Topic: Twisted Destiny: The Mohab Epic 1st half

[Czar Mohab]

      Sitting was the worst, followed by the waiting. Ceremonies over, friends and families all gone, even the normal patrol fleet was reduced to nothing more than a Tholian destroyer. Hyperion Station, the focal point of Unity, the start of the Greatest Peace, was dying. Crewers came on Monday to facilitate the dismantling of the station, removing various pieces and parts, equipping the chunks of history for shipment to recycling centers. And in the control room, quiet, almost alone, sat the station's administrator, Admiral Browntiger, or George as he more commonly referred to himself.
   The names that Humans had given themselves always had fascinated him, most times the Human name had absolutely nothing to do with his actions or upbringing, but was an arbitrary assignment from birth, the meaning of which could be lived up to or not, without any side effects; unlike the naming of Kzinti, who most often carried a name that said or implied actions of its owner, such as the famous Cat Who Sleeps With Dogs or to a lesser degree of fame Firemane... Admiral Browntiger was exactly that, a tiger striped cat whose base color was brown, and stripes of black. The pattern resembled that of a crewmate's tabby on Earth, named George. The admiral, all for blending in with his crew while stationed at Hyperion, quickly adopted the name, and besides, he liked the way that it sounded.
   Days had gone by since the last real crews left. Admiral George was not obligated to stay, nor was anyone else on board. The station, officially, was decommissioned, and that was that. Fighter modules, cargo holds, even the entire internal structure of docking bay four had been removed already. In some of the habitat areas, doors to quarters and even lengths of celing and wall had been removed. So few remained on board that life support was on minimal, and only functioning in the command core on the top three decks. Hardly the prestige due for such an illustrious station. The crewers from Starfleet would, no doubt, have no trouble at all cutting, blasting and even ripping the station apart. And that is the problem with hiring these underpaid kids, thought the admiral. They just don't care about how important this place was. Blyre, Nicastro, Mohab, Kadh, Brezgonne.... all the greats of the time stood here, breathed here, planned and plotted and eventually conquered from here. This was history. The admiral reached out and gently touched a plaque, a Federation tradition, stamped with the names of those who put forth of themselves to create, in this case the stations' lead work crews of forty-five years ago, This was home.
   "Admiral," the voice of Lieutenant Dwayne Whiteside sounded. "We've got a situation forming."
   Admiral George sighed, his nostalgic moment shattered forever. He turned to the Human, "What have you got there?"
   "Klingons, sir. They are demanding docking space, services and repairs to their vessels."
   "I assume that you informed them of our situation?" The admiral's fur ruffled and stirred, revealing signs of annoyance. The Greatest Peace, a proclamation of peace of all known races, signed by them all in this very station, confirmed that in a post Unity galaxy, there was room for friendship, peace and trade. The Kzinti may have been "allied" with the Klingons and Lyrans, but some of those who fought them in their younger days, still hated them.
   "Of course, Admiral. Its almost as if they ignored me and just repeated their demands. Meanwhile, they are still approaching."
   "Hail the Webwalker, inform them of the situation and ask for assistance."
   "Attempting to lock on... Sir, our comm lines are being jammed, and our limited sensors are now inoperative."
   "Not good," George hissed. "Red alert, for whatever good it will do. Is there anything more that you can give me?"
   "I don't know," Whiteside's brow furrowed. The admiral was fond of this particular human. His family name implied that the sides of him were white, and indeed, this was the whitest human that the admiral had met, almost albino in color. Such a sweet irony to take on the traits of your name generations after its inception. "Sensors indicated that there were three vessels, all Klingon cruisers, heavily damaged, but there were four warp signatures and they were not Klingon."
   "Interesting. Try the Webwalker again, send out a general distress call, and see if you can't find someone to get to a window and see what is going on!"
   "Sir, I know we're on reduced, but I swear I saw 4 warp signatures... And somehow they were familiar to me."
   A turbolift suddenly arrived in Command and Control, and as the doors opened, it spit out Commander Joshua Stead, the chief engineer. Stead walked quickly to where the two others were. "Nothing we can do now," he spat. "We don't have any weapons and we barely have shields, and sensors are ghosty, at best."
   "Might be why I picked up four signals, but still it feels fishy," Whiteside added
   "Let's see that scan, Dwayne," the engineer asked. A few button pushes later and the info scribed across a small screen that the three of them huddled around. Without preamble or ceremony, several warning lights lit up on the screen along with the data. The three looked up at each other when they simultaneously discovered the worst news ever.
   "All hands, this is the admiral. Report to deck six emergency shuttle bay and prepare to abandon the station, I repeat, report to deck six, abandon the station."
   "Is that really necessary? I mean... its not that bad is it?" The engineer did a great job of hiding the fear in his voice, but not on his face.
   The computer interrupted them all. "INTRUDER ALERT. DOCKING BAY ONE DOORS REMOTELY OPENED. DOCKING BAY THREE DOORS REMOTELY OPENED. DOCKING BAY FIVE DOORS REMOTELY OPENED. UNABLE TO OVERRIDE. ANDROMEDAN WARSHIPS ENTERING THESE BAYS. INTRUDER ALERT."

[Czar Mohab]

   "You do realize that you are wrong," Commodore Marcus Mohab sighed.
   "Of course not," came the reply of one of his many freighter captains. "I have never been wrong."
   Marcus made a motion to one of his officers, barely perceptible to anyone. "Very well then. How long are you going to live?"
   "What kind of question is that? Certainly longer not working for you!"
   "How long are you going to live?" Marcus repeated "Give me a time, weeks? Months? You're never wrong, so tell me how much time you have to live."
   The captain grimaced as he was informed of the General Lee's power signature. Three photon tubes were powering up. "Apparently, not as long as I would like to. Fine, I concede. We'll leave the minerals there until after we're done. But the profits..."
   "Are not important," Marcus interrupted. "We're here for salvaging the Unity fleet, nothing more, nothing less."
   "Understood, out," came the begrudging reply.
   How many more? Marcus thought. How many times will that happen? Three hundred ships, all from Mohab Galactic Salvage Company, spanned the expanse of what was now known as the Unity Trail, each salvaging ships, parts, people, logs... it was a tedious process. It was hard knowing that so many had died here; so many wasted beings gone without hope. For the past five years the expedition had scoured the Trail, searching for remains of ships. Hundreds of different ships had been identified, and even strange things had been seen. The saucer of the starship Geneva was found, and a very grateful crew finally returned home. The boom of the Klingon warship Defiance of Death was also found, towing the remains of an Andromedan ship. The captain of the boom expressed a great desire to destroy the andro, even though it was long dead and the weapons left on the boom were long since burned out. Marcus obliged, allowing the Klingons to destroy it from the General Lee. The boom was salvaged as payment, and all were happy.
   The plan was, at first, to enter the Trail and salvage everything of value, and resale it back to its owners, selling Andromedan equipment to the highest bidder. This was quickly followed by plan B, as all the Unity races wanted the goodies that the Andromenans left, but even with the Greatest Peace, none were willing to allow a "national" race sole access to the Trail, thus they all hired Marcus. Mohab Galactic Salvage Company was formed, and over two hundred freighters, ore ships, processors and mobile factories were donated, including crews and supplies for an extended stay on the Trail.
    Each of the major races, except the Tholians, donated used warships for protection, and the Federation donated the General Lee, or rather, the major parts for her. Marcus had been a dabbler with Federation designs, and he was most noted for assisting the development of the Tactical Saucer Separation System, allowing newer Federation ships the ability to separate into their two halves and rejoin again without needing overhaul or repairs. The first of the system went into the older Excelsior class ships and her sister classes. The General Lee's secondary hull was that of an even older New Jersey class, and one of the first improved with this design. The saucer was donated by the GSX2 Darwin, although it was not the same Darwin that discovered the Andromedan Rapid Transit Network so long ago. The GSX2 (Advanced X2 Galactic Survey Cruiser) saucer shared a virtually identical docking layout as the standard New Jersey saucer, so the fit up was easy, and post-dock trials confirmed that a saucer separation and reattachment could easily be done. The warp engines were donated from a failed experimental warp ship based on the Excelsior class. The warp core also came from this ship, and these two together managed to provide adequate, although often short, power. After a few modifications to the power distribution system, warp drive and the addition of secondary hull impulse engines eventually gave birth to the BCSX (Advanced Survey Battle Cruiser) General Lee, often referred to at Utopia Planitia as the Frankenship. Marcus liked the lettering, and had, in place of the Starfleet "NCC", "BCSX-01" painted on the hull.
   Marcus Mohab's involvement in the Federation and Starfleet more or less ended there, he got his money, his ship and his new company. Since then, he never really looked back, almost always ahead, on the Trail. Occasionally, he'd receive a letter from his twin brother, Commodore Jacob Mohab of the Starship Agamemnon, keeping him more or less up to date, but other then that he could care less about home. This is home now, he'd thought.
   "Interesting," the tactical officer, Lieutenant Mindy Meyers said. "I'm picking up a disturbance at extreme long range... I can't make out yet exactly who or what."
   "Very well, Mindy," Marcus replied. "Helm, go to."
   The helmsman, Robert Wright, acknowledged and the ship lurched forward at a steady pace, eventually entering warp speed for two minutes, then dropped back to impulse. "We have arrived," Robert said, almost emotionless.
   "Its an Andromedan signature, I'm sure of it," Mindy said, almost frustrated with her sensor panel. "Its in and out, almost like a bad cloak... Wait a second, its holographic... Correcting... On screen now, sir."
   On the viewscreen, empty space was replaced by a heavily damaged Dominator. "Helm, make it look like we're still looking for them," Marcus barked. He trotted behind the bridge rail and headed to Mindy's station. "Magnify and analyze this spot, here... It looks like a piece of a Federation hull panel inbedded in its hull."
   Mindy stared at her panel a moment. "Quite correct. Our computer has given us a specific hull, too... its a piece of..."
   Mindy was cut off by a sudden explosion, and the sounding of the ships 'red alert' klaxon. "Andromedan has insufficient weapons power to do serious harm, unless we do nothing."
   "Shane, see if we can talk to this one."
   Shane Freund, the communications officer, grumbled. "Whatever, sir." Marcus, personally, never really hated anyone, but the fact that the crew hated Shane so much was the only reason he was still part of the crew. Shane was fat, lazy, smelly and a terrible story teller. Marcus couldn't resist, however, the dual torture of keeping him, and even allowed him these disrespectful tones. As long as Shane was on board, the crew was threatened with the possibility of having a Shane twin, and Shane was tormented by his crew mates.
   "Just push the damn button Shane!" Eric Moore, the engineer, yelled
   "Button pushed, your highness!"    The ship rocked gently under the Andromedan fire. "No other response to our hail."
   "You push the right button?" Eric asked.
   "End that chatter, you two," Marcus interrupted. "Mindy, you were saying about the hull fragment?"
   Mindy looked at him grimly. "Its two fragments. Hyperion and Agamemnon"

[Czar Mohab]

   "Twenty seconds," Lieutenant Peter Flagg, Agamemnon's helmsman said calmly.
   "Hyperion is repeating distress call," Ensign Josh Peterson, the ships communications officer said. "They've added that they have made it to the emergency shuttle bay and are exiting now."
   "Ten seconds."
   "Phasers armed," said Lieutenant Commander Jeremiah Edwards. "Photons are charging. Shields at minimal until we exit high warp."
   "Five seconds."
   "Drop us to warp two point nine at range," Commodore Jacob Mohab ordered.
   Three explosions rocked the station as the warship dropped from warp, shattering three docking bays into burning metal and causing the stations internal structure to collapse. "Hyperion is collapsing. I am reading the shuttles. Helm, go to these coordinates!" Even if it was Ensign Dawson, the newest member of the crew, that had given the order, Flagg would have still acknowledged. Sometimes, as Jacob had so often pointed out, others may be thinking or doing what he was going to say or have them do, and thus informal orders between the crew on the bridge were mostly allowed. If Jacob had wanted to do something different, he would interrupt the order. His whole career, from cadet till now, he found himself wanting to get things done faster, and this method often allowed for that.
   "Nearing the coordinates," Flagg informed the bridge.
   "Locking on with tractor beams," Edwards replied. "Got them, both shuttles. Sending them to the shuttle bay."
   "Very good," Jacob commented. He rose up out of his chair as he watched Hyperion explode on the viewscreen. "Get us out of here!"
   This order, however, came too late. A rather large piece of the station flew into the hull of the mighty ship, tearing a piece off as it went, and they hurtled into space, and stopped. A strange series of events ensued. "Hull breach, decks six, seven and eight, port side forward. Emergency force fields and bulkheads are in place and holding. No casualties. Damage control teams en route. Sir, that debris disappeared into a holographic field. There is a warp signature emanating from within that field."
   "Get the survivors aboard and then get the admiral up here. Target that warp signature and fire with whatever you have available."
   Red hot beams of energy flowed freely from the Agamemnon and struck their mark. Photon torpedoes followed, again striking the unseen enemy. "Holographic field destabilizing, detecting an Andromedan Dominator... minimal life signs, no satellite ships."
   "So this must have been a suicide mission. Revenge for Unity."
   A second phaser volley struck the stricken vessel. "They are heavily damaged, but most of it appears to have been caused by previous damage, some even looks to be years old. They've displaced out of overload range, switching to standards."
   "Admiral on the bridge!" a crewman shouted from the turbolift as its doors opened.
   "George!" Jacob exclaimed. "Glad you can join us, and welcome aboard the finest ship in the galaxy!" Without missing a beat, and most probably unnecessarily, he added, "Helm, pursuit course."
   "My friend," George started, "Its Been too long. What do you make of our uninvited guests?"
   "Well, first off I thought they were extinct in this galaxy."
   "Andromedan has displaced again, and is entering high warp. Course is erratic, but is in the general direction of the Trail."
   "Excuse me, admiral. Helm, break off pursuit, lay in a course for Station Gamma Seven, maximum warp. Peterson, call ahead and inform them we need repairs, and send a message to my brother, tell him to meet us at the Destiny Coordinates, and that our time has come."
   Josh Peterson, the no longer so fresh academy graduate, acknowledged and set about to his work.
   "Now admiral, where were we?"

[Czar Mohab]

   Admiral Nicastro sighed again. C and C was cramped enough, but to have Czar Mohab and his crew crammed in for a pre-mission briefing was almost more than he could take. "The pirates hit this ship recycling facility in Romulan space," he continued, "and captured this ship, the War Eagle
Vengeance. This ship  supposedly held a prototype version of a once Federation technology, lost when the Romulans captured the Star Empire. Intel believes that these pirates have brokered a deal with the Andromedans to sell them this technology in exchange for research data on a method for allowing Orion ships to use some Andromedan technology."
   "Unacceptable!" Commodore Blood fumed. "If the Andro scum can get a hold of that holo-projector tech, they'd be unstoppable!"
   "Obviously," Czar Mohab added, "That is our mission, to disrupt that trade. Imagine if you will, a single Dominator closing in on a station or fleet or even a planet, undetected, as if cloaked, and projecting out a large fleet of attack ships... The target would panic, and either attempt to engage or even flee in terror. Worse yet, the technology that both us and the Romulans added to it can project the image of galactic vessels. A Dominator could close in disguised as a friendly, and before anyone could react, BAM!"
   "Or an Orion with power absorbers or a displacer," Colonel Ramirez added. "When do we leave?"
   "This isn't an official Starfleet mission," Mohab continued. "I am no longer an admiral in the fleet, and no one in the crew is officially apart of the fleet either. Records have been forged, and we've mutinied. You, my dear wife, are not going to be coming along. And before you protest, here are your orders, my last official act as Admiral Czar Mohab before we mutinied. Blood, K'tal, assemble the crew shipboard, we depart in thirty. Julie... I so dearly wish that you should come, but you now carry our children, and this mission is too dangerous. You know me, and its always been 'Family First'."
   "I know. Just promise you'll be home before they walk, ok?"
   "These are the coordinates of the supposed deal site," Nicastro interjected, "and the course of the Orion vessel. You are already three days behind them, but then again, you were never here."
   "Stay here, my sweet, and I shall return. Give this to our children should I fail." Mohab passed her a data chip, and they embraced and kissed, as if it would be their last time together. "If we fail, you and Nicastro may be our last hope of survival in the coming war."
   "You won't fail."
   There was no ceremony, no announcements, not anything except the form of a Klingon ship undocking and departing the station. Mohab's Death Giver now flew a pirate's flag, and was on its way to end an unstoppable war.


   Mohab grimaced. Getting through Klingon space undetected was hard enough on a normal day, but the constant errors in the fleet movement data supplied from Blood, from the Klingon high council itself, was mind boggling. "Damage report, K'tal!"
   "Minor damage to port nacelle. Shield six has collapsed. The enemy has sustained major damage and is attempting to flee."
   "Continue course and speed, fire at will, and make sure no one else knows we are here."
   "Aye, sir."
   "Blood, you Klingon fool... was it you or the High Council that decided to sabotage us?"
   "Neither," Blood chuckled. "Things change, they always do."
   Mohab grinned and slapped the Klingon on the back, and the both laughed. "They do keep trying though, don't they?"
   "If I had a bottle of blood wine for every ship we've evaded or destroyed on this little romp..."
   "We'd be drunk!" Mohab exclaimed. Twin torpedoes flew from the ship and found their mark, and when the explosion faded, there was nothing left but dust. "Rig ship for ultra quiet, resume course."
   Without listening for a response, Blood continued, "We'd have found the Orion by now if it wasn't for these interruptions. Its all that Federation technology you've crammed into this ship that keeps setting them off."
   "Perhaps."
   "Incoming warships, bearing zero-zero-zero, high warp and on an intercept course," K'tal interrupted. "Dreadnought, battle cruiser, battle cruiser, destroyer, frigate, frigate... detecting scout channels..."
   "Helm, evasive..."
   "... they will be on top of us in ten seconds."
   "...and begin preparations for high speed maneuvering..."
   "Battle cruiser dropping out of warp behind us."
   "And so it begins. Computer transfer helm controls to Captain's Chair, backup at helm."
   Cheerily, the computer acknowledged.
   "What are you planning?" Blood asked.
   "Survival."
   "Another three battle cruisers and a second dreadnought are arriving... shots fired... direct hit... no damage... wait... NO damage... recalibrating scanners..."
   "Didn't feel anything," Lieutenant Jenkins, the helmsman, added.
   "Not me either. K'tal?"
   "Holographic projections, attempting to locate the source..."
   "K'tal," Blood added, "this Orion has a cloak, thats how he got into the Romulan recycler."
   "K'tal, return fire," Mohab ordered. "Phasers only, lets play his little game. He's bound to foul up sooner or later."
   "Direct hit on one of the frigates, the scout, I detected a shield impact."
   "Moving us closer," Mohab informed the Vulcan. Normally, Jenkins would do great at the helm, but Mohab felt something different about this battle and kept helm control. The Death Giver bobbed and weaved through the Klingon "ships", closing in on its target.
   "Enemy vessels vanishing, Orion Battle Raider dead ahead, and running."
   "I'm on him, K'tal."
   "He's released a mine. Detecting high levels of..."
   "We're going to run over it, reinforce number one shield."
   "...temporal radiation. It is a stasis min..."
   The brilliance that followed the flash stopped its outward expansion, locked in time, and it took the Death Giver with it.


Czar "Half up front, half when the job is done" Mohab

[Commander La'ra]

I'll happily read it, comment on it, though it may take a while...

...your 'no space between paragraphs formating' is hard on my allergy-reddened eyes.

[Scottish Andy]

Well, that was pretty interesting. I assume this is set after SFB Y202 (2302 in SFC, or 2313 in my own Starbase 23 Timeline), what with all the Unity data. I'm certainly interested in finding out how any Andros remain, and it was cool to see that they had battle damage that was years old, since their infrastructure in the Milky Way was destroyed.

I like the concept of the Salvage Fleet, but I'm not so readily sure all the alien nations would so readily trust a Human or Human corporation with command of it.

Looking forward to more.

[Czar Mohab]

I assume this is set after SFB Y202 (2302 in SFC, or 2313 in my own Starbase 23 Timeline)

Czar Mohab's era is/was Pre-Unity, Y192.

As to when Hyperion was constructed, I do believe it was Y190. Which would put the Admiral and the twins at Y235, but that year isn't exact, I just needed it down the road a bit so as to have the Sons of Mohab old enough to do what they need to be doing.

I'm certainly interested in finding out how any Andros remain, and it was cool to see that they had battle damage that was years old, since their infrastructure in the Milky Way was destroyed.

Not all of our galaxy has been explored

I like the concept of the Salvage Fleet, but I'm not so readily sure all the alien nations would so readily trust a Human or Human corporation with command of it.

Honestly, neither would I. I'll clarify how it works in the second half.

I'll happily read it, comment on it, though it may take a while...

...your 'no space between paragraphs formating' is hard on my allergy-reddened eyes.

Take your time. and I would have thought that it would have been the green that some would find difficult. *SHRUGS*

For those that may have remembered oh so long ago that I actually did try to start this, but certain elements fell through and some things didn't match what I needed for it to flow right and go the right direction. Col. Ramirez was to die, Capt. 'Bob' was going to be a big star, Hyperion wasn't going to blow up, and so many other things were going to happen.

I've kept the bit about the Romulan recycler and the War Eagle, the Orion ship, and the Star Empire (Read the ST book, Dreadnought!, if you haven't already, for that ships info, and as for how it got "lost", well that's poking around somewhere lost in cyberspace), and of course Czar Mohab and his ship, crew and major elements and characters form the Hyperion Universe. Everything else is brand new material.

For those that are new to Hyperion, I can send you or post here a link to a rather well done "Hyperion Overview" that should get you up to speed. Fair warning though, that link also contains a rather poor story of mine from 6 years past. I'd rather it stayed there. Or maybe I'll just post that overview... If you need it or want it let me know, how's that?

Czar "It'll get done soon enough" Mohab
[/color]

[CaptJosh]

Mohab, just reading up as I've been too long away from the forums. Something bothers me about part of your story though. Per the book Dreadnought, Star Empire was to be decomissioned. How the hell would the Romulans have captured it? Particularly since the bad blood over the Rittenhouse incident would probably have prompted Starfleet to scrap the vessel and not just mothball it.

[Czar Mohab]

Author's prerogative  . Besides, doesn't the same book have Galaxy Class starships? The peace between the Organians, as I recall, meddled with the Federation and the Klingons, not the Romulans. Have a look:

Another blast took out the defense subsystems monitor. Beyond the mangled station I could see the wing of a Romulan bird of prey gliding past our starboard. I was thrown to my side on the upper walkway, but I managed to keep hold of the communicator and some of my wits.

...

"You're not taking this ship!" I shouted at the fizzing shape of another Romulan vessel as it veered in and fired. The blast shook the bridge.

...

"I raised shields too late. I failed to order weapons armed upon entry into the neutral zone. I also should have dispatched a communiqué to Star Fleet Command that I was about to breach the Organian accord by attempting rescue of Kobayashi Maru. By failing to do so, I prevented any possibility of Liberty's being rescued if it was indeed a trap."

I won't get too deep into the relevance here. Suffice it to say, the author wants us to believe either Romulans are in Romulan space, or in Klingon space defending the Klingon Empire. Noting the pride of the Klingons, and the entire context of the first chapter, I am led to believe that we are on the Romulan side of the galaxy. Thus, the Organian peace has nothing to do with them, and the author has, to their prerogative, assumed that it does.

"Report to debriefing at two hundred hours. And Lieutenant … your assignment has just been changed. You won't be
reporting to the Magellan."
"Sir?" I had turned away, but this stopped me. Not report to Captain Flynn? The sweat that had collected on my
forehead seeped into the furrows of a confused expression. Had I done so badly that they would prevent my serving on
a Galaxy-class ship? "Commander?"

I'll assume that you know the book well enough, or have a copy handy, to verify my claims of Author's Prerogative.

As you may or may not have noticed, I don't try to play with canon. Places, times, major events maybe, but other than that I try to embody an SFB feel to the stuff i write. D! was written in an attempt to mold into the established canon. All I did was take an element I liked and reworked it into my own works. I'd written the capture of SE long ago in an engagement with the Romulans.

Of note, I most likely would not have gone this route had I actually known that, in Enterprise, the Romulans had both used and then abandoned this "holo-projector" technology (well, had it abandoned for them). I only recently was able to enjoy all 4 seasons, prior service engagements prevented watching the series (outside an episode or two) during its normal broadcast time.

Czar "This was, indeed, not my best of works," Mohab

[CaptJosh]

Have a copy handy? Sure. In my brain. I'm quite familiar with these books. But you're going to have to remember that Dreadnought was written before TNG. If anything, Diane Carey's popularity as a Star Trek author is what prompted the creation of an actual Galaxy class ship for the series. People love her work. Especially the distinctly nautical feel she brings to the Trek universe.