Topic: #15: 'Mercy For The Devil'

[Grim Reaper]

On a more serious note, I love the Gorn though I'd expect him to run into quite some difficulties due to Endavour's crew pior history with the Gorn so I'm hoping the hint you gave us will be played out.

The difficulties I hinted at shal indeed come, but I didn't try to work them into this one. This is part of the reason I mentioned his habits of staying in his cabin all the time...in a tub... [Yeah, that's for you La'ra!] You'll just have to wait till Season Three.

I expected that and I'll certainly will be waiting!

This stuck me as odd. I took it as: It's Ya'wenn, and it isn’t Starfleet, and not likely any Federation design - I though to myself of course it's not Federation when it's Ya'wenn. I can see ways to make it logical (by thinking the Ya'wenn might have sold their metal to other fractions), but I still think it doesn't work in this phrasing. But maybe it's just me.

I admitted to Federation member races having known of and trading with the Ya'wenn [prior to Ford's ever learning of them in] in a couple of stories. I think it likely someone might be using Ya'wenn alloys. Her stating that it was not Starfleet was a bit unnecessary, but then, oh well.

I figured as much. It just didn't work for me the first time I read it.

Glad to see some replies. I thank you and will post more once we here SOMETHING from La'ra...

--thu guv!

Your welcome and kick Larry in to writing gear!

[Governor Ronjar]

'Tis winter. Larry is in sleeping gear.

--guv!

[Governor Ronjar]

Well, I was gonna wait for La'ra, but I'd rather have this posted before '09. 

This next CH. is one I deliberated on for some time on how to bring it about. I hope it's liked. Tell me what you think of it please!






CH. 5





Endeavour’s final landing party materialized amid a scape filled with twisted starship debris, med teams and alien bodies. The craft had been dashed upon a long stretch of unforgiving rock protruding up from the otherwise flat valley between monumental mountain chains. The ship’s debris was strewn over a six kilometer run, beginning just before the protrusion of granite which had torn it to shreds. The Ya’wenn cruiser had possessed a crew of just under four hundred. Only seventy of them were now among the living.

The rest were scattered amid the forest of jagged, burned metal.

Ford turned to face the largest bulk of the wreck. It was full of breaches. Much of it had obviously been the result of direct weapons fire. The ship would never have survived even a controlled landing among the best circumstances. Beside the commodore, Lieutenant Smith whistled aloud in awe of the macabre sight.

“Man…that ship is f*cked!”

Ford ignored the outburst of profanity. Such did not bother him. He simply turned to face his team. “Remember to keep an eye on your radiation meters. Black means bad. Help the med techs where you can. Get the survivors rounded up into concentrated groups. Don’t let the rebels put you in any kind of bind or get anything over on you. They’re prisoners till further notice, understood?”

There were nods from his team of officers as they stared back at him. The commodore’s face was a stern, emotionless mask. It just meant he was all the more angry. His crew knew this. They moved out slowly, picking their way amid the rubble to reach the maroon and white clad medical teams where they spread out among the living and the dead. Lieutenant Bronstien stayed close to the flag officer, unofficially his armed escort. Ford, though, had eyes for but one person among the landing party.
Doctor Keller was bent over the still body of a Ya’wenn female. The alien’s head was splayed open to the air, a dangerous infection already evident within the darkened grey flesh of her exposed scalp. Ford quickened his pace at the sight of the badly injured woman and knelt close by to render aid.

“She has severe cranial fractures and a high temperature. I’m going to have to stabilize her before I can transport.” Keller was telling him even as she applied her hypo to the alien’s throat. Chevis nodded and checked the CMO’s open medical bag for the next thing she might need.

“Don’t you need some assistance on this ‘n?” He asked her, glancing about for the nearest nurse.

“I don’t have enough to go round, I’m afraid.” Her English accent told him. “You’re going to have to do, Commodore.”

Ford smirked despite the dark nature of their task. Bronstien knelt close by in case he was needed, but kept his eyes peeled for problems of a more tactical nature. The helmsman’s prosthetic legs did not seem to be causing him any real difficulties today. The radiation spilling from the cruiser’s ruptured core wasn’t affecting the cybernetic components yet, either.

“Dermal regenerator.” Keller asked next, hand out for the tool. Ford handed it over without hesitation and watched as the skilled hands of his lady sealed up the huge gash atop the woman’s skull.

“She’s not going to feel very sporting when she wakes up, but she’s stable enough for transport.”

Ford stood, thinking he’d heard something. Was that a yell? He patted Keller on the shoulder of her duty jacket. “Have her beamed up to the ward, Andrea. I’m headin’ over that way to check on something.”

Andrea nodded back without words as she plucked the communicator from her belt. Motioning to Bronstien, Chevis led the helmsman over a small rise and toward a tall mound of damaged engineering structure. The two of them rounded the torn-off butt of a warp nacelle and were faced with an entirely new expanse of twisted, silver and carbon-black junk.

“Le’s spread out, Lieutenant. I thought I heard a holler.”

Johnathan nodded and drew his phaser. Ford left his holstered but kept his hands free and at the ready. They took angled paths through the wreckage, careful not to get sliced open on the jagged edges of warm metal. The planet’s sun was beginning to beat down on them, adding to the heat emanating out from the ship’s engine core. Ford ducked beneath a bent, twisted pipe and paused, hearing a gruff, strangled call. The call had been too muffled and distorted for the UT in Ford’s communicator to translate, and the vocal was definitely Ya’wenn. Ford moved a bit faster. He rounded a torn swelling of dirt and half-buried metal. The call repeated with a familiar note.

The commodore paused, uncertain. His heart skipped a beat. He began to trot ahead as a more clear voice of gravel began to call again. The Endeavour CO had lost sight of his guard. Bronstien soon called out for him. Ford didn’t answer. He was near now to the issuing voice.

“Help!” His translator finally began to decipher the harsh male call. Ford slowed to a cautious walk, drawing his phaser and holding it low. He rounded a huge, dented capacitor and looked down the rise for his quarry. The huge Ya’wenn lay with his broad, bloodied back facing the human.

Chevy’s face began to twist into a dark, vengeful smirk as he slowly circled the pinned survivor. The alien had been clawing at the dirt for some time it seemed. His hands were bloodied from the effort and his handprints stained the multi-ton mounting frame leading from the damaged capacitor further back. The big man stiffened as the sound of Ford’s boot steps on the rough ground came to him. He twisted, trying to see out behind him.

Ford slowed even more, reveling in the trapped man’s feelings of fear and agony. The man still couldn’t see him. He tried turning his stiffened neck to cast a glance on him. “Hello! I hear you there! Help me! My legs are broken!”

Lieutenant Bronstien came over the top of the rise from the opposite direction, his pistol raised and ready. He was bent cautiously when he’d come into view, but straightened immediately in surprise at the sight of the malicious expression burned into his CO’s face and the drawn weapon. His young brown eyes widened as they saw Ford set his phaser to maximum. Then he looked down on the man lying trapped in the dirt and blood. The helmsman looked back and forth between the two men, uncertain. At last, the survivor saw Bronstien standing there.

“Humans…Starfleet…” Jarn visibly balked at the sight of his ‘rescuer’ and began to push with renewed might at the angled metal piercing his twisted legs. “No…NO!!!”

Ford looked back to his pilot. The young officer looked back in continued indecision. Ford kept his eyes locked on the boy as he continued to round the mounting frame and come into Jarn’s sight. The boy blinked a few times, and looked again to the pistol in Chevis’s hand. Then he made his decision.

Smiling slightly, Johnathan turned away.

Chevy returned his full, undivided animosity back on the Ya’wenn jailer and took the final step into Jarn’s field of view. The huge, helpless man drew totally still. Sweat beaded and rolled from his upper lip. He’d been lying here long enough to grow stubble on his face. With a single quake of fright, the alien looked up to the commodore.
“Ford!” He whispered in the tiniest of voices. He’d stopped pushing on the immobile metal. His black eyes leveled on Ford’s brown orbs. The human’s eyes were objects of concentrated hate. Jarn’s belied only fear. Ford’s smile widened.

The phaser in the commodore’s hand rose to hip level, aiming right between Jarn’s eyes. The Ya’wenn criminal’s eyes widened, jaw slack in horror. “No! Ford! NO!! Don’t Captain! Don’t do it!! NOOO!!!”

“Chevy!”

Ford’s eyes darted back up the rise he’d traipsed down to reach this spot. Andrea was coming. He could hear her, all but running as she sensed the danger here. Ford looked back down to his victim, teeth grinding and mouth twisting into a mess as he debated vaporizing every last trace of the bastard’s existence.

Andrea couldn’t see that. She was smart enough to know what would have happened. Jarn obviously had no weapon. He was pinned, helpless. He could do nothing to offer offense from his current position. And the single fact that he would if given the chance was not enough to justify killing him here. Even if Keller could live with it and understand, the commodore wouldn’t force her to.

“f*ck!” Ford kicked a rock at the cringing Ya’wenn prisoner and holstered his pistol. He did it just a moment too late to avoid being seen. Andrea faltered several steps and halted, staring down the hill to her beau. Ford looked back at her, expression dark. Then he looked away, his chance stolen.

Doctor Keller returned to a slow trot and came to a rest next to the Over Warden. She was already scanning the prisoner, but still looking back to Ford with suspicion and confusion. She looked up to Bronstien. The helmsman just shrugged back.

“He’s badly injured, Chevy! Help me get this girder off him!”

Ford glared back, a look that stung the doctor visibly. Then he looked back up the hill to the helmsman. “Bronstien, get down here and guard the Doctor! I’ll go find someone who gives a damn…”


***



Any way, this CH. 2 suffered many attacks of revision and rewriting. Much of it actually just wound up right back the way I originally concieved it, though. Hope it doesn't read as butchered. Having been the one who worked on it from beginning to now...I remember all of what I HAD written and how it COULD'VE wound up...and I just wonder if it flows right. I think it does, but...*shrugs*

Feed back please

--thu guv!

[Commander La'ra]

'Tis winter. Larry is in sleeping gear.

*mutters something about people thinking he's a poster-child for seasonal affective disorder and goes back to the damned bed*

[CaptJosh]

Caught up on this. Mercy for the Devil indeed. Jarn himself. Heh. Now there's a right bastard to catch up with completely by accident.

[Czar Mohab]

So many things that I want to say to this, but I don't want one of those to end up being a spoiler.

Deep down, I'm still hoping for the Ford-Jarn private room ending.

And I kinda feel for Ford in this, I'd want to frag the weenie too, but it is much better that he doesn't. Yet.

I realize that some are out having a great time for the holidays, but I'll be here, hoping for a *nudge* next chapter for Christmas.

Czar "Sorry I was late with this..." Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

You asked...and so shall you receive!

Merry Christmas, Czar!





CH. 6





Doctor Keller drew her gaping jaw shut as she watched the retreating backside of her man. He kept moving, stalking out of view cloaked in seething anger. She could not understand the dark miasma that had taken control of him. What would drive him to execute a defenseless man in cold blood? Had she really understood what she’d seen? It was incredible! She could hardly believe it, even now.

The doctor forced herself to go on with her work, opening the inner pouches of her pack and withdrawing phials of anesthesia and antiseptics. This Ya’wenn’s physiology was impressive. Many lesser men would have succumbed to shock or infection and died during the time he’d obviously been here. Her whirring tricorder told her that his heart was strained, a problem made even worse by the torrent of adrenaline that flooded his system. He was critically low on blood. She could only solve that aboard ship. Why had Chevy left?

Andrea glared up to the equally unhelpful helmsman. Bronstien had his own reasons for disliking her. But he would suffer assisting her to help an injured survivor, wouldn’t he? What the hell was going on here? The slim young man had his pistol out and help low. He looked equally ready to shoot this man, though less driven than the commodore.

“Johnathan. What the devil is going on here?”

The now bleary eyed Ya’wenn looked to her, his head tipping low. The alien was already feeling the effects of the meds she’d injected into him. She looked back as the man began to stutter a bit.

“He…he was going to kill me…” He pleaded pitifully.

Andrea ran her scanner over the survivor once more. She could hear her men trotting carefully through the debris field, headed her way. Help would be here soon. She glared back up to the pilot again. “Ford was going to kill this man!” She shot up at him with dire accusation.

“Yes he was, Doc.”

“And you were going to just stand by and let him do it!”

“Before you get all sympathetic on this ‘survivor’, Doc, maybe you’d like an introduction…” The lieutenant stepped in with a darkly ironic glint in his mirthless eyes as he returned her glare. “Doctor Keller…meet Over Warden Jarn.”

Keller’s jaw fell again. Cold overtook her flesh as it took on a crawling sensation. She slowly drew her eye to the side and looked upon her patient anew. The bastard looked back at her with pain, fatigue and fear shining through. Her wide mouth drew into a straight line and she pressed her hypo into his neck once again. Jarn’s eyes rolled into the back of his grey head and he sagged. The dosage wasn’t a lethal one, but he’d be asleep for a very long time.
***





Chevis Ford hit the back of his cabin’s office chair with an angry thud and leaned forth to bury his face in his hands. He trembled with aggravation, frustration and anger. Grief was there too. So many unwanted feelings washed through the Starfleet commodore that he couldn’t begin to label them all. He’d been so close to killing Jarn. So damned close. But Andrea had come along just a few seconds too early.

Even if the doctor hadn’t happened by at a most inopportune time, could he have really gotten away with it? Bronstien was relatively certain to have kept the true details quiet. There would be little evidence to suggest that Jarn hadn’t been armed or even that it had been him to begin with. Ford might merely have been forced to explain why his sidearm had been set to maximum power. Given all of the debris scattered about, he could also have gotten by in stating that he HAD in fact set it for stun…but the weapon got clipped by the metal junk laying all about. More than likely, no one would even have questioned him over it to begin with.

So, the question might really have been…could he himself live with murdering the man in cold blood. At the moment, Chevy knew the answer was ‘yes’. But what would that answer change to later down the road?

The junior flag officer’s finger found the intercom controls and pressed for the bridge.

“Bridge, Davenport here.” Ron’s voice came back after a moment of the CO saying nothing.

“Commander, I’m in my cabin. Arrange for all security in bringing Ya’wenn survivors to the ship. Have a triage set up for them under full guard. Separate their commander from the rest of them and place him under double guard in sickbay.”

“Aye, sir.” There was question in the XO’s voice. He’d heard the darkness in his skipper’s words. “Do we know our guest, Skipper?”

“Over Warden Jarn,” Ford replied, tapping the controls again. “Ford, out.”

With this report finished, the commodore began to tap at the main comm controls before him on his computer interface. His hands moved quite of their own volition as he called up the subspace communications system and keyed for a specific repeater array in the next sector. This communication would burn a lot of fuel down in the engine room, and someone was likely already cursing the fool who’d accessed the comm array without informing them in due course. Ford waited through all the prompts his comm officer would normally have dealt with for him. Finally he received the message he sought and straightened before the admiral appeared on screen.

Admiral Jonathan Sharp wore his regular dress uniform, and looked thinner than ever before. More age was beginning to show on his lined face. He squinted upon recognizing the commodore.

“Chevy.” He greeted the Endeavour’s CO. “Problems?”

“Of a sort…” despite the pressing nature of what he had to tell the Admiral, he could not help but comment of the drawn complexion of the normally robust Chief of Starfleet Operations. “You’re looking pretty haggard since I seen ya’ last, Jon. You alright?”

“Been ill, lately. But you didn’t call to check on my health, Commodore.”

Sharp seemed touchy about said state of health. That wasn’t a good sign. Ford forced himself past it and got down to business. He slumped before the comm screen.

“We just captured Jarn.”

Sharp’s brows drew together in suspicion.

“You didn’t invade alien territory to grab him…”

“No, we found his ship crashed on Odarin Four. His vessel was apparently pursued here by a government-affiliated craft. The government ship was destroyed, but not before crippling Jarn.”

Sharp was silent a moment more, looking Chevy directly in the eye.

“And this was in no way instigated or concocted by you?”

Ford had to grin despite his ill humor.

“Ya’ know, Admiral. One might think you didn’t trust me.”

Sharp leaned back in his own office chair and put a stony glare on the junior flag commander. “Chevy, I just know you can be one of the dirtiest players in the fleet. I’ve read the intercepts about the bombing of Jarn’s battleship in his home system… And I know Captain Rex Stephens fell off the galactic radar about that time. He was my contact for dirty work long before he was yours, Commodore. Then there’s your scouting mission…”

Ford shrugged noncommittally. There would be no getting past the admiral on any of this. Sharp knew well what he was doing out here, but did not wish to push his authority on the matter. “Well…” he began to reply soberly, “you gave me the rank, Jon. But I just happened to get lucky this time around.”

“Is he still among the breathing?”

“For now. I’m hoping he has a blood clot or something.”

It was the admiral’s turn to smile, finally.

“Our biobeds are too advanced to miss that these days. Unless he’s not in one…”

“He is, against my better judgment.” The commodore straightened and looked to the darkened ceiling of his quarters. His hand descended to the dog waiting beside his seat and began to scratch the happy critter above the tail. “Jon, you have no idea how tempted I was. I could have killed him.”

Sharp said nothing in response. He gazed back. Static drizzled through the connection between them, a tell tale of the extreme distance between the Excelsior-Class ship and Earth. Finally, Ford looked back down to his mentor. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He’s an unsanctioned leader of an unsanctioned alien interstellar attack force. He isn’t recognized by us or his own people, and is even being hunted by his own… Jarn’s wanted for an unwarranted attack on Federation vessels and for the murder of Federation Starfleet personnel. He’s a prisoner. Remand him to Starbase 23’s brig, there to wait pending trial or extradition back to his own world.”

The commodore finally gave a heartfelt smile, though it remained tainted with his ire for the subject of their conversation. “That’s what I needed to hear, Admiral.
Anything more, sir?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll discuss it with the C in C and get back to you with any changes in plan.”

“Ford out.”

The commodore terminated the transmission and turned his small cabin chair about in a lazy circle. China halted his master mid-turn by hopping up and leaning on Ford’s leg. Chevy smiled and patted his lap for the animal to join him. The Pekinese tried three times before gaining the height required to ascend to Ford’s lofty seat. Once victory was gained, the dog claimed his reward by passing a wet tongue over every unguarded portion of his squirming master’s face.

“Alright, alright…” Ford pushed the persistent critter back and again gave him a good scratching just forward of the tail. China’s leg immediately began to kick as his eyes wandered off to nothing, his attention drawn by pleasure.

“You could just kill him, you know.” She said.

Ford looked up to the slim, dark skinned woman sitting primly on his bunk. He smirked as he looked upon her. He’d been mildly expecting her.

“I know.” he told her.

Anya tilted her head as the commodore continued to scratch his canine’s happy spot.

“Jarn stomped on your humanity, and you’re just going to remand him to Federation justice?” The slim woman was dressed in a lacy white shirt of flowing silk, much as she had been when he’d first encountered her on New Providence. She was alluring. But then, she was supposed to be.

“Whatever I do, it’s my decision.” Ford told her with a stone voice. “I don’t have too many options. I did try to kill him…”

“No you didn’t.” Anya stood and stepped in closer amid the gloom of the commodore’s quarters. She placed both hands on the crown of his office seat and leaned down closer to him. He could see down her blouse, lay eyes on those heavenly… Her scolding, hate tinged voice recalled his attention. “You could have ended him when you found him. But you didn’t.”

“Andrea was there.”

“To hell with her. She ran from you when he hurt you the first time. And she wouldn’t stand with you if you gave him what he deserves…”

Ford glowered into her dark eyes. She smelled of cherries.

“She has a conscience. More than either of us.”

Anya scowled and stood in a huff. Her arms crossed before an ample bosom as she looked away. He smirked again. “So… Am I just talkin’ to myself or are you some part of my fractured psyche?”

It was her turn to display the smirk.

“I’m a non-corporeal entity that has taken residence within your pain.” She told him. His eyes didn’t waver from hers.

“Really?”

“You’ve been around. Is that so unbelievable?”

Ford was silent for a heartbeat before scoffing.

“Yup. I think you’re just inside my bent lil’ mind.”

Anya’s arms rose and she arched her lithe back as she began to run her long fingers through her near-black hair. “So…I’m just in your head? That’s boring.”

By now China had tired of his pampering and had wriggled his way free of Ford’s arms. The Pekinese thumped to the carpeted deck and made for his food dish to nibble. He passed through Anya’s feet. The commodore smiled again as he stood from his desk. “I think that speaks volumes, my dear. I’ve got work to do.”

Anya stood where she was, her arms still high as she twisted at the waist to watch him go.
***



Enjoy the 'trip'?

--thu guv!!!!

[Commander La'ra]

You're a bastard.  You give us exactly the kind of thing we've LOVE to see happen to Jarn and then turn it around so that the toad escapes what any sane person would've given him.

I laughed, incidentally, when I realized who it was.  Real hard.  Especially at the idea of just what look Ford had on his face as he watched his nemesis writhe under the big piece of metal.

Honestly, I wasn't expecting Anya to show up again.  I like that she's still a...player, so to speak.

Other thing I really enjoyed was the way Keller went from 'Highly Moral Federation Doctor' to something not quite as altruistic when she found out who her new 'patient' was.  That jab in the neck told us much.

[Czar Mohab]

I read this, and I'm still hoping for the "private room" ending; however, I do feel that there may be something else in store for our not so favorite weenie. At the same time, there is the weenie civil war going on, and I am curious to know who's running that show for Jarn?

Czar "Thanks for the present" Mohab

P.S. More is definately requested.

[Governor Ronjar]

You're a bastard.  You give us exactly the kind of thing we've LOVE to see happen to Jarn and then turn it around so that the toad escapes what any sane person would've given him.

Vaporizing him would have been just too easy...

Thanks for the replies. More to come soon as I start wrapping this one up.

--thu guv!!

[Governor Ronjar]

I worked quite hard on this CH. I hope it comes out as something better than lame. I had great difficulty with it, and it suffered from many periods where I just didn't feel  like writing any more. Lemme have some feed back, please. This will be the last Trek story for a bit, and I'm particular about this'n.




CH. 7





Commander Ron Davenport sat sleepily in the command chair and watched the young, Earth-like world revolve beneath Endeavour. It was late in Gamma Shift, 23:57 hours. Soon, Mister Bronstien would report for duty and take over the bridge. The lighting was as low as it was during combat alerts to emulate nighttime conditions on terrestrial worlds.

The bridge staff was moderate. One officer manned each key position: Conn, Helm, Ops, Science, Communications, Engineering and Tactical. Noncoms manned the other, less vital stations. When the shift rotated, Engineering, Tactical, Comm and Helm would then be assumed by enlisted personnel in need of the console time. There would be senior noncoms on deck to watch over several of the lesser stations at once and to help baby-sit the less experienced crewers.

The after hatch opened and disgorged Lieutenant Bronstien earlier than expected. Ron turned the conn to face the slim young lieutenant as he stepped down into the command circle. Soon, the pilot would be receiving a new set of cloned legs to replace his current prosthetics. The kid had come to walk rather well on his new masts. Only his slower gait belied the lack of real limbs beneath his pant legs.

Johnathan came to a bobbing halt beside the conn, arms clasped behind as he also eyed the main screen. “Quiet evening, Commander?”

“Yes, indeed, Lieutenant.” Ron replied, trying to mask his tiredness with a slightly louder voice. “You’re the early bird today, I see.”

“Trying to buck for a raise, sir. Relief still coming along strong down there?”

“We’ve gotten all the Ya’wenn to the ship now. Last one beamed on board at twenty-hundred. Security has ‘em confined where they need to be. Commander Tolin has a team down there sifting through the wreck.”

“Anything good?”

“She’s recovering their computer core and their comm suite. Ya’wenn communications are nearly as advanced as ours, and usually powerful enough to break through Tempest interference. She wants a look at it.”

“I don’t suppose she managed to recover any torpedo casings. Maybe a damaged one Jarn’s men couldn’t use in their fight?”

“No such luck. Jarn used everything he had to keep clear of capture. But we got him anyway.”

“Any word from Constellation?”

“She’s closing on the escort. The Ya’wenn are trying to give her the shake, but Jeremy is hanging onto them.” Davenport replied.

The chronometer clicked home on 00:00 hours. A gong sounded throughout the ship’s main spaces as the main computer denoted the time. Soon, the lifts were spilling fresh faces onto the deck. The change of shift was as smooth as expected. Once the junior officers made their exit, Ronald himself stood before the conn and assumed a lax state of attention. Johnathan stood rail straight. He made a pretty officer when he tried.

“I relieve you, XO.” Bronstien said.

“I stand relieved, Lieutenant.” Ron stepped off the dais. “You have the conn.”

“I have the conn.”

Johnathan ascended up to the level of the big chair but did not sit down. He looked about the bridge space for a second, telling Davenport he had something else on his mind. Ron turned back fully to the young man. There were only seven crew on the bridge level now. This was as cozy as it was going to get for a private conversation.

“Something on your mind, John-Boy?”

Johnathan clenched his lips a tad and looked down. When he spoke, it was nearly silent. The noncoms were experienced enough to turn away at the sound of quiet officer talk and busied themselves in keeping the younger hands occupied.

“It’s about the Skipper.”

Ron stepped in close, curious.

“Down on the planet?”

“Yeah. He almost killed Jarn. I think Keller knows about it.”

Davenport had thought such a thing likely given the facts and the CO’s mood when he’d returned to the ship hours ago. He’d had plenty of time to ponder what could or might have occurred down there. He looked questioning up to the boy.

“Which are you concerned about, Lieutenant? That the commodore was going to kill him or that Keller might know?”

“Ya know…I’m not so sure.”

Ron’s face became stern. It did not portray anger.

“Ford is among the best CO’s in Starfleet. If he kills a man, then it was deserved and unavoidable. He doesn’t kill out of malice or revenge. Whatever he might have wanted to do, I seriously doubt it would have ended with the death of his prisoner unless Jarn had tried to kill him or one of you. And since Jarn’s still alive, then it doesn’t matter what the doctor or even you believe he might have been about to do. There’s nothing to base any suspicion on.”

Bronstien took in the commander’s words and considered the stony set of his manner. At length, he nodded. He might have liked to argue the matter further, but no matter what, Ron was essentially right. Jarn was still among the breathing. Whether or not Ford had wanted him dead or was considering murder, it hadn’t occurred.

“Very well, sir.”

Ronald nodded once and turned leisurely away. As he made for the lift, he pondered how much of his speech had been truth and how much was simply wishful thinking…
***





Doctor Keller stifled a yawn. She was barely awake. Her duties among the injured and dying Ya’wenn had covered her in blood and worn her to the bone. Now the majority of them were stable, resting amid the armed guards down in the triage. She’d gone to her cabin already, showered and changed. Her red hair remained damp as she snaked through the corridors and halls of her ship. She was in uniform, but had opted to go without a duty jacket.

She found the commodore in Whisker’s, much as she thought she might. The barrel-chested man leaned his girth onto the polished top of the bar as he swigged his way through a tall glass of amber fluid. She slowed her pace as she neared him. He’d sighted her as she’d passed through the glass doors.

“Have a seat, ‘Drea.”

Andrea slid onto the stool nearest her man and regarded him somberly. He seemed buzzed, but not drunk yet. She wondered just how long he’d been here, and how long he intended to do this in front of the crew. Thankfully, Whisker’s beheld only ten enlisted and a spare officer at the moment.

“Feeling any pain, darling?” She inquired of him.

“If you’re implying I’m drunk, doll, think again.”

“I’m not. I know an old hound such as yourself prides himself on the quantities he can imbibe.” I’m wondering as to your status as a ‘Paragon of Virtue’ among the crew, however.”

Ford cast half a glance over his maroon clad shoulder to the assorted people about the compartment. Few of them were even associating with each other, let alone casting a look his way. This time of night was the late-drinker’s hour. Few came here during the wee hours. They wanted to avoid being thought of as a drunk. The few that did come in only stayed an hour at the most.

“Don’t think they ever thought of me as a paragon of anything.”

“You’re still not showing yourself as a proper officer, Chevy. How long have you been in here?”

Ford looked at her, amusement shining on his wide face.

“Is this what I’m gonna be looking for’d to if we ever get hitched? You trying so very hard to straighten out my kinks?”

Keller forced a wry smile.

“As well as correcting your grammar. ‘Hitched’ indeed.”

Ford grunted a laugh and drained the rest of his glass into the detriment of his liver. Then he slid off the stool and assumed his spongy feet. “Then lead me the hell outta here, my British darlin’. Ed-ju-ma-cate me.”

At least he wasn’t being loud and overly obnoxious. Andrea nodded and wrapped an arm around him as she escorted the commodore out the door. He was walking quite steadily, but he was taking particular care to remain at a slow pace. He led her out the double transparencies and into the darkened, empty corridors. He was headed aft, and not toward the turbolift banks.

“Where are we headed, Chevy?”

“Aft observatory seven. Sweet view of the fantail and the port nacelle.”

“Romantic.”

“Could be…if it wasn’t for the fact that the engineer checking the manual impulse manifold coolant gear comes through every hour on the hour.”

The doctor smiled despite herself as he led her to their private corner of the ship. The observatory was open and designed for the comfort of visiting passengers. It was open to the rest of the deck and granted a beautiful view of the aft portions of the Excelsior-Class ship. The broad bulk of the silver and black trimmed engineering hull dominated the left-hand side of the window furthest to starboard. The other four portholes showed a panorama of the living planet beneath them, receding constantly abaft, and the long, sleek mass of the port warp engine. Only the bearing strut connecting the engine to the secondary hull blocked out any of the view, but it was far enough removed and quite low. One had to get close and look down to see the plane of it. Andrea could see men moving to and from in the upper control section of Shuttlebay 2.

Chevis settled down on one of the armless, blue chairs that abounded in the observatory and patted the one next to it. Andrea sat, hands knit in her lap as she watched him. She’d been angry and confused and shocked about what she’d witnessed early on today. Chevy Ford had looked like a killer bent of revenge. Now, he was a kindly and even sweet starship commander bent of relaxing.

“Chevis,” she began. “I hardly know what to think about you.”

Ford looked to her, his attention having been fixed on the view aft of his ship.

“Oh?”

“Earlier, you looked like Satan himself, poised to commit a dreadful crime. Now it’s as though that never happened. As though your greatest enemy isn’t laying in a bed on this very deck…”

Reminded of his hatred, the commodore’s face darkened and twisted into a frown.

“What the f*ck did you have to bring that up for?”

Andrea almost regretted it. Part of her wished just to ignore the happening. But, she couldn’t abide being with a murderer. And if he was truly capable of committing the act she was sure she had been about to witness down there on that planet…

“Chevy… You were going to kill him… At least that’s what it seemed.”

His face was a mask of hate. Directed at her or not, it was painful and frightening to behold.

“Was it really?”

“Don’t try to mislead me. And don’t even try to deny that the phaser you turned in was set to maximum power.”

Chevis grinned maliciously.

“Nice try. I made sure to turn it back down to setting two before I beamed back home.” Finally his evil persona lessened, abating to a shadow. “But, yeah…you’re right. I might have killed him.”

“Might have?”

The commodore seemed to slide into a reflective mood and relaxed again into the square cushioning of the decorative furniture. “At the time…I was gonna kill him. And I wanted him to see me killing him. When I heard your voice…I wasn’t so sure any more. I wasn’t going to do it and have you think less of me.”

“And if I hadn’t happened along just in the nick of time?”

There was no change in Ford’s now guarded expression. His face was a mask. Andrea felt slightly betrayed at this apparent effort to hide himself from her. He looked right into her eyes.

“I’d have killed him. I’m pretty damn sure of it.”

The admission sank in with a cold grip of fright. Keller drew rigid as she sat there before him. She was afraid of the fact that he was blatantly capable and willing to commit such a thing. More frightful still was the assured knowledge she possessed that he would not miss a wink of sleep over it. The fact that he hadn’t actually killed Jarn did not totally allay this fear. This fact tainted everything she felt for him at this moment.

She struggled with the knowledge, however, that Jarn was indeed deserving of such treatment, whether or not she believed in the taking of life. The man was an animal. Hateful and cruel. A murderer as well. He’d have done exactly the same or far worse to anyone aboard this ship if given a reason or the chance. And when cornered…that same tyrant had begged for his life and pleaded with the nearest sympathetic ear to protect him.

But what did all this make Chevis D. Ford?

“So you are a murderer?”

Those brown eyes narrowed into cold, angular slits.

“Am I?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I was gonna kill his ass. So am I as bad as him?”

“Perhaps not…but I don’t know if you’re truly much better…”

Comparing Ford to his enemy, the man who’d tortured him, might have driven him into hysterics. Chevis’s teeth ground back and forth as he fought to retain control. It was the most telling thing he was allowing to pass through his façade. “Fine, then.” He replied in acid. “I’m a piece of sh*t.”

Andrea shook her head. The sudden realization that she would do little more than drive him away from her flooded her senses and made her more afraid than she’d been of his capacity for murder. “No…no! Chevy… I’m…simply trying to come to some kind of understanding…”

“No…You’re trying to decide if you want to be with a killer.”

Andrea bit her bottom lip and looked down, at a loss over how to salvage this situation. What the hell was she doing? They’d only been back together for a day! Now she was calling him a murderer to his face and berating him for something he might have done to a man that deserved to be dead! She looked back up, her eyes pleading.

“Whatever you are, Chevy… I still love you…”

Her voice was tiny as she whispered those last three words. She clenched suddenly scratchy feeling eyes and instantly felt wetness fall down her flushed cheeks. Ford eased off the chair across from her and sank to his knees before her. He pressed in close and wiped the tears from her face. His lips pressed to hers. He drew in his breath to avoid assailing her with the smell of whisky, though his lips still tasted of it.

Separating himself from her again, but still on his knees, Ford looked into her hot feeling eyes. All the anger had fallen away, leaving only his compassion for her. “I love you, too… I won’t do anything that makes you think less of me, Andrea. You have my word…”
***



Much of the conversation just ended was patterned after conversations I've had with 2 various significant others. I wanted a feeling of 'where the hell is this conversation going'? I hope this was conveyed and that it looks like an actual discussion between partially estranged lovers while not seeming too...melodramatic...

Lemme know y'all.

And have a Happy New Year!!!

--thu guv!!

[Andromeda]

I just read the last several chapters to get caught up.  I don't know what Anya is so I'll have to ignore that point.  The last chapter is very powerful, but weakened by the ones before it.  Parts of them are necessary though.  What I mean is that you can get most of what happened from the last chapter and don't feel like you're missing anything. 

[Governor Ronjar]

I see what you mean. I think it was necessary to recap things for the purposes of a clear conversation, though. [if I take your meaning at all]

For details on Anya, read #11: White Rabbits.

--guv!

[kadh2000]

Finally caught up with this.  It's good as is.  Different dynamics to it than if you changed it the way Rommie meant (I think).  I really like that you've been able to show us deeply flawed people and that we haven't gotten rid of all of our bad side by the time we get to Trek era.  Scott Bennie did that very well too.

[Governor Ronjar]

 

--thu guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Printing it out now to read later.

Remembers he still has to comment past Ch4 4 of the last Endeavour story.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 8





“Contact, Lieutenant…”

The uncertainty in the voice calling to Bronstien from the science station caused the helmsman to slowly swivel the conn that direction. The young, brown-haired specialist was peering into the raised main sensor scope. Her hair spilled over the black extension, defying her attempts to restrain her long bangs. She uttered nothing more for a few seconds, but continued to enhance the sensors she was employing.

Johnathan gave her a moment further then cleared his throat.

“And, Specialist?”

“What I have is a gravimetric shift, seven light minutes distant, sir. I believe it to be a mass…traveling at over a tenth the speed of light, which most likely makes it a ship.”
The blue eyed girl looked up to him, taking her eye from the viewer for the first time. “I think it’s a starship making a stealth approach on Endeavour, sir. She’s coming in through the most densely packed disk of stellar material in this system. ETA at estimated speed is just over an hour.”

‘A ship coasting in on us, set for silent running…’ Bronstien thought to himself. He believed as the Spec did. Ya’wenn? Jarn’s scouts had tried the trick on Endeavour before. They’d learned it from someone… Their original government perhaps?

Bronstien tapped the intercom controls.

“Commodore Ford to the bridge.” Echoed out amid the decks of the ship. The thunder of it could even be heard through the deck plates of the bridge. The lieutenant nodded to the science specialist. “Thank you, Spec.”

“Addler, sir.”

“Miss Addler.” The LT acknowledged and returned his attention to the main viewer. Space was black and serene beyond the curvature of the cloudy blue planet they orbited. It was not long before the commodore emerged from the turbolift.

“Report.”

Ford looked tired and a bit drunk as he shuffled down the steps beside the helm and entered the command circle. Doctor Keller was with him. She halted at the rail and tried to avoid eye contact with the young man sitting at conn. Bronstien addressed the CO.

“We have a silent contact approaching, sir.” He looked to the icon depicted on the tactical repeater on the left armrest of the command chair. “She’s coming in from 035 mark 077. Approximately one half impulse power, ETA outside of an hour.”

“Not very exact…” Ford murmured as he looked to the viewer. His expression was sleepy and amused. John shrugged as he slid out of the conn.

“Not much to go on. She’s being careful, Skipper, and we haven’t painted her with an active sweep yet.”

“Take the helm, Mister.” Chevy told him as he took over the center seat. The commodore looked to his lady with a wink and then to the science console. “Specialist, get me a visual on our incoming guest. Passive, telescopic detection only.”

“Aye, sir.” Addler activated the visual sensors and leaned in close to the main scope. She then began the task of scouring the vague set of coordinates she possessed to spot her quarry. The task could take seconds or long minutes. There was a great deal of open space out there to search through. Without active sensors to assist her, she had to rely on her eyes and basic computer enhancements.

Ford looked back to Andrea who was now stepping down the steps into the rail-partitioned command center. He smiled for her, their earlier tiff forgotten. Their renewed relationship felt slightly alien and the feeling was making itself known to him. Andrea flicked a wayward strand of hair out of her face as she looked up to him. Neither of them was dressed for bridge duty.

“What do you intend to do, Chevy?” She asked in a low voice.

“Gonna watch ‘em close in, catch their markings and try for an ID. Jarn’s ships have a pretty distinctive set of logos.” He told her.

“And then?”

“If they’re a Ya’wenn Primus vessel, we hail them. And if they’re rebels, I open fire.”

“Then I hope they’re a government ship. I was hoping we would avoid any further battle.”

Chevy nodded as he returned his eye to the main screen. “We’ve had more than our share in the last year.” He agreed with her. His longing to fight with the rebels had diminished significantly since the capture of Jarn. The skipper glanced to the noncom at communications.

“Last report from Constellation?”

“She’s escorting the Ya’wenn escort ship back home, sir. ETA to Tempest eight hours.” The youth told him. She was quick to add: “No damage to Constellation.”

“I have them, Commodore.” Specialist Addler called forth. The forward viewer switched then to a familiar shape of a wide designed Ya’wenn cruiser. The distinctive blue trim on her bow denoted her affiliation with the homeworld’s government. Ford felt himself relax a bit. He didn’t like being sneaked up on, though. Had they been slipping in here to catch Jarn unawares, or him? His hand fell to the intercom.

“All hands, report to duty stations. Repeat, this is the Cap’n… All hands report to duty stations.”

“Ops,” Called off Bronstien to the youth sitting in the station opposite of him. “Set all systems to standby and restore daytime lighting.”

“Aye.”

Ford watched the Ya’wenn cruiser close in, obviously drifting on her own inertia. He course was maligned and her crew was not correcting for the pull of planetary gravity, so worried were they over maintaining their stealth. But, like the rebel escort months ago, they had no clue they’d already been found. This ship bore obvious sign of previous battle. Her hull was scared with black and pot-marked. New hull panels shone out, unpainted and new where repairs had been made without the help of a yard. Chevis wondered how many missiles the ship would have left in her magazines.

A moment after this reverie, the after hatches sprang open and deposited the Alpha bridge crew onto the deck. They fanned out, resuming their stations and relieving the younger hands. Ford watched them settle into their posts, noting that each of them had managed to pull together complete, clean uniforms despite the sleep still clinging to their eyes. Only Commander Slik showed no obvious sign of tiredness. Their CO wore his wrinkled and beaten pants, which still bore dirt from the planet below and his white duty tunic. His jacket remained in his cabin, likely claimed as a bed for China by now. Ford had to smirk.

“We have a government issue Ya’wenn cruiser inbound to our position, trying to make it in under our scopes. Just like we did with the rebel escort, we’re gonna let ‘em come in just within torpedo range before we flip the lights on and let ‘em know we’re home.” He told his people. There were nods and ‘aye’s’ from several. Most had already grasped the situation with a single glance at the main screen.

“Veapons on standby, reserves fully charged, prefire chambers remain cold. Torpedo bays fully loaded.” Nechayev began to call out.

“All stations report ready,” Hissed the Operations Officer. “Ship is ready for immediate switch-over to alert status.”

“Cruiser closing to ninety-five million kilometers, Skipper.” Surall was next to quote.

Davenport was leaning close behind the science officer, reading off several secondary scopes. Specialist Addler was now seated behind him in the support station. Ron glanced toward the conn. “I detect no active energy emissions from target. She’s running zero propulsion, no active power sources and minimal life support. But I am reading heavy battery charge in their capacitors. I think her weapons are ready to fire at a moment’s notice.”

“Now detecting a course correction from target.” Came Surall again. “She has realigned for a more perfect intersection with us. ETA at current speed: sixty-two minutes, thirty-seven seconds.”

“That’s an awful long wait, Chevy.” Andrea mentioned.

Chevis looked to her at length, considering. He really would like to fool the aliens into a false belief about their own stealth capabilities…but then…one couldn’t estimate how long the would be willing to creep in before their nerve gave out. Would they power up at range and swoop in at maximum impulse or even warp speed? Or did they plan to drift all the way in to weapons range. Their previous encounter with the escort had been within the confines of the Tempest, with all manner of EM radiation and interference to mask their signature. The enemy had had no reason to suspect their cover wasn’t fool proof. Surely these more well trained naval personnel would know better.

“Alright, go to Red Alert. Power up all tactical systems. Paint them with active scanners.”

The Endeavour all but purred as her systems began to come up all at once. Power surged through her decks and bulkheads, activating everything needed to defend the ship. The approaching aliens would immediately note the shields snapping into existence and the powering of weapons.

“She’s noticed us…” Ronald called out from behind Surall. “She’s halting her approach… powering up.”

Ford looked portside to Smith.

“Comm, open hailing frequencies.”

[Governor Ronjar]

“You’re on, Skipper.”

Ford looked back sternly to the main screen. “Ya’wenn vessel, you are trespassing in sovereign Federation space. You will discontinue your stealth approach and power down for inspection. Respond.”

There was a considerable pause as their guests pondered their next move. Their ship no longer feigned the pretense of stealth. Its weapons were hot and Ford expected to see her missile doors open at any time. Finally, there did come a response.

The viewer clicked onto the view of a compact, militaristic bridge, packed with controls and men. There were no women among their officers. The grey-skinned Ya’wenn glaring back wore the austere green and black uniform of the homeworld’s military, and each man bore a severe flattop haircut. One man separated himself from the rest near the after quarter and came closer to the visual feed. He was the eldest, though he couldn’t be much past the human equivalent of thirty. Ford gave him a respectful nod. It wasn’t returned.

“To whom do I speak?” The alien commander asked.

“Commodore Ford, commanding officer of the USS Endeavour.”

The commander nodded. His arms crossed in a manner that told of impatience; as though Ford were the transgressor, not he. “I am Captain-Commander Eddrin of the attack ship Rill’don. Commodore, we have intercepted your transmissions to the planet. We know you hold the traitor Jarn.”

Ford did not betray emotion to his opponent. His impassive face stared right back to the grey-faced alien. “We do. What of it?”

“We demand he be turned over to us immediately. He is a traitor to the state and a rebel commander. Our Premier was assassinated on his order. He has brought war to my people.”

The Captain-Commander was a strong willed individual, Ford believed. He obviously bore great hate for the man in Endeavour’s sickbay. The commodore leaned back into the cushion of the conn and considered his options. He could hand Jarn back over to his people with a clean conscience. They could do whatever their system of justice decided best. Ford hoped they still practiced execution. But, then, there was a lot of space between here and Ya’wenn Primus. Even should Endeavour escort the cruiser all they way back to the Tempest, that government cruiser would likely be alone in her transit back to the homeworld. There would be plenty of time for Jarn’s men to get to him, even reclaim him. Nothing would have been gained.

Chevy didn’t like the chances. While one might believe the odds were greatest that the prisoner would never see freedom again, Ford was not willing to chance that minute percentile that he’d have to deal with the Over Warden again in the near future.

Andrea was looking back to Ford, worry in her eyes. She likely wondered about what he was thinking. He gazed back at her. She shook her head slightly. For whatever reason, she didn’t like the idea either. The commodore looked back to the Captain-Commander.

“No dice, Commander Eddrin. Jarn faces charges here in the Federation. He’ll be transported back to our base and face trial and judgement there. You can arrange to participate and appeal for possible extradition through our ambassador service—“

“That is unacceptable!” Eddrin shouted back. He was not one to constrain himself in front of his men, obviously. His crew looked to their work and tried to avoid being noticed. “You will return Jarn to his people. His trial will be held on Primus! And he will be processed and executed!”

“Processed…” Ford found himself pondering aloud. “What’s involved in your…’processing’?”

The Captain-Commander’s face became a cruel mask of childish joy. He looked like the kind of kid who enjoyed setting cats on fire to watch them dance and yowl. Ford had seen similar on the faces of Jarn’s own men during his stay on Kovarn. It made his stomach turn. “He’ll get his due…I’ll say simply that, Commodore. He’ll pay for his crimes in slow fashion.”

Ford took his time in replying. He’d really like to just hand his own private enemy over to such treatment, but at the same time, justifying such treatment and placating such people as this alien commander was an undesirable notion. The thought of how the Captain-Commander’s men would behave while transporting their prisoner, then the idea of what he’d meet upon getting home was sickening. Never mind Jarn deserved such. Never mind, also, that Ford couldn’t wish it on a nicer person. The commodore would not condone such punishment after having suffered it himself.

Again Chevy looked to his significant other. Andrea looked back in idle fear, wondering what Ford would do. Ford looked back to the screen. “Sounds temptin’… but no deal, Commander. You have thirty seconds to turn that tub back for the plasma field and get packin’.”

The Ya’wenn CO narrowed his eyes in a display of pseudo-intimidation that Chevy was having none of. “You dare to order us about like criminals! You’re making a profound mistake!”

“File it with someone who cares, Commander.”

Ford looked back to the comm station and delivered a cutthroat gesture. Then he looked back to Doctor Keller as the irate alien vanished from the viewer. “You better get to sickbay.”

“That really could have been handled better, Chevy…” She chided gently.

“All too true, darlin’. Get below.”

As the stately doctor took her leave, Ford looked back to his gunnery chief. “Weps, set for missile defense.”

“Of course, Keptin. Phasers standing by.”

Surall looked up from the main scope.

“Ya’wenn are powering sublight engines. They are accelerating to full impulse power.”

“You want me to break orbit, Skipper?” Came from Bronstien. The planet below still took up the entire bottom section of the main viewer as the flat shaped cruiser bore in on them.

“Negative. We still have people down on the surface.” Ford told the pilot. Three full work crews were taking full advantage of the ebbing daylight down there. They did not know what was transpiring over head yet. Endeavour’s chief engineer was down there too. “Keep us well within transporter range of the planet surface in case they try to light them up with a missile.”

“Aye.”

“Enemy now opening missile bays on port and starboard sides,” Davenport called out. The XO had grabbed good holds on the edge of his and Surall’s station and the back of the science officer’s seat.

“Enemy wessel beginning active lock!”

“Missiles incoming!”

“Ahead one third,” Ford called off, his brown eyes focussed on the tac repeater on his armrest. “Begin defensive fire at your discretion.”

“Phasers firing!” Nechayev confirmed. The first barrage of fusion driven weapons was just coming into phaser range.

Endeavour’s phalanx fire peppered the approaching wall of projectiles, lighting them with a dancing spectacle of detonations and near hits. The incoming wall of ordnance evaporated inside of ten seconds. The huge Excelsior, meanwhile, closed the distance with the intent of tying the enemy up and keeping their mind off the fifteen men down on the planet, vulnerable to a single missile strike.

Another barrage of missiles loosed from the flanks of the silver hulled enemy craft.

“Firing!” Again sounded from Tactical.

Again, the effectiveness of the incoming weaponry was displayed. They’d lasted a grand total of seven seconds this round. Ford knew his enemy’s tactic, though. Implore Endeavour to waste her phaser reserves knocking down miscellaneous torpedoes, all the while closing in for a heavy beam strike. Ford might have done similar if forced to use such weaponry against a foe known to be able to interdict them so readily. But Chevy wasn’t about to fight completely from a defensive angle.

“Lock photon torpedoes on target. Target their shields and weapon arrays.”

“Aye, Keptin. Veapons locked!”

“Fire when ready.”

Slight shimmers passed through the deck plates as the first two torpedoes rocketed out into the face of the enemy ship. The alien staggered, nearly sluing off course as she closed. The cruiser quickly regained her footing and straightened out. Her own beam weapons were beginning to glow in readiness to fire once she made range.
Another duo of photonic weapons struck the Ya’wenn’s forward shielding and rattled the entire craft. Sparkles of energy, blue-white, could be seen dancing over the contours of the hull and its shields. They were already taking a pounding, and Endeavour had only fired four times.

‘They’re not up to Jarn’s level, yet,’ Ford thought to himself as he watched the aliens absorb another two shot volley. They were beginning a slow, clumsy looking turn to port, attempting to throw off Mister Nechayev’s aim. ‘Jarn’s ships have better shielding. Likely from the Klingons…’

“Rill’don now entering beam weapon range…” Ronald called out from the science corner. Ford unconsciously braced for the pounding to come.

The last barrage of missiles was still being dispatched even as the Ya’wenn opened up with banks of azure beams. Those magnetron bursts cascaded over the curved hull of Endeavour’s upper main hull and lower saucer hub. The ship rocked and rattled with the sound of a great crash as the impact was made known. The shots continued to pour in.

The enemy was no longer firing their missiles.

“Reset main phasers for standard fire. Take those guns out!”

Now adding to the photon torpedoes, phaser bursts lashed out in red against the weakened or unprotected expanses of hull belonging to the enemy cruiser. The Ya’wenn craft rattled fiercely, trailing loose hull panels and atmosphere as she doggedly closed in. The two monsters traded shots as they zeroed in on one another.
‘They’re not thinking about hitting our crew on the planet…’ Chevis decided with relief. There would be little good to come of such a tactic, but the urge to do some harm might prove irresistible to a commander losing a fight. ‘This can’t be their only strategy… What else is he planning?’

Those open missile doors fired off a new salvo of primitive rocket driven death. This time, the weapons’ flight vectors took them wide of the defensive fire bracket and away from the two combating ships. The tactical screens showed the missiles arcing past the Endeavour, then turning in on her to close on all sides from amidships.

“Nechayev!” Ford barked.

Daniel was already on it. The whoop of initiator alarms called out from the weapons console as Nechayev sent out a wave of phaser bursts to ward off the approaching devices. That had been a sneaky tactic on the Ya’wenn’s part. They’d tied up Endeavour's phasers in a gunnery duel, then launched their missiles in the hopes of slipping them around for a strike to the flanks. Endeavour, however, had plenty of firepower to go around.

The missiles made it in closer this time, though they still found nothing to hit.

Endeavour rolled wide from the near impacts as her shields were bombarded by ionized nuclear particles and atomized matter. Another missile barrage followed the previous, following the same path. Then came another in short order. Endeavour’s phasers kept on shouting their defiance at the weapons. The weapons kept on detonating. Not one struck home. But the ride was becoming quite bumpy.

“Deflectors are absorbing massive EM discharge!” Called off Specialist McCoy. Her engineering panels were alight with warning notes and flashing red indicators. “Surge coils are becoming overloaded!”

‘They’re not aiming for us!’ The commodore realized suddenly. His stomach plummeted. ‘They’re targeting our shields!’

“Helm, hard aport! Put our starboard beam to ‘em. Mister Nechayev, target their core!”

Targeting the enemy’s engine core was nearly a sure-fire way of blowing them clear to hell, but the chance to take them down with a minimal of bloodshed was quickly waning. He had to protect his own people. Endeavour continued to buck and roll from near misses.

The intruder alarms were the next thing Ford heard.
***


--thu guv!

[kadh2000]

Trick within trick.  One should know the capability of one's enemies.  Apparently the government forces do that.  Of course, one should also not assume that the guy in one's brig is the best of his race.  Ford underestimated his foe this time.  Nice story.  The early part has a few sentences that read awkwardly wordy or sesquipedalian.

[Commander La'ra]

Yup.  He screwed that one up.  First with being a bit too bull-headed with the Ya'wenn Captain, and then during the fight.  As Kadh said, I think he underestimated his adversary, probably due to his interactions with Jarn.

Now, that said, this seemed entirely believable.  Waiting to see where it goes.  Seems like a good opportunity for Jarn to be 'killed in the crossfire', but I doubt that'll happen.  I also wonder if Ford might think of just letting the Ya'wenn boarders get Jarn. 

"They were just too quick, Admiral..."