5.

"The other Colonels are waiting, sir."

Caldwell nodded at his attaché. "Thank you Captain. Dismissed." He watched as the other Colonels appeared on the screen before him.

He was a man of the military, a man to which the chain of command meant everything. In decades he'd never questioned orders, but it chafed at him to be under the command of a civilian, much less a foreigner. Finally he spoke, leaning back in his seat. "What does everybody think of this Rupert Giles?"

Cam Mitchell, former CO of SG-1 and current military commander of Avalon, was first to speak. "His initial plan went well; we must have destroyed over fifty ships for no losses."

Mitchell chuckled. "If only all battles went so well."

"His file as fantastic as that is, suggests he has more military experience than the rest of us put together," Evan Lorne, military commander of Camelot, added.

Caldwell hid a scowl. In truth he hadn't truly expected to get much help from the younger officers, they were all fine officers, but they were also too maverick for his taste. "He doesn't have enough discipline to be commanding a force like this," he grumbled.

"Results can't be argued with," defended Sheppard, the current commander of Atlantis. "The Free Jaffa, the Tok'ra, Ohnes, Serrakins, hell even the Asgard and the Furling are in awe of his group. We want him on our side."

"That isn't the argument," grumbled Caldwell. According to everything he'd read on Giles on his group, they were unorthodox but frighteningly effective. "The argument is should they be in charge."

"Ha!" laughed Colonel Hans Voeller, a former officer of Germany's KSK and current commander of Tír na nÓg, a buzz-cutted Aryan with piercing cold eyes and a lantern jaw, and a surprisingly wry sense of humour. "O'Neill himself aside, I have very real doubts that the other races would have followed any other human in an excursion of this size. The respect the older races hold him in says a hell of a lot."

"I share your dislike for non-military leadership of this a military operation," commented Chekov, a bull-necked, jowly Russian who commanded Kitezh. "However Colonel Voeller is correct. For all of Secretary O'Neill's eccentricities, you'd be a fool to deny his effectiveness. Similarly for this Mr. Giles. As Colonel Voeller said, we should take a hint from how much respect the older, more experienced races have for him."

Caldwell grunted as he slumped back in his seat. His duty was to serve, and he loved exploring the stars, loved the idea of meeting alien races. But it rankled to be here under the command of a civilian.

"Mr. Giles," Giles glanced towards Rondell, the young black man sat at the communications station. "We're getting a Mayday message."

In a second Giles was by the young man's shoulder. "Play it for me."

"U.S.S. Titan *crackle* we're being *crackle* pursued by a pair of ships of unknown configuration. *Crackle* Taking heavy fire. *Crackle* Mayday! Mayday!"

Giles raised an eyebrow; the tension in the communications officer's voice was undeniable. The only question remaining was could they get there in time to help. "Do you have a location on the message?"

"It's seventeen minutes out on a vector of 25 degrees."

Giles nodded. "Draw a bead on that recording. We can't lose track." Rondell nodded. "And send a message to the other Captains, giving them my regards and then inform them we're changing course and give them our new co-ordinates."

"Any response to our hail?"

"No sir!" Try as he might, Riker couldn't offer any reassurance to the frightened look that his communications officer sent him. Everything had gone all to hell, and pretty damn quick too.

They'd been on a milk run taking supplies to the Rigel system when three of the black triangular nightmares had dropped out of space and ambushed them. Through some fluke or good luck they'd managed to destroy one of them by teleporting a live photon torpedo on-board it, but two of them remained, and it would take an act of God for them to take both of the remaining ships out.

"Okay," Riker nodded, his jaw set as he struggled to keep calm, wincing slightly as a ceiling panel first sparked then crashed to the ground scant feet from his seat. "Engineering," he roared over his communications link, "you've got to give me more speed!" He clung onto his command seat's arms as the helmsman weaved it in and out of the enemy's energy fire.

"Sir, we're on reserve engines as it is."

"Okay," Riker thought furiously then pointed to a stellar cloud. "Helms, head for there, maybe their sensors won't be able to track us in there!" Teeth gritted, he grunted as their ship shuddered under another blast. "Operations, re-direct every available ounce of power into rear shields!"

"Captain," it was the dark-skinned Vulcan, Tuvok who served as his tactical officer, "there's a sudden build-up of energy between us and the enemy." The Vulcan seemed to almost blink. "And an even bigger one ahead of us."

"What the-?" Riker gasped as Helms pulled up short and twisted to the right, just avoiding several rows of suddenly appeared ships in front of them.

Giles scowled at the two chasing Star Destroyers as Iram placed itself between them and their prey. "Jenny, decloak." He smiled as their ship shimmered into existence in front of the duo. He could only imagine their crews' collective shock to find they'd suddenly gone from hunter to hunted. "Jenny," he paused as the enemy began firing their weapons, their laser fire shimmering against the shield, "return fire, oh, three hundred drone weapons at each of them."

Glowing orbs shot from Iram in clusters of twenty or so, speeding towards the enemy craft. The first few groups crashed uselessly into the ship's defences even as its return fire thudded ineffectually against the city ship's shields. But then the fourth group of orbs crashed through the faltering shields and sped onto the Star Destroyers.

Fires exploded throughout the Star Destroyers but the imperial vessels continued on, firing defiantly back even as the fifth lot of orbs simultaneously smashed into them. The blazing Destroyers crumpled like screwed-up paper then exploded into multi-coloured fire.

Giles wiped at his brow. All this bloody action was doing his nerves no bloody good at all. He'd say he was getting too old for this sort of bollocks, but as a technical immortal that was no longer true. "Jonathan, how are our shields?"

Jonathan glanced at his screen. "Still at 95%."

Giles nodded. Excellent, they'd taken four hits from Star Destroyers' laser cannons to very little effect. And they hadn't even used their particle weapons or any of their other tricks just yet. "Rondell," he turned to the youth manning the communications desk, "could you open up a line to the captain of the starship we just rescued?"

"Audio only or audio and visual?"

Giles pursed his lips. Good question. "We're trying to make friends. Let's be as open as we can be."

"Are you going to tell them we're from a different reality?"

Another good question, this one from Jonathan. "Not immediately," Giles decided with a shake of the head. "Only that we're aware of the empire and its evil, and we wish to help." Giles paused then glanced at Rondell. "Also, send an alert to Worth, Raiden, and Martini, and request they hurry to the teleportation room." The trio had gone as Montgomery Scott, Jadzia Dax, and B'Elanna Torres, so their respective talents and experiences might well come in handy in fixing what looked to be a battle-scorched ship.

"Are you getting any readings from those ships?" Riker queried, the images of the battle that had just played out still dancing before his eyes even as he stared at the rows of breathtakingly massive ships in front of them.

"Yes sir," Tuvok nodded, "they're not trying to conceal themselves."

"And their power readings?" he demanded.

"I believe the human term is 'off the charts'," the Vulcan replied. "It seems their energy readings are at least three times more powerful than the most powerful of our ships. Their readouts would be better compared to a space station, although they even exceed that."

Riker felt hope stir for the first time since the mysterious invasion had begun. Maybe these unknown ships could be the help they so desperately needed. "Sir," Communications looked up at him, "we're getting a hail from the ship in front of us."

"Audio or audio and visual?" Riker asked as he straightened his uniform.

"Both, sir."

Riker nodded as he rose from his seat. "Put them through." He looked towards the screen and smiled as the face of a scholarly yet dangerous-looking man filled the screen. "I'm Captain William Riker of the USS Titan, and I thank you for coming to our rescue. We were on a supply run when a trio of those ships hit us. We managed to destroy one, but if you hadn't come along…"

"You're most welcome," the man smiled. "I'm Rupert Giles and this ship is Iram."

"Iram," Riker's brow furrowed as he struggled to recall where he'd heard the name before. "Oh, the mythical lost city."

"A classically educated man," the apparent Englishman to judge from his accent chuckled. "I quite approve." The man's expression sobered. "Would you and some of your crew like to teleport over for a tour of my ship and to discuss our mutual enemy?"

It only took Riker a second to nod. He was an explorer at heart, and these people might look human, but they seemed to be very different. "I'd be delighted."

"Excellent," Giles nodded. "Select three of your crew to accompany then signal me when you're ready, I'll teleport you to our teleportation chamber and meet you there."

"Who will you take with you sir?" his first officer queried the moment the call ended.

"Sorry, Christina," Riker smirked at the first officer, "somebody's got to stay in command. Maybe next time?" Riker looked towards Tuvok. "Tuvok you're up, Lt. Rager," he looked towards the black woman who served as Senior Operations Officer. "If you'll be so good as to accompany us?"

Giles was almost at the teleportation room when his comm link buzzed into life. "Yes?" he spoke into his wrist communicator.

"It's Colonel Caldwell," Rondell replied, "he'd like a word."

Giles sighed. "By all means, put him through."

"Mr. Giles, I understand you're intending of hosting visitors from the ship we just aided," Caldwell growled. "I understand the idea of being neighbourly, but aren't you worried about them stealing our tech or attempting a coup?"

"Thank you for your concern but the Feds are the good guys, Colonel Caldwell," Giles replied, a note of tartness entering his voice. He might be immortal now, but his patience hadn't lengthened with his lifespan, and it seemed that Caldwell was a martinet put on this earth or at least this expedition to question every bloody decision he made. "And although their ships aren't as advanced as ours, they are far more numerous. We need allies and this is the first step in getting some."

"Well," Caldwell sounded less than reassured. "It's your decision."

"Yes," Giles agreed, "yes it is."

"Have you considered what you'll tell them?" Caldwell pressed.

That, Giles had to admit was a good question. "Only that we're aware of both them and the Empire, and that enlightened self-interest has forced us to act before the Empire reach us."

"So you're not going to tell them the truth?" Caldwell queried.

"Eventually they will have to be told," Giles allowed, although his mental shields were far too high for any telepath to break, the same couldn't be said for everybody in their expedition. "But I plan to make that revelation to a member of their government, first. I also think that's the sort of revelation that should be left to our ambassadorial staff." Giles forced a cheery note into his voice. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a meeting to go to."