Star Trek: Deep Space 9

Disclaimer: I do not own nor did I invent Star Trek: Deep Space 9 or any of its concepts, nor do I own or did I invent Warhammer 40k or its concepts. Extant characters are use for recreational reading only and no profit. Any characters I have invented are purely for interaction purposes with the settings and universes portrayed. Reviews are welcome, flames will be snickered at. Enjoy. Glory to the Emperor of Mankind!

The Distant And Not-So-Bright Future, Phase V- A Desperate Gamble

Captain Sisko sat quietly in the chair of his ready room, chin resting on his steepled hands as he reviewed images and combat footage of the ongoing battle for the Trillian system. The situation was grim. The Federation had been setting up the system as a staging base for an offensive operation against the Dominion, but the schedule had been rushed and security maybe not as tight as it should have been. The fleets were not in position and countless civilians were still not evacuated when the Dominion caught wind of the plan and hit hard.

The results were telling. While the Federation fleets fought desperately to hold off the Dominion, millions of citizens were fleeing underground to the expansive shelters beneath the cities, hoping for a modicum of safety from the brutal Jem'Hadar.

If the plan had worked, it just might have turned the war in the Federation's favour, at least locally. Unfortunately, the Dominion's swift response had not only disrupted the operation but created critical complications as well. If the three Federation fleets in the Trillian system were crippled or annihilated, it would leave a gaping hole in their lines and allow the Dominion to pour ships into Sector 7G. The Federation could suddenly lose five star bases and find itself cut off from every world spinward of the Betreka Nebula.

How did Star Fleet manage to keep people so encouraged about the war when every day seemed to bring a new and grim challenge where they were on the brink of ruin?

The chime at his entrance to his ready room signaled a visitor.

"Enter." Sisko said wearily, rubbing his eyes.

Chief O'Brien and Doctor Bashir entered, their faces expressing concern.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?" the captain asked.

"Captain, you look terrible," Bashir remarked, stepping around the desk and pulling out his medical tricorder. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, doctor," Sisko replied, not entirely sure if he was joking. "Until then, there's a war to fight."

"We'll all be sleeping soon enough if things keep goin' the way they're goin'." O'Brien added, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his captain.

"I take it, then, that you have both seen the situation reports about Trillian." Sisko said tiredly, allowing Bashir to scan him. "I freely admit, I don't really know what to do about it."

"It does sound difficult," Julian mused. "Nearly two million Star Fleet personnel in the fleets defending Trillian and the potential civilian casualties are too horrifying to think about."

"And here we sit, unable to really do anything about it," Sisko sighed, thankful for the neuralizer Bashir was using as it took away the headache he'd given himself. "I have no available fleets to send in relief of the system and even if I did, they would have to fight their way through the Cardassians and Breen, just to reach the Dominion fleet that presents the threat."

"Maybe some rest, captain?" Bashir suggested. "A few hours away, take in a movie or something?"

Sisko gave the doctor a wry look and then gazed at his Chief Engineer. "What exactly are you two doing here? Clearly it's not just a medical visit to check my well-being or the good doctor would have come by himself. Since you're both here, it means you have something you want to tell me."

O'Brien nodded. "Actually, captain, Julian and I just finished watching an ancient movie on our break and it kinda gave us an idea. Have you ever watched the twentieth century movie 'The Final Countdown'?"

Sisko shook his head slowly.

"The story revolves around a sea-faring warship, the U.S.S Nimitz." Julian remarked.

"I've heard of it," the captain said. "It was the flagship of the United States fleet at the turn of the millennium. An aircraft carrier, the largest in the world at the time."

"Aye," O'Brien confirmed. "In our movie, the Nimitz found itself captured in a temporal anomaly and transported back in time to December 6th, 1941."

Sisko thought about the date. "The day before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour. The attack that catapulted the United States into the Second World War."

Bashir nodded. "The captain of the Nimitz finds himself in the surprisingly difficult dilemma of deciding if he should use the overwhelming power of his capital ship to defend his nation with technology that doesn't exist yet and potentially alter history or to stay aloof from the events going on around him and concentrate on finding a way back home."

"An intriguing plot," Sisko replied. "And what was the captain's decision on the matter, if any?"

"Well," O'Brien began. "Ultimately he decided that he had sworn an oath to defend his country, regardless of any other concerns or consequences. He prepared to defend Pearl Harbour from the Japanese fleet."

"And did he change history?"

"No," Julian explained. "Right before he went to intercept Yamamoto's fleet, the temporal rift opened nearby and he took the Nimitz through it. History remained unchanged."

"What a relief," Sisko said dryly. "Gentlemen, the point you're driving home is not lost on me, but I am still presented with logistical difficulties. While I have no doubt I could persuade our weapon from the future to fight on humanity's behalf one more time, how would we get him there? The Federation fleets cannot break through."

"We've talked about that, captain," O'Brien replied. "We could use the Defiant."

"Use the cloaking device to get Mister Andraeus into the system," Sisko mused. "But then what? The Dominion's electronic countermeasures and scrambling devices are so effective that our fleets cannot even use their transporters to get troops down to the surface of the world to relieve the civilians."

"Mister Andraeus might have given us a suggestion there, captain..." Bashir said in a soft, almost conspiratorial tone.

They stood in the cargo bay, looking at the awkward, vaguely conical monstrosity that towered before them. It was an obelisk of tritanium and duranium, along with various other substances that were made to resist vast amounts of heat. The thing had five long panels that folded up toward the tapering top and a wide, squat bottom on which was layered even more heat-dissipating material.

It looked like a giant blossom of death, waiting to unfold.

"I've gotta hand it to your Imperium, Andraeus," O'Brien mused as he gazed at the thing, called a 'drop-pod'. "You've got some unique answers to problems."

"Are you sure even you can survive the impact of this thing?" Bashir asked, looking skeptical. "It will be traveling at twelve thousand kilometers per hour for most of the descent. Anyone else would be turned to jelly upon impact, and that's assuming they don't burn up in the atmosphere."

"I have done this countless times, my friends," Andraeus replied, surveying the makeshift drop-pod with a critical eye. "I will be fine, I assure you."

It lacked many of the features often associated with Ultramarine drop-pods, but he concluded these were ephemeral at the moment. As long at it could make it through the atmosphere and get him to the ground in one piece, it would have done its job. Chief O'Brien and his crew had done a remarkable job of putting it together with ablative hull-plating removed from damaged ships and stores on the station and thanks to their use of efficient computers, it was very precise in its measurements and stress-design tests.

He hoped it would be enough.

"So let me see if I understand this," Bashir mused, still not convinced. "The captain takes the Defiant under cloak through the Dominion's lines, through the barricade, launches this armoured shell at the planet and you hurtle through the atmosphere and hopefully land precisely where you want and then you jump out and begin wreaking havoc?"

"In a nutshell, to quote your captain," Andraeus said. "The dampening jets will slow my acceleration once I am near the surface, maneuvering thrusters will keep me on the designated course and my physiology will allow me to survive the impact and keep fighting."

"But the planet's crawling with Jem'Hadar by now," O'Brien pointed out. "Where would you even begin? You cannot protect all the civilian shelters at once."

"That is not my mission, at least not directly." Andraeus stated somewhat coldly. "There is an operations center down on the surface of Trillian and within it are large amounts of data concerning the Federation's war efforts. Were these plans to fall into the hands of the Dominion, at the very least you would be forced to overhaul your entire strategy for the war. At worst, the Dominion would act quickly on the intelligence before you could realign yourselves and the Federation would fall within months with a death toll even I would be aghast at."

O'Brien and Bashir said nothing.

"I am to retrieve the data, if it is still there, kill any and all enemy operational commanders I can find, thereby causing a breakdown in communications between the Dominion's ground forces and their fleet. With any luck, this will give your forces the chance they need to rally and drive off the Jem'Hadar."

"Sounds like a suicide mission." O'Brien said.

"My missions always are, Chief," Andraeus replied. "That is the life of an Astartes. We are deployed to kill the enemy in the most direct and lethal way possible, to strike off the head."

"But wouldn't you rather be defending the civilians?" Bashir queried. "Most of the population of Trillian is human, after all."

"As you yourself said, doctor, even I cannot be everywhere at once," the space marine pointed out. "That said, our best chance to minimize casualties is to reduce the effectiveness of the Jem'Hadar, to give your soldiers on the ground a fighting chance. Captain Sisko says there could be as many as seventy-thousand troops still alive and fighting by the time we reach Trillian, if the casualty rate stays static. Once I have disrupted the Dominion's command structure, those seventy-thousand will kill more Jem'Hadar than I possibly could."

"But don't worry, gentlemen, I promise you that you won't miss out on the action," Captain Sisko declared as he strode up to join the trio. "Because I'll need you both on the Defiant for this one. Chief, you'll need to make sure she's quieter than ever. Doctor, we might need your medical expertise in case things get rough. I've no doubt Major Kira will have things comfortably in hand around here during our absence."

"Yessir." O'Brien and Bashir chorused somewhat dejectedly.

"Are you sure you sound be going, captain?" Andraeus asked. "It would be a severe blow to your Federation if they were to lose you."

Sisko smiled. "Thank you for that affirmation, Mister Andraeus, but I feel compelled to go. Call me superstitious or even just sentimental, but the Defiant always seems to perform better when I am in the captain's chair. There's a... synergy between us, if you will."

Andraeus laughed. "The machine spirit guards you well, then, captain. May it bode well for our mission!"

The armoured giant then strode off, to complete a final inspection of the drop pod. Sisko smiled and shook his head as he watched.

"The Federation is on the verge of collapse and you two suggest I send in a comic-board superhero come to life," he said somewhat cheerfully. "The ironic part is, it's still our best hope."

"When do we leave, captain?" Bashir asked, a glimmer of hope building inside at his commanding officer's change in tone.

"Tomorrow, sixteen-hundred hours." Sisko replied. "Chief, made damned sure that drop-pod is ready. If it malfunctions or breaks, we'll need to take the Defiant into the atmosphere so Mister Andraeus can attempt to use that jump pack thing he had you design."

Sisko walked off, leaving the doctor and the chief to ponder what would happen in the next seventy-two hours.

"One ship against a hundred." Bashir said softly.

"One man against thousands." O'Brien added. "Can it possibly work?"

"A desperate gamble and a forlorn hope." the doctor said softly. "Let us hope comic boards turn out to be more than just fiction for once..."

The quarters provided to Andraeus were suitably spartan. He had little or no use for most amenities, so there was a large, thin mattress on the floor, a replicator on the wall and a computer console. Other than that, it was thankfully free of distractions.

He sat now on the mattress with his legs crossed and his hands clasped, fingers knotted together in a complex and arcane pattern that helped him achieve focus while he looked deep within, examining himself for impurities and deviations from his life of unadulterated purpose. He was pleased to be able to remind himself that even though he was a psyker, he had never once been under suspicion of taint or the threat of heresy. Never had one of the chaplains been compelled to visit him and assist him in re-examining his motives or desires.

The Warp was so different here. Every psyker in his own time or reality could feel it constantly, sometimes a quiet whisper in the back of their minds, other times a great, screeching inferno that threatened to overwhelm.

Yes, he could still sense the Empyrean in this place, this time, but is was simply discordant, like so much static or 'white noise', to use an anachronistic term. There were no voices, no madness, no gibbering lunacies that needed to be fought off. It was a welcome relief and it made him all the more wary because he did not know what to expect. His training had never anticipated the absence of Chaos.

What if there were no gods of Chaos here? What if there were no resonances or psychic identities in the Warp? There must have been something, because Andraeus could still make use of his powers, which would not be possible without the Warp. Other beings in this time, such as the Betazoids and Vulcans had psychic gifts, yet their use did not seem to stir the tides of the Warp in any manner he could detect.

Had the Emperor in this reality destroyed the gods of Chaos by this point? If the Emperor had ever even born in this reality.

What did this mean? Could he use his powers with impunity? Could he use them on a scale he perhaps would never have dared before, lest he run the risk of opening himself to Chaos? What if his blatant, flagrant use of his psychic powers gave rise to the formation of cruel and malevolent minds within the Warp?

Did he dare test this theory?

"You can come out of the shadows now," he said in a deep voice. "I have been aware of your presence for some hours."

"I thought you might," replied the unbidden visitor, stepping forward to reveal himself from the corner he'd been lurking in. "The question is, why have you allowed me to remain there, unchallenged or even unaddressed?"

"Because you're no threat to me," Andraeus stated, finally opening his eyes and turning his head to look at the intruder. He was a rather plain-looking man wearing a Star Fleet uniform and a stoic expression. "But since you have insisted I ask, what are you doing here and what do you want of me?"

"I am not here in any official capacity," said the man, still observing the behemoth. "I am an agent of a group called 'Section Thirty One', and my name is Sloan."

Andraeus nodded. "I have seen you in Doctor Bashir's mind. You are an unofficial or rogue organization, dedicated to protecting your Federation at any cost, including violating the principles it holds most sacred."

"Impressive, so the rumours of you being psychic are true." Sloan mused. "And what do your abilities tell you of me now?"

"You have a neural fraction matrix device implanted in your cortex," Andraeus stated. "It prevents a simple psychic scan. I could easily penetrate it, but the effort would kill you, and I have no interest in that."

"Then I should thank you, since I am partial to remaining alive," Sloan answered, moving forward. "And while I am convinced of my own dedication to the survival and prosperity of the Federation, I must confess that you remain an enigma to me. Pardon my bluntness in asking, but are you really from the distant future, as our dear doctor's fanciful reports suggest?"

"That is as good an explanation as any, given that I owe you none," replied the Astartes, rising. He towered over the operative and Sloan involuntarily took a step back. "Like yourself, I am dedicated to humanity's survival, whatever the cost. Your Section Thirty-One is the first and only bit of this Federation that reminds me of my own time."

"And I take it you do not find that objectionable, since you have allowed me to live thus far," Sloan concluded. "I will read that as an encouraging sign."

"But you did not come here to merely satisfy your curiosity about the doctor's reports," Andraeus pointed out. "You're worried worried about the Trillian system and Sector 7G. You wanted to make sure that this ridiculous plan could actually work."

Sloan nodded. "I have agents on the surface of Trillian," he explained. "Good men, highly trained, who were trying to get the Federation's war plans off-world when the Dominion attacked. If they were still alive, they might prove invaluable to you and your mission."

Andraeus nodded. "I will save your agents, as long as it doesn't require me to compromise my existing mission."

"I somehow doubt that," Sloan said simply. "If they are still living, break them out of the siege and they will head for an extraction point we have, you needn't even try to take them aboard a Federation vessel, which I assume is the Defiant."

"Why should I trust you?" Andraeus asked.

In response, Sloan put his hands on the back of his neck and remained still for some moments. He then winced and shuddered before looking at Andraeus again. "I have deactivated my neural refractor. You may freely scan my mind for anything you like now. Nothing held back."

Andraeus did not scan Sloan's mind but compelled him to pull out his phaser, set it to maximum strength and place it against his own temple.

"You will kill yourself instantly if you do not tell me the truth." Andraeus stated, his eye glowing as he stared at Sloan. "Do you have any motive or agenda, personal or alien-influenced, that can compromise or harm the human race?"

Sloan shook and a sheen of sweat appeared on his brow.

"No..." he managed to choke out.

"I believe you." Andraeus said finally, allowing Sloan to lower the phaser. The agent heaved a sigh of relief and wiped his face. "Very well. You have my cooperation, Agent Sloan. Now begone, before I decide to test your resolve again."

He returned to his meditations, not bothering to wait for his guest to disappear silently. Sloan wasn't important. There was a battle to be fought.

Andraeus sat in the Defiant's tactical room, accompanied by Lieutenant Dax, who sat next to him, going over endless schematics and maps of Trillian. He took it all in with a trained eye, discounting the extraneous details and remembering everything he might find useful. Unlike his excursion against the Orion Syndicate, the maps and schematics he was studying now were detailed and accurate, telling him everything he needed to know to make this strike as efficient as possible.

"The command center is here," Dax remarked, pointing to a small room deep inside the complex. "Federation troops are holding out at all three access points, but they cannot last much longer if the Jem'Hadar keep reinforcing at their current rate. Fortunately, the structure and materials around the command center are preventing them from transporting closer, so the Dominion troops have been having to fight their way in."

Andraeus nodded. "Are you receiving any intelligence about where the fighting is fiercest or the enemy troop concentration heaviest? It makes the most sense for me to hit them where they are weakest, so I can reach the command center quickly."

Dax read a data feed. "Enemy troops strength seems to be most concentrated here and here," she indicated. "Where would you like to strike?"

Andraeus stared intently before pointing at a location on the surface. "There. The Jem'Hadar have the fewest troops in the immediate vicinity and it will allow me quick access to the command center. From there, I can help your troops fight their way out, along with retrieving the intelligence about your Federation's strategic plans."

"What about the civilians?" Dax asked somewhat apprehensively. "Can you do anything about it?"

"I do not know," he said gravely. "If we disrupt their command and communications, perhaps I might be able to save some, but the main objective cannot be compromised."

"I understand that you Space Marines are valuable," Dax said, turning to look at him, her face a mask of concern. "But do you consider yourselves more valuable than any other human life?"

"Not intrinsically, no," he replied. "But we are very rational about numbers, and our training indicates that if we can save more lives by sacrificing some, then we must not recklessly throw our lives away. Some Astartes chapters, like the Salamanders, are renowned for going out of their way to prevent civilian casualties. In the Second War of Armageddon, the Salamanders protected the civilians while we Ultramarines held the line and the Blood Angels assaulted the enemy."

"So Space Marine chapters have different personalities, so to speak?" she queried, intrigued to hear more about his galaxy. He clearly had his plan and tactics laid out, there was nothing left to do.

Andraeus nodded. "Aye, as different from one another as the Founding Primarchs but bound in loyalty to the Emperor and humanity. The Space Wolves are savage and independent, the Imperial Fists resolute and unmoving, the Blood Angels noble and merciless and the Ultramarines valiant and dutiful. For ten thousand years we have fought ceaselessly, each in our own way, to ensure our future."

"The Primarchs sound barbarically romantic," she purred, smiling at him warmly. He raised an eyebrow at her statement and shrugged. "They were tools to an end, engines of war, crafted from the Emperor's own genetic stock and meant to conquer the galaxy and protect our race."

Dax pursed her lips as she pondered what Andraeus was saying. "The Founders genetically engineered the Jem'Hadar to fight and conquer for them, and the Vorta to be their diplomats and administrators. Your Primarchs do not sound much different in purpose."

"As a perfunctory assessment that is not unreasonable," the space marine replied. "But the Primarchs were meant to lead humanity into a new era, free of not just alien threats but also the corruption in men's souls represented by Chaos. These Founders create slave races that worship them as gods. The opposite is true of the purpose of the Primarchs. The eradication of all other alien life was deemed a small price to pay if necessary."

Dax sighed. "The sheer brutality of your existence still stuns and horrifies me, Andraeus. Is diplomacy never attempted?"

"Not anymore, it is pointless. The races we exist with are too different from us. They cannot tolerate our existence any more than we can theirs. It is simply a question of who wants to continue existing the most."

"But didn't you say that these beings of the Warp, Chaos, you called it... didn't you say they cannot be defeated? At least not directly?"

"Not as long as humanity remains impure and reliant on the Warp," he murmured darkly. "So there will be war eternal, either until the end of the galaxy or men free themselves of corruption."

"Like your Emperor," she breathed, thinking about the implications. "Each and every member of the human race a psychically pure being. That... could take millions of years."

Andraeus nodded gravely. It suddenly struck Jadzia about what sort of weapon they were about to unleash upon their enemies in the Trillian system- an effectively immortal, relentless engine of death, created only for genocide. An order of beings designed to defend his species for millions of years until the seemingly impossible was achieved. Until then, war unending.

It was the first time she'd ever felt the least bit sorry for the Jem'Hadar and the Dominion.

"We are three hours from the Trillian system," O'Brien's voice announced over the comm. "Slowing to Warp Three. All non-essential systems disengaging."

"I'll be needed at my station now," Dax said somewhat heavily, rising. "I... Andraeus, in spite of what an advantage you represent for us, I am glad you will never exist in my time and are going to get home somehow. I hate everything you represent."

Andraeus merely looked at her, unsure of what to say. He had lived for nearly four centuries with the adulation of the people of Ultramar, knowing that they appreciated everything he did in executing his duty to the Emperor and humanity. He had never cared about the hatred of aliens, but to hear Jadzia say those words...

She stepped up to him. "I do not hate you, Andraeus," she said softly, putting a hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes. "But more than ever I never want to see or dream of a future where you are an obvious necessity. I hope the future is not static and humanity will never have need of you."

She took his huge hand in her two and placed it to her heart. "Please win today, Andraeus. And please come back to me..."

He watched as she turned and left, none of the usual coquettish wiggle in her hips, but a rigid finality, as if she were bracing herself to never see someone she cared about again.

And this bothered him in a way he could not readily identify.

He blinked and shook it from his mind. He would ruminate on the issue later. For now, the drop pod needed a final inspection and prayers to its machine spirit. His species needed him and battle awaited.

The Jem'Hadar were right about one thing- Victory is life.

"How are we doing, Chief?" Sisko asked tensely as they took the Defiant through the Dominion's blockade. He could feel his heart pounding and the sweat on his brow. The anxiety on the bridge was almost palpable. The red light of battle readiness did nothing to ease the impression of imminent danger. He looked over at the ECM console, where O'Brien sat. "Chief?"

"Still quiet, Captain," replied Miles. "I think they've had pings of us and so they're looking, but they haven't found us."

"That's a relief." Sisko breathed, looking at the viewscreen. They'd had a close call while running the Cardassian blockade. The cloaking device had faltered for a moment and sent the enemy into a wild search as they shrouded themselves again. Doubtless the Cardassians had tipped off their Jem'Hadar allies to the possibility of a potential enemy presence, but so far they had not been found. They had launched several cloaked decoys to keep the Dominion fleets busy looking elsewhere, but the going was still perilous.

"They're still concentratin' on scanning the areas where we sent the decoys," O'Brien mused. "For all they know, there's a fleet of Romulan Warbirds tryin' to get inside their lines."

"That won't fool them forever, Chief," the captain pointed out. "We need to be running more quietly than ever to reach our objective."

"Any quieter an' we'll be stopped, captain." O'Brien said, smiling grimly. "Don't worry, she'll get us there. The machine spirit's strong with this old gal, to quote our secret weapon."

Sisko said nothing in reply but found himself hoping Andraeus was right. He kept his eyes on the viewscreen, lost in thought. All around them were menacing Jem'Hadar ships, from squadrons of lethal fighters to sleek, dangerous cruisers and surprisingly agile, death-dealing battleships. He tried to ignore the sickening, icy ball growing in his stomach as he identified the endless wreckage of Federation ships floating through the vacuum of space.

They maneuvered through the corpses of dead vessels, glad for any interference that the battle debris afforded them. No matter how quietly they ran, even the slightest error could prove fatal. They were surrounded by numberless enemy ships and he did not fancy their chances if the Jem'Hadar could draw a bead on them for even a moment.

"Fifteen minutes until we reach the outskirts of the current battle lines," the helmsman announced, he voice tinged with a nervousness they all felt. "Orders, captain?"

"Stay the course." Sisko said firmly. "Can we get a reading on how many Federation ships are still operational?"

Jadzia pursed her lips as she perused the data flowing in through the Defiant's scanners. "Maybe fifty capital ships left, sir, with smaller flotillas in support. They're fighting desperate defensive actions but they won't last long now. Hours, maybe."

"How close is the battle to Trillian?" he asked.

"Pretty much over the planet itself, sir." Dax replied. "I'm not sure how close we can get without attracting their attention. If a ship decloaks out of nowhere, the Jem'Hadar might just concentrate on us instead of the fleet, perceiving an unexpected threat. We might not even get to fire off the drop pod."

"What ship is acting as flagship of the fleet?"

Dax read her screen for a moment. "Sixth Fleet's flagship Invictus is still operational, captain, Commodore Tolland commanding."

Sisko nodded. "Can we get a message to him without being noticed?"

"One in a thousand shot, sir," O'Brien muttered, hating the odds of the gamble he and Bashir had suggested.

"Captain, I understand what you intend and maybe I can help," Andraeus' deep, powerful voice resounded in his head. "If you must contact this commodore, I can attempt to establish a psychic connection between the two of you, unknown to the enemy."

"Do, it..." Sisko said grimly, feeling the space marine's overwhelming will sublimate his own before everything went swimmingly black...

Commodore Tolland braced himself as another blast rocked his ship, almost throwing him from the command chair. His bridge was little more than debris, tangles of wires and showers of sparks, but his crew continued to fight on, not wavering in the face of the enemy. The battle was hopeless, they could last maybe three more hours before they were utterly destroyed. His only hope was for a miracle in those three hours.

"Commodore Tolland? Sean?"

The commodore shook his head, wondering if he was suffering some kind of stress-reaction to imminent doom, hearing vaguely familiar voices in his mind.

"Commodore, it's me, Ben Sisko!"

"What? Ben?"

"Yes, sir. I am contacting you directly via a mind-link. Don't ask questions, we don't have time for them, we have to act."

Tolland squeezed his eyes shut, baffled. "Pardon my skepticism, but I am not exactly prone to listening to voices that appear randomly in my head and I am a little busy."

"I know, sir. This is Captain Benjamin Sisko, commanding the Defiant. If you want proof, then ask me something only I would know, but hurry."

"What drinks did our wives have during our shore leave on Raisa?"

There was a pause for a few moments before a voice burning with the fury of loss answered. "They didn't and you know it. Jennifer got called on board the Saratoga two hours before our dinner to stop the Borg at Wolf 359."

Tolland sighed and nodded, satisfied with his psychic intruder's identity, even if he did not know how it was possible. "Alright, Ben. You said you're here in the Defiant? Is a relief fleet on the way?"

"Negative, commodore," Sisko replied. "The Defiant's purpose here is to deposit a special payload to the surface of Trillian, one that will hopefully turn the tables on the Dominion forces in-system. But in order for that to happen, I require your assistance."

Tolland paused before responding. "Continue, Ben."

"I need you to take every ship you have and attack, draw them away from the Defiant."

"Attack? That's suicide, captain!"

"We have no choice, commodore." Sisko insisted. "There is no fleet available. If we do not deliver our cargo to the surface, Trillian and the whole sector will be lost within hours. You have my word that once we have done what we came to do, the Defiant will come about and fight alongside you with everything she's got."

"What the hell kind of weapon are you carrying, Ben?"

"If we survive this, I'll tell you all about it. Can you keep their attention long enough to allow me to enter the stratosphere for twenty seconds?"

"One way to find out," Tolland said aloud grimly, his eyes narrowing as he formed his plan. "Good luck, Ben."

"You too, Sean..." Sisko said as he severed the psychic link provided by Andraeus. He rubbed his eyes as a brief wave of nausea washed over him and then nodded to the helmsman. "Take us in. It's time to get this little gambit under way."

"Enough of this long-range exchange," Commodore Tolland announced. "Get the fleet in attack pattern Tau and prepare to take the fight to the enemy. We have a new game plan, people!"

They may not have known what that plan was, but something in their commodore's voice compelled what was left of Invictus' crew to obey without question. Everyone knew they were doomed to die within hours if nothing changed, so any hope, no matter how forlorn, was welcome.

As the entire fleet turned about and began firing a massive barrage at a flank of the Jem'Hadar lines while moving closer, Tolland closed his eyes and thought of his wife, back on Earth...

"They've certainly got the enemy's attention, sir," O'Brien mused as he observed the Federation fleet's sudden assault. "Took out twenty ships before the Jem'Hadar knew what hit 'em. Got 'em pretty mad, they're responding full-force."

If Sisko felt any relief, he didn't show it, understanding exactly what was about to happen to Tolland's fleet. He nodded grimly. "Let's not waste the distraction. Helm, take us in, fast."

The Defiant, still under cloak, speared through the battle lines and headed directly for the planet. None of the Dominion ships seemed to take notice as the comparatively diminutive warship sped toward Trillian, lining itself up with the large continent in the southern hemisphere. The Defiant juddered and shook as it sliced through the stratosphere, the ablative plates on the hull blazing white with heat where shields would normally have protected them.

"If they haven't noticed us yet, sir, they will now." Dax said with urgency. "We'd better make this quick, if they catch us in this position..."

Sisko looked at O'Brien. "Get to Andraeus and make sure that pod's ready to go, Chief. We've got forty-six seconds!"

O'Brien nodded and exited the bridge quickly, heading straight for the makeshift bay that the drop-pod would be fired from. Arriving with ten seconds to spare, he took one last look at the elongated, metal blossom on the outside of the Defiant's hull. He took hold of the cambered override lever and took a deep breath, hitting a comm button. "Ten seconds, Andraeus!"

"Understood, Chief. I am ready. For the glory of Terra..." came the reply from inside the pod.

O'Brien waited tensely on Sisko's orders, feeling the ship shake as it pierced the sky, getting as close to the surface as they dared.

The Defiant uncloaked.

"Now, Chief!" Sisko's voice shouted over the comm. O'Brien yelled without conscious reason as he pulled the mechanical lever and felt the bay shake as the drop-pod burst away, initially thrust forward by hydraulics, but then the rockets that would allow it to pierce the atmosphere roared to life and it shot toward Trillian.

Everyone on the bridge watched as the tiny ellipsoid streaked through the sky, blazing like a comet as the atmosphere of Trillian burned around it. No one said anything, their eyes locked on something they would have considered impossible.

"Can anyone possibly survive that, Captain?" Bashir asked softly, unable to look away from the viewscreen.

"I'm not the praying type normally, doctor, but today I sure am," Sisko replied, wondering if he'd sent Andraeus to his fiery doom. Could even the space marine endure what was about to happen? Andraeus had assured them that he had done this before, but it defied all logic and physical limitations. What manner of weapon were the Astartes if they were meant to fight like this?

"No one can survive that," the helmsman said, his eyes wide with dread. "No one."

"He will." Dax said quietly. "He'll come back to us."

The Defiant rocked as a phaser slashed across its surface, mauling a layer of ablative armour. Shaken from his fascination, Sisko looked around. "It's done, people! Now let's save that fleet! Shields up, attack pattern Theta, targeting the closest Jem'Hadar capital ship!"

It was all in Andraeus' hands now.

Clad within his ceramite power armour and braced with the suspensor harness, Andraeus looked about the interior of the drop-pod as it rocketed toward the surface of Trillian. Everything about this descent was unsual, except for the physical act itself. The interior was devoid of the etched prayers of Mechanicus priests, nor glistening with their holy oils, there was no sign or feel of ancient wear or usage. This was new, precise and sterile. A simple machine.

He only hoped it was more than the sum of its parts.

His helmet muffled the roar of the engines and the screech of burning atmosphere, the armour and buffering layers protecting him from the brutality of this entry. He had no monitor to make sure he was on course, as no such thing could survive this intact, so he relied on the heavily-shielded computers installed to keep him within trajectory, trusting to the Federation's precision and attention to detail. The pod merely had to make it to the surface, the rest would be up to him.

He felt the maneuvering thruster alter his course slightly, compensating for not only the shear of reentry but also the rotation of the planet below. If it took him two minutes to reach the ground and the planet rotated without his pod compensating, he could find himself as much as three kilometers off-target, which would likely doom the mission. He muttered a litany to the Machine God.

The temperature inside the drop-pod was over six hundred degrees, the outer temperature no doubt ten times that much. His suit protected him, but he could still feel the slick sweat forming on his skin. He pushed external stimuli away from his mind and began searching for psychic signatures. His keen empyrean senses found what he was looking for almost directly below. He was still on-target.

Thousands of minds in turmoil, wrestling with panic, fear, fury and hatred. They fought on, though they believed their cause to be hopeless.

A klaxon sounded inside the pod, indicating he was thirty seconds away from landing as dampening thrusters fired to control his descent.

"Courage, my brothers," he said silently, gripping his weapon and remembering the Emperor's mission for his Astartes sons. "I am coming for you..."

Jesar'Mirar, Second of Ten, paused in firing at the fleeing Federation soldiers and frowned as he became aware of an unusual screech coming from the sky. Commanding his squad now that the First had been killed by a cowardly ambush, he held up his hand, indicating that his troops should cease fire. They did so instantly and heard the same noise as their leader.

He turned his gaze skyward and his keen sight espied the glowing object streaking toward them. Other squads nearby were likewise pausing and looking up.

"Debris from a vessel?" asked the Third.

"No," Jesar replied, his eyes narrowing. He could now see phaser beams following the object as it hurtled onward, desperately trying to destroy whatever it was but unable to lock on because of the intense heat it was generating. "Destroy it!"

As one, his squad turned and began firing their polaron rifles at the target, a move copied by the other Jem'Hadar squads in the vicinity. It was painfully obvious that they were having no effect on it and Jesar knew with grim certainty that anything within a hundred meters of the object's impact point would not survive. It was clearly a weapon, since there would be no effect on the Federation lines a mere two hundred meters away. This was a planned strike, and a lethal one at that.

The shrieking grew louder as the thing plummeted toward them. Before long it was all he could hear. Stray shots from Federation phaser rifles did not catch his attention as he realized with some previously unknown foresight that the Dominion's doom lay within that shooting star.

"Victory is life..." he said dutifully as the object slammed into the ground a mere ten meters away from him.

"Bless your mathematical precision, Federation!" Andraeus thought as the hatch of the drop-pod opened and he released himself from his harness and charged out, looking for targets, his bolt gun ready. As he had expected, a huge impact crater marked his landing spot and the effect of that sudden stop on Trillian's surface was devastating. The crumpled and broken bodies of Jem'Hadar lay everywhere around him, even their enhanced physiology unable to deal with the drop-pod's arrival.

Outside of the death-zone he had created, several squads of Jem'Hadar were trying to recover from the unexpected disaster his arrival represented. He began firing at them before they could effectively react, several dying as his bolter roared to life. Torn between the new threat in their rear and their assigned prey to the front, they perished quickly.

Cheers went up from the beleaguered Federation lines as they realized that the Heavens had sent them a miracle and reprieve from death. Andraeus was pleased to note that he did not need to psychically influence them to bolster their fighting spirit and attack.

Polaron beams glanced off his armour, sizzling as they failed to penetrate the ceramite. He fired as he sprinted for the Federation lines, his gun chattering loudly as he dealt death to humanity's foes. One bolt round punched through a Jem'Hadar's head, hitting another behind the original victim before exploding. Yet another was knocked off his feet as a huge hole appeared in his chest.

Andraeus charged straight at a squad of enemy soldiers, who wheeled about to meet his attack. Two died before he reached them, bolter rounds detonating deep inside their body and bursting them apart in showers of gore. He ejected his empty clip as he swept out his ancient power sword, laying into the closest Jem'Hadar warrior and bisecting him. The alien armour, designed to protect the wearer from environment, glancing energy hits and light projectiles, was no match from the monomolecular edge of Andraeus' psychically-powered blade. Like a hot knife through butter, it clove the enemy in twain and they could not stop it. If they tried to block the strike, they were cut down. If they avoided a blow, it only opened up another avenue of attack from their rampaging foe.

Coupled with the increasingly determined fusillades of the nearby Federation soldiers, the Jem'Hadar were all dead in less than thirty seconds. The humans all stared in wonderment as Andraeus strode up to them.

"You must secure this zone," he said in a deep, dire voice. "The salvation of Trillian lies in the complexes below and I must reach it. If you wish to live, consolidate your lines and keep the Jem'Hadar contained. There is no safety in retreat, only disgrace and death. Go!"

The soldiers nodded and dashed off to rebuild their defenses. Andraeus took one last cursory glance around to make sure that the area was truly free of threats and then headed for a low, inconsequential-looking bunker. Within this squat structure was a little-known tunnel that would take him quickly to the command center, deep within the complex.

He covered the distance to the bunker in seconds, kicking in the damaged door and heading through another hatch and into a tunnel. It showed no evidence of damage, proving the Jem'Hadar had not been here yet. He tromped down the hallway, the route from the holomaps he had studied clear in his mind. He reached out and scanned for thoughts and emotions, anything that would indicate to him where he might encounter resistance and potentially delay him. He had to reach the command center before the Jem'Hadar.

Fearsome images intruded upon his mind, showing desperate battles in the spiderweb of hallways that connected the sprawling underground complex. Federation soldiers fought to hold off the enemy, dying in anguish if the battle became close-quarters. He felt their panic as they bled from polaron wounds, their terror as the world around them grew gray, distant and then dark, lost to them forever. In their minds, he could see the agonies of leaving families behind, children, wives and husbands they would never hold again.

Empty, meaningless deaths to them, their valour not enough to stem the tide of alien destruction.

He could not heal them or bring them back, so he would avenge them. The soulless monsters, these Jem'Hadar, would be thrown back, made to pay with their lives for what they had done. It didn't matter that it was what they were bred to do. All that mattered was that they be annihilated, never to threaten the human race again.

He stumped down the tunnel, a tight fight in his power armour, but he would not be slowed down. The sooner he retrieved the data, the sooner he could wreak havoc amongst the enemy and avenge the fallen.

He could not help but allow his mind to tarry on the issue. While he had been engineered from a young age to defend humanity, the deaths of his fellow man bothered him little, since their demise was but a speck in the perspective of keeping the species alive. The members of Astra Militarum Imperial Guard regiments died in their untold millions to keep the tide of alien filth at bay while the Astartes performed the missions no one else could. It was the Guards' job to die. That was simply the price to be paid for the species' survival.

But here, in this reality, this universe, the deaths he felt bothered him acutely. He felt the pang of what was being taken from the men and women who were laid low by this enemy, the sting of loss at each life. Was it because maybe these people had something to live for and knew it?

In his own place and time, to die for the Emperor was as good a death as any human could hope for. These people had no Emperor. They lived for themselves and each other, for a set of ideals that, foolish as they might have been in the Imperium, were what gave meaning to everything they had to fight for.

They fought with hope. Genuine hope, not some forlorn idiom read about in the Guards' Primer booklets that every conscript was given. They fought to see their families one day, not the approval of a distant God-Emperor thousands of light years away.

And the more he thought about it, the more divergent he suspected this reality to be from his own.

No Warp entities. No horrific Orks, Dark Eldar or Tyranids.

No Roboute Guilliman. No Sanguinius. No Arch-Traitor Horus.

No Emperor?

It was a shattering heresy to ponder. What hope had a galaxy without the mightiest human to ever live, a god made manifest?

With a snarl he surged forward, sensing combat ahead. The Jem'Hadar were pushing closer to the command center, clearly knowing what was trapped there. He had to save the data, or at least destroy it before the enemy got their hands on it. The Federation was not as strong as the Imperium. It could not withstand this foe if the Jem'Hadar continued to outfight them.

His boltgun roared to life as he rounded a corner, the staccato thunder echoing far and wide down the endless hallways of the complex. One Jem'Hadar warrior whirled about to face him and died instantly, his head blown off at the neck. Another dropped as his arm was torn away by the ferocious punch of the bolt round. Little was left of the torso of a third when the projectile exploded inside him. He felt the crunch of alien bone beneath his ceramite boots as he stomped down the hall.

These corridors were narrow, at least for him. Encased in his ceramite armour, it was a tight fit in some of the passageways. He encountered a knot of resistance at one junction, some ten Jem'Hadar who had ceased attacking the Federation troops and were now attempting to stop him. They used the walls as cover while filling the gap between Andraeus and themselves with endless pulses of polaron energy. His armour sputtered and crackled as the deadly energy bolts struck it. He could feel the rising heat as the first layer of his armour began to melt.

They were fighting smartly, keeping up an intense and continuous fusillade before ducking back to avoid his return fire. He struck one, then another, but the second was only wounded and kept fighting. He could charge down the hallway, hoping to weather the assault, but if the Codex Astartes had taught him anything, it was to not take unnecessary risks. He reached down and took two micro-grenades off his belt while firing his bolter with one hand, trying to make them keep their heads down. He tossed the grenades and heard shouting from the enemy, followed by two blasts that shook the immediate area.

He charged right after the detonations, noting with satisfaction the at least five more Jem'Hadar corpses now lay in gory, shredded heaps around the junction of the halls. The others seem to have retreated for now. He continued down his designated path, shooting any enemy he found.

Two Jem'Hadar unshrouded nearby him and attacked furiously. One charged into him bodily, attempting to unbalance him and bring him to the ground. The other was using the bayonet at the end of their polaron rifle to stab at his face and neck. He hissed as he felt the keen blade slice through the skin near his jugular, a gout of blood spurting forth. Andraeus snarled angrily and kicked the grappling foe away with his boot, rolling to his feet and whirling to face his other attacker. He grabbed hold of the bayonet in his ceramite gauntlet and snapped it with a twist. Before the Jem'Hadar could react, he had plunged the point of the broken blade back into his face, punching out the back of his head and killing him instantly.

Undaunted, the other alien rushed in again, holding a combat knife. Andraeus' arm flashed out and he gripped his for by the face, unleashing the power of his mind. The terrible surge cooked his foe's brain, his scaly hide blackening as greasy smoke escaped his orifices. Andraeus cast him aside contemptuously.

His boltgun thundered again as he came across another knot of resistance, although these Jem'Hadar were already engaging the Federation defenders and were unprepared when he appeared behind them. But he was now too close to keep firing without risking injury to his fellow humans and resorted to physical attacks. The Federation soldiers scrambled back in shock and fright at the sight of the armoured behemoth who had waded into their assailants.

A savage backhand from his ceramite fist sent one Jem'Hadar soldier flying and slammed him into the wall, shattering every bone in his body. Andraeus ducked the frantic swing of the butt of a polaron rifle and picked the foe up over his head before tossing him into his squadmates, bowling over several. They recovered quickly, but it was not enough. Even as Andraeus stomped on the one's chest, the Federation troopers were leaping over their makeshift barricade and attacking the enemy, heartened by the unexpected appearance of the Space Marine.

Andraeus spun low and grabbed a Jem'Hadar by the ankles, spinning him around and slamming him against the wall so hard that his body burst inside his suit, leaving a sickening spatter of entrails, brain and gore along the wall where he'd hit.

The last Jem'Hadar soldier tried to shroud and retreat down the hallway, but a snapshot from the boltgun found its mark. The immediate area was secured. The Federation soldiers stared at him in amazement as he assessed them.

"Hold this area," he said, his voice carrying the authority of command over endless legions. "Fight with valour and we will win here today. You will know victory before the night is out if you show them the spirit of Terra."

And with that, he stumped down one of the corridors, leaving the stunned soldiers to ponder if they were imagining what had just happened. Andraeus didn't care. They'd figure it out soon enough.

"Damage report!" Sisko bellowed as the bridge of the Defiant was rocked by another blast. Showers of sparks flew from a sensor station behind him, but the ensign stayed at his post stolidly, knowing there was no safety to be found anywhere else.

"Shields are holding, captain!" Dax called back from her station. "We're at twenty-five percent, but the ablative armour should hold out long enough for us to get them back online if they fail! We've got a minor breach on Deck Two, but it's contained and damage control teams are en route!"

The Defiant weaved and bobbed back and forth through the ever thickening debris field surrounding the Jem'Hadar fleet. Wreckage of both Federation and Dominion ships choked the cold vacuum of space above Trillian. The sudden appearance of the small but incredibly tough warship had galvanized the Federation crews of the brutalized fleet to acts of great valour. They caught the Dominion off-guard with their sudden attack and the response was hampered by the presence of the Defiant in their midst.

"Target the engines of that battleship!" Sisko ordered. "Have the special torpedoes primed and get ready to run like hell!"

"Let's hope this trick works better for us than it did for the Valiant..." Dax muttered, biting her lip.

Snaking at high-speed through the wreckage and flaming detritus of the battle, the Defiant came out behind the titan battleship, a vessel easily ten times the mass of the Federation warship. Ignoring the fire from escort vessels and trusting to the shields and ablative armour, the Defiant pulled close on a strafing run, aiming precisely.

"Fire!" Sisko shouted from his command chair.

Volley after volley of pulsed phaser fire and photon torpedoes hammered the shields of the Dominion ship at close range, causing them to flare and sputter momentarily. The half-second was all it took to allow Sisko to fire two more torpedoes through the breach- the heavily armoured missiles slammed into the hull near the engines, penetrating layer after layer until they came to rest and began releasing their secret payload- Delta radiation began flooding the engines.

"Get us out of here!" Sisko yelled as the Defiant was rocked by another hit.

The Defiant ducked under the hull of the battleship to avoid more fire from the escorts and made a dash for the relative safety of the Federation fleet, which was already retrograding away from the enemy. Within the battleship, the radiation from the modified torpedoes was bombarding the viterium containment compartments that held the ship's antimatter engines. The power fluxed wildly and the crew lost control. The huge ship listed to one side as the engines faltered, crashing through two escorts as it yawed in space. The shields flared and buckled under the catastrophic damage of the impacts, the battleship's hull now becoming rapidly compromised. Explosions ran up and down its length as it twisted and broke apart.

"Target destroyed, Captain!" Dax said almost jubilantly as she watched her sensors. "Collateral damage includes at least three escort vessels and their fleet formation is losing cohesion with the destruction of the flagship!"

"That won't last long," Sisko replied grimly. "Find us the likely replacement flagship and target it. Send the information out to the rest of the fleet and advise they do likewise so we can break down the command chain!"

The bridge thundered and shook as polaron fire raked across the Defiant's hull, too far away to do serious damage but more than enough to rattle everyone's nerves. They returned phaser fire, crippling an escort ship that got too close. A photon torpedo from a nearby light cruiser blew the Dominion ship apart.

The Federation ships continued to pull backward while the enraged Dominion fleet surged forward. This ingenious tactic, known as the 'Kauffman Retrograde', allowed a smaller force to do steady damage to the enemy, which literally ran into the defender's fire in order to try and engage them. Assuming there was no major disparity in the effective distance of the two fleets' weapons, the side employing the retrograde could maintain a distinct advantage for some time, as long as their nerve didn't break.

"Cap'n, some of 'em are breakin' off to come around and engage us from the flank," O'Brien called from his station. "They know we don't want t' leave Trillian totally undefended."

Sisko nodded steadily, his eyes on the monitor. He just had to hold them a bit longer.

Dax turned slowly in her chair, her normally lovely features pale. "Sir, we just lost the Invictus. She took several direct hits and just exploded. There wouldn't have been time to abandon ship. That means everyone's gone."

Sisko said nothing, although his heart sank. Tolland had been a good friend.

It also meant he was in command of what remained of the fleet. Trillian was now his to defend and to answer for.

"Send out a message to all remaining ships," he finally said quietly. "Tell them I am taking command. Use a high-security coded channel and send them the details of Formation Geno-52 Chilead. I want them ready to employ it within thirty seconds of my signal."

Alea jacta est. The die is cast. It was all up to Andraeus now.

He was now in a section of the command bunker controlled by Federation troops and ran into no further complications from the Dominion. He could sense a change in the demeanour of the soldiers he now encountered and realized, even without scanning them, that these men were agents of Section 31.

They also seemed to be aware of his presence on the planet and ready for it, because none seemed surprised by him or gave him more than a quick glance, intent on guarding their assigned location rather than gawking at the massive super-warrior in their midst.

Eventually, though, some pulled off from their guard duty and followed him, clearly instructed to accompany him and assist, making sure the precious data got off-world. They were stern men and women, clad in black and carrying phaser rifles at the ready. Exceptionally well-trained and of singular purpose, they would do their duty or die in the attempt. He could respect that, even if the Federation didn't dare.

He finally came to a closed door, a team already working on bypassing what was evidently a secured bulkhead that impeded their progress. They got out of his way quickly as he strode up to the door and put his hand against it. He could feel the force field within, barring their way. They did not know how to get through and they did not have the time for an elegant solution.

"Can you bypass it?" one man asked tersely, turning to face out and guard the long approach of the hall as he waited for a response.

"Not by any conventional means you'd have at your disposal," Andraeus replied. "Everyone stand back. Now."

The agents shuffled down the hallway maybe five meters, some of them watching him while the rest maintained vigil. They numbered ten in all, although Andraeus knew that there were at least fifty in the complex.

He placed the flat of his hand against the console they'd been trying to access and closed his eyes, concentrating. When they flared open they were blazing with power, which surged through his hand and into the console, overloading both it and the local force field that barred access to what lay beyond. The console flashed and sparked wildly before shorting out.

"We'll have ten seconds before the backup generator activates the force field again," he declared as he drew out his force sword. Be ready!"

As the arcane blade hummed to life, responding to his psychic call, he thrust the point deep into the bulkhead, gritting his teeth as he met resistance. Willing the door's death, he drew the sword down through the reinforced barrier, cutting it open, like a Macragge butcher would do to a grox. The wound was large enough to allow entrance for himself and Sloan's agents, but time was precious.

"Go!" he yelled, sprinting through and followed by several of his escorts. Seven made it past the bulkhead while three did not, trapped on the other side. They nodded to those who had made it, indicating they would stay and guard the location. Andraeus moved on, unconcerned by their plans, he had his own mission to carry out.

A short hallway and another door later, he found what he'd come for- the heart of the C3 bunker, a command and control room that had enough sophisticated equipment to run the operations of not just the planet or even the solar system Trillian was in but all of Sector 7G. Ten well-trained operatives could direct the entire local war-effort from this single room, assuming it could be kept secure.

The agents fanned out and began searching for something methodically. Andraeus perused a console, plucking several crystalline data chips and duplicates from it and holding them in his palm for display. "I assume these are what you are looking for?" he asked.

One agent approached and examined them before looking at a colleague and nodded. He took the chips from Andraeus and then exited quickly out another door with the other operatives, their mission accomplished. The agents had left with one set of the data chips while he kept another. Andraeus now returned his attention to the control room, searching for the relay system. He knew that both in the complex and beyond it, on the planet's surface, men and women were dying every second, looking for a forlorn hope that only he could give them.

He found the relay and emitter system, which linked up to a well-protected pulse generator on the surface. This sophisticated system allowed communications and data to be fired in tight subspace bursts, along with regular sublight frequencies, such as radio or laser transmission. He only hoped it would serve the purpose they had devised.

"Captain Sisko," he said, reaching out with his mind. "Are you still with me? I am sure it is rough up there."

"We're still here, Mister Andraeus," came the reply. "Although for how much longer I cannot really say. We're holding them, but our numbers are dwindling. Have you got what you came for?"

"Aye, that and more," Andraeus confirmed. "Are you ready to try our little gambit?"

"At this point I'll try anything, including a whistle and a shout." Sisko answered, his voice betraying his anxiety about the situation above the planet. "When you're ready, we'll feed coordinates to you as quickly as we can."

Andraeus closed his eyes as he opened his mind to the console beneath his hand. A cold stream of raw data began snaking through his consciousness, permutations and variables reduced to cold, hard binary simplicity. He sensed the dark universe above the planet through the eyes of the Defiant and the other Federation vessels, feeding him information. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this was how priests of the Mechanicus perceived the galaxy.

Sifting through the data, he pinpointed the location of specific Dominion ships, some of them light seconds away, but shining in his awareness like a beacon, targets of murder and deserving only of annihilation. His ceramite-gauntleted fingers flexed against the console as he allowed the constant and ever-changing barrage of hard data to flow through him. He sifted away and pared off extraneous equations, keeping track of the lines of code that mattered, talking to the relay array, feeding it the details...

Everything about this plan had to be precise and enacted swiftly, because as soon as the Dominion noticed what was happening, this bunking would become a smoking hole in the earth, no matter how much shielding, rock and duranium protected it. The computer here on the ground needed a crew to enact this plan, something Andraeus was replacing by himself, for as long as he could. He had the information, now he just had to utilize it.

His mind seared with the effort as he allowed it to act as a targeting system, holding the details of Dominion ships firm while feeding those same details to the Federation fleet. Every captain aboard every ship used the data fed to their computers by the relay in unison, focusing their collective fire not only on one ship but in a narrow, focused manner, a devastating alpha strike that not even the toughest shields could withstand.

The phaser fire of nearly forty ships lanced though the starboard shields of a jem'Hadar battlecruiser that was coming about, overloading them almost instantly and punching through the hull in seconds. The ship exploded violently, the wave of destruction taking out two smaller escort vessels in the process.

Another battleship loomed into view and its bow was raked with devastatingly accurate phaser barrages while photon and quantum torpedoes carried through and blew it apart. With the largest Dominion ships destroyed, the enemy fleet was given pause, stunned by the newfound and lethal accuracy of the Federation fleet in targeting particular locations on their shields.

Andraeus could feel the station beginning to rumble as some Dominion commander far above deduced what was happening and tried to put an end to the problem. More and more phaser and polaron fire lanced down, shaking the complex violently. He ignored the assault and continued to feed Sisko and the Federation fleet information for as long as he could. Six more enemy ships were annihilated before the relay station got hit so hard that he was thrown from the console, his link broken.

The console was still operational, so he rose and pressed several commands in quickly, setting the shields to maximum strength at the expense of other functions and also left a meaningless stream of data feeding outward, hopefully convincing the Jem'Hadar that the relay station was still a threat.

"Captain Sisko, I've done all I can," he said inside his mind, hoping Sisko would hear him. "Make sure your ship commanders know to ignore any more data fed to them by the relay, it's a decoy. I'm returning to the fight on the surface, I can sense the Jem'Hadar are coming again."

"Your tactic was a big help, Andraeus," Sisko replied back. "We must have destroyed at least fifteen more ships before they could respond to the tactic, including their command ships and an ECM ship. They're in disarray and we're taking the fight to them. Wish us luck!"

"Space marines don't believe in luck, captain, only unreasonable valour and daring." Andraeus quipped as he closed the mind link and left the captain to his business. He forced his way back out toward the complex he had come from and rounded up the Section 31 agents remaining, instructing them to follow him. They did so readily and without fear. It was time to save human lives and that was their sole purpose, no matter the cost.

Finally, some humans he could readily work with.

"The ships that aren't attacking the relay station are assuming a new formation, captain!" Dax yelled from her console. "They're still capable of attacking, but it seems to be balanced out with a defensive in-depth formation. They're wary of us, Benjamin, trying to minimize their own losses while still posing a threat to us!"

"The tactic may not be as effective as it was with Mister Andraeus involved, but the theory still applies," Sisko announced grimly, his eyes scanning his battered bridge. Several crewmen were wounded and Chief O'Brien was putting out a fire nearby, but they were intact and capable of continuing. This was one tough little ship. "Continue to coordinate our fire with the rest of the fleet, see if we can keep them off balance! Target the battle cruiser closest to the Alexander Nevsky!"

While it was true that the murderous accuracy provided by Andraeus and the relay station's computer was no longer available, the dedicated tactic of all available ships focusing their fire on one enemy vessel remained effective at the moment. The shields of a Dominion battle cruiser flared with concentrated phaser fire before several torpedoes cracked it open. Two of Sisko's quantum torpedoes impacted the hull, causing the vessel to list sideways as fires and explosions rippled down its length.

Sisko gripped his chair as another explosion rocked the Defiant. The shields were flickering and the ablative armour barely holding, but there was no retreat at this point. They had to sell their lives as dearly as possible, if they could not defeat the enemy. He watched as another volley of pulse phasers straked along an enemy cruiser and it exploded.

"Captain!" O'Brien shouted from his station, where he had returned to after dealing with the fire. He had a gash on his forehead that bled profusely, but he ignored it dutifully. "I"m thinkin' we've really hurt their command structure, because they seem to be in a holding pattern! If we've killed off all the Vorta commanders and high-ranking Firsts in the fleet somehow..."

"They'll start resorting to ruthless and unrestrained aggression," Sisko concluded. "Their losses wil be heavy, but they'll probably just charge right in, determined to come to blows because they still outnumber us. Prepare for another retrograde, inform the fleet!"

"Captain, that might carry us beyond the planet and we won't be able to protect it!" Dax called, concerned.

"I know that, old man, but we won't be able to protect the planet if the Jem'Hadar just charge into the middle of us, either," he pointed out. "And if they get unreasonable, they might try landing more troops, rather than bombarding, in which case they'll have Andraeus to deal with. Prepare the retrograde!"

Dax plotted in the course and Sisko watched the screen wearily. As fast as they were destroying Dominion ships, it might not be enough if they made a wild charge. Sometimes a frenzied assault was all it took to carry the day.

Andraeus would no doubt agree.

Followed by a force of some twenty Section 31 operatives who had not been able to make it off-world, Andraeus had now pushed back into the complex to meet a concerted assault by the Jem'Hadar. A savage firefight broke out for control of a group of control rooms and corridors that acted as a junction for the entire complex. Bolstered by whatever Star Fleet soldiers they could find still alive, they had held the Jem'Hadar at bay and then, under Andraeus' resolute leadership, begun to push them back.

He slashed the legs out from under one foe before turning and firing a quick burst from his boltgun, taking out another who rushed by him. The black-suited Section 31 agents rushed to join him at the juncture and set up fields of fire. He had lost three of them in the exchange, each one easily worth five regular Star Fleet soldiers in a firefight. Fortunately, they were finding more soldiers as they went, gathering them into a formidable strike force or leaving strong units in strategic locations to keep the Jem'Hadar at bay.

He broke the Section 31 agents up amongst the Star Fleet soldiers and instructed them to defend aggressively, to blunt any Jem'Hadar offensives and then push back, to force them to the surface and out of the complex. The moment of this battle had to shift and simple defense would not do that. He took a small contingent of five agents with him and headed directly toward where the fighting seemed heaviest, the enemy's assault most concerted.

The Jem'Hadar were not prepared for what hit them when Andraeus burst through the Federation defensive line, his eyes glowing as he threw up some sort of shimmering force field that kept the soldiers from harm. Polaron pulses bounced off the psychic shield, blazing brightly before dispersing. His cohorts advanced behind him steadily, weapons at the ready.

No sooner had he dropped the field than he began firing his boltgun, the miniature rockets chewing through their foes. Phaser beams hissed and shrieked down the hallway alongside his rounds, helping to suppress the enemy's return fire. By the time they reached the Jem'Hadar defensive position, the remains of the invaders was little more than a gruesome slurry on the floor and walls. One agent expressed admiration for the brutal efficiency of Andraeus' weapon.

"Ready yourself," Andraeus growled, his eyes glowing. They were nearing an egress to the complex and would soon be in the open terrain of the surface. "There is a large force of Jem'Hadar ahead of us. This will be an intense exchange."

There were Federation troops fighting above, but they were falling back steadily before the Dominion's onslaught. They were fortunate that the Jem'Hadar troops that had already broken into the complex were not able to come up behind this determined knot of resistance. He sensed close to two hundred Federation troops but they were attempting to hold off several thousand determined and relentless foes. They would not last long if things didn't turn around quickly.

He burst through the door and onto the surface with a loud shout, his boltgun chattering as he selected the closest targets and unleashed hell upon them. His eyes blazed as swathes of psychic fire roiled over the Jem'Hadar, cooking them alive. His bolter rounds killed or mutilated several more, the phaser fire of his accompanying agents adding to the chaos.

An entire squad of Jem'Hadar unshrouded nearby, pushing through the defensive perimeter and charging at him, deeming him the greatest threat. He snapped off another quick burst, killing one more before they were on him. His force sword shone as he swept it out, the blade cleaving in gleaming arcs. He ignored the searing pain as a polaron pulse struck his cheek, cursing as he felt himself going blind in one eye. He didn't doubt it would heal, but this was hardly the time for any loss in his tactical acumen, even just sight.

Arcs of lightning coursed around his armour and sprang from his fingers, striking several Jem'Hadar, killing or crippling them. He felt his skin and jaw tightening as the Larraman's Cells covered his facial wound in a membrane meant to stop the bleeding and keep him fighting. There'd probably be a scar, but he had many dozens to show already around his body, courtesy of nearly three and a half centuries of constant combat.

He remembered the desperate holding actions against the Tyranids on Macragge, homeworld of the Ultramarines and capital of Ultrmar. So many hundreds had been lost in the weeks-long fighting, including the entire First Company. As a simple codicier, he had been attached to a tactical company that fought savagely in the northern reaches of Ultramar against the endless invasion. His talent was formally recognized and lauded, however, when he proved how devastating his psychic talents could be, slaying countless numbers of Tyranids with his mind.

These Jem'Hadar, soulless and engineered warrior-slaves of the Dominion, reminded him of other enemies, though, like Traitor Marines, who fought with little regard for self-preservation and yet great cunning. The hit not necessarily where the Federation lines were perceived to be weakest, but where they would do the most damage to the enemy's morale and will to fight. And since they could not be defeated likewise, they could only be slain, exterminated.

The breach of his boltgun locked open, indicating his magazine was empty. He did not take the time to reload it but clipped it to his hip and charged forward, his battlecry echoing across the raging battlefield. Polaron pulses exploded across the shield he surrounded himself with, protecting him from the sudden hail of enemy fire, but he still could feel some shot penetrating, sizzling against his armour. The Jem'Hadar were spread out in a wide arc around him but closing in, advancing fearlessly. The Federation troops behind, inspired by his bravery, were holding the line and fighting with a cold ferocity. He needed to find the single point in the enemy line where he could do the most damage and turn the tide.

There he was- an unusually large Jem'Hadar warrior, no doubt one of what they called the 'Firsts', the most experienced and formidable warrior in a battle group. This one was almost a head and shoulders taller than his bretheren, almost Andraeus' size. The squad accompanying the First fired concerted fusilades at him, tearing at his psychic barrier, wearing him down.

And then the First saw him coming and raised a hand, calling for his troops to cease firing. The squad did so dutifully, watching Andraeus as he strode forward. As the other Jem'Hadar forces around the field swept forward, the First awaited him patiently, his eyes never leaving his foe's.

"I am Tasu'klata, First of the the Jem'Hadar forces on this world and Honoured Elder. Let us see what you are made of human."

"I'm Andraeus Parmenio, Epistolary of the Ultramarines and Scourge of Darius Seven. Since you care for nothing beyond what you are told of the meaning of victory, I will make your death quick."

Tasu'klata, incensed by his foe's challenge, pulled out his short-hafted polearm, the kar'takin, and charged directly at his foe. He slashed with the blade but found his weapon cleaved instantly in half by Andraeus' force sword. Undeterred, he slammed the butt of the weapon into Andraeus' temple, knocking him sideways. Andraeus spun to avoid the follow-up stroke and felt the blade section of the kar'takin screech along his backplate. Tasu'katla dodged Andraeus' counter-stroke nimbly and leaped in again. Andraeus dodged but felt the Jem'Hadar's knee ram into his stomach, where the armour was flexible. He exhaled, preventing the wind from being knocked out of him. He batted Tasu'klata away with a backhand, refraining from using his powers, testing his foe and his limits. He wanted to know what the Jem'Hadar were capable of, if Tasu'klata represented their best.

He could feel the Federation lines holding, not yet broken by the relentless savagery of the Jem'Hadar. He wanted to kill his foe at exactly the right moment, to give them an impossible victory and the momentum to win, the desire to overcome these odds. He had promised Captain Sisko that he would not tamper with their minds and he would do his best to keep that oath.

Tasu'klata threw aside the butt of his broken weapon, a wicked combat knife appearing in his hand. It found its mark, scoring a ragged gash across the space marine's cheek. Andraeus snarled and slammed him body into his foe, knocking him backward and almost off his feet. He followed up by slamming his fist down, catching the First in the shoulder. There was a sickening crack and Tasu'klata grunted, but did not back away. His kar'takin hung limply in his hand, but he was still dangerous with the knife.

The Jem'Hadar struck again, fast as a serpent and his forearm clashed with Andraeus'. They strained against one another, a test of strength and resolve. Slowly, inexorably, the Librarian's power and leverage turned Tasu'klata to the side and Andraeus had him. He severed the tube that fed into his foe's neck and saw the First's eyes widen in shock. Now was the time.

His psychic powers roiled in his mind and flowed through him, streaming through every synapse in Tasu'klata's body, setting his nervous system on fire.

It was the first time anyone had ever heard a Jem'Hadar warrior scream in agony. Paralyzed by his anguish, Tasu'klata could not stop the arc of the gleaming force sword as it sheared his head from his body.

The Jem'Hadar soldiers across the line seemed to know what was happening and there was a brief pause in their assault. It lasted only a moment and they resumed their fight, but they seemed to be less focused without their leader.

"Now!" Andraeus called out psychically across the battle lines as he whirled and drove his sword through the belly of one of Tasu'klata's warriors. "The momentum has shifted! Advance and destroy your enemy!"

The fighting intensified as he attempted to fight off an assault by the fallen First's squad, who were rapidly joined by others. He whirled about savagely, his hand spewing gouts of warpfire even as his sword severed limbs and ripped through torsos.

The maddening stillness of the warp unnerved him- he did not know how far he could push his mind in this universe. Regardless of whether there were Chaos entities or not, he dared not predict what might happen if he unleashed the full power of his psyche in this environment. In his own place and time, he was well aware of what risks he could take, but this place, this time...

There must have been nearly a hundred of the enemy surrounding him, hammering at him mercilessly, slashing and pummeling, determined to bring this unexpected foe to his knees. He had fought the Orks on Galderon Prime, contested their reckless mobbing tactics and remembered the fury of feeling stifled, unable to breathe because of the sheer press of bodies that could pile up on you.

He became dimly aware of new presences on the battlefield before everything seemed to tumble and shimmer about him. A flash of cold sickness and then a darkness...

When he opened his eyes, he was down on one knee and his foes were gone. There was a deep thrumming about him he could feel in his very core and a garish red light assaulted his senses. The madness of the battle going on around him was gone, barely a distant pinprick in the back of his mind. Now, new and alien minds were close by.

He roared and surged to his feet, his sword in hand and eyes flashing as he prepared to-

"Hold, space marine!" a guttural voice but called out suddenly. "Put down your weapon, we are not your enemy!"

Andraeus caught himself, staying his hand. He glared about the tiny chamber he found himself in, a ugly construct of green and black metal with glowing floor plates. Not far away, several Klingons stood warily, their disruptors in hand but not pointed at him. One stood before the rest of them, looking at him levelly and grinning.

"Hail, Andraeus Parmenio," said the commanding officer. "I am K'vack, and I am captain of this ship, the Gr'oth. Welcome aboard..."

Author's Notes: Apologies about the delay, not that you haven't heard that fro me before. This particular chapter served a couple of purposes for me not the least of which was introducing Section 31, quite possibly the only aspect of the Federation that Andraeus could identify with. Not that I have any particular intent to make them likable or sympathetic, mind you.

Adding a drop pod into the mix sounded like fun, not to mention giving the Chief something to tinker with that wouldn't kill him accidentally, like an ersatz boltgun. And since there's only so much trouble/fighting Andraeus can get into on DS9, I decided to let him romp for a while.

Andraeus and Klingons? Just hang tight and see what happens.

Keep your stick on the ice!

- Management