blaster bolt, he would
not only have let down the Emperor, but more importantly, his wife and
child, and that was a fate worse than death itself. 

Across the cargo bay, Seifert saw Hit-Man's involuntary shiver, and
smiled to himself. 

No one saw the brief exchange between Hit-Man and Seifert. _Good,_ thought
Hit-Man. _It would do little to show that I actually fear something_.

During the brief exchange, Sutton had continued to drone on.

"...the Jemmies, are one of the most dangerous opponents you shall meet 
in this rathole of a galaxy. Unlike most of the retards who pass as major
powers here, the Jemmies and the Dominion actually have a faint inkling
of sensible overall strategy and small unit tactics. Granted, they're
not even up to even *Corellian* standards, but they're kriffing genuses
compared to the other major powers."

"What can we expect from these losers before we pound 'em into the
dirt, groundwise?" growled Hit-Man, his cyber-eye's laser sight 
wandering uncomfortably close to Sutton's chest.

By now, Sutton was getting used to Hit-Man's menacing tones, and
smiled as he replied. "Nothing really hot. Don't expect anything
more advanced than the basic tactics 101 courses they taught you
when you all entered the service. However, they *do* have some
nasty tricks up their sleeves."

"Like what?" chimed in one of the Cleaners.

"Well, for one, they have limited cloaking abilities. They can
cloak themselves naturally, and they also employ holograms 
to probe enemy defenses before main attacks. Weaponswise, they
have some of the nastiest and most effective weapons in this
galaxy. Their weapons, when they strike a target, cause an
anti-coagulant effect, causing the target to bleed to death
much faster than normal. Above all, is their absolute 
fanaticsm. They are quite willing to die in combat, moreso
than even Klingons, and unlike the Klingons, they have *no*
stupid 'Honor code' limiting their actions."

"But, enough talking. I borrowed the standard Starfleet dossier
on the Jemmies and added my own comments. I've made enough
copies for all of you."

With that, Sutton handed a pile of datapads to the nearest
Cleaner, who took one and passed the rest to the next
Cleaner in line. Within moments, everyone was studying their
datapads intensely.

[4 hours later - Jem'Hadar Secondary Base MS-666]

A proximity alarm beeped. D-222 rolled his chair over to look
at it. As he was doing this, the local Vorta supervisor, who
had the name Mantrid, walked up to him and looked over his 
shoulder.

"What's going on, D-222? What's that alarm for?" snapped Mantrid,
the disdain for Jem'Hadar quite evident in his voice.

Silently, D-222 gritted his teeth. _Damn these arrogant SOBs_, he 
thought. It was plainly obvious what the fucking alarm was for,
if you even *bothered* to read up a bit on the equipment. 

But no - the Vorta were too high to be bothered with such things.

"Sir, it is a proximity sensor. It has detected an object about to
enter the atmosphere over this continent in the next 10 minutes."

"Well, then *destroy* it!" snapped Mantrid.

"Sir, and waste valuable energy and disruptor emitters on a piece
of rock that'll burn up anyway?" With that, D-222 pointed at
the analysis readout monitor. It plainly showed a small asteroid
which the computer showed would easily be reduced to a chunk at
best a few centimeters wide by the time it hit the planet.

Snarling at being made a fool by a lowly Jem'Hadar, Mantrid
whirled around and stormed out of the sensor room, to report
to the Founder currently visiting the base, one Gillian, about
the arrogance of that Jem'Hadar.

[500 km away - Behind asteroid 3321x112]

As the scarred chunk of nickel-iron tumbled towards it's
fiery demise, it hid _Cleaner One_ from Jem'Hadar visual
scanners.

Up in the pilot's compartment, Lowe and Hampton watched
the stars slowly tumble end over end. If they were the 
queasy type, they would've long ago blown chunks at the
dizzying sight. However, the Empire's stringent
standards for pilots weeded out the unsatisfactory 
before they entered basic training. For the non-pilots,
the Empire's shrinks boasted (and rightfully so) that
they could eliminate any phobia with the tools at their
disposal.

Needless to say, no Stormtrooper got queasy at the sight
of blood and guts. Period.

With a hiss, the door to the compartment slid open, and
Yates stepped in. 

"Well, how're we doing, boys?"

"Well, Yates, we're on the ball here. We'll be entering
the planet's atmosphere in about 10 minutes." replied
Lowe.

"Any sign we've been picked up?"

"Nah. They're going about their merry business with no 
inkling we're here."

Yates smiled, then turned around to head back into
the passenger/cargo compartment.

As the door hissed shut behind him, Yates spoke up,
addressing the Cleaners.

"We're gonna enter the planet's atmosphere in 10 minutes
or so. Everybody, strap in! This is an unpowered descent!"

Suddenly Seifert spoke up.

"Do they know we're coming? Is this gonna be a hot insertion?"

"Nope. They have no inkling we're about to drop in on them to
pay a cordial visit." replied Yates.

Hit-Man then spoke.

"I love those poor sons-of-a-bitches. I almost, *almost* feel 
sorry for them!"

At that everybody chuckled. It was going to be a slaughter.

The sound of harnesses snapping into place reverberated throughout 
the cargo hold, along with the sounds of powercells slamming
into weapons as the Cleaners dug in and readied for the inevitable
battle.

Feeling a bit left out in the general readying of weapons, 
Sutton took out his Starfleet-issue Type II phaser and checked
the powercell. 

"Whacha got there, Sutton?" chimed in Sergeant Major Krel White, who
was sitting to Sutton's right. Sutton turned to look at the grizzled 
Sergeant Major, a 20-year veteran of the Empire. White had been assigned 
to the ill fated Imperial Army detachment assigned to operate the shield 
generator at Endor for his first assignment after finishing basic.

He'd been captured by the Rebellion, and had spent 2 years rotting
in a Rebel Prison world, due to his utter loyalty to the Empire. He
could have gotten out of the camp at any time by renouncing his oath
to the Empire, but didn't.

When the Empire had raided the prison world, White had been having
dinner with the prison warden, an old Rebel who'd lost a leg at
Hoth. The warden had believed that White was relatively harmless,
seeing as White was Imperial Army, not a Stormtrooper. The dinner
was a reward for exemplary behavior by White. 

It had been the last mistake the Warden made, for at the moment
Imperial shuttles began raking the guard barracks with laser fire,
White slit the warden's throat with his steak knife and grabbed
the Warden's sidearm - a BlasTech DL-44. It was that DL-44 he was
doing a check on at the moment.

"Uh...This is my Starfleet issue Type Two personal phaser." replied
Sutton.

"Looks like a kriffing vacuum cleaner." replied White.

Sutton shrugged. "When I entered Starfleet 20 years ago, 
they used *real* uniforms, not these damned pajamas, and 
they issued us *real* sidearms, not this fucking girly-shit
they give us now. Politics."

White nodded slowly, understanding. He'd spent a few years under
some really incompetent warlords who'd put style over substance.
Those warlords had been quickly killed by either the Rebels or
other warlords seeking to expand their holdings. Still, it 
was incomprehensible that such an organization that Sutton had
just described had managed to last so long.

Suddenly, a low rumbling noise built up.

"What's that?!?" shouted Sutton, fear creeping into his voice.

"We're doing a bare hull re-entry, you dumbass!" shouted one of 
the Cleaners.

Seeing the look of fear on Sutton's face at that, White leaned
over and spoke. "Don't worry. Our hull can *more* than take
re-entry temperatures. They're postitively *cold* compared to
laser fire." 

Still, Sutton was scared as a kitten. 

"What? You mean Starfleet craft can't handle re-entry without
shields?"

Sutton nodded, his face pale.

"Sithspawn!" exclaimed White, shaking his head. This was gonna
be so *easy* it wasn't gonna be any fun!

_Cleaner One's_ hull began to glow a dull red as air friction burned
away at the asteroid, exposing more of the shuttle to the onrushing
atmosphere. Within minutes, the entire asteroid had burned away, and
the hull was now glowing a bright cherry-red.

Trailing a plume of fire dozens of kilometers long, _Cleaner One_
plunged towards the ground at high speed. 

[Sensor Room: MS-666 base]

D-222 watched the asteroid's plunge. It appeared that the 
rock had proved to be tougher than normal, lasting far
longer than a normal asteroid. Finally, it began to burn
up completely, and within minutes, the rock was gone.

[_Cleaner One's cockpit]

As the shuttle dropped through the atmosphere of Q'aat,
Lowe slowly increased the power to the repulsorlifts,
reducing the shuttle's speed, and the flaming trail
it was leaving in the sky. 

Ever so slowly and gradually, the repulsorlifts wound up,
allowing a remarkable simulacrum of an asteroid finally
burning up for good in the atmosphere of a planet.

Lowe finished the gradual increase of power, and with the
repulsorlifts set to 'neutral', the shuttle floated in 
mid-air.

"Hampton! Do a scan, now!" barked Lowe.

Nodding, Hampton hit the 'scan' button, sending waves of 
emissions from the shuttle's active sensors out, cleverly 
cloaked as natural background noise.

[Sensor Room: MS-666 base]

The Jem'Hadar sensor computer system constantly took in
inputs from the sensor array around the base at the rate of 
10 times a second. Suddenly, a section of the array picked 
up an increase in radiation. Analyzing the pattern further,
the computer decided that it was a natural spike in background
radiation; nothing to worry about. For that reason, it was
automatically filtered out and D-222's displays showed only
a flat spike of non-activity.

[_Cleaner One's_ cockpit]

Within moments, the scan returned, and the display between 
Lowe and Hampton lit up with a detailed topographical readout
of the area, as well as suspected enemy locations gathered
from both the active scan and from passive sensors. On the
readout, the Jem'Hadar base was a bright red blot, as the
Jem'Hadar just kept on pumping out EM radiation from sensor
devices and from the poorly-manufactured powerplant that
provided power to the base.

Lowe and Hampton studied the display for a moment, then
turned to each other with knowing looks in their eyes.

"Let's do it." said Lowe. There was no explanation needed
between the two of them.

Taking the controls, Lowe sent the shuttle diving towards the
ground, pulling up when they were only 100 meters from pancake
city. Flicking the 'wing deploy override' button on his 
throttle, Lowe changed the wings' positions, so that instead
of looking like an upside-down Y, the shuttle now looked like an
upside-down T. The wings' positions changed to accomodate 
extremely low-level operations, Lowe brought the shuttle
even lower, flicking on the automatic terrain-following system
and setting it to just 30 meters AGL (Above Ground Level).

"Yates! Get up here!" shouted Lowe into the intercom system.

Back in the cargo hold, everybody was eyeing Sutton 
nervously, for it looked like he was about to lose his lunch
from all the bouncing around.

In the middle of all the bouncing around, Yates calmly
unstrapped himself and entered the cockpit, all without
bashing his head on something, which was no mean feat,
seeing as the shuttle was lurching rapidly because the 
inertial dampeners were turned off, along with most 
non-essential systems, to avoid detection.

"Yes?" asked Yates.

"Where you want us to set ya down?" asked Lowe,
nodding towards the topographical display.

Yates studied the display intently. Finally he
made his decision. 

"Set us down about 15 klicks from the base. We can cover
that in a few hours and then use the cover of darkness to
set up our assault, which we'll launch at night for 
maximum advantage."

Lowe nodded. "Wilco."

Yates nodded as well, and headed back to the crew 
compartment, where he sat down in his seat.

"We should be there soon, boys!" 

[The surface of Q'aat]

_Cleaner One_ roared through the air at barely 
supersonic, her speed always just a notch below 
supersonic, to avoid the telltale pressure/shockwave 
that announced supersonic craft. From time to time, the 
shuttle, under Lowe's expert guidance would duck into 
various canyons and gullies as it made it's way to
the designated LZ. 

On the shuttle's fuselage, several small louvers opened
up, sending cool outside air to mix with the hot
ion exhaust from the shuttle's engines, further dampening
their IR signature.

In the cockpit, Lowe and Hampton watched the trees whiz by
below in a blur. Suddenly, without warning a red stain appeared
on their transparisteel viewport. 

"Bird." remarked Lowe.

Without a word, Hampton activated the wipers. 

The wiper blade quickly made short work of the red
mess on the viewport, quickly clearing it.

_Cleaner One_ continued on, her ion exhaust blowing animals
out of the trees and to their deaths, as well as knocking down 
smaller, weaker trees.

In the cargo compartment, a red light began to flash, bathing
the Cleaners with crimson light. They were now only minutes
from their LZ. Everyone's hearts were racing now, adrealine
coursing through their veins. 

Up front in the cockpit, Lowe and Hampton began scanning for
landing sites. The site had to be both easy to get in and out
of, but also easy to conceal. Suddenly, out of the corner 
of his eye, Hampton spotted what looked like a promising candidate.

"Over there, Kenneth!" shouted Hampton.

"I see it, Brett." replied Lowe, wheeling the shuttle around for
a closer look. 

Moments later, they were over it. "Hmm...looks good. It's just
big enough to get in, but not *too* big that it becomes a bitch
to camoflage the shuttle. We'll use it."

With that, Hampton reached over and flicked the drop status switch 
from 'standby' to 'ready'. Behind them in the cargo compartment,
the red light ceased it's blinking, and glowed steadily, indicating
that deployment was imminient.
 
The Cleaners all tensed, ready to throw off their harnesses in seconds
and charge down the ramp to secure the LZ.

Seconds later, the shuttle shook with a bone-jarring thud as it slammed
down onto the forest floor. Almost instantly, the red light winked out,
to be replaced with a steadily glowing green light. 

"GO GO GO GO GO!" shouted Yates as he slapped the ramp release stud.

With smooth motions borne of countless practice, the Cleaners unbuckled
their harnesses and advanced down the still-lowering ramp, their E-11s
at the ready.

White was one of the first Cleaners down the ramp. In a blur of motion,
he ran from the ramp, and did a quick visual check of his assigned 
sector, supplemented with his helmet's sensors. Finding nothing,
White sent the signal. "Clear!" 

"Clear!" shouted another Cleaner.

"Clear!" said yet another Cleaner.

"Clear!" growled Hit-Man.

At hearing the successive clear signals, Nathan sighed. Thank the Sith
this was a cold LZ, not a hot one. 

"All right. Break out the netting."

The Cleaners nodded, and jogged over to the shuttle. Opening the special
compartments in the wings, they took out the rolls of anti-detection
netting that would hide the shuttle from visual, IR, and UV detection
sensors.

Within minutes, the shuttle was covered in thick netting that broke up
it's sharp, man-made outline into a broken up misshapen mass that
looked nothing like a hyperdrive-capable craft.

The immediate task of concealing their ride done, the Cleaners 
began to unload from the shuttle the deadly tools of their 
trade. No orders were given, nor were needed, as the Cleaners
knew by heart each of their jobs.

Shortly everything the Cleaners would need for their 
deadly mission was laid down on the forest floor. The 
corncoupia of weapons included but was not limited to: Blasters,
Light Repeating Blaster Rifles, Flechette Launchers, Flame 
Rifles, Thermal Detonators, and the components for a E-W 
series blaster system in the E-WEB and E-WAB variants.

All during this, Sutton had watched the proceedings with interest.
His interest was suddenly piqued by the sight of a Cleaner 
opening a heavily armored and padded container, and taking out 
the parts of a disassembled blaster. 

Sutton would have paid no attention to this, save for the fact
that the blaster components were nothing short of *massive*.

Walking up to the Cleaner, Sutton saw that the man had the 
emblem of the Carida academy on his armor.

"What the kriff is *that*?" said Sutton, nodding towards
the disassembled weapon Seifert was holding.

"The Merr-Sonn SX-451 Heavy Sniper Rifle." replied Seifert,
the pride in his voice clearly evident.

"Never heard of it. What the hell does it do?"

Seifert sighed. "About thirteen years ago, a small weapons 
company in the Outer Rim by the name of TX Engineering 
introduced a revolutionary weapon, the T-415 Blaster Rifle.
For a time, it was the most powerful handheld weapon on the
market."

Sutton nodded, wanting to hear more.

"Anyway, what made the T-415 so unique was that it gave
snipers a rifle that matched an E-WEB in firepower and
range."

Upon hearing this, Sutton whistled softly. 

"It had some problems though. You could only fire it
in semi-auto mode, and the barrel length needed to 
focus an E-WEB sized bolt made it 2 meters long, and
the excessive recoil required the user to lie prone and
use a bipod to avoid being knocked on his ass due to the
kick. That, and the fact that it was a sorta crudely-made
product. The scope wasn't up to snuff, and the barrel 
suffered excessive wear, burning out after only a few dozen
shots."

Seifert paused.

"The concept was good, though. Since the entire system
had been patented to TX Engineering, Merr-Sonn simply
bought them out, and improved upon the design."

Seifert then hoisted the assembled weapon.

"All the power of the T-415, and in an easy to
transport package. The scope is built under 
license from BlasTech, as it utilizes the thermal, 
UV and passive light enhancement composite
image systems found in their Sharpshooter V, 
while improving on the haze and smoke filters."

"In short, Captain Sutton, this weapon kills at
heterefore-unthought of ranges for a personal
direct-fire weapon. There *is* one drawback."

"What's it?"

"Well, unfortunately, due to the power,the capacitors in 
the trigger group must be quite powerful, but compact for 
portability. The trade off with this is a 20 second recharge 
time on the firing mechanism. But all things considered, 
you really don't need to hit a target twice for it to stay 
still." finished Seifert with an evil grin on his face.

Suddenly, Yates' voice boomed across the clearing, making
the Cleaners all look up from their tasks and at him. 

"Listen up boys! The Jemmie base we're after is to the
east! We have a 15 klick march ahead of us, starting
in five!""

With smooth practiced motions, Seifert quickly broke down the
SX-451 into it's 4 component pieces and placed them into it's 
padded case, which protected the parts from damage during transit.

"Uh, what's going on?" asked Sutton, who was by now, long out
of date with Imp lingo.

"We're starting a fifteen kilometer march in 5 standard minutes."

Sutton groaned. "Dammit!"

Minutes later, the Cleaners packed up all their equipment
on their backs and marched into the forest that covered
most of Q'aat in the fading twilight.

[4 hours later - the forests of Q'aat - 3 km from MS-666]

The boxes of ammo and various weaponry to an untrained observer
would have appeared to be moving through the air by themselves.

However, the trained eye quickly picked up the faint shimmer 
showing cloaked people. 

Yates put his right foot forward, his eyes continually moving.

One moment, he was scanning the forest underbrush, the next
he was running over his HUD's status displays showing his
location and those of his men, along with possible hostiles.

Suddenly, in the barest edge of his sensor pop-up-display, 
Yates saw red circles. Hostiles.

Slowly raising his arm to limit noise, Yates clenched his fist.

Through their suit's IR/UV modes, each of the Cleaners saw Yates'
hand, even though he was invisible to normal eyes.

The column of equipment and weapons moving through midair 
stopped.

Smoothly, with nary a sound, Yates removed his pack, and set it
on the forest floor. Stripped of his cumbersome equipment, Yates
slowly threaded his way through the forest. 

Coming up on a hill overlooking the hostiles, Yates slowly lowered
himself to the ground and slowly dragged himself up to the lip
of the hill. 

In the distance, Yates saw brush moving. Looking straight at it,
he activated his helmet's built-in macrobinoculars and zoomed in.

A patrol of Jem'Hadar making their way thru a trail in the forest 
leapt out in sharp relief. 

Yates smiled behind his armor. _Poor SOBs. They'll never know what
hit 'em._

Switching on his mike, Yates signalled for the rest of the Cleaners
to move up to his position.

[40 meters back - rear of Cleaner column]

<SLAP!>

Sutton slapped his neck with his palm, killing the mosquito-like
creature that had been trying to suck his blood, and groaned, the
weight of the goggles on his head giving him a sore neck.

For the last few hours, ever since it had gotten dark,
he'd had to rely on night-vision goggles that the 
Cleaners had packed for him, since he didn't have
Stormtrooper armor, with it's built in IR/UV/etc. 
sensors.

Suddenly, the Cleaners started to get up, and move, leaving him
behind.

Gasping with breath (because he hadn't done anything this strenous
in nearly 20 years with Starfleet), Sutton got off the forest floor
and followed the Cleaners, the outside of his uniform soaked
with sweat, due to it's advanced micro-permeable layer that
wicked away sweat from the inner fabric and deposited it on the
outside where it evaporated to keep him cool and dry under
the uniform.

As he moved through the forest, the Velar (a descendant of Kevlar)
fibers in his uniform ensured that it would be impossibly hard to 
rip or tear it on a branch, hence Velar-7s adoption as the
official fabric of Starfleet.

Within minutes, all of the Cleaners, including Sutton, were
lying on the lip of the hill, watching the Jem'Hadar thread
their way through the forest.

"Well, Hit-Man, what do you think?" asked Yates.

Silence.

"Hit-Man, REPORT!" snapped Yates.

Still nothing.

"Kriffing egostical SOB." muttered Yates as he
checked his HUD for Hit-Man's location.

Heh. Hit-Man was apparently only a few meters from
where they'd left their equipment.

"White, get me Hit-Man, NOW!" ordered Yates.

Nodding, Sergeant Major White slid down the hill and
walked towards Hit-Man's location to retrieve the
apparently wayward LT. 

Several minutes later, White's voice crackled over
the comm-net.

"Uh, Nathan? He ain't here."

"WHAT?"

"Just his armor." and with that, White used
his helmet sensors to snap a picture of Hit-Man's
armor lying in a pile, it's wearer nowhere to be
seen, and transmit it to Yates.

As Nathan looked at the picture White had sent him,
one of the Cleaners yelled over the comm-net.

"Sir, Look!"

Closing the picture in his HUD, Yates looked where 
the Cleaner was pointing. A man in a black Stormtrooper
body-suit was slowly working his way towards the rear 
of the Jem'hadar patrol.

"Fuck it. Why did that kriffing bastard have to do
*this* now?!? If just one of them gets the word out,
we're fucked." muttered Yates.

[Jem'Hadar patrol A2, DK-233]

The Jem'hadar known as DK-233 was in his third year of
life of serving the Founders. Little did he know that
his lifetime of service was going to end abruptly in the
next few minutes. And rather violently, too.

As DK-233 crashed through the forest underbrush, he 
watched his clonemates ahead of him (he was the rear
guard). He never heard the figure slowly, and silently
creeping up to him, with a dim red glow in it's left
eye.

Slowly, Hit-Man crept up to the rearmost Jem'Hadar,
his cyber-eye's glow dimmed to it's lowest setting. 
He'd dumped his armor back with the other stuff to
increase his stealthiness. So far, it was working.

Hit-Man felt the Dark side reaching out with it's
cold tendrils of hate, fear, and anger. Hit-Man
gave into the Dark Side completely at that moment,
and he was no longer human. Indeed, If anyone had looked
him in his one good eye, they'd have immediately pissed
their pants, and rolled up into a quivering ball of
insenate flesh.

DK-233 heard something behind him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp 
burning pain in his back, as Hit-Man stabbed him in the 
back with his fighting knife. He tried to scream out,
but an immensely strong hand had clamped over his mouth,
cutting off his air.

Hit-Man wriggled the knife around in the Jem'Hadar's back,
until he felt the Jem'Hadar's lower body go completely 
limp. Good. That meant he'd severed the spinal cord.

DK-233 tried to move his legs, but they wouldn't respond.
In fact, he couldn't feel anything below his midsection!

Hit-Man dragged the still-struggling Jem'Hadar away from the
main patrol and holding the pitiful Jem'Hadar down with his
human hand, he drove the knife into the the Jemmie's right
eye socket and sank the blade to the hilt. Then he 
wriggled it, scrambling DK-233's brains, killing him.
 
Hit-Man withdrew the knife from the man's body, and wiped
the blade clean of blood and brain matter on a nearby leaf.

[50 meters away]

Everyone had gasped as Hit-Man had slowly made his way towards
the patrol. Their heartrates had gone sky-high as Hit-Man had
grabbed the rearmost Jem'Hadar. If Hit-Man botched the job,
then the survivors would have time to alert the base, and the
entire mission would have to be scrubbed.

All eyes followed Hit-Man as he emerged from the brush after
dragging his first victim away and presumably disposing of
him.

Yates nervously eyed the remaining patrol members. They had
no inkling of what'd just happened to their rear guard. If they
found out...

[The patrol]

Hit-Man sheathed his knife as he silently crept up to the next 
victim in line. 

Grabbing the Jem'Hadar's head in a vicious vise grip, his cyber
arm clamped firmly over the Jem'hadar's mouth, he dragged the
struggling Jem'Hadar away from the patrol. When he judged they
were far enough away from the patrol, Hit-Man snapped the 
Jem'Hadar's neck like it was a twig. 

Placing the body under some foliage, Hit-Man moved onto
his next victim, the third person in the four-man patrol.

Reaching out with the Force, Hit-Man silently choked the
life out of the Jem'Hadar, and then used the Force to hold
the body upright so it wouldn't make noise as it fell.

Sneaking up to the Force-held body, Hit-Man grabbed it
and released his hold on it with the Force. 

The body sagged into his hands. Once again, Hit-Man
concealed it in the underbrush.

[50 meters away]

All of the Cleaners, Yates included, let out low whistles.
Hit-Man was obviously very damn good at this.

He'd managed to eliminate 75% of the patrol with no
noise at all.

[The patrol]

DL-5231 stopped and turned to do the standard 15-minute
check on his clonemates. What he saw shocked him.

They were nowhere to be found!

His heartrate rising, despite being genetically-engineered
against this, DL-5231 was about to call in the mysterious
disappearance of the rest of his men when a noise made him
whirl around, weapon at the ready.

Nothing was there.

Suddenly, someone tapped DL-5231 on the shoulder. 

Whirling around once again, DL-5231 came face to face with
a horribly scarred face. It wasn't the face though. It was
the pure hatred radiating from the dark pool that was the
human's right eye. The left eye was just as bad  - it 
glowed with a blood-red color that seemed to be
like a laser beam zeroing in on his forehead.

Involuntarily, DL-5231 pissed himself. Then he started to
raise his weapon.

The human spoke.

"Don't go anywhere! I'd be *sooo* depressed if you went and
left without a chat with dear-old LT. Hit-Man!"

The last thing DL-5231 saw before the darkness took him
was Hit-Man's cyber-arm rushing up - then nothing.

Hit-Man grinned as he knocked out the leader with a good
solid blow to the jaw, shattering it into several pieces and
sending teeth flying in an explosive spray of blood.

[50 meters away]

"Dammit! Where'd he go?" snapped Yates. 

Hit-Man and the last survivor had disappeared behind a bend 
in the trail a few minutes ago.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness of the night.

"Sir! Lt. Hit-Man, Operating Number VX-101, reporting 
for duty with a prisoner, Sir!"

Everyone whirled around to face Hit-Man, who was
standing there in his black body-glove suit, 
the last remaining Jem'Hadar over his shoulder.

Yates growled and ground his teeth together. 

When this was all over, he was going to have a 
long talk with the LT. over following orders. 

"Good job, Hit-Man, in taking them out, but
we're gonna have a nice little chat when we
get back over following orders." 

Hit-Man grinned - an evil grin that chilled
everyone to the bone.

"Shall we begin the interrogation?" growled
Hit-Man.

"By all means, Lieutenant." replied Yates.

Hit-Man smiled even more evilly, and threw the 
unconscious Jem'Hadar to the ground with a 'thump'.

[Several minutes later]

DL-5231 opened his eyes and saw that he was 
surrounded by white-clad beings. He then saw
the black-clad demon that had taken him out
as easily as he had taken out the Federation 
troops at the Battle of GS-901. He'd been
captured! He had one last duty to fulfill,
though.

He tried to overdose himself with the White,
and to his horror, he realized that there was 
no White being pumped into his body.

"Looks like your playmate's woken up." said Yates.
He decided to play a little game with Hit-Man,
and he turned to face the rest of the Cleaners.
Speaking in a loud, mocking voice he said, "OK, boys! 
LT. Hit-Man is going to prove just how bad he is."

At this, the rest of the Cleaners began to laugh it 
up and Yates added: "If Mister bad-ass here can't
wring the info we want from this low-life here,
then we'll know that he's just blowing air out
his ass, right boys?"

The Cleaners began to really lay it on Hit-Man, 
who just stood there with his arms hanging loosely
at his sides as he listened to his squadmates 
enjoying a cruel laugh at his expense.

_OK, I'll play the game._ Hit-Man thought to himself 
as he started to summon up the Dark Side within himself.

"All right. You'll have your answers in about half an hour,
give or take a few minutes." he said to Yates and the rest 
of the Cleaners as he looked them over.

"That long? Why, are you losing your touch?" Yates said and 
the Cleaners' laughter grew louder.

"No, I'm bored and I wanna have some fun." Hit-Man said casually,
but when Yates and the Cleaners saw the cold dead look in his 
human eye and that smile of his, their laughter came to an
abrupt end, and they knew that what was to come was going 
to be a horror show that would be forever etched in their souls.

DL-5231 began to sweat as he saw the beings in white began 
to talk to the one in black, then they started to laugh at 
the dark one who had taken him.

When he heard the the one in black speak in a clammy, cold 
voice that was a counter-point to the loud boisterous voices 
of the ones in white, and then when the laughter of the ones
in white died off suddenly, like a human's breath when their
throat was slit, he knew that he had failed the Founders somehow
and he was now going to pay the ultimate price for that failure.

LT. Hit-Man turned from his squadmates and slowly walked up to
the squirming Jemmie.

"Looking for this?" he said to the bound Jemmie as he held up 
the vial of Ketracel White in front of it's face.

"I'll tell you nothing! You will die for this insult! The 
Founders will hunt you down like dogs!" DL-5231 said as 
he sat up stright, puffing out his chest as he fought down
his fear.

Lt. Hit-Man crouched down to face the Jemmie.

"Yes, I will die, but not today." he said as he reached out 
with his human hand. "We're going to play a little game 
of slap and tickle." he said in a gentle voice as he 
caressed the Jemmie's scaly face.

"We can do this the easy way-" he traced a slow, lazy path 
around the Jemmie's eye socket down to his healed jaw, reveling
in the fear that was in the Jemmie's eyes, "Or we can do it 
the hard way." with that, he grabed the Jemmie by the lower 
jawbone as hard as he could, and his smile grew as he heard the
Jemmie hiss in pain as his healed jaw began to flare up like 
a sun going supernova.

"Name: DL-5231. Rank: First of Five." DL-5231 snarled as his 
rage at being so helpless ate away at his fear. Fear that came 
with the knowing that he was in for a long and most assuredly 
painful half-an-hour from the look of utter soulnesses 
that was in the eye of the one in black. The one known as
Lt. Hit-Man.

Hit-Man stood up and let out a casual sigh. "OK. Suit yourself." 

He then turned to face the Cleaners who had been watching with 
grim fascination, and for some strange reason, they began to 
feel the briefest pangs of pity for the Jemmie. They didn't 
know why, but they'd find out soon, much to their regret.

"Sutton, front and center NOW!" Hit-Man snarled. With that,
Alex Sutton walked up to Hit-Man, the fear in his eyes as 
plain as day.

When DL-5231 saw Sutton, he let out a curse. "So you have a new ally,
you Federation scumbags! You couldn't withstand the might of the 
Dominion, so you had to beg for help from someone else! It 
doesn't matter. Once the Dominion is done with the Federation, 
we will destroy your new allies!" DL-5231 then smugly waited,
wanting to see what the Federation officer would say, but 
when no answer was forthcoming, DL-5231 started to get really
uncomfortable.

"Sutton, as is the standing rule concerning Imperial 
interrogations, no Imperial personnel shall conduct 
an interrogation unassisted unless circumstances
dictate otherwise-" Lt. Hit-Man said.

It was a crock, as the rest of the Cleaners knew, 
but they weren't going to get on the LT's bad side.

"Sutton, I want you to go back to where we left our
stuff, and get my backpack. You'll know it's mine 
because it has the words 'Total Bad-Ass' on it. Oh,
while you're there, bring me a tool-kit as well, NOW!"
Hit-Man snarled. Sutton began to run through the
forest as fast as he could, to carry out the loony toon's
orders.

Yates and the rest of the Cleaners stood there, watching 
in sick fascination as Hit-Man turned to face the sweating 
Jemmie and when they heard him say to the Jemmie,
"HOLD ON TO YOUR LUG-NUTS, IT'S TIME FOR AN OVER-HAUL!",
some of them started to laugh, Yates included.

Sutton came running back with the things that Hit-Man 
had told him to go and get. He handed the backpack and
toolkit to Hit-Man, and he watched as the Lt. laid out
the tools with ruthless precision. However, what really
made Sutton's guts do a two-step was the almost gentle, 
loving way Hit-Man handled each tool.

When Sutton and the Cleaners saw Hit-Man lick his lips 
like he was getting ready to dig into a good meal, their
blood turned to ice-water.

Hit-Man was enjoying this. Sure, he loved the missions 
where the blaster fire was flying thick and fast as the 
screaming bolts sought to end someone's life, the curses 
of the dying as their lifeblood filled the air with the
rich, coppery scent of death. This was even better, for 
when there were interrogations to be had, he had a chance 
to show his skills in the fine arts of the inflection of 
pain, to leisurely chip away at a beings' resolve and sanity
as he took a piece of their soul one body part at a time.

This was far better then the howling chaos of battle, 
and he was going to damm well make the best of
this rare oppoturnity.

He turned to face the Cleaners, who started to shuffle around
nervously as his gaze fell upon them.

"That's right, boys and girls! It's time for Lieutenant Hit-Man's 
Truth or Consequences hour." he said in a voice that was a strange 
cross beteen Bob Barker (he'd been studying Earth's history in
preparation for their inevitable conquest) and the late 
Emperor Palpatine as he opened up his backpack and pulled out a 
small black box and put it beside the tools. A few of the Cleaners 
began to make side bets as to what was in the black box.

"However, since we are pressed for time, we can only do a 
half-an-hour show."

Hit-Man looked at the Cleaners, who had the looks of sick 
fascination with what was happening. Sutton, on the other hand, 
had a delightful sickly-greenish hue to his skin. Turning, he saw 
the Jemmie's eyes were wide with blatantly rampant terror.

"Let's give it up for my assistant, Alex Sutton! He's not Vanna White, 
but he'll do!"

The Cleaners began to clap as Sutton took a few hesitant 
steps to the spot beside the tools that Hit-Man was ponting to.

"So, let's give a hand for our lucky contestant! He's DL-5231, 
First of Five from the Dominion!" Hit-Man said.

Just as the Cleaners were starting to clap, he back-handed the 
Jemmie and there was a loud crack as the Jemmie's jaw bone fractured.

"Okay. First question. For one hundred Imperial credits, where 
is your main base of operations?" Hit-Man said as he made like
he was talking into a microphone.

DL-5231 was pissed. A normal beings' disposition to the feeling 
of pain is fear, but the Founders had changed that disposition to 
anger, so whenever a Jem'Hadar felt pain, it would get mad. The 
more the Jemmie was hurt, the madder it would get. However, that 
didn't mean that pain couldn't be used on a Jemmie to induce fear. 
It would just take a *little* more pain then usual to break a 
Jemmie if used properly.

DL-5231's answer to Hit-Man's question was to spit out a bloody 
loogie, along with a tooth that had been broken off when Hit-Man 
had back handed him, and it landed on Hit-Man's foot.

Sutton, Yates and the rest of the Cleaners drew a ragged breath of 
fear as they saw Hit-Man's face go blank at what the Jemmie had 
done, and they began to slowly back away as the dreaded image of 
LT. Hit-Man suddenly going beserk filled their minds, but instead 
of Hit-Man lashing out with that inky-black lightsaber of his, 
something worse happened.

Hit-Man smiled. A smile that would forever haunt them until 
the day they died. The smile made their worst nightmares 
look like a four-day hangover after a week-long drinking party
slowly played over LT.Hit-Man's scarred face.

LT.Hit-Man made a noise that sounded like a buzzer, and when 
they heard that sound, they all jumped in fear because of it's 
unexpectedness, their hands slowly reaching for their E-11s.

The fun really began in earnest when Hit-Man uttered the words;
"Sutton, hand me that hydro-spanner."

Sutton grabed the hydro-spanner and gave it to Hit-Man,
who revved it up a few times to show the Jemmie that he 
just might want to reconsider his answers to Hit-Man's 
questions.

"Wrong answer." was all Hit-Man said before he clamped the 
hydro-spanner on the Jemmie's nose and cranked it up as 
he did his Doctor Sluchkins impersonation.

There was a loud, wet ripping sound as the flesh on the 
Jemmie's nose was ripped asunder that mixed nicely with 
the obscenely loud cruching sound as the cartilage in the 
Jemmie's ravaged nose gave way under the unrelenting 
pressure of the hydro-spanner.

DL-5231 grited his teeth as his world exploded into 
fiery pain and as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that grining, leering 
face of death as Hit-Man stood up and casually threw 
the bloody hydro-spanner over his shoulder. Hit-Man
snickered as he heard Sutton let out a yelp when the 
hydro-spanner landed on his foot.

DL-5231 began  to toy with the idea of telling his 
tormentor, Lt. Hit-Man what he wanted to know, but
before he could utter a word, the loyatly imperative 
that was woven into the core of his being by the 
Founders kicked in, and he shut his mouth as fear swept
though him as the terrifying concept of wanting to tell 
LT.Hit-Man what he wanted to know, but couldn't, because
of the imperative took root in his heart.

"Same question. This time it's worth two hundred Imperial
credits. Where is your base?" LT.Hit-Man asked as he saw 
the struggle within the Jemmie rage. But when no answer 
was forthcoming, he started to make tick-tocking sounds.

The Cleaners began to bet on how many credits it was 
going to be before the Jemmie broke as the show went on.

DL-5231 heard the tick-tocking sounds increase in pace. 
He begain to shiver with fear. He looked at the small 
group of men and decided that he could risk telling 
them where the base was.

"It's in a valley fifty kilometers to the north of here." 
DL-5231 rasped as he fought down the pain.

Hit-Man took a bacta patch and placed it over the gaping
hole where the Jemmie's nose had been.

"Well now, we're now going into our Double Jeopardy round! 
All questions are now worth double the amount of credits." 
Hit-Man said as he walked over to the the tools.

DL-5231 was trying to figure a way out of this mess. He'd 
toyed with the notion of trying to attack Lt. Hit-Man or 
one of the others, but he realized that they wouldn't kill him.

More than likely, they'd stun him and when he woke up, what he'd
go though would make what he had just endured look like target 
practice on an unarmed asteroid. He had to play for time! He'd  
been mentally keeping track of the time that had passed since 
he and his squad had left the base for their patrol and he knew 
that it was only a matter of time before he and his sqaud were 
declared overdue.

Hit-Man had been watching the Jemmie and he could see that 
there was something wrong. As he pondered this, he felt a 
sudden sense of urgency starting to build up in his guts.

"Right. The next question is for four hundred Imperial 
credits. What is the troop strength at your base?" 
Hit-Man said grimly as that nagging feeling began to scream
at him in the back of his mind. The Cleaners had seen 
the change in Hit-Man's face, and they began to get 
really edgy.

DL-5231 knew that something was wrong from the tone of 
LT. Hit-Man's voice. He was certain that these men were 
on a time-table and his plan to delay them by answering
their questions seemed to be a good idea. With a burst of
courage, he looked at LT.Hit-Man and just smiled.

"We have over 40,000 troops at our base. You will die, all of you." 
DL-5231 said as he looked at the rest of the Cleaners.
His savage smile grew as he saw the grim looks on their faces.

"Wrong." Hit-Man said. He could tell that this Jemmie 
was lying though the few teeth that he had left, and he 
was starting to get annoyed with this game.

DL-5231 looked at Hit-Man, who had a look that couldn't
be described, save for that it was a look that shook 
DL-5231 to the very core of his being.

"Sutton, hand me that fusion welder." With that, he reached 
behind the Jemmie's head and ripped out the pony-tail of 
hair along with a fair-size portion of his scalp. There 
was a slightly pleasant if not insane smile on his face 
that had replaced the cold, souless grimace that had 
been there a few seconds ago.

Sutton handed Hit-Man the fusion torch as he resisted
the urge to puke his guts out at the thought of what 
the Lieutenant was going to do with that torch,
and the slightly bloody handful of hair. He then
cursed at himself for being such a wimp.

_When this is over, I'm going to sit in on a 
few Imperial indoctrination sessions. I gotta
get back in the groove. Twenty years ago, this
shit wouldn't have scared me._ thought Sutton 
as he watched Hit-Man slowly walk over to the 
Jemmie.

Hit-Man could sense the raging storm of emotions
emanating from Sutton. Though he would never say 
this to anyone, he was worried about Sutton. After 
spending all those long years in the Federation, 
having to put up with their pacifist shit had eroded
the hard edged resolve Sutton had had before he
left the Empire on his mission.

"You're doing just fine Sutton, keep up the good work." 
Hit-Man said as he knelt down and placed the bloody
pony-tail between the Jem'hadar's legs and flicked on 
the fusion torch.

"Say hello to my friend, Mister Sparky!" Hit-Man said 
with a forced manic tone as he lit the hair on fire.

A few of the newcomers to the Cleaners crossed their 
legs as they heard the Jemmie shriek as his eggs were 
poached. They looked over at LT.Hit-Man, who was just 
standing there, his arms crossed as he watched the 
Jemmie suffer.

"Right now, what is the number of troops at your base!" 
Hit-Man snarled as he let go of some of the restraints
he'd placed on his dark rage. 

DL-5231 looked up at LT. Hit-Man and was about to tell 
him that he'd get nothing more from him, no matter what 
any of them did to him - but when he saw LT. Hit-Man's 
face, he saw to his horror that the blood-red eye was 
glowing as brightly as the sun, and he could swear that 
for a moment, he saw black fire in LT.Hit-Man's human eye.

With that, he broke down and started blabbing, hoping that 
he could tell them everything he knew fast enough so 
that they would kill him quickly.

"Our base has two thousand Jem'Hadar troops. Our Commanding
officer is a Vorta named Mantrid. We have a few light 
anti-grav vehicles in the Motor Pool!" DL-5231 gushed.

"What kind of vehicles?" Hit-Man asked briskly as he 
slowly reached out with the Dark side to savor the 
naked terror that was emanating off of the Jemmie, 
feeling a little more refreshed, like he'd eaten a 
quick but filling snack.

"Two light scout cars. One hover truck."

"Armaments?" LT.Hit-Man said briskly as he 
absently-mindedly twirled the Jemmie's vial of 
Ketracel White around in his fingers.

Yates smiled when he saw the Jemmie lick his lips as 
the first symptoms of withdrawal began to set in.

"This crazy kriffer might be a bastard, but he sure 
knows his stuff." Yates thought to himself, and once
again, he prayed to whatever God that had made all 
things, giving thanks that LT.Hit-Man was on their
side as a shiver arced up his spine like chain lighting 
as a mental image of him in the Jemmie's place came 
to mind.

"The scout cars have one light repeating disruptor on 
a swivel mount and hold four Jem'Hadars." DL-5321 said 
as LT.Hit-Man walked up towards him, twirling the vial 
at an ever-increasing speed, his blood starting to burn 
at the sight of the White.

Hit-Man popped the top off of the vial and poured some 
of the the drug into the reservoir and smiled as he saw 
the Jemmie shudder in pleasure.

_Now I have you._ Hit-Man thought as he stopped pouring 
the drug into the Jemmie and capped the vial.

He could see the whirl-wind of emotions play out in 
the Jemmie's eyes and he decided it was time to bring 
this to an end.

"The Empire rewards loyalty." Hit-Man said as he held 
up the vial so close to the Jemmie's face that DL-5321 
began to drool like a starving beast that was chained 
to a wall and someone was holding up a chunk of raw, 
bloody meat to it's face.

"The Empire punishes treachery with DEATH!" Hit-Man snarled 
as he crushed the vial in his human hand with a loud crunch.

DL-5321 went crazy and started to thrash around as he tried 
to break his restraints so he could kill LT.Hit-Man before 
he was gunned down by the rest of the Cleaners, snarling
like a demon as hate burned away his rationality.

The Cleaners began to raise their weapons, but stopped 
when Hit-Man held up his cyber-hand as he looked right back 
into the Jemmie's raging hate-filled eyes with his look 
of cold death.

"The choice is yours." Hit-Man said flatly as he held up 
another vial of Ketracel White that he'd taken from one 
of the dead Jemmies. At the sight of the bloody vial,
DL-5321 stopped fighting to break his bonds and 
stared at the vial.

"Think it over." Hit-Man said. He then turned to face 
Sutton who was just standing there, watching with fascinated
horror as Hit-Man put the smack on the Jemmie. He hated the 
whole Dominion, but no one should have to suffer like 
that - not even their worst enemies.

"Sutton-" Hit-Man said in a calm but raised voice that 
snapped Sutton out of his thoughts. "-put away the tools. 
We will not be needing them any longer." 

With that, Sutton started to put away the tools, thankful 
that this was over with as the Cleaners watched the Jemmie 
stuggle with the need for the drug and his loyalty to the 
Founders as Hit-Man put the small black box back into his 
backpack.

"Well...what's it going to be?" Hit-Man asked the Jemmie 
as he rolled the bloody vial around in his fingers.

DL-5321 looked at LT. Hit-Man, the human - no...not human,
but somthing far worse then failing the Founders. With a 
self-loathing filled sigh he spoke.

"Give me the White and I'll tell you everything." 

Hit-Man could tell from the desperation that filled the 
Jemmie's voice that he would tell him everything he wanted 
to know about the Dominion base but he put his hands 
behind his back and started to pace as Sutton and the 
Cleaners watched him.

"Tell me everything about the base, then you can have 
the vial." Hit-Man said as he looked into the Jemmie's 
eyes and enjoyed the sight of his broken spirit.

"The base is built around the Main HQ, the Motor Pool
is fifty meters from the northeastern corner of the HQ. 
The barracks and armory are ten meters south of the main 
entrance of the HQ." DL-5321 said as he felt despair 
slowly reaching to rip his heart out and eat it.

"Go on, I believe you." Hit-Man said as he stopped 
pacing and faced the Jemmie, while the Cleaners watched
with a new-found respect for and a healthy fear of LT.Hit-Man.

"The Comm building is ten meters west of the HQ. Fourteen 
meters east of the HQ is the stockade, where we keep our 
prisoners. We also have a gunnery range that is a klick 
north of the stockade." DL-5321 said hurriedly as the last 
dose of White that LT. Hit-Man had given him began to wear 
off.

"Do you have any prisoners?" Hit-Man asked as he began to 
formulate a plan to take the base in his head.

"No, we do not have any prisoners. They were executed after 
we had finished interrogating them." the Jemmie said as he 
watched LT. Hit-Man's stone-cold face to see what his reaction 
to that news would be, but there was none.

"What kind of defenses does the base have?" Hit-Man asked.

"Against an orbital strike, we have four heavy disruptor 
batteries arranged in a rough circle around the Main HQ,
with 100 meters of space between the HQ and each battery.
To supplement our disruptors, we have two heavy torpedo
launchers per battery."

"Against a ground assault, we have four watch-towers armed 
with four heavy auto disruptors with an auto grenade-launcher, 
loaded with two hundred photon grenades each, as well as search 
lights. Each tower is located approximately 200 meters from
the Main HQ, at each major compass point."

Hit-Man nodded his head as he added this info to the plan 
that was taking form in his mind.

"Go on." he said, as he watched the Jemmie begin to squirm 
as the withdrawal symptoms became more pronounced.

"There is electricified barbed wire strung around the base
running from each watch-tower, along with a ring of proximity 
mines 330 meters from the Main HQ. They're in two rings, spaced 
2 meters from each other. There are just over a thousand mines 
in all." DL-5321 said as the coner of his busted-up mouth began 
to twitch a bit.

"Good, what about night optics as well as Infra-Red and 
Ultra-Violet optics?" Hit-Man said as he started to twirl 
the vial betwen his scarred fingers. At the sight of the vial,
DL-5321 begain to snarl.

"OK. You've earned it." Hit-Man said as he uncapped the vial 
and poured a quarter of a gram of the White into the drug
injector.

DL-5321 moaned in ectasy as the Ketracel began to soothe the 
fiery agony that was slowly killing him. Once DL-5321 could speak
again, he added; "There are full multi-optic systems in the 
searchlights and targeting systems on the tower-mounted auto 
disruptors as well as the security sensors built into the Main HQ."

"Good. What else?" Hit-Man said as he recapped the vial. He 
placed his hands behind his back and started to pace again.

"We aren't expecting an attack. No one would be so foolish as'
to dare attack us this deep in Dominion territory." DL-5321 
said as his crushed sprit was boosted by the White.

"Just call us Mister Nobody." Yates said as he, and the rest of 
the Cleaners as well as Sutton began to chuckle.

Hit-Man let them yuk it up for a few minutes before he 
shot them a withering look so cold that they gagged for a 
few seconds as fear disrupted their breathing.

"What else are you hiding from me? Tell me and your journey
to the Dark side will be complete." Hit-Man said in a very 
good imataion of the late Emperor Palpatine's low menacing 
whisper that sent shivers through DL-5321 and the Cleaner's 
bodies.

There was a long agonizing silence. Not even a bird or 
other forest creature made a sound, then DL-5321 spoke as his 
self-lothaing filled his voice as he betrayed his gods, the 
gods who had given him and his race life as they made the 
Jem'hadar in the image and form they saw fit to do so.

"There is a Founder at the base. A Founder named Gillian." 
DL-5321 said as hopeless despair replaced his drug-induced
courage at the sight of their shocked looks on their faces,
even Lt. Hit-Man. Slowly, Hit-Man started to smile.
 
_I wonder how much of a bonus I could get for capturing the 
Founder?_ Hit-Man thought. After all, he had to make up for 
his lost credits from the aborted bet in Voyager's mess hall, 
but he put those thoughts on hold.

Obviously, there was something important going on at the base 
for a Founder to be there.

"Why is a Founder at the base?" Hit-Man said as he walked up 
to the Jemmie, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he 
looked the Jemmie in the eyes.

"Why is a Founder at the base?" LT.Hit-Man repeated. He could 
tell that the answer wasn't going to be good, that maybe, just 
maybe, he should be afraid.

"The Founder is there to oversee the distribution of the
Quickening to all our front line units. The base here is
a test case, to see if it can be incorporated into
our units easily."  DL-5321 said as the White finished
running it's course through his veins.

"What is the Quickening?" Hit-Man asked as he finished 
adding this new information to his plans for his assault
on the Dominion base.

"It's a bio-weapon that's going to be distributed to all our 
front line units for use on the Federation." DL-5321 said, 
and he looked at LT.Hit-Man,who's face was blank as well
as those of the Cleaners. However, DL-5321 took a savage 
delight in at the sight of Sutton, who had been fighting 
down the urge to puke but failed and heaved up all over 
himself.

Sutton had seen the Federation's graphic intelligence files
on the Quickening and he still had nightmares about the 
images of the twisted, dying bodies of beings infected 
with the Quickening that had been in those files.

Hit-Man gave the Jemmie a hard stare as he reached out with 
the vial in his cyberhand and said to the Jemmie, who looked 
up at LT.Hit-Man's face when he heard LT.Hit-Man's speak.

"Good. Enjoy the rewards of faithful service to the Empire." 
DL-5321 closed his eyes as he heard the hiss of the vial being 
locked into the drug injector, waiting for the rush of White 
to fill his veins, to make him more like a god.

"Enjoy your Admiral Sheppard special, while you can! 
It'll be you last." 

DL-5321 opened his eyes in terror at LT.Hit-Man's words,
his voice as cold as ice, and he saw a vial filled with a
metallic black substance.

"Only in the end do you understand the true power of the 
Dark side as you die for you lack of vision, you traitor." 
LT.Hit-Man rumbled as he took a few hurried steps back from 
from the doomed Jemmie as the Travem began to slowly eat it's 
way out from inside the Jemmie who began to scream in 
unimaginable agony.

LT. Hit-Man watched as the semi-liquefied Jem'Hadar's body 
began to bubble as the Travem finshed it's work. One of the 
Cleaners started to walk towards the chunky, steaming pile 
of slime that held the semi-rotted upper torso in the middle 
of the bubbling slime pool, his blackened bones showing though the 
putrid tatters of the Jemmie's ravaged flesh, his one semi-solid 
eye holding the look of ultimate terror.

"If you want to end up like him, by all means take a closer look." 
Hit-Man said as he picked up his discarded armor, looking at it 
for a few seconds before he dropped it and strapped on his back pack.

"WHAT THE KRIFF WAS THAT SHIT!" Yates yelled at Hit-Man, who 
slung his Night-Stinger over his shoulder, then looked at Sutton,
who was on the ground passed out from the horror of the Jemmie's 
demise, covered in his own puke.

"Get that weak-ass pice of shit out of here. He's a disgrace 
to the Empire." Hit-Man snarled over his shoulder, ignoring 
Yates as he started to walk away.

Yates had his blaster out and pointed at Hit-Man's back, 
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" he yelled as he began to feel 
the icy cold hand of fear grab him by the spine. The rest of 
the Cleaners began to back away, their weapons in hand.

LT.Hit-Man looked over his shoulder at Yates, then to Yates's 
blaster then back to Yates. He turned and began to walk way,
with the words "I've got work to do."

A blaster bolt shattered the silence of the night.

Hit-Man sensed the bolt coming, and moved away from it,
the heat from it's passage raising the hair on his neck.

"That shot was purposely mis-aimed, *Lieutenant*." snapped
Yates. 

"The next one won't. I have personally killed four troopers
who disobeyed my orders. Do you want to be number five,
Lieutenant?"

Hit-Man scanned the clearing. All of the Cleaners had their 
weapons at ready, aimed at him. He could take out three or 
four, tops. There were just too many of them, and they were
just too good. Sighing, he let his arms drop to his sides.

"Question number one, Lieutenant. What the kriff was that
shit you just used on Mr. 'I'm-now-a-pile-of-goo' over
there?" Yates motioned towards the steaming pile of
goo that had once been a Jem'hadar.

A smile slowly spread across Hit-Man's face.

"T-12X. A agent developed specifically to dispose 
of...whoever you need gone silently, and swiftly, 
leaving no trace of a body for medscanners to find."

_I cannot reveal the true secret of Travem yet._
thought Hit-Man.

Yates grinned sardonically. "He sure as kriff didn't
go silently."

Hit-Man simply shrugged. "T-12X can be binded to a 
fast-acting sleep agent, to ensure that the subject
is asleep as decomposition occurs. I simply didn't
see the need for that particular mix."

"Ahh...OK. Time for Question Number 2. What the kriff
were you about to do before I stopped you?"

Hit-Man's smile widened, and Yates and the rest of
the Cleaners shivered involuntarily at the sight.

"Wipe 'em out. Every last one of them."

Yates slowly shook his head. "Even you ain't good enough 
to beat 2,000 to 1 odds. Did you ever think that Gillian 
might have a pre-determined escape route in case the base 
comes under attack? The moment you walk onto the damn base,
she'll be gone in the time it takes you to fart."

"There's a reason we've got all this firepower, Hit-Man. 
We can launch an all-out assault from all sides, and
crush them with overwhelming firepower and shock
effect in moments."

"Think about it, Hit-Man. Our mission isn't just to get
that Founder, but to capture that base. *You* can't do
both at the same time, no matter how good you are. 
But *we* can."

Hit-Man slowly nodded his head. Yates *did* have a point.
"Alright. I'll play it your way..."

"...for now." he added under his breath.

"Good. Get your gear, and be ready to march in two." 
ordered Yates as he lowered his E-11.

Hit-Man nodded, and began to put his armor on.

In the background, he could hear Yates yelling for
someone to wake Sutton up/or remove the puke from
his face, so he wouldn't choke to death.

[Jem'Hadar Secondary Base MS-666]

The Vorta known as Mantrid was walking beside the 
Founder Gillian, giving her the base's hourly status 
report when they heard a shriek so mind-numbing that 
they shivered.

"Looks like the wild beasts are on the prowl." Mantrid 
said as he looked up at the black sky as a chill wind 
suddenly grabbed him by the eyes.

"Indeed they are." Gillian said as hard rain poured over 
them in waves. A lighting bolt streaked out of the black sky,
blasting a tree outside of the base into bits of flaming 
dead wood.

They hurried back into the HQ, not knowing how right the 
Founder's words were. There were hungry beasts out there, 
and they were coming for them.

Thunder rended the sky like a tolling bell of doom. A bell 
that was tolling for them.


[Chapter 4c]

[Inside the Base HQ]

Gillian and Mantrid stepped into the Main HQ, both glad to be 
out of the driving rain. Mantrid went to dry himself off, while 
Gillian went liquid for a moment, allowing the water to pass
through her, to settle in a pool at her feet. 

Suddenly, a Jem'Hadar hurried up to Gillian. 

"Founder Gillian, Founder Damer wishes to speak to you
promptly."

With a barely imperceptible nod to the Jem'Hadar, 
Gillian strode down the corridors of the HQ, passing
armed Jem'Hadar guards every few seconds.

Security had been beefed up considerably in the last few 
weeks in anticipation of the arrival of the first batches 
of the 'Quickening',as it was known, to front-line units, 
but really, most of the additional security was to ensure 
that one of their Gods - a Founder was safe during her 
stay to oversee the introduction of the 'Quickening'.

Walking past the pair of Jem'Hadar guards who were always 
on watch outside her quarters, Gillian entered her private 
sanctuary from the world of Solids. 

The moment the doors hissed shut behind her, Gillian moved 
to the door keypad. Her fingers a blur, she keyed in her 
own personal code. Now the door would only open if she 
entered the proper code. Any attempt at entering a incorrect 
code would immediately flood the room with highly-lethal 
(to solids) nerve agents.

Satisfied that no one could now penetrate her private sanctum, 
Gillian turned to face the viewscreen embedded in the wall 
across her regenerative cradle.

The viewscreen flickered on as it sensed her presence. Built-in
sensors scanned her. If her bio-readout didn't match the profile
stored in the system, the alarm would be sounded, and the room
would be flooded with nerve agents.

Satisfied that all the requistite protocols had been followed, the
computer finally released the lockout on the viewscreen. Static
flickered across it momentarily as the connection was stabilized
over several lightyears at subspace booster stations and relays.

The face of another Founder appeared. The face of the Damer.

"How goes the introduction of the Quickening to our front-line
units, Gillian?"

"It is going excellently. The containers arrived just an hour ago
on a transport, under heavy guard by a full wing of attack craft."

"Was there any trouble?"
 
"No, Damer. All 12 of the Containers are still sealed, and their
crypto-locks still have the original codes entered into them at
the labs."

(It's necessary to press a button on a locking device to open the 
containers without cutting them open. Each time you press the button, 
it displays it's current code, and then changes the code, allowing 
you a simple and easy way of telling if the contents have been 
tampered with, if the displayed code doesn't match up with what you 
were told it was going to be.)

"Excellent. I trust that there will be no...accidents with the 
Quickening as you are preparing it for loading into the torpedo 
casings. If even one gram of the Quickening is released into the 
planet's atmosphere, it will kill every solid sentinent being on 
the planet, and it will linger for *centuries*!"

Gillian rocked back in shock. The Damer, actually caring about 
solids? Surely this couldn't be the *real* Damer!

"Damer, why your sudden...compassion for the Solids?" questioned 
Gillian.

The Damer's eyes flashed with anger at the question. "I have *no* 
compassion for the _solids!_" he spat. "That planet you are on now, 
is in a vital strategic location! It is one of our best listening 
posts! If the Quckening is released into it's atmosphere, we will 
not be able to use it any longer!"

"But what about hermetically sealed structures, or a space station?"

"They are too inefficient! As it now stands, we only have to ship raw 
foodstock for the replicators and White for the Jem'Hadar to Q'aat, 
allowing for minimal uptake needed to maintain the base. If you botch
this job and contaminate the planet, causing the Dominion to have to
resort to more inefficient methods to house our listening outpost, 
I shall personally make you feel pain such as you have never felt
before!"

The comm-transmission suddenly cut off abruptly. At the Damer's
rudeness, Gillian huffed. Arrogant bastard. Just because he'd
been the driving force and creative genus behind the Quickening,
didn't mean that he had the right to boss around one who was
his senior by a few hundred years!

Still upset from her brief exchange with the Damer, Gillian
walked to the turbolift that would take her to the base's 
Command Center. 

With a low hum, the turbolift rose, and within seconds, she was
in the Command Center. Stepping out of the 'lift, Gillian's
tight skin shone with the reflected light from the numerous
touchpanels all over the command center.

The Command Center was laid out much as a starship's bridge was,
with one major difference. Instead of a single viewscreen set
into the wall at the front of the bridge, the Command Center instead
had a bank of angled windows running the entire circumfrence of
the center.

In overall effect, the Command center more resembled 
an old-fashioned Air Traffic Control Tower from Earth's 
late 20th century. A low rumble sounded through the center, 
causing Gillian to shiver slightly.

"What was that?" she asked nervously.

"Oh, nothing more than some thunder, almighty Founder." 
replied Mantrid. After he'd dried off, he'd went 
immediately to the command center to await Gillian.

Gillian didn't reply, nor did she need to. A Founder 
didn't bother themselves with lesser races; it was the 
other way around.

Looking out the windows, Gillian noted with disgust 
that visibility was almost zero, due to the night's 
pitch blackness, and the driving rain that washed 
down the windows.

"I can't see a thing out these windows. Are our 
sensors taking up the slack?"

"Almighty Founder, due to the electro-static charges 
in the atmosphere due to this thunderstorm, our long 
range sensors are useless. However, our Thermal, UV, 
and short-range EM sensors are working." replied the
Jem'Hadar who was working the sensor board.

At this, Gillian tensed up. "This would be an excellent 
time to attack us, when we are at our most vunerable. 
Order the patrols to call in, NOW!"

The Jem'hadar manning the comm panel nodded, and began 
to contact the patrols.

Twelve klicks away, Patrol TF-2 stopped due to the chirping 
of the comm-unit on the leader's belt.  Bringing the comm-unit 
up, he noticed that it was a check-in.  _Hmm. Strange. The 
check-in isn't for another hour._ thought the patrol leader.

"This is Patrol TF-2 reporting in. Nothing unusual to report. 
Out."

With that, the leader clipped the comm-unit back to his 
belt, and gave the 'go' signal. The patrol began moving 
again.

Back in the command center, the comm tech began calling 
out the patrols as they reported in.

"TF-2 reporting in - on schedule."

"VF-5 behind schedule due to the current inclement 
weather."

The comm-tech continued to work his board for a few 
more moments, before suddenly turning around.

"Almighty Founder, all my attempts to contact patrol 
LF-9 have failed."

Gillian flinched at this, and immediately strode to the 
center of the room, where the Base Commander's multi-function 
command console (aka, the pool table) was.

"Continue to try to contact them. It may be just 
interference from this accursed storm." ordered Gillian 
as she called up a display of the surrounding area on 
the pool table.

[Patrol LF-9]

The rain began to wash away the bubbling gooey mass 
that had once been DL-5231. His comm-unit had been 
chirping for the last minute or so, attracting a 
curious forest creature that looked like a dog, 
vaguely.

Intrigued by the strange noises emanating from the
strange solid/liquid for the last minute, it walked
up to it and began to sniff it.

It's curiosity was it's undoing, for bare seconds
later, the Travem, which was still active, began
it's work.

The dog-creature shrieked as the Travem began to
liquefy it's internal organs. Blood streamed
out of it's mouth, eyes, nose, and pretty much
every bodily orifice. With a blood-curdling shriek,
the creature collapsed to the ground, and died as
the Travem ate away it's inside. Within seconds,
the creature's flesh began to melt into the same
gooey mass that DL-5231 had become. 

Hit-Man hadn't been joking when he'd warned the
Cleaners against inspecting the body.

[Patrol KL-5]

The patrol stood halted in the clearing in the middle
of the forest, waiting for their leader to finish 
his report to the Command Center. 

Little did the patrol realize that two *vastly* different
types of eyes were watching them at the moment. 

Yates lay down in the wet underbrush, the rain pouring off
his armor, his built-in macrobinoculars zoomed onto the 
patrol they'd run into.

Behind him lay the Cleaners and Sutton, who lay shivering
in his Starfleet-issue uniform.

In his head, Yates was juggling several sets of variables
at the same time, trying to figure out whether they could
take out the patrol without raising the alert.

Looking to the east, Yates could see the glow from the
floods of the Jem'hadar base DL-5231 had told them
about.

_Damn. We're too close to the base to do a successful 
takedown._ thought Yates.

Thinking a bit longer, he came up with a plan.

"OK, boys. Listen up! We're going to lie low, and wait
for them to pass. If they're about to discover us, we
pop them, but otherwise, we do nothing."

"Everyone got that?"

A chorus of 'Yes, Sir' greeted his ears. All except one.

"Lieutenant Hit-Man. Do you understand your orders?" 
he snapped.

There was a long and pregnant pause, then Hit-Man 
replied. "I do...*sir*.", saying it in such a way
that disgust was practically dripping from his voice
as he said 'sir'.

Yates sighed. At least he'd agreed.

[Base Control Room]

Gillian called up the last reported position of 
Patrol LF-9, and it's expected route on the
pool table.

"Damn."

Mantrid came over to see what'd caused Gillian 
to curse. He looked at the location of the
non-responding patrol on the pool table and
immediately paled.

"The...Zone." he said in a half-choked voice.

Gillian nodded somberly. The Zone was what they'd
taken to calling an area where patrols disappeared
without a trace. The few times where traces had been
left behind, they'd been confusing. Bits of Jem'Hadar
had been strewn around the area, suggesting an attack
by a wild animal. However, the area was also covered 
with scorch marks from disruptor fire, indicating that 
the hapless patrol had gotten shots off, but hadn't
stopped the animal.

There was simply no animal that could resist disruptor
fire, let alone survive repeated hits, for all the 
Dominion knew, but there it was.

The animal attacks seemed to be confined to an area west
of the base, hence the term 'The Zone'. 

The first few times this had happened, they'd sent out
heavily armed squads to find the cause. They'd disappeared
without a trace. Since then, all patrols to The Zone had
been severely curtailed, with only a few occasional patrols
to ensure that the enemy couldn't infiltrate from that
area.

Gillian barely paid notice as another patrol checked in.

Suddenly, the comm-link was filled with screams, disruptor
fire, and a low growling noise.

"AAAAAH! There's something after u----AAIIIIEE!" at that, 
the channel dissolved into the sounds of bone crunching, 
and then static.

Gillian barely looked up from the pool table.

"What patrol was that?"

"Almighty Founder, KL-5."

Gillian punched in KL-5's last recorded position, from
their transmission which had been so rudely interrupted.

It was just outside The Zone.

"Looks like our friend is on the move." commented Gillian,
with a weary tone to her voice. These continuing losses
of soldiers to this mysterious force were becoming 
inexcusable. Tomorrow morning, they'd go out and search
the forest with their anti-grav vehicles, shooting 
everything that moved with the heavier vehicle-mounted
disruptors.

[The Cleaners]

In between lightning flashes, Yates watched as a black 
shape suddenly grabbed one of the Jem'hadar and hurled 
it across the forest like a rag-doll.

Immediately, he thought one thing: DAMN YOU, HIT-MAN!

"HIT-MAN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!" he yelled
into his speakers, his rage at Hit-Man's continuing
disobeyal of orders finally overflowing.

"Nothing, *sir*." came the reply. Yates turned around,
to see Hit-Man standing next to him.

"If that ain't you, then who the fuck is that?" said
one of the Cleaners nervously.

"Kriff if I know." replied Hit-Man.

The Cleaners then turned at the sound of bones crunching.

Apparently whoever or whatever had decided to play with
it's Jemmie playmates.

At that moment, the other surviving Jem'Hadars recovered
from shock at being so savagely attacked, and opened
fire on the creature.

Disruptor fire lit up the night, complementing the
occasional lightning flash.

"Can you see whatever it is?" asked White.

"No. The foliage is breaking up it's shape. Whatever
it is, it's *big*." replied Yates.

A earthshaking roar shook the night, and a massive clawed
hand tore the last surviving Jem'hadar's head off in
a spray of blood, sending it flying through the forest for
at least 50 meters, before it rolled to the ground.

Suddenly, the shadowy figure noticed them.

"FUCK! It saw us!" shouted Yates. "Get ready!"

The Cleaners frantically pulled out their weapons. 
Even Sutton adjusted the power setting on his Type II
phaser to Level 16.

The figure then disappeared into the night.

"Can you see it?" gasped one of the Cleaners.

"Kriff, no!"

"Shut up! Remember your assigned firelanes!" barked
Yates.

Immediately the Cleaners moved so that they were 
covering their pre-assigned firezones, with Yates
and Hit-Man taking the north, while other pairs
took the other compass points.

Several tense minutes passed, with the darkness of the
night punctuated by lightning flashes. The Cleaners 
scanned the darkness with their full-spectrum helmets,
but the dense foliage limited their vision to only
a few dozen meters. 

Suddenly, a lightning flash illuminated a massive,
toothed face in front of Yates. 

Despite years of training, Yates screamed at the sight
of the massive maw of the creature opening, preparing
to crush his armored head like an eggshell.

Somewhere, a small detached part of his brain recognized
the creature, but then short-circuited at the impossibility
of it being *here* of all places.

The rancor was about to devour the other morsels it had
discovered, when a voice, eerily calm, and filled with
the overtones of the Dark Side wafted throught the night.

"You don't want to eat these people. No. They're good."

The rancor paused, it's toothy maw closing as it turned
to stare at the one who had such gall to try and talk
down a rancor.

The Cleaners turned too, to see who had the balls to
do it.

Hit-Man stood in the rain, his E-11 lying on the floor,
as he spoke to the rancor, which watched him with
a quizzical look on it's leathery face.

"That's a good girl. Come with papa Hit-Man, and you'll
get all the tasty morsels you'll ever want." intoned
Hit-Man, his voice cold and seductive.

Hit-Man reached out tenatively with the Dark side, feeling
the rancor's force essence. He found a willing recepient for
his message of power, death, and destruction in the rancor.

Slowly, Hit-Man removed his helmet, and laid it down on the
forest floor, his cyber-eye's reddish glow burning through
the night, and it seemed, into the rancor's beady eyes.

"You are mine, now!" rasped Hit-Man as he reached out
to stroke the rancor's chin.

The Cleaners, slowly, unsteadily stood up to stare at what
Hit-Man had done. He'd done the impossible - tamed a raw,
wild rancor. Slowly, Hit-Man turned around to face the
rest of the Cleaners.

It was at that moment, lightning flashed through the night,
illuminating the rivers of rain pouring down the valleys
of his scarred visage. He was smiling. A chilling smile
that bored right down to the core of their souls.

"I shall call her...Fifi!"


[Chapter 4d]

Everyone watched nervously as Hit-Man continued to
stroke what he now called 'Fifi'.

Sutton was the first to break the uneasy silence.

"What the kriff is a Rancor doing here, in the Milky Way?"

Hit-Man shrugged. "Beats me, but I'm not complaining."

Meanwhile, Yates had composed himself, trying to fight 
down the queasy feeling in his stomach resulting from
his second close brush with death in a day.

"Everyone, stay here. I'm going to check out the base.
I should be back in fifteen minutes or so. If I'm not
back by then, you know what to do."

With that, Yates slung his E-11 over his back, and
crept into the forest, towards the bright yellow
glow of the Jemmie base.

As Yates disappeared almost noiselessly into the 
foliage, Hit-Man barked out a simple order that
was also a very important one.

"Begin sanitization!"

Nodding, the Cleaners began to police up the signs
that a battle had taken place there. While the
rain would wash away the blood, the bits of Jemmie
bodies would be a dead give-away.

Hit-Man turned, and saw that Sutton was hanging off
to the side, watching the Cleaners sanitize
the place.

"That includes YOU, pencil-neck."

Gulping nervously, Sutton grabbed the nearest
Jemmie body, which was a severed arm, and
began to carry it deeper into the forest,
following the other Cleaners.

Taking out their entrenching tools, the Cleaners
quickly dug shallow graves for the dead Jemmies
under heavy brush, where freshly-turned earth
wouldn't be as noticeable.

[A Hill overlooking the base]

Yates finally finished his excruciatingly long
crawl to the top of the hill, and he was rewarded
with a near-perfect view of the base, or at least
the best one could get in a driving thunderstorm.

What he saw outlined in the soft yellow glow of the
floods was pretty much what the dead Jemmie had 
described. Looking at the perimeter of the base,
Yates shook his head. 

The idiots hadn't even bothered to camouflage
their mines after they had laid them. A nice
barren area, punctuated by odd mounds every
so often.

Taking a picture with his helmet cam, Yates
began to crawl back down the hill, when
all of a sudden, the doors at the front
of the motor pool building opened, and out
rolled a small flitter, which slowly
gained altitude and started heading
towards where the Cleaners were.

Damn! The Jemmie hadn't said anything
about aircraft!

[On the Jem'Hadar Attack Skiff]

SS-122 growled. Damn that bastard Mantrid.
He'd gone over the almighty Founder Gillian's
head, and ordered out a patrol to check out
KL-5's last known position.

At least the Vorta scum had had enough sense
to order an air unit, not a ground unit
to check out The Zone.

[Base HQ]

Gillian's head snapped around as she saw the
flashing lights of the Skiff fade into the
darkness.

"What did you just do, *Vorta*!" snapped Gillian,
the disgust evident in her voice.

Mantrid swallowed hard and fought down the rising
fear in the pit of his stomach. "Almighty Founder,
I sent out our skiff to do an air search of KL-5's
last known position. We might get lucky."

[KL-5's last known position]

As the Cleaners swept up the last of the tree branches
that had been knocked down when Fifi had charged in
amongst the Jem'hadar, a low whine was heard in the
air.

Instinctively, without a thought, every man leapt for
the ground, deactivicating their armor's active camouflage,
lest the energy emissions give them away.

Sutton screamed as someone grabbed him from behind, but his
scream was cut off by a gauntleted hand as Hit-Man
manhandled him to the ground and slammed his face into
the mud.

"Relax, Sutton. Standard Op Procedure for hiding from
air units. Everyone else is OK, because they're wearing
their helmets, but since you don't have one, your pasty
white face is a fuckin' beacon."

"Mpfh..." 

"Oh, don't take it so bad, Sutton," whispered Hit-Man
as he ground Sutton's face into the mud. "Lots of women
pay good creds to put mud on their face - and you're getting
it for FREE!"

Not a man moved as a bright light snapped into being, and
slowly panned across the ground, ever closer to their
positions. Even Fifi was silent, huddled in a rock
outcropping. 

On the skiff, SS-122 strained his eyes to make sense of
the storm-swept forest below him, illuminated by his
NightSun-class searchlight.

After a few minutes of searching the place, SS-122 gave
up. "SS-122 to base. No trace of Patrol KL-5," he
radioed in over the comm channel as he banked his
skiff back towards the base.

For several minutes, none of the Cleaners moved, until
they were sure that this wasn't a feint to draw them
out of hiding. 

Without an apology for slamming him face into a puddle of
stinking mud, Hit-Man yanked Sutton back up with a 
sharp jerk that caused him to yelp in pain.

A slight rustling of the bushes to their right caused everyone 
to level their E-11s at Yates as he returned.

"Report! Did they get you?" barked Yates.

"No sir," replied Sgt. White. 

"The Jemmie was right. The base is laid out pretty much
the same way he told us. The minefield is pretty sloppy,
though."

Yates then transmitted the picture he'd taken of the base
to the other Cleaners' helmets.

Kneeling down, he began to give orders for the take-down
of the base.

"Seifert, I want you to go to this hill to the northeast of 
the base and set up your SX-480. Target the comm shack - I
want them going off the air the moment I give the order."

Suddenly, Yates had an ephiany.

"LT, I want you to take Fifi and go around the base, to this
ridge here, and set up your Nightstinger. When I give the
order, shoot their main power relay. They'll think a branch 
dropped onto it at first, and they'll send a team out."

"Under NO circumstances are you to do anything after that 
unless I order it."

"Got that....sir," growled Hit-Man.

"White, I want you to work your way around
to the southern part of the base, and site
your T-21 to cover the barracks. When we
launch our attack, cut the Jemmies down as
they run out of their barracks."

As White nodded, Yates turned to Corporal Rodgers.

"Rodgers, you're going to stay behind and set up
our Plex-Twos for indirect guided fire using
laser designators me and the others set up."

Yates then looked at Phong, who was looking a little
out of place amongst the Cleaners, looking as if he
had nothing to do but sit around.

"Phong, do we still have those Hunter/Killer seekers 
outfitted with holoshrouds?"

"Um, Yeah."

Yates smiled a predatory grin, which was infectious.
Everyone huddled closer to hear what fiendish plan
their leader had cooked up in his brain.

"When I was up there, I saw a Jemmie walk right
into their own minefield. He didn't blow up, and
I also detected faint transmissions around the 
minefield. I think they're using a 'smart' network
of mines. Phong, I want you to try and hack the
minefield net, and reprogram it to attack the
Jem'Hadar as well."

"Load the HKs with the bird holos, and have four hover
over the base, faking birds. Make the fifth try and get
inside the base center and take it out."

"What we're going to do is this: We're going to have
the LT over here," he motioned towards Hit-Man, who
smiled a bone-chilling grin in response, "...pop the
base's main power. As they mill around trying to
figure out what went wrong, the Hunter/Killer will
infiltrate the command center, and take it out."

"When the center's gone, Seifert will knock down their 
transmission tower with his SX-480, preventing them
from getting a distress call out. Once the tower
is gone, Rodgers will fire his Plex Twos, which will
knock out the four watchtowers around the base."

"By this time, the Jemmies should be alerted to the fact
that some serious shit is going down. That's where you
come in, White."

"You should be sited well enought to create a beaten zone
in the vinicity of their barracks, ensuing that all who
try to leave will be cut down."

"We will then when is appropriate, begin a push into the
base, forcing them out to the west, through their own
minefield, which they will assume still excludes Jemmies
from death."

"Now, remember, our primary mission is inserting 
Captain Sutton back into the Federation. The only
plausible explanation for his disappearance would be
capture by hostile forces. Therefore, the indomitable-"

Everyone began to snicker at that, annoying Sutton.

"- Admiral Sutton was captured several weeks ago by
the Dominion, but fortunately, he managed to escape,
destroying the base in the process through a fusion
reactor overload."

Sutton suddenly spoke up. "Uh, how am I going to be picked
up? I ain't spending a week in this hellhole waiting for
pickup."

Yates didn't miss a beat as he replied, "We detected a small
task force of Federation ships a few light years away. As
luck would have it, you managed to reach the communications
center and send off a message before you beat your rather
hasty retreat."

"Now, from our intel provided by the LT, we know there's
a Founder here. I'd like to capture it alive, but, well,
if you find it too tough, I'll understand."

"You all got that?"

"YES SIR!" they chorused back.

"Let's do it."

[Base Command Center - 10 minutes later]

The turbolift to the center opened, and out
stepped SS-112, dripping wet. Seeing the Founder,
he gave a gesture of obedience before continuing.

"Almighty Founder, I found nothing on my sweep
of KL-5s last reported position."

Suddenly, so fast that the naked eye couldn't follow,
Gillian extended her body and reformed it into a sharp
blade, chopping off Mantrid's head.

There was silence in the center, broken only by the sound
of Mantrid's headless corpse hitting the deckplates.

"I...am YOUR GOD! You...WILL...OBEY...ME!" screamed Gillian
as she brought the tendril she had chopped the traitorious
Vorta's head off with back to her body.

"I'll be in my quarters. Under NO circumstances am I to be
disturbed!" 

With that, Gillian spun around and walked into the turbolift,
leaving behind the mess that had been Mantrid for her servants 
to clean up.

[A hillside northwest of the base]

Seifert gulped as he saw the Founder chop off the head
of her underling without a thought through the scope of
his AS-480.

"Did everyone see that?"

"Yeah. Nice kind of people we're up against," replied
Yates, who had watched the entire affair through his
helmet's vidlink.

"We'll go as soon as Phong cracks that minefield."

Next to Yates, in a sopping wet camouflage uniform, 
Phong was busily tapping away at his M-1123A1 Portable 
Ruggedized Field Computer (or PRFS aka 'Proofs').

"How's it going?"

"Okay. You were right, Nate. They *are* using a 'smart'
minefield. I've got the different function calls to the
mines decoded, as well as the status replies. I've just
got to crack the passcode so I can override it from here.
I need that passcode to give me superuser-level access,
so they don't see anything out of the unusual in the HQ."

Nodding, Yates opened a link to the LT.

"Elltee, do you have their power figured out?"

"Yup. They've got a big-assed cable running from this
building to all the others. I'm picking up massive
amounts of EM rads from it. It's the power line,
definitely."

"White, report."

"White here. The T-21's set up and all charged up. The barrack
appears to be dead. Everybody must be sleeping, or whatever the 
hell the Jemmies do."

"Rodgers, report."

"Sir, the Plex-Twos are all set up for vertical launch 
with off-site target designation. Just give the word,
sir."

As Rodgers signed off, Yates turned to Phong and picked up one
of the Hunter/Killer remotes that Phong had loaded with 
a bird holo before he'd started to crack the minefield.

Pushing a button on the remote's surface, the flat black sphere
of the remote was replaced with a chirping bird. The illusion was
near-perfect. It was when you tried to pick it up, your hands would
go through the bird and find something else entirely.

Of course, the illusion would be shattered horribly once the remotes
started firing. With a medium blaster pistol and a 35-round mag for
it built into the remote, along with nearly 5 pounds of MET explosives,
this innocent birdie had fangs.

Picking up the other four remotes, he activated their built-in
holoshrouds, and waited.

[Five minutes later]

"Got it," breathed Phong as the lines of machine code on his Proofs
disappeared, to be replaced with a graphical representation of the
base.

"Hey, we've got control of the Triple-A too," exclaimed Phong
in surprise.

"Waitaminute, how the hell did you get into that?"
Yates asked in an incredulous voice.

"Looks like they decided to integrate the code for the entire 
defensive network together to make it easier to control from 
one program. Hey, here's some voice recog code. Wait...there's 
some more code...looks like commo sorting code. Holy Kriffing 
Fuck, I just cracked their entire system."

"Kriff, I knew their information security was a joke, but this is..."

"Inexcusable," finished Yates. "Fix the minefields, and then 
put their comms into an endless loop. Seifert'll still take out 
their comms, but think of this as backup."

"Done." 

Yates then turned to look at the H/Ks. "Okay little birdies, it's
time to fly!" And with that, he activicated their programming.

With a virtually silent whirring noise, they floated up, and then
the holographic birds began to flap their wings, and the remotes
flew off in a startingly life-like simulation of a flock of
birds taking off.

When his helmet's tactical display showed the remotes were
flying around the base irregularly, he gave the go signal.

"Eltee, do it."

[180 meters to the southeast]

"Down Fifi, down." 

Fifi whined, annoyed at having to stay in this
cramped position for so long.

Suddenly, he heard the go signal. Chuckling to himself,
Hit-Man raised his Xerrol Nightstinger, and centered 
the glowing red dot onto the thick power cable some
three hundred meters away.

Squeezing the trigger gently, the rifle bucked in his
hands, and an invisible bolt shot out of the barrel.

A second later, the bolt impacted the power cable, and
in a shower of fiery sparks, the cable snapped, cutting
off power to most of the base.

[Gillian's Quarters]

Gillian rested in her bucket, modulating the parts of her body
that were on the surface to generate speech. Right now, she
was dictating a requistition form for a new Vorta assistant.

"I shall need a new assistant. The last one met with an...
unfortunate end." Suddenly, a thought came to her. "And erase 
all gene-profiles and mem-profiles of the Mantrid pattern. It 
proved to be dangerously independent and unreliable, in my 
professional opinion."

Suddenly, all the lights went off. A moment later, the emergency
lights came on, bathing her quarters in shades of blue.

Quickly reforming into her humanoid shape, she opened a link to
the control room. "Report! What's going on?!?"

"Almighty Founder, we've temporarily lost power."

"I know that! Why'd we lose it?" snapped Gillian, making
the Jem'Hadar cringe in fear.

"The perimeter patrols in the towers saw a lot of sparks all
of a sudden from the area the main power trunk is located right
before the power failed. A patrol is on it's way to investigate
the cable. We think a bird shorted it out."

Relaxing, Gillian slowly began to revert back to her liquid
form. "Send out a message to High Command informing them of 
our temporary power failure."

"Almighty Founder, the message was already composed. We merely
await your command."

"Send it," murmured Gillian just before she reverted fully to her
natural state. Perhaps she wasn't surrounded by incompetent idiots
after all.

[Outside the Base]

As the rain drummed down in sheets onto them, Yates and the rest of
the Cleaners waited to see if the Jemmies would fall for it.

Yates watched as a pair of Jemmies squished their way through the mud,
wrist lights casting a white aura in front of them.

PL-232 stopped at the main power building and played his wrist light
around, looking for the cable. "Found it!" yelled his clonemate,
PL-233.

PL-233 picked up the cable, and slowly pulled it through his hands,
searching for the breach. His hands came to the glowing end of
the cable. He focussed his light on it and saw that this was no
act of nature - the cabe had been burned through!

He turned to yell at his clonemate, and the world suddenly
went dark.

PL-232 heard a thump. Turning around, he saw his clonemate lying
in the mud, his head blown off.

He opened his mouth to yell out a warning, when his world snapped
into darkness.

Yates watched with fear as the last Jemmie in the patrol fell into
the mud, shot dead by Hit-Man. Before he could yell at the LT, his
comm channel crackled into life.

"Sorry...sir, but the gig was up with those two. We got about five
minutes, tops before they notice they ain't playing no more."

Yates cursed softly and sent the 'go' signal for the remotes. With a
nearly imperceptible 'whirr', the lead remote took off for the 
command center. Sending a coded signal that the Cleaners had
supplied it from their observations of the door mechanism
with their scanners, it opened the door, and moved into the
headquarters building, dodging Jem'Hadar in the corridors,
who looked quizzically at the tiny bird flapping through the air.

The bird flapped up the turbolift shaft and into the command
center, where it suddenly shrieked, grabbing everyone's attention.

A deep voice in synch with the bird's beak movements thundered
out from the bird, with the simple message of: "Say hello to
Oblivion."

The Jem'Hadar just stood and stared at the strange bird for
a second, before realizing too late, what the strange message
meant. As they all moved towards the various alert buttons
around the center, the bird's eyes glowed crimson red, and for
a brief moment, they saw a ugly black sphere floating in
the room.

Yates and the other Cleaners watched entranced, as the Remote's
5 pounds of MET detonated in a searing white-hot flash, silhouletting
the Jem'Hadar in the command center against the dark night for 
the briefest of instants, before the windows of the center flexed
and exploded outwards from the tremendous overpressure of the
MET-powered explosion.

Across the base, on a hill to the northwest, Seifert
watched the command center explode and sighted in the base 
of the comm tower on the roof of the Communications 
Building.

Making final adjustments, he squeezed the trigger of the SX-480,
and the mighty sniper rifle roared in his hands, kicking him in
the shoulder like a angry bantha.

A second later, the massive bolt hit the comm tower, and with the
hiss of superheated metal flashing into plasma, cut right through it
in a shower of sparks and superheated slag that solidified rapidly
into lumps of cold metal in the driving rain that washed down onto
the base.

The Jem'Hadar were cut off now from the rest of the
Dominion. It was now time for them to die.


[Chapter 5]

[Gillian's Quarters]

With a massive *bang*, the entire HQ building shook, and even the emergency blue 
lights went off, to be replaced with the *really* last ditch lights, the 
battery-powered battle lanterns throughout the corridors and rooms of the base.

The bucket that sat in the precise center of the room shook as a column of semi-
solid liquid rose out of it, and reformed into a humanoid shape.

Gillian looked around sharply. Her room was rapidly filling up with thick black 
smoke that poured through the gaping hole between the doors, as they had been 
bent ajar by whatever had just gone off.

Walking towards her communications panel, she tried to bring it up, but the 
words: MAIN SYSTEM FAILURE: ANTENNA RELAY NON-OPERATIONAL flashed over and over 
in the darkness on the panel.

Cursing, Gillian walked to the doors and tried to open them. They wouldn't 
budge, and she wasn't apt to waste her strength in forcing them open, so she 
simply reverted to liquid and flowed between them.

Reforming in the corridor outside her room, she began running towards the 
turbolift to the command center.

Rounding the corner, Gillian ran smack dab right into a roaring inferno, as the 
Electro-Plasma power conduit supplying power to the Command center above had 
been ruptured by the attack, spewing flammable plasma into the air.

She felt dampness on her head.

Looking up, she saw that the ceiling was warped massively, with huge seams rent 
open and scorched black. Concentrating unconsciously, she formed a tendril from 
her body and sent it up through one of the seams, and into the command center.

Forming photo-receptors on the tip of her tendril, Gillian slowly swiveled her 
new 'eye' around, revealing the fact that the center that she had been in not 
less than fifteen minutes ago was now a charred mass of wreckage.

Widening the field of vision on her 'eye', Gillain took in more of  the former 
center. Nothing above shoulder level still stood. The entire  roof had been 
ripped off, and all over ruined consoles, were carbonized  lumps in vaguely 
humanoid shapes.

A flash from the darkened night outside the center caught the edges of  her 
vision, and she swiveled her eye around to see streaks of light  ripping through 
the night sky, before suddenly heeling over and slamming  into the ground in 
blinding fireballs.

[Guard Tower Alpha]

JD-934 gasped as he watched the flaming missile approach his tower in what 
seemed to be slow motion. He saw every weld, every seam in the body of the 
missile, and could even make out the 'eye' in the nose of the missile as it 
crawled towards him.

Then he felt nothing as his tower was obliterated from the universe in a 
blinding fireball as the PLX-2M missile homed in remorselessly onto the dot 'o 
death provided by the laser designator the Cleaners had set up on his tower.

Outside, three other equally precise fireballs erupted in the rainy sky, 
blotting out the three other guard towers.

Nearly a klick away, Corporal Rodgers smiled under his helmet as he saw the 
flashes on the horizon. He couldn't see the base because of the mountain between 
him and it, but he could hear what was going on, and right now, it sounded like 
all Hell was breaking loose.

Chuckling, he trotted over to where the launchers had been set up and began to 
reload the smoking launchers with fresh PLX-2Ms, just in case.

[The Base]

The night vision features on Seifert's riflescope activicated automatically as 
soon as the ambient levels dropped low enough to trigger them. Instantly, the 
darkened base sprang out of the darkness as if it was noon.

Seifert slowly brought the rifle around and centered the crosshairs right 
between the eyes of an important-looking Jemmie, and pulled the trigger.

Downrange, the target's head splattered like an overripe watermelon dropped from 
a forty story building.

Through the phosphorent green view of his night vision, White saw dozens of 
Jem'hadar rush out of their barracks, weapons at the ready. He waited a few 
moments to let a few out, to create a bottleneck, then he let loose.

The mighty roar of a T-21 firing at it's full cyclic rate tore through the 
night, as dozens of bolts tore into the Jem'Hadar around the barracks door, 
dropping them instanteously, and frying their faces as they fell into the path 
of more bolts - such was the rate of fire of a fully powered T-21.

White continued to fire until the barrel was glowing white hot, and the  
barracks wall was peppered with hundreds of blaster holes. "I'm changing the 
barrels! Cover me!" he shouted over the TacNet.

Downhill, the Barracks had become a charnel house, with Jem'Hadar guts lying on 
the floor and the stench of burnt tibanna gas wafting through the place, and 
rain pouring in through the hundreds of holes in the wall, the water sizzling 
away as it cooled the molten edges of the holes.

"MOVE! THE HUMANS HAVE STOPPED FIRING!" yelled the  newly-promoted First. The 
original First had died in the fiery explosion  which had claimed the base's 
command center. Now it was all up to  him to stop this incursion, which he 
would. After all, the Jem'Hadar  were genetically superior to all other races.

One by one, and then in scattered groups, several Jem'Hadar scuttled  across the 
muddy ground from the charred barracks, trying to keep the buildings of the base 
between them and the enemy repeating weapon, when all of a sudden, from the 
forest to the east of the base, a horrible hail of fire rained down upon them, 
catching many of them in the open.

[Yates' Position]

The E-11 bucked in his hands as he burned half-way through a full power 
cell in less than fifteen seconds, trying to keep the crosshairs in his
HUD over the scattering forms of the Jem'Hadar, without much success.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see other streams of fire leaping
from the forest around the base, hosing death indiscriminately all over
the base at whatever showed it's ugly mug.

White's voice broke over the TacNet. "I've got the new barrel back on,
resuming light suppressive fire!" Immediately, everyone ceased fire,
except of course, for Seifert and the LT, who continued to pick off
individual Jemmies at a leisurely pace.

[The Base]

The muddy ground in the base was by now slick with the blood of
the dead and the dying, as Jem'hadar died by the dozens, against
an unseen enemy. Even the First himself had been hit in the leg.

Crawling across the muddy ground painfully, he came face to 
face with the Founder, which had slowly extended a psuedo-eye
from a doorway in the now-ruined command center.

"Almighty Founder! I regret to tell you that the First, the Second,
the Third, and the Fourth did not survive this attack. I am now
acting First." 

Gillian paused to consider this. From what she could ascertain, 
three Companies' worth of troops at the most had been wiped out. 

She still had the better part of the Regiment to counter-attack
with. She also had a hover-platoon which as far as she could tell,
hadn't been hurt at all.

"Get the lowers together! I want battalions Alpha and Bravo to 
counterattack! Charlie and Delta will withdraw to the hardened 
section of the command center! Get those vehicles MOVING!" 
barked Gillian in what she thought was her most authoriative 
voice, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

"But Almighty Founder, Alpha battalion was caught in the barracks,
and is in a severely degraded condition!" pleaded the First.

Gillian was about to chop this impudent subordinate's head off in 
a fit of rage, when she had second thoughts. Yes. Hadn't that
idiot Mantrid said something about it being Alpha's turn in
quarters earlier?

"Then send a different battalion instead! Do I have to explain 
everything to you?!?"

"Yes, Almighty Founder! Please, get to someplace safe, for our lives
are yours!"

Nodding her pseudo-eye, Gillian retracted it into her main body,
and began to flow between the deckplates in the ruined corridor 
and into the subterranean section of the base through an air shaft, 
leaving the Jem'Hadar to do the fighting...and the dying. After all, 
that was what they were for, wasn't it?

In a corner of her mind, Gillian made a note to congratulate the
Founder responsible for instituting the policy of the Founder's
having complete control over the dispensation of White.

As the Founder left, First got up from his crouch, and ignored the 
stabbing pain in his left leg as he limped his way towards the motor
pool, where several Jem'Hadar wearing the insigna of technician-soldiers
were peering outside nervously with weapons in hand. Taking a 
deep breath, he yelled out the Founder's orders to the rest of
the Jem'Hadar fighting and dying in the mud.

"MOVE! ALPHA, CHARLIE, TO THE HQ! BRAVO, DELTA, 
COUNTERATTACK TO THE EAST! FORM BEHIND COVER!"

It was only a dozen meters or so from the command center to the motor
pool, but it was an eternity over the rain-soaked beaten ground, with
dozens of enemy shots missing him narrowly, and scores of Jem'Hadar
dying as they tried to regroup for the planned assault.

Finally, after thirty seconds of hell, he finally reached the Motor Pool
door, and fell inside.

The technicians surrounded him, picking him up from the floor and asking
him questions. "Twelfth, what's going on?"

"Shut up! I'm the First now! Get in those vehicles! We counter-attack
immediately!"

[Yates' Position]

"Oh shit," muttered Nathan as he saw scores of Jem'Hadar begin charging 
across the muddy ground as several hover-vehicles nosed their way out 
of the open doors of the motor pool, their swivel-mounted repeating
disruptors hammering away at the positions of the other Cleaners.

"Phong...PHONG!"

"What?"

"You better be fucking right about that shit you said earlier, otherwise
we're gonna be in one fuckin' world of hurt!"

Not wasting any more time, Nate centered the crosshairs in his 
HUD on the rear-most of the vehicles, which was just leaving 
the motor pool.

"RODGERS! NEW TARGET! FULL BATTERY FIRE! 
DESIGNATING NOW!" he yelled over the TacNet.

[1 km away]

"FIRING NOW!" Rodgers yelled as he triggered the safety interlocks on
the Plex-Two battery he had set up on a reverse slope. Immediately,
the five missile tubes which had been buried into the ground slightly
to counter the firing effects roared with flame as the missiles
shot into the air, headed towards the base a klick away.

[Seifert's Position]

The heavy rifle slammed into his shoulder, and downhill, 
another important looking Jemmie's head was blown into vapor, 
when all of a sudden, several streaks of light flew into the night 
sky, tipped over, and in the blink of an eye, slammed into the 
motor pool.

The entire building distengrated in a massive fireball, destroying 
the hover-truck that had just cleared it, and killing dozens of 
Jem'Hadar in the vinicity with shrapnel.

[The Lead Jem'Hadar Scout Car]

First watched in rage as the Motor Pool exploded behind him. Damn these
aliens. Damn them to hell. They would have their revenge when this was
all over, by mercilessly torturing them. He would quite enjoy hearing
them beg and scream as he slowly extracted their internal organs one by 
one.

[LT. Hit-Man's position]

At last. Someone worthy of his brand of terror.

"Fifi, let's go!" shouted the LT as he lept onto
Fifi and spurred her on. Soon they were bounding
downhill towards the base at nearly 30 miles an hour.

Gathering the Force, he commanded Fifi to leap, and assisted
her leap with the Force, sending nearly two and a half tons
of Rancor and crazed cyborg into a impossible-looking parabola
over the minefield and barbed wire surrounding the base.

Ripping his helmet off, he grinned as Fifi came down hard on
the first scout car, crushing the hood under her weight. In
one smooth move, he drew his lightsaber and activated it as
he leapt from Fifi's back onto the cab of the scoutcar, reveling
in the fear he felt enamanating from the doomed souls inside
the vehicle as he peeled the armored roof off the car with his
light saber and his cyberarm.

"You do NOT pass go, sucker!" he cackled as he reached in and
ripped First out of the passenger seat while Force throwing his
lightsaber into the car's interior, mincing the five jem'hadar
inside in moments.

Bringing First nose-to-nose, he stared into First's face,
as the Jem'Hadar felt true, genuine pants-wetting fear
for the first time in it's pitifully short life. 

Then without an afterthought, he threw First dozens of meters
into the air, into the burning wreckage of the motor pool,
enjoying First's screams as he burned alive as he leapt 
down from the scout car's roof, lightsaber in hand.

In all, from the time he landed on the roof of the car, to
First's fiery demise, five seconds had passed.

[Yate's Position]

"Aw shit. There goes the plan," muttered Nathan, mentally
resigning himself to following in the LT's bloody footsteps.

"Set the mines to autonomous, Phong. We've been upstaged
by the Lieutenant. We're going in."

Slowly, the Cleaners began to work their way down the hills,
firing their E-11s in short bursts whenever the opportunity 
presented itself, watching the carnage below.

Suddenly, Sutton broke from cover, yelling like a madman 
possessed, twin E-11s in his hands as he charged down the
hill, firing randomly, letting all the suppressed rage of
his twenty-year exile in the Federation out.

"Goddammit, why do they always make it hard for me?" 
Nathan moaned as he centered the crosshairs on a Jemmie
100 meters away and blew it's head off with a short burst.

At the center of all this, was the LT. As his suit's 
experimental camouflage feature was on, the only thing
the Jem'Hadar saw was a floating head maniacally dismembering
scores of them.

Swirling in a starburst pattern, he chopped off the heads
of a dozen Jemmies, and bringing his hand out, Force threw
thirty of them into the minefield, where the sensors detected
them, classified them as enemies, and detonated, reducing
them to a mass of coiled intestines on the forest floor.

Slowly, the Cleaners closed in on the base, catching the 
Jem'Hadar in a deadly crossfire between them and the LT.

Then It Happened.

Fifi was happily ripping through scores of Jem'Hadar, 
disemboweling them with swipes of her claws, when she
broke a nail.

Fifi's cry of pain broke through the driving thunderstorm,
and the next thing everyone knew, their hair was sticking out,
and then the whole world exploded into white.

Ironically, Sutton was the first to regain consciousness.  While
the rest of the Cleaners were still out cold, he saw a sight
that chilled him to the bone.

Hit-Man was standing in the center of a smoking crater, steam
boiling off his armor as the rain fell onto superheated material.
Both of his eyes were twin novas of pure hatred.

It was then that Sutton noticed the hundreds of lumps of carbon
arrayed around Hit-Man, and he was taking a closer look at one of
them, when a wet squishing sound attracted his attention.

Before his eyes, he watched with uncomprehending horror as Hit-Man
closed his left fist. Nearly thirty Jem'Hadar screamed in sheer
unremitting agony as they were literally turned inside out by
the power of the Dark Side, the wet coils of their intestines
spilling out onto the muddy ground.

Out of the corner of his Force-enhanced vision, Hit-Man caught a 
group of Jem'Hadar trying to sneak around him for a flanking
attack. Chuckling, he flicked his finger like he was flicking
a fly off his food.

The five Jem'Hadar suddenly exploded, their upper torsos flying
into the ruins of the command center with such force that they
tore holes into the steel walls, revealing the still-burning plasma
fires within.

The surviving Jem'Hadar broke and began to run, but this only enraged
Hit-Man more. How dare they run. Concentrating, he felt the atoms that
made up the fleeing Jem'Hadar and began to vibrate them faster and
faster, until with a low *fwump*, they began to self-combust, becoming
screaming living torches.

[Sublevel One]

Gillian heard the sounds of screaming and ran through the corridors
of the basement sub-level, and up the stairs to the Armory building,
where she extended a tendril through one of the many holes in the 
armored door that opened to the parade ground to see what was 
happening. What she saw shocked her to the core of her very being. 
A lone maniac was stalking the grounds of the base, against nearly 
1,500 Jem'Hadar, and was holding them off with what seemed to be 
casual flicks of the wrist that killed her servants in ever-increasingly 
horrific ways.

_Tractor beams. It's gotta be tractor beams!_ Gillian thought as she
slowly began to back down into the sublevels, fearing for her life.

[Halfway into the Minefield]

With a moan, Yates pried himself off the ground, with a strange-light
headed feeling. In his vision, an schematic of his suit appeared, with
several parts of it flashing red. In the background, he noticed that
the base looked oddly washed out and flat.

CLOAKING MATRIX: NON OPERATIONAL
COMM SYSTEM: NON OPERATIONAL
WEAPONS DATALINK: NON OPERATIONAL
IR SENSORS: 57% OPERATIONAL
UV SENSORS: 23% OPERATIONAL
RGB SENSORS: 44% OPERATIONAL

TOTAL SYSTEMS EFFICIENCY 69%

"Hello? HELLO? Fuck it!" cursed Nathan as he ripped off his helmet,
along with the rest of the Cleaners who had been unfortunate enough
to get caught in the blast effect of the LT's force-induced lighting
storm.

"What the fuck just hit us?" yelled "Mad Bob" Healey, the resident
demolitions expert.

Suddenly, a gaggle of Jem'Hadar leapt from cover and ran towards them
at full throttle. Instinctively, Nathan brought his E-11 up and dropped
the leader with a short burst to the center of the body, before he
noticed
they were screaming "We surrender! We surrender!"

"I thought you losers didn't surrender!" growled 'Mad Bob', who was
taking a stodgie out and lighting it with a block of DYE-122.

"That...that was before.....HIM!" sobbed the senior survivor,
feeling the crushing terror that always came from White deprivation,
since his injector had stopped working several minutes ago from the
strange lightning storm,  but heightened by the insane madman who 
had come to wreak havoc on them.

[15 kilometers away - _Cleaner One_]

A beeping noise on the communications panel caught Lowe's attention.
Looking at it, he saw that most of the Cleaners had dropped off the
TacNet.

"Hey, where did everyone go?"

Both Lowe and Hampton began to look at their sensors, and did
a self-test diagnostic of the communications system. Everything
checked out.

"Oh, shit," both of them said at the same time. Without any further
words spoken, they began the checklist for a cold engine startup.

Ten seconds later, they were skimming over the treetops towards
the base, with Lowe keeping his eyes on the horizon as trees whipped
below them in the green-tinged vision of the IR/Light amplification 
program being run on the active matrix windshield display.

Every so often, the bar showing the amount of active stabilization
being carried out by the flight control system shot up as the craft
hit a nasty patch of turbulent air caused by the thunderstorm, giving
Lowe and Hampton the only indication that they were flying in a nasty
thunderstorm.

While Lowe concentrated on keeping them out of the dirt, Hampton
brought up a top-down view of the base on his side of the windshield,
using passive sensors only.

This time, the resolution of the passive scan was much better, now that
most of the power on the base was off, thanks to the Cleaners, no doubt.

The system showed that weapons fire was sporadically occuring on the
east end of the base, while a mysterious electrical storm was slowly
moving westwards across the base.

Suddenly, a bloom of light appeared on the top-down view, and in front
of
them, the engine glow of a small craft shot up from the base, heading
towards the sky.

[Sublevel One]

Gillian pounded on the door in frustration, her immense strength 
creating huge rents in the door. The small two-man warp shuttle that
had been reserved for her use, and HER USE ONLY had taken off, with 
none other than a Jem'Hadar at the helm!

This wasn't how they were supposed to act! They were her INFERIORS, 
and as such, deserved to die rather than her!

[Barracks parade field]

While the other Cleaners were watching the LT rampage through the 
Jemmies like a sword through tissue paper, or guarding their new 
prisoners, "Mad Bob" calmly knelt down into the mud and began 
unstrapping the components of the P-WAB he had been lugging around 
for the better part of the night.

Healey's P-WAB was an E-WEB that had been modified into a much lighter 
weapon, capable of firing short bursts of E-WEB power, rather than just 
E-11 powered bolts, as was the case with the E-WAB.

Mounting the reciever onto the tripod, he checked the tripod for cracks,
as
having the weapon break the tripod during firing would be a bad thing, 
while his assistant mounted the barrel and the portable P-1 cryocooler.

"Sir, the P-WAB is ready!" he yelled over the storm, only to be drowned
out by the low pitched whine of a craft taking off. Everyone craned
their
heads to see a small craft with glowing purple nacelles rocket out
of what appeared to be an underground hangar.

A few seconds later, a black shape whipped through the night over the
base, silhouletted for a brief instant by a lightning flash, and the
blue fire shooting from it's exhaust nozzles as it pulled nearly 
vertical to follow the Jem'Hadar craft into the reaches of the upper
atmosphere.

[Jem'Hadar Light Scout]

The Jem'Hadar felt the crushing fear that had hung over him like an
omnipresent omen of doom disappear as he rocketed past eighty thousand
feet and reached for the edge of space. Suddenly, his sensor panel began
shrieking.

[_Cleaner One_]

Lowe and Hampton grunted as they were pressed back into their seats
by nearly five gees, the inertia dampeners turned down now that they
had no passengers in back to give them a better 'feel' for the craft.

In front of them, the Jem'Hadar craft was lit up like a whore on
Alderaan,
due to all the active sensor data - now that the cat was out of the bag,
there was no need to be sneaky.

As Lowe activated the port laser cannons he shouted "I'm going to guns!" 

A green circle with a 'death dot' appeared on the windshield, and using
some deft stick movements coupled with a short starboard swerve with the
etheric rudder brought the dot 'o death over the Jemmie's port nacelle.

Exhaling, Lowe pulled the trigger, and a stream of green fire vomited
from
the cannons, and intersected with the jemmie's port nacelle a fraction
of
a second later, blowing it off in a cloud of superheated plasma.

[Jem'Hadar Scout]

The Jem'hadar was nearly knocked unconscious  by the explosion, but his
superior physique ensued that he recieved a minor concussion instead
of a fractured skull. Suddenly, he couldn't move and he was pinned in
his seat by the murderous G forces as he watched the thin horizon
separating
air from space spin around crazily as his craft pancaked down towards
the
ground, some 80,000 feet below. 

It was a long fall, and he was conscious the whole time and had enough 
time to realize the pointlessness of his genetically engineered
existence
by the time his craft slammed into a canyon some 100 kilometers from the 
base.

[The Base]

"Mad Bob" centered the P-WEB on a gaggle of Jem'Hadar who were sort of
fighting AND fleeing from the LT at the same time and pulled the lanyard
of the P-WEB. It spat out ten humongous bolts in rapid succession
that flakbursted amongst the Jemmies, wreaking unholy carnage, and then
with a 'ping!' ejected the spent power cell from the firing chamber.

With practiced ease, Healey's assistant slammed a fresh cell in, and 
correcting his aim a bit and switching it from full auto to five shot 
burst, Healey let loose another hail of shots into the mass of
Jem'Hadar.

Caught between the unholy terror of the LT, White's T-21, and the P-WEB,
the thousand Jemmies that had been sent out to charge the intruders
quickly melted away in minutes to a small core group of a hundred, who
died either at the Lieutenant's hands, or when they were forced into
their own minefield by the LT and killed by their own mines.

[Sublevel One]

"Report! REPORT, DAMN YOU!" shrieked Gillian, chopping off the
Jemmie's head when it didn't reply fast enough, causing the
next seniormost Jem'Hadar to quickly reply "Almighty Founder,
we're all that's left! We only have four hundred of us left,
and against that madman, I daresay we're fucked."

Cooly, Gillian chopped that one's head off too. It wouldn't do
well to have defeatists like him fouling up the gene pool.

All of a sudden, the corridor that led aboveground that several 
Jem'Hadar were crouching in to watch events aboveground filled 
with hot plasma several times in rapid succesion, shredding them.

[Outside]

Healey chuckled, and took out a fresh stodgie and held it to
the barrel of his P-WEB to light it. It was getting hot now,
with steam hissing off it almost constantly. And he didn't have
a spare. Oh well. It was time to call in the cavalry.

Pulling off a cylindrical object from his belt, he fitted it
to his E-11, aimed at the entrance to the underground sublevels
and fired, detonating the compressed gas charge in the base of 
the cylinder, sending it flying through the air.

When it hit the ground around the underground
hatchway, it began hissing and dense IR/UV
reflective smoke began pouring out.

[_Cleaner One_ - 4,000 feet above the base]

"There! See it?" shouted Hampton, pointing at the bright red plume
of smoke rising up from one of the buildings on the active matrix
windshield.

"Yep. Sure do," replied Lowe as he slowly put the shuttle into a gentle
dive towards the source of the smoke, arming the belly concussion
missile
launcher and aiming the dot 'o death squarely on top of the source of
the smoke.

[The Ground]

Healey whooped, as did the rest of the Cleaners as they saw 
yellow flame suddenly streak from the night and hit the entrance 
to the underground sublevels in a fiery explosion, that sent massive 
tremors travelling through the earth for nearly five klicks surrounding 
the base.

The P-WEB bounced up and down dangerously for a few moments before 
Healey and his assistant leapt on top of it, holding it down
with their bodies.

[Sublevel One]

Underground, it was a wholly different matter. It was sheer Hell
as scores of tunnels collapsed, burying scores of Jem'Hadar alive,
and immolating those who were unfortunate enough to be near the
impact point.

A concrete slab suddenly shifted and broke free from the roof,
falling on Gillian and a Jem'Hadar, crushing them both utterly.

[Outside]

Slowly, an eerie silence filled the night as the sounds of weapons
fire and screams faded to nothing along with the thunder, to be 
replaced by the soft patter of the rain, and the soft hissing
of various fires in the complex.

It was over. Already.

Looking around for the first time, the enormity of what they 
had just done struck the Cleaners. Scores of Jem'Hadar bodies 
filled the entire base, many lying three deep in some spots. 

Fifi, having recovered from her earlier broken nail, whined
uncomfortably as she pawed the dead corpses that littered the
ground. Hit-Man walked over to comfort her and see what he
could do about that nail.

Meanwhile, Nathan turned around and looked for Sutton. If
he had been killed in this whole mess, than all of this
would have been for naught, including Ali's death.

The sound of blasterfire drew everyone's attention. But it
was only Sutton, who was randomly shooting into corpses while
screaming "Is that the best you motherfuckers can do? HUH? HUH?
Not so hot now that you aren't facing feddies, huh, FUCKERS?!?"

Sighing, Yates began to walk towards Sutton. When he was close
enough, he grabbed the twin E-11s from Sutton's hands. "They're
dead already, nimrod. Nice job, asshole! What if you had gotten
fucking killed?!? Our ENTIRE mission was based around inserting
you back into the Federation!"

Seeing by the strangely stupid look on Sutton's face that he
wasn't getting it, he bitchslapped Sutton hard across the
face, raising a red welt across Sutton's left cheek.

"What was THAT for?" yelped Sutton.

"THAT was for being a fucking idiot, that's what for!" 

A bright light shot out from the night sky as _Cleaner One_ 
slowly circled the base, playing it's integral searchlight 
slowly over the ruined base, casting eerie shadows over 
ruined buildings, as the shuttle's sensors swept the base, 
looking for any holdouts. 

When a small group of survivors was found, the laser cannons 
fired briefly, obliterating them utterly. With this as a 
background, Nathan began interrogating the thirteen Jem'Hadar 
who had surrendered to them.

"When's the next time you get a supply shuttle?"

"Next week, we were due to recieve the final shipment of the 
Quickening, as well as several replacements, for recent 
fatalities." said the seniormost survivor.

"Uh huh, and by 'recent fatalities', you mean people who 
went missing because of HER?" said Nathan as he jabbed
his finger towards Fifi, who was being petted by Hit-Man.

"Yes!" replied the Jemmie, looking over his shoulder
nervously in fear. 

"Uh huh," replied Nathan, who was taking this down on a datapadd,
which by being in an insulated blister on his belt, had survived
the LT's ferocious outburst. Suddenly, he remembered something.

"SHIT! Where's the quickening?" he asked frantically.

Even the Jem'Hadar were looking around nervously now. 

"It's in twelve fifteen thousand liter containers buried in 
a hillside bunker 7.4 kilometers north of here, and the bunker
is heavily shock-shielded, and the ventilation system
is designed so that even if all of the containers rupture, it
will be contained within the bunker. Even if the bunker is
compromised, the prevailing winds will blow it away from the
base."

"What's with all the operational security?" asked Nathan,
curious about why the Dominion was taking such extreme
measures, especially if it was just a bunch of clones
on the base.

Sighing, the Jemmie replied, "This is one of the most important
outposts along this stretch of the Dominion. The ELINT gear here
is capable of tracking everything within a 20 light year range, 
and it provides refuelling capabilities for scout-ships, with
an anti-matter storage bunker 300 kilometers to the south, heavily 
guarded by automated defenses."

"If the Quickening was released into the atmosphere, it would 
render this planet uninhabitable to most carbon-based life-forms
for approximately a couple of centuries."

"That's bad." deadpanned Nathan. "So why are you losers playing with
this shit?"

"Ask him," replied the Jemmie, jerking a finger towards
Sutton.

Nathan turned towards Sutton with an evil glare. "Something you
haven't told us yet, jerkface? LIEUTENANT!"

Hit-Man turned away from Fifi and began to march towards Sutton,
who began sweating nervously. "H-Hey! That was a State Secret!
If they had found me with all that shit, I could have claimed
I was studying war plans on my time, but not with that shit!"

"Oh, so you never told us, huh?" yelled Nathan, who was getting
furious at the little shit.

"T-Th-That's not true! I DID tell you! It's just not in the official
Starfleet reports I gave you! It's not my fuckin' fault your people
didn't read my notes in the margins!"

As Sutton felt the LT's hand clamp down on his shoulder, like the
clammy hand of Death itself come to pay him a personal visit, he
began blabbering out what he knew.

"The entire mess was suppressed - fuckin' suppressed! All record
of it was purged from all the databases. I could only find traces
of it in paper backups which I found while searching for some
particularly old pre-Federation texts in the Fleet Archives Room
at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco."

"I had heard rumors - so had everyone in the 'fleet, but we could
never find the proof to back them up. But in those dusty archives,
I saw a program authorization for the Plague. That was the beginning 
of my long and...profitable relationship with Section 31."

Hit-Man's grip tightened, sending pain coursing through his body,
causing him to wince.

"You never told us about how you were...involved with Section 31,
did you, Sutton?" said Yates, getting tired at this web of deceit
and betrayal. It never ended. Ever. Not even millions of light years
from home.

"They were the ones who found me, and gave me an offer I couldn't
refuse, if you must pardon my use of that tired old cliche. I became
Section 31's liason to the Research and Development division of
Starfleet
Command, which was rather fortunate for them, as their current liason
was due to retire next month."

Sutton licked his lips nervously. "That was in 2367, just after the
Borg had tore through the fleet at Wolf 359 and come within a hairs'
breadth of wiping out all life on Earth. That had revived Section 31's
long-dormant bio-warfare section, because obviously, our weapons had
been near-useless against the Borg, it was time to try a different
tack."

"By 2373, six years later, working with Section 31, I had boosted
the Federation's defenses massively, and they had finally weaponized
the dreaded Bharrkas Plague into a useable bioweapon."

Sutton paused, and then was convinced to hurry up by another 
well-timed squeeze by Hit-Man. 

"The Borg tried attacking again that year, but they got driven off
easily. The real threat was the Dominion, who decided to attack then.
However, the destruction of the USS Odyssey back in 2370, three years
ago, had alerted Section 31 to the threat of the Dominion, even if
the Federation's politicians had overlooked it."

"Because of the scarcity of Founder biological samples in our program, 
even though we had tried everything to get Odo's medical data from 
Deep Space Nine, or from that Cardassian who had played with him all 
those years ago; we decided to switch to a different tack after some
talks with a prominent sociologist on the structure of the Dominion."

"The program moved into high-gear four months after the Dominion
attacked, 
after we had obtained enough samples of Jem'Hadar tissue, allowing us to
reverse tailor our original anti-Borg bioweapon into a specific form
that only affected Jem'Hadar, and two months later, we began large-scale
spraying of it during daring raids on worlds deep in the Dominion, 
decimating whole armies of Jem'Hadar."

At that, the Jem'Hadar prisoners involuntarily shivered, and their
unofficial leader spoke; "Now, do you see why the Dominion wants
the Quickening?"

Nathan was about to reply, when an unearthly shrieking shattered 
the night as _Cleaner One_ was about to land. Fifi howled in 
agony as a enormous spike of golden material impaled her
and she collapsed to the ground in a writhing heap of insenate
Rancor flesh.

The shuttle's spotlight made the golden blob shimmer as it reformed
from a long spike into the form of Gillian. Everyone, even the
Jem'Hadar prisoners had the presence of mind to duck for cover behind
anything that was available, and Sutton, through superhuman will,
broke free of the Lieutenant's grip, and scrambled behind one of the
wrecked Jem'Hadar scout cars.

As everyone watched through fearful eyes, the air around Hit-Man
began to crackle and shimmer with the powerful Dark Side energies
coursing through him, his eyes ablaze with an intensity never before
seen.

Gillian had the gall to mock Hit-Man, with the words; "Your little...pet
is done for, and soon you will be nothing but a pile of flesh on the
ground, along with my traitorious servants!" 

"Maybe, but you just opened up a path to a whole new world of HURT!"
whispered the LT in a deathly whisper that even Gillian strained
to hear as he pulled out his distinctive inky-black lightsaber
and ignited it with a snap-hiss.

Suddenly, faster than the eye could see, Gillian struck, her
arms and legs reforming into razor-sharp blades, striking
towards the LT. No solid had ever evaded her before, and he
wouldn't be the first.

Hit-Man smiled, tightening his face into a fearsome Death's Head 
grin as he watched Gillian leap towards him in slow motion.

The Force was a wonderful thing, he thought as he easily 
sidestepped her, moving in a blur faster than the eye could see,
and bringing his lightsaber down onto one of her bladed limbs, 
slicing it off with the sizzle of melted jello.

"BZZZZZZZZT!" he shouted in his Bob Barker-imitation voice.

"You lose, care to try your luck again?"

Gillian let out an enraged roar as she lost all contact with
her severed substance - that had never happened to her before.

This time, she reformed into a shapeless blob of spikes and leapt
towards the impudent human, seeking to envelop him and impale him
to death with her spikes.

"Once again, you lose. You do not pass go and collect two hundred," 
muttered Hit-Man as he closed his eyes and felt her essence, leaping 
into the air in a breathtaking somersault and landing on Gillian, 
his lightsaber penetrating into her.

The moment he felt his lightsaber meet resistance, he channeled
all the forces of the Dark Side into the very tip of his lightsaber,
and unleashed the full fury of the Sith, reaching into the shapeless
blob that was Gillian, and ripping into her essence with the Dark
Arts of the Sith he had mastered over countless days in meditation
in the Emperor's private throneroom.

He smiled as he felt her scream out in pain as she was torn asunder 
in her mind by the Dark side, retreating from the world into a 
catatonic state.

For a brief moment, he let himself rest on one knee in the goo,
feeling the furies and anger of the Sith course through him
as he basked in his triumph.

Then he deactivicated his lightsaber and clipped it back on
his belt as he stepped out of the goo. Grabbing a container
lying nearby, he levitated it with the force and began to
fill it with Gillian's catonic liquid form.

When the container was filled with Founder goo, Hit-Man
sealed it, and set it to the side as he walked up to the 
insenate form of Fifi, lying in the mud, bleeding
from Gillian's dastardly sneak attack. 

Kneeling in the mud next to her, he gave her a quick
once over, drawing on his extensive knowledge of
general anatomy to decipher her condition.

He noticed that the wound had already clotted, and
was bleeding only slightly. Reaching out with the 
force, he saw into the wound, and saw much to his
surprise, that Gillian's spear attack hadn't done
much damage, and had merely penetrated muscle, and
that the damage was well along it's way to healing,
and only needed the merest of nudges from the Force.

Taking out a hypospray and some synthflesh from his 
first aid kit, he injected Bacta into the wound,
slapped the synthflesh patches over both the entrance 
and exit wounds, and patted Fifi, who moaned weakly in
reply.

Nathan was the first to regain any semblance of proper Imperial
authority. "Well, I guess that's that. I hereby declare the
battle over. Let's get to work."

Turning to look around, he spotted Sutton cowering behind
the burnt-out husk of a scout car. "Sutton!" he yelled, "I want
you to find this place's computer core and remove it! Phong,
help him so the idiot doesn't accidentially erase it!"

"Healey! You find the power generator and rig it to blow!"

"White! Watch over our prisoners!"

"What about you?" asked Seifert, who had come down the hill,
his SX-415 now in it's padded case.

"What about me, Seifert? Well, YOU and ME are going to take
a little look-see at the Quickening since you asked what I
was going to do!" snapped Yates.

"Oh, fuck it," muttered Seifert.

[Four hours later]

Everyone was done with their tasks. There had been a few dicey 
moments when Sutton had accidentially dropped the computer core 
of the base before Phong could put it into a padded case, resulting 
in a few new welts on Sutton's face, courtesy of Phong.

Much to Nathan and Seifert's relief, the bunker with the Quickening 
in it had been unaffected by the tremblors caused by the single 
concussion missile fired during the battle, and now they had ten 
full liters of the crap, and unlike Sutton, they sure as hell weren't 
going to drop the shit.

"Okay, are we all done?" ordered Yates, as he took in each Cleaner's
response.

"The Feddies are on their way here. I managed to use _Cleaner One's_
main comm array to send out a distress signal coded and set up just
like it was sent from Jem'hadar gear from my observations of what they
were using." replied Phong, lifting the padded case containing the
computer core of the complex.

"Uh, what'd you tell them?" asked Sutton nervously, his eyes twitching
left to right nervously, trying to ignore the red welts on his face,
even though they were beginning to itch.

"Just the basics, Alexander. Name, Rank, Serial number, and a plea
for help. Unless they're total morons, they're going to wonder why 
someone on a Jem'hadar base just sent the basic stats for an Admiral."

"OK, now, we have to allow our dear Admiral to put on a convincing 
show of brutal Jem'hadar torture." finished Nathan, causing Sutton
to back up nervously. "H-hey! w-w-wait!"

A pair of hands clamped down around the back of his neck and slowly 
began to close, causing Sutton to wince in pain. "It's payback time, 
you little twerp, nobody, and I mean, *nobody* fucks with the Baron 
and gets away with it!"

Lowe spun Sutton around, and Sutton saw with dismay that the Baron
had a pair of brass knuckles on his hands. "Oh Krif........" was
all he got out before Lowe shattered the bone above his left eye
with the durasteel knuckles he was wearing.

Hit-Man suddenly walked up to Lowe, shaking his head.

"No, no, you hit it like THIS, not like THAT!"

With that, the LT brought his cyberarm down onto Sutton's left
arm, shattering it, and causing Sutton to let out a raw primal
scream that sounded...girly like.

With the sounds of Lowe's beating in the background, Nathan walked 
into _Cleaner One_, where the thirteen Jem'Hadar prisoners were
being held in the small prisoner cages that equipped _Cleaner One_,
and which doubled as storage closets when not in use.

Picking out five Jemmies, Nathan let them out of their closet-sized
cells and led them down the ramp under his watchful eye. They looked
oddly at the sight before them: a grown man in a Starfleet uniform
crying and pleading like a baby for the pain to stop as one of the
mysterious humans proceeded to savagely beat him, as the Demon in
White stood by, offering pointers.

"Awright. This is your one last chance to redeem yourselves 
before the Founders for your massive failure to protect one
of them. If you can capture such a high-ranking Starfleet
official, then they surely will forgive you." barked Yates
as he hefted one of the five Disruptor rifles the Cleaners
had salvaged from the base before throwing it to the eldest
of the five Jemmies.

"LOWE! Are you quite done yet?"

"Dammit Nathan, can't I at least *tenderize* him a bit
more?"

"No."

"Goddammit!" In frustration, Lowe let loose one last blow to
Sutton that shattered several of his ribs with a wet snapping
noise.

"Bob, help Sutton up. He's no use to us in a catatonic state
on the ground."

"Yep." with that, "Mad Bob" began to pry Sutton from the 
still-muddy parade ground, ignoring the screams of pain
from Sutton as the rough handling caused splintered bones
to grate against each other.

Shoving a disruptor rifle into Sutton's muddy hands, Nathan
said in a dead-serious voice; "If I were you, I'd start running,"
nodding towards the five Jemmies armed with Disruptors.

"Ohhhhhh krifffff!" whimpered Sutton as he finally realized 
the entire sadistic game the Cleaners were playing with him.

Nathan and the rest of the Cleaners watched Sutton limp into the
forest, relying on the Disruptor rifle as a makeshift crutch. When
nearly thirty minutes had passed, Nathan turned to the Jemmies.

"Now's yer chance!"

The five Jemmies flew into the forest so fast that if they had
blinked, they'd have missed them. When he was sure they were safely
out of earshot, Nathan whispered to White "Sarge, did you fix those
disruptors the way I wanted you to?"

"Yeah. Worst case our friend is looking at is a nasty electrical
shock if he gets shot. But he doesn't know THAT."

Their work on this shithole of a planet was just about done. Turning
to the LT, Yates did one last check. 

"LT, make sure those Jemmies don't kill Sutton, will you?"

HIT-MAN grinned evilly, his red cyber-eye glowing ever so slightly
brighter. "Still, can I let them knock him around a bit?"

"Yeah, let 'em slap him around a bit more. Makes it more realistic.
We'll send a landing barge back for you and Fifi. Here's the frequency
they'll contact you on."

Nathan handed the LT a sheet of flimsiplast with a long string of 
numbers written on it. "Oh, before I forget, here's the detonator
for the base and the Quickening depot. You flip the cover off the
firing button to begin the arming sequence. Two double presses of
the button in rapid succession finish the arming sequence, and 
the button lights up. All it needs after that is one final press
before it's showtime."

"Oh goody gumdrops! Come on Fifi, let's have some fun!" shouted
Hit-Man as he grabbed the detonator from Yates and leapt onto
Fifi, who had mostly recovered in just four hours, thanks to the
bacta and her Rancor physiology.

"Hi Yo Silver!" yelled the LT as he slapped his feet down onto
Fifi, who took off with a roar, bounding down into the forest
with the LT hanging on her back.

As they watched the crazed cyborg and what seemed to be his
closest companion disappear into the forest, the Cleaners
shook their heads.

"What a kriffing madman. I'm glad he's on our side." muttered
Healey.

"Yep. Let's get out of here before he changes his mind and 
decides to tag along with us."

[3 Days Later - USS _Melbourne_]

The bridge exploded in a shower of hot sparks
and control panels, killing most of the bridge
crew.

Lieutenant Jonathan Boyd righted himself in his 
chair, and quickly scanned the bridge. Most of 
the bridge crew was dead, killed at their posts 
when their panels blew out under the fury of the 
attack, including Captain Sarde.

Looking at the viewscreen, Boyd saw the most
feared thing in the universe - a Borg cube.

It was apparently undamaged, despite their
best efforts.

Suddenly, a feminine voice sounded. 

"Warning! Warning! Core breach imminient."

With a heavy heart, Boyd gave the order
he'd hoped to never have to give as a
Starfleet officer. 

"This is the acting captain. All hands abandon 
ship. Repeat, all hands abandon ship."

The order given, Boyd quickly went to each
of the bridge crew, checking for their pulses.

All of them were dead, except for one; 
Lieutenant Yarr, the helmsman. Grabbing
Yarr, Boyd made for the turbolift.

"Deck 10."

"Deck 10 is currently unavailable."

"Then take me to the nearest available location
with life pods, dammit!"

"Affirmative."

The lift doors slowly slid shut on the hell that
was the _Melbourne's_ bridge.

With a 'swoosh', the lift doors opened, onto 
even more hell. Doors were ajar, flames leaping 
out from quarters whose contents had ignited 
due to EPS ruptures. 

Across the hallway, Boyd could see the waiting escape
pod hatches, the protective wall panels having been
automatically discarded when the ships' computer
had determined that the _Melbourne_ had suffered 
catastrophic damage.

Boyd began to walk towards the pods, dragging Lt. Yarr 
with him. 

Suddenly, the _Melbourne_ rocked from Borg weapons fire,
knocking Boyd to his feet. As he struggled to get
back to his feet, he heard the characteristic whine
of transporters.

A contigent of Borg had just beamed into the hall,
directly between him and the escape pods. 

Slowly, with leaden footsteps, the drones began to walk
towards him. 

"Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."

Boyd's whipped out not his phaser, but his
Heckler and Koch SOCOM pistol.

"Assimilate this, *fuckers!*"

With that, Boyd pulled hard on the trigger, 
adrealine making the 4 pounds of pressure 
needed to fire seem feather-light.

The report of the .45 ACP round thundered
throughout the narrow corridors of the 
_Melbourne_, and the first drone went down,
sparks flying from shorted out circuits on
the drone, only to reveal another drone
behind it.

Boyd shot that one too, and he began to
retreat down the corridor, firing nearly
continuously, dropping drone after drone,
when all of a sudden, the pistol refused
to fire, and all that was heard was an
omnious 'click!'.

Gasping, he frantically searched for
the other magazine of ammo he had been
carrying when he spied it down the corridor,
behind the advancing phalanx of drones.

He tried to fight his way past them, but they 
were too strong, and the last thing he felt 
before everything disappeared into a murky 
twilight was a sharp intense pain in his neck.

With a scream, Admiral Jonathan Boyd woke up
in his sweat-soaked bed. He frantically ran
his hands up and down his face and neck, feeling
for the telltale raised veins of a Borg Nanoprobe
infection.

To his relief, he found none, and he sank back into
his bed, his hands on his face, moaning. The nightmares
came every so often about what he had gone through
all those years ago on the USS _Melbourne_.

The _Melbourne_ had been a special ship in
the fleet, being one of the most modern _Excelsior_
ships then in service, and in line for both an upgrade
to the _Lakota_ standard, as well as the ever-present
rumors that Will Riker from the _Enterprise_ had 
been offered command of the ship repeatedly, but had 
always turned it down.

Suddenly, his desktop workstation beeped in 
the darkness of his quarters. "Nightlites." he 
muttered as he shambled over to his desk. 

Rotating his laptop to face him, he pressed
the single button on it's base. Immediately, 
the fresh face of Phil Mawhiney, his XO, 
appeared on the screen.

"Phil, what is it?" asked Boyd, not bothering 
to hide the clammy sweat on his brow.

"Sir, A few minutes ago, we picked up a 
distress signal from what the computer indicates 
is a Dominion Base."

"So?" asked Boyd, getting a little irritated.

"Well, sir, it had Admiral Sutton's rank, and 
serial number in the main body."

"Sutton, you say? I'm on my way." With that, Boyd 
slammed his finger down on the dismiss button, and 
quickly grabbed a fresh uniform, throwing the old 
one into the recycler, where it was disassembled 
down into it's component atoms, for reintegration
into a new uniform the next day.

[The Bridge]

Boyd stepped out of the turbolift, to be greeted 
by Phil rising out of the command chair, and 
motioning him towards the comm station.

"Good morning, Sir. Here's the playback of the signal."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TO ALL STARFLEET PERSONNEL, THIS IS ADMIRAL ALEXANDER SUTTON 
OF STARFLEET, SERIAL NUMBER #56965723984. I AM BEING HELD AS 
A PRISONER ON THIS BASE. I HAVE ESCAPED. THEY ARE HUNTING ME 
DOWN NOW. SEND RESCUE *ASAP*.

MY BEST REGARDS TO HORARITO

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Boyd frowned. "Yep. That's Alex, definitely. Set our 
course for that base, maximum warp."

"Uhm, sir, one problem."

"What?"

"Long-range sensors have detected a Dominion task-force 
in the area, and it has already altered course to respond 
to the distress signal."

"Darn. Well, we'll just have to take them out then. Should be a
fine test of the ICS, don't you agree?" replied Boyd.

[Three Hours Later - ISS Revenger - Admiral Sheppard's quarters]

A fleet admiral could have easily aquired huge, palatial 
quarters. In fact, most of the space of the bridge towers
on Star Destroyers were devoted to Flag Officers and their
staffs. 

However, that wasn't Sheppard's style. While his office
had holo-projectors, it was quite spartan compared to some
of the more...extravagant Admiral's offices he'd seen when
the Empire was at it's height. 

With him, everything was standard Imperial issue. The only
pleasures he allowed himself were the holo-projectors in
his office (which were standard issue, to allow Admirals 
to follow battles from their offices), and a small holo
unit in his quarters.

Staring at the tiny hologram beside his bed, Sheppard wondered 
how many hearts the Rebellion had broken. He sighed. It was
time to get back to business. With that, he pressed a button 
on the holo-pad.

The hologram disappeared, to be replaced with a 
previously-recorded message from Charles. 

"Mark, as I am leaving to set up the World Devastator,
you'll find yourself in need of a new Flag Captain to
replace me as second-in-command. I have studied 
the records of all the eligible officers under our
command, and have whittled it down to two choices."

Charles paused to pick up a drink of water and took
a sip before continuing.

"Choice number one is Commander Ian Samuels. He's
a solid, competent officer. His lifelong dream has been
to command a Star Destroyer. In fact, he took a demotion
just to serve under you, as he saw you as a capable man
worthy of his respect, unlike so many of the warlords."

"He served for a time as the Captain of the Dreadnought
_Inflexible_, before being reassigned to a desk job, 
although that was due to circumstances entirely out of
his control."

"Choice number two is Commander C.S Strowbridge. He's
on the same level as Samuels, regarding his leadership
skills. However, he does have prior experience with
Star Destroyers."

"I have also supplied you with their complete personnel
files, to aid you in making your decision."

At that, Sheppard looked down at the two datapads which
held their personnel files.

"I trust you'll make the right decision regarding my
replacement, Mark."

With that, Charles' holographic image faded away.

Sheppard studied the two datapads for several minutes,
then leaned back in his chair, thinking.

After several moments of contemplation, he made his decision.
Reaching out and pressing the 'record' button on his desk's
embedded computer, Sheppard began to speak.

"I have considered the records of both men carefully, and
have come to a decision regarding Charles' replacement as
my Flag Captain. The job will go to Commander Strowbridge,
who will also be promoted to Captain."

Sheppard paused for a moment before continuing. 

"However, Commander Samuels has shown a lot of promise. 
Unfortunately for him, he doesn't have any prior experience 
in the day-to-day operations of a Star Destroyer. I am 
hereby ordering him to report to to the _Vengeance_, to serve
as Captain January's XO. This will achieve two purposes:"

"One, he'll gain valuable experience in the day-to-day operations
of a Star Destroyer, as well as combat experience in one."

"Second, he'll keep tabs on Captain January for me. January,
for the most part, has performed reliably under my command, but
I still have some doubts about his loyalty to our misson."

"End recording."

With that, the red light on his desk signifying a recording 
in process winked out.

For several moments, a stillness filled the room. 

Suddenly from the darkness, a voice spoke.

"Ah, my dear Mark. Why didn't you tell me you had recovered
the secret of Travem?"

Sheppard whirled around to face the voice.

"Dammit. I told you *never* to come here. If I want to 
talk to you, *I'll* go to you, not the other way around!"

The figure chuckled softly and stepped forward slightly. 
Light fell upon the gleaming rows of insigna indicating
the rank of Major General. 

"Why are you so worried, Mark? It's not like you don't have
room for one more psycho in yout fleet. You've already got
January and Hit-Man."

"They're...different." replied Sheppard.

The figure snorted derisively. "I served the Emperor in my
own way, as you served him in your own way. What difference
does it make?"

"A lot. Take this and begone!" with that, Sheppard picked
up the datapadd containing all the information on Travem
that Hit-Man had given them, and threw it at the figure, who
caught it in one smooth motion.

"Such hostility," the figure sighed. "you *do* realize that you're
talking to the man who was responsible for the early weaponizing
of Travem?"

Sheppard's jaw dropped open in utter shock. "Y..You?"

"Don't look so surprised. Maybe, one of these days, I'll tell
you the full story. But since you wanted me gone, I shall be 
more than happy to comply."

With that, the figure faded back into the shadows, leaving
Sheppard slowly shaking his head in amazement and shock. 

[Six Hours Later]

"Morning, Sargn't."

"Morning, Boss." replied Staff Sergeant Rob Wilson as Wilkens
put down the briefcase he'd been carrying onto his desk.

As Wilkens walked over to the coffee machine to get some
Army coffee, Wilson recited his iternary for him.

"We've got a meeting with General Veers at 0630 on the 
After-Action Report for Fendar, and then a big one with 
Sheppard and the other head-honchos at 0930 to hammer out 
our overall strategy here."

"mmm...Do you have those inventory reports ready, Rob?" 
Wilkens asked as he sipped the congealed motor oil that 
passed for coffee in the Army.

As Wilkens sat behind his desk, Rob walked up to him and 
handed him a thick sheaf of papers.

"Inventories from every ship and unit in the fleet, current
as of 0500 this morning."

Wilkens quickly skimmed through the pile of papers, scribbling
notes on a pad of paper next to him. The news wasn't good.
Despite his logisitical prowess, their supplies had been slowly
depleting over the last two years they'd spent on the run before
they'd found Fendar.

"We've got to get some supplies, and quick."

"Food, too?" asked Wilson.

"Of course! I'm fucking tired of having to eat the crap they've
been serving us at the mess hall for the last year or so!"

Nodding, Wilson then replied, "Of course, Boss, don't forget
to ask Sheppard for a new set of 50-ton fabbing machines. We're
running out of spares for the itty-bitty parts, even with the
stuff we recovered from Fendar."

"I'll try, but you know that Veers wants a new complement of
Leveller Is, so he doesn't have to rely on bastardized Speeder
bikes for arty support," sighed Wilkens.

"So much crap, Restar, and so little time."

"Ain't that the truth, Rob?"

[The Fendar After-Action Review - 0630 Hours]

Wilkens watched the last few people enter the auditorium
on Deck 53, and then the lights dimmed as a holo of the
terrain surrounding the base on Fendar popped up.

General Veers mounted a podium next to the holo, and began
speaking.

"Overall, this was a pretty well handled assault on a 
heavily defended base, even if we did run into some
problems along the way."

Pushing a button on a remote he was holding, Veers
replaced the holo of the terrain around the Fendar base
with a 3-D schematic of an X-1 Viper Wardroid.

"Chiefly, this. We didn't even expect these to be in
the base, and as a result, we really weren't packing
the right kind of equipment to deal with them. This
is important, because according to the data that Captain
Sutton has given us, the Borg may or may not be able
to adapt to our blasters, giving them the chief ability
of the X-1 Viper - near-immunity to energy weapons."

"Until proven otherwise, we'll assume they can." Veers
then looked out into the audience, finding Wilkens.

"Lieutenant Colonel Wilkens, increase the amount of
time the men spend training with projectile weapons,
will you?"

"Yessir."

A young Lieutenant raised his hand.

"Yes?" asked Veers.

"Well, sir, wouldn't it have been better to subject the
target site to a pre-assault bombardment with organic
artillery?"

Wilkens then suddenly spoke up. "We had considered doing
that, but we decided not to, keeping in consideration
our precarious supply situation. We only had about
a dozen or so extra speeder bikes modified to act
as cruise missiles. We simply couldn't waste them."

Veers nodded at that. "Well put, Wilkens. Now, about
that company of Leveller Is..."

Wilkens gave an expaserated sigh. "We're looking into
it, sir, but there's a lot of other stuff that's also
desperately needed, so don't get your hopes up."

"Alright, Wilkens," Veers then turned to another
officer. "Captain, what was your opinion of
the modified walkers?"

The young Army captain who had led the AT-ATs and
AT-STs onto the base put down his cup of coffee and
spoke up.

"Well, sir, pretty good. Lots of extra firepower. 
That pair of turbolasers you replaced the side-mounted
medium blasters with on the AT-ATs were great. Blew
those XR-85s apart like nothing."

Veers nodded. "Well, it appears that most of our excess
casualties on Fendar were caused by a lack of supporting
arms. If we had had a squadron of Gunboats overhead, 
plus a full complement of rocket artillery, we'd have
pasted those droids with little loss to ourselves."

Everyone agreed with that. The meeting quickly broke
up and everyone left the auditorium.

[CRV _Rapier_ in Rardon System - 0800 hours]

"Report!" barked Valberg as he literally
leapt into his command chair. His sleep 
had been rudely interrupted by the blaring 
of the alert klaxon and the shuddering of the 
ship under weapons fire.

"Sir, upon leaving hyperspace for our daily
navigational check, we found ourselves in a 
firefight!" Croyd shouted.

Valberg simply gritted his teeth. Well, 
he'd have the last laugh, as he always did.

"Come about to heading 090 and accelerate
to flank, with the _Stiletto_ following
us in a vee formation. Once we're out of
their weapons range, we'll figure out
what to do."

Engines glowing brightly, the two Corellian
Corvettes quickly outraced the pursuing
alien ships, leaving them far behind in their
ion exhaust.

Sighing, Valberg looked at the repeater displays
installed on the armrests of his command chair,
studying the situation.

"Croyd, what's with that group of ships
in a straight line formation, doing nothing?"

"Sir, they were already under attack by the
ones who're shooting at us when we dropped
out of hyperspace."

Suddenly, over the bridge comms came a frantic
voice. "This is the Dormanic Royal Convoy, carrying
King Reeiol IV to Dorman Prime! We're under attack
by pirates!"

Valberg smiled a predatory smile as he
let the word slip out of his mouth; "Pirates."

Everyone on the bridge crew exchanged knowing
glances. The _Remora_ incident was still fresh
in their minds.

Back when they were just a group of renegade
corvettes flitting across the stars under
Valberg's command before they found Sheppard's
fleet, they had run across the interstellar liner
_Remora_.

The Haiolar Klan of pirates had boarded the liner
earlier, and killed all of the liner's 200 passengers
and 50 crewmembers.

They would've gotten away with it, due to the chaos
in the New Republic's space from all the minor
brushfire wars breaking up all over the NR.

Unfortunately for them, they had the bad luck to
run into Commander Valberg while they were
making a brief stopover in the Noard system to
offload the loot they'd recovered from the liner.

Using a MagPulse torpedo stolen from the New Republic
military depot at Parck IV, Valberg had stopped the
liner dead in space, and docked the _Dagger_ to it,
proceeding to pump anathesizing gas into the _Remora_,
knocking out all but a few pirates.

His small complement of boarders had quickly 
overwhelmed the pirates, and it was there that 
the fun began.

Piracy in that sector had taken a steep turn downwards
immediately after the New Republic had found the liner
drifting in space, the pirates splattered all over the
zero-gee lounge. 

Valberg had decided to toy with the anti-grav controls,
bouncing the pirates off of the walls until there was
nothing left of them but red paste on the walls.

'To Valberg' had become virtually synomymous with
sadism afterwards.

Snapping back to the present, the crew heard their
captain issue his orders.

"We will attack from above, while _Stiletto_ attacks
from below. As we close with the pirates, fire the
torpedoes."

While the _Rapier_ pitched up sharply to gain Z-Plus 
altitude, the _Stiletto_ dove down to gain Z-Minus 
altitude, their throttles wide open.

On Valberg's repeater screen, a snap sensor analysis of
the pirate raiders appeared. They were only 50 meters long,
and were highly manuverable and fast by this galaxy's standards.

Noticing a ship hanging back, Valberg zoomed in the sensor
display on his repeater, bringing the ship into sharp focus.
It was obviously the pirates' home ship, some 400 meters long,
with docking clamps on the ventral surfaces.

The pirates broke off their attacks on the Royal convoy,
and turned to face the new threat. With a beep, the battle
computer on the _Dagger_ announced that they had been designated
contacts P-01 through P-10, while P-11 was the larger mothership.

Valberg watched as a raider grew larger in the main viewscreen, 
then whipped by in a blur, red turbolaser bolts tracking them, 
some scoring hits. On his repeater screen, Valberg watched 
dispassionately as one of the raiders spun in space, spewing 
drive plasma from a lucky shot from Turret A. Moments later, 
Turret B swung around and loosed a volley into the crippled 
ship, causing it to nova.

"P-01 destroyed, sir. Engaging P-02 with port torpedo launcher."

A small hatch on the port side of the _Rapier_ popped open, and
out flew an Arakyd PT-22A medium proton torpedo. The torpedo's
seeker head immediately locked onto it's target - the raider
designated P-02.

With an actinic flash, the ship known as P-02 died, the lives
of a dozen sentinent beings snuffed out in an instant.

A moment later, the crew of P-03 joined them as the _Stiletto's_
crew racked up a kill of their own.

Valberg watched on his repeater as the 7 surviving raiders
withdrew from battle, chastened by the loss of 30% of their
force in a few seconds of frenzied battle.

They seemed to elongate and head for the mothership at
an impossibly fast rate. Valberg cursed. What he wouldn't
give for an Interdictor cruiser.

"Sir, the convoy commander wants to speak with you." 

"What does he want?" asked Valberg, not wanting to waste
pleasantries on someone he was going to eventually 
pound into the ground.

"Sir, he wants to thank you for your defense of their
King against the pirate raiders."

Valberg grunted affirmatively.

"And Sir! He wants to know if we've met a ship named
_Voyager_."

Valberg's eyes shot wide open at the mention of the name,
and he motioned for Sparky to open a visual connection
to the convoy. Composing himself, he watched as an
alien wearing a crown appeared on his repeater display.

"This is King Reeiol IV, of the Dormanic Empire. I thank
you for your timely efforts in driving off those accursed
pirates. From your sudden response the moment we mentioned
_Voyager_, I assume you've had dealings with them?"

Valberg couldn't help but smile evilly. "Unfortunately for
_Voyager_, we've met them."

That brought a smile to the King's face. "So I take it
you dealt with them?"

Valberg's grin grew even wider. "Oh yes, indeedy."

The King nodded, and than said something that shocked
even Valberg.

"The Blood Oath is settled then. You are our friends and
we yours."
 
[ISD _Revenger_ -  0930 hours]

It was time for the second major briefing concerning their
takeover of the Milky Way galaxy. Everyone was here, 
except for Vice-Admirals Valberg and Glasgow, who were
both away on their respective missions.

Major General Rob Dalton was regaling those who had arrived
early with a tale of his exploits as one of the Empire's 
top starfighter pilots. 

"That's right. I popped a buncha Rogues a long time ago. 
Came right out of the sun at them. They never saw me..."

His reveire was interrupted as Sheppard entered the room
and sat down at his chair at the front of the conference
table.

"All right. Now that we're all here, It's time to 
bang out a rough timetable and plan on how we're gonna
conquer this shithole of a galaxy." barked Sheppard.

Wilkens spoke first. "Sir, before we do anything, we have got
to get a intelligent supply system set up here to resupply
our ships and units, not to mention Imperial Construction
Base Alpha. With your permission, Admiral?"

Sheppard nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Wilkens stood up and punched a 
button on the remote he carried, causing a list of
spare parts needed to restore the _Revenger_ to
full operational status.

"As you can see, people, we really have only one 
fully operational Star Destroyer. The last two
years have been hard on the _Revenger_. I estimate
it would take an estimated five million Imperial
Credits to restore the _Revenger_ to operational
status."

"Not only do we have to repair all the structural
damage, and burned out weapons emplacements, but
we have to replenish our on-board stocks of spare
parts, as well as rebuild the assigned TIE wing and
Stormtrooper division."

Wilkens paused for effect and to catch his breath,
then he pushed another button, causing the starmap
for the area surrounding the spot where Glasgow had
picked to locate the World Devastator _Silencer-10_
to appear.

"First of all, we must get a steady flow of raw materials
to _Silencer 10_, before we go on any military misadventures.
I've located several worlds near _Silencer 10_ that are
rich in minerals as well as being uninhabited, plus some
particularly rich asteroid belts using the data obtained
from _Voyager_."

"I propose, that for the time being, we postpone our 
investigation of the Alpha Quadrant until we can
get a solid industrial and support base running.
Given the _Revenger's_ present state of repair, I think
it's for the better that we use her as a cargo ship
between the mining outposts and _Silencer 10_ until
we have the capability to fully refurbish her. She
does have the cargo space, what with most of her
TIE hangars empty."

Sheppard frowned at that. He didn't like the idea of
using a Star Destroyer as a mere cargo ship. However,
he didn't get far on that line of thought, for at
that moment, the commpanel in the middle of the conference
table beeped.

"I thought I gave orders not to be disturbed," growled
Sheppard.

"Sir, it's Vice-Admiral Valberg. He has someone he'd like
you to talk to." replied the commtech on the bridge in
a nervous voice.

"Very well," Sheppard replied, obviously annoyed at this
interruption.

The holoprojector in the middle of the table switched from
displaying the starmap around _Silencer 10_ to showing
an alien wearing a crown on his head.

"Are you the one who eliminated _Voyager?" asked Reeiol IV.

For a moment, Sheppard was completely flabbergasted by the
question.

"Uh, yeah. We took her over for our own use. Why?"

"You have fulfilled a blood debt of the highest order
to us. As is our custom, we would like to request an 
alliance."

Now it was everyone's turn for their mouths to fall open.

"Wait a minute, what the hell is going on here?" snapped Sheppard,
shocked at the latest turn of events.

"I will explain," replied Reeiol IV.

"Two years ago, a strange starship by the name _Voyager_ appeared
in our space, immediately interfering with one of our patrol pickets,
which was chasing a Goil ship which possessed illegal technology:
matter distengrators. She managed to drive off our picket, and 
proceeded to assist the vile Goil in repairing their ship."

"After a few days, we then launched a counter-attack that
recaptured the ship, along with several 'Starfleet' personnel 
who were assisting known Enemies of the Empire, and took
them to our homeworld for execution for violating the laws
against matter disentegration of living beings."

"Janeway gained the assistance of the Goil to rescue her
crewmembers, and they launched a commando raid on the royal
palace, where executions are held by custom and law."

"In the ensuing raid, they managed to only capture half
of their people, and in order to ensure the release
of the rest of their people, they captured our King,
the great Feldam II and 'beamed' him up to their
ship, where they held Geristsu hostage in exchange for
the return of the remaining members of their crew
still in our custody."

"Geristsu ordered the release of the remaining 
captives, and before commiting suicide, declared
a blood vendetta against Janeway and the 'Federation'
she hailed from."

"Why'd Geristsu kill himself?" Sheppard asked.

"Because he was a clone of the dead Feldam II who
was killed when they 'beamed' him up with their 
infernal distengrator. In our language, the word
'Geristsu' means 'one who is walking dead'."

"Ah, I see. King, will you give me a moment
to consult my advisors?"

Reeiol IV nodded, and Sheppard hit the 'mute'
button on the commpanel.

"Well, this is quite a surprising development."

"Yes, it is. Thank the Force that Janeway was so
abmysally incompetent." replied Major Tierce.

"If we do ally with them, we'll get access to ready
sources of raw materials." said Wilkens.

"Not that much, considering how tiny the economies
in this galaxy are. A single Star Destroyer most
likely would exhaust their entire GDP for several
years," remarked Daala.

"Maybe, but we could get them to do other things
for us." Sheppard said as he switched open
a commlink to Valberg.

"Vegard, what's your opinion?"

"Sir, I'm not sure what to make of this. If we
do ally with them, I recommend we keep them
low on the chain of technology and information.
For example, if we do supply them with ships
and technology, give them only Corellian Corvettes
and Carrack Cruisers, along with blueprints for
the Koensayr R200 Ion Engine used in the Y-Wing."

"Such technology would still be very advanced over
the stuff we've seen so far in this galaxy, but
outclassed by our stuff, of course."

"How would this alliance fit into the Valberg Doctrine?"
asked Sheppard.

"Hmm...probably in section five, but with enough 
changes that I'd probably need to make an
addenum to the Doctrine. Admiral, Alliances
should be rare things, to be used sparingly,
and only with people who would willingly
side with us. Unlike the Dominion, we should
allow them to achieve a fair measure of their
imperial ambitions, by assisting them in crushing
some various races to expand their sphere of
influence into. That was the biggest political
failing of the former Dominion-Cardassian alliance."

"The Dominion saw the Cardassians as expendable
troops, to be used instead of their own Jem'Hadar.
If we are to make these alliances succeed, we must
pay attention to our allies' ambitions, and help
protect them, not throw them away when they become
more of a liability than a help."

"I'd recommend however, that for the first couple
of months, or until they have proved their loyalty,
that we follow SOP and have liason officers placed
on the ships we supply them, just in case. Besides,
if this works out, we'll have another supply of
manpower besides those transporter clones."

"Good work, Valberg. Sheppard out." With that, he
shut off the transmission to Valberg.

Pressing the 'mute' button again, Sheppard
prepared his response. 

"King, we have thought about your offer, and 
have decided to accept it."

Reeiol smiled. "Excellent. Now we must exchange
the gifts signifying our trust."

"Are these special, or anything like that?"

"No. However, we have a severe shortage
of processed iridium on our homeworld. That shall
be your gift. What do you want our gift to be?"

Sheppard bit his lip for several moments, thinking
before replying.

"Food, King. About..." Sheppard turned to Wilkens,
who showed him the fleet's three-month food requirement.

"...One hundred forty thousand tons of food."

Nodding, Reeiol replied, "It shall be done," and
closed off the transmission from his end.

As the holo faded from sight, Sheppard turned to Wilkens.

"What's our status on iridium stores?"

Looking at his datapad, Wilkens called up the info, frowning.

"Not so good, Admiral. We're nearly out of it."

"I have a solution," rumbled January, causing everyone 
to turn and look at him. Punching in a set of co-ordinates, 
he brought up a nondescript planet on the holoprojector.

"Gentlemen, I give you the Kazon colony world of Ha'opr Prime.
Nothing much of note, about 40 thou inhabitants. Of course,
that's from the data we got from Voyager, which is about
four years out of date."

"The only thing worthy about this lump of rock is that it has
major iridium deposits, as well as several large mines and
refineries to excavacate and process the iridium. Also, there
are several large warehouses on the planet that store the iridum
before shipment."

"I propose, Admiral, that we launch a hit-and-run raid on 
Ha'opr, grab the iridium, and slag the place to cover our 
tracks. _Vengeance_ will take the lead, while _Revenger_ 
hangs back to upload the iridium and other valuables after 
the initial strike."

"Captain January, what are our chances of pulling this off 
undetected?" asked Dalton.

"Fairly good. According to the _Voyager_ data, Ha'opr is 
well off the standard shipping lanes within Kazon space. 
Except for cargo transports to move the iridium, nothing 
really goes near there."

"Sounds workable," Sheppard then punched a button on his 
chair. "Astrogation, set a course for the Ha'opr system 
at standard speed."

[One Day Later - Q'aat System - Gamma Quadrant]

The massive Jem'Hadar battleship, surrounded
by it's escort of 12 attack craft, was heading
towards the now-silent MS-666 Base, and had
just passed the outer planets of the solar system
when all hell broke loose.

[Jem'hadar Battleship bridge]

"Sir, something's decloaking in front of us!" shouted
the helmsman, who was fresh out of the cloning
faculity. 

The characteristic shimmer of a cloaking device revealed
not the expected Romulan Warbird, but a Federation starship;
albeit one more massive than seen before.

[Bridge - USS _Nelson_]

Admiral Boyd leaned back in his chair taking in the latest 
tactical information from the ICS (Integrated Combat
System).

They'd finally hit paydirt. After spending the last 26 hours
slowly stalking the Dominion task-force, they had overtaken and
intercepted it just inside the system. The Jemmies wouldn't be
getting old Alex now.

ICS was reporting that it was a standard Jem'Hadar patrol 
formation - a battleship escorted by a squadron of attack 
craft.

"Boys, I think it's time we demonstrated to the Jem'Hadar
the capablities of the ICS." 

Scott 'Sleepy' McWhirter, _Nelson's_ resident
computer whiz, and the designer of the ICS, barely
could contain his glee at finally being able to give
his baby a *real* test.

"Admiral, ICS has already locked onto the enemy and
has laid in our attack!" 

Boyd leaned back in his command chair. Even though
he'd helped design the ICS, the ease at which it allowed
one to annihilate one's opponents continued to surprise
him.

"Very well. Mr. Smith, go weapons-free."

The heavily-muscled tactical officer eagerly switched 
the ICS to weapons-free mode.

Everything was now out of their hands, and in the hands
of the ICS.

[Bridge - Jem'Hadar battleship]

"Sir! Sensor reports show that the Federation ship is
900 meters long, and has nearly four times the volume 
of a _Sovereign_ class ship!"

The captain hestitated for a moment, then spoke.

"Don't worry. The Federation has no warships, except
for those cursed _Defiants_. This is more likely a
larger version of the _Galaxy_-class Explorers. 
After all, why else would it have such an absurdly
large number of escape pods?"

The rest of the bridge crew's eyes quickly scanned
the ship. It was indeed festooned with hundreds
of escape pod hatches, mostly on the upper
saucer. 

"Captain! They are abandoning ship! Look!"

On the upper saucer, dozens of hatches could be seen
opening, as if in preparation for pod launches. 

However, that was far from the truth.

[_Nelson's_ bridge]

"Weapons Away, Weapons Away" rang the soulless 
feminine voice found on every Federation starship.

At that moment, 150 quantum torpedoes burst out of
their respective Vertical Launch System tubes and
headed towards their designated targets.

[Dominion Battleship Bridge]

"I WANT THOSE TORPEDOES DESTROYED, AND THAT SHIP
TOO!" bellowed the captain.

"Sir! There's too ma--" 

At that moment, the bridge suddenly dissolved into
a bright white light.

[Bridge of _Nelson_]

Boyd and the rest of the crew watched dispassionately
as nearly 50 quantum torpedoes slammed into the
battleship's shields, blowing them down like they 
weren't there and totally annihilating the ship.

In the background, small flashes of light could be
seen. Those were the battleship's escorts. Having to
deal with 8 quantums each, they predictably had
been blown to bits instantly. 

Within seconds, the only thing within the system
that wasn't a rapidly expanding cloud of gas was
the _Nelson_.

"All targets destroyed." said the ICS in it's
unpleasantly feminine voice.

There was a hushed silence on the bridge.
 
Even though they'd all seen the ICS in action
before, that had been against poorly defended
Dominion freighter convoys, not against
heavy captial ships and their escorts. 

Boyd broke the silence. 

"Take us into orbit around the planet. Prepare
a security team for insertion, and notify me
when they're about to beam down; I'll be in my
ready room until further notice.

"Yessir." 

"Mr. Mawhiney, you have the conn."

With that, Boyd got out of his command
chair and walked into the Captain's
ready room located at the aft of the bridge. 

[10 minutes later - Captain's Ready Room]

Even though his good friend Alex Sutton's
life was in danger, Boyd couldn't do a thing
about it, as Admirals didn't beam down
into the middle of firefights. Nor did ship
captains. That was the sole preserve of ships'
security, who were far better prepared for that
than he ever could be.

In an attempt to take his mind off the fact that
his friend's life was in danger, and he couldn't
do anything directly about it, Boyd was busying 
himself in the inevitable paperwork that went 
with any complex organization. He remembered
from old history docs that Bill Gates, a early 
pioneer in computerization, among others, had 
proclaimed of a 'paperless' office that would 
cut down on the amount of extraneous paperwork.

Boyd snorted. The paperwork was still there. 
Only now it was in neat looking layouts with 
interactive hyperlinks to even more paperwork. :^)

Suddenly, the door chimed, indicating he had a 
visitor.

"Enter."

In stepped Captain Phillip Mawhiney, his XO. 

"Admiral, the insertion team is about to beam down,
and here are the fuel consumption figures you asked
for earlier.

Mawhiney handed a PADD to Boyd, then stood at attention.

"Phil, what's bothering you?" asked Boyd. He'd known
Mawhiney since his days at the Academy, and he knew
when something was bothering his XO.

"Jonathan, does the Federation really need a ship as 
powerful as this?"

Boyd sighed. "Phil, I was at Wolf 359. I was at the
battle for DS9. In both cases, I saw lots of good
people die, because our government, because the 
Federation had chosen NOT to give them the weapons
they needed to fight. At least Section 31 recognizes
the fact that we need better ships to survive the
next war with the Dominion."

"That's another thing I don't like. Why is it that
we've built up such a powerful fleet for S31?" 
replied Mawhiney.

"I may not like some of S31's operations...hell, I've
never trusted those spooks completely, but the fact
remains is that they supported the Dreadnought concept 
put forth by Admiral Sutton and me completely, while
Sutton and I had to fight tooth-and-nail to get
the Sovereign-II, which is significantly less powerful,
approved by the Federation council."

Boyd paused for a moment, then continued. "Look at the
amount of theatrics they put on, saying that the construction
of such a weak ship would endanger the very founding principles
of Starfleet and the Federation." At this, Boyd snorted.

"Imagine for a moment, if you will, the firestorm that would've
been caused if we had put forth an initial proposal to revive the
old Olympus-class Dreadnought project from nearly a century ago. 
Sutton and I would've been branded 'subversive elements' and
drummed out of the fleet, like Edward Jellico was, God bless him."

Boyd sighed once again. "If we actually put the _Nelson_ class
into mass production, we'd be able to significantly reduce
Starfleet by retiring older vessels, since this ship is worth
a task-force, judging from our early experiences with the ICS."

"The Dreadnoughts, rather than provoking war, would actually
*prevent* it, because we'd be able to project massive amounts
of firepower anywhere in a short time. Peace through massive
force is not a barbaric concept. It was used quite successfully
during the late 20th Century to prevent global thermonuclear
war between the two superpowers."

Mawhiney smiled thinly. "What about the earliest Dreadnoughts
themselves? They provoked a naval race that led indirectly to
the First World War on Earth."

"It's a darn sight better than sending old Excelsiors and Mirandas 
against Borg cubes or against the Dominion, but enough of this 
preaching, Phil. I'll finish up here, and I'll relieve you in 
about 10 minutes. Keep me informed of the away team's progress."

Mawhiney nodded, then left. 

As the doors swished shut behind Mawhiney, Boyd turned to 
stare out the huge windows that dominated the aft bulkhead of 
the ready room. 

>From his vantage point, Boyd could see the immense energies
swirling within the _Nelson's_ dorsal nacelles, which in
conjunction with the ventral pair, allowed much finer control
over the ship's warp field than a single pair of nacelles did.

Looking at the PADD Mawhiney had handed him, Boyd noted
the projected fuel consumption for their cruise, which
had begun two weeks ago at Canaeveron Station, and had 
taken them on a wide sweep deep into Dominion-held
space. 

At the current rate of consumption, they'd arrive at 
Canaeveron with 75% remaining fuel. While that may 
have not sounded impressive, Boyd remarked, that 
25% was roughly 75% of the fuel allocated to a 
Sovereign Class ship for normal peacetime operations 
over the course of several years.

Unlike most other officers at Starfleet Academy, Boyd
had actually studied ancient military history. 20th century
military history, to be exact. While powerful weapons
and thick armor are important, they are nothing without
mobility, as the French unfortunately learned in 1940.

To this end, _Nelson_ was capable of a sustained
cruise speed of Warp 9.975. Unfortunately, there
had to be a tradeoff somewhere, even with newer
warp technologies. 

Boyd had elected the route the US Army had taken
when it'd taken delivery of the first turbine
equipped M1 tanks. (e.g. Add a bigger fuel tank)

In order to maintain a cruise speed of Warp 9.975,
the _Nelson_ required three times the fuel allocated
to a Sovereign class starship.

Boyd smiled thinly. He might have the deadliest starship
in the Alpha Quadrant, but it would be worthless
unless he could master the fine art of logistics. 

A beep from the intercom drew his attention. "Admiral,
we're beginning the insertion now."

[Surface of Q'aat]

Twelve glowing columns of light appeared and resolved
themselves into a squad of heavily armed Starfleet
Marines wearing clamshell body armor and toting a
variety of weapons from compression phaser rifles
to simple weapons like the ancient but deadly G-11
caseless rifle.

They immediately began to search their surroundings,
slowly waving their weapons around, watching the readouts
on their weapon scopes, which contained built-in tricorders
optimized specifically for targetting purposes, but still
retaining a general set of sensors.

One of the marines, Private Aleyska, began speaking 
almost immediately.

"Lieutenant, I'm detecting a large amount of 
fallout enamanating from that direction. Looks like
an anti-matter reactor went up."

"Let's check it out. Follow me!" shouted Lieutenant
Greg Burnett, the CO of the _Nelson's_ Marine complement,
which had replaced standard ship's security on the
ships of Task Force Black Knight.

After several minutes of jogging at a brisk pace, they
reached the crest of a hill overlooking the source of
the fallout. Everyone stared in silent awe at the gaping
blackened crater before them.

In the crater, nearly formless blobs rose out of the 
fused glass surface of the crater, indicating where 
buildings had stood.

"Looks like some major shit went down before we
got here, sir."

"That's agreed, private." said Burnett, looking
around, trying to figure out the likely route
of escape a prisoner would use to escape from
a fortified complex.

His communicator beeped.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant," came the voice of the 
_Nelson's_ science officer; "we've 
detected several humanoid life forms 
approximately two klicks to your west. 
Check it out, will you?" 

"Thanks for the info, Sparky. Burnett
out."

"AWRIGHT MARINES! MOVE OUT!"

[2 hours later]

The group of Marines wound their way through the
thick forest, weapons at the ready.

"Sir, they're all within a hundred meters of us."
whispered the Marine who carried the specialized
sensor gear.

"Stay sharp everyone." ordered Burnett, anxiously
gripping the grip of his G-11.

All of a sudden, a bedraggled man in a ruined
Admiral's uniform burst out of the brush ten
meters from them, and narrowly evaded several 
purple disruptor beams.

"FUCK!" yelled Burnett as he instinctively
dropped to the ground and let loose a short
burst of fire towards the area where one
of the disruptor beams had come from, and was 
rewarded with a satisfying shriek as his rounds 
found their target, disembowelling the Jem'Hadar 
hiding in the brush there.

To his right, the other Marines hosed down the
area with their 30mm automatic grenade launchers,
Compression Phaser Rifles, and G-11s, shredding 
everything that lurked in the underbrush, from 
Jem'Hadar to cute furry little animals.

"Harris! Edwards! Check the area out!" barked
Burnett as he slowly regained his composure,
warily sweeping his surroundings with his G-11,
expecting a renewed attack any moment soon.

When it didn't come, he turned his attention to
the man wearing a soiled and ruined Admiral's
uniform. A strange smell was enamanating from
the man's pants...it smelled almost like...
piss...correction...stale piss. The man's
left arm was also a shattered mess, hanging
limply at an unnatural angle.

"Need some help, Admiral?" cracked Private Chernow,
pointing to an area of Sutton's uniform that was
slightly discolored with his weapon.

"Shut up! Shut up!" roared Sutton, his face reddening.

"Get me a shuttle, and NOW!"

[15 minutes later - Hangar Bay 1 - USS _Nelson_]

Boyd stood to the side in the bay, and watched the
shuttle slowly settle down in front of him - remembering
the various quirks his friend, Alex Sutton had.

For one, he *never* used transporters, or ate 
replicated food. Also, he was stridently outspoken
about defense issues, which had caused them to
naturally gravitate to each other in the bureaucracy
of Starfleet.

As the hatch on the shuttle popped open, he saw a 
disheveled Sutton emerge, hold his hand up, and say
"LATER." in a firm and commanding tone.

Despite his rather puritanical upbringing in what used
to be called Northern Ireland, Boyd couldn't help
but smirk a little at Sutton's pants-related misfortune.

[1 Hour Later]

Boyd walked down the corridors of his ship, a freshly
showered and clothed Sutton by his side. He was also
scratching his left arm furiously, a sure sign the
doc had been at him with bone knitters.

"So what the hell happened, Alex?"

"The damn Founders are still infesting the upper echelons
of high command, that's what happened, Jon. My iternary was
known only to a select few, dammit, and look what happened
to me."

"They get anything out of you, Alex, and could this be
the precursor to a new offensive by the Dominion?" asked
Boyd.

"No. They didn't get shit from me. You may be right about
that precursor thing. When they were interrogating me, they
knew things that only a few people knew about Black Knight.
We may have a Changeling in Section Thirty-One."

Boyd paled visibly at that.

"Jesus H. Fucking Christ!"

Sutton was caught off-guard by this rare outburst of profanity
from Boyd, and tried to temper the seriousness of the situation
with a witty comment.

"It's a good thing you got me when you did. The doc said I was suffering
from....are you ready?"

"WHAT?" snapped a visibly agitated Boyd.

"Gangrene."

"Oh for Christ's sake," said Boyd as he rolled his eyes.

[1 day later - The Delta Quadrant]

The Kazon colony world of Ha'opr was a quiet place, well removed
from the normal shipping lanes. However, all that was to change
suddenly for the colony's 35,000 inhabitants.

That night, they watched a spectacular meteor shower, in which
two larger meteors broke up into several smaller meteors.

Unfortunately for Ha'opr's inhabitants, the 'metors' weren't
meteors, but a flight of Missile Boats led by Maj. General Dalton
in his first combat mission in nearly five years. The smaller 'meteors' 
were really small cannisters that broke up in midair over the colony,
spreading their contents all over a radius of three kilometers
from the colony.

Two hours later, it began.

The colony's inhabitants watched in horror as their friends began
bleeding profusely from every orifice. Blood streamed down their
noses in ever-increasing quantities as their internal organs
liquefied. 

Seconds later, the horrified onlookers suffered the same fate,
doubling over in excruciating agony as their eyeballs filled
with blood and their livers turned into gooey slush.

Within 15 seconds, every man, woman, child, and animal 
within 4 kilometers of the colony was dead.

For several minutes there was a eerie silence that hung in the
air, like the sweet sickly stench of blood that now hung
in the air.

Finally, the silence was broken by a Chariot Command LAV
gliding over the hills towards the colony on it's invisible
repulsorlift cushion at over 100 kph. 

As the Chariot entered the streets of Ha'opr, it slowed
to a mere 25 kph, to allow it's occupants a closer look
at the town.

Inside the Chariot's well-equipped interior, a black-garbed
figure lifted up a glass of synthale and took a sip, completely
unaffected by the horrors just outside the transparisteel 
viewports of the main cabin.

After viewing the carnage in the streets for 15 minutes the 
figure spoke. 

"Driver, I've seen enough. Has our scanning team confirmed 
that all of this colony's inhabitants are dead?"

The driver nodded, trying not to show his disgust at the 
indiscriminate use of 'special weapons'.

Unfortunately, the figure in back saw the thinly-veiled
disgust of the driver and sighed. 

_Those Navy types are all alike._ thought the figure.

_Safe and secure in their mighty ships, while us lowly
 ground-pounders have to do all the dirty work._

The figure took another sip from his glass and looked
at his people, who were in the main cabin with him.

They all wore the garb of the Imperial Army, and unlike
the Navy drivers up front, *reveled* in the carnage 
outside. Such carnage meant that they wouldn't have
to fight battles. 

Finishing off his glass in a single gulp, the figure 
cleared his throat and began to dictate to his datapad,
which duly noted every word he said.

"Begin message to Admiral Sheppard."

"The test results were...encouraging. It is my 
recommendation that we begin full-scale production 
of Travem-T immediately."

The figure paused, then continued.

"Sidenote...Replacement subjects necessary."

"End report."

With that, the red light on his datapad winked out,
signifying that the message had been sent. Time
to get out of here before the materials retrieval team
arrived.

"Driver, head for the extraction point. Signal
our other teams to move out as well."

The driver nodded, his relief at leaving the carnage
behind evident.

With smooth precision, the Chariot did a 180-degree 
turn in the colony's main square and smoothly accelerated 
to it's top speed of 100 kph. 

As it left the outskirts of the colony, the rest of the
vehicles of the section could be seen to it's left and 
right.

Within minutes, the three vehicles came to a stop 
next to the loading ramp of a Incom Y-4 'Raptor'
transport. Slowly, they made their way up the ramp
one by one into the Raptor's cargo hold. 

Once the last Chariot had been loaded, the landing ramp
closed, and the cargo hold rapidly filled with a powerful
acid mist that quickly killed any lifeforms in the hold,
leaving it as sanitary as a hospital operating room.

A nice side effect of the acid mist was that the interior
of the cargo hold was scrubbed quite clean, as were the 
exteriors of the Chariots.

As the Raptor transports took off with the whine of 
ill-maintained repulsorlifts, landing barges began
landing from the _Revenger_, loaded to the brim with
droids that began ripping the processed iridium ingots
from the now-deserted warehouses and loading them onto
the barges.

The entire loading process took five hours. When it was
done and the last barge had cleared the atmosphere, it was
time.

[Bridge - ISS Vengeance]

January turned away from studying the muddy brown ball of
rock that slowly rotated below him in the bridge windows.

His new XO, Commander Samuels was coming towards him. With
a sharp salute, Ian stood at attention before his new captain. 

"Sir, the last of the barges have cleared the atmosphere and 
we have been given the green light, sir."

"Excellent. Perhaps you would like to have the honor?" asked January,
his cyber-eye flickering slightly.

"Very well, sir."

Ian took a moment to compose himself, before he gave the historic
command. "Commence Base Delta Zero operations immediately."

January turned as the deck began to rumble slightly beneath his
feet and watched the first heavy turbolaser bolt streak away
from the _Vengeance_, to strike the colony's main administrative
building with a force of several gigatons, obscuring the not-so-small
colony under a gigantic mushroom cloud. Already, more shots were pouring
from the _Vengeance's_ other heavy turbolasers, adding to the inferno
below.

In under an hour, the job was done. When the Kazon Empire came to
investigate the mysterious loss of signals from this colony, all they 
would find would be a glowing lake of lava that would take centuries to 
cool down.


[Chapter 6]

[ISS Revenger]

The cargo ship slowly crept closer to the mighty Star Destroyer, which hung
motionless in the blackness of space, it's navigational beacons blinking on
and off, rare glimmers of light in the eternal blackness of space.

In the red-lit pilot's compartment, the pilot of the cargo ship was
sweating nervously, as his passenger played small-talk with him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was stuck on Arurudis VII with
only a knife to my name and fifty Rebels against me?" asked LT Hit-Man
in his trademarked voice that was a mixture of cruelty and mirth.

"N-no Sir, you didn't." replied the young Flight Officer piloting the
cargo craft, in a fearful voice, which was the way anyone with 
half-a-brain spoke whenever the LT was around.

From the open hatchway to the cargo compartment came a low whining noise.

"Easy, easy, Fifi. It won't be much longer." 

Turning to the pilot, in his most menacing tone of voice,
the LT spoke. "I want on the ship, NOW, not twenty minutes 
from now."

"But sir, we're fifteenth in the traffic pattern!"

"Not for long, heh heh!" with that, the LT activicated the communications
panel and spoke into it. "STC, This is Gamma One, Falcon 61."

[ISS _Revenger_ Space Traffic Control (STC) Section]

The Petty Officer manning the console listened to the request coming in
from the contact designated Gamma One. Upon hearing the word "Falcon",
he took out an unofficial book and opened it, looking at the various
Falcon codes, which ranged all the way from Falcon 33: "How the fuck 
should I know? I'm just a junior officer." which was how the junior 
offficers and enlisted managed to talk to each other without their 
higher-ups knowing.

His finger ran down the tables until he saw Falcon 61. His hands
began to tremble uncontrollably as he read the text. "This is 
Lt. Hit-Man. You will do as I say, or I shall personally rearrange 
your colon with my boot. GOT THAT?"

"SIR YES SIR!" he shouted over the radio as he bumped Gamma One's
status in the landing cycle to the top, overriding Admiral Sheppard's
shuttle, which was on approach, taking Sheppard home after a week-long
conference with the Dormans on Imperial aid and support.

[Shuttle _Mu One_]

"What the fuck is going on?" yelled Sheppard as he watched a bulky 
cargo craft bump them from their approach. Opening a channel to STC,
he began to yell.

"STC, what the fuck is going on over there? This is the Admiral!
Why the fuck is my shuttle being bumped down by some cargo ship?"

[STC Section]

Petty Officer Matt Hyde moaned and rested his face in his hands.
He was in some deep shit now.

[Main Hangar Bay - ISS Revenger]

The men supervising the loading procedure of the latest shipment
of durasteel ingots from Imperial Mining Facility One watched
in disbelief as the transport settled down in front of them,
and the cargo hatch opened, revealing none other than a very
large Rancor.

"Oh, it's just the LT." said one of the men as they saw Hit-Man
appear next to the Rancor, as if it explained everything (which
it usually did).

Leading the Rancor along, LT Hit-Man disappeared into the labyrinth
of the cargo areas that dominated a Star Destroyer's lower decks,
where everything from Heavy Armored Vehicles to spare hydrospanners
was stored.

[Cargo Bay AA44-A517]

"Yes, this will do just fine, Fifi." said Hit-Man, looking around
approvingly at the large hold which at the moment was empty. It
had enough room for a Rancor to exercise confortably and was
well secluded on the lower decks, as well as having a Level Four
lock on all entrances to the bay, which would prevent unauthorized
people from having access.

"Stay here, while I get you a toy to play with, OK?" 

Fifi nodded her head in understanding, and the LT left her behind
to explore her new home, while he got her a chew toy.

[Prison Block JKF-413]

"Sir, the prisoner is in Cell 24, as per your orders." said the 
Cell Block guard.

The LT smiled evilly. "Good. Don't bother. I'll personally handle 
him myself."

"Yessir!" snapped off the guard as he watched the LT walk down the 
cellblock, and found himself feeling almost a tad sympathetic for the 
little troll.

[Cell 24]

Pain. So much pain. It was hard to believe that there was a time
when he was free of pain. But yet it had existed, and was now
apparently gone forever.

Neelix twisted painfully in his bed, which was made up of several
fusion-bonded lumps of durasteel ingots, trying to ignore the stabbing
pain behind his eyelids each time the strobes in the room went off,
piercing his eyelids, no matter how tight he shut them.

He tried to scream, but only a gasp of air escaped his ragged throat.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of the lock on the door to his cell turning.
Blessed relief at last! He had long ago lost track of time. He suspected
they varied his sleep periods each day, from as little as only 30 minutes
to as long as 12 hours.

He let out a ragged scream when he saw who had come for him, but the scream
was cut off abruptly by the cold metal of the LT's cyberhand clamping around
his mouth.

[The Main Hangar Bay]

Meanwhile, a lone Lambda-class shuttle set down in the hangar bay, and 
from it's ramp stalked a furious Admiral Sheppard. Without even acknowledging
the salutes of the hangar bay personnel, he set off for the STC section.

[STC - two minutes later]

"Man, Hyde, you really stepped into it this time. The Loot isn't gonna
be able to save your ass this time." 

"Shut up! Shut up!" bellowed Hyde, who had developed quite a bad
migrane by now from the stress of being caught between the Admiral
and the LT.

All of a sudden, the doors to the STC snapped open, and in stalked
Sheppard. Without even aknowledging the pleasantries, he marched
over to the Traffic Controllers' pit and began to scream.

"WHO THE FUCK RE-ORDERED MY SHUTTLE? I WANT ANSWERS, AND I WANT 
THEM NOW!"

"Sir! Admiral! It was Hyde! Sir!" shouted one of the controllers,
who was an aspiring young Spaceman who also wanted Hyde's job and
rank. Hyde shot him a dirty look.

"So, Hyde...we meet again! This is what, the sixth time I've had
you before me for fucking up in as many weeks?" snarled Sheppard,
who was moving in for the kill.

"Sir, It wasn't my fault, Sir!"

"Oh and how is that, Hyde? Did you accidentially spill coffee onto
your board, shorting it out, and accidentially redirecting me
to the bottom of the traffic chain?" 

"Sir, Falcon Sixty-One, Sir!"

Sheppard frowned, remembering his days as a junior enlisted man, and
he stepped down into the crew pit, reached out into Hyde's station,
and pulled out the Falcon book. Rummaging around, he found the specific
code.

"Oh, we meet again, my dear Lieutenant." Sheppard said in a low tone,
his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Stormtroopers! Take Petty Officer Hyde into custody!"

"Yessir!" barked the lead Stormtrooper, and it was with obvious 
pleasure that they slapped the manacles around Hyde's wrists.

Sheppard then walked over to the comm-station for that section,
inserted his rank cylinder and began to issue orders. "This is
the Admiral. I want the location of Lieutenant Hit-Man, and NOW."

"Sir, the Lieutenant is in Cargo Bay AA44-A517." came the reply
moments later.

"Follow me. We're paying the Lieutenant a little visit." Sheppard
said as he walked out of STC, followed by the Stormtroopers who had
Hyde in custody.

[Cargo Bay AA44-A517 - Ten Minutes Later]

The door to the bay hissed open, revealing the Lieutenant watching
none other than a Rancor of all things about to take a chomp out
of Neelix.

"Hello Lieutenant! I see you've been quite busy, and I can't help
but notice your little pet...UNHAND HIM!" shouted Sheppard,
causing Hit-Man to turn around slowly, a maniac grin on his face.

"Make me, SIR!"

"Don't make me have to use our newly installed Cargo Transporter
testbed units on your pet here, El-tee."

A scowl spread across Hit-Man's face, and he motioned for Fifi to
come towards him. She did, dropping Neelix from her mouth, leaving
foul-smelling rancor saliva all over his upper torso, and breaking
his legs in the twenty foot drop to the durasteel floor of the
cargo bay.

With Neelix howling in pain in the background, Sheppard began to mete
out punishments.

"Petty Officer Hyde! For listening to him instead of ME...I sentence
you to cleaning the decks!" Sheppard then whistled, causing a R2 unit
with black trim that had been mopping the decks to come rolling up.

"You're relieved, droid. Give Mister Hyde here your mop."

With a blatting whistle, the droid extended it's manipulator arm and
gave Hyde the mop it had been swabbing the decks with.

"You have an unlimited amount of time, Mister Hyde, to mop every deck
on this ship, and to make sure you do, our droid friend here, will
keep an eye on you."

As if on cue, the R2 unit extended it's small anti-vermin blaster that
it used to keep the lower decks free of vermin and waved it around 
menacingly.

Grumbling, Hyde began to mop the deck, with the R2 whistling 
encouragement occasionally.

Turning to Hit-Man, Sheppard shook his head. "I don't know about you,
but this is getting to be an almost daily occurence with you, El-Tee.
I thereby sentence you to clean Waste Reclaimation Unit number...GH-424,"
finished Sheppard, following a quick glance at a datapadd for the 
WRU number.

"As for you, you poor fellow," Shep said as he motioned towards Neelix,
who was still screaming in pain from his broken legs. "It's back to 
_Voyager_ for you."

[10 Minutes later]

The Stormtroopers behind the LT twittered nervously as the hatchway
to Waste Reclamation Unit GH-424 opened, sending foul rancid air 
rushing into the hallway, indicative of a WRU that hadn't been
opened in nearly forty years, which was actually quite close
to the truth, judging by the last date on the servicing form
on the hatch.

Holding his breath, the LT stepped into the WRU, holding nothing 
but a paint scraper. He had to clean nearly forty years' worth of 
accumulated shit off the walls before he could return to duty.

Behind him, the hatch clanged shut, trapping him inside the 
Reclamation Unit...

All of a sudden, the rancid water around his feet swirled, and 
without warning, he disappeared beneath the waves of raw sewage.

[Two Hours Later]

With a gasp, Hit-Man broke the surface, caked completely in
shit, holding endless coils of dead dianoga in his hands, having
used the Force to hold his breath for the last two hours while
he choked the life out of the thing that had attacked him.

Gasping, he took the scraper to the walls and began to scrape
merrily away.

[One Week Later - Deep Space Nine]

"Commander Sisko, the new Romulan officer is here, sir."

Sisko got out of his chair, picked up his baseball, and 
went out to greet the new arrival. As he left his office, 
he saw the port turbolift rising, revealing a long-haired 
Romulan woman with a old-fashioned eyepatch over one of 
her eyes.

Sisko walked down Ops to shake the newcomer's hand, but 
she refused, raising her one good eye to burn into his face. 
"Captain Sisko, I believe? The Romulan government has 
some very GRAVE concerns over your misuse of the cloaking 
device we so graciously allowed you to use."

Before Sisko could reply, the Romulan woman spun around, 
turning her back to him. "Mister...Odo, I believe?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Show me to my quarters, now!"

As the Romulan went back down the lift, this time accompanied 
by Odo, Sisko was left in a befuddled state. "Who the hell was 
that?"

"Sir, didn't you read the orders of the day?" chimed in O'Brien.

"No, Miles, I'm quite busy with this entire Bajoran Fall Harvest
thing, being the Emissary and all that."

O'Brien picked up a PADD from his workstation and threw it at
Sisko, who caught it out of mid-air easily. "Everything you
ever wanted to know, or DIDN'T want to know about our new
Romulan liason officer is in there."

Sisko turned around to read the short bio of his new liason
officer from the comfort of his office. "So...Sub-Commander
Thelea, let's see what we know about you."

Before he could get any further than her name and rank, 
a shout from the science station interrupted.

"Ben, something's coming through the wormhole!" shouted
Ezri.

"Red Alert!" snapped Sisko instinctively.

Nowadays, the wormhole was rather quiet, the only people going
to and from it science types, but one day, the Dominion would
return, and the Federation wouldn't be caught with their pants 
down the way they had been in the Dominion War.

"A single ship is coming through the wormhole. It's not of
any design we know, sir."

"On screen."

Emerging from the swirling vortex of the Bajoran wormhole was
an oddly designed ship.

"Stats on that ship, now!" ordered Sisko as he walked towards
tactical board in the middle of Ops.

"It's 150 meters long, and seems to be rather lightly armed,
with only four weapons emplacements on it, and it seems
to utilize integral warp nacelles." said Dax, hunched over
her readouts.

A beeping noise sounded. "Sir, we're being hailed by them."

"Put them onscreen."

On the main viewscreen, an oddly-distorted picture appeared
with static swarming across it nearly continuously, as it
faded in and out of focus constantly.

"Whats wrong?" asked Sisko.

"It appears they're using a non-standard video transmission
format. The station computers should have it sorted out
any moment now." replied Dax.

Moments later, the fuzzy out of focus video resolved itself into
a picture of what appeared to be a middle-aged human male wearing
a white uniform peppered with gold braid wherever humanly possible.

"This is High Admiral Sheppard of the People's Democratic Republic
of Coruscant to the space station in front of me. We have heard
about your Federation and would like to open diplomatic relations."

Sisko was momentarily flabbergasted at that, and stared for several
long seconds before replying. "Thats - That's good to hear. I hope
to have a more lengthy talk with you later. We're holding a Bajoran
festival celebrating the Fall Harvest aboard right now, and we'd
be honored if you'd join us in celebrating it, High Admiral."

"We would also be honored, Mister..."

"Sisko, High Admiral. Captain Benjamin Sisko," said Sisko as he
hurriedly replied.

"Sisko." finished Sheppard.

With that, Sheppard's face disappeared off the viewscreen, and Sisko turned
around. "Quick analysis of these people, now."

"They appear to be quite primitive, Captain, if someone with such a rank
like High Admiral commands a ship only 150 meters long." rumbled Worf, 
who had arrived half-way through Sheppard's opening statement.

"Agreed, Ben, and did you catch the fancy braiding on his uniform as well
as their name? It sounds like a modern version of an old Banana Republic."
added Dax.

"Banana Republic?" asked Kira.

"An old Earth term, used to refer to a small country that was run by 
a military junta." Suddenly, a beeping noise attracted her attention.
Turning away for a moment, Ezri studied her board and made a decision
before looking back up.

"I assigned our newcomers Docking Slip Four, which is out of sight of
the Defiant during the approach in case things go bad. I also set up
the schedule for our formal contact, an hour from now."

"Good work, Old Man. Everyone, be at slip four, in an hour to greet our 
guests."

[One Hour later - Docking Slip Four - Deep Space Nine]

Sisko and the rest of the high rankers fidgeted around nervously, 
as the computer ran the rigorious first contact protocols, scanning
the new arrivals for contagious diseases as well as for weapons.

Finally, after several minutes of omnious bleeping, the all clear
tone sounded, and the heavy airlock door began to roll open, revealing
a group of what appeared to be humans wearing drab green uniforms
with the same kind of gaudy gold piping that the High Admiral had all
over his spotless white uniform.

"High Admiral Sheppard, in the name of the United Federation of
Planets, and the people of the Fundamentalist Republic of Bajor,
I welcome your people to the Alpha Quadrant." said Sisko, holding
out his hand.

Sheppard held his hand out hesitantly, as if he didn't know what
the handshake was, playing the dumb alien angle to the max.

Finally, he grabbed Sisko's hand and shook it hesitantly at first,
and then firmly, before standing ramrod straight. "Greetings, from
the People's Democratic Republic of Coruscant! May Socialism shine
brightly throughout the galaxy forevermore! For the Party!" shouted
Sheppard, while his eyes flicked nervously back to a man in his
group who was dressed in black.

Sisko, as before, was the first to introduce his staff. "This is
Major Kira Nerys, my Bajoran Liason Officer, who is also my 
Executive Officer. Over here is Miles O'Brien, this station's
Chief Engineer. Pointing to a nervous man who was fidgeting
silently, Sisko said, "Julian Bashir. Station's doctor."

Pointing to a short woman with spots running up and down
her face and neck, "Ezri Dax, my Science Officer." Turning
to a man whose face looked like it had been dunked into a bath
of acid and then reformed out of silly putty, Sisko finished
off his introductions.

"This is Station Chief of Security Odo, the man who keeps this
filthy shithole crime-free," tinges of hatred towards Quark
slipping into Sisko's voice as he spoke.

Sheppard nodded, then began his introductions. "This woman to my 
left is Comrade Captain Daala. She's my chief-of-staff, and makes 
sure my schedules line up right, as I can't figure out how to use 
that damned software we use for scheduling. How the Party ever got 
this far with that crap, I can't imagine," remarked Sheppard, 
drawing icy stares from a man in a black greatcoat behind him.

The man in the black greatcoat behind Sheppard wasn't introduced
at all, only raising the Starfleeters' curiosity about the man. 
Their curious stares were met by the icy cold eyes of the man, 
causing them to look away involuntarily, ashamed of themselves.

Sheppard pointed to another man, this time wearing green 
shoulderboards instead of the blue ones the others wore. 
"Comrade Major Tierce, my intelligence specialist. Tells me 
what the capitalists had for breakfast before they eat."

From the back of the airlock, a commotion was happening as a
group of hardfaced men wearing grey uniforms berift of braiding
muscled their way to the front and walked past Sheppard and 
Sisko's reception comitttee, all the while triggering 
weapons sensors.

"CAPTAIN SISKO! That man's armed!" shouted Odo as a heavily
muscled cyborg burst through Sheppard's group.

Sisko was about to say something, when the cold dead look in
the behemoth's single human eye stopped him. "Let him pass,
Odo. We don't want trouble this early with these people."

Grinning evilly in return, the Cyborg walked off with his
compatriots, leaving behind a embarassed Sheppard, the 
red in his face easily showing compared to his white
uniform.

"Captain Sisko. I...must...apologize for the unsocialist
behavior of my men. They don't practice proper Socialist
discipline, but they get the job done. I'm sure you know
how I feel about that."

As LT. Hit-Man and the Cleaners walked away, Hit-Man suddenly
started sniffing the air, his finely tuned sense of smell,
enhanced by the Force, was alerting him to the presence of
booze.

"Follow me!" he roared, and the rest of the Cleaners took off
at a jog, trying mightily to keep up with the LT as he led
them on a mad-cap race through the Bajoran Harvest Festival
Parade on DS9 towards Quark's.

"High Admiral, I took the liberty of preparing a welcoming banquet
for you and your people, stocked with the finest food we can offer.
Are you interested?" said Sisko, finally breaking the harsh
silence that followed Hit-Man's passage.

"Me and my men are tired of eating the same rations we've 
been eating for the last six months, Captain." replied Sheppard,
bringing a smug look to Sisko's face. _They don't have Replicators_
he thought.

[15 Minutes later - Main Conference Hall - Outer Pylon of DS9]

Julian Bashir put on his most dazzling smile, ran his hands 
through his hair and slowly walked up to Captain Daala.

"Say, Captain, you look simply smashing, my dear."

All of a sudden, so fast that if you had blinked, you'd miss it, 
Daala drove her knee into Bashir's groin, doubling him over in 
pain. "Save your kriffing shit for the next vapor-headed whore to 
come along!"

This attracted Thelea's attention, and taking a drink from Quark's,
she slowly threaded her way through the crowd, towards Daala.

"I couldn't help but notice how you handled that bumbling 
fool Bashir. You're what, the third woman he's hit on tonight?"

At this, Daala laughed. "Bashir is nothing compared to what I 
had to put up to get my rank." At that, Daala shuddered visibly.

"Good God, do tell me all about it, but first, lets get a nice 
*private* booth, away from all these prying eyes and ears."

With that, the two women slowly drifted away from the center
of the gathering, towards one of the private booths tucked
away in the corner of Quark's. Even with her back turned
to Thelea, Daala could feel the other woman's eyes looking
over her.

Mentally, she began to catalogue Thelea's advances towards her,
as it occured to Daala that this woman seemed to really want a 
friend.  That caused a small part of her to feel sympathy, that 
is until her Military side stomped it out.  This was the enemy, 
and she was going to kill her, friend or not.

Meanwhile, across the room, Sheppard was listening to Kira. She
was animatedly speaking about her days as a resistance
fighter during the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor.

As Kira droned on and on about the gloriousness of the Resistance,
Sheppard slowly ground his teeth in anger. How dare that crinkle-nosed
bitch talk about the GLORIOUSNESS of resistance that included
terror bombings and the like? _I bet January'd like to get his hands 
on this bitch,_ thought Sheppard as he nodded and pretended to listen.

All of a sudden, in an outburst that shocked everyone in the room, 
Sheppard blew up. "SHUT UP! Did you ever have your parents killed
by the so-called glorious Resistance because they knew too much?"

Hatred burning in his eyes, Sheppard zeroed in for the kill; "Did you
spend four years of your childhood hiding from everyone, including
the so-called 'glorious Resistance' because everyone thought that
you also knew what your parent's knew?"

With that, he slammed his glass down onto the tabletop, shattering it,
and walked away in a huff as Kira muttered under her breath, "Cardie-Lover."

Sheppard heard that as he was walking away, and almost floored her
with a right hook, but refrained. _Later_ he thought, he'd have
his revenge.

A shocked Sisko walked up to Kira, shaking his head dejectedly. 
"Calm down, Major. This is no time to offend our new guests; besides, 
he's probably never seen a Cardassian, seeing as he's from the Gamma 
Quadrant."

As Sheppard left the room, a somewhat nervous man walked up to Sisko 
and Nerys, and as he did, they noticed he walked with a slight limp, 
favoring his right leg, and last but not least, that he wore a black
uniform topped with a visored cap, as opposed to the gaudy white 
uniforms bedecked with gold braid that the other visitors wore, and
that he was the man that Sheppard had been looking

"Sir, I would like to apologize for the High Admiral's behavior. 
The subject of terrorists is a sensitive issue for him, given his...
grevious past with them."

"That's fine...Mister....." replied Sisko.

"Koons, Sir. Major Koons, sir. I'm the High Admiral's aide, and
I'm really sorry about this. You should have told us earlier
about this entire resistance thing, what with the the, ahh, 
background the High Admiral has on that subject."

"That's okay, Major. Say, about your uniform. Why is it that
you're not wearing lots of gold braid like everyone else in
your delegation is?" inquired Sisko, unease over the Major's
uniform digging away at his consciousness like like a prisoner 
with a spoon.

Major Koons pushed his glasses up on his nosed with a 
leather-gloved hand, "My line of work doesn't require
me to smile for cameras.  I make sure things get done."  
He said.  Something about the way he said the last 3 words 
left Sisko with a lingering feeling of uneasiness that he 
couldn't quite put his finger on.

"So what exactly do you ensure gets done, Major?"

"I make sure the fleet gets what it needs, and follows 
it's orders. I see that they do what's expected of them.
I'm sorry I can't go into more detail, but my superiors 
have their reasons for keeping our methods secret."  
Sisko swore the look in Koons'eye right then would have 
frozen gasoline solid.

Meanwhile Daala and Thelea were conversing over in their 
private booth.

"It was horrible, Thelea, everyone thought that I had
fucked my way to the top, and worst of all, that I had
boned old man Tarkin to do it."

Thelea nodded approvingly, like she knew what Daala had
gone through. "Romulan culture is different than what
yours is. A woman's advancement is limited only by her
ambition, not by male superiors."

With that, Thelea winked her one good eye and got up, 
leaving behind a seemingly befuddled Daala, who was
slightly annoyed. Now she'd have to go through all the
trouble of filling out a Foreign National Contact
form describing in excruiciating detail the attempted
recruitment attempt by what was obviously a Tal'Shiar
operative.

[Quark's Bar - Same Time]

"CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" shouted the rest of the Cleaners
as Lt. Hit-Man to the astonishment of the other onlookers
and the despair of Quark, finished off the last bottle
of booze that Quark kept behind the counter.

"Hey! How're you going pay for all this!" squealed Quark
from behind the bar as he watched his profits go down
the tube like a drunk puking into a toilet.

All of a sudden, Healey grabbed the little troll and dragged
him across the counter. "Little Man, you don't fuck with
the Cleaners!"

"But we'd be willing to forgive this insult if..." said
Healey as he held Quark up by his shirtlapels.

"If what?" squealed Quark, his shirt already becoming stained 
at the armpits from fear.

"If we do a little transaction, real quiet-like, if you will."
finished Yates.

"Oh, a transaction. Why didn't you say so first?" The ferengi 
then began to grin ferally, revealing the sharpened points of 
his teeth.

Yates nodded and Healey dumped the little man onto the 
booze-stained floor of the bar.

He got up slowly, and then led the Cleaners behind the 
counter, into the back areas of the bar, and into the
shielded room where he conducted his most illegal dealings.

"Hold on one minute, my friends, while I check the area
for that blasted Changeling. Can't be too paranoid when
you're dealing with Odo," muttered Quark as he pulled out
a obviously high-grade scanner from his pocket and began
to scan the room carefully.

After several minutes of scanning the most mundane items
of their surroundings, he put the scanner away triumphantly.

"He's not here! Now, what was it you wanted? But before we
begin, I require some proof of monetary compense."

Yates simply nodded towards Hit-Man, who opened up a hidden
panel on his cyberarm, and dumped several baubles made up
of gold-press latnium onto the room's single table.

Quark tried to make a grab for the jewelry, but Hit-Man
stopped him with an evil grin. "I wouldn't do that if I
were you, hehheheh!"

"You can check one to confirm it's authenticity, but that's
it unless you cough up something we want." ordered Yates.

"And what is it you want, my friends?" asked Quark. "I can't
very well offer you anything if I don't have a general idea
of what you require."

"Starmaps, published Starfleet ship lists, economic data,
patrol routes for this area, and whatever special toys
you got here." replied Nathan.

"Ah, ah. I can get you most of what you require relatively
easy, but the patrol routes, ah ah, that'll require something
extra. Bribes, you know."

Nathan simply nodded towards Hit-Man, who took out more 
baubles from his cyberarm's secret compartment.

"Will this be sufficient, Quark?" asked Nathan, who was
getting a little tired of this greedy bastard's "ah ah"
routine.

"More than enough, my friends, more than enough. As for
your so-called 'special toys', I believe I have something
in the back room that would interest your kind of gentlemen.
Wait here, while I go get it."

While Quark left to fetch whatever it was, the Cleaners
looked around the room, noting the locations of light
sources, EPS outlets, ODN junctions, and vent shafts
for a possible bugging expedition later on.

A few minutes later, a visibly out-of-breath Quark
appeared, holding a medium-sized box. He opened it,
and pulled out a pair of small black devices, each 
no larger than ladybug.

"What the hell are those?" asked Nathan.

"Those, my friend, are Neural Servos. You can implant
them directly into someone's central nervous system,
and then use them to attach artificial limbs, or 
control the amount of pain the implantee feels."

"Cool!" said the Cleaners in unison.

"It is because of that, that they're banned outside
the medical community, but I have a boxfull of them
all just for you."

"We'll take four dozen. Will that be cash or credit?" 
replied Yates, not expecting Quark to get the joke,
which he didn't.

Several minutes later, the Cleaners strolled out of
the backroom, with the isolinear datachips and Neural
servos all crammed nice and snug into the smuggling
compartment in the LT's cyberarm.

[4 Hours Later - Docking Slip Four]

Sisko caught up with Sheppard just as he was about 
to enter the airlock.

"Admiral! A word with you before you retire for the 
night." shouted Sisko, panting for breath from his
mad sprint across the Promenade.

"Okay. Whaddya want me for?" mumbled an obviously
tired Sheppard.

"Admiral, I couldn't help but wonder...about your...
uhmm...aide."

"Oh, that son-of-a-bitch Koons. We all hate him." snarled
Sheppard. "He's a fucking political officer. The fucking 
Senate doesn't trust us military types enough to do our jobs,
and if we don't say enough of the Buzzwords like 'Comrade',
'Socialist', or all that crap, he comes down on us hard."

Sheppard paused, to catch his breath, and think, before
continuing. "We can't take on a single fucking cookie 
without his approval. You should see the gyrations that shithead 
Koons goes through whenever some new crewers arrive, hemming 
and  hawing to me about their political unreliability."

Sighing, Sheppard continued on. "Kriff it, Sisko, don't get me 
started on about how he hates Major Tierce. Fuckin' Senate."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Sisko. "Isn't Major Tierce your
intelligence officer?" 

Sheppard sighed again. "He's a Navy spook. Koons is the Senate 
Spook."

Sisko looked around for a moment, before leaning in closer to 
Sheppard.

"Oh, so you've got an Eddington type with you, Mark. Uh, 
is  it okay for me to call you Mark?"

"Yep. As long as we're informal, off the record, Ben." replied
Sheppard.

"Watch that man like crazy. I got sent one just like 
Koons a couple of years ago. Went by the name Eddington. 
The higher-ups thought my security officer was...unreliable."

"He turned out to be the unreliable one. Defected to the Maquis"

"Ouch. Did you have him killed? God knows I would have. 
If there's one thing I can't stomach, it's traitors and 
defeatists." said Sheppard.

"No need to, Mark. He died years ago in a Jemmie raid on 
a Maquis base."

They both shared a knowing smile, before Sheppard said, 
"Well, I better get back aboard, before Konspiracy Koons 
sees a Conspiracy in this."

Nodding, Sisko walked off without a word, and Sheppard 
turned around and walked into the newly-redecorated and 
renamed _Dagger_, now bearing it's original name from 
all those years ago: The _Tantive IV_.



[Chapter 7]

[ISS DAGGER]

Sheppard sighed as he took off the gaudy white
High Admiral's uniform and hung it in the closet
of his quarters on the _Dagger_. After slipping
back into his familiar olive drab Imperial uniform,
Sheppard left his quarters for the main conference
room, for the quick rundown of their first contact
with the Feds, before everyone turned in for the
night.

As he walked into the tiny conference room on B Deck,
Sheppard saw that LT Hit-Man had already started the
meeting without him.

"You shoulda seen us put the psyche onto that troll
Quark! He folded like Dalton always does when he has
a shit hand."

"ADMIRAL ON DECK!" came the shout from Koons, who had
exchanged his black leather overcoat and peaked cap 
for the more traditional black uniform of the ISB.

Taking his seat at the head of the small conference 
table, Sheppard started the meeting formally. 

"Everyone report. Intelligence goes first."

Major Tierce then spoke up. "Sir, I didn't have enough
time to do a comprehensive security system run-down,
but they mix internal sensors with video capture units
every twenty meters, although most of these units seem
to be concentrated in sensitive areas or in high-traffic
areas, like the Promenade."

"It is my reccomendation that bugging expeditions in the
future should concentrate on piggybacking off these existing
suveilance systems, rather than putting in our own systems,
which would be detected more easily. Of course, we may have
to plant our own bugs where Station Security is lax."

Tierce nodded, turning over to Koons, who then spoke up.

"They appear to have bought my mysterious customer persona,
and they appear to be genuinely scared of me. While I was 
wandering around, I picked up an application for access 
to the Station's Library."

"Should be approved in a day or two," finished Koons, turning
to Sheppard. "Oh, sir. I had to cover up that mess you left
behind for me when you mouthed off to that Bajoran woman."

Sheppard grimaced before replying. "Yep. Sisko bought lock 
stock and barrel my entire story about Konspiracy Koons," said 
Sheppard.  "I think Mr. Koons here can do virtually anything now, 
and all I have to do is blame it on the 'Senate'."

At that, everyone laughed. Once the laughter had died down,
Sheppard turned to Daala. "Anything to report?"

Daala gathered her composure and spoke up. "Sir, I think I may
have been the target of a Tal'Shiar recruitment attempt by
the Romulans." She paused before continuing. "And I think I
was also come on by that same officer."

Sheppard and everyone else grimaced at that, none more so
than Hit-Man, who started to seethe inwardly.

Noticing that the LT was starting to get frisky, Sheppard
quickly changed the subject. "Commander Yates, how did 
your mission go?"

Yates looked up from the datapad he was reading. "Pretty
good, sir. We got most of the data you asked for, plus a
little bonus that the boys in the medical department would
love to see."

Nodding, Sheppard stood up. "This meeting is convened until
tomorrow. Everyone get a good night's sleep. We have a busy
day ahead of us. Remember, there are to be no bugs placed,
without MY EXPRESS permission. I will not take kindly to
wild cards thinking that if they do something like that,
I will appreciate it."

[5 minutes later - Sheppard's Quarters]

Just as Sheppard was pulling off his boots, the commpanel in
his quarters beeped. Walking over to it, he triggered it. 

"What?" asked Sheppard, annoyed at being interrupted.

"Sorry sir, but General Dalton's shuttle is about to land
on the Dorman home world. You told us you wanted to be
notified of that."

"Yes, yes." replied Sheppard. "Did Glasgow manage to get the
small arms line up and running in time for Dalton's trip?"

"Sir, Dalton's manifest lists 500 H-11s and 1,000 GH-5s,
plus assorted ammo and spare parts, sir." came the reply.

[DORMAN HOME WORLD]

The gull-winged Lambda-class shuttle settled gracefully 
onto the landing pad outside the Royal Palace, steam 
hissing from various points as the boarding ramp was 
lowered.

From the darkness of the shuttle's cabin strode a thickset 
man wearing the rank bar of a General, and the golden 
TIE Fighter insigna above his rank bar that indicated 
he was the General-Inspector of the Starfighter Corps. 

Next to the Golden TIE on the General's uniform were 
several Gold buttons, each signifying 100 enemy craft
shot down. The man had three of them, plus a silver 
button for another 50 craft shot down, ending with a 
single bronze button for a futher five craft.

[Inside joke, Dalton has 355 Kills to his credit, exactly 
1 more than the highest ranking ace of all time, 
Erich "Bubi" Hartmann, who achieved 354 kills in WWII, 
most of them on the Russian Front.]

"General Dalton?" came the query from the officer in 
charge of the honor guard at the base of the ramp.

Dalton grunted. "What?"

"Sir, in the name of the King and the Dorman people,
I welcome you to our homeworld."

"Likewise, I bring you gifts from Admiral Sheppard, with
the hope that our alliance will be a glorious one." replied
Dalton, motioning towards the huge crates that filled the
cargo compartment of his shuttle.

Nodding, the Dorman officer motioned for Dalton to follow him.

"The crates will be unloaded and brought before King Reeiol, 
for you to personally show them to him. In the meanwhile, the 
King wished for you to see our hospitality first hand."

Dalton followed the officer across great archways across
huge mountain valleys filled with the twinkling lights of 
cities.

As the two men came up to a tube set into the ground, Dalton
wrinkled his face quizzically. "What's that?" he asked.

Without turning, his host replied, "Hypertube car, set inside
a vacuum-filled tube, top speed of 2,000 kph. The King will
see you in the Great Ark."

Dalton was even more puzzled at this, and it showed. "Great Ark?"

"Where our civilization sprang from, thousands of years ago."

As the hypertube car picked up speed in the airless tube 
system, Dalton looked at the decor on the walls and ceiling
of the car, and swore he had seen those exact same patterns
somewhere else before, although he couldn't quite place it.

Looking out the window, Dalton saw a gigantic underground city
carved out of a cavern, with lights twinkling from several buildings
in the distance.

Seeing his interest, his guide spoke up. "That's the ancient city 
of New Khorallia, which was discovered 400 years ago by the current 
ruling dynasty during one of their campaigns to unify the homeworld."

"It was also 400 years ago, that the Great Ark was found."

In the darkness of the giant undergound cavern, Dalton saw a massive
form looming out of the darkness, lit up in red lights that flashed
along it's length.

"Is that the Ark?" asked Dalton.

"Yes," replied his guide. "We should be there in a few minutes, as 
we have to begin braking, and it takes a while to slow down from
2,000 klicks in vacuum."

With a hiss several minutes later, the car door opened, and Dalton
and his guide stepped out, onto a paved street that led towards the
massive spacecraft (it could only be a spacecraft, thought Dalton).

As they walked towards it, Dalton was looking everywhere, taking in
every detail and analyzing it with the same incisiveness and speed
that had allowed him to score 355 kills over the years.

Looking at the formations on the rock walls around the massive ship,
Dalton noticed that the cracks in the rock were still sharp-edged,
which meant that this had happened fairly recently, as far as
geologic time was concerned.

Turning his attention to the ship itself, he saw that in several places,
the hull was split open, probably from the impact that had driven it
several hundred meters underground into this apparent natural cave 
formation. Turning to the intermittent red lights, Dalton studied
the period between the pulses, and with some shock, realized that the
lights were blinking on and off according to an Old Republic standard.

Dalton recieved an even more nasty shock when he saw a shiny piece of metal
sitting in what looked like an altar, the material apparently having been
burnished to a high sheen over a long period of time. Embossed in the
metal plate were the words 'Gradium'.

Dalton could barely contain his nervousness. He didn't want to meet the
King anymore. He just wanted to run around this place, to see what the
hell was going on here. Gritting his teeth, he fought down his excitement,
and shoved it into a dark corner of his mind, replacing it with the quiet
professionalism an officer of the Empire was expected to keep.

Both Dalton and his guide walked through what appeared to be an airlock
set into the side of the ovoid ship, and into the corridors of the ship. 
Dalton noticed that the corridors were done in a combination grey/yellow 
sceme that was faded with age, and worn off in some areas by what 
appeared to be countless feet over the years.

Walking down the corridor, Dalton couldn't help but notice that signs of
technology from their galaxy was everywhere, from the glowpanels littering
the floors in some of the rooms, faintly glowing as they approached the end
of their power cell's useful life.

Stepping into an ancient-looking, but well-maintained turbolift car, 
Dalton and his guide were quickly whisked to an unknown location deep 
inside the massive vessel.

As the turbolift slowed to a stop, Dalton took a close look at the call 
panel, and he swore it was in Old Republic Script. His mind was beginning
to reel at the impossibility, but he again pushed that little voice in
his head into solitary and threw the key away for now.

With a low swhoosh, the doors to the turbolift opened, revealing a 
moderately sized room, which had several large doors on each wall. Only 
the door to their rear was open, and in the center, inside a raised enclosure 
looking suspiciously like a security station, sat King Reeiol IV on an old 
chair inlaid with gold designs, the light from several monitors reflecting 
off his face. A look of agonized longing was on his face as he looked at the 
monitors regretfully.

Dalton looked around the room almost reverently, for he had finally realized 
what the ship was. At first, he had refused to accept the possibility, but it 
all added up. The color scheme, the Old Republic script everywhere, and the 
navigational lights.

This ship was the RCS Gradium, lost for nearly 4,000 years. Before he 
could think something up, the loud trumpet blasts from the nearby Royal 
attendants shattered his concentration.

"All hail the mighty King Reeiol the Fourth, PROTECTOR OF THE GREAT ARK, 
KEEPER OF THE SACRED VISIONS, SWORN DEFENDER OF OUR LIFE FORCE, HOLDER OF 
THE ROYAL AMULET, AND SUCCESSOR TO KEPITAN KRIM!" shouted the Royal Heralds, 
causing Dalton to rub his ears in pain.

When the trumpet blasts had faded, Dalton spoke up. "Your Majesty, 
King Reeiol, on behalf of Admiral Sheppard and his Galactic Empire, 
I bring you several gifts, to cement our alliance of friendship and 
trust."  

Motioning for several crates that had been shipped ahead of him as his 
guide had said they would,  Dalton had them opened by several 
Royal Assistants, revealing row after row of tightly-packed weaponry.

"I give you the BlasTech H-11, a semi-automatic blaster rifle, capable 
of blasting through a half-inch of duranium, and holding a capacity of 
300 shots, yet weighing only eight pounds," lectured Dalton as he picked 
up what looked like an E-11, but with a longer barrel and a fixed fiberglass 
stock. "For your Royal Guards." Dalton said as he twirled it around above 
his head.

After twirling it around for the King and his attendants, Dalton set the
H-11 down, and pulled out another weapon, this one looking more compact 
and futuristic than the H-11. "The GH-25. Something you can easily make, 
it is a compact 7 millimeter caseless rifle firing from a closed pulse 
action cycle, deadly accurate at 200 meters."

Tapping the muzzle, Dalton continued. "Built in integral silencer, that 
allows you to fire without revealing your location to the enemy."

"Finally, as a show of our trust in you, I have procured an AE-35 protocol
droid for your Royal Retinue," with that, Dalton pressed the button on one
of the crates, which was as big as a coffin, and standing upright, releasing
the internal maglocks.

From inside came a low clanking noise, as the droid stepped out, 
resplendent in it's royal grey-gold paint scheme, the lights in the 
royal throne room shining off it's polished body. 

As it stepped out into the light, gasps were heard from the King and 
from his servants. "Look! It's the Guardian!"

"Guardian?" asked Dalton, puzzled as hell and ready to give up on
these people, even if they turned out to be Old Republic descendants.

The King stepped down from his throne in the security enclosure 
and walked up to the AE-35, looking it over critically from every 
angle, while Dalton hovered in the background.

"Sir, what is all this talk about the Guardian?" asked Dalton. In
response, the King simply pointed a finger at a tall golden droid
standing mutely at attention next to one of the closed doors, holding
what looked like to be a very primitive blaster rifle in it's hands.

The entire royal chamber was in chaos, with everyone talking to 
everyone else, until the King shouted out over the din for everyone
except him and the visitor to leave the royal chambers.

When the entire Royal Retinue had left and the doors closed behind
them, both the King and Dalton were left alone in the royal chambers.

Dalton was the first to speak. "How old is this ship?" he asked, seizing
the initative. "Our scientists have carbon-dated the materials found
in the ship to about four thousand years, although it's hard to tell as
most of the material used in it's construction shouldn't even exist in
the first place according to our physicists and material scientists."
replied the King.

"Four Thousand years," muttered Dalton, as he thought to himself
for a moment, before deciding on a course of action. "AE-35! Do
you recognize this place?"

"Sir, I am fluent with six million forms of communication and 
over ten million vehicle types..."

"Shut up, AE-35. Do you recognize it or not?" snapped Dalton.

"Yes I do, and don't treat me like that, Master."

Snarling, Dalton smacked the droid upside the head, causing the
photoreceptors in it's head to dim momentarily, while King Reeiol
looked on with a shocked look on his face.

"No droid talks back to me, EVER!" replied Dalton when he
saw the King's shocked expression. "If I could, I'd turn it 
into scrap metal or erase it's memory."

"Please master! Don't do that! I recognize it! This room is
done according to the Old Republic standard for security
checkpoints on starships circa 21014 ORT."

"Old Republic?" asked the King, puzzled by this talking 
automaton's words. "The former government in our area of 
space. It lasted over twenty-five thousand years before 
being toppled from the inside due to greedy, corrupt 
bureaucrats and the Jedi who twisted it to their own ends."
replied Dalton, not missing a beat.

"The...Jedi...are they still around?" asked the King. "The
Great Prophecy of our Forebears said that the Jedi would
utterly destroy civilization for their perverted ideals."

"No. Most of them are long dead, killed by the New
Order to prevent just that. There is a small group of
survivors from the original purge, but for all purposes,
the Jedi have ceased to exist as a coherent political 
entity," replied Dalton.

Turning to AE-35, Dalton ordered it to play the holovid he
had loaded into it in preparation for this event.

AE-35's eyes began to glow, and from them was projected 
a holographic representation of the crucial events in the 
last days of the Old Republic.

"For Twenty-Five Millenia, the Old Republic held sway over 
the known galaxy, spreading civilization to all corners of the 
galaxy, until corruption set in, and the Jedi, cloistered in 
their palaces, began to take over the reins of the Republic, 
twisting a once-proud system to their own perverted ends in 
the hunt for the Sith, whom the Jedi had destroyed once and 
for all millenia ago...or so they claimed. 

Using the Sith as a common bogeyman to expand their power, 
the Jedi Council's tentacles spread across the galaxy, 
undermining governments wherever they went, until the 
Old Republic was near collapse under the groaning weight 
of it's bureaucracy, with the Senate a mere puppet of 
the Jedi."

"The fires of war spread across the cosmos, with world after 
world succumbing to the fires of war, settling old scores 
and creating new ones, as the Navy was powerless to stop it, 
and the Army...the Army had simply ceased to exist."

"Civilization was near total collapse, and millions of worlds 
were on the brink of a new dark age, when Senator Palpatine 
overthrew the corrupt system and replaced it with one that 
worked. 

Under his benevolent rule, civilization was restored 
to the Galaxy, as the Imperial fleet was rebuilt into the 
greatest Navy in history, with millions of ships, and the 
Army resurrected from the dead to a mighty billion man
force."

"But there were those who still longed for the corrupt 
order that had been overthrown. These vile criminals, 
who had the gall to call themselves the "Rebel Alliance", 
were responsible for the deaths of billions of beings on 
the Habitation Sphere that was destroyed when it passed by 
Alderaan on a good-will tour. The Rebel Nobles on Alderran 
took no time in destroying the Habitation Sphere with their 
newly built planetary superlaser, which was powered by 
several hyperthermal generators dug deep into the planet's 
mantle."

"Unfortunately, the firing of the superlaser created a 
harmonic resonance that fed back through the generators and 
into the core of Alderaan itself, literally shaking the world 
apart, killing billions of still-loyal Imperial citizens in 
the process. The Emperor was reported to have mourned for a 
whole week."

"After remaining in his room for an entire week, not seeing 
anyone, such was his sadness, the Emperor made his first 
appearance in public since the tragedy."

The hologram shifted to show the Imperial Senate Chamber, 
and Palpatine speaking.

"My friends, a horrible calamity has befell us. The world of 
Alderaan has been destroyed, thanks to the actions of Rebel 
terrorists. I will not stand for this barbarism, and I have 
ordered the fleet to find and crush these terrorists wherever 
they may hide from the light of the New Order."

"Even now, the Sixth Fleet, under the capable hand of 
Lord Vader, is routing the Rebel scum from their holes in 
the Braxtant sector."

The scene faded away from the Emperor to a starry background, which 
was interrupted by the mighty bulk of an Executor-class Command ship 
slicing through the void, escorted by dozens of Imperator-Class Star 
Destroyers, and hundreds of smaller ships, while thousands of TIE 
Fighters buzzed around.

AE-35 continued the narration. "Millions of ships were commissioned 
into the Navy and thousands of divisions were activicated as the 
Imperial Armed Forced ramped up to fight the terrorist threat which 
multiplied a thousand-fold when the vile Mon Calamari threw their 
full support to the Rebellion."

"Great battles were fought over hundreds of light years, worlds were 
turned into hell-worlds by the fierceness of the fighting. The Empire 
won every battle, until the return of the vile Jedi on the terrorist 
side."

"The Jedi had been extinguished by the efforts of our valiant 
Emperor and Lord Vader, who saw them for what they were, 
villanious con artists who stood ready to destroy twenty-five 
millenia of galactic civilization for their own greedy ends."

"But, on a poor, out of the way world, the last strains of the
Jedi had apparently survived, nourished by the criminal 
Obi-Wan Kenobi, who gave root to the terrorist Luke Skywalker, 
responsible for the survival of the terroristic Princess Leia, 
last survivor of the corrupt Royal House of Alderaan, by breaking 
her loose from an Imperial Prison."

"The Emperor foresaw the conflict spreading across the galaxy, 
turning galactic civilization into a burnt husk of itself, unable 
to defend itself from forces from beyond the galaxy, and he made 
the supreme sacrifice: he offered himself up as a peace offering 
on the second Habitation Sphere, built to replace the first one 
destroyed over Alderaan."

"The Rebel terrorists took advantage of this good-faith 
offering to not only assassinate our Emperor, but to 
destroy the Habitation Sphere II, resulting in billions 
of additional deaths."

Sad-sounding music played as the Habitation Sphere II 
exploded in slow motion, acting as the funeral pyre of 
the once-great Empire.

"Without our Emperor's guiding hand, the Empire fell apart, 
with the Jedi quickly re-asserting their stranglehold over 
galactic politics, and over the next fifteen years, the Jedi 
and their lackeys drove our once-glorious Empire into the 
dregs of the galaxy, despite the near-superhuman efforts
of the few good leaders the Empire had left, such as 
Grand Admiral Thrawn, who single-handedly nearly reversed 
all of the defeats the Empire had suffered, until he was 
assassinated by agents of the terroristic Princess Leia,
leading to the final decline of our glorious Empire as our 
mighty fleets of twenty-five thousand Star Destroyers dwindled 
over the next two decades to just two hundred."

Suddenly, the music shifted from a sombre tone to a more martial 
tone as a grey-haired man wearing an Admiral's uniform appeared. 
"This man, Admiral Gilead Pellaeon, halted the Empire's decline 
and stabilized it, reversing our two-decade long decline, replacing 
older ships with ships of the newer Type 418 design, and finally 
ended the long, futile war with the Jedi-dominated "New" Republic. 

"Consider the following: The "New" Republic, while crippled 
with the same weaknesses of the Old Republic, could have 
destroyed the New Order and all it stood for. The treaty 
allowed the Empire to stop focusing on futile brush fire 
conflicts and stablize it's internal economy, in preparation 
of the day when the "New" Republic will fall from corruption 
within, like it's precedessor."

Finally, with a final crescendo of the Imperial March, the film 
faded into a slowly rotating Imperial Crest, and then it ended.

For several seconds, there was a complete silence in the throne
room, as the King slowly absorbed everything he had just seen.

"Can you get that door open?" asked the King, pointing towards
a massive blast door that was set into the other side of the
security chamber.

Dalton rubbed his chin. "I think so. The codes for the _Gradium_
have been public knowledge for the last four millenia, to encourage
the possible salvage of the ship, but until now, nobody ever found 
it, and for good reason."

Slowly, Dalton walked over to a keypad set in the wall next to the
door, which was still glowing faintly, and with shaking hands,
punched in the Captain's Override Code.

Nothing happened for several long seconds, until finally, with
the sound of old machinery shaking off the dust of countless
millenia, the heavy blast door began to rise for the first time
in forty centuries, as both Dalton and the King looked on
in wonder.

With a sudden rush of humid air, the four millenia-old air on
the other side of the door rushed past Dalton and the King, 
smelling faintly of old clothes, despite the best efforts
of the most advanced air recirculation systems of the time.

Beyond the door lay a brightly-lit corridor, looking as new
as the day the Gradium was launched, with all of the glow
panels brightly lit, the only indication of the passage of
enormous amounts of time being the thin sheen of dust that
lay on everything.

Dalton motioned for the King to go ahead. "It's okay. They
didn't install automated defense systems in the Gradium...
at least I think so...so much has been forgotten about her."

"You THINK?" muttered Reeiol as he took the first steps 
into the corridor.

[MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN THE DELTA QUADRANT]

Valberg looked at the planet that was some 30 AUs distant
on the viewscreen and compared the planet with the one 
that was shown on the datapad he was holding.

[Pluto is some 39 AUs from our sun in comparison]

Looked close enough. "Eyeball, is this the right
place?" he asked, using his personal nickname for
the sensor officer.

"Yessir, all the readings match the data."

Valberg simply nodded at that. What appeared to be
a random target for Imperial rule, had actually been
picked days ago, by Sheppard's staff, poring over
all of the data they had accumulated from their capture
of Voyager, and from their contacts with the Dormans,
plus several long-range reconnaisance flights.

The world before them, known as I'eshella, was a major
traffic hub in this region's warp-based trade system,
and the capture of it would disrupt and destabilize the
surrounding systems.

Also, it contained several large mineral deposits of
the material neccessary for the production of durasteel,
which would greatly increase the output of Imperial
Construction Base Alpha, which was being forced to
subsist off basic nickel-iron asteroids towed there.

To prepare the system for conquest, Valberg had spent
the last few days hunting down and destroying every
last ship headed to and from I'eshella, to isolate it
from the rest of the universe.

As he destroyed each ship, he had dropped a hypercomm
beacon in each debris field, providing the _Revenger_
a signal to home in on, in order to recover the highly
refined materials that usually made up starship hulls
for Construction Base Alpha.

"Nav, begin calculations for a micro-jump. I want to end
up right inside their defense net, with all weapons ready."
ordered Valberg, as he continued to eye the planet growing
larger in the viewscreen.

As an afterthought, he added; "And make sure the holographic
units are in working order."

[Same Time - ISS _Revenger_]

Newly-promoted Flag Captain C.S. Strowbridge looked out 
the bridge windows of his Star Destroyer, feeling an 
almost giddy excitement at having finally rose to 
commanding a Star Destroyer. 

He had paid his dues over the years, including spending
nearly five years as the X.O. of the ISD _Virulent_,
while the Empire had collapsed around him.

Now he was not only a Captain, but a *Flag* Captain, 
commanding the Admiral's flagship, although with Sheppard 
away on business with the Feds, he had tremendous freedom 
to do whatever he wanted now.

At the moment, he was playing cargo ship captain, picking
up the wreckage behind Valberg, who was cutting a quite
respectable swathe through the races of this area of space
with just a few corvettes.

The _Revenger_ had just finished hauling a load of asteroids
to ICA, when it was tasked to follow Valberg around like a 
man following his dog, picking up the mess left behind, except 
in this case, the mess would actually be quite useful, as many 
of the materials used in starship construction in this galaxy 
were also used in Imperial manufacturing, reducing the need for 
the costly atomic transmutation process used in the World
Devastators.

"Sir," said a lieutenant, walking up to Strowbridge. "Tractor
control reports they have a lock on the wreckage, and are
bringing it into the cargo holds now. We should be finished
in six minutes."

"Excellent." replied Strowbridge off-handedly. He couldn't
wait until this miserable cargo duty was done with. Right 
now, the Revenger was running off a skeleton crew of only
9,500 crew, while over 10,000 people did nothing but repair
damaged areas with the spare parts brought over from the 
_Vengeance_, and the new stuff that was slowly arriving,
fresh off the World Devastators.

All of her damaged weapons turrets had been removed as well, 
being sent to Imperial Construction Facility Alpha, for 
complete reconstruction to restore them to operational
duty, leaving the Revenger with shiny plates of durasteel
welded all over her hull.

Another officer walked up, and saluted. "Sir, Admiral Valberg
signals he is ready to begin the operation."

Strowbridge sighed. "Very well, send the reply, and signal
astrogation to prepare for a hyperjump shortly."

[Five Minutes Later - Ipaella Prime]

The Ipasch freighter I'lella's Pride was puttering along on 
it's landing pattern when the strange alien ship that resembled
a giant pickle suddenly  appeared out of nowhere, vaporizing 
it's engines with concentrated bursts of coherent light, sending 
the freighter into a slow spiral of death towards the planet's 
surface, where it impacted ten minutes later, with the loss of 
all hands.

On his repeater display, Valberg watched the ship spiral down
towards death, and smiled. Once again, the pilots of this galaxy
were shown as incompetents who couldn't execute even the most
basic manuevers taught to first year cadets at the Imperial Academy,
such as recovering from atmospheric spins.

"Begin firing sequence one." ordered Valberg.

The _Siletto's_ lower turbolasers fired towards a fighter base below, 
destroying it with several megaton-level airbursts, while the upper
turbolasers fired as well, towards an important weather control 
satellite, destroying that as well.

"Sequence one completed, sir." said Valberg's weapons officer.

"Good, get us out of here."

In a flash of cronau radiation, the _Stiletto_ disappeared,
leaving behind a shattered airbase below, and a freighter
spiralling towards the planet's surface in a death spiral,
where it would unleash further destruction on the planet.

Four more times, the process was repeated, the _Stiletto_
appearing over the planet suddenly, unleashing a hail of
ruin from the skies, before disappearing again, until the
planet's entire defense force had been destroyed utterly.

When the entire planet appeared to be at the mercy of the 
pickle-shaped craft that appeared and disappeared like 
a ghost, another craft, this time shaped differently,
and blockier, appeared and began firing at the 
pickle-shaped craft.

This contest of wills continued for several minutes, with
neither side slackening, nor giving in, even after the 
new-comer had begun leaking plasma from it's engine 
section.

Now trailing plasma from every hull seam, the pickle-shaped
ship listed to port sharply, before disappearing in the
now-characteristic flash of light.

From the planet came hundreds of frantic hails, most directed
towards the mile-long ship, most of them characterized as 
"please don't hurt us!"

[Bridge of the _Revenger_]

Strowbridge coughed and unconsciously straightened his uniform 
as he signaled for the ComScan boys to open up a channel
to the planet below.

In the holo-tank in front of him, where Captains watched
space battles occur in true 3D space, a flat 2D image
of a orange-skinned alien appeared.

"This is Captain Strowbridge of the _Peacekeeper_. We couldn't
help but notice your predicament."

The alien leader nodded vigoriously. "Thank you so much 
Captain Strowbridge! We're forever in your debt!"

As Strowbridge nodded in acknowledgement, another alien walked
up to the leader and whispered into his auditory organs.

The leader nodded, and spoke up again. "Captain, the casualty
figures are just coming in now, and those bastards hurt us bad.
If it wasn't for your intervention, we'd have all died, as
he took out one of our weather satellites. We're incapable
of sustaining a harvest without them."

Strowbridge put on a look of feigned shock. "That's horrible, sir.
Those Mon Calamari are savages." Strowbridge paused, and then
began the recruitment speech he had so painstakingly worked
out with Valberg several days before.

[Two Hours Later]

The _Revenger_, her holds now full of raw materials and holding 
a treaty of alliance for Sheppard to sign, hypered out of the 
system in a flash of radiation towards the meeting point 
10 lightyears away, where she'd meet up with the _Stiletto_
and Valberg to plan their next conquest.

END IP7



IMPERIAL PHOENIX CHAPTER 8a

Back in the Star Wars Galaxy..........

[The Parcheill System - Somewhere in New Republic Space]

The Corvette _Bothan's Pride_ tore through the void, it's
drives burning at full power, carrying it further and further
away from the latest world to fall to the Vong. Aboard was
a very disillusioned Borsk Fey'lya.

After decades of scheming, and scrambling to the top, he
was faced with oblivion for a Bothan - His own political 
death. His supporters were deserting him in ever greater
numbers by every day, and now that he was at the top,
what did he have but a moribund 'Republic' as corrupt
as the Old Republic had been?

Even stranger was the fact that Kyp Durron himself, 
one of his greatest opponents, was now escorting him
back home to Coruscant.

Before Fey'lya could think of the paradoxes of a lifetime spent
in politics any further, the deck shuddered, and the lights
snapped off, replaced by the dim glow of the emergency
battle lanterns.

Thick toxic smoke poured into his luxurious cabin from a broken
condit, and it was all Fey'lya could do to avoid choking to death
as he ran out of his room as the deck continued to shudder under
his feet, from weapons fire of some sort.

He staggered his way through the shattered corridors of the Corvette,
avoiding fallen support beams and avoiding the various fires that
were now flickering from shorted out power relays, until he came
to an impassable pile of rubble which was burning fiercely, keeping
him away from the escape pods.

He looked around frantically, for any other way out, and finding none,
he headed back to his cabin to await the end.

Through the smoke, he could see the repeaters displaying the information
direct from the ships' bridge one deck above him. Ignoring the deadly toxic
smoke, he waded through it towards the repeaters, and on them, he saw that 
the bridge had been blown to space moments earlier, and that the entire l
iving quarters area for the crew had been hulled.

_Someone sure wants no survivors from this attack,_ he thought, before
the repeater display flickered, then switched to a display of Kyp in his
X-Wing.

"What's the meaning of this?!?" he screamed, ignoring the fact that 
he was inhaling toxic smoke by the lungful. He wanted at least some 
answers before he died.

"The meaning of this is your...retirement from the Senate. You've 
moved from being an annoyance to the Republic, to a lethal danger to 
it. To save the Republic from the Vong, you must die." replied Kyp, 
hatred boiling over in his voice as he recalled the countless beings 
who had been massacred by the Vong thanks to this spineless politician's 
machinations.

Kyp suddenly terminated the transmission, leaving Fey'lya with nothing at all,
as the repeater displays began to flicker into nothingness from the damage
the ship had sustained, leaving him in the dark.

A green light from the forward viewports caught Fey'lya's vision, and he turned
in time to see an Imperial Star Destroyer hanging motionless in the blackness of
space, unleash a solid sheet of flame. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught
the repeater displays showing the Star Destroyer's name...the _Revenger_.

_Damn, you Sheppard and Durron!_ was his last thought as he watched the 
turbolaser bolts sail through space in slow motion, and then his entire 
world faded to white as they slammed into what was left of the corvette's 
'hammerhead', vaporizing it utterly.

[Durron's X-Wing]

Kyp watched with pleasure as the turbolasers from the _Hellbore_ slammed into
the corvette, atomizing it's forward section completely, and leaving a glowing
rear section tumbling end over end for all eternity.

Finally, the Republic was free of that annoying insect, he thought. Now they
could fight the Vong on even terms, without Fey'lya's annoying 'Peace Brigade'
interfering.

Then it happened.

His X-Wing was hit suddenly, without warning, with a MagPulse torpedo
fired from the _Hellbore_, shorting out all of his systems except for
the comm system.

His multi-function display in the center of the cockpit came to life, 
showing a somber Skywalker shaking his head. 

"I'm sorry, Kyp."

Kyp looked at the small vidscreen with disbelief. This couldn't
be happening!

On the MFD, it showed Skywalker standing next to the Captain of the
ISD _Hellbore_. Skywalker had a sad look on his face, while the
middle-aged man who was the _Hellbore_'s captain had a look of 
righteous anger on his face.

"But, Master! Why are you doing this?" squealed Kyp as his 
Astromech blatted out the warning that all of his systems
save for the comm system were inoperable.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw a pair of TIE Interceptors
coming in fast from his port beam. The Imperial fighters screamed 
closer and closer, the grinning skull-eagles on their wings looking 
like the death-wraiths of legend, come to haul away the spirits of 
the damned to eternal suffering in HELL!

As the fighters screamed past, Kyp swore he saw one of the 
pilots flipping him the bird.

"I'm sorry, Kyp. But it was part of the deal with the Empire, 
for use of this ship to impersonate Admiral Sheppard."

Luke paused for a long, sombre moment, before continuing.

"You said it yourself, Kyp, sometimes the greater good is 
more important than the needs of the few," finished Luke.

With his force enhanced sight, Kyp saw the numerous weapons 
emplacements on the ISD rotating towards his X-Wing.

The video cut away to rest squarely on the Hellbore's 
captain. "At last, it has taken me twenty years. My brother 
will have his revenge, finally."

In between the time that the Hellbore cut loose with all of 
it's weapons in great sheets of flame, and the impact of 
numerous heavy weapons on his fighter, blowing it apart 
like a tin can, Kyp saw through the force, an image of the 
captain as a younger man, wishing his little brother farewell, 
for the younger brother had been accepted to Carida.

[4 hours later, the ANOAT System]

The shattered X-Wing drifted through space, the cockpit
open to vacuum, the pilot's corpse a bloated mess, caused by 
explosive decompression. On the mans' breast pocket were the
words STACKPOLE.

Around the ruined X-Wing drifted various wreckage, some of it 
recognizable as other X-Wings , but mostly shattered parts 
covered with scorch marks.

An armor plate floating end over end rolled over and caught 
the sunlight, revealing the crest of ROGUE SQUADRON before 
tumbling over again, lost to darkness again.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a CUV dropped out of hyperspace, 
broadcasting the standard distress call in wideband, having
been called to this location by the emergency beacons of 
Rogue Squadron some 24 hours ago.

Inside the red-lit pilot's compartment of the Combat Utility 
Vehicle, the pilot chewed on his cigar, not liking the sight 
before him.

"Vrel, get up here. Looks like we got no survivors."

>From the back of the CUV's medbay, came a plaintive voice. 
"That bad?"

"It gets worse," went on the pilot. "It was Rogue Squadron."

"Oh kriff."

>From the superbly equipped medbay, came a disheveled man wearing
a medic's tunic. It was times like this when he hated his job,
especially when Search and Rescue missions became Corpse Rescue 
missions. The sight of bodies after prolonged exposure to vacuum
and in most cases, exposure to explosive decompression wasn't
pretty.

Taking his seat next to the pilot, the med-tech activicated
his scanner, looking for sizeable masses of biological material.

"Jorah, looks like we got lucky this time. Only one body 
survived in large enough pieces."

Slowly the CUV pulled up to the shattered X-Wing fuselage, 
from it's belly, several metal arms extended forth, each 
tipped with a different tool, these being used to cut pilots 
out of wreckage.

With the practiced efficiency of one who has done his task one 
too many times, Vrel quickly cut the body out of the cockpit, 
and tractored it into the airlock.

As the decontam cycle was running, Vrel also looked for the
specific panel on the side of the X-Wing that covered the 
data-recorder port. With any luck, the recorder would be 
relatively undamaged, and they'd be able to reconstruct 
the last moments of Rogue Squadron.

[5 minutes later]

Vrel surveyed the ruined mass of the body before him. Pulling 
out a medscanner, he played it over the body, doing a general 
autopsy.

"Death by sudden decompression to vacuum, probably caused by 
flight suit magcon field failure."

Inwardly, Vrel cursed the arrogance and stupidity of Starfighter
Command, which continued to say that the standard bright orange
jumpsuits worn by pilots were "more than adequate" for emergencies.

He had pulled too many pilots out of space who would have survived,
if it hadn't been for a malfunction in their suits' magcon fields.

Even the Empire had issued full body spacesuits to their TIE pilots.

Well, this man, judging by his nametag, was probably 
Michael Stackpole, formerly of Rogue Squadron. His face had 
been all over the holochannels, what with him being the latest
member accepted into the squadron.

"Vrel, I've got the data recorder. Let's get the hell out of here!" came
the shout from the cockpit, warning Vrel to grab onto something, because
the Combat Utility Vehicle's inertial dampeners were poorly maintained 
pieces of shit that somehow kept on trucking.

In a flash of light, the CUV hypered out, leaving behind the shattered 
wreckage of Rogue Squadron tumbling end over end, as it would continue
to do so for the next several thousand years until their motion was
finally retarded by the solar wind, or when the recovery vehicles came
to get the rest of the Squadron.

[2 hours later - Senate Chamber - Coruscant]

Skywalker had a sombre look on his face as he addressed 
the Republic Senate.

"I regret to inform you that the honorable Borsk Fey'lya has 
been cowardly murdered by the rogue ex-Imperial Admiral Sheppard, 
along with his protector, Kyp Durron, who gave his life in an 
attempt to save his protective charge."

Suddenly, a commotion arose from the entrance to the senate chamber,
which was fairly new, only twenty standard years old, since the 
Emperor had converted the old Senate Chambers into his Palace.

A man wearing the uniform of the New Republic Navy ran up to 
Skywalker, an ashen look on his face.

"What is it, Commander?"

The man whispered nervously into Luke's ear, as the Senators wondered
what was up now. Luke looked up, true grief on his face now as he broke
the horrible news.

"I have just been informed that Rogue Squadron was completely wiped
out in the Anoat system by forces as yet unknown."

The entire senate chamber dissolved into a tremendous uproar, tinged
with fear. Rogue Squadron, their finest fighting force, had just
been wiped out, and the Vong were pressing ever closer.

Borsk Fey'lya's death was overshadowed by the horrible calamity that
had befell Rogue Squadron, and he was forgotten within days, to become
a footnote in the history books on the early days of the New Republic.

On his homeworld of Bothawi, Fey'lya became a national hero, but 
elsewhere, his name was consigned to the dustbin of history.

[Much later - in a secret chamber in the old Imperial Palace]

"Did they buy it?" asked Leia, the strain in her voice apparent.

"Yes. They think Sheppard was responsible for this atrocity." 
replied Luke, feeling conflicted between his duty as a Jedi, 
and the Dark Side overtones of what they had just done.

"Have you been able to find anything out from Admiral Carlson?"
asked Luke.

Even though Leia had been retired from the Senate for the last 
couple of years, she still had several high ranking contacts,
chiefly amongst the Military, who despised Fey'la and the other
senators.

"We may have a suspect, Luke. They managed to recover at least
one flight recorder from the wreckage, and preliminary analysis
indicates that it was the forces of Warlord Ness who did it."

All of the warmth fled Luke's voice, as he slowly muttered the
nickname the Warlord was infamous as.

"Cock Rocket."

[Asteroid AA1244A4 - Somewhere near the Anoat System]

Exalted Grand High Admiral Tim Ness, or as he was better
known, Cock Rocket, stuffed the latest stimtab up his nose,
enjoying the rush. He had felt near orgasmiac pleasure as
he had blasted the squadron into bits himself.

It had taken years of planning the perfect ambush, and 
finally, now that he had killed his archenemies, strangely
enough, the stimtabs no longer held any particular pleasure
for him.

Oh well, at least he had had his revenge for the 
entire "Death's Head" fiasco ten years ago. He found
that he couldn't control his rage, as his hand drifted
across the cauterized mess that was his crotch.

Ten years ago, Rogue Squadron had broken onto
the Executor-Class Command Ship Death's Head, where 
he was serving as a Commander, in charge of the
hangar bay.

They had thought it was hilarious to tie him by
the groin to one of the concussion missiles and
set a timer on it.

He had managed to unstrap himself from the missile
only mere moments before the timer finished counting
down, avoiding an almost certain death by blunt trauma
from slamming into the hangar bay wall at supersonic
speeds.

Unfortunately, he was still too close to the missile,
and when its motor ignited, it severely burned him
across sixty percent of his body, the worst damage
being in his groin.

He had managed to crawl out of the slowly decompressing
hangar bay before it was totally vacated to vacuum, but
at the cost of immense amounts of pain. Since then, he had
lived for nothing but the total annihilation of Rogue
Squadron, and he again found a strange emptiness in himself
now that he had finally accomplished his mission.

[SAME TIME - YT-1800 LIGHT FREIGHTER _CORELLIAN MISCHIEF_]

Wedge Antilles coughed, and slowly woke up to the sound of 
his ship's comm system buzzing persistently in his face.

With a yawn, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and first
checked the repeater display in his quarters to be sure
his ship was on course and everything was fine before he
turned on the comm system.

To his surprise, he found it was Admiral Carlson.

"Admiral, what do you want with me? I told you weeks ago
that I was retired from the business forever."

"I know that, but we need you now, to help us rebuild the Squadron."

Wedge was silent for several seconds, before replying. 

"Rebuild? Who's left?"

"Nobody. The entire squadron was wiped out."

For several minutes, Wedge said nothing, trying to comprehend
how his best friends could have been all killed, cut down like
wheat, before speaking again.

"I'll do it on one condition: I want the bastards who did it."

******************************

Back in the Milky Way Galaxy

*******************************

[Imperial Construction Base Alpha - Delta Quadrant]

"Commander Shimazaki, good to see you," came the voice from the 
open office.

Kazuaki Shimazaki stepped into the office, and saw an awe-inspiring 
sight.  The entire east wall of the office was made up of 
transparisteel, affording Vice Admiral Glasgow a view of his 
entire operation.

In the background of the massive nebula that hid the sole major
Imperial Base in the Milky Way from prying eyes, he could see sparks 
flying as robotic drones worked on the unfinished hulls of ships spat 
out half-finished by the World Devastator to save on the Devastator's 
precious time.

Suddenly, Glasgow's intercomm beeped. "Sorry for interrupting you sir, 
but Commander Yu just arrived. He apparently got lost a little."

The doorway hissed open again, and in stepped Commander Jeffery Yu, 
his crisply cropped hair shining under the lights, and his uniform 
spotless, the rank bars polished to a high sheen.

"It's good to see you all again. Talking to the Devastator's computer
core gets boring after a while," Glasgow said as he got up and began
to pace behind his desk.

"The reason I've called you both here, is to introduce you to your 
new commands, Hull Numbers One and Two, as we're still referring to 
them. They won't be named until they're officially commissioned into 
the Navy."

Glasgow then picked up two plaques from his desk and handed them to 
both Shimazaki and Yu. "The Comissioning plaques for your new ships, 
the Strike Cruisers _Abolishoner_ and _Abrogator_."

"They're the first ships to be finished here, as ninety percent of their
construction was carried out inside the World Devastator, because in my
opinion we need some moderate sized ships to terrify the locals, and NOW."

Glasgow paused for a moment. "Before you take command of them tonight, 
and fuse the plaques onto them in the comissioning ceremony, there are a 
few things you should know about your new commands."

He pushed a button on his desk, bringing up a holographic representation
of the standard Loronar Strike Cruiser in front of the two Commanders. "Your
Cruisers have been modified with much increased automation to reduce their
minimum complement to just 450 crew, compared to 800 for the normal ones."

"Likewise, your Standard Complements have been reduced to 1,100 crew, down
from 1,972. Also, we have just only gotten the transporter cloning facilities
working, so expect at least twenty percent of your crew to be clones."

Glasgow paused, a look of deadly seriousness on his face. "You will be 
responsible for the lives of eight hundred eighty of your fellow Imperials, 
and both I and the Admiral expect you to treat them like Coruscant Fire Gems, 
and not to piss them away in wasteful combats. Is that understood?"

Both Commanders nodded. "Good. While we're waiting for the droids to finish 
painting the insides and laying the carpeting in the rec areas, I'll give you 
a short tour of the base." With that, Glasgow nodded for the two men to 
follow him.

Pushing a button on his stylus, a section of the western wall of Glasgow's 
office slid away, revealing an airlock to a workpod. "This comes in handy 
for my perennial tours of the base, and it also provides a handy escape 
pod if things ever go south in a bad way."

Several minutes later, the Workpod was powering away from the office complex 
that had 'grown' out of the side of the World Devastator. "Production right 
now is limited by the fact for some strange reason, we were only able to get 
one World Devastator to actually work. The rest of them made strange noises 
and then smoke started coming out from them." said Glasgow as he made a 
slow circle over the sole working WD, which had been christened _Rebirth_, 
and was the center of Imperial Construction Base Alpha.

"Uhm, sir, why can't you just tell the World Devastator to replicate 
itself?" asked Yu.

Glasgow chuckled at that as he swung the pod onto a course that would 
take them away from _Rebirth_. "Doesn't work that way, Commander. Old 
Palpie was always paranoid."

"You can build smaller construction droids with this, but you can't 
have it replicate itself. Palpie always felt leery about putting too 
much power into hands other than his wrinkled old ones."

"What about the first Death Star?" asked Shimazaki.

"Doesn't count," replied Glasgow. "Vader was on it, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Forgot all about him," demurred Shimazaki.

"That's alright. What we've got going here is we have _Rebirth_ producing
spare parts internally, as we need those now if we're ever to refurbish
_Revenger_ to fully operational status, and keep our other ships working.
We also have a line set up to produce autonomous self-propelled construction
drones, along with deep dock components."

The workpod then finished it's trip around the Devastator, revealing row 
after row of Deepdocks, each with a ship in it, and countless swarms 
of droids working on them, sending plasma sparks flying all over the place.

"How many ships do you have under construction here, Admiral?" asked Yu, 
speaking up for the first time since he had arrived on _Rebirth_ ten 
minutes ago.

Glasgow pointed out several deep docks in turn. "Well, Commander. We have
about sixty ships in various phases of completion. Your two Strike Cruisers
will be our first capital ships to be finished, as we're using the _Rebirth_
to only produce about fifty percent of each ship, and then finishing
the rest off outside of the devastator to keep _Rebirth_ from becoming
bogged down on ships, as we do have to build a lot of stuff, like Tibanna
Gas mining vessels, Combat Utility Vehicles, and Shuttles to help administer
our slowly expanding domain."

Glasgow then turned around. "Oh yes, that reminds me. Here's a quick 
preview of the orders you're going to get tonight. You will be assigned 
to Vice-Admiral Valberg's Third Fleet, and help him conquer the races 
in the Delta Quadrant."

"That shouldn't be hard. I mean, look at the kriffing Kazon, by 
Vader's Breath!" exclaimed Yu.

"Only in this galaxy, my friends, could a group of complete dumbasses
like the Kazon get so much power," remarked Glasgow as he brought
the pod back towards his office.

[Imperial Recreation Facility Alpha - Formerly USS _Voyager_]

With a 'swish', the doors to crew quarters AA-6X on Deck 12
opened, disgorging a fireplug of a man in a disheveled Imperial
Intelligence uniform.

Through bloodshot eyes, the man blinked, trying to make sense of
the unfamiliar color scheme and materials. _Carpeting! What's
carpeting doing on an Imperial ship?!?_ thought the man for
several moments before his brain finally enaged and he remembered.

_Oh. I'm on Voyager._

Grinning, he brought the bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey to his mouth
and took a long drag. When he'd drained half the bottle, he brought
it down from his mouth and threw it against the wall, shattering the
bottle and staining the carpet with whiskey.

>From the next corridor, an annoyed chirping noise was heard as a
cleaning droid trundled up to the mess the man had made and began
cleaning it up.

With an evil leer, the man viciously kicked the droid, causing a
pain-filled electronic screech. Laughing, the man made his way
to the massive multi-holodeck recreation center that had replaced
all of the science labs on Voyager.

[Several hours later]

"TK-6371, TK-6392, and TO-9632; report to holodeck 51 
and...accomodate Captain Milenky's return to duty."

Behind their helmets, the trio of Stormtroopers smiled. Duty at
RECFAC A (aka RECreational FACility Alpha) was turning out to be
better than expected. They got to slap around superior officers with
no possibility of retribution. That by itself was good enough, but
the easy access to the holodecks during their off-duty hours brought
RECFAC A up to the level of paradise.

A few minutes later, the three of them were standing in front of
one of the 80 holodecks now on the former USS _Voyager_. Since the
Imperial capture of the former Federation starship, things had 
changed extensively. The dangerous, unstable matter/antimatter
reactor had been replaced by a smaller, ultra-reliable Solar Ionization
Reactor that output several times the power that the old M/AM reactor
did. All of the extraneous science labs had been stripped and replaced
with holodecks. But the biggest change (at least the most noticeable)
was the enlarging of the main shuttlebay to handle the Lambda-class
shuttles normally used for light cargo/passenger duties to and from
Star Destroyers.

Punching in their Security Override code, the Stormtroopers stepped
into Holodeck 51 and into a wild orgy. Green-skinned Orion women wearing 
nothing scampered around, their tits jiggling as they ran.

At the center, holding a girl in each hand, was Captain Milenky,
obviously enjoying himself.

"Captain Eddor Milenky?" asked TK-6371.

"Who wants to know?" came the slurred reply. At this, all three
Stormtroopers grinned. It was now the word of three sober Stormtroopers
against that of a drunken officer, and as luck would have it, their
helmet recorders were down.

"By the order of Major Grodin Tierce, head of Imperial Intelligence,
your leave is hereby terminated. You are to report to his office
24 hours from now at 0500 hours." said TK-6371, reading his mission orders
from the HUD in his helmet.

For a few seconds, there was absolute silence in the holodeck. The 
Stormtroopers snickered at the sight of Milenky just standing there,
his mouth open in complete shock at what they'd just told him.

His mouth opened and closed in a manner reminiscent of a fish out of
water as he struggled to find words for this, this, atrocity! As
his face turned a bright red, he leapt to his feet and unleashed
a vicious barriage of insults at the Stormtroopers.

"You kriffing bastards! This...this is my first leave in four years!
How *dare* you interrupt it! By the Sith, I'll have your heads on
a pike if you don't leave now...Vader's breath, what the fuck are
you waiting for? An engraved invitation from Palpatine?!?"

"Looks like we got a tough one here, boys. Set your blasters
to stun," ordered TK-6371.

"Now wait a kriffing minu-" A blue flash came from the Stormtroopers'
E-11s, and the next moment Milenky smelled and heard the distinctive
sound of flesh frying, then blackness.

[15 minutes later]

"Ed, wake up." A disembodied voice said as it pierced the nothingness
of unconsciousness.

He tried to move his mouth to reply, but his muscles refused to work.
Slowly he began to regain his senses. The first thing he felt was a 
head-splitting headache pounding like a jackhammer on his fragile
brain.

Suddenly, he felt a wave of coldness spread on his left arm, then
with a gasp, he sat straight up, eyes blinking from the harsh white
light. His vision was a hazy blob of color. Slowly, they resolved
into recognizable shapes.

He was sitting on a bed in _Voyager's_ newly refurbished sickbay.
To his left, he saw a grim hard-faced man in a medical uniform with
Commander's bars. On his right was his wife Jianna.

"Oh, Ed! We thought for a moment we'd lost you!" Jianna cried as
she flung her arms around him.

With a befuddled look on his face, Ed asked the Doctor just what
the hell had happened.

"Captain, you experienced what we call 'stun roulette'. Basically,
blasters can kill, even on stun, but very rarely. These...accidents
occur at a rate of between 0.3 percent and 1 percent of all stun
shots. That's what happened in your case, Captain. You were medically
dead for about one minute."

"Uh, um..." Ed stammered, fighting to make sense of the situation.

"Oh, by the way, my orders are to turn you over to those Stormtroopers
over there, who'll make sure you catch your assigned flight," said
the doctor. This was too much for Ed's drug-addled brain to stand, and
he ran to the nearest head, where he promptly puked his guts out.

When all the contents of his stomach had left the wrong way and
only dry heaves were left, Ed slowly got up on shaky legs, feeling
like shit.

Jianna came running up to him. "Are you OK?" she asked as she put
her arms around him to support his weight.

"S'okay, but this better be kriffing worth it," he rasped.

As the pair emerged from the head, a pair of Stormtroopers 
grabbed them.

"Orders. We gotta get you to the shuttlebay in seven minutes, or
we're janitors," With that, the Stormtroopers began jostling the
pair through the corridors of _Voyager_ at a brisk jog. Moments
later, they reached a turbolift.

Prodding their charges into the 'lift, the Stormtroopers stepped in
and spoke. "Main shuttle bay," said the electronically filtered
voice of the leader. "And step on it." A beep emanated from the
control panel on the wall.

Cursing, the stormtroopers drew their rank cylinders and put them
into the newly-installed socket in the panel. "Identity confirmed,"
said a feminine voice, and the turbolift began to move.

A minute later, the doors opened on the (now) cavernous interior
of the main shuttlebay. They saw a Lambda-class shuttle running it's
pre-flight checks some 30 meters away. "Move! Move!" screamed the
Stormtroopers, and to be sure their charges got the message, they
jammed the muzzles of their E-11s into the Milenkys' kidneys.

As they ran towards the shuttle, Ed kept teetering on the edge
of unconsciousness due to the cumlative effect of the holographic
women, booze, his near-death experience, and the powerful drugs
used to revive him. He barely made it up the ramp and into one
of the passenger seats, followed by his wife, who sat next to him.

His tired brain barely registered the sound of the ramp retracting
and the voice of the pilot as he announced to his passengers basic
informatino about the flight they were about to take.

"Hello boys and girls, I'm Lieutenant Janus. Our flight will take
us from Recreation Facility Alpha - " at that, the passengers, who
were officers and enlisteds who had gone to RECFAC A for some much
needed leave - began to boo and hiss. It was several minutes before
they quieted down enough to talk. "- to the _Vengeance_. We'll be
entering hyperspace soon. This should take at least ten hours. We'll
arrive at our destination at 0300 Imperial Standard Time."

Upon hearing that they'd arrive at 3 'o clock in the morning, Ed 
gave a tortured groan, then passed out, only to be prodded awake
by Jianna. "I heard you were with those green whores!" she shouted
into his ear, causing him to wince in pain.

"Honey, they're not even real - they're just force fields..." he
said in an attempt to placate Jianna.

But she wasn't having any of it. It was a long torturous ten hours
of non-sleep for Ed.

[Keyla City, Bajor - 2 Hours later]

The gang leader known only as Loaj stepped up behind the mysterious 
man in a cape who had been flouting the Gagnoans for the last hour, 
by walking all over their territory without paying tribute.

>From the edges of his eyes, he could see the rest of the gang 
surrounding the man. When everyone was in position, he walked up 
and slugged the man on the back of the head with a piece of rebar 
he had taken from a destroyed building that still hadn't been
rebuilt since the Cardassian Occupation.

The man collapsed onto the ground, and came to rest 
on his knees. 

"Ok, boys, let's teach him the error of his ways!" shouted 
Loaj as he dropped the piece of rebar and pulled out his knife. 
It was time to make this stranger an object lesson to those in 
the area that the Gagnoans weren't to be fucked with.

As he reached out to grab the man's head for the ritual slicing 
of the victim's throat, a sudden snap-hiss noise echoed throughout 
the alley and before his eyes, a blur of black light (if that was 
even possible), swept across his vision. 

The next thing he knew, his left hand was lying on the ground, still 
clutching the knife. The pain was so intense. His charred stump was 
burning with pain, like it had been thrust into molten lava.

The stranger then threw whatever weapon he had used into 
an impossible arc around him, disemboweling the Gagnoans 
in seconds.

As Loaj fought the pain from his severed hand, tears clouding 
his vision, he saw the stranger slowly and deliberately remove 
his cloak's hood, revealing a fresh faced man. 

Reaching up with his left hand, the stranger then tore his face 
off, revealing a horribly scarred face with a fiercely glowing 
eye that seemed to burn to the center of his soul.

"Hello Boys, you've just won free tickets to a new level of PAIN!" 
yelled the stranger in a bone-chilling voice, as he swung his 
strange bladed weapon in an arc above his head, slicing the night
in half with a blade that was blacker than the night itself.

Loaj watched his brother fall to the ground, both halves of his
brother's body landing wetly against the damp duracrete of the 
alley, as the stranger's blood-red eye flickered in and out
malevolently, casting crimson shadows onto the bodies of the
dead and dying, and reflecting off the puddles of blood slowly
pooling in the crevices of the alley.

Out of the corner of his eye, the LT saw several gang members creeping
towards the end of the alley, and others were screaming their lungs
off, in a futile attempt to attract attention.

"Didn't your mothers ever tell you silence was golden?" Hit-Man 
cackled as he crushed the larynxes of the others with the Force, 
choking off their screams.

The alleyway then fell silent, except for the low humming of the LT's
lightsabre and the breathing of the doomed gang members.

[1 Hour later]

"By the prophets, what the hell did this?" said the Bajoran policeman
as he and his partner surveyed the carnage in the alleyway. 

"Looks like a wild animal did this, judging by the blood splatter, 
but the cuts are too clean for a wild animal...it's like they were 
all cut in half by a laser beam," added his partner, who was shining
his flashlight into the fisheyes of several of the corpses.

A banging noise came from the end of the alley, causing the 
policemen to whip out their phasers towards the possible threat, 
but their flashlights revealed it to be just a battered can rolling 
in the wind. 

Sighing, the cops lowered their phasers. The lead one muttered, 
"Fuck this. I'm not staying around here no more. The Homicide boys
can come in the morning and figure out what the hell happened. 
I've got a wife and kids back home."

The two cops turned around and hurriedly left the alley. For 
several minutes, nothing moved, and then in one of the darkened 
corridors, the crimson glow of a cybereye broke the stillness 
as the LT stood up, covered in gore.

[5 minutes later - ISS DAGGER - Docked At DS9 - Sheppard's Quarters]

Sheppard grumbled as his bedside intercom beeped, waking him up from 
his well-deserved sleep. "This better be good," he mumbled as he 
pushed the intercom button.

"Sir," came the voice of the officer manning the bridge at this ungodly
hour, Lieutenant Commander Raymond Cavendish. "Lieutenant Hit-Man has
disappeared from the ship, and records show that no air-locks were opened
between the time you said good-bye to Captain Sisko and now."

Sheppard sighed. "Fucking asshole. Begin looking for him on the news
broadcasts," he ordered as he turned over in his bed. 

"Sir?" Cavendish asked, unsure of what he was to do.

"Just start a search of all intercepted news transmissions from
Deep Space Nine and the Bajoran System, and look for unexplained 
deaths, preferably those involving gory ends. Where you find those, 
you find the Lieutenant. Good Night," replied Sheppard, who then
turned off the intercom so he wouldn't be bothered again by the
Lieutenant's escapades.

END IP CHAPTER 8a